Nothing would serve her but silver. Glasses, decanters, plates, tea-things, fenders, and fire-irons, were all purchased by the same rule. The uppermost idea on Mrs. Spoonbill's mind was, how everything would look. The consequence was, that in a great measure they furnished their house on credit. They might have adopted a more economical plan: but then, as Mrs. Spoonbill observed,-How would it have looked?

Thus they went on. Thus, too, was Mrs. Spoonbill guided in the selection of her attire; bonnets, shawls, capes, dresses, everything-satin was dearer than mousseline de laine; but how would mousseline de laine look? Plain capes were more economical than cardinals; but how would they look? Cotton stockings were cheaper than silk; but cotton-oh, clumsy, common, mean cotton! how would they look ?

Spoonbill often timidly remonstrated, and tried to show what these extras in detail would by-and-by amount to in the gross: but Mrs. Spoonbill, like a few other ladies, was incapable of viewing anything, even household management, as a system. If she yielded, it was with an ill-grace. It was all very well, she said, to convince her that a thing was too dear; she knew that : but could not help, nevertheless, repining at the want of it. And unless she had her own way, she was sure to be sad and melancholy, and to prove a wet blanket to the spirits of poor Spoonbill,

She made him, too, poor fellow, dress according to her own notions. Once he wanted a pair of boots. He would have been content with high-lows. He pleaded hard for high-lows. No: Wellingtons was his only wear. "High-lows!" exclaimed Mrs. Spoonbill. "Frightful. How would high-lows look?"

Under these circumstances, is it wonderful that Spoonbill, in process of time, went through the Insolvent Court, and that his wife, for a long period, was obliged to "go home to her friends," who taught her to wear brown holland aprons, and stuff gowns! In the end, her husband's affairs were re-arranged; and they again lived together: but, with an increasing family, under the privation of real comforts for the rest of their lives.

66

Don't care," may come to a bad end, comes to the workhouse, indeed; but "How will it look?

There is a peculiar meanness in this question-“How will it look?" There is a base subserviency to other, and those vulgar, minds, that we hold in especial contempt. Of what consequence is the opinion of others, unless it corroborates our self-estimation?

Who but a crawling, abject creature, will growl, and cringe, and crave for the mere approbation of his fellows? And who, but a poor fool, would sacrifice his real good, or interest, to such an object? But above all, who but an untrue, ignoble being, whether man or woman, would, for that low consideration, put in peril a wife's or husband's happiness? There is nothing more ridiculous as well as odious, than unfruitful selfishness. One word in conclusion. The love of praise is a natural feeling, and there is no objection to its reasonable indulgence. View every action with reference to honesty and goodness, and then, as often as you like, ask, "How will it look ?"

P. L.

THE SURPLICE.

To the Right Rev. Father in God Henry Lord Bishop of Exeter. BARONIAL Apostolic Sir!

If our poor limping church must stir,

I who am zealous for your order,
From the cope-point to bottom-border,

And lower my eyes before the surplice,

But bear most reverence where the purple is,

Ready my very soul to pawn

Where I have pinn'd my faith, on lawn:

I supplicate you to advise

Your children, changing their disguise,

They put on one that does not show
So very much of dirt below.

A reverent and pious son,

I can not bear that folks make fun
Of surplices, and running down
To cover, or throw off, the gown:
And I would strangle such as think it's
Unwise to leave her half her trinkets:
For proud am I to see her change her
Condition from the Bethlehem manger,
Throw shepherds' crooks away for swords,
Jilt the wise men, and flirt with lords.

W. S. L.

THE NOVEL BLOWERS;

OR,

HOT-PRESSED HEROES.

LONG, irregular, unlicked Juvenal! shall we not laugh to meet you on the street; marching along with those majestic strides ; listening so pleasedly to the manly tread of your thin, loose limbs; and, ever and anon, squaring the symmetrical shoulders, as you fancy to yourself the whispers of the ladies about that haughty curl of lip, that audacious devil's eye, that interesting bull-neck, those whipcord sinews, that iron constitution, all bone and muscle, suffering no particle of fat, and capable of watching, fasting, allendurance? In decorous handkerchief shall we not smother our side-stitching extasies, seeing you at church laden-though, to be sure, bearing up beneath the burden bravely and modestly enough -laden with the eyes of that fair damsel, a few pews from you, who chances to be intently envying a better bonnet than her own beyond you? At theatre too, how are our diaphragms convulsed, watching the modest fortitude wherewith you do possess yourself, while lovely ladies in a side-box never take their eyes from you; while beautiful girls in the pit, seated in the seat before you, turn ever and anon to look at you; while even the fairy dancing-women, in their curt chemises, smile to you from behind the footlights, and with one pretty finger beckon you to the side scenes! But oh! to get you on shipboard-or rather on the deck of some riverplying steamboat! Is it not laughter for the very gods-sport for great Jove himself to see you there, pacing heroically along and across, in full expectance of some huge adventure? But let us "begin with the beginning!"

The quay is all alive with bustle, and not less the steamer there, snarling through its pavonic throat. With bursting cheeks, the boy at the stern twangs his brass trumpet. By the gangway, from quay to paddlebox, stand the red-faced captain, with his unspotted boots, and the short, round steward in his pumps and trim blue jacket. Coals are wheeling in; luggage throwing down; friends shaking hands with friends; porters wiping their oily

brows, standing with deferential hat before their purse-unbuttoning employers. Excited new arrivals bustle, shifting their little traps now here, now there, chatting vivaciously: people and articles of all sorts weave with each other an inextricable web of movement; and, above all, the hot summer sun shines through the city smoke. Groups of well-dressed persons throng the after-deck; well-paunched, many-sealed citizens, with their wives and families; dandified eldest sons, already choosing from the big cigar-case; misses, just escaped from boarding-school, adjusting into efficient focus veils, shawls, and pocket-handkerchiefs; little girls holding on by mama or papa; little boys with straw hats and nankin pelisses, stooping to little lap-dogs; larger boys twisting at the steering-wheel.

The bell has sounded thrice; and the eager voyagers are even sick at heart with impatience for the start, which seems as if it would never come. At length, a late arrival hurrying on board, all perspiration, flushed face, and beating heart,—the gangway is pushed off, lifting the load from every breast. Boom-bounce! goes the engine. Thereat, raising their heavy lids, and only half awake, the sulky paddles plash-plash lazily. The vessel swims. Sailors running with ropes, passing them from hand to hand round rigging, now coil them dripping from the river. The stone quay, with its line of faces-of hand-waving friends, of grudging idlers, of rope-ribanded and ticket-starred porters-glides from before you. On tramps the steamer. Away, away! past factories and dockyards-past mangy banks with children shouting on them-past boys in skiffs, pulling out eager to the waves-past slip-docks (there are men working on a hull; you see the hammer fall-soundless-but with an echo). On, on the steamer scours, between stone embankments, here and there undermined, and irregularly washed into the stream. Before her course the waters leave dry their banks to glide beneath the graceful undulation that, falling sidelong from the bows, leaps ever joyously ashore, sparkling and splashing among the stones, like delirious dogs bounding and barking before a carriage. The tawny billows, boiling up from behind the paddle-strokes, in double row, divided by the swirling furrow of the keel, roll far behind in gradual subsidence. The spray sparkles. The sun shines warmly on gay parasols and gayer dresses. Already are the articulations firmer, the cheeks fresher, the expanding chest robuster, in the bracing air.

Away, away! past green meadows with grazing steers, and

tree-skirted, many-windowed, gliding palaces! Past slow, sailing vessels the steamer-waves clashing against their heavy ribs, and leaving them to glitter in the sun! Past ferry-boats, with passengers in the stern-sheets,—the ferryman lying back upon his oars, far, far, behind you in the troubled waters! Past

a motionless fisherman! Past a solitary voyager, floating from before you like a dream-leaving you, indeed, to dream, wondering who he is what he is-where was he going ?-What were his thoughts?—But, rubby-dub-dub-dub! a townward steamer flashes on you; a host of faces gleam on you for an instant, and—are lost for ever. Now grows the river double. Islands of sand and waters on the bank speak of the tides: perches of wood and dikes of stone point out the steamer-track. On the left, rests a rich air on velvet lawns, and trees of royal tuft with ducal towers among. On the right, gently to the shelving mountain-ridge, rides the green upland, with hedge-divided fields and hamlets sleeping in the sun-and the long stacks of factories shooting up-and solitary cottages and church-spires through the trees. The banks widen into shores with far-wasted seaports: the river grows a sea dotted with fleets. But how ?-the steamer suddenly seems to have stood stock-still! Is it that she may gaze upon the opening glory? That mighty castellated rock, cloven a-top, with soldiers' windows in the cleft, standing out there, huge, solid, like a lump of lead -a solitary frown upon the liquid smooth-where the sea-gulls, with motion only of the lifting deep, brood on its shadow-seems impassable: we make no way. Far off, swoop graceful bays lined with white cottages. That island-promontory, coming down diversively, with its soft Italian 'hills, and lawny meads 'green to the very verge,-dips not in the deep but, gliding on it, floats luxurious. Further on, those massy hills, brown, enormous bulks of one aspect, came to the water's edge, and brood, sulky, like sleepy lions; while the silver water-ways, gleaming in their foldings, far between, seem paths to happiness. The air hath a new relish in the nostrils. The paddles churn the spell-drawn, clear green waves to hissing snow. Still shines the sun. Ever at the prow,

the golden-hoofed steed, his dazzling feet lifts sideways on the waters. Against the sky of deepest blue, in snowy flocks, halfhiding it, loose clouds are floating-but, our bold Juvenal, have we then forgot him? Nay; not so. But ye, our brother bubbleblowers-we mean, volume-blowers-blowers of three volumes