decided! But I am not the only marital sufferer by this poetic weeping and gnashing of teeth, doctor, for some foolish creature, frantic at the catastrophe which she herself had produced, advertises in the Times for the return of her husband to his distracted wife; and, as a lure to bring him back, actually signs herself Prose. Does that not speak volumes for the hecatomb of elegiacs sacrificed on the altar of a late, and, perhaps, fruitless contrition ?"

66 But, my dear sir, has Mrs. Watson's muse so melancholy a tendency? Is it more prone to Il Penseroso than L'Allegro? Is it always robed in crape, and reclining under cypress? What is your favourite style, madam? On what themes does your vivid imagination mostly delight to dwell-the pathetic or the humorous ?"

"The pathetic, undoubtedly. Have you never by chance met with the Reverie of Lethe; or, the Lover's Last Sleep,' by the authoress of the Dreamer,' the Anodyne,' the Poppy Worshipper,' &c. ?" "Did you write them ?"

"Yes, doctor, and many other equally affecting pieces."

66

Oh, my dear madam! oh, my dear sir! what a wife you have! what a wife you have! Let her write, Mr. Watson-let her write; it is a duty which you owe to your country; it is conferring a national benefit on it. Let her write then, I repeat, and calm down the turbulent times in which it is our misfortune to live. Let Mrs. Watson write, sir; for truly such strains as she utters must be as the universal lullaby of anarchy, riot, and revolution.'

Charlotte listened to these pernicious sentiments with the greatest regret and chagrin, for she pitied her poor guardian, having already discovered his amiability, and the domestic tyranny exercised over his pliant and yielding mind. Maria listened to them with sovereign contempt and disgust, suspecting that the arch-hypocrite was only exhibiting himself in another of the many parts which she had seen him play. Mrs. Watson listened to them with unmingled satisfaction and exultation, for she now had the highest medical authority to oppose to any and all of her husband's unreasonable and unfeeling expostulations. Martha and the cook listened to them with a secret and sullen determination to quit, rather than submit to such rubbish. Thomas listened to them with fear and trembling, feeling that, hard as submission would be, he could not give warning so long as Maria remained behind; while Mr. Watson listened to them with an overpowering sense of that consciousness of defeat which bows down the spirit when aware that the odds are in favour of its adversary, and yet the struggle for victory must be attempted, although foreshadowed with certain and inevitable failure.

Although Doctor Sanders did not prescribe the customary pill and potion to Mrs. Watson, still his bland flattery dropped as healingly on her ear and heart

As the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum,

and consequently she insisted on his daily visits until her shattered nerves were quite restored to their wonted tone; to which request he instantly acceded, and then pressing her hand patronisingly between his own, with a “God bless you!" and bowing ceremoniously to Charlotte, he signified a wish for a few moments' private conversation with Mr.

Watson, who, as soon as he had conducted him to another room, exclaimed:

"Doctor Sanders, you do not know Mrs. Watson-you have no idea of the romance of her disposition, nor to what an extent she carries it." "I do, my dear sir-I do. I perfectly understand her."

66

"Then why encourage her in her folly ?"

"I encourage her? My dear Mr. Watson, how you misconstrue my

motives."

"How misconstrue your motives, doctor? Have you not, within the last five minutes, agreed with her in everything, advising, nay insisting, on a blind obedience to her whims and caprices ?"

"I own the soft impeachment.

"Ah! if you had been aware how much and fondly I have yielded to her-for I love my wife, married her for love-you would not have thought of recommending aught so destructive of my peace and comfort."

"It was for your sake-for your happiness-that I acted thus; yes, inconsistent as my conduct may appear to you, I had, I seriously protest, only your interest in view."

"Well! never was an interest more strangely evinced! Persuade me, if you can, that you had my interest at heart when you so peremptorily commanded a sober-minded man never to contradict a vain, eccentric woman, whose silly conceit might, perhaps, be eradicated by proper firmness!"

"I had, my dear Mr. Watson-I had, believe me or not as you will. Celsus, Galen, Esculapius, the whole college of modern physicians, with Morison, the hygeist, to boot, would have advised as I have done. Opposition to a woman is the vital principle of her existence; cease to sustain her with that requisite pabulum, and, like the flower deprived of light and heat, she languishes and fades. Nothing but your mistaken resistance has kept alive the poetic ardour so long; every fresh objection to it was as the blast of the blowpipe to the lamp of the chemist or mineralogist-replenishing its wasted fires. Remember, that thunder never visits the island of St. Helena-and why? Because the winds blowing all one way there are no contrary currents of air, and hence no explosions."

"I see! I see! my dear doctor. Are you engaged to dinner to-day?" "Engaged to dinner to-day? Let me consider what is to-day?" "Thursday."

66

Thursday, Thursday, why-no, I cannot recollect that I exactly am, at present."

"Then pray do us the favour, sans cérémonie, of joining us at halfpast six."

"With pleasure. I have three or four consultations, but they will be over by then."

"You have a fine practice, of course, if that is the case; and yet the name is new to me.'

"In London, but not at Bath. Go there, if you wish to hear of me. I have only run up for a few of my noble patients."

"Well, do not forget; half-past six, 'exactitude à table, voila la règle de la maison,' doctor."

"I shall be punctual, never fear.

And do you not forget; no opposi

tion, no contradiction to madam; try that first, and if that does not cure her, make her jealous."

"What! Sophia! Poor thing, I dare not, for she would never survive that! Besides, with whom, doctor? I never glance at another woman." "The young lady staying with you. She may be a relation, though." "Oh, no; only my ward."

"Well, should we fail in the one scheme, we can have recourse to the other. A little whispering and a drive or two will do wonders—but it may not be required.'

"I hope not, doctor, I hope not; I never could bring myself to render Sophy miserable, even in jest."

"It would be for her ultimate happiness, my dear friend. But good morning at half-past six expect me.'

"I shall. Good morning."

TWO UNFORTUNATE INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MR. SINELUCK.

BY ONE CONSIDERABLY BELOW THE STATION OF A CABMAN.

MR. SINELUCK was the son of a respectable tailor, and during his youthful days was placed at a school where every branch of science was taught for the small sum of two guineas per annum. Now, to speak the plain truth, he was not by any means talented, and his appearance would never lead any one to imagine he was. His head was of a monstrous size, with a pair of full-moon cheeks, a moderately stout stomach, and a very thin pair of pins; in addition to having his head adorned with a plentiful crop of carrots, and scarce any eyebrows over his sleepy-looking eyes, giving him the appearance of a tortoiseshell-cat in the sunshine, a large nose, and a mouth for pastry, as his companions called it, caused him to have a comical-looking phiz.

After having passed the quarantine at school to which all new comers are subjected, his master endeavoured to draw him out by kindness, but unfortunately there was nothing to draw out, and, shocking to relate, he had to batter it in.

Now I am not in a position to state whether flagellation ever benefited him; he said not; but this much I can testify, that at the age of fourteen himself and the butcher's boy had a discussion as to the probable number of beans that made five, which said discussion concluded by our hero wending his way to his mother with one eye considerably inflamed.

1

On the following morning he might have been observed seated on the door-step, with an immense poultice over the spot, a monster piece of bread and treacle in his capacious paws, whilst his cheeks were slobbered with the treacle as if he had drawn all the figures in the six books of Euclid on that small place.

Although I have stated his father was a tailor, it is not to be inferred that his clothes were à la mode au contraire; they had the appearance of having been cut with some similar instrument to a hand-saw; and when his hair was plastered with some vile pomade he looked like what he

really was a snob in embryo. He was taken into his father's business; and now let us leave him to thrive amongst the cabbage, leading a sluggish life, and like them leaving a track behind only supposed in this instance to be treacle, whilst we turn our attention to a far different individual.

I have read somewhere of a person called Cupid; don't know myself what trade he may be, but certainly cannot imagine him to be a tailor, as all the portraits, statues, and carvings I have ever seen make himwhat?-don't wink-naked! Now really, if he be a tailor, he ought to make himself some kind of garment. Should recommend a 66 rum 'un to go," with brass buttons; but don't want to dictate to the little urchin, if he would only cover himself with something or other.

Now to our hero. When he became a man and put away childish things-mind, I don't mean to say he left off bread and treacle-but when he arrived at the age of twenty, he was dining in the little front parlour (nothing extraordinary in that), but his face was very red with the exertion, and having sucked the last lot of gravy off his knife, he repaired to make his toilet, or, as he termed it, "to clean," as he was going to a friend's house, and then was to accompany him to the theatre. Having cleaned up, he was standing at the window, rolling his huge tongue round his cheeks, clearing away remnants of dinner, when a young damsel, whose ruddy cheeks But stop-we left Cupid standing in

the cold.

It so happened that that individual (Cupid, I mean) had strayed down Corduroy-alley on that afternoon, and had actually presumed to enter the parlour of our hero, and eventually his breast.

Now the young damsel chanced to catch the eye of our hero, or his head-not sure which. However, the ruddy cheeks so captivated him that he actually blushed, and it so well matched his hair, that instead of feeling the pure flame he seemed all in a blaze. Reader, he was in love.

Any individual passing that way might have seen him rushing after the young lady, whilst his long arms and red paws gave him the appearance of having two pump-handles with the same number of pieces of raw beef attached to them. When he overtook her he described sundry circles around her, looked in her face, whilst his own resembled that of a jemmy -translated, means sheep's head.

"You haven't lost anything, have you?" said she.

Such an opportunity was not to be thrown away; and after lessening the radii of his circles he found himself conducting the damsel home, and when he had made arrangements for seeing her again, he returned a happy man.

On his way to his friend's house he invested in two Havannah cigars, and a few hours afterwards he was journeying towards one of the minor theatres, where the price of admission was threepence; in fact, the drama was a favourite amusement of his. They had nearly reached the place, when it occurred to him he would light his cigar, and repaired under a doorway to accomplish the same, when, horesco referens, some young sinners had so irritated the old lady by continually ringing at her bell, that she had come to the conclusion to sit at her window with a bucket of slops ready for any unfortunate offender.

Natural enough she imagined, on seeing a youth like our hero approaching, that it must be for the same object, and the crack of his fusee was no sooner heard, than, imagining that they had added crackers to the previous sport, she capsized the pail on our worthy hero.

How he bellowed, roared, and even swore; tugged at his red hair, spit, splurted; called her beldame, brute, and kicked up devil's delight outside until a mob was collected. He told his tale-got laughed at. One said his hair would not want pomade for a month-another, that his mother would not know him. One said sarved him right-another advised him to tell his mother to "chain up Ugly." Finding no sympathy there, he turned tail and ran, amidst a shouting and yelling unequalled by any Red

Indian tribe.

An hour after, he was gently slumbering, dreaming about a young damsel with a cigar in her mouth, an old woman with a pail, and the ballet-girl at the Royal Slum Theatre.

The next morning he was up at the usual hour, with scarce any trace of his night's adventure. He longed for six o'clock to come, that he might visit his lady-love, that being the appointed hour. It is true that he put the clock on; but, when he got outside, the church hour showed him plainly that time travelled no faster with the wings of love than he did with the wand of death.

Finally it did strike six. Out he came. His thin legs never carried him so fast over the pavement of Corduroy-alley as they did on this occasion; and as the bell chimed the half-hour, rat-tat-tat went the knocker of Miss Dorothy Chit's door.

Circumstances were against him. An old flame of hers was there, but she had discarded him on account of having expressed himself too warmly on the beauty of a Miss Sarah Grubbs. However, he had come with the intention of pacifying her, when the rat-tat told him what game was up, and he determined to see the fun.

Miss Dorothy ran down, let him in, and gave him to understand he must not mind the gentleman up-stairs. Our hero seated himself on a stool at the feet of Miss Dorothy, whilst his companion amused himself by making uncharitable remarks on both; but getting tired of this fun, he playfully asked for a kiss, and stooping to steal one, he saw the heavy hand of Miss Chit raised, when, bobbing in time, our hero received what is commonly called a back-hander, which completely floored him, whilst Mr. John ran down the stairs, and just met the young lady's uncle outside.

"You had better go up to your niece; there is a hulking great fellow with her all alone," said he.

Uncle stopped to hear no more; five leaps brought him up-stairs, where he found his niece crying; and our hero the length of a looby in the same position he had been knocked by Miss Chits.

In a towering rage he caught hold of poor Mr. Sineluck, and applied his toe to an interesting portion of our friend's body, which sent him flying down stairs.

He never ceased running until safely ensconced in his own house, and from that day to this he has never dared face a lady; in fact, he is a miserable man, and the only consolation he finds is in taking a philosophical view of the case, by saying it might have been worse.