Bubb's flattering observation, and I wish I could say as much for him!"

One day he rushed triumphantly into the club-room, and, seizing Selwyn by the button, exclaimed, " George, congratulate me, it is all settled, I am to be made a lord; what will you say to that?"

"Say?" replied Selwyn, "Why, I shall say, Oh, Lord !"

When only Mr. Bubb, and before he had succeeded to the more important patronymic of Doddington, he expected to be sent as envoy to the court of Spain. Speaking with his tormentor on the matter, he regretted the shortness of his name:

"The Spanish grandees, I understand," said he, "have a great number of names, and usually very long ones. They think little of such short names as mine-Bubb! Bubb! I wish I could lengthen it in any natural way; George, can you suggest anything?"

"Certainly;" replied Selwyn, "call yourself Silly Bubb" (Sillabub).

When Bubb succeeded at last, through his money and its reflected influence, in getting himself pitchforked into the peerage, he assumed the euphonious title of Baron of Melcombe Regis. He thought differently from Shakspeare, who says, "What's in a name?" Though not learned, he, perhaps, had read Camden's Annals of Elizabeth, in which an insignificant name renders ludicrous a well merited eulogium. In the great sea fight against the Spanish Armada, the only Englishman of note who fell was a certain Captain Cock, whose memory is thus preserved: "In suâ, inter hostes, naviculâ, cum laude periit solus Cockus, Anglus."

A joke in 1740-50 went much farther than it does now. Perhaps our modern Hooks and Hoods are not more brilliant than the Selwyns and the Hanburys of the last age, but they are quicker, their practice is more rapid, and they fire three rounds where their predecessors could only discharge one. In the present altered state of social habits, mere conversational wits have not the same chance they had formerly. Not half the time is occupied at table. The long hours of drinking and talking are exchanged for three courses of heavy, rapid eating, with slight potations. Digestion has become slower, and imagination torpid.

Music and dancing have supplanted anecdote. Euterpe and Terpsichore have driven Bacchus from the field. Your professed diner-out will still obtain his dinner, but he finds it very hard to get time for his stories, while the social supper has faded into a tradition. Mere brilliant parts, as they were called, will seldom now help a man into place or prominence. To be thought anything of, he must be noisy, uneasy, prying, above all, useful; or, what will often do as well, he must assume the appearance of utility, in the shape of bustling officiousness. A good way to begin in public life is to pretend that you are the trusted organ of an influential party; by continually asserting this, you will get at last listened to, and listening is the first step to conviction. The very party you have adopted will, at last, adopt you in return, out of common gratitude, saying, "hang him, he has worked hard for us, we must acknowledge and provide for him." An experienced trimmer once imparted to us this plan of tactics, and declared that, though sometimes slow, he invariably found it, in the long run, sure and profitable.

Horace Walpole died on the 2nd of March, 1797, having nearly completed his eightieth year. With him expired the race of "fine gentlemen scholars," which we are never likely to see revived. We are become too essentially mercantile, even in literary and scientific pursuits, to breed again a similar species. We are, perhaps, less witty and accomplished than our forefathers, less formally polite, and less particular in the minutiae of social intercourse; but let us hope that we are more solidly useful, and a trifle less insincere, whether in morals or religion. We do not bow as low or gracefully, neither do we write as many pleasant letters about nothing, in spite of the pennypostage. The present generation do not drink five bottles at a sitting, fight a duel once a week, or "swear prodigiously," as our armies did in Flanders. They still do a little in the gambling line, and smoke to an excess that would have sickened Sir Walter Raleigh himself. But, then, they think, and calculate, and make money, and sometimes lose it. They bend to public opinion, which they dare not brave; they "assume a virtue if they have it not;" they talk decency if they do not

love it; and tremble before virtue, which controls, if it does not convince them. We ought to be far in advance of preceding races, and if we are not, heavy will be the responsibility, when the final reckoning must be made. We have glided insensibly into a moralising strain, and have entirely lost sight of our book, but must now draw bridle, and take our leave. Its great

and leading merit consists in connecting in one link, within small compass, and in a telling, lively style, the history of many persons, and numerous incidents, which we could not otherwise make ourselves familiar with, except by wading through innumerable volumes, and occupying more time than most of us can afford to bestow on light or ornamental literature.

THE morning of departure came. Aylmer left his steward, old William Madden, in charge of the place and farm, with Jack as head over him. and Annie as head over Jack, at least so far as respected the superintendence over Jack's ethics and politics; an office which Annie had assumed, and exercised for some time past, with great success; inasmuch as Jack seldom expressed dissent, but indolently acquiesced in her doctrines; so that she spoke of him to her friends as a vastly more promising pupil than Brooke. On one point, indeed, Jack was refractory; he could not endure Woodenpate; a piece of heresy and presumption which almost threw his orthodoxy on other points into the shade.

Brooke Aylmer led his horse down the avenue, accompanied as far as the lodge by Will. Madden, and by Annie, whose affectionate heart was so heavy at her brother's departure, that to please him, I don't doubt but she would have consented to the application of steam to purposes of locomotion, and have voted Woodenpate to be not infallible.

"God bless you, dear; I'll soon be with you again," said Aylmer, as he kissed his sister, and mounted his horse.

"Good bye, Will. .; take care of Miss Annie till I come back."

He waved his hand to Jack, who was standing, waving his hat, on the top of one of the little emerald hills aforementioned, and rode off.

The news that "the masther' was going on a journey to England had circulated in the little neighbourhood; and as he passed through the miserable assemblage of mud cabins which garnished the road at either side, after passing the bridge, the inhabitants were at their doors, with blessings and salutations for his honour. Nanny Keleher, his old nurse, was on her knees, invoking heaven for his speedy and safe return. The dunghills were surmounted with scores of half-naked urchins, staring as if it was the expedition of the Argonauts they were looking at, instead of a decent Christian gentleman on horseback, with a small portmanteau strapped on the crupper.

Aylmer rode on. He had a fine May day before him to accomplish his journey of some five-and-twenty miles, over hill and dale, to Cork. He was in the joyous prime of life. His studies had been chiefly among books, and from them, and from his observations of human nature, guided by the impulses of his own individual nature, he had stored his intellect with images of the good and fair, and with principles of reason and morality; and his mind was as a cornucopia of hope and faith, pouring out its beautiful forms and colours on the vista of life before him. He had not yet liberated his mind from the syren fallacy of expecting sympathy in his perceptions and aspirations after good. The intuitions of genius areo natural, so evident, and so beautiful, that he to whom they are intuitions is prone to fancy that

they are equally natural and evident to others.

Ile ambled on, bumping up and down a road as rough and hilly as most of our highways were in those times. It may still be seen; a curious relic of the last century; and often, doubtless, moves the wonder and contempt of the modern traveller. And yet, methinks, those ancient and deserted highways are often as interesting, as fraught with associations of the past, as other relics of the manners and ideas of our forefathers; a ruined castle, an ivymantled abbey, or druidical circlemore picturesque to the eye, but not speaking more to the heart and mind, of by-gone days.

Towards the end of the day, Aylmer, passing by "the groves of Blarney, looking so charming," and by Sunday's Well, entered "that beautiful city called Cork," and put up at the Crown and Woolpack, in the North Main

street.

It was a queer, primitive, old inn, exceedingly unlike what we are wont to term an hotel; but it was not without its comforts, though wholly destitute of elegance, or even of pretension to it. The traveller got substantial fare, coarsely served; a tolerabie bed; wines; whiskey-punch, ad libitum; in winter, a roaring fire, and at all times a welcome from the landlord and his wife, sufliciently hearty, noisy, and rapturous, to make him quite happy; and what more does a man want than to be quite happy? Most of the guests who stopped at the Crown and Woolpack were, in a manner, old friends and intimate acquaintances of Blarney Mac Sawder, the landlord, a sly, insinuating, plausible gossip-monger, who talked as if he knew all their private concerns who was who, and what was what; who was to be married, and when; and what settlement was made, and what settlement was not to be made; and, in short, all about them and their fathers and grandfathers.

As Aylmer rode into the inn-yard, to the disturbance of some half dozen pigs, who were taking a luxurious siesta on the ground, he was descried and hailed from an upper window by fat, warm-hearted Mrs. Mac Sawder.

"Och, then, Masther Brooke, my love, is that yourself I see?" she shouted; "Och, 'tis I am glad to see ye; and 'tis Blarney will be proud to see ye; and you're welcome, Masther

Brooke. Dan, ye big bligaird, why don't ye take his honour's harse? Div' ye want to see his honour massacreed by them pigs? Wait till I puts on me cloze, Masther Brooke, darlin', and I'll be down to ye."

It was rather late in the day to be putting on of clothes, and when Mrs. Mac Sawder came down, an enormous, waddling, globular incorporation of smiles and god humour, it might have seemed, to an unprejudiced observer, as if she had ratlier been putting her clothes off than on; such was the dishevelled, tumbled, and scarcely sufficient state of raiment in which she presented herself.

"Wisha, then, Masther Brooke, but 'tis a long while since I have seen your honour. And how is Miss Annie, Masther Brooke? I hope she do come on finely, sir? Och, then, 'tis you are like your mother, and has your father's nose. God bless 'em, but they were the nice people entirely. And you'll have your dinner, Masther Brooke; there's illigant salt hake and a pig's cheek, and anything else you like; and if I'd only known you was a comin', I'd have sent up to Sunday's well for a can of wather for ye, for I knows you like clane wather to dhrink! Och, but I am proud to see ye, Masther

Brooke !"

Aylmer requested that a supply of the pure element might be forthwith sent for; and finding that Mr. O'Sherkin and Corney had not yet arrived, he walked forth to inquire about the sailing of the packet for Bristol. It was to sail, the captain told him, with the first fair wind; but at present, according to that experienced navigator, there was no prognostic of its advent, the wind being due east. The captain took Aylmer's direction, and promised to give him notice of the first change in the wind; and Aylmer returned to his inn.

At the same hour, Mr. O'Sherkin and Corney, who had left Castle Sherkin that morning, were midway on their journey to Cork, and, putting up for the night at the glebe-house of the Rev. Tom Trump, a good fellow, whose knowledge of theology was by no means as profound as his knowledge of the laws of whist; but whose claret, whiskey, and collection of funny stories were first-rate. Jack Tallyho, of Haystack Lodge, dined there also; another famous good fellow of the

right sort, who contributed much to the delectation of this brilliant meeting of social spirits.

Mr. O'Sherkin and his son quitted the roof of this minister of Christianity the next day, and joined Brooke Aylmer at the Crown and Woolpack, in the evening.

The wind did not change for more than a week; much to the satisfaction of Mac Sawder and his wife, who had no objection to their guests being weather-bound for a twelvemonth. All that the travellers could do was to make up their minds to so helpless a state of things, and kill the weary time as they best could. They felt that, like King Canute, they had no control over the winds and tides. Several other persons were staying in Cork with a like intent, awaiting the message of the captain of the packet, whose business it was, on the first appearance of a fair wind, to send round timely notice to his passengers, at their respective houses, inns, or lodgings.

One evening, Mr. O'Sherkin had gathered around him a knot of acquaintances. There was Dr. Stockow Lanklegs, an old bachelor physician without practice, a scholar, knowing, literary, sordidly selfish, a miser, rich, and almost in rags. There was Dick Millikin, the attorney, poetical, musical, and convivial; and Bacchus Boland.

Mr. O'Sherkin and Corney were in their element: the fun waxed fast and furious; but Brooke Aylmer, though he laughed, and endeavoured to be cheerful, was unable to join with his whole heart and soul in the convivial humours of the evening.

Just as a second kettle of hot water was ordered, a change came over the tone of the proceedings. Dr. Lanklegs and Millikin were whispering, Bacchus and Corney were exchanging winks, and the squire was winking all round, and regarding Aylmer with a laughing eye. Something had evidently been preconcerted; and Aylmer felt that he was the object of these speculations. The kettle was brought in; the lemons squeezed; the tumblers filled; Dr. Lanklegs, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his right knee over his left, and regaling his nostril with a pinch of snuff, fixed his keen regards on Aylmer, and amid the silence and sly looks of the rest of the party, addressed him :

"Mr. Aylmer, could you excuse the liberty I take? There is a subject on which I am most desirous of obtaining information. In short, I understand you will excuse me, I am sure, Mr. Aylmer-I understand you are an advocate of a new system of locomotion, by means of which people are to travel at some prodigious, and, to me, utterly incredible rate of going-fifteen or twenty miles in an hour, I have heard-and on a road made of iron?"

Aylmer, who felt himself in the awkward position of a sensitive and retiring man, about to be made the butt of ignorance and reckless humour, and yet could not get rid of his favourite notion, that when people sought for information, they really wished for it, and would be grateful for being set right, coloured up to the eyes, and timidly replied:

"Yes, Dr. Lanklegs, I advocate such a system. I hope the advance of science will enable us to travel at even a greater rate than you have mentioned. It would be a great advan tage to mankind."

"I shall not dispute the advantage, Mr. Aylmer," replied the doctor, "of such a system—that is to say, supposing it practicable. It would, no doubt, be an advantage in several points of view. We shall not differ there, I believe. It would be an advantage if we could get from this to Dublin in a day, or if I could get to my residence in Kinsale in an hour. But the question which I take the liberty of asking— merely for information-is as to the means of accomplishing all this?"

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By steam," said Aylmer.

A laugh which followed was instantly checked, in order to allow the Doctor to proceed in his inquisition.

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My dear sir," resumed the Doctor, "I am not sure that I perfectly understand you, which, I dare say, may be owing to my ignorance or inferior capacity. But as it is of the utmost importance, in questions of this kind, that people should understand one another, perhaps you would kindly excuse me if I ask you how can steam enable people to travel at the rate of twenty miles (or more, I think you said) in an hour. I like to have definite ideas; and the words by steam' convey no definite idea to my mind, any more than if you had said-by smoke."

And the Doctor, with a malicious

twinkle of his eye, passed his snuff-box to Bacchus, and sipped his punch.

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"The best way, Doctor," said Aylmer, in which I can convey my meaning, is by premising that the steam engine is supposed to be placed on wheels. And then-"

"Excuse me," said the Doctor, with a deprecatory wave of the hand, "let me distinctly understand. Steam, we all know, presupposes the existence of hot water. Now I suppose I may safely assume that the hot water is placed in some receptacle or other—a cauldron, or kettle, or something of that kind. Now am I right in understanding you to say that this cauldron or kettle of hot water is placed on wheels?"

"Certainly," said Aylmer.

"A kettle of hot water on wheels!" cried Millikin. "Bravo!"

Very well," continued the Doctor. "Now, then, that we have got our kettle of hot water on wheels, I wish further to be informed how the wheels are to be set in motion, carrying the kettle, of course, with them?"

"I could tell you a famous way to set the wheels going," said Corney; "just harness a horse to the kettle, and it will go like fun."

"All true, Mr. Cornelius O'Sherkin," said the Doctor; "your observation is perfectly true as to the fact; but admitting your fact, I would remark on it (with profound respect) that it throws no light on our present inquiry, which is, whether we could do without horses?-in fact how, without the use of horses, or of human hands, we are to get the kettle to move? Perhaps Mr. Aylmer could solve the difficulty; if, indeed, it is not giving Mr. Aylmer too much trouble ;-I confess it passes my humble comprehension entirely."

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I

"I have already said, by steam," said Aylmer, and if you will allow me—' "Allow me, Mr. Aylmer; you see wish to have clear, definite ideas. Let me suppose that yonder tea-kettle, at present on the hob, and which was lately hissing and steaming on the kitchen fire-let me suppose, I say, that that tea-kettle were placed upon a platform, and that platform upon wheels, how the devil, then, do you get the tea-kettle to go bowling along. In other words-"

"My dear sir," said Aylmer, imploringly.

"I won't be interrupted!" said the

Doctor; "Iama plain man; and I must have clear information!"

"Hear him! hear him!" cried the multitude.

My question is a very simple one; it is simply this. Suppose that kettle of hot water mounted on wheels, how do you, Mr. Aylmer, set the wheels in motion? That's the question, Mr. Aylmer!" and he took a long pinch of snuff.

"That's the question!" cried Bacchus.

The squire gave a tremendous yawn; and Millikin gaily chaunted—

"Lovers vainly strive to banish From their hearts the tyrant boy." "Mr. Millikin, I must call you to order," said Lanklegs.

"Order! order!" said Corney.

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kin.

I humbly beg pardon," said Milli

"But for your humble submission, Mr. Millikin," said the Doctor, "I should have felt it my duty to fine you in half a dozen of claret."

"Mr. President, I—”

Very well, Mr. Millikin; but now let us have the pleasure of hearing Mr. Aylmer proceed in the explanation of his theory."

"I shall be most happy," said Ayl mer," to explain, to the best of my power-"

"I am sure you will, Mr. Aylmer; and in order to help us out in the elucidation of this very difficult subject, I would just observe that the question has now been narrowed down to a very simple issue,-given a tea-kettle on wheels, how is that tea-kettle to be set in motion ?"

And the Doctor uncrossed his legs and crossed them again, left over right; and taking a long pinch of snuff, sent his sneering glance of scepticism around the room; his long, thin, sarcastic, purple nose wrinkling in unison with the contemptuous expression of his eye. "By the action of steam on the wheels," said Aylmer.

The Doctor, with a twirl of his nose, gave a droll, satiric glance, which opened the flood-gates of the laughter of the audience: and then, reclining back in his seat, after the manner of a sharp lawyer, who, by a series of welldirected questions, has led an unwilling witness to criminate himself, took pinches of snuff and sips of punch with an insulting air of victory and superiority.