Road! I resumed my fenster-parade. Suddenly my eye fell upon a grinning pot-boy, who stood with the empty attributes of his peripatetic calling, evidently laughing at me and my occupation. My first feeling was that of wrath at this vulgar ridicule my first impulse that of pommelling. But these first feelings were crushed by the bright idea that this probable denizen of the neighborhood might be able to give me some information with regard to the inmates of that house.

So I accosted my satirical observer, and propounded to him boldly the necessary questions. Confound the fellow! he only scratched his head and grinned the more. Indignation, however, again gave way to another bright idea. There is a certain race of beings, whose powers of speech are so feeble, that their tongues cannot be loosened, until a charm, much recommended by gipsies, is exercised upon it-that, namely, of crossing the palm with silver. My purse was again put in requisition. Now it is perfectly evident that, for this purpose, a "little sixpence" would have amply sufficed. But that "little sixpence" had already been sent to look after that halfpenny, the contemptuous treatment of which was already bringing down upon my destined head its just retaliation-that halfpenny, the true value of which was now beginning to be felt. So a shilling was compelled to take the place of the "little sixpence." The proof of the infallibility of gipsies was shown, however, on the spot. The charm operated like a miracle. The pot-boy's power of speech was suddenly restored; although that obnoxious grinning was not for a moment modified by the sudden revulsion. The information I received was of a most miscellaneous character; the different stories of the house were inhabited by personages of the most varied description-in the first floor lived a "curious old chap," -pot-boy could not tell me what he was; some said he was a conjurer-others a doctor-only he didn't doctor like other doctors-he was supposed to doctor by magic signs with his fingers. IIe had no family. In the second floor dwelt a celebrated actress, with her husband. In the third was a tailor's establishment. In the garrets-but no! I would not have the prestige of my beauteous creature destroyed by a supposition that she could have any connection with garrets! waived all further information of so lofty a description. I could not believe that she had come to have her fortune told by the conjurer-I would not so cruelly malign her good sense; and I was ignorant at that time of the new profession of mesmeric pathology, just then struggling into notice. She could not be-she was not the celebrated actress. I knew all the celebrated actresses at all the theatres in London by heart, and the celebrated actress named in particular. My fair unknown wanted very many inches of her volume of waist. She could not have come to the tailoring establishment to order a coat or a pair of -no! no!-I was bewildered. I renewed my fenster-parade once more. Exit pot-boy, still grinning over the charm which crossed the palm of his hand, with the evident conviction impressed upon every feature of his face, that the "young chap was awful green.'

I was receiving. I had almost reached the bridge, when, on turning, I saw at last, to my delight, my fair unknown descending the steps of the mysteri ous house. Now I should meet her! But no! She turned in the other direction. I again pursued her. But, oh! and again fatality! she hailed a coach, got into it, and proceeded along the Waterloo Road. Now the old "hackney" of those days was as devoid of the fleetness of movement possessed by the public vehicles of the present time, as were all other means of locomotion. With a slight exertion I might have followed and kept in sight the heavy old "jarvey," on foot. But at the time a cab passed-a cab-then a modern conveyance. An evil genius prompted me to hail the driver my good genius, you know, had long since left me, very deservedly, perhaps, in the lurch. I imagined that I could continue my pursuit in a far more satisfactory manner, as regarded both body and mind, by this seemingly more commodious proceeding. Giving the cabman directions to follow the vehicle immediately before us, keep it in sight, and stop a little short of the place where it might stop, I flung myself upon the seat. Our avant courier turned down a street to the right-Lambeth Marsh, I have since been led to believe, was its muddy appellation-we followed. Suddenly we were arrested in our career by a brewer's dray, a costermonger's donkey cart, and sundry other obnoxious vehicles. But, by Jove! the jarvey had got past before the thick of the obstruction came;-the jarvey had got past! and we were blocked up as with an avalanche-a fallen Rossberg, which no human efforts could have removed. What availed my frantic curses on the head of the cabman, who was not in fault?-or on my own, although far nearer to justice in this last fulmination? We were pitilessly locked in! Nothing was to be done but to pursue the coach on foot. I sprang from the cab, and telling the cabman to go-never mind wheretendered him hastily his fare. In those days, his fare would have been eightpence. The smallest coin now left in my possession, since the reckless bestowal of that shilling upon the grinning pot-boy

that shilling which might have been replaced by a sixpence, if the sixpence had not been tendered to the toll-keeper, and all for want of that unlucky halfpenny!-the smallest coin now left was half a crown. Of course the cabman had no change-a cabman never has, more especially when he sees a fare in a fluster of hurry-to say nothing of a fare who has just sent him-never mind where! If I could wait, he might, perhaps, get change at the nearest "public." Wait! wait! impossible! so the cabman grinned and pocketed the half-crown-he, too, grinned! And again behold me on my feet, in pursuit of that creaky, crazy, crawling vehicle, which contained the object of my admiration. Yes! there it was still before me! Pursuing my way through opposing throngs-never surely was London thoroughfare so encumbered before-I reached the corner of Bridge Street, just as jarvey turned the same corner. I rushed round at a sharp angle. Then came a crash-an outcry-a grasp of my collar-a struggle, and a fall!

and other utensils of the coarsest fabric, had seized me by the collar and rudely dragged me back with an impetus, to which the hurried movement of my desperate impatience lent a resistless force. In vain was my frantic cries-in vain was my struggle! A powerful arm held me captive, until I should make ample compensation for the damage. I promised all that was desired, if my antagonist would but make a rapid estimate of the injury inflicted upon his dirty crockery. A sulky, but keen glance was thrown over the fragments; and I was informed that half-a-crown would about pay for the unlucky smash. I am convinced I was convinced at the moment that tenpence would have been an ample remuneration. But I attempted no resistance to the extortion. My purse was again opened for the half-crown demanded. But my only halfcrown was already gone to replace the shilling, that had replaced the sixpence, that had replaced the unlucky and self-avenging half-penny! It was a very "House that Jack built," (could I have laughed, I could have chuckled, a very "house that Jack demolished")-of financial disaster! I tendered the five-shilling piece. My rude brittleware enemy was fumbling in his pockets for change, when a vile twenty-stone blowsy female helpmate of the small dealer came forward, and, without even deigning to cast one of her squinting eyes upon the destroyed ware, impudently asserted that the five shillings tendered would scarcely cover the price of the damage. Now, this began to be too much for my exasperated spirit! I angrily resisted the further claim, which, could I have paid the half-crown at once, would visibly never have been made. I was more angrily treated as a malefactor. The reeking crowd of all ages and of both sexes, which had gathered around us, uplifted their " greasy voices," and howled "Shame! shame!" at me! me, the victim! Hideous hootings arose upon the air; and the guardian of the public peace-an apparition, whom only an evil destiny could have raised at a juncture when interference was really necessaryagain suddenly stood by my side, and, by a grasp of my collar, appeared inclined to side with the clamorous populace, and drag me to "durance vile," as a positive or a probable criminal. But, by this time I had become frantic. I made a "grand rush of one," tore myself from the hands of the tyrannical myrmidon, dashed through the crowd with the violence of a young clephant, and rushed desperately along Bridge-street, pursued by cries of "Stop thief! stop thief!"-cries admirably illustrative of the diabolical injustice of the divine "vox populi," for had I not have left my five shilling piece in the hands of my extortioner?

similar dilemma-simply tell the truth, laugh over it, and beg ten minutes' hospitality. But, no. I could find no available reason for my entry, but the natural one, which the occupation of my host suggested. Besides, I feared that he too might misinterpret my story. I declared that I had called, in an extremity of agony, to have a tooth extracted. Now, I solemnly assert that all my teeth were in the finest possible condition; and, I believe, I had a kind of conviction on my mind that my honest operator would immediately declare that there was, in reality, no tooth to extract. In answer to his inquiries as to where I felt the pain, I gasped, in an embarrassed manner, "Every where.' Upon this the rascal audaciously asserted that he descried the cause of the pain in one of my molars; and, before I could expostulate, an instrument was inserted into my mouth, to prevent further explanation, and a molar was wrenched from my jaws. Par paranthese, I am fully convinced that all the evils that have since happened to as splendid a set of teeth as originally ever adorned a human mouth, are wholly attributable to the untimely dislocation of that one molar-another illustration of causes and effects, upon which I cannot now dwell. However, the operation had been performed; and, still maddened with pain and mortification, I hunted in my purse for payment. A circular lay upon the table of the vile Screw; and I had occasion to see that the sum of five shillings was professionally demanded for the extraction of a tooth. My five-shilling-piece, however, had disappeared, upon the "house that Jack demolished" principle. I laid one of my sovereigns on the table. What did that audacious fellow mean by smiling with that false smile, and transferring the sovereign to his pocket? He evidently meant to insinuate that it was no more than his accustomed fee. I have said that I was young and foolish. So, instead of politely speaking my mind to the traitor, I merely blushed again awkwardly, and allowed myself to be bowed out of the room; and I found my way down again into the street, minus a fine molar, and with the horrible conviction dawning upon me that the funds necessary for the payment of my bill and the fare of "slow and seedy'

necessary to allow me to escape from London, and return to those college rooms, whence I was bound to indite my weekly epistle, without which detection and disgrace were inevitable-were already frightfully entrenched upon. I was a lost man! My mind was far from relieved by the further conviction that, but for the reckless disregard of that poor despised halfpenny, sixpence would have saved a shilling, a shilling half-a-crown, half-acrown five shillings, five shillings a pound, and that my sovereign would have been still safe in my purse. All my financial misfortunes had arisen simply "for the want of a halfpenny!"

Sudden the trampling of a steed was heard;
The loud-toned bell gave warning of approach;
The portal open'd.-Dripping, from the storm,
A stranger enter'd; from his vest he drew
A scroll, inscribed with mystic characters:
Behold," he cried, "this token of my zeal!
I come but now, from yonder distant mart,
To tell thee that a carac, long consign'd,
Has safely made the port-and there she lies,
Her precious cargo waiting thy award.
But 'tis a costly price thou'lt have to pay
For what thou lack'st;-coals now are coals indeed."

Anselmo's brow grew dark, his breath came short;
He seized the paper with a trembling hand,
And gazed upon those characters of fire-
Then, with a scowl of fearful augury,
He slowly mutter'd to the messenger,
"I'm glad 'tis so-the last you sent were slates l"

THE ILLUMINATION.

LONDON was in a blaze-great Wellington
Had made his name immortal, and the swords
Of our brave warriors had done mighty things;
The enemy was crush'd, and Victory
Raised her enamelled crest, and crow'd for joy!

London was in a blaze-Saint James's Street
Was all one meteor, gems of ev'ry hue
Sent forth their flashing coruscations round,
In myriad lamps of letters, stars, and suns.
A shouting multitude is gazing upward:
'Twould seem as if the world had but one mouth,
And that was open in amazed 'delight.
One window-window did I say—a score
Of crystal casements glitter'd like a lake
On which the planets shine. 'Twas in a house
Where even in daylight rainbow hues were seen
On vases ranged in rows symmetrical:
Mysterious forms of instruments were there,

Such as the Druids in their sacred rites
Might well have used. Within-but let me not
Lift the dim curtain from that secret place-
"Tis with the windows of that temple now
I have to do: and so had he, yon chief,
Whose brawny arm is raised with fell intent;
Whose hands grasp missiles dangerous and dire,
While with a force worthy a Titan's strength,
He dash'd them at th' illuminated windows.
Loud

And terrible the crash; pane after pane
Fell rattling down, lamp follow'd blazing lamp,
In wild confusion-fired with fiendlike rage,
The giant, madden'd with his first success,
Pursued his proud advantage. All had felt
His vengeance, when a blow, quick, heavy, telling,
Came down upon him with the speed of light.

'Why do you break my windows, ruffian, say?" Exclaim'd a voice-"Because I am a glazier," Return'd the Titan, with a fiendish laugh. "And I a surgeon," cried the enraged assailant; "And for this cause 'tis mine to break thy head."

THE LANE.

'Twas a green lane, the primrose was in bloom,
And the sweet violet, with purple blush,
Their perfumed garlands to the flattering wind
Starr'd ev'ry bank: the hawthorn hedges gave
That fondled them: the golden buttercup

And white-ray'd daisy looked up from the grass,
Emerald and glistening with the morning's tears.
The steer, with spotted hide, peep'd o'er the fence,
And low'd a welcome to the rising day;
The tit sprang from a tiny twig, and woke

A fairy lay of love; the fleecy flock

Their ceaseless labor, 'midst the thymy mead, Pursued, with heads bent down, as though they sought

Some treasure strew'd along the flow'ry way. Thrice happy searchers! finding what they seek, Food-ever food-fragrant and fresh and springing, Like youthful hopes and wishes.

Who approaches,
The rich vermilion and the purple tint
With buoyant step and countenance, where blend

Of health and exercise? Young boy, thy face
Is round and ruddy, and thy garments scarce
Conceal those limbs robust and strongly knit.
There is a sparkle in that eye of thine
Might make the warbler on his topmost bough
Tremble for those within the downy nest.

Another form comes pacing from afar,
Severe and lordly, portly and austere :
In sable clad, and hat of mystic form,
Bespeaking reverence.

But no sign of awe
That blooming boy displays-he passes on-
Yes, on-nor turns aside, nor bows his head,
But whistling, runs as though no clergyman
Existed under Nature's canopy!

"Ill-nurtured urchin!" cries the reverend man, "Methinks that thou art better fed than taught."

The boy of rosy countenance turn'd round,
And with a glance in which respect was not,
And an unfolding of his fingers four
And thumb depress'd, placed on his curling nose,
Replied "You're right for once, old gentleman;
For mother feeds me, and I'm taught by you ["

ROBERT WILLIAM ELLISTON was the most gentle- | manly comedian upon the stage. In the warmhearted, eccentric heroes of the sterling comedies he has never been excelled; and his success in Sir Edward Mortimer, in Colman's play of The Iron Chest, after John Kemble had failed in it, stamped him as a tragedian of considerable pretension. He afterwards went through the whole range of firstrate parts, but I must confess that his tragedy always seemed vapid and heavy, even in his proud and palmy days. He had a pompous delivery in all serious characters, with a labored and frequent emphasis; and the beautiful language of Shakspere came from his mouth like the fustian of modern melo-drama. He played for some time at London and Bath upon alternate nights, travelling each day a distance of more than one hundred miles; this procured him the name of "the telegraph actor.' He was at all times an industrious and persevering man, honest in his payments when he could, but too often lavish of promises which he never intended to perform. As an actor of first-rate talent, he was deservedly a general favorite; but as a manager, no man could be more despised. His domineering temper involved him in continual strife. His management at Drury Lane Theatre was marked with an eternal string of police cases, horse-whippings, squabbles and fights; yet he was without animosity in his disposition, and in social life was bland, conversational, and agreeable.

Elliston had a rage-a passion-a perfect mania for addressing the audience, which he did most impudently, and generally most effectually. He was once manager of the Olympic, a band-box theatre, with a small pit then enclosed, and not bigger than a decent-sized drawing-room. The house had been moderately attended in the early part of the evening in question, but the second or half-price customers crammed it to suffocation. The pit was so full that many persons became alarmed, and endeavored to climb into the boxes; but as they were already sufficiently crowded, the intruders were pushed back again, and the confusion became uproarious. Elliston was acting the hero in Moncrieff's drama of "Rochester." He was on the stage, singing or endeavoring to sing to his lady-love, the ballad of "I love thee, and that is enough." The over-crowded pitites were too noisy to be passed over. Dropping the lady's hand, and advancing to the very front of the stage, he looked all around with an authoritative and school-master sort of stare, and in a pompous manner said, "What is the meaning of this disgraceful disturbance ?" "Too full-over-crowded, shame!—shame!-robbery! give us back our money!" were some of the numerous responses. "Do I understand aright, that you complain of the house being too full? Who dare assert it ?"—and he drew himself up as if he felt that it was impossible any one could contradict him. "I do," said a gentleman in the pit; "there are more of us here now than the place was ever intended to hold, and your door-keepers still keep admitting others." Elliston pointed his finger at the speaker, and thus addressed him: "How dare you, sir, contradict me in my own house? I say the pit is not too full; and to your confusion I say

it, that I have had one hundred pounds more in that pit than there is at the present moment." The barefaced effrontery of this lie absolutely dumbfounded the audience. The pit never held twenty pounds at any one time. Before the collecting wrath could explode, Elliston turned round to his companion, and taking her hand with his blandest and most insinuating smile, resumed the réfrain of his song." E-e-e-enough-e-e-e-enough-and that and that is-enough.' The transition was so abrupt, and the words so ridiculously appropriate, that the thunder-cloud burst in a roar of laughter, and the over-crowded audience settled legs as well as they could.

While he was lessee of Drury Lane theatre, some comedy failed upon the first representation, and was most unequivocally damned. It was close upon the time of the famine in Ireland, consequent upon the failure of the potato-crop. Elliston was annoyed at the non-success of the piece. He expected it would have had a long run, and have brought money to the treasury. He therefore insisted on one of the performers announcing it for further representation. The audience felt insulted, and raised a cry of "Manager!" He threw open the stage-door, and stalked on. "What is the reason you have condemned this comedy? I am a better judge of plays than you can be, and I aver it to be an excellent play, a capital play, and it must and shall be again performed." He retired toward the stage door; a roar of indignation followed him. He felt he had gone too far. The yells were redoubled; he trembled for the safety of his chandeliers; so drawing out his white cambric handkerchief, an excellent adjunct when you wish to be pathetic, he advanced again to the front, assuming a penitential and deprecatory air. The groans were loud and long, but he kept his ground, looking beseechingly to the right and left. He triumphed; a pause ensued, when he began: "My countrymen!-thousands of our fellow-creatures are now starving in Ireland. A Benefit will take place at this theatre in the course of next week, when I shall present the whole of the proceeds to the committee appointed to receive subscriptions for their relief. When I appeal to you as Englishmen for coöperation in this glorious cause, my heart tells me that I shall not appeal in vain." A burst of approbation followed; John Bull was tickled; the insult forgiven; and Elliston retired amidst loud and vehement shouts of applause.

In the stage representation of George the Fourth's coronation, which ran some two or three hundred nights, Elliston personated the King. This spectacle was produced with extraordinary splendor; the principal actors walked in procession as members of the Royal Family; a platform extended across the immense pit; and the mimic monarch, gorgeously dressed in exact imitation of his royal patron, marched over the heads of that portion of the audience, and received the shouts of applause and the homage of his acted subjects, with a graceful and dignified acknowledgment. The frequent repetition of all this "pride, pomp, and circumstance of kingly assumption, mingling with the fumes of much brandy and water, and the natural hauteur of

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