JOSEPH BAXTER, ESQ.

"Integer vitæ Scelerisque purus.”

HORAT.

THE pride of the lily sometimes adorns the humblest vallies, and it is not uncommon to gather the modest and shy violet on the brows of high craggy mountains. Virtue and vice, though of an opposite nature, thrive in the same grounds, and all classes of society are open to them. Qh! that all distinctions between man and man were measured upon the quantum of virtue or vice found in each individual! Then, surely, our morals would improve, and the general happiness of mankind would be the desired result of it!

Joseph Baxter, is a native of Suffolk, and has been an inhabitant of London for these last thirty years. Liberally edu

His apartments

cated, literature and antiquarian pur suits are his hobby-horse; but too small an income has restrained the bent of his soul nearly in all the circumstances of his life. What struggles, what privations, what trouble and pain, were not suffered or made use of, as necessary engines, to arrive fairly and most honestly to the object of his wishes? . . . . However, perseverance and economy have.conquered all.

Retired, as a lonely anchorite, in the attic apartment of an inn of Court, there, not unlike the bird of Minerva, who perches on the neighbouring gutter, and

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moping to the Moon complains,” our friend silently and wisely enjoys what he calls (and who dares say he is not right?) a comfortable life.

He is fond of old engravings and musty pictures; his room does not exhibit an inch of plaster that is not closely co

a true Microcosm.

vered with such precious decorations. His tolerance has allowed him to be fourd of popish relicks; and pieces of copes and chalices from the times of the Heptarchy to this day, are hung respectfully around his bed-chamber. Old missals, curious editions of scarce books, sleep on his shelves; and precious medals repose in his cabinets. Ancient stained glass chequers his window-frames with the seven-fold glories of the rainbow, and Mambrino's helmet chides its neighbour, the real bit of copper-ore, for its not exposing more significantly the greenish treasures of its bosom. In fact, and without joke, Mr. Baxter's small apartment is truly a kind of microcosm, where time and place have lost their distances; where the produces of Otaheite and Mexico, are contiguous to the English and French beautiful china; where the Etruscan vase displays its red and black allegories by the sides of modern filigree.

His Means.

But how could any body gather so many and valuable curiosities, with no other help but a very small patrimony, which his prudence bids him to preserve, and natural fearfulness forbids him to increase? For these last thirty years he has employed the same hair-dresser, who, out of respect (we suppose) never raised his price; the same laundress and her daughter have constantly attended him for the same wages, because, as they say, they are sure of their money, let it be ever so little; and the same cookshop, or, if you will, the same tavern, has contributed to his subsistence. A constant cus tomer for so long a period, is sure to be well-treated, and Mr. Baxter never found cause to change his board. Sobriety with him is the order of the day; but a friend can enjoy, at his chambers, as comfortable a cup or dish of tea, as at any Alderman's rose-wood table.