observed him remembering his ejaculations, was very careful, on the like occasions, to offer these wishes in behalf of his descendants, who perpetuated it from father to son in all their colonies. that, for the future, sneezing should be accompanied with thanksgivings for the preservation, and wishes for the prolongation of life. We perceive, even in these fictions, the vestiges of tradition and history, which place the epocha of this civility long before that of Christianity. It was accounted very ancient even in the time of Aristotle, who in his problems has endeavoured to account for it, but knew nothing of its origin. According to him, the first men, prepossessed with the highest ideas concerning the head, as the principal seat of the soul, that intelligent substance governing and animating the whole human system, carried their respect even to sternuta. tion, as the most manifest and most sensible operation of the head. Heuce those `several forms of compliments used on similar occasions amongst Greeks and Romans; "Long may you live-May you enjoy health The rabbis, speaking of this custom, likewise give it a very ancient date. They say, that not long after the creation, God made a general decree, that every man living should sneeze but once, and that at the very instant of his sneezing, his soul should depart, without any previous indisposition. Jacob by no means liked so precipitate a way of leaving the world, and being desirous of settling his family affairs, and those of his conscience, he prostrated himself before the Lord, wrestled a second time with him, and earnestly entreated the favour of being excepted from the decree. His prayer was heard, and he sneezed without dying. All the princes of the universe being acquainted with the fact, unanimously ordered || Jupiter preserve you." CONJUGAL HAPPINESS. ON the more probable methods of preventing, or at least of lessening matrimonial unhappiness, many have been already enumerated in the previous essays; the remainder, as they follow naturally out of the subject, will he offered in the form of a short sketch drawn from real life; and done in a manner it is hoped, at once amusive and instructive. It has often been observed, and truly, that nuptial happiness is oftener found in the middle, or even in the humblest classes of society, than in the envied and exalted circles of rank and fashion. The obvious reason of this is, perhaps, that the will and more splendid sphere in which rank and title move, as it opens a wider field, so extensive power gives temptation full opportunity for the indulgence of every appetite; and habitual depravity entirely supercedes the honest simplicity of nature. The middle and lower orders of mankind are too much occupied in the business of the day, the honourable pursuits of industry, to feel the intrusion of artificial wants, or unnecessary propensities of any kind; necessity more than nature, as it keeps then more virtuous, fits their minds in a superior degree || for matrimonial comforts, for a life of moderation, and for a wholesome restraint of the assions. Numerous are the instances in humble life, of complete conjugal felicity, where the wishes and the wants being few, are more easily gratified, and where love reigns in purity, unsullied by the endless wants of fancy, the parent of honest joy and lasting harmony. Neither suuk so low as to feel virtue insulted by the "proud man's contumely," or the contempt of the world; or so elevated in life, as to be the victims of fashionable indolence, was the happy middle state of Horatio, and Eliza. Uniformly tranquil in their tempers by the bounty of nature; neither depressed by worldly fears, or dazzled by fallacious hopes, with no wish or purpose but for each others happiness; possessing an empire of content in themselves, those lovers exhibit an example of nuptial happiness. Blessed with mediocrity of talent which never excites envy; blest with moderation of manners, and propriety of conduct; too humble and too proud to be obtrusive, they retire with conscious and modest dignity within themselves, and rather shun than seek a world which seldom smiles on modest and unassuming merit. No earthly happiness is ever so fixed as not to be shaken by some rude adverse wind, Horatio and Eliza, sometimes felt the com out to her children the proper way they were to go in through life; to inculcate that excelleut precept of Solomon's by her own example, and to instil into the juvenile mind those mon penalty inflicted on man, but they found in themselves a never-failing solace; they could fly from worldly affliction, and find shelter in each other, and every stroke of adversity awaken new powers of reciprocal af-initiatory duties which lead the infant mind to fection. In their friendly circles Eliza never thought of ridiculing her husband in imitation of Lydia; nor was Horatio's face like Rinaldo's tortured into momentary phrenzy, if his wife did not speak at all times grammatically. It was the honest, and laudable aim of each, not uxoriously, but in the accents of love and truth; and only when the occasion called for it, to raise each other's character, and to speak by ardent looks, and kind words, their mutual satisfaction. Horatio was descended from a long line of opulent ancestors, but was not rich himself; "his wife was his affluence," he was wont to say, and often added, that " he was proud to say it." This he observed smiling with content, and sometimes with a look at Eliza. Horatio's figure was not sufficiently heroic to form a splendid whole length for a modern novel; it was tolerable, there was not much to regret or commend, but it bore about those internal graces which few can boast, a constant and regular flow of cheerfulness, a fortitude never subdued, strong and active benevolence, unsullied honour, and manners formed to inspire joy and happiness in every sphere which they moved in. Elizas person was elegant and interesting; but it was elegance of which she was unconscious; it struck every one but herself; her eyes were soft and penetrating; her whole deportment was easy and graceful, and her dress was neither Grecian, or Egptian, but Roman, it was the simplex munditiis of Horace. Eliza was seldom at public places, not from dislike, or want of taste and vivacity, but because her domestic duties required her whole attention. Indeed she was so blest in her family concerus, that she has repeatedly assured me her happiness was so full, her husband so kind, her lovely offspring so endearing, that it scarcely left any room for a wish to leave her home! When rallied by some fashionable ladies for burying herself alive, she apologized by saying, that she approved of public amusements in moderation, but that she did not think it right to take fine growing girls and boys too much into public; especially into public walks or gardens, because there were many things that occurred, or that were likely to occur, which were unfit for children to see and hear; and that she thought one way to check modern folly and depravity was, to point moral tendency. "That she was not," she said smiling," buried alive when at home, but actively employed in her domestic duties, which nature as well as affection made a plea sure. In the sweet and endearing employment of cultivating her tender infant plants, she found the most flattering variety, and those opening prospects of progressive infantile improvement, which filled her heart with grateful rapture." The first meeting of Eliza and Horatio was accidental; and the first seen by the other was Eliza. Horatio saw a lovely young lady, sweet as the morn, and unconsciously importing from her fine eyes a thousand unerring shafts, and instantly felt his bosom filled with rising hopes. He imaged to his soul perfection in its most enchanting earthly form; he retired from the first interview deeply impressed; and soon, with as genuine fervent and exalted a passion as ever expanded an honest heart, offered his modest yet ardent proposals, the acceptance of which blessed him through a long life with felicity only known to virtuous love. Prior has said, somewhat sarcastically, that, "Few married fowls peck Dunmor's bacon." But Horatio and Eliza, who are now living, and whom I esteem as well as I do myself, might safely and consciously have pecked Dunmor's bacon every day of their lives for twenty years. And let it be recorded to the glory of genuine love, that (I am sure this instance is not a solitary one) I know many fowls of the same feathers, birds of gentle kind, and not paired with mousing owls, chattering pies, or pilfering rooks. When Horatio determined to enter on the important business of courtship, he uttered instinctively the following soliloquy :—— "What am I about to do? I am about to solicit this charming young creature to become my wife. Transporting thought! How shall I conduct myself to secure her affections? Shall I assume a disguise, a masquerade, to hide my real character from her view? I shall then seem perfectly agreeable. I shall then be irresistible. Shall I hide the dark parts of the picture? Shall I only shew the lights? All lovers do so. It is a method prompted by nature herself. But are all things right which are prompted by nature? Let me pause.—No; a thousand things are prompted by nature which our reason and sense of duty ought to correct. If not, we should become the victims, the slaves of ungoverned appetite and passion. I will use no deception, for deception is no part of love! Pure love cannot exist independent of honour! We cannot wish to deceive those that we truly love!-No; I will go honestly to work: in such a manner as, at least, to insure self-approbation. I have many imperfections, she shall see any genuine character, that she may be enabled to judge perfectly in so im portant a concern as a union for life? She is truth and purity herself, let me follow her example, and endeavour to exalt myself by the language of truth, that I may be worthy of possessing such a treasure." When the courtship commenced, which was not a long one, Horatio appeared before her as he did before others, open, candid, manly, and generous. He felt even a refined pleasure in the reflection that, as it is not possible that a blooming young lady can be supposed to be a match for deceit, to wish, or endeavour to deceive such a one, when perhaps her fond heart is open, genuine, and not in the least calculated to suspect one who professes love, is not only base and inhuman, but cowardly; his whole soul revolted from the idea. The pleasing consequence of Horatio's honourable courtship was, that Eliza had no motive for suspicion; her lover being candid, she was so too; their growing love was unsullied, it was spotless, and the wanton God ranged free as the sweet breath of Heaven, dazzling in the white robes of truth, exalted in purity, and smiling with unfading youth. Fools may sneer, and libertines and profi gates may deride the picture which I have drawn, but I write not for such, but for those whose lives do not reproach them; for those whose passions are taught to move, as Johnson finely expresses it, at the command of virtue; for those who are too wise and too good to fancy that true pleasure is ever found in depravity and vice; and for those who know and feel that, the love which we feel for the charming sex is blended with the love which we owe to God! To conclude, it is plain that the best and only way to promote conjugal happiness is, for the gentleman to make his proposals, and for the lady to receive them with candour and sincerity. That it is a truth, which cannot be too strongly inculcated, that those who endeavour to deceive, must also expect to be deceived! That married people of all descriptions should, not only from a sense of moral duty, but from motives of sound policy, endeavour on all occasions to improve that delightful quality called good-nature. To study and to practise a mutual conciliatory conduct towards each other, never to expose their little foibles or mistakes when in company, but rather endeavour to commend than to blame their companions for life; and finally, I desire most emphatically to assure the reader, that when love is founded in truth and honour, and the married state continued with mutual forbearance and tenderness, it produces a fuluess of joy and felicity, and a refined solace and endearment, which nothing else earthly can bestow; and that the greatest content which our nature is capable of in this world, must be sought for in conjugal happiness. PHILEMON. OAKWOOD HOUSE.-AN ORIGINAL NOVEL. LETTER I. TO MRS. BRUDENELL, BELMONT-COTTAGE. Ferrybridge, March 12, 1907. not extend beyond terrestrial objects If you want the grey tints of the morning, the cloudless skies of ncon, or the glowing refulgence of evening, you may either draw and colour them for yourself, or look into the many authors where they are to be found. BEHOLD me thus far on my way to my native vale. My maid, Anson, my only companion in a post chaise; and my man, James, my only attendant. You bade me write an account of my journey; of what I see, feel, and imagine: in a word, you require the life and opinions of Jane Oakwood, during a visit to her brother in Yokrshire. May you not repent your commands. I shall make but one condition. My information and remarks shall "jects to me were the road and the inns; the Newark you know, its beautiful church and ancient castle. From thence to Doncaster the country is generally flat, and has formerly been uncultivated; as the names of Scarthing Moor, Markham Moor, and Barnly Moor, the several stages, denote. The most striking ob. one spacions, the other a succession of palaces, which stand with their doors open, to receive the traveller. 23 lack against a tree, and his foot against a thorn; for there are some very old ones in the park. saw three score and ten of bold Robin Hood's men come marching to their master's assistt ance, at the well known sound of his horn. I saw the Bishop a suppliant in his turn; denied the pardon he refused to grant; led by the hand; treated with venison and mock civility; robbed; and made to dance round a tree, the existence of which is still remember The entrance into Doncaster, between rows of trees, is beautiful; and the town itself, which is one long wide street, with a few collateral branches, is justly celebrated for neatness and elegance. I sauntered to its church; a handsome ancient structure, with a tall tower steeple; but it hurt my eyes to see those spaces occupied by sash windows which were origi-¡ed. In short, I sung the whole ballad to Anson, nally destined to receive small panes, fastened and you are very fortunate I do not transcribe into lead, if not painted glass. I was attracted it to you. by a female figure in basso relievo, over the entrance, and approached her, hoping to gain some information respecting ancient costume; but when I found the lady bad a pair of wings springing from her shoulders, and that her business was to hold a coat of arms, I thought further examination unnecessary. I have such a veneration for antiquity that I shail introduce to your notice a couple of old shattered boards, held together by pieces of iron, which form the sign of a little public house at the entrance of the village of Went|||bridge. The figure represented is a bell, in a The inscription :— new, bright, blue livery, richly trimmed with gold. 1633. "The Blue Bell on Wentbridge Hill. "The old Sign's existing still. bites and Williamites; Whigs and Tories; "And rustic Royalists and Oliverians; JacoPittites and Foxites have tippled under it " The same kind of road, between rows of stately trees, that had conducted me into Doncaster from the south, led me out of it on the north. The fields are fertile; but the houses congregate in villages, and are not scattered about the country. To Wentbridge, which is ten miles, I do not recollect more than four near the road. One of these is a country inn, about seven miles from Doncaster, which holds out the sign of Robin Hood and Little John, and on the other side the road is a well, with a small stone building erected over it, still called Robin Hood's well. The neighing of the heavy coaches from York to Lon bouring grounds, now a park and a common, then a forest, were the abode of that celebrated outlaw, and the scene of many of his exploits; and no doubt the well was used by him and his followers. In the park stood the stump of a tree called the Bishop's tree-root : a man is living near the spot who knew a man of ninety-three whose father remembered it; around this tree it was that Robin Hood made the Bishop of Hereford dance in his boots, when he had robbed kim of all his gold. Merry Barnsdale, to which he led the Bishop, and where he treated him with the venison be paid for so dear, is just above. These circumstances impressed my mind so forcibly, that I saw the whole country an undivided forest; the great north road a horse path; the pretended shepherds dressing their deer by its side; and the Bishop approach, at. tended by a number of armed followers (for then the great durst not travel without, and the common people did not travel at all)- I saw the Bishop calling the shepherds to account for deer stealing, and refusing the pardon they implored. I saw Robin Hood set his Much as I admire white houses and white roads, the clouds of limestone dust which have blown in my eyes at Ferrybridge disgusted me; and i shut my windows and amused myself with observing the loading and univad don. These are ponderous machines, and of no small importance. Besides the visible cargo of inside and outside passengers; besides the usual loading of boxes and packages; bams, poultry, and potted meats, and in the every crevice is stowed with Yorkshire presents; season, game and stupendous pies. If coaches must have names, those of Highflyer, Mercury, and Telegraph are good; but I own myself unable to comprehend the propriety of such as the Prince of Wales, Lord Nelson, and the Peace Maker. To-morrow I go to York, from which place you shall again bear from your JANE OAKWOOD. LETTER II. TO MRS. BRUDENELL, BELMONT COTTAGE. I view York with the impartial eye of a stranger. Though the capital of my country, I have seen it only once before; when, on my brother's coming of age, I quitted the paternal mansion at the age of eighteen, and under the wing of my mother, was going to make my first appearance in the world. That is now thirty-three years ago. I then saw things with a careless eye. I examined nothing; and to compare would have been impossible; as I had only seen my native fields and woods, and the three small market towns I had passed through in my way. York has an air of grandeur and antiquity; of gentry, if not nobility; of business, but not of trade. The shops are inferior only to those of the metropolis. Indeed the people here have a proverb, "You may have every thing at York you cau at London, and Acomb sand beside" Meaning a fine sand, brought from the neighbouring village of Acomb, for the purposes of scouring. The bridge over the Ouse is high and narrow. The streets are narrow and crowded, and many of the houses project over them. There are twenty-three parish churches in York, four large city gates, and five posterns. Some of the churches are beautiful; all are venerable. The tower of Christchurch, on the pavement, is literally a lanthorn; an open octagon, supported by eight pillars. The church of St. Margaret, Walmgate, has a curious Saxon porch, of five round arches, each within, and smaller than the other, and each supported by round pillars, touching the side walls. The two outer arches are ornamented with human figures, beasts, and monsters, carved in the stone; the three inner with knots, and different devices. The church of St Martin, Coney-street, has a curious pulpit cloth, of ancient needle-work. The centre piece represents the figure of Jesus Christ upon the cross, and God the Father seated above, supporting him. Around is a border, divided into different compartments, each containing a whole length figure, about six inches in height. The whole is worked in something like tent stitch, with shades of drab coloured silk, on linen cloth, which it once entirely covered; but time has, in some places, laid it bare. The figures, and even the features, are extremely well executed. The head of the Deity, that of a respectable old man, has an embroidered golden sun, like a watch case, hanging over it, which may be lifted up at pleasure. The dress of the figures in the border is that of the beginning of the fifteenth century, the reign of Henry IV. The rest of the pulpit cloth, on which these pietures of needle-work are sewed, is crimson velvet, studded with silver stars. But the Cathedral of York! I cannot describe it. When I stood without, and contemplated its south side; when I went on, and raised my aching eyes to its west end, where two grand towers arise, and between them perches for a thousand images, some of which, alas! are empty; when I stood in the centre. within, and turning round, viewed its four matchless windows; I can give you no idea of what I saw, or what I felt. I, who have such a mauia for cathedrals, that I have travelled miles in every direction, and hundreds in some to see one! I, who regret the reformation on no account whatever, but that we can no longer build cathedrals! When one man could persuade another that his sinful soul would go to heaven if he cheated his heirs, and left what he could no longer enjoy, towards building a church; what magnificent piles arose! Now, how difficult to obtain by subscription, a few paltry thousands, to rear the plainest edifice! York Cathedral was two hundred years in building, and each prelate endeavoured to outvic his predecessor, in what was added to it. It is 524 feet in length from east to west; the transept 222 from north to south; the height of the body of the church 99. But it claims precedence of all cathedrals for the beauty of its windows. That at the east end is 75 feet high, and 32 broad, of painted glass, and is said to be the most magnificent in the world. The upper part is remarkable for its tracery; the lower, in a hundred and seventeen partitions, represents almost the whole history of the Bible. Its opposite, at the west end, though inferior on the whole, is said to surpass it in. its curious tracery. The noble window at the end of the north transept is five distinct windows joined together; and you are told it was the gift of five maiden sisters, who each worked a pattern in embroidery, as a model for the tracery of her share of the present. The south transept has six windows; one circular, and very fine. A celebrated screen, containing statues of all the Kings of England, from William the Conqueror to Henry VI. separates the body of the church from the choir. It is said to have been executed in the reign of Henry VI. and to have included the statue of that monarch, which the Archbishop of the next reigu took down in compliment to Edward IV. The uiche remained empty till one of his successers complimented James 1. with the vacant place, on his passage through York, to take possession of the throne of England. The Chapter-house appears to me one of the wonders of the world. Without, it is an ugly excrescence, with a sugar-loaf top, growing out of the north transept. Within, it is an octagon room, 63 feet in diameter, and 67 feet in height, to the centre of the roof, which is not supported by any pillar. The entrance occupies one of the eight sides, and over i |