hand, which is not at all times very easy to read. Just see what a funny "F" he patronises!

AMaule

"Then," said the cockney, "I'll take him." "Yes, sir," observed another opposition proprietor of a couple of donkeys; "but there's no setting him a-going. Nobody ever saw him trot a step."

"Here's a reg'lar trump of an hanimal, sir," said another; you've only to touch him this way, and off he gallops at once."

As the donkey proprietor spoke, he pretended to touch the ass's side with his fingers, and, sure enough, the animal made two or three abortive attempts at a leap.

66

Ay, there's some spirit in that donkey," said the cockney youth, not aware that the cunning rogue of a proprietor had achieved the two or three bungled leaps which the animal gave, by pricking it with a pin. "What is the

MR. H. G. WARD.

Mr. Ward, the member for Sheffield, and son of the author of "Tremaine," and other popular works of fiction, writes a somewhat dashing hand.

He is an intellectual man, and is possessed of very general information. He takes an active part in the editorial management of the "Weekly Chronicle," of which he is the principal, if not the sole proprietor. He is above the general height, is well and rather athletically made, and has, like Mr. Fox Maule, a round healthful-looking countenance. His hair is of a brownish hue. I should suppose his age to be about forty-four or forty-five.

THE COCKNEY AND THE JACKASS.

FROM NOTES ON The suburbs oF LONDON."

I was much amused with a cockney youth, seemingly about twenty years of age, of very affected manners, who was ambitious of exhibiting his person on the back of a donkey on Blackheath. Advancing towards one of the stands, on which there stood fifteen or twenty of these animals, with their proprietors all anxious to be employed, he accosted the latter in what is called a puppyish air and manner, with "Well, old fellows, who has got the best donkey for a ride ?"

"Here you are, sir," shouted a dozen voices, each donkey proprietor drawing his animal towards the cockney. "I can't ride on all of them; which is the best?" said the dandy, resting his hands on his sides, and strutting about with an air of great consequence. "This von's the best, sir," cried one. "No, it ain't," vociferated another. is betterer nor any won on the stand." "Both on 'em's told you a gallows lie, sir; none of their hasses can lift a leg; but here's a beast of the right sort," said a third.

"This 'ere hanimal

"Here's a capital good 'un, sir; three years old next grass-time, sir," was the recommendation of his donkey, which was given by a fourth.

"My von's the best as vas ever seed, sir; ven he's once a-set a going, he'll never stop, sir. It's truth I say, sir," remarked a fifth.

It depends on how far you ride, sir." "From one end of the heath to the other. "Only a shilling, sir."

66

Then, here goes."

And, so saying, the cockney was astride the ass's back in a twinkling.

"The shilling, sir, if you please," said the proprietor of the animal, with a knowing look.

66

Why, isn't it time enough when I have had my ride?" said the dandy, pulling a shilling out of his pocket, and transferring it to the other.

"Always in advance, sir," answered the ass-proprietor, archly, pocketing the silver image of William the Fourth. "Now then," said the cockney, applying a switch to the sides of the donkey, and looking as if he supposed he was about to start off at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. "Now then."

The animal either did not hear or did not heed the "Now then" of the cockney. "Why, he won't go," said the latter, in a tone of voice, and with a look at the proprietor of the beast, indicative of surprise and disappoint

ment.

Then, sir, make your beast go." "That's more than I can always do, sir; he's a little hobstinate at times, as all hasses are: but when once he sets off, there's ne'er a better runner on the heath."

"Yes, zur," interposed a clownish-looking fellow, with a smock-frock and a dirty demure-looking face; "but the worst of it is, he never sels off at all."

I had a shrewd suspicion that such was the fact, before the latter personage made the observation; and after two or three more equally ineffectual attempts to cause the animal to start, the dandy rider became a proselyte to the same opinion.

Finding he might as soon have expected to move Greenwich church, as to move the animal on whose back he sat, he dismounted, muttering imprecations of no very pleasant kind, both on the ass and its owner. His imprecations were equally disregarded by both.

"Try this one, sir;" "Here's a prime 'un, sir;" "No mistake with this here hanimal, sir," "Here's the reg'lar racer, sir;" were only a few of the many sounds which

greeted his ears as he alighted. In short, in a few seconds he was surrounded by a congregation, to the number of twenty or two dozen, of jackasses and their owners; the latter of whom respectively besieged him with their applications to try their "hanimals," with a vehemence and perseverance amounting to positive persecution. At first, savage and surly at the "hobstinacy" of the beast he had but a few moments ago bestrode, he refused to listen to any of their solicitations; but one of the ass-owners was so very eloquent in his entreaties for a trial of his donkey, that the cockney at length acceded to his request; stipulating, however, beforehand, that he would not pay his shilling until satisfied of the racing capabilities and disposition of the animal. He mounted the beast, and the owner, a young knowing-looking fellow, immediately pricked it with a pin, when it set off at a smart trot. "Ah, I told you that's your sort, sir; that's the hanimal as can run in slap-up style," said the proprietor of the beast, keeping up with it, and prompting it forward by repeated applications of the pin to its side. Ay, this is something like an ass," said the cockney. "Here, take your shilling," he added, pulling up the donkey for a moment, and putting that amount of the coin of the realm into the hand of the cunning rogue. "Now then, long ears," said the dandy, apostrophising the donkey, and applying the switch to it, with the view of setting out on a regular gallop along

the road.

The animal moved not a step.

66

"Holloa, old donkey! what's the matter that you won't go?" said the spruce rider, applying his heels to the sides of the animal.

The latter was appealed to in vain. There it stood as motionless as the bronze horse with the statue of George the Third on his back, near the Italian Opera House.

"I say, old fellow," said the cockney, now transferring his appeal from the ass to its owner; "I say, old fellow, why don't the animal go?"

"Can't tell, sir; he knows the reason best himself," answered the other with inimitable coolness.

"Is there no way of making him go ?" "He won't be made, sir; he never does anything by force. If you wait until he comes to himself, he'll start off agin."

"But when will that be ?" "Ay, that's more than I can tell; but not before he pleases."

The cockney looked first at the donkey, and then at its owner, as if he could have eaten both by way of revenging himself for the obstinacy and laziness of the one, and the consummate coolness of the other. He then suddenly dismounted, heaping curses, both loud and deep, on asses of all descriptions, not excepting himself, for being such an ass as to be thus taken in, and laughed at into the bargain, by the donkey owners of Blackheath.

THE LABOUR OF STUDY.

It is impossible for any man to be a determined student without endangering his health. Man was made to be active. The hunter who roams through the forest, or climbs the rocks of the Alps, is the man who is hardy, and in the most robust health. The sailor who has been rocked by a thousand storms, and who labours day and night, is a hardy man, unless dissipation has broken his constitution. Any man of active habits is likely to enjoy good health, if he does not too frequently over-exert himself. But the student's habits are all unnatural, and by them nature is continually cramped and restrained. Men err in nothing more than in the estimate which they make of human labour. The hero of the world is the man that

makes a bustle-the man that makes the road smoke under his chaise-and-four-the man that raises a dust about him the man that ravages or devastates empires. But what is the real labour of this man, compared with that of a silent sufferer? He lives on his projects: he encounters, perhaps, rough roads, incommodious inns, bad food, storms and perils; but what are these? His project, his point, the thing that has laid hold on his heart-glory-a name -consequence-pleasure-wealth-these render the man callous to the pains and efforts of the body. I have been in both states, and therefore understand them; and I know that men form this false estimate. Besides, there is something in bustle, and stir, and activity, that supports itself. At one period I preached and read five times on a Sunday, and rode sixteen miles. But what did it cost me? Nothing! Yet most men would have looked on, while I was rattling from village to village, with all the dogs barking at my heels, and would have called me a hero; whereas, if they were to look at me now, they would call me an idle, lounging fellow. "He gets into his study," they would say, "he walks from end to end-he scribbles on a scrap of paper-he throws it away and scribbles on another-he sits down-scribbles againwalks about!" They cannot see that here is an exhaustion of the spirit which, at night, will leave me worn to the extremity of endurance. They cannot see the numberless efforts of mind which are crossed and stifled, and recoil on the spirits, like the fruitless efforts of a traveller to get firm footing among the ashes on the steep sides of Mount Etna.-Rev. John Todd, Student's Guide.

SINGULAR ADVENTURE.

COLTER came to St. Louis, in May, 1810, in a small canoe, from the head waters of the Missouri, a distance of three hundred miles, which he traversed in thirty days. I saw him on his arrival, and received from him an account of his adventures, after he had separated from Lewis and Clark's party. I shall relate one anecdote, for its singularity. On the arrival of the party at the headwaters of the Missouri, Colter observing an appearance of an abundance of beaver being there, got permission to remain and hunt for some time, which he did in company with a man of the name of Dixon, who had traversed the immense tract of country from St. Louis to the headwaters of the Missouri, alone. Soon after, he separated from Dixon and trapped, in company with a hunter named Potts; and aware of the hostility of the Blackfoot Indians, one of whom had been killed by Lewis, they set their traps at night, and took them up early in the morning, remaining concealed during the day. They were examining their traps early one morning in a creek about six miles from that branch of the Missouri called Jefferson Fork, and were ascending in a canoe, when they suddenly heard a great noise, resembling the trampling of animals; but they could not ascertain the fact, as the high perpendicular banks on each side of the river impeded their view. Colter pronounced it to be occasioned by Indians, and advised an instant retreat, but was accused of cowardice by Potts, who insisted that the noise was caused by buffaloes; and they proceeded on. In a few minutes afterwards their doubts were removed, by a party of Indians making their appearance on both sides of the creek, to the amount of five or six hundred, who beckoned them to come ashore. As retreat was now impossible, Colter turned the head of the canoe; and, at the moment of its touching, an Indian seized the rifle belonging to Potts; but Colter, who is a remarkably strong man, immediately retook it, and handed it to Potts, who remained in the canoe, and on receiving it pushed off into

the river. He had scarcely quitted the shore when an arrow was shot at him, and he cried out, Colter, I am wounded!' Colter remonstrated with him on the folly of attempting to escape, and urged him to come ashore. Instead of complying, he instantly levelled his rifle at the Indian, and shot him dead on the spot. This conduct, situated as he was, may appear to have been an act of madness, but it was doubtless the effect of sudden but sound reasoning; for, if taken alive, he must have expected to be tortured to death according to their custom. He was instantly pierced with arrows so numerous, that, to use Colter's words, he was made a riddle of. They now seized Colter, stripped him entirely naked, and began to consult on the manner in which he should be put to death. They were at first inclined to set him up as a mark to shoot at, but the chief interfered, and seizing him by the shoulder, asked him if he could run fast? Colter, who had been some time among the Kee-katso or Crow Indians, had in a considerable degree acquired the Blackfoot language, and was also well acquainted with Indian customs; he knew that he had now to run for his life, with the dreadful odds of five or six hundred against him, and those armed Indians; he therefore cunningly replied that he was a very bad runner, although he was considered by the hunters as remarkably swift. The chief now commanded the party to remain stationary, and led Colter out on the prairie about three or four hundred yards and released him, bidding him save himself if he could. At this instant the horrid war-whoop sounded in the ears of poor Colter, who urged with the hope of preserving life, ran with a speed at which he himself was surprised. He proceeded towards the Jefferson Fork, having to traverse a plain six miles in breadth, abounding with the prickly pear, on which he was every instant treading with his naked feet. He ran nearly half way across the plain, before he ventured to look over his shoulder, when he perceived that the Indians were very much scattered, and that he had gained ground to a considerable distance from the main body; but one Indian, who carried a spear, was much before all the rest, and not more than one hundred yards from him. A faint gleam of hope now cheered the heart of Colter; he derived confidence from the belief that escape was within the bounds of possibility; but that confidence was nearly fatal to him, for he exerted himself to such a degree, that the blood gushed from his nostrils, and soon almost covered the fore part of his body. He had now arrived within a mile of the river, when he distinctly heard the appalling sound of footsteps close behind, and on looking over his shoulder perceived an Indian with a spear, which he was evidently preparing to hurl, within a few feet of him. As a last resource he suddenly stopped and turned round, with outstretched arms; the surprise of the Indian, who stopped likewise, made him stumble, and fall on the spear, which broke in two. Colter instantly seized the sharp part, with which he pinned him to the earth, and then continued his flight. The foremost of the Indians, on arriving at this place, stopped till others came up to join them, when they set up a hideous yell. Every moment of this time was improved by Colter, who, although fainting and exhausted, succeeded in gaining the skirting of the Cotton-tree Wood, on the borders of the Fork, through which he ran and plunged into the river. Fortunately for him, a little below this place was an island, against the upper part of which a raft of drift timber had lodged. He dived under the raft, and after several efforts, got his head above water amongst the trunks of trees, covered over with smaller wood to the depth of several feet. Scarcely had he secured himself when the Indians arrived on the river, screeching and yelling, as Colter expressed it, like so

many devils.' They were frequently on the raft during the day, and were seen through the chinks by Colter, who was congratulating himself on his escape, until the idea arose that they might set the raft on fire. In horrible suspense he remained until night, when hearing no more of the Indians, he dived under the raft, and swam silently down the river to a considerable distance; here he landed and travelled all night. Although happy in having escaped from the Indians, his situation was still dreadful; he was completely naked, under a burning sun-the soles of his feet were entirely filled with the thorns of the prickly pear-he was hungry and had no means of killing game, although he saw abundance around him,—and was at least seven days' journey from Lisa's Fort, on the Bighorn branch of the Roche Jaune River. These were circumstances under which almost any man but an American hunter would have despaired. He arrived at the fort in seven days, having subsisted on a root much esteemed by the Indians of the Missouri.

A PICTURE OF THE SOUTH OF FRANCE.

FROM "A SUMMER AND WINTER IN THE PYRENEES." ONE of our first objects on arriving at Bordeaux, was to send off some of our letters of introduction, which were soon followed by a visit from an excellent Swiss gentleman, whose residence is at a little distance. On our way to the house of this gentleman, we had to cross a large public square, containing about five acres of ground, surrounded by avenues of acacias already budding, as they do with us in the months of April and May. On this place were assembled groups of people apparently from all countries, and clothed in as many varieties of costume.

But the climate-the atmosphere!-what words can describe the almost magical change to us from that of England? It seemed as if storm and tempest had never been there. The most bland and silent summer's evening in our country about the hour of nine, is not so soft and balmy; besides all which, the sunset glow of the warm south gave to the whole scene a brilliancy of effect beyond what can be imagined in our northern clime. Before us the broad river was sleeping, blue and clear, without a ripple or a wave, crowded on both sides with shipping from all the countries of Europe, the dark sides and white masts of the vessels reflected in the clear deep water; while every sail and oar remained as motionless as death. Far away, to the left, stretched the noble quay, curving with the line of the river, and forming an unbroken crescent more than three miles in extent, composed of irregular but handsome buildings, diversified by many beautiful towers and spires, which rose behind; and all constructed of that yellow kind of stone which gives to architecture the richest tints of colouring, when mixed with the venerable grey of hoary time.

No wonder that this spacious promenade should be thronged with loitering visitors, when it offers such a view. It is true the people who sauntered there were idle, but they were not disorderly; and the attractive costume of the women, particularly their head-dresses, and their clear, soft, and glowing complexions, made them all look lovely to strangers suddenly transported, as we were, from the cold and drizzle of an English winter, to this region of beauty and balm, where it was a perfect luxury to stand still, and breathe the soft evening air, without a shudder or a chill.

The common people of France, throughout the whole of our journey, had appeared to us remarkably good-looking. Their long and well-formed noses, dark eyes and hair, neat mouths, white teeth, and more than all their complexions, not fair, but rich, like the fresh bloom of a

peach, neither red nor yellow, but just such a mixture of both as can only be described by a perfect glow; yet all the while so delicate, as the sunset tints of the western sky, though rich in colouring, are delicate in the extreme. I have seen hundreds of countrymen in France, whose portraits would have graced a picture gallery; and perhaps an equal number of women, any of whom a painter would have been glad to place on a balcony open to the setting sun, and wreathe about with roses. But a really interesting face, such a face as carries the imagination home with it-a face to remember, and to wish to meet again after many days; such a face I have seldom found in France. They are pictures all; and whether young or old, the people wear such dresses, and place themselves in such positions, that one longs perpetually to transmit | them to canvass. It was a beautiful sight, for example, to see the women by the side of the road we travelled tending their little flocks of sheep, with their knitting in their hands, or more frequently spinning with the oldfashioned distaff; often seated on a bank, with two or three brown goats beside them, and a large shepherd's dog sleeping at their feet.

I have said that the head-dresses of the French women are becoming, yet doubt whether an exception must not be made of the caps worn by the old and middle-aged women in Bordeaux and the neighbourhood, which are of such enormous dimensions as almost to baffle description and defy belief. One would think it impossible to maintain such a fabric of stiff muslin in wet weather, but that in France neither men nor women are ever separated from their umbrellas, especially in the south, where they are used to keep off the sun as well as the rain, and are often of a bright red colour. The narrow streets of Paris, seen as I first beheld them, in heavy rain, gave me the idea of rivers of umbrellas; and I was afterwards amused to see the peasants of the south using these inseparable accompaniments on horseback. Even the men who break stones by the roadside have their umbrellas, which I have no doubt they would hold in one hand, while they used the hammer with the other, but that they all have screens, made of straw worked in a wooden frame, which they set up to shelter them from the wind and rain.

Besides the complexions of the people above described, every person, every object in Bordeaux seemed to wear a colouring entirely new to me; for the effect produced by a southern climate upon the aspect of nature, is such as no art can imitate, no pen can describe. In short, it must be seen and felt, to be really understood. I am aware, that much of the vividness of an impression is sometimes owing to its being the first of the kind received; yet I believe all travellers agree that Bordeaux is one of the most splendid cities in the world; its public buildings many of them unrivalled; while the busy, cheerful aspect of its numerous population, is one that never tires.

The Garonne at Bordeaux is between six and seven hundred yards in breadth; and the bridge of seventeen arches, by which it is crossed, is one hundred and nine feet longer than Waterloo bridge. The construction of this bridge is singular: it has not only an aqueduct by which water is conveyed into the city, but a sort of interior passage, or covered way, by which one may pass along over the arches, the whole length of the bridge.

INDIAN PARADISE.

THE doctrine of a life beyond the grave was, among all the tribes of America, most deeply cherished, and sincerely believed. They had even formed a distinct idea of the region whither they hoped to be transported, and of the new and happier mode of existence, free from those wars,

tortures, and cruelties, which throw so dark a shade over their lot upon earth. Yet their conceptions on this subject were by no means either exalted or spiritualised. They expected simply a prolongation of their present life and enjoyments, under more favourable circumstances, and with the same objects furnished in greater choice and abundance. In that brighter land the sun ever shines unclouded, the forests abound with deer, the lakes and rivers with fish; benefits which are farther enhanced in their imagination by a faithful wife and dutiful children. They do not reach it, however, till after a journey of several months, and encountering various obstacles-a broad river, a chain of lofty mountains, and the attack of a furious dog. This favoured country lies far in the west, at the remotest boundary of the earth, which is supposed to ter minate in a steep precipice, with the ocean rolling beneath. Sometimes, in the too eager pursuit of game, the spirits fall over, and are converted into fishes. The local position of their paradise appears connected with certain obscure intimations received from their wandering neighbours of the Mississippi, the Rocky Mountains, and the distant shores of the Pacific. This system of belief labours under a great defect, inasmuch as it scarcely connects felicity in the future world with virtuous conduct in the present. The one is held to be simply a continuation of the other; and under this impression, the arms, ornaments, and every thing that had contributed to the welfare of the deceased, are interred along with him. This supposed assurance of a future life so conformable to their gross habits and conceptions was found by the missionaries a serious obstacle, when they attempted to allure them by the hope of a des tiny, purer and higher indeed, but less accordant with their untutored conceptions. Upon being told that in the promised world they would neither hunt, eat, drink, nor marry a wife, many of them declared that, far from endeavouring to reach such an abode, they would consider their arrival there as the greatest calamity. Mention is made of a Huron girl whom one of the Christian ministers was endeavouring to instruct, and whose first question was, what she would find to eat? The answer being "Nothing," she then asked what she would see? and being informed that she would see the Maker of heaven and earth, she expressed herself much at a loss what she could have to say to him. Many not only rejected this destiny for themselves, but were indignant at the efforts made to decoy their children, after death, into so dreary and comfortless a region.—Edinburgh Cabinet Library.

SLANDER AND VINDICATION. VINDICATION in some cases partakes of the same qualities that Homer ascribes to prayer. Slander, "strong, and sound of wing, flies through the world, afflicting men;" but Vindication, lame, wrinkled, and imbecile, for ever seeking its object, and never obtaining it, follows after, only to make the person in whose behalf it is employed more completely the scorn of mankind. The charge against him is heard by thousands, the vindication by few. Wherever vindication comes, is not the first thing it tells of the unhappy subject of it, that his character has been tarnished, his integrity suspected-that base motives and vile actions have been imputed to him— that he has been scoffed at by some, reviled by others, and looked at askance by all? Yes; the worst thing I should wish to my worst enemy is, that his character should be the subject of vindication. And what is the well-known disposition of mankind in this particular? All love the scandal. It constitutes a tale that seizes upon the curi osity of our species; it has something deep, and obscure, and mysterious in it; it has been whispered from man to

man, and communicated by winks, and nods, and shrugs, the shaking of the head, and the speaking motion of the finger. But vindication is poor, and dry, and cold, and repulsive. It rests in detections and distinctions, explanations to be given to the meaning of a hundred phrases, and the setting right whatever belongs to the circumstances of time and place. What bystander will bend himself to the drudgery of thoroughly appreciating it? Add to which, that all men are endowed with the levelling principle, as with an instinct. Scandal includes in it, as an element, that change of fortune which is required by the critic from the writer of an epic poem or a tragedy. The person respecting whom a scandal is propagated is of sufficient importance, at least in the eyes of the propagator and the listener, to be made a subject for censure. He is found, or he is erected into, an adequate centre of attack; he is first set up as a statue to be gazed at, that he may afterwards be thrown down and broken to pieces, crumbled into dust, and made the prey of all the winds of heaven.-Godwin's Mandeville.

ANECDOTES OF A PARROT.

MR. JESSE, in his "Gleanings of Natural History," says, that having seen and heard much of a parrot brought from Brighton, he had requested the sister of the owner to give an account of it, which she did as follows:-"As you wished me to write down whatever I could collect about my sister's wonderful parrot, I proceeded to do so, only premising that I will tell you nothing but what I can vouch for having myself heard. Her laugh is quite extraordinary, and it is impossible not to help joining in it oneself, more especially when in the midst of it she cries out, don't make me laugh so, I shall die, I shall die;" and then continues laughing more violently than before. Her crying and sobbing are curious, and if you say, 'poor Poll, what is the matter?" she says, 'so bad, so bad, got such a cold; and after crying for some time will gradually cease, and making a noise like drawing a long breath, say better now,' and begin to laugh. The first time I ever heard her speak, was one day when I was talking to the maid at the bottom of the stairs, and heard what I then considered to be a child call out 'Payne' (the maid's name) I am not well, I'm not well; and on my saying, 'what is the matter with that child?' she replied, "it is only the parrot, she always does so when I leave her alone, to make me come back;' and so it proved, for on her going into the room the parrot stopped, and then began laughing quite in a jeering way. It is singular enough, than whenever she is affronted in any way she begins to cry, and when pleased, to laugh. If any one happens to cough or sneeze, she says, 'what a bad cold.' One day, when the children were playing with her, the maid came into the room, and on their repeating to her several things which the parrot had said, Poll looked up and said quite plainly, no, I didn't.' Sometimes, when she is inclined to be mischievous, the maid threatens to beat her, and she often says, 'no you won't.' She calls the cat very plainly, saying, 'Puss, puss,' and then answers mew; but the most amusing part is, that whenever I want to make her call it, and to that purpose say, 'Puss, puss' myself, she always answers mew till I begin mewing, and then she begins calling puss as quick as possible. She imitates every kind of noise, and barks so naturally that I have known her to set all the dogs on the parade at Hampton Court barking; and I dare say, if the truth was known, wondered what was barking at them; and the consternation I have seen her cause in a party of cocks and hens, by her crowing and clucking, has been the most ludicrous thing possible. She sings just like a child, and I have

more than once thought it was a human being; and it is most ridiculous to hear her make what one should call a false note, and then say, 'Oh, la,' and burst out laughing at herself, beginning again in quite another key. She is very fond of singing Buy a Broom,' which she says quite plainly, but in the same spirit as in calling the cat; if we say, with a view to make her repeat it, Buy a Broom,' she always says, ' Buy a Brush,' and then laughs as a child might do when mischievous. She often performs a kind of exercise which I do not know how to describe, except by saying that it is like the lance exercise. She puts her claw behind her, first on one side and then on the other, then in front, and round over her head, and whilst doing so keeps saying, 'come on, come on!' and when finished, says, bravo, beautiful!' and draws herself up. Before I was as well acquainted with her as I am now, she would stare in my face for some time, and then say, how d'ye do, ma'am?' this she invariably does to strangers. One day I went into the room where she was, and said, to try her, 'Poll, where is Payne gone?' and to my astonishment, and almost dismay, she said, 'down stairs. I cannot at this moment recollect any thing more than I can vouch for myself, and I do not choose to trust to what I am told; but from what I have myself seen and heard, she has almost made me a believer in transmigration."

AMERICAN VARIETIES.-No. X.

THEY say the crowd was so great to see the President's inauguration, that they rubbed the paint off all the houses getting through the streets, and completely barked the trees on both sides of Pennslyvania avenue. They did not think of eating, as there would not have been a circumstance of provision for them, but they made holes in the kitchen doors, through which they took a smell.

Being worth half a million to-day, and without a shirt to your back to-morrow, is what we call going "from the sublime to the ridiculous."

A man being capitally convicted at the Old Bailey, was, as usual, asked what he had to say why judgment of death should not be passed upon him. Say!" replied he, "why, I think the joke has been carried far enough already, and the less that is said about it the better. If you please, sir, we'll drop the subject." "Mr. Sheriff," said the compassionate judge, "you may let the subject drop!"

"I like to see folks mind their own business," as the thief said when the watchman caught him in the act. GERMAN ENGLISH.-Advertisement stuck up at Charlestown, (Carolina,) by a German, who had lost his horse:

He is run avay agen, mine little plack horse; I rite him two tays en midle te nite, and ven he not vill see shumpting, he shumps as if te divel was int, and he trows me town; I not have sich fall since pefore I vas pornt. I buy him top on Jacob Shintel Clymer; he hav five white pefore, mit von plack snip on his nose, von eye vill look plue like glass. He is pranded mit John Keisler Stanger, on his pehind side, py his tail.

Whoever vill take up de said horse, and pring him to me, top of mine house, near Congaree, shall pay me two tollars revard, en if dey will not pring me mine horse agen, I vill put de law in force ginst all de peoples.

HARD TIMES.-A letter from New York says, that the times are so hard that the watches have stopped.-We are surprised at that, because they are the business characters that can afford to go; as they can go upon tick till the end of time.