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To the Rev. W. f. t. 'N the grasp of death I struggle for a Ithe of I strxistence, to

telly

you, that my fleeting soul bears with it to the world of departed spirits, all those impressions of hope by which, in your Christian converse, and your fervent prayers, you have so piously laboured to prepare it for its eternal destination. I would shake off, for a while, this portentous drowsiness which gradually absorbs my living sense, to assure you of the gratitude of a dying man, who before you return to cheer him again with the consolation of religion's trust, will most probably be called to his final account, and all that will be left of him, will be this poor mangled heap of clay, which the kindred dust of the grave shall cover from the reproach of man,

I would make my sad example useful to those heedless young men who rush through the paths of vicious pleasure with a perilous precipitation, deaf to the anxious cries of those who bore them; unmindful of the warnings of the wise, and braving the vengeance of their God. I would call to them from the tomb that opens to receive me; I would arouse their senseless hearts to a couviction of their guiltiness; and 'ere the hand of Death shall cast them down into the lowest depths of perdition, I would pluck them back from the edge of that precipice which moulders beneath their feet.

even now

Give ear ye careless ones; your very next step may be into eternity!-that infinite duration of retribution in which you will no more hear the laugh of your companions in iniquity, and your shouts of mad applause with which ye echoed their blasphemous outrages of the forbearance of Heaven will be converted into groans of torment increasing and undiminishing in its everlasting suffering. O fools and blind, if ye pay no heed but that of profane mockery to the word of your God; if ye ridicule, with contemptuous scorn, the certainty of a future state, hear one who soon must realize those fearful forebodings of it which your own hearts cannot avoid shrinking from, even now; now that ye are drinking down the poisons of your unhallowed delights, and steeping in the cup of intemperance your burthened souls. Ah! miserable beings that ye are! know that not a single drop of water will ye find in the gulph of fiery wrath that is closing upon your

steps, to cool your tongues which have
been employed in the abominations of
wanton converse and infidel profana-
O could you repair bither and
tion.
behold me, whom once ye hailed as the
joyous leader of your insensate crouds,
as the inspiring spirit of your licentious
boards.-O could you coutemplate me,
bleeding by that very hand with which
you have so often seen me lifting high
the goblet of a sparkling delusion!
that hand which has murdered my
bosom friend in compliance with your
ensanguined code of honor-that hand
now addresses these words of contrite
counsel to your startled ears.

Ye do not now

Behold me sunk in character, lost to my own esteem, and that of all who knew me; contemplate my pallid and dejected countenance. perceive that dauntless brow on which sate the daring effrontery of the libertine, and the contemptuous sneer of the apostate from every religious, moral, and social tie; look on this wounded lacerated throat, from which so often proceeded the accents of depravity, and the oaths of execration; but from which not a syllable, even of prayer, can now find utterance! See how the activity of my whole frame is dissolved in mortal lethargy, which must inevi tably, and within the short space of a few lingering minutes, close my eyes in the leaden slumbers of premature dissolution. You cannot hear, you cannot feel, the last groan, the last embrace, of a broken-hearted father, who

even with his expiring sigh, breathed forgiveness to an unnatural parricide.-You cannot image to your view the blasting sight of her who hushed your infant cries in her mater nal bosom, now bereaved of intellect, maddened by the grievous disappointmeut of her fondest hopes, by the impious insensibility of an ungrateful child;-no! your dissipated sense of filial obligation cannot picture to your perverted minds images so frightful yet so true, and all instanced in the remorseful reminiscence of him who now addresses you with the pen of a suicide! Check then your sacrilegious steps at the call of one who now reflects with horror upon his former associations of iniquity, and their terror-striking issues of pain and misery. You have parents, you have friends, you yet may be reconciled to them, you may retrace your degraded character, and wash out, by the tears of penitence, the polluting

spots of sin that stain it. You yet may return to the peaceful paths of virtuous life; the years that ye have squandered in transgression may yet be redeemed by amendment. Scek then the counsels of prudence and experience in the admonition of some compassionate friend who laments your errors, and would reclaim you from your dangerous wanderings. Be your father that friend; and in the tenderness of a mother be blest with the healing balm of her forgiving embrace. No longer press to your breast the roses of guilty pleasure, for their fragrance is the odour of death, their charms are the decay of life, and their thorns will sooner or later pierce your heart with wounds for which there can be found no hope of remedy, but in a late and uncertain repentance. I go to the tribunal of an omniscient Judge; my soul vibrates upon the tremendous balance of fears which it cannot suppress, and hopes which it dares not indulge. Yet I call to mind, and let the thought be fixed in your's, that my judge is a God of Mercy, and a Saviour of pardoning grace!

Farewell deluded partners of my crimes -receive the prayer of my dying words. May this God and Saviour touch your hearts with relenting conviction of the eternal sorrows which you are so rasbly heaping up to yourselves. May deep contrition, unfeigned and not to be repented of, lift up those hearts to your Almighty Father: and may the Mediator's merits plead for its acceptance at His mercy-seat. I can no more-the dark shades of death hang heavy upon my mortal vision: decide instantly between Hell and Heaven, never-ending punishment, and everlasting blessedness - again farewell!

My generous, my beloved friend! thou that hast been the counsellor and the comforter of my desponding soul, accept the sincere acknowledgments of my gratitude. I have seen a light spring up in darkness.-O that I had in early life walked in that light, against the bright illumination of which I shut the eye of my soul! and now it is only in that perilous hour of night, when sin has worked its last deed, that it opens to seek the celestial ray. Ah!

pray for me; that, culprit as I am, I may be enabled to appear at the bar of Divine justice, not without the hope of some mitigation of that sentence of rejection which awaits the wicked.

One last request I have to make. Let my sinful body be consigned to its native dust by the side of my dear, my ill-treatedffather, if you think the mingling of our mortal clay will not add to the injuries I heaped upon him when living. And should the overwhelmed brain of my poor distracted mother resume its seat, take her in your benevolent hand, and conduct her to the stone that will mark the spot where my wretched remains shall be laid, and point out to her the only inscription which I desire it may bear:

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DESCRIPTION OF THE VILLAGE OF CINTRA, IN PORTUGAL.

THE village of Centra is situated about seven leagues to the north-west of the City of Lisbon, the approach to it is for the most part, over a rough broken pavement; this mode of forming roads is pretty general throughout the country, particularly in the neighbourhood of Towns, and appears to be necessary, as the parched and dusty state of the earth in summer, and the frequent torrents of winter would soon break up roads of less solid materials.

This village is situated on the northern side of a range of broken mountains, extending into the sea, where it forms a lofty promontory well known to mariners as the rock of Lisbon, and is the first land generally made on the coast.

The romantic scenery of this place throughout its whole range, is truly picturesque, and has long extorted the

unqualified admiration of every stran ger who has any taste for the works of creation in their primitive simplicity. The village itself, like most in the country, would not deserve notice in any other situation, but bounded as it is on one side by mountains of bare and impending rocks, in all the pristine sublimity of nature, and commanding on the other, an extensive prospect of the sea and its borders, as far as the magnificent convent of Mafra, cannot fail of arresting the attention of every stranger.

The centre of the village is occupied by a Moorish Palace of a very singular construction. The edifice is a vast irregular pile of brick and stone, apparently of great antiquity; it appears to have undergone alterations and extensions, at different periods; and although the symmetry of the whole has no great claim to admiration, there are parts belonging to it which must gratify the conniseur, particularly the beautiful form and tracery of the eastern windows.

It contains numerous apartments, in one of which, Don Alphonso, King of Portugal, ended his days, after passing many years in it as a prisoner; his only exercise and pastime seems to have been that of pacing from one angle of his prison to the opposite, the floor, which is of brick, being deeply worn by his footsteps. The prospect from the windows of its western extremity, is such, as to have drawn from the late Doctor Willis, this exclamation-What an admirable scene for a painter!

At a small distance to the westward of the village, stands a pyramidical mountain, known by the name of Pena Verde, or Green-hill; its sides were cloathed in eternal verdure, large cork and other trees, the growths of ages, and of the most beautiful foliage, were rooted among the chasous, and overhung the faces of numerous projecting rocks, in all the wild luxuriance of nature.

On its summit stood an ancient chapel, about which were inscriptions of such antiquity, as to baffle the industry of the learned to explain them.

A winding path led to the top, which afforded a prospect of an immense extent, its elevation being many thousand feet above the level of the vale below. Unhappily for the amateurs of the sublime and beautiful in the great work of creation, this place became the pro

perty of Mr. Guildemcester, a Dutch merchant, who, with true characteristic phlegm, employed his time and great fortune, in cutting down those venerable fathers of the forest; overturning the rocks, and converting the whole into gardens and vineyards.

At the foot of the hill, on a level space of about an acre, he erected a stately mansion, which is only deserv ing of notice from its exalted situation and internal decorations; for it would appear that he had taken his iron chest for the model. He had scarcely completed these memorable achievements before he died, and the place is since occupied by his widow.

About a mile further to the westward, a fertile and lofty hill emerges from the bosom of a thick wood, this bill is known by the name of Montserrat, and was chosen by the late M. de Visme, for the purpose of erecting an extensive chateau. This building, planned and executed by a native of Cornwall, seems to possess but few claims to admiration, as being more striking from its novelty, than any features of characteristic grandeur.

The sides of the hill were tastefully laid out in shrubberies and gardens, orchards, and vineyards, and embellished · with every object that could delight the eye or gratify the taste. Shrubs, plants, and flowers, of every country and form, were scattered in wild profusion along the mossy banks and borders of the crystal brooks. The orange groves loaded the gale with their perfume, and invited thousands of nightingales and other feathered songsters to take up their abode among the branches. A limpid stream gushing from a neighbouring rock, enabled M. de V. to form a fine reservoir of water for the purpose of a cascade. In short, the beauties of the place began to open and wear an enchanting aspect, but, as all the charms of this world seem to consist more in perspective than possession, after expending upwards of 23,000. M. de V. in a fit of disgust, abandoned the whole, came to England, and never saw it more.

This place afterwards became the property of Mr. Beckford, and I understand has since fallen into the possession of the original owner of the land.

As a striking contrast to the above ostentatious display of wealth and vanity, near this place is the well known Cork Convent, the humble retreat of

twelve mendicant friars; this building (if it can be so called) was erected by the fraternity, altogether of this material the seats, tables, and places of repose, with every part of the structure, are of Cork; attached to it is a small chapel highly ornamented. Adjoining to this Convent, you are shewn a cave hollowed out from beneath a rock, containing nothing more than a sort of rocky bench, which was the dormitory of one of these fathers for thirty years.

Strangers generally visit them, and are presented with some choice oranges; for these and other attentions, a donation is always expected. The brotherhood go round the country in rotation for the purpose of soliciting charity, which supplies all their wants.

Further to the westward you reach the village of Colares, celebrated for a wine resembling French claret, but by many thought superior. This place possesses many traits of romantic beauty.

Beyond this you arrive at the promontory called the rock of Lisbon.

On the summit of the enormous pile of granite rocks which hang in terrific Suspension, over great part of the vilJage, the remains of a Moorish castle, which, tradition says, sustained a long siege within its boundary is a fine well of water.

On another pile of the same conical form, and which is generally above the clouds, is a convent.

This charming village is the favourite retreat of the merchants and others during the great heats of summer, where they possess many pleasant guintas or country houses, and keep up a very agreeable intercourse.

Both sexes habited like Arcadians, range about among the woods and rocks, and often form large parties for a donkey ride; and the road being good, a jaunt of this kind to Colares, on the extremity of the mountains, is highly delightful.

Near the village of Cintra is a Cuza de Pasto, or house of accommodation for strangers; it has been kept for many years by a respectable Irish woman. Here you are sure of obtaining the best of every thing the country affords, with the utmost attention to cleanliness.

To the lovers of Nature in her bold and simple dress, this place possesses irresistable charms. Far from the

busy haunts of men, and abstracted from all sordid pursuits, the mind insensiby soars to contemplation, and feels as if the world with all its interests and follies had vanished as in an idle dream. The days are serene and tranquil; and the stillness of the night is only broke in upon by the sweet song of the nightingale, echoed and re-echoed from the surrounding rocks.

"A death-like silence, and a dread repose," hushes to rest all the turbulent passions of the soul, and man seems to enjoy a faint foretaste of Elysium.

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The Report of the Committee was presented shortly before the dissolution of Parliament; and when it is held in view that this Committee was composed of eleven attending members, of whom four were the representatives of the two English Universities, and one of the University of Dublin (in other words, parties interested on one side), this consideration will add singular force to the resolutions agreed to.

Report on the Copyright Act.

The Select Committee appointed to examine the acis 8 Anne, c. 19; 15 Geo. III. c. 53; 41 Geo. III. c. 107; and 51 Geo. III. c. 116, respecting Copyright of Books; and to report any or what alterations are requisite to be made therein, together with their observations thereupon, to the House; and to whom the petitions regarding the Copyright Bill, and all returns from public libraries, and from Stationers'hall, presented in the present session, were referred: and who were empow ered to report their opinion thereupon to the House,-Have examined the matters to them referred, and have agreed upon the following Report and Resolutions, together with an Appendix.

The earliest foundation for a claim from any public library, to the gratuitous delivery of new publications, is to be found in a deed of the year 1610, by which the Company of Stationers

of London, at the request of Sir Thomas Bodley, engages to deliver a copy of every book printed in the Company (and not having been before printed) to the University of Oxford. This, how ever, seems to be confined to the publications of the Company in its corporate capacity, and could in no case extend to those which might proceed from individuals unconnected with it.

..

Soon after the Restoration, in the year 1662, was passed the Act for preventing abuses in printing seditious, treasonable, and unlicensed books and pamphlets, and for regulating of printing and printing presses;" by which, for the first time, it was enacted, that every printer should reserve three copies of the best and largest paper of every book new printed, or reprinted by him with additions, and shall, before any public vending of the said book, bring them to the master of the Company of Stationers, and deliver them to him: one whereof shall be delivered to the Keeper of his Majesty's Library, and the other two to be sent to the Vice-chancellor of the two Univer sities respectively, to the use of the public libraries of the said Universities.* This act was originally introduced for two years, but was continued by two acts of the same Parliament till 1679, when it expired.

It was, however, revived in the 1st year of James II. and finally expired in

1695.

It has been stated by Mr. Gaisford, one of the curators of the Bodleian Library," that there are several books entered in its register, as sent from the Stationers' Company subsequent to the expiration of that Act;" but it is probable that this delivery was by no means general, as there are no traces of it at Stationers' Hall, and as Hearne, in the preface to the "Reliquæ Bodleianæ," printed in 1703, presses for benefactions to that library as peculiarly desirable, since the Act of Parliament for sending copies of books printed by the London booksellers is expired, and there are divers wanting for several years past."

During this period, the claim of au

Upon reference to the continuing art of 17 Ch. II. c. 4, the clauses respecting the delivery of the three copies appear to be perpetual; yet it should seem that they were not so considered, not being adverted

to in the act of Anne.

thors and publishers to the perpetual copyright of their publications, rested upon what was afterwards determined to have been the common law, by a majority of nine to three of the Judges, on the cases of Millar and Taylor in 1769, and Donaidson and Becket in 1774. Large estates had been vested in copyrights; these copyrights had been assigned from hand to hand, had been the subject of family settlements, and in some instances larger prices had been given for the purchase of them (relation being had to the comparative value of money) than at any time subsequent to the act of the 8th of Queen Anne. By this act, which in the last of these two cases has since been determined to have destroyed the former perpetual copy. right, and to have substituted one for a more limited period, but protected by additional penalties on those who should infringe it, it is directed that nine copies of each book that shall be printed or published, or reprinted and published with additions, shall by the printer be delivered to the warehouse-keeper of the Company of Stationers, before such publication made, for the use of the Royal Library, the libraries of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, the libraries of the four Universities of Scotland, the library of Sion College in London, and the library belonging to the Faculty of Advocates in Edinburgh.

From the passing of this act until the decision of the cases of Beckford and Hood, in 1798, and of the University of Cambridge and Bryer, in 1813, it was universally understood, that neither the protection of copyright, nor the obligation to deliver the eleven copies attached to the publication of any book, unless it was registered at Stationers' Hall, an act which was considered as purely optional and unnecessary, where it was intended to abandon the claim for copyright, and in conformity to this construction, the Act of 41 Geo. III. expressly entitled the libraries of Trinity College, and the King's Inn, Dublin, to copies of such books only as should be entered at Stationers' Hall.

In Beckford versus Hood, the Court of King's Bench decided, that the omis sion of the entry only prevented a prothe statutes, but it did not in any degree secution for the penalties indicted by impede the recovery of a satisfaction for the violation of the copyright. The same court further determined, in the

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