of furniture to its own neat and comfortable
place. The Angel's daughters (pleasanter
angels Mr. Idle and Mr. Goodchild never
saw, nor more quietly expert in their business,
nor more superior to the common vice
of being above it), have a little time to rest,
and to air their cheerful faces among the
flowers in the yard. It is market-day.
The market looks unusually natural,
comfortable, and wholesome; the market-people
too. The town seems quite restored, when,
hark! a metallic bray—The Gong-donkey!

The wretched animal has not cleared off
with the rest, but is here, under the window.
How much more inconceivably drunk now,
how much more begrimed of paw, how much
more tight of calico hide, how much more
stained and daubed and dirty and dung-
hilly, from his horrible broom to his tender
toes, who shall say! He cannot even shake
the bray out of himself now, without laying
his cheek so near to the mud of the street,
that he pitches over after delivering it. Now,
prone in the mud, and now backing himself
up against shop-windows, the owners of which
come out in terror to remove him; now, in
the drinking-shop, and now in the tobacconist's,
where he goes to buy tobacco, and
makes his way into the parlor, and where
he gets a cigar, which in half-a-minute
he forgets to smoke; now dancing, now
dozing, now cursing, and now complimenting
My Lord, the Colonel, the Noble
Captain, and Your Honorable Worship, the
Gong-donkey kicks up his heels, occasionally
braying, until suddenly, he beholds the
dearest friend he has in the world coming
down the street.

The dearest friend the Gong-donkey has
in the world, is a sort of Jackall, in a dull
mangy black hide, of such small pieces that
it looks as if it were made of blacking bottles
turned inside out and cobbled together. The
dearest friend in the world (inconceivably
drunk too) advances at the Gong-donkey,
with a hand on each thigh, in a series of
humorous springs and stops, wagging his
head as he comes. The Gong-Donkey regarding
him with attention and with the warmest
affection, suddenly perceives that he is the
greatest enemy he has in the world, and hits
him hard in the countenance. The astonished
Jackall closes with the Donkey, and they
roll over and over in the mud, pummelling
one another. A Police Inspector, supernaturally
endowed with patience, who has long
been looking on from the Guildhall-steps,
says to a myrmidon, "Lock 'em up! Bring
'em in!"

Appropriate finish to the Grand Race
Week. The Gong-donkey, captive and last
trace of it, conveyed into limbo, where they
cannot do better than keep him until next
Race Week. The Jackall is wanted too, and
is much looked for, over the way and up and
down. But, having had the good-fortune to
be undermost at the time of the capture, he
has vanished into air.

On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Goodchild
walks out and looks at the Course. It is
quite deserted; heaps of broken crockery
and bottles are raised to its memory; and
correct cards and other fragments of paper
are blowing about it, as the regulation little
paper-books, carried by the French soldiers
in their breasts, were seen, soon after the
battle was fought, blowing idly about the
plains of Waterloo.

Where will these present idle leaves be
blown by the idle winds, and where will the
last of them be one day lost and forgotten? An
idle question, and an idle thought; and with
it Mr. Idle fitly makes his bow, and Mr.
Goodchild his, and thus ends the Lazy Tour
of Two Idle Apprentices.

FRIENDS OF THE PATAGONIAN.

TWENTY-SEVEN years ago, two British
surveying-vessels, the Adventure and the
Beagle, were engaged in mapping out the
wild coasts, and sounding the wild waters of
Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego. The chiefs
of the expedition were the late Admiral P.
P. King, and the present Rear-Admiral (then
Captain) Fitzroy. While engaged among
the islands of the outer coasts of Tierra del
Fuego, the captain of the Beagle was visited,
on old May-day, in the year eighteen
hundred and thirty, by some natives in their
canoes. Among them was a lad, apparently
fifteen years old, who, upon invitation,
stepped into Captain Fitzroy's boat, and upon
whose part there was no unwillingness to
sail away for England. His father, quite
willing to let him go, exchanged him for a
button. So the young Fuegian, who was
called, after the pledge taken for him by his
father, Jemmy Button, went on board the
ship, where there were other three Fuegians,
two boys and a girl, who had been picked up
in another place. It was the captain's design
to educate these young people in England,
and return them then as leaven for the raising
of their countrymen.

Great care was taken of the children. One
boy died of smallpox, but Jemmy Button, and
a boy and girl, named York Minster and
Fuegia Basket, were educated in the infant
school of Walthamstow, and, moreover, were
presented at court to King William and
Queen Adelaide. After the lapse of about
three years, Captain Fitzroy was sent out to
continue the survey in the stormy region of
Cape Horn. He took with him the three
Fuegians, intending to land them at the
places whence they severally came.
Circumstances prevented this; and they were all
landed, by their own request, at Woollya, a
pleasant spot, where Jemmy Button said he
was born. They had learnt English and
sundry useful arts, and were dressed in
English fashion. Button was a dandy, with