coach, and abandoned himself to fate, as a child, a mother, a bandbox, and a parasol became his fellow-passengers.

The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant; the little dear mistook Minns for its other parent, and screamed to embrace him.

"Be quiet, dear," said the mamma, restraining the impetuosity of the darling, whose little fat legs were kicking and stamping, and twining themselves into the most complicated forms, in an ecstasy of impatience. "Be quiet, dear, that's not your papa."

"Thank Heaven I am not"-thought Minns, as the first gleam of pleasure he had experienced that morning shone like a meteor through his wretchedness.

Playfulness was agreeably mingled with affection in the disposition of the boy. When satisfied that Mr. Minns was not his parent, he endeavored to attract his notice by scraping his drab trousers with his dirty shoes, poking his chest with his mamma's parasol, and other nameless endearments peculiar to infancy, with which he beguiled the tediousness of the ride, apparently very much to his own satisfaction.

The

When the unfortunate gentleman arrived at the swan, he found to his great dismay, that it was a quarter past five. white house, the stables, the "Beware of the Dog"-every landmark was passed, with a rapidity not unusual to a gentleman of a certain age when too late for dinner. After the lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Minns found himself opposite a yellow brick house with a green door, brass knocker and door-plate, green window frames and ditto railings, with "a garden" in front. His knock at the door was answered by a stumpy boy, in drab livery, cotton stockings and high-lows, who, after hang ing his hat on one of the dozen brass pegs which ornamented the passage, denominated by courtesy "The Hall," ushered him into a front drawing-room commanding a very extensive view of the backs of the neighboring houses. The usual ceremony of introduction, and so forth, over, Mr. Minns took his seat, not a little agitated at finding that he was the last comer, and, somehow or other, the Lion of about a dozen people, sitting together in a small drawing-room, getting rid of that most tedious of all time, the time preceding dinner.

The ceremony of introduction being over, dinner was announced, and down stairs the party proceeded accordinglyMr. Minns escorting Mrs. Budden as far as the drawing-room de or, but being prevented, by the narrowness of the staircase,

from extending his gallantry any farther. The dir Ler passed off as such dinners usually do. Ever and anon amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the hum of conversation, Mr. B.'s voice might be heard, asking a friend to take wine, and assuring him he was glad to see him; and a great deal of by-play took place between Mrs. B. and the servants, respecting the removal of the dishes, during which her countenance assumed all the variations of a weather-glass, from "stormy” to “setfair."

Upon the dessert and wine being placed on the table, the servant, in compliance with a significant look from Mrs. B. brought down "Master Alexander," habited in a sky-blue suit with silver buttons, and with hair of nearly the same color as the metal. After sundry praises from his mother, and various admonitions as to his behaviour from his Pa, he was introduced to his godfather.

"Well, my little fellow-you are a fine boy, ain't you?" said Mr. Minns, as happy as a tomtit on birdlime.

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Eight, next We'nsday. How old are you?”

"Alexander," interrupted his mother, "how dare you ask Mr. Minns how old he is!"

"He asked me how old I was," said the precocious child, to whom Minns had from that moment internally resolved he never would bequeath one shilling. As soon as the titter occasioned by the observation had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, sitting at the bottom of the table, who during the whole of dinner had been endeavoring to obtain a listener to some stories about Sheridan, called out, with a very patronising air-" Alick, what part of speech is be?"

"A verb."

"That's a good boy," said Mrs. Budden with all a mother's pride. "Now, you know what a verb is?"

as,

"A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer; I am—I rule-I am ruled. Give me an apple, Ma." "I'll give you an apple," replied the man with the red whiskers, who was an established friend of the family, or in other words, was always invited by Mrs. Budden, whether Mr. Budden liked it or not,-"if you'll tell me what is the meaning of be."

"Be?" said the prodigy, after a little hesitation-"an insect that gathers honey."

"No, dear," frowned Mrs. Budden. "B double E is the substantive."

"I don't think he knows much yet about common substantives," said the smirking gentleman, who thought this an admirable opportunity for letting off a joke. "It's clear he's not very well acquainted with proper names. He! he he!"

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Gentlemen," called out Mr. Budden, from the end of the table, in a stentorian voice, and with a very important air, "will you have the goodness to charge your glasses? I have a toast to propose."

"Hear! hear!" cried the gentlemen, passing the decanters. After they had made the round of the table, Mr. Budden proceeded "Gentlemen; there is an individual present—”

"Hear! hear!" said the little man with red whiskers. "Pray be quiet, Jones," remonstrated Budden.

"I say, gentlemen, there is an individual present," resumed the host, "in whose society, I am sure we must take great delight-and-and-the conversation of that individual must have afforded to every one present, the utmost pleasure. Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual myself, and I perhaps ought to apologise for allowing any individual feelings of friendship and affection for the person I allude to, to induce me to venture to rise, to propose the health of that person-a person that I am sure- -that is to say, a person whose virtues must endear him to those who know him-and those who have not the pleasure of knowing him, cannot dislike him.”

"Hear! hear!" said the company, in a tone of encouragement and approval.

"Gentlemen," continued Budden, "my cousin is a man who -who is a relation of my own.' (Hear! hear!) Minns groaned audibly. "Who I am most happy to see here, and who, if he were not here, would certainly have deprived us of the great pleasure we all feel in seeing him. (Loud cries of hear.) Gentlemen, I feel that I have already trespassed on your attention for too long a time. With every feeling—of -with every sentiment of

-of

"Gratification"-suggested the friend of the family."

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Minns."

-Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr.

All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who by gulping down port wine at the imminent hazard of suffocation, endeavored to conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency world admit, he rose, but, as the newspapers some

times say in their reports, "we regret that we are quite unable to give even the substance of the honorable gentleman's obser vations." The words "present company-honor-present occa sion," and "great happiness"-heard occasionally, and repeated at intervals, with a countenance expressive of the utmost confusion and misery, convinced the company that he was making an excellent speech; and accordingly, on his resuming his seat, they cried "Bravo!" and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones, who had been long watching his opportunity, then darted up.

"Budden," said he, " will you allow me to propose a toast?" "Certainly," replied Budden.

"It has on several occasions, in various instances, under many circumstances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose a toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had the honor to be surrounded. I have sometimes, I will cheerfully own-for why should I deny it?-felt the overwhelming nature of the task I have undertaken, and my own utter incapability to do justice to the subject. If such have been my feelings, however, on former occasions, what must they be now-now-under the extraordinary circumstances in which I am placed. (Hear! hear!) To describe my feelings. accurately would be impossible; but I cannot give you a better idea of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which happens, oddly enough, to occur to my mind at the moment. On one occasion, when that truly great and illustrious man, Sheridan, was

Now, there is no knowing what new villainy in the form of a joke would have been heaped upon the memory of that very ill-used man, Mr. Sheridan, if the boy in drab had not at that moment entered the room in a breathless state, to report that, as it was a very wet night, the nine o'clock stage had come round to know whether there was anybody going to town, as, in that case, he (the nine o'clock) had room for one inside.

Mr. Minns started up; and, despite countless exclamations of surprise, and entreaties to stay, persisted in his determination to accept the vacant place. But the brown silk umbrella was nowhere to be found; and as the coachman couldn't wait, he drove back to the Swan, leaving word for Mr. Minns to 66 run round" and catch him. But as it did not occur to Mr. Minns for some ten minutes or so, that he had left the brown silk umbrella with the ivory handle in the other coach, coming down; and, moreover, as he was by no means remarkable for

speed, it is no matter of surprise that when he accomplished the feat of "running round to the Swan, the coach—the last coach-had gone without him.

It was somewhere about three o'clock in the morning, when Mr. Augustus Minns knocked feebly at the street door of his lodgings in Tavistock-street, cold, wet, cross, and miserable. He made his will next morning, and his professional man informs us, in that strict confidence in which we inform the public, that neither the name of Mr. Octavius Budden, nor of Mrs. Amelia Budden, nor of Master Alexander Augustus Budder, appears therein.

THANK GOD FOR SUMMER.-ELIZA COOK.

I loved the Winter once with all my soul,

And longed for snow-storms, hail and mantled skies;
And sang their praises in as gay a troll

As Troubadours have poured to Beauty's eyes.

I deemed the hard, black frost a pleasant thing,
For logs blazed high, and horses' hoofs rung out;
And wild birds came with tame and gentle wing
To eat the bread my young hand flung about.

But I have walked into the world since then,

And seen the bitter work that cold can do-
Where the grim Ice King levels babes and men
With bloodless spear, that pierces through and through.

I know now, there are those who sink and lie
Upon a stone bed at the dead of night,

I know the roofless and unfed must die,
When even lips at Plenty's feast turn white.

And now whene'er I hear the cuckoo's song
In budding woods, I bless the joyous comer;
While my heart runs a cadence in a throng

Of hopeful notes, that say "Thank God for Summer!'

I've learnt that sunshine bringeth more than flowers,
And fruits, and forest leaves to cheer the earth;
For I have seen sad spirits, like dark bowers,
Light up beneath it with a grateful mirth.

The aged limbs that quiver in their task,

Of dragging life on, when the north winds goad

Taste once again contentment, as they bask

In the straight beams that warm their churchyard road.