rookery, once alive with the black city which they bore in their arms, were quite deserted. The last rook had sailed away to Butleigh, where a family, which had descended from the Danish sea kings, had long been settled.

Did I say all? No, not quite all; for one solitary bird still lingered-it was the forward young coxcomb, who had met with such summary punishment. Sulky, and out of humour, he would not accompany the flock. Here he stopped watching, day by day, the mournful bustle which accompanied the departure of the Squire's family. And it was not until long after the departure of the flock, that any sign of the coming of the parvenue purchaser was to be seen. One morning, however, there drove up to the back court of the house a jaunty dog-cart, driven by a groom dressed in a very sober and correct manner. The groom descended, and pulled out of the latticed boot, not a couple of sporting dogs, but two deal boxes, and placing them on the ground, disappeared through a little side door, which was opened to him by the old woman set in charge of the house. This little occurrence had not escaped the keen eyes of the young malcontent rook, who had been watching events from a neighbouring tree.

After waiting for some little time, to see if any one was coming, he thought he would just take a nearer inspection of affairs, so with outstretched wings he descended on the great flags of the courtyard; and by degrees, as if quite unintentionally, came close to the two boxes-a little hop, and then he was perched upon the top of one of them. Hop, hop, and his claws sounded upon the hollow box. His little eye seems dazzled by the brass direction plate. But what can it be? He's found out something, that's certain, and there he goes as fast as light towards the Butleigh woods.

And now let us digress for a moment, and consider why all this stir about the Smiths. Would a Smith by any other name smell sweeter? See how all the race answer in the affirmative, by the efforts they make to escape from it. Observe the dif

ferent arts they practise to "sink" it. Let us take "Sidney Smith" as an example (there are so many of the name that we cannot be considered personal). What a delicate alliteration; what an artful melting of one word into another. The seductive Sidney hanging before the hideous Smith-and looking so natural! like the accidental curl so carefully turned over the defective eyeball ;-such a harmony, too, in the look of the letters, it seems like one name. The little green blights in the same manner try to escape detection by clinging to the tender verdant leaves. But the bolder move is to affix some curious or startling Christian name. Thus, for instance, Prometheus Smith fancies he has entirely swamped his proper name. It is the trick of the man with the shocking bad pair of boots, who tried to "carry them off" by wearing a bright Bengal tie. But none of these stratagems will do; no, "not all the perfumes of Arabia will sweeten this little name," and the 1,843 to be found in the "Post-office Directory" must bear their burden as they may. No-there is one way, and only one-but, while we have been digressing, the rookery has grown alive again. The flock has returned, and every householder among them has again taken possession of his tenement. No visions of the coming Smiths now seem to disturb them; their minds are evidently at ease.

What is the meaning of this sudden return? Have the old birds sacrificed their aristocratic notions to the necessities of their position? Does base expediency conquer their imperious pride? Not at all-the rooks are still firm adherents to the divine rights of kings, the advantages of a territorial aristocracy, &c., and remain hearty despisers of mushroom millionaires. But they have been labouring under a little mistake, which the young rook has put right-very slight, indeed; it was only about a letter. To you or to me such a matter would be nothing, but to them it was vital. Well, after all, says the reader, your rooks submit to the dynasty of the Smiths? Yes, but they have found out that they spell their name with a Y!

Doth now thy outward beauties shroud; And now a film doth upwards creep, Cuddling the cheek.

And now a ring,

A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;
Another, and another, mount on high,
Then spread and die.

What pleasure could the old world give,
That ancient, miserable lot,

When thou wert not?

Oh, woe betide,

My oldest, dearest friend hath died!
Died in my hand quite unaware-
Oh, Baccy rare!

ON THE VARIOUS DISPOSITIONS OF RAZORS.

I NEVER looked upon a razor with the eye of a Sheffield manufacturer, as so much cutlery to be trafficked in, and there an end; on the contrary, from my earliest experience, from those young days when every art was exhausted to exasperate my tender sprouting beard, I have ever contemplated its gleaming countenance with a curious and philosophic eye.

I have not quite made up my mind yet that razors have not souls to be saved-that they have appetites and affections I am firmly convinced; with these ideas I look upon them as so many psychological studies. Their different moods and caprices I watch and humour as carefully as I would those of a childfor let me tell you, rough-chinned reader, you can no more coerce the one than the other at all seasons by giving it the strap. To keep them all under proper guidance, I confess is no easy task. Ducrow riding twelve horses at once is nothing to it. I have become so accustomed to them, however, that I like their vices better than the virtues of other people's razors. It takes

some little time to know all their points, and no little tact to work them well. I have a fine flashing blade, by nature upstart and cowardly. When in one of its fits, nothing will move it. Diamond and star dust it scorns. There are more ways of killing a dog than drowning him, says the old adage; and, as I have found, of sharpening a razor than by setting it. A medical student in the floor below (I live in chambers) comes to borrow a "scraper," as he calls it, now and then-what won't medical students borrow?-so when the "crittur" is in his tantrums I hand it over to him for correction. Poor thing, the beaded breath flushes upon its cheek at the sight of his ugly mug and beard stiff as the end hairs of a nail-brush! I hear him take it down stairs and give it a taste of his boot sole; this, with a bullying determined air, quite awes its spirit, and it is always returned to me, as they say in eating-house phraseology, "in capital cut." With such dispositions the strong hand is the only effectual one; with the wretched sullen temper, however, the sole cure is a studied neglect. I have a yellowhandled bilious individual of this class that every now and then turns sulky, and I find the only treatment that leads to a satisfactory result is to throw it by in the toilet-drawer along with the curious mélange there to be found-old buttons, hair pins, broken combs, lace tags, faded knobs of camphor-and let my wife cover it up every morning with her curl papers, like another babe in the wood. A month's total abstinence from it makes it, I find, as sharp-set as could be desired.

I must own, however, to a settled dislike of a black-handled razor with a German silver shield upon it, which seems to glare upon me like an evil eye. I bought it of a Jew boy one day (after reading "Coningsby"), in my enthusiasm for the "pure Caucasian race," and have repented it ever since. I never have a word with Mrs. (and words, good reader, will arise between the best regulated couples) but I see its "air-drawn" form stretched out temptingly to my hand. I never go to bed nervous and dyspeptic but it gives me a final glare as I pop out