the course of whose love has been crossed by some inquisitive papa or guardian; he has been forbidden the house of his adored Jemima. Correspondence by post is also impracticable; so the lovers advertise one another in the Times. Happily, the lady has a confidante, to whom is intrusted the advertising department of the affair. The above is an assignation concocted by her ingenuity, and signed with her name.

Perhaps a week after, another announcement in the same column will furnish the novelist with the catastrophe. It runs thus:

TO THE YOUNG LADY WHO WAS LAST SEEN at the pastry-cook's at the corner of S- Street. You are implored to return home immediately, and all will be forgiven.'

The fact is, Jemima met Charles punctually, and eloped with him from the bun-shop. Her father has relented; and as no further advertisements can be detected from the same parties, it is fair to infer that their little family differences have been made up; that Charles and Jemima are married, and are as happy as they deserve to be. Occasionally, however, we find this interesting column occupied with notices which force upon us more painful inferences. A young man has defrauded his employers, and absconded; and his parents invoke him, by the initials of his name, to disclose the amount of his defalcations. In other instances, a cowardly bankrupt has run away from his creditors, and left his wife to bear the brunt of their importunities. She implores him, through the Times, to return and help her through the difficulty.

Beneath such brief tales of mystery are usually advertised articles which have been lost or stolen. These vary in style, from the coarse and mercenary offer of One sovereign reward,' to the delicate hint that 'If the lady who took the ermine cloak away by mistake from the Marchioness of Crampton's rout on Thursday evening will send the same to the owner, her own camlet wrapper will be returned to her.' One of the most refined of this class actually appeared in its proper place a few months since. As a superfine appeal to the susceptible sentiments of a couple of pickpockets, it has no equal in the history of advertising:

'IF the clever artists, male and female, who combined to relieve an elderly gentleman of his letter-case and purse on Friday evening last will return the former, with the papers it contained, they will oblige. The case and papers are of no use to them.'

Succeeding the 'Lost and Stolen,' it is usual to find one or two of those heart-stirring appeals to the benevolent which-despite the efforts of the Mendicity Society -have maintained many an impostor in idleness for years together. Like Puff, in Sheridan's Critic,' these advertisers support themselves upon their (assumed) misfortunes, by means of the proceeds of addresses to the charitable and humane,' or 'to those whom Providence has blessed with affluence.' The account which Puff gives of his fictitious misfortunes so little exaggerates the advertisements which appear occasionally in the Times, that we quote it. I suppose,' he boasts, never man went through such a series of calamities in the same space of time. I was five times made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of affluence by a train of unavoidable misfortunes. Then, though a very industrious tradesman, I was twice burnt out, and lost my little all both times. I lived upon those fires a month. I soon after was confined by a most excruciating disorder, and lost the use of my limbs. That told very well; for I had the case strongly attested, and went about to collect the subscriptions myself! Afterwards, I was a close prisoner in the Marshalsea for a debt benevolently contracted to serve a friend. I was then reduced to-oh no-then I became a widow with six helpless children. Well, at last, what with bankruptcies, fires, gouts, dropsies, imprisonments, and other valuable calamities, having got together a pretty handsome sum, I determined to quit a business which had always gone rather against my

6

conscience.' The police reports testify that pathetic advertisements, equally unfounded, find their way into the third column of the Times, despite the utmost vigilance of the clerks. Some, on the other hand, are mani. festly from objects worthy both of credit and of relief. Of the latter, we select one which appeared on the 7th of February 1844, and which bears evident marks of genuineness. Addressing the sympathies of the benevolent by the borrowed aid of a popular fiction was a happy thought:

TO THE BROTHERS CHEERYBLE, or any who have hearts like theirs. A clergyman, who will gladly communicate his name and address, desires to introduce the case of a gentleman, equal at least to Nickleby in birth, worthy, like him, for refinement of character, even of the best descent; like him, of spotless integrity, and powerfully beloved by friends who cannot help him, but no longer, like Nickleby, sustained by the warm buoyancy of youthful blood. The widowed father of young chil dren, he has spent his all in the struggles of an unsuccessful but honourable business, and has now for eighteen months been vainly seeking some stipendiary employment. To all who have ever known him he can refer for commendation. Being well versed in accounts, though possessed of education, talents, and experience, which would render him invaluable as a private secretary, he would accept with gratitude even a clerk's stool and daily bread. Any communication addressed to the Rev. B. C., post-office, Cambridge, will procure full particulars, ample references, and the introduction of the party, who is now in town, and ignorant of this attempt to serve him.'

The succeeding couple of columns in the first page of the Times usually display the multifarious wants' which an endless variety of desiderators are anxious to get satisfied. Situations by far outnumber the other wants. A governess, a gardener, an editor, a schoolmaster, a tailor, a clerk, or a shopman, who is in want of employment, seeks it through the pages of the Times newspaper. The accomplished, intellectual, honest, moral, in short, 'unexceptionable' characters, who thus paint their own portraits, give to the fourth and fifth column of the leading journal the semblance of a catalogue of spotless worthies.

Some, again, try to gain employment by eccentric appeals. Foremost among these we place the annexed little autobiography from a person who advertised himself on the 22d of last February as

'A CHARACTER.-The noblemen and gentlemen of England are respectfully informed that the advertiser is a self-taught man-a "genius." He has travelled (chiefly on foot) through the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, in Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, France, and Italy. He has conducted a popular periodical, written a work of fiction in three vols., published a system of theology, composed a drama, studied Hamlet, been a political lecturer, a preacher, a village schoolmaster, a pawnbroker, a general shopkeeper; has been acquainted with more than one founder of a sect, and is now (he thanks Providence) in good health, spirits, and character, out of debt, and living in charity with all mankind. During the remainder of his life he thinks he would feel quite at home as secretary, amanuensis, or companion to any nobleman or gentleman who will engage a once erratic but now sedate being, whose chief delight consists in seeing and making those around him cheerful and happy. Address A. Z., at Mr P's, B-Street, Regent's Park.'

It would appear that the self-praise thus published sometimes requires a little help; hence, besides 'undoubted ability' and 'unexceptionable references,' a douceur is occasionally offered to any one who will procure the advertiser a respectable situation.' This sweetener' we have known to vary from five to five thousand pounds, according to the emoluments.' Despite, however, all eccentricities, deception, and other evils, there can be no question that through the advertising columns of the Times many a servant has pro

as possible in the portions of the vast sheet which we have described, so that a practised reader can tell, within a column or so, where to pitch upon the sort of announcement he may wish to peruse. No one possessed of a spice of philosophy can glance over those broad sheets, without extracting a deep meaning from the mass, and without getting a strong insight into human nature from many of the individual advertisements. Had the Acta Diurna of the Romans contained similar announcements, we should have learned more of their private life and habits from one of its numbers, than from all the classical works which have been handed down to us.

LUKE HUSLER.

A TALE OF AMERICAN LIFE, BY PERCY B. ST JOHN.

THERE are many characters in whom the good predominates very much over the evil, and yet who, from the mere fact of their being unable to say 'no,' when asked to join either in the execution of wise or foolish plans, or to do that which their native genius prompts them to declare an error, have fallen from the place in which their fortune and their personal endowments had placed them, and become members of the great body of the outcast. There are two forms of this weakness. With some, it is the effect of constitutional feebleness of mind; with others, it arises solely from want of that moral courage which prompts the firm man never to deviate from the right path to please the fancies of others. I did not like to say no,' is a phrase with which the half of mankind, particularly young men, excuse those faults which are at the same time their own bane and that of all around them.

In a small village in a remote county of the state of New York, there lived, some short time before my visit to the republic of Texas, a young man of the name of Luke Husler. From his own confession to me at a later period, the characteristic, which I have above slightly sketched, was peculiarly his. To proceed, however, chronologically. The village to which I allude was small, and very picturesquely situated. Like every similar locality in America, it possessed a church, or rather chapel, and a schoolhouse. But though it had a considerable number of inhabitants, it did not boast-a rare circumstance in the United States-either a newspaper or a grog-shop. One reason for the absence of a local organ, was the population being divided pretty equally among English, German, and French, all speaking of course their own languages. Why the public-house existed not, was a fact which often puzzled the heads of even the oldest inhabitants. But as every one in the village had already a distinct business, and all were thriving, no one thought proper to take upon himself the responsibility of setting on foot so serious an undertaking.

Little York, as the village was called, possessed the usual variety of characters; but the purpose of my narrative only demands that I should allude to a few. In the first place, Luke Husler was no mean person, either in his own opinion or in that of those around him. At three-and-twenty owner of a fancy store, where articles of both male and female clothing were to be had perfectly new at a moment's notice, and possessed of a handsome countenance and prepossessing manner, young Luke, as he stood with his hands in his pockets, chewing an unlit cigar, in the front of his store, could nod and bow to every inhabitant in Little York, and yet by no means be thought to make himself too familiar. The neatness of his store in some measure conduced to his popularity. Built of pine boards, on a raised platform of piles, one storey in height, with conical roof, the whole carefully whitewashed, with a flight of wooden steps leading to the door, it was a very model of order and cleanliness. Behind its two plain but neat counters were rows of shelves, containing the articles in

which he dealt, while at the rear of the premises was the snuggery,' where the owner took his meals, and which also served the purpose of a sleeping chamber. An aged female, black as Erebus, was his charwoman, with whose hired assistance everything was kept in that particular style of order which is familiarly though strangely enough known as 'apple-pie.'

'Luke Husler, Dry Store,' were the words which appeared in large letters over the door, while exactly opposite, a small private house, with white curtains, green blinds, and whitewashed boards, like the store, exhibited on a scroll in small letters the words, Martha Dalton, Milliner.' To this house Luke's eyes were directed oftener than to any other in the neighbourhood, which may in part be explained by its situation. But a pair of blue eyes, a fair and gentie face, and auburn ringlets, were continually to be seen near the little open window; and whether the house or the lady formed the peculiar attraction, is a matter which I leave to be decided by the acute and discerning reader. Martha Dalton was a widow; but Martha Dalton was not the object of Luke Husler's solicitude, but her daughter. An Englishwoman by birth, as was her daughter, they had lost their only male relative some thousand dollars, being small, they had retreated to this Their income, the interest of a few years before. retired locality, and, more to occupy their time, and give themselves a settled position, than from any other reason, had opened the business which I have already designated. Mary Dalton and Luke Husler, at the time I now speak of, were engaged in marriage, and a very short time was to ensue ere they were to be united for

ever.

When business was over, as it is ever at a very early | hour in American villages, Luke would make himself smart, and, with a regularity as great as that of the clock which guided his movements, spend his evening in company with his beloved. They were very happy; no untoward occurrence ever chequered their quiet life. With the young man, business was regular and profitable; with Mary and her mother, it was as good as they had any wish for it to be. Few American villages were so quiet and well conducted as Little York. There was just enough of sociality to give zest to existence; while there were no dissipations of any kind to tempt the sober citizens from their steady and uneventful life.

One morning in the spring of 1839, the inhabitants of Little York were surprised, on rising from their peaceful couches, to hear the loud clamour of men engaged in building. Hammers were being used at a most rapid rate by some half-dozen men, saws were heard grating, and the loud voice of one in authority directing the proceedings. A general rush took place into the streets-street I should say-and in a very short time the whole male population were congregated at the western extremity of the village. Here, at early dawn, a large frame-house had been marked out, and ere the primitive inhabitants of Little York had risen from their beds, the whole of the supporting beams had been firmly planted. Cart-loads of planks, shingle, logs, &c. were heaped up, and a dozen men busily employed in giving shape and form to the rude materials. Hard by, standing upon a heap of wood, was a small thin man, who in a shrill but very loud voice was giving his orders right and left. Despite the crowd which had collected, he paid not the slightest attention to them, continuing the rapid enunciation of his command. The Little Yorkites were thunderstricken. What could he be about? The house was manifestly of too large dimensions for a private residence. Its frame, too, divided into apartments large and small, showed it not to be a church.

After some deliberation, Luke, who was, as I have already stated, a popular man, advanced toward the little individual above mentioned, and in a very polite manner reckoned' he was a stranger. The little man very drily guessed' he was. Luke, not at all abashed, concluded' he was building a pretty considerable tall'

Six months passed, and Luke Husler was a ruined man his business had fallen to decay, his capital was exhausted, and his credit gone. His folly burst upon Mary like a thunder-clap, and firmly, but kindly, she upbraided him with his deception, and then addedAnd now, Luke, all is ended between you and me. Your poverty would be no bar to our union. With an honest, industrious, steady man, it would not cause a moment's thought, much more a regret. But your ruin has been the effect of your own folly, and I have nothing but your promise to give me hope of your future wisdom. You vow industry, frugality, and an abandonment of those evil habits and companions for which you have forfeited your own good opinion and that of your friends; but, Luke, how often have you secretly broken your word to me? Can I put faith in him who during six months has systematically deceived me? No; the man I wed I must honour and respect as well as love.'

The lover's eloquence was all in vain. They parted. Mary remained with her mother, and Luke Husler went to Texas, the last refuge of all who have failed, from misfortune or wickedness, in the United States. To Luke, misfortune was no useless monitor. He sold the wreck of his business; and when he landed in Galveston, the seaport of Texas, had in his possession one hundred dollars. He had firmly made up his mind; he had thrown off the yoke of his folly; and, despite the very natural doubts of Mary Dalton, was a new man.

Some eighty miles up the Trinity River, Luke was informed that there existed a small log-house, a little clearing, and a field of sweet potatoes, utterly deserted, the proprietor having been killed in a brawl when on a visit to Galveston: heirs there were none. Luke, delighted at so good an opportunity of settling himself, took his departure in a boat bound for up Trinity. A gun, an axe, powder and shot, were all he carried with him, save his box of clothes; and in this manner he was set ashore alone upon the banks of the river, with directions how to find the much-desired place of refuge. In the centre of a thick wood, beside a sluggish stream, and on the summit of a sloping bank, Luke found the hut. It was neat and strong, though small, with a rude bedstead, stools, a table, and, above all, a certain amount of clearing. Luke was delighted.

From that hour he applied himself most assiduously to labour: he cultivated his little field; he sowed vegetables of various kinds; he hunted, and deer-skins were piled rapidly within his little home. Luke was not alone in thus finding an uninhabited house without expense. The wars which have desolated Texas, added to Indian surprises and fevers, have rendered deserted huts far too numerous. In his case, however, the circumstance was taken advantage of with courage and ability: and at the expiration of a twelvemonth, the change which the patient, resigned industry of this solitary man had brought about was wonderful. It was then I saw him. While hunting on the Trinity, I came suddenly upon his hut. I found it neat, clean, and orderly; the potato house was piled up, a dozen pigs roamed about, while fowls were numerous, fat, and thriving. His story interested me. I saw that he intended to claim Mary Dalton still. I pressed him to do so at once; told him the Neptune steamboat was about to start for New York; offered him a passage down in my boat, and my interest for a cheap berth on board the packet. I even volunteered a joking certificate of his industry and perseverance. Luke, with a laugh-which was, however, to hide a tear-said to these propositions he really could not say 'no.'

We started for Galveston on the second evening after my arrival at his hut, and in twenty-four hours more he was on his way to New York, bearing the promised certificate from myself, in the shape of a very long and eloquent letter in his favour. For three months I heard no more of him, when I was surprised to receive a letter addressed to myself, sealed with black. Luke Husler's initials were in the corner, and the post-mark was New York. I opened it with much anxiety, for

Luke had deeply interested me. Martha Dalton was dead; while Mary, as soon as a reasonable period of mourning had elapsed, was about to become the wife of Luke; my epistle, according to his view of the matter, having done wonders with the English girl. At length they came-a happy couple, their joy clouded somewhat by the death of their almost common parent, but with youth and courage to meet the arduous life of the Texan backwoods. Luke wisely preserved the capital of his wife's income, and continued to receive the dividends, which, with his little farm, that soon was his by right of purchase, enabled himself and wife to live in peace, contentment, and happiness.

The above narrative, true in its details, is related with a double view. Had Luke possessed the power to say 'no' when temptation offered, he would not have been driven into ignominious exile; in his native land he would have been spared the dangers and difficulties of a forest life; his position would have been an assured one; while his folly, though it did not utterly ruin, threw him at least ten years behind in the race of fortune. His subsequent success further proves, that whatever may be the errors of earlier youth, it is, as the old proverb has it, never too late to mend.' The change of manners and life entailed by the introduction of a 'grog-shop' into a village, before without a similar resort, has occurred in more than one locality in the American Union.

THE TRADE.'

CONCLUDING ARTICLE.-BOOKSELLING IN GREAT BRITAIN. THE glimpses-slight as they are-which our former articles have afforded of the early English trade in books, allows us to resume the subject at a period when bookselling took a firm commercial stand; which it did about the beginning of the last century. This has been called the Augustan age of literature, when Dryden, Steele, Addison, Swift, Pope, with a lesser host of geniuses, flourished.

At that period the mode of selling books was widely different to that which now prevails. Readers were fewer, and the means of making known the merits of a book far more limited. The only prospect an author had of profitable remuneration for his labours was to issue his book by subscription. To obtain a sufficiently large number of subscribers, it was necessary that he should secure the patronage of some man of rank and influence; if possible, a nobleman whose opinion on literary matters was held in respect, or whose more solid influence over dependents or friends gave to his expressed wish that they should subscribe, the nature of a command. The patron who took a genius by the hand in this way made it his business to praise him in every society-at court, at balls, masquerades, parties, and in the numerous London coffee-houses where the wits of the day were wont to assemble. To assist him in this sort of canvass, his protegé provided him with a sort of prospectus of the forthcoming work, in which was set forth its scope and nature. These proposals' he industriously distributed along with his verbal puffs of the author's talents. When, by these means, a sufficient number of subscribers was obtained to render it a safe speculation to incur the expense of printing, the obliged author was expected to make some return to the patron for his exertions. This always consisted of a panegyrical 'dedication' conspicuously placed at the commencement of the volume. Some of these fulsome and extravagant lucubrations are sufficient evidence of the debasing influence which this system of publication must have exercised over literature. In most of them, truth was glaringly sacrificed, and notorious falsehoods promul gated, by motives manifestly interested. The nobility were the real though indirect publishers; and without their aid, to print even a good book would have been a certain loss, whilst hundreds of bad ones were foisted by this system on the world.