I HAD been married to Sophia more than fifteen years, and had successively essayed the various toils which await the gentleman of the press-rising by gradation and seniority, according as my superiors on the paper were carried off to Elysium, the Fleet, or Botany Bay (as the case might be), by the several steps of penny-a-liner, paragraph-compounder, and "dreadful-accident"-maker, up to supernumerary theatrical critic, and occasional reporter. Thence I ascended into "the Gallery," and became a permanent parliamentary reporter, in which capacity, as the inevitable consequence of my situation, I imbibed that propensity to exterminate oysters for which you are indebted to the honour of my acquaintance, and also a corresponding and equally extravagant disposition towards drink. Man is the child of circumstances. Wordsworth says, the child is father of the manthat's poetry; I say, circumstances are the fathers and mothers of men-that's fact; and, in the circumstances in which a coal-whipper or parliamentary reporter must necessarily be placed, I defy either the one or the other to avoid a propensity to malt-liquors. Fancy yourself, my good sir, instead of reclining at your ease as you are now, luxuriating over this Magazine, or, what is better still, having some fair girl to read it you-fancy yourself, I say, perched sky-high in a dirty hole of a gallery, whereunto ascendeth clouds of dust, smoke of lamps, and smells of all unsavoury things, with your hat full of "slips," and your pockets full of quill-pens and writing-fluid, inhaling the tallow-smelling atmosphere, deafened with noise and blinded with dust, cocking your ear to catch the faintest echo of the vapid platitudes of that poor creature the Home-Secretary, the mouthings of Hobhouse, the faded flippancy of that

battered-out debauchee Lord Cupid, for hours together-receiver of stolen nonsense, a recorder of lies, a chronicler of small beer; fancy this, not once or twice, but for a lifetime-not your diversion, but your trade-I say, fancy this, and thank God that you only know the sort of life it is through the medium of your imagina. tion!

Between the life of the coal-whipper and that of the parliamentary reporter I see no manner of difference. Both are Irishmen-both shamefully worked and shamefully paid--both imbibing an atmosphere that makes tippling essential to existence-both pass the prime of life and the period of human enjoyment in an unintermitting struggle to obtain the mere necessaries of existence-and both, when the season of age and infirmity arrives, are pushed from their stools by more active labourers, and, lonely and deserted, pass the twilight of existence in poverty and pinches, and finally escape the workhouse in the grave!

I emerged from "the Gallery" as soon as I could, you may be sure, and was appointed a sort of sub-editor, at which I became so expert, that I could do any thing but write the leadingarticles, which were furnished by a gentleman of the bar, hired for that purpose at three guineas per week.

In this sub-editorial capacity I happened to be employed in paying one of our penny-a-liners for two "mysterious occurrences," five" shocking accidents," and an "extraordinary circumstance," which he had concocted (to order) out of his own head, for that day's paper, when, taking a newspaper from his pocket, the penny-aliner, who happened to be a Galway man, directed my attention to the following announcement, headed “Affair of honour." "We (the Castlebar Blazer) have the pleasure to announce

that an affair of honour was decided near the Cross-Guns, on Sunday morning (after last mass), between Mr Bodkin of Bodkin Bog, in this county, and Major Derrydown of the North Mayo militia, in which the former gentleman met with an accident. We understand the slight difference arose about a cover hack, warranted sound by Mr Bodkin to the Major, but which the latter discovered to have been afflicted with a blood spavin; whereupon the Major demanded instant satisfaction, which, after some delay (owing to the Major's bill for the mare having been protested), was acceded to by Mr Bodkin.

"At the third fire, Mr Bodkin fell, shot through the occiput in a workmanlike manner, the Major having received his adversary's ball through both whiskers, cheeks included; where. upon the delighted spectators peaceably dispersed to witness another fight ten miles off. The parties were attended to the ground by Count O'Gilligan of the Holy Roman Empire, and Patrick Taafe, Esq. of Hovel-Taafe, who together published a manifesto, declaring that their principals, surviving and deceased, proved themselves close shots and perfect gentlemen!

"We have the further pleasure to announce, that another affair is expected to come off on Sunday next, at the same hour, between the gentlemen above mentioned, Count O'Gilligan and Patrick Taafe, Esq., who are well-known as not likely to leave the ground without showing pepper.' We understand this difference arises out of a bowl of mutton-broth, and trust the weather may be auspicious." In another part of the paper, there is an expression of the editor's strong suspicion that some evil-minded persons have it in contemplation to institute a prosecution in the Bodkin affair, and he (the editor) warns the grand jury, that, if they attempt to find a bill, they may expect nothing less than to be individually "riddled ;' and further takes the liberty to assure the going judge of assize, that, if he countenances any such low and ungentlemanly proceeding, he may depend upon the editor of the Blazer, that there will be "wigs on the green!"

The intelligence of Mr Bodkin's little "accident" did not in the least

surprise me; indeed the wonder is that he had not met with it twenty years before, which postponement of his inevitable fate I can only account for by supposing that Mr Snake Bodkin's previous antagonists were not such close shots as Major Derrydown of the North Mayo militia. I went on with my professional avocations, thinking little about the matter, and caring less, when a letter in mourning arrived from Pat Connor, the attorney of Ballinasloe, to inform me that Bodkin had deposited with him a testamentary deed, and duly sealed, signed, and delivered, bearing date the day before the date of the duel, and constituting me tenant in life of the demesne of Bodkin Bog, with all the lands, messuages, and tenements thereunto appertaining, for the term of my natural life; and begging me, if I was alive, to come over at once to take possession; and, if I was dead, to let him know by return of post. I forgot to state that there were two conditions described in Pat Connor's letter, as essential to my legal enjoyment of the estate-the first, that I should make a handsome apology to Major Derrydown on behalf of the deceased; and the second, that I should take the name and arms of Bodkin, in preference to my own. After communicating the joyful intelligence to Sophia, I wrote to Pat Connor, to inform him that I was alive and kicking; that I would make the required apology promptly to Major Derrydown; and that I would not only call myself Bodkin, but change my patronymic to Knitting-needle for half the money! Soon after, Sophia packed up our little all, and we found ourselves on our way to the Emerald Isle, happy in anticipated happinesshappy in each other-happy in ourselves! Our amusement on the journey home consisted in building castles in the air, and pulling them down to build castles in the air anew. Sophia was full of little plans of domestic enjoyment, while I meditated no less than the purchase of the Castlebar Blazer, and, instead of hiring a barrister to write the leading articles, commencing Jupiter Tonans on my

own account.

"I'll astonish their weak minds, never fear!" said I, "when I get hold of the Castlebar Blazer."

"I must have a dairy," observed Sophia.