pshaw!-his brow was contracted into a habitual scowl, and his lip upcurled in a perpetual sneer. A very agreeable person was the Prince Snarlbach, you may be sure! Next came the Count Diddlerini, passing himself off as a Neapolitan nobleman-justly admired by all the women as an accomplished gentleman, and justly avoided by all the men as an accomplished swindler. spar Mr Huckabuck came next, partner, as we understood, in a great Manchester warehouse, and I have no reason to doubt the truth of this assertion, as, passing one day along Tottenham Court Road, I saw Mr Huckabuck busily engaged at the door of a draper's shop in holding up a roll of flannel to the inspection of an elderly lady-this shop, I suppose, must have been the Manchester warehouse in question. Mr Fleetditch, a gentleman of the law, came last-attorney's clerk, in shortvery assuming, very pert, and very vulgar, as becomes gentlemen of his fraternity, for which reason I put him at the foot of our table, giving precedence to Mr Huckabuck, who, though very vulgar and very fond of “ row-grass," as he chose to call asparagus, was nevertheless an honest poor man and a good Christian. This was the list of inmates when I arrived at Terrace Place-they came and went, and went and came, to be sure; but, although there was a vast variety in the individuals, the tone of society ever remained the same-that is to say, fifty degrees below zero. late spinsters, grass widows, equivocal mothers, and desperate daughters, arrived and departed in perpetual succession. Clerks, tutors out of place, Irish fortune-hunters, and runaway refugees, formed the never-varied male population. Every soul, male and female, seemed to have received sentence of social excommunication-some, like myself, found guilty of being poor, and transported to a boarding-house accordingly-some knavish, some guilty, some indiscreet; but all, with out exception, unfortunate, soured, and selfish! The only object of female ambition in the house was the virgin cup of tea, and the best buttered bit of toast-the highest stretch of intellect among the men cheating one another in wagers, or sponging upon the last new comer's bottle of wine. ventured once to remonstrate with Mrs Deso I Skinaflint, I recollect, upon the propriety of having six turnips instead of three, for a dozen people, being halfa-turnip to each, assuring her that, as it was, I must decline to carve the vegetables. Mrs Skinaflint, with a curl of her brass nose, retorted that if I didn't choose to carve the vegetables, another would, and that people that paid next to nothing should feed next to nothing! I hate meanness-forgiveness I have in abundance for every other vice, but meanness with me is past redemption. I could spit on a mean man, and if it were not that the law-more shame for her-protects him, I would spit on every mean man I meet. Meanness, of all things, disgusts me, whether it be meanness in a boarding-house keeper, or meanness in-and in the scale of animated beings it would be impossible to go lower-meanness in that mirror of meanness-the Right Honourable Anthony Lumpkin Snake! I cut, without ceremony, the whole beggarly boarding-house congregation; and, having eaten my daily ration at the dinner table, ascended into my attic, which opened out upon a flat roof protected by a parapet wall. Here, with a couple of chairs, a bottle of old Cork whisky, imported by O'Swizzle, a cigar, a classic, and a lemon, I passed the long summer evenings in undisturbed repose; and here I acquired much of that Attic salt, which, if you are not as dull as a great thaw, you must have perceived sprinkled profusely over this autobiography. "But, sweeter far than this, than these, than all," here it was, on this very roof, protected by this very parapet wall, while enjoying, as was my custom of an afternoon, my chair, cigar, Cork whisky, lemon, and classic, that I met for the first time, and fell in love with for the first time and the last-my heart's treasure-the adorable-the angelic Sophia Jemima Cox! The fact was, the houses of Terrace Place had, every house of them, flat roofs, and, for the convenience of escapes in cases of fire, there was an accessible stair to each roof, opening out by a companion way upon the roof, and an easy transit from one roof to another -a style of architecture highly calculated to facilitate escapes from fire, as well as to promote caterwauling and intrigue. I was leaning back in my chair with my legs upon another, see-sawing rather sleepily-curious that the fourth tumbler always makes me dozy -the evening was sultry, the bit of green belonging to the Small-Pox Hospital looked olive-brown, and the million and a half of chimney pots in sight looked red hot, the sun was going down right into Marrowbone Workhouse, and the pregnant moon was ascending out of Spitalfields, two or three stars twinkled coyly behind the Small-Pox Hospital, and three hurdy-gurdies, with a wandering piper, in the street below, imitated the music of the spheres. "'Twas the close of the day, when the city was still, And Cockneys the sweets of forgetfulness prove." I heard light footsteps behind me, and, looking over my left shoulder, I saw that my tumbler was all right; looking over my right shoulder, I first beheld the darling girl, fated to enchain my yet unravished heart, looking over the parapet, her head bonnetless, and her long ringlets, yet uncontaminated by a back comb, hanging in sweet confusion over her alabaster shoulders. I took a chair, and, stepping noiselessly, placed it for her convenience, returned, took my book, and, pretending to read, saw only Sophia Jemima Cox. Sophia Jemima turned round -saw the chair-started-looked at me- trembled smiled--blushedbowed her thanks-sat down for an instant, as if to accept my courtesythen starting up hurriedly, was making off at railway pace, when I stopped her, and, begging pardon for the intrusion, hoped she would permit me to retire, that she might enjoy herself the more freely. This produced more bows, smiles, and blushes. Sophia stammered out that she understood a procession was to have passed that way which she wished to see, and I assured her most solemnly that from our roof alone could the procession be seen to advantage. Sophia lamented the want of a head-dress; this difficulty I got over by supplying her fair head with a travelling shawl from my attic-she trembled for the evening air, but my cloak removed all her atmospheric apprehensions. Sophia Jemima sat down, muffled up, to watch the procession, and the procession, as good luck would have it, went another way. As we chatted and sat, the bright eyes of the charming Sophia grew brighter and brighter, the tones of her silver voice sounded sweeter and sweeter; we talked of the evening, how lovely it was of the country, how lovely it was-of the moon, how lovely she was; and I thought, as I gazed on Sophia, her open intelligent face bent on the expanded orb above, how lovely-how surpassing lovely she was. We talked of town and its pleasures of society-of friendship. I drew nearer to Sophia -I pressed almost imperceptibly her little hand-and our topic was exalted from friendship to love! She said she had neither brother nor sister-I almost loved her. She was an orphan-I loved her from my heart. She was penniless-I adored her! I presume, to look at, you would not suspect me of a generous emotion. The cold world, and the buffets and kicks it has given a man, who, of his natural temperament, would lift, as he went on his morning's walk, the heedless worm away from the passenger's path, has left on my care-worn face no trace save of the contempt in which I hold the human vermin that rot above the surface of the earth. The expression of my face is degraded to the level of the selfishness of worldlings around me; and the heart that once swelled, and the eyes that once filled, at every song of sorrow, at every tale of woe--the wide wish, that would grasp in its expansive benevolence the whole family of man, and diffuse happiness from pole to pole-that heart, immoveable and cold, now swells only in bitterness and sorrow, and that expansive wish expires in a hearty malediction upon rascality rampant and sycophaney successful! Oh love!-first and passionate love! How delicious to fallen, selfish, and cold-blooded mortals the recollection of that tender emotion of generous youth that unworldly feeling, the riper man affects to despise, and blushes to confess-that sentiment not of the earth earthy-that precious emanation of the Divine Creator himself. How sweet the remembrance that we enjoyed thee once-how sad to think that we descend from the cold world into the silent grave, enjoying thee no more! Let us exult over our Sophia was a trump. You might boil down-let me see-sixteen select seminaries for young ladies, and sell the contents for kitchen stuff, before you would hook out such a tit-bit as my Sophy. Sophy, to be sure, was her name-but she was no Sophy. Sophy is a lack-a-daisical, die-a-way devil fat and sleepy-with large bust, larger waist, and ancles larger than both put together; as soft as bullock's liver, and as dead as a drop of stale small beer. My Sophy had a finedrawn head, fine-drawn waist, and fine-drawn ancles; none of your starvelings neither, but plump as pudding, and frisky as a four-year old. I used to call her Kate-and Kate, with deference to her godfathers and godmothers, ought to have been her name. She had eyes in her head-and teethand hair; a smile so sweet-and a laugh—a laugh so hearty and joyous, that I sighed when I heard it, for I knew that care would come, and with his icy hand freeze it into silence! A coxcomb or a libertine seeing Sophy, would have concluded she had a kick in her gallop; but never was libertine or coxcomb further out in the whole course of his life. With you she was lively, gay, and free; with me the indifferent gaiety she bore in her carriage towards others, was mellowed into a tenderness irresistibly touching, as if already the ardour of a passionate mistress was tempered with the quiet cares of an affectionate wife. I loved Sophia above all for this, that she never sneered a sneering woman is a beast --much less did she ever throw nose like a pig in the wind, and talk up her of "improper women," and ". women Luckily for our loves, my dear Sophia had no money. I say luckily, for I never knew a woman with three halfpence in her own right, who was not either pert, presumptuous, or dull, upon the strength of her triumverate of coppers. I am, and always was, the sort of fellow to let this class of ladies down by the run, and would as soon think of paying more than the coolest courtesy to a female millionaire, merely as such, as I would of taking off my hat to a blind old applewoman! Sophia was friendless-so was I; she was warm-hearted-so was I; she was without a penny-so was I. We were so far equals. Sophia was a dependant on the charity of a cold-blooded usurer of an uncle-so was not I; yet for her I felt that I could toil my heart out. We had our quarrels, too-for what is true love without its quarrels ? she returned my flowers in a fit of pique-for what is woman without her fits of pique and the following duel was fought through the medium of the twopenny post upon that occasion :— SOPHIA TO HER LOVER. I wish, Horatio, to discover Or offering meet from friend to friend. We met Frail emblems! never to be worn Near hearts, that know not how to range, Back to the giver, I return: Ere they are faded-thou wilt change! HER LOVER TO SOPHIA. When forth I went these flowers to cull, Wither'd and drooping, as they mourn'd, New wreaths will other springs restore- and our reconciliation was celebrated with a feast of ambrosial kisses, and a mingled libation of nectareous tears! THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF THE ILIAD. TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH TROCHAICS. BY WILLIAM É. AYTOUN. THUS, like deer, all terror-stricken, through the city streets they spread, "Wherefore thus, with eager footsteps, son of Peleus, dost thou follow, For a God thou didst not know me, now thy wrath is spent in vain ; frame." Him thus answered swift Achilles, burning red with rage and shame,— Thus he spake; and to the city once again he turned his face, Who, against the others straining, clears the ground with furious stride : All the other heavenly watchers, gleaming thro' the unwholesome night, "Do not wait, my darling Hector!-Hector, do not meet this man On me, too, my son, have pity, while my senses yet remain Me, whom Jove, Saturnian father, at the limits of my being, Will destroy with evil fortune, such dark sights of horror seeing: All my sons-my brave ones-slaughter'd, and my daughters captive bound, Thus the aged sire entreated, and his locks by handfuls whole "Hector! take thou pity on me, O my son, respect my breast; VOL. XLV. NO. CCLXXXIII. 2 $ |