How far a man’s clothes are or are not a part of himself, is more than I would take on myself to decide, without farther inquiry; though I lean altogether to the affirmative.  The inhabitants of the South Sea Islands were astonished and alarmed when they, first saw the Europeans strip.  Yet they would have been much more so, could they have entered into the notions prevalent in the civilized world on the subject of a wardrobe; could they have understood how much virtue lies inherent in a superfine broad cloth, how much respectability in a gilt button, how much sense in the tie of a cravat, how much amiability in the cut of a sleeve, how much merit of every sort in a Stultz and a Hoby.  There are who pretend, and that with some plausibilty, that these things are but typical; that taste in dress is but the outward and visible sign of the frequentation of good company; and that propriety of exterior is but evidence of a general sense of the fitness of things.  Yet if this were really the case, if there were nothing intrinsic in the relation of the clothes to the wearer, how could a good coat at once render a pickpocket respectable; or a clean shirt pass current, as it does, with police magistrates for a clean conscience.  In England, a handsome toggery is a better defensive armour, than “helm and hauberk’s twisted mail.”  While the seams are perfect, and the elbows do not appear through the cloth, the law cannot penetrate it.  A gentleman, (that is to say, a man who can pay his tailor’s bill,) is above suspicion; and benefit of clergy is nothing to the privilege and virtue of a handsome exterior.  That the skin is nearer than the shirt, is a most false and mistaken idea.  The smoothest skin in Christendom would not weigh with a jury like a cambric ruffle; and moreover, there is not a poor devil in town striving to keep up appearances in spite of fortune, who would not far rather tear his flesh than his unmentionables; which can only arise from their being so much more important a part of himself.—­New Monthly Magazine.

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The French have a kind of irritable jealousy towards the English, which makes them forget their general politeness.  Give them but a civil word, make the least advance, and they receive you with open arms; but show them that cold reserve with which an Englishman generally treats all strangers, and every Frenchman’s hand is on his sword.—­New Monthly Magazine.

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THE GATHERER.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. 
SHAKSPEARE.

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JACK SHEPPARD.

When this notorious felon was under sentence of death, the Right Hon. Charles Wolfran Cornwall, then Speaker of the House of Commons, was strongly solicited to apply to his majesty for a pardon, as he was related to him.  “No,” said Mr. Cornwall, “I should deserve public censure if I attempted to contribute to the prolongation of the life of a man who has so frequently been a nuisance to society, and has given so many proofs that kindness to him would be cruelty to others.  Were my own son to offend one-tenth part so often as he has done, I should think it my duty rather to solicit his punishment than his pardon.”