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KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



waiter. He calleth } r ou by your Christian 

 name, to imply that his other is the same 

 with your own. He is too familiar by half, 

 yet you wish he had less diffidence. With 

 half the familiarity, he might pass for a 

 casual dependent ; with more boldness, he 

 would be in no danger of being taken for 

 what he is. He is too humble for a friend, 

 yet taketh on him more state than befits 

 a client. He is a worse guest than a country 

 tenant, inasmuch as he bringeth no rent — 

 yet 'tis odds, from his garb and demeanor, 

 that your guests take him for one. He is 

 asked to make one at the whist -table, re- 

 fuseth on the score of poverty, and — resents 

 being left out. When the company break 

 up, he proffereth to go for a coach — and lets 

 the servant go. He recollects your grand- 

 father ; and will thrust in some mean and 

 quite unimportant anecdote — at the family. 

 He knew it when it was not quite so flourish- 

 ing as " he is blest in seeing it now." He re- 

 viveth past situations, to institute what he 

 calleth— favorable comparisons. With a 

 reflecting sort of congratulation, he will in- 

 quire the price of your furniture ; and insults 

 you with a special commendation of your 

 window-curtains. He is of opinion that the 

 urn is the more elegant shape, but, after all, 

 there was something more comfortable about 

 the old tea-kettle — which you must remem- 

 ber. He dares say you must find a. great 

 convenience in having a carriage of your own, 

 and appealeth to your lady if it is not so. 

 Inquireth if you have had your arms done on 

 vellum yet, and did not know till lately that 

 such-and-such had been the crest of the 

 family. His memory is unseasonable, his 

 compliments perverse, his talk a trouble, his 

 stay pertinacious ; and when he goeth away, 

 you dismiss his chair into a corner, as pre- 

 cipitately as possible, and feel fairly rid of 

 two nuisances. 



There is a worse evil under the sun, and 

 that is — a Female Poor Relation. You may 

 do something with the other ; you may pass 

 him off tolerably well; but your indigent 

 she-relative is hopeless. "He is an old 

 humorist," you may say, " and affects to go 

 threadbare. His circumstances are better 

 than folks would take them to be. You are 

 fond of having a character at your table, and 

 truly he is one." But in the indications of 

 female poverty there can be no disguise. No 

 woman dresses below herself from caprice. 

 The truth must out without shuffling. " She 



is plainly related to the B s, or what 



does she at their house ? " She is, in all 

 probability, your wife's cousin. Nine times 

 out of ten, at least, this is the case. Her 

 garb is something between a gentlewoman 

 and a beggar, yet the former evidently pre- 

 dominates. She is most provokingly humble, 

 and ostentatiously sensible of her inferiority. 



He may require to be repressed sometimes 

 — aliquando sufflaminandus erat — but there 

 is no raising her. You send her soup at 

 dinner, and she begs to be helped — after the 

 gentlemen. Mr. . requests the honor of 

 taking wine with her, she hesitates between 

 Port and Madeira, and chooses the former — 

 because he does. She calls the servant Sir, 

 and insists on not troubling him to hold her 

 plate. The housekeeper patronises her. 

 The children's governess takes upon herself 

 to correct her, when she has mistaken the 

 piano for the harpsichord. — Charles Lamb. 



The Light of Nature. 



Everything is good in its place; but an oil 

 lamp is at all times better than a ' mutton dip.' The 

 celebrated David Hume wrote an essay on the 

 sufficiency of the light of nature, and the no less 

 celebrated Robertsen wrote on the necessity of 

 revelation, and the "insufficiency of the light of 

 nature." Hume came one evening to visit 

 Robertsen, and the evening was spent in convers- 

 ing on the subject. The friends of both were 

 present, and it is said that Robertsen reasoned 

 with unaccustomed clearness and power. Whether 

 Hume was convicted by his reasonings or not, 

 we cannot tell ; but at any rate, he did not ac- 

 knowledge his convictions. Hume was very much 

 of a gentleman, and as he was about to depart, 

 bowed politely to those in the room, while, as he 

 retired through the door, Robertsen took the 

 light to show r him the way. " O, sir," said he 

 to Robertson, "/ find the light of nature always 

 sufficient; and," he continued, "pray don't 

 trouble yourself, sir," and so he bowed on. The 

 street-door was open, and presently, along the 

 entry, he stumbled over something concealed, and 

 pitched down stairs into the street. Robertsen 

 ran after him with a light, and as he held it over 

 him, whispered, " You had better have a light 

 from above, friend Hume." Hume thought so 

 too ; but his infidelity would not permit him to 

 say it ! — How every man hugs his own creed ! 



The Simplicity of Innocence. — A gentle- 

 man who had been absent for a considerable time, 

 and who during his absence had raised a pretty 

 luxuriant crop of whiskers, moustaches, &c, 

 visited a relative, whose child, an artless little 

 girl of* five or six years, he was very fond of. 

 The little girl made no demonstration towards 

 saluting him with a kiss, as was usual. " Why, 

 child," said the mother, "don't you give uncle 

 P— a kiss?" "Why, Ma," returned the little 

 girl, with the most perfect simplicity, — U I don't 

 see any place ! " [This is a splendid rebuke to 

 the filthy folk who will so be-monkey themselves. 

 The doomed wives of such creatures, must be at 

 least a week finding "a place" on which to 

 imprint the kiss of affection. Affection — for a 

 monkey ! !] 



London : Published by George Berger, 19, Holywell 

 Street, Strand (to whom alt. Letters and Communica- 

 tions, Sealed and Addressed to" the Editor," and Books 

 for Review, are to be forwarded) ; and Procurable, 

 by order, of every Bookseller and Newsvendor in the 

 Kingdom. 



London; M S. Myers, Printer, 22, Tavistock Street, CoYent Garden 



