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cheering luminary of spring draws forth the bud of early promise. All is gaiety and pleasure; nature appears decked in vivid delightful colours; variegated, fresh, and blooming. No gloom darkens the surrounding atmosphere; every object presses on the senses with the charm of novelty all is delicious, grateful, and enchanting.

MARCH 14 To 21.

This month is generally ushered in with boisterous winds, and nipping frosts. The hapless marine beholds his vessel wrecked upon the very rocks which bound his much loved home. Vegetation perishes through severe untimely frosts, and deluging rains descending with impetuous force, crush the springing blade, and despoil the promise of the gay parterre. Even thus do the rude passions of man's soul, at this unsettled period of existence, breaking forth with resistless ardour and impetuosity, wreck the fragile bark of youth. The torrent of dissipation sweeps away the principles of virtue which have not had time to take deep root, and every worthy impulse of the mind is blighted by the pestilential breath of bad advice, or baneful example.

APRIL- -21 to 28.

Sunshine and showers now prevail alternately: the blossoms of fair promise appear emerging from every expanding bud. Nature is decked in her most attractive garb; a few passing clouds obscure the horizon, but they soon disperse, leaving the opening prospect bright and lovely, So do the temporary sorrows of youth disappear, leaving no painful recollection on the mind. Like the refreshing showers which revive drooping nature, are the trivial disappointments of this early state, which serve but to render hopes gay-perspective more alluring.

MAY 28 TO 35.

The face of nature now wears its freshest bloom; the gardens are filled with fragrant flowers; the trees are rich in foliage, and the swelling corn now begins to fill the ear. Man is now in his most luxurious stage of existence; his form has attained its fullest growth; his morals are formed, and the strongest energies of the mind disclose themselves, and he Contibutes to the improvement and gratification of others by the exertion of his useful or agreeable qualities.

JUNE 35 TO 42.

་་་* ་ཉཟླ

The mid-day of the year, like that of life, is now before us we

begin to gather the fruits, and already some of the spring-flowers fade and wither. Dense clouds obscure the sun, even at noon; vivid lightnings shoot athwart the sky, and the thunder, in an unexpected moment, breaks over our heads. Man now prepares to gather the fruit of his good works, or begins to dread the punishment of his transgressions. The simple hopes and pleasures of youth fade in the memory; clouds of prejudice obscure his reason; misfortunes burst unexpectedly upon him, astonishing and appalling him, even in moments of joy and fancied security; he perceives that the days of unrestrained indulgence are short, that a long winter of remorse may succeed, and happy is it for him, if he profit by the hint which the season affords.

JULY-42 To 49.

The bright days of summer are now passing away, with swiftness unheeded, midst present enjoyment. The tempting fruits have been plucked from the trees, leaving them bare and unsightly, though some of later maturity, still bend beneath the luscious burthen: the hay has been mown; the corn is ripe for the sickle, and after crops of grass begin to shoot from the earth. It is now that man too, is drawing towards the harvest of his joys. Many of the pleasures which he once pursued with avidity have lost their zest. They who have too prodigally wasted their talents or resources, remain neglected as useless incumbrances, while others who have preserved their morals uncorrupted, and have suffered their judgments to be matured by experience are sought after as precious fruits, and justly appreciated for their superior excellence. A new generation is also at this period springing up to perpetuate his virtues, claiming all his care and attention ; anxiously he watches the progress of his rising offspring in the fond hope of future profit and comfort to himself, and general benefit to society.

AUGUST -49 To 56.

The yellow tints of autumn now serve to check our exultation, and remind us that earthly bliss is not permanent. As the aspect of nature undergoes a gradual change, so does also the face of man: his brow begins to furrow, his locks turn grey, and the bloom of healthful vigour fades from his cheek. Pleasure fatigues his relaxed frame, and exertion weakens his intellectual powers, which have now passed the season of improvement. The winter of age seems to be advancing with rapid strides, more hasty than welcome. He looks back with regret to the hours of spring and summer, when all was gaiety and mirth; they seem to have receded with unwonted rapidity, and the present hour is too often wasted in unavailing retrospection, or dissatisfactory anticipation.

SEPTEMBER-56 TO 63.

This is the season of rest and recreation, of feasting and reveling; when the harvest is over, and the husbandman ceases to labour. Man now begins to seek refuge from oppressive cares, and gloomy apprehensions, in convivial hilarity-cheerful indulgence at the social board. He has gathered his harvest of knowledge; his toil is at an end, and he proudly exults in his vast acquisition, without reflecting how soon he may be called upon to render up a just account, and see his boasted stores transferred to others.

OCTOBER-63 To 70.

The fields now appear dreary, the hedges are bare; no melody fills the grove, but rude howling winds sweep the earth, and scatter the straggling leaves in every direction. Thus also is man by this time despoiled of all external graces; he becomes morose and sullen, his presence no longer diffuses cheerfulness, he neither pleases nor is pleased. The storms of calamity break on his devoted head, scattering his dearest connexions; friend after friend drops off, and is swept away: he remains disconsolate, forlorn, and blighted.

NOVEMBER-70 TO 79.

Gloom and desolation now extend their depressing influence : every vestige of cultivation is perhaps buried beneath the deep incrusting snow; the meandering stream is bound in icy fetters, and murky clouds obscure the face of heaven, wrapping all in impenetrable darkness. Even thus are the faculties of man beclouded at this advanced period! The hoary frost of age settles on his head; the warm current of life freezes in his veins; his senses become torpid. No ray of intelligence illumines the gloom which surrounds him, no genial warmth re-animates his palsied frame.

DECEMBER-77 TO 84.

Behold now the life of man, with the year, drawing to its close. No material change has taken place in the aspect of things since the last month, yet even this last epoch is more tolerable than the preceding, for the pains and privations of mortality seem nearer their termination. In some years, as in some lives, irregularities, in regard to their seasons, will be found: procrastinated summers, or antedated winters, may occur, changing the regular order of nature; but to all a new spring will appear, and

vegetation flourish anew. And shall not the just man, the pious christian, rejoice, that his earthly course is run, and that he is about to repose secure from the evils of mortality?—Yes; he too shall enjoy a new spring, the flowers of which will never fade.

CHARLOTTE CHARKE.

The elder Cibber had a daughter, named Charlotte, who also took to the stage: her subsequent life was one continued series of misfortune, afflictions, and distress, which she sometimes contrived a little to alleviate by the productions of her pen. About the year 1755, she had worked up a novel for the press, which the writer, (Mr. White) accompanied his friend the bookseller to hear read: she was at that time a widow, having been married to one Charke, a musician, long since dead. Her habitation was a wretched thatched hovel, situated on the way to Islington, in the purlieus of Clerkenwell bridewell, not very distant from the New-river head, where at that time it was usual for the scavengers to leave the cleansings of the streets, and the nightmen to deposit the contents of the privies of the metropolis. The night preceding, a heavy rain had fallen, which rendered this extraordinary seat of the muses almost inaccessible, so that in our approach we got our white stockings inveloped with mud, up to the very calves, which furnished an appearance much in the present fashionable style of half-boots. We knocked at the door (not attempting to pull the latch-string) which was opened by a tall meagre, ragged figure, with a blue apron, indicating, what else we might have doubted, the feminine gender. A perfect model for the copper-captain's tattered landlady; that deplorable exhibition of the fair sex, in the comedy of Rule a Wife. She, with a torpid voice and hungry smile, desired us to walk in. The first object that presented itself was a dresser, clean, it must be confessed, and furnished with three or four coarse delft-plates, two brown platters, and underneath an earthen pipkin, and a black pitcher, with a snip out of it. To

the right we perceived and bowed to the mistress of the mansion, sitting under the mantle-piece, by a fire, merely sufficient to put us in mind of starving. On one hob sate a monkey, which by way of welcome chattered at our going in; on the other a tabby cat, of melancholy aspect! and at our author's feet, on the flounce of her dingy petticoat, reclined a dog, almost a skeleton ! he raised his shagged head and eagerly staring with his bleared eyes, saluted us with a snarl. "Have done, Fidele! these are friends." The tone of her voice was not harsh; it had something in it humbled and disconsolate; à mingled effort of authority and pleasure. Poor soul! few were her visiters of that description-no wonder the creature barked! A magpie perched on the top round of her chair, not an uncomely ornament! and on her lap was placed a mutilated pair of bellows; the pipe was gone, an advantage in their present office; they served as a succedaneum for a writing desk, on which lay, displayed her hopes and treasures, the inanuscript of her novel. Her ink-stand was a broken tea-cup, the pen worn to a stump; she had but one! A rough deal board with three hobbling supporters was brought for our covenience, on which, without further ceremony, we contrived to sit down, and entered upon business. The work was read, remarks made, and alterations agreed to, and thirty guineas demanded for the copy. The squallid hand-maiden, who had been an attentive listener, stretched forward her tawny length of neck with an eye of anxious expectation! The bookseller offered five! Our authoress did not appear hurt: disappointments had rendered her mind callous; however, some altercation ensued. This was the writer's first initiation into the mysteries of bibliopolism and the state of authorcraft. He, seeing both sides pertinacious, at length interposed, and at his instance the wary haberdasher of literature doubled his first proposal, with this saving proviso, that his friend present would pay a moiety, and run one half of the risk; which was agreed to. Thus matters were accommodated, seemingly to the satisfaction of all parties; the lady's original stipulation of fifty copies for herself being previously acceded to. Such is the story of the once-admired daughter of Colly Cibber, poet laureate and patentee of Drury-lane, who was born in affluence and educated with tenderness, her servants in livery and a splendid equipage at her command, with swarms of time-serving sycophants officiously buzzing in her train; yet, unmindful of her advantages, and improvident in her pursuits, she finished the career of her miserable existence on a dunghill!

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