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THE WELCOME.

What matters if the casket's worn,

And blurs and blotches mark it round; Ne'er beed how much the outward's, torn,

Siace safe within, a gem is found ! Then cease to weer, altho you see

By yon playful fiarne I'm ti’en; Cloy'd with common sweets, the bee

Hies him to his rose again!

There is a house (no matter where),
Enough for me, I can declare,
I meet whenever I am there

Full welcome.
Not without limits the domain,
But ah! what limits can restrain
Hearts which for human kind maintain

Such welcome.
Art has not wav'd her magic wand,
Nor Ostentation lent her hand,
Fastidious, lo adorn this land

Of welcome.
The hospitable table stor'd
With all that Plenty can afford
Good-humour presses to the board,

With welcome. The fare so good, the friends so kind, Domestic rules so to my mind Elsewhere I dare not hope to find

Such welcome.
The vet'ran, boasting many a scar
Imprinted by the fate of war,
And homeward looking from afar

For welcome.

THE TWO VIZIERS;

A TALE.
A Persian king two viziers had,

And fare unfav'ring prov'd,
The sultan and these viziers both

The same fair lady lov'd.
The sultan call'd his palanquin,

And both his fav'rites took
Unto the sage magician, who

Dvelt o'er the silver brook. " Magician, hear thy king's resolve;

“Thy head shall forfeit be, "Unless thou set these viziers both

“Froin love's dominion free, " That I unrivall'd may possess

" The lady I adore, "That outward smile and inward curse

"I may not witness more."
The sage magician knew the king

He strictly must obey ;
The sage magician knew his head

Must for his failure pay.
This learn'd inchanter did to voice

And feature give good heed,
He knew the master lines that to

The master passions lead.
He on the fav'rites fixt his eye

With penetrating look ;
He read their passions, tempers, thoughts,

As in a printed book.
Then rubs his brow and muses o'er

The king's severe command-
He calls a lovely maid appears,

None fairer in the land.
He to the vizier Selim turns;

“Be this thy fav'rite fair,
“Nor blush to own how flexible

“Thy easy passions are. "Go, nymph, employ thy power to charm,

Thou'lt aim a happier dart;" He turn'd upon the other then

And stabb'd him to the heart. "I dar'd not trifle, mighty prince,

" Thine anger to endure; “ This vizier lov'd, and all the world

“ Contain'd no other cure.” No. XXI, Vol. III.

Then halting, eager to disclose
His dangers past, and present woes,
Learns ere the chequer'd tale he close

His welcome.
The sailor, whom sad wounds deform,
Finds written on his shattered form,
(The wreck of many a battle's storm)

A welcome.
Each wand'ring houseless child of woe,
Whom Fortune's sports may hither throw,
Is taught his sorrows to forego

In welcome. No frown will check the opening smile, No rigour ask the hireling's toil, But Charity the tear beguile

With welcome. ,
Nor Woe alone may revel there,
For hither Pleasure may repair,
And laughing Jollity may share

The welcome.
Where life's best blessings so abound,
And mirth and humour Ay around
Oh! there is magic in the sound

Of welcome!
And such life's changeful destiny,
He, who to-day exalted high,
His humbler brother would deny

A welcome,

To-morrow's chances may bewail, To morrow, urging Mis'ry's tale, May to the cottage gladly hail

A welcome. But he who of the scantiest store, Reserves a morsel for the poor, And giving, wishes it were more,

With welcome, Blessing and blesser!, long shall liveTo larger treasures, shall receive Than pow'r or affluence can give,

Full welcome.

CAPRICE.
As Nature animation owes

To Sol's refulgent heat,
So from what Shakespeare's muse bestows

My lays originate.
Of man in evr’y act and stage,

From birth to life's decrease,
I mean to sing how ev'ry age

Is govern'd by caprice. In infancy its dawn we viciy, The whining moan for something new; The coral bells awhile invite; Now tops and paper-kites delight. Miss-emblem strong of future wishes, Is pleased with dollies, fans, and dishes : The fan to atoms soon is tatter'd, The dolly broke, the dishes batter'd; And 'hen succeed the finger's armour, With rings and pincushions to charm her.

When shady down begins to grace The full-grown youth's cherubic face, To manlier joys bis mind he turns, His heart with love of danger burns; The chace or course his fancy fires; The noise and shouts of war admires; Pledges to ewenty maids his troth, And seals each period with an oath.

But delicate, capricious Miss, Is quite an opposite of this; She doats on dear Rauzzini's song; Is crazy for a cotillion; Detests he very name of Handel; Hates plays-except the School for Scandal; And would as soon see asses run, As view that monster-Henderson; Though, just to follow Fashion's path, She clapp'd him ev'ry night at Bath. She wonders that her cousin Nancy Would have a hat of such a fancy; At shopping time she next day gets The self-same make from Netla Brett's, Because she heard Beau Chusem swear "Twould suit her mantua lo a hair.

She meets Sir George at Lady Trump's,
He bows, but Miss is in the dumps;
Yet hopes Sir George will grant his hand
On Monday for an allemande.

When Sire and Matron-names that please Each lover of the law-increase The steadiness of thought demand, Caprice still waves her fickle wand; At morning o'er the fumes of tea, They plan what calling Jack must be “ A statesman, lawyer, baril, divine, “ No doubt the boy will some day shine; “ But wicked Tim (the younger son) “ Is full of mischief, wit, and fun; “ A soldier hem by Mars I vow, “ He'll be as great as General Howe. “ However let us change the subject, “ And dinner now must be our object.” Then roast and boil'd, and lean and fat, Make up the morn's capricious chat.

Now let us view, 'midst urns and books, The antiquarian's thoughtful looks; A beauteous, free estate he selts, To purchase fossils, spars, and shells; He gives-would reason ever think it! An hundred guineas for a trinket; Because medallic Evelyn says, “ 'Twas made in Julius Cæsar's days."

Caprice but seldom fails to press The mind of second childishness : What sooner can our laughter move Than hearing dotards making love? Or see an old enfeebled creature Dress'd for a ball or fete-champetre? And hear him give his workmen orders To extend his views-put down bis borders To make the mansion of a piece, Old Gothic yields to new Chinese.

But pity here shall draw her veil, Nor at the faults of age shall rail: Age from the Muse should find protection, Youth link'd to Folly, her correction. Nor will she use the lash severe, But bids her votaries to steer Free of Caprice- the child of freak, And cousin of ill-humour'd pique, Projector base of discontent, Disgustful, sour, impertinent; Whose sway the bosom's peace distracts, Who knows nor why, nor how it acts, But, like an evil-minderl poet, Disturbs the rest of all who know it.

THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland lass! Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass !

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
Is overdowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt

So sweetly to reposing bands
Of travellers, in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands :
No sweeter voice was ever heard
la spring-time from the Cuckoo bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas,
Amongst the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day! Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again! Whate'er the theme, the maiden sung

As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending;
I listen'd till I had my fill;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

But the eyes of a lover, a friend, or a brothis,
Can see nought in thee but the flame of another,
On me then thou'rt lost, for thou never can't

prove
The emblem of faith, or the token of love!
But ah! had the ringlet thou lov'st to surround,
Had it e'er kiss'd the rose on the cheek of my

dear, What ransom to buy thee could ever be found, Or what force from my heart the possession

could tear! A mourner, a suff'rer, a wand'rer, a ranger, In sickness, in sadness, in pain, or in danger, In my heart I would wear thee 'till its last pulse

were over, Then together we'd sink, and I'd part thee no

* more.

THE COTTAGE.

TO ISABELLA.

LINES, OR RETURNING A RING TO A YOUNG LADY. Thou emblem of faith, thou sweet pledge of

a passion, That heaven has reserv'd for one happier than

me, On the hand of the fair go resume thy lov'd

station, Go bask in the beams that are lavish'd on

thee. And when some past scene thy remembrance re

calling, Her bosom shall rise to the tear that is falling, With the transport of love may no torture com

bine, Bat be her's all the bliss, and the suffering mine. Yet say to thy mistress, 'ere yet I r-sign thee,

Ah! say why thy charms so indifferent to me; To her thou art dear, then should I not adore thee?

Can the heart that is her's be regardless of thee.

On share my cottage gentle maid,

le only waits for thee, To give a sweetness to its shade,

And happiness to me.
Luxurious pride it cannot boast,

Tis all simplicity;
No perfumes from Arabia's coast,

Nor glitt'ring gems thou'lt see.
The hawthorn with the woodbine twin'd

Present their sweets to thee;
And ev'ry halmy breath of wind,

Is fill'd with harmony.
Here from the splendid gay parade

Of noise and folly free,
No sorrows can my peace invade,

If only blest with thee.
A truly fond and faithful heart,

Is all I offer thee;
And can'st thou see me thus depart,

A prey to misery?
Then share my cottage, dearest maid,

It only waits for thee,
To add fresh beauty to its shade,

And happiness to me!

PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS FOR AUGUST.

FRENCH THEATRE.

so unfortunate as unconsciously to displease your

friend. MAIDS TO BE MARRIED.

Ursule. Impossible! [Continued from Page 50.]

Sainville. Then it is the effect of one of her

caprices; and you must own that my prospect . (Enter URSULE, listening.)

of happiness with her, is not very bright. But Sainville. You avoid me so scrupulously that why should I be in a hurry to marry, and seek for I cannot interpret your conduct in a different | a wife in Mr. Jaquemin's family? his daughters manner.

and wards are not the only ladies on earth; and Louise. Well, Sir, I am an artless girl and will Louise is not the only one who is adorned with reveal exactly what agitates my heart.

sense and beauty, for I have an instance of the Ursule (aloud). Louise, you are wanted, the contrary before me. servants and housekeeper desire to receive your Ursule. I feel how unworthy I am of such a commands.

compliment. I have no caprices it is true, but Louise (low to Ursule). What a weight of || I am incapable of committing an act of deceit, embarrassment you have taken off my mind.) and though Mr. Jaquemin invited me this morn(Alnud) I am going.

ing to enter the lists with his wards and daughters, Sainville. You had promised to give me an || I will only speak of Louise to you. explanation of your conduct.

| Sainville. Let me never hear of her any more, Louise. You are destined by my father, I think I beseech you. you said, to become my husband; but, Sir, there Ursule, Let me try to find the cause of this

Ursule. Let me try are other young ladies in this house who are quarrel. Is it not that you have told her your equally worthy of your addresses; Agathe || intention of living in the country? and Pauline, for instance.

Sainville. Well ? Sainville. They are undoubtedly very amiable; | Ursule. It has probably chagrined Louise, who yet I should prefer

without acknowledging it, secretly wishes to settle Louise. The truth is, they have rejected you, || at Paris. they have just now declared it to me; and do

Sainville. This piece of information puts an you believe that after having obtained this know.

end to my uncertainty, and I now rejoice at have ledge, I should feel much honoured by your

ing refused the apartment Mr. Jaquemin has attentions neither are you the only friend of my

prepared for me. father's who has paid us a visit.

Ursule. For my part I cannot conceive what Sainville. What, madam ?

pleasures Paris can afford. Louise. Nothing more than this; I rely upon my father's kindness; he will not compel me to

Sairville. You are fond of the country? form so serious an engagement against my incli

Ursule. Passionately; when in the company nation. (Lou to Ursule). Ah! my dear Ursule, ul of those we love every abode becomes delightful. must hasten away, lest he should see the tears I live so happy with my mother. ready to burst from my eyes.

[Exit. Sainville. I long to pay her my respects, and Sainville (aside). Is it aversion or coquettry

will instantly bid adieu to Mr.Jaquemin. that directs her actions ? This house is really the Ursule. Not for ever, I sincerely hope. I pernest of female perfection! The one with her ceive him coming, and will leave you together; love for hunting and her Amazonian appearance, | but I tell you before hand, whenever you visit the other with her sickly partiality for novels, and us expect to hear my mother and I speak of no a third whose mind is the sport of whim Alas! one else but Louise. (Aside as she goes.) He my dear Jaquemin, you know very little how to will marry me.

[Exit. educate girls.

Sainrille (alone). Undoubtedly I shall visit Ursule. May I ask, Sir, what is the cause of the mother of this amiable young lady. What your seeming affliction ?

goodness she displayed when she took Louise's Sainville. I am indeed afflicted, at having been part-what fire! what animation !

Enter JAQUEMIN.

Sainville. This is too much, it is impossible Jaquemin, How now, Sainville? how fares your to keep one's patience any longer with such a heart among so many captivating objects ? how man.

[(coing successful in your adresses ?

Juguemin. Well, you leave me, you depart. Suiscille. You are very kind.--Aside.) He Suincille. You turn me out. will fly iało a passion, and break off my con Jaquenin. Oh yes, sei off, you are right, nection, perhaps; but at all events I am deter Sainville. Yes, my friend, I am right. When mined to tell the truth, however unpleasant. this storm will be over, you will feel I have acted Jaquenin. You give me no answer?

like an honest man, your daughter would not Sarxille. You know, my friend, that hap have been happy with me.

[Exit. piness in the married state depends upon a simi Jaquemin. Infamous ! infamous ! such are litude of dispositions, and I must own I am rather our modern friends! who ever heard of such eccentric.

conduct? I am so angry with him, Louise, and Jaquemin. I understand you, you mean my ll | all my wards; where are they, (calling) Agathe, to wards, they were too old when they were Pauline, Louise, Therese. They must have placed under my care to have their education cast || commiited some extravagance, which has fallen into a new mould ; -hey do not suit you. upon the head of my poor girl. Saintille. I am far from admiring them.

Enter THERESE. Jaquemin. Bui Louise? the case is different there.

Therese. What has happened, father, that you Saintille. She is possessed of a thousand good call so loud? qualities, I doubt not, yet —

Jaquemin. What has happened; I wonder, Jaqueinir. Yet! what, are you not in love | Miss, that at your age you should dare to fix your with my daughter?

inclination upon your cousin without my conSaizcille. I fear I am not happy enough to sent, and own it before me. Learn that I forbid please her.

you to write to hiin, or receive any of his letters. Jaquemin. Not please her? nonsense ! Louise

Enter AGATHE, PAULINE, and Louse. has too much good sense not to esteem you when she is better acquainted with you.

Agathe. What are your wishes, my dear Sainville, No; I believe it is better to give up all pretensions to her hand at once.

Jaquemin. My wishes, Miss, what means yout Jaquemin. Give her up at once! that is a weak conduct towards that honest man, Ledoux? Is it pretence, a false excuse, it is you who refuse to

not lime you should be married ? Inarry her.

Pauline. Really, Mr. Jaquemin, you are in a Sainville. She received me with a denial. strange humour. Jaquemin. To refuse the hand of my daughter!

1 Jaquemin. And you, Miss; don't you see you Sainille. Always the same, as impetuous as

| spoil yourself with reading ridiculous romances. ever.

Are such books fit to be perused by a young Jaquemin. After giving me your word! .

lady? Sainrille. Not exactly so much, my friend, Louise. Be not so angry, father. Jaqueinin. Your friend? I your friend!

Jaquemin. Ah! you dare to speak to me too. Sainville. I knew you would Hy into a pas- |

It is you who are the cause of all this; you, sion.

from whom I expected more comfort, have now Jaquemin. I am not in a passion ; but your injured me more than any. What did you say conduct is shameful: no, no, I ain not in a pas. to Sainville, that he leaves me, vowing never to sion, thanks be to heaven my daughter will not enter this house again, and refusing to marry Want suitors.

Seinville. I am certain of that, and that is the *Louise. Does Mr. Sainville refuse me, I rejoice Teason why I let you know that she is free. at it heartily (sigking).

Jaquemia. You have done very right, Mr. Jaquemin. You rejoice at it! you are all mad, Sainville, your hand; we shall see each other || and wish to make me rave. no more. Sainville. We shall, my dear Jaquemin, and ||

Enter ConsignAC and Ledoux. you will grow cool; but I am also of opinion | Corsignac. I've conquered! I've conquered! that it will be more proper I should not be seen (to Againe) here is your slave (presenting Leagain in your house till your daughters and wards || doux). be married.

Jaquemin. What do you mean? Jaquemin. Oh, not even then, I liave done || Corsignac. Only this, dear guardian, your ward with you for ever.

Il is no longer blind to the merits of Mr. Ledoux,

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