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My uncle took up his pipe and puffed away, while I spoke; and, when I had said all that I could devise, I sat silent, for I saw, by the looks of all present, that 1 had not mended the matter. My aunt pursed up her mouth, and "wondered, if she must tell the plain truth, that so great a scholar as Mr. Basil could not, when it must give him so little trouble to indite a letter, write a few lines to an uncle, who had begged it so often, and who had ever been a good friend."

"Say nothing of that," said my uncle:-"I scorn to have that put into account. I loved the boy, and all I could do was done of course; that's nothing to the purpose; but the longest day I have to live, I'll never trouble him with begging a letter from him no more. For now I see he does not care a fig for me; and of course I do not care a fig for he. Lucy, hold up your head, girl; and don't look as if you were going to be hanged."

My cousin Lucy was the only person present who seemed to have any compassion for me; and, as I lifted up my eyes to look at her when her father spoke, she appeared to me quite beautiful. I had always thought her a pretty girl, but she never struck me as any thing very extraordinary till this moment. I was very sorry that I had offended my uncle; I saw he was seriously displeased, and that his pride, of which he had a large portion, had conquered his affection for me.

""Tis easier to lose a friend than gain one, young man," said he; “and, take my word for it, as this world goes, it is a foolish thing to lose a friend for want of writing a letter or so. Here's seven years I have beea begging a letter now and then, and could not get one. Never wrote a line to me before you went to China; should not have known a word about it but for my wife, who met you by mere chance in London, and gave you some little commissious for the children, which it seems you forgot till it was too late. Then after you came back, never wrote to me." "And even not to write a line to give one notice of his coming here to-night," added my aunt.

I was obliged to confess that I had delayed to purchase them till after we left Pekin; and that the trunks were put on board before they were all procured at Canton. My vile habit of procrastination! How did I suffer for it at this moment! Lucy began to make excuses for me, which made me blame myself the more; she said, that as to her fan, it would have been of little or no use to her; that she was sure she should have broken it before it had been a week in her possession; and that, therefore, she was glad that she had it not. The children were clamorous in their grief for the loss of the boat, the tumbler, and the calibash boxes; but Lucy contrived to quiet them in time, and to make my peace with all the younger part of the fa mily. To reinstate me in my uncle's good graces was im. possible; he would only repeat to her," The young man has lost my good opinion; he will never do any good. From a child upwards, he has always put off doing every. thing he ought to do. He will never do any good; he will never be any thing."

My aunt was not my friend, because she suspected that Lucy liked me; and she thought her daughter might do much better than marry a man who had quitted the profes sion to which he was bred, and was, as it seemed, little likely to settle to any other. My pretensions to genius and my literary qualifications were of no advantage to me, either with my uncle or my aunt; the one being only s good farmer, and the other only a good housewife. They contented themselves with asking me, coolly, what I had ever made by being an author? And, when I was forced to answer, nothing, they smiled upon me in scorn. My pride was roused, and I boasted that I expected to receive at least £600 for my Voyage to China, which I hoped to complete in a few weeks. My aunt looked at me with astonishment; and, to prove to her that I was not passing the bounds of truth, I added that one of my travelling companions had, as I was credibly informed, received a thousand pounds for his narrative, to which mine would certainly be far supe rior.

"When it is done, and when you have the money in your hand to show us, I shall believe you," said my aunt; and then, and not till then, you may begin to think of my Lucy."

"He shall never have her," said my uncle; "he will never come to good. He shall never have her."

"Oh, as to that," replied my uncle, "he can never find our larder at a nonplus; we have no dishes for him dressed Chinese fashion; but as to roast beef of old England, which," 1 take it, is worth all the foreign meats, he is welcome to it, and to as much of it as he pleases. I shall always be glad to see him as an acquaintance, and so forth, as a good Christian ought, but not as the favourite he used to bethat it is out of the question; for things caunot be both done and undone, and time that's past cannot come back again, that is clear; and cold water thrown on a warm heart puts it out; and there's an end of the matter. Lucy, bring me my night-cap."

Lucy, I think, sighed once, and I am sure I sighed above a dozen times; but my uncle put on his red night-cap, and heeded us not. I was in hopes that the next morning he would have been better disposed toward me, after having slept off his anger. The moment that I appeared in the morning, the children, who had been in bed when I arrived the preceding night, crowded round me; and one cried, "Cousin Basil, have you brought me the tumbler you promised me from China ?"

"Cousin Basil, where's my boat ?" “Oh, Basil, did you bring me the the calibash box that you promised me ?"

"And pray," cried my aunt, "did you bring my Lucy th fan that she commissioned you to get ?"

"No, I'll warrant," said ny uncle. "He that cannot bring himself to write a letter in the course of seven years, to his friends, will not be apt to trouble his head about their foolish commissions, when he is in foreign parts."

Though I was abashed and vexed, I summoned sufficient courage to reply that I had not neglected to execute the commissions of any of my friends; but that, by an unlucky accident, the basket into which I had packed all their things was washed overboard.

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During my stay at my uncle's, received several letters from my father, inquiring how my work went on, and urging me to proceed as rapidly as possible, lest another Voyage to China, which it was reported was now composing by a gentleman of high reputation, should come out and preclude mine for ever. cannot account for my folly: the power of habit is imperceptible to those who submit passively to its tyranny. From day to day I continued procrastinating and sighing, till at last the fatal news came that "Sir George Staunton's History of the Embassy to China," in two volumes quarto, was actually published.

And now two melancholy, idle, years passed over Basil, who all the while deplored that he could not marry Lucy, and every day resolved to begin one of his thousand schemes of advancing himself to-morrow. At this time his father died, and left Basil, though sorrowing and repenting, richer than he either expected or deserved; and though Farmer Lowe persisted in refusing his consent to his daughter marrying a man of a putting off temper, Lucy's mother was softened on hearing of the inheritance, and she pro mised to befriend him, if for one six months he would attend to business, and show that he could come to good. With this motive Basil persevered; and at the end of his term claimed the reward. But Farmer Lowe was not yet convinced of the durability of this wonderful and sudden reformation. He would not give his consent, nor would Lucy marry without it.It was in vain, says Basil, that I combated her resolution: I alternately resented and deplored the weakness which induced Lucy to sacrifice he own happiness and mine to the obstinate prejudices of a father; yet I could not avoid respecting her the more for her adhering to what she believed to be leer duty. The sweetness of temper, gentleness of disposition, and filial

piety, which she showed on this trying occasion, endeared, his attention to his proper business. Her advice Basil her to me beyond expression.

Her father, notwithstanding his determination to be as immovable as a rock, began to manifest symptoms of internal agitation; and one night, after breaking his pipe, and throwing down the tongs and poker twice, which Lucy twice replaced, he exclaimed, “Lucy, girl, you are a fool! and, what is worse, you are growing into a mere shadow. You are breaking my heart. Why I know this man, this Basil, this cursed nephew of mine, will never come to good. But cannot you marry him without my consent ?”

would have taken if he had been able, but habit was powerful, and before applying again to business, he had to finish a pamphlet against government, which was to make his fortune, and bring all the Whigs to his shop. And thus time passed, business was more and more neglected, and Basil abandoning his involved affairs in despair, was declared a bankrupt, and thrown into the King's Bench. We must now adopt his own words. My wife's relations refused to give me any assistance; but her father offered to receive her and her little boy, on condition that she would Upon this hint Lucy's scruples vanished; and, a few part from me, and spend the remainder of her days with days afterward, we were married. Prudence, virtue, pride, them. This she positively refused; and I never shall forlove, every strong motive which can act upon the human get the manner of her refusal. Her character rose in admind, stimulated me to exert myself to prove that I was versity. With the utmost feminine gentleness and delicacy, worthy of this most amiable woman. A year passed away, she had a degree of courage and fortitude which I have and my Lucy said that she had no reason to repent of her seldom seen equalled in any of my own sex. She followed choice. She took the most affectionate pains to convince me to prison, and supported my spirits by a thousand dai y her father that she was perfectly happy, and that he had instances of kindness. During eighteen mouths that she judged of me too harshly. His delight, at seeing his passed with me in a prison, which we then thought must be daughter happy, vanquished his reluctance to acknowledge my abode for life, she never, by word or look, reminded that he had changed his opinion. I never shall forget theme that I was the cause of our misfortunes: on the conpleasure I felt at hearing him confess that he had been too positive, and that his Lucy had made a good match for herself.

Alas! when I had obtained this testimony in my favour, when I had established a character for exertion and punctality, I began to relax in my efforts to deserve it: I indulged myself in my old habits of procrastination. My customers and country correspondents began to complain that their letters were unanswered, and that their orders were neglected. Their remonstrances became more and more urgent in process of time; and nothing but actually seeing the dates of their letters could convince me that they were in the right, and I was in the wrong. An old friend of my father's, a rich gentleman, who loved books and bought all that were worth buying, sent me, in March, an order for books to a considerable amount. In April he wrote to remind me of his first letter.

April 3.

My dear Sir,-Last month I wrote to request that you would send me the following books:-1 have been much disappointed by not receiving them; and I request you will be so good as forward them immediately.-I am, my dear Sir, yours sincerely,

J. C.

In May he wrote to me again. 'Dear Sir,-I am much surprised at not having yet received the books I wrote for last March-beg to know the cause of this delay; and am, dear Sir, yours, &c. J. C.' This reprimand had little effect upon me, because, at the tine when I received it, I was intent upon an object, in Comparison with which the trade of a bookseller appeared absolutely below my consideration. I was inventing a set of new taxes for the minister, for which I expected to be therally rewarded. Like many men of genius, I was always disposed to think that my fortune was to be made by some extraordinary exertion of talent, instead of the vulgar Lucans of daily industry. I was ever searching for some short out to the temple of Fame, instead of following the beaten road.

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trary, she drove this idea from my thoughts with all the address of female affection. I cannot, even at this distance of time, recall these things to my memory without tears.

What a woman, what a wife had I reduced to distress ! I never saw her, even in the first months of our marriage, so cheerful and so tender as at this period. She seemed to have no existence but in me, and in our little boy; of whom she was doatingly fond. He was at this time just able to run about and talk; his playful caresses, his thoughtless gaiety, and at times a certain tone of compassion for poor papa were very touching. Alas! he little foresaw ・・・ But let me go on with my history, if I can, without anticipation.

Among my creditors was a Mr. Nun, a paper-maker, who, from his frequent dealings with me, had occasion to see something of my character and of my wife's; he admired her, and pitied me. He was in easy circumstances, and delighted in doing all the good in his power. One morning my Lucy came into my room with a face radiant with joy.

"My love," said she, "here is Mr. Nun below, waiting to see you; but he says he will not see you till I have told you the good news. He has got all our creditors to enter into a compromise, and to set you at liberty."

I was transported with joy and gratitude: our benevo lent friend was waiting in a hackney-coach to carry us away from prison. When I began to thank him, he stopped me with a blunt declaration that I was not a bit obliged to him; for that, if I had been a man of straw, he would have done just the same for the sake of my wife, whom he looked upon to be one or other the best woman he had ever seen, Mrs. Nun always excepted.

He proceeded to inform me how he had settled my affairs, and how he had obtained from my creditors a small allowance for the immediate support of myself and family. He had given up the third part of a considerable sum due to himself. As my own house was shut up, he insisted upon taking us home with him: "Mrs. Nun," he said, I was a publisher, as well as a bookseller, and was as-"had provided a good dinner; and he must not have her iled by a tribe of rich and poor authors. The rich comlained continually of delays that affected their fame; the 19or of delays that concerned their interest, and sometimes their very existence. I was cursed with a compassionate as well as with a procrastinating temper; and I frequently advanced money to my poor authors, to compensate for my neglect to settle their accounts, and to free myself from the torment of their reproaches.

ducks and green pease upon the table, and no friends to eat them."

Never were ducks and green pease more acceptable; never was a dinner eaten with more appetite, or given with more good-will. I have often thought of this dinner, and compared the hospitality of this simple-hearted man with the ostentation of great folks, who give splendid entertainments to those who do not want them. In trifles and in matters of conse

About this time Basil put a helping hand to his disas-quence this Mr. Nun was one of the most liberal and una f trous fortune by losing a MSS., which the author valued at 1.500, and for which he accordingly prosecuted the loser, and obtained that sum as damages. His wife's relations, who saw the trial in the newspapers, were enraged at this Grearrence; but her patience and kindness continued unex-hearts. austed, and her gentle influence was ever exerted to disJade her husband from his various schemes, and to give

fectedly generous men I ever knew; but the generous actions of men in middle life are lost in obscurity. No matter. They do not act from the love of fame; they act from a better motive, and they have their reward in their own

As I was passing through Mr. Nun's warehouse, I was thinking of writing something on this subject; but whe

As we rowed away I looked at my wife and child, and reproached myself with having indulged in the luxury of generosity perhaps at their expense.

ther it should be a poetic effusion, in the form of " An Ode to him who least expects it," or a prose work, under the title of "Modern Parallels," in the manner of Plutarch, I had not decided, when I was roused from my reverie by my My wife's relation, Mr. Croft, received us better than wife, who pointing to a large bale of paper that was di- she expected, and worse than I hoped. He had the face of rected to "Ezekiel Croft, merchant, Philadelphia," ask- an acute money-making man; his manners were methodied me if I knew that this gentleman was a very near rela-cal; caution was in his eye, and prudence in all his motion of her mother? "Is he, indeed ?" said Mr. Nun. "Then I can assure you that you have a relation of whom you have no occasion to be ashamed: he is one of the most respectable merchants in Philadelphia."

"He was not very rich when he left this country about six years ago," said Lucy.

tions. In our first half hour's conversation he convinced me that he deserved the character he had obtained, of being upright and exact in all his dealings. His ideas were just and clear, but confined to the objects immediately relating to his business; as to his heart, he seemed to have no notion of general philanthropy, but to have perfectly learned by rote his duty to his neighbour. He appeared disposed to do charitable and good-natured actions from reason, and not from feeling; because they were proper, not merely be. cause they were agreeable. 1 felt that I should respect, but never love him; and that he would never either love or respect me, because the virtue which he held in the highest “I shall be ashamed," replied I, "to see them after all veneration was that in which I was most deficient-puncthat has happened. A bankrupt cannot have many friends.tuality. The best thing that I can possibly do is to go over to a new world, where I may establish a new character, and make a new fortune."

"He has a very good fortune now," answered Mr. Nun. "And has he made this very good fortune in six years ?" cried I. "My dear Lucy, I did not know that you had any relations in America. I have a great mind to go over there myself."

"Away from all our friends said Lucy.

My Lucy consented to accompany me. She spent a week in the country with her father and friends, by my particular desire; and they did all they could to prevail upon her to stay with them, promising to take the best possible care of her and her little boy during my absence; but she steadily persisted in her determination to accompany her husband. I was not too late in going on ship-board this time; and, during the whole voyage, I did not lose any of my goods; for, in the first place, I had very few goods to lose, and, in the next, my wife took entire charge of those few.

And now behold me safely landed at Philadelphia, with one hundred pounds in my pocket-a small sum of money; but many, from yet more trifling beginnings, have grown rich in America. My wife's relation, Mr. Croft, had not so much, as I was told, when he left England. Many passengers, who came over in the same ship with me had not half so much. Several of them were, indeed, wretchedly poor.

Among others, there was an Irishman, who was known by the name of Barny, a contraction, I believe, for Barnaby. As to his surname he could not undertake to spell it; but he assured me there was no better. This man, with many of his relatives, had come to England, according to their custom, during harvest time, to assist in reaping, because they gain higher wages than in their own country. Barny heard that he should get still higher wages for labour in America, and accordingly he, and his two sons, lads of eighteen and twenty, took their passage for Philadelphia. A merrier mortal I never saw. We used to hear him upon deck, continually singing or whistling his Irish tunes; and I should never have guessed that this man's life had been a series of hardships and misfortunes.

When we were leaving the ship I saw him, to my great surprise, crying bitterly; and, upon inquiring what was the matter, he answered that it was not for himself, but for his sons, he was grieving, because they were to be made Redemption men. That is, they were to be bound to work, during a certain time, for the captain, or for whomever he pleased, till the money due for their passage should be paid. Though I was somewhat surprised at any one's thinking of coming on board a vessel without having one farthing in his pocket, yet I could not forbear paying the money for this poor fellow. He dropped down on the deck upon both his knees as suddenly as if he had been shot, and, holding up his hands to Heaven, prayed, first in Irish, and then in English, with fervent fluency, that "I and mine might never want; that I might live long to reign over him; that success might attend my honour wherever I went; and that I might enjoy for evermore all sorts of blessings and crowns of glory." As I had an English prejudice in favour of silent gratitude, I was rather disgusted by all this eloquence; I turned away abruptly, and got into the boat which waited to carry me to shore.

But I will give, as nearly as I can, my first conversation with him; and from that a better idea of his character may be formed than I can afford by any description.

I presented to him Mr. Nun's letter of introduction, and mentioned that my wife had the honour of being related to him. He perused Mr. Nun's letter very slowly. I was determined not to leave him in any doubt respecting who and what I was; and I briefly told him the particulars of my history. He listened with immovable attention; and when I had finished he said, "You have not yet told me what your views are in coming to America."

I replied, "that my plans were not yet fixed." "But of course," said he, "you cannot have left home without forming some plan for the future. May I ask what line of life you mean to pursue ?"

I answered, "that I was undetermined, and meant to be guided by circumstances."

"Circumstances!" said he; "May I request you to explain yourself more fully? for I do not precisely understand to what circumstances you allude."

I was provoked with the man for being so slow of apprehension; but, when driven to the necessity of explaining, I found that I myself did not understand what I meant.

I changed my ground; and, lowering my tone of confidence, said that, as I was totally ignorant of the country, I should wish to be guided by the advice of better-informed persons; and that I begged leave to address myself to him, as having had the most successful experience.

After a considerable pause, he replied, it was a hazardous thing to give advice; but that, as my wife was his relation, and he held it a duty to assist his relations, he should not decline giving me all the advice in his power. I bowed, and felt chilled all over by his manner. "And not only my advice," continued he; "but my assistance-in reason."

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I said, "I was much obliged to him." "Not in the least, young man ; you are not in the least obliged to me yet, for I have done nothing for you." This was true, and not knowing what to say I was silent.

"And that which I may be able to do for you in future must depend as much upon yourself as upon me. In the first place, before I can give you any advice, I must know what you are worth in the world ?".

My worth in money, I told him, with a forced smile, was but very trifling indeed. With some hesitation I named the sum.

"And you have a wife and child to support!" said he, shaking his head. "And your child is too young and your wife too delicate to work. They will be sad burdens upon your hands; these are not the things for America. Why did you bring them with you? But, as that is done, and cannot be mended," continued he, "we must make the best of it, and support them. You say you are ignorant of the country. I must explain to you then how money is to be made here, and by whom. The class of labourers make

money readily, if they are industrious; because they have, high wages and constant employment; artificers and mechanics, carpenters, shipwrights, wheelwrights, smiths, bricklayers, masons, get rich here, without difficulty, from the same causes; but all these things are out of the question for you. You have head, not hands, I perceive. Now, mere head, in the line of bookmaking or bookselling, brings in but poor profit in this country. The sale for imported books is extensive; and our printers are doing something by subscription here, in Philadelphia, and in New York, they tell me. But London is the place for a good bookseller to thrive ; and you come from London, where you tell me you were a bankrupt. I would not advise you to have anything more to do with bookselling or bookmaking. Then, as to becoming a planter-Our planters, if they are skilful and laborious, thrive well; but you have not capital sufficient to clear land and build a house; or hire servants to do the work for which you are not sufficiently robust. Besides, I do not imagine that you know much of agricultural concerns, or country business; and even to oversee and guide others, experience is necessary. The life of a back settler I do not advise, because you and your wife are not equal to it. You are not accustomed to live in a log house, or to feed upon racoons and squirrels; not to omit the constant dread, if not imminent danger, of being burnt in your beds, or scalped by the Indians with whom you would be surrounded. Upon the whole, I see no line of life that promises well for you but that of a merchant; and I see no means of your getting into this line, without property and without credit, except by going into some established house as a clerk. You are a good penman and a ready accountant, I think you tell me ; and I presume you have a sufficient knowledge of bookkeeping. With sobriety, diligence, and honesty, you may do well in this way; and may look forward to being a partner, and in a lucrative situation some years hence. This is the way I managed and rose myself by degrees to what you see. It is true, I was not at first encumbered with a wife and young child. In due time I married my master's daughter, which was a great furtherance to me; but then, on the other hand, your wife is my relation; and to be married to the relation of a rich merchant is next best to not being married at all, in your situation. I told you I thought it my duty to proffer assistance as well as advice: so take up your abode with me for a fortnight: in that time I shall be able to judge whether you are capable of being a clerk; and, if you and I should suit, we will talk farther. You understand that I enter into no engagement, and make no promise; but shall be glad to lodge you, and your wife, and little boy, for a fortnight: and it will be your own fault, and must be your own loss, if the visit turns ont waste of time. I cannot stay to talk to you any longer at present,” added he, pulling out his watch, "for I have business, and business waits for no man. Go back to your inn for my relation, and her little one. dine at two precisely." (To be concluded next week.) SHORT-HAND WRITING AND THE PRESS. THE Romans invented short or abridged writing, which abled their secretaries to collect the speeches of orators, however rapidly delivered. The characters used by such writers were called notes. They did not consist in letters of the alphabet, but certain marks, one of which often expressed a whole word, and frequently a phrase. The same description of writing is known at the present day by the words stenography, tachygraphy, and echography. From notes came the word notary, which was given to all who professed the art of quick writing. The system of note writing was not suddenly brought to perfection-it only came into favour when the professors most accurately reported an excellent speech which Cato pronounced in the Senate. The orators, the philosophers, the dignitaries, and early all the rich patricians, then took for secretaries notewriters, to whom they allowed handsome pay. It was al to take from their slaves all who had intellect to acquire a knowledge of that art. Gruterus has preserved, for our information, the notes of Tyro, the freed-man of rero. The republic and the Government of cities also

We

maintained at their expense these secretaries. It is not necessary here to detail the history of the notaries in Europe, who succeeded the tabellions of Rome. The intention is only to throw some light on the origin of shorthand-writing, and to prove the great estimation in which the art was held by ancient statesmen and orators.

Next to the art of printing, short-hand writing claims the admiration of mankind; it may be called the triumph of human intellect. The wisdom of the senate, the principles of legislation, and the dicta of legal tribunals, are now diffused over the British islands with the rapidity of the eagle's wing. The learning, taste, and reasoning of the most distinguished men, taken, as it were, from the lips of the speakers, and conveyed daily and hourly by the press of Great Britain, must produce light and knowledge among the people, which no other system of education can impart. The advantages derived from short-hand writing are not only great in a public point of view, but privately the art is useful. The student who attends lectures may bring away the very words of the lecturer, and impress upon the mind at leisure the correct ideas of a speaker, in a way that can never lead to error. The art, some years ago, was not applied to any useful purpose in England. The debates in the British Parliament were reported, but the writers conveyed no valuable information to the public. The speeches reported were too often the mere composition of reporters, who wrote from memory. We have now, so far as the limits of newspapers will allow, the emphatic words of the leaders in Parliament, upon all important subjects. It is true inaccuracy will sometimes occur, but every one who has attended the House of Commons, and the other branch of the legislature, must know that errors are occasioned by the want of proper facilities to report. The distance at which strangers or writers are placed from the speakers in the House of Lords and House of Commons is too great. It is impossible to hear persons who speak in a low tone of voice, and it is almost unnecessary to observe that a reporter cannot report accurately that which he does not distinctly hear, and clearly understand. We are enabled to make what may be considered a bold assertion, but it is nevertheless true, namely, that a shorthand writer, placed in a situation where he can hear, may commit to paper, if necessary, every word uttered by a speaker. The skill evinced daily in the art of reporting, must be considered one of the great foundations of public liberty; and every friend to the British Constitution should stand forward the advocate of reporters, who have done much within the last twenty years to promote the liberty of the subject, the blessings of the British Constitution, and the morals of the people.

It would not be difficult to prove that the present system of reporting is advantageous to domestic peace, and the stability of Government. The people of England are the best subjects in the world, provided they find in their rulers due regard for the principles of that constitution which their best blood has been so often and so nobly shed to defend. Expose fairly the sentiments of the representatives in Parliament, who discuss the measures of Government, and there will be no disposition to form plans of conspiracy, treason, and disaffection, which have generally been the result of false or mistaken views of the measures of Governments. The public press is now a stream of light and information, flowing through the United Kingdom, and should any Government be weak enough to arrest its progress, the obstruction must produce consequences fatal indeed to public peace and tranquillity. Let the press be un-. shackled, and its licentiousness, which seems to be an inseparable vice, stand restrained by wise legislative enactments. Experience has proved that no Government can expect to prosper without a free press. The great Republic of Venice, established upon a system of secrecy, fell a victim to that very principle. The measures of its council, though intended to promote the public interest, were dark and mysterious. The people kept in ignorance, and naturally suspicious of all rulers, engaged in plots against the State, and at last the army itself, on which the Senate most relied for protection became the destroyer of the Republic. Had Venice

in the plenitude of her greatness, possessed a free press, and not the false policy of concealment, the government of that once powerful commercial state might have existed to this day. Events of more recent date have proved, that an attempt to keep down the spirit of the age by restraint upon the Press must excite universal disgust, and kindle the flame of revolution; that flame which drove Charles X. from the throne of the Bourbons. Happily there is no apprehension that the liberty of the press can be suppressed in this country; whilst short-hand writing gives to the reporter the invaluable power of spreading truth and information over the land, the people may boast of advantages unknown to surrounding nations.

SCOTTISH TEA-PARTY,

FROM WHISTLE BINKIE.

Now let's sing how Miss M Wharty,
Tother evening had a party,

To have a cup of tea;
And how she had collected
All the friends that she respected,
All as merry as merry could be.
Dames and damsels came in dozens,
With two-three country cousius,
In their lily-white so gay;
Just to sit and chitter-chatter,
O'er a cup of scalding water,

In the fashion of the day.

(Spoken in different f male voices.) Dear me, how hae ye been this ang time, Mem? Pretty weel, I thank ye, mem. How hae ye been yoursel'? O mem, mem, I've been verra ill wi' the rheumatisms, and though I was your tippet, I couldna be fu'er o' stitches than I am; but whan did you see Mrs. Pinkerton, mem? O mem, I hae na seen her this lang time. Did ye no hear that Mrs. Pinkerton and I hae had a difference? No, mem, I did na hear. What was't about, mem? I'll tell you what it was about, mem. 1 gaed o'er to ca' upon her yae day, and when I gaes in, ye sec, she's sitting feeding the parrot, and I says tae her, Mrs. Pinkerton, how d'ye do mem? and she never let on she heard me ; and I says again, Mrs. Pinkerton, how d'ye do, I says and wi' that she turns about and says, says she, Mrs. M'Saunter, I'm really astonished you should come and ask me how I do, considering the man. ner you've ridiculed me and my husband in public companies! Mrs Pinkerton, quo' I, what's that ye mean, mem? and then she began and gied me a' the ill-mannered abuse you can possibly conceive. And I just says to her, quo' I, that's no what I came to hear, and if that's the way ye intend tae gae on, quo' I, I wish ye gude morning; so I comes awa'. Now I'll tell ye what a' this is about. Ye see, it was just about the term time, ye ken, they flitted aboon us, and I gaed up the term morn. ing tae see if they wanted a kettle boiled or ony thing o' that kind; and when I gaes in, Mr. Pinkerton, he's sitting in the middle o' the floor, and the barber's shaving him, and the barber had laid a' his face round wi' the white saip, and Mr. Pinkerton, ye ken, has a vera red nose, and the red nose sticking through the white saip, just put me in mind o' a carrot sticking through a collyflower; and I very innocently happened tae mention this in a party where I had been dining, and some offici. ous body's gane and tell't Mrs. Pinkerton, and Mrs. Pinkerton's tane this wonderfully amiss. What d'ye think o' Mrs. Pinks? Deed mem, she's no worth your while; but did you hear what happened to Mrs. Clapperton the ither day? No mem. You see, she was coming down Montrose-Street, and she had on a red pelisse, and a white muff, and here's a bubbly-jock coming out o' the brewery, and whether the red pelisse had ta'en the beast's eye or no, I dinna ken, but the bubbly-jock rins after Mrs. Clapperton, and Mrs. Clapperton ran puir body, and the bubbly-jock after her, and in crossing the causey, ye see, her fit slipped, and the muff flew frae her, and there's a cart gaes ower the muff, and yae gentleman rins and lifts Mrs Clapperton, and a anither lifts the muff, and when he looks intae the muff, what's there but a wee bit broken bottle, wi' a wee soup brandy in't; and the gentlemen fell a looking and laughing tac ane anither, and they're gaun about tae their dinner parties and their supper parties, and telling about Mrs, Clapperton wi' the bubbly-jock and the bottle o' brandy. Now it's very ill done o' the gentlemen tae do any thing o' the kind, for Mrs. Clapperton was just like tae drap down wi' perfect vexation, for she's a body o' that kind o' laithfu' kind o' disposition, she would just as soon take aquafortis as she would take brandy in ony clandestine kind o' manner. Thus to sit and chitter-chatter,

O'er a cup of scalding water,

Is the fashion of the day!

Each gemman at his post now,
In handing tea or toast now,
Is striving to out-hine;
While keen to find a handle
To tip a little scandal,

The ladies all combine.

Of this one's dress or carriage,.
Or t'other's death or marriage,

The dear chit-chat's kept up;
While the lady from the tible,
Is calling while she's able-
"Will you have another cup?"

Dear me, your no done, mem-you'll take another cup, mem-tate
out your spoon, mem. Oh no, mem, I never take mair than yae cup
upon ony occasion. Toots, sic nonsense. You may toots awa, but its
true sense, mem. And whan did you see Mrs Petitcraw, mem? 'Deed,
mem, I hae nae seen her this lang time, and I'm no wanting to see her,
clashes, and gets her tea here and her tea there, and tells in your house
she's a body o' that kind, she just gangs frae house tae house gatherin
what she hears in mine, and when she begins, she claver clavera on
and on, and the c'aver just comes frae her as if it cam' aff a clew, and
there's nae end o' her. O you maun excuse her puir body, ye ken
she's lost a' her teeth, and her tongue wearies in her mouth wantin'
company. 'Deed they may excuse her that wants her, for its no me.
Oh! ladies, did ye hear what's happened in Mr M Farlane's family?
there's an awfu' circumstance happened in that family; Mr. and Mr.
M'Farlane hae na spoken to yin anither for this fortnight, and I'll tell
ye the reason o't. Mrs. M'Farlane, puir body, had lost ane o' her
teeth, and she gaed awa' to the dentist to get a tooth put in, and the
dentist showed her twa-three kinds o' them, and among the rest he
showed her a Waterloo yin, and she thought she would hae a Waterloo
yin, puir body. Weel the dentist puts in yin tae her, and the tooth
running in her head a' day, and when she gangs tae her bed at nielt,
as she tells me, but I'm certain she must hae been dreaming-
just about yin or twa o'clock o the morning, mem, just about
yin or twa o'clock in the morning, when she looks out of let
bed, theres a great lang sodger standing at the bed-side; and quơ
she, man, what are ye wanting? she says. Quo' he, Mrs. McFarlane,
that's my tooth that ye've got in your mouth. Your tooth!! quo' she,
the very teeth that I bought the day at the dentist's. It does na mat
ter for that, quo he, I lost it at Waterloo. Ye lost it at Waterloo! sic
nonsense. Weel, wi' that he comes forct to pit his finger into Mrs.
M'Farlane's mouth tae tak the teeth out o' her mouth, and she gress
snap and catched him by the finger, and he gied a great screich, and
took her a gowf i' the side o' the head, and that waukened her, and
when she waukens, what has she gotten but Mr. McFarlane's finjat
atween her teeth, and him roaring like to gae out o' his judgment!!
Now Mr. McFarlane has been gaun about wi' his thumb in a clout, and
looking as surly as a bear, for he thinks Mrs. M'Farlane had done it
out o' spite, because he wadna let her buy a sofa at a sale the other
day; noo its vera ill done o' Mr. M'Farlane tae think ony thing
that kind, as if ony woman wad gang and bite her ain flesh and blood
if she kent o't.
So thus to sit and chitter-chatter, &c.

STANZAS TO A DAUGHTER.
BY DAVID Vedder.
When the lunar light is leaping

On the streamlet and the lake;
When the winds of Heaven are sleeping,
And the nightingale awake ;-
While mirrored in the ocean
The bright orbs of Heaven appear,—
"Tis an hour for deep devotion—

Lift thy soul to Heaven in prayer.
When the autumn breeze is sighing,
Through the leafless forest wide;
And the flowers are dead, or dying,

Once the sunny garden's pride ;—
When the yellow leaves in motion,

Are seen whirling on the air,
"Tis an hour for deep devotion-
Lift thy soul to Heaven in prayer.
On His power and greatness ponder,
When the torrent, and the gale,
And the cataract, and thunder,
In one fearful chorus swell:
Amidst nature's wild emotion

Is thy soul oppressed with care?
"Tis the hour for deep devotion-
Lift thy soul to Him in prayer.
In sorrow, and in sickness,
And in poverty, and pain;
And in vigour, or in weakness,
On the mountain or the plain :
In the desert, on the ocean,----

To the Throne of Love repair;
All are hours for deep devotion-
Lift thy soul to Heaven in prayer.

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