asters, and in the town of Rugby.

Lawrence Sheriff, the benevolent founder of this institution, was born at
Brownsover, whence he removed to London, where he kept a grocer's shop in
Newgate-street. A more gratifying portrait of true beneficence than
Sheriff's bequest can scarcely be found in British annals; and this
gratification is greatly enhanced by the justice with which his intentions
have been carried into effect at Rugby. The alms-houses were originally
for four poor old men; but the dwellings have been augmented in proportion
to the increased revenues.

[1] Their annual meeting is in August, when the examination takes
place. Fourteen exhibitions have been instituted, each of the
exhibitioners being allowed forty pounds per annum to assist in
their support, for seven years, at either university.

* * * * *

CHOICE HINTS FOR A PLAN TO DISCHARGE THE NATIONAL DEBT.

(_For the Mirror_.)

"Great events sometimes spring from trivial causes," of the truth of this
adage, no man is, I think, so great a _heretic_, as to express any
doubt--were such the case, it would be by no means difficult to conjure up
a host of evidence, in support of our proposition; but, seeing that "such
things are," let us at once to the point.

The present age is so rife in whims and proposals, that I am rather
apprehensive, some may doubt the _feasibility_ of the following.
Nevertheless, it is, methinks, quite as good, as many others which
recently were strangled, in struggling for existence.

In looking over some old pamphlets the other day, I met with the following
"true and particular account" of Mr. Peter Pounce, Postmaster, of
Petersham, and his horse, Prance.

Now, according to my author (of whose veracity I entreat the reader to use
his own discretion) it seems this Mr. Pounce was an exceedingly good kind
of man, and that his horse, Prance, was also an exceedingly good kind of
horse; moreover, when the postmaster travelled, he usually put up at the
_George_, where there is exceeding good entertainment for both man and
horse. Upon one occasion, being in great haste, Mr. Pounce directed the
ostler not to put Prance into the stable, but to tie him to the brew-house
door. Now, as cruel fate would have it, there was just within the nag's
reach, a tub full of wine lees, which, luckless moment for him, (being
thirsty) he unceremoniously quaffed off in a trice, without even