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fied with the dispensations of Providence, of which number I hope I am one; and I will inform you hy what mode of reasoning I attained this equanimity of mind. Experience has convinced me that the real wants of nature are
few, and cheaply supplied; but the imaginary ones are 'many and insatiate. The man who possesses a thousand
a year looks up with envy to him who enjoys ten thousand; and the possessor of a hundred to him who inherits five hundred; and those on a comparison of circumstances consider themselves as poor and unhappy. The inheritor of a few paternal acres thinks fortune has dealt partially by him, because she has not bestowed the ample patrimony of his opulent neighbour, who, in his turn, feels aggrieved to see a superior enjoy the privileges of office, or hold the reins of power
the reins of power. Tbus we are accustomed to make ourselves miserable by an improper comparison, whilst a proper one would considerably contribute to our happiness. Instead of scaling the beights of ambition to make observations and draw inferences, let us frequently descend to the lowest situations of life: 'there, while we contemplate and commiserate the misfortunes and calami of our fellow-creatures, sunk far beneath us in the golph of distress ; our hearts should glow with gratitude to that superintending providence which has graciously decreed to us such unmerited distinction.. Nor are these the only source of discontent. ln temporal affairs we are apt to look too far forward for our own peace : our anxiety for the future embitters the present, and we anticipate evils
that may never arrive. Not so the Christian Philosopher : - his religion teaches him to smile on the little difficulties which embarrass the man of the world :'and to look down with contempt on its lying vanities; to leave the concerns of to-morrow to the all-wise Disposer of events; and to envy lbose only who have made a better progress in goodness, and have a nearer prospect of an eternal reward.” Here the tumults of industry and toil intruded on my repose, and roused me
“To all the cares of waking clay
And inconsistent dreams of day,'
In my ear
Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear.' My authority was at an end, but my mind was con. vinced that we are loath to look for Content where alone is it to be found.
THE DUKE AND THE TINKER.
One ibat pleases his fancy with frolicksome 4 But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest, Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:
. (ground, el 4 A poor tipker he found, lying drunk on the
As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound. The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben, Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then. O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd To the palace, altho’ he was poorly array'd : Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes and And they put him to bed for to take his repose. [hose, Having pullid off his shirt, which was all over dirt They did give him clean Holland, this was no great hurt On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crowa. In the morning when day, then admiring he lay, For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay. . Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state, Till at last knights and squires on him did wait; And the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare, i He desir'd to know what apparel he'd wear: The poor tinker amaz'd on the gentleman gaz'd, And admired how he to this honour was rais'd. Tho'he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit;. Which he straitways put on without longer dispute; With a star ou his side, which the tinker oft ey'd, And it seem'd for to swell himno' little with pride; For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife? Sure she never did see me so fine in her life. From a convenient place, the right duke his good grace, Did observe his behaviour in every case. To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait, Trumpets sounding before him; thought he, this is great: Where au hour or two, pleasant walks he did view, With commanders and squires in scarlet and blue. A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests, He was plac'd at the table above all the rest, In a rich chair or bed,'lin'd with fine crimson l'ed, With a rich golden canopy over his head :
As he sat at his meat, the music play'd sweet,
On its tablets of crimson I swore,
I never could thiuk of thee more!
Ere zephyr, in frolicsoine play
Both tablet and promise away,
HUMAN GLORY.-A FRAGMENT. IN the 'piping times of peace' literature, science, and
the arts attain their bighest perfections, and men hail · these halcyon days as the harbinger of national prospe
rity. Indeed, so repugnapt is the very sound of war to
the fer the stamp of reality or past existence on
even the most imagivary characters that come before him, whether from the pen of the dra
matist, novelist, or incidental story-teller. Accordingly, in conformity with this principle, I find the Quarterly Reviewers, in an article published
n article published on the Tales of my Landlord,' pointing out an individual as the probable prototype of the Black Dwarf, or Cannie Elshie,? of the ingenious and far-famed novelist. Now, with a laudable regard to facts, the Reviewer has referred us to the actual spot where this supposed original is said to have resided. He has thus rendered inquiry practicable; as I bappen to know some particulars regarding the in-, dividual alluded to, which bear the reviewer's story out, as far as facts go, and correct it where exaggeration seems to have led him astray..
David Richie, alias Bowed Davie, for such was the name. of tbis real dwarf, lived for many years in a small cottage on the farm of Woodhouse, parish of Manner, Peedles. shire, and was very generally known in that part of the country, by the name of Bowed David o' the Woďuse,' a name given to him from his remarkable deformity, his stature being short, his body thick, and his legs aukwardly hent, and although not possessed of that spheroidal form which is given to the Black Dwarf, yet evidently af. fording us, in all appearance, an imperfect prototype of that mysterious personage. He also resembled Elshie in his temper, which was quite sour and niisanthropical. This was particularly displayed in his conduct to a sister of bis own, who resided many years in a neighbouring cuttage, but from whom he was completely estranged. This cottage was erected for him by Sir James Nasmyth, and was given to him rent-free. It was remarkable for the lowness of the door, which was made proportionate to the size of the inhabitant. The cottage was surround . ed by a garden, which was cultivated by Davie himself; and was long the admiration of every passenger wbo camé through the sequestered vale in which it lay. It was, in fact, the richest garden for verdure and beauty which the surrounding country could display; its walls were seven feet high (a height uncommon in that part of the country) and included some very largestones, which the dwarf him. self is said to have lifted. The late Dr. Adam Ferguson, who resided in the neighbouring mansion of Hallyards, used sometimes to visit Davie as an amusement, in this retired spot; but I never heard that any thing remarkable occurred on these occasions. Sir Walter Scott was also a frequent visitor of Davie's and was said to have held long communings with him.-So far the reviewer's account of • Bowed Davie' is consistent with facts; but I believe it may be affirmed, that he was never much remarked for his intellectual superiority, and that the history of his mysterious appearance, and hasty rearing of the cottage, rests on no better grounds than the mere exaggerations of vulgar report. He lived to the advanced age of 76 years; and rendered more dwarf-like by intirmi. ty, died the 6th December, 1817-utterly unconscious, I dare say, that his name and story would ever come before the public. He was interred in the parish church-yard,
ough he himself had expressed a wish that he might be interred on a particular hillock in the neighbourhood of his cottage. The following pot unappropriate epitaph was proposed by some pseudo poet, to mark his retains:
• Here lies D. Ritchie's singular banes,