heaven as he does in the Manchester coach or a Margate hoy. Never mind who suffers outside, woman or child. We once found ourselves by accident on board a hoy, which professes to "sail by Divine Providence." Walking about the deck at night to get rid of the chilliness which would occasionally visit our devotions to the starry heavens and the sparkling sea, our foot came in contact with something white, which was lying gathered up in a heap. Upon stooping down, we found it to be a woman. The methodists had secured all the beds below, and were not to be disturbed.


We are far from thinking that reason can settle every thing. We no more think so, than that our eyesight can see into all existence. But it does not follow, on that account, that we are to take for granted the extremest contradictions of reason. Why should we? We do not even think well enough of reason to do so. For here is one of the secrets of superstition. It is so angry at reason for not being able to settle every thing, that it runs in despair into the arms of irrationality.

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So, with equal wisdom and good-nature, does Shakspeare make one of his characters exclaim. Suffering gives strength to sympathy. Hate of the particular may have a foundation in love for the general. The lowest and most wilful vice may plunge deeper, out of a regret of virtue. Even in envy may be discerned something of an instinct of justice, something of a wish to see universal fair play, and things on a level.— "But there is still a residuum of evil, of which we should all wish to get rid."―Well then, let us try.


Disappointment likes to make out bad to be worse than it is, in order to relieve the gnawing of its actual wound. It would confuse the limits of its pain; and by extending it too far, try to make itself uncertain how far it reached.


Custom is seen more in what we bear than what we enjoy. And yet a pain long borne, so fits itself to our shoulders, that we do not miss even that without disquietude. The novelty of the sensation startles us. Montaigne, like our modern beaux, was uneasy when he did not feel himself well braced up and tightened in his clothing. Prisoners have been known to wish to go back to their prisons: invalids have missed the accompaniment of an old gun shot wound; and the world is apt to be very angry with reformers and innovators, not because it is in the right, but because it is accustomsd to be in the wrong. This is a good thing, and shews the indestructible tendency of nature to forego its troubles. But then reformers and innovators must arise, upon that very ground. To quarrel with them upon a

principle of avowed spleen, is candid and has a self-knowledge in it. But to resent them as impertinent or effeminate, is at bottom to quarrel with the principle of one's own patience, and to set the fear of moving above the courage of it.


It has been well observed, that advice is not disliked because it is advice, but because so few people know how to give it. Yet there are people vain enough to hate it in proportion to its very agreeableness.


By the same reason for which we call this earth a Vale of Tears, we might call heaven when we got there a Hill of Sighs: for upon the principle of an endless progression of beatitude, we might find a still better heaven promised us, and this would be enough to make us dis◄ satisfied with the one in possession. Suppose that we have previously existed in the planet Mars; that there are no fields and trees there, and that we nevertheless could imagine them and were in the habit of anticipating their delight in the next world. Suppose that there was no such thing there as a stream of air, as a wind fanning one's face for a whole summer's day. What a romantic thing to fancy! What a beatitude to anticipate! Suppose above all that there was no such thing as love. Words would be lost in anticipating that. Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard" &c. Yet when we got to this heaven of green fields and fresh airs, we might take little notice of either, for want of something more; and even love we might contrive to spoil pretty odiously.

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AN Assyrian of the name of Rhæcus observing a fine old oak-tree ready to fall with age, ordered it to be sustained with props. He was continuing his way through the solitary skirts of the place, when a nymph of more than human look, appeared before him, with gladness in her eyes. 66 Rhocus," ," said she, "I am the Nymph of the tree which you have saved from perishing. My life is, of course, implicated in its own. But for you, my existence must have terminated. But for you, the sap would have ceased to flow through its boughs, and the godlike essence I received from it to animate these veins. more should I have felt the wind in my hair, the sun upon my cheeks, or the balmy rain upon my body. Now I shall feel them many years to come. Many years also will your fellow-creatures sit under my shade, and hear the benignity of my whispers, and repay me with their honey and their thanks. Ask what I can give you, Rhæcus, and you

shall have it."


* See the Scholiast upon Apollonius Rhodius, or the Mythology of Natalis Comes.

The young man, who had done a graceful action but had not thought of its containing so many kindly things, received the praises of the Nymph with a due mixture of surprise and homage. He did not want courage however: and emboldened by her tone and manner, and still more by a beauty which had all the buxom bloom of humanity in it, with a præternatural gracefuluess besides, he requested that she would receive him as a lover. There was a look in her face at this request, answering to modesty, but something still finer. Having no guilt, she seemed to have none of the common infirmities either of shame or impudence. In fine, she consented to reward Rhacus as he wished; and said she would send a bee to inform him of the hour of their meeting.

Who now was so delighted as Rhecus? for he was a great admirer of the fair sex, and not a little proud of their admiring him in return; and no human beauty, whom he had known, could compare with the Hamadryad. It must be owned at the same time, that his taste for love and beauty was not of quite so exalted a description as he took it for. If he was fond of the fair sex, he was pretty nearly as fond of dice, and feasting, and any other excitement which came in his way; and unluckily he was throwing the dice that very noon, when the bee came to summon him.

He was at a very interesting part of the game, so much so, that he did not at first recognize the object of the bee's humming. "Confound this bee!" said he," it seems plaguily fond of me." He brushed it away two or three times, but the busy messenger returned, and only hummed the louder. At last, he bethought him of the Nymph; but his impatience seemed to increase with his pride, and he gave the poor insect such a brush, as sent him away crippled in both his thighs.

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The bee returned to his mistress as well as he could; and shortly after was followed by his joyous assailant, who came triumphing in the success of his dice and his passion. "I am here," said the Hamadryad. Rhacus looked among the trees, but could see nobody." I am here," said a grave sweet voice, “right before you." Rhæcus saw nothing. Alas," said she, Rhæcus, you cannot see me, nor will you see me more. I had thought better of your discernment and your kindness; but you were but gifted with a momentary sight of 'me. You will see nothing in future but common things, and those sadly. You are struck blind to every thing else. The hand that could strike my bee with a lingering death, and prefer the embracing of the dice-box to that of affectionate beauty, is not worthy of love 'and the green trees."

The wind sighed off to a distance; and Rhecus felt that he was alone.

Printed and published by JOSEPH Appleyard, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand. Price 2d. And sold also by A. GLIDDON, Importer of Snuffs, No. 31, Tavistockstreet, Covent-garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Booksellers and Newsmen.


There he arriving round about doth flie,
And takes survey with busie curious eyes-
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly.





TRIPTOLEMUS was the son of Celeus king of Attica, by his wife Polymnia. During his youth he felt such an ardour for knowledge, and such a desire to impart it to his fellow-creatures, that having but a slight frame for so vigorous a soul to inhabit, and meeting as usual with a great deal of jealousy and envy from those who were interested in being thought wiser, he fell into a wasting illness. His flesh left his bones; his thin hands trembled when he touched the harp; his fine warm eyes looked staringly out of their sockets, like stars that had slipped out of their places in heaven.nl dur

At this period, an extraordinary and awful sensation struck, one night, through all the streets of Eleusis. It was felt both by those who slept and those who were awake. The former dreamt great dreams; the latter, especially the revellers and hypocrites who were pursuing their profane orgies, looked at one another, and thought of Triptolemus. As to Triptolemus himself, he shook in his bed with exceeding agitation; but it was with a pleasure that overcame him like pain. He knew not how to account for it; but he begged his father to go out, and meet whatever was coming: He felt that some extraordinary good was approaching, both for himself and his fellow-creatures; but revenge was never farther from his thoughts. What was he to revenge? Mistake and unhappiness? He was too wise, too kind, and too suffering. "Alas! thought he, an unknown joy shakes me like a palpable sorrow; and their minds are but as weak as my body. They cannot bear a touch they are not accustomed to."

The king, his wife, and his daughters went out, trembling, though not so much as Triptolemus, nor with the same feeling. There was a great light in the air, which moved gradually towards them, and seemed to be struck upwards from something in the street. Presently, two gigantic torches appeared round the corner; and underneath them, sitting in a car, and looking earnestly about, sat a mighty female, of more than ordinary size and beauty, Her large black with their black eyes, gigantic brows bent over them, and surmounted with a white forehead and a profusion of hair, looked here and there with an intentness and a depth of yearning, indescribable. "Chaire, Demeter!" exclaimed the king, in a loud voice:-" Hail, creative mother!" He raised the cry common at festivals, when they imagined a deity manifesting himself; and the priests poured out of their dwellings, with vestment and with incense, which they held tremblingly aloft, turning down their pale faces from the gaze of the passing goddess.

It was Ceres looking for her lost daughter Proserpina. The eye of the deity seemed to have a greater severity in its earnestness, as she passed by the priests; but at sight of a chorus of youths and damsels,

who dared to lift up their eyes as well as voices, she gave such a beau

tiful smile as none but gods în sorrow can give; and emboldened with this, the king and his family prayed her to accept their hospitality. She did so. A temple in the king's palace was her chamber, where she lay on the golden bed usually assigned to her image. The most precious fruits and perfumes burnt constantly at the door; and at first no hymns were sung but those of homage and condolence. But these the goddess commanded to be changed for happier songs; and word was also given to the city that it should remit its fears and its cares; and shew all the happiness of which it was capable before she arrived. "For," said she, "the voice of happiness arising from earth is a god's best incense. A deity lives better on the pleasure of what it has created, than in a return of a part of its gifts."

onSuchi were the maxims which Ceres delighted to utter during her abode at Eleusis, and which afterwards formed the essence of her res nowned mysteries at that place. But the bigots, who afterwards adopted and injured them, heard them with dismay; for they were similar to what young Triptolemus had uttered, in the aspirations of bis virtue. The rest of the inhabitants gave themselves up to the joy, from which the divitiity would only extract consolation. They danced, they wedded, they loved; they praised her in hymus as clearful as her natural temper; they did great and glorious things for one another: never was Attica so full of true joy and heriosm: the young men sought every den and fearful place in the territory, to see if Pros serpina was there and the damsels vied who should give them most kisses for their reward. "Oh Dearest and Divinest Mother!” sang the Eleusinians, as they surrounded the king's palace at night with their evening hymn: O greatest and best goddess, who not abure sorrow thyself, art yet above all wish to inflict it, we know by this that thou art indeed divine. Would that we might restore thee thy beloved daughter, thy daughter Proserpina, the dark, the beautiful, the

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