near you. The driver of the express train may be a man of large
sympathies, of cheerful heart, of tolerant views; the man in charge
of the engine of a coal-pit or factory, even of a steam-ship, is
apt to acquire contracted ways of thinking, and to become somewhat
cynical and gloomy in his ideas as to the possible amelioration of
society. It cannot be a pleasing employment, one would think, on a
day like this, to sit and watch a great engine fire, and mend it
when needful. That occupation would not be healthful, either to
mind or body. I dare say you remember the striking and beautiful
description in Mr. Dickens's Old Curiosity Shop, of a man who
had watched and fed a furnace-fire for years, till he had come to
think of it as a living being. The fire was older than he was; it
had never gone out since before he was horn. I can imagine, perfectly
well, what kind of effect such a mode of life would have had on
myself. And very few readers are likely to have within themselves
an intellectual and moral fibre of bent and nature so determined,
that they are not what they are, mainly through the influence of
the external circumstances which have been acting upon them all
through life. Did you ever think to yourself that you would like
to make trial for a few days' space, of certain modes of life very
different from your own, and very different from each other? I have
done so many a time. And a lazy summer afternoon here in the green
shade is the time to try and picture out such. Think of being to-day
in a stifling counting-house in the hot bustling town. I have been
especially interested in a glazed closet which I have seen in a
certain immensely large and very crowded shop in a certain beautiful
city. It is a sort of little office partitioned off from the shop
it has a sloping table, with three or four huge books bound in
parchment. There is a ceaseless bustle, crush, and hum of talking
outside; and inside there are clerks Bitting writing, and receiving