them the pans could not have been procured: by which ruse Mr. Mackenzie disposed of the whole investment, and to this moment the kitchens of Rio de Janeiro are stored with the warmingpans, and the museums of their masters decorated with the skates.

So in an auction, the Mackenzies of the trade are sure to assort the lots in a similar manner. Trash and absurdity are cunningly blended with worth and merit; and if you want to buy a warming-pan work fit for a library, you are forced to take with it some four or five pairs of skates in the shape of so many volumes of unserviceable trash.

Out of this refuse matter Miss Falwasser would have been sure to select works for her edification; and besides all my tender solicitude for my library, I felt so much for myself as to conclude that it would be less offensive to keep the room always locked than it would be to lock it when I was in it myself; and to have been subjected to an inroad there would have been unbearable.

From my place of refuge I did not emerge

until luncheon was announced, at which I presented myself, and found, as I did not expect (for I had forgotten the arrangement), Sniggs and Cuthbert apparently asleep over the chessboard, the only sign of life or liveliness betrayed by either of them being a very subdued noise made by Cuthbert in the way of whistling his one only tune, which was the air of a song in, or rather out of a farce called "My Grandmother;" the burden of which is composed of these words""Tis a favour, Sir, I must deny, oh fie!"

More of the song I never heard, nor do I know what might have been the favour denied by the lady who sings, nor why she should exclaim "Oh fie!" All I do know is, that this one line, either whistled or sung, but almost always whistled, in the softest possible tone, was Cuthbert's universal practice at all times when he had occasion to do what he called think.

Cuthbert's performance of this one sweet strain, always reminded me of the performance of an old blind man who, a few years since, was in the habit of perambulating the streets in the

neighbourhood of Grosvenor-square, who was fully persuaded himself, and probably hoped to persuade other people, that he was playing upon the bagpipes; he went through all the motions of blowing the bellows under his arm, and even aiding the essential flatulency of his instrument by blowing into an auxiliary tube with his mouth, while his fingers performed all the necessary movements upon the keys; but sound made he none. Hence a nobleman, whose eminent talents and delightful manners have endeared him to all who know him, and to no one more justly than to myself, has given him the sobriquet of the "Confidential Bagpiper." Cuthbert's whistle was equally private and confidential; it would have fatigued him too much to make it audible.

"Good morning Sir," said Sniggs: "fine day -healthy invigorating weather."

"Ah, Gilbert," said Cuthbert, "how d'ye do, my dear fellow? Well, I don't see how that

queen is to be got out of check. Tom is quite well, Gilbert, so Sniggs says."

"Quite," said Sniggs; "not a mark of a

bruise to be seen."

"Poor fellow !" said Cuthbert, and then a little whistle." I'll finish this game after luncheon."

"Where's Mrs. Brandyball?" said I.

"Oh," said Cuthbert, "she is gone with Kate and Jane to the Rectory. I told them they would get some luncheon there, and, as the day was so fine, I thought they might show their governess the park, and so come round by Hansford, and look at the view from Fellsbury Hill. I recollect the day you got me there, I was quite delighted with the prospect."

"But," said I," they will be tired to death: why, my dear Cuthbert, the route you have given them is little less than nine miles."

"Well, my dear fellow," said Cuthbert, "what's that—nothing?"

"I think," said I, "if you had to walk nine miles, you would consider it something, Cuthbert."

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Ay," said my brother, "to walk, I grant

you. I should as soon think of walking to Jerusalem, as Parson Whalley did in my father's time; but, for horses-and horses that have not too much work at any time-it is only wholesome exercise."

"Horses!" said I; "what horses have they got ?"

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They have got the phaeton," said Cuthbert. "I told Hutton to tell the coachman to get it ready for them; and Kate drives, you know, remarkably well,-and the ponies are so quiet, -and she is so fond of driving,—not that I should let her drive horses that were not perfectly quiet. I'm sure since that day when I and my father were coming along the road by Shooter's Hill, where that place like Severndroog is built

"Yes," said I, interrupting somewhat more sharply than was my wont, seeing that I was both vexed and angry: "but, my dear Cuthbert, Harriet wanted the phaeton to go call on a Mrs. Somebody at Hallowden,—a remarkably pretty drive, in which she meant to invite Mrs.