tions, which I can excuse. This fragment migh: have stopped a flaw against snow comes. (1 coal Mica, 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, Mouth about, Ketch. I would enjoy australian popularity.

What my friends from over the water! Old benchers-flies of a day-ephemeral Romanswelcome! 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
How my prospects shift, and brighten!

friends.

Now if Sir Thomas Lawrence be any where in that group, his fortune is made for ever. I 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'er-look 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?*

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. We do not hear that a fourth is in contemplation. -Editor.

He closed the Exchequer; I cheated the Excise. Equal our darings, equal be our lot.

Are those the quarters? 'tis their fatal chime. 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 antheses; where one corporeal title, (like the fable of the belly and the members,) rebelleth against the other.