AMONG the numerous purchasers of coins, mar, bles, bronzes, antiquities, and natural history, how few of them have their pursuits directed to any rational object!

Ancient coins, inscriptions, or sculptures, are only so far useful, as they tend to the illustration of history, chronology, or the state of the arts, at the time they were executed. Nor are the greatest collections of natural history worth preserving, unless employed in enabling us to conceive some of the wise and wonderful arrangements of the Creator.

These are, indeed, the proper objects; but I fear the majority of our present collectors are actuated by other motives, and rather hope, that being possessed of rare and costly articles will serve for their passport to fame, be admitted as a proof of their learning and love of the sciences, and at the same time obliquely insinuating some idea of their riches.

Many persons feel a kind of pre-eminence

from possessing a unique of any species of virtu. This idea was carried so far by a connoisseur lately deceased, that he has been known to purchase duplicates of rare prints, at very considerable prices, and afterwards to destroy them, in order to render them still more scarce.

Besides these, there are a species of collectors, who seem to have a rage for every strange and out-of-the-way production of either art or nature, without having any particular end or design; such was the man whose character is here given.

Jack Cockle was, from his infancy, a lover of rarities; all uncommon things were his game: when at school, he would give half his week's allowance for a taw of any uncommon size or colour, a double wall-nut, a Georgius halfpenny, or a white mouse; in short, any thing uncommon, whether natural or artificial, excited his desire to possess it.

As he grew up, his taste dilated, and monstrous births and anatomical preparations were added to the catalogue of his researches. Under this influence, I have known him ride twenty miles to purchase a tortoiseshell boar cat, a kitten with three eyes, or a pig with but one ear. All deviations from the common walk of nature, whether of deficiency or redundancy, were his desiderata.

Being possessed of plenty of money, it may easily be conceived that every thing deemed extraordinary, found, born, or produced, within forty miles of his residence, was brought to him; so that, in a short time, his museum was filled with monsters and curiosities of every denomination, dried, stuffed, and floating in spirits; and as his possessions increased, his rage for collecting grew more violent. This pursuit not only served to amuse him, but besides made him derive a portion of satisfaction from real misfortunes. For instance :-Once, when his wife miscarried of a son and heir, he derived great comfort from bottling the fœtus of the young squire. Another time, at the manifest risk of his life, he had a very large wen cut from his neck, not so much with a desire to get rid of that unsightly incumbrance, as from the consideration of the addition it would make to his subjects in spirits. And not long ago, his wife, being with child, was terribly frightened by a pinch from a lobster, carelessly left in a basket. Jack, who really loved her, was much distressed at the accident: but seemed to receive comfort from the opinion of the neighbouring old women, nurse, and midwife, that in all probability the child would, in some of its limbs or members, resemble the object of its mother's terror.

His desire to investigate uncommon objects in nature sometimes involved him in very disagreeable situations; and once, in Ireland, besides a terrible beating, had nearly drawn on him a criminal prosecution. The case was as follows:-according to common report, there are in that country a few remaining descendants of the people with tails. To one of them, an old woman, he offered a handsome sum of money for an ocular proof of this phenomenon ; and, on her refusal, attempted to satisfy his curiosity by force; a scuffle ensued, the old woman cried out, and brought two sturdy fellows, her grandsons, to her assistance, who beat him most cruelly, and, to complete his misfortune, laid an indictment against him for an assault, with an attempt to ravish their grandmother; and it was not without a considerable expense, and great trouble and interest, that the matter was accommodated.

THE GRUMBLER, No. 5.

A small manuscript book was found at the old prince's inn, in King-street, Norwich, some years ago, when some repairs were doing. It contains several pieces of poetry written by different authors and at different times. The pieces are

short, and generally on serious topics; to some of our readers, who delight in exploring the scattered relics of antiquity, they may afford gratification, while they, at the same time, contain sentiments and imagery which, though somewhat disfigured by the uncouth dress in which they appear, are nevertheless pleasing. We shall occasionally give them a place.

MARTILMASSE DAYE.

It is the day of Martilmasse,
Cuppes of ale should freelie passe ;
What though Wynter has begunne
To push downe the summer sunne,
To our fire we can betake,
And enjoye the crackling brake,
Never heedinge winter's face

On the day of Martilmasse.

We can tell what we have seene

While the hedge sweete-breere was greene;

Who did hide i'th' barley-mow,

Waitinge for her love I trowe;

Whose apron longer stringes did lacke,

As the envious girles do clacke;

Such like things do come to passe
E'er the day of Martilmasse.

Some do the citie now frequent,
Where costlie shews and merriment
Do weare the vaporish ev'ninge out
With interlude and revellinge rout;