whom he could read his works, when he lays his scenes in England, and who could set him right in these little matters? He could not well exaggerate the vice or the vulgarity of what is called "Society" in England, nor the extent of political profligacy, nor the jobbery, cliqueism, and unprincipled close borough camaraderie of our literature; only the mistake he has made is, he has not gone the right way to work to expose all this. Yet who knows? Perhaps he is prouder of all these mistakes, and more especially of his Lord William Cowper, the Lord Chancellor, Lord Lineous Clancharlie, and of Richardson, the novelist, "having profited by the extinction of the title of Lord Lovelace to introduce him (!) into Clarissa Harlove, and make a type of him!" Who knows? It is recorded of Mazurier, when having to play the part of a monkey, in order to be perfect in his role, he used, day after day, to don his monkey skin, and repairing to the Jardins des Plantes, stand outside the monkeys' cage. For a long time, to his great despair, they took no notice of him, till one day an old monkey, eyeing him, snatched an apple out of his hand, whereupon he exclaimed in an ecstacy "Enfin ! je suis singe.” So, who knows? Perhaps even Victor Hugo regardless of all the real chef d'œuvres which he has achieved, may, upon writing for the last time the unsurpassable name of TOM-JIM-JACK! have flung down his pen and exclaimed, in a paroxysm of pre-Adamite pride, for before Adam there may have been such "Britishers" as he describes, but never since "Enfin ! je suis Anglais !" ENTIRELY IGNORED, IF NOT ABSOLUTELY SPECIFIED IN THE DIVORCE COURT. IKE all the good old race of servants to which he belonged, Jessop had implicitly obeyed his mistress's orders about letting the servants have plenty of sack to drink Captain Broderick's health; and to do them justice, they would have done so con amore, had they had nothing but water to drink it in; how much more joyfully then did they do so in sack. Lancelot, upon that occasion, was the hero of the servants' hall, for he was fresh from Whitehall, and had heard, vid the royal valetaille, the whole history of Gilbert's imprisonment at Theobalds, and his re-appearance in the red worsted bed scene, down to that of Sir Allen's narrow escape of sharing the hospitality of Dr. Everhard, which was the episode that the said valetaille, from Podgers downward, enjoyed the most. For long before electric telegraphs were invented, or even dreamt of, except perhaps by Lord Worcester, people's affairs travelled quite as rapidly through their servants as they do now by the electric wires. "I tell you," said Lancelot, laying down his hard worked glass, after having drank "the Cappen's health, and the Cappen's safe return" for the sixth time-"I tell you as the finding of Moses among the bulrushes warnt to compare to the finding of the Cappen among the hangings of the red worsted bed; it war tremenjus! just tremenjus! that's what it war. وو "Well," said Mrs. Ruffle, crossing her hands upon her wrists, in her usual dignified and dictatorial manner, not a little scandalised at what she considered Lancelot's profane allusion to Moses-"Well, I may be wrong, and perhaps it's very wrong of me to say so, but I should think that most women would prefer having their husbands hanged after they'd been married some time to before." “I don't doubt but they might, Mrs. Ruffle," laughed Jessop. 66 Lor, Mrs. Ruffle !" said Lancelot, "considering as you haven't never been troubled with a husband, what should you know about 'em ?" "I know this about them-you parti-coloured Popingay," retorted Ruffle, her eyes flaming— "that hanging is too good for one half of them !" "Well," said Lancelot, again filling his glass, "here's to you, Mrs. Ruffle, wishing you the hanged half, and I've no doubt you'll find 'em a deal tenderer nor hung beef." "The worst of it is," said Ruffle, not condescending to notice either Lancelot or his speech, at which all the other servants were titteringmore especially the maids-but fanning herself with her handkerchief, and turning to Jessop"The worst of it is that marriage, like every other misfortune, when once it gets into a family, there's no knowing where it may end." "Not with you, that's sartin sure," said Lancelot, upon whom the sack was now beginning to take effect. "I don't think," said Mrs. Ruffle, rising to leave the table, which was fortunate, as at that moment her mistresses dressing-room bell rang "I don't think a prudent woman ought to sit and witness such scenes of riot and drunkenness; but I pity you, you poor contemptible mortal," added she, as she flung out of the hall, hurling a look of ferocity, sufficient to excite anybody else's pity, at Lancelot, who certainly had began to look more like a Silenas than a Servitor. However, it might have been pityMrs. Ruffle's way of showing pity-for it is astonishing, one way or another, how much pity is wasted in this world of cross purposes, which |