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had surely else have been no sorrow; button one side and the most abandoned des: thou wert too good for me, or this poor pair on the other—imagine a husband re. world: czcuse my tears: my poor Sophia stored to the arms of the most amiable too; my lovely darling—my tender i ird—l of wives. after thinking he had beheld the snatched from me just when thy chirping horrid grave wherein she lay entombed half formed notes stole sweetly on my soul Imagine a wife come unexpectedly to re. --just as thy little antics, witty far beyond licve the man whom she dearly loved, and thy years, came thrilling to my heart and whom she never hoped to see again, from made me shatch thee often to my eager penury and misery—think you beholds arms, and dwell with kisses on thy prat-blooning heavenly cherub, weeping tling lips. Alas, madam, you seem too for joy at the happiness of those who gave much affected—l hope--Oh! sir—Madam' her being—think—think of happiness, I am—What Madam?—i am your think of joy, think of ecstacy, think you \daugh — My daughter Oh! heavensbehold the The Poor Poet of Cripplegale. my child! gracious providence my dear 1. infant! my sweet Sophia alas, I fear it is impossible! Speak to me if thou art. The following jingling letter is from the pen." my child l–Oh God | Mr. Cowper, the cel, batcd poet, to the Rev. Mr. y Newton, dated July 12, 1781 Oh! my father! my dearest, dearest”* * * * father. It is impossible—exclaimed I, I am going to send what, when you have again—did not I see thee perish , alas! read, you may scratch yourhead, and say alas ! this is but a heavenly vision; I must's suppose, there's nobody knows, whether shortly awake to misery and woful recol- what'I have got, be verse or not: by the lection-and yet thou art an angel! Oh! tune and the time, it ought to be rhyme: God of hoaven permit to hope if thou but if it be, did you ever see, of late of be'st my child, thou hast a strawberry of yore, such a ditty before ? on thy breast. I have writ charitv, not for popularity, Here it is, my dearest father. but as well as I could, in hopes do good; Almighty Lord, thy mercies are infinite! and if the reviewers should say, to be thou art my child—the God of all worlds sure the gentleman's muse wears metho. sent an angel to thy rescue. Did I not dist shoes, you may know by her pacean. see the horrid chasm wherein both thee talk about grace that she and her band and thousands were enveloped ' Did I not have little regard for the taste and sash tly from Lisbon as from the horrid jaws of ions, and ruling passions, and hoydening —but hold—tell me, I tremble while I ask play of the modern day; and though so -does—'tis too much-I cannot hope-assume a borrowed plume, and now and does Maria—She lives, sir, she lives and then wear a tittering air, “is only her plot wants but you to make her happy—never to catch if she can The giddy and gay, a till to day could we hear the least tidings they pass that way, by a production out *f you; an honest hearted wretch, whom, new construction; she has baited hermo three years since, you once relieved, heard in hopes to snap all that may come, with your name, and said he could never forget a sugar plumb.” His opinion in thiswil it--he heard you called likewise the char-not be amiss; tıs what I intend my prio itable Poor Poet of Cripplegate-mycipal end; and if I succeed, and solo gearest mother by chance heard him dropshould read, till they are brought to a so a word; she enquired: be not offended rious thought, I shall think I am paid so | hat we, made use of a stratagem but all I have said,and all I have done, though hark; she's at the door: I know her read; I have run, many a time, after rhyme, is She's coming—she's flying—she's here—far as from hence, to the end of my sense she's in your arms. and, by hook, or by crook, write another * Spare me, gentle reader, do not expectbook, if I live and am here, another year me to describe what heart can scarcel I heard before, of a room with a floor! conceive—Imagine two people who had laid upon springs, and such like things} 'the tenderest, the sincerest, the most in-with so much art, in every part, that wheth
violable affection, lost to each other for you went in you was forced to begin of \g wears, after the most diligent enquiries|minuet paces withian air and a * 's
hinted that no great price would be given for the performance. Hogarth however agreed. Soon afterwards he applied for payment to his employer, who seeing that the space allotted for the picture had only been daubed over with red, declared he load no idea of paying a painter when he had proceeded no farther than to lay his ground. ‘Ground !' exclaimed Hogarth, ‘There is no ground in the case, my lord. The red you perceive is the Red Sea.— Pharoah and his host are drowned as you desired, and cannot be made objects of sight, for the sea covers them all.” o
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STAUNCH PIEty.—General Kirk, who had served many years at Tangiers, after his return to England, was pressed by James the Second to become a proselyte to the Romish religion, as the most acceptible means of recommending himself to favour. As soon as the king had done speaking, Kirk expressed great concern that it was not in his power to comply with his majesty's request, because he was really pre-engaged. The king smiled, and asked him what he meant ' 'Why, truly,” answered Kirk, “when I was abroad, I promised the emperor of Morocco, that if ever I changed my religion I would ` turn Mahometan ; and I never did break my word, and beg leave to say I never will.”
The night after King Charles the First was beheaded, Lord Southampton and a friend of his got leave to sit up by the body, in the banquetting-house at Whitehall. As they were sitting very melancholly there, about two o'clock in the morning, they heard the tread of sombody coming very slowly up stairs. By-and-by the door opened, and a man entered, very much muffled up in his cloak, and his face quite hid in it. He approached the body, considered it very attentively for some time, and then shook his head, and sighed out the words, “Cruel necessity "--He then departed in the same slow and concealed manner as he had come in.—Lord Southampton used to say that he could not disti that, by his voice and gait, he took him to be Oliver Cromwell—Spence.
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fter the death of Charles I. the Court of King's Bench was called to the Court of #. Bench: and some republicans were so cautious of acknowledging monarchy any where, that they even, in re. peating the Lord's Prayer, instead of saying, Thy kingdom, come, &c. they chose to have it said, Thy commonwealth coma
uish anything of his face, but
For the Philadelphia Visiter.
The Mother's Lament.
Th: lines were written upon the death of a son and daughter, only children of a doating parent
Who sighs for thee, thou precious one thy troubles now are past,
And o'er thy once joyous face death's sickly hue is cast.
Thine azure eye hath lost its ray, thy voice its boyant
And, like .." flower the storm has crushed, thy beau.
ty's past and gone.
Another of thou wilt not feel—thy pulseless heart
n- busy steps that gladly ran thy mother's smile to greet;
T. pratling tongue, that lisped her name in child
hood's accents sweet
The glossy curl that beamed like gold upon thy snowy brow;
The lips, meet rival of the rose—Oh Death, where are they now 7
Withered beneath thy icy touch, lock'd in thy dull, cold sleep;
While all the joy a mother knows, is silently to weep,
Or start, as fancy's echo wakes phy voice to mock her pain,
Then turn to gaze upon thee dead—to feel her grief is waln.
The grave—the dark, cold grave, full soon will hide thee from my view, While I, my weary way through life, in solitude pursue. Thy brother, but a short week since, was numbered with the dead. And thou--alas, my only child!—thou, too, Iny girl hast fled ! - -E. B.
New York, April, 1838.
The PHILADELPHIA VISITER AND PAR. Lou R COMPANION, is published every other |Saturday, on fine white paper, each number will contain 24 large super-royal octavo pages, enveloped in u fine printed cover, forming at the end of the year a volume of nearly 600 pages, at the very low price of $125 cts. per annum in advance. $300 will be charged at the end of the year.
Post Masters, and others who will procury four subscribers, and enclose Five Dollars to t ep noetor, W. B. ROGFRS, 49 Chesnut street, Philadel. phia, shall receive the 5th copy gratis.
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While this scene took place before the tribunal of Torquemada, Leila hall been summoned from the indulgence of fears which her gentle nature and her luxurious nurturing had ill-fitted her to contend *gainst, to the presence of the queen. That gifted and hige-spirited princess, whose virtues were her own, whose faults wers of her age, was not, it is true, with: out the superstition and something of the intolerant spirit of her royal spouse; but, even where her faith assented to persecu. tion, her heart ever inclined to mercy: and it was her voice alone that ever counteracted the fiery zeal of Torquemada, and initigated the suffings of the unhappy ones who sell under the suspicion of heresy. She had happily, too, within her a strong sense of justice, as well as the sentiment of compassion; and often, when she could not save the accused, she prevented the consequences of his imputed crime falling upon the innocent members of his house or tribe. t
In the interval between his converga
tion with Ferdinand and the examination WOL. III.-17–1. - -
of Almamen, the Dominican had o the queen, and had placed before her, i glowing colours, not only the treasen of Almamen, but the consequences gf the impious passion her son had conceive for Leili. In that day any connexion be: tween a Christian knight and a Jewess was deemed a sin scarce expiable; and
Isabel conceived all that horror of her.
son's offence which was natural in a pious mother and a haughty queen. But, despite all the arguments of the friar, she could not be prevailed upon to render up Leila to the tribunal of the Inquisition; and that dread court, but newly establishcd, did not dare, without her consent, to seize upon one under the immediate protection of the queen. . . . . .
“Fear not, father,” said Isabel, with quiet firmness; “I will take myself to ex: amine the maiden; and, at least, I will see her removed from all chance of tempting or being tempted by , this graceless boy. But she was placed under charge of the king and myself as a hostage and a trust; we accepted the charge, and our royal honour is pledged to the safety of the maiden. Heaven forbid that I should deny the existence of sorcery, assured as we are of its emanation from the Evil One; but I fear, in this fancy of Juan's that the maiden is more sinned against than sinning: and #: my son is, doubt. less, not aware of the unhappy faith of the Jewess, the knowledge of which alone will suffice to cure him of his error. You shake your head, father; but, I repeat, I will act in this affair so as to merit the confidence I demand. Go, good Thomas. We have not reigned so long without be. lief in our power to control and deal with a simple maiden.” The queen extended her hand to the monk with a smile so sweet in dignity that it softened even that rugged heart; and with a reluctant sigh and murmured prayer that her counsels might be guided for the best, Torquemada left the royal pres. ence. “The poor child !” thought Isabel; “those tender limbs and that fragile form are ill fitted for yon monk's stern tutelage. She seems gentle, and her face has in it all the yielding softness of her sex: doubt. less, by mild means, she may be persuaded to abjure her wretched creed; and the shade of some holy convent may hide her alike from the licentious gaze of my son and the iron zeal of the inquisitor. I will see her.” When Leila entered the queen's pavil. ion, Isabel, who was alone, marked her trembling step with a compassionate eye; and as Leila, in obedience to the queen's request, threw up her veil, the paleness of her cheek and the traces of recent tears plead to Isabel's heart with more success than had attended all the pious invectives of Torquemada.
“Maiden.” said Isabel, encouragingly, “I fear thou hast been strangely harras. sed by the thoughtless caprice of the young prince. Think of it no more. But, if thou art what I have ventured to believe, and to assert thee to be, cheerfully sub. scribe to the means I will suggest for pre: venting the continuance of , addresses which cannot but injure thy fair name.” “Ah, madam " said Leila, as she fell on one knee beside the queen, “most joy. fully, most gratefully will I accept any asylum which iroffers solitude and peace.” “The asylum to which I would sain lead thv steps,” answered Isabel, gently, “is indeed, one whose solitude is holy; whose peace is that of heaven. But of
heart against her; listen with ductile
senses to her gentle ministry; and may God and his Son prosper that pious lady's counsel, so that it may win a new stray. ling to the immortal sold !” Leila listened and wondered, but made no answer; until, as she gained the entrance to the interior division of the tent, she stopped abruptly, and said. “Pardon me, gracious queen, but dare I ask thee one question? It is not of myself.” “Speak, and scar not.” “My father—hath aught been heard of him 1 He promised that,ere the fifth day were past, he would once more see his child; and, alas ! that date is past, and I am still alone in the dwelling of the stranger.” “ Unhappy child" muttered Isabel to herself, “thou knowest not his treason nor his fate; yet why shouldst thou? Ignorant of what would afflict thee here. Be cheered, maiden,” answered the queen, aloud; “no doubt there are reasons sufficient to sorbid your meeting. But thou shalt not lack friends in the dwellinghouse of the stranger. “Ah noble queen, pardon me, and one word more. There hath been with me, more than once, a stern old man, whose voice freezes the blood within my veins; he questions me of my father, and in the tone of a foe who would entrap from the child something to the peril of the sire. That man—thou knowst him, gracious queen—he cannot have the power to harm oy father ?”