enters the mind. Being accustomed to retain figures and arrangements, we are dissatisfied if they do not appear as usual. My father hung his almanac on this nail, and I must do as my father did. A book of this kind being compiled and published anew every year, we take for granted that every new year demands a new almanac.

Habit will account for the continuance of a certain practice, but not for its origin. One would be naturally led to think, that when almanacs were first invented, mankind were more conversant with the stars than at present; that every cottager was interested in the planetary revolutions, in the places of the moon, in the solar progress, and in the birth-days of hermits and confessors.

This is partly true; but the source of curiosity respecting the motions of the heavenly bodies, was merely a belief that the incidents of human life were connected with these changes. That tract in the heavens which the sun apparently passes in a year, was called the zodiac, and was divided into twelve portions, which were called signs, and each of which received a fantastic name. A connection was imagined between the different members of the human body and the signs of the zodiac. Hence it was requisite to state mi nutely the zodiacal place of the sun, that men might be aware of the accidents to which they were most liable at certain seasons. The frontispiece commonly exhibited a figure, explaining the connection between constellations and limbs; and this frontispiece is still generally retained.

Stellar influence, though strong, was rightly supposed to be inferior to that of the planets. The relative position of the fixed stars is apparently unchangeable. Not so that of the planetary bodies: hence curiosity was busy in ascertaining the places of the latter, the prosperous and adverse state of man being supposed to be swayed by the oppositions and conjunctions of these orbs ; and hence compilers of almanacs

bestowed particular attention on this circumstance.

There was a time when festivals and religious observances were connected with the anniversaries of the births of apostles and martyrs. It was therefore necessary to inform the people when these anniversa ries occurred. A change of religion has taken away this necessity, at least among ourselves. Swithen, Margaret, Magdalen, Michael, and Denys are names which the reader overlooks. He never dreams of making a distinction between the days opposite to which these names ap pear and other days. To us, therefore, or at least to some of us, they are wholly useless and impertinent, but still they are annually printed, and their omission would create, in many persons, disapprobation and surprize.

It can scarcely fail to occur, that almanacs might be made the instruments of much general improvement. Custom has introduced them into every family. There is generally a space set apart for miscellaneous information, and in filling this space the compiler is at liberty to exercise his own judgment. The popularity of almanacs will thus afford him an opportunity of impart ing wholesome truths to thousands, whose audience he could never hope to obtain in any other way.

In the form of tables, and in place of much of what is now introduced, facts in physical and moral science might be happily substituted. What is now occupied by Crispin and Gregory, by the perigee and apogee of the moon, by the risings and descents of Sirius and Arcturus, and by the vagaries of the planets, might surely be supplied with much more useful matter.

The happiness of mankind depends not so much upon the progress which the sciences, abstractedly considered, have made, as on the diffu sion of the knowledge which already exists. A thousand truths are to be found in the recorded meditations of the wise, of which mankind have profited nothing, because, in general,

they remain ignorant of their existence. It seems as if a man, truly enlightened, should employ himself not in advancing the various branches of physical and moral knowledge to perfection by solitary experiments, and closet speculation, but in contriving and executing schemes for making simple, intelligible, and concise, the sciences in their present state of improvement; in making cheaper and more commodious, in clothing in more popular and attractive forms, and putting into the possession of a greater number, the knowledge already ascertained, and which is most conducive to their welfare. I cannot conceive an instrument more useful to this end, and an opportunity more favourable to the dissemination of truth and happiness than an almanac affords.

The advantages of this expedient have not been wholly overlooked. In Germany it has been more extensively employed than elsewhere. History, botany, mineralogy, agriculture, and domestic economy, have all been moulded into this form, and with admirable skill and efficacy. Two improvements have likewise been observable in our own country. One consists in noting the date of the principal events of our own history, and the other in assigning a column for exhibiting the degrees of heat, as observed on Fahrenheit's thermometer, on each day of the preceding year.

F. (opening the door) Well, Conrad.

C. Ferry vell; tank you kaintley. So! 'tis right hot akin to-tay: ov'vre, not so hot as Soontay: unt no rain at all: Got's veel pe tone; unt dare's mishter Vinch's two pootes. I'fe heel'd 'toder, unt poot fone sole to dis.

F. (taking the boots) Very well, Conrad.

C. Hem-hem-'tish hart times, mine vife says; ferry hart times, she says, unt no ledder in de hause; unt de widdow Veester vont two shoose fur papey. She's kot a new papey, unt de oder fone iss teat; unt so she vont shoose to let her vaulk pye-unt-pye--hem!--hart times, inteet, mishter Vinch, my vife says. F. True, Conrad; and so, to soften them a little, there's your money.

C. Tank you kaintley. So, koote (going).

pye!

F. Good day, Conrad.

C. (returning) Mine kott! I forkits Katy Stephens-poor Katy! What of her, Conrad?

F.

C. Kott's veel pe tone; unt a voort more mit you, mishter Vinch. (After a pause, assumes a grave tone.) Your company iss, in a most pertee'kler manner, invited to de perrin of Ratmouse* Stephen's pig shile, at four diss effternoon: unt two perrins koes in fone: unt fone iss a leetle fone, unt 'toder is much pigger; unt de parson koes pefore: so, koote pye! (going).

F. But you say there's two, Conrad: who is the other?

C. returning) Mine Kott! I voorkits 'toder. 'Toder iss Sophy, up pye de cooper's hause, right ober Kingsint'n perrin kround. So! koote pye (going).

F. But, Conrad, what Sophy is this?

C. Mine Kott, mishter Vinch, no madder fur her oder name. EffI vas tell you, you voud'nt know it. So, koote pye!

F. But what was her complaint, Conrad?

Erasmus.

L. YOU surely are the happiest of mankind.

H. We are but ill judges of the happiness of others.

L. Why do you make that observation? Are you not married to the woman on whom your love was so fixed that, without her, frenzy, death, or some strange misery, must have been your lot?

H. I am married to the woman whom I do and shall for ever love, and am much happier, indeed, than I deserve to be.

L. Pshaw that is talking idly. Your friends are reconciled; nay, they are as happy as you are your self; they are rich; you have your establishment; are empowered honourably to maintain your wife and pursue your studies; and, if you can complain of unhappiness, well may I.

H. I did not: I meant only to say, I am not so happy as I might have been, and that, during a certain period, my error gave me strong affliction, which, however well it might be deserved, required every effort to support.

L. You talk now at your ease. H. You are a witness that I say nothing but the truth.

L. I do not mean to dispute the sincerity or the goodness of your heart; but, having obtained the wo

man you loved, you will find it dif ficult to convince me that your sufferings, however real, were not rather the effect of caprice than of sound understanding.

H. Do you then think that we owe nothing to the feelings of parents, who have devoted themselves to our happiness; who for a number of years have been unremittingly anxious for our welfare, and who, to the utmost of their knowledge and ability, have afforded us every source of instruction, and communicated every good within their power. If I do not understand this question, I understand nothing. Grant, however, that it were caprice; from the mistakes of caprice, we are the most liable to suffer. Why did I so readily take upon me to assert, lovely and admirable though I have found my Marianne to be, that she was the only woman on earth who could make me happy?

L. The only one whom you know, at least the only one perhaps whom you could hope to obtain: and you were fortunate enough to have her thrown as it were upon your mercy, and with the rare and exquisite enjoyment of being able to bestow happiness on her whom your heart adored. Oh, that I had that power!

H. The blessing was indeed ineffable, and one that, while I have life, will give me transport to recollect! But to confirm one truth does not destroy another. The desire to make her mine was no less virtuous than it was delightful to my heart. I may, and I sincerely believe I shall, be happier with her than I should have been with any other woman. Still, however, so far as I supposed the happiness and utility of my life must be lost were we to be separated, I was wrong, under the influence of violent passion, and unable to recollect or perceive the the truth. Virtuous and highly amiable though Marianne be, she is not the only virtuous and highly amiable woman on earth.

L. But the only one, I say, whom perhaps you might be ever able to obtain.

H. That is uncertain; but suppose it true, it only happened to be my peculiar good fortune to meet with her. And suppose the power to obtain her had not been mine? Must I therefore have sunk under an imaginary loss? How many beautiful objects are there in the world, how many treasures, which for themselves men might desire, but which they do not, because they are sensible their desires would be vain! In romances, written perhaps with much imagination, but with little moral feeling, it is the essence of the story that a knight should fall in love with a princess. Men may read such romances till they think themselves permitted to fall in love with the first princess they may happen to see, or to hear described; but, in such a case, their fellow-citizens must always consider them as mad. I was not far from the same unhappy condition, when I refused to refer the decision of my fate to my parents, and married without their knowledge. My friend, my heart bleeds, when I recollect my own dishonest, undutiful, and unworthy behaviour!

L. Your feelings were very different before your marriage.

H. They were strangely erroneous! For a man to say there is but one woman who is worthy of me, there is but one with whom I can be happy, or there is not another on earth possessed of so many perfections, is to be guilty of an absurd supposition with respect to himself, and to commit flagrant injustice towards the female sex. That people, before they marry, should have a sincere and tender affection for each other; that their love should be founded on their mutual admiration and excellence, and that should be a mutual preference of each other, is so just, that a virtuous marriage can scarcely be made without these requisites: but that any one should say, I must have the person whom I now admire, or I never can admire any woman on earth, and shail be guilty of some folly, or indiscretion, is surely nei

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ther conformable to virtue nor to sound understanding. Should we not call the man absurd who, beholding a beautiful mansion and park, were to say, that must be mine, or I shall be for ever wretched. I will continually lament, I will continually accuse, I know not whom or what; the world, the fates, my stars, or any other imaginary phantom; or, if the owner do not give it me, I will cast myself into the water that ornaments his lawn, and punish him by putting an end to my own sufferings! Would it not be as childish as if he were afterwards to add, my wretched ghost shall haunt him after I am dead, to punish him for his injustice towards me. Believe me, there is no essential difference between such a man and a desperate lover, and the insanity and folly of the latter, though more common, is not a whit less egregious, than of the former.

For the Literary Magazine.

FRENCH HISTORY.

THOUGH the records of every man's own country are those which he reads with most curiosity and delight, yet, considering the matter as citizens of the world, and divesting ourselves of local partialities, the history of no European nation can enter into competition, in point of interest and importance, with that of France. If we look at the other states of Europe, some of them have come into the vineyard, as it were, at the eleventh hour, and were barbarians but the other day; some, again, have long ago run out their race of fame, and protracted from age to age an existence gradually decaying; some have never cultivated letters, and others never been great in arms; some have been too miserable to produce legislators, and others too happy to breed heroes; some have had meagre annalists to chronicle great exploits, and others great historians to record their petty transactions. But, as the duration

of the French empire for thirteen centuries far transcends the credible history of any other state; so the events by which that period is filled up are more various and important, have been related by more numerous and agreeable writers, and given scope to the talents and virtues of more distinguished men, than any other; while the subject presents a still more interesting spectacle to the British and American philosopher, as the source from which much of our polity and jurisprudence, much of our literature, and almost the whole of our system of manners has been derived.

No man can claim the title of a literary or philosophical antiquarian, who has not drank pretty largely from the copious stream of French history; a stream so copious, indeed, that the most diligent among the learned natives themselves have never been able, even in its smaller branches, to exhaust it.

For the Literary Magazine.

THE SPIRIT OF POLITICAL CONVERSATION.

Written in 1799.

I WENT lately into the company of two persons, whom I will call Tom and Harry, talking very loudly upon politics. The debate, as usual, had proceeded from argument to sarcasm, and from raillery to railing, and went on somewhat in this style:

Tom. Yes, your party aims at nothing but to overthrow the present government.

Harry. The very purpose of the villanous faction whom we fight against.

T. To throw us all into anarchy, and deliver us over to a Robespierrian usurpation.

H. And who's to blame, if that falls out, merely from our struggles to prevent you from establishing a titled and hereditary despotism, well known to be the dearest wish of

your hearts, and the end of all your labours?

T. For that you wish to cement us, by alliances and treaties of fraternity, with the horrid and inexorable French.

H. The only expedient we have left to elude the effects of your unnatural and traitorous devotion to Britain.

7. But no wonder you act as traitors to your country, and as tools and sycophants of France. Power is the bribe held forth to you; and, to reign is worth your ambition, though as slaves and puppets of a foreign power.

H. Whereas you more wisely content yourself with money, and will barter the freedom of your country for a much safer consideration. Gold, British gold, is the spell that binds you.

T. A pack of knaves! cajoling the people by lies and stratagems! and labouring to build up your private fortunes, profligate and bankrupt as you are, upon the ruins of your country!

H. Better knaves than fools, say I: better pursue measures by which a few shall prosper, than, like you, to embrace those by which all shall perish in common. The knave promotes his own interest, at least, but the fool partakes himself of the ruin which he heaps upon others. Ye are blind guides, that fall first into the ditch into which you lead others. Sampsons, that, in order to destroy your enemies, pull the house upon your own heads.

T. Not content with warring against all political order, ye labour, with a diabolical zeal, to destroy the very names of morals and religion.

H. Whereas you are contented merely with abolishing the things. You leave us to console ourselves with the name, but take care that the substance shall be exchanged for bigotry, intolerance, and superstition.

7. Cursers of God ye are, and tools of the devil!

H. Fit companions, if so, for the