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Wise and worthy king, adieu. Gold stick, lead the way. We hasten from your royal presence to join the Cabinet of Cloudland.Vive la Virginie!

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“A magnificent array of clouds;

And as the breeze plays on them, they assume

The forms of mountains, castled cliffs, and hills,

And shadowy glens, and groves, and beetling rocks;

And some, that seem far off, are voyaging

Their sunbright path in folds of silver.”

“Right,” said I to myself, as I lay down the volume of Hyperion, in which I had been glancing for repose. “I, too, have a friend, not yet a sexagenary bachelor, but a bachelor notwithstanding. He has one of those well oiled dispositions which turn upon the hinges of the world without creaking, except during east winds, and when there is no butter in the house. The hey-day of life is over with him; but his old age (begging his pardon) is sunny and chirping, and a merry heart still nestles in his tottering frame, like a swallow that builds in a tumble-down chimney. He is a professed Squire of Dames. The rustle of a silk gown is music to his ears, and his imagination is continually lantern-led by some will-with-the-wisp in the shape of a lady’s stomacher. In his devotion to the fair sex—the muslin, as he calls it—he is the gentle flower of chivalry. It is amusing to see how quickly he strikes into the scent of a lady’s handkerchief. When once fairly in pursuit, there is no such thing as throwing him out. His heart looks out at his eye; and his inward delight tingles down to the tail of his coat. He loves to bask in the sunshine of a smile; when he can breathe the sweet atmosphere of kid gloves and cambric handkerchiefs, his soul is in its element; and his supreme delight is to pass the morning, to use his own quaint language, ‘in making dodging calls, and wriggling round among the ladies.’” Yet there are a few little points in the picture which want retouching, and beyond all, one great omission to be remedied. It is the PIPE. What would the worthy Abbot be without his pipe? Just as uncomfortable as we should presume a dog to be without his tail. As incomplete as a sketch of Napoleon without his boots and cocked-hat. See him in a cloud, and he seems the very Premier of Cloudland. It was said of Staines, Lord Mayor of London, that he could not forego his pipe long enough to be sworn into office, without a whiff; and a print was published representing his lordship smoking in his state carriage; the sword bearer smoking—the mace bearer smoking—the coachmen smoking—the footmen smoking—the postilions smoking—and, to crown the whole—all the six horses smoking also. The ninth of November on which this event occurred, must needs have been a cloudy day.