made over to her lord and master, strictly and truly so designated, not only all her present possessions, but all her future expectations—all that she may even earn by her talents-she has not become his servant, for servants, if ill used, may depart, and try to better themselves elsewhere; but his serf, his slave, his white negro, whom, according to Judge Buller, (himself a married man,) he may correct with a stick of the same thickness as his thumb, whatever may be its dimensions. We hear of rosy fetters, the silken chains of love, the soft yoke of Hymen-but who is to bear the soul-grinding bondage of dislike, contempt, hatred? How is a woman to avoid these feelings if she be maltreated and insulted; and how is she to redress her wrongs? The laws, made by the men, and therefore flagrantly in their own favour, provide no remedy: if she use her sole weapon, the tongue, she is proclaimed a scold, a shrew, and reminded of the ducking-stool; if she make his own house uncomfortable to her husband, every body's else is open to him; he may violate his marriage-vow, and is still a marvellous proper gentleman; he may associate with profligates, and his friends exclaim-" Poor man! he has been driven to this by a bad wife!" If the deserted and injured woman meantime seek relief from her sorrows in the most innocent recreation, Spite, with its Argus eyes, keeps watch upon her door, and Calumny dogs her footsteps, hissing at her with its thousand tongues, and spitting out lies and poison from every one. Let no man choose me for umpire in a conjugal dispute. I need not ask who is the delinquent--my heart has decided against him by anticipation.

Such, I shall be told, is the result of uncongenial unions; but it is a mistake to suppose that men seek congeniality in their wives. In friends, who are to share their sports and pursuits; to accompany them in shooting, hunting, fishing; to talk politics or religion over a bottle; they naturally select similarity of tastes: but women are to do nothing of all this; they are chosen for their domestic duties, and as these are perfectly distinct from the man's, he looks out for contrast rather than uniformity. Hence the male horror of Bluestockings, the sneer with which every blockhead exclaims-"Our wives read Milton and our daughters play!" the alacrity with which he assumes that such learned ladies must necessarily "make sloppy tea, and wear their shoes down at heel;" and the convincing self-applause with which he quotes the trite epigram

'Though Artemisia talks by fits

Of councils, fathers, classics, wits,

Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke,” &c.

Let us imagine, not a patient stock-fish, like Griselda, but an accomplished woman, "paired, not matched," with " a sullen silent sot, one who is ever musing but never thinks," an animal who, like London smallbeer, gets sour if not soon drunk ;- -or united to a drone and a dunce, who lounges all day long before the fire, spitting into it like a great roasting apple;-or submitted to the caprices of a man who keeps his good temper for company and his bad for his wife; abroad as smiling and promising as a Siberian crab, while at home his heart's core is as sour;-or tormented with a profligate, who But I must have done, al

though I have not half finished, for I might stretch the line to the crack of doom. When I consider all the hardships and trials to which the fair sex are subject by those unjust institutions of society which exact the greatest strength from the weakest vessel, and reflect, moreover, that Nature has unkindly imposed upon it all the pains and penalties of continuing the race, I can only repeat once more, that I thank Heaven for not having made me a woman.

"BLESS my heart! Mrs. Suet here!-Ah, Mrs. Hoggins, how d'ye do?-Dear me! Mrs. Sweatbread, and Mrs. Cleaver too! Why, we shall have the whole of Whitechapel on board presently.—I believe," said the voluble dame, looking round with a gracious and comprehensive smile, "I believe we are all butchers' ladies."

"I believe we ar'n't no such a thing, Ma'am," cried a corpulent female with an oleaginous face, while, trying to turn up her pug-nose, which however was kept tolerably steady by a triple chin, she waddled away to another part of the vessel.-"Well, I'm sure! Marry, come up! Hoity, toity!" burst from the coterie with which she had disclaimed carnificial affinity; "here 's airs for you!"--" And her veil's only bobbinet lace," cried one;-" And them fine ear-rings is only gilt, I warrant ye," said another.-" Well, I do declare, there's neighbour Croak, the undertaker, with his long woebegone phiz; it gives one quite the blue-devils to look at him. I say, Croak, who is that stuck-up fat thing that just left us ?"—" Don't you know her ?”—inquired Croak, in a whisper; "why, that's Mrs. Dip, the great tallow-chandler's lady, of Norton Falgate."-" Well, suppose she is, she needn't turn her nose up at us: if we were to call upon her on melting-day, we might have something to turn up our noses at, I fancy, ha, ha, ha! Lauk! how serious you look; she isn't a friend of yours, is she?""I never laughs at nobody," replied the prudent Mr. Croak, "for in our line every body's liable to become a customer. Your poor brother Joe, Ma'am, made a very pretty corpse. I dare say, when he was setting off on that water-party, just as we may be now, he little thought he was to be drown'd; and who knows what may happen to us this very day?”— "La, Mr. Croak, you're quite shocking; worse than a screech owl: I wonder you could join a party of pleasure."—"Pleasure, indeed!" cried Croak, with a sardonic grin, followed by a groan; "brother Tom lies dead at Calais, and one wouldn't give the job to strangers, you

know, being in one's own line."—" Is poor Tom gone at last? you used to call him Silly Tom, didn't you?" -"No," said Croak, surlily; "I always call'd him Tom Fool."-"Well, but he has left you and George something, hasn't he?"-"Yes," replied the undertaker, giving his lower jaw a still more lugubrious expansion, "he has bequeathed to one of us the payment of his debts, and to the other the care of his children.""Well, well, Mr. Croak, it ought, at all events, to make you happy, that you've now got a fair excuse for being miserable."

"I'll take your bundle, young gentleman," said the ship's steward, addressing a youth by my side, who, I found, was Mrs. Cleaver's son; and whose sallow complexion, spindle legs, lank hair, squinting eyes, and look of impudent cunning, proclaimed him, at the same time, a genuine son of the City.-"No, but you von't tho"," said the young Cockney, holding his bundle behind him; "I understands trap; I'm up to snuff and a pinch above it; I'm not to be diddled in that there vay. I s'pose you thought mother and I vas going to pay a crown a-piece for our dinner; but ve don't stand no nonsense, for I've got a cold beaf-steak and inguns in this here 'ankerchief, and that, vith a glass of brandy and vater cold, arout sugar, is vhat I call a prime spread." -"Bravo, Dick!" said the delighted mother, winking at her son; "if they can take you in, I give 'em leave. As I hope to be saved, here's Mr. Smart the tanner; well, now we shall have some fun." "Ladies," cried the facetious Mr. Smart, sliding forward his foot, and making a bow of mock ceremony, "your most hydrostatic and humblecumdumble."—"There you go, Mr. Smart, as