say "that the honour and fortune of the Gubbinses would never suffer while I was the representative of the Family.".... When my poor father (peace be to his soul!) departed this mortal life, I succeeded to the fortune and estate of the Gubbinses in Bishopsgate-street, whence I date the melancholy era of my miseries. I succeeded, by my own prudence and economy, to the utmost of my wishes. There was scarce a Lady in London who did not buy her souchong at No. 30, Bishopsgate-street Within; my shop was always the first to open and the first to fill; it was never empty. Elated with such success, I began to relax my ancient parsimony, and when my customers came I wrapped the change, though it were only a farthing, in whity-brown paper; this extravagance, however, would not have utterly ruined me, had not love, "that tyrant love," caught my susceptible heart in his cayenne clutches. On the opposite side of the street lived a Tallowchandler, a prudent man like myself, but who unfortunately had a daughter, whose black eyes soon turned my small beer to vinegar. The shop was no longer attended to; the civil, engaging Jeremy Gubbins was no longer constantly behind the counter. The whole business was now left to the charge of my shopman ;-he, alas! poor man, had none of that engaging civility for which I was always so admired. I used to be watching at my window from day to day, in hopes of obtaining a favouring smile from my sugar plumb; so great constancy could not be long unrewarded. I paid my addresses; Miss Whilhelmina Maggs blushed, smiled, and at last, simpering, told me, that, provided her Papa had no objection, she could not possibly object to a man of my fascinating qualities. It is useless to describe the rest of the courtship; the marriage was put in the papers, and I hired a neat little villa at Hampstead, in order that we might pass the Honeymoon as rurally and agreeably as possible. I remember reading in a good book, which my father gave me while a boy, that mortals are shortsighted; I found it now to be true. Miss Whilhelmina Maggs, or rather, Mrs. Whilhelmina Gubbins, had scarce been my adorable wife a fortnight, before I discovered, to my prime cost, that her soul was of a quality far too refined for the low and contracted scale in which I had been accustomed to weigh my happiness. For three whole weeks she bothered me night and day to make me give up my shop; for three whole weeks I stoutly resisted; but, alas! what could my untutored eloquence do against her irresistible torrent of Boarding-School rhetoric! My argument could avail nothing against her well-moulded tongue; so, finding that I had got a bad article, I thought it best quietly to submit to be treated as if I were not worth an ounce of nutmeg; comforting myself with the thoughts, that though my doublerefined wife might be inclined for wholesale, I, at least, might enjoy the quiet of a retail life. To be short;-I gave up the shop, and bought the villa. The next article to be bought was a carriage, for my dear carraway comfit declared that she must and would ride in her coach; a carriage could not be kept without horses, nor horses without a coachman. My dear then found out that it was impossible to be agreeable and fashionable without giving frequent parties; at these, I, miserable man, was forced to preside, and be stuck at the head of the table at dinner. In consequence I always lost my dinner, for I had to carve for every body, and Mrs. Gubbins gave me to understand that nothing was so opposite to good manners as to keep the company waiting while I was finishing my dinner. Not long since I got scolded for saving a nice piece of the brown for myself, which Mrs. Such-a-one had particularly desired to have; and the same day was unfortunately detected in the act of wiping my mouth with my coat sleeve. Not a day passed without my getting into disgrace. I am now obliged (unheard-of extravagance!) to take sugar and cream to my coffee, though every mouthful sticks in my throat. I have been so little accustomed to this, that when I was, for the first time, asked by a lady whether I would take cream, I very innocently replied, No, thank you, Ma'am, I'll take tea." I am now never allowed to dine till seven o'clock, and have been threatened to be never forgiven if I am ever seen eating with my knife. But, worse than all, I am compelled to forsake my dear apron, which, having been bequeathed to me by my dear father, (peace be to his soul!) has accompanied me through all the vicissitudes of life. I think your Majesty will allow that I am very much to be pitied, having been so long accustomed to stand behind the counter, that I now can never stand in a room without slinking behind a chair or sofa, which never fails highly to amuse my customers; (I beg their pardon, my company.) Your Majesty must perceive, by this time, that I am very much adulterated in my present situation. What am I to do? Am I to continue in this miserable line, and serve as a butt to all my acquaintance, or am I boldly to assert my rights, as husband, and return to my snug little shop at No. 30, Bishopsgate-street Within? I await your Majesty's decision with the most anxious expectation, humbly craving that you will not overlook me, for I am convinced that my bodily faculties cannot long withstand this unnatural usage. With your Majesty's permission, I subscribe myself, Your Majesty's most devoted and JEREMY GUBBINS... P. S. I forgot to mention that I am at this moment in disgrace for having preferred onions to olives, with my wine. By the bye, wine comes heavy, and Mrs. Gubbins drinks nothing under Hermitage. REFLECTIONS ON WINTER. Is winter hideous in a garb like this?"-CowPer. THE Winter is approaching; our eyes are no longer dazzled by the penetrating rays of the sun, nor delighted by the variegated colours of a summer prospect; the earth, shrouded in white after the slow silent fall of the flakes of snow, presents to us on every side the same desolate scene; every thing from the hut to the castle, from the oak to the tuft of grass, wears an appearance of uniformity. Thus Winter seems contrasted with Summer, as the silence and the equality of the tomb is contrasted with the noisy bustle and continual variety of life. Yet I will say with the Poet, "O! Winter, ruler of th' inverted year, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, Indeed, to one of a melancholy though not discontented turn of mind, there is something not disagreeable, nay more, there is something pleasing, in the departure of summer, and the approach of the more rugged season:-the former, indeed, it must be acknowledged, excites our spirits to the highest pitch of buoyancy and mirth; but the latter awakes all those melancholy yet pleasing emotions inherent in a contemplative mind. The glow of the summer's day, and the vivid colours of nature, fill us with a momentary burst of cheerfulness; the sporting of the cattle, the song of the birds, and the apparent enjoyment of the whole creation, from man to the butterfly, communicate to us a sympathetic pleasure, arising from the feeling that every thing around us is happy and contented. Yet there is something in the dry chill of the wintry atmosphere, in the hollow melancholy sound of a December storm, which rouses in our minds the sweet sensations of pity and of charity, suggested, perhaps, by the recollection that there are some, who, less fortunate than ourselves, are exposed to wander, without a home, during the inclemencies of the season. We are more pleased with the confidence reposed in us by the unfortunate wanderer of the feathered tribe, whom the frost has deprived of his food, and who, trusting to our hospitality, plaintively demands relief at our window, than by his more lively song during the happier season of summer. We feel more pleasure at hearing the harsh chirp of the sparrow, when we have made him happy by scattering before him the crumbs which have perhaps saved him from starvation, than we derive from the most melodious song of the nightingale. I would freely exchange the glowing tint and the warm air of a summer's evening, and the emotions of love and plea sure which it excites, for the lonely silence of the winter night, Expanded by the Genius of the spot, But there are some who are not alive to the feelings we are describing. Winter for these has other charms, less sublime, but perhaps not less agreeable. Can any one, who is not dead to the delights of society, refuse to acknowledge the pleasure of a long winter evening, and the enlivening blaze of the fire, which seems to communicate its cheerfulness to the circle around it? I cannot express myself better on this subject than by quoting two passages from a poet who seems to have felt the true pleasures of these social moments : "Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, "The poet's or historian's page by one Made vocal for the amusement of the rest; The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds And in the charming strife triumphant still, We have even a greater pleasure in the cold rays of the sun during the Winter, than we experience from the overpowering glow of the noonday in July. Never during the meridian of their splendor, did we enjoy them with such real delight as when we catch their fleeting glances upon a sunny terrace. They are then like some token by which the memory of a departed friend is brought back to our imagination, for whom our affection is increased by the reflection that he is with us no more. M. S. PEREGRINE'S SCRAP-BOOK, NO. I. Nov. 16.-Received a huge parcel of Epigrams. The following struck me as a new interpretation of a passage in Shak speare. Killing myself to die upon a kiss." "A crabbed couplet-but the meaning's this Nov. 19.-Received a large packet of Poetry on various subjects. The following is pretty and simple: Nov. 20.-The post brought me a large quantity of contributions, principally comic. make more use of the file. humour : The author X. L. is requested to MARRIAGE. What, what is Marriage? Harris, Pris- | And peevish hearts, and silly heads, And oaths, and 'betes,' and separate beds." An aged Bachelor, whose life Our friends turn out,-our wife's are 'Tis exit Crony,'-' enter Captain.' Then hurry in a thousand thorns, Quarrels and compliments-and Horns. Some people's' — 'obstinates,' - 'ab. This is the yoke,--and I must wear it; surds!' Marriage is-Hell, or something near it." |