The two last of these form also two of the volumes of the work denominated by Mr. Pennant, "Outlines of the Globe." This, in manuscript, occupies two and twenty folio volumes, and uncommon expence was bestowed on them, in ornaments and illuminations. No more than six have been yet published. The writing of his numerous works, their correction, and the additions to the subsequent editions, with his various other duties, kept both his mind and body in active and continual employment. To his regular and temperate mode of life, and his riding exercise, for he performed all his different tours on horseback, with the perfect ease that he enjoyed on these pleasing excursions, he attributes the almost uninterrupted good health he enjoyed for nearly seventy years. His general time of retiring to rest was ten o'clock; and he rose, both in summer and winter, at seven. He carefully He carefully avoided that meal of excess, a supper; and my soul," says he, 66 rises with vigor to its employs, and does not, I trust, disappoint the end of its Creator: His favourite exercise seems to have been on horseback, and this he continued, as far as he was able, to the latest part of his life," considering the absolute resignation of the person to the luxury of a carriage, to forbode a very short interval betwixt that and the vehicle which is to carry us to our last stage.” In the year 1792, the sixty-seventh of his age, he says of himself, "though my body may have somewhat abated its wonted vigor, yet my mind still retains its powers, its longing after improvement, its wish to see new lights through the chinks which time has made." And, speaking of his great attempt, the Outlines of the Globe: "Happy is the life that could beguile its fleeting hours without injury to any one, and, with addition of years, continue to rise in its pursuits. But more interesting, and still more exalted subjects, must employ my fu ture span." Some of these latter observations appear in his "Literary Life," which contains his biography so far as relates, principally, to his literary concerns, to the commencement of the year 1793. This, although published by himself, he whimsically denominated a posthumous work, the name in dotted characters, THOMAS PENNANT subscribed to the advertisment, in dicating dicating it to be sent into the world by departed literary spirit. From this time he declares himself determined to appear in no new works before the public, yet the activity of his mind would not suffer him, even in this advanced age, entirely to resign himself to private labours and domestic concerns; accordingly he wrote, and in 1796 printed, the "History of Whitford and Holywell," the word RESURGAM appropriately occupying the leaf preceding the title. He afterwards published also the two first volumes of the Outlines of the Globe." The loss of an amiable daughter, in the year 1794, had so great an effect upon his mind, that he was never able perfectly to recover it. In April ensuing he had the misfortune to snap the patella of his knee in descending a flight of steps. This accident confined him long to his room, but he recovered from it in a wonderful manner. Towards the latter end of the year 1796 he began to be affected by the pulmonary complaint, which at length terminated his life. His mental faculties, however, still continued in a great measure unimpaired, till the month of October, 1798, when his disorder began to wear a serious aspect. He was from this time confined to his bed, and on the sixteenth of December, closed his existence without a groan. Conscious of approaching dissolution, he met the stroke with the utmost composure and resignation. Thus was society deprived of one of its most active, and one of its most valuable members. Of the industry and talents of Mr. Pennant, his election as member of various literary institutions, both VOL. XLVI. at home and abroad, bear satisfactory evidence: Antiquarian Society, Nov. 1754. 1757. Royal Society of London, Feb. 1767. Royal Academy of Dronthiem, Mar. 1769. L. L. D. at Oxford, May 1771. Societas Phisiographica, Lond. June 1783. American Philosophical Society at Philadelphia, April 1791. Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm, May 1784. Royal Society at Edinburgh, Hon. Mem. Jan. 1785. Society of Antiquaries at Perth, Hon. Mem. Dec. 1785. Linnean Society of London, Hon. Mem. In the writings of Mr. Pennant we are not to look for any of those brilliant effusions of genius that mark the pen of some of the modern naturalists and travellers. But if he did not possess their fire, he had the more valuable requisites of untarnished principle, and a scrupulous adherence to truth. Perseverance, industry, and correctness, are their leading characteristics. His reading was extensive, particularly in the zoological branches of natural history. He possessed a rétentive memory, and a considerable rapidity of composition, his works being generally printed, with little or no correction, as they flowed from the pen. As to his private character, he was religious without bigotry; and, from principles the most pure and disinterested, firmly attached to the established church. He was a steady friend to our excellent constitution; and, when the spirit of democracy 3 C with with which the mania of a neighbouring country appeared desirous of overwhelming our kingdom, was spreading abroad, he resisted its efforts with all his might. In times of scarcity he materially alleviated the distresses of the neighbouring poor by the importation of grain. If he had foibles, let them be buried in his grave, and let the first who is without, draw them from thence to his dispraise. To sum up the general character of Mr. Pennant in few words, he was a man of upright conduct and the most unshaken integrity, uniting to a good head that valuable counter part so often wanting, an excellent heart. The Streets of Paris described; or Sketches of the Habits and Manners of the lower Orders of Purisians; contained in Letters to Lady, by the celebrated Dramatist Kotzebuc. My dear friend, a The proverb, "Tell me what company you keep, and I will tell you what you are," is, perhaps, liable to many exceptions; for only very independent men are at liberty to choose their company: I should like to propose another proverbial saying, "Tell me how your room looks, and I will tell you what kind of man you are." These two exceptions may sometimes belie the rule; but, upon the whole, I challenge every reader to look about among his acquaintance, whether the appearance of the room does not frequently resemble the character of its inhabitant? You ask me, why this introduction? My answer is, we are now in Paris. The capital is, as it were, the room of a nation; and if I suc ceed in making you a little better acquainted with modern Paris, I am also of opinion, I shall have partly portrayed the French nation. Please to favour me with your arm! For what? To take a walk through the streets of Paris in this fine autumnal weather. You will not be sorry for it. No foreigner should neglect such a walk; for the quays, boulevards, &c. present the most entertaining spectacle from morning till night. As often as the weather permitted, I rambled about on foot, stopped wherever a little crowd was gathering; I looked, I listened, gaped, too, if you please, amused myself like a prince, and often picked up a grain of experience to deposit in my memory. Behold in one place a wheel of fortune made of glass; are you not surprised? Here extremes meet; one of the most enlightened nations of Europe, seems likewise to be the most superstitious. At the corners of every street, you find cunning people, who in every possible manner allure passengers, to announce to them, infallibly, what numbers will be prizes in the next drawing of the numerous French lotteries; and such a prophet has always a crowded circle about him. This dirty wheel of fortune has a hole on the top; the ragged fellow who stands behind it, has made a kind of an instrument of the back bone of a goose, which he applies to the hole with great gravity, and almost without moving his lips imitates the speak ing of Punch, which sounds exactly as if some little demon were sitting in the wheel, and addressing the auditors. If the curious draw near, the goose's bone suddenly jumps off the hole, and the ghostly voice in vites the bystanders, whose hands are already in motion, under the most splendid assurances of drawing the numbers which are to be prizes. Two sous is the usual price of all such never-failing prophecies. A little farther another has a large board with letters exposed, tell him only your initials he immediately draws your name from the board, and in a hole behind it, finds you all you desire to know. This way of divination has been found too simple by a third. Be hold that table where all sorts of neat little figures are driven round by clock-work. At first sight, it does not look at all like the sanctuary of a lottery prophet; but you will soon perceive, that on the middle pole which goes through the table, a zodiac is fastened over the puppets, in which the months are inscribed and which turns round with them. Higher up you behold another circle bearing the ninety numbers. Now only please to touch with your finger the puppet you think most endowed with the gift of soothsaying: for instance, this Turkish emperor who holds his sceptre so majestically high; all the figures immediately begin to run, the zodiac turns round, as do the numbers, and you wait in patience for the result. Now the clock-work is run down, the emperor of Turkey stands still, and points with his sceptre to the month of August, exactly above which is No. 78. Can any thing be more natural and certain than that by taking this number for this month, you will win great sums upon it? You laugh that people should thus seriously give them selves up to children's play. Begging your pardon, it is, in fact, doing no more than a philosopher, who, taking his chair, draws up with two demonstrating fingers the curtain of futurity, as he would unroll a piece of paper? Let us go farther, and see this brilliant inscription: the golden chain of fate. This valuable chain consists of ninety cases, or wrappers of gilt paper, which are wound on a wheel, like yarn to be unreeled, and turned by a blind man. You choose one of these paper cases, the blind man opens it, and the number it contains again makes your fortune. But should you be absolutely determined not to make it in the lottery, you will at least be curious enough to learn your future destinies, and the past likewise if you please. In front of the Pont Neuf stands a conjurer, who expressly announces himself to be privileged by the police, and who has devoted his talent chiefly to the lottery: as men had much rather win money, than look into futurity. At your desire the same personage opens you the book of fate for two sous, and with wonderous fluency of speech, relates to you all that has happened and will happen. Though twenty people, one after another, different by professions, age, and sex, should all appeal to his skill, it does not put him out of countenance; he stares at one after the other, reads in their eyes and whole countenance, speaks to each for at least two minutes, is very grave all the while, makes use of the choicest terms of language, says in about an hour, (so long I imagine I staid), certainly not the same thing twice over, never stops or stammers, makes a slight bow at last; asks for nothing, addresses those who follow, 3 C 2 follow, takes what the preceding drop into his hand, and puts it into his pocket without looking at it. This man, in any other situation, would certainly have been an excellent speaker. The countenances of his consulters form the most diverting part of the scene. The utmost devotion, perfect resignation, and firm belief, are deeply impressed in every feature. As the man always expresses himself particularly relative to the past with such artful duplicity, he cannot fail, with the help of his ingenious powers of fancy, to hit the truth with regard to several of his hearers. I have often remarked, with what amazement people stared at him, and how many a lady turned away with tears in her eyes. Thus the same Parisians, who but a few years ago carried about the goddess of Reason, though only on their shoulders, believe in divination, and surround by hundreds the first pretended prophet they meet. A Frenchman possesses an inexhaustible fund of polite and agreeable turns, which, though every one knows they are unmeaning, yet draw an approving smile from all his hearers. There, stands a fellow twisting a puppet's coat on his forefinger, and sometimes letting a little devil peep out, waving his hand briskly towards heaven, and exclaiming, "there it flies." This flat and stale joke he seasons very admirably with a ready account of every thing the little imp will see in his flight over Paris; now he sees the gun-boats on the Seine, of which he adds a pompous description; now a young lady just rising from bed, whom he describes with every possible facsination. Ample as is Ample as is the matter with which he is fur nished by his flying devil (diable volant), copied from the devil upon two-sticks (diable boiteux), still he knows how to change his amusements in a clever manner. He suddenly calls a boy out of the crowd, who may be about ten years of age, putting his hand on his head, he asks him very solemnly, "Are you married, my lad?” The younster stares at him and says, "No."-"Swear then," continues the jester with a gruff voice, “swear that you are not married.”—The boy is obliged to hold up his hand and swear. "Now I'll make thy fortune." He gives him a box and promises to conjure so many hundred louis d'ors into it. But before he begins his hocus pocus, he very genteelly addresses the public, saying, "You will perhaps ask, genglemen, why with this facility of making gold, I do not make my own fortune? 'Tis because it is already made. All that I am doing here, is entirely for your amusement." He now conjures the box full of gold; at least it becomes as heavy in the hand, as if there were really gold in it. To be sure, on opening it, nothing is found but a stone. But, can the conjurer help it, that the boy is a natural or illegitimate child; or owes, at least, his supposed legitimacy to his mother having told a tale about his real origin? He declares with an arch look, that he very seldom meets with instances of the kind; that such things seldom occur at Paris; and quickly digresses to some other subject. All these are only jokes for the populace; but they are delivered without decency being offended, and are, indeed, not without wit. You will allow that a nation, among whom |