And now reader, I have brought you, after a tedious narrative, to where we started from-poor Annie Medway's grave;`and if by chance you ever pass that way, point not with scorn to mark her last abode but rather drop a tear of pity for her sake, in hope that it may help to wash her garments white, and look with lenient eye upon her frailty, remembering that she was more sinned against than sinning— that her simplicity became her sin-her very innocence was cause of guilt, and that her fault-if fault it was-was this, she loved, not wisely, but too well.

COMMON-PLACE PEOPLE.

BY ONE OF THEMSELVES.

(FOURTH PAPER).

Ir is astonishing to observe how impressions are produced on the common-place mind, which, on a more refined one would be totally different; in other words, how differently the mind is affected by impressions from without, according to the culture and discipline of the faculties within. In saying this, we are not losing sight of the fact that of course the mind is in a great measure affected by certain qualities which exist irrespective of the influences of education, though beyond doubt much under its control; among these, the emotions may be safely classified.

The common occurrences of every-day life affect all men more or less, since Nature, in polishing off the human family can scarcely be supposed to have had much concern for the probable occupations and stations to be assumed by her chil dren; but those whose minds are not strung up to the necessary pitch of accomplishment which enables them to think patiently and reflect calmly and dispassionately on those casualties which may suddenly come upon them, are the persons whom we are desirous of typifying in the present paper, knowing that the class is one of the most comprehensive description. Our

own experience tells us that the common-place mind is much more easily affected by emotion than a more cultivated one would be; let it be joy or sorrow, let it be love or hatred, despair or revenge. It cannot be matter of surprise that the mind which is unfettered by discipline should wildly entangle itself in the meshes of impulse, merely acting on the spur of the moment, without a thought for the consequence; and the result is, the numberless difficulties into which common-place people are always getting into and never getting out of. But what is perhaps more extraordinary than anything else in connection with this subject, common-place people never seem to "See themselves as others see 'em,"

and while they are saying and doing things which in the eyes of others less interested appear ridiculous, they are, in their own opinions, acting wisely and nobly in acting without thinking! They forget-if indeed they can forget what they never knew that such is the structure of the human character that it seldom exhibits anything wise or noble hastily, the display of the better qualities of the heart requiring thought to bring them out. But, we are getting grave when we mean to be merry; so, as our time is short, we shall give a brief specimen of the emotions of the commonplace mind.

Doolittle is a clerk in the Bank of England—a most methodical time-serving nervous little commonplace man. He has been married some few months, and, in common with the doctor and nurse, he is hourly expecting the first instalment of a family. Doolittle thought getting married was bad enough, but this is ten times worse. He can't sit still a moment. He is always in a hurry to do something or go somewhere, but never does anything or goes anywhere except to the office, where he makes more blunders in a day than he ever made in his life before. It is indeed an anxious time with Doolittle, he is so very nervous, and sometimes these cases are so very bad. At length he is confidentially informed by the doctor that he will be a papa before the day's over beyond a doubt, the worthy leech finishing the information by a suggestion that Doolittle should go into the park and fetch-an appetite, for he has not eaten anything for a week, and looks so lean and doughy that he isn't fit to be seen. With joy the doctor sees him put the door-key in his pocket, for he was beginning to repent having given him a certificate to say he was not well enough to attend to business, and the fidgets had so decidedly set in that he was glad to get rid of him and have his own dinner.

With a beating bosom does Doolittle open the street-door on his return-without an appetite; he stands on tiptoe, listens eagerly, and holds his breath. All is silent-no-there is a little squeak, such as he never heard before, and he is at a loss to know what to compare it to: the accidental opening of the door up stairs allows the singular sound to be more distinctly heard still it is unfamiliar to the ear of Doolittle. Can it be the fresh arrival already blowing a penny trumpet? The descent of the practitioner down stairs, with a sweet smile upon his bland countenance, relieves the frightfully intense anxiety of Doolittle, who speedily becomes cognisant of the responsible fact that he is the proprietor of a small boy. After shaking the surgeon with both hands, and wiping the perspiration from his own bedewed brow, his first inquiry is what will the doctor take? The disciple of Galen, who would rather take his fee than anything else, declines taking anything before dinner, and bows himself out.

The state of excitement in which Doolittle finds himself is the more distressing, since he does not know whatever to do at the moment. He begins, however, by running up stairs at

a tremendous rate, and managing during his journey to knock the nurse over as she is coming down with a black saucepan containing gruel, which is of course distributed over the stair carpet.

By dint of the persuasion of an ancient female friend who has been performing the kindly offices peculiar to the occasion, Doolittle is at last prevailed upon to remain down stairs and jump about the room till he can be admitted to an audience with Doolittle junior, who is to be washed and dressed presently before the fire in his mother's room. To his hasty enquiries. as to who it is like, how big it is, and so on, the venerable nurse continues coolly to stir the little black saucepan till it begins to simmer, slowly telling him that at present it isn't like anybody, but that he shall judge for himself by and by. The moments are like hours-whenever can he go up stairs? At length nurse intimates that she is ready, and he is to follow her. Follow her! the old woman only goes up a stair at a time, one ankle remaining on the step till the other is put there, but then she has the rheumatism dreadful bad. What is the old woman's rheumatism to him? He can scarce keep his hands from the worthy dame's brown curls with which she has vainly endeavoured to hide the grey locks which peep out from under these-the last mementos of departed youth!

At length he is introduced, and having affectionately consoled Mrs. D. who has got on a clean night-cap, a large lump of flannel is unrolled, and the anxious eyes of Doolittle are fixed upon the little mottled mass of red flesh which is exposed to view. There it is-the scion of the noble stock of Doolittle tied up in a knot, for the little red legs seem so pliant as if they had no bone in them and could easily be drawn over the little bald head, or in any other direction that might be required. The little face is round and full of wrinkles, some of which unfold as they seem chafed by the cold air, and the son and heir begins to squeak. The very sound he heard as he came in at the street-door! How many times has he heard that squeak since!

Having gratified his curiosity thus far, nurse draws up a chair to the fire, and placing baby between her knees, she attempts to quiet him by reasoning with him on the propriety of being washed and dressed, and telling him what a beautiful boy he will be then, at the same time soaping a little piece of flannel and rubbing it on her hand once or twice to soften it, she rubs the bald pate with great gentleness. Having put a small quantity of gin in her mouth, she carefully distributes it over the little red cranium, as a safe and certain preventative for the "snuffles." Doolittle gazes fondly on these interesting operations till the last teaspoonful of brown sugar and water is administered to the scion, who seems disposed to resist the combined inflictions of washing, dressing, and physicking, which he does not appear to care about.

That night Doolittle declares he has got a cold, and in his state of excitement, fearful lest he should himself contract the "snuffles," he puts his feet in hot gruel and drinks a basin of hot bran and water, in his haste reversing the doctor's orders.

LEAVES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK.

BY AN ARTIST.

SOME city business constraining a day's "vagabondizing," twelve o'clock found me running for shelter from one of the showers, fashionable during this revolutionary year, which has certainly brought reigns down with a vengeance! In this rain of terror, the good folks were butting at each other with their heads covered with umbrellas-the collision causing the combatants to recoil a distance of several paces, with a "Where are yer coming to?" "Now then, spooney!" In a fewvery few-instances, the visual apparatus of blundering fellows was positively condemned, especially if the said blunderer aggravated the offence by poking the corner of a box into the oculos of his opponent.

Here were marchings and countermarchings, charges of cavalry and infantry, most furious attacks, repulses, retreats, and a regular "sauve qui peut" movement on a large scale, enacted in the grand field before the Royal Exchange. There was the Iron Duke" larger than life, in bronze, looking on quietly at the corps de reserve advancing down Cheapside, his visage as calm and as collected as at Waterloo, or any other royal game of human life, chronicled in human red ink! Avoiding the fighting squadrons, I advanced under cover of a flying battery formed by a "'bus ;" the wind and the rain fighting like devils-the rain would fall, and the wind wouldn't let it; so, leaving them to settle the point, I darted under the portico of the Royal Exchange, to perambulate the arcades; and a pretty mess they are in! the dull state of the encaustic paintings rendered worse in appearance by cracks and stains. The small style of ornament adopted here is certainly out of harmony with the building, and inappropriate for its purpose. Instead of the coats of arms and other emblems of foreign states being depicted upon the compartments of the wall near which the merchants and captains of particular countries, or of particular commercial cities, meet, we have an unmeaning assemblage of grotesque monsters, holding up skeins of worsted of various colours to be put into a basket or wound round a pine-apple! Here are parrots', cockatoos' heads stuck upon lions', dogs', fishes' bodies-all capering on the end of a long stick, or jumping into flowers or work-baskets, and playing Old Nick's delight with the knitting needles, worsteds, or

JANUARY, 1849,-NO. I. VOL. XI.

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