The goose driver stepped the ground, and Billy took aim for above ten minutes, when shutting both his eyes, lest the pan might flash in his sight, he snapped and missed fire-he took aim a second time, snapped and missed again. Borrowed Bob Tape's scissars, and hammered the flint-snapped and missed fire a third time-thought the Devil had got hold of the gun, examined her, found she was nei ther loaded nor primed. The goose driver refused to let Billy try again, so we gave him another sixpence, and he sold us a lame gander, which we placed about six yards, and taking a shot a-piece at him, killed him, and put him in Ned Thimb.e's cabbage net.

When we came in sight of the Swan, at Stockwell, we all run as hard as we could to see who should get in first, as we had settled to breakfast there. Unfortunately our guns being cocked, I made a stumble, and the trigger being touched by something, off went the piece, and lodged the contents in the body of a sucking pig that was crossing the road. The squeaking of the poor little animal roused the maternal affections of the sow, and set the fox

dog, the terrier, the Newfoundland bitch, and the mastiff, a barking. The noise of the sow, the pig, and the dogs, with the report of the gun, brought the people of the house, and indeed of the neighbourhood; and being threatened by one, and laughed at by another, we thought it best to buy the pig at four shillings, which we did, and having put it into Bob Tape's game bag, which by the bye was nothing but half a bolster tick, we made the best of our way to the Plough, at Clapham, where we had some cold buttock and ale for breakfast.

Tried all the Common round-beat every bush with the muzzle of our guns, set the dogs on the pigs, and found but one chaffinch, which was rather wild, not letting us come within

sight yards, so that we could not make sure of our bird. We hunted him from spray to spray for above an hour, without being able to get in a parallel line, so as to take sure aim, when at last he was killed by a little boy, who knocked him down with a stone. Bought him, and put him into the net with the goose.

Resolved to make for Blackheath; and so cut across the country, that we might get into the stubbles. Missed our road, and by some kind of circumbendibus, got into Brixton Causeway, where we asked if there were any birds in the neighbourhood. We were directed to a dead horse, where two ravens and several magpies were assembled-but they would not stay our arrival-for the moment they saw us they made off.

Our pig-carrying companion and our goose carrier, complained of the weight, so we took charge of the game by turn.

Hunted a weazel for above an hour, and lost him. The terrier was remarkably stanch.

Crossing a field near Camberwell, we thought we saw a covey of partridges on the side of a ditch-so we all made up to them with our guns cocked, tying the dogs to our legs, that they might not run in and spring the game.

What we thought to be a covey of partridges, proved to be a gang of gypsies, who were squatted under the hedge, peeling turnips and preparing potatoes for dinner. It was the mercy of God we did not fire on them, as all our pieces were up to our shoulders, and we had but one eye a piece open, when that which we took to be the old cock rose up, and said in a loud voice, "What the devil are ye about ?"

After many difficulties and but little sport, got by the direction of the gypsies into the Greenwich road, where being rather fatigued, we stopped at the Half-way house until a coach came by, when mounting the roof and the box, we were conveyed near Blackheath, to our unspeakable joy.

Never saw the Heath before-amazed at the

number of furze bushes, and the wide extent there is for game. Had an excellent chace leg. Kept close together for fear of losing after a jack-ass, which the mastiff tore in the'

each other.

a

Got down near a large round house, shot at flock of sparrows and killed one, which we think is a cock, his head being rather black.

Saw several brother sportsmen out, one who had killed nothing but a hedge-hog, and a tame jack-daw, which belonged to a publichouse at New-cross turnpike,

Got up to the main road-fired at a yellow hammer, and frightened the horses in the Dover stage. The guard threatened to shoot us, and we took to our heels.

Saw some black game flying very high. They looked for all the world like crows.

of fern. We were now sure this must be a The terrier came to a point at a thick bunch Covey of partridges, and we prepared accordingly. The mastiff run in, and brought out some of the young ones. It proved to be a nest of grass mice-took every one, and put them into the bolster. Grass mice were better than nothing.

Much fatigued, and agreed to shoot all the way home-fired off our guns at the foot of Greenwich hill, and were laughed at by the inhabitants-loaded them again and fired at a sheet of paper for half an hour, without putting a grain in it. Got to Smith's at dusk, and discharged our pieces in the air, before we went in-had something to eat and drink, then set off for the city, and squibbed our guns all the way as long as the powder lasted.

Got home much fatigued with the day's sport, and told a thousand lies about the birds we killed, and the presents we made of them; smoaked our pipes, and by twelve got to bed.

Satire.

TASTE.

Heyday! whence comes this crowd, that, Mor

pheus scorning,

Are up so soon, and move so brisk this morning?
Down Holborn, in unbroken stream they go,
All seeming bent to act in Eastward, ho!
While wond'ring thus what could possess the town,
An old acquaintance nearly ran me down:
A kindly soul enough, nay, one whose eye
When sorrow's tale is told, an't always dry:
He would have shunned me - but I call'd
out "Dick;"

The word arrested him--and turning quick,
Says he, "I'm glad to see ye;" but his face
Gave colder greetings, with more truth than grace.
What's this," cried I, quoth Dick, with trem-
bling tongue,

Four people are this morning to be hung !” But where go you, Dick?" "I! I'm always "there:"

The deuce you are!" said I, with rueful stare: "Yes, always, if I have it in my power; They're out at eight-and now 'tis near the hour."

Four human beings strangled! pray, for what? Murder perchance?" "No, forg'ry, and whatnot: Two females are to suffer for that crime; A sight there hasn't been a long, long time." Well, Sir," said I, as we approach'd Handcourt,

I'll not detain ye from such godlike sport." In grateful accents he pronounced “Good day!" ́And seem'd in running to devour his way. 1through Great Turnstile pass'd, in much less haste, And ponder'd, the varieties of Taste.

Scraps.

O. J.

INDIAN SUPERSTITION. In the citadel of Chunar, a post of great consequence on the Ganges, according to popular tradition, on the altar, which is a black marble slab, the Deity of the place is supposed to be seated at all times, except from sun-rise to nine in the morning, when he is said to be at Benares; and, conforming to the superstition of the natives, whenever the Europeans have attacked it in this supposed absence of the Deity, their attempts have been crowned with success.

Journal of Elizabeth Woodville, written by herself previous to her Marriage with Edward IV-Monday morning; rose at four to help Catherine milk the cows-at six 'o'clock, breakfasted-at seven o'clock, went wn to the court, with the Duchess, my

mother, and gave food to twenty-eight poor men, and as inany women-scolded Roger severely, for having discovered marks of discontent at our making him attend, and we let the dinner grow cold-at ten o'clock, dinner-John Grey, (Lord Grey) one who comes often to see us, a very good young man. But what is that to me? A good girl ought to give herself up entirely to the views and designs of her parents. Jobh is but a little cater; he casts many an affectionate glance at me. At three o'clock, the house of poor Robertson, reduced to ashes by an accident. John Grey proposed to the company to make a subscription for this poor ruined farmer, and himself gave five pounds sterling towards this good design.— Memorandum-He never appeared to me so amiable as at this moment: his looks were never so alècting. At four o'clock, prayers-at six, fed the poultry-at seven, supped; it was owing to Robertson's mishap that we supped so late.-What astonishing difference there is between the cha racter of the women of distinction of that age and that of the modern bon ton.

Cales.

THE MAID OF SWITZERLAND.

BY MISS ANNE BLOWER.

In a delightful vale near the lake of Geneva resided Madame de Clemengis and her daughter. Monsieur de Clemengis had been dead for some years. They had formerly shone in the politest circles of fashion in the metropolis of France, but having lost the greatest part of their fortune by a law-suit, and feeling how differently every thing appears when fortune no longer gilds the sceuc, they gladly retired from a situation that served only to remind them of the splendour of that from which they had fallen; and which, though it ceased to afflict them, they could not forbear sometimes re gretting. Possessed, however, of liberal minds, and hearts of the most lively sensibility, they soon found their retirement yielded pleasures more congenial to their dispositions than those they had so long blindly engaged in. They found sufficient resources from satiety or disgust by the education of their daughter, whose birth happened soon after their arrival in Swit zerland. Occupied in this pleasing employment, they felt their pleasures increase in proportion as each year added to the graces of her person, or unfolded the beauties of her mind. But this tranquil felicity, this temperate enjoyment of happiness, was destined, like every thing sublunary, to be disturbed. Mons. de Clemeng, was fond

of herbalising he had formed a pretty extensive herbal, which his greatest delight was to increase: it had almost become a passion with him.

One day amusing himself in his accustomed manner with wandering in search of plants to enrich his collection, he reached the summit of a mountain, on one side of which yawned a frightful precipice. Un fortunately, Mons. de Clemengis in looking downward discovered a plant he had long been in search of; happy in having at length found it, and eager for the possession, he stretched forth his hand and leaned part of his body over to seize it, when a piece of the rock giving way he fell in. Imagine, if possible, the grief, the unulterable an guish, of Madame de Clemengis on becoming acquainted with the dreadful accident; with the most ardent feelings. tenderly attached to a husband who adored her, and who merited all her foudness-in that dreadfai moment, when clasping her daughter to ber bosom convulsed with anguish she bewailed the fate of her husband!-in that moment, when reason itself seems to yield its place to the acuter feelings of our nature and the tyranny of the passions;-what bat the aid of religion the most pure, and philosophy the most solid, could have susLined and subdued a mind so tried! Julia, though old enough to feel acutely her loss, yet was of that age when sorrow remains not long an inmate; a girl of twelve years of age, though capable of feeling strongly, has too little reflection long to retain melancholy impressions. Julia, her own grief somewhat meliorated, helped to alleviate the pangs of her mother, and by degrees her affliction subsided into a calm but lasting regret. Time, though it could not obliterate, yet softered her sorrow. More than ever attached to her solitude, since death had deprived her of him who alone could make society pleasing to her, she devoted herself to the education of her daughter, who seemed destined to console her for what she had lost in her father. In the bosom of innocence their days glided on in a happy obscurity, undisturbed by the vicis situdes of hope or the languors of disappointment. Oh, happy state of serenity and repose! let the gay and ambitious who glide along the stream of pleasure, or swell with the tide of fortune, containn thee! They who have felt the mutability of her smiles know how to value thee.

One evening as they were taking their accustomed walk, Madame de Clemengis somewhat wearied, proposed resting herself on the foot of a tree that grew at the foot of a mountain, to which Julia aceeding they seated themselves, and with rapture nspeakable surveyed the romantic country around them, whose wild beauties height

ened by the gloom which the evening shades cast over them, gave those sweet transports, that soft enthusiasm, which the true sublime ever produces; it is then the heart feels itself expand, and the eyes are involuntarily suffused with tears excited by those delightful sensations. Nature, always wonderful, sometimes stupendous, certainly no where displays more magnificence than in the noble extravagancies of this land of liberty. Julia, soon refreshed, prompted by curiosity, ascended the mountain in order to yew the adjacent country whilst her mother remained seated. She had scarcely gained the summit when she heard a noise, and, turning her head, perceived two persons struggling with each other; a moment afterwards one fell, when the other sitting his knee on him that was fallen pointed a pistol to his breast. Julia, shocked and terrified, ran, or rather flew down the hill to. her mother, but so much agitated that unable to relate what she had seen, she could only intreat her to cali to Ambrose (an honest Swiss, their domestic) who was at some little distance from them. Ambrose in an instant appeared; when beckoning him to follow her she flew to the spot; but how was she dismayed, when she beheld only one of the two she had seen who was extended on the earth apparently lifeless. Madame de Clemeng's, astonished at the wildness in her daughter's manner, had followed, and now came up. On perceiving the object before them, she was almost as much terrified as Julia, but speedily recollecting herself, she examined the body and perceived he was not dead, nor had sustained any material injury, but was only stunned with the violence of the blow he had received. She immediately ordered Ambrose to run home and fetch proper things to recover him. Remedies being applied he soon recovered, and with the assistance of Ambrose he was led to their dwelling. In their way the stranger endeavoured to express his gratitude for the tenderness and benevolence of his unknown benefactors; but Madame de Clemengis intreated him not to ascribe so much merit to an ordinary act of humanity. “Ah, Madame, (said be) it is not the action, but the manner in which it is performed, that stamps the obligation."

By this time they were at home, and the lights gave them an opportunity of seeing each other more clearly. The stranger ap peared struck with the beauty and grace of Julia, whilst she seemed equally surprised and pleased with his air and person, which was graceful in the extreme. Madame de Clemengis, more astonished than either, could not help repeatedly looking at him as one whose person was familiar to her.

He was now put to bed, and by the skill and care of Madame de Clemengis, whose

66

kowledge of medicine was considerable, he was soon perfectly recovered. He then informed thein he was a native of France, and by what means he came into that unFortunate situation they had rescued him from. I certainly," said he, in some measure deserved the severe accident met with, since it was partly occasioned by my own imprudence, But I know not how to feel that regret I ought for having committed a folly, since it has been productive of such happy consequences as introducing me to you, Ladies, or rather beings whose benignity would almost make it pardonable in me to imagine myself in the regions of Fairy lard, and myself some highly favoured prince conversing with the good genii of the mountains." Madame de Clemengis smiled at this gallant rhapsody, and he proceeded : it was my design to make the tour of Italy, and I travelted as far as Avignon in the usual manner, when the whim seized me of pursuing my journey through Switzerland on foot. At the former place I took leave of the Marquis de Valmont, who had accompanied me."-Madame de Clemengis started when the stranger mentioned the name of the Marquis de Valmont, something suggested an idea in her mind. She inquired if he was related to the Marquis: he replied, "He is my father, Madam." Good heaven !" exclaimed Madame de Clemengis, "What is it I see Do I behold a nephew of Mons. de Clemen ris:" "Monsieur de Clemengis!" reitefared he, Ah, Madam, is it possible! Do I flatter myself when I think I see in the charming objects now before me those nearly connected with that uncle of whose fate every one is ignorant? How fortuhate am I in this unexpected_rencontre.” Madame de Clemengis embraced with transport a nephew of her unfortunate husband's; and he, equally charmed, beheld with pleasure, his new relations. Equally pleased with each other, Valmont continued with them long after the restoration of his health had left him without that plea for delaying his departure. Fond of the society of Madame de Clemengis, whose company was as pleasing as her character was amiable, and becoming every day more enamoured of Julia, he would willingly have continued still longer with them had he not been apprehensive his father would be offended at his not pursuing his tour.

Madame de Clemengis could not but perceive the growing attachment of both for each other, yet relying on the prudence of Julia and the honor of Valmont, she did not discourage their passion. Valmont, unreserved and open in the extreme in every other part of his conduct, was by no means explicit on this: though his very Book spoke a language that might be con

strued into an avowal of love, yet his tongue was silent, nor did any thing escape his lips which could amount to a declaration of love. Obliged at length to depart, he took his leave of them without declaring his sentiments, but with an expression of grief and poignant distress, as unfeigned as touching, which penetrated the tender suscep tible bosom of Julia, and gave an additional strength to a passion tool deeply rooted. Soon after his departure Madame de Clemengis.received a letter from him, in which he lamented his absence from them as the severest affiction, and looked back with the fondest regret to those moments of exquisite pleasure he had enjoyed in their presence. Impatient to see them again, he was more eager to finish his tour than he had been to commence it: and he hoped by the next spring to be able to return, when he should hasten to throw himself at their feet.”.

Julia was delighted with this assurance of the certainty of seeing him again, but inwardly mourned the tedious months that must elapse ere she should have that satisfaction. The time to her dragged heavily along before the spring returned. At length it approached: Madame de Clemengis saw with concern how much she was interested in the hope of seeing Valmont. Fearful of the consequences of a passion which already appeared so powerful, she trembled for her daughter whose susceptibility exposed her to such severity of affliction, should she suffer a disappointment which Valmont's ambiguity rendered not an impossibility.

Filled with anxiety for her daughter, she saw him arrive with a concern and embarrassment she could not wholly suppress; but the candour and ingenuousness of Valmont's manners soon dissipated those fears a tender mother's solicitude had suggested: for such was the prevailing integrity and openness of his deportment that suspicion filed from his presence; and it was impossible when with him to doubt his truth for a moment. From this pleasing trait in his character he never failed to attach those around him. Madame de Clemengis felt the affection of a mother for him, and might be said, indeed, to have the prejudices of one too; she made a thousand apologies for his mysterious conduct without falling upon the true one.

Happy in again seeing him, Julia was all spirit and gaiety; but there soon followed a visible alteration: instead of joy and pleasure, she seemed oppressed with a sadness and melancholy she could not shake off. Valmont too appeared gloomy and reserved; he lost his openness and vivacity. Madame de Clemengis was unable to ac count for this change in the disposition of both, but Valmont, disclosing the situation of his heart, soon made her acquainted with

the cause. After subduing the sensations of grief, which seemed to rise with such force as almost to suppress the power of utterance, he said, "I am going, before I leave you, (which will not be long first) to open to you a heart, which, though erring, is not wholly depraved, a heart that feels severely the contumely I merit for the duplicity of my conduct. I am sensible I hazard the loss of that esteem and regard you have honoured me with, and which is dearer to me than my life, by disclosing to you how little I deserve it. Culpable, however, as I am in my own eyes, my heart is clear from the turpitude of premedi: tated baseness. I was compelled at an early age by an austere and absolute father in order to gratify his ambition, to marry a woman whom I could neither love nor esteem; whose temper as unamiable her person, soon obliged me to separate from her. Thus become single, though in wedlock, I seemed to forget my bondage, and almost persuaded myself I was wholly freed from the shackles of a forced union. But, alas! by a circumstance that makes it doubly insupportable, I am roused to the cruel reflection that I still wear the iron chains forged by that hated marriage."

(To be continued.)

THE CHAPTER OF LOGIC.

as

An Eton stripling, training for the law,
A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw,
One happy Christmas laid upon the shelf,
His cap and gown, and store of learned pelf,
With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
To spend a fortuight at his uncle's home.
Arriv'd, and pass'd the usual how d'ye do's,
Inquiries of old friends, and College news-
"Well, Tom, the road--What saw you worth

discerning!

"And how goes study? What is it you're

learning!

"Oh, logic, Sir, but not the common rules

"Of Lock and Bacon-antiquated fools;

66

"That wit and learning should have no reward; To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross, "And there I'll give thee"-"What?"-" My chesnut horse;"

"A horse!" quoth Tom-'blood, pedigree, and paces!

"Oh what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"To bed he went, and wept for downright sorrow, To think the night must pass before the morrow, Dreamt of his boots and spurs, and leather breeches,

His hunting whips, and leaping rails and ditches į Left his warm rest an hour before the lark,

Dragg'd his old uncle fasting through the park,

Each craggy vale he scours,-quite at a loss,
To find out something like a chesnut horse;
But no such animal the meadow cropt;
At length beneath a tree Sir Peter stopt,
And took a bough, shook it, and down there fell,
A fine horse-chesnut in its prickly shell.

"There Tom, take that !"-Well, Sir, and what beside ?"

!

"I tell you, Tom, the chesnut is a horse! “And all the horse you'll get, for I can show, "As clear as sunshine, that 'tis really so. "Not by the musty, fusty, worn out rules "Of Locke and Bacon-addle-headed fools "All maxims but the wrangler's I disown, "And stick to one sound argument alone, "Since you have proved to me I don't deny, "That a pie-John's the same as a John-pie; "What follows, then, but, as a thing of course, 66 That a horse-chesnut is a chesnut horse."

Thoughts.

FRIENDSHIP.-Friendship is a noble sentiment, her source is pure; it comes from the heart. The ancients, so ingenious in their emblems, gave this device to friendship,-" Near

see,

I'll prove at once, as plain as A B C,

all seasons are alike to her; and that she sweetens the first, as well as the last, hours of our existence. La petit La Bruyere,

SELF-LOVE. God has implanted in our hearts a salutary propensity to distinguish ourselves, and toil for glory; it is self-love: when pure, it is the spring of heroism and ge nius; but man, corrupted man, abuses that precious gift; changes and debases its nature, gives it a vain and frivolous airu, and perverts it into pride.-Theatre d' Education, Agar.

HAPPINESS. Do you wish for happiness? --Enjoy what you possess without consuming life in vain expectations; learn to be patien