figures, but I feel that I am the only one here who has acted like a wise man, for I am the only one here whose object has not been as vain and idiotic as his appearance. How pleased I shall be to-morrow when that insolent Fig calls! I shall not care if the postman brings a dozen letters. I'll have a new pair of stockings, besides shoes. How delightfully I shall walk! And I'll have a bottle of port at dinner; I'll take Mrs. Fitzcribb and the children in a steamer to Green wich, and we'll drink tea in the park. Benoni shall have a new kite, and Mrs. Fitzcribb the bonnet she admired so much."

How little did those who sneered at the procession, and particularly at Fitzcribb, deem how well "Philosophy" deserved his name! How impossible for them to conjecture-they who had never known a want-the sensible cause of a disguise that seemed so absurd, the incalculable comfort of an unexpected twenty-five pounds to a poor author, with a large family, or even to guess how much of worldly calculation there was in that head, although it did bear a transparency !

The procession reached Ellen's seat. The Modern Herodotus, the lion of the day, knelt before the fair Rowena all crowded round. History humbly proffered the work: Poesy handed Ellen the wreath. Ellen blushingly placed it on Grunter's wig; and, not knowing what to do with the huge book, she said, "Rise, Modern Herodotus, lion of the day! may the wreath I have been more honoured than honouring in adjudging, conceal nor thorn nor cypress bud! May it never press heavy on your brows! may Fame keep it green through all ages! Maidens," she added, turning to the Saxon damsels, who were tittering around her, and who, for the most part-silly fashionables!-were little inclined to take any part in this absurd affair, "take charge of this precious volume; lock it up among my choicest treasures, and remember that you have my permission to enrich your minds from its pages."

The Saxon maids were obliged to take the book. Rowena then extended her hand to the Modern Herodotus, who had remained

kneeling before her. He rose to his full and awkward height-a sort of belligerent triumph shot from his eyes. His wreath, somewhat too large for his head, slipped down over his brows, which were very shaggy and projecting.

"Finis coronat opus," he said, in a deep, sonorous voice; "I thank you, fair Rowena, for your gracious acceptance of my offering, and for the laurel, which, decreed by the world, you have so gracefully conferred. The author is not so dazzled by his success as to be unmindful of the man. The birthday of the fair Rowena calls for a wish: may you have many returns of this day, and may every return find you more thoroughly acquainted with, and more deeply read in, the History of Philosophy, and the Philosophy of History!" The theme is the noblest that beauty can ponder on-would that the execution were worthier!"

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Nay," replied Rowena, "that were impossible." And she looked round.

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"Impossible!" echoed the quizzing spec

tators.

"The Modern Herodotus and his illustrious train will, I hope," added Rowena, “share in the dance, and then honour our poor banquet."

Grunter proudly bowed, offered his arm to Mrs. Fitzcribball then dispersed and mixed in the crowd; and Rowena, pitying the embarrassment of her maids of honour, encumbered with the huge book, caused it to be placed on a canopy, and the dance to continue.

"And wha' for has auld Grunter that wild baste's skin about him, as if it was na eno' to mak himsel a fule, but he must mak himself a baste too?" said Tibby, jealous of the fuss made with Grunter.

"That," said Cedric, gravely, "is to establish him the lion of the day."

"The ass in the lion's hide, uncle," said Wamba.

"I never, in a' my days, beheld sae great a fule."

"I'll bet you my coxcomb, coz, to your purse, with whatever's in it, I show you a greater."

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Na, my lod, not ain that I shall own is a greater."

"I bet you, coz, you shall own it a greater." "Dune."

"Done;" and Wamba pulled out of his pocket a kitchen grater.

The laughing group around decided he had won his bet; and Miss Tibby, fumbling in a deep pocket, produced an old leathern purse, containing half-a-crown and some half-pence.

"Mr. Lindsay," said Tibby, "pay that boy half-a crown for me; he's the greatest plague I ever saw."

"Here's a grater," shouted Wamba, holding up his implement.