for your winter fashions ?-Pray, remind me of it | Greenthwaite, my dear fellow; you are a good to-morrow "When you were last at Derrynane, sir?" said the now half-envious ironmonger, who saw no right that Greenthwaite, so much younger a man in years, and of lower standing in the corporation, had to get, before him, introductions to great men. He recalled the speaker to the question, "But ain't that Croker a danged Tory? Tell us of O'Connell Croker's no go. You would have lots of politics, of course?" "Devil a bit of it ;-hunting, like Nimrods, all the morning, and carousing all night; with interludes of the ladies, waltzing, and Irish melodies, for us young fellows. Dan and the priests generally stuck by the bottle. Rint-day was not come round; and in London and Dublin O'Connell gets a stomachful of political blarney. Besides, we differ in sentiment: Mr O'Connell is a good Catholic-all my eye!" and Jack touched not his eye, but his wry, or as he called it, Italic nose. "I am a devoted Churchman; we, therefore, differ, but amicably." "You are against Repeal, I daresay?" said the ironmonger, earnestly. "Repeal!—you shall hear. The morning I left Darrynane, O'Connell and Prince John-Bruen and I call him the Pretender" "Bruen?—ain't he a Tory that fellow, sir?" said the ironmonger. creature, but-green." The ironmonger chuckled, and Jack went on :-"Daniel don't want feeling I assure you, gentlemen. 'Tis said he is altogether a humbug; now, I don't think it above half; his sentimental vein is not altogether affectation. We had allowed the party to outride us; O'Connell pretending to give his favourite garron Paddy, or Padroon, or something, a breathing, that we might, ere parting, have a private chat. My notion is he wished to win me; but never mind that. When I look on that humble mansion,' said Daniel, on my brave boys cantering before us, think on all that has passed, and gaze on my own lovely green land, that shall yet be 66 Great, glorious, and free, Ay, ay! that's him, sure enough!" cried the excited ironmonger, his eyes radiantly twinkling. "You may know O'Connell any where by that rhyme;" and Jack continued-"When I look out on those sparkling waves,' said Dan, 'yet to bear to our ports the rich commerce of every land; and on the shamrock-clad turf of my own Emerald valleys'-Soh, ho! King Dan," interrupted I, "you old dog, you would have Ireland all your own then!" "Cod, O'Connell must have been 'nation mad," "Bruen! perhaps it was not Bruen. It might said the ironmonger, hitching on his chair, leaning be O'Ferrall, or O'Callaghan, or Fitzmaurice, or his arms on the table, and, on them, the broad, I can't remember half their dem'd Mile- beaming face turned admiringly to the speaker. sian names; and when not absolutely certain, on "Not a bit of it, sir," continued Jack, coolly; points of fact, I am apt to be even superstitious in" instead of flying into a passion, he began somy scruples." lemnly to protest- No, Fitzwagram! let me but see my lovely and beloved country free.' Sheer humbug! “Right, sir, right,” said the earnest ironmonger. "Nothing like stark truth." "Nothing like it, sir. Tell truth and shame the devil. Said I right? An Englishman's maxim. But where was I? O! on the road to Tralee. Emphasis on the last syllable Tralee, Greenthwaite. The Saxons bamboozle Irish names exactly as they do Irish interests. We were at a turn of the road-Halt,' cried Dan, drawing bridle opposite an old dilapidated farmhouse-There, Fitzwagram, my dear fellow,' said he, addressing me, there stands the humble home in which the Liberator was born; and in which my grandmother-blest be the place of her rest!-rared twenty-two childre.' Bless his rich Munster brogue! for it flows from his lips like honey and oiled butter." "A bull! a bull!" shouted Greenthwaite. "How could O'Connell remember the rearing of his grandmother's children?" “Hold your gab, if you please, Dick, and let the gentleman tell out his story," cried the ironmonger, who being a politician, was now really interested. "Nay, if I am to be interrupted?" said the speaker, drawing up statelily. "A myriad of pardons, Mr Fitzwagram; my vivacity ran away with me-never can hold in a joke." "Keep a small check-string over your fancy, . O'Connell ought to have known I was not quite so innocent. I stopped short at once, reined in my animal, and said, with some firmness-for, hang it, I was in earnest,― Mr O'Connell, you are an old man; and I am, though young in years, not quite a greenhorn. Know, then, sir, that in this Repeal humbug I cannot countenance you!" And Mr Henry Adolphus Fitzwagram knitted his brows, looked fierce, and slapped the table, till all the decanters and glass chimed in chorus with the truly British sentiment. "To his face?" whispered the awestruck ironmonger. "To his beard!" and the questioner looked up with an expression of face half-comic, half-sheepish, but so exquisitely ludicrous and John-Bullish, or gullish, while he said "May I believe you, sir?" that Herbert involuntarily smiled. Jack answered the singularly simple question by an awful frown; and the enthusiastic Greenthwaite, fancying his friend insulted, took up the subject. He "Believe! yes, sir, you may believe!" seized his empty glass. "It is thus one man of great soul dares to speak to another . . . . Waiter! Jem Winkin! a bottle of claret, and cha-arge it to me." Thus encouraged, the imaginative Cryppes crowded sail, and told lie upon lie, "thick as the leaves in Vallombrosa." It became tiresome at last. "The scapegrace will waste the whole night: not another ten minutes shall I dally here, if he should hang for it," thought Herbert; and, fortunately, the call for more wine raised the ironmonger, who was a staid family-man, and already much too far beyond good " shop hours." Cryppes seized him by the button. "You must hear how Dan and I parted. I took a firmer tone: There must be truce with the angry boy, O'Connell,' I said. 'Stanley, to be sure, is a sour crab, but a fellow with both pluck and bottom; ay, and of a good old stock, too. like him!'-Now, what do you suppose, gentlemen, Dan answered ?" 66 I But no gentleman durst hazard even a guess of the reply which such audacity must have drawn forth from the insulted "Liberator;" though the ironmonger, coming to his wits, as he surveyed the queer customer" before him, fancied it might have been kicking; and the simple and half tipsy Greenthwaite, gazed intently on those compressed lips, which alone could reveal the mystery, and fancied he had never before seen Fitzwagram so great; not even in Iago, in which he had backed him against the old favourite of the northern public, Mr Belville, and the entire county palatine. A long pause followed, ere Fitzwagram, with a total change of expression, breathed, in a hollow sepulchral whisper, "Why, demn the word, as I am a gentleman!" and Herbert, from his lounge, burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter at the irresistible goose-looks of the astonished surrounding group. Fitzwagram, hearing the sound of laughter, started to his feet, suspecting some peeping, sniggering waiter, behind the sliding doors, and flourishing his sword-cane, exclaiming "A rat! a rat behind the arras! Dead for a ducat!"-he pushed aside the boards, and Herbert was scenically revealed, stretched on his substitute for a chaise longue. Mr Greenthwaite began to bluster; but Jack himself seemed quite taken aback; till Herbert, without moving a limb, coolly said, "When your friends are gone I have a word for you, sir,nay, you don't stir from this;" for Jack moved away, then halted, and changed colour. It was but for an instant. Jack Cryppes, the intrepid, the undaunted, whose distinguishing quality, like that which Hazlitt attributes to his fat namesake, was in all circumstances, "a masterly self-possession," made a speech which told on both sides of the house: -"Mr Charles Herbert-an old chum," he whispered, drawing Greenthwaite aside, "Knows all my family,-intimately;-leave us, pray." "I'll make him!" responded the loyal and enthusiastic Greenthwaite, going off. "Cautious my dear friend. . . . I think you collected the bill just now. I fear I have forgot my purse in changing my stage clothes-a small douceur to Jem might be useful. Oh! a thousand thanks-just five pieces-not a stiver more; and be sure you put me in mind of them to-morrow. By the way, will you and Copper dine with me?” Jack bore a conscience; or rather he was on honour; for he might, at that moment, have had the whole twenty pounds collected to pay the Shakspearean supper. Meanwhile the ironmonger also had learned, or partly guessed, how matters stood with the unfortunate gentleman. His yeoman blood rose, and though he could not approve of a young man's deserting his home, his duties, and his estates, to go about with vagrant players, no one, he swore, should be allowed to lay a hand on Fitzwagram against Fitzwagram's will. He would go to the Mayor-he was almost an alderman himself. He could put in bail-he could issue out a writ of Habeas Corpus ;-no d-d aristocrat should seize O'Connell's friend, Fitzwagram, and force him to be a nobleman, or man of estate, against his inclination. Mr Fitzwagram was highly gratified by these assurances; but he was not afraid. He had been playing truant, he confessed, but he would be forgiven; and his new friends at last agreed, on his entreaty, to leave him; but resolved to take a glass of beer in another room, and be at hand,-Copper, who was a boxer, swearing that no officer of the law should enter the Crown and Mitre that night save over his body! Our two old acquaintances were thus left alone, the sole occupants of that large and now opened dining-room. "A glass of wine, Mr Herbert ?" asked Jack, in a rather uncomfortable tone, and helping himself to Greenthwaite's untouched claret. "I have taken my wine," replied Herbert coldly. "Done the Cumbrian flats!" Jack whispered, putting on his most insinuating comic leer-his John-Wilkes' face; but Herbert, who had often admired that roguish leer, gave this time no token of approbation. 66 "I take it for granted, Mr Cripps "Gad-a-mercy, my dear sir, no surnames in public rooms, I beseech you." "I take it for granted, sir, that you are really going off to America, and by the Liverpool nightcoach. It will be up within the hour." "Perhaps you think I had better?" said Jack, anxiously, looking on an enemy, as he now feared. Heavens and "I feared so,” replied the sympathizing, yet curi-"I rather think I shall—. ous Greenthwaite, "the grand-looking fellow I saw arrive with a lady to-night. Will he peach?-give you up to your friends? What can we do for you, my dear Mr Fitzwagram?" "Nothing, nothing my dear fellow,-yet stay; keep out these dem'd police, or Mayor's beaks, if Herbert has informed on me. Perhaps Jem Winkin might let me off by the back way earth, Mr Herbert, what can a poor sinner in my place do? Had my father bred me a draper, like that little pert Greenthwaite, or got me into holy orders A slight smile, in spite of himself, wreathed Herbert's lip at so preposterous an idea; and on such faint encouragement Jack proceeded— "If you could only figure the degradation and actual misery I have endured since I have been give you one more chance for repentance and amendment of life." exiled from London-cut off from my resources, banished from my friends. . . . There is some fatal disorganization in British society, Mr Herbert :- Jack was somewhat touched. His voice softenthe false position into which men of talents and ed, his eyes moistened, as he watched Herbert acquirements, formed to be the ornaments of so- counting out ten sovereigns, neat ten-for Herbert ciety, are too often forced by untoward circum- no longer told his gold by handfuls-and he said, stances: the false medium, sir, which interposes" Its dem'd hard for a man to amend his life upon between genius and its rewards—...” an empty pocket, Mr Herbert. I am not justify"No nonsense, Cripps.-What cant is this you ing all my youthful follies; and in this lark,have been learning on your travels?-What has this affair in Kent, that she-devil, my sister Polly, this philosophy to do with the villanous, unmanly-fancy her refusing me a guinea in my utmost scheme in which I found you engaged in Kent? By heaven, I can scarce forgive myself for conniving at your escape once already!" "Do you really think so, Mr Herbert? . . . Now, do you know that frolic never struck me in this light before. I would rather have married the little girl myself, than have had such a racket about it—though, after the splendid creatures you have seen, and I have adored "One of them in this house, I suspect," interrupted Herbert. "No fooling, Mr Cripps; believe me, your affairs don't admit of it-even if I had a taste for nonsense. There is a woman here whose presence bodes you no good. Do you remember the beautiful waiter-girl in -'s chophouse, whom you admired some five years since." Hannah White! You don't say so?-then, by Jove, I am sold! But I did not ruin that girl -upon my soul, no, Herbert-Mr Herbert ;-and I offered to get her an engagement at the Surrey. But she was always a mercenary creature-would take no advice, would go to service." "I am not curious," said Herbert, drily; "that woman has seen and recognised you, as I did her." "Cursed ungrateful jade! but what need I say? my own sister has deserted me. The Barkers, sir, have conspired to keep me from London,-a brother's poverty is a stain on their rank and fashion. Polly will not even answer my letters; but by and Mr Cripps looked horridly malignant as he vowed destruction to his ironhearted sister. "If you could but guess what I have endured, Mr Herbert. Yon solemn or conceited asses here to-night, they are absolutely men of refinement, compared with the coarse, brutal, bacon-bolters I have encountered,-rich knaves, who have wives and families, go regularly to meeting, and have their beef and pudding every day, while a man of talents and educationI have, to be sure, seen something of life, the social antipodes of the world, I may say.-But this cursed woman-what do you advise, Mr Herbert ?" need, and her, as I see by the Satirist, dashing away at Epsom in ermine and jewels, like a duchess, with that blackguard Lees. She has behaved like a fiend to the fondest of fathers, and the most affectionate of brothers;-let Barker look to it: she may next play him a trick." "Shame, Cripps-hold your tongue-your own sister! I never before fancied you malicious, with all your faults." "Nor am I-but that woman-all those dem'd women-this unsettled life, it has changed my milk to gall!" 66 Vastly fine, Jack! but to business, that woman will give you up to-morrow to the authorities, as sure as she rises :-there is the pecuniary temptation,—and there is revenge." "Save for the fear of betraying herself," said Cripps, who in his own mind had already run over the charges for and against him, and he continued, "But she will be ready to damn herself to ruin me, and get that wretched fifty pounds ... I must off-Thanks for the loan of the cloak. Oh! really I am ashamed, Mr Herbert. Ten pieces; and I believe there was some trifle between us before. The horn! hist,-softly with the window. God bless you, Herbert! you are a noble, generous fellow, and will die a secretary of state,-I say it. I shall get up slyly behind, and look like a regular trader. Good by; my respectful compliments to your lady. Ah, you are a happy fellow, Herbert! Do, when you go to town, drop in and let the poor old governor and my mother know something of their scapegrace. Let them try, above all, to get me back to London. I shall die out of London." Jack's escape, owing to his own coolness, was managed with great ease: wrapped in Herbert's cloak, and with Herbert's travelling-cap pulled over his brows, he dropped from the window into the street, climbed the coach unseen, and was gone! Herbert cautiously shut the window, lighted his chamber-light, and first bethought himself of what "his lady" must be thinking of his absence. “But I will carry her Jack's compliments;" was his thought, as, with a lightened heart, he ascended the stairs,-Jem Winkin rushing before him with a candle. (To be continued.) LOOKING IN AND LOOKING OUT IN THE WEN. BY A TEMPLAR. "THERE is nothing," says a venerable joke, hereditary in many families, "so like a cat looking out at a window as a cat looking in." He must have been but a skin-deep observer who first invented this smart saying. No one thing in the world differs so much from another as looking out and looking in. Any judge of feline physiognomies, who would take the trouble to observe, instead of merely repeating the remarks of others, could not fail to notice a marked difference between the expression of countenance in a cat looking out of a window and a cat looking in. Suppose for a moment that it is a larder window. The cat looking in sees a chop, or a dish of cream, or a fish; no sensible cat would look out until she had tasted the dainties. We are all either looking in or looking out. The lover looks in, and the husband looks out. The private individual who dabbles in politics looks in, and the member of parliament, or political agent, looks out. The young haunter of the theatre looks in, and the actor looks out. The middy looks in, and the yellow admiral looks out. How different are the in-lookers and the outlookers! How different do the same things appear to them! In the one predominates an idealess anticipation of fine emotions, which must be vastly delightful, but of which he can form no conception. The other is of the "knowing ones:" he has a proud consciousness that he knows this, and can do that. When we look in, we are as in a dream; when we look out, we are-wide awake. The difference between the raptures of the lover and the calm certainty of married bliss, is not greater than that which exists between the feelings of the young dabbler in politics and the old habitué. We do not speak of the difference between the partisan, or follower in the cry, and the statesman, or leader of the pack. They differ in kind; the one is very rarely, if ever, transformed into the other. Our talk is of him who is beginning his career, as all begin it, by shouting and hissing at appropriate times; and of him who, after passing through the various grades of-keeping the door of a sanctum, keeping watch over the sheets of a petition exposed for signature, canvassing a district, having his name put pro forma on a large committee, being drafted into a select committee,-may be considered as having served his time, both as apprentice and journeyman, and commenced a fullblown,-it may be, a trading politician. It is a strange trade that of politician, and yet with many it is undoubtedly a trade. How they other It is a benevolent dispensation of nature that we are allowed, in most cases, opportunities both of looking in and looking out of the window. We are at first on the outside, and are tempted with the appearance of the inside; and then, on getting in, we have an opportunity of looking out. Look-manage to subsist by it; in what scrambling, ing in occasions a restless dissatisfied feeling which skeldering way they contrive to pick up a liveliyet has something pleasing in it; looking out is hood by it, after many years' patient observation, accompanied by a full-fed, tranquil sort of senti- still baffles, we confess, our comprehension. Proment-a satisfactory feeling that we have got what vidence, we are told, feedeth the young ravens, and we wanted, blended with a sort of melancholy we suppose Providence, in like manner, cares for conviction that we have nothing more to look for- these jackdaws: for jackdaws in human form the ward to; which gives a philosophical dash to our far greater proportion of them are. They have, in appearance. general, no regular employment. A commissionership, or sub-commissionership, drops now and then into the mouth of one of them, or a county-canvass affords a parliamentary agency, or something or another turns up just as the last guinea earned by the last job is melting. They must preserve, like Daddy Ratton, a "kind of a conscience," or at least the external appearance of one wise, they could not be trusted, and their occupation would be gone. Nay, to do them justice, most of them do retain a spark of the enthusiasm of their youth,-for men are drawn in to be trading politicians, as men are drawn in to be players, by a sort of misdirected poetical feeling,—amid all the callousness superinduced upon their souls by the tear and wear of their avocation. They are a sort of "honest rogues." They would indulge in the luxury of a conscience, if they could afford it. There is a perpetual struggle going on in their inner man between the jobber and the gentleman. The internal perturbation is revealed in the appearance of the outer man: a sort of sheepish bashful look contends with an affectation of easy self-possession. A trading-politician is rarely seen in perfect repose, although it is his cue to affect it; you see he is not propped up by the entire complacency which wealth or rank alone can give. And yet, equivocal in appearance as they are, and living in a manner from hand to mouth, your trading politicians have their claim to belong to the class of gentlefolks recognised. Nay, on the After all, it is a dangerous experiment getting in—although it cannot be avoided. If we do not make the attempt, we are nevertheless sucked in by the metaphysical whirlpool which we call life; and the first peep behind the scenes of the world is as repulsive as the first peep at the canvass and pasteboard reverse of the scenes on the stage. The other side looked much finer. We wish ourselves back again; but, like Sterne's starling, we "can't get out." There is nothing for it but bustling about and drowning thought with action. We are awakened to the great truth, that activity is happiness, and that wherever we are we must make our own comfort. strength of their precarious means, they have even Tho' constantly on poortith's brink, politician is Looking in and Looking out times innumerable in a day. Now it is to write a letter, now it is to keep an appointment, now it is simply to see who is about. Go at what hour you please, you are sure to see one or two; though it would be impossible to predict, before hand, the precise individuals. Most like are they to meteors, in their unanticipated approach, their rapid transit, their fussy Few of the numerous clubs in the metropolis are zig-zag motion. As it draws on to the hour of without one or more members of this class, and post, a number of them may be generally found conthe political clubs swarm with them. Indeed the gregated in the writing-room dashing off voluminous invention of club-houses has been a great blessing to despatches,-a flock, we would have said, but the the bachelor portion of them: raising them from the term is inapplicable, they are rarely gregarious. rank of led-captains, or mere tavern or green-room They recognise each other by instinct, and form a haunters, to something like that of independent gen- bowing "how-d'ye" acquaintance, seldom an intlemen. There they have always luxurious apart-timacy. It is rare to see them hunt permanently ments, which are their day-home-books, writing in couples. implements, and newspapers-for their annual subscription. Nobody need know where they sleep. The club-house is the best address they can put on their cards. Au reste, they must wear respectable apparel, and they may take a meal at the club whenever they can raise sufficient cash. They are thus not so entirely dependent upon their party or political patron as they used to be, and can make better terms for themselves: we do not merely mean, exact better pay-they can insist upon being treated better than mere menials. The trade of politics, like most unincorporated trades, or what, to borrow a term from Burns, may be called "out-lying" trades, has no regular training or apprenticeship. Each man takes it up at his own hand. It is indeed, like the stage, a profession to which many betake themselves, less because they have a peculiar talent for it, than because they have failed of success in some other, or others, that they have tried. In the provinces, after a man has been six times bankrupt, or a dozen times rejected when candidate for the office of parish schoolmaster, or when he is found incapable of settling steadily to his loom, he is generally set up as editor of a newspaper. In the metropolis, large proportion of these and analogous classes, -briefless barristers, young Oxonians and Cantabs bred to no profession, medical men to whom no sane patient would intrust himself, attorneys endowed with a redundant appetite for sociality, and the like, turn trading-politicians. a The tribe is divided into two great families,-the flash men and the men of business. The former have in general been originally young men of some pretensions to personal appearance, with a knack for making a pretty speech, or turning a smart lampoon, who, in the excitement of some election or popular movement, have been absorbed into the vortex of politics. The latter have most frequently been lawyers who, owing to dulness of parts or want of steady application, have failed in attracting clients, and thus have been fain to take up with those precarious political jobs, for which their wellemployed brethren had no leisure. The former are accustomed to deny their calling, to affect being above their business. The latter are ostentatiously secret, and ploddingly regular even in their idleness. There is, for a specimen of the first class, Mortimer. He has had a university education, and professes to be eating his terms at one of the Inns of Court. He dabbles in the newspapers; that is, he writes for several provincial journals, sometimes gets a chance cast of employment from a London paper, and has been even known to get a contribution accepted by a magazine. It is difficult, from his conversation, to learn whether he is paid for his literary exertions or not; he seems divided between a vanity which prompts him to brag of how much he can make by his pen, and a vanity which prompts him to pretend that he only writes for his own amusement. He affects the elegant scholar and profound thinker; is deep in political economy and the science of human nature; half courts, half patronises eminent merchants and manufacturers, as sources of information or political engines; publishes pamphlets, and looks out for commissionerships. He is divided between his boyish ambition of teaching and leading the world, and his necessities, which make him a political tool. He is too poor and too idle to live without occa A steady club-goer has ample opportunities of studying various individuals of this species. Other members are regular in their movements,-have their stated periods at which, like the planets, they reappear. The banker, who inhabits the West End, visits his club on his way home from the city, after business hours; and during session the Member of Parliament looks in about the same hour, on his way to the House. The bachelor-annuitant is sure to be found of a winter evening in his wont-sional jobs, and too vain to be faithful even to his ed seat at the chimney-corner, with his little table and candle, his book, magazine, or newspaper. The provincial member, when in town, must be sought at meal-times. The married members, if found there at all in the evening, must be sought in the card-room, or among the young devil-maycares in the smoking-room. To meet any of these classes, we must keep their times. But the trading employers. He is a specimen of political high life below stairs; a valet who has a soul above brushing coats, and dreams of a seat in the carriage. He flatters himself that he is only in a state of probation; that the day will come when, from the grub-state of a political tool, he will emerge into the butterfly existence of a parliamentary speaker. He flatters himself that he impresses others with |