It was John who propounded the question,→ "What was to be done?"

Martha made no audible reply; but, after a pause, raised her eyes to John's face, and then looked across significantly at Daddy.

John shook his head, and covered his face with his hand.

"I have no right to ask you to do it any longer, John," Martha said. "I had no right ever to expect you to do it."

But it was my duty and my pleasure to do it, Martha," John replied. "He's your father, and I could n't see the poor old man starve!"

"But he need n't starve, you know, John," Martha said; and her lips trembled as she said the words. "I know what you mean," John returned; "but I can't bear the thoughts of it. It's not what ought to be, when he 's had a house of his own and drove his own chay, and paid rates and taxes, and every comfort."

"Well, it is hard when you think of it," Martha replied, sadly; " and the drawing-room that we had, too, and the silver spoons, and the real china cups and saucers!" And at the thought of the china cups and saucers Martha dropped a tear.

Yes, it is hard," John returned; "and that's why I have stood between him and it as long as I could."

"But you can't stand between him and it any longer, John, and I must n't ask you to; it's not fair to you, John, and you sha'n't be burdened with him any longer."

stock, the other half formed the ordinary sitting-| the fire, and John and Martha were sitting opporoom. This latter room had a fireplace, surmounted site. by a mantel-shelf, on which stood several works of art in china; and its furniture consisted of two or three Windsor chairs and a small round table. Little active domesticity was ever witnessed in this department except at the close of the day, when the family, coming from the coals and the potatoes and the firewood, made a rush at the little round table, and scrambled for herrings and thick bread and butter and tea. At such times old Daddy, Martha's superannuated father, was to be seen sitting in an arm-chair by the side of the fire, his bald head encircled by a glory of onions, and the coals rising on his right like a distant mountain range, put in as a background to the picture. Those family banquets were sharp and short. All unnecessary conveniences of luxury, such as knives and forks, slop-basins, and the like, were dispensed with. Each one as he finished his cup of tea turned round and threw the dregs upon the heap of coals, and, when he had finished picking his herring, turned the other way and flung the bones into the fire. After the meal, Mr. Beadle was accustomed to sit down opposite old Daddy, while Martha drew up between them, and devoted herself to the mending of the family linen; but as the number of chairs was limited, the younger branches of the family usually reclined, in the classic fashion, among the coals, from contact with which they derived a swarthiness of complexion which caused them to be known in the neighborhood as the "black Beadles," John and Martha loved their offspring dearly, and would not have had anything happen to one of them for the world; but they began to find that Poor old Daddy was sitting dozing in his chair, they were increasing both in numbers and in appe-blissfully unconscious of these deliberations, of which tite in a ratio altogether disproportionate to the development of the trade in coals and vegetables, notwithstanding that the rolling stock had been increased by a new truck and a second bed-wrench. John's ambition had often taken a run at a horse and cart; but it had never been able to vault so high, and always fell back upon the truck and hurt itself in the region of its dignity. A truck is not a glorious kind of vehicle, especially a coal-truck. It is a vehicle that takes the pavement rather than the middle of the road, for choice, and although the thunder which it makes as it traverses the coal-traps on the pavement is considerable, it is not a source of pride to its owner. Besides, it does not warrant the assumption of that sceptre of authority, a whip; and it is usually propelled by one of the human species. Well, it would never do if we all had the same ambition. While some persons aspire to rule their fellow-men, there are others who prefer to exercise authority over the brutes in driving a horse and cart. This was John's case. A horse and cart, with a corresponding increase of business, and a drive down the road to the Jolly Butchers on Sunday afternoon, with the missus in all her best by his side, and the kids with their faces washed behind, like a pen of clean little pigs, this had been the dream of John's life; but it was a dream that had not yet come true. Indeed, so far from this, John's prospects were becoming darker rather than brighter every day.

"What was to be done?"

This question, which had long suggested itself both to John and Martha, found audible expression one night, after the black Beadles had scampered away to their holes for the night. Old Daddy Dodd was sitting dozing in his chair by the side of

he was the subject. In his time Daddy had been in a good, though small way of business, in the carpentering line, combined with a little undertaking (which he undertook in his overtime, to oblige friends), and he had brought up a large family decently; but his sons, who might have been a help to him in his declining years, emigrated, and died in foreign parts; and when the infirmities of age began to creep upon the old man, and he was no longer able to work with his own hands, he disposed of his business at an alarming sacrifice, and retired to live on his means. His means were small, but his remaining years were few; and proceeding on his philosophical calculation, Daddy lived upon the principal instead of the interest (which he could not have lived upon at all,) and lived longer than he calculated. Although Daddy disposed of his business, and let the carpenter's shop, he still continued to occupy the dwelling-house of which it formed a part, and this led many to believe that the old carpenter was pretty well off. His daughter Martha shared in this impression, and was rather disposed to boast of the independent gentleman, her father, and cherish expectations of an inheritance.

One day, about two years after Martha had been married to John Beadle, and shortly after she had prodigally presented John with the second pledge of her affection, old Daddy arrived at the emporium suffused with smiles. Martha thought he was going to present baby with the silver spoons. When the old man had settled himself in a chair, and recovered his breath, he said, with a pleasant chuckle,— "I've got something to tell you, Martha." "What is it, father?"

"Well, Martha, I've been looking in the top drawer, and-and-"

"Yes, father, yes," said Martha, eagerly, making | considering his circumstances, an unreasonable pasquite sure now that baby was to have the spoons. "I've been looking in the top drawer," the old man repeated, "and-and

"The spoons," Martha suggested, as dutifully helping her poor old father in a difficulty.

No, not the spoons, Martha," he said, "the money.'

"What about the money, father?" "It's all gone, Martha !"

"All gone! The money you 've got to live upon, father," cried Martha, hysterically, "all gone ?" "Every farden," said the old man.

Martha could not believe it. She gave baby to a neighbor to mind, and insisted upon the old man going back with her to his lodging immediately. He gave her the key, and she tore open the top drawer in a frantic way. She seized the canvas bag in which the old man kept his money (for he had an unconquerable distrust of banks), and plunged her hand into it. She could feel nothing like coin. She turned the bag inside out and shook it, nothing| fell out of it. She rummaged among the useless odds and ends in the drawer, and not a farthing could she find. Suddenly she paused and said, "You've been robbed, father. Somebody's been at the drawer."

"No, no, my dear, you must n't say that; nobody's been at the drawer but me. I've spent it all. There was n't much of it, only eighty pounds altogether, and it would n't last forever. It's me that's lived too long, Martha"; and the old man sat down in a chair and began to whimper and weep.

sion for snuff; and a glass of "six ale," punctually every morning at eleven o'clock, was absolutely necessary to his existence. The glass of six ale he would have, and he would have it nowhere but in the public house, standing at the pewter bar, according to a custom which he had most religiously observed for more than forty years. One of the inconveniences of this requirement was, that the old man had to be provided every morning with three-halfpence in current coin of the realm; and another, which followed in the course of time, when the old man became decrepit and feeble, was that some one had to take him to the particular public house on which alone he would bestow his patronage (half a mile distant), and bring him back again.

Still no word of complaint escaped either John or Martha, until their family increased to that extent when every halfpenny became, as Martha said, an "object." The crisis arrived that night, when John, in general but significant terms, asked his good wife what was to be done.

"It is not fair to you, John," Martha said, "and you sha'n't be burdened with him any longer." And, while the old man sat dozing in his chair, all unconscious, it was resolved between them, after a hard struggle on John's part and many silent tears on Martha's part, that John should next day put old Daddy into the workhouse. The resolution was taken, and the old man slept on. Neither John nor Martha had the courage to wake him. They were afraid that he might read their terrible intentions towards him in their guilty faces. "I cannot Martha could only sit down and weep too. She do it, Martha," John said; and he made an excuse was overwhelmed by the thought of her father's to go out of doors to smoke his pipe. Martha could destitution and the prospect which lay before him not do it either, and sat waiting for the old man to in his weak old age. His money was all gone, and wake; and presently he woke and called for her. his few sticks of furniture, with the silver spoons, She had withdrawn into the shade, and he could which were the only portion of his plate which not see her with his dim old eyes. remained, would scarcely realize enough to bury him.

This was sad news to tell John when he came in (from a moving job) to his dinner. Martha, by way of breaking it gently to him, hysterically shrieked out the tidings at the top of her voice as John was coming in at the door.

"O John, father's money 's all gone!" she cried. Seeing that Martha was in a dreadful state of excitement about the matter, John, with a proper appreciation of artistic contrast, took the unwelcome announcement coolly.

"Well," he said, "in that case we must keep him. He has nobody else to look to."

And so one day John went over to Daddy's house, sent for a broker and disposed of all the things except the old man's bed, which he despatched by the truck to the emporium. That done, he locked the door, sent the key to the landlord, and taking the old man by the hand, led him to the shelter of the broken-backed roof. Putting him into the old arm-chair by the fire, and patting him kindly on his bald head, he said,

"There, Daddy, consider yourself at home, provided for for the rest of your life."

So it happened that John and Martha were burdened with old Daddy Dodd, in addition to their own numerous offspring. And Daddy was a burden, though neither John nor Martha ever said So, even to each other. He was an expensive old man, for though he did not eat much, and was well content to share a bedroom with the boys, he had,

"Martha," he said, "where are you? Come here and let me tell you what I've been dreaming about. Such a pleasant dream, my dear, about the old days when you was all at home! I thought I saw you all round the table eating your Christmas dinners; and there was turkey and plum-pudding, and all the nice things that we used to have, you know; and then I dreamt that I was taking you to the boarding-school, where you was for a twelvemonth, you know; and-and as we was driving down the Edgeware road in the chaise, John came up and wanted to borrow five pounds, just as he used to do, you know; and- and I lent it him, just as I used to do, and—and — but what's the matter with you, Martha? you 're not crying, surely."

Poor old man, he little knew what thorns he was planting in his daughter's breast. She was crying, but she hid her tears, and said kindly it was time for him to go to bed.

So, taking him by the hand, and leading him to his room, she put him to bed and tucked him up like a child.

When Martha went down stairs again, John was timidly peeping in at the door.

"Have you put him to bed, Martha ?" he in-
quired.
"Yes, John."

"Do you think he suspected anything?"
"O no, poor
old dear."

"he

"No, of course not, Martha," John said; would never dream that we could be such monsters, - but did he say anything?"

especial pet and favorite; or, perhaps, it might have | to control. Going home in the summer evenings, been said, so much more responsible a person was after their rambles, Daddy and Benjy had deeply Benjy, that Daddy was his pet and favorite. Be interesting tales to tell the family of the wonders that as it would, they loved each other, and on fine of the great world of Somers Town. days, when the sun shone, it was their delight to Alas that those relations should so often have wander hand in hand among the neighboring streets, fallen upon indifferent ears! But John and Martha prattling together like two children, and gazing in, were becoming sullen and moody, a prey both of with childlike wonder, at the pretty things in the them to the deepest anxiety. The family was still shop windows. The people round about called them increasing; but the business continued to resist all the Babes in the Wood, and old Daddy was cer- efforts in the direction of development. John was tainly as much a babe as Benjy. He took the same getting into debt at the coal-wharf, and at the interest in the contents of the toy-shops, and sighed potato-warehouse. The times were hard, and were as deeply as Benjy sighed to think that his youthful coming on harder with the approach of winter. guardian could not become the possessor of a much- Coals were at eighteen pence a hundred, potatoes coveted toy-gun (with a pink stock), which went at a penny a pound. The poor people could n't off with a spiral spring. In their wanderings, day pay the price. Poor women came for a few pounds by day, the Babes saw many strange things, and of coal, and took them away in their aprons. There studied the wonders of Somers Town with the deep-was scarcely any use for the truck. When coals est interest. It was their special delight to stand were so dear, and fires so small, Chaldron Street before any open door or window, which afforded was a good deal given to warm itself in its bed, them a view of a process of manufacture. They which thus became a permanent institution. The stood on gratings and listened to the rattle of sau- consequence to John was that his bed-wrench rusted sage-machines "that went by steam," Benjy in- in idleness; and, in view of the oxide which accumuformed his charge and pupil, who was not very lated upon it, it might be said to have been engaged well up in the modern arts and sciences; they in the disastrous occupation of eating its head off. gazed at the little men in shirt-sleeves and flat The fortunes of the emporium were at a very low caps, who turned a miniature coffee-mill under a ebb; John and Martha could scarcely provide bare glass case at the grocer's, such industrious little food for the family. The black Beadles, clamoring men, who always kept on grinding whether their for victuals, and not finding satisfaction at the little master was in the shop or not, and never seemed to round table, passed like a cloud of locusts over the go home to their meals. They superintended the stock in the shop, and making short work of the lowering of barrels into public-house cellars, learn-carrots, attacked even the cabbage-leaves and the ing the mysteries of the inclined plane, and specu- turnip-tops. John and Martha were denying themlating as to whether the barrels contained the par-selves day after day, that the old man might have a ticular kind of six ale which grandfather liked; they watched the making of shoes and the turning of wood, and were sometimes observed to be much absorbed in the flaying of sheep, a process which had a deep abstract interest for Benjy, while it set Daddy babbling about the delights - to him now purely visionary of a boiled leg of mutton and

caper sauce.

bit of something nice and nourishing. But things were coming to a crisis now. The coal-merchant, the potato-merchant, and the landlord, all three threatened process, and John was in hourly expectation of an execution. All his striving had been of no avail to save "him and them from that dis

grace." It must come now. Nothing could avert it. One afternoon John was sitting on a stool, on the In these wanderings Benjy was careful not to re-site of the mountain of coal, which had been release his hold of Daddy's hand, for he was particu- moved to the last shovelful of dust (and, alas! the larly enjoined never to leave him for a moment, and capitalist at the wharf had not the faith to replace whatever he did, not to let him tumble down. One it), utterly dejected and dispirited. It was a terrimuddy day Benjy did let Daddy tumble, and a sad ble trial for a strong man with a stout heart and a state of mind he was in for fear his mother should vigorous will, to be thus beaten down and trampled find it out. He did his best with his little cotton under the feet of a cruel and relentless Fortune, pocket-handkerchief to efface all traces of mud from whom he had wooed with all his art, and wrestled Daddy's trousers: but he was afraid lest the old with all his strength. Poor John had received so man might "tell on him." Not that there was any many heavy falls, that the spirit was almost crushed want of loyalty between them, but Daddy was get-out of him. When he looked up and saw a strange ting so garrulous, that he sometimes, quite unintentionally, let out things which got Benjy into trouble; so, when anything happened, Benjy was obliged to remind grandfather that he was not to tell.

"You won't tell mother that I let you fall in the mud, will you, grandfather?" he would say, as they bent their steps homeward.

"O no, Benjy," the old man protested. "I-I sha'n't say a word about it."

At first, before complete confidence had been established between them, Benjy sought on one occasion to purchase his grandfather's silence with a penny (which he did not at that moment possess, but expected to have some day); but he had come to know now that the bond of love between them was strong enough to sustain their mutual devotion, except when it was occasionally loosened by an inadvertence, or a lapse of memory, which in Daddy's case was beyond the power of either love or money

man darkening his door, he felt that the last blow was about to be struck.

"Come in," he said; "don't stand upon any ceremony, I beg; I'm quite prepared for you." "Are you?" said the man, curiously. "Yes, I am," John replied. "I know your errand as well as you do yourself."

"Do you?" said the man, in the same tone. "Do you come here to mock me?" cried John, angrily, rising and facing the intruder; "to mock me as well as ruin me."

Every Saturday,
Feb. 3, 1806.)

COLLOQUIAL FALLACIES.

cuse me, I hope; but we are in great distress, and I expected nothing but bad news.

old man's bank in the days when he was well to

do. "If I am not mistaken," said the stranger, "it is You are Mr. Dodd's songood news I bring you. in-law, are you not?"

"I am, sir, and I wish I were a richer son-in-law, for his sake," John replied.

Perhaps there will be no need for that, for his sake," the stranger returned.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"A few days Well, just this," said the stranger. ago I noticed an advertisement in the paper, addressed to Daniel Dodd, informing him that if he applied to Mr. Johnson, solicitor, in Bedford Row, he would hear of something to his advantage. Now, thinking that the Daniel Dodd wanted might be my old neighbor, and knowing Mr. Johnson, of Bedford Row, I called upon that gentleman, and learned that the person wanted is Daniel Dodd, my old neighbor, and that under the will of his brother George, who died some time ago in India, he is entitled to

"Hold hard, sir," said John, grasping the stranger by the arm, and staring at him with fixed eyes. "You're not having a lark, a cruel lark with us, are you?"

"God forbid," said the stranger, gravely. "And answer me another thing, sir," John con"You're not out tinued, in the same excited way. of your mind, are you?”

"Certainly not," returned the man. "Very well," said John; "you may go on." "I was going to say," the stranger continued, "that under the will of his deceased brother George, who died some time ago in India, Daniel Dodd is entitled to five thousand pounds."

"Martha!" cried John to his wife, who was up stairs cleaning the rooms.

66

Yes, John. What is it?"

"Father's money's come back again! Father's money 's come back again! Father's money's come back again!" And he shouted it over and over again up the stairs, and slapped the banisters every time to give it emphasis.

"Are you gone mad, John?" was Martha's reply, when she was allowed to speak.

You see, sir," said John to his visitor, "she thinks I must be mad; no wonder if I thought you were mad. But here's Daddy; he knows you, I dare say, and you can tell him; he often talked about his brother George who went to India; but I thought he had been dead long ago."

At that moment Daddy came in from one of his walks with Benjy, and was told of his fortune.

"Dear me," he said, sinking into his chair, "brother George is dead. Poor boy, poor boy!"

The poor boy had died at the good old age of threescore and ten, but Daddy still thought of him as the lad in the blue jacket from whom he had parted at Wapping when they were boys.

Not without many difficulties, long delay, and considerable cost, Daddy's claim to the five thousand pounds was established. John gave all his time, utterly neglecting the emporium, -to the prosecution of the matter, and, oddly enough, in wooing Fortune in this most audacious and presumptuous manner, he proved successful; though, previously, when he had humbled himself in the dirt to implore her for a single smile, she had contemptuously passed on ward, bespattering him with mud from her chariot wheels. And one day John, knowing Daddy's weakness, brought home the five thousand pounds all in notes in the very canvas bag which had been the

66

There, father," said Martha, putting the bag in
"And now what will you do with it?"
his hand.
"What will I do with it?" said the old man.
him that gun!"
"I'll-I'll keep my promise to Benjy, and buy

"But there's more than will buy the gun, father."
"You don't mean that, Martha?" said the old man.
"O yes, father, a heap more."

"Then," said Daddy, "I'll give the rest to John
"But there's more even than that, father; ever so
to buy a horse and cart."
much more."

money.

"O, well, you just keep that for yourself, Martha,
And Daddy, with no elaborate design, but with
for taking care of your old father."
the simple innocence of a child, which is sometimes
wiser than the astute provisions of law, saved the
for legacy duty, by handing to his daughter Martha
dangerous formalities of will-making and the charges
Before John even thought of his horse and cart,
the bag containing all his
-though that was lurking in a corner of his mind,
he regained the tenancy of Daddy's old house,
furnished it with as many of the old sticks as he
could recover from the brokers' shops, with many
splendid new ones besides for the drawing-room,
and when all was done led Daddy back to his old
quarters, and joined him there with Martha and all
the family.

But dotage had been coming upon poor old
Daddy, and he could scarcely be made to under-
tion. He came at last to fancy that it was a dream,
stand the change which had taken place in his posi-
nizing his old room peopled with the fates of John
and sitting by the fireside of an evening, and recog-
and Martha and their children, he would tell his
daughter to wake him up by and by.

And so he went on dreaming, until one winter's night he woke up in a land where there was no more going to sleep.

And the days of John and Martha are likely to father in his age and need, and the bread which they be long and prosperous, for they honored their old cast upon the waters has come back to them with a blessing.

COLLOQUIAL FALLACIES.

MOST people are disposed to think, in their inmost circumstances. Only unfortunately, in the majority consciousness, that they can talk well under certain of cases, those circumstances which are the fostering nurses of good conversation are never to be found except in more or less strict privacy. And, after all, a man must be a very poor creature indeed who canleast will take to be full of point and brilliance. can generally not say things which they of his own household at The "petty tyrant of the fireside' wisdom that it is his august pleasure to dispense. insure both attention and applause for the oracular When the circle of listeners is enlarged, and family partiality or family servility ceases to work, he may be conscious that he is making no mark, except the mark of the bore. Still the man reflects that there are different classes of talkers; that there is one glory of the sun and another glory of the moon; and that, while some men shine brightest in society, there are others whom only an esoteric audience can appreciate or bring out to their best.

Then there are others who, finding themselves