lodger, is thrown out to cumber up the narrow space left by old trunks, bandboxes, and all the collected rubbish of the concern. Four black doors stare you in the face; the one on the right is occupied by a great mystery! It is a tall dark man, with a beard blacker than his coat. His trousers are of a circumscribed kind, with guiding straps, and Blucher boots, which are always at loggerheads with the bottoms of the aforesaid nether integuments: he is supposed to be connected with the press, penny or otherwise, as he uses much ink and paper, and is particularly busy in the murder-season. Although literary, he is not looked upon with any respect by any in the house, except the maid-of-all-work, as he fetches his own beer, and saves her much trouble by making his own bed, which is effected-it being a turn-up-by giving it a turn or shake as he lowers it at night, or rather morning; for he has a latch-key, and is frequently heard at blue daylight, miscounting the stairs, and breathing very hard. He is perfectly unknown to the tradesmen who supply the house, he being in the habit of catering for himself, slightly varying his diet between saveloys and bread and cheese, bringing them home in a quiet way in his pocket. The next door-stop!-you must not go there!—that's the girl's room. The next has for a very long time had no occupant but the wind, which has given the door a delirium tremens, much to the annoyance of the literary man, who rushes out and tries to stop its noise with a last week's number of crimson crimes-which only makes it shake the more. The last is the den of the landlady herself, who, with a rapacity peculiar to the genus, lives in all sort of discomfort, for the sake of profit, and who would, if she could find a customer, let this her last hold, and live in the outhouse. You must guess at the interior of this room; its comforts are composed of things rejected by everybody in the house. I would show it you, but dont like to disturb her! for, entre nous, I owe her a quarter's rent! SONG. A PROUD land is England! None prouder, I ween, For, dimless in glory, it knows not decay; A proud land is England !-nor scornful the boast, INDEX TO THE SEVENTEENTH VOLUME. A. Altered Man, the, by Paul Prendergast, Anecdotical Gatherings, by R. B. Peake, Ballad, 615. B. Ballyragget, by the Irish Whiskey-Drink- Barker's, W. G. J., Damned Souls, 604. Boruwlaski, Joseph, a Memoir of the ce- Boys, the, of Kilkenny, by the Irish Breeze, the, upon the Ocean, by Wil- Brinvilliers, the Marchioness of, the VOL. XVII. C. Brummell, George, and Dandyism, 514. Close, the, of the Old Year, 1844, by Clumseetrunk, Mynheer Van, 156. Cooke's, Henry, Notes of a Loiterer in Corunna, the Retreat to, from the Recol- Costello's, Louisa Stuart, Sketches of Le- Crockford and Crockford's, by Perditus, Crowquill's, Alfred, Glimpses and Mys- Curling's, Henry, anecdotes of the Pen- D. Damned Souls, the, by W. G. J.Barker,604. Discovery of the Oregon by Drake and Drama, a Glance at the, 421. A A A |