communication; many of your readers will, no doubt, be able to furnish feeling evidence of the truth of the lines. Hoping you, sir, may read them without participating in the lively sensibility that the author felt, I remain,

Your admiring reader,

and regular customer,
A SMALL BOOKSELLER!

City, Jan. 1826.

"These Christmas Bills!"

A COMMERCIAL MELODY, 1826. These Christmas bills, these Christmas bills, How many a thought their number kills Of notes and cash, and that sweet time When oft' I heard my sovereigns chime Those golden days are past away, And many a bill I used to pay Sticks on the file, and empty tills Contain no cash for Christmas bills. And so 'twill be-though these are paid, More Christmas bills will still be made, And other men will fear these ills, And curse the name of Christmas bills!

COPY OF A LETTER Written to a Domestic at Parting. The cheerfulness and readiness with which you have always served me, has made me interested in your welfare, and determined me to give you a few words of advice before we part. Read this attentively, and keep it; it may, perhaps, be useful.

Your honesty and principles are, I firmly trust, unshaken. Consider them as the greatest treasure a human being can possess. While this treasure is in your possession you can never be hurt, let what will happen. You will indeed often feel pain and grief, for no human being ever was without his share of them; but you can never be long and completely miserable but by your own fault.

If, therefore, you are ever tempted to do evil, check the first wicked thought that rises in your mind, or else you are ruined. For you may look upon this as a most certain and infallible truth, that if evil thoughts are for a moment encouraged, evil deeds follow: and you need not be told, that whoever has lost his good conscience is miserable, however he may hide it from the world, and whatever wealth and pleasures he may enjoy.

And you may also rely upon this, that the most miserable among the virtuous is

infinitely happier than the happiest of the wicked.

The consequence I wish you to draw from all this is, never to do any thing except what you certainly know to be right; for if you doubt about the lawfulness of any thing, it is a sign that it ought not to be done.

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature... 40 32.

February 4.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 4th of February, 1800, the rev. William Tasker, remarkable for his learning and eccentricity, died, aged 60, at Iddesleigh, in Devonshire, of which church he was rector near thirty years, though he had not enjoyed the income of the living till within five years before his death, in consequence of merciless and severe persecutions and litigations. "An Ode to the Warlike Genius of Britain, 1778," 4to., was the first effusion of his poetical talent. His translations of "Se lect Odes of Pindar and Horace" add to his reputation with the muses, whose smiles he courted by many miscellaneous efforts. He wrote "Arviragus," a tragedy, and employed the last years of his checkered life on a "History of Physiognomy from Aristotle to Lavater," wherein he illustrated the Greek philosopher's knowledge of the subject in a manner similar to that which he pursued in "An Attempt to examine the several Wounds and Deaths of the Heroes in the Iliad and neid, trying them by the Test of Anatomy and Physiology." These erudite dissertations contributed to his credit with the learned, but added nothing to his means of existence. He usually wore a ragged coat, the shirt peeping at the elbows, and shoes of a brownish black, sometimes tied with packthread. Having heard that his spirited "Ode to the Warlike Genius of Britain" had been read by the late king, George III., he presented himself, in his customary habit, on the esplanade at Weymouth, where it excited curiosity; and his majesty asking an attendant who that person was? Mr. Tasker approached, avowed his name, and ob tained a gratifying reception. His productions evince critical skill, and a large portion of poetic furor. But he was af

cluding with an ABC and numerals, and the name of the fair industrious, expressing it to be "her work, Jan. 14, 1762." The rest of the furniture consists of a looking-glass with carved edges, perhaps a settee, a hassock for the feet, a mat for the little dog, and a small set of shelves, in which are the Spectator and Guardian, the Turkish Spy, a Bible and Prayer-book, Young's Night-Thoughts, with a piece of lace in it to flatten, Mrs. Rowe's Devout Exercises of the Heart, Mrs. Glasse's Cookery, and perhaps Sir Charles Grandison, and Clarissa. John Buncle is in the closet among the pickles and preserves. The clock is on the landing-place between the two room-doors, where it ticks audibly but quietly; and the landing-place, as well as the stairs, is carpeted to a nicety. The house is most in character, and properly coeval, if it is in a retired suburb, and strongly built, with wainscot rather than paper inside, and lockers in the windows. Before the windows also should be some quivering poplars. Here the Old Lady receives a few quiet visitors to tea and perhaps an early game at cards; or you may sometimes see her going out on the same kind of visit herself, with a light umbrella turning up into a stick and crooked ivory handle, and her little dog equally famous for his love to her and captious antipathy to strangers. Her grandchildren dislike him on holidays; and the boldest sometimes ventures to give him a sly kick under the table. When she returns at night, she appears, if the weather happens to be doubtful, in a calash; and her servant, in pattens, follows half behind and half at her side, with a lantern.

Her opinions are not many, nor new. She thinks the clergyman a nice man. The duke of Wellington, in her opinion, is a very great man; but she has a secret preference for the marquis of Granby. She thinks the young women of the present day too forward, and the men not respectful enough: but hopes her grandchildren will be better; though she differs with her daughter in several points respecting their management. She sets little value on the new accomplishments: is a great though delicate connoisseur in butcher's meat and all sorts of housewifery: and if you mention waltzes, expatiates on the grace and fine breeding of e minuet. She longs to have seen one ed by sir Charles Grandison, whom st considers as a real person. She

likes a walk of a summer's evening, but avoids the new streets, canals, &c. and sometimes goes through the church-yard where her other children and her husband lie buried, serious, but not melancholy. She has had three great æras in her life, her marriage,-her having been at court to see the king, queen, and royal family,and a compliment on her figure she once received in passing from Mr. Wilkes, whom she describes as a sad loose man, but engaging. His plainness she thinks much exaggerated. If any thing takes her at a distance from home, it is still the court; but she seldom stirs even for that. The last time but one that she went was to see the duke of Wirtemberg: and she has lately been, most probably for the last time of all, to see the princess Charlotte and prince Leopold. From this beatifie vision, she returned with the same admiration as ever for the fine comely appearance of the duke of York and the rest of the family, and great delight at having had a near view of the princess, whom she speaks of with smiling pomp and lifted mittens, clasping them as passionately as she can together, and calling her, in a sort of transport of mixed loyalty and self-love, a fine royal young creature, and daughter of England.--Indicator.

The Season.

Sudden storms of short duration, the last blusters of expiring winter, frequently occur during the early part of the present month. These gales and gusts are mostly noticed by mariners, who expect them, and therefore keep a good "look out for squalls." The observations of seamen upon the clouds, and of husbandmen on the natural appearances of the weather generally, would form an exceedingly corious and useful compendium of meteorological facts.

Stilling the Sea with Oil.

Dr. Franklin suggests the pouring of oil on the sea to still the waves in a storm, but, before he lived, Martin wrote an "Account of the Western Islands of Scotland," wherein he says, "The steward of Kilda, who lives in Pabbay, is accustomed in time of a storm to tie a bun die of puddings, made of the fat of sea-fowl, to the end of his cable, and lets it fall into the sea behind the rudder; this, he says, hinders the waves from breaking, and calms the sea; but the scent of the grease attracts the whales, which put the vessel in danger,”