192 THE BOARDING-HOUSE. 



Gobler, and his pleasing wife, revel in retirement ; happy in their 

 complaints, their table, and their medicine ; wafted through life by 

 the grateful prayers of all the purveyors of animal food within three 

 miles round. 



We would willingly stop here, but we have a painful duty imposed 

 upon us, which we must discharge. Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs have 

 separated by mutual consent, Mrs. Tibbs receiving one moiety of 

 the 431. 1 5s. lOd. which we before stated to be the amount of her 

 husband's annual income, and Mr. Tibbs the other. He is spending 

 the evening of his days in retirement, and he is spending also 

 annually that small but honourable independence. He resides 

 among the original settlers at Walworth, and it has been stated, on 

 unquestionable authority, that the conclusion of the volunteer story 

 has been heard in a small tavern in that respectable neighbourhood. 



The unfortunate Mrs. Tibbs has determined to dispose of the 

 whole of her furniture by public auction, and to retire from a resi- 

 dence in which she has suffered so much. Mr. Robins has been 

 applied to, to conduct the sale, and the transcendent abilities of the 

 literary gentleman connected with his establishment, are now devoted 

 to the task of drawing up the preliminary advertisement. It is to 

 contain, among a variety of brilliant matter, seventy-eight words in 

 large capitals, and six original quotations in inverted commas. 



We fear Mrs. Tibb's determination is irrevocable. Should she, 

 however, be induced to rescind it, we may become once again her 

 faithful biographer. Boz. 



LIFE: A SKETCH. 



I STOOD upon the beach a rustic train 

 Had gather'd round a body, which the surge 

 Had dash'd upon the strand the boisterous main 

 Lash'd the wild rocks with never-ceasing scourge ; 

 Above the sea-bird scream'd his funeral tlirge, 

 And darted thro' the scud, which, like the mane 

 Of the wild war-horse, danced before the gale. 

 Far off, with straining mast and flickering sail, 

 A little bark was bending to its home 

 Now hanging on the verge of some vast wave 

 Precipitous now plunging in the foam, 

 Where the abyss yawn'd wide as for its grave. 

 Anon the gusty ravings of the storm 



