minds: for, in the latter instance, such endowment too frequently constitutes their misfortune; but I have remarked many persons apparently exempt from the casualties and inconveniences which are attached to the rest of the world. Every thing seems to happen 'pat' to their purpose; and by this continual attendance of the genius of luck, they are led a safe and profitable journey through this scene, from the cradle to the grave, escaping the measles and hooping-cough at the commencement, and dying as they would go to sleep. After all, it is better to be one of these persons than a rich man; for the 'lucky' wight has a never-failing dependence upon his own good fortune, which keeps him at perfect ease with himself, and also administers to a mysterious vanity, which pleases him with the assurance that he is by some strange accident superior to his fellows. This man looks upon the chances of the world with calmness, and an anticipation approaching to certainty; he sees his companions fluttering with anxiety as to the result, whilst he remains smiling at their agitation; and when the event turns out to his advantage, he is by no means extravagant with his good fortune, but receives it as a matter of course, and seems to think it could not possibly be otherwise. The delusion is a pleasant one; for the lucky individual, from a series of prosperous adventures, imagines himself (so weak is human nature) as actually under some peculiar care, and feels himself pellet-proof against the pop-guns of this world. There is not so deceiving an agent as good fortune. But lucky people are not confined to any sphere of life; there is a lucky lord, as well as a lucky shoe maker; the death of a minister, and the apropos demise of a shopclipper, may equally determine the nobleman and cobler as being under the guardianship of luck. I have as yet taken but a bird's-eye view of the world, but the children of luck were too numerous wholly to escape me; we run against them in the streets, we are compelled to own the 'divinity' which hedges' them round, even in their station in a stage-coach; if a rain storm comes suddenly on, they have the first place under an archway; the unfortunate are every where, and in every instance chagrined by the offspring of luck; there is an instinctive warfare upon one side, and a provoking mixture of pity and sneers upon the other: and moreover the fortunate are generally strongly allied. A successful father has a well-doing son, and so runs the luck even to cousins-german. I will take Mr. Jenkins as an instance.

7

Mr. J. boasts he never remembers having a day's illness but once, and then being about to take a dose of Epsom salts, as the physic was standing upon the table, the cat overturned it, when Mrs. J. (careful women) taking up the mixture in a silver-spoon, discovered it to be oxalic acid. Thus did 'luck' protect Mr. Jenkins! I have known Mr. Jenkins to step in at several raffling parties, where perhaps, there might be one wanting to fill up the number. Mr. J. takes the dice box, shakes it with a peculiar kind of confidence, throws, and bears off the prize, while he returns the astonished look of the person he has succeeded, with an air of indifference, that indicates these things are common with him. If ever a court-mourning takes place, Mr. Jenkins has always had, by great luck, a new suit of black a week before; if a new coinage is issued, he bas just paid away, or kept hoarded up, the money debased or risen in value; if he is in a crowd, a person before him stumbles, and Mr. J. by luck gets an admirable station. Go to the theatre, when not an order is to be given,' you will see Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, with their four daughters, deliver their free admissons, and take their seats in the stage-box. Mr. J. has always a friend at the Museum or St. Paul's, that can oblige him with peculiar favours. If a balloon is going up, he has a friend that lives opposite the scene of action; if a particular execution is to take place in the country, Mr. J. has met a person who has made the offer of his gig. In fact Mr.Jenkins is free every where, and fortunate in every thing he has tickets for all places, from the lord's mayor's dinner to the merman in Piccadilly: his family is also most lucky; he has a son that some old gentleman thinks very like his own departed offspring, and therefore ́puts him in the Bank or India House.

Mr. Jenkins has likewise a peculiar good fortune in the use of his optics: let him go to the parliament-house at a prorogation, by luck' be beholds every hair of his majesty's inestimable wig, whilst other owls go darkling.' His good fortune still attends him in matters of time; he is always just at the very moment of action:' a child never falls out of a garret window, but Mr. J. was just passing by the same at the apprehension of a pickpocket, or the first flames issuing from a house on fire.He is likewise peculiar favoured as to touch. Mr. J. will tell you he has sat in the very chair that the king was crowned in he has had the dagger in his hand that killed David Rizzio; he has felt the pen with which Southey

wrote Wat Tyler, and the one with which he scrawled the Vision of Judgment. He has played at bob-cherry with an elephant belonging to Tippoo Saib, and has also patted Napoleon's charger. Besides all this, he is highly favoured in his acquaintance; he has smoked with Mungo Park, and known a lieutenant of marines that was carried off by a tiger. His father may have served Cowper with writing-paper; and he may even have receipted the stationer's bill of Byron!

Is not Mr. Jenkins a lucky man? Besides what I have already enumerated, there are a thousand other advantages which he holds above common people. Here has Mr. Jenkins the superiority of having escaped poison; of winning prizes; of saving money in mourning and coinnage; of free admissions and best seats at public amusements: besides the good fortune of being always in time to behold an accident; with the advantage of having touched the most sacred relics, and known the most wonderful individuals! Allowing Mr.Jenkins to be individu ally but of the same importance with another man, what a tremendous, an overpowering weight, he gains from the vast accumulation of before-repeated advantages! Mr. Jeukins is a very giant among pigmies; a wonder of good-fortune, interest, opportunity, vision, touch, and knowledge. He thus gains a part of the natural and artificial importance of every other man, and, like the frog that has drank from many puddles, he is a distended phenomenon among lesser croakers and Mr. Jenkins is a lucky man! Many a Mr. Jenkins do we meet with at a city coffee-house, or inn-parlour.

SIR BERTRAND turned his steed towards the woulds, hoping to eross those dreary moors before the curfew. But ere he had proceeded half his journey, he was be wildered by the different tracks; and not being able, as far

as the eye could reach, to espy any object but the brown heath surrounding him, he was at length quite uncertain which way he should direct his course. Night overtook him in this situation. It was one of those nights when the moon gives a faint glimmering of light through the thick black clouds of a lowering sky. Now and then she suddenly emerged in full splendor from her veil, and then instantly retired behind it; having just served to give the forlorn Sir Bertrand a wide extended prospect over the desolate waste. Hope and native courage awhile urged him to push forwards, but at length the increasing darkness and fatigue of body and mind overcame him; he dreaded moving from the ground he stood on, for fear of unknown pits and bogs, and alighting from his horse in despair, he threw himself on the ground. He had not long continued in that posture, when the sullen toll of a distant bell struck his cars :-he started up, and turning towards the sound, discerned a dim twinkling light. Instantly he seized his horse's bridle, and with cautious steps advanced towards it. After a painful march he was stopped by a moated ditch, surrounding the place from whence the light proceeded; and by a momentary glimpse of moon-light he had a full view of a large antique mansion, with turrets at the corners, and an ample porch in the centre. The injuries of time were strongly marked on every thing about it. The roof in various places was fallen in, the battlements were half demolished, and the windows broken and dismantled. A drawbridge, with a ruinous gate-way at each end, led to the court before the building-He entered, and instantly the light, which proceeded from a window in one of the turrets, glided along and vanished; at the same moment the moon sunk beneath a black cloud, and the night was darker than ever. All was silent-Sir Bertrand fastened his steed under a shed, and approaching the house, traversed its whole front with light and slow footsteps-He looked in at the lower windows, but could not distinguish a single object through the impenetrable gloom. After a short parley with himself, he entered the porch, and seizing a massy iron knocker at the gate, lifted it up, and hesitating, at length struck a loud stroke-the noise resounded through the whole mansion with hollow echoes. All was still again-he repeated the strokes more boldly and louder-another interval of silence ensued-A third time he knocked and a third time all was still. He then fell back to some distance, that he might discern whether any light could be

seen in the whole front-It again appeared in the same place, and quickly glided away, as before--at the same instant a deep sullen toll sounded from the turret. Sir Bertraud's heart made a fearful stop-he was awhile motionless: then terror impelled him to make some hasty steps towards his steed-but shame stopt his flight; and urged by honour, and a resistless desire of finishing the adventure, he returned to the porch; and working up his soul to a full steadiness of resolution, he drew forth his sword with one hand and with the other lifted up the latch of the gate. The heavy door creaking upon its hinges reluctantly yielded to his hand-he applied his shoulder to it, and forced it open-he quitted it, and stept forward-the door instantly shut with a thundering clap. Sir Bertrand's blood was chilled-be turned back to find the door, and it was long ere his trembling hands could seize it-but his utmost strength could not open it again. After several ineffectual attempts, he looked behind him, and beheld, across a hall, upon a large staircase, a pale bluish flame, which cast a dismal gleam of light around. He again summoned forth his courage, and advanced towards it-it retired. He came to the foot of the stairs, and after a moment's deliberation, ascended. He went slowly up, the flame retiring before him, till he came to a wide gallery.-The flame proceeded along it, and he followed in silent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes of his footsteps startled him. It led him to the foot of another staircase, and then vanished-At the same instant another toll sounded from the turret-Sir Bertrand felt it strike upon his heart. He was now in total darkness, and, with his arms extended, began to ascend the second stair-case. A dead cold hand met his left hand, and firmly grasped it, drawing him forcibly forwards-he endeavoured to disengage himself, but could not-he made a furious blow with his sword, and instantly a loud shriek pierced his ears, and the dead hand was left powerless with his-He dropt it, and rushed forward with a desperate valour. The stair-case grew narrower and narrower, and at length terminated in a low iron grate. Sir Bertrand pushed it open-it led to an intricate winding passage, just large enough to admit a person upon his hands and knees. A faint glimmering of light served to shew the nature of the place. Sir Bertrand enteredA groan resounded through the vault-He went forward and proceeding beyond the first turning, he discerned the same blue flame which had before conducted him-He