ENIGMA.

"There is a father with twice six sons, these sons have each thirty daughters, who are partycoloured, having one cheek white, the other black. They never see each other's face, nor live above 24 hours." A Year.

I would have sent you more, but thinking that you would be in the same predicament as myself, tired, I with writing, and you with reading. I shall conclude this long letter, with a quotation, from my assistant Pope; and then, returning my sincerest thanks to you all, shall retire to rest.

"Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine;
Charge them with Heav'ns artillery, bold divine!
From such alone, the great rebukes endure,
Whose's satire's sacred, and whose rage secure ;
"Tis mine to wash a few light stains; but their's
To deluge sin, and drown a court in tears,
Howe'er, what's now Apocrapha, my wit,
In time to come, may pass for Holy Writ."

A WALK.-In Spring.

"Old hoary crested winter has retir'd,
And lovely Spring, adorn'd with rosy garlands,
Puts on her beauteous, many spangl'd robe."

Monday, April ...-Our market being nearly over, by leave from my father, I took a walk, and a long one it was, into my native country, Swaledale, Yorkshire. In my journey over Tailbridge and the hills, the sun spread his beams all around, which rendered travelling pleasant. When I got to Keld, I called upon my friend John Cherry, (as my business was soliciting farm lour on

N

By the Heads Mear Gunnerside - blorying to the present Right Hon. Justice Parke - of whom father iter famed

my

subscribers to this work) who kindly gave me his name, and affectionately accompanied me, as my spokesman, around the little village, in which I got three names. Upon inquiry, whether there were any persons of respectability in Muker, &c. I was told the names of two or three, amongst which, was the minister, Mr. L—. I heard many encomiums bestowed upon him, by many of his Parishoners, nay, indeed by all who knew him, in Keld, Thwaite, &c. as a Minister of unblemished character, as one who is an ornament to the church, and as one showing a praise-worthy example, of meekness, charity, piety, and every christian grace. Alas! how widely different to many of the sons of the church, but I must pass on. At Thwaite, I called upon Mr. B-, who, with his brother-inlaw, Mr. T-, kindly subscribed their names, or perhaps rather signed them in my subscriber's list. From thence I went to Muker, but being somewhat late in the evening, I did not call upon any one; however, [during my stay, I one day took a walk, my cousin R. M. with me as a guide, and called upon Mr. C, Surgeon in that place, he it was who first introduced me, the despised butcher's boy, into this wicked world. Upon showing him my letter of recommendation, and telling him who patronized me; he said, that no Esquires were now-a-days; as an Esquire was one who had been an attendant upon a Knight, &c. and in relation to books, he had read more than I had read, or any one else. Thinks-I-to-myself, John, my lad, thou'll have no go here; but on my cousin telling him who I was, he viewed me, and with an altered look, and a smile brooding over his face, exclaimed:

What! are you Jarvis' son? I brought you into the world! come and sit down, give him a chair, how are your father and mother, &c. Upon, or after which he took my pen, I having it in readiness, and without one single objection, signed his name. So much for a person's parents being known; who, though poor and humble in life, yet greatly respected by those in a country of which they are natives, and in which their ancestors lived and died. I called upon Mr. L-, but was informed by my cousin, (who is greatly in his favour, and an assistant in his day school) that he thought it would not suit him; yet he would see it when it came out of the press. I called, or rather we, upon Mrs. G-, but the old lady gave me to understand, that they wanted no books. Before I left the village, I walked into the church-yard, and whilst looking around, on the old and new repositories of the dead, with sympathetic emotion thought, that in this small secluded yard, rests the dust of two of my grand-fathers and a grand-mother, uncles, aunts, &c.

"Invidious grave! how dost thou rend asunder, Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one." Blair's Grave

Peace to their ashes! As I musingly walked among the tomb-stones, I read several inscriptions or epitaphs thereon, two of which I here subjoin:

"Think reader, as thou passest by,
As thou art now, so once was I;
As I am now thou soon shalt be,
Prepare thyself to follow me."

"Near Keld's cold stream, I drew my infant breath,
There toil'd through life: there clos'd my eyes in death.
Reader, seek not my frailties to disclose,
But learn this lesson, at my dread repose;
Be just, be good, with caution meet thy doom,
There's no repentance, in the life to come.'

Having had a sight into the interior part of this plain church; I took my leave of Muker, plain little Muker, with having got one solitary name!

Oh!

From Muker I went to Gunnerside. Gunnerside, how thou art changed; once a flourishing village, now a poor and miserable residence. In my travel to Gunnerside, I composed my 'letter of thanks to the subscribers'; and, Jemmy Twitcher like, out of my noddle inserted it into my note-book. Only got two names in this place.

I next took my route into Wensleydale, and in going thither, I designed to take Strands and Whitaside in my tour. I dined at Strands, and procured one signature; I return Mr. T— and family my thanks. I got a name also at Whitaside. From thence I passed over a wet, swampy pasture, to the public road. Upon interrogating those I met, found my way into the pleasant vale of Wensleydale, and shaped my course in a direction to Woodhall, where I lodged that night, at the house of a second cousin, named James O-n; who, although he has lately become possessor of great riches, yet is not puffed up with pride; nor did he think it below his dignity, honourably and courteously to entertain a poor cousin. He most frankly gave me his name for two copies!

I take

the liberty of now returning him my sincere thanks.

CHAPTER XVII.

REFLECTIONS ON LIFE.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty space from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools,
The way to study death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts, and frets his hour upon the stage,
And is heard no more! it is a tale,

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing." - Shakspear

On the morrow; aye, and a wet one it was; 'I say, on the morrow, I bade my hospitable cousin 'good bye,' and trudged on my way towards Askrigg. In my road, I took the liberty and had the assurance (for Butchers have, în general, impudence in abundance) to call at Nappa Hall, a venerable, old, ancient pile of fabric. Thought I, or rather Hope whispered in my ear, Thou'lt get a few names here, surely, Mr. Satirist, if not, thou'll come very badly on;' aye, thought I this is easier said than done. With a trembling hand I knocked at the kitchen door; out came a middle aged, plain looking, tall Gentleman; to whom I showed my Prospectus, and who answered, holding the door half closed in his hand, (apparently afraid I should enter in, my clothes dropping with water) that he would see when it came out, and