[Illustration: A BOARDING SCHOOL.] 1805. _A Boarding School._--The droll scene our artist has imagined,--for it is to be hoped, in the interests of educational establishments and social decorum, that he was not in the situation to draw the incidents from actual observation,--is transpiring on the outside of a Young Ladies' Seminary, where maidens are 'boarded and educated,' and their minds trained. According to the notice-board, there seems no reason to question this being a 'finishing school' in the fullest acceptation of the expression. 'The young ideas' are shooting in a precocious fashion which is setting the restraint of the governesses at defiance. Certain well-favoured young house painters are inciting the mischievous hoydens to disregard the injunctions of their preceptresses. A daring scamp is stealing a kiss from a buxom belle, over the eaves of the adjoining house, and three terrible young flirts are exchanging pleasantries with a youth on a ladder, who is stopping the torrent of menace, poured forth by the mistress, by bedaubing his whitewash brush in the learned features of the infuriated old lady. It is evidently early morning, before the customary studies have commenced. 1805. _Glowworms._ (See July, 1812.) 1805. _Muckworms._ 1805. Illustrations to _Tom Jones, or the History of a Foundling_. Book 7, chap. 14.--'The clock had now struck twelve, and every one in the house were in their beds, except the sentinel who stood to guard Northerton, when Jones softly opening his door, issued forth in pursuit of his enemy, of whose place of confinement he had received a perfect description from the drawer. It is not easy to conceive a much more tremendous figure than he now exhibited. He had on, as we have said, a light coloured coat, covered with streams of blood. His face, which missed that very blood, as well as twenty ounces more drawn from him by the surgeon, was pallid. Round his head was a quantity of bandages, not unlike a turban. In the right hand he carried a sword, and in the left a candle. So that the bloody Banquo was not worthy to be compared to him. In fact, I believe a more dreadful apparition was never raised in a churchyard, nor in the imagination of any good people met in a winter evening over a Christmas fire in Somersetshire. 'When the sentinel first saw our hero approach, his hair began gently to lift up his grenadier cap, and in the same instant his knees fell to blows with each other. Presently his whole body was seized with worse than an ague fit. He then fired his piece, and fell flat on his face. 'Whether fear or courage was the occasion of his firing, or whether he took aim at the object of his terror, I cannot say. If he did, however, he had the good fortune to miss his man.