away, let me grasp ye; big headed spiders! ha! ha! Roll on ages-roll away years-pass away time-roll on carriages-smash! crack! crack! break! ha! ha! You cannot harm me, I am invulnerable! I am mad! What ropes are these? spiders' webs; ha! ha! Give me some rum, whiskey, water. Howl on, devils, howl, 'till hell echoes back the sound. Where is my children-wife? She is drunkdrunk-ha! ha! ha!

"As she lay, on that day,
In the bay of Biscay O!"

My brain is on

fire.

Spirit of Alcohol, aid me; press

not my brain so?

"Believe me, of all those endearing young charms."

Ha! ha! there goes a devil on a broomstick; holloa, there—

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine."

Say, Mother Damnable—

"The world is all a fleeting show,

For man's illusion given."

My lips are parched. Water! water! (A groan from without.) Who's there?-ha! 'tis base echo. (Another groan.) Holloa, there; devil imps, snakes and scorpions ; ha! I come, fiends, I come.

"Poor Tom's a cold."

[Exit, with candle in hand.

Another chamber. Mrs. Lovely, and her two children, asleep on a bed of straw. Enter Lovely, with candle.

Mr. L. Misery-misery-is this thy tomb, and these thy victims? Rum, what a leveller thou art! Rum is rich— rum is poor; alike they are reduced to one common level.

Begone, snake, I am moralizing; brain be quiet, let me moralize! ha! I moralize? The learned, the wise, the fool and knave are hurled into one common ruin. I like thee, rum. O rum, I love thee, for thou art republican! Let me see; what have we here? bloated faces, jovial followers of Bacchus! "jolly companions every one!" Let us see; a woman. What does the poet say of woman?

"She is a temple which the Eternal One

Hath built him to inhabit; who will dare

To desecrate the dwelling of the Lord!"-WILKIE.

Why rum dare; it will sap the foundation of the fairest temple. Here once resided beauty. Gracious heaven! it my wife and children.

is

Mrs. L. What voice is that? have you some gin? I drink gin, it is more congenial to my health—give me gin. Boy. It is father; give me whiskey, father.

Therese. Give me a new bonnet.

Mr. L. The ruling passion strong in death. I am mad— I feel it. This light-this straw -- I will; life hath no charms.

Mrs. L. Who says that? Life, life, life--rum, rum, rum. Watchman (outside.)--Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy morning.

Mr. L. What a sight! what misery have I brought upon all! Oh, if reason would but hold dominion awhile, I would save them yet! Back, tempter, back; quiet, brain; tremors, mania, avaunt; I--I will die. (Sets the straw on fire.)

Mrs. L. Who speaks? what's this? Fire?--(She springs up, seizes her youngest child, and as she rushes toward the door, sees Mr. Lovely)--Ha! -- Is this your work? Save Therese, save her. Are you mad?

Mr. L. Mad! mad!

Watchman (outside)--Fire! fire! fire? (People rush in and save the wretched inmates.)

SCENE III-A mad-house.--Mr. Lovely chained to the floor, in a strait jacket, grasping at unseen things in the air, laboring under mania a potu.

SCENE IV.-- Mrs. Lovely discovered in the City Hospital, in the female department, clothed neatly, and busily engaged sewing; beside her is seated Therese, pale, emaciated, looking sorrowful. A change has come over them, and its effects progress onward for their refor

mation.

NOTE. Having brought my sketch to a conclusion, it may not be improper to state, that such scenes, however revolting their description may be, are nevertheless true, and not one of the eras referred to for the illustration of my subject, are the mere coinage of the brain, but drawn from the actual scenes which I myself have witnessed. Any one of my readers who has made human nature his studywatched the gradual progress of the love of liquor-traced its onward course followed the victim to its power, step by step down the ladder, through each and every degreepeeped into the hovel of misery, the work-house, the madhouse, and the prison cannot but say, alas "such things are!" and precept, example, nay, religion itself, cannot stem the liquid current which sweeps all before it.

There are situations in life, scenes of misery and distress, brought on by dissipation and a moral depravity, with which many of my readers are totally unacquainted. Hence these sketches may seem as romances, instead of what they

really are, sad realities. We on one occasion asserted through the public press in this city, that at the lowest calculation, "three thousand persons arose every morning, without having any fixed place of lying down at night!” A charge so bold, astounding as it did those who never think of the poor, created some excitement. But, fortunately for us, there were those who had made the subject a study; and when the late Mathew Carey endorsed the assertion, there were no longer doubts of the fact. Societies were then formed, having for their object the amelioration of the condition of the poor; but, alas! they did not reach those who most needed aid!

The poor family reduced to the lowest grade of misery and wretchedness, by the vile and frequent use of spirituous liquors, found no favor with those Benevolent Institutions; and the writer of this heard one of their most religious members say, "that they had no claim on the sympathy of the righteous," and actually added, "the sins of the fathers should be visited on their children!" And this was charity!

We at that time pointed out the receptacles of the poor outcasts from society and benevolent sympathy; we gave to our sketches "local habitations and a name," such as they were, which, upon examination, proved to be true. In all large cities, hordes of men, women, and children are found, who are incapacitated for labor, in consequence of the love or the madness for rum. They are to be found all along our wharves, congregating around and about low groggeries; hundreds are sent forth to beg and steal; and thus our streets are crowded with half-clad, half-grown girls and boys, whose very appearance bespeak a perfect knowledge of life in all its worst features. Rag-pickers, stealers of old iron, lead, &c. are also a numerons class; and at night, with their

small and ill-gotten stores, they are seen in the lower part of our city exchanging them for rum, or a night's lodging. Those who are not so fortunate, select out some old outhouse, or barn near the city; others creep into sheds and decayed rooms of deserted houses; others seek the banks of the Schuylkill, and crawl like hogs under trees and bushes! This is not all-alone--away from the noise of the city, in woods and barns, these wretched creatures howl and shout, in their maddened dreams, and awake, trembling with delirium tremens, with just sufficient reason left to guide them to the city, when more rum brightens intellect, to madden it again ere night!And this is life!

As stated in the second part, there are houses where these wretches are received at three cents a head for a night's lodging--they huddle together in a large room covered over with straw men, women, and children indiscriminately together, and all raving and shouting in the incipient stage of insanity! Reader, these things we have seen! And this is life! Who is there can gaze on its rolling stream, carrying on its bosom millions of human souls, struggling, shouting, and howling in their madness for help, without a shudder? No one. Will you stand: or can you stand, and calmly gaze on these wretches, whirled along as they are by fate, without endeavoring to rescue and aid them? No; you cannot. Then let us remember, in our hours of peace and of happiness, how many of our fellow-creatures are not only destitute of the common necessaries of life, but of hope here and hereafter! They are like us mortal, but

probably not like us strong!

Come with us then into the suburbs of our city, let us walk together through the lanes and alleys of Southwark, and portions of the Northern Liberties, let us peep into the dwellings of the poor, and examine into their wants.

Do