Mr. Crample had not been a mere warming-
pan for his new patron's son. A conviction
had slowly crept over that young gentleman
that the Church was not exactly his calling,
and he had gone into the Army—(and a very
good fellow he proved at heart. Mr. Crample,
therefore, got the living.

The latest intelligence of the Crample family
reports Miss Crample to be a guest at Pompton
Castle. Captain Speckle is in India with
his regiment. It is said that he and Jane
correspond.

"TO CLERGYMEN (AND OTHERS) IN
DIFFICULTIES " still heads an advertisement
frequently inserted in various newspapers; and,
as Mr. Oloman l'Evy has lately set up his
carriage, there is little doubt that "our system of
doing business" flourishes, in spite of exposure.

Now, my lords and gentlemen, is there
anything wrong about this Mr. Oloman l'Evy and
his business; and, if we tried hard, don't you
think we might preserve our clergymen and
others, as well as our—come!—say as well as
our Game!

THE MOTHER'S TEST.

This incident is related of Mary, Countess of Orkney,
born deaf and dumb, who, in the year 1753, was married by
signs, to her cousin, the Marquis of Thomond.

OUR nurse, our dear, old, faithful Joan, what
pleasant tales she told,
Adventures that herself had known, or legends
quaint and old;
Unceasing marvel each excites; untired, her stores
we claim,
Close seated round o' winter nights, beside the
fagot's flame.

Once lived she in a moated Hall, an ancient,
lonesome place,
Enclosing in its flanking wall a Plaisaunce and a
Chace;
And there she came to tend a dame of high
degree and fair,
And her young son, a little one, the first born and
the heir.
The Countess look'd into its eyes with bright
and searching glance,
Whate'er she felt, her fate denies her tongue the
utterance;
Hearing and speech to her are lost; in silence,
day by day,—
The nurse's time of servitude wore wearily away.

One night the lordling soundly slept within its
cradle bed,
A silence perfect and profound throughout the
room was spread;
When mark'd the nurse the lady rise, with
strange and earnest air,
Back looping from her beaming eyes her long
luxuriant hair:
Nurse watch'd her for a little space, as o'er the
child she bent,
And strove to read upon her face her thought or
her intent.

Alarm'd, she saw her raise on high a missile she
had brought;
Ah! what avail'd the warning cry that sudden
fears extort.
Far flew the fragments of the vase, when dash'd
upon the ground;
The startled child by cries hath shown, he heard
the sudden sound.
Ah! who that mother's dread could doubt, who
saw the wild caress,
The burst of joy sincere, devout, that greeted her
success?
With him she sought her couch again, nought
then could them divide,
And morning's dawn beheld the twain fast
sleeping side by side.

The Earl came at the morning's dawn, but started
at the door,
To see the wrecks, not yet withdrawn, lie shatter'd
on the floor.
But she with fond and loving signs, kissing her
boy, explain'd
How now her heart was set at rest, how she that
rest attain'd;
That he her doubt and fear had shared, her happy
lord confess'd:
Means to remove it, she, alone, found in her
loving breast.

THE SAILORS' HOME.

I WAS thinking occasionally of Gray's
"Bard," and then of old Lord Lovat and the
heroes of "the forty-five," and of Horace
Walpole's account of their execution, and how
Lady Townsend was afraid to go anywhere to
dinner for fear of "a rebel pie," as I crossed
Tower Hill the other morning in my way to
visit a peculiar institution in the neighbourhood
of the London Docks; I mean the
"Sailors' Home" in Well Street. I had
learned that such an Institution did exist,
some time before, from my young friend and
old messmate, Mr. Pipp, late midshipman of
H.M.S. "Troubadour." Pipp, who, when I
was with him in the "Rattler" (sixteen gun
brig), was one of the idlest men in the
profession—who used to smoke cigars out on the
bowsprit, when the foresail hid him from the
First Lieutenant—who cut down the
hammock of the respectable Greek pilot whom we
employed in the Archipelago.—Pipp, I say,
has now become quite a sensible fellow. He
scrutinises our naval expenditure (I wish him
joy of the job), talks about "the lines" of
the "Inconstant," and bids fair to be the
most unpopular member of the next dandy
mess he joins. We had often talked over
the character of seamen; and had agreed
that it was barbarous that these poor fellows
should be turned adrift when they landed, at
the mercy of the abominable scoundrels who
look out for them in sea-ports to plunder them
—treating each, as he lands, like a stranded
whale, to be cut up for the sake of the blubber,
and picked clean as unscrupulously as possible.

Now, the "Sailors' Home," in question, was
established in 1835, to give sailors a fair
chance of snug quarters when on shore—
decent, orderly life—and practical assistance
in the management of their business affairs.
"For, it is to be observed," said Pipp, with