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THE CLUB.

No. XXIV.-FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1822.
"Tis the great art of life to manage well
The restless mind.

ARMSTRONG.
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue,
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
SHAKESPEARE.

THE human mind is naturally formed for almost
incessant activity. It cannot always, indeed, be
confined to severe study, or to the pursuits of
business, but must occasionally relax as well as
the body. Now it is from the manner in which
these latter intervals are filled up, that evil and
sorrow most frequently result, and it is, there-
fore, with respect to them that we should be most
particularly on our guard. For this reason, we
have, in some of the preceding numbers of the
Club, pointed out to our readers several employ-
ments which might serve to beguile a leisure
hour, without giving rise, at a future period, to
any disagreeable consequences. We have also
alluded, in several instances, to certain idle and
degrading amusements, which are now very
fashionable, and we hope to be able, in our fu-
ture papers, not only to render them less popular,
but to shew that there is really nothing improper,
or unpolite, in suffering prudence and common
sense to have some influence, over even our re-
creations.

A taste for natural scenery and for the works of art is generally cultivated with advantage. To take a pleasure in the former, is to increase very greatly the enjoyments which fine weather affords; and to acquire a relish for the latter, is to possess ourselves of a source of exhaustless amusement. These enjoyments, which are in a great degree the result of cultivation, and which may, therefore, often be acquired by those who will take the pains, serve greatly to mitigate the ills of life, and make us, wherever we may be placed, more satisfied with our circumstances.

I care not Fortune! what you me deny :
You cannot rob me of fair nature's grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shews her bright'ning face:
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve:
Let health my nerves and firm fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave,
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.

66

THOMSON.

The President, who has a very happy talent for creating new pleasures dependent upon himself, was expatiating to us the other night at the Green Dragon, upon the advantages of preserving old letters. I have frequently," said he, "spent an evening very agreeably in looking over those which I received many years ago, on various occasions. They awaken in my mind many delightful recollections, and enable me to enjoy a second time, much of the interest which they originally excited. They also call up many kindly associations concerning circumstances which, but for them, might have been utterly forgotten. It sometimes indeed, costs me a sigh when I come! to the letters of some of those valued persons, who now exist only in memory; but, at the same time, it gratifies me to know that there were some long tried friends, who could carry their esteem for me even to the grave. When I meet with the letters of individuals who were distinguished in the world for their genius or erudition, I think of the pleasure I once felt when the receipt of them flattered my vanity, and stimulated my exertions. When I read the letters of some of my female friends, whom I have always reckoned among the most valued of my correspon

SCRAPIANA.—NO. XVIII.

who flourished upwards of a century ago.

dents, I am struok with the talent which they oc-
casionally display, as well as with the many
graces which the sex know so well how to throw From the common-place book of a Lancashire Clergyman
over the most trifling occurrences. A well in-
formed female can, indeed, impart to her letters,
as well as to her conversation, a charm which the
other sex in vain attempt to imitate. And I can-
not refrain from remarking, that when a woman
is so intent upon her person, or any other secon-
dary object, as to neglect the improvement of her
mind, in which her principal strength certainly Truth has three enemies (1) Ignorance slights it.
lies, she reminds me of some of those beautiful,
non habet inimicum præter ignorantem.' (2) Curio-
but ill cultivated countries, which are at once the
sity wantonly goes behind it. (3) Error militates
against it and contends with it.
pride and the reproach of their inhabitants.' Traveller observed Asses flying and eagles creeping on
ye earth.

The Tradesman thought there was some force in the observations when applied to an invoice, an account current, or some similar document, but as for letters in general, upon subjects not only calculated to answer a temporary purpose, connected with business, they appeared to him and therefore, not worth preservation. There are indeed some exceptions, and for those he was willing to make allowance. With respect to the letters of women, he believed they seldom merited the praises of the Chairman: most of those which he had seen were in such a condition, as to meaning and arrangement, that they were not much unlike a piece of writing he once met with, which would make sense equally well, whether the person who read it set out from the beginning, the middle, or the end.

"For my part," said the Widower, "I am so much of our Chairman's opinion that I preserve almost all the letters which I receive. They not only afford occasional amusement, but serve as a sort of family record; and I have so arranged mine, that I can consult any of them without difficulty. There are, indeed, some of them which I remember with peculiar pleasure, particularly those in which I was dissuaded, by a very sensible correspondent, from once more committing matrimony when, in a thoughtless interval, I was strongly tempted to it.

Much more was said upon the subject, especially by the younger members; but we refrain from giving their remarks, not only because we would not extend our paper too far, but because we are aware that young persons are often injured by the injudicious notice of those friends, who make them of too much importance.

We would, in conclusion, recommend the readers of our speculations to preserve the letters they receive, as sources of future amusement. Such documents not only remind us of forgotten facts, but renew past sensations. They enable us to fix dates concerning which we might have no other criteria. There are, indeed, very few how inferior soever may be the style, some part letters which it is not inconsiderate to destroy: of the subject may not be altogether devoid of interest; and when the facts have but little to recommend them, the letters may deserve preservation for elegance of language, or vigour of sen

timent.

Thinking we cannot err is to err in so thinking.'
Temple was built upon a Threshfloor; a good answer for
those who cannot endure a meeting place, because its
a barn.

Thief in the candle wasts it more then the flame.
Truth is ye daughter of Time.

The thief and slanderer are almost ye same;
Take heed of enemys reconciled.
Th one steals my goods: ye other my good name;
Th' one lives in scorn, ye other dys in shame.
Tongue breaks ye bone though itself have none.
Turn cat ith' Pan.
Three women and a goose make a market.
Town not raised to kill a Lamb,
Timor addidit alas; amor quoque.
Thorns and thistles in every worldly comfort.
Truth never bought dear, nor sold cheap.
Temeritas est florentis ætatis ; Prudentia senectutis.
Tamerlane registered all the names of his souldiers.
Templum—quasi Tectum amplum.

"Ars

Understanding must be satisfied with truth and ye will
with good.

Virtue a lady in ye account of ye Moralist. Her fore-
runners are obedience, continence, patience; her at-
tendants are security, hope, tranquillity, joy, rever-
ence, clemency, modesty, mercy. They describe
herself this way-her head wisdom, her eyes pru-
dence, her heart love, her spirit charity, her hand
liberality, her breasts religion, her thighs justice, ber
health temperance, her strength fortitude.
Understandings not all of a size.
Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur.

Vicar of Bowden every man cannot be.
In Vino veritas.

Understanding considereth things as true or false, ye will
only as good or evill.
Vitium persona non transit in rem.
Ver non semper floret.

Unanimity makes not ye cause good, if badd at first:
"magna est Diana Ephesiana.'
Ubi amor ibi sculus ; ubi dolor ibi digitus.
veritas opprimi potest, non autem supprimi.

When Jesuits unto us answer "Nay

They do not English speake, 'tis Greeke they say.

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When Adam delved and Eve span
Where was then the gentleman?
Wife called a lamb in Nathan's Parable, meekness is no
Will shall not be my coachman, unless Reason go before

to shew the way.

doubt her duty and her ornament.

Wise man, not who knows most, but who is endowed
War makes thieves and peace hangs 'em.
with most usefull knowledge.
Welcome as water into my shoes.
Women, Priests and Poultry have never enough.
Wife good that rocks and spins at ye same time.

To relieve the dullness of this paper, we will
mention an anecdote related by the Doctor.
When a certain political character, more eminent
for his talents than his virtues, was confined in
prison, he was allowed to correspond with his
family. Some years after his liberation, he used
to tell his acquaintance that of all the letters heYou sing like a bird called a swine.
received during his imprisonment, those which
afforded him the highest gratification, and which
still please him most in the recollection, were the
letters which he received from his little daughter,
who, though she was too young to write or
read, always insisted upon spoiling a sheet of
paper, which she called writing to her father.

Xenocrates said it had often repented him yt he had
spoken, but never that he had held his peace.

M. M.

Your horse looks like a butcher's horse, he carries a calf so well.

With one pen I writ this booke,
Made of a grey goose quill;
A pen it was when I it tooke,
And a pen I leave it still.

Here endeth our extracts from the worthy Clergyman's common-place book, tome the first.

380

POETRY.

ADIEU.

WRITTEN IN 1820.

longum, formose, vale vale, inquit, Iola.

Nurse of my youth, thou Field of Slain,
If e'er an exile, doom'd to pain,
Or one allur'd by fame of Arms,
Or commerce's Circean charms,
Or flying in pursuit, to seize
The form of Health that ever flees,
Sang, e'er his trembling foot no more
Impress'd his native Country's shore,
To kindred, friends, and all he knew,
And wife and home-a long adieu;
How then should I, on such a day,
To thee a parting tribute pay,

Who haste to climes where oft for gold
Are Honour, Truth, and Nature sold?
Where, on the soil which Heav'n design'd
For rural beauty unrefined,
Ungracious gloomy walls arise,

And ceaseless vapours stain the skies ;
Beings with care-fraught faces haste
Where salutation none is past,
Unsocial, isolate, alone,

From whom the thrill of feeling's flown.
Enthusiasm, Passion, Love,

Damp'd, smother'd, dead, no longer move.
In them my Land has ceas'd to roll
The wayward current of the Soul.
Gold, like the tyrant of the pool,
Devours up virtue's ev'ry rule;
"Twas here Astræa first unfurl'd
Her pinions, when she left the world.
O then no more, my land for me,
Thy verdant hill and dale to see,
From Barrowcop's exalted mound
No more to view the landscape round;
Upon thy Lake's enamell'd shore

To stray and catch the breeze, no more,
Nor, while all nature sleeps, to trace
The broken moonlight on its face,
No more the beauties of each spire
Tby minster trebly boasts, admire,
Nor answer to the magic tale

Told by those "Ladies of the Vale;
Nor on thy minster's sacred lawn
To sport, as erst in childhood's dawn,

Near bordering Limes, beneath whose shade

A Seward sang, an Andrè stray'd.

No more beneath thine Edward's dome
Fair Learning's ancient seat, to come,
Where wisdom strew'd her classic page
To find the youth's poetic rage,
Prompt to reveal how Romans fought,
And Græcia's children spoke and thought.
How well the twice five-thousand fled,
How Plato liv'd, and Cæsar bled;
How sadly love-lorn Dido sigh'd,
How Hector, mighty Hector died;
How Alexander rav'd elate,

And fell, unhappy fell, Darius from his state.
With such delights, my Land as these
Were wont their mighty souls to please
A splendid host; that after sung
In Clio's praise with Clio's tongue,
That either for their country bled,
Or far o'er earth her treasures spread,
Maintain'd the Nation's rights aloud,
--Or wrought the sacred work of God.
Here Garrick with the mimic maid
His future fav'rite scenes pourtray'd:
Here Addison with youthful lyre
Oft came to sooth his pious sire.
And pleas'd the sage to mark, so young,
The new-born graces of his tongue.
Here Johnson-(bow, his willow, bow,
And echo ye retreats of Stow)
His embryo periods would repeat
That crown'd our tongue in robe of state.
To me thou willow wav'st in vain,

While changing seasons deck the plain,
Health in thy glades in vain is seen,

And Darwin's hallow'd grove in vain renews its green.

But chiefly Muse, O Muse, to thee
My fondest valediction be,

For with the memory of my land

Thou didst with such an artful hand
Entwine thyself, that straight my thought
Is fix'd on both, where one was sought.
Thou, when I sank inclin'd to bend
'Neath weight of griefs, wert still my friend.
"Twas thine to warm my soul, and spread
O'er fancy's form each varying shade,
Whether by Stow's embosom'd lake
Our nightly walk we us'd to take,
Or at a spot not far remov'd
Where Trenta's sparkling waters rov'd,
Before me rising from the stream

The guardian goddess claim'd my theme,
By thee I sang. But oh, for Trent
Some tributary strains be spent ;
How on her sloping bank I sat
The live long day in Autumn's heat,
And sang, and penn'd, and sang my lay,-
So sweet with her was childhood's day!
To Arno's silvery stream, or Po
The favour'd nymph disdains to bow.
With banks as green, and waves as clear,
Some bard of Albion shall appear,
To consecrate her name, and give
Her classic stream for e'er to live.

Then, heav'nly Muse, say, when my heart
Was pierc'd by Love's extatic dart,
(For Love that reigns in ev'ry breast
In mine was soon a tyrant guest)
Say-didst not thon afford relief,
And ope a channel for my grief?
And while disburthening with thee
My tuneful plaint, in company,
That told how fair in form and mind
Was she that towr'd o'er woman-kind,—
Then as a temporary ease

From the true cause of the disease

To pains arthritic comes,-so this
Beguil'd awhile my Love with visionary bliss.
But whither will the vision lead,
And Fancy when relax her speed?
How shall we, how, on stranger-ground
Our Land's peculiar song resound?
For where I go is lost the lay,

And honours none to bards they pay.
Then native spot, and Muse, to you
Since fate decrees it must-adieu!
Then (ye green retreats of Stow
And walk of Limes, and fields below,
And O ye ladies of the vale,

And Darwin's flow'ry grove, Farewell!
Farewell, ye scenes of joy long known,
Othello's occupation's gone.

Then hence, my Muse, I'll learn t'arrest
Thine earliest risings in my breast.
I'll curb my zeal for deathless fame
And jealous watch the boy-god's flame;
Repress the yearnings of the heart
And act an undistinguish'd part;
Assume the shrug, and sneer, and frown,
And keep excursive fancy down;
Change for the busy hum of men,
And maze of life, thy classic scene;
Amalgamate me with the crew,
And do at Rome as Romans do.
And as for all thy sprightly joys,
Whene'er to memory's view they rise,
Like Priam's turrets lost in air,*
"Twill be for me to say-They were!

DOMINIC.

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A POET'S APOLOGY FOR LATE HOURS. Addressed to some young Ladies, on their retiring at an early hour in the evening; and found by them, next morning, upon the breakfast table. BY A MODERN PROFESSOR.

What, hence to bed! O! never yet,
Pray think not now of sleeping;
The dearest hours in all the set
Are those that here are creeping:

The little hours,-a gentle train,—

That move noiseless feet,

And clear the world from care and pain,
When night and morning meet.
Because the sun has gone to rest,
And bade the world adieu,
Must I go poking to my nest,

And lie till morning too?

I love, like you, his beam divine,
That light and warmth supplies ;-
But now I only want to shine
The beams in Mary's eyes.

Early to bed, to rise betimes;"-
So sages old advise ;

And bid us thus, in masty rhymes,
Be"healthy, wealthy, wise."
Their golden rnle I value not,
For, in my practice, truly,
Full many a bliss has been my lot,
By breaking it most duly.
The Poet sings, "the breath of morn
"Is sweet, her rising sweet;"
But I was not in Eden born,

And find it no such treat:
Till Sol away the damps has charm'd,
I lie, my bed preferring;

And when the world is air'd and warm'd,
'Tis time enough for stirring.
We bid the sunshine longer stay,

That breaks through April glooms;
O! prize the bright, but passing, ray
That now the soul illumes!

For harmless mirth, for converse kind,
To-night a moment borrow;
And hours enow we're sure to find
For care and sleep to-morrow.

CORRESPONDENCE.

DANDYISM.

MR. EDITOR,For the benefit of a few of our Townsmen, I take the liberty of enclosing you some extracts on Dandyism. Surely men should never be ambitious of the notoriety and obloquy which must ever attach to a vile affectation of female delicacy, plaits, and pocketholes. JOHN BULL.

"God never made a coxcomb worth a groat."

"What grieves and induces me to vent my sorrow in your pages, is the change which appears to be taking place in the character of the rising generation. That I am an enemy to refined and polished manners, my situation in life must deny; and it is not of them that I complain. It is of that departnre-not from the simplicity of nature, for that and a state of modern civilization are incompatible, but—from the character of an Englishman, that our rising generation is now undergoing. Did they know with what disgust the Frenchified dandy (I abhor the name) of the present day is looked upon by men much younger than myself, they would be ashamed of the mongrel character which they have assumed; nor can we wonder that when speaking of them, in a convivial hour, a master of fox-hounds was lately betrayed into the expression that "the rising generation of the present day were not fit to throw guts to a bear The expres sion, we must admit, was a coarse one, and can only be qualified by the indignant feeling which gave birth to it. "Having occasion to call on a friend at a celebrated hotel, I confess I felt disgusted with my young countryIt was about one o'clock in the afternoon, the dinner-hour of their ancestors, when the young men of fashion were just crawling from their beds to their breakfast. With the appearance of most of them I was much struck, and could scarcely fancy myself in my own turned away in loathing The ringlets in their hair, the country; but from one or two of them, I confess, I rings on their fingers, the brooches in their neck-cloths, their petticoat breeches, their affected and mincing manner of bringing out their words, their enervated countenances, their epicene appearance, and their foreign look, all contributed to disgust me. I am not, Mr. Editor,

men.

I repeat it, an enemy to the fashionable refinements of this polished age, provided they be kept within proper

bounds; neither am I one of those, a laudator temporis
acti"--who think nothing right or p.
er but what was
in vogue in their younger days. On the contrary, I hail
with pleasure and satisfaction the rapid strides that my
Country has made towards improvement, and general
Amelioration of manners: but it is this change of charac-
ter that I lament; this being, as it were, ashamed of
our own country, and imitating another, to which, though
comparisons may be odious, we ever have been, and
ever shall be, superior. What! are the masters of Eu-
rope to become petits-maitres? Is the manly and con-
sistent character of an Englishman to give place to the
grimace and finicalness of a Frenchman? Is it because
a man chooses to spend a month in Paris, that he is to
leave his homely English habits behind him, and return
"bedizened with the tattered foppery of the Palais
Royal?" Had the French eagle been planted on the
Tower of London, we could do no more. Tacitus, when
speakin of the ancient Britons adopting the dress and
manner. of the Romans, their conquerors, says they
looked upon it as a refinement, whereas he considered it
a badge of their subjection." Pars servitutis erat."
"But why is it necessary that we should imitate any
nation? Imitation implies inferiority; and to whom is
an English gentleman to bow but to his King, and to the
laws of bis country. If I may be allowed the expression,
the ancient French, the noblesse of the last century, were
remarkable for their high breeding, and in conversational
accomplishments not to be excelled. Their language
gave them an advantage in social converse, and their
natural vivacity made the most of it. That day, how-
ever, is gone by; and the French people may now be
compared to a newly-ploughed field, where the kind and
cultivated soil is buried underneath that of an inferior
quality, and which nothing but the genial influence of
succeeding seasons can soften or ameliorate. Notwith-
standing all this, the mania for every thing French is
revived, but it is nothing new. It was so in Charles the
Second's time, till Dryden ridiculed the people out of
it by his inimitable plays.

If we now see a young man of fashion riding, he sits on his horse like a pair of tongs, with the legs open, with the tip of his toe just touching the stirrup; and if we meet him in a one-borse carriage, it must be in a French cabriolet, or in a gig with wheels as broad as waggon-wheels, made solely for paved roads. If we are to imitate other nations, in God's name let us imitate them in what they excel. If a man is to be a singer, let him be taught by an Italian; if a fiddler, let him fiddle like a German; and if a painter, let him imitate Vandyke or Rubens; but he need not go from home to learn how to sit his horse, to build a carriage, or to dress and look like a gentleman.

like an Englishman, in rude health, and good keeping?
Cæsar was not afraid of Antony and Dolabella, because
they were fat and sleek, but of Brutus and Cassius, be-
cause they were thin.

Let not the young men of the present day imagine
that this change of character is approved of by women.
It is no compliment to the fair sex to affect their manners
and be effeminate. On the contrary, that male feature
by which our sex is distinguished, is most agreeable to
them.
"In the hardier ages of antiquity, refinement was
watched with a very jealous eye. Plato would have
banished music from his republic; and Vespasian broke
a young Roman officer for being perfumed, saying, he
had rather he had stunk of garlic. All this, however,
may have been in the extreme; but such examples are
not without their force. So long as the Romans took
pleasure in arms and the management of horses, they
were unconquerable, till Sylla returned from Asia and
indulged them in luxuries, which enervated them, and
nothing would then please them but a statue. When
the Athenians saw themselves raised above the other
states of Greece, they gave up their exercises, and be-
came degenerate. Think what a Roman soldier was,
and think what a Roman soldier is! The one feared
nothing, and braved any thing; the other cannot go on
parade without an umbrella under his arm. What
would Fabricius have said to this?

VARIETIES.

A young scholar will take it kind if any of the learned readers of the Iris will have the goodness to point out to him the precise shade of difference in the meaning of the words diligo and amo. That they are not synonimous appears from Cicero's Epistle to Silius (Epist. ad Fam. lib. 13, ep. 47) in which he says, "Quid ego tibi commendem eum, quem tu ipse diligis? Sed tamen, nt scires, eam a me non diligi solùm, verùm etiam amari, ob eam rem tibi hæc scribo. Omnium tuorum officiorum, quæ et multa, et magna sunt, mihi gratissimum fuerit, si ita tractaris Egnatium, ut sentiat, et se a me, et me a te amari. Hoc te vehementer etiam atque etiam rogo." He wishes to be informed also of any other passages in

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the classics where the distinction between the words in
question is apparent.
SIGMA.

Phil-Harmonic Concert.-On the evening of Christmas
Day, the members of the Phil-Harmonic Society, assisted
by several eminent professors, gave their fourth public
concert in a grand and masterly style; it consisted of
a selection of sacred music, from the works of Handel,
Haydn, Bergt, &c. Conductor Mr. E. Sudlow.

The "Gloria in excelcis Deo," from Haydn, the Quar

"Fielding says "there is a certain air of natural genu-tetto "Lo, my Shepherd is divine," and the Grand Cho

lity which it is not in the power of dress to give, nor to
rus" Christ Jesus," justly obtained rapturous applause.
conceal;" and to the man of real taste, it is the "sim-
The sublime Chorus "Sing, O ye Heavens for the Lord,
plex munditiis"- the elegantly neat-that alone can
hath done it" was delightful; and "Lord remember
please. Rings, ringlets, and brooches, ill become an
Englishman, who above all others, makes the worst of David" was well executed, and did Mr. Roylance great
coxcombs. Mr. Washington Irving, author of Brace- credit. Nor can we omit to mention Miss Travis, her
bridge Hall, has assured us of this. "In a country," Hymn of Eve" How cheerful along the gay mead" gave
says he," where intellect and action are trammelled and general satisfaction. The Semi-Chorus Exceeding glad
restrained, men of rank and fortune may become idlers shall he be of thy salvation" was charming; and the per-
and triflers with impunity; but an English coxcomb is in-formances of the evening, altogether, excellent.
excusable, and this perhaps is the reason why he is the
most offensive and insupportable coxcomb in the world."
"A dandy will never go down here. The country is
not indigenous to his growth; his nature seems per-
verted. The lower orders of the people are seldom
wrong in the bulk of their judgment; and to them a
dandy is obnoxions. Even the ballad singers in the
streets have them in derision. When last in town I
heard a woman amusing a crowd of listeners with a song
on the subject, the chorus of which was-" Am I not a
beautiful man?" Mr. Editor, as an old coachman likes
the smack of the whip, so no man adores a beautiful wo-
man more than your humble servant, but away with the
"beautiful man," and the "nice man." Such epithets
belong to the other sex. Also away with stays, petti-
coat-breeches, red and green silk and satin neck-hand-
kerchiefs, and all such appearances of the epicene gen-
der. The full breast, the slender waist, the prominent
hip, and the delicate complexion, belong to a woman,
and not to a man.-Shakespeare says→→

"Black men are pearl in beauteous ladies' eyes." And why should an Englishman be ashamed of looking

Paris. In the last 4 or 5 days the weather has not only been excessively cold, but also foggy. The streets are constantly wet, owing to the water-courses being in the centre, where the carriages run; and when we return home with wet stockings, and shivering in every limb, we have all the comforts of a French fire-side-either unable to keep more than a spark of fire on the hearth, or if we resolve to have a good one, being nearly smokedried; for there is not one chimney in a thousand, in Paris, which is free from smoking, even when the doors and windows are wide open.

Ingenuity af a Russian Swindler. About 10 months A Russian, who passed himself off for a great man, ago, the following very curious circumstance occurred.came to Paris and took lodgings with bis valet in one of lived in the most splendid style, giving parties, and for the largest houses of the Chaussée d'Antin. Here he the first few weeks paying regularly. At length, however, he contrived to get deeply in debt, and meditated decamping; but he was resolved before he went to give a coup d'eclat, which he performed as follows. He called one morning on one of the richest jewellers in Paris, aud

desired to look at some diamonds. The French have a high opinion of the wealth and extravagance of the Rus sians, and our jeweller already rubbed his hands in the delight of anticipation. The Russian bargained for jewels to the amount of 140,000 francs, and looked at others to the amount of 150,000, which he desired the Frenchman to take to his lodgings in the course of an hour, when he would pay him for what he had agreed to purchase, and give a decision as to the remainder. The jeweller was of course trae to the appointment, and found the soi-disant Boyard in his drawing-room. The latter instantly went to his secretaire, and took out two bags which appeared to be filled with Napoleons, and a pocketbook, and pretended to be about to pay for the jewels actually purchased; declining at the same time to take those which he had desired the jeweller to bring with him for his decision. Whilst he was opening his pocketbook he seemed to alter his mind, and desired the jeweller to give him the diamonds, and he would shew them to his wife, who was still in bed in the next room. The Frenchman, hoping to sell the whole, gave the Russian those which he had agreed for, and those on choice. The Boyard took them into the adjoining room, leaving the door a little open, and in a minute was in conversation with his lady, as to the merits of jewels. For some time the jeweller, who heard the conversation and saw the door partly open, had no suspicion; but when the noise had ceased for a few minutes he began to be alarmed: after having waited for nearly a quarter of an hour he ventured to peep into the room, where he saw-nobody. He rang the bell and enquired for le Seigneur Russe : the people of the house informed him that the Russian had, in the early part of the morning, paid his lodgings and removed his trunks; and that ten minutes before the jeweller rang the bell, the Russian had taken leave of them. The police were soon on the qui-vive; but the swindler had laid his plan so well, that no more was heard of him.

REPOSITORY OF GENIUS. "And justly the Wise-man thus preach'd to us all,"Despise not the value of things that are small.”—_ Old Ballad.

A RIDDLE.

BY THE LATE MR. THYER:

Many years Librarian at Chetham's Hospital, in this Town, and Editor of "The Remains of the Author of Hudibras."

Within a cottage, snug and warm,

There dwells an honest pair;
Secure from every worldly ill,

And free from anxious care.

They're ancient both, and what is still
More wondrous to be told,
The very moment they were born,

'Tis said that they were old!
Yet thus in happy station fix'd,
They never can agree;
To many another wedded pair
As like—as like may be.
For what the husband thinks is right,
Is thwarted by the wife;
One pulling this way, t'other that,
A scene of endless strife.
Whatever he attempts to do,
She still reverses quite ;
In every single step she takes,
Perverse and opposite.

Is he disposed to stay at home?
Abroad the jade will trudge;
Has he a mind to take the air?
One step she will not budge.
Yet various as their notions are,

The very nuptial tie

That still unites them, is the cause
Of this diversity.

For what makes him abroad to roam,
Makes her at home to stay;
And the same end they both pursue,
Though in a different way.

WEEKLY DIARY.

DECEMBER.

TUESDAY, 31.-Saint Silvester.

He was Bishop of Rome; and succeeded Miltiades in the papacy, in 314. Silvester is accounted the author of several rites and ceremonies of the Romish church, as asylums, unctions, palls, corporals, mitres, &c. He died in 334.

JANUARY.

wards the new year, and, on the other, towards
the old one.

REMARKABLE DAYS.
WEDNESDAY 1.-Circumcision.

This festival was instituted in the sixth century,

to commemorate the circumcision of our Saviour.

making use of the term in the following beauti- of poetry,-arising from its only sources,—a close ful passage:

Methought it was the sound

Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the joeund flute, or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,
When for their teeming flocks, and granges full,
In wanton dance, they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath
To meet the rudeness, and swilled insolence,
Of such late wassailers.

observation of the varieties of human life and character, and of the workings of the human heart, and an intimate acquaintance with the infinitely diversified appearances of external na ture. Let sprightly Byron and heavy Bowles argue the question for ever,-let the former contend for Art, and the latter for Nature,-still the true sources of poetry, are, always have been and ever will be,-human life and human charac ter, the workings of the human heart,-and the diversified appearances of external nature. Na ture, passion, incident, and character,-whateve relates to these, conveyed in musical, in strong and in elevated language, is poetry. In all the particulars Chaucer is pre-eminent. His sent be born; the language in which they are incar nated, is worthy of the soul which animates them

It is not with him as with many of our moder poets, an eternal sing-song,-one line balancing another exactly like the throws of a weaver shuttle; as thus:

New Year's-day in Paris is the most remarkable day in the whole year; all the shops are shut, THE name given to this month by the Romans labour suspends his toil,-commerce reposes on was taken from JANUS, one of their divinities, her oars, and the philosopher postpones his stuto whom they gave two faces; because, on the dies; nature and nature's son enjoy a universal one side, the first day of this month looked to-holiday. For several weeks preceding new year's-ments come crowding forth as if they longed t day, various classes of ingenious artists employ all their talents and skill, with an uncommon lustre on the auspicious opening of the new year; these are the confectioners, the embossers of visiting cards, the jewellers, &c.; and their shops on this day display a degree of taste and magnificence difficult to describe, and totally unknown in England. This is the day of universal greetings, of renewing acquaintance, of counting how precisely as if one line were made for the other many links have been broken by time last year in No;-his rhymes are altogether a secondary con the circles of friendship, and what new ones have sideration ;--they come as it were by chance replaced them. All persons, whatever may be their rank, degree, or profession, form a list of yet they are perfect:-and it always seems as the names of persons whose friendship they wish have done as well. The effect is as if some s independently of the rhyme, no other word would to preserve or cultivate; to each of these persons perior spirit were dictating poetry, and, withou a porter is sent, to deliver their card. Those condescending to think of the rhymes, neverthe more particularly connected with them by bloodless dropped them like the touches of a master or friendship, are visited in person; and all who meet embrace on this happy day. Millions of pencil, exactly of the right kind, and in exact the right places.

This is also New Year's-day, which has ever been
considered a season of joy and congratulation for
blessings received and dangers escaped in the past
year. The antient custom of going about with
the wassail, a bowl of spiced ale,' on New
Year's-eve, Twelfth-night, and Christmas-eve, is
The mode of pro-
still kept up in many places.
ceeding in the western counties of England is, as
follows:-A company of six men, having pro-
vided themselves with a little bowl, set out on the
commencement of the new year to visit the in-
habitants of the town or village in which they
live. They rarely begin until the candles are
lighted, when, without ceremony, they silently
open the door, and, in an audible voice, begin to
sing some barbarous lines that seem to have nei-
ther sense nor meaning, any further than they
contain a request that those within will bestow
something on

These poor jolly wassail boys,

Come travelling through the mire ;

and, having obtained this either in meat, drink,
or money, and sometimes in all, they retire and
repeat the same ditty at the next door.-Ben
Jonson has given us two curious personifications
of the wassail; the first, in his Forest, No. 3;
while giving an account of a rural feast in the
hall of Sir Robert Wroth, he says,

The rout of rural folk come thronging in,
Their rudeness then is thought no sin---
The jolly wassal walks the often round,

And in their cups their cares are drowned:
and, the second, in Christmas, His Masque, as
it was presented at Court, 1616,' where Wassall,
as one of the ten children of Christmas, is re-
presented in the following quaint manner-Like
a neat sempster, and songster; her page bearing
a browne bowle, dressed with ribbands, rosemarie
before her.

Fletcher, in his Faithful Shepherdess, has given a striking description of the festivity attendant on the wassail bowl:

cards are distributed; and nothing is seen in the
streets but well dressed persons going to visit
their friends and relations, and renew, in an af-
fectionate manner, all the endearing charms of
friendship. On this day, too, parents, friends,
and lovers, bestow their presents on the various
objects of their affection, and pour so many
draughts of the most delightful balm that human
nature can partake.

BEAUTIES OF ENGLISH POETRY.

No. II.

CHAUCER-Continued.

I omitted to mention-for I did not wish to
make the prose introduction too long ;-I omitted,
I say, to mention in No. 1, that the plan of the
Canterbury's Tales, Chaucer's Opus magnum, is
this. A number of pilgrims going to the shrine.
of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury, assemble at
an inn in Southwark, and agree to relate stories
on their way thither, and also in returning :-and
he who related the best was to be treated by the
others with a supper. In the prologue the pil-
grims are severally introduced to the reader; and
in delineating the character of each, Chaucer's
wonderful knowledge of human life, and his
powers of description are strongly exhibited. I
do not mean to bind myself to give every charac-
ter, and certainly not every part of each charac-
ter-my object is to cull out the beauties of Chau-
cer for the admiration, amusement, and instruc-
tion of those, who have not leisure for a more
deep and extended study of the father of English
poetry.

The woods, or some near town 'That is a neighbour to the bordering down, Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lusty sport, Or spiced wassel-boul, to which resort All the young men and maids of many a cote, Whilst the trim minstrell strikes his merry note. No one who aspires to be a poet,-no one who The persons thus accompanying the wassail bowl, especially those who danced and played, feels the inspiration of the heaven-born spirit of were called wassailers, an appellation which it poesy swelling within his bosom, but is at a loss was afterwards customary to bestow on all who in what manner of language that spirit shall reindulged, at any season, in intemperate mirth.ceive its incarnation, ought to neglect the study Hence, Milton introduces his Lady in Comus of Chaucer. In Chaucer we have the true-birth

"Ye nymphs of Solyma, begin the song,

To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong;"

this well of English undefiled;" and belier Drink then ye youthful poets, drink deeply that every draught is a sort of secondary inspis

ation

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Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurna."
But to our specimens ;-after the description o
the Knight follows that of his son the "
young
Squire."

With him there was his son, a young Squier
A lover and a lusty bachelér,

With locks as curl'd as toey were laid in press.;

I

Of twenty years of age he was, guess.
Of his stature he was of a good length,
And wondrously deliver,' and great of strength;
And he had been some time in chevachie2
In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardy,
And borne him well, as of so little space,
In hope to standen in his ladye's grace.

Embroider'd was he, as it were a mead
All fall of fresh flowers both white and red:
Singing he was or fluteing all the day:
He was as fresh as is the month of May :
Short was his gown, with sleeves both long and wide,
Well could be sit his horse, and graceful ride :
He could make songs, and he could well endite,
Could juste and dance, and well pourtray and write
Over his heart so did hot love prevail,
He slept no more than doth the nightingale :
Courteous he was, lowly and serviceable,
And carved before his father at the table.

A Yeoman had he, and servants none beside,
At that time, for it pleased him so to ride,
And he was clad in coat and hood of green;
A sheaf of peacock-arrows bright and keen
Under his belt he bare full thriftily:
Well could be dress his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low,
And in his hand he bare a mighty bow.

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And certainly she was of great disport, And full pleasant, and amiable of port, And took great pains to imitate the cheer+ Of court, and to be stately of manner, And to be held worthy of reverence.

But for to speaken of her conscience, She was so charitable and piteóus She wouldë weep if that she saw a mouse Caught in a trap if it were kill'd or bled.

A Monk there was, fair for the mastery'
An out-rider, that loved hunting, he;
A manly man, to be an abbot able;
Fall many a dainty horse had he in stable,
And when he rode, men might his bridle hear
Gingle-ing in a whistling wind, as clear
And eke as loud as doth the chapel-bell
There where this lord was keeper of the cell."

His sleeves I saw were trimmed at the hand
With far, and that the finest of the land;
And for to fasten his hood ander his chin
He had of gold ywrought a curious pin;
A love-knot at the greater end there was :
His head was bald, and shone as any glass;
And eke, as it anointed were, his face;
He was a lord full fat, and in good case:
His eyen' steep, and rolling in his head,
That like a furnace steam'd of molten lead;
His boots were supple, his horse in great estate,
Now certainly he was a fair preláte:
He was not pale as a forpined' ghost;
A fat swan loved he best of any roast:
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.
(To be continued.)

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cret :

measured for a new peruke, and a taffety robe de chambre, earnestly enjoining the utmost expedition. Shut the door!' said Moncriff, observing the surprise of his friend. "And now that we are alone, I confide my seon rising this morning, my valet showed me on this leg this dark spot-from that moment I knew I was 'condemned to death;' but I had presence of mind enough not to betray myself.'-Can a head so well organised as yours imagine that such a trifle is a sentence of death?' Don't speak so loud, my friend!--or rather deign to listen a moment. At my age it is fatal! The system from which I have derived the felicity of a long life has been, that whenever any evil, moral or physical, happens to as, if there is a remedy, all must be sacrificed to deliver us from it--but in a contrary case, I do not choose to wrestle with destiny and to begin complaints, endless as useless! All that I request of you, my friend, is to assist me to pass away the few days which remain for me, free from all cares, of which otherwise they might be too susceptible. But do not think,' he added with warmth, that I mean to elude the religious duties of a citizen, which so many of late affect to contemn. The good and virtuous curate of my parish is coming here under a pretext of an annual contribution, and I have even ordered my physician, on whose confidence I can rely. Here is a list of ten or twelve persons, friends beloved! who are mostly known to you. I shall write to them this evening, to tell them of my condemnation; but if they wish me to live, they will do me the favour to assemble here at five in the evening, where they may be certain of finding all those objects of amusement, which I shall study to discover suitable to their tastes. And you, my old friend, with my doctor, are two on whom I most depend.'

La Place was strongly affected by this appeal-neither Socrates, nor Cato, nor Seneca looked more serenely on the approach of death.

Familiarize yourself early with death!' said the good old man with a smile-' It is only dreadful for those who dread it!'

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to stretch out the gaunt anatomy into the postures of a Hogarth; and that the ludicrous might be carried to its extreme, this imaginary being, taken from the bonehouse, was viewed in the action of dancing! This blending of the grotesque with the most disgusting image of mortality, is the more singular part of this history of the skeleton, and indeed of human nature iaself!

HISTORY OF WRITING MASTERS. Among these knights of the "Plume volante," whose chivalric exploits astounded the beholders, must be distinguished Peter Bales, in his joust with David Jonson. In this tilting match the guerdon of caligraphy was won by the greatest of caligraphers; its arms were assumed by the victor, azure, a pen or; while "the golden pen," carried away in triumph, was painted with a hand over the door of the caligrapher. The history of this renowned encounter was only traditionally known, till with my own eyes I pondered on this whole trial of skill in the precious manuscript of the champion himself; who, like Cæsar, not only knew how to win victories, but also to record them. Peter Bales was a hero of such transcendant eminence, that his name has entered into our history. Hollingshed chronicles one of his curiosities of microscopic writing, at the time the taste prevailed for admiring writing which no eye could read! In the compass of a silver penny this caligrapher put more things than would fill several of these pages. He presented Queen Elizabeth with the manuscript set in a ring of gold, covered with a crystal; he had also contrived a magnifying glass of such power, that, to her delight and wonder, her majesty read the whole volume, which she held on her thumb nail, and "commended the same to the lords of the council and the ambassadors;" and frequently, as Peter often heard, did her majesty vouchsafe to wear this caligraphic ring.

"Some will think I labour on a cobweb"-modestly exclaimed Bales in his narrative, and his present historian much fears for himself! The reader's gratitude will not be proportioned to my pains, in condensing such copious pages into the size of "a silver penny," but without its worth!

During ten days after this singular conversation, the whole of Moncriff's remaining life, his apartment was open to his friends, of whom several were ladies; all kinds of games were played till nine o'clock, and that For a whole year had David Johnson affixed a chalthe sorrows of the host might not disturb his guests, he lenge" to any one who should take exceptions to this played the chouette at his favourite game of picquet: a my writing and teaching." He was a young friend of supper, seasoned by the wit of the master, concluded at Bales, daring and longing for an encounter; yet Bales eleven. On the tenth night, in taking leave of his friend, was magnanimously silent, till he discovered that he was Moncriff whispered to him, Adieu, my friend! to-morrow" doing much less in writing and teaching" since this morrow morning I shall return your books!' He died, public challenge was proclaimed! He then set up his as he foresaw, the following day.

THE SKELETON OF DEATH.

Mr. Abernethey in his Physiological Lectures has ingeniously observed, that Shakespeare has represented The great Maximilian the emperor came to a monastery Mercutio continuing to jest, though conscious that he in high Almaine (Germany,) the monks whereof had was mortally wounded; the expiring Hotspur thinking caused to be curiously painted the charnel of a man, of nothing but honour; and the dying Falstaff still crack-which they termed-DEATH! When that well-learned ing his jests upon Bardolph's nose. If such facts were emperor had beholden it awhile, he called unto him his July attended to, they would prompt us to make a more painter, commanding him to blot the skeleton out, and liberal allowance for each other's conduct under certain to paint therein the image of-A FOOL. Wherewith the circumstances than we are accustomed to do.' The truth abbot humbly beseeching him to the contrary, said, 'It seems to be, that whenever the functions of the mind are was a good remembrance!'-Nay,' quoth the emperor, not disturbed by the nervous functions of the digestive as vermin that annoyeth man's body comes unlooked for, organs,' the personal character predominates even in so doth death, which here is but a feigned image, and death, and its habitual associations exist to its last mo- life is a certain thing, if we know to deserve it.' The nents. Many religious persons may have died without original mind of Maximilian the Great is characterised showing in their last moments any of those exterior acts, by this curious story of converting our emblem of death or employing those fervent expressions, which the col- into a party-coloured fool; and such satirical allusions ector of The Book of Death' would only deign to to the folly of those who persisted in their notion of the chronicle; their hope is not gathered in their last hour. skeleton were not unusual with the artists of those times; It may be a question whether those who by their pre- we find the figure of a fool sitting with some drollery aratory conduct have appeared to show the greatest between the legs of one of these skeletons. ndifference for death, have not rather betrayed the most surious art to disguise its terrors. Some have invented mode of escaping from life in the midst of convivial enjoyment. A mortuary preparation of this kind has Deen recorded of an amiable man, Moncriff, the author of Histoire des Chats' and ' L'Art de Plaire,' by his iterary friend La Place, who was an actor in, as well as he historian of the singular narrative. One morning La Place received a note from Moncriff, requesting that he would immediately select for him a dozen volumes bost likely to amuse, and of a nature to withdraw the eader from being occupied by melancholy thoughts.' a Place was startled at the unusual request, and flew ⚫ his old friend, whom he found deeply engaged in being

This story is associated with an important fact. After they had successfully terrified the people with their charnel-house figure, a reaction in the public feelings occurred, for the skeleton was now employed as a medium to convey the most facetious, satirical, and burlesque Lotions of human life. Death, which had so long harassed their imaginations, suddenly changed into a theme fertile in coarse humour. The Italians were too long accustomed to the study of the beautiful to allow their pencil to sport with deformity; but the Gothic taste of the German artists, who could only copy their own homely nature, delighted to give human passions to the hideons physiognomy of a noseless skull; to put an eye of mockery or malignity into its hollow socket, and

counter-challenge, and in one hour afterwards Johnson arrogantly accepted it, "in a most despiteful and disgraceful manner.' Bale's challenge was delivered “in good terms," "to all Englishmen and strangers." It was to write for a pen of gold of twenty pounds value in all kinds of hands, "best, straightest, and fastest," and most kind of ways; "a full, a mean, a small, with line and without line; in a slow set hand, a mean facile hand, and a fast running hand;" and further, "to write truest and speediest, most secretary and clerk-like, from a man's mouth, reading, or pronouncing, either English or Latin."

Young Johnson had the bardihood now of turning the tables on his great antagonist, accusing the veteran Bales of arrogance. Such an absolute challenge, says he, was never witnessed by man, "without exception of any in the world!" And, a few days after, meeting Bales, "of set purpose to affront and disgrace him what he could, showed Bales a piece of writing of secretary's hand, which he had very much laboured in fine abortive parchment," uttering to the challenger these words: "Mr. Bales, give me one shilling out of your parse, and if within six months you better, or equal, this piece of writing, I will give you forty pounds for it." This legal deposit of the shilling was made, and the challenger or appellant was thereby bound by law to the performance. The day before the trial a printed declaration was affixed throughout the city, taunting Bale's " proud poverty," and his pecuniary motives, as "a thing ungentle, base, and mercenary, and not answerable to the dignity of the golden pen!" Johnson dec'ares he would maintain his challenge for a thousand pounds more, but for the respondent's inability to perform a thousand groats.

On Michaelmas day, 1595, the trial opened before five judges the appellant and the respondent appeared at the appointed place, and an ancient gentleman was

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