the victims who were immolated by the editors
of to-day were very likely the objects of the best
puffery of the last dynasty. To be flogged in
what was your own school-room-that, surely, is
a queer sensation; and when my Report was
published on the decay of the sealing-wax trade
in the three kingdoms (owing to the prevalence
of gummed envelopes-as you may see in that
masterly document), I was horsed up and smart-
ly whipped in the Gazette by some of the rods
which had come out of pickle since my time.
Was not good Dr. Guillotin executed by his own
neat invention? I don't know who was the
Monsieur Samson who operated on me; but
have always had my idea that Digges, of Cor-
pus, was the man to whom my flagellation was
intrusted. His father keeps a ladies'-school at
Hackney; but there is an air of fashion in every
thing which Digges writes, and a chivalrous
conservatism which makes me pretty certain that
D, was my scarifier.
All this, however, is
naught. Let us turn away from the author's
private griefs and egotisms to those of the hero,
of the story.

real name—and putting out of sight that little defect in his character, that he committed a systematic literary murder once a week, a more worthy, good-natured little murderer did not live. He came of the old school of the press. Like French marshals, he had risen from the ranks, and retained some of the manners and oddities of the private soldier. A new race of writers had grown up since he enlisted as a printer's boy-men of the world, with the manners of other gentlemen. Mugford never professed the least gentility. He knew that his young men laughed at his peculiarities, and did not care a fig for their scorn. As the knife with which he conveyed his victuals to his mouth went down his throat at the plenteous banquets which he gave, he saw his young friends wince and wonder, and rather relished their surprise. Those lips never cared in the least about placing his h's in right places. They used bad language with great freedom-(to hear him bullying a printing office was a wonder of eloquence)-but they betrayed no secrets, and the words which they uttered you might trust. He had belonged to two or three parties, and had respected them all. When he went to the Under-Secretary's office he was never kept waiting; and once or twice Mrs. Mugford, who governed him, ordered him to attend the Saturday reception of the Ministers' ladies, where he might be seen, with dirty hands it is true, but a richly embroidered waistcoat and fancy satin tie. His heart, however, was not in these entertainments. I have heard him say that he only came because Mrs. M. would have it; and he frankly owned that he "would rather 'ave a pipe and a drop of something 'ot than all your ices and rubbish."

Does any one remember the appearance some twenty years ago of a little book called Trumpet Calls-a book of songs and poetry, dedicated to his brother officers by Cornet Canterton? His trumpet was very tolerably melodious, and the cornet played some small airs on it with some little grace and skill. But this poor Canterton belonged to the Life Guards Green, and Philip Firmin would have liked to have the lives of one or two troops at least of that corps. Entering into Mr. Cassidy's room, Philip found the little volume. He set to work to exterminate Canterton. He rode him down, trampled over his face and carcass, knocked the Trumpet Calls and all the teeth out of the trumpeter's throat. Never was such a smashing article as he wrote. And Mugford, Mr. Cassidy's chief and owner, who likes always to have at least one man served up and hashed small in the Pall Mall Gazette, happened at this very juncture to have no other victim ready in his larder. Philip's review appeared there in print. He rushed off with immense glee to Westminster, to show us his performance. Nothing must content him but to give a dinner at Greenwich on his success. Oh, gentleman-passionate fellow, hawhaw fellow, Philip! We wished that this had not been his first fee; and that sober law had given it to him, and not the graceless and fickle muse with whom he had been flirting. For, truth to say, certain wise old heads which wagged over his performance could see but little merit in it. His style was coarse, his wit clumsy and savage. Never mind characterizing either now. He has seen the error of his ways, and divorced with the muse whom he never ought to have wooed.

The shrewd Cassidy not only could not write himself, but knew he could not-or, at least, pen more than a plain paragraph, or a brief sentence to the point, but said he would carry this paper to his chief. "His Excellency" was the nickname by which this chief was called by his familiars. Mugford-Frederick Mugford was his

Mugford had a curious knowledge of what was going on in the world, and of the affairs of countless people. When Cass. brought Philip's article to his Excellency, and mentioned the author's name, Mugford showed himself to be perfectly familiar with the histories of Philip and his father. "The old chap has nobbled the young fellow's money, almost every shilling of it, I hear. Knew he never would carry on. His discounts would have killed any man. Seen his paper about this ten year. Young one is a

but kind to the poor. Father never was a gentleman, with all his fine airs and fine waistcoats. I don't set up in that line myself, Cass., but I tell you I know 'em when I see 'em."

Philip had friends and private patrons whose influence was great with the Mugford family, and of whom he little knew. Every year Mrs. M. was in the habit of contributing a Mugford to the world. She was one of Mrs. Brandon's most regular clients; and year after year, almost from his first arrival in London, Ridley, the painter, had been engaged as portrait painter to this worthy family. Philip and his illness; Philip and his horses, splendors, and entertainments; Philip and his lamentable downfall and ruin, had formed the subject of many an interesting talk between Mrs. Mugford and her friend,

still took a Sunday walk, Hampstead way, Mr.
M. requested him to remember that there was a
slice of beef and a glass of wine at the old shop.
Philip remembered it well enough now: the
ugly room, the ugly family, the kind worthy
people. Ere long he learned what had been
Mrs. Brandon's connection with them, and the
young man's heart was softened and grateful as
he thought how this kind, gentle creature had
been able to befriend him. She, we may be
sure, was not a little proud of her protégé. I
believe she grew to fancy that the whole news-
paper was written by Philip. She made her
fond parent read it aloud as she worked.
Ridley, senior, pronounced it was remarkable
fine, really now; without, I think, entirely com-
prehending the meaning of the sentiments which
Mr. Gann gave forth in his rich loud voice, and
often dropping asleep in his chair during this
sermon.

Mr.

the Little Sister; and as we know Caroline's in- | Phil's first performance in the Gazette. If he fatuation about the young fellow, we may suppose that his good qualities lost nothing in the description. When that article in the Pall Mall Gazette appeared, Nurse Brandon took the omnibus to Haverstock Hill, where, as you know, Mugford had his villa; arrived at Mrs. Mugford's, Gazette in hand, and had a long and delightful conversation with that lady. Mrs. Brandon bought I don't know how many copies of that Pall Mall Gazette. She now asked for it repeatedly in her walks at sundry ginger-beer shops, and of all sorts of newsvendors. I have heard that when the Mugfords first purchased the Gazette Mrs. M. used to drop bills from her pony-chaise, and distribute placards setting forth the excellence of the journal. "We keep our carriage, but we ain't above our business, Brandon," that good lady would say. And the business prospered under the management of these worthy folks; and the pony-chaise unfolded into a noble barouche; and the pony increased and In the autumn, Mr. Firmin's friends, Mr. multiplied, and became a pair of horses; and and Mrs. Pendennis, selected the romantic seathere was not a richer piece of gold-lace round port town of Boulogne for their holiday resiany coachman's hat in London than now deco-dence; and having roomy quarters in the old rated John, who had grown with the growth of his master's fortunes, and drove the chariot in which his worthy employers rode on the away to Hampstead, honor, and prosperity.

"All this pitching into the poet is very well, you know, Cassidy," says Mugford to his subordinate. "It's like shooting a butterfly with a blunderbuss; but if Firmin likes that kind of sport, I don't mind. There won't be any difficulty about taking his copy at our place. The duchess knows another old woman who is a friend of his" (" the duchess" was the title which Mr. Mugford was in the playful habit of conferring upon his wife). "It's my belief young F. had better stick to the law, and leave the writing rubbish alone. But he knows his own affairs best, and, mind you, the duchess is determined we shall give him a helping hand."

town, we gave Mr. Philip an invitation to pay
us a visit whenever he could tear himself away
from literature and law. He came in high spir-
its. He amused us by imitations and descrip-
tions of his new proprietor and master, Mr. Mug-
ford his blunders, his bad language, his good
heart. One day, Mugford expected a celebrated
literary character to dinner, and Philip and Cas-
sidy were invited to meet him. The great man
was ill, and was unable to come.
"Don't dish
up the side-dishes," called out Mugford to his
cook, in the hearing of his other guests. "Mr.
Lyon ain't a coming." They dined quite suffi-
ciently without the side-dishes, and were per-
fectly cheerful in the absence of the lion. Mug-
ford patronized his young men with amusing
good-nature. "Firmin, cut the goose for the
duchess, will you? Cass. can't say Bo! to one,
he can't. Ridley, a little of the stuffing. It'll
make your hair curl." And Philip was going
to imitate a frightful act with the cold steel (with
which I have said Philip's master used to con-
vey food to his mouth), but our dear innocent
third daughter uttered a shriek of terror, which
caused him to drop the dreadful weapon. Our
darling little Florence is a nervous child, and
the sight of an edged tool causes her anguish,
ever since our darling little Tom nearly cut his
thumb off with his father's razor.

Once, in the days of his prosperity, and in J. J.'s company, Philip had visited Mrs. Mugford and her family-a circumstance which the gentleman had almost forgotten. The painter and his friend were taking a Sunday walk, and came upon Mugford's pretty cottage and garden, and were hospitably entertained there by the owners of the place. It has disappeared, and the old garden has long since been covered by terraces and villas, and Mugford and Mrs. M., good souls, where are they? But the lady thought she had never seen such a fine-looking Our main amusement in this delightful place young fellow as Philip; cast about in her mind was to look at the sea-sick landing from the which of her little female Mugfords should mar- steamers; and one day, as we witnessed this ry him; and insisted upon offering her guest phenomenon, Philip sprang to the ropes which Champagne. Poor Phil! So, you see, while, divided us from the arriving passengers, and perhaps, he was rather pluming himself upon with a cry of "How do you do, general?" greethis literary talents, and imagining that he was ed a yellow-faced gentleman, who started back, a clever fellow, he was only the object of a job and, to my thinking, seemed but ill inclined to on the part of two or three good folks who knew reciprocate Philip's friendly greeting. The gen his history, and compassionated his misfortunes. eral was fluttered, no doubt, by the bustle and Mugford recalled himself to Philip's recollec- interruptions incidental to the landing. A paltion, when they met after the appearance of Mr. | lid lady, the partner of his existence probably,

sure as yet to keep in a strict cleanliness her own dear little snub nose and dappled cheeks.

was calling out, "Noof et doo domestiques, | cent, and careless, perhaps, of the world's cenDoo!" to the sentries who kept the line, and who seemed little interested by this family news. A governess, a tall young lady, and several more male and female children, followed the pale lady, who, as I thought, looked strangely frightened when the gentleman addressed as general communicated to her Philip's name. "Is that him?" said the lady in questionable grammar; and the tall young lady turned a pair of large eyes upon the individual designated as "him," and showed a pair of dark ringlets, out of which the envious sea-nymphs had shaken all the curl.

"We are only ruined, and shall be starving soon, my dears, and if the general has bought a pony-as I dare say he has; he is quite capable of buying a pony when we are starving-the best thing we can do is to eat the pony. M'Grigor, don't laugh. Starvation is no laughing matter. When we were at Dumdum, in '36, we ate some colt. Don't you remember Jubber's colt-Jubber of the Horse Artillery, general? Never tasted any thing more tender in all my life. Charlotte, take Jany's hands out of the marmaThe general turned out to be General Baynes; lade! We are all ruined, my dears, as sure as the pale lady was Mrs. General B.; the tall our name is Baynes." Thus did the mother of young lady was Miss Charlotte Baynes, the the family prattle on in the midst of her little general's eldest child; and the other six, form- ones, and announce to them the dreadful news ing nine, or "noof," in all, as Mrs. General B. of impending starvation. "General Baynes, by said, were the other members of the Baynes fam- his carelessness, had allowed Dr. Firmin to make ily. And here I may as well say why the gen-away with the money over which the general had eral looked alarmed on seeing Philip, and why the general's lady frowned at him. In action, one of the bravest of men, in common life General Baynes was timorous and weak. Specially he was afraid of Mrs. General Baynes, who ruled him with a vigorous authority. As Philip's trustee, he had allowed Philip's father to make away with the boy's money. He learned with a ghastly terror that he was answerable for his own remissness and want of care. For a long while he did not dare to tell his commander-in-out me? We were quartered at Colchester then: chief of this dreadful penalty which was hanging over him. When at last he ventured upon this confession, I do not envy him the scene which must have ensued between him and his commanding officer. The morning after the fatal confession, when the children assembled for breakfast and prayers, Mrs. Baynes gave their young ones their porridge; she and Charlotte poured out the tea and coffee for the elders, and then addressing her eldest son Ochterlony, she said, "Ocky, my boy, the general has announced a charming piece of news this morning." "Bought that pony, Sir?" says Ocky.· "Oh, what jolly fun!" says Moira, the second

son.

"Dear, dear papa! what's the matter, and why do you look so?" cries Charlotte, looking behind her father's paper.

That guilty man would fain have made a shroud of his Morning Herald. He would have flung the sheet over his whole body, and lain hidden there from all eyes.

"The fun, my dears, is, that your father is ruined: that's the fun. Eat your porridge now, little ones. Charlotte, pop a bit of butter in Carrick's porridge; for you mayn't have any to

morrow.

"Oh, gammon," cries Moira.

"You'll soon see whether it is gammon or not, Sir, when you'll be starving, Sir. Your father has ruined us—and a very pleasant morning's work, I am sure."

And she calmly rubs the nose of her youngest child who is near her, and too young, and inno

been set as sentinel. Philip might recover from the trustee, and no doubt would. Perhaps he would not press his claim? My dear, what can you expect from the son of such a father? Depend on it, Charlotte, no good fruit can come from a stock like that. The son is a bad one, the father is a bad one, and your father, poor dear soul, is not fit to be trusted to walk the street without some one to keep him from tumbling. Why did I allow him to go to town with

and I could not move on account of your brother M'Grigor. 'Baynes,' I said to your father, as sure as I let you go away to town without me, you will come to mischief.' And go he did, and come to mischief he did. And through his folly I and my poor children must go and beg our bread in the streets-I and my seven poor, robbed, penniless little ones. Oh, it's cruel, cruel!"

Indeed, one can not fancy a more dismal prospect for this worthy mother and wife than to see her children without provision at the commencement of their lives, and her luckless husband robbed of his life's earnings, and ruined just when he was too old to work.

What was to become of them? Now poor Charlotte thought, with pangs of a keen remorse, how idle she had been, and how she had snubbed her governesses, and how little she knew, and how badly she played the piano. Oh, neglected opportunities! Oh, remorse, now the time was past and irrecoverable! Does any young lady read this who, perchance, ought to be doing her lessons? My dear, lay down the story-book at once. Go up to your school-room, and practice your piano for two hours this moment; so that you may be prepared to support your family, should ruin in any case fall upon you. A great girl of sixteen, I pity Charlotte Baynes's feelings of anguish. She can't write a very good hand; she can scarcely answer any question to speak of in any educational books; her piano-forte playing is very, very so-so indeed. If she is to go out and get a living for the family, how, in the name of goodness, is she to set about it? What

and pay my respects to Mrs. Baynes." Again he salutes that lady with a coup de chapeau. Again he bows to Miss Baynes. She makes a pretty courtesy enough, considering that she has a baby asleep on her shoulder. And they enter the hotel, the excellent Marie marshaling them to fitting apartments, where some of them, I have no doubt, will sleep very soundly. How much more comfortably might poor Baynes and his wife have slept had they known what were Philip's feelings regarding them!

We both admired Charlotte, the tall girl who carried her little brother, and around whom the others clung. And we spoke loudly in Miss Charlotte's praises to Mrs. Pendennis, when we joined that lady at dinner. In the praise of Mrs. Baynes we had not a great deal to say, further than that she seemed to take command of the whole expedition, including the general officer, her husband.

Philip was greatly interested about the family. The truth is, we were all very much bored at Boulogne. We read the feeblest London papers at the reading-room with frantic assiduity. We saw all the boats come in: and the day was lost when we missed the Folkestone boat or the London boat. We consumed much time and absinthe at cafés; and tramped leagues upon that old pier every day. Well, Philip was at the Hôtel des Bains at a very early hour next morning, and there he saw the general, with a woeworn face, leaning on his stick, and looking at his luggage, as it lay piled in the porte-cochère of the hotel. There they lay, thirty-seven packages in all, including washing-tubs, and a child's India sleeping-cot; and all these packages were ticketed M. LE GENERAL BAYNES, OFFICIER ANGLAIS, TOURS, TOURAINE, FRANCE. I say, putting two and two together; calling to mind Mrs. General's singular knowledge of Tours and familiarity with the place and its prices; remembering that her sister Emily—Mrs. Major MacWhirter, in fact-was there; and seeing thirty-seven trunks, bags, and portmanteaus, all directed "M. le Général Baynes, Officier Anglais, Tours, Touraine," am I wrong in supposing that Tours was the general's destination? On the other hand, we have the old officer's declaration to Philip that he did not know where he was going. Oh, you sly old man! Oh, you gray old fox, beginning to double and to turn at sixty-seven years of age! Well? The general was in retreat, and he did not wish the enemy to know upon what lines he was retreating. What is the harm of that, pray? Besides, he was under the orders of his commanding officer, and when Mrs. General gave her orders, I should have liked to see any officer of hers disobey.

"What a pyramid of portmanteaus! You are not thinking of moving to-day, general?" says Philip.

Though Marie's beds at the Hôtel des Bains are as comfortable as any beds in Europe, you see that admirable chambermaid can not lay out a clean, easy conscience upon the clean, fragrant pillow-case; and General and Mrs. Baynes owned, in after-days, that one of the most dreadful nights they ever passed was that of their first landing in France. What refugee from his country can fly from himself? Railways were not as yet in that part of France. The general was too poor to fly with a couple of private carriages, which he must have had for his family of "noof," his governess, and two servants. Encumbered with such a train, his enemy would speedily have pursued and overtaken him. It is a fact that, immediately after landing at his hotel, he and his commanding officer went off to see when they could get places for-never mind the name of the place where they really thought of taking refuge. They never told, but Mrs. General Baynes had a sister, Mrs. Major MacWhirter (married to MacW. of the Bengal Cavalry), and the sisters "It is Sunday, Sir," says the general; which loved each other very affectionately, especially you will perceive was not answering the quesby letter, for it must be owned that they quar- tion; but, in truth, except for a very great emergreled frightfully when together; and Mrs. Mac-ency, the good general would not travel on that Whirter never could bear that her younger sister should be taken out to dinner before her, because she was married to a superior officer. Well, their little differences were forgotten when the two ladies were apart. The sisters wrote to each other prodigious long letters, in which household affairs, the children's puerile diseases, the relative prices of veal, eggs, chickens, the rent of lodging and houses in various places, were fully discussed. And as Mrs. Baynes showed a surprising knowledge of Tours, the markets, rents, clergymen, society there, and as Major and Mrs. Mac. were staying there, I have little doubt, for my part, from this and another not unimportant circumstance, that it was to that fair city our fugitives were wending their way, when events occurred which must now be narrated, and which caused General Baynes, at the head of his domestic regiment, to do what the King of France with twenty thousand men is said to have done in old times.

day.

"I hope the ladies slept well after their windy voyage."

"Thank you. My wife is an old sailor, and has made two voyages out and home to India." Here, you understand, the old man is again eluding his interlocutor's artless queries.

"I should like to have some talk with you, Sir, when you are free," continues Philip, not having leisure as yet to be surprised at the other's demeanor.

"There are other days besides Sunday for talk on business," says that piteous sly-boots of an old officer. Ah, conscience! conscience! Twenty-four Sikhs, sword in hand, two dozen Pindarries, Mahrattas, Ghoorkas, what you please-that old man felt that he would rather have met them than Philip's unsuspecting blue eyes. These, however, now lighted up with rather an angry, "Well, Sir, as you don't talk business on Sunday, may I call on you to-morrow morning?"