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establishment, and has been enabled to enrich his fine house, in St. James' Place, with rare pictures, busts, books, and gems. Here his life has calmly passed, in the enjoyment of his favorite tastes, and in the entertainment of authors, orators and artists, who have been drawn to him no less by the wit and eloquence of his conversation, than by the geniality and benevolence of his character.

and now,

FROM THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.
The sails were furled; with many a melting close,
Solemn and slow the evening anthem rose
Rose to the Virgin. 'T was the hour of day,
When setting suns o'er summer seas display
A path of glory, opening in the West
To golden climes, and islands of the blest;
And human voices, on the silent air,
Went o'er the waves in songs of gladness there!

Chosen of men! 'T was thine, at noon of night,
First from the prow to hail the glimmering light;
Emblem of Truth divine, whose secret ray
Enters the soul and makes the darkness day! -
"Pedro! Rodrigo! there methought it shone!
There — in the west!

alas ! 't is gone!
'T was all a dream! we gaze,

and
gaze

in vain!
But mark, and speak not! there it comes again!
It moves ! — what form unseen, what being there
With torch-like lustre fires the murky air?
His instincts, passions, say, how like our own?
0! when will day reveal a world unknown ?"
Long on the deep the mists of morning lay,
Then rose, revealing, as they rolled away,
Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods
Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods ;
And say, when all, to holy transport given,
Embraced and wept as at the gates of heaven,-
When one and all of us, repentant, ran,
And, on our faces, blessed the wondrous man,
Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies
Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies ?
“Glory to God!” unnumbered voices sung,
Glory to God!” the vales and mountains rung,

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Voices that hailed creation's primal morn,
And to the shepherds sung a Saviour born.

Slowly, bareheaded, through the surf we bore
The sacred cross, and, kneeling, kissed the shore.
But what a scene was there! Nymphs of romance,
Youths graceful as the fawn, with eager glance,
Spring from the glades, and down the alleys peep,
Then headlong rush, bounding from steep to steep,
And clap their hands, exclaiming, as they run,
“Come, and behold the Children of the Sun!”
When, hark! a signal shot! The voice, it came
Over the sea in darkness and in flame!
They saw - they heard; and up the highest hill,
As in a picture, all at once were still !
Creatures so fair, in garments strangely wrought,
From citadels with heaven's own thunder fraught,
Checked their light footsteps — statue-like they stood,
As worshipped forms, the Genii of the Wood!

At length the spell dissolves! The warrior's lance Rings on the tortoise with wild dissonance ! And see, the regal plumes, the couch of state ! Still where it moves the wise in council wait! See now borne forth the monstrous mask of gold, And ebon chair of many a serpent-fold; These now exchanged for gifts that twice surpass The wondrous ring, and lamp, and horse of brass. What long-drawn tube transports the gazer home, Kindling with stars at noon the ethereal dome! 'Tis here; and here circles of solid light Charm with another self the cheated sight; As man to man another self disclose, That now with terror starts, with triumph glows ! Then Cora came,

the

youngest of her race,
And in her hands she hid her lovely face;
Yet oft by stealth a timid glance she cast,
And now with playful steps the mirror passed,
Each bright reflection brighter than the last !

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And oft behind it flew, and oft before ;
The more she searched, pleased and perplexed the more !
And looked and laughed, and blushed with quick surprise!
Her lips all mirth, all ecstasy her eyes!

But soon the telescope attracts her view;
And lo! her lover, in his light canoe
Rocking, at noon-tide, on the silent sea,
Before her lies! It cannot, cannot be.
Late, as he left the shore, she lingered there,
Till, less and less, he melted into air !
Sigh after sigh steals from her gentle frame,
And say that murmur - was it not his name?
She turns, and thinks, and, lost in wild amaze,
Gazes again, and could forever gaze.

Rev. ROBERT HALL. 1764-1831. From early life, Robert Hall was attached to the study of morals and metaphysics. He chose the ministry for his profession, and was connected with the Baptist denomination. He was first settled at Bristol, afterwards at Cambridge and Leicester, and then returned to Bristol, where he died. In consequence of severe study, operating upon a diseased physical state, and susceptible nervous temperament, he had two attacks of mental derangement, both of which were fortunately repulsed, and he continued to preach until within two weeks of his death. His published writings are chiefly sermons. "Those who listened to his pulpit ministrations were entranced by his fervid eloquence, which truly disclosed the beauty of holiness,' and melted by the awe and fervor with which he dwelt on the mysteries of death and eternity One of the most lofty and touching of his discourses is that from which the extract that follows is taken.

FROM THE FUNERAL SERMON OF THE PRINCESS

CHARLOTTE OF WALES.

BORN to inherit the most illustrious monarchy in the world, and united at an early period to the object of her choice, whose virtues amply justified her preference, she enjoyed what is

not always the privilege of that rạnk - the highest connubial felicity, and had the prospect of combining all the tranquil enjoyments of private life with the splendor of a royal station. Placed on the summit of society, to her every eye was turned,

in her every hope was centred; and nothing was wanting to complete her felicity, except perpetuity. To a grandeur of mind suited to her royal birth and lofty destination, she joined an exquisite taste for the beauties of nature and the charms of retirement, where, far from the gaze of the multitude, and the frivolous agitations of fashionable life, she employed her hours in visiting, with her distinguished consort, the cottages of the poor; in improving her virtues, in perfecting her reason, and acquiring the knowledge best adapted to qualify her for the possession of power and the cares of empire. One thing only was wanting to render our satisfaction complete in the prospect of the accession of such a princess; it was, that she might become the living mother of children.

The long wished-for moment at length arrived! but, alas! the event anticipated with such eagerness will form the most melancholy part of our history.

It is no reflection on this amiable princess, to suppose that in her early dawn, with the dew of her youth so fresh upon her, she anticipated a long series of years, and expected to be led through successive scenes of enchantment, rising above each other in fascination and beauty. It is natural to suppose she identified herself with this great nation, which she was born to govern; and that, while she contemplated its preëminent lustre in arts and in arms, its commerce encircling the globe, its colonies diffused through both hemispheres, and the beneficial effects of its institutions extending to the whole earth, she considered them as so many component parts of her grandeur. Her heart, we may well conceive, would often be ruffled with emotions of contending ecstasy, when she reflected that it was her province to live entirely for others, to compass the felicity of a great people, to move in a sphere which would afford scope for the exercise of philanthropy the most enlarged, of wisdom the most enlightened; and that, while others are doomed to pass through the world in obscurity, she was to supply the materials of history, and to impart that impulse to society which was to decide the destiny of future generations. Fired with the ambition of equalling or surpassing the most distinguished of her predecessors, she probably did not despair of reviving the

remembrance of the brightest parts of their story, and of once more attaching the epoch of British glory to the annals of a female reign. It is needless to add, that the nation went with her, and probably outstripped her, in these delightful anticipations. We fondly hoped that a life so inestimable would be protracted to a distant period, and that, after diffusing the blessings of a just and enlightened administration, and being surrounded by a numerous progeny, she would gradually, in a good old age, sink under the horizon, amidst the embraces of her family, and the benedictions of her country. But, alas! these delightful visions are fled; and what do we behold in their room, but the funeral pall and shroud, a palace in mourning, a nation in tears, and the shadow of death settled over both, like a cloud! O, the unspeakable vanity of human hopes! the incurable blindness of man to futurity! ever doomed to grasp at shadows; to seize with avidity what turns to dust and ashes in his hands; to sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind !

JOANNA BAILLIE. 1765, Miss Baillie has spent the greater part of her life at Hampstead, near London, in a very quiet, secluded manner. But from her first appearance as an author, she has commanded great respect and admiration. Scott calls her the Shakspeare of her sex. Her collection of miscellaneous poetry is quite large, but it is as a dramatic writer that she is most distinguished. A peculiarity of her dramas is, that one single passion of the human heart is the subject of each. Though written with great purity and dignity of style, they are wanting in those stirring incidents which render a play attractive, and with the exception of De Montfort, which was performed by John Kemble and by Kean, none of them have appeared upon the stage.

ADDRESS TO MISS AGNES BAILLIE, ON HER BIRTH

DAY.
DEAR AGNES, gleamed with joy and dashed with tears,
O'er us have glided almost sixty years,
Since we on Bothwell's bonnie braes were seen,
By those whose eyes long closed in death have been -
Two tiny imps, who scarcely stooped to gather
The slender harebell on the purple heather ;

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