The Japanese take off a slipper, and the people of Arracan their sandals, in the street, and their stockings in the house, when they salute.

Two Negro kings on the coast of Africa, salute by snapping the middle finger three times.

The inhabitants of Carmene, when they would show a particular attachment, breathe a vein, and present the blood to their friend as a beverage.

If the Chinese meet, after a long separation, they fall on their knees, bend their face to the earth two or three times, and use many other affected modes. They have also a kind of ritual, or "academy of compliments," by which they regulate the number of bows, genuflections, and words to Ambassabe spoken upon any occasion. dors practise these ceremonies forty days before they appear at court.

In Otaheite, they rub their noses together.

The Dutch, who are considered as great eaters, have a morning salutation, common amongst all ranks, "Smaakelyk eeten?"Another "May you eat a hearty dinner." is, "Hoe vaart awe.' "How do you sail?" adopted, no doubt, in the early periods of the republic, when they were all

navigators and fishermen.

The usual salutation at Cairo is, "How do you sweat?" a dry hot skin being a sure indication of a destructive ephemeral fever. Some author has observed, in contrasting the haughty Spaniard with the frivolous Frenchman, that the proud, steady gait and inflexible solemnity of the former, were expressed in his mode of salutation, "Come esta?"-"How do you stand?" whilst the "Comment vous portez-vous?" "How do you carry yourself?" was equally expressive of the gay motion and incessant action of the latter.

The common salutation in the southern provinces of China, amongst the lower orders, is, "Ya fan?"-"Have you eaten your rice?"

In Africa, a young woman, an intended bride, brought a little water in a calabash, and kneeling down before her lover, desired him to wash his hands; when he had done this, the girl, with a tear of joy sparkling in her eyes, drank the water; this was considered as the greatest proof she could give of her fidelity and attachment.

Omniana.

POETRY.

For the Table Book.

The poesy of the earth, sea, air, and sky,

Though death is powerful in course of time With wars and battlements, will never die, But triumph in the silence of sublime Survival. Frost, like tyranny, might climb The nurseling germs of favourite haunts; the roots Will grow hereafter. Terror on the deep Is by the calm subdu'd, that Beauty e'en might creep On moonlight waves to coral rest. The fruits Blush in the winds, and from the branches leap To mossy beds existing in the ground.

Stars swim unseen, through solar hemispheres, Yet in the floods of night, how brightly round The zone of poesy, they reflect the rolling years. P.

A BAD SIGN.

During a late calling out of the North Somerset yeomanry, at Bath, the service of one of them, a "Batcome boy," was enlivened by a visit from his sweetheart; after escorting her over the city, and being fatigued with showing her what she had "ne'er zeed in all her life," he knocked loudly at the door of a house in the Crescent, against which a hatchment was placed, and on the appearance of the pow dered butler, boldly ordered "two glasses of scalded wine, as hot as thee canst make it." The man, staring, informed him he could have no scalded wine there-'twas no "Then dose thee head," public-house.

replied Somerset, "what'st hang out thik there zign var."

INSCRIPTION

FOR A TOMB TO THE MEMORY OF CAPTAIN HEWITSON, OF THE SHIP, TOWN OF UL

VERSTON.

By James Montgomery, Esq.
Weep for a seaman, honest and sincere,
Not cast away, but brought to anchor here;

Storms had o'erwhelm'd him, but the conscious wave
Repented, and resign'd him to the grave:
In harbour, safe from shipwreck, now he lies,
Till Time's last signal blazes through the skies;

Refitted in a moment, then shall he
Sail from this port on an eternal sea.

He only who is "noseless himself" will deem this a trifling article. My prime minister of pleasure is my snuff-box. The office grew out of my "liking a pinch, now and then," and carrying a bit of snuff, screwed up in paper, wherewith, some two or three times a day, I delighted to treat myself to a sensation, and a sneeze. Had I kept a journal of my snuff-taking business from that time, it would have been as instructive as "the life of that learned antiquary, Elias Ashmole, Esq., drawn up by himself by way of diary" in submitting which to the world, its pains-taking editor says, that such works "let us into the secret history of the affairs of their several times, discover the springs of motion, and display inany valuable, though minute circumstances, overlooked or unknown to our general historians; and, to conclude all, satiate our largest curiosity." A comparative view of the important annals of Mr. Ashmole, and some reminiscent incidents VOL. I.-7.

of my snuff-taking, I reserve for my autobiography.

To manifest the necessity of my present brief undertaking, I beg to state, that I still remain under the disappointment of drawings, complained of in the former sheet. I resorted on this, as on all difficult occasions, to a pinch of snuff; and, having previously resolved on taking "the first thing that came uppermost," for an engrav ing and a topic, my hand first fell on the top of my snuff-box. If the reader be angry because I have told the truth, it is no more than I expect; for, in nine cases out of ten, a preference is given to a pretence, though privily known to be a falsehood by those to whom it is offered.

As soon as I wear out one snuff-box I get another-a silver one, and I, parted company long ago. My customary boxes have been papier-maché, plain black: for if I had any figure on the lid it was suspected to be some hidden device; an

answer of direct negation was a ground of doubt, offensively expressed by an insinuating smile, or the more open rudeness of varied questions. This I could only resist by patience; but the parlement excise on that virtue was more than I could afford, and therefore my choice of a black box. The last of that colour I had worn out, at a season when I was unlikely to have more than three or four visitors worth a pinch of snuff, and I then bought this box, because it was two-thirds cheaper than the former, and because I approved the pictured ornament. While the tobacconist was securing my shilling, he informed me that the figure had utterly excluded it from the choice of every one who had noticed it. My selection was agreeable to him in a monied view, yet, both he, and his man, eyed the box so unkindly, that I fancied they extended their dislike to me; and I believe they did. Of the few who have seen it since, it has been favourably received by only one-my little Alice-who, at a year old, prefers it before all others for a plaything, and even accepts it as a substitute for myself, when I wish to slip away from her caresses. The elder young ones call it the "ugly old man," but she admires it, as the innocent infant, in the story-book, did the harmless snake, with whom he daily shared his bread-and-milk breakfast. I regard it as the likeness of an infirm human being, who, especially requiring comfort and protection, is doomed to neglect and insult from childhood to the grave; and all this from no self-default,but the accident of birth —as if the unpurposed cruelty of nature were a warrant for man's per version and wickedness. Of the individual I know nothing, save what the representation seems to tell-that he lives in the world, and is not of it. His basket, with a few pamphlets for sale, returns good, in the shape of knowledge, to evil doers, who, as regards himself, are not to be instructed. His upward look is a sign-common to these afflicted ones-of inward hope of eternal mercy, in requital for temporal injustice: besides that, and his walking-staff, he appears to have no other support on earth. The intelligence of his patient features would raise desire, were he alive and before me, to learn by what process he gained the understanding they express: his face is not more painful, and I think scarcely less wise than Locke's, if we may trust the portrait of that philosopher. In the summer, after a leisure view of the Dulwich gallery for the first time, I found myself in the quiet parlour of a little-frequented road-side

house, enjoying the recollections of a few glorious pictures in that munificent exhibition; while pondering with my box in my hand, the print on its lid diverted me into a long reverie on what he, whom it represented, might have been under other circumstances, and I felt not alone on the earth while there was another as lonely. Since then, this " garner for my grain" has been worn out by constant use; with every care, it cannot possibly keep its service a month longer. I shall regret the loss for its little Deformity has been my frequent and pleasant companion in many a solitary hour;-the box itself is the only one I ever had, wherein simulated or cooling friendship has not dipped.

Garrick Plays.

No. IV.

[From "All Fools" a Comedy by George Chapman 1605.]

Love's Panegyric.

'tis Nature's second Sun,

Causing a spring of Virtues where he shines;
And as without the Sun, the world's Great Eye,
All colours, beauties, both of art and nature,
Are given in vain to man; so without Love
All beauties bred in women are in vain,
All virtues born in men lie buried;
For Love informs them as the Sun doth colours:
And as the Sun, reflecting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fruits and flowers;
So Love, fair shining in the inward man,
Brings forth in him the honourable fruits
Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts.
Brave resolution, and divine discourse.

Love with Jealousy.

such Love is like a smoky fire

In a cold morning. Though the fire be chearful, Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome, 'Twere better lose the fire than find the smoke.

Bailiff's routed.

I walking in the place where men's Law Suits
Are heard and pleaded, not so much as dreaming
Of any such encounter; steps me forth
Their valiant Foreman with the word "I 'rest you."
I made no more ado but laid these paws
Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth;
And there sat he on his posteriors
Like a baboon: and turning me about,

I strait espied the whole troop issuing on me.
I step me back, and drawing my old friend here,
Made to the midst of 'em, and all unable
To endure the shock, all rudely fell in rout,

[From the "Late Lancashire Witches," a Comedy, by Thomas Heywood.]

A Household Bewitched.

My Uncle has of late become the sole

Discourse of all the country; for of a man respected
As master of a govern'd family,

The House (as if the ridge were fix'd below,
And groundsils lifted up to make the roof)
All now's turn'd topsy-turvy,

In such a retrograde and preposterous way
As seldom hath been heard of, I think never.
The Good Man

In all obedience kneels unto his Son;

He with an austere brow commands his Father.
The Wife presumes not in the Daughter's sight
Without a prepared curtsy; the Girl she
Expects it as a duty; chides her Mother,
Who quakes and trembles at each word she speaks.
And what's as strange, the Maid-she domineers

O'er her young Mistress, who is awed by her.

The Son, to whom the Father creeps and bends,
Stands in as much fear of the groom his Man!
All in such rare disorder, that in some
As it breeds pity, and in others wonder,
So in the most part laughter. It is thought,
This comes by WITCHCRAFT.

[From "Wit in a Constable," a Comedy, by Henry Glapthorn.]

Books.

Collegian. Did you, ere we departed from the College, O'erlook my Library?

Servant. Yes, Sir; and I find,
Altho' you tell me Learning is immortal,
The

paper and the parchment 'tis contain'd in Savours of much mortality.

The moths have eaten more

Authentic Learning, than would richly furnish
A hundred country pedants; yet the worms
Are not one letter wiser.

C. L.

THE TURK IN CHEAPSIDE.

For the Table Book.

TO MR. CHARLES LAMB.

I have a favour to ask of you. My desire is this: I would fain see a stream from thy Hippocrene flowing through the pages of the Table Book. A short article on the old Turk, who used to vend rhubarb in the City, I greatly desiderate. Methinks you would handle the subject delightfully. They tell us he is gone

We have not seen him for some time past-Is he really dead? Must we hereafter speak of him only in the past tense? You are said to have divers strange items in your brain about him-Vent them I beseech you.

Poor Mummy!-How many hours hath he dreamt away on the sunny side of Cheap, with an opium cud in his cheek, mutely proffering his drug to the way-farers! That deep-toned bell above him, doubtless, hath often brought to his recollection the loud Allah-il-Allahs to which he listened heretofore in his fatherland-the city of minaret and mosque, old Constantinople. Will he never again be greeted by the nodding steeple of Bow?-Perhaps that ancient beldame, with her threatening head and loud tongue, at length effrayed the sallow being out of existence.

Hath his soul, in truth, echapped from that swarthy cutaneous case of which it was so long a tenant? Hath he glode over that gossamer bridge which leads to the paradise of the prophet of Mecca? Doth he pursue his old calling among the faithful? Are the blue-eyed beauties (those living diamonds) who hang about the neck of Mahomet ever qualmish? Did the immortal Houris lack rhubarb ?

Prithee teach us to know more than we do of this Eastern mystery! Have some of the ministers of the old Magi eloped with him? Was he in truth a Turk? We have heard suspicions cast upon the authenticity of his complexion-was its tawniness a forgery? Oh! for a quo warranto to show by what authority he wore a turban! Was there any hypocrisy in his sad brow?-Poor Mummy!

The editor of the Table Book ought to perpetuate his features. He was part of the living furniture of the city-Have not our grandfathers seen him?

The tithe of a page from thy pen on this subject, surmounted by "a true portraicture & effigies," would be a treat to me and many more. If thou art still ELIA-if

thou art yet that gentle creature who has immortalized his predilection for the sow's baby-roasted without sage—this boon wilt thou not deny me. Take the matter upon thee speedily.-Wilt thou not endorse thy Pegasus with this pleasant fardel ?

An' thou wilt not I shall be malicious and wish thee some trifling evil: to witby way of revenge for the appetite which thou hast created among the reading pub. lic for the infant progeny-the rising generation of swine-I will wish that some of the old demoniac leaven may rise up against thee in the modern pigs:—that thy sleep may be vexed with swinish visions; that a hog in armour, or a bashaw of a boar of three tails, may be thy midnight familiar-thy incubus ;-that matronly sows may howl after thee in thy walks for their immolated offspring;-that Mab may tickle thee into fits "with a tithe-pig's tail;"-that wheresoever thou goest to finger cash for copyright,” instead of being paid in coin current, thou mayst be enforced to receive thy per-sheetage in guinea-pigs;-that thou mayst frequently dream thou art sitting on a hedge-hog;-that even as Oberon's Queen doated on the translated Bottom, so may thy batchelorly brain doat upon an ideal image of the swine-faced lady

Finally, I will wish, that when next G. D. visits thee, he may, by mistake, take away thy hat, and leave thee his own—— "Think of that Master Brook.".

GLANCES AT NEW BOOKS ON MY TABLE. SPECIMENS OF BRITISH POETESSES; selected, and chronologically arranged, by the Rev. Alexander Dyce, 1827, cr. 8vo. pp. 462..

Mr. Dyce remarks that, "from the great Collections of the English Poets, where so many worthless compositions find a place, the productions of women have been carefully excluded." This utter neglect of female talent produces a counteracting effort: "the object of the present volume is to exhibit the growth and progress of the genius of our countrywomen in the department of poetry." The collection of "Poems by eminent Ladies," edited by the elder Colman and Bonnel Thornton, contained specimens of only eighteen female writers; Mr. Dyce offers specimens of the poetry of

eighty-eight, ten of whom are still living. He commences with the dame Juliana Berners, Prioress of the Nunnery of Sopwell, "who resembled an abbot in respect of exercising an extensive manorial jurisdiction, and who hawked and hunted in common with other ladies of distinction," and wrote in rhyme on field sports. The volume concludes with Miss Landon, whose initials, L. E. L, are attached to a profusion of talented poetry, in different journals.

The following are not to be regarded as examples of the charming variety selected by Mr. Dyce, in illustration of his purpose, but rather as 66 specimens " of peculiar thinking, or for their suitableness to the present time of the year.

Our language does not afford a more truly noble specimen of verse, dignified by high feeling, than the following chorus from "The Tragedy of Mariam, 1613," ascribed to lady Elizabeth Carew.

Revenge of Injuries.

The fairest action of our human life

Is scorning to revenge an injury; For who forgives without a further strife,

His adversary's heart to him doth tie. And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, To win the heart, than overthrow the head.

If we a worthy enemy do find,

To yield to worth it must be nobly done; But if of baser metal be his mind,

In base revenge there is no honour won. Who would a worthy courage overthrow, And who would wrestle with a worthless foe?

We say our hearts are great and cannot yield;

Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor:
Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, but seld
The weakest lion will the loudest roar.
Truth's school for certain doth this same allow,
High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.
A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn,
To scorn to owe a duty overlong;
To scorn to be for benefits forborne,

To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong.
To scorn to bear an injury in mind,
To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind.
But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have,
Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind;
Do we his body from our fury save,

And let our hate prevail against our mind?
What car, 'gainst him a greater vengeance be,
Than make his foe more worthy far than he?

Had Mariam scorn'd to leave a due unpaid,

She would to Herod then have paid her love;
And not have been by sullen passion sway'd.

To fix her thoughts all injury above
Is virtuous pride. Had Mariam thus been prond,
Long famous life to her had been allow'd.