TITLES AND RIBBONS

ARE, with a philosophical contempt, called by some mere gewgaws; and never mentioned but with scorn and indignation. It is entertaining to observe philosophers, who cannot see a ribbon across a man's shoulders, or hear a title pronounced, without falling into a passion, endeavour to ridicule the weakness of those who grieve at being deprived of them; for if it is weak to lament the loss of what they call gewgaws, it seems fully as weak not to bear that they should be in the possession of others. Considering how universal the affectation of this contempt is, it seems surprising the reality is so very rare. Like the fox in the fable, contemplating the grapes, mankind in general speak with disdain of titles and ribbons, when they are at such a distance as precludes the hope of attaining them; but snatch at them with eagerness as soon as they are brought within their reach. J. M.

SELECT SENTENCES. WE are apt to be very pert at censuring others, where we will not endure advice ourselves. And nothing shows our. weakness more than to be so sharp-sighted at spying other men's faults, and so purblind at our own. Those have a right to censure who have an heart to help; the rest is cruelty, not justice.

There are occasions when nothing can repair the effect of a word rashly spoken. The lover can pardon, but not forget. A heart deeply wounded is never again completely restored. Tenderness and sensibility may preserve from resentment, but not from suffering.

Q. Z. In page 197, for ακλαντος, read ακλαυτος, and for ανυμέναιος, read ανυμέναιος.

FROM

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.*
BY that lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'ert,

Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young St. Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good saint little knew
What that wily sex can do.

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,
Eyes of most unholy blue!

She had loved him well and long,

Wished him her's, nor thought it wrong.

Wheresoe'er the saint would fly

Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turned,

Still her eyes before him burned.

This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of St. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the County of Wicklow.

There are many other curious traditions concerning this Lake, which may be found in Giraldus, Colgan, &c. NO. 4. N. s.

X

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ;
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be:
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.
Fearless she had track'd his feet
To this rocky, wild retreat;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah! your Saints have cruel hearts!
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock.
Glendalough! thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the saint (yet ah! too late,)
Felt her love and mourned her fate.
When he said, "Heaven rest her soul!"
Round the Lake light music stole ;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling, o'er the fatal tide!

MADRIGAL.

From the French of Malherbe.

"TIS vanity all that the sun sees below!

Of vices and errors how fertile the birth! But with tenderest love for a fair one to glow, Is the sweetest of errors a mortal can know Midst the vanities all of this earth. R**

ED. P. M.