THE REDBREAST'S VISIT. A Birth-day Melody, addressed to a young Lady, at the moment of whose birth a Redbreast flew into the chamber and remained there several hours. TO hail the birth of beauty's flower,

An angel left the skies;
To bless fair Stella's natal hour,

And greet her opening eyes.
No radiant garb his name revealed,

With borrowed plumes he shone,
And in a Redbreast's form concealed

The glories of his own.
Round cradled beauty's couch were sung in

His melodies of love;
And lays unknown to mortal tongue,

Were echoed from above.
The mission past,---his opening wing3

Waved with the closing strain;
And, as a bird to freedom springs,--.

He soared to Heaven again.
Yet shall this ever-welcome day

Repeat the warbler's song;
And long shall Stella's parent May,

Her Redbreast's notes prolong.
Then, whilst his strains in memory live

Till life itself is past,
May every future Birth-day give
A bliss beyond the last!


On receiving an Eye-shade from The Lily of the Valley:"

HER eyes of soft, ethereal blue
On mine their magic lustre threw,
And quick each throbbing pulse confessed
The subtle charm within my breast.
My fitful, sad, bewildered air
She pitying saw, and formed, to spare
The wounds her witless eyes had made,
With her own fairy hand, a shade. J. M.

BURNS THE POET. The following verses in the hand-writing of Burns, are copied from a bank note, in the possession of Mr. James F. Gracie, of Dumfries: the note is of the Bank of Scotland, und is dated so far back as the first of March, 1780.

WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief! ..
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass!
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass.
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy cursed restriction,
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile,
Amid his hapless victims spoil,
For lack o'thee I leave this much-loved shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.

R--- B---, Kyle.

IN letters large---- This House to Let,”
Conspicuous in a window set,
Attracted once a passer-by,
Who chanced, just then, the maid to spy :---
“Are you,” cried he with roguish leer,
« To let with this same house, my dear?”
“I'd have you know," with angry frown,
Cried she, “ I'm to be let alone.
GUTTLE'S god is beef and mutton,
Proverbially he's dubb'd a glutton;
Whilst he with indignation sweats
And swears one meal a day he eats.
One meal a day ---true, Guttle's right,
But that'meal lasts from morn till night.


THE lovely tints that dye the west,
When the bright sun retires to rest,
But for a moment charm the sight,
Then vanish in the shades of night';
So earthly joys soon disappear,

Lost in the gloomy clouds of care..


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THE DREAM. METHOUGHT I was straying on the summit of a high romantic mountain, and never before did the works of creation beam on my eyes with such majestic grandeur! Rapt in silent extacy, I could not refrain from crying aloud, Oh, ye lovely scenes ! how long shall these eyes gaze on your beauties, or this heart throb in silent adoration ! Ye shall still be as fair as you now are, when I, perhaps, shall be pining in the dungeon, or lengthening out a wearisome existence, the sport of adverse fortune, or lingering disease. Could I but see the fate that awaits me, no anticipation of future woes, of uncertain sorrows, would steal from me the bliss of the present hour. Were I but aware of the impending blow, I could, like the traveller who watches the gathering clouds, and marks the rising winds, gather round me my cloak, and brave the impetuous storm. “My son!” a voice exclaimed, (I started, and beheld at my side a venerable old man, whose looks inspired me with awe and veneration,) “ my son, I have overheard thy soliloquy; the headlong ardour of youth mocks the maturity of wisdom; that which to thy creative and deluded mind seems pregnant with bliss, would bring with it woe and misery; the wise, the merciful Creator hath, in the ex


ercise of these his choicest attributes, veiled from our eyes the volume of futurity, and canst thou question his mercy, or arraign his wisdom ?-but, if thou canst, follow me.”

Abashed, yet anxious to see the result, I followed till we came to a cave on the declivity of a hill, around the mouth of which a number of persons were collected. As we approached they made way, and we entered alone. Again he addressed me. “This cave contains a MAGIC GLASS, by looking into which man reads his future destiny; every important era of his life, whether adverse or propitious, stands revealed : invariably does he sacrifice his happiness at the shrine of his curiosity. My son, thou art favoured by the Supreme; to thee it is permitted to look, at the same time, with each miserable person who is on the point of entering, without seeing any thing relative to thyself; and if, after this, thou still persistest, thou shalt read thy own destiny.” He then went to the farthest end of the cavern, the gloom of which immersed him in darkness. In a few moments he returned with the fatal mirror in his hand, and fixing it in a cavity in the wall provided for its reception, he went to the door of the cave, and admitted an interesting young man, who approached the glass.

Trembling with anxiety I stationed myself behind him, and, looking into the mirror, saw that in the space of four years he would be married to a sweet young woman, on whom his affections were then placed, and to whom he was apparently on the eve of being united. (A frown of impatience and disappointment crossed his brow, as if repining at the protracted period.). The gaiety of the nuptial scene passes away, and in three short months he follows her to the grave. At this melancholy sight he gave a convulsive shriek, and fell senseless at our feet. We raised and restored him to life, and after the space of a few minutes he was sufficiently recovered to retire. The deep gloom of settled melancholy which was stamped on his brow curdled my blood with horror: but, before I had time for reflexion, I was roused by the sight of another victim. He was a man advanced in years, of a prepossessing exterior. He perceives his only son, in whom

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all his hopes are concentrated, pursuing a noble stag in all the ardour of youth; the chace is long, when, at an abrupt turning, a precipice stands revealed; the stag plunges over the brink and perishes; the foremost hounds meet a similar fate; the youth sees his danger when within a yard or two of its verge. Great God! it is over-horse and rider are dashed to atoms! Can language paint the agony of the father? But he is gone, and an interesting young lady enters. The scene is disclosed : her Henry, her plighted lover, is seen in the cabin of a vessel, majestically riding on the bosom

the ocean, on his return to his Maria. The winds arise; the lowering clouds are gathering; already the sea begins to heave; now rages the pitiless tempest; the ship mounts up and down; loud cries for relief issue from the affrighted mariners; they cut away the masts; the prospect of a premature grave spurs them to preternatural exertion; signal guns are fired; one more such breaker and she sinks! Henry is seen runping distracted about the deck, calling on his Maria! Big with impending death yon wave approaches; a shriek and silence--Maria swoons in my arms.

Trembling with horror, I turn to the old man, my conductor, and exclaim, “Suffer me to depart from this accursed spot; millions of worlds would not now tempt me to venture on such a fatal act; never will I again dare impiously to arraign the decree of Providence. Oh, my God! grant me the fortitude to bear, without the curiosity to anticipate, evil. Had these wretched victims of presumption calmly awaited their fate, the blow would have descended; but, though their grief would have been poignant, time would have mellowed it into a pleasing melancholy; now, every hour of their existence is embittered; every closing day but bringing them nearer to that fatal one, in which a father is to lose his son---a maiden weep over the corse of her beloved! I stopped, overcome by my emotions. My guide, regarding me with a smile, which betokened both pity and esteem, replied, “ My son! happy is it for thee to have been conscious of thy error in time. Of the numbers who have visited this spot, never did one depart without the canker of digappointment gnawing at his breast. Ambition here,

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