lodging-house; no, Sir, if it had'nt been for poor Rasper's death, I should'nt have been obliged to let the rooms at all. Oh, Sir, I should'nt like to lose you, but all I want is a gentleman who will take care of the furniture." I really felt for this poor woman; she must, I thought, have been a martyr throughout life to some horrible complaint, although, for the life of me, I could not think exactly what it was; though not so hideous to the vision, its effect seemed to have been to her similar to that of the leprosy of antiquity to the leper, viz., that of driving from before her every thing of human form. No one could dislike the woman who witnessed her many acts of charity, and, at times, her almost ultra-feminine tenderness; the half-starved beggar never left her door without being richer for the visit; but, even then they appreciated her not, a dire curse seemed hanging over her. Now, Mrs. Rasper was one of those persons who never hear of anything, either good, bad, or indifferent, without thereupon making some original remarks of a "melancholy tendency." This habit is common to those suffering from a similar complaint to Mrs. Rasper's. They are a class of universal commentators-people who are never exactly happy until they feel quite satisfied that they have some grounds for being miserable. "Ah! Mr. C.," said the lady, after her soliloquy, "you don't know what it is to have two businesses to look after; it is too much for a poor lone widow; but thank goodness I am blessed with a good temper, and if it was not for my contented disposition, I could never stand under my complaint, persecuted as I am. But I must have those images off the side-board, Mr. C." So saying, Mrs. Rasper bounced out of the room, muttering, as she went down the stairs, about being worried to death with lodgers and business. An hour or so afterwards, I was aroused by the sound of Mrs. Rasper's voice in anger, loudly scolding some one. Alarmed, I rang the bell; the servant came into the room trembling with fear. "Mrs. Rasper," said I, "appears to be angry; what is all this noise about, Mary?""Noise, Sir? Angry, Sir? Oh, Sir, she frightens us to death when she is in these humours-she don't know what she's about. She walks up and down the room, opens the drawers, slams'em in again, moves all the chairs back'ards and for'ards, catches hold of the cupboard door, slams it back again, and opens all the doors and windows; and I have heard that that's how she gave her poor dear departed,' as she calls him, his death. But what's oddest, when she comes too again, she talks o' the wickedness of getting into passions, gives me tracks about temper, and tells me that how she first got on in life was by being quiet and easytempered. It's very strange, Sir, but serious misfortunes never put her out of temper, it's always some little paltry trifle. But, Sir, you had better move them images, or perhaps she'll break’em; she told me she would, and she always keeps her word." One evening, a friend was enjoying the luxury of a quiet cigar with me, when Mrs. Rasper entered the room, looking terrifically grand, and holding in her hand a chamber-candlestick. "Mr. C., I am going to bed.""Very happy to hear it, Mrs. Rasper; pleasant dreams to you," said I. "And shall feel great pleasure in escorting you to your room-door, Madam," said my friend. "I have nothing to do with you, or your impudence either," wrathfully replied the widow; "I have come to speak to my lodger. Mr. C., I did not come here to be insulted. Who's this fellow, I should like to know? Every night, as I go up to bed, I make a practice of calling in all the rooms to see if the fires are out, and I wont have late hours kept in my house." "The last feather bore down the camel." I could bear it no longer; my sympathies had become metamorphosed into indignation; my dulness had vanished. The ghosts of her happiness, her success, her children, her husband, her health, all stood reeking before me, deeply wounded, and the demon of cross purposes, crowned with a garland of hideous spikes jarring upon each other, with a long flaming weapon in its hand, on the blade of which was written, in burning characters, " Ill-temper." I saw it all, and, for the first time, disgust outweighed pity. Anything less than the painter's pencil would be inadequate to describe the lady's rage for she had reached that state of passion when language becomes lost. After a few minutes, she addressed me :-" Mr. C., how dare you have a parcel of fellows come here to abuse me? I will have my way in my own house, I tell you, Sir; and I will show you." And so saying, and before we could rise to the rescue, she caught up the blind bard, and, with the greatest vehemence, swung him round, literally tete a tete with the door, destroying the two "illustrious great" with one blow, being, perhaps, one of the most expeditious taking to pieces those great intellects ever had. She then, with all the dignity imaginable, marched out of the room. This was the chef d'œuvre of the evening-a coup de soleil could not have surprised us more. We finished the evening gazing on the ruins of fallen greatness. To use a ministerial phrase, we "were put down." But it had the effect of curing me of my penchant for the observation of character. With Mrs. Rasper, it really had been the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. The next morning I gave notice to quit, having arrived at the conclusion that Mrs. Rasper's "Chronic Complaint" was one that is, alas! too common in family circles. Passion and irritability are household words-they are played with in families, even by the well-disposed; beware, it is amusing yourselves with a two-edged sword. They are the canker-worms which eat men's substances; they keep the poor starving, and drag to poverty the wealthy; and so it proved with Mrs. Rasper, for I afterwards discovered that she had dwindled into a mere char-woman. Were there a gazette to record the greatest domestic bankruptcies, we should find a fearful portion of the insolvency owing to that destructive "Chronic Complaint,” more generally known as "Ill-temper." WILLIAM DALTON. PROVERBS. "SOME men are born with a silver and others with a wooden spoon in their mouths ;" and, "He who was born under a three-halfpenny planet will never be worth two-pence," are two melancholy proverbs, expressly intended for the use of the losers in the game of life, the dejected, wearied competitors in the race we are all running, the awkward, unsuccessful dancers to whom Fortune's pipe never taught a single chassez. The language in which they are couched is mean and plebeian; but let it be recollected that it is the language of adversity, the language of the poor and dispirited; such maxims do not pass the lips of the prosperous and happy, they acquire no polish from the rich and elegant, who are very apt to forget that there are such things as wooden spoons or copper money in existence, and are sure to attribute their right to the use of fiddle-headed king's pattern spoons, and gold and silver coin to their own indefeasible privileges and indisputable merits. For it is a remarkable fact, that those who dance oftenest in Fortune's cotillon, and are most indebted to her pipe, frequently assert that they supply their own music, and that their fine steps are entirely owing to the admirable way in which they themselves are performing on a jew'sharp or penny trumpet. She, partial goddess, takes no umbrage at their ingratitude, plays on to her thoughtless favourites, nor turns one glance to the crowds of worshippers who are imploring a single tune from her lips. Yet, notwithstanding the arroganco of the prosperous, those who look on and observe the banquet can readily worn out by a painful disorder, attempted to commit distinguish the "wooden spoon" adhering with spiteful suicide, opened an inward imposthume, and was cured; pertinacy to its original owners. They cannot part with the Persian condemned to lose his tongue, on whom the their birthright, friends endeavour in vain to exchange operation was so performed that it merely removed an it for a utensil of more valuable materials, and they impediment in his speech; the painter who produced an themselves exert all the powers of their body, the ener-effect he had long aimed at in vain, by throwing his gies of their mind, to aid their benevolent design. But all in vain; they used it for their soup, and they will use it for their dessert. brush at his picture in a fit of impatience and despair, and the general who once upon a time besieged the town of Bushire, and had the gates blown open for him and the wall overthrown by the first discharge of a sixty-eight pounder, which the inhabitants fired to prevent his approach. Who can doubt that if these individuals had been born with "wooden spoons" in their infant mouths, their fate would have been very different? Whittington's cat would have turned out no mouser, the sword gone through the sick gentleman's heart, the tongue been extracted to the very root, the painting irrecoverably spoiled, and the general repulsed with the loss of a limb. These ill-starred creatures have no reason to regret the suppression of lotteries, since not even the nominal prize of twenty pounds ever came to their share; and their dislike of the legacy-tax is exasperated by no selfish feelings, as they were never called to contribute towards it in the slightest degree. If a friend has promised to remember them in his will, he is sure to die suddenly before he has made one. They are always a little too late in asking for a favour, and a little too soon in abandoning a speculation; and they generally sell their shares in a mining company at a heavy loss, just There are not many persons, however, thus unchangebefore the discovery of a bonança. If money is ever ably favoured or persecuted by Fortune; her fickleness within their grasp, a law-suit speedily loosens their hold, is in general occasionally experienced even by the most and it falls into the capacious hands of some silver- beloved of her children, and it is said that," Every dog spooned son of Themis; their landed property is always has his day, and every man his hour." There are some in the West Indies, and their ready cash in a bank that proverbs still more cheering-" After clouds come clear fails. If they are botanists or entomologists, they never weather," and "Many a rainy morning turns out a fine find a rare plant or uncommon insect; dandelions and day," seem to imply that those who have danced a good groundsel seen to spring up beneath their feet. As many quadrilles to the dull double bass and croaking sportsmen or fishermen, they are equally unfortunate; bag-pipe of poverty and misfortune, have every reason to their gun always misses fire at a pheasant; and, not-expect that they shall soon have their turn in tripping to withstanding a diligent observance of the rules of more lively music. "Salmonia," their hook fails, or line breaks, whenever a trout of any size has taken the bait. As the "wooden spoon" is not confined to the male sex, its influence often dooms the fairer part of the creation to a series of troubles and vexations. Its victims are very unfortunate in their domestic affairs; if they get a good servant, she is sure to marry away; if they wash at home, it always rains at the time; if they have a dinner-party, the weather is hot and thundery, their custards are sour, a little soot falls into the soup, and fish is extravagantly dear. The china of these unhappy women appears more brittle than their neighbour's; their gowns seem to possess a magnetic quality for brambles; if a glass of port wine is thrown over at table, you need not ask whose dress has been spoiled; and if they take a walk, unprovided with an umbrella, no barometer is required to tell you it will rain. When invited to a particularly pleasant party, they catch cold and cannot go. In early life, they are subject to spraining their ankle just before a ball, and to splitting a shoe when they are about to dance with the man they prefer. At dinner they are generally placed between aged clergymen and persevering gourmands, bores take a fancy to them, incorrigible old bachelors bestow their tediousness upon them, and they are apt to fall in love with half-pay ensigns and country curates. Behold, on the contrary, the happy man who with a "silver spoon" in his mouth, dances through life to the pleasant music of Dame Fortune! His uncles are all childless, nobody will marry his aunts; he sends a basket of game to a capricious old miser, and is rewarded by a legacy of £10,000; he preaches a sermon before a lady of quality, and gets a rich rectory; he buys worthless land, and the next year there is a rage for building upon it; he writes to his agent to purchase mining shares, and the letter miscarries. If he is a physician, he is called in just as his patient's disorder takes a favourable turn; if he is a lawyer, his clients happen to be in the right; if he is a naturalist, nondescripts reward his most careless search; if he sports with a friend, the birds always rise on his side. History and biography occasionally furnish us with examples of this peculiarly favoured race. Mr. Whittington was evidently one of them, whose very cat proved a source of riches; so was the gentleman who, The prosperous pay in general little attention to these maxims, but to the poor and unsuccessful they doubtless afford considerable comfort. They watch for the lucky hour when the wheel is to turn, the sky to clear; they cheer their adversity by its distant beams, they keep their hands ready to seize the oar, and shift the sail whenever "the tide in their affairs" arrives which is to "lead on to fortune." PREPARATIONS FOR PLEASURE OR, A (Concluded from page 207). They were again at the very point of starting, when a message was brought to Mrs. Snodgrass that little Master Charles had cut his thumb dreadfully! What was to be done? Mrs. Snodgrass vowed she shouldn't be easy in her mind the whole day, unless she knew the extent of the mischief; and as they only lived in Euston Square, and she could be there and back again in twenty minutes, she would herself go see what really was the matter; and away she went. Twenty minutes! During all this time, Bagshaw- but who would attempt to describe anguish indescribable? At length he was relieved by the return of Mrs. Snodgrass; but, to the horror and consternation of himself, and of all present, she introduced the aforesaid Master Charles, an ugly, ill-tempered, blubbering little brat of seven years old, with a bloated red face, scrubby white hair, and red eyes. At length the procession set out; the Bagshaws, Uncle John, and Jack Richards bringing up the rear in a hackney-coach. They were now fairly on the road. "What a smell of garlick!" exclaimed Uncle John; "it is intolerable!" "Dear me!" said Mr. Richards, "do you perceive it? 'Tis a fine Italian sausage I bought at Morel's, as my contribution. We shall find it an excellent relish in the country;" and he exhibited his purchase, enveloped in a brown paper. Put it into "Pha! shocking! 'tis a perfect nuisance! your pocket again, or throw it out at the window." But "Here they are," replied Uncle; at the same time drawing from his pocket a parcel in size and form very closely resembling Mr. Richards's offensive contribution. On arriving at Westminster Bridge, they found the rest of the party already seated in the barge, hired for the occasion, and the first sound that saluted their ears was an intimation that, owing to their being two hours behind time (it was now past twelve,) they should hardly save the tide. "I knew it would be so," said Bagshaw, with more of discontent than he had thought to experience, considering the pains he had taken that every thing should be well-ordered. As Uncle John was stepping into the boat, Richards, with great dexterity, exchanged parcels with him, putting the Italian sausage into Uncle John's pocket, and the spoons into his own; enhancing the art of the manoeuvre by whispering to the Bagshaws, who with infinite delight had observed it," Hang me but he shall have enough of the garlick!" The old gentleman was quite unconscious of the operation, as Richards adroitly diverted his attention from it by giving him one of his facetious pokes in the ribs, which nearly bent him double and drew a roar of laughter from every one else. She would endeavour to accompany herself through a little ballad; and thus it proceeded : O leave me (twang) to my sorrow, (twang twang) "Dear me!" -For my soul (twang) -is heavy (twang) to day; (twang twang) "I told you, mamma, I couldn't." O leave me (twang) and to-morrow (twang) "You see it is nothing without an accompaniment." These dark clouds (twang) "You really must excuse me ;" and away went the guitar. Mr. Claudius Bagshaw, now, for the first time, wondered how anything could fail, so much trouble having been taken to ensure success. Drawing forth his repeater, he a-hem'd! and just muttered, Unaccountable! Hem! upon my word! One o'clock, and no pleasure yet!" A dead silence occurred for some minutes; when Jack Richards who had not for a long time perpetrated a joke, produced a harsh, brassy-toned, German colina, and— "Blew a blast so loud and shrill," that the Dutch pug began to bark, Carlo to howl, and the other nuisance, Master Charles, to cry. The German eolina was of itself bad enough, but these congregated noises were intolerable. Uncle John aimed a desperate blow with a large apple, which he was just about to bite, at the head of Carlo, who, in order to give his lungs fair play, was standing on all fours on the hampers. The apple missed the dog, and went some distance beyond him into the water. Mr. Carlo, attributing to Uncle John a kinder feeling than that which actually prompted the proceeding, looked upon it as a good-natured expedient to afford him an opportunity of adding his mite to the amusements of the day, by displaying a specimen of his training. Without waiting for a second hint, he plunged into the river, seized the apple, and paddling up to the side of the boat with the prize triumphantly exhibited in his jaws, to the consternation of the whole party, he scrambled in between Uncle John and his master, dropped the apple on the floor, distributed a copious supply of Thames' water amongst the affrighted beholders, squeezed his way through them as best as he could, and, with an air of infinite self-satisfaction, resumed his place on the hampers. Just as they were pushing off, their attention was attracted by a loud howling. It proceeded from a large Newfoundland dog, which was standing at the water's edge. "Confound it!" cried Richards, "that's my Carlo! He has followed me, unperceived, all the way from home; I would not lose him for fifty pounds. I must take him back, pray put me ashore. This is very provoking, though he is a very quiet dog?" There was no mistaking this hint. Already there were two nuisances on board, Master Charles and the Dutch pug; but as they were to choose between Jack Richards with his dog, or no Jack Richards (or in other words, no "life and soul of the party "), it was presently decided that Carlo should be invited to a seat on the hampers, which were stowed at the head of the boat, Uncle John having first extracted from Mr. Richards an assurance that their new guest would lie there as still as a mouse. This complaisance was amply rewarded by a speedy display of Mr. Richards' powers of entertainment. As they were fast approaching Vauxhall Bridge, the fair Corinna unrolled the music for which the servant had been dispatched with so much haste. Miss Corinna screamed! "What was the matter?"-"They had not sent the grand scena from "Medea" after all, but a wrong piece! and the pains she had taken to be perfect in it!"-"Could not Miss Corinna sing it from memory?”—“Impossible ! ”"How careless of you, Corinna! then sing what they have sent."" Why, ma'," said Corinna, holding up the unfortunate sheets, "why, bless me, ma', I can't sing the overture to Der Freischutz!"" The difficulty of such a performance being readily admitted, Mr. Frederick Snodgrass declared himself "but too happy" to comply with the call for his concerto in five sharps, which stood next on the list; and with the air of one well satisfied that an abundance of admiration and applause would reward his efforts, he drew forth his flute, when, lo! one of the joints was missing! This accident was nearly fatal to the musical entertainments of the day; for not only was the concerto thereby rendered impracticable, but "Sweet Bird," with the flute accompaniment obligato, Uncle John, whose nostrils had been more than once was put hors de combat. Disappointment having, by offended by the odour from his friend's garlick sausage, this, been carried to its uttermost bounds, the announce- and who had on each and every such occasion vented an ment that two strings of the guitar had "gone" was exclamation of disgust, to the great amusement of Mr. received with an indifference almost stoical; and every Richards (who chuckled with delight to think of the one was grateful to Miss Euphemia for so willingly under-exchange he had secretly effected), here, in the middle taking (the whispered menaces of Lady Grouts being of the stream, resolved to rid himself of the annoyance. heard by nobody but the young lady herself) to do all Unperceived by any one, he gently drew the parcel from that could be done under such untoward circumstances. Richards' coat-pocket, and let it drop into the water! For some time, the pic-nics pursued their way in solemn silence. At length, Bagshaw, perceiving that there would be very little pleasure if matters were allowed to go on in this way, exclaimed, "An intelligent observer, not imbued with the knowledge of our intentions, would indicate us to be a combination of perturbed spirits, rowed by Charon across the river Tiber." In cases of this kind, the essential is to break the ice. Conversation was now resumed. Jack Richards was up again. "Come, what's done can't be helped; but, upon my soul! I am sorry at being the innocent cause of throwing cold water upon the party." "Too bad, Jack, to bring that Carlo of yours!" Carlo, perceiving that he was the subject of conversation, was instantly on his legs, his eye steadily fixed upon Uncle John, evidently expecting a signal for a second plunge. The alarm was general, and every tongue joined in the scream of "Lie down, Sir! lie down!" The Like King Richard's pierced coffin, once in, it soon found | packages were first stowed in the boat, the pigeon-pie the way to the bottom. Uncle John could scarcely was inadvertently placed at the bottom, and everything restrain his inclination to laugh aloud; however, he con- else, finishing with the large heavy hamper of crockery, trived to assume an air of indifference, and whistled part with Carlo on that, upon it; so that when it was taken of a tune. up it appeared a chaotic mass of pie-crust, broken china, pigeons, brown paper, beef-steak, eggs, and straw! "Now this is enough to provoke a saint," said Bagshaw. After a minute examination, he declared the pie to be "a complete squash," and that nobody could venture to eat it but at the imminent risk of being choked. next basket was opened. Things were not altogether in a desperate state. Mr. Wrench's ham was in perfect order, and that, with Miss Snubbleston's salad, and some bread and Could it be possible! After so much preto boot, that no one should have thought of so obvious a requisite as bread! There would not be time to send Mr. Bagshaw to Twickenham town to procure some, for it was getting late; and if they lost the tide, they should be on the water till midnight, and they did not like the appearance of the sky, which was by no means so blue as it had hitherto been. However, the want of bread did not much signify; they could make a shift with Miss Snubbleston's biscuit and pound-cakes. But Uncle John did not come out on an excursion of pleasure to make shift; no more did Bagshaw, nor more did any of the others. There was nothing else to be done; so where is Miss Snubbleston's basket? And where is Master Charles? Gracious! Don't be alarmed, the precious rarity is in no danger. He was soon discovered behind a tree, whither he had dragged the fruit and cakes, and was engaged, with all his might and main, in an endeavour, with a piece of stick, to force out an apple. In this attempt, as it was presently seen, the interesting child had cracked a bottle, the contents of which-merely a preparation of oil, vinegar, and mustard, for the salad-were quietly dribbling through the pound-cakes, biscuits, and fruit. Similar aspirations to those which had lately been so cordially expressed for the Dutch pug, were now most devoutly formed in behalf of Master Charles. comes of people bringing their plaguey brats with them," said Uncle Toby. Arrived at Twickenham, the boatmen were ordered to pull up to a beautiful meadow, sloping down to the water's edge. 'Twas the very thing for them! In an instant they were all ashore; and the hampers were placed near a large tree, beneath whose spreading boughs they resolved to take their rural meal. The invention of eating and drinking is one of which much may be said both pro and con; that it is excessively vulgar we at once admit; but there is this in its favour, that the near prospect of a good dinner does much towards the re-paration, and Mr. Bagshaw's committee of "provender" storation of suspended harmony; and savage must be his heart, his very nature uncharitable and unforgiving, who feels no touch of kindness for, or sympathy with, his fellow-creatures at the sound of the dinner-bell. The beneficial effect of the approaching repast was evident now. "Well," said Bagshaw, "I knew our pains and trouble would be rewarded; we shall have a pleasant day after all." They were just preparing to open their own packages when a servant came running towards them. Beg pardon, gentlemen; don't you see that post?" and he directed their attention to a sign-board bearing the hospitable notice "that any person, or persons, landing to dine in those meadows, would be prosecuted." "But," said Bagshaw, "what damage or deterioration of property can we possibly inflict?"-"Don't know, Sir; but Sir Gregory Grumpy does not like his grass to be greased all over with ham and chicken." Remonstrance was in vain; so they re-embarked their "provender" and themselves, and pulled farther up the river. Bagshaw looked at his repeater, and shook his head. The next place at which they attempted a landing was equally prohibited, though the prohibition appeared in the more polite form of an invitation: "You are requested not to dine here." At last, however, they discovered an undefended spot, and of this they took possession. There was no time to lose-they had had no pleasure yet-so Bagshaw entreated that every one would "put his shoulder to the wheel, and be on the qui va la." In an instant, a large heavy hamper was landed, but, as in compliance with Bagshaw's request, every one did something to help, a scene of confusion was the consequence, and numerous pieces of crockery were invalided ere the cloth was properly spread, and the dishes, plates, and glasses distributed. But for the feast. Mr. Snodgrass's basket was opened, and out of it were taken four remarkably fine chickens, and a tongue-uncooked! There was but one mode of accounting for this trifling omission. Mr. Snodgrass's Betty was a downright matter-of-fact person, who obeyed orders to the very letter. Having been told, the evening before, to get four fine chickens for roasting, together with a tongue, and to pack them, next morning, in a basket, she did so literally and strictly; but, as she had received no distinct orders to dress them, to have done so she would have deemed an impertinent departure from her instructions. Well; since people in a high state of civilization, like Mr. Claudius Bagshaw and his friends, cannot eat raw chickens, they did the only thing they could under the circumstances-they grumbled exceedingly, and put them back again into the basket. This was a serious deduction in the important point of quantity, and Uncle John felt a slight touch of remorse at having thrown, as he thought, his friend's Italian sausage into the Thames. However, there was still provision in the garrison. But the run of luck in events, as at a game of whist, may be against you; and when it is so, be assured that human prudence and foresight (remarkable as even Mrs. Bagshaw's, who bespoke her pigeons seven weeks before she wanted them), avail but little. When the "This While this scene was going on, Jack Richards, perceiving that the service of the table was incomplete, bethought him of Uncle John's silver-handled knives and forks, and spoons. He felt first in one pocket, then in the other; then he ran down to search the boat, then he rummaged the baskets. "Jack, my boy," hallooed Uncle John, "don't trouble yourself, you'll never see that again.”—“ What, Sir?"-"I could not bear the smell of it any longer, so I slily drew it out of your pocket, and let it fall into the Thames." And here Uncle John chuckled, and looked about him for applause. "Bless me, Sir! Don't say so-why-bless my heart!-you don't know!-before we got into the boat, I put the sausage into your pocket, and your case of cutlery into my own!" There was a general burst of laughter against Uncle John. He turned as pale as-nay, paler than anything that has ever yet been dragged into the comparison; for an instant he stood stock-still, then thrusting his hand into his pocket, drew forth the unfortunate substitute, and dashed it violently to the ground. He next buttoned his coat from the bottom to the top, pulled down his cuffs, whispered to his no-longer-admired Jack Richards, "You shall hear from me, Mr. and saying aloud to Bagshaw, "This comes of your confounded party of pleasure, Sir." Away he went, and returned to town outside a Twickenham coach, resolving by the way to call out that Mr. Richards, and to eject the Bagshaws from the snug corner they held in his last will and testament. ;” This explosion seemed to have banished pleasure for that day. They were all, more or less, out of humour; and instead of making the best of things, as they had hitherto done, they now made the worst of them. Sir Thomas's hamper of his choice wine (which, by-the-bye, he purchased at a cheap shop for the occasion) was opened; and slices of ham were cut with their only knife and fork. Jack Richards tried to be facetious, but it would not do. He gave Bagshaw a poke in the ribs, which was received with a very formal-"Sir, I must beg." To Mr. Wrench, junior, he said, "You have not spoken much to-day, but you have made amends for your science-d'ye take?-Your ham is good, though your tongue is not worth much." Instead of laughing, Mr. Wrench simpered something about "impertinent liberties," and "satisfaction." On being invited by Sir Thomas to a second glass of his "old East India," he said that one was a dose-had rather not double the Cape; and at the first glass of Champagne, he inquired whether there had been a plentiful supply of gooseberries that year. In short, whether it were that the company knew not how to appreciate his style of wit and pleasantry, or that he was in reality a very disagreeable person; the fact is that. But hold! Let us say nothing ill of him. As we have said, they now seemed resolved to make the worst of everything; the grass was damp, the gnats were troublesome, Carlo's nose was in every body's face, Cupid's teeth at everybody's calves, and Master Charles was ill of too many sour apples; it was growing late, and no good could come of sitting longer in the open air. They re-embarked. By the time they reached Putney it was pitch dark, and the tide was setting against them. They moved on in mute impatience, for there was a slight sprinkling of rain. It now fell in torrents. Master Charles grew frightened, and screamed, Cupid yelped, and Carlo howled. Accompanied the rest of the way by these pleasing sounds, at one in the morning (two hours and a half later than they had intended, they arrived at Westminster stairs, dull, dreary, drowsy, discontented, and drenched. How this day's excursion failed of being "the pleasantest thing that ever was," after the pains, trouble, labour, inconvenience, and bodily suffering he had endured to make it so, Mr. Claudius Bagshaw, with all his literature, science, and philosophy, is still utterly at a loss to discover; but he is resolved to renew the experiment once again, on the twenty-fourth of August next ensuing; and to secure an additional chance in favour of its success, he will commence his preparations at Christmas. LIGHT LITERATURE. We live in an age of emancipation. The rules of thinking and acting which governed our grandfathers, have no dominion over us. The introduction of steam has made life an almost perpetual motion. Thousands that for years had never strayed ten miles from their own home, have been brought into full acquaintance "with the manners of many men and many cities." A steam-boat, like Love, has wings, or at least has paddles which answer the same purpose, and cut through space with equal celerity. The spread of energetic and universal excitement is visible in all directions. The impulse extends to all the social relations of life; friends living a hundred miles apart, and whose only communication was through the post-office, now start off by railway, after a leisurely breakfast, and are ensconced in the dining-room of their destination in good time for dinner. All this rapidity of movement is fertile in consequences. The value of time is calculated by infinitesimal quantities. We are made to see so clearly the quantity of business that may be dispatched in a given period, and how deeply the question of profit and loss may be affected by the loss of a few precious moments, that every cause of delay becomes a tax upon our patience. The adage that "what is deferred is not lost" is clean swept from the register of experience, as being unsuited, as in truth it is, to the new law of locomotion. I do not purpose at present to investigate the good or the evil of this mighty revolution. It is of no use to philosophize; for were I to wear down my pen to the stump, I should never make the world one whit the wiser. But there is one result of this law of progress well worth remarking. The race of deeply-read scholars is fast disappearing; I speak of that class which in past times consumed the midnight oil, readers who pored over their folios till sunrise, and whose lucubrations were said to smell of the lamp. Now, is there anything surprising in their disappearance. The descendants of these blacklettered book-worms are to be found now in the catalogue of les beaux esprits. A few hours on a railway will enable them to join their friends in a shooting-party on the moors; or if they have a taste for foreign travel, a commodious and well-built steamer will speed them within sight of the Pyramids in less time than it would take to get through three octavo volumes. Who, having all this enjoyment in perspective, and a purse within reach of it, can be expected to sit down to hard study? Such self-sacrifice cannot reasonably be expected. We must be cast in a new mould before it can be looked for. In every rank, and in every occupation, light literature has become the order of the day. In all that we do, and in all that we leave undone, the expenditure of time is taken into the account. Book-knowledge is slow of acquirement; the great demand is for that kind of knowledge which can be made available in the every-day business of life; which enlarges our field of observation, and keeps our faculties on the alert. In these days, our intellectual food must be easy of digestion, and must be served up like pancakes-hot and hot. Weekly journals, pamphlets, magazines, reviews, articles which have the cream of literature on the surface, and may be easily skimmed-these are the commodities in demand. To a sharp-sighted observer, all the world is a college; he gathers instruction from all that is going on before him; his associates and their tactics sharpen his faculties from hour to hour, and improves his associates for the whole of life. Whatever intelligence we seek for must be given with telegraphic expedition. Even a double number of the Times is deemed a nuisance; one half is left unread, and the other half is impatiently hurried over. In the senate and at the bar, speeches must be short; nothing prosy is endurable. Even in the church, a long sermon brings on drowsiness; no strength of devotion, in these degenerate days, can hold out against it. I must confess, on my own part, to a great predisposition to this sort of ennui. Charles Lamb, whose inimitable essays of "Elia" are a casket of jewels, though he loved an old folio of Beaumont and Fletcher, of Fuller's Worthies, and of other goodly volumes, that give evidence of the thousand thumbs that have turned over their pages, and handed them down, doubled down and dog's-eared, to the delight of posterity, had nevertheless a strong relish for lighter reading, whenever chance threw it in his way, as the graphic manner in which he thus describes this enjoyment will testify:-"Coming to an inn at night, having ordered your supper, what can be more delightful than to find lying in the window-seat, left there time out of mind by the carelessness of some former guest, two or three numbers of the old Town and Country Magazine,' with its amusing tête-a-tête pictures, The Royal Lover and Lady G-,' 'The melting Platonic and the old Beau,' and such like antiquated scandal? Would you exchange it, at that time and in that place, for a better book?" When I speak of light literature, it is hardly necessary to say, that I do not use the phrase as implying that sort of reading which furnishes mere amusement. The term "literature" embraces that class of periodical publications which are calculated to invigorate the intellect without fatiguing it, and which, while they furnish in the variety of the articles they afford that relaxation the mind requires, allure it at the same time to the study and contemplation of physical and moral truth. TIMON. |