both mentally and bodily, and, as we (Zachary Gobbletop) are not unfrequently abstracted during the computation, we have been productive of no little amusement. Upon one occasion we were absorbed in one of these abstruse arithmetical problems, and endeavouring to make an estimate in round numbers of the food devoured during a single week, taking into account so many houses in so many streets in the various parishes of the metropolis. Sixty-four, carry two, and add up the next columna death like silence pervaded the coffeeroom, saving the faint singing in the gas pipes, and the occasional rustle of a magazine. Our task was just reaching the 'sum total'-the girl stood by, waiting for our order. Five thousand six hundred and fifty cups of coffee, three thousand nine hundred and seventy-two rounds of buttered toast!' we exclaimed in a voice of triumph. A look of astonishment from everybody present awoke us from our fit of abstraction; the handmaid staggered against the umbrella stand with surprise, and hurried into the back parlour, of course, with the intelligence that there was a fat lunatic in number seven, with a plush waistcoat and SUCH an appetite! How ever, be it known unto all to whom these presents may come' that our principal recreation in a coffee-house-that is the principal recreation of us, the imperial Gobbletop-is in studying the different characteristics of its frequenters. First and foremost is the podgy old gentleman yonder, his spectacles resting on his upper lip, and firing his eyesight straight down the bridge of his nose, as another would aim along his Manton, bringing down the 'follies as they fly.' Then there is the funny gentleman, always dropping on facetious things, beating his forehead in wild, but silent, bursts of hilarity, and waving off the attendant with her supply of crumpets, as though he said: Hist! for Heaven's sake-another minute!' until he arrives at the termination of his joke, and resigns the paper with twinkling eyes to attack the provisions. Then there is the monopolist in the adjoining box, who sits upon several unread publications, hatching their contents in a tremour, lest somebody else should have their prior enjoyment. Then there is the blunt, matter-of-fact fellow, with L. S. D. glimmering in every button, and altogether a very impersonation of his household god, as he himself styles it'blunt.' He is remarkable for deeming it an absolute matter of conscience to get the entire value of his halfpence, and, consequently, reads everything in a newspaper, railway advertisements and all, from the number up in the left hand corner, to the 'printed and published' at the bottom of the last column inclusively. Then there

is the benevolent gentleman, who mutters every sixth word out loud for the especial benefit of all in his neighbourhood, sustaining the interest of the intervals by a subdued hum; precisely in the manner Richard III would have repeated his soliloquy, had it been introduced as a stage-epistle, thus:

'Now, hm-m-m-m-winter h-m-m-m-m-m-m-dis

content;

H-m-m-m-glorious h-m-m-m son of York;
H-m-m-m-house h-m-m-m lie

H-m-m-m-bosoms h-m-m-m ocean buried!'

Then there is the diminutive man, who invariably peruses a paper when spread forth in all its gigantic dimensions, grasping the edges as vigorously as his short but outstretched arms will permit, until you begin to fancy that he is holding on for dear life by the margin, instead of placidly glancing over the news. Then there is the pale gentleman, who cannot understand three consecutive sentences from the incessant chuckling in the next box, and, having a very discursive mind, is uncertain after studying a wretched paragraph of some twenty-five lines for the last half-hour, whether it is a description of some novel dance, or an execution, a wild beast hunt among the Carib savages, or a royal battue. This individual always reminds one of what the waggish old butler in Richmond-buildings called the pursuit of letters under difficulties,' when he ran along, on half-adozen soft corns, after the postman down at the end of the next terrace. In sooth, many of the customers are so eccentric in their dispositions, that their habits would remind one of coffee-houses themselves, since there you constantly see spoons in their cups.' Zachary Gobbletop haunteth these domains as their good genius, he pervadeth all the coffee-houses in London, like Ubiquity in quest of muffins.”

6

The Eatherer.

6

Singular Coincidences.-The words written in italics in this paragraph are the names of persons who are all residing in the town of Dorchester, which can Bragge of its Duke, Bishops, and Squires; for each of the Parsons a Clark is to be found, although they must be content with a Chapple. Builders will find lots of Wood and Stone, but to describe any wood in particular, save Ash and Nutt, is difficult, our Groves not producing any other; yet as Painters can cover all imperfections, they have choice of colours in Green, Brown, Grey, Olive, and White; tradesmen are plenty, for there are Taylors, Millers, Bakers, Coopers, Masons, Cutlers, a Joiner and Lock Smiths; and for the agriculturist, there is a Plowman and a Carter. The

An intelligent traveller has well described the scene. He says: "What a scene of desolation and barrenness here strikes the eye-sterile and unproductive black masses of rock, induce us to believe we have arrived at the verge of the habitable world, the ancient geographers, in their ignorance, supposing that towards the confines of the earth it became a dreary waste, going suddenly down a sheer depth, as a vast wall." The attention of government has long been drawn to this bay, with a view of establishing a naval station, which in time of war would not only be a safeguard to the island, but an efficient protection to the trade of the channel, as well as a convenient point of observation from which the movements of the French coast, from Cherbourg to Brest, might be watch ed. A pier on a very limited scale has been some time ago constructed, by direction of the states of Jersey, at a considerable cost; and this would naturally form the commencement of the government work, should such a work be resolved upon.

This bay offers many opportunities to the angler, from the depth of water at the pier-head and islet. The fish taken are mullet, whiting, rick-fish, bass, and congers; the latter off the rocks, at some distance to the right, many weighing from twenty to thirty pounds. A few years ago an oyster bed was discovered, about six miles from the shore, which promises a rich harvest to the dredger, besides being some distance from the limits of the French T. G.

coast.

THE PROGRESS OF RAILWAYS.

(FROM THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS.) Dear Grandmother-As I don't think you have any liking for railways,-being, like colonel Sibthorp, one of those folks loving the good old times, when travelling was as sober a thing as a waggon and four horses could make it-I really don't see how I'm to write you anything of a letter. There's nobody in town, and nothing in the papers but plans of railways, that in a little time will cover all England like a large spider's net; and, as in the net, there will be a good many flies caught and gobbled up, by those who spin. Nevertheless, though, I know you don't agree with me any more than colonel Sibthorp does-it is a fine sight to open the newspapers, and see the railway schemes. What mountains of money they bring to the mind! And then for the wonders they're big with, why, properly considered, arn't they a thousand times more wonderful than anything in the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments!" Then we have flying carriages to be brought to

every man's door! All England made to shake hands with itself in a few hours! And when London can, in an hour or so, go to the Land's End for a gulp of sea-air, and the Land's End in the same time come to see the shows of London-shan't all of us the better understand one another; shan't we all be brought together, and made, as we ought to be, one family of! It's coming fast, grandmother. Now pigs can travel, I don't know how far, at a halfpenny ahead, we don't hear the talk that used to be of "the swinish multitude." And isn't it a fine thing-I know you don't think so, but isn't it?-to know that all has been done, and all that's to do, will be done, because Englishmen have left off cutting other men's throats! That peace has done it all. If they oughtn't to set up a dove with an olive branch at every railway terminus, I'm an impostor, and no true cabman. Yes, grandmother, peace has done it all! Only think of the iron that has been melted into cannon and round shot, and chain shot, and all other sorts of shot-that the devils on a holiday play at bowls with!-if the war had gone on-all the very same iron that's now laid upon sleepers! Think of the iron that had been fired into the sea, and banged through quiet people's houses, and sent mashing squares and squares of men-God's likenesses in red, blue, and green coats, hired to be killed at so many pence a day-only think what would have been this wicked, I will say it, this blasphemous waste of metal-that, as it is, has been made into steam engines. Very fine, indeed, they say, is the roar of artillery; but what is it to the roar of steam? I never see an engine, with its red hot coals and its clouds of steam and smoke, that it doesn't seem to me like a tremendous dragon that has been tamed by man to carry all the blessings of civilisation to his fellow-creatures. I've read about knights going through the skies on fiery monsters-but what are they to the engineers, at two pound five aweek? What is any squire among 'em all to the humblest stoker? And then, I've read about martial trumpets-why they haven't, to my ears, half the silver in their sound as the railway whistle! Well, I should like the ghost of Buonaparte to get up some morning, and take the Times in his thin hands. If he wouldn't turn yellower than ever he was at St. Helena! There he'd see plans for railways in France

belly France, as I believe they call itto be carried out by Frenchmen and Englishmen. Yes; he wouldn't see 'em mixing bayonets, trying to poke'em in one another's bowels that a few tons of blood might, as they call it, water his laurels-how any man can wear laurels at all, I can't tell, they must smell so of the slaughter-house!

-he wouldn't see 'em charging one another on the battle field, but quietly arranged, cheek by jowl, in the list of directors. Not exchanging bullets, but clubbing together their hard cash. Consider it, grandmother, isn't it droll! Here, in these very lists, you see English captains and colonels in company with French viscounts and barons, and I don't know what, planning to lay iron down in France-to civilise and add to the prosperity of Frenchmen! The very captains and colonels who, but for the peace, would be blowing French ships out of the waterknocking down French houses-and all the while swearing it, and believing it, too, that Frenchmen were only sent into this world to be killed by Englishmen, just as boys think frogs were spawned only to be pelted at. Oh, only give her time, and Peacetimid dove as she is-will coo down the trumpet. Now, grandmother, only do think of lord Nelson as a railway director on the Boulogne line to Paris! Well, I know you'll say it-the world's going to be turned upside down. Perhaps it is; and after all, it mightn't be the worse now and then for a little wholesome shaking. They do say there's to be a rail from Waterloo to Brussels, and the duke of Wellington-the iron duke, with, I've no doubt, iron enough in him for the whole line-is to be chairman of the directors. The prince Joinville is now and then looking about our coasts to find out, it is said, which is the softest part of us, in the case of a war, to put his foot upon us. Poor fellow! he's got the disease of glory; only as it sometimes happens with the small-pox-it has struck inwards; it can't come out upon him. When we've railways laid down, as I say, like a spider's web all over the country, won't it be a little hard to catch us asleep? For you see, just like the spider's web, the electric telegraph (inquire what sort of a thing it is, for I hav'n't time to tell you), the electric telegraph will touch a line of the web, when down will come a tremendous spider, in a red coat, with all sorts of murder after him! Mind, grandmother, let us hope this never may happen; but when folks who'd molest us, know how it can come about, won't they let us alone? Depend upon it, we're binding war over to keep the peace, and the bonds are made of railway iron! You'd hardly think it—you who used to talk to me about the beauty of glory (I know you meant nothing but the red coats and the fine epaulets; for that so often is women's notion of glory, tho' bless 'em, they're among the first to make lint, and cry over the sons of glory, with gashes spoiling all their fine feathers)-you'd hardly think it, but they're going to put up a statue to the man who first made boiling water to run upon a rail. It's quite true: I read it only a day or two ago.

They're going to fix up a statue to George Stephenson, in Newcastle. How you will cast up your dear old eyes, when you hear of this! You, who've only thought that statues should be put up to queen Anne, and George III, and his nice son George IV, and such people! I should only like a good many of the statues here in London to be made to take a cheap train down to Newcastle to see it. If, dirty as they are, and dirty as they were, they wouldn't blush as red as a new copper halfpenny, why, those statues especially when they've queens and kings in 'em-are the most unfeelingest of metal! What a lot of man. gled bodies, and misery, and housebreaking, and wickedness of all sorts, carried on and made quite lawful by a uniform-may we see-if we choose to see at all-about the statue of what we called a Conqueror ! What firing of houses, what shame, that because you're a woman I won't more particularly write about; we might look upon under the statue, that is only so high, be cause it has so much wickedness to stand upon! If the statue could feel at all, wouldn't it put up its hands, and hide its face, although it were made of the best of bronze! But Mr. Stephenson will look kindly and sweetly about him; he will know that he has carried comfort, and knowledge, and happiness to the doors of millions-that he has brought men together, that they might know and love one another. This is something like having a statue! I'm sure of it, when George IV is made to hear the news (for kings are so very long before the truth comes to 'em), he'd like to gallop off to the first melter's, and go at once into the nothing that men think him. And besides all this, the railways have got a king! When you hear of a king of England, I know your old thoughts go down to Westminster Abbey; and you think of nothing but bishops and peers, and all that sort of thing, kissing the king's cheeks, and the holy oil upon the royal head, that the crown, I suppose, may sit the more comfortably upon it; but this is another sort of king-Mr. King Hudson the first! I have read it somewhere at a bookstall, that Napoleon was crowned with the iron crown of Italy. Well, king Hud

son has been crowned with the iron crown of England! A crown melted out of pigiron, and made in a railway furnace. I've somewhere seen the picture of the river Nile, that with the lifting of his finger made the river flow over barren land, and leave there all sorts of blessings. Well, king Hudson is of this sort; he has made the molten iron flow over all sorts of places, and so bring forth good fruits wherever it went. So no more from your affectionate grandson,

JUNIPER HEDGEHOG,