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On being desired by a young lady to write some

lines in her album.

BY THE REV. R. POLWHELE.

Sweet Maid! my fairy dreams are past;
And wither'd by the sullen blast,

I mourn the hour of prime :
Shall Memory's fainting light renew,
Or Fancy touch with golden hue,
The trace of former time?

Yes! my neglected lyre I seize,
And-"O, how pleasing 'tis to please!"—
Awake my favourite strain:
And as the eye of Beauty fires,
Languish with all the fond desires
Of Youth and Love again!

Yet with a trembling hand, as rings
This half-tuned harp, I strike the strings,
And, all by gloom o'erbrow'd,

I snatch-a semblance as of bliss-
A glimpse of fleeting happiness--
A sun blaze throngh the cloud.

And stern reflection tells me true-
Twere weak-and oh, 'twere vain to rue
My fast-declining years!

The dark hour I would fain beguile,
But feel as if the transient smile
Must be atoned by tears.

NIGHT.

BY MISS E. HATFIELD.

Night, blessed Night! thou art a faithful friend,
Upon whose silent bosom I can lean,
And tell each sorrow that the day hath borne
To my lone heart.-Oh, how I love thy moon,
Thy vestal stars, and ev'ry passing cloud
That bears thy hue upon its fleecy breast!
A sweet society they make to me,
Speaking of heav'n all-glorious, and of earth
All calm and slumb'ring, and invite my soul
To steal away awhile to other realms.
And why obeys it not? Stern jailer, Grief!
Surely thou mightst awhile unloose thy chain,
That it may be endured more patiently.

He yields not, Night! yet thou art on me still
Shedding thy pitying dews; and these unwearied
Keep their bright vigils o'er my sleepless couch,
All softly shining like the eyes of heav'n,
In patience and compassion, on a soul
That has not strength, as yet, to break its bonds
Thy gale-tones too-Moru, Eve, have none so

sweet

Come like the sighs of Friendship on the ear,
So soothing soft. Depart not, gentlest Night,
O yet depart not! O'er that ruddy streak
Spread thy mantle-'tis the herald ray
Of hours of dearest solitude to me,
When I must tread the crowded wilderness
Of the cold, heartless, dark, designing world.

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THE MORNING RAMBLE.

BY THE REV. F. A. COX, L. L. D.
(From the Amulet.)

WHOEVER has a touch of that romantic
sensibility which so frequently imparts
a charm to the sunshiny days of youth,
and renders the mind susceptible of
exquisite pleasure while contemplating
the scenes of nature, can easily imagine
the enchantment of a ramble through
woodlands and groves and hills and
dales, trodden for the first time and
unexpectedly, by the solitary and
musing st. anger.

The morning was not indeed one of which poets sing: it was not one of those clear, cloudless, glowing seasons, which fill us with thoughts of primeval paradise, where there was no thorn in the path or in the hosom of innocent man, and no shade upon the brightness of his bliss. Still it was a day of spring, and overspread with a few welcome clouds which, after a season of drought, were ever and anon dropping down fatness upon the pastures of the wilderness. The little hills, covered with budding plenty and verdant smiles, were beginning to rejoice on every side. The snow-white blossoms of the thorn powdered every hedge-row; the gentle breeze wafted a thousand odours, and gave to languishing life the touch of renovated bloom and beauty; the rustic swain went forth to his labour, and the wealthy idler to his amusement; birds of varied note and wing poured forth their choicest strains;-all was peace, melody, and freshness.

Although man is a social being by the very law and constitution of his nature, yet many of his choicest plea. sures are to be found out of society. There is an excitement produced by the ordinary intercourse of life, from which it is occasionally desirable to escape; as well to avoid the strain of continual effort, as the relapse into exhaustion and indifference. We are much affected by contrasts, and are subject to great mental re-actions. The most perfect solitude and destitution of real enjoyment is, perhaps, that which is created by the uninterrupted, ceaseless, and wearisome bustle of society, where the crowd of ideas pre

vents all thought, and the stir of life precludes all animation; while the best and purest and most useful society is often that which the recesses of the wild or the wood furnish, where a kind of supernatural stillness bespeaks an all-present Intelligence and prompts the spirit to hold a secret and mysterious converse as with the eternity of the past and the future.

It is curious, that when the gratification is sought, even by the most legitimate methods and in the most promising objects, it is often misscd; and though you pursue the shadow, you can never overtake it. The regular plan and solemn determination to enjoy a fine prospect or a cheerful day, is commouly fatal to the result; while the good unsought and unbidden, will sometimes come like an unexpected but welcome visiter. This was precisely the case on the morning already mentioned, when, slipping from the social circle, for the simple purpose of a few minutes' recreation, I was entrapped, by a succession of attractive scenes, into a four-hours' walk.

Turning from a public into a private path, I was induced to follow its unknown direction. As it partly encircled the village, the hum of society for some time fell upon the ear, while the lowly dwellings and detached cottages of the middling and inferior classes rose into view. A few thoughts were naturally given to contentment, tranquility, and uncorrupted life; which habitations of this class are supposed (perhaps with too little of truth to prognosticate. What the Roman poet says of Death, as intruding alike into the tents of poverty and the mansions of wealth, may be affirmed with equal certainty of Disquietude and Discord; and this must ever be the fact while the spring of happiness or misery is to be found in the mind itself, and not in the good or evil of the external condition.

Pleased with the blooming hedgerows and extending landscape, which a gentle ascent brought gradually before the eye I procceded beyond my purpose, and wandered from the beaten track into a wilderness of sweets. length, a rural seat offered an accom

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modation of which the stranger readily availed himself. It was placed beneath the shadow of an embowering tree, and consisted partly of some of its felled branches, The band of a diligent cultivator had evidently laboured to produce picturesque beauty; shrubs, plants and vegetation of a larger growth, were trained into an arched form, to a distance beyond the canopy of leaves and flowers. It resembled a subterraneous passage; but the sunny gleams which broke into the silent recess here and there, producing a rich intermingling of light and shadow, proved its contrivance rather for the living than the dead. It was situated in the immediate vicinity of a magnificent dwelling, to the vast domain of which, this and the neighbouring wood, and many an adjoining field, belonged. Every part of this ornamented scene bespoke, not only the profuse liberality of the Universal Parent, in rendering the earth productive of whatever could gratify the senses, or supply the necessities of man; but the power of property, which furnished so many means of rich and varied enjoyment.

The squirrel, with that alertness which is characteristic of the smoothcoated animal, was leaping from tree to tree, gliding rapidly along the most attenuated ramifications, running down the slippery stem in defiance of its perpendicularity, and springing again, with instinctive skill, to its former elevation;-the busy insect was plying his task, and humming his accustomed tune;-a thousand chirping, twittering, fluttering tenants were abroad in the grove; while the blackbird, and birds of deeper melody, poured forth their voluntary and cheerful strains :-the woodpecker waked the echoes from smitten branch or stem;-the raven croaked aloft; or the kite sailed slowly and majestically above the topmost boughs, darting hither and thither his piercing eye in quest of his hapless prey; and the woodman at intervals made the forest resound with the blows with which he levelled the stately dwelling of some sylvan divinity. Anon, and there was an universal bush: it was the quiet of the grave, and

meditation sat enthroned in her chosen and silent recess; there seemed neither sound nor motion,-till at length the breathing gale produced a soft, stilly rush, resembling the tide of ocean when it breaks calmly on a distant shore. To awakened fancy it appeared the great flood of ages, flowing by with an unruffled surface and tranquil rapidity. On that stream, methought, how many vessels of gallant trim are borne along; and how many successive generations are wafted into the boundless and fathomless deep!

It is natural to attach ideas of pleasure to scenes of magnificence. What is formed and arranged for the purpose of affording delight, we conclude must gratify; and from a sense of enjoyment produced by such a scene as this, the feeling of secret congratulation, springing into envy of the lordly possessor, is soon enkindled. What sources of rich and varied pleasure could he call his own! Here was beauty for the eye, fragrance for the smell, melody for the ear, rest for the wearied body, and peace to the troubled mind! Here he could escape from society, or yonder he could enter it by a gravelled terrace, through attendant menials, to a splendid mansion! Others were intruders he was at home: the groves were his, the birds were his, the green earth was his; and there is a charm in property, possession, distinction, and power!

When reflection languished, I startled from my humble seat, and pursued my walk. At the end of this enchanting vista was a gate, which opened into a spacious park, the more immediate domain of the nobleman upon whose grounds I had intruded. As the eye, although looking over a surface of several miles, could discern no enclosure or fence, the mind received the impression of boundless extent, overspread here and there with coppices and tufts of forest trees, which offered a refreshing shade from the summer heat. The undulations of the land were peculiarly beautiful. intervals, half concealed acrhes grottoes, or sculptured gateways presented themselves, whose only purpose was to improve the idea of a grandeur already sufficiently excited without

At proper

to

their aid. In some directions were
flocks of sheep collected on some
rising ground, to which the author of
the Farmer's Boy so ingeniously and
elegantly compares a peculiar arrange-
ment of fleecy clouds, with which the
admirers of nature never fail to be
delighted, and which would make the
lovers of Scripture and its inimitable
phraseology, think of "the cattle upon
a thousand hills." Here and there the
spotted deer were to be seen, browsing
the branches, or gathering in groups
under the guidance of some antlered
monarch, who marched majestically
in the midst of them. In front of the
mansion was seen a person of com-
manding appearance, pacing to and
fro, and seemingly saying,-as the
birds were singing around him, and
the animals were gamboling before
him, and the gleaming light was illu-
minating his lofty brow, and pouring
its softest radiance over the circumfer-
ence of beauty and enchantment,-

"I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute."
How many looked up with kindling
emotions of envy at one who was
thus pacing the very summit of earthly
enjoyment! The poor, wretched la-
bourer, whose feebleness scarcely
allowed him to endure the weariness

of his way, bending beneath the weight
of his burden, and the greater oppress
ion of miserable decrepitude, seemed
to heave a sigh of deep sadness at the
melancholy contrast of his own condi-
tion; and to be ready to burst forth
in the language of impassioned com-
plaint at the unequal distribution of
good and evil. Ah! he need not
have done so for while he looked
upon the titled possessor of this domain,
"clothed in purple and fine linen,'' he
beheld-full in the blaze of day, and
in the centre of inconceivable magnifi-
cence-a LUNATIC!!

A DISPUTANT,

Is like a Trout, always found in troubled
water, and striving against the stream;
henever argues for the purpose of being
better informed, but in order to display
his own abilities, and to shew how
much might be said on the wrong side
of the question: Ile persuades himself

he talks with reason, because he has not patience to listen to any reasoning but his own: He is a holder of arguments, and of wagers too, when his rhetoric begins to fail him: He is an eternal caviller, even on subjects that are self evident, and in short, will hold any argument rather than his tongue. When he finds facts too stubborn for his sophistry, he diverts his adversary from his object by pretending to mistake his meaning; so that the mystery of his art consists, principally, in a dexterous shifting of his ground like a fencer, so that his adversary may not get a sure lounge at him. Another of his faculties is to divert him from his purpose by a multitude of words; for it is difficult to answer, what it is difficult to recollect; when, however, home pressed, and beaten from all his posts, he amuses the foe by some senseless distinction by way of feint, and to gain time for recollection; for having abundance of confidence and words at will, he need never surrender for want of ammunition.

A very angry disputant has comlike an angry fencer, lays himself open monly the worst of the argument, and well considered would prevent many to his cooler adversary. Two things stood whether we are Lot disputing quarrels-first, to have it well underabout terms, rather than things: and secondly, to examine whether the subject of our difference is worth contheir lives by neglecting these simple tending for!-how many have lost maxims! Theological disputes are of all others the most unintelligible, and produce, not conviction, but heat and instances does the history of literature animosity.-low many disgraceful afford of men of the first talents contending with the bitterest animosity for a shadow!

But of all orders of men, the gentlemen of the long robe are allowed to excel in these happy attainments, and this cannot excite our wonder when it is considered that they are never so well rewarded as when they can bring off an unfortunate client, by proving by dint of syllogisms, that white is black, or black, white. P. P. Penzance, December, 1826.

A WONDEREUL PROPHET.

A RIDDLE.

neither doth he withhold from any man his voice, which is so shrill and powerful, that all the World once heard it at one time. He preached once a Sermon that convinced a man of his sins, and caused him to weep most bitterly for swearing and telling of lies; and although he is contented to sit down with the insults of wicked men, when the Lord cometh to Judge the world in righteousness, He will not be charged with sin.

*See Luke xxii.

THE EXILE.

Farewell my own my native land
A long farewell to thee,

E'en now our vessel leaves the strand,
To plough the deep blue sea.

Farewell companions of my youth,
A lingering last adieu,

This heart has witnessed all thy truth,
And all thy kindness too.

I dare not think of my loved home,
Of her who was my all,

THERE is now living, at Mr. W.
Jackson's, of Bransburton, a strange
and wonderful Prophet, whose gene-
ration was before Adam was created.
He is not the wandering Jew, nor the
son of Noah, nor the old Levite, nor
John the Baptist; for, as many people
think, he was certainly before them.
The scriptures make mention of him
very particularly in St. Mark, St. Luke
and St. John: so that we may believe
he is no impostor, He knows not his
parents, neither did he suck his mo-
ther's breast; his beard is as red as
vermillion he goes bare-footed, like
a grave friar, both winter and summer!
His coat is neither knit nor spun; it is
neither silk nor hair, linen nor woollen;
yet it is of a beautiful colour, He
drinks only water: he takes no money
of a friend, if offered him: he cares
not for the pomps and vanities of this
world he would rather live in a barn,
than in a king's palace; he walks
without a staff; he useth neither pistol
nor gun, yet he hath such weapons
to defend himself as no mortal man
ever had. He is valiant, yet puts up
with many injuries done to him, and
marches boldly to the face of his ene-
mies; and he can if he will, encoun-
ter the strongest of men. He is often
abused by them, yet he takes all in
good part. He lets all men alone with
their religion; he is neither Jew, Ma-
hometan, Papist, nor Protestant; yet
he eats no flesh in Lent. He is very
watchful. He sleeps not in bed, but
sits all the night in a singular kind of
chair, with his clothes on. He cries
out upon the wicked world with out-
stretched arms. He is an excellent
pattern to all mankind; is loud and joy-
ous; and his voice raiseth all men,
declaring the day of our Lord is at
hand. All his sayings and prophecies
are true. Poor women have great
reason to rejoice that such a Prophet
is come into this our island of Britain,
to set before their drunken husbands
as a pattern of sobriety. He was with
Noah in the Ark; and was alive when
Christ was crucified. He denieth not
the Articles of the Christian faith; London, December, 1826.

O that my breaking heart were stone,
And Marble my sear'd soul.

Oh for a draught of Lethe's stream,
To dash oblivion o'er my mind,
The past to vanish as a dream,
Or summer clouds before the wind.

I long to lay my throbbing head,
My aching heart and weary frame,
In my last cold and silent bed
Without a stone without a name.

Then none shall spurn my lowly rest,
Nor raise the lip with sneering smile,
My birth, my lot, all unexpressed,
By some deem'd noble or as vile.

But no! to distant climes 1 go,
Without a hope to spur me on,
Where none shall heed or note my woe,
Oh my hard Fate! I must be gone.

Then fare ye well my native Land,
A last farewell to thee,

Our Vessel now has left the strand,
Aud ploughs the deep blue sea.

R. M. D.

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