appropriate to myself what images I could pick up, to raise my fancy, or to soothe my vanity.

I was the true descendant of those old Ws; and not the present family of that name, who had fled the old waste places.

Mine was that gallery of good old family por traits, which as I have gone over, giving them in fancy my own family name, one-and then another -would seem to smile, reaching forward from the canvas, to recognise the new relationship; while the rest looked grave, as it seemed, at the vacancy in their dwelling, and thoughts of fled posterity.

That Beauty with the cool blue pastoral drapery, and a lamb-that hung next the great bay window -with the bright yellow H-shire hair, and eye of watchet hue-so like my Alice!-I am persuaded she was a true Elia-Mildred Elia, I take it.

Mine too, BLAKESMOOR, was thy noble Marble Hall, with its mosaic pavements, and its Twelve Cæsars-stately busts in marble-ranged round: of whose countenances, young reader of faces as I was, the frowning beauty of Nero, I remember, had most of my wonder; but the mild Galba had my love. There they stood in the coldness of death, yet freshness of immortality.

Mine too, thy lofty Justice Hall, with its one

chair of authority, high-backed and wickered, once the terror of luckless poacher, or self-forgetful maiden-so common since, that bats have roosted in it.

Mine too-whose else?-thy costly fruit-garden, with its sun-baked southern wall; the ampler pleasure-garden, rising backwards from the house in triple terraces, with flower-pots now of palest lead, save that a speck here and there, saved from the elements, bespake their pristine state to have been gilt and glittering; the verdant quarters backwarder still; and, stretching still beyond, in old formality, thy firry wilderness, the haunt of the squirrel, and the day-long murmuring woodpigeon, with that antique image in the centre, God or Goddess I wist not; but child of Athens or old Rome paid never a sincerer worship to Pan or to Sylvanus in their native groves, than I to that fragmental mystery.

Was it for this, that I kissed my childish hands too fervently in your idol worship, walks and windings of BLAKESMOOR! for this, or what sin of mine, has the plough passed over your pleasant places? I sometimes think that as men, when they die, do not die all, so of their extinguished habitations there may be a hope-a germ to be revivified.

10

POOR RELATIONS..

A POOR Relation-is the most irrelevant thing in nature,- -a piece of impertinent correspondency,an odious approximation,—a haunting conscience, -a preposterous shadow, lengthening in the noontide of our prosperity,-an unwelcome remembrancer, a perpetually recurring mortification,a drain on your purse,-a more intolerable dun upon your pride, a drawback upon success,-a rebuke to your rising,-a stain in your blood,-a blot on your 'scutcheon,-a rent in your garment,-a death's head at your banquet,-Agathocles' pot,-a Mordecai in your gate,-a Lazarus at your door,-a lion in your path,—a frog in your chamber,—a fly in your ointment, a mote in your eye,—a triumph to your enemy, an apology to your friends,—the one thing not needful,-the hail in harvest,-the ounce of sour in a pound of sweet.

He is known by his knock. Your heart telleth you "That is Mr.-." A rap, between familiarity and respect; that demands, and, at the same time, seems to despair of, entertainment. He entereth smiling and-embarrassed.. He holdeth out his hand to you to shake, and-draweth it back again. He casually looketh in about dinner-time-when the table is full. He offereth to go away, seeing you have company-but is induced to stay. He filleth a chair, and your visiter's two children are accommodated at a side table. He never cometh

will

upon open days, when your wife says with some complacency, "My dear, perhaps Mr. drop in to-day." He remembereth birth-daysand professeth he is fortunate to have stumbled upon one. He declareth against fish, the turbot being small-yet suffereth himself to be importuned into a slice against his first resolution. He sticketh by the port-yet will be prevailed upon to empty. the remainder glass of claret, if a stranger press it upon him. He is a puzzle to the servants, who are fearful of being too obsequious, or not civil enough, to him. The guests think "they have seen him. before." Every one speculateth upon his condition; and the most part take him to be-a tide waiter. He calleth you by your Christian name, to imply

that his other is the same with your own. He is too familiar by half, yet you wish he had less diffidence. With half the familiarity he might pass for a casual dependent; with more boldness he would be in no danger of being taken for what he is. He is too humble for a friend, yet taketh on him more state than befits a client. He is a worse guest than a country tenant, inasmuch as he bringeth up no rent-yet 'tis odds, from his garb and demeanour, that your guests take him for one. He is asked to make one at the whist table; refuseth on the score of poverty, and-resents being left out. When the company break up, he proffereth to go for a coach-and lets the servant go. He recollects your grandfather; and will thrust in some mean, and quite unimportant anecdote of-the family. He knew it when it was not quite so flourishing as" he is blest in seeing it now." He reviveth past situations, to institute what he calleth -favourable comparisons. With a reflecting sort of congratulation, he will inquire the price of your furniture and insults you with a special commendation of your window-curtains. He is of opinion that the urn is the more elegant shape, but, after all, there was something more comfortable about the old tea-kettle-which you