gislature of Pennsylvania, for Alleghany county, where he resided. Parties ran high-and he was elected by the Constitutional party, (the democrats,) under the idea that he would advocate some measures which they had very much at heart; among the rest, the reception of a certain species of province money, in payment of arrears due the government for lands in that county. To the surprise and indignation of his constituents, he not only voted, but made a powerful speech, against this measure. He was then naturally and violently denounced by the Democratic party. About this period he became a candidate for membership in the American Philosophical Society, to which his talents gave him a claim superior to that of most, and perhaps nearly equal to that of any, of the members of that body. The "deep damnation" of his vote respecting the province money, was an inexpiable sin in the opinion of the majority of the members, who were ultra democrats; and he was accordingly black-balled. This irritated him highly, and led to his warfare against the Society, and against all similar institutions.

Among his newspaper squibs I recollect only one, in which he stated that when young, there was in his neighborhood a body of sages, who called themselves "a Philosophical Society;" such philosophers as Young had in his "mind's eye" when he wrote

"These subtle wights, (so blind are mortal men, Though satire couch them with her keenest pen,) For ever will hang out a solemn face,

To put off nonsense with a better grace;

As pedlars with some hero's head make bold,
Illustrious mark! where pins are to be sold.

"What's the bent brow, or neck in thought reclin'd?

The body's wisdom, to conceal the mind.

A man of sense can artifice disdain;

As men of wealth may venture to go plain :
And be this truth eternal ne'er forgot,
Solemnity's a cover for a sot.

I find the fool, when I behold the screen,

For 'tis the wise man's interest to be seen."

The Judge said that he was wont to delight in hoaxing this Society; and among other tricks which he had played them, he narrated the two following: He stole his grandmother's fan, and covered it for a considerable time in a mud-puddle. Having disguised it as completely as in his power, he sent it to the Society, with an elaborate description, to prove that it was the wing of a bat. It was received with due solemnity, and a vote of thanks passed to the donor. A debate arose as to the species of bat to which it belonged-and a committee of seven was appointed to ascertain whether it was the wing of a Madagascar or a Candia bat. The Committee sat three weeks; and after consulting Buffon's Natural History and Goldsmith's Animated Nature, they reported that it must have belonged to a Madagascar bat, as it wanted the characteristic marks of the true Candia bat. It was pronounced the greatest curiosity in the Museum, except a large sheet of brown paper which he had hung up the chimney, and disguised with soot and dirt, and palmed upon the Society as part of a Bramin's shirt!

Philadelphia, June 11, 1834.

M. C.

"TOM WILDING-Alas, poor Yorick!" said I, as I laid down the newspaper and deliberately commenced sipping my coffee: "Poor Tom Wilding!" I repeated, in soliloquizing mood, "thou art lost to us for ever; thy jokes shall no more set the table in a roar; from the joyous club-room, thy familiar face hath passed away; and thy loud, jocund laughter shall no more salute our ears: Farewell, Tom! farewell for ever. Alas! we could have better spared a better man!'"

And whose fate was it, unceremoniously announced to me by the evening paper, yet so pathetically deplored? Gentle reader! it was the choicest of our fraternity; the president of our bon vivant club; the oddest of odd fellows. It was Tom Wilding, the eccentric, nervous, capricious, yet benevolent old bachelor; irritable, but kind hearted; ready to knock you down himself upon the slightest provocation, and equally ready to defend or advocate your cause with another. No man performed more charitable actions than Tom; no man was more beset with the importunities of duns and creditors. He was generous even to prodigality, but not just. Amid the crowd of common men he passed for a profound scholar, when, in fact, he was but a superficial skimmer over the surface of things. No person ever possessed greater varieties of character, or united more seeming incongruities, than Tom. Pride and humility, prejudice and hospitality, the epicurean and stoic, the worldliness of the man with the simplicity of the child-were all blended in his nature.

The phrenological observer might have discerned the bump of firmness most nobly developed in the cranium of Tom, which organic construction, I think, rather inclines to obstinacy; on this point, however, we will be silent. Certes, our friend was not popular with the fair sex. Who then would have supposed-but let us not anticipate. Tom Wilding was one of those people whom it is particularly hard to please, and who, by a perverseness of nature, magnify the mole-hill of inconvenience into the mountain of real calamity: one of those who allow the common impediments or petty vexations of life to destroy the comfort and evident enjoyment of existence. I will substantiate.

He came to me, one breezy morning in the month of June, carefully enveloped in a surtout, the collar of which invaded his ears, and invited me to accompany him a short distance from the city, in quest of agreeable lodgings for a retired, private gentleman. "I shall not be difficult to suit," said he, "I like to be free,-to follow nature,—and am accustomed to consider the preservation of my health paramount to all other objects. An airy, quiet situation, with a clean house and reputable people, are all that I desire. My present mansion is so noisy that I can endure it no longer. I am absolutely stunned with the incessant up

roar; and whatever lodging I engage, I must occupy immediately." With all this I could not but concur; a public hotel is not particularly adapted to the convenience of a person fond of quiet. "But, do not be so hardy," he continued; "you surely will not venture out without a great coat this blustering morning; the wind is north-west, and, as Peter Careful says, very searching. You know Peter ?"

"Oh, perfectly well; but I think the morning too warm for any additional clothing."

“Well, well, take your own way, my dear fellow."

We set out upon our excursion. The sun soon appeared in all his brilliancy. I hinted to my friend a fear that he was too well clad. His garments, he replied, were rather uncomfortable; but perspiration would carry off any latent cold he might have contracted.

We soon reached our destination, and drove up to the door of as pretty a little cottage as imagination could portray. It was completely screened from the road by low and drooping willows, and to all appearance suitable for the residence of a respectable, quiet gentleman. Here we alighted, and, after sitting an hour in order to acquire a gradual coolness, we began to explore the premises. Tom insisted upon an attic chamber; the air being, in his opinion, much purer than in the lower apartments. "Besides," he added, in a significant whisper, "it is further from the cooking establishment." Fortunately he could obtain immediate possession. I left him entirely domesticated, and undertook to have his luggage removed, as speedily as possible, to his new abode.

The succeeding morning I called to visit my friend, and to inquire into the merits and enjoyments of his habitation. I found him peevish and miserable. It was impossible for him to remain where he was at present. The branches of the willow-trees swept all night across his window, causing a mournful sound; and a convocation of cats, assembled upon the roof, had wailed in the most distressing and uproarious manner, until day-light; then commenced a most tremendous cackling of poultry and lowing of cows,-evils not to be tolerated or endured. He must remove, and that immediately.

Once more we set out upon what I now feared was a Herculean undertaking. I knew a respectable family, about a mile distant, where I had a faint hope he might be accommodated. My heart sunk within me as I saw an unlucky dog lurking around the house; but I was somewhat encouraged by hearing Tom observe that he liked the location and appearance of the premises. The landlady was a perfect emblem of housewifery; the rooms were airy; we were assured no cats had ever been known to assemble on the roof, and no poultry was kept in the neighborhood. We were likely to accede to the terms, but on visiting the sleeping apartments, the boards bore incontestible proofs of having been newly scrubbed. This, I could not deny, was an argument against immediate occupancy, but they would soon become dry; and I flattered myself the accommodations in other respects would render it a desirable abode. But Tom retreated with precipitation and horror. He assured me that he "always considered persons fond of the mop and scrubbing brush to be avoided; exhalations would arise from a floor that had been

wetted, and continue a long while hanging over it. Nothing was worse than damp wood; stone was not so porous, and therefore water being on the surface might soon be dispersed. Earth, to be sure, might receive or retain a greater quantity of moisture, but the adhesion of its components was not so close as the particles of wood; the moisture sooner became loose, and was imbibed by the air, but timber once wetted was never perfectly dry again." His arguments possessed more firmness than force, and we retreated from the noxious vapour with all possible expedition. In our next essay there was no danger of the deleterious poison of wetted floors; it was plainly not to be dreaded in that vicinity. The mistress made her appearance in a new-fashioned blond cap of dubious coloring, and a calico morning-dress on which the figure was utterly indescribable. She assured us she had as great an aversion as ourselves to the pail and broom, and that no discordant sound should molest us in the calm solitude of her habitation. We were beginning to feel quite cosy and home-like, when suddenly a voice, villainously shrill and piercing, struck up "Sweet Home," accompanied by a piano, jingling and jarring in utter disregard of all rule or science. "My daughter, said Madam, "is an eminent instrumental performer, and sings delightfully; she will be quite an acquisition." Tom sighed, and we soon after departed. Quiet-calm solitude-ye gods! One promising abode was condemned because a tinman held his work-shop in the rear; another, because a doctor of medicine, an extensive practitioner, occupied the lower part as an office: the night-bell broke his slumbers. Another attempt was rendered abortive by the proximity of a tallow-chandler, and another by the smell of paint. In one an infant was asleep in the cradle, and it was inconsistent to suppose a child and peace could be found under the same roof. One was too near the city-he would be incommoded by the smoke; another was too near the water to be otherwise than unwholesome. One faced the east, and in another the ceilings were too low. At last, wearied and out of all patience, I pleaded want of time and indispensable avocations; and left him to seek a home and sup with what appetite he might.

The ensuing week brought no tidings of Tom. I already relented. My heart yearned towards my old friend, and I set out in pursuit of him. Strange to relate, I found he had occupied but one lodging since we had parted. None of the conveniencies we had so anxiously sought after were to be found in this abode. The house was on the turnpike-road, facing the north-east; and no upper room was to be obtained. There were six little children, and as many cats. One of the little rogues was blowing a penny-whistle; another was lashing a humming-top; and the rest were screaming to the utmost extent of their lungs. A bare-footed damsel was singing over a washing-tub in an outer apartment; and pools of water were upon the floor. Ducks were dabbling in the stagnant pond in the front of the house, and pigs melodiously grunting from the sty in the rear. What had caused this revulsion of feeling-this wonderful change in my friend's ideas of comfort? The hostess was a widow, in absolute distress, with no one to extend a helping hand towards her six little fatherless children dependent on her exertions for

support; and, to render the story more affecting, the eldest was an idiot. Poor Tom was overcome. The idea of doing good, supplied all deficiencies. The benevolence of his heart enabled him to bear with privations; and when he entered his low-ceiled parlor, its hearth, decorated with green boughs and cut papers, afforded him sincere gratification. He reflected that but for him, the little family would have been separated and dispersed; and he was not only contented, but happy. He has remained in this situation the last six months.

From the foregoing incident the reader may learn much of Tom Wilding. He was, moreover, something of a wit, and would have his joke, though he lost his friend. He was also liable to mal-a-propos. An instance occurred one evening, at a select party, where the charms of a celebrated belle were the subject of general conversation. Tom, with the utmost sang froid, declared her hair was red, and no woman could be handsome with ringlets of that unendurable color. "But, Sir," replied a lady near him, with some asperity of tone, "it is classical; it is in conformity with ancient taste; and, Sir, Petrarch's Laura had red hair." "Petrarch's fiddle-faddle!-it is not, Madam, in conformity with modern taste, and He looked up; the lady he was addressing had hair, fine and beautiful, it is true, and arranged in the most becoming manner, but as red as blood! "I beg your pardon, Madam," he continued, bowing with respectful gravity-"I-ahem!-Madam,-really She turned haughtily away, and Mr. Wilding was ever afterwards voted a bore. To Miss Lucy Simper, daughter of a currier, he complained of a smell of leather. It made his head ache, and was extremely disagreeable to him. He was afterwards excluded from her soirees. To the daughter of a retired pastry-cook and confectioner, he "supposed ice-creams and jellies were no treat." Intending to compliment Miss Evergreen, he assured her, in a room filled with company, that "she looked quite as well as she did fifteen years ago." Was it marvellous that Tom found little favor with the ladies? How then did this occur? I resumed the paper, and read once more the paragraph which had caused these reminiscences:

"Married, last evening, by the Rev. Dr. Soberton, Mr. THOMAS WILDING to Miss LOUISA ASBURY, only daughter of Mr. William Asbury, all of this city."

"Louisa Asbury,-young, beautiful, and accomplished—the only child of one of our richest citizens;—a cool hundred thousand, too, at her own disposal! Well, well-the age of miracles has revived. The fraternity will mourn a departed brother; but our loss is his undoubted gain. I must off, and see how Tom's new vocation becomes him.”

E. N. G.