not fortune's favourites contemn the persecu ted race of the unhappy. Man has no tie to retain felicity, but such as children fetter the small leg of the warbler with, when desirous to observe the flutterings of the feathered prisoner, yet preserve their possession. Perhaps the desire of liberty shall give strength to the weak native of the grove; the string is broken-the bird is lost, the boy is wretched. Even such is the flight of happiness.-My paternal estates were directed to descend to the elder male in perpetual succession. My affection for my dear prattling fairy induced me to wish her the possession of a large for tune. I had an estate in Jamaica, considerable in itself, yet neglected by those whom I employed; I had large credits in the same island. I had formed an intention to visit the estate, to improve it, and by such means increase my income, out of which I might then hoard up such a sum as, when accumu lated, might be a proper present for my child. My wife, my much-loved, alas! now long la mented wife, would not consent to my voyage without her accompanyment; she urged the pangs of absence against my solitary scheme; insisted on the dangers of the terrific main, the threats of a less temperate climate. And are you then secure, Alarbus, from these threats and dangers (with an eye of fearful apprehension cried my loved and lovely partner) shall I commit my every treasure to the mercy of the deep, yet guard with nicest care a joyless life? Should Heaven ordain thy voyage prosperous, with me it will be no less so; should the event alas! be far more mournful, wilt thou compel me to an age of grief? Wilt thou deny her to die with thee, whose breast for thee should freely bleed? If thy dear veins should know the fever's burning and impetuous tide, who then shall nurse my love? who but his wife? She weakly claims her husband's fond regard, who trusts him to another's care. Sickness not frights endearment from the nuptial bed, it offers means of service: who shall with careful eye watch o'er his broken slumbers, but me, his faithful wife."

(To be Continued.)

AMERICAN SAVAGES. THESE people when they perceive their pa rents have lost all vigour and activity in the infirmities of age, unwilling (often, perhaps, unable) to supply the increasing wants of impotence, drive them peremptorily from beneath their roofs; at the same time testifying some small sense of gratitude to the authors of their being, by covering their aged limbs with a blanket, that they may not perish under the accumulated horrors of cold and hunger. A scene of this nature, that was actually witnessed by some British Officers in America, is the subject of the following lines :

"Hence from my roof, old Man, away,
Worn out with age and pain;
Think not that I can still maintain
Thy body, loathsome in decay;
Hence from my roof,-old Man away.”
An Indian thus his Sire addressed,
Whose bitter sighs his griefs confess'd.
"But whence comes that reproaching sigh,"
Inquires the warlike son;

"I do but that which thou hast done;
Our custom's worth thou❜lt scarce deny,
Which thou hast us'd and so must I ;-
Hence from my roof,-old Man away,
Sunk is the planet of thy day.
Presented from affection's call,
The warmest of my store;

This blanket take,—we meet no more.”
The Indian ceas'd-an urchin small,
His son, exclaims, "nay give not all;
But father the rich gift divide;

66

When, heedless of thy bitterest sighs,
I send thee forth, in turn, to curse
Thy offspring's mother and his nurse.

The old man was maintained during the remainder of his life by the redoubled efforts of the Indian, and he who was so quickly sen sible to a son's reproof, learnt, ere long, to appreciate a father's blessing.

*As this is a true story, it may not be improper to add, that such an incident had power even to touch the feelings of a savage.

Thoughts.

POVERTY (Says Jortin) is a disease, which rages as much and as frequently in the republic of letters, as the plague in Constantinople.

LEARNING.-Aristotle was asked, what were the advantages of learning? He replied,"It is an ornament to a man in prosperity, and a refuge to him in adversity."

GENIUS. Some authors (says Suard) limit the sense of genius too much. I think that every production of the mind which presents new ideas under an interesting form, and which bears in the thought, as in the expression, a character of vigour and originality, is the work of genius.

GREAT MEN (says Bolingbroke) take great liberties, and expect to be believed on their word.

AUTHORSHIP.-Godeaux, Bishop of Venice, used to say, that to compose was an author's heaven; to correct his works an author's purgatory; but, to correct the press, a author's hell,

Tit Bits.

MATRIMONY.

A GENTLEMAN of twenty-two years of age, five feet ten inches high, has a pair of charming black eyes, a Roman nose, and a set of teeth as white as an ivory combcase, a high forehead, an admirable complexion, without the least appearance of the small pox; a fashionable suit of hair of the most exquisite projection from the temples; is remarkably easy in his manner, polite in his address, and agreeable in his conversation; has a skin snowy as the bosom of a goddess, an excellent pair of legs, and turns out his toes; takes particu lar care in the disposition of his arms, and is uncommonly attentive to the paring of his nails; wears his shoes two inches above the ancles, buckles them in a manner most elegantly tasty, and never puts on a silk stocking with the least symptom of a darn; his hat is larger than the common size, and ornamented with a button and loop of a most curious invention; nay, he has actually one suit of cloaths, that were made by the journeyman of a person who formerly worked with a man that was employed by one who origi nally cut out for the very bodily taylor of a Drury-lane manager: his under waistcoat is entirely pink coloured satin, and not pieced at the sleeves or breast, according to the common despicable dictates of convenience or frugality: his watch is a Tompion, his breast-buckle paste, his ring a real diamond, and he never appears in a pair of breeches without gold garters.

To these essential qualifications, he has the happiness of adding two accomplishments, the most necessary in the opinion of the ladies, singing and dancing; he has more than once conversed with Miss B., drank tea with Mrs. V. received a courtesy en passant from Mrs. W.; and at this present moment belongs to a club of figure dancers in Russell Street." Fencing indeed he has not greatly made his study, because he is of a disposition too humane to draw a sword. He is now learning to play on the guitar, and has already a tolerable notion of the alphabet; is remarkably ready in speaking ill of his acquaintance, and never pays his debts.

Any lady of family, who is possessed of ten thousand pounds, and desirous of making herself happy for life, by directing a line to A. Z., at the Bedford Coffee-house, shall be instantly waited upon; and the greatest honour and secrecy may be expected on the side of the gentleman, as he must take the liberty of requesting an equal share of both on the part of the lady.

N. B.-Provided the lady has the sum of twenty thousand pounds, the gentleman is too polite to insist upon either person, age, character, or family; or if the fortune is more

considerable, he is too good-natured to have the least objection of any kind.

The gentleman is in the army, but will find it convenient to sell out as soon as possible.

Translations.

(From Lord Strangford's translation of Camoens.)

When day has smil'd a soft farewell,
And dew drops bathe each shutting bell,
And shadows sail along the green,
And birds are still, and winds serene,

I wander silently."

And while my lone step prints the dew,
Dear are the dreams that bless my view;'
To memory's eye the maid appears,
For whom have sprung my sweetest tears
So oft so tenderly.

I see her, as with graceful care,
She bends her braids of sunny hair;
I feel her harps' melodious thrill
Strike to my heart, and thence be still
Re-echo'd faithful.

I meet her mild and quiet eye,
Drink the warm spirit of her sigh;
See young love beating in her breast,
And wish to mine its pulses prest,

Heav'n knows how fervently.

Such are my hours of dear delight,
And morn but makes me long for night;
And think how sweet the minutes flew
When last among the dropping dew
I wander'd silently.

FROM THE SAME. When I am done to death by thee,

And cold thy lover lies;

Turn to me, dear one, turn and see

Thy beauty's sacrifice.

Turn to me, dear-and haply then Thy looks may life restore ; And teach the heart to beat agaio,

That beat for thee before.

Turn to me, dear, and should a gem

On those soft eyelids shine;
Fall holy balm, fall fast from them

In showers, and waken mine.

Turn, and from lips that breathe of May,
If one kind kiss be given:
He, who in deathly slumbers lay,
Slept-but to wake in heaven.

Age wrinkles our features, and time fades ctr bloom,

Yet, good nature preserving, may soften the doom,

And make the few years we yet can enjoy,
As cheerful and pleasant as what are gone by;
Not permitting ill-nature our comforts to siab,
By being as sour as a wither'd Old Crab.

SOCRATES AND HIS COT. When Socrates was building him a Cot, In some retir'd and adjoining spot,

His neighhours wonder'd, and would oft dispute, How such a Cot so great a Man could suit. To which the sage Philosopher replied :— "I've known the World, and all its Friendship tried;

And, small as this same spot and Cottage seen, "Twill hold the Friends I value and esteem."

Lines, on the Question being proposed at one of the Debating Societies"WHETHER WOMAN HAS A SOUL!" When you, Sir, thus yourself express'd— "Is Woman of a Soul possess'd,"

There was no doubt with me:

I felt that, if no souls were given
To Women, there were none in Heav'n;
And then-no Heav'n for me.

FEMALE LOQUACITY.

"And there was silence in Heaven about the space of half an hour."-Rev. 8th, Verse 1 In Heav'n, if St. John from truth has not swerv'd, For half an hour silence was giv'n;

Is it poss'ble it cou'd have so long been preserv`ð, If Woman's admitted in Heav'n?

If she is admitted, I much for her fear,

The tongue from her mouth she must sever ;Even then, as I think, if Harriet goes there, Dame Silence is banish'd for ever.

EXTEMPORE ON A FOUNDLING, DROPPED AT A GENTLEMAN'S DOOR.

By Chance, begot,

By cruel Fate, am hurl'dUnhappy lot,

Into a sinful World.

MUSIC MODERN.

Belinda is the sweetest of all Singers ;-
How the Piano sounds beneath her fingers,
Sweetly responsive to her lily hand.

Ye Gods! and must the Grand Sonata stop!
It must-

A Customer is calling in the Shop. "Mistress, I wants a farthing's worth of Sand."

A Man took an Inn in a country town, in which were four others, viz.-"The BearThe Angel-The Ship, and the Three Cups; but he put up the sign of the White Horse, and under it he put the following lines:

My White Horse shall bite the Bear,
And make the Angel fly!

Shall turn the Ship her bottom up,
And drink the Three Cups dry.

A BRIEF STORY-AND A FACT.
A Robber on a Captain popt-
The valiant Hero fled;
He afterwards a Doctor stopt-
The Doctor shot him dead.

EPIGRAM ON THE ABOVE.

There's nothing rare,
In this affair,

"Tis practis'd every day;—
Physicians, still,
With courage kill,
While Soldiers run away.

Verses.

TO MARIA.

The world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not as I us'd to feel,-

And life grew dark, and love was gone.

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, No tongue to call me kind and dear,"Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death.

But when I saw that gentle eye,

Oh! something seem'd to tell me then, That I was yet too young to die,

And hope and bliss might bloom again.

With ev'ry beaming smile, that crost

Your kind'ling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling, which my heart had lost, And peace, which long had learn'd to roam.

"Twas then, indeed, so sweet to live,

Hope look'd so new, and love so kind,

That, though I weep, I still forgive
The ruin which they've left behind!

I cou'd have lov'd-oh! how so well;
The dream that wishing boyhood knows
Is but a bright, beguiling spell,

Which only lives while passion glows.

The following is an unpublished Poem of
Chatterton, written by him on the back of the
Title of Mrs. Haywood's Poems, now in the
Library of Walter Savage Landor, Esq.:-
Let Sappho's name be heard no more,
Or Dido's fate by bards be sung,
When, on the billow-beaten shore,
The echo of Eneas rung,

Love, the great ruler of the breast,
Proud and impatient of controul,
In ev'ry novel stands confest,
Waking to Nature's scene the soul.
Haywood! thy genius was divine,

The softer passions own'd thy sway;
Thy easy prose, thy flowing line,
Accomplishments supreme display.

Pope, son of envy and of fame,
Penn'd the invidious line in vain;
To blast thy literary name
Exceeds the power of human strain}
Ye gay, ye sensible, ye fair,

To what her genius wrote attend;
You'll find engaging morals there,
To help the lover and the friend.

ORIGIN OF A PEN.

Love begg'd and pray'd old Time to stay, Whilst he and Psyche toy'd together:Love held his wings,-Time tore away; But, in the scuffle, dropt a feather. Love seiz'd the prize, and, with his dart, Adroitly work'd to trim and shape it. Oh, Psyche! though 'tis pain to part, This charm shall make us half forget it.

Time need not fear to fly too slow,

When he this useful loss discovers;

A Pen's the only plume I know

That wings his pace for absent Lovers.

WOMAN.

Ye are stars of the night-ye are gems of the morn;

Ye are dew-drops, whose lustre illumines the

thorn;

And rayless that night is, that morning unblest, Where no beam in your eye lights up peace in

the breast;

And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in

the heart,

Till the sweet lip of Woman assuages the smart:"Tis hers o'er the couch of misortune to bend, In fondness, a Lover-in firmness, a Friend; And prosperity's hour, be it ever confest, From Woman receives both refinement and rest; And adorn'd by the bays, or enwreath'd by the willow,

Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow.

DEATH.

The beautiful, the brave, must die!-
Life in its vestal purity,
Life in its loveliest, rosiest bloom,
Is but an offering for the tomb.
The cheek that yesterday was bright,
To-day is cold-'twas morn-'tis night
Within that heart-and all is o'er-
Away! those lips shall move no more!
Oh! who can gaze upon the dead,

Nor burst repentant into tears?

Nor, shudd'ring, turn away, the head
From the grey hue corruption wears?
There is a chill that strikes the heart,
And bids reflection backward start-
A terror in the death-pale cheek;
No tongue can tell, no lip can speak!
The hand, that we so oft have press'd,
The bosom, too, as oft caress'd-
When Nature's pulse has ceas'd to pray,
We turn from in disgust away;
And, to that heart, so fond, so true,
We dare not, cannot, look adieu!

C.

The following Lines were written by an Offeer, who was accused of not shedding a Tear at his Sister's Funeral:

Cold is that tear which blazons common woe,— What callous rock maintains its crystal rill; Ne'er will the soften'd mould its liquid showDeep sink the waters that are smooth and still. Oh! when sublimely agoniz'd I stood,

And mem'ry gave her beauteous form a sigh; Whilst feeling triumph'd in my heart's warm blood, Grief drank the offering e'er it reach'd my eye.

THE DYING MOTHER.

Description of a Picture painted by Aristides

of Theres. By the Author of "Illustrations of Affection."

In that wild hour of anguish and dismay,
When foes in column forc'd a vengeful way,
And females pallid, trembling, safety sought-
For their dear hearths, and altars, freemen fought!
Cleora, wounded-dying, feebly prest
Her famish'd baby to a bleeding breast;
As o'er the infant pass'd the purple tide,
A scanty rill the milky font supplied-
Soon ceased-and yet with tenderness beguil'd,
In sufferings lay supine the meagre child-
And did the heart-drops plenteous eager sip,
In a broad torrent flowing to the lip:-
The mother gaz'd with dim uncertain eye,
Subdued the throes of mortal agony;
A feeble hand, in many a weak essay,
With tresses tried to wipe the gore away-
Assiduous long, in anguish feebly strove,
With life's last gush beam'd fond the smile of love!
January 26, 1820.

Printed and Published for the Proprietors, by J. WHITE, 41, Holywell-street, Strand, and may be had of all Booksellers.