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but if I know my own heart, I am coming his wife: at the same time pot conscious of such a partiality. his age is no objection, and you are I am surely then ungrateful. Re- not conscious of an attachment else. prove my ingratitude, my dear ad- where. To what then are you to viser, and give me your opinion ascribe your indifference ? Depend bow I ought to feel and act. I upon it, my dear, you feel exactly the dread to acquaint my brother with same as every prudent delicate young the proposal, because I know he will woman would feel in your circumdiscard me if I refuse to accept ii. stances. Did you more than esteem But why should I dread it for if and admire a man twice your age, I have your approbation of my con- it would be unnatural ; and did you duct I shall know I have done wish to become the wife of any man right, and I hope I am superior to, on so sbort an acquaintance your the consideration of sordid views prudence and delicacy would, in my when my duty is concerned. Har eyes, stand impeached. riet, all life and spirits, owns herself If his age is no objection, and you iacapable of advising me: but I can esteem and admire him, I see can perceive she will disapprove my no reason to suspect you

will repent conduct if I refuse the colonel. I your choice; and if you

have no parwill not, however, refuse him, if you tiality elsewhere, I think you have can think me right, after considering every chance of happiness with colonel all I have said, in accepting him. Ambrose. I say nothing of interest,

Adieu ! my dear madam. I am, or your uneasy dependent situation, with the greatest respect, yours, being sensible that to change that

M. VERNON. situation must be your wish as well LETTER X.

as mine. I have in a very few words

answered your letter. Much more Dlts. West 10 Miss Vernon, in answer. might be said on the subject, but I My dear Maria,

would rather refer you to your own Your letter, now before me, is inclination and judgment than mine. highly gratifying. To aid by my That my dear Maria may deterexperience the judgment of my young mine for her happiness is the sincere friends is a pleasing task, and ever wish of her affectionate friend, to be commanded by them are my

M. West. advice and best services,

(To be continued.) You consult me on an important subject, and, I must acknowledge, the one I least wish to advise on. I congratulate you, my dear, on the

A NIGHT WALK conquest you have made of the heart of such a man as colonel Ambrose. That he is really the man you think him I have no reason to doubt.

By J. M. L. Prudence, however, must not allow you to precipitate yourself into a Hail melancholy night! mild pensive hour! union, until after a longer acquainte How sweet amid these mould'ring walls to ance,

While beams on high the silent moon! This premised, I proceed to answer your queries. You tell me you THE many-weathered month of esteem and admire colonel Ambrose, March presented me with one beau. but never felt the least desire of be- tiful evening : the moon floated on




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high amidst the pure ether, and I reached the venerable spot I might myriads of stars spread their splendor have said with Ogilvie, as far as the eye could reach. The

Twas at the hour when midnight ghosts air was chill, but diy; whilst the trees around waved in the wind the The frightful shape, and sweep along the yet-bare boughs of winter. The When the palo spectre hursts upon the view; beauty of the night hari tempted me

When fancy paints the fading taper blue; 10 take a walk, purely for the sake When smiling virtue rests, nor dreads a foe; of doing so. The stillness that sur And slumber shuts the weeping eyes of woe. sounded me was tranquillising to my

I walked slowly among the moulbreast : I knew that I was wander- dering ruins, tilled with wonder at ing in a part of the country where the stupendous masses which time no danger was to be dreaded, and had torn from their foundations. consequently strolled on without tvar; though so sulitary was the The lofty tow'r complete in ev'ry part, way, it might have well been sup. That sivod (by numbers rear*d) thc boast of

art; posed to lead

The firin, compacted wall, that long defied

Each batiering storm that thunder'd on its • Tlichęli many a dismal lane; and darksome


The sculp!ur'd brass, the monumental stone, in story famous for the murder done

In one fromiscuous heap were ali o'er On nightly traveller.'

thrown.' HURDIS.

OGILVIE, One regret I only had, anul it was, Alas! and even less than this that I could not with inquisitive eye seemed to remain of the foriner possearch for the hidden primrose, sts:ors of this place. The cemeiery Spring's earliest tribute ; for much might still be traced where slept the Ilike to find a leaf or simple blos. forgotten remains of those whom som, that leads the mind on fancy's Death had, ages since, borne to their cagle wing to summer hours and tombs. Siill unsatisfied, he sweeps peaceful enjoyments. Dearly do I love from the earth, with indiscriminate to idle away a summer's day beside vengeance, the old and the young, a willow-shaded stream, my only the rich and the poor, companions contenplation and a book.' Let the Cynic cry it is wrong 'See! where the Shade, to strike his gasping to waste the hours given to man sor


Draws the hecn dart, that never miss its better purposes in this unprofitable way; way; I heed bim not, but answer Thrond on the ruin of terrestrial things, thus

He sits, and iramples on the dust of kings.

See, his black chariot floats in streams of gore, • Give we none to

Pale Rage behind, and Terror strides before viće,

Not Beauty with'ring in the bloom of years, And Heav'n will not strict reparation ask Not dove-cy'u lanocence dissolv'd in tears, For many a summer's day and winter's eve

Not kneeling Love, that trembles as it prays So speat as best amuses üs.'

Noth:art-struck Arguish, tix'd in stepid gaze! HURDIS. Not all the frantic groans of wild Despair;

Not helpless Age, chat tears is silver hair; I proposed to extend my walk to Can stay one moment the severe command, some distance, that I might have Or wrest th' avenging dart from that selent.

less hand. the persise of wandering by moon

Here pause:--the crowds extended on the light amidst the ruins of an cld abhey, that had often afforderi me Claim from the filial heart a parting tear: infinite satisfaction in my day-strolls. Spend on the tomb where drooping grandeus It was late when foc: o1f, and when one mournful burst of sympathising sighs




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Of death! terrific ere thy dart is tryd With haggard eyes, and visage pale, Whose hand o'erturns the tow'ring domes of And voice that moans with feeble wail! pride;

O'er yon long rounding plain What wide destruction marks thy fatal reign! Slowly moves the solemn train; What numbers bleed thro” all thy vast de Wailing wild with shrieks of woe, main!

O'er the bones that rest below! Whether thy arm, its dreadful strength to While the dull night's startled ear show,

Shrinks, aghast with thrilling fear! Like SAMPSON'S, 'sweeps its thousands at:a Or stand with thin robes wasting soon, blow;

And eyes that blast the sickening moon! Or gives the cannon's parting ball to Ay, Yet these, ere time had roll their

years Or wings the lightning glancing through the

away, sky;

. Ebe Death's fell hand had mark'd its aim, Or bursts the opening ground (whole fields Ruld yon proud tow'rs with ample sway, destroy'd),

Beheld the trembling swains obey, The city tumbling through the dreadful void! And wrought the glorious deed that swelled If in the fever, famine, plague, thou blast

the trump of Fame. Th' unpeopled earth, and lay the nations

OGILVIE. waste; Thougla all her sons, the victims of thy

Greatness! what art thou ? for pow'r,

little while thou blazést a meteor Her sons, that fall by millions in an hour; Yet know, should all thy terrors stand dise" amongst mankind; often more hated

than beloved: death at last puts an play'd, 'Tis but the meaner soul that shrinks witha end to thy career, and a splendid That solemn scene the suppliane captive pageant conducts thee to the grave. mourns ;

any man is infatuated by the That scene intrepid virtue views, and scorns.' false glare of ambition, and is disa Thine, virtue! thine is cach persuasive contented in his station, at which he

charm; Thine ev'ry' soul with heavenly raptures probably inwardly repines, let reaWarm;

son draw aside the veil; let him And thine the heart that feels another's seek the tomb of departed greatness,

and woes. What tho thy train, neglected, or unknown, Read o'er the monument that tells-He Have sought the silent vale, and sigh'd alone!

died / Tho' corrents stream'd from ev'ry melting eye!

and I think he will return satisfied. Tho' from each bosom burse the unpity'd This motto will be such a man's best Tho' oft, with life's distracting cares opprest,

guide. They long'd to sleep in everlasting rest!

.To be secure,
Oh envy'd misery!-what soft delight Be humble ; to be happy, be content.'
Breach'd on the mind, and smooth the gloom

of night:
When nobler prospects, an eternal train, The great man, at the last day,
Made rapture glow in ev'ry beating vein; will fare no better, nor be better
When Heav'n's bright domes the smiling eye looked upon, than the humblest hind

survey'd, And joys that bloom’d more sweetly from the that waited on him when here. Finely shade.'

has Ogilvie pictured this in his poem QGILVIE, entitled “The Day of Judgment;

and the language he puts into the As I leaned on the fragments of angel's mouth who sounds the last what had once been a pillar, con• trump is sublimely energetic. templating the surrounding objects, fancy almost peopled the space with And cease, thou moon, to rule with paler light

• Be dark, thou sun, in one eternal night; the imagined figures of those who Ye planers, drop from these dissolving skies! had once been the inmates of this Rend, all ye tombs ! and, all ye dead, arise !

Ye winds, be still; ye tempests, rave no more! now-dilapidated ruin,

And roll, thoude-p, thy millions to the shore !

Earth, be dissolv'd, with all these worlds on Lo! rising from yon dreary tomb,

high! What spectres stalk across the gloom!

And time, be lost in vast eternity! Vol. XXXVIII.




• Now, by creation's dread tremendous MARY had left her husband at

Who sweeps these stars as aroms, in his ire;

an obscure village in Cornwall, where
By Heav'n's Omnipotent, unconquered King; they had retired to avoid the impor.
By Him who rides the rapid whirlwind's wing ; tunity of their numerous creditors.
Who reigns supreme in his august abode;
Farms or confounds with one commanding

Here they had time for reflection on

past follies, and here they might Who wraps in black’ning clouds his awful have been happy ; but ill habits,

brow, Whose glance like lightning looks all nature

which are easily acquired but difthrough:

ficult to expell, followed them to " By Him I swear!" (he paus'd, and baw'd their retirement. Gordon could not

the head, Then rais'd aloft his flaming hand, and said)

procure wine, but he dozed away u Altend ye saints, who in seraphic lays his time over jugs of ale : while Exalt his name, but wemble while you Mary affected a pre-eminence in

praise; Ye hosts, that bow to your almighty Lord,

wit and fashion among the humble Hear, all his works, thirrevocable word! villagers; and perhaps it was only Thy reign, man, and Earth, thy days are to change the scene a little, which o er!

first led her to think of paying her I swear by Him, that Time shall be no more. He spoke (all Nature groan'd a loud reply;) mother and sister a visit. 'Then shook the sun, and core him from the After the funeral of poor Martha, sky!

Sabina disposed of the cottage and its

furniture to a neighbouring farmer; plations in this night's walk, my ideas but many of its most usefal effects had become very sombre, but I was

Mary entreated her sister to give to her, not the less improved by it on that

They will be dear to me and Gor. account: 1 returned home, I trust don, for my mother's sake,' said she: better than I went out, and as I but afterwards, when she found how sank to repose put up a short prayer the Land's-end would be, she sold

expensive the carriage of them to to Him

them, and put the money in her own • Whose hand the bolted thunder forms, pocket. Who wings the whirlwind, and who breathos On the departure of Mrs. Gordon, the storms.

John Adams, (Mrs.. Westwood's husband), kindly enough, invited Sabina to the house; which invita. tion she gladly accepted, not know.

ing, indeed, where to go for Mary FAMILY ANECDOTES. had tot asked her sister to accom

pany her to Hendon. She flattered By SOPHIA TROUGHTON. herself that she could make them

some amends for their hospitality, (Concluded from p. 78.) by her attention to the domestie

affairs of so large a family; for Jane CHAP. XVII.

had many children by ber late hus.

band, and they had several servants. • When love hath charm'd the virgin's ear, She hides the tender thought in vain :

But unhappily the temper of Joha How oft a blush sighea Cear,

was exceedingly irritable, and the Betrays the sweetly anxious pain. patience of Jane but small, so that

For thee a mutual Aame I own; constant quarrels and contentions
Thy joy, thy sorrows, both are mine: rendered the house insupportable to
Thy virtues all my soul have won,
Thas bousts a passion pure as 'thinc.'

the mild and placid Sabina. She PETER PINDAR. therefore determined to go to Lon..


does me

don, and endeavour to get a situa. Heaven I look to for comfort and tion in some family; but first she assistance. Do not suffer your love would visit her dear Mrs. Smith, and and partiality for me to lead you into take her advice. Accordingly she error.' took leave of honest John and his The worthy Mrs. Smith, affected wite, returning them many thanks by her earnestness, kissed her blush. for their civility; which so pleased ing cheek, assuring her things should John (for the vulgar love thanks), take their course.

Yet the hope that he went himself with her to the she secretly cherished of seeing her stage, and even insisted on paying favourite the wife of the good, and her fare.

the worthy, and the handsome IrishSabina arrived safe at dame Smith's man, gave a low to her spirits which humble cot. The good woman re. Sabina had never before seen, but joiced to see her. My dear child,' which she rejoiced to witness, said she, “the sight of you

In the cottage of Mrs. Smith good: but you must be my bed. Sabina found herself perfectly at fellow, Sabina; for the little room home, and, for the first time since your good mother had is occupied her mother's death, felt bappy. by a most worthy young man, who She informed her attentive hoste visits these parts once a year, and ess of all that bad befallen her since always has that room. He is in the their separation. The good woman linen trade and I believe is an Irishe was much offended with Mary for man; but a better, nor a worthier, not inviting her sister to Hendon, nor a handsomer man, perhaps, and still more at her asking for never lived. I have told him what part of the furniture. Proud, yet a datiful tesider angel I have had mean and good-for-nothing creature !' here, and right glad am 1 that you cried she, your dear mother never are come while he is here. God send meant her to have a rag. But I he may see you with old dame Smith's warrant she took care to have the eges--and you won't go from this best. I wish I had been there house Sabina Gayton-that's all." that's all.'

My dear friend, how you talk !! Sabina, finding it impossible to said Sabina. “I have come to ask stop her friendly, but to her painful, your advice concerning my future barangue, said, My dear Mrs. plan of life.'

Smith, while you prepare our room, • Marry the handsome Irishman, I will indulge in a visit to the dear my sweet girl,"

drooping willow.Nay, I will soon '. Wbat, before he asks me!' said "return, and the walk will do me Sabina, smiling.

good.' • No, not so neither: but I have . Well, my lovely child! go. But talked to him a great deal about you, remember your mother is happy, my child, and now I shall say a and do not give way to useless Sora Jittle more ; and as you are on the row.' spot, as a body may say, who knows

• I will think on what you say,' what may happen--hey?

answered Sabina, and was out of For pity's sake, for my sake, sight in an instant. cried Sabina, say nothing to him.

'When she arrived at the grave, Da not drive me from your house, she was surprised to see a neat plain I have much to say to you-have stone 'cover the spot which she had great need of your counsel: you left bound with osiers. This was are my only friend, whom next to the work of the kind-hearted Mrs.

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