of sense any longer to treat the demands or wishes of the working-classes of this country as too contemptible for grave discussion. The Government are presuming too much on the shop-window panic. They mistake the major the hands of those who would be most active under sinister influences. Vote by ballot, too, is a painful and humiliating expedient, only to be thought of under circumstances, the existence of which Englishmen do not care to admit. In like manner, there are objections to each indi-ities given them as preservers of public order for vidual proposition; yet out of the whole, there are some upon which an agreement might be come to. Taken as a whole, however, the Charter is inadmissible. It might operate in a country like Austria, where the habit of living under one tyranny would render men less restive under another; but in this country, with all its complicated interests and nice balancing of society, it would create universal confusion, and the first, as well as the most permanent sufferers by it would be the working classes themselves. All we contend for, is, that in the face of the facts which we have recorded, it is impossible for men bona fide manifestations of popularity. Knowing their past party history, we could laugh at their conceited blindness. But when we feel that every hour lost at the present time is spreading among the middle classes ideas which, on the first day of the present year they would have scorned, we do bitterly deplore that the welfare of this nation, and the harmony of feeling between classes should be imperilled by the exalted doctrinairism of a Lord John Russell, and the arrogant flippancy of a Sir Charles Wood. Fraser's Magazine. JACTITATION OF MARRIAGE; OR, THE WEDDING IN THE FOG. FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF CHATHAM PITT fullalove, LATE OF THE "WOODS AND FORESTS," WHItehall. What language can portray the agonies of hopeless and unextinguishable love! In solitary gloom let me me miserable stretched on the rack of inevitable error, syllable one penitential prayer to the vision of that injured angel, who but for an execrable blunder, originating in the atmospheric density, the vile pernicious vapors of a November morning, would, ere now, have been wedded to Chatham Pitt, instead of to Desolation. Penelope! thou sainted one! at the remembrance of thy immedicable pangs my spirit groaneth inwardly, and tears, scalding tears, gush from the deepest land-springs of my soul. But let me collect, if possible, my scattered senses, before, with deep abasement, I enter the literary confessional. I am suffering from a congestion of emotion, a sentimental apoplexy, and must write freely, boldly, for nothing can save me from distraction but the pen, that ready instrument of mental phlebotomy. Favored by the spontaneous patronage of Lord Palmoile, for whom, on his election for the ancient borough of Stumpdowne (since most shamefully disfranchised), my father polled the tenth and last plumper, I was appointed to a post of profit in the "Woods and Forests," where I have ever since remained, doing my duty in that station of life in which it has pleased a noble Lord to place me. It cannot, therefore, be denied (if I may use the popular phrase) that my "lines have fallen in pleasant places." A flourishing revenue occupation sedentary, but not very laborious — intelligent chatty colleagues, with congenial sentiments-all staunchly conservative-my Utopia was realized — I sighed for neither principalities nor powers. A social unit (how much better that sounds than vulgar bachelor!) from conviction-my mind calm and clear-my bosom exempt from the heaving of tumultuous love—a stranger to dyspepsia, I ate well, I slept well-my hours of relaxation being pretty equally divided between my flute and my philosophy. For many years I had been assiduously engaged in the composition of an elaborate treatise on "Female Perfectability," a subject profoundly interesting to all, but especially to those who are hovering, as it were, on the awful brink of matrimony — one, I will add, requiring for its treatment a high degree of moral courage, candor, and sagacity. Not that I ever contemplated testing my speculations by experience, although I entertained the firmest belief, that woman, by sound and judicious education, might have her understanding sufficiently elevated to enable her to survey and appreciate the illimitable intellectual expanse of him whom Nature had ordained for her imperial lord and master. Notwithstanding this liberal concession (Note-book quite illegible.) One evening, having, in company with Lob kins of the "Stamps and Taxes," discussed my chop and pint of sherry, I entered an omnibus at Charing-Cross, little dreaming that amongst the lumps of stolid humanity there collected, was hidden a gem of "purest ray serene," a woman whose moral philosophy harmonized with my own to a T. I am not superstitious - far from it but the moment I glanced at the passengers in the "bus," I felt by an indefinable instinct, that the arbiter of my destiny was there. Language is all too weak, too vague to express my emotions, when just as we reached the foot of Maida Hill, the last of the Mohicans (a Mohican, in Cadonian phraseology, is a tremendously heavy man, who rides five or six miles for six pence) having alighted, I found myself alone with the Peri of Paddington the Pearl of Pentonville. As she sat at the extreme end of the "bus," calmly watching the oscillations of the conductor's badge, the effulgence of the lamp above her shed a mild lustre on her sedate countenance, and gave additional prominence to the green spectacles by which her intellectuality was asserted and her beauty enhanced. Her figure was tall (with Byron, I hate a dumpy woman), and somewhat attenuated, as is customary with those in whom the reflective faculties predominate over the organs of the sense, and in whom the substance (so to speak) is neutralized by the spirit which burns so brilliantly within it. She had a book in her lap-could such a woman be without a book? — and a small brown paper parcel of cylindrical form lay beside her. By a sudden oscillation of the omnibus, the parcel rolled off the seat and fell among the straw, by which her sandalled foot was protected from prying curiosity. I hastened to assist in searching for the fugitive packet, and succeeding in restoring it to its grateful owner. "She thanked me," as Othello says, and I was about to venture an apropos observation on the subject of aerolites and other falling bodies, when the red-whiskered conductor thrust his head within the window, and exclaimed, “Vheat-Sheaf, Marm; ve don't go no furder!" - "No further?" ejaculated the lady, with dignity and astonishment; "I desired you to set me down at St. John's Wood Chapel- this is abominable." they would cheerfully drive her into the yard, and charge her nuffin for the night's accommodation." This impudent proposition having been resented with becoming spirit, and the number of the "bus" correctly noted and registered, we quitted the vehicle in disgust; and my road home happening fortunately to be in the same direction as that of my fair inamorata, we walked together along the St. John's Wood road, our conversation, naturally turning upon the audacity, insolence, and illegal recklessness of omnibus conductors generally, and the recent specimen of that monstrum horrendum in particular. From this topic, by an easy transition, I passed on to the unfortunate position of woman with no chivalrous champion to protect her from Cadonian impudence and imposition. In her reply to these observations, my companion took a much more comprehensive view of the subject, and descanted with singular force and eloquence upon the wrongs of woman, considered not alone as an omnibus traveller, but with reference to her political, social, and parochial rights and privileges. She pointed out, with sarcastic bitterness, the anomaly of the highest functions of government being performed by one of her own sex, and yet that that sex should be disqualified from holding any judicial office, or exercising any authority except in the immediate sphere of her domestic relations. I was about to urge, in opposition to my charming interlocutor's peremptory demand for "grand jury-women" and "relieving overseeresses," the incompetency which is induced by our present defective system of female education, and which is treated of at length in my manuscript essay, (pp. 485 to 620,) before alluded to; when my companion paused before a little green gate, on which was a brass plate bearing the inscription of "Miss Penelope Phipps' Establishment for Young Ladies." As fortune would have it, at this critical moment a few drops of rain, the prelude of a smart shower, warned us to seek some place of shelter. I had no umbrella. Need I say more? Shall I ever forget with what considerate kindness Miss Phipps proffered me the loan of one? My fate was sealed. We all know all whose hearts are not case-hardened by the sneers of a cold and callous world-what umbrella courtship is-how fearfully young hearts palpitate beneath the agitated ribs even of an unsophisticated gingham. I borrowed Miss Phipps' umbrella, and left with her my "first love," as security for its safe return. I will not describe the distressing altercation that ensued to see your soul's idol wrangling with an uneducated omnibus cad is excruciating. The lady, indignantly vindicating her locomotive claims, insisted upon being conveyed to the place of destination for which she had expressly stipulated. Monsieur le Conducteur, cool, inde- Mark the inconsistency of human nature. In pendent, and aggravating as usual, intimated my elaborate dissertation on "Female Perfectathat "if the lady vished to sleep in the 'bus,' | bility,” (pp. 990 to 1017,) I laid it down as an axiom, that a complete knowledge of "Woman as she is" could not be attained in less than ten years. There is no royal road to mathematics -that we all allow; neither is there any short cut, which a prudent person might take, to the glittering temple of connubialism. But Penelope was an exception to the rule. Two months had scarcely elapsed from the commencement of our "umbrella courtship," when in Penelope Phipps I discovered the realization of all my poetic fancies, the embodiment of all my philosophical speculations. Is it surprising, then, that, without further hesitation or delay, I popped the question? Need it be told, that the answer was a sigh, a tremour, and a blush? Can any one doubt that I pressed her unresisting hand to my lips, and urged her to name the day, an early day? She named the 9th of November. dered by my emotions, I inflicted such a horrid gash on my upper lip that I abandoned the task in dismay. I question seriously whether Alexander the Great would have had daring enough to shave himself in such portentous obscurity. Having, however, at length finished my imperfect toilet, breakfasted, and taken a small glass of cogniac, to brace my system, I sallied forth, and, attended by a link-boy, directed my steps towards Mary-le-bone Church. After escaping by a miracle from being run over by a light spring van, knocked off the curb by an irritable basket woman, and thrice unwittingly embraced a repulsive lamp-post, I reached the porch of the sacred edifice. Heavens! how my heart palpitated, as I glanced around in search of Penelope. She was not there. The clergyman and clerk were both in attendance- all things were in readiness, excepting the bride, and she (poor dear!) was lost, irretrievably lost, in the fog. As I stood at the vestry door, straining my aching eyes, to penetrate the gloom which enveloped the adjacent tombstones, a cold perspiration bedewed my forehead-the damp vapor crystalized on my eyebrows - I looked at my watch-it wanted but five minutes to eleven, and still no Penelope! Agitated by the direst apprehensions, I was thrice about to rush off to Belle-Vue Cottage, and thrice was restrained by the fear of either losing myself, or of crossing each other on the way. Suddenly, when I had just finished biting my nails to the quick, I heard the rustling of a silk cloak - visite, cardinal or polka, I know not - beside me. I turned round, and O! what words will express my transports? Penelope stood before me, in a large leghorn bonnet, a green veil, a rabbit muff, and a corresponding boa. Instinctively — spasmodically-I grasped her trembling arm, and conducted her to the altar. The holy man had already taken his place there, the smiling fee-expectant clerk stood beside us; not an instant was lost. The reading of that beautiful, that touching, that deeply impressive ritual commenced-most of its effect, however, being destroyed by the fog, which, having got down the reverend gentleman's trachea, caused his voice to languish away within him, in a dyingswan-like cadence, which can be more easily I awoke about five A. M., roused by the conceived than described. My agitation during inspiriting chorus of "hailing smiling morn," the ceremony was so excessive that I durst from a band of homeward-bound revellers. On scarcely look at Penelope; but, notwithstanding looking forth between the curtains, I perceived the opacity of the atmosphere, I could see by that my chamber was filled with an amber- the dependent veil, that her blushes demanded colored vapor, as palpable almost as calf's-foot man's tenderest sympathy; and I should have jelly. After some time spent in appropriate re- been a brute-a Bosjesman, to have attempted flections on the great change which my moral to disturb their appropriate palladium. The organization was about to undergo, I rose, and service concluded — love, honor, and obedience, tried to shave; but in the nervousness engen-having been promised with that feigned monosyl By some strange fatality, this affair, which I desired to keep as "dark as treason," got whispered about, nearly a week before the time appointed for its execution. Puddicombe, who is my vis-à-vis in the "Woods and Forests," happened to detect a letter from Penelope, in which I had unwittingly wrapt up some ham sandwiches, and which enabled him to guess with tolerable accuracy the pian of our intended operations. Penelope was much annoyed at this discovery, and so was I; and to baffle the curiosity of our friends, we determined to manage matters as quietly as possible. We arranged it in this way; Penelope was to start alone, at half-past nine, from Belle-Vue Cottage, and proceed per omnibus to Mary-le-bone Church, where I was to be in attendance, to receive my expectant bride. Penelope would then enter at the south door, I at the north, "opposite lady and gentleman advance, join hands," &c. &c. Vide Payne's "First Set of Quadrilles." (N.B. The parish clerk had kindly promised to act as a father to us both.) November is the brunette of months; and the ninth, being Lord Mayor's day, is almost invariably arrayed in the deepest mourning which a London fog is enabled to supply. It was this consideration which induced Penelope to appoint the ninth for our nuptials, a delicacy which cannot be too highly commended, maugre its disastrous results. labic reluctance, which comports so beautifully with female tenderness and delicacy, we proceeded to the vestry room, to ratify the sacred compact. But, O my reeling brain! I had taken up a pen to inscribe my autograph in the parochial register, when the supposed Penelope lifted her sea-green veil, that screen of human perfidy, and a Gorgon stood revealed. It was not Penelope. It was a short, but fearfully fat woman, with a face like the sun's rubicund orb, which at that moment was struggling through the fog the very incarnation of a full-length portrait I once saw on the outside of a caravan at Camberwell fair. I dropped the quill gasped for breath - became convulsed with horror- then by a sudden, a superhuman effort, I clenched my hat, and made one spring to the door, and fled, as if a roaring lion was menacing me with immediate and utter dissolution. -- I reached my lodgings-how, I know not when, I know not-I threw myself on the sofa, my mind a perfect wreck, and burying my head beneath the pillows, in the agony of self-reproach, gave vent to a passionate and hysterical flood of tears. O the maledictions which I heaped upon my own unpardonable stupidity! O how bitterly I chided that fatal fog! How savagely I derided the pusillanimity of people who have not courage enough to perpetrate matrimony in broad and open daylight, but must sneak to the altar under cover of a murky circumambient cloud, abashed and cowering, as if they were about to commit some heinous fraud upon their fellowcreatures, and shuddered at the idea of being transported for the term of their natural lives. As soon as I regained some small portion of my native tranquillity, I sat down to write a letter the outpourings of a penitent heart-to my much-wronged Penelope. Thrice have I made the attempt-three sheets of Bath post, gilt, have I destroyed - and thrice I have paused, paralyzed by the phantoms which crowd upon my heated imagination. * * * * Methinks I see her reading my abject protestations of remorse —a virtuous indignation kindles in her eye;-she-hark! there's a knock - a double, treble, quadruple knock. Heavens! it is Penelope herself—I hear her decisive footstep on the stairs. One o'clock, P. M.-'Tis past; we have met. Phoo! I feel like Chabert, the fire-king, just emerged from half-an-hour's repose in an oven. As soon as poor Miss Phipps entered the room her feelings seemed to overcome her she rushed into my arms, unable to utter a syllable; my agitation also was excessive, and, my strength failing me, I sunk down on the sofa, physically incompetent any longer of sustaining the burden of my forlorn Penelope. She drew forth her handkerchief, and, for some minutes, wept unrestrainedly. I did not attempt to interrupt her, as I fancied an effusion of this nature, by opening the flood-gates of sympathy, might moderate the acrimony of her reproaches. "Oh dear!" she said, with a deep sigh, and passing a finger across her pencilled eyebrow, "what a dreadful fright you have caused me, Chatham; I was afraid, by you not being at the church at the time appointed, that something serious had happened." She was afraid that something serious had happened! Is there any truth in Mesmerism? Could she, by any species of clairvoyance, have foreseen the terrible calamity which no human power could avert? "Is it too late, dear, for the ceremony to take place to-day?" said Penelope, extracting her vinaigrette from her richly-embroidered blue satin bag. I looked down at my patent-leather boots, and was dumb. "Must it be put off till to-morrow, Chatty, dear?" inquired Penelope, with a languishing smile, that made me tingle from head to foot. "Can't be married after twelve,” I said, opening my watch, "and it's now twenty minutes past." "Heigho!" returned Penelope, shading her eyes with her delicate hand; "what beautiful lines those are of Dr. Young's: "Be wise to-day-'tis madness to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead; Thus on till wisdom is pushed out of life.'" Scarcely had Miss Phipps concluded the quotation, when we were startled by a fearful rattat-tat-tat-tat at the street door. "Goodness! gracious! Mr. Fullalove," exclaimed Miss P., "who can that be?” I was about to protest my ignorance, when Mrs. Chiselm, my landlady, entered, and announced that a lady wished to speak with me, "very perticularly." "A lady?" cried Penelope, in astonishment; "a lady, Mrs. Chiselm—what lady?" "She won't give her name, Ma'am," replied Mrs. Chiselm, turning round as a heavy step without arrested our united attention. "There must be some mistake," said Penelope, with an air of misgiving; "do you expect any lady, Mr. Fullalove?" "Yes, Mum, there is some mistake," exclaimed a shrill voice on the landing-place, " and a wery pretty mistake it is, too; but I'll soon learn the rights on it." And, with this threatening proclamation, there sailed into our presence, like an overladen Dutch East-Indiaman, a very big, peony-like woman, in a flaunting Leghorn bonnet, to which was at excelled. tached a limpid veil, a green satin cloak, Ade- | teur that no living actress could 'possibly have laide boots, and a muff-the tout ensemble bearing a striking resemblance to that celebrated portrait on the exterior of a travelling caravan, which has yearly excited the admiration of thousands at Camberwell Fair. I was left alone with the big woman-my heart beating seconds audibly against my ribs. "As a widder," soliloquized this unhappy person, gazing abstractedly on the hearth-rug in a "Your name's Fullalove, arn't it?" she said, deeply sorrowful reverie, "with eleven blessed addressing me with a menacing eye. "It is," I replied, as soft as velvet. "Well, 'pon my word," returned the "Wonder of the Fair," taking a seat to recover her exhausted expiration, "things is come to a pretty pass. This willain here, Mum," she continued, addressing Miss Phipps, "comes to Mary bone Church, and passes himself off for Captain Rowbottom, who commands the Perriwinkle' steamer, wot runs from Old Swan Pier to nine Elems." "Is it possible?" said Miss Phipps, incredulously. "And 'consequence o' the fog, Mum," pursued the big woman, drawing forth her handkerchief, and weeping ad libitum, "I didn't diskiver it till it was all over." "All over!" exclaimed Miss Phipps, in a state of incipient frenzy; "you do not-you cannot " "We're jined together, Mum," returned the big woman, giving unbridled scope to her grief, "as fast as houses- better or worser- until death us do part." Penelope raised her seraphic eyes to the ceiling, and, with a faint shriek, sunk senseless into my arms. Sal volatile, and other stimulants, were soon in requisition, and, under their benign influence, Penelope once more awoke to a sense of her hopeless situation. Never can time erase from my remembrance the impression of that startling change which had taken place in her once serene and amiable physiognomy. The brightness of day had been succeeded by the blackness of night-and a stormy night, too thunder, hail, and lightning. 66 orfuns, the youngest, in a manner o' speaking, but a babby I waited to hear no more, but rushing from the room, made one spring from the top of the stairs to the street door, and fled like a hare, both in point of terror and velocity. On reaching the first convenient corner, I paused, partly to recover my breath, and partly to ascertain if my unhappy consort would, after mature consideration, retire from the premises; or whether she was determined upon keeping possession, and asserting her conjugal rights and privileges. After lying perdu some time, I observed the big woman come out, with considerable warmth in her expansive countenance. As soon as she was fairly out of sight, I hastened back to my lodgings, it being my intention to pack up my things-leave at once and for ever the detested neighbourhood, and bury myself and my afflictions in the secluded district of Balaam Hill. I was busily engaged in filling my carpet-bag, when, to my inexpressible annoyance, Puddicombe, my confière at the "Woods and Forests," broke in upon my privacy, with a white waistcoat, a blue coat, a shining red face, and a glossy French hat the beau-ideal of a dinerout and a beef-eater. "Chatty, my boy," he exclaimed, grasping, with excruciating cordiality, my icy hand, “ Chatty, my boy-I wish you joy- heyday! — where's the lady?—'pon my soul, you look remarkably well, upon the whole-it's a serious thing to enter the ring — and you soon find your match when you're brought to the scratch." "For Heaven's sake, Puddicombe,” cried I, with severe displeasure, “do give up that contemptible habit of rhyming and punning—it's a disgrace to a man” "So I do as much as I can." "Who professes to have a grain of sense." Oh you double-faced Janus!" she cried, shaking her head at me with an expression of concentrated malice that caused my "chill blood to linger in its course"; you think, because a woman is weak and defenceless, that you can play the deceiver with impunity; but I will frus- "Pon my honor, I meant no offence," he retrate your subtle machinations; you shall pay joined, sitting astride of a chair, and resting his the penalty of a breach of promise, and shall be arms on the back; "but tell me, Chatty, sericompelled to acknowledge, on your knees in a ously, how did the affair go off? - slight sprindungeon, that, while there is law and justice inkling of tears- an exhibition of aqua vitae, as the land, a woman's heart is not to be shot at the doctors say, I suppose; but what a sly dog like a target, for the wanton amusement of a you are!" scorpion in man's clothing." And with this little bit of fulminating powder, Miss Phipps whipped up her parasol and reticule, and flounced out of the apartment with an hau "Sly about what?" I demanded, with increasing petulance. 66 Why, in tying the lover's knot," replied Puddicombe, plunging his forefinger into my |