Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby | was forgotten; when, one mellow Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief and slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering through the village. He appeared to regard several houses attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, to eye the villagers wistfully as they returned from church, and then to pass some time in the churchyard, reading the tombstones. At length he found his way to the farm-house of Readymoney Jack; but paused ere he attempted the wicket, contemplating the picture of substantial independence before him. In the porch of the house sat Ready-money Jack, in his Sunday dress; with his hat upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his tankard before him, the monarch of all he surveyed. Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of poultry were heard from the wellstocked farm-yard; the bees hummed from their hives in the garden; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow; while the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant harvest. in the porch, and according to the good old Scottish song, 'taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.' The squire was struck by the contrast in appearance and fortunes of these early playmates. Ready-money Jack seated, in lordly state, surrounded by the good things of this life, with golden guineas hanging to his very watch-chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and walking-staff, lying on the ground beside him. The good squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. He cast about in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby in his native village. Honest Jack had already offered him a present shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets; but how to provide for his permanent maintenance was the question. Luckily, the squire bethought himself that the village school was without a teacher. A little further conversation convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as for anything else, and in a day or two he was seen swaying the rod of empire in the very school-house where he has often been horsed in the days of his boyhood. Here he has remained for several years, and, being honoured by the countenance of the squire, and the fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he has grown into much importance and consideration in the village. I am told, however, that he still shows now and then a degree of restless The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously towards the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder, but was immediately silenced by his master, who, taking his pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect the address of this equivocal personage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked out in gorgeous ap-ness, and a disposition to rove abroad again, and see a little parel; then cast a glance upon his own threadbare and starveling condition, and the scanty bundle which he held in his hand; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch to make it meet his receding waistband, and casting another look, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy yeoman, 'I suppose,' said he, Mr. Tibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmates?' ، The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, but acknowledged that he had no recollection of him. 'Like enough, like enough,' said the stranger, 'every body seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby! Why, no sure! it can't be Tom Slingsby!' ، Yes, but it is, though P replied the stranger, shaking his head. Ready-money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling; thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe of a giant, and slapping the other hand on a bench, Sit down there,' cried he, Tom Slingsby !' A long conversation ensued about old times, while Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer that the farmhouse afforded; for he was hungry as well as way-worn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pedestrian. The early playmates then talked over their subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but little to relate, and was never good at a long story. A prosperous life, passed at home, has little incident for narrative; it is only poor wretches, that are tossed about the world, that are the true heroes of story. Jack bad stuck by the paternal farm, followed the same plough that his forefathers had driven, and had waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As to Slingsby, he was an exemplification of the old proverb, a rolling stone gathers no moss.' He had sought his fortune about the world, without ever finding it, being a thing oftener found at home than abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, and had learnt a dozen different modes of making a living, but had found his way back to his native village rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled down to a scanty bundie. As luck would have it, the squire was passing by the farm-house that very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found the two schoolmates still gossiping more of the world; an inclination which seems particularly to haunt him about spring time. There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the vagrant humour, when once it has been fully indulged. Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I have more than once mused upon the picture presented by him and his schoolmate, Ready-money Jack, on their coming together again after so long a separation. It is difficult to determine between lots in life, where each is attended with its peculiar discontents. He who never leaves his home repines at his monotonous existence, and envies the traveller, whose life is a constant tissue of wonder and adventure; while he who is tossed about the world looks back with many a sigh to the safe and quiet shore which he has abandoned. I cannot help thinking, however, that the man that stays at home, and cultivates the comforts and pleasures daily springing up around him, stands the best chance for happiness. There is nothing so fascinating to a young mind as the idea of travelling; and there is very witchcraft in the old phrase found in every nursery tale, of going to seek one's fortune.' A continual change of place, and change of object, promises a continual succession of adventure and gratification of curiosity. But there is a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears its death in its very gratification. Curiosity languishes under repeated stimulants, novelties cease to excite surprise, until at length we cannot wonder even at a miracle. He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds too soon how different the distant scene becomes when visited. The smooth place roughens as he approaches; the wild place becomes tame and barren; the fairy tints that beguiled him on, still fly to the distant hill, or gather upon the land he has left behind, and every part of the landscape seems greener than the spot he stands on. BUMPER. When the English were Catholics, they usually drank the Pope's health, after dinner, in a full glass, To the good Father (Au bon Pere)-whence, by an easy corruption, comes our word bumper.-Grose's Dictionary. POETRY. "A GOVERNESS WANTED." OUR governess left us, dear brother, Paint in oils, sketch from nature correctly, And write German text and short-hand : She must sing with power, science, and sweetness, Yet for concerts must not sigh at allShe must dance with ethereal fleetness, Yet never must go to a ball. She must not have needy relations; Her dress must be tasteful, yet plain; She must point out each author's chief beauties; If she writes essays, odes, themes, and sonnets, If she wear none but deep cottage bonnets; If to mildness she add sense and spirit,- I love to reward modest merit, SECRET LOVE. WHY do I thus unconscious start So wildly, while she passes by? Why is it that my lips deny To breathe the wish my bosom feels, But fears, like me, her love to show. VARIETIES. THE RIVER SEVERN.-The name of the English river Severn means "Northern." The word is completely unaltered and preserved in the Russian language.-Booth's Analytical Dictionary. MODE OF INCREASING THE GROWTH OF POTATOES.The flowers being cut off as they appeared on the plants, the number of potatoes produced was much greater than where the blossoms had remained untouched. Early in October, the stems and leaves of the plants which had not borne flowers were strong and green; the others yellow, and in a state of decay. The plants which had been stripped of flowers, produced (on the same space of ground,) about four times the weight of large potatoes; very few small ones being found. Those on which flowers and fruit had been left, produced but a small number of middling-sized potatoes, with a great number of small ones, from the size of a common filbert to that of a walnut. BLUE STOCKINGS.—The appellation of " Blue-stocking" is understood to have originated in the dress of old Benjamin Stillingfleet (grandson of the bishop), as he used to appear at the parties of Mrs. Montagu, in Portman-square, London. He was jilted by a mistress, to whose remembrance he remained faithful; and in spite of a disappointment which he then deeply felt, remained to the last one of the most amiable of men and entertaining of companions. Mr. Stillingfleet almost always wore blue worsted stockings; and whenever he was absent from Mrs. Montagu's evening parties, as his conversation was very entertaining, the company used to say, "We can do nothing without the blue stockings," and by de grees the assemblies were called "blue-stocking clubs," and learned people blue-stockings. SENSITIVE NATURE OF VOLTAIRE'S MIND.—It is asserted by his biographers, that on every anniversary of the massacre of St. Barthélemi, Voltaire was seized with an involuntary shudder, which always brought on a periodical fever of fourand-twenty hours' duration; so great was the impression the idea of that horrible butchery had made on his mind. "This," wrote the Marquis de Vilette to Madame de Villevreille, in 1777," is a fact which hitherto I had obstinately disbelieved, but which I now attest, and which Voltaire's establishment has witnessed for the last five-and-twenty years." A LITERARY TASTE FAVOURABLE TO VIRTUE.—An attachment to literary pursuits-a desire for the acquisition of knowledge in general, will, for the most part, be found to coexist with a virtuous turn of mind. Every species of literary, as distinguished from scientific composition, is directly or indirectly didactic; for though vice may be propagated by books as well as virtue, there is no branch of literature of which this is the nature, though it may be the perversion; and he who has a relish for immoral productions, has not a taste for literature (any more than a merchant, in calculating his profits, has a turn for mathematics) but merely for literature so far as it is a means of pampering his debased propensities. A taste for literature, then, is in general a taste for the lessons of virtue. FUSELI AND SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE.-In Allan Cun ningham's life of Sir Thomas Lawrence, is a curious passage relating to Fuseli.-"When he first saw my Satan," remarks Lawrence," he was nettled, and said, ' You borrowed the idea from me.In truth, I did take the idea from you,' I replied; but it was from your person, not from your painting-room.When we were all assembled at Stockport in Cheshire, you may remember how you stood on the high rock which over. looks the bay of Bristol, and gazed down upon the sea which rolled so magnificently below. You were in rapture; and while you were crying-Grand! grand! how grand! how terrific! you put yourself in a wild posture. I thought on the devil looking into the abyss, and took a slight sketch of you at the time here it is-my Satan's posture now, was yours then.'" LONDON: W. BRITTAIN, PATERNOSTER ROW. Edinburgh: JOHN MENZIES. Glasgow: D. BRYCE. Dublin: CURRY & Co. Printed by J. Rider, 14, Bartholomew Close, London. CONDUCTED BY JAMES GRANT, AUTHOR OF "RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS," "THE GREAT METROPOLIS," &c. AND FRANCIS ROSS, FORMERLY SOLE EDITOR OF THE JOURNAL. No. XXIX.-The Post- The Strike. A Tale of the Manufacturing Districts.-- ILLUSTRATIONS OF HUMANITY. No. XXIX. THE POSTMAN. THE Postman is a most important member of society. He is every morning of his life the messenger of good and evil to his fellow-subjects. Who shall compute the amount of misery and happiness with which that bundle of letters in his hand are charged? You see him hastily, for he does every thing in haste, whether it be to walk, talk, or deliver the letters with which he is intrusted; you see him hastily seize the knocker of the door, and give two lusty knocks. Little recks he of the contents of the folded sheet; otherwise he would have made an exception to his rule, and used the knocker with comparative gentleness. That letter which he delivered with the utmost carelessness, very possibly with something like rudeness, contains the death-warrant of a whole family's earthly hopes and happiness. It conveys to them intelligence of the decease of the husband and father, when in the prosecution, at a distance from home, of that calling by which he was enabled to support them in competence and comfort. Not only have they, in his death, lost the nearest and dearest relative they had on earth, but with that mournful event have vanished all their prospects of the means of subsistence for the future. A few minutes ago they dreamed of nothing but the uninterrupted enjoyment of all worldly good, so long as it should please Providence to permit them to remain in this world; now they have nothing before them but the horrors of want. A few minutes ago they were the happiest family on earth; now they are the most wretched. The house of joy has in one moment been turned into the house of sorrow: the fondest and most confident hopes have given place to the darkest and deepest despair. some absent relative? We write this at a distance from home, and experience at this moment more of the feeling than we are willing to express. To persons thus circumstanced, the appearance of the Postman is indeed a most momentous event. That letter in his hand will either scatter or confirm your worst fears-will either realise or disappoint your fondest hopes. The Postman, however, goes his daily round without any sense of all this. The good or the evil of which he is the messenger, the happiness or misery which follows his footsteps, never costs him a thought. He is intent only on the delivery of his letters in the shortest practicable period of time, and cares not, because he never thinks on the subject, what they may contain. He is not a moral agent in the matter; his duties are purely mechanical. He delivers his letters, and when the last one has passed into the hands of the party to whom it is directed, deems that his duties are done. THE INQUISITIVE GENTLEMAN. BY MISS MITFORD. ONE of the most remarkable instances that I know of that generally false theory, "the ruling passion," is my worthy friend Samuel Lynx, Esq. of Lynx Hall in this county commonly called the Inquisitive Gentleman. Never was cognomen better bestowed. Curiosity is, indeed, the master-principle of his mind, the life-blood of his existence, the main-spring of every movement. cient family;-the Lynxes of Lynx Hall, have amused Mr. Lynx is an old bachelor of large fortune and anthemselves with overlooking their neighbour's doings for many generations. He is tall, but loses something of his height by a constant habit of stooping; he carries his head projecting before his body-like one who has just proposed a question and is bending forward to receive an answer. A lady being asked, in his presence, what his Very different is the effect produced by the letter features indicated, replied with equal truth and politeness -a most inquiring mind. The cock-up of the nose, which the Postman delivers next door. His double which seems from the expansion and movement of the knock is heard, and the sound causes a mother's heart nostrils to be snuffing up intelligence, as a hound does to leap with exulting expectation. "It is a letter the air of a dewy morning, when the scent lies well; the from a beloved and long-silent son." A sister rushes draw-down of the half-open mouth gaping for news; the to the door, snatches the folded sheet from the post-sparkling eyes, half shut, yet full of curious meanings; erected chin; the wrinkled forehead; the little eager man's hand;-the mother is right. The letter is from the strong red eye-brows, protruded like a cat's whiskers the child of her bosom. The father or mother reads or a snail's horns, feelers, which actually seem sentient; it aloud. Every ear hangs on the lips of the reader. every line and lineament of that remarkable physiognomy The son and brother is well; his letter is instinct betrays a craving for information. He is exceedingly with filial and fraternal affection. Every countenance short-sighted; and that defect also, although, on the first of the listening group is radiant with happiness; you blush of the business, it might seem a disadvantage, consee the gleam of gladness in every eye. Who could duces materially to the great purpose of his existencebelieve that the few lines traced on that sheet of paper, infirmity, our "curious impertinent" can stare at things the knowledge of other people's affairs. Sheltered by that could contain in them the element of such unspeakable and persons through his glasses, in a manner which even bliss to a whole family? he would hardly venture with bare eyes. He can peep and pry and feel and handle with an effrontery, never equalled by an unspectacled man. He can ask the name and parentage of every body in company, toss over every book, examine every note and card, pull the flowers from the vases, take the pictures from the walls, the embroidery from your work-box, and the shawl off your back; and all with the most provoking composure, and just as if he was doing the right thing. Which of our readers does not know from experience, what it is to feel a consuming anxiety to hear the Postman's knock at the door, when a letter from some beloved friend is expected? Which of them does not know what it is to feel the indescribable suspense, that vibrating of the mind between hope and fear, which is caused by the mysterious silence of The propensity seems to have been born with him. He pants after secrets, just as magpies thieve, and monkeys break china, by instinct. His nurse reports of him that he came peeping into the world; that his very cries were interrogative, and his experiments in physics so many and so dangerous, that before he was four years old, she was fain to tie his hands behind him, and to lock him into a dark closet to keep him out of harm's way, chiefly moved thereto by his ripping open his own bed, to see what it was made of, and throwing her best gown into the fire, to try if silk would burn. Then he was sent to school, a preparatory school, and very soon sent home again for incorrigible mischief. Then a private tutor undertook to instruct him on the interrogative system, which in his case was obliged to be reversed, he asking the questions, and his tutor delivering the responses-a new cast of the didactic drama. Then he went to college; then sallied forth to ask his way over Europe; then came back to fix on his paternal estate of Lynx Hall, where, except occasional short absences, he hath sojourned ever since, signalizing himself at every stage of existence, from childhood to youth, from youth to manhood, from manhood to age, by the most lively and persevering curiosity, and by no other quality under heaven. he was very nearly drawn into wedlock by the sedulous attention he paid to a young lady, whom he suspected of carrying on a clandestine correspondence. The mother scolded; the father stormed; the brother talked of satisfaction; and poor Mr. Lynx, who is as pacific as a quaker, must certainly have been married, had not the fair nymph eloped to Gretna Green, the day before that appointed for the nuptials. So he got off for the fright. He hath undergone at least twenty challenges for different sorts of impertinences; hath had his ears boxed and his nose pulled; hath been knocked down and horse whipped; all which casualties he bears with an exemplary patience. He hath been mistaken for a thief, a bailiff, and a spy, abroad and at home; and once, on the Sussex coast, was so inquisitive respecting the moon, and the tide, and the free trade, that he was taken at one and the same time, by the different parties, for a smuggler and a revenue officer, and narrowly escaped being shot in the one capacity, and hanged in the other. The evils which he inflicts bear a tolerable fair proportion to those which he endures. He is simply the most disagreeable man that lives. There is a curious infelicity about him which carries him straight to the wrong point. If there be such a thing as a sore subject, he is sure to Mere quiet guessing is not active enough for his stirring press on it-to question a parvenu on his pedigree, a conand searching faculty. He delights in the difficult, the demned author on his tragedy, and an old maid on her age. inaccessible, the hidden, the obscure. A forbidden place Besides these iniquities, his want of sympathy is so open is his paradise; a board announcing "steel-traps and and undisguised, that the most loquacious egotist loses the spring-guns" will draw him over a wall twelve feet high; pleasure of talking of himself, in the evident absence of he would undoubtedly have entered Blue Beard's closet, all feeling or interest on the part of the hearer. His conalthough certain to share the fate of his wives; and has versation is always more like a judicial examination than had serious thoughts of visiting Constantinople, just to any species of social intercourse, and often like the worst indulge his taste by stealing a glimpse of the secluded sort of examination-cross-questioning. He demands, beauties of the seraglio-an adventure which would pro- like a secretary to the inquisition, and you answer (for bably have had no very fortunate termination. Indeed you must answer) like a prisoner on the rack. Then the our modern peeping Tom has encountered several mishaps man is so mischievous! He rattles old china, marches at home in the course of his long search after knowledge: over flower-beds, and paws Urling's lace. The people at and has generally had the very great aggravation of being museums and exhibitions dread the sight of him. He altogether unpitied. Once as he was taking a morning cannot keep his hands from moths and humming-birds; ride, in trying to look over a wall a little higher than his and once poked up a rattle-snake to discover whether the head, he raised himself in the saddle, and the sagacious joints of the tail did actually produce the sound from quadruped, his grey poney, an animal of a most accommo- which it derives that name; by which attack that pugnadating and congenial spirit, having been for that day dis- cious reptile was excited to such wrath, that two ladies carded in favour of a younger, gayer, less inquisitive, and fell into hysterics. He nearly demolished the Invisible less patient steed, the new beast sprang on and left him Girl by too rough an inquiry into her existence, and got sprawling. Once when, in imitation of Ranger, he had turned out of the automaton chess-player's territories, in perched himself on the topmost round of a ladder, which consequence of an assault which he committed on that inhe found placed beneath a window in Upper Berkeley genious piece of mechanism. To do Mr. Lynx justice, street, he lost his balance, and was pitched suddenly in | I must admit that he sometimes does a little good to all through the sash, to the unspeakable consternation of a this harm. He has, by design or accident, in the ordihouse-maid, who was rubbing the panes within side. Once nary exercise of his vocation, hindered two or three duels, he was tossed into an open carriage, full of ladies, as he prevented a good deal of poaching and pilfering, and stood up to look at them from the box of a stage-coach. even saved his own house, and the houses of his neighAnd once he got a grievous knock from a chimney-bours from divers burglaries; his vigilance being, at least, sweeper, as he poked his head into the chimney to watch as useful in that way, as a watchman or an alarm-bell. his operations. He has been blown up by a rocket; carried away in the strings of a balloon; all but drowned in a diving-bell; lost a finger in a mashing-mill; and broken a great toe by drawing a lead pin-cushion off a worktable. N B.-This last mentioned exploit spoilt my worthy old friend, Miss Sewaway, a beautiful piece of fine netting, “worth," as she pathetically remarked, "a thousand toes." These are only a few of the bodily mischiefs that have befallen poor Mr. Lynx. The moral scrapes, into which his unlucky propensity has brought him, are past all count. In his youth, although so little amorous that, I have reason to think, the formidable interrogatory which is emphatically called "popping the question," is actually the only question which he has never popped;-in his youth, He makes but small use of his intelligence, however come by, which is perhaps occasioned by a distinctive difference of sex. A woman only half as curious would be prodigal of information-a spendthrift of news. Mr. Lynx hoards his like a miser. Possession is his idol. If I knew any thing which I particularly wished the world not to know, I should certainly tell it to him at once. A secret with him is as safe as money in the bank; the only peril lies in the ardour of his pursuit. One reason for his great discretion seems to me to be his total incapacity of speech in any other than the interrogative mood. His very tone is set to that key. I doubt if he can drop his voice at the end of a sentence, or knows the meaning of a full stop. Who? What? When? Where? How? are his catchwords; and Eh? his only interjection. Children |