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“Oh! you must then ! comes a regular their exercises and enjoyments because he volley of flexible persuasion. You must! is reduced to one leg, and they are erect Do! It is the ni-cest thing you can possi- on two; but help him to a leap into that bly imagine! I am longing for the winter! I other element, and he is superior to them hope we shall have the frost very severe !” all. His heart must beat high when he

She is in the water again – seeing a feels his recovered strength. Humiliated good opportunity for a dive before any upon the shore, he is king when he is rejoinder can come; and then, because her amidst the surge and freedom of the water; lips are turning blue, and her teeth are and is it not cheering to all of us to think chattering, she condescends to come in. an art exists that the maimed can follow, One more exhibition, though, before she and that is the same exuberant pleasure to disappears. She can do nothing, of course, them that it is to others who are whole? without as near an approach to a bevy of The thought was happiness to us, at any attendants round hersas circumstances af- rate, who heard the laughter of this dozen ford, and she beckons to the bath-woman of merry girls; and the consolation will ento come and bind up her hair. There is a dure till we can recall no longer the picture picturesque way of managing this that is an of their graceful movements, and the sound additional attraction she has no intention of their lively plash. of doing without, an sh stands with the air of knowing there is something coming that shall make her irresistible indeed.

From The Gentleman's Magazine. The good woman places a towel low down

ON SOME PLEASANT BOOKS. across her forehead à l'orientale, goes behind her, draws the wide ends of the towel No matter to what century they belong, tight, twists them into a tail, gives this a to what period of our literary history, that twirl, and secures the end of it firmly with grand Augustan age of Anne, or the brila pin. The girl is Eastern now. A Zule- liant eighteenth century, our theme is pleaika, a light of the harem, an Ayesha; and sant books, - those pleasant books which she is well aware of it, and walks con- most of us know, or ought to know. They sciously to her little closet, and gives a belong to all periods: we class them not in languid look at us as legacy, and then re- our thoughts with this or that time; they luctantly shuts the door.

are our dear familiar friends. The action of swimming is very pretty,

Welcome, grave Knight of Mancha! Doré seen thus clearly as it is in this level quiet hath done thee justice; fuller justice than bath. It is very droll, too. The nearer he hath done to Dante or the Bible. Etchy it imitates the action of the frog, the easier headings to chapters, sketchy tail-pieces, full it is and the more feet. One young wo- of life and spirit and quaint humour. And man (a solid, sturdy person, in her walking thine own portrait and Sancho's, most worclothes) moves all her limbs in such har- thy knight, no magic mirror could reflect ye mony she is full of grace; every muscle of more truly. But this edition is for highdays her body must be brought into use, as she and holidays, to be glanced at in drawingdraws her hands and heels in, and then nim- rooms with albums, admired over coffee, bly thrusts them out. She is frog entire. and trifled with during small talk. Turn A rather uncomplimentary verdict, she might we to that petit thumbed record of thy wonthink this. It is not meant so. It is writ- derful exploits, dear, kind, old foolish warten for unhesitating praise; and, assuredly, rior! And here thou art, ensconced cheek the more Master Frog's movements are im- by jowl with Pepys, quaint old gossip Pepys, itated, the sooner will man or woman learn who finished his last notes just as the to swim. And persons need not have all first daily newspaper in London, the Daily their limbs, either, to acquire the art. Courant, began to build up journalistic hisThe gallant Kennington cricketers, who, tory. When will some industrious writer, minus each an arm, or minus each a leg, who can afford to wait for the reward of “ a play a yearly match on the antigeometric grateful posterity," tell the story of England, oval, could swim to the same perfection as during the newspaper period, from those men who have suffered no such amputation. diurnal, weekly, and monthly records? We have been told, indeed, of an uniped What a mine of illustrations of characters swimming-master; an adept at everything; and customs, of local and general laws, of able to teach swimming in every branch. public opinion, of habits, of travel, still lies He unscrews his cork-leg before getting in- unworked in those old journals. Macaulay to the bath, standing there upon the brink turned over some of the treasures, so did of it a cripple, a fainéant among active Froude ; but what hundreds of files still remen, a lameter who must be left out of all main undisturbed in old bookshelves and of the lads on the quay were sad prigs, and time. There was a barrack-field with great they've put me up to steal rope, and copper tarry palings, and this burial-ground, where nails, and things, and slip down into the they'd taken up the tombstones, to be out cabins to prig prog; but if my earthly fa- of the cows' way, and leaned them against ther didn't look after me, my Heavenly Fa- the hedges. I climbed in, and ate my bread ther did, and, I'm thankful to say, I never and butter, and then I went over John's was a thief — though a boy's hungry belly is Green and Cook's Fields, and cut across a sore tempter, sir. Perhaps, if I'd have the Butt Road and Maldon Road, and got had the use of my pins as they had, I might to Lexden across the fields behind the bosha' done it — if so, I thank God for makin' pital. It's queer how I remember all them me a cripple - but I hope not. I used to places — just as if I was pegging over them fancy that my mother was a-watchin' of me. now. I had another long rest at Lexden • Try to be of some good, Bob,' I used to Springs. A ladies' school went by whilst I hear her say, and, as well as such a poor was sittin' by the half-moon pond at the top, little critter could, I made up my mind that and one of the young ladies said, Poor I would try. Anyhow, however, I couldn't little object,' and give me a Bath bun out stand home any longer. I must be off of her muff, and another on 'em give me a somewhere to fend the best I could for my- penny with a harp on it. · But I shall never self. I'd sense enough to guess that father get done if I go on at this rate, sir. How’ud bring me back if I hung anywheres s'ever, it's still rainin'. about Colchester. I wanted to be off to “ The machine-man took me up at the London. I'd heard that all sorts o' folks milestone, and I came up to London, bumpcould get work there. Not as I thought in' in a sack on the top o' Colchester nathat it was paved with gold -. children tives. He gave me something to eat on the poor folks' kids, anyhow - ain't green road, and next mornin' he dropped me at enough for that. I had talked about Lon- an early coffee-house in the Mile-En' Road, don sometimes to a man who drove a fish- and give me a shilling, and said • Good-bye, machine – it was long before the • Eastern Bob; luck go with ye; and ever since then, Counties' was thought of, the times I'm sir, I thank God, I've been able to earn my speakin' of.. Well, Bob,' says he one day, own living — 'cept when I've been laid up • you couldn't be worse off there than you in hospital, and that's about ten times in are here, and if you can manage to hobble forty years. They're good Christian places out, quite unbeknown to your father, mind those hospitals, when you're once inside:

- for I shouldn't like him to fancy that I'd and the doctors, and the nurses, and the any hand in it — to the third milestone on ladies – sisters, they call 'em – there the London road, I'll take you up to-morrow weren't any o' them when I used to be laid evening. I went to bid poor mother good- up first - are as kind as kind can be. The bye that night her grave somehow makes doctors speak a bit brisk now and then, and me think that Colchester's my home down the nurses make you mind 'em; but then to this very day, though I've never set foot think what a lot they've got to look after! in it since and next mornin', as soon as and the ladies are always so gentle, bless I'd seen father off in his lighter polin' down 'em! It's a pity, though, that the porters the river to Wivenhoe, I slipped back and and such like should be so bumptious: thes packed up a few of my clothes that he might have, you'd think, more feeling for hadn't pawned, and my Bible-leaves, and a poor folk. Of course, you understand, sir, Mavor's Spelling book my mother used to i'd rather pay a doctor, if I could ; but then learn me out of, in a brown llolland linen- I can't, and besides, how could I keep a bag of hers, and began to bippety-hoppet nurse?' So when I'm bad, I go to a kind down llythe Hill. I went a roundabout gentleman I know, and he always manages way to throw father off the scent. • Where to get me an order somewhere or other. I are you goin', Bob?' says a woman. • For declare to you, sir, I've been dowpricht a walk,' says I, and I shall be hungry be- happy in hospital when I've been gettin's fore I come back.' She looks hard at me, bit well again. So clean and quiet, no had but then she says, “Poor little chap,' and smells, and no bad language, and time to goes in and cuts me slice of bread and think good thoughts - it's like a week o butter. I went along the river till I got to Sundays — very different from the Sundars the New Quay, but then I turned up by the here, sir. It was in Guy's sir, that pumap distillery, and so worked round into the mother's words first really come home to me. Military Road. I was precious tired by Just before I was laid up, I'd been getuien? the time I got to the Old Soldier's Burial- cocky – sacrificin' unto my net, and burun Ground. They've got a camp at Colchester incense to my drag. I'd been thinking th2, again now, but there were no soldiers in my cripple as I was, I'd managed to get 25

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livin', and keep myself

respectable, and pick thinkin' he'd ha' done anything that was up a bit of book-learnin' about beasts and right to please 'em. birds, and flowers, and mechanics, and What did I do before? Bless your such-like, better than some big fellows who heart, sir, I've been a Jack of all trades, could make a mouthful of me. It was real 'cept a navvy, and a coalheaver, and such good for me to be laid on the flat o' my back like. I used to see a good bit of coalthat time - it took the nonsense out of me. heavers once, though. My second master I was lying in my bed one night, feelin' went about in the Pool selling hot beer to very small, when all of a sudden I thought the sailors. We was run down in a fog one of poor mother lying on her bed, and what day, and the poor old man was drowned. she'd said to me, Try to be of some good, They hooked me out on to a steamer, and Bob.' And, thinks I, if you'd been the fine put me ashore at Greenwich. I couldn't feller you fancied yerself, after all, wasn't help crying a bit, for I'd lost all except my you only workin' for yerself? If you was Bible leaves and the clothes I stood in. So to die to-night, who'd be worse off but yer- the mate pitched me an old broom, and told self? I'd given up saying my prayers and me to go and fight for a crossing. I got going to church for a bit, but I said a prayer one without fightin', however, on Maze Hill that night, and made up my mind that, if I and made a pretty good thing of it; but I ever got about again, God helpin' me, I'd used to lodge in Mill Lane — by Deptford try to do somebody besides myself some Broadway, you know, sir — and one night good. But what good could a chap like me the tramps cleaned me out. My first place do to anybody, I thought again. However, was to clean boots and knives at the coffeethe first Sunday I was out, I went to church house where the machine-man put me down.

the one that stands back in the Black- I've sold watercresses, and walnuts, apd friars Road and the sermon was just as if larkturfs, and gr’un’sel, and such-like; but the parson knew what I was thinking. It I never took much to those out-door things was about the cup of cold water, you know, – they didn't seem respectable. I thought sir. Thinks I, it's hard if I can't give that, I was getting up in the world — I was about and I've tried since to do the little I can thirteen then — when an old fellow who that way, and I was never so happy before. kept a second-hand bookshop in the GosFlow folks can make such a merit of works, well Road hired me to sit inside and watch I can't make out. It's precious little any- the books. He didn't give me much wages, body can do, and then for the very littlest but I got lots to eat, and a good bit of readthing you do you get such a lot of pleasure ing too on the sly. I'm afraid now it wasn't that it seems somehow as if you was only quite right; but I couldn't help it when I'd sbamming to be kind to get somethin' for got the chance, and, after all, he never lost yersell — throwin' away a sprat to catch a anything by me. Only one man ever tried salmon like.

it on. He whipped å book off the shelf, “ But I haven't told you how I've got my and was walkin' away pretty brisk, but I living! That's true, sir, and really I don't hopped after him a bit faster. • You see that there's much to tell. I've only haven't paid for the book, sir,' says I. done what everybody that hasn't got tin's What book, boy ?' says he. • The book forced to do, if he doesn't want to starve, you've got in your pocket, sir,' says I. He or to steal, or turn cadger, or go into the puts in his hand and pulls it out, and then workus. I've been at the toy-making off he says, “Why, so I have — what strange and on for about five year now. The pay's absence o' mind!' and gives it to me in a light, but so's the work, so far as strength kind of maze like. Praps, after all, he goes, and that suits me now, for I'm gettin' wasn't a thief, though I thought so then, shaky. It's a pretty kind of work, too, I and the looks of the thing were against him. reckon. There ain't much room for taste, One sees so many strange things as one it's true, but it wants a little bit of gump- gets older that we ain't so ready to contion sometimes to manage the strings and demn folks for the bad looks of things. things. Anyhow, I like it, and try to make Leastways it's been so with me, and it's 'em the best I can. It's nice somehow to nicer than being so mighty sharp that one thirk that I'm makin' playthings for poor can't elieve one's own mother. Charity folk's kids that can't get anything better. thinketh no evil. If we'd got a little more I've got queer fancies sometimes, sir. I of that, and there wasn't no evil to be wonder whether Christ, when he was a car- thought about neither, what a nice world penter, ever made anything out of the chips this would be, sir! But that's foolish talk for the little uns that peeped into the shop. - as if we could manage matters better than There's no sin in fancyin' that, is there, sir? He does. Well, sir, since I got that billet He was so fond of children that I can't help at the bookseller's I've always managed to

of the lads on the quay were sad prigs, and time. There was a barrack-field with great they've put me up to steal rope, and copper tarry palings, and this burial-ground, where nails, and things, and slip down into the they'd taken up the tombstones, to be out cabins to prig prog; but if my earthly fa- of the cows' way, and leaned them against ther didn't look after me, my Heavenly Fa- the hedges. I climbed in, and ate my bread ther did, and, I'm thankful to say, I never and butter, and then I went over John's was a thief — though a boy's hungry belly is Green and Cook's Fields, and cut across a sore tempter, sir. Perhaps, if I'd have the Butt Road and Maldon Road, and got had the use of my pins as they had, I might to Lexden across the fields behind the hosha' done it — if so, I thank God for makin' pital. It's queer how I remember all them me a cripple -- but I hope not. I used to places — just as if I was pegging over them fancy that my mother was a-watchin' of me. now. I had another long rest at Lexden • Try to be of some good, Bob,' I used to Springs. A ladies' school went by whilst I hear her say, and, as well as such a poor was sittin' by the half-moon pond at the top, little critter could, I made up my mind that and one of the young ladies_said, Poor I would try. Anyhow, however, I couldn't little object, and give me a Bath bun out stand home any longer. I must be off of her muff, and another on 'em give me a somewhere to fend the best I could for my- penny with a harp on it. · But I shall never self. I'd sense enough to guess that father get done if I go on at this rate, sir. How’ud bring me back if I hung anywheres s'ever, it's still rainin'. about Colchester. I wanted to be off to “ The machine-man took me up at the London. I'd heard that all sorts o' folks milestone, and I came up to London, bumpcould get work there. Not as I thought in' in a sack on the top o' Colchester nathat it was paved with gold -- children tives. He gave me something to eat on the poor folks' kids, anyhow — ain't green road, and next mornin' he dropped me at enough for that. I had talked about Lon- an early coffee-house in the Mile-En' Road, don sometimes to a man who drove a fish- and give me a shilling, and said · Good-bye, machine - it was long before the · Eastern Bob; luck go with ye;' and ever since then, Counties' was thought of, the times I'm sir, I thank God, I've been able to earn my speakin' of. “Well, Bob,' says he one day, own living – 'cept when I've been laid up • you couldn't be worse off there than you in hospital, and that's about ten times in are here, and if you can manage to hobble forty years. They're good Christian places out, quite unbeknown to your father, mind those hospitals, when you're once inside ; - for I shouldn't like him to fancy that I'd and the doctors, and the nurses, and the any hand in it — to the third milestone on ladies sisters, they call 'em — there the London road, I'll take you up to-morrow weren't any o' them when I used to be laid evening. I went to bid poor mother good-up first - are as kind as kind can be. The bye that night — her grave somehow makes doctors speak a bit brisk now and then, and me think that Colchester's my home down the nurses make you mind 'em; but then to this very day, though I've never set foot think what a lot they've got to look after! in it since — and next mornin', as soon as and the ladies are always so gentle, bless I'd seen father off in his lighter polin' down 'em! It's a pity, though, that the porters the river to Wivenhoe, I slipped back and and such like should be so bumptious: they packed up a few of my clothes that he might have, you'd think, more feeling for hadn't pawned, and my Bible-leaves, and a poor folk. Of course, you understand, sir

, Mavor's Spelling book my mother used to i'd rather pay a doctor, if I could; but then learn me out of, in a brown Holland linen- I can't, and besides, how could I keep a bag of hers, and began to bippety-hoppet nurse?' So when I'm bad, I go to a kind down llythe Hill. I went a roundabout gentleman I know, and he always manages way to throw father off the scent. • Where to get me an order somewhere or other. I are you goin', Bob ?' says a woman. · For declare to you, sir, I've been downright a walk,' says I, “and I shall be hungry be- happy in hospital when I've been getiia's fore I come back.' She looks hard at me, bit well again. So clean and quiet, no bad but then she says, “Poor little chap,' and smells, and no bad language, and time to goes in and cuts me a slice of bread and think good thoughts - it's like a week o butter. I went along the river till I got to Sundays. very different from the Sundays the New Quay, but then I turned up by the here, sir. It was in Guy's sir, that promet distillery, and so worked round into the mother's words first really come home to me. Military Road. I was precious tired by Just before I was laid up, I'd been geting the time I got to the Old Soldier's Burial- cocky — sacrificin' unto my net, and burun Ground. They've got a camp at Colchester incense to my drag. I'd been thinking that, again now, but there were no soldiers in my cripple as I was, I'd managed to get up

livin', and keep myself respectable, and pick thinkin' he'd ha' done anything that was up a bit of book-learnin' about beasts and right to please 'em. birds, and flowers, and mechanics, and *** What did I do before ? Bless your such-like, better than some big fellows who heart, sir, I've been a Jack of all trades, could make a mouthful of me. It was real 'cept a navvy, and a coalheaver, and such good for me to be laid on the flat o' my back like. I used to see a good bit of coalthat time - it took the nonsense out of me. heavers once, though. My second master I was lying in my bed one night, feelin' went about in the Pool selling hot beer to very small, when all of a sudden I thought the sailors. We was run down in a fog one of poor mother lying on her bed, and what day, and the poor old man was drowned. she'd said to me, Try to be of some good, They hooked me out on to a steamer, and Bob.' And, thinks I, if you'd been the fine put me ashore at Greenwich. couldn't feller you fancied yerself

, after all, wasn't help crying a bit, for I'd lost all except my you only workin' for yerself? If you was Bible leaves and the clothes I stood in. So to die to-night, who'd be worse off but yer- the mate pitched me an old broom, and told self? I'd given up saying my prayers and me to go and fight for a crossing. I got going to church for a bit, but I said a prayer one without fightin', however, on Maze Hill that night, and made up my mind that, if I and made a pretty good thing of it; but I ever got about again, God helpin' me, I'd used to lodge in Mill Lane — by Deptford try to do somebody besides myself some Broadway, you know, sir — and one night good. But what good could a chap like me the tramps cleaned me out. My first place do to anybody, I thought again. However, was to clean boots and knives at the coffeethe first Sunday I was out, I went to church house where the machine-man put me down.

the one that stands back in the Black- I've sold watercresses, and walnuts, and friars Road — and the sermon was just as if larkturfs, and gr'un’sel, and such-like; but the parson knew what I was thinking. It I never took much to those out-door things was about the cup of cold water, you know, they didn't seem respectable. I thought sir. Thinks I, it's hard if I can't give that, I was getting up in the world — I was about and I've tried since to do the little I can thirteen then — when an old fellow who that way, and I was never so happy before. kept a second-hand bookshop in the GosIlow folks can make such a merit of works, well Road hired me to sit inside and watch I can't make out. It's precious little any- the books. He didn't give me much wages, body can do, and then for the very littlest but I got lots to eat, and a good bit of readthing you do you get such a lot of pleasure ing too on the sly. I'm afraid now it wasn't that it seems somehow as if you was only quite right; but I couldn't help it when I'd shamming to be kind to get somethin' for got the chance, and, after all, he never lost yerself — throwin' away a sprat to catch a anything by me. Only one man ever tried salmon like.

He whipped a book off the shelf, " But I haven't told you how I've got my and was walkin' away pretty brisk, but I living! That's true, sir, and really I don't hopped after him a bit faster. • You see that there's much to tell. I've only haven't paid for the book, sir,' says I. done what everybody that hasn't got tin's What book, boy ? ' says he. The book forced to do, if he doesn't want to starve, you've got in your pocket, sir,' says I. He or to steal, or turn cadger, or go into the puts in his hand and pulls it out, and then workus. I've been at the toy-making off he says, 'Why, so I have — what strange and on for about five year now. The pay's absence o' mind !' and gives it to me in a light, but so's the work, so far as strength kind of maze like. P'r’aps, after all, he goes, and that suits me now, for I'm gettin' wasn't a thief, though I thought so then, shaky. It's a pretty kind of work, too, I and the looks of the thing were against him. reckon. There ain't much room for taste, One sees so many strange things as one it's true, but it wants a little bit of gump- gets older that we ain't so ready to contion sometimes to manage the strings and demn folks for the bad looks of things. things. Anyhow, I like it, and try to make Leastways it's been so with me, and it's 'em the best I can. It's nice somehow to nicer than being so mighty sharp that one thirk that I'm makin' playthings for poor can't believe one's own mother. Charity folk's kids that can't get anything better. thinketh no evil. If we'd got a little more I've got queer fancies sometimes, sir. I of that, and there wasn't no evil to be wonder whether Christ, when he was a car- thought about neither, what a nice world penter, ever made anything out of the chips this would be, sir! But that's foolish talk for the little uns that peeped into the shop. - as if we could manage matters better than There's no sin in fancyin' that, is there, sir? He does. Well, sir, since I got that billet lle was so fond of children that I can't help at the bookseller's I've always managed to

it on.

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