we have not been rich-the Essayists, whose themes are drawn from social subjects, sporting lightly between literature and manners. And this kind of composition is extremely difficult in itself, requiring intellectual combinations rarely found. The volumes prefaced by this slight memoir deserve a place in every collection of belles lettres, and form most agreeable and characteristic illustrations of our manners and our age. They possess what is seldom found in light reading, the charm that comes from bequeathing pleasurable impressions. They are suffused in the sweetness of the author's disposition; they shun all painful views of life, all acerbity in observation, all gall in their gentle sarcasms. Added to this, they contain not a thought, not a line, from which the most anxious parent would guard his child. They may be read with safety by the most simple, and yet they contain enough of truth and character to interest the most reflective."

Such an authority will serve to recommend these Sketches from Life, we hope, to many a library. Of the essays themselves, it is hardly necessary to select specimens. There is not one that can't be read with pleasure; they are often wise, and always witty and kindly. Let us dip into the volume, and select one at random. Here is one which relates to that class, which is ranked somehow as last in the literary profession, and is known under the famous name of—

"The Penny-a-Liner.

He

'feelings of the injured husband may be more easily conceived than described.' If he requires that phrase twice in the same narrative, he consents to vary it by saying, that that they may be imagined, but cannot be depicted.' In reporting an incident illustrative of the fatal effects of taking prussic acid, he states that the 'vital spark is extinct,' and that not the smallest hopes are entertained of the unfortunate gentleman's recovery. A lady's bag is barbarously stolen from her arm by a monster in the human form.' A thunder-storm is described as having 'visited' the metropolis, and the memory of the oldest inhabitant furnishes no parallel to the ravages of the electric fluid.' A new actress' surpasses the most sanguine expectations' of the public, and exhibits talents that have seldom been equalled, never excelled.' A new book is not simply published, it emanates from the press.' On the demise of a person of eminence, it is confidently averred that he had a hand' open as day to melting charity,' and that, take him for all in all, we ne'er shall look upon his like again. Two objects not immediately connected are sure to be 'far as the poles asunder;' although they are very easily brought together and reconciled in the reader's mind by the convenience of the phrase as it were,' which is an especial favourite, and constantly in request. He is a great admirer of amplitude of title, for palpable reasons; as when he reports, that Yesterday the Right Honourable Lord John Russell, M.P., his Majesty's Secretary of State for the Home Department, dined with,' &c. He is wonderfully expert in the measurement of bailstones, and in the calculation of the number of panes of glass which they demolish in their descent. He is acquainted with the exact circumference of every gooseberry that emulates the plenitude of a pumpkin; and can at all times detect a phenomenon in every private family, by simply reckoning up the united ages of its various members. But in the discharge of these useful duties, for the edification and amusement of the public, he employs, in the general course of things, but one set of phrases. If a fire can be rendered more picturesque by designating it the devouring element,' the devouring element rages in the description to the end of the chapter. Once a bit always a hit; a good thing remains good for ever; a happy epithet is felicitous to the last. The only variation of style that he can be prevailed upon to attempt, he introduces in his quotations. To these he often gives an entirely new aspect, and occasionally, by accident, he improves upon the originals. Of this, the following may stand as a specimen :—

"The penny-a-liner, like Pope, is known by his style.' His fine Roman hand once seen, may be sworn to by the most cursory observer. But though in this one respect of identity resembling Pope, he bears not in any other the least likeness to author dead or living. He has no brother, and is like no brother, in literature. Such as he was, he is. He disdains to accommodate his manner to the ever-altering taste of the times. refuses to bow down to the popular idol, innovation. He has a style, and he sticks to it. He scorns to depart from it, to gratify the thirst for novelty. He even thinks that it improves with use, and that his pet phrases acquire a finer point and additional emphasis upon every fresh application. Thus, in relating the last fashionable occurrence, how a noble family has been plunged into consternation and sorrow by the elopement of Lady Prudentia a month after marriage, he informs you, as though the phrase itself carried conviction to the heart, that the

THE COMMON LODGING-HOUSE.

or in a hammock. If he be the penny-a-night lodger, he will have no softer resting-place than the floor. This common lodging-house business is a thriving trade; very little capital is required to carry it on. An old house will do in any back street or filthy lane; indeed, the more wretched the neighbourhood the better. Old bedsteads and bed-clothes of the coarsest description, with a few forms and a table for the kitchen, are nearly all that is required for the concern. The front room, or what is usually termed the parlour, is generally fitted up into a shop; or, when this is not the case, there is always some accommodating neighbour at hand who has for sale bacon, butter, cheese, bread, tea, coffee, sugar, tobacco, potatoes, red and salt herrings, smuggled liquors, and table beer. Some add the savoury profession of the cook to

that of the huckster, and dish up a little roast and boiled beef, mutton, pork, vegetables, &c. The whole of these viands, the reader may be assured, are of very moderate quality. They are retailed to the lodgers at profitable prices and in the smallest saleable quantities, so that for the trifling sum of one penny the poor epicure may gratify his palate with a taste of beef, mutton, and other luxuries. Very little credit is given in those places, and that only to those who are well known; they who do not happen to possess this advantage are often compelled to take the handkerchiefs from their necks, the coats and even the shirts off their backs, and to give them to the cautious housekeeper, before they can procure a night's lodging or a morsel of food. Indeed, in the country it is a common thing, when a traveller (which is the appellation by which the alms-seeking gentry designate themselves) seeks for a night's lodging, for the landlord to refuse admittance unless the applicant carry a bundle, which is looked upon as a kind of guarantee that he may be trusted should he not have the "desirable" in his pocket.

It may naturally be supposed, that where there are such small outlays and such large returns good round sums must be produced; indeed, there are few who commence this kind of business but earn for themselves a speedy independency. Many whom I could mention have accumulated such enormous fortunes by the encouragement of vagrancy, that they are now the proprietors of valuable houses, in one or other of which they reside, while they continue to conduct their original establishments in the rest. The servants that are kept in such houses are generally male, men being considered better adapted to preserve peace and quietIt is customary with lodgers who have any thing of value to deposit it with the landlord, and, in most cases, it is returned with safety. There are some whose character stands so high for honesty, that twenty pounds and upwards may be intrusted to them; while with others it would be best to trust nothing, for they are thieves and robbers, and often join with ruffians to get up a row during the night in

ness than women.

order to plunder their lodgers. It is not to be supposed that in such establishments the laws of decency, as they concern the sexes, are much observed; and they are universally filthy. But enough of this. Let us rather enter at once amongst those strange scenes, and endeavour to give the reader a correct view of one of them.

It was on a Saturday afternoon that I put myself in order, and had just reached St. George's, in the Borough, as the clock struck five. Opposite to that sacred edifice, and at the end of a narrow, dirty street leading into the main one, were standing some halfdozen fellows in flannel-jackets and other vestments, indicating that the class to which they belonged was that of labourers. On one side of this group sat an old woman with fruit, and on the other a middle-aged

female, with that true Hibernian fea

ture-the scowl, and retailing commodities of a similar description. As I looked for the name I could just discern on the wall, in small letters, THE MINT. Proceeding along the street, oysters, green-groceries, and huckstery goods, lined the doors and windows of a few dark, low-roofed

shops on each side of the way, set off by that very necessary convenience, a gutter, which contributed to carry off the superabundant moisture as it crept between oyster-shells, turnip-tops, and various other matters. Women and children might be seen sitting or gossiping on the sills, -a sure sign of a low neighbourhood. The open door of a licensed victualler was not long in making its appearance; nor was it without a neighbour, another retailer of malt ;-both pretty well filled with comers-in and goers-out. The bustle, such as it was, now ceased, and the street widened a little, presenting a number of old furniture and petty chandlers'

shops. Here all was dull, dirty, and quiet. A stout, bucanier-like fellow, in a tight, light-coloured worstedshirt and canvass-trousers, was com

ing crouching along with his bare feet, followed by a man upon crutches, both walking steadily in the direction of Barclay and Perkins. A singular-looking house next arrested our attention, which was painted red, with a large board raised to the cen

tre, and daubed with the same colour, upon which were written, in large white letters," The Travellers' Rest, No. 18. Stephenson. The Red House. Good accommodations for Travellers." The parlour, or low front room, looked as if it had been a shop, having two large bow-windows, one of which was nearly closed with shutters, and the other partly so. Three or four half-naked, squalidlooking wretches were leaning against the entrance. I gave an involuntary shudder, for the place smelled of bones and rags, and all about the door had the stench of rottenness. "Does Mrs. Belch live here?" I inquired.

"No, higher up," was the answer. "Thank God!" I mentally ejaculated, and moved on; and higher up, sure enough. stood another group of ragged gentry, whiling away their time with the sweets of Virginia, and quietly inhaling the evening air.

On one side of these men was a shop, to which I was directed by a nod. There was nothing peculiar that I could perceive about this place. It was a small chandler's shop, with two windows. In the one were placed a few eatables for show, and the other was screened off by a scanty curtain. On entering, the shop assumed a more marked-like character. One half was

was any lack of eatables that were worth eating. On a shelf or two in the centre of the shop were a few choice pieces of ham, a half-side of bacon, rolls of butter that might have graced the Mansion House for breakfast, with half and quarter cheeses from the best cheese counties in the kingdom, not forgetting that very necessary relish for a cadger's breakfast, a red herring. And all were temptingly arranged for those who might be pleased to term themselves lucky (namely, gents who depend upon chance, and find a purse or a flat thrown unexpectedly in their way). By this time the landlady had made her appearance, and was favouring me with so penetrating a glance that it convinced me she was a practical reader of that index of the mind, the face. After the usual inquiries and answers, an elderly female was desired to shew me down stairs. I was accordingly ushered through the parlour, a small room behind the shop, most curiously furnished. The walls were literally lined with pictures, for the most part small oil paintings. Two, however, were exceptions, being full-sized portraits. One represented the late John Belch, arrayed in a fashion which Nature certainly never intended him to put on, for he looked as if he had just bludgeoned a gentleman and then dressed himself in his clothes; the other was, of course, designed for his spouse, and a real dowdy it was, neither true nor flattering. The mantelpiece was loaded with superb shells and other marine specimens. Two old-fashioned corner cupboards, with their doors thrown open, fronted each other by the fire, displaying a rich store of china. A comfortable carpet the hearth, was spread upon the floor; too, had its rug. Chairs and tables were crowded together, evincing that the owner was more solicitous for a show of abundance than good taste. "Now here," thought I,"must be the room where the artist, half gentleman and whole vagabond, creeps in of a morning to blarney the good hostess about gentility and all that ; where poor Jack, after squandering away his all, offers his last relic from the South Seas to be allowed to stay till he gets another ship; where the honest trader from Bordeaux, with his red nightcap and

partitioned, apparently for private use; and the other left open for business, as if the owner had already accumulated so much as to be quite indifferent to trade, and only kept a few articles to pass away the time, or accommodate some old, particular customers. That which was set apart for traffic exhibited the cadging-shop to perfection. Quartern loaves cut into pennyworths (Poverty being a keen bargainer), and piled one upon the other; penny and halfpennyworths of tea, coffee, sugar, and tobacco, were all packed in paper, and lying in separate heaps; a large dish filled with the cuttings of rancid bacon, another with pieces of cheese, and a third with the scrapings of butter, were placed upon the counter; and in a corner on the floor were standing some half-dozen bottles of that delicious wash called table-beer, their sides all laving again with the foaming liquid. But, notwithstanding those preparations for the starveling, let it not be supposed that there

long boots, saunters in of an evening, well knowing that Mother Belch is a woman who blabs no tales; where she receives all the tittle-tattle of the place,-in short, the sanctum sanctorum of the lady of the den."

range, with a boiler full of water that turned by a cock for the lodgers' use; and in the corner bellied out a huge copper, surrounded by fryingpans, saucepans, and iron pots of various sizes. A table, reaching wellnigh from one end of the kitchen to the other, was supported by five wooden posts rising through the centre to the roof, and placed at equal distances from each other, and upon these were hung common tin lamps, the whole being flanked by forms. At this board the street solicitor might sit and feast without any fear of dirtying the floor with the crumbs that might fall from the table; for that, I remember, was of a good serviccable colour, the materials being of brick.

Through this room I was led into another, in the side of which was a door, into which I was desired to enter, and to take care, for there was a flight of stairs,-a caution that was absolutely necessary, as I found after I had descended with a slide. Then opened a scene out before me that certainly had something of the appearance of a den, namely, a long, low, narrow, under-ground kitchen. At one end were two small windows, each defended by a wire grate, the tops of which, just peeping upon the pavement of the front street, allowed the light to struggle in between walls of immense thickness. The apertures, or window-seats, were deep or wide, and underneath was fixed to the wall a seat. The whole had much the appearance of the inside of the cabin-window of a ship. At the other end was a large trapdoor, which was raised during the day for the benefit of light and air, and which served as an excellent retreat from the police when occasion required, access being had up and down by a broad brick staircase edged with wood. On one side of this professional convenience were two large, flat-bellied water-butts, their tops reaching to the very roof; whilst the drop-dropping below kept the dust in a pretty moist state. Close to these capacious reservoirs was a plate-rack, with a tolerable display of broken dishes. Next to this was a leaden sink, serving the double purpose of scullery and washhandstand; and above, opening by a door, was the dusthole, a place extremely handy for slops and dirt. A seat

I glided in as unobtrusively as possible, and when I state that there were 108 lodgers in the house, it may be supposed there were a few singular characters amongst them. At the bottom of the table, opposite to each other, sat two seamen, one in his shirt sleeves and woollen nightcap, mending a pair of old canvass trousers, and stitching away with his long nautical needle. The other a sunburnt, lounging-looking fellow, in a red flannel shirt and trousers, was resting on his elbows, drawling out a sea tale; and, as I moved by, I could distinctly hear the words, "Philadelphia and New York." At the fire near the window stood a tall, athletic young man, in a velvet jacket with large white ivory buttons, a red velvet waistcoat with two rows of small buttons of the same kind, short, wide trousers, and ankle boots. His waistcoat was loosely buttoned, so as to display part of his shirt, and his black silk handkerchief was slung about his neck in the nautical style. His black hair hung on each side of his face in

here ran along the wall, joining the ringlets, and on his head was slouched

one below the window, and from which nearly to the roof the wall was wainscoted, the top forming a kind of ledge, on part of which was ranged a row of common tin teapots; on the other were wooden lockers, the repositories of the lodgers' broken victuals. Opposite was a door near the window leading into another room, which was usually denominated the parlour. On this side blazed two large

fires, each having a complete kitchen

on one side most conspicuously a broad-brimmed hat. He was evidently a buck in his way, and somewhat of a gallant, too, as, with his elbow on the mantelpiece and one leg lounging over the other, he kept puff, puffing away at a short, black pipe, having a word," as he termed it, with a woman who was frying sausages. Close beside this specimen of low dandyism sat a gigantic, surly

looking ruffian about forty, with a