When meeting with a person who keeps his umbrella tightly clenched, slant your canopy under his, you will thus prevent the wet border of his umbrella coming in contact with your cheek, and pouring its deluging contents within your neckcloth-no pleasant thing. Next, if going through an alley, and before you there should chance be an old lady hobbling in pattens, with an umbrella so held that you vainly attempt to get before, depress your umbrella against her's, and gently bearing forwards you will improve your pace wonderfully. I have sent an old woman repeatedly through a narrow passage full trot, and left her at the end, breathless with the augmented speed in which I made her foot it. I also adopt this method (providing it then rains) when walking a narrow pavement behind a person who pertinaciously keeps the centre of the way, and seems determined, if you will get before him, you shall dirt your shoes in the muddy road first. I shall just mention another rule which particularly claims the notice of the gay blood, it is this— when meeting with another umbrella, which, as well as your own, is unfurled, particularly if the bearer is a lady, depress your's downwards, and with a circular motion of the wrist bring it over your head again; this movement has great beauty, it is the third or fourth cut of the broad sword exercise, according as you make it from right or left. You will thus get noticed, so enviable a thing to the beau.

I could give many other rules, but the above are the principal, a due regard to which cannot fail to make a person thoroughly able to carry an umbrella with ease and elegance.

Since writing the above, I have thought, whether it might not be of advantage to both the public and myself, to open an academy for the teaching this novel, but truly useful, and decidedly necessary art. If upon further consideration I should decide upon so doing, I shall lay my plan before the world, and have no doubt but I should, in a very short time, be as much sought after as the Mounseers who teach grown gentlemen to dance; at any rate, I can calculate upon having the attendance of all the Tom-fools-I mean Toms and Jerrys-in the kingdom; particularly when I acquaint them, that from my mastership over the subject I shall be able to teach the whole art in six lessons only. L. W. Wy

DR. WHARTON is said to have lost his election to the headship of Trinity College, Oxford, in a very singular way. As one of the Fellows of that Society, (by no means remarkable for an uncommon share of wisdom,) was reading prayers, he came to that verse in the Psalms, "Lord, thou knowest my simpleness." Why," said Wharton, “that is known to everybody." When the headship was vacant, Wharton asked his friend for his vote-" No, no,” replied he, "I am not so simple as that."--And Wharton lost his election.

66

THE GOLDEN JEW OF BRUGES.

LIGHT as noon, though at midnight, shone Bruges' great square,
All illumin'd and bright, whilst the noble and fair

Throng'd the palace of Shivaz, and Catholics true,
Grac'd the passover feast of that fam'd "Golden Jew."

To the Banquet saloon-at the shrill clarion's call,
Their host led his gay guests from the dance in the hall,
Costly viands, rich wines, in magnificence spread,
Stood around the unleaven'd pure festival bread.

High the revelry rose, while reiterate shout
Of loud ungovern'd mirth, peal'd in echo's without,
As the multitude quaff'd, to the honour and health
Of Joanne-lovely heiress of uncounted wealth.

"Where,—where is my daughter?"-with quick wandering gaze
Cried the Hebrew,-as springing in startled amaze
From his canopied seat, he surveyed the void chair,
Where his Joanne had sat--but, no Joanne was there!

"Nay, my Lord,"-quoth the page, who his jewel'd cup bore, "My fair Lady Joanne, through the low garden door Bent her way even now, and cannot be afar;

The Scotch Knight was her escort-Sir Claud de la Barr."

'Away!-find her," yell'd Shivaz-as seizing a torch,

His white hair wildly streaming, he rush'd from the porch,
In vain search of Joanne, led by love's guilty fire,
Lost to virtue, she flies, from her heart-stricken sire!

Soon the agoniz'd father confirmed every fear,-
To his chamber is brought,-ghastly calm!-not a tear
That wan cheek has bedew'd-and the succeeding day,.
Poison spotted and breathless, the "Golden Jew" lay.

Scarce fifteen summer suns on young Joanne had shone,
When hopeless of pardon, heart and innocence gone,
With her paramour, reckless, to Scotia she sped,
Soon a mother to be, unacknowledged!-unwed!

'Ere that moment arrived, to his nephew and ward, Came an angry summons, from the stern ancient Lord.

Who by lineage and law, of Sir Claud held the rein,
With a curb, the proud Knight did not dare to disdain.

An embrace! -a warm kiss!-and, an oath of return!—
Gone is Claud de la Barr-leaving Joanne to mourn,
Till a dread missive told-" he was doom'd to abide,
His fierce uncle's award, in the choice of a bride.

"That election too made-all his struggles were nought,
'Twas a parent's last will!-still his tenderest thought
To her welfare was given, and, his Joanne should find,
Though sunder'd in person, still their souls were conjoin'd."

As the fair victim read, her frame stiffened to stone,
Fixed, her dark eye balls glared-but, she utter'd no groan,—
Pale as parian sculpture, mute and motionless sate,
A beauteous despair, o'er the mandate of fate!

An untimely mother, 'ere long, Joanne became-
And, when night cast a veil o'er sin, sorrow, and shame!
From Claud's castle she fled, with her last earthly tie,
To her breast nestled warm!—though she sought but to die.

Sworn are false, heartless vows! 'tis the nuptial day—
Hark, the merry bells ring!-hark, the peasants huzza!
As the carriage whirls on-that in high, open state,
Bears the Bride, and Sir Claud, to his ancestral gate.

To the welcoming portal the fleet horses urg'd-
As the mansion they near'd, from the thicket emerg'd
A wild shadowy form !-swift as lightning it speeds,
And, with unholy cry, soon approaches the steeds!

From encircling embrace, as she flew o'er the last
Verdur'd spot in her path, with soft caution she cast
Her infant-then headlong on eternity rush'd,
And Sir Claud saw Joanne by his bridal wheels crush'd.`

In cold horror he gaz'd on the disfigur'd breast,
Gash'd, torn!--that had pillow'd his eyes to their rest,
And the white, broken arms! and the blue, livid lip

Froth'd with blood! for the dew, 'twas his bliss once to sip!

He gaz'd!-yet he died not!-but old chronicles say,
That his fair auburn locks the next morning were grey!
Cheerless, heirless !-he lived, a lone, unblessed man!
And his last mortal breath shriek'd, "I come, my Joanne !"

CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF M. AND MADAME DACIER.

ANDREW DACIER was most fortunate in his connections: his father was a lawyer of Cortes-a man so much esteemed and respected, that it was a common wish, that the son might inherit his good qualities; and his wife 'was one of the most learned persons of her age, admired not only for her knowledge and genius, but also for her virtue, firmness of mind, evenness of temper, and generosity. Young Dacier discovered in his infancy great talents, and a strong inclination for learning. Whilst he pursued the course of classical studies, he perceived that there was something still more important than a mere literal comprehension of them; something which seemed placed beyond the verge of common schools, and yet was not to be attained without a guide. A most excellent one his father engaged for him in the then celebrated Tanaquill Faber, or Le Fevre, who possessed the happy art of leading his pupils through flowery paths to the sources of the learned languages, and who displayed their beauties with a spirit and amiability which blended delight with instruction. A more remarkable, and not less agreeable circumstance, contributed also to his proficiency under this eminent tutor. Miss Le Fevre, his daughter, was a prodigy of learning, excelling any of her father's scholars; a parity of age, a conformity in religion-both being protestants-and a congeniality of talents and inclinations, inspired these young people with that emulation which is indispensible to complete success.

M. Le Fevre had an acquaintance, who prided himself on his skill in judicial astronomy; on the day that Mademoiselle Anne was born, he requested permission to cast her nativity, for which purpose it was necessary to be informed of the precise moment at which that event occurred. The astronomer, after finishing his figure, told M. Le Fevre that he must have misinformed him as to the time, for the nativity which he had cast assured a fortune, and a fame, far surpassing that which ordinarily falls to the lot of the softer sex. The lady herself, when she grew up, would often allude to this circumstance, as a proof of the inefficacy of that art which pretended to shew so many fine things in the horoscope of a girl without fortune; but others have adduced it as a confirmation of that science, applying those magnificent presages of fortune and grandeur, to the wonderful reputation she acquired by her masculine intellect and extraordinary acquirements.

It was very far from M. Le Fevre's thoughts to make his daughter a scholar, but an incident ordered it so to be. He had a son, whom he educated with the greatest care, and while his lessons were going forward, the daughter sat by, at her needle; the lad, happening one day to hesitate in an answer to some question proposed by the father, his sister prompted him what to say, though she appeared to be all the time intent upon her work: the father, however, heard her, and overjoyed at the discovery, resolved to take her under his tuition. The young lady repented of her interference when she found herself confined to regular lessons; but her reluctance to proceed was soon overcome by the father's PART XII.- -46.

U

VOL. II.

commendations of her aptness and assiduity, which were such, that from being his scholar she became his confidante, consulted in all his designs, and an assistant in all his compositions.

M. Dacier's course of Belles lettres came to a conclusion, in his opinion, much too soon; and though to most young men it seems delightful to be sent to the capital, it was with regret that he quitted Saumur for Paris, to study the law: this indeed, he only made a show of, being much more frequently among the literati, than the lawyers; and contenting himself with law enough to display in his correspondence with his father, whom he prevailed upon not to hasten his departure for Castres, where the father intended to settle him as an Advocate. In the meantime, M. Le Fevre died, and soon after his daughter removed to Paris, where her reputation for learning had already begun to spread; she signalised her arrival by a fine edition of Callimachus, with the Greek scholium, a Latin version, and critical notes. This essay revived the emulation of Dacier, her former school-fellow, who soon after introduced himself into the literary world by a translation of Horace, and his remarks on the Greek text, by Longinus. The rising reputation of these rivals coming to the knowledge of the Duke de Montausier, governor to the Dauphin, they were both put in the list of those who were appointed to make commentaries on certain Latin authors, for that Prince's use. Miss Le Fevre's task was Florus, Dictys of Crete, Aurelius Victor, and Eutropius; while Dacier was charged with Festus, which for its length, and the difficulty of the text, may be accounted equal to the other four.

The applause of the public, and the liberality of the court, were not the most valuable reward of these performances: their former esteem was now improved into a tender complacency, which, without a formal courtship, was cemented by a marriage,* and which continued without alteration till her decease in 1720, during a period of forty years.

Both parties had been educated in the protestant faith; but they both, at the same time, declared that their attachment to literature had diverted their attention from religion; that they were about to sequester themselves from company and authors; and would retire for a time into the country, there to employ themselves in canvassing the arguments of the Catholics reformed. The result of their retired disquisitions, which lasted several weeks, was a declaration for Catholicism; the public profession of which, however, they deferred till their return to Paris, out of tenderness for their relations, whose concern at their defection, would, they conceived, be much embittered by that ceremony.

Upon their return to Paris, in 1686, the new converts were received with the utmost joy; after which, they were permitted to resume their usual exercises. The Comedies of Terence now received from Madame Dacier a light equal to that which she had imparted to those of Plautus and Aristophanes; while her learned spouse, who had already * On this occasion, an admirer of their's complimented the bride with this distich:-

Docto nupta viro, docto prognata parente,
Non minor Anna viro, non minor Anna patre.