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That evening Mrs. Browns rich mellow snore commenced later thanusualfor she had been loud and long in the praise of their newneighbours. Mr. Brown making entry against December 22nd, Saturday. That Albert was let:whilst, the Waits were playing thePhantom Dancers, and Captain de Camp busy, there, screwing his emptytrunk to the floor, that it might appear heavy, and full of valuables;and whilst, between the villas in the rear, there might be seen aglimmering candle, and by that light be foundone not unknown toBrowna poor little musician, in a little secondfloor room, containinga little organ much too large for it, and a litter of dirty softpapers, who is not a little perplexed at a note, from Mrs. Brown, dispensing with his services:he, the poor little musicmaster, moreamiable than handsome, less symmetrical than serviceable;who had, in less favoured times, contracted friendship, and to teach the MissesBrown music at thirty shillings per quarterwho had gotten so familiaras to lovehad dared to offer that person Nature had deformed, withthat mind Nature had adorned, to Miss Jemima Brown. There was a timewhen his anecdotes had been prized, and his long, delicate, whitefingers kept playing to perpetual dancers; and that fine voice, Naturehad bestowed in lieu of symmetry, sang the merriest and most sentimentalsongs for love:the retrospect is too much for poor Spohfso he seeksrefuge in his organ, much to the annoyance of a little tailor in theattic, who has no soul in himsave the sole he had for supper. Illustration Sunday. The perpetual bell of St. Stiff the Martyr is calling toservice, as it is wont to do at all times and hoursfor mysteriouspurposes but little known:it seems as if the bell disliked its littlewooden cottage, on the unfinished spire; or was inspired, or in atowering passion to live in a tower, or saw no fun in waiting for funds;and so, continually pealed an appeal to the public:however, it was apuny, little, curious bell, with a tongue of its own, now clacking for acharity sermon; and, curiously, Mr. Brown thinks a charity sermon alwaysedifies him with the headache, and is doubtful about going, as they makehim a reluctant giverfor mere vain show; but he, curiously, wonderswhere the De Camps go; and, curiously, Victoria and Albert meet at thegate; and, curiously, the family pue, at St. Stiffs, seems capable ofaccommodating them. Mr. Spohf, the little organist, being perched up aloft, sees, throughthe curtain, the Christmas holly and the Captaintaking care to markthat individual with mental chalk. The musicians eyes are in the Brownpue; but the eyes that used to meet them are turned another wayallfavour is centred upon their spurious exotic, who grows thicker, twinestighter, and takes deeper root, the more he is encouraged:of thespecies, or genus, we cannot do better than quote Mr. B. s own words, written against December 23rd, Sunday(whilst the Waits, as usual, were serenading the semidetached, in a full conviction of its beingMonday, and the possibility of living and loving together, and beinghappy yet). To church with my new tenant, who is delightful company:Lady Lucre. Says he is a refined duck, a gentlemanly angel, and amanly poppet: to which I made answer, that I thought so too; and thatshe was a seraphine concert. Sermon, by the Rev. Loyalla ??? Becket, inaid of funds for supplying the poor, during this inclement but festiveseason, with food for the mind. Captain de Camp did borrow a sovereignof me, to put in the plate; and I was told by my fellowchurchwarden, Mr. Flyntflayer, that he did put in a bad shilling, wrapt in paper, anddid take out fifteen shillings in change:this, I said was untrueas, of course, it was;having lent him a sovereign myself, for the expresspurpose. We are to have Captain de C. s two noble sons here, during theholidays; one, I believe, comes from Oxford, and the other from SandboysMilitary College:now is the timeJemy. And Angel. Must be on

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