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No. 3-NEW SERIES.]

Every purchaser of this number of

MONSIEUR TOBY.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 20.

[TWOPENCE.

"THE FLY,” is entitled to an exquisitely-executed Lithographic PRINT of "The Beau WINDOW," which is presented gratuitously.—[A similar print with every number.]

"UBI MEL, IBI MUSCA.”

(For the FLY.)
(Continued from p. 6.)

One remarkable thing was, that little Toby
had no sea qualms. He swallowed a small
glass of eau-de vie, made a wry face for fun,
or for novelty's sake, and entered without
ceremony on his functions as a cabin-boy.
Fortune smiled upon him even upon the "lap
of ocean." From the first day that he in-
haled the sea breeze, he might be called the
ocean's child: from that moment he was a
cabin-boy.
Smile not, gentle reader, at
the notion. Is it nothing to be installed
cabin-boy, at ten years of age, in a ship of
the line, equipped against the English, and
that too without going through the interme-
diate grades, that most miserable state of
Salamander amongst the rest, which so much
shocked my lady friends in times past? The
same day four stripes of the boatswain's cat
corrected the first and last offence that Toby
was ever guilty of. Here was the entire of
his naval education. All this, it may be sup-
posed, set to sleep his musical predilection.
The duties on hand took the lead of those of
the head and heart. Still he looked out
for his chance; and when it did arrive, with
a sagacity beyond his years, he judged his
time, and took the ball at the hop.

One day, all the officers happening to be upon deck, and Toby alone in the cabin, -the temptation was strong, I must allow,and the desire that was now awakened at the sight of a flute and violin laying on the table, with the recollections of his early boyhood and composition all rushing to his mind at once, were irresistible; so placing his trembling hands on both the instruments, he in turn breathed forth some melodious and thril

was silent.

ling sounds from the one, while from the
other he made the strings to crack again
under his inspired brow. The musical sounds
had vibrated to the deck. All are astonished
at the unlooked-for concert. The captain
descended to the cabin, and, surprised to find
nobody there but little Toby, demanded of
him who were the authors of this concord of
sweet sounds. The cabin-boy blushed, and
At last, a taste of the boatswain's
cat being suggested by the captain, it opened
his mouth; to use his own naive and familiar
expression. From this time the Governor,
much delighted with the musical skill he had
exhibited, allowed him to pass several hours
a-day at his favourite study, and shortly
after made him king of the ship boys.
In his new calling Toby had the satisfaction
to make his subjects dance, with nearly all
the crew besides, by sound of his violin or
flute ad libitum. Thus for seven years did he
govern, at the same time and with the same
vigour, the cabin-boys and the music of the
Alerte. Toby saw Pondicherry, the Isle of
Bourbon, Mozambique, and Madagascar. If
you pressed him hard, he would tell you that
his violin, and above all his French horn, was
more gain to him than the conquest of a
whole race of black niggers, in those out-
landish parts. At length, one fine day, the
Alerte sailed away, taking the route for
France. The voyage was prosperous. Like
a wise and grateful man, Toby had stored in
his wisdom-box certain mythological scraps,
and these he had set to flute music; amongst
others a hymn, tolerably melodious, to Eolus,
king of the winds. Unhappily, his godship
was not propitious, and the composer's good
intentions availed nothing for the Alerte.
On the point of entering the port de
l'Orient, she was driven on the pier-head,
lost her rudder, injured her bottom, and
finally the poor ship became a wreck. Toby
remained two hours in the sea, and imbibed
John Cunningham, Printer, Crown-court Fleet-street.

""

at leisure sundry gulps of ocean's "neat and extra particular.' He at last owed his safety to a friendly hen-coop, to which, with the enthusiasm of his nature, he most ardently and desperately clung. Happy, thrice happy chicken-coop!

Toby escaped shipwreck only to fall into the overture of a revolution: and what a revolution! Grand Dieu! If he asked where the music of it was to be got, they struck up the Marseillaise. If he spoke about singing, they sang him the Marseillaise. The Marseillaise was in every body's mouth, if not in every one's heart. She sounded the charge to the battalions of the frontier; she was to be heard squeaking in all the streets of Paris, through all the pipes and barrelled organs of that great city. Toby did not easily get over this: all his ideas were confused, and he sighed deeply for his berth on board the good ship Alerte. Happily he owed to experience and his maritime life an in-bred philosophy that no misfortune could disturb. He had a sovereign contempt for all notions non-practical. Like Buonaparte he looked only to facts. He was wholly incapable of any enthusiasm, even in music, unless it was in some improvisation, or before a grand maestro: so neither in politics would he take up a cause unless it was active and well-knit, and then he was at any party's disposal, no matter what. He was like marble in all changes for social compacts; and Louis the Sixteenth, Robespierre, the cinq cents, the Directory, the Consulate, and the Empire received equally the tribute and flourish of the French horn of M. Toby. In a word, like the great Shakspeare, "he was for all time;" musician of the old guard and the new, even when the guard no longer existed. Nevertheless, we must not forget that he has been a musician in all classes, everywhere, and in all places. Music has been the life of his exist[ence: he made it so on shipboard, at the play

house, and in the field of battle. He was in Berlin, at Vienna, Moscow; wherever, in short, the imperial cannon growled. In no part has the music of M. Toby been missing, whether in victory or discomfiture. He has been with the conquerors in all the great capitals of Europe; at the head of our armies his horn has never ceased to blazon forth the notes or clang of victory. If, as a solitary exception, we omit the name of Waterloo, we may over and above add this to the wellearned reputation of our hero. The cold, and the rigorous season which cost us 300,000 soldiers in Russia, was never able to seal up the lips of M. Toby.

We are free to confess that a vast chasm in the life of the now ancient M. Toby remains unfilled up a history, no doubt, containing much incident and anecdote is still left, unsaid, unsung, in story or in song. Frenchman though he was, to the allies he bartered his musical inspiration, his flute, his violin, and his noble horn; in return for which he paid his devoirs to their ale and porter, and without remorse sometimes would he chink the foreign ducats in his waistcoat pockets. Proh pudor! M. Toby. Time speeds on with an eagle's wing. The old man has no longer that sacred flame which once lighted up his soul, and in any other man than Toby would have made his name famous. At one time, mistrustful of himself, he became careless-a free and easy boon companion: more than ever he led a vagabond and artiste mode of life; but often was he heard to say, There was still time to amend this." But, as the poet says

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"Unhappy he who does this aim adjourn, And to to-morrow would the work delay; His lazy morrow will be like to-day:"

so years rolled on, and few were the hours in which might be traced any of those sparks of divine fire that seemed to burn so bright in childhood.

Monsieur Toby, we have already said, followed music in the camp. Peace came, and with it more time and opportunity for its cultivation. The love of music had made him a constant visitor at the theatre. This led to several engagements. He was for twelve

years first horn at the Opera Comique, and for two years held the same appointment at the Italiens. He was in vogue at the Opera Comique during its palmy days, in the time of Elleviou and Martin, when le Magnifique, les deux Jaloux, le Calife de Bagdad, le Prince de Catane, le Tableau parlant, Adolphe and Clara, were in the height of their prosperity, and when the opera critiques of Geoffrey raised to the skies the easy fluency and natural graces of Madame Boulanger. Happy Toby! Now, indeed, the horn to which his robust frame was wont to give force in other days has lost its power. That air of steady gravity and pendant lip, with certain follies and peccadilloes not worth mentioning, all have led to his dismissal; and M. Tafter the expedition to Algiers, finished his life and adventures (naval and military), and by les Folies Dramatiques, and the Luxembourg has also terminated his life of artiste. For him the buffoonery of Robert Macaire

has succeeded the delightful compositions of Martin; the voices of Mesdames Emma or Justine to that of Madame Boulanger. Who knows how long we shall see him at the Luxembourg, or who may say that the last sounds of his bass viol will not expire at the PetitLazary, or at a theatre of the Marionettes? Heaven help him! Long may we see the old musician, so worn by age, and service, and with wounds, leaning and taking rest, his eye half closed upon his instrument; and may the Theatre of the Luxembourg be at once his plain of Waterloo, and his Isle of St. Helena.

To be so raised in thoughts-and still so humble in condition! Alas! poor Toby! F. E.

THE DEAD.

He sleeps! yet how serene! How calm, how tranquil now; As if no care had ever been,

To darken o'er that brow!

He sleeps! and yet no dream

Plays o'er that silenced brain; To light with its fantastic gleam The scenes of life again!

He sleeps! and that fond eye,
Beaming on all so dear;
So bright in grateful ecstacy,
So prone to pity's tear-

Will never break the mystic seal,
So awfully imprest;

Till trump of seraphims reveal
The glory of the blest!

A.

a

Time and Money Compared.—In losing few hours of the morning, we become careless of the rest of the day: it therefore runs So it is with our out, and nothing is done. Change a guinea, which one feels money. to be precious, and we are little regardful of the shillings and pence. No one can estimate the value of time like those whose only fortune it is.

THE RUNAWAY.

FROM AUDUBON'S BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDs.

(Continued from page 7.)

Supper over, the fire was completely extinguished, and a small lighted pine-knot placed in a hollow calabash. Seeing that both the husband and wife were desirous of communicating something to me, I at once and fearlessly desired them to unburden their minds; when the Runaway told me a tale, of which the following is the substance :

About eighteen months before, a planter, residing not very far off, having met with some losses, was obliged to expose his slaves at a public sale. The value of his negroes was well known, and on the appointed day the auctioneer laid them out in small lots, or offered them singly, in the manner which he judged most advantageous to their owner. The Runaway, who was well known as being the most valuable next to his wife, was put up by himself for sale, and brought an immoderate price. For his wife, who came next, and alone, eight hundred dollars were bidden and paid down. Then the children were exposed; and, on account of their breed, brought high prices. The rest of the slaves went off at rates corresponding to their quali fications.

The Runaway chanced to be purchased by the overseer of the plantation; the wife was bought by an individual residing about a hundred miles off, and the children went to different places along the river. The heart of the husband and father failed him under this dire calamity. For a while he pined in deep sorrow under his new master; but having marked down in his memory the names of the different persons who had purchased each dear portion of his family, he feigned illness-if indeed he whose affections had been so grievously blasted could be said to feign it-refrained from food for several days, felt himself disappointed in what he consiand was little regarded by the overseer, who dered a bargain.

The Canadian Massacre. Among the sufferers in the unfortunate civil war was an old Indian chief, called Pocahontas the Second; he had received no less than eighteen flesh wounds, and the surgeons deemed his recovery hopeless. The Indian, however, To provide for five individuals was no undertook his own cure and succeeded. It easy task in those wilds, which, after the first was supposed he had used some vegetable notice was given of the wonderful disappearpreparation obtained from the forest, when ance of this extraordinary family, were daily Mr. Turton gave the particulars as follows:- ransacked by armed planters. Necessity, it "To the Editor of the Montreal Albion. Sir, is said, will bring the wolf from the forest. According to your request I have no objection The Runaway seems to have well understood to state, that the Indian chief, Pocahontas' the maxim, for under night he approached has quite recovered during his stay in Quebec, his first master's plantation, where he had by the use of Holloway's Ointment, which ever been treated with the greatest kindness. has healed the iufferer most effectually. I The house servants knew him too well not am, Sir, your's, &c. A true copy, counter-to aid him to the best of their power, and at signed, Durham.-Quebec, August, 1838. the approach of each morning he returned to

On a stormy night, when the elements raged with all the fury of a hurricane, the poor negro made his escape, and, being well acquainted with all the neighbouring swamps,

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at once made directly for the cane-brake, in the centre of which I found his camp. A few nights afterwards he gained the abode of his wife, and the very next after their meeting he led her away. The children one after another he succeeded in stealing, until at last the whole objects of his love were under his care.

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his camp with an ample supply of provisions. One day, while in search of wild fruits, he found a bear dead before the muzzle of a gun that had been set for the purpose. Both articles he carried to his home. His friends at the plantation managed to supply him with some ammunition, and in damp and cloudy days he first ventured to hunt around his camp. Possessed of courage and activity, he gradually became more careless, and rambled farther in search of game. It was on one of his excursions that I met him, and he assured me that the noise which I made in passing the bayou had caused him to lose the chance of killing a fine deer, although, said he, "my old musket misses fire sadly too often."

The Runaways, after disclosing their secret to me, both rose from their seat, with eyes full of tears. "Good master, for God's sake do something for us and our children," they sobbed forth with one accord. Their little ones lay sound asleep in the fearlessness of their innocence. Who could have heard such a tale without emotion? I promised them my most cordial assistance. They both sat up that night to watch my repose, and I slept close to their urchins, as if on a bed of the softest do wn.

Day broke so fair, so pure, and so gladdening, that I told them such heavenly appearances were ominous of good, and that I scarcely doubted of obtaining their full pardon. I desired them to take their children with them, and promised to accompany them to the plantation of their first master. They gladly obeyed. My Ibises were hung around their camp, and as a memento of my having been there, I notched several trees, after which I bade adieu, perhaps for the last time, to that cane-brake. We soon reached the plantation, the owner of which, with whom I was well acquainted, received me with all the generous kindness of a Louisiana planter. Ere an hour had elapsed, the Runaway and his family were looked upon as his own. He afterwards re-purchased them from their owners, and treated them with his former kindness; so that they were rendered as happy as slaves generally are in that country, and continued to cherish that attachment to each other which had led to their adven

tures.

Since this event happened, it has, I have been informed, been illegal to separate slave families without their consent.

"WILL NOTHING LOVE ME?"

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE REFORMER." My dear reader, did you ever pass across that hospitable tract of land lying between the extreme end of Albemarle-street and Dover-street? If you have ever traversed the broad pavement of Piccadilly which connects these two points, you must have been made fully sensible of the extreme kindness of heart and boundless philanthropy with which the gentlemen in high low boots and low-crowned hats who frequent them are constantly entreating you to go to Brentford, or

Richmond, or Ham, or Twickenham, or any
where, so that you go somewhere-and all
from the highest sentiments of disinterested
generosity.

It so happened that several of these wor-
thies, actuated by these impulses of benevo-
lence, and, of course, wholly incapable of any
such vulgar sentiment as a thought for their
own pecuniary advantage, but solely im-
pressed with the importance and the expedi-
ency of the multifarious passengers going to
some one or other of the places to which they
directed their attention, and kindly giving
them a choice-it so happened, we say, that
several of these worthies, in the ardour of
their philanthropic zeal, jostled, and pushed,
and importuned a certain tall gentleman in a
doubtful black coat, in their endeavours to
persuade him to go to Fulham, or Twicken-
ham, or Brentford.

"Richmond, sir ?-off in one minute."
"No."

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Twickenham, sir?-going in no time." "No, no."

"Going to Brentford, sir?-last buss to-
day-just room for one inside."
No, no, no."

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The tall gentleman in the shabby black coat ejaculated as many "Noes" as might have served a beauty for a twelvemonth, or a minister in office for six weeks. The tender earnestness, however, of the philanthropists who so kindly take their places at the doors of those benevolent institutions which roll along our streets as movable receptacles for the destitute, at last pushed him half way down the steps of that elevated edifice vulgularly known as the White Horse Cellar, and there the gentleman in black saw, whilst he allowed himself a moment's breathing time after the exertions of his negatives and strugglings, an enormous placard, with these words printed in large characters, "New Company's coaches. No fees!" (no fees conspicuously large.) "Bath and Bristol, only one pound twelve shillings inside, eighteen shillings out."

chall-terrace, which, being a story higher, and having a door of still brighter green than any of its neighbours, was considered a place of much estimation by all the inhabitants of the courts, and the crescents, and the lanes, and the streets, in its vicinity.

*** The gentleman in black knocked at the door of this stately tenement, a sort of genteel though rather tremulous knock it was evident that he was rather doubtful of his reception. The summons was answered by a servant girl, whose style of habiliments betokened a sort of graceful disregard to the stiff proprieties of dress; the sound of her slipshod shoes falling musically on the ear at every footfall, her gown having resisted every solicitation to come to an amicable meeting behind, and her hair falling in a fringe of negligent tresses from beneath a cap about large enough to cover the head of an individual just introduced three weeks into the world, but placed on a pericranium of a peculiarly fine size.

"Is Mr. Renchall at home?" said the gentleman in black.

"No," said the dirty servant girl.

The gentleman in black breathed again, but in a moment more he remembered that he ought to be disappointed.

"Do you expect him in soon?" he asked, hoping to hear a repetition of the negative; but just at this juncture the parlour door opened, and a little girl, with her hair platted before and behind into four long tails, two turned up before, and two turned down behind, and all of them tied with pink ribbon, a braided frock slipping half way down her shoulders, and stopping midway in its descent, so as to make a liberal display of a pair of trousers copiously frilled, and terminations of yellow Margate shoes, put her head out of the parlour door, and at the top of a shrill voice announced that "pa would be home directly," and at the same monent was followed by the head of "ma" in a cap measured by her consequence, for it just so far overstepped the dimensions of the door as The gentleman in black read these words to oblige its wearer to incline the head which unconsciously as one who sees, but is not supported it gracefully sideways in her egress cognisant of what he looks upon; and yet the and ingress, and "ma" seeing that the genapparently insulated accident by which he tleman in black was really gentlemanly, and was pushed down these office steps, at the not at the moment discerning the shabbiness hazard of his ankles and the ruffling of his of his coat, asked him to walk into the partemper, proved the key-stone of his destiny.lour with great condescension, and with much The gentleman in black struggled up the suavity assured him that Mr. Renchall would steps, and out of the way of the zealous phi- be in directly. lanthropists who were formerly vulgularly Now, although the gentleman in black had known as cads, but who now, with reference come, we do not know how many miles, to to their powers as guides, are more worthily see the head of the establishment, he would recognised as conductors, and made his way willingly have given the reversion of some up towards a certain neighbourhood, lying, large property, or a year or two of life, or a we believe, somewhere about Pimlico; but joint from his body, or some such trifle of we dare not be too certain of the exact iden- that sort, to have escaped the honour of the tity of the spot, as we are not particularly audience, so that he could have satisfied his proud of our geopraphy. Howbeit, the sub-conscience that he had done every thing to ject of our biography, after sundry turnings obtain it. Howbeit, when the lady of the and twistings, and multiplied inquiries, at mansion invited him to enter, and when five last met with somebody, who knew somebody of the Misses Renchall, in replications of the else, who knew Renchall's terrace; and after same platted hair, and pink bows, and braidobtaining so much of authentic information, ed robes, and flounced trousers, and yellow the gentleman in black at last arrived at the Margate shoes, together with Master Rencitadel itself, being the centre house of Ren-chall, with a pair of eyes that could have

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