I've troubles that will match with the worst of yours. Talking of troubles, now-do sit down, and I'll tell you. I'm so charmed to have this opportunity, and I know you will sympathize. Those girls of mine only think they are beginning to occasion me such extreme distress. There's Miss Harriet-little Harrie, your favourite-well, I know I shall surprise you; nothing on earth will now suit the girl, nothing but -I'm half-ashamed to tell you, positively-but falling in love; falling -in-love! Ah, you may well look grieved! Such a mere child, you know! you remember her being born. Why she was eighteen Í I think or was it nineteen ?-only the other day, not a great while ago. Ridiculous, isn't it? but how dreadful! I'm so shocked to hear the child talk; to hear her tell me that I was both in love and in matrimony too, long before I was her age, as I certainly was; and very, very happily, I always lived-considering the violent temper of poor Augustus, and his infidelities. But then that's no rule, and I am sure I should never have thought of being married if my mamma had been in a state of widowhood. Besides, my dear friend, what makes this affair a thousand times more shocking is, that this gentleman, Ensign Atkins--one of the Shropshire Atkinses-is supposed, very erroneously and very absurdly, but generally supposed to have to have other thoughts in visiting here—that is, that his addresses have another direction; not that I'm sure-but you must at once perceive how truly distressing is the whole affair-you can understand a mother's feelings," and the prettiest blush that had overspread the comely, round, fleshy features of the widow Blossom, was now succeeded by a sparkling and rather dangerous fire in the eye. "But of course I'm quite resolved," she continued, "to check this monstrously-premature passion, at once and for ever. If I utterly destroy the child's happiness it will be all for her own good. Don't you feel that I am right, and, unprotected as I am, that I must take this decided step? I'll lock her up for life-I will indeed. I see now that you quite agree with me-it's so kind. Directly I saw you, your face said that you came to sympathize with me!" and the charming widow Blossom, maternal tenderness and grateful friendship struggling in her gentle heart together, burst into a very becoming and well-sustained shower of tears.

The tearful mood was as little favourable as the talking mood for the one purpose of the melancholy Mr. Ego's visit, which was, to disburden his heart of its own sad freight. Accordingly he took upon himself, after a short interval, the task of consoling the forlorn widow, by pointing out the usual chances and prospects of relief in these cases— viz., that young ladies are very fickle, and that little Harrie was changeable from a child-that she was quite as likely to listen to the voice of reason as to the voice of love-that first love rarely made a match of it—that what appeared to be a dead shot of Cupid's might be nothing more than a flash in the pan-that a little absence and country air are an effectual cure in such cases-that the ensign might be ordered to join his regiment! This last suggestion was unfortunate, for the excited widow looked less pleased than ever-reproachful even; so that Mr. Ego, exhausted, saw no mode of condolence so practicable as an immediate plunge into the story of his own troubles.

"But, dearest Mrs. Blossom," he began, "let me entreat you to be calm-listen to me but for a few moments. Where should I seek a

gentle listener, if not here? To whom should I appeal for sympathy, if The matter that is now weighing on my heart, dear Mrs.

not to you? Blossom,-"

And Mr. Ego proceeded in a most earnest manner, and in tones mellifluously sad, to descant upon his secret woe, and his confidence in the tender-heartedness of his listener; who, on her part, reading in his eyes something very peculiar which she could not readily interpret, and hearing herself proclaimed as one to whom his soul yearned to disclose the source of his emotion, inclined her ear to hearken with such intentness and anxiety, that before he could possibly commence his dreary tale, Mr. Ego felt considerably disconcerted. He paused-and the pause begat fresh perplexity in the heaving bosom of the widow. What could those looks denote? What was he about to reveal? Why should he so suddenly pause? An idea, quick as the lightning, and it must be owned equally bright, flashed across her mind-and then a flush as suddenly crimsoned her face. Her eyes, which had drooped very prettily as the tones of her perturbed visiter ceased, were now momentarily raised, and that glance which met his, had almost overpowered her sensitive nature. She was now in visible confusion; she was not less agitated, but evidently from an opposite cause, than she had been but a few minutes before; and poor Ego exhibited by his extreme embarrassment a full consciousness of all the difficulties that beset a gentleman who is misunderstood by a widow of exquisite sensibility.

His deep-seated sorrow, which he had called expressly to talk about, had now become unutterable, and he sat for a few moments longer, looking things that could only be described by the same epithet. But of course he felt that this absurd perplexity must be terminated at once by a desperate effort at explanation; and accordingly, having contrived to force his lips completely apart, he essayed, but in the most nervous tones, to articulate, "Ah, dearest madam, if you knew how natural it is for me, long as we have known and deeply as we have esteemed each other, to disclose to you in confidence all that I feel here-" but here he stopped, for in the necessary illustration of his text he had placed his hand somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood of the left-hand pocket of his waistcoat-a locality towards which the timid but very tender eye of the widow Blossom was as though instinctively directed; and this significant glance was no sooner observed by him, than his embarrassment was increased tenfold. He almost felt that he had better at once tell her in plain terms, she was entirely mistaken. could he? Could he even tell her now what he came to tell her, and disappoint her so cruelly? In his confusion he took her hand, which trembled as he touched it-and this made matters worse; he instantly dropped it and apologized-and this made matters worse still. Not knowing what else in the world to do, there is every reason to apprehend that Mr. Ego would have felt absolutely obliged to extricate himself from his exceedingly delicate situation, by stammering out the expected announcement, and professing a boundless and unalterable passion, had not the startled widow herself relieved him, by a slight scream which issued from her lips, and supplied him with a pretext for instantly springing from his chair.

But

"It's that Kitty, I heard her on the stairs," exclaimed Mrs. Blossom,

in a voice hurried and agitated; and as the door of the drawing-room flew open, and Kitty sprang into the room like a young bird, whisking at the same time a little china ornament from a table which she passed, her mother fixing her fond eyes, brimful of tears, on Mr. Ego's face, cried out in tones which the timely crash behind shut from all ears but his, "Was ever widow left with such irritating, such unfeeling children!"

Which way he turned, when he quitted the mansion of the provoked widow Blossom, Mr. Ego by no means knew or cared. He was alive only to the one fact that to the annoyance with which he had left home that morning, he had now one or two superadded-and as he walked on, he began to consider that it was rather odd that he should happen to find friend after friend in a tragic mood-all wailing and gnashing their teeth, so that not a word of his own story could he tell. But by this time he had travelled within a stone's throw of Gray's

Inn.

“Furnival's is not far off," said Ego the wanderer," and I'll call on Tom Middleton. His three dismal octavoes have been made to look so brilliant in the reviews, and he has been written into so much more renown than he could ever hope to be read into, that he must be in a happy mood-and Tom's a kind fellow--I'll tell him my grievance."

Tom was at home; but the "come in" which tardily followed the tap at the inner door of his chambers, had a gloomy, harsh, and illboding sound. If that "come in" did not come gratingly through the closed teeth of the gentleman-author within-but we won't anticipate.

Tom was in an easy-chair-but evidently on thorns-in a cozy position before the fire, but there was a manifest chill in his looks. He put out his hand languidly, and without rising, said simply, "Sit down."

The intruder was too much absorbed in his sorrow to see that he was an intruder; and bent on dividing his woes with a friend he loved, he began at once to explain.

"Don't fancy, my dear Tom, that I come this time in the character of a congratulator-to bring you more delightful notices of your book, more critical tributes to your genius. Quite different-I'm here in the

dismals. In faith, my dear fellow, I'm really concerned to say-” "Oh! I know that," said Tom, sharply; "I was sure of that. I knew you must be concerned, much concerned-I could see that by your face, if I had needed such information."

"Then you've heard, have you?" exclaimed Ego, with some surprise; and drawing his chair nearer, at the same time taking the hand of his friend with a grateful impulse, he added, "Dear Tom, I'm sure you felt it bitterly, bitterly."

"Heard of it?" returned the author, in a sarcastic tone that was quite inexplicable; "heard of it? Oh, yes, I've heard of it. Felt it, you say yes, and I've felt it too-bitterly, if that affords you any satisfaction. Heard! oh, my good friend, one is sure to hear of these things rather promptly, and from many quarters. You're late with the news-six good-natured friends have been here before you." "Astonishing! how did they hear of it?"

"They have read it," replied Mr. Middleton, in a tone so calm

and polite that it was impossible to detect the bitterness and exasperation that prompted it.

"Read! There must be some mistake-"

"Oh, no," rejoined the author with asperity; "there's no mistake, you see, I have it here; the pages are cut, and I've read it throughall through. But perhaps you've not! No? oh, pray take it-heredo read it, read-you'll enjoy it excessively-I should like to know what dear, kind friend of mine will not! Oh, pray read!"

Ego, considerably bewildered, and wondering when he should find a chance of unfolding his own lamentable tale, glanced at the just-published review which was presented to him, and there, Art. IV., detected the grievance an attack; one of those articles which serve to show that no author can write in vain if he provokes fine criticism. And how many noble articles have been written upon bad books! The bark of some trees is more valuable than the wood it encloses.

"And in this publication!" said Ego with astonishment; thought you expected-"

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why I

"To be sure I did, exactly the reverse. This was the only work on which I relied for a friendly-that is, for justice-for a highly eulogistic notice. Now all the others, as you know-though I never had the slightest interest with them in any way-have lauded me to the skies-nothing can be fairer than the mode in which I have been treated by all the others. But here, where I really had a dependance! And what do you think-two articles sent, and the wrong one gone in by accident! Pleasant, isn't it? Flogged by mistake! But I regard it, as you may suppose, with perfect indifference, only I can't help noticing how wretchedly it is done-for if he had only read—now, just see here-"

And what with protesting against any inference that he (Mr. Middleton) could possibly care one straw about such an attack, and pointing out proofs positive that the critic could not have read because he censured, the day rolled on without affording to his disconsolate friend the shadow of a chance of interposing a single sentence on his own account. The instant he articulated the word "anxiety," or referred to the state of his nerves-he was most feelingly interrupted; assured that the whole thing was far too ridiculous to cause any anxiety, or to affect any body's nerves; and finally invited to witness a spectacle of heroic and virtuous suffering, with a " See how I bear it!"

"If it's trouble, my dear boy," cried Colonel Click (on whom Ego next called), "I shall listen to you with the greatest pleasure, and you shall have my condolences with all the gratification in life; but you must give me time; just now had I three ears, I could not hear thee. At seven o'clock I'm engaged to act as friend in an honourable affair four miles off; and, in the mean time, I must be at the Freemasons' before the meeting breaks up, and do an hour's committee-work in the matter of the musical festival. Then in the morning, if we all come off shot-free to-night, I've an affair of my own to settle before breakfast, some distance off, in another direction; and, leaving Brodie out of the question, these things take up time; but I must be with the director's before twelve, and at two there's a deputation—"

“Oh, enough, quite enough, my dear colonel," cried Ego, "I'll call in about three weeks."

We need not follow Mr. Ego step by step in his wanderings about town that day, or knock with him at every friendly door he could think of-now in the suburbs, now in the heart of the city, and now in the courtlier regions. It is enough that he did knock at many such doors, paid a whole round of visits, found somebody at home every where, and verified by the result the truth of the saying, that every house has its hatchment.

In one place he found a friend boiling over with the most unlistening rage, because his banker had just refused payment of his check, on the mere ground that there were no assets; in another, he pounced upon a man of genius whose libretto had been returned to him as "deficient in poetry," by seven musical composers in succession-a curiosity of literature. At one house, his knock had occasioned some consternation, inasmuch as the inmate, who had a hard-hearted creditor, was apprehensive that he had committed an act of bankruptcy; and at another, the eldest daughter had that morning eloped with various valuables and a junior clerk. Here lived a friend who had in an unguarded moment made an offer of his hand, and been rejected, positively rejected; and there lived a friend more wobegone still, who had, in an unguarded moment, experienced the acceptance of his hand by a divinity whom he was now particularly anxious to be parted from. In every case was sympathy exacted from him, in none had he a chance of obtaining it. Each had a woful story to tell, and each related it without the hypocrisy and the unfriendliness of abridgment! but his tale was a tale of mystery to the end. Not one listener could he find; not one, who, upon his first note of complaint, did not stop him with, “Ah! if you only knew! sit down, and I'll tell you." His brow was the titlepage to their tragic volume-and at half-past six in the evening, his narration was a book sealed still.

At seven, however, when Mr. Ego arrived at home, and sat down to dinner, an unaccountable but very comfortable glow came over his feelings. Instead of finding his spirits depressed, by the want of sympathy he had experienced, and the sad tidings he had every where heard, he found them raised to a pitch of cheerfulness that bordered upon hilarity. He hadn't felt so light-hearted and happy a long while. He relished every thing he tasted, and in a single glass of champagne could drown every care that he had in life. But his grief, his bitter and biting trouble of the morning, where was that? He couldn't have told for the soul of him. He had dissipated it somehow in his day's excursion in quest of sympathy. He had left it behind him somewhere. He had found no listener, but he had lost the story he meant to tell.

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Talking your griefs down, is one safe plan," said he," but listening them away is another. Deuced odd! I've encountered blue devils at every turn, and instead of bringing any away with me, presto! they've captured mine.-Wilkins !"

"Sir."

"Which pantomime was it I saw last week?"

Drury-lane, sir."

"Cab to Covent-garden."

April.-VOL. LVIII. NO. CCXXXII.

2 M