To express this is our present aim, and therefore we shall leave to others, or another time, the retrospect of his comic writings. But having, on the late promptings of love for the departed, looked over these, we have been especially amused with the "Schoolmistress Abroad," which was new to us. Miss Crane, a "she Mentor, stiff as starch, formal as a Dutch ledge, sensitive as a daguerreotype, and so tall, thin, and upright, that supposing the Tree of Knowledge to have been a poplar, she was the very Dryad to have fitted it," was left, with a sister little better endowed with the pliancy and power of adaptation which the exigencies of this varied world-scene demand, in attendance upon a sick father, in a foreign inn, where she cannot make herself understood, because her French is not "French French, but English French," and no two things in nature or art can be more unlike. Now look at the position of the sisters. "The younger, Miss Ruth, was somewhat less disconcerted. She had by her position the greater share in the active duties of Lebanon House, and under ordinary circumstances would not have been utterly at a loss what to do for the comfort or relief of her parent. But in every direction in which her instinct and habits would have prompted her to look, the _materials_ she sought were deficient. There was no easy chair--no fire to wheel it to--no cushion to shake up--no cupboard to go to--no female friend to consult--no Miss Parfitt--no cook--no John to send for the doctor--no English--no French--nothing but that dreadful 'Gefullig,' or 'Ja Wohl,' and the equally incomprehensible 'Gnadige Frau!' "'Der herr,' said the German coachman, 'ist sehr krank,' (the gentleman is very sick.) "The last word had occurred so frequently on the organ of the Schoolmistress, that it had acquired in her mind some important significance. "'Ruth, what is krank?' "'How should I know?' retorted Ruth, with an asperity apt to accompany intense excitement and perplexity. 'In English, it's a thing that helps to pull the bell. But look at papa--do help to support him--you're good for nothing.' "'I am, indeed,' murmured poor Miss Priscilla, with a gentle shake of her head, and a low, slow sigh of acquiescence. Alas! as she ran over the catalogue of her accomplishments, the more she remembered what she _could_ do for her sick parent, the more helpless and useless she appeared. For instance, she could have embroidered him a night-cap--or knitted him a silk purse--or plaited him a guard-chain--or cut him out a watch-paper--or ornamented his braces with bead-work--or embroidered his waistcoat--or worked him a pair of slippers--or openworked his pocket handkerchief. She could even, if such an operation would have been comforting or salutary, have roughcasted him with shell-work--or coated him with red or black seals--or encrusted him with blue alum--or stuck him all over with colored wafers--or festooned him.