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If there be one word in our language, beyond all others teeming with delightful associations, Books is that word. At that magic name what vivid retrospections of by-gone times, what summer days of unalloyed happiness "when life was new," rush on the memory! even now the spell retains its power to charm: the beloved of my youth is the solace of my declining years such is the enduring nature of an early attachment to literature.

The first book that inspired me with a taste for reading, was Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress; never shall I forget the intense emotion with which I perused this pious and interesting fiction: the picturesque descriptions and quaint moralities blended with this fine allegory, heightened the enchantment, which to a youthful and fervid imagination, "unsated yet with garbage," was complete. From henceforward my bias was determined; the passion grew with my growth, and strengthened with my strength; and I devoured all the books that fell in my way, as if " ap petite increased by what it fed on." My next step was,-I commenced collector. Smile, if you will, reader, but admire the benevolence of creative wisdom, by which the means of happiness are so nicely adjusted to the capacity for enjoyment: for, slender, as in those days were my finances, I much doubt if the noble possessor of the unique edition of Boccaccio, marched off with his envied prize at the cost of two thousand four hundred pounds, more triumphantly, than I did with my sixpenny pamphlet, or dog's eared volume, destined to form the nucleus of my future library.

The moral advantages arising out of a love of books are so obvious, that to enlarge upon such a topic might be deemed a gratuitous parade of truisms; I shall therefore proceed to offer a few observa

tions, as to the best modes of deriving both pleasure and improvement from the cultivation of this most fascinating and intellectual of all pursuits. Lord Bacon says, with his usual discrimination, "Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested;" this short sentence comprises the whole practical wisdom of the subject, and in like manner by an extension of the principle, the choice of a library must be regulated. "Few books, well selected, are best," is a maxim useful to all, but more especially to young collectors: for let it be remembered, that economy in our pleasures invariably tends to enlarge the sphere of our enjoyments. Fuller remarks, "that it is a vanity to persuade the world one hath much learning by getting a great library;" and the supposition is equally erroneous, that a large collection necessarily implies a good one. The truth is,

were we to discard all the works of a mere

temporary interest, and of solemn trifling, that incumber the fields of literature, the magnitude of numerous vast libraries would suddenly shrink into most diminutive dimensions, for the number of good original authors is comparatively few; study therefore quality rather than quantity in the selection of your books. As regards the luxuries of the library, keep a rigid watch upon your inclinations; for though it must not be denied that there is a rational pleasure in seeing a favourite author elegantly attired, nothing is more ridiculous than this taste pushed to the extreme; for then this refined pursuit degenerates into a mere hobbyhorse, and once fairly mounted, good-by to prudence and common sense! The Bibliomaniac is thus pleasantly sati rized by an old poet in the Shyp of Fooles."

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For to have plenty it is a pleasaunt thynge In my conceit, and to have them ay in heud, But what they mene do I not understandel

When we survey our well-furnished bookshelves, the first thought that suggests itself, is the immortality of intellect. Here repose the living monuments of those master spirits destined to sway the empire of mind; the historian, the philosopher, and the poet, "of imagination all compact!" and while the deeds of mighty conquerors hurry down the stream of oblivion. the works of these men survive to afterages; are enshrined in the memories of a grateful posterity, and finally stamp upon

national character the permanent impress of their genius.

Happy we, who are early taught to cherish the society of these silent friends, ever ready to amuse without importunity, and instruct without the austerity of reproof. Let us rest assured that it is "mind that makes the body rich," and that in the cultivation of our intellect we secure an inexhaustible store of present gratification, and a source of pleasurable recollections which will never fail to cheer the evening of life. J. H.

ETIQUETTE.

Philosophy may rave as it will, “little things are great to little men," and the less the man, the greater is the object. A king at arms is, in his own estimation, the greatest king in Europe, and a German baron is not more punctilious than a master of the ceremonies. The first desire with all men is power, the next is the semblance of power; and it is perhaps a happy dispensation that those who are cut off from the substantial rights of the citizen, should find a compensation in the "decorations " of the slave; as in all other moral cases the vices of the individual are repressed_by those of the rest of the community. The pride of Diogenes trampled on the pride of Plato; and the vanity of the excluded may be trusted for keeping within bounds the vanity of the preeminent and the privileged. The great enemy, however, of etiquette is civilisation, which is incessantly at work, simplifying society. Knowledge, by opening our eyes to the substances of things, defends us from the juggle of forms; and Napoleon, when he called a throne a mere chair, with gilt nails driven into it, epitomised one of the most striking results of the revolutionary contest. Strange that he should have overlooked or disregarded the fact in the erection of his own institutions! Ceremonial is a true paper currency, and passes only as far as it will be taken. The representative of a thousand pounds, unbacked by credit, is a worthless rag of paper, and the highest decoration which the king can confer, if repudiated by opinion, is but a piece of blue riband. Here indeed the sublime touches the ridiculous, for who shall draw the line of demarcation between my lord Grizzle and the gold stick? between Mr. Dymock, in Westminster-ball, and his representative "on a real horse" at Covent-garden? Every day the intercourse of society is becoming more and more easy, and a man of

fashion is as little likely to be ceremonious in trifles, as to appear in the costume of sir Charles Grandison, or to take up the quarrels of lord Herbert of Cherbury."

INDICATIONS.

WRITTEN IN THE FROST.

For the Table Book.

I know that the weather's severe, by the noses
That run between eves smartly lash'd by the fair;
By the coxcombs that muff-led are smiling at roses
Got into the cheeks, and got out of the air.
By the skates, (slipp'ry fish) for the Serpentine's Fleet
By the rise of the coal; by the shot-birds that fall
By the chilly old people that creep to the heat;
And the ivy-green branches that creep to the wall
By the chorus of boys sliding over the river,

The grumbles of men sliding over the flags;
The beggars, poor wretches! half naked, that shiver
The sportsmen, poor horsemen ! turn'd out on their

nags!

By the snow standing over the plant and the fountain;
The chilbain-tribes, whose understanding is weak;
The wild-ducks of the valley, the drift of the mountain,
And, like Niobé, street-plugs all tears from the
Creek:

And I know, by the icelets from nature's own shops,
By the fagots just cut, and the cutting wind's tone,
That the weather will freeze half the world if it stops,
If it goes, it will thaw t'other half to the bone.
Jan 27.

ADOPTION.

P.

There is a singular system in France relative to the adoption of children. A family who has none, adopts as their own a fine child belonging to a friend, or more generally to some poor person, (for the laws of population in the poor differ from those in the rich ;) the adoption is regularly enregistered by the civil authorities, and the child becomes heir-at-law to the property of its new parents, all cannot be disinherited by any subsequent caprice of the parties; they are bound to support it suitably to their rank, and do every thing due to their offspring.t

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Garrick Plays.

No. V.

[From "Arden of Feversham his true and lamentable Tragedy," Author unknown. 1592.]

Alice Arden with Mosbie her Paramour conspire the murder of her Husband.

Mos. How now, Alice, what sad and passionate?
Make me partaker of thy pensiveness;
Fire divided burns with lesser force.

Al. But I will dam that fire in my breast,
Till by the force thereof my part consume.
Ah Mosbie !

Mos. Such deep pathaires, like to a cannon's burst, Discharged against a ruinated wall,

Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces.
Ungentle Alice, thy sorrow is my sore;

Thou know'st it will, and 'tis thy policy

To forge distressful looks, to wound a breast
Where lies a heart which dies when thou art sad.
It is not Love that loves to anger Love.

Al. It is not Love that loves to murther Love.
Mos. How mean you that?

Al. Thou know'st how dearly Arden loved me.
Mos. And then-

Al. And then-conceal the rest. for 'tis too bad,
Lest that my words be carried to the wind,
And publish'd in the world to both our shames.
I pray thee, Mosbie, let our springtime wither;
Our harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds.
Forget, I pray thee, what has past betwixt us;
For now I blush and tremble at the thoughts.
Mos. What, are you changed?

Al. Aye, to my former happy life again;
From title of an odious strumpet's name

To honest Arden's wife, not Arden's honest wife-
Ha Mosbie ! 'tis thou hast rifled me of that,
And made me slanderous to all my kin.
Even in my forehead is thy name engravez,
A mean Artificer, that low-born name!

I was bewitcht; woe-worth the hapless hour

And all the causes that enchanted me.

Mos. Nay, if thou ban, let me breathe curses forth; And if you stand so nicely at your fame, Let me repent the credit I have lost.

I have neglected matters of import,

That would have 'stated me above thy state;
For-slow'd advantages, and spurn'd at time;
Aye, Fortune's right hand Mosbie hath forsook,
To take a wanton giglot by the left.

I left the marriage of an honest maid,

Whose dowry would have weigh'd down all thy wealth;
Whose beauty and demeanour far exceeded thee.
This certain good I lost for changing bad,
Ard wrapt my credit in thy company.
I was bewitcht; that is no theme of thine;
And thor unhallow'd hast enchanted me.
Bat I will break thy spells and exorcisms,
And put another sight upon these eyes,
That show'd my heart a raven for a dove.

Thou art not fair; I view'd thee not till now:
Thou art not kind; till now I knew thee not:
And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt,
Thy worthless copper shews thee counterfeit.
It grieves me not to see how foul thou art,
But mads me that ever I thought thee fair.
Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds;
I am too good to be thy favourite.

Al. Aye, now I see, and too soon find it true,
Which often hath been told me by my friends,
That Mosbie loves me not but for my wealth;
Which too incredulous I ne'er believed.
Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two;
I'll bite my tongue if I speak bitterly.
Look on me, Mosbie, or else I'll kill myself.
Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look;
If thou cry War, there is no Peace for me.

I will do penance for offending thee;

And burn this Prayer Book, which I here use,
The Holy Word that has converted me.
See, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaves,

And all the leaves; and in this golden Cor
Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell,
And thereor, will I chiefly meditate,

And hold no other sect but such devotion.
Wilt thou not look? is all thy Love o'erwhelm'd?
Wilt thou not hear? what malice stops thy ears?
Why speakst thou not? what silence ties thy tongue
Thou hast been sighted as the Eagle is,
And heard as quickly as the fearful Hare
And spoke as smoothly as an Orator,
When I have bid thee hear, or see, or speak:
And art thou sensible in none of these?
Weigh all thy good turns with this little fault,
And I deserve not Mosbie's muddy looks.
A fence of trouble is not thicken'd still;
Be clear again; I'll ne'er more trouble thee.
Mos. O tie, no; I'm a base artificer;
My wings are feather'd for a lowly flight.
Mosbie, fie, no; not for a thousand pound
Make love to you; why, tis unpardonable.
We Beggars must not breathe, where Gentiles are.
Al. Sweet Mosbie is as Gentle as a King,
And I too blind to judge him otherwise.
Flowers sometimes spring in fallow lands;
Weeds in gardens, Roses grow on thorns:
So, whatsoe'er my Mosbie's father was,
Himself is valued Gentle by his worth.

Mos. Ah how you women can insinuate,
And clear a trespass with your sweet set tongue.
I will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice,
Provided I'll be tempted so no more.

Arden, with his friend Franklin, travelling at night to Arden's house at Feversham, where he is lain in wait for by Ruffians, hired by Alice and Mosbie to murder him; Franklin is interrupted in a story he was beginning to tell by the way of a BAD WIFE, by an indisposition, ominous of the impending danger of his friend

Arden. Come, Master Franklin, onwards with your
tale.

Frank. I'll assure you, Sir, you task me much.
A heavy blood is gather'd at my heart;
And on the sudden is my wind so short,
As hindereth the passage of my speech.
So fierce a qualm yet ne'er assailed me.

Arden. Come, Master Franklin, let us go on softly;

The annoyance of the dust, or else some meat
You ate at dinner cannot brook with you.

I have been often so, and soon amended.

Frank. Do you remember where my tale did leave?

cessor.

In 1592 he was created doctor in the university of Cambridge; and in 1596, at the recommendation of her majesty, he was made professor of music to Gresham college, which situation he resigned it. 1607. During more than a year of his professorship, Mr. Thomas Bird, son of the venerable William Bird, exercised the office of a substitute to Dr. Bull, while he travelled on the continent for the recovery of his health. After the decease of queen

Arden. Aye, where the Gentleman did check his Elizabeth, Bull was appointed chamber

wife

Frank. She being reprehended for the fact,
Witness produced that took her with the fact,
Her glove brought in which there she left behind,
And many other assured arguments,

Her Husband ask'd her whether it were not so-
Arden. Her answer then? I wonder how she look'd,
Having forsworn it with so vehement oaths,
And at the instant so approved upon her.

Frank. First did she cast her eyes down on the
earth,

Watching the drops that fell amain from thence;
Then softly draws she out her handkercher,
And modestly she wipes her tear-stain'd face:
Then hemm'd she out (to clear her voice it should
seem),

And with a majesty addrest herself
To encounter all their accusations-

Pardon me, Master Arden, I can no more;
This fighting at my heart makes short my wind.
Arden. Come, we are almost now at Raynum Down;
Your pretty tale beguiles the weary way,
I would you were in case to tell it out.

[They are set upon by the Ruffians.]

Music.

For the Table Book.

GOD SAVE THE KING.

JOHN BULL.

In answer to an inquiry in The Times, respecting the author of "God save the King," the writers of several letters in that journal, during the present month, concur in ascribing the air of the "national anthem' to Dr. John Bull. This opinion results from recent researches, by the curious in music, which have been published in elaborate forms.

Dr. John Bull was a celebrated musician, born about 1563, in Somersetshire. His master in music was William Blitheman, organist of the chapel royal to queen Elizabeth, in which capacity he was much distinguished. Bull, on the death of his master in 1591, was appointed his suc

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musician to king James. In 1613, Dr. Bull finally quitted England, and entered into the service of the archduke, in the Netherlands. He afterwards seems to have settled at Lubec, from which place many of his compositions, in the list published by Dr. Ward, are dated; one of them so late as 1622, the supposed year of his decease. Dr. Bull has been censured for quitting his establishment in England; but it is probable that the increase of health and wealth was the cause and consequence of his removal. He seems to have been praised at home more than rewarded. The professorship of Gresham college was not then a sinecure. His attendance on the chapel royal, for which he had 401. per annum. and on the prince of Wales, at a similai salary, though honourable, were not very lucrative appointments for the first performer in the world, at a time when scholars were not so profitable as at present, and there was no public performance where this most wonderful musician could display his abilities. A list of more than two hundred of Dr. Bull's compositions, vocal and instrumental, is inserted in his life, the whole of which, when his biography was written in 1740, were preserved in the collection of Dr. Pepusch. The chief part of these were pieces for the organ and virginal.*

Anthony a Wood relates the following anecdote of this distinguished musician, when he was abroad for the recovery of his health in 1601 :

"Dr. Bull hearing of a famous musician belonging to a certain cathedral at St. Omer's, he applied himself as a novice to him, to learn something of his faculty, and to see and admire his works. This musician, after some discourse had passed between them, conducted Bull to a vestry or music-school joining to the cathedral, and showed to him a lesson or song of forty parts, and then made a vaunting challenge to any person in the world to add one more part

• Dictionary of Musicians. Hawkins.

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