a monument, smiling at grief, and letting "concealment, like a worm i'the bud, feed on her damask cheek." The other, and most comical sort of Hy-po-chon-dri-acs, are they who have a species of innate fear of the most harmless things in existence; some of these have a mortal and murderous antipathy to dogs; others will run across the street and "hide their diminished heads," to shun an itinerant vender of old clothes. And others, who would as soon commit suicide as go under a ladder or scaffolding; but these latter more properly come under the class of superstitious simpletons. I myself have a mortal aversion to—a Kite! arising, I believe, from some pranks, when my wits were in their first stage, of one of those injudicious beings-a Nurse-maid—and which completely thrumbumbled my young ideas. To frighten me, a MANKITE was placed at my bed foot: and ever after, my midnight dreams and waking thoughts were of KITES. Of the manner in which Hy-po-chon-dri-a-sis scatters one's ideas, the following is a specimen : When between the age of five and six, and when my kite-mania had reached its height, I had an aunt, and certainly both a great and good aunt: but nevertheless to her I took an antipathy. First of all, her name was-Kitely-enough of itself to set my young heart in a flustration-but added to this my said aunt's head was exceedingly small, and her two shoulders unusually broad, and whether it was my heated imagination or not, I cannot say, but I certainly thought her lower parts fast" dwindling to their shortest span,' declining gradually from the shoulders to the heels: she wore unusually large "leg of mutton sleeves," and also an immense Cashmere shawl doubled diagonally, which suspended from the aforesaid wide shoulders, gave to my aunt behind, the exact image of a Kite. But this unfolds only half my misery, for thereby hangs a tail: my aunt had eleven daugh ters, the eldest fourteen, the rest gradually decreasing in height until the little urchin of two years was almost lost in the distance. My aunt was a great lover of female decorum, and had a very unique taste, clothing all her daughters in one colour, white. My cousins, under the hands of the Drill Serjeant, were all taught to walk bolt upright, and my aunt chose that they should walk in a straight line-gradually progressing upwards from one to eleven. Fancy, therefore, the torture in my morning walks of this WOMAN KITE and her tail, winding along in their early airing. The nursemaid I never forgave, as the cause of my dislike to one of the best of women; one who would have taught me to soar, like Mr. Green the aeronaut, above the petty disturbances of this world, but for the fear of disgracing the line of my ancestry by dying suspended from a string. TELL'S SPEECH. YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! To show they still are free. Methinks I hear And bid your tenant welcome to his home Scaling yonder peak, His airy circle, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath, And round about absorb'd, he heeded not The death that threaten'd him.-I could not shoot- And let him soar away! Heavens, with what pride I used How happy was it then! I loved Its very storms. Yes, Emma, I have sat In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake.. The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Have wished me there-the thought that mine was free, Blow on! This is the land of liberty! THE GRAVE DIGGERS IN HAMLET. 1 Clown. Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation? 2 Clo. I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight; the crowner hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial. 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence ? 2 Clo. Why 'tis found so. 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act : and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform; argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman deliver. 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: If the man goes to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law? 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's-quest law. 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't; If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of Christian burial. 1 Clo. Why, there thou sayest: And the more pity; that great folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even Christian. Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 2 Clo. Why he had none. 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the scripture The scripture says, Adam digged: Could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee: If thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself— 2 Clo. Go to. 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 2 Clo. The gallows maker: for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well: But how does it well? it does well to those that do ill now thou dost ill, to say the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again; come. 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright or a carpenter? 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 1 Clo. To't. 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating: and, when you are asked this question next, say, a grave-maker; the houses that he makes last till doomsday. HAMLET, HORATIO, AND THE GRAVE-DIGGER. Grave-digger.-In youth, when I did love, did love, Methought, it was very sweet, To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, O, methought there was nothing meet. Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business? he sings at grave-making. Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. Ham. 'Tis e'en so the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. Gra. But age with his stealing steps, Hath claw'd me in his clutch, And hath shipped me into the land, [Throws up a Scull. Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician which this ass now o'er reaches: one that would circumvent God, might it not? Hor. It might, my lord. Ham. Or of a courtier; which would say, 'Good-morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not? Hor. Ay, my lord. Ham. Why, e'en so; and now my lady Worm's; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade; Here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with them? Mine ache to think on't. Gra. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, For and a shrouding sheet; [Throws up a Scull. Ham. There's another: Why may not that be the scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones two, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? the very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more? ha? Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? Hor. Ay my lord, and of calves-skins too. Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow :-Whose grave's this, Sirrah? Gra. Mine, Sir,— |