In his will there were found the following words :— "Having observed from my infancy that the poor of Marseilles are ill supplied with water, which can only be purchased at a great price, I have cheerfully laboured the whole of my life to procure for them this great blessing, and I direct that the whole of my property shall be laid out in building an aqueduct for their use."

Towards the beginning of the last century, an actor celebrated for mimicry was to have been employed by a comic author to take off the person, manner, and singularly awkward delivery of the celebrated Dr. Woodward, who was intended to be introduced on the stage in a laughable character. The mimic dressed himselfTM as a countryman, and waited on the doctor with a long catalogue of ailments, which, he said, afflicted his wife. The physician heard with amazement diseases and pains of the most opposite nature repeated and redoubled on the wretched patient. For since the actor's greatest wish was to keep Dr. Woodward in his company as long as possible, that he might make the more observations on his gestures, he loaded his poor imaginary spouse with every infirmity which had any probable chance of prolonging the interview. At length, having completely accomplished his errand, he drew from his purse a guinea, and with a bow and a scrape made an uncouth offer of it:"Put up thy money, poor fellow," cried the doctor, "put up thy money. Thou hast need of all thy cash, and all thy patience too, with such a bundle of diseases tied to thy back."-The comedian returned to his employer, and related the whole conversation

with such true feeling of the physician's character that the author was convulsed with laughter. But his raptures were soon checked, when the mimic told him with an emphatic sensibility, that he would sooner die than ungratefully prostitute his talents to the rendering such genuine humanity a public object of ridicule. The actor's name was Griffin; and the part drawn for him was Dr. Fossile, in 'Three Hours after Marriage.'

Fuller, in his 'Holy State,' says, "their souls have been the chapels of sanctity, whose bodies have been the spitals of deformity. An emperor of Germany coming by chance on a Sunday into a church, found there a most mis-shapen priest, 'pene portentum naturæ,' insomuch as the emperor scorned and contemned him. But when he heard him read those words in the service, 'For it is he that made us, and not we ourselves,' the emperor checked his own proud thoughts, and made inquiry into the quality and condition of the man, and finding him on examination to be most learned and devout, he made him archbishop of Colen, which place he did excellently discharge."

This species of laughter from ignorance, did not escape, and what did escape the vigilance of Shake speare, who, in his interview between Biron and Rosaline in Love's Labour's Lost, says

ROSALINE.

Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron,

Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue

Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,

Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
Which you on all estates will execute
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won),

You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day,
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

BIRON.

To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be, it is impossible:

Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINE.

Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools;
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue

Of him that makes it: then if sickly ears,

Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns; continue then,
And I will have you and that fault withal :
But if they will not, throw away that spirit,

And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

LAUGHTER FROM INTELLIGENCE.

SAILORS laugh at a landsman, who, at a slight motion of the boat, seize the side of it; or when he thinks he shall die of sea-sickness. I often see a smile upon the face of a most intelligent and benevolent physician, when his patient is erroneously conceiving himself to be in great danger. The unreasonable

vexation of children is of the same nature.

Upon this subject Hartley says:-"The most natural occasions of mirth and laughter in adults seem to be the little mistakes and follies of children, and the smaller inconveniences and improprieties, which happen in conversation, and the daily occurrences of life; inasmuch as these pleasures are, in great measure, occasioned, or at least supported, by the general pleasurable state, which our love and affection to our friends in general, and to children in particular, put the body and mind into. For this kind of mirth is always checked, where we have a dislike; also where the mistake or inconsistency rises beyond a certain limit; for then it produces concern, confusion, and uneasiness."

Although this laughter from intelligence is, perhaps, the best species of laughter; it may, in general, be considered as a sign of want of sensibility. The distress of another ought not, surely, to be the cause of mirth. When the pious Bishop Latimer was tried there was the following dialogue :—

The Bishop of Lincoln.-No, Master Latimer, your talk is more like taunts than railing; but in that I have not read the book which you blame so much, nor know not of any such, I can say nothing therein.

The Bishop of Worcester.-Yes, my lord, the book is open to be read, and is entitled to one, who is Bishop of Gloucester, whom I never knew, neither did at any time see him to my knowledge.

With that the people laughed, because the Bishop of Gloucester sat there in commission.

The Bishop of Gloucester.-It is my book.

The Bishop of Worcester.--Was it your's, my lord? Indeed I knew not your lordship, neither ever did see you before, neither yet see you now through the brightness of the sun shining betwixt you and me.

The audience laughed again; and Latimer said to them, "Why, my masters, this is no laughing matter; I answer upon life and death, Woe unto you who laugh now, for ye shall weep bitterly.""

It is thus that Lord Bacon, when viewing the preposterous errors of the Alchemists, says, in the true spirit of philosophy," If any one should condescend to regard such things as are accounted rather curious than useful, and take a thorough view of the works of the Alchemists or the followers of natural magic, he might, perhaps, be at a difficulty which he should withhold, his tears or his laughter. For the alchemist goes on with an eternal hope, and where his matters succeed not, lays the blame upon his own errors, and accuses himself as not having sufficiently understood either the terms of his art or his author; whence he either harkens out for tradition and auricular whispers, or else fancies he made some mistake as to the exact quantity of the ingredients or nicety of the experiment, and thus repeats the operation