hours a day for exactly ten years; so that it is the same as if ten years of life were added, in which we could command eight hours every day for the cultivation of our minds, or the despatch of busi

ness.

PARODY.-A Noble Lord, who owed money to an humble friend, and had repeatedly promised to pay him, having asked if he was an admirer of Pope, was thus answered:-"I am, my Lord; so much so, that I am in the habit of making parodies on some of his lines.For instance

'Man never is, but always to be blest.'--POPE. To soothe despair, hope lends her friendly aid;

Tom never is, but always to be paid.

This harmless repartee gave great offence. C'est le verite qui blesse.

A number of persons at Darlaston, having read in a Birmingham Paper, that the Eclipse would be "visible from that town at such an hour," actually left their employments, and went over to Birmingham to see the Eclipse.

A bottle thrown into the sea off the coast of Iceland 27th July, was found near the Cumbras Isles 4th September last.— It had thus travelled 800 miles in 40 days.

Harmless

EARLY RISING.-The difference between rising every morning at Sir and at Eight, in the course of forty years, supposing a man retired to rest at the same time, amounts to 20,200 hours, or three years one hundred and twenty-one days and sixteen hours, which will afford eight

Odes.

ACANTHOLOGIA.

SPECIMENS OF EARLY JACOBIN POETRY.

SPECIMEN V.

"Ecce iterum Crispinus."

TO HORROR.

By ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq. Poet-Laureate. Dark HORROR! bear me where the field of fight

Scatters contagion on the tainted gale,
When to the Moon's faint beam,

On many a carcase shine the dews of night,
And a dead silence stills the vale

Save when at times is heard the glutted Raven's scream.

Where some wreck'd army from the Conqueror's might

Speed their disastrous flight,

With thee, fierce Genius! let me trace their way,

And hear at times the deep heart-groan
Of some poor sufferer left to die alone,
His sore wounds smarting with the winds
of night;

And we will pause, where, on the wild,
The Mother, to her frozen breast,
On the heap'd snows reclining claps her

"The following description of a field of battle, is in the words of one who passed over the field of Jemappe, after Dumouriez' victory: It was on the third day after the victory obtained by General Dumouriez over the Austrians, that I rode across the field of battle. The scene lies on a waste common, rendered then more dreary by the desertion of the miserable hovels before occupied by peasants. Every thing that resembled a human habitation was desolated, and for the most part they had been burnt or pulled down, to prevent their affording shelter to the pests of the contending armies. ground was ploughed up by the wheels of the artillery and waggons; every thing like herbage was trodden into mire: broken carriages, arms, accoutrements, dead horses and men, were strewed over the heath.

The

WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF IN THE IRISH MELODIES."

(From the Sentinel, Dublin Paper.)

ERIN! his heart of truth

At length is wholly thine,
Albeit his careless youth

Was spent 'mid smiles and wine:' You watch'd his dawn of future fame, Through many a day of grief and shame, When cold apostate slaves withdrew the hand

You held the high Harp to his eye, And wept to see your lone hope lie So long in pleasure's bower, fetter'd in flowery band.

The wizard hand that fram'd,
Had wav'd its last farewell;
The latest soul was tam'd

In death, that knew the spell.
Each after-hand that vainly tried
To waken notes of former pride,
(Through lapse of mould 'ring ages dim,)
Backward, disgrac'd and baffled, fell-
In silence slept the powerful spell,
As if 'twould wake for him, for only him!

This was the third day after the battle: it was the beginning of November, and for three days a bleak wind and heavy rain had continued incessantly. There were still remaining alive several hundred of horses and of the human victims of that dreadful fight. I can speak with certainty of having seen more than four hundred men still living, unsheltered, without food, and without any human assistance, most of them confined to the spot where they had fallen by broken limbs. The two armies had proceeded, and abandoned these miserable wretches to their fate. Some of the dead persons appeared to have expired in the act of embracing each other. Two young French Officers, who were brothers, had crawled under the side of a dead horse, where they had contrived a kind of shelter by means of a cloak; they were both mortally wounded, and groaning for each other. One very fine young man had just strength enough to drag himself out of a hollow, partly filled with water, and was laid upon a little hillock groaning with agony; a grape-shot had cut across the upper part of his belly, and he was keeping in his bowels with a handkerchief and a hat. He begged of me for God's sake to end his misery! he complained of dreadful thirst. I filled him the liat of a dead soldier with water, which he nearly drank off at once, and left him to that end of his wretchedness which could not be far distant.' I hope I have always felt and expressed an honest and Christian abhorrence of wars, and of the systems that produce them; but my ideas of their immediate horrors fell infinitely short of this authentic picture."

* Carolin.

Say to the Hero of the Sea,

While Victory's ensigns o'er him wave, Sure thou art blest:-He'd tell to thee

"Envy will blast who Nations save.”

With uplift hands, and pious pray'r,

His humble flock to Heaven to wile, Peace must be his:-No; some there are Who call his faith-deceit and guile.

Go ask of yonder peaceful youth,

Hath talents given thee joy and fame? He'd tell thee, Pure as Heaven-born truth,

Yet Malice blasts my humble name."

From Kings that many a sceptre sway'd,
Anointed by th' Eternal King,
To where pale Science, in her shade,
Inspires the youthful bard to sing;

All shrink beneath Misfortune's blast:
Deserv'd and undeserving, feel
The tongue of Slander, which ne'er past,
But wounded worse than murderer's steel.

Oh, Scandal! direst fiend of hell,

Engender'd in the heart of Pride;
With hate and ignorance born to dwell,
All human sufferings to deride.

In garb of Flattery, oft thou'rt seen
To pierce the unsuspicious heart,
And in the lover's breast serene,
Suspicions guilty fires to dart.

Say not that Scandal haunts the town;
She steals along the hawthorn vale;
In yonder cot she sits her down,

And calmly breathes the damning tale.

Age sinks beneath the poisonous breath,
Religion feels thy "bloody brand;"
And youthful lovers, low in death,

Thy dark designs could not withstand.
Scandal-so sought by all deprav'd,
And dead to honour, truth, and shame
No firmness ever thee yet brav'd,
Whose whisper damns the purest name.
Unseen-thy victim meets his death;

Unknown to him thou creep'st along, Like streams that flow beneath the earthTho' dark-yet deep;-tho' silent-strong. The time shall come when thou no more Shalt o'er the good in triumph reign; And Heaven has miseries great in store, For envious hearts mark'd by thy stain.

Venders of Scandal, soon shall you

Feel all the pangs you oft have given; Truth ever meets the eternal view,

And Scandal has no place in Heaven.

Scraps.

THE

WISDOM OF PROVIDENCE.

(From the German of the celebrated GELLERT.) DURING the violence of a storm, a traveller implored relief from Jupiter, and entreated him to assuage the tempest; but Jupiter lent a deaf ear to his entreaty. Struggling with the unabating fury of the whirlwind, tired, and far from shelter, he grew peevish and discontented. "Is it thus (he said) the gods, to whom our sacrifices are offered daily, heedless of our welfare, and amused with our sufferings, make an ostentatious parade of their omnipotence?"

At length, approaching the verge of a forest, "Here (he cried) I shall find that succour and protection which Heaven, either unwilling or unable to aid me, hath refused. But, as he advanced, a robber rose suddenly from a brake, and our traveller, impelled by instant terror, and the prospect of great danger, betook himself to flight, exposing himself to the tempest, of which he had so bitterly complained. His enemy, mean while, fitting an arrow to his bow, took exact aim; but, the bow-string being relaxed with the moisture, the deadly weapon fell short of its mark, and the traveller escaped uninjured.

As he continued his journey, a voice issued awful from the clouds:" Meditate on the providence as well as the power of Heaven: the storm which you deprecated so blasphemously, hath been the means of your preservation. Had not the bow-string of your enemy been rendered useless by the rain, you had fallen a prey to his violence."

A SYLVAN SURPRISE.-Time and place give every thing its propriety.Strolling one day in Twickenham meadows, I was struck with the appearance of something dusky upon the grass, which my eye could not immediately reduce into a shape. Going nearer, I discovered the cause of the phenomenon. In the midst of the most rural scene in the world, the day glorious over head,

the wave of Father Thames rippling deliciously by him, lay outstretched at his ease upon Nature's verdant carpet-a chimney-sweeper:

A spot like which Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb Through his glaz'd optic tube yet never saw. There is no reason in nature why a chimney-sweeper should not indulge a taste for rural objects, but somehow the ideas were discordant. It was a combination of urbs in rure, which my experience had not prepared me to anticipate.

A QUESTION TO AN OBSERVER

OF HUMAN NATURE. ERASTUS had three sons whom he tenderly loved. Walking, in company with all three, he was surprized by an assassin, who gave him a mortal wound and fled. Erastus fell. His eldest son pursued the assassin, overtook him, and stretch'd him on the earth. The second threw himself on the body of his father, and endeavored to bind up his wounds. The third fell into a swoon. Now the question arose': which of the three sons loved the son most?

A wag has answered: "That they all three loved him equally their different situations in life had an influence on the expression of their love. The eldest son was a soldier; he killed the murder

er.

The second was a lawyer; he would render assistance. The third was a priest; he fell into a swoon.

IN Burgundy there once lived a Monsieur de Varambon, an amiable nobleman, who had married the Countess de Villars-Cessi, a beautiful and virtuous lady. Notwithstanding, the young and ardent husband did not remain faithful to her, but fell in love with a pretty country girl of the name of La Ramie, whom he seduced. Many days and nights he passed in her cottage; sometimes made her and her parents presents, but took care that the little farm-house should not be better furnished than it was before, that it might not raise curiosity in the village. Nevertheless, as usual, there were officious tell-tales, who informed the gentle Madame Varambon of every thing. The disco

very agonized her deeply, but she was

silent.

One day, as her husband was gone on a journey, she took a walk, and, as if led to it by accident, came before the cottage of her rival: A slight shower of rain served her as an excuse to enter it. The apparent poverty of the inhabitants seemed to surprise her. With compassion she found the bed of the mother, as well as that of the daughter too hard, the sheets too coarse, the benches and tables too dirty, the earthen and wooden vessels too common, know, (said she,) that you sometimes receive visits from people who are not of the same rank with yourselves, therefore it is not becoming to have such wretched household furni

"I

She

ture. I will procure you better." kept her word, and even on the following day, the cottage was furnished, not with splendid or valuable, nor yet with elegant furniture, but with that which was cleanly and convenient.

But when Varambon returned again, when he for the first time entered the habitation of the girl, he instantly discovered the tender goodness of his wife, and rapidly flew out of the cottage, as if he had seen a ghost, threw himself with humid eyes at the feet of his tender injured wife, felt himself raised up by her with affection, embraced her with rapture, and was never again false to his duty.

How many wandering husbands would be restored again to the lost happiness of the paths of virtue, if there were many wives like Madame de Varambon.

A WARNING TO ALL BEAUTIFUL WOMEN.

A

young man was enamoured of a beautiful young woman, as it very often happens with young people. The fair one also did not remain insensible, and botb wandered undisturbed over the roses of love. But God knows what wicked demon pressed In between them. They quarrelled, which is very common with lovers,' and were not reconciled again, which is very unusual. Long, however, the youth could not exist without intercourse with his mistress, and as they were not man and wife, so was he obliged naturally to begin the introduction to a reconciliation. He did