These offers arose, also, from the loneliness in which Petrarch often passed his days. To be the parent of illegitimate children, chilled the domestic charities, which alone could offer consolation to his ardent heart. His son, either from the perverseness of his disposition, or from the father's excessive anxiety about his future eminence, was a source of tribulation and shame; and he never mentions him by any other name than the youth, so that, had it not been for D. Sade's recent discovery of a bull of Clement VI., legitimating him, nobody, not even Tiraboschi, could have guessed that he was Petrarch's son. He was appointed a canon at Verona, and when he died, his father recorded the event in the same copy of Virgil wherein he had inserted the memorandum of Laura's death." He, who was born for my vexation and sorrow, who, while he lived, was the cause of grievous and endless cares to me, and whose death opened a wound in my heart, after having enjoyed a few days of happiness, departed in the twenty-fifth year of his age." The older he grew, the more desolate he felt, and the more he longed for "that youth, whom he professed to hate when alive, but on whom his thoughts now dwelt with fondness; his heart cherished; his memory continually set before him; and his eyes sought every where." Petrarch had less reserve in speaking of his daughter, whom he loved the more, because she resembled him in features and disposition. Yet, it would seem, that she never set a foot in his house, until she was married; and, in his will, he only makes the following indirect allusion to her, "I beg Francesco di Brossano" (this was his daughter's husband) "not only as my heir, but as my

very dear son, to divide whatever money he may find, after my death, into two portions; one he will reserve for himself, and the other he will bestow upon the person whom he knoweth.

While he longed to have somebody always near him, who might love him, yet was he often condemned to live quite alone, by the fear that a too frequent intercourse with the persons dearest to him, would furnish him with reasons for distrusting them. It was by opening his heart and his purse more frequently than his doors, that he boasts, and with reason, "that no man was more devoted to his friends, and that he never lost one." Even in his early youth, when the heart is more confiding, and he really wished to live with them, he was always afraid of discovering their defects.

66 Nothing," says he, "is so tiresome, as to converse with a person who has not the same information as one's self." But the moment that he felt disposed to give himself to society, he conversed with the utmost freedom. "If I seem to my friends," says he, "to be a great talker, it is because I see them seldom, and then I talk as much in a day as will compensate for the silence of a year. In the judgment of many of them, I express myself clearly and strongly; but, in my own opinion, my language is feeble and obscure, for I never could impose upon myself the task of being eloquent in conversation. I have never liked dinners, and have always considered it as troublesome as it is useless, to invite, or be invited, to them; but nothing gives me more pleasure than any one dropping in on me at my meals, and I never eat alone if I can help it." To the very end of his life, Petrarch cherished his habits of

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strict temperance, to which he had been accustomed from his very infancy: .he seldom eat more than one meal a day: he disliked wine, lived chiefly upon vegetables, and often, during seasons of devotion and on fasting days, bread and water constituted the whole of his dinner. As his fortune increased, he augmented the number of his servants and transcribers: these he always took with him on his journeys, and kept more horses to carry his books. Twelve years before his death, he gave his rich collection of ancient manuscripts to the Venetian Senate, and thus became the founder of the library of Saint Marc. He requested, and received, by way of remuneration, a mansion in Venice. The only fault which he contracted from the possession of wealth, was the custom of boasting too much about the good use he made of it.

Essays on Petrarch.

READY-MONEY JACK.

On the skirts of the neighbouring village, there lives a kind of small potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one of the most ancient legitimate lines of the present day, for the empire over which he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. His territories comprise a considerable number of good fat acres; and his seat of power is in an old farnihouse, where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken

chair of his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude, is a sturdy old yeoman, of the name of John Tibbets, or, rather, Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighbourhood.

The first place where he attracted my attention, was in the church-yard on Sunday, where he sat on a tombstone after the service, with his hat a little on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors, and, as I presumed, expounding the law and the prophets, until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse. He presented so faithful a picture of a substantial English yeoman, such as he is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by some little finery peculiar to himself, that I could not but take note of his whole appearance. He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong muscular frame, and at least six feet high, with a physionomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with short, curling, irongrey locks. His shirt collar was turned down, and displayed a neck covered with the same short, curling, grey hair; and he wore a coloured silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark green cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and his coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet garters. His stockings were blue, with white clocks; he wore large silver shoe-buckles, a broad paste buckle in his hat-band,

his sleeve-buttons were gold seven shilling pieces, and he had two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain.

On making some enquiries about him, I gathered, that he was descended from a line of farmers that had always lived on the same spot, and owned the same property; and that half of the church-yard was taken up with the tomb-stones of his race. He has all his life been an important character in the place. When a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades of the neighbourhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was the village champion; carried off the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round. Even to this day, the old people talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all heroes of the green that have succeeded him; nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could stand before him.'

When Jack's father died, the neighbours shook their heads, and predicted that young hopeful would soon make way with the old homestead; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The moment he succeeded to the paternal farm he assumed a new character; took a wife, attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an industrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property he inherited a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He saw to every thing himself, put his own hand to the plough, worked hard, ate heartily, slept soundly, paid for every thing in cash down, and never danced, except he could do it to the music