LIVELY TURTLE.

I HAVE a comfortable property. What I
spend, I spend upon myself; and what I don't
spend I save. Those are my principles. I
am warmly attached to my principles, and
stick to them on all occasions.

I am not, as some people have represented,
a mean man. I never denied myself anything
that I thought I should like to have. I may
have said to myself "SNOADY"—that is my
name— "you will get those peaches cheaper
if you wait till next week;" or, I may have
said to myself, "Snoady, you will get that
wine for nothing, if you wait till you are
asked out to dine;" but I never deny myself
anything. If I can't get what I want without
buying it, and paying its price for it, I do
buy it and pay its price for it. I have an
appetite bestowed upon me; and, if I baulked
it, I should consider that I was flying in the
face of Providence.

I have no near relation but a brother.  If
he wants anything of me, he don't get it. All
men are my brothers; and I see no reason
why I should make his, an exceptional case.

I live at a cathedral town where there is
an old corporation. I am not in the Church,
but it may be that I hold a little place of
some sort. Never mind. It may be profitable.
Perhaps yes, perhaps no. It may, or it may
not, be a sinecure. I don't choose to say.
I never enlightened my brother on these
subjects, and I consider all men my brothers.
The Negro is a man and a brother—should
I hold myself accountable for my position
in life, to him? Certainly not.

I often run up to London. I like London.
The way I look at it, is this. London is not
a cheap place, but, on the whole, you can get
more of the real thing for your money there—
I mean the best thing, whatever it is—than
you can get in most places. Therefore, I say
to the man who has got the money, and wants
the thing, "Go to London for it, and treat
yourself."

When I go, I do it in this manner. I go to
Mrs. Skim's Private Hotel and Commercial
Lodging House, near Aldersgate Street, City,
(it is advertised in "Bradshaw's Railway
Guide," where I first found it), and there I
pay, "for bed and breakfast, with meat, two
and ninepence per day, including servants."
Now, I have made a calculation, and I am
satisfied that Mrs. Skim cannot possibly make
much profit out of me. In fact, if all her
patrons were like me, my opinion is, the
woman would be in the Gazette next month.

Why do I go to Mrs. Skim's when I could
go to the Clarendon, you may ask? Let us
argue that point. If I went to the Clarendon
I could get nothing in bed but sleep; could
I? No. Now, sleep at the Clarendon is an
expensive article; whereas sleep, at Mrs.
Skim's, is decidedly cheap. I have made a
calculation, and I don't hesitate to say, all
things considered, that it's cheap. Is it an
inferior article, as compared with the
Clarendon sleep, or is it of the same quality? I
am a heavy sleeper, and it is of the same
quality. Then why should I go to the
Clarendon?

But as to breakfast? you may say.—Very
well. As to breakfast. I could get a variety
of delicacies for breakfast at the Clarendon,
that are out of the question at Mrs. Skim's.
Granted. But I don't want to have them!
My opinion is, that we are not entirely animal
and sensual. Man has an intellect
bestowed upon him. If he clogs that intellect
by too good a breakfast, how can he properly
exert that intellect in meditation, during the
day, upon his dinner? That's the point.
We are not to enchain the soul. We are to
let it soar. It is expected of us.

At Mrs. Skim's, I get enough for breakfast
(there is no limitation to the bread and
butter, though there is to the meat) and not
too much. I have all my faculties about me,
to concentrate upon the object I have
mentioned, and I can say to myself besides,
"Snoady, you have saved six, eight, ten,
fifteen, shillings, already to-day. If there is
anything you fancy for your dinner, have it.
Snoady, you have earned your reward."

My objection to London, is, that it is the
head-quarters of the worst radical sentiments
that are broached in England. I consider
that it has a great many dangerous people in
it. I consider the present publication (if it 's
"Household Words") very dangerous, and I
write this with the view of neutralising some
of its bad effects. My political creed is, let
us be comfortable. We are all very
comfortable as we are—/ am very comfortable as
I am—leave us alone!