a mercy I wasn't dashed to pieces when those rascals tipped over the piano-forte; and there it lies, with three of its legs smashed and a corner split. I should like to know what I'm to have for the trouble?" "And I," said the upholsterer's man.

"And I," said the glass-man.

"And this here coffin," said the undertaker.

There had been a hoax, sure enough; and a tremendous hoax it was. A plentiful space before the door was strewed with hay, boxes, and baskets. There stood the coffin, upright, like a mummy; and here lay the piano-forte, a dumb and shattered discord.

Mr. Blundell had now arrived at his own steps, but did not even think of going in-doors; that is to say, not instantly. He mechanically stopped, as if to say or do something: and something was plainly expected of him; but what it was he knew not, except that he mechanically put his hand towards his purse, and as mechanically withdrew it.

The crowd all the while seemed to concentrate their forces towards him, all laughing, murmuring, staring-all eager, and pressing on one another; yet leaving a clear way for the gentleman, his tradesmen, and his goods.

What was to be done?

Mr. Blundell drew a sigh from the bottom of his heart, as though it were his last sigh or his last sixpence; yet he drew forth no sixpence. Extremes met, as usual; and the consummation of distress produced an appearance of calmness and reflection.

"You must plainly perceive, gentlemen," said our hero," that it could be no fault of mine."

"I don't know that," said the piano-forte man. The crowd laughed at the man's rage, and at once cheered him on, and provoked him against themselves. He seemed as if he did not know which he should run at first, his involuntary customer, or the "cursed little boys."

"Zounds, Sir!" said the man, 66 you oughtn't to have been hoaxed." "Oh! oh!" said the parliamentary crowd.

"I mean," continued he, "that none but some deuced disagreeable chap, or infernal fool, is ever treated in this here manner." "Oh! oh!" reiterated the bystanders. the last."

"Come, that's better than

"Which is the biggest ?" exclaimed a boy, in that altitude of voice which is the most sovereign of provocations to grown ears.

The man ran at the boy, first making a gesture to our hero, as much as to say "I'll be with you again presently." The crowd hustled the man back ;--the undertaker, meanwhile, had seized the opportunity of repeating that he "hoped his honour would consider his trouble ;"-the glass-man and the upholsterer were on each side of him;—and suddenly the heavy shout recommenced, for a new victim had turned the corner, -a man with some sort of milliner's or florist's box. The crowd doated on his face. First, he turned the corner with the usual look of indifferent hurry; then he began to have an inquiring expression, but without the least intimation that the catastrophe applied to himself; then the stare became wider, and a little doubtful; and then he stopped short, as if to reconnoitre-at which the laugh was prodigious. In the present instance, the new-comer was wise; for he asked what was the

matter, of the first person he came up with; and learning how the case stood, had energy enough to compound with one more hearty laugh, in preference to a series of mortifications; and so he fairly turned back, pursued by a roar; and, oh! how he loved the corner, as he went round it! Every hair at the back of his head had seemed to tingle with consciousness and annoyance. He felt as if he saw with his shoulderblades,- -as if he was face to face at the back of his hat.

At length, the misery and perplexity of the hapless and extremelynot-knowing-what-to-do Blundell reached a climax so insurmountable, that he would have taken out his second and (as he thought) remaining pocket-handkerchief, if even that consolation had been left him; for the tears came into his eyes. But it was gone! The handkerchief, however, itself, did not distress him. "Nothing could touch him further." He wiped his eyes with the ends of the fingers of his gloves, and stood mute, a perplexity to the perplexed, a pity even to the "little boys."

Now tears are very critical things, and must be cautiously shed, especially in critical ages. In a private way, provided you have locked the door and lost three children, you may be supposed to shed one or two or so, without detriment to your dignity; and in the heroical ages, the magnitude and candour of passion permitted them openly, the feelings then being supposed to be equally strong in all respects, and a man having as much right to weep as a woman; which, by the way, must have been very perplexing to such ladies as struggled for power, and yet did not wish to be Amazons. But how lucky was it for poor Blundell that no brother dandy saw him; for he would have been ruined for ever. His tormentors did not know whether to pity or despise him. The piano-forte man, with an oath, was going to move off; but, on seeing his broken instrument, remained, and again urged a compensation. The others expressed their "sorrow," but repeated, that they hoped his honour would consider them; and they repeated it the more, because his tears raised them in their expectations of the money which he would be weak enough to disburse.

Alas! they did not know that the dislike to "disburse," and the total absence of all sympathy with others in our weeping hero (in this, as in other respects, very different from the tear-shedding Achilles), was the cause of all which they and he were at this moment enduring; for it was the inability to bring out his money which kept Mr. Blundell lingering outside his door, when he might have taken his claimants into it; and it was the jovial irascibility of an acquaintance of his, which, in disgust at his evasion of dinner-givings, and his repeatedly shirking his part of the score at some entertainments at which he pretended to consider himself a simple guest, brought this astounding calamity home to the said doors.

Happily for these "last infirmities" of a mind which certainly could not be called "noble," there are hearts so full of natural sympathy, that the very greatest proofs of the want of it will but produce, in certain extremities, a pity which takes the want itself for a claim and a misfortune; and this sympathy now descended to Mr. Blundell's aid, like another goddess from heaven, in a shape not unworthy of it,-to wit, that of the pretty daughter of his landlord, a little buxom thing, less handsome or lady-like than good-natured, and with a heart that might have served

to cut up into cordial bosoms for half-a-dozen fine ladies. She had once nursed our hero in sickness, and to say the truth, had not been disinclined to fall in love with him, and be made "a lady," half out of pure pity at his fever, had he given her the slightest encouragement; but she might as well have hoped to find a heart in an empty coat. However, a thoroughly good nature never entirely loses a sort of gratitude to the object that has called forth so sweet a feeling as that of loving, even though it turn out unworthy, and the affections (as our heroine's were) be happily transferred elsewhere; and accordingly, in sudden bonnet and shawl, and with a face blushing partly from shame, and partly from anger at the crowd, forth came the vision of pretty, plump little Miss Widgeon (Mrs. Burrowes "as is to be "), and tapping Mr. Blundell on the shoulder, and begging the "other gentlemen to walk in, said, in a voice not to be resisted, "Hadn't you better settle this matter in-doors, Mr. Blundell? I dare say it can be done very easily."

Blundell has gone in, dear reader; the other gentlemen have gone in; the crowd are slowly dislodging; Miss Widgeon, aided partly by the generosity of her nature, partly by the science of lodging-house economy, and partly by the sense and manhood of Mr. William Burrowes, then present, a strapping young citizen from Tower-Hill, takes upon herself that ascendancy of the moment over Mr. Blundell due to a superior nature, and settles the very illegitimate claims of the goodsand-chattel bringers to the satisfaction of all parties, yea, even of Mr. Blundell himself. The balm of the immediate relief was irresistible, even though he saw a few of his shillings departing.

What he felt next morning, when he woke, this history sayeth not; for we like to leave off, according to the Italian recommendation, with la bocca dolce, a sweet mouth; and with whose mouth, even though it be not always quite grammatical, can the imagination be left in better company, than with that of the sweet-hearted and generous little Polly Widgeon? L. H.

CLUB LAW.

DEAR TOM, since, by a lucky knack,
Your white balls overtop the black,
And counter-canvass smother,
Let me your mental garment darn,
As old Polonius spun a yarn
To fair Ophelia's brother.

"Be thou familiar," should you see
At dinner an austere M.P.

Just as his glass he's filling,
Accost him-whatsoe'er his rank-
With Sir, I'd thank you for a frank,"
And save your aunt a shilling.

At a house-dinner show your fun,-
Mount a horse-laugh, quiz, banter, pun,
Be saucy as a squirrel;
But if your foe possess a pair
Of Manton's polish'd pops, " beware
Of entrance to a quarrel."

If a roast fillet deck the board,
With bacon, you can well afford
To leave the viand per se;

But if a haunch supplant the veal,

66

Grapple" the joint" with hooks of steel,"
And carve it without mercy."

Apparel oft proclaims the man:"

Wear, then, the richest garb you can,

Whilst in the club a dweller;

And if men doubt your means and ways,
Reverse the caveat emptor phrase,

And cast it to the seller.

"Take each man's censure" in good part;Pliant humility's an art

That copper turns to siller.

"Be not a lender "-memories flit;
"Nor borrower "-unless of wit
From old Josephus Miller.

Place on the fender both your feet;
When Boreas howls, complain of heat,
And open all the windows:
Ring for a waiter, bang the door,
And for your brethren care no more
Than Tippoo cared for Hindoos.

Never to acquiesce be seen:

To those who dwell on Edmund Kean,
Talk of John Kemble's glories.
Dub all who do the civil, prigs:
Revile Lord Melbourne to the Whigs,
Sir Robert to the Tories.

And now, dear Tom, farewell; the gale
"Sits in the shoulder of your sail

Defy disapprobation :

For, till committee-men begin

To ballot out, as well as in,

You're safe in your location.

J. S.

ACHATES DIGBY.

"No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisites that form a friend,
A real and a sound one.
Nor any fool he would deceive,
But prove as ready to believe,

And dream that he had found one."

COWPER.

Ir is not every man who is born to a good fortune that may be truly termed fortunate. A man's happiness consists, not only in the contentment of his own mind, but in the possession of friends whom he has the power to draw around him.

A

It has been my felicity to acquire one stanch, tried, and unswerving friend; one who, through life, has never forsaken me. Yes, from my boyhood I may boast of having won the esteem of the amiable and every way accomplished Achates Digby.

Although possessed of good property in my own right, and the prospect of a handsome addition on the death of my maternal uncle and aunt, that confidence and self-esteem, which I have seen exhibited in others upon less ostensible pretensions, never formed a portion of my character. I was naturally of a shy temperament, and yearned for the support of others. Achates was the very prop I required, for all that I wanted, he possessed in an eminent degree. The gifts of fortune were not his, but his natural endowments were more than equivalent.

I

I shall never forget the first morning of my introduction to the scholastic establishment of Mr. B— at Clapham. My luggage was sent by the carrier, and I arrived per post in charge of a large plum-cake provided by my affectionate aunt. The morning "school" was just over, and all the boys were in the play-ground, whooping, hallooing, and gambolling about with a boisterousness that shook my nerves. seemed like one just landed on an island of savages. I sat down at the foot of an old elm-tree, and taking out a large clasp-knife (we used to call it a "hack" at school), I was about to console my agitation with a slice of the cake, when, in a moment, the whole "school" surrounded me, laughing, giggling, and making remarks upon the "new boy." Without ceremony they clamoured for my cake, and I really began to fear that they would devour me into the bargain. I would willingly have purchased peace by the sacrifice of the whole of it, but I was wholly ignorant of any rule in "fractions " or " division" by which I could apportion the object of their desire so as to satisfy the cravings of all; there was scarcely a plum a-piece, the applicants were so nume

rous.

At this uncomfortable juncture-I shall never forget the moment-a youth, two years my senior, stepped gallantly forward, and relieved me from my embarrassment. He drove away the swarm of human "bluebottles" that buzzed about me, and approached me in the most friendly

manner.

Really," said he, "the conduct of these boys is most indecent. If