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less fire,

Is there, where anguish mourns a hope- I care, replied she, if my busband sends his heart abroad all day, proBy sighs and tears consum'd of sad de-vided he brings it back to me at

sire,

Tears of the heart, that flow in secret

there,

night.

And sighs, just waked and smother'd by THE RIDICULOUS USE OF TECHNICAL despair.

cian or Roman, and, since the days of JONES, not less classic. Judging from the production before us, we should think Hindoo mythology equally competent to supply the poet with images of beauty and all the glowing animation of the varied

God.

TERMS.

It is absurd to exhibit such a fond, ness of the terms of our profession,

We recommend Oriental literature to the lover of novelty. Writers may here find a fund for allusion, less hackneyed than the Gre-as to introduce them at all times marian did before a new-married and on all occasions; as the gramcouple, wishing they might have children of the masculine, feminine, and neuter gender. Young men of the law, both counsellors and attor nies, are very apt to make use of the terms of their profession, even in making love to their mistresses. In 1773, an Englishman, struck I remember an epigram, that introwith the beauty, the accomplish-duces a young barrister making ments, and the discretion of a French love in the following terms to his fair actress, sent her the following let"Mademoiselle, I am told that you are discreet, and that you have taken the resolution always to remain so; I exhort you to keep it. The contract I have sent, secures to you fifty guineas a month, as long as this fancy lasts. Should you happen to change your mind, I will give you one hundred, and request the preference."

ter:

The following anecdote will serve to depict the character of M. Henault. The Queen happening to enter the apartment of the Dutchesse de ***, who was at that moment writing to the President, added some obliging expressions at the bottom of the letter, and, instead of her own signature, subscribed with the word "Devinez." The reply consisted of the following quatrain : "Ces mots traces par une main divine Ne m'ont oause que trouble et qu'embarras C'est trop oser, si mon cœur les devine ; C'est etre ingrat, que ne deviner pas.”

A lady of much good sense was told that her husband paid court to several handsome women. I don't

one.

Tems est de pleurer et de rire,
Comme on discit anciennement:

Ainsi vous avez beau me dire,
Je ne puis vous aimer definitivement;
There is a time to laugh and cry:
So says the proverb, so say I.
Demurring is an easy task,
Dear plantiff, I cannot obey
A noli prosequi I task.
Your summons to Love's court to-day :
But be content, dear girl, as yet,
That to its sentence I'll submit:
And soon, in spite of all alarms,
I'll meet confinement in your arms.

A man of very good sense, but totally unacquainted with literature, said once, before Boileau, that he had rather be able to make a wig than to make a poem; adding"What is the use of poetry, and what end does it answer ?"" This very circumstance," replied Boileau," raises my admiration of poetry; that having nothing useful in it nevertheless it should be the delight of all men of talents and reputation."

Extracts from the" Miseries of Hu- | lost ;-till, at some future period, when

man Life."

MISERIES OF SOCIAL LIFE.

you have long abandoned the pursuit, the truant article appears of its own ac'cord.

Flapping at an expiring fire with an asthmatic pair of bellows.

Setting a razor on a sandy hone. The handle of a full tea-cup coming in your hand, as you are raising it to your mouth.

After dinner, with a favourite party, when the cloth has been removed, and the wine of conversation, as well as of the bottle, is just beginning to bright-off en-seeing the door open, and a string of babies brought in, and carried round, to be caressed and admired, during the rest of the sitting;-an outrage from which there is not even a bye-law, or dead-letter statute, under our otherwise happy constitution, which will afford you the smallest redress.

Shaving after a frosty walk, (when the face is pimpled, skin tender, and hand tremulous,) with cold pump water, hard brush, ropy soap, and a blunt razor. Likewise, shaving, with blister behind each of your ears.

Entering your watch at the wrong Being applied to, time after time, by opening, when it instantly dives to your certain easy folks with short memories, knee, where, for want of a lucky operfor the loan of small sums, for the a-tunity to extricate it, you continue to vowed purpose of making purchases wear it. which you painfully refuse to yourself, out of economy; or for the still more provoking purpose of making presents to their friends.

The comfort of being kept half an hour without your hat in a drizzling rain, while attending a button-holder to your gate.

Being drawn into an inflammatory dispute, while labouring under a no less inflammatory sore throat.

MISERIES DOMESTIC.

Getting up early in a cold gloomy morning, (quite enough already, you'll say; but that's not half of it.)-Getting up early in a cold gloomy morning, I say, and on running down into the breakfast-room for warmth and comfort, finding chairs, tables, shovel, tongs and fender, huddled into the middle of the room-dust flying in all directionscarpet tossed backwards-floor newly washed--windows wide open--beeswax, brush, and rubber in one cornerbrooms, mops, and pails in anotherand a dingy Drab on her knees, before an empty grate.

Squatting plump on an unsuspected cat in your chair.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Ordeal of this evening discovers much discrimination and critical skill, and main

tains its claim to the high reputation former numbers have acquiered. We very much regret that several typographical errors in have inadvertently escaped us. the first part of our last impression should

In the Lines on the death of Walter, our readers will discover the union of friendship and poetry. They are worthy an attentive perusal.

MARRIAGES.-At Barre, by the Rev. Mr. Thompson, Mr. Joseph Caldwell, mer. to Miss Mary Freeman.-At Dorchester, Mr. John Hawes, to Miss Lucinda Wheelock.At Charlestown, Henry Adams, Esq. to Miss Susan Foster.-At Roxbury, Mr. Luther Parker, mer. of Boston, to Miss Sally Bucknam, of the former place.

In this town, Mr. Martin Beale, to Miss Elizabeth Larrabee; Mr. Charles Folks, to Miss Jane Christy; Mr. Simon Hastings to Miss Eliza M'Intosh; Mr. Benjamin Ingals, of Boston, to Miss Lydia Washburu, of Plymouth.

DEATHS. At Charlestown, Mrs. Hepzebah Kettell, wife of Mr. Jonathan K. aged 41.

Just as you finished dressing yourself more nicely than usual, to receive company at dinner,-creeping down into a dark, damp cellar for wine; and unex-73; pectedly finding, from a sudden chill about the lower part of the leg, that you are going by water.

Vainly hunting, a thousand times over, in every corner, crook, and cranny of the house, for something you have

In this town, Mr. Joshua Pico, aged widow Rebecca Flagg, aged 68; Mrs. Hannah, wife of Mr. Anthony Otheman, aged 36; Ebenezer Storer, Esq. aged 77; Mrs. Hannah Ives, aged 79, wife of Mr. James Ivers, and only sister to the late Barlow Trecothick, Esq. of London.

POETRY.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF

ARTHUR MAYNARD WALTER.

O'ER yon new grave what spirit flits disturb'd? Say, ARTHUR, is it thine? Sunk is that light, Which gleam'd mild genius from thy house of clay? Struck from within th' horizon is that orb,

Whose cheering beam could give both light and heat,
Could warm with friendship and with mind illume?
Lost to the vision of this little world,

Thou 'rt not extinguish'd from the firmament!
Stars, that scarce twinkle to the eye of earth,
Are SUNS to other worlds; and thy blest soul,
Unseen by us, above all stars may soar,
Bright'ning in progress to the highest heaven,
Destin'd to shine among th' unnumber'd lights,
That glow in glory round the throne of God.
NOR is this fancy or illusive dream.
Fiction would tremble to present her wand,
To Grief, whose only solace is in Faith.
Then must th' Eternal Word begin to fail,
When its fulfilment can begin to cease.
It said in chaos, to this microcosm,
"Let there be reason," and lo, ali was light!
Can, of this light an atom be extinct?
As to that atom then, the Word is void.
Instant th' Eternal must begin to die.
Truth has pronounc'd this reas'ning intellect
The inspiration of th' Almighty God.*

To give it being, heaven did less than speak;
It merely breath'd; and all its beauty bloom'd, †
It is eternal; 'tis the breath of HEAVEN;

It cannot die. When it is lost to us,

'Tis taken to its source. Heav'n draws its breath,
Inhaling only what it once exhal'd.

YET, spite of reason, must thy friends still weep.
Thine is no common death; their loss is great.
The weight of woe let Sympathy relieve.
There is a generosity in grief,

That shares its sorrows with a lib'ral hand,
However dear it holds them to its heart.

It ever scorns a selfishness in tears.

Than brother nearer, there survives a friend,
Now too remote from the green hallow'd turf,

* "The inspiration of the Almighty hath given him understanding."
"God breathed into man the breath of life, and man became a living SOUL.”

That hides what late was Walter, t' have performed
The rites funereal to his obsequies.

He yet enjoys of ignorance the bliss.
Glowing with curiosity, knows not

Th' event, that gives him one more hope for heaven.
Share the tear of feeling; and, to sooth his grief,
Extend the sweet society of woe!

PERHAPS e'en now thy genius, B*******
Surveys the ruins, on which Walter gaz'd!
Perhaps thy heart bounds at the prospects vast,
That gave expansion to his " mighty mind"!
"There Walter rambled, and here Walter view'd."
Thou see'st the grand, the awful, and sublime,
That glow'd in his description, and that first
Kindled thy soul to rapture, and produc'd
The zeal to visit European climes!
Anticipation is comparing notes.
Perhaps thou now art sealing up thy soul
In sacred fold and superscrib'd to him;
Or at this moment meet'st him on the shore,
Hand to hand pressing at thy glad return!
No eye now lives to read that passion'd page,

The hand, thou'dst grasp, is dead.-Grant, gracious heaven!
It be not ominous! His life yet spare ;

Alike by sorc'ress curiosity,

Tempted to other realms, in hope t' return,
More perfect to his own. O, let not both
But roam for treasures to enrich the grave!

Ан, what avails exertion? What the toil
Of proud AMBITION, lab'ring to improve
The mind; to augment the dignity of man?
And what the zeal of STUDY, that would bring
Home to thy court, thou sov'reign MEMORY,
PRINCIPLES, antient of days; potentates
Born, from before the world, to inherit
Dominion universal; ordain'd to hold
The empire of the spheres; princes that sway
Creation whom the elements obey;

Who" ride the whirlwind and direct the storm";
From heaven wrest its thunderbolt of vengeance:
Who grasp the lightning, and can guide its way?
What avails that mightier power, than these,
IMAGINATION, soaring beyond their bounds,
Who, not content with worlds on worlds in being,
Can ev'ry instant start a new creation?

But not exertion; not the utmost toil
Of proud AMBITION; not the zeal of STUDY,
Nor all the pageantry of MEM'RY's court,
Crowded by DILIGENCE with powers august,
Nor e'en IMAGINATION, all combin'd,

Could stay one moment the destroyer's hand,
That laid thy blooming prospects in the dust!

No marble honors mark thy sacred tomb,
For marble honors thou would'st blush to own!
No warrior grounds his arms upon thy turf,
Nor GLORY, Screaming, rends high heaven for thee!
But at thy grave erect, stands PRINCIPLE,
Weeping a much lov'd son's untimely death.
And at the hillock, that o'erearths thy head,
Nestling in death, an infant cherub see,
The rising hope of JURISPRUDENCE blasted!
At evening, FRIENDSHIP, knec'ing at thy sod,
Sighs to the air a fun'ral sacrifice.

Bramin affection there extends her form,
Deeming religion nature, loudly claims,
The envi'd privilege of common grave.

WHAT though thy wishes, as to earth, were vain?
What though INDUSTRY, night and day, had toil'd
To sink foundations, lasting, deep, and broad?
The faithful workman is remov'd far hence,
Before he raises scarce a single stone
Of superstructure, All is still not lost.
Darkness pavilions HIM, who look'd abroad
O'er all thy life approving: He beheld
The altar; saw the off'ring well matur'd.
Th' incense rose grateful; and thy Father's God
Bore in a cloud the sacrifice to heaven.

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