out struggling to give his poor thoughts articulation. He chose his companions for some individuality of character which they manifested. Hence, not many persons of science, and few professed literati, were of his councils. They were, for the most part, persons of an uncertain fortune; and, as to such people commonly nothing is more obnoxious than a gentleman of settled (though moderate) income, he passed with most of them for a great miser. To my knowledge this was a mistake. His intimados, to confess a truth, were in the world's eye a ragged regiment. He found them floating on the surface of society; and the color, or something else, in the weed pleased him. The burrs stuck to him—but they were good and loving burrs for all that. He never greatly cared for the society of what are called good people. If any of these were scandalized (and offences were sure to arise), he could not help it. When he has been remonstrated with for not making more concessions to the feelings of good people, he would retort by asking, what one point did these good people ever concede to him? He was temperate in his meals and diversions, but always kept a little on this side of abstemiousness. Only in the use of the Indian weed he might be thought a little excessive. He took it, he would say, as a solvent of speech. Marry—as the friendly vapor ascended, how his prattle would curl up sometimes with it! the ligaments which tongue-tied him, were loosened, and the stammerer proceeded a statist! I do not know whether I ought to bemoan or rejoice that my old friend is departed. His jests were beginning to grow obsolete, and his stories to be found out. He felt the approaches of age; and while he pretended to cling to life, you saw how slender were the ties left to bind him. Discoursing with him latterly on this subject, he expressed himself with a pettishness, which I thought unworthy of him. In our walks about his suburban retreat (as he called it) at Shacklewell, some children belonging to a school of industry had met us, and bowed and curtseyed, as he thought, in an especial manner to him. "They take me for a visiting governor," he muttered earnestly. He had a horror, which he carried to a foible, of looking like anything important and parochial. He thought that he approached nearer to that stamp daily. He had a general aversion from being treated like a grave or respectable character, and kept a wary eye upon the advances of age that should so entitle him. He herded always, while it was possible, with people younger than himself. He did not conform to the march of time, but was dragged along in the procession. His manners lagged behind his years. He was too much of the boy-man. The toga virilis never sate gracefully on his shoulders. The impressions of infancy had burnt into him, and he resented the impertinence of manhood. These were weaknesses; but such as they were, they are a key to explicate some of his writings. CONTENTS. BLAKESMOOR IN H- -SHIRE. POOR RELATIONS.. DETACHED THOUGHTS ON BOOKS AND READING. STAGE ILLUSION.. TO THE SHADE OF ELLISTON ELLISTONIANA ...... THE OLD MARGATE HOY. THE CONVALESCENT... SANITY OF TRUE GENIUS. CAPTAIN JACKSON...... THE SUPERANNUATED MAN. THE GENTEEL STYLE IN WRITING BARBARA S THE TOMBS IN THE ABBEY. AMICUS REDIVIVUS.. SOME SONNETS OF SIR PHILIP SYDNEY. NEWSPAPERS THIRTY-FIVE YEARS AGO BARRENNESS OF THE IMAGINATIVE FACULTY IN THE PRODUCTIONS OF MODERN ART.. THE WEDDING....... REJOICINGS UPON THE NEW YEAR'S COMING OF AGE. CONFESSIONS OF A DRUNKARD. OLD CHINA...... THE CHILD Angel; A DREAM. POPULAR FALLACIES....... I. THAT A BULLY IS ALWAYS A COWARD. II. THAT ILL-GOTTEN GAIN NEVER PROSPERS...... III. THAT A MAN MUST NOT LAUGH AT HIS OWN JEST....... TO PERCEIVE HE IS NO GENTLEMAN....... V. THAT THE POOR COPY THE VICES OF THE RICH.. VI. THAT ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST. PAGE 1 7 14 21 25 28 34 42 47 51 56 64 67 75 78 83 92 100 111 117 123 132 138 141 142 ib. 143 144 145 XI. THAT WE MUST NOT LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH.... 153 ELIA. BLAKESMOOR IN HSHIRE. I Do not know a pleasure more affecting than to range at will over the deserted apartments of some fine old family mansion. The traces of extinct grandeur admit of a better passion than envy and contemplations on the great and good, whom we fancy in succession to have been its inhabitants, weave for us illusions, incompatible with the bustle of modern occupancy, and vanities of foolish present aristocracy. The same difference of feeling, I think, attends us between entering an empty and a crowded church. In the latter it is chance but some present human frailty -an act of inattention on the part of some of the auditory-or a trait of affectation, or worse, vain-glory on that of the preacher -puts us by our best thoughts, disharmonizing the place and the occasion. But wouldst thou know the beauty of holiness ?-go alone on some week-day, borrowing the keys of good Master Sexton, traverse the cool aisles of some country church: think of the piety that has kneeled there the congregations, old and young, that have found consolation there the meek pastor-the docile parishioner. With no disturbing emotions, no cross conflicting comparisons, drink in the tranquillity of the place, till thou thyself become as fixed and motionless as the marble effigies that kneel and weep around thee. Journeying northward lately, I could not resist going some few miles out of my road to look upon the remains of an old great |