The innumerable devices, with which signs are set off, constitute their great beauty and interest. These sometimes allude to the name, character or history of the signified, and sometimes to his goods or occupation, and sometimes it is not easy to say to what they allude. Some three or four years ago a flaming sign appeared in the neighborhood of the market, bearing a phoenix and the motto Nil desperandum, by which I understood that the signified had formerly suffered in some of the incursions of the Bedouins, but still meant to keep up a good heart. The phoenix did not however live a hundred years, as that sort of bird used to do, or perhaps it is a bird of passage, for it disappeared long ago. A barber of my acquaintance has hung up his own likeness, over his shop door, as a lure, having shaved himself very smooth, before he sat for it. The influence of a pretty face in attracting custom is very well understood all the world over; thus a shopkeeper in the Palais Royal, at Paris, pays wages to a pretty woman for sitting in a conspicuous part of his shop all day. Pretty bar-maids have, no doubt, made the fortunes of many a host. But it is dangerous for one to trust to his own face as a lure, more especially a man, since men are much more apt than women to think too favourably of their personal appearance. My barber, I have no doubt, thinks his face a very becoming part of himself, and yet it has no more character than a round of beef, and I do not believe he ever made enough out of it to pay the painter. Men are not generally willing that others should play upon their names, yet they sometimes take this liberty with themselves, for the sake of thrift, or a conceit; for a man is not more strongly attached to his interest, than to his conceits, especially if they are bad ones. The practice of playing upon the name in the sign is as ancient as the time of Abel Drugger, whose sign is described in my motto, as designed by Dr. Subtle, and, for aught I know, much more ancient. So Mr. Dearborn, engraver on wood, sets forth himself and his art, by the representation of a deer, a graver, and a wood, with the odd syllables interposed. There was formerly a repre sentation of a lemon over the shop door of an upholsterer in the busy part of the town, with the word Lemon under it, which I supposed to be put there by the modesty of the artist, as painters sometimes write under their pictures, this is a Lion, &c. but I learned that the upholsterer was a namesake of the fruit, from which he had borrowed his sign. I remember a biographical allusion in the sign of a shoemaker, who formerly pitched himself a little above the market, close upon the side-walk, in a small square box about the dimensions of Diogenes's tub. His sign was a ship with sails set and flag floating in the wind, with two lines of patriotic poetry, conveying the spirit of the design and of the shoemaker. Any one who has often passed there will recollect him, as he was distinguished by his indefatigable melody, ever singing some fragment of a song, while he stitched in time to the tune, as boatmen sometimes row, or beat an accompaniment on his lap-stone. Now it is not easy to imagine any connexion between a ship and the manufacture of shoes, nor did the shoemaker think there was, for he chose the design from the circumstance of his having formerly been in the naval service, in which he prided himself, and so took his sign, as knights used to do their coat of arms, from some notable action. I have never been able to make any satisfactory distinction between a sign and an advertisement,—the purpose, plan, varieties and ornaments of each being much the same. An advertisement is, like a deed, commonly on paper, parchment, or vellum; but though Lord Coke says a deed cannot be upon wood, yet I recollect to have seen wooden advertisements, and, on the other hand, one sometimes meets with paper signs, in sheltered situations. They seem indeed to be very much the same thing, one being the miniature of the other, in size; the other again of that, in matter. They accordingly may throw some light on each other, and by considering them together we may discover what might otherwise escape us. If we begin with the poorest thing in all arts, viz. a quack medicine, and proceed upwards towards things of worth, we find the artist, exhibiter or vender, puffing his things, and swaggering about them, just in proportion as they are bad. Thus we have the "elixir of life," "the infallible specific" for this and that, "the Asiatic lenitive of pain," and a thousand others of this sort, so that one would suppose there are fifty remedies for every disease; each as good as the others. I never stop at a cheap store; and when a shopkeeper tells me I cannot get such a bargain in town, I always go on to the next;" which I have learned to do by experience. If a writer praises his hook in the preface, I do not read it. There used to be a sign near the centre of the town, at the entrance of a blind archway, announcing "genteel boarding" by Mrs. so-and-so, where you would be served with unsavory food on a cracked plate, and sleep, or try to, in a room, if not in the same bed, with a snoring wagoner. Another bragging sign over a beer shop, near the wharves, in a part of the town frequented by the marine population, presents a tree, bird, ship, and pot of beer, with these lines Here's the tree that never grew, And here's the can that never failed. But on trying his beer I found that the two last lines ought to have been altered, so as to end in sail and stale. In forming opinions, as well as in making purchases, I keep in mind that good wine needs no bush, and I consider a man, making great ado about his things, in his advertisements, or his sign, or his preface, to be a plain confession that they are poor. The satirical sign differs from the other sorts, since it is intended to correct the vices and follies of men, while it is the object of many others to promote these. I recollect one of this sort belonging to a tavern, which represented, or was intended to represent, a man in good apparel, of a pretty sufficient compass of person, and erect self-complacent look, well mounted, and, altogether, appearing to be weil satisfied with himself and the world, with a label, "I am going to law." He meets another of a lean habit of body, in a worn-out dress, and of a repenting aspect, with his legs hanging on each side of a bare-boned jade, and a label, "I have been to 66 law." But I never saw a tavern sign representing one man reeling away from a tavern intoxicated, and another going towards it sober. Though I have somewhere seen an apothecary's sign, which seemed to squint at its owner's business, as it exhibited a deer with an arrow in his side, which I took to be an allusion to the efficacy of the drugs. The red flag of the auctioneers is of an ambiguous import, it being that of pirates. I have heard of an ingenious conceit on a sign in a neighbouring town, which has at least the merit of frankness. A tailor adorned his shop-door with the representation of a huge cabbage, the top of which had just been snipped by a pair of shears, which appeared to be just in the act of repeating the operation— "Still opening to devour❞— But, lest his customers should imagine that he was guilty of any unusual or singular offence, he surrounded the whole with the motto, in capital letters, of "EVIL Samples seem to have a near resemblance to signs and advertisements, especially as they sometimes excite expectations which are disappointed. The most singular sample that has come under my observation was that of a Merry-Andrew, who on a holiday appeared in front of his theatre, in sight of the throng, that was moving in a cloud of dust, in a speckled dress, and high pointed cap. His appearance together with his flags and music did not fail to gain him attention, which is the first step for one who has to do with the public. He introduced himself to the multitude by a somerset, and, having executed two or three capers by way of specimen, he told them he should not think of demanding any thing for those feats, and hoped they would be willing to pay for the rest. I once knew a philosopher, who resided in a cockloft in a narrow, frequented street, who turned the practice of taking samples, gratis, to some account. He would sally out about nine o'clock in the morning, in a threadbare frock-coat, well brushed, which served in the double capacity of a garment in itself, and of concealing the deficiencies of his other garments. He made di rectly for the market, where he examined and tasted every thing that came in an edible state, with a considerate look, taking a baked apple of one, a handful of whortleberries of another, and a small piece of bread of a third, for sample, talking gravely with each one about the quality of his provisions mean time, till, by ten o'clock, having breakfasted, under pretence of cheapening his dinner, he retreated to his window, where he sat the rest of the day, meditating upon what was passing in the street. NAUMKEAG, July 23, 1821. LIFE. [Commercial Advertiser. New-York.] LIFE hath its sunshine-but the ray, A meteor, gleaming o'er the grave. Life hath its flowers-and what are they? The germs of warm, confiding youth : Alas! those buds decay and die Ere ripened and matured in bloom- Life hath its pang-of deepest thrill- Bliss, which hath died to bloom no more. Life hath its blessings-but the storm So chang'd from youth's delightful tone, |