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WE once — (it is now some years ago) — enjoyed the pleasure of meeting the celebrated "Beau Leverton." As every thing which relates to him "belongs" — as writers say, "to history," we shall indulge ourselves with putting our recollections upon record. We respect a beau of the first brilliancy; and wonder at his appearance, as at that of an aloe. He is perhaps even a rarer marvel.

Here, however, let us caution the reader. We would not be understood as paying implicit homage to the stuffed figures which move in procession down Bond and St. James's Streets, kept upright solely by the aid of staymakers and tailors. On the contrary, we hold them to be of precisely the same advantage in a commonwealth, that those less ostentatious shapes are which keep watch in country gardens, as perpetual, centinels over the peas and currants. But Leverton was not one of this small-witted genus. He was originally intended for something even higher than what he became. Fate however threw him into

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the sty of Circe, and he grew like bottom, 'transformed.' — Nevertheless, let us still do him justice. He was a man of a shrewd turn of mind; too idle to emancipate himself from the thrall of fashion, but laughing down with ineffable contempt the pretensions of the small fry around him. He saw far into character, and sometimes made it subservient to his purposes. He had flashes (scintillations) of wit, which brightened and became more frequent in melancholy hours, as the electric fluid is seen more clearly in a storm. He told a story well, — laughed in the right place, — drew out the follies of his neighbours with a fine, humorous, and sometimes unsparing, hand, — had a smattering of the classics, and the lighter literature of England and France, — made champagne tea delightfully, and scattered his multitudes of bon mots upon the crowd, as a peasant does his arms-full of grapes and chestnuts upon the swine who are expecting them beneath. Unluckily, Leverton's audiences in general did not comprehend a little of the value of his donations. They laughed, however, at his jests, because it was the fashion to laugh at them; and they related them to others, from time to time, in the hope of, one day or other, discovering the meaning themselves.

When Leverton left Oxford, and threw himself upon the inattention of his father, he found the foxhunter so entirely perplexed by his rural duties, that he had not a moment of leisure to notice his

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heir. Harry was a youth of spirit, and not insensible to neglect: So he determined to live as he could during his father's life, on the small income which had devolved upon him on the death of his mother. His proposal to this effect met with not the slightest objection from Old Nimrod: and accordingly, (after seeing his sister safe under the protection of an old maiden aunt at Bath), Leverton quitted without a sigh, his paternal acres; quoted his last line of Horace at the cunning-eyed groom, who lashed his portmanteau to the chaise, and came up to London, 'to make his — reputation!'

His success was eminent, but gradual; for he did not aim so much at eccentricity (which is a cheap accomplishment) as at an air of high-breeding and careless brilliancy. He possessed extreme ease, and considerable with; and the pungency of the one quality had an admirable effect upon the other, as salt is said to draw forth an exquisite flavor from things which would else be tasteless. One joke, which he threw off in a happy moment, attracted the respect of a smart speaker in the House of Commons. Another (which was better) reached the ear of an illustrious personage, who said that it reminded him of George Selwyn. He enquired very particularly the name of the author, and the fame of our hero was complete!

We have not leisure at present to enter into a

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regular biographical detail of the early life of Mr. Leverton, although (by the favor of a friend) we are possessed of considerable materials for the purpose. But we must content ourselves with passing over many of the accidents and humours of his career, and introducing him to the reader as he appeared to us, in propria persona, on the third day of July, 18 — .

At that time he had lodgings in Dover-street, and as eminent a list of creditors and friends, 'of the first water,' as any gentleman who ever disowned the serious age of three and forty. In regard to his person, he had increased somewhat in bulk, though it was said that stays, or some such unseen bonds, curtailed the encroachments of idleness or gourmanderie. Yet, he still walked well; dressed inimitably; lost his money (when he had it) gracefully; drawled out his sly witticisms with considerable effect; and was in all respects a 'highly fashionable man.'

Leverton's importance in society was, in fact, exceedingly great; more so than his mere talent could have commanded. His ease was admired — his manners and his dress imitated — his flattery coveted — his patronage wooed. His satire was dreaded also; for he possessed (as the bee does) both the honey and the sting, — the wish sometimes to charm, and always the spirit to repel. The gay loved his jokes; the young sought his intimacy; the women smiled on him; the (merely) rich dreaded him; and the

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wit admitted him to his level. Even the dignity of birth relaxed from it superciliousness; and wise men rejoiced that for once they might indulge their laughter, without any impeachment of their understanding.

This is a formidable estimate to do justice to; and indeed, we are not able to do it justice. For we have stated the aggregate of our hero's accomplishments; whereas few of them appeared in any one single conversation. He was contented, often, with very slight indications of his power; and, he sometimes, even betrayed scarcely a glimpse of his really original character.

We once met him, as we have said. This was at Lord Trumpington's seat in Sussex, in 18 — ; and the following letter, from the Beau himself, to one of his intimates, (which has been entrusted to us) will afford some explanation as to the company who figure in the dialogue which occurred there. It is written in a vast running hand, extending over three sheets of paper and is addressed

"To Thomas Blair MacDonald, Esq. at Long's Hotel, London."

"I cannot — I grieve to say it — be trans-atlantic with ye to-morrow evening, Tom. You must smoke your cigars of peace without me. Do not, however, affront thyself and thy brother Sachems, at my apparent desertion; but bury your tomahawks in

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the venison quietly, and forget so poor a man as Harry Leverton.

"Shall I tell thee what ahs kept me thus amongst green corn and withered oak apples? Shall I, turning philosophical, betray to thee how the loadstone — I have half a mind to commit violence upon the three virgin sheets of paper which lie sleeping beside me, and inscribe my adventures upon them, for thine especial benefit. It shall be thus: so listen!

I was satisfied, as thou know'st, with London; although the dog-star reigned, although the face of every (surviving) friend was baked, the ice-cellars empty, and the month of July at hand. But my Lord Bridewell would be at once peremptory and persuasive; and I had, I must confess to thee, reasons for not despising his suit. He came to my domicile, as he threatened, on Tuesday last; armed with spurs, and attended by tow gardes du corps, a traveling chariot and coach, four postillions, and the warrant (to which was the sign manual) of Lady Cecil Dartley, to take the body of Henry Leverton, and him convey, etc. to her ladyship's court, which is at present held at the Grange, in Sussex.

"I will spare thee the tediousness of our journey. It is enough to tell thee, that we survived almost fifty miles of English dust — passed in triumph over four pigs, who made outrageous protestations against our proceedings — 'took' (as my lord called it) a

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post — missed children of all ages (one a succulent) — refreshed at F — , and arrived without further mischief or matter at "The Grange." The place is pretty enough: a little hill — a lawn — a shrubbery — a fish-pond or two (they have capital stewed carp) and a modern sort of antique cottage-villa, where Vitruvius and Palladio, Greek, Goth, and Sir John Vanbrugh, flourish in united absurdity. This is all well. But the utter demolition of my toilette-equipage is a calamity for life: for some of the trifles were unique — and Burgess (my chamberlain) has been unable to procure anything beyond the most alarming instruments at — I forget its horrid name — the nearest market town. You know that I indulge in some little niceties on these points. What wouldst thou think of my undergoing a course of brushes and shears of as rude a — Bah! I sent the former into the stable without delay, and reserve the latter for sheep-shearing, whenever I shall arrive at my aunt Slatter's pastures in Devon, which a villainous asthma (that provokes longevity) has kept me out of for the last twenty and five years!

"Well, Tom, — The earl bowed, and looked grim and wise, and mumbled out his patrician welcomes, (which were too ceremonious by half). The old countess, who paints as thick as a door, laboured to be alluring, and Lady Cecil out-looked all the roses which went scrambling about the drawing-room

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windows. Bridewell was busy in the stable, and left me to make my way with his family as well as I could. And, in truth, bashfulness is not my vice, as thou knowest, Tom. Accordingly, after a brief refuge in my dressing-room, I descended, and found a mob of indifferent appearance, all prepared to invade the regions where eating and drinking are honoured. Some of our friends (is not that the word, Tom?) were there, male and female, coupled together like pigeons. One fair hand was, however, reserved for me (by the grace of the countess mother) — and it was that of the blooming Cecil!

"But I see that thou art dying to know who are my agreeable cotemporaries; — and I will tell thee.

"In the first place, then, behold our 'noble' family: — The earl, as dull as a drum, and tedious beyond even the privilege of parliament; the countess, a fine old enamel, as I have said, but a little cracked, and somewhat out of drawing: Cecil Dartley, always couleur de rose; and her sister Selina, a languid plant; their brother (Bridewell) the son and heir of all the Trumpingtons; and Colonel Dartley, a brother also according to law, but, in other respects, a thing between pug and monkey, that is hung round with blue and scarlet, and dances through 'the Lancers,' or to the tune of 'Money in both Pockets,' till Fanny Dartley is ready to die with admiration.

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Then cometh Fanny herself, a cousin of the family; who, a la Ture, staineth her fingers inch deep (with ink), and is a true specimen of that little female indiscretion, and authoress. Thou wouldst expire, my good friend Tom, if thou couldst behold her in her morning garments — they are so flowing, so oriental, so scornful of all shape and fashion, and withal, so utterly covered with dusky hieroglyphics, that one can scarcely distinguish between the sweep of her stylus and the broader impress of her thumb. All is in learned confusion, like a country library; but incomparably less cleanly. Yet, 'tis a good-natured chit, and laughs and talks, (O Gad! Tom,) and invites the women to drink wine; and argues like a syllogism; and is very odd, — and a little tedious. Next to her, was a Sir Somebody Something, the county member, and his lady, trussed and tucked up like a Christmas turkey, of the county also, and indigenous; their son, a spare thing, of six feet high, whose person hath outrun his wit; while by his side sate, full of scorn and languor, the Lady Selina Dartley. Then came Snapwell, the barrister; one of the young Froths, a pretty thing, but as insipid as plain broth; old Moidore, the Ministerial merchant, and (an inexpressible person!) his wife; descended from the tribe of Levi, — but converted. Then followed a Squire Huggins, or Higgins, a proprietor of acres in these parts; then another Froth, not so pretty as the last, but with an exquisite propriety of shape; then

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Lord Saint Stephens, the new orator; and an odious fellow from the most northern part of the north, a Mr. John Mac Flip, an author, a critic, and a reporter, and a politician to boot; possessing little, however, that need be mentioned beyond an incredible portion of assurance, and an appetite that surmounts all fable. By him (well matched) sate a little black female barbarian from Shetland, or the Orkneys; then came a 'Mac' of some endless descent; then that immoderate simpleton Garnish, — Lady Di. Flarish, and her detestable sister, — and finally, young Gabbleton, from Oxford who has travelled in Greece, and what is worse, hath written his travels, and still talketh his travels, till the fish (which he helpeth) is cold. These are nearly all, except our 'ancient' Childers, the foxhunter — Jack Sitwell, (Bridewell's Newmarket chum,) — a physician, and a Lord of the Admiralty, a burgess or two from the neighbouring Borough, and a rubicund figure, somewhat like a pipe of wine, (called the Vicar of the village,) which tolls out grace before dinner as regularly as the clock, (but louder) — i'faith, and after dinner also, I believe, unless he chance to go to sleep over the entremets.

"And now, farewell, Tom. If thou art but half as fatigued in reading this as I in writing, (and I am not without hopes but that thou wilt be,) thou wilt bid me henceforward discontinue sending thee any more of the adventures of thy most faithful

HARRY LEVERTON."

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— Amongst the company, who were too unimportant for mention in Mr. Leverton's letter, were ourselves (ourself) and a few others, with whose names we need not trouble the reader. We will merely conduct him to the dinner room, and let him take his chance for relishing or disliking the fare.

Every thing which opulence could purchase, or ostentation suggest, was spread upon the patrician board of the Earl of Trumpington. He had hammered his brains for a month: he had read Ude, and Rundell, and Beauvilliers, and dipped into the eccentricities of Kitchiner, in order to arrive at correct opinions. He had been closeted with his French cook; he had modelled and re-modelled, altered, doubted, suggested, and tormented the impatience of his housekeeper with endless consultations. They quarrelled, however, at last, over the shape of a custard pudding, and Mrs. Dripwell was restored to her original quiet.

The result of all this thought and labour was now before the guests. Venison, and soups, and fish, of every sort which the season justified, were there; innumerable hues. From plain beef and mountain mutton, up to the mysterious compositions of the French artists, no more to be developed than the riddles of the Sphinx, every thing was there that the most accomplished epicurean could wish for. One

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thing alone was remarkable — namely, the many dishes which bore the names of some regal or noble family. There were sauce royale, cotelets de Bourbon and de Maintenon, Pates de Perigord, and — fifty others. For the Earl was such a stickler for dignity, that he could not bear to be mistaken for a commoner, even in his dishes.

Dr. Grampus ('the Viar') mumbled out a brief grace, and the company sate down to table. For a short space all other sounds were lost in the rustling of silks, and the adjustment of table napkins. To these succeeded the clatter of china, the occasional jarring of silver, the quick tread of the servants to and fro, and such like indications of a dinner party. At last Mr. Gabbleton broke silence.

"Will not your Ladyship take soup?" enquired he, of Lady Di. Who sate opposite to him? "nor fish? — what can I send you?"

"Nothing," replied the lady. "I shall wait for the removal of these trifles. I have ordered a beef-steak."

The Earl (between whom and the lady certain hostilities existed,) blushed crimson at hearing of this "free and easy" proceeding on her part; while Leverton, after staring a moment at her masculine appearance, proceeded to finish his white soup.

"Beef-steak! — I honour your ladyship's taste;" said Garnish, who could bear to hold his tongue no

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longer. "I give you my word that I generally dine on a beef-steak myself, when at home — I may say generally. Ah, ha!" continued he, "after all, there's noting like eating and drinking . Don't you think so, Leverton? By the way, Leverton, what doyou think of eating?"

"Sir," replied the beau, a little offended at the other's familiarity, "I consider it but a rude accomplishment."

"Rude?" said Gabbleton. "That's very doubtful. Both the Greeks and the Romans — " He was proceeding full tilt, when he met with a check.

"It is a common thing, Sir, nevertheless," interrupted Leverton. "The pigs partake of it with ourselves, and the dogs — they are absolute classics."

"How so? How so? — if I may presume," enquired Gabbleton, who resented the comparison.

"Why, Sir," replied the other, "they lie down while they eat their suppers; — and Cicero and Apicius did no more."

"Who's that speaking of Cicero?" cried out Lord St. Stephens. "Cicero was a remarkable orator — a remarkable man!"

There was not a dissentient voice! —

— At this moment, John M 'Flip, who had been hitherto almost buried in plates of soup and turbot, having now a moment's leisure to contemplate the fare before and about him, espied something afar off,

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which was a French composition, but which his patriotism converted into a national dish. "I'll joost thank ye for a bit o' the haggis;" called he, nodding at the same time to Leverton, who was opposite the mystery.

"A — the gentleman asks for something?" said Leverton, looking round for an interpretation.

"Ees not the deesh anent ye a haggis?" said Mac Flip, pointing to the object he required.

"Bring a plate," said Leverton to the servant; which being brought, he separated an incredibly small piece from the main dish, and sent it in triumph to the hungry Scot.

"Hoot awa;" said the other, half inclined openly to remonstrate (for he was new to society) — but the plate was already on its road, and he was compelled to endure his disappointment in silence.

The company were by this time fully occupied: but, as the most agreeable things will have an end, so did the eaters and drinkers at Lord Trumpington's table submit, at last, to a respite from their pleasant toil. After various monosyllables, which gradually expanded into sentences, conversation arose — fluctuated — and at last settled upon the question of legislation. Upon this subject it appeared that Leverton and the Earl were opponents.

"Mr. Leverton appears to think very little of the wisdom of our ancestors," observed Lord Trumpington, with a sneer.

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"Very little," replied the beau, "upon many subjects; and legislation is one."

"Mr. Leverton may rail in safety," retorted the Earl. "In old times — "

"Were they not young times, my Lord?" enquired Leverton. "Ours are the old times, surely, and should be the wisest, if there be any thing in age."

"I was about to observe," said the Earl, somewhat nettled, "that our ancestors — "

"My dear Lord," said Di. "do not disturb our ancestors."

The peer attempted to smile, (although excessively irritated at this second interruption) and proceeded without noticing her Ladyship's remark, to make good his case. But his opponent was not to be convinced without argument. The Earl 'asserted,' and 'pledged his reputation,' and brought forward his 'experience,' and quoted some indifferent sentences, which were not much to the purpose, without moving Leverton a jot.

"Almost all the good," said the latter, "which our present laws possess, has arisen from the necessity of correcting the numberless mistakes of our ancestors. Our laws are nearly all amendments. Why have we not a plain, brief, wholesome code, where ‘all who run may read?"

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"It is a thing totally out of the question," replied the Earl, decisively.

"What would become of the Bar?" said one; "and of the Bench?" said another.

"What would become of our brothers?" observed a third; "and our younger sons?" enquired a fourth, with a look of defiance.

"True," answered Leverton, at last; "I beg your pardon, my Lord: I see the difficulty now."

Here, Garnish, who had looked anxiously towards the Earl, and had hitherto trembled for his success, could contain his joy no longer, but laughed outright. The peer acknowledged his partizan with a smile; and turning, with a look of infinite condescension, towards Leverton, invited him to take wine.

"I wish my victory to sit as pleasantly as possible upon Mr. Leverton; and shall therefore inflict nothing more upon him than a glass of hock."

"I shall be happy to attack the tun of Heidelburg with your Lordship," replied the other; and the usual interchange of civilities passed.

"Who is this Mer. Lep — Lepperton?" enquired the county of Baronet of his neighbour, the Earl, in a whisper.

"He is a person of no consideration," replied the other in the same tone, "the son of some yeoman — or grazier — or — plebeian, in the west, as I think."

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"What, a fellow who lived upon his own grass, like Nebuchadnezzar?" said the Baronet, laughing.

"Ha, ha, ha!" echoed the Earl; "very good, Sir John, indeed — very good! Ha, ha, ha!" continued he, "your simile is undeniable — but — but, my good Sir John, this person — this Leverton — is a favorite with my Lady Trumpington, and is — as I hear — a person really in some — a — request in London."

"I don't like these nobodies coming amongst us my lord," observed the other, "and — ."

"Nor I, Sir John, nor I, I assure you," replied the Earl, "give me a little good blood, as I say with my horses, and I'll take my chance for the rest."

"What!" said Lady Di. (who heard something of this last sentence) "did you speak of your horses, my Lord? I pledge my reputation that there has been a cross in your O'Kelly colts. Their quarters are coarse, and they run too rough in their coats for thorough-bred things. There's been a cross, and that you may depend on. Leverton, didn't you ask me to drink wine?"

"I'll drink wine with you, Lady Di." said Fanny Dartley; and —

"I shall be happy to submit to any thing in your Ladyship's service," replied Leverton, (whom the last speaker had not allowed time to answer,) "will you drink white Hermitage? or Moselle? or — ?"

"I always drink port," said the lady.

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"Who's that drinking port?" enquired Lord Bridewell, "I'll join 'em. Garnish, my boy, don't you like port?"

"Immensely, my Lord, immensely," replied the other. "I give you my word I generally take port when I am alone — I may say generally," and he lifted the glass to his lips. It was scarcely there, however, before a question from the Earl removed it. He was called upon for his acquiescence, as to the merits of the Reverend Mr. Smatter; and never was assent more rapidly given.

"Oh! certainly, my Lord, certainly," said he, bowing, "I admire Mr. Smatter prodigiously. He is a wonderful preacher, indeed; and then he is so sentimental — so melancholy — so Leverton, even you must allow that Mr. Smatter's melancholy sits most interestingly upon him?"

"He mopes like a moulting chicken," said Lady Di. "I swear he always gives me the vapours."

"He is, certainly, an infallible remedy for high spirits," said Leverton, assentingly. "He would throw a damp upon a funeral."

"You will allow his style to be good, at least, Leverton?" persevered Garnish. "His style is grand."

"It is superb!" said the Earl, with a tone that meant to put down all opposition.

"The rogue's style is well enough," said Lever-

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ton; "if it were but his own; but he has pilfered from Hooker, and Jeremy Taylor, and South, and half a dozen others, till his box of sermons is like a bazaar. I hear he is so thorough a mimic that when he lived at Sunning Hill and Hampstead, his lines all ran upwards to the right hand corner of the paper, and he never came down completely to level writing till he took to his house in Essex."

"Dr. Rust thinks well of him, however," retorted Garnish, "and his opinion will carry him through."

"Rust!" exclaimed the beau, and was proceeding to discuss the merits of the antiquary; when the earl (who saw that Garnish would never be able to make head against his antagonist) stepped in to his relief, with more chivalry than wisdom. He attempted a diversion.

"You have seen Dr. Rust's collection of valuable antiquities?"said he.

"I have seen them all," replied Leverton — (who thought that the question, which was addressed to the baronet, was directed towards himself) — "I have seen them, one by one, I believe, from first to last; and himself — the greatest wonder of all!"

"He has the strangest complexion," — lisped Lady Selina.

"Ah, madam!" said Leverton, "were he and his old monstrosities once thoroughly scoured, you would know neither the one nor the other."

"His antiquities," observed the earl —

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"I hate antiquities," said Lady Di. — "but I beg pardon; I think you said that you had seen them, Leverton?"

"I saw a mass of things," answered the beau, "but little distinctly, — broken statues; dingy pictures; belts of wampum; rings for the nose; fish bones for the ears; druids' clubs; absurdities of every kind, from the equator to the poles. Nothing was wanting — that was useless. There were sixteen tons of Egyptian horrors blocking up the approach to the house; and five and twenty hundred weight of cracked marble, which I took for a cistern, but which turned out to be the coffin of Ptolemy Psammeticus. Every corner of every room was put in requisition. The hall was full; the staircase was fuller; the dining-room could not be carpeted for these monsters. Heads, legs, arms, noses, hideous little wretches in bronze and china affronted you at every turn. Even the cellar was blocked up by a shapeless person, which the doctor called Alexander, or Demetrius, or — I forget what; and we had a tedious harangue on a foolish subject, instead of a bottle of Madeira with our sandwiches.

"Ha, ha, ha!" said the earl, at last.

"Ha, ha, ha!" responded Garnish.

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"Ha, ha, ha!" continued the earl, evidently much irritated — "ha, ha, ha! — the original Theseus! I take upon myself — I say myself — to commit my self — my opinion — that that is the original marble. There is a copy (a much later work) in my Lord Elgin's collection."

"It is certainly by a different hand," said Leverton.

"Well — ?" said Lady Di.

"Well, madam," continued the beau, "there was an infinite deal of nothing, I assure you. There was a head of Jupiter Stator, without a nose, receiving adoration from a couple of sphinxes; and a Cupid with one eye shooting at a damaged countess, by Vandyke. There — "

"He would hold a living countess in contempt, I suppose," said Lady Di.

"Assuredly, madam; he would behold her with supreme indifference," answered Leverton. "Old Lady Stately (who measured six feet one, in her — shoes) was the only female that ever attracted his admiration. After gazing at her for five minutes, with evident symptoms of delight, he turned to his neighbour and exclaimed"What a mummy she would make!"

"The old fool!" exclaimed Lady Di.

"Nevertheless, we must do the doctor justice," proceeded Leverton. "Hehas his living pets, I

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assure you. There is his parrot, which his aunt Ricketts bequeathed to him, and which, he says, came over with Sir Francis Drake" —

"That is a solitary instance," observed somebody.

"Pardon me," replied Leverton, "he has a very pretty little colony of mice; and a rat from Java: two rattle snakes, and an alligator — but no, that is stuffed: however, he has an old friend — a tame duck, who was made a happy widow last Michaelmas; her husband having been put into requisition (by mistake!) for giblet soup, after a hard life of seventeen years, spent in the green pond at the back of the stable."

And so the dialogue ran on, (long after the ladies had retired), veering from one thing to another, public and private. War — commerce — literature — art — the manufacturing classes — the landed interest — their friends — their enemies — all were separately and more than sufficiently discussed. Each attempted to take the lead on some particular subject. The Earl was tedious and arrogant, beyond all measure, on general politics. Colonel Dartley chattered a vast quantity of nothing upon "the service;" and the county baronet prosed on agriculture, till her fell asleep in his chair.

Every man talked his worst, till is hearers were tired: one with the austere tone of a reasoner —

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another with the solemnity of a prophet. This proved that right was wrong: that, that mankind and art were declining — a third, that both were springing up and rallying afresh. Every one saw into the future — many provided for its wants — no one was at a loss — no one was short-sighted — no one less than infallible. —

Oh! what a comical thing it is, reader — is it not? To hear (or read) the opinions of some of these positive sages; to scan their unassailable arguments, proving that so and so can not be done by reason of the physical and moral force, etc. [sic] -and then to see that this very impossibility is done! As if nations could not be stirred out of their ordinary apathy by the descent of a sudden truth, or stung to the strength of madness by some great and intolerable wrong. In speculations, especially, men never reckon upon their own fallibility; nor upon the change which the great wheel of Time is eternally producing, as it rolls onwards, — crumbling the puny frost-work of the politician's brains, and scattering wonders of all sorts for the benefit of succeeding ages, and the employment of every faculty of the mind of man!

On word in conclusion —

Courteous Reader, — Harry Leverton is no more! Although not an insubstantial phantasm of the imagination, like the Eastern Horam, yet he has

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vanished, and left, like that sage, his valuable moral behind him; — somewhat of this, indeed, springing from his example, (which was at once a model and a warning); but some little also he bequeathed in the shape of precept. -After basking in cloudless popularity, and having at his beck all the solid advantages of life, as well as the courtesies which make those advantages delightful, he was obliged to visit his estates in the West Indies; where — at the expiration of a tedious illness, which wore the character rather of languor and ennui than of serious malady — he died; disappearing like some of those volatile essences, which are so pungent and pleasant while they last, but being transferred into a warm situation, vanish or evaporate, from causes which the chemist or physician can alone detect.

from The Bijou, 1828, pp. 261-284