On the question of Social Reform our opinions are well known. We shall, as heretofore, maintain the principle of industrial co operation on the land, as the only effectual social remedy for the pauperism and destitution which afflict the country, and shall make it an especial feature to defend that principle S, Williamson Square, Liverpool. Travellers from whatsoever quarter it may be attacked, and to chronicle all facts and proceedings that attest its progress.

For the Italian Refugee Fund.-W. J. B., £5. Mr. Francis, the printer, of Hart Street, Bloomsbury, has printed gratuitously, in two forms, the Address of the Italian Refugee Committee. Such as are issued in the booksellers' parcels this week, our friends in the provinces will please display and distribute.

London:-Printed by A. Holyoake, 3, Queen's Head Passage, Paternoster Row, and Published by J. Watson, 3, Queen's Head Passage, Paternoster Row.

Wednesday, October 10, 1849.

THE REASONER

No. 16.-NEW SERIES.] EDITED BY G. J. HOLYOAKE.

[PRICE 2d.

An author, from whom better things might have been hoped, exalts to the uttermost the fact, if it be so, of this age being free from fear of the faggot, or the torture-chamber. Fear of the social circle, fear of the newspaper, fear of being odd, fear of what may be thought by people who never did think, still greater fear of what somebody may say-are not these things a clinging dress of torture? A mean and cowardly reserve upon the most important questions of human life, is the characteristic of modern times. We live in continual fear of the worst aspects of public opinion.-Taylor.

WORDS SPOKEN AT THE GRAVE OF ARTHUR DYSON, IN ABNEY PARK CEMETERY, OCTOBER 11th, 1849.

RESPECT for the memory of the dead, if not always a proof of civilisation, is always a proof of the capability of it. Respect for the dead is a universal sentiment, which is found, more or less, to pervade all peoples, and to exist in all times. To respect the living is indeed a virtue of refinement; but to respect the dead, who no longer are able to exact it-to protect from indignity those who are no longer able to protect themselves -is a sentiment so delicate, so generous, and so chivalrous, that it is cherished by the most advanced of all nations, and by parties of all opinions and hence, though we depart from the usual ceremonies of the day in burying our dead, we share in that common human regret in which all who feel part from those they love. We share that feeling, deeper than custom and purer than creeds, which inspires thoughtful men to take their last Farewell of the young with tender affection, and of the old with reverential honour.

The boy for whom many a schoolfellow sorrows, and whose parents, in sadness, leave here, is little Arthur Dyson, son of the publisher of Shoreditch. His brief history is typical of the life and education of a London boy belonging to a class of the community who may be taken as illustrative of the character of popular progress in the metropolis.

When Arthur's father and mother were married they preferred the Registrar's Office to the Church-and when their boy was named, the Registrar's desk was substituted for the christening font. When the Birkbeck [Secular] School (under the superintendence of Mr. Runtz) was opened at the London Mechanics' Institution, Southampton Buildings, it afforded Arthur's parents the opportunity they sought and valued -where the reason of their boy would be developed, and his young

*Some of the relatives of the deceased present were of the religious classone gentleman in particular, a Puseyite, of that elevated caste which unites to a deep sense of Christian duty, a profound sentiment of human charity, which accounts for their presence under these circumstances.

[No. 177, Vol. VII.]

thoughts be preserved unclouded by those sad images of faith, which it still pleases so many to consider as piety. Could the generous promoters of these schools know with what gratitude many, who may never have the opportunity of expressing it to them, regard their efforts, they would feel how ardent is the appreciation which they inspire. To this school young Arthur went, and day by day he continued to trudge from Shoreditch to Chancery Lane, without ever evading or seeking a pretext for absence. And his advancement in knowledge was as great as his devotion, which proves at once how pleasant instruction is made, and how ably it is imparted in these schools. For when the Finsbury Birkbeck School (a branch of the parent one), conducted by Mr. Cave, was opened, he attended there (it being nearer his home) with the same cheerfulness and progress, till within a month of his death -which has been occasioned by typhus fever, in his ninth year.*

Arthur was an active, intelligent boy, of nervous temperament, slender build, and delicate constitution. The placidity of his last days, as well as his affectionate disposition, were manifested by a circumstance of singular interest. At the commencement of his illness, before it was considered by those most interested in him to be serious, he distributed all his playthings, pictures, and paints, among his brothers and sisters; and when asked why he did so, he said he did not want them, he had done with them.

His parents, who watched over his last hours with all the solicitude of love, were consoled to find that he suffered little. If death can be said to be quite painless, his was so. Certainly he had not for a moment the fear of death. Both to sense and feeling his end came in the familiar guise of

Death's half-brother-Sleep.

To appreciate the value of intelligent and unsectarian training, turn to the melancholy history of thousands of children whose happiness is sacrificed at the shrine of piety-who are drilled all day in dull catechisms, and whose evenings are closed with duller prayers-who on the seventh day (no day of rest to them) are immured in a Sunday school, where they are taught to hope for what is never realised, and to pray for a deliverance which never comes, instead of being taught those lessons of iron self-dependence and personal energy, by which alone the victory (in such a life as they are destined to lead) can be won. Instead of such teaching they are degraded by a sense of artificial depravity-are instructed to look upon the world as a sublunary trial (as indeed it is made to be)-to regard their friends and relatives as brauds of an eternal burning-to dread pleasure as a temptation, joy as a crime, and to anticipate death with a horrible foreboding.

Instead of contemplating the young spirit thus seared and blighted, how great is our relief in the consciousness of the happier sentiments by

* On calling at the Finsbury Birkbeck School, on my return from Abney Park, I learned that Arthur's schooltellows had found out his last drawing, and placed it in a conspicuous part of the school, where every eye could see it. Had it been known to Mr. Cave early enough that it would have been agreeable to Arthur's friends, the whole school, of some 200 boys, would have followed him to the grave -they were all wishful to do so.

which the filial guardians of Arthur Dyson surrounded his path. Happy the boy to whom generous parents say :

I would not sadden thee,

Nor wash the rose upon thy cheek with tears:
Go while thine eye is bright-unbent thy knee-
Forget all cares and fears!

Be glad! it is thy hour

Of love ungrudging-love without reserve-
And from the right, ill hath not yet the power
To make thy footsteps swerve!

Now is thy time to know

How much of trusting goodness lives on earth,
And rich in pure sincerity to go
Rejoicing in thy birth.

Such aspirations gilded the brief career of Arthur Dyson! And all who loved our little friend, will feel their regret alleviated by the reflection that the destiny of Nature was thus made light by the influence of kindness and intelligence: for there is no memory more grateful to dwell upon than that of a child whose intellect was never warped by superstition, whose spirit was never tamed by fear, but whose natural buoyancy was preserved by the genial powers of truth and affection.

One further observation may not be inappropriate. Looking at human life from the side of the grave, what a waste and folly does all anger and strife appear? All that can give us pleasure is the remembrance of such happiness as the dead may have experienced, and of such kindness as we may have shown them. It is this recollection which diminishes the bitterness of this parting. And with this consolation we may carry from this spot this instruction-That the quiet and fearless death of an unsophisticated child-such as was he of whom we now take our last Farewell-teaches that whatever creeds may do, Nature connects no dread with dissolution; and that nothing gives that courage, that true courage, which wise men envy and rarely attain to-which makes no pretensions, and yet which never falters-nothing gives it like innocence. After these words Mr. Dyson offered the following brief and appropriate REFLECTIONS OF A FATHER ON THE DEATH OF HIS SON.

PHILOSOPHY is unable to suppress the regret that takes possession of a parent's heart on occasion of the death of offspring. It may modify grief, it does save it from lapsing into despondency-it may point to the inevitable nature of the past, and the weakness of desiring to recall it; but it cannot altogether prevent the unavailing regret, the pain of disappointed hope, nor dissipate that undefinable feeling of a want such as I never before experienced. In truth, it is not the province of philosophy to triumph over humanity, but to guide and assist it. It tells us the surest method of escape from useless repining is to engage in the active business of life; and, while it does not require forgetfulness of the dead, enjoins that no morbid indulgence of sorrow for their loss shall be allowed to impede the performance of our duties to the living.