FOURTH WEEK IN APRIL. BUTTERFLIES AND ELECTRIC SILK.

THE butterflies now come out, harbingers of their more numerous brethren in May, and tickling or tickled by the air and flowers, we hardly know which it looks most. They seem as if they could not fly an inch for joy, without making all sorts of starts and antics,

Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,

as though they were intoxicated with suddenly emerging
out of their strange death-like prison, into the liberties
of light and love. We should like to hear what the de-
spisers of colours and gaiety have to say to the manifest
delight which nature takes in painting the butterflies
and flowers, to say nothing of fields, skies, and other
trifles, and the whole starry heavens. The rainbow,
too, is a pretty sweep of a painter's brush; and there
are the sunrises and sunsets. We have seen the
latter in the Mediterranean, finer than Claude's. But
an article" on this subject.
we must have"

A great deal of pains has sometimes been taken to show that the butterfly undergoes no real change from its caterpillar and pupa state, all its wings, &c., being included in its several succession of forms, like a lady who should be full-dressed for a ball, while wrapped up in her night-gown. As if that, (supposing it to be true, and the question is still undecided,) made any difference in the wonder! We like these getters rid of mysteries! To change internally, they think, is really surprizing; but to change only in outward guise, and to carry all your future clothes and wings with you, packed up, first in a sort of feeding machine on sixteen legs, then in a kind of living coffin, boxed up and senseless, and then suddenly waking, and getting upon six legs instead of sixteen, and dancing up into the air, ready for all sorts of ethereal pranks, this they count nothing, or at best, as an explanation of the whole mystery. As if there were any explanation in the matter! or the mystery were not as great as ever; or any one thing not as wonderful as any other.

For our parts, with all our love and admiration of nature, and something like a visiting acquaintance with her, we really are not in her secret in this matter, and can do nothing but be astonished at her beauties, and thankful for the brilliant baubles she gives to the peremptory and supercilious. We see nothing more wonderful in change than in creation, and nothing at all in the modern accounts of the butterfly to set aside our belief in the good instinct of the old Greek symbol (the butterfly for the soul), and that beautiful question of Dante's, which he puts with such a noble simplicity, and such a divine impartiality between small ideas and great.

Non v' accorgete noi, che moi siam vermi,
Nati a formar l'angelica farfalla?
Purgetorio, Canto X.
Perceive ye not, that we are worms, we men,
Born to compose the angelic butterfly ?

We must return to this subject another time. Meanwhile we give a curious extract from the third volume of Captain Brown's Book of Butterflies (just published), relating to the marvels of the moths who furnish us with silk stockings. The reader will there see the extraordinary attachments and aversions shown to one another by those very sensitive habiliments, according to their different complexions. If man could discover the secret of electricity, it would seem indeed as if he were becoming intimate with the spirit of the earth.

"The distinctions between those bodies which are capable of being excited to electricity, and those which are only capable of receiving it from the others, appears scarcely to have been ever suspected till about the year 1799, when this great discovery was made by Mr. Gray, a pensioner in the Charter-house. After some fruitless attempts to make metals attractive by heating, rubbing, and hammering, he conceived a suspicion that, as a glass tube, when rubbed in the dark, communicated its light to various bodies, it might possibly, at the same time, communicate its power of attraction to them. In order to put this to the test, he provided himself with a tube three feet five inches long, and near an inch and one-fifth in diameter; the ends of the tube were stopped by cork; and he found that when the tube was excited, a down feather was attracted as powerfully by the cork as by the tube itself. To convince himself more completely, he procured a small ivory ball, which he fixed at first to a stick of fir, four inches long, which was thrust into the cork, and found that it attracted and repelled the feather even with more vigour than the cork itself. He afterwards fixed the ball upon long sticks, and upon pieces of brass and iron wire with the same success; and lastly attached it to a long piece of packthread, and hung it from a high balcony, in which state

substance as follows:

He had been accustomed to wear two pair of silk stockings, a black and a white. When these were put off both together, no sign of electricity appeared; but snapping or crackling noise, and in the dark perceived on pulling off the black ones from the white, he heard a sparks of fire between them. To produce this and the following appearance in great perfection, it was only necessary to draw his hand backward and forward over his leg with his stockings upon it.

When the stockings were separated and held at a distance from each other, both of them appeared to be highly excited; the white stocking positively, and the black negatively. While they were kept at a distance from each other, both of them appeared inflated, to such a degree, that they exhibited the entire shape of the leg. When two black or two white stockings were held in one hand, they would repel one another with considerable force, making an angle seemingly of thirty or thirty-five degrees. When a white and black stocking were presented to each other, they were mutually attracted; and if permitted, would rush together with surprising violence. As they approached, the inflation gradually subsided, and their attraction of foreign objects diminished, but their attraction of one another increased; when they actually met they became flat, and joined close together like as many folds of silk. When separated again, their electric virtues did not seem to be in the least impaired for having once met, and the same appearances would be exhibited by them as the first time. When the experiment was made with two black stockings in one hand, and two white ones in the other, they were thrown into a strange agitation, owing to the attraction between those of different colours, and the repulsion between those of the same colour. This mixture of attraction and repulsion made the stockings catch at each other at greater distances than otherwise they would have done, and afforded a very curious spectacle.

When the stockings were suffered to meet, they stuck together with considerable force. At first, Mr. Symmer found they required from one to twelve ounces to separate them. Another time they raised seventeen ounces, which was twenty times the weight of the stocking that supported them, and this in a direction parallel to its surface. When one of the stockings was turned inside out, and put within the other, with the rough sides together, it required three pounds three ounces to separate them. With stockings of a more substantial make, the cohesion was still greater. When the white stocking was put within the black one, so that the outside of the white was contiguous to the inside of the black, they

raised nine pounds, wanting a few ounces; and when the two rough surfaces were contiguous, they raised fifteen pounds one pennyweight and a half. Cutting off the ends of the thread, and the tufts of silk which had been left in the inside of the stockings, was found to be very unfavourable to these experiments.

Mr. Symmer also observed that pieces of white and each other, but would also adhere to bodies with broad black silk, when highly electrified, not only cohered with and even polished surfaces, though these bodies were not electrified. This he discovered accidentally, having without design, thrown a stocking out of his hand, which stuck to the paper hanging of the room. He repeated the experiment, and found it would continue hanging nearly an hour. Having stuck up the black other pair, highly electrified, and applying the white and white stockings in this manner, he came with anto the black, and the black to the white, he carried them off the wall, each of them hanging to that which with the painted boards of the room, and likewise with had been brought to it. The same experiments held the looking glass, to the smooth surface of which both the white and the black silk appeared to adhere more tenaciously than to either of the former.

Similar experiments, but with a greater variety of circumstances, were afterwards made by Mr. Cigna of Turin, upon white and black ribands. He took two white silk ribands, just dried at the fire, and extended them upon a smooth plane, whether a conducting or electric substance was a matter of indifference. He then drew over them the sharp edge of an ivory ruler, and found that both ribands bad acquired electricity enough to adhere to the plane, though, while they contiup separately, they were both negatively electrified, and nued there, they showed no other sign of it. When taken would repel each other. In their separation, electric sparks were perceived between them, but when again put on the plane, or forced together, no light was perceived without another friction. When by the operation just now mentioned, they had acquired the negative electricity, if they were placed, not upon the smooth body on which they had been rubbed, but on a rough conducting substance, they would, on their separation, show contrary electricities, which would again disappear on their being joined together. If they had been made to repel each other, and were afterwards forced together, and placed on the rough surface abovementioned, they would, in a few minutes, be mutually attracted, the lowermost being positively, and the uppermost negatively electrified.

If the two white ribands received their friction upon the rough surface, they always acquired contrary electricities. The upper one was negatively, and the lower one positively electrified, in whatever manner they were taken off. The same change was instantaneously done by any pointed conductor. If two ribands, for instance, were made to repel, and the point of a needle drawn opposite to one of them along its whole length, they would immediately rush together.

ROMANCES OF REAL LIFE.

VII. ST. ANDRE THE SURGEON.

NATHANIEL St. Andrè was a native of Switzerland, from which country he emigrated early in life, and, secured the friendship of a wealthy patron, who furnished him with the means of procuring a medical education. He afterwards became a public lecturer on anatomy and a surgeon of eminence in London, a favourite of King George the First, the confidential friend of Lord Peterborough, and was employed by Bolingbroke and Pope. But the fairness of such professional prospects were suddenly clouded, and his character stamped with an indelible impression of ridicule or guilt, by his listening to, and encouraging the impudent imposture of Mary Tofts, a woman who declared, and endeavoured to make the public believe, that she had been actually delivered of rabbits;-a delusion in which Whiston, probably seduced by the credit of St. Andrè, was also involved. This eccentric divine, on other occasions sufficiently scrupulous, wrote a pamphlet to prove, that the monstrous conception literally fulfilled what had been foretold by the prophet Esdras.

To laugh were want of sentiment or grace,
But to be grave exceeds all power of face.

It is not so easy to account for the conduct of St Andrè, a man confessedly of strong sense and quick discernment. Of three opinions which prevailed at the time-that he was disposed to try an experiment on national credulity; that he was corrupted by money; or that he was a man whose ruling passions were excitement and the love of making a sensation, no matter at what expense, the author of this notice strongly inclines

to the last.

Professional dexterity, or his skill as a performer on the viol di gamba, introduced St. Andrè to Lady Betty Molyneux; he attended her husband in his last illness; and a marriage indecorously hasty between the widow and the surgeon, with other circumstances never satisfactorily explained, involved them both in the odium of being instrumental in hastening the death of Mr. Molyneux, from whom the Swiss (a base villain, if the charge was true) had received many favours. Their guilt or their innocence, which at a certain period strongly agitated the public mind, must now be determined by a more awful and unerring tribunal. Combined with other unpropitious circumstances, this shocking imputation drove St. Andrè into obscurity. Lady Betty was dis

missed from court by Queen Caroline; and an action for defamation, in which a verdict and damages were given in favour of the newly married couple, was not sufficient to restore their reputation.

Chance, inclination, perverseness, necessity or guilt, conspired to keep St. Andrè in hot water for a good part of his life. In the year 1725, before he had been debased by credulity, or shunned, as being suspected of flagrant crime, and in the routine of a lucrative practice, he was roused from his bed at midnight by a stranger thundering at his door, who urgently desired him to visit, without delay, a person who was described as desperately wounded. In the heat of zeal, or the perturbation of broken sleep, St. Andrè neglected that necessary precaution for every medical practitioner, on such occasions, the taking, on all midnight calls from persons he does not know, his own servant with him. After following his unknown guide in the nocturnal gloom, through many an unfrequented court, remote street, and obscure alley, after being conducted, and re-conducted through passages, galleries, and stair-cases, heated, hurried, and confused, he at last found himself in a retired chamber, the door of which being instantly bolted, the affrighted surgeon was threatened with immediate death, if he did not directly swallow the contents of a bowl (of course poisonous) presented to him by two ruffians, with instruments of death in their hands. Having paused for a short time on the horrible alternative, he drank the terrible dose, and with considerable precautions to prevent discovery, was replaced blindfolded at his own door. The condition of a man who had been compelled to take what he considered as poison, need not be described. Without supposing that the drench contained one deleterious particle, the mere idea was sufficient to communicate arsenic, hellebore, and sublimate to his disturbed imagination. Of this extraordinary transaction, an account sufficiently expressive of the terror of St. Andrè, was published in the London Gazette, and a reward of 2001. offered by government to any person who would give information that might lead to discovery and conviction; but no discovery was made.

dums of him. It is to be found in a little anonymous book ("Recollections of Some Particulars in the Life of the late William Shenstone Esq."), written not long after his death, in defence of him from some of the objections of Dr. Johnson, by his old and fast friend, Richard Graves, the author of the Spiritual Quixote, whom a comfortable parsonage, and a pleasant temper, kept alive till upwards of ninety.

The anecdote will "come home to the bosoms" of hundreds of youths, and older men too, who know what it is to "quarrel and make it up." The poet and his friend were at that time young men from college, and Graves was on a visit to Shenstone, at an old family house belonging to the latter, with a rookery to it and other rural appurtenances, where they enjoyed them. selves in the sweets of literary companionship.

Θέλω, Θέλω μανῆναι

"I will, I will be witty." Under this, Mr. Shenstone wrote this distich: "Matchless on earth I thee proclaim,

ANECDOTE OF SHENTONE'S YOUTH. In the accounts of celebrated men, we rarely meet with a sufficient number of those personal and domestic particulars, which are so interesting to the common nature of us all, and which are often omitted, especially in history, upon an idle, unphilosophical notion of their being incompatible with the "dignity" of the work! As if anything could be more worth our while to know, than what is calculated to charm one's sympathy with intelligent natures, and humanize and instruct us in our daily life. Perhaps it would not be too much to affirm, that every life which has been written, except at very great length, could be materially enlarged, improved, and rendered a great deal more interesting, by a diligent search into collateral accounts of the person recorded, and into his own writings, whether in prose or in verse. A great deal might be added, for instance, to the lives of most of the English poets. Take the following anecdote, by way of specimen, as an addition to the life of Shenstone, not a great poet, it is true, but a very pleasing one, and a man of no ordinary powers of reflection when he chose to set them to work. Every reader of his poem. of the School Mistress, and of the acute, and sometimes the deep reflections to be met with in his Essays, would surely be glad of more such memoran

Whose will and power I find the same." This produced a reply on my side; that a rejoinder on his; till at last the ill fated wall was scribbled from top to bottom, which the next morning was succeeded by a laugh at each other's folly, and a cordial reconciliation."

THE LONDON JOURNAL,

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 1834.

HAVING arrived at the fourth number of our Journal, with the most encouraging prospects of success, we must leave off saying what heaps of kind letters we continue to receive, lest it should look like a system of self-recommendation. But we cannot help once more alluding to them, for fear of seeming ungrateful to the writers; some of whom are as flattering to us by their very names, as all are by their cordiality. One letter, however, is of a nature so publicly as well as privately connected with the subject of a journal of this description, that we must take the liberty, not only of distinctly mentioning it, but of laying it before the reader. We own, that after our first impulse to this effect, we hesitated a moment out of feelings of modesty, and somewhat longer in deference to that of the writer especially as he had given no intimation whether we might so use it or not. Our mind was soon made up by the consideration of the honour which the letter did him, and of the good which must accrue to the public from seeing men, who might be supposed to witness a new Journal of this sort with no fiendly feeling, coming forward in

so handsome a manner to shew themselves true lovers of the knowledge they advocate, and of the generosities to which it gives rise. Mr. Chambers may over-estimate our abilities, and be too modest respecting his own; but there can only be one opinion respecting the sentiment that impelled him to write his letter. He will be glad to hear, that it is not the first of the kind which we have received. We take the opportunity of stating, that no sooner had our Journal appeared, than the Publisher of the Penny Magazine, who is also, we believe, proprietor of the Printing Machine, or Review for the Many, expressed himself in the most spirited and liberal manner towards the new paper, and took steps to shew that he was in earnest. bers has written so much at length on the subject, that we feel warranted in calling the reader's attention to

But Mr. Cham

his letter, and we think we cannot do better than put it in this part of our Journal, where we are in the habit of noticing any new evidences that transpire, of the growth of intellectual brotherhood:

LETTER OF MR. ROBERT CHAMBERS OF THE EDIN
BURGH JOURNAL TO THE EDITOR OF THE LON-
DON JOURNAL
27, Elder-street, Edinburgh,

April 15, 1834. DEAR SIR,-I take leave to address you in this familiar manner for several reasons. The chief is your kind nature, as exemplified in your writings, which prove you the friend of all mankind; the lesser are your allusions on more occasions than one to writings of mine, when you did not perhaps know the exact name of the author. My purpose is to congratulate you on the first number of your Journal, which I have just seen, and to express my earnest and sincere hope that it will repay your exertions, and render the latter part of your life more prosperous than you say the earlier has been. You will perhaps appreciate my good wishes the more that they proceed from an individual who, according to vulgar calculations, might expect to be injured by your success. I assure you, so far from entertaining any grudge towards your work on that score, I am as open to receive pleasurable impressions from it as I have ever been from your previous publications, or as the least. literary of your readers can be; and as hopeful that it will succeed and prove a means of comfort to you, as the most ancient and familiar of your friends. I know that your work can never do by a tenth part so much ill to my brother and myself, as it may do good to you— for every book, however similar to others, finds in a great measure new channels for itself; and still more certain am I, that the most jealous and unworthy feelings we could entertain, would be ineffectual in protecting us from the consequences of your supplanting our humble sheets in the public favour. My brother and I feel much pleasure in observing that a writer so much our senior, and so much our superior, should have thought our plan to such an extent worthy of his adop tion, and hope your doing so will only furnish additional proof of the justice of our calculations. This leads me to remark, that, while I acknowledge the truth of your pretensions to having been the reviver of the periodical literature of a former age, and have looked to your manner of treating light subjects as in part the model of our own, I must take this and every other proper opportunity of asserting my elder brother's merit, as the originator of cheap respectable publications, of the class to which your Journal is so important an addition. In the starting of Chambers's Edinburgh Journal in February, 1832, he was unquestionably the first to develope this new power of the printing-press; and, considering that we had some little character (at least in Scotland) to lose, and encountered feelings in our literary brethren little less apt, I may say, to deter us from our object than the terrors which assailed Rodolph in the Witch's Glen (a simile more expressive than it is apt), I humbly conceive that, when the full utility of my brother's invention shall have been perceived by the world, as I trust it will in time, he will be fully entitled to have his claims allowed without dispute.

"That we have regretted to find ourselves the objects of so many of the meaner order of feelings among our brethren, it would be vain to deny. I must say, bowever, that we would have been ill to satisfy indeed, if the admission of our weekly sheet into almost every family of the middle rank, and many of the lower throughout the country, had not more than compensated us for that affliction. Our labours, moreover, are profitable beyond our hopes, beyond our wants, besides yielding to us a ceaseless revenue of pleasure, in the sense they convey to us of daily and hourly improving the hearts and understandings of a large portion of our species. That you may aim as heartily at this result, and be as successful in obtaining it, is the wish of "Dear Sir,

'Your sincere Friend and Servant,
"ROBERT CHAMBERS."

We shall add nothing to this, being naturally willing to leave Mr. Chambers in possession of his pleasant "last word," except that the appearance of the Tatler was antecedent to that of the Edinburgh Journal, and that in the Indicator, and in the Tutler also, (if we recollect rightly,) we professed a wish to extend an acquaintance with matters of intellectual refinement among the uneducated. The zeal of our correspondent, however, in benalf of his brother's claim, is so good a thing for its own sake, that we are far from anxious to contest this point with him; and heartily willing are we to acknowledge, that these gentlemen have had a wider and more popular view of the opening of cheap literature to the many, than we ever had till now. In zeal for the interests of all, we will yield to nobody; but in a knowledge of the best means of extending its operation, others have surpassed us; and we hope to shew, that we have profited by their example. We take this opportunity of observing, that among the foremost, if not the very first, to lower the price of respectable periodical literature, though not professedly to extend it to those who have missed a classical education, was the Athenæum.

The House of Commons have been discussing a grant of money for the purchase of two pictures for the National Gallery; and all parties, in and out of doors, have accorded with it. We need not say how we rejoice in this harmonious and intelligent view of what in a ruder state of society would be foolishly thought a foolish question. No advantage to the public was left out of sight, commercial, intellectual, or moral; and Tory, Whig, and Radical, all testified to it. One member spoke of the benefits derived to the artizan from the dif fusion of the beautiful designs of antiquity: and another gave it as his opinion, that no people in the country derived more pleasure from the exhibition of works of art than the poorer classes.

We believe it. They see and feel in it much more than they at present know. We have seen peasants walking quietly in the Florentine gallery delighted with all they saw, and proud of it; and not an atom is defaced in Florence of the fine sculptures that stand in the open square. The people, being trusted with them, respect them. It will be so in England as the fine arts advance; and their progress is observable in several instances, especially in the popularity of the wood-cuts in the Penny Magazine, which have at once followed and fostered it; busts and statues have taken place of the old dogs and parrots, on the heads of itinerant venders; and people having once been accustomed to these, will never like anything less-will never return to an inferior taste. The circumstance is good for all parties. It gives a new addition to their

We hope to see the days before long, when audiences will be refined enough to be able to hear public lectures on art and science from the lips of females; which would give the maxims of taste and wisdom, one would think, a peculiar grace. About a hundred years back, a lady named Gaetana Agnesi, was professor of mathematics in the University of Bologna, and read lectures accordingly. Our celebrated English professor, Colson, learnt the Italian language on purpose to translate a work of hers; which was subsequently published in two volumes quarto, by the late Baron Maseres. Our learned readers will be reminded, and our unlearned ones interested to hear, of the famous Hypatia, daughter

and successor of Theon, the mathematician at Alexandria, in the days of Theodosius the Second; a female, whose knowledge of the sciences was graced by all the charms of beauty, innocence, and elegant manners. Strange picture, to precede the tragedy of her death!

All these attractions which made her admired and beloved of every body not brutalized by intolerance, did not hinder her being torn to pieces during one of the horrible broils that disgraced the unchristian Christians of that day,—frightful perverters of the doctrines of their

divine Master, whose tenderness was never more affect

ingly evinced than towards women. See the account somewhere in Gibbon; or in any dictionary.

We cannot suffer the Fourth volume of Allan Cunningham's edition of Burns to appear, without saying how interesting it is both in poetry and comment. There are two good vignettes, after drawings by Mr. D. O.

A form of imperiousness is that of positive and unqualified assertion, which is made more offensive when it contradicts an opposite opinion expressed by another; and the arrogance becomes heightened, if the assertion be of a nature not to be substantiated by proof.

Of the same kind are positive assertions as to matters of fact, not witnessed by the assertor, the proof of which depends upon evidence; assertions making no reference to that evidence, but demanding belief on no other ground than the assertion itself.

Peremptoriness of decision; before an opportunity has been given to others to express their convictions, is a usurpation, shutting the door upon discussion. Peremp toriness of decision, after an opinion has been given by others, is annoying and offensive.

lence; it is also an exhibition of folly; for while it manifests impotence, it wounds power.

Useless contradiction is another violation of benevo

Assumingness. There is a form of imperiousness somewhat less annoying, but still worthy of discouragement and reprobation, which may be called assumingness. It generally displays itself in the naked and crude assertion of an alledged matter of fact, without reference to any percipient interest. Its pretension is to demand. implicit credence.

Advice. Discourse may wound by advice-giving, involving in it the appearance of reprehension, or exhibiting itself in a shape implying the possession of an authority not recognised by the hearer. Even the giving good advice is the assumption of authority on the score of wisdom.

It is Mr. Godwin, we think, who has remarked, that advice is not disliked for its own sake, but because so few people know how to give it. Perhaps the art of giving advice may be summed up in few words, as consisting in accompanying it with a confession of our own imperfections, and an enumeration of the good qualities of the person advised. But "we may have no rest assured, will our advice do any good. ties to enumerate!!" Oh then, in neither case, we may

across the tree-bordered road, with one of the poet's bonnie lasses going along with her milk-pail,-the other the field of Bannock-burn, where Bruce dealt that tremendous blow at his assailant before battle, which

was the harbinger of his great victory. It was thought,

no doubt, in old times, by soldiers and others, that no new glory could come to the field of Bannockburn, unless another victory should happen there. Yet a peasant has touched it with an immortal hand, and made

scious and proud that its fellow-creatures can have created such works); lowers false pride (which can do nothing like them); tends to put hope, and patiences, and consideration, and a just sense of human right and enjoyment into conflicting parties of all kinds-humanizes every body. Nothing brutal can do such things, nor remain entire and unmitigated before them. Brute force cannot do them-nor mere power of any sortmere wealth-mere rank-mere will. But in those rooms, hung with beautiful pictures, rank, riches, and poverty meet together in the very persons of the painters, it sing for joy. all swallowed up and forgotten in the gorgeous spirit of their genius. There, besides Titian and Michael Angelo, who were "gentlemen born," and Raphael, himself the son of a painter, are the " great Caracci," who were the offspring of a tailor; and Andrea del Sarto, who was another (so called by reason of it, Sarto meaning a tailor); and Tintoretto, which means a dyer; and the magician of light and darkness, Rembrandt, who was the son of a miller; and the "divine Claude Lorrain," who was bred a pastry-cook, and who has now a whole province to his name, while the princes of Lorrain are forgotten.

A museum," say the newspapers, consisting of many valuable specimens of morbid anatomy, midwifery, and casts, with numerous prints and drawings, has been presented to the London University for the use of the students of the New North London Hospital, which will be opened at Michaelmas with one hundred and ten beds, by Gore Clough, esq., of Upper Norton-street, Fitzroy-square. The preparations are for the most part in excellent preservation, and have been carefully collected at an expenditure of 3,000l. The gift of this valuable addition to the Museum of the University, was communicated on Wednesday last to the committee, and

it will be deposited in a temporary apartment till the large room about to be fitted up is ready for its reception." Men are to be envied who can make presents like these.

"The learned and scientific society at Geneva, which corresponds in the nature of its institution with the Royal Society of London, have elected Mrs. Somerville a member, the first instance of a similar distinction conferred on a female by that learned body." Mrs. Somerville, wife of Dr. Somerville physician, is the lady so distinguished at present for her knowledge of the sciences, We take it for granted that the Royal Society will follow the example. Ladies have been members of Royal Academies of Painting, and of Societies of Botany, why not of any other institution of art or science? There is more jealousy than any thing else in withhold ing public honours from the sex, especially when those honours are of a gentle and comparatively private unquestionably fitted for them, and calculated only to do good.

nature,

MORE ADMIRABLE MAXIMS AND SUGGESTIONS FROM MR. BENTHAM'S UNPUBLISHED WORK.

Absurd Hinderances of Comfort.-How many little pleasures are interfered with by the meddling of unwelcome intruders,-how many checked by the ascetisism, or the ill nature, or the ridicule, or the scorn of a

Success. Want of judgment may be evinced, as wellby regarding success as improbable where it is probable, as regarding it as probable where it is improbable.

be permanently distant, do not communicate to him any Excellent memorandum for letter-writers. If a friend

vexation of yours which he is unable to relieve. You will spare him all the suffering that his sympathy would have excited.

National Prejudices. From the moment in which the exercise of certain expressions of good-will is exclusively directed to the body, the class, or nation to which we belong, and is denied to others, from the moment in which they break out into words and deeds of antipathy, from the moment, in which the fact, that a fellow man speaks a different language, or lies under a different government, constitutes him an object for contempt, abhorrence, or misdoings, - from that moment it is maleficent. A toast for example in America has been given, "Our country, right or wrong," which is, in itself, a proclamation of maleficence, and if brought into operation, might lead to crimes and follies on the widest conceivable field, - to plunder, murder, and all the consequences of unjust war. Not less blame-worthy was the declaration of a prime-minister of this country, "that England-nothing but England, - formed any portion of his care or concern." An enlarged philan

Right of Reproof.-In ordinary cases, the justifications put forth for the infliction of pain by discourse, are not tenable. It is far from sufficient to say that the assertions made are true; it is far from sufficient to pretend that the person on whom the pain is inflicted deserves the infliction; it is far from sufficient to urge that he is reckless or worthless, or that you deal charitably with his misconduct. Unless you can come and show, that

preponderant good is to result from the sufferings you create, your vituperation of your victim, your laudation of yourself, are but vain and wasted words. The right to reprehend is, in itself, a virtual claim to superiority, and a claim which is likely to hurt the pride and vanity of him upon whom it is exercised. Reprehension is awarded punishment: and in proportion to the doubtfulness of the title to arbitrate and condemn, of him who thus takes on himself the functions of condemner, will be the perils incurred by his own selfinterest, from the enmity of the party punished. The extent of his malevolence will be measured by the same standard, and the amount of his usurpation will be measured by the needless severity of his reprehension.

Imperiousness. This is the attempt to strengthen argument by despotic authority. Not satisfied even with being right, some men's pleasure seems to consist in putting others in the wrong. They must have a triumph for their dogmatism as well as their reason. They must humiliate while they subdue. They will beat down a companion, even though his downfall should not be needful to their success. Not only shall their opponent be in the wrong, but they will extort from him a others condeinn! but their tyranny will be satisfied with confession that he is in the wrong. They condemn him— nothing but a declaration of self-condemnation from the condemned himself.

Suppose a man were to give as a toast, in serious earnest, "Myself, right or wrong?" Yet the above assumptions of false patriotism both in America and England, are founded on no better principle.

Good Hint to a very Common Error.-If called upon to give an unfavourable opinion as to a saying of any kind, or a work of which you disapprove, do not be forward to communicate your disapprobation, merely because your self-love is flattered by the appeal made to your judgment. Needless Recurrence to the Past.- Be cautious not to drag forward ill-conduct, which, but for your reference to it, might be forgotten. Except for some obvious purpose of future good, to treasure up in your mind the records of old misdeeds of others, is to sin against pr dence and benevolence; it is to make your breast a store-house of pain, to be inflicted on yourself and on others. The expression of dissatisfaction at past illconduct, when it has no reference to present ill-conduct, and at the same time is not likely to prevent future illconduct, is the creation of misery to no end whatever, or to a bad end. [Goethe in his novel of Wilhelm Meister," speaking of a circumstance that had taken place, says, admirably, "For one thing, the evil was already done; and though people of a singularly strict and harsh temper are wont to set themselves forcibly against the past, and thus to increase the evil that can

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not be remedied, yet, on the other hand, what is actually done, exerts a resistless effect on most minds. An event which lately appeared impossible, takes place, SO oon as it has occurred, with what occurs daily.' Carlyle's Translation. Whittaker and Co. Vol. i. p. 81.] Admirable Rule for Real or Supposed Grounds of Complaint.-If you imagine you have cause for complainagainst any man, on the ground of his misconduct to:

Per hoc signum sancto crucis
Libera me de malignis

Domine Deus Salutis.

Through this sign of the Holy Cross,
Deliver me from the Evil Ones,
Lord God of my Salvation.

He then arose, and said, "Lord into thy hands I commend my spirit." He took his sword, and as he was preparing to leave the church, behold the devil stood bolt upright at the door, extending his long arms, as if to seize Richard, and prevent his departure. The latter drew his sword, cut the figure down the centre, and sent it through the bier. Whether it cried or not I do not know. When Richard came to his horse outside the door, he perceived that he had forgotten his gloves; and as he did not wish to lose them, he returned into the chancel for them. Few men would have done as much. Wherefore he caused it to be proclaimed, both in the churches and in the market places, that in future no corpse should be left alone till it was buried.

Another adventure happened to the Duke, which made people wonder, and which would not so easily have been believed, were it not so well known. I have heard it from many, who had in like manner beard it from their forefathers; but often through carelessness, idleness or ignorance, many a good tale is not committed to writing though it would prove very entertaining. At that time there was a sacristan, who was reckoned a proper monk and one of good report; but the more a man is praised, the more the devil assaults him, and watches the more for an occasion to tempt him. So it happened to the Sacristan. One day, so the devil would have it, as he was passing by the church about his business, he saw a marvellously fine woman, and fell desperately in love with her. His passion knows no bounds. He must die if he cannot have her; so he will leave nothing undone to come at his end. He talked to her so much, and made her so many promises, that the fair dame at last appointed a meeting in the evening at her own house. She told him that he must pass over a narrow bridge or rotten plank which lay across the river Robec; that there was no other way, and that she could not be spoken with any where else. When the night came, and the other monks were asleep, the Sacristan grew impatient to be gone. He wanted no companion, so he went alone to the bridge and ventured on it. Whether he stumbled or slipt, or was taken suddenly ill, I cannot tell, but he fell into the water, and was drowned.

As soon as his soul left the body, the devil seized it, and was posting away with it to hell, when an angel met him, and strove with him which of them should possess it wherefore a great dispute arose between them, each giving a reason in support of his claim. Says the devil, "Thou dost me wrong, in seeking to deprive me of the soul I am carrying; dost thou not know that every soul taken in sin is mine? This was in a wicked way, and in a wicked way I have seized it. Now the Scripture itself says, 'As I find thee, so I will judge thee.' This monk I found in evil, of which the business

* Keeper of the church moveables and sacred vessels.

he was about is sufficient proof, and there needs no other." Replies the angel, Hold thy peace; it shall not be so. The monk led a good life in his abbey, he conducted himself well and faithfully, and no one ever saw ill of him. The Scripture saith, that which is reasonable and right, every good work shall be rewarded, and every evil one punished. Then this monk ought to be rewarded for the good we know he has done; but how could that be if he were suffered to be damned? He had not committed any sin when thou didst take and condemn him. Howbeit, he had left the abbey, and did come to the bridge, he might have turned back if he had not fallen into the river; and he ought not to be so much punished for a sin which he never committed. For his foolish intention alone, thou condemnest him, and in that thou art wrong. Let the soul alone, and as for the strife betwixt thee and me, let us go to Duke Richard, and abide by his opinion. Neither side will have any reason to complain; he will decide honestly and wisely, for false judgment is not to be found in him. To what he says we will both submit without any more dispute." Says the devil," I consent to it; and let the soul remain between us."

They immediately went to Richard's chamber, who was then in bed. He had been asleep, but just then he lated to him how the monk had left his monastery on was awake and reflecting upon divers things. They rean evil errand, how he had fallen from the bridge, and been drowned without doing evil. They desired him to judge which of them should take possession of the soul. Answers Richard, briefly, "Go immediately, and restore the soul to the body; let him then be placed on the bridge, on the very spot from which he tumbled; and if he advances one foot, nay, ever so little, let Nick go and take him away without further hindrance; but Neither could say nay to this decision, so they did as he had said. The soul was returned to the body, the body restored to life, and the monk placed on the very part of the bridge whence he had fallen. As soon as the poor fellow perceived that he was standing upright on trod on a snake; he did not even stay to bid the devil the bridge, he ran back as quickly as though he had and the angel good bye. On his reaching the abbey, he shook his wet clothes, and crept into a corner. He was still terrified at the thought of death, and he could not well say whether he was dead or alive. The next morning Richard went to the abbey church to pray. The Duke caused him to be brought before the abbot, "Brother," says Richard, “what think you now? How came you to be taken? Take care another time how you pass the bridge. Tell the abbot what you have seen tonight." The monk blushed, and was ashamed in the presence of his superior and the duke. He confessed all, how he went, how he perished, how the devil had deceived him, and how the duke had delivered him; he related the whole matter, which was confirmed by the noble Richard. Thus was the thing noised abroad and its certainty established. Long after it took place, this saying became a proverb in Normandy, "Sir monk, gently, take care of yourself when you pass over the bridge."

if the monk turns back, let him do so unmolested.

FRUITS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING.

go

[To the Editor of the London Journal.] SIR,-Pursuant to your instructions, I yesterday attended a General Meeting of the Fruits and Vegetables of the United Kingdom, convened at the Three Jolly Gardeners, Portman Market; and am happy to report, notwithstanding the illiberal tone of many of the speeches, that a very high degree of culture was observable in the generality; this is a fact, which in spite of their teeth, cannot be denied.

A general gloom pervaded the aspect of the meeting; though this was somewhat relieved by the female beauty present in the galleries, which were crowded by scions of most of the old stock of the kingdom. Some pearesses might be named, nor must "two turn cherries," the rosiest of the race-and a delicate young plum, bursting with sweets, yet in all the immaculate bloom of youth, be forgotten. I was happy to observe, that the lovely duchess PEACH retains all the mellow charm so much admired in her complexion.

Several foreigners of distinction were present, among whom those of the house of ORANGE were most remarkable. With these exceptions the meeting was exclusive à l'outrance; so much so, that the Hop family were stopped at the doors, as they declined entering without their poles, and those gentlemen could not be admitted till the sense of the assembly had been taken. That was soon done. Nothing human was to be seen in this solemn convocation! with the honourable exception in the favour of that useful body-vulgarly styled old apple-women, who had been invited under the guise of one of these, your reporter made good his entrance. After a short discussion, Alderman MELON was called to the chair. The portly gentleman excited much merriment in the galleries from the manner in which he rolled to his seat. There was a green and yellow meloncholy in his appearance which caused the young ladies to observe that he was a bachelor.

:

found that he was superseeded and forgotten in the market. He was a great landholder-he had held from time immemorial-it was said that no restraint was put upon him-that he had some of the most lovely spots in England to luxuriate in-but that was 'nt the question; what was the use of his growing, if he was not to be eaten? he claimed a vested right in the stomachs of Englishmen. Alas! he did not speak for himself-his days were numbered-but it was the system of sacrificing the luxuries of units, to happiness of thousands, that he complained of-it was a system by which he was a loser-it was ridiculous! he had been a sufferer-it was flagitious! England would have cause to mourn over the extinction of her wild Strawberry. Why could 'nt men eat now what their grandmothers had been but too happy to mumble before them. No! they must run after novelties; he would have them beware of innovations, one HAUTBOIS for instance. The speaker closed with some severe reflections on Mr. Willmott. (reiterated cheers.)

GREEN PEAS then rose, and in a small voice, complained of being forced into the market at a season when his forefathers used to be still in the flower of their youth. I suppress some observations made by this speaker on being debarred from the pleasures and flirtations of the garden.

ONION then begged to rise. (A voice, "Onion, you're always a-rising.") Onion however proceeded in a manner that brought tears into the eyes of all present. One CRAB, a little ill-favoured personage, then got on his stalk. He stated himself to come of a branch of an almost extinct family: he was remarkably sharp and pungent in his observations on the neglect with which he was now treated; he whose name occupied so distinguished a place in the annals of old England-(here position)-he who, whatever his enemies might say, was the gentleman quoted Shakspeare, in support of his so celebrated for the sweetness of his disposition and intrinsic worth. ("Oh, oh !" from a knot of jolly young pippins who had insinuated themselves into the meeting.) He would ask why the insipid CODLING, a fellow of booby in a brown coat, should find more favour than "no mark or likelihood," or the rascally RUSSET, that himself. Neither did he care a fig for the mongrel PEARMAIN. He denounced the fate of all the empires that ever fell, upon England for her desertion of Crab. He should move that a protection duty be laid on all other apples: it was no consequence that people made wry mouths at him; it was a symptom of bad taste, which time would eradicate.

FIG arose to express his wonderment at the personal allusion to himself in the speech of his honourable friend. He would appeal to the meeting, as to which of the two, APPLEor himself, had done the best service to the human race, as far as histories went. He called on CRAB to explain.

CRAB must decline explaining; what he had said, he had said. It was well known that he it was who first introduced FIG and his friends into public life.-High words ensued, and both parties were ordered into the custody of the proper officers.

SUMMER CABBAGE and RED CABBAGE rose together, but they spent the time allotted to speaking in a squabble as to priority. There was much ill blood also displayed between worthy "Master MUSTARD-SEED" and his old rival, one CHARLOCK; MUSTARD was evidently very hot-headed.

MEDLAR next caught the eye of the Chairman. As time was pressing, he would trouble them with a few observations on the change of seasons in England. (Cries of "Question!" and "Go on!") He would be dd if he'd go on. They must account for the change of climate themselves! MEDLAR sat down evidently much mortified.

The Chairman then arose, and, previously to moving any of the important questions to be submitted, he mus be allowed to express his utter abhorrence of those hot beds of corruption, those nurseries of all that is bad, in which jackanapes, calling themselves Melons, were constantly reared. He was a lover of the breath of heaven, and would own himself a very Persian in his adoration of the sun. He was sure he spoke the sentiments of his worthy friend CUCUMBER, whom he had the honour to face.

A variety of resolutions were then put and carried nem con.; said resolutions to be moulded into a petition and presented to the Commons House by any one of the elderly gentlemen before mentioned, who has a seat.

After the Chairman had retired, Deputy-chair CvCUMBER took his place, and proceeded, in a lengthy harangue, to prove the ability of the worthy Chairman-and his own eloquence. In proof, he said, of the respectability of the meeting, he needed only to remind those present of their honourable President, Alderman MELON, whose propriety of conduct and high connections were unimpeachable. In proceeding, the speaker had occasion to direct all eyes to the galleries, in an appeal to their fair occupants, when-shall I proceed-the object of his commendation was observed seated in very familiar chat with Mademoiselle ORLEANS, the ripe young plum! This proceeding of MELON's was taken in high dudgeon by the meeting-it was derogatory! it was indecorous ! ELDER-BERRY was observed to look black, and LOVE-APPLE turned pale. A tremendous uproar ensued; in the course of which, your reporter was discovered, and unmasked, and a shower of NUTS fell on his pericranium, like hail on the glass of a green-house. What followed is unknown; but it is presumed that gentler councils prevailed in your Reporter's behalf, as

he had the satisfaction to find himself this morning in his own bed!

He begs to subscribe himself, Sir,

communicated.

Your devoted and obedient servant,

T. R.

ENJOYMENTS AND OBSTACLES; OR HOW TO MAKE CHEAP PLEASURES COST DEAR TO ALL PARTIES.

"Quid tamen ista velit sibi fabula ?"

(Hor. 5, Sat. 2 lib.)

TRAVELLING on horseback in a remote part of the island, I came one day upon a scene of more than ordinary beauty. A gentle slope in the road gradually unfolded to view a tract of country, of no vast extent indeed, but of a richness and luxuriance not to be surpassed. Spacious meadows divided by hedges full of flowers and song, long fresh grass giving pasture to fat cattle, venerable trees, like aged fathers, spreading forth their charitable arms, and a fine broad river holding its royal course through the midst of all, formed a tout ensemble nowhere to be met but in "merry England." Nor was the next object that presented itself less pleasant nor less English. Many of our prospects in this life are observed to begin well, yet "end"-they say, "in smoke;" but there is one prospect which begins in smoke, and is nevertheless cheering and delightful from the beginning to the end. This is the approach to a country village. First the smoke, then half a cottage seen through trees, then voices, then a cart, then a red sign across a road, severally confirm the joyful assurance which imparts new spirit to man and horse, as they shorten the distance that separates them from their resting place.

Having reached the inn and refreshed myself, I went out on foot to enjoy the scenery a little more at leisure. After pursuing the line of the road for a short way, I reached an eminence from which I again caught a view of the river, the beautiful pastures on either side, and rich wood beyond. Feeling inclined for a pleasant ramble, I began to look about for a stile or a break in the hedge, by which I might quit the road. But stile there was none, and for the hedge, though I tried at various points to effect a passage, I only succeeded in stinging my hands with the nettles, and tearing my clothes amongst the briers. The sight of a gateway a little further on presently relieved me; I proceeded towards it, but to my disappointment, instead of afford ing the accommodation I looked for, it was fenced round about with brambles in such a manner as to form a barrier impenetrable as the hedge itself. My spirit of opposition began to be roused; I had wished before, now I was resolved to get into the fields; at first my idea was simply to saunter along the hedge-row, and listen to the birds, now I began to think of nothing less than piercing the wood, and exploring the banks of the river. And as "where there's a will there's a way," I did not fail to invent the means which the genius loci refused, and soon found myself placed within reach of all the beautiful objects I had been admiring.

My first movement was in the direction of the wood, which I felt disposed to visit partly from the heat of the day, and partly for the sake of botanical research. I had only entered it a few minutes, when I heard some rustling among the bushes near to me, and the next moment two men each with a gun in his hand, started up in confusion, and scampering off at full speed, were almost instantly out of sight. Reaching the spot from which they had issued, I found a hare, two rabbits, and a brace or two of partridges on the ground, besides several articles of use lying strewed about, which sufficiently convinced me that the men were poachers who had, no doubt, mistaken me for a gamekeeper, and preferred flight to encounter.

This reminded me that I was myself trespassing, and having no wish to meet with gamekeepers at that moment, nor to be convicted of poaching on circumstantial evidence, I retreated whence I came, and taking another course, made towards a long sloping field which I saw at some distance, and from which I promised myself I should behold some points of the prospect to peculiar advantage. So I should if I could have obtained entrance to it, but upon a nearer approach, I found it was separated from me by a stone wall mounted with broken glass. As I stood looking up in disappointment at this mortifying obstruction, 1 caught the voices of two boys at the other side talking to one another in a low tone, and from the few words I could overhear, I found they were secretly discussing and arranging the best means of capturing something-but whether birdsnests or apples, I could not ascertain.

Proceeding along by the side of the wall, I reached the river. Here two objects caught my attention; the first was a crowd of little naked boys, some in the water, some running about on the banks, some dressing; and the second was a printed board, on which "Notice was given that all persons found bathing in that part of the river," and so forth, should be "punished with the utmost rigour of the law." The boys did not appear to see me, and really they were in such evident enjoyment of perfect happiness that I wished them not to see me, for fear they should take me for the author of that awful proclamation, and be put to flight in consequence. Therefore I evaded their notice, and pursued the river in the contrary direction.

sation. Taken by surprise, he gave such a start that I thought he would have tumbled into the water. Upon seeing me, his face, at first full of perplexity, relaxed into an easier expression, and upon my begging that I might not disturb him, he said, Oh no, sir, you don't disturb me. I perceive you are a stranger," and he resumed his rod. But his manner convinced me that he was where he had no business to be, and that when surprised by my approach he had imagined he was detected. He probably anticipated that I should make this inference, for he presently urged me with many entreaties to accept of some fish, which I could not help looking upon as a kind of hush-money.

It was now getting late, and I began to turn my steps towards the inn, following the directions of my friend the angler, who took the greatest pains to oblige me, and gave me all possible instruction respecting lanes and fields. Nevertheless I experienced all the same kind of difficulties and obstructions on my return that had beset me before. High fences, fortified gates, stone walls, broken glass, &c., that might almost make one suppose the country was invaded by an enemy, encountered me in all directions. Having made my way through one of the inclosures, I just perceived, as I was leaving it, that "spring-guns and man-traps" were "set in these grounds," and had to be grateful for having neither been killed nor maimed for life, in the course of my walk. It was nine o'clock when I reached the inn, where, after paying a visit to the manger, I sat down to my own supper, in company with two or three other persons; my host soon added himself to the party, of which I was not sorry, since he seemed as willing to give information as I was to receive it. "Yours is a beautiful part of the country," I said. Yes, sir; our travellers always admire it." "But it seems we are only intended to peep and go on," I continued; "I never saw grounds so determinedly closed up, so hermetically sealed against all entrance."

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"

Why, sir, there's plenty of fences and such like," said my host, "but between ourselves I don't see much use they are of, for our people hereabouts are a queer set; night or day never out of the preserves, always after mischief, and my lord might as well try to shut the birds out of his park as them."

In reply to my inquiries, he informed me that the surrounding lands were divided between two proprietors, a noble earl and an M. P., whose estates joined each other; that they were both of them considered proud and oppressive masters; were rigid conservators of every exclusive right, and immoderately severe to all offenders.

"Nevertheless, now, I think there's not so much poaching in all the rest of the county as there is three miles round my house," said my host.

"Nor so much sheep-stealing," said a little fat man, who sat smoking his pipe in an opposite corner. "Nor so much trout caught without a license," exclaimed another person.

"Nor so many corn fields trampled down," added a farmer.

"Nor so much mischief done altogether," summed up my host.

The same night I was roused out of my sleep by a noise in the house, and upon inquiring in the morning what had been the cause of the disturbance, learnt that some travellers had called to give information that murder had been committed in the neighbourhood, and it was subsequently found that a desperate affray had taken place between a party of poachers and two gamekeepers, in which a man had been killed on both sides, and a third lay so grievously wounded that his life was despaired of.

Next day I proceeded on my journey.-I had travelled without stopping ever since an early hour, and it was now evening, a glowing autumnal sun almost verging on the horizon, when on reaching the summit of a steep hill I again came in for a prospect which seized me with delight. But the character of the scenery was in every respect totally different from that before which I had paused the previous day. Instead of highly cultivated grounds and rich plantations, a wild expanse of heath lay before me, without a single vestige of human life or human habitation, but beautiful in its rudeness, and glorious in its freedom. All hill and dale, you could fancy that the sea during a storm had been suddenly transmuted with all its waves into so much solid land. Heath and fern and the mountain violet, and the the little harebell were to be seen on every side mingling their pleasant company, and, what contributed above all to the fine wild character of the scene, various clumps of noble fir trees from different parts of the heath moved their stately heads at one another. The blue margin of distant hills crowned a picture nearly panoramic. I don't know how it was, but I felt no particular desire to stray from my path just then; I say I don't know how, for I own it occurred to me as a strange thing that I should not. The day before, when it was as much as ever I could do to get off the road at all, I seemed to have taken a special fancy for rambling; now, with miles of open country before me, I seemed content to enjoy the prospect without exploring it.

After pausing thus for a few minutes to satiate my admiration, I moved slowly forwards over a little strong

road that crossed the heath, looking to the right and to the left at every step, that nothing in that exquisite. scene might escape me. One thing remarkable soon excited my observation; this was the amazing number of hares and rabbits, that sported about the bushes like children in a nursery; nor seemed less trusting, for they frequently came within a yard of me; and one or two of them even ran under the horses' legs. Yet I never attempted to strike them down, nor did I feel any disposition for pursuit, as I do not frequently go after game. I should not think it worth while to remark this circumstance, but that I am obliged to confess, that, on the preceding day, excited, perhaps, by the example of the men whose successful exploits in the wood I had been a witness to, and partly, I fancy, because every prize is "sweeter for the theft," I did aim a blow, though without effect, at a rabbit that sprang up near me. Proceeding a little further I began to catch the delicious music of moving water that more and more audibly bubbled and tumbled until I reached what proved to be a vigorous mountain stream, clear, fresh joyous as youth, in which I counted a greater number of the finest trout and gudgeon within a few seconds than I ever remembered to have seen before. I had sympathized on the former day in the pleasures both of the bathers and the angler, and could very willingly have joined either of them; but, ample as the means of indulgence now were, it so happened that I did not experience the same inclination. I seemed to be too grateful for all that I might do, to do any thing.

I had now nearly cleared the heath, and was approaching a few humble dwellings that lay on the borders of it, when I came up with a hearty intelligent-looking old man, whom I found binding faggots on the road-side.

"Good evening, father," I said, “I presume you belong to this hamlet; if so, I could wish to follow your employment for the sake of its situation."

"It is a pleasant country, sir," he replied.

"Aye, that it is" said I," and what a famous rabbit warren you have got, and what a famous trout stream! Yet one thing strikes me as very remarkable; pray tell me, is the heath always so free from visitors as I see it to-day! I should have expected it would be filled with people from morning till night, considering all that it affords; instead of which I have not met a single human being for the last four miles. But it is not usually so, I fancy?"

"Why, sir, you see, we are rather lonely," said he, "I don't think more than a dozen people come over the heath all the week through. To be sure there's a few sporting gentlemen generally visit us for a few days in the season, and we pick up a little money amongst us by serving them with victuals and things, but there's nobody comes about here, sir, in a regular way."

After a few further inquiries I parted from the old man, and getting into the main road again, started off at a round pace in hopes to reach the next town before nightfall.

But may not this example, thought I when I had leisure to reflect, furnish an evidence in favour of that liberty, which is only demanded rudely because it is withheld arrogantly? Is it in the nature of men to commit outrages when in a state of enjoyment? No. Then make men happy, and fear not to make them free. Our desires increase in an inverse ratio to their indulgence.

A pleasure hung out of our reach, acquires to our imagination a new and peculiar excellence, a relish that it had not before; the wish grows to a want, the want becomes a necessity. Let those who are in authority show themselves intent upon opposing our inclinations, and the result is, that we are incited to seek after and to demand much more than we should otherwise have

thought of. A mighty power, that ought to sleep, was awakened the other day; that popular indignation, which could not be long withstood. The machinations of its opposers were set at naught, their threats were laughed at, their power openly defied, and we all know the consequences. It is the same in small things as in great. Let blessings which can be bestowed on all, be liberally bestowed, and they will be enjoyed peacefully and in moderation. Where much is granted, little is abused. We are a fidgetty and fanciful people: therefore, while we hear of privileges and advantages that are not for us, we set no bounds to our opinion of their importance; we are likewise a determined and powerful people, therefore, when we have set our hearts upon an object, no matter what it is, that object, by hook or crook, cost us what it may, we follow and obtain; but, lastly, we are a just and reasonable people; therefore, when we fee we are in possession of our proper comforts and our proper freedom, we shall know we have got all that we need have, and feel no desire left but to live together in peace and obey the laws. Readers of the London Journal; is it not so?

• Multorum odiis nullas opes posse obsistere." Cic. de off.