Digit. I perceive you are a novice in this sublime science. The object is, to find a square which shall be equal to a given circle, which I have done, by a rule drawn from the radii of the circle and the diagonal of the square. And, by my rule, the area of the square will equal the area of the circle.

Sesquipedalia. Your terms are to me incomprehensible. Diagonal is derived from the Greek--di-a and go-ne, that is, "through the corner." But I don't see what it has to do with a circle; for, if I understand aright, a circle, like a sphere, has no corners.

Digit. You appear to be very ignorant of the science of numbers. Your life must be very insipidly spent in poring over philosophy and the dead languages. You never tasted, as I have, the pleasure arising from the investigation of an insoluble problem, or the discovery of a new rule in quadratic equa

tions.

Sesquipedalia. Po! po! [Turns round in disgust, and hits Digit with his cane.] Digit. Oh, you villain! Sesquipedalia. I wish, sir

Digit. And so do I wish, sir, that that cane was raised to the fourth power, and laid over your head as many times as there are units in a thousand. Oh! oh!

come in around [Enter Salve,

Sesquipedalia. Did my cane contact with the sphere of repulsion your shin? I must confess, sir Trill.] Oh, here is Mr. Morrell. Jomine! sir, your most obedient. Trill. Which of you, gentlemen, is Mr. Morrell?

Sesquipedalia. Oh, neither, sir. I took you for that gentleman.

Trill. No, sir, I am a teacher of music. Flute, harp, viol, violin, violoncello,* organ, or any thing of the kind, any instrument you can mention. I have just been displaying my powers at a concert, and come recommended to the patronage of Mr. Morrell.

Sesquipedalia. For the same purpose are that gentleman and myself here.

Digit. [Still rubbing his shin.] Oh! oh! Trill. Has the gentleman the gout? I have heard of its being cured by music. Shall I sing you a tune? Hem! Hem! Faw

Digit. No, no, I want none of your tunes. I'd make that philosopher sing though, and dance too, if he hadn't made a vulgar fraction of my leg.

•Pronounced VE-O-LON-CHEL-0.

Sesquipedalia. In veritate; that is in truth, it happened forte; that is, by chance. Trill. Talking to himself.] If B be flat, me is in E.

Digit. Ay, sir, this is only an integral part of your conduct, ever since you came into this house. You have continued to multiply your insults in the abstract ratio of a geometrical progression, and at last have proceeded to violence. The dignity of Archimedes Digit never experienced such a reduction descending, before.

Trill. [To himself.] Twice faw, sol, law, and then comes me again.

Digit. If Mr. Morrell does not admit me soon, I'll leave the house, while my head is on my shoulders.

Trill. Gentlemen, you neither keep time nor chord. But if you can sing, we may carry a trio before we go.

Sesquipedalia. Can you sing an ode of Horace or Anacreon. I should like to hear one of them.

Digit. I had rather hear you sing a demonstration of the forty-seventh proposition, first book.

Trill. I never heard of those composers, sir; where do they belong?

Sesquipedalia. They did belong to Italy and Greece.

Trill. Ah! Italy! there are our best masters-Correlli, Morrelli, and Fuseli. Car you favor me with their compositions?

Sesquipedalia. Oh, yes, if you have a taste that way, I can furnish you with them, and with Virgil, Sallust, Cicero, Cæsar, Quintilian; and I have an old Greek Lexicon that I can spare.

Trill. Ad libitum, my dear sir; they will make a handsome addition to my musical library.

Digit. But, sir, what pretensions have you to the patronage of Mr. Morrell? I don't believe you can square the circle.

Sesquipedalia. Nor prove the infinite divisibility of matter.

Trill. Pretensions, sir! I have gained a victory over the great Tantamarrarra, the new opera singer, who pretended to vie with me. 'Twas in the symphony of Handel's Oratorio of Saul, where, you know, every thing depends upon the tempo giusto, and where the primo should proceed in smorzando, and the secondo in agitato. But he was on the third leger line, I was an octave below, when, with a sudden appoggiatura, I rose to D in ait., and conquered him.

[Enter Drone.] Drone. My master says how he will wait on you, gentlemen.

Digit. What is your name, sir?
Drone. Drone, at your service.

Digit. No, no; you need not drone at my service. A very applicable name, however. Sesquipedalia. Drone? That is derived from the Greek draon, flying or moving swiftly.

Trill. He rather seems to move in andanti measure; that is, to the tune of Old Hundred Drone. Very likely, gentlemen.

Sesquipedalia. Right. You shall be the antecedent, I the subsequent, and Mr. Trill the consequent.

Trill. Right. I was always a man of consequence. Faw, sol, law; Faw, sol, &c. &c. [Singing as he goes out.] (F. F. D.)

756. PRECISENESS.-MR. AND MRS. QUIDDLE. Mr. Quiddle. My dear, notwithstanding all I have said, Molly has boiled one potatoe more than I directed to-day.

Mrs. Quiddle. Mr. Quiddle should have attended to this great concern himself.

Mr. Quiddle. No, my dear, it is your duty to do so; and though it pains me to complain of any neglect of yours, a sense of duty compels me to say, that the last quarter of a pound of tea has disappeared much too rapidly. There were twenty-five thimblefuls, and we have made tea but twenty-four times, by my memorandum.

Mrs. Quiddle. Indeed, Mr. Quiddle, you calculate very closely. Perhaps Molly's thimble is larger than yours; but I do not think the matter worth a moment's consideration.

Mr. Quiddle. Aye, there lies your error. No man can be exact in great things who does not attend to trifles. Atoms constitute worlds, my dear, and give a form to them. And, now I think of it, you gave Joseph seven spoonfuls of soup to-day, when, you know, I never allow him but six.

Mrs. Quiddle. He was very hungry, and one spoonful could not hurt him.

Mr. Quiddle. That is a fatal mistake, my dear.

Mrs. Quiddle. Why, how do you know so exactly how many spoonfuls our boy can

contain?

Mr. Quiddle. My father never allowed his children but six, or six and a half, at the

utmost.

Mrs. Quiddle. And your stomach is to regulate Joseph's! Well, poor boy! I do not blame him for disliking you.

Mr. Quiddle. The welfare of my child must be consulted, even if at the expense of his affection. Now, I do not love to find fault, but I observed that he did not change his shoes this morning. I never wore the same shoe on one foot two days in succession, in my life; it runs them down to the heel.

Mrs. Quiddle. I fear that your precision will so disgust Joseph, that he will rush to the other extreme; for I have often noticed, that children who are denied all reasonable indul. gences are apt to become licentious.

Mr. Quiddle. Joseph must be looked after. I intend, immediately, to send him to another school.

Mrs. Quiddle. Why so, my dear? I thought

Mr. B. was an excellent teacher.

Mr. Quiddle. He may be so, but he is not particular enough for our Joseph. Why, I understand, he allows his pupils a recess of en minutes, and even plays with them himself! My master allowed but five minutes' recess, and would as soon have died as stoop to play

with us. Besides, I think he does not shape the tail of his G's as I should.

Mrs. Quiddle. Perhaps, if you were to mention these important objections to Mr. B., he would obviate them at once. For my part, I wish the recess was twice as long. As to the letter G, I did not know that its tail had any precise length.

Mr. Quiddle. You have much to learn Mrs. Quiddle. By the way, I noticed, to-day, that Joseph called you mother, and you did not reprimand him.

Mrs. Quiddle. Reprimand him!

Mr. Quiddle. Such familiarity will lessen, if not destroy, your authority over him. If he were to call me father, I should chastise him.

Mrs. Quiddie. Poor boy! there is no fear of his being chastised, then; for he does not feel towards you as if you were his father.

Mr. Quiddle. I like to preserve a whole some distance, that he may pay me proper respect.

Mrs. Quiddle. The respect of fear cannot be relied on; and such overnicety

Mr. Quiddle. Do you know that, to what you call my overnicety, I owe all my health and wealth?

Mrs. Quiddie. I know, that, to preserve your health, you have sacrificed the happiness, and to accumulate your wealth, you have forfeited the respect, of all around you. Mr. Quiddle. Can it be that you are serious?

Mrs. Quiddle. I never was more so. have told you the truth, at the risk of your displeasure.

Mr. Quiddle. Well, well-if it is so bad as that, I must alter my conduct. I will do so from this moment. [Stoops and picks up a pin] There, this is the fifth pin, besides a headless one, that I have picked up to-day! But, as I was saying, I intend to reform. Oh, if you send Joseph to the shop, tell him not to give fourpence-half penny for six cents; for you know, my dear, it is six cents and a quarter.-I certainly must watch my conduct. But where is dinner? It is more than a minute after the time. My dear, do see to it.— There is another pin! Well, it is amazing to me how careless some folks are! Mrs. Quiddle, tell Molly to bring her thimble to me, that I may see whether it holds more than mine!— I must think of what you told me.

757. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. CHARACTERS.

(F. F. D.)

M28. WEATHERBOX, the Teacher. SUSANNA, an Orphan that she has taken to bring up. PupilsCATHARINE RICH, LUCY HEART, MARIA SMALL, SARAH

Ross, ABBA MIX, ISABEL Fox, MARY SPARE, JANE SMITH, FANNY MILLS, MARTHA WELLS; other smaller Scholars, also.

[The scene represents a school-room, with desks benches, &c. The scholars are talking together, and waiting for the teacher's arrival.]

Catharine. I GUESS, Susanna, your ugly old aunt is taking a nap after dinner, she makes it so late. Had she something uncom monly nice for dinner?

Susanna. She had a chicken, I believe; | but she gave me a long task, and told me to stay here till I had done it.

Catharine. She did that to prevent your having any of the chicken-a stingy old thing! Susanna. I cannot believe that she would be so selfish and unjust.

Lucy. Why, I am sure it is just of a piece with all her conduct towards you. She never gives you any thing fit to wear; and much as ever she alters her old, cast off rags, when she

turns them over to you.

Susanna. But she took me, when no one else in the world would have done so; and I hope to get a tolerable education under her care, although she is not always so kind to me as I try to deserve.

Lucy. You are too good by half, Susanna; and I dare say now, you are half starved, while that selfish old creature is so full she can do nothing but sleep. Here, take this apple. I have had my dinner, and don't want it.

Susanna. I'thank you, Lucy; but my aunt told me I must not eat any thing till I had done my task.

Lucy. You must take it, my dear girl, or I shall be affronted. Your aunt only meant, that you must not eat any food that cost her any thing.

Susanna. Well, I will eat it; for I am really faint.

Catharine. There she comes! I see her old cap. Look out, girls! Run to your seats, or you'll get it.

[The scholars all run, and sit as if afraid.] [Enter Mrs. Weatherbox, fanning herself, and looking very cross.]

Mrs. Weatherbox. Susanna, how dare you eat that apple?

Susanna. I did not think you would object, ma'am; it was a present from one of the scholars.

Mrs. Weatherbox. Present, indeed! I should like to see how a present tastes. It does one's heart good to have a present now-adays; but the time was, when I had a present every day. [To Susanna.] Your apple is forfeited, miss. [She takes it away, and begins to eat it herself.] Resume your seat, miss. Let the first class in reading come up. [She unlocks the drawer of her table, while six stand up, three on each side of her.

Mrs. Weatherbox. Maria Small, begin at the 45th page, "On the Beauties of Nature." Maria. Reading very slowly and blunderingly.] "Although-the-moon-we-behold-is-anO. P. Q. body-like-our-earth.”

Mrs. Weatherbox. [Gaping.] What sort of a body did you call it?

Maria. O. P. Q., ma'am.

Mrs. Weatherbox. Opaque, you mean. The word means dark; and, dear me, how dark the room is! [She gapes again.] I guess my specs want wiping. Go on with your reading. [She wipes her spectacles.]

Maria. Although the moon we behold is an opaque body, still its surface is rendered visible to us, by the reflection of the sun's light."

[Mrs. Weatherbox & head begins to fall, as if she was sleepy. Catharine gives a sign to Maria to leave off reading, and she herself begins, but only makes a humming noiseUm, um, um, um, &c. Mrs. Weatherbox, in the mean time, lets her book fall from one hand, and the apple from the other, and her head falls on her shoulder.]

Lucy. [Going close up, and looking to see if she is actually asleep.] Hush, girls! let her get well asleep before you stir. [Some move about on tiptoe, and all whisper.]

Sarah. I mean to rummage the old lady's drawer, and see what she has stolen from the scholars. [She opens the table drawer and all the scholars crowd round. Sarah says,] Here's your cup and ball, Lucy. Now take it, and hide it. Jane Smith, here is your picture. book. She has been reading it first, to see whether it is a suitable book for you to read. Mary Spare, here is your cake, that she was afraid would hurt you. Little girls' stomachs, like ours, cannot bear any rich food, you know; and so she eats it for us!

Lucy. Here is her old snuff-box. Why is not snuff as good as pepper and mustard, that she loves so dearly? [She sprinkles some snuff on the apple, and lays it on the table. and says,] There, Susanna, she shall pay for robbing you, if she eats any more of her plunder.

Abba. Here is the fool's cap. Come, girls, let's see if it becomes ma'am as well as it does the rest of us. [She puts it upon Mrs. Weatherbox's head. She then doubles her fist in the old lady's face, and says,] Eh! you ugly old thing! I'd put a pipe in your mouth, if it wouldn't wake you up!

[Isabel Fox puts on the old lady's spectacles and, calling two or three very small girie around her, pretends to keep school, mimicking the old lady.]

Catharine. Oh, here is her precious memo randum-book! Come, girls, now for a treat! They say she writes all her secrets here. Let's see. Here is a memorandum of what she intends to say at mother's party, to-night. I have heard tha: she always studies, beforehand, some smart speeches. Now let's see.

Susanna. Miss Catharine, I beg you not to read that book. It is dishonorable to read any writing that is not intended to be seen.

Catharine. She has read my billets a hundred times; and tit for tat, I say.

Susanna. Let me entreat you to put back the memorandum-book.

Catharine. Not I, indeed! It shall be read in committee of the whole. So form a circle, all hands of you, and hold your tongues. Come, Susanna, you must join us.

Susanna. Excuse me; I am unwilling to do any thing while my aunt is asleep, that I would not attempt if she were awake.

Lucy. You are altogether too scrupulous, Suzy, dear. Do not try to make us believe you feel any great respect for such a cross old crone as this.

[The old lady mores one arm, and Sarah Ross says,] Sarah. Hush! she is waking.

your lives.

Run for

(All scamper to their seals, but she does not | wake, and Catharine calls them around her aguin.]

Catharine. Come, girls, let's have the treat. Come, Suzy, you must hear it too.

Susanna. I really cannot join in what I do not approve. Do, pray, give me the book, and let me put it back.

Catharine. No, no, not till we have had a taste of it. She expects "to astonish the natives" at our house to-night, and I am determined, beforehand, to know what she is to say. Now, Susanna, do not carry your honor so far as to wake your aunt, and betray us all as soon as we begin. There she sits, for a the world like the Sleeping Beauty in the Woods. [Making a face at her.]

Susanna. What have you seen in me, Catharine, to lead you to suspect that I could be mean enough to betray you?

Catharine. Well, my dear girl, stand and watch her, then, and give us a hint if she moves. Now for it! [Reads.] "Memorandams for Mrs. Rich's tea-party. To stir my tea a long time, that I may say to my next neighbor, 'I like to have all the composite parts of my beverage both saturated and coagulated."""

To fan myself, that I may say, 'How sweetly the zephyrs of Boreas temper the heat of Phoebus!"

To tell the story of the man who ran his head against a shop-shade, and said, halfstunned by the blow, What is that?' That is a conjunction,' said a school-boy, who was passing."

To speak French as often as I can, not forgetting to mention the eclaw of Mrs. Rich's carriage; to allude to the fox-paw of Colonel Trip, and the na-rette of Miss Catharine. If no one leads me to the table, to say, Shakun power soy.

Susanna. Hush! hush! she is waking! [Mrs. Weatherbox begins to move a little, and Catharine shuts the book, and says to Susanna,]

Catharine. Pray, pray, put it into the drawer instantly. Run all, for your lives, to

your seats.

[One little girl stumbles over a cricket, and makes so much noise, that Mrs. Weatherbox awakes. The six readers stand in their places. Mrs. Weatherbox starts up, rubs her eyes, and says,] Mrs. Weatherbox. What's that noise? Dear me! I was beginning to lose myself. Maria, my dear, finish the sentence you were reading.

Catharine. I hope, ma'am, you will give us some merits for keeping so still while you were taking your nap.

Mrs. Weatherbox. Nap! nap! Who says I have been taking a nap? I have heard every word that has been read. Come, girls, go on with your reading. Let me see where was the place? Where are my spectacles?

Isabel. Here, ma'am. I was afraid they would fall on the floor, and so I held them till you waked up.

Mrs. Weatherbox. Waked up, you minx!

What do you mean? I have been no more asleep than you have.

Isabel. Then how did you lose your spectacles, ma'am without knowing it?

Mrs. Weatherbox. I mark Miss Fox for impertinence. Go on with your reading, Maria. Maria reads, and while she is doing so, Mrs. Weatherbox bites the apple, and begins to make faces and spit She then says,] What's this? Snuff? snuff? snuff on my apple? Who put snuff on my apple?

Lucy. Who could do so, ma'am, and you all the time awake, and looking on?

Catharine. Perhaps the apple touched your snuff box, ma'am. Poor Susan did not have a chance to see whether it tasted of sanff before you took it away from her.

Mrs. Weatherbox. I mark Miss Rich for talking unnecessarily. Go on with your read. ing, Maria. [Maria reads a few words, ana Mrs. Weatherbox opens her drawer, and, seeing the confusion, says,] My stars! who has dared to touch my drawer! Somebody, I see, has been here! Where is my memorandum book? Has any one dared to touch it? Susanna, where is my memorandum-book? [Susanna hides her face in her work, but does not answer. Mrs. Weatherbox rises, seizes her by the arm, and says,] Now look me full in the face, and say you did not take that memorandum-book out of my drawer! Speak out, speak loud!

Susanna. I did not, I did not, indeed!

Mrs. Weatherbox. I do not believe you, and shall make bold to search you. [She thrusts her hands into Susanna's pocket, and draws out the memorandum-book, and holds it up, saying, [You did not take it, hey? You did not take it? What do you say now?

Susanna. [Sobbing.] I did not take it from the drawer, ma'am.

Mrs. Weatherbox. Then you know who did. So tell me this instant. [Susanna does not answer. I know, then, you took it yourself; it is exactly like you.

Susanna. Oh, aunt! it is not like me to do such a thing.

Mrs. Weatherbor. Not another word! I shall believe you did it, till you can prove your innocence by pointing out the culprit. But I am certain it was yourself, and I shall punish you accordingly. I suppose you have taken care to read every word of it?

Susanna. I really did not read one line