quickly followed by a wicked closure of the left eye and a knowing inclination of the head. A toss of the lady's was the retort. The game was repeated, and a crack over the offending caput from the cane of the smoking bravo was the instant retribution. Mr. Noddy was spread upon the pavement, and his offence being explained to the crowd. that soon assembled, the insulted pair walked off in triumph, and he got from the ground to a hackney cab amid the hootings and sneers of the judicious mob.

As he pondered on this, Mr. Noddy felt considerable surprise at the difference existing between different parts of the town. Even so near as the Quadrant, he had winked and nodded at every female he met; and so far from being assailed by a nod-at-ed stick for it, he had been greeted in return by winks, and nods, and smiles from them all. Liston having cured his broken pate in less time than he reduced Farley's nose to the true Grecian model, he resumed the tenor of his luckless

career.

:

His last adventure, indeed, approached the knock down in Regent street was the shadow before of the coming event. Mr. Noddy was lounging in Hyde Park, when a lovely girl and a military-looking person approached him in deep, low-whispered, and earnest conversation. Attracted by their appearance, he contrived to tip the young lady one of his most powerful winks, and as sig. nificant as he had bestowed upon the throned Victoria. A blush was the result; and the wink was re-enacted with the accompaniment of an equally significant motion of the head. Again and again was the affront committed, till the fair one's confusion could no longer be concealed, and her friend was made aware of the annoyance she had suffered. The epithet of insolent scoundrel and a blow was the immediate retaliation, whilst the frightened girl sank fainting on the grass. The spirit of Mr. Noddy was awakened, and the abusive epithet and the blow were returned. A scuffle ensued, and before the unconscious beauty was restored to sense, the cards of the enraged combatants had been exchanged with menaces of future vengeance.

As a gentleman, it now became Mr. Noddy's task to seek out a second, who should see satisfaction given for the winking, nodding, wincing, and drubbing, which had taken place. Having laid his case before his third cousin, Peter Lazenby of the Spanish Service, who, by the by, stood to him in the relationship of next of kin aud heirapparent, that worthy undertook the office with the most friendly alacrity. Captain Macfiercedall of the Blues having appointed his next on the list, Lieutenant Piercefield, to a similar trust, it was arranged that the meeting should come off" at day-break next morning, on the grounds of the Hippodrome, just where the private path is disputed.

run.

Upon this race-course the chance was taken whose race should be Captain Macfiercedall and Lieutenant Piercefield were not earlier in their attendance than were Thomas Noddy and Peter Lazenby, Esquires. No attempt was made at explanation or conciliation. The distance was sulkily and shortly measured, and the combatants, pistol in hand, placed in their positions. They were to fire together by signal: the word was given and they fired. Captain Macfiercedall missed his opponent; but one of his twinges occurring just as Mr. Noddy pulled the trigger, he gave a sudden turn round and

wounded his second severely in the shoulder. In spite of this misadventure, so anxious was he for the honour of his principal, he again prepared his pistol for a second shot, and retiring a reasonable way farther out of the possible range of the ball, once more gave the signal to fire. Two flashes were visible, and a curl of smoke mounted over the persons of the duelists, Macfiercedall and Noddy. But, alas! the person of the first was still erect: the body of his adversary was stretched bleeding on the earth. He was shot through the head; and with one wink at the Captain, and one nod at his cousin, he breathed forth his spirit on the contested foot-path. The Captain took the hint, and in three minutes was, with his second, en rout for Calais. Nor was Lazenby long behind him. Having deposited the body of Mr. Noddy in Dover Street, he also embarked for the Continent till the storm blew over. A ceremonial trial at the Old Bailey concluded the fatal business, and it was clearly shown by the counsel that the defunct Thomas Noddy, Esquire, was alone to blame throughout the whole transaction. The jury returned a verdict of justifiable homicide, and the judge who tried the cause, as well as the alder. men who sat near him in the court, nodded their entire approbation before they went up stairs to dinner. The remains of poor Tom Noddy, with the bullet in his noddle, were buried at Noddy-cumSlumbers; and Peter Lazenby, Esquire, succeeded to landed property in Beds. Linc. and Surrey, of no less rental than eight thousand a year.

Having wound up the narrative, it is time that I should conclude, which I the more willingly do since the scribbling has kept me up till long past midnight, and I have been nodding, myself, during the last hour and a half. Of one of my predecessors who wrote with like credit to himself, and much fame, it was said "nunquam dormi. tat;" and, finishing this my epic, I need not be ashamed to allow that, as Homer sometimes nodded, so at this epoch do I. TEUTHA.

THE POSTMAN.

BY DR. LICHFIELD.

His portrait is an every-day picture of life, and yet not easy to paint. He is the very incarnation of alacrity, the embodied spirit of regularity and precision. Day by day, hour by hour, he is to be seen traversing with rapid step the limits of his own narrow district. The heavens may smile or frown. Revolutions may shake the land; or peace and prosperity gladden its children. Disease may wave its pestilent torch; or sudden calamity sweep away its victims. But the postman is still at his post. A diurnal dispenser of news. A kind of HOPE in the Queen's livery, visiting every one in turn, and welcomed by all. A messenger of life and of death; of gratified ambition, or disappointed desire; of gracious acceptance, or harsh refusal. He is still welcome, for his presence, and that which he brings at least, puts an end to the most cruel of human sufferingsuncertainty.

He is the chief link which unites the past to the present, the present to the future. The mysterious voice which whispers its secrets in every ear, and touches every heart. Like Fortune he is

blind; and like her he dispenses unconsciously pleasure or pain. The sharp summons communicated by his dexter finger and thumb to the knocker causes emotion in every heart. All doors are open to him; all hands stretched forth. Each ear is on the alert to learn for whom the missive is intended. And, if emotion comes with him, it likewise precedes and follows him. And, if to-day he brings despatches from a near part of the empire, full of little passions, little anxieties, and little coquetries, to-morrow this universal plenipotentiary, who has mastered time and space, may be the bearer of more profound and heartstirring intelligence, wafted on post-office pinions from the furthest ends of the earth.

But the visits of the Twopenny-postman are usually clothed with a less important character than those of his colleague, the General postman. The latter may bring the news of distant battle and of death; of fortunes lost by shipwreck, or gained by successful enterprise. The labour of the former consists chiefly in being the bearer of the thousand trifles which constitute the business of ordinary life ;-invitations to the ball and concert; notes of congratulation and inquiry; billets-doux, coleur de rose, perfumed with the sweet breath of flowers, folded into fantastic forms, and sealed with devices which let slip the secret which they try to confine. But still the twopenny post-man is the same smart, assiduous, and steady character, as he of the general. No labour is too heavy for him; the letter of the merchant, bearing a bank order of large amount, is as light as the letter of his clerk, full of love and protestation. Like the general post-man, he is the master of every secret, without knowing anything of the mystery himself. He has all our private affairs in his keeping, but never betrays them. He reads by instinct the character of a letter without opening it. He witnesses— nay, is a party to,-every intrigue, every emotion, every passion of life; but is so discreet and silent that he never alludes to the one or the other. He is equally the bearer of the request and the reply; causes the wound, and cures it; carries at the same time consolation and despair, and is accompanied in his progress by a clamorous concert of complaints, prayers, praises, and entreaties; which, however, do not in the slightest degree disturb his equanimity.

The postman is also a man of general information. He knows precisely our standing in society, according as we are rich or poor, celebrated or unknown, wise or otherwise. He finds all this imaged in our correspondence; and in the same clear mirror beholds reflected the extent of our influence, and the character of our understanding, until we are laid bare to his observation in all our native beauty or deformity. Such is the drama of life-so interesting, so striking, so profound,-which is played by the postman every day; and afterwards complicated and renewed at each succeeding turn of duty.

We may finish the portrait of the postman in a few words. He is active and merry; for he has no time to be idle and sad. He is honest and trustworthy; for his reputation, and that of his department, depend upon these qualities. He is civil and obliging; for the new year must needs come round, with its gratuities and rewards; and, to crown all, he is faithful and true; for, though entrusted, as we have seen, with all the secrets of the town, he never dreams of divulging them.

A LITTLE LOT FOR MR. GEORGE ROBINS!

BY JOYCE JOCUND.

HAIL, Mr. Robins! first of auctioneers!
No envious jeers,
No rival's clamour,

Can render impotent your potent hammer;
Which knocks down

"CLOUD-CAPT TOWERS"

(As quickly as your arguments do fallacies);
"THE SOLEMN TEMPLES, AND THE GORGEOUS PALACES!"
Nought can withstand
Your practised hand,

From peasant's cottages, to
"FAIRY BOWERS,"

When needy folk expectant heirs are ridding
Of" GOOD ESTATES."

Oh! it is sweet the while
To mark your smile,

And watch your keen eye looking out for bidding!
"HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN"

Might seek to purchase such
"A SYLVAN SCENE"
As you describe, with pen of
WIZARD'S TOUCH,"

Transforming in a trice

Desolate tracts into

"A PERFECT PARADISE !"

With all your landscapes picturesquely showing "MEANDERING STREAMS,"

Through green vales flowing

And "LOTS" of WATER MILLS, for ever" going!
O'erhung by

"A MAJESTIC WOOD,"

In shadows dark;
Something of a
"BLACK FOREST"
Neighbourhood;

A sort of
"MUNGO PARK!"

Country ones, and town,

But well "puffed up," to be as well "knocked down"?
And though most cleverly you carney

The world with tempting offers, such as these,
Friend Robins, don't you think now that your trees
Remind one vastly of

"THE GROVES OF BLARNEY?"

BABIOGRAPHY:

BEING A DISSERTATION UPON BABY-MONSTERS.

"Et oris parvalorum," &c.

I AM inclined to believe that the next generation will be distinguished above all that have preceded it, by an extraordinary developement of intellectual energy arising from the introduction of infant schools into England. I happen at the present time to be acquainted (in a very limited circle) with at least a hundred juvenile Crichtons and infant prodigies, who promise to adorn almost every station in life,-the church, the senate, and the bar,-the court, the camp, and the counting-house. I have in my mind's eye at this present writing an embryo Lord Chancellor just breeched,-a bluff little Wellington staggering about in a go-cart, and an indubitable Byron just put into the "as in præsenti." It is astonishing that Southey has not noticed this remarkable feature of the age in discussing the "Prospects of Society," or Bulwer in discoursing of the "Intellectual Spirit of the Times." When I consider the present state of infant education, I have little doubt that, when the rising generation shall have "pushed us from our stools," delighted audiences will listen to lisping lectures on political economy, weep over the pathos of pigmy Macreadys, and laugh at liliputian Listons. In our nurseries, "Tom Thumb" will give way to Bacon's Essays, and "Blue Beard" be superseded by Jeremy Bentham; the hoy. den, who is now ignominiously employed in licking chalk and craunching slate-pencil, will be transformed into a Joanna Baillie, a Jamieson, or a Martineau: wringing the heart with tragic fiction, delighting with graceful and delicate criticism, or puzzling with essays on population.

I have been led into these reflections from having lately had an opportunity of observing the habits, tempers, and talents of three or four of these baby-monsters in a single family, and who, to my immortal honour, call me by the endearing name of uncle. I am a middle-aged man, of a reserved and somewhat nervous temperament, scrupulously regular in my habits, and critically neat in my apparel. I am exceedingly fond of children, when one is secured from the violence of their affectionate playfulness by an able-bodied nursemaid; though I must confess I should prefer them if they could be exhibited in a glass case, like the beautiful insects in the British Museum.

It was during the last winter that I was invited to spend a few days with a married sister in the country, who has for many years been in the habit of presenting annually to her "adoring" husband one or more of the "little responsibilities" of which I am about to discourse. On entering the drawing-room, I found my sister lying on the sofa, (for she had just been making one of her annual presentations,) surrounded by her young and interesting family. I had a fine opportunity of observing the animal beauty of their persons, from the various postures and attitudes in which they were displayed. Some were climbing the backs of chairs, some were tumbling and "spread-eagling" on the floor, and others were exhibiting (as my