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affections and passions unruly, but that, like temperate gales, they waft him on his course, instead of driving him out of it. What is generally called high health, is a pampered state, the result of luxurious or excessive feeding, accompanied by hard or exciting exercise, and such a state is ever on the borders of disease. It is rather the madness, or intoxication of health, than health itself, and it has a tincture of many of the dangerous qualities of madness and intoxication.


As the fruit season is at hand, I give a receipt for preparing it, which I think ought to be much more common than it is. From the failures I have seen, I suppose it requires some skill and attention; but, when well managed, it furnishes a dish tempting in appearance, very agreeable to the palate, and much more wholesome than fruit with pastry. It is excellent for luncheon, or for supper, when any is wanted, and is very grateful, cold, in hot weather. It applies to every kind of fruit that is made into tarts, and is particularly good with ripe peaches or apricots, and with green gage or magnum bonum plums.

Wash a sufficient quantity of rice; put a little water to it, and set it in the oven till the water is absorbed. Then put in a little milk, work it well with a spoon, set it in the oven again, and keep working it from time to time till it is sufficiently soft. A little cream worked in at the last is an improvement. Fill a tart dish nearly full of fruit, sweeten it, and lay on the rice unevenly by spoonfuls. Bake it till the rice has a light brown, or fawn colour, on the surface.

Another receipt also applicable to the season, and, in ny opinion, of great merit, is the following: · Put a few beets, a little onion, one lettuce, and a cucumber

sliced into a stew-pan, with a little water, and a proper quantity of butter, and pepper, and salt. Set the pan in the oven, and when the vegetables have been stewed some time, put a quantity of boiled peas and some meat into the pan, and let the whole stew till the meat is ready to serve up. Lay the vegetables on the dish round the meat. Mutton, lamb, and veal are excellent dressed in this manner; and it is a very good way of using up cold meat.

It is true, this dish is by no means suited to make its appearance in state exhibitions, but that, in my mind, is no objection. I like the familiar and satisfactory style both of cooking and of eating, with the dish actually before me on mensâ firmâ, the solid table—not a kickshaw poked from behind, and dancing in the air between me and my lady neighbour's most inconvenient sleeve, without time to think whether I like what is offered, or whether I want it or not. This is all exceedingly polite according to present notions; but I rather prefer something of the Miltonic mode,

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; or Dryden's style, as paraphrased from Horace,

Sometimes 'tis grateful to the rich to try
A short vicissitude, and fit of poverty.

A savoury dish, a homely treat,
Where all is plain, where all is neat,
Without the stately spacious room,
The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom,

Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the great. It is pity one never sees luxuries and simplicity go together, and that people cannot understand that woodcocks and champagne are just as simple as fried bacon and small beer, or a haunch of venison as a leg of mutton ; but with delicacies there is always so much alloy as to take away the true relish.


“ I owe my success in business chiefly to you,” said a stationer to a paper-maker, as they were settling a large account; “ but let me ask how a man of your caution came to give credit so freely to a beginner with my slender means ?” “ Because,” replied the paper-maker, “ at whatever hour in the inorning I passed to my business, I always observed you without your coat at yours.” I knew both parties. Different men will have different degrees of success, and every man must expect to experience ebbs and flows; but I fully believe that no one in this country, of whatever condition, who is really attentive, and what is of great importance, who lets it appear that he is so, can fail in the long run. Pretence is ever bad; but there are many who obscure their good qualities by a certain carelessness, or even an affected indifference, which deprives them of the advantages they would otherwise infallibly reap, and then they complain of the injustice of the world. The man, who conceals or disguises his merit, and yet expects to have credit for it, might as well expect to be thought clean in his person, if he chose to go covered with filthy rags. The world will not, and cannot in great measure, judge but by appearances, and worth must stamp itself, if it hopes to pass current even against baser metal.



How difficult it is for those not “ to the manner born” to acquire accurate ideas of the ways of their fellow men! A French emigrant of some property, who had experienced great hospitality during the late war in a town in the north of England, on the eve of his departure invited his entertainers to a dinner, which, on their arrival, he informed them with much apparent satisfaction he had taken care should be in the true English fashion. To verify his words, there was a hare at the top of the table, a hare at the bottom, and a pie containing three brace of partridges in the middle. The second course consisted of a large piece of roast beef and a goose. Out of all rule as was this feast, still it exhibited the principal features, though exaggerated and inverted, of a substantial English dinner-a joint and poultry, and a course of game. How many descriptions by foreigners, of the habits, customs, and ways of thinking of any people, are not more faithful than was this confident attempt at imitation ! Nay, often natives themselves, when treating of what belongs to any class but their own, fall into as great errors. It is only profound observers, who are aware of this difficulty of attaining accuracy. Those who have seen little, or seen imperfectly, seldom distrust their own knowledge. I remember once in a party of travelled men, where the conversation turned upon the comparative merits of English and continental inns, by far the most decided opinion was given by a young officer, whose experience of the continent proved to have been confined to forty-eight hours' residence at Quillacq's hotel at Calais.



At the first appearance of lamps, the boy began to count them, and had just given up with the exclamation, "Well ! if there are not more lamps in this one street than in all our town” when the coachiman called out to him

“ I say, young one, where are you going to put yourself to-night?"

“ I shall stop where you stop,” said the boy. “ But you've no money, you know.”

“Ay,” said the boy triumphantly, “but this gentleman will give me some.”

6 So much the better for you,” said the coachman.

At the inn, the gentleman took the boy apart, and, putting five shillings into his hand, told him to get a comfortable supper and a good night's rest, and not to let any one know how much money he had. “In the morning,” continued he “make yourself as decent as you can, and go to your uncle's with a shilling or two in your pocket. And now, my lad, I hope you will be steady and do well in the world; and above all I recommend you never to forget your poor mother." The boy was less profuse in his thanks than might have been expected.

" What is your business with me, young man,” said Mr. B., as a decently dressed, smart youth of about seventeen was shown into his library.

“ I am the boy, sir, you gave five shillings to on the coach, three years since, last November.”

6 What do you say?” said Mr. B.-“Oh! now I recollect the circumstance, though I do not recollect you; but what is your will with me, and how did you contrive to find me out ?"

The youth told his story, interrupted by occasional questions from B., in nearly the following words:

« When you gave me the money, sir, I felt more than I said. Your name I saw on your portmanteau, and I happened to hear your servant tell the hackney coachman where to drive; so it came into my mind that I would never rest till I had shown you that I was not ungrateful. In a few days I came to look at your house. I owe you more than you think, sir,

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