which he liberally translated in the words of old Pollonius "This is the very ecstasy of Love," or he averted it, by telling a story on the bishop of Cloyne.

When Berkely, bishop of Cloyne, was at Trinity college in Dublin, curiosity induced him to visit the scene of a criminal execution. Returning home, he desired to know he feelings, experienced by an unfortunate malefactor, during this unpleasant ceremony; and determined to prove them by actual experiment. His companion, Contarine, equally inquisitive with himself, kindly provided the proper apparatus, and skilfully tucked up the right reverend inquirer to the cieling of his own room. The chair being removed which was under his feet, he immediately lost the use of his seven senses; and this plausible investigation was well nigh being frustrated, by the complete stoppage of the philosopher's windpipe, for when the cord was severed, he fell down apparently lifeless-It was a great while, before the application of sal volatile, and a thousand chymical essences could bring him to his reason. Contarine was by compact, to make a second trial; but observing the result of the first, declared, he was thoroughly satisfied, and politely excused himself from the obligation.

1

My grandfather's sentiments were fortunately reciprocated; and the death of his parents, which happened soon after, leaving him sole owner of their estate, the season of bitter tears and filial sorrow was succeeded by the fruition of the choicest matrimonial felicity. He lived to behold a numerous circle of children, and children's children, collected around his fireside; and I have seen the old man, in the midst of this little merry group, shake his gray hair's with ecstasy, and more happy than the grandest emperor of the earth.

Young, under the sway of his habitual melancholy, persuaded himself "that fools are ever on the laughing side;" had this charitable gownsman, ever shaken hands with my venerable progenitor, the line would never have been written. He always maintained the sweetest temperament, and you might see smiles playing about his lip, which told you, in as plain English, as smiles could speak, that his heart had not the weight of a feather pressing

upon it. Notwithstanding he was a firm friend to religion, and by his example did more service to it than one half of the saints and martyrs and enthusiasts that crowd the calendar. He regularly attended divine worship; and like the pious Dr. Campbell, never passed a church, without pulling off his hat.

A taste for literature never forsook him, and in his hours of leisure be generally speculated on some original topic. I remember one theory which was his constant hobby-horse-it seems to have been suggested by mons. Buffon's reasoning, in regard to the formation of the West India islands, and the probable state of the gulf of Mexico, in the beginning of the continent. After a regular system of ratiocination, he solemnly determined, that all the country below Montreal, would in the course of a short time, be inundated, by some stupendous convulsion of nature to the north, during which, the contents of the lakes would be entirely discharged. This young deluge was to extend to Virginia, agreeably to the common principles of hydraulics; and by way of preventing any damage, which might possibly accrue to his lands, he actually drew around them a strong dike, two cubits and a half high; being by precise arithmetical calculation, half a cubit higher than the waters were to rise. Searching the other day among the pigeon-holes of his book-case I found a dusty, musty manuscript, in the old gentleman's handwriting; it includes his opinions and prophesies on a large variety of subjects, and I shall diversify the Salad with some of its contents.

Here let me arrest my volant goose-quill, begging a thousand pardons of my courteous reader, for having detained him so long, and perhaps so uselessly.

MY RIDICULE-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

Suavis est, et VEHEMENTER SAEPE UTILIS jocus et facetiae.

CICERO.

ON fine days, about the noon tide hour, I generally sally out, and, to recreate my mind, wearied with morning study, I instantly plunge into the most populous parts of the city, and gaze most pleasurably and steadfastly at the numerous charmers Į meet. My interesting country women are not less distinguished for the taste and elegance of their dress, than for the loveliness of their persons, and the decorum of their behaviour. Hence, as I have some passion for dress myself, I frequently surprise my attention in the very act of staring at Spanish cloaks, brilliant shawls, and spotless muslin, almost as eagerly, as at tight ancles, and sparkling eyes. Any graceful novelty, which the ingenuity of the ladies introduces in their attire, always attracts my regard; and while epicures are looking at rounds of beef, and botanists at a tulip, or a daisy, I can speculate for an hour on a gorgeous bonnet, or a jaunty beaver.

Many moons ago, in Fashion's calendar of capricious vicissitudes, I have frequently made a full stop in High street to watch a fair one, crossing my path, with her ridicule, gracefully dependant from her arm, or swinging most provokingly at her side. The gay colours of this bewitching article have seemed to me not much less glorious than the tints of a vernal rainbow. Sometimes my eyes have been refreshed by all the softness of emerald green, and sometimes dazzled with imperial purple, the yellow of the topaz, and the radiant flame of the ruby. In short, I have been so much in rapture with this same ridicule, that I determined, tother day, to be not unprovided myself. I accordingly entered into an investigation of the character of my purse, and after the severest scrutiny, finding, to my astonishment that this bankrupt was actually worth one dollar, in company with my hundred cents, I marched most undauntedly into the first shop I found open, and very valiantly exchanged them for a small shred of the greenest silk, which could be procured. This, by my counsel, and the aid of the little French milliner, was quickly metamorphosed into the shape of a small satchel, which snugly repo

sited in a side pocket of my sable surtout, I intend as my portable repository for all fugitive papers, that have any relation to the topics of ridicule.

All my remote, rustic, and unlearned readers must be apprised that the fashionable ridicule, which forms part of the drapery of the fair, is, in fact, a sort of pouch, intended as a graceful substitute for the awkward pocket of the petticoat, which has so frequently marred the personal symmetry of our aunts and our grandmothers. I am credibly informed, on the authority of certain gallants, who are admitted to a nearer intimacy with the nymphs and graces, than my bashfulness can aspire to, that this sort of ridicule is nothing but a mere receptacle for thread, ribbon, needles and tassel; and contains no literary papers, but such billets doux and assignation cards, as the genius of a Philadelphia Lovelace may happily dictate. But my ridicule is quite another affair. I carry it constantly with me, filling it with a mass of more solid materials. lounger, who may watch me narrowly in the theatre, will perceive that the inside pocket of my thread bare coat, on the left side of my person, and in the immediate vicinity of my heart is remarkably prominent, conspicuous and distended. All this is in consequence of the swollen state of my spleeny ridicule. In fact, my ridicule, like the leathern coat of the persecuted stag in Shakspear's forest, is stretched full, almost to bursting. The contents shall soon be visible; I shall exultingly harangue at the display,

"And, if I'm not a roaring boy,

Let Gresham College judge it;

in no despair of Any inquisitive streets, or at the

Come then, archest Humour, with aroguish twinkle in thine eye, come solemn Irony, concealing thy face of ridicule with a vizor mask, nor leave my darling Pascal, my Swift and my Gibbon lagging far behind; come Banter, with thy quips and cranks; come, Laughter, holding both thy sides; come, Sarcasm, with thy bale of bitter wormwood; come, Sneer, with thy turned up nose, turned and cocked up, much higher, than the coquet nose of gypsy Roxalana; come Parody, with monkey mischievousness, turning tapestry the wrong side out. Come, Waggishness and Jest, in full

communion with that holy friar, the pious Rabelais; and lastly come, Contempt, looking down from thy proud pedestal on the fantastic follies of mankind; aid me with all your magic powers, while I chastise the absurdities of the age. Supply me with all your nettles, loan me all your whips; and let me in my scourging mood, spare nothing but the sanctity of religion, the purity of morals, the honour of the fair, the majesty of genius, and the dignity of literature.

VOL. Y.

MY BROWN STUDIES-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

Just when our drawing rooms begin to blaze
With lights, by clear reflexion multiplied
From many a mirror, in which he of Gath,
Goliah, might have seen his giant bulk
Whole without stooping, towering crest and all,
My pleasures too begin. But me, perhaps,
The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile
With faint illumination, that uplifts

The shadows to the cieling, there by fits
Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame.
Not undelightful is an hour to me

So spent in parlour twilight: Such a gloom
Suits well the thoughtful, or unthinking mind,
The mind contemplative, with some new theme
Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all.

Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers,
That never felt a stupor, know no pause
Nor need one; I am conscious and confess,
Fearless, a soul that does not always think,
Me oft has fancy, ludicrous and wild,

Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, towers,
Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd