But now they feed them with good cheer, Good farmers in the country nurse worse, On lust and pride at London. The client now his suit forbears, And therefore let's be merry. Hark! now the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling; Anon you'll see them in the hall For nuts and apples scrambling. Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound, Anon they'll think the house goes round, For they the cellar's depth have found, And there they will be merry. The wenches with their wassel bowls About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls, The wild mare in it bringing. Our kitchen boy hath broke his box, And to the dealing of the ox Our honest neighbours come by flocks, And here they will be merry. Now Kings and Queens poor sheepcotes have, And mute with every body; And wise men play the noddy. Because they will be merry. To make our mirth the fuller; Bear witness we are merry. ANECDOTES OF DRESS. No. I. In 1135, shoes were made without heels, came up to the ankles, and had a slip on the instep, where they were tied. In this way they appeared greatly improved from the time of William Rufus, encumber whose subjects chose to themselves with taper-twisted points at the extremities. This folly, in 1388, had arrived to such excess, that the wearers actually had recourse to the ridiculous expedient of securing these points to the knee by chains of gold or silver. or silken cords. Exasperated at the pitiful aberrations of fashion, parliament prohibited the making of shoes with points exceeding two inches in length beyond the toe. In the reign of Mary, the fashion in this article of dress had taken a direct turn, and the shoes were worn with square toes so enormously large, that the parliament limited their breadth, at this part, to six inches. An act for reformation of excess of apparel, made in the reign of Henry the Eighth, enforces more strictly propriety in dress. Soon after this monarch came to the crown the doublet was worn with many slashes and cuts, and the waistband, coming but very little below the armpit, was guarded by eight long skirts; the pantaloons were clasped to the doublet; the ample fronts of those supplied the place of pockets, and had two wings, which were secured on the hips by points. The gloves were hung to the girdle, which also supported a pouch for money, secured by a ring. A cloak completed this dress, which was by no means unpicturesque. Masks and visors, made of velvet, with glasses for the eyes, were used at the close of the reign of Elizabeth, and held on the face by a bead attached to the inner part, and put into the mouth of the wearer; and the gentlemen cross. gartered to the knees. Love-locks, as they were called, were in great fashion in the reign of James the First, and were much inveighed against by bishop Hall, in one of his sermons. He describes the dress of a then modish female as composed principally of a verdingale, a yellow ruff, and a perriwig, with perhaps some feathers waving at the top; and asks what would one of her forefathers think, could he come to life again, and see her so accoutred-with a powdered frizzle, a painted hide, shadowed with a fan not more painted, breasts displayed, and a loose lock (also a love-lock, swung wantonly over her shoulder betwixt a painted cloth and skin-and exclaims, they must pronounce her a monster.' John Bulwer Christopher, in a work -published in 1656, mentions jessamine butter as a then favourite ointment for the hair, and mentions the gallant's noddles to be put into such a pure witty trim, the dislocations of every hair so exactly set, the whole bush so curiously candied, and (what is most prodigious) the natural jet of some of them so exactly exalted into a pure azure, that their familiar friends had much to do to know their faces; for by their powdered heads you would take them to be mealmen.'-This is a sufficient proof of the then attachment to hairpowder. Burton as severely handles the fe males of that age, and asks why such setting up with corks, straightening with whaelbone, perfuming their persons, wearing artificial flowers, &c. but that they use them as a day-net to catch larks, to make young ones stoop to them. (To be continued.) POVERTY. AN ESSAY. Books, while they teach us to respect the interests of others, often make us unmindful of our own; while they instruct the youthful reader to grasp at social happiness, he grows miserable in detail. I dislike, therefore, the philosopher, who describes the inconveniences of life in such pleasing colours, that the pupil grows enamoured of distress, and meets poverty without dread, nor fears its miseries till he severely feels them. A youth who hath thus spent his life among books, new to the world, and unacquainted with men, but by philosophic information, may be considered as a being whose mind is filled with the errors of the wise. Utterly unqualified for a journey through life, he sets out with confidence, blunders on with vanity, and finds himself at last involved in perplexities, traduced in character, and irreparably injured in fortune. He has first learnt from books, and then lays it down as a maxim, that all mankind are virtuous or vicious in excess; and he has been long taught to love virtue and detest vice. Warm, therefore, in his attachments, and steady in enmities, he treats every creature as a friend or foe; expects from those he loves unerring integrity, and consigns his enemies to the reproach of wanting every virtue. On this principle he proceeds, and here begin his disappointments. Upon a closer inspection of human nature, he perceives that he should have moderated his friendships, and softened his severity; for he often finds the excellence of one part of mankind clouded with failings, or perhaps vice, and the faults of the others brightened by some virtues. He finds most characters are mixed. He now, therefore, but too late, perceives that his regard should have been more cool; his hatred less violent; that the truly wise seldom court romantic friendships with the good, and avoid, if possible, even the resentment of the wicked. Every day gives him fresh instances that the bonds of friendship are frequently broken, and that those whom he has · treated with disrespect more than retaliate, by injuring him to the utmost of their power. At length he is obliged to confess that he has declared war with the vicious half of mankind, without being able to form an alliance among the virtuous, to take a part in his quarrel. Our book-taught philosopher, how. ever, is now too far advanced to recede; and though diminished credit and reduced circumstances are the natural consequence of the many enemies he has created, yet he is resolved to meet them without shrinking. The philosopher has described poverty in most charming colours; and even his vanity is touched in thinking that he shall show the world, in himself, one more example of patience, fortitude, and resignation. "Come then, O Poverty! for what is there in thee dreadful to the wise? Temperance, health, and frugality walk in thy train, cheerfulness and liberty are ever thy companions. Shall any be ashamed of thee, of whom Cincinnatus was not ashamed? The running brook -the herbs of the field can satisfy nature. 'Man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long.' Come then, O Poverty! and let the world gaze with admiration at the true philosopher's resignation." The Goddess appears, for Pove.ty ever comes at the call; but, alas! he finds her by no means the charming figure that books and his imagination painted. All the fabric of enthusiasm is at once demolished, and a thousand miseries rise upon its ruins; he sees her in her real form, followed by her real attendants; while Scorn, with pointed finger, and Contempt, with various insults. are foremost in the hideous procession. Such appears Poverty to her new entertainer! The poor man finds that he can get nobody to admire him while he is dining upon herbs; that, in proportion as he grows poor, the world turns its back upon him, and gives him leave to act the philosopher in all the dignity of solitude. "Here, by dull fires, and with un joyous cheer, He wastes the tedious gloom" Thus is he forsaken of men, while his fortitude wants the satisfaction, even of self-applause; for he either does not feel his present calamities (and that is natural insensibility), or he disguises his feelings (and that is dissimulation). Spleen now begins to assault him. Not distinguishing in his resentments, he regards all mankind with detestation; and, commencing mysanthropist, has the liberty of railing at the world in unenvied solitude. It has been said that he who lives alone, is either an angel or a brute. The censure is too severe, and the praise unmerited. The discontented being who retires from society, is generally some good natured person, who began life without experience, and knew not how to act in his intercourse with mankind, till he finds himself in declining age, with little money, and few, perhaps no, friends. E. S. B. Varieties. Under this head, we this week present our readers with a few jeu d'esprits Printed and published by CowIE and STRANGE, 60, Paternoster Row, and 24, Fetter Lane. Sold by all Booksellers. In the year 1644, sixteen women were accused at Yarmouth as witches by Mr. Hopkins; and sent by the magistrates to Mr. Whitfield and Mr. Brinsley, ministers of that place, to be examined. Among these was an old woman who used to be relieved twice a week at Mr. Whitfield's door, who made the following confession:-That she used to work for Mr. Moulton (a stocking merchant, and alderman of the town) and went to his house for work; but he being from home, his man refused to let her have any till his master returned; where, upon being exasperated against the man, she applied herself to the maid, and desired some knitting work of her; and when she returned the like answer, she went home in great discontent against them both. That night when she was in bed, she heard a knock at her door, and going to her window, she saw (it being moon-light) a tall black man there; and asked what he would have? He told her that she was discontented. because she could not get work; and that he would put her into a way that she should never want any thing. Ou this, she let him in, and asked him what he had to say to her? He told her he must first see her hand; and then taking out something like a pen-knife, he gave it a little scratch, so that a little blo followed, and the mark remained to that time, which she then showed them; then he took some of the blood in a pen, and pulling a book out of his pocket, bid her write her name; and when she said she could not, he said he would guide her hand. When this was done, he bid her now ask what she would have. And when she desired first to be revenged on the man, he promised to give her an account of it next night, and so leaving her some money, went away. The next night he came to her again, and told her he could do nothing against the man, for he went constantly to church, and said his prayers morning and evening. Then she desired him to revenge her on the maid; and he again promised her an account thereof the next night; but then he said the same of the maid, and that therefore he could not hurt her. But she said that there was a young child in the house, which was more easy to be dealt with. Whereupon she desired him to do what he could against it. The next night he came again, and brought with him an image of wax, and told her they must/ go and bury that in the church-yard, and then the child, which he had put in great pain already, should waste away as that image wasted. Whereupon they went together, and buried it. The child having laid in an anguishing condition for about eighteen months, and being very near death, the minister sent this woman with this account to the magistrates, who thereupon sent her to Mr. Moulton's, where, in the same room that the child lay, almost dead, she was examined concerning the particulars aforesaid; all which she confessed again, and had no sooner done, but the child, who was three years old, and was thought to be dead or dying, laughed, and began to stir and raise up itself; and from that instant began to recover. This woman and all the rest were convicted upon their own confessions, and executed accordingly. CHARACTER OF THE TURKS. We extract the following from the work of Prince de Ligne, an intelligent modern traveller: the manners and customs ese people will, we appre ecent events, be found peculiarly interesting to our readers : The Turks are a people of antitheses; brave and cowardly, active sand lazy, profligate and devout, refined and course, filthy and clean, keeping in the same room roses and a dead cat. The grandees are lofty and mean, mistrustful and ungrateful, generous, and yet thieves. All these qualities, of which the first are more numerous than the second, depend on circumstances, and are concealed by an ignorance and insensibility, which prevents their possessors from being miserable. The Turks are open to impressions of gratitude and kind treatment, and in every circumstance of their life, they adhere to their word with constancy. Their utmost effort is to smile, and to reply with the head, the eyes, the arms, and the hands, which they move with nobleness. They scarcely ever speak; and even the servant of a janissary, though with naked legs and feet, and without a shirt, is a coxcomb after his fashion, and has an air superior to that of the young lords of European courts; the poorest of the Tuakish soldiery have no clothes to wear, but their arms of ornamented steel are covered with silver. They resemble the Greeks in some, points, and the Romans in many. They have the predilections of the one, and the customs of the other. Their works are charming, and full of taste; and their ideas are subtle and delicate. 'Like the Romans, they will not give themselves the trouble of laughing or dancing; like them also, they have their buffoons, and always recline at meals. They take great pleasure in having beautiful figures to bring their coffee, pipe, aloeswood to burn, perfumes of amber, and essence of roses. Tuincs and slippers prove that they are not fond of walking. Nothing can equal the violence and rage of cold and phlegmatic persons among them; they even set a value on revenge; but with this exception, they are gentle and peaceable; never quarrelling, nor even disputing, and, if the disposition of a sultan and two or three great |