every one of 'ern christened Curtius. There they were, sirbless the little cherubs !-with yellow ribands in their caps, and ribands hung all over them, and their mothers and fathers smiling on the colours with all a parent's fondness. Ha, sir! it would have done your noble heart good to hear how the same night we drank the healths of the young Curtiuses-the baby Yellows-the future free and independent voters of Pottlepot. But how, sir, should it be otherwise? Who can forget your kindness when you came among us to canvass ? What condescension-what liberality! There's poor Mrs. Spriggs, the good soul who sells cakes; she never speaks of you without tears in her eyes; and as for her husband-a rascally Blue !— whom the kind creature made so drunk, and then shut the shutters on the day of poll, that when he woke he thought it was still night, and so went to sleep again,-dear Mrs. Spriggs says she can't enough bless you. Though you bought her jackdaw for ten pounds, she's got another; and for all her husband -like a brutal Blue as he is !-beats her once a week for't, the, public spirited, patriotic soul, will teach the bird to cry out "Turnstile for ever! Down with the Blues!"

You'll be glad to hear, Sir Curtius, that little Bobby Windfall, the bellows-mender's child, has got over the small-pox, and won't be very much marked. I'm sure you'll be glad of this, from the kind manner witn which I saw you kiss the suffering babe when it was so very bad indeed.

The organ that you sent down to the chapel plays very beautifully-very. It quite melts the heart of every true Yellow to listen to it. But I am sorry to say-I blush for my species while I write it-that several stiff-necked Blues stay away from chapel because of that organ: whilst one of 'em, with a sneer that meant I know not what, said, "The organ was a most appropriate gift from you, as no sinner could listen to it without thinking of corruption." What he meant by this 'twould puzzle me to discover.

Your kind hospitality in inviting all of us to your mansion in town whenever we should come to London, will in a few days be rewarded. Chops the pork-butcher, with Brads the blacksmith, and Strong-i'-th'-arm the farrier, will be with you—they desire me to say-next week. But pray, Sir Curtius, don't give Chops too much champagne, as he is apt to be very unruly. And Mrs. Brads hopes you'll not let Brads stir in London without you're by his side; she says she depends upon you. As for the farrier's wife, she says you're welcome to keep her husband for a month; only when he comes back, she says she shall expect to see what sort of caps they wear in London.

We are all on the look-out for your first speech, as you promised us on the hustings that it should be a teazer.

I am, Sir Curtius,

Your obedient Servant,

And very humble Voter,
HAMPDEN BRICK.

P.S.-I had almost forgotten to say, that my son Brutus-the youth to whom you jokingly gave a five-pound note to light a cigar with-is now anxious to enter upon the world. Forgive the feelings of a father; but please to write by return of post whether his place will be in the Excise, the Customs, or the Treasury. I suppose we mustn't expect more than two hundred a year to begin with.

LETTER X.

ANSWER OF SIR CURTIUS TURNSTILE, M.P., TO HIS CONSTITUENT, HAMPDEN BRICK.

MY DEAR SIR,-It gives me the deepest pleasure to learn the happiness and tranquillity of the favoured borough of Pottlepot. Bound up as my future public life is with the sympathies of the noble-minded and incorruptible men by whose votes I hold my present exalted situation-my present enviable prominence in the eye of the world—it must be to me a vital delight to know of their felicity. As for the Blues-that desperate faction—that band of little Neros preying on the vitals of their mother-country -but I dismiss them from my thoughts. Contempt relieves me from the excess of indignation.

It is to me a deep happiness to find that I am remembered at your hebdomadal meetings at the Angel. Believe me that every Saturday night I shall spiritually return thanks for the honour that you do me.

The thought that I have awakened a feeling of respect in the bosoms of my fair well-wishers and active supporters of Pottlepot, awards to me the proudest moment of my life. That, with a delicacy which peculiarly distinguishes the disinterested excellence of their sex from the too frequent selfishness of ours, they should give my name to the pledges of their hallowed love, produces, feelings in my breast much more easily conceived than described. Tell them from me, good Mr. Brick, that whilst

they have complimented me, they have imposed a task upon me—yes, sir, a task; for, henceforth, it must be the peculiar study of my life to do nothing that shall be in the least unworthy of my interesting namesakes. It would, I assure you, have given me great pleasure to be their godfather, butanother time.

I am delighted to learn that the excellent Mrs. Spriggs is in good health. Though decidedly not a woman of high education, she has that instinctive patriotism which made the glory of the ancient matron. She might, without a blush, call the mother of the Gracchi sister. I am more than amused to hear of her jackdaw: and, for her sake, hope for better things from her husband.

Believe me, you only do justice to my feelings when you say that I shall be happy to hear of the recovery of Master Robert Windfall. Though asleep, and in a sad condition when I saw him, I do think I never looked upon a more intelligent child. I trust he will become a blessing to his parents, and an honour to the ancient mystery of bellows-mending.

What you tell me respecting the organ, shocks me. That the spirit of party can, in such a subject, find matter for its bitterness, makes one almost despair of human nature. Alas! alas! that even the humble present of a church organ cannot escape the ribaldry of party malice. But nothing, sacred or profane, does escape it!

You speak of a projected visit to town by Chops, Brads, and Strong-i'-th'-arm, my worthy and indefatigable constituents. There are no men for whose honesty-whose singleness of purpose-whose primitive simplicity of character-I have a higher admiration; but was there ever anything so unfortunate? At present my mansion is undergoing a thorough repair; filled with carpenters, bricklayers, plasterers-in fact, turned inside out. Hence, to my inexpressible annoyance, I shall not have the pleasure of seeing them under my own roof; and what is worse, I fear-I say, I fear-that unavoidable business will, for a week at least, take me from London. However, pray let me know what day they intend to set out. I depend upon you not to fail in this. I have not yet spoken in the House. It is my policy never to throw away powder. But when I do make myself heard, depend upon it that Pottlepot will hear the report.

Believe me, my dear Sir,

Yours faithfully ever,

CURTIUS TURNSTILE.

P.S.-As for your son, I think it would be a pity that he should

bury his precocious talents-for I never saw so young a boy smoke with so much maturity—in either the Excise, the Customs, or the Treasury. Take a friend's advice, and bring him up to the bar.

LETTER XI.

FROM A TAILOR FOR HIS BILL.

SIR,-When you reflect upon the time that has passed, since you did me the honour to enter my books, you will, I am sure, acquit me of any desire to appear pressing. Five years, sir, make a long time in the life of a tradesman; the more especially, with business as it has been. Houses thought good, tumbling down like houses of cards; men, considered men of rock, turning out men of straw; bills sent back, and a thousand other bits of bad luck, enough to break the heart of any tradesman. It is now, sir, two-and-thirty years since I entered business; and, in all my life, I never knew so bad a season: bad enough they have been, to be sure, but nothing like the present. There was a time when a tradesman might now and then think of a little profit; but profits in these days!—they don't pay for taking down the shutters.

Therefore, sir, you will, I am sure, pardon me if I solicit you to think of your account. It has been the golden rule of my life never to press a gentleman; but, sir, I am like a peaceable man in a crowd; if I am pushed, I must, whether I will or no, push other people. What has come upon the times I know not; men now ar❜n't the men they used to be. I recollect the day when, if a man failed to honour his bill, he was never known to look up again. Now, I'm blessed if he doesn't look all the bolder for it. People have entirely lost the shame they had when I was young in business; and, now-a-days, go into the Gazette as they go to Margate, just to freshen themselves up, and feel all the stronger for it. The truth is-or I should never think of pressing you, sir-there seems to be a want of morality throughout all society. One person puts the evil down to one thing, another to another. A neighbour of mine-a shrewd shoemaker of the old school-swears it's all owing to the Adelaide boots.

For which reason, sir, I hope you will not think me urgent if I call your thoughts to my bill. There was a time, sir, when I never believel I could do such a thing; but, as I've said, I fear

there's no morality left. And how, indeed, should there be ? Gentlemen are no longer gentlemen. I have my grandfather's pattern-books by me, sir. He-rest his soul-made for the West End eighty years ago, and, when he died, was buried in superfine black, with twenty coaches to follow. Now, die when I will, I much doubt if-but I have no right to trouble you with my griefs-and so, sir, I will stick to business. In grandfather's time gentlemen were known to be gentlemen by their coats. They walked about clothed and marked as superior people; there was no mistake in them, and the lower orders knew their betters by their satins, their velvets, and their gold lace. Now, sir, how are we to know a gentleman? There is no mark, no difference in him: we can only come at his gentility by his manners; a very roundabout way, sir; and one that has led to a great many mistakes. According to the good old plan, you might stand at your shop-door, and count the real gentlemen as they passed; they wore-if I may say as much—their proper uniform, and the common people paid them proper respect for it. And now, if the grandfathers' ghosts of the gentlemen of our day were to meet their grandsons in Piccadilly or Bond Street, they'd take half of 'em for a set of carters, or drovers, or some such low animals; they wear nothing but sacks or smock-frocks, with cotton buttons to 'em. Every day of his life, a Duke passes my door to Parliament in a pepper-and-salt linseywoolsey, duffel, flannel sort of thing, that his tailor, try as hard as he may, can't charge him more than two pounds for. And in this condition his Grace goes to make laws in Parliament. After this, I should like to know how it's to be hoped that common folks are to respect the House of Lords? It's flying in the face of nature to expect it.

No, sir, this is the evil; this the abuse that has, as I've often said, sapped the morals of the world, by hustling all folks together in the same cloth and the same cut. It was never intended that the lines of society should be so finely drawn by the tailor, that you could not see them; yet, because it is so, you now have all sorts of discontent, no stability in trade, and no real morals in gentlemen. If the upper classes would only show their true dignity, and return to cut velvet and gold lace, there might even now be some hopes of the country; but while noblemen and gentlemen dress in thirty-shilling coats, there is an end to England. Her real glory set with gold lace. If men never felt the National Debt, it was because they wore embroidered pocket-holes.

You will forgive me troubling you with all this, but I could not think of putting your account into my lawyer's hands without