As an epicure in the enjoyment of life, I thank the gods that, by placing me above want and below riches, they have given me little to fear and much to hope. I rejoice that so large a portion of enjoyment remains unpossessed, that I have spoilt so little by usage, and that seven-eighths of the world remain yet to be conquered, at least in hope. The ancients were quite wise in placing that goddess at the bottom of Pandora's box; it was like making the last-drawn ticket, after a succession of blanks, the capital prize. Oh the matter-of-factness of imagination—the actuality of reveries-the bona fide possession of those blessings which we enjoy in hope-the present luxury of anticipation! These are the only enjoyments which cannot be taken from us, which are beyond the reach of the blind fury with the abhorred shears, or her sightless sister of the ever-revolving wheel. To the winds do I cast the counting-house morality inculcated in the story of the milk-maid with her basket of eggs, Alnaschar with his pannier of crockery, and all such musty apologues of the fabulists. There is a loss in breaking eggs or cracking teapots, but is there no gain in fancying oneself, for however short a period, a princess or a grand vizier, and revelling in all the delicious sensations which those respective dignities confer upon the imaginary, but withhold from the real incumbent ? Surely, if the fancied delight be real, and the positive enjoyment of those stations illusory, the non-possessor has the best of the bargain. Credo quod habeo, et habeo. It is incredible what riches and estates I hold by this tenure. I pity the title-deed proprietors of manors, parks, and mansions, who, keeping them in fear, and quitting them with regret, may truly exclaim from their narrow tombs "Of woods and plains, and hills and vales, Of fields and meads, of parks and pales, I need no more-I have no less. I have but to put on my Fortunatus's cap, and all such domains are mine, for I have the full enjoyment, as I walk through them, or gaze over the park-paling, of all the prospects they present-the breezes they waft, the song of their birds, the hum of their bees, the fragrance and the beauty of their flowers. Like Selkirk in Fernandez, "I am monarch of all I survey," and "my right there is none to dispute." Nor is my omnivorous mind easily satiated. The Marquis of Stafford's gallery is mine-Lord Spencer's collection is mine; and mine more than theirs, for I am probably less satiated with gazing upon their beauties. Fonthill, Knole, Petworth, Blenheim, Piercefield, the Leasowes, are not only mine, but Windsor Castle and Hampton-court; and, as I have as unbounded a stomach for palaces as the builder of the latter, I keep the Louvre, Versailles, Fontainebleau, and Compiegne for my summer residences, when I make my annual excursion to Calais in the steam-boat. All these my establishments cost me not a farthing for their maintenance. I live in no fear of losing them; I stand in no awe of thieves; fire gives me no apprehension; I as little dread the watery St. Swithin, lest the damp should injure my pictures and statues; I am unvi sited by tax-gatherers, and untormented by servants. Mine is the only secret by which so rich a man may be so perfectly at his ease. Then my literary distinctions! I am a regular lion among the blues every time that my imagination walks out of its den: I am conversazioned by the Countess of C, routed by the Marchioness of S-, read by the public, praised by the critics, courted by the Row. In due course I become as good an LL. D. as Dr. Pangloss; and were I to recapitulate all the literary honours I achieve by the same process, I fear the reader would extend to me the worthy Doctor's subsequent dignity, and set me down for an A double S. FERDINAND MENDEZ PINTO. "Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the first magnitude !"-Love for Love. Most of our book collectors are familiar withThe Voyage and Travaile of Sir John Maundevile, Knight, which treateth of the way to Hierusalem, and marvayles of Inde; and it is well known that this bold seeker, and fearless assertor, of incredible adventures, left England in 1322; visited Tartary about half a century after Marco Polo; religiously declined marrying the Soldan of Egypt's daughter, because he would not renounce Christianity; and, after wander ing for thirty-four years through the realms of Inde, and being long reputed dead, returned to publish his adventures, scrupulously qualifying his most astounding relations with some such words as these:--thei seyne, or men seyne, but I have not sene it. The original English MS. is in the Cotton Library, but the reader, on referring to the Tatler, No. 254, will be amused with Addison's pretended discovery of these writings, and the pleasant fiction of "the freezing and thawing of several short speeches which Sir John -made in the territories of Nova Zembla.” Although the name of Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, the Mandeville of Portugal, have passed into a byword in England, being commonly used as a paraphrase for mendacity, little or nothing is known of his history or travels; and as this strange work is not now of common occurrence, I propose to translate, for the benefit of your readers, such occasional passages as most amusingly illustrate his circumstantial exaggerations—all of which he narrates as an eye-witness; and thus at the same time exemplify the credulity of of an age which was content to receive such marvels as authentic records. His first chapter is a short biographical sketch of his life, before embarking for India, probably the most veracious portion of the whole narrative, and I shall therefore give it as nearly as possible in his own words, using only the privilege of abridgment." Whenever I reflect on my continual struggles, troubles, and anxiety, since my very infancy, I feel great reason to reproach Fortune, as if her glory were only founded upon her cruelty: but when I call to mind my manifold perils and trials in the Indies-that it has pleased God to relieve me from the persecution of the blind Fury-to preserve my life, and place me safe in port, where I may leave to my children, for memorial and inheritance, this rude and imperfect work, I feel how grateful I ought to be to the Giver of all mercies. I write for my children, that they may know the wonderful hazards I encountered in twenty-one years, having been thirteen times captive, and seventeen times sold to the Indians and savages of Ethiopia, Arabia Felix, China, Tartary, Madagascar, Sumatra, and many other kingdoms and states of that oriental Archipelago, at the extremity of Asia, which the Chinese, Siamese, Gueos, and Luquinese justly term the eyelids of the world, and of which I shall hereafter more fully treat; whereby they may learn what is to be effected by courage, fortitude, and perseverance, in every pinch and extremity of Fate. Thanking God, therefore, for his singular favours, and owning all my sufferings to be the consequences of my sins, I take for the beginning of my work the time that I passed in Portugal, where I lived till I was ten or twelve years old, in the misery and poverty of my father's house, in the town of Monte Mor Ouelho; when an uncle, desirous of promoting my fortune, and withdrawing me from the blind indulgence of my mother, carried me to Lisbon, and placed me in the service of an illustrious and wealthy lady. This happened on St. Lucy's Day, the 13th of December, 1521, the same on which they celebrated the funeral ceremony of our late king, Don |