sole cause of her ardent caresses; but as soon as she recognized me, she was vexed and fled; and, I confess, I was glad of it.

Whilst I was revolving in my mind this singular adventure, I had the misfortune to be descried by the departed soul of my barber. It was impossible for me to avoid him. I was compelled to listen to his political rant. His joy at meeting me was unspeakable; he put more than an hundred questions to me, without giving me time to reply to one. "I hope you have been well since I had the honour of seeing you last?" said he, "Your relations were in good health when you left them? And your niece?-you understand me? I really mean no harm; she deserves it. Is the old captain still alive? he has made me laugh a thousand times; he was uncommonly entertaining when in good humour; he had at his finger's end all the events of the Pomeranian war. I do not flatter! matters would undoubtedly have taken a different turn had he not been dismissed the service. But, let me tell you, Europe is in a most critical state. It was not with my consent that Prince Charles crossed the Rhine; a great deal might be said on that head. As for the Turk, that sanguinary dog has no reason to boast. But what was I going to tell you? I could plainly foresee it! My late grandmotherI know not whether you recollect the good woman? she was a little deformed woman. I fear some roguery was at the bottom when she made her will; but it cannot be altered now. But what was I going to say? I have entirely forgot it! Aha! now I recollect! the Turk!"“Yes, yes, the Turk,” replied I angrily, "I know him well enough; but this is no proper place for talking of this subject. I have no time to stop any longer." So saying I retired abruptly. I had not proceeded far when heard some person behind me laugh aloud. Turning round, I descried a soul appearing as famished as an alchymist, and as malicious as a public informer; he squeezed my hand very familiarly, and said: "You are perfectly right in getting rid of that foolish talker. I have overheard your whole conversation, and was astonished at your patience; it is to be lamented that there are so many people who trouble themselves about matters of which they have no conception; it would not be of any consequence, and at most excite pity, if none but barbers meddled with politics, but there are men of greater consequence who act as foolishly as your barber; instead of watching over the welfare of the state, as they are in duty bound, they sit together and talk over the newspapers. I have been employed in politics, as you may perceive,

and had many opportunities of seeing how diffi. cult a task it is to rule a country. In one word, I was butler to the Lord Chancellor. The finances were the favourite subject of my meditations, and if my advice had been followed, the state would have annually gained several millions. But you know men of talents always have enemies. The Chancellor of the Exchequer perceived that I was likely to eclipse him, and this was sufficient to induce him to ruin me. My country is to be pitied for having been deprived of my services. I meditated day and night how the finances of our country might be improved. I have proposed several excellent projects to the minister, but they were always rejected; an evident proof of the deplorable state to which we are reduced. I made a plan for the abolition of the clergy, proposing that the aldermen should be compelled to preach gratis in their room, and am sure that a considerable sum might thus have been saved in one year; but our government would not listen to this patriotic proposal. I tried another method of rendering myself useful to the state, presenting a memorial in which I had plainly proved that the treasury would every month gain at least three thousand pounds, if every wife exercising petticoat government over her husband were compelled to take out a monthly licence at the low rate of one shilling. Could any proposal have been more rational and just? but the only effect which this plan produced was, that all married women conspired against my life, and threatened to tear me to pieces. What do you think of these projects? tell me frankly whether they were not excellent.”

I declined at first to give my opinion, but confessed at last that I could not approve of his pro posal to licence wives to exercise à dominion over their husbands, as this would produce the greatest confusion in many families. As for his plan to abolish the clergy, I candidly confessed that it was so extremely absurd, that only a butler could have devised it; adding that the clergy at all times had the misfortune of displeasing those who were most destitute of common sense, and that the populace "What populace?" exclaimed the projector in a furious accent. "Do you know who I am? Don't you know that I am a government man? You are a traitor to your country, a rebel, a blasphemer! I will convince you" So saying, he laid hold of me, and beat me so unmercifully, that I should have become most painfully sensible of his patriotic zeal, had not my conductor pacified him by a handful of money. He quitted me instantly, and withdrew.

THE two following articles are taken from an account of Guiana, in South America, lately published in Paris, by M. Malouet:

ANTS.

"In the middle of an immense Savannah, or swamp, perfectly level as far as the eye could carry, I observed a little hill, which appeared to be formed by men. My companion told me it was an ant-hill. What! said I, is this gigantic construction made by an insect? He proposed to conduct me, not to the hill, where we might have been devoured, but near the road of the labourers. We soon discovered several columns of ants going to, and coming from the forest, and bringing back pieces of leaves, roots, and seeds or grains. Those ants were of the largest size, but I did not venture to observe them too nearly. Their habitation, which 1 examined at about forty paces off, appeared to be about fifteen or twenty feet high, and about thirty or forty in diameter at the base. Its shape was that of a pyramid cut off at a third of its proper height. I was informed that when a planter had the misfortune to discover one of these formidable fortresses in clearing his newly-acquired lands, he was obliged to abandon his establishment, unless he was powerful enough to carry on a regular siege. My informer said this had happened to himself; he wished to extend his plantations, and discovered such a hut as was then before us. He caused a deep circular ditch to be dug, and filled with pieces of dry wood, and after having set fire to the whole circumference, he attacked the ant-hill with cannon. The demolition of the fabric dispersed the army of ants, which having no means of retreat, perished in the flames which issued from the ditch.

against every assailant; for the most robust maa or animal who might approach the ant-hill, would in an instant be covered and devoured by myriads of ants." *

"Since this, I saw, in Cayenne, another spe cies of ants no less wonderful, and more useful as it remains in peace and alliance with man, and it pursues only flies, lizards, caterpillars, scorpions, rats and mice. I have seen them arrive from the country in columns, enter the town by the gate, run over the houses, where they were fearlessly allowed to enter, and return after their execution, in the same order, and out of the same gate. I leave to naturalists the care of classing and describing the species; it is the moral part of animals which interests me."

ine,

SERPENTS.

"In the Savannahs of Iracubo, in Guiana, 1 saw the most wonderful, the most terrible spectacle that can be seen; and although it be not uncommon to the inhabitants, no traveller has ever mentioned it. We were ten men on horseback, two of whom took the lead, in order to sound the passages; for I chose to traverse the country in various .directions, and to skirt the great forests. One of the negroes, who formed the vanguard, returned full gallop, and called to "Here, Sir, come see serpents in pile.”— He pointed out to me something elevated in the middle of the Savannah, which appeared like a bundle of arms. One of my company then said, this is certainly one of those assemblages of ser. pents, which heap themselves on each other after a violent tempest; I have heard talk of these, but have never seen any; let us proceed cautiously, and not go too near. We continued our way slowly; I fixed my eyes on the pyramid, which appeared immovable. When we were within ten or twelve paces of it, the terror of our horses prevented our nearer approach, to which, however, none of us were inclined.

"They have conceived the plan of a confederation so powerful and so harmonic, that even the curious, who appear at the limits of their empire, are not tempted to encroach. In may truly be said that this population is raised in mass

"On a sudden the pyramidal mass became agitated; horrible hissings issued from it, and thousands of serpents rolled spirally on eacit other, shot forth out of the circle their hideous

fiery eyes to us. I own I was one of the first to

* In the Philosophical Transactions may be found a circumstantial account of this species of ants, with several plates of their habitations, by Mr. Smeathman.

worlds, peoples them, and causes us to consider all objects as it were through a prism which embellishes them.

When imagination creates, it is called genius. Genius evidently consists in strength of imagination and extent of mind.

There are those who pretend that a man born blind must necessarily be without imagination; however, the remembrance which he retains of the other sensations which he receives, being the more lively, the pleasures of imagination are perhaps not entirely lost to him; and if he wanders not in ideal landscapes, he may transport himself into the land of harmony, and of perfumes, and enjoy his fancies. He who loses his sight, but not the remembrance of the places he has seen, and the persons he has known, can still rove in delightful countries, in cool groves, along shady vallies but this dream is too soon dissipated; it terminates in the sad certainty that he no longer possesses what constitutes the charm of life-that his eyes never more will behold a woman, a wife, beloved children, a friend, the sun rising, and all the grand spectacle of nature, with which we are never satiated!

It has been remarked, that from the manner in which we receive perceptions, depends likewise that of our recalling them to mind. This observation is founded on experience: nevertheless, at the long run, the disagreeable impression effaces itself; and as it is connected with others of a pleasant nature, it augments their value and loses its bitterness.

commence.

Many persons have such an active and powerful imagination, that it poisons reality, and their enjoyment ceases at the moment it ought to That of Rousseau is an example: it transported him so far into the land of fancy, that all the objects, which migh, otherwise have contented him, were afterwards of no value.His rich and fertile imagination, anticipating the future, painted the morrow, or the day selected by him to enjoy some particular pleasure, and painted it to his fancy in so seducing a manner, that when the day came it had no charm. He himself asserted, that the land of chimeras was the best.

This great writer was fortunate in possessing a faculty which alleviated his misfortunes, and plunged him in pleasing reveries.

Much good, as well as much evil, may be said about imagination. It effectively assumes the different forms which it borrows from the dif ferent qualities of the soul. It is prejudicial to a suspicious and susceptible mind, which it terrifies with innumerable phantoms, at the same time nourishing and increasing its morosity. To such a mind it is a fatal gift.

Certain passions, different circumstances, a

wrong bias of the mind, give a peculiar turn to the imagination. Pascal, Nicole, Rousseau, are sad examples. The first fancied he was always on the edge of a precipice; the second, perpetually dreading the fall of a tile, generally remained shut up in his room, and when obliged to go out, instead of walking, ran, to avoid the imaginary danger; and the third, more unfortunate than the other two, discovered in every face the mask of an enemy, and the expression of hatred. The deranged fancy of the two first appears puerile: the unjust persecutions which the last suffered, ought to justify him, and raise our pity.

A man of a brilliant and active imagination passes many happy hours. His time flies swiftly; he complains only of its rapidity. From an apartment in an obscure house, in a dirty street in the midst of the city, he hears alternately the sing. ing of birds, the murmurs of the brook, the noise of the torrent, the whistling of the winds, the claps of thunder, the song of the shepherd, the bleating of the flocks; he beholds the enamel of the fields, flowery groves, verdant hills and fruitful dales; he follows the windings of the valley, the prolongation of the shadows, and the degra dation of objects when the sun is on his decline. A man never writes better on the spectacle of nature, than when he is deprived of it: the delightful impressions he received crowd on his imagination, which combines them and renders them still more delightful.*

What pleasure does not imagination give to the man who lives in the midst of his beloved family? Other men are in his eyes divested of all their imperfections; they are all loving and sensible, good and virtuous; their language and their intentions are in harmony, their actions accord with their words, and the earth is an Eden, inhabited by brothers, who seek every opportu nity of being reciprocally serviceable. The mo. ther traces out a track for her daughter of duties to fulfil, of virtues to practise, and of good to be done. The father marks each day with some honourable act; and they all reap a rich harvest from their benevolent actions.

Let us penetrate into that obscure dungeon wherein a good man, the victim of injustice, languishes. He has no other companion than his imagination. As his character is mild and peaceable, his soul is not soured by misfortune. From the serenity of his looks, and the smile which appears on his lips, I perceive his mind has bounded far beyond the limits of his loath. some prison-he is free and walks without fet

* It is said, that Thompson wrote his Summer in bed, at noon day, in the month of July, i London.

ters or chains: he talks to his iniquitous judges, he makes the voice of truth heard, he confounds his accusers, and returns triumphantly to his home to wipe away the tears of tenderness and friendship. Aloud noise resounds through these vaults, the bolts are drawn back, the door creaks on its rusty hinges; the illusion is dissipated! A harsh and brutal jailer brings the daily loaf; the unhappy prisoner takes it and sighs. Silence returns; he anew gives way to the delusions of imagination, which calm his sorrows and lend wings to time. To that consolatory power he owes his courage, his hopes, and that kind of ideal happiness which makes some amends for the sad reality.

As I was returning home last night after dark, I slackened my pace, and at last stopped, to listen to delicious music, it was the tune which I shall always love, of which the words express that we cannot be in a better situation than in the bosom of our family. I immediately think of my own, my imagination in a moment over

leaps the fifty miles which part us; I fancy my relations have assembled a band of musicians to celebrate my arrival. I remain immov ble; I hear without listening, without seeing any thing, or rather without looking. I am afraid by taking another step, of removing from the concert. V. with his violin, C. causing the strings of his harp to vibrate under his fingers, and B. who suspends all respiration with the ravishing tones of her voice, would not have enchanted me more. I behold at my side my mother tenderly affected; my good old father likewise moved. The concert ends abruptly. A little Savoyard ragamuffin who appeared to rise out of the earth, cried with a shrill voice: "The magic lantern!" And that medley of instruments was an organized hurdygurdy.

Thus our imagination becomes as it were, the magical comfort of our lives; unhappy those in whom it is paralysed, I pity them, I do not envy their frigid and gloomy reason; their enjoyinents bear no comparison with mine.

"The canker galls the infants of the spring, "Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd; "And in the morn and liquid dew of youth, 66 Contagious blastments are most imminent." Hamlet, act i. s. 3.

MARY FEDEROUNA, was the only daughter of a Russian nobleman, of high rank and great fortune. Just at the time when the charms of youth were beginning to show themselves in her person, she had the misfortune to lose an excellent mother. Her father immediately retired with her to one of his distant estates, situated in the midst of the deserts of Russia. Thus she was suddenly obliged to quit the pleasures of the capital; the amiable societies which her mother had formed; and what was most regretted, that of the young Count Markof, who had offered her his respectful homage, and whom she had thought not unworthy of her affections.

It was even said that the young nobleman was the chief cause of the Baron's abrupt resolution to retire into the country. The Count, as much distinguished by his knowledge, his talents, and his amiability, as by his birth, had risen rapidly at court, and was possessed of such places, and such credit, as the Baron, notwithstanding his age and long services had never been able to obtain, although he fancied they were his due. Jealousy is implacable, above all when it believes justice to be on its side. So that his daughter

was not only forced to abandon all hopes of uniting herself to the man whom she thought most worthy of her, but even the consolation of talking about him, or pronouncing his name, was forbidden in her new and sorrowful dwelling. The Baron loved his daughter, but it was after his own way, and he never had an idea that the love of a young woman, ought to cause the least alteration in his arrangements or his prejudices.

Mary lived in continual anguish; obliged to hear every day expressions of aversion and contempt for Markof and his family, she passed her solitary moments in making him amends for such injuries, by cherishing the most tender thoughts, and by the tears with which she moistened her silent couch. The freshness of her complexion faded; instead of her former sprightliness and the amiable carelessness of youth, a melancholy smile was sometimes seen. In vain she united to a beautiful person, and natural wit, the treasures of an excellent education, and even the noble sentiments with which she had been inspired by her virtuous mother. She had no communica tion with any persons except her father, the servants, and a few peasants, who in those countries are coarse and vile slaves.

In the mean time the love of Markof, far from being enfeebled by the remoteness of its object, acquired by its very means a new force. He quitted Moscow; and although Mary at their last interview had given him to understand, with