Enter Lord Tinsel, and the Earl of Rochdale, a new-made Nobleman.

Tin. Believe me; you shall profit by my training; You grow a lord apace. I saw you meet

A bevy of your former friends, who fain

Had shaken hands with you. You gave them fingers!
You 're now another man. Your house is changed,
Your table changed, your retinue, your horse,
Where once you rode a hack, you now back blood;
Befits it then you also change your friends.

[Enter Williams, an attendant.] Wil. A gentleman would see your lordship. Tin. Sir, what's that?

Wil. A gentleman would see his lordship.

Tin. How know you, sir, his lordship is at home?

Is he at home because he goes not out?

He's not at home, though there you should see him, sir,
Unless he certifies that he 's at home!

Bring up the name of the gentleman, and then

Your lord will know if he's at home or not. [Exit Williams. Your man was porter to some merchant's door,

Who never taught him better breeding

Than to speak the vulgar truth! — Well, sir?

Wil. His name,

[To Williams, reëntering.

So please your lordship, Markham.

Tin. Do you know

The thing?

Roch. Right well! I' faith, a hearty fellow,

Son to a worthy tradesman, who would do

Great things with little means; so entered him

In the Temple. A good fellow on my life,

Nought smacking of his stock!

Tin. You've said enough!

His lordship's not at home. [Exit Williams.] We do not go By hearts, but orders! Had he family,

Blood,—though it were only a drop,

his heart

Would pass for something, lacking such desert,
Were it ten times the heart it is, 't is nought!

[Enter Williams.
Wil. One Master Jones hath asked to see your lordship.
Tin. And what was your reply to Master Jones?
I knew not if his lordship was at home.
You'll do. -

Wil.
Tin.

Who's Master Jones?

Roch. A curate's son.

Tin. A curate's son? Better be a yeoman's son How made you his acquaintance, pray?

Roch. We read.

Latin and Greek together.

Tin. Dropping them,

As, now that you 're a lord, of course you've done, —

Drop him.

You'll say his lordship's not at home.

Wil. So please your lordship, I forgot to say,

One Richard Cricket likewise is below.

Tin. Who? Richard Cricket? You must see him, Rochdale!

A noble little fellow! A great man, sir!

Not knowing whom, you would be nobody!

I won five thousand pounds by him!

Roch. Who is he?

I never heard of him.

Tin. What! never heard

Of Richard Cricket! never heard of him!

Why, he's the jockey of Newmarket; you

May win a cup by him, or else a sweepstakes.
I bade him call upon you. You must see him.
His lordship is at home to Richard Cricket.
Roch. Bid him wait in the ante-room.

The best room in your house! You do not know
The use of Richard Cricket! Show him, sir,

Into the drawing-room. [Exit Williams.] Your lordship needs
Must be upon the turf; and you'll do well
To make a friend of Richard Cricket..
What's that?

- Well, sir,

[To Williams, reëntering.

Wil. So please your lordship a petition.
Tin. Hadst not a service 'mong the Hottentots
Ere thou cam❜st hither, friend? Present thy lord
With a petition! At mechanics' doors,

At tradesmen's, shopkeepers', and merchants' only

Have such things leave to knock! Make thy lord's gate A wicket to a workhouse! Let us see it

Subscriptions to a book of poetry !

Who heads the list? Cornelius Tense, A. M.,

Which means he construes Greek and Latin, works
Problems in mathematics, can chop logic,

And is a conjuror in philosophy,

Both natural and moral. - Pshaw! a man
Whom nobody, that is, any body, knows.
Who think you follows him? Why, an M. D.,
An F. R. S., an F. A. S., and then

A D. D., Doctor of Divinity,

Ushering in an LL. D., which means

Doctor of Laws,

their harmony no doubt

The difference of their trades! There's nothing here
But languages, and sciences, and arts,

Not an iota of nobility!

We cannot give our names.

Take back the paper,

And tell the bearer there's no answer for him :

That is the lordly way of saying 'No.'

But, talking of subscriptions, here is one

To which your lordship may affix his name.
Roch. Pray, who's the object?

Tin. A most worthy man!

A man of singular deserts; a man

In serving whom your lordship will serve me,—
Signor Cantata.*

Roch. He's a friend of yours?

Tin. Oh no, I know him not! I've not that pleasure. But Lady Dangle knows him; she's his friend.

He will oblige us with a set of concerts,

Six concerts to the set. The set three guineas.
Your lordship will subscribe?

Roch. Oh! by all means.

Tin. How many sets of tickets? Two at least. You'll like to take a friend? I'll set you down Six guineas to Signor Cantata's concerts;

And now, my lord, we'll to him, then we 'll walk.

*Pronounced Cantâta.

EXERCISE CXLV.

THE PASSION FOR DRESS. - Dr. Freeman.

Is it not strange, that man can be vain of his attire? Does he wear fine clothes? Let him give the credit to the weaver and the tailor. Is man a moral, intelligent being; and shall he swell with no higher ambition than the peacock? Surely the fluttering fop, who places all excellence in the cut and quality of his coat, if he ever possessed, must have wholly lost, the dignity of human nature.

The

To see this

It is a mark of a little mind, to seek distinction by dress. It is the mind which constitutes the dignity of man. powers of the mind are vast and enlarging. It is capable of clear conceptions and elevated sentiments. It can propose high ends and comprehend mighty schemes. lofty mind dwindling to the dimensions of a wardrobe, deliberating with anxious solemnity on the color of a waistcoat, the relations of a cape, or the fitness of a shoe, this is humbling indeed: I blush for the name of man.

This passion for dress has been called a trifling weakness. What! is it nothing to cast away reason, to degrade the soul? Is it nothing to sacrifice moral powers and feelings, to blast the hope and promise of our nature? If any man is endowed with mind, and a capacity of perceiving excellence, then this love of dress is worse than suicide, and bears sad testimony to the debasement of his heart.

What improvement might we anticipate, if the time, which is now wasted in contriving and preparing articles of dress, were applied to the, cultivation of the heart and understanding! Ye vain, would ye indeed be adorned? Seek the ornaments of truth, of purity, of benevolence. These will clothe you in unfading glory. These will be in fashion through eternity. Do you desire to acquire and feel importance, when you mingle with the world? Believe me, there is a consciousness of honest, undesigning goodness, that inspires a confidence and an ease, which the gaudiness of foppery can never attain.

EXERCISE CXLVI.

THE RELIGION OF THE SEA.-N. L. Frothingham.

The sea has often been likened to this our life. Poetry is fond of remarking resemblances between it and the passions and fortunes of humanity. Our contemplations launch forth on its capacious bosom, and gather up the images and shadowings of our existence and fate, of what we are, and what is appointed to us. Do we see its multitudinous waves, rushing blindly and impetuously along wherever they are driven by the lashing wind? They remind us of an angry mind, and the tumult of an enraged people. Are the waves hushed, and is a calm breathed over the floods? It is the similitude of a peaceful breast, of a composed and placid spirit, or a quiet, untroubled time.

Doubts, anxieties, and fears pass over our minds, as clouds tinge the waters, with their deep and threatening hues. Does a beaming hope or a golden joy break in suddenly upon us, in the midst of care or misfortune? What is it but a ray of light, such as we sometimes behold sent down from the rifted sky, shining alone in the dark horizon, a sun-burst on a sullen sea?

Then how often are the vicissitudes of life compared with the changes of the ocean! Who that has been abroad on the sea, or who has read or heard any thing of its phenomena, does not know that the morning may arise with the fairest promises, bringing the favoring breeze, and smiling over the pleasant water, and ere the evening falls, or before high noon comes, the scene may be wrapped in gloom, the steady gale may be converted into the savage blast, the gay sunbeams may be followed by the blue lightnings, and the floods above be poured down on the floods below, as if together they were determined, as of old, to drown and desolate the world? And do not these things take place in the voyage of human life? Who knows not how often youth sets sail with flattering hopes and brilliant prospects, which are changed, before manhood, into dreary disappointment or black despair? Who knows not, how often and how suddenly the sun of prosperity may be covered up from sight, and its glowing rays be quenched in the coldness, and darkness, and fearfulness of howling ad