SIR,

Last night while perambulating city in search of evenings zephyrs I came

to learn of the demise of Babu ... of your Honour's office who leaves

widow and sorrowing children who will feed their bellies the Devil knows

how. I submit myself to your Honour's approval and patronage for the

vacancy. For my qualifications I am damnably well up in precise-writing

(Note. He means précis writing) and am much addicted to the swearing of

European oaths. I am no believing old and rotten superstition of ancient

forefathers, but am iconoclast smashing idols to detriment of damn

scoundrels. If I should be successful for the post, I and my wife and

children will fall on our bended knees, as in duty bound, and offer up

prayers for your Honour, your Honour's lady, and your posthumous

children to follow up hereafter.

Your most obedient servant.

"LOVE, WITH A WITNESS!"

[Sidenote: _Hood_]

He has shaved off his whiskers and blackened his brows,

Wears a patch and a wig of false hair--

But it's him--oh, it's him !--we exchanged lover's vows

When I lived up in Cavendish Square.

He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same,

And his voice was as soft as a flute--

Like a Lord or a Marquis he looked, when he came

To make love in his master's best suit.

If I lived for a thousand long years from my birth,

I shall never forget what he told--

How he loved me beyond the rich women of earth,

With their jewels and silver and gold!

When he kissed me, and bade me adieu with a sigh,

By the light of the sweetest of moons,

Oh, how little I dreamt I was bidding good-bye

To my Misses's teapot and spoons!

MR TESTATOR

[Sidenote: _Charles Dickens_]

Mr. Testator took a set of chambers in Lyons Inn when he had but very

scanty furniture for his bedroom, and none for his sitting-room. He had

lived some wintry months in this condition, and had found it very bare

and cold. One night, past midnight, when he sat writing and still had

writing to do that must be done before he went to bed, he found himself

out of coals. He had coals downstairs, but had never been to his cellar;

however, the cellar-key was on his mantelshelf, and if he went down and

opened the cellar it fitted, he might fairly assume the coals in that

cellar to be his. As to his laundress, she lived among the coal-wagons

and Thames watermen--for there were Thames watermen at that time--in

some unknown rat-hole by the river, down lanes and alleys on the other

side of the Strand. As to any other person to meet him or obstruct him,

Lyons Inn was dreaming, drunk, maudlin, moody, betting, brooding over

bill-discounting or renewing--asleep or awake, minding its own affairs.

Mr. Testator took his coal-scuttle in one hand, his candle and key in

the other, and descended to the dismallest underground dens of Lyons

Inn, where the late vehicles in the streets became thunderous and all

the water-pipes in the neighbourhood seemed to have Macbeth's Amen

sticking in their throats, and to be trying to get it out. After groping

here and there among low doors to no purpose, Mr. Testator at length

came to a door with a rusty padlock which his key fitted. Getting the

door open with much trouble, and looking in, he found no coals, but a

confused pile of furniture. Alarmed by this intrusion on another man's

property, he locked the door again, found his own cellar, filled his

scuttle, and returned upstairs.

But the furniture he had seen ran on castors across and across Mr.

Testator's mind incessantly, when, in the chill hour of five in the

morning, he got to bed. He particularly wanted a table to write at, and

a table expressly made to be written at had been the piece of furniture

in the foreground of the heap. When his laundress emerged from her

burrow in the morning to make his kettle boil, he artfully led up to the

subject of cellars and furniture; but the two ideas had evidently no

connection in her mind. When she left him, and he sat at his breakfast,

thinking about the furniture, he recalled the rusty state of the

padlock, and inferred that the furniture must have been stored in the

cellar for a long time--was perhaps forgotten--owner dead perhaps? After

thinking it over a few days, in the course of which he could pump

nothing out of Lyons Inn about the furniture, he became desperate, and

resolved to borrow that table. He did so, that night. He had not had the

table long, when he determined to borrow an easy-chair; he had not had

that long, when he made up his mind to borrow a bookcase; then, a

couch; then, a carpet and rug. By that time, he felt he was "in

furniture stepped in so far," as that it could be no worse to borrow it

all. Consequently, he borrowed it all, and locked up the cellar for

good. He had always locked it, after every visit. He had carried up

every separate article in the dead of night, and, at the best, had felt

as wicked as a Resurrection Man. Every article was blue and furry when

brought into his rooms, and he had had, in a murderous and guilty sort

of way, to polish it up while London slept.

Mr. Testator lived in his furnished chambers two or three years, or

more, and gradually lulled himself into the opinion that the furniture

was his own. This was his convenient state of mind when, late one night,

a step came up the stairs, and a hand passed over his door feeling for

his knocker, and then one deep and solemn rap was rapped that might have

been a spring in Mr. Testator's easy-chair to shoot him out of it; so

promptly was it attended with that effect.

With a candle in his hand, Mr. Testator went to the door, and found

there a very pale and very tall man; a man who stooped; a man with very

high shoulders, a very narrow chest, and a very red nose; a

shabby-genteel man. He was wrapped in a long threadbare black coat,

fastened up the front with more pins than buttons, and under his arm he

squeezed an umbrella without a handle, as if he were playing bagpipes.

He said, "I beg your pardon, but can you tell me--" and stopped; his

eyes resting on some object within the chambers.

"Can I tell you what?" asked Mr. Testator, noting his stoppage with

quick alarm.

"I ask your pardon," said the stranger, "but--this is not the inquiry I

was going to make--_do_ I see in there, any small article of property

belonging to _me_?"

Mr. Testator was beginning to stammer that he was not aware--when the

visitor slipped past him into the chambers. There, in a goblin way which

froze Mr. Testator to the marrow, he examined, first, the writing-table,

and said, "Mine"; then, the easy-chair, and said, "Mine"; then, the

bookcase, and said, "Mine"; then, turned up a corner of the carpet, and

said "Mine!"--in a word, inspected every item of furniture from the

cellar, in succession, and said, "Mine!" Towards the end of this

investigation Mr. Testator perceived that he was sodden with liquor, and

that the liquor was gin. He was not unsteady with gin, either in his

speech or carriage; but he was stiff with gin in both particulars.

Mr. Testator was in a dreadful state, for (according to his making out

of the story) the possible consequences of what he had done in

recklessness and hardihood, flashed upon him in their fulness for the

first time. When they had stood gazing at one another for a little

while, he tremulously began:

"Sir, I am conscious that the fullest explanation, compensation, and

restitution, are your due. They shall be yours. Allow me to entreat

that, without temper, without even natural irritation on your part, we

may have a little--'

"Drop of something to drink," interrupted the stranger. "I am

agreeable."

Mr. Testator had intended to say, "a little quiet conversation," but

with great relief of mind adopted the amendment. He produced a decanter

of gin, and was bustling about for hot water and sugar, when he found

that his visitor had already drunk half of the decanter's contents. With

hot water and sugar the visitor drank the remainder before he had been

an hour in the chambers by the chimes of the church of St. Mary in the

Strand; and during the process he frequently whispered to himself,

"Mine!"

The gin gone, and Mr. Testator wondering what was to follow it, the

visitor rose and said, with increased stiffness, "At what hour of the

morning, sir, will it be convenient?" Mr. Testator hazarded, "At ten?"

"Sir," said the visitor, "at ten to the moment, I shall be here." He

then contemplated Mr. Testator somewhat at leisure, and said, "God bless

you! How is your wife?" Mr. Testator (who never had a wife) replied with

much feeling, "Deeply anxious, poor soul, but otherwise well." The

visitor thereupon turned and went away, and fell twice in going

downstairs. From that hour he was never heard of. Whether he was a

ghost, or a spectral illusion of conscience, or a drunken man, who had

no business there, or the drunken rightful owner of the furniture, with

a transitory gleam of memory; whether he got safe home, or had no home

to get to; whether he died of liquor on the way, or lived in liquor ever

afterwards; he never was heard of more.

A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH

[Sidenote: _Mark Twain_]

Distressing Accident.--Last evening, about six o'clock, as Mr. William

Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen of South Park, was leaving his

residence to go down town, as has been his usual custom for many years,

with the exception only of a short interval in the spring of 1850,

during which he was confined to his bed by injuries received in

attempting to stop a runaway horse by thoughtlessly placing himself

directly in its wake and throwing up his hands and shouting, which if he

had done so even a single moment sooner, must inevitably have frightened

the animal still more instead of checking its speed, although disastrous

enough to himself as it was, and rendered more melancholy and

distressing by reason of the presence of his wife's mother, who was

there and saw the sad occurrence, notwithstanding it is at least likely,

though not necessarily so, that she should be reconnoitring in another

direction when incidents occur, not being vivacious and on the look out,

as a general thing, but even the reverse, as her own mother is said to

have stated, who is no more, being a Christian woman and without guile,

as it were, or property, in consequence of the fire of 1849, which

destroyed every single thing she had in the world. But such is life. Let

us all take warning by this solemn occurrence, and let us endeavour so

to conduct ourselves that when we come to die we can do it. Let us place

our hands upon our hearts, and say with earnestness and sincerity that,

from this day forth, we will beware of the intoxicating bowl.

"FOREVER"

[Sidenote: _Calverley_]

Forever; 'tis a single word!

Our rude forefathers deem'd it two:

Can you imagine so absurd

A view?

Forever! What abysms of woe

The word reveals, what frenzy, what

Despair! For ever (printed so)

Did not.

It looks, ah me! how trite and tame!

It fails to sadden or appal

Or solace--it is not the same

At all.

O thou to whom it first occurr'd

To solder the disjoin'd, and dower

Thy native language with a word

Of power:

We bless thee! Whether far or near

Thy dwelling, whether dark or fair

Thy kingly brow, is neither here

Nor there.

But in men's hearts shall be thy throne

While the great pulse of England beats,

Thou coiner of a word unknown

To Keats!

And nevermore must printer do

As men did long ago; but run

"For" into "ever," bidding two

Be one.

Forever! passion-fraught, it throws

O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour

It's sweet, it's strange; and I suppose

It's grammar.

Forever! 'Tis a single word!

And yet our fathers deem'd it two:

Nor am I confident they err'd;

Are you?

OPEN AIR

[Sidenote: _Thoreau_]

My spirits infallibly rise in proportion to the outward dreariness. Give

me the ocean, the desert or the wilderness! In the desert, pure air and

solitude compensate for want of moisture and fertility. The traveller

Burton says of it: "Your _morale_ improves; you become frank and

cordial, hospitable and single-minded.... In the desert, spirituous

liquors excite only disgust. There is a keen enjoyment in a mere animal

existence." They who have been travelling long on the steppes of Tartary

say: "On re-entering cultivated lands, the agitation, perplexity, and

turmoil of civilisation oppressed and suffocated us; the air seemed to

fail us, and we felt every moment as if about to die of asphyxia." When

I would recreate myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most

interminable, and, to the citizen, most dismal swamp. I enter a swamp as

a sacred place--a _sanctum sanctorum_. There is the strength, the marrow

of Nature. The wild-wood covers the virgin mould--and the same soil is

good for men and for trees. A man's health requires as many acres of

meadow to his prospect as his farm does loads of muck. There are the

strong meats on which he feeds. A town is saved, not more by the

righteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that surround it. A

township where one primitive forest waves above while another primitive

forest rots below--such a town is fitted to raise not only corn and

potatoes, but poets and philosophers for the coming ages. In such a soil

grew Homer and Confucius and the rest, and out of such a wilderness

comes the Reformer eating locusts and wild honey.

"MARY POWELL"

[Sidenote: _Anonymous_]

_Journall_

Forest Hill, _May 1st, 1643_.

Seventeenth Birthday. A gypsie Woman at the Gate would fame have tolde

my Fortune; but _Mother_ chased her away, saying she had doubtless

harboured in some of the low Houses in _Oxford_, and mighte bring us the

Plague. Coulde have cried for Vexation; she had promised to tell me the

Colour of my Husband's Eyes; but _Mother_ says she believes I shall

never have one, I am soe sillie. _Father_ gave me a gold Piece. Dear

_Mother_ is chafed, methinks, touching this Debt of five hundred Pounds,

which _Father_ says he knows not how to pay. Indeed, he sayd,

overnighte, his whole personal Estate amounts to but five hundred

Pounds, his Timber and Wood to four hundred more, or thereabouts; and

the Tithes and Messuages of _Whateley_ are no great Matter, being

mortgaged for about as much more, and he hath lent Sights of Money to

them that won't pay, so 'tis hard to be thus prest. Poor _Father!_ 'twas

good of him to give me this gold Piece.

May 2nd.--Cousin _Rose_ married to Master _Roger Agnew_. Present,

_Father, Mother,_ and _Brother_ of _Rose_; _Father, Mother, Dick, Bob,

Harry_, and I; Squire _Paice_ and his Daughter _Audrey_; an olde Aunt of

Master _Roger's_, and one of his Cousins, a stiffe-backed Man with

large Eares, and such a long Nose! Cousin _Rose_ looked

bewtifulle--pitie so faire a Girl should marry so olde a Man--'tis

thoughte he wants not manie Years of fifty.

May 7th.--New misfortunes in the Poultrie Yarde. Poor _Mother's_ Loyalty

cannot stand the Demands for her best Chickens, Ducklings, &c, for the

Use of his Majesty's Officers since the King hath beene in _Oxford_. She

accuseth my _Father_ of having beene wonne over by a few faire Speeches

to be more of a Royalist than his natural Temper inclineth him to;

which, of course, he will not admit.

May 8th.--Whole Day taken up in a Visit to _Rose_, now a Week married,

and growne quite matronlie already. We reached _Sheepscote_ about an

Hour before Noone. A long, broade, strait Walke of green Turf, planted

with Holly-oaks, Sunflowers, &c, and some earlier flowers alreadie in

Bloom, led up to the rusticall Porch of a truly farm-like House, with

low gable Roofs, a long lattice Window on either Side the Doore, and

three Casements above. Such, and no more, is _Rose's_ House! But she is

happy, for she came running forthe, soe soone as she hearde _Clover's_

Feet, and helped me from my Saddle all smiling, tho' she had not

expected to see us. We had Curds and Creams; and she wished it were the

Time of Strawberries, for she sayd they had large Beds; and then my

_Father_ and the Boys went forthe to looke for Master _Agnew_. Then

_Rose_ took me up to her Chamber, singing as she went; and the long,

low Room was sweet with flowers. Sayd I, "_Rose_, to be Mistress of this

pretty Cottage, t'were hardlie amisse to marry a man as old as Master

_Roger_." "Olde!" quoth she, "deare _Moll_, you must not deeme him olde;

why, he is but forty-two; and am not I twenty-three?" She lookt soe

earneste and hurte, that I coulde not but falle a laughing.

May 9th.--_Mother_ gone to _Sandford_. She hopes to get Uncle _John_ to

lend _Father_ this Money. _Father_ says she may _try_. 'Tis harde to

discourage her with an ironicalle Smile, when she is doing all she can,

and more than manie Women woulde, to help _Father_ in his Difficultie;

but suche, she sayth somewhat bitterlie, is the lot of our Sex. She bade

_Father_ mind that she had brought him three thousand Pounds, and askt

what had come of them. Answered; helped to fille the Mouths of nine

healthy Children, and stop the Mouth of an easie Husband; soe, with a

Kiss, made it up. I have the Keys, and am left Mistress of alle, to my

greate Contentment; but the Children clamour for Sweetmeats, and

_Father_ sayth, "Remember, _Moll_, Discretion is the better Part of

Valour."

After _Mother_ had left, went into the Paddock, to feed the Colts with

Bread; and while they were putting their Noses into _Robin's_ Pockets,

_Dick_ brought out the two Ponies, and set me on one of them, and we had

a mad Scamper through the Meadows and down the Lanes; I leading. Just at

the Turne of _Holford's Close_, came shorte upon a Gentleman walking

under the Hedge, clad in a sober, genteel Suit, and of most beautifulle

Countenance, with Hair like a Woman's, of a lovely pale brown, long and

silky, falling over his Shoulders. I nearlie went over him, for

_Clover's_ hard Forehead knocked against his Chest; but he stoode it

like a Rock; and lookinge first at me and then at _Dick_, he smiled and

spoke to my Brother, who seemed to know him, and turned about and walked

by us, sometimes stroking _Clover's_ shaggy Mane. I felte a little

ashamed; for _Dick_ had sett me on the Poney just as I was, my Gown

somewhat too shorte for riding: however, I drewe up my Feet and let

_Clover_ nibble a little Grasse, and then got rounde to the neare Side,

our new Companion stille between us. He offered me some wild Flowers,

and askt me theire Names; and when I tolde them, he sayd I knew more

than he did, though he accounted himselfe a prettie fayre Botaniste: and

we went on thus, talking of the Herbs and Simples in the Hedges; and I

sayd how prettie some of theire Names were, and that, methought, though

Adam had named alle the Animals in Paradise, perhaps Eve had named all

the Flowers. He lookt earnestlie at me, on this and muttered "Prettie."

Then _Dick_ askt of him News from _London_, and he spoke, methought,

reservedlie; ever and anon turning his bright, thoughtfulle Eyes on me.

At length, we parted at the Turn of the Lane.