the scholars look out a few names of places on a to plead an important cause before a jury, but lifeless atlas, but never send their imaginations instead of standing and extemporizing, and showabroad over the earth, and where the teacher sits ing by his gestures, and by the energy and ardor listlessly down before them to interrogate them of his whole manner, that he felt an interest in his from a book, in which all the questions are printed theme; instead of rising with his subject, and at full length, to supersede on his part all neces- coruscating with flashes of genius and wit, he sity of knowledge.' should plant himself lazily down in a chair, read from some old book, which scarcely a member of

droning away for an hour, should leave them, without having distinctly impressed their minds with one fact, or led them to form one logical conclusion-would it be any wonder if he left half of them joking with each other, or asleep? Would it be any wonder-provided he were followed on the other side by an advocate of brilliant parts, of elegant diction, and attractive manner, who should pour sunshine into the darkest recesses of the case if he lost not only his own reputation, but the cause of his client also?

All this must be equally new and interesting to the greater portion of our public. So, we the panel could fully understand, and, after thoroughly believe, will be the following account of the general conduct and bearing of the Prussian teachers amongst their pupils. It is even, we would say, affecting to hear of the activity and self-devotion of these most useful ministers, paid as they generally are below the gains of many ordinary tradesmen. "I have said that I saw no teacher sitting in his school. Aged or young, all stood. Nor did they stand apart and aloof in sullen dignity. They mingled with their pupils, passing rapidly from one side of the class to the other, animating, encouraging, sympathizing, breathing life into less active natures, assuring the timid, distributing encouragement and endearment to all. The looks of the Prussian teacher often have the expression and vivacity of an actor in a play. He gesticulates like an orator; his body assumes all the attitudes, and his face puts on all the variety of expression, which a public speaker would do, if haranguing a large assembly on a topic vital to their interests.

"It may seem singular, and perhaps to some almost ludicrous, that a teacher, in expounding the first rudiments of handwriting, in teaching the difference between a hair-stroke and a groundstroke, or how an I may be turned to a b, or a u into a w, should be able to work himself up into an oratorical fervor, should attitudinize, and gesticulate, and stride from one end of the class to the other, and appear in every way to be as intensely engaged as an advocate when arguing an important cause to a jury; but strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true; and before five minutes of such a lesson had elapsed, I have seen the children wrought up to an excitement proportionally intense, hanging upon the teacher's lips, catching every word he says, and evincing great elation or depression of spirits as they had or had not succeeded in following his instructions. So I have seen the same rhetorical vehemence on the part of the teacher, and the same interest and animation on the part of the pupils, during a lesson on the original sounds of the letters-that is, the difference between the long and the short sound of a › vowel, or the different ways of opening the mouth in sounding the consonants b and p. This zeal of the teacher enkindles the scholars. He charges them with his own electricity to the point of explosion. Such a teacher has no idle, mischievous, whispering children around him, nor any occasion for the rod. He does not make desolation of all the active and playful impulses of childhood, and call it peace; nor, to secure stillness among his scholars, does he find it necessary to ride them with the nightmare of fear. I rarely saw a teacher put questions with his lips alone. He seems so much interested in his subject, (though he might have been teaching the same lesson for the hundred or five hundredth time,) that his whole body is in motion-eyes, arms, limbs, all contributing to the impression he desires to make; and at the end of an hour, both he and his pupils come from the work all glowing with excitement.

"Suppose a lawyer in one of our courts were

In Prussia and in Saxony, as well as in Scotland, the power of commanding and retaining the attention of a class is held to be a sine qua non in a teacher's qualifications. If he has not talent, skill, vivacity, or resources of anecdote and wit sufficient to arouse and retain the attention of his pupils during the accustomed period of recitation, he is deemed to have mistaken his calling, and receives a significant hint to change his vocation.

"Take a group of little children to a toy-shop, and witness their outbursting eagerness and delight. They need no stimulus of badges or prizes to arrest or sustain their attention; they need no quickening of their faculties by rod or ferule. To the exclusion of food and sleep, they will push their inquiries, until shape, color, quality, use, substance, both external and internal, of the objects around them are exhausted; and each child will want the showman wholly to himself. But in all the boundless variety and beauty of nature's works

in that profusion and prodigality of charms with which the Creator has adorned and enriched every part of his creation-in the delights of affectionin the ecstatic joys of benevolence-in the absorbing interest which an unsophisticated conscience instinctively takes in all questions of right and wrong-in all these, is there not as much to challenge and command the attention of a little child as in the curiosities of a toy-shop? When as much of human art and ingenuity shall have been expended upon teaching as upon toys, there will be less difference between the cases.

"The third circumstance I mentioned above, was the beautiful relation of harmony and affection which subsisted between teacher and pupils. I cannot say that the extraordinary fact I have mentioned was not the result of chance or accident. Of the probability of that others must judge. I can only say that, during all the time mentioned, I never saw a blow struck; I never heard a sharp rebuke given; I never saw a child in tears, nor arraigned at the teacher's bar for any alleged misconduct. On the contrary, the relation seemed to be one of duty first, and then affection, on the part of the teacher-of affection first, and then duty, on the part of the scholar. The teacher's manner was better than parental; for it had a parent's tenderness and vigilance, without the foolish dotings or indulgences to which parental affection is prone. I heard no child ridiculed, sneered at, or scolded, for making a mistake. On the contrary, whenever a mistake was made, or there was

a want of promptness in giving a reply, the ex- a peasant girl and the pig of the house. The pig pression of the teacher was that of grief and disap-had absconded, or at least had not returned all pointment, as though there had been a failure not night; and the girl, who had been out searching merely to answer the question of a master, but to for him since daybreak, was now bringing him comply with the expectations of a friend. No home, reproaching him with his ingratitude as they child was disconcerted, disabled, or bereft of his walked along-the pig returning a sort of grudgsenses through fear. Nay, generally at the ends ing acquiescence to each touching interrogatory. of the answers, the teacher's practice is to encour- "Didn't I always get you enough straw at night age him with the exclamation, good, right,' to cover round you, and a wisp to stick in the wholly right,' &c., or to check him with his chink o' the wall to keep the wind out!" Ouff, slowly and painfully-articulated no;' and this is said the pig. "Haven't I given you the best pradone with a tone of voice that marks every degree ties, and leaves, and warm mash, and often gone of plus and minus in the scale of approbation and without a meal myself for you-eh, now?" Ouff, regret." said the pig; but the grudging acquiescence did in some degree partake of an "Oh, don't bother me." "And wouldn't I always do my duty by you-eh? -would n't I? How could you have the heart to leave your own home-eh? Will I tell you of all In order to enter into the scene of an Irish pig-your ingratitude, eh?" Ouff, said the pig; meanfair with the proper spirit, it is requisite that the in this case, "Well, I don't care if I do hear about reader, besides encouraging a mirthful disposition, that." and a love for the study of character, should posWhat should an education like this produce? sess a duly-instructed mind on certain precursory What could be expected from such circumstances principles and facts of the subject now proposed to surrounding a creature from its birth? be treated. It will therefore be necessary to offer should all this incessant pampering of body and a few remarks on the character and the circum-mind produce in the character of the individual? I stances which have combined to form and establish speak it with regret in the present case-what but the character of an Irish pig. a brutal, gross, morose, selfish hog!

From the Daily News.

AN IRISH PIG-FAIR.

What

Now then imagine, oh, reader!—if, after what has been said, thou canst imagine such a thingthat the day at length arrives when this pampered pig has to be taken to the fair, whether he is graciously pleased or not, there to be criticized and sold! Yes; the right honorable gentleman "who pays the rent" has to walk, perhaps for several miles, with a certain indignity round one of his hind legs; and the disloyal, false knave, his owner, urging him, after divers base expedients, from behind or laterally, on the highway, to a public mart-there to be weighed, pinched, or fumbled all over, and then sold!-to what "end," let the classic muse of pie and sausage, pot, oven, ironspit, or brine-tub, in fitting verse recite.

Born in the warmest nook of the peasant's domestic circle-in the very bosom of his family, we may say-an Irish pig begins life under the most flattering circumstances which could be imagined. He may, indeed, be said to suck flattery with his mother's milk. His bringing-up hath a smack of royalty in it. As everything within the immediate range of his experience is made subservient to him, both in respect of his needs and his humors, he naturally and inevitably comes to the conclusion that he is the most important person in existence, and that the world was made for his use. His mother was reared amidst the same illusory impressions. The whole object of the family he lives with is to fatten him, and do him honor. In fact, honor and fat react upon each other, and he The fair is held usually in the ordinary marketis crowned with favor in proportion to his obese place, being in itself no more than a market, exdemonstrations of having been graciously pleased cept from the dignity and importance, and, we to receive the offerings of his humble servants. ** may add, contumacious excitement of the chief The pig takes his meals with the rest of the thing sold. There are a few poor stalls for the family, whom, at best, he regards as his poor rela-huckster or pedlar trade; one gambling turn-about tions. He sits down with the circle of the family with half-penny stakes; a little stage on a cart for board, (often literally a board for a plate,) and eats the hoaxing sale of good-for-nothing haberdashwith them from the same dish, from which they usually select for him the largest potatoes. Instances, it is true, have been known where a disloyal peasant has endeavored to persuade the pig to eat a few potato-peelings mashed up with the rest; but seldom with success. Far more common is it to give the pig something in addition—such as porridge, bran and cake, and cabbage. Not merely is the pig better fed than the peasant, with his wife and children, but in several districts it is the only animal that is sufficiently fed. This is more especially the case in Sligo and Roscommon. The pig, meantime, knows how matters stand, and is quite aware of his own importance. If he happens to be coming in at the door of the cabin at the same time that one of the children is coming out, he tries to make it appear that there is not room enough for both, and gives a child a hunch with his shoulder in passing, like a surly brute who would growl, "Get out of the way-don't you see me coming!" A traveller in the provinces told me that he once overheard a sort of dialogue between

ery; no shows of any kind, no toys, and only three most unattractive stalls for stale-looking cakes and commonplace gingerbread with no gilt upon it, nor even the shining brown varnish which is the only admissible substitute. The fair is devoted to higher purposes.

We have seen the pig in his domestic circle, and have come to right understanding of his inevitable character-the pampered creature of circumstances. From his earliest infancy he was the heir-apparent of the grossest egotism, selfishness, and ignorance. Now, let the reader of this historical, philosophical, severe, yet not unloving sketch, imagine himself, if he can venture such a thing, in the midst of three or four hundred pigs like these! Three or four hundred outraged country nobles, partly driven, and partly seduced away from their cabins, vassals, and baronial bogs, and here assembled in public. Be it understood they are not in a drove, not under any discipline, not in any degree even of swine-herd order. No man dares to exercise his whip; nothing but a thin,

voice. He knows the fair value of the pig, and asks it. He cannot obtain it; and yet he does so want to sell the pig.

playful, smooth switch occasionally. And as for dogs!-I should like to see a dog show his face among nobility, and under exasperating circumstances: he would be torn to pieces, and trampled The only "fun of the fair" is the pig's invariainto mud before their wrath. They are not here, in ble resistance to the examination of the buyer's any sense, a "drove" nor a "herd," but each one hand, with the perversity of the buyer, after he is asserts his own individual state of mind and pas- held fast, in persisting to feel those parts where he sion. This may be defined as a state of equal in- is least fat, instead of those which are most plump, dignation, rage, and the worst suspicions all fusing and to which, with ludicrous anxiety and elotogether. The pigs have found out that some mis-quence, the peasant in vain endeavors to direct the chief is intended to them! They have, in their buyer's attention. Amidst this the pig often brusque way, laid their heads together by threes crouches close down to the ground, and screams and fours, and the conviction has spread among with all his might. Perhaps, however, he may be them. They have literally become wild beasts, docile from cunning, and some finesse in his mind, and like wild beasts do they behave. They snarl, in which case he only holds down his head coyly. and squeak, and scream, and yell, and growl, and But generally he is in a rage, and has to be utter curses, and gnash, and foam at the mouth, soothed and scratched, as he sits up on his and bite, and brawl, and rush, snout-foremost, haunches with a savage unappeasable counteunder the wheels of carts, or between the most nance. crowded legs of men. They are brought back in vain; for they struggle, and shriek, and gnash, and burst away; and when two by accident meet suddenly face to face, they seek instant relief of their feelings by a fight, to which they stand up in lion-and-unicorn fashion. While thus they gnash A poor, little and bite, behind each one you see an excited peas-old woman in rags, and with a small, pale face, ant, embracing the loins of his warlike pork, in comes meekly to listen, and is attentive to the talk anguish lest the price should be lowered in the of all this money. She goes away very humbly, buyer's eye by the unseemly disfigurements of but seems all the better for what she has heard. battle. * A deplorable ballad-singer, more than half-naked, fills up any temporary diminution that may occur in the noise of the fair.

But who are the buyers of all these alarming pigs? Behold him standing there, with one hand in his pocket, the finger of the other pointing contemptuously at a very good pig. He has a short dudeen in his mouth, and smokes and speaks carelessly at the same time. Smoke issucs with nearly all his words. The man who buys the pig has a knowing, satirical, purse-proud, knavish, remorseless face and air. He has, moreover, a tongue to match it-wily, would-be-witty, overbearing, false, unfeeling, and dishonest. He is evidently an agent in the matter, and gets a percentage. This makes a clever screw of him. It is not his own money he so vulgarly displays, to dazzle the eyes of poor Pat, and make him catch at the first offer, however inadequate, as it is sure to be, first or last-unless Pat happens to be very sharp indeed, which sometimes proves to be the case. In general, however, he has little chance with these buyers. The buyer makes his first offer, after sufficiently depreciating the pig. The peasant knows it is worth more, and refuses. A little haggling ensues, and the buyer venting yet further contempt on the pig in question, walks carelessly, scoffing and smoking, in an opposite direction, and immediately commences a negotiation touching other pigs. The buyers are manifestly in league with each other; so that although there is some competition, it is not fair competition; and the screw and pressure of a secret monopoly of the market is at work. If the peasant does not accept the offer of the first bidder, the second bidder may offer less, and usually does. The peasant looks after the careless smoking screw who is now so busily engaged a little way off, affecting to have quite done with him. He looks-he begins to walk towards him-the buyer walks away-the peasant follows. Again he addresses him on the subject of his pig. In the end, the screw has him at his own price. Now and then, however, the poor peasant repeats his first demand, and holds to it with melancholy firmness. He speaks in a sad

At length a bargain is made complete-a pig is sold. The buyer marks him with his especial mark-some mark with scissor-lines cut in the bristles, some with red ochre, some with black chalk-and ostentatiously displays money while paying, and talks of much more.

On the outskirts of the town, peasants are seen driving sold pigs to the buyers' carts or quarters. You may know to a certainty by the man's face and air if he has sold the pig according to his previous mind. Not often will you see a satisfied smile lurking round his mouth, but the corners drawn straight with disappointment, as he looks down reproachfully at the pig for having misbehaved himself at the fair-in not rendering himself docile to the buyer's fingers, and more entertaining in all his natural blandishments.

A fiddle sounds from a little coffee-shop in the fair. All the business then is done. There is a crowd yonder, at one side of the market place, standing in a circle. Is it a fight-not of pigs, but of men? What occasions the disturbance? No; it can be no fight-no disturbance; for everybody is standing quietly, and silently too; and there is one man who has a very sad face of sorrow and perplexity, as though he had lost something. Let us approach.

All is explained. Upon several planks and half a door lies some huge form, covered over with a large, coarse, white sheet. At one end, beyond the covering cloth, there appears a quiet hoof sticking out like a pointed moral; and at the other end the tip of a pale snout, with a crimson stain in the nostril, pathetically pokes forth. It is the Roman emperor who, a brief hour ago, sat with terrific countenance in the middle of the fair. A deed has been done. He has been bought and sold; but they could not lead him into captivity. The debt of nature is paid-so is the poor man's rent; and death and the landlord can now do what they like with their own. As for the fallen hero, let his faults die with him. There is nothing coarse in him now-nothing gross is here, in this scene before us

nothing selfish and brutish. All is hushed, philosophical and suggestive-refined by the hand of the universal steel-bearer, the quieter of us all.

CHAPTER XXVII.

constitution, and-and so that meek and knowing man was summoned to London.

In a green, sequestered nook, half-way between Hampstead and Kilburn, embowered in the middle of a garden, was a small cottage; so hidden, that oft the traveller passed, unheeding it. In this cottage was Clarissa. To this retreat would her husband amble every day from St. Mary Axe, quitting his money temple for the treasure of his fireside, his pale and placid wife; and resolved to think himself blessed at both places. "Mr. Snipeton is late to-day," said Mrs. Wilton, the mother housekeeper. "He will come," replied Clarissa, in the tone of one resigned to a daily care. "He will come, mother."

WHEN Snipeton turned his horse's head from Dovesnest for the which incident we must send back the reader some dozen chapters-he resolved, as he rode, upon closing his accounts with the world, that freed from the cares of money, he might cherish and protect his youthful, blooming partner. Arrived in London, seated at his books in St. Mary Axe, the resolution was strengthened by the contemplation of his balance against men. He had more than enough, and would enjoy life in good earnest. Why should he toil like a slave for gold-dust, and never know the blessings of the boon? No he would close his accounts, and open wide his heart. And Snipeton was sincere in this his high resolve. For a whole night, Mrs. Wilton looked with appealing tenderness waking and dreaming, he was fixed in it; and the in her daughter's face; and in a low, calm voice, next morning the uxorious apostate fell back to his controlling her heart as she spoke, she saidfirst creed of money-bags. Fortune is a woman," This must not be do not repeat that word and therefore where she blindly loves-(and whatnot even when we are alone. Some day it may Bottoms and Calibans she does embrace and betray me to your husband, and then"fondle!)-is not to be put aside by slight or ill- "What then?" asked Clarissa. usage. All his life had fortune doted upon Snipeton, hugging him the closer as she carried him up -no infant ape more tenderly clutched in ticklish places and he should not leave her. And to this end did fortune bribe back her renegade with a lumping bargain. A young gentleman-a very young gentleman-desired for so much ready metal, to put his land upon parchment, and that young gentleman did fortune take by the hand, and, smiling ruin, lead him to St. Mary Axe. In few minutes was Snipeton wooed and won again; for to say the truth his weakness was a mortgage. The written parchment, like charmed characters, conjured him; put imagination into that dry husk of a man. He would look upon the deed as upon a land of promise. He would see in the smallest pen-marks giant oaks, with the might of navies waiting in them; and from the sheepskin would feel the nimble air of Arcady. There it lay, a beautiful bit of God's earth-a sweet morsel of creation-conjured and conveyed into a few black syllables.

And so, Snipeton made his peace with his first wife Fortune, and then bethought him of his second spouse, Clarissa. That he might duly attend to both, he would remove his second mate from Dovesnest. There were double reasons for the motion; for the haven of wedded bliss was known to the profligate St. James; who, unmindful of the sweetest obligation money at large usance ought to confer upon the human heart, dared to accost his creditor's wife. Let Dovesnest henceforth be a place for owls and foxes, Clarissa should bring happiness within an hour's ride of St. Mary Axe. The thought was so good, sent such large content to old Snipeton's heart, that with no delay it was carried out, and ere she well had time to weep a farewell to her favorite roses, Mrs. Snipeton left Dovesnest to the spiders.

Was it a wise change, this? Had Snipeton healthy eyes; or did avarice, that jaundice of the soul, so blear his vision, that he saw not in the thin, discolored features of the wife of his bosom, aught to twitch a husband's heart? She never complained. Besides, once or twice he had questioned her; and she was not ill. No, well, quite well; and this too he had asked-very happy. Nevertheless, it would the better satisfy him if Crossbone could see her. Crossbone knew her

"We should be parted; forever-forever," cried the woman, and with the thought she burst into tears.

"Not so. Nothing parts us; nothing but the kindliness of death," said Clarissa. "And death is kind, at least"

"At least, my child, the world with you is too young to think it so."

"Old, old and faded," said Clarissa. "The spirit of youth is departed. I look at all things with dim and weary eyes.

"And yet, my child, there is a sanctity in suffering, when strongly, meekly borne. Our duty, though set about by thorns, may still be made a staff, supporting even while it tortures. Cast it away, and like the prophet's wand, it changes to a snake. God and my own heart know, I speak no idle thoughts, I speak a bitter truth, bitterly acknowledged."

"And duty shall support me on this weary pilgrimage,' said Clarissa. Then taking her mother's hand, and feebly smiling, she added, "Surely, it can be no sin to wish such travel short or if it be, I still must wish-I cannot help it."

Time, time, my child, is the sure conciliator. You will live to wonder at and bless his goodness."

"You say so-it may be," said Clarissa, with a lightened look, "at least, I'll hope it." And then both smiled gaily-wanly; for both felt the deceit they strove to act but could not carry through. Words, words of comforting, of hope were uttered, but they fell coldly, hollowly; for the spirit of truth was not in them. They were things of the tongue, passionless, mechanical; the voice without the soul. At this moment, old Dorothy Vale entered the room; and she was welcome: even though she announced the coming of the master of the house.

"Master's coming up the garden," said Dorothy, each hand rubbing an arm crossed before her. "Somebody's with him."

"A stranger here! Who can it be?" cried Clarissa.

"Don't say he's a stranger; don't say he is n't; can only see a somebody," answered Dorothy, in whom no show whatever of this world of shows could have awakened a momentary curiosity. Her inheritance, as one of Eve's daughters, was this

beautiful earth, sky-roofed; yet was it no more to her than a huge deal box, pierced with airholes. A place to eat, drink, sleep, and hang up her bonnet in.

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that Crossbone might reconsider his judgment. The air of Hampstead might be thought the best of airs for Clarissa. Wine does wonders!

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Snipeton had prepared himself for a compliment on his connubial happiness; and therefore suffered a wrenching of the spirit when called upon to speak to his cabbages. With a strong will he waived the subject; and merely answered, “We do not keep pigs."

The dinner was served. Crossbone was eloAnother minute, and Snipeton entered the room. quent. After your labors in town, Mr. Snipeton, The husband had returned to the haven of his you must find it particularly delightful," he said hopes, and was resolved that the world-then com- -"particularly so to come home to Mrs. Snipeton,' prised in the single person of Peter Crossbone, who-the husband smiled at his wife-" and dine off followed close at the heels of his host-should bear your own greens. One's own vegetables is what witness to his exceeding happiness; to the robust I consider the purest and highest enjoyment of the delight that, as he crossed his threshold, instantly country. Of course, too, you keep pigs?" possessed him for with an anxious look of joy, he strode up to his wife, and suddenly taking her cheeks between both his hands, pursed out her lips, and then vigorously kissed them. He was so happy, he could not, would not feel his wife shrink at his touch-could not, would not see her white face flush as with sudden resentment, and then subside into pale endurance. No: the husband was resolved upon displaying to the world his exceeding happiness, and would not be thwarted in his show of bliss, by trifles. He merely said, still dallying with his felicity-"Never mind Crossbone; he's nobody; a family man-has been married, and that's all the same.' Now Crossbone in his wayward heart, felt tempted to dispute such position; it was not all the same-to him. Nevertheless, he would not be captious. It was a poor, an ignorant opinion, and therefore his host and customer should have the free enjoyment of it.

"That's a pity; but all in good time. For it's hardly possible to imagine a prettier place for pigs. Nothing like growing one's own bacon. But then I always like dumb things about me. And, Mr. Snipeton, after your work in town, you can't think how 't would unbend your mind-how you might rest yourself, as I may say, on a few pigs. It's beautiful to watch 'em day by day; to see 'em growing and unfolding their fat like lilies; to make 'em your acquaintance as it were, from the time they come into the world to the time they 're hung up in your kitchen. In this way you seem to eat 'em a hundred times over. However, pigs are matters that I must not trust myself to talk about."

"Why not?" asked Snipeton, with a porkerlike grunt. "Why not?"

"Mrs. Snipeton," said the apothecary, "though I do not feel it professional to hope that anybody is well, nevertheless in your case, I do hope that -well, well, I see; a little pale, but never "Dear Mrs. Crossbone! Well, she was a wofear it-we'll bring the roses out again. In man!" (It was, in truth, Crossbone's primest a little while, and you'll bloom like a bough-consolation to know that she was a woman.) pot." "Our taste in everything was just alike. In everything.'

"To be sure she will," said Snipeton. "I thought of buying her a pretty little horse; just a quiet thing"

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Nothing could be better-perhaps. As I often say, horse-flesh is the thing for weak stomachs. I may say as much to you as a friend, Mr. Snipeton; folks often go to the doctor's, when they should go to the stable. Yes, yes-horse exercise and change of air".

"We'll talk of it after dinner," said Snipeton, suddenly wincing; for his heart could not endure the thought of separation. Business and love were delightful when united; they gave a zest to each other; but certainly-at least in the case of Snipeton-were not to be tasted alone. Granted that he sat in a golden shower in St. Mary Axe; how should he enjoy the luck falling direct from heaven upon him, if his wife-that flower of his existence -was transplanted to a distant soil? Would not certain bees and butterflies hum and flutter round that human blossom? Again, if he himself tended the pretty patient, would not ruin-taking certain advantage of the master's absence-post itself at his door-step? Doating husband-devoted man of money! His heart-strings tore him one way-his purse-strings another. "We'll talk of it after dinner," he repeated. "And, Master Crossbone, we'll have a bottle of excellent wine." In some matters Crossbone was the most compliant of men and wine was one that, offered cost-free, never found him implacable. And, the truth is, Snipeton knowing this, hoped that the wine might contain arguments potent over the doctor's opinions. After one bottle, nay two, it was not impossible

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Pigs included?" asked Snipeton, with something like a sneer.

But Crossbone was too much stirred by dearest memories to mark it. He merely answered, "Pigs included," after a pause. "However, I must renounce the sweeter pleasures of the country. Fate calls me to London."

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"It delights me to hear it, Mr. Crossbone; for we shall then be so near to one another," cried Snipeton. Charming news this, is n't it, Clary?" And the old husband chucked his wife's chin, and would smile in her pale, unsmiling face.

"Well, as an old friend, Mr. Snipeton, I may perhaps make no difference with you. Otherwise, iny practice promises to be confined to royalty. To royalty, Mr. Snipeton. Yes; I was sure of it, though I never condescended to name my hopesbut I knew that I should not be lost all my life among the weeds of the world. Reputation, Mr. Snipeton, may be buried, like a potato; but, sir, like a potato"-and Crossbone, tickled by the felicity of the simile, was rather loud in its utterance-like a potato, it will shoot and show itself."

"And yours has come up, eh? Well, I'm very glad to hear it," said Snipeton, honestly, "because you'll be in London. Your knowledge of Clarissa's constitution is a great comfort to