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Aged 85.

He married ELLEN JANE, Daughter of the Very Reverend Dr. Woodhouse, Dean of this Cathedral; Who, with two Infant Daughters, ELLEN JANE, and MARIANNE,

Survived him.

We extract the above from the Lichfield Mercury, to make known to the readers in our circle the existence of a piece of sculpture in Lichfield, which has excited the universal admiration of the patrons of the Fine Arts in the metropolis. Placed in the Royal Exhibition beside the productions of CANOVA, Mr. CHANTREY ably stood his ground, and more than divided the general notice even of connoisseurs. Prose cannot so well describe the effect, as the following tasteful lines from the Sheffield Iris :—

Soft, as when faintly from the evening sky, The rainbow steals, and bitter tempests

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And fix'd on HEAV'N thine unreverted eye! Oh! mark'd from birth, and nurtur'd for the skies!

In youth, with more than learning's wisdom, wise!

As sainted martyrs, patient to endure! Simple as unwean'd infancy, and pure! Pure from all stain, (save that of human clay,

Which CHRIST'S atoning blood hath wash'd away)!

By mortal suff'rings now no more oppress'd, Mount, sinless Spirit, to thy destin'd rest! While I-revers'd our nature's kindlier doom

Pour forth a Father's sorrows on thy tomb!

Humour.

A HINT TO PEDESTRIANS. NOW that the political world has become comparatively barren of intelligence, we cannot but take into consideration the numerous classes of our countrymen, who are in want of the usual topics of conversation. The world, it is true, is not yet in so settled a condition, but that topics of this kind still remain, particularly for the regular quidnunes.

But there is one particular set of persons, for whose colloquial comforts, knowing them not to be overflowing at any time, we have always felt a more than ordinary solicitude, and for whom we cannot but be in pain just now, especially as during the late bustle of events they appear to have been put into a vivacious condition quite unknown to them previously, and the stimulus of which they must very sensibly miss. We allude to those, who from being a good deal out of doors are in the habit of meeting their friends in the street, and of being obliged to stop and say something. These gentlemen, from the burning of Moscow down to the entry of the Allied Monarchs into Paris, were observed to have been gifted with a very unusual spirit of inter

locution. They met, not as heretofore, with a sort of unnatural look between ardour and despondency, and an attitude prepared to take advantage of the first moment of escape. They recognized each other with eagerness as persons who had probably heard the first news,-shook hands with cordiality as if they had not seen each other for forty-eight hours, and proceeded to breathless enquiries respecting the news. Well-what's the latest?-who beats? In vain they had sisters, mothers, and wives to ask after; in vain there might be a cough on one side, and an inquisitive megrim on the other; in vain (almost) the east wind came piping through the shrugging collars of their coats for days together;---the wind was put aside, like an impertinent fellow,--the disease was surmounted for the time being,---Mrs. and the Miss Wilkins were exploded.

The world however now having resumed in some degree its old modes of proceeding, and news coming only in a quiet way as formerly, the chancemeeters are again at a loss; and if the weather be at all decent, and they happen not to have seen each other over night, so as to be furnished with inquiries as to how they got home, and whether Miss Watson found her glove or her parasol, are obliged to put up with that ancient formula, which may be called the Englishman's Dialogue. It is scarcely necessary to repeat a catechism so well known; but as we do not remember to have seen it transcribed, and malicious foreigners have a trick of misrepresenting our commonest habits, we shall record it here to prevent mistakes. The initials usual on imaginary occasions, A and B, we shall take the liberty, for the better vitality of the discourse, and that no injustice be done it, to translate into Adams and Brooks.

A. (Advancing as if he could not help it.) How d'ye do, Brooks.

B. Very well, thank'ee; how do you do?

A. Very well, thank'ee; Mrs. Brooks well?

B. Very well, I'm much obliged t'ye. Mrs. Adams and the children well, I hope? A. Quite well, thank'ee.

(Here Brooks having to speak next, gives his neckcloth a twist and looks about a little; Adams in pain for his friend doing so likewise, or if he has a lucky switch in his hand, twirling the end of it upon his shoe.)

B. Rather pleasant weather to day. A. Yes, but it was cold in the morning. B. Yes, but we must expect that at this time o'year.

(Another brief pause,---neckcloth twisted and switch twirled.)

A. Seen Smith lately?

B. No,---I can't say I have. (This can't say is a very characteristic phrase in English discourse, implying that the speaker prefers truth even to the comfort of having an answer to give, and that he wishes to Heaven he could say it. The question above put is a painful one to Brooks, because it seems to throw upon him the responsibility of having ideas; but he luckily recollects, that if he has not seen Smith, he has seen Thompson.)--Brooks in continuation.. But I have seen Thompson.

A. Indeed---and how is he!
B. Very well, thank'ee.

A. I'm glad of it.---Well,--good morning.

B. Good morning.

Here it is always observed, that the speakers, having taken leave, walk faster than usual for some hundred yards; and lucky is he who has a corner to turn down, and can begin, as it were, afresh, in another street.

The triumph which some persons in other countries,-such as Madame de STAEL, for instance, and the French in general,-feel over us in these instances, cannot be concealed. Madame de STAEL probably never knew the extent to which our dullness could be carried in streetconversations, as she was most likely avoided with great watchfulness out of doors by all who were conscious of this deficiency in small shot;---but she may have had a glimpse of it in those teaparties which she describes in one of her works, and which she never suspected perhaps to be more silent than usual on account of the singularity of her own appearance among them. The French in general, who can talk as fluently of a ribbon as of a great man, and the dullest of whom have a way of filling up the crannies and gapings of conversation with gestures that look as if they had a meaning, would desire nothing better than the above discourse to set them laughing victoriously for two or three hours. We remember a French emigrant, now dead, who had been a professor in one of the universities, and who was perhaps as dull a person, when you came

to sheer collision of mind, as ever existed;--yet you could not meet him in the street, or taking an evening's walk in the field, but what with grinning, bowing, muttering, ahaing, and saying what he had to say with an air of vivacity, he left an impression upon you that he had really been saying something; whereas the whole of his questions and answers, if translated into good idiomatic English, would have amounted to about as much as the above conversation.

Yet perhaps these very English encounterers, who have nothing to say in the street, would bring up infinite subject of discourse when they found themselves pleasantly and for some time together, particularly if there were no coxcombical persons present to disturb their sense of the comfortable.

What we would advise therefore to all such persons as are conscious that the dialogue above mentioned is their own case, is to recollect, that though a great deal of news, of a particular description, is gone by, there remains, and most probably ever will remain, enough of a truly interesting kind, and such as may fall in with their best and most English feelings, to stand them instead of the recollection of friends at home, and fill up the little pauses of conversation.

The ladies of course, we cannot think of displacing; but must request, that they be confined as much as possible to wives, mothers, and sisters. Those in a state of courtship, it is not necessary to advise about; as the English, agreeably to their solid sense of the delicate and the happy, are not fond of making them subjects for every passing discourse.

A LETTER FROM A COUNTRY FARMER
TO HIS FRIENDS IN LONDON.
Dated Gubbins's Farm, Sept. 1818.
COUSINS, I hope this finds ye well-

Quite well, I hope and trust:
How soon, as Parson Red-nose says,
Death crumbles us to dust!

Myself am well in health, thank God!
Yea, grow quite plump and tub-ish;
But, ah, the flesh hath many sins-
'Tis but a pack o' rubbish!
Having this burning summer o'er,
And gather'd in my cropping,
Says I, I'll to my friends in town
A line or two be dropping,

"Just axing how they do, and so,
To keep my hand in tune."-
Would'st think it, cousins?—I ant mudded
Paper sin last June!

Ah! I was once a school-boy, and

Was thought a clever ninny; But now, for want of practice, I

Can bearly spell a "guinney."

Mem. When shall we have gold again,
In payment for our grains?
D'ye know, I like the guineas better
Than your sover-rains?

I do, I've got a thousand an'em,
Good as ever went;

God bless the king! again God bless him!
That's my sentiment.

O what a summer, dear how hot!

My herbage all was undone; I never saw the like I'm sure;

As't been as hot in London?

My wheat,-how good it is t' year,
My beaus-ah! burnt up-famish'd!
As to my hay, alack-a-day!

It very much was damag'd.

My oats-yes, I may shake my head,
No profit to the grower ;—
Pray, cousins, can ye tell me when
The taxes will be lower?

I wish, with all my heart, they'd take it
In their heads to flit;

Or else that they would be so good,
To stoop a little bit.

D'ye know the coachman? him who swears,
And squints and has but one eye?
Ha, ha, a civil man-he tells

A hundred stories funny.

If thou art frozen stiff with care,
I warrant he can thaw ye:
Meet him to-morrow night at six,
He's got a parcel for you.

Some butter, and some bottles of

Real catsup, with some age in't ;A goose, some eggs-a couple of ducks, And a cheese with a little sage in't.

The which I hope ye will accept,
They haply may remind ye,
That ye have left at Gubbins's farm,
Some loving friends behind ye.

P.S. My daughter likes her dress,
My wife, she loves her tea;
And John, he learns the poet-book,
And so they all agree.

I'm very grateful too, but I

Of feelings make no crack 0;
I wish you'd send me by return,
A pound of shag-tobacco.

P. S. I almost had forgot,
To tell you that our parson
Met with a serus accident,
As he rode out his ass on.

Ha, ha! the crupper pinch'd, and so
Ned threw up's legs behind;
Whiz o'er his head the parson went,
Up-tossing in the wind.

feet long, various temples, a barrack for soldiers (the columns of which are scribbled with their names and jests) and stocks for prisoners, in one of which a skeleton was likewise discovered. The principal streets are about 16 feet wide; the subordinate ones from 6 to 10 feet.

AN INGENIOUS ESCAPE FROM ·

PRISON.

THE following is a good story, says the American paper from which we copy it,

And lost,―lost what? two goodly things, whether true or not:-A gentleman from

As you shall quickly see:

He lost his cauliflower wig,
Eke his philosophy.

What, nothing else? No; nothing else,

So there warn't much the matter; He mought been kill'd,-we all must go, The sooner or the later.

P. S. My wife is lame, bless God,

But hope she'll soon be better; My sow and pigs are passing well, So's he who writes this letter.

P.S. Says I to my old dame, "I'll lay sixteen to ten,

That we shall see, ere spring comes round,
Our Loudon friends again:"

And so I hope we shall: till then,
God keep ye from care's drubbings;
And so farewell, God bless you all,
From yours, Matthew Gubbins.

Miscellanies.

ВЕРРО.

RUINS OF POMPEII.---The streets of the city of Pompeii are said to be daily disincumbered. Mr. Williams, a late traveller, informs us, that he entered by the Appian way through a narrow street of small tombs, beautifully executed, with the names of the deceased plain and legible. At the gate was a sentry box, in which the skeleton of a soldier was found with a lamp in his hand. The streets are lined with public buildings, the painted decorations of which are fresh and entire. There were several tradesmen's shops also discovered, such as a baker's, an oilman's, an ironmonger's, a wine shop, with money in the till, and a surgeon's house, with chirurgical instruments. Also a great theatre, a temple of justice, an amphitheatre, 220

Boston relates the following singular affair, which he says happened just before he left that place. A person had been taken up, and committed to prison, for passing counterfeit bills. Shortly afterwards, a negro was taken up for some crime, and confined in the same room; but was taken sick and died. Next day a coffin was provided, and the body of the deceased deposited in it. As people of colour are generally interred in the evening, by those of their own complexion, the coffin was suffered to remain till night in the room with the money-maker. After the jailor and those who accompanied him had left the room, he bethought himself the present would be a favorable opportunity to make his escape, and thereby avoid punishment. The wicked do not so much care what are the means, if they can accomplish their de signs. When all was still and safe, he took the corpse out of the coffin, and placed it in his own hammock, got into it himself, and turned the lid down carefully as before. In this situation he lay, anxiously yet fearfully waiting the moment when he should be liberated from his loathsome confinement. In the evening, the coffin was taken from the prison room by four lusty negroes, appointed for that purpose, and solemnly conveyed to the burying ground. When they arrived at the grave, the coffin was set down with great care, and one of them was about to make a speech upon the death of their companion. Scarcely had he time to utter one word, before the lid of the coffin flew open, and the money maker jumped up and made his escape; while the poor negroes, affrighted almost to distraction, ran with great violence in every direction, screaming " De debil, de debil, de debil!" The mistake was not discovered till the next day, and the person has not been heard of since.

L

Scraps.

THE COCKNEY.

MY friend happened to be in an Innyard, in a Town about ten miles from London, on a fine Sunday, when a person entered, answering to the following description. He wore a blue coat, black silk waistcoat, and white duck trowsers, which had been riding as well as their master, and had arrived at the top of a pair of short vilainton boots, to which were buckled a pair of plated spurs. He came into the yard at a jog-trot, on a large lumbering grey mare; with the doubled bridle gathered altogether in his left-hand, a long horse-whip in his right, his legs and knees nearly hiding the stirrup leathers, and his feet at right angles with the sides of the horse. When he reached the top of the yard, the following dialogue ensued :--

COCKNEY. (While in the act of descending, rather than dismounting.) "Ostler!" ÖSTLER. "Yes, Sir!"

C. "Put my horse in-doors, and give him a feed of Oats."

0. "A feed of Corn, Sir? yes, Sir, how much would you like him to have, Sir?"

C. (With a ludicrous mixture of hesitation and confidence, which nobody but Liston could imitate.) O!---give him the usual quantity.

0.

C. tity."

"How much, Sir?"

"I say, give him the usual quan

O. (With a wicked smile lurking about the corners of his mouth, and his eye cast up to my friend.)---Perhaps you'd like him to have a bushel, Sir !"

C. (Impatiently.)---"Yes! yes!--to be sure. I tell you, give him the usual quantity."

DESCRIPTION OF A DEVONSHIRE COTTAGE.

I rent a Cottage on the Southern Coast of Devonshire, which is white fronted, and decorated with roses all the year round. I grow my own lettices, and play a rubber twice a week. Thank Heavens! Stage Coaches do not pass my door every hour,---and my Cottage is not near a Market-town. My neighbours consist of a Shooting Parson,---an ill

tempered Maiden Lady, who keeps a School,---an ungrammatical Surgeon,and his Son, who has literally walked the hospitals,---one Gentleman,---three Jilts, and a half-pay Lieutenant. My Taxes are moderate.

THE STORM,

A Night Piece, after SALVATOR ROSA,

FROM THE GERMAN.

THE Night is dark and lowering,--a black cloud passes through the hot sky,vapours rise from the heath,---the waning moon, pale and melancholy, disappears. Suddenly she shines through the parting clouds---a solitary star twinkles beneath the murky veil --- Lightnings, flashing mid the sky, reveal its misty shapes--Far off rolls the hollow thunder. Every thing sighs beneath the wrath of the tempest-breeding sky. The Bat flutters round. Hark! the tempest bursts! ---fiercely it bends the tops of the trembling trees, blustering among their scattered leaves,--great drops of rain fall heavy from the sky. See the lightning, how it dazzles! Hark!-how it rustles !---Almighty Warder of the Clouds, how great is thy beauty in the tempest !

--

Loud and hollow rolls the distant ocean,---woe to the Mariner who sails on its midnight wave! The wind-god will seize him, will sink him, with his wooden refuge, in the abyss of the howling wave.---No kindly star lights him to the shore. In vain his young wife awaits him,---in vain she looks for the morning star; a black cloud conceals it. Yonder it glimmers weak in the east,---the first dim presage of the dawn! delay not, welcome messenger, haste and dispel the dark phantoms of the night.

Sonnets.

BY LORD BYRON. Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb,

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom. And oft by yon blue gushing stream,

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream;

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