He turned toward his humble residence, with a throbbing brain. The streets were already crowded, but Mitford heeded not the bustle which surrounded him. The absolute, irretrievable, hopeless ruin into which he had fallen, alone occupied his thoughts; and his eyes saw nothing but the future misery to which he was doomed. The crowds turned to gaze at him, as he rushed elbowing through them, and seemed to think him some fugitive from a mad-house.

Arrived at home, he threw himself on his bed. The pent-up sorrows of his nature gushed out in torrents of tears, and his agony found a vent in audible sobs. But it has been wisely ordained that no sorrow, however acute, no grief, however overwhelming, should prey upon the mind with equal and continued fervency. The floodgates of sorrow once opened, the mind, relieved from the oppression, re-bounds from the cause in which its sorrows had their source; Pride comes to the relief of Despair, and the siren Hope has yet another delusive whisper to console.

Thus fared it with Mitford. Fatigued with the grievous outpouring of his soul, he slept.

We have hitherto seen Mitford carried away by the frivolities of fashion, and even culpably straying from the strict path of morality; but it must not be imagined that his acquaintances consisted alone of those giddy moths, who cease to flutter round the candle the moment it ceases to blaze. Many of his father's friends, solid merchants with well-ballasted heads, he still continued to cultivate; and he formed some intimacies with families of sterling worth-whether we count it in virtue or in pounds— among retired traders.

Let us now turn to more domestic matters. Some months had elapsed, and Mitford had long ceased to be a desirable resident at any of the fashionable hotels. There is no place in the world where a man can live so long without money, as London; but it is necessary to have a little, sometimes. Tavern-keepers, in this civilized age, are audacious enough to expect payment for their mutton after it has been eaten. So much for the march of democracy!

Refugiated in a suburban lodging, verging on that truly English appellation, the shabby genteel,' he breakfasted at nine, and made his exit at ten, exactly, leaving his landlady in considerable doubt whether he was a moderate annuitant, a half-pay officer, a junior in a banking-house, or an attorney's clerk.

While absent on one of these morning excursions, his laundress called with his clothes. This makes five-and-thirty shillings as how Mr. Mitford owes me.'

And as how,' says the landlady, peering from the top of the stairs, he owes me for five weeks rent.'

Strange he does n't pay!' echoed the woman of suds.

That morning Mitford's evil star predominated. His tailor, his wine-merchant, and his butcher, presented themselves together. 'We wants our money!' cries the trio in a breath.

On such occasions landladies are always curious. Ours adjusted her hair, and asked them into her parlor.

'How much does he owe you?' asked she of the man of port and champagne.

Two hundred and eighty-six pounds, not to mention odd shillings and pence.'

My eyes! what a lot of money!' echoes the laundress; and all for such outlandish stuff! I never drinks nothing but small beer, 'cept it's a quartern o' gin.'

'And my bill,' said the Schneider, 'is three hundred pounds.' 'And mine,' cried the man of beef, 'is two hundred."

I tell you what, gem'men,' says the landlady, in my opinion you'll never see a shiner; he owes me for five weeks rent.'

'I wish I could get my bottles back,' says the man of champagne.

I'll never get my clothes,' says the man of measures.

'It's no use standing no nonsense,' says he of beef; a gem'man as has got no money, is no gem'man, and dash my wigs! if he do n't pay me, I'll tell him so!'

'I'll seize his trunk!' says the landlady.

And I'll keep his clothes!' said Suds, 'when I can get them again.'

I'll have satisfaction!' says the man of beef, his hand reverting insensibly to his steel; for in the mind of a butcher, satisfaction is inseparable from slaughtering a sheep or lamb.

The trio finally agreed to call that evening, and not depart without the wherewithal.

Poor Mitford unsuspectingly came home to dinner. Scarce had he concluded, when the man of wine, of measures, and of beef, made a simultaneous attack.

Now even when a man has money, to be dunned immediately succeeding dinner, and forced to pay out a certain quantum of pounds, shillings, and pence, is horridly provoking. What then must it be to a man who has no money? What must it have been to Mitford, who by no means boasted the mildest of tempers who was still more soured by recent misfortune — and who had three of the noisiest of the genus 'dun' to deal with?

We must not then be surprised, if the man of beef found himself with a single leap from the drawing-room window at the street door; if the Schneider made but two steps down the stair-case; and if the prompt exit of the man of bottles was accelerated by an impetus to the Hotentonian portion of his unmentionables.

That night Mitford interrupted the charitable predilection of his landlady for his trunks, by discharging his little bill,' and the following morning found him on his way to France.

CALAIS is the grand resource of those English who live to eschew bailiffs. Sufficiently near to England to admit of a quick correspondence, it at the same time presents moderate charges.

At Desseins Mitford met the celebrated Brummel, whom he found, in dress and manners, nothing more than a gentleman should be. Oh, Bulwer! how could you travestie one of the most perfect gentle

men of modern times, by adopting, in 'Pelham,' that story of the 'Ruelles?' 'Do you call that thing a coat?' Brummel told Mitford he intended to write a book, entitled 'Characters in Calais,' who facetiously recommended him to prefix the substantive 'bad' to the title, being most descriptive of the English society generally met there.

One day Brummel was seated at table with Colonel Haubrey, of the Grenadier Guards. He had a beautiful Mosaic music-box, which he exhibited to the latter. It presented some difficulty in opening. The colonel was about using his dessert-knife.

'I beg you to remark, colonel,' said Brummel, gently resuming his Mosaic, that my box is not an oyster!'

'On this occasion, he related a curious anecdote of the tenacity of French duns.

A literary friend of mine,' said he, 'making a temporary sojourn in Paris, and sadly in want of remittances, was one day beset by his boot-maker for a trifle of forty francs. He endeavored to soothe him, but in vain; and as a pis aller, told the man of sole to go to the devil!'

Ah!' cried the enraged cobbler, 'you tell me to go to the diable! By gar, I will make de scandale de grande scandale! You shall

see vat I shall do !'

Straightway he posted himself at the foot of the stair-case, where he related to every passer-by the indebtedness of my friend for his boots. The man of intellect felt so indignant and annoyed at this conduct on the part of the cordonnier, that forthwith taking his last forty-franc piece from his escritoire, he threw it at the honest artizan's head, bidding him be gone - not in peace, but with his male

dictions.

Brummel was a very fervent admirer of America, and descanted largely on what might be expected from the more extensive diffusion of British liberty through her means. 'It is only the illiberal and unwise,' said he, who apprehend that the power of America, transcendant as it must become, will injure Great Britain. On the contrary, as the one increases in prosperity, the other certainly must do so likewise. What would England be now, if America had never been discovered? At most, a second-rate power. Suppose such an operation to be possible, as that of cutting off Great Britain from all intercourse with the United States? How many thousands of her artizans must go without bread! How many of her commercial establishments decay! What destruction of wealth, ruin of palaces, and dock-yards! Such an event would occasion a scene of desolation to be paralleled only by that of Nineveh and Tyre of old.'

For a mere man of fashion, Brummel entertained some clear ideas on political subjects, by which ministers might have profited. Witness his opinions on Canada.

BUT these opinions, with the remainder of Mitford's varied history, we reserve for another number.

Ah! let me hie me to the twilight stream,
To muse the solemn, silent hour away!
But, as I move, upon the verge of heaven
The full broad moon, amid a host of clouds,
That stand like broken battlements afar,
Unveils her silvery face, and gives a beam
Resplendent, meek, and lovely as the hour.
Sometimes the shaggy clouds inter her form,
And leave me to myself and darkness- yet
Anon she bursts her prison, and looks down,
Like one that feels her consciousness and pride.

--

Still resting on this mossy rock, 'round which
The night-winds moan, let me indulge my soul -
For to my soul 't is sweet to linger here.
Turn up thine eye to yon bright vaults of heaven,
All studded o'er with gems of light serene,
That glimmer through the mistiness of night:
See how they travel- their unceasing round
Weaving harmonious-and rejoiced to do
The will of their Creator: 'Ah!' they say -
For, to the poet's ear they speak aloud
They say: proud man is but a reptile thing,
Lowly and dark and still with head erect,
Presumes to challenge his almighty Lord,
And dares disclaim allegiance to his will.

We, dressed in glory bright as heaven itself,
Supremely lifted from those humble walks,
To journey through interminable space,
Stoop with submission to the hand that traced
The pathway of our orbs, and love to twine
A wreath of gratitude and praise to Him.'

Such is the language which those stars address
To melancholy man, while from the heath
Accordant voices rise. Lo! it is night -
Extinguished is the brilliant orb of day,
And none is left, save those bright stars above,
To cheer the solitary world. So thou,
Unthinking man! shalt one day see thy life
Extinguished by the chilly touch of death.
But still upon thy grave a light shall stream-
And 'tis the torch of Hope enkindled there
By meek Religion, to watch o'er thy dust,
Which life again shall animate and warm.

To-morrow, and the sun shall rise sublime,
Painting the face of nature; and each scene,
Tinged by its golden beams, shall glow and laugh,
Fraught with new life so thou shalt lay thee down
Within the midnight chambers of the tomb,
And darkness shall encompass thee awhile;

But then the light of Immortality,

Bursting into the cold recess, shall shine,

And wake thee from thy slumbers: thou shalt rise,
And, robed in never-fading glory, live,

And rest thee on the bosom of thy God.

RELIGIOUS CHARLATANRY.

NUMBER ONE.

EVERY age and every community have their peculiar moral and religious symptoms, under the action of the Christian system. So also every separate form of Christianity hath its own characteristic features. Doth not the Roman Catholic religion differ from the Protestant? Doth not Protestant religion in Germany differ from that which passes under the same name in Great Britain? Presbyterianism in Scotland from Episcopacy in England? English Episcopacy from Dissent? Christianity in Great Britain from Christianity in America? Congregationalism in New-England from the Presbyterianism of the middle and southern states? The two latter from Wesleyanisın? The Baptists from all three? Unitarianism from the four? And American Episcopalianism from each of this tribe? We might descend to other specifications, were it needful. It is enough for our purpose, that they are suggested.

It is interesting as well as pleasant to suppose, that the actual experiment of the different and successive modes, or developments, of the divine economy of redemption, as they transpire in human society, operates as a sifting of their qualities as excellent or otherwise; and that the good gradually combine and become permanent, while the faulty, by the same gradual process, become obsolete.