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letter from my aunt, stating that she recollected her late husband frequently mentioned his early intimacy

with a certain Capt. A , who some time since had

retired from the service, and was living in the neighbourhood of Portsmouth—that I ought to visit him, and, as he was a remakably frank and agreeable gentleman, she was sure if I mentioned my uncle's name, I might depend on a hearty welcome. She also stated that he had an only daughter, with whom I was to be sure not to fall in love. Love had never before been thought of by me, but Captain, cottage, only daughter, were words on which my mind continued to dwell, and in a few days I set off for Hampshire. I found the cottage, situated on a rising ground, almost embowered amongst trees, having an extensive lawn in front, and a beautiful garden in its rear. From the avenue I could not avoid contemplating the beautiful scene before me. The Isle of Wight seemed to sleep on the clear bosom of the waters, and some of the largest ships in the navy in vain extended their white sails to catch the unwilling zephyr. I continued to walk along the avenue, and at length approached the door of the marine

cottage. I enquired if Capt. A was within. I

was informed that he was not; but, as he was expected, in a short time, I was directed by the servant to walk into the drawing-room. As I entered the sound of a grand piano met my ear, and I presently perceived I was unobserved by the fair performer. Unwilling to interrupt her, I threw myself on an ottoman at the other end of the room, and, even unfavourably situated as I was, I could not avoid admiring the energy with which she entered into the spirit of the music that she discoursed. Whilst I was regretting the unfortunate position that prevented me from seeing " the mind, the music breathing from her face," in a moment a song burst from her lips that seemed to me to breathe the very spirit of love and of tenderness. It described the affection of a young man and beauteous girl, the latter of whom was a victim to the addresses of an old and infatuated admirer. Long had she resisted, but fortune, ever blind, seemed to favour the ancient lover, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth verses, ran in the following style, as sung by the fair girl:—

He may gain my lily hand,
By his gold, and by his art;

But the kiss is freezing cold,

When it comes not from the heart.

And the joys of love will be,

Like the Indian poison flower;
If we taste its lightest taint,

We must perish in an hour.

But, if he from far would come,

Who Ib more than heaven to me,
Blest would be my happy home,

A love bower for him and me.

The sweet creature seemed determined to become mistress of the song, as three times did I hear it from beginning to end. Music has always a peculiar effect upon me. I relish it, in the same way as a picture, the delightful shake, which the performer occasionally introduced, reminded me of the tottering steps of her lover, whilst some of the gliding notes and suspensions seemed to vary as the suit of the venerable man was successful or opposed; but at the last verse the composer had put forth all his science—it was spirited and stirring, and, when the fair creature came to it the third time, I joined with all my might. I shall never forget the shriek that followed. The young vocalist fainted away—in vain I rang the bell—no servant appeared, so I snatched a silver jug that lay on the table, and flew to the neighbouringd'eau for water. But as I opened the door, who should meet me but the Captain. He seized me by the collar, committed me to the charge of a companion, and hastened to ascertain his daughter's fate—what that was I was not able to learn, for in ten minutes I was secured by half a

dozen rustics, and I was dragged before Mr. M ,

the neighbouring justice of peace. Sentence of im

prisonment was actually about to be passed upon me, when I recollected my uncle's early friendship with the Captain, and, although this explanation came rather late, it satisfied all parties. Short as the moment was in which I saw his lovely daughter, it had made a deep impression on my heart, but when her father and I returned to dinner she remained in her chamber. The whole circumstances were awkward, and I am now very willing that no more should be said of my first love: my second affair of the heart shall be sent in a short period after the insertion of this communication.


"The Nature and Design of God's Judgments," a Discourse preached in St. David's Church, Glasgow, on Thursday, 22d' March, 1832, the day appointed for a National Fast, by the Rev. John Roxburgh, M. A. Glasgow, 1832.

The solemn and affecting scene of a nation's penitence is calculated to interest and impress the most heedless observer. In the rapid progress of events, individual guilt is ofttimes speedily overlooked, but an assembled people, confessing the error of their ways, imploring pardon for their offences, and humbly and anxiously soliciting forgivenness, is calculated to excite deep and lasting emotion, and has often procured the indulgence of a merciful Creator. It is not a very long period since the opportunity, afforded by a fast day, was eagerly seized upon by clergymen for the promulgation of their own political feelings—but the less such exhibitions are indulged in the better—and we hail the publication of the present discourse, not only as being laudably free from any such topics, but as being in all respects an eloquent, impressive and masterly production.

We are anxious to record our favourable opinion of the above sermon, as early as possible, although our limits prevent us inserting more than one short extract.

It is gratifying to think, that our country still owns many, to whom this season of affliction speaks in far other language than that of terror—who feel summoned by it to holy meditation on that inevitable event, which shall set them free from this scene of turmoil and tribulation, and translate their disembodied spirits, arrayed in the robes of Christ's righteousness, into the light, and the life and the liberty of God's redeemed. Yet, even to them it sounds the deatbful knell of preparation. It calls them, to burden themselves less with worldly engagements; to sequester themselves more carefully from whatever may endanger their purity and spirituality of mind; to be more fervent in devotion; more constant in the exercise of self-examination; more studious of Christain perfection; and, with incessant vigilance to watch in the attitude of prayer, lest the day of the Lord overtake them at unawares. It calls them also, to be more diligent in the duties of active benevolence; more concerned for the temporal and immortal interests of their fellow-creatures; and, from every corner of the land, to unite their joint supplications at the throne of grace, for consolation to the broken-hearted, deliverance to the captives, and recovery of sight to the spiritually blind. Should the solemn cry now invade the silence of midnight, " Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him,"—and, should it find us slumbering in the performance of these offices of piety and mercy, there would be small grounds for any of us to plead, that the Son of Man had appeared at such an hour as we thought not.


Galileo, because he believed in the Copernican system, now universally established, was compelled at Rome publicly to disavow sentiments, the truth of which must have been to him abundantly manifest. He was imprisoned, and visited by Milton, who tells us he was then poor and old. The confessor of his widow, taking advantage of her piety, obtained leave to peruse the MSS. of this great philosopher, and destroyed such as, in his judgment, were not fit to be known to the world.

From the German of Besser.

He laid him down and slept, and from his side

A woman iu her magic beauty rose; Dazzled and charmed, he called that woman " bride,"

And his first sleep, became his last repose.


(From our London Correspondent. J

Long life to Sheridan Knowles! The noble fellow is now beginning to enjoy the reward of his genius, in the manner which is most gratifying to his own generous heart. His drama has been completely successful, and is announced for performance every evening, till further notice. This result is, certainly, no more than we anticipated, from the merits of the piece, but you must be aware, that however convinced of its likelihood, we could not avoid feeling a little anxiety till it was actually ascertained. For an hour before the performance commenced, our faces were rather dismal; and, to tell you the truth, though none of us dared to confess it, there was a general fear among us, that the double capacity of author and actor would prove too much for our friend. His long absence from the stage, as well as the novelty of the character which he had undertaken, were circumstances which inspired us with fears which we found it difficult to conceal. This impression was rather increased, when the curtain drew up, and Knowles began his part with the timidity natural to his trying situation. The first tones were a complete damper upon our spirits, and , who was sitting next me, whispered, "He is going to fail," in a voice of melancholy foreboding. In a short while, however, this apprehension wore off, as the cheers of the audience, which followed some effective passages, made Sheridan himself again, and before all was over we found ample opportunities for joining in the general applause. The character which Knowles represented, resembles, in some points, Walter Scott's Black Dwarf. A deformed hunchback, very sensitive of the reproaches to which his person exposes him, interests himself in the fortunes of a young and amiable girl, his ward, personated by Miss Fanny Kemble, and in order to procure her a respectable match, discovers himself to be her father, and the possessor of estates and a title which he was supposed to have vacated by death. I mention this, merely that you may have an idea of the kind of acting which it requires. There is not the slightest indication of any thing being borrowed in the piece. On the contrary, it is quite original, and for this reason, the composition, as well as the performance of it, reflect the highest credit upon the gentleman who bos sustained both departments.

You should have seen Knowles, at the conclusion of the performance, advancing to unburden his honest heart to his liberal patrons. It would have made you weep with joy, to observe him standing upon the stage, shaking hands with Kemble, with all the warmth and honesty of his nature, and vying with him in mutual proffers of generosity. The success of the night had so elated his spirits, that he insisted upon the performance of his play being interrupted on Monday night, to give place to that of his friend's daughter. The manager, on the contrary, would not listen to this, and arranged with the audience that the further exhibition of Francis the First should be kept back till the Hunchback should have its fair run. You have no conception how much Knowles is exhilarated with this success. He dances about the streets, I verily believe, without knowing whether he is on his head or his feet; and we can hardly get yes or no from him to any of our questions.



"A mine of gold laid open."


DESCRIPTION OF A THUNDER STORM. (From the Brougham.) Yes, truly, thou art beautiful, thou art the faultless creature of eternal power and goodness, thou land of my pilgrimage, where I was born and educated, which was my cradle and my nurse, which during thirty springs crowned me with its roses, during thirty winters sparkled for crystal snow, and is once to entomb in its bosom this dust, now animated by the spirit of God. Beautiful art thou, oh, Earth! beautiful in thy golden garment of summer; my hymn praises thee. My joy honours thee. See how the yellow corn holds down its heavy heads! how the slender twig bends under its load! how the fat flocks skip on the luxuriant pastures: how the glow-worm slides through the high grass! Hark ! how the warbling of the quail resounds among the wheat, and the whistle of the thrush deep in the wood. But the air is

growing more sultry: animals mourn: languishing creation groans; the withered fields are thirsting; the Almighty beckons, and quickly a black thunder cloud ascends from the South and West. The violence of the storm is awakened! it lightens; the thunder rolls; the firm ground shakes; the wild ocean rages. The oak forest smokes and cracks. The concerts of the groves are silent; the sby courser flies, and both the hero and the coward turn pale. The Almighty smiles; and quickly the rattling of the thunder dwindles; the flame of the lightning vanishes. The desolating gale of the hurricane becomes a gentle breeze; the agitated sea is silent. Beautiful, oh, earth! is thy calm after the storm, beautiful and sublime! The threatening thunder becomes a favour; its roaring a tender blessing; the heavy clouds rustle; warm rains descend: all that was dry is watered; nature is refreshed; the forest and plain rejoice. The vapours fly; the atmosphere is cleared; a calm and benign evening sun illumes the trickling fields; brooks and meadows sparkle in its beams; how dark the woods appear, how blue the distant sea! The sun sets. The West glows. The happy husbandman leaves his work. The flocks return home. The dusky evening spreads it gloomy mantle over the fields, the tranquil village, and the sacred grove. Night, sweet night, wished for by the afflicted, and desired by those who have toiled, comes and sheds comfort and peace in every wounded heart, and closes the moistened eyelids to soft repose and gladening dreams. The silent moon peeps through the small window into the room of the unfortunate, and weeps with them. The wise man, watching, meditates in profound darkness upon God, the grave, and eternity. Yes, truly, thou art beautiful, land of my birth; thou art the faultless master-piece of eternal power and eternal goodness! thou art to me a blessing; tbou fulfillest my wishes whilst I wander upon thee ; blessed is every joy, every sorrow that comes from thy bosom, and welcome will be once my slumbering in thy quiet lap; it silences all troubles, and veils every grief!—L. T. Kosegarten.


To the Editor of The Day. Sia,—In glancing over your publication this morning, I was struck with the apparent absurdity of the lines inserted by "A Puzzled Subscriber." As I took it for granted, however, that something might be gathered from them by a proper transposition of the letters, I gave the matter my most serious consideration during the time occupied at the breakfast table, and I confess I was somewhat satisfied with my own perseverance, when I was enabled, from the unconnected jumble of unmeaning words to trace the following truly poetical lines :—

Nature and nature's laws were hid in night, God said, "let Newton be," and all was light. By giving a place to the above in The Day, you will oblige, i J. Snriac

Dear Sir,—In this morning's Day I observed a puzzle, at which A " Puzzled Subscriber" is puzzled. I cannot see anything in it to puzzle him, for the answer seems to me to be a mere transposition of the letters in each word; thus :—

Nature and nature's laws were hid in night,
God said, let "Newton be," and all was light.

Now, as one good turn deserves another, would you be kind enough to request a solution of the following ?—

I have 20 horses and five stables. How am I to put these 20 horses into those five stables, so as to.have an odd horse in each stable ?—Excuse this trouble.—Yours, truly,


To the Editor O/the Day. Sir,—Your puzzled (puzzling ?) subscriber will find, in the following couplet, a solution of his puzzle :—

Nature and nature's laws, were hid in night, God said, "Let Newton be," and all was light. As "one good turn deserves another," may I request, if your puzzling friend can tell me into how many transpositions the word "nature" is capable of being formed—or the word naturalization?" If he can't, probably some other will, and oblige



"The Large Lover" will not do. Does he mean to carry his point by sighs?

The "Poet," we fear, does not know himself.

We offer "C." our sincere thanks for his excellent paper.

"Spectator's" communication has been received.

Published, every Morning, Sunday excepted, by John Finlay, at No. 9, Miller Street; aud Sold by John Wylie, 97, Argyle Street; David Robertson, and W. R. M'phun, Glasgow; Thomas Stevenson, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh: DaVid Dick, and A. Gardner, Booksellers, Paisley.- A. Lain, Greenock; and J. Glass, Bookseller, Rothsay.







"Wretches, whose iacoroe il beyond computation, have worn ray threshold

In dunning payment of a few miserable debts, yet so kindly have I entreated them, grasped them by the band, give me but a tuaele day. All in vain. What are prayers, oaths, tears to them—they touch not the scaly armour of an impenetrable heart."

•chiller's Robbers.

Every man seems anxious to be considered free of debt, and to have something, iu the language of Scotia, "for a sair fit," but we are all iu debt and are all debtors ip a greater or a lesser degree. Those who are in this situation, are both the young and the old, the wise and the foolish, the learned and the ignorant, the high and the low, the strong and the weak, the proud and the humble, the industrious and the idle, and the good and the bad, and it is somewhat consolatory that a situation, in which so many are to be found, has both its pains and its pleasures. As to its pains, however, we propose to say nothing; for, as we always prefer viewing things on their sunny side, we are better qualified to speak of its pleasures.

Your merchant, if he has a great many debts, is deemed in good credit and in extensive business, and, if he has wherewith to pay them, he is also deemed a very fine, honest, rich fellow. Your merchant who has no debts, is considered to do nothing and to be worth nothing, and, if you go higher, your nobleman, unless he has a long catalogue of debts, is considered a pled, and cut by his fraternity. A man's debts are the index of his character. Shew us his debts, and we will tell his habits and his state of affairs, for debts will not conceal or mince the matter. Since, therefore, debt is in so much request, and of such importance, it is surely a blessing that it is to be found in all the stages of life. Even in the first stage of all—to "the infant mewling and pewking in the nurse's arms," especially if it be the progeny of a man, living in a large house, and having many fine things, or the expectant of a large estate, though it should have neither father nor mother, even to such a helpless little innocent, debt will not refuse its kind services. It will supply it, with all its nick-nacks, its playthings, its nosegays, its perfumes, its sweetmeats—its trifles, and, frequently, the debt of infancy, affords constant employment for a good old age. To your "school boy," whether be may or may not be a very "promising young man," debt is, equally, if not more obliging. It will supply him with his horses, his dogs, his rings, his trinkets, his cigars, his rich attire, his dancing, riding, and fencing masters, his servant men and serving women, and with every other thing requisite for a dashing young man completing his studies, and, not unfrequently, the debts and difficulties of college make many a wise man in after years. Your lover, too, is equally well used. Debt enables him to spend his time,

"Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye brow."

while he would otherwise be obliged to drudge and toil behind the counter. By it, too, he is enabled to present to his beloved fair one, " sweet remembrances" as tokens of his affection, and, probably, the best method for a silly fellow to get completely into the good graces of debt, is to have a sweetheart fond of those "sweet remembrance," and who acts on the prudent system of refusing nothing. Your soldier is often en

abled, by debt, to obtain the "bubble reputation even at the cannon's mouth," and, if war should cease, and he become a dashing fellow on town, debt will enable him to captivate the heart and gain the hand of some fair one, rich both in beauty and in fortune. By debt, too, your justice is enabled to keep up the rotundity of "his fair round belly with good capon lined," and it may be to debt he owes his justiceship and dignity of office, for it is impossible a justicecan be without all the good things of life, and without due pomp and splendour, of all which, debt is one of the stoutest supporters. Your "lean and slippered pantaloon," is often supplied by debt with those luxuries which a depraved and vitiated taste has rendered necessary to his existence, and the last scene of all, "second childishness and mere oblivion" is closed and wound up for ever by a funeral pomp and extravagance which debt, and debt alone, may have supplied.

Your rich merchant is enabled, by debt, to enter into great speculations, and to send his vessels, loaded with all sorts of fine things, into the most distant corners of the earth. He has only to draw a bill on Messrs. Tick, Credit, & Co. when Debt honours it, and then the merchant swells like a tiny key cock —getting his fine castle of a house, his servants, his horses, his carriages, his wines—giving his sumptuous dinners, his blow-out parties, and doing every thing nice, pleasant, fashionable, and genteel. —Your tradesmau, too, by means of debt, may be enabled to send his daughter Nancy, or Juliet, or Vespina, to a top boarding house, to learn the airs and graces of genteel society, to strum the piano, to sing, to dance, and to "lisp and nick-name God's creatures;" and, if Papa, himself, is anxious to achieve magisterial honours, and to be decked out with a cocked hat, and the other insignia of a " little brief authority," he may be enabled, Ly debt, to neglect his business, and to attain this high and dignified situation, and to discharge its important duties, in the language of the newspapers, "with honour to himself, and satisfaction to the public." By debt, you may gain the character, for a time, of being a very rich, a very clever, and a very industrious man, while, after all, you are neither the one nor the other; and, by debt, you may gain the character of being a very worthless, stupid, lazy fellow, while, of all these, you are equally free. Debt, truly, is a " gay deceiver ;" for, sometimes, he gives the outward appearsauce of happiness and gaiety to one, who may, inwardly, be most melancholy, miserable, and worn out. Yet, by debt, a man may do any thing—he may build op, and pull down houses—he may buy and sell to any extent—he may keep all sorts and sizes of establishments, and all kinds and sorts of both living and dead things—he may make some happy, and others sad—he can do much good and much evil, and let us talk as we may, every one of us either is, has been, or will be, one time or other, in the arms of debt, but, we trust, not in difficulties.

Nor is it any disgrace to be in the anus of debt; for the wisest and the best of men have been so, will be so, and are so. It seems inseparable from our very nature. Our best propensities, and our best endeavours, do frequently lead us into debt. If you are industrious and fond of driving a great share of business, take care, lest by losses, you get into debt. If you are fond of speculation, and anxious to lay your money out to good advantage, take care lest it prove a bad spec, and you get into debt. If you are a good soul, and fond of giving your friend a month's grub and claret, take care, lest you fall into debt. If, good naturedly, you accommodate your friend with your name to a bill, or be security for a cash account, take care lest you have all to pay, and tumble into debt. If you are anxious to occupy a place in the " public eye," take care you do not neglect your business, and fall into debt. If you love a fine house, fine furniture, fine wines, fine dinners, take care lest your expense exceed your income, and that you fall into debt. If you go to taverns, play-houses, the race course, the gambling table, and love a snug rubber at whist, take care lest you become unfit for any thing else, and that you are plunged into debt. If you are fond of purchasing, take care lest you pay too much, and get into debt. Take care that you give your goods to no one, but he who pays, lest you get into debt. Take care that you do not scandalise your neighbour, lest an action of damages should throw you into debt. If you love law pleas, have an eye on debt. Even by praying, fasting, and preaching, you may get into debt. By talking, by silence, by laughing, by grumbling, by sleeping, by dreaming, by walking, by riding, you may get into debt. In short, there is nothing that you can do, can speak, think, or dream of, without the hazard of falling into debt; and, therefore, we say, though steeped in debt to the very lips, it is no disgrace, and no fault of thine.

There are a great variety of debts. There are national debts, joint stock debts, individual debts, company debts, mercantile debts, gambling debts, honourable debts, private debts, public debts, legal debts, illegal debts, household debts, secret debts, and a great many sorts of debts, and, though last not least, grateful debts. Now, as we love fair play in every thing, we don't like to see any debt ill used, and, although we consider it no disgrace to be in debt, we consider it a very great one, to use any debt ill, or unhandsomely. For example, a pack of monsters have been threatening, for a long time, to strangle the national debt altogether; but he has flourished his oaken cudgel so powerfully, that these rogues have been afraid as yet to make the onset, and, when they do so, there will be a fearful struggle. Then again, your Courts of Law have assumed a great deal of unnecessary austerity, towards honourable debts, and gambling debts, by considering their claims of a very doubtful nature, while these courts have really carried this abominable austerity so far as to discountenance illegal debts altogether. As to grateful debts, it is quite proverbial that there are no description of persons, so ill used, for all the return they often receive is snapping of fingers, and lots of impertinence. Of the other debts, every whipper snapper, from the Lord to the chimney sweep, makes a perfect conveniency, offering a farthing, a sixpence, or a shilling in the pound, as circumstances may admit, in full payment of their legal demands. And, should debt shake his head, and remonstrate against this evident injustice, then these whipper snappers talk of what they call "trust deeds, sequestrations, cessio bonorums, discharges," and of such like things. Debt is thus often obliged to give in, for the sake of peace, and to make the best of a bad bargain; but sometimes, when he is nettled, he gives these whipper snappers a fright; and when debt is really roused, and put in a passion, you see them scampering off to the Continent, to the Abbey, or to R prison, to the tune of twelve miles an hour, while all their fine things, all their

"Ancient most domestic ornaments, llich hangings, intermixed and wrought with gold," are tumbled into a heap, for public sale.

When debt does this, he cannot surely be blamed; for he has his feelings and his passions like every other man, and, like all others, he is perfectly right to

look after his own interest. But the apparent severity, with which he sometimes proceeds, has given rise to much difference of opinion as to his real character, and whether he is truly a good or a bad man. With some he is the best of fellows, and certainly the great proportion of travellers shake hands with him at once, and travel on with him to the last scene of all, sometimes pleasantly, and sometimes not, as we have already described. But there are another proportion, smaller however in number, who consider debt a perfect devil, and who, sooner than have any thing to do with him, would sacrifice every thing on earth. These persons hate him so fervently, that they take all bye paths and quiet roads to avoid him, while they are in perpetual fear lest they should stumble, and lest debt should come to their assistance. But they need not hold their heads so high, for they may be glad, at one or other of the stages through life, to sit down and take a dinner, and a night's rest, at the expense of debt. Thus it is, however, that one part of the world hateth that to which they may be often indebted, and, without attempting to account for this, our own opinion is, that debt, to say the least, is a fellow of " infinite jest, and of most excellent fancy," whom the world can never do without, and who will always be in high repute, while Messrs. Tick, Credit, & Co. are in their present extensive business, a business of which, in point of extent, both at home and abroad, and both in town and country, it is impossible to give any adequate notion. May debt never be ill used, may he always be handsomely treated, and may every man be able and willing to pay him twenty shillings per pound, with the fair and the legal interest!


Boniface is of a jolly, round, vulgar countenance. He affects an open bluntness of speech and manner, but that is only to mask his real character. By means of this he can pay compliments without being suspected of insincerity, as they appear to be honest effusions of his heart. He has an intuitive perception of the weakness of others, which he seldom fails to turn to good account, and is not at all afraid of offending, by the extravagance of his praise, as it generally takes very well. When he dines with an Alderman, he is sure to launch out in commendation of the good things before him. '* Most admirable soup, my worshipful friend! I never eat turtle in such perfection as in your house. Indeed I may say the same of every dish on your table. Your wines, too, are certainly the best in Europe." When he visits Sir John Dash, he addresses himself in like manner to his predominant vanity. "I was admiring the splendour of your equipage, this morning, Sir John. I observe nothing in town at all to be compared to it, either for the symmetry of the carriage itself, the taste of the liveries, or the beauty of the horses." My Lord Period he extols to the skies for his eloquence. "Your late speech in the House, my Lord, I consider one of the finest orations ever delivered within the walls of Parliament! I can assure your Lordship that it has electrified the nation, and that it is the theme of universal admiration. Discourse, such as this, is frequent with him; and, as he is one of those, who, according to the old homely adage, are fond of giving a sprat to catch a whale, he is wonderfully liberal of small presents. These he invariably bestows on the wealthy and powerful, with a view to reap a hundred times their value, in which, it is lamentable to think, he generally succeeds. Hares, partridges, pheasants and grouse, answer very well in common; but when he has a point of consequence to carry, he does not scruple to risk such things as a French watch or a musical snuff-box. On other occasions, an Indian shawl, or a Chinese writing desk, dexterously applied to a lady of interest, will attain his ends. He is, also, extremely alert in being the bearer of good news to those he has a design upon, taking advantage of the flush of kindness the intelligence produces, to obtain some favour or other. In short, Boniface, under the disguise of a rough exterior, is an interested sycophant who promotes his own selfish views by practising on the vanity and weakness of mankind.





In the name of the most merciful God, the eternal, august Lord, I will begin with the help of God, and I will collect some Proverbs and Sayings, out of the book of Abi Uoeid, and the rest- Aud the praise be to God,


Ride not the horse of thy borrowing: i.e. Do not adorn thyself with knowledge which thou dost not understand; and be not vain-glorious about a work of art in which thou art not skilful. II.

Don't throw thine arrows against an image of iron : i. e. Don't throw thy words against him who is stronger than thyself, and don't stand up as an adversary against him who is more powerful than thyself.


If thou art such a person as not to know to go up a ladder safely, thou shalt not get up on the roof: i. e. If thou art such as not to be obedient when under a leader then thou shalt not become a


Go not up to the hill top when thou art adorned, lest thou shouldest fall: i. e. Thou shouldest be cautious of being vain-glorious or pompous, for he that is hasty in walking shall fall. V.

Do not be clothed in white in a night of obscurity: i. e. Be not adorned outwardly, and filled inwardly with perfidy and wickedness.


Don't send forth thy Dog into the land in which there is no lion for the hunting: t. e. Be not angry before your sure time. VII.

Don't walk in the streets naked: >. e. Do not reveal thy secret before men, lest they sneer at thee in the place of concourse. VIII.

Don't speak in the night wherever there is no night-bird: i. e. Hide thy secret and thy dignity from the crowd of the vain and the foolish.


Shut up the five windows, that the house and he that dwells in it may be enlightened: t. e. Shut up the five senses of the body, that thy soul may be enlightened with the light of life.


Don't swim in cold water, lest thou perish: 1.t. Give not thyself up to thy lusts, lest thou die in thy sins in endless punish


Let there be one weight to all: i. e. Be just, decline not from what is right, do injury to no one, and forsake not what is pure. XII.

Be thou indeed as the wild ass when the hunters strike him on the face: t. e. When quarrels come upon thee suddenly then turn from them, flee away and do not stop.


Throw not a stone at him that is sailing: i. e. Throw not out a word against a man that is absent, for his Lord will hear it. XIV.

Rub off the prickles with a file: t. e. Vanquish the affections of the body and the corrupt desires, that thou mayest live. XV.

Destroy not thy jewels on a holiday: t. e. Be not sad nor weep in a place of gladness,


With the bramble be thou the olive: i.e. With the ignorant be thou wise, and with the foolish be thou intelligent.


When thou ridest on the lion beware of his claws: t. e. thou becomest a leader beware of evil counsels.


Shut thy gate against robbers: i. e. Shut up tby ■ sin, lest thine enemies catch thee.


Beware of the stone that is in thine hand, how thou throwest it, lest it should come back again upon thee: t. e. If thou art grieved on account of any one, let there be a time remaining when thou shalt be without grief.


Cornelius AcRirrA—Was necessitated to fly his country, and the enjoyments of a large income, merely for having displayed a few philosophical experiments, which now every school-boy can perform; but more particularly having attacked the then prevailing opinion, that St. Anne had three husbands, he was so violently persecuted, that he was obliged to fly from place to place. The people beheld him as an object of horror; and not unfrequently, when he walked the streets, he found them empty at his approach. He died of disease and famine in an hospital.

A Prolific Authorkss.—Mademoiselle Scudery, Menage informs us, had composed ninety volumes / the materials of which were entirely drawn from her own fertile invention. She had even finished another romance, but which she would not give the public, whose taste, she saw, no more relished these kinds of works. The curious only look over her romances. They contain, doubtless, many beautiful inventions; the misfortune is, that time and patience are rare requisites for the enjoyment of these Iliads in prose.

Literary Imposition—Annius of Viterbo, a Dominican, and master of the sacred palace under Alexander VI. pretended he had discovered the genuine works Sanconiatho, Manetho, Berosus, and other works, of which only fragments are remaining. He published seventeen books of antiquities! But not having any MSS. to produce, though he declared he had found them buried in the earth, these literary fabrications occasioned great controversies; for the author died before he had made up his mind to a confession, but it has been ingeniously conjectured that he himself was imposed on, rather than that he was the impostor.

The Crusades,—impolitic and unjust as they were in principle, contributed something to the improvement of European society; and, by renewing a communication with the countries of the East, they again assisted the diffusion of those vegetable treasures which had been neglected after the destruction of the Roman empire. The monastic gardens owed many of their choicest fruits to the care of those provident ecclesiastics who had accompanied the expeditions to the Holy Land.

The Cucumber—Has been known in England from the very earliest records of horticulture. Gough says, that it was common, like the melon, in the time of Edward III, ; but being neglected and disused, became entirely forgotten, till the reign of Henry VIII. It was not generally cultivated till about the middle of the seventeenth century. There are many varieties of cucumbers. Some cucumbers are cultivated for their fantastic shapes, of which the Snake is remarkable for its great length and small diameter; but it is of no value, except for shew.


THE OCULIST. In London dwelt, in noble state, An Oculist, well-known of late. The blind he could restore to sight. Return to rayless orbs their light; Fame had so oft proclaimed his name, She grew quite breathless with the i An Irishman, with painful eyes, To our great Oculist applies: He couched, he bled, he poulticed o'er, Gave "wash, at bedtime as before," Then took a book, and said, " Now, Pat, Be kind enough to read me that." Pat tried in vain, no, not one letter. The Doctor—" Pat, you are not better." So twice again, Pat, went through all, But worse—" there's something wrong with ball! Yet try once more, Pray, read that book," Pat on the wrong side chanced to look, "Worse! how is't, Pat, I can't succeed?" "'Cause, please ye, I never learned to read."

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