"There, Ben-there-there's a letter worth the postage, eh?" shouted the excited landlord.

"If it beant ower much trouble, maister, I'd loike to hae it read ower again. I doant exzackly understand it, you see."

"Ay, to be sure-to be sure. I'll read it over again."

"It's a rum joke that, maister," said Ben, scratching his head, after the letter had been read a second time.

"I think it's a very lucky one."

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Ay, ay, it's not amiss. But dang it I shall niver knaw whot to mak o' t' money."

"You'll find plenty o' use for it, there's no fear o' that."

"But what's to be done wi' these 'torny chaps? I'se not used wi' transacting bisness wi' syke as them, and I'd rayther not go to Lunnon about it."

"I'll go myself, Ben. I'll put things right for you, for, mayhap, I've had a little more experience in these consarns than you."

"That'll be the varry thing, zur; you can manage it better than me, no doot."

The matter was accordingly so arranged, and Mr. Poppinjay's patron, after as little delay as possible, was on his road to London.

About half a mile from the village of Rumbledike, upon a slight elevation, and surrounded by pleasant grounds, stands a large house, the property of Meredith Walkeringham, Esq.; it is called "Starch Hall." Walkeringham, by the way, accumulated his money by manufacturing starch-hence "Starch Hall." There is an air of exactness and uniformity about the place that appears odd and remarkable to a casual observer. There does not appear to be a pebble on the carriage-drive out of its place, nor a blade of grass on the lawn the hundredth part of an inch longer than it should be. Every hedge seems to have been cut by a mathematician, and every tree, you would suppose, had been restricted to a certain development. The house is of a quadrangular form, but there are no wings-no projections to destroy the harmony of the building. The entrance is in the centre, and has an equal number of windows on each side. The window-blinds are drawn down every morning to exactly the same extent, and when one is drawn up, the others are drawn up likewise. The gardens behind the house present the same regularitythe beds and walks look as if they had been laid out with a compass and measured off with a three-feet rule. Everything seems to say, "Stiffstiff-very formal;" and the dog in the yard, you would imagine, only barks on stated occasions.

The news of Mr. Poppinjay's good fortune spread rapidly through the village, and amongst those that called upon him at his residence to congratulate him, was Meredith Walkeringham, Esq., of "Starch Hall."

"Mr. Poppinjay," said Mr. Walkeringham, "allow me to express the unbounded pleasure which Mrs. Walkeringham and myself have experienced at the news of your accession to fortune by the death of your much-lamented uncle in Jamaica-one of the West India islands.” "Thank'ee, zur-thank'ee."

"I trust," pursued Mr. Walkeringham, "that this large fortune-→→ this vast amount of wealth-will determine you to move in that sphere to which it will necessarily give you access, and cause you to forsake that society to which you have hitherto been accustomed."

“We'll see aboot that, squire; we'll see aboot that."

"Remember, Poppinjay, I speak to you as a friend and as a coun

sellor."

"Sartinly, zur-sartinly."

"Have you resolved how you shall dispose of this wealth ?" "Not yet."

"The safest place in which you can invest it is the British funds. They afford you a moderate interest and good security; and our constitution being happily founded on a firm basis, they are not liable to any serious fluctuations."

"I'll think aboot it, Mr. Walkeringham."

"Reflect seriously upon the advice I have given you, Poppinjay; for the present, farewell.”

In a short time the affairs of the deceased Mr. Poppinjay were wound up, and when all expenses against the estate had been paid, there remained a sum of between five and six thousand pounds. A very large portion of this money was lodged in the funds, and the interest thereof yielded Mr. Poppinjay a very pretty income. Of course he looked upon it as an enormous revenue, but the world will not think him a modern Croesus for all that. This sudden transition worked, you may be sure, a considerable change in him. His new position, nevertheless, had disadvantages, and many of them annoyed him sorely. When it was suggested to him that he should wear clothes befitting his new station in life, he was not a little angry, I warrant you; and it was only by the earnest solicitation of Mr. Walkeringham that he could be prevailed upon to relinquish his long brown coat, striped waistcoat, &c., and don a suit of spick and span black clothes, made according to the most approved fashion. He certainly found himself very uncomfortable the first time he put them on. He was always diving into the wrong places for the pockets, and searching for buttons where there were none.

The high standing of Mr. Walkeringham prevented that gentleman from associating with any of the inhabitants of Rumbledike, there being no family in the village to whom he considered he would be justified in extending the hand of friendship, or of admitting, on terms of equality, within the walls of his mansion. He had laid it down as an axiom, that consistency of conduct should, in all the relations of life, be strictly regarded. Nothing could have appeared to him more irregular-more out of order, than for a person of affluence to hold communication with one in a humbler walk of life.

The sudden influx of wealth upon Mr. Poppinjay induced Mr. Walkeringham to court the friendship of that gentleman. About this time he had visitors at "Starch Hall," and he deemed the present to be a favourable opportunity to invite Poppinjay to spend a day with him there. Besides, the wealth of Poppinjay would add to his own importance, and if that individual kept his own counsel, he would no doubt be taken for a plain country gentleman.

It will be unnecessary to inform the reader that honest Poppinjay, whatever other qualifications he might possess, was not very well adapted for what is called genteel society. The etiquette of the stable was not exactly similar to that of the drawing-room; and the company that he was in the habit of meeting at the "Pigeon and Snipe" rather differed from that he was introduced to at "Starch Hall."

Mrs. Walkeringham, in her manner, was like her husband-stiff and punctilious. The visitors who were partaking of the hospitality of "Starch Hall" were a Mr. and Mrs. Bumpshot. Bumpshot was a tall, meagre-looking man, with a bald head. He was a great naturalist and conchologist. He would spend weeks in exploring the sea-shore at

and if he found a shell of a peculiar conformation, he was so credulous that he would instantly cheat himself into the belief that he had made a discovery, and would write to a hundred societies and conchologists upon the subject, and explain to them wherein the shell he had found differed from all other shells he had either seen or heard of. On the day of Poppinjay's visit he and Mr. Walkeringham had gone out to explore some of the neighbouring places, whilst the former gentleman had been left behind as a companion for the ladies.

"Upon my word, Mr. Walkeringham," said Mrs. Walkeringham, on the return of the exploring party, "I don't think your appearance is improved by your walk."

"I declare they have been wading through the mud purposely," Mrs. Bumpshot observed.

we

"Ah! our boots are certainly not very clean," said Bumpshot; had better put them off, Walkeringham, and allow them to be cleaned." "I think it would be well to allow them to go through the process of cleansing," replied Walkeringham.

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Dang it, give 'em to me!" exclaimed Mr. Poppinjay, springing from his seat; "I'll soon polish 'em up for you, and mak 'em bright eneaf to see yoursels in 'em."

"Mr. Poppinjay," said Bumpshot, in the greatest surprise-for he was not acquainted with that person's history," we could not think of such a thing-not for a moment; could we, Mr. Walkeringham?"

"Indisputably not," was the reply.

"Mr. Poppinjay," said Mr. Walkeringham, after a pause, 66 you are perfectly oblivious of your present condition in society. I beg that you will reflect before you make such a proposition as that again, and remember that you are my friend and guest-not my servant.”

"I forgot that, zur."

We will not enumerate the mistakes that Mr. Poppinjay committed during dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Walkeringham were excessively annoyed by his blunders, and had some difficulty to restrain their anger. After dinner, it was proposed that the whole of the party, with the exception of Mr. Bumpshot (he being anxious to search in a hedge in the vicinity for some particular specimen of the snail), should drive a few miles into the country. This proposal emanated from Mr. Walkeringham; for, besides the pleasure of the drive, he was desirous of parading his equipage. "Poppinjay," said Mr. Walkeringham, "probably you will have the goodness to give instructions to John to get the carriage ready?" "Ay, sure."

"A very honest man that," observed Mr. Walkeringham, as soon as Poppinjay had left the room. "A very praiseworthy character indeed, sir.

"I have no doubt of it," said Bumpshot.

"Is he in any business?" inquired Mrs. Bumpshot.

"Oh! dear no," replied Mrs. Walkeringham. "He is an independent person-a plain country gentleman."

Some further conversation ensued, and afterwards Walkeringham and Bumpshot left the room, and proceeded to the coach-house to see if the carriage were ready. When they arrived there, both gentlemen were overwhelmed with astonishment to discover Poppinjay, with his coat off and a mop in his hand, that he was applying to one of the wheels of the vehicle, which, being elevated upon a trestle, revolved at an indescribable speed, spirting in its revolutions a quantity of water upon Poppinjay and every surrounding object. John was engaged in carrying water for the purpose described.

"That's reeght, my lad," said Poppinjay; "bring some mair watter— there's nothing loike a good cleaning-it'll do it a soight o'good. Dang it, I doant think it's had syke a cleaning sin it wor belt."

"Hollo, Mr. Poppinjay!" exclaimed Mr. Walkeringham, very angry to find his guest so employed; "why, you are performing the duty of a drudge, sir-a common menial."

"I thought I would help t' lad a bit," said Poppinjay. “You see, zur," he continued, turning to Bumpshot, "it's a soort o' bisness I've sarved my time to, and I can't leave it off."

"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Bumpshot, very desirous of knowing what Poppinjay had really been.

"Well, make haste," said Walkeringham, anxious to prevent any further disclosures.

Not many minutes elapsed before everything was in readiness; and Mrs. Walkeringham and Mrs. Bumpshot being already dressed, they were conducted to the carriage by Mr. Walkeringham, who sat behind with them, whilst Poppinjay got upon the box beside John.

The most frequented road was taken, Mr. Walkeringham preferring a conspicuous thoroughfare to one of obscurity. His object obviously was that his equipage should be seen, and that its appearance should convey to the minds of spectators an adequate notion of his wealth and importance. His ambition might have been fully gratified, but for an occasional contretemps, which materially tended to lessen his dignity. Mr. Poppinjay having acquaintances in all directions, met a number of these during their drive, who were engaged in the humble task of driving coal-waggons, drays, &c., and to whom he bowed and waved his hand with the utmost cordiality. These little incidents detracted greatly from the consequence that Mr. Walkeringham was desirous of assuming, and showed him in a light savouring a little, it must be confessed, of the ridiculous.

On the return of the party, a conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Walkeringham was held; and it was determined to relinquish the society of Mr. Poppinjay in future, as his former habits did not render him a very eligible member of their circle of acquaintance. Neither party, it may safely be stated, sustained any loss by this determination.

Poppinjay, although a rich man, was in reality less happy than before. He had no employment suited to his mind, and time hung heavily on his hands. One day he was standing in the village, looking at a party of haymakers, when a gentleman on horseback rode past him, and presently alighted. Poppinjay mechanically ran up to him, touched his hat, and desired to know if he might hold his horse. The gentleman was naturally surprised to see a person of Poppinjay's respectable appearance

desirous of so humble an occupation, but supposing he was really in indigent circumstances, consented.

Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Poppinjay, when presence of mind recurred to him. "I doant know what made me tak this job in hand. I want none on his brass. I'se p'r'aps as weel off as he is."

Poppinjay earned sixpence by the job, and took it forthwith to a poor woman of his acquaintance.

He became in time so tired of idleness that he returned to the service of his ci-devant governor-the jolly landlord of the Pigeon and Snipebut accepting of no remuneration for his labour.

Dear reader! if you should ever pass through Rumbledike, pay a visit to the Pigeon and Snipe. The entertainment is good, and I have no doubt you will hear this identical story from the lips of Ben Poppinjay himself. He is still living-still there still as honest, frank, and straightforward as ever he was in his life.

SORCERY AND MAGIC.*

MR. WRIGHT has taken a clear and sound view of his subject. The belief in sorcery, he says, was founded on the equally extensive creed, that, besides our own visible existence, we live in an invisible world of spiritual beings, by which our actions, and even our thoughts, are often guided, and which have a certain degree of power over the elements, and over the ordinary course of organic life. This is the doctrine propounded by Mrs. Crowe, and which we have also advocated on several occasions.

But the mysterious manifestations of such spirituality, to which vulgarity and coarseness were imparted by ignorance and superstition, were made, more especially in the darkness of the middle ages, powerful instruments of political intrigue, the means of gratifying private revenge, and the groundwork for the most abominable acts of extortion. "The deficiency of civilisation in the middle ages," Mr. Mackinnon justly remarks, "is never more evident than in the conduct pursued towards unhappy persons accused of sorcery and witchcraft during that period."

Mr. Wright has, in a prefatory letter to Lord Londesborough, at once clearly exposed, and vigorously denounced and stigmatised, the true origin of these disgraceful inhuman persecutions:

It appears to me that these are features on which sometimes at least we ought to dwell, and which it has been too much the fashion with historical writers to conceal from view, and I am not sure if we are not at this moment suffering from the results of that concealment. It is true that if, in tracing the history of declining Rome, we pass gently over the crimes of a Caligula or a Commodus, if we show the bright side of the history of the middle ages and hide their viciousness and brutality, if we tell the story of Romanism without its arrogance, its persecutions, and its massacres, or if we attempt to trace the progress of society from

Narratives of Sorcery and Magic, from the most Authentic Sources. By Thomas Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A., &c. 2 vols. Richard Bentley.