for the common sense of our readers to
be troubled with, induce us to recommend
one other 'great experiment' which has
never yet been tried. It has the advantage
of being a preventive as well as a cure—it
is—compared with all the penal systems
now in practice—immeasurably safer, more
humane, and incalculably cheaper. The
'great experiment' we propose, is NATIONAL
EDUCATION.

THE ORPHAN'S VOYAGE HOME.

THE men could hardly keep the deck,
So bitter was the night;
Keen north-east winds sang thro' the shrouds,
The deck was frosty white;
While overhead the glistening stars
Put forth their points of light.

On deck, behind a bale of goods,
Two orphans crouch'd, to sleep;
But 'twas so cold, the youngest boy
In vain tried not to weep:
They were so poor, they had no right
Near cabin doors to creep.

The elder round the younger wrapt
His little ragged cloak,
To shield him from the freezing sleet,
And surf that o'er them broke;
Then drew him closer to his side,
And softly to him spoke:—

"The night will not be long "—he said,
"And if the cold winds blow,
We shall the sooner reach our home,
And see the peat-fire glow;
But now the stars are beautiful—
Oh, do not tremble so!

"Come closer!—sleep—forget the frost—
Think of the morning red—
Our father and our mother soon
Will take us to their bed;
And in their warm arms we shall sleep."
He knew not they were dead.

For them no father to the ship
Shall with the morning come;
For them no mother's loving arms
Are spread to take them home:
Meanwhile the cabin passengers
In dreams of pleasure roam.

At length the orphans sank to sleep
All on the freezing deck;
Close huddled side to side—each arm
Clasp'd round the other's neck.
With heads bent down, they dream'd the earth
Was fading to a speck.

The steerage passengers have all
Been taken down below,
And round the stove they warm their limbs
Into a drowsy glow;
And soon within their berths forget
The icy wind and snow.

Now morning dawns: the land in sight,
Smiles beam on every face!
The pale and qualmy passengers
Begin the deck to pace,
Seeking along the sun-lit cliffs
Some well-known spot to trace.

Only the orphans do not stir,
Of all this bustling train:
They reach'd their home this starry night!
They will not stir again!
The winter's breath proved kind to them.
And ended all their pain.

But in their deep and freezing sleep
Clasp'd rigid to each other,
In dreams they cried, "The bright morn breaks,
Home! home! is here, my brother!
The Angel Death has been our friend—
We come! dear Father! Mother!"

ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHEAPNESS.

TEA.

THE history of tea, from its first introduction
to England, may be read in the history of
taxation. It appears to have escaped the
notice of nearly all writers on tea, that the
first tax is a curious illustration of the original
mode of its sale. By the act of the
22d and 23d Charles II., 1670-1, a duty of
eighteenpence was imposed upon ' every gallon
of chocolate, sherbet, and tea, made and sold,
to be paid by the makers thereof.' It is
manifest that such a tax was impossible to be
collected without constant evasion; and so,
after having remained on the Statute Book for
seventeen years, it was discovered, in 1688,
that 'the collecting of the duty by way of
Excise upon the liquors of coffee, chocolate,
and tea, is not only very troublesome and unequal
upon the retailers of these liquors, but
requireth such attendance of officers as makes
the neat receipt very inconsiderable.' The
excise upon the liquor was therefore repealed,
and heavy Customs' duties imposed on the
imported tea.

The annals of tea may be divided into
epochs. The first is that in which the liquid
only was taxed, which tax commenced about
ten years after we have any distinct record of
the public or private use of tea. In 1660, dear
old Pepys writes, 'I did send for a cup of tea
(a China drink) of which I never had drank
before.' In 1667, the herb had found its way
into his own house: 'Home, and there find
my wife making of tea; a drink which Mr.
Pelling, the Potticary, tells her is good for
her cold and defluxions.'

Mrs. Pepys making her first cup of tea is a
subject to be painted. How carefully she
metes out the grains of the precious drug,
which Mr. Pelling, the Potticary, has sold her
at a most enormous price—a crown an ounce
at the very least. She has tasted the liquor
once before; but then there was sugar in the
infusion—a beverage only for the highest. If
tea should become fashionable, it will cost in
housekeeping as much as their claret. However,
Pepys says, the price is coming down;
and he produces the handbill of Thomas
Garway, in Exchange Alley, which the lady
peruses with great satisfaction; for the worthy
merchant says, that although 'tea in England
hath been sold in the leaf for six pounds, and
sometimes for ten pounds the pound weight,'