nd see
the stream of mathematics flow beneath. We will take refuge in cards,
and play at "beggar my neighbor," not abuse my neighbor. We will go
to the Zoological Gardens and talk freely about the gorilla and his
kindred, but not talk about people who can talk in their turn. Suppose
we praise the High Church? we offend the Low Church. The Broad Church?
High and Low are both offended. What do you think of Lord Derby as a
politician? And what is your opinion of Lord Palmerston? If you please,
will you play me those lovely variations of "In my cottage near a wood?"
It is a charming air (you know it in French, I suppose? Ah! te dirai-je,
maman!) and was a favorite with poor Marie Antoinette. I say "poor,"
because I have a right to speak with pity of a sovereign who was
renowned for so much beauty and so much misfortune. But as for giving
any opinion on her conduct, saying that she was good or bad, or
indifferent, goodness forbid! We have agreed we will not be censorious.
Let us have a game at cards--at ecarte, if you please. You deal. I ask
for cards. I lead the deuce of clubs. . . .

What? there is no deuce! Deuce take it! What? People WILL go on talking
about their neighbors, and won't have their mouths stopped by cards, or
ever so much microscopes and aquariums? Ah, my poor dear Mrs. Candor, I
agree with you. By the way, did you ever see anything like Lady Godiva
Trotter's dress last night? People WILL go on chattering, although we
hold our tongues; and, after all, my good soul, what will their scandal
matter a hundred years hence?

SMALL-BEER CHRONICLE.

Not long since, at a certain banquet, I had the good fortune to sit by
Doctor Polymathesis, who knows everything, and who, about the time
when the claret made its appearance, mentioned that old dictum of the
grumbling Oxford Don, that "ALL CLARET would be port if it could!"
Imbibing a bumper of one or the other not ungratefully, I thought to
myself, "Here surely, Mr. Roundabout, is a good text for one of your
reverence's sermons." Let us apply to the human race, dear brethren,
what is here said of the vintages of Portugal and Gascony, and we shall
have no difficulty in perceiving how many clarets aspire to be ports in
their way; how most men and women of our acquaintance, how we ourselves,
are Aquitanians giving ourselves Lusitanian airs; how we wish to have
credit for being stronger, braver, more beautiful, more worthy than we
really are.

Nay, the beginni