London from his “Mines of Glascow,” and visits his manufactory bringing with him his two wards—Anna and Lucy--whom he solemnly makes over in marriage to his two foremen in the engineering department ; two brothers, Richard and Simon Davis: Miss Kitty having in the meantime jilted a certain Tom Bob (observe the name), a tiger in the service of Sir Maurice, for her admirer Peterpatt, the discarded lover incontinently leaving England in the Fulton," a ship which Sir Maurice, who it seems is a merchant as well as a boiler-maker, despatches to the East Indies, and with the departure of which the first act closes.

Two years elapse ere we arrive at Act the Second. And here let me observe for the sake of intelligibility that Lucy, Richard's wife, is a good meek creature, exposed to calumny on account of à faux pas of her mamma's, and persecuted by the licentious addresses of a roué, Sir Edgard, the Don Juan of the piece ; while Anna, the spouse of Simon, the second brother, gets credit for being everything, while in reality she is nothing but what she should be.

The second act opens in a tavern at Blackwood, evidently meant for Blackwall; and with the arrival of a mysterious Sir Harry, who bringing the expatriated Tom Bob in his train, comes to champion from calumny the memory of Lucy's mother. The tiger arrives in good time, Peterpatt has got tired of Miss Kitty, she is advertised for sale, and Tom Bob determined to buy her. “What !” exclaims Sir Harry, who does not seem au fait to our customs, “do the English laws permit such a sale:? Mark his servant's reply. "Oh certainly. It's the simplest thing in the world. You tire of your house ; you sell your house, You tire of your horse ; you sell your horse. You tire 'of your

wife ; you sell your wife : that's English civilisation." Sir Harry still in doubt appeals to Sir Edgard, who has come to sce the auction. “ The sale of a wife,” replies that authority, "is one of our most ancient customs. " Which ought,” rejoins Sir Harry,

to be abolished by law.” There is a sad mixture of truth in the reply. “ With us, Sir," says Sir Edgard, “ with us custom is stronger than law. It is mainly by its old feelings of use and wont that England is governed.

We respect even our worst customs in order to preserve our best. Our fathers sold their wives: their right is our privilege." Meantime the sale goes on. The husband produces a list of the good

NO, XXII. — VOL. IV.

and bad qualities of his wife, naïvely remarking that the abundance of the latter amply make up for the scarcity of the former ; and the lady is knocked down for seven shillings, “A glorious bargain !” as her new proprietor exclaims ; " such eyes, such hands, such feet, such a mouth, and all for seven shillings !”

I pass over a long series of plot and intrigue carried on between Sir Harry and Sir Edgard, the latter attacking, the former defending the reputation of Lucy. The result is a duel ; and where is it to be fought? In St. James's Park ! reader ; in St. James's Park, at four o'clock of a summer afternoon ! And it is fought; poor Sir Harry receives a severe wound, and is left bleeding and deserted in a remote thicket of that solitary spot, until he is discovered by Miss Alice, a sister of the Brothers Davis, who has gone out in her carriage for an evening drive in that favourite locality for equestrian exercise of all kinds, and conducted by her to the “Hotel, in the French sense of the word, where her brothers with their wives reside. Meantime, Richard is about to become an M.P., and for where, does the reader think? For Wolverhampton perhaps, or Stockport, or Ashton-under-Lyne, or Staley Bridge, or some other manufacturing town of the North. Not a bit of it ; for Canterbury, of all the towns in England. Well, during his absence, Sir Edgard, who is actually carrying on an intrigue with Anna, and trying to get one up with Lucy, enters the house in the middle of the night, is foiled in his purpose by Sir Harry, and a series of ropeladder exploits--forcible abductions in mysterious boats upon the Thames, masked bravoes and so forth, ensues—all of which would do very well for a mediæval Venetian story, but sounds somewhat strange in the London of 1846. The upshot is, that Richard Davis, Esq., millionaire, and M.P. for the cathedral town of Canterbury, believes that his wife has betrayed his honour, and determines to sell her in Smithfield Market! This is the second wife sold in the piece. The first was disposed of by a mere brutal uneducated fellow; the circumstance of the auction of the second, however, teaches us that all ranks in England, all degrees of enlightenment, follow the same good old fashion. Smithfield, as I have said, is the scene of the second sale. The dramatist places its locality in the neighbourhood of Blackwall, or as he calls it, Blackwood, and of course quite close to the fashionable part of London ; the East, the middle, and the West End all jumbled toge

ther in one mass of glorious confusion. Well, the market is crowded, and Richard Davis, Esq., M.P., makes his appearance, leading Mrs. D. by a cord round her neck. But the scene is short, and immeasurably too rich to be lost. I shall translate it therefore entire

RICHARD DAVIS (to the crowd.) “ Well, gentlemen-you are aware that the lady is to be sold

LUCY (falling on her knees.) * Lord have mercy on me!”
SIR EDGARD (from the crowd.) " I bid a thousand pounds !”
RICHARD DAVIS. “ Sir Edgard !”
LUCY. “Sir Edgard—Oh! have I not suffered enough ?"
RICHARD DAVIS. * That is your paramour--is it not, ma'am ?”
LUCY. “Oh God! kill me ! -kill me!"

. RICHARD Davis. “I shall-him

SIR EDGARD. “No gentleman outbids me, I believe? Wellthe woman's mine."

SIR HARRY. “Stop, stop. Fifty thousand guineas for Mrs. Davis."

RICHARD DAVIS. “ Who bids so high ?”

SIR HARRY. “ You shall soon know. When Smithfield clock strikes three, your victim is my property.'

[The clock strikes. A man dressed in black appears, and places him

self between Richard and Lucy, touching the latter with a wand. SIR HARRY (to Lucy.) “Go, go, poor martyr!” LUCY. “ What have you done, Richard ?" RICHARD DAVIS (springing towards her.) “No--no."

[The Constable with his wand prevents him from touching her.. SIR HARRY (solemnly.) * You have no right over her—you have

. sold your wife."

Poor Lucy is indeed a victim. No sooner is she sold than her husband discovers her innocence, and his agony closes the fourth act. The fifth opens not a whit less sadly. The purchased wife is of course in a deplorable state, and her quondam husband no better ; but, although he thinks he has behaved like a scoundrel, the City of London thinks otherwise, and in Sir Harry's words• Proud of you, proud of your respect for their noble customs, the merchants and the people of London prepare for

you new honours." While yet he speaks shouts are heard without : « Vive Sir Richard Davis-vive the new Lord Mayor !” Here is new light upon our civic institutions with a vengeance.

a

" How to be Lord Mayor" is the problem proposed. The French dramatist answers,

« First sell

your

wife. I wonder whether, when the deputies of the corporation were lately so well treated by Louis-Philippe, any of the worthy Parisians imagined that they had attained their municipal glory by leading their wives into Smithfield, and selling them with halters about their necks?

But to continue. The Lord Mayor elect determines, instead of joining in the show, to shoot himself—instead of sitting in civic state in Guildhall , to have the Coroner sitting upon

him. But matters have no such dismal termination. We suddenly hear--although, , by the way, there is no assignable reason I can see why we should not have heard it in the second act—that Harry, the purchaser of Lucy, is that lady's brother; and that he has not only cleared up the character of his living sister, but proved the virtue of their common mother. Furthermore, we are informed that, although it is considered very disgraceful in England for a married lady to be sold to an indifferent party, yet that her brother may buy her with perfect decorum. The denouement follows as a matter of course. The Lord Mayor proclaims the virtue of the Lady Mayoress to all Cheapside. Enthusiastic shouts grace the touching ceremony; then the civic procession sets forth. The stage directions give us a vivid notion of the affair. The Lord Mayor leads her Ladyship by the hand : all the members of his family follow. We hear nothing of the city champions or the city macebearer, or the city marshal, or the city coach ; but we have—after the Lord Mayor's family--the Aldermen with their families; and after them—who does the reader think ?--why, the Members of the Hou of Commons, followed in their turn by some nameless indi viduals, dimly represented by "&c. &c. &c." But all is not

“ . .? Just as the city procession has begun its march, a cry

is raised of “The Queen-the Queen ;” and our authority--still the stage directions--states that Her Majesty, having duly asked permission to enter the city, is seen approaching, preceded by heralds--not through Temple Bar, but over London Bridge ; it thus appearing that Royalty has varied the ordinary route from Buckingham Palace to the Mansion House, by crossing Westminster Bridge, and traversing the pleasant paths of Pedlar's Acre. And so, to a loud combined cheer of « Vive la Reine, vive le nouveau Lord Maire,” the curtain falls

this dramatic picture of England and the English ; a picture intended to present the visitors of the Ambigu Comique with a full, true, and

;

Over.

faithful account of how we pass our lives, how we treat the wives of our bosoms, and how we elect the rulers of our choice.

Bravo, Messieurs Adolphe Dennery and Paul Fenal ! Other authors of your country may make their occasional, nay, their frequent blunders in describing us ; but to you-Macflecknoes of the Boulevard--is reserved the proud distinction of your prototype, so well hit off by Dryden, and capable, by a little change, of being so well applied to you :

“ Some men to wit—to truth, some make pretence ;
But you !-you never deviate into sense.

THE POOR-LAW AND THE PEASANT GIRL.

“IMPOSSIBLE ! my good man,” said the doctor, preparing to leave the cottage, “ Impossible! I could not think of interfering with a case that distinctly belongs to the parish surgeon, unless indeed I consider your wife as a private patient, and then, as you are aware, my fee is ten shillings.

Oh! sir, you say there is danger," urged the man, intercepting his progress to the door. “Pray do what you can for her-I am without a shilling at this moment, or the means of raising it, but I will ask Mr. Tims the overseer to lend me five shillings, (he will not surely refuse me that) and I know amongst my neighbours, (badly off as they are) I shall be able to borrow the remainder ; for God's sake, sir, do not leave her-listen to her groans, remember her young children, and have pity on us ; I feel sure I shall be able to make up the money."

But Doctor Cribb felt certain of no such thing, and taking up his gloves from the deal-table, and his cane from one of the wooden chairs on which it was laid, he coolly rejoined—“It is wholly out of piy power (under the circumstances) to have anything to do with the case.; you had however better lose no time in applying to the parish authorities : every moment is of consequence to your wife. Í

am sorry, very sorry, but I can do nothing in it. I thought every one knew that it was customary on these occasions to have the fee prepared."

“If your honour would but listen to me for a moment, posed Nat Lee, getting between him and the door-step. “If your honour would but listen to me : it is five weeks since I have had a day's work, and at the best of times I do not earn more

"inter