It was pleasant to be once more dashing
through blue water, and doubly cheering, after
such a long sojourn amidst fog and soaking rains,
to look again upon a clear sky, flecked here and
there with fleecy clouds scudding athwart
its face, chased by a rattling breeze. The
schooner, as though conscious she was homeward-
bound, lay over to the breeze, and ploughed
through the waves that bounded beneath her as
a "steed that knoweth its rider." All hands
were joyous in the anticipation of home, and a
welcome greeting from loving hearts anxiously
awaiting them; happy, also, in the contemplation
of the goodly profit each would receive
on the division of the cargo.

Perhaps happier than any was he who records
this cruise. Unless possessed of a nose, proof
against highly concentrated stench; a skin that
can dispense with the necessity of washing; teeth
like a beaver, to chew hard tack and junk; the
constitution of a seal, to bear everlasting wetting;
ability to roost as a bird rather than sleep like
a Christian; a stomach capable of digesting
anything; the temper of an angel, and the flexibility
of an acrobat, take my advice, and venture not
on a cruise in a banker.

POVERTY.

M. BOUCHARDAT—a French savant, whose
name and merits have already been introduced
to our readers*—after starting with the intention
of giving lectures on "The Hygiène of
Labouring Men," has ended by pronouncing
and publishing a discourse "De la Misère"—
On Poverty. It was impossible to avoid
studying the influences which—quite independent
of the nature of their work—affect those
who live on the produce of their daily toil.
The insufficiency, the irregularity, and the
injudicious employment of their resources, are the
common conditions, the sole general cause, of
the innumerable evils which strike our eyes.
He was met, in short, at the outset of the
subject, by the grand question of Poverty.
* At p. 127 of the present volume. Art.: Milk.

Who is poor? And, What is Poverty?

For some people, a town-house and a country-
house; a saddle-horse and a close carriage; a
tailor's or a milliner's bill with no fixed maximum
beyond which it cannot go; an annual trip
to the sea, to the moors, to the "waters," to
the Alps, or to all of them; hot joints every
day, and never cold mutton—unless you like it
best; week-day clothes and Sunday clothes;
and other multifarious items of enjoyment which
custom has made a second nature, are matters
of indispensable necessity. Those, however, are
not the wants we discuss to-day, but the urgent,
inexorable, imperative wants which will not be
denied without injury to health and danger to
life.

But what are real wants? They vary in some
degree with physical circumstances. They are
reduced to a minimum in a climate which
requires little clothing, no artificial warming, a
shed for retirement rather than a habitation for
shelter, and a sufficiency of simple and easily
prepared food. We behold those conditions
fulfilled throughout vast tracts of India. Real
wants are also reduced to a low amount when a
people, through habit, taste, or indolence,
content themselves with one staple article of food
which happens to be conveniently at hand; as
"laitage," the produce of the dairy, for the
Swiss, and potatoes and buttermilk for the Irish
million.

At first sight, it seems a happiness for a
people to be so simple in their requirements—
to be so "independent" of superfluities. But,
in truth, they are dependent in the worst of
ways. They have no resources to fall back upon.
Their life hangs on a single thread. If that one
filament snap, they are completely lost. A
hurricane will render thousands houseless; a
failure of the rice crop will deprive multitudes
of all sustenance. A murrain amongst cattle, a
fire destroying a wood-built town and the cows
it shelters, a mysterious outbreak of potato
disease, will bring both independent Swiss and
brave-hearted Irish to utter starvation, which
can only be staved off, probably only palliated,
by the charitable and self-denying efforts of
strangers. Populations whose real wants are more
varied and numerous, have a better chance of
weathering the storm in time of need and adversity.
Man may want but little here below; still,
it is indispensable that he should have something.
The grand difference between something and
nothing, makes to him all the difference between
existence and extermination.

In the north of Europe, real wants may be
assumed to consist in having good and abundant
food; warm and clean clothing; airy, light, dry,
and weather-tight dwellings; firing for cooking
all the year round, for warmth during inclement
weather; and exercise of the bodily and mental
powers, in regular, sufficient, but not excessive
measure. Thus, we say that a working man is
"well off"—and that it would be a good thing
if everybody were equally well off—when his
wages allow to him and his family plentiful and
wholesome meals, neat and comfortable dress, a
commodious cottage, and a cheerful fireside, all
earned by steady employment of a healthy and
interesting nature. Such may be masons,
carpenters, working gardeners, and many other
handicraftsmen. With this, the labourer has
enough; and no one will affirm that he has too
much. With less than this, he has not enough,
especially if his earnings be precarious.

Firing needs no explanation of its usefulness.

For the fair sex, the principal end of dress is
often the adornment of beauty; which is a good
end, if judiciously carried out. But for men,
clothes answer the simpler and more practical
purpose of helping them to encounter a chilly
temperature, without suffering pain or injury.
Some rules and articles of ladies' dress seem
intended to expose them to such injury as much
as may be. Crinoline is a capital contrivance
for keeping the lower limbs benumbed in winter;