her charms, now demanded the president's attention, with an air which she thought dignified; she propounded her thoughts as follows: "My friends, while the blind, the deaf, the lame, and all the other dead-weights of the community have their respective hospitals and patrons, how comes it that the respectable fraternity of quidnuncs has been so long forgotten? Could we not raise an asylum to receive the unfortunates of our own genus? Assuredly we could, and might reward every notable deviation from ordinary life with becoming munificence. What collector of reptiles should then pine in a gaol? what maker of patent corkscrews feel the inconveniences of want?" As our female orator finished this sentence, the room door was flung open, and a lady, followed by the Secret Committee, rushed in, scolding most vehemently. "A plague on the selfadjusting garter and its inventor, the spring has penetrated to the boneoh! that I had been content with simple elastic ligatures, they kept up my hose well enough. Trifleton, Trifleton, thou hast undone me." Confusion grew apace the inventress of the fatal garter declared the accident was no fault of hers. Master Sangrado said, he hoped to heal the wound by the first intention; he would examine it carefully, he would use his utmost skill, he would not amputate if it could be avoided.-For my own part, recollecting that strangers were prohibited, I felt it expedient to retire, which I did, unobserved, from the Subtle Club.

TO THE KALEIDOSCOPE.

BEAUTIFUL toy! of all the arts

That ever soul contrived for sense,
To make its joy more like the heart's,
At least as pure, though less intense,
As sweet with more of innocence,
That surely was among the best,
The brightest and the unearthliest,
Which first within thy mirror'd angle
Brought hues whose gay varieties
Countless as beams on summer seas→→→→
Had still, like untuned bells that jangle
Jarringly, though each several tune
Perchance were music when alone,-
Had still unloved, unlovely been,
Till in becoming order seen;
And then so wonderfully wrought
Upon the wayward dye thus caught
In the same glassy cage, that, how
Distant soever until now,

They all smiled in each other's faces,
And lit the dark walls of their prison
With such a burst of gorgeous graces
As ne'er on mortal sight had risen,~
Save at such time as the fay traces

A night dame with her sister band
Before his eyes, which Sleep's mild hand
Hath shut from view of earthly things,
That he better may see those elfin rings,
Or rather his own bright imaginings.

H.

SUMMER EVENINGS.

TO THE NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS.

O Lacrymarum Fons! tenero sacros
Ducentiunt ortus ex animo; quatuor
Felix! in imo qui scatentem

Pectore, te, Pia Nympha, sensit.-Gray.

Fountain of Tears, whose source refined

Arises from the feeling mind:

Thrice happy, Nymph divine, is he,

Whose inmost breast o'erflows with thee.-Anon.

THE two following Poems, on this beautiful and engaging subject, may be styled TWINS. They were written by two gentlemen, residing in the same village; and both composed in a small temple, standing in a retired spot, called the HALL-GROVE. This temple, covered with jasmine, honeysuckles, and ivy, rose immediately over a square line of water surrounding an island, in which were planted a multitude of flowers and shrubs. Being the habitation of solitude, as it were, there was scarcely a British singing-bird that did not warble its strains among the branches of the trees, that rose along the footpaths leading to and from this temple; and thither did the two Poets, one seventytwo, and the other (then) twenty-three, frequently repair to dedicate to Apollo.

+

Sir GREY COOPER, Bart. was the former of these poets. He had been Secretary to the Admiralty during the whole period of Lord North's administration ;- -was Member of Parliament for the borough of Sandwich for more than fifteen years; and author of several political pamphlets; amongst which was one entitled" A Pair of Spectacles for a Short-sighted Politician."

(By Sir Grey Cooper, Bart.)

Hail, pious Nymph! whose guardian power
The holy spring of Tears protects,
And each soft drop and tender shower
From the mysterious source directs:

Not tears that, on th' approach of death,
Down the pale cheek of tyrants roll,
"When Conscience, to the latest breath,
Holds up the mirror to the soul:

Nor such as moisten the dark cells

Where, whilst the slaves the rack prepare,

The stern Inquisitor compels

Even god-like virtue to despair.

These bitter waters of distress

Arise from other springs than thine,

Springs, which infernal Gnomes possess,

Dread ministers of wrath divine!

Heaven gives to thee the sacred part

Of watching the pure streams that flow

From the soft motions of the heart,

That learns to feel another's woe;

To raise the head by care depress'd,
With gentle, delicate relief,
To pour into the wounded breast
The balm of sympathetic grief:
Such soothing offices engage

Thy sylphs, the messengers of grace,
Sent by thy order to assuage

The sorrows of the human race.

To thee belong the gushing rills

Of sudden joy, and glad surprise,
The rapt soul's transport, that distils
Glistening in th' expressive eyes.
Let me, thy suppliant, take my part
In all thy pleasures, all thy pain;
And ne'er, though exquisite the smart,
Of sensibility complain.

Oft let me leave the busy scene,

Devotion at thy shrine to pay;
Oft taste with thee the calm serene
Evening of a well-spent day;
And in thy grotto's hallowed shade,
Gaze at the children of the world,
In Vanity's light barks conveyed,
With every glittering sail unfurl'd:
Smile at the Great, for what they choose
In each fond wish and fickle mood;
And pity them for what they lose

The power divine of doing good,

View the mild glory round the throne,
Love with obedience command:
For others' rights maintain its own,
And rule to bless a grateful land.—

To cheer me in the vale of years,

Still, pensive Nymph! thy grace impart,
Still let thy spring of tender years
Enlarge and purify my heart;

For with those social feelings flow

The best affections of the mind,

The warmth of friendship, and the glow
Of charity to all mankind.

The succeeding poem, on the same subject, was written by the Author of the "Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature;" and composed in consequence of his having been presented with a copy of the preceding one, by its elegant and accomplished Author.

NYMPH OF THE SILENT TEAR!

From the soft fountain flow those showers,
That deluge man's majestic eye,

When despots yield their giant powers

Against the sons of liberty.

When a noble patriot falls,

When a sacred poet dies,

Thine is the influence that enthralls

Our best and holiest sympathies.

When listening with enchanted ear,
The copse beneath, to that soft tale,
Which tells all nature, far and near,

The sorrows of the nightingale :
A tender youth of PETRARCH'S school

Has some fair LAURA's loss to mourn; Ah! who, with reasoning, would control Those tears that bathe her funeral urn?

Those tears are thine, which gem the eye, And all her fears and anguish smother; First, when an infant's feeble cry

Proclaims the lovely fair" A MOTHER," And when that infant,-grown a man, O'er seas, beset with wild alarms, (Contracting space into a span,)

Shall spring into that mother's arms;—

Who, that e'er felt as MOTHERS feel,
Would her soft trickling tears forego?
Not all the gold that burnish'd steel
E'er won upon the field of woe,
Could tempt the mother, father, wife,

To check the rapturous throbs and tears, Which quicken into instant life,

When that delighted son appears.

When TASSO's fate, when DANTE's page
Beguile the bosom's overflow;
When want, disease, and helpless age,
Dissolve the heart in speechless woe;
And when the MANIAC's piercing cry
Loud o'er the echoing torrent swells;
And when his robe, his lyre, his eye,

Too truly mark where misery dwells;
Who can withhold their starting tears?
And who their heaving sighs suppress?
Those, only those, whose iron ears
Are never open to distress.

;

When SIRACH's, or ISAIAH's page
Subdues the heart, or fires the soul
When,-glowing with celestial rage,—
Their bold and burning measures roll;
And soaring on the boldest wing
That ever graced poetic flight,

Tune their best and favourite string
To set the human heart aright;

And justify the ways of heaven
To every weak and dubious eye,
By teaching, that a GOOD is given
With every painful mystery :
The bosom heaves !-In every clime
Each eye distils with holy tears,
To see how simple and sublime

The plan of Providence appears!

And when from towering cliffs we view,
With wondering eye and ravished breast,
Old SNOWDON, capp'd with purple hue
Of sun, declining in the west;
And when, at midnight's awful hour,
The soul is dazzled with the blaze
Of countless orbs, whose matchless power
Hymns vespers to the Eternal's praise;

Astonish'd, charm'd, and rapt, the MIND
Springs from the earth, and soars the skies,
Where, pure,-exalted, and refined,

To heaven's high THRONE it glorying flies.

Passing through the village, in which these poems were written, two or three years since, a very remarkable circumstance was related to me. In the family of the EX-SECRETARY, lived a female servant, who, having fallen in love with the footman, was observed to be, all of a sudden, remarkably low and melancholy. At length, one evening, a fellow-servant going into the kitchen, beheld, to her inexpressible horror, the leg of a child protruding through the bars of the grate !— An alarm was instantly given. But the mother, who had thus burnt her own child, seized her hat, ran down the path that led to the turnpike-road, unperceived; and a coach passing at the moment, she placed herself in the inside; was wafted to London; and, in the course of a few days, received into the family of the Bishop of Durham; she having been many years known to his lordship's housekeeper, who was, of course, entirely ignorant of the above transaction.

In this place she lived only eight or ten days; being apprehensive of a discovery, she quitted the Bishop's service, therefore, and obtained a cook-maid's place in the kitchen of a respectable tradesman in the Strand. The mistress of the house died not long after; when she was promoted to the rank of housekeeper. There she conducted herself so well, that her master began to feel an interest in her conduct. He soon married her; and, at his death, left her an annuity of eight hundred pounds a year! As Cato was accustomed to say," who would believe there were gods!"

Near this village lived Sir THOMAS HANMER, Editor of Shakspeare, and Speaker of the House of Commons, during the reign of Queen Anne. A curious anecdote of this celebrated character is traditionary here. The ministry of that day entertained an idea of laying a tax upon wheat. To this measure, Sir Thomas was decidedly hostile; and being admitted to an audience, the Queen inquired, with no small degree of solicitude, why he had determined upon going into the country so early.-"That I may prepare my lands, and please your Majesty, for the cultivation of hemp." "With hemp, Sir Thomas? -and why with hemp ?"-" Because, and please your Majesty, I am told, your Royal Majesty's Ministers are about to tax your people the very bread they eat. A man can die but once, and please your Majesty ; and I think we had far better hang them than starve them." "I think so, too," replied her Majesty, "and I will consult with my ministers, and see that my people shall not be starved. I thank thee, Sir Thomas." The measure was, in consequence, immediately dropt, and never afterwards resumed.

EPIGRAM.

"DON'T you think there would be much more of bloodshed than now,

If the women, like men, their own wars might be waging?"

Quoth cynical Dick.-Said his friend,

I allow

That they might, for I'm sure they'd be always ENGAGING,”