what fools there are in the world; I meant them to have been yours: now I've given 'em away to somebody else; it don't matter, I dare say, to you; some people don't like snakes; there's no accounting for taste, eh?"

"My mother, sir," said Mary—

"Ah, your mother was a fool, and I dare say you're not much better! I always told her so;— she had a very great respect for my opinions." "Why, sir!" said Burton,

"Oh don't make a fuss, sir; when you know me longer, you'll know me better, perhaps: I don't care a cowrie for the snakes-never diddid not know what to do with 'em, or I shouldn't have thought of giving them to you-there's an end of that. Well,-isn't your name Mary, eh?" "It is, sir."

"So you have had a dead child, Mary; eh ?— great nonsense that, ma'am-Rice told me a rigmarole about my snake; what had my snake to do with your child, eh?"

Mary was overcome with the extraordinary abruptness of Mr. Danvers: and Burton seeing that she was so, caught up the conversation by remarking that one of his children had nearly been destroyed by it.

"Stuff!-I don't believe a syllable of it; all trash-gammon-like the story of the squirrel in the Gentleman's Magazine, or the lie of Nic. Scull, the surveyor

"

"Dr. Mead believed in the power, sir, and

"

"And who the devil, sir, was Dr. Mead? and why the devil, sir, should Dr. Mead know more

about the matter than you or I? What does it signify? Don't let us talk about it-eh ?-Snug house you have got ;-cursed bad all these jigamaree ornaments, eh?-hired it so, I suppose, eh?" "No, sir, my own taste; I- ".

"Oh, my! you've got a taste-eh! and a genius, I suppose, eh, Miss Minikin ?"-patting Mrs. Burton under the chin.

"We are satisfied, sir," said Mary, " and contentment is itself a treasure."

"So it is, my little preacher," said Danvers; "but how do you pass your time, eh? I don't see any card-tables; have you got a billiardroom, eh?"

"No," said Burton, “sir, we play no cards." "No cards! then I'm off-I'm off; I meant to have staid six weeks with you, but I could as soon live without smoking as without cards."

"Smoking!" mentally ejaculated Mrs. Burton. I use this expression because I have found it in every novel which has been published for the last ten years-barring those splendid exceptions to all modern novels, Sir Walter Scott's; I do not profess to understand it, but I imagine it to mean an ejaculation which is not intended to be ejaculated, and which therefore is no ejaculation at all.

"Oh!" replied the master of the house, 66 we can easily make up a party for you at whist, sir." "That will do," said Danvers," that will do; then I am your man for a month at least; however, I'll just change my dress-what time did you dine to-day, eh?"

"We have not dined yet, sir," said Mary.

"Yet! why it's near six o'clock, woman; what d'ye mean, ma'am, eh?"

"What hour, then, do you prefer, sir?" said Mary.

"I always dine at three, ma'am, or not at all. I never eat tiffin, and nothing will induce me to alter my dinner-hour: I don't care a fig for fashion-they spoiled Calcutta by dining at night; night, ma'am, is meant for playing cards-not for eating."

"Oh, we shall regulate our hours by your wishes, sir," said Burton; "and I have no doubt when we know your habits, you will find every thing smooth and comfortable."

"You are very kind, sir," said Danvers."Pray, Mr. Burton, who was your father, eh?" "He held an office under government in Scotland, sir."

"What one of their infernal jobs, eh? he was a respectable man, wasn't he, eh?"

"He was an excellent man-a man of

"Hold your tongue, sir; don't bore me with his goodness; all sons' fathers are excellent :gammon-trash-can't humbug me-I don't care what he was, I suppose he's dead, isn't he, eh?" "He is, sir."

"Any more of ye?"

"I had a sister, sir, who married an officer in the army he was killed at Waterloo."

"Serve him right," said the old gentleman; "stupid ass he must have been to have gone there what became of his widow, eh?"

"She died, sir,-about four years since," said Burton, with tears in his eyes.

"I'm glad of it, poor body! out of her misery, eh? Did she get her husband's medal, eh ?" "I really don't know, sir."

"She ought to have got it, you know, according to regulation; isn't your name Tom, eh?" "It is, sir."

"I'm glad of it, eh? Now come, show me my room. I'll just change my clothes, and be down again and go you, Miss Polly," added the old gentleman, addressing his niece," and get cards ready, eh? You'll find me out by and by, eh, Polly?"

Saying which he left the library, preceded by Burton, who attended him to his chamber door. As they went up stairs, the nabob stopped on the first landing-place, and, holding by the banisters, turned round to Burton and said, "I say, Master Tom, your wife is no beauty, I can tell you that, eh?"

ноок.

DICK SHIFTER'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. Dick Shifter was born in Cheapside, and having passed reputably through all the classes of St. Paul's school, has been for some years a student in the Temple. He is of opinion that intense application dulls the faculties, and thinks it necessary to temper the severity of the law by books that engage the mind, but do not fatigue it.

He has therefore made a copious collection of plays, poems, and romances, to which he has recourse when he fancies himself tired with statutes and reports; and he seldom inquires very nicely whether he is weary or idle.

Dick has received from his favourite authors very strong impressions of a country life; and though his furthest excursions have been to Greenwich on one side, and Chelsea on the other, he has talked for several years with great pomp of language and elevation of sentiments, about a state too high for contempt and too low for envy, about homely quiet, and blameless simplicity, pastoral delights, and rural innocence.

His friends, who had estates in the country, often invited him to pass the summer among them, but something or other had always hindered him; and he considered that to reside in the house of another man was to incur a kind of dependence inconsistent with that laxity of life which he had imaged as the chief good.

This summer he resolved to be happy, and procured a lodging to be taken for him at a solitary house, situated about thirty miles from London, on the banks of a small river, with cornfields before it, and a hill on each side covered with wood. He concealed the place of his retirement, that none might violate his obscurity, and promised himself many a happy day when he should hide himself among the trees, and contemplate the tumults and vexations of the town.

He stepped into the postchaise with his heart beating and his eyes sparkling, was conveyed through many varieties of delightful prospects, saw hills and meadows, cornfields and pasture, succeed each other; and for four hours charged none of his poets with fiction or exaggeration. He was now within six miles of happiness, when, having never felt so much agitation before, he began to wish his journey at an end; and the