r, as well as to Bolton's knack of narration; and it was only broken
after some minutes had elapsed by interjectional expressions of the
intense indignation of every man present. The baker wondered how a
British baker could so disgrace himself and the highly honourable calling
to which he belonged; and the others indulged in a variety of wonderments
connected with the subject; among which not the least wonderment was that
which was awakened by the genius and information of Mr. Robert Bolton,
who, after a glowing eulogium on himself, and his unspeakable influence
with the daily press, was proceeding, with a most solemn countenance, to
hear the pros and cons of the Pope autograph question, when I took up my
hat, and left.

FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A PARENT TO A CHILD
AGED TWO YEARS AND TWO MONTHS

MY CHILD,

To recount with what trouble I have brought you up--with what an anxious
eye I have regarded your progress,--how late and how often I have sat up
at night working for you,--and how many thousand letters I have received
from, and written to your various relations and friends, many of whom
have been of a querulous and irritable turn,--to dwell on the anxiety and
tenderness with which I have (as far as I possessed the power) inspected
and chosen your food; rejecting the indigestible and heavy matter which
some injudicious but well-meaning old ladies would have had you swallow,
and retaining only those light and pleasant articles which I deemed
calculated to keep you free from all gross humours, and to render you an
agreeable child, and one who might be popular with society in
general,--to dilate on the steadiness with which I have prevented your
annoying any company by talking politics--always assuring you that you
would thank me for it yourself some day when you grew older,--to
expatiate, in short, upon my own assiduity as a parent, is beside my
present purpose, though I cannot but contemplate your fair
appearance--your robust health, and unimpeded circulation (which I take
to be the great secret of your good looks) without the liveliest
satisfaction and delight.

It is a trite observation, and one which, young as you are, I have no
doubt you have often heard repeated, that we have fallen upon strange
times, and live in days of constant shiftings and changes. I had a
melancholy instance of this only a week or two since. I was returning
from Manchester to London by the Mail Train, when I suddenly fell into
ano