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his first appearance in it; and, while the lights, are extinguishing, he goes from box to box, in order to search, for the lost pins; not one of them escapes his lynxean eye, let it lie where it may; and, when the last candle, is extinguished, our farmer picks up his last pin, and, with the hope of not dying the next morning with hun. ger, hastens to the broker to sell him his treasure*....
.... In this gallery of remarkable persons, ą stoic of this city, known under the name of Quatorze Oignons, ought not to be forgotten. He is a real Diogenes, who denies himself every thing, even the most urgent necessaries. By profession he is a porter; and his whole property consists of a basket, which he employs during the day to carry any thing for hire, and in the night makes it an alcove, under which he sleeps perfectly sound on the bare ground, or wherever he can. For forty years he has carried his basket, which he patches when necessary, and which is thus, from time to time, renewed, as the human body is, according to the phy: sicians. Fourteen onions form his daily nourishment, to this he is not at all constrained by want; on the contrary, he gives to the poor who ask for alms, and lends money without ever demanding it back. He earns, daily, from three to four livres, and by these means can be a friend and benefactor to many; he speaks little, but with energy; he is acquainted with several literati. I , the chymist, once asked him if he was happy. “! I believe so," replied the philosopher.-" But in what does your happiness consist?"-" In labour, rest, and want of care.”_" Add also, in beneficence, for I know that you do a great deal of good."-"In what manner?"_“You give to the poor."—"I give them only my superfluity."_" Do you pray also to God?"-"I thank him.”—“ For what?"_" For myself."-"You are not afraid of death?"-"Neither of death nor life." -"Do you ever read:"-"I have not time.”—“ But are you not sometimes dull?"_" I am never idle." “Do you envy any one?"_" I am contented with my own lot?"_“You are a real philosopher."-" I am a man."-" I wish to have your friendship.”—“ All mankind are my friends."~" But there are bad men." - "I am not acquainted with them."-This modern Diogenes disappeared at the commencement of the revolution, and many are of opinion that he is no
* These are the men to whom the title of Chevaliers d'Industrie belongs : In the following paragraphs we shall introduce our readers to characters still more extraordinary.
longer in existence*. !".... A mountebank is daily to be seen in the Place de
Grève. This man, with his aquiline nose, pretends to speak French with an Italian accent. “I am just arrived from Naples,” says he; .“ I have heard of the good people of Paris. It is not interest that brings me hither: no, God forbid ! it is only the desire to be of service to the great nation, and the good people of Paris. Look here, gentlemen, at this invaluable medicine: every bottle of it costs me, upon my honour, six livres, but I am satisfied if I can administer relief to suffering humanity. I ask nothing--nothing at all: I give away my bottles-yes, yes, I give them away.-How! does.
• The above singular characters are delineated in Karasmin's Travels. -Kotzebue has delineated the following.
· nobody call? Indeed the people of Paris are better than
they have been represented to me; they are too proud, too generous, they will have nothing given them. Well! not to offend your delicacy, I will set a price upon it. Instead of six livres, I ask only sir sous. Buy! buy! buy!"-And behold multitudes rush forward to purchase.
THE POOR OLD BLIND WOMAN.
...............“ I am left behind,
.........“ Death a glad relief,
Dryden. ...... I consider it one of the fairest privileges of a popular author, to be able, occasionally, by a seasonable word, to draw the victims of misery from their obscure retreats, and place them in the mild beams of compassion. · Entering the parlour of the post-house, I saw an old woman, of fourscore, sitting before the stove, chewing with difficulty a piece of bread, and drinking a glass of wine; by her side lay a crutch. In her youth she must have been handsome, her countenance was still pleasing, and the silent grief with which it was clouded rendered her interesting to me. I asked the post-master's wife whether she was her mother? “No indeed," she replied;
“ she is a very poor blind woman, who is obliged to live on charity, and who calls upon us occasionally, when we do for her what we can,”
“But does she not beg?” “No, that she never does; but all who know her give her something." I accosted the old woman: “ Have you been long blind?” “A short time ago, "said she, “I could still perceive a glimpse of light; but now this is vanished, yet I cannot
Notwithstanding the concern which I seemed to express for her, she would not beg. This moved me: one word brought on another; she related her melancholy story. She had been married to a clergyman in Hanover, had children, and lived happily. Then came on the seven years’ war, with poverty and distress in its train. She lost her all, pined in want, and yet kept up her spirits. She beheld her children expire, and supported them in the hour of dissolution. At last her husband died also; a long illness consumed what little property she had left: she was obliged to quit her place of residence, destitute and forlorn.
She was advised to go to her brother-in-law, a coun. sellor of appeal at Darmstadt, She did not know him personally, and report proclaimed him a strange character. Urged, however, by necessity, she ventured. Being.scantily assisted by her poor relations, " for," said she, “none of them had any thing to give," she raised barely sufficient for her travelling expences, and came with the post waggon to Darmstadt. Trembling, she approached her brother-in-law's door. A servant received her with considerableembarrassment, yet showed her into a good room, and brought her refreshment. She remained alone several hours; but no brother-in law made his appearance. Towards night the girl . brought her a good supper; but, unable to eat from grief and agitation, she continually kept asking where her brother-in-law was. “ To-morrow, to-morrow," said the maid, who perceived her uneasiness, and felt for her; “first take a good night's repose, you need refreshment;" she could not sleep. In the morning the servants entered her chamber in tears, announced to her the burial of her relation a fortnight before, and hiş having bequeathed the whole of his considerable fortune to charitable and beneficent establishments. Here she began to weep bitterly; "and yet I cannot die!" exclaimed she.
I forget how she came to this part of the country, in which she has been starving these fifty years, and cannot die. For a long time she received support from Heidelberg; but for the last eighteen months that pittance has been stopped. As she sits still without begging, her pittiful form often escapes notice, and she gets little. She is somewhat prolix in conversation, but she relates her narrative in correct language, and with consistency; and the woman of education may be inmediately distinguished. She accepts presents with blushing modesty, and returns cordial thanks without , being abject. Her wish to die, and her invocations of death, are extremely moving. O how cheerfully shall I forgive the post-master, for having left his horses in the field, and made me wait longer than he ought, if this brief and unornamented tale furnish an opportunity to men of feeling, whether tộavellers or not, of affording relief to the poor blind woman! She will not long