"That's vewy low," interrupted the fop; "the old watew-mill is extwemely low."

"There is no object," continued Tresham, "more particularly striking to the eye, more characteristic of the many peaceful scenes of this fair land, or more redolent of interesting associations, than the old water-mill."

With the peculiar tact to which Tresham had a just claim, he proceeded to descant on the striking features of the landscape, which embraced in the picture the old water-mill, with its rude machinery,—its peculiar "click-click,"-a sound which, with the noise of the waterwheel, overshot or undershot, he described as peculiar to rural scenes. "But," continued Tresham, "there are thousands of interesting objects besides the old water-mill, which, turn which way you may, engage the attention. Take, for instance, the village-church and churchyard. The old edifice itself claims no small portion of respect, even on the ground of its antiquity alone. Mark its peculiar old porch, nearly overgrown with ivy, beneath which have passed generation after generation to join in the worship of their forefathers, who now sleep in their peaceful graves, to be followed in due time by their successors ;—the quiet rectory-house, the residence of the minister, with its snug garden-ground attached, neatly laid out, fitted for the purpose of healthful recreation, and provided with the articles of daily use and consumption ;-with the old yew-trees that guard the consecrated ground;the sober melody of the village-bells on a Sunday morning, inviting the villagers to kneel at the same altar at which their forefathers knelt ;— the snug family-groups slowly moving by the ancient footways, preserved from time immemorial, to the venerable sanctuary, the neatness of their dress,-the propriety of their behaviour, the blooming cheek of the village girl,-the sober and peaceful bearing of the happy and confiding parents,-the lines of neatly-attired children from the village Sunday-school,-and other circumstances peculiar to the scene." "All these peculiaws," replied the fop, "may be vewy intewesting to those whom they may concern. But, as to myself, they seem to be extwemely vulgaw; because, seeing that thea' is in them nothing of fashion, they must be unfashionable; and to be out of the fashion, as the phwase is, you might as well be out of the wo'ld. My deaw fellow," continued the fop, “fashion is the essence of wefinement,—the only pwoof which can be weasonably adduced in confiwmation of the pwospewity of nations. Now, if thea' be anything belonging to a countwy life which is at all beawable, it is a wesidence at the old hall, pwovided it has not been defiled by the vile lucwe of the ignowant manufactuwer, or mewchant, or pewsons of that low class of dawty people. (Twuly excellent cigaw this, by Jove!)-Go on-I beg pawdon."

"The old hall," remarked Tresham, "venerable as it undoubtedly is, possesses more excellent qualities than those which belong to mere antiquity. It rears its time-honoured head, not only as one of the chief ornaments, but as the chief protector of the scene by which it is surrounded. From its old-fashioned portals should the hand of charity be extended to the poor and to the needy,-from within its precincts should constantly flow those qualities of the good old English school which meet with the veneration of all parties; and while it should set the example, and diffuse around the most correct taste with regard to what can be accomplished by judicious cultivation of the soil, it should be the protector of the rights of the poor."

"Vewy fine, upon my wo'd,-vewy."

"Very true," said the red nose, humming

"Like the good old English gentleman, one of the olden time.'"

"The life of the English country gentleman," continued Tresham, "is the happiest of all lives. He is surrounded by almost innumerable blessings, and he is placed in the midst of all delightful recreations. He can share in the exhilarating pleasures of the chase, from the 'broke away' to the who-whoop,-in coursing, from the so-ho' to the death,-in shooting, from the cock to the partridge, from the swan to the teal,-in fishing, from the salmon and the trout to the minnow and the gudgeon; and in those several minor engagements which are continually presented before him. He is surrounded, too, with the most delightful scenes,-with the means for the enjoyment of the most robust health. Then, look at his social enjoyments. His table, hospitably spread, which his own hand has partly contributed to fill, can also be surrounded by those troops of friends whose habits are congenial to his own,-nay, not even disregarding those strangers from the gay metropolis, who, forsaking for a time the Exchange, the countinghouse, the board of directors, and the Bank, are desirous of sharing in the many enjoyments which are alone presented by a country-life.'

"Now, it appeaws to me," said the exquisite, "to be the height of vulgawity—I mean a countwy life. It is fa' mo'e delightful to hea' the wawblings of the divine Malibwan, Pasta, Gwisi, Pewsiani, and to behold the celestial gwace of Taglioni, Cawlotta Gwisi, and Louise Fleuwy. It is even fa' mo'e delightful to hea' the noise and wattle of the omnibus, and the cab, and the coach, huwwying along the densely-cwowded streets to the wailway station, than the cawing of wooks, the bawk of hounds, the fiwing of guns, and all that so't of thing, mo'e calculated fo' the edification of the stupid, than the gwatification of the man of spiwit and discewnment. 'Pon my honouw, I would soona' fowego all the attwactions of the opewa, the dejeuné à la fowchette, the swarrie, and the conversazione,― I would soona' go to the East Indies to be butchewed in the passes of the Twezedeen, than lead a life in-what is justly called—the countwy, amongst countwy cousins to the thiwd genewation, and the like of that, who are looking at nothing else but getting mawwied, and secuwing a good settlement pwovided fo' themselves."

"Well," resumed Tresham, "every man to his taste. Let the votaries of fashion pursue their several vocations, amidst scenes of heartless gaiety, and vain and empty excitement, let them plunge into the vortex of dissipation, -hurrying here and hurrying there, turning day into night, and night into day, and shortening a life composed of one endless yet toilsome round of pleasures, which might be devoted to useful purposes. Let the merchant linger over his ledger, the banker over his interest-tables, the ship-owner over the amount of freight, the speculator over his speculations, and the manufacturer watch with placid eye the fearful, the eternal whirl of wheel and spindle,—all useful, undoubtedly, in some way or other ;-but give me the country, the free, the pure, the uncontaminated country, with all its unalloyed pleasures,-its woods and streams, its corn-fields and meadows, its moors and mountains,-its healthy breezes and its sunny skies,-its-"

The observations of Tresham were suddenly stopped by the abrupt entrance of the waiter, exclaiming, "The coach is coming," and violently slamming the door after her.

"Oh, vewy well," said the exquisite. "Twesham, wing the bell, and let's see what we have to pay."

This necessary part of the proceeding having been satisfactorily performed, and the amount received by the waiter with a very awkward curtsey, the party prepared for their departure. The red nose was put inside the vehicle. Tresham, wrapping his cloak around him, mounted the box beside the coachman; and Slingsby and the Exquisite, similarly attired, took their seats behind, the latter exclaiming,

"All right, coachman; dwive on!"

The summons was immediately obeyed; and the loud rattle of the coach soon died away in the far distance.

THE MICROSCOPE.

BY H. R. ADDISON.

It is now many years ago since Mr. Clarke was sent out by the "Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge" to Bengal, in order to convert as many of the benighted Indians to Christianity as possible. His talents were of the highest order, his zeal well known; it was, therefore, most sanguinely expected that his mission would be crowned with success. On his arrival, the Governor-General, finding that his means were small, and truly sympathizing in the feelings of those who thus endeavoured to awake the sense of the heathen world to "light and life," gave him the direction of the Calcutta Free-school, and one or two other minor posts, which considerably increased the worthy missionary's income.

After several ineffectual attempts to convert the natives, poor Clarke returned in despair to Calcutta, feeling more than half inclined to sail for Europe, so much did he take his repeated failures to heart. He was, however, dissuaded from this step, and applying himself assiduously to the management of his scholars, he strove to banish from his mind the thorn which rankled there.

One day our missionary learned, to his great joy, that a Brahmin of the very first rank had arrived in the metropolis. Determined to bring matters to an issue, Clarke wrote to him, and begged him to meet him on a certain day, when he undertook to convince him (the Hindoo priest) of the errors of his faith. To this the Brahmin consented, and at the time appointed the Heathen and the Christian champion met to discuss, in the presence of several witnesses, the merits of their respective creeds.

As is usual in polemical discussions, the controversy was opened by several inconsequential queries and answers. For half an hour neither party had put forth a startling proposition; the wily Indian taking care to confine himself to the defensive. Tired at length by this scene, Clarke suddenly and abruptly asked him,

"Are you forbidden to eat anything in which animal life exists?”

"I am."

66

Have you ever broken through this law? "Never."

May you not unconsciously have been led into this crime?" "Impossible."

"Will you swear to it?"—" Most solemnly I do."

"Do you ever eat pomegranates?”—“ Daily.”

Bring me some of that fruit, then," rejoined Clarke, turning

to a servant. His order was complied with; the pomegranates were brought.

"Choose one." The Brahmin did so.- "Cut it in two."

With this direction he complied.-" Place it here," and Clarke assisted him to put it beneath a microscope.-"Now look at it.”

The Brahmin did so; but no sooner did he apply his eye, than he started back with affright. The fruit was perfectly alive with animalculæ. The puzzled Hindoo drew out the pomegranate (which, perhaps, my readers are not aware is more closely filled with insects than any other fruit,) looked at it, examined it, replaced it, and again beheld the myriads of living creatures with which it was rife. He felt it with his hand, to convince himself that there was no trick in the affair. Then, suddenly drawing himself up, he slowly uttered "Bus-such hi." ("Enough-it is true.")

"You acknowledge, then, that you have sinned unconsciously? That everything being filled with animalculæ, invisible to the naked eye, you can neither eat nor drink without committing a crime?" The abashed Hindoo bowed.

"Shall I show you how full of similar insects every drop of water is?""No! I have seen enough."

"Do you desire further proof? "I have a favour to ask." "What is it? If I can, I will grant it."

"Give me your microscope. I cannot buy it; give it me." Clarke paused for a moment, for he had that morning paid ten guineas for it; and, being a poor man, he could ill afford to part with it. But, as the Indian was urgent, almost to entreaty, he at length consented (especially as he thought the other would afford him in return some curiosity of equal value), and presented it to him.

The Brahmin took it, gave one look of triumph round the hall, and suddenly raising his arm, dashed it into a thousand atoms on the marble floor.

"What do you mean by this?" exclaimed Clarke, in undisguised astonishment.

"It means, Sir Christian," replied the Hindoo in a cold, grave tone, "it means that I was a happy, a good, a proud man. By means of yonder instrument you have robbed me of all future happiness. You have condemned me to descend to my grave wretched and miserable!"

With these words the unfortunate Brahmin quitted the hall, and soon after retired up the country.

VOL. XII.

R

MY HONEY-MOON;

OR, DOMESTIC BLISS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE COMIC LATIN GRAMMAR.”

I HAVE often heard the complaint, that whereas almost all comedies and novels end with a marriage, which is supposed to be the beginning of a state of exquisite happiness, the world, (that is the single portion of it,) is left in a state of ignorance as to what that happiness consists in. I purpose, in the following pages, to do something at least towards affording satisfaction on this point to those who stand in need of it, by giving them a sample of my own experience as a Benedict.

It is a twelvemonth to-day-this worked-silk night-cap (affection's offering) which I now for the first time put on, reminds me of the fact-since my Laura made me the happiest of men. From the gay and festive scenes of the Metropolis, where the nuptial knot was tied, we hastened down to a delightfully snug little cottage, situated on the banks of the majestic Thames.

Never shall I forget those blissful emotions which I experienced when, on the second day of our joyful union, Laura and I, our morning meal (consisting of new-laid eggs, home-baked bread, fresh butter, delicious cream, fragrant Mocha, and some exquisitely-flavoured ham) having been despatched, walked forth into the morning sunshine down the gravel-path of our little garden. The buds were coming out, and so (to speak of them as singers) were the little birds the aerial goldfinch, the blackbirds in the gooseberrybushes, and the lark on the plum-tree in its bloom. We walked together in a manner which we always adopt when nobody is looking at us. It is this. I take Laura's right hand in mine, and pass her arm around my left; then I do not let go of her hand, but continue to hold it, sustaining at the same time my own left hand with my right arm. In this way we wandered up and down the paths, and among the flower-beds. At first we did not say much,— that is, we did not talk much; but when our eyes met, there was a mutual exchange of eloquence which no words, I am sure, could ever have effected. We looked at each other, then smiled, then sighed, then looked up into the clear blue sky, as if to ask what happier beings might dwell there. At length, after a long, but most expressive, silence my Laura spoke.

"Tootsicums!" she whispered, communicating to my left side the slightest possible impulse with her elbow. The endearing epithet which she applied to me was one with which affection had just enriched her vocabulary. She had read it in no book, culled it from no dictionary but that of the heart. Soft word!-it suited well her

silvery tone "Tootsicums!" she said.

Kitsy, Kitsy, Kitsy," I replied, with a smile of fondness.

"What shall we have, dear, for dinner?" she inquired.

"Whatever you like, love," I replied.

you like."