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scent from a schoolmaster in Norwich The father of the Bishop of Durham was a shopkeeper in London. The Bishops of Winchester and Chester boast no nobler lineage than belongs to the sons of an under-master at Harrow. Bishop Burgess, as all the world knows, is the son of that illustrate citizen with whose excellent fish-sauce civilized men are generally well acquainted; while his Lordship of Exeter dates his parentage through a long line of hereditary innkeepers in the town of Gloucester. Besides these, we have the Bishop of Bristol, the son of a silversmith in London; the Bishop of Bangor, the son of a schoolmaster in Wallingford; the Bishop of Llandaff, whose father was a country clergyman; with many others, whom it were superfluous to enumerate. Lincoln, St. Asaph, Ely, Peterborough, Gloucester, all spring from the middling classes of society.

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THE best echoes are produced by parallel walls. At a villa near Milan, there extend two parallel wings about fifty-eight paces distant from each other, and the surfaces of which are unbroken either by doors or windows. The sound of the human voice, or rather a word quickly pronounced, is repeated above forty times, and the report of a pistol from fifty to sixty times. The repetitions, however, follow in such rapid succession that it is difficult to reckon them, unless early in the morning before the equal temperature of the atmosphere is disturbed, or in a calm still evening. Dr. Plot mentions an echo in Woodstock Park, which repeats seventeen syllables by day and twenty by night. An echo on the north side of Shipley church, in Sussex, repeats twenty-one syllables.

There is also a remarkable echo in the venerable abbey church of St. Albans.

THE PRIESTS OUTWITTED.

KING Joam of Portugal, in one of his public edicts, with the view of recruiting his cavalry, ordered all his subjects to be in readiness to furnish excellent warhorses. The churchmen pleaded their immunities, and some of them went so far as to say that they were not his subjects, but those of the pope. Whereupon Joam loudly asserted that he had never regarded them as subjects; and by another ordinance he forbade all smiths and farriers to shoe their mules and horses, they being no subjects—a measure which soon compelled them to submit.

DIET OF BYRON AND SHELLEY.

THE reason for Byron's abstemiousness was a very different one from Shelley's. Shelley's frugality arose from a desire to render his intellect the more clear; but Byron, like George IV., was horrified at the idea of getting fat; and to counteract his tendency to corpulency, mortified his epicurean propensities. Hence he dined four days in the week on fish and vegetables; and had even stinted himself, when I last saw him, says Medwin in the Athenæum, to a pint of claret. He succeeded, it is true, in overmastering nature, and clipping his rotundity of its fair proportions; but with it shrunk his

cheek and his calf. This the fair Guiccioli observed, and seemed by no means to admire.

66 THE GIFT OF THE GAB." THE common fluency of speech in many men, and most women, is owing to a scarcity of matter and of words; for whoever is master of a language, and has a mind full of ideas, will be apt in speaking to hesitate on the choice of both; whereas common speakers have only one set of ideas, and one set of words to clothe them in, and these are always ready, and at the tongue's end. So people come faster out of a public place when it is almost empty, than when a crowd is at the door."

A Manufacturer from Scotland, when on a visit, a short time since, to one of his best customers, an alderman in London, could not conceal his surprise at the number of his host's servants. He wondered how a man of business could keep up such an establishment, and turning to his entertainer, inquired in an under tone--"I say, Mr., are a' those chaps in the plush breeks y'er ain?" B. Q. T.

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FOR THE

A TALE

DISCONTENTED. (For the Parterre).

POPE has beautifully said, that every man is happy while engaged in his favourite pursuit; that even the fool is happy because his stock of knowledge is limited to what it is; and yet, strange paradox! all men are grumblers. The merchant freights a vessel for a foreign country, and after months of anxiety to its owner, the noble craft returns from a prosperous voyage: then does the man of business shake his head, and regret the loss of the insurance he paid at Lloyd's. The married man who, two years since took to himself a young and beautiful wife without dower, utters a sigh of discontent as he sees the name of a schoolfellow among the list of marriages in the newspaper-" Married, at St. George's, Hanover-square, by the very Rev. the Dean of GS-, Esq. to Anne, only daughter of the late Sir Richard etc. etc. The news is gall and wormwood to the reader, and his envy only subsides a little upon hearing that the bride is "very plain." The young heir pants for the day that shall hail him twenty-one, and release him

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from the trammels of his guardian; and the guardian himself sighs for the days that are gone, and growls his uneasiness at the approach of age and its infirmities. All men are grumblers; none seem to value the opinion of the Latin poet, who says, that contentment is the nearest approach which mortals can expect to make towards happiness.

Many years ago, Mr. B- was one of the most flourishing West India merchants in Broad-street, London. He married early in life, and in the course of five years his wife brought him three daughters. Just after the birth of his third child, the death of his wife's uncle, a rich old bachelor, so increased his means, that he at once gave up business and retired into Hertfordshire, where he purchased an estate, and might have lived happily-but, he was a grumbler. He wished for a son; and when fourth daughter was presented to him by his affectionate wife, he complained bitterly that she had not brought him a boy to perpetuate the family name. Always restless and ambitious, Mr. Bbegan to feel tired of a country life, and occasionally visited London. He engaged in several speculations, which proved unsuccessful, and tended to sour

a

his temper; and when his wife again threatened to add to his family, he told her, with much asperity, that he would never acknowledge the infant unless it were a boy.

An incident shortly occurred, which, though it would have had its full effect upon vulgar minds, might, notwithstanding, have led the father to reflect on the absurdity as well as brutality of the determination he had expressed to his unoffending wife. A party of friends had arrived at Mr. B-'s mansion on a visit, and one day taking a walk before dinner, they strolled along a shady lane in the neighbourhood, and came upon an encampment of gipsies. Of course the ladies had their good or ill fortune predicted, and the sybil who thus read their destinies reaped a plentiful harvest. She was a wretched looking old hag, with scarcely a tooth in her head, and had been for many years totally blind. At the earnest entreaty of her friends, Mrs. B—was persuaded to hear the decree of fate from the lips of the gipsy. Drawing her wedding-ring from her finger, the lady tendered her hand to the beldame, while her husband looked on with a sneer. "Madam," mumbled the hag, as she received in her shriveled hand the long white fingers of the lady, you are married, I find; you have not deceived me by taking off your ring." "We know that already, mother," said Mr. B-, pettishly; "be quick, and tell us something of the future." Then turning to his wife-"Ellen, I am ashamed of this foolery." "My dear George, it is only a frolic, you know,' said his wife, endeavouring to mollify her husband's temper, which she perceived was beginning to manifest itself. "Be quick, then," muttered the husband; "I don't like these vagabonds." 'Lady," said the gipsy, addressing Mrs. B-, " you will shortly bear a son.' The words startled both husband and wife, but neither of them spoke. The beldame continued "Ay, you will have a son, surely, and he will grow to be a fine lad, and clever, and the like; but he will love dicing, and drinking, and-ah, madam! I had a son once".

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"He was hung," would probably have terminated the sentence; but Mr. B-interrupted the oracle, and threatening to put the whole pack of gipsies into the stocks, hurried his wife away, with many reproaches for her wickedness, as he termed it, in listening to the absurd mouthing of an old hag.

Mrs. B- a few weeks after gave birth

to a fourth child, and the joy of her husband was boundless, as he found himself the father of a beautiful boy; his illtemper no longer manifested itself, he appeared a totally altered man. Numer

ous

were the visits of congratulation which he received, and his house was a scene of gladness and hospitality for many days together.

Time rolled on, and the infant grew apace; but ere he had cast aside his petticoats, he began to shew symptoms of a perverse and untractable disposition, and by the time he had reached the age of twelve, he was cordially hated by every servant in the house, and every body in the neighbourhood. Mischief was his delight, and he would have his frolic, though it gave pain to others; a sufficient proof, if no other exists, of a depraved and insensible heart. This proneness to mischief at length led to a tragical occurrence. Master Edward had a favourite pony, which his father had presented to him on his birth-day, to the great alarm and chagrin of the cottagers in the neighbourhood, whose pigs and poultry he was continually hunting in all directions. He had been engaged in this amiable employment one morning, and was returning home on his pony, when he thought proper to enter a field, the long grass of which was just ready for the scythe of the mower. He galloped round the field, then to and fro, across and back again, until he had left scarcely a square yard of grass standing up-right. His freak was not unobserved; and ere he could escape from the scene of his exploit, the farmer confronted him with a good hazel rod, which he applied without ceremony to the back of the mischievous urchin.

Mr. B- saw with surprise the spoilt-boy return home weeping bitterly, and on inquiring the cause, vowed to be revenged upon the man who had presumed to chastise his child. Ordering his horse to be immediately saddled, he rode off to the farm-house. High words ensued, and might have terminated in blows, but for the entrance of the farmer's son, a young lieutenant in the Navy, who of course took part with his father. Mr. B's ire was now provoked to the highest pitch, and he applied an offensive epithet to the young sailor, who immediately resented it by a blow, which laid the complaining party prostrate. Farther hostilities were prevented by the servants, but the squabble did not terminate here. Mr. Bhad scarcely reached home burning with

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rage and mortification, when he re-
ceived a challenge from the Lieutenant.
Mr. B- now began to reflect, and
although no coward, he shrunk from the
meeting; but, like many others in a si-
milar situation, he dreaded the sneers of
his acquaintance if he refused to fight.
He thought too of his son, whose wanton
mischief had thus involved him in a seri-
ous quarrel; and the unhappy father, after
penning a hasty answer, in which he
named the place of meeting, immediate-
ly set about arranging his affairs in the
event of his being the victim of the ap-ed to forget that he had a son.
proaching duel.

youth one day took advantage of his
father's absence, and breaking open a
writing desk in which was a considerable
sum in gold, he decamped with the booty.
The shock which this gave his mother
hastened her dissolution, and she died a
few months afterwards-her last words ex-
pressing anxiety for her abandoned child.

The parties met by day-break the following morning, and Mr. B-returned to his house a homicide! The Lieutenant had fallen in the contest, and on the evening of the next day, the survivor was pounced upon by the officers of justice, and committed to gaol as a murderer. Here the affectionate attentions of his wife tended to soothe the anguish of his mind, but Mr. B― from that fatal morning was an altered man: he saw, when too late, that he had ruined his child by excessive indulgence, and that the worst had probably not arrived. His trial soon followed, and although acquit ted of murder, Mr. B- felt as he left his prison, like another Cain: few pitied him; and some of his neighbours, who formerly sought his company, now always found a pretext for avoiding him.

He at length determined to travel; and after placing his son at a select school a few miles distant, Mr. B-set out for France and Italy. The letters which he received from home during his travels were anything but satisfactory; they were generally filled with accounts of the misconduct of his son, whose behaviour at school became at length so bad that he was threatened with dismissal. This disgrace however, the boy avoided by running away. Whither he went no one could tell, but it was generally supposed that he made his way to some sea-port, and entered on board an outward bound vessel, for when he presented himself at his father's house three years afterwards, he was dressed in the tattered garb of a sailor. An attempt was made to reclaim him; and his mother, whose health had been declining, endeavoured by every gentle means to effect a reformatiom in her unfortunate son. But it was too late; the bottle, and low company had given a blacker tinge to a heart naturally dead to amiable feelings. Despising the counsel of his parents, and anxious to return to his old habits, the wretched

Several years passed away, during which no tidings were heard of the lost Edward; but the amiable disposition of his daughters afforded Mr. B- some relief, and in their society he endeavour

It happened that news of the sudden illness of an uncle arrived one evening, and Mr. B― ordering his carriage to be got ready, set off for the metropolis an hour before dark. As he proceeded on his journey, his thoughts reverted to the various events of his life: his marriagehis son-his duel with the unfortunate Lieutenant, and the death of his amiable wife. He at length fell into a slumber, from which he was awoke by the stopping of the carriage.

Supposing that he had arrived at his journey's end, Mr. B― was about to let down the window, when a hoarse voice cried out to the footman

"Get down you rascal, and let's see what your master 's got about him-get down, and open the door, or I'll spoil your livery, my fine fellow."

The door was immediately opened, and two highwaymen, uttering fierce oaths, made the usual demand.

Mr. B- never travelled without arms, and he replied by discharging a pistol at the foremost thief; but the flash scared the highwayman's horse, which threw up its head, and the bullet, lodging in the animal's neck, caused it to start off at full speed, in spite of the rider's endeavour to restrain it. The remaining highwayman, nothing daunted, fired without effect, and received Mr. B-'s second shot on the forehead. The ball glanced from the forehead of the villain without seriously wounding him, but he was completely stunned by the blow, and fell heavily from his horse.

As the prostrate ruffian recovered, he found himself in the hands of his intended prey, and the footman, detaching one of the carriage lamps, held it up to take a view of their prisoner's features. One glance was sufficient for his master, who uttered a groan of anguish as he beheld in the now pale and blood-stained countenance of the captive ruffian, the lineaments of his son!

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Might this white token of the sabbath-tryste
Unfold! Did maiden coyness cast it there,
A thing less spotless than her trembling heart,
While rosy blushes made the sidelong light
Of her blue bashful eye more eloquent?
Or was it the rude hand of cold disdain
That cast the poor swain's offering to the earth,
And let it die in dew-tears? Nay, perhaps,
Two some-time lovers plucked it carelessly
As their first joys, and, tired of it as soon,
Flung it away as wantonly. Or else
That pallid wreath did gem the verdant sod,
Sliding unmissed from fingers pale and thin
Of the betrayed one, when she heard those lips
That hers had pressed so warmly, say "Fare-

well!"

And saw no kinduess in those altered eyes (That were her day-stars once) to rob that word Of its despiteous bitterness.

DICK DOLEFUL.

A SKETCH FROM NATURE.

IT was to the late Captain Chronic, R. N., I am indebted for the pleasure of being but very slightly acquainted with Richard Doleful, Esquire. The father of Dick had, during the Captain's long and frequent absences on service, acted as his agent and factotum: receiving his pay and his prize money, managing his disbursements, and investing the annual surplus to the best advantage; and I incline to attribute to old Chronic's kindly and grateful remembrance of the father, rather than to any personal regard for the son, his tolerance of the latter as the almost daily, visiter at his house. Dick's 66 'good friends" are "sorry to admit" that there are many bad points about him; his "best friends" compassionate him into the possession of ten times more: hence it may be inferred that Dick, upon the whole, is a much better person than the best of his friends.

Yet even

I, who do not presume to be his friend, consequently have no motive for speaking in his disparagement, must allow him to be a very unpleasant fellow. Now,

as the term "unpleasant fellow" may be variously interpreted, I would have it distinctly understood that I do not mean to accuse him of ever having thrashed his grandmother, or kicked his father down stairs, or poisoned a child, or set fire to a barn, or burked a female, young beautiful, and virtuous, or encouraged an organ-grinder, or a Scotch bagpiper to make a hideous noise under his window, or, in short, of any enormous wickedness; I mean-and whether his case may be rendered better or worse by the explanation, must depend upon individual taste-I mean only that he is a bore.

For the last three years of his life, the Captain, whose health was gradually declining under the effects of an uncured and incurable wound in the side, had scarcely ever quitted his house; and for a considerable portion of that period he was unable, without assistance, to move from his sofa. In addition to his sufferings from his glorious wound, he was subject to the occasional attacks of inglorious gout, and of three visits a day from Dick Doleful. Under such a complication of ailments, his case, both by his friends and his physicians, had long been considered hopeless. Indeed the Captain himself seemed aware of the fatal character of the last-named malady; and more than once expressed an opinion, that if he could be relieved from that, he had strength and stamina sufficient to conquer the others. I paid him a visit one day, and entered his room just as Mr. Doleful was leaving it. Doleful sighed audibly, shook his head, muttered "Our poor dear friend!" and withdrew. This, from any other person, I should have construed into a hint that our "poor dear friend" was at his last gasp; but being acquainted with Mr. Doleful's ways, I approached the Captain as usual, shook his hand cordially, and, in a cheerful tone, inquired how he was getting

on.

"Ah, my dear fellow," said he, at the same time slowly lifting his head from the sofa-cushion, "I'm glad to see you; it does me good; you ask me how I do, and you look, and you speak as if you thought there was some life in me. But that Mr. Doleful!-Here he comes Sir, three times a day; walks into the room on tiptoe, as if he thought I hadn't nerve to bear the creaking of a shoe; touches the tip of one of my fingers as if a cordial grasp would shatter me to atoms; and says, 'Well, how d'ye do now Captain?' with such a look, and in such a tone!

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