evidently another man, a fallen creature; his pride, his existence, the
very theme of all his joys, his gold snuff-box, had departed for ever, and
his heart was in that box: what would Mrs. Cheeseman say? He had been
cleaned out to the very letter--ay, that letter--it perhaps contained
matters of moment.

I have since that affair upon several occasions heard the poor fellow
declare that much as he was heart-broken at the loss of his box, his
feelings were lacerated to a greater degree when, in a curtain lecture, my
staid, correct, frosty-hearted, jewel-hugging aunt said, "Cheeseman, it
was a judgment for such conduct to a wife. In that letter, which you
treated with such contumely, I strictly cautioned you not to take that
valuable box about with you, if your madness for sight-seeing should lead
you into a mob. Let this be a warning to you; and be sure that though
woman be the weaker vessel, she is oftentimes the deepest." We believe it.

* * * * *


THE PENSIVE PEEL.

It is an unfounded calumny of the enemies of Sir Robert Peel to say that
he has gone into the country to amuse himself--shooting, feasting, eating,
and drinking--while the people are starving in the streets and highways.
_We_ know that the heart of the compassionate _old rat_ bleeds for the
distresses of the nation, and that he is at this moment living upon bread
and water, and studying Lord John Russell's hints on the Corn-laws, in

[Illustration: THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE.]