children is—the gaol." There, as far as one
can learn, further contamination assists the
fledgling criminal; immense expenses are
incurred; and no good is done. In fact,
Government combines in its instruction the
old "preachee and floggee" system which so
much offended the negro in the pages of the
venerable Joe. Parkhurst may certainly be
well conducted as a prison—as a school,
however, it would seem to have no high
claims. The governor has to complain that
boys of eighteen, hardened in crime, are sent
there—debasing the younger prisoners—
neutralising all the objects of the place. Reform
must always begin inwardly; you reform only
from the heart outwards: confinement,
discipline, whipping, these are mechanical means.
By these you may make a good prisoner, not
a good man. All common education of the
existing gaol sort is a kind of polishing that
makes the black, not lighter—only more
shiny. Some good men in France have tried
certain reformatory penal schools after the
example of one established at Mettrai by
the efforts of M. Demetry. Success has
attended the project, and the example has
been largely followed in France. A still higher
establishment of a kindred nature exists in
Dusseldorf.

We have now given some account of the
present state and prospects of the criminal
and destitute young in this country. And
cordially thanking the good and wise lady,
whose book we have so frequently referred to,
we must add how entirely we agree with her,
that such a cause as this must be approached,
worked in, and carried out in a far higher
spirit than that in which most of what is
called "reform" is undertaken. It is a very
sacred business, this!

Feed my lambs. Are they not perishing?

      THE DEAN OF ST. VITUS.

DR. VAN GUDGEON sate in his study,
involved in profound meditation. The room
was decidedly comfortable. Good, sturdy
mahogany furniture, heavy merino damask
curtains, respectable-looking family and other
ecclesiastical portraits, and an excellent fire,
were sufficient to render the Dean of St. Vitus
(for Dr. Van Gudgeon was no less a personage)
an object of some envy. Nevertheless, Dr.
Van Gudgeon was not comfortable in mind
just at present. The table was strewed with
papers; some letters, in disagreeably businesslike
envelopes, and a copy of the "Times"
newspaper, attracted his uneasy glances from
time to time. Even the unexceptionable
Port wine, of which the worthy Doctor was
not over-sparing, failed to restore perfect
tranquillity to the expression of his
countenance.

Dr. Van Gudgeon was naturally a sociable
man; and generally enjoyed his quiet five
o'clock dinner, and wine afterwards, in the
presence of his family, without imitating the
example of those sternly respectable fathers,
who drive their children from table, in order to
teach them parental reverence in the nursery.
But on this occasion he had withdrawn
immediately after dinner; and, although he
couldn't exactly do without his wine, he
couldn't enjoy it as usual.

The Dean of St. Vitus wasn't a bad man,
by any means. He was somewhat rough
in manner, but had a kind heart. He gave
away plenty of coals, blankets, books, and
prize-medals; wasn't afraid to pat the heads
of little boys who evinced unusual sharpness
in the difficulties of the multiplication-table;
and would pick up a child who had tumbled
down in the street, wipe away its tears
(generally the result of fright, or of a
conventional habit of crying upon all occasions,
known only to the tender age,) and send it
away rejoicing in a penny, to be invested at
the nearest "sweet stuff" shop. Every one
seemed to like the old Dean, and his taste for
gossiping with everyone added to his
popularity. He took an interest in everything
and everybody. Mrs. Gillespie, who supplied
the Dean with snuff, often entertained him
for half an hour on the painfully pathetic
subject of her corns, and never tired out his
patience. Mr. Aconite Bolus, the veterinary
surgeon, always consulted the Dean (who
had once been a slightly, very slightly,
sporting man,) on difficult "cases" regarding
the horses of the neighbours; and not a child
fell sick, died, or saw light, without furnishing
a subject for old Dr. Van Gudgeon's kindly
chit-chat.

If the almost universal good-will of a large
district could have been received as the
exponent of a man's real character, few men
could have stood better than the Dean. But,
there are sins of omission which hang round
the characters of the best of men, and, like
cobwebs in a palace, prove the necessity of a
little dusting and cleansing.

The truth, then, was this:—The Dean of
St. Vitus was one of the most indolent men
that ever enjoyed a rich collection of
pluralities. He lived on, from day to day, without
ever dreaming of a change of employment,
and without ever reflecting whether he was
not morally bound to do many things which
were not, however, compulsory. An immense
Lexicon of the mediæval Latinity absorbed
every moment that was not given to eating,
drinking, gossiping, and the performance of a
few nominal church duties. But of matters
taking place under the very walls of St. Vitus
he knew nothing, and felt it a bore when any
such subjects were mentioned. He took his
ample share of the Cathedral income, as a
matter of course; but as to the least idea of
having any duty to render as an equivalent
for the same, it was utterly out of the
question.

Moreover, the Dean hated anything like
reform or alteration, and negatived every such