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

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"Mem :-Mrs. Radcliffe's Italian,' 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 told 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,'

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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.

THE CONVICT-SHIP.

BY T. K. HERVEY, ESQ.

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 highPauses 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 her might, 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?
Who-as 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?

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'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

o'er!

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