-although I make it a concern-of mine. Go, and take leave of your friends, and of your enemies for I suspect you have acquired both in this our microcosm.'

Of Tom Gregory-between whom and myself an entire friendship had subsisted from the first hour of our acquaintance,-I took an affectionate leave; and bade a cordial farewell to some others, who might more properly be termed partizans than friends. Finally, I frankly offered my hand to Sinclair, assuring him-which was really the truth, that I bore him no ill-will; and declaring that, since we should, perhaps, never meet again, it would gratify me to remember that we had parted on good terms. The awkward cub sullenly rejected my advances; determined, as it would seem, that I should retain to the last my advantage over him. I have reason to believe that he never forgot the contemptuous smile which his brutal folly called to my lips.

'Here, Dick!' exclaimed Burridge, as I re-entered his study, 'Ludlow and luggage are waiting for you. Let me see: you are now upon fifteen years of age: four years have you and I been very good friends. Four times forty-one hundred and sixty. Surely I can spare you two out of one hundred and sixty guineas. Buy a Horace, Dick, with one of them. Horace! so easily construed-so difficult to translate! And, mark: don't listen to what the fools tell you about Sallust; his style is a fine one. And never believe that Virgil was so much greater than Ovid. Nosey had as much poetry in him as the Mantuan. And always think for yourself-and do think, and think of me sometimes. And there, go!'

I kissed the good man's hand reverently, and gratefully expressed my obligations for his care, his kindness, and his affection.

'Pish!' said he, looking up at the ceiling. 'Away with him, Ludlow. Dick, you take with you the last corner of my beart. You have a right to it, you dog! You found it when I thought I had none left. I shall see you when I come to London during the

holidays.'

He shook Ludlow warmly by the hand. My honest friend, let this boy be fairly treated-fairly-openly. What the deuce! Who is his coxcomb of a father?"

'He will be treated well, sir,' said Ludlow.

Burridge pointed to his heart.

Upon my honour, all will be done for the best-all is for the best.'

"Then I believe you,' returned Burridge. Here, thou man of strength,' to the porter in the hall, 'shoulder your burthen. A heavy trunk, and a light heart, Richard, are good travelling companions'

And away we went to the Nag's Head. Ludlow all sadness and silence. I, all curiosity and impatience.

Merrie England in the olden Time:

OR, PEREGRINATIONS WITH UNCLE TIM AND MR. BOSKY, OF LITTLE BRITAIN, DRYSALTER.

BY GEORGE DANIEL.

Dost thou think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ?'-SHAKSPEARE.

WITH the fullest intention to rise early the next morning, without deliberating for a mortal half-hour whether or not to turn round and take t'other nap, we retired to a tranquil pillow.

But what are all our good intentions?
Vexations, vanities, inventions!
Macadamizing what?-a certain spot,
To ears polite' politeness never mentions-
Tattoos, t' amuse, from empty drums.
Ah! who time's spectacles shall borrow?
And say, be gay to-day-to-morrow--
When query if to-morrow comes.

To-morrow came; so did to-morrow's bright sun; and so did Mr. Bosky's brisk knock. Good report always preceded Mr. Bosky, like the bounce with which champagne sends its cork out of the bottle! But (there are two sides of the question to be consideredthe inside of the bed and the out!) they found us in much such a brown study as we have just described. Leaving the Laureat to enjoy his triumph of punctuality, (an alderman's virtue'!) and Good morning to your night cap,' carolled under our window, we lost no time in equipping ourselves, and were soon seated with him at breakfast. He was in the happiest spirits. "Tis your birthday, Eugenio Wear this ring for my sake; let it be friendship's talisman to unite our hearts in one. Here,' presenting some tablets beautifully wrought, is Uncle Timothy's offering. Mark,' pointing to the following inscription engraved on the cover, by what poetical alchemy he hath transmuted the silver into gold!'

Life is short, the wings of time

Bear away our early prime,

Swift with them our spirits fly,

The heart grows chill and dim the eye.
Seize the moment! snatch the treasure!
Sober haste is wisdom's leisure.

Summer blossoms soon decay;

• Gather the rose-buds while you may!'

Barter not for sordid store

Health and peace; nor covet more
Than may serve for frugal fare

With some chosen friend to share!

Not for others toil and heap,
But yourself the harvest reap;
Nature smiling, seems to say,
'Gather the rose-buds while you may!'

Learning, science, truth sublime,
Fairy fancies, lofty rhyme,
Flowers of exquisite perfume!
Blossoms of immortal bloom!
With the gentle virtues twin'd,
In a beauteous garland bind
For your youthful brow to-day,—
Gather the rose-buds while you may!'

Life is short-but not to those
Who early, wisely pluck the rose.
Time he flies-to us 'tis given
On his wings to fly to Heaven.
Ah! to reach those realms of light,
Nothing must impede our flight;
Cast we all but Hope away!

'Gather the rose-buds while we may!'

With emotions that lie too deep for tears,' Eugenio pressed the birthday gift to his trembling lips, and treasured it in his bosom!

In due course we glided merrily on old Father Thames. Now a sail up or down the river has always been pleasant to us in proportion as it has proved barren of adventure. A collision with a coalbarge or steam-packet,—a sudden squall off Chelsea Reach, may do vastly well to relieve its monotony: but we had rather be dull than be ducked. We were therefore glad to find the water smooth, the wind and tide in our favour, and no particular disposition on the part of the larger vessels to run us down. Mr. Bosky, thinking that at some former period of our lives we might have beheld the masts and sails of a ship, the steeple of a church, the smoke of a patent shot manufactory, the coal-whippers weighing out their black diamonds, a palace, and a penitentiary, forbore to expatiate on the picturesque objects that presented themselves to our passing view and, presuming that our vision had extended beyond some score or two of garden-pots all a-growing, all a-blowing,' and as much sky as would cover half-a-crown, he was not over profuse of vernal description. But, knowing that there are as many kinds of minds as moss, he opened his inquisitorial battery upon the waterman. At first Barney Binnacle, though a pundit among the wet wags of Wapping Old Stairs, fought shy; but there is a freemasonry in fun; and by degrees he ran through all the changes from the simple leer to the broad grin and horse-laugh, as Mr. Bosky 'poked' his droll sayings into him right and left. He had his predilections and prejudices. The former were for potations drawn from a case bottle presented to him by Mr. Bosky, that made his large blue lips smack, and his eyes wink again; the latter were against steamers, the projectors of which he would have placed at the disposal of their boilers! His tirade against the Thames Tunnel was hardly less severe; but he reserved the magnums of his wrath for the Greenwich railroad. What in some degree reconciled us to Barney's anathemas were his wife and children, to whom his wherry gave their daily bread: and though these gigantic monopolies might feather the nests of wealthy proprietors, they would not let poor Barney Binnacle feather either his nest or his oar.

'There's truth in what you say, Master Barney,' observed the Laureat, the stones went merrily into the pond, but the foolish frogs could not fish out the fun. I am no advocate for the philosophy of expediency.'

Surely, Mr. Bosky, you would never think of putting a stop to improvement!'

6

My good friends, I would never have man become the victim of his ingenuity-a mechanical suicide! Where brass and iron, hot water and cold, can be made to mitigate the wear and tear of his thews and sinews, let them be adopted as auxiliaries, not as principals. I am no political economist. I despise the muddle-headed dreamers, and their unfeeling crudities. But for them the heart of England would have remained uncorrupted and sound.* Trifle not with suffering. Impunity has its limit. A flint will show fire when you strike it. In this harsh world ninety-nine persons out of one hundred must toil for their bread before they eat it; beg, implore, ask leave to toil,-some philanthropists say, even before they hunger for it. I have therefore yet to learn how that which makes human labour a profitless drug in the market can be called an improvement. The stewardships of this world are vilely performed. What blessings would be conferred, what wrongs prevented, were it not for the neglect of opportunities and the prostitution of means. Is it our own merit that we have more? our neighbour's delinquency that he has less? The infant is born to luxury;-calculate his claims! Virtue draws its last sigh in a dungeon; Vice receives its tardy summons on a bed of down! The titled and the rich, the purseproud nobodies, the noble nothings, occupy their 'vantage ground, not from any merit of their own; but from that lucky or unlucky chance which might have brought them into this breathing world with two heads on their shoulders instead of one !'

We never knew Mr. Bosky so eloquent before; the boat became lop-sided under the fervent thump that he gave as a clencher to his oration. Barney Binnacle stared; but with no stupid, vacant expression. His rugged features softened into a look of grateful approval, mingled with surprise.

'God bless your honour!'

'Thank you, Barney! Some people's celestial blessings are plentiful as blackberries, because they save their earthly breechespockets. But a poor man's blessing is a treasure of which heaven keeps the register and the key.'

Barney Binnacle bent on Mr. Bosky another inquiring look, that seemed to say, Mayhap I've got a bishop on board.'

'If every gentleman was like your honour,' replied Barney, when his thoughts found utterance, we should have better times; and a poor fellow wouldn't pull up and down this blessed river sometimes for days together, without yarning a copper to carry

We quite agree with Mr. Bosky. Cant and utilitarianism have produced an insipid uniformity of character, a money-grubbing, care-worn monotony, that cry aloof to eccentricity and whim. Men are thinking of stratagems and wars,' the inevitable consequence of lots of logic, lack of amusement, and lean diet. No man is a traitor over turtle, or hatches plots with good store of capon and claret in his stomach. Had Cassius been a better feeder he had never conspired against Cæsar. Three meals a day, and supper at night, are four substantial reasons for not being disloyal, lank, or lachrymose.

home to his hungry wife and children.' And he dropped his oar, and drew the sleeve of his threadbare blue jacket across his weatherbeaten cheek.

This was a result that Mr. Bosky had not anticipated. For, if any man found happiness in the happiness of others it was the Laureat of Little Britain.

'How biting,' he remarked, 'is the breeze! Egad, my teeth feel an inclination to be so too!'

The fresh air gave him the wind in his stomach; a sufficient apology for the introduction of a cold pigeon-pie, and some piquant etceteras that he had provided as a whet to the entertainment in agreeable perspective at Battersea Rise. Mr. Bosky, opining that the undulation of the boat was likely to prevent good digestion,' which-though everybody here helped himself-should wait on appetite,' ordered Barney to moor it in some convenient creek; and as Barney, not having been polished in the Chesterfield school, seemed mightily at a loss how to dispose of his hands, Mr. Bosky, who was well-bred, and eschewed idleness, found them suitable employment by inviting their owner to fall to. And what a merry party were we! How the little drysalter enjoyed to behold Barney Binnacle make no more bones of a pigeon than he would of a lark, swallow the forced-meat balls as if they had been not bigger than Morrison's pills, demolish the tender rump-steak and flaky pie-crust with a relish as sweet as the satisfaction that glowed in his own benevolent heart and countenance, and buzz the pale brandy (of which Barney could drink any given quantity) like sugared cream. The Laureat was magnificently jolly. He proposed the good healths of Mrs. Binnacle and the Binnacles major and minor; toasted old Father Thames and his Tributaries; and made the welkin ring with

MRS. GRADY'S SAINT MONDAY VOYAGE TO BATTERSEA.

Six-foot Timothy Glover,

Son of the brandy-nos'd bugleman,

He was a general lover,

Though he was only a fugleman;—

Ogling Misses and Ma'ams,

Listing, drilling, drumming 'em-
Quick they shoulder'd his arms-
Argumentum ad humming 'em !

Mrs. Grady, in bonnet and scarf,

Gave Thady the slip on Saint Monday,

With Timothy tripp'd to Hore's wharf,

Which is close to the Glasgow and Dundee.

The river look'd swelling and rough,
A waterman plump did invite her;
'One heavy swell is enough:

I'm up to your craft-bring a lighter!'

They bargain'd for skipper and skiff.
Cry'd Timothy, This is a windy go!'
It soon blew a hurricane stiff,

And blue look'd their noses as indigo!
'Lack-a-daisy! we're in for a souse!

The fish won't to-day see a rummer set;
Land us at Somerset House,

Or else we shall both have a summerset !'