Dum splendeat-frangitur.

WHILE Fancy in her brain's recefs,
Draws out the plan of happiness,
And Hope, with many a winning smile,
Uprears the visionary pile,

Ah me that fate, with envious frown,
Should hurl the airy fabric down.
How oft our fav'rite projects are
Oerturn'd, in spite of all our care!
This story,unexaggerated,

Will partly tell ye when related :-
A gentle nymph whose madding veins,'

Were fill'd with warm and sanguine streams.
That ran much higher than her means,
And fill'd her head with airy schemes,
Contriv'd in Goodluck's grand affair,
With other friends to get a fhare.
Not all the arts fhe yet had tried
To gratify her soaring pride;
Not all her schemes of mortal blifs,
Had mov'd her hopes and fears like this

Nor, so impatient, for the day

That crowns the cares of long delay

The lover waits, in anxious doubt,
As Laura for the time, I trow,

When the huge wondrous wheel turns out
Its prizes and its blanks also.
At length came on in proper place,
The day which must decide her case:
At last, ye gods! the hour is come,
(She cries) which marks my future doom,
Whether aloft to fame I go,

Or here remain in statu quo.j
Whether in majestic state,
I smile at all the frowns of fate;
Or here debas'd I sigh in vain,
To soar above the vulgar train.

But hence! such soul-tormenting care,
And ev'ry shadow of despair;

The heart from fortune meets denial,
That meanly shrinks before the trial 3:
VOL. X.-

DS

But native pride and genuine merit,
E'er shows a brave and daring spirit

O gentle Hope 'tis thou that chears
My mind from all its doubts and fears;
"Tis thou that in a golden dream,
Didst kindly prompt my fav'rite scheme;
"Twas then, methought, I heard thee say,
Let ambition fire thy mind;

Thy soul so great, thy form so gay,
Were not for humble ranks design'd:
For thee the partial hand of fate,
Will soon prepare a nobler state;
For thee the lofty dome fhall rise,
And proudly scale the vaulted fkies;
For thee the coach fhall scour along,
And servants wait,-a num'rous throng!
For thee fhall troops of lovers sigh,
And from the lustre of thine eye
Delicious poison drink, and feel

A fest'ring wound which nought can heal,
Except thy love created smile,
Which only dimples to beguile:
Then dare to scorn thy humble sphere,
And nobly spurn it with disdain;
While the mean cringing soul fhall fear,.
And proud ones envy you in vain.'

Ye gods! O extacy divine!
And fhall these honours then be mine?
They must! they must!—and here I swear,
Ten silver altars will I rear;

And yearly, on each polish'd head,...
Arabic odours will I fhed

In honour of -But hark! I hear

The post-boy!--Welcome! doubly dear!
Here! here the packets bring, fhe said,
And eagerly the fheets outspread;
When ah! the gods,-O tale of woe!
Receive a curse, instead of thanks;
And Laura's vision breaks.-For lo!
At once the prizes all prove-BLANKS!

Henceforward, O ye gentle fair,

To prudence be your minis attach'd;

Of Fancy's airy dreams beware,

Nor count your chickens ere they're hatch'd.

G. C.

CHARACTERISTICAL ANECDOTES OF LA FONTAINE.

Ir is natural for those who read the works of men of genius, to think that the writers of these excellent performances fhould be endowed with talents, in every respect superior to the common run of mankind: Nothing can be more delusive than such expectations. Man is an imperfect creature, and though heaven sometimes confers upon individuals, talents of a certain kind, in a super-eminent degree, it is seldom that any one man possesses a great variety of talents in unusual perfection. It oftener happens that men who are endowed with the singular faculty of excelling in one kind of composition, are remarkably deficient in other respects. It would seem that when a man's mind is so totally engrossed with one object, as to enable him to carry that particular object of pursuit to an extraordinary degree of perfection, it was necefsarily abstracted from others; so that it often happens that the faculty called common sense, which is that of deliberately comparing with one another the objects that occur in common life, and drawing just inferences from them, for regulating the ordinary transactions of life, seems to be entirely obliterated in these men.

E

La Fontaine, the celebrated fabulist in France, affords a remarkable illustration of the truth of this remark. very person in the least versant in French literature is acquainted with the writings of this author, which pofsefs, in an unequalled degree, an ease, an elegance, a natural anaffected simplicity, both in thought and exprefsion, that other writers have in vain attempted to imitate. Yet this man, though endowed with the singular faculty of writing in a manner that no other person has yet been able to attain, was so remarkably deficient in the article

of common sense, that, in the ordinary transactions of life, he was scarcely to be distinguished from an idiot. The foilowing anecdotes of this singular genius, can scarcely prove uninteresting to any one who wishes to become acquainted with the human character.

Jean de la Fontaine, a French poet, was born at Chateau Thiery in 1621, died at Paris in 1695, aged 74 years.

Fontaine lived in a sort of apathy, and a decided indifference for every thing that forms the objects of the pursuit of most men. This system of conduct would have done honour to his philosophy, if reflection had occasioned it; but it was in him a gift of nature. He was born gentle and easy, without pride, incapable of hatred, and free from the pafsions which tyrannise over the soul. Happy would society be if it were only composed of men like him there would neither be troubles nor divisions. It is true he did not add to the pleasures of society. Those who saw him, without knowing him, had no other idea of him than of a man who was both disagreeable and very tiresome. He spoke little, and unless they spoke of something that was to his liking, he remained in a stupid silence, which one would have taken for an indication of idiotism., If he told a tale, he told it ill; and that author who had written stories so natural and so lively, interested nobody, when he related one. There are other examples which prove that with much wit, and a variety of talents, one may not have the talent of conversation.

A farmer general had invited la Fontaine to dine with him, in the persuasion that an author whose tales all the world admired, could not fail to be amusing in society. Fontaine ate, spoke none, and rose very soon, under pretext of going to the academy. They told him it was, not yet time. I know it, replied he, so I fhall take the longer,

time.

Although every kind of confinement was contrary to the taste of Fontaine, he allowed himself however to marry; but he only determined on it in complaisance to his relations. They made him espouse Mary Hericard, daughter of a lieutenant general de la Ferte-Milon. This lady had wit and beauty, but her difficult humour had driven away her husband, who was come to Paris to live in his own way. He had perhaps totally forgotten her, when he was persuaded to go to his province, to see his wife and be reconciled to her. He set out, in consequence, from Paris in the public stage, arrived at his house, and asked for his wife. The servant, who did not know him, told him that his mistress was at evening prayers. Fontaine went directly to the house of a friend, who gave him supper and a bed, and kept him for two days; when the coach was ready to return to Paris, Fontaine got into it, and thought no more of his wife. When his friends of Paris saw him return, they afked him news of his reconciliation ; I went to see my wife, said he, but I did not find her; fhe was at prayers.

There never was a man who believed what was told him so easily: Witnefs his adventure with a captain of dragoons named Poignan. This officer used to be often in the house of Fontaine, and was particularly pleased with the conversation of his wife, whose society was very agreeable. Poignan was neither of an age, humour, nor figure, to disturb the peace of a husband. However, people told stories of him to Fontaine, and told him he was difhonoured if he did not fight the captain. Struck with that idea, he got up very early in the morning, goes to the house of his man, wakens him, bids him dress and follow him. Poignan, who did not know what all this meant, went out with him. They arrived at a remote corner, out of the city : I wish to fight with you-I have been advised to it, said Fon