his queer visnomy-his bewildering costume-all the strange things which he had raked together his serpentine rod swagging about in his pocket -Cleopatra's tear and the rest of his relicsO'Keefe's wild farce and his wilder commentarytill the passion of laughter, like grief in excess, relieved itself by its own weight, inviting the sleep which in the first instance it had driven away.

But I was not to escape so easily. No sooner did I fall into slumbers, than the same image, only more perplexing, assailed me in the shape of dreams. Not one Munden, but five hundred, were dancing before me, like the faces which, whether you will or no, come when you have been taking opium-all the strange combinations, which this strangest of all strange mortals ever shot his proper countenance into, from the day he came commissioned to dry up the tears of the town for the loss of the now almost forgotten Edwin. Oh for the power of the pencil to have fixed them when I awoke! A season or two since there was exhibited a Hogarth gallery. I do not see why there should not be a Munden gallery. In richness and variety the latter would not fall far short of the former.

There is one face of Farley, one face of Knight, one (but what a one it is!) of Liston; but Munden has none that you can properly pin down, and call his. When you think he has exhausted his battery of looks, in unaccountable warfare with your gravity, suddenly he sprouts out an entirely new set of features, like Hydra. He is not one, but legion. Not so much a comedian, as a company. If his name could be multiplied like his countenance, it might fill a play-bill. He, and he alone, literally makes faces; applied to any other person, the phrase is a mere figure, denoting certain modifications of the human countenance. Out of some invisible wardrobe he dips for faces, as his friend Suett used for wigs, and fetches them out as easily. I should not be surprised to see him some day put out the head of a river horse; or come forth a pewit, or lapwing, some feathered metamorphosis.

I have seen this gifted actor in Sir Christopher Curry-in Old Dornton-diffuse a glow of sentiment which has made the pulse of a crowded theatre beat like that of one man; when he has come in aid of the pulpit, doing good to the moral heart of a people. I have seen some faint approaches to this sort of excellence in other players. But in the grand grotesque of farce, Munden stands out as single and unaccompanied as Hogarth. Hogarth, strange to tell, had no followers. The school of Munden began, and must end with himself.

Can any man wonder, like him? can any man

see ghosts like him? or fight with his own shadori "SESSA" -as he does in that strangely-neglected thing, the Cobbler of Preston-where his alternations from the Cobbler to the Magnifico, and from the Magnifico to the Cobbler, keep the brain of the spectator in as wild a ferment, as if some Arabian Night were being acted before him. Who like him can throw, or ever attempted to throw, a preternatural interest over the commonest daily-life objects? A table, or a joint-stool, in his conception, rises into a dignity equivalent to Cassiopeia's chair. It is invested with constellatory importance. You could not speak of it with more deference, if it were mounted into the firmament. A beggar in the hands of Michael Angelo, says Fuseli, rose the Patriarch of Poverty. So the gusto of Munden antiquates and ennobles what it touches. His pots and his ladles are as grand and primal as the seething-pots and hooks seen in an old prophetic vision. A tub of butter, contemplated by him, amounts to a Platonic idea. He understands a leg of mutton in its quiddity. He stands wondering, amid the commonplace materials of life, like primeval man with the sun and stars about him.

REJOICINGS UPON THE NEW YEAR'S COMING OF AGE.

THE Old Year being dead, and the New Year coming of age, which he does, by Calendar Law, as soon as the breath is out of the old gentleman's body, nothing would serve the young spark but he must give a dinner upon the occasion, to which all the Days in the year were invited. The Festivals, whom he deputed as his Stewards, were mightily taken with the notion. They had been engaged time out of mind, they said, in providing mirth and good cheer for mortals below; and it was time they should have a taste of their own bounty. It was stiffly debated among them, whether the Fasts should be admitted. Some said, the appearance of such lean, starved guests, with their mortified faces, would pervert the ends of the meeting. But the objection was overruled by Christmas Day, who had a design upon Ash Wednesday, (as you shall hear,) and a mighty desire to see how the old Domine would behave himself in his cups. Only the Vigils were requested to come with their lanterns to light the gentlefolks home at night.

All the Days came to their day. Covers were provided for three hundred and sixty-five guests at the principal table; with an occasional knife and fork at the side-board for the Twenty-Ninth of February.

found out the persons invited well enough, with the exception of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a few such Moveables, who had lately shifted their quarters.

Well, they all met at last, foul Days, fine Days, all sorts of Days, and a rare din they made of it. There was nothing but, Hail! fellow Day, well met-brother Day-sister Day,-only Lady Day kept a little on the aloof, and seemed somewhat scornful. Yet some said Twelfth Day cut her out and out, for she came in a tiffany suit, white and gold, like a Queen on a frost-cake, all royal, glittering, and Epiphanous. The rest came, some in green, some in white-but old Lent and his family were not yet out of mourning. Rainy Days came in, dripping; and sunshiny Days helped them to change their stockings. Wedding Day was there in his marriage finery, a little the worse for wear; Pay Day came late, as he always does; and Doomsday sent word—he might be expected.

April Fool, (as my young lord's jester,) took upon himself to marshal the guests, and wild work he made with it. It would have posed old Erra Pater to have found out any given Day in the year to erect a scheme upon-good Days, bad Days, were so shuffled together, to the confounding of all sober horoscopy.

He had stuck the Twenty-first of June next to the Twenty-second of December, and the former looked like a Maypole siding a marrow-bone. Ash Wednesday got wedged in, (as was concerted,) between Christmas and Lord Mayor's Days. Lord! | how he laid about him! Nothing but barons of beef and turkeys would go down with him-to the great greasing and detriment of his new sackcloth bib and tucker. And still Christmas Day was at his elbow, plying him with the wassailbowl, till he roared, and hiccuped, and protested there was no faith in dried ling, but commended it to the devil for a sour, windy, acrimonious, censorious, hypo-crit-crit-critical mess, and no dish for a gentleman. Then he dipt his fist into the middle of the great custard that stood before his left-hand neighbour, and daubed his hungry beard all over with it, till you would have taken him for the Last Day in December, it so hung in icicles.

At another part of the table, Shrove Tuesday was helping the Second of September to some cock broth,-which courtesy the latter returned with the delicate thigh of a hen-pheasant,- -so there was no love lost for that matter. The Last of Lent was spunging upon Shrovetide's pancakes; which April Fool perceiving, told him he did well, for pancakes were proper to a good fry-day.

In another part, a hubbub arose about the Thirtieth of January, who, it seems, being a sour, puritanic character, that thought nobody's meat good or sanctified enough for him, had smuggled into the room a calve's-head, which he had had cooked at home for that purpose, thinking to feast

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thereon incontinently; but as it lay in the dish, March Manyweathers, who is a very fine lady, and subject to the megrims, suddenly screamed out there was a "human head in the platter," and raved about Herodias' daughter to that degree, that the obnoxious viand was obliged to be removed; nor did she recover her stomach till she had gulped down a Restorative, confected of Oak Apple, which the merry Twenty-Ninth of May always carries about with him for that purpose.

The king's health being called for after this, a notable dispute arose between the Twelfth of August, (a zealous old whig gentlewoman,) and the Twenty-third of April, (a new-fangled lady of the tory stamp,) as to which of them should have the honour to propose it. August grew hot upon the matter, affirming time out of mind the prescriptive right to have lain with her, till her rival had basely supplanted her; whom she represented as little better than a kept mistress, who went about in fine clothes, while she, (the legitimate BIRTHDAY,) had scarcely a rag, &c.

April Fool, being made mediator, confirmed the right in the strongest form of words to the appellant, but decided for peace' sake that the exercise of it should remain with the present possessor. At the same time, he slily rounded the first lady in the ear, that an action might lie against the crown for bi-geny.

It beginning to grow a little duskish, Candlemas lustily bawled out for lights, which was opposed by all the Days, who protested against burning daylight. Then fair water was handed round in silver ewers, and the same lady was observed to take an unusual time in washing herself.

May Day, with that sweetness which is peculiar to her, in a neat speech proposing the health of the founder, crowned her goblet, (and by her example the rest of the company,) with garlands. This being done, the lordly New Year from the upper end of the table, in a cordial but somewhat lofty tone, returned thanks. He felt proud on an occasion of meeting so many of his worthy father's late tenants, promised to improve their farms, and at the same time to abate, (if any thing was found unreasonable,) in their rents.

At the mention of this, the four Quarter Days involuntarily looked at each other, and smiled; April Fool whistled to an old tune of "New Brooms ;" and a surly old rebel at the farther end of the table, (who was discovered to be no other than the Fifth of November,) muttered out, distinctly enough to be heard by the whole company, words to this effect, that, "when the old one is gone, he is a fool that looks for a better." Which rudeness of his, the guests resenting, unanimously voted his expulsion; and the malecontent was thrust out neck and heels into the cellar, as the properest place for such a boutefeu and firebrand as he had shown himself.

Order being restored-the young lord, (who, to

say truth, had been a little ruffled, and put beside his oratory,) in as few, and yet as obliging words as possible, assured them of entire welcome; and, with a graceful turn, singling out poor Twentyninth of February, that had sat all this while mumchance at the side-board, begged to couple his health with that of the good company before him -which he drank accordingly; observing that he had not seen his honest face any time these four years, with a number of endearing expressions besides. At the same time removing the solitary Day from the forlorn seat which had been assigned him, he stationed him at his own board, somewhere between the Greek Calends and Latter Lammas.

Ash Wednesday being now called upon for a song, with his eyes fast stuck in his head, and as well as the Canary he had swallowed would give him leave, struck up a carol, which Christmas Day had taught him for the nonce; and was followed by the latter, who gave "Miserere" in fine style, hitting off the mumping tones and lengthened drawl of Old Mortification with infinite humour. April Fool swore they had exchanged conditions; but Good Friday was observed to look extremely grave; and Sunday held her fan before her face, that she might not be seen to smile.

Shrove-tide, Lord Mayor's Day, and April Fool, next joined in a glee

"Which is the properest day to drink?"

in which all the Days chiming in, made a merry burden.

They next fell to quibbles and conundrums. The question being proposed, who had the greatest number of followers-the Quarter Days said there could be no question as to that; for they had all the creditors in the world dogging their heels. But April Fool gave it in favour of the Forty Days before Easter; because the debtors in all cases outnumbered the creditors, and they kept lent all the year.

All this while, Valentine's Day kept courting pretty May, who sat next him, slipping amorous billets-doux under the table, till the Dog Days, (who are naturally of a warm constitution,) began to be jealous, and to bark and rage exceedingly. April Fool, who likes a bit of sport above measure, and had some pretensions to the lady besides, as being but a cousin once removed,-clapped and hallooed them on; and as fast as their indignation cooled, those mad wags, the Ember Days, were at it with their bellows to blow it into a flame; and all was in a ferment: till old Madam Septuagesima, (who boasts herself the Mother of the Days,) wisely diverted the conversation with a tedious tale of the lovers which she could reckon when she was young: and of one Master Rogation Day in particular, who was for ever putting the question to her, but she kept him at a distance, as the chronicle would tell-by which I apprehend she meant the almanac. Then she rambled on to the Days

that were gone, the good old Days, and so to the Days before the Flood-which plainly showed her old head to be little better than crazed and doited.

Day being ended, the Days called for their cloaks and great coats, and took their leaves. Lord Mayor's Day went off in a mist, as usual; Shortest Day in a deep black fog, that wrapt the little gentleman all round like a hedge-hog. Two Vigils -so watchmen are called in heaven-saw Christmas Day safe home-they had been used to the business before. Another Vigil—a stout sturdy patrole, called the Eve of St. Christopher-seeing Ash Wednesday in a condition little better than he should be, e'en whipt him over his shoulders, picka-back fashion, and Old Mortification went floating home, singing—

"On the bat's back do I fly,"

and a number of old snatches besides, between drunk and sober, but very few Aves or Penitentiaries, (you may believe me,) were among them. Longest Day set off westward, in beautiful crimson and gold-the rest, some in one fashion, some in another; but Valentine and pretty May took their

departure together in one of the prettiest silvery twilights a Lover's Day would wish to set in.

REFLECTIONS IN THE PILLORY.

[ABOUT the year 18-, one Rd, a respectable London merchant, (since dead,) stood in the pillory for some alleged fraud upon the revenue. Among his papers were found the following "Reflections," which we have obtained by favour of our friend Elia, who knew him well, and had heard him describe the train of his feelings upon that trying occasion almost in the words of the MS. Elia speaks of him as a man, (with the exception of the peccadillo aforesaid,) of singular integrity in all his private dealings, possessing great suavity of manner with a certain turn for humour. As our object is to present human nature under every possible circumstance, we do not think that we shall sully our pages by inserting it.-EDITOR.]

SCENE, OPPOSITE THE ROYAL EXCHANGE.—TIME,

TWELVE TO ONE, NOON.

KETCH, my good fellow, you have a neat hand. Prithee, adjust this new collar to my neck gingerly. I am not used to these wooden cravats. There, softly, softly. That seems the exact point between ornament and strangulation. A thought looser on this side. Now it will do. And have a care in turning me, that I present my aspect due vertically. I now face the orient. In a quarter of an hour I shift southward-do you mind ?—and so on till I face the east again, travelling with the sun. No half points, I beseech you; N. N. by W. or any such elaborate niceties. They become the shipman's card, but not this mystery. Now leave me a little to my own reflections.

Bless us, what a company is assembled in honour of me! How grand I stand here! I never felt so sensibly before the effect of solitude in a crowd. I muse in solemn silence upon that vast

miscellaneous rabble in the pit there. From my private box I contemplate with mingled pity and wonder the gaping curiosity of those underlings. There are my Whitechapel supporters. Rosemary Lane has emptied herself of the very flower of her citizens to grace my show. Duke's place sits desolate. What is there in my face, that strangers should come so far from the east to gaze upon it? [Here an egg narrowly misses him.] That offering was well meant, but not so cleanly executed. By the tricklings, it should not be either myrrh or frankincense. Spare your presents, my friends; I am no-ways mercenary. I desire no missive tokens of your approbation. I am past those valentines. Bestow these coffins of untimely chickens upon mouths that water for them. Comfort your addle spouses with them at home, and stop the mouths of your brawling brats with such Olla Podridas; they have need of them. [A brick is let fly.] Discase not, I pray you, nor dismantle your rent and ragged tenements, to furnish me with architectural decorations, which I can excuse. This fragment might have stopped a flaw against snow comes. [A coal flies.] Cinders are dear, gentlemen. This nubbling might have helped the pot boil, when your dirty cuttings from the shambles at three ha'pence a pound shall stand at a cold simmer. Now, south about, Ketch. I would enjoy australian popularity.

What my friends from over the water! Old benchers, flies of a day-ephemeral Romans- welcome! Doth the sight of me draw souls from limbo? can it dispeople purgatory-ha?

What am I, or what was my father's house, that I should thus be set up a spectacle to gentlemen and others? Why are all faces like Persians at the sunrise, bent singly on mine alone? It was wont to be esteemed an ordinary visnomy, a quotidian merely. Doubtless, these assembled myriads discern some traits of nobleness, gentility, breeding, which hitherto have escaped the common observation-some intimations, as it were, of wisdom, valour, piety, and so forth. My sight dazzles; and, if I am not deceived by the too familiar pressure of this strange neckcloth that envelopes it, my countenance gives out lambent glories. For some painter now to take me in the lucky point of expression !-the posture so convenient-the head never shifting, but standing quiescent in a sort of natural frame. But these artizans require a westerly aspect. Ketch, turn me. Something of St. James's air in these my new friends. How my prospects shift, and brighten! Now if Sir Thomas Lawrence be any where in that group, his fortune is made for ever. 1 think I see some one taking out a crayon. I will compose my whole face to a smile, which yet shall not so predominate, but that gravity and gaiety shall contend as it were--you understand me? I will work up my thoughts to some mild rapture -a gentle enthusiasm--which the artist may

transfer in a manner warm to the canvass. I will inwardly apostrophize my tabernacle.

Delectable mansion, hail! House, not made of every wood! Lodging, that pays no rent; airy and commodious; which, owing no window tax, art yet all casement, out of which men have such pleasure in peering and overlooking, that they will sometimes stand an hour together to enjoy thy prospects! Cell, recluse from the vulgar! Quiet retirement from the great Babel, yet affording sufficient glimpses into it! Pulpit, that instructs without note or sermon-book, into which the preacher is inducted without tenth or first fruit! Throne, unshared and single, that disdainest a Brentford competitor! Honour without co-rival! Or hearest thou rather, magnificent theatre in which the spectator comes to see and to be seen? From thy giddy heights I look down upon the common herd, who stand with eyes upturned as if a winged messenger hovered over them; and mouths open, as if they expected manna. I feel, I feel, the true Episcopal yearnings. Behold in me, my flock, your true overseer! What though I cannot lay hands, because my own are laid, yet I can mutter benedictions. True otium cum dignitate! Proud Pisgah eminence! Pinnacle sublime! O Pillory, 'tis thee I sing! Thou younger brother to the gallows, without his rough and Esau palms; that with ineffable contempt surveyest beneath thee the grovelling stocks, which claims presumptuously to be of thy great race. Let that low wood know, that thou art far higher born! Let that domicile for groundling rogues and base earth-kissing varlets envy thy preferment, not seldom fated to be the wanton baiting-house, the temporary retreat, of poet and of patriot. Shades of Bastwick and of Prynne hover over thee--Defoe is there, and more greatly daring Shebbeare-from their (little more elevated,) stations they look down with recognitions. Ketch,

turn me.

I now veer to the north. Open your widest gates, thou proud Exchange of London, that I may look in as proudly! Gresham's wonder, hail! I stand upon a level with all your kings. They, and I, from equal heights, with equal superciliousness, o'erlook the plodding, moneyhunting tribe below; who, busied in their sordid speculations, scarce elevate their eyes to notice your ancient, or my recent grandeur. The second Charles smiles on me from three pedestals ?* He closed the Exchequer; I cheated the Excise. Equal our darings, equal be our lot.

Are those the quarters? 'tis their fatal chime.

A statue of Charles II. by the elder Cibber, adorns the front of the Exchange. He stands also on high, in the train of his crowned ancestors, in his proper order, within that building. But the merchants of London, in a superfœtation of loyalty, have, within a few years, caused to be erected another effigy of him on the ground in the centre of the interior. do not hear that a fourth is in contemplation.

We

Editor.

That the ever-winged hours would but stand still! but I must descend, descend from this dream of greatness. Stay, stay, a little while, importunate hour hand. A moment or two, and I shall walk on foot with the undistinguished many. The clock speaks one. I return to common life. Ketch, let me out.

TWELFTH NIGHT,

OR WHAT YOU WILL.

THERE is one day, (or night,) in the year which, however capricious Nature may choose to be, is always the same. On that day, though the heavens shower roses, or stones, or sea-water, we have always our frost and snow upon earth. If it be not nature, it is art, and will answer our purpose as well. This day, (we beg pardon of our friends in Dublin,) is Twelfth Night!

On that day the world is populous, multifaced. Every one, (Oh! rare day!) is a Weathercock, bifronted, double-tongued. He is Robert and Rigdum-funnidos at once. He is lean Simpson, and Sir Epicure Mammon. He is grinning Harry, and Hamlet the sad Dane. His capacity is double, be it for mirth or drink. He hath two distinct natures, like French and English, heterogeneal. He is, in short, an exquisite irregularity, like the mermaid; but in most cases handsomer. -I could go on till February in describing these pleasant accidents of fortune, these personal antitheses; where one corporeal title, (like the fable of the belly and the members,) rebelleth against the other.

On that day there is a grand making of kings, (but "no coronation.") They are as common as kittens, and playful. Men live for a day under a royal democracy; but they are free, though ephemeral--contented, though happy. They are slaves to the monarch of fortune, yet they beard and laugh him to scorn. And what, though he bid them kiss the cold bars, or their pretty neighbour,--they repine not, but straightway obey him.

Then how fine is the dialogue, how free from restraint, how gay! I can almost imagine a Contributor's circle, potent as a magician's.

"WE ARE THE KING."

"We speak no treason, man--”

"We are the king; so give us our bells."[Ah! cursed quill: we consign thee to perdition for this. No more state papers nor stately shalt thou indite; no more royal rhyme for thee: henceforward thou shalt scrawl out bills for some village Crispin, nothing higher.]

"Give us our crown, (of wood or tinsel :) we will shine like Mr. Elliston's pillars, though it be not Bartholomew fair. Now"

Shall I trace the deep and fine vein of Mr. Table Talk? Shall I paint the cheerful gravity, (almost a paradox,) of D— ? the restless pleasantry of Janus, ever-veering, catching the sun and the shade? Shall I strive to outdo Mr. Herbert, in his humour, in his portraits so piquant and so true? Or shall I sharpen my pen's point, and hit off our friend Lycus's waggery, his puns, (and what is much better than either,) his poetry? Or paint our good A- always gay; like a huge forest transplanted, a rus in urbe,-musical as Polypheme, and as great?

Shall I go on?--Ah! no. For who can tell of our doings? Who can paint a laugh? Who can carry away a rich thought with all its bloom? Where is the freshness of the jest that hung upon accident or circumstance?-It may not be done.

Yet talking of laughing—as Mr. Aircastle would say, I own I like a laugh. It is worth a hundred groans in any state of the market.

I never saw a Frenchman laugh. They smile, they grin, they shrug up their shoulders, they dance, they cry "Ha!" and "Ciel!" but they never give themselves up to boisterous unlimited laughter. They have always a rein upon their lungs and their muscles are drilled to order. Their mirth does not savour of flesh and blood. I do not mean to contend for that pampered laugh which grows less and less, in proportion as it is high-fed--(so gin given to children stops their growth,) but for a good broad humorous English laugh, such as belongs to a farce or a fair. The Germans laugh sometimes, the Flemings often, the Irish always: the Spaniard's face is fused, and the Scotchman's thawed into a laugh; but a Frenchman never laughs. They smile indeed, but what then? Their smile is like their soup-maigre, thin; their merriment sqeezed and strained. There is in it something of the acid of their salads, something of the pungency of their sauces, but nothing substantial. It is neither solid nor ethereal,-but a thing between wind and water,--not of earth nor heaven,--good nor bad; but villanously indifferent, and not to be admitted as mirth.

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And yet "Twelfth night" was celebrated in former France. One of the courtiers used to be chosen king, and the king himself and the nobles obeyed him. In Germany too, it is, (or was,) kept up with joke and banqueting; and in England we have still our Saturnalian revels. These are censured by good master Bourne, our ancient," I believe; but for mine own part I love to see them. I love to see an acre of cake spread out, (the sweet frost covering the rich earth below,) studded all over with glittering flowers, like iceplants, and red and green knots of sweetmeat, and hollow yellow-crusted crowns, and kings and queens, and their paraphernalia. I delight to see a score of happy children, sitting huddled all round the dainty fare, eying the cake and each other, with faces sunny enough to thaw the white snow. I like to see the gazing silence which is