the sea-side, in order to endeavour to ascertain as near as possible the distance of the volcano from the shore. It appeared to us to be about one mile; but as we had no means of calculating, except by the eye, and fearing the magnitude of the object might lead us astray, we think it safest to call it a mile and a half, and would recommend your pointing it out as such to all masters of vessels coming this way; for, since the eruption has in some degree subsided, the spot appears like a rock under water, with the sea breaking furiously over it. In summer time it may be possible for boats to approach towards it, and more correct observations than our's will no doubt be made; for it has been blowing a gale from W. S. W. ever since. You will find in Mr. Read's map, that the shore of Ginetes is laid down in 25 deg. 44 min. W. long.; consequently, if he be correct, which we have no doubt he is, this danger, which lies in a due westerly line from the Pico de Ginetes, should be set down in 25 deg. 45 min. W. long. and 37 deg. 524 min. N. lat. The fishermen say there are soundings in eighty fathom water; and the crater, we conceive, may be about two hundred yards in circumference.

Recipe for Hysteric Fits.-A correspondent has sent us the following:-Ext. Gentianie, 1 oz. ; Flor. Zinci, 24 gr. Mix these well together, and divide them into 24 pills, two to be taken morning

and evening; if no apparent change, take two more about eleven in the morning.

The following lines are part of an authentic copy of verses found in a wretched garret in Glasgow, after the decease of a young female of superior connexions and education, who became the victim of disease, extreme poverty, and wretchedness:

When pamper'd, starv'd, abandon'd, or in drink,
My thoughts were rack'd in striving not to think;
Nor could rejected Conscience claim the power
T'improve the respite of one serious hour.

I durst not look to what I was before,

My soul shrunk back, and wish'd to be no more.
Of eye undaunted and of touch impure,
Old ere of age, worn out when scarce mature;
Daily debas'd to stifle my disgust

Of forc'd enjoyment in affected lust,

Cover'd with guilt, infection, debt, and want,
My home a brothel, and the streets my haunt,
Till the full course of sin and vice gone through,
My shatter'd fabric fail'd at twenty-two.

Then Death, with ev'ry horror in his train,

Here clos'd the scene of nought but guilt and pain.
Ye fair associates of my op'ning bloom,

Oh, come and weep, and profit at my tomb;
Then shun the path where gay delusions shine,
Be yours the lesson-sad experience mine.

Recipe for curing the Scouring or Shot in Cattle.-A pint of chopped box leaves, two quarts of old lant, an ounce of bole ammoniac, half an ounce of shag tobacco, and a handful of salt. Put the whole together cold over night, and give it fasting the next morning, and repeat it nine successive mornings.

An Address to the Jews.

High on the bending willows hung,
Israel! still sleeps the tuneful string?
Still mute remains the sullen tongue,
And Sion's song denies to sing?

Awake! thy loudest rapture raise,

Let harp and voice unite their strains;
Thy promis'd King his sceptre sways,
Behold thy own Messiah reigns.

Nor think thy Salem's hills to wrong,
If other lands thy triumph hear,
A heavenly City claims thy song,
A brighter Salem rises there.

By foreign streams no longer roam,

And weeping think on Jordan's flood;

In every clime behold a home,

And in thy bosom seek thy God.

No taunting foes thy song require,
No strangers mock thy captive chain,
"Tis friends provoke the silent lyre,
And brethren ask the holy strain.

Then why, on bending willows hung,
Still, Israel! sleeps the tuneful string?
Why mute remains the sullen tongue,
And Sion's song delays to sing?

Reply, by a converted Jew.

Come, Christian! hear my vocal harp,

And listen to my lore;

My harp, long on the willow hung,

Is silent now no more.

Messiah, long-expected King,

To me at length appears;
But, oh my harp is tun'd to woe,
My joy is mix'd with tears.

For Israel now my tears o'erflow,
Long favour'd of the Lord;
My Israel, why dost thou rebel
Against his holy word?

From age to age the chosen seed

In expectation lies,

To see their great Deliv'rer come,
Refulgent in the skies;

To take his father David's throne,

On Sion's holy hill;

And make the nations far and wide

Obedient to his will.

How vain, alas! their hope hath been;

From Judah's chosen race,

Offended at their unbelief,

Messiah veils his face.

CLIO.

Come, Christian, canst thou tell the cause?

The reason canst thou find?

Why Jacob's chosen seed so long,
Through ignorance, is blind?

The cause, O Christian! lies with thee;`
On thee the guilt is laid;
Forbear my people to accuse,
Their sullen harp upbraid.

The people who profess his name,
A vile degenerate race,
High in profession, deep in guilt,
His sacred cause disgrace.

Vice, superstition, idols, wars,

Within thy tents remain;
Rise, blest Messiah! in thy might,
And wash away the stain.

Reclaim those pastors all, who feed

Themselves and not the flock;

And teach the people to rely

On Thee, th' Eternal Rock.

From east to west, from north to south
Bid righteousness increase,

And draw the nations of the earth
To thee, blest Prince of Peace!

Then shall one fold thy flock enclose,
The Gentile and the Jew,

And then our harps in unison

Their joyful song renew.

CRITO OXONIUS.