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finances ere long put an end to the fashionableness of his acquaintance. He paid all the penalties of a spendthrift, and was steeped in poverty to the very lips. At one time he was driven for a morsel of bread to enlist as a private in the British army; and, at another time, in a similar exigency he went into the French service. From a more cogent motive than piety, he afterwards entered into a French monastery, and lived there till the term af his noviciate expired. He returned to Britain, and took service wherever he could get it; but in all these dips into low life, he was never in the least embarrassed when he met with any of his old acquaintance. A wealthy divine who had known him in the best London society, recognized him when a waiter at Swansea, actually tripping about with the napkin under his arm, and staring at him, exclaimed, "You cannot be Combe?" "Yes, indeed, but I am," was the waiter's He married the mistress of a noble lord, who promised him an annuity with her, but cheated him; and in revenge he wrote a spirited satire, entitled "The Diaboliad." Among its subjects were an Irish peer and his eldest son, who had a quarrel that extinguished any little natural affection that might have ever subsisted between them. The father challenged the son to fight; the son refused to go out with him, not, as he expressly stated, because the challenger was his own father, but because he was not a gentleman.

answer.

After his first wife's death, Mr. Combe made a more creditable marriage with a sister of Mr. Cosway, the artist, and much of the distress which his imprudence entailed upon him was mitigated by the assiduity of this amiable woman. For many years he subsisted by writing for the booksellers, with a reputation that might be known to many individuals, but that certainly was not public. He wrote a work which was generally ascribed to the good Lord Lyttleton, entitled "Letters from a Nobleman to his Son," and "Letters from an

Italian Nun to an English Nobleman," that professed to be translated from Rousseau. He published also several political tracts, that were trashy, time-serving and scurrilous. Pecuniary difficulties brought him to a permanent residence in the King's Bench, where he continued for about twenty years, and for the latter, part of them a voluntary inmate. One of his friends offered to effect a compromise with his creditors, but he refused the favour. "If I compounded with my creditors," said Mr. Combe, "I should be obliged to sacrifice the little substance which I possess, and on which I subsist in prison. These chambers, the best in the Bench, are mine at the rent of a few shillings a week, in right of my seniority as a prisoner. My habits are become so sedentary, that if I lived in the airiest Square of London, I should not walk round it once in a month. I am contented in my cheap quarters."

When he was near the age of seventy, he had some literary dealings with Mr. Ackermann, the bookseller. The late caricaturist, Rowlandson, had offered to Mr. Ackermann a number of drawings representing an old clergyman and school-master, who felt, or fancied himself, in love with the fine arts, quixottically travelling during his holidays in search of the picturesque. As the drawings needed the explanation of letter-press, Mr. Ackermann declined to purchase them unless he should find some one who could give them a poetical illustration. He carried one or two of them to Mr. Combe, who undertook the subject. The bookseller, knowing his procrastinating temper, left him but one drawing at a time, which he illustrated in verse, without knowing the subject of the drawing that was next to

come.

The popularity of the "Adventures of Dr. Syntax," induced Mr. Ackermann afterwards to employ him in two successful publications, "The Dance of Life," and "The Dance of Death," in England, which were also accompanied by Rowlandson's designs.

It was almost half a century before the appearance of these works, that Mr. Combe so narrowly missed the honour of being Mrs. Siddons's reading - master. He had exchanged the gaieties of London for quarters at a tap-room in Wolverhampton, where he was billeted as a soldier in the service of his Britannic Majesty. He had a bad foot at the time, and was limping painfully along the high street of the town, when he was met by an acquaintance who had known him in all his fashionable glory. This individual had himself seen better days, having exchanged a sub-lieutenancy of marines for a strollership in Mr. Kemble's company. "Heavens!" said the astonished histrion; "is it possible, Combe, that you can bear this condition?" "Fiddlesticks!" answered the ex-duke, taking a pinch of snuff, " a philosopher can bear anything." The player ere long introduced him to Mr. Roger Kemble; but, by this time, Mr. Combe had become known in the place through his conversational talents. A gentleman passing through the public-house had observed him reading, and looking over his shoulder, saw, with surprise, a copy of Horace. "What!" said he, "my friend, can you read that book in the original?" If I cannot," replied Combe, "a great deal of money has been thrown away on my education." His landlord soon found the literary red-coat an attractive ornament to his tap-room, which was filled every night with the wondering auditors of the learned soldier. They treated him to gratuitous potations, and clubbed their money to procure his discharge. Roger Kemble gave him a benefit night at the theatre, and Combe promised to speak an address on the occasion. In this address, he noticed the various conjectures that had been circulated respecting his real name and character; and after concluding the enumeration, he said, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall tell you what I am." While expec

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tation was all agog, he added, "I am-ladies and gen-
tlemen, your most obedient humble servant." He then
bowed, and left the stage.

SPECIMENS OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS.

MONTAIGNE.

His Account of an Accident which befell him.
We propose in future, from time to time, to give ex-
tracts under the above head, from authors of the great-
est celebrity or delightfulness; those who have
advanced the world by their wisdom, or cheered it in
its advancement by their wit and good qualities. We
take them at random, as time and circumstances render
it convenient; and for obvious reasons, we make no
apology for commencing with a passage from a trans-
lation; especially as the translation (Cotton's) is a
most excellent one, tasting of all the raciness of the old
French, and of its slovenly and ultra gossiping hand-
ling too, when required; as in part of the extract
before us. Montaigne is a universalist, a man for all
ages and nations. Some of our readers may be pleased
to be informed, that he was a Frenchman of a noble
family, living in the time of the Civil Wars under
Charles the Ninth, and not altogether above the pre-
judices of his breeding; but far superior to the worst
prejudices, not only of his own time but succeeding
ones,—a genial, original, and candid thinker, who has
been accused of egotism, because he could not help
being alive to the nature working within himself as
well as other men, but whose philosophy was full of
consideration for all, and has helped to advance the
world. Montaigne may be regarded as the Father
of Modern Essay Writing,-the predecessor and superior
of the Temples, Addisons, and Steeles, (extraordinary
'men as they were), just as Chaucer was of the majority
of poets that followed him.

The present extract is a remarkable evidence of the
habit which the gallant French philosopher had ac-
quired, of reflecting upon every thing that came within
his observation. He gets horribly knocked and bruized,
within an inch of his life, is thrown into a swoon, and
undergoes all the agonizing process of a recovery; and
all this he notes down, as it were, in the faint light, the
torn and battered tablets of his memory, during the
operation; drawing these forth afterwards for the bene-
fit of the reflecting. If you had met such a man in the
streets, being carried along on a shutter, he would have
been providing, as well as he was able, for your instruc-
tion and entertainment! This is philosophy surely.

"In the time of our third or second troubles, (I do
not well remember which) going one day abroad to
take the air, about a league from my own house, which
is seated in the very centre of all the bustle and mis-
chief of the late Civil Wars of France, thinking myself
in all security, and so near to my retreat that I stood
in need of no better equipage, I had taken a horse that
went very easy upon his pace, but was not very strong.
Being upon my return home, a sudden occasion falling

out to make use of this horse in a kind of service that
he was not acquainted with, one of my train, a lusty
fellow, mounted upon a strong German horse that had
a very ill mouth, but was otherwise vigorous and un-
foiled, to play the Bravo, and appear a better man than
his fellows, comes thundering full speed in the very
track where I was, rushing like a colossus upon the
little man and the little horse, with such a career of
strength and weight, that he turned us both over and
over topsie turvie, with our heels in the air. So that
there lay the horse overthrown and stunned with the
fall, and I ten or twelve paces from him stretched out
at length, with my face all battered and broken, my
sword, which I had in my hand, above ten paces beyond
that, and my belt broke all to pieces, without motion
or sense any more than a stock. 'Twas the only swoon
I was ever in till this hour in my life. Those who
were with me, after having used all the means they
could to bring me to myself, concluding me dead, took
me up in their arms, and carried me with very much
difficulty home to my house, which was about half a
French league from thence. Having been by the way,
and two long hours after, given over for a dead man, I
began to move and to fetch my breath; for so great an
abundance of blood was fallen into my stomach that
Nature had need to rouse her forces to discharge it.
They then raised me upon my feet, when I threw off
a great quantity of pure florid blood, as I had also done
several times by the way, which gave me so much ease
that I began to recover a little, but so leisurely and by
so small advances, that my first sentiments were much
nearer the approaches of death than life.

Perche dubbiosa anchor del suo ritorno,
Non s'assicura attonita la mente.

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The remembrance of this accident, which is very well imprinted on my memory, so materially representing to me the image and idea of death, has in some sort reconciled me to that untoward accident. When I first began to open my eyes after my trance, it was with so perplexed, so weak and dead a sight, that I could yet distinguish nothing, and could only discern the light,

Come quel ch'or apre, or chiude
Gli occhi, mezzo tra'l sonno, e l'esser desto.
Tasso. Canto 8

As people in the morning, when they rise
'Twixt sleep and wake, open and shut their eyes.

As to the functions of the soul, they advanced with
the same pace and measure as those of the body. I
saw myself all bloody, my doublet being stained and
spotted all over with the blood I had vomited, and the
first thought that came into my mind was that I had a
harquebuse shot into my head; and indeed at the
same time there were a great many fired round about
us. Methought my life had just hung upon my lips,
and I shut my eyes, to help, methought, to thrust it out;
and took a pleasure in languishing and letting myself
go. It was an imagination that only superficially
floated upon my soul, as tender and weak as all the
rest, but really not only exempt from pain, but mixed
with that sweetness and pleasure which people are
sensible of, when they indulge themselves to drop into
a slumber. I believe it is the very same condition those
people are in, whom we see to swoon with weakness.
in the agony of death, and am of opinion that we
lament them without cause, supposing them agitated
with grievous dolours, or that their souls suffer under
painful thoughts. It has ever been my belief, contrary
to the opinion of many, and particularly of Stephen
Boetius, that those whom we see so subdued and stu-

pified at the approaches of their end, or deprest with
the length of the disease, or by accident of an apoplexy,
or falling sickness,

(Vi morbi sæpe coactus
Ante oculos aliquis nostros ut fulminis ictu
Concidit, et spumas agit, ingemit et tremit artus,
Desipit, extentat nervos, torquetur, anhelat
Inconstanter, et in jactando membra fatigat)
Lucretius. Book 3.

1

(By the disease compelled, so we see some
As they were thunder-struck, fall, groan, and foam,
Tremble, stretch, writhe, breathe short, until at length
In various strugglings they tire out their strength.)

Or hurt in the head whom we hear to mutter, and by fits to utter grievous groans, though we gather from thence some sign by which it seems as if they had some remains of sense and knowledge,-I have always believed I say both the body and the soul benumbed, and asleep;

Vivit, et est vitæ nescius ipse suæ.

Ovid. Tristia. Book i., Elag. 3.-
He lives, but does not know
That he does so :

and could not believe that in so great a stupefaction
of the members, and so great a defection of the senses,
the soul could maintain any force within to take cog-
nizance of herself, or look into her own condition, and
that therefore they had no tormenting reflections, to
make them consider and be sensible of the misery of
their condition, and consequently were not much to be
lamented. I can for my part think of no estate so in-
supportable and dreadful as to have the soul spritely
and afflicted, without means to declare itself: as one
should say of such who are sent to execution with
their tongues first cut out: were it not that in this kind
of dying, the most silent seems to be the most grace-
ful, if accompanied with a grave and constanced coun-
tenance; or of those miserable prisoners who fall into
the hands of the base bloody soldiers of this age, by
whom they are tormented with all sorts of inhuman
usage, to compel them to some excessive and impossible
ransom, kept in the meantime in such condition and
place, where they have no means of expressing, or
signifying their mind and misery, to such as they may
expect should relieve them. The poets have feigned
some gods, who favour the deliverance of such as suffer
under a languishing death.

Hunc ego Diti
Sacrum justa fero, teque isto corpore solvo.
Virgil, Book iiii.

I, by command, offer to Pluto this,
And from that body do the soul dismiss.

Both the interrupted words and the short and irregular answers one gets from them sometimes, by bawling and keeping a clutter about them, or the motions which seem to yield some consent to what we would have them do, are no testimony nevertheless that they live an entire life at least. So it happens that in the yawning of sleep, before it has fully possessed us, as to perceive, as in a dream, what is done about us, and to follow, the last things are said with a perplexed and uncertain bearing, which seem but to touch upon the borders of the soul, and make answers to the last words have been spoken to us, which have more in them of fortune than of sense.

Now, seeing I have effectually tried it, I make no doubt I have hitherto made a right judgment. For, first, being in a swoon, I laboured with both hands to rip open the buttons of my doublet, (for I was without arms,) and yet I felt

nothing in my magination that hurt me; for we have
many notions in us, that do not proceed from our
direct n

Semianimes que micant digiti, ferrum que retractant.
And half dead fingers grope about, and feel
To grasp again the late abandoned steel.

So falling people extend their arms before them by
a natural impulse, which prompts them to offices and
motions, without any commission from us.
Falciferos memorant currus abscindere membra,
Ut tremere in terra videatur artubus, id quod
Decidit abscissum, cum mens tamen atque hominis vis
Mobilitate mali non quid sentire dolorem.

How limbs scythe-bearing chariots lopt (they tell,)
Would move and tremble on the ground they fell,
When he himself from whom the limb was ta'en,
Could by the swiftness feel no kind of pain.*

My stomach was so oppressed with the coagulated
blood, that my hands moved to that part, of their own
voluntary motion, as they frequently do to the part
that itches, without being directed by our will. There
are several animals and even men in whom one may
perceive the muscles to stir and tremble after they are
dead. Now these passions which only touch the outward
bark of us, as a man may say, cannot be said to be ours.
To make them so, there must be a concurrence of the
whole man; and the pains which are felt by the hand or
foot while we are sleeping, are none of ours.
As I
drew near my own house, where the alarm of my fall
was already got before me, and my family were come
out to meet me, with the hubbub usual in such
cases, I did not only make some little answer to some
questions that were asked me, but they moreover tell
me that I had so much sense, as to order that a horse
I saw trip and falter in the way, which is mountainous
and uneasy, should be given to my wife. This con-
sideration should seem to proceed from a soul, that
retained its functions, but it was nothing so with me.
I knew not what I said or did, and they were nothing
but idle thoughts in the clouds, that were stirred up
by the senses of the eyes and ears, and proceeded not
from me. I knew not, for all that, or whence I came,.
or whither I went, neither was I capable to weigh and
consider what was said to me. These were light effects,
that the senses produced of themselves, as of custom;
what the soul contributed was in a dream, as being
lightly touched, licked and bedewed by the soft impres-
sion of the senses. Notwithstanding, my condition
was, in truth, very easy and quiet. I had no afflictions
upon me, either for others or myself. It was an ex-
treme drooping and weakness, without any manner of
pain. I saw my own house, but knew it not. When
they had put me to bed, I found an inexpressible sweet-
ness in that repose; for I had been damnably tuggod
and lugged by those poor people who had taken the
pains to carry me upon their arms a very great and
a very ill way, and had in so doing all quite tired out
themselves, twice or thrice, one after another. They
offered me several remedies, but I would take none,
certainly believing that I was mortally wounded in the
head: and, in earnest, it had been a very happy death,
for the weakness of my understanding deprived me of
the faculty of discerning, and that of my body from the
sense of feeling. I suffered myself to glide away so
sweetly, and after so soft and easy a manner, that I
scarce find any other action less troublesome than that
was. But when I came again to myself, and to re-as-
sume my faculties,

Ut tandem sensus convaluere mei, As my lost senses did to me return, which was two or three hours after, I felt myself on a sudden involved in terrible pain, having my limbs shattered and ground to pieces with my fall, and was so exceedingly ill two or three nights after, that I thought once more to die again, but a more painful death, having concluded myself as good as dead before,

But

and to this hour am sensible of the bruizes of that terrible shock. I will not here omit, that the last thing I could make them beat into my head, was the memory of this accident, and made it be over and over again repeated to me whither I was going, from whence I came, and at what time of the day this mischance befell me, before I could comprehend it. As to the manner of my fall, that was concealed from me in favour to him who had been the occasion, and other flim-flams were invented to palliate the truth. a long time after, and the very next day that my memory began to return and to represent to me the state wherein I was, at the instant I perceived this horse coming full drive upon me (for I had seen him come thundering at my heels, aud gave myself for gone: but this thought had been so sudden that fear had no leisure to introduce itself), it seemed to be like a flash of lightning that had pierced through my soul, and that I came from the other world.

This long story, of so light an accident, would appear vain enough, were it not for the knowledge I have gained by it for my own use; for I do really find, that to be acquainted with death, is no more but nearly to approach it. Every one, as Pliny says, is a good doctor to himself, provided he be capable of discovering himself near at hand. This is not my doctrine; 'tis my study; and is not the lesson of another, but my own, and yet if I communicate it, it ought not to be ill taken. That which is of use to me, may also peradventure be useful to another.

These translations of the verses, admirable for the most part, are by Charles Cotton,

.

1

MRS. SIDDONS.
Passages from the Life of her by Mr. Campbell,
(Just Published).*

A life of Mrs. Siddons by Mr. Campbell the poet
cannot but strongly excite the curiosity of the public.
With the exception of one critical quotation, we have
read it through, with an interest proportionate to the
eminence of the parties; and if we occasionally differ
with the author in his conclusions, and regret to see
that he has condescended to the affectation of saying
"the Siddons" and "the Kemble," or forgotten his
goodnature in giving a comtemptuous epithet to young
Betty, who, since he came to man's estate, is un-
derstood to estimate his former popularity with sin-
gular modesty and good sense, we never forget that a
man of genius is writing to us, nor fail to recognize,
amidst occasional stiffness and elaboration, those
touches of fine poetic feeling, and especially those
felicitous similes, for which Mr. Campbell's criticisms
are always remarkable. Long and familiarly intimate
however as the poet was with Mrs. Siddons, and ready
as we are to believe all the good things he says of her
heart, he has not succeeded in divesting us of a notion
(produced perhaps by our having known her only on
the stage, and during the latter part of her career),
that she was a person more admirable than charming,
and not even so perfectly admirable on the stage, as the
prevalence of an artificial style of acting in her time
induced her worshippers to suppose. She was doubt-
less a grand and effective actress, never at a loss, and
equal to any demands of the loftier parts of passion;
but her grandeur always appeared to us rather of the
queen-like and conventional order, than of the unaf-
fectedly heroical. There was, we doubt not, really a
lofty spirit in it, but a spirit not too lofty to take stage-
dignity for the top of its mark. Mrs. Siddons, it is to
be observed, was born and bred up in the profession,
one of a family of actors, and the daughter of a mother
of austere manners. Mr. Campbell somewhat quaintly
calls her "the Great Woman;" but we know not in
what respect she was particularly great as to woman-
hood. Surely it was queen-hood, not womanhood, that
was her forte,-professional greatness, and not that
aggregation of gentle and generous qualities, that
union of the sexually charming and the dutifully
noble, which makes up the idea of perfection in the
Great women belong to history and to self-
sacrifice, not to the mere annals of a stage, however
dignified. Godiva gives us the idea a great woman.·
So does Edward the First's Queen, who sucked the
So does Abelard's Eloise,
poison out of his arm.
loving with all her sex's fondness as long as she could,
and able for another's sake, to renounce the pleasures
of love for the worship of the sentiment, and for the
cultivation of literature and exalted thoughts. We
can suppose Pasta, with her fine simple manner and
genial person, the representative of a great woman.
The greatness is relative to the womanhood.
only partakes that of the man, inasmuch as it car-
ries to its height what is gentle and enduring in both
sexes. The moment we recognize any thing of what
is understood by the word masculine in a woman, (not
in the circumstances into which she is thrown, but in
herself or aspect) her greatness, in point of woman-
hood, is impaired. She should hereafter, as Macbeth
says, " bring forth men-children only." Mrs. Siddons's
extraordinary theory about Lady Macbeth (that she was
a fragile little being, very feminine to look at) we take
to have been an instinct to this effect, repellent of the
association of ideas which people would form betwixt
her and her personation of the character.

woman.

Mrs. Siddons's refinement was not on a par with her
loftiness. We remember in the famous sleeping-scene
in Macbeth, when she washed her hand and could not
get the blood off, she made "a face" in passing them
under her nose, as if she perceived a foul scent. We
venture to think that she should have shuddered and
looked in despair, as recognizing the stain on her soul.
But doubtless she was an extraordinary actress and
an estimable woman. Mr. Campbell has exalted her
in our opinion in the latter respect, and will put an
end to some foolish and insidious mistakes circulated

by her enemies, if any such persons remain. We are
glad also to see the character of her husband set right;
who with that readiness to think ill, so illustrative of
the secret characters of those who indulge in it, was
* Two Vols, 970. Effingham Wilson.

It

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represented as living apart from his wife (when he did so) for any other reason than the true one; which turns out to have been a mere matter of necessity to both parties, to himself, because of a rheumatism with I which he was afflicted, and which forced him to live at Bath for the benefit of the waters, while Mrs. Siddons, for obvious reasons, was obliged to remain in town They saw each other when they could, and were affectionate and content. Would it have been better that they should have been more sick and less happy? We quote with pleasure below some verses addressed by Mr. Siddons to his wife, at the very period of his going to sojourn at Bath; an evidence of the real state of the case, which Mr. Campbell justly adduces as throwing ridicule on the false reports of it. We think he might. have added a good word in favour of the verses themselves, which are very agreeable, especially the last stanza; and we are surprised that he could find nothing better to say for the verses by Mrs. Siddons, than to give them a specimer of her "moderate talent for versification." We think them highly creditable to her, and even affecting. There is more "womanhood" in the last stanza, than in the greatness of her acting.

But we are keeping the reader from the book. We must add, that Mrs. Siddons appears to have been a good letter-writer, of a certain class; and to have studied composition more than is common in her profession, or than any body supposed.

Mrs. Siddons's Recollections of Dr. Johnson. "I do not exactly remember the time that I was

favoured with an invitation from Dr. Johnson, but I think it was during the first year of my celebrity. The Doctor was then a wretched invalid, and had requested my friend Mr. Windham to persuade me to favour him by drinking tea with him in Bolt Court.

The Doctor spoke highly of Garrick's various powers of acting. When Mr. Windham and myself were discussing some point respecting Garrick, he said, 'Madam, do not trouble yourself to convince Windham, he is the very bull-dog of argument, and will not loose his hold.' Dr. Johnson's favourite female character in

Shakspear, was Catherine in "Henry VIII." He was most desirous of seeing me in that play, but said, 'I am too deaf and too blind to see or hear at a greater distance than the stage-box, and have little taste for making myself a public gaze in so distinguished a situation.' I assured him that nothing would gratify me so much as to have him for an auditor, aud that I could procure for him an easy chair at the stage-door, where he could both see and hear, and be perfectly concealed. He appeared greatly pleased with this arrangement, but unhappily for me, did not live to fulfil our mutual wishes. Some weeks before he died, I made him some morning visits. He was extremely, though formally, polite; always apologized for being unable to attend me to my carriage, conducted me to the head of the stairs, kissed my hand, and bowing, said, 'Dear Madam, I am your most humble servant;' and these words were always repeated without the smallest variation."

Reservation of Scottish Praise.

How much more pleasantly (says Mr. Campbell,) people tell their history in social converse than in formal writing. I remember Mrs. Siddons describing to me the same scene of her probation upon the Edinburgh boards with no small humour. The grave attention of my Scottish countrymen, and their canny reservation of praise till they were sure she deserved it, she said, had well nigh worn out her patience. She had been used to speak to animated clay, but she now felt as if she had been speaking to stones. Successive flashes of her elocution that had always been sure to electrify the South, fell in vain on those Northern flints. At last, as I well remember, she told me she coiled up her powers to the most emphatic possible utterance of one passage, having previously vowed in her heart, that, if this could not touch the Scotch, she would never again cross the Tweed. When it was finished, she paused, and looked to the audience. The deep silence was broken only by a single voice, exclaiming, "That,s no bad." This ludicrous parsimony of praise convulsed the Edinburgh audience with laughter. But the laugh was followed by such thunders of applause, that, amidst her stunned and nervous agitation, she was not without fears of the galleries coming down.

VERSES BY MR. SIDDONS ON HIS WIFE'S COTTAGE
AT WESTBOURNE.

Would you I'd Westbourn Farm describe,.
I'd do it then, and free from gall,
For sure it would be sin to gibe

A thing so pretty and so small,
The poplar-walk, if you have strength,
Will take a minute's time to step it;
Nay, certes, 'tis of such a length,
'T would almost tire a frog to leap it.
But when the pleasure ground is seen,
Then what a burst comes on the view;
Its level walk, its shaven green,
For which a razor's stroke would do.

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Now pray be cautious when you enter,

And curb your strides from much expansion; Three paces take you to the centre,

Three more, you're close against the mansion. The mansion, cottage, house, or hut,

Call't what you will, has room within

To lodge the king of Lilliput,

But not his court, nor yet his ueen.

The kitchen-garden, true to keeping,

Has length, and breadth, and width so plenty, A snail, if fairly set a creeping,

Could scarce go round while you told twenty. Perhaps you'll cry on hearing this,

What! everything so very small?

No, she that made it what it is,

Has greatness, that makes up for all

LINES BY MRS. SIDDONS.

Say, what's the brightest wreath of fame,
But canker'd buds, that opening close;
Ah! what the world's most pleasing dream,
But broken fragments of repose?
Lead me where peace with steady hand
The mingled cup of life shall hold,
Where Time shall smoothly pour his sand,
And Wisdom turn that sand to gold.

Then haply at religion's shrine

This weary heart its load shall lay,
Each wish my fatal love resign,

And passion melt in tears away.

Stage Habit.-Grandiosity of Manner. "From intense devotion to her profession, Mrs. Siddons derived a peculiarity of manner, of which I have the fullest belief she was not in the least conscious, unless reminded of it; I mean the habit of attaching dramatic tones and emphasis to common-place colloquial subjects. She went, for instance, one day, into a shop at Bath, and after bargaining for some calico, and hearing the mercer pour forth an hundred commendations of the cloth, she put the question to him, "But will it wash?” in a manner so electrifying as to make the poor shopman start back from his counter. I once told her this anecdote about herself, and she laughed at it heartily, saying, "Witness truth, I never meant to be tragical." This singularity made her manner susceptible of caricature. I know not what others felt, but I own that I loved her all the better for this unconscious solemnity of manner; for, independently of its being blended with habitual kindness to her friends, and giving, odd as it may seem, a zest to the. humour of her familiar conversation, it always struck me as a token of her simplicity. In point of fact, a manner in itself artificial, sorung out of the naïveté of her character."

We need not bear testimony to the observation of nature, in which this last remark of the biographer is founded. And we have no doubt there is truth in the application of it to his heroine. But nature and art were so mixed up in her by the circumstances of her early life, that it is impossible to say how much of one or the other was more essentially her own. Perhaps, after all, the best and most extraordinary thing to be said of her, is that she left the impression she has upon the mind of an intimate acquaintance like Mr. Campbell.

CRICKET AND A FETE CHAMPETRE

BY MR. NYREN.

We have much pleasure in laying before our readers the following brief, but genuine record, of an entertainment after a cricket-match, with which we have been favoured by our old, or rather ever-young friend, Mr." Nyren, the "Cricketer's Tutor." He calls it a rough sketch," and modestly hints that we may re-cast it. We should as soon think of altering his cricket-bat. There is a right handling in it, and relishing hits. We need not point out to the reader the regard which our veteran cricketer naturally retains for the ladies; nor his pleasant vindication of himself from the charge of being "seventy." As to the close of his fourth paragraph, where he speaks of the descending of the dews, Burns himself might have written it. The mixture of warmth and coolness was never more happily touched; nor the fair picture better intimated, under the darkening contrast of the twilight. This is the way. that cricketers write,-O ye describers who grow sickly in doors! They feel substance and spirit at once, the body of beauty, and the breath of heaven.

To the Editor of the London Journal.

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a rough sketch. I call these gentlemen the wise men of the East," 'as they will not suffer their names in print, and they live at the East-end of London. When we arrived at the place of our destination, I was both surprised and delighted at the beautiful scene which lay before me. Several elegant tents, gracefully decked out with flags and festoons of flowers, had been fitted up for the convenience of the ladies; and many of these, very many, were elegant and beautiful I am not seventy; and

women.

"the power of beauty I remember yet."

(I am only sixty-eight!) Seats were placed beneath the wide spreading oaks, so as to form groups in the shade. Beyond these, were targets for ladies who love archery, the cricket-ground in front.

The carriages poured in rapidly, and each party as they entered the ground, was received with loud cheers by such of their friends as had arrived before them. At this time a band of music entered the ground, and I could perceive the ladies feathers gracefully waving to the music, and quite ready for dancing. However, the band gave us that fine old tune, The roast beef of old England.

We entered a large booth, which accommodated all our party, and a hundred and thirty sat down to the déjeûné. Our chairman was Young, but old in experience. Many excellent speeches were made; and ever and anon, the whole place rang with applause. After this the dancing commenced, quadrilles, gallopade, &c. &c. It was, without exception, the most splendid sight that I ever witnessed, and reminded one far more of the descriptions we read of fairy-land, than of any scene in real life. The dancing was kept up with great spirit, till the dew of heaven softly descended on the bosoms of our fair countrywomen.

Not a single unfortunate occurrence happened to damp the pleasure of this delightful party. Had you been with us, you would have sung "Oh, the pleasures of the plains," &c. &c. How is it, that we have so few of these parties? Can any party in a house compare with it? God bless you and yours,

JOHN NYREN.

P.S. The cricket match was well contested, the Bachelors winning by three runs only.

The married men might be content to endure so honourable a defeat, especially if their wives were among these ladies, ready at hand to take pity on them. Bachelors must have some advantages, to make themselves amends. The line of verse from Dryden is quoted with singular appositeness, the poet, when he wrote it, having been just of the same age with the cricketer; that is to say, in number of years. The quality of them he would have been but too happy to exchange for those of the man of action.

But these parties out doors-" Can any parties in a house compare with them?" says Mr. Nyren. None, say we;-unless it be a bridal party, made out of the same kind of people; and even then, the rooms would be better if they could be had out in the fields and woods,-Nature's own apartments, such as we see in Chaucer's "Flower and the Leaf," or in the pictures of Boccacio and Stothard. It is a melancholy thing to say for England, with her beautiful country, that we have not even a word to express an entertainment amidst scenery out of doors, but must recur for one to the French, Fête Champêtre; that is to say, a festival in the fields, or the country,-a rural entertainment. "Rural Entertainment" would sound affected in English-But we shall grow wiser as real "knowledge of the world" extends, and when it is no longer confined to the signification of above a nine-hundredth million part of it.

"The world!"-The man of fashion means St. James's by it; the mere man of trade means the Exchange, and a good prudent mistrust. But cricketers, and men of sense and imagination, who use all the eyes and faculties God has given them, mean his beautiful planet, gorgeous with sunset, lovely with green fields, magnificent with mountains,—a great rolling energy, full of health, love, and hope, and fortitude, and endeavour. Compare this world with the others,-no better than a billiard ball, or a musty plum.

THE MEETING OF JACOB AND JOSEPH.
When Israel's car on Egypt's plain,
Drew up before the cloud of sand
That eddied round the rapid train
Of Joseph, close at hand;
And when the Venerable stept,

Down to the earth-and at his feet,
The Great, the Found, the Injured, wept,
And hundreds saw them meet;
And when the guilty with that throng,

Worse than the meanest, bow'd by fears,
And hard in thought of their old wrong,
Stood tearless mid all tears;

Then thro' the Patriarch's mind was showered
His long long path of sorrow trod,
The sense of weakness overpowered,
The wondrous ways of God!
Rachel gone down to dust forlorn-
Rachel, in youth and beauty beaming-
The dreams, the dreams! received with scorn,
The pageant round him streaming;

The coat, sole vestige of his son;

The stains, and he had kiss'd them dim; The web of falsehood round him spun, And Joseph holding him!

And prophecy, long almost held

A nursery tale, and faith half fled,
From their deep night of doubt dispell'd,
Awakening from the dead!

"Now might I die!" the Patriarch prays,
As all the seer resumes its reign;
"For I have lived on thee to gaze-
Have touch'd my son again!"

TABLE-TALK.

Frabricius Serbellone, a disgrace to the military profession, was patronized and employed against the Protestants of Avignon and Orange, by Pope Pius the Fourth, and that unfeeling Emperor, Charles the Fifth. This infamous Satellite of the Vatican blots the present page only for the purpose of recording an execrable refinement of cruelty, united with religious rancour, worthy the monster who employed him, and highly gratifying to his own brutality of manners and thirst for blood. Having, as he imagined, exhausted his invention in search of new modes of torture, by suspending in chimnies, impaling, and roasting by slow fires the unfortunate wretches who fell into his hands, and by other means too shocking and too indecent to recite, at the instigation of Satan or his prime ministers, at St. Peter's and Vienna, he procured a number of Geneva bibles, and folding the leaves into long and narrow slips, he larded with them the bodies and limbs of his miserable victims, previous to his committing them to the flames. Adding insult to injury, he told them, in the ' agonies of death, "That he knew it was an edition of the bible they were attached to, and he was determined they should have enough of it." Such have been the enormities of those who fancied they were doing God service, and fulfilling their duty, under a gospel which preaches love and good will towards men.-Lounger's Common-Place Book.

A German Apologue.-An archbishop and his nephew were taking an evening's walk together, when they fell into a dispute about the spots in the moon. "I see a shepherdess sitting under a tree very clearly," said the young man. "I can distinguish the tower of a cathedral church," said the uncle.

Affecting and Blessed Epitaph.-In the cathedral at Vienne in France, a venerable Gothic structure, on the united tomb of two friends, are inscribed the words MENS UNA, CINIS UNUS. One mind, one dust.

TO CORRESPONDENTS. "Errors of Education" and the letter of a "Happy Mother" on the question of Flogging at Public Schools, do credit to the feelings of the respective writers; but the subjects are not handled in a way to suit the plan of our Journal.

We shall be glad to hear from UN LECTEUR QUI A SOIF; though we fear we cannot vary our plan so as to meet his wishes.

RUSTICUS and a PART OF THE MANY shall have due attention.

Our friend Hoмo may make himself easy, we think, upon the subject of his letter, considering he did his duty so long and strenuously. He set a good example in one respect; he may now fairly set it in another. If all men were to do as much, the world would soon be in excellent condition.

We have not time to go into the subject mentioned by TAU, ourselves; but we shall be ready, as we ever have been, to do it any service by the way, and to insert any information upon it communicated by others.

ECRITOR'S Opinion of verse-making as a pastime. and a resource against less innocent supports, is excellent; but he must cultivate his ear more, in order to do justice to his feelings.

We shall be glad to hear from F. L. a year hence. BEPPO'S Table-talk will appear. His "Romance of Real Life," besides not being authenticated, is hardly striking enough in the circumstances, for our series. An action may be very noble, and unusual too, and yet not be sufficiently unusual, or invested with interest, to furnish out a narrative.

We should have sooner noticed the communications of J. O. U.; but had been doubting whether his paper, however interesting to scholars, would have been popular and explanatory enough for the general reader. We have come to the conclusion however, that his subject is one which any intelligent mind will be glad to make the most of by the help of its own light, if it possess no other; and accordingly it shall appear next. week.

An AERONAUTIC ROMANCE the first opportunity,

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ABBEY MUSICAL FESTIVAL.

A COMPLETE ACCOUNT of the late FESTIVAL,

with the names of the Performers properly classed, together with a critical review of all the Performances, will appear in the Supplement to the Musical Library, on the 1st of August next, price 6d. This will complete the History of Musical Festivals in Great Britain, from the first, at the commencement of the last century, to that just celebrated; the whole of which will be found comprised in the Four Numbers of the work already published, and that now preparing.

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ROYAL MUSICAL FESTIVAL

Nos. 1. and 2 of a new volume of the MIRROR contain a Concise Description of these memorable Performances with Two Large Engravings-The Ochestra and Royal Box.

"The oldest, and probably the best, of our cheap compatriots -a very pleasing, entertaining, and intelligent miscellany.— Literary Gazette.

Each Volume is complete in itself, and may be purchased separately; Twenty-two Volumes, £6, în boards, or neatly half bound, £7. 14s.

J. Limbird, 143, Strand; and sold by all Venders of Cheap Periodicals throughout the Country.

Published This Day. I.

British Museum.-Elgin Marbles, VOL. XXIII.

Vol. I.

Vegetable Substances, Vol. III.
British Museum.-Elgin Marbles,
Vol. II.

Faculties of Birds, Part I.

History of British Costume.

London:-CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, Ludgate Street.

SOUTH AUSTRALIA.

This day is published,

THE NEW BRITISH PROVINCE OF SOUTH

AUSTRALIA; or A Description of the Country. Illustrated by Charts and Views, and an Account of the Principles, Objects, Plan, and Prospects of the NEW COLONY. In a small pocket volume, bound in cloth, price 2s. 6d.

London: Charles Knight, 22, Ludgate Street.

Just Published, Part 4 of
THE MUSICAL LIBRARY.

This work appears in numbers every Saturday, Price Fourpence; and in monthly parts, containing 36 pages of music, Bewed in a wrapper, price 1s. 6d.

The principle which has been so extensively applied in Literature and the Graphic Art, of producing works at the lowest possible point of cheapness without any abandonment of the qualities by which the popular knowledge and taste may be advanced, has yet a wide field for its employment in the department of Music. This most delightful of the arts was never so generally cultivated in this country as at the present moment. The Pianoforte, especially contributes to the recreation and enJoyment of thousands of families throughout the United Kingdom, and in our colonial possessions. And yet the publications by which this taste ought to be kept up and improved, are sold at a price which, in many cases, amounts to a prohibition.

The design of the Musical Library' is to afford the same advantage to amateurs in music that the lovers of literature are deriving from the cheap publications for the advancement of real knowledge that are now distributed through every part of the Empire, and are placed within the reach of persons of every condition. It is proposed to publish a Collection of Music, both vocal and instrumental, by the best masters, ancient and modern the ancient in a state adapted to the improved condition of our musical instruments; and the modern the best, and only the best, that the continent of Europe and our own country can supply. We shall revive and put into an inviting form the compositions of the older classical masters, now only known to a few connoisseurs, keeping in mind the saying of a famous French modiste, nothing is to new as that which is forgotten.' At the same time, it will be our further object to naturalize the confessedly good productions of the newest foreign composers, especially of the German masters, by the republication, sometimes with English words, of their best vocal compositions; and also by publishing movements, or extracts, complete in themselves, from such of their instrumental works as are of a length unsuited to the Musical Library.' It is also our design, occasionally, to engage composers of the first eminence to supply us with new compositions; and we shall never neglect an opportainty of giving currency to such productions of real genius as may be offered to us by those who have no means of securing extensive circulation to them, and who might be deterred from publishing them on their own account. We thus hope to spread widely a taste for what is excellent in the various departments of the art, and render the best compositions available to the purposes of private society. In the execution of our plan we shall steadily keep in view the great principle, that excellence and cheapness are not incompatible. The bent of civilization is to make good things cheap.'

In the prosecution of these objects, which we may not unjustly consider likely to advance our national enjoyments, a weekly Number containing eight music-folio pages is devoted either to Vocal or Instrumental Music, so that these two classes of compositions may be separately bound. It would involve great prac tical difficulties to attempt to make every Number complete in itself; but as the intervals of publication between each Number are very short, little inconveniences will be experienced. Each Part, however, will be complete in itself, except under very peculiar circumstances.

Also, price бd., sewed in a wrapper, to be continned monthly, SUPPLEMENT TO THE MUSICAL LIBRARY,

No. 4.

This Supplementary Work may be purchased independently of the Musical Library, which will be complete in itself; but it will forth a valuable addition to that publication. It consists of twelve folio pages of letter-press, comprising musical news, oreign and domestic; Reviews of important new musical pablications: with memoirs of the Lives, and remarks upon the works, of eminent Composers, and especially of the authors whose productions are published in the Musical Library"

of the MIRROR, With a Steel-plate Portrait of H. R. H. the Duke of Sussex, nearly 100 Engravings, and 450 closely printed pages 5s. 6d. boards.

"It is just the humanizing volume that ought to delight the fire-side of every cottage in the kingdom."-Athenæum. Each Volume is complete in itself, and may be purchased separately; the Twenty-two Volumes, £6, in boards, or neatly half bound, £7. 14s.

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1. THE DESTROYING ANGEL.

2. JOSHUA COMMANDING THE SUN TO STAND STILL. 3. THE ROD OF MOSES TURNED INTO A Serpent. 4. AMALEK OVERCOME.

5. DEATH OF MOSES ON MOUNT NEBO.

6. MIRIAM STRICKEN WITH LEPROSY.

7. THE CUP FOUND IN BENJAMIN'S SACK.

8. JACOB'S DAUGHTERS TRYING TO COMFORT HIM.

MR. TATE'S NEW ARITHMETICAL WORKS.
This day, iu one vol. 12mo. neatly bound, price 3s.

ACOMPLETE SYSTEM OF COMMERCIAL

ARITHMETIC, containing a new and improved explana. tion of the Theory of the Science, with an extensive application of its principals to the various branches of Commerce, according to the existing practices of trade, and numerous rules for performing MENTAL CALCULATIONS. BY WILLIAM TATE, Jun. II.

Second edition, in one vol. 8vo. bound in cloth, price 88. THE MODERN CAMBIST,

Forming a Manual of Foreign Exchanges, in the direct, indirect, and cross operations of Bills of Exchange and Bullion, including an extensive investigation of the arbitration of Exchange according to the practice of the first British and Foreign Houses, with numerous formulæ and tables of the weights and measures of other countries compared with the imperial standard. By William Tate.

EFFINGHAM WILSON, 88, Royal Exchange.

BEAVER HATS.-Superfine qualities 16s. equal

to those charged 17s. 6d. and 21s.; second qualities, 12s. (a very superior Hat); PATENT EXTRA LIGHT BEAVER HATS, in 100 different shapes, 21s. the best that can possibly be made; newly invented Light Summer Hats, black or drab, 12s., 34 ounces weight; Youths' Hats and Caps in great variety; also Travelling, Fishing, and Shooting Hats and Caps, Livery and Opera Hats, good qualities, at the lowest prices possible. The Nobility, Gentry, and Public are respectfully solicited to compare the above Hats with those made by pretended manufacturers: the difference in make, shape, and quality must be plainly seer..

JOHN PERRING, Maker and Inventor of Light Hats,
85, Strand, corner of Cecil-street.

ELEGANT PRESENTS.

Just Published, the

ALBUM ORNÉ; in extra Royal Quarto,

splendidly bound in Morocco and Gold, Price Three Guineas; and in watered Marone Silk and Gold, Price Two Guineas; comprising several hundred varieties of Ornamental Borders, nearly every page presenting a different Design, executed by the most eminent Artists, and printed in a diversity of Tints, and on variously coloured Papers, for the display of Drawings, Prints, &c., and the reception of Literary Compositions, and the other usual contents of a Lady's Album.

II.

New Editions of the Following:

THE YOUNG LADY'S BOOK:which possesses the hitherto unattempted novelay of concentrating, in one Volume, all that is interesting, either as an exercise, a recreation, or a pursuit; and forms a complete repertorium of those accomplishments which grace the sex, and constitute the perfection of the female character. "Twenty years ago," 99 says the Literary Gazette, "all the talents in England could not have produced such a work." Price One Guinea, richly bound in Embroidered Crimson Silk, and embellished with upwards of 700 Engravings. III.

THE BOY'S OWN BOOK:the most acceptable present ever devised for youth, embracing the sports and exercises of out-door enjoyment-the pas times of a winter's fire-side,-and the recreations of science,copiously detailed in nearly five hundred closely printed pages, embellished with upwards fof 300 Engravings.-Price 8s. 6d. in ornamental boards; 10s. 6d. handsomely bound in Arabesque Embossed Morocco, with gilt edges.

and

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FLOWERS OF FABLE, culled from the

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The above, accompanied with Descriptions, form the THE MERCURY, the fastest, most commo

FOURTH MONTHLY PART OF WESTALL AND MARTIN'S
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE BIBLE.

Sold by all Booksellers and Newsmen throughout the
Kingdom.

BULL AND CHURTON, Library, 26, Holles Street, London.

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Just published, in foolscap 8vo. price 7s. 6d. cloth.

TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS; Comprising the

CONVICT'S DAUGHTER, and the CONVERT'S DAUGHTER. "There is no tragedy so affecting as that of private life,-Th writer of this powerful volume has selected two subjects of very great interest-His observations upon men and manners, pictures of society, and sketches of character are shewed, just, and original."-Contrt Journal.

"Tese stories are written with great taste and feeling, and the incidents are worked up with much ingenuity and interest." -Bell's Messenger.

Smith, Elder, and Co. Cornhill

dious, and elegantly fitted Packet on the River station, leaves London Bridge Wharf, every Monday at Half-past Nine o'clock; and Gravesend, every Afternoon at Five, arriving in both cases, ahead of all other Packets.

This Mercury (esteemed a perfect model,) is the only Gravesend Packet with a Saloon, affording the light and view through the stern windows, the effect of which has obtained universal admiration.

The MEDWAY Yacht leaves London Bridge at half-past Eight, every Morning; and Gravesend at Half-past Five in the

Afternoon.

The celebrated Commercial Packet, the COMET, leaves Gravesend at Seven o'clock in the Morning, (except Mondays, when she leaves at Half-past Six;) and London Bridge, on her return, at Half-past Four performing her passage in less time than any other Packes, except the Mercury.

In a few days the STAR will be added to the Establishment and due notice given of the hours of her departure.

The Public are respectfully requested to bear in mind, that the Packets start punctually, but are half an hour at the Wharf before the times appointed to start, in order that Passengers may embark conveniently to themselves.

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LONDON JOURNAL.

TO ASSIST THE ENQUIRING, ANIMATE THE STRUGGLING, AND SYMPATHIZE WITH ALL,

WEDNESDAY, JULY 16, 1834.

drink.

"

BREAKFAST CONCLUDED. TEA AND COFFEE, MILK, BREAD, &C. WE have said nothing of coffee and chocolate at breakfast, though a good deal was quoted in our last paper from Mr. D'Israeli respecting those beverages. We confined ourselves to tea, because it is the staple A cheap coffee however, or imitation of it, has taken place of tea with many; and the poor have now their "coffee houses," as the rich used to have. We say 'used," because coffee-drinking in such places, among the rich, is fast going out in consequence of the later hours of dinner and the attractions of the club-houses. Coffee, like tea, used to form a refreshment by itself, some hours after dinner. It is now taken as a digester, right upon that meal; and sometimes does not even close it; for the digester itself is digested by a liqueur of some sort, called a chasse-café (coffee-chacer.) We do not, however, pretend to be learned in these matters. If we find ourselves at a rich table, it is but as a stranger in the land, to all but the lasting humanities of it. A custom may change next year, and find us as ignorant of it, as the footman is otherwise.*

As we claim the familiar intimacy of the reader, in this our most private-public Journal, and have had it cordially responded to by fair and brown (who will not cry out as a critic did against Montaigne, for saying he liked sherry, "Who the devil cares whether he liked sherry or not?") we shall venture to observe, in comment upon the thousand inaudible remarks on this question which we hear on all sides of us, that for our parts we like coffee better than tea, once in a way, but tea "for a constancy." And one after the other makes a "pretty" variety; (as Dr. Johnson, or Mr. Pepys, would phrase it). To be perfect in point of taste (we do not say, of wholesomeness) coffee should be strong, and hot, with little sugar and milk. In the East they drink it without either; which, we should think, must be intolerable to any palates that do not begin with it in childhood, or are not in want of as severe stimulants as those of sailors (though by the way, we understand that tobacco-chewing is coming into fashion!) It has been drunk after this mode in some parts of Europe; but the public have no where (we believe) adopted it. The favorite way of drinking it as a meal, abroad, is with a great superfluity of milk,very properly called in France Café-au-lait, Coffee to the milk. One of the pleasures we receive in drinking coffee is, that being the universal drink in the East, it reminds of that region of the Arabian Nights; as smoking does, for the same reason: though neither of these refreshments, which are now identified with Oriental manners, is to be found in that enchanting work. They had not been discovered, when it was written. The drink was sherbet, and its accompaniments cakes and fruit. One can hardly fancy, what a Turk or a Persian could have done without coffee and a pipe, any more than the English ladies and gentlemen before the civil wars, without tea for breakfast. As for chocolate, its richness, if made good, renders it rather a food than a drink. Linnæus seems to have been fond of it; for it was he, we believe, who

We advert to the knowledge of this personage, out of no undue feeling either towards himself, or those whom he serves. Both classes comprise natures of all sorts, like others. But fashiou, in itself, is a poor business, everlastingly shifting its customs because it has nothing but change to go upon; and with all our respect for good people who wear its liveries, whether master or footman, we own we have no sort of veneration for the phases of neckcloths and coats, and the vicissitudes of the modes of dining.

SPARROW, PRINter, crane-court.

No. 16.

gave it its generic name of Theobroma, or food of the gods. It is said to be extremely nourishing, but heavy for weak stomachs. Cocoa (cacao) is a lighter kind of it, made of the shell instead of the nut. They make German flutes of the wood of the choco

late-tree. An Italian wit, who flourished when tea, coffee, and chocolate had not long been introduced into his country, treats them all three with great contempt, and no less humour:—

Non fia già, che il Cioccolatte
V'adoprassi, ovvero il Tè:
Medicine così fatte

Non saran giammai per me.
Beverei prima il veleno,

Che un bicchier che fosse pieno
Del amaro e reo Caffè.
Colà tra gli Arabi,

E tra i Giannizzeri,
Liquor si ostico,
Si nero e torbido,

Gli schiavi ingollino.
Giù nel Tartaro,
Giù nell' Erebo,
L'empie Belidi l'inventarono;
E Tesifone, e l'altre Furie,
A Proserpina il ministrarono :
E se in Asia il Musulmanno
Se lo cionca a precipizio,
Mostra aver poco giudizio.

Redi. Bacco in Toscana.
Talk of Chocolate! Talk of Tea!
Medicines made, ye Gods, as they are,
Are no medicines made for me!
I would sooner take to poison
Than a single cup set eyes on
Of that bitter and guilty stuff ye
Talk of by the name of Coffee.
Let the Arabs and the Turks
Count it 'mongst their cruel works.
Foe of mankind, black and turbid,
Let the throats of slaves absorb it.
Down in Tartarus,

Down in Erebus,
Twas the detestable Fifty invented it;
The Furies then took it,

To grind and to cook it,
And to Proserpina all three presented it.
If the Mussulman in Asia
Doats on a beverage so unseemly,
I differ with the man extremely.

These vituperations however are put into the mouth of the god of wine; who may justly have resented the introduction of

"the cups

Which cheer but not inebriate."
Chocolate is a common refreshment in Italy, in a
solid shape. The pastry-cooks sell sweetmeats of it,
wrapped up in little papers with printed mottos,
containing some couplet of humour or gallantry.
They have made their appearance of late years in
England, owing, we believe, to the patronage of
George the Fourth, who is said to have given an or-
der to a Paris manufacturer, to the value of 5001.

Off, ye inferior goods, ye comparative sophistica-
tions, perhaps fleeting fashions, and let us bethink
ourselves of the everlasting virtues of beautiful milk
and bread!

"Milk," says a venerable text, "is fit for children." It is too often unfit for men, not because their stomachs are stronger than those of children, but be

"An acquaintance, on whose veracity we can rely," says Mr. Phillips in his History of Fruits," informed us, that during the retreat of Napoleon's army from the north, he fortunately had a small quantity of little chocolate cakes in his pocket, which preserved the life of himself and a friend for several days, when they could procure no other food what. ever, and many of their brother officers perished for want.”— Pomarium Britannicum, or Historical and Botanical Account of Fruits known in Great Britain. Third Edition, p. 67. Colburn.

†The daughters of Danaus, who killed their husbands.

PRICE THREE HALFPENce.

cause they are weaker. Causes of various sorts, sorrow, too much thinking, dissipation, shall render a man unable to digest the good wholesome milkbowl, that delighted him when a child. He must content himself with his experience, and with turning it to the best account, especially for others. A child over a milk-bowl is a pleasant object. He seems to belong to every thing that is young and innocent,the morning, the fields, the dairies. And no fear of indigestion has he, nor of a spoiled complexion. He does not sit up till twelve at night; nor is a beauty tight lacing herself; nor does he suspend his stomach in breathlessness, with writing "articles," and thinking of good and evil.

Pleasant object also, nevertheless, is the milk-jug to the grown man, whether sick or well, provided he have "an eye.” White milk in a white jug, or cream in a cream-coloured, presents one of those sympathies of colour, which are sometimes of higher taste than any contrast, however delicate. Drummond of Hawthornden has hit it, with a relishing pencil :

In petticoat of green

With hair about her eine,*

Phillis, beneath an oak,

Sat milking her fair flock:

'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture (rare
delight)

Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so
white.t

Anacreon beautifully compares a finely tinted cheek, to milk with roses in it. There is a richness of colouring, as well as of substance in the happy scriptural designation of an abundant country,-" A land overflowing with milk and honey." Milk and honey suit admirably on the breakfast table. Their colours, their simplicity, their country associations, all harmonize. We have a dairy and a bee-hive before us,the breath of cows, and the buzzing over the garden. By the way, there is a very pretty design, in Cooke's edition of Parnell's Poems, of a girl milking a cow, by Kirk, a young Scotch artist of great promise, who died prematurely, which has wandered to the tea-cups, and is to be found on some of the cheapest of them. We happened to meet with it in Italy, and felt all our old landscapes before us, - the meadows, the trees, and the village church; all which the artist has put into the back ground. The face is not quite so good on the tea-cup as in the engraving. In that, it is eminently beautiful,-at least in the work now before us. We cannot answer for re-prints. It is one of those faces of sweetness and natural refinement, which are to be met with in the humblest as well as highest classes, where the parentage has been genial, and the bringing up not discordant. The passage illustrated is the pretty exordium of the poet's Eclogue entitled Health :

Now early shepherds o'er the meadow pass,
And print long footsteps in the glittering grass:
The cows neglectful of their pasture stand,
By turns obsequious to the milker's hand.

Is it not better to occupy the fancy with such recollections as these over a common breakfast, than to be lamenting that we have not an uncommon one? which perhaps also would do us a mischief, and for the gain of a little tickling of the palate take [health and good temper out of us for the rest of the day. Besides, a palate unspoilt has a relish of milks and teas, and other simple foods, which a Nabob, hot

Eine-een-Scotch and old English for eyes.

+ See Cunningham's edition of Drummond, lately published, p. 249.

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