of humanity? Don't I look as if I had been sleeping in a church-yard, or lodging in a vault?

Doct. On the contrary—I have met with few persons of a more healthy appearance. Your frame 's erect and muscular. Asp. Deception-deception, sir. I am the mere outside of a man-an empty house, with strong walls.

Doct. And you are actually very weak?

Asp. Very weak.

Doct. Your chest affected-and your voice

Asp. A penny trumpet. Could n't raise it above a whisper, if you'd give me the world.

Doct. A favorable symptom. Pray, Mr. Aspen, do you Lefer the origin of your complaint to constitution, or to circumstances?

Asp. Sir, I owe my unhappy state to the moral atmosphere of London; you are no doubt aware of that rule in political economy, that "Numbers increase crime." London being therefore the most densely populated, is the most roguish spot in Europe. Behold one of the results! I am at the head of`. a large establishment-clerks-captains, merchants, portersall swarm about me--all preying on me-all rogues! I'm another Actæon: worried to death by my own dogs!

Doct. But are you certain yours is not a diseased imagination? In the course of my practice I have met with many, who have been self-afflictors-men who have created their an

noyances.

Asp. What, sir-self-afflictor ?—hear the man-you are mad! Sir, you doubt my persecutions; perhaps you'll hear a few?

Doct. With pleasure!

Asp. Perhaps, sir, you never met with such a thing as civil assassination-murder administered by social means; friends pouring in at all hours of the day to squeeze you into a fever, and talk you into a phrenzy? Sir, there's not a man or woman that I meet, but is in a league against me. If I go out, I am sure to be chased by a dust-man with a bell -when I come home a barrel-organ's at my window; the twopenny

postman knocks louder here than any where else. My servants smash the crockery, or slam the doors-and when I get to sleep, my cook, like the head of Memmon, must always sing at sun-rise.

Doct. Then, Mr. Aspen, I have but one thing to advise: you must leave London.

Asp. Sensible fellow !

Doct. Quiet is the only thing to restore composure-and change of air will give you strength.

Asp. You agree, then, in my principle?

Doct Your principle!

Asp. That there is something in the air of London inimical to honesty?

Doct. Sir, I think the admixture of good and bad, is pretty equal everywhere.

Asp. (Aside.) Stupid doctor! I won't give him his fee. (Aloud.) Sir, if you had slaved in a counting-house as I have done from fifteen to fifty, you'd know that it is impossible for a man to live in London and not be a rogue! (Presenting money.) Good morning!

Doct. (Taking it.) Good morning, Mr. Aspen. (Exit.)

Asp. There's a fellow to be called one of the faculty→ has n't got a faculty-couldn't see my weakness; what could Vivian mean by recommending such an ass? Vivian said he would be here to-day. Wants me to marry Emily-charming creature-perfect creature-the quietest woman I ever met with-talks in a whisper-walks like a fairy-plays sweetly on the piano. (A knock.) Biggs, I'll see no one; I'm outI'm dead.

THE REMOVAL.-ANON.

A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade,—

By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made,Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down.

This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate;
But, alas! when he entered he found it too late;
For in each dwelt a smith:-a more hard-working two
Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe.

At six in the morning, their anvils, at work, Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk: "Thesc fellows," he cried, "such a clattering keep, That I never can get above eight hours of sleep."

From morning till night they keep thumping away,-
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day:
His afternoon's nap, and his daughter's new song,
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong.

He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop;
But, no! they were stubborn, determined to stop:
At length (both his spirits and health to improve)
He cried, "I'll give each fifty guineas to move."

66 Agreed!" said the pair; "that will make us amends.” "Then come to my house, and let us part friends : You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion, That each may live long in his new habitation."

He

gave

the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale,— He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale;

So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise, and restore him to rest.

"And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to moveI hope to some spot where your trade will improve ?" "Why, sir,” replied onc, with a grin on his phiz, "Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his !"

SCENE IN A MOURNING STORE.-THOMAS HOOD.

SQUIRE, his LADY, and the SHOPMAN.

Shopman. May I have the melancholy pleasure of serving you, madam?

Lady. I wish, sir, to look at some mourning.

Shopm. Certainly, by all means. A relict, I presume? Lady. Yes; a widow, sir. A poor friend of mine who has lost her husband.

Shopm. Exactly so,--for a deceased partner. How deep would you choose to go, ma'am? Do you wish to be very poignant?

Lady. Why, I suppose crape and bombazine, unless they be gone out of fashion. But you had better show me some different sorts.

Shopm. Certainly, by all means. We have a very extensive assortment, whether for family, court, or complimentary mourning, including the last novelties from the Continent.

Lady. Yes, I should like to see them.

Shopm. Certainly. Here is one, ma'am, just imported—a widow's silk-watered, as you perceive, to match the sentiment. It is called the "Inconsolable," and is very much in vogue in Paris for matrimonial bereavements.

Squire. Looks rather flimsy, though. Not likely to last long-eh, sir?

Shopm. A little slight, sir,-rather a delicate texture. But mourning ought not to last for ever, sir.

Squire. No, it seldom does; especially the violent sorts. Lady. La! Jacob, do hold your tongue; what do you know about fashionable affliction? But never mind him, sir; it's only his way.

Shopm. Certainly, by all means. As to mourning, maʼam, there has been a great deal, a very great deal, indeed, this season, and several new fabrics have been introduced, to meet the demand for fashionable tribulation.

Lady. And all in the French style?

Shopm. Certainly, of course, ma'am. They excel in the funèbre.* Here, for instance, is an article for the deeply afflicted. A black crape, expressly adapted to the profound style of mourning,-makes up very somber and interesting. Lady. I dare say it does, sir.

Shopm. Would you allow me, ma'am, to cut off a dress? Squire. You had better cut me off first?

Shopm. Certainly, sir, by all means. Or, if you would prefer a velvet, maʼam—

Lady. Is it proper, sir, to mourn in velvet?

Shopm. Oh, quite !-certainly.

Just coming in. Now, here is a very rich one,-real Genoa,—and a splendid black. We call it the Luxury of Woe.

Lady. Very expensive, of course?

Shopm. Only eighteen shillings a yard, and a superb quality; in short, fit for the handsomest style of domestic calamity.

Squire. Whereby, I suppose, sorrow gets more superfine as it goes upward in life?

Shopm. Certainly-yes, sir-by all means,-at least a finer texture. The mourning of poor people is very coarse-véry --quite different from that of persons of quality. Canvas to crape, sir!

Lady. To be sure it is!

And, as to the change of dress, sir, I suppose you have a great variety of half-mourning? Shopm. Oh, infinite, the largest stock in town! Full, and half, and quarter, and half-quarter mourning, shaded off, if I may say so, like an India ink drawing, from a grief prononcé to the slightest nuance of regret.

Lady. Then, sir, please to let me see some half-mourning. Shopm. Certainly. But the gentleman opposite superintends the Intermediate Sorrow Department.

Squire. What, the young fellow yonder in pepper-andsalt?

Shopm. Yes, sir; in the suit of gray. (Calls across.) Mr. Dawe, show the Neutral Tints!

* Funereal;

mournful.

Decided; deep.

Tint, or shade.