which reached to his elbows, and cutting up dish after dish one after the other, he would send one to one poor neighbour, the next to another, and so on,whether it were "brawn, beef, capon, goose," or anything else, until he had left the table quite empty; when again giving thanks to the "Giver of all Good," he laid by his sleeves and napkin, and caused the cloth to be removed. And on such occasions he always did as has been stated, without tasting of anything whatsoever, even one morsel of any dish, no matter how savoury or tempting it might be.

side-sleeves" then so universally worn ever by the plainest citizen, and which, according to the old ballad, helped to "cleanse the streets," caused him to smile or to frown, we do not know; but there is one fact in connection with the study-window which has been recorded of him, and it is this: that "he never spied any sick, weak, or lame," but "he presently did send after them to comfort, cherish, and strengthen them, and not a trifle to serve them or: he present, but so much as would relieve them many days after." He was, moreover, in the When any of the professional beggars (so to constant habit of inquiring who in the neighspeak) of the metropolis clamoured impudently bourhood were industrious in their business or at his gate, they were not as a consequence different trades-who had "great charge of immediately relieved; but, after all delay children;" and if he found that their labour or they never found they had "clapped their dish attention to their affairs could not ufficiently at the wrong man's door," as, eventually, they support their families, he would renevet hem were never sent away disappointed or unrelieved. liberally, according to their different necessities. From his study-window he had a view into What particular form of religion ne favoured the street-one of the crowded thoroughfares of it is impossible to say; for though his eing London-and how strange must have been the "an honest man, who ate no fist would go reflections of that silent, solitary man, as he sat to show he was a Protestant, yet as he never alone with God and his own thoughts! while tasted flesh either, it might be supposed that he in the busy world he had renounced for ever, leant towards Papistry, but at all events that he courtiers were intriguing, monarchs dying, dy-possessed in an eminent degres the great nasties changing; his eyes resting with pitying looks upon the different follies of the age, as he caught occasional glimpses of them in the passers by; one time presenting themselves to his view in the person of some foppish young nobleman, even at that early date, affecting an effeminacy which always vanished at the first He died at his house in Grub-street, after an threatening of danger, with his ear-rings and his anchoretical confinement of forty-four years, costly garters, his love-locks, and his ostrich-October 29th, 1636, aged 84 years, his faithful feather fan; at another it would be, perhaps, "my lady" wearing her "sun-expelling mask," fardingaled and beruffed, on her way to the "tire-maker's," to have her hair dyed the newest shade of colour, or inspect the latest fashion in periwigs; or the alderman's pride in his civic honours flashed before him, in his displayed thumb-ring; or perhaps the absurdity of "the

Christian virtue of charity, no one reading an account of his life can deny; and it is also recorded of him that although every book, according as it was printed, was sent to him by his own directions, those relating to religious controversy he always laid by and never read.

servant, Elizabeth, dying exactly six days before him. Who took her place for this short period is not spoken of. At his death his hair and beard were so overgrown that he appeared more like a hermit of the wilderness than the inhabitant of one of the first and most civilized cities in the world,

A DREADFUL

Everyone, who has come to "reverence and, the silver hair," must have one or two incidents in his former life to look back upon with a horror that years cannot remove. And these said things, of which he is so ashamed, need not in themselves be of the slightest harm. They may be accidents which would happen alike to a dean or a director, without for an instant damaging the sanctity of the one, or the morality of the other. Of such a kind is the incident which I am about to relate, and when I say that here in my study, middle-aged as I am, with the cry of the children in the upper regions, prospective of cold mutton and rice pudding for dinner; even now at

ACCIDENT.

the remembrance my two cheeks resemble small pieces cut out of the most brilliant part of Turner's "Ulysses deriding Polyphemus." I blush to say that I am actually blushing at the thought of a half hour far away back in the vista of years.

Before telling this story, which I do as a caution to all coming youth, I should mention that it is only in my anonymous character that I am able to do so, and that not even the wife of my bosom has heard it; or, even should she take up this Journal, will she guess for an instant who is the narrator of this harrowing story.

It is extraordinary how little sympathy is shown

by men for their fellow creatures, when in really very distressing situations, where they would seem to need all the consolation and comfort they could get. Let any divine of the gravest demeanour, high in the church, and in principles, universally respected, walking along the Strand or Regent-street with stately steps, suddenly, from orange-peel or other cause beyond his control, go down on his reverend back, with his gaitered legs/pointing to the sky, and his shovel hat in the gutter, and you will find that nine out of ten of the passers-by will be inclined to laugh.

A stout widow in black satin, who in taking a country walk has attempted to climb a gate, and has stuck on the top thereof without knowing how on earth to get off, is painfully affected in her own mind, and is really in a very distressing position, but what sympathy would she get from most of us? No: people are far from being as charitable as they ought to be, and I cannot help fearing that the readers of this article, forewarned as they are, will not be much better than the rest of their kind.

I was a very young man, just out of the satisfaction of hearing myself called "Mister," and still occasionally imagining that everybody must be noticing the tails of my coat. I had shown myself at a few evening parties, and had a little distinguished myself in the embryo flirting line, so that old hands among the opposite sex thought that I should do. But evening parties and carpet dances would not do for me; I yearned for an opportunity of displaying my talents as a rising young man in a more imposing battle-field, and Fortune very soon favoured me. The mayor of the town in which I lived announced his intention of finishing off his mayoralty with a ball, which would eclipse anything of the kind that had previously occurred in our somewhat-behind-the-rest-of-the-world little town. We were, of course, all of us much interested in this; and although some few of my older companions said it would be a great "bawr," in a manner in which I envied, it was so extremely manly, yet to the majority of us -to me in particular-it promised an evening of unalloyed delight, and the more so as I was then a freshman in Cupid's College, and was thinking of trying to pass my little go at this said ball. She was a good deal older than I was, and had jilted a man or two, and otherwise distinguished herself. But where are the obstacles that will check the love of nineteen? I cast them from me, and loved her with a devotion which I then thought would last for ever, and now remember did last for three weeks!

The night came at last, and a most eventful one it proved. It was the first time that I had put myself behind a white tie, and in my ignorance of the manner of tying that rubicon of dress, I went to the curate of the parish, who kindly did it for me, and I believe succeeded in making it as ridiculous a tie as man ever had! I did not know this at the time, or perhaps what of my evening was happy would not have been

so. I arrived very early, looked anxiously to the door for every fresh arrival. My inamorata came at last, and I secured her for the first dance, and also made an arrangement to take her into supper; for, as she said, "she knew me so well, she should not be ashamed to ask me for anything-she was generally very hungry after dancing!" The time passed gloriously until supper was announced, when in we went together, and I soon found myself very favourably placed with the rector of the parish beside me, and no one on the other side of her who was likely to distract her attention from me. In front of me was a cold turkey, smothered, as I think they call it, in white sauce. It looked very nice, but no one seemed to fancy it until we were nearly all done, when a man opposite, who had come in late, thought he would try a bit, and I, being an indifferent carver, removed my own plate, and put the turkey right before me in order to get at it comfortably. Directly afterwards the speechifying began. The speeches were, I believe, of the ordinary dull character, but they were new to me, and I was delighted with them. The ladies' health was of course proposed, and the sentiments of the speaker agreed so well with mine, that I applauded and clapped and knocked the table to such an extent, that, without foreseeing the dreadful deed I was about to commit, I knocked the dish containing the turkey right into my lap! The noise was so great, the attention of the company to the speaker so engrossing, that I was able to replace the dish without the catastrophe having been observed by anyone; but, horrible to relate, it was empty, and its contents remained in my lap! I pushed it away from me, and began to consider my position; but I had not much time for consideration, for I felt the defunct bird gradually slipping off my lap, and knowing that, if it was allowed to fall upon the floor, my vis-à-vis would soon discover it with his feet, I pinned it up against the top of the table with my knees-a position which very soon produced cramp of an excruciating kind. I had now the turkey safe enough, but where was all that beautiful white sauce? I had no time for thinking of my condition, for, the speech being finished, my partner resumed a conversation on Mr. Coleridge's poem of "Love," which it had interrupted, but my appreciation and argumentative powers were gone. "Ah! said she, "how true it is, that whatever stirs this mortal frame is but a minister of love, and feeds his sacred flame !" "Yes," answered I. But I could not help thinking, that what was then stirring my mortal frame was, to say the least of it, a very odd minister of love! and besides the dampness, which is unfortunately an indispensable attendant upon white sauce and things of that kind, was beginning to make itself known to me through the thinness of my nether garments. I did all I could to attract the attention of a waiter, whom I hoped would suggest some way of relieving me, and at last succeeding, he came across, refilled my champagne glass, and was off before I

LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

been intended for her. She cried a little-just a very little; she was so weak, and thirst is very bad to bear, particularly when every joint and limb are aching, and we feel ill all over, By the Author of "Scattered Seeds," "A having felt so day after day for many a long

departure, recommending a great many things of which Jenny's mother did not even know the names, and, even had she, would have been quite unable to procure. She could not, poor woman, supply the invalid with "nourishing, wholesome food," much less furnish her with "plenty of cod-liver oil."

"Some children will be sickly, I s'pose," said Jenny's mother;" and one can't always find out what ails 'em, poor dears. I hope my lass will take a turn for the better after a time, and my looking at her don't help; so I'll try and earn something for her dinner."

And so Mrs. Clarke had resumed her old occupation of charing because she really did not know what to do for the best; but, strive as she would, poor Jenny could not eat her mother's unsatisfactory cooking of the odd bits she bought on her way home, and having nothing to get strong upon, she became daily weaker, poor child, and apparently nearer and nearer to that land where earth's suffering "little ones," are all safely gathered to the Good Shepherd's arms, never more know hunger, or thirst, or sickness, or any such thing.

discovered fruit-beautiful grapes, such as when well and able to walk, she remembered having seen long, long ago in Covent Garden Market.

Poor little girl! finding them on her little table, she naturally fancied that they must be for her, and began eating them with avidity; one after the other she raised to her parched lips. Surely never had she tasted anything so delicious! But it would not do to eat them all at once; so she kept a few, just a few, close by her, where she could look at them, to enjoy byand-by, and was wondering who had provided such a treat for her, when a gentleman-one of those who had already unintentionally intruded upon her, hastily entered the room, exclaiming, "This is where we first came: I must surely have left it here!" Then, apparently for the first time conscious of Jenny's existence, he drew near to the pallet on which she was lying, and looked kindly at her-" I did not notice you, my little girl, just now, and am afraid you must be very ill?"

"Yes, sir," said Jenny, "I have been ill a long time."

"And have been eating up my grapes," said the gentleman, still smiling, and taking her feeble, wasted hand in his.

"I did not know they were yours, sir: I am very sorry, but they were so nice, and I—I was so thirsty !"

"Poor little maid, I dare say you were. Never mind the grapes: they were for my daughter, who is very fond of grapes; but she is quite well, thank God, and can do without them. Here, Weston," he continued, as his companion entered the room in search of him, "I wish you would come and look at this child; I think it quite as much a case for you as the other. What is decided about the boy?"

But to return once more to the particular morning on which Jenny has first been introduced to my young readers. She very soon fell again into an uneasy slumber, for she was never awake for any length of time, although her sleep brought but little either of rest or refreshment with it. Then it seemed as if in her sleep there had been voices speaking near her, and heavy footsteps passed close to her bed, or rather the heap of things which served her for a restingplace. She opened her eyes wearily; strangers were in the room-two gentlemen, carrying between them what Jenny could not raise herself sufficiently to distinguish. They seemed uncertain where to deposit their burden, the only accommodation in the shape of a bed being that "That he shall be removed to the hospital at occupied by Jenny, of whose presence they took once. The mother is a sensible woman, and no notice; indeed, their thoughts were alto-understands that it will be the best chance for gether centred upon the young lad, now insen- his recovery. I expect it must be a case of amsible from the effects of an accident, which the putation.' gentlemen had witnessed in a neighbouring thoroughfare.

دو

Whilst still demurring as to what they should do with the poor child, a ragged little girl came in to explain that "mother's room was in another direction, if they would follow her; and that mother herself had been told of the accident, and would soon be home to "mind poor Willie." The momentary bustle had subsided, and Jenny, once more alone, might possibly have fallen asleep again, and forgotten all about it, but that, as she turned uneasily in the vain hope of feeling" more comfortable," she caught sight of a small, round, paper-covered basket on the ricketty stool by her bedside, where the

could be in it? Something to drink by any lucky chance? That was naturally the thirsty child's first hope: and weak though her fingers were, she could not help making several efforts to remove the string, and, to her great delight,

And then Mr. Weston took his friend's place, and examined the poor little wasted form in the bed, speaking very kindly and gently all the time.

"I will come again in a few hours, and see your mother, my dear," said he at last; "tell her I think I could make you better; I am a doctor, and look after little children, and try and get them well. And now, Stafford, I have not another minute to spare: I must be at the hospital for that consultation I told you of, and will then make arrangements for the removal of the poor lad."

So the two gentlemen separated as soon as they were once more in the busy thoOrmond Street, the clergyman, Mr. Stafford, for his sister's comfortable residence in Belgravia, where his little daughter Fanny was anxiously expecting his return.

“Oh, Papa, 1 thought you never would be