POETRY. SONNET TO HOPE. Hail thou, whom heav'ns high glitt'ring gems adorn, Hail hope, of love and joy the eldest born, Whose kiss to rapture turns the heart-broke wail; Oh, could I snatch thee to this throbbing heart, THE VOW. The rose is my favourite flower; I never would think of thee more. I scarcely the record had made, Ere Zephyr, in frolicsome play, On his light, airy pinions convey'd Both tablet and promise away. SINAW. KOSTROV. THE HUNTER'S SONG, A BALLAD, Supposed to have been written about the beginning of the 18th century. With staff in band, the hunter stood He turn'd him east---the Ribble there While every cloud that sail'd in air Just wore a tinge of gold. There Waddow's meads, so bright and green, Had caught the early ray, And there, through shadow dimly seen, Rose Clithero's castle gray. He turn'd him west---and, hill o'er hill, Emerging from the mists that fill The winding vales between. The thorns, that crown'd each verdant crest, But most he turn'd where, 'neath his feet, And yon low cot, so trim and neat, He gaz'd, as lovers wont to gaze, Then gaily thus he sang ;--- "Fair is my love, as mountain snow, All other snows excelling; When at her door she sits, to sing Some simple strain of mine, And when she speeds her love to meet, Around the fairy-oak (1) I've seen, And still, though poor, and lowly born, She flies the Bowman's (3) tassel'd horn, Old Rose (5) may rule by word and sign, But what are all her charms to thine, (1) Now corruptly call'd Fairoak. (2) The White Well.(3) Parker of Browsholme.-(4) Chief Forester.-(5) A noted witch of the time. STANZAS. Oh look not, speak not thus again, To you my heart's a summer's flower, A toy to please a vacant hour-- Caress'd then thrown neglected by. I could have loved thee---could! nay more, For, what to thee are vows or sighs, The words unthought of soon as said. I knew I could not trust thee, when My pulse throbb'd high with passion's bliss; Our lips have met, yet even then I felt the falsehood of your kiss. What though you hung upon my lip, And prais'd its sweets and breath'd its sigh, I knew you were the bee to sip, I've yet enough of pride to break I lov'd it madly for thy sake; VARIETIES. ANTIQUARIANISM. Vaillant, the great French Medallist, fearing to fall a prey to an Algerine corsair in the Mediterranean, swallowed several medals he had found in Africa. He escaped, however, the fate he feared, and got safe to France, but was not a little incommoded with the medals he had swallowed, which would not pass like the waters of Scarborough. By the aid of a skilful physician, he was relieved from time to time, to the great joy of his learned brethren, who were for many days anxiously waiting the deliverance of an Otho, which was one of the last regained. ELIZABETH, SECOND WIFE OF GEORGE, SIXTH EARL OF SHREWSRURY. Unsated with the wealth and the caresses of three husbands, this lady finished her conquests by marrying the Earl of Shrewsbury, the richest and most powerful peer of his time, and whom she drew into the same disgraceful and imprudent concessions which she had procured from his unlucky predecessors; and partly by intreaties, and partly by threats, induced him to sacrifice the fortune, interest, and happiness of his family, to the aggrandizement of her children by Sir William Cavendish. She was a woman of a masculine understanding and conduct; proud, furious, selfish, and unfeeling; a builder, a buyer and seller of estates, a money-lender, a farmer, and a trader in lead, coals, and timber. When disengaged from these employments, she intrigued alternately with Elizabeth and Mary, and always to the prejudice and terror of her husband. She lived to a great age, continually flattered, but seldom deceived, and died in 1607 immensely rich, and without a friend. Fortunately for the poor Earl her husband, he had been released from this complication of plagues seventeen years before, by death. The end of a dissolute life is a desperate death. There was never precedent to the contrary, but in the thief in the gospel in one, lest any should despair: in one alone, lest any should presume. 'Evil thoughts are the devil's harbingers, for he lodgeth not but where they provide his entertainment. Indifferent equality is safest superiority. Where passions increase, complaints multiply. If thou givest a benefit, keep it close; but if thou receivest one, publish it, for that invites another. Let thy will be thy friend, thy mind thy companion, thy tongue thy servant. Age may gaze at beautie's blossoms; but youth climbs the tree and enjoys the fruit. Time is the herald of Truth, and Truth the daughter of Time. The young man may die quickly; but the old man cannot live long. There be four good mothers have four bad daughters truth hath hatred, prosperity hath pride, security hath peril, and familiarity hath contempt. Wisdom is that olive that springeth from the heart, bloometh on the tongue, and beareth fruit in the actions. Happy is that mishap whereby we pass to better perfection. The soul is the greatest thing in the least continent. Let the limits of thy power be the bounds of thy will. No greater comfort than to know much: no less labour than to say little. 'Give a lazy clerk a lean fee.' I arrived too late-poor Volatile only survived his accident for the space of three days. How little did we think, when he left us, a month ago, in the plenitude of gaiety and health, that so short was his interval of being from Eternity-how dimly does the eye of human probability perceive the events which constantly surround us. It was high noon as I drove down Milsom-street, and I gazed, among the fluttering fashionables, hopelessly anxious for the appearance of Volatile in the groupes the disappointment of not finding him in a state which it was presumptuous to expect, raised within my breast an undefined apprehension of the worst which I dared to anticipate. When I came to the Hart, the conflict betwixt the expectations of good and evil was speedily decided—our friend died yesterday. You may imagine the emotion which this intelligence awaked. Though my fears had foreboded it, the shock was at once sudden and overpowering. It seemed as if I had armed myself, for a show of bravery, against an enemy whom, I cherished a secret hope, I should not have to encounter-my spirit sank within me at the contest. I was violently agitated, and trembling and faintness obliged me to retire into my chamber. the Surgeon, When I recovered, Mr. Twas introduced to me. He is a man of a friendly and compassionate disposition, and having formed some previous intimacy with Volatile, gave him the most humane and unremitting attention. He was assisted by an eminent Physician of the place. The account which Tgave of the accident was as follows. Volatile had been at "arley in the morning, and was returned, and in the act of dismounting, when the horse suddenly plunged, and projected him with considerable violence upon the pavement. No reason can be assigned for the unusual impetuosity of the animal. W T Eight P..M. Symptoms unabated-patient had a for this period of the year, but not many of rank or distinction. I have had a short stroll with Trestless day-rambled chiefly about a female-called and could notice many admirable improvements since my last visit. But every where there is some indication of gaiety which my heart has a forbiddance to partake. Communicate the intelligence of this letter to Orthodox. I know how much it will affect him-as you also. It is indeed a grievous event, and should teach us how circumspectly we ought to walk when every step may be on the confines of the grave. Sad and afflicting as is the lesson which it has read to us, I trust the moral will be felt-the precarious tenure of this temporal existence. I leave the religious corollary for Orthodox, who will exhibit it in the meekness and wisdom of truth. I commit you to his counsel, (of which I likewise would profit) and both of you to the care of that benignant Being, whose goodness blesseth his creatures. Adieu. FREDERICK TACIT. TO LIONEL PANACEY ESQUIRE. P. S.-If you please you may write some account of this melancholy event, as a final paper for the Musaeid. We can have no inducement to continue it, now that he is gone for whose pleasure it was chiefly pursued. Mr. Smith said something of publishing the series in a collected form; if he persist in his determination, procure for him an index to the persons who have chosen to appropriate the characters. This you know was poor Volatile's plan for revenging the discredit of our Excusatory.' NOTES of my attendance on WM. VOLATILE, ESQ. of MANCHESTER, at the White Hart, in Stall-street, BATH. June 1. 4 P. M.-Summoned to attend on W. Volatile, Esq. found he had received an injury by a violent projection from his borse-the perfect state of insensibility, stertorous breathing, slow and labouring pulse, (48 strokes in the minute) left me little reason to doubt that, from the violence administered to the cranium, a portion of bone had been depressed. The tumour, situated on the frontal bone, immediately above the left orbit, seemed to indicate that the seat of injury was beneath—an incision through the integuments brought into view an extensive depression. Five P. M.-Mr. S- being from home, I held a consultation with Dr. W-, and the elevation of the depression was performed instanter. Circumstances during nearly 12 hours were, through the assistance of a vigorously anti-phlogistic treatment, as favourable as could have been anticipated. The burial is fixed for Friday, to take place at the Abbey. The Clergyman, a young relation of Volatile's now staying in Bath, T, Dr. and myself shall be the only attendants. has a practice, which I consider particularly praiseworthy, of taking minutes of the pro- June 2. 7 A. M.-The pulse increased in fregress and changes of the disorders of his patients—quency-the skin hot and dry-incoherency and which often prove a source of consolation and satisfaction to their friends who are absent. On this occasion he has been more than commonly precise, from the kind interest which he himself entertained for every thing which regarded our friend. I subjoin you a copy of the notes, as T― calls his observations of this sort. My feelings will not allow me to remain in Bath after the burial. I purpose to make a tour of two or three months in this part of the Island, and may possibly return to Bath before I see you in Manchester. I am told there is an unusual number of visitants here extreme restlessness rapidly advancing-anti-phlogistic treatment continued with increased rigour. Remained with patient-who talked wildly-appeared sometimes by his expressions to imagine himself soothing his horse-would then converse with some fancied female, and occasionally seemed to be in the act of writing, using such exclamations following:-Whom will they take that for, aye, Panacey?- what shaking your head at, Orthodox ?— mean nobody there-that one slip makes the whole town suspect-poor-ha-ha-ha-don't interrupt me-Tacit, give me a name, as the her Mary-bade her pity him--then reverted to his horse---asked what we were boiling his brain for--said it would not make a pudding. June 3. 6 A. M.-Symptoms increased-treatment, vigorously pursued----patient gradually became more incoherent-talked of his wife-bade her not forget him-to look up to Heaven for protection for herself and her son-he was going to Heaven and would take care that her prayers were attended to-don't weep poor Mary-be kind to Sancho- I came a wooing on Sancho-you would pat his neck then-ha-ha-ha--to keep him quiet while we walked by his side to the lodge-who's this like Tacit-write it yourself then-if I mean any one may I—hush! dont swear-Orthodox will hear you-you'll offend him-call me Coax, Tacit—I like to be called Coax-I think I've vexed you when you dont call me Coax. 10 P. M.-Symptoms unimproved the inflammatory diathesis seemed to have given place to confirmed delirium-subsultus tendinum, &c. &c.-obliged to quit patient during the night for Mrs. Jennet's accouchement. June 4. 8 A. M.-Decided Coma-heard from the slight interjections of incoherency, which became nurse that during the night patient had used more faint and imperfect towards the morning-the name of Mary was most frequently on his lips, and uttered, as it should seem, in the tenderest tone—his friends Tacit, Orthodox, and Panacey were often in his presence, and he was continually invoking their compassion on poor Sancho-for the last three hours patient had appeared in a mute and abstracted devo tion. Five P. M--Death, Inspection post mortem.-A considerable quantity of pus was found extensively diffused between the dura mater and cranium, as I was led to infer from the latter symptoms. A fissure was discovered traversing the base of the cranium trausversely, extending from one temporal bone to the other. I may I never found a human brain of a more exquisite remark, that in the whole course of my experience, developement, all its parts being accurately defined healthy structure, excepting such portions as were and singularly explicit. It presented a firm and correspondent to the seat of violence; which parts, of course, had undergone consequent morbid alteration. The calvaria was a beautiful specimen of the impressions made on it by certain portions of the of the scientific researches of Doctors Gall and brain, and presented a perfect study to the admirers Spurzheim. Remarked, among the most prominent elevations, those corresponding to the organs denoted by the respective numbers 4, 13, 16, and above all that denominated by 32.* MARIANNE-A FRAGMENT. of feeling; the retiring meekness that seeks to withdraw itself from public gaze;-the calm He was proceeding with his soliloquy despair and the wild throb of agony alternate; "Yet a little while and then," and then all tend to shew nature loveliest in her weakwhat?" continued a plaintive female voice from ness. It was impossible to witness a scene behind the curtain, that concealed her slender like this and not inwardly curse the fiendish but lovely form. "Is that you, Marianne, my monster war ;-my soul took an expansive love?" cried the unfortunate invalid, as he glance over the unknown myriads this single stretched forth his thin white hand to welcome war has swept to an untimely grave; on the her. His eye gleamed with unearthly bright- tens of thousands it has beggared; and on the ness, his cheek was suddenly flushed with the millions of hearts it has widowed. I asked hectic of joy, and then gradually resumed its myself;-and will it not be asked in another wonted paleness. "I had quite given you up; world? "" Why should man raise his hand -I was endeavouring to persuade myself it against his fellow?" His faculties, his feelings, was all for the best-that I should never see his pleasures, and even his pains, bespeak him you more, that I must pass into eternity formed, not for himself alone, but for society, without receiving and imparting the farewell and yet in this particular, we run counter to blessing. I know you will forgive me, but I nature, we become lions, we glory in the could not help thinking there was something reeking blood of thousands, and, like Indians like unkindness in this last neglect, but now" o'er their sacrifices, turn midnight into day, and his eye sparkled as he spake," but with lighted windows, bonfires, loud huzzas: now my fears are vanished-I feel as though a-and thus deluded thousands, whilst they load were removed from my heart-as if hap-mourn a husband, father, brother, shout for piness was yet in store for us"-the tone of the general weal. When falls the conqueror, tender melancholy, in which he addressed her, many nations mourn; bards swell the song, had thrown her into tears, -as he pronounced and statuaries join to tell posterity his deathless the last sentence her face was for a moment fame; but sons of mercy die and none regards enlivened by a gleam of hope, and she invo--they pass untrophied to the quiet grave, but luntarily exclaimed, Indeed!" he saw he heard her not; he was wrapt in his subject; and Marianne's soft blue eyes were again suffused with tears as he mournfully concluded"but not here not in this world." not forgotten. Oh, no! their tribute is the harass me,-she who loved me living must mourn unconsoled o'er my memory when dead, Then, Marianne," continued he,-"then, when you shall call for me unanswered, save by the hollow echo from the graves-then, if parted souls may visit those they love, mine shall hover round you,-watch over your destiny, reverberate your sighs, weep over your sorrows, if disembodied spirits weep and be the first to hail your trembling spirit when it crosses the threshold of eternity."-Those, and those only, who have stood beside the couch, where all that is lovely and valued lies strug gling with the last enemy, can imagine the devotional fervour the something more than mortal interest with which Marianne beheld him. "This," said she, taking a little miniature from her bosom ;-"this is all that will remain to remind me of a hapless lover-but my heart needs no remembrancer-none, none, 'tis withering at the core, and ere long" —The door slowly opened and an aged lady, whose face bespoke a heart ill at ease, gently ap proached to his bed-side, enquiring with much anxiety how he felt himself. He smiled, and would have reached forth his hand, but the effort was too much, and the willing arm fell heavy and languid by his side. "I am better now," said he, "much better," although his voice and features evidently bespoke him much weaker. Marianne was in tears, and her deep and repeated sobs at length attracted his attention-suddenly raising himself in his bed, he stretched forth his arms as if to clasp her, and then sunk exhausted, with his head upon her lap-she raised him tenderly, and having carefully smoothed his pillow, gently placed his head upon it. "This is the boon, which, through many a wearisome night I have earnestly prayed; to have my pillow smoothed by the fostering hand of early affection-and now I die in peace; let them lay me," continued he with pathetic softness, "let them lay me beside the little yew-tree in the north corner of the church-yard; there shall I sleep in quiet, as I would have lived, but war forbade there, when all the human race have forgotten me, and not a trace remains to tell that I have been there, shall the rising and the setting sun shed his sweetest beams. Oh, Marianne! do you recollect that happy evening when first we made the vow of mutual love? We stood upon that spot, and lightly talked of many a future year and then you sighed but not as now you sigh, in deep despair,tis past, 'tis past He was a young man, apparently about nineteen, he could not be more than twenty; -he had been in the army, abroad,-had undergone the perils and fatigues of a two years' campaign in the Peninsula; he was advancing in his profession, had attained the rank of lieutenant when his health declined, his strength gave way, and he returned home with the prospect of recovery-he hoped in the caresses of his parents and the smiles of his Marianne, that his health would quickly be restored; but from the hurry of travelling, ere he reached his home decay had made rapid inroads on his constitution. He arrived, and his parents knew not of it; they thought him on the mountains of Spain, and he was at their threshold-overpowered by a multitude of feelings, scarce was he able to throw himself into their arms; they bore him to his bed, and he had been there ever since it was only three days to him it appeared an age-his sole enquiries were for Marianne-they told him she was from home-it evidently preyed upon his spirits-it was therefore deemed prudent to deceive him no longer;-she had been nigh him, and he saw her not, she had heard him, and he knew it not; this was their first interview since his return from the Peninsula. Marianne endeavoured to cheer him,-she spoke of the war, of the hardships he had endured, of the laurels he had reaped-of the prospects before him-she faltered as she spoke every effort to avert his mind from gloomy forebodings was unavailing;-he saw through the affectionate little artifice, smiled his thanks, and she was silent-the tide of feeling was at its height-one word would have told all she rose to retire the big tear trem--to feel all the agony of parting, and to ex-effect-he ceased repining, and whispered (it bled in her eye, and ere she closed the door a' convulsive sob burst on the ears of the wretched William, and thrilled through his frame with indescribable anguish. Oh! but there is something in woman's sorrow that insensibly wins the heart, and engages the best feelings of our nature in its behalf;-the lamb-like resignation—the vain attempts to arrest the ebullition I know not how much longer my reverie might have continued, had not the return of Marianne called my attention to what was passing around me there was a calmness in her aspect that might easily be accounted for; the full heart had overflowed-the tide of her feeling had subsided, and she was now sunk into a deep and settled melancholy.-During her absence, her lover had fallen into a gentle slumber; fearful of disturbing his repose, she approached his bed-side on tiptoe, and, having seated herself beside him, watched his pale and haggard looks with the most fixed and solicitous regard. He appeared to be dreaming, his lips muttered inarticulate sounds-his face became flushed, his brow bedewed with perspiration-his whole frame seemed agitated she was alarmed; she took his hand, and gently pressing it, exclaimed, "William, my love!" he raised himself from his couch, and wildly all past, and now no more of joy of lovecasting his eyes around cried, as he earnestly of life of hope-remains for us-but bitter seized her arm, "What, Marianne! here still? dregs-no! no! 'tis misery all-before-behind methought we were separated for ever-death-around-whither, oh! whither shall the was the divider-and I was just casting a last wretched flee and be at rest!"—his breath glance on this transitory world;-'twas all a seemed departing, his bosom heaved with spasdream-but shadows of truth-for I feel my modic agitation, and it was some minutes before strength rapidly wasting, and ere long shall be he was able to assure them, with a voice weak as though I ne'er had been. Yes-yes-I am and tremulous, that he was recovering. "Heaverging towards eternity-each moment bears ven is our home," said Marianne, "there shall me like the boiling billow-farther from the we experience that plenitude of bliss we fondly shores of time-my eye is dim-my hand is vainly looked for here." It was pleasing to feeble-my frame is relaxed, but my soul, hear the touching tones of her melodious voice my immortal soul, is still the same;-it lives thus breathing the spirit of religious consolathrough all, and flourishes in the midst of ruin, tion at a moment like this-it had the desired was all he could) "Yes-there is a Providence that rules and directs all for the best; and to his benevolent protection I can safely commit the dearest and most valued of earthly beings perience with more poignant anguish the sad the taper of life waxes short-I am faint and feeble; give me your hand." He pressed it to his hips, then to his heart. Mother, your's too." Having done the same with it, " he placed them in each other, and said, "My A MORNING VISIT. The rain came down, not in the picturesque form of a torrent, as it sweeps over the tops of virandas, and swells the kennels into a broad current, carrying away particles of straw, or any other wreck of the pavement, which float, like small craft, over the surface of the tiny billows, but in a steady, heavy, determined sort of manner, as though Aquarius and Neptune, the cloud king, and river fiend, invested with supreme dominion, had sate in council together, and it had pleased their watery godships to drown the sons and the daughters of men. A devout believer in the world of spirits, and lacking only the spells of Renfred to call them from the vasty deep, and the boundless air, I instantly transferred all my admiration from the Undines to the Sylphs. Home, which during many a day of cloudless sunshine I had found so luxurious that no persuasions could withdraw me from my pen or my book, became insupportably irksome, and yielding to the impulse which prompted me to seek amusement abroad, I ordered my cabriolet, and drove to Berkeley-square. Even a favourite is most welcome in rainy weather, and I met with a very flattering reception from my fair friends, interspersed with many a pretty wonder at seeing me on such a deplorable day of rain. I found my fair hostesses, as usual, engaged in elegant occupations; Belinda was copying the beautiful picture of Dido listening to the story of Eneas, and clasping Cupid, in the form of the innocent Ascanius, to her heart. Julia, herself the fairest flower, was busy weaving a garland, wherein The buds of Autumn, Summer, Spring, commixed, Ne'er revelled 'mid more blooming sweets, or twin'd And Constance, the youngest and the loveliest, tened to the magic tones which she drew from | riage. This reasoning not being very satisfac tory, I took my leave, I doubt not, as much lowered in the estimation of these high-born nymphs, as they were in mine. The hardships attendant upon young women whom stern necessity compels to seek their livelihood as teachers, never struck me in the same light before. Well bred, and well educated, conscious of possessing talents, they must feel most keenly the contrast between their lot in life, and the happy destiny of their pupils. Is it wonderful, that strong temptation assailing vanity and weakness, should sometimes beguile these unfortunate females__from, to them, the thorny paths of virtue? Frequently the pursuit and the victims of our destroying sex, shall we not mingle pity with our condemnation, when we behold the fall of these luckless beings, who are so cruelly exposed to the view of luxuries which they are eminently qualified to appreciate, and which they are sometimes induced to purchase at the sacrifice of all that should be most dear and valuable to them in life? THE TWO COATS. Shakespeare says, that many a man's coat is his father, and, like most things he has said, it is true. How many are there who would be nullius filii if it were not for their vestments! People say that old friends are better than new ones; I presume that this does not hold good as it relates to habits-for the person I mean-for, all the world prefer new coats to old ones, and all the world must be right. It is now five years, when the sun shall have set upon the 12th of June 1822, that my late coat was brought home. With what delight did I survey it! how eagerly I listened to the exhortations of the maker, how to fold it up! how cautiously I put it on, and how carefully I felt in my pocket for my key, when I locked up! Its colour was suitable to the tint of my mind-it was a bright green, with Waterloo buttons. Green coats were then the sine qua non of a beau. Black and blue "hid their di minished heads," or rather tails; and although now and then a brown appeared, it passed along amidst the scoffs of the multitude. The first year every thing went well. I stalked down Bond-street at the full glare of half-past four. I was not afraid to meet the purse-proud stare of the glittering Oriental in Hyde Park on Sunday; nor did I shrink before the glance of a St. James's Blood. The second year, in spite of all my anxiety, an incipient whiteness began to appear on the elbows. The Waterloo buttons began to look somewhat shorn of their beams, and the collar had been slightly annoyed by the too rude pressure of the hat, however, it had not yet had a regular wetting, if I omit the baptising it got from my gallantry to Miss Protocol, in giving her more than her share of my cotton ambrella But the third year now fast approached; years rolled on, et nos mutamur in illis—and so did my coat. The thread of the lives of two of its buttons had been snapped; one was wrenched off by a friend, notwithstanding my agonized look, whilst he was telling me the fate of his farce; the other fell into a gradual decline, and died a natural death. The bright green had now faded, and had imbibed a tint of brown; the collar was dilapidated, the cuffs were in ruins. I struggled on, however, another year, but I left I would go half a mile out of my former scenes. the way to avoid St. James's-street-I would go a mile out of my way, rather than pass Hyde Park on a Sunday, Three more buttons had fell under the scythe of Time: Something must be done--I sent it to be repaired, and I hardly knew it again. The Waterloo buttons once more dazzled by their brightness; new cuffs and coliar sprang up like phoenixes from the ashes of their fathers; and though the fashion of coats had somewhat altered, yet I held an erect head. But ah! this was a deceitful splendour -a glimpse of sunshine on a rainy day; the constitation of the coat was ruined, and it soon suffered a relapse. At last my resolution was taken-a new coat must be ordered. It was a precept of my late respected uncle Nicholas, that one good dear garment is worth two bad cheap ones; and I always act up to it. I walked up boldly to Mr. S, in Bond-street; and although I met with some broad stares at my entrance, yet when my purpose was known, every thing was respectful attention. With what elevation did I survey myself in the double mirror close to the window! With what hauteur did I bid the tradesman be punctual as to the hour! How fiercely did I brush by the beaux in my return, with the delightful thought that I should soon have it in my power to cut them all out. How many are the advantages of a new coat! a new pair of trowsers rather serves to contrast the oldness of the upper garment with its own novelty; but a coat diffuses its splendour through the whole; it brightens a withered pair of pantaloons, and revivifies a faded waistcoat; it illuminates a worn-out beaver, and even gives a respectable appearance to an antiquated pair of gaiters. A man in a new coat holds his head erect, his chest forward; he shakes the pavement with his clattering heels; he looks defiance to every man, and love to every woman; he overturns little boys, and abuses hackney-coachmen; if he enter a tavern, he calls lustily for his drink, and knocks the waiter down if he does not bring it soon enough. But a man in an old coat hangs his head, fumbles in his moneyless pockets, and stumbles at every third step; he is scorned by the men, and unnoticed by the women he is jeered at by children, and hustled by jarveys; at a tavern, he enters the parlour with a sheepish face, knowing his right to be there, but fearing it may be disputed-the waiter sniggers, and the landlord bullies him. Such then is the difference which the outward man makes. METEOROLOGICAL REPORT Of the Atmospherical Pressure and Temperature, Rain, Wind, &c. deduced from diurnal observations made at Manchester, in the month of May, 1822, by THOMAS HANSON, Surgeon. BAROMETRICAL PREssure. The Monthly Mean...... ... Highest, which took place on the 21st. Spaces, taken from the daily means......... Inches. 30.22 .92 2.95 8 Degrees. TEMPERATURE. Monthly Mean..... .... Mean of the 5th. decade, commencing on the 48.9 77 39 38 little rain in the morning, mild forenoon; but cold CORRESPONDENCE. What strange confusion in these jarring clocks! TO THE Editor, SIR,-The difference in the clocks of Manchester From what cause this neglect of the clocks arises, Manchester, 13th June, 1822. [Though we do not agree in the sentiments of the following TO “A BOTANIST,” What in the name of wonder, man, do you mean, What a plague for must you set up Liverpool as What have you to say against the Infirmary gar31 dens? Pity the women don't walk more there than they do-it's far healthier than being cooped up betwixt four high walls, in a Botanical Garden, where every breeze that reaches you is impregnated with stinks and poisons. Pah! I suppose, too, our daughters must be set a cultivating this elegant science- going out with their baskets, gathering specimens in white kid-glovesor dirtying their fingers with filthy roots and mould; 0 besides, the advantage, to their morals, studying the loves of the plants, and their tongues glibbing of cryptogamia, polygamia, icosandria, and the Lord 0 knows what that's indecent. Do you suppose any 1 sensible person will encourage such a thing? I won't May 2nd. The late warm days have brought many common house flies into existence.---3rd. A |