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How dismal does it seem to take repose

I shiver when I think on't

the perseverance of a third, knock all

THE FUNERAL. my resolutions on the head. In truth,

'Tis only friendly I am kept in perpetual employment, To lay a brother's head beneath the clay,

A duty which we owe to one another : and my health is beginning to suffer So let it be performed-well, 'lis & sad one. seriously. I have given the three

In such a lonely, narrow house as the? foregoing letters as a specimen of the way in which I am assailed. If I On a cold, wet Sunday in last should only get rid of such cases, 1 October, I had preferred the comforts should be able to move more freely; ofthefireside, and the perusal of my bible but alas ! I am hemmed in on all sides, to the exhibition of my shattered frame and must either give up my benevolent at church, and was seated in my arm chair reputation, or perish under the load.enjoying the sublime effusions of the Miss M‘Arthur's desires cannot be psalms of Israel. I was reading the accomplished without putting me to 102d psalın, which is one of my fagreat inconvenience, and I have certain vourite subjects of contemplation, when reasons for thinking that she is not sleep unwittingly stole upon me, and quite so disinterested as she pretends. buried me in its embraces. I do not Barbara Pattison's petition I have al- mention this with any

other intention, really answered, by restoring her in than to show how little capable I am amity to her husband ; but if I attempt of enjoying the sublime and beautiful any reconciliation between Mr. Douch- in poetry, and the wonderful influence erty and his rib, who knows but I may of sleep, which steals our senses imreceive a broken head from Mr. Dun- perceptibly. Every man of true taste can Connachy, for interfering in his will allow that the book cf psalms sister's affairs. I have been thinking abounds with extraordinary beauties, of forming a register-office for the and might have potency enough to keep purpose of fitting sighing damsels with awake a much more or less refined husbands, and for restoring disconsolate animal than myself: but alas! I am yoke-tellows together. By this means, naturally of a somnitic disposition; I shall be paid for my trouble, and the and, to my shạme be it spoken, I presum shall be so fixed, that, while it fer sleep to any other amusement on keeps me free of trifling cases, it shall earth. I have forgone the pleasures not check the tide of my benevolence of the table a hundred times, and have in those of inportance. My talents broken, heaven knows how many assigfor intrigue (of an honourable kind) nations with female loveliness, for the are well known, and there are many sake of indulging my slothful

propendames in the evening of life—and many sity. 1 awoke from my nap just as a as yet in its noon- n—who would gladly dish of excellent beef-steaks and onions remunerate me, if I could prevent them was placed almost under my nose, on from sinking disconsolate and compan- the table on which I was leaning, and ionless into the vale of years. And I was congratulating myself on my comtrust there are some wives and hus- fortable situation, when my aunt, wbo bards, who, like Barbara Pattison and had just returned from church, reFelix Doucherty, are more willing to minded me that I had to attend a come together, than to remain separ- funeral. The thought of trudging a ated.

mile or two through dirty streets, esJoux M'ARTHUR. posed to wind and rain, rather abated

the ferrency of my devotion to the dish set before me, and the shrill voice

of my aunt, lecturing me on my slug- vat's tied roun' your neck like a tether gishness, so completely discomposed about a stick; and your braw weel-plet me, that I frequently ran the risk of ruffle sark, clean out o' the faul, might being chocked, as I good-naturedly as weel been in the bottom o' the kist strove to repress my rising choler.- as whare it is : naebody can see gin My aunt is, unfortunately for me, ye hae yin on. There's your stick what is vulgarly termed an old maid, trudge. or in more polite terms, a Maiden Lady, I left the house, and was soon out verging on fifty; and, as she has not of the reach of my aunt's tongue, who, a husband to vent her spleen on when with all her bad humour, is the best the fit is on her, I am always the ob- and truest friend I have in the world. ject of her vituperations. She had She is but 7 years older than myself, more acid in her manner this day left at that early age an orphan, she than she generally has when she re- became the faithful attendant and proturns from church; but the truth is, tector of my infant years ; from that she had seen her only beau bow to a time we have never lived asunder. She lady who is much her junior, and who has borne with me in sickness, and is rather more handsome, as she was mental distress ;—she has poured the coming out of church, and the demon balm of consolation on the wounds of of jealousy had made a lodgment in affliction, and has cheered me with her heart, hitherto impregnable to all hope, when the victim of despair; and the sieges of Cupid ; this last is her I ought, and will bear with her peevishown unqualified assertion, I'neitherex- ness. Grumbling as I went along, at tenuate nor set down aught in malice.' the roughness of the day, I hastened “So, gin ye could stay awa' wi' ony kind to the house of mourningThe long o' decency, ye wudna gang to see your spokes, and the three legyed stvol, arfrien's head laid in the yird,' was the rayed, in funeral insignia, warned me assault. I could have dispensed with of the place where the earthly part of doing him such an office, I assure ye, had my friend made its present restingprovidence willed it otherwise, was the place. It was down one of those long, reply. “Ye'll maybe need a lift o' dark closes, so common in the large somebody's han' yoursel, or lang towns in Scotland. A few half-starved gang ; an’ nae

doubt

ye

wad like to be fowls, dripping with water, gave adweel conveyed to your lang hame, as ditional gloom to the scene, as they every decent, respectable person

sud. sheltered theniselves below an outshot We sud aye do as we wad be done stair, as the people here term it, and by; an' ye ken ae guid turn deserves the squalled looks of the dingy inhabianother.' True, I exclaimed, I re- tants, peeping forth from their miserquire no person to put ine in mind of able dwellings, with the eye of curiothose gloomy inevitables; and besides, sity, still added, as I thought, to its I have no wish that any person

should dreariness. As I ascended the stair, be put to that trauble with me at pre- the steps of which were rough and unsent. “Mockin's catching,' she replied, even, from the accumulated dirt of • hae, there's your

black coat. Tak' perhaps years, I felt an involuntary care na, an' no file the weepers, for shivering fit steal over me.

In idea, they're clean out o'the drawer. Bide I stood already at the grave, which till I dight your elbows ; I ne'er saw seemed more lonely and uncomfortable sic a han'less being as you are, ye can than I had ever thought it; no doubt this do naething for yoursel. Your cra- idea was occasioned by the contemplation of so many images of misery-less, that my soul accompanied the When I entered the house, the master petition to the throne of grace. of the sad ceremonies inquired my My thoughts dow reverted to the days nume; on hearing which, I was ushered of my youth, when her husband, now into the

presence of the widow of my cold and motionless, won her from my friend : years had passed since we had arms, and left a blank in my bosom seen each other. She held out her which succeeding years have never been hand and led me to a seat. This is able to fill up; yet I never troubled a melancholy occasion on which we the world : what I suffered I alone are met,' she said, “but the will of the knew. I have been gay with the gay, Lord bedone. ." Amen,' I responded. cheerful with the cheerful. If I I felt that emotion in the olfactories groaned under disappointment, the which can scarcely be described, but walls or the wind were the only listenwhich is occasioned by sudden grief, ers. I never harboured ill will against sympathy, &c.; but for my soul 1 him who desolated my heart. I knew could not speak, nor was it to be she repented of her rashness ; yet I wondered at. She had been the ob- never pleased myself with the knowject of my early and only love ; and the ledge of her sufferings. A single glass alienation of her affections by her de- of wine was handed to each person. ceased brusband, dubbed me a bache- In spite of all I felt, I could not help lor for life. We ha'e seen monnie remarking the manner in which I changes since we last parted, yet I thought the boon appreciated by couldna ha'e believed your hair wad the various personages. Some prohale turned sae sune grey.' Welooked longed the scanty portion to the time at each other; a tear stood in her eye. in which they might have swallowed a I coughed, hemmed, and keeping pint, evidently showing how seldom down the emotion which I felt at her theytasted such a luxury; others drank remark, said, I was turning old; the it off with the most perfect indifferwinter of life is sooner felt by some ence, evincing the frequency of similar than by others; mine has, perhaps, applications; some eyed the wine with been premature. A sigh was all the the look of connoisseurs, sipped a litreply. My heart smote me when she tle, smacked their lips, and returned answered not: »I had touched a chord their glasses almost untasted; others which should have rested for ever.- concluded the potation with a long I strove to speak comfort, but failed in sigh or an augh! What an excellent every attempt; at last the voice of the opportunity for philosophising. But undertaker, calling on some one to ask the entrance of a person, laden with a blessing, furnished me with an oppor- sugar biscuit and sponge cake, de tunity to leave the room. We shook prived the world of the benefit of my hands, and I was soon seated among speculations. In the application of the group

of mourners. An old man these delicacies, I could remark other delivered a most impressive prayer, as distinguishing characteristic traits: the I was afterwards told, the effect of cagerness of the young in devouring which, I hope, was generally felt the scanty morceau; the careful affecStrange as it may appear, I paid more tion of the father, who seemingly attention to the faces of the assemblage scorned to appropriate the sweet mor, than to the admonitions of the speaker; sel to his own use, as he slyly slipped and it was not till he besought a bles- it into his pocket for the general besing on the widow and the father- nefit of his expecting imps at home. I

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envied him the feeling, and sighed as sexton, it'll lie better.' The carth rattled I thought of my own loneliness.onthelid, where, stretched in the ghostThanks were returned; the company ly panoply of death, lay the souless form was asked to move to the close-mouth. of him who had blighted the best I lingered behind, and saw the coffin hopes of my heart : I never felt a borne from the sight of the widow. pang so bitter. He is

gone,

I • Farewell, may God bliss you,' I ex- tally exclaimed ! as I put my hand to claimed. She held out her hand ; I my hat, and perhaps ere the return of. pressed it and bade her adieu. By the Sabbath I may be a clod as inthe time I got to the close-mouth all sensible as he is.' How vain is the was ready to move forward. The rain, accomplishment of our dearest hopes! driven by the wind, pelted us severely. they are all marred by deatis, and our We arrived at the burying-ground as memories pass as a dream. When I the clock struck five. The grave-dig- got home, my aunt had on her best ger, old and decrepit, with two at- looks; the toast smoked on the table, tendants, were in readiness. The cof- flanked with some excellent beef-ham; fin was soon laid on the rollers, as and ere the tea things were removed, they are technically called. I never I had forgot the funeral; so transient before thought the grave looked so are the effects of death. I thought as dismal and cheerless. Before we let I tumbled into bed that nights in vain go the strings of the coffin, · How will we sigh for immortality, when the very ye hae't?' cried the undertaker, with the swallowing of a meal steals rememimportant air of indifference, which the brance from the mind; and a new day unfeeling and ignorant in office generally brings along with with it new subjects assume. “To the head wit,' was the la- of recollection. conic and apathetical reply of the hoary

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SONG.

The groves are o'erspread with a deep sombre hue,

And the green leafy branches are still; Tune-Believe me if all those endearing young

The sweet little flowers are all sparkling with dew, charms.

'S though their heads had been dipp'd the rill. As ripe meiting fruit in a desart, would make

The nightingale's minstrelsy, mellow and loud,

Through the woods, like a trumpet of war, The weary parched traveller sigh For possession, that he might his thirsty soul slake, Resounds, as if bidaling yon silver-rolled cloud As his bones 'neath the burning sun fry;

To uncover the bright evening star. So thy lip's ruddy richness would tempt me to sin, Far, far, in the cast, twinkling one after ono, ho If sinning could be in the bliss,

Like the white pearls strung upon gold, Of melting that bosom, possession to win

Rise the stars, to encircle the night's chon throne, Of those rubies. Good heavens, how I'd kiss ! For her casket rich jewels unfold. My heart's like a desart, both lonely and drear;

The clear crystal streamlet they look themselves in, A fiddis without e'er a string;

Murmurs on with its babbling tongue, A sky full of cloud.3, when no star-lights appear;

As if in derision, when echo's wild din,

Mimics strains which the nightingale simg. A bird that's deprived of a wing: But thy siniles to an Eden that desart would turn; 0, calm silent eye, when the fond lorer's hopes Thy looks make that fiddle to play;

Rise unbridled and free in the breast; Chase the night from thy bosom, and make the stars When from the gem'd bosorn of flowers, the dew burn,

drops, And sorrow take wing and away.

By the light foot of maiden, are prest.

R. G. For this is the hour, when she hastes to her love, Glasgow.

Nor lingers sweet music to listen;
The earth is all green, and the sky bright above,

And the stars in the firmament glisten.
EVENING.

And this is the hour, when with rapturous delight, Ah; purple and gold have cover'd the west,

Ere night's gloomy reiga hath begun, And the sun like, a bright sparkling gem,

The bard mounts his throne, 'tis the mountain's Enchas'd 'mong the waves on the blue ocean's breast, steep height, Seems a diamond, encircled by them,

Still crown'd by the rays of the sun,

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threw;

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For 0, it is life and enjoyment to him,

Yet thou cam't, with the balm of calm quiet to 'Mong the flowers balmy fragrance to rest ;

my breast To catch the long shadows, that gradually dim And a look, what a look ! that yet seemed oct The skies of the red glowing west.

as though

It were conscious of all that its beamings exprest, The poet can syllable forth but a part,

Or appeared half its seraph-like meekness to LLU* Even aided by music's sweet tone, To tell the emotions that sweil in his heart, In that visit of mercy-that mission of grace, Communing with nature alone.

When done, like that look, told the waters of me

liad left my heart, whelmed as 'twas still a place, W B.

Where the olive of peace, which thou brought's Glasgow, Oct. 1822.

yet might grow. More than lovely thou seemed'st-yet thy beauty

was such, TO

That tho' gentle and bland, yet an awe round Oh! theme of my dreamings, I ne'er could hare That the voice of thy step-that the thrill of ths thought,

touch That thou wouldst to me more enchanting ap- Dispe!l'd not—while yet from its glance SOTTOT pear,

flew ! Or thy name be with mem'ries and images fraught,

More noble—more gentle more blissful and dear Then reject not this tribute-o scom not my layThan it was but a day since-but who shall assign

Poor index to thought's words-looks never may

tell, To thy graces of mind-to thy beauty of soul, To that eye-voice-form--manner, and witching

Nor cast from thy mem'ry my image apas

Thine will live in my heart till 'tis cold... Fare of thine,

thee-well. A limit-or give to their triumphs a goal.

ENDYMION. I knew thou wert fair-that around thee there hung

Sept 1822.
The charms of a beauty to see is to feel;
lhad drank of the music that flows from thy tongue,
Till to thee, as a seraph, l've panted to kncel.

DISAPPOINTMENT.
I knew thou wert gentle-thine eye I have seen,
As the soul which it index'd, lit up with a ray,

O, little thinks the mind in love
Which for lustre ethereal, and fire, might have been That love may soon be broken;

A spark some Prometheus had stolen away, Or that the maid unkind may prore,
But I too have seen't more enchantingly beam,
Though its lustre was dir'd and its splendours

And parting words be spoken.
were quenchid.
When I saw't thro' the dew drops of tenderness

For Disappointment is a woe;gleam,

We reck not much to bear it,
And thy cheek, with the waters of Pity, was It kills the little joy below
Llench'd!

Of those condemned to share it,
I knew thou wert kind to the humble and weak.
I have mark'a thee give car with a ravishing

grace o, when youth's gaudy dreams are high, And soothe then with kindness, touching and meek,

And Hope's lamp burns the brightest, As the Þlandness that beam'd on thy pale pen sive Then, Disappointment, thou’rt most nigth, face.

And all our pleasures blightest. I had merciful teemed thee-forgiving to all ;

I knew that thy mem'ry retained not a trace And then thy chilly-biting blast, Of wrongs have been done thee :-thou ne'er

Full heavily falls o'er us, couldst recal Those marks, which the spring tides of kindness And dries the sap of hearts more fast efface.

Than when black cares devour us. That thine was the charity of the pure heart, Which, o'er actions of others, its own beauty Full well, my soul, thou loved'st a maid, throws;

Who was to thee a heaven;
Thine the best gifts of nature, and graces of art,
Who best with thy converse and friendship, But peace rest on her perjur'd head,
but knows?

By thee she is forgiven.
Yet could I dare hope, that on one born as I,
The outcast of self-by myself most abhorr'd,

No more love's language may be spoke; Would beam one kind glance of thy peace-speaking No more may pass the token;

eye, Or c'en one thought of me in thy mem'ry be

Her lips, once dear, the charm bath broke, stored ;

For • Farewell’ she hath spoken. Nay more, having wronged thee, but never in And is she gone for ever gone,

heart, Offended, though will-less, yet not the less deep

Who once to thee was dearest, Dared I think would be thine, the angelic-like part, And wreath'd with guilt the eyes that shone To speak my soul peace, and forbid it to steep,

Upon thee aye the clearest. Its young powers in the dregs of unceasing regret,

Or deaden its throbs in the languor of woe; Say, can that tongue again impart 'er the past, with the gnawings of anguish, to

The power that could enslave thee;, fret, And the future to fear, yet to scorn! No! ah, Ah, no! the falsehood of her heart RO!

Hath blighted what it gave thee.

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