Mr Tonge, the brazier, to mend, for we cannot live without a kittle. Why, the plaguey kittle,-I never before heard of a kittle having got the plague-did you, Sir?" "No," said I. "But it is true enough, or else, you know, Mr Wedd must have told a fib. Do you not think," she continued, "that Dr Snaith can cure it? I think he can, and I'll send my dear Richard to fetch it ;" and off she went. In about ten minutes she returned." Why, the kittle is gone! somebody has taken it away!" "Gone!" said I. "Yes," said she; "Richard went to fetch it, and it was gone; but I'll have a new one, and Mr Tonge shall make it, and we'll handsell it with some of Mrs Magnus's best Congou, as soon as it comes home; and I'll beg of your honour to favour us with your good company on that very self-same evening, and we'll be as merry as so many crickets, that we will."

The ensuing morning I wandered to Silsey, my native village, to pay a visit to my sister Martha, who resided there; she was married to a labourer, and had a large family of small children. I went in, and found her washing for hire. Not expecting to see me, she did not know me. I begged a little water to drink, sat down, and began to talk with the little ones. I never beheld finerlooking children, so I praised their beauty, and admired their curly locks, which pleased the poor mother, and rendered my intrusion more agreeable. Her husband, I found, was at work with one of the neighbouring farmers, and would not be at home till the evening. "You seem to be poor, Martha," said I; "have a large family, and have, I fear, only an indifferent prospect ?" She sighed, and I could perceive tears glistening in her fine blue eyes. "Never mind," said I; "all will be well." The children were ragged, but very clean. It was near noon; the potatoes were boiling on the fire, so I knew they had not dined. "Thou art busy now, Martha," said I, "but I will call again in the afternoon, when thou wilt be at liberty, for I have some very good news to communicate-news, I think, that will please thee; for, if I mistake not, thou wilt not in future be under

the necessity of washing for hire." She looked at me, and inquired, as I knew her name, whether I resided in the neighbourhood? I answered in the negative, when she appeared confounded; but she said no more. I now walked through the village, saw very few faces that I knew, and not one that knew me, though I saluted several by their names. My native place was strange to me. "Life," said I, "is but a dream, and a sleepy one too. What is become of my school-fellows, and my former play-mates? I do not see one of them-all are gone, and nothing remains but the streets, and the lanes, and the fields, where I once played, and, in the spring, gathered wild-flowers." After taking a slight repast at the Inn, I returned again to my sister, who was rather anxiously expecting me. I inquired if she had been lately at Frith-bank, or at Fishtoft?"No, Sir," said she; "I am poor, and they despise me, though I am not so poor as either my brother John or my sister Isabella, for they are wretched beyond any remedy;-but why do you inquire?" "Because," said I, "I have been at both these places lately, and they did not mention your name." "Then you know them?" "Yes, Martha, and you too; but you appear to have forgotten me." "I do remember to have seen you, Sir— but, oh! yes," said she, throwing her arms about my neck, "you are my very dear brother Henry, returned to bless me!" I placed her in a chair, gave her twenty guineas, wiped the falling tears from her cheeks, kissed all her children, gave them some sweet-cakes, and they jumped about for joy. She hastened to get the tea ready, and we were very comfortable. Her husband returned in the evening, and we were happy. "This," said I, "is a recompence for the toils I have suffered, and the sickness I have endured, in foreign climes; for there is certainly no pleasure so congenial to a feeling heart as that of relieving those who are dear to us from poverty and distress." The next day all the children had new frocks, new coats, and every thing that was deemed requisite to make them very smart; and poor Martha eyed them with a mo

MR EDITOR,

RORIE MURCHAN's shop-boy called at our house last night, with the residue of Citizen Doby's benefaction, just as Doctor Cooper and his medical staff sat down to a consultation on the present state of my nervous, mental, corporeal, and other systems; the which benefaction I had no sooner perused, enveloped, sealed, and directed to your Editorship, than these gentlemen, that is to say, Messrs Cooper, Daniel, Monro, Clutchplack, &c., and Co., of the Medical Board, Great CharlotteStreet, called me up for judgment. Fearful that their worships were about to inspect the interior of my cranium, in order to see if all was right therein, or, haply, perform an equally-to-be-dreaded operation on my scribbling hand, I approached the chamber door with caution, and surveyed the learned brotherhood with open eyes; but as neither scalp ing-knife, turniquet, nor trepanning instrument, lay on the table, I took courage and held up my head.

"Killigrew," quoth the chairman, "we have considered your case, my good fellow, and are clearly of opinion that you must retire from business altogether. The great brain drainage that necessarily occurred when collecting your Literary Legacy, and theintellectual tear and wear that ensued when pondering on the many anonymous benefactions transmitted by a generous public, to make good your Milennium loss, thoroughly convince us that your mental domains must be laid down in grass, without delay, because of their sterility, being altogether incapable of yielding so much as a ragweed crop. Perfectly well aware that it is a difficult matter to cure an old horse of the flinging illness, we permit you to scribble a little now and then by way of amusement, but handle politics as you would a hot cinder, and beware of metaphysical disquisition. We would recommend, by way of exercise, an Essay or Dissertation on that famous specific, the Cordial Balm of Rakasiri, prepared and sold by C. Jordan, M. D., Blackfriars

Road, that of Gilead being out of fashion; another on the manifold virtues of Doctor Sibby's re-animating Solar Tincture; and when the fit comes on with a violence that indicates inspiration, perhaps writing a few prophecies for Moore's Almanack may be advisable. But mental exercise of every denomination must be regulated, of course, by the tone of your pulse and the state of your tongue, which none but M. D.'s are capable of ascertaining. We therefore unanimously agree in confining your rambles within scientific bounds. Promenade in Long-Acre, where dwelleth Doctor Gardiner, the celebrated tape-worin manufacturer; Lounge in the lower Kent Road, where liveth that famous inspector of troubled waters, Doctor Cameron; Dean-street, Soho, may also be visited with safety, because Doctor Eady resides at No. 38; and St. George's Fields are admirably well adapted for a stroll, being so very contiguous to Doctor Cooper's family mansion. Any of these gentlemen, for the trifling fee of one pound one, will cheerfully declare whether prose or verse is most eligible for carrying off the morbid intellectual humours that may afflict your cranium for the time being.

"We add no more, being perfectly satisfied that enough hath been said, and you are therefore at liberty to depart, on paying the usual consultation fee.'

I accordingly drew forth my cheque-book, and gave them a draft on our bankers, Messrs Piggs, Crockery and Co. for twenty and one sovereigns, with which they decamped.

Thus, Mr Editor, am I on the eve of retiring from the bustle of a literary life, possessed of wherewithal, thank God, to do my turn, and an approving conscience to cheer my solitude. That every contributor to the Edinburgh may be enabled to retire with the like portion of goods, chattels, and fair fame, is my heart's uppermost wish; and in the fond hope that your Miscellany, whose pages I am about to forsake, may go

on, prospering and to prosper, I respectfully bid you farewell. London, 1824.

SAML. KILLIGREW.

The Fuselier concluded. London, though the capital of England, is not inhabited by Englishmen, that is to say, ill-bred gentry and uncircumcised boors; and, what is very extraordinary, the manners of all men who emigrate thereto, no matter from what point of the compass, speedily amalgamate with, and shortly become like unto, those of the free-born Cockney in a most surprising manner. There is a latent something or other peculiar to the air of this truly great metropolis, that gradually changeth the nature of every provincial native, whom choice, or chance, may induce to take up his abode within the bills of mortality, until he becomes a downright citizen, provided always that his inner man will admit of the metamorphosis; and few there are who feel not its influence more or less. In the course of a few years, these naturalized citizens, generally speaking, become so very civilized, that they call not to mind the puny distinctions of clime and country when saluting a stranger, and at the expiry of their apprenticeships, the genuine Cockney himself often possesseth not a good stock of urbanity. So effectually is the natural man weaned from his former ways, that ladies and gentlemen, of every complexion under the sun, feel themselves completely at home in London. The North Briton passeth along Cheapside, Cornhill, Lombard, and other public streets, in his philibeg, without being assailed with the smallest portion of scurrility. The newly-imported Hibernian slips into a haberdasher's shop, inquires his way to St. Giles's, and returns with the very best information that civility can afford-(a horselaugh would have been his answer in a Lincolnshire village,)—and the Welshman promenades, on St. David's day, with a leek in his hat, neither man nor mother's son presuming to say "Cae Taffy." In fine, the Israelite's beard might continue to grow until it swept the

ground before a Cockney child would molest the silliest hair of it, because Jew and Gentile, Turk and Christian, herd together like brethren. But politeness, though a prominent feather in the citizen's cap, is not the one by which he is most distinguished. There is a kindliness in the humours of his disposition that gaineth him esteem, and a probity about his person that commands respect. The warp of his character is honour, and the weft thereof liberality.

But the young adventurer, when he alights in Lad-lane, or elsewhere, from the roof of a stage-coach, and haply knoweth not what hand to turn him to, will please to observe, that I am now speaking of a London merchant, born of Cockney parents, within the peal of Bow-bells, educated at Christ's, or St. Paul's, and brought up in his father's counting-house. I feel the more anxious to present him with this piece of information, because, though the naturalized citizen, candidly speaking, is really a civil, discreet kind of a fellow, and possesseth many good acquired qualities in common with the genuine Cockney, yet his honour is not always sufficiently stable to ride the water on. He is too apt to feed the ears of his unsuspecting dependants with well-seasoned promises never intended to be realized, in order to stimulate their exertions, and I would therefore advise all growing lads to be very careful with whom they engage.

It was my peculiar good fortune to fall in with a real Cockney-trader, in whose employ I enjoyed the most delicious moments of my life. Being advanced in years, and having accumulated wherewithal to retire upon, the old gentleman fitted up what we Londoners call a country box, purchased a single-horse chaise, and amused himself with a drive to the office now and then, merely to countenance us, because our management was such, that he felt completely at his ease. In the course of a few years, I became senior clerk, Messrs Wandle and Wilkins, our principal book-keepers having gone into business, backed by the worthy citizen, who always made a point of putting his trust-worthies, as he