wouldn't now trust Sir Robert with the churchplate; no, not even with the taking of the twopences at the door of St Paul's, for fear he should cheat in his accounts.

Mr Plumptre would have nothing to do with the bill, because, he said, "every Christian man, who was sensible of his religious obligation, should consider what would be for the honour of the Most High." Ah, Isaac, there it is! What a lot of wickedness has been done in this pretty world of ours and all with a conscience-for what Christians thought would be "for the honour of the Most High"! For such honour men have roasted one another, as they wouldn't roast live beasts, at a stake; for such honour they have done all sorts of wrong, shutting up their fellow-creatures in dungeons, and tearing and torturing them all manner of ways, as if they thought, when they did most wrong to mortal creatures, they did most honour to the good God that made them.

And

Well, Isaac, I'm only a cabman, but when I sometimes read the debates, I do now and then thank my stars that I'm out of Parliament. then the conceit of them that's in it. When they've done anything that's good, what do they do? Why, they only walk about like the bird in the fable, in feathers of better people. They never do nothing of themselves. No good seed is ever

grown in Parliament: not a bit of it; the thing's grown outside of the place, and then transplanted. Talk of the wisdom of Parliament, Isaac! why, they get their wisdom from people who've never set their eyes upon Mr Speaker. What did Parliament ever begin, I should like to know? That is, understand me, what that's good? No, good laws-wise laws—are begun outside; thought of, invented by quiet folks, who never think to put M.P. to their names; and whose great trouble it is to get the good acknowledged. And when at last, after wasting I don't know how much of heaven's good time-after the rumpus of many, many years-Parliament consents to take the good thing, I'm hanged if the goose doesn't hatch the swan's egg, as if it was a thing laid by itself, and not put into its nest by other people.

"The honour of the Most High!" Surely, Isaac, the best way to show such honour is to love your fellow-creatures as the greatest work-so far as we know of the Most High; and not, poor small things as we are, to walk about the earth, and when we poke up our noses highest in the face of heaven, think we have then the best right to tread the hardest on the necks of everybody that don't agree with us. To hear a few folks talk in Parliament, you'd think that they'd assured to themselves all Paradise as a freehold, and standing

upon their rights, would set up in it man-traps and spring-guns against all intruders. However, never mind, Isaac. There was a time when a King of England would have drawn a tooth a day out of your jaws, if you didn't undraw your purse-strings; and now so do this wicked world roll on-you may wear a Lord Mayor's chain, and, as a magistrate, commit vagrants to gaol like any Christian. -Your friend, JUNIPER HEDGEHOG.

LETTER XX.-To Mrs Hedgehog, New York.

DEAR GRANDMOTHER,-September's so near we can almost put our hand upon it, and yet I'm in London. It's a dreadful confession of poverty, but I can't help it. If I'm not ashamed to be seen on my stand, I'm not a licensed cabman. The only comfort there is, everybody that stays in town must be as poor as myself, and that, according to some folk's notions, is a blessing to think of. A purse that was dropped on the pavement of Regent Street lay there a week, and was at last picked up by a policeman. London never looked so poor and dull; for all the world like a fine lady in an undress gown, with all her paint wiped off. The opera is shut up, and the manager has

had a silver bed-candlestick given him by lords and dukes, because he has been so full of public spirit as to make his own fortune. By the way, grandmother, I don't know how it is with the player-folks in New York; but here with us, if a man or woman want a bit of plate they 've only to take a theatre. A playhouse is a short cut to a silversmith's. There isn't a London manager who isn't plated after this fashion, which shows there is no place for true gratitude like the green-room; but I ask your pardon for talking of such matters, knowing what a low place you think the theatre. Parliament, like a goose that has been set upon too many eggs, has risen with half of 'em come to nothing. But this, grandmother, is the old trick. When the Parliament first opens, and Ministers come down with new law after law, why, what busy, bustling folks they seem! What a look of business it gives to the whole thing! But half of 'em is only for show; just so many dummies to take in what shopkeepers call "an enlightened public." You know the bottles of red and blue that they have in apothecaries' shops? Well, half the folks think 'em physic, when they're nothing in the world but coloured water. Sir James Graham's Medical Bill was just one of these things: nothing real in it; but something made up for show; just to give a colouring to business. Talking of

Parliament, a dreadful accident happened at the prorogation. You know it's the privilege of the Duke of Argyll to bear the royal crown before the Queen. Certain folks came into the world with certain privileges of the kind. One has a right to stir the royal tea-cup on the day of the coronation, another to put on the Queen's pattens whenever she shall walk in the city, another to present the monarch with a pint of periwinkles when he shall visit Billingsgate; and so forth: all customs of the good old times, when people thought kings and queens were angels in disguise, who had kindly left heaven just to give poor mortals here a lift -in fact, to make the world endurable. Well, the Duke of Argyll, walking backwards with the crown -going straightforwards not being at all the thing in the Court-fell, poor old gentleman, down some steps, and falling, dropt the crown! Pheugh! There was a shower of pearls and diamonds; for all the precious stones came rattling on the floor, just as if the Queen, like the little girl in the fairy story, had been talking jewels. There were thoughts, I'm told, of calling in the police to keep off the mob of peers; but altogether they behaved themselves very well, and not a precious stone was found missing. The accident, however, caused a great fuss; and I'm told, in order to prevent its happening again, Madame Tussaud has offered to