poor man's salt, and the rich man's spice-on the brass nails of the coffin and the ribbands of the bride at bed and board, couchant or levant we must pay:-The school boy whips his taxed top-the beardless youth manages his taxed horse with a taxed bridle on a road taxed; and the dying Englishman pouring his medicine, which has paid 7 per cent. Into a spoon which has paid 15 per cent. flings himself back upon his chintz bed which has paid 22 per cent. makes his will on an eight pound stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary who has paid a licence of an hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from 2 to 10 per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble; and he is then gathered to his fathers,-to be taxed no

WE ladies of the British nation
Have seen, not without some vexation,
Man, the best, noblest gift that e'er
Was destined for our earthly sphere,
Degraded to a station far

Below the brute that drags the car.
Man once was noble, frank, and kind,
Of towering stature, generous mind,
Man once was courteous, firm, and true,
Our friend and our protector too.
Waved o'er his brow the warrior crest,
In martial splendour proudly drest,
Their nervous arms were wont to wield
The beechen lance, or beamy shield,
Or shake, in armour bright array'd,
The ponderous mace or bickering blade.
O'er their broad shoulders loose was flung
The mantle's flow, whilst harshly rung
Their clanging arms, as the proud steed
Loud thunder'd o'er the ensanguined mead;
They then were faithful, nor as now,

The stag's proud honors graced their brow-
No-other deeds extoll'd their name;
No-other actions gave them fame.
In honor's cause they fought for praise,
And bound their victor brow with bays;

And when again they home returned,
For them chaste woman's bosom burn'd,
Heal'd their deep wounds with studious care,
And softened half the toils of war.
So would we now, were man as then,
Deserving of the name of men;
But when we see around us spread
In long-spurr'd boots, and coats of red,
(For spurs they have, and what is worse,
Spurs never doom'd to touch a horse,)
With padded waistcoats, stays of steel
Laced doubly tight; we can't but feel
No care for us from such can flow,
Who on themselves so much bestow.
Yet will we now forbear to name
By what new modes they seek for fame,
Since satire her barbed arrow flings,
(And what than satire sharper stings)
And dares to try, and with success,
To make our daily follies less.
For we have seen, with no small joy,
Satire her noblest aid employ,
And with a just and generous rage,
Lash the gay foibles of the age.
Yes, we have seen, admired by all,
A Twickenham's second Juvenal;
Richmond again has heard the sound
Of satire, her soft hills around,
While Pope's pleas'd spirit hovers o'er,
And bids the dreaded thunders roar.

Go, little verse, and tell the bard,
From whom these useful strains were heard,
How great a favour he's conferred

On Britain's grateful isle;
Go, tell him too how pleas'd were we
His noble efforts thus to see,

In measure ever bold though free;-
Tell him our sweetest smile
Plays round our lips with thrilling power,
To soothe his dullest, darkest hour,
And should affliction's tempest lower,
His be soft woman's form;

Tell him that Albion's daughters fair,
Will grant whate'er their souls may dare,
Will breathe for him their warmest prayer,
And half avert the storm.

Song.

BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON;

A HEBREW MELODY,
By Lord Byron.

WE sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey.
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away,

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song, but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know !
May this right-hand be wither'd for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

On the willow that harp is suspended,

Oh, Salem! its sound should be free: And the hour when thy glories were ended But left me that token of thee: And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me;

Sonnet.

On the death of DONNA CATERINA DE ÁTAIDE, BY LORD STRANGFORD.

Those charming eyes within whose starry sphere Love whilom sat and smiled the hours away, Those braids of light that shain'd the beams of

day,

That hand benignant, and that heart sincere; Those virgin cheeks, which did so late appear Like snow-banks scattered with the blooms of May,

Turn'd to a little cold and worthless clay, And gone for ever gone-and perish here, But not unbath'd by memory's warmest tear! Death! thou hast torn, in one unpitying hour, That fragrant plant, to which, while scarce a fiow'r,

The mellower fruitage of its prime was given; Love saw the deed-and as he linger'd near,

Sigh'd o'er the ruin and return'd to Heav'n!

Tales.

LYSANDER AND EUMENES.

BY SOLOMON SAUNTER, ESQ.

IN a rainy journey, in a post-chaise, the other day, I amused myself with tracing many analogies between the progress of human beings through life, and that of the drops of rain from the top of the glass to the bottom. It was fortunate for me, that this idea presented itself to my mind; for the rain was so violent, that it precluded all entertainment from without: but the speculation I had thus engaged in, offered me sufficient occupation within.

1 observed certain drops start from the top with equal advantages. An accident impedes one, and its course to the bottom is slow, irregular, and crooked: another, on the contrary, is forwarded by some lucky accession, and rolls down in a swift, straight current; while a third, perhaps, that seemed to have a thousand prosperous events in its way, which it was scarcely possible to miss-a large bubble immediately beneath it, which must send it speedily to the end of its journey; or, a new drop of rain so close to it, that it could hardly fail of joining its current-falls in with a small drop to the left-hand of its regular

course, is retarded, turned aside in its career, and reaches no farther than to the middle of the pane, where it dries up in obscurity! Another sets out brilliantly, and promises to perform its journey in a straight and regular line; when, behold, an overwhelming torrent pours precipitately on it, and buries it in a superior current! While a fifth, with small and unobserved beginnings, by never deviating from the right way, and collecting with diligence all the little tributary bubbles which lie in its road, suddenly calls the attention to the rapidity with which it now reaches the end of its labours.

Many fanciful remembrances might here be traced, to the course of events in life. Chances, equally strange, occur in the pursuit of honor, riches, and happiness. In events which depend not on our own endeavonrs, we may trace the same similitudes. One is hurried rapidly off the stage, by disease; another withers, and dies at root, in the midst of life; -another lingers through slow and lasting disorders, and reaches, by a painful and crooked course, the extreme of old age;while another, who sets out with a full stock of health, and every prospect fair and blooming around, is suddenly driven off the stage by accident or misfortune!

Eumenes and Lysander were school-fellows. A similarity of age, of disposition, and of talent, had united them in a strict and affectionate friendship. They went through their school exercises with alacrity and credit, and removed together to Cambridge; where, notwithstanding some trifling disparity of pursuits, their mutual friendship still continued unabated. When they quitted Cambridge, however, they lost sight of each other.

Lysander, who was intended for the law, removed to chambers in Lincolns-Inn; whence, after eating the proper quantity of mutton, he was called to the bar, and went the Western Circuit. He had studied hard, and rose to some degree of consideration among his compeers: nor was he only eminent as a counsellor; he shone also in the more alluring courts of fashion and elegance. He was universally allowed to be the best partner of any member of the Circuit; and, after two or three revolving seasons, he brought back with bim to London the fair daughter of a wealthy banker in the West of England. His patrimonial fortune enabled Lysander to support a family. He took a good house in QueenSquare, and regularly attended the Courts, and the Circuits; while his beloved Leonora presented him with a babe every year.

Business now flowed in apace; his hours were all employed, and scarcely ever had he a moment to enjoy the company of his wife and children: however, he consoled himself with the reflection, that money came as fast as business, and that Heaven certainly had or dained him a few years of severe toil, that he

might enjoy the evening of his days in peace and indolence.

It was with Lysander, however, as with most men: the desire of accumulation increased with the power. When he had laid by a sufficient fortune to support his wife and children, genteely, after his death, and to enable him to live the rest of his days in peace and indolence; he thought that he might as well leave them affluent as comfortable, and two more years of application would accomplish this object. He was now a judge, and presided one year on the Northern Circuit.

As riches had increased, Lysander had grown luxurious; and had experienced the natural consequences of luxury, gout and corpulency. His medical advisers recommended more exercise than a chariot; and he agreed to ride part of the circuit on horseback, derogatory as it might appear to the dignity of a Judge: but he considered, that health was worth more than dignity; and that, as his chariot would be on the road, his importance would still be preserved.

Some

One morning, when a cloudless sky gave promise of a day without rain, Lysander sent his carriage forward betimes, and determined to ride the whole stage, which was romantically beautiful. All things, however, are uncertain, in the best of all possible worlds; and nothing more so than the weather. thin vapours dispersed themselves over the sky: they congregated; they became an immense mass of clouds; and, in the middle of a large common, Lysander perceived that they would speedily fall in torrents. What a misfortune! for a rich gouty Judge, who had his chariot at some distance on the road, to be overtaken by such a storm, in so unsheltered a spot! There was no help for it, however; and the clouds were unpolite enough to keep their promise. A few prelusive drops gave the first alarm. Lysander mounted a thick great-coat; but coverings were but as gauze before the fury of the squall: he was presently wet to the skin, and the uncivil sky looked as if it never intended to clear any more. Nor was there any town, village, or even habitation, within ken.

At length, after riding some time, greatly annoyed by the fickleness of our English climate, but unable to think of any remedy for it, except never venturing on horseback without the chariot at his side, he saw a low, white cottage, peeping through the trees; and ordered his servants to hasten forward, and obtain a shelter for him there. He soon followed his attendants, and entered the cottage with an air of conscious superiority, pulling off his drenched garments, and demanding some covering, while these were dried. The man, woman, and three or four young people, bustled about with alacrity. The judge was soon equipped with some dry habiliments; coarse, indeed, but clean and whole. A comfortable

138

fire was made up; the soaked garb of dignity was hung before it; a table was set forth, covered with a clean white cloth; and a loaf of household bread, a pat of butter, a slice of cheese, and a jug of ale, set on it. The civility was extreme, and the welcome undoubted: so Lysander-who, in spite of his dignity and his drenching, found himself hungrydrew near to the table; eat some of the bread; thought it excellent; added butter and cheese to it; felt more appetite than he had often experienced at a loaded table; and, in short, made an excellent meal. He then would have sent his servants to fetch his chariot, and some of his own clothes; but the master of the cottage said, they might also be hungry, and bread and cheese would not detain them long. It was, undoubtedly, derogatory to a judge's dignity to remain longer in a mere cottage than was absolutely necessary-and this was no more; for the room they were in had a brick floor, a whited wall, adorned with pewter and copper utensils, and the table was only of deal. However, Lysander made his dignity, for ence, give way to his host's hospitality, though he felt some few uneasy sensations, while his servants were eating in the same room with himself. What, however, was to be done? There was no other room in the mansion, and Lysander was not inhuman. At length, however, the servants had satisfied their appetite; the rain was a little abated; and they departed in quest of the chariot and their master's dignity.

A little fatigued, and feeling inclined to quiescense by the potency of the ale, Judge Lysander leaned back in his wicker elbow chair, and surveyed the habitation. He had already performed this operation three times, when a delicate fair young woman caught his eye. He was surprised to find not merely beauty, but grace and elegance, in a cottage; and it occurred to him that the other human beings who surrounded him might be as worthy of his regards as the shining pewter plates that decorated the shelves. He now, therefore, turned his attention to the young people; found they possessed an air of superior dignity, if it were possible to apply such a word to the inmates of a cottage; and that their manners were such as would not disgrace a court. He then looked at the father and mother; who had, for some time, observing that their guest had noticed them so little, been gazing at him, and conversing in a low voice together, In the mother, he saw the countenance of discretion; the remains of elegance, subdued by station; an illumined eye, that bespoke a cultivated mind; and a dress, though suited to a cottage, yet such as displayed the true gentlewoman,

His sur

prise every moment increased! He looked at his host; and, in the thin, pale man, who sat at the opposite side of the fire, he saw-Eunienes! [TO BE CONTINUED,]

?

THE ELDER BROTHER;
A Comic Tale.

BY GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ. THE YOUNGER. CENTRIC in London noise, and London follies, Proud Covent-Garden blooms in smoky glory: For chairmen, coffee-rooms, piazzas, dollies, Cabbages, and comedians, fam'd in story!

On this gay spot-upon a sober plan—'
Dwelt a right regular, and staid, young man:
Much did he early hours, and quiet, love;
And was entitled, Mr. Isaac Shove.

An orphan he, yet rich in expectations,
Which nobody seem'd likely to supplant-
From that prodigious bore, of all relations,
The wealthy Miss Lucretia Cloghorty,
A fusty, canting, stiff-rump'd maiden aunt;

Who had brought Isaac up, and own'd to forty! Shove, on this maiden's will relied securely; Who vow'd she ne'er would wed, to war his riches:

Full often would she say of man, demurely"I can't abide the filthy things in breeches!"