and act with the caution of Indians in an enemy's country; for, if I mistake not, there will be revulsions and revolutions in commerce (for the next four years in particular) sufficient to keep every reasoning faculty on the full stretch. I conjure them to shun every species of accommodation paper, as they would the plague, to keep within their means; not to surrender to others the command of their property; and to pause, when they find their bankers over civil.

In their domestic relations, let me conjure them to bring up their families in a plainer and more humble manner. Would they wish to see their sons happy? -Let them be well educated, accustomed to patient labour, but never brought forward before their time, or encouraged in foolish dissipation. Would they desire the true contentment of their wives and daugh ters? Let them insist upon less extravagance in dress and ostentation, earlier hours, and quieter and more sober habits, The former would then more meekly, but far more engagingly, shine in their maternal spheres, and might entertain rational hopes for the success of their husbands' undertakings, while the latter would meet rewards which very rarely fall to the lot of the Liverpool fair ones--the blessings of good husbands. For as matters now stand, a young man must be courageous indeed, who would venture his happiness with a lady of such killing qualities, that in every expectation of her heart, he must be doomed to find a ruin in embryo.

These are the remedies proposed by one who possesses his share of dear-bought experience. They are addressed to the extravagant, not to the sober part of our community; and if they do not answer the end proposed, they will at least, where adopted, bring with them health, happiness, and contentment.

Soeviat, atque novos moveat Fortuna tumultus;
Quantum hinc imminuet?-Hor. 2d Sat.

Let Fortune rage, and new disorders make;
From such a life, how little can she take?

Money makes a Man Laugh.

ARGUS.

A blind fidler playing to a company, and playing but scurvily, the company laughed at him; his boy, that led him, perceiving it, cried "Father, let us be gone; they do nothing but laugh at you." "Hold your peace, boy," said the fidler, "we shall have their money presently, and then we will laugh at them." Selden.

An Active Schoolmaster. According to the German Pædagogic Magazine (vol. 3. p. 407) died lately in Suabia, a Schoolmaster, who for one and fifty years had superintended a large institution with old fashioned severity. From an average, inferred by means of recorded observation, one of the ushers has calculated, that in the course of his exertions he had given 911,500 canings, 124,000 floggings, 209,000 custodes, 135,000 tips with the ruler, 10,200 boxes on the ear, and 22,700 tasks to get by heart. It was further calculated that he had made. 700 boys stand on peas, 600 kneel on a sharp edge of wood, 5000 wear the fools-cap, and 1700 hold the rod. How vast the quantity of human misery inflicted by a single perverse educator?

From the Independent Balance.

A DANDY'S WHAT?

A Dandy's what? a thing compos'd
Of whalebone, brass, or leather,
A reed in shirt, of steel enclos'd,
A sort of stiffen'd feather.

A Dandy's what? a walking cane,
With twenty-two surtouts on;
A pismire, nearly cut in twain-
Two handspikes with two boots on.
A Dandy's what? a minute glass,
That's smallest at the middle;
A bust of time-a spire of grass-
A broken bellied fiddle,

A Dandy's what? a brainless elf,
Devoid of sense or reason;
A thing that loveth but himself,
A corn stalk out of season.

A Dandy's what? a weed that grows
And withers in a night, sir;
A yankee ghost, to scare the crow s
When in a field they light, sir.
A Dandy's what? a pair of tongs
A Jemmy Linkum Feedle;
A thing that squeeketh simple songs-
An egg upon a needle.

phisanal A Dandy's what? a poker flat-
A thing that loves to strike, Sir,
A barber's pole beneath a hat-
A white poke with one gut, Sir.
A Dandy's what? a petticoat,
Upon a pair of shears, Sir,

AUGMENTATION BY SUBTRACTION.

A rustic, bred in country life,
Had past remote from noisy strife,
The morning of his day,

'Mid flowery meads, and fertile fields,
Where Nature in profusion yields,
Her stores of corn and hay.

To luxury or want estranged,
He plow'd the soil, or woodlands rang'd,
Or reap'd the golden corn;
His nervous limbs bray'd all fatigue,
No sleepless night, no foul intrigue
Disturb'd his thoughts i' th' morn
When seated round the cheerful fire,
His wife and prattling babes conspire,
To cheer his winter's night;
Content, he then felt happier far,
Than does the hero in the war,
Who gains the sanguine fight.

But anxious thoughts invade his mind,
He feels with his own wants entwin'd,
The wants of other grow:
A rising family now shåre

His daily bread, and meddling care,
Sits heavy on his brow,

One winter's day, when thrashing corn
Alene, he thought, within the barn,
Well filled with cares his head,
Perplex'd, and in a thoughtful mood,
Upon his flail-shaft leaning stood,
Thus to himself he said:

What rule is than', said he to John,
You ground these propositions on?'
Says John Subtraction, sir.'
'Prove that,' says Hodge, and as I live,
To thee the cow I'll freely give,
Ere from this spot I stir."

'Four years ago, my wife and I
'We're bound by wedlock's sacred tie,
'None were more blest than we;
And ere the second year begun,
'These arms embraced my first born son,
"Then one-from two made three.

'Another year roll'd o'er my head,
'My wife again was brought to bed,
Thus two-from two made four ;
'Twas then the cow you kindly sold,
Which has been worth her weight of gold,
"And is so to this hour.

'Another son in one year more,
'Increas'd my stock of living store:
"Thus three from two made five.
The cow is thine,' said Hodge to John
'I freely own she's fairly won;
'Long may she live and thrive.'

Original Poetry.

SONG.

In the calm summer gloamin I frequently rove,
Through the sweet scented glades of this low moaning grove,
When these pines tip'd with gold by the sun's setting ray,
Are waving their last to the fast-fading day;
Though the landscape is lovely as onward I go,
Its beauties can't charm me, nor banish my woe,
No, it is not this music, nor this fine rural scene,
That can drive from my fancy my fause-hearted Jean.

1

How fast flew the moments, how short were the hours,
When together we wander'd these dark shady bowers,
See this flower cover'd turf, her sweet footstep still bears,
Let me kneel on the spot, and bedew't with my tears.