the owner of a lion's share in the famous black tin mines of Charlestown, besides a fair slice in the copper of Knockmahon. Chance gave Mr. Hampden the happiness of handing this fair Welsh lady to the supper-room, and placed him by her side at the refection. Among other topics for chat the snuff-box was not forgotten; and Miss Bolthose was gratified with an inspection of the gorgeous, but welldeserved, Bavarian present. She was enchanted by its beauty, and not less pleased by observing that its owner appeared to be mightily struck with hers. Yet she could not be called beautiful; for, though her features were tolerably regular, her complexion was rather of a coppery colour, and her dark eyes had a dullish cast, not very unlike that of black tin. It was strange that her fortune, certainly not short of thirty thousand pounds, had not propelled her into matrimony; but the truth was, that old Bolthose, her father, was of a very miserly disposition, and had thrown cold water on all the suitors who had aspired to his daughter's person and purse. Thus she was still in single blessedness at the age of twenty-seven, when our hero was introduced to her notice. We will not dwell on the ordinary matters which ensued, on the morning-call after the dance, or the intimacy that speedily followed. Suffice it to say, that Mr. Hampden contrived to make himself so agreeable to the lady, and to all parties concerned in her disposal, that, within three weeks after the ball, he was daily received at Tincroft House as the accepted lover of its fair mistress. Like a skilful miner, he blew up the furnace of her affections, and struck while the iron was hot. The shaft had reached her heart, and the ore was malleable: in fine, they were united in the parish church of Swansea; and Miss Bolthose became Mrs. George Hampden, the wife of the wealthy discoverer of Kitzpuhl, and thus part-proprietor of the royal box, as he was of her handsome dower of thirty thousand pounds. Fêtes and feasting attended the auspicious union, and a happier couple were never tasting honey-moon, when a trifling, but unlucky accident happened to jar the harmony and interrupt the felicity of the scene. Mr. and Mrs. Hampden, a week after their marriage, were giving a small party to their most intimate friends, the Dobbes', Pattens, Greenfields, and a few others, (some of the females not being over-joyful at the triumph of their late companion,) and the wine and glee were contagious of good-humour. Winks, and nods, and wreathed smiles played round the social board; and the box of boxes passed from hand to hand. At this moment a rude and vulgar fellow burst abruptly into the room; and immediately behind him followed a still dirtier and more disreputable-looking rascal. What was the astonishment of the company when they saw the former march up to Mr. Hampden, and, slapping him on the shoulder, heard him exclaim, "Aha, Master Smith! so I've nabbed you at last!" The bridegroom was almost convulsed with confusion, while the ruffian ran on, -"And, my eyes! I say, Jem, if there isn't the werry box too! Vell, my trump! I hope you can pay for it now; but, in order to make sure, you vill allow me to pocket it for the meanwhile;" which saying, he grabbed the King of Bavaria's diamond crown, just as if it had been Birmingham or Sheffield. And, not to keep our readers any longer in suspense, it was of that sort. The gold was mosaic, VOL. III. 2 B the stones were Bristol, the manufacture London, the inscription Mr. Hampden's. His mining was of the sort called Undermining; his foreign travel had been among the kangaroos; and his present most successful pursuit was entirely the plot which made Swansea his resting-place, and the Welsh heiress of Charlestown, Knockmahon, and Tincroft House, his blooming bride. It was a bad business; but what was to be done? "Of a bad bargain," says the song, "make the best." It was an easy matter to settle with the bailiffs, as the arrest was only for eighty guineas, being nothing else than the price of the snuff-box to a Jew trader in St. Mary Axe; but then came the mortification and disgrace of such a connexion! Miss Patten tittered, and Miss Greenfield laughed at the denouement ; and poor Mrs. Hampden was obliged to be satisfied with his assurance that her lord and master would turn honest man, and behave like a gentleman,-which, if he does, will be a wonderful change, and worthy of award more real than the fine Bavarian royal box. THE MARINER'S DREAM; OR, THE STORM-DEMON. LOUD roars the blast O'er the foam-crested ocean; O'er the billows careering! The black cloud 's rent asunder; The Storm-Demon comes In his chariot of thunder! Spirits,-dark spirits, His summons obeying, His triumphs aloft, To the wild music swelling! "Up, spirits! away! O'er the flame-crested ocean," The Storm-Demon cries, "Wake your wildest commotion !" Now, shrouded in weeds, From their watery pillows, Ghosts of drown'd mariners Float o'er the billows! O'er the mad waters flying! How their eyes roll with wonder! And wild is their shriek As they plunge 'mid the thunder! W. E. S. "It is very odd!" said I to myself, running breathlessly up to a Conveyance Company's omnibus that stood before the Nightingale, a well-known public-house near the Edgeware-road. The reader may ask what was odd; and very kind it will be so to do. It is the man of drum and pandean pipes out of doors, who elicits from Mr. Punch his best sayings. I do not pretend to be such a wag as the wooden Roscius, but I will tell the obliging peruser of this sketch from real life, what was odd. Number one appeared on each side the door, where lately I had beheld a to signify that the omnibus ran past the site of the ancient village of Charing-(I love to do a little bit of antiquarianism when it saves one from tautology). Did I see straight? Yes! what was to prevent me? We had only a magnum a-piece at my friend's of St. John's Wood, and a few odd glasses of whiskey-toddy. 66 "It is very odd!" said I, throwing myself into the farther corner of the cushions clad in the same plush material which people's arms seem to entitle their servants' legs to wear. Why does not the cad take care of number one?" Well, that was no affair of mine: so I stuck out my elbows, and squared my legs, to see how much room I could possibly occupy, to my own comfort and the inconvenience of others, when the conveyance got crowded; and well was it I did so, for, one by one, passengers dropped in, till there was no lack of occupants. It was very odd; but I seemed to be acquainted with all these personages, though they knew not me. Not that they were public characters whom everybody takes the privilege of staring at when present; and criticising,-mind, body, and inexpressibles, when absent. No! these were people whom I seemed to know by intuition. I understood their birth, parentage, and education; together with their secret history, interspersed with characteristic anecdotes. It was very odd. But to commence; nor, like a rusty gimlet, content myself with my penetration, without thinking of coming out for the benefit of others. The first who entered was a stoutly built, elderly gentleman, with a red face, redundant of obstinacy and apoplexy, attended by a slim youth of some fifteen years' standing. These were father and son, and I set them down at once for an odd pair, a designation in itself curious enough. The old man was a perfect original, and the boy was coming on; promising fair to equal his father when he was out of his time, for he seemed to serve a regular apprenticeship to his respected parent. Mr. Burley Buskin, and his son Tom, had the greatest affection for each other; and the old saying of "what one says, the other will swear to," was in them beautifully exemplified. I was perfectly aware of all the peculiarities of Mr. Buskin senior. He had seen much of the world, had been many years abroad, consequently was at home on every subject. In him, the traveller's licence to entertain all listeners with the wonders that earth, air, and water could be made to produce through the medium of a magnifying lens, was about as far exceeded as magisterial authority for music and dancing, granted to the Cat and Fiddle at Houndsditch, is outraged by the performance of spectacle, opera, tight-rope, fire-eating, tumbling, hornpipe in fetters, and the legitimate drama. Most wonder-tellers are content with having seen strange sights, and taken a moderate share in extraordinary adventures; but Mr. Burley Buskin was always the strange sight himself in all his stories at home or abroad, the actor of all work in every scene on the world's wide stage. A patent did not even secure an invention from his claiming it; he had originated the idea years before the thing was made public,-in fact, had mentioned it to some one who knew another person who was acquainted with the supposed inventor; and Mr. Burley Buskin had good reason to believe his plan had been conveyed to the patentee, who ought, at least, to have acknowledged the fact, and given credit where credit was due. Son Tom accompanied his father's words, sotto voce, in a sort of running commentary: without waiting for the old man to cease speaking, he managed to vouch for fact after fact as they were announced, though dated some twenty years before his birth; and when his worthy parent actually came to a full stop, to allow of the listeners' notes of admiration, he invariably wound up his portion of the entertainment by throwing his head on one side, to take a glance at his original progenitor, and exclaiming in a shrill voice, "Just as father says! father's right!" "Talking of Bengal tigers," said Mr. Burley Buskin one day at a family party," when I was in Bengal, I trained two large animals of that species to draw Mrs. Buskin's open carriage; and the governor-general was kind enough to allow two sepoys constantly to attend her when she drove out, to shoot the beasts if they were inclined to be dangerous, a proper precaution you will allow: but Mrs. B. was not at all alarmed; and no accident ever occurred, except in the end, when during the night one of the beasts ate the other up, and was found dead the next morning in his stable from repletion. I believe Mr. Davis's idea of representing Cybele, goddess of the earth, as drawn by lions, in his picture at the exhibition, was taken from Mrs. B. and her tigers: the young man was at New South Wales at the time, and the "Astracan sailed direct for Sidney, while all Bengal was talking about my tigers. I understand the fellow mentions taking his subject from an ancient medal; but I know better, 'twas from Mrs. B. and her tigers; and a very good notion it was, but he might have honestly owned where he got it." Just as father says!" trebled young Tom; "father 's right! Don't you remember that story about our cat and the ducks?" Good, Tom, good! Did you never hear that?" said Mr. Burley Buskin, turning with an inexpressibly self-satisfied smile towards his silent and astonished auditory. Caught a wild cat in my barn in Devonshire; tamed it completely by shutting her up, and feeding her on bran and barley-water; could do anything with that cat; why, she seemed to teach every other animal to adopt her mode of thinking, and to dwell at peace with all living kind. Got together in a large cage owls, mice, rats, rabbits, terriers, ferrets, and canary birds; kept them on bran and barley-water, and put puss in with them. Had a little trouble at first; but, in the end, nothing could be more amicable than the whole lot. As to that cat,-drowned a litter of her kittens, and gave her six young ducks to rear: suckled them all; and they imbibed so much of her nature, that I remarked, when they were in high glee in the gutter, they could not quack for purring! By-the-by, the man that looked after my farm at that time I soon after discharged for presuming to say that my new machine for cutting chaff was his invention; he now makes a decent livelihood by showing some of the descendants of the very animals I taught to forget their nature; and the fellow swears he never knew me, and that the conciliation of animals was his own discovery." "It's just what father says! father's right!" said Tom. Mr. Burley Buskin had a very pretty taste for zoology; and, if he had not actually established them as facts, had certainly put forth some extraordinary particulars respecting the class quadrumana. But this was a bitter subject to my worthy acquaintance, when much irritated at the ingratitude of the world in attributing the many benefits he had conferred on society to other persons. Getting very red in the face, and striking his cane on the ground with a noise which seemed to warrant the idea that the ferule was a detonating cap, he would exclaim, "And that Mr. Mackintosh! how has he made his money? Did not I tell his mother years ago that we always knew when the rainy season was coming on in South America by the monkeys tearing the bark of the caoutchouc trees to rub themselves with the sap? I don't mind the fortune he has made; but he might have owned where he got the idea." "Like the Bear in Piccadilly, I am the original!" seemed for ever descending from Mr. Burley Buskin's mouth; whilst son Tom, his jackal, was ever ready to instigate, applaud, and, after his fashion, to say, "That's the ticket!" I had hardly made these very acute observations, when my attention was diverted from the Buskins by perceiving that a thin, anxiouslooking, middle-aged man had taken possession of the seat immediately opposite me. There was a quick twinkle about his eye, and an impatient rubbing of his hand, as though he were mightily inclined to be actively employed; if only about trifles, still he must be doing. My newly and strangely acquired penetration into matters of character, availed me with respect to Mr. Wasteless Saverley. I saw at a glance he was odd. He had come into the omnibus quite out of breath, and no wonder; he had been very busy all day. Possessed of a gentlemanly competence, good health, a wife that did not contradict him, a family that gave him no trouble, friends that did not want to borrow money of him; a house that was in every way convenient, guiltless of a single smoky chimney; and a garden that boasted the finest fruit, in a neighbourhood the boys of which, strange to say, were not given to peculation; who so happy as Mr. Wasteless Saverley? Ah! gentle reader, that was a very natural conclusion for you to arrive at, but he had a peculiarity which, if it did not actually make him unhappy, brought a host of cares in its train. He could not bear to have anything wasted. "Use what you like, but waste nothing!"-this was the maxim in Saverley's house; and a very good maxim it is in moderation, but not as my friend, through excess of liking, abused it. I mean not that abuse which is said to be often begot of love, as exemplified in matrimonial disputes and love quarrels; but it was the inordinate use of a maxim, good in itself, which made Mr. Waste |