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publicly trifled, in their solemn way, with my name, and to my serious detriment, they must expect to le noted and celebrated in their turn.

The parts of the book which have no immediate connection either with eccentricity or censoriousness, may, it is hoped, be a relief to the reader who is not interested in my autobiography; they belong to the “Chapters on other subjects,” announced in the title page, and are intended for general edification. I have used the same freedom of speech in these chapters as in all the others. I have sincerely aimed to do good by their introduction, and am not without hope that none but the fastidious (whose judgment is not quite infallible, and whose tempers not absolutely celestial) will find any considerable fault with them.

Independently of myself altogether, all men should be concerned to defend cheerful Christianity; to preserve its purity, and at the same time to stand fast in its liberty.

ECCENTRICITY.

CHAPTER I.

WEATHER-CARES-BOOKS-MEN.

SOME novel writers, and other writers whose books very much resemble novels, have a mighty predilection for beginning their chapters with notices of the weather. Their fashion of introducing us to the main subject is somewhat like this: “It was on a cold and “ dismal December day, the sleet driving before the “wind;"—or, “On a sultry evening in the month of “July, the black and fitful clouds threatening a ter“rible tempest, when Sir Samuel Sensitivemor Miss “Rebecca Ringlet, (her beautiful tresses gracefully “ flowing over a neck of alabaster)-sat alone in the “ library in profound meditation,”—[when such and such remarkable things as a matter of course transpired.]

Now this fashion in commencing operations in book making is not exactly to our taste. It is very taking with many readers, especially with angels without wings, such as young ladies in America are represented to us by Mrs. Stowe and other writers, who

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delight in those minute details of personal beauty and rare accomplishments, which our consciences oblige us to designate fiddle-faddle. But we are not at all up to this style of writing, not being sufficiently effiminate; and it is very much to be questioned whether the best of our British ladies, or gentlemen either, can relish elegant frivolities in any department of literature. But now about the weather. Who but the infirm and sickly, and exquisite ladies with thin shoes, is afraid of it? British men and real British women (God bless them !) though not destitute of education accomplishments, etiquette, and all the proprieties of what is termed “good society," are not butterflies; nor do they spend half their time in reading novels, lounging on sofas, and playing harpsichords. They give due attention to household affairs; they strengthen their bodies and minds too by avoiding what John Wesley calls “ softness and needless selfindulgence.” They can, when need requires, -and even when it does not exactly require—become cooks and housemaids in their own families; they can face the outward storm and tempest; they can “rough it;" and they can, in the parlour or drawing-room, maintain themselves in dignified conversation. They repudiate fastidious effeminacy as unworthy of them. The nonsense of affectation they utterly despise. Laziness they regard as a sin. Oye British good Christian women, ye deserve our high esteem, our grateful affection! As to patience, meekness, forbearance, fortitude, the endurance of suffering, ye make some of

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