unremitting in his attentions to Maria; but, as is too often the case, the bright sunshine of their loves was clouded. Her health, always delicate, now appeared still more so, and at times her anxious parents felt a solicitude upon her account, new to them; for symptoms of consumption had shewn themselves, which the faculty, although they spoke of them lightly to the fond mother and to the gentle patient, treated with such care and and caution, as gave alarm to those who could see the progress of the fatal disease, which was unnoticed by Maria herself, who anticipated parties and pleasure and gaieties in the coming spring, which the doctors thought it but too probable she inight never enjoy.

That Mr. Langdale's punctilio, or Mrs. Langdale's excessive desire for apparent juvenility, should have induced the postponement of Maria's marriage, was, indeed, a melancholy circumstance. The agitation, the surprise, the hope deferred, which weighed upon the sweet girl's mind, and that doubting dread of something unexpected, which lovers always feel, bore down her spirits and injured her health; whereas, had the marriage been celebrated, the relief she would have experienced from all her apprehensions, added to the tour of France and Italy, which the happy couple were to take immediately after their union, would have restored her to health, while it ensured her happiness. This, however, was not to be.

It was now some three months since poor Mr. Harding's rencontre with Martha; and habit, and time, and constant avocation had conspired to free his mind from the dread she at first inspired. Again he smiled and joked, again he enjoyed society, and again dared to take the nearest road to Somerset-House; nay, he had so far recovered from the unaccountable terror he had originally felt, that he went to his desk, and selecting the paper wherein he had set down the awful denunciation of the hag, delibeberately tore it into bits, and witnessed its destruction in the fire, with something like real satisfaction, and a determination never more to think upon so silly an affair.

Frederick Langdale was, as usual, with his betrothed, and Mrs. Harding enjoying the egotism of the lovers, (for, as I said before, lovers think their conversation the most charming in the world, because they talk of nothing but themselves,) when his curricle was driven up to the door to convey him to Tattersall's, where his father had commissioned him

to look at a horse, or horses, which he intended to purchase; and Frederick was, of all things in the world, the best possible judge of a horse.

To this sweeping dictum, Mr. Harding, however, was not willing to assent: and, therefore, in order to have the full advantage of two heads, which, as the proverb says, are better than one, the worthy father-in-law elect proposed accompanying the youth to the auctioneer's at Hyde-Park-Corner, it being one a those few privileged days when the la. bourers in our public offices make holiday The proposal was hailed with delight by the young man, who, in order to shew due deference to his elder friend, gave the reins to Mr. Harding, and bowing their adieux to the ladies at the window, away they went, the splendid cattle of Mr. Langdale prancing and curvetting, fire flaming from their eyes, and smoke breathing from their nostrils.

The elder gentleman soon found that the horses were somewhat beyond his strength, even putting his skill wholly out of the question, and in turning into Russell-street, proposed giving the reins to Frederick. By some misunderstanding of words in the alarm which Harding felt, Frederick did not take the reins which he (perfectly confounded) tendered to him. They slipped over the dashing iron between the horses, who thus freed from restraint, reared wildly in the air, and plunging forward, dashed the vehicle against a post, and precipitated Frederick and Harding on the curb-stone: the offhorse kicked desperately as the carriage became entangled and impeded, and struck Frederick a desperate blow on the head. Harding, whose right arm and collar-bone were broken, raised himself on his left hand, and saw Frederick weltering in blood apparently lifeless before him. The infuriated animals again plunged forward with the shattered remnant of the carriage; and as this object was removed from his sight, the wretched father-in-law beheld, looking upon the scene with a fixed and an unmoved countenance-MARTHA, THE GIPSY.

It was doubtful whether the appearance of this horrible vision, coupled as it was with the verification of her prophecy, had not a more dreadful effect upon Mr. Harding than the sad reality before him. He trembled, sickened, fainted, and fell senseless on the ground.

(To be concluded in our next.)

The Sketch Book.

No. XIX.

LIFE IN LONDON

WHEN I hear a man complain of ennui, of tædium vitæ, or accuse a London life of sameness, I am convinced that either the Dody of such a one is diseased, which deranges his intellect, or that there is a void in the mind which he has neither activity nor the talent to fill up. A sameness in London! Preposterous! Every street, every square, every public walk, and every theatre, presents novelty and variety. The very shops with their shopmen and shopwomen, their proprietors and customers, offer a world of information and a wide field for remarks.

Neither the elegante, who canters through the streets to be admired, the debauché who half sleeps over his curricle horses, or by the side of his tilburygroom, nor the rich subject for the gout, who lolls stupidly in his carriage, see much of this; but the man who studies his fellow-creatures, and whose active mind finds employment in all classes of life, can draw experience and knowledge from every character and from every scene in the eventful drama of existence. Such a man must be able to pass from the senate to the coffee-house, from the gay lounge of morning amusement to the busy scene of a Stock Exchange, and from taking the living portraits of titled idlers at auctions and in ice-shops, to the toil and bustle of trade and commerce.

The court end of the town and the city, St. James's and St. Giles's, the puny efforts of coxcomb's table wit and the broad farce and vulgar cant of the river boatmen, or the stage coachman, must all be examined and sifted by such a one. He must quit his spring poney, or his dennet, in order to see men nearer, and mingle with the pedestrian train in their walk from Oxford-street to St. Mary Axe. Shops, countenances but above all, manners, will all pass by him like the magic lanthorn. Without light it would produce no effect;-without a ray of genius he would see nothing but uninteresting men and women, crowded streets, busy and imposing tradespeople, by whom he is pressed and jostled, without deriving any benefit from his intercourse with the world, or his collision with mankind. But, blest with observation, life itself seems compressed for him into the abridgment of a morning walk.

Or if he take his horse or his open carriage, returning from the city about four or five o'clock, and follow the duch

esses, and countesses, the smart commoners' wives, and tradeswomen; in short, the ladies of every description, with all the titled and untitled beaux, to the parks and favourite rides, what diversity of character will he find! The ruffian at Tattersall's, the half-pay officer hanging out for an invitation, the mercenary beauty fishing for a gudgeon, the adventure hunter casting about by chance, the park saunterer, the dinner hunter, the beau, or belle, on their road to an assignation, the minor or the young female on the road to ruin, the yawning time-killer, the reader on a bench under a tree, rooks and sharpers on the look out, the author feasting on his own brain, and the alderman in such a state of repletion that a doctor must inevitably be called in, the gaping countryman and the pert studier of fashion surely these are subjects enough for contemplation.

Then suppose a man has quitted his house in Grosvenor-square, and after a ride in the park and a morning visit or two, where his only dread is to find any one at home, strikes into Bond-street, and pursues his course down the Strand. How many various characters will he see in one linen-draper's shop! The superb dame who is there from idleness, and buys every thing, the fickle, troublesome fashionable, who shops from vacancy of mind and habit, and who turns over every thing without the least intention of purchasing, the boarding-school miss who looks wistfully at a rich aunt, but cannot soften her aunt into the purchase of a lace veil or a French shawl, the arch cyprian who eyes an embroidered gown and the linen-draper, or some chance male customer in the shop, with equal fondnessand, lastly, the adroit shop-lifter, with Argus eyes on every side, endeavouring to seize the opportunity of taking off some article of value whilst the attention of those serving in the shop is occupied, or whilst a shopman is dispatched to hand down some parcel to be looked at.

From the linen-draper or the jeweller, let him call in at a confectioner's and take an ice. There will he again see an endless variety of character; the pert, but pretty, shopwoman, who is the loadstone of her customers; the lounger talking nonsense, and drawling out his halfformed sentences; the appointed beau or belle looking with eagle-eye alternately at the clock and the street-door with irresistible impatience; some happy couple in a corner, or by themselves in the sour room, making the most on the stolen half hour; the fungous glutton devouring his mock turtle and perspiring over it like an ox; the poor gentleman making his scanty

repast on a bason of gravy soup, and passing away his time until the hour of memorialing the commander-in-chief, of cooling his heels at the Admiralty, or of groaning in a great man's anti-chamber, and seeking some never-to-be-granted favour, arrive.

There also observe the young man fearful and anxious in his appearance, who is to meet his lawyer, and to learn what writ is out against him, and at whose suit, and who arrives in a hackney coach with all the windows up. Finally, see "the school-boy with his satchel on his back," devoid of care and drawn to this central point of rendezvous like a fly, merely by the fruit and sugar.

From a rendezvous ice-shop, or coffeehouse, supposing the inquiring promenader now to take a turn in the Mall of St. James's Park. How many different parts are acted there! Here he will see the gay Life Guardsman casting his net for female game on every side, and sighing for some belle to whom this "soldier tired of war's alarms," may recount the action of Quartres Bras, and in whose bewitching society he may make up for the rigours of past campaigns. There he may behold a foreign demirep who, by the agency of a poodle dog, has a happy talent of forming acquaintance with those whom she has never seen before. On one hand is a chevalier d'Industrie hunting simultaneously for a wife and for a dinner. On the other hand, the lovely wife of many husbands, affecting the sentimental, and reading "Zimmerman on Solitude," or Moore's poems, without turning over a single leaf for a whole hour together, but throwing her line for an admiring novice who may seat himself beside her on the same bench.

Too often may we see the weatherbeaten and scarred veteran, whose laurels are as faded in his country's remembrance as the verdure of the sapless elm under which he sits see him occupy the whole bench with his legs stretched on it; mark the disappointment of his brow-the diminished fire of his eye, and regret that his fate has been so hard. Now my lady, too late for her distracted swain, leaps out of her carriage and runs down the alley of trees-vous etes trop tard, ma belle; a letter must explain the delay. At last the idle, over-fed footman makes his appearance he is sent on a message of urgency, but he takes his time-a few lies will account for his loitering and amusing himself, and in order to do his duty as a confidential messenger, he thrusts his fingers into the billet and reads its con

tents.

Quitting the Park and proceeding down

the Strand, what crowds are led there by business or by pleasure! The major part are drawn by the former: but fronti nulla fides:" there are masks, blinds, and decoys amongst them. That pretty brunette who trips so nimbly, as if in haste with a band-box in her hand, has been up and down the Strand half a dozen times. The band-box is a lure :see the alderman taken by it. Will he be in the wrong box?-nous n'en savons rien. Had she been dressed like a west end of the town cyprian, the sugar-baker had not been caught. That fellow disguised as a Quaker, too, is no Quaker at all. He has an oil-skin bundle of samples this is a blind. Follow him close. He is sticking to the skirts of a countryman, who is gaping and staring into every window. He will follow him to St. Dunstan's church. The clock and the false Quaker strike their blow at the same time. Giles Jolter's pocket-book and watch are no longer in their master's pocket.

It would be quite endless to recount the variety of London, from all these scenes to the painted halls of the great, the evening brilliant assemblies, the sales by the candle, and the candle-light beauty's sale, down to the lowest pitch of life, the roofless wanderer and the morntwinkling coffee-shop. Let any man complain of sameness amidst such variety if he can.-But, surely, from every one of these scenes, moral and useful lessons may be drawn, if the eye and the brain of the draftsman be clear enough to profit by his models.

"Indeed!" replied the stranger, looking grave, "Then he's a double knave.

He knows that rogues and thieves by scores
Nightly beset unguarded doors:

And see how easily might one

Of these domestic foes,
Even beneath your nose
Perform his knavish tricks,---
Enter your room as I have done,
Blow out your candles---thus---and thus
Pocket your silver candlesticks,

And walk off---thus."

So said---so done---he made no more remark, Nor waited for replies,

But marched off with his prize, Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.

THE CASE IS ALTERED.

HODGE held a farm, and lived content,
While one year paid another's rent,
But if he run the least behind,
Vexation stung his anxious mind;
For not an hour would landlord stay,
But seize the very quarter day!

That cheap the market! scant the grain!
Though urg'd with truth, was urg'd in vain ;
The same to him, if false or true,

The rent must come, when rent was due ;
Yet that same landlord's cows and steeds,
Broke Hodge's fence, and cropt his meads;
In hunting that same landlord's hounds
Spread over Hodge's new spread grounds;
Deg, horse, and man, alike o'erjoy'd,
While half the rising crop destroy'd;
Yet tamely was the loss sustain'd,
Save once, and then, when Hodge complain'd,
The 'squire laugh'd loudly while he spoke,
And paid the bumpkin with a joke.
But luckless still poor Hodge's fate;
His worship's bull forc'd ope a gate,
And gor'd his cow, the last and best:
By sickness he had lost the rest.
Hodge felt at heart resentment strong,
The heart will feel that suffers long;
A thought, that instant took his head,
And thus, within himself, he said---
"If Hodge, for once, don't fling the 'squire,
The village post him for a liar;"

He said---and cross his shoulders throws
The fork, and to his landlord goes.
"I come, an' please you, to unfold
What soon or late you must be told;
My buil, (a creature tame till now,)
My bull has gor'd your worship's cow;
"Tis known what shifts I make to live,
Perhaps your Honour may forgive."
Forgive the 'squire reply'd and swore,
Pray of forgiveness cant no more.
The law my damage shall decide,
And know that I'll be satisfy'd,---
Think sir, I am poor, sir---as a rat !---
Think I'm a justice! think of that!
Hodge bow'd again, and scratch'd his head,
And recollecting, archly said,

Sir, I'm so struck, when here before ye,
I fear I've blundered in my story;
'Fore George; but I'll not blunder now,
Yours was the bull, sir! mine the cow!
His Worship found his rage subside,
And with calm accents thus reply'd:
I'll think upon your case to night,
But, I perceive, 'tis altered quite.---
Hodge shrugg'd, and made another bow;
An't please you, where's the justice now?

K. S.

Miscellanies.

PARENTAL AFFECTION. THE white bear of Greenland and Spitzbergen, is considerably larger than the brown bear of Europe, or the black bear of North America. This animal lives upon fish and seals, and is not only seen upon land, in the countries bordering upon the North Pole, but on floats of ice several leagues at sea. The following relation is extracted from the "Journal of a Voyage for making Discoveries towards the North Pole."

"Early in the morning, the man at the mast-head gave notice, that three bears were making their way very fast over the ice, and that they were directing their course towards the ship. They had, without question, been invited by the scent of the blubber of a sea-horse killed a few days before, which the men had set on fire, and which was burning on the ice at the time of their approach. They proved to be a she-bear and her cubs, but the cubs were nearly as large as the dam. They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out from the flames part of the flesh of the sea-horse that remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously.-The crew from the ship threw great lumps of the flesh of the sea-horse, which they had still left upon the ice, while the old bear fetched away singly-laid every lump before her cubs, and dividing it gave each a share, reserving but a small portion to herself. As she was fetching away the last piece, they levelled their muskets at the cubs, and shot them both dead, and in her retreat they wounded the dam but not mortally.

"It would have drawn tears of pity from any but unfeeling minds, to have marked the affectionate concern expressed by this poor beast, in the last moments of her expiring young. Though she was sorely wounded, and could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the lump of flesh she had taken away, as she had done others before, tore in pieces and laid it down before them; and when she saw that they refused to eat, she laid her paws first upon one and then upon the other, and endeavoured to raise them up: all this while it was pitiful to hear her moan. When she found she could not stir them she went off, and when she had got at some distance looked back and moaned; and that not availing her to en tice them away, she returned and smelling round them began to lick their wounds. She went off a second time as before; and having crawled a few paces

looked again behind her, and for some time stood moaning. But still her cubs not rising to follow her, she returned to them again, and with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round one and round the other, pawing them and moaning. Finding at last that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship, and groaned a curse upon the murderers, which they returned with a volley of musket balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their wounds."

Useful Domestic Hints.

REMEDY FOR DEAFNESS.

PUT a table-spoonful of bay-salt into nearly half-a-pint of cold spring water; and after it has steeped therein for twentyfour hours, (now and then shaking the phial), cause a small tea-spoonfull to be poured in the ear most affected, every night when in bed, for seven or eight nights successively.

A CORRESPONDENT who was tormented for several weeks violently with what is called a stomach-cough, and at last was quite relieved by the following prescription, most earnestly recommends it to the notice of all similarly afflicted:-Purified storax and the pil. ruffi. of the shops, equal quantities; make them into a mass, which form into pills of a convenient size with magnesia. Take three at going to bed, and two in the morning, until the cough is gone, which will take place in a few days, and the effects in giving ease will be immediate. Should the bowels be affected, the quantity may be reduced.

The Gatherer.

"I am hut a Gatherer and disposer of other men's stuff."---Wotton.

P. T. W's Multum in Parvo has been received, and we shall insert a portion of it in our next.

Alpheus in an early number.

The Anecdote of Milton is not true: in Collet's Relics of Literature, the story is traced to its source.

Did Ergo ever hear Mathews, or read Joe Miller? if so, he would find his old joke better told.

Clavis's" Sonsie Lassie" would be Greek to nine-tenths of our readers.

Fuzzymuzzy should leave Cromwell alone. Dr. Pangloss is stale and indelicate.

E. Bobadil ought to know that extravagance and humour are not inseparable.

The Beggar's Tale is not without interest, but that interest is not sufficiently strong for us.

As we trust there are no readers who doubt the existence of Jesus Christ, we think it unnecessary to print Alfred's arguments to prove it, though we admire the feeling in which his communication is written.

The Counterbalance is indelicate.

We shall be glad to hear from Vyvyan on the terms he proposes.

Lislett will be a welcome contributor.

We have mislaid the Stanzas on seeing the King's Squadron, but shall, we doubt not, find them in a day or two.

Judgments deferred on J. H. W., A Friend to the Drama, P. Staunton, S---r, A. Westminster, and several other correspondents.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) and sole by all Newsmen and Booksellers.