ly chat every evening. A story is told of the Duke of Nivernois, apropos to this subject. That nobleman was intimately acquainted with the Countess de Rochefort, and never omitted going to see her a single evening, as she was a widow, and he a widower, one of his friends observed to him that it would be more convenient for him to marry the Lady. I have often thought so, replied the Duke, but in that case, where could I pass my evenings?

The Duke de Choiseul, both before and after his disgrace at Court, was a nobleman in the highest estimation for his political and social powers. Of his talents, no one ever doubted, and he was doubtless conscious of their extent and value. Men love to be commended, not so much for their Knowledge, as for their dubious qualities. Sir Robert Walpole was never more soothed, than when he was praised as a lucky gallant; for he probably knew that he was a sagacious statesman. The following striking story, which may remind the reader of the Arch Bishop of Grenada and Gil Blas, giving us a clue through one of those windings in the human heart, which TACITUS and DAVILA are the most diligent in tracing. The adroitness of a courtier, the secrecy of a woman, and the self-complacency of her Lord, are very happily hit off in a spirited sketch, where the mere English remarker may be told that the phrase bon homme is generally applied to a man of a simple, good natured, and credulous character.

One day as I was in the carriage with the Duchess of Choiseul and the Abbe Barthelemy, her Grace said to me, Monsieur, I have a favour to ask of you, which you must grant me. With a great deal of pleasure, said I, Madame, if the thing is in my power. So much in your power, replied she, that I do not hesitate to require your word and honour that you will do what I wish. My confidence in you, Madame, answered I, does not permit me to refuse it you. It is this, said she, you have travelled a great deal; you have seen a great deal, and I believe that I shall not be wrong if I say that you understand mankind well. I am curious to know what you think of the Duke, my husband, of his particular character. I know that you are sincere, and to put your delicacy at ease, I promise you, if you desire it, that it shall be a secret between us. I would have excused myself, by saying that it did not become me to judge of the Duke de Choiseul, but the Duchess insisted. She had obtained my word, and required me to keep it. Well, Madam, said I, since you will be obeyed, I will endeavour to comply. You do not expect from me that I should describe the political character of the Duke. It is for Europe to decide on that. I shall only speak of what strikes me most particularly about him in

society. Now, although he has a great deal of sense and wit, it is not on those accounts that he appears amiable. It is rather for a quality, which we rarely see united with wit. In short, in one word, I like the Duke, because he is a good sort of man, un bon homme. What, truly now, said she, with vivacity, do you think him un bon homme? Yes, replied I, he has sense and wit enough to bear the epithet without running any risk of the interpretation, which is commonly given to it. Mon Dieu! cried she, clapping her hands together, what pleasure you give me, by saying so. We had scarcely returned before she run to the apartment of her husband to tell him our conversation; and when before dinner I appeared in the drawing room, he came up to me, and shaking me by the hand, said softly, I am delighted that you think me a good sort of man, and I beg you to believe that I am truly sensible of the compliment.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

MY POCKET BOOK.-NO. III.

Quicquid agunt homines-nostri est farrago libelli.

་་

'Pay me that thou owest." Matt. xviii. 28.

I HAVE often been surprised, that among the numberless sermons which I have either read, or heard delivered," I have never met with one on the above text of Scripture, which, in my opinion, is as pregnant with useful instruction-and instruction highly necessary too-as any text from Genesis to Revelations. A little reflection on the affairs of the world will convince any intelligent man, that no small portion of the misery as well as of the wickedness of mankind arises from a neglect of this imperious injunction. Thousands, nay, millions of the sons of Adam are robbed of the most solid enjoyments of existence, by the des tention of the fruits of their industry, or the price of their property, which they have parted with in reliance upon the honour of the employer or the purchaser.

There is but one valid apology for not paying money when it is due; and that is, not having it to pay. But of the numbers of men who shamefully protract the time of payment, how many there are, who possess

VOL. II.

h

the means, and only want the will, to pay their engagements? How thoughtless must it be, not to say criminal, to make a creditor call so often, that he has more trouble to get the money when due, than he had to earn it! an ancient sage declared it as a maxim with respect to favours and benefits, bis dat, qui cito dat; he gives twice, who gives quickly. This is almost equally true with respect to debts. Money, which, if paid when earned, would have rendered the most essential service, may come so late, as to be of little value.

I state a fact for the consideration of these persons prone to this miserable practice. A worthy man in this city, on whom a most estimable family depended for support, had a just demand of sixty dollars against a wealthy citizen, about the commencement of the fever of 1793. He wished to remove from the fell destroyer-but depended on this debt entirely for the means. He danced attendance daily on the rich man, who was often denied, and, when seen, amused him with some paltry pretence or other. The reader probably anticipates the catastrophe of the story. The creditor was seized with the feverperished after a very short illness-and left his wife, his child, his mother-in-law, and two or three of her children to struggle with adversity in a hard and unfeeling world!

I have seen in an English paper, an account of a servant who advertised for a place, and among his other qualifications, asserted that he was the real inventor of the unanswerable put-off to an importunate dun-Call on Monday, and I'll tell you when to call again. To some folks a servant of this description would be invaluable.

"While words of learned strength, and thundering sound
"Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around.

It has become fashionable of late to apply words of “thundering sound," to designate very plain and simple things, which, if they had the powers they possessed in the days of Esop, would be startled at the dress they appear in. A cookery book, lately imported from London, bears the very pompous title of

Culina famulatrix Medicina―

Many an ignorant epicure, who would be willing enough to avail himself of the savoury prescriptions contained within, would shun the bok, under an apprehension it contained, perhaps, some of the lost books of “ Livvee, or Firgil, or Blueturk.”*

See George Alexander Steevens's song of " Novids and Blueturks, and su... kind of folk."

When I first saw the " Pestalozzian School" announced in our papers, I supposed it was quite in the same style. But after some fruitless inquiries I at length learned, to my satisfaction, that the title was bestowed merely from a very laudable desire to give due honour to a Mr. Pestalozzi, who is said to have made some very valuable improve ments in the all-important science of education.

Hudibras again.

In my first number I took some notice of the lines beginning
The man who fights, and runs away, &c.

which I asserted were not to be found in Hudibras. They are, however, only an amplification of a couplet actually in that book:

"For those that fly may fight again,
"Which he can never do, that's slain."

Fame and Merit disproportioned.

It is a truth, humiliating in a high degree to human nature, that merit and fame are frequently, perhaps generally, very disproportioned to each other. Numberless minute cifcumstances, wholly unconnected with intrinsic merit, or the want of merit, decide without a possibility of appeal upon the reception of a writer with the world-and either consign his productions to oblivion, when they richly deserve a better fate or else give them a celebrity to which they have no claim. If a man belongs to the prevailing party in a nation, and offers incense to their ruling passions and prejudices, his production is exalted to the third heaven-the writer is ranked among the most celebrated geniuses-and honours, influence, and more solid profit await him. But if he were to write with the pen of an angel, and to deliver the most sacred and solemn truths, in opposition to the opinions and prejudices of the mass of the community, he would incur a risk of immolation-he might starve in a garret or a cellar, and his work would be anathematized, and consigned to oblivion.

It is very true that posterity frequently reverses these arbitrary and unjust decrees. But it is equllay true, that this is by no means universally done. When a wretched production has been elevated to a degree of celebrity to which it has really no claim, posterity issues its sentence of condemnation, and the pampered child of party or faction is consigned to "the tomb of the Capulets." But I am sorry to be

obliged to assert that justice is not by any means so frequently done on the other side of the question. When a valuable work has been damned, to borrow a theatrical phrase, by the means above stated, or by those miserable and degrading combinations that sometimes dishonour the republic of letters, the decree is too often as irrevocable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. We take the verdicts of condemnation pronounced by our ancestors upon trust. We have not leisure to examine the evidence. It is too troublesome. But the verdicts of approbation we investigate, and frequently repeal. This is a mortifying view of human nature. Perhaps it is an unjust one. it is but too true.

But I am afraid

Montesquieu's Spirit of Laws.

Some part of the preceding remarks applies to this work. But far be it from me to say that it is a work devoid of merit. This would be extreme injustice, of which I trust I am incapable. There is obviously, almost throughout, discoverable a benevolent spirit, an elaborate research, and generally a profound investigation. The work, as the author says in his preface, was the fruit of twenty years application. And many parts of it prove that the twenty years were not misapplied. Those parts are worthy of immortality.

O si sic omnia! But, alas! this is not the case. The whole of the chapters on the effect of climate upon the manners and customs of nations, are as crude and unfounded, as any paradoxes that ever appeared. According to the theory of Montesquieu upon this subject, to ascertain the manners and customs, the vices or the virtues of nations, hardly any thing more would be necessary than to examine the map, and ascertain the longitude and latitude of the country. This would remove all difficulty on the subject-at all events it, would be a much more easy mode of decision, than any other that could be adopted.

That such a glaring absurdity could have escaped such a writer is wonderful. But it is certainly still more wonderful that a work disfigured with that absurdity, could have enjoyed so unbounded a degree of applause as the Spirit of Laws has for so very long a period. Until Dr. Gregory undertook the easy task of exposing the fallacy of the positions of Montesquieu in this instance, I believe they were received with as implicit a degree of reverence as in days of yore were the predictions of the Delphic oracle. Those who have not read the Doctor's essay on this subject are invited to a rich intellectual repast, which is calculated to gratify the highest anticipations they may form of the entertainment.