The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 353, January 24, 1829

JAMES HOGG

NOTES OF A READER

OLD DANCING

An "Old Subscriber," who loves a friend and a jest's prosperity, has sent us a few leaves of "The Dancing Master," printed in 1728, which form a curious contrast with Mr. Lindsay's elegant treatise, printed at Mr. Clowes's musical office. What will some of the quadrillers say to the following exquisite morsel of dancing, entitled, "The Old Maid in Tears?"—"Longways for as many as will".—(then the notes, and the following instructions:)—"Note: Each strain is to be play'd twice ov'er.—The first wo. holds her handkerchief on her face, and goes on the outside, below the 3d wo. and comes up the middle to her place; first man follows her (at the same time pointing and smiling at her) up to his place. First man do the same, only he beckons his wo. to him. First woman makes a motion of drying first one eye, then the other, and claps her hands one after another on her sides, (the first man looks surprizingly at her at the same time,) and turn her partner. First cu. move with two slow steps down the middle and back again. The first cu. sett and cast off."

As we love to keep up the dance, if we are not leading the reader a dance, we give A Dance in Hoops, as described in a fashionable novel, just published:—

When the whole party was put in motion, but little trace of a regular dance remained; all was a perfect maze, and the cutting in and out (as the fraternity of the whip would phrase it) of these cumbrous machines presented to the mind only the figure of a most formidable affray.

The nearest assimilation to this strange exhibition of the dance in full career, at all familiar to our minds, is the prancing of the basket-horses in Mr. Peake's humorous farce of Quadrupeds.

An entertaining variety of appearance arose also from the conformity of the steps to the diversified measure of the tune. The jig measure, which corresponds to the canter in a horse's paces, produced a strong bounding up and down of the hoop—and the gavotte measure, which corresponds to the short trot, produced a tremulous and agitated motion. The numerous ornaments, also, with which the hoops were bespread and decorated—the festoons—the tassels—the rich embroidery—all of a most catching and taking nature, every now and then affectionately hitched together in unpremeditated and close embrace. To the parties in action, it is not difficult to suppose these combinations might prove something short of perfectly agreeable, more especially, as on such occasions as these, some of the fair daughters of our courtly belles were undergoing the awful ordeal of a first ball-room appearance, on whom these contingencies would inflict ten-fold embarrassment.—The Ball, or a Glance at Almack's in 1829.

FRENCH PAINTINGS

General le Jeune has added a new picture to his collection of battle paintings, exhibiting at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly. It represents one of the general's perilous adventures in the Peninsular War, and is a vigorous addition to these admirable productions of the French school. The whole series will be found noticed at page 212 of our vol. xi.

FLOWERS ON THE ALPS

The flowers of the mountains—they must not be forgotten. It is worth a botanist's while to traverse all these high passes; nay, it is worth the while of a painter, or any one who delights to look upon graceful flowers, or lovely hues, to pay a visit to these little wild nymphs of Flora, at their homes in the mountains of St. Bernard. We are speaking now, generally, of what may be seen throughout the whole of the route, from Moutier, by the Little St. Bernard, to Aosta,—and thence again to Martigny. There is no flower so small, so beautiful, so splendid in colour, but its equal may be met with in these sequestered places. The tenaciousness of flowers is not known; their hardihood is not sufficiently admired. Wherever there is a handful of earth, there also is a patch of wild-flowers. If there be a crevice in the rock, sufficient to thrust in the edge of a knife, there will the winds carry a few grains of dust, and there straight up springs a flower. In the lower parts of the Alps, they cover the earth with beauty. Thousands, and tens of thousands, blue, and yellow, and pink, and violet, and white, of every shadow and every form, are to be seen, vying with each other, and eclipsing every thing besides. Midway they meet you again, sometimes fragrant, and always lovely; and in the topmost places, where the larch, and the pine, and the rhododendron (the last living shrub) are no longer to be seen, where you are just about to tread upon the limit of perpetual snow, there still peep up and blossom the "Forget me not," the Alpine ranunculus, and the white and blue gentian, the last of which displays, even in this frore air, a blue of such intense and splendid colour, as can scarcely be surpassed by the heavens themselves. It is impossible not to be affected at thus meeting with these little unsheltered things, at the edge of eternal barrenness. They are the last gifts of beneficent, abundant Nature. Thus far she has struggled and striven, vanquishing rocks and opposing elements, and sowing here a forest of larches, and there a wood of pines, a clump of rhododendrons, a patch of withered herbage, and, lastly, a bright blue flower. Like some mild conqueror, who carries gifts and civilization into a savage country, but is compelled to stop somewhere at last, she seems determined that her parting present shall also be the most beautiful. This is the limit of her sway. Here, where she has cast down these lovely landmarks, her empire ceases. Beyond, rule the ice and the storm!—New Monthly Magazine.

THE COMPANION TO THE ALMANAC

This is the age of utility, and the little volume published under the above title is altogether characteristic of the age. Its contents are calculated to feed and foster the spirit of inquiry which is abroad. People are beginning to find they are not so wise as they had hitherto conceived themselves to be, or rather, that their knowledge on every-day subjects is very scanty. We are therefore pleased to see in the present "Companion" a popular paper on Comets; a series of attractive Observations of a Naturalist; papers on the Management of Children, Clothing, Economy in the Use of Bread and Flour, and a concise account of Public Improvements during the year. All these are matters of interest to every house and family in the empire. There is, besides, an abundance of Parliamentary papers, judiciously abridged, from which the reader may obtain more information than by passing six months in "both your Houses," or reading a session of debates. The Table of Discoveries is likewise a valuable feature; and the Chronological Table of European Monarchs is almost a counterpart of a "Regal Tablet" sent to us, some weeks since, for the MIRROR, and promised for insertion. There is, however, one feature missing, which we noticed in the "Companion" of last year, and we cannot but think that, to make room for its introduction, some of the parliamentary matter in the present volume might have been spared. The editor will be aware of our disinterestedness in making this suggestion, and we hope will give us credit accordingly.

FLUTE PLAYING

"Will you play upon this pipe?"

"My Lord, I cannot." So say we; but some novel instruction on the subject may not be unacceptable to our piping friends. We recommend to them "The Elements of Flute-playing, according to the most approved principles of Fingering," by Thomas Lindsay, as containing more practical and preceptive information than is usually to be met with in such works. The advantage in the present treatise arises out of one of the many recent improvements in the art of printing, viz., the adoption of movable types for printing music, instead of by engraved pewter plates; which method enables the instructor to amplify his precepts, or didactic portion of his work, and thus simplify them to the pupil. According, in Mr. Lindsay's treatise, we have upwards of forty pages of elementary instructions, definitions, and concise treatises, copiously interspersed with musical illustrations; whereas the engraved treatises are generally meagre in their instructions, from the difficulty of punching text illustrations. The article on accentuation is, we are told, the first successful attempt in any elementary work on the Flute, to define this important subject. It is written in a lucid and popular style, and is so attractive, that did our room allow, we might be induced to insert part of it. Appended to the treatise are thirty pages of Duettinos and Exercises, and altogether the work, (of which the present is Part I.,) is well worth the attention of such as study Flute-playing, which, as Mr. L. observes, is "one of those elegant and delightful recreations, which constitutes, at once, the grace and the solace of domestic life."

The sweetest flowers their odours shedIn silence and alone;And Wisdom's hidden fount is fedBy minds to fame unknown.Bernard Barton

CHANGES OF INSECTS

Insects are strikingly distinguished from other animals, by a succession of changes in their organization and forms, and by their incapacity of propagating before their last metamorphosis, which, in most of them, takes place shortly before their death. Each of these transformations is designated by so many terms, that it may not be useless to observe to the reader, who has not previously paid attention to the subject, that larva, caterpillar, grub, maggot, or worm, is the first state of the insect on issuing from the egg; that pupa, aurelia, chrysalis, or nympha are the names by which the second metamorphosis is designated, and that the last stage, when the insect assumes the appearance of a butterfly, is called the perfect state.—North American Review.

"LITTLE SONGS FOR LITTLE SINGERS."

The little folks will soon have a microcosm—a world of their own. The other day we noticed the "Boy's Own Book," and the girls are promised a match volume: children, too, have their own camerae obscurae; there are the Cosmoramas at the Bazaar, as great in their way as Mr. Hornor's Panorama at the Colosseum; besides half a dozen Juvenile Annuals, in which all the literary children of larger growth write. At our theatres, operas are sung by children, and the pantomimes are full of juvenile fun. In short, every thing can be had adapted to all ages; till we begin to think it is once a world and twice a little world. But we have omitted the pretty little productions named at the head of this article. They consist of seven little songs for little people, set to music on small-sized paper, so that the little singer may hold the song after the orchestra fashion, without hiding her smiles. 1. The Little Fish, harmonized from Nursery Rhymes; 2. The Little Robin; 3. The Little Spider and his Wife, from Original Poems; 4. The Little Star, from Nursery Rhymes; 5. A Summer Evening, from the Infant Minstrel; 6. Come Away, Come Away, to the air of the Swiss Boy, by Mr. Green, the publisher; and, 7. The Little Lady Bird:—

Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home,The field-mouse is gone to her nest,The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,And the bees and the birds are at rest.Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home,The glow-worm is lighting his lamp,The dew's falling fast, and your fine speckled wingsWill be wet with the close-clinging damp.Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away home,The fairy bells tinkle afar;Make haste, or they'll catch ye, and harness ye fast,With a cobweb, to Oberon's car.Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly away nowTo your home in the old willow-tree,Where your children so dear have invited the ant,And a few cosy neighbours to tea.

There is some novelty and ingenuity in adapting the words and music of songs for young singers. Love, war, and drinking songs are very well for adults, but are out of time in the nursery or schoolroom; for these predilections spring up quite early enough in the bosoms of mankind. We should not forget the vignette lithographs to the little songs, which are beautifully executed by Hullmandel. All beginners will do well to see these songs, for we know many of the "larger growth" who are little singers.

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS

WITCHCRAFT, &C

MACB. How now, you secret, black, and mid-night hags?What is't you do?WITCHES. A deed without a name.MACB. I conjure you by that which you profess,(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me;Though you untie the winds, and let them fightAgainst the churches—though the yesty wavesConfound and swallow navigation up—Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down—Though castles topple on their warder's heads—Though palaces and pyramids do slopeTheir heads to their foundations—though the treasureOf nature's germins tumble all together,Even till destruction sicken, answer meTo what I ask you.SHAKSPEARE.

In our two preceding papers,1 we have briefly brought before the attention of the reader, a few of the most prominent and striking features connected with the history of the first (as the honourable house hath it in 1602) "of those detestable slaves of the devil, witches, sorcerers, enchanters and conjurors." And now we proceed to offer a few concluding illustrations of the subject.

In the early ages, to be possessed of a greater degree of learning and science than the mass of mankind (at a time when even kings could not read or write) was to be invested with a more than earthly share of power; and the philosopher was in consequence subjected in many cases to a suspicion at once dangerous and dishonourable: to use the language of Coleridge, the real teachers and discoverers of truth were exposed to the hazard of fire and faggot; a dungeon being the best shrine that was vouchsafed to a Roger Bacon or a Galileo!

A few years since, a place was pointed out to the writer, on the borders of Scotland, which had been even within the "memory of the oldest inhabitant," used for the "trial" of witches; and a pool of water in an adjacent stream is still to be seen, where the poor old creatures were dragged to sink or swim; and our informant added, that a very great number had perished on that spot. Indeed, in Scotland, a refinement of cruelty was practised in the persecution of witches; the innocent relations of a suspected criminal were tortured in her presence, in the hope of extorting confession from her, in order to put an end to their sufferings, after similar means had been used without effect on herself. Even children of seven years of age were sometimes tortured in the presence of their mothers for this design. In 1751, at Trigg, in Hertfordshire, two harmless old people above seventy years of age, being suspected of bewitching a publican, named Butterfield, a vast concourse of people assembled for the purpose of ducking them, and the poor wretches were seized, and "stripped naked by the mob, their thumbs tied to their toes, and then dragged two miles and thrown into a muddy stream;" the woman expired under the hands of her persecutors, but her husband, though seriously injured, escaped with his life. One of the ringleaders of this atrocious outrage, was tried and hung for the offence.

The delusion respecting witches was greatly increased in the first instance by a Bull issued by Pope Innocent III. in 1484, to the inquisitors at Almaine, "exhorting them to discover, and empowering them to destroy, all such as were guilty of witchcraft." The fraternity of Witchfinders arose in consequence, and they seem to have been imbued with the genuine spirit of inquisitors, delighting in hunting out and dragging to the torture the innocent and harmless. They had the most unlimited authority granted them, and the whole thunders of the Vatican were directed to the destruction of witches and wizards. The bloody scenes which followed, exceed description. In 1435, Cumanus (an inquisitor) burnt forty-one poor women for witches, in the country of Burlia, in one year. One inquisitor in Piedmont burnt a hundred in a very short time; and in 1524, a thousand were burnt in one year in the diocese of Como, and a hundred annually for a considerable period; on all of whom the greatest cruelties were practised. The fraternity of witchfinders soon found their way to this country, under the fostering protection of the government; and it was of course their interest to keep up the delusion by every means in their power. We have already alluded to the cruelties exercised in Great Britain during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and add an account of one of the cruel ceremonies used to detect witches:– "Having taken the suspected witch," says Gaule, "she is placed in the middle of a room upon a stool or table, cross-legged, or in some other uneasy posture, to which if she submits not, she is then bound with cords. There she is watched and kept without meat or sleep for the space of four-and-twenty hours; for (they say) that within that time they shall see her imp come and suck. A little hole is likewise made in the door for the imp to come in at; and lest it should come in some less discernible shape, they that watch are taught to be ever and anon sweeping the room, and if they see any spiders or flies, to kill them. And if they cannot kill them, they may be sure they are her imps!" Towards the conclusion of the seventeenth century, the delusion and jugglery of witchcraft was in a great measure overthrown by the firmness of the English judges; amongst the most prominent of whom stands Chief Justice Holt. Indeed a statute was shortly after passed, which made it wilful murder, should any of the objects of persecution lose their lives. The popular belief, however, in witchcraft still continued, and it was not till the ninth year of George II., that the statutes against it were repealed. We believe there is still an Irish statute unrepealed, which inflicts capital punishment on witches.

All is now of the past. The "schoolmaster is abroad," and not only is the belief in witches, but all the tribe of ghosts and spirits is fast melting away. The latter have also added in no inconsiderable degree to the sum of human suffering. The number of the good was small compared to the evil, and though it was in their power to come in what shape or guise they chose, "dilated or condensed, bright or obscure," yet it must be confessed they generally chose to assume "forms forbidden," and their visitations were much oftener accompanied with "blasts from hell" than "airs from heaven." It has been justly remarked that "they were potent agents in the hands of the priest and the tyrant to delude and to enslave; for this business they were most admirably fitted, and most faithfully did they perform it." Those inevitable evils which man is destined to endure in this present state, are enough without the addition of the almost unmingled bitterness of the infusion, which superstition would pour into his cup.

(To be continued.)

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

LONDON LYRICS.—THE IMAGE BOY

Whoe'er has trudged, on frequent feet,From Charing Cross to Ludgate-street,That haunt of noise and wrangle,Has seen, on journeying through the Strand,A foreign image-vender standNear Somerset's quadrangle.His coal-black eye, his balanced walk,His sable apron, white with chalk,His listless meditation,His curly locks, his sallow cheeks,His board of celebrated Greeks,Proclaim his trade and nation.Not on that board as erst, are seenA tawdry troop; our gracious QueenWith tresses like a carrot,A milk-maid with a pea-green pail,A poodle with a golden tail,John Wesley, and a parrot;—No; far more classic is his stock;With ducal Arthur, Milton, Locke,He bears, unconscious roamer,Alemena's Jove-begotten Son,Cold Abelard's too tepid Nun,And pass-supported Homer.See yonder bust adorned with curls;'Tis her's, the Queen who melted pearlsMarc Antony to wheedle.Her bark, her banquets, all are fled;And Time, who cut her vital thread,Has only spared her Needle.Stern Neptune, with his triple prong,Childe Harold, peer of peerless song,So frolic Fortune wills it,Stand next the Son of crazy Paul,Who hugg'd the intrusive King of GaulUpon a raft at Tilsit."Poor vagrant child of want and toll!The sun that warms thy native soilHas ripen'd not thy knowledge;'Tis obvious, from that vacant air,Though Padua gave thee birth, thou ne'erDidst graduate in her College."'Tis true thou nam'st thy motley freight;But from what source their birth they date,Mythology or history.Old records, or the dreams of youth,Dark fable, or transparent truth,Is all to thee a mystery."Come tell me, Vagrant, in a breath,Alcides' birth, his life, his death,Recount his dozen labours:Homer thou know'st—but of the woesOf Troy, thou'rt ignorant as thoseDark Orange-boys, thy neighbours."'Twas thus, erect, I deign'd to pourMy shower of lordly pity o'erThe poor Italian wittol,As men are apt to do, to showTheir 'vantage-ground o'er those who knowJust less than their own little.When lo, methought Prometheus' flameWaved o'er a bust of deathless fame,And woke to life Childe Harold:The Bard aroused me from my dreamOf pity, alias self-esteem,And thus indignant caroll'd:—"O thou, who thus in numbers pertAnd petulant, presum'st to flirtWith Memory's Nine Daughters:Whose verse the next trade-winds that blowDown narrow Paternoster-rowShall 'whelm in Lethe's waters:"Slight is the difference I seeBetween yon Paduan youth and thee:He moulds, of Pans plaster,An urn by classic Chantrey's laws,—And thou a literary vaseOf would-be alabaster."Were I to arbitrate betwixtHis terra cotta, plain or mix'd,And thy earth-gender'd sonnet;Small cause has he th' award to dread:– ThyImages are in the head,And his, poor boy, are on it!"New Monthly Magazine

PUNCH

Punch was first made by the English at Nemle, near Goa, where they have the Nepa die Goa, commonly called arrack. This fascinating liquor got the name of punch, from its being composed of five articles—that word, in the Hindostanee language, signifying five. The legitimate punch-makers, however, consider it a compound of four articles only; and some learned physicians have, therefore, named it Diapente (from Diatesseron,) and have given it according to the following prescription—

Rum, miscetur aqua—dulci miscetur acetum,fiet et ex tali foedere—nobile Punch.

and our worthy grand-fathers used to take a dose of it every night in their lives, before going to bed, till doctor Cheyne alarmed them by the information, that they were pouring liquid fire down their throats. "Punch," said he, "is like opium, both in its nature and manner of operation, and nearest arsenic in its deleterious and poisonous qualities; and, so," added he, "I leave it to them, who, knowing this, will yet drink on and die."

Who, that has drunk this agreeable accompaniment to calapash, at the City of London Tavern, ever found themselves the worse for it? They may have felt their genius inspired, or their nobler passions animated—but fire and inflammation there was none. The old song says—

It is the very best of physic.

and there have been very excellent physicians, who have confirmed the opinion by their practice. What did the learned Dr. Sherard, the grave Mr. Petiver, and the apothecary Mr. Tydall, drink in their herborizing tour through Kent? Why—punch! and so much were they delighted with it, at Winchelsea, that they made a special note in their journal, in honour of the Mayoress, who made it, that the punch was not only excellent, but that "each succeeding bowl was better than the former!"—Brande's Journal.

CHOICE OF A RESIDENCE.—ADVICE TO BACHELORS

There is a sort of half-way between town and the country, which some assert combines the advantages, others the defects, of each; and this is a country-town. Here, indeed, a little money, a little learning, and a little fashion, will go ten times as far as they will in London. Here, a man who takes in the Quarterly or Edinburgh, is a literary character; the lady who has one head-dress in the year from a Bond-street milliner, becomes the oracle of fashion, "the observed of all observers;" here dinners are talked of as excellent, at which neither French dishes nor French wines were given, and a little raspberry ice would confer wide celebrity on an evening party, and excite much animadversion and surprise. Here, notwithstanding a pretty strong line of demarcation between the different sets of society, every one appears to know every body; the countenances and names of each are familiar; we want no slave, who calls out the names; but are ready with a proper supply of condescending nods, friendly greetings, and kind inquiries, to dispense to each passenger according to his claims. Indeed, in calculating the length of time requisite for arriving at a certain point, the inhabitant of a country town should make due allowance for the necessary gossip which must take place on the road, and for the frequent interchange of bulletins of health, which is sure to occur; and after a residence of any length in these sociable places, a sensation of solitude and desertion is felt in those crowded streets of our metropolis, where the full tide of population may roll past us for hours without bringing with it a single glance of recognition or kindness. Here round games and Casino still find refuge and support amidst a steady band of faithful partizans; here old maids escape ridicule from being numerous, and old bachelors acquire importance from being scarce. It is, indeed, to this latter description of persons that I would especially recommend a residence in a country town; and, as Dr. Johnson said, that "wherever he might dine, he would wish to breakfast in Scotland;" so, wherever I may pass my youth, let my days of old bachelorship, if to such I am doomed, be spent in a country town. There the genteel male population forsake their birthplace at an early age; and since war no longer exists to supply their place with the irresistible military, the importance of a single man, however small his attractions, however advanced his age, is considerable; while a tolerably agreeable bachelor under sixty is the object of universal attention, the cynosure of every lady's eye. In the cathedral city, where I visited a friend some years since, there were forty-five single women, from sixteen to fifty, and only three marriageable men. Let any one imagine the delight of receiving the most flattering attentions from fifteen women at once, some of them extremely pretty and agreeable; or, I should rather say, from forty-five, since the three bachelors, politically avoiding all appearance of preference, were courted equally by nearly the whole phalanx of the sisterhood. One of the enviable men, being only just of age, was indeed too young to excite hopes in the more elderly ladies, but another more fortunate, if he knew his happiness, ("sua si bona norit"), was exposed to the attacks, more or less open, of every unmarried woman. Alas! he was insensible to his privileges; a steady man of fifty-five, a dignitary of the church, devoted to study, and shy in his habits, he seemed to shrink from the kind attentions he received, and to wish for a less favoured, a less glorious state of existence. His desires seemed limited to reading the Fathers, writing sermons, and doing his duty as a divine; and he appeared of opinion that no helpmate was required to fulfil them. But still the indefatigable phalanx of forty-five, with three or four widows as auxiliaries, continued their attacks, and his age, as I before observed, was fatally encouraging to the hopes of each. The youngest looked in their glasses and remembered the power of youth and beauty; the middle-aged calculated on the good sense and propriety of character of their object, and were "sure he would never marry a girl;" and the most elderly exaggerated his gravity, thought of his shovel hat, and seemed to suppose that every woman under fifty must be too giddy for its wearer. Meanwhile, what a life he led!—his opinions law; his wishes gospel; the cathedral crowded when he preached; churches attended; schools visited; waltzing calumniated; novels concealed; shoulders covered; petticoats lengthened—all to gain his approving eye. The fact is, his sphere of useful influence was much enlarged by his single state; as a married man, he could only have reformed his wife; as a bachelor, he exercised undisputed power over every spinster in his neighbourhood. He was, indeed, unconscious of, or ungratified by the deference and incense he received; but the generality of men are less insensible, and half the homage he so carefully rejected would have been sufficient to intoxicate with delight and self-complacency the greater part of his fraternity. What object in nature is more pitiable than a London old bachelor, of moderate fortune and moderate parts? whose conversational powers do not secure him invitations to dinners, when stiffness of limb and a growing formality have obliged him to retreat from quadrilles. The rich, we know, thrive everywhere, and at all seasons, safe from neglect, secure from ridicule. I speak of those less strongly fortified against the effects of time; those who, scarcely considered good speculations in their best days, are now utterly insignificant, concealed and jostled by a crowd of younger aspirants, overlooked by mammas, except when needed to execute some troublesome commission; and without a chance of receiving a single word or glance from their daughters unmarked by that provoking ease and compassionate familiarity, which tell them, better than words, that their day of influence has closed for ever. Let such unhappy men fly from the scenes of former pleasure and power, of former flirtation and gaiety, to the quieter and surer triumphs of a country town. Here crowds of young women, as certainly devoted to celibacy as the inmates of a nunnery, accustomed from necessity to make beaux out of the most unprecedented materials, and concoct flirtations in the most discouraging circumstances, will welcome him with open arms, underrate his age, overrate his merits, doubt if his hair is gray, deny that he wears false teeth, accept his proffered arm with an air of triumph, and even hint a wonder that he has given up dancing. To their innocent cheeks his glance will have the long-lost power of calling up a blush; eyes as bright as those which beamed upon his youth will sparkle at his approach; and tender hearts, excluded by fate from palpitations for a more suitable object, must per force beat quicker at his address. Here let him revel in the enjoyment of unbounded influence, preserve it by careful management to the latest possible moment, and at length gradually slide from the agreeable old beau into the interesting invalid, and secure for his days of gout, infirmity, and sickness, a host of attentive nurses, of that amiable sex which delights and excels in offices of pity and kindness; who will read him news, recount him gossip, play backgammon or cribbage, knit him comfortables, make him jellies, and repay by affectionate solicitude and unselfish attentions the unmeaning, heartless, worthless admiration which he bestowed upon them in his better days.—New Monthly Magazine.