unconsciously addressing a jury: "Gentlemen," said the dying Chief Justice, "you are dismissed!"

Brougham, the great Tribune of the People, hated all demagogues, and Cobbett above all others. When Cobbett was in Parliament, nothing pleased him better than to go about the country making speeches to ignorant audiences, and insinuating the treason which he' dared not openly advocate. Owing to his unanswered nonsense, he was making great way in the country; but when he returned to the House of Commons, "Spring Rice at one blow overturned him, and Peel (with Cobbett's own lawful help) finished him. Depend upon it, that is a far better way of meeting an enemy than to smile and say, What does it signify?" Next to demagogues, Brougham had a horror of tradesunions. He called them "a social evil," exercising a permanently injurious effect upon the freedom of capital and labour alike. He deplored the oppression under which they held thousands of workmen, who were prohibited from making the best they could of their own labour. He denounced them as "conspiracies of the worst kind." "Their existence is a blot upon a system such as no Government ought to suffer." Much more curious is it to find the once ultraLiberal, when a member of the Administration, denouncing popular meetings and the agitation of political questions: "This system of continually agitating any subject on which any part of the community may feel itself aggrieved, is very mischievous. How is How is any Government to go on under such a system; or what is the use of a Reformed Parliament, if we are to have a hundred mock parliaments sitting in every part of the kingdom, prescribing to the Legislature the course which it is to pursue?" What would the aged writer have said of the present day, when what he calls "mock parliaments" not only sit, but real M.P.'s, as well as lay delegates, make harangues to those tribunals; while each of the orators, if he belong to a certain secret society, is liable to be summoned before it, and to be well "wigged" for "laying it on too mildly," or for " showing his cards" with such indiscretion as to compel him to explain away the meaning of his words?

To Those about to Marry.

BY AN UNMARRIED CYNIC.

DON'T suppose by the assumption of this title I am about to lay claim to any connection with the inventor of that famous but brief caution which years ago appeared in Punch, and secured not only immortal renown, but, it is believed, a very considerable pecuniary recompence, to its unknown but shameless originator.

The advice I am about to give is by no means of a negative character, but is a positive opinion, founded on considerable observation and some experience.

It has nothing to do with the choice of a wife, as those about to marry ought already to have settled that point; unless, indeed, they intend to imitate the example of a certain gentleman of an honourable and learned profession, who being about to marry a young lady resident in Belgravia, and passing daily through Covent Garden, on his way to Lincoln's Inn, by a too careful selection of pretty bouquets, ended at last by marrying the charming young person whose devoted customer he became. One shudders to contemplate the feelings of the Belgravian fiancée when she discovered the reason why her false Lothario became so profuse and reckless in his floral gifts. She must have hated the sight of a nosegay ever after, and suspected a thorn every rose.

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My advice, on the contrary, is to marry as quickly as possible, for none but those who are, unhappily, versed in such matters can be aware of the manifold minor, to say nothing of major, evils which a long engagement entails.

The position of an affianced pair, after a time, becomes almost ridiculous. Premature congratulations are poured forth by some overenthusiastic friends, while others cease to believe in the reality of an ultimate settlement, and become suspicious of the sincerity of your professions, and almost personally affronted at your delay. Then the difficulty of sustaining, with appropriate effect, the character of an engaged man is something enormous.

I say nothing of the difficulty which a lady in that delicate position has to encounter, for we all know that they experience but little difficulty in making themselves perpetually agreeable—at least before marriage; but with regard to a man, think of the amiable and excusable deceptions he is forced to be guilty of the real distaste, but professed pleasure, with which he accompanies "the beloved object" to the

festive board of some oppressive family friend, where for two mortal hours, at least, he has to sit, the observed of all observers, next to the idol to whom he has been paying unceasing devotion for the greater portion of the day, and to whom now he has to make himself agreeable-having exhausted every scrap of news, every conceivable subject of conversation! He is afraid to venture upon any tender aside, for fear he should be thought silly; or to keep much to generalities, for fear he should be considered slow.

I have, indeed, remarked engaged couples who have been content to sit in blissful silence, wrapped in contemplation of their approaching happiness; but such a state of quiescence is rarely observable, and can scarcely be preserved for an indefinite period.

One of my earliest recollections of such a couple is when they were sitting in this state of tranquil calm, and forming a very limited handin-hand mutual assurance company of their own; but their example is scarcely to be quoted, as the partnership was shortly afterwards dissolved for ever, and the lady and gentleman are at present thousands of miles apart, and each belonging to another firm.

It is impossible for a man of business not to sympathise with an eminent physician, who informed his future wife that he had no time for courtship; but that if she would marry him, and be ready on a certain day, he should be happy to meet her at the church and make her his bride.

It is not every man, however, who can venture, with any probability of success, to bring matters to so practical an issue; and there is another case I have heard, likely to be more common, of an unfortunate middle-aged gentleman who, from the effects of perpetual harassment, fell, for the first time in his life, a victim to gout. All his friends imagined that the wedding, which at this crisis had at last become due, would be postponed; but the natural firmness of the patient's character exhibited itself at the eleventh hour, or rather at 11.30, when he was led into church between two best-men, and on the evening of the same day was on his way to commence a Vichey-(ous) course of living in a famous watering-place, accompanied by his charming bride.

In this touching incident of domestic life it is difficult to know which most to admire-the courage of the husband, or the devotion of the wife; for their honeymoon, after all, must have been a wishywashy sort of affair.

This brings me to a few reflections on honeymoons in general; and it is on this subject that I am desirous of giving a little advice.

I firmly believe that any one who could invent, or suggest, a really desirable method of spending a honeymoon would be a great benefactor to his species. I was much struck the other day at a remark a lady, most happily united to an excellent and amiable husband, made

when I ventured to lead the conversation to this subject. She said: "I can assure you, Mr. Blank, my honeymoon has been the least happy month I have passed since my marriage."

One bold man of my acquaintance, who was united to the object of his affections on Shrove-Tuesday, brought his wife at once to London, and abstained from taking her to a theatrical entertainment the following evening, simply because no such place of public amusement is open on the first day of Lent; but he has the good fortune to possess a wife with such an unlimited belief in her husband's power of guidance, and transcendent though as yet undeveloped abilities, that she would have accompanied him, at a moment's notice, without a murmur, on a tour to Central Africa, or a whaling expedition to Iceland. Women like her, alas! are hard to meet; and London, if you happen to have an extensive town acquaintance, is scarcely a place to be selected for comparative quietude.

In theory, nothing can be more delightful than some charming nook in Devonshire, or some rustic retreat in the Isle of Wight; but I would ask those who have devoted themselves to such sweet solitudes whether their anticipations of happiness have by any means been realised, or whether they were not both excessively glad to return once more to the busy haunts of men.

The male sex, under ordinary circumstances, when compelled, out of the hunting and shooting seasons, to stay in the country, generally, after a sojourn there of three or four days, discover that it is absolutely necessary for their personal comfort to repair to town to have their hair cut; and although it is to be presumed that a bridegroom would have his love-locks sufficiently cropped before marriage, yet it is possible such a notion might most inconveniently occur to him.

Whenever it has happened to me to meet in some remote rural district with a newly-married couple, I have been much struck with the satisfaction my society seems to afford, not only the bridegroom, but the bride. "But, Mr. Blank," may say some of my readers who have hitherto kindly followed me, "why not carry your interesting couple abroad, for there, at least, they cannot dread the gêne you seem to anticipate for them at home?"

"My dear sir" (for I despair of any lady having patience with me to read so far), I reply, "on all sides I hear newly-married people warned against going abroad: and of the last four of my acquaintance who did so, one had a coup de soleil in the Pyrenees, another caught malaria at Rome; the third stayed at Paris, where the bridegroom, having notions repugnant to the gaiety and frivolity of the French capital, assumed during the whole of his visit such an air of morose melancholy, that his poor bride told me she trembled for their future happiness; and, worse than all, the fourth had their travels prematurely curtailed by the circumstance of their courier (who had possession of

all their money, and all their keys) being accidentally drowned at Coblentz so that I am, individually, not tempted to advise my friends to spend their honeymoon on the Continent. Besides, crossing the Channel is no joke to many love-sick swains and their happy spouses. Indeed, I knew one promising affair entirely broken off, because a gentleman, who happened to be an excessively bad sailor, insisted upon accompanying his fiancée to Lundy. The particulars of what occurred during that disastrous voyage cannot be detailed; but the infatuated bachelor, without saying farewell to any one, except an acquaintance he moodily commissioned to pay his bills, departed by the early coach next morning from Ilfracombe; while the young lady, before the season was out, consoled herself by marrying a florid parson of strictly Evangelical principles.

Never shall I forget, too, when I met Mr. Augustus Bright on board one of the wretched Messageries Impériales' steamers on the Bay of Naples, as, with pallid countenance and throbbing brow, he was attending to the wants of Mrs. A. B., his newly-wedded wife. That lady required constant assistance in the arrangement of her pillows and the adjustment of her shawls, and lay mummy-like for hours, fed with a spoon by her much-enduring spouse, who subsequently supported her tottering footsteps to the ladies' cabin, where, on the authority of the stewardess, we learnt she slept soundly all night, while her better half was ignominiously embracing the leg of the cuddy-table.

To turn to another part of my subject, I believe the romance of love can be kept up long after marriage-can exist on the commemoration of the Silver Wedding Day, and can even extend its influence to the Golden-which anniversary, however, few can expect to celebrate; but, then, the prevalent system of a month's isolation must be abandoned. When Phillis and Corydon are too much alone, all the little obliquities of character, previously unknown, become conspicuously revealed, and the innocent little game of mutual deception comes abruptly to an end.

During a courtship, be it long or short, is it not a fact that both Phillis and Corydon, with the best intentions in the world, are acting a part, as much as if they were assisting in private theatricals? To Corydon, perhaps, provided it is not too long, the performance may be comparatively easy, as he may have rehearsed his part on other stages, or may be accustomed to the assumption of a character not altogether his own.

It is Lothario who wearies of the society of his Rosaline, rather than the lady who sighs for other company than the object of her affections; and, after all, something may be said in Lothario's exculpation.

Men, after a certain time of life, are comparatively indifferent to

VOL. XXXIV.

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