originally sprang up from
imitation of one or two amateurs of each pursuit; and there only needs
a similar _first impulse_, which a society with a few thousands a year
might give, to spread a general taste for music, singing, and dancing,
and ultimately for other branches of the fine arts, as drawing and
painting, as well as for natural history, and the cultivation of
flowers and fruits, &c.

"The lower classes in England, thus improved in morals and manners by a
better education and more humanising amusements, might be safely left
to choose their time of contracting marriage, and would then no more
make beasts of themselves by drinking fermented liquors, than do the
lower classes in the city from which I write, (Brussels) where
probably more beer (and that by no means weak) is drank than in any
town of similar size in England, every street being crowded with
_cabarets_ (public-houses,) and these in the evening almost always
filled. But how filled? Not with rioters and noisy drunkards, but with
parties at separate tables, often consisting of a man, his wife and
children, all sipping their pot of beer poured into very small glasses
to prolong the pleasure, and the gratification of drinking seeming
less than that of the cheerful chit-chat, which is the main object of
the whole assemblage. Deep-rooted national bad habits can be
eradicated only by the spread of knowledge, which will ultimately
teach our lower classes, as it has already done the bulk of the
higher, that _moderation_ is the condition of real enjoyments, and
must be the motto even of the sensualist who aims at long-continued
indulgence."

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

"A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles."

SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

TOAST.

The Parting toast at one of the old gaming-houses in _Marybone_ was
"_May as many of us as remain unhanged next spring, meet here again_."

* * * * *

EPIGRAM

_Translated from the French of Mr. Patris, who composed it a few days
before his death. By J.C._

Last night I dreamt that worn away
With sickness, I was dead,
And that my carcass, cheek by jowl,
Was by a poor man's laid.

My stomach rose, methought, to see
The wretch so near me lie,
And straight his sauciness I chid,
Like corpse of quality.

Scoundrel, cried I, move farther off,
And give your betters room,
A