Much of this might arise from a love of liberty, and aversion to constraint, whether of mind or body; for in this respect (I trust in few others) I resembled Rousseau. "Je me plairois à mes leçons quand j'y étois; mais je n'aimois d'être obligé de m'y rendre, ni que l'heure me commandât. En toute chose la gêne et l'assujettissement me sont insupportables; ils me faisoient prendre en haine le plaisir même."

Well! and what did all this indulgence of fancy do for you?

Not much. It certainly did not lead either to fame or fortune. In fact, it made me no better than what I have called myself—an idle observer; and as, unfortunately, I had a comfortable fortune, I gave myself up to a sort of indolent study of men and things, of which I grew so fond that I renounced all desire (to use a vulgar phrase) of bettering myself, and resolved to walk the world content "with my virtue and a good surtout."

I once, indeed, had ambition enough to think of the Church, because I fell into the very foolish error, (which, had it not been an error, would have suited me well enough,) of thinking that a minister of religion had nothing to do but to eat, drink, and sleep, like Boileau's prelate, who

“Muni d'un déjeûner,

Dormant d'un léger somme, attendoit le dîner."

But in this I was wrong; for a very little observation of the pains taken by divines to qualify themselves for very arduous functions, and the manner in which most of them fulfil their duties, convinced me that no

one was more truly a labourer than he of the sacred vineyard. The Church was given up.

I returned, therefore, to the world, that is, to observe its manners, without mixing in its business; and this would have occupied and pleased me had my condition been lower than it was. But I had been at college, and had connections that gave me opportunities which many of my brother dreamers want. I criticised women as well as men; mingled in all ranks, and examined nature, animate and inanimate; and, when I had laid in a store for thought, my happiness was to think it over again, that is, to dream of it, though any thing but asleep.

Thus no man went beyond me in

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy."

I have compared myself to Horace, as an idler who loved a reverie, but I was not without resemblance to Johnson also, at least in watching mankind.

In many other matters I am not so presumptuous. But I did not, like him, devote almost all my best days to scanning human nature in a populous city. On the contrary, my happiness was to create an ever varying scene, and I was the happiest of the happy when, to relieve a glut of town observation, I flew to the country to breathe among the pleasant villages and farms.

Many, therefore, have been my country tours, as well as town speculations. As to the last, I am no stranger to political clubs; and as I value the elegancies of polished life, as well as the simplicities of nature, I am

not without self-complacency when I say that I have not been excluded from the drawingrooms of beauty. And how did you escape?

Not unscathed, perhaps; but that is neither here nor there. Suffice it that I know something of the sex, which may be possibly discovered in the course of these lucubrations. Indeed, there have not been wanting persons who (whether meaning to compliment, or the reverse, I know not,) have not scrupled to hold me up to the world as a woman's man.

My readers, from all this, may be anxious to discover what I am in person and phiz; whether I am still young, or how near I approach to an old beau in his grand climacteric. Indeed they will think I ought to be the latter, to give lessons of experience and describe life. But I shall say no more than that any body, to look at me, would not guess there was much in me worth knowing; for I am eminently "cheto fuor," though "commoto dentro." And as to my phiz, I can only confess (for I know little of it myself) that in once rummaging a lumber closet, I found an old torn school-book with my face scrawled in the first page, and underneath it the nickname of "Big Head." Notwithstanding this, I hope I have said enough, so far, to bespeak favour to my intended pages, that the world may venture to examine them.

The title of "a series of papers (in other words, essays) on men, manners, and things," is, I own, dry and stiff, and in this tale-loving age it had perhaps better have been "a series of tales." I might then have stood a better chance of pleasing the ladies, and

of being even perused by ladies' maids, while sitting up for their mistresses when late at a ball. I might actually be experimented upon as an agreeable companion in a postchaise; and certainly might hope for a shelf in the library of a watering-place. As it is, spite of my title, I will not despair of this yet being my fortune, for my dreams will have little of the stoic turn. In fact, I shall endeavour to teach morals more by example than precept By this I shall not only save myself a great deal of trouble (an important object with a dreamer), but probably ingratiate myself better with my readers.

My only additional remark is, that I am too little fond of melancholy scenes or views of things, to obtrude them par préférence on my readers; and though I have the greatest reverence for

"A pensive nun, devout and pure,"

I have a livelier taste for the song of the milkmaid. This and the whistle of the ploughman, or the gambols of children in a hayfield, have often detained me under a hawthorn hedge from far more important concerns. With this account of myself, dear reader, I bid thee adieu.

No. II.

DIFFERENT EFFECTS OF SPRING IN TOWN AND COUNTRY UPON A MAN OF THE TOWN, WHO IS ALSO A MAN OF MANY IMPULSES.

"A day in April never came so sweet,

To show that costly summer was at hand."

SHAKSPEARE.

I HAVE said in my preface, that I am never so happy as in a country tour, after a glut of the world

in town.

Accordingly, no schoolboy ever rejoiced more at the approach of his holidays than I, when, Easter being over, the greenness of the hedges and the budding of flowers, to say nothing of the song of birds and perfume of gardens, warn all fashionable people to leave them for dust and noise and crowded streets. It was not so in older times, when my present date (the 4th of June) was the birthday of the most rational and most virtuous, as well as most just, of Britain's kings. George the Third had set the fashion of retiring to enjoy Nature where best she is to be seen, in the country. The courtiers, whether they liked it or not, felt bound in some degree to follow his example, and streets and squares began to empty, instead of filling to repletion, as they do now, about this time of the year. I am, however, for the good old fashion I have commemorated; and hence, after wandering in the green lanes that so cheer the