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yet his weakness in this point formed, in fact, the groundwork of an erent, the most important in his whole existence. His comfortable, accommodating housekeeper, who seemed, good easy soul! the quintessence of meekness and submission, had in her composition some lurking seeds of ambition; and sundry circumstances combined to rouse them into expansion. She knew her patron was rich; and she knew he had no notion of sharing his wealth. She had witnessed the discomfiture of ladies, richer than berself in adventitious advantages, superior in external accomplishments, and armed with all the arts of her sex. She had even seen beauty and wealth, united in the same person, disarmed of their potency, and unable to pass the impenetrable barrier of worldly interest and self-love that circumvallated his heart. What chance of success, then, could there be for her, deficient as she was in personal attractions, and destitute of the magnetism of gold? Where we suspect not, we are apt to forego our usual caution. A man would hide his watch-chain and seals, if he mingled with a promiscuous mob, or thought of encountering a thief; but he would hardly think of using this precaution in the private circle of a well-dressed company. Jacob, who was proof against the attacks of ladies abroad, laid aside his reserve and his suspicion when at home; he felt there was no need of them; and all this the shrewd spinster was aware of. She had studied his peculiarities, and knew where he was vulnerable. She began by covertly applauding his prudence ; insinuated hints of the agreeableness of his person, habits, and disposition: first with the deference of an inferior; and then, as she saw the bait took, with something more like the independent opinion of an equal. She gained ground wonderfully, because he never suspected the motive. In the very triumph of her career, he fell ill. She nursed him assiduously; and was detected two or three times, when he drew back the curtains, sitting by his bedside, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. These, with a few of the arts that female ingenuity so well understands, made rapid advances in Jacob's heart. He recovered; and he saw joy for that recovery beaming in the eyes of the only being who had ever (as he thought) regarded him disinterestedly. This could not be the mere attachment of a domestic ; it was love. Jacob, with all his hostility against the sex, was not proof against the gratifying feeling of being beloved for one's self alone. Besides, “ she had never told her love ;" she never hinted it; but seemed to carry the oppressive secret at her heart. A chef-d'auvre on her part crowned the jest. She gave him notice of her intention to quit his service. A relation, she said, had offered her an asylum, in a retired village. She grieved to leave the best-kindest-of masters (here she sobbed); but her health was drooping, and she wished to try the effect of country air. This step shewed Jacob the exact state of his heart. He felt that he could not live with out the society of a being, who, from the force of habit, or some cause or other, had become necessary to his happiness. “He ponder'd on't," and was resolute. He “ shrunk back upon himself, and startled” at the novelty of his own thoughts. He detected bis heart in the indulgence of a feeling it had been the business of his life to suppress; and all the selfishness of his nature was roused to action. But its opposition was momentary. Her prudence, good-temper, economy, and undoubted attachment stood forth in formidable array, and bid fair to outweigh all prudential considerations.

“ The tempter saw her time ;-the work she plied.” In the midst of these pro and con deliberations, she contrived to throw in his way, as if by chance, a journal of petty sums she had saved him at gundry times, which she had honestly accounted for; and another paper, of even more importance, in the eyes of Jacob, than the saving of money,-her will, in which she had left the residue of her scanty earnings to “ the best of masters.” This was the ultima manus. He succumbed to Dan Cupid; and in the short period of a few months, the fat housekeeper became the lawful spouse of one of the richest men in the city of London.

In a brief space, Jacob discovered that he had been cajoled out of his liberty. He stormed and raved, and fumed and fretted accordingly, with the restlessness of a panther shut up in a cage; but in vain. The knot that bound him was tied too fast to be loosened by the tooth of a disappointed old man. He sunk into the feeble inertness that usually succeeds to unbounded rage. He was compelled to view, with forbearing patience, the ravages of an extravagant woman on a fortune which had hitherto known no diminution; and forced to smile acquiescence, though he secretly writhed in agony. To have encountered a disappointment in temper, disposition, affection; to have found her love, indifference; her suavity, deceit: all this he could have borne : he could have endured having been tricked out of his heart;—but to superadd to these, the waste of his darling treasure, the one absorbing good, in which he had bound up his whole soul,—this was, indeed, a burthen too grievous to be borne. He fretted; he was sick at heart. When asked how he did, he shook his head, and looked grave. His iron countenance assumed a cadaverous aspect, and his sullen eyes, sunk in their sockets, gave indications of incipient atrophy. To his other afflictions was now added a phantasy that haunted him hourly. He thought he should die for want. So strong a hold had this megrim on his imagination, that it allowed him no repose ; and, in twelve months after the fatal vow that had destroyed bis peace, he was borne to the family-vault of the Stocks, leaving behind him half a million sterling, at the disposal of his domestic tyrant.

Q. Q. Q

PETER PINDARICS.

Blindman's Buff
Three Wags (whom some fastidious carpers
Might rather designate three Sharpers)

Enter'd at York the Cat and Fiddle,
And finding that the host was out

On business for two hours or more,

While Sam the rustic waiter wore
The visage of a simple lout,

Whom they might safely try to diddle ;
They order'd dinner in a canter,

Cold or hot, it matter'd not,
Provided it was served instanter,

And as the heat had made them very

Dry and dusty in the throttles,

They bade the waiter bring three bottles
Of prime old Port, and one of Sherry.
Sam ran with ardour to the larder,

Then to the kitchen,
And, as he briskly went to work, he
Drew from the spit a smoaking turkey,

With sausages embellish'd, which in
A trice upon the board was spread,

Together with a nice cold brisket,
Nor did he even obliviscate

Half a pig's head.
To these succeeded puddings, pies,

Custards and jellies,
All doom'd to fall a sacrifice

To their insatiable bellies ;
As if, like camels, they intended

To stuff into their monstrous craws

Enough to satisfy their maws,
Until their pilgrimage was ended.
Talking, laughing, eating and quaffing,

The bottles stood no moment still;
They rallied Sam with joke and banter,
And, as they drained the last decanter,

Callid for the bill. 'Twas brought, when one of them who eyed And added up the items, cried,

“ Extremely moderate indeed! l'll make a point to recommend This inn to every travelling friend ;

And you, Sam, shall be doubly feed.”
This said, a weighty purse he drew,

When his companion interposed,
Nay, Harry, that will never do,

Pray let your purse again be closed,
You paid all charges yesterday,
"Tis clearly now my turn to pay."
Harry, however, wouldn't listen

To any such insulting offer ;
His generous eyes appear’d to glisten

Indignant at the very proffer ;
And though his friend talk'd loud, his clangour
Served but to aggravate Hal's anger.
“ My worthy fellows,” cried the third,
“Now really this is too absurd ;
What! do both of ye forget,
I have not paid a farthing yet?
Am I eternally to cram

At your expense?—'tis childish quite ;

I claim this payment as my rightHere-how much is the money, Sam ?” To this most rational proposal

The others gave such fierce negation, One might have fancied they were foes all,

So hot became the altercation, Each in his purse his money rattling, Insisting, arguing, and battling.

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One of them cried at last- truce !

This point we will no longer moot; Wrangling for trifles is no use,

And thus we 'll finish the dispute.That we may settle what we three owe,

We'll blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er

He catches of us first, shall bear
The whole expenses of the trio,
With half-a-crown, (if that's enough,)
To Bam, for playing Blindman's Buft."
Sam liked it hugely—thought the ransom,
For a good game of fun, was handsome ;
Gave his own handkerchief beside,
To have his eyes securely tied,
And soon began to grope and search,

When the three knaves, I needn't say,
Adroitly left him in the lurch,

Slipp'd down the stairs and stole away. Poor Sam continued hard at work ;

Now o'er a chair he gets a fall, Now floundering forward with a jerk,

He bobs his nose against the wall; And now encouraged by a subtle

Fancy that they 're near the door,

He jumps behind it to explore,
And breaks his shins against the scuttle,
Crying, at each disaster-Drat it!
Dang it! 'Od rabbit it! and Rat it!
Just in this crisis of his doom,
The host, returning, sought the room,
And Sam no sooner heard his tread,

Than, pouncing on him like a bruin,

He almost shook him into ruin,
And with a shout of laughter said —
“ By gom, I have cotch'd thee now! so down
With cash for all, and my half-crown."
Off went the bandage, and his eyes

Seem'd to be goggling o'er his forehead,

While his mouth widen'd with a horrid Look of agonized surprise. “Gull !" roared his master—“Gudgeon! dunce ! Fool as you are, you 're right for once, 'Tis clear that I must pay the sum ;

But this one thought my wrath assuagesThat every halfpenny shall come

Out of your wages

ON THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE STUDIOUS. EVERY class of men have some characteristic amusements to which they are attached. What is relaxation to one, is probably labour to another. A weaver, or any other 6 rude mechanical,” when he wishes to divert himself, takes a walk, a mode of enjoyment quite alien to the Dotions of an unfortunate two-penny postman.

Amusement consists principally in the excitement which the mind experiences from a change of ideas; and it is on this account that we so frequently find men taking pleasure in pursuits which appear entirely foreign to their usual habits and occupations. Thus we see the bighest intellects delighting in trifles. Agesilaus diverting his children and himself with riding on a stick, and Scipio picking up shells on the sea-shore. This seems to be the reason why our poets do not carry their poetry into life, and why such a discrepancy exists between their biography and their verses. I need cite no instances, but for form's sake I will mention Young, who possessed nothing of that sombre character which appears in his poems.

Literary men, therefore, are often addicted to amusements which have nothing intellectual about them. Their object is to let their minds lie fallow, as a member of the agricultural committee would express himself: and they delight to abandon themselves to pleasures in which there is no waste of thought. Can any thing more completely childish be imagined than Dean Swift driving his friends the Sheridans before him through all the rooms of the deanery? So the continement and study which the learned are compelled to undergo make them feelingly alive to the beauties of Nature. Perhaps a happier man could not be found in the world than Pope, when he was walking in his garden and superintending its improvements. From the same cause many of our literary men, like Charles Fox, have been much attached to the sports of the field; while those whose occupations are of a more stirring and boisterous nature are often insensible of such pleasures. At first sight it appears singular that such a man as Sir Philip Sidney should bare disliked the sports of the chace, so fashionable too as they were in his day; and yet Osborn tells us that he used to say, that next to hunting he liked hawking worst. The gallant Lord Herbert of Cherbory also had a distaste for hunting. In those chivalrous times a knight was glad to leave the saddle.

The scholars of antiquity were a jovial race of men; hearty good fellows, who were fond of all the boisterous pleasures of life.

66 The most virtuous, grave, and honest men,” says Plutarch, “ use feasts, jests, and toys, as we do sauce to our meals. Even Socrates used to dance and sing. Scipio and Lælius, we know, were accustomed

6 discincti ludere donec

Decoqueretur olus." Mæcenas was fond of his sports; and if Virgil and Horace did not join in them, it was their infirmity which prevented them :

“ Lusum i: Mæcenas: dormitum ego Virgiliusque ;

Namque pila lippis inimicum, et ludere crudis." VOL. V. No. 25.–1823.

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