awakened to a sense of these fallacies, and thus become reformed, were it not for the rigour of persecution, which renders them reckless of all that may ensue, and callous to the honourable distinctions of man. This of a truth, is tampering with human weakness, and is too often known to prove the upshot of industry, by sacrificing principle to vindictive passion. That a system of debt is identified with the existence and framework of all commercial republics, is well known; else, genius would cease to be fostered, enterprise would be cramped, and industry wither on her own soil. Nevertheless, the system may be so extended, as to beget indifference for the future and neglect of our present concerns, which leads to gradual ruin. Time "travels at divers paces," but with none more quickly than the unprepared debtor; and he who allows his debts to get the start of his fortune, lives upon other men's estates, and must accordingly become the slave of their passions and prejudices: in truth, he may be thus said to be parting with his existence by piece-meal. Hence, he becomes a kind of _convict_ in society--his debts resembling a log of wood chained to his body, and a brand-mark on his conscience. Thus pent up with fear and disquietude, his imprisonment is twofold, and being an enemy to his own peace, he is apt to imagine all men to be leagued against him. If his debts are those of youth, his old age will probably resemble the sequel to revelry, when appetite is fled to make way for disgust and spleen: and he dies--in debt. Mark the lamentable scenes that follow, when the pride of inheritance sinks before the unsparing hand of the usurer, or extortionate mortgagee. * * * * * SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS. * * * * * SIR LUMLEY SKEFFINGTON. Sir Lumley St. George Skeffington was the dandy of the olden time, and a kinder, better-hearted man, never existed. He is a person of some taste in literature, and of polished manners, nor has his long intercourse with fashionable society at all affected that simplicity of character for which he has been remarkable. He was a true dandy: and much more than, that, he was a perfect gentleman. I remember, long long since, entering Covent Garden Theatre, when I observed a person holding the door to let me pass; deeming him to be one of the box-keepers, I was about to nod my thanks: when I found, to my surprise, that it was Skeffington, who had thus goodnaturedly honoured a stranger by his attention. We with some difficulty obtained seats in a box, and I was indebted to accident for one of the most agreeable evenings I remember to have passed.