a cart load of manure, which his cattle slowly dragged along the road. I once ventured to ask our conductor how far we were from Emstock, but, as I suppose I looked like a person who did not understand horses, he scarcely deigned to answer me, and whether he said five miles, fifteen, fifty or five hundred, I really cannot undertake to say. Suffice it then, that I arrived safe in the course of the afternoon.

In the life of a youth obliged to venture on the world, there is one moment of inexpressible soreness of heart and chill of spirits. It is that moment, when, separated for the first time from home and friends, he stands alone at the gate of the stranger, and lays his hand on the bell, which, like a talisman, is to evoke the commencement of his destinies.

For myself, utterly adrift on the sea of fortune, my compass pointing to no home, and with no affections to moor me to the world, sad were my feelings when I arrived at my present destination. The entrance was a lancet-shaped old door, opening into a garden through an ancient brick wall, over-topped by cheerful fruit trees, behind which rose an antique mansion of no great size, likewise of brick, full of gables and windows, with diamond panes. I fancied when I pulled the rude old iron handle that there was something remorseless in the sound of the bell. The door was opened, and there ran out of the house to meet me, a fat, fresh coloured, round little man, about fifty, in a gown, and with a shining bald head and an expression of much rural simplicity and content in his countenance. He took my hand in both of his, and with an earnest kindness of manner," Welcome, welcome, my dear sir," he cried. He then took a survey of my person, as we proceeded through the garden, looked up at the deep crape on my hat with great interest, and it struck me that he was much satisfied with appearance.

my

When we entered the house he led me into an old-fashioned, low-pitched parlour, where he introduced me to his wife, by whom, however, I was by no means so graciously received. This lady, about the same age as her husband, was a fragile, meagre figure, with a pale face, a censorious eye, and a most vinegar aspect. Nor did the dull, dove-coloured gown, which she wore closely fitted to all parts of her person, set off her lathy proportions and angular shape to much advantage. Her voice was sharp, eager, and disagreeable.

"But, my dear sir," said the kindly Mr. Toogood, as soon as the ceremony of introduction was accomplished, "you must want some refreshment after your journey ;" and as I did not refuse, he rang the bell, and ordered the servant to bring bread and cheese, and cold meat.

I had not been seated two minutes, awaiting this repast, when I was nearly floored, as a boxer would say, by the simplest question

in the world. My new patron very naturally asked, "Did you reside long with Sir William Tubbocks, Mr. Morgan"? Here was a question to answer! The form of it, however, luckily for me, furnished a cue for a reply, but my honour, from having been once suffered to get into the mire, was now compelled at all risks to flounder on deeper and deeper. Hardly knowing what I said, I answered at hazard, "Not very long." I was in a perspiration lest this lie of mine should not tally with that which was, no doubt, contained in Sir William's letter; and I was, therefore, greatly relieved when the simple, unsuspecting clergyman observed, in the kindest tone of approbation, "Long enough, I find, to gain his esteem. He speaks most highly of you. I really consider myself fortunate in obtaining you. Ah! I see you are modest," observing that I blushed, as well I might, but for a different reason, "that's a good sign. Then I will not put you more to the blush," continued he, smiling, "by telling you what Mr. Plastoe says of you." There was little occasion for this, as the reader probably suspects. "You have a very kind friend in Mr. Plastoe, Mr. Morgan, I can assure you, concluded the good man; whilst conscience smote me a bitter blow, and thundered in my ear, "Henty Morgan, you rascal, are you not ashamed of yourself?"

(To be continued.)

THE RUINED GAMESTER.

And art thou fleeced! done up, and cast away!

To thee a sad and earnest thing is play,

For thou hast seen the ignis fatuus dance,
In thy young days, of all-bewildering chance,

A foretaste of the huge and wild turmoil,

Where men cheat, lie and swindle, sweat and toil,
Swear, fight, and wrangle, steep their souls in sin,
Things full as worthless as thy toys to win.
And art thou then of every one bereft,
None of thy treasured, hoarded marbles left?
Well may'st thou wear upon thy dismal face
The stamp of ruin, blush of deep disgrace:
Where was the cunning of thy skilful aim?
E'en inching could not save thee from this shame;
Where was the sudden push, the jostle rude,
The hasty scramble and the angry feud?

Yon ruined merchant once possessed a plum ; Awed by his wealth, before him men stood dumb; His carriage rolled, his table groaned with plate, His look shook markets, and his voice was fate! But things are changed; the man's not worth a groat, He stands alone, who once by crowds was sought. Friends look upon him with unwilling eyes, And those who cringed, as meanly now despise; In haste from scarcely opened doors he's turned, With scornful hand by those whom once he spurned; His wealth has run like water through a sieve, And he now begs who oft refused to give.

Where are thy horses and thy dogs, proud squire,
Thine acres, once the richest in the shire,
Thy liveried menials, and thy pictured walls,
Thy hunting dinners, and thy racing balls,
Thy morning "harkaway," thy late carouse,
Thy pairing from, thy vote within "the House,"
Thy lady's boudoir, and her opera box,
Italian sculpture, and Geneva clocks,

Thy house in town in some delightful square,
Thy girls', so snug-not very far from there!
Where are these things, so comme il faut, so nice?
Gone-vanished by the magic of the dice.

See yonder shrivelled yellow piece of clay,
Who in a chair is wheeled from day to day;
A rosy youth, he left his father-land,
To sell his liver on a foreign strand,

And now returns to leave some unknown heir
All that he gained for what he could not spare.

And thou, old warrior, now thy race is run,
Show us the glory many a risk has won;
Boldly thou'st sought grim death-grim death is nigh,
And thou must meet him with but half an eye.
For that blue rag thou wear'st with so much pride
Thy right sleeve dangles empty by thy side.
One leg, half wood, doth cause thee much to fret,
But thou wert mentioned twice in the Gazette.
The limbs thou hast are racked with gnawing pain,
That medal, not worth half-a-crown to gain;
And "daily died" for thee thine anxious wife,
Whilst thou wert madly gaming for thy life.

With clammy brow, sunk cheek, and haggard eye,
Lies one, scarce fit to live, still less to die;
Oft turns he on that weary bed of death,
Straining for rest, and gasping for a breath.
The vices he has crowded in a span

Would fill with sin the longest days of man.