in all my days! They've been keeping it up in style ever since you've been gone. T'other night they had a supper party; last night they went out to a dance; and to-night they've gone to see the new play."

nine. "Good heavens, what can have happened!" he exclaimed, trembling all over with agitation; and applying his hand to the bell, he rung a peal that might have roused the dead. But, strange to say, neither his apprentice nor his maid-servant answered the summons; whereupon he banged away at the shutters with an energy that threatened to bring them down on his head; but finding this, too, ineffectual, he was compelled to have recourse to his next-door neighbour for an explanation of the startling enigma.

"Ah, Puddicombe, is that you?" enquired his neighbour, looking up from his desk behind the counter;

"Gracious heavens! is it possible:" exclaimed the astounded Puddicombe. "When the cat's away the mice will play," replied his neighbour, smiling at Giles's astonishment.

"Damn 'em, I'll pack 'em both off to-morrow-I will, by God!" and so saying, he rushed off into the streets, scarcely knowing whither he was going, till he found himself far away from the Minories, in the neighbourhood of Battle-bridge, when he instantly determined on shaping his course towards Holloway, there to spend the night with his friend the dry salter, and deposit in his faithful bosom the lengthy, heart-rending catalogue of his afflictions.

About half-way between Battlebridge and Holloway, quitting the former by the road that runs beside the old hospital at King's-cross, there stands on a rising ground a sort of suburban village, consisting of a small row of moderately sized houses, and two or three straggling cottages, with gardens in front, bounded by wooden palings. Though this village-I call it so for want of a more appropriate name is situated in the immediate vicinity of some brick-kilns, which are surrounded by squalid huts, tenanted, to all appearance, by labourers in the most abject state of wretchedness; yet, in every other respect, its site is a most eligible one. Westward, it commands a view of the whole Regent's Park, and that Cockney Parnassus, Primrose Hill, below which a long line of smoke marks out the track of the Birmingham Railway; northward, of the richlywooded districts of Hampstead and Highgate, and the lawny uplands that lie between; and southward, of the mighty Babylon, with its myriad spires and steeples-St Pauls towering high above all-which, dimly seen through the hanging vapours that envelope it in an eternal shroud, stretches away, right and left, apparently without end or limit. Yet, despite such local ad

vantages, which, one would suppose, would cause it to be respectably inhabited, an air of singular desolation hangs over this village-or at least did so, at the period to which my tale refers. The houses are all running fast to decay, and their tenants, if they ever had any, have run off too; brown, thick, dusty cobwebs, filled with the skeletons of innumerable flies, usurp the place of glass in the shattered window-frames; the doors, which are half off their hinges, stand wide open; and the gardens in front are overrun with weeds, the growth of many a long month. Were highwaymen now in fashion, this is the spot, of all others, where one would expect to make their acquaintance; were even hobgoblins in the habit of taking the night air, as they used to do in the good old times, here might they be supposed to congregate, popping their heads out, and groaning dismally from every window, in chorus to the four winds of heaven, for which each house serves as a place of call. Centuries ago-supposing this village to have been then in existence the passing stranger would at once have accounted for its condition, by taking for granted that all the fury of civil war had been let loose upon it; but in these pacific days, when

mischief is wrought in a more quiet, methodical fashion, he merely concludes that it is the hapless victim of the law-in a word, that it has died by the visitation of Chancery!

The sun had just dropped behind Primrose Hill-on whose classic summit a solitary individual, looking uncommonly like a poet, was standing— when Puddicombe entered upon the road that leads directly up to this dilapidated village. Though he walked fast, being anxious to dissipate uneasy reflections, yet it was nearly dark when he got to the ruins, which in the thick grey haze of evening wore quite a Balclutha-like forlornness of aspect. He was regarding them, as he hurried by, with no little curiosity, wondering who could be their owner, and why he allowed his property to remain in such a state, when suddenly his attention was diverted by the sound of whispers near him, and looking back, he fancied he could discern through the gloom a man's head peering above the garden wall of one of the houses he had just passed. At this moment not a soul was in sight along the road, either before or behind him. Though he could distinctly hear the cheerful ringing of St Pancras' evening chimes, and see the bright rows of lamps glittering on the terraces in the Regent's Park, yet all was silent and gloomy about him. Fear-stricken by a sense of his defenceless condition, in case of an assault, Giles just halted to tuck his chain and seals into his fob, and then started off into a brisk run, thinking what an awful wind-up it would be to his week of pleasure, if he were first to be robbed then murdered and buried-and a fortnight afterwards have his body dug up in a state of perplexing decomposition, and deliberately sat upon by twelve fat jurymen and a coroner ! Recollections of all the "shocking murders" he had devoured in the Sunday papers for the last ten years flashed across his brain. He called vividly to mind the story of the old woman whose head, wrapped up in a towel, was carried in an omnibus to Stepney, while her legs were left behind in a brick-field near Camberwell; and of that still more revolting case of the poor Scottish idiot who was burked-pickled-taken in a hamper to a surgeon's-and sold for twelve shillings-and goaded to his utmost speed by these harrowing reminiscen

ces, he shot along his road with the impetus of a steam-engine on a railway.

Hardly had he lost sight of the last house, when he heard footsteps coming quick after him, and voices exclaiming, That's him! I know him by his run."

Poor fellow! All his past sufferings were nothing to what he endured on hearing these words. His heart beat like a sledge hammer, and he flew rather than ran; but, being somewhat short of wind, his pursuers gained momently on him, and he could even hear them panting but a few yards behind him. Still he toiled on, but at last his knees shook under him to such a degree, that he could no longer maintain the vigour of his course; and stumbling against some bricks that lay in the middle of the road, he dropped-a dull, lumpish weight-to earth, like Virgil's ox, or Corporal Trim's hat.

At this instant his pursuers-three men dressed as journeyman bakerscame up, and, despite his screams which he gave forth at the very top of his voice, and the astonishingly energetic kicks and cuffs to which he resorted in his desperation, seized hold of him, and dragging him across a field in the rear of the village I have just described, and in the centre of which was a small, gravelly pond from two to three feet deep, baptized him therein with a heartiness that left him not a dry rag on his body, reminding him the while, in half-laughing tones, of the promise they had made, to "sarve him out" the first opportunity.

Having performed this operation to their full and entire satisfaction, they quitted their hold of him, and were preparing for a retreat, when Giles, who was by this time satisfied that, whatever else they might be, the fellows were neither robbers nor murderers, summoned up all the physical and moral courage that had not already, like Bob Acres's valour, oozed out at his fingers' ends, and exclaimed, in his sternest and most emphatic manner, you rascals, you shall all swing for this, as sure as my name's Puddi combe!"

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"Puddicombe! Why, that ain't he, Jam," said one of the fellows with a strong Irish accent; "by the powers, we've ducked the wrong man!"

"Never mind," replied another, with all the calmness of a philosopher; "it's just as well as it is;" and straightway indulged in a sly titter.

The third man, who seemed to be of a more considerate nature than his companions, was no sooner aware of his mistake, than he went up to Giles, who stood about a yard off, dripping like a river-god and shivering with cold and rage; and, after pouring forth a profusion of rough apologies for the unlucky blunder, explained how it had arisen. From his statement it appeared that the party were journey men bakers of Holloway, who, on the preceding day, had struck for higher wages-it was the famous year of the strikes and one of their fellow-workmen having refused to join in their illegal combination, they had determined to have their revenge on him as he returned to his house at Holloway, the exact hour of which they had taken care to ascertain beforehand; but unfortunately, in the gloom of the evening they had mistaken their man, and ducked an oilman instead of a baker. These matters having been duly explained, the fellows offered to make Giles amends by treating him to a 66 drop" at the nearest publichouse; but finding him too sullen and refractory to enter into a compromise, and fearful that he might get them into trouble, which he hinted at in very significant terms, they scampered off across the field in the direction of the village, while Puddicombe pursued his way to his friend's house at Holloway.

Bitter were his reflections as he resumed his solitary walk. What a week had been his last! He had confidently anticipated it would have been a week of pleasure-it had been the most harassing one he had ever spent. Hardly a day but had been marked by some unforeseen calamity. First, he had lost his carpet-bag; secondly, he had been robbed of the very clothes off his back; thirdly, he had writ himself down an ass at a public ball-room; fourthly, he had been deceived by his confidential apprentice; and, finally, to crown all, he had been mistaken for a journeyman

baker, and subjected, as such, to a process of ablution that had entailed on him the perilous necessity of swallowing at least half-a-pint of gravel water!

With these thoughts sweeping drearily across his brain, he reached his friend's house, who, having heard his story of the ducking, which afforded him abundant diversion, hastened to get Giles a change of clothes, after which he set him down to a substantial supper; and when this, together with a hot tumbler of brandy punch, had toned down my hero's excitement, his host, who was a man of good common sense, bade him recount his week's adventures; and, when the recital was concluded, addressed him as follows:"It is plain, Puddicombe, from your account of matters, that you have been looking for pleasure in the wrong quarter. You should have sought after it not in the dissipation of a watering-place, but-behind your counter, when you would have been sure to have found it; for it is always to be had cheap, and good, and lasting, if we apply to the right merchant for it. Had I, like you, allowed my thoughts to be diverted from their proper object, by running riot for months beforehand in the anticipation of a week's pleasure at Margate, I should not now have been receiving you as my guest in this snug bachelor's dwelling. But I laboured hard in my youth, and, in consequence, I enjoy in my age, not weeks only, but months of happiness. Go you home and do the same, leaving dandyism to those who are better qualified to play the fool; and the time is not far distant when you will acknowledge that the week you now dwell on with such abhorrence, has been of inestimable service, by teaching you to be slow in giving your confidence to those who have an interest in keeping up appearances before you."

So ends the WEEK OF PLEASURE! Gentle reader, who has not, like Giles Puddicombe, looked forward with eagerness to such a week, and, like him, been bitterly disappointed in his anticipations?

LET us continue and conclude, for the present, our proofs of the pacification of Ireland under a Whig Go

vernment.

At the Spring Assizes in Castlebar, Baron Richards, a Whig-Radical, advanced to the bench by the present Ministry, in passing sentence on a female convict, spoke to the following effect:-*

"It grieves me to say, after you had

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left the place of prayer, and on your road from the house of God, where you had been a few minutes before invoking the blessing and forgiveness of your Maker, and on your way from the house dedicated to Him, and after you had appealed on your bended knees to His mercy, you embrued your hands, under circumstances of much atrocity, in the blood of your fellow creature," &c. &c. "I am certain that the people could be humanized; and, without any thing like reproach, I do say that a heavy responsibility rests on those who met those people in the house of God: I mean the spiritual instructors of the people," &c. &c. "Many of the reverend gentlemen I allude to are excellent men, and for them I have a high respect; but, in the discharge of my duty, I must say, that I conceive the people of this country as susceptible of receiving benefits from the instruction their pastors should bestow, as the people of any other. It is by the efforts of their clergymen, more than by law, the people can be humanized and rendered amenable to the voice of justice and peace. Feeling that such is the case, it strikes me with amazement that the people should still exhibit such savage conduct. Very many cases of murder that have come before me were committed on the return of those concerned from the house of God, and that murderous habit I cannot reconcile with the moral and religious instruction that ought to be unceasingly impressed upon the people. I hope, if there are not any of the pastors of the peasantry listening to me, that they will hear what I have said, and devote themselves zealously to reform the conduct of those who disgrace the name of Christians."

The learned judge, in undertaking to lecture Roman Catholic priests

upon their duty, and in hoping that his exhortations may have a good effect upon them, shows that he has been betrayed into the ordinary mistake which has led every honest Liberal astray. He dwells upon the surprise with which he has heard of crimes committed by persons coming from what he assumes to be a house of God, —viz. a Roman Catholic chapel; and he earnestly exhorts the priests to educate their people in principles which may make them, what he is sure they can be made, good men and good Christians. We cannot understand the surprise expressed by the learned baron at the post-missal enormities. Surely he must have heard of such offices of zeal as denunciations from the altar, and he must have heard, also, of their consequences. Even in the specimens which we have given, the reader may see how frequently the chapel curses have taken effect. We venture upon one more instance. It occurred in Longford, and is vouched on our correspondent's authority. We have no language to describe the shuddering sense of horror with which we read it. Let us, however, not be misunderstood. We are far from think

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ing that, among the Roman Catholic priests in Ireland, there are peaceful and well disposed. On the contrary, we think there are many who detest, as we do, the mischievous practices of their (as well as the people's) spiritual tyrants. But those whom the times favour and set on high are too much of the class described in our extract:

"A certain incendiary priest, of this county, some few weeks past, denounced from his altar on Sunday several respectable Protestant gentlemen, living in the parish, together with a Roman Catholic servant, who happened to be at mass. The unfortunate man was so terrified at the denunciations of the minister of peace, that, in a fit of despondency, he attempted to put a period to his existence by blowing out his brains. Fortunately he only partially succeeded, and now lies in a danger