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thoughts of his wife; and when his friends enquired about his reconciliation, he answered, “I have been to see my wife, but was told she was at church."

Racine once carried La Fontaine to the Tenebræ,* and perceiving that the service lasted too long for him, he gave him a volume of the Bible in which were the lesser Prophets. La Fontaine happened to open the book at the Prayer of the Jews in Baruch, read it over and over with such admiration, that he could not forbear whispering to Racine, "This Baruch was a fine writer, do you know any thing of him?" And for some days after, if he chanced to meet with any man of letters, after the usual compliments, his question was, "Have you ever read Baruch? There's a first rate genius!" and this was uttered so loud that every one near might hear him.

Rabelais, whom Boileau used to call "Reason in masquerade,” was La Fontaine's idol. Being once with Boileau, Racine, and other men of note, amongst whom were some ecclesiastics, St. Austin was talked of for a long time, and with the highest commendations; La Fontaine listened with his natural air, which was far from being the most promising; at last, as if waking out of a sound sleep, he with the greatest seriousness asked one of the ecclesiastics, whether he thought St. Austin had more wit than Rabelais? The Doctor, eyeing La Fontaine from head to foot, only answered, “How's that, M. La Fontaine? you have put on one of your stockings the wrong side outwards;" which was literally the fact.

The nurse who attended him in his last illness, observing the fervour of the priest in his exhortations, said to him, "Ah! good Sir, don't plague him so, he is rather stupid than wicked. M. Fontenelle has said, it was thought stupidity that La Fontaine preferred the fables of the ancients to his; and in the opinion of another wit, La Fontaine was less than man with men, and more than man with beasts.

A single circumstance will serve to shew the honour in which his memory was held: La Fontaine's widow being molested about the payment of some public monies, the Intendant gave orders that no tax or impost should be levied upon M. La Fontaine's family; and none of the succeeding Intendants attempted to revoke such a distinguishing- favour. His descendants carefully preserved the original instrument, which redounds no less to the honour of the magistrate who granted it, than of the poet to whom it was granted. La Fontaine was born 1621, and died 1695.

A Service in the church of Rome, on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday in Passion Week, in representation of the agony of Christ in the garden.

DREAMS, GHOSTS, AND Superstitions.

Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,
Nocturnos Lemures, portentaque Thessala.-HOR.

"Magical terrors, visionary dreams,

Portentous wonders, witching imps of Hell,
The nightly goblin and enchanting spell."

CHAP. I.

"DREAMS, GHOSTS, AND SUPERSTITIONS!"-ahem! thought I, no bad thesis for an essay; but no sooner had the thought knocked for admittance at the door of my pericranium, than imagination

Before I proceed farther, it will be necessary to inform my readers, that I am one of those unfortunate beings, who, maugre all the suggestions of reason, cannot divest themselves of certain superstitious phantoms. Whether dame Nature implanted these within me, I will not take upon myself to determine: certain it is, however, they owe their prolonged existence to the fostering care of old dame Ramsay, the quondam attendant of my childhood. Well do I recollect the old dame: indeed, it would be impossible to erase her image from my memory, for to this very day-absit omen!)-I am still haunted by her ghostly semblance. Imagine an old crone with a chin like a hat-peg, grey eyes, sandy hair, and protuberant proboscis, the extremity of which ended in a slight curl, upon which rested an antique pair of iron spectacles, the bequeathment, as I have heard her say, of her grandmother. She prided herself on the possession of a few old books, which were generally kept under lock and key; my curiosity, however, discovered the titles of three of them, which I should imagine were a pretty good specimen of the whole : they were, 1st. an odd volume of the Newgate Calendar; 2dly, “An Authentic Account of the Cock-lane Ghost ;" and 3dly, "Satan's Invisible World Revealed." She was, in short, a walking "Terrific Register," and would certainly have cut no mean figure in the editorial department of that work. Many a tale of horror could she narrate, well calculated "to freeze the young blood, and harrow up the soul." One of them I shall never forget: it related to the poisoning of a young King by a Monk, his confidential confessor, who was the original inventor of a certain beverage-(I wonder Mrs. Rundell's receipt-book gives no account of it)-denominated," toad broth." The bare idea inspired, me with the brothophobia,' and gave rise to a horrible dream, the hundredth edition of which still haunts my nocturnal pillow; it was a new species of night-mare, and would form a good subject for Cruickshank's masterly pencil. Fancy an enormous toad lying squat upon my stomach, puffing out its freckled sides, and ever and anon uttering sundry lamentable croaks. But, what was most wonderful, its physiognomy bore a very striking resemblance to that of Dame Ramsay; nay, it actually wore the identical iron spectacles, through which it cast upon me divers most malicious glances, seeming to say,

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"I could a tale unfold;"

but, that, to my certain knowledge, was not in the nature of the tail-less

monster.

CHAP. 2.

"Goblin damn'd."-SHAKSPEARE.

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The night was dark, and it wanted only five minutes to twelve, when, as I was previously going to observe, imagination conjured all her horrors. There sat old Dame Ramsay, and forthwith, after an introductory croak, crept forth my old acquaintance, the toad, who with a "hop, step, and jump,' seated himself on the middle of the table. It is nothing but a delusion of the eyes,' argued reason; it is merely the empty creation of an over-heated imagination,' observed common sense:-the monster seemed to swell himself out to double his original bulk. Come, to my aid with your doctrines, ye philosophers,' I cried; Come, Locke, come, Bacon, come'-the toad seemed to advance likewise : Begone, monster,' I exclaimed, and collecting my whole strength, levelled at it a furious blow, and rushed up to my bed-room. My sleep was of course feverish: As soon as it was light, I hastened down stairs to observe the effects of my blow upon a ghostly substance: it must have been intercepted by some softish matter, argued I, ere it reached the table, else my hand would bear infallible testimony to so rough a salute: what if I should see a specimen of the immortal xwp, described by Homer?'-Thus communing with myself, I entered the apartment, when, alas! alas! I beheld a sight which I would not again witness for-three and thirty shillings: kind reader, in my ghost-repelling phrenzy, I had basely and irretrievably murdered-my new hat!

CHAP. 3.

That the ancients were dreadfully superstitious,-that most of them placed implicit confidence in dreams, omens, ghosts, &c.—no doubt whatever can be entertained. Indeed, they were not content with assigning a single ghost to each individual, but must needs give him three. What Ovid?

says

Bis duo sunt homini: Manes, Caro, spiritus, umbra;
Quatuor ista loci bis duo suscipiunt.

Ferra legit Carnem, tumulum circumvolat'umbra,
Orcus habet Manes, spiritus astra petit.

Let us, however, hope that there were some noble-minded men, who spurned at such vulgar errors. Though they dared not openly attack the established usages of the people, yet we may occasionally detect a covert sneer beneath their seeming bigotry. The following lines plainly shew that Homer's mind was untrammelled by superstitious fears:

Τυνη δ' οιωνοισι τανυπτερύγεσσι κελεύεις
Πείθεσθαι των ου τι μετατρεπομ ουδ αλεγίζω
Εις οιωνος αριςος αμυνεσθαι περι πάτρης.

Reason and science have, however, appeared in these latter days, like

two decent housewives, to sweep away with shovel and broom the flimsy cobwebs of superstition. With the errors of Paganism and Popery have fled from our country most of their concomitant phantasies. Ghosts are now considered impostors, and treated accordingly: A poor woman may have a peaked chin, wear high-heel'd shoes, and moreover keep a broom and tortoise-shell cat, without being accounted a witch: great signs these of rapid improvement! As the views of philosophy become more comprehensive, as the judgment acquires greater nervosity,-as the light of science shines around us with a broader and more clear effulgence, the narrow prejudices of our forefathers gradually glide along to oblivion, "Tis true that a few traditions, and old women's stories, still linger in the less refined parts of the country, and still gain implicit belief in the minds of the vulgar and illiterate. All my flowers of rhetoric were once thrown away in endeavouring to persuade an old woman that death or dire misfortune were not the necessary consequences of the crooning of a crow upon the chimney pot,'-' the tick of a death-watch,'

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the bursting of a coffin out of the fire,' -or the spilling of salt upon the table,' &c. "Na! na! Sir," was the only reply, ye need na think to compal me out o' ony o' those there matters: they're a' signs from Heaven, an' true as the gospel, I trow; ye wad as lief gar me belie' that the braking o' a saxpence atween a young couple, didna mak them lawfu' man an' wife in the face of Heaven and earth!" These vulgar notions are, however, rapidly receding before the light of refinement, and with them, alas! are flying the unpretending manners of rural simplicity.

A QUERULOUS MAN.

MR. TYERS (the proprietor of Vauxhall Gardens) was a worthy man, but indulged himself a little too much in the querulous strain when any thing went amiss; insomuch that he said, if he had been brought up a hatter, he believed people would have been born without heads! A farmer once gave him a humorous reproof for this kind of reproach of Heaven. He stepped up to him very respectfully, and asked him when he meant to open his Gardens. Mr. Tyers replied, the next Monday fortnight. The man thanked him repeatedly, and was going away; but Mr. Tyers asked him in return, what made him so anxious to know. "Why, sir," said the farmer, "I think of sowing my turnips on that day, for you know we shall be sure to have rain."

EXCUSE FOR SMOKING.

It has been alleged as an excuse by an old smoker, that it is good for the memory; and, as a proof of it, the advocate remarked, that if a man be ever so drunk, he is reminded by it to drink again.

A SPECIMEN OF HUMAN NATURE.

ABOUT two years ago, I was a witness to a scene of deep and dreadful affliction, which left a very strong impression on my mind. A most intimate and dear friend of mine was going to be married to a woman, whom he loved with the extremity of all-engrossing affection-to one who, as I heard, was every way worthy of such love from such a man, and who returned it with all that additional fondness and fervour, which the perfection of love in woman always possesses over and above the perfection of love in man. I was to be present at their marriage ;-but shortly before the time for which it was fixed, I received a letter from a relation of my friend, intreating me to set out to join him without delay -as he was in a most alarming state, from the shock he had sustained by the sudden death of his betrothed. It appeared that she had burst a blood-vessel, and died in a few hours, and I accordingly set out for the house of the father of Miss which was where she had died, and where my friend then was. I arrived there on the morning that the funeral was to take place. Stranger as I was to the whole family, I was received with the utmost earnestness,-for the condition in which L was, was so appalling, that they almost feared the removal of the body would be fatal to him; and as I was supposed to have more influence over him than any and than all, my arrival was greeted with joy.

I went to L immediately. He was in the room with the corpse; and was sitting beside it when I entered. The moment he beheld me, he fell upon my neck and wept--for the first time, as I was afterwards told, since the catastrophe had happened. He wept long, very long. At last he seemed relieved;―he raised himself—took me by the hand, and led me to the coffin.

I had never seen her during life-but even now she was surpassingly beautiful. Cold, marble pale, and rigid, she looked like one of those beautiful sculptures which are placed upon old tombs, in effigy of those who sleep below. The delicate and extreme clearness of the skin was become sheet-white-partly, as I believe, from the common effect of Death, and partly from the nature of her particular malady. The face. alone was uncovered-long grave-clothes closely enveloped the whole form to the neck-and a napkin was over her brow. So smooth and softly white was the flesh, that it could scarcely be distinguished where the one ended, and the other began. From beneath this, however, one long tress of hair escaped, which, passing across the cheek, rested upon the shroud. This struck me more than all, for this gave the contrast of life with the perfect deadliness of all else. So still in the stillness of peace, so calm in the calmness of purity,-was this corpse of loveliness and virtue, that one scarce could think that the King of Terrors had claimed it for his own. It looked, as I have said, more like the figure on a pale sarcophagus-or perhaps, more like one in a deep, a very deep, sleep-than the soul-less wreck of passed humanity. But this one tress of bright hair, shining on the white skin-like a fling of golden sun-light upon snow-recalled the terrible truth at once. The hair is the latest

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