Here the accomplished theorist on infant education held up her gifted digit.

"There! Aunt Nancy's little finger says it's very late; and Darling will be so glad to go to his bed-won't he?"

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No, no, no!" squealed the peevish Petkin.

"My precious lamb! how feverish his dear face and hands are! do go to his bed."

"Ay, do goey, love;" echoed Aunt Nancy, in the tenderest voice; "Oh! don't beat mamma; you've hit her on the chin— see! you've made poor mamma ky!-poor mamma!"

Here poor mamma made a show of crying, during which the sweet lamb settled himself in her lap, and fell fast asleep. He was thus carried up to bed.

Now, in good sooth, did all present, shifting themselves in their seats, take a fresh breath, and reverting to merry Christmas, prepare to have a pleasant hour, and toast old times. Even Mr. Scrope Bellyfield, shewed signs of emerging from his pompous austerity and smouldering silence, and gazed at "poor mamma," with an expression in which some commiseration for her pale, worn face, was mingled with contempt and irritation at her moral weakness. Mr. Meredith now began to get alive, and pulling down his waistcoat and wristbands, and stretching his arms, called for fresh decanters of wine and clean glasses. The table was also cleared, and covered afresh with plates of oranges, olives, cakes, dried fruits, &c. "And now," quoth Mr. Meredith, rising with a bumper in his hand, and looking towards Mr. Scrope Bellyfield, "And now, I have to propose a

toast!"

A loud yell from the nursery arrested Mr. Meredith's progress. Darling Pet having had his sleepy face washed before being placed in his bed, had so completely recovered himself as to insist upon coming down stairs again. He was now heard on his way, beating his drum, and singing and shouting, as he descended. Papa, however, began his speech again, in hopes of finishing before the accompaniment overwhelmed him.

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"I have to propose "-rub-a-dub-dub!—“ a toast to you all,"ti, rub-a-dub, rub !—" which, I'm sure, you must drink with delight." -Row-de-dow, rack-a-tack too! "It is the health of a guest, who has honoured us here with his "-rub-a-dub-dub, doodle-doo !—“ a gentleman, whose well-known urbanity, and fund of anecdote, is the universal

The tumultuous entrance of Darling Petkin here rendered the speaker quite inaudible, and "poor papa," casting a deplorable look at deplorable mamma, fairly gave it up, and sat down.

The Spoilt Child was in his night-gown and nightcap; his drum was slung round his neck; he had a sword at his side, and a drumstick in one hand, while he used a wooden gun as a drumstick in the other. In the very middle of the table did he insist upon being placed, with his drum before him, and then he commenced an uproar and havoc on everything within his range, such as we shall refrain from attempting to describe. At length, by a whirl of his gun, the sweet lamb smote a tall candle, which falling sideways, touched the head-dress of Grandmamma Thompson, and set it all in a blaze. With a loud screaming, "Take me, mamma!" (while Uncle Ben extinguished the fiery old crown) the sweet lamb flew along the table to mamma's expanded arms, and, in doing so, overturned a heavy cut-glass decanter, which rolled off the table, and fell with one edge upon the toe of Mr. Scrope Bellyfield!

"Base urchin!" ejaculated the long-smouldering and now agonised and infuriate gentleman, jumping up with a rapidity never to be anticipated from one so corpulent, and extending his right arm, the clenched fist whereof trembled above the table with passion; "Base urchin! is it to see and hear your yells and antics that I am invited to this place to-day! Was I inveigled here to enjoy your pretty play and prattle close to my elbow all dinner-time!--to feel continual gouts of gravy, and bits of fat and sweetmeat dropped upon my knees!-to have filbert maggots tossed into my waistcoat, and orange juice and pips shot and squirted into my very face!— Mr. Meredith!-sir!-this is not to be endured. Talk of systemtheory-infant education, indeed!—your advisers are lamentably in the dark. There is not one idea entertained upon the subject by that child's grandmammas, uncles, aunts, nor, give me leave to say, sir, by his papa or mamma, which is not directly the opposite of right. I wish distinctly to say, that the whole system of behaviour and treatment adopted towards that creature, is as wrong and injurious to him now, and will be for his future life, as possible. A more ruinous system could scarcely be invented by the most elaborate intention of mischief. You think I say all this only because he has flung a decanter upon my toe; but I don't. It is the pain, sir, which has shot the truth out of me all of a lump. I say again, a more complete specimen of an atrocious Spoilt Child' I never read or heard of-with all my fund of anecdote ;'-so base an urchin I never saw in the most tormenting dream!"

With these words, Mr. Scrope Bellyfield floundered out of the room, and left the house, never again to set foot in it. Mr. Meredith never had the satisfaction of writing M.P. after his name: he saw it was of no use to stand an election.

THE OLD LORD.

BY ECHION.

NOTHING but a Lord! why, then, nothing! Doff your hats to the important cipher, ye smoke-worshipping crowds!-bow low and greet it gracefully, philosophers, statesmen, churchmen, men of genius, and men of war! It is my lord, his grace, the Duke of Summerscourt, by the law of primogeniture, possessed of revenues so enormous that he could not possibly spend his entire income, even if, in addition to the liberal outlay his station requires, his grace should amuse himself by daily sowing an acre of his broad lands with golden sovereigns, or yield to the patriotic idea of driving a carriage-load of the same every morning to the Treasury to pay off the National Debt. These revenues are principally derived from lands given to my lord's grim and helmeted ancestors by William of Normandy, upon occasion of their accompanying the warlike duke upon his amiable invasion to see what they could get; and, although the possessions of this noble family, like those of many others, have suffered the contingencies of war and political changes of all kinds, yet by a fortuitous concurrence of events, and unlike many others, the whole have been recovered to the family, and much " glebe added thereto❞ -our noble hero claiming large slices of several fine English counties. You may ride miles and miles in one country,―ay, for half the day— and still see nothing on one side of the road but his grace's fences.

However we may philosophise or utilitarianise upon the subject, there is something, we confess, exciting to the fancy in the view of a lordly domain, possessed by a family whose ancestors were lords of the same soil, and walked beneath the same trees (not quite so venerable and gigantic), and moved in cavalcade down the same long avenues centuries back. We can scarcely believe but that some of the rooks we see now were alive when our hero's ancestors carried their banners to the fields of Cressy and Agincourt. The old armour in the hall connects the dreamy past with the fleeting present; the habergeon worn by Fitzmaurice Fitz-Marmaduke, in 1066, speaks for the honour, dignity, and exclusiveness of the fine

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