"Who

"No, sir, all the post-horses and post-chaises have been engaged for some days to start to-day for the Chester races. The gentleman and lady came up in a return chaise that went down again this morning quite early." "How are we to get on then to Warwick and Oxford ?" "The mail-coach will be up here by one o'clock, and the gentleman and lady can go on in that, sir." "But suppose it should be full?” “There arn't no danger of that, sir; the Chester races has given the travel a cant the other way, and there will be seats enough inside or out, sir," "This is very extraordinary, John; desire the landlord to step in; I will speak to him upon the subject." "There arn't no landlord, sir." "Then the landlady." "There arn't no landlady, sir," "No landlady!" "No, sir." "Who keeps the house?" "I and Betsy, sir.” is Betsy ?" "She is as was the barmaid, sir." "What is your name?" "John, sir." "Well, John, how does all this happen?" "Measter, sir, that is Measter White as was, died ten years agone, and left everything to missus, and missus when she died, six years agone, called me and Betsy to the bed-side, and told us we must keep up the Red Lion as well as we could till the youngest child came of age, take the same wages as we had in her lifetime, and pay for the schooling and bringing-up of the children, and put them all out and take care of the rest of the money till the youngest child came of age, and then let all be sold and divided. And I and Betsy has done so for six years, and has got eight years more to go afore the youngest child comes of age, and Measter John is of age next week, and he's a coming down here; but I and Betsy shall make him up his bill as if he had nothing to say about the property, as no more he has till the youngest child comes of age."

"You seem to be advancing in life as well as myself, John," said I; "how long have you been in the family?" "Twenty years with Measter as was, and ten years afore with a brother of his'n, and ten years since Measter's death. I've sarved the Whites forty years last Michaelmas-tide."

"Well, John, go now and make out my bill; and as we are strangers and hardly know what is proper to be done in the way of fees, put down for the servants at the foot of the bill whatever is proper for post-chaise people to pay who have been well taken care of during two days. It is the way they do in Liverpool. John returned soon after with the note of our expences. You have put nothing down for fees, John'; how is this?";

"I spoke to Betsy, sir, and Betsy says its a new way them 're Liverpool people has got, and that we had better not get into a new way; that the gentleman can give what he likes, or he can let it alone, but its better not to have anything to do with a new way." The mail-coach drove past at the time appointed, and proved the truth of John's prediction by being almost vacant. We parted good friends with the Red Lion. chose seats according to our wish, and have often since then adverted, with a pleasure not unmingled with respect, to the simple-minded but “good and faithful servants" who administer even yet as I trust to the credit and prosperity of the old inn at Namptwich.

SONG OF THE LIGHT.

BY ISAAC CLARKE PRAY.

I came from that God whose creating nod
Brought forth the heavens and earth,
And old Darkness fled from his chaos bed,
As I came with silent mirth;

And then there was lent to the firmament,

And to each created thing,

That white, brilliant glow, which will ever flow
From my waving, silver wing.

I first saw the feature of each living creature,
And beheld each form arise,

I first saw the moon, and the sun at noon,

Pass over upon the skies;

And all things were dark, till an expansive spark
Rolled off from my tireless pinion,

Displaying the world, as its lustre unfurled,

Till it shone a breathing dominion.

I fled from the cloud which on Sinai bowed,
When the Lord from heaven came,

And each Israelite stood mute at the sight,
When I gleamed within the flame-

Which rose in the smoke, when the thunder broke,
Like chariot sounds from afar,-

And with lightning flew through the sky's dark blue,
More swift than a falling star!

I went on before when on Jordan's shore
The sons of the prophets stood,

And the path I fanned, when Elijah's hand
Sundered the rolling flood.-

And I shone afar when Elijah's car

And horses of fire flew,

Which were darkly rolled in the whirlwind's fold,
Till light from my wings I threw.

When Belshazzar's lords, o'er his banquet boards,
Drank from Judah's cups divine,

I touched every face with a glowing grace,
And lighted the sparkling wine.
Then across the wall of that banquet hall,
While quivered Belshazzar's lip,

I flew with the light which dazzled his sight,
And wrote with my pinion's tip.

I went through the air, when the star was there,
Which shone when Jesus was born;

I stood o'er the place, while the Saviour's face
Beamed forth on that hallowed morn;

And I rose in view, and soft radiance threw
O'er that low but holy place,

When the shepherd band, at an angel's command,
Bowed over his infant face.

When wild, wanton Mirth came over the earth,

And the Son of God was slain,

While the startled sky as it rolled on high

Seemed dissevering with its pain;

And Darkness came out, and breathed round about,
With black and shame bearing mien,

I fled far away, encompassed by Day,
And left the hideous scene.

I flit o'er the bow, with a golden glow,

When the rain pours down with power,

And my wing shines under the storm-howling thunder,
And gleams in each cloud-built bower;

At the Morn's soft dawn, I dance o'er each lawn,
And the sky with purple clouded,

Diffusing rich gold as my wings unfold,

Which Darkness and Night have shrouded.

My pinions I sweep far down in the deep,

And silver the Ocean's floor,

Strewn o'er with men's bones and with precious stones—

Then upward to heaven I soar !

Then down on bright streams, with beautiful gleams,

And o'er the soft-flowing fountains,

1 lift my bright wing, and gild everythingTrees, hills, lakes, rivers, and mountains.

MONS. JOURDAIN.

LETTER S.

0. O. Il n'y a rien de plus juste. A. E. I. O. I. 0.
Cela est admirable. I. O. I. O.
BOUR. GENTILHOMME.

They of old times personified everything. Imagination was the principal faculty of the mind. Then there came a monster, the anti-sphynx, who attempted to show the why and the wherefore of each wonder, and put all these charming errors to flight. So that the sun was no longer Phoebus Apollo, the long-haired archer, but so much red-hot gas; and the moon was no longer sweet Diana, gazing in all the charms of her pale chaste beauty on the sleeping Endymion, but dirt and stones, like our planet. And Neptune became salt-water; Vulcan, anthracite coal; Venus, a name; Jupiter, nothing. This monster they named SCIENCE.

In spite of him, there remain many who see more in the green grass, in the brook, in the mountain, than mere chemical elements. That all-moving principle of life, that mystery which the ancients loved to symbolize by the graceful forms of the nymphs of wood and flood, is fast rooted in their fancy. They still believe in naiads and dryads, Phoebus and Diana, Venus and Vulcan.

And why should we break with all these

"Schone Wesen aus dem Fabelland?"

We can

Why banish this ideal life? In this let us still be pagans, and dream on. bow at the ancient shrines, although we may know to a mile the circumference of every planet, and be adepts in gases, stamens, and strata. Did I say ideal life? It is as real as science itself. As well might we describe bones, arteries, and muscles, and call these Man, neglecting the Power that moves all, as to be satisfied with mere astronomical calculations. We feel that this is not everything; that there is an intelligence, a life, unseen, like the intelligence, the life we feel within. It was this the ancients wished to realize and body forth, in each particular instance. Every wonder was to them a life-a God. Men are now so enamoured of the problems of science, and they call this fancy, and slight it. To them nature is dead. They dissect her, and look for her soul in the heavens. May we not worship both masters without sin? May not fancy be our Lares and Penates? She makes everything so life-like, so pleasant. The fire sparkles and smiles to us as we enter, and the easychair stretches out its arms. When she is near, the souls of the great departed step from the paper wrappings in which they lie embalmed, sit around us, and hold friendly converse. The driest abstractions, the most perverse and slippery formulas, the tritest lessons of morality, the most insipid details of common life, become attractive and fascinating under her hand. What were the "morals" of Æsop, without his fables? or the religion of Bunyan, without the pilgrim Christian? All Flaneurs are said to stroll along, with eyes and mouth wide opened until an adverse wall checks their career, and forces them to take another direction. I pay the penalty of belonging to the family. Here have I imperceptibly wandered on, until a dissertation on poetry stares me in the face, and bids me, in Whittington tones,

"Turn again Flaneur!
Turn again Flaneur!"

But how to get down to my subject, without bathos lamentable? tremendous! Pray heaven I may light on soft and easy heads!

The fall will be

This goddess Fancy, then, does not always confine her attentions to such lofty subjects. She has been known to descend from the heights of Parnassus and Olympus, and find excellent employment in a kitchen-garden. Hoffman, one of her wildest children, wrote a strange story about turnips and carrots, wherein he makes them carrot-men, ruled over by a mighty potentate, Daccus Carrota the first. To me the goddess never appeared but once, and that dimly, as lay stretched on the rack of the Latin Grammar.

When a boy, like most of my degree, I was doomed to undergo this ordeal. I would rather at any time have walked barefooted among the hot ploughshares of our Saxon ancestors, for there one had some chance of an escape; but in the labyrinth of roots, declensions, and conjugations, who could advance without stumbling over some unlucky termination? And if the feet were not singed for it, as in the olden time, another equally useful point d'appui was sure to suffer. So often had I experienced

the pain of entering blindfold on this fearful journey, that on the eve of our trials I endeavoured to raise the bandage from my eyes as far as possible; but after many nocturnal struggles, I found to my horror that I could only remember those places which had tripped me up; and the terrible conviction forced itself upon my mind, that progress for me in this path there was none, until my executioner should have turned my pygian epidermis into a road-map, and have engraved all my stopping places indelibly upon it. Gradually, in the stillness of night, my bodiless tormentors assumed a shape and form. It seemed as if the fairy who presided over grammar had touched my eye with the ointment which the Daoneshi of Scott gave the farmer's wife, and bestowed upon me the power of seeing, wherever they might be, the beings who owned the names which so long had puzzled me. Word after word expanded into substance, and abstractions grew into realities, assimilating themselves in appearance and character to the actors in common every-day life. This phantasy became at length so strong, that I was no sooner alone, than I fancied myself surrounded by these subtle wordy beings, as young and as active as when they sprang from the brain of the first grammarian, and watched with the greatest interest their manners and deportment toward each other.

The Letters I shall never forget. They had a life and identity of their own. Some were open-hearted, gentlemanlike fellows-others sour and surly. Poor I and J were bachelor brothers, who lived very amicably together. We always pitied them for looking so much alike, and often cursed them too, when we took one for the other. Some years ago, they say, it was impossible to distinguish them apart; but now, poor J is quite bent under, and crooked, while I remains pretty erect. This was very much the case with U and V; except that V was a little weazen-faced, thin-backed man. O was of course a stout Irish gentleman, noisy and vociferative; and X a great mathematician, seeking for the quadrature of the circle, or some mystery of the kind, but withal fond of a drop, for I have often seen his name on ale casks. G had something about him which we all disliked; and as to Z, no one could endure his crooked, zig-zag ways. Most of these literary men were old bachelors, and consequently possessed a double right to belong to the genus irritabile." Each one had his own peculiar whims and fidgets, which he cherished " as the apple of his eye." Very, very rarely were they seen together, arm in arm. Still no one could do without the other, and I was on good terms with them all, and longed to join the club; but their number was irrevocably fixed. They were determined, they said, to admit no more members. One night, however, I dreamed that I was the letter H. Imagine my joy at finding myself in the club. On a sudden a quarrel arose from some trifling cause. Mr. B I believe called Mr. X crook-shanks, which X retorted by an allusion to B's hump-back. We took sides, and a very acrimonious fight ensued. In the heat of the melée, Mr. L kicked poor H so violently in the back, that he broke it, and turned him into a K. I awoke with an exclamation of pain, and found my bed-fellow's knee actively engaged on my dorsal vertebræ. It seems that I had intruded on his side of the bed, and the young gentleman had taken that means to apprize me of my trespass.

To see life one must dive into the mysteries of the grammar. Mr. Substantive is a man of influence, with a host of poor dependent relations, the Adjectives and the Pronouns; great toadies both, always agreeing with him, and scarcely daring even to qualify his remarks. Of course he had to support his wife's cousins, the Adverbs, but they generally kept out of his sight. He married one of the Verbs, who was a pattern to all wives. She was always at home to wait upon him, and never contradicted. Let him assert what he pleased, she agreed with him, and expressed all his opinions. None of those bickerings which poison married life, were to be found in their ménage. The perfect concord which reigned there was refreshing and satisfactory in the highest degree. Mr. S had many brothers, who all chose spouses from the Verbs, so that the same harmony was everywhere. To be sure, irregular Substantives and irregular Verbs were to be found occasionally; but these deviations from rectitude, although they caused some annoyance at the time, exercised no corrupting influence. Even the old maids, or impersonal Verbs, who never could find a Substantive to take them, but were forever leading about lap-dogs that they called It," intermeddled rarely, were not at all bitter, nor over-much given to gossip. They were far more sociable and affable than that type of old bachelors, Mr. Ablative Absolute, a sturdy, independent fellow, who had an unpleasant, contradictory look about him, and expressed his opinions very decidedly, without paying the slightest attention to any one else. He could very well afford to do it, as he was perfectly independent. These constituted the aristocracy of the society: the Con

junctions, Prepositions, and Interjections, despite their sounding names, were mere mob, and not worth knowing. The residences of my friends were separated from each other by neat fences of commas and colons; and here and there might be seen pounds, or parentheses, as they called them, in which stray ideas and words which belonged somewhere else, were enclosed. A charming little people were they, these inhabitants of Grammar-land, and I formed many lasting acquaintances among them. I loved the letters, one and all, particularly the belles lettres. The dear creatures! I worship them still.

School days, like purgatory, are only for a time. At length I emerged from the dark overhanging forest of birch, bearing many wounds to record the fierce conflicts I had sustained, though unluckily for military renown they were all a tergo. From that day to this, these phantoms have waxed fainter and fainter; but I have never been able to obliterate them entirely. Even now, nouns, verbs, and prepositions appear to me to have an existence more real than ever had Adams, Valpy, or Lindley Murray. It was but the other day I heard a gentleman reply to the interrogation of a friend: "That question, sir, will die single." Whether the friend understood him or not, I do not know, nor did I care. To one well versed in Grammarye" "the words were instinct with life. A tableau rose before me in a moment. A tall, thin Mr. Question, with a lively, inquisitive cast of countenance, was eagerly pressing his suit at the feet of a lady, who eyed him coldly and repulsively, and was evidently on the point of refusing his offer. I easily recognised her as Miss Answer.

66

It is high time for me to drop the curtain, or I shall be taken by the initiated for some superlatively tedious adjective or adverb of quantity.

THE EDITOR'S STUDY.

"Tot homines-tot sententiæ.”

MANY a week ago we wrote the annexed story, which we now take pleasure, at the suggestion of a friend, in incorporating into this department. As the bagatelle has become known in certain quarters, and particularly among our American friends, where the sin of its author has been laid at other men's doors, for the first time we acknowledge its paternity-unwilling that any other person should suffer for so heinous an offence.

Ar Richmond resides a family well known to those who are in the habit of going there occasionally for an airing. The inn under the care of this family, for it cannot be said to be wholly under the control of the landlord, is a perfect pattern of neatness and elegance, and its popularity has continued unabated for many years. Among the chattels of the house is an old family clock, prized more for its age than its actual value, although it has told the hours for years and years with commendable fidelity. The clock is now situated in one of the private rooms of the house, and many a time has it been the theme of remark, in consequence of its solemnly antique exterior.

A few days since, about dusk, a couple of mad wags drove up to the door of the hotel, seated in a light and beautiful vehicle, drawn by a superb bay horse. They sprang out-ordered the ostler to pay every attention to the animal, and to stable him for the night. Entering the hotel, they tossed off a pint of wine, bemouthed a cigar, and directed the landlord to provide the best game supper in his power. There was a winsome look in the countenance of the elder-a bright sparkling in his eyes, which occasionally he half closed in a style that gave him the air of a