to death in the blaze of her eyes, and Sara will be punished for her insolence to me in the punishment of the audacious beggar's falsehood to herself. Comforting himself with this picture, more vivid than any that hung on the walls, and perhaps more ingenious in the composition, he strode through the now crowded rooms, and hastened to relate what he had seen to his adviser Fancourt.

When Claudia reached home, she found a messenger from Mrs Seacole in the hall, with a note for her that required an answer; and being too much fatigued to write, she desired the man to be sent up to the drawing-room, where she would give him a verbal message. On reading the note, however, she saw that although only on one of the ordinary subjects that engage the attention of ladies, it would be proper for her to reply in writing, more especially as she had found Mrs Seacole a very agreeable acquaintance. The Mercury was therefore left for some time alone, just within the door of the drawing-room.

He was a tall, angular man, of a grave and meditative aspect; and when the door shut behind him, he drew himself up as stiff as a footman's cane, and as dignified-looking, and stood examining the details of the scene, with obvious discrimination, turning his eyes slowly in all directions, but without moving his head. His attention was at length specially arrested by a particular object on a table before him, and he continued to gaze on it with an expression of profound meditation. When his reflections, so far, were properly digested, he moved to one side, slowly and noiselessly, to contemplate, from another point of view, what had attracted him. Even the object itself seemed to sympathise with the interest he betrayed; for the eyes-it was a small portrait-followed him step by step, and kept steadily fixed on him, while he remained plunged in a new abyss of thought. When he got out of this, he moved in the same way to the opposite side, followed by the unwinking eyes, and meditated again. He then glided round to the back, and directing his gaze to the canvas, studied it with an absorbed scrutiny that might have ascertained the number of threads. Finally, he came round again to the front, put his eyes close to the picture, touched the plump nose with his finger, apparently to make sure that it was a thing of reality, and then resuming his place near the door, remained lost in an unfathomable reverie. From this he was roused, after a time, by the lady's-maid, who came in, put a note into his hand, opened the door for him, and when he had gone out mechanically, shut it briskly after him.

Stepping solemnly down the marble stair, and along the tesselated hall, where the fat porter was asleep in his chair of state, he found the door ajar, and went out. A well-powdered footman, in livery, without his hat, was taking the air on the steps, and to him the retiring Mercury addressed himself.

"May I take the liberty, sir,' said he, of requesting to know whether there is a parlour in this neighbourhood? I mean respectable where the lower classes is not admitted. I am particular on the point, I am.'

'So am I, sir,' replied the functionary. 'I don't use none that ain't tip-top. There is the Chequers, not far round yonder corner; I call that a respectable parlour, and I know what parlours is.'

'And the beer? I own I like it good-when it is beer.'

'Just so with me. Indeed, I generally take beer, when it ain't a go of brandy. I was drove to this. When I lived along with Lord Skemp in Belgravia, it was all sherry and water with me for two year, till I found out that the sherry was Cape Madeera the whole time. There was treatment for a gentleman, wasn't it? But the beer at the Chequers I can undertake to say is slap-up.'

'Sir, I am obliged to you; and I admire your sentiments. Allow me to say that my name is Mr Poringer.'

'And mine is Mr Slopper: proud of the honour.' 'Have a drain at my expense, Mr Slopper?' 'I am obleeged, Mr Poringer; but I am just going out to take an airing with our Miss. Some night we'll meet at the Chequers.'

And so we will, and some night soon; for I have not been able to find no parlour in London that ain't infested with the lower classes. But, my dear sir, talking of parlours, while I was in your drawing-room just now, I saw a portrait as like a lady of my acquaintance as if she had sat to be taken off and how that can be, or how her picture comes to be there, I can't make out. It's on a table not far from the door.'

'Oh, I remember-that's a good thing-a very good thing. I join my governor in opinion there, although I don't generally in matters of goo. Would you believe it?-he prefers an old, fusty, cracked picture to one new out of the shop!'

'Do you know the lady's name?'

'No, I don't; but she is a fine woman, to my taste, although, no doubt, a little passy. The gentleman who took her off is Mr Oaklands.' 'The gentleman!'

'Yes, he is a gentleman, and no mistake, although I never saw the colour of his money. If you want to ask him about the lady, his address is in Jermyn Street, at Driftwood's, an individual who does pictures to sell.'

'Is he a gentleman too?'

'He a gentleman! Why, I have drunk with him! No, no, he is no gentleman.-But I hear the carriage coming round-I have the honour '

Excuse my glove;' and Mr Poringer, having shaken hands with his new friend, raised his hat-not to the individual man, but to Flunkeydom represented in his person-and went on his way.

Mr Poringer found no difficulty in obtaining Mrs Margery's address from the artist; but Driftwood was more chary in his communications respecting Robert. He believed, in fact, that our adventurer was still busy with the cabinet-making, and he considered that to be too mechanical an employment to be openly boasted of. The mysterious hints of Mrs Margery had taken effect, and he really supposed this queer fellow, as he called him, to be, in a worldly sense of the word, 'nobler than his fortune.' Robert had been warned against making public the nature of his present employment, and, independently of the warning, he had no wish to do so. He was no richer than before, and he did not feel at all so much self-satisfaction. It seemed to him that his work, although fit enough for an amateur, was no legitimate trade; and the small stipend he accepted, although put on a footing the most soothing to his feelings, fretted him a good deal. Still, matters appeared to go on swimmingly. The accounts he received, from time to time, of the effect of his productions, were very flattering; he obviously became every day of more and more importance to Sir Vivian, who, in his assistance to the government, was now committed to a certain tone and talent; and the allusions of his patron to the future reward of his labours were distinct and unmistakable.

That afternoon, while Mrs Margery and her assistant were sipping their five o'clock tea, a visitor made his appearance, and the whilome Wearyfoot cook, on seeing a remembrancer of the Common, started up and received Mr Poringer with a warmth of welcome which made that gentleman shrink. It is true, he admired Mrs Margery; he considered that she was a woman well to do; and it was his intention that very evening, if everything turned out to his liking, to make actual proposals. But he was not to be hurried for

But nobody asked me to marry when I was a young, tidy woman. Nobody !-though I feel I should have made a good wife-and oh, so good a mother!-no mother, I am sure, would have doted so on her blessed darlings! But the time has gone by; and when I give Mr Oaklands his bit nice supper to-night, and see that there is not a pin wrong in his bedroom, I shall thank God for a greater bounty than I deserve.'

'So that-that Boy stays with you?' 'Only till he gets to his own,' said Mrs Margery, who had not meant to be so communicative.

'Well, you see, as to your being too old to marry, that's all stuff. I have known many older than you -a deal older You are a comely woman yet, Mrs Margery; and if you were not, what is that to you if I look over it? You would be just the thing at the bar, where, with young women, there's more talking and chaffing than business. And as for the furniture, we'd have an estimate, and see what your means would say to it. Mine is equal to the stock, for I have made my calculations already, and penny for penny is fair play. Not to mention the interest that gets the house, or the figure of a man I am for a parlour where the lower classes is not admitted, or the respectability of the name, in the largest sized gold letters that is made-Mr Joshua Poringer, with the mister left out.' Mr Poringer's eloquence, however, was thrown away. And a good deal of it: for he could hardly be persuaded that Mrs Margery could intend seriously and definitively to decline so eligible an offer. When the truth broke upon him at last, he was as wroth as a grave, meditative man could be, and said so much-in a quiet way-to the disparagement of Mrs Margery's person and business, that that lady, with great dignity, turned to her work again, and called to her maid to have done rinsing them laces-just to shew Mr Poringer that his absence would be more welcome than his company. Whereupon Mr Poringer got up, and with as much sobriety of demeanour as he was accustomed to exhibit when conscious of being drunk, walked steadily and noiselessly to the drawers, took down his hat, brushed it with his arm, drew on his gloves leisurely, moved his shoulders to settle his coat, took up his polished cane, and turned for the last time to Mrs Margery.

Will you please to tell me, ma'am,' said he, 'whether it is to me or the business you object?'

"To both!' replied Mrs Margery, spitting on a smoothing-iron to see whether it was hot enough.

'So much the better for me,' rejoined Mr Poringer; 'for a woman that harbours vagrants, found on a common in the mist, and lifted, rags and all, over a gentleman's threshold, by these two fingers and thumb, is not fit to be made a lady of!' and so saying, he walked majestically away. Mrs Margery smothered her indignation like a queen, till she saw that he had passed the window; and then, laying down the iron, she plumped into a chair, and had it all out in a hearty cry.

On that same evening, the subject of Mr Poringer's concluding remarks was introduced into a conversation of a very different kind.

'Has Mr Oaklands,' said Sir Vivian Falcontower to his daughter, as they sat alone after dinner, 'ever mentioned anything to you respecting his origin or family?'

'Never.'

'Has it not seemed odd to you that he makes a mystery of it?'

He makes no mystery of it-or of anything else. He stated at first, in your own presence, that he was of no family, which means distinctly enough that he was of humble parentage. Since then, he has not mentioned the subject, simply, as it appears to me, because he has nothing interesting to say about it; and it was no business of mine to question him on a matter that could not concern his connection with us.'

'It will concern us, however, at the close of the connection, which cannot now be distant-at least, the connection cannot go on long on the same footing. His family position must, in a great measure, determine what is to be done for him; what in one station of life would be only an adequate remuneration, in another would be extravagant and absurd.'

'That is so far true; but Mr Oaklands is one of those men who make their own position, if they have only a vantage-ground, however slightly elevated, to start from. What you give him is not of so much consequence as you imagine: at least, it will affect only the time he may take to rise in the world, not the rise itself, which, after that first step is gained, will be inevitable. But your question, I see, has some further meaning?'

'Why, yes; I have been asking the fool Driftwood about him, and his answers have surprised and puzzled me a good deal. You, who do not believe in romance, will smile to hear that there is a mystery in Mr Oaklands' birth, and that he is expected to turn out some great personage!' Claudia made no reply. Her eyes were fixed upon the table before her. There was no perceptible movement of her chest. She did not seem even to breathe. Her whole figure conveyed the idea of statue-like rigidity.

'Cold as usual, Claudia!' said the baronet laughing. Even this extraordinary announcement has no effect upon you. But, after all, Driftwood is such a fool that there is no comprehending him; and, in the present case, it is obvious he does not comprehend himself. All he knows is, that there is a mystery, and that surmises are afloat that Oaklands is not what he seems, or what he has been taught to believe himself to be.' Claudia was still mute, still motionless, still statuesque.

'Have you heard me?' asked her father: 'is the matter not worthy of a remark?'

'It is romance,' replied Claudia, coldly—'quite out of my way, you know. Shall I break a walnut for you?'

IMITATIVE POWERS OF THE CHINESE.

thing: but no people are more ready to learn if it is likely It is generally supposed that the Chinese will not learn anyto be attended with advantage. They have lately been taught to make glass, and turn out bronze argand-lamps and globes, emblazoned with the London maker's name all complete; and actually export these lamps to Batavia. They like putting an English name on their commodities, and are as free with the word 'patent' as any manufacturer in Germany. They excel in the manufacture of locks, particularly padlocks. One of my friends gave an order to a tradesman to varnish a box, furnished with a Chubbs' lock, of which he had two keys, and one of these he sent with the box, retaining the other himself. When the box came back, he found that his key would not turn the lock, though the one he had given to the tradesman acted very well. Thinking some trick had been played, he accused the man of having changed the lock; and after some evasion, he acknowledged the fact, stating that, on examination, he had found it such an excellent one, that he took it off and kept it, making another exactly like it, with maker's name, and everything complete, except that the original key would not open it. Their mechanical contrivances generally have some defect of this kind. They have never made a watch that will keep time, though they greatly prize watches, and usually carry two. If you ask the reason of this fashion, their reply is: Spose one makee sick, other can walkee.'-A Sketcher's Tour Round the World.

Printed and Published by W. and R. CHAMBERS, 3 Bride's Passage, Fleet Street, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. Also sold by J. M'GLASHAN, 50 Upper Sackville Street, DUBLIN, and all Booksellers.

OF

POPULAR

LITERATURE

No. 12.

A BARBER'S SHOP IN OLD ATHENS. WHEN gazing at ancient Greece through the magnificent wrecks of her civilisation, we find it extremely difficult to represent to ourselves a true picture of her homely, domestic life. Yet even at Athens, the most splendid and beautiful of ancient cities, the nursing mother of philosophy, and the home of literature and the arts, the circumstances which characterised a citizen's daily career contrasted very strikingly with the greatness and grandeur of the state. Vivacious in their temperament, and highly poetical in their conceptions, the Athenians were yet in their social intercourse the most practical and business-like of men. No people were ever fonder of mirth and jollity. Once escaped from the absorbing interest of politics, they yielded themselves up to jesting and laughter, to the manufacturing of jokes, to the relation of comic anecdotes, to lounging in groups about the Agora, and to the habit of congregating in saddlers' and barbers' shops, where they enjoyed much the same kind of amusements which the moderns seek at restaurants and in tap-rooms.

During the early part of the Macedonian War, Dion, a young merchant of Sinope, paid a visit to the old country, chiefly for commercial purposes. In a galley of considerable tonnage, he sailed leisurely along the coast of Asia Minor, entered the Bosphorus, passed Byzantium and Calcedon, traversed the Propontis, threaded the windings of the Hellespont, and arrived, after an agreeable and prosperous voyage, at the Piræus. Having seen his goods properly warehoused, he hastened towards the city, the birthplace of his ancestors. His way led him over the long walls, from which, on one side, he enjoyed a prospect of Eleusis and Salamis, and the distant mountains overhanging the Corinthian isthmus; on the other, he beheld the wellwooded shores of Attica, stretching away in easy undulations towards Sunium. But the attractions of these landscapes were extremely slight in comparison with those exhibited by the objects before him: Hymettus, the Areopagus, the hill of the Museum, and above all, the Acropolis, towering in snowy splendour towards the blue heavens. Propylæa, temples, and colossal statues of gods and heroes, appeared to convert that majestic rock into a second Olympus. Almost on the edge of the cliff rose the effigies of Athena Promachus, looking towards the sea, her head surmounted with the crested helm, and in her hand a spear, which she wielded for the protection of her beloved city, lying in matchless splendour at her feet.

The young merchant felt his heart dilate within him as he moved beneath the shadow of these mighty works. But visions of glory, however gorgeous, will

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not satisfy the appetite. Entering an inn, therefore, at the corner of the Cerameicus, he found a large party just sitting down to dinner, and was invited by the host to join them. The guests consisted of persons from nearly all the countries encircling the eastern shores of the Mediterranean-Cyrene, Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, with many islanders from Rhodes and Crete. When the repast was over, he was invited by a number of young men to accompany them to a barber's shop opening upon the Agora, where, as they informed him, many lovers of news and gossip from all parts of the city assembled daily.

The streets through which they passed disappointed him very much. He expected to behold rows of palaces, exhibiting all the grandeur and taste of architecture; but instead, he observed a succession of modest dwellings, elegant, no doubt, in their appearance, but of extremely moderate dimensions and elevation. His mind, however, as he moved along, was filled with agreeable images, which insensibly reconciled him to the aspect of the place. Here and there, beneath stately porticos, were orange and citron trees, growing in large pots or boxes; flowering shrubs flung their fragrance into the street over low walls; and fountains, chapels, and temples occurring at frequent intervals, impressed a peculiar character upon his sensations.

On reaching the market-place, he almost fancied himself in the midst of an insurrection. The people had assembled there in crowds, but, as soon appeared, not for the purpose of taking up arms, but to buy and sell, eat fruit, drink wine, discuss the news, and at the same time to exhibit the richness or elegance of their costume. The booths and stalls, and the seats, were all of wood, constructed in a very light manner, that they might, if necessary, be easily removed. His companions seemed to know and be known of everybody; so that, owing to their constant salutations and greetings, their progress to the barber's shop was exceedingly slow.

At length they arrived; and Dion, with the inquisitiveness and curiosity inherent in all Greeks, set himself to observe. The shop opened upon an extensive esplanade, paved with broad flags, and descending with a gentle slope to the booths in the Agora. Rows of flower-pots, on painted stands, occupied the front of the apartment, which was spacious and lofty, and numerous chairs stood scattered over the floor, though most of them were empty, the frequenters of the place being far too active and restless to remain long seated. Ranged in order along the walls were mirrors of various sizes, some designed to be consulted where they hung, others to be taken in the hand by those who had undergone the tonsorial process, or were desirous of having their locks trimmed and curled