THE TACITURN ACADEMY;

OR THE EMBLEMS.

FROM THE FRENCH.

THERE was at Amedan, in Persia, a celebrated academy, the first statute of which was worded in the following manner:-"The academicians must think much, write but little, and speak as little as possible." It was called the Taciturn Academy, and there was not a truly learned man in Persia who did not aspire to be one of its members. In his retirement, in a distant part of the country, Dr. Zeb, the author of a small but excellent volume, entitled "The Gag," learned that there was a place vacant in the Taciturn Academy. He set off immediately, arrived at Amedan, and, presenting himself at the gate of the hall where the academicians were assembled, he requested the door-keeper to deliver to the president the following billet-"Doctor Zeb humbly requests the vacant place." The door-keeper instantly executed his commission, but the doctor and his billet were too late; the vacant seat was already filled.

The academy was much afflicted by this unlucky event. It had, much against its will, been obliged to receive a young wit of the court, whose flippant and sparkling eloquence was the delight of all fashionable circles, and it now found itself under the painful necessity of excluding Doctor Zeb, who was the scourge of babblers, and who possessed a head so well organized, and so well furnished. The president, to whose lot it fell to communicate this disagreeable news to the applicant, could hardly agree to undertake the task, and knew not how to set about it. After having meditated for a while upon the subject, he ordered a large cup to be filled with water, and so nicely filled, that the addition of a single drop would make the fluid run over. He then gave the sign to introduce the candidate. Dr. Zeb entered with

that modest and unaffected manner, which almost always indicates true merit. The president rose, and, without saying a word, he pointed with a sorrowful air to the cup, the cup which was so completely full. The doctor instantly comprehended that no academical seat was vacant; but, far from losing courage, he endeavoured to make it obvious that no harm would arise from their admitting a supernumerary academician. He saw a rose leaf lying at his feet, picked it up, and laid it so delicately on the surface of the water, that not a drop was spilled.

This ingenious reply called forth a general clapping of hands; the regulations of the academy were allowed to sleep upon this occasion; and Dr. Zeb was received by acclamation. The register of the academy, in which the newly elected members were to inscribe their names, was now put into his hand. He wrote his name in it; and that being done, he had only to pronounce, according to the usage in such cases, a sentence expressive of thanks. But, like a truly Taciturn Academician, Doctor Zeb returned thanks without uttering a word. In the margin he wrote the number one hundred, which was that of his new colleagues; then, putting a zero before the figures, he added below, "They are worth neither more nor less than they were, (0100). The president replied to the modest doctor with equal politeness and presence of mind. He put a figure of one before the number, and wrote " They are worth ten times as much as they were," (1100).

HORACE IN LONDON.

EPODE II.

Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis, &c.

RURAL FELICITY,

"HAPPY the man who leaves off trade," (Thus to himself Paul Poplin said,) No care his mind engages ; Fix'd on a gently rising hill, At Somers-town or Pentonville, He eyes the passing stages.

The City rout, the Lord Mayor's ball,
The bankrupt-meeting at Guildhall,
He cautiously avoids;

Nor, when bold privateers invade
Our homeward-bound West India trade,
Pays cent. per cent. at Lloyd's.
His poplars, Lombardy's delight,
He ranges graceful to the sight,
Than mighty Magog taller;
And if one overtop his peers,
The overgrown intruder shears,
Or substitutes a smaller.

Pleased from his summer house to spy
The lowing herd to Smithfield hie,
To feed each London glutton;
His blushing elder-wine he brews,
To treat his City friends, who choose
To taste his Sunday's mutton.

When Autumn rears his sun-burnt head,
And plums his garden-wall o'erspread,
What joy rewards his labours!
First choosing for himself the best,
He civilly bestows the rest

Upon his next-door neighbours.

Where glides old Middleton's canal,
He sometimes joins the motley mall,
And feasts on ale and fritters;
And when he nods in soft repose,
Responsive to his vocal nose,
The merry blackbird twitters.

When drifted snow engulfs the house,
He hunts the weasel, rat, or mouse,
Or with a net of bobbin

Entraps the sparrow's chirping brood,
And oft times, in a valiant mood,
Ensnares the fierce red robin.

But if, to grace his rural life,
He takes unto himself a wife,

(No more a naughty ranger), He marries one of honest kin, Like Pamela, or void of sin,

Like her who chose the stranger.

What more can mortal man desire,
An elbow-chair, a blazing fire,
Two spermacetic tapers;
An appetite at five to dine,
A dish of fish, a pint of wine,
A leg of lamb and capers!

No turbot eighteen-pence a pound
Should on my humble board be found,
No fricandeau or jelly;

No moor-game, dear and dainty breed,
Should fly from Berwick-upon-Tweed,
To roost within my belly.

I'd kill a pig-I'd drive a team-
I'd keep a cow to yield me cream
More delicate than nectar;
pure and innocent delight,

To snatch the pigeon from the kite,
And in a pie protect her!

And when the Hampstead stage I spied,
With six fat citizens inside,

Their daily labour over;

The horned herd I'd thus provoke

Fag on, obedient to the yoke;
Behold me safe in clover."

Paul Poplin in a curious fuss,
A future Cincinnatus thus,

His honest pate was puzzling;
When lo! before his counter stands
A pursy widow, and demands
Six yards of ell-wide muslin !

He starts-displays the Indian ware,
His country box dissolves in air
Like mists of morning vapour;

And in the Poultry Poplin still
Sticks to his shop, and eyes the till,
A smirking linen-draper.

J.

NICK-NAMES.

NAMES and surnames are things to which some persons attach an importance greater than they may seem to deserve; yet the names we bestow on men and things merit their degree of consideration.

I can easily conceive a nervous hypochondriacal patient thrown into fainting fits on being told that Dr. Death, actually the name of a medical man in London, within fifty years, and probably related to a respectable Kentish family, but who spell it with a diphthong, that Dr. Death was coming up stairs; and the freeholders of a county would probably put on forbidding looks, were they told that Tom Long and Big Ben solicited their votes and interests as parliamentary candidates at the ensuing election.

Yet the doctor might be no friend to his name-sake

VOL. IV.

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