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Rise, fluttering in the air on callow
wings,
And aim at insect-prey their little
stings."

An Oxford and Cambridge man once met in company, who held different opinions concerning the person of Christ; one supposing him to be God, the other to be only Botanic Garden, Part 2. Can. 3. v. 237. a man of course, each thought the of fine poetry, certainly. What a The passage contains a great deal other a heretic. The former, with a serio-comical air, wrote the two pity that it should want common following lines down, and present-insects can get near enough to the sense! For how is it possible that

them, while the baleful effluvia from young shoots to be destroyed by the parent tree spreads so much

ing them to the latter, asked him, if he knew to whom they were applicable. Tu Juda similis Dominumque Deum-wider, and arrests the distant flight

que negasti ;

Dissimilis Judas est tibi-pænituit.

Englished.
You, Judas like, your Lord and God

denied ;

Judas, unlike to you, repentant sigh’d.

The latter instantly wrote down on the same piece of paper the following lines, and presented them with the same serio-comical air as the other had done, meaning to lay the whole emphasis on the word Tu. Tu simul et similis Judæ, Tu dissimilisque ;

Judæ iterum similis sis, laqueumque petas.

Englished. You are like Judas, and, unlike that elf,

Once more like Judas be, and hang yourself.

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of the eagle. On reading the passage in question, I was forcibly reminded of the ingenuity of

"The man who, contriving a hole thro' the wall,

To admit his two cats, one great, t'other small,

When a great hole was made for great Had a little one cut for the little cat puss to pass thro',

too !""

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Cotter's Saturday Night, by Burns, The delightful description of a has given occasion to an elegant picture by Mr. Smith,

"But hark! a rap comes gently to the door;

Jenny, wha kens the meaning of the

same *.

Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the

moor

To do some errands and convoy her hame.

flame

him ben,

The wily mother sees the conscious | morning he regales in a warm milk [cheek: bath, perfumed with almond powdSparkle in Jenny's ee, an' flush her er, where he takes his coffee and a Wi' heart-struck anxious care, enquires buttered muffin, and afterwards rehis name ; [speak; While Jenny haffins is afraid to tires to his bed; he rises about nine, Weel pleas'd the mother hears its nae and breakfasts on coffee au lait, with wild worthless rake, new-laid eggs, just parboiled; at Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings eleven, he is presented with two warm jellies and rusques ; at one he eats a véal cutlet a la Maintenon; at three, jellies and eggs; at five, a cup of chocolate and rusques ;—at half after seven, he takes a hearty dinner from his seasoned dishes, and makes suitable libations of claret and Madeira;-at ten, tea, coffee, and muffins ;—at twelve sups on a roasted poulet, with a plentiful dilution of lime punch ;-at one in the morning, he retires to bed in high spirits, and sleeps until three, when his man cook, to a moment, waits upon him in person with a hot savory veal cutlet, which, with a portion of wine and water, prepares him for his future repose, that continues generally uninterrupted until the morning summons, to his lactean bath. In this routine of living comforts are in the four and twenty hours invariably divided; so that if his Grace does not know with Sir, Toby Belch," that our life is com posed of the four elements," he knows at least, with Sir Andrew ! Aguecheek, "that it consists in eating and drinking.”

A strappan youth; he takes the moth-
er's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill
tae'n ;
(and key.
The father cracks o' horses, ploughs,
The poet has painted this scene
with most interesting simplicity,
and the painter has transferred his
ideas to the canvas, in a character-
istic and attractive composition,
marked with truth and narrative,
The figure of Jenny is modest and
attractive, and beams with rural
beauty, unalloyed by meretricious
ornaments. The parents have that
sober, prudent, and serious cast,
which marks a large portion of the
peasantry of North-Britain; the
young man has a consciousness, and
the colouring of the whole is natural
and pleasing.

THE FEMALE EYE.

A modern writer gives the following enumeration of the expressions of a female eye the glare, the stare, the leer, the sneer, the invitation, the defiance, the denial, the consent, the glance of love, the flash of rage, the sparkling of hope, the languishment of softness, the squint of suspicion, the fire of jealousy, and the lustre of pleasure. HOW TO LIVE! AFTER A DUCAL

RECIPE.

A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER, CD-
ING TO BE MARRIED.

You are now, my beloved child about to leave those arms which have hitherto cherished you, and Is the duke of Q- does not ex-directed your every step, and, at tend his life to a still longer period, length, conducted you to a safe, it will not be for culinary comforts, happy, and honourable protection, and those other succulent arts by in the very bosom of love and honwhich longevity is best promoted. our. You must be no longer the His Grace's sustenance is thus dai- flighty, inconsiderate, haughty, pasly administered:-At seven in the sionate girl, but ever, with rever-1

ence and delight, have the merit of inal is that sovereign, who, when your husband in view. Reflect how elevated to a throne, does not cause

vast the sum of your obligation to the man, who confers upon you independence, distinction, and, above all felicity.

Moderate then, my beloved child, your own private expences, and proportion your general expenditure to the standard of his fortune, or rather his wishes.

the streams of his bounty to flow
towards those citizens who were the
companions of his youth! Diocle-
tian thought not about Dalmatia,
till old age, infirmities and misfor-
tunes made him remember that he
was a man before he was an empe-
ror; and he came, in his distress,
to seek an asylum in those regious,
which he had forgotten in the hour
of his grandeur.
crime to eis native country; how-
ever, after having abdicated the
empire, and resumed the situation

This was his

tired; and then he showed himself greater than he had on the throne. Hither he brought the same taste for building, which he had so much indulged during his reign; and he,

I fear not that, with your education and principles, you can ever forget the more sacred duties, so soon to be your sphere of action, Remember the solemnity of your vows, the dignity of your character, of a private citizen, he at last rethe sanctity of your condition. You are amenable to society for your example, to your husband for his honour and happiness, and to heaven itself for those rich talents intrusted to your care and your improvement; who had covered Nicomedia with and though, in the maze of pleasure, or the whirl of passion, the duties of the heart may be forgotten, remember, my darling girl, there is a record which will one day appear in terrible evidence against us for our least omission.

CHARACTER OF DIOCLETIAN.

circusses, palaces, and temples; who had surrounded the empire with fortresses; and who had erected in Rome those celebrated baths, the very ruins of which, at the present day, excite our admiration ; when he had relinquished the reins of the government of the world, built the immense palace of Spalathro. In that place, the last of his works, this man, truly great and heroical, starved himself to deate, at the age of sixty-eight, to escape the poignards of his successors, whom he himself had raised to the summit of fortune.

IF education had refused him the amiable virtues of a Trajan, and the philosophy of Marcus Aurelius, nature had lavished on him the qualities requisite for a ruler. The memory of Diocletian has been aspersed but it is singular, that he has never been accused of the only crime that can be clearly proved against him, viz. an indifference to his country, or rather a positive enmity towards it; for such, in fact, was his assignment of it to Galerius Cesar, the vilest of men. How much to be pitied is that man, whose eyes, during the course of a long Our respected friend in a neighborlife, are never turned, with tendering state will not think his communicaemotions, to the place where they We reserve it for a favourable opportution neglected because it is delayed. first saw the light! And how crim-nity of presenting it to advantage.

The MORNING CALLS have been made to some purpose. We hope the gentleman will introduce us to more of his fair acquaintance.

of his subject, requires more time for APPELLANT, from the importance examination than we have yet had to bestow.

For the Emerald.

POETRY.

SELF KNOWLEDGE.

"Know then thyself, presume not God to

scan;

The proper study of mankind is man."

ARCUMENT.

Mes may have the greatest skill in science, aud yet be ignorant of this most important learning. As all have not that force of genius necessary to natural science, and as all may obtain the knowledge of themselves. An invitation to the same. In order to self knowledge we must know, 1st. what creatures we now are, as composed of soul and body. 2dswhat we shall be. Conclusion of the part.

LET sylvan bards assume the plaintive theme,

Charm ev'ry grove, or paint the gliding

stream;

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Let Newton's genius born to endless fame, [plain:

Mount to the sky and skim th' ethereal Bind fast the planets in their mazy spheres,. [stars.

Fly with the sun, and trace the distant Let lofty Milton take his tow'ring flight, Parent of song, and tread the realms of light:

Whose lofty genius hail'd the rising shore, [before And dar'd to fly thro' tracts unknown Most of mankind for meaner ends design'd,

Have not that genius, that exalted mind. "To know himself," the meanest may obtain, [pain. Nor toil with anguish, nor receive with Come follow then, nor dread the op'sing scene, [serent But learn this knowledge with a mind Mark, impious sceptic, mark the tender frame,

[vein

The crimson torrent gush thro' evry Thy body frail, with vast attention nurst, Born of the clay, and native of the dust. But then within a nobler being shines, Which spurning earth, to nobler realms inclines.

1

control,

Thought to assist, and judgment to [whole. That each may act subservient to the Blind to the future, see a Linnet play, Nor mind the torments of a distant day: With gaudy plumes extend her sportive wing, [spring. Chaunt to the grove, & warble to the Yet when the fowler takes a deadly aim, She charms the ear, and moves the melting strain ;

Till struck at once, she feels destruction nigh,

And breathes in music her last heartdrawn sigh.

But in thy frame you find a nobler pow'r, Form'd to attend, aad leave the fatal hour.

Brutes in a year, to full perfection fly. Labor awhile, then pine away, and die. Man's faculties expand thro' ev'ry age, And still succeed, when man departs the stage,

Transplanted then to some far happier clime,

They still shall flourish and in glory

shine.

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alted joys.

Leave giddy mortals to the pomp of state,

Fond to command and eager to be great. **Think on thyself," a distant age survey, When thou wast nothing but the viler clay. [the clod? Who form'd this noble structure from And fix'd a mortal in this dark abode ? Twas not thyself.--That first, eternal pow'r, [adore Whom angels worship, & whom worlds Twas he that call'd thee from thy native dust,

When lifeless matter into being burst. Twas he, my soul, that these immortal made, [shall fade : Born to survive, when suns & worlds Plac'd thee a stranger in this mortal frame,

Doom'd to affliction, misery and pain, For why did he that's infinitely wise, Fix thee on earth, & keep thee from the skies? (globe,

What part assign'd a mortal on the The gaze of men, of angels, and of God? 'Tis to behave like one that's truly wise, Of noble blood & native of the skies. Tell me, my soul, if charm'd with ev'ry › ray, [a day; Pleas'd with the short liv'd pleasures of Thou lose thy reason at the sumptuous feast,

And drop thy noble image in the beast; Dost thou behave like one that's truly wise? [skies.

Spurn his frail earth, & dwell in yonder Live then as thou with pleasures will survey,

When worlds shall languish, nature's self decay.

a

But know, self knowledge ends not here,

to see

What now we are, but what we soon shall be. [ments dread; Enlarge the thought nor distant moYet 'tis forbid with cautious eye to range, [teries strange, Thro' scenes unknown before, & mysOh! will some ghost the unknown tale explain,

What 'tis to die, & agonize in pain. No, they retire; a sullen, pensive gloom Surrounds the sable horrors of the tomb: Fix'd there our jarring wishes to control, [soul. And check the anxious breathings of the Compose thy thoughts then, view the distant plan,

A future death bed, and the fall of man. How will it be, my soul, when from this clay,

Emerging swift, thou meets eternal day When trembling on the confines, thou must try,

A distant region, & an unknown sky. When naked, unembodied thou must go To worlds of pleasure, or to realms of [tomb,

woe.

This body dies, and, in the pensive Must lodge awhile, encircled by the gloom, [fore,

But thou must go to realms untried be. To live forever on the distant shore. Ah! think my soul, when fate shall give the nod, [God; And groaning nature own the coming When all those worlds that sweep the etherial plain, And all yon stars shall perish in a flame;

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