LETTER XXIII.

FROM A WIDOWER TO A WIDOW, WITH AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE.

MY DEAR MADAM,-Your kind looks and cordial words have accompanied me all the way home, and—the truth is, I write this before going to bed; I shall sleep the more soundly for having the matter off my mind. It is true, we have met but once; but we are both of us at that rational point of life, when people know the most value of time; and as all ceremony is but an idle waste of existence, I beg herewith to offer you my hand, and, with it, though I have been married before, an entire heart. There are hearts, madam, allow me to say, all the better for keeping; they become mellower, and more worth a woman's acceptance than the crude, unripe things, too frequently gathered -as children gather green fruit-to the discomfort of those who obtain them. I have been married to one wife, and know enough of the happiness of wedlock to wish it to be continued in another. The best compliment I can pay to the dear creature now in heaven, is to seek another dear creature here on earth. She was a woman of admirable judgment: and her portrait —it hangs over my chimney-piece-smiles down upon me as I write. She seems to know my thoughts, and to approve of them. I said, madam, she was a woman of excellent judgment.

My means are tolerably good; more than sufficient for my widowed state. Of the truth of this, your solicitor shall have the most satisfactory proof. I have also heard-casually heard -that fortune has not, my dear madam, been blind to your deserts, and has awarded you more than enough to keep the wolf from the door. I rejoice at this; for whatever might be my disappointment, I would not entail upon you the inconvenience of marriage unaccompanied by an agreeable competence. What is enough for one-it has been said—is enough for two. But this is the ignorance of Cupid, who never could learn figures. Now Hymen-as you must know, dear madam-is a better arithmetician; taught as he is by butcher and baker. Love in a cottage is pretty enough for girls and boys; but men and women like a larger mansion, with coach-house and stabling.

You may urge against me, that I have incumbrances. By no means. My daughter having married a beggar, has ceased to have any natural claim upon me. If I am civil to her, it is solely from a certain weakness of heart that I cannot wholly conquer ;

and something too, moreover, to keep up appearances with a meddling world. I have told her that she is never to expect a farthing from me, and I should despise myself not to be a man of my word.

I have, too, a son; but when I tell you that I have once paid his debts, incurred in his wild minority, you will allow that, except my blessing, and, at times, my paternal advice, he can expect nothing more. I know the duties of a father, and will never satisfy the cravings of a profligate. Nevertheless, he is my own son; and whatever may be his need, my blessing and my counsel he shall never want.

My health, madam, has ever been excellent. I have worn like rock. I have heard of such things as nerves, but believe it my fate to have been born without any such weaknesses. I speak thus plainly of essentials, as you and I, madam, are now too wise to think consumption pretty—to tie ourselves to ill-health, believing it vastly interesting. I can ride forty miles a day, and take a hedge with any fellow of five-and-twenty. I say, I speak of these things, that you may know me as I am. Moreover, I assure you I eat with my own teeth, and grow my own hair. Besides this, I am only two-and-fifty.

What do you say, madam? As for vices, as I am an honest man, I do not think I can lay any to my charge. I may have my human weaknesses—such, indeed, as I have touched upon above; but, madam, it has ever been my study through life to be respectable. I have the handsomest pew in the church, and don't owe any man a shilling.

Well, my dear madam, it is getting late, and I must conclude. I hate to be out of bed after eleven—it is now past twelve. Hence, you must perceive how very much I am interested in this business. In another ten minutes I shall be asleep, and dreaming of you. May I wake to find my dream-for I know what it will be—a reality!

If our solicitors are mutually satisfied, will you name the day? I am superstitious about days—say, then, say Thursday week, and believe me your devoted lover, till death,

NICHOLAS BLACKTHORN.

P.S. May I see you to-morrow?

LETTER XXIV.

THE WIDOW'S ANSWER.

SIR,-Your favour of last night has, I own, surprised me. What! after one meeting, and that at a card-party, to make such an offer! Well to be sure, you men are strange creatures! What, indeed, could you have seen in my conduct to think I could look over such boldness?

As for the rational point of life you speak of, I must confess I know not when that exactly occurs; do you think it—at least with women-at two-and-thirty; or if not, may I beg to know what age you consider me? Perhaps, though, my early and irreparable loss may have brought a look of premature age upon me. It is very possible—for what a man he was!

As for what you say about hearts, sir, I know but little; I only know the one I have lost. If I did pluck it green, like the winter apples in my store-room, it grew riper and riper in my care.

You say your wife's portrait smiled while you wrote. His dear miniature is now before me. I think I see the tears starting through the ivory as I look upon the precious features. If he ever could have frowned, surely he would frown now to think—but I will not pursue the theme.

As to your means, sir, I am happy to hear they are sufficient. Although I can by no possibility have an interest in them, nevertheless I myself too well know the blessings of competence not to congratulate you. True it is I know but little of the ways of money; but am blessed in my solicitors, Messrs. Grip and Nip, No. -, Furnival's-inn.

You speak of your incumbrances; my husband dying, left me without a single one. That your daughter should have forgotten her duty, is an affliction. I am glad, however, to find that you know the true source of consolation, and refuse to lend yourself to her improvidence. Truly, indeed, do you say it is a meddling world. I have found it so; as some of my lamented husband's poor relations will answer for me. However, as I could not endure the sight of anything that reminded me of my dear lost treasure, I have left them for ever in Cornwall. It is now some months since they have ceased to distress me.

Your son may mend. If you will allow me as a stranger to

speak, I think you should still act with tenderness towards him. How very little would pay his passage to Australia!

Health is, indeed, a treasure. I know it. Had I not had the robustness-pardon the word!—of a mountain nymph, I had never survived the dreadful shock that cruel death has inflicted on me. As it was, it struck me down. But, as the poet says, "the bulrush rises when the oak goes crash."

You are partial to hunting? It is a noble recreation. My departed lamb followed the hounds, and, as sportsmen say, would ride at anything. He once broke his collar-bone; but, with good nursing, we put him in the saddle again in a month. Ha! you should have seen him in his scarlet coat!

In this fleeting life, how small and vain are personal gifts compared to the treasures of the mind! Still, if there is anything I admire, it is fine teeth. A wig, at least in a man, is detestable.

You say you are two-and-fifty. Well, I must say, you don't look that age.

You speak plainly of vices and say you have none. It would be ill manners in me, on so short-I may say, so very trivialan acquaintance, to doubt you. Besides, it has been my faithand what I have lost by it, I hav'n't time to tell-to think well of everybody. Weaknesses we all have. One of mine is, a love of a pew. We think but very little of religion, when we forget proper hassocks.

I have, however, delayed you too long; and indeed, except for politeness' sake, know not why I should have written at all. I therefore remain,

Your obedient Servant,

RUTH DOUBLEKNOT.

P.S. I shall be out all day to-morrow. At present-I say at present-I know of no engagement for the next day; no, not next day-the day after; for I hate a Thursday.

LETTER XXV.

FROM A CLERGYMAN TO A CHURCHWARDEN, ECCENTRIC IN
HIS ACCOUNTS.

DEAR SIR,-It is now two years since the horrors of fiscal war broke out in our once peaceful parish of Wholehog-cumApplesauce. For two years, sir, have the affrighted parishioners had their souls and pockets torn by thoughts of mammon-for two years have they nightly fallen to sleep to groan and writhe beneath a nightmare sitting on their breasts in the horrid shape of a Churchwarden, grinning and hugging in his arms an ironclasped account-book! Neither sex nor age have escaped the evil influence of the time: old women wax older when they talk of Churchwarden Gripps; and the faces of little children become sharp and thin as sixpences when they stammer out his True it is, the parishioners have put you in the cage of Chancery; nevertheless, with a magnanimous philosophy, you do nothing but make mouths at them through the bars!

name.

Dear sir, pause-consider. Have you not done enough for history? Is it possible, think you, that the fame-such as it is -of Churchwarden Gripps can die whilst the parish of Wholehog-cum-Applesauce shall endure? Will not its annals preserve until the latest day a thousand memoranda of the peculiar reputation of Gripps? Whilst arithmetic shall remain to man, can they ever be forgotten? Why, then, be thus gluttonous of glory? Why crave for more renown, when some folks vow it is impossible for you to stand upright with the load already on your shoulders ?

Dear Churchwarden, consider the danger of your present condition. For years and years have you borne the bag of Wholehog-cum-Applesauce. You have been the depository of the hopes of the parish; and if—as with a golden tongue you have declared it-the people owe you moneys, blush not, but take the balance. Let your mystic books be opened; call in Pundits for the work, and let the Cabala of Wholehog-cum-Applesauce be revealed to the vulgar. Then, how joyfully will your debtors pay their dues to the Churchwarden; while, on the other hand, if you should have slumbered in error-for even Churchwardens are men-with what serene delight will you pen a cheque upon the fortunate banker who holds in trust the hoard of Gripps !

Dear sir, you have been abused-sorely abused. You say it—