No. 14.-He prosecutes his inquiry into human

motives.

Flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!

New Play (after a manner of my own.)

"I had to absent myself from Claireon's." N'importe," said Villiers-"the most stupid. rout of the season."

"Nemo est ab omni parte beatum,'" observed Berkeley.

"But Camell"-Emile suddenly asked-" was with you ?"

No: though closely confederating before Godwin's affair, he had not seen him twice since. (The peer might have selected him as likeliest guide to the destined prey.)

"Why, we gazetted him your disciple. We miss him nightly."

"Mysterious! I'll solve it anon-being sharp

at enigmas, and prone myself to pose the na

But Sir Simpleton and the Earl of Popinjay also honored the Louvre.

""Pon my soul!" cried Popinjay. "'Enraptured to rencontre, Villiers! 'ecstasied, St.

Leger!"

"You dwive me," lisped Flashby, to "petwifaction!—extwavagant intewest being (I'm pondewously gwieved to say) mauvais ton."

"Oh!" exclaimed Popinjay-"'Can't confine my ebullience! hoc labor, hic opus est! We've met-though midst a crush!' 'Exhaled into the 89th heaven!"

"I've not forgotten yours at Oxford," said St. Leger" when, the Professor's diatribe against field-sports concluded, you queried if Cicero's Tusc. Quæst. trenched on the article of boarhunting."

"'Paradise me!" cried the Earl: "tu quoque, Villiers ?"

"Oh, your lordship once-known, ever-remembered."

"'Die of joy!" cried Popinjay: (Sir Simpleton in a speechless consternation :) "'absolutely kill

ing me! Gracilis incensus deterni-'turn gradually out of my senses!"

"Have you long arrived ?"

"Monday," said the Earl, sobering. "'Start by dawn, for Geneva-'capital at coup-d'œils'skim everything with incredible expedition. Thorno flitchy!"

Progressing to Père-La-chaise, Berkeley described Popinjay's Norfolk-residence as that where last-year's hats, boots blackened each alternate day, and calico pocket-handkerchiefs, might legitimately be worn in winter:-then proffered halves of an annuity for Mary Travers-which Villiers declined: then comforted himself with quoting "On trouve des moyens pour guérir de la folie, mais on n'en trouve point pour redresser un esprit de travers!'" and, soon after, in the cemetery, extra-comforted with the blushing Lady Tittle

tups.

"Mr. Villiers ?" interrogated a bronzed individual, of staid attire.

Emile assented.

"I'm Squealem."

"Indeed?"

Family likeness, sir, on your part, and here

E 5

ditary veneration on mine (pardon the liberty) embolden me."

Not wont to shun the motley dressings which Humanity is tricked out in, Villiers questioned the similitude.

"It certainly may, sir," rejoined Squealem, elate, "certainly may be imaginary: but the eye will often form resemblances, without, perhaps, being exactly able to assign, where, how, or in what," &c. &c.

"You've been on a mission ?"

"Yes, sir," sighed this Angel of the Church of Sardis, "the meek cultivator of wholesome seed at Badagry."

"For which a competent provision waits you at home?"

"No," said Squealem: "I went forth obedient to duty, and deserve not, nor expect, other recompence than that has in itself:"-which was so nicely up to Emile's own proof-mark, he could not refrain lauding the disinterestedness.

"Indeed," resumed Squealem, "my father (though we differ in denomination) submitted to me, but a while back, the curacy of Humbugby (Rev. The. Snubbs, B.A., incumbent): which I waved, lest my zeal in the cause might be misat

tributed to carnal lucre. Better to acquit myself of my duties for the sake of the duties themselves. -My provident sire had the privilege of meeting Mr. Villiers at Sapperton

"And at Saintstown, too, if I mistake not." Squealem pretended ignorance of aught pertaining to that holier latitude.

"His letter," said he, "was a curious and, to an absentee, lucid composition, from its inventory of the various parishes in D, now vacant, or about lapsing from the ilness of ministers: among whom, to my mourning, I spelt 'Jehosaphat Nasal

"Our advowson!" said Villiers.-" But it's inconsiderable-or Selwyn should have it."

Squealem apostrophised Davoust—“The urn of a renowned soldier."

"And a ruthless," replied Emile: "so, more a candidate for execration than renown. Though humbler, what truer praises, sir, are yours!"

"Nay," said Squealem-entering quite into his spirit-"I have not whereof to boast-at best, we're but unprofitable-and over-paid by that sterling bliss they enjoy who enlist beneath the sacred banner, and defy hardship for His glory and his children's good-in preference to sublunary acquisitions."