Among the females, a stranger may soon discover the pertness of republican principles. Divested, from that cause, of the blushing modesty of the country girls of Europe, they will answer a familiar question from the other sex with the confidence of a French mademoiselle: I would not, however, be understood to question their chastity, of which they have as large a portion as Europeans; my object is merely to shew the force of habit, and the result of education.

The arrogance of domestics in this land of republican liberty and equality, is particularly calculated to excite the astonishment of strangers. To call persons of this description servants, or to speak of their master or mistress, is a grievous affront. Having called one day at the house of a gentleman of my acquaintance, on knocking at the door, it was opened by a servant-maid, whom I had never before seen, as she had not been long in his family. The following is the dialogue, word for word, which took place on this occasion:-" Is your master at home?""I have no master ?"" Don't you live here?"-I stay here."-" And who are you then?" "Why, I am Mr. 's help. I'd have you to know, man, that I am no sarvant; none but negers are sarvants."

WHAT IS LOVE?

SAY, when the captive bosom feels

A magic spell around it wove,

While o'er the cheek the soft blush steals; Say, is it Love?

With pensive mien and serious pace,
To seek the dark embow'ring grove;
The pale moon's quiv'ring beams to trace,
Say, is it Love?

When chain'd to one dear lonely spot,
The bosom feels no wish to rove,
All other scenes of bliss forgot,

Say, is it Love?

To tremble, while o'er Fancy's eye
A thousand dreadful visions move;
To hope, to fear, to weep, to sigh;

Say, is it Love?

To seek occasions, false and weak,
The DARLING OBJECT to reprove;
To look what language fails to speak!

Say, is it Love?

To chide for ev'ry trivial crime;
To bid him from your rage remove;
To gild with HOPE the wings of TIME;
Say, is it Love?

To know no cheerful morn of rest ;
No balmy hour of sleep to prove;
To hold philosophy a jest!

Say, is it Love?

To cherish grief, nor dare complain;
To envy sainted souls above;
While jealous anguish rends the brain;
Say, is it Love?

Long have I, doom'd, alas! to grieve,
Against the fell enchantment strove ;
Then, FATE, ah! let me “cease to live,

"Or CEASE TO LOVE."

REFLECTIONS IN AN AUCTION ROOM AT BATH.

* Omnia, castor, emis, sic fiet ut omnia vendas.

MARTIAL."

(A translation of this motto concludes the article.)

A HEAD of a college in Oxford, being under a necessity of coming to Bath every season for his wife's health, found it advisable, himself being advanced in years, to take a small house in one of the old squares, and in order to furnish it at less expence, he attended every auction and sale of goods for near half a year together; by which means he had contracted such an habitual emacity, as Pliny calls it,

for propensity to purchase every thing that we see, especially if it strikes our fancy, under the idea of being a cheap and great bargain,) that after he had accomplished his purpose for which he attended those repositories of damaged furniture, he still persevered in purchasing what he did not want; and at a sale by hand, I saw the Rev. Dr. ascend, " ab inferis," from the infernal regions of the kitchen and the scullery, with a basting ladle in one hand and a gridiron in the other; so that, in short, after his wife* died, and he returned to reside in college, his house was found full from the cellar to the garret, with empty barrels, chairs, and tables, beds and chests of drawers, enough to furnish one of the largest lodging houses in Bath.

"Nature," as Lord Bacon observes, "knows not how to keep a mean;" and from the principle of self-preservation, we never think we can secure a sufficient stock of the comforts and conveniences of life. Hence this habit of accumulating whatever we fancy will contribute to that end; not only money and land, but every other article of utility, ornament, or amusement. I knew a miser who dressed more meanly than a day-labourer, yet after his death, his chests were found full of handsome suits of clothes and a dozen pair of shoes, made by the first artisans in London; and I remember a young baronet,

* Those who would see a pattern for good wives, may read Mrs. L-b-r's epitaph in the abbey church at Bath.

who being fond of hunting, when he left the university, carried a dozen pair of buck-skin breeches with him from a celebrated operator then in Oxford.

I myself, from the same accumulating instinct, have filled my house with such a multitude of pictures, that they have spread from the parlour into the passages, and from thence to the smoaky walls of the kitchen; nor yet is my appetite cloyed, or my taste for pictures diminished. This habit, I believe, is confirmed by the number of auctions; as auctions, on the contrary, are multiplied and supported, to an immense degree, by idle people, who, if they can save their money, consider their time as of no value; nay, are glad to get rid of it on such easy terms.

As I have often visited these places of resort in hopes of purchasing a picture or a book, at an easy rate, when the majority of the company were only intent on buying chairs and tables, and as I generally was very early at the scene of action, I had an ofportunity of observing the whole process of the affair.

And first, about half an hour before he commences his operations, the hierophant, or chief performer, enters, and with the air of a general before an engagement, surveys the various articles that are arranged in order to come successively into action; gives his clerk and his porters their several instructions; and prepares himself perhaps by premida