the officer very slily substituted an old motheaten Bible, which was consigned to the flames, whilst he kept the anathematized volume for his own library!

The newspapers of London are, in general, extremely well conducted; the style is usually good, often elegant, and the matter highly interesting. I speak of that part of them which relates to public events, street anecdotes and criticism; but, unfortunately, these take up but a small portion of their columns. In the same paper, you will find an admirable political essay, or theatrical critique, and a parcel of stuff about my Lord's dinner, and my Lady's ball; and about horse races, cock-fighting, and boxing matches. We are told, with great solemnity, that the king has taken a ride, and their royal highnesses an airing! Much good may it do them! But who, in the name of Heaven, cares whether his majesty is in his coach, or at Carlton House, drinking Regent's Punch? Whether the princesses are in Kensington Gardens, or in the temple of Cloacina?

The advertisements are very expensive, and form the main profits of the revenue, and of the proprietors of the journals. They are a camera obscura, in which the moving picture of the metropolis is faithfully represented; the notices to insolvent debtors, and on matters of trade and revenue, the "sales of estates," the "quicquid agunt homines"-fill the mind with à crowd of moral reflections. The medical puffs which are found in the miscellaneous

reading of the advertising columns, are awful beacons against vicious indulgences, and are sufficient to regenerate a perfect Chartres!*

The new system of Ethics, which these and other puffs present to the imagination; the gay confusion of" fish sauce" and " infallible pills' -of " essence of shrimps" and "stomachic elixirs" of mercurial preparations-and remedies for a stinking breath-not only afford all the pleasures of variety, but give a pleasing proof of the enterprise and ingenuity of the human species.

I have collected as a curiosity some exquisite puffs of the velites of the Esculapian band. In one of them, the writer begins with a pompous enumeration of the advantages of a married life; then proceeds to talk of the "luxurious habits which effeminize the body," the various modifications of "syphilitic intrusion," and other diseases which "suspend the blessings that contentrate the nuptial wreathe." To all

* What a pleasing reflection it must afford, in reading the journals, to pass from disease to disease, from deformity to deformity, and behold science and ingenuity triumphing over all; our medical writers, like so many St. Georges, with each a dragon prostrate at his feet, restoring their fellow-creatures from conditions too loathsome to behold, and from maladies universally deemed incurable, to the plenitude of youthful vigour and soundness of constitution! Then how delightful to know that stays may be had which remedy the worst deformity, and that when the "Macassar oil" has lost its power, wigs are made that put nature to the blush; that whiskers are manufactured that would deceive the lynx-like glance of a drill sergeant, and that eyes are fabricated so very cleverly, that they do every thing but see! Morality of Newspapers.

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persons thus suffering “from the premature infatuation of youth," the surgeon fearlessly offers "hope, energy, muscular strength and felicity!" The exordium of this advertisement is a model of pomposity and fanfaronade. "Socrates, by his discourse on Marriage, so enraptured his auditors with the subject, that the married men flew to their wives, and the bachelors hastened to be wedded; and the Spectator' has affirmed that the word wife' is the most agreeable and delightful name in nature. The sacred institution, then, of marriage, compasses the desideratum of our enjoyment, teeming not only with happiness on earth, but disposing the soul itself to harmonize with bliss hereafter!! Previous, however, to entering into this hallowed obligation, it be comes an imperative duty, not only to regulate the passions, but to cleanse the_grosser nature of those impurities which the freedom of unrestricted pleasure may have entailed on it," &c. &c. After stating the infallible qualities of his medicines, he requests" country patients" to describe their symptoms, when medicines will be forwarded to them-but he adds very slily-" A banknote is expected to accompany the case!"

Literature is, like every thing else, a trade in England. A few fashionable writers engross the public attention, and merit is out of the question, unless piloted into notice by the fash ionable cabal. The authors who enjoy the good opinion of the "quality folk," are sure that all

their works will glide down the current of po pular favour, however trifling or stupid they may be. The trade is inundated with a flood of novels, which, by the way, appear dark be fore the "excessive bright" of Walter Scott's inimitable productions. Love which should be merely an episode in the life of man, is made in romances, the whole volume of existence. Besides, they give a distaste for more serious works; as the palate of a dram-drinker becomes insensible to ordinary stimuli,-so those who indulge themselves in light reading, fall asleep over books of real merit. On the whole, I am inclined to prefer novels to romances. The one (observes an excellent writer,) is studied and revolved, as a real delineation of life; while the other, far too wild for any such supposition, only strikes for a moment, like the unreal creations of a magical lantern.

Madame de Sevigne says, with her usual charming naivete," pour Pauline, cette devoreuse de livres, j'aime mieux qu'elle en avale de mauvais que si elle n'aimait point a lire." The numerous circulating libraries in London, afford food for the appetite of the modern Paulinas of the metropolis, who swallow the bad, when agreeably cooked for the palate, in preference to wholesome truths plainly dressed. Many book-worms (like Lord Spencer,) ruin themselves in buying expensive works to show their friends; for "the library" is an indispensable apartment in fashionable mansions. I have heard of one gentleman (says the author

of "Espriella's Letters,") who gave a bookseller the dimensions of his shelves to fit up his library; and of another, who, giving orders for the same kind of furniture, just mentioned that he must have Pope, Shakspeare and Milton-" and hark ye (he added,) if either of those fellows should publish any thing new, be sure to let me have it, for I choose to have all their works!"

LETTER XLVII.

Thy Senate is a scene of civil jar,
Chaos of contrarieties at war;

Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light,
Discordant atoms meet, ferment and fight;
Where policy is busied all day long

In setting right what faction has set wrong;
Where flails of oratory thresh the floor,

That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more!

COWPER.

THE House of Commons was formerly a chapel dedicated to St. Stephen. Edward VI. gave it to the members of the Lower House for their sittings; at the Union, the side walls of the chamber, except the buttresses that supported the original roof, were taken down, and others were erected beyond, to enlarge the house. There is nothing very striking, or elegant, in this structure; the interior of the chamber is lined with brown and well-polished wainscot, and a neat gallery runs along the