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brate her under the name of Laura ; my own (of course) Petrarch. - ...

“ Mem :-Mrs. Radcliffe's Italiau,' vol. i. p. 173, contains a passage which may be turned into some touching Stanzas.

“Mem :-To get a Walker's Rhyming Dictionary ;'-no degradation :-Byron used one constantly. His · Dream,' by the way, strikingly resembles my Vision,' received with so much applause at our' Juvenile Literary Society,' myself in the chair.

“ Mem :-Determined to send Blackwood no more articles, particularly as he has inserted none of the last six; and tuld Z. it would be better to bind me to some good thriving trade! A trade ! bind myself to some little, low, paltry, sordid, shilling-scraping, penny-saving occupation, which would be as a benumbing blight upon all the powers of my mind. There is madness in the thought! Suppose Shakespeare had taken his relations' advice, and continued a wool-comber, where had been the world's poet? No! fired by this glorious example, I will calmly and proudly pursue the bent of my genius and inclination; the morning sun, and the midnight lamp, shall find me at my studies! I will write, though none may read; I will print, though none may purchase ; and if the world's neglect canker my young spirit, and studious days and sleepless nights * sickly my brow with the pale cast of thought,' till, like · Chatterton, the marvellous boy,' I sink into an early and untimely grave!-how small the sacrifice! How glorious the reward! when the world for which I toiled becomes sensible of its injustice! and the marble monument and laurelled bust

“ Mem :-Prevented from finishing the above peroration by the forcible entrance of two villainous duns-a tailor and a washerwoman. May, nevertheless, introduce it as a soliloquy in my tragedy; for it possesses much of the sweep and swell of Burke.”

But trusting that the reader is more than satisfied with the foregoing specimens of folly and foppery, I here close the Young Author's Memorandumbook.

M.J. J.

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Morn on the waters !--and, purple and bright,
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light;
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on ;
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,
And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale;

The winds come around her, in murmur and song, - And the surges rejoice, as they hear her along;

See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds,
And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds :
Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray,
Over the waters,-away, and away!
Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part,
Passing away, like a dream of the heart!
Who-as the beautiful pageant sweeps by,
Music around her, and sunshine on high-
Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow,
Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below!

Night on the waves !-and the moon is on high,
Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky,
Treading its depths in the power of ber migbt,
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light !
Look to the waters !-asleep on their breast,
Seems not the ship like an island of rest ?
Bright and alone on the shadowy main,
Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain!
Who-as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night,
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky,
A phantom of beauty-could deem, with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
And souls that are smitten lie bursting within ?
Whomas he watches her silently gliding-
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts which are parted and broken for ever ?
Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave,
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave?

'Tis thus with our life · while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song !
Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat, and with canvass unfurled;
All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes,
Yet chartered by sorrow, and freighted with sighs :-

Fading and false is the aspect it wears,
As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears;
And the withering thoughts which the world cannot
know,'. . .

Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below;
Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore
Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and


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