said or thought of her, she holds the talking tenor of her way, and questions, conjectures, and communicates to all and sundry, all she thinks, and sees, and hears, with nods and queries, and wreathed smiles. But of incessant egotism, and tiresome frivolous talk, Lord Pompous was perhaps the greatest specimen. He was a bore of the first water; he would go on thus: "I had a bad cold two days ago, accompanied by a slight shivering. My servant, Jackson, who you know has been so long with me, and is so much attached, heard me cough, and looking very anxious, for he truly loves me, he said with deep interest, My lord, you have got a cold; remember yours is a valuable life; allow me to go for the doctor.'-'You know, Jackson, I never take care of myself.'—' Ah! I know that well,' said Jackson, with a heavy sigh, 'think my dear master, what a loss you would be to society and to the world in general, please to allow me to go for the doctor.' Well, though I thought it was nonsense, to satisfy the poor fellow, I said, 'Jackson, you may go.' I sat down in the arm chair, and it was astonishing how quickly the doctor came he must have flown all the way. 'Doctor,' said I, 'they insisted on my seeing you.' He then related to him his symptoms, and Jackson's entreaties and his replies, as have been before stated. The doctor felt my pulse. 'My lord,' said he, 'you are a little feverish--I am glad you have sent for me-go to bed, and I shall send you a draught to-night, to be taken in a little my dear Lord Pompous, you must really take more care of yourself; yours is a valuable life-consider what a loss you would be to your friends and the public; you really must, my lord, take care of your self.' I laughed, but said, that I would do as he bid me. John was delighted, affectionate creature. I thank God, I am now well; my illness did not last above three days; and yet I was disturbed by the constant ringing of the bell, every one seemed so deeply interested in me." Lord Pompous's conversation was all about himself and his own affairs-I and me were ever on his tongue-his answer to the most common query he thought worth the repeating, and complimented and lauded himself on every occasion; some compliments he did receive from some daring ones, but they were in reality banters which he did not perceive. Much is required to make conversation truly agreeable. Listen to others, talk not of yourself, never seek for praise, laugh not at your own wit, endeavour to bring forth the talents of others, rather than display your own; speak not evil of others, even when you know it to be true, and show no pleasure in listening to evil reports, even of those who may have treated you unkindly. Avoid arguments; let many sentiments with which you do not agree appear as if they escaped your observation altogether, preferring to say something else which you may think more for edification, and when statements are made, or sentiments expressed, which you think call for contradiction, as far as possible, endeavour to state the opposing truth, and pass on to something else; this, in general conversation, is better than bringing forward arguments to prove the error in sentiment or in fact of your opponent. 69 CHATEAUBRIAND ON THE DAUGHTER OF CUVIER. A PIOUS AND EXCELLENT YOUNG LADY. THE father's hands pale roses throw The earth that bore them covers now Maiden and flower! Ah! never give them back to light Of this world's sinful, sorrowing hour, Where sunshine withers, frost-winds blight Maiden and flower! Sleep, sweet Eliza, softly sleep! Few were your days, nor storm nor shower, Can reach you now, in shelter deep, Maiden and flower! Your fresh and vernal mornings o'er, Slumbering in dust, until His power F. R. EXTRACTS FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS. Он, how canst thou renounce the boundless store All that the genial ray of morning gilds, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, BEATTIE. The following is started by one of the schoolmen:— Supposing that the whole body of the Earth were a great ball or mass of the finest sand, and that a single grain or particle of this sand, should be annihilated every thousand years: supposing then, that you had in your choice, to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of sand was consuming by this slow method, till there was not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be miserable for ever after; or supposing, that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would be miserable till the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated, at the rate of one sand in a thousand years,—which of these two cases would you make your choice?-It must be confessed in this case, so many thousand years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them, as an unit does to the greatest number which you can put together in figures, or as one of those sands to the supposed heap. Reason therefore tells us, without any manner of hesitation, which would be the better part in this choice; however, as I have before intimated, our reason might, in such a case, be so overset by the imagination, as to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that second duration which is to succeed it. The mind, I say, might give itself up to that happiness which is at hand, considering that it is so very near, and that it would last so very long ; but when the choice we actually have before us is this, whether we will choose to be happy for the space of only three-score and ten years, I might say of only a day or an hour, and miserable to all eternity, or, on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity,-what words are sufficient to express that folly and want of consideration, which in such a case makes a wrong choice! I here put the case even at the worst, by supposing, (what seldom happens,) that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life; but if we suppose, (as it generally happens,) that virtue will make us more happy, even in this life, than a contrary course of vice, how can we sufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons, who are capable of making so absurd a choice? Every wise man, therefore, will consider this life, only as it may evidence to the happiness of the other, and cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those of an eternity. SPECTATOR. |