Fourteenth. Where-in the Hall, or in the Abbey? Probably in both; certainly in the Hall.

Fifteenth. Does it belong specially to the ceremony of the coronation, or is it used at other times? It is used at other times.

Sixteenth. Is it exclusively of a vegetable nature, or is it not in some parts a compound of a vegetable and a mineral? Exclusively of a vegetable nature.

Seventeeth. What is its shape? This question was objccted to, as too particular, and the company inclining to think so, it was withdrawn. Seventeenth, repeated. Is it decorated or simple? We made a stand against this question also; but the company not inclining to sustain us, I answered that it was simple.

Eighteenth. Is it used in the ordinary ceremonial of the House of Commons or House of Lords? No.

Nineteenth. Is it ever used by either House? No.

Twentieth. Is it generally stationary or moveable? Moveable. The whole number of questions being exhausted, there was a dead pause. The interest had gone on increasing, until, coming to the last question, it grew to be like neck and neck at the close of a race. Mr. Canning was evidently under concern lest he should be foiled, as by the law of the game he would have been if he had not now solved the enigma. Rolling his rich eye about, and with a countenance a little anxious, and in an accent by no means over confident, he exclaimed "I think it must be the wand of the Lord High Steward!" It was-EVEN SO.

This wand is nothing more nor less than a long, plain, white stick, not much thicker than your middle finger, and, as such, justifies all the answers that were given.

In answering the ninth question, Lord Granville and I, who conferred in whispers touching all the answers that were not at once obvious, remembered that some quaint old English writers say that the Lord High Steward carried his staff to beat off intruders from his majesty's treasury! When at the twelfth, Mr. Canning illustrated the nature of his question by referring to the rod of the Lord Chamberlain, which he said did not pass by succession, each new incumbent procuring, as he supposed, a new one for himself. I said that it was not the Lord Chamberlain's rod; but the very mention of this thing was "burning," though I took special care to lay no emphasis on Chamberlain.

The questions were not put in the rapid manner, in which they will be here read; but sometimes after considerable intervals, not of silencefor they were enlivened by occasional remarks thrown in by the company, all of whom grew intent upon the pastime as it advanced--though Mr. Canning alone put the questions, and I alone gave out the answers. It lasted upwards of an hour, the wine ceasing to go round. On Mr. Canning's success, for it was touch and go with him, there was a burst of approbation, Count Lieven jocosely exclaiming that we of the diplo. matic corps must take care and not let him ask us questions at the Foreign Office, lest he should get to the bottom of all our instructions!

The number of the questions and the latitude allowed in them, added to the restrictions imposed upon the selection of the subject, leave to the person putting them a less difficult task than might at first be imagined; and accordingly such of the company as had witnessed the pastime before, said that the discovery took place, for the most part, by the time the questions were half gone through; sometimes sooner; and that they had never known it protracted to the twentieth until this occasion. It is obvious that each successive question keeps narrowing the ground of defence, until the assailant at length drives his antagonist into a corner, almost forcing a surrender of the secret. Nevertheless, this presupposes skill in putting the questions, and he who consents to play that part in the game must know what he can do. It was not until twelve o'clock, that we rose from table and went up to coffee. So it is that these ministers of state relax; and it was a pleasant thing to see Canning, Huskisson and Robinson sporting in this way, as a contrast to the labors of the first over his anxious questions of Spanish American Independence, and what the Holy Alliance meant to do in old Spain; of the second, over his warehousing and East and West India sugar questions; and of the third, over his budget of financial questions- during a long and toilsome session of parliament just ended.

1824, June 24. (Extract.) Dined at the Marquis of Staffords, the company consisting of the Ambassador of the Netherlands, Lord Clifford, Mr. Rogers (Pleasures of Memory,) Sir Humphrey and Lady Davy, and a few others. The game of Twenty Questions was spoken of. Lord Stafford said that Mr. Pitt and Mr. Windham had both been fond of it, and that the former had once found out by means of it the stone upon which Walworth, Lord Mayor of London, in Richard the Second's time, stood when he struck down Wat. Tyler. I asked if he remembered at which of the questions the discovery was made. He said no, but his impression was at an early stage of the pastime. [Pitt, Windham, Canning, Huskisson, Robinson-great English names, thought I, for parliament, the cabinet, and the dinner table!]

THE OLD MAN.

My Grandsire is an old, old man,
Life's wheels move dull and slow,
His cheeks are wan and wrinkled deep,
His hair is white as snow;

His eye is dimmed of all its fire,
His heart of all its glee,

And nought does he the live long day,

But moan most piteously.

The present Lord Ripon.

They say, he's in his dotage now,-
But I remember well,

When he to cousin Tom and me
Would pleasant stories tell:
nd as we clambered up his knee,
He'd lay his pipe away,

nd, by the hour, live o'er again
Scenes of his early day.

One story, 'twas our youthful pride,—
We begged he'd tell it still;
How he with Putnam, side by side,
Fought stout at Bunker's Hill;
The wound he got, the blows he gave,
The cartridge box and can,
Relics still hanging by the wall—
And how the British ran.

Grave was his face, but oftentime
No fun his features lacked,
His social glass he dearly loved,
And pleasant jokes he cracked;
He held the fashion of his time,
Three corner'd hat, and queu,
Black breeches fastened at the knee,
And buckles on his shoe.

When sabbath brought its heavenly calm,

With staid and solemn air,

Leaning upon his oaken staff,

He sought the "house of prayer;"
Among the elders there he sate,

All holy reverend men,
Devout he listened to the word,

Devoutly said, amen.

"Tis said, life's dealings ever tend

To petrify the heart,

As dew drops from the sparry cave

New properties impart;

But strength was in that old man's soul,

Which change could ne'er repress,
And constancy which soared above
The chill of time's caress.

VOL. VII. NO. XXV.—JAN., 1840.

E

The wicked he aye sternly chid,

But to the suffering poor

Gave kindly words, and liberal aid,
When crowding at his door:
His deeds were like the dew of life,
Which blest both old and young,
His love, a precious talisman

To hearts with anguish wrung.

But days have gone, and years have flew,
Come has that old man's night,
His eyes lack lustre in their gleam,
His scattered locks are white;

So let it be; he sought no trust,
No honors placed him high,
Unknown he ever prayed to live,
And unremembered die.

Pittsfield, Mass.

DEACON MARVEL.

AN HONEST SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.

S. S.

CHAPTER I.

Deacon Marvel was one of the world's wonders. His name was no misnomer, for he was, actually as well as nominally, a Marvel. Of more than ordinary "gumption," shrewd as any other Yankee, devoid (in spite of his cognomen) of every particle of " Marvel-ousness," of every atom of "gullibilty," of all flesh he was the oddest, awkwardest, and most good-natured. Nothing under heaven ever greatly disturbed the serenity of his feelings. His moral man, like the pool of Bethesda, was never agitated oftener than once a year, and then it was by a miracle. The skin of his sensibility was as impenetrable as the hide of a rhinoceros, or the scales of a crocodile, or the plate armour of an armadillo. Tilt at him with the spear of wit, assail him with the shafts of raillery, batter him with the cannonade of ridicule,—it was all in vain;—the Gibralter of his equanimity remained unharmed and impregnable. But look out for now and then a shot in return, and be sure it will tell with the more tremendous effect, coming from so unexpected a quarter, just as the speak ing ox was an oracle far more portentous to the Romans than Delphi or Trophonius.

This rude and rugged hero of ours was "many-sided" enough, at least in his vocations and avocations, to suit the notions of that great Dagon of Germanic idolatry, the "many sided" Goethe. Temporally he was farmer, tanner, saddler, and shoe-maker; and spiritually he was a "professor" and a deacon. In his potatoe field and tan-yard, and on his old leather-bottomed work bench, He was perfectly at home, and even graceful, i. e. so far as entire adaptation of manners to employment constitutes grace. In his professional and ecclesiastical duties, if not graceful, he was reputed to be full of grace, and his longitude of countenance coinciding with the longitude of his public prayers, vindicated the justness of his reputation. And yet, with reverence be it spoke, he looked, when officiating as deacon, but still more when in female society, very much like "a hog in armour," or an elephant dancing on a slack wire.

His worldly pursuits furnished him abundantly with the "mammon of unrighteousness," and his spiritual avocations seasoned the filthy lucre with a taste of better things. He was a rising man. But, bachelor as he still remained, it is beyond our sagacity to imagine how he ever came to be chosen deacon, unless he actually prayed himself into office, in defiance of the rigid respect uniformly shown in good old Connecticut for the Apostolic injunction, "let your deacons be the husband of one wife." It is true he used jocosely to say, when attacked by his brethren or sisters on this point, that as the other deacon was a married man, they had be tween them the canonical allowance, and were indeed the "husbands of one wife."

But deacon he was-and unmarried, and rich. If his family bible could be trusted, (and who shall gainsay the scriptures?) thirty-three years had shed on him their "lights and shadows of single life;"-he was a confirmed Cœlebs.

Under all these circumstances, is it wonderful that he was most industriously and disinterestedly admired, sought after and courted, by all the marriageable girls in the parish! Lord! what a constellation of eyes, blue, black, and grey, (I name them in their order of merit,) sparkled and twinkled and blazed round him, wherever he appeared in public. What a squadron of pretty caps were resolutely set at him;-what a legion of "funny little feet" tripped beside his path;-what an Arabian breeze of sweet sighs and fragrant suspirations was wafted after him,alas! in vain. The fragrance was "wasted on the desert air." The flowers of beauty "blushed unseen" by him, and ruby lip, and diamond or sapphire eye, and teeth of pearl, might, so far as his feelings were concerned, have just as well sparkled in "the dark unfathomed caves of ocean." Just as well might the Zodiacal Virgo have given chase to old Sagitarius, as these sweet virgins of Pleasant Valley have pursued Deacon Marvel. In vain did shrewd mammas form their motherly schemes, and set their match-making snares, to inveigh him into matrimony. In vain did their artless daughters bait the trap, and make it tempting. Alas,