stretched out in an arm-chair. Seeing him dressed and apparently collected, everybody inquired of him what he knew of the cry of fire, and what had really happened? To these questions he made answer none; but, rising from his seat, proceeded to take the young quiet gentlemanly man by the hand, and advancing with him in the most serious and solemn manner to the lady before mentioned, he said, in a tone of the most perfect gravity," Permit me, Madam, to present you the soul of sentiment in a white cotton night-cap." I admit that we all burst out laughing. The lady has never forgiven Stephen, nor the white cotton night-cap.

He was staying at Beaconsfield-a town now made classical by its vicinage--and passed for a very steady sort of person; but, unfortunately, opposite to the inn at which he had taken up his quarters,— and he was stopping there only to carry on some greater practical joke, -opposite to the inn there lived a man and his wife in a small house which they solely occupied, but kept no servant; it stood in a sort of row, and nobody was more respectable than this ancient pair. If they had a failing, they had but one, but that Stephen unfortunately discovered.

On certain days this patriarchal pair used to go on a visit to their son and his family at their farm-house some three miles "down the road," where the filial hospitality was largely displayed,-their welcome was warm, their cheer good,-and, (if truth must be told, it must,) when they came home at night, the distance they had to walk was not so much in length as breadth, and when they reached their Lares and Penates upon these occasions it was generally past midnight.

One fatal night they came home-as usual, singing a sort of "John Anderson my Jo, love" kind of duet; for although, as a punster would say, Timmins had never played a base part as a husband, he was extremely fond of singing one when he was a little elevated, they reached the door of their house,—at least, so they thought,-for they mechanically measured ten steps from their neighbour's door, which they were sufficiently sensible to know brought them to their own. Old Mr. Timmins fumbled in his pocket for the key and found it; he then proceeded to fumble for the lock, but he could not find it.

My dear Mrs. T.," said the poor old man, "somebody has run away with the key-hole!"

"My dear Mr. T.," replied his better and bigger half," you have drank too much ale. Who should steal a key-hole? I tell you, Mr. Timmins, you are not near the door. You are right agin the wall."

"Why, do you know, Mrs. T., that's true," said the husband; "but I thought I had gone far enough to find our door, because I saw number four here on the left, and number six here on the right; so, in course, I naturally thought ours, which is number five, must be between,-don't you see, Mrs. T."

The worthy old man then proceeded again to reconnoitre number six, -then number four,-but still there was nothing but wall;-in fact, there was no number five. The poor old people thought themselves suddenly demented, or, to tell the truth, began to believe that they were excessively drunk, indeed, a belief which induced them to bear all the evils and inconveniences of their situation rather than alarm their neighbours ; and there they stood pottering about, poor old Timmins, with his key

in his hand, poking against the wall, hunting still for a key-hole. At length, since necessity has no law, they resolved to call for assistance, -a call which was promptly obeyed, and their neighbours rallied round them with lights and lanterns to ascertain the real cause of their discomfiture; when, lo and behold! it appeared that after dusk the frame of the door had been removed, and the door-way had been regularly, newly, and completely built up with brick-work, at (as it appeared) the expense of my friend Stephen, who, as soon as the real truth was discovered, shouted from his window, where he was attended by two or three friends to see the result-"What - here's a joke!-eh, isn't that fun ?"

For this frolic Master Stephen was made to pay pretty handsomely; and if his uncle had not been a person of some consideration in Buckinghamshire, it would have gone very hard with him. Yet, no sooner was he well out of this scrape, before he contrived to play a trick upon an old lady of the highest respectability, who was returning in a sedanchair from a tea and toast party, in Henley, on a tremendously wet night, when he managed to deluge her completely, by officiating as one of the chairmen, well disguised, and throwing open the top of the vehicle immediately under a leaden gutter, which was pouring forth most copious streams of the falling element. In this position he left her, taking to his heels as hard as he could, while his " partner," the other chairman, not being able to lift his load singly, ran after him, to catch him, and the fair dowager, equally incompetent to shut herself in, was drenched through and through before any aid could be procured.

Well, for ten years I had known Satterthwaite, and I honestly confess I lived in perpetual fear of him.-As has often been justly remarkedthe mind, the temper, the disposition of man, vary so greatly with events, the weather, constitutional disposition, and a thousand other things, that nothing can be more dangerous-perhaps unsafe is a better word-than a practical joker;-besides which, I cannot endure a man who is always happy-always boisterously mirthful-with a sort of selfsatisfied grin upon his countenance, and a cracked trumpet-like voice of self-gratulation, perpetually sounding in one's ears. Let a man be happy -let him be rich-let him be perfectly independent of the world; but do not let us see a great jolly fellow shaking his sides, and chuckling at nothing but his own consciousness that nothing can happen to affect his own comforts or interests till he dies. Satterthwaite was one of these insensible animals; nothing could move his tenderness or pity. He lived to joke—and joke he did to some purpose, as we shall see in the sequel. I was just on the point of quitting the house where we had been staying, where the scene of the cotton night-cap had been so effectively performed, when two or three of us were invited by a friend who, for evident reasons, must be nameless, to have a day's shooting at his place, about twelve miles off. I very gladly accepted the invitation, although the pleasure I anticipated was in no small degree clouded, by finding that Satterthwaite was to be of the party. A practical joker, with a gun in his hand, is not the most agreeable companion in a battue; however, I had said I would go, and go I did.

At the moment we arrived at our friend's house, he had just finished a letter, which he sealed and directed, and laid upon the chimney-piece, Satterthwaite, always meddling and curious, read the address.

May.-VOL. L. NO. CXCVII.

I

"So you have been writing to your old friend Mrs. H. ?" said Stephen.

"Yes," replied G., "I have been long enough acquainted in that family to make free, and have written, to say that as we shall be near her house at the end of our day's shooting, I venture to expect her to give us some dinner. As we shall be fifteen in party, I thought it was as well to let her know of our intentions, or else we might come off with short commons."

G. rang the bell for his servant, and dispatched the letter. Satterthwaite, unperceived, followed the man out of the room—at least unperceived I can scarcely say, for I saw him go out, but thought nothing of it. While we were out shooting, Satterthwaite and I got together on one side of a cover, while the rest of the party were beating the other. "We shall have some fun to-night," said Stephen, with one of his senseless chuckles-"such fun!"

"What's in the wind now ?" said I.

"I gave G.'s man a sovereign not to take the letter you saw him send to our fair friend," said he.

"That was rather incautious," replied I; "for the chances are we shall get no dinner."

"Never mind; anything for a joke," replied Stephen. "I have told the fellow to carry it to the fair lady's husband: he is at this moment nailed to the bench in the town hall, as chairman of the quarter sessions; and the idea that fifteen hungry sportsmen are to be fed and fêted at his house in the evening will drive him half mad: he is as stingy as old Elwes himself; and the very notion of our attack upon his cellar and farm-yard will throw him into such a rage, that the chances are, he will hurry over his business, confound the guilty with the innocent, and play the very deuce in his court, in order to get home in time to stop the plunder."

"This," said I, "does not seem a very amiable proceeding."

Capital joke, rely upon it," said he; "it tells two ways; for, when the company do arrive at his house, his lady will have nothing ready to give them, and then they will be starved after the day's work."

"Yes," said I; "but considering that I, and not only I, but you, yourself, are to be victimized with the rest, it does not strike me to be so comical as you seem to imagine."

"Mum," said Satterthwaite; not quite so silly as that. You see that boy beating, with a bag at his back; in that bag is one of our friend G.'s cold roast fowls, one of his best loaves, and a bottle of his best claret ; abstracted and packed by my man for the purpose. As soon as you feel yourself hungry, down we pop ourselves on a sunny bank, under a convenient hedge, and divide the spoils."

"No," said I; "I must beg to decline the advantage; I shall instantly go to G., and tell him the trick you have played."

"Psha," said Satterthwaite; "you never will enter into a joke." There was something so truly unfeeling; and, I must add, so excessively ungentlemanlike in the proceeding, that I walked away from him, and inquired of the first of our companions whom I met where he thought I could find G. He told me that he had walked off in the direction of the house in question, the immediate neighbourhood of which we were then approaching..

As this was the case, I determined on taking the same course, so that if I missed him, I might myself call at the house, and let the lady into the plot formed against us. At a turn of the road I caught sight of G. walking rapidly forward. I increased my speed, to overtake him, and succeeded in reaching the gate of the court yard at the same moment. He turned not, spoke not; but the moment he entered the gate, he shut it firmly after him, and locked it, without speaking one syllable to me. In an instant I heard a pistol fired, and a voice exclaim, "I have missed you—go on.”

I ran towards a side gate which opened into the yard, but which was also locked, it was of open iron work, and there I saw the horrid sight, the lady's husband still holding a pistol in each hand, advanced upon G., and in a voice I shall never forget, exclaimed, the big tears rolling down his cheeks, and his whole frame convulsed with agony"You love her-yes-and she returns your love ;-take this-defend yourself!" saying which, he offered one of his pistols to his opponent.

The letter which Mr. Satterthwaite had despatched to the husband betrayed a fatal secret which, till then, had remained unsuspected. Mad with revenge and desperation, he rushed from the seat of justice; and before he decided upon the injuries done to society, sped homewards to revenge his own.

In vain I cried for help; in vain called on both their names, at the moment when they stood facing each other. A window of the house was thrown up, and I beheld the cause of all their rage in a state of distraction.

"Eleanor," cried G., "go-go-leave the window; do not be a witness of this dreadful scene.'

"Let her stay," replied the husband; "she is locked into her room; there is no fear of her separating us."

"Kill me-kill me!" cried the wretched woman; "it is 1 alone who ought to die."

I mingled my cries with hers; I endeavoured to scale the wall; the once dear friends had taken their stand,-their pistols were raised, when, driven to distraction by her despair, the unhappy Eleanor sprang from the window, and fell at the feet of her husband-the fall had so deeply injured her, that she could make no effort to stay their hands. At this moment I had reached the summit of the wall, when I saw Satterthwaite and some others of our companions approaching.

"What a noise you are making!" cried he; " you cry out as if the house was burning; why, the people half a mile off will hear you." "Fire, Sir!" said the infuriated husband; "do not add cowardice to crime."

The word given was but too promptly and too well obeyed. The injured husband received the bullet from his friend's pistol in his breast, and fell dead at the side of his wife.

I leaped from the wall, and seizing Satterthwaite by the throat, thrust him against the iron gate, and holding him fast, exclaimed, "See, wretch, behold the result of your last performance!"

G., the miserable survivor, fled to America; and the wretched wife died from poison the day after the duel.

So much for PRACTICAL JOKING!

T. E. H.

BY ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF "REJECTED ADDRESSES."

THE learned and facetious Dr. Airy

Preach'd, 'tother day, a sermon so pathetic,

For the St. George's Penitentiary,

That it seem'd just like giving an emetic To every purse of Christian bowels.

Folks sobb'd and blubber'd

So fast, that handkerchiefs were turn'd to towels;
And the last tear seem'd squeezed from out its cupboard.
The Doctor smiled (within his sleeve)

At these salt tributes to his oratory,

Sure that the Institution would receive A sum redounding to his proper glory, From the soul-melted auditory.

The sermon o'er, he bent his keen Ear to the tinklings of the plate;Alas! they came with pause deliberate "Twixt each donation,

'Like angel visits few and far between," (I like a new quotation,)

But, as he caught the sounds, he thought Each had a golden echo, which in fairness Made full atonement for its rareness,

Ay, ay," soliloquized the preacher,

I told them charity aton'd

For multitudes of sins ;-they've owned
For once the wisdom of their teacher,
And, for their many crimes untold,
Are doing penance with their gold."

With this auriferous impression,
Proud and elate,

He mov'd towards the plate;
But ah! how changed was his expression,
When, 'stead of the expected prize,
Nothing but shillings met his eyes,
And these, alas! too few in number
Each other to encumber.

"Ah!" cried the parson,-"addlepated
Dolts and dunces! when I stated,

'Love of our species is the just

Measure of charity:' they must
Have understood the phrase to be,
Love of our specie.-

Nothing but shillings, shillings still!
A strange vagary!

Now on my credit, if I had my will,
Their Institution's title I would vary,
Into the Twelve-PENNY-tentiary.".