shore, the younger and male children have a _hollow ball_ of some light
material attached constantly to their necks, so that in their frequent
falls overboard, they are not in danger. Had we not read this in a grave,
philosophical work, we should have thought it a joke upon poor humanity,
or at best a piece of poetical justice, and that the hollow ball, &c.
represented the head--fools being oftener inheritors of good fortune than
their wiser companions. As the great secret in swimming is to keep the
chest as full of air as possible, perhaps the great art of living is to
keep the head a _vacuum_, a state "adapted to the meanest capacity." But
had kind Nature supplied us with an air-bladder at the neck, the heaviest
of us might have floated to eternity, Leander's swimming across the
Hellespont no wonder at all, and the drags of the Humane Society be
converted into halters for the suspension and recovery of old offenders
and small debts.

_A wet day in London_ is what every gentleman who does not read, or does
not recollect, Shakspeare, calls _a bore_,[3] and every lady decides to be
a _nuisance_. Abroad, everything is discomfiture; at home all is fidget
and uneasiness. What is called a smart shower, sweeps off a whole stand of
hackney-coaches in a few seconds, and leaves a few leathern conveniences
called cabriolets, so that your only alternative is that of being soaked
to the skin, or pitched out, taken up, bled, and carried home in "a state
of insensibility." The Spanish proverb, "it never rains but it pours" soon
comes to pass, and every street is momentarily washed as clean as the most
diligent housemaid could desire. Every little shelter is crowded with
solitary, houseless-looking people, who seem employed in taking
descriptions of each other for the _Hue and Cry_, or police gazette. On
the pavement may probably be seen some wight who with more than political
obstinacy, resolves to "weather the storm," with slouched hat, which acts
upon the principle of capillary attraction, drenched coat, and boots in