"I presume at the Provisional Priory. And then the chairman departed, with the same state and ceremony as at his entrance."

"The Knight, sir—the Knight Templar !"

"Well, the Knight Templar, or whatever he was, returned; but with a white cap on his head, and in a long white garment, like a nightgown."

"A surplice, sir-a surplice. First, a Knight and then a Priest, to represent the Church Militant."

"I do not know, sir, whether he was a clergyman or not. At least he did not preach: though he knelt down and seemed to say his prayers, after which he snuffed all the candles in the room, and then lay down on the floor, with only a cushion under his head, and apparently went to sleep."

"Like a Crusader in Palestine.-Good! capital! very symbolical, indeed! Very!--Well, sir, the Knight went to sleep?"

"Or, at least, made believe; and snored louder than any gentleman I ever heard. But he had hardly slumbered five minutes, when the door suddenly burst open, and in rushed a dozen men, dressed up like savages, and with their faces blacked, as if to represent devils."

"Moors, sir, Moors!-Excellent !—An irruption of the Saracens !"

"Why, they certainly looked more like Pagans than Christians; and more like wild Indians, or hobgoblins, than either. And then to see how they danced round the sleeping man; brandishing shovels, tongs, pokers, swords, guns, clubs, bows and arrows, and all sorts of strange weapons; whilst one of

VOL. IX.

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the figures straddled across the poor gentleman on the floor, and finally sat down on his body, compressing his chest and stomach till he groaned again!"

"Beautiful! famous! And now, sir, having been present -lord knows how-at a Grand Conclave of the Knight Templars, will you presume, sir-to say, sir-that Free Masonry has no Secrets, sir-no significant rites, sir-no signs, sir-no symbols, no mystical word, sir?"

"Excuse me. All I mean to say is, that, in my decided opinion, the Ceremony just described was only-" "What, sir; pray what?"

"An ACTED CHARADE, sir: and that the Grand Secret, the mystical word, expressed by symbols, was simply KnightMay'r!"

ANECDOTE OF HER PRESENT MAJESTY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF REAL RANDOM RECORDS."

KING George the Fourth, the uncle of the reigning sovereign, Queen Victoria, is very well known to have held strong opinions on the subject of Catholic Emancipation. I forget on which side, but he could not bear O'Connell; and when Kemble the Poet wrote a Poem called "O'Connell's Child," his Majesty would not read it. Franklin was another drew down lightning

of his aversions; I mean the man who with a kite, and went to the North Pole. But his favourite antipathy, or rather his royal Father's, was Wilkie, the North Briton. He was supposed, if I remember rightly, to have a hand with Canning in the famous work called the AntiSomething" against the French republican principles, which

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Burke attacked about the same time in Parliament in his celebrated speech, when he threw down the dagger, and said to Fox, "There's a knife and fork." Canning, who afterwards became Prime Minister, was stolen in his youth by a gipsy, one Elizabeth Squires, who was tried for it, and either acquitted or hung. It made a great noise at the time: which reminds me of Mother Brownrigg, who starved her apprentices so cruelly that one of them, named Otway, choked himself in ravenously swallowing a penny roll. I think there was something written on it, called the "Rolliad," but am not sure. Swift was certainly writing on or about the time; and his notorious "Draper's Letters," in favour of shutting up early, were very popular with the shopmen of the metropolis. So were "Sinbad's Voyages to Lilliput." I forget what great people were shown up in it. But the rage was for the "Beggar's Opera," the author of which was said to have made Rich, rich; and Gay, gay. Something runs in my head that he also wrote the "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Perhaps it was Gray-or did Gray write the "Beggar's Opera?" One gets puzzled between such similar names. For example, one of my own favourite works is White's or Wright's "History of Shelburne or Selburne," I never can remember which. However, as I said before, King William the Fourth had his political prejudices, and who has not? Every bias, as some one says, has its bowl; probably Lord Shaftesbury in his Maxims, if it was Shaftesbury, and if they were maxims. My head is not what it was, nor will be on this side the grave-but so long as my memory serves me to recal an anecdote or two, however imperfectly, I must not complain.

E. T.

THE ECHO.

THE writer of the following Letter guesses so truly at the main cause of the delay in the publication of the present Number, that our best explanation to our Subscribers will be, to give the epistle entire, verbatim et literatim,—as addressed to the Editor:

"SIR,

"By your not cumming out on the Furst, I conclude you are lade up-being notorus for enjoyin bad helth. Pullmery, of course. Like my poor Robert-for I've had a littery branch in my own fammily-a periodical one like yourself, only every Sunday, insted of once a munth; and as such, well knew what it was to write long-winded articles with Weekly lungs. Poor fellow! As I often said, so much head work, and nothin but Head work, will make a Cherubbim of you and so it did.-Nothing but write-write-write, and read-read-read; and, as our Doctor says, it's as bad to studdy till all is brown, as to drink till all is blew. Mix your cullers. And wery good advice it is-when it can be follerd, witch is not always the case: for if necessity has no Law, it has a good deal of Litterature, and Authers must rite what they must.

"As poor Robert used to say about seddontary habits, it's very well, says he, to tell me about-like Mr. Wordsworth's single man as grew dubble-sticking to my chair; but if there's no sitting, says he, ther'll be no hatching; and if I do brood too much at my desk it's because there's a brood expected from me once a week. Oh, its very well, says he, to cry Up, up with you; and go and fetch a walk, and take

a look at the daisies, when you've sold your mind to Miffy Stofilis; and there's a Divil waiting for your last proofs, as he did for Doctor Forster's. I know it's killin me, says he ; but if I die of overwork it's in the way of my vacation. Poor boy! I did all I could to nurridge him: Mock Turkey soop and strong slops, and Wormy Jelly and Island Moss; but he couldn't eat. And no wunder; for mental laber, as the Doctor said, wares out the stummack as well as the Branes, and so he'd been spinning out his inside like a spider. And a spider he did look at last, sure enuff-one of that sort, with long spindle legs, and only a dot of a Boddy in the middle.

"Another bad thing is settin up all nite as my Sun did, but it's all agin Natur. Not but what sum must, and partickly the writers of Polliticks for the Papers; but they ruin the Constitushun. And, besides, even Poetry is apt to get prosy after twelve or one; and some late authors read very sleepy. But as poor Robert said, what is one to do when no day is long enuff for one's work, nor no munth either? And to be sure, April, June, November, and September, are all short munths, but Febber-very! However, one grate thing is, relaxing-if you can. As the Doctor used to say, what made Jack a dull boy-why being always in the workhouse and never at the playhouse. So get out of your gownd and slippers, says he, and put on your Best Things and unbend yourself like a Beau. If you've been at your poeticle flights, go and look at the Tems Tunnel; and if you're tired of being Witty, go and spend a hour with the Wax Wurk. The mind requires a Change as well as the merchants.

"So take my advice, Sir-a mother's advice-and relax a littel. I know what it is: You want brassing, a change of Hair, and more stummuck. And you ought to ware flannin, and take tonicks. Do you ever drink Basses Pail? It's as