Virginia she looks upon as very improper, while the remembrance of some of the letters in Humphrey Clinker dimples her broad face with retrospective enjoyment. If pronouns had been tangible things, Mrs. Aurelia Sparr would long ago have worn out the first person singular. Her sentences begin as regularly with "I," as the town-crier's address does with "O yes," or as a French letter ends with “l'assurance des sentimens distingués." While living with another lady in daily and inevitable intercourse, never was she known to say, "We shall see-we shall hear-we can go -we must read." It was always " I, I, I." In the illusion of her egotism, she once went so far as to make a verbal monopoly of the weather, and exclaimed, on seeing the rosy streaks in the evening sky, "I think I shall have a fine day to-morrow.' If you forget yourself so far, in the querulous loquacity of sickness, as to tell her of any ailment, as " My sore-throat is worse than ever to-night"-she does not rejoin, "What will you take?" or "Colds are always worse of an evening, it may be better to-morrow;" or propose flannel or gargle, or any other mode of alleviation, like an ordinary person; no! she flies back from you to herself with the velocity of a coiled-up spring suddenly let go; and says, "I had just such another sore-throat at Leicester ten years ago, I remember it was when I had taken down my chintz bedcurtains to have them washed and glazed." Then comes a mammoth of an episode, huge, shapeless, and bare of all useful matter: telling all she said to the laundress, with the responses of the latter. You are not spared an item of the complete process: first, you are blinded with dust, then soaked in lye, then comes the wringing of your imagination and the calico, then the bitterness of the gall to refresh the colours; then you are extended on the mangle, and may fancy yourself at the court of king Procrustes, or in a rolling-press. All the while you are wondering how she means to get round to the matter in question, your sore. throat. Not she! she cares no more for your sore-throat than the reviewers do for a book with the title of which they head an article; your complaint was the peg, and her discourse the voluminous mantle to be hung on it. Some people talk with others, and they are companions; others at their company, and they are declaimers or satirists; others to their friends, and they are conversationists or gossips, according as they talk of things or persons. Mrs. Aurelia Sparr talks neither to you, nor with you, nor at you. Listen attentively, or show your weariness by twenty devices of fidgetiness and preoccupation, it is all the same to Mrs. Aurelia Sparr. She talks spontaneously, from an abstract love of hearing her own voice; she can no more help talking, than a ball can help rolling down an inclined plane. She will quarrel with you at dinner, for she is extremely peevish and addicted to growling over her meals; and by no means so nice as to what comes out of her mouth as to what goes into it; and then, before you can fold your napkin, push back your chair and try to make good your escape, she begins to lay open the errors, failures, and weaknesses of her oldest and best friends to your cold-blooded inspection, with as little reserve as an old practitioner lecturing over a "subject." Things that no degree of intimacy could justify her in imparting, she pours forth to a person whom she does not even treat as a friend; but talk she must, and she had no other topic at hand. Thus, at the end of a siege, guns are charged with all sorts of rubbish for lack of ammunition. Mrs. Aurelia Sparr not only knows all the modern languages, but enough of the ancient to set up a parson, and every dialect of every county she has ever been in. If you ask her the name of any thing, she will give you a polyglot answer; you may have the satisfaction to know how the citizens of every town and the peasants of every province express themselves, on a matter you may never have occasion to name again But I earnestly recommend you never to ask anything; it is better to go without hearing one thing you do want to hear, than to be constrained to hear fifty things that are no more to you than I to Hecubanot half so much as Hecuba is to me. Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is not easy to deal with; she looks upon all politeness as affectation, and all affectation as perfidy: she palsies all the courtesies of life by a glum air of disbelief and dissatisfaction. sees nobody else, one forgets that such qualities as urbanity, grace, and benignity exist, and is really obliged to say civil things to one's self, to keep one's hand in. Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is more eminent as a chronicler than as a logician; some of her conclusions and deductions are not selfevident. For instance-she interprets a reasonable conformity to the dress and manners of persons of other countries, while sojourning among them, into "hating one's own country." Command of temper is "an odious, cold disposition." Address, and dexterity in female works, what good When one Beauty. A NATURAL COMPLIMENT. As the late beautiful duchess of Devonshire was one day stepping out of her carriage, a dustman, who was accidentally standing by, and was about to regale himseif with his accustomed whiff of tobacco, caught a glance of her countenance, and nstantly exclaimed, “Love and bless you, may, let me light my pipe in your It is said that the duchess was so murted with this compliment, that she Tequently afterwards checked the strain of BUDİEDOR, which was constantly offered Ther charms, by saying, "Oh! after the diseman's compament, all others are inSQUE.* PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ. BY SIR WILLIAM JONES. Sweet mud, of thou wouldst charm my sight, And had these arms thy neck infold; That rosy cheek, that lily hand, Wuld give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand. Boy let yon liquid ruby flow, And bid thy pensive heart be glad, Whate'er the frowning zealots say :- O! when these fair, perfidious maids, Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, Their dear destructive charms display; Each glance my tender breast invades, In was with love our bosoms glow. Speak not of fate :-ah change the theme, Talk of the flowers that round us bloom :Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream : To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. Beauty has such resistless power, That ev'n the chaste Egyptian dame Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy; For her how fatal was the hour, When to the banks of Nilus came A youth so lovely and so coy! But ah, sweet maid! my counsel hear,(Youth shall attend when those advise Whom long experience renders sage) While music charms the ravish'd ear; While sparkling cups delight our eyes, Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age. And yet, by heaven, I love thee still: Yet say. how fell that bitter word From lips which streams of sweetness fill, Go boldly forth, my simple lay, Like orient pearls at random strung: The nymph for whom these notes are sung. "OUR LIVES AND PROPERTIES." BY MR. WILLIAM HUTTON, F. A. S. S. If we survey this little world, vast in our idea, but small compared to immensity, we shall find it crusted over with property, fixed and moyable. Upon this crusty world subsist animals of various kinds; one of which, something short of six feet, moves erect, seems the only one without a tail, and takes the lead in the command of this property. Fond of power, and conscious that possessions give it, he is ever attempting, by force, fraud, or laudable means, to arrive at both. Fixed property bears a value according to its situation; 10,000 acres in a place like London, and its environs, would be an immense fortune, such as no man ever possessed; while 10,000, in some parts of the globe, though well covered with timber, would not be worth a shilling-no king to govern, no subject to submit, no market to exhibit property, no property to exhibit; instead of striving to get possession, he would, if cast on the spot, strive to get away. Thus assemblages of people mark a place with value. Movable property is of two sorts; that which arises from the earth, with the assist ance of man; and the productions of art, which wholly arise from his labour. A small degree of industry supplies the wants of nature, a little more furnishes the comforts of life, and a farther proportion affords the luxuries. A man, by labour first removes his own wants, and then, with the overplus of that labour, purchases the labour of another. Thus, by furnishing a hat for the barber, the hatter procures a wig for himself: the tailor, by making a coat for another, is enabled to buy cloth for his own. It follows, that the larger the number of people, the more likely to cultivate a spirit of industry; the greater that industry, the greater its produce; consequently, the more they supply the calls of others, the more lucrative will be the returns to themselves. It may be asked, what is the meaning of the word rich? Some have termed it, a little more than a man has; others, as much as will content him; others again, the possession of a certain sum, not very small. Perhaps all are wrong. A man may be rich, possessed only of one hundred pounds; he may be poor, possessed of one hundred thousand. He alone is rich, whose income is more than he uses. Industry, though excellent, will perform but half the work; she must be assisted by economy; without this, a ministerial fortune will be defective. These two qualities, separated from each other, like a knife from the handle, are of little use; but, like these, they become valuable when united. Economy without industry will barely appear in a whole coat; industry without economy will appear in rags. The first is detrimental to the community, by preventing the circulation of property; the last is detrimental to itself. It is a singular remark, that even industry is sometimes the way to poverty. Industry, like a new cast guinea, retains its sterling value; but, like that, it will not pass currently till it receives a sovereign stamp: economy is the stamp which gives it currency. 1 well knew a man who began business with 15007. Industry seemed the end for which he was made, and in which he wore himself out. While he laboured from four in the morning till eight at night, in the making of gimlets, his family consumed twice his produce. Had he spent less time at the anvil, and more in teaching the lessons of frugality, he might have lived in credit. Thus the father was ruined by industry, and his children have, for many years, appeared on the parish books. Some people are more apt to get than to keep. Indies in England term notability, are deewer by her frivolous vanity," &c. &c. She has learnt chemistry, and she dstis vexation and hnerness from every person and every event-geometry, and she can never measure her deportment to ERCUMSTANCES-algebra, merely to multiDOM THE COPESEs of all whose fate makes them paralie, with her—-navigation, and she does but tack from one absurdity to another, WERNIG THANK'NE ary way-mathematics, and she never calculates how much more agreerdie a „tte good-nature would make bee that all her jearning-history, and mat ze her own heart is a blank-perSPECTIE, Without ever learning to place self var sting pom"-and all langunges, without ever uttering in any one of ven a single phrase that could make the verses, in The Times of Monday, (March 5, 1827,) have disclosed "the secret," and now, probably, he will "blush to find it fame." The knowledge of his "ruby drops " should be communicated to all who find it necessary to "use a little wine for their stomach's sake, and their often infirmities." Can the information be conveyed in more agreeable lines? Beauty. A NATURAL COMPLIMENT. As the late beautiful duchess of Devonshire was one day stepping out of her carriage, a dustman, who was accidentally standing by, and was about to regale himself with his accustomed whiff of tobacco, caught a glance of her countenance, and instantly exclaimed, "Love and bless you, my lady, let me light my pipe in your eyes!" It is said that the duchess was so delighted with this compliment, that she frequently afterwards checked the strain of adulation, which was constantly offered to her charms, by saying, "Oh! after the dustman's compliment, all others are insipad." PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ. BY SIR WILLIAM JONES. Sweet mail if thou wouldst charm my sight, Than all the gems of Samarcand. A stream so clear as Bocey' 345 Speak not of fate :-ah! change the hea. Talk of the flowers that round as cons:- For her how fatal was the hour, A youth so lovely and so cer But ah, sweet maid! my counsel bear(Youth shall attend when those Whom long experience resten While music charms the rarott i ar Be gay; and scorn the favors at an What cruel answer have I heart And yet, by heaven. I immed Can anght be true! fnm te Yet say, how fell that ner wirt From lips which stregime of emergens To Which nought but Ewes of somer at Go boldly forth, my simsie Whose accents flowe Thy notes are sweet. The tes The symph for whom he a "OUR LIVES AND PROPERTIES BY MR. WILLIAM HOTION, E. A.á. L If we survey this little world, idea, but small compared to immen shall find it crusted over with proper fixed and movable Upon this world subsist anals of various K one of which, something short of a moves erect, seems the only one withou tail, and takes the lead in the comm this property. Foad of power, and scious that possessions give it, he attempting, by force, fraud, or a means, to arrive at both. Fired property bears a value to its 1 Situation; 10,000 acres in like London, and its enviroc. mense fortune, such as sed; while 10,000, ir gabe, though well not be wort! no subjec Property |