An ass was loaded with good provisions of various sorts, which, in time of harvest, he was carrying into the field for his master and the reapers to dine upon. By the way he met with a fine large thistle, and being very hungry began to mumble it; which, while he was doing, he entered into this reflection, "How many greedy epicures would think themselves happy amidst such a variety of delicate viands as I now carry! But to me this prickly thistle is more savoury and relishing than the most exquisite and sumptuous banquet."

ILLUSTRATION.

СНАР. І.

IF we are credulous-and who is not?-we must believe the old adage, that "some men are born with golden or silver spoons in their mouths, whilst others have their lips insulted by the insertion of a wooden ladle between them!" How comes it to pass?-no one can tell. It is one of those mysteries which we must leave to Time or Eternity to explain to us. Let us watch the progress in life of any two sons or daughters of one family; the one turns his hand to any thing and prospers; the other, to use a vulgar phrase, tries every dodge, and fails. Mary Anne makes a good match and rolls about in a Brougham or Clarence, has a box at the Opera, and gives soirées and conversationes, while Julia marries a poor person, or parson, and gives nothing but good advice, or, if she can afford it, soup and blankets to the poor. How to account for it? we cannot; so we will not attempt to do it, although we might prove our erudition, and our fancied insight into the mysteries of Providence by making the attempt.

We are afraid of giving offence even to a friend-though, generally speaking, he is the person whose feelings we have but little hesitation in hurting he must know we don't mean to offend him—at least he ought to know it—but we cannot resist illustrating our fable by showing up our friend Ichabod Ironsides: his case is, as the lawyers say," a case in point." He is a precedent, and must be quoted as such.

Every body who is acquainted with the beautiful county of Dorset knows that within a mile or two of its iron-bound coast, whose cliffs may compete in majesty with those of Western Ireland, many a little village may be seen perched, like some solitary bird, amidst the mighty expanse of downland that fringes the rocky shore. With the exception of the short sweet turf that clothes the hills, vegetable aniJuly.-VOL. LXXIV. No. CCXCV.

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mation appears to be suspended. If you plant a tree or a shrub higher than a cabbage, in one week afterwards you may send for the coroner to sit upon its dead body, and the verdict of a Dorsetshire jury would be, "Died from natural causes." Yet, in despite of this absence of "vegetable matter," as the philosophers call it, no one, with any taste for the picturesque, would fail to pronounce the whole tract of country beautiful. Miles and miles of hill and dale—and of such hills and dales as no one not "in condition" should dream of traversing on foot -covered with delicious green turf, and dotted with the little-horned, white-fleeced sheep of the county, present a picture to the eye which cannot but please. Grandeur has marked the spot for her own, and although a resident might deem it monotonous-if the word is applicable in this sense-the traveller would hesitate before he coincided in opinion with him.

In one of these little villages, built of Portland stone, and surrounded by walls of the same material, skilfully erected without mortar or any other cement, our friend Ichabod Ironsides was born. As soon as he could toddle about he was set to watch the sheep on the hill-side, and would probably have followed that tedious occupation until he was fit to go to sea, had not the curate of the village taken him into his service to clean shoes and boots, knives and forks, and do all and every thing that is required of a boy who is expected to make himself generally useful. For these services Ichabod got sixpence a week and his victuals; he also got the cast-off suits of the curate's son, a boy of his own age, though if the truth must be told, the parson was so poor, that his son's garments, when pronounced too shabby to wear, were more suited to decorate a bogle for scaring birds away, than the person of another boy, even so poor a one as Ichabod Ironsides; yet Ichabod got pelted by his compeers, who envied him the possession of garments superior to, and differing in fashion from, their own.

What cared Ichabod for their peltings and their insults? Not a dump. He was warmly clothed and well fed; and, moreover, he had a companion in the curate's son, who not only took his part against the little villagers, but taught him to read, write, and cipher. He spent all his little earnings with the travelling stationer, who made his appearance with his pack twice a year in the village. Proud enough he was of his books, his pens, and paper, and his slate, and happy was he too until his mother died, and left him to the cruel mercies of a stepfather, whose greatest delight was to invent some method or other of annoying "the scholard," and preventing him from pursuing his studies. Ichabod, therefore, when he returned to his humble home for the night, instead of being allowed to sit up after the family had gone to bed, and do the tasks set him by his young master, which his kind mother had permitted him to do, was put to some work or other, or else, which was more frequently the case, cuffed and knocked about for "being more larned than other volks, and wasting the varthing rushlights."

Ichabod disclosed to his friend the cause of his failing to complete his lessons as he had hitherto done; but there was no remedy for it. He would have been taken into the curate's house, but, alas! it was very small, and the curatess, like the rest of her kind, was wonderfully

prolific. Still Ichabod got on; he rose early, worked hard, and then spent the leisure hours that he had made for himself, in pursuing his studies. He might probably have gone on thus for years, had he not been more cruelly treated by his step-father, and come into possession, by purchase, of two books deeply interesting to boys-" Robinson Crusoe" and "Whittington and his Cat." He read them over and over again, until they made so deep an impression upon him, that he resolved to run away from home, go to sea, and get cast away on a desolate island, keep a black slave, a Poll-parrot, and a goat, or else carry away the old Tom-cat that purred on his unhappy hearthstone, and make a fortune by rat-hunting in foreign parts.

Under a promise of secrecy, he revealed his intentions to his young master, who at first did all he could to dissuade him from so rash an enterprise; but afterwards he not only encouraged him in it, but resolved to join him-so very persuasive was the eloquence with which Ichabod pointed out the pleasures of seeking one's fortune, and the certainty of success.

Their plan was laid. It was this; they were to walk up to London, subsist on their savings, amounting to three shillings-and-ninepence, as long as they could, and then to beg their way. But which was the way to London? The map was examined, their road was to be eastward, and as they knew that the sun rose in the east, they made up their minds to start as he rose next morning, and walk as fast and as far as they could towards him.

When day dawned the two fortune-seekers might have been seen, gazing, for the last time as they thought, on the village which had given them birth. A tear started from the eyes of the curate's son, as he thought of the misery he was about to bring on his fond parents, and his little brothers and sisters; while Ichabod smiled triumphantly to think that he had escaped from the cruelties of his step-father, and was one mile nearer to his desolate island, or the court of the foreign prince who was in want of "a rat-destroyer to his majesty." On-on they went until the appearance of the country was entirely changed. Instead of extensive downs without a tree to be seen upon them, they entered lanes bordered with blooming hedge-rows and sheltered by lofty trees. The fields were covered with luxuriant green crops of corn, and here and there a farm-house or a mansion, was seen presenting such a picture of comfort as the boys had never dreamed of. Their hearts bounded in their bosoms with joy, and their admiration of all they saw served to "cheat them of their way." At length they came within sight of a small town. They longed to enter it, and survey its lofty steepled church, and other buildings which appeared to them to be magnificent, but the fear of being pursued induced them to leave it on their right, and keep to the retired lanes. Hunger and fatigue at length compelled them to stop for rest and refreshment. The bag of provisions which they had secured before they left home was opened, and its contents greatly relished-never had bread-andcheese and onions eaten so deliciously before. A draught from a clear trout-brook quenched their thirst, and after an hour's rest they set out again on their journey.

"1 can go no further, Ichabod," said his companion, as he threw

himself on the grass, in the middle of an extensive common, just before nightfall. "My shoes are coming to pieces, and my feet are sadly blistered-I can go no further to-night.'

"

"Try again-only for a little while," said Ichabod. "I see a wood about a mile off. We will gain that and rest for the night. We must be getting near London."

"Nonsense, Ichabod-London is miles, miles off yet; but I will try to reach the wood, as you wish it.”

He made the attempt, but after proceeding about a hundred yards his strength entirely failed him; he fell to the ground and fainted much to Ichabod's horror, for he thought he was dead. As soon as he came to himself again, he crawled to a thorn-bush which was the only hotel at which they could put up at that night. The remainder of their provision was eaten, but with difficulty, as they were thirsty, and could procure nothing but ditchwater, which, for want of a better vessel, Ichabod brought to his friend in his hat. They soon fell asleep, however, and long and heavily did they sleep, until they were roused by a heavy storm of thunder and lightning, accompanied by a fall of rain that drenched them to their skin. Ichabod cared but little about it, his heart was in his little desolate island-but his companion thought of his home, of his mother, and of her misery at losing him. He cried bitterly, and resolved to return to his home. Ichabod was surprised when told of his resolve, but did not attempt to dissuade him from it. He positively refused to accompany him, however, for he dreaded the blows of his step-father, and the loss of the fortune which he had set out to seek. The boys sobbed frightfully as they embraced each other at parting, but Ichabod recovered himself first, and to console his friend, told him that, "When he had made his fortune, he would return and share it with him."

CHAP. II.

"GIVE me a ride, do give me a ride, for I am foot-sore, and worn out," cried a boy to the Southampton waggoner, as he was turning the corner of a lane.

"Who beest? where dost come vrom? Wo-o-oh.”

The team stopped and our friend Ichabod said that he was a poor Dorsetshire lad going to seek his fortune.

"Where dost 'spect to vind a vortun?" asked the driver,

"I'm going to get wrecked on a desolate island, or else to carry a cat out on speculation."

"Dang un, thee best a rum un, or else th'art putting fun at I."

"I am not, indeed. I am serious," said Ichabod. "I have walked a long way, and my shoes are worn out. See how my feet bleed." "Hast got any money?"

"Ninepence," said Ichabod. "I have spent a shilling, and I will give you sixpence to let me ride to London."

"Poor boy! If I take thy sixpence may I be d-d. Jump up," said the waggoner.

Ichabod made an attempt to obey, but as he had been travelling for three days and a night, his strength failed him, and he would have fallen had not the good-natured driver caught him and lifted him into the back of the waggon.

When he arrived at his next baiting-place, the driver questioned Ichabod as to who he was, whence he came, and whither he was really going; for he could not believe that what he had told him before was not spoken as a joke. Ichabod told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, which was received with a grin, a widelystaring pair of eyes, and the words,

"Thee be'st a vool or a mad boy."

"Can't help it," said Ichabod. "Robinson Crusoe was

not a fool or a madman, nor was Whittington-he could not be for he was Lord Mayor of London, and all through killing rats."

"Was he by gosh! Here, take a bit of my pork and bread, and a drink of my yale, and then go to zleep again, for thee'st got a vever on thee."

Ichabod took what was offered to him so kindly, and was soon in a deep sleep again, out of which he did not wake until he was roused by the waggoner, who told him he was in London. He rubbed his eyes, rolled out at the back of the waggon, and though he could scarcely stand on his feet, they were so sore, he rushed out of the inn yard, and gazed in admiration at the crowds of people as they passed along Fleet-street.

"Come in lad-come in and ha' zommut to yeat and drink," said the waggoner.

"Not yet," said Ichabod; "just let all these people go by and let me have one look at London."

The waggoner laughed, and told him if he waited till all the people were gone by, he would have to stand there till midnight. Ichabod could not believe him, and would have stood there to prove his words untrue, had he not been pushed about in so rude a manner, that he was glad to seek protection under the gateway of the Bolt-in-Tun.

Heigh, you boy! get out of the way," screamed a voice; but before Ichabod could comply with the advice given to him, he felt a something strike him between the shoulders, and found himself on the ground between a pair of horses. He looked up and saw that a heavy, lumbering vehicle was passing over him, and heard several voices shouting out "Stop-you've killed a boy."

A crowd of course was quickly collected. The hackney-coach was stopped, and Ichabod was dragged out from beneath it more frightened than hurt.

As his friend, the waggoner, stood rubbing him down, and giving every limb a twist and a tug to see if it was broken or not, Ichabod heard a loud voice call out to him,

"What cheer, mate?"

He looked up and saw the owner of the voice leaning out of the coach-window, and looking earnestly at him with one eye, while the other seemed to be busily employed with what was going on in Fleetstreet. The nose, which was skirted by these two very remarkablelooking eyes, was peculiarly large, of purple tint, and plentifully studded with red and white pimples.

"Od zooks, but he's an ugly customer," said the waggoner. speak up and tell him yur aint a hurted."

"But

"What cheer and be hanged to you?" said the voice in angry, passionate tones. Before Ichabod could reply, the body to which the