I AM an idle man, living upon my means-that is to say, I have the misfortune to be possessed of a small independence, and my only occupation is to get rid of it as fast as I can. It has often been remarked, that a man who has nothing to do does a great deal that he ought not to do, and the benefits he confers upon his fellow men are so few, that were his entrance into society to be decided by the ballot, he would most assuredly be black-balled. In the majority of cases this may be very true; but I contend that I am an honourable exception, and that society has done more harm to me than I have done to society. I have lived for society so long, that it seems resolved to kill me in revenge. I am already numbered among its "victims," and I feel my end is approaching. As my funds decrease my friends grow less mindful of me, and it appears too evident that in the course of a brief space of time I shall have nothing but my own society to fall back upon. A very sad prospect, certainly, but it is the fate of all who study the convenience of others, instead of doing the best they can for themselves. As to the fair sex, it has used me cruelly, so much so, that I begin to entertain very ungallant opinions respecting the daughters of Eve. I have spent more than half my fortune, and worn out the patience of all my tradesmen, in my endeavours to confer obligations upon the frail tempters, and, at the same time, to render myself an ornament to their society. Yet no one can fairly charge me with dissimulation, album-writing, love-making, or any of those fashionable vices which lead to plighted vows, disappointed hopes, and broken hearts. I am, however, so completely devoted to the "best wishes" of my fair friends, that they cannot enjoy an excursion-party without me, and no wedding breakfast or funeral feast is considered a good entertainment unless I am a participator in the merry-making. In short, I have rendered myself so useful a member of society, that when I am called upon to throw off my mortal coil, a most important link in the chain-cable of social life will be snapped asunder. In order that the reader may be warned by my example, I must relate to him a few instances of the mischief I have done to myself by living for society, and he will find amongst my best friends as many real enemies as any man need be blessed with.

In the first place, there is the Widow Plinlimmon! Her departed husband was a captain in the Guards, (at least, so report says,) and she has been enjoying the exclusive right to his pension for upwards of six years. Look at her! You would not take her to be more than forty, so well does Art assist her in keeping Nature in the shade. Yet, take my word for it she is fifty-nine, according to the calculation which the respective ages of her children necessarily suggests. If she die a widow, it will not be her own fault; for, although it is not the province of woman to court, but only to allow herself to be courted, she has adopted every possible means of gaining a second husband,

VOL. XXIV.

R

short of absolutely popping the question. As soon as propriety allowed her to throw aside her weeds, she bedizened her cap with the gayest flowers, in order that she might the more successfully set it at some forlorn bachelor or widower, who might take her to his bosom notwithstanding the encumbrances which troubled her. These encumbrances consisted-and still consist, I believe-of four daughters and three sons, the latter of whom have not yet commenced their career of manhood. Now, it is pretty well known that in the stream of life unmarried men are often to be caught by a single bait; but, if they find the hook overcharged, and there is something to swallow besides the gentle which appears on the surface, they will not suffer themselves to be tempted. Thus it turned out with the widow Plinlimmon. She had angled with infinite dexterity, and had experienced many a nibble, but she had not succeeded in catching a victim; for, though the temptation held out by her small pension might have had great weight, the consideration that there were seven children to partake of it had still greater, and hence the old lady (what would she say, if Having failed she heard me call her so!) remains to this day a widow. then in her attempt to get a husband for herself, she has latterly been making exertions in favour of her daughters, three of whom have when ladies are called marriageable. arrived at that critical age young My love of society was the means of my being introduced to Mrs. Plinlimmon and her family, and as accident frequently brought me in contact with the eldest daughter, I was polite enough to pay her a little more attention, perhaps, than she had ever received before. What has been the consequence? I have been worried to death by invitations to Mrs. P.'s house, and whenever I have ventured to decline them, a tempting present of some sort has been sent for my acceptance, or the Masters Plinlimmon have called upon me to express their In vain I asseverate dear mama's fears that she has offended me. that mama has done nothing at which I could be offended, but that I have been prevented from visiting her by urgent engagements.

"Mama insists on my coming to see her on the following day, to spend the evening with her." She will no longer brook a refusal, and go I must, though my peace of mind may be destroyed for ever by so doing.

"There are a few friends coming to tea, and Adelaide (that is, Miss Plinlimmon,) has been learning a new song on purpose to please me." This may be true, or it may not; but, as Adelaide does not wish to remain a spinster all her life, the probabilities are in favour of the former supposition. Well, I am fond of society, and there is after all a charm in making oneself agreeable to the gentle sex, even though it may cost Without further perone something more than a few sighs or tears. suasion, I accept Mrs. Plinlimmon's pressing invitation, strengthened as it is by the fact that Adelaide has learnt a new song on purpose to please me, and on the following evening I make my appearance at the widow's house.

There I am! seated on the sofa between Miss Plinlimmon and Miss Julia Plinlimmon, while Mrs. Plinlimmon herself is occupied with Signor Violini, a musical professor, in looking over some favourite airs, which one of the young ladies says Adelaide plays divinely. Signor Violini suggests that Miss Plinlimmon shall sing her new song, and Mrs. Plinlimmon immediately exclaims,

"Ah do, Adelaide, my dear! I am so anxious for Mr. Dobbs and the professor to hear it."

This entreaty on the part of mama is of course affectation. Adelaide would have been much disappointed and sorely vexed had she not been solicited to sing the new air. But, such is society! Miss Plinlimmon is led by me to the piano, and, whilst Signor Violini arranges the music-stool to the proper height for the lady's accommodation, I take an opportunity of reading the words of the new song. And, if I mistake not, the title is "Why don't the men propose?" but of this I will not be too sure, as my recollection is sometimes treacherous. My hand is on one page of the music, and that of the professor is on the other, whilst Miss Plinlimmon is occupied in playing the symphony, which happens to be unusually long. Suddenly the harmony is interrupted by a noise on the staircase as of the treading of mighty footsteps.

"Good heavens !" exclaim the ladies, "what can be the matter?"

I really think the house is on fire," cries one of the gentlemen, "for there is a dreadful smell of burning."

The doubt, however, is soon cleared up by the affrighted housemaid, who rushes into the drawing-room with tears in her eyes and distraction in her aspect, exclaiming,

"Oh, Lor', mum! here's the kitchen chimley been and caught fire, and we can't 'stinguish the flames no how!"

The room is instantly filled with smoke, and the whole company with alarm and astonishment.

"What is to be done?" cries one.

"What shall we do?" says another.

"Send for the fire-engines," exclaims a third.

"No, no! the fire will burn itself out when the soot is all consumed," says a fourth.

"But we shall all be suffocated," screams Mrs. Plinlimmon.

"And our best dresses completely spoilt," cry the Misses Plinlim

mon.

"Oh, Mr. Dobbs, can you do anything to help us?" says the widow, in the loudest tones of a voice not particularly melodious.

"Anything in the world," I reply, "if you will only mention it, my dear madam."

"Don't you think," rejoins the shrewd lady," somebody might go to the top of the house, and throw buckets of water down the chimney?"

There is no time to be lost, for the fire continues to blaze, and the smoke in the drawing-room has become so thick that the people can scarcely see each other. So, acting upon the delicate hint conveyed to me by the insinuating widow, I,-easy man that I am,-exclaim,

"Oh, I will go, with pleasure," looking at my white waistcoat and embroidered shirt-front; and away I start, treading on several corns, and knocking down sundry china ornaments in my assumed anxiety to play the part of a fireman" for this night only." Twice I stumble on the staircase, and each time produce a rent in my garments, and in getting through the trap-door leading to the roof, I break my head, and almost dislocate my ribs. Notwithstanding these small inconveniences, I commence proceedings against the offending chimney, and in less than half an hour the flames are completely extinguished, thanks to my exertions and the penalty I pay for being too fond of society.

I will leave the reader to imagine the appearance I presented on my return to the drawing-room. He is just as able to conceive it as I am to describe it; for, in these railway times it is really by no means difficult to imagine the effects produceable from a combination of smoke

and water. Suffice it that I was no longer "fit to be seen," and the ladies ran away from me, to save their dresses from contamination. There was no alternative for me but to hasten from the scene as speedily as possible, and as I descended the stairs I thought I heard the widow say, "Kind, obliging creature! how I should like him for a sonin-law!" It may well be imagined that when I arrived at home, and began to reflect on what had passed, I did not feel very amiably disposed towards the Widow Plinlimmon. Confound the woman! thought I, if she had not tormented me to be a guest at her house, this would not have occurred, and I should doubtless have spent the evening in a manner much more agreeable to my own tastes, and at a much less cost to my wardrobe, for I found that my best suit of clothes was rendered unfit for use except by a member of the colliery profession, or by one of those smoke-devouring gentry who pass their lives amongst the engines of a steam-boat.

Some weeks afterwards I was meditating in my own room upon the propriety of giving up society altogether, as one of the worst enemies to man, when two of my hair-brained friends, with whom I was in the habit of indulging at a neighbouring tavern, suddenly made their appearance, and insisted upon my joining them in the performance of some practical joke, which they intended to perpetrate at "The Crown and Thistle." The said "joke" had been suggested to them by a ghost story which they had heard in the morning, and they explained to me that they could not carry it out successfully without borrowing one of my sheets. I did not clearly understand why one of my sheets in particular should be so much desired, but as I had lived for society so long, I thought I would appear in the same character "for one night more," and therefore I denuded my bed of one of its appurtenances, and consented to accompany my friends on their expedition. The consequence was, that instead of going to bed at an early hour, as I had virtuously intended, I did not return home until daylight, when my brain was so overcharged with strong waters, that I had only sufficient sense left to curse my unlucky stars for having made me sacrifice my own comforts to the inconvenience of living for society.

On the following morning I was resolving in my own mind never again to heed the temptations of friends, when the servant at my lodgings brought me a letter, the contents of which were as follow:

"Mrs. Plinlimmon requests the pleasure of Mr. Inigo Dobbs's company on Thursday, the 25th inst., at 10 o'clock in the morning, to celebrate the nuptials of Miss Julia Plinlimmon and Mr. Augustus Pitman. An answer will oblige."

"So, so!" thought I; "the widow has succeeded in providing for one of her daughters, and poor Pitman is the victim. Shall I go to the wedding? I suppose I must; for the happy couple will be miserable if I do not. Besides, Pitman is not a bad fellow. I knew him long before he got that situation of 120l. a year, which now enables him to marry." I was interrupted in my reflections by the sudden appearance of my landlady, who came to complain that one of the sheets was missing from my bed. I explained to her what had become of it, and was endeavouring to satisfy her mind that it was in safe custody, when a loud voice from the bottom of the stairs caused the name of "Towzle" (the landlady in question) to reverberate through the house, and Mrs. Towzle, alarmed at the sound, hastily quitted the apartment. I found that she had received a visit from an attaché of the "Crown and Thistle."