me of the powers of speech. The noble steed still lay panting upon the ground, while the captain cut the harness to pieces for his liberation the two shafts had snapped off like sticks of barleysugar, and the whole machinery appeared to have received a shock little short of a paralysis. "How shall we get home?" cried the distressed females, "we cannot sleep under the hedge." Beg pardon, ladies," replied Mr. D. "It is one of the most comfortable ditches I was ever pitched into -I went right in upon my head and received no manner of damage, excepting a tug of the pigtail which hung in a bramble, and a few thorns which took advantage of the absence of my buck-skins." My heart inelted within me, and I agreed with the opposition carrier that if he would convey the vanquished champion and the ponderosity of Mr. D. I would endeavour to persuade my horse to accommodate the five forlorn damsels. The pro. posal was thankfully agreed to. The fragments of the wreck were removed to the road-side, the miserable hack turned into the first field that presented itself, and I finished the remainder of the journey with eleven ladies* and not a single acci

dent.

Having thus immortelized myself in my debût in gipseying pic-nics, I must inform my reaper, in confidence, that I never intend to risk the laurels which were so hardly obtained; for independently of a notion which still haunts me that both the warriors are in reality much better whips than myself, and that the next opportunity would make it appear, I suffered so excessively from fear, anxiety, broiling and dislocation, that I lay for many days under serious apprehensions of a consumption; and am strictly commanded by the faculty that my next act of vagrancy be committed in a vehicle drawn by four post-horses, and dancing upon springs of the newest invention.

*Fact.

ON PHILOSOPHY.

him, (and I think every impartial reasoner will do the same,) in allowing that, "woman has a mind equal in every respect to man, and though may, and often does, lie under partial neglect, it by no means implies that women have not adequate understandings; or that they can never be brought to the same perfection as those of the male sex." Philo's sentiments reflect credit on his feelings-he views the subject as he should, and reasons justly-yet, not all from his own ideas; he adopts the opinions of eminent philosophers, and the tradition of ages. The positions he advances are supported by indisputable arguments. Females have, in every age, kept pace in the improvement of their minds, in that proportion of proper indulgence and protection, which man, "their lord and master," has uni

formly extended to them; nor is it at all surprising, that females seldom shone very conspicuously on the stage of

life, while man,

"who boldly bore the tyrant sway"

withheld from them that rank and influence which their sex demanded, and which nature intended.-The times are gone when it was thought a sin or a shame for a female to write a letter! yes, Sir, the times are gone too, when it was thought impossible for a woman to learn strated to be false, for females have not only approved Latin or Greek; this supposition has often been demonthemselves proficients in Latin and Greek, but also in Hebrew!

toric page, and discover the principles of the an-
cient sages, we can hardly conceive how they
made happiness consist in despising every thing
that could contribute to sensual propensities; and
this even in an age when men had little more at
heart, than the gratification of their passions.
There is evidently a contradiction in the philo-
sophy of the present day. Philosophy censures
any attachment to riches, and our philosophers
strive to become rich" per omnes modos et
causas ;"-ambition, which they look upon as a
very honorable passion;-envy, and they cannot
suffer any to be above them;-vanity, and they
think themselves only worthy of esteem and res-emphatically styled
pect. The philosophers of the present day advo-
cate toleration, indulgence and humanity, and
they do very little towards inducing mankind to
respect either themselves or their principles; for
they pretend to follow and teach reason, and when
they have attached themselves, to destroy the pre-
judices which they condemn, they eradicate the
virtues which they prescribe. They pretend, and
justly, to be ignorant of the first principles of
every thing, yet they decide upon certain subjects
as if they were infallible. Have they ever been
able to explain the different phenomena which
pass over our heads and under our eyes? Have
they informed us of the nature of fire? have they
unfolded to us the true cause of its light and
heat? Let them study themselves; they ought
to know themselves. Without doubt, they are
acquainted with the human frame; at every in-
stant, they feel the movements, the actions, the
performance of the different members which com-
pose it; let them explain to us the formation, the
accretion, the springs, and the mechanism of the
human body. If they cannot, then they are
obliged to call them into question by their own
principles. What! to understand the secrets of
God, his ineffable essence, the manner in which
he exists, his attributes; God would cease to be
superior to man, if he were not to man incom-
prehensible. And because they cannot compre-
hend these sublime truths, they believe they have
a right to reject them, and by doing so, they ima-
gine they have displayed a very great superiority
of genius. No philosopher has ever searched
into the mysteries of nature, yet all believe them,
there are other mysteries which they believe with-
out understanding them. Why not believe in the
mysteries of religion by the same principle of
reasoning without being able to understand them.
Voltaire, in his enquiry into the elements of
matter or monades, says: If ever there was
reason to say audax japeti genus, it is in the en-
quiry which philosophers have dared to make
concerning these first elements, which seem to be

IT is remarked by Voltaire, that the greatest blessing that can befall mankind, is to have their masters philosophers. Philosophy is the great encourager of reason, and reason is an enemy to oppression, theological cabals, superstition, and enthusiasm. A king actuated by the spirit of philosophy, is the father of his people: benevolent, humane and just, he governs his subjects less by the laws that he imposes upon them, than by the examples which he gives, and by the luminous precepts which he diffuses in his writings. Such were Titus and Antoninus, the delight of mankind, whose names and virtues will descend from age to age: such were the benevolent Stanis-placed infinitely beyond the sphere of our knowlaus and Frederick the Great. The character of Stanislaus is given by Constant Dorville. He was modest in prosperity, firm in adversity, generous without ostentation, liberal with economy, rigid to himself, indulgent to others, courageous yet prudent, a good father, a tender husband, an excellent friend, an instructed monarch, and a philosopher upon the throne." How happy must the people have been, who lived under such great kings. Virtue is a principle, which ought to reside in every human heart, but is it not more dear and estimable, when it is practiced and reverenced by the masters of the world?

By philosopher, we understand a lover of truth, a man deeply versed in knowledge. In ancient times, a man who arrogated to himself the title of philosopher, was looked upon with contemptuous amazement: it is not the case at present; the name of philosopher is held in the greatest honour,' and is accompanied with the greatest deference and respect. When we refer to the his

ledge. Their doctrines have been founded upon
and explained by lemmas, theorems and corolla-
ries. And what have they proved by all these?-
That which Cicero said, that there is nothing so
strange which has not been maintained by the
philosophers. O metaphysics! we are as far
advanced as we were in the time of the Druids!"
Liverpool.
PHILOTHEORUS.

CORRESPONDENCE.
WOMAN.

"O woman! lovely woman, angels are painted fair to look
like you."—OTWAY.

TO THE EDITOR,

SIR,-In your interesting Miscellany of November 2,
I find a communication from your correspondent Philo,
in which be ably and strenuously advocates the part of
female faculties, against those who deny the equality of
capacity in the mind of man and woman.
I agree with

We find, on reference to the page of history, that some women have displayed more mental exertion, and real intrepidity, than are often found in the other sex. Females have governed states-presided at councilsadjusted disputes: they have headed armies, and endured the toil of body and fatigue of mind, which are inseparable from protracted and arduous campaigns.

In the literary world, the rank which female writers hold, is far from being inconsiderable. Dramatic compositions are justly considered the highest, and in this species of writing they have obtained a conspicuous place; nay, even in the more abstruse departments of science, philosophy, and the mathematics, they have excelled. The female mind has been found capable of reasoning on the hypothesis of Locke- of commenting on the various positions of Reid; and of expatiating on a proposition of Euclid, by the most subtle mathematical reasoning of a just arrangement of lines and circles—this, can woman do-this, woman did!

In general literature females hold a very respectable place; the works and names of More, Chapone, Rowe, Edgeworth, Smith, Centlivre, Barbauld, Inchbald, Macaulay, Lady Mary, and Elizabeth Montague, &c. &c. &c. are too well known to require any comment. |

I cannot forbear to introduce a few appropriate verses. on woman," extracted from a respectable Journal some years sinceand which I still admire as being equally just and beautiful.

Sweet is the sight of coming sail
Borne on by fancy's quick'ning gale,
To him who sighs through years of toil
On some lone unfrequented isle:

Oh! still more sweet is woman's smile,
When first the thrill of rapture fills her breast,
And gives some kindred bosom to be blest.

Soft is the last expiring breath
That notes the gentle zephyr's death:
Oh! softer still is woman's sigh
When words their powerless aid deny
To tell the bosom's trembling joy.-
That throbbing paise, so warm, so fluttering
When love and hope together touch the string.

Bright is the dew drop on the rose
Embosom'd when its leaves unclose
To catch the sun beam wandering nigh!
Oh! brighter still is woman's eye,
When kindling 'neath some interest high
Her soul-fraught glance reflects her soul sincere,
Or lovelier melts in pity's chrystal tear.

Sweet is the syren's silver strain
Melodious floating o'er the main,
From rocks and quicksands nightly flung
To lure the weary mariners along :
Oh! sweeter far is woman's tongue

To some fond heart that droops 'neath beauty's chain,
Imparting sounds that wake to life again.

Fair was Aurora, bland and mild
When first on paradise she smil'd,-
All hush'd the late chaotick storm:
Oh! fairer still is woman's form

With eye beam bright and bosom warm,
With lips of love that ne'er belied her heart
And cheeks that never ask'd the aid of art.

I think the above more worthy of publicity than any thing that has been written on the subject, as it must greatly tend towards the prevention of such fatal mis-bers of your publication. takes when generally known. When the poison has been taken into the stomach, the best method of preventing its deleterious effects, is doubtless the exhibition of pure or carbonate of magnesia, and powdered chalk. These may be taken with impunity, so as to speedily

A LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MISCELLANY.

This paper is Published Weekly, and may be had of the Booksellers in Manchester; of Agents in many of the principal Towns in the Kingdom; and of the News-carriers. The last column is open to ADVERTISEMENTS of a LITERARY and SCIENTIFIC nature, comprising Education, Institutions, Sales of Libraries, &c.

No. 43.-VOL. I.

FOR THE IRIS.

ON DETRACTION

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1822.

IF we consider the imperfections of our common nature, and the particular frailties to which every individual of the species is liable, we shall perceive little reason to be apprehensive of being too severely censured by each other; but, on the contrary, discover good grounds whereon to build the expectation of mutual kindness and indulgence. That creatures of our frame and make, so exposed to error, and subject to so many failings, whose understanding is at best but dim and shortsighted, and too often obscured by the clouds of passion and prejudice, should be mutually disposed to treat one another with mildness and forbearance, is what might naturally be imagined; and that no one should be so far blind even to his own interest, as to refuse that to the infirmities of others, which, he must be sensible, he stands so much in need of himself. But these imaginations, however natural they may appear in theory, will appear to be but ill grounded in fact; and a very little experience in the world will convince us, that the conduct of men in this respect is so far from being agreeable to the rule which nature prescribes, that it is too often the very reverse of it. Instead of extenuating the faults of others, we heighten and aggravate them, instead of making allowances for their involuntary failings, we expose and exaggerate them, and instead of overlooking slight defects, we pursue them with the utmost rigour of censure and reproach.

PRICE 3ld.

to court the phantom of applause, which, not- | in a still clearer light, if we consider the benefi-
withstanding all his efforts, eludes his embrace,cial tendency of the contrary conduct.
and leaves him nothing but disappointment and
chagrin. In short, his taste may be compared to
vitiated appetite, which nauseates all wholesome
food, and relishes only what is hurtful and perni-
cious. How different from this is the conduct of
the true critic! Candid and ingenuous, he consi-
ders the beauties, as well as the deformities of
his author, and even takes a greater pleasure in
illustrating the former, than exposing the latter.
He has truth always in view, and his sole aim is
to give to merit its due praise, and to demerit its
deserved ignominy. He is not offended at every
blemish in an author, (knowing that perfection is
not the lot of humanity) but impartially weighs
his excellencies in the balance with his defects,
and where the former are found to preponderate,
withholds not the applause which appears to be
his due. And in this distribution of literary ho-
nours, he does not think himself obliged to pro-
ceed with extreme rigour and severity, but inclines
rather to the favourable side; and refuses to the
cold, though perhaps correcter labours of art,
what he allots to the warm, but more imperfect,
effusions of genius.

Nothing is more amiable and lovely than a candid and benevolent behaviour; nor can any thing more effectually recommend us to the goodwill of others, than the expressions of our kindness towards them. To divest ourselves of all prejudice and ill-will to our fellow-creatures, to behold their virtues with applause and approbation, and to excuse their failings, to dwell with pleasure on the bright parts of their character, and to cast a shade over the darker, to make allowances for involuntary mistakes, and overlook trifling defects, in short, to do justice to every one's merit, and to consider his actions with impartiality and candour, is at once both the duty and the interest of every individual; it is both the dictate of nature, and the precept of revelation. Nor does this virtue, any more than others, want its attendant reward. It carries with it the most insinuating charms, and finds easy access to the human heart; even the most rugged tempers are not proof against its power, nor can the most inveterate malice and prejudice resist its force. This, amidst all the distinctions that the pomp and grandeur of the Roman Empire could bestow, If we consider the effects of this spirit of cen- rendered Titus still more noble, and conferred sure in common life, it will appear in a still more upon him the most honourable of all his titles, odious light. Here it offends against greater obli- that of the delight of human kind. If we extend gations, and the injuries it commits are of a more our views, and observe the beneficial influence fagrant nature. It is not necessary either to our which this happy temper of mind has on society in being or well-being to attain the heights of fame, general, we shall perceive that it is the very ce(and indeed very few in comparison are capable ment and support of it; that this check upon of attaining thein) but what is commonly called the selfish passions preserves and secures the harreputation is in all cases necessary to the well-mony of the world, and that such creatures as Let us first take a view of the effects of this being at least of every individual, and in some we are, cannot possibly subsist in a state of union censorious spirit with regard to the works of art. even to their very being. Yet he who is guilty and concord without it. The critic (the hyper-critic, I should say) lives in of passing too severe a censure upon the actions a state of continual warfare; and whatever is the of others, scruples not to rob them of this inestiobject of his malevolence, whether the productions mable treasure. Innocence itself is not proof of the hand, or of the head, whether the humbler against his attacks, nor is any degree of virtue attempts of the artizan, or the nobler ones of the capable of securing us from them. Resolved to wit, his sole aim is to discern blemishes, to find blame at all events, he gives an invidious turn to faults and imperfections, and to display his own good actions, and heightens and exaggerates the sagacity at the expence of the other's merit. If bad; lighter faults he exaggerates into heinous those works which are more eminently the effects offences, and the errors of inadvertency into wilof genius employ his attention, he scans each ful crimes. Thus he views the imperfections of page with a dull malignity, and, regardless of the man through a magnifying medium; but inverts beauties either of sentiment or style which may the perspective, when he beholds their virtues. occasionally occur, he considers only defects, and These he seeks to lessen by all possible means, what he may attack to most advantage. Instead and where he cannot actually deny the existence of illustrating and setting the excellencies of his of them, he will hint dark suspicions, and endeaauthors in a fairer light, he endeavours only to vour to cast a cloud over the lustre of those quacast them into a deeper shade; instead of throw-lities, which dazzle and overpower his feeble sight. ing a veil over his blemishes, he exposes them to A very small degree of reflection will be sufficient full view, and studies to magnify them with every to convince us of the unreasonableness of these heightening circumstance of aggravation; he is proceedings. Defects, we all know, (how little most vigilant and alert when his author nods, and soever we attend to it in practice) are the inseparexults and triumphs in the discovery of, what is able attendants even of the best of men; neither obvious to every eye, the infirmity of human na-human beings nor their actions will stand the test ture. But if he is thus severe to others, he gives of a strict enquiry, but will be found to fall them their revenge in some measure by being no greatly short of absolute perfection. Why then less so to himself; he sacrifices the generous should we expect from others what we cannot pleasure of being charmed with wit, to the dull pretend to in ourselves, and what indeed is indelight of carping at it; he denies himself all compatible with our very nature? Yet this injusthose exquisite sensations which naturally arise tice he is guilty of, who scans the actions of other from the contemplation of whatever is beautiful men with too much severity and rigour. But and excellent, to gratify an ill-natured spleen, or the unreasonableness of this practice will appear

If therefore we have any regard to the peace and satisfaction of our own minds, if we have any desire to recommend ourselves to the esteem and affections of the rest of our species, if we would promote the welfare of society in general, and prevent the whole community from being one great scene of confusion and disorder, let us make it our constant endeavour to cultivate, both in ourselves and others, a friendly and benevolent turn of mind. Niceness and squeamishness are no argument of a good appetite; nor is a disposition to be displeased with all around us any proof of a superior understanding. Nature hath abundantly provided, not only for our necessities, but also for our comfort and entertainment; she has poured with a liberal hand an infinite profusion of beauties over every part of the creation; the animal, the vegetable and inanimate worlds are all furished with an endless variety of objects calculated to administer to our pleasure and delight, as well as our use and advantage: why then should we, like froward children, reject this ample provision, and be ingenious in disquieting and tormenting ourselves? So perverse a conduct must certainly appear utterly inexcusable; and if, when the author of our being hath been graciously pleased to do his part, we are wanting in ours, we cannot possibly escape the deserved charge of being guilty at the same time of the most absund fully, and the basest ingratitude.

F.

SINGULAR BIOGRAPHY.

EDWARD DRINKER was born in 1680, between
the Delaware and Schuylkill, just where the city
of Philadelphia now stands, which then was only
a small settlement, inhabited by some Indians,
mixed with a few Danes, Swedes and Hollanders.
At twelve years of age he went to Boston, where
he served an apprenticeship to a cabinet maker.
In the year 1745 he returned to Philadelphia, with
his family, and remained there till his death. He
was married four times, and had eighteen children,
all of whom were by his first wife. At one time,
he daily sat down at his own table with fourteen
children. Not long before his death he heard of
the birth of a grandchild to one of his grand-
children, the fifth in succession from himself.
He retained most of his faculties till the last
years of his life; even his memory, so often des-
troyed by age, was but little impaired. He not
only remembered the incidents of his childhood
and youth, but the events of later years; and
never told the same story twice, but to different
persons, and in different companies. His sight
failed many years before his death, but his hearing
was uniformly perfect. His appetite was always
good. He generally drank a pint of tea or coffee
as soon as he got up, with a proportionate quan-
tity of bread and butter. He ate also at eleven
o'clock, and never failed to eat a plentiful dinner
of plain food. He drank tea in the evening, but
never eat any supper. He lost all his teeth thirty
years before his death; but the want of mastica-
tion did not prevent speedy digestion. Whether
the gums, hardened by age, supplied the place
of teeth, or whether the juices of the mouth and
stomach became more acrid by time, so as to dis-
solve the food more perfectly, is unknown; but
it has often been observed that old people eat
more than young people, and suffer fewer incon-
veniences from it. In his latter years he was
inquisitive after news, his education not leading
him to increase his stock of ideas in any other
way. And it is a fact worth attending to, that
old age, instead of diminishing, often increases
the desire of knowledge, which must afford some
consolation to those who are likely to become old,
to learn that the decays of nature are rendered
more tolerable by the enjoyments derived from
mental and intellectual food.

He enjoyed an uncommon share of good health, insomuch that in the course of his long life he was never confined more than three days to his bed. He often declared that he had no idea of that distressing pain the head-ach. His sleep was a little interrupted some years before his death, by a defluxion in his breast, which produced what is commonly called, the old man's cough.'

He was remarkably sober. One of his sons said, he had never seen him intoxicated. Neither hard labour, nor company, nor the usual calamities of human life, ever led him to an improper use of strong drink. He drank twice every day, only two table spoonfuls of spirit, in half a pint of water. The time and manner in which he used spirituous liquors lightened the weight of his years, and probably lengthened his life. The character of this aged citizen was not summed up in negative qualities: he had a most amiable temper; old age had not curdled his blood; he was uniformly cheerful, and kind to every body. His religious principles were steady, as his morals were pure. He attended public worship, above thirty years, in Dr. Sproat's church, and died in full assurance of a happy immortality.

The life of this man is marked with several circumstances which cannot often occur to any other individual. He saw and heard more of those events which are measured by time, than have

TO THE editor,

SIR,The accompanying, a transcript from a letter,
written many years since, but without a date, was trans-
mitted to me by a particular friend, who found it amongst
the family papers preserved in the mansion, alluded to
therein. Should it excite any interest, you may deem
it worthy a place in your Iris, if otherwise-burn it.
Yours, &c.
Liverpool, Nov. 5, 1822.

IGNOTO.

fallen to the lot of very few since the age of the belief that there, even at this day, remain some
Patriarchs. He saw the same spot of earth, which, | priors belonging to the monastery secreted in a
when covered with wood and bushes, was the chamber, known to exist, in the very recesses of
receptacle of birds and beasts of prey, afterwards the earth, to which an opening, half choked with
become the seat of a city, not only the first in loose stones and earth, was the only inlet. In
wealth and arts, in the new world, but rivalling vain did I endeavour to procure any information
in both many of the first cities in the old. He which might lead to a discovery; superstition had
saw regular streets where he once pursued hares; done her work, and peopled the neighborhood
and often picked whortleberries and caught_rab- with so many supernatural appearances, that it
bits, on spots now the most populous and im- was an utter impossibility to procure a watch for
proved of the city. He saw vessels of all sizes the night, the only time the inmates of these
on those streams where formerly he saw nothing dreary abodes could or durst leave their sanctuary,
but canoes. He saw a stately edifice filled with since the demolition of the monasteries had too
legislators, where, at an Indian council, he once much awed the monks to allow them to expose
saw WILLIAM PENN ratify his first and last treaty themselves to the fury of an insatiate people.
with the natives, without the formalities of pen, The most current account, and the one which
ink, or paper. He saw all the stages through gained most credit, was, that the spirit of a fair
which people pass from the most simple to the lady, who had been starved by the laws of the
most complicated degrees of civilization. Lastly, monastery, dressed in white, her hair disheveled
he saw the beginning and end of the Empire of and floating in the breeze, came at midnight out
Great Britain in Pensylvania;—and, after being of the sea, and appeared to the guilty inhabitants
the subject of seven crowned heads, he died a of the dungeon, never failing to repeat her noc-
Citizen of the American Republic, November 17, turnal visits. Bent upon ascertaining the cause
1782, aged one hundred and two years!
of these improbable stories, I determined, one
beautiful night, (it was towards the beginning of
September, the bright moon illumed the clear
heavens, not a cloud disturbed the universal splen-
dor, and the stars shone with their wonted lustre
in the vast expanse,) to watch the motions of this
unknown. Hid by the dark shadow cast from a
fragment of the building, hours elapsed, yet no-
thing was to be seen, no footstep was heard, nor
did a breath disturb the deadly silence of the
night, nature seemed to have gone to rest with
her works; already the moon was sinking in the
At the mouth of the calm and beauteous river west, and the shadows grew longer and fainter in
stands S-
a neat village, contain- the failing light, when a splash, as of a distant
ing but few houses, and those chiefly inhabited by oar, broke on my ear, it seemed to approach
the lower classes, most of whom gain an honest nearer and nearer, till it ceased altogether; as
livelihood by fishing, which is there carried on to the situation in which I stood gave me a full view
a great extent; the salmon being of a peculiar of the beach, I saw a small wherry, in which sat
flavor, and much sought for by epicures. Built a female dressed in white, the form of a man was
at different times, and by various persons, it also visible, pulling the boat sufficiently out of
forms, when viewed from the front, the appear- the water that the lady might step on shore dry
ance of three separate hamlets; without any fea-footed. This work was soon accomplished, and
ture to recommend it, the topographer would in the departing moonbeams I could discover a
leave it unnoticed, but for the monotonous range beautiful light figure, walking pensively, though
of level fields, in but few places intercepted by with a hurried pace, towards the entrance of the
any hedges, jutting into the sea, which daily abode of the unknown; after casting a hasty glance,
makes great inroads. Scarcely a tree is to be as if to ascertain whether she was unobserved,
seen on this promontory, and having no back- she hastened in, and from a dim light which flick-
ground to relieve the eye but the blue vault of ered on the roof of the subterranean arch, I was
heaven, little can recommend it to visitors except assured that she had brought a dark lantern by
the excellent bathing afforded by a fine gravelly which more safely to pursue her task. I was now
shore. It was in this village that I, some years in greater suspense in what way to act than ever;
since, fixed my abode, in a house built, evidently, this was evidently the cause of most of the unac-
by a singular being, who has had such a venera- countable tales-she must be the spirit of whom
tion for the watery element as seldom to lose sight the country people talked so much; not knowing
of it. The rooms are wainscotted from top to whether to follow her, or remain where I was,
bottom, and he has been so particular in his imi- and watch her future motions, I determined on
tation of a cabin, that the ceilings are likewise the latter plan. The moon had now set, and the
boarded, not forgetting the beams which here and stars began to fade away as the rising beams of
there project as in the model. This mansion is Aurora tinged the sky. I listened but all was
erected on a terrace built upon the shore, and silent; ere the sun had risen above the horizon a
against which the waves never fail to break at shrill whistle from the shore echoed from hill to
high water, sending the spray over the windows, hill, and resounded through the hollow walls,
and whole front of the house. On a dark stormy immediately the same figure I saw enter proceeded
day, when sitting in the lower room, but fancy slowly and alone towards the spot where the boat
that you feel the motion of a vessel, and nothing lay, and gliding swiftly along with the tide, left
else is wanting to complete the deception.
me to muse on the events of a night so full of
strange and inexplicable mysteries; lest I should
be seen in this place, and thus be prevented pur-
suing my researches, I hastened to a neighboring
village, and having procured a boat, soon re-en-
tered my old mansion to brood on the discoveries
of the foregoing night. The more I thought upon
it, the more I got confused, and in the midst of
my reverie a drowsiness, which had long threa-
tened to bury me in sleep, now completely over-

Nearly opposite, but further down the river, exposed to the bleak winds which a prospect over the Irish sea causes, stand the ruins of the old Abbey of C, this once fine building, the walls of which, leaving a trace of its former extent and magnificence, alone remain, and the ground they enclose, instead of being pressed with holy foot, is overrun with rabbits. Tradition had so far succeeded as to have established a