customer of mine was yesterday seized with a violent fit of ague, merely in consequence of my asking him to look at my patterns." Long before he has finished his laugh at this, some one, more impatient than the rest, inquires if dinner's ready—and dinner is. A muster takes place; B., in the blue cutaway, dines later, but the rest sit down; the traveller who arrived first, taking the chair as president, and the latest comer the bottom, as vice.

When Commercial Travellers do agree to dine, their unanimity is wonderful. The share which each now takes in demolishing the abundant repast, tends to furnish fresh evidence of a truth, which, without further proof, is incontrovertibly established, that a good appetite is among the few good things, perhaps the only one, of which, the instant we have obtained them, we desire to get rid. The dinner itself, which opens with soup at the top, and fish at the bottom, has proceeded a very little way, when the president's voice is heard," Caroline, bring two bottles of sherry." Challenges immediately commence, and the fire of courtesy is freely kept up, as well across the table as down the sides. Perfect strangers, 66 nob and nob," with " Happy to take wine with you, sir." "Most happy, sir." "Mr. President, a glass of sherry, sir." you, Mr. Vice; most happy." Thus dinner progresses, and conversation becomes general; turning a little on politics, a little on trade, a little on horseflesh, and the last or the next races; a little on the "Commercial Traveller's Society," and how Sir Chapman Marshall, the president thereof, is to be lord mayor next year! "And won't we have a gentle flare," exclaims our budding traveller, who is taking his first trip out of town on a commercial enterprise ; "won't we though!"

"Thank

All this while, our acquaintance in the blue cutaway looks on with an air not free from dignity. He puts a calm judicious remark in now and then; runs his hand through his thick black-no, not black-say, bright Oxford-mixture hair, smooths his whiskers, adjusts his collar, pulls down the waistcoat we have minutely pictured, glances at his boots of Spanish leather aforesaid, draws on his white woodstocks, and seizing his hat and brown-paper packet of samples, walks out to effect sales, and, if the word must be spoken, gammon his customers.

Three o'clock now draws near. The identical traveller, who was the first to exhibit his anxiety for the appearance of dinner, is now the first to exhibit his anxiety for the production of the dinner-bill; not that he likes an extra glass less than his companions, nor that he is of a more eager and impatient honesty; but simply that he has an appointment, and must be off. The bill is called for, brought in,

read a first time, and a division on the very eve of taking place, when the young sprig of commerce, who is thus pleasantly performing his noviciate, rises with considerably less diffidence than he had displayed before dinner, and begs leave to propose an amendment: "Mr. President, should we not rather have said, a bottle and the bill?" The original motion is rescinded at once, and the amendment carried by acclamation. Now, sir," suggests the president, “ as you have carried your point, perhaps you will favour us with something to say with this parting glass." "Oh, certainly, Mr. President, by all means. I'll give you, then, Prosperity to the town and trade of Oxford; and though we are not gownsmen, may we all take orders.'

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The extra bottle is out as it strikes three o'clock. The dinnerbill, as amended, is laid on the table, and duly divided amongst the company is the responsibility of the sum total thereof. The mode of apportioning the expense is this; the vice divides the amount into as many sums as there are diners and debtors, he then hands the bill up to the president, who sends it approved to the bar; and to the personal account of each his share is placed. The landlord never omits it, never. The experience of the "Commercial Travellers' Society" has no cognisance of such a phenomenon.

All now start forth by various roads, and with various prospects of success, in the pursuit of one object-business.

Our acquaintance of the morning comes in to dinner at five. He sits down to take his ease in his inn, either alone or with any agreeable dropper-in; and keenly does he enjoy his pint or his half-bottle, when he has reason to be satisfied both with the quality of his wine, and the productiveness of his day's trade. The history of the remaining hours of the day is soon related. Nine o'clock is the commencement of a new era, and Smoke asserts its soothing, soulentrancing sway. Under its ever-increasing canopy of fragrant floating vapour, sociality spreads her ample and varied feast—one of reason and of rhyme too; for the song succeeds to the joke, and the heart's laugh to both. Perhaps the delicious and profound charm of a quiet rubber succeeds to them all; and then, the sine quá non—a good night's rest.

Those who have effected their commissions, and obtained the desired orders, prudently perform the ceremony of paying their bills overnight, and take their departure with the first flush of morn.

"To-morrow to fresh inns, and ostlers new."

Pleasant life to lead, to find a different home every few hours.

Sooth, sirs, yon fellow is as full o' tricks as a monkey

PROVOST OF LINOS

THE STREET-CONJUROR.

BY HAL. WILLIS, STUDENT AT LAW,

SINCE the decline of fairs, which, for the last ten or twelve years, have gradually lost their charms in the eyes of a "discerning public," the Street-Conjuror, obtaining a precarious livelihood upon the voluntary contributions of an admiring crowd, has evidently gained considerable patronage. In all quarters of the town, he may now be seen enacting his wonders, for the entertainment of a gaping mob, composed of all grades.

There stands the grinning errand-boy, the foremost of the motley circle, losing his employer's time and letting his commission go "clean out" of his head, rubbing against a chimney-sweep, regardless of the sooty contamination; and divers dirty boys bent upon no errand in the world but idleness and mischief. Servants-of-all-work, transfixed to the spot by curiosity, with mugs for the dinner beer, or a dish for the chops or steaks, in one hand, and twirling a latch-key upon the thumb of the other. All excited by the wonders, and expressing their pleasurable surprise in broken exclamations of " Well, then, I never!" and "That beats everythink as I ever seed!" while the outermost circle of the congregation, like a rich fringe to a shabby cape, is made up of the more respectable class of middling people.

Probably, stationed at the gas-lamp, at a sufficient distance to prevent any vulgar contact, and still at the same time near enough to witness the dexterity of the performer, appears a young clerk, with a penny Cuba 'twixt his lips, and " preserved" in a fashionable Macintosh, who half patronises the exhibition by casting a copper ostentatiously in the air, with, for him, the expressive encomium of "Dem the fallow!"

It may be a weakness, but we must confess that we always mix ourselves up in these audiences; for the efforts and exertions of these itinerant vagabonds create an indescribable excitement a sort of

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