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her the reputation of affluence; she now had the reality, and rather affected shabbiness of attire, not so much from parsimony, as to excite attention by the contrast of her present with her former self, and so recall the cause of the change. Though the habit of frugality finally stole upon her, so far as to degenerate into penuriousness, and procure for her the appellation of the old female miser, she could at times emancipate herself from its influence. As it was said of a certain bard that he threw about his dung with an air of dignity, it might be affirmed of her, that there was sometimes a magnificence in her meanness. She contributed largely to public subscriptions; made handsome donations to the parish; and frequently gave fifty pounds at a time to her nephew Frank Millington, though it was never known that they did him any good, or relieved him in the smallest degree from his embarrassments.

These violent efforts were, however, always succeeded by silent repentance, and an effort to reconcile herself to her habits by a stricter domestic economy. Then were the poor maids condemned for three days together to witness the apparition of the same calf's head upon the dinner-table; and when at last they laid it in the Red Sea, they not infrequently imported a red herring in exchange. The French restaurateurs who give dinners at twenty-five sous a head, pompously announce in their bills, "Pain à discretion," well knowing that no person of the least discretion will eat much of so sour a commodity; and Mrs. Pitman informed her nymphs, that she left the small beer to their free and uncontrolled disposal, though she must confess she abominated female tipplers. It was magnifying things to give such a pigmy beverage, innocent of hops and scarcely tinged with the first blush of malt, the name of even small beer; but the same cause that made Mrs. Pitman lavish, made the liquor poor. It was always sent as a present from her cousin Mr. Swipes the brewer, who was trying by every art and attention to ingratiate himself with the old lady's will, and who, knowing that she never tasted any thing but currant wine, or rather water, of her own concoction, sometimes fobbed off her servants with a returned cask, whose acidity he had partially disguised by fortifying it from the pump. Probably he extended to unpaid beer, the proverb applied to a gift horse-that it should not be looked at in the mouth all the world agreed that it was " dull, flat, and stale," and he was the only person not justified in calling it "unprofitable."-But enough of this compound; we must not speak ill of the dead.

Mr. Currie, the saddler, another cousin, who had also a shrewd eye to the "post mortem appearances" of the widow's testament, and could not very appropriately ingratiate himself by a spur or a horsewhip, kept her supplied with other equally stimulating presents of sausages, hams, fish, poultry, and game; chuckling at the idea of the enormous usury at which he was putting them out, which he estimated in his own mind at about the rate of a hundred pounds a basket. Mr. Swipes was neither less liberal, nor less sanguine; scarcely a week elapsed without his despatching a savoury parcel, which he deemed equivalent to sowing legacies and planting codicils. Nor had they any reason to doubt the old lady's intentions, for, as they fed her with good things, she fed them with hope, which is a better; and as to her nephew Frank Millington, against whom they combined all

their powers of misrepresentation and abuse, he himself became their most efficient ally, by the wildness of his life, and the unbridled insolence of his demeanour towards his aunt. Frank was a patron of pugilists and cock-fighters, whose constant demands upon his purse occasioned as regular applications to hers, and though she really answered these claims with more liberality than could have been expected from her penurious habits, he could never endure with any decency of patience the long lecture which filled up the time from the moment of his arrival to the production of what he emphatically termed "he tip," whose apparition was always the signal for his disappearance. His last application, being somewhat too rapid as well as heavy, was encountered with a positive denial, and the recusant was commencing her usual exhortation, when Frank disrespectfully exclaimed "Come, come, no preachee and floggee too," and muttering, loud enough to be heard, the words "stingy old mummy!" flung himself out of the room.

Now though it must be candidly confessed, that Mrs. Pitman, who had by this time become somewhat aged, and brown, and shrivelled, bore no small resemblance to those leathern ladies and gentlemen of Egypt, who mount guard at Museums in their glazed sentry-boxes, she considered herself too young by three thousand years to justify any such comparison, and was indignant in proportion to her own sense of juvenility. Mr. Swipes and Mr. Currie were even more moved than the old lady, for they felt the value of the insult. Never was a sorrow more joyous, or an anger more complacent, than that which they expressed upon the occasion. So deeply were their feelings injured, that they declared themselves unable to continue their visits, if they ran any risk of encountering such an ungrateful profligate; and Frank was accordingly forbidden the house.

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As the tanner's widow waxed sickly and infirm, she became an enticing object for Mrs. Doldrum, an inhabitant of Leighton-Buzzard, one of those human screechowls who prowl about the abodes of misery and death, croaking out dismal tidings, and hovering over corpses. She seemed only happy when surrounded by wretchedness, and her undertaker-like mind appeared to live upon death. When she could not treat herself with a dissolution, she would look about her for a broken leg, a bankruptcy, a family where there was a dishonoured daughter, a runaway son, or any calamity she could by good fortune discover. 66 0 my dear friend," she exclaimed to Mrs. Pitman, a short time before her death, "I am so delighted to see you, (here a groan)— you know my regard for you, (another groan)-seeing your bed-room shutters closed, I took it for granted, it was all over with you, so I came in just to close your eyes and lay out your body. Delighted to find you alive, (groan the third)-let us be of good cheer, perhaps you may yet linger out a week longer, though it would be a great release if it would please God to take you. (Groan the fourth.)-And yet I fear you are sadly prepared for the next world. (Groan the fifth and longest.)-You know my regard for you. The Lord be good unto us! Hark! is that the death-watch? I certainly heard a ticking."

This consolatory personage was all alive the moment she heard of Mrs. Pitman's death, which occurred shortly after; and she was obviously in her proper element when superintending the closing of win

dow-shutters, and all the minute arrangements usually adopted upon such mournful occasions. At her own particular request, she was indulged with the privilege of sitting up with the body the first night, and would not even resign her station on the second day, which was the time appointed for the reading of the will. Frank Millington had been sent for express to attend this melancholy ceremony; Mr. Swipes and Mr. Currie were of course present in deep mourning, with visages to match, and each with a white pocket-handkerchief to hide the tears which he feared he would be unable to shed. Mr. Drawl, the attorney, held the portentous document in his hand, bristling with seals; and two or three friends were requested to attend as witnesses. The slow and precise man of law, who shared none of his auditors' impatience, was five minutes in picking the locks of the seals, as many more in arranging his spectacles, and, having deliberately blown his nose, through which he always talked, (as if to clear the way,) he at length began his lecture. As the will, at the old lady's particular request, had been made as short and simple as possible, he had succeeded in squeezing it into six large skins of parchment, which we shall take the liberty of crushing into as many lines. After a few unimportant legacies to servants and others, it stated that the whole residue of her property, personal and real, consisting of here a formidable

schedule of houses, farms, messuages, tenements, buildings, appurtenances, stocks, bonds, monies, and possessions, occupying twenty minutes in the recital,—was bequeathed to her dear cousins Samuel Swipes of the Pond-street Brewery, and Christopher Currie of the Market-place, Saddler.

Here Mr. Drawl laid down his parchment, drew breath, blew his nose, and began to wipe his spectacles, in which space of time Mr. Swipes was delivered of a palpable and incontestable snivel, in the getting up whereof he was mainly assisted by a previous cold; and endeavouring to enact a sob, which however sounded more like gargling his throat, he ejaculated-" Generous creature! worthy woman! kind soul!"

Mr. Currie, who thought it safer to be silently overcome by his feelings, buried his face in his handkerchief, whence he finally emerged with indisputably red and watery eyes, though it is upon record, that he had been noticed that morning grubbing about the onion-bed in his own garden, and had been seen to stoop down and pick something up. They were both with an ill-concealed triumph beginning to express to Frank their regret that he had not been named, and to inform him that they could dispense with his farther attendance, when Mr. Drawl with his calm nasal twang cried out-"Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats I have not quite done yet"-and resuming the parchment and his posture thus proceeded-"Let me see-where was I?-Ay, Samuel Swipes of Pond-street Brewery, and Christopher Currie of the Market-place, Saddler,”—and then raising his voice, to adapt it to the large german text words that came next, he sang out-"IN TRUST for the sole and exclusive use and benefit of my dear nephew Frank Millington, when he shall have attained the age of twenty-five years, by which time, I hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits, as that he may be safely intrusted with the large fortune which I hereby bequeath to him."

"What's all this?" exclaimed Mr. Swipes-"you don't mean that we're humbugged?-In trust ?-how does that appear ?--where is it ?"--Mr. Drawl depositing his spectacles, looking up at the ceiling, and scratching the underneath part of his chin, pointed to the two fatal words, which towered conspicuously above the multitude of their companions, and the brewer's nether jaw gradually fell down till it crumpled and crushed the frill of his shirt. Mr. Currie, with a pale face and goggle eyes, stood staring at his co-trustee, not exactly understanding what it all meant, though he saw by his countenance that there was some sudden extinction of their hopes. As the will was dated several years back, Frank only wanted three weeks of the stipulated period of possession, and as he hastily revolved in his mind all the annoyances he had occasioned his aunt, and the kind generosity with which she had treated him, his eyes remained fixed upon the carpet, and the tears fell fast upon the backs of his crossed hands.

H.

THE MOUSE TURNED HERMIT. FROM PIGNOTTI.

"O beata solitudo!"

In winter when my grandmother sat spinning,
Close in the corner by the chimney-side,
To many a tale, still ending, still beginning,

She made me list with eyes and mouth full wide,
Wondering at all the monstrous things she told,
Things quite as monstrous as herself was old.

She told me how the frogs and mice went fighting,
And every word and deed of wolves and foxes,
Of ghosts and witches in dead night delighting,
Of fairy spirits rummaging in boxes;

And this in her own strain of fearful joy,
While I stood by, a happy frightened boy.

One night, quite sulky, not a word she utter'd,
Spinning away as mute as any fish,

Except that now and then she growl'd and mutter'd;
At last I begged and prayed, till, to my wish,
She cleared her pipes, spat thrice, coughed for a while,
And thus began with something like a smile :-

"Once on a time there was a mouse," quoth she,
"Who, sick of worldly tears and laughter, grew
Enamour'd of a sainted privacy;

To all terrestrial things he bade adieu,
And entered, far from mouse, or cat, or man,
A thick-wall'd cheese, the best of Parmesan.

And, good soul! knowing that the root of evil
Is idleness, that bane of heavenly grace,
Our hermit laboured hard against the devil,
Unweariedly, in that same sacred place,
Where further in he toiled, and further yet,
With teeth for holy nibbling sharply set.

His fur-skin jacket soon became distended,
And his plump sides could vie with any friar's:
Happy the pious who, by Heaven befriended,
Reap the full harvest of their just desires!
And happier they, whom an eternal vow
Shuts from the world, who live-we know not how!

Just at that time, driven to the very brink

Of dire destruction, was the mousal nation;
Corn was lock'd up, fast, close, without a chink,
No hope appeared to save them from starvation,
For who could dare grimalkin's whisker'd chaps,
And long-clawed paws, in search of random scraps?
Then was a solemn deputation sent

From one and all to every neighbouring house,
Each with a bag upon his shoulder went,

And last they came unto our hermit-mouse,
Where, squeaking out a chorus at his door,
They begg'd him to take pity on the poor.

"O my dear children," said the anchorite,
"On mortal happiness and transient cares
No more I bend my thoughts, no more delight
In sublunary, worldly, vain affairs;

These things have I forsworn, and must, though loth,
Reprove your striving thus against my oath.

"Poor, helpless as I am, what can I do?

A solitary tenant of these walls;

What can f more than breathe my prayers for you?

And Heaven oft listens when the pious calls!

Go, my dear children, leave me here to pray,

Go, go, and take your empty bags away.'

"Ho! grandmother," cried I," this matches well,
This mouse of yours so snug within his cheese,
With many a monk as snug within his cell,
Swollen up with plenty and a life of ease,
Who takes but cannot give to a poor sinner,

Proclaims a fast and hurries home to dinner."

"Ah, hold your tongue!" the good old dame screamed out, "You jackanapes! who taught you thus to prate?

How is 't you dare to slander the devout?

Men in so blessed, so sanctified a state!

Oh, wretched world!—Ah, hold your wicked tongue !—
Alas! that sin should be in one so young!

"If e'er you talk so naughtily again,

I promise you 'twill be a bitter day!"

So spoke my grandmother, nor spoke in vain ;
She look'd so fierce I'd not a word to say;

And still I'm silent as I hope to thrive,
For many grandmothers are yet alive.

S. Y.

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