SACRED DRAMAS.

A Jewish poet, named Ezechiel, says Grotius, wrote in Greek the first sacred dramas,

PARACHUTES.

The inventor of parachutes was John Baptist Dante, of Perugia, who used to make experiments on the art of flying by the side of lake Thrasimene, and who many times succeeded in sailing from a rock through the air to a considerable distance. After falling many times into the water, he attempted, on the marriage of count Bartolomeo Alviani, to exhibit his skill over land; and threw himself in a feathered garb, and with spreading wings, off the pinnacle of the church. But alas! his parachute lost its balance; he fell on hard ground, and broke his thigh. It was some triumph of science not to die on the spot. Pity excited interest in his behalf. He was invited to Venice as professor of mathematics, and died there at forty years of age.

ACOLYTES.

Were the acolytes in the temple of Jerusalem, called by the names of angels; so that, although the lads who officiated were changed, the same name remained to him who stood in the same place? How else can we account for such expressions, as that the Lord sitteth between the cherubim; that Michael stands at his right hand, Gabriel at his left, Uriel before him, and Raphael behind him? (See Basnage Histoire des Juifs, c. ix.) And in the false gospel, De Nativitate Maria, the writer of which knew, and intended to observe, the Costume of the place and time, the Virgin is said to have been educated in the temple, and to have known the several angels by their faces. Virgo, quæ jam angelicos bene noverat cultus.

LEMONS.

Theophrastus, who studied under Plato and Aristotle, says of lemons (Hist. Plant. iv. c. 4.) that they were cultivated for their fragrance, not for their taste; that the peel was laid up with garments to preserve them from moths; and that the juice was administered by physicians to cure a bad breath. Virgil in his second Georgic, (v. 131.) describes agreeably the lemon-tree.

eaten.

Plutarch, who flourished within a generation of Phiny, witnessed the introduction of lemons at the Roman tables: Juba, king of Mauritania, was the first who exhibited them at his dinners. (See Casaubon's Animadversions on the Deipnosophists of Athenæus, p. 163.) And Athenæus introduces Democritus, (Athen. I. c. p. 63.) as not wondering that old people made wry mouths at the taste of lemons; for, adds he, in my grandfather's time, they were never set upon table. And to this day the Chinese, who grow the fruit, do not apply it (Prevost, vol. vi. p. 455,) to culinary purposes.

The great use of lemons began with the introduction of sugar, which is said to have resulted from the conquest of Sicily by the Arabs in the ninth century. Sestini, in his letters from Sicily and Turkey, (liv. ii. p. 181), thinks, that the best sorts of lemon, and the best sorts of sherbet, were derived from Florence by the Sicilians. Probably Rome conti nued, even in the dark ages, to be the chief seat of luxury and refinement; and had domesticated the art of making lemonade, before either Messina or Florence.

In Madagascar (Flacourt, p. 42) slices of lemon are broiled, and eaten with salt.

Pomet (Histoire generale des drogues, vol. i. p. 266,) gives the preference over all others to the lemons of Madeira. But, according to Ferrarius, there grows at the Cape a sweet lemon, to which he gives the name Incomparabilis.

EFFICACY OF A PUN.

A member of parliament having brought in a bill that required an amendment, which was denied him by the house, he frequently repeated "that he thirsted to mend his bill." At length another member arose and adressed the speaker, humbly moving "that as the honourable member who spoke last thirsted so very much, he might be al lowed to mend his draught." This pat the house into good humour, and his petition was granted.

ORIGINAL

ON ELIZA HILL, OF BOSTON,

K.

A BEAUTIFUL CHILD, WHO DIED SUD

DENLY, AT

YEARS.

THE

AGE OF ELEVEN

BENEATH a father's watchful eye,

A mother's fost'ring care, Eliza, in the bloom of youth,

Shone fairest of the fair.

The playful kid, that lightly bounds,
And vaults in airy space,
Could not more innocence display,
Or fascinating grace.

Her heavenly features, sylphid form,

Drew each admiring gaze; Her virtues, op'ning into day, Promis'd meridian blaze.

Death, in his silent, sad career,

Beheld this beauteous prize:
"Art thou a child of earth," he cried,
" Or daughter of the skies?"
Unseen, he stretch'd his icy hand,

And wav'd it o'er her head;
Then gently smote-but at his touch
The vital spirit fled.

(Just so the early blossom fades,

When Winter's ling'ring pace
Checks the impatient step of spring,
Benumb'd in his embrace.)
Death stood amaz'd: and ah! too late,
Would have recall'd the stroke:
But Death himself was powerless here,
Nor could the deed revoke.
"And wast thou, then, of mortal clay,
And cast in human mould ?"
The pallid parent's anguish'd shriek
The truth too plainly told.*

The father, on coming down stairs, found is child lifeless at the foot of the staircase.

But mourn not thus, with fruitless woe, The lovely spirit freed;

She, who an angel bu: appear'd,

An angel is indeed.

THE STORM,

M. A. M.

AN IRREGULAR DESCRIPTIVE ODE,
BY JOSEPH COTTLE.

BY this huge crag of granite high,
Dark-frowning o'er the subject tide,

I

gaze upon the evening sky;

I mark the circling waters wide: Nature, that for ever shines Transcendent in august simplicity, Now in all her grace reclines Upon the bosom of the sea: And to complete the magic sight Of forms divine, and colours bright, The radiant clouds around her head A fair and glowing mantle spread; Whilst the young waves, with light'ning glance,

O'er their sleeping parents dance;

And from the stream,

In fancy's dream,

(Where, mid heaven's concentred ray,
They wanton with the parting day)
A vast and fiery column rise,
Faith-like, pointing to the skies.
While poring on the prospect far,

Each object waking new delight;
I view the first faint evening star,
Leading on the train of Night.
To charm the eye, to scoth the ear,
New sounds are heard, new forms appear;
The happy billows sport around,
With foam or floating sea weeds crown'd,
And to the beach direct their way
In long and undisturb'd array.

Far as the eye can trace,
In slow and solemn pace,

To this inhospitable shore,

(Whose rocks and fearful caverns roar, E'en from the plaintive zephyr's murmur

ing sound,)

With undiverted course they throng,
And bear their buoyant spoils along;
Where having cast them, with a proud
disdain,

Again they seek the main,

And plunge into the depth of night profound.

Upon the utmost verge of ocean,

A homeward-destin'd bark appears; Tho' sailing fast, so slow its motion,

It emblems lie's departing years: What transport in yon vessel dwells,

Whilst, gazing on his native shore, The seaman's anxious bosom swells,

With ecstasies unknown before!
Exultant now he waves his hand;
He bids the friendly gale arise,
And bear him swifter to the land

That he has ever call'd the pride
Of earth, in her dominion wide,

But

While the strain'd canvas courts the breeze,
His bosom labours with delight,
And pleasures dance before his sight,
As thus, with frantic joy, the port he sees: .
Tho' sailing o'er the ocean green,
With many a rolling wave between,
Disdaining space, he speaks! he hears!
Reality's long train appears!-
He presses to his heart the maid

Who, to salute her lover, flies;
Or rushes through the green wood shade,
Where his low cot of comfort lies;
The faith ul wife, with triumph proud,
The hearty welcome pours aloud,
Whilst his young children clasp his knee,

And weep and smile, and smile and weep,
That from the dangers of the deep
Their long-lost sire they see.

Orb of glory, to the west

Thou spreadest fast thy stately form,
In robes of dazzling amber drest,
Whilst starting from their bed of rest

Th' imperious night-winds rouse the slum. bering storm:

Yet, as the clouds erect their throne
In one dark corner of the sky,
And deep portentous voices moan
Upon the gale that whistles by;
O'er the vext and boundless tide

Sun-beams still delight to play;
And the fair departing day

In silent grandeur sends its lustre wide.
Earthly pageants, veil your head;

Here behold, mid floods of light,
Heaven his gorgeous pinions spread;
Streaming fire, and liquid gold;
That, as they change beneath the sight,
New and nobler forms unfold.

Thou watry world, tho' grateful to our eyes Whilst the rich clouds of eve illume thy breast,

Say, art thou not a monster in disguise

That know'st no mercy, and that feel'st no rest?

Do not the smiles upon thy brow presiding,

Destruction's syren toils unceasing form? Is not that wrath which now appears subsiding,

Th'illusive prelude to some fiercer storm?
With thirst insatiate evermore,

Dost thou not feast on human gore,

Laughing exultant o'er thy savage meal?
Amid the winds that from thee fly,

I hear the drowning seaman's cry,

That, stemming thy relentless tide, Sought the near shore where safety beckoning stood?

Ah, what a change is here!

Fill'd with terror and amaze,

The scene grows darker as I gaze,
The fury of the deep is near.

Whilst clouds the firmament o'ercast,
The sur bath left the western sky;
And, sailing on the stormy blast,

The vent'rous sea-birds hurrying home-
ward fly.

The waves, that late in frolic play'd, Are now with tenfold wrath array'd, Darting quick flashes from their thousand eyes!

With anger heighten'd by the wind,

That fain their giant limbs would bind, When to fierce strife the heavens and ocean

Again! again!

And what a sound

Burst in lengthen'd peals around!

feel.

Abhorrent fiend, to thee are dear

The orphan and the widow's tear!
When didst thou stay thy foaming wave,
The shipwreck'd mariner to save,

Who, pendent from some jutting crag, espied
Beneath, the terrors of thy food?

When didst thou listen to the cry
Or helpless, sinking misery,

ably great.

When the elements conspire

To sweep their deep and awful lyre, The rattling thunders, as they fly, Complete the dreadful harmony. Pity, whither art thou flown?

Hast thou left this stormy scene,

For rivers smooth, and meadows green,

Where Peace delights to rear her halcyon throne?

Hither haste, thou being dear;

A sight, a moving sight is here:

Already hails them to their native land,)
They mark th' unruly sails disdain
The weak controul of mortal rein,
Dissever'd, on the blast they see them ride,
Then sink in the conflicting tide.

Whilst languid hope points to one glimm'ring beam,

Forebodings stern disclose their wretched state;

They view the sails plunged in the raging

stream,

And read their own inevitable fate.

wave,

And now beholds her haven near,
Trembles o'er the yawning grave:
Fly to succour, fly to save!
Amid the ravings of the gale,
Fitful calls, upon thee, sail;

The warning gun, that doleful sound,
Speaks, till with the tempest drown'd.
The storm increases. By the light

Of heaven's fierce radiance, I behold The mariner, once brave and bold, Chain'd steadfast to the deck, in strange affright.

Through distraction's starting tear,

They view their wives and children dear, Whom they had fondly hoped ere long to greet

With all a husband's, all a father's joy; And taste domestic comforts sweet,

That end of all their toil, without alloy. But now, (whilst those they love, rejoice In the bless'd interview at hand,

And every heart, and every voice,

The fatal shore to which they onward drive;

In vain with destiny they onward strive, Whilst Ocean fierce invokes his coming prey. Now swifter borne before the hurrying blast, (Their last brave anchor vainly cast) They view, dismay'd, the white waves glare at hand,

Roaring o'er the rocky strand.

To the near cliffs their course they urge,
In dark funereal terrors drest ;
Ere long, and in the wrathful surge,
(Tho' Mercy's cry

Rend earth and sky,)

Each palpitating heart must rest. Still nearer now the vessel draws; Fear suspends their labouring breath: A horrid pause!

One moment more,

The strife is o'er.

Heard you that shriek? It was the shriek of death.

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relative