chievous term has crept into our dictionaries, which is productive of much detriment to the Christian, and great wealth to the Hebrew nation, when applied, as it usually is, in derision of our faithful habiliments-the word "worn-out;" and a more dissipated word, a word more addicted to running up bills and running out money; a word more directly subversive of the liberty of the subject who is in the habit of encouraging it, does not exist under the "W's" of any known vocabulary. It is a villanous word, and has been the ruin of many a respectable family. Your child's clothes lately made are" worn out;" your wife's gowns, paid for only a month ago, are "worn out," though we know very well the gowns are good as new, the only thing worn out being the fashion: her bonnets are "worn out" in consequence of the changeableness of the weather-meaning of the fashion your servants' liveries and livery hats are always worn out, which is no way wonderful, considering that wearing out every thing belonging to their masters is the chief end of their existence: your harness is worn out, your horses are worn out, your carriage is worn out: last of all, your patience is worn out: every thing in your establishment is worn to a thread, and so are you. Go study morals in Rag Fair; any hour of the day, from nine in the morning until six at night, will you hear eloquent sermons from the lips of Rabbis upon the wickedness and folly of supposing that any habiliment in human shape divine can ever be worn out: go, dull clod, and behold the hats, coats, gowns, petticoats, bonnets, and shawls, which you and your wife, tempting the wrath of Providence, have sacrilegiously sold as good for little, or benevolently given away as good for nothing. There may you behold the third best hat you present ed to ourselves the other day, in regard to what you were pleased to call our distinguished literary attainments, and which you told your lady wife you might as well give away, being half a size too little for your head, besides not being worth three-halfpence, and which we incontinently trucked for twopennorth of Betts' patent brandy; to-morrow that hat, furbished into a second birth, new lined and banded, will be found ticketed in Holly well Street at six-and-sixpence, not merely as good, but, as Moses will tell you, clinching the asseveration

with an oath, "more betterer as new.” Regard that chaos of old bootsboots, did we say? old leathers rather; a bushel of boots for one-and-six

pence; next week, having gone through the hands of a score of renovators, you may behold these identical leathers black-balled to the nines, on a stall in Field Lane, sold for halfa-guinea a pair, and warranted to any thing-wear and tear only excepted.

Behold that venerable ruin of a coat; powers of tatters! is it possible that Mr Pobble O'Keefe, the Irish importer, (we should have observed before that three of the four provinces of Ireland are clothed out of Rag Fair,) is about to add that venerable remain to his dilapidated "properties?" It is so. He has turned the vestment inside out over and over again, looking for the right side, but in vain; the garment having been turned so often that both sides are wrong ones. Now he holds it expanded upon his arms between him and the light, which streams in broken rays through sundry apertures. Anon, he exhibits a "joey between his thumb and forefinger; Moses extends three digits in reply; the Milesian shakes his head the Hebrew plucks his beard, dances about on his axis, uttering untranslatable imprecations. Mr Pobble O'Keefe, moved by the pathos of Moses, exhibits in addition a couple of browns; the bargain is struck, the "tin" transferred, and the rag forked into the wareroom above stairs, to be packed for exportation.

Thousands and tens of thousands of transactions like these, make up the mighty business of Rag Fair. The adventuring tourist, however, who would see it in all its glory, must take care not to choose Saturday for his visit. This, the busiest, most bustling day of the week in other quarters of the town, is here, and hereabouts, the day of Hebrew rest, recreation, and devotion. On the afternoon of Friday, all business is suspended. The men perform their weekly ablutions, and the women, having set their houses in order, put on their dresses of bright scarlet or staring yellow, and having decorated themselves with ear-rings, bracelets, and necklaces of the precious metals, or, in their default, of mosaic gold, bring forth chairs and tables, seating them. selves before their several doors, in the true oriental fashion. Then issue forth the male children of Judah, dressed in all their best, to exchange

courtesies with Rachel and Rebecca. Tables covered with cloths of imposing ,whiteness, upon which candles burn during the evening, are placed near the windows. A Friday supper answering to our Sunday dinner is prepared, of the best each house affords, and if we may judge from the savoury steams that permeate the ambient air, provisions of the best are hereabouts in great plenty. On summer evenings, when the weather permits to its full extent the out-of-doors relaxation in which this peculiar people delights, Petticoat Lane, swarming with black flowing locks, olive complexions, scarlet, crimson, yellow, and orange dresses, mosaic gold and imitative precious stones, realizes to a vivid imagination those oriental bazars wherein Haroun al Raschid delighted to wander, unnoticed and unregarded, in search of the picturesque in human character and conduct.

Saturday, in the Hebrew quartier, is a day of devotion and of rest. The perpetual din of the Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and the compulsory idleness of the Christian Sabbath, is exchanged for complete repose. Every shop is shut, every avocation suspended. If the traveller happen not to encounter the congregations in the way to or from the several synagogues, in the course of his perambulations, he may readily imagine the neighbourhood utterly deserted. It is truly a striking contrast between the almost conventual silence on that day of Bevis Marks, Houndsditch, and St Mary Axe, and the excessive noise and bustle of Whitechapel, Bishopsgate, and Leadenhall. How our Sabbath is observed in the Jewish neighbourhoods, may be best estimated from the following notice, which we observed, on our latest visit to the neighbourhood of Rag Fair, posted against the booth which the authorities have lately erected for the better accommodation of those engaged in "de ragsh bishness." The The notice is as follows:

"Business will commence at this Exchange on SUNDAY mornings, at ten o'clock. By order of the managers, MOSES ABRAHAMS."

The toleration of Sunday trading, enjoyed by the Jewish community, is truly creditable to our city authorities. There is, it is true, the hypocrisy of half-shutters, but the real business of Rag Fair goes on as briskly, though more silently, on the Sab

bath, (our Sabbath, that is to say,) as on any other day of the week. The reason for this exemption we must leave city Solons to define; but it certainly does excite strange and repugnant sensations, when passing from the Jewish quarter, in the plenitude of its exemption from the repose of the Christian Sabbath, we come upon a little ragged urchin of our own persuasion, with his forfeited stock of oranges and nuts, dragged through the streets by a stalwart policeman, an example to Sunday traders, and consigned to durance vile for the horrible crime of sacrilegiously attempting to earn twopence wherewith to procure a morsel of bread, for a bedridden father it may be, or a widowed mother. There is surely something rotten in this. If Sunday trading is an abomination, we cannot see why we are liable to penalties in the exercise of that profanation which is connived at among the Jews, only because they choose to observe strictly their own Sabbath, while openly violating ours.

The care which the members of the Hebrew persuasion take of their own poor, is highly creditable to them as a body, and worthy all imitation. You see many poor Jews, but never a Jewish beggar. Their hospitals, asylums, and benevolent societies, embrace every variety of distress to which their unfortunate brethren may be exposed. Instead of hunting, as we do, for paupers and vagabonds over the face of the earth whereon to bestow their benevolence, their laudable selfishness takes care of its own in the first instance, and their overplus only finds its way to general purposes of charity. The sooner we begin to imitate our Hebrew fellow-citizens in this particular, the better.

Our object in these papers being, as the reader will by this time have observed, less the delineation of the physique than of the morale of London life, we abstain purposely from any description of the public buildings appropriated to Jewish worship, or of the ceremonies therein performed; this subject properly belongs to other publications, and to them we leave it.

GIPSIES we see little of in London : this nomade tribe seldom penetrate into our streets, or take up their abode permanently among us. We recollect once, and once only, seeing one of their caravans pass along Cheapside, on its way to Fairlop fair, in all probability. A tribe of wandering

most powerful nation upon earth. Can we be more than the most powerful?

While other nations have spent. their energies in the continual pursuit of actual change, and find that with every change the desire of further change is all that they have attained by successive struggles, how careful should we be lest that concentration of industry, enterprize, and perseverance, now employed in accumulating, at the uttermost ends of the earth, wealth to be diffused, converted, and expended at home, should be turned against each other, which is only in another way turning each man against himself, and lowering the condition of our common country!

Arabs could not have excited more astonishment; the swarthy countenances of the men, the mascularity of the women, wrapped up in tattered blankets, with scarlet 'kerchiefs bound around their heads; the children barefooted and all but naked; their moveable house, the chimney smoking as they journeyed along, rendered the group a show of the moment, to be stared at, laughed at, and forgotten. Yet London affords to this extraordinary people a plenteous harvest; the suburban fairs, now happily limited in their noxious influences, gather together multitudes of simple holiday-folks, of whom the gipsy tribe reap a rich contribution for services rendered in anticipating the decrees of fate, and bestowing the favours of fortune, like the sunshine, equally upon the worthy and unworthy, the just and the unjust.

In regarding the multitudes of adventurers, foreign and domestic, to which London affords an asylum and a livelihood, of one sort or other, we cannot be insensible of the small amount of individual wealth they accumulate, or of the insignificance of their services. It is to the character of the native-born citizens that this mighty world owes all its wealth, all its influence, and all its importance. How petty, in comparison with our London merchant, our London tradesman, our London manufacturer, appear the chattering Frenchman, the fiddling Italian, the plodding Ger man; in comparison with the magnificence of London industry and enterprize, how poor is the position occupied even by the tortuous, over-reaching, chicaning Jew! It is to ourselves we owe all that we call our own; the supremacy of the law, based upon free institutions, gives us that tranquillity which is the parent of prosperity, and that prosperity which has enabled us to reap the rich harvest of our glory; hence the solidity of our national character; hence our aversion to rash unconsidered change, the instinctive feeling of men who are aware that change produces disturbance, and who know that disturbance is but the portal to decay. From the establishment and fixity of our institutions have we derived all that has made us avowedly, in the eyes of the most envious and hostile nations, the

With what intensity of feeling does not the humblest Englishman regard the honour of his national flag, and with what indomitable energy does he not avenge an insult offered to that flag, the representative of his might and power; how intimately is not the prosperity, glory, and honour of his country mixed up with the very constitution of every one who belongs to this country! Shall we then do that at home, in our folly, which others dare not do abroad in their hate-shall we wage a civil war, aiming suicidal blows at the venerable institutions under whose shade we have grown to greatness? Periods of distress and seasons of depression we must experience, in common with the rest of the nations of the earth; but if we preserve ourselves in peace, these distresses are casual, these depressions temporary; our resources are all but boundless; peace, order, and repose, have developed them hitherto; peace, tranquillity, and repose, must develop them still.

The unimportance of the foreign adventurers who swarm in our streets to the great interests of this great world, suggest contrasts favourable

to

our national pride, in contemplating the magnitude of the interests intrusted to the keeping of our countrymen by foreign powers; Englishmen organizing navies, and commanding them, for the Sultan and the Czar; Englishmen drilling and commanding the armies of Greece, and the auxiliary legions of Portugal and Spain. This self-laudatory topic is, however, extrinsic to our subject, and we leave the vain-glorious reader to pursue it for himself.

THE perils incurred by a spy in watching the movements and entering the camp of a foreign enemy, are far from equalling the dangers of similar occupations during a civil war. To the risk of detection by some former acquaintance or friend, must be added the difficulty of deceiving men of the same country and habits, speaking the same language, and prepared to seize on the smallest incongruity of speech or action as a motive for suspicion. Yet individuals are always to be found who, for gold, and now and then from motives of enthusiasm for their cause, will run all risks, and put themselves in positions of imminent peril, in order to obtain or convey information. During the wild war between Carlists and Christinos, innumerable strange incidents occurred, arising out of the great extent to which the system of espionage was carried by both parties. In this the partisans of Don Carlos had the advantage, at least in the Basque provinces; for there the peasants, devoted to the cause of the Pretender, gratuitously acted as spies, or conveyed despatches across districts held by the enemy. A man would set out at the smart run which those lightfooted mountaineers will keep up nearly as long as a dweller in the plain could walk; when fatigued, he would hand over his despatch, or perhaps verbal message, to the first intelligent and active peasant he met, and thus from one hand to another till the mission was accomplished. Curious means were sometimes resorted to in order to con ceal a letter, in case of the messenger being met by the enemy. Like the old man, condemned by Sancho Panza, who had hidden his neighbour's money in a hollow staff, despatches were sometimes placed in sticks prepared for the purpose; but this was a stale device, and often detected. fragment of bread in the pocket of a peasant's jacket could scarcely excite suspicion, yet in this bread was often baked a slip of paper, which, if found, would have cost the bearer his life. A picket of Christino cavalry was patrolling a road in Navarre, and, as dusk came on, stopped a peasant. After many questions, to which the man replied satisfactorily, his person

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underwent a rigid search. Half-adozen dollars were in the worsted sash round his waist, and taking them in his hand, he humbly offered them to the subaltern commanding the party. "No somos ladrones," was the angry reply. "We are not robbers; keep your money." The man pursued his journey; and three hours afterwards placed a small thin paper, closely written over, in the hands of a Carlist general. It had been concealed in one of the coins refused by the Christino officer.

The persons who acted as spies were usually, but not always, peasants or muleteers. Soldiers who had deserted to the enemy, expressing themselves disgusted with the party they had left, would sometimes, after a few days' or weeks' stay with their new friends, return to their former colours, taking with them all the information they had been able to collect. Not unfrequently a column on the line of march was joined by a miserable beggar-woman, perhaps with a child in her arms, who would keep up with the troops for a few hours, alternately chatting with the soldiers, and listening to their conversation amongst themselves. At the passage of some watercourse or ravine, she would leave them, without any one remarking when or where she had gone; and even when they found that the foe they were marching to attack had disappeared, or when they themselves were surprised in the same night's bivouac, scarcely a man thought of attributing their discomfiture to intelligence conveyed to the enemy by the ragged companion of their morning's march.

Towards the latter part of the year 183-, and on a fine autumnal morning, a scene of some dramatic interest was enacting in a field about half musket shot from a hamlet of northern Alava. Several companies of infantry, and some cavalry, were drawn up, their Basque berets, worn by officers as well as men, and some other peculiarities of costume, marking them as Carlist troops. At a score of paces in front of the line, a mounted officer, whose richly embroidered cuffs showed him to be of high rank, was conversing with others of inferior grade.

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short distance from the group, and in charge of a guard, stood a young man in the uniform of a cavalry officer; and rather more in the back-ground were assembled several women, and persons in citizen and peasant garb. "Valentin Rojas !" cried the gene

ral.

The guard surrounding the prisoner opened its files, and the young of ficer, advancing to within a few paces of the chief in command, there halted, and respectfully saluted,

"Valentin Rojas! you have been guilty of gross neglect of duty in allowing your picket to be surprised last night from want of proper vigilance. The drumhead court-martial has condemned you to death, but not without a recommendation to mercy, founded on your well-proved courage and zeal for the true cause. Neither do I forget the services of your gallant father, slain at the side of the immortal Zumalacarreguy. Your fault, however, must be expiated; and if I extend to you the mercy, which, by his Majesty's commission, I am empowered to do, it will be on one condition."

And beckoning the prisoner to draw nearer, he leaned over his saddlebow, and spoke a few words in a low tone of voice.

A strong expression of disgust, came over the handsome countenance of the young soldier.

The convent of Santa Domingo at Vittoria, situate a few yards within the Bilboa gate of that city, has of late years, like most edifices of its class in the north of Spain, been converted into barracks for troops. It was during the hottest part of the Carlist war, that, on an October evening, the massive portico of the principal entrance to the convent was lit up by a large fire, which partially illuminated also the broad earth floored corridor leading into the interior of the building, and caused the slime and damp which hung upon the walls to glisten in the flickering blaze. The retreat had not yet sounded, and, independently of the men on guard, a number of the Queen's soldiers were grouped round the fire, waiting the usual signal to retire to their straw mattrasses, and meanwhile employing their leisure in singing, chatting, and laughing, so as to create a most Babel-like din. It was during a momentary lull that a small gap in the circle was filled up by a person who squeezed in, making himself as small as he could, and extended his hands over the fire, on which he fixed his eyes with a vacant stare, and as though unconseious of being an intruder, or of the presence of the soldiery. The new comer was a lad about twenty years of age, whose countenance, of an exceedingly brown hue, was rendered singularly inexpressive and stupid-looking by a mouth constantly half open, and by the man