stars, which are believed to possess no solid
body; but there are others, such as the fireballs,
which at the moment of their extinction
scatter aërolites upon our globe. Why
should there not be bodiless comets and
solid-bodied comets, just as there are shooting-
stars and aerolites? Perhaps Charles
the Fifth's comet will favour us with a
definite answer.

     DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING.

IF ever I allow my husband, Mr. Popjoy,
to have his own way, I always make a
mistake. Mr. Popjoy is very well in his
business, as a clerk in the City; but, take him
out of that, and he knows no more of the
world than a babe unborn. If I trust him to
select our Sunday's dinner from one of the
City markets, he brings home a huge watery
fish; a side of meat sufficient for a barrack-full
of soldiers; or a goose, as large and
fluffy as a child's feather-bed, and no sweeter
than it should be. Mr. Popjoy (though I am
grieved to say it of my own husband) is
frequently taken in by designing persons, who
ought to be picking oakum at the Old Bailey,
or some other penal settlement. Whenever
I see him pass the parlour window at exactly
half-past six in the evening (his usual time of
returning from business) with a peculiar
smirk of satisfaction upon his face, I know
that something is wrong. When, after
delaying a little, to excite my curiosity, he
proudly places a brace of pheasants upon the
table which he has bought for one and
sixpence, of a man in the street, dressed in a
smock frock, I know, before I examine the
birds, that they are stuffed with sand, and
that one half of them will go to feed the cat,
and the other half to the dust-bin. When
Mr. Popjoy brings home a pair of patent
boots as an unexpected present for one of the
children, I know, before I put my hands upon
them, they are made of brown paper; and
when the soles burst clean away from the
upper leather in trying them on the child, I
can only say, "It's just as I expected." Mr.
Popjoy buys stationery of men who stand in
the gutter, and we are, consequently, always
well stocked with note-paper upon which no
one can write, because it sucks up the ink
like a piece of shirting. We have a dozen
umbrellas in the house, none of which would
shelter a dog, Mr. Popjoy having bought
them of people who were selling off under
prime cost, because their premises were
coming down for a new street, or a new
chapel. Sometimes Mr. Popjoy's bargain-
hunting propensities get him into serious
difficulties, out of which he expects me to
extricate him.

On one occasion he strayed into a nest of
swindlers—a mock auction mart—and before
he had been there twenty minutes, he had
nodded himself into two cart-loads of trashy
furniture, at prices six times higher than
their proper value. When the rascals came
after him with the goods in vans, I refused,
of course, to take them in, and as Mr. Popjoy
solemnly assured me that he had only bid for
a dressing-case as a present to me on my
approaching birthday, of course I believed
my husband, snatched the dressing-case from
the hands of one of the men, put the money
upon the door-step, and slammed the door in
their faces, after telling them to do their best
and to do their worst. Mr. Popjoy would
never have had spirit to do this, but I had;
and, as I never heard any more of the
wretches from that day to this, I feel that,
as usual, I did what was right.

Mr. Popjoy's failing for bargain-hunting
at one period extended to houses; and,
during the time we have been married
(about fifteen years), if we have moved once
we have moved a dozen times. Mr. Popjoy
usually employs his holidays in searching for
new dwellings, and new neighbourhoods,
although we have taken a long lease of the
house in which we now reside; and I have
positively resolved never to move again,
unless compelled by utter necessity, until I
am carried to my grave.

Mr. Popjoy, as I have said before, moves
in City circles, and very often, I am sorry to
say, becomes acquainted with persons who do
him no good, and only cause him to injure
his family. More than once he has made
himself surety, and has had to pay sums of
money for worthless scamps, which I have
had to provide out of a legacy securely
settled upon me by an aunt. He is always
coming home with a story of how he could
make a little fortune if he only had a
hundred pounds to play with for three
months; but I have turned a deaf ear to
him, or I know very well where poor aunt's
little property would be, and what would be
left for the dear children when they grew
up.

One evening Mr. Popjoy came home about
his usual time to tea, and brought with him a
person whom he introduced to me as Mr.
Gasper. I never take kindly to strangers,
because I believe they have designs upon
Mr. Popjoy, and I am generally right. I
consider my own and my husband's family,
and our old friends quite as large as we can
afford to keep up with and entertain, without
adding fresh faces continually to the number.
I did not like Mr. Gasper, the moment he
came into the room, and my unfavourable
impression did not alter upon further
acquaintance. He was much too polite to please
me; inquiring after my health and the
children's, as if he had known us twenty years.
He was younger than my husband—perhaps
about forty years of age—and had a sneaking
expression upon his countenance. When he
spoke he lifted up his head, half-opened his
mouth, and half-closed his eyes, as if very
short-sighted, and made much use of a
double eye-glass. I believe he was a good