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FROM THE MEMOIRS OF

but less like the fall of an axe than the poison wind of Africa, before whose breath all flowers perish; so in the breath of this woman's voice every good name perished miserably as she smiled. Also a pattern of piety, propriety, honour, and virtue.

I shall not fail to exalt many of the sons of Hammonia, nor to praise in the highest certain men who are grandly esteemed—videlicet, those who are rated at several million marks banco—but just at present I will subdue my enthusiasm, that it may after a time flame up all the higher. For I have nothing less in my mind than to raise a temple of honour to Hamburg, according to the same plan which was sketched out some ten years ago by a celebrated man of letters, who with this intention requested every Hamburger to send him a specified inventory of his virtues and talents—with one dollar, specie—as soon as possible. I have never exactly understood why this temple of honour never appeared.[1] Some

  1. This kind of miserable swindle is still common in the United States. I have more than once received letters from unknown men, who informed me that they were preparing a volume of Sketches, or Lives of Distinguished Americans, asking me to send a memoir of myself, and especially my photograph, and fifty dollars to pay for engraving it. An examination of the list of those who were to appear in the work convinced me that "a distinguished American" meant any man living who was possessed of fifty dollars, and was willing to pay it to the publisher.—Translator.