Bentley's Miscellany, Volume I (part 3 of 10)

Bentley's Miscellany, Volume I (part 3 of 10)

the party had determined to explore. The master had already commenced dressing, and the man was fitting straps upon a light pair of crane-necked spurs, when his hand was arrested by the old question,--"Barney, where are the breeches?"

* * * * *

Mr. Seaforth descended that morning, whip in hand, and equipped in a handsome green riding-frock, but no "breeches and boots to match" were there: loose jean trousers, surmounting a pair of diminutive Wellingtons, embraced, somewhat incongruously, his nether man, vice the "patent cords," returned, like yesterday's pantaloons, absent without leave. The "top-boots" had a holiday.

"A fine morning after the rain," said Mr. Simpkinson from Bath.

"Just the thing for the 'ops," said Mr. Peters. "I remember when I was a boy----"

"Do hold your tongue, P.," said Mrs. Peters,--advice which that exemplary matron was in the constant habit of administering to "her P.," as she called him, whenever he prepared to vent his reminiscences. Her precise reason for this it would be difficult to determine, unless, indeed, the story be true which a little bird had whispered into Mrs. Botherby's ear,--Mr. Peters, though now a wealthy man, had received a liberal education at a charity-school, and was apt to recur to the days of his muffin-cap and leathers. As usual, he took his wife's hint in good part, and "paused in his reply."

"A glorious day for the Ruins!" said young Ingoldsby. "But, Charles, what the deuce are you about?--you don't mean to ride through our lanes in such toggery as that?"

"Lassy me!" said Miss Julia Simpkinson, "won't you be very wet?"

"You had better take Tom's cab," quoth the squire.

But this proposition was at once overruled; Mrs. Ogleton had already nailed the cab, a vehicle of all others the best adapted for a snug flirtation.

"Or drive Miss Julia in the phaeton?" No; that was the post of Mr. Peters, who, indifferent as an equestrian, had acquired some fame as a whip while travelling through the midland counties for the firm of Bagshaw, Snivelby, and Ghrimes.

"Thank you, I shall ride with my cousins," said Charles with as much nonchalance as he could assume,--and he did so; Mr. Ingoldsby, Mrs. Peters, Mr. Simpkinson from Bath, and his eldest daughter with her album, following in the family coach. The gentleman-commoner "voted the affair d--d slow," and declined the party altogether in favour of the gamekeeper and a cigar. "There was 'no fun' in looking at old houses!" Mrs. Simpkinson preferred a short séjour in the still-room with Mrs. Botherby, who had promised to initiate her in that grand arcanum, the transmutation of gooseberry jam into Guava jelly.

* * * * *

"Did you ever see an old abbey before, Mr. Peters?"

"Yes, miss, a French one; we have got one at Ramsgate; he teaches the Miss Joneses to parleyvoo, and is turned of sixty."

Miss Simpkinson closed her album with an air of ineffable disdain.

Mr. Simpkinson from Bath was a professed antiquary, and one of the first water; he was master of Gwillim's Heraldry, and Milles's History of the Crusades; knew every plate in the Monasticon, had written an essay on the origin and dignity of the office of Overseer, and settled the date of a Queen Anne's farthing. An influential member of the Antiquarian Society, to whose "Beauties of Bagnigge Wells" he had been a liberal subscriber, procured him a seat at the board of that learned body, since which happy epoch Sylvanus Urban had not a more indefatigable correspondent. His inaugural essay on the President's cocked hat was considered a miracle of erudition; and his account of the earliest application of gilding to gingerbread, a masterpiece of antiquarian research. His eldest daughter was of a kindred spirit: if her father's mantle had not fallen upon her, it was only because he had not thrown it off himself; she had caught hold of its tail, however, while yet upon his honoured shoulders. To souls so congenial what a sight was the magnificent ruin of Bolsover! its broken arches, its mouldering pinnacles, and the airy tracery of its half-demolished windows. The party was in raptures; Mr. Simpkinson began to meditate an essay, and his daughter an ode: even Seaforth, as he gazed on these lonely relics of the olden time, was betrayed into a momentary forgetfulness of his love and losses; the widow's eye-glass turned from her cicisbeo's whiskers to the mantling ivy; Mrs. Peters wiped her spectacles; and "her P." pronounced the central tower to be "very like a mouldy Stilton cheese,--only bigger." The squire was a philosopher, and had been there often before; so he ordered out the cold tongue and chickens.

"Bolsover Priory," said Mr. Simpkinson with the air of a connoisseur,--"Bolsover Priory was founded in the reign of Henry the Sixth, about the beginning of the eleventh century. Hugh de Bolsover had accompanied that monarch to the Holy Land in the expedition undertaken by way of penance for the murder of his young nephews in the Tower. Upon the dissolution of the monasteries the veteran was enfeoffed in the lands and manor, to which he gave his own name of Bowlsover, or Bee-owls-over, (by corruption Bolsover,)--a Bee in chief, over three Owls, all proper, being the armorial ensigns borne by this distinguished crusader at the siege of Acre."

"Ah! that was Sir Sidney Smith," said Mr. Peters; "I've heard of him, and all about Mrs. Partington, and----"

"P. be quiet, and don't expose yourself!" sharply interrupted his lady. P. was silenced, and betook himself to the bottled stout.

"These lands," continued the antiquary, "were held in grand serjeantry by the presentation of three white owls and a pot of honey----"

"Lassy me! how nice!" said Miss Julia. Mr. Peters licked his lips.

"Pray give me leave, my dear----owls and honey, whenever the king should come a rat-catching into this part of the country."

"Rat-catching!" ejaculated the squire, pausing abruptly in the mastication of a drumstick.

"To be sure, my dear sir: don't you remember that rats once came under the forest laws--a minor species of venison? 'Rats and mice, and such small deer,' eh?--Shakspeare, you know. Our ancestors ate rats;" ("The nasty fellows!" shuddered Miss Julia in a parenthesis) "and owls, you know, are capital mousers----"

"I've seen a howl," said Mr. Peters; "there's one in the Sohological Gardens,--a little hook-nosed chap in a wig,--only it's feathers and----"

Poor P. was destined never to finish a speech.

"Do be quiet!" cried the authoritative voice, and the would-be naturalist shrank into his shell like a snail in the "Sohological Gardens."

"You should read Blount's 'Jocular Tenures,' Mr. Ingoldsby," pursued Simpkinson. "A learned man was Blount! Why, sir, his Royal Highness the Duke of York once paid a silver horse-shoe to Lord Ferrers----"

"I've heard of him," broke in the incorrigible Peters; "he was hanged at the Old Bailey in a silk rope for shooting Doctor Johnson."

The antiquary vouchsafed no notice of the interruption; but, taking a pinch of snuff, continued his harangue.

"A silver horse-shoe, sir, which is due from every scion of royalty who rides across one of his manors; and if you look into the penny county histories, now publishing by an eminent friend of mine, you will find that Langhale in Co. Norf. was held by one Baldwin per saltum sufflatum, et pettum; that is, he was to come every Christmas into Westminster Hall, there to take a leap, cry hem! and----"

"Mr. Simpkinson, a glass of sherry?" cried Tom Ingoldsby hastily.

"Not any, thank you, sir. This Baldwin, surnamed Le ----"

"Mrs. Ogleton challenges you, sir; she insists upon it," said Tom still more rapidly; at the same time filling a glass, and forcing it on the sçavant, who, thus arrested in the very crisis of his narrative, received and swallowed the potation as if it had been physic.

"What on earth has Miss Simpkinson discovered there?" continued Tom; "something of interest. See how fast she is writing."

The diversion was effectual; every one looked towards Miss Simpkinson, who, far too ethereal for "creature comforts," was seated apart on the dilapidated remains of an altar-tomb, committing eagerly to paper something that had strongly impressed her: the air,--the eye in a fine frenzy rolling,--all betokened that the divine afflatus was come. Her father rose, and stole silently towards her.

"What an old boar!" muttered young Ingoldsby; alluding, perhaps, to a slice of brawn which he had just begun to operate upon, but which, from the celerity with which it disappeared, did not seem so very difficult of mastication.

But what had become of Seaforth and his fair Caroline all this while? Why, it so happened that they had been simultaneously stricken with the picturesque appearance of one of those high and pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, Mr. Horseley Curties, describes as "a Gothic window of the Saxon order;"--and then the ivy clustered so thickly and so beautifully on the other side, that they went round to look at that;--and then their proximity deprived it of half its effect, and so they walked across to a little knoll, a hundred yards off, and, in crossing a small ravine, they came to what in Ireland they call "a bad step," and Charles had to carry his cousin over it;--and then, when they had to come back, she would not give him the trouble again for the world, so they followed a better but more circuitous route, and there were hedges and ditches in the way, and stiles to get over, and gates to get through; so that an hour or more had elapsed before they were able to rejoin the party.

"Lassy me!" said Miss Julia Simpkinson, "how long you have been gone!"

And so they had. The remark was a very just as well as a very natural one. They were gone a long while, and a nice cosey chat they had; and what do you think it was all about, my dear miss?

"Oh, lassy me! love, no doubt, and the moon, and eyes, and nightingales, and----"

Stay; stay, my sweet young lady; do not let the fervour of your feelings run away with you! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was--Lieutenant Seaforth's breeches.

"Caroline," said Charles, "I have had some very odd dreams since have been at Tappington."

"Dreams, have you?" smiled the young lady, arching her taper neck like a swan in pluming. "Dreams, have you?"

"Ay, dreams,--or dream, perhaps, I should say; for, though repeated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its subject?"

"It is impossible for me to divine," said the tongue; "I have not the least difficulty in guessing," said the eye, as plainly as ever eye spoke.

"I dreamt of--your great grandfather!"

There was a change in the glance--"My great grandfather?"

"Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told me about the other day: he walked into my bedroom in his short cloak of murrey-coloured velvet, his long rapier, and his Ralegh-looking hat and feather, just as this picture represents him; but with one exception."

"And what was that?"

"Why, his lower extremities, which were visible, were--those of a skeleton."

"Well!"

"Well, after taking a turn or two about the room, and looking round him with a wistful air, he came to the bed's foot, stared at me in a manner impossible to describe,--and then he--he laid hold of my pantaloons, whipped his long bony legs into them in a twinkling, and, strutting up to the glass, seemed to view himself in it with great complacency. I tried to speak, but in vain. The effort, however, seemed to excite his attention; for, wheeling about, he showed me the grimmest-looking death's head you can well imagine, and with an indescribable grin strutted out of the room."

"Absurd, Charles! How can you talk such nonsense?"

"But, Caroline,--the breeches are really gone!"

* * * * *

On the following morning, contrary to his usual custom, Seaforth was the first person in the breakfast-parlour. As no one else was present, he did precisely what nine young men out of ten so situated would have done; he walked up to the mantelpiece, established himself upon the rug, and subducting his coat-tails one under each arm, turned towards the fire that portion of the human frame which it is considered equally indecorous to present to a friend or an enemy. A serious, not to say anxious, expression was visible upon his good-humoured countenance, and his mouth was fast buttoning itself up for an incipient whistle, when little Flo, a tiny spaniel of the Blenheim breed,--the pet object of Miss Julia Simpkinson's affections,--bounced out from beneath a sofa, and began to bark at--his pantaloons.

They were cleverly "built," of a light grey mixture, a broad stripe of the most vivid scarlet traversing each seam in a perpendicular direction from hip to ancle,--in short, the regimental costume of the Royal Bombay Fencibles. The animal, educated in the country, had never seen such a pair of breeches in her life--Omne ignotum pro magnifico! The scarlet streak, inflamed as it was by the reflection of the fire, seemed to act on Flora's nerves as the same colour does on those of bulls and turkeys, she advanced at the pas de charge; and her vociferation, like her amazement, was unbounded. A sound kick from the disgusted officer changed its character, and induced a retreat at the very moment when the mistress of the pugnacious quadruped entered to the rescue.

"Lassy me! Flo! what is the matter?" cried the sympathising lady, with a scrutinizing glance levelled at the gentleman.

It might as well have lighted on a feather-bed.--His air of imperturbable unconsciousness defied examination; and as he would not, and Flora could not, expound, that injured individual was compelled to pocket up her wrongs. Others of the household soon dropped in, and clustered round the board dedicated to the most sociable of meals; the urn was paraded "hissing hot," and the cups which "cheer, but not inebriate," steamed redolent of hyson and pekoe; muffins and marmalade, newspapers and Finnon haddies, left little room for observation on the character of Charles's warlike "turn-out." At length a look from Caroline, followed by a smile that nearly ripened to a titter, caused him to turn abruptly and address his neighbour. It was Miss Simpkinson, who, deeply engaged in sipping her tea and turning over her album, seemed, like a female Chrononotonthologos, "immersed in congibundity of cogitation." An interrogatory on the subject of her studies drew from her the confession that she was at that moment employed in putting the finishing touches to a poem inspired by the romantic shades of Bolsover. The entreaties of the company were of course urgent. Mr. Peters, who "liked verses," was especially persevering, and Sappho at length compliant. After a preparatory hem! and a glance at the mirror to ascertain that her look was sufficiently sentimental, the poetess began:--

"There is a calm, a holy feeling, Vulgar minds can never know, O'er the bosom softly stealing,-- Chasten'd grief, delicious woe! Oh! how sweet at eve regaining Yon lone tower's sequester'd shade-- Sadly mute and uncomplaining----"

--Yow!--yeough!--yeough!--yow!--yow! yelled a hapless sufferer from beneath the table.--It was an unlucky hour for quadrupeds; and if "every dog will have his day," he could not have selected a more unpropitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, too, had a pet,--a favourite pug,--whose squab figure, black muzzle, and tortuosity of tail, that curled like a head of celery in a salad-bowl, bespoke his Dutch extraction. Yow! yow! yow! continued the brute,--a chorus in which Flo instantly joined. Sooth to say, pug had more reason to express his dissatisfaction than was given him by the muse of Simpkinson; the other only barked for company. Scarcely had the poetess got through her first stanza, when Tom Ingoldsby, in the enthusiasm of the moment, became so lost to the material world, that, in his abstraction, he unwarily laid his hand on the cock of the urn. Quivering with emotion, he gave it such an unlucky twist, that the full stream of its scalding contents descended on the gingerbread hide of the unlucky Cupid. The confusion was complete; the whole economy of the table disarranged; the company broke up in most admired disorder; and "vulgar minds will never know" anything more of Miss Simpkinson's ode till they peruse it in some forthcoming annual.

Seaforth profited by the confusion to take the delinquent who had caused this "stramash" by the arm, and to lead him to the lawn, where he had a word or two for his private ear. The conference between the young gentlemen was neither brief in its duration, nor unimportant in its result. The subject was what the lawyers call tripartite, embracing the information that Charles Seaforth was over head and ears in love with Tom Ingoldsby's sister; secondly, that the lady had referred him to "papa" for his sanction; thirdly and lastly, his nightly visitations and consequent bereavement. At the two first items Tom smiled auspiciously; at the last he burst out into an absolute "guffaw."

"Steal your breeches? Miss Bailey over again, by Jove!" shouted Ingoldsby. "But a gentleman, you say, and Sir Giles too--I am not sure, Charles, whether I ought not to call you out for aspersing the honour of the family!"

"Laugh as you will, Tom,--be as incredulous as you please. One fact is incontestible,--the breeches are gone! Look here--I am reduced to my regimentals; and if these go, to-morrow I must borrow of you!"

Rochefoucault says, there in something in the misfortunes of our very best friends that does not displease us; certainly we can, most of us, laugh at their petty inconveniences, till called upon to supply them. Tom composed his features on the instant, and replied with more gravity, as well as with an expression, which, if my Lord Mayor had been within hearing, might have cost him five shillings.

"There is something very queer in this, after all. The clothes, you say, have positively disappeared. Somebody is playing you a trick, and, ten to one, your servant has a hand in it. By the way, I heard something yesterday of his kicking up a bobbery in the kitchen, and seeing a ghost, or something of that kind, himself. Depend upon it, Barney is in the plot!"

It struck the lieutenant at once that the usually buoyant spirits of his attendant had of late been materially sobered down, his loquacity obviously circumscribed, and that he, the said lieutenant, had actually rung his bell three several times that very morning before he could procure his attendance. Mr. Maguire was forthwith summoned, and underwent a close examination. The "bobbery" was easily explained. Mr. Oliver Dobbs had hinted his disapprobation of a flirtation carrying on between the gentleman from Munster and the lady from the Rue St. Honoré. Mademoiselle boxed Mr. Maguire's ears, and Mr. Maguire pulled Mademoiselle upon his knee, and the lady did not cry Mon Dieu! And Mr. Oliver Dobbs said it was very wrong; and Mrs. Botherby said it was scandalous, and what ought not to be done in any moral kitchen; and Mr. Maguire had got hold of the Honourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin's powder-flask, and had put large pinches of the best double Dartford into Mr. Dobbs' tobacco-box; and Mr. Dobbs' pipe had exploded and set fire to Mrs. Botherby's Sunday cap, and Mr. Maguire had put it out with the slop-basin, "barring the wig;" and then they were all so "cantankerous," that Barney had gone to take a walk in the garden; and then--then Mr. Barney had seen a ghost!

"A what? you blockhead!" asked Tom Ingoldsby.

"Sure then, and it's meself will tell your honour the rights of it," said the ghost-seer. "Meself and Miss Pauline, sir--or Miss Pauline and meself, for the ladies comes first any how,--we got tired of the hobstroppylous skrimmaging among the ould servants, that didn't know a joke when they seen one; and we went out to look at the Comet,--that's the Rory-Bory-alehouse, they calls him in this country,--and we walked upon the lawn, and divel of any alehouse there was there at all; and Miss Pauline said it was becase of the shrubbery maybe, and why wouldn't we see it better beyonst the trees? and so we went to the trees, but sorrow a Comet did meself see there, barring a big ghost instead of it."

"A ghost? And what sort of a ghost, Barney?"

"Och, then, divel a lie I'll tell your honour. A tall ould gentleman he was, all in white, with a shovel on his shoulder, and a big torch in his fist,--though what he wanted with that it's meself can't tell, for his eyes were like gig-lamps, let alone the moon and the Comet, which wasn't there at all; and 'Barney,' says he to me,--'cause why he knew me,--'Barney,' says he, 'what is it you're doing with the colleen there, Barney?' Divel a word did I say. Miss Pauline screeched, and cried murther in French, and ran off with herself; and of coorse meself was in a mighty hurry after the lady, and had no time to stop palavering with him any way; so I dispersed at once, and the ghost vanished in a flame of fire!"

Mr. Maguire's account was received with avowed incredulity by both gentlemen; but Barney stuck to his text with unflinching pertinacity. A reference to Mademoiselle was suggested, but abandoned, as neither party had a taste for delicate investigations.

"I'll tell you what, Seaforth," said Ingoldsby, after Barney had received his dismissal; "that there is a trick here, is evident; and Barney's vision may possibly be a part of it. Whether he is most knave or fool, you best know. At all events, I will sit up with you to-night, and see if I can convert my ancestor into a visiting acquaintance. Meanwhile your finger on your lip!"

* * * * *

"'Twas now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead."

Gladly would I grace my tale with decent horror, and therefore I do beseech the "gentle reader" to believe, that if all the succedanea to this mysterious narrative are not in strict keeping, he will ascribe it only to the disgraceful innovations of modern degeneracy upon the sober and dignified habits of our ancestors. I can introduce him, it is true, into an old and high-roofed chamber, its walls covered on three sides with black oak wainscoting, adorned with carvings of fruit and flowers long anterior to those of Grinling Gibbons; the fourth side is clothed with a curious remnant of dingy tapestry, once elucidatory of some Scriptural history, but of which not even Mrs. Botherby could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had examined it carefully, inclined to believe the principal figure to be either Bathsheba or Daniel in the lions' den; while Tom Ingoldsby decided in favour of the King of Bashan. All, however, was conjecture; tradition being silent on the subject. A lofty arched portal led into, and a little arched portal led out of, this apartment; they were opposite each other, and both possessed the security of massy bolts on the interior. The bedstead, too, was not one of yesterday; but manifestly coeval with days ere Seddons was, and when a good four-post "article" was deemed worthy of being a royal bequest. The bed itself, with all the appurtenances of paillasse, mattresses, &c. was of far later date, and looked most incongruously comfortable; the casements, too, with their little diamond-shaped panes and iron binding, had given way to the modern heterodoxy of the sash-window. Nor was this all that conspired to ruin the costume, and render the room a meet haunt for such "mixed spirits" only as could condescend to don at the same time an Elizabethan doublet and Bond-street inexpressibles. With their green morocco slippers on a modern fender in front of a disgracefully modern grate, sat two young gentlemen, clad in "shawl-pattern" dressing-gowns and black silk stocks, much at variance with the high cane-backed chairs which supported them. A bunch of abomination, called a cigar, reeked in the left-hand corner of the mouth of one, and in the right-hand corner of the mouth of the other;--an arrangement happily adapted for the escape of the noxious fumes up the chimney, without that unmerciful "funking" each other, which a less scientific disposition would have induced. A small pembroke table filled up the intervening space between them, sustaining, at each extremity, an elbow and glass of toddy; and thus in "lonely pensive contemplation" were the two worthies occupied, when the "iron tongue of midnight had tolled twelve."

"Ghost-time's come!" said Ingoldsby, taking from his waistcoat pocket a watch like a gold half-crown, and consulting it as though he suspected the turret-clock over the stables of mendacity.

"Hush!" said Charles; "did I not hear a footstep?"

There was a pause: there was a footstep--it sounded distinctly--it reached the door--it hesitated, stopped, and--passed on.

Tom darted across the room, threw open the door, and became aware of Mrs. Botherby toddling to her chamber at the other end of the gallery, after dosing one of the housemaids with an approved julep from the Countess of Kent's "Choice Manual."

"Good night, sir!" said Mrs. Botherby.

"Go to the d--l!" said the disappointed ghost-hunter.

A hour--two--rolled on, and still no spectral visitation, nor did aught intervene to make night hideous; and when the turret-clock sounded at length the hour of three, Ingoldsby, whose patience and grog were alike exhausted, sprang from his chair, saying,

"This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. Deuce of any ghost shall we see to-night; it's long past the canonical hours. I'm off to bed; and as to your breeches, I'll ensure them for twenty-four hours at least, at the price of the buckram."

"Certainly. Oh! thankye; to be sure!" stammered Charles, rousing himself from a reverie, which had degenerated into an absolute snooze.

"Good night, my boy. Bolt the door behind me; and defy the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender!"

Seaforth followed his friend's advice, and the next morning came down to breakfast dressed in the habiliments of the preceding day. The charm was broken, the demon defeated; the light greys with the red stripe down the seams were yet in rerum naturâ, and adorned the person of their lawful proprietor.

Tom felicitated himself and his partner of the watch on the result of their vigilance; but there is a rustic adage, which warns us against self-gratulation before we are quite "out of the wood."--Seaforth was yet within its verge.

* * * * *

A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the next morning startled him as he was shaving: he cut his chin.

"Come in, and be d--d to you!" said the martyr, pressing his thumb on the wounded epidermis. The door opened and exhibited Mr. Barney Maguire. "Well, Barney, what is it?" quoth the sufferer, adopting the vernacular of his visitant.

"The Master, sir----"

"Well, what does he want?"

"The loanst of a breeches, plase your honour."

"Why, you don't mean to tell me----By Heaven, this is too good!" shouted Tom, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "Why, Barney, you don't mean to say the ghost has got them again?"

Mr. Maguire did not respond to the young squire's risibility; the cast of his countenance was decidedly serious.

"Faith, then, it's gone they are, sure enough. Hasn't meself been looking over the bed, and under the bed, and in the bed, for the matter of that, and divel a ha'p'orth of breeches is there to the fore at all: I'm bothered entirely!"

"Harkye! Mr. Barney," said Tom, incautiously removing his thumb, and letting a crimson stream "incarnadine the multitudinous" lather that plastered his throat,--"this may be all very well with your master, but you don't humbug me, sir: tell me instantly what have you done with the clothes?"

This abrupt transition from "lively to severe" certainly took Maguire by surprise, and he seemed for an instant as much disconcerted as it is possible to disconcert an Irish gentleman's gentleman.

"Me? is it meself, then, that's the ghost to your honour's thinking?" said he, after a moment's pause, and with a slight shade of indignation in his tones; "is it I would stale the master's things,--and what would I do with them?"

"That you best know: what your purpose is I can't guess, for I don't think you mean to 'stale' them, as you call it; but that you are concerned in their disappearance, I am satisfied. Confound this blood!--give me a towel, Barney."

Maguire acquitted himself of the commission. "As I've a sowl, your honour," said he solemnly, "little it is meself knows of the matter; and after what I seen----"

"What you've seen? Why, what have you seen? Barney, I don't want to inquire into your flirtations; but don't suppose you can palm off your saucer eyes and gig-lamps upon me!"

"Then, as sure as your honour's standing there, I saw him; and why wouldn't I, when Miss Pauline was to the fore as well as meself, and----"

"Get along with your nonsense,--leave the room, sir!"

"But the master?" said Barney imploringly; "and the breeches?--sure he'll be catching cowld!"

"Take that, rascal!" replied Ingoldsby, throwing a pair of pantaloons at, rather than to, him; "but don't suppose, sir, you shall carry on your tricks with impunity; recollect there is such a thing as a tread-mill, and that my father is a county magistrate."

Barney's eye flashed fire,--he stood erect and was about to speak; but, mastering himself, not without an effort, he took up the garment, and left the room as perpendicular as a Quaker.

* * * * *

"Ingoldsby," said Charles Seaforth, after breakfast, "this is now past a joke; to-day is the last of my stay, for, notwithstanding the ties which detain me, common decency obliges me to visit home after so long an absence. I shall come to an immediate explanation with your father on the subject nearest my heart, and depart while I have a change of dress left. On his answer will my return depend; in the mean time tell me candidly,--I ask it in all seriousness and as a friend,--am I not a dupe to your well-known propensity to hoaxing? have you not a hand in----"

"No, by Heaven! Seaforth; I see what you mean: on my honour, I am as much mystified as yourself; and if your servant----"

"Not he: if there be a trick, he at least is not privy to it."

"If there be a trick? why, Charles, do you think----"

"I know not what to think, Tom. As surely as you are a living man, so surely did that spectral anatomy visit my room again last night, grin in my face, and walk away with my trousers; nor was I able to spring from my bed, or break the chain which seemed to bind me to my pillow."

"Seaforth," said Ingoldsby, after a short pause, "I will--But hush! here are the girls and my father. I will carry off the females, and leave you clear field with the Governor: carry your point with him, and we will talk about your breeches afterwards."

Tom's diversion was successful: he carried off the ladies en masse to look at a remarkable specimen of the class Dodecandria Monogynia, which they could not find; while Seaforth marched boldly up to the encounter, and carried "the Governor's" outworks by a coup de main. I shall not stop to describe the progress of the attack; suffice it that it was as successful as could have been wished, and that Seaforth was referred back again to the lady. The happy lover was off at a tangent; the botanical party was soon overtaken; and the arm of Caroline, whom a vain endeavour to spell out the Linnæan name of a daffy-down-dilly had detained a little in the rear of the others, was soon firmly locked in his own.

"What was the world to them, Its noise, its nonsense, and its 'breeches' all?"

Seaforth was in the seventh heaven; he retired to his room that night as happy as if no such thing as a goblin had ever been heard of, and personal chattels were as well fenced in by law as real property. Not so Tom Ingoldsby: the mystery--for mystery there evidently was,--had not only piqued his curiosity, but ruffled his temper. The watch of the previous night had been unsuccessful, probably because it was undisguised. Tonight he would "ensconce himself,"--not indeed "behind the arras,"--for the little that remained was, as we have seen, nailed to the wall,--but in a small closet which opened from one corner of the room, and, by leaving the door ajar, would give its occupant a view of all that might pass in the apartment. Here did the young ghost-hunter take up a position, with a good stout sapling under his arm, a full half-hour before Seaforth retired for the night. Not even his friend did he let into his confidence, fully determined that if his plan did not succeed, the failure should be attributed to himself alone.

At the usual hour of separation for the night, Tom saw, from his concealment, the lieutenant enter his room; and, after taking a few turns in it, with an expression so joyous as to betoken that his thoughts were mainly occupied by his approaching happiness, proceed slowly to disrobe himself. The coat, the waistcoat, the black silk stock, were gradually discarded; the green morocco slippers were kicked off, and then--ay, and then--his countenance grew grave; it seemed to occur to him all at once that this was his last stake,--nay, that the very breeches he had on were not his own,--that to-morrow morning was his last, and that if he lost them----A glance showed that his mind was made up; he replaced the single button he had just subducted, and threw himself upon the bed in a state of transition, half chrysalis, half grub.

Wearily did Tom Ingoldsby watch the sleeper by the flickering light of the night-lamp, till the clock, striking one, induced him to increase the narrow opening which he had left for the purpose of observation. The motion, slight as it was, seemed to attract Charles's attention; for he raised himself suddenly to a sitting posture, listened for a moment, and then stood upright upon the floor. Ingoldsby was on the point of discovering himself, when, the light flashing full upon his friend's countenance, he perceived that, though his eyes were open, "their sense was shut,"--that he was yet under the influence of sleep. Seaforth advanced slowly to the toilet, lit his candle at the lamp that stood on it, then, going back to the bed's foot, appeared to search eagerly for something which he could not find. For a few moments he seemed restless and uneasy, walking round the apartment and examining the chairs, till, coming fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked the dressing-table, he paused, as if contemplating his figure in it. He now returned towards the bed, put on his slippers, and, with cautious and stealthy steps, proceeded towards the little arched doorway that opened on the private staircase.

As he drew the bolt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged from his hiding-place; but the sleep-walker heard him not: he proceeded softly down stairs, followed at a due distance by his friend, opened the door which led out upon the gardens, and stood at once among the thickest of the shrubs, which there clustered round the base of a corner turret, and screened the postern from common observation. At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all by making a false step: the sound attracted Seaforth's attention, he paused and turned; and, as the full moon shed her light direct upon his pale and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with dismay, the fixed and rayless appearance of his eyes:

"There was no speculation in those orbs That he did glare withal,"

The perfect stillness preserved by his follower seemed to reassure him; he turned aside, and, from the midst of a thickset laurustinus, drew forth a gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded with greater rapidity into the midst of the shrubbery. Arrived at a certain point, where the earth seemed to have been recently disturbed, he set himself heartily to the task of digging; till, having thrown up several shovelfuls of mould, he stopped, flung down his tool, and very composedly began to disencumber himself of his pantaloons.

Up to this moment Tom had watched him with a wary eye; he now advanced cautiously, and, as his friend was busily engaged in disentangling himself from his garment, made himself master of the spade. Seaforth, meanwhile, had accomplished his purpose; he stood for a moment with

"His streamers waving in the wind,"

occupied in carefully rolling up the small-clothes into as compact a form as possible, and all heedless of the breath of heaven, which might certainly be supposed at such a moment, and in such a plight, to "visit his frame too roughly."

He was in the act of stooping low to deposit the pantaloons in the grave which he had been digging for them, when Tom Ingoldsby came close behind him, and with the flat of the spade----

* * * * *

The shock was effectual; never again was Lieutenant Seaforth known to act the part of a somnambulist. One by one, his breeches, his trousers, his pantaloons, his silk-net tights, his patent cords, and his showy greys with the broad red stripe of the Bombay Fencibles, were brought to light, rescued from the grave in which they had been buried, like the straw of a Christmas pie; and, after having been well aired by Mrs. Botherby, became once again effective.

The family, the ladies especially, laughed; Barney Maguire cried "Botheration!" and Ma'mselle Pauline, "Mon Dieu!"

Charles Seaforth, unable to face the quizzing which awaited him on all sides, started off two hours earlier than he had proposed: he soon returned, however; and having, at his father-in-law's request, given up the occupation of Rajah hunting and shooting Nabobs, led his blushing bride to the altar.

Mr. Simpkinson from Bath did not attend the ceremony, being engaged at the Grand Junction Meeting of Sçavans, then congregating from all parts of the known world, in the city of Dublin. His essay, demonstrating that the globe is a great custard, whipped into coagulation by whirlwinds, and cooked by electricity,--a little too much baked in the Isle of Portland, and a thought underdone about the Bog of Allen,--is highly spoken of and, it is supposed, will obtain a Bridgewater prize.

Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as bridesmaids on the occasion; the former wrote an epithalamium, and the latter cried "Lassy me!" at the clergyman's wig. But as of these young ladies, of the fair widow, Mr. Sucklethumbkin, Mrs. Peters and her P. we may have more to say hereafter, we take our leave for the present; assuring our pensive public that Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth are living together quite as happily as two good-hearted, good-tempered bodies, very fond of each other, can possibly do; and that since the day of his marriage Charles has shown no disposition to jump out of bed, or ramble out of doors o' nights,--though, from his entire devotion to every wish and whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the fair Caroline does still occasionally take advantage of it so far as to "slip on the Breeches."

THE WIDE AWAKE CLUB. BY RIGDUM O'FUNNIDOS.

The clubs of London! I recollect once reading a book so called; but as for any bonâ fide information touching the soi disant social assemblies, I might as well have been perusing the Shaster, or reading the Florentine copy of the Pandects! The clubs of London afford, as I have reason to know, ample material for the most abundant fun; but they who expect to find it at Crockford's, the Athenæum, and other maisons de jeu, where yawning dandies, expert chevaliers, old men of the town, roués of all sorts,

Mingle, mingle, mingle, As they mingle may,

will be wofully disappointed. The clubs, par excellence, take them one and all,--from the Oriental, stuck, with a due disposition and attention to habits of Eastern indolence, in the dullest corner of the dullest square in London, down to, or up to, I care not which, the staring bow-windowed Omnibus Union in Cockspur-street,--are all alike destitute of the requisite material. I perhaps may have a touch at them in the middle of the session and season, when the élite of the club-men are in town, and when their sayings and doings may by possibility be worth recording, even if it were only to have a laugh over them. But, as Copp says, "let that pass for the present." The clubs that I intend to introduce to the readers of the Miscellany are certain of those convivial associations composed of the middlemen of society in the metropolis, who assemble on certain stated nights in the week to sing songs, smoke pipes, and imbibe moisture in the shape of divers goes of spirit and pints of ale. My reminiscences of these assemblies, I think, would fill a goodly tome. To begin with the last, Hebrew fashion. In was my lot one evening, a short time since, to be introduced by Mr. Timmins, my landlord, who, seeing I was rather low-spirited, volunteered the invitation, on a social community called the "WIDE AWAKE CLUB."

"Sir," said Mr. Timmins,--a very worthy knight of the needle, who called me "the genelman wot lodges in my first floor," (whether up or down the chimney, deponent sayeth not,)--"you looks werry oncomfutable this here nasty evening. Prowisin it ain't takin' of too great a liberty, and you feel noways disinclined, I think an hour or two at our club--(I have the privilege of introducing a wisitor wot I can answer for in regard to respectability)--might do you good."

"And pray, Mr. Timmins, what is the character of your club?"--"Oh! sir, the character of our club is on-doubted, sir; we are all men of experence, sir: no one is admitted a member _on_less he shows he is a wide awake cove."

"What do you mean by a wide awake cove," said I, "Mr. Timmins?"--"Vy," said Timmins, "there's no von hellgibble to be a member on our society but what gets a woucher from a member that he has a summut to say, and prove wot has made him wide awake,--that is to say, more up and down to the ways of the world than the generality of people, by experence."

"You mean, if I understand you rightly, Mr. Timmins, that your club is one where a certain number of persons meet to spend the social hours of relaxation in giving each other the tale of some particular event or occurrence that has taught them to know there is more roguery in the world than certain philanthropists would lend us to believe."--"You've hit it, sir," said Timmins; "down as a hammer."

"Well, Timmins, I shall be happy to join you," I replied.

During our walk, in answer to certain questions, Timmins informed me that the president of the club was a Mr. Phiggins, a retired draper; and that the leading members were Mr. Pounce, a lawyer's clerk, Mr. Bob Jinks, a butcher, Mr. Shortcut, a tobacconist, Mr. Sprigs, a fruiterer. "But," said Timmins, "you'll know them all in five minutes. I don't think this wet evening, there will be a strong muster: howsomdever, we can console ourselves that, if not numerous, we are select."

"Very proper consolation, Timmins," said I.

When we arrived at the Three Pies, the sign of the house where the club was held, Timmins went up stairs to communicate the fact of my being below, and to assure the company that all was regular and right, as he said; and shortly afterwards I was ushered into the presence, and introduced to the worthies previously named. The president, a jolly-looking man about fifty, sat in an elevated chair at the top of a long table, which gave a goodly display of pipes, glasses of grog, &c. On each side, the members sat at their most perfect ease, smoking and chatting. It would appear that they had been at business some time, for it seemed ebb-tide with the contents of the glasses; and several worthies were in the act of knocking the ashes out of their respective pipes. After ordering a glass of punch and a segar, and another for Timmins, a conversation which was going on before we came in was resumed, of which the following is a faithful report.

"That puts me in mind of M'Flummery," said Pounce, the lawyer's clerk, putting his hand--accidentally, I suppose, of course,--into Shortcut's open screw of tobacco, and filling his pipe therefrom; "I mean him as was hung at the Old Bailey some ten years back."

"And what was he hung for?" asked the president.--"Why, not exactly for his good behaviour. He set out in life as heavy a swell as ever flowed up in the regions of the West End--carried on the game for about a dozen years in bang-up style.--My eye! how precious drunk he made Snatch'em, the bum, and I, one night as we pinned him coming home in his cab from the Opera to give a champaign supper at the Clarendon."

"Champaign supper?" said the president. "Why, champaign is a wine; and no man, I maintain, can make a supper off wine, 'coz wine is drink, and supper, it stands to reason, is eating."

"And no mistake," said Shortcut.

"With submission, Mr. Chair," replied Pounce, "I'll explain. This champaign supper meant a regular slap-up feed; but no one was allowed any other drink with their grub, but champaign punch made with green tea in a silver kettle."

"I pity their stint," said Jinks.

"Ay," said the president, "that stands to reason. But how did it happen this gentleman came to be hanged?"--"Why," continued Pounce, "I was a-coming to that point. As I said just now, there never was a greater dasher at the West End than this M'Flummery; but, like many other swells, he was very often lodging in Queer-street for the want of the ready. One day he came to my old master Snaps, of the Temple, when I was managing common-law clerk,--for, you see, he knew my governor well, seeing that he had issued about fourteen writs against him. I never shall forget the day he came: it was a precious wet 'un. He drove up to the gate in a jarvey, and sent a porter down to our office to know if Snaps was in, without sending his name. So Snaps sends me to see who it was, and bring him down. When I got up to the coach, I spied M'Flummery. 'Ah! my man,' says he, quite familiar, 'how do you like champaign punch? Here, just pay this fellow his fare,' says he, quite off-hand. 'I've no change about me;' and off he bolts under the gateway, leaving me to fork out an unknown man. Well! how was I to know what the Jarvey's fare was? That was a pozer. I wasn't going to ask him, 'How much?' or where he took up. No! I was too wide awake!"

"WIDE AWAKE!" said the chairman, and down went a hammer of appropriate brass upon the table three times.

"Hear! hear! hear!" responded omnes.

"So I tipped two shillings. 'Vot's this for?' said coachee, holding it open in his hand, and looking at the money in a way money ought never by no means to be looked at. 'Your fare from the Clarendon, Bond-street,' said I, quite stiff and chuff. 'Fare be blowed!' said he; 'my fare's eight bob.' 'Then you shall swear it and prove it,' said I, pulling out a handful of silver, taking his number, and giving the wink to Hobbling Bob, one of the porters, to be witness. 'Take your demand, and we'll meet in Essex-street on Thursday.' 'Well,' says he, 'I ought to have eight bob--what will you give me?' 'Two,' said I. 'Well,' says he, 'I ain't a going to stand chaffing in the wet with such a ----' and then he abused me in a way I can't repeat. 'Overcharge and insolence!' said I. 'We'll meet again at Philippi.' 'Fillip I,' said Jarvey, driving off, 'I should like to fillip you!' In going back to the office, I thought I ought to charge Mr. M'Flummery the eight shillings. Taking into consideration that I had advanced money--that I had got wet--had been abused, and last, though not least, that there was a strong risk touching repayment. I entered the expenditure thus: 'Coachman's demand, eight shillings. Paid him.' I said him, not it, you see, for I was wide awake!"

"WIDE AWAKE!" said the president, hitting the table three sonorous clinks with the club-hummer of brass, again.

"When I got back to the office, Snaps called for me through the pipe to come up stairs:--he always had me as a witness when he was doing particular business, such as discounting a bill, bargaining for a bond, or arranging an annuity.

"'Sort those papers,' said Snaps, scratching his left ear.

"That means 'Cock your listeners,' thought I; and I proceeded to fumble over a bundle of old abstracts as diligently as if I was hunting for a hundred-pound note.

"As I turned over the dusty papers, I overheard the following conversation:

"'So you can't manage it for me any way?' said M'Flummery to Snaps.

"'I have not anything at my bankers',' answered Snaps,--(a lie, for his was the best account of any professional man at Brookes and Dixon's, and I had that morning paid in five hundred and eighty pounds eleven and tenpence;)--'and, by the bye, Pounce, my confidential man, knows that. Have I, Pounce?'

"'Not anything,' said I; 'I'll be on my oath!'

"With that M'Flummery said, 'It's cursed hard.--I must be at Newmarket on Tuesday, and nothing less than two thousand will do for me.--So you cannot get it on my bond or note?'

"'Money is money, and holders are firm,' said Snaps. 'What do you think of a mortgage? You gave, if I recollect right, six thousand for the hunting-lodge and the acres in Leicestershire.'

"'Yes!' replied M'Flummery, 'and lost it six months since in one morning, at Graham's.'

"'The house in Park Lane?'

"'Belongs to Miss V. the rich old maid.'

"'The furniture?'

"'Is Gillow's.'

"'Your stud?'

"'I stalled at Tattersall's for six hundred advance.'

"'Your commission?'

"'Is pounded at Greenwood's for ditto.'

"'Then, in point of fact,' said Snaps, 'Mister,'--(whenever Snaps intended to say anything uncivil, he always addressed the favoured individual as 'Mr.')--'in point of fact, Mr. M'Flummery, you are a beggar, possessing neither house, land, goods, or chattels, or property of any sort, kind, or description.'

"M'Flummery bit his lips, and walked to the window, and Snaps continued,

"'How, after making the avowals you have, Mr. M'Flummery, you could have the impudence----'

"'What do you say, wretch?' cried M'Flummery, rushing and collaring Snaps, 'Impudence!'

"'Pounce,' cried my master, 'an assault! Call the copying-clerks up.' But while I was in the act of summoning the scribes down the pipe, M'Flummery relaxed his hold, and said,

"'I forgive you, Snaps! It certainly did warrant the term, after my declarations of insolvency; but it just flashes across my mind,--how it could have escaped me I know not,--that all is not so bad with me. I have a chest of plate!'

"'A chest of plate!' ejaculated Snaps. 'Why, my dear sir,----'

"'A plate-chest!' said I.

"'Yes,' continued M'Flummery, 'my splendid sporting service,--quite new,--never used,--made not six months since by Rundell and Bridge. How could I have forgotten this!'

"'Sit down, my dear sir,' said Snaps. 'Your recollection of this com-plete-ly alters the case! Perhaps we can manage the matter.'

"'But money is money, I am afraid; and holders are firm, Mr. Snaps,' said M'Flummery, with what I thought the most devilish and malicious laugh that ever was uttered.

"'True, true,' replied my master; 'but there is a mode of tempting even a miser.'

"'I think there is,' said M'Flummery, just as Old Nick might have spoken the words, and looking Snaps full in the face.

"'Where is the chest?" inquired Snaps. "There is no lien on it?' he continued gravely. 'It is not at----"

"'My uncle's? No, no!'

"'Satisfactory so far. What might it have cost you?'--'Three thousand pounds.'

"'And you want two. It is possible, my dear sir, that the matter can be managed. I'll see about it directly. Call here to-morrow with the chest, and we'll see what can be done. I'll go into the City directly.'

"'Then I may as well go with you,' said M'Flummery; 'I will look in at Rundell's on our way, where you can assure yourself of the fact and value of the purchase.' So saying, my master and his client went out."

"It does not yet seem clear to me," said the president, interrupting Pounce at this period of his story, "how the gentleman came to be hung. He seems to have been an honest man, who had more money than he thought he had."

"No, he had not," said Pounce; "for, before he went out of the office, I asked him for the fare of the coach. 'Oh!' said he, quite cool, 'my little quill-driver, I'll owe you that till to-morrow.'"

"Well," resumed Pounce, after the waiter had been declared "in the room," had "taken his orders," and gone "out of the room," and re-entered the room with the said orders executed, preparatory (paradoxical as it may read) to their being despatched,--"Well," said Pounce, "when Mr. Snaps returned in the afternoon, he said to me, rubbing his hands, 'Pounce, it's all right! I have seen the chest of plate. I have handled and examined every article,--solid and beautiful! as fine a service as ever was turned out of hand.'

"'Glad to hear it, sir!' says I; 'I had my doubts;'--throwing as much of knowingness into my look as befitted a confidential managing common law-clerk when speaking to his governor.

"'And so had I,' said Snaps seriously: 'but what do you think, Pounce?' and my master beckoned me close to him.

"'What should I think, sir?' said I, deferentially,--'Why, he not only bought this most splendid service of plate I ever saw--massive--solid; but--but--'

"'Yes, sir?'--'But he actually paid for it!' said Snaps; giving me a playful dig in the ribs with one hand, while he took a huge pinch of snuff in the other, snapping the dust off his fingers as though so many crackers were exploding.

"'I shouldn't have thought he was a good one for paying, Mr. Snaps,' I replied, thinking of the fare.

"'Nor I, Pounce,' said Snaps; 'but, hark-ye, be sure you are in the way to-morrow at three;' and we parted,--Mr. Snaps being a religious man, and deacon of Zion Tabernacle in Jehoshaphat Terrace, to attend lecture, and I to finish a match at bumble-puppy at the Pig and Tweezers.

"The very next day, at three, punctual came M'Flummery, and I'm blessed if it didn't take four porters to carry the chest he brought with him. (By the way, I may here promiscuously observe, that in the experience of a long professional life I never knew but one case of unpunctuality in the attendance of people who had to receive money, and that was explained by the fact of the party's dying of the cholera over night.) The chest was duly brought up stairs, and deposited in a corner of Mr. Snaps' private room."

"'Now, Snaps,' said M'Flummery, 'I hope you are ready with the needful two thousand upon the nail.'--'Why, my dear sir,' said my master, 'I have with great difficulty been able to manage one thousand.'

"'Two thousand was the sum agreed for,' said M'Flummery.--'True, my dear sir; but money is money.'

"'Ay! and holders are firm, it appears, Snaps; but look at the security; plate will always fetch a safe and certain sum.'--'Satisfactory; truly so, my dear sir. Most unquestionable; but----'

"'Come, we are losing time. In a word, put fifteen hundred down on the desk, and we close; if not, I'm off to old Lombard.'--'Say twelve hundred,' cried Snaps, 'and I'll see what I can do.'

"'Fifteen,' said M'Flummery.--'It will not leave me a farthing,' said Snaps; 'and if I do find the odd five hundred, it must be added to the bond.'

"'Well! add it, and be d--d to you, Shylock the second!' said M'Flummery; 'you shall have your bond;' and he burst out into what I considered an unnecessary loud laugh.

"The money was counted, and the bond drawn out.

"'But, now,' said my master, 'if you please, you'll pardon me, my dear sir; but, in order that there may be no mistake, you will let my confidential clerk, Pounce, take a view of the contents of the chest.'

"'Most certainly,' said M'Flummery; and, unlocking it, he desired me to see if the articles corresponded with the inventory.

"I did so, and found that my master gave an approving look. After lifting up the several trays, and handling and examining some four or five articles, M'Flummery, turning to Snaps, said,

"'Are you satisfied, Mr. Snaps?'

"'Quite so,' said my master.

"'Then there only remains one thing to satisfy me,' said M'Flummery, locking the box and padlocks. 'This box will be in your possession for eighteen months as security; but, as I do not wish to have my plate hired out or used, you will pardon me, Mr. Snaps,--I only say this in order, as you observed, that there may be 'no mistake,'--I will put my seal upon the chest, and keep the key!'

"'The key!' said Snaps; 'my dear sir!'

"'Why,' said M'Flummery, 'what do you want with the key? You have the power at the end of eighteen months to break open the chest, and sell the plate, in default of payment; but you have no power over the plate till then. What, therefore, do you want with the key?'

"Snaps was beginning to say something; but M'Flummery stopped him short by saying, 'It is a bargain, or it is not, Mr. Snaps. I seal the chest, and keep the key.'

"'Very well,' said Snaps, looking very much like a tiger that had suddenly lost sight of his dinner.

"This was accordingly done, the bond signed, and the money handed over; and M'Flummery shook hands with my master, saying,

"'Snaps, you are a cunning fellow!'

"'Oh! my dear sir,' said my master, attempting to blush,--a feat, by the way, he never accomplished during his life that I know of.

"'But I recollect,' continued M'Flummery, 'an old fisherman telling me, when I was a boy, that, deep as some fishes were in the sea, there were always others that swam just as deep. Good-b'ye, old Shylock! you shall have your bond.' So saying, he left.

"I confess, this curious remark so astonished me that I quite forgot at the moment to ask for the fare of the coach. My master also seemed struck with the observation.

"'What can he mean?' said Snaps; 'surely there is nothing wrong? Pooh! pooh! impossible! There is the chest, and possession is nine points of the law.'

"'The first of the maxims, sir,' said I."

Here Pounce paused, filled his pipe, and emptied his tumbler of grog into that depository where grog had gone in goes for years and years.

"Well!" said the president, "may I be spiflicated,--ay, and exspiflicated,--if you have not been humbugging us, Pounce, with a pretty piece of bam! What the deuce has all that you have said to do with the fact of the gentleman being hanged?"

"Everything," cried Pounce.

"I say nothing," said the president.

"So do I," followed Shortcut.

"Everything, I maintain," rejoined the lawyer's clerk; "for six months afterwards his words came true."

"Whose?" shouted several of the company.

"M'Flummery's," said Pounce; "he proved himself as deep and deeper than Snaps. He was a wide awake one!"

"WIDE AWAKE!" said the chairman; and down went the directing sceptre, with the customary clink.

"Hear! hear! hear!" resounded through the room.

"Yes," continued Pounce; "about six months after, and about five in the evening, a man came into the office, looking as like a turnkey or Bow-street runner as any of you gentlemen might ever have known in your life. He asked to see Mr. Snaps.

"Just as I was preparing to give my master a hint by one of the writing-clerks to be on his guard, who should walk into the office but Snaps himself?

"'I believe your name is Snaps?' said the hang-gallows-looking messenger.

"Snaps was rather near-sighted, and it was getting dark, so that he did not see the winks and nods of the head I was giving him.

"'My name is Snaps,' he answered.

"'You're done,' thought I.

"'Then you are the person I am to give this letter to,' says the man.

"Snaps took the letter,--and, strange to say, it was a letter,--coolly read it, and, folding it up, said, to my great relief, 'Tell the prisoner I shall attend;' and off went Grimgruffinhoff with his answer.

"'M'Flummery is in Newgate for passing forged notes;' said my master, taking a pinch of snuff. 'I thought he would be jugged some day,' he said, with a half-laugh. 'He wants to see me to-morrow morning about business of the greatest importance to me. What can he have to say to me?'

"'Ay, indeed!' said I, 'what sir?'

"'It is as well that I should go,' said my master, 'for there may be something----'

"'True,' said I, 'there may be.'

"The next morning we went to Newgate, which is not the most pleasant lodging in that neighbourhood, although you have it in the biggest house, and they charge you nothing for the apartments. When we entered the prisoner's cell, he was busy writing.

"'Snaps!' said he, 'I'm glad to see you here!'

"'I am sorry I cannot return the compliment,' said my master.

"'Never mind,' said M'Flummery; 'every dog has his day.'

"'And then he is hanged,' said Snaps, drily, taking a pinch of snuff.

"M'Flummery here gave a spasmodic groan, and exclaimed, 'As little reference to my present condition as possible, Mr. Snaps. It was not about myself that I requested your visit, but touching matters in which you alone are interested.'

"'Well, sir; and here I am," said Mr. Snaps. 'To tell you the truth, I do not feel myself very comfortable in the place, so I shall feel obliged by your stating the nature of your business with me as briefly as possible.'

"'I will,' said the prisoner, with a demonic look. 'You have, or rather think you have, Mr. Snaps, a chest of plate.'

"'What!' shrieked my master. 'Is it not silver? Have you cheated me?'

"'You have often robbed me, Mr. Snaps,' was the reply; 'I but returned the compliment. That which you believe is silver plate, manufactured by Rundell and Bridge, was made at Sheffield, and cost me two hundred pounds.'

"Snaps groaned, and hid his face.

"'It is true I did buy a service from those eminent goldsmiths; but, after the Sheffield firm had copied the pattern, I pledged it with old Lombard, the pawnbroker. It was redeemed for a day to satisfy you, Mr. Snaps, and then repledged. The Earl of A. bought the duplicate, and now has the real property, of which you have the counterfeit service.'

"'You are a cursed villain,' said my master; 'and thank Heaven! you will be hanged!'

"'Only that a felon's cell in Newgate is not the most fit place to bandy compliments in, I should willingly aspirate the same of you, Snaps!"

"'And was it to tell me this, you atrocious scoundrel, that you sent for me?' said my master.

"'Not exactly,' answered M'Flummery; 'not exactly, Snaps; I want you to do me a favour.'

"'Was there ever such audacity?' said Snaps. 'Ask me to do you a favour! You, who have told me to my face that you have swindled, cheated, plundered, robbed me! A favour! Come Pounce,' he added, turning to me, 'let us be gone.'

"'Stay!' said the prisoner; 'you have said I shall be hanged!'

"'Ay, as sure as fate!'

"'My fate is death, I know; but not perhaps by hanging. I have potent interest at work for me at this moment; and, though sure of conviction, I may yet get the sentence of death commuted to transportation for life, and you would not like that would you, Snaps? You wish me dead--dead--dead!'

"After an inward struggle my master muttered out, 'I do.'

"'Then, Mr. Clerk,' said M'Flummery, in a deep whisper, handing me secretly a small sealed paper, 'be so good as to open this, when you get outside these walls, and give it to your master.' Then, aloud to Snaps, 'My business with you, sir, is finished.' So saying, he resumed writing; and I led my master, who was trembling with agitation, revenge, and passion, out of the cell and prison.

"When we got into a coach, I produced the paper, and mentioned to my master what M'Flummery had said. With trembling hand he opened it, and read the following:

"'Your soul burns with revenge. You wish me dead. It is my desire also to die. There is a strong probability that I shall not undergo the last punishment of the law. If you would render my death certain, and feed your revenge, send me, in a small phial, an ounce of prussic acid: and the bearer of your welcome gift shall carry back the fact that M'Flummery the swindler, highwayman, and forger,--M'Flummery, who has cheated all through life, has terminated his career by cheating the law!'

"I shall never to my dying day forget the face of Snaps when he read this. He did not say a word; and we sat silent till we got back to the office. My master went up stairs, saying to me, 'Pounce, be silent as the grave! and be ready when I call for you.' Shortly afterwards I heard a loud hammering in his room. 'He's breaking open the chest,' said I; and true enough he was. Curiosity led me up stairs; and, on entering the room, there was Snaps, standing aghast over the open chest, with some broken tea-spoons in his hand.

"'The villain has told the truth,' said he. 'The contents of the chest are not worth fifty pounds. I thought I had taken every precaution; but I find I was not sufficiently wide awake.'"

"WIDE AWAKE!" said the chairman, and down went the hammer.

"Hear! hear! hear!" chorused the company.

"And ever since then, gentlemen," said Pounce, "I have always had my eyes open when doing a bill, when I had plate, the best of all possible security."

"But what became of M'Flummery?" asked Bob Jinks.

"Ay!" said the president, "when was he hanged?"

"He wasn't hanged at all," replied Pounce.

"I'm blowed," said the chairman, "if I didn't think so, all along."

"How he got it I do not pretend to know," said Pounce, blowing his nose, and looking aside, "but the very next day after we had paid him a visit, he was found dead on his bed, with a small empty phial, that smelt strongly of prussic acid, clenched in his fist."

The clock here stuck twelve, the hour at which the club disperses according to the rules; so Timmins and I toddled home.

OUR SONG OF THE MONTH. No. III. March, 1837.

I. March, March! why the de'il don't you march Faster than other months out of your order? You're a horrible beast, with the wind from the East, And high-hopping hail and slight sleet on your border: Now, our umbrellas spread, flutter above our head, And will not stand to our arms in good order; While, flapping and tearing, they set a man swearing Round the corner, where blasts blow away half the border!

II. March, March! I am ready to faint That St. Patrick had not his nativity's casting; I am sure, if he had, such a peaceable lad Would have never been born amid blowing and blasting: But as it was his fate, Irishmen emulate Doing what Doom, or St. Paddy may order; And if they're forced to fight through their wrongs for their right, They'll stick to their flag while a thread's in its border.

III. March, March! have you no feeling, E'en for the fair sex who make us knock under? You cold-blooded divil, you're far more uncivil Than Summer himself, with his terrible thunder! Every day we meet ladies down Regent-street, Holding their handkerchiefs up in good order; But, do all that we can, the most merciful man Must see the blue noses peep over the border. S. LOVER.

OLIVER TWIST; OR, THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS. BY BOZ. ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

CHAPTER THE THIRD

RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE, WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE.

For a week after the commission of the impious and profane offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in the dark and solitary room to which he had been consigned by the wisdom and mercy of the board. It appears, at first sight, not unreasonable to suppose, that, if he had entertained a becoming feeling of respect for the prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat, he would have established that sage individual's prophetic character, once and for ever, by tying one end of his pocket handkerchief to a hook in the wall, and attaching himself to the other. To the performance of this feat, however, there was one obstacle, namely, that pocket handkerchiefs being decided articles of luxury, had been, for all future times and ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the express order of the board in council assembled, solemnly given and pronounced under their hands and seals. There was a still greater obstacle in Oliver's youth and childishness. He only cried bitterly all day; and when the long, dismal night came on, he spread his little hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in the corner, tried to sleep, ever and anon waking with a start and tremble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to feel even its cold hard surface were a protection in the gloom and loneliness which surrounded him.

Let it not be supposed by the enemies of "the system," that, during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was denied the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society, or the advantages of religious consolation. As for exercise, it was nice cold weather, and he was allowed to perform his ablutions every morning under the pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catching cold, and caused a tingling sensation to pervade his frame, by repeated applications of the cane; as for society, he was carried every other day into the hall where the boys dined, and there sociably flogged as a public warning and example; and, so far from being denied the advantages of religious consolation, he was kicked into the same apartment every evening at prayer-time, and there permitted to listen to, and console his mind with, a general supplication of the boys, containing a special clause therein inserted by the authority of the board, in which they entreated to be made good, virtuous, contented, and obedient, and to be guarded from the sins and vices of Oliver Twist, whom the supplication distinctly set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and protection of the powers of wickedness, and an article direct from the manufactory of the devil himself.

It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs were in this auspicious and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney-sweeper, was wending his way adown the High-street, deeply cogitating in his mind, his ways and means of paying certain arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become rather pressing. Mr. Gamfield's most sanguine calculation of funds could not raise them within full five pounds of the desired amount; and, in a species of arithmetical desperation, he was alternately cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when, passing the workhouse, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate.

"Woo!" said Mr. Gamfield, to the donkey.

The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction,--wondering, probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with a cabbage-stalk or two, when he had disposed of the two sacks of soot with which the little cart was laden; so, without noticing the word of command, he jogged onwards.

Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey generally, but more particularly on his eyes; and, running after him, bestowed a blow on his head which would inevitably have beaten in any skull but a donkey's; then, catching hold of the bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder that he was not his own master: and, having by these means turned him round, he gave him another blow on the head, just to stun him till he came back again; and, having done so, walked up to the gate to read the bill.

The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate with his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some profound sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled joyously when that person came up to read the bill, for he saw at once that Mr. Gamfield was just exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the document, for five pounds was just the sum he had been wishing for; and, as to the boy with which it was encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the workhouse was, well knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the very thing for register stoves. So he spelt the bill through again, from beginning to end; and then, touching his fur cap in token of humility, accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

"This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'prentis," said Mr. Gamfield.

"Yes, my man," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a condescending smile, "what of him?"

"If the parish vould like him to learn a light, pleasant trade, in a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepin' bisness," said Mr. Gamfield, "I wants a 'prentis, and I'm ready to take him."

"Walk in," said the gentlemen with the white waistcoat. And Mr. Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow on the head, and another wrench of the jaw as a caution not to run away in his absence, followed the gentleman with the white waistcoat, into the room where Oliver had first seen him.

"It's a nasty trade," said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again stated his wish.

"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys, before now," said another gentleman.

"That's acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley to make 'em come down again," said Gamfield; "that's all smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke ain't o' no use at all in makin' a boy come down; it only sinds him to sleep, and that's wot he likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy, gen'lm'n, and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down vith a run; it's humane too, gen'lm'n, acause, even if they've stuck in the chimbley, roastin' their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate theirselves."

The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused with this explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look from Mr. Limbkins. The board then proceeded to converse among themselves for a few minutes; but in so low a tone that the words "saving of expenditure," "look well in the accounts," "have a printed report published," were alone audible: and they only chanced to be heard on account of their being very frequently repeated with great emphasis.

At length the whispering ceased, and the members of the board having resumed their seats, and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said,

"We have considered your proposition, and we don't approve of it."

"Not at all," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

"Decidedly not," added the other members.

As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation of having bruised three or four boys to death, already, it occurred to him that the board had perhaps, in some unaccountable freak, taken it into their heads that this extraneous circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It was very unlike their general mode of doing business, if they had; but still, as he had no particular wish to revive the rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and walked slowly from table.

"So you won't let me have him, gen'lmen," said Mr. Gamfield, pausing near the door.

"No," replied Mr. Limbkins; "at least, as it's a nasty business, we think you ought to take something less than the premium we offered."

Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a quick step he returned to the table, and said,

"What'll you give, gen'lmen, however this page all spelt as shown? Come, don't be too hard on a poor man. What'll you give?"

"I should say three pound ten was plenty," said Mr. Limbkins.

"Ten shillings too much," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

"Come," said Gamfield; "say four pound, gen'lmen. Say four pound, and you've got rid of him for good and all. There!"

"Three pound ten," repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly.

"Come, I'll split the difference, gen'lmen," urged Gamfield. "Three pound fifteen."

"Not a farthing more," was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins.

"You're desp'rate hard upon me, gen'lmen," said Gamfield, wavering.

"Pooh! pooh! nonsense!" said the gentlemen in the white waistcoat. "He'd be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium. Take him, you silly fellow! He's just the boy for you. He wants the stick now and then; it'll do him good; and his board needn't come very expensive, for he hasn't been overfed since he was born. Ha! ha! ha!"

Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table, and, observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile himself. The bargain was made, and Mr. Bumble was at once instructed that Oliver Twist and his indentures were to be conveyed before the magistrate for signature and approval, that very afternoon.

In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to put himself into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very unusual gymnastic performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him with his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday allowance of two ounces and a quarter of bread; at sight of which Oliver began to cry very piteously, thinking, not unnaturally, that the board must have determined to kill him for some useful purpose, or they never would have begun to fatten him up in this way.

"Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food, and be thankful," said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity. "You're a-going to be made a 'prentice of, Oliver."

"A 'prentice, sir!" said the child, trembling.

"Yes, Oliver," said Mr. Bumble. "The kind and blessed gentlemen which is so many parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of your own, are a-going to 'prentice you, and to set you up in life, and make a man of you, although the expence to the parish is three pound ten!--three pound ten, Oliver!--seventy shillin's!--one hundred and forty sixpences!--and all for a naughty orphan which nobody can love."

As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath after delivering this address, in an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child's face, and he sobbed bitterly.

"Come," said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously; for it was gratifying to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence had produced. "Come, Oliver, wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your jacket, and don't cry into your gruel; that's a very foolish action, Oliver." It certainly was, for there was quite enough water in it already.

On their way to the magistrate's, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that all he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say, when the gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he should like it very much indeed; both of which injunctions Oliver promised to obey, the more readily as Mr. Bumble threw in a gentle hint, that if he failed in either particular, there was no telling what would be done to him. When they arrived at the office, he was shut up in a little room by himself and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came back to fetch him.

There the boy remained with a palpitating heart for half an hour, at the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his head, unadorned with the cocked-hat, and said aloud,

"Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman." As Mr. Bumble said this, he put on a grim and threatening look, and added in a low voice, "Mind what I told you, you young rascal."

Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at this somewhat contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an adjoining room, the door of which was open. It was a large room with a great window; and behind a desk sat two old gentlemen with powdered heads, one of whom was reading the newspaper, while the other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in front of the desk, on one side; and Mr. Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two or three bluff-looking men in top-boots were lounging about.

The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause after Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.

"This is the boy, your worship," said Mr. Bumble.

The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve, whereupon the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up.

"Oh, is this the boy?" said the old gentleman.

"This is him, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. "Bow to the magistrate, my dear."

Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates' powder, whether all boards were born with that white stuff on their heads, and were boards from thenceforth, on that account.

"Well," said the old gentleman, "I suppose he's fond of chimney-sweeping?"

"He dotes on it, your worship," replied Bumble, giving Oliver a sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn't.

"And he will be a sweep, will he?" inquired the old gentleman.

"If we was to bind him to any other trade to-morrow, he'd run away simultaneously, your worship," replied Bumble.

"And this man that's to be his master,--you, sir,--you'll treat him well, and feed him, and do all that sort of thing,--will you?" said the old gentleman.

"When I says I will, I means I will," replied Mr. Gamfield doggedly.

"You're a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest, open-hearted man," said the old gentleman, turning his spectacles in the direction of the candidate for Oliver's premium, whose villanous countenance was a regular stamped receipt for cruelty. But the magistrate was half blind, and half childish, so he couldn't reasonably be expected to discern what other people did.

"I hope I am, sir," said Mr. Gamfield with an ugly leer.

"I have no doubt you are, my friend," replied the old gentleman, fixing his spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about him for the inkstand.

It was the critical moment of Oliver's fate. If the inkstand had been where the old gentleman thought it was, he would have dipped his pen into it and signed the indentures, and Oliver would have been straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be immediately under his nose, it followed as a matter of course that he looked all over his desk for it, without finding it; and happening in the course of his search to look straight before him, his encountered the pale and terrified face of Oliver Twist, who, despite all the admonitory looks and pinches of Bumble, was regarding the very repulsive countenance of his future master with a mingled expression of horror and fear, too palpable to be mistaken even by a half-blind magistrate.

The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from Oliver to Mr. Limbkins, who attempted to take snuff with a cheerful and unconcerned aspect.

"My boy," said the old gentleman, leaning over the desk. Oliver started at the sound,--he might be excused for doing so, for the words were kindly said, and strange sounds frighten one. He trembled violently, and burst into tears.

"My boy," said the old gentleman, "you look pale and alarmed. What is the matter?"

"Stand a little away from him, beadle," said the other magistrate, laying aside the paper, and leaning forward with an expression of some interest. "Now, boy, tell us what's the matter: don't be afraid."

Oliver fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands together, prayed that they would order him back to the dark room,--that they would starve him--beat him--kill him if they pleased--rather than send him away, with that dreadful man.

"Well!" said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most impressive solemnity,--"Well! of all the artful and designing orphans that ever I see, Oliver, you are one of the most bare-facedest."

"Hold your tongue, beadle," said the second old gentleman, when Mr. Bumble had given vent to this compound adjective.

"I beg your worship's pardon," said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of his having heard aright,--"did your worship speak to me?"

"Yes--hold your tongue."

Mr. Bumble was stupified with astonishment. A beadle ordered to hold his tongue! A moral revolution.

The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his companion: he nodded significantly.

"We refuse to sanction these indentures," said the old gentleman, tossing aside the piece of parchment as he spoke.

"I hope," stammered Mr. Limbkins,--"I hope the magistrates will not form the opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any improper conduct, on the unsupported testimony of a mere child."

"The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on the matter," said the second old gentleman sharply. "Take the boy back to the workhouse, and treat him kindly. He seems to want it."

That same evening the gentleman in the white waistcoat most positively and decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be hung, but that he would be drawn and quartered into the bargain. Mr. Bumble shook his head with gloomy mystery, and said he wished he might come to good; to which Mr. Gamfield replied, that he wished he might come to him, which, although he agreed with the beadle in most matters, would seem to be a wish of a totally opposite description.

The next morning the public were once more informed that Oliver Twist was again to let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody who would take possession of him.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE.

In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be obtained, either in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for the young man who is growing up, it is a very general custom to send him to sea. The board, in imitation of so wise and salutary an example, took counsel together on the expediency of shipping off Oliver Twist in some small trading vessel bound to a good unhealthy port, which suggested itself as the very best thing that could possibly be done with him; the probability being, that the skipper would either flog him to death, in a playful mood, some day after dinner, or knock his brains out with an iron bar,--both pastimes being, as is pretty generally known, very favourite and common recreations among gentlemen of that class. The more the case presented itself to the board, in this point of view, the more manifold the advantages of the step appeared; so they came to the conclusion that the only way of providing for Oliver effectually, was to send him to sea without delay.

Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various preliminary inquiries, with the view of finding out some captain or other who wanted a cabin-boy without any friends; and was returning to the workhouse to communicate the result of his mission, when he encountered just at the gate no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry, the parochial undertaker.

Mr. Sowerberry was a tall, gaunt, large-jointed man, attired in a suit of threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the same colour, and shoes to answer. His features were not naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but he was in general rather given to professional jocosity; his step was elastic, and his face betokened inward pleasantry, as he advanced to Mr. Bumble and shook him cordially by the hand.

"I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night, Mr. Bumble," said the undertaker.

"You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry," said the beadle, as he thrust his thumb and forefinger into the proffered snuff-box of the undertaker, which was an ingenious little model of a patent coffin. "I say you'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry," repeated Mr. Bumble, tapping the undertaker on the shoulder in a friendly manner, with his cane.

"Think so?" the undertaker in a tone which half admitted and half disputed the probability of the event. "The prices allowed by the board are very small, Mr. Bumble."

"So are the coffins," replied the beadle, with precisely as near an approach to a laugh as a great official ought to indulge in.

Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this, as of course he ought to be, and laughed a long time without cessation, "Well, well, Mr. Bumble," he said at length, "there's no denying that, since the new system of feeding has come in, the coffins are something narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. Well-seasoned timber is an expensive article, sir; and all the iron bundles come by canal from Birmingham."

"Well, well," said Mr. Bumble, "every trade has its drawbacks, and a fair profit is of course allowable."

"Of course, of course," replied the undertaker; "and if I don't get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the long run, you see--he! he! he!"

"Just so," said Mr. Bumble.

"Though I must say,"--continued the undertaker, resuming the current of observations which the beadle had interrupted,--"though I must say, Mr. Bumble, that I have to contend against one very great disadvantage, which is, that all the stout people go off the quickest--I mean that the people who have been better off; and have paid rates for many years, are the first to sink when they come into the house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four inches over one's calculation makes a great hole in one's profits, especially when one has a family to provide for, sir."

As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the becoming indignation of an ill-used man, and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather tended to convey a reflection on the honour of the parish, the latter gentleman thought it advisable to change the subject; and Oliver Twist being uppermost in his mind, he made him his theme.

"By the bye," said Mr. Bumble, "you don't know anybody who wants a boy, do you--a porochial 'prentis, who is at present a dead-weight,--a millstone, as I may say--round the porochial throat? Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry--liberal terms;"--and, as Mr. Bumble spoke, he raised his cane to the bill above him, and gave three distinct raps upon the words "five pounds," which were printed therein in Roman capitals of gigantic size.

"Gadso!" said the undertaker, taking Mr. Bumble by the gilt-edged lappel of his official coat; "that's just the very thing I wanted to speak to you about. You know--dear me, what a very elegant button this is, Mr. Bumble; I never noticed it before."

"Yes, I think it is rather pretty," said the beadle, glancing proudly downwards at the large brass buttons which embellished his coat. "The die is the same as the parochial seal,--the Good Samaritan healing the sick and bruised man. The board presented it to me on New-year's morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I remember, for the first time, to attend the inquest on that reduced tradesman who died in a doorway at midnight."

"I recollect," said the undertaker. "The jury brought in 'Died from exposure to the cold, and want of the common necessaries of life,'--didn't they?"

Mr. Bumble nodded.

"And they made it a special verdict, I think," said the undertaker, "by adding some words to the effect, that if the relieving officer had----"

"Tush--foolery!" interposed the beadle angrily. "If the board attended to all the nonsense that ignorant jurymen talk, they'd have enough to do."

"Very true," said the undertaker; "they would indeed."

"Juries," said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tightly, as was his wont when working into a passion,--"juries is ineddicated, vulgar, grovelling wretches."

"So they are," said the undertaker.

"They haven't no more philosophy or political economy about 'em than that," said the beadle, snapping his fingers contemptuously.

"No more they have," acquiesced the undertaker.

"I despise 'em," said the beadle, growing very red in the face.

"So do I," rejoined the undertaker.

"And I only wish we'd a jury of the independent sort in the house for a week or two," said the beadle; "the rules and regulations of the board would soon bring their spirit down for them."

"Let 'em alone for that," replied the undertaker. So saying, he smiled approvingly to calm the rising wrath of the indignant parish officer.

Mr. Bumble lifted off his cocked-hat, took a handkerchief from the inside of the crown, wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his rage had engendered, fixed the cocked-hat on again; and, turning to the undertaker, said in a calmer voice,

"Well, what about the boy?"

"Oh!" replied the undertaker; "why, you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a good deal towards the poor's rates."

"Hem!" said Mr. Bumble. "Well?"

"Well," replied the undertaker, "I was thinking that if I pay so much towards 'em, I've a right to get as much out of 'em as I can, Mr. Bumble; and so--and so--I think I'll take the boy myself."

Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm, and led him into the building. Mr. Sowerberry was closeted with the board for five minutes, and then it was arranged that Oliver should go to him that evening "upon liking,"--a phrase which means, in the case of a parish apprentice, that if the master find, upon a short trial, that he can get enough work out of a boy without putting too much food in him, he shall have him for a term of years, to do what he likes with.

When little Oliver was taken before "the gentlemen" that evening, and informed that he was to go that night as general house-lad to a coffin-maker's, and that if he complained of his situation, or ever came back to the parish again, he would be sent to sea, there to be drowned, or knocked on the head, as the case might be, he evinced so little emotion, that they by common consent pronounced him a hardened young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him forthwith.

Now, although it was very natural that the board, of all people in the world, should feel in a great state of virtuous astonishment and horror at the smallest tokens of want of feeling on the part of anybody, they were rather out, in this particular instance. The simple fact was, that Oliver, instead of possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too much, and was in a fair way of being reduced to a state of brutal stupidity and sullenness for life, by the ill usage he had received. He heard the news of his destination in perfect silence, and, having had his luggage put into his hand,--which was not very difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all comprised within the limits of a brown paper parcel, about half a foot square by three inches deep,--he pulled his cap over his eyes, and once more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble's coat cuff, was led away by that dignitary to a new scene of suffering.

For some time Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without notice or remark, for the beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadle always should; and, it being a windy day, little Oliver was completely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble's coat as they blew open, and disclosed to great advantage his flapped waistcoat and drab plush knee-breeches. As they drew near to their destination, however, Mr. Bumble thought it expedient to look down and see that the boy was in good order for inspection by his new master, which he accordingly did, with a fit and becoming air of gracious patronage.

"Oliver!" said Mr. Bumble.

"Yes, sir," replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice.

"Pull that cap off of your eyes, and hold up your head, sir."

Although Oliver did as he was desired at once, and passed the back of his unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a tear in them when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed sternly upon him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed by another, and another. The child made a strong effort, but it was an unsuccessful one; and, withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble's, he covered his face with both, and wept till the tears sprung out from between his thin and bony fingers.

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting at his little charge a look of intense malignity,--"well, of all the ungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are the----"

"No, no, sir," sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the well-known cane; "no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, indeed, I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so--so--"

"So what?" inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement.

"So lonely, sir--so very lonely," cried the child. "Everybody hates me. Oh! sir, don't be cross to me. I feel as if I had been cut here, sir, and it was all bleeding away;" and the child beat his hand upon his heart, and looked into his companion's face with tears of real agony.

Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous and helpless look with some astonishment for a few seconds, hemmed three or four times in a husky manner, and, after muttering something about "that troublesome cough," bid Oliver dry his eyes and be a good boy; and, once more taking his hand, walked on with him in silence.

The undertaker had just put up the shutters of his shop, and was making some entries in his day-book by the light of a most appropriately dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble entered.

"Aha!" said the undertaker, looking up from the book, and pausing in the middle of a word; "is that you, Bumble?"

"No one else, Mr. Sowerberry," replied the beadle. "Here, I've brought the boy." Oliver made a bow.

"Oh! that's the boy, is it?" said the undertaker, raising the candle above his head to get a full glimpse of Oliver. "Mrs. Sowerberry! will you come here a moment, my dear?"

Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop, and presented the form of a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, with a vixenish countenance.

"My dear," said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially, "this is the boy from the workhouse that I told you of." Oliver bowed again.

"Dear me!" said the undertaker's wife, "he's very small."

"Why, he is rather small," replied Mr. Bumble, looking at Oliver as if it were his fault that he wasn't bigger; "he is small,--there's no denying it. But he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry,--he'll grow."

"Ah! I dare say he will," replied the lady pettishly, "on our victuals, and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, not I; for they always cost more to keep, than they're worth: however, men always think they know best. There, get down stairs, little bag o' bones." With this, the undertaker's wife opened a side door, and pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a stone cell, damp and dark, forming the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and denominated "the kitchen," wherein sat a slatternly girl in shoes down at heel, and blue worsted stockings very much out of repair.

"Here, Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver down, "give this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for Trip: he hasn't come home since the morning, so he may go without 'em. I dare say he isn't too dainty to eat 'em,--are you, boy?"

Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, and who was trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in the negative; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was set before him.

I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall within him, whose blood is ice, and whose heart is iron, could have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected, and witnessed the horrible avidity with which he tore the bits asunder with all the ferocity of famine:--there is only one thing I should like better; and that would be to see him making the same sort of meal himself with the same relish.

"Well," said the undertaker's wife, when Oliver had finished his supper, which she had regarded in silent horror, and with fearful auguries of his future appetite, "have you done?"

There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied in the affirmative.

"Then come with me," said Mrs. Sowerberry, taking up a dim and dirty lamp, and leading the way up stairs; "your bed's under the counter. You won't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose?--but it doesn't much matter whether you will or not, for you won't sleep any where else. Come; don't keep me here, all night."

Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his new mistress.

A REMNANT OF THE TIME OF IZAAK WALTON. VENATOR, AMATOR, EBRIOLUS.

Venator. Good morrow, good morrow! say whither ye go,-- To the chase above, or the woods below? Brake and hollow their quarry hold, Streams are bright with backs of gold: 'Twere shame to lose so fair a day,-- So, whither ye wend, my masters, say.

Amator. The dappled herd in peace may graze, The fish fling back the sun's bright rays; I bend no bow, I cast no line, The chase of Love alone is mine.

Ebriolus. Your venison and pike Ye may get as ye like, They grace a board right well; But the sport for my share Is the chase of old Care, When the wine-cup tolls his knell.

Venator. Give ye good-den, my masters twain, I'll flout ye, when we meet again: Sad lover, lay thee down and pine; Go thou, and blink o'er thy noon-day wine; I'll to the woods. Well may ye fare With two such deer, as Love and Care.

THE "ORIGINAL" DRAGON. A LEGEND OF THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE.

Freely translated from an undeciphered MS. of Con-fuse-us,[49] _and dedicated to Colonel Bolsover, (of the Horse Marines,) by C. J. Davids, Esq._

I. A desperate dragon, of singular size,-- (His name was Wing-Fang-Scratch-Claw-Fum,)-- Flew up one day to the top of the skies, While all the spectators with terror were dumb. The vagabond vow'd, as he sported his tail, He'd have a sky lark, and some glorious fun; For he'd nonplus the natives that day without fail, By causing a total eclipse of the sun![50] He collected a crowd by his impudent boast, (Some decently dress'd--some with hardly a rag on,) Who said that the country was ruin'd and lost, Unless they could compass the death of the dragon.

II. The emperor came with the whole of his court,-- (His majesty's name was Ding-Dong-Junk)-- And he said--to delight in such profligate sport, The monster was mad, or disgracefully drunk. He call'd on the army: the troops to a man Declar'd--though they didn't feel frighten'd the least-- They never could think it a sensible plan To go within reach of so ugly a beast. So he offer'd his daughter, the lovely Nan-Keen, And a painted pavilion, with many a flag on, To any brave knight who would step in between The solar eclipse and the dare-devil dragon.

III. Presently came a reverend bonze,-- (His name, I'm told, was Long-Chin-Joss,)-- With a phiz very like the complexion of bronze; And for suitable words he was quite at a loss. But, he humbly submitted, the orthodox way To succour the sun, and to bother the foe, Was to make a new church-rate without more delay, As the clerical funds were deplorably low. Though he coveted nothing at all for himself, (A virtue he always delighted to brag on,) He thought, if the priesthood could pocket some pelf, It might hasten the doom of this impious dragon.

IV. The next that spoke was the court buffoon,-- (The name of this buffer was Whim-Wham-Fun,)-- Who carried a salt-box, and large wooden spoon, With which, he suggested, the job might be done. Said the jester, "I'll wager my rattle and bells, Your pride, my fine fellow, shall soon have a fall: If you make many more of your damnable yells, I know a good method to make you sing small!" And, when he had set all the place in a roar, As his merry conceits led the whimsical wag on, He hinted a plan to get rid of the bore, By putting some salt on the tail of the dragon!

V. At length appear'd a brisk young knight,-- (The far-fam'd warrior, Bam-Boo-Gong,)-- Who threaten'd to burke the big blackguard outright, And have the deed blazon'd in story and song. With an excellent shot from a very long bow He damag'd the dragon by cracking his crown; When he fell to the ground (as my documents show) With a smash that was heard many miles out of town. His death was the signal for frolic and spree-- They carried the corpse in a common stage-waggon; And the hero was crown'd with the leaves of green tea, For saving the sun from the jaws of the dragon.

VI. A poet, whose works were all the rage,-- (This gentleman's name was Sing-Song-Strum,)-- Told the terrible tale on his popular page: (Compar'd with his verses, my rhymes are but rum!) The Royal Society claim'd, as their right, The spoils of the vanquish'd--his wings, tail, and claws; And a brilliant bravura, describing the fight, Was sung on the stage with unbounded applause. "The valiant Bam-Boo" was a favourite toast, And a topic for future historians to fag on, Which, when it had reach'd to the Middlesex coast, Gave rise to the legend of "George and the Dragon."

[49] "Better know to illiterate people as Confucius." --WASHINGTON IRVING.

[50] In China (whatever European astronomers may assert to the contrary) an eclipse is caused by a _great dragon eating up the sun_.

To avert so shocking an outrage, the natives frighten away the monster from his intended hot dinner, by giving a morning concert, al fresco; consisting of drums, trumpets, cymbals, gongs, tin-kettles, &c.

A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF BEAUMARCHAIS. BY GEORGE HOGARTH.

M. de Beaumarchais, the celebrated French dramatist, was one of the most remarkable men of his time, though his fame now rests in a great measure on his two comedies, Le Barbier de Seville, and Le Mariage de Figaro; and even these titles are now-a-days much more generally associated with the names of Rossini and Mozart, than with that of Beaumarchais. Few comedies, however, have been more popular on the French stage than these delightful productions. The character of Susanna was the chef d'oeuvre of the fascinating Mademoiselle Contat; and has preserved its attractions, almost down to the present time, in the hands of her evergreen successor, the inimitable Mars. The Count and Countess Almaviva, Susanna, Figaro, and Cherubino, have now become the property of Italian singers; and, in this musical age, even the French public have been content to give up the wit, satire, point, and playfulness of the original comedies, for those meagre outlines which have been made the vehicles for the most charming dramatic music in the world. Not that Il Barbiere di Siviglia and Le Nozze di Figaro are not lively and amusing, considered as operas; but the vis comica of Beaumarchais has almost entirely evaporated in the process of transmutation.

None of the other dramatic works of Beaumarchais are comparable to these. Some of them bear marks of immature genius; and his last play, La Mère Coupable, the conclusion of the history of the Almaviva family, was written after a long interval, and when advanced age, and a life of cares and troubles, appear to have extinguished the author's gaiety, and changed the tone of his feelings. The play is written with power, but it is gloomy, and even tragical; succeeding its lively and brilliant precursors as a sunset of clouds and darkness closes a bright and smiling day. It painfully disturbs the agreeable associations produced by the names of its characters; and, for the sake of these associations, every one who reads it must wish to forget it.

But it is not so much to the writings of Beaumarchais, as to himself, that we wish at present to direct the attention of our readers. His life was anything but that of a man of letters. He possessed extraordinary talents for affairs; and, during his whole life, was deeply engaged in important pursuits both of a private and public nature. Extensive commercial enterprises, lawsuits of singular complication, and missions of great moment as a political agent, withdrew him from the walks of literature, and probably prevented him (as one of his biographers has remarked) from enriching the French stage with twenty dramatic masterpieces, instead of two or three. In this respect he resembled our Sheridan, as well as in the character of his genius; for we know of no plays that are more akin to each other, in many remarkable features, than The School for Scandal and Le Mariage de Figaro.

It is a remarkable circumstance in the history of Beaumarchais, that a considerable portion of his literary fame was derived from a species of composition from which anything of the kind could hardly have been expected,--the pleadings, or law-papers, in the various causes in which he was involved. The proceedings in the French parliaments, or high courts of justice, were totally different from those with which we are acquainted in England; though they were similar to those which were practised in the Scottish court of session, (a tribunal formed on the French model,) before that court came in for its share in the general progress of reform. There were no juries; the proceedings were conducted under the direction of a single judge, whose business it was to prepare the cause for decision, and then to make a report upon it to the whole court, by whom the judgment was given. A favourable view of the case from the reporting judge was, of course, an object of much importance; and the most urgent solicitations by the litigants and their friends--nay, even bribes--were often employed to obtain it. A charge against Beaumarchais,--a groundless one, however,--of having attempted to bribe the wife of one of these judges, exposed him to a long and violent persecution. Among his enemies were men of rank and power; the grossest calumnies against him were circulated in the highest quarters, and countenanced by the court in which he was a litigant; the bar became afraid to support him, and he could no longer find an advocate. In these forlorn circumstances the energy of his character did not abandon him, and he resolved to become his own advocate.

The pleadings in the French courts of those days were all written. The cause was debated in mémoires, or memorials, in which the pleas of the parties were stated without any of our technical formality. Law, logic, eloquence, pathos, and sarcasm, were all employed, in whatever way the pleader thought most advantageous. The paper was printed and distributed, not only among the judges, but among the friends and connexions of the parties; and when the case excited much interest, the distribution was often so extensive as almost to amount to publication. Beaumarchais, deserted by his former advocates, began to compose his own memorials, to which he found means to obtain the mere signature of some member of the bar. In this manner he fought a long and desperate battle, in which, after some severe reverses, (one of which was the burning of a series of his memorials by the common hangman, pursuant to a sentence of the court,) he at length achieved a complete and signal victory over all his enemies, whom he not only defeated on the immediate subjects of dispute, but overwhelmed with universal ridicule and contempt.

In the mean time these mémoires produced an extraordinary sensation throughout France. When a new one appeared, it flew from hand to hand like lightning. The causes in which Beaumarchais was involved were so interesting in themselves, and connected with such strange occurrences, that, had they belonged to the period of the Causes Célèbres, they would have made a remarkable figure in that famous collection. Their interest was increased a thousand-fold by the memorials of Beaumarchais. "The genius," says a French writer, "with which they are marked, the originality of the style, the dramatic form of the narrative, mingled with fine bursts of eloquence, keep the attention always awake; while the logical clearness of the reasoning, and the art of accompanying every statement of facts with striking and conclusive evidence, lay hold of the mind, and interest and instruct, without fatiguing the reader. But their most remarkable feature is the noble firmness of mind which they display; the serenity of a lofty spirit which the most terrible and unforeseen reverses were unable to subdue or intimidate; the stamp, in short, of a great character which is impressed upon them." These writings of Beaumarchais are spoken of in terms of admiration by the most eminent literati of that day, especially by Voltaire, in many parts of his correspondence; they attracted the notice of the government, and procured for their author several political missions, the results of which had no small influence on the public affairs of the time.

We have given this sketch of the character of Beaumarchais by way of introduction to an account of a remarkable incident of his life, taken from one of those extraordinary productions. Among other calumnies, he had been charged, at one time with a series of atrocities committed in Spain ten years before; and, among other things, with having endeavoured to bully a Spanish gentleman into a marriage with his sister, whom that gentleman had kept as a mistress; and it was added that he had been expelled from Spain in disgrace. In one of his mémoires he answers these accusations, by giving a narrative of his residence in Spain during the period in question. It is a leaf of "the romance of real life," and the interest of the story is heightened by the conviction of its entire truth; for every fact is confirmed by evidence, and the smallest incorrectness, as the writer knew, would be laid hold of by his enemies. Goethe, it is not immaterial to add, has made it the subject of his tragedy of Clavijo, the characters of which consist of Beaumarchais himself, and the other persons introduced into his narrative; though the great German dramatist has taken some poetical liberties with the story, especially in its tragical catastrophe.

The following narrative is a condensation of the original, which contains minute details and pieces of evidence, of great importance to M. de Beaumarchais' object at the time,--a conclusive vindication of his character, but not at all conducive to the interest of the story.

"For some years I had enjoyed the happiness of living in the bosom of my family; and our domestic union consoled me for all I suffered through the malice of my enemies. I had five sisters. Two of them had been committed by my father, at a very early age, to the care of one of his correspondents in Spain, so that I had only that faint but pleasant remembrance of them which is associated with our days of childhood. This remembrance, however, was kept alive by frequent correspondence.

"In February 1764, my father received from his eldest daughter a letter of very painful import. 'My sister,' she wrote, 'has been grossly abused by a powerful and dangerous man. Twice, when on the point of marrying her, he has broken his word, and withdrawn without condescending to assign any reason for his conduct; and my poor sister's wounded feelings have thrown her into a state of depression from which we have faint hopes of her recovery. For these six days she has not spoken a word. Under this unmerited stigma, we are living in the deepest retirement. I weep night and day, and endeavour to offer the unhappy girl comfort which I cannot find myself.'

"My father put his daughter's letter into my hands, 'Try, my son,' he said, 'what you can do for these poor girls. They are your sisters as well as the others.'

"'Alas, my dear father,' I said, 'what can I do for them? What assistance shall I ask? Who knows but they may have brought this disgrace upon themselves by some fault of their own?'

"My father showed me some letters from our ambassador to my elder sister, in which he spoke of both of them in terms of the highest esteem. I read these letters. They gave me courage; and my father's phrase, 'They are your sisters as well as the others,' had sunk into my heart. 'Console yourself,' I said to him, 'I am going to adopt a course that may surprise you; but it appears to me the surest and the most prudent. My eldest sister mentions several respectable persons in Paris who can give testimony to the good conduct and virtue of her sister. I will see them; and if their testimony is as honourable as that of our ambassador, I shall instantly set out for Madrid, and either punish the traitor who has outraged them, or bring them back with me to share my humble fortune.'

"My inquiries were completely satisfactory. I immediately returned to Versailles, and informed my august patronesses,[51] that business, no less painful than urgent, demanded my immediate presence at Madrid. I showed them my sister's letter, and received their permission to depart, in terms of the kindest encouragement. My preparations were soon made, as I dreaded that I might not arrive in time to save my poor sister's life. I obtained the strongest letters of recommendation to our ambassador at Madrid; and my ancient friend, M. Duvernay, gave me a credit on himself to the amount of two hundred thousand francs, to enable me to transact a piece of commercial business, and at the same time to increase my personal consideration. I was accompanied by one of my friends, a merchant, who had some business in Spain; but who went also partly on my account.

"We travelled day and night, and arrived in Madrid on the 18th of May 1764. I had been expected for some days, and found my sisters in the midst of their friends. As soon as the feelings, caused by a meeting between a brother and his sisters, so long separated, and seeing each other once more under such circumstances, had subsided, I earnestly conjured them to give me an exact account of all that had happened, in order that I might be able to serve them effectually. The story was long and minute. When I had heard it to an end, I embraced my young sister:

"'Now that know all, my dear girl,' I said, 'keep your mind at ease. I am delighted to see that you no longer love this man, and my part is all the easier on that account. All that I want now, is to know where I can find him.'

"Our friends began eagerly to advise me to go, first of all, to Aranjuez, and wait upon the French ambassador, in order to obtain his protection against a man whose official situation gave him so much influence with people in power. But I had made up my mind to follow a different course; and, without giving any intimation of my intention, I merely begged that my arrival might be kept a secret till my return from Aranjuez.

"I immediately changed my travelling dress, and found my way to the residence of Don Joseph Clavijo, keeper of the archives of the crown. He was from home, but I went in search of him; and it was in the drawing-room of a lady whom he had gone to visit that I told him, that, having just arrived from France, and being intrusted with some commissions for him, I was anxious to have an interview with him as soon as possible. He asked me to breakfast the following morning; and I accepted the invitation for myself and the French merchant who was along with me.

"Next morning, I was with him at half-past eight o'clock. I found him in a splendid house, which, he said, belonged to Don Antonio Portugues, the highly-respected head of one of the government offices, and so much his friend, that in his absence he used the house as if it were his own.

"'I am commissioned, sir,' I began, 'by a society of men of letters, to establish, in the different towns which I visit, a literary correspondence with the most distinguished men of the place; and I am sure that I cannot serve my friends more effectually than by opening a correspondence between them and the distinguished author of the papers published under the title of the 'Pensador'.[52]

"He seemed delighted with the proposal. That I might the better know my man, I allowed him to expatiate on the advantages which different countries might derive from this kind of literary intercourse. His manner became quite affectionate; he talked like on oracle; and was all smiles and self-satisfaction. At last he bethought himself of asking what business of my own had brought me to Spain, politely expressing his wish to be of service to me.

"'I accept,' I said, 'your kind offers with much gratitude, and assure you, sir, that I shall explain my business very openly.'

"With the view of throwing him into a state of perplexity in which I intended him to remain till it should be cleared up by the conclusion of what I had to say, I again introduced my friend to him, telling him that the gentleman was not unacquainted with the matter, and that his presence would do no harm. At this exordium, Clavijo turned his eyes on my friend with an air of curiosity. I began:

"'A French merchant, who had a numerous family and a narrow fortune, had several correspondents in Spain. One of the richest of them, happening to be at Paris nine or ten years ago, proposed to adopt two of his daughters. He would take them, he said, to Madrid; he was an old bachelor; they should be to him as children, and be the comfort of his old age; and after his death they should succeed to his mercantile establishment. The two eldest daughters were committed to his care. Two years afterwards he died, leaving the Frenchwomen without any other advantage than the burden of carrying on an embarrassed commercial house. Their good conduct, however, and amiable qualities, gained them many friends, who exerted themselves to increase their credit and improve their circumstances.'

"I observed Clavijo become very attentive.

"'About this time, a young man, a native of the Canaries, got an introduction to their house.'

"Clavijo's gaiety of countenance vanished.

"'Anxious to make himself known, this young gentleman conceived the idea of giving Madrid a pleasure of a novel description in Spain, by establishing a periodical paper in the style of the English Spectator. He received encouragement and assistance, and nobody doubted that his undertaking would be fully successful. It was then that, animated by the hope of reputation and fortune, he made a proposal of marriage to the younger of the French ladies. The elder told him, that he should first endeavour to succeed in the world; and that as soon as some regular employment, or other means of honourable subsistence, should give him a right to think of her sister, her consent, if he gained her sister's affections, should not be wanting.'

"He became restless and agitated. Without seeming to notice his manner, I went on.

"'The younger sister, touched by her admirer's merit, refused several advantageous proposals; and, preferring to wait till he who had loved her, for four years, should realise the hopes which he and his friends entertained, encouraged him to publish the first number of his journal under the imposing title of the Pensador.'

"Clavijo looked as if he were going to faint.

"'The work,' I continued with the utmost coldness, 'had a prodigious success. The king, delighted with so charming a production, gave the author public marks of favour; and he was promised the first honourable employment that should be vacant. He then removed, by an open prosecution of his suit, every other person who had sought my sister's hand. The marriage was delayed only till the promised post should be obtained. At six months' end the post made its appearance, but the man vanished.'

"Here my listener heaved an involuntary sigh, and, perceiving what he had done, reddened with confusion. I went on without interruption.

"'The matter had gone too far to be allowed to drop in this manner. A suitable house had been taken; the bans had been published. The common friends of the parties were indignant at such an outrage; the ambassador of France interfered; and when this man saw that the French ladies had protectors whose influence might be greater than his own, and might even destroy his opening prospects, he returned to throw himself at the feet of his offended mistress. He got her friends to intercede for him; and as the anger of a forsaken woman has generally love at the bottom, a reconciliation soon took place. The marriage preparations were resumed; the bans were re-published; the ceremony was to take place in three days. The reconciliation had made as much noise as the rupture. The lover set out for St. Ildefonso to ask the minister's consent to his marriage; entreating his friends to preserve for him till his return the now precarious affection of his mistress, and to arrange everything for the immediate performance of the ceremony.'

"In the horrible state into which he was thrown by this recital, but yet uncertain whether I might not be telling a story in which I had no personal interest, Clavijo from time to time fixed his eyes on my friend, whose sangfroid was no less puzzling than mine. I now looked him steadily in the face, and went on in a sterner tone.

"'Two days afterwards he returned indeed from court; but, instead of leading his victim to the altar, he sent word to the poor girl that he had once more changed his mind, and would not marry her. Her indignant friends hastened to his house. The villain no longer kept any measures with them, but defied them to hurt him, telling them that if the Frenchwomen were disposed to give him any trouble, they had better take care of themselves. On hearing this intelligence, the young woman fell into convulsions so violent, that her life was long despaired of. In the midst of their desolation, the elder wrote to France an account of the public affront that they had received. They had a brother, who, deeply moved by the story, flew to Madrid, determined to investigate the affair to the bottom. I am that brother. It is I who have left everything--my country, my family, my duties--to avenge in Spain the cause of an innocent and unhappy sister. It is I who come, armed with justice and resolution, to unmask and punish a villain; and it is you who are that villain.'

"It is easier to imagine than describe the appearance of this man by the time I had concluded my speech. His mouth opened from time to time, and inarticulate sounds died away on his tongue. His countenance, at first so radiant with complacency and satisfaction, gradually darkened; his eyes became dim, his features lengthened, his complexion pale and haggard.

"He tried to stammer out some phrases by way of justification. 'Do not interrupt me, sir,' I said; 'you have nothing to say to me, and much to hear from me. In the first place, have the goodness to declare before this gentleman, who has accompanied me from France on account of this very business, whether, owing to any want of faith, levity, weakness, ill-temper, or any other fault, my sister has deserved the double outrage she has received from you.'

"'No, sir; I acknowledge Donna Maria, your sister, to be a young lady full of charms, accomplishments, and virtues.'

"'Has she ever, since you have known her, given you any ground of complaint?'

"'No, never.'

"'Well, then, monster that you are! why have you had the barbarity to bring a poor girl to death's door, merely because her heart gave you the preference over half a dozen other persons more respectable and better than you?'

"'Ah, sir, I have been advised, instigated: if you knew----'

"I interrupted him: 'That is quite sufficient,' I said. Then, turning to my friend, 'You have heard my sister's justification; pray go, and make it known. What I have further to say to this gentleman requires no witness.'

"My friend left the room. Clavijo rose, but I made him resume his seat.

"'It does not suit my views, any more than yours, that you should marry my sister; and you are probably aware that I am not come here to play the brother's part in a comedy, who desires to bring about his sister's happiness, as it is called. You have thought fit to insult a respectable young woman, because you thought her friendless in a strange land; your conduct has been base and dishonourable. You will please, therefore, to begin by acknowledging, under your hand, at perfect freedom, with all your doors open and all your domestics in the room, (who will not understand us, as we shall speak French,) that you have causelessly deceived, betrayed, insulted my sister. With this declaration in my hand I shall hasten to Aranjuez, where our ambassador is; I shall show him the paper, and then have it printed; to-morrow it shall be abundantly circulated through the court and the city. I have some credit here--I have time and money; all shall be employed to deprive you of your place, and to pursue you without respite, and in every possible way, till my sister herself shall entreat me to forbear.'

"'I shall make no such declaration,' said Clavijo, almost inarticulate from agitation.

"'I dare say not, for I don't think, were I in your place, that I should do so myself. But you must consider the other alternative. From this moment I remain at your elbow. I will not leave you a moment. Wherever you go, I will go, till you shall have no other way of getting rid of so troublesome a neighbour but by going with me behind the Palace of Buen Retiro. If I am the survivor, sir, without even seeing the ambassador, or speaking to a single soul here, I shall take my dying sister in my arms, put her in my carriage, and return with her to France. If the luck is yours, all is ended with me. You will then be at liberty to enjoy your triumph, and laugh at your dupes as much as you please. Will you have the goodness to order breakfast.'

"I rose, and rang the bell; a servant brought in breakfast. I took my cup of chocolate, while Clavijo, in deep thought, walked about the room. At length he seemed all at once to form a resolution.

"'M. de Beaumarchais,' he said, 'hear me. Nothing on earth can justify my conduct towards your sister; ambition has been my ruin; but if I had imagined that Donna Maria had a brother like you, far from looking upon her as a stranger without friends or connexions, I should have anticipated the greatest advantages from our union. You have inspired me with the greatest esteem; and I throw myself on your generosity, beseeching you to assist me in redressing, as far as I am able, the injuries I have done your sister. Restore her to me, sir; and I shall esteem myself too happy in receiving, from your hands, my wife and forgiveness of my offences.'

"'It is too late,' I replied; 'my sister no longer loves you. Write a declaration,--that is all I require of you; and be satisfied that, as an open enemy, I will avenge my sister's wrongs till her own resentment is appeased.'

"He made many difficulties; objecting to the style in which I demanded his declaration; to its being all in his hand-writing; and to my insisting that the domestics should be in the room while he was writing it. But the alternative was pressing, and he had probably some lurking hope of regaining the affections of the woman who had loved him so long. His pride, therefore, gave way; and he submitted to write the declaration, which I dictated to him, walking about the room. It contained an ample testimony to the blameless character of my sister, and an acknowledgment of his causeless treachery towards her.

"When he had written and signed the paper, I put it in my pocket, and took my leave, repeating what I had said, as to the use I meant to make of it. He besought me, at least, to tell my sister of the marks of sincere repentance he had exhibited; and I promised to do so.

"My friend's return before me, to my sister's, had produced great alarm in the little circle that were waiting for us. I found the females in tears, and the men very uneasy. But when they heard my account of my interview, and saw the declaration, the general anxiety was turned into joy and congratulation. Every one was of a different opinion: some insisted on ruining Clavijo; others were inclined to forgive him; and others, again, were for leaving everything to my prudence. My sister entreated that she might never hear of him more. I resolved to go to Aranjuez and lay the whole affair before the Marquis D'Ossun, our ambassador.

"Before setting out, I wrote to Clavijo, telling him that my sister would not hear a word in his favour, and that I was therefore determined to adhere to my intention of doing all I could to avenge her injuries. He begged to see me; and I went without hesitation to his house. His language was full of the most bitter self-reproach; and, after many earnest entreaties, he obtained my permission to visit my elder sister, accompanied by a mutual friend, and my promise, in case he should fail in obtaining forgiveness, not to publish his dishonour till after my return from Aranjuez.

"The Marquis D'Ossun received me very kindly. I told him my story, concluding with an account of my meeting with Clavijo, which he could hardly credit, till I showed him the declaration. He asked me what were my views--did I desire to make Clavijo marry my sister?--'No, my lord, my object is to disgrace him publicly.' The Marquis dissuaded me from proceeding to extremities. Clavijo, he said, was a rising man, and evidently in the way of great advancement; ambition had alienated him from my sister; but ambition, repentance, or affection, seemed to be bringing him back; all things considered, Clavijo seemed an advantageous match, and the wisest thing I could do was to get the marriage celebrated immediately. He hinted further, that, by following his advice, I should do him a pleasure, for reasons which he could not explain.

"I returned to Madrid, much troubled by the result of this conference. On arriving at my sister's, I found that Clavijo had been there, accompanied by some mutual friends, in order to beseech my sisters to forgive him. Maria, on his appearance, had fled to her own room, and would not appear; and I was told he had conceived hopes from this little ebullition of resentment. I concluded, for my part, that he was well acquainted with woman, whose soft and tender nature, however deeply she may have been injured, is always prone to pardon the repentant lover whom she sees kneeling at her feet.

"After my return from Aranjuez, Clavijo found means to see me every day. I was delighted with his talents and attainments, and, above all, with the manly confidence he appeared to have in my mediation. I was sincerely desirous to favour his suit; but the profound respect which my poor sister had for my judgment rendered me very circumspect in regard to her. It was her happiness, and not her fortune, that I wished to secure; her heart, and not her hand, that I wished to dispose of.

"On the 25th of May, Clavijo suddenly left the house of M. Portugues, and retired to the house of an officer of his acquaintance, in the quarters of the invalids. This hasty move appeared somewhat singular, though it did not, at the moment, give me any uneasiness. I went to see him: he explained his precipitate retreat by saying that, as M. Portugues was very much opposed to his marriage, he thought he could not give me a better proof of his sincerity than by leaving the house of so powerful an enemy of my sister. This appeared probable, and I felt obliged to him for so delicate a proceeding.

"Next day I received a letter from him, breathing the utmost frankness, honour, and good feeling. He renewed his offer of marriage, if my sister would only forgive his past conduct. He protested the most devoted and unalterable love for her; and called upon me to perform my promise of interceding for him. If it were possible for him, he said, to leave Madrid without an express order from the head of his department, he would instantly set out for Aranjuez to obtain that minister's consent to the marriage: he therefore begged that I would undertake that matter for him; and said that my prompt compliance would be the most convincing proof of my sincere good wishes.

"I read this letter to my sisters; Maria burst into tears. I embraced her tenderly. 'Well, poor child, you love him after all; and are mightily ashamed of it, no doubt! I see it all; but never mind--you are a good excellent girl, notwithstanding; and since your resentment is dying away, let it be extinguished altogether in the tears of forgiveness. They are sweet and soothing after tears of grief and anger. He is a sad fellow, this Clavijo, to be sure, like most men; but, such as he is, I join our worthy ambassador in advising you to forgive him. For his own sake, perhaps,' I added, laughing, 'I might have been as well pleased had he fought me; for yours, I am much better pleased that he has not.'

"I ran on in this way till my sister began to smile in the midst of her tears. I took this as a silent consent, and hastened away in search of her lover. I told him he was a hundred times happier than he deserved; and he agreed that I was in the right. I brought him to my sister's. The poor girl was overwhelmed, on all hands, by entreating friends, till at last, with a blush and a sigh of mingled pleasure and shame, she whispered a consent that we might dispose of her as we pleased. Clavijo was in raptures. In his joy, he ran to my writing-desk, and wrote a paper containing a brief but formal mutual engagement, which he signed, and then kneeling, presented it to my sister for her signature. The gentlemen present, joined their entreaties to his, and thus a written consent was extorted from my poor sister, who, no longer knowing where to hide her head, threw herself weeping into my arms, whispering in my ear, that really I was a hard-hearted man, and had no pity for her.

"We spent a very happy evening, as may well be imagined. At eleven o'clock I set out for Aranjuez, for in that warm climate the night is the pleasantest time for travelling. I communicated all that had passed to the ambassador, who was much pleased, and praised my conduct more than it deserved. I then waited on M. de Grimaldi, the minister at the head of Clavijo's department. He received me kindly, gave his consent to the marriage, and wished my sister every happiness; but observed that Don Joseph Clavijo might have spared me the journey, because a letter to the minister was the usual form, and would have been quite sufficient.

"On my return to Madrid, I found a letter from Clavijo, written in great apparent agitation, in which he told me, that copies of a pretended declaration, said to be by him, had got into circulation, and that it was in such terms that he could not show his face while impressions subsisted so derogatory to his character and honour. He therefore begged me to show the paper he had really signed, and give copies of it. Subjoined to his letter was a copy of this pretended declaration, which was conceived in the most false, exaggerated, and abominable language, and was all in his own hand-writing. He further said, that, in the mean time, and till the public should be disabused, it would be better that we should not see each other for a few days; for, if we did, it might be supposed that the pretended paper was the real one, and that the other, now appearing for the first time, was concocted afterwards.

"I was a little out of humour at the conclusion drawn by Clavijo from this base fabrication. I reproached him gently for taking such an unreasonable view of the matter; and, as I found him unwell, I promised that as soon as he was able to go out, we should go everywhere together, and that I should make it appear that I looked upon him as a brother and an honourable man.

"We made all the arrangements for the marriage. In case he might not be fully supplied with money, I offered him my purse; and I presented him with some jewels and French laces, to enable him to make my sister a wedding gift. He accepted the jewels and laces, because, as he said, it would be difficult to find anything so handsome at Madrid; but I could not prevail on him to receive the money I offered him.

"Next day, a Spanish valet robbed me of a large sum of money and a number of valuable articles. I immediately waited on the governor of Madrid to make my complaint, and was somewhat surprised at the very cold reception I met with. I wrote to the French ambassador on the subject, and thought no more of it.

"I continued my attentions to my sick friend, which were received with every appearance of affectionate gratitude; but, on the 5th of June, when I came as usual to see him, I found, to my utter astonishment, that he had, once more, suddenly decamped.

"I got inquiries made after him at all the lodging-houses in Madrid, and at last discovered his new abode. I expressed my surprise in stronger language than on the previous occasion. He told me that he had learned that his friend with whom he was staying, had been blamed for sharing with another a lodging which was given by the king for his own use only; and that he had been so much hurt at this, that he thought it necessary to leave his friend's apartments instantly, without regarding the embarrassment it might occasion, the state of his health, the untimely hour, or any other consideration. I could not but approve of his delicacy; but kindly scolded him for not having come to reside at my sister's, whither I offered to take him at once. He thanked me most affectionately, but found some reason for excusing himself.

"Next day, under trifling pretexts, he refused my repeated offers of an apartment at my sister's. My friends began to shake their heads, and my sister looked anxious and unhappy. It was similar evasions that had twice already preceded his total desertion. I felt angry at these forebodings, which I insisted were groundless; but I found that suspicion was creeping into my own mind. To get rid of it, on the day fixed for signing the contract, (the seventh of June,) I sent for the apostolic notary, whose function it is to superintend this ceremony. But what was my surprise when this official told me that he was going to make Señor Clavijo sign a declaration of a very different nature; as he had, the day before, received a writ of opposition to my sister's marriage, on the part of a young woman who affirmed that she had a promise from Clavijo, given in 1755, nine years before!

"I inquired who the woman was, and was told by the notary that she was a waiting-woman. In a transport of rage, I ran to Clavijo, loaded him with threats and reproaches. He besought me to moderate my anger and suspend my opinion. He had long ago, he said, made some such promise to Madame Portugues's waiting-woman, who was a pretty girl; but he had never since heard of it, and believed that the girl was now set on by some enemy of Donna Maria. The affair, he assured me, was a trifle, and could be got rid of by the aid of a few pistoles. He repeated his vows of eternal constancy to Maria, and begged me to return at eight o'clock in the evening, when he would go with me to an eminent advocate, who would easily put him on the way of getting rid of this trifling obstacle.

"I left him, full of indecision and bitterness of heart. I could make nothing of his conduct, or imagine any reasonable object he could have in deceiving me. At eight o'clock I returned to his lodgings with two of my friends; but we had hardly got out of the carriage, when the landlady came to the door, and told me that Señor Clavijo had removed from her house an hour before, and was gone she knew not whither.

"Thunderstruck at this intelligence, and unable to believe it, I went up to the room he had occupied. Every thing belonging to him had been carried off. Perplexed and dismayed, I returned home, and had no sooner arrived than a courier from Aranjuez brought me a letter, which he had been ordered to deliver with the utmost speed. It was from the French ambassador. He informed me that the governor of Madrid had just been with him, to tell him that Señor Clavijo had retired to a place of safety, in order to protect himself from the violence he apprehended from me, as I had, a few days before, compelled him, in his own house, and with a pistol at his breast, to sign an engagement to marry my sister. The Marquis, at the same time, expressed his belief of my innocence; but feared that the affair might be turned to my disadvantage, and requested that I would do nothing whatever until I had seen him.

"I was utterly confounded. This man, who for weeks had been treating me like a brother,--who had been writing me letter upon letter, full of affection,--who had earnestly besought me to give him my sister, and had visited her again and again as her betrothed husband,--this monster had been all the while secretly plotting my destruction!

"Suddenly an officer of the Walloon guards came into the room. 'M. de Beaumarchais,' he said, 'you have not a moment to lose. Save yourself, or to-morrow morning you will be arrested in your bed. The order is given, and I am come to apprise you of it. Your adversary is a monster. He has contrived to set almost everybody against you, and has led you into snare after snare, till he has found means to make himself your public accuser. Fly instantly, I beseech you. Once immured in a dungeon, you will have neither protection nor defence.'

"'I fly!--I make my escape!--I will die sooner. Say not a word more, my friends. Let me have a travelling carriage to-morrow morning at four o'clock, and meanwhile leave me to prepare for my journey to Aranjuez.'

"I shut myself up in my room. My mind was utterly exhausted. I threw myself into a chair, where I remained for two hours in a state of total vacuity of thought. At length I roused myself. I reflected on all the circumstances of the case, and on the abundant proofs of my integrity. I sat down to my desk, and, with the rapidity of a man in a high fever, I wrote an exact journal of my actions since my arrival at Madrid: names, dates, conversations,--everything sprang, as it were, into my memory, and fixed itself under my pen. I was still writing at five in the morning, when I was told that my carriage was ready. Some friends wanted to accompany me. 'I wish to be alone,' I said. 'Twelve hours of solitude are not more than necessary to calm the agitation of my frame.' I set out for Aranjuez.

"When I arrived, the ambassador was at the palace, and I could not see him till eleven o'clock at night. He was glad, he said, I was come; for he had been very uneasy about me. During the last fortnight my adversary had gained all the avenues of the palace; and, had it not been for him, I should have been already arrested, and probably sent to a dungeon for life, on the African coast. He had done what he could with M. Grimaldi, the minister, to whom he had earnestly represented his conviction of my probity and honour; but all was without effect. 'You must really go, M. de Beaumarchais,' he continued. 'You have not a moment to lose. I can do nothing in opposition to the general impression against you, or against the positive order that has been issued for your imprisonment; and I should be sincerely grieved should any calamity happen to you in this country. You must leave Spain instantly.'

"I did not shed tears while he was speaking, but large drops of water fell at intervals from my eyes, gathered in them by the contraction of my whole frame. I was stupified and speechless. The ambassador was affected by my situation, and spoke to me in the kindest and most soothing manner; but still persisted in saying that I must yield to necessity, and escape from consequences which could not otherwise be averted. I implored him to think of the ruin to my own character in France if I fled from Spain under such circumstances;--to consider the situation of my unhappy, innocent sister. He said he would write to France, where his account of my conduct would he credited; and that, as to my sister, he would not neglect her. I could bear this conversation no longer; but, abruptly quitting his presence, I rushed out of the house, and wandered all night in the dark alleys of the park of Aranjuez, in a state of inexpressible anguish.

"In the morning, my courage rose; and, determined to obtain justice or perish, I repaired to the levee of M. Grimaldi, the minister. While I waited in his ante-chamber, I heard several voices pronounce the name of M. Whal. That distinguished and venerable statesman, who had retired from the ministry that, in the close of life, he might have a brief interval of repose, was then residing in M. Grimaldi's house. I heard this, and was suddenly inspired with the idea of having recourse to him for protection. I requested permission to see him, as a stranger who had something of importance to communicate. I was admitted; and the sight of his mild and noble countenance gave me courage. I told him that my only claim to his favour was that I was a native of the country in which he himself was born, persecuted almost to death by cruel and powerful enemies; but this title, I trusted, was sufficient to obtain for me the protection of a just and virtuous man.

"'You are a Frenchman,' he said, 'and that is always a strong claim with me. But you tremble--you are pale and breathless; sit down--compose yourself, and tell me the cause of such violent agitation.' He ordered that no one should be admitted; and I, in an unspeakable state of hope and fear, requested permission to read my journal of occurrences since my arrival in Madrid. He complied, and I began to read. As I went on, he from time to time begged me to be calm, and to read more slowly that he might follow me the better; assuring me that he took the greatest interest in my narrative. As I proceeded, I laid before him in succession the letters and other documents which were referred to. But when I came to the criminal charge against me,--to the order for my imprisonment, which had been only suspended for a little by M. Grimaldi at the request of our ambassador,--to the urgent advices which I had received to make my escape, but which I avowed my determination not to follow,--he uttered an exclamation, rose, and took me kindly by the hand:

"'Unquestionably the king will do you justice, M. de Beaumarchais. The ambassador, in spite of his regard for you, is obliged to act with the caution which befits his office; but I am under no such restraint. It shall never be said that a respectable Frenchman, after leaving his home, his friends, his business,--after having travelled a thousand miles to succour an innocent and unfortunate sister, has been driven from this country, carrying with him the impression that no redress or justice is to be obtained in Spain. It was I who placed this Clavijo in the king's service, and I feel myself responsible for his infamous conduct. Good God! how unhappy it is for statesmen that they cannot become sufficiently aware of the real character of the persons they employ, and thus get themselves surrounded by specious knaves, of whose shameful actions they often bear the blame. A minister may be forgiven for being deceived in the choice of a worthless subordinate; but when once he comes to a knowledge of his character, there is no excuse for retaining him a moment. For my part, I shall immediately set a good example to my successors.'

"So saying, he rang, ordered his carriage, and took me with him to the palace. He sent for M. Grimaldi; and, while waiting for the arrival of that minister, went into the king's closet, and told his majesty the story, accusing himself of indiscretion in recommending such a man to his majesty's favour. M. Grimaldi came; and I was called into the royal presence. 'Read your memorial,' said M. Whal,--'every feeling and honourable heart must be as much moved by it as I was.' I obeyed. The king listened with attention and interest; examined the proofs of my statements; and the result was an order that Clavijo should be deprived of his employment, and dismissed for ever from his majesty's service."

From subsequent parts of the narrative, it appears that Clavijo exerted all his powers of cunning and intrigue in order to get himself re-instated in his situation; not omitting further attempts to impose upon M. de Beaumarchais, accompanied with abject entreaties and hypocritical professions. All, however, was in vain; and this man, who seems to have been an extraordinary compound of intellectual ability and moral depravity, seems to have sunk into contempt and insignificance. The young lady recovered the shock she had received; and was afterwards happily married, and settled at Madrid.

[51] The Princesses of France, in whose household M. de Beaumarchais held an office.

[52] The Reflector.

MARS AND VENUS.

One day, upon that Trojan plain, Where men in hecatombs were slain, Th' immortal gods (no common sight) Thought fit to mingle in the fight, And found convincing proof that those Who will in quarrels interpose Are often doom'd to suffer harm-- Venus was wounded in the arm; Whilst Mars himself, the god of war, Receiv'd an ignominious scar, And, fairly beat by Diomed, Fled back to heav'n and kept his bed. That bed (the proof may still be seen) Had long been shared with beauty's queen; For, with th' adventure of the cage, Vulcan had vented all his rage, (a) And, like Italian husbands, he Now wore his horns resignedly. Ye modest critics! spare my song: If gods and goddesses did wrong, And revell'd in illicit love, As poets, sculptors, painters, prove, Is mine the fault? and, if I tell Some tales of scandal that befell In heathen times, why need my lays On ladies' cheeks more blushes raise, When read (if such my envied lot) In secret boudoir, bower, or grot, Than scenes which, in the blaze of light, They throng to witness ev'ry night? Ere you condemn my humble page, Glance for a moment at the stage, Where twirling gods to view expose Their pliant limbs, in tighten'd hose, And goddesses of doubtful fame Are by lord chamberlains allow'd, With practis'd postures, to inflame The passions of a gazing crowd: And if great camels, such as these, Are swallow'd with apparent ease, Oh! strain not at a gnat like me, Nor deem me lost to decency, When I now venture to declare That Mars and Venus--guilty pair-- On the same couch extended lay, And cursed the fortunes of the day. The little Loves, who round them flew, Could only sob to show their feeling, Since they, of course, much better knew The art of wounding than of healing, And Cupid's self essay'd in vain To ease his lovely mother's pain: The chaplet that his locks confin'd He tore indeed her wound to bind; But from her sympathetic fever He had no nostrum to relieve her, And, thinking that she might assuage That fever, as she did her rage, By talking loud,--her usual fashion Whenever she was in a passion,-- He stood, with looks resign'd and grave, Prepar'd to hear his mother rave. Who thus began: "Ah! Cupid, why Was I so silly as to try My fortune in the battle-field, (b) Or seek a pond'rous spear to wield, Which only Pallas (hated name!) Of all her sex can wield aright? What need had I of martial fame, Sought 'midst the dangers of the fight, When beauty's prize, a trophy far More precious than the spoils of war, Was mine already, won from those Whom rivalry has made my foes, And who on Trojan plains would sate E'en with my blood that ranc'rous hate Which Ida's neighb'ring heights inflame, And not this wound itself can tame? Ah! why did I not bear in mind That Beauty, like th' inconstant wind, Is always privileg'd to raise The rage of others to a blaze, Then, lull'd to rest, look calmly on, And see the work of havoc done? 'Twas well to urge your father, Mars, To mingle in those hated wars; 'Twas well--" But piteous cries of pain, From him she named, here broke the chain Of her discourse, and seem'd to say, "What want of feeling you display!" So, turning to her wounded lover, She kindly urged him to discover By whom and where the wound was given, That sent him writhing back to heaven. The god, thus question'd, hung his head, A burning blush of shame o'erspread With sudden flush his pallid cheek, As thus he answer'd: "Dost thou seek To hear a tale of dire disgrace, Which all those honours must efface, That, hitherto, have made my name Pre-eminent in warlike fame? Yet--since 'twas thou who bad'st me go To fight with mortals there below-- 'Tis fitting, too, that thou shouldst learn What laurels 'twas my fate to earn. At first, in my resistless car, I seem'd indeed the god of war; The Trojans rallied at my side; Changed in its hue, the Xanthus' tide Its waters to the ocean bore, Empurpled deep in Grecian gore; And o'er the corpse-impeded field The cry was still 'They yield!--they yield!' But soon, the flying ranks to stay, Thy hated rivals joined the fray; They nerved, with some accursed charm, Each Greek's, but most Tydides' arm, And, Venus, thou first felt the smart Of his Minerva-guided dart. I saw thee wounded, saw thee fly,-- I saw the chief triumphantly Tow'rds me, his ardent coursers turn, As though from gods alone to earn The highest honours of the fight; I know not why, but, at the sight-- Eternal shame upon my head!-- A panic seized me, and I fled-- I fled, like chaff before the wind, And, ah! my wounds are all--behind!" When thus at length the truth was told, (The shameful truth of his disgrace,) Again, within his mantle's fold, The wounded coward hid his face; (c) Whilst Venus, springing from his side, With looks of scornful anger, cried, "And didst thou fly from mortal foe, Nor stay to strike one vengeful blow For her who fondly has believ'd, By all thy val'rous boasts deceiv'd, That in the god of war she press'd The first of heroes to her breast? Cupid, my swans and car prepare-- To Cyprus we will hasten, where Some youth, as yet unknown to fame, May haply raise another flame; For Mars may take his leave of Venus, No coward shall enjoy my love; And nothing more shall pass between us,-- I swear it by my fav'rite dove." She spake; and through the realms of air, Before the humbled god could dare Upraise his head to urge her stay, Already she had ta'en her way; And in her Cyprian bow'r that night, (If ancient scandal tell aright,) Forgetful of her recent wound, In place of Mars another found, And to a mortal's close embraces Surrender'd her celestial graces. 'Tis said that Venus, wont to range Both heav'n and earth in search of change, Was not unwilling to discover Some pretext to desert her lover; Nor do I combat the assertion, But from the cause of her desertion, Whilst you, fair readers, justly rail Against her morals, I will dare To draw this moral for my tale,-- "None but the brave deserve the fair!"

NOTES.

(a) Ovid thus speaks of the result of Vulcan's exposure of his wife's infidelity:

"Hoc tibi profectum, Vulcane, quod ante tegebant, Liberius faciunt ut pudor omnis abest; Sæpe tamen demens stultè fecisse fateris, Teque ferunt iræ poenituisse tuæ."

(b) Leonidas, in his beautiful epigram to Venus armed, says,

[Greek: Areos entea tauta tinos charin, ô Kythireia, Endidysai, keneon touto pherousa baros, Auton Arê' gymnê gar aphoplisas, ei de lileiptai Kai theos, anthrôpois opla matên epageis.]

(c) The ancients were seldom guilty of making the actions of their gods inconsistent with their general character and attributes; but there seems to have been much of the Captain Bobadil in the mighty god of war, and the instance of cowardice here alluded to is not the only one recorded of him by the pts. In the wars with the Titans he showed a decided "white feather," and suffered himself to be made prisoner.

AN EVENING MEDITATION.

I love the sound of Nature's happy voice, The music of a summer evening's sky, When all things fair and beautiful rejoice, As though their glory ne'er would fade and die. Sweet is the breeze as 'mid the flowers it sings, Sweet is the melody of falling streams, Sweet is the sky-lark's song as borne on wings Of waving light--a bird of heaven she seems. Oh! for the hours, when wrapt in joy I've sat, And felt that harmony--"all round my hat!" SIGMA.

THE DEVIL AND JOHNNY DIXON. BY THE AUTHOR OF "STORIES OF WATERLOO."

Arnold. Your form is man's, and yet you may be the devil.

Stranger. Unless you keep company with him (and you seem scarce used to such high company) you can't tell how he approaches. The Deformed Transformed.

I remember having been exceedingly amused by a book of German diablerie, in which the movements of his Satanic Majesty were faithfully and fashionably chronicled. He had chosen, it would appear, for good and cogent reasons, to revisit our earth incognito; and as potentates steal occasionally a glance at the world to see how things move in their ordinary courses, he too indulged his princely curiosity, and, selon la règle, during his travels assumed a borrowed title.

I had business to transact in a very remote district of the kingdom of Connaught, and, as some delay was unavoidable, I threw a few books carelessly into my portmanteau. Among them the wild conception of Hoffmann, entitled "The Devil's Elixir," was included; and in the perusal of that strange tale, I endeavoured to amuse the tedium of as wet a day as often comes in Connemara. Bad as the morning had been, the evening was infinitely worse: the wind roared through the mountains; the rain came down in torrents; and every unhappy wayfarer pushed hastily for the nearest inn.

I had been an occupant of the best (and only) parlour of Tim Corrigan during the preceding week; and so unfrequent were the calls at his caravansera, that, like Robinson Crus, I could stroll out upon the moor, and proclaim that I was absolute over heath and "hostelrie." But, on this night, two travellers were driven to the "Cock and Punchbowl." They were bound for a fair that was to be holden on the morrow some twenty miles off; and, although anxious to lodge themselves in some more contiguous hostel, the weather became so desperate, that by mutual consent they abandoned their intention, and resolved to ensconce themselves for the night in a double-bedded room, which, fortunately for them, happened to be unoccupied in the "Cock and Punchbowl."

Had their resolution to remain been doubtful, one glance at the kitchen fire would have confirmed it. There, a well-conditioned goose was twisting, on a string appended to the chimney-breast; while divers culinary utensils simmered on the blazing turf, giving sure indications that other adjuncts were to accompany the bird, and the dinner would be a substantial one. I, while taking "mine ease in mine inn," had seen the travellers arrive; and, the door being ajar, heard the "to ride or not to ride" debated. That question settled, other cares arose.

"Tim," said the younger guest to the landlord, as he nodded significantly at the goose, "I'm hungry as a hawk."

The host shrugged his shoulders, and, pointing to the "great chamber," where I was seated, replied in an undertone, "There's a customer before ye, Master Johnny."

"A customer!--only one, Tim?"

"Sorrow more," replied the host.

"Why, the curse of Cromwell on ye for a cormorant!" said the traveller. "Three priests, after confessing half a parish, would scarcely demolish that wabbler. I'll invite myself to dinner; and if I be not in at the dissection, it won't be Johnny Dixon's fault."

"Arrah! the devil a fear of that," returned the landlord. "Your modesty nivir stopped your promotion, Shawn avourneen![53]" and he of the Cock and Punchbowl laughed heartily as the traveller entered the parlour.

He was a stout, middle-sized, foxy-headed fellow of some six or eight-and-twenty. His face was slightly marked with small-pox, and plain, but not unpleasing. The expression was good-humoured and intelligent; while, in the sparkle of his light blue eye, there was a pretty equal proportion of mirth and mischief. He advanced to me with perfect nonchalance; nodded as if he had known me for a twelvemonth; and, as if conferring a compliment, notified with great brevity that it was his intention to honour me with his company. No proposition could have pleased me better, and it was fortunate that I had no wish to remain alone; for, I verily believe, the traveller had already made up his mind, coute qui coute, to aid and assist in demolishing the bird that saved the Capitol.

Presently the hostess announced that all preparations were complete. The traveller, who had been talking of divers affairs, rural and political, suddenly changed the conversation. "There was," he said, "an unlucky sinner outside, who like himself had been storm-stayed that evening. He was a priest's nephew, a harmless poor devil, whom the old fellow had worked like a nigger, until one sweet evening he smothered himself in poteen-punch, leaving Peter Feaghan a kettleful of gold. If he, Peter, were only let in, he would pray for me during life; and, as to eating, would be contented with the drumsticks."

I laughed, and assented; and "Master Johnny" speedily produced a soft-looking, bullet-headed farmer; who, after scraping his leg across the floor, sate himself down at the corner of the table.

Dinner came. I, since I breathed the keen air of Connemara, had felt a quickened appetite; but "Master Johnny" double-distanced me easily as a trencher-man, and he, in turn, could not hold a candle to the nephew of the defunct priest. Peter Feaghan was a silent and a steady workman, and I firmly believe the drumsticks were regularly skeletonized before the priest's heir was disposed to cry "Hold, enough!" At last the cloth was removed; and a quart-bottle, a basin of sugar, with a jug of boiling water of enormous capacity, were set down.

"What an infernal night it is!" ejaculated the younger traveller, as a gust of wind drove the hail against the window. "Were you not in luck," he continued, "that chance drove two Christian men, like Peter and me, among the mountains? Honest Tim is speechless by this hour, or he has shortened his allowance greatly since I was here last. No flirting in the house, for Mrs. Corrigan is a Carmelite, and Brideen dhu[54] has bundled off with a peeler.[55] In short, you must have got drunk in self-defence, and, for lack of company, as I have often done, drank one hand against the other."

"Or," said I, "diluted the poteen with a draught of 'The Devil's Elixir.'"

"The Devil's Elixir!" repeated the foxy-headed traveller; "and pray what may that be?"

In reply, I handed him a volume of the Prussian Counsellor; he looked at the title-page, and read the motto, "In that yeare the Deville was als seene walking publiclie on the streetes of Berline." Laughing loudly, he turned to the priest's heir.

"Holy Mary! had your poor uncle Paul been in town, he would have had a shy at ould Beelzebub, or made him quit the flagway."

"And who was Uncle Paul?" I inquired of the stranger.

"What!" he exclaimed, in manifest astonishment, "not know that excellent and gifted churchman,--one before whom the devil shook like a whipped schoolboy?"

"And was Mr. Feaghan's influence over him, surnamed 'the Morning Star,' so extraordinary?"

"Extraordinary you may well call it," resumed Foxy-Head. "The very mention of Paul's name would produce an ague-fit. Many a set-to they had--a clear stage and no favour--and in all and every, the devil was regularly floored. There is the old house of Knockbraddigan,--for months, man, woman, or child could not close an eye. Priest, monk, and friar, all tried their hands in vain. Holy-water was expended by the gallon--masses said thrice a week--a saint's finger borrowed for the occasion, and brought all the way from Cork,--and even the stable-lantern had a candle in it, blessed by the bishop. For all these 'Clooty' did not care a button, when Father Paul toddled in, and saved the house and owner."

"Indeed?"

"Ay! and I'll tell you the particulars. It was the year after the banks broke--times were bad--tenants racked--and Tom Braddigan, like many a better man, poor fellow! was cleaned out by the sheriff. Never was a shuck[56] sinner harder up for a few hundreds; and, to make a long story short, Hoofey came in the way, and Tom 'sould himself' regularly. I never heard the sum, but it is said that it was a large figure; and that, to give the devil his due, he never cobbled for a moment, but paid a sporting price, and came down like a man. Well, the tenure-day came round; Clooty was true to time, and claimed his customer: but Tom was awake; Paul Feaghan was at his elbow, and, as it turned out, Paul proved himself nothing but a good one.

"'Arrah! what do ye want here, honest man?' says the priest to the devil, opening the conversation civilly.

"'No offence, I suppose,' says the other, 'for a body to look after his own.'

"'None in the world,' replied Father Paul, answering him quite politely; and all the while, poor Tom shaking like a Quaker.

"'Mr. Braddigan,' says the devil, 'we have a long drive before us, and the carriage is waiting. Don't mind your Cotamore,[57] Tom; and the eternal ruffian put his tongue in his cheek. 'Though the day's cold, 'pon my conscience, you shall have presently an air of the fire.'

"'Asy,' says the priest, 'what call have you to a Catholic?'

"'A Catholic!' replied the devil, with a twist of his lip, mimicking Father Paul; 'maybe your reverence would tell us when he was last at confession?'

"At this the priest lost temper. 'What the blazes,' says he, 'have you to do with that? Was there any body present at the bargain betune[58] ye?'

"'Hell to the one,' replied the devil.

"'Then,' says Father Paul, 'sorrow leg you would have to stand on if the whole thing came before the barrister.'

"The devil gave a knowing look, and, dipping his hand into the left breeches-pocket, took out a piece of paper, and, as an attorney shows the corner of a promissory-note to an unwilling witness, he held it out to Tom, and asked him was it his hand-writing: 'Tummas a Brawdeen,'[59] says he, in Irish, 'is that yer fist?'

"'There's no denying it,' says Tom, with a shudder.

"'Then draw on yer boots, and let us be jogging.'

"'Asy,' says Father Feaghan. 'Did ye get the consideration, Tom?'

"The devil seemed uncommonly affronted. 'Paul Feaghan,' says he, 'I didn't think you would suppose that I would take his I.O.U. and not post the coal! By my oath,' he continued, 'and let him contradict me if he can, a Tuam note he would not touch with the tongs; and the devil a flimsy would go down with him, good or bad, but a regular Bank of Ireland!'

"'Oh, be Jakers!' says the priest, 'you're done, Tom! Show me the note.'

"'Bedershin!' says the devil, clapping his right fore-finger on his nose.

"'Honour bright!' replied Father Paul.

"'Will ye return it?' inquired Old Hoofey.

"'Will a duck swim?' says the priest. 'Be this book,' says he, laying his hand upon the tea-caddy, 'ye shall have it in two twos.'

"'There it is, then,' replied the other, 'and make your best of it. Come, Tom, there's no turnpikes to pay where you're going to; so on with your wrap-rascal,' pointing to the cotamore.

"But, sorrow wink was on Father Feaghan all the while. He examined the note, and not a letter was wanting. It was regular, as if the devil had been bound to an attorney--drawn on a three-shilling stamp,--and, as he turned it round and round, it crumpled like singed parchment.

"'You're dished,' ejaculated his reverence, looking over at Tom.

"'Murder! murder!' says he, as Hoofey held out his hand for the I.O.U.

"'Arrah!' says Father Paul, 'do ye keep your papers in a tinderbox?'

"'They're over dry, I allow,' replied the devil; 'but in my place it's hard to find a cool corner.'

"'We'll damp this one a little,' says the priest, slipping his hand fair and asy into a mug of holy-water, and splashing half a pint of it on Tummas a Brawdeen's note. 'Put that in yer pocket to balance yer pipe.'

"In a moment the devil changed colour. 'Bad luck attend ye night and day, for a circumventing villain!' says he.

"'Off with ye, you convicted ruffin!' roared Father Paul, making a flourishing [cross]; and before Tom Braddigan had time to bless himself, Clooty went up the chimney in a flash of fire, leaving the room untenantable for a fortnight, from the sulphur; and Tummas a Brawdeen sung, for the remainder of his life, 'Wasn't that elegantly done?'"

"Nothing could be better," said I, as Red-head closed his story. "What a sensation the affair must have occasioned. 'Like angels' visits,' I presume, the old gentleman's are 'few and far between?'"

"By no means," returned the stranger, "there are few families of any fashion in this country, who have not, at some period or other, been favoured with a call; and I myself was once honoured by his company at supper."

I stared at the man; but he bore my scrutiny without flinching.

"Had you a party to meet his Satanic Majesty?" I inquired, with a smile.

"Not a soul," replied he. "We supped tête-à-tête; and a pleasanter fellow never stretched his legs beneath a man's mahogany."

"You certainly have excited my curiosity not a little," said I.

"If I have," returned the fox-headed stranger, "I shall most willingly give you a full account of our interview.

"It was the first Friday after the winter fair of Boyle. I was returning home in bad spirits; for, though I sold my bullocks well, I had been regularly cleaned out at loo, and hit uncommonly hard in a handicap. For three nights I scarcely won a pool, and that was bad enough; but to lose the best weight-carrier that was ever lapped in leather, for a paltry ten-pound note, and a daisy-cutter with a fired leg and feathered eye, would make a saint swear, and a Quaker kick his mother.

"Night had closed in, as I passed the cross-roads of Kilmactigue, about two miles from home; and I pulled up into a walk, to bring my bad bargain cool to the stable. Just then I heard a horse behind me, coming on in a slapping trot; and, before you could say Jack Robinson, a strange horseman was beside me.

"'Morra,[60] Mistre Dixon,' says he.

"'Morra to ye, sir,' says I, turning sharp about to see if I could know him. He looked in the dim light a 'top-sawyer,' and, as far as I could judge, the best-mounted man I had met for a month of Sundays. He appeared to be dressed in black; his horse was the same colour as his coat, and I began to tax my memory, hard, to recollect the place where he and I had met before.

"'You have the advantage of me, sir,' says I.

"'Faith, and that's odd enough,' says he, 'for you and I rode head and girth together at the stag-hunt at Rathgranaher.'

"'Death and nouns!' says I, 'is this Mr. Magan?'

"'I believe so,' says he, 'for want of a better.'

"'Ah! then,' said I, 'I'm glad I met you. Is that the black mare that carried you so brilliantly?'

"'The same,' he replied.

"'No wonder I didn't know ye: you wore at Rathgranaher a light-green coatee, and now you're black as a bishop.'

"'I buried an aunt of mine lately,' says he.

"'Maybe you could do as much for a friend,' replied I; 'I have a couple at your service; and, as I pay them a hundred a year, I wish them often at the devil.'

"'I'll make no objection on my part,' replied Mr. Magan. 'But how far is it to Templebeg? It will be late before I reach it, I fear.'

"'It's the worst road in Connaught,' said I: 'my den is scarcely a mile off; and, if you are not in a hurry, turn in for the night, and you shall have a warm stall, a grilled bone, and a hearty welcome.'

"'Never say it again,' says Mr. Magan; and on we rode, cheek by jowl, talking of fairs, horses, and the coming election. Lord! nothing came amiss to him: he was up to every thing, from écarté to robbing the mail-coach; and in politics so knowing, that one while I fancied him a Whig, and at the next I would have given my book oath he was a black Orangeman.

"Before we reached the avenue, I tried if he would 'stand a knock.'[61]

"'Would you part with the mare?' says I.

"'If I was bid a sporting price, I would part with my grandmother, if I had one,' was the reply.

"'What boot will you take, and turn tails?' said I.

"'Neighbour,' replied Mr. Magan, 'it must be a long figure that gets Black Bess. What's that you're riding?'

"'A thorough-bred four-year old, by Langar, out of a Tom Pipes mare.'

"'Bedershin!' says Mr. Magan; 'Tom died before you were born.'

"This was a hard hit. Devil a one of me knew how the horse was bred; but, as he happened to be a chestnut, I thought I would give Langar for a sire. Pretending not to hear the remark, I continued,

"'He's uncommon fast up to twelve stone; will take five feet, 'coped and dashed,' without a balk; and live the longest day with any fox-hounds on the province. At three years old, Peter Brannick refused fifty for him.'

"'And didn't ask a rap for a dark eye and a ring-bone,' observed Mr. Magan.

"'Oh!' says I, to myself, 'Magan, there's no coming over ye!' So I thought that I had better leave horse-flesh alone, and try if I could draw him at a setch of loo, or a hand of five and ten.

"With that we had ridden into the yard, and given our prads to the men, with a hundred charges from the stranger, that his mare should have a bran-mash and warm clothing. Well, I ushered him into the parlour, and there was a roaring fire, and the cloth laid for supper; for, luckily enough, Judy Mac Keal had expected me home. Mr. Magan took off his cotamore, laid his hat and whip aside, and then threw his eyes over the apartment.

"'Mona mon diaoul!'[62] says he, 'if there's a snugger hunting-box between Birr and Bantry.'

"'Oh!' said I, 'the cabin's well enough for a loose lad like me. Everything here is rough and ready; and, as it's a bachelor's shop, you must make allowances.'

"'Arrah! nabocklish![63] I'm a single man myself, and it's wonderful how well I get my health, and manage with a housekeeper. By-the-bye,' and he looked knowing as a jailor, 'is Judy Mac Keal with you still?'

"'And what do you know about Judy, neighbour?' says I.

"'Don't be offended,' replied he. 'The boys were joking after supper at Dinny Balfe's; and Maurice Ffrench named her for face and figure, against any mentioned, for a pony.'

"'Ffrench is a fool!' I replied. 'But as you know Judy already, we'll ring, and see if there's any chance of supper.'

"She answered the bell; told us the ducks were at the fire, and that in half an hour all would be ready. When she went away, Magan swore she was the best-looking trout he had laid eyes on for a twelvemonth; and, spying out a pack of cards upon the chimney-piece, proposed that we should kill time with a game of hookey or lansquenet.

"It was the very thing I wanted; but I took the offer indifferently.

"'Egad! I'm afraid of you,' says I, as I laid the pack upon the table-cloth. He cut the cards.

"'The deal is yours. What an infernal ass I am to touch paper,' says he; and kissing the knave of clubs. 'By this book, I'm such an unlucky devil, that I verily believe, had my father bound me to a hatter, men would be born without heads. Come, down with the dust!' and he pulled from his breast-pocket a parcel of notes as thick as an almanack. They were chiefly fives and tens; and when I remarked them all the black bank,[64] I set him down a Northman.

"We played at first tolerably even; but, by the time supper was served, I found myself a winner of twenty pounds. This was a good beginning; and I determined to continue my good luck, and, if I could, do Mr. Magan brown.

"Down we sate; my friend had an excellent appetite, and finished a duck to his own share. We drank a bottle of sherry in double-quick, got the cards again, and called for tumblers and hot water.

"Judy brought in the materials, and Mr. Magan began to quiz her.

"'Arrah! Miss Mac Keal,' says he, 'will ye come and keep house for me, and I'll double your wages?'

"'And where do ye live?' replied she.

"'Down in the North,' returned Magan; 'and I have as nate a place, ay, and as warm a house, as ever you laid a foot in!'

"'Have done with your joking,' says Judy, 'and go home to your own dacent wife.'

"'I have her yet to look for,' replied he.

"'Devil have the liars,' says Judy.

"'Ah then, amen!' said Magan.

"'I wouldn't believe ye,' continued she, 'if you kissed the vestment on it.'

"'Liggum lathé,'[65] says he.

"'Why, what good Irish you have for a Northman!' replied Judy.

"'My mother was a Munster woman,' says Mr. Magan.

"'Is she alive?' inquired she.

"'Dead as Cleopatra,' he said, with a laugh; and Judy afterwards remarked, 'she knew he was a rascal, or he would have added, 'God rest her soul!'

"When the housekeeper disappeared, the stranger filled a bumper. 'Egad!' thought I, 'I'll try him now, whether he be radical or true-blue; and, lifting up the tumbler, I proposed, 'The glorious, pious, and immortal memory--'

"'Of the great and good King William,' says he, taking the word out of my mouth.

"'Who freed us from Pope and popery, knavery, slavery--'

"'Brass money, and wooden shs,' returned the Northman.

"'May he who would not, on bare and bended knee, drink this toast, be rammed, crammed--'

"'And damned!' roared Magan, as if the sentiment came from his very heart. 'Here's the Pope in the pillory, and the Devil pelting priests at him!' cried the Northman; and, with a laugh, off went the bumpers, and we commenced the cards anew.

"Well, sir, that night I had the luck of thousands. The black bank-notes came over the table-cloth by the dozen; and, as the Northman lost his money, his temper went along with it. He cursed the cards, and their maker; swore he would book himself[66] against bones and paper for a twelvemonth; made tumbler after tumbler; and, as he drank them boiling from the kettle, I wondered how he could swallow poteen-punch hot enough to scald a pig.

"'Come,' says he, in a rage, 'I see how the thing will end; and the sooner I am cleaned out, the better. Instead of a beggarly flimsey, fork out a five-pound note.'

"'With all my heart,' replied I.

"'Curse of Cromwell attend upon all shmakers!' ejaculated Mr. Magan, with a grin.

"'Arrah! what's vexing ye now?' says I, pulling the third five-pounder across the cloth.

"'Every thing!' returned he, 'I have the worst of luck, a tight boot, and a bad corn.'

"'I'll get ye slippers in a shake.'

"'Mind your cards,' says he, rather cross; 'there's nobody here but ourselves, and I'll pull off my boot quietly under the table!'

"He did so: we continued play; and, though he lost ahead, he recovered his temper, and seemed to bear it like a gentleman. It was quite clear that the boot had made him cranky. No wonder: an angry corn and tight shoe would try the patience of a bride.

"Well, the last of his bundle of bank-notes was in due course transferred to me, and I fancied I had him 'polished off;' but, dipping his hand into his big-coat pocket, he produced a green silk purse, half a yard long, and stuffed, apparently, with sovereigns. I lighted a cigar, and offered him another, but he declined it; and, after groping his cotamore for half a minute, produced a dudheen,[67] which he lighted at the candle. I have smoked tobacco here these ten years,--Persian or pigstail were all the same to me;--but the first whiff of Magan's pipe I thought would have smothered me on the spot.

"'Holy Bridget!' says I, gasping for breath. 'Arrah! what stuff is that you're blowing?'

"'It's rather strong,' says he, 'but beautiful when you're used to it. Cut the cards; and, as they say in Connaught, 'if money stands, luck may turn.'

"Just then Judy come in to ask Mr. Magan if he would have a second pair of blankets on his bed.

"'Will you come with me?' says he, putting his arm round her jokingly.

"'God take ye, if possible!' cried Judy: 'pheaks! ye'r not over well honest man, for your hand's in a fever!'

"'It's the liker my heart, Judy,' and he gave her a coaxing smile.

"'Sorrow one of me liked his making so free. 'Go on with your game,' says I, 'and don't be putting your comether[68] over my housekeeper.'

"At the moment a horse-tramp was heard in the yard, and Judy ran to the window.

"'Who's that?' says I. 'Devil welcome him, whver he is;' for I thought he would interrupt us.

"'It's a short man on a grey pony,' says Judy, 'with a big blue cloak about him.'

"'Phew!' and I whistled. 'It's Father Paul Feaghan.'

"'Father Paul!' ejaculated Mr. Magan, turning pale as a shirt-frill, and dropping the dudheen on the floor.

"'Oh, death and nouns! the carpet will be ruined!' roared Judy, plumping down upon her knees, and snatching at the pipe; but, before she reached it, she gave a wild scream, as if she saw a ghost, and began blessing herself busily. But, scarcely had she made the sign of the [cross], when a thunderclap shook the lodge; a blaze lightened through the supper-room, and Mr. Magan, taking with him the black bank-notes, and the hand of cards he was playing with, vanished up the chimney. No doubt he would have taken the roof away into the bargain, had not Father Paul been fortunately so near us."

"And," said I, "did no other evil consequences attend this unhallowed visit?"

"Evil consequences!" returned Johnny Dixon, as he repeated my words: "my stable-boy was frightened into fits; Judy Mac Keal kept her bed for a fortnight,--and, mona mon diaoul![69] thirty shillings did not pay the glazier--for Magan,--the Lord's curse light upon him!--smashed the windows into smithereens. But it grows late," he continued, addressing his companion; "and you and I, Peter, must be up ere cockcrow. Good night, sir!" and he turned to me. "Should you ever meet Mr. Magan--while you remain in his society, never be persuaded, as they say in Mayo, to 'prove agreeable;' or, 'fight, flirt, play cards, or hold the candle.'"

[NOTE.-The story was told me at a supper-table by a Connaught gentleman, with the most profound gravity imaginable. He, the hero, believed it religiously himself; and w be to the sceptic who gainsayed its authenticity.

Poor Johnny lies under a ton weight of Connemara marble. Requiescat! A better fellow never took six feet in a stroke, carried off a third bottle, or gave a job to the coroner. Requiescat! Amen!]

[53] Anglicè, John, my jewel.

[54] Anglicè, Black Biddy.

[55] A policeman.

[56] An Irish phrase, synonymous with distressed.

[57] Great-coat.

[58] Between.

[59] Anglicè, Tom Braddigan.

[60] Good-morrow.

[61] A handicap.

[62] An Irish imprecation.

[63] Be quiet.

[64] One of the Belfast banks is thus named.

[65] Anglicè, Have it your own way.

[66] Take his oath.

[67] Anglicè, A short pipe.

[68] A phrase expressive of using the power of persuasion.

[69] My soul to the devil.

A MERRY CHRISTMAS. BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

Dover, December 20th, 1836. DEAR YOUR LORDSHIP,--I never writ to a lord before, and don't do it now spontaneous; but Mrs. Miggins desires me to ask you to join our Christmas party next week. Now I think that will be what you call a bore, because 'tisn't only us ourselves, but I can't give up old friends and relations, and so there'll be more Migginses than you ever saw before; and, always excepting daughter Sophy, I suspect you've seen more already than you ever wish to see again. However, daughter Sophy did seem to attract your notice like, last autumn here, when you was staying with the duke. I saw clear enough you didn't want the duke nor the duchess to know about it, and so I were glad when you took yourself away; but Sophy hankers after you, and my wife says,--and she's right enough there, though it dsn't generally follow that a thing's right because she says it,--that there's no reason why daughter Sophy shouldn't be a lord's wife and a lady herself, like other fine girls no ways her betters; and, though I did make my money in the soap and candle line, the money, now it's made, an't the worse; and so, if you really wants to marry Sophy, say it out and out, and I'll give my consent. It is but fair and right to tell your Lordship that there's another young man desperate about her,--not, when I say another young man, that I mean to call your lordship a young man, for I know that wouldn't be respectful. However, if I had my own way in all things,--which I haven't, and few men have,--Captain Mills of the artillery would be the man for Sophy. He's a mighty proper man to look at, and I've asked him down to spend Christmas here too; so, if your lordship don't think it worth while to come, why only say the word, and, to my thinking, Captain Mills will have a good chance.

People do report things that I don't want to believe about your lordship's ways of going on; but if you do marry Sophy, hang it! make her happy. Don't take her away from them as loves her, and then be neglectful and unkind; for she don't know yet what unkindness is, and I know 'twould break her heart, and then I should break mine, and my poor wife would follow,--so that would break us all. But a lord must be a gentlemen, and a gentleman can't behave like a blackguard to a woman. So some down here on Saturday the 24th, and we'll have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. In all which my wife and Sophy do join. So no more at present From your dear lordship's humble servant at command, PETER MIGGINS.

Peter Miggins's letter to Lord John Lavender has probably sufficiently introduced him to the reader. The right honourable personage to whom that letter was addressed was the youngest son of a duke, and in all respects as great a contrast to all the blood of the Migginses as can possibly be imagined.

Lord John had been, for many years, one of the best-looking men about town; so many years, indeed, had he been a beauty, that it was quite wonderful to detect no change in his figure, face, or manner. He still looked as he always had looked, and probably always intended to look. There is this one great advantage in beginning to make up early in life,--nobody detects any difference. The toilet requires a more protracted attention, and a steadier hand; but, once completed, to the eye of the observer the colours and the outline are the same. No woman ever thought more about her appearance than did Lord John Lavender; yet there was a manliness in his manner and conversation which rescued him from the charge of effeminacy.

He was devoted to the fair sex; so much so, that the world could not help giving him credit for being so sedulously attentive to the beautification of his person solely that he might render himself agreeable in their eyes.

He certainly succeeded most admirably; and, at the same time that he was in all societies courted and caressed by the fairest and the most distinguished, there was one little well-known theatrical connexion, of which we will say as little as possible, and to which old Mr. Miggins had alluded in his letter.

Lord John Lavender's income was small, his expectations minute, his expenses great, and his debts amounted to his overplus expenditure for the number of years he had been about town. Of the sum total of his incumbrances he was ignorant. Bills came in at stated periods, and were carelessly thrown aside; for what was the use of looking at their amount, knowing beforehand that he could not pay them? But he was aware this could not go on for ever; he knew that, according to custom, tradesmen would trust him, as they constantly trust others, almost to any amount, for a certain period, without having from the first the slightest reason to suppose that the individual so trusted would ever be in a condition to pay them; and then all of a sudden they would pounce upon him, demand payment of all arrears, and trust no more.

Now, it was quite impossible for Lord John to think of retrenchment. Among the absolute necessaries of life he reckoned at least two pair of primrose kid gloves a-day, at three shillings a-pair. Two guineas a-week for gloves,--the price of a moderate bachelor's lodging! Life would be intolerable without such things; so, in order that he might continue in the land of the living, his fastidious lordship had deigned to smile upon Miss Sophy Miggins, and had permitted the idea of marriage with a plebeian to enter his aristocratic mind.

No wonder that Sophy should be dazzled by smiles from such a quarter. She was pleased and flattered, and imagined that she liked his lordship exceedingly, though she never felt at ease in his presence. He was so unlike everybody with whom she had been accustomed to associate, that she had sense enough to suppose she must be equally unlike his former companions, and she was always afraid of exciting his wonder and ridicule by some awkward breach of the usages of good society. But then to walk about with a lord, was a thing not to be resisted; and though she would have been much happier with the Captain Mills of whom her father made honourable mention in his letter to Lord John, still she never could bring herself to reject the proffered arm of his lordship.

And had she made up her mind to accept the hand of Lord John Lavender, should that also in due course of time be proffered? Not exactly; but Mrs. Miggins had decided for her. That his intentions were honourable, she could not doubt. Honourable! nay, was he not a right honourable lover? So, in full expectation of an offer for her daughter, the old lady bought a "Peerage," placed it in a conspicuous part of her drawing-room, and looked very coldly on Captain Mills.

The captain was ordered to Woolwich; and Lord John having left Dover, Sophy could not, at parting, help evincing to poor Mills a little of the partiality which she felt. Such was the position of affairs when Mr. Miggins, who had no notion of men (nor lords neither) being shilly shally, as he called it, was determined to bring matters to a crisis. He therefore, after much serious cogitation, wrote the letter which has been confidentially exhibited to the reader; and also another, requiring infinitely less forethought, which he dispatched to Captain Mills.

"What day of the month is it?" said Lord John to his valet, after perusing the epistle of his Dover correspondent.

"The twenty-first, my lord."

"The twenty-first!" exclaimed his lordship finishing his coffee.--"Wednesday, I declare!--and Sunday is Christmas-day! If I go at all, I must go on Saturday at latest."

"My lord?"

"I must go to Dover, Friday or Saturday."

"Oh! on your way to the Continent? I think it would be advisable, my lord."

"The Continent! no:--why advisable?"

"Why, my lord; may I speak?" inquired Faddle, as he removed breakfast.

"Certainly: what have you to say?"

"Why, the tradespeople, my lord:--just at Christmas-time the bills do fall in like a shower of paper-snow in a stage-play."

"Oh! and you think I must get out of the way, and let the storm blow over, eh?"

"I do, indeed, my lord; for I'm sorry to say it's very threatening."

"Oh, well! we'll go as far as Dover; there's no occasion to cross that odious channel."

"If I may make bold to ask, why will your lordship be safer at Dover than in London?"

"Don't you remember that pretty girl, Faddle? the girl with the rich father,--Miss Miggins?"

"Oh! marriage!" said Faddle, with a very deep sigh.

"Yes, Faddle, marriage."

"And here's a billet from May-fair!"

"Ah! let me see;" and Lord John opened an elegant little note, penned on a rose-leaf,--at least, in colour and fragrance it resembled one.

"She acts to-night, and desires me to dine with her on Christmas-day. Leave me, Faddle. Give me pen, ink, and paper; send me the coiffeur directly. I must speak to Tightfit's man at one; appoint Heeltap at two, and Gimcrack and Shine a quarter of an hour later."

"To speak about their bills, my lord?"

"Oh dear, no; to elongate their bills. But they are too distinguished in their respective lines to breathe a hint about the trifles. As to the canaille of tradesmen, mention my intended marriage."

"Oh! it's settled?"

"Why, to be sure; you don't suppose I've anything to do but to go!"

The valet bowed, and left the noble lord to his meditations. At three he was in his cab,--at five in May-fair,--at eight in the green-room.

Rapidly passed Thursday and Friday; and, among his many preparations for departure on Saturday, Lord John forgot to write to his future father-in-law, to intimate that it was his intention to depart. No matter; they would only be the more delighted at his unexpected arrival. Faddle packed up all his things; and, as his cambric handkerchiefs and kid gloves entirely filled one portmanteau, some notion may be formed of the quantity of luggage which it was absolutely necessary for him to take.

All this, however, was despatched by the mail on Friday night, directed to "Lord John Lavender, Worthington's Ship Hotel." On Saturday morning, his lordship, accompanied by his faithful Faddle, was to follow in a post-chariot and four. But Saturday morning came, and with it came another rose-leaf, on which were lines so delicately penned, that----

Suffice it to say that Lord John Lavender postponed his departure, dined in May-fair on Christmas-day, and, having resolved to travel all night, ordered horses to be at the door at ten. He at length tore himself away, wrapped himself up in several cloaks, threw himself into a corner of the carriage, and fell fast asleep. Poor Faddle in the rumble was most uncomfortably situated. It was no common snow-storm that commenced on Christmas-night 1836, nor was it a commonly keen wind that blew upon him. He shivered and shook, muttering foul curses on May-fair; and very shortly became as white as a sugar ornament on the exterior of a twelfth-cake, and very nearly as inanimate. With much ado they reached Canterbury; their stopping suddenly, roused Lord John Lavender from his repose. Somebody tapped at the window, and most reluctantly he opened it.

"If you please, my lord, we can't go any further," stammered the miserable and long-suffering Faddle.

"If I please! nonsense: horses out directly!"

"They say it's not possible, my lord: we've come through terrible dangers as it is."

"Not possible! why not?"

"The snow, my lord."

"Snow! nonsense!--as if it never snowed before! Tell them who I am. I say, you fellows, put horses to,--the distance is nothing;--go on;" and Lord John pulled up the glass, threw himself again into his corner, and the landlord, knowing that though they would inevitably be obliged to return, the horses must be paid for, tipped the postilion the wink, and on they went.

But not to Dover! Slowly they proceeded: now one wheel was up in the air, and then the other. Lord John was himself startled when he saw the deep drifts through which they waded; and when at last they stopped at a low miserable hovel by the road-side, he no longer urged the possibility of proceeding farther.

"We must return to Canterbury."

"Impossible, my lord: after we passed a part of the road which had been cut between two hills, an immense mass of snow fell, and blocked it up. It is a mercy it did not fall upon us;--we had a narrow escape."

"We can't stay here," said Lord John, looking at the wretched hut before him.

"We must stay here," said one of the drivers.

"Why, I haven't got my things!--what can I do, Faddle, without my things? I haven't even a clean cambric handkerchief, nor a tooth-brush!"

It was too true: it had appeared so easy to have his "things" unpacked and placed on his dressing-table the moment he arrived at Dover, that literally nothing had been provided. Intense cold soon drove Lord John into the hut; from which, however, his first impulse was to emerge again, so execrable were the fumes of bad tobacco, and so odious the group which preoccupied the low chamber.

"Walk in and welcome," cried a tipsy waggoner; "we be all friends."

"Oh, faith!" said an Irish lady, whose husband, a "needy knife-grinder," was asleep on the floor, "he's a rale gintleman, and I'll give him a sate by myself, and p'raps he'll trate me to a drop of comfort."

Lord John felt exceedingly sick; and, choking with anger and tobacco-smoke, he turned to the ragged lad of the house, and ordered a private room.

"There be no room, sir, but this here, besides that there up the ladder."

"Up there, then," said his lordship, approaching it.

"No, but ye can't though," said the lad interposing: "mother and sister's asleep up there, and the waggoner's wife, and all the females except she as sits there, by the fire."

Lord John paused; he could not invade the territory of the fair sex: what was to be done?

"Can't I have a bed?"

"There be some dry straw left, I take it: I'll go and see, and give you a shake down here, and welcome."

"A shake down!" groaned his lordship, "Faddle!"

"Yes, my lord."

"Where are you?"

"Here--dying, I believe; I never was so ill!" and there in truth lay Faddle, rolling on the bare floor.

"I say, Mother Murphy," said the tipsy Waggoner, "that ere chap's a lord!"

"They be going to do away wi' them, I hear," said the Radical knife-grinder, waking up; "and a good job too;--werry useless fellors, I take it."

"Bless his pretty face!" said the Irish lady: "exchange is no robbery; and I'd gi' him a kiss for a drop of the cratur."

"You be hung!" cried her husband, throwing a stool at her head; "you've had too much already."

The fair representative of Hibernia was not to be put upon; up she started, and there was a pitched battle between her and her husband, which ended in the fall of both.

Unused to fatigue, Lord John at last threw himself on his straw. But what a night did he pass! the noise, the smell, the discomfort, the fleas--oh!

By many will the last week of 1836 be long remembered, but by none with greater horror than by the Right Honourable Lord John Lavender.

Without wholesome food,--without a change of linen,--exposed to cold, privation, and every possible annoyance, he became seriously unwell; and when, at the end of a week, the indefatigable Mr. Worthington opened a communication between Dover and Canterbury by means of a sledge, the poor prisoner was unable to avail himself of it. Some comforts and necessary restoratives were, however, conveyed to him; and at the end of another week, after the road had been traversed by many, four horses were again put to his carriage, and, entering it like the shadow of his former self, he once more started on his way to Dover. We have said that there is a great advantage in having begun to "make up" early in life. Not so, however, when the process has been suddenly and unavoidably interrupted. But Lord John was sure to find all he wanted as soon as he arrived at the Ship Hotel; a few hours' renovation would prepare him for his interview with the fair Sophy. He threw himself back in the carriage, and indulged in the most gratifying anticipations.

He was roused from his reverie by the rapid approach of a chariot and four greys; and, leaning forward, he caught a glimpse of Sophy,--the lovely, amiable Sophy,--who, having heard of his dilemma, had, doubtless, set out to seek him!

"Stop! stop!" cried Lord John. "Here, Faddle, get down; call to those drivers. Hollo there!--open the door--let down the step--give me your arm--that will do: I'm delighted to see you, Sophy; I recognised you in a minute: I was on my way to Dover to pay my respects."

Sophy blushed, and smiled, and did not seem to know what to say: at last she articulated,

"Papa and mamma will be happy to see you, my lord: allow me to introduce to your lordship my husband, Captain Mills;" and a gentleman leaned forward and bowed, who had before been invisible.

"Your lordship will be in time for the wedding-dinner; you will have the kindness to say you have seen us."

Saying thus, Captain Mills and his lady again bowed and smiled; and, leaving his lordship in amazement, the wedding equipage dashed on.

Lord John Lavender proceeded to Dover, and, looking into some Sunday chronicle of fashionable scandal, he saw that his friend of May-fair had just entered into another arrangement. His case was desperate; and, accompanied only by his valet, he proceeded on what lords and gentlemen so circumstanced, call, a Continental trip.

They who choose to read a document on a certain church-door, may ascertain, that though no Robin Hood, the Right Honourable Lord John Lavender is an outlaw.

FAMILY STORIES.--No. II. LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE.

Tapton Everard, Feb. 14, 1837. FRIEND BENTLEY,--I see you have got hold of some of our family secrets; but Seaforth was always a blab. No matter: as you have found your way into our circle, why, I suppose we must even make the best of it, and let you go on. The revival of "Old Sir Giles's" story has set us all rummaging among the family papers, of which there is a large chest full "apud castro de Tappington," as a literary friend of mine has it. In the course of her researches, Caroline the other day popped upon the history of a far-off cousin, some four or five generations back,--a sad story,--a sort of Uriah business,--in which a principal part was played by a great-great-aunt of ours. In order to secure her own child's succession to a fair estate, she was always believed to have wantonly exposed the life of her husband's only son by a former marriage; and through the assistance of her brother, a sea-captain, to have at least thrust him unnecessarily into danger, even if their machinations went no farther. The lad was killed; and report said that an old boatswain confessed on his death-bed--But Miss Simpkinson will tell you the story better than I can. She has dished it up for you in her choicest Pindarics; and though the maiden is meek, her muse is masculine.

Yours, as it may be, THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

THE LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE.

The captain is walking his quarter-deck, With a troubled brow and a bended neck; One eye is down through the hatchway cast, The other turns up to the truck on the mast; Yet none of the crew may venture to hint "Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint!"

The captain again the letter hath read Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead-- Still, since the good ship sailed away, He reads that letter three times a-day; Yet the writing is broad and fair to see As a skipper may read in his degree, And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat, As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat: He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro, "Curse the old woman--she bothers me so!"

He pauses now, for the topmen hail-- "On the larboard quarter a sail! a sail!" That grim old captain he turns him quick, And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick.

"The breeze is blowing--huzza! huzza! The breeze is blowing--away! away! The breeze is blowing--a race! a race! The breeze is blowing--we near the chase! Blood will flow, and bullets will fly,-- Oh where will be then young Hamilton Tighe?"--

--"On the fman's deck, where a man should be, With his sword in his hand, and his f at his knee. Cockswain, or boatswain, or reefer may try, But the first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe!"

* * * * *

Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue, Between a gingerbread nut and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick, Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick. Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade; He stands by the breech of a long carronade, The linstock glows in his bony hand, Waiting that grim old skipper's command.

"The bullets are flying--huzza! huzza! The bullets are flying--away! away!" The brawny boarders mount by the chains, And are over their buckles in blood and brains: On the fman's deck, where a man should be, Young Hamilton Tighe Waves his cutlass high, And Capitaine Crapaud bends low at his knee.

Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand, Is waiting that grim-looking skipper's command:-- A wink comes sly From that sinister eye-- Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly, And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe!

* * * * *

There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come at her call: "Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee!" The maidens smile, and, her thought to destroy, They bring her a little pale mealy-faced boy; And the mealy-faced boy says, "Mother dear, Now Hamilton's dead, I've a thousand a-year!"

The lady has donn'd her mantle and hood, She is bound for shrift at St. Mary's Rood:-- "Oh! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll, And the mass shall be said for my step-son's soul, And the tablet fair shall be hung up on high, Orate pro anima Hamilton Tighe!"

Her coach and four Draws up to the door, With her groom, and her footman, and half a score more; The lady steps into her coach alone, And they hear her sigh and they hear her groan; They close the door, and they turn the pin, But there's one rides with her who never stept in! All the way there, and all the way back, The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick: And the grooms and the footmen wonder and say, "What makes the old coach so heavy to-day?" But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees.

'Tis ever the same, in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That lady mutters and talks to the air, And her eye is fixed on an empty chair; But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread, "She talks to a man with never a head!"

* * * * *

There's an old yellow admiral living at Bath, As grey as a badger, as thin as a lath; And his very queer eyes have such very queer leers, They seem to be trying to peep at his ears. That old yellow admiral gs to the Rooms, And he plays long whist, but he frets and fumes, For all his knaves stand upside down, And the Jack of clubs ds nothing but frown; And the kings, and the aces, and all the best trumps, Get into the hands of the other old frumps; While, close to his partner, a man he sees Counting the tricks with his head on his knees.

In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store, And a great black doll hangs out at the door; There are rusty locks, and dusty bags, And musty phials, and fusty rags, And a lusty old woman, called Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband's a hairy-faced man!

That hairy-faced man is sallow and wan, And his great thick pigtail is wither'd and gone; And he cries, "Take away that lubberly chap That sits there and grins with his head in his lap!" And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick, "What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick!"

That admiral, lady, and hairy-faced man May say what they please, and may do what they can; But one thing seems remarkably clear,-- They may die to-morrow, or live till next year,-- But wherever they live, or whenever they die, They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe.

NIGHTS AT SEA: Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War. BY THE OLD SAILOR.

THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN.

For the purple Nautilus is my boat, In which I over the waters float; The moon is shining upon the sea. Who is there will come and sail with me?--L.E.L.

Of all the craft that ever swam upon salt-water give me the dashing forty-four gun frigate, with a ship's company of dare-devils who would board his Satanic Majesty's kitchen in the midst of cooking-time, if they could only get a gallant spirit to lead them. And pray, what would a ship's company be without leaders? for, after all, it is the officers that make the men what they are; so that, when I see a well-rigged man-o'-war, in which discipline is preserved without unnecessary punishment or toil, that's the hooker for me; and such was his Britannic Majesty's frigate, "the saucy, thrash-'em-all SPANKAWAY," for by that title was she known from Yarmouth Roads to the Land's End. Oh, she was a lovely creature! almost a thing of life! and it would be outraging the principles of beauty to give her any other than a female designation. Everybody has been in love some time or other in the course of his existence, and the object of affection was no doubt an angel in the eyes of the ardent lover:--just so was the frigate to me--an angel; for she had wings, and her movements were regulated by the breath of heaven. She was the very standard of loveliness, the most exquisite of graceful forms. At anchor she sat upon the water with all the elegance and ease of the cygnet, or like a queen reclining on her downy couch. Under weigh she resembled the pretty pintado bird skimming the billow tops, or the fleet dolphin darting from wave to wave. Then to see her climb the rolling swell, or cleave the rising foam, baptising her children with the spray, and naming them her seamen--Oh, it was a spectacle worth a life to witness!

And who was her captain? the intrepid Lord Eustace Dash; a man more ennobled by his acts than by the courtesy which conferred his title; one who loved the women, hated the French, and had a constitutional liking for the rattling reports of a long-eighteen. His first lieutenant, Mr. Seymour, knew his duty, and performed it. The second lieutenant, Mr. Sinnitt, followed the example of his senior. The third lieutenant, Mr. Nugent, obeyed orders, touched the guitar, and was extremely anxious to become an author. Then there was Mr. Scalpel, the surgeon; Mr. Squeez'em, the purser; and Mr. Parallel, the master; with the two marine officers, Plumstone and Peabody. Such were the élite of the frigate; but it would be unpardonable--a sort of sea-sacrilege--not to notice Mr. Savage, the boatswain; Mr. Blueblazes, the gunner; and Mr. Bracebit, the carpenter, all good men and true, who had come in at the hawse-holes, and served through the various gradations till they mounted the anchor-button on their long-tailed coats. As for the mates, midshipmen, and assistant-surgeons, there was a very fair sprinkling,--the demons of the orlop, each with his nickname. Her crew--but we will speak of them presently.

Hark! it is four bells, in the first dog-watch; and there rolls the summons by the drum, calling the brave to arms. See how the hatchways pour forth the living mass! and in three minutes every soul fore and aft is at his appointed post. The gallant ship lies almost slumbering on the fair bosom of the waters, and the little progress she ds make is as noiseless as a delightful dream; like the lone point in the centre of a circle, she is surrounded by the blue waves, and nothing intervenes to break the connected curve of the horizon. Upon the quarter-deck, his right hand thrust into his waistcoat, and his feet firmly planted on the white plank, as if desirous of making the bark feel his own peculiar weight, stands her brave commander: near him Mr. Squeez'em and two young imps of aides-de-camp take up their allotted stations; the former to note and minute down the details of action, the latter to fly to the infernal regions of the magazine,or anywhere else, at the bidding of their chief. The lieutenants are mustering their divisions through the agency of the young gentlemen; the surgeon and his assistants, happily having nothing to do below, appear abaft the mizen-mast; whilst Mr. Parallel holds brief consultation with the veteran Savage, whose portrait is affixed to each cat-head. Mr. Bracebit is sounding the well, and old Blueblazes is skimming about wherever circumstances require his presence. The marines, stiffened with pipe-clay, and their heads immoveable from what the negroes appropriately call "a top-boot round de neck," are parading on the gangway--their thumbs as stark as tobacco-stoppers, and their fingers as straight as a "hap'orth of pins." What a compound of pomatum and heel-ball, pipe-clay and sand-paper!

And now the officers give in their reports to the captain, who walks round the quarters to make a personal inspection, and, as he looks along the frowning battery, his lordship is proud of his bonny bark; whilst, as he gazes on his gallant crew, his heart exults in beholding some of the finest specimens of Britain's own that ever made their "home upon the deep."

"What think you of the weather, Mr. Parallel?" inquires his lordship, on returning to the quarter-deck. "Will it be fine to-night?"

The old man scans the horizon with an eye of professional scrutiny, and then replies, "I have my doubts, my lord; but at this time o' year the helements are beyond the ken of human understanding. I've been up the Mediterranean, off and on, man and boy, some five-and-forty years; it is to me like the face of a parent to a child, but I never could discover from its features what was passing in its heart, or the fit it would take next; one minute a calm, the next a squall; one hour a gentle breeze that just keeps the sails asleep, the next a gale of wind enough to blow the devil's horns off."

Lord Eustace well knows the veteran's peculiarities; indeed he is the only privileged talker in the ship, and so much esteemed by all, that no one seeks to check his loquacity.

"Beat the retreat, and reef the topsails, Mr. Seymour," cries the captain to his first lieutenant, and the latter despatches one of the young gentlemen to repeat the orders.

Rub-a-dub gs the drum again; but before the sound of the last tap has died away, the twhit-twhit of the boatswain's call summons his mates to their duty; a loud piping succeeds, and "Reef topsails ahoy!" is bellowed forth from lungs that might have been cased with sheet-iron, so hoarse is the appeal. And see! before you can slue round to look, from the tack of the flying-jib to the outer clue of the spanker, the lower rattlins of the fore, main, and mizen shrouds are thronged with stout active young men, who keep stealthily ascending, till the first lieutenant's "Away aloft!" sends them up like sparks from a chimney-pot. The topsails are lowered, the studding-sail booms are triced up, the topmen mount the horses, the earings are hauled out, the reef-points tied, the sails rehoisted, and the men down on deck again in one minute and fifty-two seconds from the moment the halliards first rattled from the rack.

"Very well done, Mr. Seymour!" exclaims his lordship, as he stands near the wheel, with his gold repeater in his hand; "and cleverly reefed too: those after-points are well taut, and show as straight a line as if it had been ruled by a schoolmaster."

"Natur's their schoolmaster, my lord," says old Parallel, with a pleased and business-like countenance; "and, consequently, they have everything well taut."

"Very good, master," exclaimed his lordship, laughing, "you get more witty than ever."

"It's strange," muttered the veteran, surlily, "that I can't speak a simple truth, without their logging it down again' me for wit. For my part I see no wit in it."

"Pipe the hammocks down, Mr. Seymour; give them half an hour, and then call the watch," orders his lordship.

"Ay, ay, sir!" responds the first lieutenant. "Stand by the hammocks, Mr. Savage."

"Twhit-twhit!" gs the boatswain's call, followed by a voice like a distant thunderclap, "Hammocks ahoy!" and away flies every man to the nettings; but not a lashing is touched till the whole have found owners, (the occupation of a minute,) when the first lieutenant's "Pipe down!" draws forth a lark-like chirping of the calls, and in a few seconds the whole have disappeared; even the hammock-men to the young gentlemen have fetched their duplicate, and the cloths are rolled up for the night. The gallant Nelson had his coffin publicly exhibited in his cabin; but what of that? the seaman constantly sleeps in his coffin, for such is his hammock should he die at sea.

Lord Eustace has retired to his cabin, and the officers are pacing to and fro the quarter-deck, conversing on

"Promotion, mess-debts, absent friends, and love."

The glory of the day is on the wane; the full round moon arises bright and beautiful, like a gigantic pearl from the coral caverns of the ocean; but there is a sort of sallow mistiness upon the verge of the western horizon, tinged with vermeil streaks from the last rays of the setting sun, that produce feelings of an undefined and undefinable nature: yet there is nothing threatening, for all is delightfully tranquil; no cloud appears to excite apprehensions, for there is a smile upon the face of the heavens, and its dimples are reflected on the surface of the clear waters as assurances of safety. Yet, why are there many keen and experienced eyes glancing at that sickly aspect of the west, as if it were something which tells them of sudden squalls, of whirling hurricanes, like the unnatural flush that gives warning of approaching fever.

"The captain will be happy to have the company of the gun-room officers, to wind up the day, sir," said his lordship's steward, addressing the first lieutenant.

"The gun-room officers, much obliged, will wait upon his lordship," returned Mr. Seymour; then, turning to Mr. Parallel, "Come, master; what attracts your attention there to windward? The captain has sent us an invitation to take our grog with him. Are you ready?"

"Ay, ay!" responded the old man, "with pleasure; his lordship means to make Saturday night of it, I suppose; and I must own it has been a precious long week, though, according to the log, it's ounly Thursday."

The cabin of Lord Eustace had nothing splendid about it; the guns were secured by the tackles, ready for instant use, and everything was plain and simple; the deck was carpeted, and the furniture, handsome of its kind, more suited for utility than show. The baize-covered table was amply supplied with wines, spirits, and liquors, which his lordship prided himself in never having but of the best quality; and a jovial party sat around to enjoy the invigorating cheer.

"Gentlemen," said his lordship, rising, "The King!"

Heartily was that toast drunk, for never was monarch more affectionately served by his royal navy than George the Third. Other toasts were given, national and characteristic songs were sung; the relaxation of discipline loosened the restraints on harmony, and that kindly feeling prevailed which forms the best bond of union amongst the officers, and commands respect and esteem from the men.

"Come, Mr. Nugent, have you nothing new to give us? no fresh effusion of the muse?" enquired his lordship.

"As for any thing fresh," said old Parallel, "I know he puts us all into a pretty pickle with his 'briny helement,' and in his 'salt-sea sprays,' everlasting spouting like a fin-back at play; what with him and the marines' flutes I suffer a sort of cable-laid torture."

"You've no taste for ptry, master," returned the young officer: "but come, I'll give you my last song; Plumstone has set it to music;" and with a clear sonorous voice he sang the following:

"Hail to the flag--the gallant flag! Britannia's proudest boast; Her herald o'er the distant sea, the guardian of her coast; Where'er 'tis spread, on field or flood, the blazonry of fame; And Britons hail its mastery with shouts of loud acclaim.

Hail to the flag--the gallant flag! in battle or in blast; Whether 'tis hoisted at the peak, or nail'd to splinter'd mast; Though rent by service or by shot, all tatter'd it may be, Old England's tars shall still maintain its dread supremacy.

Hail to the flag--the gallant flag, that Nelson proudly bore, When hostile banners waved aloft, amid the cannon's roar! When France and Spain in unison the deadly battle close, And deeper than its own red hue the vital current flows.

Hail to the flag--the gallant flag! for it is Victory's own, Though Trafalgar re-echs still the hero's dying groan; The Spaniards dows'd their jaundiced rag on that eventful day, And Gallic eagles humbly crouch'd, acknowledging our sway.

Hail to the flag--the gallant flag! come, hoist it once again; And show the haughty nations round, our throne is on the main; Our ships are crowns and sceptres, whose titles have no flaw, And legislators are our guns dispensing cannon law.

Once more then hail the gallant flag! the seaman's honest pride, Who loves to see it flaunt the breeze, and o'er the ocean ride; Like the genius of his country, 'tis ever bold and free; And he will prove, where'er it flies, we're sovereigns of the sea."

"Very fair, very fair, Mr. Nugent," said his lordship; "and not badly sung, either."

"Ay, ay, my lord, the youngster's well enough," chimed in old Parallel; "but, what with his ptry and book-making, I'm half afraid he'll forget the traverse-tables altogether."

"And pray how ds the book-making, as the master calls it, get on, Nugent?" inquired the captain: "have you made much progress?"

"I have commenced, my lord," returned the junior lieutenant, pulling out some papers from his pocket; "and, with your lordship's permission----"

"You'll inflict it upon us," grumbled the old master, and shrugging up his shoulders as he perceived his messmate was actually about to read, whether the captain sanctioned it or not.

"Now then, attention to my introduction!" said Nugent, holding up the manuscript, heedless of the nods and winks of his companions; "I'm sure you'll like it. 'The moon is high in the mid heavens, and not a single envious cloud frowns darkly upon her fair loveliness; there is a flood of silvery light; and fleecy vapours, with their hoary crests, like snow-wreaths from the mountain top, float on its surface to do honour to the queen of night. The winds are sporting with the waters; the amorous waves are heaving up their swelling bosoms to be kissed by the warm breeze that comes laden with perfumes from the sunny clime of Italy. There is a glow of crimson lingering in the west, as if departing day blushed for her wanton sister. Hail, thou inland sea, upon whose breast the gallant hers of the British isles have fought and conquered! Ancient history recounts thy days of old, and the bold shores that bind thee in their arms stand as indubitable records of the truth of Holy Writ. The tall ship, reflected on thy ocean mirror, seems to view her symmetry in silent exultation, as if conscious of her grandeur and her beauty, her majesty and her might. The giantess of the deep, her lightnings sleeping and her thunders hushed, dances lightly o'er thy mimic billows, and curtseys to the gentle gale.' There, my lord, that is the way I begin: and I appeal to your well-known judgment whether it is not a pretty picture, and highly ptical."

"A pretty picture truly," grumbled old Parallel: "it ounly wants a squadron of angels seated with their bare starns upon the wet clouds, scudding away before it like colliers in the Sevin, and in one corner the heads of a couple o' butcher's boys blowing wooden skewers, and then it would be complete. Why, there's the marine a-laughing at you. Talk about the winds kissing the waves, indeed. Ay, ay, young sir, when you've worked as many reckonings as ould Will Parallel,--and that's myself,--you'll find 'em kiss somat else, or you'll have better luck than your neighbours. Why don't you stick to Natur, if you mean to write a book? and how'll the log stand then?--Why, His Majesty's ship Spankaway cruising in the Mediterranean: and if you've worked your day's work, you ought to know the latitude and longitude. Well, there she is, with light winds and fine weather, under double-reefed top-sels, jib, and spanker, the courses snugly hauled up, the t'gant-sels furled in a skin as smooth as an infant's, the staysels nicely stowed, and not a yard of useless canvass abroad. There'd be some sense in that, and everybody would understand it; but as for your kissing and blushing, and such like stuff, why it's all nonsense."

"That's always the way with you matter-o'-fact men," retorted the lieutenant: "you make no allowance for the colourings of the imagination; your ideas of the picturesque never go beyond the ship's paint."

"But they do, though, my young friend," asseverated the master, to the great amusement of all present. "Show me the ship's paint that can compare with the ruby lustre of this fine old port--here's a discharge of grape."

"That's a metaphor, master," said the purser; "and, moreover,"--and he seemed to shudder at the abomination,--"it is a pun."

"Ay, ay," answered the veteran, holding up his glass to the light, and eyeing its contents with evident satisfaction, "we've often met afore; and as for the pun, I'll e'en swallow it;" and he drank off his wine amidst a general laugh. "But do you really mean to write a book, Nugent?"

"I do, indeed, master," answered the lieutenant; "but whether it will be read or not is an affair for others to determine. I've got as far as I have repeated to you, and must now pick up incidents and characters."

"A bundle of shakings and a head-rope of wet swabs!" uttered the old master contemptuously. "Stick to your log-book, Mr. Nugent, if ever you hopes to get command of such a sweet craft as this here, of which I have the honour to be the master. Larn to keep the ship's reck'ning, and leave authorship to the poor devils who starves by it. There's ounly two books as ever I look at--Hamilton Moore and the Bible; and though I never yet sailed in a craft that rated a parson in commission, yet I make out the latter tolerably well, notwithstanding my edication sometimes gets jamm'd in a clinch, and my knowledge thrown slap aback: but that's all nat'ral; for how can a man work to wind'ard through a narrow passage without knowing somut o' the soundings or the outline o' the coast. Howsomever, there's one course as is plain enough, and I trust it will carry me clear at last,--to do my duty by my king, God bless him!--and whilst the yards of conscience are squared by the lifts and braces of honesty, I have no fear but I shall cheat the devil of one messmate, and that's ould Will--myself."

"A toast, gentlemen--a toast!" exclaimed his lordship in high animation; "'The master of the Spankaway and his lady-mate.'"

"I beg pardon, my lord," interrupted the surgeon, "the master is not married; he is yet a solitary bachelor."

"True--most true," chimed in Nugent, laughing; "for, according to the words of the pt,

"None but himself can be his PARALLEL."

"You are too fastidious, gentlemen," said his lordship: "remember, it is 'Wives and sweethearts;' and, as it is a favourite toast of mine, we will, if you please, drink it standing." The toast was drunk with all due honours. "And now," continued his lordship, "without further preface, I shall volunteer a song, which Nugent may hoist into his book, if he pleases.

"Drink, drink to dear woman, whose beautiful eye, Like the diamond's rich lustre or gem in the sky, Is beaming with rapture, full, sparkling, and bright-- Here's woman, the soul of man's choicest delight.

CHORUS. Then fill up a bumper, dear woman's our toast, Our comfort in sorrows--in pleasure our boast.

Drink, drink to dear woman, and gaze on her smile; Love hides in those dimples his innocent guile: 'Tis a signal for joy--'tis a balm for all w;-- Here's woman, dear woman, man's heaven below.

CHORUS. Then fill up a bumper, dear woman's our toast, Our comfort in sorrow--in pleasure our boast.

Drink, drink to dear woman, and look on her tear:-- Is it pain?--is it grief?--is it hope?--is it fear? Oh! kiss it away, and believe whilst you press, Here's woman, dear woman, man's friend in distress.

CHORUS. Then fill up a bumper, dear woman's our toast, Our comfort in sorrow--in pleasure our boast.

Drink, drink to dear woman, whose exquisite form Was never design'd to encounter the storm, Yet should sickness assail us, or trouble o'ercast, Here's woman, dear woman, man's friend to the last.

CHORUS. Then fill up a bumper, dear woman's our toast, Our comfort in sorrow--in pleasure our boast."

As in duty bound, this song elicited great applause, and Nugent declared he should most certainly avail himself of his lordship's proposal for inserting it in his book. "But you have done nothing, Mr. Nugent," said the captain. "You say you want incident and character. You have already taken the frigate for your text;--there's the master now, a perfect character."

"For the love of good old port," exclaimed Parallel, as if alarmed, "let me beg of you not to gibbet me in your consarn. But I'm not afraid of it; book-making requires some head-piece; there's nothing to be done without a head, nor ever has been."

"I must differ with you there, Mr. Parallel," said Seymour unobtrusively; "for I myself saw a very difficult thing done literally without a head.

"Galvanised, I suppose," uttered the doctor in a tone of inquiry; "the power of the battery is wonderful."

"There assuredly was a battery, doctor," responded the lieutenant, laughing; "and a very heavy one too. But the event I'm speaking of had no connexion with galvanism: it was sheer muscular motion."

"Out with it, Seymour!"--"Let's have it by all means!"--"It will be an incident for Nugent!"--"Out with it!" burst forth simultaneously from all.

"It certainly is curious," said the first lieutenant, assuming much gravity of countenance, "and happened when I was junior luff of the old Sharksnose. We were running into Rio Janeiro man-o'-war fashion, with a pennant as long as a purser's account at the masthead, and a spanking ensign hoisted at the gaff-end, with a fly that would have swept all the sheep off of the Isle of Wight. Away we gallop'd along, when a shot from Santa Cruz, the three-deck'd battery at the entrance, came slap into our bows. 'Tell him we're pretty well, thanky,' shouted the skipper; and our jolly first, who took his meaning, literally pointed the fokstle gun, clapp'd the match to the priming, and off went the messenger, which struck the sentry, who was pacing his post, right between the shoulders, and whipt off his head as clean as you would snap a carrot; he was a stout-made powerful-looking man, and by sheer muscular motion, as I said before, his head flew up from his body at least a fathom and a half, and actually descended upon the point of his bayonet, where it stuck fast, and the unfortunate fellow walked the whole length of the rampart in that way; nor was it till he got to the turn, and was steering round to come back again, that he discovered the loss of his head, when, according to the most approved practice in similar surgical cases, he fell to the ground. It was sheer muscular motion, gentlemen,--sheer muscular motion."

"He would, no doubt, have been a good mussulman, Seymour, if he had been a Turk," said his lordship.

"He couldn't come the right-about face," said Peabody, "having lost his head. It would have been a comical sight to have seen him present arms; pray did he come to the present?"

"No, nor yet to the recover, I'll be sworn," observed Plumstone; "no doubt he grounded his arms and his head too."

"Them chance shots often do the most mischief," remarked Parallel. "Who would have thought that it would have gone right through his chest, so as to leave him a headless trunk. Pray may I ax you whether he was near his box?"

"Well hove and strong, master," exclaimed Sinnitt, joining in the general laugh; "your wit equals your beauty."

"What have I said that's witty now?" returned the veteran; "I can't open my mouth to utter a word of truth, or to ax a question, but I'm called a wit; for my part, I see no wit in it."

"Your anecdote," said his lordship, "reminds me of something similar that I witnessed, when a youngster, at one of the New Zealand Isles. Our captain took a party of us to see his dun-coloured majesty at court. The monarch was seated in a mud, or rather clay building, nearly in a state of nudity, his only covering being an old uniform coat and a huge cocked-hat: his queens--happy man! I think he had seventy--not quite so decently dressed as himself, were squatting, or lying down, in different directions; several of them with such ornaments through their lips and noses, as would have answered the purpose of rings in the decks to a stopper'd best bower cable. I heartily wish some of our court ladies could have seen this royal spectacle. We were ushered in through an entrance, on each side of which was a pile of heads without tails to them, most probably dropped in their hurry to wait upon the king. His majesty was a man of mild countenance, and of most imperturbable gravity; behind him stood a gigantic-looking rascal, with an enormous dragoon's sabre over his shoulder, by way of warning to his majesty's wives not to disturb his majesty's repose, or it was amongst the chances of royalty that he would shorten their bodies and their days at the same moment,--a sort of summary process to make good women of them; and I began to suspect that some of those which we saw at the entrance had once touched noses with his most disgusting majesty,--for a filthier fellow I never set eyes on. You've, no doubt, seen some of those curiously figured heads which grow upon New Zealand shoulders, for many have been brought to England: our skipper, who was a sort of collector of curiosities, was extremely desirous of obtaining one, but he was aware that it was only the head men who were thus marked or tattod, and he had run his eye over the samples at the doorway, but could not detect one chief who had been deprived of his caput. Nevertheless, by signs and through means of a Scotch interpreter, (for the prime minister to Longchewfishcow was a Scotchman,) his majesty was informed of the captain's wish; and in a short time several natives handsomely tattod were drawn up within the building: the skipper was requested to select the figures which pleased him most; and he, imagining that the chiefs had been exhibited merely by way of pattern, fixed upon one whose features appeared to have had pricked off upon them every day's run of the children of Israel when cruising in the wilderness. The chief bowed in token of satisfaction at being thus highly honoured; but, before he could raise his head, it sprang away from his shoulders into the captain's arms, with thanks for the compliment yet passing from the lips:--the life-guardsman of the king had obeyed his majesty's signal, and the dragoon's sabre had made sharp work of it."

"It was quick and dead," said the old master. "Now, Mr. Nugent, you may begin your book as soon as you please. I'm sure you have plenty of heads to work upon."

"You talk as if I had no head of my own, master," retorted the lieutenant, somewhat offended; "and with all your wit you shall find that I have got a head."

"So has a scupper-nail," returned the veteran, "but it requires a deal of hammering before you can get it to the leather."

"Good-humour, gentlemen! good-humour!" said the captain, laughing; "no recriminations, if you please, or we shall bring some of your heads to the block."

"To make blockheads of 'em, I suppose," observed old Parallel; "by every rope in the top, but that's done already! Howsomever, as you are lecturing upon heads, why I'll just relate an anecdote of a circumstance that I was eyewitness to upwards of thirty years ago. I was then just appointed acting-master of the 'Never-so-quick,' one o' your ould ship sloops; and we were cruising in among the West Ingee islands, but more especially boxing about the island of Cuba, and that way, for pirates. Well, one morning at daybreak the look-out had just got upon the foretopsel-yard, when word was passed that there were two sail almost alongside of each other, and dead down to looard of us. There was a nice little breeze, and so we ups stick, squares the yards, and sets the stud'nsels a both sides, to run down and overhaul the strangers, though we made pretty certain it was a pirate plundering a capture; and we was the more convinced of the fact when broad daylight came, and our glasses showed that one of 'em was a long low schooner, just such a one as the picarooning marauders risk'd their necks in, and certainly better judges of a swift craft never dipp'd their hands in a tar-bucket. She saw us a-coming, and away she pay'd off before the wind, and up went a squaresel of light duck that dragg'd the creatur along beautifully. The other craft, a large brig, lay quite still with her maintopsel to the mast, except that she came up and fell off as if her helm was lash'd a-lee, Now the best point of the ould Never-so-quick's sailing was right afore it, and so we not only held our own, but draw'd upon the vagabond thief that was doing his best to slip his head out of a hangman's noose, when it fell stark calm, the brig lying about midway between his Majesty's ship and the devil's own schooner. Out went her sweeps, and out went our boats; but she altered her course to get in shore, and without a breath of wind they swept her along at the rate of four knots and a half, whilst our ould beauty would hardly move; so the captain recalls the boats, and orders 'em to overhaul the brig. We got alongside about noon, a regular wasting burning hot noon; and we found a hand cut off at the wrist grasping one of the main-chain plates, so that it could hardly be disengaged."

"Muscular power!" said Seymour; "the death-grapple, no doubt! astonishing tenacity notwithstanding."

"Howsomever, we did open the fingers," continued the master, "and found by its delicate whiteness, and a ring on the wedding-finger, that it belonged to a woman. When we got on board, the blood in various parts of the quarter-deck, and at the gangways, indicated the murderous tragedy that had been acted; but no semblance of human being could we find except a head,--a bloody head that seemed to have been purposely placed upon a flour-cask that was upended near the windlass. 'Well, I'm bless'd,' says one of our boasun's-mates, who had steered the pinnace,--'I'm bless'd if they arn't shaved you clean enough at any rate; but d--my tarry trousers, look at that!--why then I'm a Dutchman if it arn't winking at me.'--'Bathershin!' says an Irish topman, 'it's stretching his daylights he is, mightily plased to see such good company;' and sure enough the eyes were rolling about in a strange fashion for a head as had no movables to consort to it; and presently the mouth opened wide, and then the teeth snap'd to again, just like a cat-fish at St. Jago's. 'It's a horrible sight,' said one of the cutters, 'and them fellows'll go to ---- for it, that's one consolation; but ain't it mighty queer, sir, that a head without ever a body should be arter making such wry faces, and opening and shutting his sallyport, seeing as he's scratched out of his mess?' A hideous grin distorted every feature,--so hideous that it made me shudder; and first one eye and then the other opened in rapid succession. 'I say, Jem,' says one of the pinnaces to the boasun's-mate,--'I say, Jem, mayhap the gentleman wants a bit o' pig-tail, for most likely he arn't had a chaw since he lost his 'bacca-box.' This sally, with the usual recklessness of seamen, produced a general laugh, which emboldened Jem to take out his quid, and, watching an opportunity, he claps it into between the jaws; but before he could gather in the slack of his arm, the teeth were fast hold of his fingers, and there he was, jamm'd like Jackson, and roaring out ten thousand murders. He tried to snatch his hand away, but the head held on to the cask like grim death against the doctor; at last away it roll'd over and Jem got clear, but the head stuck fast, and then we discovered that there was a body inside. The head of the cask had been taken out, and a hole cut hardly large enough to admit of the poor fellow's neck; but nevertheless it had been hoop'd up again, and when we got on board he was in the last convulsive gasps of strangulation. We released him immediately, but it was only to find him so shockingly mutilated that he died in about ten minutes afterwards; and not a soul was left to tell us the fatal tale, though from an ensign and some shreds of papers we conjectured the brig was a Spaniard. The pirates had scuttled her. She made water too fast to think of saving her, and in a couple of hours she went down."

"Thankye, master, thankye," exclaimed several; "why we shall have you writing a book before long, and you'll beat Nugent out and out. See, he's ready to yield the palm."

"Him!" uttered the old man, with a look expressive of rather more contempt than the young lieutenant merited. "Him!"

"Come, master," said Nugent, "we must have your song,--it is your turn next."

"So it appears," replied the old man, as the frigate suddenly heeled over. "You have had so much singing that even the winds must have a squall." They were rising hastily from their seats, when in an instant the frigate was nearly thrown on her beam-ends. Away went Parallel right over the table into the stomach of the marine Peabody, whom he capsized; and before another moment elapsed the gallant captain and his officers were scrambling between the guns to leeward, and half buried in water, amidst broken decanters and glasses, sea-biscuit and bottles. Old Parallel grasped a decanter of port that was clinking its sides against a ring-bolt, and, unwilling that so much good stuff should be wasted, clapped the mouth to his own; the purser was fishing for his wig, as he was extremely tenacious on the score of his bald head; the captain and Seymour were trying for the door; the doctor got astride one gun, and the two marine officers struggled for the other, so that as fast as one got hold his messmate unhorsed him again. Sinnitt had crawled up to the table, and Nugent twisted his coat-laps round him to preserve his MS. from becoming saturated. The frigate righted again. His lordship and his lieutenants rushed on deck, to behold the three topmasts, with all their lengths of upper spars, hanging over the side, having in a white squall been snapped short off by the caps. We will leave them in the present to

"Call all hands to clear the wreck."

REMAINS OF HAJJI BABA.

It appears that Hajji Baba, the Persian adventurer, known in this country as the author of certain memoirs, is no more. In what particular manner he quitted this world, we have not been able to ascertain; but, through the kindness of a friend recently returned from the East, we have been put in possession of the fragment of a Journal written by him, by which we learn that he once again visited England (although incog.) some time after the passing of the Reform bill. The view which he, his Shah, and his nation, took of that event, is so characteristic of the ignorance in which Eastern people live in matters relative to Europe, and to England in particular, that we deem ourselves fortunate in being able to lay so curious a document before our readers, and shall take the liberty, from time to time, to insert portions of it, until it be entirely exhausted.

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