THE PILGRIM FATHER'S FAREWELL

TO ENGLAND.

BY CORNELIUS WEBBE.

EXPERIENCES OF

A MODERN PHILOSOPHER.

Dans les petites boîtes les bons onguens.

LESSON THE FIRST.

With meats and game, imbibe the light wines of the Rhine and the Moselle; detain them for an instant at your tongue's tip, and tickle them for their flavour.The veritable champagne, if you can get it, is the safest wine, and decidedly the most wholesome if drank towards the end of your dinner, when the carbonic acid gas assists digestion; the French never drink Cham

I. THE pride of ancestry is a ridiculous and empty va· { gums, and search out the secret places in your palate. nity, and reflects most wofully upon our own unwor. thiness. Instead, therefore, of minding who or what our fathers were, let us endeavour to conduct ourselves in such guise that our children shall not be ashamed of their fathers. Sir Thomas Overbury told a young sprig of fashion who had been boasting of his ancestry, that he was like a potatoe—for the only good that belonged to him was under ground. Gene-pagne during the meal. If you patronize the sparkalogy has been of service to science in old countries, ling brands, swallow your wine ere the effervescence in furnishing data to the historian, and determining subsides, and let it rush and foam down your delighted the legitimacy of claims to contested lands; but by gullet while the resuscitated life is in its body. Do the same means we are able to perceive that the no- not wait for the death of the dear creature, for no false blest titles are traceable to some outlaw or artisan. It action can restore the flavor of the mousseux. Rememamounts to the same thing in the end; a ploughman once ber, that all wines are like fish-they cannot be swaltold a peer, "I have as good blood in my veins as you lowed too soon when once exhibited to the light of have, only I've lost the papers." Two small country day. If you are nasty enough to eat cheese, you may squires were quarrelling, in England, about the anti-restore your palate by a glass of orthodox old portquity of their families, when Squire Fitzsmith ex-smack it well against the roof of your mouth. Then claimed with an air of triumph to his antagonist, De choose your wine for the dessert, and stick to that sort Brown, "I can prove that my family is more ancient for the rest of your sitting. Madeira is a noble tipple, and more respectable than your's; your people came if grown on the south side of the island; it may be in with the Conqueror, in one thousand and sixty-six, obtained of a better quality here, in America, than in while it is recorded in the Domesday Book that I had any other part of the globe-let it trickle over your an ancestor hanged for sacrilege in nine hundred and tongue in gentle rivulets. Claret is an innocent artisomething." cle for imbibition in the dog-days, but its delicate flavour is lost on a vitiated palate.

III. The seduction of female virtue is a poor business. No biped with the heart of a man or the feelings of a gentleman could be dirty enough to rascalize a fond, confiding girl, because he has the power to do so with impunity. I am not preaching about the im morality of the thing; no one ever attempted to deny that: but I wish my pupils to consider the seduction of a young girl as a mean, unworthy action. Suppose you admit a fellow to your table, and he repays your hospitality by entering your cabinet, and stealing your most valuable gem-is he not a dishonest, paltry scoundrel, worthy your severest execration ?— Another

II. Few persons know how to drink wine. Any man with a mouthpiece can swallow the fluid, but a very select minority are gifted with palates capable of appreciating the subtle beauties of “ the Bottle Imps." We do not drink wine now-a-days. We pour it down our throats; brutalizing our taste and confounding perception in an incongruous mixture that would disgust a duck, instead of revelling in the individual flavour of some one bright beverage. A wine drinker, after the removal of the cloth, should confine himself to one sort of wine, and one only, if he values taste and a cool copper. But at our public tables, we drink a different wine with every different friend; and in private life we submit to the fashionable folly of tast-fellow sneaks into the heart of a helpless feminine, ing a variety to please the pride of the host, or the conceit of some numskull who fancies a particular brand, yet most likely knows not the difference between a Johannisberger and the Rudesheim. The real wine drinker takes a glass of some light dry wine directly after his soup. This custom is universal with the French, and is called le coup d'apres, and is considered so wholesome a practice that the physician is said to lose a fee by its use. A pure, light Sherry, sufficiently old to be free from the olor de bota, or smell of the wine skins, is a toothsome drink in the early part of the meal. If you would know the real flavour of sherry, chew it-fill your mouth with the contents of your glass, and let the liqour tittilate your

and robs her of her richest treasure-the seducer is the largest rascal, for the thief risks a punishment, and may make something by his roguery. What should we say of him who entered a flower garden, and kicked over the choicest flowers, and trampled them in the dust, leaving their soiled leaves to fade in premature decay, or drooping out a miserable existence, stained and dishonoured. How much more creditable is it to lawfully gather a choice flower from the parent stem, and place it in your bosom, enjoying its fragrance and cherishing its beauty, free from the stains of this world's mud. Woman is the flower of humanity— for our own sakes let us not debase her.

IV. There is a vulgar error afloat that it is wrong

to be helped twice to soup. Fudge! Ease is the essence of good breeding, and it matters not how fashionable society may be, you may do as you like if not annoying to your neighbour. If the soup is good, and the fish uninviting, go the second edition of the potage by all means. The man who cheated his stomach of another helping from fear of being thought impolite, would murder his father if it was fashionable to be an orphan.

acquaintance, lend him an X; you will never see him again, and you sell him pretty cheap as loafers go.

VIII. Never marry a thin-lipped woman! Deceit and devilment lurk beneath a lean labiality. A bright eye, a rosy cheek, and other prettinesses of youth may entrap the heart, and blind the lover to the formation of the lips, particularly if the smile be winning and the teeth white, but beware! a cold heart, a long tongue, and lean lips are sure associates. Cross old maids, scolds, tattlers, prudes, vixens, and other vermin are invariably thin-lipped. The paucity of material in the labial development is amply supplied in the lin

tongue is plentiful. It is not requisite that the mouth's doors should be labrosal as a Congo belle's; the blubber lip of the African accords with her nasal naughtiness and stunted brow; but where the red and white are delicately commingled, we expect a corresponding beauty in the mouth; and what beauty can the most besotted inamorata discover in a small colourless streak of exility? The workings of a ripe and red plump pair of lips, in animated speech, are as expressive as the glances of the charmer's eye. This is a startling assertion, you will say, but it is true. Mark, in future, learn, and be convinced. Kissing thin lips is positive nonsense-cold and comfortless

V. Carrying a walking stick or hand cane is a good custom, and may be useful. If you get into a row, and find it imperative to do a bit of gladiatorial, fight your way with your cane; but if you value the cha-gual; ergo, where the lips are poor, be assured that racter of a gentleman, never draw a knife-it is the act of an assassin, and betrays the worst of cowardice. Stabbing has become popular, I admit, but its glories will be evanescent. The good sense of the people must see the brutality of the custom, and the cutting and carving of live bodies will be left to the surgeons. Pugilism is a pretty amusement, but its public practice is not congenial, and if you fall amongst blackguards, you cannot ensure fair play. If you must fight, and a Quaker may occasionally be forced into a scrimmage, use your stick; and if you expect mischief, carry a green hickory cane, about the size of your middle finger; or a sprig of English ash. Let it be quite straight, and devoid of the curl at the thick end. When you have made up your mind to go to work, catch hold of your stick about a foot from the thick end; you will have more government over your weapon that way than any other; and, in case of a miss, you can recover your guard directly. The short end will give you the use of an additional weapon-an effective spur for the ribs of your adversaries. You will be enabled to present one of them with a poke and favour another with a thump almost at the same moment. It is useful also to peg with at close quar-ade, well concocted, is a pretty lady-like tipple-and ters. If you see one of your friends drawing his toothpick against you, hit it a crack with your shillelah, and knock it to smithereens. You may do a very decent fight with a stick of this sort; it is quite as detersive as the Bowie knife, and destitute of its blood-ministered at the hotels is enough to give a cayman thirstiness. Murder is a terrible anti-soporific, and the daily sight of your victim's widow and three fatherless children will not assist dyspepsia. Stick to sticks, and cut knives.

Like frozen water to a starved snake; But, oh, ye gods! the rapture of a basial salute from our heart's darling! to taste the nectar of lips full of life and love-pulpy as a sun-ripe peach-ruddy as the blushing rose-and formed

As kissing cherries tempting grow.

IX. Dr. Kitchener, when directing the concoction of lemonade, talks about quintessence of lemon-peel, and pyroligneous vinegar, and crystallized lemon acid, and clarified syrup or capillaire. Humbug! Lemon,

it is to be made as palatable and pleasant as the sherbet that old Mahomet is now handing to his Houris in the seventh heaven, and that too without any of the doctor's fine materials. The lemonade generally ad

the cholera-common steam sugar with its concomitants of sand and dirt-and half of the body of a lemon, which is mashed, pounded, and dabbled to the consistency of pea-soup, with half a hundred pips in the

inwards with such a concentration of nastiness is to me beyond belief. A mud turtle would turn his tail to it. Some persons qualify it with a little brandy, which makes it something like the ghost of cold punch, but no more to be compared to genuine lemonade than the Roman gourmand's celebrated salacacaby is to a

VI. The best cigars in the world are the old, black-way of peas. How reasonable people can insult their looking, small sized Puerto Principés, but the real article is rarely to be obtained. The next best are the fat-bodied, light-coloured, squab Habanas, made by the widow Woodville. Many scheming dealers buy foreign tobacco en rema, and some of our best looking cigars are made of common Maryland weed, poorly cured, and covered with a smooth, lip-inviting leaf of Cuba | dish of stewed terrapins. To make a drinkable lemonculture.

VII. When you see an how-d'ye-do acquaintance advance with a sneaking look, like a fawning spaniel, and hear him stutter out some indistinct apology about notes protested, hard times, and friendship, you know of course that he meditates a diversion upon your wallet. Before he can complete his request, burst him up by asking him to lend you a cool thousand for a week or two. If he is a loafer, and you wish to drop his

ade, get a pound of sugar candy, and dissolve it in half a pint of warm water (a good rule for all sweet drinks) add the juice of six lemons, and strain the whole into a large glass bowl. Place several lumps of clean ice in the centre of the crystal, and pour in a couple of bottles of good La Fitte. Float a slice or two of pine-apple, and you have a superior facolation worthy a lover's hand and lady's lip, and the very thing for B suction in a summer's eve.

AM IA COLD COQUETTE ?

BY CATHERINE H. WATERMAN.

THEY tell me I am volatile,

An adept in my art,

Because I've many spots to fill

Within my loving heart.

They tell me I am fond of change,
And, like th' inconstant bee,
From sweet to sweet, I love to range,
All fetterless and free.

But would they look into my breast,
Where young fond thoughts have met,
See how their deep impressions rest,

They'd say I'm no Coquette.

My heart from childhood's early days
Hath in its uncheck'd flow,
Scatter'd the sunlight of its rays,
In a perpetual glow.
With gushing tenderness it clung
To all around, above;

To every bud and flower that sprung,

For it was made to love.

And if with an unsparing hand,

It gathers flow'rets yet,
And loves alike the mingled band,
Am I a cold Coquette?

There are deep tones within my heart,
They've slept the sleep of years;
Why should I wake them, but to start
The unavailing tears.

They are, as harps, too finely strung
For stranger hands to sound;
And careless fingers o'er them flung
Would probe an unheal'd wound.

If joy's realities are o'er,

Bright fancies glad me yet;

My bark of hope was wreck'd near shore-
Am I a cold Coquette ?

But if to love the sunny earth,

The bright and glorious skies,
The summer buds that spring to birth,
In rainbow tinted dyes;

And joy in all that care beguiles,

And from the many claim
Affection's fond and cheering smiles,

And friendship's sacred flame;
To hold them to my heart, and still
Its sad but vain regret,

Is to be weak and volatile-
I am a cold Coquette.

TEMPER.

criminals who infest it, and, in my opinion, are often much more blameworthy. I have remarked, that

affront they have received there. The concluding sentence of Fenelon's Telemachus is so much in unison with my sentiments, and is so well expressed, that I will conclude with it.

Or all personal and mental attractions, the two most permanent are undoubtedly smoothness of skin and temper-a sort of velvetness of body and mind.-persons much given to pique, are frequently particu As they both especially depend upon the digestion, larly strict in the outward observances of religion.that is one of the strongest arguments for attending to They must have strange notions, or rather no notions its state. For once that the actions of human beings at all of the spirit of Christianity; and the doctrines are guided by reason, ninety and nine times they are they hear must fall upon the most stony of places— more or less influenced by temper. It is an even Nay, I have met with persons so insensible to protemper only that allows reason her full dominion, and priety, as to avow without scruple, that they have left enables us to arrive at any intended end by the near-off attending a place of worship from some supposed est way, or at all. On the other hand, there is no obstacle to advancement or happiness so great as an undisciplined temper-a temper subject to pique or uncertainty. Pique is at once the bitterest and most absurd enemy a man can have. It will make him run counter to his dearest interests, and at the same time render him completely regardless of the interests of all around him. It will make him blindly violate every principle of truth, honesty, and humanity, and defeat the most important business. or break up the happiest party, without remorse, or a seeming consciousness of doing what is wrong. It is pity that those who allow themselves to be subject to it, are not treated with a great deal more severity than they usually are; for, in truth, they are greater pests to society than all the

"Above all things, be on your guard against your temper. It is an enemy that will accompany you everywhere, to the last hour of your life. If you listen to it, it will frustrate your designs. It will make you lose the most important opportunities, and will inspire you with the inclinations and aversions of a child, to the prejudice of your gravest interests.→→ Temper causes the greatest affairs to be decided by the most paltry reasons; it obscures every talent, pa ralyses every energy, and renders its victims unequal. weak, vile, and insupportable."

LEAVES FROM A LIFE IN LONDON.-No. I.

BY WILLIAM E. BURTON.

THE CONVICT AND HIS WIFE.

ONE evening, in the fall of the year 1828, I was | edge of the kerb stone, and crying bitterly-their far returning home from a late supper at the house of a friend, and was much surprised to observe on approaching the Surrey side of Blackfriar's Bridge, a party of heavy cavalry picketed in the little square by the immediate side of the roadway. The polished accoutrements of the Life Guards glittered in the bright moonlight, and the dismounted men were standing in small conversational groups, or attending to the housings of their Hanoverian chargers. Upon inquiry, I ascertained that the cavalry was intended as an escort to a large body of convicts, who, at mid night, were to commence their journey to the hulks or prison ships at Portsmouth, preparatory to embarkation for the penal settlements in New South Wales.

As I stood upon the rise of the bridge, gazing at the picturesque appearance of the troopers' temporary bivouac, the heavy bell of St. Paul's boomed out the midnight hour. Ere it had finished striking, the smaller steeples gave forth their chimes in every variety of tone. I was listening to the gradual declination of the sounds, when I thought I heard a female's cry for help, accompanied by hysterical shrieks. I climbed the balustrade, and looked upon the water, imagining that the cries proceeded from some person in danger; but not a boat vexed the bosom of old father Thames, as he glided rapidly through the proud arches of the bridge, and seemed to rejoice in the beams of the meridian moon, whose splendor imparted a life-like lightness to his deep and turbid waters.

The cries of distress were repeated. A cavalry officer dashed rapidly across the bridge-the word was given to mount, and in an instant, the Life Guards were formed by the roadside in marching order. A heavy but distant rumbling attracted the attention of my brother gazers, and a shout of "they are coming," was followed by a rush to the centre of the bridge. Iyielded to the excitement of the moment, and after a short run, found myself in the midst of a group of persons who were assembled to gaze their last upon their convict friends, and exchange a short but sad farewell.

The individuals composing this assemblage scarcely exceeded thirty in number, and were of a motley appearance and behaviour: several of the lowest of the scarcely human beings who infest the streets in the garb of females, were leaning against the balustrades, uttering the vilest profanity, and swallowing glass after glass of their favourite gin-they were waiting to wish a good voyage to one of their old friends. Two young girls of respectable appearance, were sitting on the

ther was sentenced to be transported for life, and they were left friendless to struggle through the world. An old man, sadly emaciated and poverty-stricken, with his hat pressed closely over his eyes, took short and restless turns on the pathway of the bridge, sobbing loudly, and shivering as the night wind penetrated the rents in his old and tattered garments. A couple of short, thick-set men, in long-tailed coats, breeches, and high-low shoes, evinced sympathy in the fate of a brother pickpocket-while some welldressed swells, in white hats and top boots, were waiting to give a parting cheer to a prize-fighter who had escaped punishment for killing his man in the ring, but was "going to Botany" for highway robbery of an aggravated nature.

Several detached groups, principally of females, crowded to the centre of the bridge, as the carriage containing the convicts came in sight. It was a spacious, heavily-built open wagon, with sides of high, solid wood, and drawn by six horses. The prisoners, all of whom were under sentence of banishment for life, filled the interior of the vehicle, in a solid mass, and were secured by neck and wrist chains to bars of iron running from the top of the wagon's sides, keeping the convicts in an upright and constrained position, and preventing the possibility of escape. Police officers, heavily armed, rode in front and behind the wagon, and the detachment of cavalry brought up the

rear.

When the wagon gained the centre of the bridge, a halt was made of some five or six minutes. It was to take advantage of this necessary or allowed delay, that the persons above described had assembled. The custom of halting upon the bridge is but a good-na"tured excuse, giving the prisoners an opportunity of a last farewell free from the crowd of idle gazers which would attend them at the prison gates, or in one of the more frequented thoroughfares of the metropolis.

The convicts' friends closed round the wagon, and the following mixture of frivolity and horror may be deemed a fair sample of the conversation.