ten ere the mind which has been imbued with them, can, without risk of plagiarism, be trusted to compose: but the first may safely be adopted; as they, however peculiar, determine but the order of the structure, and leave ample scope for invention in the minor particulars. The ideas acquired by reading form the sustenance of the mind; and they are like the food of the body, unserviceable or injurious, until thoroughly digested, or decomposed and neutralised. Early joys are most perfectly borne in mind, when the interval succeeding them has been cheerless; as a distant prospect meets the eye most distinctly when not a tree shoots up between. A consonant itself is not a sound; but an obstruction of the sound of a vowel. It is astonishing that Sturm, who wrote long after the discovery of our earth's central attraction, could so waste his time as to compose an essay on the laws of inertia,—a principle which is nothing but one of the obvious consequences of gravitation. It is a grovelling taste to delight in distinguishing great characters by their faults alone,—in tracing an eagle's flight by its earthly shadow ! It has often been wondered that to read with proper emphasis is so difficult, as almost every one has found it, unless after long and attentive practice. The truth is, that the moment we take up a book, we endeavour to partake of ideas which have not, in the regular course of conception, been excited in us by any predisposing circumstances. The struggle thus produced between such thoughts as already have taken their place in the mind, and such as the author under perusal is thrusting forward for admittance, makes it long before the latter can attain (if ever) that ascendency requisite for bringing the tone of voice under their control. The most elegant species of metaphor, is that of which the author seems hardly to be conscious; and which often consists of merely an epithet applied to one word, and alluding to another. It is not alone by the object of his affections that a lover is enslaved; it is in a great measure, by the refinement of his own heart; by that alchemy of the imagination which transmutes a frail mortal to a faultless deity, and which raises the value of one kind look, above all the wealth and honours of the world. REDUPLICATION. Twice twice twice twice Twice twice twice two, Are more years than would suffice For both the lives of me and you. Every thing, whether physical or metaphysical, has a tendency to return to its primitive state of being, and again to quit it for some other kind of existence; thus maintaining a perpetual undulation. When this fact is demonstrated, it will afford a most convincing proof of the inefficiency of human endeavours, and of the moral impossibility of attaining perfection by improvement, or discovering truth by argument. All things are subject to an ebb and flow, without ultimately having changed their first position; and thus, like the pendulum in a clock-case, this world, with whatsoever in it is, appears to be restricted by certain limits between which it continually vacillates, though perhaps without once exactly reaching the utmost scope afforded it. The whole system of nature and art, or, in brief, the whole order of things existent, has, as it were, a rotary motion on a fixed axis, that leaves nothing at rest, yet advances nothing. The web is woven by day, and unravelled at night. The simplest example is often the best calMAGNET, VOL. IV. No. XXIII. K culated to illustrate the profoundest of hypotheses. The central attraction cannot be more aptly exemplified than in the fall of an apple. So, probably the unaltering alterations (if so seemingly paradoxical an expression be allowable) of terrestrial things, can hardly be better instanced than in the following every-day case. A thief inexperienced in crime will carelessly remain where his depredations are committed. When wiser, he will fly to elude discovery; but when still more habituated to his calling, he will continue in the neighbourhood he has infested; for the likelihood is that no one will suspect him for such apparent rashness as to trust himself in a place which common discretion would induce him to avoid. Every one who reads this, will be able to add some fresh example. MORNING MEDITATIONS. DWINDLING away is my little life; My love was in blossom betimes, and fell Of a May wind, cold and surly. Some that were cross'd in love have found I see the path unto Pindus' top, And I feel how vain is my toil to gain it, My brain may be wrought of a texture fine, But its threads are the quicklier soil'd and broken: When brightest it fades ; like a rich gold mine, That fails without any token. My friends are cold; for they know my heart Was warmer than theirs could ever be, And thus I am left without one kind eye To smile on me living, or weep o'er me dead; The praises which often are deem'd more precious Some unkind power of the world above, Denies me the joy that might here be given: What can he do that is thus forlorn; Whose breast is a tomb, and his life mere breath; JOURNAL OF A RASH ACT, COMMITTED BY A SINCERE PENITENT. [N.B. The following Journal of a Honeymoon was written by an old gentleman, named Samuel Snacks, in the moments of tribulation which it so affectingly describes. He married (as it would seem) for love, and, for the first week, appears to have had a surfeit of that exemplary ingredient. Since that time, however, he has separated from his wife (a young thoughtless girl), and now lives, sensible and solitary, on the Continent. He sent the following Journal, or Jeremiad, to a mutual friend, with a request that it might be published, as a warning to the world.] Monday, April 1st.-All Fool's Day. Quite otherwise with me, who, on this auspicious day, have done the only wise thing I ever yet did, viz. taken unto myself a wife. After the ceremony, the happy couple (Mrs. Snacks and myself) set off in a chaise and four for Ramsgate. Journey throughout delightful; but how, indeed, could it be otherwise? Thought I never saw Amanda look so divine: Canova's Venus seems modelled from her; the same deep languishing eye, the same clustering ringlets, the same snowy voluptuous bosom, the same chastened exuberance of form, the same- -Oh! what a lucky dog I am. Tuesday, 2d.-Evening.-Overwhelmed by the tumultuous giddiness of my thoughts. Felt quite young again, (by the bye, I am only fortynine, after all,) and indited the following letter to my friend Tomkins, of the Temple:-" Dear Tom,-Burn your books and marry. Marry immediately, my old boy; nothing like matrimony; it is Paradise itself, pure, genuine, and unsophisticated." Read my note to Amanda; imprinted on her soft cheek a husband's tenderest kiss, and sat down to a hot supper. Wednesday, 3d.-Indulged in a pensive stroll along the sea-shore, filled with connubial ecstacy. Thought of Thomson's exquisite lines on domestic bliss-"Oh happy they," &c. N.B. I need scarcely add, that Amanda accompanied me in this ramble, with her ringlets waving like gossamer to the wind, and a smile of the most bewitching softness illumining her celestial countenance. Enchanting girl! she wants no thing of an angel but the wings. Thursday, 4th.-How genuine, how lasting are the delights of domestic life! Study has its peculiar advantages; but, compared with the impassioned ecstacies of Hymen, it is nothing-absolutely nothing. Middleton and Milton, I remember, both speak with enthusiam of "wedded love;" Gibbon frequently alludes to it, as "the most tender of human connexions;" Johnson says, that "there is no happiness without it;" and, indeed, all authors who are good for any thing are loud in its praise. By the Roman law, however, a wife was expressly called a thing' -a part of the domestic furniture, which might be sold at the caprice of her husband; so that, on making a catalogue of his goods, he might thus enumerate them :-Lot 1. Four sophas, two tables, three pillow-cases, one wash-tub, a wife, and a bed candlestick. Only conceive! a wife-my Amanda, for instance-placed side-by-side with a wash-tub! 66 Friday, 5th. Of all jokes, the most absurd are those launched against women, and wives in particular. For this reason, I am resolved, should my darling Amanda ever bless me with children, to prevent them learning the Eton Latin Grammar, from its observing, in one of the rules of syntax, that "the masculine gender is more worthy than the feminine," &c. Monstrous violation, both of grammar and gratitude! Saturday, 6th.-There is nothing in nature so engaging as a sprightly disposition. My adorable Amanda is precisely of this stamp, and mimics my oddities (so she calls them) with the prettiest sportiveness in the world. I have already, at her request, doffed my old black coat with the broad flaps,-discarded my brown gaiters, and mounted Wellington boots instead. I would even order the clocks to be taken out of my pearl-coloured cotton stockings, to oblige her. Woman Sunday, 7th.-Read "Pleasures of Hope," and doubled down the page that describes the miseries of a bachelor. Man, indeed, is by nature sociable; he droops in solitude, and needs some fond support on which he may lean in his old—I mean, in his riper age. lovely woman is this prop. When cares oppress him, her smiles lighten the load; when fortune- -but, heavens and earth! I hear the sweet voice of Amanda on the stairs. Beloved girl! I fly on the wings of Hymen to meet thee. Monday, 8th.-Walked with my own-yes, my own celestial Amanda, along the sea-shore. Promised, at the dear girl's request, to take her to Margate, in a few days. N.B. It is impossible to deny her any thing. Returned home, at 10 o'clock, to supper. Opened our cottage window, which looks out on the sea, and watched the different vessels, tipped with moonlight, and gliding like light shadows along the water. Made a remark to Amanda upon the charming power of sentiment. She said yes ;" and asked me, in reply, which was the most sentimental book, "Peter Pindar's Works" or Colman's "Broad Grins." Good Lord! how tastes differ. Tuesday, 9th.-Rose at 11 o'clock, and dressed myself, for the first time, in a bran new suit, which, at my dear wife's request, has been built after the latest fashion. Showed myself in conscious pride to her at breakfast; but, instead of the approbation I expected, she burst out laughing in my face. Charming little gipsey! I love to see her happy, but there was no reason to laugh so, for all that. Wednesday, 10th.-Took a walk to Shoreham. Amanda unable to accompany me, by virtue of a severe head-ache. Mem. To ask Dr. Myrrha whether head-aches are dangerous. Went by way of the sands, and met, on my return, an old college acquaintance, Jem Baggs. Thought he looked inconceivably wretched, but no wonder, he is a bachelor. Condoled with me on my marriage, an exceedingly rude thing, and what makes it worse, utterly false. Thursday, 11th.-Remained at home with Amanda the whole day. Read to her parts of an epic poem, upon love, in which I compared her (my heroine) to a beautiful young Phoenix. Finished reading the first book, and turned round to her for her opinion: she was fast asleep; but no wonder, yesterday's head-ache has been too much for her; she is naturally delicate. Friday, 12th.--Dull rainy day. Jem Baggs called, and invited him self to dine with me. Afflicted as usual with the blue devils of a bachelor, and waxed pathetic over his port wine. Told us, among other minutiæ, of his having formed an unfortunate attachment in his youth. Drank a bumper in joy (as he called it, with a sigh) of his escape, and requested me to lend him some lively book, to restore his spirits. Recommended "Rejected Addresses," at which I thought Amanda would have died with laughing. Saturday, 13th.-Rain, incessant rain. Walked up and down the room, twirling my watch-chain for exercise. Made some alterations in my epic upon love, and thought of my snug little study in Lincoln'sinn. Proposed, by way of amusement, that Amanda and myself should read together Shakspeare's "Venus and Adonis;" she to enact Venus, and I Adonis. Declined, on plea of severe head-ache. Quære. Are head-aches catching? Fancy I have got one myself. Sunday, 14th.-Continued rain. What a bore is a wet Sunday in the country. Amanda, by the bye, said pleasantly enough, that wet weather was at least characteristic in a watering-place. Attended morning church, and inquired of a fat clerk, whether there was any evening service. Had luncheon, by way of amusement. Looked out of window, and busied myself in counting the eaves-drops. Amanda up stairs, arranging her dress for to-morrow. Thought of my books in Lincoln's-inn. Untied my shoe-strings, in order to tie them up again. Mem. It seems a long while to dinner; my watch must surely be wrong. Monday, 15th.-Drove over to Margate. Amanda dressed in the extreme of fashion, and full, as usual, of vivacity. Walked together on the Steyne. Met one Captain Dermot O'Doherty, of Ballyshannon, a former suitor of my wife, (till he found that she had nothing,) and an Irishman. Formally introduced to him, and shaken on the spot by a hand as hard as a deal board. Mem. Amanda seems much taken with him; but this of course, for the fellow is full of cravat and compliment, and stands six feet high, by about three broad. Can't say I think much of him. Tuesday, 16th.-Received a visit from the long Irishman. Offered Amanda and myself tickets for the Margate assembly. Kicked her, under the table, as a hint to decline them. No use, one might as well kick a post. Fellow staid a full hour, during which Mrs. Samuel Snacks never ceased talking. Very strange she can't talk as much with me. Wednesday, 17th.-Had a tiff with Mrs. Samuel Snacks, about the long Irishman. In return, she called me jealous; shows how little she knows of human nature. How can I be jealous of such a damned uncouth, rawboned, disjointed jack-a-napes? Called him so before her face, and got nick-named an "old frump" in return. Mem. That's all one gets for one's good nature. "Old frump," indeed! think of that I should not mind her calling me a "frump," but old—besides, 'tis no such thing, I shall not be fifty till Michaelmas-day. Went to bed in a rage, and dreamed of the long Irishman. now. Thursday, 18th.-Walked out before breakfast, and met the long Irishman. I detest swearing, but, damn him, what does he mean by it? Returned home exceedingly kippish. Dined at three o'clock, and |