A final word or two I'll just indite,

Which right well fit what I'm pleased to write.
When Cavil waited on the Widow Bland
With letter and with settlement in hand,
She read Sir Solo's nonsense, and she sigh'd;
Then sweetly said, just laying it aside,

(The world's experience such precaution breeds,)
The words are fair-now let me see the deeds.'
No. VIII.

'I've been waiting here this hour, sir,' said a little cross Toad, looking as sour as a crab on the 'apple of her eye.'

My dear creature, I beg you a thousand pardons,' replied her devoted lover; but unless I had borrowed sham-pinions (champignons), I could not have flown to the foot of your toad-stool sooner. The fact is-'

'The fact is, sir,' interrupted his tender inamorata, 'you've been philandering.'

Upon my veracity you do my affection an injury,' said the lover, laying his hand upon his heart, or rather the place formerly occupied by that muscle; for he had already bestowed it on the amiable object of his attachment. 'Oh! Toadalinda, you little know what I feel!' and he fumbled in his coat-pocket for his snuff-box; for he was one of those valuable friends who are always ready at a pinch. The rains fell like a deluge, and, fearful lest the tender flame of pure love should be extinguished by the inundation, I tarried on my way to purchase a Macintosh.'

'Ah! you have always some excuse for your conduct,' cried his lady. The other night you were detained at the club.'

And did you not then blame me for having soaked my clay too much? It was that very rebuke, Toadalinda, that induced me on this rainy night to make this purchase, that I might not again be in the same condition.'

'You're a rogue!'

And you're a beauty!' said the lover, as he imprinted a kiss upon her lips.

Done, do!' cried Toadalinda; 'I'll tell my ma,'-see if I don't.'

VOL. VIII.

42

'And I'm quite sure your ma' will not mar our hopes,' replied the lover; for, though she is an affectionate wife, I feel confident, I'm above par in her estimation.'

'Dear me! see how you've creased my sleeves. What will my parent say?'

'Say?' rejoined the lover.

Why, when she sees your dress, she'll

say she sees my love in-creases, to be sure!'

And call you a puppy-'

'No; for puppies are not fond of muslin, and I am,-when it adorns the fair proportions of Toadalinda!"

'Oh! you flatterer-'

'No! I speak the truth, though I see you through love's spectacles.' 'Does love wear spectacles?'

'Yes, and makes them too. Look at the rejected or the jealous lov er, are they not a pair of spectacles? But let us not waste the precious moments, Toadalinda. I've come to invite you to a hop.'

A hop! Oh! delightful!'

'Yes, in Bogland Marsh. I've succeeded in obtaining two tickets from the Lady Patroness. I assure you it will be quite a crack affair. Jack-o-lantern illuminates on the occasion.'

'Gemini! how kind of you-'

'Yes; and I think we shall shine too, as the brass candlestick said to the new saucepan; for few can shake a toe better than your devoted; and you, my beloved, are perfect in the figure in more senses than But come along!'

one.

The appeased and delighted Toadalinda put her arm within her lov er's, while he held an expanded toad-stool over her head to shelter her from the drizzling rain, and away they trotted to the scene of festivity, without waiting to partake of any refreshment; for, as the lover jocosely expressed himself, 'they were sure of a little wet upon the road!'

A FRIENDLY BET.

BY THE AUTHOR OF HOURS IN HINDOSTAN.'

I WAS dining at Mr. -'s, one of the best dinner-giving civilians in Calcutta. We had drank a large portion of loll shrob, and were freely indulging in our hookahs, which bubbled under the table, and behind our chairs. We had talked over all the local news, and had canvassed the affairs of Europe; in a word, we had gone through all the routine of an Indian dinner, which I can no better describe than by stating it to be a regular struggle to forget the misery of the climate, an attempt to overcome fatigue and ill health by luxurious feasting. The ice, which I must confess is one of the best things in Bengal, had cooled our parched lips; Colonel T had made several matches for the next races; and all seemed well pleased, save and except our entertainer, who was looking sad and gloomy. The cause of his present sullen mood was simply this.

A pseudo wit, a young ensign, just arrived from Europe, was invited to's table. Unused to the pomposity of rich civilians, and fancying he could jest before a senior merchant,' he had actually thought fit to commence a series of puns, with that easy familiarity in

6

which witlings are sometimes pleased to indulge in Great Britain. The host fancied his dignity slighted by the overwhelming volubility of the young soldier; he therefore ventured to interfere, when lo! his military tormentor turned upon him, and uttered half-a-dozen witticisms at the expense of the old civilian. Astounded at the impudence of the almost boy who thus dared to beard him, Mr. paused for an instant. The ensign took advantage of the silence, and demanded Why Mr.'s' (his host's) 'coat was like a pine-apple in Hindostaunee?' None dared to answer, though all saw the point. 'Do you give it up? Well, then, I'll tell you. Because it's on an ass!' (aunanass.) Then jumping up, he declared that he had an engagement to fulfil, and went off laughing at the ill-concealed wrath of his entertainer, whose interference he chose thus publicly to reprove. Good-humour was again, however, ascending her throne; even Mr. had begun to regain his wonted composure; when suddenly fell from his chair in a fit. Every one rose.

Mr.

'What's the matter?' cried L. Our host has been seized with apoplexy,' cried Danvers.

'Not a bit. It's mere epilepsy,' chimed in Martin. - 'It's apoplexy, I tell you,' tartly replied the first speaker.

'It's epilepsy, for a hundred gold mohurs.'-'Done,' shouted Danvers; 'done for a hundred.'

'By Heavens, he's dying!' exclaimed Atkins; 'he 's turning black in the face. He's dying; give him air.' 'Not he,' said

T——, the resident

at

He is; he is even now in his death-struggle.'

'Pooh, pooh, he'll get over it. I'll bet a lack of rupees he recovers.''Done! done!' vociferated Atkins.

'What's the matter?' demanded the young ensign, who had suddenly re-entered.-'Here 's our host in a fit, a dangerous fit,' replied Captain Somers.

Untie his neckcloth,' suggested a medical man present, - 'untie his neckcloth; he is choking.'

'I bar that,' shouted Atkins; 'I've bet a lack he dies. I insist that no one shall touch him.'-'What! would you see a man die, and not try to avert it?'

'You 're really very wrong,' cried T, who had bet on our entertainer's recovery.-' Will you pay half-forfeit, and let the cravat be undone.'

'Not I,' said the civilian.-Then no man present shall touch him!' reiterated Atkins, putting himself in an attitude as if to keep assistance off.

'Well, then, let's see what a boy (as you were pleased to call me just now) can do.'

In another moment, Atkins was sprawling on the earth, and the fainting man's neckcloth suddenly undone. In five minutes more he was perfectly recovered.

Atkins sent the ensign a challenge, which his regiment took up, and sent the said Atkins to Coventry. He not only lost his lack of rupees, but also his best friend; for our host, who had hitherto been his benefactor and patron, never forgave him, but transferred his friendship to the young Ensign, who is now a Lieutenant-Colonel, thanks to his timely interference in preventing the probable catastrophe of this 'friendly bet.'

640

BY AN AMERICAN.

A FEW evenings since, after being present at a musical soirée at Lord's, as I was passing through King Street, St. James's, I heard two gentlemen conversing about the last ball at Almack's. I had often heard of Almack's, but I knew very little about it. Since then I have, from various sources, gathered the following information concerning this 'Temple of Fashion.'

It is a place where the very soul of enlightened society centres; where the most splendid and noble of the noblest aristocracy of the noblest and most enlightened nation of the earth assemble; where the spiritual and ineffable quintessence of the sublimate of fashion, refined from the clarified essence of wealth and rank, is collected in one hot and luminous focus. It is, in fact, to London what London is to England, what England is to the civilized world; a place, in short, to which the most ancient and honourable nobility look with reverence; nobility whose ancestry can be traced back in one bright chain of fox-hunters to the Norman Conquest, or the times of the Saxon Heptarchy; for this is an establishment to which age and old time must do honour; the very temple, and, as it were, the most holy place of fashion.

How many robes of passing splendour have swept over the threshold of this sacred tabernacle, none can tell. For nearly a century now its halls have been illustrated year after year with all that England could crowd together of brilliancy and opulence. Nothing low or vulgar has ever approached the hallowed verge of its consecrated precincts: Procul! O procul! este, profani!

There are mysteries here not to be gazed on by common eyes: a few starred sibyls (looking marvellously like English females, with the yellow hair of Saxony yet on their brows) have established certain unearthly rites and ceremonies in King Street, St. James, to the full understanding of which none but the titled elect are admitted; who are required to live sublimely apart from the rest of the world, from which they are separated by a barrier as broad and impassable as the Sahara Desert. The happy few, the priestesses of the temple, exercise an absolute authority over all its affairs, and are unbending in the execution of their decrees. The proudest and most antique titles cannot avail against them; for they, too, have received their authority from prescription. Their favour is worth more than all other honours, for it comprehends these, and unspeakably more. To be admitted to Almack's is to be above all solicitude for character, titles, or wealth; for admission here presupposes all these, and, moreover, is of itself so vast an elevation in public consideration, that all others may at once be lost sight of and forgotten.

The Ladies Patronesses are themselves beyond the reach of envy, and hold their authority by a tenure which can neither be disputed nor dissolved. They are the divinities to be propitiated by all who would meet with success or consideration in the fashionable world. Their power is suspended over the heads of all, and they can in one moment strike from the galaxy of fashion the brightest and loftiest

We are indebted for this sketch to a very interesting and startling work, which will appear in a few days, under the title of The Glory and the Shame of England.' -ED

luminary there; and even this all but the fallen will approve: for it serves only to refine the circles whence they have been taken.

When once precipitated from this eminence, nothing which they have can avail them in their disgrace; the trappings and stars of ancient nobility have lost their lustre, and reflect but a flickering ray, compared with the brilliant light and éclat issuing from the saloons of Almack's. These female divinities, who hold the scissors, and sometimes the thread of fate, designate those who are to succeed them in their sacred functions; and as one of their number is fading away from existence, they look for some happy mortal to take the sublime seat she is just about to exchange for the narrow house.' In short, when one of the six elderly duchesses, countesses, or marchionesses, happens to die, the remaining five fill up the void; and thus the priesthood, or rather the priestesshood, lives on in a sort of corporate immortality; and the long life of the establishment is made up of the old fragments of the lives of divers ancient females, who have been elevated to preside over this University of the West-End.

It cannot be said, indeed, that these appointments are always made without contention, rivalry, and heart-burnings. This would be too much to expect even of the divinities of Almack's enchanted halls; since the honour is so high, that none but the tamest and most ignoble spirits would be wanting in ambition to aspire to it. Where the fate of the present, and perhaps a succeeding generation, of fair ladies and dashing beaux is made subject to, and dependent on, the favour of a synod of six Ladies Patronesses, who would not wish to be a sharer in such fulness of power, and thus be placed be. yond all the evils of life?

When a seat becomes vacant by death, a struggle worthy of so great a prize commences; and among the remaining five bitterness and reviling do sometimes make their unholy way. One cannot give up the suit of a very dear friend,' whose face she has long hoped to see in effulgence and honour at the Board of Red Cloth.' Another has formed fond anticipations of seeing the companion of her early life raised to the sacred office which she herself now fills, and doing honour to the associates with whom she would then mingle. In short, each one has her antipathies and preferences, and is anxious to secure for her protégée the vacant seat whence originate suspicions and jealousies, rivalships and backbitings; whence come artifice and intrigue, and the marshalling of every motive of fear, interest, love, resentment, and ambition, that can possibly weigh upon the suffrages of those who are to decide. It would be unfair

to regard their deportment on these momentous occasions as indicating their general character. What though words of dark and dubious meaning do sometimes escape from their lips? and what though coarse epithets should, in moments of trial, be liberally applied to the characters of these staid and haughty regents? yet such are but occasional outpourings, and doubtless only introduced to fill up the vacancies and interstices of sublimer contemplations.

Of course, they who would insinuate that such contentions and rivalships do always secretly exist, but are never visible except on these great occasions, do so for their own unadvised foolhardiness and malice aforethought. These guardians of the sacredness of fashion's circle have enough to do in keeping perpetual vigils that none invade their halls who have not passed the purifying ordeal. To them