Which implies, when the cloth is withdrawn from the table,
You should stick to your Port just as long as you're able.
For myself I must candidly own I don't spare it,
Though Lucretius has said Primo carmine CLARET ;'
Which means, with the very first song that is sung,
The bell for some claret should quickly be rung.
What Flaccus liked best, it is worthy of notice,-
'Hoc juvat,' says he, and Hoc erat in votis ;'
Thus clearly denoting, let who will abuse it,
Though he could decline hock, he would never refuse it.
But Missus ad HOC,' what, when to replenish,
Was his Missis sent down for a bottle of Rhenish?
That advice of Tibullus is certainly queer, he

Thus tenders, Non festa luce Madere.

No Madeira on gala days! Well, I am thinking
He meant it for private particular drinking.

I am greatly surprised, too, and sorry to say so,

At the double advice of Ovidius Naso,

'Ne CAPE,'-no Cape, though your lips it before is; But he also has said, CAPE pignus Amoris,'

Cape the pledge of true love?-No, no,-hearts to fetter,
I'm certain Constantia will do vastly better.

TENT anima sumpsit,' cries Ovid,-(the ninny

To drink it.) Again, Vinum TENT-at,' says Pliny.

No tent though for me, for I don't relish sweet wines,

་

They're heavy and thick, and so can't be call'd ' neat wines.'
And tent to my fancy inferior to Cape is,-

Then prithee avoid it, or vile potabis.'

'GRAVE Sisyphon urget, writes Naso-(that's funny,)

Vin de Grave it appears was the wine for his money.

But Horace has shown that all do not admire it,

By his, Terruit gentes ne GRAVE rediret.'

Thus we see what a dread a fresh bottle created:

But, if right I remember, he elsewhere has stated,

• Crescit fama MARCELLI, which we know without telling, Means,-What famous Marsala! but we've alter'd the spelling.

"The Greeks, jolly dogs, with πivw, tiπwra,

(As theirs half so moist I am certain was no clay,)

Would doubtless confess, though till night you might rail on Tokay's what they meant when they talked of' Tò кaλòv.'

But enough-thus we see what ab illis culpatur;'

6

'Ab his, on the other hand, often laudatur.
Then as tasting is always considered the test
• Ubi plura nitent, thus I'll find out the best.
It is useless inquiring Quid omnium rerum
Est primum with me, for you see it is Merum.'
And in this I'm supported by worthy old Flaccus,
Whose devoutest attentions were offered to Bacchus;
No counsel's so likely with me to endure, as
That wise one of his, Vino pellite curas.'
Adieu, I've no time for a single addendum,
For dinner is ready, ' nunc, nunc est bibendum.”

A. A. C.

A COCKNEY COUNTRY-GENTLEMAN.

HARRY FIELDLOVE was born in London, bred in London, educated in London, and, till he attained the age of forty, lived in London. At the age of sixteen, Harry was placed in the counting-house of a merchant, to whom a large premium was paid upon the consideration that Harry, when he attained his majority, should be admitted into the house as a partner. This act of kindness towards Harry was performed by his maternal uncle; for the parents of the youth had both died during his childhood.

Mr. Urby, the uncle in question, had been, for many years, a WestIndia broker, which occupation had enabled him to amass something more than twenty thousand pounds. With this sum he retired from business; and, quitting his lodgings over his counting-house in 'Changealley, he betook himself to apartments of superior pretensions, and more pleasant and airy, in St. Paul's Churchyard.

Harry, my dear boy," said Mr. Urby; "since the death of your father, and my poor sister, your mother, I have endeavoured to supply the place of both to you. I am a bachelor; I shall never marry; you are all-in-all to me. You are now sixteen; to-morrow you will make your first start in active life: and I have so prepared it, that with good conduct on your own part, your course can hardly fail of being a prosperous one."

"Thankee, Uncle Urby," said Harry: "what am I to be?"

"Clerk in the house of those respectable West-India merchants, Messrs. Bags, Bales, and Co., of Mincing-lane. In a few years you will be received as a partner; and, in process of time, you may be-in short, there is no saying what:-Lord Mayor of London, for anything we know to the contrary."

"But I don't want to be Lord Mayor of London, Uncle Urby," said Harry.

"Then what is it you do want to be?" inquired Uncle Urby. "I want to be a country-gentleman," replied Harry.

"Ah!" said Urby, with a sigh; "this comes of my foolish indulgence of you, Harry. Taking you, on the fine evenings in summer, for a walk to Islington-fields, and Camberwell green, and Kenningtoncommon, and such-like rural places; and, on Sundays, to Greenwich or Putney; it is that, that has put such a notion into your head. I fear, too, that allowing you to pop at the sparrows with a pea-shooter, and fish in the ditches for minnows, has given you a taste for rural sports."

"I shall never be happy in London, uncle," said Harry.

"Well," said Urby; I have lived in it all my life, and hope to end my days in it-though not for a great many years to come, Harry. I could not live away from it-could not be happy out of it. Use is second nature: so, though I have been out of business, now going on for seven years, I should die of weariness if I could not go every day to 'Change, and Garraway's, and the Jamaica Coffee-house; and then look in upon one old client and another; and sit for a quarter of an hour here, and a quarter of an hour there, upon a high stool in some dim, dingy, dirty, familiar little counting-house, and talk about what was

doing in rums, and coffees, and sugars, just as I used to do. How else could I enjoy my retirement, and amuse myself?"

Harry making no reply, Uncle Urby continued :

No, no, my dear boy; to enjoy a country life, or a town life, or any particular mode of life, you must be bred to it. To be what I understand by the term 'country-gentleman,' one must, as Shakspeare saysand he knew things tolerably well-to be a country-gentleman one must be to the Manor born.' It is a trade one cannot, with much prospect of pleasure or profit, set up in, late in life; and, of course, you do not contemplate such a step till you shall have made your fortune: a thing which, by fair and safe trading, is seldom done in a hurry."

"Of course, Uncle Urby," replied Harry; though with no definite notion of the extent to which he intended his "of course" should be carried.

"Well, then," said Urby; "by that time you will be old enough to decide for yourself. I have given you a good education for the career you are destined to; you can read, write, and cipher, and keep accounts according to the Italian method; so, with honesty and industry you will, with the blessing of Providence, in time become wealthy. And now, Harry, this being Easter Monday, I will treat you to the play to-night to see George Barnwell."

"I'd rather you would take me some night, uncle, when some other play is performed," said Harry; "you have made me see that nine times already!"

"You cannot see it too often, my good boy," said Urby; “it is a fine moral play: it illustrates what I have been saying to you about honesty and industry: it will teach you, besides, to beware of the Millwoods, and-and-to be grateful to your uncle !"

Uncle Urby hesitated to make any more distinct allusion to the main incident in the play.*

The next morning saw Mister Fieldlove (as Master Harry had the gratification of hearing himself called by Mr. Bags, the senior partner) installed in the counting-house of Messrs. Bags, Bales, and Co.; and his "first start in active life" was being nailed to a desk, from nine in the morning till nine at night, six days in every week. The seeming monotony of this mode of existence was pleasingly broken, however, by an occasional pressure of business, in which case the "from nine till nine"-the toujours perdrix of Mr. Fieldlove's clerkship-was varied by a sitting till midnight-or later. But Sunday was his own; and, unless it happened to rain torrents or to blow a hurricane, Sunday did young Fieldlove devote to his suburban rambles; and at night would he return, refreshed and invigorated, to his uncle Urby's (with whom he still continued to live) in St. Paul's Churchyard. "Ah!" thought he (upon

* It is a curious fact, that since the players have abstained from treating the merry holiday-folks with this edifying drama (not one word of which did they ever listen to), executions have been considerably less numerous. Whether this result may not, in part, be attributed to the alterations which have been made in the Criminal Laws, we shall not pretend to say. But, surely, the selection was anything but complimentary to that particular class of the community. We once heard a man say to another, as they quitted the theatre, on what is called boxing-night :-" But, I say, Bill; I don't see the fun of their always preaching that George Barnwell at us, in holiday-time; just, you know, as if they thought we was a-going to murder our uncles any more than other folks."

one of those occasions, and when he had extended his perambulations even beyond the brick-fields at Hackney), "the more I see of Nature, the greater is my desire to pass my life in the country. The sky is so blue, the fields are so green, the air is so pure! Mincing-lane may be a very good place to get money in, but only in the country can it be enjoyed. I'll be a country-gentleman, as soon as I can afford it, let uncle Urby say what he will against it."

Being destined to a share in the business, Fieldlove was treated by the partners with more consideration than the mere salaried clerks in the counting-house. Occasionally he was invited to pass the Sunday with Mr. Bags at his villa at Tooting; sometimes to go with him and his family to the play; and, twice or thrice in the course of the period of his clerkship, to accompany them to the pit at the Opera.

"What!" will some one exclaim, wealthy merchant appear, with his family, in the pit of the Opera-house!" Aye; so it was at the period of which we are writing. The pit, at that time, presented the appearance of a well-drest drawing-room, and was much frequented by what may be described as first-rate people of the second class: the boxes being almost exclusively appropriated to the nobility and the higher gentry. Indeed, many of those boxes were their private property, and, such as were not, were generally rented for the season: so that, year after year, the same family might be seen occupying the same niche, which they would quit only for the reason they would quit their house-because a better, or more convenient one, happened to become vacant. Then, even the gallery was respectably attended. Now, from the next box to her Grace may be seen protruding the fat, impudent face of her Grace's cheesemonger, or the perking, smirking countenance of his Grace's valet, with his valetship's chère amie, unblushingly exhibited at his side. This latter nuisance (a nuisance which of late years has been of common occurrence in the pit) has forced many of those who formerly frequented that portion of the theatre, to seek refuge in the stalls; yet even these are not always secure from such offensive intrusion. If these changes imply an improvement in the manners of society, or if (which we suppose is a matter of much higher importance) the prosperity of the establishment in question is increased by them, why, then, 'tis better as it is. This is a little digression, but, since it is committed-stet!

To resume. Young Fieldlove was now twenty-one. He had passed the five years of his noviciate entirely to the satisfaction of Messrs. Bags, Bales, and Co. By dint of unremitting drudgery his hand-writing had greatly improved, his rapidity at casting accounts had increased, and he could make out an invoice, or a bill of lading, in a style to extort the approbation even of the head clerk himself! That, indeed, was nearly all he could do; but, since nothing more was required of him, the satisfaction of the "firm" is not to be wondered at. The march of his intellect had certainly not kept pace with the progress of his hand; and, if it marched at all, it was, to say the most of it, to the tune of a very slow march.

Having attained his majority, Mr. Fieldlove was, in compliance with the terms of his articles, admitted a partner in the "firm;" which, in consequence of that event, became Messrs. Bags, Bales, Fieldlove, and Co.-the Co. (that imposing, but irresponsible, appendage to so

many great firms) being composed of precisely the same nobodies as before.

Attentive to the duties of the desk as Fieldlove had been throughout the period of his clerkship, his longings for the charms of a country life had never subsided. Each excursion, indeed, beyond the Bills of Mortality did but serve to aggravate them. Tooting had given him some notion of the delights of rural existence; for (to say nothing of the beauty of the country itself,) there was at the back of Mr. Bags's villa a paddock, and in that paddock there was a pond, and in that pond there were (said to be) fish. It is true that nobody had ever had the good fortune to catch one; whence Mr. Bags very rationally argued, that, as no fish had ever been taken out of the pond, why, if the fish were anywhere at all, they must be in the pond. This reasoning was satisfactory to Mr. Fieldlove, at least; and, on the strength of it, he would stand for hours together, bobbing into the water, "psha!"-ing, "pish!"-ing, and " plague-take-it!"-ing rod, line, hook, bait, and the unaccommodating fish that would not come to be caught. Ah!" would he inwardly exclaim, upon these occasions; "Ah! would that I were a country-gentleman! How happily could I pass my life with nothing to do but go a-fishing!"

Tooting is a pretty place; and though (throwing out of the consideration the "Como Cottages,' "Lausanne Lodges," and "Vallombrosa Villas;" and the long line of " Prospect Rows,"" Elysium Terraces," and "Paradise Places," which bring it into friendly connexion with Kennington Cross)-though, throwing aside, we say, these circumstances, Tooting may almost be said to be "out of town," it cannot, in a wide sense of the term, be called "country" we doubt, at least, whether it would be so considered by an Osbaldiston or a Hawker, or by those inveterate disciples of Walton and Cotton, Joe A-n and Billy D―n. But everything must have a beginning; nor was it till Harry Fieldlove had passed three days with Mr. Bales at his " Place," down at Croydon-a part of the kingdom so much more remote from London!-that he ventured to entertain a doubt whether Tooting were altogether as countryfied as country could be. At Croydon, for the first time in his life, he saw hounds and huntsmen! Here, too, was a pond which, disdaining the shuffle of Mr. Bags's, fairly established its claim to rank as a fish-pond by the positive evidence of a fish with which it sometimes rewarded the labours of the angler. And here, also (though at somewhat a later period, and when duly qualified), did he pull his first trigger. "Ah! would that I were a country-gentleman!" exclaimed he. "How happily could I pass my life with nothing to do but go a-shooting!"

Fieldlove (as we have said) was now twenty-one. He was a partner in the house, and, in a certain, though much more limited sense than he had anticipated, his own master. He had anxiously looked forward to this period; for he had resolved (as the initiatory step towards his becoming altogether a country-gentleman) upon taking a lodging a few miles out of town, to which he might retire every evening: still taking care to be at the counting-house at his usual hour of the morning. But his new dignity brought along with it increased responsibility, whilst his labours were not yet destined to be diminished.

"Fieldlove," said Mr. Bags," I have fagged hard all my life. I am