retained his excellent tenant, but not on the lived-here she is, with the hood of her red terms on which she then held the land, which cloak pulled over her close black bonnet of had not varied for fifty years: so poor Mrs. that silk which once (it may be presumed) Sally had the misfortune to find rent rising was fashionable, since it is still called mode, and prices sinking both at the same moment and her whole stout figure huddled up in a a terrible solecism in political economy. Even miscellaneous and most substantial covering this, however, I believe she would have en- of thick petticoats, gowns, aprons, shawls, dured rather than have quitted the house and cloaks —a weight which it requires the where she was born, and to which all her strength of a thresher to walk under-here she ways and notions were adapted, had not a is with her square honest visage and her loud priggish steward, as much addicted to improve- frank voice; and we hold a pleasant disjointment and reform, as she was to precedent and ed chat of rheumatisms and early chickens, established usages, insisted on binding her by bad weather, and hats with feathers in them; lease to spread a certain number of loads of the last exceedingly sore subject being inchalk on every field.. This tremendous inno- troduced by poor Jane Davies, (a cousin of vation, for never had that novelty in manure Mrs. Sally,) who, passing us in a beaver bonwhitened the crofts and pightels of Court- net on her road from school, stopped to drop Farm, decided her at once. She threw the her little curtsy, and was soundly scolded for proposals into the fire, and left the place in a her civility. Jane, who is a gentle, humble, week. smiling lass, about twelve years old, receives Her choice of a habitation occasioned some so many rebukes from her worthy relative, wonder and much amusement in our village and bears them so meekly, that I should not world. To be sure, upon the verge of seventy, wonder if they were to be followed by a an old maid may be permitted to dispense with legacy: I sincerely wish they may. Well, the more rigid punctilio of her class, but Mrs. at last we said good-bye; when, on inquiring Sally had always been so tenacious on the my destination, and hearing that I was bent score of character, so very a prude, so deter- to the ten-acre copse, (part of the farm which mined an avoider of the "men folk," (as she she ruled so long,) she stopped me to tell a was wont contemptuously to call them,) that dismal story of two sheep-stealers who sixty we were all conscious of something like years ago were found hidden in that copse, astonishment, on finding that she and her little and only taken after great difficulty and rehandmaid had taken up their abode in the one sistance, and the maiming of a peace-officer. end of a spacious farm-house belonging to the" Pray don't go there, Miss! For mercy's bluff old bachelor, George Robinson, of the sake don't be so venturesome! Think if they Lea. Now farmer Robinson was quite as no- should kill you!" were the last words of Mrs. torious for his aversion to petticoated things, Sally. as Mrs. Sally for her hatred to the unfeathered Many thanks for her care and kindness! bipeds who wear doublet and hose, so that But without being at all fool-hardy in general, there was a little astonishment in that quarter I have no great fear of the sheep-stealers of too, and plenty of jests, which the honest far-sixty years ago. Even if they escaped hangmer speedily silenced, by telling all who ing for that exploit, I should greatly doubt joked on the subject that he had given his their being in case to attempt another. So on lodger fair warning, that, let people say what we go: down the short shady lane, and out they would, he was quite determined not to on the pretty retired green, shut in by fields marry her; so that if she had any views that and hedge-rows, which we must cross to reach way, it would be better for her to go else- the copse. How lively this green nook is towhere. This declaration, which must be ad- day, half covered with cows and horses and mitted to have been more remarkable for frank- sheep! And how glad these frolicsome greyness than civility, made, however, no ill hounds are to exchange the hard gravel of the impression on Mrs. Sally. To the farmer's high road for this pleasant short turf, which she went, and at his house she still lives, with seems made for their gambols! How beautiher little maid, her tabby cat, a decrepit sheep- fully they are at play, chasing each other dog, and much of the lumber of Court-Farm, round and round in lessening circles, darting which she could not find in her heart to part off at all kinds of angles, crossing and recrossfrom. There she follows her old ways and ing May, and trying to win her sedateness inher old hours, untempted by matrimony, and to a game at romps, turning round on each unassailed (as far as I hear) by love or scan- other with gay defiance, pursuing the cows dal, with no other grievance than an occa- and the colts, leaping up as if to catch the sional dearth of employment for herself and crows in their flight;-all in their harmless her young lass, (even pewter dishes do not al- and innocent-"Ah wretches! villains! rasways want scouring,) and now and then a cals! four-footed mischiefs! canine plagues! twinge of the rheumatism. Saladin! Brindle!"-They are after the sheep Here she is, that good relique of the olden-Saladin, I say!"-They have actually time-for, in spite of her whims and preju- singled out that pretty spotted lamb-" Brutes, dices, a better and a kinder woman never if I catch you! Saladin, Brindle !"-We shall

THE TOUCHY LADY.

ONE of the most unhappy persons whom it has been my fortune to encounter, is a pretty woman of thirty, or thereabout, healthy, wealthy, and of good repute, with a fine house, a fine family, and an excellent husband. A solitary calamity renders all these blessings of no avail:-the gentlewoman is touchy. This affliction has given a colour to her whole life. Her biography has a certain martial dignity, like the history of a nation; she dates from battle to battle, and passes her days in an interminable civil war.

The first person who, long before she could speak, had the misfortune to offend the young lady, was her nurse; then in quick succession four nursery maids, who were turned away, poor things! because Miss Anne could not abide them; then her brother Harry, by Oh being born, and diminishing her importance;

then three governesses; then two writing-sume to praise Jeanie Deans; thus cutting off masters; then one music mistress; then a his Majesty's lieges from the most approved whole school. On leaving school, affronts topic of discussion among civilized people, a multiplied of course; and she has been in a neutral ground as open and various as the constant miff with servants, tradespeople, re- weather, and far more delightful. But what lations and friends ever since; so that al- did I say? The very weather is with her no though really pretty (at least she would be so prudent word. She pretends to skill in that! if it were not for a standing frown and a science of guesses commonly called weathercertain watchful defying look in her eyes,) wisdom, and a fog, or a shower, or a thunderdecidedly clever and accomplished, and par- storm, or the blessed sun himself, may have ticularly charitable, as far as giving money been rash enough to contradict her bodements, goes, (your ill-tempered woman has often that and put her out of humour for the day. redeeming grace,) she is known only by her one absorbing quality of touchiness, and is dreaded and hated accordingly by every one who has the honour of her acquaintance.

the face; and certainly but for the accident of being struck dumb by indignation, she never would have married a man so ignobly christened. Her fate has been even worse than then appeared probable; for her husband, an exceeding popular and convivial person, was known all over his own country by the familiar diminutive of his ill-omened appellation; so that she found herself not merely a Mrs. Benjamin, but a Mrs. Ben., the wife of a Ben Morley, junior, esq. (for the peccant uncle was also godfather and namesake) the future mother of a Ben Morley the third.-Oh the Miss Smith, the Anne, even the Nancy, shrunk into nothing when compared with that short word.

achieved, make up your mind to her taking some inexplicable affront after all. Thrice: fortunate would he be who could put twenty words together without affronting her. Besides, she is great at a scornful reply, and shall keep up a quarrelling correspondence with any lady in Great Britain. Her letters are like challenges; and but for the protection of the petticoat, she would have fought fifty duels, and have been either killed or quieted long ago.

If her husband had been of her temper, she would have brought him into twenty scrapes, but he is as unlike her as possible: a goodhumoured rattling creature, with a perpetual festivity of temper, and a propensity to motion and laughter, and all sorts of merry mischief, like a schoolboy in the holidays, which felicitous personage he resembles bodily in his round ruddy handsome face, his dancing black

youngest man that ever saw forty. His pursuits have the same happy juvenility. In the summer he fishes and plays cricket; in the winter he hunts and courses; and what with grouse and partridges, pheasants and woodcocks, wood-pigeons and flappers, he contrives pretty tolerably to shoot all the year round. Moreover, he attends revels, races, assizes, and quarter-sessions; drives stage-coaches, patronizes plays, is steward to concerts, goes to every dance within forty miles, and talks of standing for the county; so that he has no time to quarrel with his wife, or for her, and affronts her twenty times an hour simply by giving her her own way.

Neither is she altogether free from misfortunes on her side of the house. There is a terrible mésalliance in her own family. Her favourite aunt, the widow of an officer with five portionless children, became one fair morn-eyes, curling hair, and light active figure, the ing the wife of a rich mercer in Cheapside, thus at a stroke gaining comfort and losing caste. The manner in which this affected poor Mrs. Ben Morley is inconceivable. She talked of the unhappy connection, as aunts are wont to talk when nieces get paired at Gretna Green, wrote a formal renunciation of the culprit, and has considered herself insulted ever since if any one mentions a silk gown in her presence. Another affliction, brought on by her own family, is the production of a farce by her brother Harry, (born for her plague) at Covent Garden Theatre. The farce was damned, as the author (a clever young Templar) declares most deservedly. He bore the catastrophe with great heroism; and celebrated its downfall by venting sundry good puns and drinking an extra bottle of claret; leaving to Anne, sister Anne, the pleasant employment of fuming over his discomfiture-a task which she performed con amore. Actors, manager, audience and author, seventeen newspapers and three magazines, had the misfortune to displease her on this occasion; in short the whole town. Theatres and newspapers, critics and the drama, have been banished from her conversation ever since. She would as lieve talk of a silk-mercer.

Next after her visiters, her correspondents are to be pitied; they had need look to their P's and Q's, their spelling and their stationary. If you write a note to her, be sure that the paper is the best double post, hot-pressed, and gilt-edged; that your pen is in good order; that your "dear Madams" have a proper mixture of regard and respect; and that your folding and sealings are unexceptionable. She is of a sort to faint at the absence of an envelope, and to die of a wafer. Note, above all, that your address be perfect; that your to be not forgotten; that the offending Benjamin be omitted; and that the style and title of her mansion, SHAWFORD MANOR HOUSE, be set forth in full glory. And when this is

To the popularity of this universal favourite, for the restless sociability of his temper is invaluable in a dull country neighbourhood, his wife certainly owes the toleration which bids fair to render her incorrigible. She is fast approaching to the melancholy condition of a privileged person, one put out of the pale of civilized society. People have left off being angry with her, and begin to shrug up their shoulders and say its her way, a species of placability which only provokes her the more. For my part, I have too great a desire to obtain her good opinion to think of treating her in so shabby a manner; and as it is morally certain that we shall never be friends whilst we visit, I intend to try the effect of non-intercourse, and to break with her outright. If she reads this article, which is very likely, for she is addicted to new publications, and thinks herself injured if a book be put into her hands with the leaves cut,-if she reads only half a page she will inevitably have done with me for ever. If not, there can hardly be any lack of a sufficient quarrel in her company; and then, when we have ceased to speak or to curtsy, and fairly sent each other to Coventry, there can be no reason why we should not be on as civil terms as if the one lived at Calcutta, and the other at New York.

JACK HATCH.

of the storm of scolding with which the mother follows her runaway steps.

So the world wags till ten; then the little damsel gets admission to the charity school, and trips mincingly thither every morning, dressed in the old-fashioned blue gown, and white cap, and tippet, and bib and apron of that primitive institution, looking as demure as a nun, and as tidy; her thoughts fixed on button-holes, and spelling-books, those ensigns of promotion; despising dirt and base-ball, and all their joys.

I PIQUE myself on knowing by sight, and by name, almost every man and boy in our parish, from eight years old to eighty-I cannot say quite so much for the women. They -the elder of them at least-are more within doors, more hidden. One does not meet them in the fields and highways; their duties are close housekeepers, and live under cover. The girls, to be sure, are often enough in sight, "true creatures of the element," basking in Then at twelve, the little lass comes home the sun, racing in the wind, rolling in the dust, again, uncapped, untippeted, unschooled; dabbling in the water,-hardier, dirtier, noisier, brown as a berry, wild as a colt, busy as a more sturdy defiers of heat and cold, and bee-working in the fields, digging in the garwet, than boys themselves. One sees them den, frying rashers, boiling potatoes, shelling quite often enough to know them; but then beans, darning stockings, nursing children, the little elves alter so much at every step of feeding pigs, all these employments varied their approach to womanhood, that recognition by occasional fits of romping, and flirting, and becomes difficult, if not impossible. It is not idle play, according as the nascent coquetry, merely growing, boys grow;-it is positive, or the lurking love of sport, happens to preperplexing and perpetual change: a butterfly ponderate; merry, and pretty, and good with all hath not undergone more transmogrifications her little faults. It would be well if a country in its progress through life, than a village girl could stand at thirteen. Then she is belle in her arrival at the age of seventeen. charming. But the clock will move forward, The first appearance of the little lass is and at fourteen she gets a service in a neighsomething after the manner of a caterpillar, bouring town; and her next appearance is in crawling and creeping upon the grass, set the perfection of the butterfly state, fluttering, down to roll by some tired little nurse of an glittering, inconstant, vain,-the gayest and eldest sister, or mother with her hands full. gaudiest insect that ever skimmed over a vilThere it lies-a fat, boneless, rosy piece of lage green. And this is the true progress of health, aspiring to the accomplishment of a rustic beauty, the average lot of our country walking and talking; stretching out its chub-girls; so they spring up, flourish, change and by limbs; scrambling and sprawling; laughing and roaring; there it sits, in all the dignity of the baby, adorned in a pink-checked frock, a blue spotted pinafore, and a little white cap, tolerably clean, and quite whole. One is forced to ask if it be boy or girl; for these hardy country rogues are all alike, openeyed, and weather-stained, and nothing fearing. There is no more mark of sex in the countenance than in the dress.

In the next stage, dirt-encrusted enough to pass for the crysalis, if it were not so very unquiet, the gender remains equally uncertain. It is a fine, stout, curly-pated creature of three or four, playing and rolling about, amongst grass or mud, all day long; shouting, jumping, screeching-the happiest compound of noise and idleness, rags and rebellion, that ever trod the earth.

Then comes a sunburnt gipsy of six, beginning to grow tall and thin, and to find the cares of the world gathering about her; with a pitcher in one hand, a mop in the other, an old straw bonnet of ambiguous shape, half hiding her tangled hair; a tattered stuff petticoat, once green, hanging below an equally tattered cotton frock, once purple; her longing eyes fixed on a game of base-ball at the corner of the green, till she reaches the cottage door, flings down the mop and pitcher, and darts off to her companions, quite regardless

disappear. Some indeed marry and fix amongst us, and then ensues another set of changes, rather more gradual, perhaps, but quite as sure, till grey hairs, wrinkles, and linsey-woolsey, wind up the picture.

There is a constancy

All this is beside the purpose. If woman be a mutable creature, man is not. The wearers of smock frocks, in spite of the sameness of the uniform, are almost as easily distinguished by an interested eye, as a flock of sheep by the shepherd, or a pack of hounds by the huntsman: or to come to less affronting similes, the members of the House of Commons by the Speaker, or the gentlemen of the bar by the Lord Chief Justice. There is very little change in them from early boyhood." "The child is father to the man" in more senses than one. about them; they keep the same faces, however ugly; the same habits, however strange; the same fashions however unfashionable; they are in nothing new-fangled. Tom Coper, for instance, man and boy, is and has been addicted to posies,-from the first polyanthus to the last China rose, he has always a nosegay in his button hole; George Simmons may be known a mile off, by an eternal red waistcoat; Jem Tanner, summer and winter, by the smartest of all smart straw hats; and Joel Brent, from the day that he left off petticoats, has always, in every dress and every situation, look