10, where the exchange was soon completed, and then Downer took leave and went his way with a degree of alertness that might have raised suspicion in the mind of almost any other person than Mr. Meadows, who, after witnessing his departure through the gallery, rubbed his hands with delight, and soliloquised, "How wonderfully does the mind assist the body! The idea of disappointing that poor man must have added much to his suffering. He must have a kind heart. Yes, yes! and how fortunate that I had just the amount!"

So the good man commenced the third day of his metropolitan perambulations with exceeding complacent feelings; and, having first delivered the important packet addressed to the unknown disperser of literary fame, he proceeded to the house of his publishers, where he was politely received by an elderly gentleman, who was the managing partner. There was something remarkably pleasing in his manner during the little preliminary talk which usually takes place concerning news, and wind, and weather, and the state of things in general, when strangers meet, ere they can proceed to business; but when they did arrive at the interesting point of sales and returns, the experienced bibliopole shook his head, lifted up his hands and eyes, and exclaimed, in a tone like that of one uttering sounds of woe, "Poetry, poetry, poetry!"

In spite of a little jarring of his rhyming organs (if there be any such), a sense of the ludicrous was predominant in our curate's feelings at this ominous ejaculation; and, being prepared, by previous letters from the house, for any thing except the offer of a draft upon their bankers, he smilingly observed, "My good sir, I am not come with any sanguine expectations at present, laying an unusual emphasis on the latter word, which did not escape the publisher, who little thought it was caused by so poor a chance as the delivery of the packet at the Laterary Recorder office.

are not the worst we have had to do with" (Mr. Meadows, not comprehending that he spoke in an unpoetical, business-like sense, thought this but faint praise, indeed); "but they move off very, very slowly. Still I have some hope; my attention has been called to them lately, and no doubt you will feel surprised, but really I have read them." If he had said he had not read them he would much more have surprised the uninitiated author. "You look surprised; well you may! However, so it is; and you may judge what I think of them when I tell you I took a copy home to my daughters. But here comes a clerk with the account; now you will see it all in black and white. Thank ye, Brown, that'll do ;" and, taking the paper, he looked at it and continued, "Come, come! we do seem to be not quite dead yet. twenty-five Two-three humph! eleven twenty-five almost thirty copies sold since October, ten of them only two days ago. Hem! perhaps you have been stirring yourself since you

came to town?"

Mr. Meadows assured him that such was not the case, and, after a little more indifferent chat, put the best account he had ever received of his volume into his pocket and went his way, musing upon how many readers the thirty copies might gain for him. Ten for each seemed a moderate calculation, and amounted to three hundred, many of whom would, of course, become purchasers in their turn; and, as such books were usually placed on the tables of drawing-rooms, they must frequently lead to inquiry respecting the author's merits and the expression of opinions which, whether favourable or adverse, were far preferable to dumb oblivion. It was something to be talked about;

and, though the good man did not apostrophise the edifices around,

"Dost thou not feel me as I walk along?"

the process of building "castles in the air" elevated him exceedingly, and there was a briskness in his step and cheerfulness of air about him,

"You are right, sir," he replied; altogether forming a striking contrast

"I am glad of it! It is no consolation to me when disappointed, to find others equally so. However, I will be candid with you. Your poems

with the shabby lounger of the preceding day. The change in his dress and manner utterly astonished the Moorfields broker, on whom he

called to make final arrangements for the removal of his purchases (after having ascertained that the wagon was at his disposal), and furnished matter for conversation on many a subsequent day when the tradesman was wont to affirm, "I shouldn't have known the fellow if he hadn't pointed to the things he bought on the Wednesday." At the time, however, the improvement in his customer's appearance merely caused him to assume an air of greater deference as he promised that all should be in readiness early on the following morning, after which Mr.

Meadows meant to leave town immediately, provided that he should in the meanwhile be so fortunate as to find Counsellor Hunter at home. There were no omnibuses in those days, so, by the broker's advice, he mounted upon a Paddington coach, and, for the sum of three shillings, was conveyed to a point in the New Road, north of Russell Square, into which he made his way through brick-fields, and lines of new and unfinished houses, on a scale that caused him especial wonder at the great increase of building in London.

The gentleman on whom he was about to call had made his onward way against many difficulties by sheer industry and talent. Thin, active, and scarcely of the middle height, there was yet something about him

that excited attention at the first glance. Perhaps it was chiefly the dark, keen, never-tranquil eye, flashing beneath thick beetling brows, that would have seemed ever frowning, but for the half-sarcastic smile upon the somewhat large but wellformed and expressive mouth. In manner he was energetic even in trifles, and in speech laconic to a degree that appeared hasty; but it was not so, for incessant occupation had taught him the value of time, and he meted it out almost by minutes, grudgingly, when not devoted to the duties of his profession.

When Mr. Meadows was ushered into his study, the counsellor was writing, and did not even look up till he had finished the sentence. Then he rose, shook his visitor cordially by the hand, and said, "Glad to see you. Your card left yesterday had no address, or you would have heard from me; nor did you say

when you would call again, so I wrote. There's my letter. Read it; and mind, I insist on your compliance. We shall then have more time for talking. Read, now. I'll write;" and, taking up his pen, he resumed his previous occupation in silence for about ten minutes.

Our curate, in the meanwhile, read a polite and very pressing invitation that he would make the writer's house his home during the remainder of his stay in town.

"You will come in and go out, and do just as you like," observed the counsellor, as he wheeled his chair suddenly to the fireside; "I shall send for Charles from school to-morrow, you will then see what he is. I know what you are, and am satisfied in all but one par ticular, and that you will, I trust, amend. You have been burying yourself. The bishop is my au thority. As a clergyman, you know that our talents are lent to us. Tell me where you are staying, and where I shall send the carriage for you." Mr. Meadows' reply was not given with equal brevity or decision; for, sooth to say, he was a little nervous in consequence of the unusual and peremptory style of his interrogator, who, however, listened patiently till something was said of the speaker's having intended to return home after sending off the goods on the morrow. He then exclaimed, "Excuse interruption, my carriage will be at the door in three minutes. I know what a parson's week's holiday is: from Monday till the second Saturday. Attend to your other business to-day; and to-morrow at twelve-mind! not five minutes after-one of my people shall call if I cannot come myself with the carriage. The Griffin, you say?" and, taking a pen, he began to write, as he continued, "The Rev.

"No," said Mr. Meadows, "they do not know my name. The fact is, that it is not a first-rate house, and, as a clergyman, I did not wish

"Well, the number of your room?" "No. 10."

"That will do as well. Twelve precisely. There are my wheels!" and, as he spake, a servant entered with his great-coat, and, of course, Mr. Meadows rose and took leave, somewhat bewildered at the sudden

and whatever else of luggage he deemed needless or unseemly for his approaching aristocratic visit. The man then received a gratuity, with a promise of more if all arrived safe at Milfield, and forthwith departed on his journey.

It was then half-past eleven. Mr. Meadows had to make some little change in his dress, and, recollecting the precision of his new host, ordered his bill in haste, ran back to his room and altogether appeared much excited. A quarter of an hour passed. He rang his bell sharply, but no one attended to it. Five minutes more elapsed,six-seven-eight. Then, carrying his own portmanteau, he descended to the bar-window, through which he saw the landlady leisurely tracing figures on paper. She was, as before hinted, the only person in the house who thought well of him; but even her sense of the gentleness of his manners was shaken, when, hurriedly opening the bar-door, he exclaimed, "My good lady, I have not a moment to spare. Never mind particulars, tell me the amount!"

"Iloity, toity, bless the man!" she ejaculated; "I sha'n't be a minute."

"I can't spare a minute!" said the impatient guest.

"Shall I call a coach ?" asked the boots, having caught sight of what he deemed a sure job.

"No!" was the decided reply. "Then what's the hurry ?" asked the landlady, demurely.

"What's the matter now?" inquired the bluff landlord, coming in at the moment from marketing.

"This gentleman wants his bill," replied his wife, "and I'm making

it out as fast as I can!"

"No, no!" exclaimed the now greatly agitated guest; "I do not want the bill, only tell me the amount. Dear me, it wants but a minute and a half!"

"You seem to be in a precious hurry!" observed the landlord; and, taking up the account-book, he ran his practised eye down the columns; and then, after humming a calculation, added, "One pound eighteen and sixpence."

"Thank ye!" exclaimed the delighted curate. "There are two pounds; and there-there-for the servants. Much obliged for your attentions. Good morning, madam. Hark! the clock strikes; just in time!" and, hurrying through the door, he made his way to the window, where he had left his portmanteau, while, as the clock was yet striking, a plain, but elegant chariot entered the gateway, and, after turning in the yard, stopped where he was standing. No one was inside. There were two servants on the box, and one out of livery alighted. He was the same who had attended the counsellor on the preceding day, and, consequently, recognised Mr. Meadows, whom he immediately addressed, touching his hat respectfully:

"No. 10, I believe, sir?”
"Yes," said our curate.

"This is your luggage?" inquired the man; and, on receiving a reply in the affirmative, he handed it briskly to the coachman, who stowed it in the boot, while the other opened the chariot - door, let down the steps, handed in his fare, shut him in snugly, then leaped upon the box with the agility of a cat, and the moment after away rolled the chariot, scarcely allowing time for its kindhearted occupier to wave his hand to the astonished landlady.

"Well," exclaimed Mr. Mark Joyce," of all the rum customers we ever had in our house, that is the rummest! Why them horses is worth a couple of hundred guineas, and the whole set-out tip top! Hang me if I can make head or tail of it!"

"I always said he was a real gentleman!" observed his helpmate, not a little gratified at this undeniable proof of her sagacity.

66

Well, mistress," said her husband, "I suppose I must allow that you were right for once!"

Both, however, had reason to alter their opinions during the following week, for then certain active emissaries of the law were endeavouring to trace our clerical hero's movements for the purpose of apprehending him on the charge of forgery!

SOME RAMBLING REMARKS ON HORACE AND OTHERS.

BY MORGAN RATTLER, ESQ. M.A., AN APPRENTICE OF THE LAW.

FRIENDS, Britons, countrymen, and lovers, you seem to be so marvellously well pleased with our effu. sions on matters deep and high in an easy vein, that we feel bound, in common gratitude, to endeavour once again to afford you the means of whiling away a vacant hour, soothingly to the intellectual man, and, peradventure, not unprofitably. Moreover, we are encouraged to the effort by the approbation of a beloved friend, testified in a manner worthy of those ancient days, ere scribbling-craft prevailed, when congenial tastes and kindred studies, and the equal soul-felt adoration of the good and beautiful, endeared men to each other. He has sent us his translations of several of the best odes of Horace, and you shall have them, gentle reader, sharp and fresh from the mint of one of the finest minds ever yet organised. We will deal with other materials as before. The first strain of the Roman lyre, and one of its very noblest, we shall advert unto, is that in the fourth book of the odes, numbered the second. It is dedicated to Iulus Antonius, the second son of Antonius, the Triumvir, by Fulvia. Of this young man's melancholy fate and fortunes, we propose to say something anon. But our present business is with the ode itself. Certainly in this there is one of the noblest, ay, and the truest, panegyrical criticisms on Pindar, prince of lyric poets, that ever gushed from mortal mind. The son of Daäphantes (it was another Pindar, his cousin, who was the son of Scopelinus, teste Suidas) was a splendid old fellow. He lived a jolly life of piety, like a mediæval abbot, up to his seventy-fourth year, singing, "in strains of heavenly the pride, pomp, and circumstance

glory," upon the subjects set forth by Horace in high verse, and labouring, moreover, on dramas and prose works of which, though there be some fragments, we (Morgan Rattler) know nothing. But although, as lyrists, the one could, in his mood, imitate the eagle careering in fierce glee

"Down the streams of the cloudy wind," and the other preferred the gentle functions of the busy, yet sportive bee, there was much congeniality of feeling and sentiment between the men. This we gather from their works. Both were accomplished courtiers. The panegyrist of Augustus could well sympathise with the gorgeous flatterer of Hieron, the Etnæan. Both, in their tastes, as in their associations, were essentially aristocratic. They hated and eschewed all communion with the common herd of human kind. They loved the interchange of high thoughts with great men; they loved pleasure in its delicate form. They were fond to gaze upon and enjoy scenes such as Byron describes in his Marino Faliero, and Froissart before him had delighted to paint,

"The garlands, the rose-odours, and the flowers,

The braids, and bracelets, and the necklace,

An India in itself, yet dazzling not the

eye

Like what it circled; the many-twink-
ling feet

So small and sylph-like, suggesting the
more secret symmetry,
Of those fair forms that terminate so
well."

Indeed, the strenuous relish with
which Pindar dwells and dilates upon

Alexander the Great spared his house, as though it were a temple, when he rased Thebes. This, no doubt, was a tribute to bis genius from the man of genius, but it was also a reverential recognition of what was due to the sacred memory of the minstrel of the gods. The Lacedæmonians, on another and former occasion, spared the whole city for Pindar's sake.

He took the name of Etnæan from having restored and rebuilt Catana, a city near Etna, upon which he conferred the name of the mountain. Hieron was a learned, magnificent, and enlightened despot.