less vices of society; that the desert and the forest, the Indian, the rattlesnake, and the Juagar, were preferable associates; that they bore no feigned aspect of kindness while they were secretly plotting his destruction; that they rarely inflicted evil without just provocation; and that the uncontrolled child of Nature was a preferable companion to the executors of laws, which to him at least, however beneficial they might in some cases be to others, were most cruel and unjust.

Thus he passed through life till he was between eighty and ninety years of age, contented in his wild solitude, and in his security from injustice and rapacity. About a twelvemonth ago, it is reported, he was found dead on his knees, with his rifle cocked and resting on the trunk of a fallen tree, as if he had just been going to take aim, most probably at a deer, when death suddenly terminated his earthly recollections of the ingratitude of his fellow-creatures, at a period when his faculties, though he had attained such an age, were not greatly impaired. Boonsborough is now a thriving town, and its name will ever remain as a testimony of its founder's sufferings, and the conduct of his fellowcitizens towards him, in the midst of the freest nation of ancient or modern times. Y. I.

THE LOST PLEIAD.

"Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below."-LORD BYRON.

AND is there glory from the Heavens departed?
-Oh, void unmark'd!—thy sisters of the sky
Still hold their place on high,

Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started,
Thou! that no more art seen of mortal eye!

Hath the Night lost a gem, the regal Night?
-She wears her crown of old magnificence,
Though thou art exiled thence !
No desert seems to part those urns of light,,
Midst the far depths of purple gloom intense.

They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning!
The Shepherd greets them on his mountains free,
And from the silvery sea

To them the Sailor's wakeful eye is turning;

-Unchang'd they rise, they have not mourn'd for thee!

Couldst thou be shaken from thy radiant place,
Ev'n as a dew-drop from the myrtle-spray,
Swept by the wind away?

Wert thou not peopled by some glorious race,
And was there power to smite them with decay?

Why, who shall talk of Thrones, of Sceptres riven?
-It is too sad to think on what we are,

When from its height afar,

A world sinks thus! and yon majestic Heaven
Shines not the less for that one vanish'd star!

F. H.

THE PROGRESS OF COXCOMBRY.

"Nemo repente fuit dandissimus.”

THE transformation of the chrysalis into the butterfly is not more complete or surprising than that of the slovenly schoolboy into the finished civil, academic, or military dandy. The last metamorphosis is, however, more gradual than the former. The nice observer can easily mark the successive stages of its developement, from the superstitious tie of the cravat and scrupulous" brushing of the hat o'mornings," to the minute observance of the entire ceremonial of foppery, and faithful discharge of the whole duty of dandyism.

The passion for dress is, generally speaking, stronger in the fair sex than in ours, and is in them infinitely more excusable. But when it has once thoroughly laid hold of an unlucky wight, it carries him into much greater and more ridiculous excesses than we ever witness among the ladies. Dandyism, at first, is like the small speck in the cloudless azure, which to the eye of the experienced mariner presages the gathering storm. In its birth it is scarcely noticed by common observers, or noticed only to be despised. But it gradually increases by fresh accessions of vapour, until the intellectual horizon becomes completely overcast, and the sun of reason

-" from far peeps with a sickly face,

Too weak the clouds and mighty fogs to chase."

The late Hugh Peters was a striking instance of how far the genuine dandymania could carry a man, who in other respects was not destitute of natural good sense. In Hugh, indeed, this disease appeared to be constitutional; he evinced evident symptoms of it at a very early age, and it continued with increasing violence to his dying day. This master-passion was not to be controlled by sickness, poverty, imprisonment or exile. It burned with as much fervour in age as in youth, and was scarcely extinguished by that universal damperdeath.

Hugh, as I have said, began dandyism at an early age. His parents were "of the straitest sect," Methodists. They, of course, reprobated all vain adornment of the outward man, considering the gauds of dress as the ensigns of Satan, and so many badges of subjection to the kingdom of darkness. They were careful that Hugh should be arrayed with the utmost plainness, in clothes of the coarsest texture, and the most ungainly fashion. The style of his habiliments was singularly ludicrous, and afforded infinite diversion to his young companions. Instead of being dressed in the fashion of boys of his own age and rank, he was attired like an old man. He usually wore a blue coat with covered buttons, which fitted him like a sentry-box, and exhibited a latitude of skirt that would have done honour to George Fox himself. You would swear that he had been measured by the tailors of Laputa, or the ingenious artist who works from hasty observations taken on the body of M. Rothschild, during its transit to the Stock-Exchange. His waistcoat was of a sober brown, with pocket-flaps "five fathom deep," that overhung a pair of scanty corduroy inexpressibles, scarce covering the cap of his knee. Grey yarn stockings, shoes, or rather

brogues, two inches in the sole, and a broad-brimmed hat, completed the exterior of the elegant Hugh Peters.

The system pursued by his parents produced an effect diametrically opposite to their intention. It turned the boy's regard to the subject of dress, and generated and fostered the desire of decoration. He ventured, as he grew older, though with a trembling hand, to make some slight reform in his costume. He disfranchised his enormous coatflaps, and succeeded in cancelling a few sinecure pockets. This he managed by cultivating a good understanding with his tailor. But all his efforts were fruitless, to oblige his corduroy breeches to vacate their seat, or to prevent the annual return of the broad-brimmed beaver to the presidency of his pericranium. He managed, however, to procure a pair of buff leather-gaiters as a counterbalance to the corrupt influence of the one, and in some degree to alter the constitution of the other, by cocking it up at the sides with black pins; a measure, which would have rendered him a prime favourite at the Court of St. Petersburgh, when Paul, the hater of round hats was autocrat of all the Russias.

It is not to be imagined that even these changes were effected without considerable opposition: in fact, they gave birth to continual explosions of present wrath, and fulminations of wrath to come, on the part of his father. His mother, too, added her mite of zeal in predicting the eventual perdition of her only son; for who, as she acutely remarked, could escape hell-fire, that wore a cocked hat and sulphurcoloured gaiters? But Hugh had arrived at that age and stature where flagellation ceases to be practicable and exhortation to be efficient. His parents could not succeed

"with wind

Of airy threats to awe, whom now with deeds
They could not."

Their only resource was to deprive him altogether of money; and though this could not wither his dandyism in the bud, it yet checked its growth for a season, and imparted to it a stunted character of original and ludicrous peculiarity.

Necessity is the mother of invention, and some of Hugh's devices at this period to put off the clown and put on the dandy were sufficiently ingenious, though often productive of ridiculous results. He turned tailor in his own defence, but his earlier attempts to modify his habiliments, were, like the infant efforts of every art, rude and clumsy to a degree. He reduced the latitude of his skirts without any very strict observance of mathematical proportion, and finished his work with no particular neatness of stitching. The partial alterations in his dress, harmonized very ill with its general character, and often exhibited the most ridiculous contrasts. The flaming gaiters, for instance, were not well assorted with the clumsy shoes and corduroy-breeches deeply bronzed by the relentless finger of time. The tail of his coat, cropped short by his rash hand in evil hour, gave to the otherwise too ample garment, something of the look of a fireman's jacket destitute of the badge and made by a most ill-conditioned tailor. A red waistcoat, second-hand, trimmed with old fur, and, in the fashion of the day, ridiculously short, which he purchased of an honest Israelite, seemed

within the prodigious lappels of his external habit, like a flea in St. Paul's, or Gulliver in the embraces of Glumdalclitch. His neck enveloped in muslin manifold, rose above his humble collar, "like the tower of Lebanon which looketh towards Damascus." But an invention which he hit on, for the decoration of his nether limbs, was indeed a chef-d'œuvre. Entertaining a high opinion of the symmetry of this part of his person, he longed to reveal its graceful proportions in the seductive transparencies of stocking-web. His uncle, who was something of a dandy, gave him an opportunity of gratifying this penchant by the present of a pair of cast-off tights. These, though somewhat large, Hugh contrived, by his sartorial dexterity, to adapt tolerably well to his own person. But on trying them on, though highly gratified by the contemplation of the femur and tibia, he found that something was still wanting to the perfection of their developement. Our desires increase with our possessions, and every new gratification gives birth to a fresh necessity. Hugh soon discovered that tight pantaloons without Hessian boots were as preposterous as a haunch of venison without currant-jelly, or a leg of pork without peas-pudding. They were, in truth, natural correlatives, coefficient quantities, mutually attractive, conductors to each other, their separation was violent, dangerous, improper, sacrilegious ! But how to effect the desired union? Boots were dear, Hugh was poor; his uncle had no Hessians to spare, and his father's heart and purse were equally closed against him. He must either wear the pantaloons without boots (a thing not to be thought of) or steal a pair. Dire dilemma! diabolical alternative! But the genius of dandyism descended kindly to his aid, and opportunely rescued her ardent votary from the hazard of crime and the mortification of disappointment. As Hugh cast around

"His baleful eyes,

That witness'd huge affliction and dismay,"

he suddenly espied his buff-leather gaiters, which hung upon a peg above his head. An idea flashed across his brain like lightning-one of those felicitous conceptions of genius, perfect as if matured by years of thought, sudden as inspiration! He seized the gaiters, posted to a cobler, had them cut out into the shape of Hessian boots at top, blackened, polished, decked with tassels. What need of more words? Nothing could be more complete. The following day was Sunday. He appeared at church in complete costume,-cocked chapeau, pudding-cravat, red waistcoat, fireman's jacket, brown-coloured tights, and gaiter-boots, the admiration of himself—the derision of many-the astonishment of all!

But the hour was at hand when Hugh was to cast his slough, to unfold his glittering scales in the sunbeam, to burst the dark prison of his chrysalis for ever, and issue forth an airy butterfly in all the colours of the rainbow. His father, who was much more sincerely devoted to Mammon than to God, undertook a voyage to Smyrna in quest of gain. The prince of air, who thought it high time to appropriate his destined prey, raised a storm and plunged the Methodistic merchant in the deep. Hugh was sole heir of all his wealth, which was considerable, and as the trustees of the property did not pretend to

any control over his conduct, this hopeful youth was left at the age of seventeen

"Lord of himself, that heritage of woe."

His first step was to enter the army, a measure of which he would not have dared to whisper during the lifetime of his father. He got into a dashing regiment of light-infantry, and soon became distinguished for the most extravagant foppery. Not contented with the costume of his corps, which was elegant and splendid, he was perpetually making such alterations and additions as his own whim suggested. His capricious taste in this way subjected him to frequent reprimands and arrests for the violation of the regimental orders. His offences became at last so frequent and so flagrant, that the colonel, much of a martinet, told him that he must leave the regiment unless he thought proper to conform to its regulations of dress. Hugh promised obedience, and for a while was less open in his transgressions. But his ruling passion was too strong to be controlled for any length of time. He went to a garrison-ball in a fantastic costume which bore a caricatured resemblance to the uniform of his corps. The first person he met there was the colo nel, who insisted on his leaving the room immediately; and as colonels seldom experience much difficulty in the removal of an obnoxious subaltern, his exit from the regiment very speedily followed his exit from the ball. He was, in fact, advised to tender his resignation; and he had too much knowledge of the army not to feel the propriety of following this judicious counsel.

Hugh was not very seriously concerned for the loss of his commission, as it left him "fancy free" to pursue his devious courses through the fields of foppery and fashion. He repaired to London, and soon became the very mirror of fantastic coxcombry. He had his day like other dogs, and the time has been when the promenades of Bond-street and Hyde-park would have been deemed to want their most essential attraction in the absence of "the original Hugh Peters." But, alas for human eminence, and the degeneracy of present times! "lights of the world and demigods of fame" have quitted the stage for ever, and the fashionable, like the political horizon, is left in a feeble twilight, the precursor, it is to be feared, of a long night of Egyptian darkness. Brummel is extinct, Van Butchell in his grave. Sir L—, like another Ovid in Pontus, is exiled to the ungenial climate of St. George's, where he pours his unavailing "tristia," and stoops indeed, but, alas, no more to conquer ! Baron Geramb is gone, and the gallant gay "Lothario" is sobered down into "Benedick, the married man." We listen in vain for the rattling of his chariot-wheels, and the highcrested cock has now become an empty name. Finally, Hugh Peters himself hath passed away, and the flags of Bond-street have forgot his steps!

Hugh was, at this time, more remarkable for the singularity than the taste of his costume. He delighted in glaring colours, and a close fit he considered the "summum bonum." His motions were dreadfully constrained by the tightness of his dress, and the various organic functions seriously impeded. To button his coat required an effort almost superhuman. His inexpressibles (horresco referens) were perpetually yielding to the force of pressure, and leaving him exposed in some vital part. The tarsus, metatarsus, and toes, sustained infinite damage from the compressive action of the boot, and the uncomfortable pro