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"Oh! you must then!" comes a regular their exercises and enjoyments because he volley of flexible persuasion. You must! is reduced to one leg, and they are erect Do! It is the nicest thing you can possi- on two; but help him to a leap into that bly imagine! I am longing for the winter! I other element, and he is superior to them hope we shall have the frost very severe!" all. His heart must beat high when he She is in the water again-seeing a feels his recovered strength. Humiliated good opportunity for a dive-before any upon the shore, he is a king when he is rejoinder can come; and then, because her amidst the surge and freedom of the water; lips are turning blue, and her teeth are and is it not cheering to all of us to think chattering, she condescends to come in. an art exists that the maimed can follow, One more exhibition, though, before she and that is the same exuberant pleasure to disappears. She can do nothing, of course, them that it is to others who are whole? without as near an approach to a bevy of The thought was happiness to us, at any attendants round her as circumstances af- rate, who heard the laughter of this dozen ford, and she beckons to the bath-woman of merry girls; and the consolation will ento come and bind up her hair. There is a dure till we can recall no longer the picture picturesque way of managing this that is an of their graceful movements, and the sound additional attraction she has no intention of their lively plash. of doing without, and she stands with the air of knowing there is something coming that shall make her irresistible indeed. The good woman places a towel low down across her forehead à l'orientale, goes behind her, draws the wide ends of the towel tight, twists them into a tail, gives this a twirl, and secures the end of it firmly with a pin. The girl is Eastern now. A Zuleika, a light of the harem, an Ayesha; and she is well aware of it, and walks consciously to her little closet, and gives a languid look at us as legacy, and then reluctantly shuts the door.

From The Gentleman's Magazine.

ON SOME PLEASANT BOOKS. No matter to what century they belong, to what period of our literary history, that grand Augustan age of Anne, or the brilliant eighteenth century, our theme is pleasant books, - those pleasant books which most of us know, or ought to know. They belong to all periods: we class them not in our thoughts with this or that time; they are our dear familiar friends.

The action of swimming is very pretty, Welcome, grave Knight of Mancha! Doré seen thus clearly as it is in this level quiet hath done thee justice; fuller justice than bath. It is very droll, too. The nearer he hath done to Dante or the Bible. Etchy it imitates the action of the frog, the easier headings to chapters, sketchy tail-pieces, full it is and the more fleet. One young wo- of life and spirit and quaint humour. And man (a solid, sturdy person, in her walking thine own portrait and Sancho's, most worclothes) moves all her limbs in such har- thy knight, no magic mirror could reflect ye mony she is full of grace; every muscle of more truly. But this edition is for highdays her body must be brought into use, as she and holidays, to be glanced at in drawingdraws her hands and heels in, and then nim-rooms with albums, admired over coffee, bly thrusts them out. She is frog entire. and trifled with during small talk. Turn A rather uncomplimentary verdict, she might we to that petit thumbed record of thy wonthink this. It is not meant so. It is written for unhesitating praise; and, assuredly, the more Master Frog's movements are imitated, the sooner will man or woman learn to swim. And persons need not have all their limbs, either, to acquire the art. The gallant Kennington cricketers, who, minus each an arm, or minus each a leg, play a yearly match on the antigeometric oval, could swim to the same perfection as men who have suffered no such amputation. We have been told, indeed, of an uniped swimming-master; an adept at everything; able to teach swimming in every branch. He unscrews his cork-leg before getting into the bath, standing there upon the brink of it a cripple, a fainéant among active men, a lameter who must be left out of all

derful exploits, dear, kind, old foolish warrior! And here thou art, ensconced cheek by jowl with Pepys, quaint old gossip Pepys, who finished his last notes just as the first daily newspaper in London, the Daily Courant, began to build up journalistic history. When will some industrious writer, who can afford to wait for the reward of “a grateful posterity," tell the story of England, during the newspaper period, from those diurnal, weekly, and monthly records? What a mine of illustrations of characters and customs, of local and general laws, of public opinion, of habits, of travel, still lies unworked in those old journals. Macaulay turned over some of the treasures, so did Froude; but what hundreds of files still remain undisturbed in old bookshelves and

they'd taken up the tombstones, to be out of the cows' way, and leaned them against the hedges. I climbed in, and ate my bread and butter, and then I went over John's Green and Cook's Fields, and cut across the Butt Road and Maldon Road, and got to Lexden across the fields behind the hos pital. It's queer how I remember all them places—just as if I was pegging over them now. I had another long rest at Lexden Springs. A ladies' school went by whilst I was sittin' by the half-moon pond at the top, and one of the young ladies said, Poor little object,' and give me a Bath bun out of her muff, and another on 'em give me a penny with a harp on it. But I shall never get done if I go on at this rate, sir. Hows'ever, it's still rainin'.

of the lads on the quay were sad prigs, and time. There was a barrack-field with great they've put me up to steal rope, and copper tarry palings, and this burial-ground, where nails, and things, and slip down into the cabins to prig prog; but if my earthly father didn't look after me, my Heavenly Father did, and, I'm thankful to say, I never was a thief- though a boy's hungry belly is a sore tempter, sir. Perhaps, if I'd have had the use of my pins as they had, I might ha' done it- if so, I thank God for makin' me a cripple - but I hope not. I used to fancy that my mother was a-watchin' of me. Try to be of some good, Bob,' I used to hear her say, and, as well as such a poor little critter could, I made up my mind that I would try. Anyhow, however, I couldn't stand home any longer. I must be off somewhere to fend the best I could for myself. I'd sense enough to guess that father 'ud bring me back if I hung anywheres about Colchester. I wanted to be off to The machine-man took me up at the London. I'd heard that all sorts o' folks milestone, and I came up to London, bumpcould get work there. Not as I thought in' in a sack on the top o' Colchester nathat it was paved with gold -- children - tives. He gave me something to eat on the poor folks' kids, anyhow- ain't green road, and next mornin' he dropped me at enough for that. I had talked about Lon- an early coffee-house in the Mile-En' Road, don sometimes to a man who drove a fish- and give me a shilling, and said Good-bye, machine - it was long before the Eastern Bob; luck go with ye;' and ever since then, Counties' was thought of, the times I'm sir, I thank God, I've been able to earn my speakin' of. Well, Bob,' says he one day, own living-'cept when I've been laid up you couldn't be worse off there than you in hospital, and that's about ten times in are here, and if you can manage to hobble forty years. They're good Christian places out, quite unbeknown to your father, mind those hospitals, when you're once inside; for I shouldn't like him to fancy that I'd and the doctors, and the nurses, and the any hand in it to the third milestone on ladies sisters, they call 'em - there the London road, I'll take you up to-morrow weren't any o' them when I used to be laid evening. I went to bid poor mother good- up first- are as kind as kind can be. The bye that night-her grave somehow makes doctors speak a bit brisk now and then, and me think that Colchester's my home down the nurses make you mind 'em; but then to this very day, though I've never set foot think what a lot they've got to look after! in it since and next mornin', as soon as and the ladies are always so gentle, bless I'd seen father off in his lighter polin' down 'em! It's a pity, though, that the porters the river to Wivenhoc, I slipped back and and such like should be so bumptious: they packed up a few of my clothes that he might have, you'd think, more feeling for hadn't pawned, and my Bible-leaves, and a poor folk. Of course, you understand, sir, Mavor's Spelling book my mother used to I'd rather pay a doctor, if I could; but then learn me out of, in a brown Holland linen- I can't, and besides, how could I keep a bag of hers, and began to hippety-hoppet nurse? So when I'm bad, I go to a kind down Hythe Hill. I went a roundabout gentleman I know, and he always manages way to throw father off the scent. Where to get me an order somewhere or other. I are you goin', Bob?' says a woman. For a walk,' says I, and I shall be hungry before I come back.' She looks hard at me, but then she says, 'Poor little chap,' and goes in and cuts me a slice of bread and butter. I went along the river till I got to the New Quay, but then I turned up by the distillery, and so worked round into the Military Road. I was precious tired by the time I got to the Old Soldier's BurialGround. They've got a camp at Colchester again now, but there were no soldiers in my

declare to you, sir, I've been downright happy in hospital when I've been gettin' a bit well again. So clean and quiet, no bad smells, and no bad language, and time to think good thoughts-it's like a week o' Sundays-very different from the Sundays here, sir. It was in Guy's sir, that poor mother's words first really come home to me. Just before I was laid up, I'd been getting cocky-sacrificin' unto my net, and buran incense to my drag. I'd been thinking that, cripple as I was, I'd managed to get y

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livin', and keep myself respectable, and pick up a bit of book-learnin' about beasts and birds, and flowers, and mechanics, and such-like, better than some big fellows who could make a mouthful of me. It was real good for me to be laid on the flat o' my back that time it took the nonsense out of me. I was lying in my bed one night, feelin' very small, when all of a sudden I thought of poor mother lying on her bed, and what she'd said to me, Try to be of some good, Bob. And, thinks I, if you'd been the fine feller you fancied yerself, after all, wasn't you only workin' for yerself? If you was to die to-night, who'd be worse off but yerself? I'd given up saying my prayers and going to church for a bit, but I said a prayer that night, and made up my mind that, if I ever got about again, God helpin' me, I'd try to do somebody besides myself some good. But what good could a chap like me do to anybody, I thought again. However, the first Sunday I was out, I went to church the one that stands back in the Blackfriars Road - and the sermon was just as if the parson knew what I was thinking. It was about the cup of cold water, you know, sir. Thinks I, it's hard if I can't give that, and I've tried since to do the little I can that way, and I was never so happy before. How folks can make such a merit of works, I can't make out. It's precious little anybody can do, and then for the very littlest thing you do you get such a lot of pleasure that it seems somehow as if you was only shamming to be kind to get somethin' for yerself throwin' away a sprat to catch a salmon like.

"But I haven't told you how I've got my living! That's true, sir, and really I don't see that there's much to tell. I've only done what everybody that hasn't got tin's forced to do, if he doesn't want to starve, or to steal, or turn cadger, or go into the workus. I've been at the toy-making off and on for about five year now. The pay's light, but so's the work, so far as strength goes, and that suits me now, for I'm gettin' shaky. It's a pretty kind of work, too, I reckon. There ain't much room for taste, it's true, but it wants a little bit of gumption sometimes to manage the strings and things. Anyhow, I like it, and try to make 'em the best I can. It's nice somehow to think that I'm makin' playthings for poor folk's kids that can't get anything better. I've got queer fancies sometimes, sir. I wonder whether Christ, when he was a carpenter, ever made anything out of the chips for the little uns that peeped into the shop. There's no sin in fancyin' that, is there, sir? He was so fond of children that I can't help

thinkin' he'd ha' done anything that was right to please 'em.

What did I do before? Bless your heart, sir, I've been a Jack of all trades, 'cept a navvy, and a coalheaver, and such like. I used to see a good bit of coalheavers once, though. My second master went about in the Pool selling hot beer to the sailors. We was run down in a fog one day, and the poor old man was drowned. They hooked me out on to a steamer, and put me ashore at Greenwich. I couldn't help crying a bit, for I'd lost all except my Bible leaves and the clothes I stood in. So the mate pitched me an old broom, and told me to go and fight for a crossing. I got one without fightin', however, on Maze Hill and made a pretty good thing of it; but I used to lodge in Mill Lane - by Deptford Broadway, you know, sir—and one night the tramps cleaned me out. My first place was to clean boots and knives at the coffeehouse where the machine-man put me down. I've sold watercresses, and walnuts, apd larkturfs, and gr'un'sel, and such-like; but I never took much to those out-door things they didn't seem respectable. I thought I was getting up in the world - I was about thirteen then-when an old fellow who kept a second-hand bookshop in the Goswell Road hired me to sit inside and watch the books. He didn't give me much wages, but I got lots to eat, and a good bit of reading too on the sly. I'm afraid now it wasn't quite right; but I couldn't help it when I'd got the chance, and, after all, he never lost anything by me. Only one man ever tried it on. He whipped a book off the shelf, and was walkin' away pretty brisk, but I hopped after him a bit faster. You haven't paid for the book, sir,' says I. What book, boy?' says he. The book you've got in your pocket, sir,' says I. He puts in his hand and pulls it out, and then he says, 'Why, so I have what strange absence o' mind!' and gives it to me in a kind of maze like. P'r'aps, after all, he wasn't a thief, though I thought so then, and the looks of the thing were against him. One sees so many strange things as one gets older that we ain't so ready to condemn folks for the bad looks of things. Leastways it's been so with me, and it's nicer than being so mighty sharp that one can't believe one's own mother. Charity thinketh no evil. If we'd got a little more of that, and there wasn't no evil to be thought about neither, what a nice world this would be, sir! But that's foolish talk -as if we could manage matters better than He does. Well, sir, since I got that billet at the bookseller's I've always managed to

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tarry palings, and this burial-ground, where they'd taken up the tombstones, to be out of the cows' way, and leaned them against the hedges. I climbed in, and ate my bread and butter, and then I went over John's Green and Cook's Fields, and cut across the Butt Road and Maldon Road, and got to Lexden across the fields behind the hospital. It's queer how I remember all them places—just as if I was pegging over them now. I had another long rest at Lexden Springs. A ladies' school went by whilst I was sittin' by the half-moon pond at the top, and one of the young ladies said, Poor little object,' and give me a Bath bun out of her muff, and another on 'em give me a penny with a harp on it. But I shall never get done if I go on at this rate, sir. Hows'ever, it's still rainin'.

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of the lads on the quay were sad prigs, and time. There was a barrack-field with great they've put me up to steal rope, and copper nails, and things, and slip down into the cabins to prig prog; but if my earthly father didn't look after me, my Heavenly Father did, and, I'm thankful to say, I never was a thief- though a boy's hungry belly is a sore tempter, sir. Perhaps, if I'd have had the use of my pins as they had, I might ha' done it if so, I thank God for makin' me a cripple but I hope not. I used to fancy that my mother was a-watchin' of me. Try to be of some good, Bob,' I used to hear her say, and, as well as such a poor little critter could, I made up my mind that I would try. Anyhow, however, I couldn't stand home any longer. I must be off somewhere to fend the best I could for myself. I'd sense enough to guess that father 'ud bring me back if I hung anywheres about Colchester. I wanted to be off to "The machine-man took me up at the London. I'd heard that all sorts o' folks milestone, and I came up to London, bumpcould get work there. Not as I thought in' in a sack on the top o' Colchester nathat it was paved with gold--children- tives. He gave me something to eat on the poor folks' kids, anyhow- ain't green road, and next mornin' he dropped me at enough for that. I had talked about Lon- an early coffee-house in the Mile-En' Road, don sometimes to a man who drove a fish- and give me a shilling, and said Good-bye, machine- it was long before the Eastern Bob; luck go with ye;' and ever since then, Counties' was thought of, the times I'm sir, I thank God, I've been able to earn my speakin' of. Well, Bob,' says he one day, own living-'cept when I've been laid up you couldn't be worse off there than you in hospital, and that's about ten times in are here, and if you can manage to hobble forty years. They're good Christian places out, quite unbeknown to your father, mind those hospitals, when you're once inside; - for I shouldn't like him to fancy that I'd and the doctors, and the nurses, and the any hand in it-to the third milestone on ladies sisters, they call 'em - there the London road, I'll take you up to-morrow weren't any o' them when I used to be laid evening. I went to bid poor mother good- up first- are as kind as kind can be. The bye that night her grave somehow makes doctors speak a bit brisk now and then, and me think that Colchester's my home down the nurses make you mind 'em; but then to this very day, though I've never set foot think what a lot they've got to look after! in it since and next mornin', as soon as and the ladies are always so gentle, bless I'd seen father off in his lighter polin' down 'em! It's a pity, though, that the porters the river to Wivenhoe, I slipped back and and such like should be so bumptious: they packed up a few of my clothes that he might have, you'd think, more feeling for hadn't pawned, and my Bible-leaves, and a poor folk. Of course, you understand, sir. Mavor's Spelling book my mother used to I'd rather pay a doctor, if I could; but then learn me out of, in a brown Holland linen- I can't, and besides, how could I keep a bag of hers, and began to bippety-hoppet nurse? So when I'm bad, I go to a kind down Hythe Hill. I went a roundabout gentleman I know, and he always manages way to throw father off the scent. Where to get me an order somewhere or other. I are you goin', Bob?' says a woman. For declare to you, sir, I've been downright a walk, says I, and I shall be hungry be- happy in hospital when I've been gettin' a fore I come back.' She looks hard at me, bit well again. So clean and quiet, no bad but then she says, 'Poor little chap,' and smells, and no bad language, and time to goes in and cuts me a slice of bread and think good thoughts-it's like a week o' butter. I went along the river till I got to Sundays very different from the Sundays the New Quay, but then I turned up by the here, sir. It was in Guy's sir, that poor distillery, and so worked round into the mother's words first really come home to me. Military Road. I was precious tired by Just before I was laid up, I'd been getting the time I got to the Old Soldier's Burial- cocky-sacrificin' unto my net, and burnin' Ground. They've got a camp at Colchester incense to my drag. I'd been thinking that, again now, but there were no soldiers in my cripple as I was, I'd managed to get my

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livin', and keep myself respectable, and pick up a bit of book-learnin' about beasts and birds, and flowers, and mechanics, and such-like, better than some big fellows who could make a mouthful of me. It was real good for me to be laid on the flat o' my back that time it took the nonsense out of me. I was lying in my bed one night, feelin' very small, when all of a sudden I thought of poor mother lying on her bed, and what she'd said to me, Try to be of some good, Bob.' And, thinks I, if you'd been the fine feller you fancied yerself, after all, wasn't you only workin' for yerself? If you was to die to-night, who'd be worse off but yerself? I'd given up saying my prayers and going to church for a bit, but I said a prayer that night, and made up my mind that, if I ever got about again, God helpin' me, I'd try to do somebody besides myself some good. But what good could a chap like me do to anybody, I thought again. However, the first Sunday I was out, I went to church the one that stands back in the Blackfriars Road and the sermon was just as if the parson knew what I was thinking. It was about the cup of cold water, you know, sir. Thinks I, it's hard if I can't give that, and I've tried since to do the little I can that way, and I was never so happy before. How folks can make such a merit of works, I can't make out. It's precious little anybody can do, and then for the very littlest thing you do you get such a lot of pleasure that it seems somehow as if you was only shamming to be kind to get somethin' for yerself throwin' away a sprat to catch a salmon like.

But I haven't told you how I've got my living! That's true, sir, and really I don't see that there's much to tell. I've only done what everybody that hasn't got tin's forced to do, if he doesn't want to starve, or to steal, or turn cadger, or go into the workus. I've been at the toy-making off and on for about five year now. The pay's light, but so's the work, so far as strength goes, and that suits me now, for I'm gettin' shaky. It's a pretty kind of work, too, I reckon. There ain't much room for taste, it's true, but it wants a little bit of gumption sometimes to manage the strings and things. Anyhow, I like it, and try to make 'em the best I can. It's nice somehow to think that I'm makin' playthings for poor folk's kids that can't get anything better. I've got queer fancies sometimes, sir. I wonder whether Christ, when he was a carpenter, ever made anything out of the chips for the little uns that peeped into the shop. There's no sin in fancyin' that, is there, sir? He was so fond of children that I can't help

thinkin' he'd ha' done anything that was right to please 'em.

66

What did I do before? Bless your heart, sir, I've been a Jack of all trades, 'cept a navvy, and a coalheaver, and such like. I used to see a good bit of coalheavers once, though. My second master went about in the Pool selling hot beer to the sailors. We was run down in a fog one day, and the poor old man was drowned. They hooked me out on to a steamer, and put me ashore at Greenwich. I couldn't help crying a bit, for I'd lost all except my Bible leaves and the clothes I stood in. So the mate pitched me an old broom, and told me to go and fight for a crossing. I got one without fightin', however, on Maze Hill and made a pretty good thing of it; but I used to lodge in Mill Lane - by Deptford Broadway, you know, sir-and one night the tramps cleaned me out. My first place was to clean boots and knives at the coffeehouse where the machine-man put me down. I've sold watercresses, and walnuts, apd larkturfs, and gr'un'sel, and such-like; but I never took much to those out-door things

- they didn't seem respectable. I thought I was getting up in the world- I was about thirteen then when an old fellow who kept a second-hand bookshop in the Goswell Road hired me to sit inside and watch the books. He didn't give me much wages, but I got lots to eat, and a good bit of reading too on the sly. I'm afraid now it wasn't quite right; but I couldn't help it when I'd got the chance, and, after all, he never lost anything by me. Only one man ever tried it on. He whipped a book off the shelf, and was walkin' away pretty brisk, but I hopped after him a bit faster. • You haven't paid for the book, sir,' says I. What book, boy?' says he. 'The book you've got in your pocket, sir,' says I. He puts in his hand and pulls it out, and then he says, Why, so I have what strange absence o' mind!' and gives it to me in a kind of maze like. P'r'aps, after all, he wasn't a thief, though I thought so then, and the looks of the thing were against him. One sees so many strange things as one gets older that we ain't so ready to condemn folks for the bad looks of things. Leastways it's been so with me, and it's nicer than being so mighty sharp that one can't believe one's own mother. Charity thinketh no evil. If we'd got a little more of that, and there wasn't no evil to be thought about neither, what a nice world this would be, sir! But that's foolish talk

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as if we could manage matters better than He does. Well, sir, since I got that billet at the bookseller's I've always managed to

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