Their master being asleep in a public house, in a village in Derbyshire, his two apprentices, who had been sweeping in the neighbourhood, were left with a company of fellows who were drinking together, and became the butts of their brutal conversation. Among other things, it was wantonly proposed to the younger apprentice to go up the chimney of the room in which they were sitting, while there was a fire in the range. He refused; but the elder, tempted by a promise of sixpence, ventured, and was helped up into the flue. Before he reached the top, however, the soot fell down in such quantities upon the fire below, that the chimney was soon in a blaze, and the poor boy struggled to the bottom through the flames, and was dragged out by the legs before he came direct upon the live coals in the grate. He was so miserably scorched, that he died, after lingering three weeks in excruciating torture."

I need not further pursue the history of parliamentary proceedings on this subject, in which my friends and I bore our part from time to time, till, during the last Session, an Act for the total discontinuance of the evil practice passed both Houses, almost without a murmur of opposition, under the direct sanction of Her Majesty's Government.

Among other intervening means for eventually bringing to pass this great purpose, Mr. Roberts projected the publication of a volume, to be entitled "The Chimney Sweepers' Friend, and Climbing Boys' Album," of which he persuaded me to undertake the editorship. The first part of the work, when completed, contained, in various forms, a summary of such information on the general question as we had been enabled to collect, during seventeen years, from the commencement of our labours and inquiries. The second part consisted of essays and tales, in prose and verse, illustrative of the unpitied and unalleviated sufferings of children, under this unnatural bondage, through more than a century since its introduction. These were chiefly furnished, at my solicitation, by living authors of distinction. The volume was dedicated, by permission, to His Majesty, George IV., and being soon out of print, a new edition was issued at York, by a benevolent bookseller, and sold extensively through the northern provinces.

The following small pieces were my quota of contributions to this work. October 22, 1810.

PROLOGUE.-A WORD WITH MYSELF.

I KNOW they scorn the Climbing Boy,
The gay, the selfish, and the proud;
I know his villanous employ

Is mockery with the thoughtless crowd.

So be it ;-brand with every name
Of burning infamy his art,

But let his country bear the shame,

And feel the iron at her heart.

I cannot coldly pass him by,

Stript, wounded, left by thieves half dead;

Nor see an infant Lazarus lie

At rich men's gates, imploring bread.

A frame as sensitive as mine,

Limbs moulded in a kindred form,
A soul degraded yet divine,
Endear to me my brother-worm.
He was my equal at his birth,

A naked, helpless, weeping child; -And such are born to thrones on earth, - On such hath every mother smiled.

My equal he will be again,

Down in that cold, oblivious gloom,
Where all the prostrate ranks of men
Crowd, without fellowship, the tomb.
My equal in the judgment day,

He shall stand up before the throne,
When every veil is rent away,

And good and evil only known.

And is he not mine equal now?

Am I less fall'n from God and truth, Though "Wretch" be written on his brow, And leprosy consume his youth?

If holy nature yet have laws

Binding on man, of woman born,
In her own court I'll plead his cause,
Arrest the doom, or share the scorn.

Yes, let the scorn that haunts his course
Turn on me like a trodden snake,
And hiss and sting without remorse,

If I the fatherless forsake.

Sheffield, Feb. 28, 1824.

NO. I. THE COMPLAINT.

WHO loves the Climbing Boy? Who cares

If well or ill I be?

Is there a living soul that shares
A thought or wish with me?
I've had no parents since my birth,
Brothers and sisters none;
Ah! what to me is all this earth
Where I am only one?

I wake and see the morning shine,
And all around me gay;

But nothing I behold is mine,
No, not the light of day ;—
No, not the very breath I draw;
These limbs are not my own;
A master calls me his by law,
My griefs are mine alone :

Ah! these they could not make him feel—
Would they themselves had felt!
Who bound me to that man of steel
Whom mercy cannot melt.

Yet not for wealth or ease I sigh,
All are not rich or great;

Many may be as poor as I,
But none so desolate.

For all I know have kin and kind,

Some home, some hope, some joy;
But these I must not look to find,-
Who knows the Climbing Boy?
The world has not a place of rest
For outcast so forlorn;
"Twas all bespoken, all possest,
Long before I was born.

Affection, too, life's sweetest cup,
Goes round from hand to hand,

But I am never ask'd to sup,

Out of the ring I stand.

If kindness beats within my heart,
What heart will beat again?
I coax the dogs, they snarl and start;
Brutes are as bad as men.

The beggar's child may rise above
The misery of his lot;

The gipsy may be loved, and love;
But I-but I must not.

Hard fare, cold lodgings, cruel toil,

Youth, health, and strength consume: What tree could thrive in such a soil? What flower so scathed could bloom?

Should I outgrow this crippling work,
How shall my bread be sought?

Must I to other lads turn Turk,

And teach what I am taught?

Oh, might I roam with flocks and herds
In fellowship along!

Oh, were I one among the birds,
All wing, and life, and song!

Free with the fishes might I dwell
Down in the quiet sea!

The snail in his cob-castle shell-
The snail's a king to me!

For out he glides in April showers,
Lies snug when storms prevail;

He feeds on fruit, he sleeps on flowers-
I wish I was a snail!

No, never; do the worst they can

I may be happy still;

For I was born to be a man,

And if I live I will.

NO. II. THE DREAM.

I DREAMT; but what care I for dreams?

And yet I tremble too;

It look'd so like the truth, it seems
As if it would come true.

I dreamt that, long ere peep of day,
I left my cold straw bed,
And o'er a common far away,
As if I flew, I fled.

The tempest hurried me behind
Like a mill-stream along;

I could have lean'd against the wind,
It was so deadly strong.

The snow-I never saw such snow-
Raged like the sea all round,
Tossing and tumbling to and fro;
I thought I must be drown'd.

Now up, now down, with main and might
I plunged through drift and stour;
Nothing, no, nothing baulk'd my flight,
I had a giant's power.

Till suddenly the storm stood still,
Flat lay the snow beneath;

I curdled to an icicle,

I could not stir-not breathe.

My master found me rooted there;

He flogg'd me back to sense,
Then pluck'd me up, and by the hair,
Sheer over ditch and fence,-

He dragg'd, and dragg'd, and dragg'd me on,

At a grand house he stopp'd anon;

It was a famous pile.