money lent." I am a great admirer of the renowned Mister William Shakspeare, you must know," said Mr. Pallidor," and in consequence became acquainted with Mr. Johnson whilst reading him. Although I was passionately in love with my author, I became more so with this gentleman by my side, and I really thought he had followed out Shakspeare's advice, and had taken the tide at the flood-but, from his appearance, had not yet reached the goalthat is, he had not got the fortune."

Commissioner "Never mind the fortune. I suppose he'll get it soon."

The Admirer" Well, sir, what with his poetry—which, I can assure you, although we are at issue, is most excellent and his acting-a specimen of which he gave before me and some friends, is what the most loving admirer of Shakspeare would call a treat-he compelled me to lend him some rare books, and also fourteen shillings besides. I got two books back, but the one which is very antique he wont give; saying, when asked for it, with the greatest effrontery-What is more free than a gift?"" Commissioner (addressing the poet)"What answer do you make to this, sir ?"

The poet, whose outward man denoted great distress, and haggard appearance that he had studied hard, thus began:-"I have followed the advice of the bard of Avon by taking the tide at the flood, but have not been rewarded as I should have been. And with respect to this case, it's Much ado about Nothing. Before I commence my Winter's Tale, I shall be able to shew that my friend, Mr. Pallidor, has been enacting the Comedy of Errors in bringing such a foolish case as this before your court, and towards me, he has been a second Merchant of Venice. Gentlemen, I am the humble author of 'Poems on Death,' and, with your permission, I will give you a specimen:

'Death is near,

Why should we fear

To die?

For it is clear

We all shall, here,

Be buried by-and-by.'

Mr. Pallidor" There's genius! Billy Shakspeare's a fool !"

The Poet-"Don't speak so profanely, sir; remember you are in the presence of a follower of that gentleman. With respect to the fourteen shillings, that was given me for writing a comedy in five acts for Mr. Pallidor's niece, which I finished on Twelfth Night, and all the Merry Wives were delighted on my reading it. There was one part, however, they did not like, which had reference to the Taming of a Shrew, and I really thought a Tempest was brewing, but it was set at rest by the Two Gentlemen. My comedy was presented to a manager, but he refused it; and I then found that my high-flown fancy was but a Midsummer Night's Dream, and that I had not got Measure for Measure. So you see, gentlemen, that instead of me being indebted to Mr. Pallidor, I owe him nothing."

Commissioner-" Well, Mr. Pallidor, you hear what the defendant says?"

Mr. Pallidor "I do, sir. And to make all well again-for I cannot bear the thought of being separated from such a genius-I shall not insist upon having the money, although he really has my book." The Poet-" Then, I can say with Pope→→→→ My music, then, you could for ever hear, And all my words were music to your ear ;' And, with our much-loved ShakspeareAll's well that ends well."

The poet, with his admirer, followed by her whose parrot had been immortalized, left the court, to the great regret of the other plaintiffs and defendants, who were completely "spifflicated" (Americanism) by the poetry and elocution of the defendant.

THE HUMAN TEMPER.
Simili similis gaudent.

THE proverbs of a country, it is said, elucidate its genius, and shew its character as forcibly as its manners. This is certainly the truth, and we may seek no further for the English character than in the evidence

of proverbial expression. We are as various, and the weather, says the foreigner, and your as changeable, and as fantastic as the wind proverbs are, like yourselves, contradictory and absurd. He has proofs of this at his fingers' ends, and says that we are ridiculous enough to assert that "birds of a feather flock together," when at the same time we own that "two of a trade can never agree." wish to associate objects who are ever at Are we of so quarrelsome a temper that we variance, and who never come together without pulling of caps if they are females, or a bruising match if they are men? Do we delight in contradiction? or are our proverbs, instead of being simple truisms

of universal acceptation, as those of other nations, composed of paradoxes, quips, and quiddities? It is strange, and yet it is true, that we aver that true reciprocal felicity in the connubial state can only be experienced when the husband and the wife are of the same temper. We utter these axioms on the faith of our ancestors, without investigating their truth ourselves; and thus do we transmit them to posterity unrefuted, undiscussed, and even untried. Wherever we see an instance of domestic infelicity, we instantly exclaim, that if people will come together whose tempers are opposite, what other can they expect than misery? and, on the contrary, when we perceive conjugal happiness, we immediately conclude that the tempers of the pair are similar. For my own part, I have constantly looked on this matter with other eyes, and have conceived that permanent bliss is acquired from contrast of temper more than from similarity. It may be asked-Why, then, do you assume the motto Simili similis gaudent to this paper? I do it for this reason:-I be lieve that persons of similar dispositions affect the society of one another, when at the same time they do not feel entire satisfaction from that community. Pope affected the society of men of letters. Pope was best pleased, however, when in company with the man who had no pretensions to rank with him in literary fame. Voltaire pretended to desire the company of those who, like himself, had shook off the prejudices of form in religion; and yet those who knew him best affirm, that a secret pleasure brightened up his countenance when he met a man who stickled for those forms, and who would hold an argument with him on the subject. In short, as there is implanted in the bosom of every man a thirst of pre-eminence, we bear with regret and pain every rival in the course we travel. It is with temper as it is with genius-we are sure to conquer where we stand alone, but participation lessens the value of the gem. I conceive two people of similar tempers to be like two round balls, in which every possible point of contact is a repelling point, and reacts against every inclination to collision; two people of contrary tempers, like a concave and convex, enter into the closest alliance, and fall naturally into one another.

Let us look into the world, and see this proposition confirmed in the evidence of living example. Mr. and Mrs. Surly have so exact a portion of the same peevish, dissatisfied bitterness-of the same unconciliating disposition are so ready to take umbrage and so backward to give pleasure, that their house is a perpetual scene of jar and discord. If he happens to find fault, which he does on almost every occasion, she heightens his disgust by a scornful

taunt or a provoking sneer. If she again is dissatisfied, which happens just as often, he, instead of trying to soften or soothe her by condescension, provokes her still more and more by morose and peevish reproach. It is impossible to enjoy in their company the pleasures of society: their table is deserted by their friends, and their winter fire-side is the forlorn and desolate evidence of their unaccommodating tempers.

How different are these to Mr. and Mrs. Meekly, their opposite neighbours, who, on the contrary, are so perfectly incapable of taking the smallest umbrage at anything which can arise in domestic management, that their minds are become listless, and experiencing no pain, they are insensible of pleasure. Mr. and Mrs. Meekly are considered by the world as the happiest of human beings: so sweetly mild and temperate—so endearing, soft, and complyingthey seem only to live and breathe in one another. Superficial observers! were you more intimately acquainted with this so happy couple, you would find that this bliss proceeds from the absence of pain, not from the presence of pleasure. It is apathy, and not delight, that they experience. Their assimilation arises from the milky and more than feminine weakness of their minds; and being incapable of any exertion-being at no time sharpened by disappointment-their minds have become a mass of dullness and insipidity, unimpressible by the fine emotions of conflicting or ecstatic passion. Now, had these two couples been happily paired in another manner; had Mrs. Meekly become the wife of Mr. Surly, and Mrs. Surly of Mr. Meekly, how different would have been all their situations in life! The asperities in the temper of the one would have sharpened the softnesses in the other, and the casual spurts of peevishness would have been happily succeeded by the calms of condescension. They would each of them have felt, indeed, the sour-but that sour would have prepared them for the enjoyment of the sweet; and it is a maxim now universally admitted, that the knowledge of the bad is necessary to the fruition of the good.

Mr. and Mrs. Bluster are both of the most impetuous temper-actuated by the most sudden starts of passion, and so lost at times in the paroxysms of their rage, that they are capable of doing what would make them miserable for life; nay, even of doing that which would oblige the law to shorten their existence. It is impossible to express how miserable this temper makes them. They are good and valuable people on the whole, and sincerely repent and are ashamed of their conduct; but being both of the same inflammatory temper, they find no refuge nor retreat from its violence. No sooner is the one on fire than he communicates it to

the other; they are both in flames in an
instant; and while it rages they are aban-
doned by all the world to tortures more ex-
cruciating than death. There is no possi-
bility of interfering between them. Their
rage bursts upon all around them, and
people are not fond of intermeddling in
family contests. Had it been the fortune of
these two hot-headed miserables to have
been divided between a pair of a colder
constitution, the union of fire and water
would have brought their mutual passions
to the proper temperament; and though the
heat of the one might at times, by accidental
irritation, have collected itself into a fire,
yet, instead of bursting forth into the terri-
fying explosions which we now see, it
would, by the mitigating cold of the other,
have been reduced to a mere flash in the
pan.
We constantly see that the rage of
the most passionate temper suddenly evapo-
rates if fuel is not added to the flame; and
we know how often it has been recom-
mended to the married part of the world to
strive to conciliate, instead of incensing the
party already enraged. A favourite Scotch
poet has beautifully painted two instances
of the effect that the one and the other
conduct produces :—

"The Smith's wife her black deary sought,
And fand him skin and birn;
Quoth she,This day's wark's be dear bought.'
He bann'd, and gae a girn;

Ca'd her a jade, and said she mught
Gae hame, and scum her kirn:

Wisht ladren! for gin ye say aught
Mair, I'se wind a pirn,

To reel some day,

spectator to be productive of misery to both, are happily calculated for the good of both. The pressure of the mutual passion meets in the mid-way, and gives rise to the hospitable frugality which sweetens life. I could enumerate many instances of domestic felicity produced by this happy contrast. One striking instance, however, shall serve.

Sir John Clackit is so enamoured of his own wit, sense, and learning, that he constantly engrosses the conversation to himself. Whatever subject may be started, he finds means to insinuate himself into it, and by being the principal, or rather the only speaker, he generally carries the question. He silences his opponents at least, not by the force of his arguments, or the poignancy of his satire, but by the length alone of his speeches. They are silenced because they have not opportunity to speak, and find at last that it is better to give up the contest, than subject themselves to the eternal attacks of a witling. Misapprehending the reason of his success, he attributes it to his ingenuity and eloquence. Thus fortified in his hobby-horse by success, he has formed so sovereign an opinion of his ability at dispute, that his company may as well escape without a bumper to the health of the king, as a question to the display of his talent. Sir John has been troubled with this cacoethes loquendi from his earliest years; and as people affect the society of those who pursue the same road with themselves, he was deeply struck with a young lady, who, like himself, fancied herself a fine supporter of an argument. Miss Tittup was possessed of the sister spirit of Sir John. She strove to overleap the fences of the female province, and from a mistaken vanity aimed to appear capable of holding a dispute with the men. She mistook pertness for becoming vivacity, and a flow of words for quick conception. The similarity of their tempers brought them frequently together, and mutual respect restraining the full torrent of their tempers, they became fond of each other, and were soon married. The respect that bridled their tongues before marriage now gradually wore offthe tide of their tempers rushed in, and overthrowing every regard due to sex or duty, their daily disputes ended in "fool! blockhead! silly, ignorant, obstinate creature!" After this, I need not say they were completely wretched. Their lives were a continued scene of wrangling, and like Sir Charles and Lady Racket, the club and the diamond embittered every moment that passed. Providence relieved them after a three years' torture, and Sir John found his hand and his tongue again at freedom. The only solace that he had experienced during his wedlock from the clack of his spouse was in the silent attention of a grave cousin of hers, who re

sided with them. To her he flew in every extremity, recounted his arguments, refuted those of his lady, and won the cause by the voice of his fair judge. Poor soul! she never attended to the maxim of audi alteram partem, but gave it constantly in favour of the candidate that appealed to her first; and it frequently happened, when they both applied to her, that she gave it first to the one and then to the other. This was not the result of art, but of mere easiness of temper. She listened with the most patient silence; and very seldom comprehending what either of them meant, she would, with

as,

the most perfect ingenuousness, give them both what they wanted. On the death of his lady, Sir John found himself truly happy in the society of Miss Placid, and spent the greatest part of his time in discussing abstruse points in her company. She gave him, indeed, no argument to oppose, nor ever interfered in the disputes, except to answer some interrogatory of the knight's; "Am not I in the right, Maria? Is it not so?" to which she constantly replied in the short but agreeable monosyllable, Yes; and never was puzzled but when he asked her opinion of the matter. On such occasion she would tell him, that she wished to hear his sentiments on the matter, pre vious to delivering her own, and in the end, hers were sure of coinciding with his. The baronet was so won by this silent and submissive temper, that he offered Miss Placid his hand, and they were married. From that moment to this, and many hundred thousand moments have intervened, Sir John and Lady Clackit have been the happiest of mortals. His prattle and her silence so perfectly agree, that they have never had one dispute terminate in disgust. He has found the means, by asking her questions, to draw her insensibly into a small part of the argument; and she, by submitting to his opinions, has shortened his disputes. Sir John is still a most talkative man, but he is infinitely more tractable than he was in the life time of his

first wife.

I shall only add to these observations on the human temper, that the affections are very different from the passions. The latter are constitutional, and the former acquired. I must, therefore, except the former from this general proposition, as I think it in every instance absolutely necessary to connubial bliss, that the affections should be united. It would indeed be a strange hypothesis to assert, that true happiness must proceed from the union of love and hate-friendship and enmity; but it may be very possible that love founded on a similarity of temper, or, agreeable to my doctrine, founded on a false basis, may be productive of misery instead of delight. RUBENS.

The Gatherer.

To Make Home Happy.-Nature is industrious in adorning her dominions, and the man to whom this duty is addressed should feel and obey the lesson. Let him, too, be industrious in adorning his dominion wife and children, not only convenient and -in making his home, the dwelling of his comfortable, but pleasant. Let him, as far as circumstances will permit, be industrious in surrounding it with pleasing objects-in decorating it, within and without, with things that tend to make it agreeable and attractive. Let industry make it the abode of neatness and good order—a place which brings satisfaction in every inmate, and which in absence draws back the heart by the fond associations of comfort and content. Let this be done, and this sacred

spot will surely become the scene of cheerwho would have your children happy, be fulness, kindness, and peace. Ye parents industrious to bring them up in the midst of a pleasant, a cheerful, and happy home. Waste not your time in accumulating wealth for them, but fill their minds and souls, in the way proposed, with the seeds of virtue and true prosperity.

The Dead Alive.-A short time ago an inhabitant of Nantes, who was supposed to be dead, was placed in his coffin for interment, but he suddenly gave signs of life on hearing the de profundis chanted, having been simply in a trance, and finally recovered. This happy recovery is about to give birth, says a Nantes journal, to a lawsuit of a singular character; for the exdeceased, after having received the sincere felicitations of his friends, and the extrasincere ones of his heirs, has been presented by the cure who superintended the funeral ceremony with a demand for 219 francs, for the expenses of the funeral. The resuscitated gentleman, considering it rather hard to pay such a sum for a funeral which did not take place, refused to honour the curé's bill, on the ground that he had not been buried, and that if the curé thought had commanded the ceremony. The curé, he had, he had better apply to those who interment had not taken place, it was not on the other hand, declares that if the his fault, and that, therefore, as he had prepared all matters necessary for its proper execution, he should persist in his demand. So the matter rests at present.-Galignani's Messenger.

LONDON: Published by CUNNINGHAM and MORTIMER, Adelaide Street, Trafalgar Square; and sold by all Booksellers and Newsmen.

T. C. Savill, Printer, 107, St. Martin's Lane.

OLTON CASTLE was built by Richard, Lord Scroope, lord high chancellor of England, in the time of Richard II. The unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots underwent confinement here in 1568; and the room in which she was confined is pointed out as a place of wonder at the present day. It is extremely dark, and is calculated to breed melancholy ideas, as there is no other prospect from it than the gloomy court-yard. Colonel Scroope, in 1645, defended this place for Charles I., and at last surrendered it on honourable terms.

Emanuel, Lord Scroope, afterwards Earl of Sunderland, was the last of the family who resided in this castle. He died without legitimate issue, and this ancient baronial family in the male line became extinct.

The view in the engraving accompanying this article is the south front. A delightful prospect of Wensley Dale and Middleham Castle is seen down the valley. This front is a hundred and eighty-four feet in length; the walls ninety-six feet high, and seven feet thick. The west side is in good repair, and two families are still inhabitants of this part and the great west tower. The northeast tower, notwithstanding its having sustained much injury in the civil war, did not fall till 1761.

The castle is a noble-looking edifice, and attracts the attention of all visitors to Richmond, from which place it is situated about twelve miles, and one mile from the village of Redmine. It belongs to the Duke of Bolton, who inherits it from a daughter of the Scroope family.

W. A. D [No. 1138.