"I AM not displeased with your novel, so far as it has gone," said my father graciously; "though as for The Sermon-"

Here I trembled; but the ladies, Heaven bless them! had taken Parson Dale under their special protection; and, observing that my father was puckering up his brows critically, they rushed boldly forward in defence of The Sermon, and Mr Caxton was forced to beat a retreat. However, like a skilful general, he renewed the assault upon outposts less gallantly guarded. But as it is not my business to betray my weak points, I leave it to the ingenuity of cavillers to discover the places at which the Author of Human Error directed his great guns.

"But," said the Captain, "you are a lad of too much spirit, Pisistratus, to keep us always in the obscure country quarters of Hazeldean-you will march us out into open service before you have done with us?"

PISISTRATUS, magisterially, for he has been somewhat nettled by Mr Caxton's remarks-and he puts on an air of dignity, in order to awe away minor assailants."Yes, Captain Roland not yet awhile, but all in good time. I have not stinted my self in canvass, and behind my foreground of the Hall and the Parsonage I propose, hereafter, to open some lengthened perspective of the varieties of English life-"

MR CAXTON.-"Hum!" BLANCHE, putting her hand on my father's lip. We shall know better the design, perhaps, when we know the title. Pray, Mr Author, what is the title?"

MY MOTHER, with more animation than usual-" Ay, Sisty-the title?" PISISTRATUS, startled."The title! By the soul of Cervantes! I have never yet thought of a title !"

CAPTAIN ROLAND, solemnly. "There is a great deal in a good title. As a novel reader, I know that by experience."

MR SQUILLS." Certainly; there is not a catchpenny in the world but what goes down, if the title be apt and seductive. Witness 'Old Parr's Life Pills.' Sell by the thousand, sir, when my Pills for Weak Stomachs,' which I believe to be just the same compound, never paid for the advertising."

·

MR CAXTON.-" Parr's Life Pills! a fine stroke of genius! It is not every one who has a weak stomach, or time to attend to it, if he have. But who would not swallow a pill to live to a hundred and fifty-two?

PISISTRATUS, stirring the fire in great excitement.-"My title! my title!--what shall be my title!"

MR CAXTON, thrusting his hand into his waistcoat, and in his most didactic of tones.-" From a remote period, the choice of a title has perplexed the scribbling portion of mankind. We may guess how their invention has been racked by the strange contortions it has produced. To begin with the Hebrews. The Lips of the Sleeping,' (Labia Dormientium)—what book do you suppose that title to designate ?-A Catalogue of Rabbinical writers! Again, imagine some young lady of old captivated by the sentimental title of The Pomegranate with its Flower,' and opening on a treatise on the Jewish Ceremonials! Let us turn to the Romans. Aulus Gellius commences his pleasant gossiping Noctes' with a list of the titles in fashion in his day. For instance, 'The Muses' and The Veil,' 'The Cornucopia,'' The Beehive,' and The Meadow.' Some titles, indeed, were more truculent, and promised food to those who love to sup upon horrors-such as The Torch,' • The Poniard,'' The Stiletto'.

PISISTRATUS, impatiently.-"Yes, sir; but to come to My Novel."

MR CAXTON, unheeding the interruption.-"You see, you have a fine choice here, and of a nature pleasing, and not unfamiliar to a classical

reader; or you may borrow a hint from the early Dramatic Writers."

PISISTRATUS, more hopefully. "Ay! there is something in the Drama akin to the Novel. Now, perhaps, I may catch an idea.”

MR CAXTON. "For instance, the author of the Curiosities of Literature (from whom, by the way, I am plagiarising much of the information I bestow upon you) tells us of a Spanish gentleman who wrote a Comedy, by which he intended to serve what he took for Moral Philosophy." PISISTRATUS, eagerly." Well, sir?" MR CAXTON.-" And called it 'The Pain of the Sleep of the World.' ” PISISTRATUS."Very comic indeed, sir."

MR CAXTON.-" Grave things were then called Comedies, as old things are now called Novels. Then there are all the titles of early Romance itself at your disposal- Theagenes and Chariclea,' or The Ass' of Longus, or The Golden Ass' of Apuleius, or the titles of Gothic Romance, such as "The most elegant, delicious, mellifluous, and delightful History of Perceforest, King of Great Britain,'"-And therewith my father ran over a list of names as long as the Directory, and about as amusing.

"Well, to my taste," said my mother, "the novels I used to read when a girl, (for I have not read many since, I am ashamed to say,)—"

MR CAXTON.-"No, you need not be at all ashamed of it, Kitty."

MY MOTHER, proceeding." Were much more inviting than any you mention, Austin."

No

THE CAPTAIN.—“ True." MR SQUILLS.-" Certainly. thing like them now-a-days!" MY MOTHER.-"Says she to her Neighbour, What?'

THE CAPTAIN.-"The Unknown, or the Northern Gallery'—"

MR SQUILLS." There is a Secret; Find it Out!'"

PISISTRATUS, pushed to the verge of human endurance, and upsetting tongs, poker, and fire-shovel.-"What nonsense you are talking, all of you! For heaven's sake, consider what an important matter we are called upon to decide. It is not now the titles of those very respectable works which issued from the Minerva Press

that I ask you to remember-it is to invent a title for mine-My Novel!'

MR CAXTON, clapping his hands gently.-" Excellent-capital! Nothing can be better; simple, natural, pertinent, concise-"

PISISTRATUS.-"What is it, sirwhat is it! Have you really thought of a title to My Novel?"

MR CAXTON.-"You have hit it yourself 'My Novel.' It is your Novel-people will know it is your Novel. Turn and twist the English language as you will-be as allegorical as Hebrew, Greek, Roman-Fabulist or Puritan-still, after all, it is your Novel, and nothing more nor less than your Novel."

PISISTRATUS, thoughtfully, and sounding the words various ways."My Novel'-um-um! 'My Novel!' rather bald-and curt, eh?

MR CAXTON." Add what you say you intend it to depict-Varieties in English Life." "My Novel; or,

MY MOTHER.Varieties in English Life'--I don't think it sounds amiss. What say you, Roland? Would it attract you in a catalogue?"

My Uncle hesitates, when Mr Caxton exclaims imperiously— "The thing is settled! Don't disturb Camarina."

SQUILLS." If it be not too great a liberty, pray who or what is Camarina?"

MR CAXTON. "Camarina, Mr Squills, was a lake, apt to be low, and then liable to be muddy; and 'Don't disturb Camarina' was a Greek proverb derived from an Oracle of Apollo; and from that Greek proverb, no doubt, comes the origin of the injunction, Quieta non movere,' which became the favourite maxim of Sir Robert Walpole and Parson Dale. The Greek line, Mr Squills, (here my father's memory began to warm,) is preserved by STEPHANUS BYZANTINUS, de Urbibus

6

• Μή κίνει Καμάριναν, ἀκίνητος γὰρ ἀμείνων.

ZENOBIUS explains it in his Proverbs; SUIDAS repeats ZENOBIUS; LUCIAN alludes to it; so does VIRGIL in the Third Book of the ÆNEID; and SILIUS ITALICUS imitates Virgil

Et cui non licitum fatis Camarina moveri.

Parson Dale, as a clergyman and a scholar, had, no doubt, these authorities at his fingers' end. And I wonder he did not quote them," quoth my father; "but, to be sure, he is represented as a mild man, and so might not wish to humble the Squire over Imuch in the presence of his family. Meanwhile, My Novel is My Novel; and now that that matter is settled, perhaps the tongs, poker, and shovel may be picked up, the children may go to bed, Blanche and Kitty may speculate apart upon the future dignities of the Neogilos, taking care, nevertheless, to finish the new pinbefores he requires for the present; Roland may cast up his account-book, Mr Squills have his brandy and water, and all the world be comfortable, each in his own way. Blanche, come away from the screen, get me my slippers, and leave Pisistratus to himself. Μὴ κίνει Καμάριναν -don't disturb Camarina. You see, my dear," added my father kindly, as, after settling himself into his slippers, he detained Blanche's hand in his own-" you see, my dear, every house has its Camarina. Man, who is a lazy animal, is quite content to

let it alone; but woman, being the more active, bustling, curious creature, is always for giving it a sly stir."

BLANCHE, with female dignity.—“I assure you, that if Pisistratus had not called me, I should not have-"

MR CAXTON, interrupting her, without lifting his eyes from the book he has already taken.-" Certainly you would not. I am now in the midst of the great Puseyite Controversy. Mǹ kívei Kaμápivav-don't disturb Camarina."

A dead silence for half an hour, at the end of which

PISISTRATUS, from behind the screen." Blanche, my dear, I want to consult you."

Blanche does not stir.

PISISTRATUS.—“ Blanche, I say.” Blanche glances in triumph towards Mr Caxton.

MR CAXTON, laying down his theological tract, and rubbing his spectacles mournfully. "I hear him, child; I hear him. I retract my vindication of Man. Oracles warn in vain: so long as there is a woman on the other side of the screen,-it is all up with Camarina!"

It is greatly to be regretted that Mr Stirn was not present at the Parson's Discourse-but that valuable functionary was far otherwise engaged—indeed, during the summer months he was rarely seen at the afternoon service. Not that he cared for being preached at-not he: Mr Stirn would have snapped his finger at the thunders of the Vatican. But the fact was, that Mr Stirn chose to do a great deal of gratuitous business upon the day of rest. The Squire allowed all persons, who chose, to walk about the park on a Sunday; and many came from a distance to stroll by the lake, or recline under the elms. These visitors were objects of great suspicion, nay, of positive annoyance, to Mr Stirnand, indeed, not altogether without reason, for we English have a natural love of liberty, which we are even more apt to display in the grounds of other people than in those which we cultivate ourselves. Sometimes, to

his inexpressible and fierce satisfaction, Mr Stirn fell upon a knot of boys pelting the swans; sometimes he missed a young sapling, and found it in felonious hands, converted into a walking-stick; sometimes he caught a hulking fellow scrambling up the ha-ha! to gather a nosegay for his sweetheart from one of poor Mrs Hazeldean's pet parterres; not unfrequently, indeed, when all the family were fairly at church, some curious impertinents forced or sneaked their way into the gardens, in order to peep in at the windows. For these, and various other offences of like magnitude, Mr Stirn had long, but vainly, sought to induce the Squire to withdraw a permission so villanously abused. But though there were times when Mr Hazeldean grunted and growled, and swore

that he would shut up the park, and fill it (illegally) with man-traps and spring-guns," his anger always evaporated in words. The park was

still open to all the world on a Sunday; and that blessed day was therefore converted into a day of travail and wrath to Mr Stirn. But it was from the last chime of the afternoon service bell until dusk that the spirit of this vigilant functionary was most perturbed; for, amidst the flocks that gathered from the little hamlets round to the voice of the Pastor, there were always some stray sheep, or rather climbing desultory vagabond goats, who struck off in all perverse directions, as if for the special purpose of distracting the energetic watchfulness of Mr Stirn. As soon as church was over, if the day were fine, the whole park became a scene animated with red cloaks, or lively shawls, Sunday waistcoats, and hats stuck full of wild-flowers- which last Mr Stirn often stoutly maintained to be Mrs Hazeldean's newest geraniums. Now, on this Sunday especially, there was an imperative call upon an extra exertion of vigilance on the part of the superintendent he had not only to detect ordinary depredators and trespassers; but, first, to discover the authors of the conspiracy against the Stocks; and secondly, to "make an example."

He had begun his rounds, therefore, from the early morning; and just as the afternoon bell was sounding its final peal, he emerged upon the village green from a hedgerow, behind which he had been at watch to observe who had the most suspiciously gathered round the stocks. At that moment the place was deserted. At a distance, the superintendent saw the fast disappearing forms of some belated groups hastening towards the church; in front, the Stocks stood staring at him mournfully from its four great eyes, which had been cleansed from the mud, but still looked bleared and stained with the marks of the recent outrage. Here Mr Stirn paused, took off his hat, and wiped his brows.

"If I had sum un, to watch here," thought he, "while I takes a turn by the water-side, praps summat might come out; praps them as did it ben't gone to church, but will come sneaking round to look on their willany! as they says murderers are always led back to the place where

they ha' left the body. But in this here willage there ben't a man, woman, nor child, as has any consarn for Squire or Parish, barring myself." It was just as he arrived at that misanthropical conclusion that Mr Stirn beheld Leonard Fairfield walking very fast from his own home. The superintendent clapped on his hat, and stuck his right arm akimbo. "Hollo, you sir," said he, as Lenny now came in hearing, "where be you going at that rate?"

"Please, sir, I be going to church." "Stop, sir-stop, Master Lenny. Going to church!-why, the bell's done; and you knows the Parson is very angry at them as comes in late, disturbing the congregation. You can't go to church now!" "Please, sir".

"I says you can't go to church now. You must learn to think a little of others, lad. You sees how I sweats to serve the Squire! and you must serve him too. Why, your mother's got the house and premishes almost rent free: you ought to have a grateful heart, Leonard Fairfield, and feel for his honour! Poor man! his heart is wellnigh bruk, I am sure, with the goings on."

Leonard opened his innocent blue eyes, while Mr Stirn dolorously wiped his own.

"Look at that ere dumb cretur," said Stirn suddenly, pointing to the Stocks-"look at it. If it could speak, what would it say, Leonard Fairfield? Answer me that!-Damn the Stocks, indeed!'"

"It was very bad in them to write such naughty words," said Lenny gravely. Mother was quite shocked when she heard of it, this morning."

MR STIRN.-"I dare she was, considering what she pays for the premishes: (insinuatingly,) you does not know who did it-eh, Lenny?"

LENNY." No, sir; indeed I does not!"

MR STIRN." Well, you see, you can't go to church-prayers half over by this time. You recollex that I put them stocks under your 'sponsibility,' and see the way you's done your duty by 'em. I've half a mind to,"

Mr Stirn cast his eyes on the eyes of the Stocks.

"Please, sir," began Lenny again, rather frightened.

"No, I won't please; it ben't pleasing at all. But I forgives you this time, only keep a sharp look-out, lad, in future. Now you just stay hereno, there,-under the hedge, and you watches if any persons come to loiter about or looks at the Stocks, or laughs to hisself, while I go my rounds. I shall be back either afore church is over or just arter; so you stay till I comes, and give me your report. Be sharp, boy, or it will be worse for you and your mother: I can let the premishes for four pounds a year more, to-morrow."

Concluding with that somewhat menacing and very significant remark, and not staying for an answer, Mr Stirn waved his hand, and walked off.

Poor Lenny remained by the Stocks, very much dejected, and greatly disliking the neighbourhood to which he was consigned. At length he slowly crept off to the hedge, and sate himself down in the place of espionage pointed out to him. Now, philosophers tell us that what is called the point of honour is a barbarous feudal prejudice. Amongst the higher classes, wherein those feudal prejudices may be supposed to prevail, Lenny Fairfield's occupation would not have been considered peculiarly honourable; neither would it have seemed so to the more turbulent spirits among the humbler orders, who have a point of honour of their own, which consists in the adherence to each other in defiance of all lawful authority. But to Lenny Fairfield, brought up much apart from other boys, and with a profound and grateful reverence for the Squire instilled into all his habits of thought, notions of honour bounded themselves to simple honesty and straightforward truth; and as he cherished an unquestioning awe of order and constitutional authority, so it did not appear to him that there was any thing derogatory and debasing in being thus set to watch for an offender. On the contrary, as he began to reconcile himself to the loss of the church service, and to enjoy the cool of the summer shade, and the occasional chirp of the birds, he got to look on the bright side of the com

mission to which he was deputed. In youth, at least, everything has its bright side-even the appointment of Protector to the Parish Stocks. For the Stocks, themselves, Leonard had no affection, it is true; but he had no sympathy with their aggressors, and he could well conceive that the Squire would be very much hurt at the revolutionary event of the night. "So," thought poor Leonard in his simple heart-" so if I can serve his honour, by keeping off mischievous boys, or letting him know who did the thing, I'm sure it would be a proud day for mother." Then he began to consider that, however ungraciously Mr Stirn had bestowed on him the appointment, still it was a compliment to him-showed trust and confidence in him, picked him out from his contemporaries as the sober moral pattern boy; and Lenny had a great deal of pride in him, especially in matters of repute and character.

All these things considered, I say, Leonard Fairfield reclined in his lurking-place, if not with positive delight and intoxicating rapture, at least with tolerable content and some complacency.

Mr Stirn might have been gone a quarter of an hour, when a boy came through a little gate in the park, just opposite to Lenny's retreat in the hedge, and, as if fatigued with walking, or oppressed by the heat of the day, paused on the green for a moment or so, and then advanced under the shade of the great tree which overhung the Stocks.

Lenny pricked up his ears, and peeped out jealously.

He had never seen the boy before: it was a strange face to him.

Leonard Fairfield was not fond of strangers; moreover, he had a vague belief that strangers were at the bottom of that desecration of the Stocks. The boy, then, was a stranger; but what was his rank? Was he of that grade in society in which the natural offences are or are not consonant to, or harmonious with, outrages upon Stocks? On that Lenny Fairfield did not feel quite assured. According to all the experience of the villager, the boy was not dressed like a young gentleman. Leonard's notions of such aristocratic costume were naturally fashioned upon the