said that if they were not guilty of that species of idolatry, no one could deny that they worshipped the golden calf: a jest at which he himself laughed heartily. Wednesday answered it by taking a pinch of snuff, and saying, that he had heard as much imputed to the Clergy of the Reformed Church; that it was at least certain that they worshipped the fatted calf of good flesh and blood; and that they not merely coveted, but got possession of their neighbour's goods, as they cared more about the tenth calf than the tenth Commandment. This dispute threatening to grow rather warm, the host, to put an end to it, called upon Wednesday for a Toast: not a very common thing, perhaps, to do at Breakfast; but this, you will remember, gentle Reader, was rather an uncommon Breakfast party. Wednesday, like a good Catholic, immediately gave" the memory of the Saints;" upon which Monday rose up and said, that, as he was the only Saint present, he begged leave to return thanks for the honour just conferred. Friday looked very grave, and seemed shocked at the impiety of the host; but Wednesday only laughed, and said they would dispense with Monday's speech, if he would favour them with a Song. This proposal being unanimously supported, Monday, after the usual apologetic preliminaries, such

as "bad cold,-can't remember,-well,-ahem!" -began as follows:

"Talk of days that are gone! why they're all left behind,
From Monday and Tuesday to Sunday;

Talk of losing a day! why I never could find
A man clever enough to lose one day.

Once a Pleiad was lost, 'twas an awkward affair,
But 'twas felt less in Earth than in Heaven;
If all seven were lost, man would feel little care,
To whom seven happy days are still given.

Come, fill me a bumper of Claret or Port:
One is brightest, the other is strongest;
May the days of our happiness never be short,
And the day we love best be the longest!"

By this time, Thursday was particularly drunk, and, feeling that he had had a sufficient portion of wine, began to want punch, a wish which Wednesday observed was natural enough in Judy (Jeudi), as the French called him. Coffee being handed about, he contented himself with that beverage, and the eau-de-vie which, accompanied it. Being very anxious to exhibit his vocal powers, he at last managed to get the ear of the Company, and bawled, or rather hiccuped out, the following Stanzas:

"Come, fill up the Tankard, the wisest man drank hard,

And said, that, when sunken in care,

The best cure, he should think, would be found in good drink, For where can cures lurk, if not there?

Trowl, trowl, the bonny brown bowl!
Let the dotard and fool from it flee;

Ye Sages, wear ivy; and, fond fellows, wive ye;
But the bonny brown bowl for me!

Let old Time beware, for if he should dare
To intrude 'mongst companions so blithe,
We'll lather his chin with the juice of the bin,
And shave off his beard with his scythe."

This, however, was all of his Song that poor Thursday could remember; and soon afterwards he fell back in his chair, and was carried out of the room on the shoulders of the black butler.

The Ladies, Tuesday and Friday, now looked at their watches; and although they knew perfectly well what the time was before they looked, they affected to be vastly surprised when they discovered that it was near two o'clock. They, therefore, took their leave; Friday looked very significantly at Wednesday, as much as to request him to escort her home, a mode of asking which he did not choose to understand; but he gave her his blessing. Sunday now began to express very liberal sen

timents as the wine warmed within him. He said that we were indebted to the Catholics for Magna Charta, and the foundation of those magnificent seats of Learning and Piety which we now possessed; and he talked to Saturday about " God's ancient people, the Jews." Monday, who was nothing of a divine, was, nevertheless, happy to see so much harmony among his guests, and assented to every thing that was said, whether by Papist, Protestant, or Israelite. Sunday, however, at length bethought himself of his cloth, and of the time, and having mumbled a thanksgiving grace, which was neither so long, nor so well articulated, as that before Breakfast, the party broke up, and each man took his departure, not remarkably well qualified for the duties of the day.

"NEWS OF LITERATURE," 1826.

A YOUNG FAMILY.

You must know, most dear and courteous Reader, that I am a Bachelor: not an old one, Heaven forbid but one of whom the Ladies say, "What a pity it is that Mr. Wiggins does not marry!" The fact is, I am sole lord of my hours, and of my limbs. If I stay out late, I need neither lie, nor look sulky, when I get home. I need not say, My dear Peggy, I really was the first to come away;" nor run the fearful alternative of either losing good company, or enduring a curtain-lecture. Besides all this, I am not surrounded by a sweet young family: but of that "anon, anon, Sir."

Having thus introduced myself to your notice, allow me to perform the same kind office for one of my friends. George Cheviot and I were school-fellows. He was neither very wise, nor very rich; but he was merry, and good-tempered: