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magazine to catch the first spark that may blow it and ourselves into the air.

Tom l'inder is one of these touchy blockheads, wbom nobody can endure : the fellow has not a single plea in life for his ill temper; he does not want money, is not married, has a great deal of health to spare, and never once felt the slightest tvinge of the gout. His eyes no sooner open to the morning light than he begins to quarrel with the weather; it rains, and he wanted to ride; it is sunshine and he meant to go a fishing ; he would hunt only when it is a frost, and never thinks of skating but in open weather; in short the wind is never in the right quarter with this testy fellow; and though I could excuse a man for being a little out of hamoor with an easterly wind, Tom Tinder shall box the whole compass, and never set his needle to a single point of good humour upon the face of it.

He now rings bis bell for his servant to begin the operation of dressing him, a task more ticklish than to wait upon the toilette of a monkey: as Tom shists his servants about as regulariy as he does his shirt, 'tis all the world to nothing if the poor devil does not stumble at starting; or if by happy inspiration he should begin with the right foot foremost, Tom has another inspiration ready at command to quarrel with him for not setting forward with the left: to a certainty then the razor wants strapping, the shaving water is smoaked, and the devil's in the fellow for a dunce, booby, and blockhead,

Tom nor comes down to breakfast, and though the savage has the stomach of an ostrich, there is ( not a morsel passes down his blaspheming throat without a damn to digest it ; 'twould be a less dangerous task to serve in the morning mess to a fasting bear. He then walks forth into his garden;

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there he does not meet a plant, which his ill-hu. mour does not engraft with the bitter fruit of curs. ing ; the wasps have pierced his nectarines; the caterpillars have raised contributions upon his cab. bages, and the infernal blackbirds have eaten up all his cherries : Tom's soul is not large enough to al. low the denizers of creation a taste of Nature's gifts, though he surfeits with the superabundance of her houty.

He next takes a turn about his farm; there vexa. tion upon vexation crosses him at every corner : the fly, a plague upon't, has got amongst his tur. nips; the smut has seized his wheat, and his sheep are falling down with the rot: all this is the fault of his bailiff, and at his door the blame lies with a proportionable quantity of blessings to recommend it. Pe finds a few dry sticks pickt out of his hedges, and he blasts all the poor in the neighbour. hood for a set of thieves, pilferers, and vagabonds. He meets one of his tenants hy the way, and he has a petition for a new gate to his farm-yard, or some repairs to his dove house, or it may be a new threshing-floor to his barn-hell and fury! there is no end to the demands of these cursed farmers-his stomach rises at the request, and he turns aside speechless with rage, and in this manner pays a visit to his masons and carpenters, who are at work upon a building he is adding to his offices : here his choler instead of subsiding only flames more furiously, for the idle rascals have done nothing; some have been making holiday, others have gone to the fair at the next town, and the master work man has fallen from the scaffold, and keeps his bed with the bruises ; every devil is conjured up from the bottomless pit to come on earth and confound these dilatory miscre. ants; and now let him go to his dinner with what stomach he may. If an humble parson or depend. ant cousin expects a peaceful meal at his table, he may as well sit down to feed with Thyestes or the Centaurs. After a meal of misery and a glass of wine, which ten to one but the infernal butler has clouded in the decanting, he is summoned to a game at back-gammon : the parson throws size-ace, and in a few more casts covers all his points; the devil's in the dice ! Tom makes a blot, and the parson hits it; be takes up man after man, and all his points are full, and Tom is gammoned past redemption—can flesh and blood bear this? Was ever such a run of luck? The dice-box is slapt down with a vengeance; the tables ring with the deafening crash, the parson stands aghast,and Tom stamps the floor in the phrenzy of passion-despicable passion! miserable dependant!

Where is his vext resource ? the parson has fled the pit; the back-gammon table is closed; no cheerful neighbour knocks at his unsocial gate ; silence and night'and solitude are his melancholy inmates; his boiling bosom labours like a turbid sea after the winds are lulled ; shame stares him in the face ; conscience plucks at his heart, and, to divert

his own tormenting thoughts, he calls in those of · another person, no matter whom— the first idle au.

thor that stands next to his hand: he takes up a book; 'tis a volume of comedies ; he opens it at random ; 'tis all alike to him where he begins; all our poets put together are not worth a halter; he stumbles by mere chance upon

6 The Choleric Man ;' 'twas one to a thousand he should strike upon that blasted play-What an infernal title ! What execrable nonsense! What a canting, preaching puppy of an author! Away goes the poet with his play, and half a dozen better poets than himself. bound up in the same luckless volume, the inno. cent sufferers for his offence.

tillions, and the dean and chapter dance to them. The doctor is a mighty admirer of those ingenious publications, which are intitled The Flowers of the several authors they are selected from : this short cut to Parnassus not only saves him a great deal of round-about riding, but supplies him with many an apt couplet for off-hand quotations, in which he is very expert, and has besides a clever knack of wear. ing them into his pulpit essays (for I will not call them sermons) in much the same way as “Tiddy. Doll stuck plums on his short pigs and his long pigs and his pigs with a curley tail.' By a proper sprinkling of these spiritual nosegays, and the recommendation of a soft insinuating address, doctor Pyeball is universally cried up as a very pretty gen. teel preacher, one who understands the politeness of the pulpit, and does not surfeit well-bred people with more religion than they have stomachs for. Amiable Miss Pen Tabby is one of the warmest ad. mirers, and declares Doctor Pyeball in his gown and cassock is quite the man of fashion : the ill-natured world will have it she has contemplated him in other situations with equal approbation.

Elegant Mrs. Dainty is another ornament of this charming coterie: she is separated from her hus. band, but the eye of malice never spied a speck upon her virtue; his manners were insupportable, she, good lady, never gave him the least provocation, for she was always sick and mostly confined to her chamber in nursing a delicate constitution : noises racked her head, company shook her nerves all to pieces; in the country she could not live, for country doctors and apothecaries knew nothing of her case: in London she could not sleep, unless the whole street was littered with straw. Her husband was a man of no refinement; all the fine feelings of the human heart' were heathen Greek to him; he

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loved his friend, had no quarrel with his bottle, and, coming from his club one night a little flustered, his horrid dalliances threw Mrs. Dainty into strong hysterics, and the covenanted truce being now broken, she kept no further terms with him, and they separated. It was a step of absolute necessity, for she declares her life could no otherwise have been saved ; his boisterous familiarities would have been her death. She now leads an uncontaminated life, supporting a feeble frame by medicine, sipping her tea with her dear quiet friends, every evening, chatting over the little news of the day, sighing charitably when she hears any evil of her kind neigh. bours, turning off her femme-de-chambre once a week or thereabouts, fondling her lap-dog, who is a dcar sweet pretty creature, and so sensible, and taking the air now and then on a pillion behind faithful John, who is so careful of her and so handy, and at the same time one of the stoutest, handsomest, best-limbed lads in all England.

Sir Hugo Fitz-Hugo is a decayed baronet of a family so very ancient, that they have long since worn out the estate that supported them : Sir Hugo knows his own dignity none the less, and keeps a little snivelling boy, who can scarce move under the load of worsted lace, that is plaistered down the edges and seams of his livery : he leaves a visiting card at your door, stuck as full of emblems as an American paper dollar. Sir Hugo abominates a tradesman; his olfactory nerves are tortured with the scent of a grocer, or a butcher quite across the way, and as for a tallow-chandler he can wind him to the very end of the street; these are people, whose visits he cannot endure; their very bills turn his stomach upside down. Sir Hugo inveighs against modern manners as severely as Cato would against French cookery; he notes down omissions

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