whither the advocates had bidden their literary sanctum adieu, and the man with the mouth and myself were left in undisputed possession of the premises.

We had now sat for a considerable time together, he reading the Chronicle, I admiring his mouth. It was certainly the most extraordinary mouth ever created, and challenged observation in an uncommon degree. His whole face was absorbed in this mighty feature. He had, it is true, ears, and eyes, and cheeks, and nose, and chin; but they were pigmied to nothing in such a lordly neighbourhood. He was, in fact, earless, eyeless, cheekless, noseless, and chinless. To speak comparatively, he had neither the one nor the other: he was all mouth.

I must say that I felt gratified in having it in my power to witness such a spectacle. By heaven! I respected the man, or rather his mouth. He was, it is true, a sad radical, as his newspaper reading testified, but then he had vanquished Christopher North; and after so great an achievement, what feats might he not perform? I began to think that there was no exploit in the world beyond his accomplishment. That mouth was to him the brazen head of Friar Bacon-the sword of Achilles-the mirror of Merlin-the wand of Prospero-the griffin of Astolpho-the Elixir Vita-the Philosopher's Stone. He could rule the nations with it; terrify the Gouls and Dives with its grin; convulse the universe with laughter, beyond the power of Liston, and draw more tears from beauty's eyes, than Siddons in Belvidera, or O'Neil in Juliet. The mouth was, in fact, omnipotent: it would be wronging it to say that it belonged to the man, for the man belonged to it. It was to him body and soul; and the other parts of his frame, such as trunk, limbs, and head, were merely its appendages.

A

Such were the reflections which, in spite of fate, arose in my mind on witnessing this extraordinary phenomenon, when a circumstance occurred which gave rise to a new train of ideas. Hitherto the mouth had been quiescent: not a muscle of it had moved, while its appendage, the man, was employed at his occupation. It was fixed, rigid, and apparently as

incapable of change as the eternal rocks. I had even begun to wonder whether it possessed the power of motion-whether it could open and shut like other mouths-whether, in a word, its powers were equal to its pretensions. But these unworthy surmises were soon put to flight; for, on looking attentively, I perceived, with a feeling of intense awe, that it began to move. Upon my honour, the lips began to separate, first a hair-breadth-then two-then three-then a whole line, and at last half an inch. There was a solemn grandeur about the process of opening. The mouth was unquestionably one of too much importance to open itself on trifling occasions, or in a trifling manner. It performed the operation slowly, deliberately, sublimely; and I looked on with the same breathless anxiety, as when listening in the Great Glen of Scotland to the expectant bursting of a thunder-cloud, which hangs in threatening mood over the summit of Bennevis. To say that it resembled a church-door would be doing it injustice-no church-door, even the main one of Notre Dame or St. Paul's, ever expanded its huge jaws with such deliberate majesty. Reader, if you have seen the opening of the dock-gates at Portsmouth, or of the locks on the Caledonian Canal, you may form some idea of that of the mouth.

I think, I said it had opened half an inch; to do so it took no less than three minutes-this I particularly noticed. "Now," said I, "this mouth is capable of expanding at least twelve times that length, or six inches. Three minutes to half an inch make six minutes to a whole inch. Six multiplied by six, make thirty-six. In all, one half hour and six minutes must elapse before this glorious mouth can attain its ne plus ultra."

While this process was going on, day waned apace, and twilight was on the point of being succeeded by darkness. Those broad floods of light which bathed the pillars with their lurid lustre, were becoming fainter and fainter-and nocturnal gloom threatened, in a few minutes, to reign "Lord of the ascendant." But this approaching obscuration was no impediment to the mouth. It opened wider every instant.

At last

it attained the climax of its extension; and, wide as it was, would stretch no farther.

The mouth, after all, was not so

omnipotent as I supposed. There were limits to its powers, and after thirty-six minutes of incessant operation, it had done its best.

I now began to wonder what object my opposite neighbour could have in opening his mouth to such an apocryphal extent -or rather what could tempt the mouth itself to perform so extraordinary an exploit-for, somehow, I could never think of it as being under the control of the man. It could not be to eat, for eatables abound not in libraries; nor to speak, for speech requires not such oral dimensions. It was for neither: the purpose for which it condescended to open itself was nobler far. It was to give a yawn, which sounded through the apartment-shook me on my seat, and made the proudest folio quiver like an aspen from its firm foundation. I never heard such a yawn: it was worthy of the great source from whence it emanated: it was worthy of the Advocate's Librarary; and, as its echo sounded from shelf to shelf, from pillar to pillar, and from table to table, I thought that it would rival the loudest yawn ever uttered by luckless wight, while luxuriating in the recondite pages of that profound philosopher, Dr. Black. Kings might have owned it, heroes claimed it as their own, sages contended for it, poets sung about it. In one word, it was worthy of the Man with the Mouth. Need more be said? Answer, "No."

FOR THE PHILADELPHIA MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

TO SELIMA.

Ay, transient fools may kneel and swear
Earth is a paradise with thee;

I feel it from my heart, but dare
Not utter such idolatry.

A cottage with thee in the wild,

Where trees are hung and mountains piled;
Where brooks in shadowy basin play,

Or wash the rocks with ceaseless spray;
Where bees are humming through the day,
And stars are shining through the night,
Whilst I hold up an earthly ray,

To shame their brightest ones to flight:
Ay, this were heaven, if heaven there be
This side the boundary of Fate;
And all things else of earth we sec,
A region black and desolate!

And flatterers with the flippant tongue,
May swear, on old Earth's jewelled brow
Ne'er, with majestic splendour, hung

A pearl so rich and pure as thou!
Ah, often in my heart I've said,
Counting its little treasures o'er,
My fortune with this pearl was made,-
Alas, how poor I was before!

AN ANCIENT JOKE.

To Nil Novi's remarks on the Roman method of denial when the person is at home, may be added the whimsical contrivance of Scipio Nasica, which would have illustrated an ancient Encyclopædia of wit:

"Scipio Nasica, cùm ad poetam Ennium venisset, eique ab ostio quærenti Ennium ancilla dixisset, domi non esse; Nasica sensit illam domini jussu dixisse, et illum intus esse. Paucis pòst diebus cùm ad Nasicam venisset Ennius, et eum à janua quæreret, exclamat Nasica, se domi non esse; tum Ennius: quid, inquit, ego non cognosco vocem tuam? Hic Nasica: Homo, es impudens; ego cùm te quærerem, ancillæ tuæ credidi te domi non esse, tu mihi non credis ipsi?” Gent. Mag.

Notwithstanding the numerous essays which have been written to prove, that by application, an individual may fit himself for any occupation or profession, it is certain that there exists in the human race, a stronger predilection for, and a greater facility in acquiring some objects than others. To pursue this idea it will be as plainly perceived, that this bent of the minds of some, amounts to more than the mere fondness for any particular employment; it is a stronger and more powerful agent, and becomes that natural genius which causes the excellence of most of those who have figured in any pursuit.

Genius, whose existence has been so much cavilled at and doubted, is a gift of nature to man, and cannot be acquired. How far it is distributed among men, it is not the purpose of this essay to determine; it is sufficient to say, that it exists; and though not for the same object, yet it is spread over the world so widely that examples from any country may be produced: "Poeta nascitur, non fit," was the remark of the great Latin poet, and may with equal propriety be applied to every other study of man. Nothing but genius could have given the splendid delineations of Michael Angelo's pencil, or the delicate and inspiring touches of Raphael; and the style of Caracci could not have been imitated by the bold and natural hand of Van Dyke. Every one cannot become a Phidias or Praxiteles, by the most intense application: there is something wanting to give their free and expressive strokes, which cannot be supplied by mere skill in the art. For such reasons Homers, Virgils, Miltons, and Shakspeares do not appear daily; nor do we expect them. If study could give their talents, undoubtedly we would meet with them oftener; but it