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every tree associated with our churchyard,--Autumn had stripped youth; and we turn to that little the trees of all their honours, the golden era of our existence with a whole face of nature wore that pleasure, no pain, no accident or changing hue which leads the mind disappointment, can diminish-we to contemplate its past beauties. turn to it, and seldom but with a On every side well-remembered wish to live over again that inno-names met my eyes, names with cent period of our life. which innocence, infancy, happi

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Immediately on my arrival Iness, were too agreeably associated walked forth to the village, expect-ever to be forgotten the heavy ing to find the same smiling, hap-earth was laid over many a light py countenances, the same joyous heart which had frolicked with companions with whom I had play-me in childhood-the green grass ed in my youth, with whom many sward had grown and flourishedTM a day had been beguiled in the in- over their graves, and here and nocent sports of childhood. I there a sickly autumnal flower had gazed earnestly on every face, yet sprung up as if in mockery of the every face appeared to me un-scene around-my heart was full— known or strangely altered, and II shed a tear to their memory.could with difficulty recognize Dear companions of my youth ye any of my former acquaintance. Those with whom I then had associated were now grown up to manhood, strong, healthy, vigorous others whom I remembered as young men in the prime of life, were now fast descending in the vale of years, in whose features the characters of time, sorrow, or mis-ture-Oh! may your spirits still fortune, appeared legibly expressed--those whom I had left old men, whose presence at our games was the signal for noise and mirth, whose smiles and praises used to thought worthy again to join your animate us with a pride in endea-loved society. Filled with these vouring to deserve them, were melancholy reflections I left the gene-gone to their last silent churchyard, and sought my own home-there is a bitterness in the home, a solitary one, yet endear, thought. With a heart filled with ed to me by all the recollections


are at rest-the changes and chances of this world shall perplex you no more joy and grief, hope and fear, pleasure and pain, cannot reach you in the narrow graveye are at rest, and I am left to dwell on the past, and to look forward with a calm hope to the fu

hover round me, cheer me in my hours of solitude and sadness, and when at last the hand of Death arrests my course, may I be

melancholy reflections I slowly of love, friendship, and early turned my steps towards the years.


An Abridgment of the Travels of a
Gentleman through France, Italy,
Turkey in Europe, the Holy Land
Arabia, Egypt, &c.

(Continued from Page 264.)

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foot square. The houses are
well-built, lofty, and uniform,
without a mixture of mean ones
to disgrace the rest. Most of
them have flat roofs, surrounded
with ballusters, on which the in-
habitants take the air in the even-
ing. Here are many large squares,
gardens, and fine fountains, which
are no small addition to the beau-
ty of the city; but when we con
sider the number and the magni-
ficence of its churches aud con-
vents, we are quite astonished.
There are above a hundred con-
vents, between thirty and forty:
nunneries, and near three hundred
churches, all of them remarkable
for their architecture, sculpture,
paintings, Mosaic work, or gild-
ing. The cathedral dedicated to
St. Januarius, is a noble antique
structure; and has a little modern
chapel, reckoned one of the finest in
Europe, adorned with statues and
exquisite paintings. In this cha-
pel is the tomb of St. Januarius,
whose blood they pretend to have
preserved in a bottle, which liqui-
fies on being placed near the Saint's
head, though hard congealed be-

The City of Naples, the metropolis of a kingdom of the same name, an archbishop's see, and an university, stands on the declivity of a hill, and on one of the finest Bays in the world; which is of a circular figure, about twenty miles in diameter, and for the most part sheltered with lofty woods and mountains. At the mouth of this Bay lies the Island of Caprea or Capri, in a line almost parallel to Naples, about a league from the utmost point of the promontary of Sorrento. This island may be looked on as a kind of natural mole, that by the height of its rocks defends great part of the bay from the violence of the winds and waves; which however is not much subject to storms, and has a slight flux or reflux. Naples lies on this bay in form of a crescent, hav-fore. There are a few Egyptian ing little hills on the north, covered deities of black marble. with delightful vineyards and gardens. On the east is a large plain, leading towards mount Vesuvius; and on the west is a high mountain, from whence we have the finest prospect imaginable. The streets of this city, which are generally wide and straight, are beautifully paved with stones about a

One day our curiosity led us to take a view of Vesuvius, which lies about seven miles to the east-> ward of Naples. The first part of the way is level, and runs through several pretty villages along the coast; after which we ascended gradually, till it grew so steep that we were oliged to quit

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like a tunnel, as far as we could discover for the smoak. We flung several stones into this great cavity, some of which seemed to fall upon a bottom, but others made no noise at all. The sides appeared of different colours, be

our horses, and climb the moun- [dred yards in diameter at the top; tain on foot, which indeed is a but goes shelving down on all sides very difficult task. It is covered on all sides with a kind of burnt earth, crumbled into powder, and mixed with stones and cakes of cinders, that have been ejected at different times. The ground is warm at the foot of the mountain, and grows hotter as we approaching in some places red, in others the top, every step a man takes, he sinks into this powdered earth, and perhaps slides backwards, which makes the ascent very tedieus as well as laborious. Having travelled in this troublesome manner about a mile and a half, we at last gained the top of the mountain, which we found to be a naked plain, from several parts whereof issued a sulphureous smoak; whence we concluded it was undermined with fire, and were confirmed in that opinion by the hollowness of the sound under our feet.. In the middle of this plain stands another hill shaped like a sugar-loaf, and of a more difficult ascent than the former.

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Our hearts now began to fail us; and we should certainly

green, and in others yellow; and we saw several rocks projecting from them, which had the appearance of brimstones At the time of the eruptions this prodigious hollow is sometimes filled with burning or melted matter, which boils over and runs down the sides of the mountain in streams, that have formed several channels from the top to the bottom. At other times great quantities of ashes and cinders are thrown out, which falling down the sides of the hill like sand in an hour-glass, have given it the conical-form it bears at present.

[To be continued.]

have turned back again, had it not To the Editor of the Oxford Enter

taining Miscellany.


been for the encouragement of our guide, who assured us there was not the least danger. We followed him, and with a great deal of pains arrived at the crater, from whence terrible eruptions of fire, ashes, stones, and bituminous matter have so often proceeded. This crater appears to be perfectly round, and is about four hun-ment to a first attempt, I send you

I have long designed to contribute something to your Miscellany, bút have never 'till now had courage enough to begin; feeling assured, however, that you will give due encourage

the following, venturing to hope you will insert it, especially as I have select as my subject


It is remarkable that many writers, in the course of their works, have generally, from the mention of one female, taken the opportunity to inveigh against the whole sex, and, indeed, frequently women seem to have been made the subject of a poem, or a tale, only for the purpose of being exposed in strains of irony or sarcasm.—It is unjust, nay cruel; for, if we reflect, there are many periods of our lives at which we are indebted solely to them, for a great portion of the happiness we enjoy. In our childhood as mothers, in manhood as objects of our affection, and in old age as our comforters, we owe them no small debt of gratitude.

strong passions, the unruly wishes of youth, are changed to a serene enjoyment of rational amusements; while the feelings, before violent and unrestrained, are soothed down to a state of tranquillity.It cannot be doubted, but that female society is capable of imparting finer and nobler tints to the manly character; and that from the pure lustre of feminine. virtues clearer views of real felicity will be derived.

Old age at length creeps on, silently and imperceptibly-we scarce are sensible of its presence, but from our softened and mellowed feeling, the buoyancy of youth has yielded to the despondency and weakness of age-now we feel most sensibly our happiness in the affection of a wife; her tender assiduity, her kind attention to our wants, her patient endurance of peevishness, and complaints, are a cheering balsam to minds, sooth us under our infirmities, and "smooth the pillow of declining age."

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Though blessed with riches, honours, and every blessing they can bestow, there is still a blank-a void; a cheerless, melancholy feeling of solitude, which the Thus, Sir, I have endeavoured, society of an amiable female alone though feebly, to show that can banish. In her presence, trou- Woman in almost every stage of bles, sorrows, misfortunes, are life contributes greatly to our all dispersed or forgotten; her happiness; that her society in the eye welcomes us with pleasure, season of youthful gaiety and her smile clases every gloomy prosperity conduces to calm the idea from our breasts, and awakens feverish throb of too intense pasin us sentiments unfelt before;sion, and in sickness, sorrow, and while many hours that wouldge, warms the languid pulse otherwise hang dull and heavy, in with soothing sympathy; I will her society fly like some vision, just now with your permission conseen, and is no more.-The head-clude with a few lines by a fema

written on "Nature's Goddesses,'

(as Lord Byron called them), and

Suum cuique proprium dat natura munus,

make no apology for their inser-Ego nunquam potui scribere jejunus; Me jejunum vincere posset puer unus, Sitim et jejunium odi tanquam funus.

tion but their own beauty:

"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,

Tales versus facio quale vinum bibo,
Non possum
scribere nisi sumpto cibo;
Nihil valet penitus quod Jejunus scribo,
Nasonem post calices facile præibo.

Mihi nunquam spiritus prophetiæ da


Nisi cum fuerit venter bene satur; ' And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks Cum in arce cerebri Bacchus domina

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Till the sweet lip of woman assuages In me Phæbus irruit ac mirand a fatur.

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l'll in a tavern end my days 'midst boon companions merry,

Place at my lips a lusty flask replete with sparkling sherry,

From woman receives both refinement That angels hov'ring round may cry,

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when I lie dead as door nail;

Rise, genial Deacon, rise and drink y-of the well of life eternal."

Her smile is our meed, and her bosom "Tis wine the fading lamp of life re

our pillow”

C. N.


A free Imitation of a Latin Ode, by
Walter de Masses, Archdeacon of
Oxford, in the Eleventh Century.

Mihi est propositum in tabernâ mori,
Vinum sit appositum morientis ori,
Ut dicant, cum venerint angelorum


"Deus sit propitius huic Potatori "!
Poculis accenditur animi lucerna :
Cor imbutum nectare volat ad superna;
Mihi sapit dulcius vinum in tabernâ
Quam quod aquâ miscuit Præsulis

news with fire celestial, And elevates the raptur'd sense above

this globe terrestrial;

Be mine the grape's pure juice unmix'd with any base ingredient, Water to heretics I'll leave, sound

church-men have no need on't.

Various implements belong to every

Give me an haunch of venison,—and a
fig for
Verses and odes without good cheer I
never could indite 'em,
Sure he who meagre days devis'd is
dd ad infinitum

When I exhaust the bowl profound and
gen'rous liquor swallow,
Bright as the bev'rage I imbibe the
gen'rous numbers follow ;

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