that he may escape, but he hears a light footstep at the door, then the fatal tap, and involuntarily, by his own words, by the too ready answer, "come in!" he signs his fate.

It is in vain that he now endeavours to avoid by any subterfuge the modestly proffered "little account for extra washing, if you please, sir." She advances as near as possible to the individual, as is consistent with the power of retaining the handle of the door, and the bill once presented, she retires into the corner next the door, still holding it a little open by the handle, and begins her usually too successful attack.

It is quite as hopeless as it is useless for a man when once thus really driven into a corner, to try to defer the time of payment, if he has the means about him. To any expostulation that there is no time, and that it is late for lecture, there is the ready answer, of a large bill for soap to be paid; or, how some gentlemen of the last term forgot to pay her; or that there was illness in her family during the vacation; and then a deep sigh is uttered, and every symptom of a flood of tears for the poor little dears as had the measles so very bad, is given. Then, indeed, it is time to capitulate, if a man has either sense or sympathy about him. We should scarcely think that he would wish for a scene in his room. We hope that he could not wish to be the cause of it. It is, as we said, time to capitulate, to make some terms.

Having enquired the amount of the bill, he cannot be less horrified at that, than at an examination into the component items, He finds for every week a charge "to buttens," "to mendin," "to markin," and other numerous items of the same nature; charges, of the existence of which he had been altogether unsuspicious-charges, for those little services, the very absence of which he can half recollect to have felt, in the hurry for a morning chapel, or in the too perceptible diminution of a once large stock of handkerchiefs. But it is now too late to dispute, even if there were an inclination to do so. This little bill, this modest account, which he may have perhaps, just glanced at as it was gradually creeping up through pence and shillings during the previous term, must be paid. The sum total in itself may not be large, but it is disagreeable and much more difficult to the feelings to pay, as it had been forgotten and unexpected; as it had been unthought of, and unappreciated, even at the time when it was incurred; and as it is, at the time of its surprising presentation, suspected and unbelieved. He is, indeed, a courteous man, who can pay this bill with a good grace.

There have indeed been some few men, who have been able to protract the day of necessity, and by some brilliant stroke to out-maneuvre the demand, and obtain a temporary escape. A perfect callousness, a stern denial, a dignified deportment, have succeeded. A bold rush for the door, has also been known to surprise all except the giantess in Letter B. One plan also will ensure a week's delay. It is, to demand as a previous

condition to any settlement, the restitution of a certain handkerchief of a particular pattern and design. No belief must be given to the reiterated protestations that it has never been seen or heard of. But the next week, the counter-move is played, on the other side. The washerwoman brings some miserable thing bearing the mark of some man who left the college in the preceding term, for which she is afraid, she says, that she must have exchanged yours with him, as she now perfectly recollects the one you mean. It is of no use to continue a discussion so hopeless. You give in, and reluctantly pay.

We, who are great theoretical economists, will give a few words of advice in conclusion on this point to the practical economist. We cannot manage it ourselves, but we recommend him to do without an extra bill, if he can. If he too cannot do so,-in order to pay strictly his weekly surplus, we should suggest a diligent anxiety for the preservation of the small copper change, which hitherto he may have dispensed in promiscuous and misplaced charity, or scattered in the ambition of a vain and shortlived popularity, among an unthinking crowd of small boys. It might also be useful to learn and apply the mysterious purposes for which that enigmatical small book, full of catalogues of clothes, and imaginary prices, and dates, and checks, (which is found on the table every term) is intended; if indeed it be intended for anything besides lighting the candles, an end to which it is applied most frequently.

But to lay down the law on economy, is so totally at variance with our nature, that we feel that we must be becoming intolerably prosy, to prevent which, following a good example, verbum non amplius addam.

Πλυνοφιλος.

A MOTHER'S GRAVE.

Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumque turres.

HOR. Car. 4, Lib. I.

A mother's grave! oh! hallowed spot,
The resting place of one most dear,
Shall thy sad home be e'er forgot,
For any worldly objects here?

Shall thy sweet smile and tender care,
That oft were us'd to greet thy boy,

Be ne'er remember'd by me here,
As scenes of past delight and joy?

Oh, yes! how oft I ponder o'er

The love of her, now pale in death;

And tears of sweet affection pour

For her from whom I first drew breath.

'Tis sweet, though sad, to linger near
The grave of one we fondly love;
But passing sweet-the thought most dear,
That we shall meet again above!

"Tis this that cheers my youthful heart,
Wheree'er I am-on earth or wave;

For never from my soul shall part,

That hallow'd spot-a Mother's Grave!

C.

REJECTED ADDRESSES.

The unkindest cut of all.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE fourth of October was come, the anxiously expected Wednesday, which was to usher into the world the first number of this Term's "Observer," and with it, as I fondly anticipated, my own, my earliest, my much-loved contribution; the day looking not unlike an ordinary day, and seemingly quite unconscious of its importance, had at last arrived, in which I hoped to reach the first sign-post of my literary pilgrimage, to lay the first stone of a poetic reputation, and, perchance, if fortune favoured, to fashion the first round of the ladder which might lift me even to editorial dignity.

To do the Committee justice, the contents of the "Observer" are usually known at least two days before its avowed publication, with the exception, perhaps, of the editorial articles themselves, which rumour reports to be writen at the last moment, under the high pressure of necessity. On this occasion, however, they had maintained a dignified silence, and I could gain no intelligence of the fate of my protegé. My mind agonised itself with holding the balance between hope and fear, and allowing first one and then the other to kick the beam; in short, I was on the tenter-hooks of impatience; and notwithstanding the philosophy by which I had prepared myself to resist the snares of prosperity or adversity, and bear with equanimity alike the eulogies and criticisms which my production would inevitably suggest, it was, I confess, with a quicker step and at an earlier moment than usual, that, regardless of the allurements of "duff," I left the hall to learn in the solitude of my own room its acceptance or rejection.

But I might have spared my haste, and not sacrificed corporeal to intellectual cravings, for no "Observer" had as yet appeared; and to the annoyance, no doubt, of the Editors, to the undying shame of Austin, even the first number had not appeared with the prescribed punctuality. Again was I doomed to agony and suspense, to a renewed see-saw of mind, to a second edition of the tenter-hooks aforesaid; again

NO. II.-VOL. III.

had I to wander from room to room, like an unquiet spirit; or, to adopt an humbler simile, like a collegiate dog pursued by notice to quit.

Forty-eight hours at length elapsed. There on my table lay the silent witness of my success or defeat, and none but those who have been the butts of editorial criticisms can tell the feelings with which I prepared to scan the notices to correspondents. I snuffed the candles, drew my chair closer to the fire, and grasped the Observer," but my courage was not sufficiently screwed up, and I put it down again unopened; at length, after two or three ineffectual attempts, I summoned enough resolution to run my eye down the notices to correspondents, which no longer, as in the olden time, not inconveniently filled the last page, but held a bold and imposing attitude by themselves. My heart beat rapidly as I glanced at them one by one without discovering any allusion to my own offspring; at last the list was completed, and I breathed more easily; but, as though to make assurance doubly sure, I read and re-read that ultimate page again, nor till after the third perusal did I feel satisfied of my success. Then was I joyous indeed, and no longer timidly, but with all the pride of an accepted correspondent, I turned to the letter-press, feeling in the "Observer" a parental interest never before experienced.

Eager to gaze upon my own ideas, and in print, too, for truly has it

been said

'Tis sweet to see one's self in print

A book's a book, although there's nothing in't."

I opened at the first page, anxious now only to know if the Editors, in addition to the good taste they had shown in accepting, had added also that of assigning an early and honourable post to my effusion. Page after page I turned over; never before did my fingers move so fast, and each succeeding article past before my eyes as quickly and almost as unnoticed as the landscape of railroad travelling.

The leading article with its ordinary stock of intelligence and skilfully rechauffé promises, detained me not a second. "The Cam" was skated over without accident, and my eye lingered on the succeeding song, only long enough to discover it another's. "Ambition" I glanced over with jealous scorn. Ten pages of "My Uncle Stapleton's First," were hurriedly turned over. Fresh stanzas followed but to blast my expectations; and rushing through the " Waltz," I found myself at the last page, with my old friends "the Notices."

ad I overlooked it?

Where was my contribution all this while? -had others mislaid it?-had I forgotten to read it?-had they forgotten to insert it? My brain seemed all questions and no answers, like Hind's Arithmetic; and again my intermitting fever of anxiety returned with all its former symptoms. With a quickened pulse and a slower finger, I turned the pages over again, but to no purpose; yet still I lingered on

them, refusing, like Bishop Berkeley, to credit the evidence of my own senses, till at last the awful truth became too evident that, not I, but the Editors had overlooked, forgotten, or mislaid it.

This was indeed a bitter potion; rejection I could have borne-rejection with contumely; insult added to injury I might have endured, but to be treated with wanton carelessness, or intentional neglect, was more than human nature could support. I vowed vengeance against all editorial bodies, and the Observer triumvirate in particular. Already was I meditating in what hostile terms to address each member of that committee, working myself up with vain hopes of either apology for the omission, or legal reparation in the next number, by the insertion of some favourite bantling of my muse. Heaven knows to what lengths

I might have proceeded, had not the sudden arrival of one of those individuals checked and confused my indignant feelings, whilst his honied and convincing arguments completely diverted the current of my wrath.

By his advice, the spirit and energy which would have hostilely developed themselves against him and his partners, were transfused into the following production, which, in lieu of the former, now makes its appearance, and it is hoped with sufficient merit to atone for the prolixity of its introduction.

PHAETON, A LEGEND OF OLYMPUS.

Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu?-HOR.

AWAKE, my Pegasus! thy rest is o'er,

And thou may'st sleep in idleness no more;
Awake, my Pegasus! awake to soar,

And if thou canst-fresh laurels win and wear.

Aye, if thou canst-a necessary thought,
As cooks of old by Madame Glass were taught
To dress a hare-first, let the hare be caught,

And then, but not till then, the sauce prepare.
The joke, it must be owned, is scarcely new,
But what joke is? if Solomon said true,
That there was naught from China to Peru
But was as flat and stale as
's wit.
This blank I leave for some dissyllable,
And only beg the courteous reader will,
On due reflection, the hiatus fill

With any name that will the stanza fit.
But to return from this digressive vein
To thee, my Pegasus! no vulgar strain,
No German Legend, idle and profane,