believe me or not, as you please; but when I tell you that I had rather see him than all the engravings and pictures in the world, I tell you only the pure and naked truth.

'He usually goes up and down the garden walks with slow steps, without sitting; but often stops over against some plant or flower, and stands still, for half an hour at a time, observing or meditating. Could I but guess his thoughts and discourse with himself at such moments. Then, when he turns away from the plants and flowers, he sometimes goes to play with his sweet grandchildren.

I speak with Goethe through my eyes, though he sees me not; for I stand behind a hedge, hidden from him by the bushes. This all sounds very strange and romantic, but it is truly thus. And, indeed, thus is it well, and better than if I had really seen him and spoken with him,-I well know why. For suppose he condescended to talk with me, what in all the world could a boy of sixteen, like me, be to him in conversation? He talk to me! He has something better to do, indeed!

O, my most honoured friend, if you were but here for once, in the garden, and by my side! How happy shall I be when it is really spring, when the buds burst! Then will I diligently watch Goethe's conversation with the flowers, and the birds, and the light, in his nearer intercourse with nature; and I will write you all that I know about it, and all that I can so much as guess.

THE WEEK.

'Yours, &c.'

From Wednesday the 1st, to Tuesday the 7th of October. As flowers are now leaving us, we continue to make much of the trees. Not that we are insensible to the merits of such flowers as are left us. On the contrary, we value them more than ever; that is to say, if ever we can value at one time more than another the "rounds of the ardent marygolds," and the "most genteel nasturtium" (as an Italian would call it), shewing its cups of refined fire amidst its drapery of curious leaves. Nasturtium is an "original" among flowers, and its elegance is equal to its peculiarity. There is a refinement in it throughout -in its colour, its leaves, and its taste. This is the flower which Linnæus's daughter discovered to emit sparks of fire on warm summer evenings. Then

there is the amaranth, yellow and purple, the latter powdered with gold; and, above all, the dahliathe splendid stranger, unknown to our ancestors, making, with its varieties, a garden by itself, the very sunset of the declining year. We are sorry we could not avail ourselves of a second opportunity, and see the magnificent shew of it, last Wednesday, at th Surrey Zoological Gardens; but we saw it in our mind's eye, and most magnificent it was.

The renewal of our acquaintance with Evelyn's "Silva" has made it impossible to us to resist giving another passage from that reverend and enthusiastic work, in which he does

HONOUR TO THE TREES.

[The passage we have marked in Italics would have done honour to any poet.]

The poets thought of no other heaven upon earth or elsewhere; for when Anchises was setting forth the felicity of the other life to his son, the most lively description he could make of it was to tell him

Lucis habitamus opacis,

And Virgil again,

Nostra nec erubuit Silvas habitare Thalia.
Our sweet Thalia loves, nor does she scorn
To hunt umbrageous groves.

Or as thus expressed by Petrarch,

Silva placet Musis, urbs est inimica poetis.

The muse herself enjoys Best in the woods: Verse flies the citie noise. So true is that of yet as noble a poet of our own; As well might corn as verse in cities grow, In vain the thankless glebe we plough and sow; Against th' unnatural soil in vain we strive : 'Tis not a ground in which these plants will thrive. Cowley.

When it seems they will bear nothing but nettles and thorns of Satire, and, as Juvenal says, by Indignation too; and therefore almost all the poets, except those who were not able to eat bread without the

bounty of great men, that is, without what they could get by flattering them (which was Homer and Pindar's case) have not only withdrawn themselves from the vices and vanities of the great world, into the innocent felicities of gardens, and groves, and retiredness, but have also commended and adorned Here nothing so much in their never-dying poems. then is the true Parnassus, Castalia, and the Muses; and at every call in a grove of venerable oaks, methinks I hear the answer of an hundred old Druids, and the bards of our inspired ancestors.

In a word, so charmed were poets with those natural shades, especially that of the Platenus, that they honoured temples with the names of groves, though they had not a tree about them. Nay, sometimes one stately tree alone was so revered and of such an one there is mention of an inscription in a garden at Rome, where there was a temple built under a

:

spreading beech-tree, sacred to Jupiter, under the

name of Fagutalis.

Innumerable are the testimonies I might produce in behalf of groves and woods out of the poets, Virgil, Gratius, Ovid, Horace, Claudian, Statius, Silius, and others of later times, especially the divine Petrarch (for Scriptorum chorus omnis amet nemus), were I minded to swell this charming subject beyond the limits of a chapter. I think only to take notice that theatrical representations, such as were those of the Ionian, called Andria, the scenes of pastorals, and the like innocent rural entertainments, were of old adorned and trimmed up è ramis et frondibus, cum racemis et corymbis, and frequently represented in groves, as the learned Scaliger shews. Here the most beloved and coy mistress of Apollo rooted; and in the walks and shades of trees the noblest raptures have been conceived, and poets have composed verses which have animated men to heroic and glorious actions. Here orators, as we have shewed, have made their panegyrics, historians grave relations, and the profound philosophers have loved here to pass their lives in repose and contemplation.

We dwell in shady groves.

Devenere locos lætos, et amæna vireta Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas. They came to groves of happy souls the rest, To evergreens, the dwellings of the blest. Such a prospect has Virgil given us of his Elysium; and therefore wise and great persons had always there sweet opportunities of recess, their Domos Silva (Houses in the Wood), as we read (Kings vii. 2), which were thence called Houses of Royal Refreshment; or, as the Septuagint 'Oixes dpup, not much unlike the lodges in divers of our noblemen's parks and forest-walks; which reminds me of his choice in another poem.

they would faithfully and religiously observe what was concluded amongst them:

In such green palaces the first kings reign'd, Slept in their shades and angels entertained: With such old counsellor they did advise, And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise. Free from th' impediments of light and noise, Man then retir'd, his nobler thoughts employs. Waller. As our excellent poet has described it.

Our blessed Saviour, as we shall shew, chose the garden sometimes for his oratory-and dying, for the place of his sepulchre; and we do avouch for many weighty causes that there are no places more fit to bury our dead in than our gardens and groves, or airy fields, sub dio, where our beds may be decked and carpeted with verdant and fragrant flowers, trees, and perennial plants, the most natural and instinctive hieroglyphics of our expected resurrection and immortality; besides what they might conduce to the meditation of the living, and the taking of our cogitations from dwelling too intently upon more vain and sensual objects; that custom of burying in churches, and near about them (especially in great and populous cities,) being a novel presumption, indecent, sordid, and very prejudicial to health; for which I am sorry it is become so customary. Graves and sepulchres were, of old, made and erected by the sides of the most frequented high-ways, which being many of them magnificent structures and mausoleums, adorned with statues and inscriptions (planted about with cypress and other evergreens, and kept in repair), were not only graceful, but a noble and usemind of the virtues and glorious actions of the persons ful entertainment to the travellers, putting them in buried; of which, I think my lord Verulam has somewhere spoken. However, there was certainly no permission for any to be buried within the walls of Rome, almost from the very foundation of it; for so was the Sanction XII. Tab. IN URBE NE SEPELITO NEVE URITO, "Neither to bury or burn the dead in the city;" and when long after they began to violate the law, Antoninus Pius and the emperor succeeding did again prohibit it. All we meet of ancient to the contrary, is the tomb of Cestius the Epulos, which is a thick clumsy pyramid yet standing, nec in Urbe, nec in Orbe, as it were, but half in, and half without the wall. If then it were counted a thing so profane to bury in the cities, much less would they have permitted it in their temples; nor was it in use among Christians, who, in the primitive ages, had no particular Cemeteria; but when (not long after) it was indulged, it was to martyrs only ad limina, and in the porches, even to the deposita of the apostles themselves.

Princes, indeed, and other illustrious persons, founders

of churches, &c. had sometimes their dormitories near the Basilica and cathedrals, a little before St Augustine's time, as appears by his book, De Cure pro Mortuis, and the concession was not easily obtained. Constantine, son to the great Constantine himself, did not, without leave, inhume his royal father in the church porch of that august fabric, though built by that famous emperor: and yet after this, other great persons placed their sepulchres no nearer than towards the church walls, whilst in the body of the church, they presumed no further for a long time after, as may be proved from the Capitula of Charlemagne ; nor hardly in the city till the time of Gregory the Great; and when connived at, it was complained of. We find it forbidden (as to churches) by the empe rors Gratian, Valentinian and Theodosius; and so in the code, where the sanction runs thus: Nemo Apostolorum vel Martyrum Seden humanis corporibus existimet esse concessam, &c. And now, after all this, would it not raise our indignation to see so many extortioners, luxurious, profane, and very mean persons, without merit, not only affecting, but permitted to lay their carcases, not in the nave and body of the church only, but in the very chancel, next the communion table, ripping up the pavements, removing the seats, &c. for some little gratification of those who should have more respect to decency at least, if for no other!

The fields, the mountains, the high-way sides and gardens, were thought honourable enough for those funeral purposes. Abraham and the patriarchs (as we have shewed) had their caves and cripta in the fields, set about with trees. The kings of Judah had their sepulchres in their palaces, and not in the sanctuary and temple: and our most blessed Saviour's sepulchre was in a garden, which indeed seems to be most proper and eligible, as we have already shewed: nor even to this day do the Greek and Eastern Christians bury in churches, as is well known.

The late elegant and accomplished Sir W. Temple, though he laid not his whole body in his garden, deposited the better part of it, his heart, there; and if my executors will gratify me in what I have desired, I wish my corpse may be interred as I have bespoke them; not at all out of singularity or for want of a dormitory (of which there is an ample one annexed to the parish church), but for other reasons not here necessary to trouble the reader with, what I have said

At Ockley, in Surrey, there is a certain custom, observed time out of mind, of planting rose-trees upon the graves, especially by the young men and maids who have lost their lovers, so that this church-yard is now full of them. It is the more remarkable, because we may observe it to have been anciently used both among the Greeks and Romans, who were so very religious in it that we find it often annexed as a codicil to their wills, as appears by an old inscription at Ravenna, and another at Milan, by which they ordered roses to be yearly strewed and planted upon their graves. Hence that of Propertius, Lib. I. El. 2., implying the usage of burying amidst roses, "Et tenerâ poneret ossa rosa;" and old Anacreon, speaking of it, says that it does expois aμvvery protect the dead. --Camd. Brit. vol. i., p. 236.

It is the universal practice in South Wales to strew roses and all kinds of flowers over the graves of their departed friends. Shakspeare has put the following lines into the mouth of a young prince, who had been educated, under the care of a supposed shepherd, in that part of the island :

With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose; nor
The azur'd Harebell, like thy veins; ro, nor
The leaf of Eglantine; which, not to slander,
Outsweeten'd not thy breath.-Cymbeline.

THE BREWER.

He comes over-night to see to the sticks and coal; and just tastes how the old ale is, and pronounces it capital. He takes a crust and a half-pint or so, to recruit his strength against the next day's work. He looks out his candles and sees whether the malt be ready ground, and in the right place. If a careful man, he also fills his copper. He is generally a man of great fore-knowledge-anticipating over-night that he shall want something to eat before breakfast in the morning. He, therefore, takes a store of provisions and a bottle of the old ale, with the key of the brewhouse, to be in readiness.

The morning's work commences at two, and by the time you have arisen, he has mashed down the malt in your vessel, and the eating and drinking in his own! and is now ready for breakfast. After breakfast he lets off the wort, of which he tastes, to see how it is; and takes another pint of the old before luncheon. At luncheon he takes some cold meat and a little more of the old, and another pint between that time and dinner. Before dinner he inquires about the hops, and always advises you to have the highest in price. He generally gathers a short quantity-because (as he says) too much water spoils the beer. At dinner time the beer is ready to boil, and you are all in the fidgets lest he should let the copper boil over whilst trying another pint of the old. He has another at four o'clock, and another or two at supper.

The new beer having been set a working for the night, the next morning early the brewer is with you again to see that all is right; when he will call in two of his old cronies, Jack Drinkwater and Tom Hatemalt, to help him taste of the new. He will then ask for another pint of the old, and prepares for tunning, tasting of the new all the time, whilst you ejaculate to yourself inwardly, "I wonder how he finds room for both old and new."

A few days elapse, when he calls again to "hop down," and he takes his fee with another drop of the old, drinking your health at the same time, and wishing (you have no doubt conscientiously) that the new beer may be no worse than the old.

G. D.

AN EPISODE

FROM

ONE OF GOETHE'S UNTRANSLATED

NOVELS.

[We are indebted for the following story to the kindness of a friend who is conversant with German, and with the writings of the illustrious author. It is not given us as one of his best, but under the just impression, that any production of so great a writer would not be unwelcome. Much of it is indeed not unworthy of him, but the conclusion is surely otherwise unless more was intended to come of it. A mistress so much in the habit of setting her will above her considerateness, would have made but a perilous wife.]

Two neighbour children, of considerable families, a boy and a girl, of proportionate ages for being one day man and wife, were brought up together in this pleasant prospect, and the parents on both sides rejoiced in their future union. But it was soon remarked that the project appeared to miscarry; a singular aversion discovering itself between these two excellent natures. Perhaps they were too much alike.

Both self-subsistent, distinct in their wishes, firm in their purposes; each individually the beloved and honoured of their playmates; ever antagonists when met together, ever building up for themselves alone, ever mutually destroying where they crossed each other, not striving towards one goal, but ever contending for one vantage; thoroughly well-disposed and estimable, and only perverse, even mischievous, in regard to one another.

This wonderful relation showed itself already in their childish sports, showed itself with their growing

years.

And as it is common for boys to play at war, to divide themselves into parties, and give battle to each other; so, on one occasion, did the audacious spirited girl place herself at the head of a band, and fight with so much vigour and bitterness, that the opposite party must have been shamefully put to flight, had not her personal antagonist conducted himself with great bravery, and finally disarmed his enemy, and taken her prisoner. But even then she continued to defend herself so furiously, that to preserve his eyes, and, at the same time, do the fair foe no harm, he was obliged to pull the silk kerchief from his neck, and bind her hands with it behind her back.

This she never could forgive him; nay, she schemed and attempted so perseveringly in secret to do him mischief, that the parents, who had long had an eye on these strange vivacities, came to an explanation with each other, and resolved to part the two hostile beings, and renounce their favourite hopes.

The boy soon distinguished himself under his new circumstances. All kinds of instruction took effect on him. The wishes of his friends and his own inclination determined him to the military profession. Wherever he went he was loved and esteemed. His manful nature seemed to work only for the wellbeing and delight of others; and without being distinctly conscious of it, he was right glad at heart to have lost the only adversary nature had ever appointed him.

The girl, on the other hand, stept at once into a new position. Her years, her increasing stature, and still more a certain inward feeling, withdrew her from the boisterous sports she had hitherto carried on in company of boys. On the whole, there seemed something wanting to her; there was nothing round her which would have been worth the hating; and loveable she had yet found no one.

A young man, older than her former neighbour antagonist, of rank, fortune, and consequence, a favourite in society, and sought after by women, fixed on her his exclusive regard. It was the first time that a friend, a lover, a servant, had made his court to hier. The preference he gave her over many that were older, more advanced, with more show and pretension than herself, was highly gratifying to her. His attentions, at once constant and never importunate; his loyal support in divers unpleasant emergencies; his suit to her parents, explicit enough, yet quiet and only expectant,-for in fact she was still

very young ;-all this prepossessed her in his favour; besides which, habit, and their external relations, already taken for granted by the world, contributed their share. She had so often been called bride, that in the end she took herself for such; and neither to herself nor to any other did it occur that farther trial was necessary, when she exchanged rings with the individual who had so long passed for her bridegroom.

The quiet course which the whole affair had taken was not accelerated even by their bethrothment. AH was allowed on both sides to go on as heretofore; they rejoiced in their long joint existence, and were disposed to enjoy the present fair weather, as the vernal season of a future more earnest life.

Meanwhile the absent had cultivated himself at all points, had obtained meritorious promotion in his vocation, and came on leave of absence to visit his home. In a quite natural, yet strange manner, he again stood in the presence of his fair neighbour. She had latterly been entertaining none but friendly, bride-like, domestic sentiments; she was in harmony with all that surrounded her; she believed herself happy, and after a certain fashion actually was sơ. But now, for the first time after a great while, was something again opposed to her: it was not hateful, she was become incapable of hate; nay, the childish hatred, which, properly speaking, had been but a blind recognition of inward worth, expressed itself now in glad astonishment, delighted looks, obliging confessions, half willing, half unwilling, but irresistible approximation; and all this was mutual. A long separation gave occasion for long discourses. Even their former childish unreason served the now enlightened pair as an amusing remembrance; and it seemed to be regarded as a matter of necessity that they should atone at least for that mischievous hatred by all manner of kind attentions; should no longer leave their violent misunderstanding without openly expressed acknowledgment.

On the youth's side all this kept within the bounds of a wise moderation. His rank, his connexions, his pursuits, his ambition, found him such abundant employment, that he accepted the friendship of the fair bride as a grateful addition, without on that account regarding her with any personal views, or envying the bridegroom his possession; with whom he was furthermore on the best terms.

With her the case was very different. She seemed to herself awakened out of a dream. Contention with her young neighbour had been her carliest passion; and this violent contention had been, but under the form of antipathy, a violent, and as it were instinctive inclination. It even figured in her remembrance no otherwise than as though she had always loved him. She smiled at that hostile onset, sword in hand; she persuaded herself into a recollection of the pleasantest feelings, when he disarmed her; she imagined herself as having experienced the greatest bliss when he bound her; and all that she had attempted for the purpose of hurting and annoying him, now represented itself to her merely as a harmless expedient to attract his notice. She regretted that separation; she mourned the sleep into which she had fallen; she hated the stupid, dreamy habitude, through which she had realized so insignificant a bridegroom; she was perplexed, doubly perplexed, forward, backward, whichever way she viewed it.

Could any one have unravelled and taken part in her sentiments, which she kept entirely secret, he would not have been disposed to blame her: for in truth the bridegroom could not stand comparison with the neighbour for a moment, when one saw them together. If you could not refuse a certain trust to the one, the other excited your fullest confidence; if the one was an agreeable acquaintance, the other you wished for an associate; and if you thought of higher sympathies, of extraordinary accidents of fortune, there was ground to doubt of the one, where the For such lineaments other gave complete assurance.

of character women have by instinct a peculiar tact; and they have reason, as well as opportunity, to cultivate it.

The more

our lovely bride nourished such

thoughts in her secret heart, and the less that any one was in a condition to urge what could tell to the bridegroom's advantage, what propriety, what duty seemed to counsel and command, nay, what an unalterable nacessity seemed to exact beyond recall; so much the more did the tender heart indulge its partiality; and while, on the one hand, world, family, bridegroom, her own promise, were so many ties of indissoluble obligation; on the other, the aspiring youth made no secret of his thoughts, plans, and pros pects, but conducted himself towards her as a faithful and never once-tender brother; and now there was

even a talk of his immediate departure. Such being the posture of affairs, it seemed as though the spirit of her early childhood again awoke in her with all its splenetic violence, and now, on a higher stage angrily prepared itself for working to more serious and destructive purpose. She resolved on dying, to punish the once hated and now so violently loved, for his want of sympathy: since she could not possess him, at least she would marry herself to his imagination, to his repentance, for ever. He should never be delivered from her dead image, should never cease to reproach himself that he had not recognised her sentiments, had not investigated and appreciated

them."

she went.

This singular phrenzy accompanied her wherever She concealed it under all sorts of forms, and although people perceived something singular about her, no one was attentive or discerning enough to discover the real inward cause.

Meanwhile, friends, relations, acquaintances, busied themselves in contriving all manner of festivities. Scarcely a day passed that something new and unexpected was not struck out. Scarcely was there a lovely spot in the province that had not been decorated and prepared for the reception of many joyous guests. Our young wayfarer also wished, before his departure, to perform his part, and invited the young pair, with an intimate family circle, to a pleasure excursion on the water. The party went on board a large, fine, richly ornamented vessel, one of those yachts that offer the accommodation of a small parlour and several rooms, and pretend to carry, on water, the conveniences of land.

Away they sailed, with music, up the broad river. The company, during the mid-day heat, had assembled below to amuse themselves with games of chance and skill. The young host, who never could remain inactive, had placed himself at the helm to relieve the old skipper, who, on his side, was gone to sleep; and just at that particular time our steersman, his substitute, needed all his caution, as he neared a place where two islands shortened the bed of the river, protruding their flat, gravel shores, now on this side, now on that, preparing a dangerous passage. The careful and attentive steersman was almost tempted to awake the master, but he trusted in himself, and bore towards the strait. In the same moment his fair enemy appeared on deck with a flower-garland on her hair. She took it off, and cast it towards the steersman. "Take this," she cried, "for a remembrance." "Do not disturb me," he called back to her, while he picked up the garland; "I have need of all my strength and attention.” “I will disturb thee no further," she cried; "thou seest me for the last time!" So saying, she hastened to the fore deck of the ship, and sprang from thence into

the water.

raise her up, and carry her; both were violently swept along by the current till the islands and quicksands were left behind, and the river again began to flow broad and slow. And now he collected himself, and recovered from that first feeling of a pressing necessity, under the influence of which he had acted, without reflection, merely mechanically. He looked about with upraised head, and swam with all his might towards a level bushy spot, which ran out, pleasantly and commodiously, into the river. There he brought his fair prize on dry land; but no breath of life was to be traced in her. Despairing, his eyes lighted on a foot-path, leading through the thicket. He loaded himself with the dear burden anew; he soon descried, and reached a solitary dwelling. There he found worthy people, a young married pair. The mischance, the extremity of the case, declared itself in a moment. A bright fire burned; woolen coverlids were laid on a bed; furs, fleeces, whatever warm thing was in the house, were quickly brought. Nothing was left undone to call the fair, half-stript, halfnaked body back into life. It succeeded. She unclosed her eyes; she espied her friend; she embraced his neck with her heavenly arms. In this position she remained a long time. A stream of tears gushed from her eyes, and completed her cure. "Wilt thou leave me," she exclaimed, "when I thus find thee again?" "Never," he cried; "never!" and he knew not what he said or did. "But spare thyself," he added; "spare thyself! Have consideration on thyself, for thine own sake and mine."

She now collected herself, and remarked for the first time the condition she was in. She could not be ashamed before her darling, her saviour; but she willingly let him go, that he might look after himself; for the clothes he had on were still drenched and dripping.

The young couple consulted with each other. He presented the youth, and she the lady, with their respective wedding apparel, which still hung there all complete, equipping them in right bridal fashion from head to foot. In a short time our two adventurers were not merely clothed, but full dressed. They looked quite charmingly; they stared at each other when they came together: and, with excessive emotion, yet unable to help a sort of glad laughter at their masquerade, fell passionately into each others' Youth, health, and love, made it seem as if they had undergone no danger, no anguish.

arms.

To have passed from water to earth, from death to life, out of the family circle into a wilderness, out of despair into extacy, out of indifference into inclination and passion, all in an instant, the mere head would not have been adequate to comprehend it, or to endure it. In such case the heart must do its best, that so great a surprise may be borne.

Quite lost in one another, it was some time before they could bring themselves to think of the anxiety, the cares of those they had left behind; and hardly could they themselves think without anxiety of the manner in which they should again meet them. "Shall we fly-shall we hide ourselves?" said the youth. "We will remain together," said she, hang. ing about his neck,

towards the shore.

I see!" cried the fathers. The saved cast themselves on their knees before them. "Your children!" exclaimed the pair. "Pardon!" cried the damsel. "Give us your blessing!" cried the youth. "Give us your blessing!" cried both, while the spectators all remain mute in astonishment. "Your blessing!" resounded for the third time, and who could have refused it?

DR JOHNSON'S FATHER.

THE following curious memorandum is from a new provincial magazine, published at Worcester, and entitled the Analyst. We are heartily glad to see such a publication, and congratulate it on the great improvement manifested in its second number.

Dr Johnson's father seems to have been "a good fellow;" and as for that matter, so was his illustrious son, for all his dogmatical ways. The document before us, even though upon a matter of business, is full of bon hommie. And what renders it more interesting, is, that you see in it some evidences of the tracks of reading that helped to influence the character of his son. Sons, in truth, are made up, more or less, of the character of their parents and other predecessors, with ulterior modifications, of course; but still always with an indelible reference to those first causes. book on the parental relationships of men of genius is a desideratum. It would be an addition, not merely to the curiosities of biography, but to the groundworks of moral and social knowledge.

A

The father of Dr Samuel Johnson, the celebrated Lexicographer, it is well known, in early life, kept a book-stall in Lichfield, and attended on market days, as was then customary, the neighbouring towns. There was, a few years ago, a copy of one his original sale catalogues, in the possession of Thomas Fernyhough, Esq. of Peterborough, from which the following title of the catalogue, and Mr Johnson's address to his customers, are extracted :

"A Catalogue of choice Books in all Faculties, Divinity, History, Travels, Law, Physic, Mathematicks, Philosophy, Poetry, &c. together with Bibles, Common Prayers, Shop Books, Pocket-books, &c., also fine French Prints for Staircases and large Chimney Pieces, Maps, large and small. To be sold by Auction, or he who bids most, at the Talbot in Sidbury, Worcester, the sale to begin on Friday, the twenty-first this instant March, exactly at six in the afternoon, and continue till all be sold. Catalogues are given out at the place of sale, or by Michael Johnson, of Lichfield.

"CONDITIONS OF SALE.

"I. That he who bids most is the buyer, but if any difference arise which the company cannot decide, the book or books to be put to sale again.

"II. That all the books, for aught we know, are perfect; but if any appear otherwise before taken away, the buyer to have the choice of taking or leaving them.

"III. That no person advance less than 6d. each bidding, after any book comes to 10s. nor put in any book or set of books under half value.

66

Note. Any gentleman that cannot attend may send his orders, and they shall be faithfully exe

euted.

"Printed for Mich. Johnson, 1717-18. "To all Gentlemen, Ladies, and others, in and near Worcester. I have had several auctions in your neighbourhood, as Gloucester, Tewkesbury, Evesham, &c. with success, and am now to address myself, and try my fortune with you. You must not wonder that I begin every day's sale with small and common books; the reason is, a room is sometime a-filling, and persons of address and business, seldom coming fast, they are entertained till we are full; they are ever the last books of the best kind of that sort, for ordinary families and young persons, &c. But in the body of the Catalogue you will find Law, Mathematicks, History, and for the learned in Divinity, there are Drs South, Taylor, Tillotson, Beveridge, and Flavel, &c. the best of that kind; and to please the Ladies I have added store of fine pictures and paper hangings; and by the way I would desire them to take notice that the pictures shall always be put up by noon of that day they are to be sold, that they may be viewed by daylight. I have no more but to wish you pleased, and myself a good sale, who am, "Your humble servant, "M. JOHNSON."

POISONING AT A FEAST.

In the following extract, the simultaneous progress of the courtly feasting and deathly sin are mingled and contrasted in so skilful a manner, that its necessary length has not deterred us from introducing it to our readers.

Sigismund Augustus, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania, had married Barbara Radziwill, a Lithuanian lady, much against the approbation of a great part of his Polish subjects; still more against the wishes of his mother, Bona Sforza, a sort of inferior Catherine de Medicis. He manages, how ever, to quiet all opposition, and she becomes the crowned Queen of Poland.. A young friend of hers is to be betrothed to a nobleman in her suite, and the new Queen and the King interest themselves greatly in the ceremony. An old noble, Peter Kmita, Grand Marshal, originally one of the Queen's severest opposers, but now quite reconciled to his mistress, shews his friendly zeal by begging that the entertainment to be made on the occasion may be permitted to take place at his castle; and, accordingly, he has the honour of receiving the young couple and their royal friends.

A banquet is laid out in the hall, and the servants are in waiting; the pages are expecting their highborn masters and mistresses. Among the latter is young Lacki, a youth who had formerly, at the peril of his life, saved the young Queen from the fury of a urochs, or bison. Since then he has concealed a hopeless and most respectful passion for her, and is now, to his great grief, about to be removed to a higher post than the loved office of cup-bearer to his honoured mistress. While these people are still waiting, a fellow, a discarded servant of old Kmita (the master of the castle), now belonging to the Queen-mother, is observed officiously bustling about the hall. He is a notorious rascal; and Kmita coming into the hall, orders his willing servants to turn him out. The fellow first bullies, then begs to whisper a word to the Grand Marshal. Kmita listens, looks sorely displeased, but molests him no more. The guests enter, and the feast begins.

The company entered the banqueting hall, preceded by the Seneschal of Kmita's household, who held uplifted his ebony staff, ornamented with a silver head. Queen Barbara advanced with the King on her right hand, and on her left Kmita, on whose arm she was slightly leaning. Immediately after her came the Queen-mother, between the Duke of Prussia and the Court Marshal Firley; the Princess of Mazovia was conducted by the Duke of Pomerania, and her daughter by the Prince of Brandenberg, and by her betrothed, the Starost of Samborz. The rest of the company proceeded according to their respective ranks. The Bishop of Cracow, in whose diocese the castle of Wisnietz was situated, said grace, and the guests sate down in the order of precedence in which they entered. When the first course was over, the curtains which concealed the ornamental dishes were withdrawn at a signal from the master of the house, and displayed a great number of sugar ornaments and sweetmeats, arranged in form of different animals, towers, trees, &c. every one having either the initials of Sigismund Augustus and Barbara, or the arms of Poland and Lithuania. Before each of the royal and princely personages was placed a basket wrought in gold, and filled with little slices of bread, and a similar one of silver, for every four of the other guests. The most distinguished of the company had napkins of gold and silver brocade, and the others of silk, all which became after the repast the property of the attendants, according to the custom of the time. At the commencement of the dinner, when the first dish was presented to the King, the Grand Marshal, who stood behind the chair of his master, took the golden dish from the hands of his Seneschal, and dipped into it a bit of bread, which, having tasted, he cast it into a large silver basket, held by a servant, and with a deep obeisance presented it to the King. Some noblemen belonging to his household performed the same service for the Queens. When Sigismund Augustus had finished eating, the Grand Marshal took a richly wrought cup, poured a little of its contents into the hollow of his hand, tasted it, and after having wiped his hand, presented the cup to the monarch. Whilst the King was drinking all the company arose from their places, but reseated themselves immediately after, except Kmita, who continued standing. The Queen and the other ladies declined the cups, conformably to the custom, which, at that time, permitted them to drink only pure water and a decoction of orange-flowers or chicory, except at toasts, when

was allowed them to sip a little Malmsey. The King then begged the master of the house to give himself no more trouble, but to partake of the meals he had provided for his guests. This was a sign that etiquette should be no longer observed, and an invitation to convivial mirth and hilarity.

When Kmita, following the monarch's command, took a place opposite to him, the restraint which till now had pervaded the assembly began to disappear, and many a jest was heard between the clattering of bowls and dishes. Even the Queen-mother seemed to partake of the general hilarity that reigned at the table, and lent herself with apparent good humour to the lively conversation which the King endeavoured to maintain; she even addressed herself sometimes to Barbara; and the King, whose heart was always open to every kind feeling, began to cherish the hope that time, necessity, and habit, would overcome by degrees the animosity which empartook less of this agreeable illusion, for women do bittered his domestic happiness. The young Queen not easily deceive their own sex; she would not, however, destroy the delusive joy in which she saw that her husband was indulging himself, and answered Bona's address with animation and courtesy.

sins." 66

"We pity the ladies," said Sigismund Augustus, after the conversation had lasted some time, "that they are obliged to forego the best seasoning of a cheerful repast, the most powerful enemy to care and anxiety, one which shews the character in its true light, and banishes all grief from the oppressed soul. Corpo di Bacco! our lady queen resembles not in this respect the ladies of her ancestors, who, till the time of Wladislaw Jagellon, quaffed at the festivals of Lada horns filled with mead, as well as their fathers and brothers." "And even were it the custom now, I could no longer follow it," answered Barbara, laughing, "since through the affection of my sovereign and spouse I have lately become a Polish woman by name, though I have long been so in my heart. The Polish ladies despise the gifts of Bacchus, as we have now proof in the example of the first among them, her majesty our lady mother, and our princely cou Oh, you must not speak of our little cousin Helena," exclaimed Sigismund Augustus; "she has now to do with another duty, and a more dangerous one, too, than that which lurks in this cup, which I will empty in silence to her welfare." "Your majesty anticipates us," interrupted Bona: "it is not yet time for the Vivat, and we will join in it also to honour the young lady of Podolia." My royal lord," said Helena, bowing, "if I should express the feeling of my heart by drinking, I might easily fall into a suspicion of ingratitude; but if your majesty commands, I shall do my best, if my mother will permit my doing to day a thing so unusual." "You are leaving to day in some respects my jurisdiction." answered the Princess of Mazovia, in a manner sufficient to damp the real or apparent hilarity which reigned in the assembly; "so you are entitled to make any use of your new liberty which seems good, either to you, or to those who had graciously offered to take my place with you." Barbara perceived a light cloud on the brow of her husband, and exclaimed in a merry tone, "We must not permit our excellent host to suppose we have slighted his liquors, and the lady of Podolia will forgive her daughter if she follows the example given by the queens. Is it not true, my lord duke," said she, addressing the Duke of Prussia, "that in your country the ladies entirely abandon to the gentlemen the worshipping of Bacchus, as we do in Poland?" "Your majesty is right," answered Albert of Brandenberg, with great courtesy; "in our country also the ladies devote themselves only to the service of the powerful deity of love, though perhaps his shafts are not so sharply pointed as they are in this country, whilst we are often obliged to invoke the assistance of the other deity, in order to gain resolution for supporting the cares of life." The conversation continued in the same strain; many compliments were exchanged among the company, of which the betrothed lovers and the young Lacki received their full share. The bravery of the page was mentioned in the most honourable manner, and the king, as well as the young queen, frequently expressed to him, by flattering allusions, that it was for the last time he now performed his present office, and that he should be immediately exalted to a higher rank, as a reward of the repeated proofs of his fidelity. Meanwhile the banquet drew nearly to a close, the desert was placed on the table, and the moment arrived when the solemn toasts were to be pledged. Kmita arose from his seat, in order himself to present the great cup to the monarch; the seneschal lifted his staff, the trumpeters prepared themselves for the mighty blast which was to be sounded when the king should approach the cup to his lips, and the pages kept themselves in readiness to fulfill the orders of the ladies. Barbara turned to Lacki, and said, “Sir Lacki, may it please you to take this trouble once more, it is the last time that you will have to serve us in this capacity."

The pages hastily passed into the room where the sideboards were placed, in order to fill the goblets destined for the use of the ladies. Stanislaw Lacki was going to pour the contents of the flask he had

guarded with so much care into the little cup we have described, after having first carefully wiped it with a fine clean linen. The golden drops were already sparkling on the glittering metal, when on a sudden he felt himself pushed so violently that a part of the costly liquor, contained in the cup, he held in his hand was spilt on the ground. He looked angrily around, and saw standing before him the very man whom Kmita had been on the point of treating in so unceremonious a manner; he appeared quite unconcerned, and instead of making the slightest excuse to the page for his awkwardness, he stared on him with an air of stupid insolence. Lacki was going to scold him for his impertinent behaviour, when he addressed him in the following manner: "Ay, my pretty lordling, you make but a sorry cup-bearer; every one may see by the awkward manner in which you perform the service that you were not born for You high-born lordlings may understand how to drink, but to manage the cup handsomely is something quite different." The irritated page was going to answer this speech with a hard blow, and his comrades, attracted by the noise, were ready to join him in giving a good thrashing to Waclaw Siewrak, who seemed to be purposely created for that kind of amusement, when the first blast of the bugles resounded in the great hall, and all the pages hastened to their duty.

it.

Waclaw Siewrak's assurance increased when he found himself left almost alone with Lacki, who holding fast his flask and cup, threatened him with words, and he exclaimed in a most insolent tone of voice, "Strike, only strike! it is nothing extraordinary that two servants are fighting with each other, and you wear a livery as well as I do." "Down, cur!" cried Lacki, "or thou shalt repent it." 66 What shall I repent?" retorted Siewrak, with a stammering voice, and drawing closer to the page; "for a fight with fists I am a match with every one, but your little sword is to-day out of the question; for it is royal peace, and I suppose you have no wish to lose your little white hand." The youth's anger now got the better of him; he set down the flask and cup which he held in his trembling hands, and accosting his boorish antagonist in a menacing attitude, said, "Be. ware, low-born knave, that I forget not that it is beneath a nobleman to bandy blows with such a mean scoundrel as thou art, and that I do not give thee a cut to match that red scar which is on thy ugly face, and one that will not be cured until thou art hanged." "I have told you once, high-born Sir Page, that cuts are to-day out of the question," replied the other; "we are not now amongst bushes, where a worthy lord's servant may catch anything of that, in a manner he himself knows not how. Only do your duty, and if you do not understand it let me teach it to you." And saying these last words, he stretched out his hand towards the little flask. His scar, and his mention of the bushes, brought back to Stanislaw's memory the affair in the gardens of Lobzou, and a sudden idea crossed his mind that he might be the same man that he had then cut over the face. He pushed back the impertinent fellow with all his strength, and laid his hand upon his little sword; but before he was able to draw it, Siewrak overturned his flask, so that all its contents were spilt on the ground, and laughing aloud, he left the hall reeling, but quickening his steps as soon as he had passed the door. Lacki was so carried away by the desire of inflicting an exemplary punishment on the mean fellow who had taunted him, that he forgot his duty for a moment, and ran after him with his drawn sword; but the object of his wrath soon disappeared in the maze of the winding corridors.

It was with much trouble that the young Lacki found his way through the winding corridors to the room he had left; and when he had entered it all the attendants had disappeared, and the goblet of his royal mistress was gone. Vexed to the utmost by so untoward an event, and puzzled what to do, he approached the door of the banqueting hall, supposing that one of his fellow-pages was performing his neglected duty; but he saw that all the company, with goblets in their hands, were waiting for his queen, who stood without having a cup, and visibly surprised at his absence. How could he excuse the neglect of a duty which, as the queen had graciously signified to him, he was now performing for the last time. An idea flashed on his mind that all this rash behaviour of the apparently drunken fellow was nothing but an arranged trick to get possession of the cup entrusted to his care; he therefore returned once more to pursue the thief, in order to bring him with the cup, as the best means of excusing his negligence. He was now, however, no more fortunate than he had been before, and met with nobody in the intricate corridors through which he passed. The blasts of the bugles which resounded from the banqueting-hall bewildered him entirely, by the idea that they were waiting for him; he completely lost his way, and ran like a madman through many passages and staircases till he found himself in a gallery with a door at each end of it. He chose one of them at random, and entering it found himself in a little hall, which led to an apparently dark room by a door which was not quite closed.

He was going to open it, in hopes to find somebody who would set him right, when he heard two voices conversing in a foreign language. He stopped for a moment, and heard some very strange words uttered in Italian. "Make haste," said one of the voices, sounding hollow, as if out of a vault, and trembling, as if the jaws of the speaker were chattering with cold: "Make haste, I say; it is cold here below as on the top of Etna; make haste, in the name of the devil, that I may return to the daylight." "Directly, directly," replied the other, who, judging by the sound, seemed to be nearer, and who till now was muttering something to himself, "have a little patience, if you wish me to count the drops. Seven, eight." "Eleven," said the first person; "eleven-not a single drop more nor less; this time it has succeeded well, and the old woman has provided the right thing, which she does not always do; but hasten to finish it, for who knows but this cursed page may come; your servant is a dolt, who does things only by halves, and it is cold here as in a grave." "Eight, nine, ten,"continued the other." In the grave you will have it, perhaps, much warmer, my learned master." "Do you not hear something rustling, Assano? It sounds as if the sand on the pavement was pressed by some light footsteps." "Eleven." It sounded again. "Now it is ready, take it."

At this moment Stanisław peeped into the dark room, and saw a withered trembling arm stretched from the cellar below, as if to receive something. "Your hand shakes so that you will spill it," said Assano, who was standing outside: "hasten, hasten, ere the page gets loose. Do you hear the blast of trumpets?" Saying this, he turned, and Lacki saw the cup of Barbara trembling in his hand. With one spring the page stood in the middle of the room close to the opening of the cellar, and the arm which had been stretched out from it immediately disappeared. He accosted in a bold manner the old man, who stared on him with a look glaring with fury, and said, “What are you doing, ye rake-hells?" "Wherefore have the evil stars led thee hither, thou son of misfortune? What dost thou seek here?" retorted Assano. "My queen's goblet!" exclaimed the youth: "that is it; give it me directly, or fear my sword!"

Fear thee, boy!" answered Assano, with rage and scorn; and having placed the goblet on the ground with his right hand, seized the page with his left, and pressed him with a gigantic force. Stanislaw sought in vain to make use of his weapon; in vain he struggled to free himself from the iron grasp of the hoary villain; he could only utter some words of complaint and threatening from his suffocating breast. A double edged knife glittered in the Neapolitan's hand, and it was instantly plunged up to the haft in the bosom of the young Lacki, whose complaints died away in a low murmur, and the flush of anger which covered his cheeks turned into a deadly paleness. Still he whispered in a scarcely audible voice, "Farewell, Hippolyte ! Barbara, farewell!" The eyes of the faithful Stanislaw closed in death, his tender limbs hung powerless in the clutch of the assassin, who bent over the lifeless body, and whispered in his ear, "Thou wert called Lacki, I think. Go then, and when thou seest thy father, tell him that thou also hast known Hassan, although half a century later than he!" "Blood! blood again!" resounded from the cellar, in an agonizing voice, "give, give it me quickly, for I cannot remain longer in this place of horror." "Take it, cowardly wretch," replied Assano; "this boy's death has greatly encreased our reckonings." He then seized the still warm corpse by its flowing hair, and dragged it to the door of the cellar, and threw it into the deep pit.

Meanwhile Kmita pledged the usual toast The welfare of the king and of the royal family;" and custom required that the monarch should answer it by pledging the health of the master of the house, and that of the senate and of the equestrian order; but Barbara was still waiting with encreasing surprise for her goblet. The music played continually to fill the unexpected pause, and a large circle of distinguished personages closely surrounded the young queen, when an arm dressed in her colours, blue and silver, reached the long expected goblet out of the crowd. Barbara being in a great hurry, paid no attention to the person by whom it was presented; the bugles sounded a blast; the king expressed his thanks to the master of

the house, and his wishes to him, to the senate, and to

the equestrian order. The queens and his nephew Albert of Brandenberg joined him in these complimentary expressions; the bugles sounded again, and the cups were quaffed.

Other toasts followed during a quarter of an hour, when at last Sigismund proposed the health of the affianced couple, in which he was joined by every one, except the princess of Mazovia. Barbara arose from her seat and went up to the bride, who had just perceived with great anxiety that her betrothed had absented himself; she embraced Helena, expressing her cordial wishes for the happiness which she herself had so much promoted; when at that moment her arms suddenly lost their strength, and fell down powerless from the embrace; her head leaned on Helena's shoulder, and her discoloured lips whispered,

"Hold me, Helena, I am strangely unwell." The amazed bride exerted herself to support the swooning queen, when her mother accosted her, saying, "It seems that her Majesty is unwell; it is necessary to call for her women, who will understand how to take care of her better than you do." The crowd and the noise which reigned in the hall had for a moment prevented the king from seeing what had occurred to Barbara; but when Lucy Ostrorog, who hastened to the assistance of her mistress, burst out into a cry of terror, he flew to his beloved, and embracing, pressed her to his heart. "I am ill, my husband," said Barbara, in a whisper; "I feel myself very ill-ill unto death." Sigismund Augustus was plunged into the greatest consternation; his eye caught the grand marshal; but he saw on his countenance the unfeigned expression of astonishment and displeasure; he then cast down his eyes on her whom he held in his arms, as if afraid to direct a look of suspicion to another side.

ARTHUR'S SEAT.

Dear bill, thou ever in my heart shalt rest
Deeper than sleeps thy shadow in the lake
In the dewy morning, ere the breeze doth wake
The darkling ripple o'er its glossy breast;
In memory's haunted mirror shalt thou dwell;
Thine is the green-the daisy-sprinkled zone,
The many-tinted ever-shifting throne

Of gorgeous clouds-the playthings of the gale.
Oh! not for these I love thee; thou art dear,
Dearer than words can utter; that you woke
All tender thought and feeling on this sod,
The bright feet of the beautiful have trod,
The blue-eyed maiden hath been straying here—
Here the fair presence my heart's slumber broke.
J. C.

A LONG DESIDERATUM, APPA-
RENTLY WELL SUPPLIED.

[FROM the Parterre, a cheap and elegant new weekly publication, embellished with excellent wood-cuts. We are glad to echo the opinion expressed by the editor relative to Mr Guilford's fitness for his task, as manifested by the above extract.]

The Beauties of Beaumont and Fletcher. By Horace Guilford. Birmingham; Wrightson and Webb ; and Simpkin and Marshall, London.-" Another batch of beauties!" exclaims some sour-featured critic, "there is no end to these mutilations of our best authors!" True, there have been many attempts to cull for the use of the indolent, or those who cannot read much for want of leisure, the beauties which abound in the works of our poets and dramatists. But by whom has this been performed? Generally by persons whose reason and judgment are far below the standard of those for whom they presume to select. It is not so with the compiler of this little tome: his writings shew him to be a gentleman of much good taste and sound judgment; and in this selection he has given additional evidence of the possession of both these qualities; but hear what he says for himself, and the motives which induced him to turn compiler.

"It was in the depth of the last winter night, when November and December were sailing by in all their paraphernalia of gloom, and rain, and wind,when the fire-place surpasses the sun in warmth, and the clean hearth the meadows in beauty,-that I took up Beaumont and Fletcher in the evenings, deeming their volumes no incongruous accompaniments to the roaring of the storm, and the chuckling flame that went merrily up the old chimney.

lines the parts that struck me by their grandeur, their "At first I contented myself with noting in pencil pathos, and their wit, or by the fidelity and force with which they illustrated the tone and colouring of that gorgeous pageant of society, the Elizabethan and Stuart periods.

rapidly on my hands, that I had recourse to a com"These and similar passages, however, grew so mon-place book, and began right earnestly to transcribe each passage as it pleased me.

"Then it was, and while kindling with the splendid and endless procession of fine things which appeared and passed by, that I began to notice with disgust the foul unsightly creatures that mingled with them, and, in many places, almost obscured them.

"The most deliberate outrages upon delicacy, the most wanton exuberance of obscenity, unutterable abominations of language and conception, and an absolute wallowing in the sty of impurity, are all so interwoven with the several Plays, as to defy even the skill of a Bowdler himself, and must ever render the productions of Beaumont and Fletcher a scaled book, such as no father of a family could conscientiously put into the hands of his children.

"Such it might have remained for me, had I not been irresistibly impressed by the conviction, that there was by far too vast a preponderance of good to be overcome of evil.

"That conviction was the sole origin of this little publication; whether the cause was adequate or not those who read must decide. There were rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds thick sown upon a clothi of frieze; I have ventured to pluck them away, with little care for their uncomely ground-work, and to wreath them into a carcanet, which may sparkle before the purest eyes that ever shone in kindred rays."

"

Our readers will not hesitate to acknowledge, that he who could write thus was well qualified for the task he has so ably performed. "Horace Guilford has, indeed-to borrow the motto from his title-page heaped together

"Infinite riches in a little room."*

• Marlowe's Jew of Malta.

ΤΟ CORRESPONDENTS.

Cordial thanks to the Western Luminary (Exeter).

S.'s letter unfortunately came too late for its purpose. But he surely need not regret it. Such an error would not be heeded amidst so much good matter. Correspondents are requested to bear in mind, that we must have their communications a fortnight before they can reckon with certainty upon our ability to give them attention. We are obliged to be considerably before-hand with our day of publi. cation.

E. B. in our next. We are happy to have suggested some walks to him, and do hereby take them with him in imagination, whether in mud or meadow.

We have received a little volume by John and Mary Saunders, in which there are passages of true poetry. We shall take a speedy opportunity of giving it further notice.

H. B., who wrote the letter respecting Ghosts, wishes to say, "by way of postscript," that the fol-. lowing passage from Coleridge interprets his feelings on the subject more nearly than his letter appears to have done :

Ordonio. Believe you then no supernatural influence?

Believe you not that spirits throng around us?

Teresa. Say rather that I have imagined it
A possible thing;—and it has soothed my soul
As other fancies have, but ne'er seduced me
To traffic with the black and frenzied hope
That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard.
Remorse, act iii, sc. 1.

We shall probably have more than one occasion to notice the distinction which our Correspondent makes between Good Nature and Good Temper, and which certainly exists, though we are glad to see his fair friends think otherwise; for of course we are bound to construe their identification of the terms, on the charming side.

We have but just become aware of the lines by "H. C." They shall receive the proper attention.

The Kent Herald says, that the heroine of a correspondent's ballad, entitled Betty Bolaine, which ap peared in the London Journal a week or two back, was one of the "worthies of Canterbury," and that she left an immense property to one of the Prebendaries of the cathedral of that city.

An accident has obliged us to omit " The Romance of Real Life" intended for our present Number.

Giving Pain. In the application of evil for the production of good, never let it be applied for the gratification of mere antipathy; never but as subservient to, and necessary for the only proper ends of punishment, the determent of others by example. In the interest of the offender, reformation is the great object to be aimed at; if this cannot be accoinplished, seek to disable him from inflicting the like evil on himself and others. But always bear in mind the maxim which cannot be repeated too often :— Inflict as much and no more pain than is necessary to accomplish the purpose of benevolence. Create not evil greater than the evil you exclude.-Bentham's Deontology.

LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, 13, Pall Mall East. From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street.