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A man of fashion paid his addresses to a young lady of beauty, rank, and distinguished merit.

As there was a parity in years, in fortune, and in situation, the lady received her gallant with the accustomary condescension females seldom withhold from those whom they are taught to pronounce upon an equality with themselves.

The parents of the young lady, however, from some motive, disapproved of the match. The gentleman pleaded but in vain: and finding it impossible to overcome the aged obstinacy of the parents, he resolved to solicit his charmer's consent to enter into the holy bands of matrimony, without any farther consultation with the parents, who seemed so resolutely to persist in a denial.

Having fully explained himself on this head, the young lady, after recovering from a confusion which, ever on these occasions, is visible amongst the virgin fair, consented to become his wife; they were wedded, and the marriage kept a profound secret.

It happened, after a few months had elapsed, that the husband was obliged to leave his lovely bride, being called into a foreign country in order to adjust some family affairs, which required his immediate presence. The necessity was no less urgent than disagreeable to both parties; however, they permitted their good sense to operate, and after vowing mutual affection and fidelity, parted in certain expectation of seeing each other, at a time when such an alteration should take place as might afford them an opportunity of living in a manner every way becoming a happy and virtuous wedded pair.

For some time they corresponded: but the husband being obliged to cross several tempestuous seas, did not receive such frequent answers to his epistles as he had reason to expect. This he attributed to the difference of climate, rendering a regular correspondence altogether impracticable: and as he imagined his letters had miscarried, he resolved for the present to desist from writing; not relishing the idea of having his sentiments canvassed over by indifferent strangers, or perhaps captious enemies.

Another reason which induced him to lay aside for the present all thonghts of continuing an epistolary correspondence, was the prospect he had of shortly returning to France, where the presence

of his amiable consort would infinitely exceed all ideal interviews, and make ample amends for every pang his heart had undergone.

It is now time that we should return to the lady.

As she possessed a considerable share of youth and beauty, it was not to be supposed she could long remain without a train of admirers. Her parents, who never dreamt about their daughter's previous marriage, became each day more anxious to select a person whose mental and personal endowments might, in their estimation, render him worthy their favourite daughter's hand and heart.

Several years had now rolled on, without the lady's hearing a syllable of her real husband. At last the fatal news arrived that he was now no more.

The lady was inconsolable but she found it prudent to stifle her griefs, that she might obliterate the smallest degree of suspicion.

When she had paid every tribute consistent with reflection to the memory of her departed lord, a gentleman was proposed by her parents for her approbation, and the good old people were so prejudiced in favour of the person they had introduced, that they gave their daughter to understand their happiness depended on her compliance.

The young lady, who thought herself entirely at liberty to commit a second trespass upon hymen, after some little hesitation, consented. The nuptials were celebrated; the lady, if not happy, was placid, and serenely content; the parents were delighted; the bridegroom was enraptured; and all were jocund, all were sprightly.

For four years this newly married couple lived in perfect harmony: but at length an intermitting fever seized the lady; the physicians were baffled, and she to all appearance, paid the debt due to nature. She was buried with pomp, and every reverence shown to her memory the custom of the country would admit of.

During her last illness, her former husband, whom we left abroad, had returned; and, after making the necessary enquiries, was informed of every circumstance we have related above.

As he was unwilling to surprise her whilst she combatted with sickness, he had employed a trusty person to make him acquainted with each particular of her case; and the instant the news of her death reached his ears, a frantic

wildness seized his soul, and he resolved to receive no manner of sustenance, but to bury himself among the mould which lay lightly on her breast, and thus pine out the short remaining period of his existence.

Full of this resolution, he repaired, the night she was buried, to her tomb, and, after digging up the earth, discovered her coffin, fetched a deep sigh, and was about to stretch his wearied limbs upon it, when, to his consternation, astonishment, and affright, he perceived signs of life. He tore open the coffin, and found it even as he suspected. His wife was almost suffocated: he snatched her up in his arms, conveyed her to the house of a neighbouring friend, had her put into a warm bed, and in a few weeks she was perfectly restored to life and health.

As she had a real affection for her first husband, she made no scruple of choosing him for her companion; but as the affair soon made a prodigious noise throughout the country, the second husband, who also doated on her to distraction, no sooner was informed of the particulars, than he attempted to force her to live with him; the prior claimant as resolutely persisted in keeping her to himself. In short, a law suit was commenced: the most learned advocates in France were employed: a redundancy of erudition was displayed, and, after being litigated for a considerable length of time, a solemn decision was given in favour of the first gentleman who married her.

This story has so much the air of fable and romance, that to leave an impression of its truth on the minds of our readers, we shall inform them, that the French lawyers have selected all the famous trials, with the decisions which have been given in their courts for a series of years.

This work, which is contained in several folio volumes, is entitled, "Les Cause Celebres." The above very extraordinary relation is recited therein, together with all the subtle and ingenious arguments used by the opposite advocates for the different husbands. So

that there can be little doubt of the

truth of a narrative so extremely well

authenticated.

ANECDOTES.

ANECDOTE OF CURRAN. This extraordinary and highly talented man was, it is well known, at the com

mencement of his professional career in very low circumstances, though fortune frowned upon his exertions, and wellpaid arrogance attempted to check his progress at that Bar which was afterwards rendered so distinguished by his matchless eloquence, he rose superior to the petty arts employed to intercept him, and evinced a firmness and solidity of character as extraordinary as it was praiseworthy and honourable; perhaps was it more apparent than on the following memorable occasion:

never

There was an Honourable Judge Robinson at this time on the Irish bench, as remarkable for the peevishness of his temper as the pitifulness of his person, who had more than once elicited sparks of just resentment from the gentlemen of the bar, that might have taught him better caution. Current rumours stated that this learned judge attained his promotion to the judgment seat, not by his eminent virtues or his legal learning, but his literary services in the publication of some political pamphlets, remarkable only for their senseless, slavish, and venomous scurrility. This goodly sage, at a time when Mr. Curran was struggling with adversity, and straining every nerve in one of his early forensic pursuits, made an unfeeling effort to extinguish him. Mr. Curran, in combatting same opinion, urged by the opposite counsel, said, that he had consulted all his law books, and could not find a single case to establish the opinion contended for; "I suspect, Sir," said the heartless' judge with a sneer, "that your law library is rather contracted." Such a

remark from the bench, applied to a young man of ordinary pretensions would have infallibly crushed him. But Mr. Curran, whose practical motto was

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nemo me impune lacessit," rose from the pressure of this stroke with increased elasticity. For a moment he eyed the judge with a pause of contemptuous silence and then replied,---"It is true," my lord, that I am poor; and that circumstances have rather curtailed my library; but, if my books are not nuinerous, they are select; and, I hope, have been perused with a proper disposition; I have prepared myself for this high profession, rather by the study of a few good books, than the composition of many bad ones. I am not ashamed of my poverty, but I should of my wealth, could stoop to acquire it by servility and corruption. If I rise not to rank, I shall at least be honest; and should I ever cease to be so, many examples shew me, that an illacquired elevation, by rendering me

more conspicuous, would only make me the more universally and more notoriously contemptible." This appears to have been the last occasion, on which the learned judge ventured a bite at the same file.

The

General Lee was remarkably slovenly in his dress and manners; and has often, by the meanness of his appearance, been subject to ridicule and insult. He was once attending Gen. Washington to a. place distant from the camp. Riding on he arrived at the house where they were to dine, some time before the rest of the company. He went directly to he kitchen, and demanded something to eat; when the cook, taking him for a servant, told him she would give him victuals in a moment---but he must first help her off with the pot. This he complied with, and sat down to some cold meat which she placed for him on the dresser. girl was remarkably inquisitive about the guests who were coming, particularly of Lee, whom she said she heard was one of the oddest and ugliest men in the world. In a few moments she desired the general again to help her on with the pot; and scarce had he finished, when she requested him to take a bucket, and go to the well. Lee made no objection, and began drawing the water. In the mean time General Washington arrived, and an aid-de-camp was dispatched in search of Lee: whom to his surprise, he found engaged as above. But what was the confusion of the poor girl hearing the aid-de-camp address

the ou

man with whom she had been so familiar, with the title of Excellency! The mug fell from her hand, and dropping on her knees, ́ she began crying for pardon; when Lee, who was ever ready to see the impropriety of his own conduct but never willing to change it, gave her a crown, and turning to the 66 You see, aid-de-camp, observed,

young man, the advantage of a fine coat ---the man of consequence is indebted to it for respect; neither virtue nor abilities, without it, will make him look like a gentleman."

A certain nobleman, high in office, had once a number of his friends, mostly people of rank, to dine with him; and great elegance and hospitality were displayed upon the occasion.---Among the company, there happened to be a reve rend divine, of worthy character and great learning, but, alas! he was only a om entrebi.

curate at 301. per annum! He happened, amidst all the profusion of a well-spread table, to be in want of one of the first necessaries of life, and, not chusing to call aloud, (which he feared might be infringing on the privilege of his rich neighbours) he inclined a little back in his chair, and in a half-whisper, addressed a footman in a laced livery, "I wish I had a little bread."---“I wish you had, sir," returned the other with a haughty air, and bustled about from one great lord to another, without vouchsafing any further notice. The poor curate, being a man of extreme modesty, made no more applications.

A gentleman of some honour, who sat next the clergyman, and had observed the transaction, either through compas sion, or for the entertainment of the company, made the affair public.---The master of the house, roused with proper indignation, ordered the fellow to be called; and, after a severe reprimand for his insolent behaviour, told him to go immediately and seek his own bread elsewhere. Then turning to the abashed curate, he said, "Sir, I am ashamed of what has passed: but in order to make amends for the ill-treatment you have experienced at my table, it shall be my endeavour to provide you better bread." He kept his word, and, in a very short time, presented the clergyman with a comfortable living.

It is known that George III. after the close of the American revolutionary war, ordered a thanksgiving to be kept through the kingdom. A noble Scotch divine, in the presence of his Majesty, inquired, "For what are we to give thanks?-that your majesty has lost thirteen of your best provinces? The king answered, "No!' Is it, then (the divine added), that your majesty has lost 100,000 lives of your subjects in the contest?' 'No, no!' said the king. Is it, then, that we have expended and lost a hundred millions of money, and for the defeat and tarnish of your majesty's arms?'-No such thing !1 said the king pleasantly. What, then, is the object of the thanksgiving? "Oh to give thanks that it is no worse.'

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It is related of Philip King of France, that when his navy was destroyed at Sluys, and thirty thousand of his best men slain or drowned (for numbers cast themselves into the sea rather than be taken prisoners), no person dared to disclose so terrible a disaster, and the task was at length entrusted to his

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Jester, who did it by continually re-him to banish both himself and his wife peating, Cowardly Englishmen! to the inmost recesses of the desert. induced the king us inquire. Why be en tre set out with her, and after a journey place the most agreeable td far remote it was perfectly solitary, from any habitation.

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to he so named them? Because,' fool,

said his they durst not leap out of their ships into the sea as our brave French men did." From which the king understood what had happened.

VARIETIES.

CUSTOM OBSERVED AMONG THE DUTCH TOWARDS LYING-IN WOMEN.

Mr. Fell, in his Tour through the Batavian Republic, notices the following custom with regard to lying-in women: "I must not," says he, "omit to mention a practice, which, I believe, is peculiar to Holland. When a woman is brought to bed, a bulletin is daily fixed to her house for a fortnight, or longer if she continues so ill as to excite the solicitude of her friends, which contains a statement of the health of the mother and the child. This bulletin is fastened to a board ornamented with lace, according to the circumstances of the person lying-in, and serves to answer the enquiries of her friends, and to prevent any unnecessary noise being made near the door of the indisposed person. We saw at Leyden the most of these boards ornamented with lace, and there learned their meaning. When a person of consequence is dangerously ill, a bulletin of health is generally affixed to their house, to satisfy the numerous enquiries that are supposed to be made after them: but, unless it is a child-bed case, the board to which the bulletin is pasted, is not ornamented with lace.

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An Arab of the Desert became violently enamoured of a young woman, who was not of his tribe. The law absolutely forbade such an alliance, but his constancy and the ardency of his passion surmounted this obstacle. As he was richer than her he was in love with, the parents of the woman obtained leave to supercede the general law and the lover became happy, if happiness can exist in a breast tormented with jealousy.

of several days, chose for his residence to his eyes, as

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Scarce had he pitched his tent, under which was reposing that wife who caused him so much pleasure and so much pain, when he perceived at a distance three men on horseback, and among them his rival: inflamed with anger, he attacked the foremost, in spite of the inequality of numbers, and was soon wounded in several places. In selling his life dearly, he had wounded his rival also; and while his friends were assisting him, the furious Arab crep. into his tent; his wife flying to his relief: "Die with me," said he, fixing his eyes full of love and fury on her," rather than become the prey of an infamous robber." At these words, he plunged his dagger into her breast; their blood mingling together flowed profusely around, and they expired at the same time, in sight of the ravisher, who reaped no fruit, but his wounds, from his criminal enterprize.

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If

Dr. Goldsmith gives this advice, you be a rich man, you may enter the room with three loud hems, march deliberately up to the chimney, and turn your back to the fire. man, I

had a potent rival; discontented love, so much resembling hatred, persuaded

The husband soon discovered that he the roomd advise

a poor

as fast as you can, place yourself as usual, upon the edge of a chair in a remote corner."

DARBY AND JOAN.

SELECT POETRY.

When Darby saw the setting sun
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank off his quart, and said,
"My work is done, I'll go to bed."
"My work is done !" retorted Joan,
"My work is done! your constant tone;
But hapless woman ne'er can say,
My work is done, till judgment-day.
Must toil."-"Whose fault is that?"-
quoth he.

I know your meaning," Joan replied,
"But, Sir, my tongue shall not be tied;
1 will go on, and let you know,
What work poor women have to do:
First, in the morning, though we feel
As sick as drunkards when they reel;
Yes, feel such pains in baek and head
As would confine you men to bed,
We ply the brush, we wield the broom,
We air the beds, and right the room;
The cows must next be milk'd-and then
We get the breakfast for the men.
Ere this is done, with whimpering cries,
And bristly hair, the children rise;

These must be dress'd, and dos'd with rue,
And fed-and all because of you;
We next"-here Darby scratch'd his head,
And stole off grumbling to his bed;
And only said, as on she run,
"Zounds! woman's clack is never done."
At early dawn, ere Phoebus rose,
Old Joan resum'd her tale of woes;
When Darby thus- I'll end the strife,
Be you the man and I the wife :

Take you the scythe and mow, while I
Will all your boasted cares supply."
"Content, quoth Joan, give me my stint."
This Darby did, and out she went,
Old Darby rose and seiz'd the broom,
And whirl'd the dirt about the room:
Which having done, he scarce knew how,
He hied to milk the brindled cow.
The brindled cow whisk'd round her tail
In Darby's eyes, and kick'd the pail.
The clown, perplex'd with grief and pain,
Swore he'd ne'er try to milk again;
When turning round, in sad amaze,
He saw his cottage in a blaze;
For as he chanc'd to brush the room
In careless haste, he fir'd the broom.
The fire at last subdu'd, he swore
The broom and he would meet no more.
Press'd by misfortune, and perplex'd,
Darby prepar'd for breakfast next;
But what to get he scarcely knew-
The bread was spent, the butter too,

6

His hands bedaub'd with paste and flour,
Old Darby labor'd full an hour:
But, luckless wight! thou couldst not make
The bread take form of loaf or cake.
As every door wide open stood,
In push'd the sow in quest of food;
And, stumbling onwards, with her snout
O'erset the churn-the cream run out.
As Darby turn'd, the sow to beat,
The slipp'ry cream betray'd his feet;
He caught the bread trough in his fall,
And down came Darby, trough and all.
The children, waken'd by the clatter,
Start up and cry, "oh! what's the matter?"
Old Jowler bark'd, and Tabby mew'd,
And hapless Darby bawl'd aloud,
"Return, my Joan, as heretofore,
I'll play the housewife's part no more;
Since now, by sad experience taught,
Compared to thine my work is naught;
Henceforth, as business calls, I'll take,
Content, the plough, the scythe, the rake,
And never more transgress the line

Our fates have mark'd whilst thou art mine
Then Joan, return, as heretofore,

I'll vex thy honest soul no more;
Let each our proper task attend-
Forgive the past, and strive to mend."

JEU D'ESPRIT.

Tom, who had visited the Fleet,

Just parted tipsy from his host, And, as he reel'd along the street,

He beat his head against a post. A stranger cried, not standing far, That is the way to Temple Bar.

NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We owe apologies to J. Babingleycreek for not redeeming our promise to him; he is not forgotten, and shall have a place in an early number.

Received H.B., Crito, and T. H.

I. S. L. will perceive we have attended to the points of his enquiry.

The Index, and Emblematical Title-Page to Vol. II. were given with the last number.

LONDON.-Printed and Published by W. KEENE, at the Office, New Church-courtr Strand, where all communications for the Editor, and orders for the Portfolio, (post paid) are requested to be addressed: also by DUNCOMBE, 19, Little Queen-street, Holborn, SIMPKIN and MARSHALL, Paternoster-row, and all respectable Booksellers.

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