の

[I extract the following lines from a Poem with which a Corres

pondent has favoured me, entitled "THE SEER." B. B.]

Now is the time, the peaceful hour,

To stem th' assailing squadron's power-
Sound the charge, and from afar,
Urge the courser to the war-

Grasp your blades and, fir'd with rage,
Spare not aged, youth, nor sage-
But hark! the rolling tempests lour,
The livid flashes blaze,

And gleaming through the midnight hour,

Let The fiery columns raise.

geNow the spectres, rais'd from hell,
Howl around with murd'rous yell,

And rushing on 'midst haggard death,
Claim the slaughter'd victim's breath.
See the iron-mingled show'r
Hurtles in the darken'd air;
Rages fierce the Tyrant's pow'r-
Sons of Liberty, beware!
Confusion seize the coward heart,
The fearful gaze, the sudden start-
But ever hail! ye chosen few

battle's strife renew,

Who dare the battl

And, born to conquer or to

die,

Disdain to tremble, yield, or fly.

Fall all around in death-like gloom,

Soldier and chieftain, friend and foes:

They fall to meet an early tomb,

While faster still the life-blood flows,
And louder rings the battle's shout,
The signs of death, and fearful rout:
Through the black clouds the pale moon flies,
Now hid-now flashing through the skies.

ON FALSE CANDOUR.

Candour, which loves in see-saw strain to tellbomen 943 70-72
Of acting foolishly, but meaning well.-CANNING.

it 15

Of all the falsities which mankind adopt, either to feign virtues which they have not, or to conceal blots which they have, there is no one species of affectation so odious as False Candour. He who conceals his real opinion under this loathsome veil is like the general who, fearing to put forth manfully his whole strength, has recourse to a shifting system of manoeuvres. The professors of Candour are divided into two classes those who pretend to cloak what is true; and those who I are (as they express themselves) constrained to assert what is false.

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The first class can often be recognized in those who, meeting you, will say, "I do not think our neighbour's affair so very bad; to be sure, no woman should admit any one in the absence of her husband; but then her case allows palliation:" Or, "Well, really I think there are uglier persons than our friend So-and-So," though he may happen to be one of those" boyob and ti!.

}:

s.lt ervoo ti 229mbord In whom all human beauties flourish fair,

In his thick lips, flat nose, and flaming hair.
POSS 90 Lig

Now these persons think, or pretend to think, that, by this mock liberality, they do a great service to the pers

son mentioned; whereas, to defend a man from the imputation of imperfections which are palpable to every observer, is like a ruined spendthrift pretending to keep up his appearance, and to deceive his already-awakened creditors. If a man has faults, let them be borne, and let not the remedy, by an attempt at an excuse, become worse than the disease.

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For my part, I do not love to beat about the bush, when my object must be known; and, although there is no necessity for raking up a man's blemishes, it is still worse to expose them by an injudicious defence. The next class are those who say, "Well, really, I ust say that you are the most hideous personage

must

sorry

I ever

to say Y SU OTOT 100 of thing harsh, but the truth must be told." Then, if you mention it to a mutual friend, he will tell you, that the Candid gentleman is a erson who will speak his own mind. It is very well for Pope to write,

26

odw szor love to speak out all my mind, as plain ĉ odr odd As honest.Shippen, or downright Montaigne,

timbs bloga ngnow on

sense,

The truth is, that though politeness, in its modern has weakened the natural simplicity of manners, it has, at the same time, blunted the edge of bitterness; if it has destroyed the warmth of friendship and genuine kindness, it covers the coolness of indifference, and smothers the turbulence of animosity. of animosity. Conceive the disturbance which would be caused in female society if every one spoke that which lay nearest her heart. How many who thought themselves amiable, young, and

beautiful, would be hailed by the complimentary appellation of an "Ill-natured old Crump."

In a professor of Candour we never can distinguish whether they are friends; for on one side they are masked under whining hypocrisy ; on the other, under pretended independence. They are not not your real enemies, but those concealed under the appearance of friendship, who are so uncontrolled in their strictures. Gay has warned us against both parties in the couplet,

An open foe may prove a curse,

But a pretended friend is worse.

And another eminent writer has enlarged on the idea in these lines, which serve as a conclusion to my paper :

A

Give me th' avowed, th' erect, the manly foe,
Bold I may meet, perhaps may turn his blow..
But of all ills, good Heav'n, thy wrath can send,
Save me, O save me, from the Candid friend.

B.

P.S. My readers will perceive that I have kept to the Horatian maxim, "Servetur ad imum, &c.," for the same author furnished my motto and conclusion.

THE CAPTIVE MINSTREL'S COMPLAINT.

Shall I, amid my prison gloom,
Be buried in a living tomb?

Doom'd here, unfriended and alone,
To moulder on the dungeon stone?

My very keepers seem to me
To shun the child of misery.

They've bound my limbs, they cannot bind
The secret workings of my mind;

And though they snatch'd my joys away,
They barr'd me not from the light of day:
They could not mean to cheer my cell,
They play the keeper's part too well.
Perchance they wish'd to hear me sigh
O'er spots endear'd by days gone by;
They thought, that if they let me see
All round my prison glad and free,
I then might feel my misery;
Might wish to break my chain, and share
The freedom of the purer air.
Ah! when upon the vale I gaze,
The happy scene of youthful days,
A thousand thoughts upon me rush,
A thousand sorrows o'er me gush.
What would I give for one lone hour
Of rest, within that peaceful bow'r ?
Which, smiling on this dark recess,
Seems to mock my wretchedness.
Ah! sweet I ween is the fleeting gleam
Of hope's refreshing light;

Like summer ray on wintry day

It beams through clouds of sorrow's night. And though that beam is twice as fleet,

Yet still, I trow, 'tis twice as sweet,

To one o'er whose distracted soul

The icy waves of sorrow roll.

Yet e'en in hope there is some pain ;
Our sorrows will return again :
And, like the bridled charger's course,
Rush on afresh with double force.
Is there a

a man so cas'd in grief,
Whose mind in hope hath no relief?
And said I then that hairs are grey ?
I trust to see a better day.