"Oh! that's true enough;-the fact is, I leave all that sort of thing to my foreman, and the stupid fellow neglected to enter it in the billbook; but it's of no consequence, my dear Geoff., I've ten or twelve thousand pounds on my books at this moment," said Ephraim.

"I had rather they were in your banker's iron safe," replied Geoffrey, "but this, though bad enough, may be remedied. I have cash lying by me and can supply you until you get in some of your bills. What I have to draw your attention to, and I am surprised you have not observed it yourself, is the evidently dangerous state of your wife. She called on us with Agnes yesterday, and if she is not in a rapid decline I am mistaken. I never saw a person so altered in my life.

"Oh! you're wrong depend on it," said Ephraim; "she was always delicate, you know-she shuts herself up too much, I must get her out more."

"I hope I am wrong," replied Geoffrey; "but I thought it my duty to mention these things to you. Keep more at home, Ephraim, and look more after your family and your business; give up singing, and that Mr. Humidus Boskey. Excuse my boldness, Ephraim, and command my services at all times."

Thus saying, Geoffrey laid down his knife and the tankard, shook his friend feelingly by the hand, and resumed his green bag.

"Well, Geoffrey, I'll borrow a thousand till I get my bills in," said Ephraim; "for to tell the truth I have overdrawn rather largely at my banker's."

As soon as Geoffrey was gone, Ephraim rang the bell violently. He told the maid who answered it, to send young Geoffrey to him immediately.

Greatly to the surprise of the young man and the whole establishment, the day-book, journal, ledger, cash, and order books were ordered to be carried into the dining-room. Ephraim brooded over the contents of each for some time, surveyed the "silver-plate, cut-glass, and decanters," on his table, cast his eyes over the rich furniture of the room, and shut the books with a deep sigh. He then leant back in his easy-chair, and fell into a profound revery, from which he was aroused by the entrance of Mr. Humidus Boskey, who came into the room singing the chorus of a drinking-song, and suiting the action to the word by pouring out, and tossing off a tumbler of Bourdeaux.

"I am glad you've called," said Ephraim; "I was going to send for you professionally-not for myself, for I never was ill in my life except from a little over-indulgence, which a little brandy and soda-water always remedies. I am told that Mrs. Field is looking ill. You have not been introduced to her, but you will oblige me by allowing me to introduce you now. Observe, I shall not present you as a medical man, but as a private friend. Examine her appearance, and tell me candidly the result of your examination."

Mrs. Field and Agnes were summoned into the dining-room, and introduced to Mr. Humidus, who, being really clever in his profession, and very gentlemanly in his manners in the early part of the day, insinuated himself into the good graces of the ladies, and without her knowing it, managed to put a great many medicinal inquiries to Mrs. Field which gave him an insight into her real bodily ailments.

Sept.-VOL. LX. NO. CCXXXVII.

G

When the ladies retired, Mr. Humidus offering his hand to Ephraim, begged him not to be shocked, but bear the intelligence, which he felt it his duty to communicate, like a man.

Mr. Humidus then in a very feeling manner, for which no one who had seen him in his cups would have given him credit, explained to his friend his reasons for believing that consumption was doing its cruel task rapidly, and that Mrs. Field's days had dwindled to a very short span.

"Then," said Ephraim, "I must request your constant attendance professionally. Call in this evening, but remember-" and Ephraim shook his head negatively, and put his hand to his lips imitatory of a person taking his glass of wine.

"On my honour-yes !" said Humidus, as he left the room.

Ephraim went up stairs to the study, where he found his wife lying on a sofa, and looking weary and exhausted.

"Agnes, my dear, you look ill."

"I am not well, I believe," replied his wife; "but I cannot say what ails me. I feel listless and unwilling to exert myself. My appetite is not very good, and my nights are sleepless. I confine myself and that dear child too much. We must take more exercise."

"I was going to recommend your doing so," said Ephraim; "but as you feel ill, I wish you would consult my friend Mr. Boskey professionally-he is coming here this evening."

"Oh, yes, with great pleasure," replied Mrs. Field; "I like what I have seen of him very much. He is quiet, and gentlemanly in his manners, and seems to be a very considerate and feeling man."

Having gained his point and chatted with his daughter, Ephraim returned to the inspection of his books, and the result was not quite satisfactory. He dined with his wife and child, and stayed at home all the evening, expecting Humidus every minute. At length he arrived, but not until after Mrs. Field had retired to bed.

Ephraim informed him of this fact, and Humidus nodding a "never mind" to his friend, took a chamber-candle, lit it, and walked pretty steadily up stairs.

Mrs. Field, who was expecting him, extended her wrist to him that he might feel her pulse, put out her tongue, and told him all her ailments in succession.

Humidus said nothing, but held tight to the bed post with one hand, while he went through the examination of the pulse with the other; and then making a kind of lurch towards the door, muttered to Ephraim loudly enough to be heard by Agnes and her mother,

"DEAD in less than a week, by jingo!"

(To be continued.)

RHYMES FOR THE TIMES, AND REASON FOR THE SEASON.

'Twas said that even his pigs of lead,
By crossing with some by Midas bred,
Made a perfect mine of his piggery.
And as for cattle, one yearling bull
Was worth all Smithfield-market full
Of the Golden Bulls of Pope Gregory.

The high-bred horses within his stud,
Like human creatures of birth and blood,
Had their Golden Cups and flagons:
And as for the common husbandry nags,
Their noses were tied in money-bags,

When they stopp'd with the carts and waggons.

Moreover, he had a Golden Ass,
Sometimes at stall, and sometimes at grass,

That was worth his own weight in money-
And a golden hive on a Golden Bank
Where golden bees by alchemical prank
Gather'd gold instead of honey.

Gold! and gold! and gold without end!
He had gold to lay by, and gold to spend,
Gold to give, and gold to lend,

And reversions of gold in futuro.

In wealth the family revell'd and roll'd;
Himself and wife and sons so bold;

And his daughters sang to their harps of gold
"O bella eta del' oro!"

Such was the tale of the Kilmansegg Kin,
In golden text on a vellum skin,

Though certain people would wink and grin,

And declare the whole story a parable— That the Ancestor rich, was one Jacob Ghrimes, Who held a long lease, in prosperous times, Of acres, pasture and arable.

That as money makes money his golden bees
Were the five per cents, or which you please,
When his cash was more than plenty-
That the golden cups were racing affairs;
And his daughters, who sang Italian airs,
Had their golden harps of Clementi.

That the Golden Ass, or Golden Bull,
Was English John with his pockets full,
Then at war by land and water:
While beef, and mutton, and other meat,
Were almost as dear as money to eat,
And Farmers reaped Golden Harvests ofw heat
At the Lord knows what per quarter!

HER BIRTH,

What different dooms our birthdays bring!
For instance, one little mannikin thing
Survives to wear many a wrinkle;

While Death forbids another to wake,
And a son that it took nine moons to make,
Expires without even a twinkle!

Into this world we come like ships,

Launch'd from the docks, and stocks, and slips, For fortune fair or fatal;

And one little craft is cast away,

In its very first trip in Babbicome Bay,
While another rides safe at Port Natal.

What different lots our stars accord!
This babe to be hail'd and woo'd as a Lord,
And that to be shunn'd like a leper!
One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn,
Another, like Colchester native, born
To its vinegar, only, and pepper.

One is litter'd under a roof,
Neither wind nor water proof,-

That's the prose of Love in a Cottage

A puny, naked, shivering wretch,

The whole of whose birthright would not fetch, Though Robins himself drew up the sketch, The bid of "a mess of pottage."

Born of Fortunatus's kin,
Another comes tenderly usher'd in

To a prospect all bright and burnish'd:

No tenant he, for life's back slums

He comes to the world as a gentleman comes
To a lodging ready furnish'd.

And the other sex-the tender-the fair-
What wide reverses of fate are there!
Whilst Margaret, charm'd by the Bulbul rare,

In a garden of Gul reposes

Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street, Till-think of that, who find life so sweet!She hates the smell of roses!

Not so with the infant Kilmansegg!
She was not born to steal or beg,
Or gather cresses in ditches;
To plait the straw or bind the shoe,
Or sit all day to hem and sew,
As females must, and not a few-

To fill their insides with stitches!

She was not doom'd for bread to eat

To be put to her hands as well as her feet-
To carry home linen from mangles-

Or heavy-hearted, and weary-limb'd,
To dance on a rope in a jacket trimm'd
With as many blows as spangles.

She was one of those who by Fortune's boon
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon