Happy Jack ceased. There was a pause. 'And now,' he said, 'having
provided for my family, I will go to sleep, with a clear conscience
and a tranquil mind.'

I said that I always distrusted this legend. I am happy to say, that
even as I write I have proof positive that it is purely a fiction. I
have just had a card put into my hand requesting my presence at a
private exhibition of the celebrated Bloomer Family, while an
accompanying private note from Jack himself informs me that the
'celebrated and charming Bloomer group--universally allowed to be the
most perfect and interesting representatives of the new _régime_ in
costume'--are no other than the Happy Jacks _redivivi_--Mrs J. and the
girls donning the transatlantic attire, and Happy Jack himself
delivering a lecture upon the vagaries of fashion and the
inconsistencies of dress, in a new garment invented by himself, and
combining the Roman toga with the Highland kilt.




THE DESERT HOME.[1]


Robinson Crusoe is the parent of a line of fictions, all more or less
entertaining; but those of our own day, as might be expected, share
largely in the practical spirit of the time, making amusement in some
degree the mere menstruum of information. Following the Swiss Family
Robinson, we have here an English Family Robinson, which might as well
be called an American Family Robinson; and although ostensibly meant
for the holiday recreation of youth, it proves to be a production