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mother, to scream even at the rustling of a pompadour, as at the moving scales of a gliding snake? She ought; but we fear she seldom does. Nay, sometimes she actually loves—determinedly loves—fine clothes, as though she had first waked in Paradise, like a queen from a siesta, in velvet and brocade, with jewels in her hair, and court plaster stars upon her cheek. With heart-breaking perverseness, she refuses to admit the naked truth to her soul, that the milliner came into the world with death. Otherwise, could philosophy with its diamond point engrave this truth upon the crystal heart of woman, it would very much serve to lessen pinmoney. We have heard it said—of course we immediately wrapt our countenance in our cloak, and ran from the slanderer—that woman fell for no other purpose than to wear fine clothes. In the prescience which she shared with man she saw the looms of the future world at work, and lost herself for a shot sarsnet. It is just as possible, too, that some of her daughters may have tripped at the window of a mercer. We cannot at this moment put our finger upon the passage, but surely it is somewhere written in the Talmud, that Eve on leaving Eden already took with her a choice and very various wardrobe. We have entirely forgotten the name of the writer who gives a very precise account of the moving. Nevertheless, many of the details are engraved—as with pen of iron upon rock —on our heart. First came a score of elephants; they, marching with slow pace, carried our first mother's gowns bestowed in wicker-work. To a hundred and fifty camels were consigned the caps and 'kerchiefs. And our author, we remember, compassionately dwells upon a poor dromedary, one of two hundred—that, overladen with bonnet-boxes, refused to get upon his legs until the load was lightened by half, and another hunchbacked beast appointed to share the burden. Whole droves of ponies, that have since made their way to Wales and Shetland, carried shoes and silk stockings, (with the zodiac gold-worked for clocks,) and ruffs and wimples, and farthingales and hoods, and all the various artillery that down to our day, from masked batteries aim at the heart of heedless, unsuspecting, ingenuous man,—weapons that, all unseen, do sometimes overthrow him . And in this way, according to the Talmudist, did Eve move her wardrobe into the plain country; and in so very short a time—so active is woman, with her heart like a silkworm, working for fine clothes—did our first mother get about her, what she, with natural meekness called, only a few things; but which Adam—and at only the nine thousandth package, with an impatient sulkiness that we fear has descended to some of his sons— denominated a pack of trumpery. If women, then, are sensitive in the matter of bundles, they inherit the tenderness from their first rosy mother. And our country wench, though we think she had never read the Talmud, had an instinctive love for the fine clothes she carried with her.—An instinct given her by the same beneficent law that teaches parrots and cockatoos to preen their feathers. Whilst, with profane fingers—like an allowed shopman—we have twiddled with the legendary silks and muslins, and other webs the property of Eve; whilst we have counted the robe-laden elephants, and felt our heart melt a little at the crying, eloquent pathos of the bonnet-crushed dromedary, Mr. Ralph Gum has paid for his liquor, and, his heart generous with alcohol, has stept into Bow-street. Glowing with brandy and benevolence, he heroically observed—“Never mind the bundle. I don't care if any of our folks do see me. So, my heart's honeysuckle, take my arm.” And, with little hesitation—for now they could not be very far from St. Mary Axe—the girl linked herself to that meek footman. “Don’t know what place this is, of course ? Covent-garden market, my bluebell. This is where we give ten guineas a pint for green peas, and " “Don’t they choke you?” cried the wench, astounded at what she thought a sinfulness of stomach. “Go down all the sweeter,” answered the epicurean vassal. “When they get to ten shillings a peck, they're out of our square altogether; only fit for pigs. Noble place, isn't it? Will you have a nosegay? Not but what you're all a nosegay yourself; nevertheless, you shall have something to sweeten you ; for that Mary Axe—well, I wouldn't set you against it—but for you to live there; you, a sweet little eretur that smells of nothing but cow's breath and new-mown hay ;—why, it's just murder in a slow manner. So do have a nosegay;” and Mr. Gum insisted upon disbursing threepence for a bunch of wallflowers, which—against his wish and intention—she herself placed in herbosom. Then he said: “I do pity you, going to Mary Axe.” “But I'm not a going to stay there,” said the girl: “no– I'm only going to see master, and he 's to take me into the country, to live with sich a sweet young lady.” “Well, there'll be a couple of you,” said Ralph, “I’m blessed if there wont. And whereabouts 2 ”

“That's telling,” replied the girl; as though she stored up a profound seeret in her heart, that it would take at least five minutes for Ralph's picklock tongue to come at. This Ralph felt, so said no more about it. “And here, in this place, we make our Members for Westminster—things for Parliament, you know.” “How droll! What should they bring 'em like turnips to market for?” inquired the wench, wondering, “Don't you know? Because they may be all the nearer the bad 'tatoes and the cabbage stumps. That's what our porter tells me is one of the rights of the constitution ; to pelt everybody as puts himself up to go into Parliament. Well, I've been done out of a nice chance, I have,” said the footman with sudden melancholy. “What do you mean? Not lost anything?” and the girl looked sweetly anxious. “Ain't I, though 2 You see, his lordship, my young master, went and stood in the country; and I couldn't go down with him. Now, if he'd only put up for Westminster, I'd just have come here in plain clothes, and dressing myself as if I was a blackguard, shouldn't he have known what bad 'tatoes was " “Why, you wicked eretur! you wouldn't have thrown 'em at him ? > * “Oh, wouldn't I though !” cried Mr. Gum, and he passed his tongue round his lips, enjoyingly. “What for? Is he sich a wicked master—sich a very bad man?” inquired the girl. “Don’t know that he is. Only you can't think what a pleasure it is to get the upper hand of high folks for a little while; and 'tatoes and cabbage stumps do it. It's a satisfaction, that's all,” said the footman. “I won't walk with you—not another step,” and the wench angrily withdrew her arm. “There you go, now; there you go. Just like all you women; if a man makes a harmless joke, and that's all I meant—you scream as if it was a flash of lightning. Bless you ! I'd go to the world's end for my master, even if I never was to see him That I would, my sprig of parsley.” “Is this the way to Mary Axe? If I'm not there directly, I'll ask somebody else.” “Just round this turning, and it's no way at all.” And Mr. Gum went through the market, and through street after street, and threaded two or three courts, the girl looking now impatient, now distrustful. At length Ralph paused. “My dear, if I havn't left something at my aunt's! In that house, there ; just step in a minute, while I call for it.” “No, I shan’t,” answered the wench, with a determination that somewhat startled Mr. Gum. “I shan't go into any house at all, afore I come to Mary Axe. And if you don't show me the way directly, I'll scream.” “Why, what a little sweet-briar you are! Don't I tell you, my aunt lives there 2 A nice, good old soul, as would be glad to see you—glad to see anybody I brought to her. I tell you what, now, if I must say the truth, I told her what a nice girl you was ; and how you was waiting for me ; and the good old 'oman began to scold me ; and asked me why I didn't bring you here. I shan't stop a minute—not a minute.” The girl looked up in Ralph's face; looked up so trustingly, and again so innocently placed her arm in his, that that great-hearted footman must have felt subdued and honoured by the confidence of his companion. And so he was about to hand her across his aunt's threshold—he was about to bring her face to face with that venerable, experienced, yet most mild woman,—when, suddenly, he felt his right ear seized as by a pair of iron pincers, and the next moment he felt himself spinning round and round; and the very next moment he lay tumbled in a heap upon the pavement. His heart bursting with indignation, he looked up, and—somehow, again he felt another tumble, for he saw in his assailant Bright Jem, his mother's brother-in-law; the meddlesome, low fellow, that had always taken it upon himself to talk to him. A few paces distant, too, was Mr. Whistle, Bow-street officer, serenely turning his flower between his lips, and with both his hands in his pockets, looking down upon the footman as though he was of no more account than a toadstool. Of course, the girl screamed as the assault was committed ; of course, for a few moments her rage against the ruffian,—the ugly man who had, and so like his impudence, spoken to her at the Brown Bear, was deep and womanly. But suddenly the face of Mr. Gum grew even a little darker; and the wench, though no scholar, read treason in every black line. Hence, with growing calmness she beheld Mr. Gum elaborately rub himself, as he slowly rose from the pavement. “Who spoke to you? What did you do that for " Such was

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