No bliss beyond his pipe and squaw he knew,
Small as his wants his homely household gear
Inspired, from nightly theft, no cause of fear,
With various hues his deer-skin mantle dyed,
By night his covering, and by day his pride,
A pot of stone, his succotash to boil,

A huge samp-mortar, wrought with patient toil,
These were his riches, these his simple store,
And having these he sought for nothing more:-
Thus liv'd he blest, what time from Cambria's strand,
Advent'rous Madoc sought this unknown land.
With swords and bibles arm'd the Welsh appear,†
Their faith to 'stablish and their empire rear;
Struck with surprise the simple savage sees
The pictur'd dragon waving in the breeze,
Hears with delight the harp's wild music play,
As sweet the strings respond to Gryffidd's lay;
But when th' advancing squadrons forward move,
Their arms bright gleaming 'mid the dusky grove,
Joy yields to fear, as now, approaching nigh,
Their dress and uncouth features meet his eye;-
And when their barb'rous Celtic sounds he hears,
That grate discordant on his tender ears,
Fill'd with wild terror from the scene he scuds,
And seeks retreat amidst impervious woods,
While, in pursuit, behind th' affrighted man
"The o'erflowing stream of population ran.”
His wigwam swept away, his patch of corn,
Before the fury of the torrent borne;
Drove him from wool to wood, from place to place,
And now for hunting leaves him little space.

Then since, beneath this widely-spreading tide,
Sunk are the grounds that Indian wants supplied,
Few are their deer, their buffaloes are deal,
Or o'er the lakes with mighty Mammoth fled;
Humanity has whisper'd in our ear,
Whose dictates ever have we held most dear,
To teach them how to spin, to sew, to knit,
And for their stockings manufacture feet,
Since by their "energies' exertions" sole
Can they e'er figure on Existence' roll.
We therefore liberally to them have sent
Such household matters as for use are meant,
Pots, kettles, trenchers, dripping-pans, whate'er
Their kitchens lack, their victuals to prepare,
And with them skilful men to teach them how
To still their whisky, their tobacco grow ;—
While, to secure them from domestic harm,
We've lifted o'er them, with our thundering arm,
The law's broad Egis, under which as still
And safe they lie as thieves within a mill."

But vain th' attempt to this IMPERIAL DAY, To light their dusky souls with reason's ray, To make them quit their guns and scalping knives, And stay at home contented with their wives; Most powerful obstacles this scheme prevent, Thwart my fine plans, and frustrate my intent:Firstly their bodies' habits different are, And different med'cine claim, and different care, No neutral mixture will for them suffice Of gentle acids and mild alkalies; But powerful Blood-root, Oil of Rattle-snake, Jerusalem Oak, and Gum of Hacmetac. Nor simple blood-lettings their pains assuage,

The Indian name for the mixture of Indian corn, or maize, with beans.

+ One of these very Bibles is said to have been discovered, not many years since, in the possession of the Welsh Indians, who have excited so much curiosity, and who preserved with a sunctimonious reverence this relict of their ancestors, although they were unable to read it, and ignorant of its use. It is to be hoped that the gentleman appointed by the President to explore the western part of this Continent may, in his researches, be so fortunate as to fall in with this tribe, and obtain from then this curious and invaluable deposit.

Warm their cold chills, and quell their fever's rage, Means far more potent their tough frames require, And the free use of lancets and of fire. Besides as ne'er the Indian's chin appears Mark'd with a beard, howe'er mature his years, Of course no barber's hand, with razor keen, No barber's pole amidst the tribes are seen.Great marts of knowledge, form'd the world to bless, The seats of scandal, ponties and dress! From barbers' shops what benefits we trace? How great their 'vantage to the human race? That source of civil culture unpossess'd, What wonder reason slowly fills the breast? Thou knight renown'd! possess'd of equal skill The comb to flourish, or to ply the quil, Whose bright effusions, wond'ring, oft I see, And own myself in message beat by thee, O would'st thou, HUGGINS," to the Indians go, And on their chins give mighty beards to grow, Soon should thy shop o'er all their wigwams rise, And painted pole attract their curious eyes, While the glad tribes would thither thick repair, And claim in turn the honours of thy chair. Methinks amid the newly-bearded band, With brush and lather arm'd, I see thee stand, And as each visage gleams with foamy white, And wields thy dexter hand the razor bright, Thy eloquence pervades, refines the whole; And pours the beams of reason o'er their soul, While white-wigg'd savages, with loud acclaim, Thee as the People's Friend, and President shall

name.

Thrice happy time; when, freed from Error's night,

Reason's broad beam shall shed her mid-day light,
O'er realms regenerate ope unbounded day,
And bless the Indians with its brightest ray,
Drive the thick mist from their bewildered eyes,
Give them their former habits to despise,
While they partakers of our equal right,
In civic feasts and whiskey shall delight.
But much we doubt that ne'er within our reign,
Will Indian manners such refinement gain;
For ah! among them live some crafty dogs,
Change-haters, anti-philosophic rogues,

Chaps who, though something, are of nothing made,
Mere forms of air and phantoms of the shade;
Who say 'tis better in the ancient way
Safe to go on, than in new paths to stray,
Where bogs and precipices lurk beneath,
And ignes fatui point the way to death,
That civic feasts with Indians suit but ill,
And rum and whiskey are contriv'd to kill,
That what the whites the light of reason call
Is but another name for cheating all,

Barber Huggins, at the beginning of the century, afforded much amusement in New York by the parodies and fanciful flights of his professional advertisements, in the Evening Post, Morning Chronicle, and other papers, which were generally written with considerable cleverness. They were collected into an entertaining volume in 1808, with the following title: "Hugginiana or Huggins' Fantasy, being a collection of the most esteemed modern literary productions, exposing the art of making a noise in the world, without beating a drum or crying oysters; and showing how, like Whittington of old, who rose from nothing to be Lord Mayor of London, a mere Barber may become an Emperor, if he has but spirit enough to assume, and talents enough to support the title. By John Richard Desborus Huggins, Empereur du Friseurs, Roi du Barbieres, &c., &c. Trifles, light as air.-SHAKSPEARE. New York: Printed by H. C. Southwick, No. 2 Wall street, Most Excellent Printer to his most Barber-ous majesty." Huggins was the butt of the town, and doubtless turned his notoriety to profitable account. His business advertisements, mixed up with the politics and small humors of the day, supplied a vehicle for the wits to pass their squibs to the public. dies of the imperial proclamations of Buonaparte by the Emperor of Barbers were among the best of thein.

Paro

And that by equal right is meant, 'tis plain,
The right by force or fraud whate'er they list to gain.
Thus like the Feds, to reason they pretend,
Suspect our motives, and decry our end.

Where action too with counteraction jars,
And wild misrule 'gainst order fiercely wars,
Anti-philosophers with scorn reject

Th' enlighting doctrines of our favour'd sect;
Bigots of mouldy creeds, that long ago
The Goddess Reason taught were idle show,
Their superstitious whims and habits hold,
Reject the new and cleave unto the old:
In vain reform in Gallic mantle drest,
Unbinds her zone, and wooes them to her breast,
And innovation's meretricious smile
Attempts their rigid firmness to beguile.
Strange that such prejudice in chains should bi..d
In our enlighten'd days the human kind!
Fools must they be, by dulness sure possess'd,
In their old way contented to be blest,
When novelty, with all-alluring charms

Of untried systems, lures them to her arms.

SUSANNA ROWSON,

THE author of the popular little romance of Charlotte Temple, of many books of greater labor and of less fame, and of the lyric of America, Commerce, and Freedom, was born about the year 1762. Her father was William Haswell, a British naval officer, who in 1769 was wrecked in company with his daughter on Lovell's Island, on the New England coast, after which they settled at Nantasket, where the father, a widower, married again, and whence he was compelled to départ, as a British subject, on the breaking out of the Revolutionary war.

His daughter appears to have followed him to London, where in 1786 she married William Rowson, leader of the band attached to the Royal Guards in London. Her first work was published the same year, a novel, entitled Victoria; followed by Mary, or the Test of Honor, the matter of which was partly put into her hands by the bookseller; A Trip to Parnassus, a Critique on Authors and Performers, Fille de Chambre, the Inquisitor, or Invisible Rambler, Mentoria, and Charlotte Temple. Of the latter twentyfive thousand copies were sold in a few years. It is a tale of seduction, the story of a young girl brought over to America by a British officer and deserted, and being written in a melodramatic style has drawn tears from the public freely as any similar production on the stage. It is still a popular classic at the cheap book-stalls and with travelling chapmen. The Inquisitor is avowedly modelled on Sterne, and the honest heart of the writer has doubtless a superior sensibility, though the sharp wit and knowledge of the world of the original are not feminine qualities, and are not to be looked for from a female pen.

In 1793 Mrs. Rowson came with her husband to America, under an engagement with Wignell, the manager of the Philadelphia theatre. She had appeared in England in the provincial theatres, and was successful in light comedy and musical pieces. While engaged on the stage in America she wrote The Trials of the Heart, a novel; Slaves in Algiers, an opera; The Volunteers, a farce found

Buckingham, in his Personal Memoirs, speaks of "the sublime and spirit-stirring tones of this gentleman's trumpet, when he played for the Boston Handel and Haydn Society, the accompaniment to the air in the Messiah, The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised.""

ed on the whiskey insurrection in Pennsylvania; and another farce, The Female Patriot. While at Baltimore in 1795, she wrote a poetical address to the armies of the United States, which she entitled The Standard of Liberty, and which was recited on the stage by Mrs. Whitlock before the military companies of the city. The bird of Jove, after attending the fortunes of Æneas and the Latins, is made to descend on the shores of Columbia, where the eagle becomes the standard of virtue and freedom. The next year she appeared with her husband at the Federal Street Theatre, in Boston, for a single season, during which she wrote a comedy, Americans in England, which was acted for her benefit and farewell of the stage. She then opened a school at Medford, afterwards at Newton, and subsequently at Boston. Her industrious pen meanwhile was not idle. In 1798 she published, in Boston, Reuben and Rachel, or Tales of Old Times, the scene of which was laid in Maine. In 1804 her Miscellaneous Poems appeared, by subscription, as usual. She appears on the title-page Precep tress of the Ladies' Academy, Newton, Mass." The chief contents of the volume are The Birth of Genius, an Irregular Poem; Birth-day Ode to John Adams, 1799; Eulogy to the Memory of Washington; Maria, not a Fiction, a ballad of the Charlotte Temple material; occasional ver-es, and some translations from Virgil and Horace. They are for the most part echoes of English verse, occasionally imperfect, but mainly expres sive of the generous woman's heart. A few boisterous songs, of a mannish order, may be set down to her theatrical life, and may be considered as a healthy support of her sentimental writing. The Choice, though one of the numerous imitations of Pomfret, may be taken as suggestive of the character of the writer. Her poem on the Rights of Woman shows her to have had but moderate ideas on that subject compared with some urged at the present day. A single verse, the first of a little poem entitled Apection, is proof sufficient of her gentle nature, and the felicitous expression which she sometimes achieved.

Mrs. Rowson also compiled several educational works, a Dictionary, two Systems of Geography, and Historical Exercises. She was also a contributor to the Boston Weekly Magazine. Her last distinct publication appears to have been in 1822, the two volumes entitled, Biblical Dialogue8 between a Father and his Family: comprising Sacred History from the Creation to the Death of our Saviour Christ, the Lives of the Apostles, the Reformation, &c. Mr. and Mrs. Alworth, in this book, living on the Connecticut, communicate in a series of conversations with their five children a variety of sacred information, derived from the works of Stackhouse, Poole, Prideaux, Calvert, and others. In the preface Mrs. Rowson professes herself attached to the tenets of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and states that she "has been engaged for the last twenty-five years in the instruction of young per sons of her own sex." The style of the work is smooth and fluent.

Mrs. Rowson died in Boston, March 2, 1824.*

*An Obituary article in the Boston Gazette, reprinted in the Appendix to Moore's Historical Collections for 1824.

AFFECTION.

Touch'd by the magic haud of those we love,
A trifle will of consequence appear;
A flow'r, a blade of grass, a pin, a glove,
A scrap of paper will become most dear.
And is that being happy, whose cold heart
Feels not, nor comprehends this source of joy?
To whom a trifle can no bliss impart,

Who throw them careless by, deface, destroy? Yes, they are happy; if the insensate rocks

rays.

Which the rude ocean beats, or softly laves,
Rejoice that they are mov'd not by the shocks,
Which hurl full many to untimely graves.
Yes, they are happy; if the polish'd gem,
On which the sun in varied colours plays,
Rejoices that its lustre comes from him,
And glows delighted to reflect his
Not else. Though hearts so exquisitely form'd,
Feel misery a thousand different ways;
Yet when by love or friendship's power warm'd,
One look, whole days of misery repays.
One look, one word, one kind endearing smile,
Can from the mind each painful image blot:
The voice we love to hear can pain beguile,

List'ning the world beside is all forgot.
Tho' sharp the pang which friendship slighted gives,
Tho' to the eye a tear may force its way;
The cause remov'd when hope again revives,

Light beats the heart, and cheerful smiles the day. True, when we're forc'd to part from those we love, 'Tis like the pang when soul and body's riven; But when we meet, the spirit soars above,

And tastes the exquisite delights of heaven.
Mine be the feeling heart: for who would fear
To pass the dreary vale of death's abode,
If certain, at the end, they should be near
And feel the smile of a benignant God?

No more a sweet perfume they shed,
Their fragrance lost, their beauty fled,
They can revive no more.

So hapless woman's wounded name,
If Malice seize the trump of fame;
Or Envy should her poison shed
Upon the unprotected head

Of some forsaken maid;
Tho' pity may her fate deplore,
Her virtues sink to rise no more,
From dark oblivion's shade.

THE CHOICE.

I ask no more than just to be
From vice and folly wholly free;
To have a competent estate,
Neither too small, nor yet too great;
Something of rent and taxes clear,
About five hundred pounds a year.

My house, though small, should be complete,
Furnished, not elegant, but neat;
One little room should sacred be
To study, solitude, and me.

The windows, jessamine should shade,
Nor should a sound the ears invade,
Except the warblings from a grove,
Or plaintive murm'rings of the dove.
Here would I often pass the day,
Turn o'er the page, or tune the lay,
And court the aid and sacred fire
Of the Parnassian tuneful choir.
While calmly thus my time I'd spend,
Grant me, kind Heaven, a faithful friend.
In each emotion of my heart,
Of grief or joy, to bear a part;
Possess'd of learning, and good sense,
Free from pedantic insolence.
Pleas'd with retirement let him be,
Yet cheerful, midst society;
Know how to trifle with a grace,
Yet grave in proper time and place.

Let frugal plenty deck my board,
So that its surplus may afford
Assistance to the neighb'ring poor,
And send them thankful from the door.
A few associates I'd select,
Worthy esteem and high respect;
And social mirth I would invite,
With sportive dance on tiptoe light;
Nor should sweet music's voice be mute,
The vocal strain, or plaintive lute;
But all, and each, in turn agree,
Tafford life sweet variety;
To keep serene the cheerful breast,
And give to solitude a zest.

And often be it our employ,
For there is not a purer joy,
To wipe the languid grief-swoln eye,
To sooth the pensive mourner's sigh,
To calm their fears, allay their grief,
And give, if possible, relief.

But if this fate, directing Heaven
Thinks too indulgent to be given,
Let health and innocence be mine,
And I will strive not to repine;

Will thankful take each blessing lent,
Be humble, patient, and content.

With a mind unincumbered by care I arise,
My spirits, light, airy, and gay.

I take up my gun; honest Tray, my good friend,
Wags his tail and jumps sportively round;
To the woods then together our footsteps we bend,
"Tis there health and pleasure are found.

I snuff the fresh air; bid defiance to care,
As happy as mortal can be;

From the toils of the great, ambition and state,
"Tis my pride and my boast to be free.

At noon, I delighted range o'er the rich soil,
And nature's rough children regale:

With a cup of good home-brew'd I sweeten their toil,

And laugh at the joke or the tale.

And whether the ripe waving corn I behold,
Or the innocent flock meet my sight;

Or the orchard, whose fruit is just turning to gold,
Still, still health and pleasure unite.

I snuff the fresh air; bid defiance to care,
As happy as mortal can be;

From the toils of the great, ambition and state,
'Tis my pride and my boast to be free.

At night to my lowly roof'd cot I return,

When oh, what new sources of bliss;
My children rush out, while their little hearts burn,
Each striving to gain the first kiss.

My Dolly appears with a smile on her face,
Good humour presides at our board;

What more than health, plenty, good humour, and peace,

Can the wealth of the Indies afford?

I sink into rest, with content in my breast,
As happy as mortal can be;

From the toils of the great, ambition and state,
'Tis my pride and my boast to be free.

AMERICA, COMMERCE, AND FREEDOM.
How blest a life a sailor leads,
From elime to clime still ranging;
For as the calm the storm succeeds,
The scene delights by changing.
When tempests howl along the main,
Some object will remind us,
And cheer with hopes to meet again

Those friends we've left behind us.
Then under snug sail, we laugh at the gale,
And tho' landsmen look pale, never heed 'em;
But toss off a glass, to a favourite lass,

To America, Commerce, and Freedom.

And when arrived in sight of land,
Or safe in port rejoicing,
Our ship we moor, our sails we hand
Whilst out the boat is hoisting.
With eager haste the shore we reach,
Our friends, delighted, greet us;
And, tripping lightly o'er the beach,
The pretty lasses meet us.

When the full flowing bowl has enliven❜d the conl,
To foot it we merrily lead 'em,

And each bonny lass will drink off a glass,
To America, Commerce, and Freedom.

Our cargo sold, the chink we share,
And gladly we receive it;
And if we meet a brother Tar,

Who wants, we freely give it.
No free born sailor yet had store,
But cheerfully would lend it;

And when 'tis gone, to sea for more,

We earn it, but to spend it.

Then drink round, my boys, 'tis the first of our joys, To relieve the distress'd, clothe and feed 'em; "Tis a task which we share, with the brave and the fair,

In this land of Commerce and Freedom.

TABITHA TENNEY.

MRS. TABITHA TENNEY, the author of the popular Adventures of Dorcasina Sheldon, was born at Exeter, N. H., in 1762. She was the daughter of Samuel Gilman, whose paternal ancestors constituted a great part of the community of that place. Her father died in her infancy, and she was left to the sole care of her pious and sensible mother, who was a descendant of the Puritan stock of Robinson, which also composed a large portion of the early population of the town of Exeter. As female education at that time was very circumscribed, she had but few early advantages excepting those which she received from her mother's excellent example of industry and economy, and the few well chosen books which she selected for her daughter's improvement.

Books and literary companionship were her greatest delight. She acquired a facility and correctness of language which gave her noticeable freedom and elegance in conversation.

In 1788 she was married to the Hon. Samuel Tenney, then a resident in Exeter, and formerly a Surgeon in the American army during the Revolutionary war. He was elected a member of Congress in 1800. She accompanied her husband to Washington several winters, and her letters from that place are specimens of her talent at graphic description, as well as illustrative of the fashion and manners of the times.

Her first publication was a selection from the poets and other classical writers, for the use of young ladies, entitled the New Pleasing Instructor. Some time after this she produced her romance of Female Quixotism.* This is, as its title implies, one of the numerous literary progeny of Cervantes' immortal satire. It resembles in one respect more closely its original than most of its family, turning like Don Quixote on the evils of reading romances. In place, however, of the leanvizored Don, we have a blooming, delicate young lady; and to continue the contrast, in exchange for the ponderous folios, in which even the light literature of those ages of learning was entombed, have the small volume novels of the Rosa-Matilda school of the past century, the vapid sentimental stuff which is now driven even from the bookstalls. Dorcas Sheldon is the only daughter of a wealthy father, and soon after her birth loses her mother. Left by a fond father to follow her own wishes she takes to reading novels, and so saturates her mind with their wishy-washy contents, that she determines herself to be a heroine. Her

*Female Quixotism: Exhibited in the Romantic Opinions and Extravagant Adventures of Dorcasina Sheldon. Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum.

In plain English

Learn to be wise by others' harm,

And you shall do full well.

In 2 vols. Boston: J. P. Peas'ee. 1929. The early editions of popular novels become exceedingly scarce. We have me: with no earlier copy than this.

first step is to become qualified for a romantic career by metamorphosing her plain baptismal Dorcas into Dorcasina; her next to refuse a suitor, a solid man of property, of suitable age and approved by her father, whose wooing is of too straightforward and business-like a character to suit her Lydia Languish requirements; and her next, to repair daily to a romantically-disposed arbor to read and meditate. She has a confidante, not the white-muslined nonentity who would be naturally looked for beside a Tilburina, but a sturdy, sensible, country -bred waiting-maid, Betty, a female Sancho Panza.

Time wears on with Miss Dorcasina. Her retired residence and equally secluded mode of life are unfavorable to her aspirations for adventures, and she reaches her thirty-fourth year without a second offer.

At this period an adventurer, passing a night at the village inn, hears of the heiress and determines to carry her off. He dresses the next afternoon in his best, and repairs to the bower frequented by Dorcasina. An interview is thus obtained, the lady swallows the bait, the scamp forges letters of introduction, and is on the point of accomplishing his purpose when he is obliged to decamp. Dorcasina will believe nothing to his discredit, and is for some time inconsolable.

Her next suitor is a waggish student, a youngster as full of practical jokes as his prototype of Boccaccio or Chaucer, or contemporary of Yale College. He somewhat ungallantly selects Dorcasina as his victim. He thickens his plot by appearing, after having made a powerful first impression in propriâ persona, as an injured female, making a violent assault on Dorcasina and Betty:

Betty,

The next day, as evening approached, Dorcasina desired Betty to attend her to the grove. being on many accounts unwilling to go, on her knees entreated her mistress to give up the project. But, finding her resolutely bent on fulfilling her engagement, the faithful creature, in spite of her aversion to the adventure, and of her apprehensions of ghosts and goblins, could not bear the idea that her mistress should go to the wood, at that hour unaccompanied. She therefore followed her footsteps, in silent trepidation.

Being arrived at the arbor they seated themselves on the turf. They had not sat long, when, instead of the expected lover, a female entered, and placing herself by the side of Dorcasina, accosted her in the following manner: "You will, perhaps, be surprised, when I inform you that I know you did not come here with the expectation of meeting a woman. Philander was the person whom you expected to see; but know, abhorred rival, that I have effectually prevented his meeting you this night, and am now come to enjoy your disappointment. I would have you to know, you witch! you sorceress! that you have robbed me of the heart of my lover; and I am determined to be revenged."

Dorcasina, as might naturally be expected, was astonished at this address, and remained for some moments in a profound silence. At length, she attempted to justify herself, by saying that she was sorry to be the cause of pain to any one; that, from her own experience, she knew too well the power of love, not to commiserate any person who nourished a hopeless passion; that she had never yet seen Philander, to her knowledge; that this interview was none of her seeking; and that she had consent

ed to it, at his earnest entreaty, on the express condition that it should never be repeated. She concluded by declaring that, as she now found he had been false to another, she would immediately retire, and hold no further intercourse with him.

This mildness served, in appearance, but to irritate the supposed female. "I know your arts too well," cried she, raising her voice, "to believe a syllable of what you say. It is all mere pretence, and you I will consent to meet him again the very first opportunity. But you shall not go on thus practising your devilish arts with impunity. Your basilisk glance shall not thus rob every man of his heart, and every woman of her lover or husband. Those bewitching eyes, that cause mischief wherever they are seen, I will tear them from their orbits." Thus saying, she laid violent hands on the terrified Dorcasina; tore off her hat; pulled her hair; and was proceeding to tear off her handkerchief, when Betty, seeing her mistress so roughly handled, started up in her defence, and attacking the stranger with great fury, compelled her to quit Dorcasina in order to defend herself. Dorcasina, thus liberated, darte l out of the grove and fled towards the house with all speed, leaving Betty to sustain the combat alone. Finding herself deserted, and her antagonist much her superior in strength, Betty endeavored likewise to make her escape; but her attempt was unsuc cessful. She was held, cuffed, pulled by the hair, twirled round and round like a top, shaken and pushed up against the trees, without mercy; the person who thus roughly handled her, exclaiming, all the time, "You ugly old witch, I'll teach you to carry letters, and contrive meetings between your mistress and my lover; you pander, you go-between!" Poor Betty begged for mercy in the most moving terms, protesting that she had said everything to dissuade her mistress from this meeting; but the enraged virago would not suffer her to go till she had stripped off her upper garments (her gown being a short one and of no great value), torn them to rags, and scattered them about the arbor. She then suffered her to depart, telling her, at the same time, that if ever she caught her engaged in the same business again, she would not only divest her of her clothes, but strip off her old wrinkled hide.

In further prosecution of his deviltry, he persuades a conceited barber that Dorcasina has fallen in love with him at church. The gull readily agrees to repair to the usual trystingplace, where we introduce him to the reader:

Monday being come, the barber, arrayed in his Sunday clothes, with his hair as white as powder could make it, set out, at four o'clock, for the arbor, which had been pointed out to him by Philander; who, previous to this time, judging that Puff would arrive at an early hour, had taken possession of a thick tree, to enjoy, unobserved, the coming scene. The barber found the hour of waiting very tedious. He sung, he whistled, and listened attentively to every passing noise; when, at length, his ears were saluted by the sound of female voices, which were no other than those of Dorcasina and her attendant. "Betty," said the former, "you may seat yourself with your knitting work, without the arbor, and at a small distance from it; for it would not be treating the young man with delicacy, to admit a third person to witness his passion." Betty did as she was desired; and the little barber no sooner discovered Dorcasina approaching the arbor, than, stepping forward and taking her hand, he addressed her with the utmost familiarity: "Gad, my dear, I began to be very impatient, and was afraid you