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Urswick Chapel. It was designed and executed by Sir Jeffery Wyatville, and is a national tribute to the memory of one, who before she descended to an early grave, had given bright hopes of the future, and by her moral worth had cemented the affections of the whole people. Many of those who now view this monument, doubtless retain much of the impression occasioned at the time by the awfully sudden dispensation of her death; for the grief was as universal as it was deep. But there is something unusually solemn and touching in the tale told by the storied marble, even to those who are not usually influenced by such recollections. The body of the departed Princess is represented in white marble, lying on a bier, at the moment when the immortal spirit has quitted its earthly tenement; it is covered with drapery, from beneath which a part of the right hand only is seen. At each corner an attendant female appears overwhelmed with sorrow. The subject represented above this, affords a striking contrast to the scene of death and mourning. The spirit of the departed Princess is represented ascending from a tomb and supported by two angels, one of whom bears her child towards heaven.

All, all of worth,

That warm'd the tenants of yon silent bier,

Hath thither fled; her soul of heavenly birth, And his who sought at once a brighter sphere,

And left this world unseen, nor sinn'd, nor sorrow'd here. It now remains for us to mention the parts below the building. In the royal vault in the choir, near the altar, are the remains of King Henry the Eighth and his Queen, Lady Jane Seymour, King Charles the First, and an infant child of Queen Anne, when Princess of Denmark. A doubt having existed respecting the real place of King Charles's interment, a search was made in this spot, by the Prince Regent, in 1813. An interesting narrative of the investigation was published by Sir H. Halford, Bart., one of the eye-witnesses. The body of Charles the First was discovered in a coffin bearing his name. The head, which was separated from the body, bore a strong resemblance to the pictures of the unfortunate king. The skeleton of Henry the Eighth was also found, but the remains of Lady Jane were not disturbed.

The more modern royal vault, in which some of the illustrious members of the present reigning family have been buried, is under an ancient stone building, formerly called WOLSEY'S TOMB-HOUSE, at the east end of St. George's Chapel, and was constructed by King George the Third. The entrance to the cemetery is in the choir of St. George's Chapel, near the altar, from which an under-ground passage leads to this silent sepulchre of the great. In it have been deposited the remains of the Princess Amelia, the Princess Charlotte, Queen Charlotte, the Duke of Kent, King George the Third, the Duke of York, and King George the Fourth. The bodies also of two young Princes, Alfred and Octavius, sons of George the Third, were removed to this vault from Westminster Abbey. In the cloisters adjoining the chapel, among other tablets to the memory of the deceased, we meet with the following affecting testimony to the worth of a person who fulfilled her duty in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call her;

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ANTIQUITY.

SUGGESTED BY A VISIT TO ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSO*

ALL hail, Antiquity! thou fill'st the soul
With thoughts that tower above the busy throng;
Thou grow'st more dear, as Time, with heavy roll,
Sweeps, like a vast impetuous wave, along.
By thee inspired, the child of ancient song
Bids the bright scenes of vanish'd ages hail!
Waking his wild harp ruin'd piles among,
Or, oft retiring to the listening vale,
Chants many a legend dark, and many a feudal tale.
Sacred the ground within the chapel tall,
Where deep is graved the iron hand of Time;
Where the light fret-work dances round the wall,
And Gothic sculpture rears its front sublime:
The once right-merry bells forget their chime;
On mould'ring stones, amid the blaze of day,
There let me trace the quaint sepulchral rhyme,
Where frowning knights in brass incessant pray,
And in the rich-stained glass the vivid sun-beams play.
Dull is the helm, that glitter'd terrors once,

Dull is the shield, that once was bright with sheen,
Dull is the steel point of the quiv'ring lance,
And deadly dull the eye of him, I ween,
Who whilome shone a knight of martial mien,
But now at rest beneath the low flag-stone

Leaves but the shade of grandeur that has been ;
The sparkling eye, the heart of fire, are gone,
All, all forgotten now, neglected, and unknown.
Fame! thou art treacherous: mighty men have stood
Chief in thy temple, where it shines on high,
And thus the great, the noble, and the good,
Fall from their niche of glory but to die,
Or live but in false honour's memory!
And yet they died not wholly. Men consign'd

Nought save the "earth to earth," their names supply
The bright example, the immortal mind,
'Midst dust and ashes, these a spreading root shall find.
For lo! keen science, with exploring hand,

Removes the envious veil that late conceal'd The form of olden times; at her command,

In ancient garb array'd, she stands reveal'd: Guarding the honours of the blazon'd shield, Rich guerdons of their great and glorious toil

Who well defended, 'midst the dusty field, "God and their right," against the unrighteous spoil O rude invading foe, or dark intestine broil.

M.

IN young minds, there is commonly a strong propensity to particular intimacies and friendships. Youth, indeed, is the season when friendships are sometimes formed, which not only continue through succeeding life, but which glow to the last, with a tenderness unknown to the connexions begun in cooler years. The propensity, therefore, is not to be discouraged, though at the same time it must be of the pretended friendships of youth are mere combina regulated with much circumspection and care. Too many tions in pleasure. They are often founded on capricious likings, suddenly contracted, and as suddenly dissolved. Sometimes they are the effect of interested complaisance and flattery on the one side, and of credulous fondness on the other. Beware of such rash and dangerous connexions, which may afterwards load you with dishonour. Remember that by the character of those whom you choose for your friends, your own is likely to be formed, and will cer tainly be judged of by the world. Be slow, therefore, and cautious, in contracting intimacy; but when a virtuous friendship is once established, consider it as a sacred engagement. Expose not yourselves to the reproach of lightness and inconstancy, which always bespeak either a trifling, or a base mind. Reveal none of the secrets of your friend. Be faithful to his interests. Forsake him not in danger. Abhor the thought of acquiring any advantage by his prejudice or hurt. There is a friend that

loveth at all times, and a brother that is born for adver sity. Thine own friend, and thy father's friend, forsake

not.

-BLAIR.

RICHES, authority and praise, lose all their influence, when they are considered as riches that to-morrow shall be bestowed upon another; authority which shall this night expire for ever; and praise which, however merited, shall, after a few moments, be heard no more.- -Rambler.

THE MICROSCOPE.

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No. III. RADIATA, WORMS, INSECTS THE radiated animals are so named, on account of the different parts of which they are formed being placed like rays around a common centre. The starfish, so frequently seen on the English coasts, is a familiar example of an animal of this class. The echinus, Sea-egg, or Sea-urchin, is another instance; the shell, which, when the creature is dead, is frequently found on the sands, and which in that state bears some resemblance to an egg, was, when its inhabitant was living, covered with an immense number of spines, or prickles, by means of which, as if with legs, it moved from place to place; on account of these appendages it is called the Sea-urchin, or Hedge-hog. In the smaller species

these spines, when magnified, are very beautiful objects. Annexed are enlarged representations of three varieties. The animals themselves are curious in their formation, but can only be seen to advantage when in a living state; on this account great dexterity' in the observer, and the best opportunities of observation, are required; as the objects must, in all cases, be enclosed in some vessel containing sea-water, and will not live for any length of time if removed from the sea-side. - WORMS of all kinds present the same difficulties of observation as the radiated animals. We give a magnified view of the head of the Echinorhyncus, a worm which infests the intestines of animals. A simple inspection will show how difficult it must be to dislodge the intruder, when once it has fastened the numerous hooks 'with which the mouth is sur

rounded, in the flesh of its victim.

Upwards in the scale of the creation, we next come to the INSECTS; and here the microscopic observer will find abundance of materials for his curiosity, for the most insignificant being of this class will afford him amusement for hours; its eyes, wings, legs, sting, horns, nay, the very down with which its body is covered, present an interesting and splendid spectacle. The eye of the common house-fly is formed of numerous lenses, or magnifying-glasses, placed close to each other, and curious both for their form and arrangement. The engraving represents the order in which they are arranged with reference to each other. The number of these lenses in a single eye frequently amounts to several thousands. The following figures show the curious structure of the foot of the same fly. The two broad flat pieces seen beneath the claws act something like suckers, and give the fly the power of walking upon the ceiling, or upon glass, without the danger of falling."

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The sting of the gnat, when its parts are carefully separated and highly magnified, presents a terrible display of barbed darts and cutting instruments; this weapon is placed under the throat of the insect, and it is curious and instructing to notice the manner in which it is employed; if the gnat uses it for the purpose of penetrating flesh, the darts are inserted, as well as the rest of the apparatus; but if feeding on fruit, it only thrusts in a little sucking-tube, and by that means extracts the juices.

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STING OF THE ONAT.

The manner in which various animals breathe differs very greatly. In Quadrupeds, Birds, and Reptiles, breathing is performed through the mouth, by means of the lungs in Fish, the gills answer the purpose of extracting air from the water: in Insects, a number of spiracles, or little breathing-holes, are placed on different parts of the body; the engraving represents two of these breath-openings in the pupa of a butterfly. That to the right hand is open, and surrounded with a belt of fine hairs, by means of which it may be completely closed, as

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taining a supply of air; to this end, it has a slender | dexterous management, be seen through a good tube attached to one of the rings of its body, near microscope; they consist of a most delicate set of the tail; the end of this tube is surrounded with a cutting-instruments, acting something like scissors, fringe of hairs, which, when expanded, has sufficient with a sucking-tube in the centre, to extract the buoyancy to keep the body floating; and when the nourishment from its prey. insect sinks in the water, these hairs are folded over the opening of the tube, and enclose a small bubble of air, which serves as a supply, until its return to the surface.

V

The following are representations of the eggs of different kinds of moths and butterflies.

Several parts of the Spider are very curious, and none more so than the spinning apparatus: Such are a few of the wonderful objects which the annexed is a highly mag- Microscope has enabled us to discover in this portion nified view of this rope- of the animal kingdom; but the diligent observer making organ. The will find their number to be inexhaustible, and each thread of the spider, it fresh discovery will incite him more and more to will be seen, small as it continue his researches. appears to be to the naked eye, is composed of numerous filaments, of a still finer nature, which unite together at a short distance from the openings through which they are drawn. The palpi, or feelers of the spider have a curious pointed hook at the end of each, which closes, for the purpose of taking hold of any thing, something like a claspknife.

STAGE-COACH TRAVELLING. IN the Coffee-room of the Black Swan Inn, at York, hangs, framed and glazed, and very justly preserved as a curiosity, the following printed notice.

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SPINNERET OF THE SPIDER.

PALPI OF THE SPIDER.

VO WWW

POISON-CLAW OF
THE SPIDER.

The down, with which the wings of moths and butterflies are covered, appears when examined by the microscope, to be a series of minute scales, varying in form in different species, and arranged in rows, as may be seen by the lower part of the figure.

SCALES ON THE BUTTERFLY'S WINGS.

The annexed cut is a magnified view of the common Flea. The great muscular power of the flea has

YORK FOUR DAYS STAGE-COACH,

Begins on Friday, the 12th of April, 1706. All that are desirous to pass from London to York, or from York to to the Black Swan, in Holborn, in London, and to the London, or any other place on that road, let them repair Black Swan, in Coney-street, in York.

At both which places they may be received in a stagecoach every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which performs the whole journey in four days, (if God permits,) and sets forth at five in the morning.

And returns from York to Stamford in two days, and from Stamford, by Huntington, to London in two days more; and the like stages on their return.

Allowing each passenger 14 lbs. weight, and all above, 3d. a pound.

(BENJAMIN KINGMAN. Performed by HENRY HARRISON. WALTER BAYNES.

Also, this gives notice, that the Newcastle Stage-coach sets out from York every Monday and Friday, and from Newcastle every Monday and Friday.

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The distance from York to London is 200 miles, and could Benjamin Kingman and his partners now witness this distance travelled with ease by the mail in little more than twenty hours, and which occupied them at least sixty, they would be much surprised. Let us not, however, value our own efforts too much, and under-rate those of our ancestors; the average (fifty miles a day) was, in 1706, very considerable; and it is not so much as thirty years since, that one of the Rochester coaches occupied six hours on its journey to London, a distance of thirty miles only. Lord Clarendon mentions that, in 1642, the Lord Keeper Littleton "sending his horses out of the Town, (London,) put himself in his coach very early the next morning, and as soon as they were out of the town, he and the Serjeant (Lee) and one groom, took their horses, and made so great a journey that day, it being about the begincaused many curious contrivances: it has been har-ning of June, that before the end of the third day, nessed to carriages of various descriptions, which have been drawn along with apparent ease, although seventy or eighty times its own weight. With its powerful legs, it can make the most extraordinary leaps, upwards of two hundred times the length of its own body. Considering the size of the animal, this is the same as if a man were to jump more than three times the height of St. Paul's, or about twelve hundred feet. If the strength of an elephant was equal, in proportion to its bulk, to that of this little tormentor, its power would be irresistible. The weapons with which the Flea is provided may, by

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he kissed the king's hand at York." This was certainly then a great effort, but it was performed on horseback, and the Keeper was flying to save his liberty at least.

W. T.

IF you go near the nest of a lapwing, one of the old birds will fly close to you and try to draw you from their nest. I have seen my dog almost struck by one of the birds as she flew past him, and they seem quite to forget their own danger in the endeavour to preserve their offspring. It is said that when a hind hears the hounds, she will allow herself to be hunted in order to lead them away from her fawns.-JESSE.

THE TWO VILLIERS', DUKES OF
BUCKINGHAM.

GEORGE VILLIERS, the son of a Leicestershire knight, was born in 1592. About the age of twentytwo he was introduced into the court of James the

First. The households of kings were, at that time, the surest avenues to great preferment. Whatever were the talents or disposition of the sovereign, the court was crowded by multitudes of dependants, who trusted to attract notice by applying their abilities to the reigning wisdom or the reigning folly. Notice begat preferment, and preferment was at once rank, wealth and consequence. James, who was always

In a

taken with handsome persons and fine clothes, became soon the friend rather than the master of the young Villiers. The ambition of the latter was admirably seconded by his talents, and he very soon acquired an entire ascendancy over the king. short time he was made a baron, a viscount, an earl, a marquess, a duke, lord high-admiral, and master of the horse. Estates poured in upon him as fast as titles. He ruled the court, and at that time the court ruled the country. The kind of deference then paid by the lower ranks to the gentry, by the gentry to the nobility, by the nobility generally to the courtiers, and by the courtiers universally to the duke of Buckingham (Villiers' title) is such as in these days we can scarcely comprehend. The highest points of rank, wealth and power, centred in this man. Every thing calculated to gratify an aspiring mind was his. He possessed the advantage of being the favourite alike of the reigning prince and of the heir apparent; and the dominion of Buckingham was increased rather than diminished, by the accession of Charles the First to the throne. Yet, the end of those things was an early and a violent death. He was stabbed at Portsmouth, in the thirty-sixth year of his age, by John Felton, who, having watched his opportunity, thrust a long knife with great strength

into his breast.

The duke, when he received the stroke, clapping his right hand on his sword-hilt, cried out, "The villain has killed me!" His duchess and sister-in-law, hearing a noise in the hall, ran into a gallery which overlooked it, and saw from thence the duke with blood gushing from his breast, nose and mouth. He pulled out the knife himself, and having been carried to a table he soon expired. Charles the First was at public prayers when the event was announced to him. He continued unmoved in gesture or in countenance till the service was ended, when he suddenly departed to his chamber, where, throwing himself upon his bed, he lamented, with abundance of tears, the loss he had sustained.

The son of this duke was an infant at the period of his parent's death. In him were united all his father's vast possessions and rank, together with the greatest abilities. Every thing, however, throughout his career, was marred by the want of principle, and of a steady perseverance of purpose. He held the same place in the court of Charles the Second, which the former duke had done in that of the preceding monarchs. His riches were increased by a wealthy marriage, his wit and his talent were, even in those witty and talented days, unrivalled. But his profligacy was unmeasured, and self was the idol to which he sacrificed every thing. Dryden, who knew him well, described him as,

A man so various that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome:
Stiff in opinion, always in the wrong;
Was every thing by starts, and nothing long;
But in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman and buffoon:

He

Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art,
Nothing went unrewarded but desert.

He laugh'd himself from court; then sought relief
By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief.

had great liveliness of wit, with a peculiar faculty of turning all things into ridicule, but he had no principles of religion, virtue, or friendship. Pleasure, frolic, or extravagant temporary diversion, was all his object. And it is no wonder that he outlived almost as remarkable as that of his father. his fortune, health and reputation. His death was seized by a fever, the man who had been the wealthiest Being peer in Britain, the delight of courts, and the envy of the world, ended his days without friends or attendants, in an obscure and miserable cottage near Kirby Moorside, in Yorkshire. It is to this fact that Pope alludes in the lines,

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung, The floors of plaster and the walls of dung, On once a flock bed, but repair'd with straw, With tape-tied curtains never meant to draw, The George and Garter dangling from that bed Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers lies! alas, how changed from him That life of pleasure and that soul of whim, No wit to flatter, left of all his store! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends. In his last moments he bitterly mourned the follies of his life, his ingratitude to God, and inattention to the duties of religion: he exhibited great contrition for his past offences, and very shortly before his spirit left this world he received the sacrament from the parochial minister. He died in the sixtieth year of his age, leaving no heirs. He was buried at Kirby Moorside, and the register, which is still preserved, contains, among other burials, that of "Gorges vilaus, Lord dooke of bookingam," as taking place April 17th 1687.

A death-bed may always be made an instructive lesson to survivors, and the following picture of the state of mind of this celebrated man, drawn by himself, when the world and its follies had ceased to interest him, may not be without its uses. How many thousands upon thousands of God's poorest subjects are there, who have throughout life enjoyed more happiness than this envied favourite owns himself ever to have known; and who, when upon their death-beds will have a greater and surer reason for the hope that is in them, than he ever was able to give. We often need only know the real condition of others, to be cured of all envy.

From the younger VILLIERS, Duke of Buckingham, when on his death bed.

Dear Doctor,

I HAVE always looked upon you to be a person of true virtue, and know you to have a sound understanding; for, however I may have acted in opposition to the principles of religion, or the dictates of reason, I can honestly assure you I have always had the highest veneration for both. The world and I shake hands: for I dare affirm we are heartily weary of each other. O, what a prodigal have I been of that most valuable of all possessions-Time! I have squandered it away with a profusion unparalleled ; and the world, I cannot flatter myself with the prospect of half now, when the enjoyment of a few days would be worth a dozen hours. How despicable, oh my dear friend, is that man who never prays to his God, but in the time of distress. In what manner can he supplicate that omnipotent Being in his afflictions, whom, in the time of his prosperit he never remembered with reverence?

Do not brand me with infidelity when I tell you that am almost ashamed to offer up my petitions at the thro-ə

of grace, or to implore that divine mercy in the next world, which I nave scandalously abused in this. Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon as the blackest of crimes, and not ingratitude to God, to whom we are indebted for all we have enjoyed? Shall an insult offered to the king be looked upon in the most offensive light, and yet no notice be taken when the King of kings is treated with indignity and disrespect?

THE ART OF SINKING.

DR. JOHNSON was remarking, that one bad line
might spoil the whole of a beautiful poem, and gave
as a specimen the following verses extempore:
Hermit old, in mossy cell,

Wearing out life's evening gray,
Strike thy pensive breast and tell,
Where is bliss, and which the way?
Thus I spoke, and frequent sighed,
Scarce repress'd the falling tear,
When the hoary sage replied,

The companions of my former libertinism would scarcely believe their eyes, were you to show this epistle. They would laugh at me as a dreaming enthusiast, or pity me as a timorous wretch, who was shocked at the appearance of futurity; but, whoever laughs at me for being right, or pities me for being sensible of my errors, is more entitled 'Come my lad, and drink some beer. to my compassion than my resentment. A future state Another instance of the same playful humour in may well enough strike terror into any man who has not the great moralist, when he thought proper to unacted well in this life; and he must have an uncommon bend, occurred at the expense of Dr. Percy, aftershare of courage indeed, who does not shrink at the pre-wards Bishop of Dromore, who had just published sence of God. The apprehensions of death will soon bring the most profligate to a proper use of his understanding. To what a situation am I now reduced! Is this anxiety of mind becoming the character of a Christian? From my rank I might have expected affluence to wait upon my life; from religion and understanding, peace to smile upon my end; instead of which I am afflicted with poverty, and haunted with remorse, despised by my country, and, I fear, forsaken by my God.

There is nothing so dangerous as extraordinary abilities. I cannot be accused of vanity now, by being sensible that I was once possessed of uncommon qualifications, especially as I sincerely regret that I ever had them. My rank in life made these accomplishments still more conspicuous, and, fascinated by the general applause which they procured, I never considered the proper objects to which they should have been applied. Hence, to procure a smile from a blockhead whom I despised, I have frequently treated virtue with disrespect; and sported with the holy name of Heaven to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools who were entitled to nothing but contempt.

'What a pity that the Holy writings are not made the criterions of true judgement; or that any person should pass for a fine gentleman in this world, except he that appears solicitous about his happiness in the next.

I am forsaken by all my acquaintance, utterly neglected by the friends of my bosom and the dependents on my bounty; but no matter. I am not fit to converse with the former, and have no ability to serve the latter. Let me not, however, be wholly cast off by the good. Favour me with a visit as soon as possible. Writing to you gives me some ease, especially on a subject I could talk on for ever. I am of opinion that this is the last visit I shall ever solicit from you: my distemper is powerful: come and pray for the departing spirit of the poor unhappy F. BUCKINGHAM.

He that remembers not to keep the Christian Sabbath at the beginning of the week, will be in danger to forget, before the end of the week, that he is a Christian.-SIR E. TURNER, Speaker of the House of Commons in 1663.

IN evil times, it fares best with them that are most careful about duty, and least, about safety. Dr. HAMMOND.

A GENTLEMAN who had filled many high stations in public life, with the greatest honour to himself and advantage to the nation, once went to Sir Eardley Wilmot, in great anger at a real injury that he had received from a person high in the political world, which he was considering how to resent in the most effectual manner. After relating the particulars to Sir Eardley, he asked if he did not think it would be manly to resent it? Yes," said Sir Eardley, "it would doubtless be manly to resent it, but it would be godlike to forgive it." This, the gentleman declared, had such an instantaneous effect upon him, that he came away quite another man, and in a temper entirely altered from that in which he went.

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his simple ballad of The Hermit of Warkworth.
Johnson called it sing-song poetry. Sir, it is an
infantine style, which any man may imitate who
thinks proper to try; as, for instance," (this he said
impromptu,)
I put my hat upon my head,
And walk'd into the Strand,
And there I met another man
With his hat in his hand.

On another occasion, when criticizing Percy's
Reliques at Mr. Reynolds's tea-table, the sage in-
dulged himself in a similar imitation of the ballad
style:
O, hear it then, my Renny dear,
Nor hear it with a frown,
You cannot make the tea so fast
As I can gulp it down.

After these came one or two more such burlesque
stanzas, which ended, Miss Reynolds being tea-maker,
with,

Then give to me, my Renny dear,

Another cup of tea.

He

Dr. Percy heard of all this; and the Doctor, finding that he had given offence, wrote thus to Boswell. "If Percy is really offended, I am sorry; for he is a man whom I never knew to offend any one. is a man willing to learn, and very able to teach; a man out of whose company I never go without having learned something. Percy's attention to poetry has given grace and splendour to his studies of antiquity. A mere antiquarian is a rugged being. Upon the whole, you see that what I might say in sport or petulance, is very consistent with a full conviction of his merit."

NONE take reproof so well as those who most deserve to be commended.

CUNNING IS a crooked wisdom: nothing is more hurtful when cunning men pass for wise.- -BACON.

WHAT different ideas are formed in different nations, concerning the beauty of the human shape and countenance ! A fair complexion is a shocking deformity on the coast of Guinea thick lips and a flat nose are a beauty. In some nations, long ears, that hang down upon the shoulders, are the objects of universal admiration. In China, if a lady's foot is so large as to be fit to walk upon, she is regarded as a monster of ugliness. Some of the savage nations in North America tie four boards round the heads of their children, and thus squeeze them, while the bones are ten der and gristly, into a form that is almost perfectly square. Europeans are astonished at the absurd barbarity of this practice, to which some missionaries have imputed the sin

He that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds gular stupidity of those nations among whom it prevails. green.-BACON.

If a man had no person whom he loved or esteemed, no person who loved or esteemed him, how wretched must his condition be! Surely a man capable of reflection, would choose to pass out of existence, rather than to live in such a state.-REID's Essays.

But when they condemn those savages, they do not reflect that the ladies in England had, till within these very few years*, been endeavouring, for near a century past, to squeeze the beautiful roundness of their natural shape into a square form of the same kind.-SMITH.

*The author here refers to the square stomachers which were usually worn when hoop petticoats were fashionable.

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