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is thus the necromancers of the East, by their incantations, sometimes call up the shades of the just, to give their sanction to frauds, to lies, and to every species of enormity." My friend smiled at my warmth, and observed that raising ghosts, and not only raising but making them speak, was one of the miracles of election. "And believe me," continued he, there is good reason for the ashes of departed heroes being disturbed on these occasions; for such is the sandy foundation of our government, that there never happens an election of an alderman, or a collector, or even a constable, but we are in imminent danger of losing our liberties, and becoming a province of France, or tributary to the British islands." "By the hump of Mahomet's camel," said I, "but this is only another striking example of the prodigious great scale on which every thing is transacted in this country!"

By this time I had become tired of the scene; my head ached with the uproar of voices, mingling in all the discordant tones of triumphant exclamation, nonsensical argument, intemperate reproach, and drunken absurdity. The confusion was such as no language can adequately describe, and it seemed as if all the restraints of decency, and all the bonds of law, had been broken, and given place to the wide ravages of licentious brutality. These, thought I, are the orgies of liberty!-these are the manifestations of the spirit of independence!-these are the symbols of man's sovereignty! Head of Mahomet! what a fatal and inexorable despotism do empty names and ideal phantoms exercise on the human mind!

The experience of ages has demonstrated, that in all nations, barbarous or enlightened, the gross minds, the mob of the people, must be slaves, or they will be tyrants: even if tyrants their reign is short: some ambitious

leader, having at first condescended to be their slave, will at length become their master; and in proportion to the vileness of his original servitude, will be the severity of his subsequent tyranny. But woe to the bashaws and leaders who gain a seat in the saddle by flattering the humours and administering to the passions of the mob! They will soon learn, by fatal experience, that he who truckles to the beast that carries him, teaches it the secret of its power, and will sooner or later be thrown to the dust, and trampled under foot.

Ever thine,
MUSTAPHA.

MINE UNCLE JOHN.

FROM MY ELBOW CHAIR.

To those whose habits of abstraction may have let them into some of the secrets of their own minds, and whose freedom from daily toil has left them at leisure to analyze their feelings, it will be nothing new to say that the present is peculiarly the season of remembrance. The flowers, the zephyrs, and the warblers of spring, returning after their tedious absence, bring naturally to our recollection past times and buried feelings; and the whispers of the full-foliaged grove fall on the ear of contemplation, like the sweet tones of far distant friends whom the rude jostles of the world have severed from us, and cast far beyond our reach. It is at such times, that casting backward many a lingering look, we recall, with a kind of sweet-souled melancholy, the days of our youth and the jocund companions who started with us the race of life, but parted midway in the journey to pursue.

some winding path that allured them with a prospect more seducing-and never returned to us again. It is then, too, if we have been afflicted with any heavy sorrow, if we have ever lost-and who has not?-an old friend, or chosen companion, that his shade will hover around us; the memory of his virtues press on the heart; and a thousand endearing recollections, forgotten amidst the cold pleasures and midnight dissipations of winter, arise to our remembrance.

These speculations bring to my mind MY UNCLE JOHN, the history of whose loves, and disappointments, I have promised to the world. Though I must own myself much addicted to forgetting my promises, yet, as I have been so happily reminded of this, I believe I must pay it at once, "and there an end." Lest my readers, good-natured souls that they are! should, in the ardour of peeping into millstones, take my uncle for an old acquaintance, I here inform them that the old gentleman died a great many years ago, and it is impossible they should ever have known him: I pity them-for they would have known a good-natured, benevolent man, whose example might have been of service.

The last time I saw my uncle John was fifteen years ago, when I paid him a visit at his old mansion. I found him reading a newspaper-for it was election time, and he was always a warm federalist, and had made several converts to the true political faith in his time, particularly one old tenant, who always, just before the election, became a violent ànti, in order that he might be convinced of his errors by my uncle, who never failed to reward his conviction by some substantial benefit.

After we had settled the affairs of the nation, and I had paid my respects to the old family chronicles in the kitchen-an indispensable ceremony-the old

gentleman exclaimed, with heartfelt glee, "Well, I suppose you are for a trout-fishing: I have got every thing prepared, but first you must take a walk with me to see my improvements." I was obliged to consent, though I knew my uncle would lead me a most villanous dance, and in all probability treat me to a quagmire, or a tumble into a ditch. If my readers choose to accompany me in this expedition, they are welcome; if not, let them stay at home like lazy fellows-and sleep-or be hanged.

Though I had been absent several years, yet there was very little alteration in the scenery, and every object retained the same features it bore when I was a school-boy; for it was in this spot that I grew up in the fear of ghosts and in the breaking of many of the ten commandments. The brook, or river as they would call it in Europe, still murmured with its wonted sweetness through the meadow; and its banks were still tufted with dwarf willows, that bent down to the surface. The same echo inhabited the valley, and the same tender air of repose pervaded the whole scene. Even my good uncle was but little altered, except that his hair was grown a little greyer, and his forehead had lost some of its former smoothness. He had, however, lost nothing of his former activity, and laughed heartily at the difficulty I found in keeping up with him as he stumped through bushes, and briers, and hedges; talking all the time about his improvements, and telling what he would do with such a spot of ground and such a tree. At length, after showing me his stone fences, his famous two-year-old bull, his new invented cart, which was to go before the horse, and his Eclipse colt, he was pleased to return home to dinner.

After dining and returning thanks-which with him was not a ceremony merely, but an offering from

the heart-my uncle opened his trunk, took out his fishing tackle, and, without saying a word, sallied forth with some of those truly alarming steps which Father Neptune once took when he was in a great hurry to attend to the affair of the siege of Troy. Trout-fishing was my uncle's favourite sport; and, though I always caught two fish to his one, he never would acknowledge my superiority; but puzzled himself often, and often, to account for such a singular phenomenon.

Following the current of the brook, for a mile or two, we retraced many of our old haunts, and told a hundred adventures which had befallen us at different times. It was like snatching the hour-glass of time, inverting it, and rolling back again the sands that had marked the lapse of years. At length the shadows began to lengthen, the south wind gradually settled into a perfect calm, the sun threw his rays through the trees on the hill-tops in golden lustre, and a kind of Sabbath stillness pervaded the whole valley, indicating that the hour was fast approaching which was to relieve for a while the farmer from his rural labour, the ox from his toil, the school urchin from his primer, and bring the loving ploughman home to the feet of his blooming dairy-maid..

As we were watching in silence the last rays of the sun, beaming their farewell radiance on the high hills at a distance, my uncle exclaimed, in a kind of half desponding tone, while he rested his arm over an old tree that had fallen-" I know not how it is, my dear Launce, but such an evening, and such a still quiet scene as this, always make me a little sad: and it is at such a time I am most apt to look forward with regret to the period when this farm on which 'I have been young but now am old,' and every object

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