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De Dunstanville, a family that came over with William the Conqueror; my portion was immense: millions! and see what he does with it,-pays enormous sums to these people to keep me here. And why I'll tell you, ma'am, if you don't happen to know, though my case has been published in all the papers. Because, ma'am, he has got another wife, and wishes me to remain in ignorance of the fact. But a little bird, you know, ma'am,-a little bird. Yes, yes, I've found it all out, and to-morrow I mean to see Sir Herbert Jenner, and prosecute them all for bigamy. Pray, don't let me detain you any longer. Just one word more; you will scarcely credit it! When they sent me my dinner the mutton was cold and underdone, and there was not a drop of gravy! We shall see what Sir Herbert will say to that! Good evening, ma'am, good evening!"

"Good evening." Yes. We also shortly became desirous of saying to Dr. and Mrs. F., for the day was drawing in, and our home was distant. "Oh, don't think of going away," said Dr. F. "Stay here, we can give you a bed. We had no idea you meant to leave us to-night. Besides, it is too late to go: the last omnibus has past."

Very hospitable words these, but words by no means welcome. My wife pressed my arm; I knew she would rather walk all the way back than sleep at W-House.

"We are expected at home,” I replied, "and must take our chance of a conveyance."

A little more entreaty followed, but finding we were not to be moved, Mrs. F. shook hands, and accompanied by Dr. F. and “Delirium Tremens," who seemed to have taken a great fancy to my wife, we took our way along the green lane to the public road. By accident, or because it was Sunday night, an extra omnibus went by: there was room in it; the fare of course was double, but we were carried to the point from which we set out. As we drew the curtains that night, my wife observed: "Thank Heaven, we are here at last! I should have died of fright if I had gone to bed at W- House. It has been a very odd kind of day: not altogether disagreeable, but, oh, I don't want to go there again."

We never did go,-and I trust we never may.

MAY.

O lovely May is come at last
With flowers of every hue,
The dreary winter's gone and past,
And skies are soft and blue;
And o'er the freshly-green young leaves
Shadow and sunlight plays-

Oh, what deep joy the heart receives
In these bright summer days.

All nature now is gay and bright,
And everywhere I go

Fair flowers in azure, pink, and white,

In silent beauty grow!

And while the broad and dreamy river

Ripples and glides along,

Methinks it whispers, "welcome ever!”
To Summer in its song.

G. F. P.

A TRUE STORY.

ABOUT the beginning of the present century, a very clever cook, named Baleine, from a remote village of Brittany, came to Paris, and set up a little eating-house at the corner of the Rue de Mandar. This eating-house was called after the Rocher-de-Cancale, that region so deservedly famous for its oysters. It was a very humble affair; but its keeper's culinary skill was so great that he soon attracted the attention of the greatest gourmands of the capital. Gouffé, Grimaud, Brillat-Savarin, Laujon, Désaugiers, and the rest of that group of joyous, witty, and illustrious epicures of whom they were the leaders, became his constant customers. These renowned wits and high livers had founded a club, called "The Modern Cellar," which met once a week to dine on the most luxurious fare and the most delicate wines, seasoning their repast with the Attic salt of their brilliant sallies. "The Modern Cellar" chose the Rocher-de-Cancale for its head-quarters; and Baleine's fortune was made from that day.

Baleine, now a prosperous and thriving man, soon removed into more central quarters, where his dining-rooms were fitted up with all the convenient and handsome appliances of a fashionable restaurant. He sent for a young niece of his from the country, to preside at the counter of his establishment, a very handsome girl, name Perrette, whose charms, added to those of her uncle's cash-box, soon drew around her a host of suitors of a station far above her own. One of these, a young man of rank and fortune, contrived to win the good graces of the uncle, and, having warmly urged his suit, was accepted by him; whereupon the prosperous cook lost no time in announcing to his pretty niece that she was shortly to become Madame Thibaudaud, and would have a beautiful house, a carriage, diamonds, cashmere shawls, and a score of servants.

"But I assure you I am in no haste to marry, dear uncle,” replied Perette; "I am very happy with you; I detest Monsieur Thibaudaud, and I want none of the fine things you promise me."

"And what should she want with them?" interrupted Baleine's head cook, a handsome young fellow, as merry as a cricket, the life and soul of the establishment, who worked away all day long over his furnaces as though his life depended on his activity, and was always ready for a dance or a frolic in the evening. "Ma'amzelle Perrette is quite good-looking enough without diamonds," he continued, to the great annoyance of his chief.

"Fricoteau," said Baleine, with calm dignity, "no one asked for your opinion; you may go down to the kitchen, mon garçon!" upon which Fricoteau disappeared.

"Perrette," continued Baleine, sternly, "I love you as my own daughter. I have set my heart on your being a lady. Young women have nothing to do in the choice of a husband; and you will marry Monsieur Shibaudaud." Baleine looked so very severe, with his round face red and excited, and his spectacles pushed up into his white hair, that poor Perrette began to cry. "I hate Monsieur Thibaudaud!" she exclaimed, sobbing. "If you love me, dear uncle, send Monsieur Thibaudaud about his business, and let me always live with you!"

"A very pretty thing for a pretty girl to do," replied Baleine, "live all her life with her old uncle, indeed! No, minx, no, I love you too well to be deceived in this way. Perrette, your affections are engaged to another!"

"And if they are, where's the harm?" again interrupted Fricoteau, whose head once more suddenly emerged from the doorway.

"Go to your saucepans, Fricoteau!" thundered Baleine, growing redder han ever. "And now, disobedient child, confess to me to whom you have given your heart?"

"Fricoteau took it, uncle," replied the handsome peasant girl, half crying and half laughing.

"My cook!" cried the restaurateur, in a tragic tone. shall my neice be called Fricoteau !"

"Never, no never,

"I don't see why not," said that personage from the stair-way. "Fricoteau is as good a name as Baleine, any day; and I am now almost as good a cook as yourself. In many dishes I defy you or anybody else to tell the difference between your hand and mine."

"And he is so steady, dear uncle," added Perrette. "And we will always live with you, and keep up the honour of the house, and take such care of you when you grow old."

But Baleine was obdurate, and they pleaded in vain.

One day there was to be a grand gathering of "The Modern Cellar;" the dinner was a miracle, and quite ready; the guests were waiting; but the oysters (a rare luxury in those days, and one on which Baleine especially prided himself) had not come by the coach. Baleine was in despair. The dinner would be spoiled, and thoughts of suicide suggested themselves to his mind, as he muttered

"Never before were oysters lacking at the Rocher-de-Cancale! Come, Fricoteau," he added at last, "you are an ingenious lad; what can be done?" "I have an idea!" replied Fricoteau, with a sudden gleam of joyful anticipation irradiating his handsome features; "give me five minutes, and trust to me!"

Away darted Fricoteau into the street, running wildly forwards, but glancing sharply about him in every direction. "There must be oysters somewhere in the town," said he to himself; "and wherever they may be, I must have them!" He soon espied a Savoyard staggering along under a barrel of oysters. To rush on the porter, lift the load off his back, and transfer it to his own shoulders, was the affair of an instant. He thrust several gold pieces, treble the worth of the oysters, into the Savoyard's hand, and rushed off to his master, while the Savoyard was still shouting to him to stand, and to give him back the barrel.

"You have saved me !" cried Baleine, in admiring raptures, as his head cook reappeared. "Quick, all hands, to open the oysters !"

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"Wait a minute, dear master," said Fricoteau, holding fast the barrel; "these oysters are mine, and I only give them up on condition Any price you please; a thousand francs, two thousand, three thou sand- -but don't torture me, monster!"

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"I don't want your money; I want Perrette. Give me Perrette, and I give you the oysters!"

"Oh, yes, dear uncle; do give me to Fricoteau! We will never leave you, and you know the house would go to ruin without him!" chimed in that young lady, showing her pretty face unexpectedly on the scene of action.

Baleine heaved a deep sigh. "I must have the oysters!" he murmured,

under his breath.

"Then will you give me Perrette?" demanded Fricoteau, still holding on to the barrel.

"I will," said Baleine, with a voice of anguish, as he seized the barrel and drove off the lid.

"Come on, boys!" shouted Fricoteau in triumph, as he caught Perrette by the waist, gave her a smacking kiss, and then, snatching up a knife, began

o open the oysters with the same vigour and celerity that had marked his apture of them.

The dinner was voted phenomenal. While the dessert was going forward, name Fricoteau, leading the blushing Perrette by the hand.

"Messieurs, we are come to ask you to drink to our wedding," said the head-cook, who was a great favourite with the guests.

"Bravo!" cried they; "what a handsome couple you will be, dear children! And you will keep up the Rocher-de-Cancale for our descendants, when Baleine and we have taken our departure. What's the marriage-portion, Baleine? You are as rich as Crœsus, and must come down handsomely. A hundred thousand francs and your blessing! Not a sou less!"

Baleine, beset by his admiring patrons, and secretly glad to make sure f his invaluable cook, did not hold out long. He gave his blessing to the young pair with true fatherly unction; and promised to count down a hundred thousand francs for the bride's portion. He then entreated his patrons to honour him with their presence at the marriage-feast; which they all promised to do, and with very great readiness.

The marriage took place shortly after this scene. The repast provided for the occasion surpassed all that Baleine had ever accomplished before, and was done ample justice to by the brilliant wits of "The Modern Cellar."

"No Queen of France ever had such a gathering of clever men at her wedding!" cried Baleine, in the pride of his heart, as he kissed the bride when her health was being drunk by the guests, at the close of the dinner.

A grand ball followed this repast, and all the cooks of Paris, with their wives, daughters, and sweethearts, footed it merrily through the rest of the night.

Baleine, Fricoteau, and Perrette lived happily together ever afterwards in a constant sunshine of prosperity and success.

After the death of the founder, the Rocher-de-Cancale passed into the hands of his adopted children, who kept up the renown of the house, which, under the care of their successors, is still one of the most famous eating-houses of Paris.

SONNET ON A NAME.

By the late Ebenezer Elliot, the "Corn-law Rhymer."

JOHN. In the sound of that rebellious word

There is brave music. Jack, and Jacobin,
Are vulgar terms: law-link'd to shame and sin,
They have twang of Jack the hangman's cord:
Yet John hath merit which can well afford

To be call'd Jack's. By life's strange offs and ons;
Glory hath had great dealings with the Johns,

Since history first awaked where fable snored.

John Cade, John Huss, John Hampden, and John Knox,
Aye, these were names of fellows who had will.
John Wilson's name, far sounded, sounds not ill;
But how unlike John Milton's, or John Locke's!
John Bright, like Locke and Milton, scorns paid sloth!
And Johnson might have liked to gibbet both.

TAPLEY: PHILOSOPHER.

BY W. F. PEACOCK.

WERE it possible to cross the Ticino in a skiff of swan's down; to make a first-chop Wesleyan of Mr. Commissioner Yeh (first chops and second chops being peculiarly in the line of that talented ex-executioner); to improve the billiard play of Captain Crawley; to translate Uncle Tom's Cabin into intelligible and verbatim Sanscrit; to maintain that the working man (because a working man) is unworthy of a vote; to establish (as certain florid and advanced spirits have attempted) that there is no such thing as progress; to believe in the genuine foreign aroma of a penny Pickwick; or, lastly, to maim and destroy your conviction that the present paper will take precedence of anything ever written by a Dickens, a Bulwer, or a Scott, were these, or other such impossibilities, possible, then, I say, I might hope to sketch, in this brief article, the various characters which surround, and, by their very contrast, "bring out strong" the special philosophy and original views of MARK TAPLEY, my subject.

Taking the Chuzzlewit characters as a world in miniature, how I should delight to compare with them, and with it, the individual Tapley. Tapley, of the "Dragon;" Tapley, of the Tapley Arms; Mrs. Lupin's Tapley, the honest-hearted, whimsical, most singular, most sensible, most jovial Mark! Alas! the space allotted to me will not suffice, else would I pourtray the members of that many-hued community, who represented almost every phase of good and evil in themselves. How they appear on memory's disk-Tom Pinch and bright-eyed Ruth, his little loving sister; also keen, worldly, despicable Anthony Chuzzlewit, and Jonas his spoiled and hateful son-Jonas the brutal beast, the cunning and remorseless wretch, that most abominable murderer Jonas; and poor old Chuffey, in whom a loving servant's sad imbecile affection was strangely manifested. Then sodden Chevy Slyme, and flashy man-of-the-world, adventurer, swindling, polished, but Satanic Tigg, Montague Tigg, or Tigg Montague, of that famed institution the Anglo Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance (or Assurance) Company; then Old Martin and Young Martin; then Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe, irascible George Chuzzlewit, and the Strongminded Woman; then Bullamy (I had forgotten him), the important porter of the Anglo-Bengalee, whose vast red waistcoat and coat of pepper-and-salt, with short tails, constituted him a wonderful creature at least; then ferrety, secret, silent, sleepless Nadgett; next, sweet Mary Graham, and that lean and lank, but good Samaritan, Mrs. Todgers, of Todgers's; next melancholy, miserable, gaunt, and ghostly Lewsome; then little Fips, the lawyer; then Cherry and Merry, with poor Moddle, who loved Another's, and when he courted always wept most copiously and Mr. Jinkins, of Todgers's, who was the very Upas Tree of Mr. Moddle! Then there would be the marvellous Mr. Bailey and simple, soft, Poll Sweedlepipes; next, honest, jovial John Westlock, and sprightly Mr. Mould, the undertaker, who loved mankind (and womankind) so well, he'd gladly have buried 'em all for nothing! Oh! that time and space permitted! How might I sketch dear, tender Betsey Prig, and most immaculate Sairey Gamp, of Kingsgate Street, High Holborn. Above all, Mr. Pecksniff, the moral man; whose morality was only equalled by his architectural skill. Bland, gentle, humble Mr. Peck.

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