herself. "Yes, you false, deceitful man, I do
suspect your designs. You are going to
desert me for some one else, and what am
I to do? Ruined in character and reputation,
what will mamma say to me? I will hold
you to your promise. You shall not get off
after such marked attentions, and being
invited to Mr. Mudd's as my accepted lover.
Driver, stop!"

As if in obedience to her command, the
ricketty machine in which we were nearly
shaken to a jelly, after a convulsive sort of
shudder, gave a stagger forward and fell
heavily on its side. In a moment the feet of
the active Miss Arabella were planted on my
shoulder, and with a spring that would have
done honour to Columbine in a pantomime,
she got out of the window and left me to
follow her if I could. I was in no hurry to
do so. The wreck lay motionless on the road,
and I resolved to wait patiently for assistance.
The driver, who took matters so coolly that
it was evident he was used to adventures of
the sort, came at last to my aid.

"It's all along of that 'ere Bangles' wheel
which master he puts on his carriage. It
always twists round under the pole, and
upsets us as sure as winking."

"Mr. Bangles is — like the rest of the fools
in the Butts— an atrocious impostor," I
answered. "They are a set of thieves and
extortioners, and I wish they were all sent to
the treadmill as obtainers of money under
false pretences."

These, and fifty other growls expressed my
unbiassed sentiments as I was slowly drawn
through the door, like a gigantic periwinkle
out of its shell. While I was resting myself
on the flat side of the carriage, wondering
how I was to get off between the wheels, a
light flashed upon us from the lamps of a
carriage that came along at an immense pace.
For an instant the light rested on me, and
I saw the face of Charles Hammersmith
radiant with joy, while farther in was
pretty Mary Bolton blushing and smiling
her best.

“Hallo!" I cried, "help me down, there's
a good fellow!" He pulled up in a moment,
jumped out of the carriage, handed me to the
ground, discovered my portmanteau, and in
less time than it takes to write these lines,
I was delivered from my lofty eminence, and
snugly ensconced beside the bride. Twelve
hours after that I gave her away at Gretna
Hall, and in about a week afterwards when
I was staying at the inn at Keswick, I read
the first of a long succession of advertisements,
which has enriched the Times ever
since, requesting the gentleman who visited
the Butts in June last to return to his
disconsolate Arabella, or legal proceedings will
be taken against him the moment his name
and address can be discovered. The reader
will therefore see the necessity of considering
this communication strictly confidential; and
if he has any regard for his pocket, any
horror of stupidity, any disgust at vanity
and presumption, he will take very good care
never to tap the Butts, as I did .

CHIPS.

HEALTHY FIGURES.

THE people of Geneva are remarkable for
their longevity; and as it so happens that in
that town deaths have been registered since the
year 1549, and marriages and baptisms since
1550 there exist ample materials for any
gentleman who has a genius for statistics. Such
a gentleman was M. Edouard Mallet, whose
historical and statistical inquiries respecting
the population of Geneva, from 1549 to 1833,
have recently been transferred, in a condensed
form from the Annales d’Hygiène Publique
to the journal of our own Statistical Society.
Since these inquiries yield some interesting
and amusing facts of general significance, we
shall endeavour to extract a little of their
juice. Statistics, we know, are not usually
juicy in their character, but are to be reckoned
among the dry fruits which overhang the
walks of knowledge; and where it so happens
that they were originally mellow and refreshing
in their character, it is unhappily the
custom to present them to us cut and dried.

Our own faith in armies of Arabic numerals
is not implicit; if the hosts be not under
the guidance of a vigilant, quick-witted
general, if they be marshalled carelessly at
the command of a man who trusts his cause
to numbers simply, the Arabs only tread on
one another's heels, and make unhappy figures
of themselves. In M. Mallet we confess our
faith to be circumscribed. He does, indeed,
march at the head of a formidable array of
columns, but his regiments are not united
among themselves; and, when a point is
gained by one troop now and then, another
will come down upon it, and completely turn
the tables. We shall not meddle, however,
with dissensions. We would observe, also, that,
curious as it might be to compare the figures
of Geneva with the London figures, we abstain
from doing so, because the shaping is
contrived with skill so different, by different
people, that we shall not get much by the
comparison. For example, we are told, that in
1837 Geneva contained nearly twenty-two
inhabitants to every house. Here we suspect
some error, if we are correctly told that in
London the average number of inmates to a
house is between seven and eight. The
average mortality of London is of course greatly
altered, to the apparent advantage of the
town, by the immigration of much youth and
health, which finds its way to the metropolis
in search of fortune; and by the emigration
in large numbers— of the sick for health, of
the unfortunate for a less crowded arena, and
of the prosperous for enjoyment after their
labour done. Innumerable considerations of