“Begging your pardon,” said Mat, “it was before the Phenomenon was started. It was one of the regular old long-bodied double-coaches, and I drove it myself. Very uneasy they were; for springs at that time hadn’t much spring in ’em; and nobody on earth had thought of Macadaming Piccadilly. You could always tell whether you were on the stones, or off, and no mistake. I was a full hour behind time--for coaches in them days wasn’t called by such names as Chronometers and Regulators, and good reason why. So I’d been plying a full hour after time, without a soul inside, except a barrel of natives for a customer down the road: at last, a hackney-coach pulls up, and Jarvey and the waterman lifts Miss Biffin into my drag. Well, off I sets with a light load enough, and to fetch up time astonished my team into a bit of a gallop--and it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to keep one’s seat on the box, the coach jumped so over the stones. Well, away I goes, springing my rattle till I come to the gate at Hyde Park Corner, where one of my insides was waiting for me--and not very sorry to pull up, for the breath was almost shook out of my bellows. Well, I opens the door, and what do I see lying together at the bottom of the coach, but Miss Biffin bruised unsensible, and the head out of the barrel of oysters!” [Illustration: FANCY PORTRAIT--OLD SARUM.] “I do hope, friend,” said the elderly Quaker, “that thou didst replace them on their seats.” “To be sure I did,” answered Mat, “and the oysters took it quietly enough, without opening their mouths; but it didn’t go quite so smooth with Miss B. She talked of an action for damages, and consulted counsel; but, Lord bless you, when it came to taking steps agin us, she hadn’t a leg to stand upon!” [Illustration: DICKY BIRDS.] SONNET. TO LORD WHARNCLIFFE, ON HIS GAME-BILL. I’m fond of partridges, I’m fond of snipes, I’m fond of black cocks, for they’re very good cocks-- I’m fond of wild ducks, and I’m fond of woodcocks-- And grouse that set up such strange moorish pipes. I’m fond of pheasants with their splendid stripes-- I’m fond of hares, whether from Whig or Tory-- I’m fond of capercailzies in their glory,-- Teal, widgeons, plovers, birds in all their types: All these are in your care, Law-giving Peer, And when you next address your Lordly Babel, Some clause put in your Bill, precise and clear, With due and fit provision to enable A man that holds all kinds of game so dear To keep, like Crockford, a good Gaming Table. LITERARY REMINISCENCES. No. I.