He wrote, too, in a quiet way,

Small treatises and smaller verses,
And sage remarks on chalk and clay,
And hints to noble lords and nurses;
True histories of last year's ghost;
Lines to a ringlet on a turban,
And trifles for the Morning Post,
And nothings for Sylvanus Urban.

He did not think all mischief fair,
Although he had a knack of joking;
He did not make himself a bear,

Although he had a taste for smoking.
And when religious sects ran mad,

He held, in spite of all his learning,
That if a man's belief is bad,

It will not be improved by burning.

And he was kind, and loved to sit

In the low hut or garnished cottage,
And praise the farmer's homely wit,

And share the widow's homelier pottage.
At his approach complaints grew mild,
And when his hand unbarred the shutter,
The clammy lips of fever smiled

The welcome that they could not utter.

He always had a tale for me

Of Julius Cæsar, or of Venus;
From him I learned the rule of three,
Cats'-cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus ;
I used to singe his powdered wig,
To steal the staff he put such trust in,
And make the puppy dance a jig
When he began to quote Augustine.

W. Mackworth Praed.

OTHER TIMES, OTHER MANNERS.

HARRY BAYLIS (Hood's "Hal Baylis"), a great (albeit to the world obscure) wit and a friend of Douglas Jerrold, and Joe Allen, an accomplished artist and drawing-master at the Blue Coat School, were the heroes of a piece of humour which under our present superfine conditions of civilization could scarcely be repeated, and would certainly fail to be appreciated. They used to go down on all-fours in the clubroom (in days when clubs were convivial and not stuck up), put their heads together, and simulate the conversation of a pair of hackneycoach horses-"prads," as these steeds were called in the slang of the day. Allen's remarks on the proportion of chaff to the hay in his nosebag, and Baylis's complaints of the rib-roasting he had endured from

the vicious savage on the box, the whole mingled with sententious reflections on men and manners, were exquisitely humorous. In the delightful "Recollections" of Mr. J. R. Planchè there are frequent allusions to the mad waggeries once indulged in without shame by clever men,-waggeries which in this age of "sweetness and light" would be scouted as so much vulgar tom-foolery. Only fancy the beautiful Mrs. Rousby knocking run-away raps in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, or Mr. H. Irving offering to ride a rhinoceros in a menagerie ! Yet precisely such pranks were played by the beautiful Mrs. Inchbald and by the sublime John Kemble himself. Autres temps, autres mœurs.-Gentleman's Magazine.

EARLY MARRIAGES IN THE EAST.

THE most lamentable thing of all, in the domestic arrangements of these unhappy Syrian people, is the early age at which the girls are married. The Arabic journal, the Jenneh, made a boast one day of having seen a grandmother of twenty years, herself having been married before she was ten! Dr. Meshakah of Damascus, that venerable, white-bearded patriarch, with his little wife whom he married at eleven years of age, remarked that in his day young girls received no training at home; young men who wanted wives to please them, had to marry them early, so as to educate them to suit themselves. One of the scholars in the Beyrout seminary came in at eight years of age, and remained for two years. At ten her parents sent for her, and took her away to be married. And one of the teachers records in a very artless way what carefulness they had getting her off, and sending her dolls with her !-Charles S. Robinson.

BEWARE!

BEWARE of a young lady who calls you by your Christian name the first time she meets you.

Beware of Port at 30s. a dozen.

66

Beware of a lodging-house where you are treated as one of the family."

Beware of every "cheap substitute for silver," excepting gold. Beware of cigars that are bought of "a bold smuggler" in the street. Beware of a wife that talks about her "dear husband" and "that beautiful shawl" in her sleep.

Beware of a gentleman who is "up" to all the clever tricks, and "knows a dodge or two" at cards.

Beware of giving an order to a deaf man on the first night of a new piece. He is sure to laugh and applaud in the wrong places, and so cause a disturbance which may be fatal to the success of your farce Beware of entering a French shop which has the following inscription:"Here they spike the English,"

unless you can speak French very correctly, or are prepared to pay for the consequences.-Mayhew's Comic Almanac, 1848.

THE VAGABOND IN HUMAN NATURE.

THE fresh, rough, heathery part of human nature, where the air is freshest and where the linnets sing, is getting encroached upon by cultivated fields. Everyone is making himself and herself useful. Every one is producing something. Everybody is a philanthropist. I don't like it. I love a little eccentricity. Í respect honest prejudices. I admire foolish enthusiasm in a young head, more than wise scepticism. It is high time that a moral game law were passed for the preservation of the wild and vagrant feelings of human nature. Ah, me! what a world this was to live in two or three centuries ago, when it was getting itself discovered,-when the sunset gave up America! Then were the "Arabian Nights" common-place, enchantments a matter of course, and romance the most ordinary thing in the world. Then man was courting Nature; now he has married her! Yet for all that Time has brought and taken away, I am glad to know that the Vagabond sleeps in our blood, and awakes now and then. Overlay nature as you please, here and there, some bit of rock or mound of aboriginal soil will crop out with the wild-flowers growing upon it, sweetening the air. Genius is a vagabond; Art is a vagabond; Enterprise is a vagabond. The first fine day in spring awakes the gipsy in the blood of the British workman, no matter what his profession, and incontinently he "babbles of green fields." On the British gentleman lapped in the most luxurious civilization, and with a thousand-power, and resources of wealth at his command, descends oftentimes a fierce unrest, a Bedouin-like horror of cities and the cry of the money changer, and in a month the fiery dust rises in the track of his desert steed, or in the six months' polar midnight he hears the big wave dashing on the icy shore.

Vagabonds have moulded the world into its present shape. Respectable people swarm in the track of the vagabond, as rooks in the furrow of the ploughshare. Respectable people do little in the world except storing wine cellars and amassing fortunes for the benefit of spendthrift heirs. Respectable well-to-do Grecians shook their heads over Leonidas and his three hundred when they went down to Thermopylæ. Respectable Spanish churchmen, with shaven crowns, scouted the dream of Columbus. Respectable German folks attempted to dissuade Luther from appearing before Charles and the princes and electors of the Empire. Nature makes us vagabonds, the world makes us respectable. Commend me to Shakspeare's vagabonds, the most delightful in the world; his sweet-blooded and liberal nature blossomed into all fine generosities, as naturally as an apple-bough into pink blossoms and odours.

It would be better if we could have along with our modern enlightenment, our higher tastes and purer habits, a greater individuality of thought and manner; better that every man should be allowed to grow in his own way, so long as he does not infringe on the rights of his neighbour, or insolently thrust himself between him and the sun. little more air and light should be let in upon life. I should think the world has stood long enough under the drill of Adjutant Fashion. It

A

is hard work, the posture is wearisome, and Fashion is an awful martinet, and has a quick eye, and comes down mercilessly on the unfortunate wight who cannot square his toes to the approved pattern, or who appears upon parade with a darn in his coat, or with a shoulder belt insufficiently pipe-clayed. It is killing work. Suppose we try "standing at ease" for a little?—Alexander Smith's Dreamthorp Essays.

THE BOOK COLLECTOR.

THAT in this ship the chief place I govern,
By this wide sea with fools wandering,
The cause is plain and easy to discern-
Still am I busy book assembling;

For to have plenty it is a pleasant thing,

In my conceit, and to have them aye in hand;
But what they mean, do I not understand.

But yet I have them in great reverence
And honour, saving them from filth and ordure,
By often brushing and much diligence ;
Full goodly bound in pleasant coverture
Of damask, satin, or else of velvet pure;

I keep them sure, fearing lest they should be lost,
For in them is the cunning wherein I me boast.

Barclay's "Ship of Fools." [The "Ship of Fools" is a translation by Alexander Barclay, from the German of Brandt, and was first printed in 1509.]

"A LITTLE MORE SLEEP."

THE indisposition of "lie-a-beds" to face the severity of a winter morning is thus pleasantly pictured by Leigh Hunt in a paper in the Indicator. He imagines one of those persons to express himself in these terms :- "On opening my eyes, the first thing that meets them is my own breath rolling forth, as if in the open air, like smoke out of a cottage chimney. Think of this symptom! Then I turn my eyes sideways and see the window all frozen over. Think of that! Then the servant comes in. 'It is very cold this morning; is it not?''Very cold, sir.'-' Very cold indeed; isn't it?'-'Very cold indeed, sir.''More than usually so; isn't it, even for this weather?' (Here the servant's wit and good nature are put to a considerable test, and the inquirer lies on thorns for the answer.) 'Why, sir,

I think it is! (Good creature! There is not a better or more truthtelling servant going.) 'I must rise, however. Get me some warm water.' Here comes a fine interval between the departure of the servant and the arrival of the hot water; during which, of course, it is of 'no use' to get up. The hot water comes, Is it quite hot?'

'Yes, sir.'-'Perhaps too hot for shaving: I must wait a little ?'— 'No, sir; it will just do.' (There is an over-nice propriety sometimes, an officious zeal of virtue, a little troublesome.) "Oh-the shirt—you must air my clean shirt linen gets very damp this weather.'-'Yes, sir.' Here another delicious five minutes. A knock at the door. Oh, the shirt-very well. My stockings-I think the stockings had better be aired too.'-'Very well, sir.' Here another interval. At length everything is ready, except myself. I now cannot help thinking a good deal-who can ?-upon the unnecessary and villanous custom of shaving; it is a thing so unmanly (here I nestle closer), so effemiate (here I recoil from an unlucky step into the colder part of the bed). No wonder that the Queen of France took part with the rebels against that degenerate king, her husband, who first affronted her smooth visage with a face like her own. The Emperor Julian never showed the luxuriancy of his genius to better advantage than in reviving the flowing beard. Look at Cardinal Bembo's picture—at Michael Angelo's -at Titian's-at Shakspeare's-at Fletcher's-at Spenser's-at Chaucer's-at Alfred's-at Plato's. I could name a great man for every tick of my watch. Look at the Turks, a grave and otiose people.-Think of Haroun Al Raschid and Bed-ridden Hassan.—Think of Wortley Montague, the worthy son of his mother, a man above the prejudice of his time. Look at the Persian gentlemen whom one is ashamed of_meeting about the suburbs, their dress and appearance are so much finer than our own. Lastly, think of the razor itself; how totally opposed to every sensation of bed! how cold, how edgy, how hard! how utterly different from anything like the warm and circling amplitude, which

Sweetly recommends itself

Unto our gentle senses!

Add to this, benumbed fingers, which may help you to cut yourself, a quivering body, a frozen towel, and a ewer full of ice; and he that says there is nothing to oppose in all this, only shows, at any rate, that he has no merit in opposing it."

THE BIRTHNIGHT BALL.

[At the Ball given in celebration of Queen Charlotte's birthday (January 18, 1782), the Princess Royal, during the first country dance, caught the fringe of her petticoat in the buckle of her shoe, which brought the dance to an abrupt termination. This incident gave rise to the following song, which appears in the first number of the European Magazine for 1782, where it is entitled, “A Piece of Ingenious Levity."]

'TWAS at the Birthnight Ball, sir,
God bless our Gracious Queen,
Where people great and small, sir,
Are on a footing seen.