every body dines at sunset, and goes to bed at sunrise; where there are no vulgar people, that get up before noon, where every house has a ball and concert room, and where new novels are published every day."

What is Utopia? "Utopia," simpers Miss Selina Sensitive," is a country where the trees are always clothed with the freshest verdure; where Philomela pours forth her plaintive melody the livelong night; where Cynthia's orb is never veiled in clouds; where the lambkins frisk along the grassy meads; where all nature bears tokens of innocence and love.

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What is Utopia? "Utopia," growls Mr. John Timon, " is a cluster of islands, with one inhabitant in each, and a sea so stormy between them as to prevent all intercourse; they are all well stocked with animals, particularly mastiffs, for they fawn upon none but those they love." What is Utopia? Utopia," swears Mr. Augustus Dashaway, "is a place where there are no duns nor blacklegs, where there are horses to which Eclipse is but a cart-horse, and Childers a market-woman's pad-nag: Where every body keeps up the honour of the turf; and where no one is invisible on settling day."

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What is Utopia? Utopia," grunts Mr. Gastrophilus Gourmand, "is an island on whose shores are turtle, and in whose forests are deer; where French cooks constitute a great proportion of the population; and where the air is so pure, that one is never at a loss for appetite; where the wines are of the first quality, and where nobody eats fewer than seven meals per diem."

What is Utopia? Mr. John Simpkins affirms, that Utopia is a place where every body minds his own business, and leaves other people to mind theirs; where pro

perty is secure without the precaution of bars and bolts; where debts are paid without the interference of a bailiff; where every thing is conducted upon the principles of fair dealing, and where no monopolies are allowed.

"Utopia!" cried Bombastes Fustiano. "Utopia is like the garden of the Hesperides; Utopia is like the groves of Elysium; whatever delights Nature from her heavenly treasury draws forth she loves to shower upon Utopia; joys interminable; pleasures ineffable; matchless, supernatural, irresistible afflations of sublime, empyreal rapture; these, these are the joys of Utopia; these are the emanations which gladden this seat of the blessed, this habitation of incontaminate felicity; this unimpairable, undefinable, undiscoverable Paradise.

Utopia!" whispers Bartholomew Bouverie, "Utopia is to be found at home: to what purpose do we delude our minds with dreams of happiness, and think that in another climate those joys are to be found, which spring alone from a contented mind. Is it in the power of season or of place to change the affections of the heart; or, if it were, would it be for our advantage to be freed from those petty annoyances which give a double zest to the manifold pleasures we enjoy? No: in vain does that man seek for tranquillity who seeks it only in change of scene, and variety of occupation; while the greatest, the most important change, the reformation of his own mind, remains unaccomplished."

What, then, is Utopia? Utopia is that nurse of liberty, that empress of the world, whose name is England. In vain may we traverse the colures to find her equal; if happiness is tobe found upon earth, assuredly England is her dwelling-place. The various scenes of the world

may afford gratification to the traveller; the discovery of new lands may please the scientific; the sailor may view with triumph the banner of his country waving over islands hitherto unknown; but where is the man who has not hailed the white cliffs of Albion as the boundary of all that is dear to him upon earth.

But with the blessing of a contented mind, Utopia may even be found in a desert. What child of Arabia would change the sands of his country for the pastures of Andalusia; or would quit the tents of his fathers, might he inhabit the halls of the Escurial? So true are the words of the poet :

Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
His first, best country, ever is at home.

THE BATTLE OF THE BOYNE.
Calm flow'd the stream, nor seem'd to hear,
Or sign, or murmur, boding fear,
Flash'd all around in bright career

The Orange Standard's chivalry. ·

A monarch check'd his courser bold
One moment, where the blue waves roll'd,
And "On," he cried, "On, to uphold
The Orange Standard's gallantry!"

An instant-and the cannons roar
Shook to its base each frighted shore;
Yet still aloft those warriors bore

The Orange Standard's majesty.
Then throbb'd each soldier's blood with ire,
As blaz'd around the battle's fire;

And still they saw wave high, and higher,
That Orange Standard's canopy.

The Stuart saw his bravest die,

The red light darken'd in his eye;

For flight and gloom foretold it nigh-
That Orange Standard's victory.

Morn show'd three kingdoms lost and won :
The steel is sheath'd-the strife is done;
Right glorious 'mid the sunbeams shone
The Orange Standard's brilliancy.

Land of the hero and the sage,

England! thro' many a hoary age,

When tempests swell, and whirlwinds rage,
That Standard is thy panoply !

ROLAND.

[We extract the following Stanzas from a Copy of Verses which we

have received from a Correspondent.]

SWITZERLAND.

Sweet are thy waters, sweet the glee
Of peasant's evening lay,
Who, gliding o'er the crystal sea,
Beguile their easy way.

*

Tho' sunny smiles, to nature dear,
May shed their happy light,
No rays can pierce, no beauties cheer
Oppression's gloomy night.

'Twas sweet, I said, thy ranz de vaches,
Borne the still waters o'er,
Scarce broken by the soften'd splash
Of some fair peasant's oar;

Tho' always sweet, far sweeter now,
Now freedom is its theme,
I love to see that gen'rous glow
In ev'ry bright eye beam.

The chamois, as the zephyrs, free,

Bounds o'er the fairy dale—

That happy heart, that liberty

Shall Switzerland bewail.

THE POSTMAN.-No. II.

Mr. Editor

On my return to Eton the other day, I received an agreeable surprise on hearing of your periodical work, and determined to submit to your perusal an account of my journey.

t

As it is useless to enumerate at length the minutiae of travelling preparations, and their attendant inconveniences, you may imagine me seated inside of the Old Windsor Original; our party consisted of five, including myself, and although not our proper complement, was equivalent to it; for a stout gentleman, with a gold-headed cane, occupied at least the room of two common-sized persons; my other fellow travellers, were a lady most fashionably dressed, and two other gentlemen, one of whom appeared totally absorbed in contemplation, the other a young looking fellow, whose appearance denoted him to be, what is vulgarly called, a shabby-genteel. Having examined with the greatest accuracy, the physiognomy of each individual, I determined, for the sake of amusement, to discover, if possible, their professions and pursuits, by attending to their conversation and actions. We at first sat with that dislike which people not too good-natured usually conceive towards each other on first acquaintance. The coach at length jumbled us insensibly into some sort of familiarity; we had not proceeded in our journey above four miles, when the lady addressed herself to me, "Really, Sir, our progress is excessively slow, we do not advance much above a yard in the space of a minute; but if, Sir, it is not an impertinent question, would you be so obliging be so obliging as to inform me what