knew nothing of the agonizing violence of separation. Drawing my hand from her's, which approximating death had assisted her in holding tightly, she feebly, though ardently, besought me not long to defer a second visit, at the conclusion of which, the word Adieu, that wrings with anguish the heart of fondness, escaped her lip. But, before I repeated the same, I thought I gazed on her for the last time, and entreated her to abstract her mind from all temporal concerns, to stamp forgetfulness on all below, and ardently press her suit at the throne of mercy, where Christ is accessible to sinners; assuring her from our Lord's declaration, that "whosoever cometh to him, he will in no wise cast out." Having finished this melancholy exhortation, I left her apparently in the attitude of prayer and resignation. With me, the enjoyment of rest had departed, the night revolved slowly: but at length the much-wished-for day arrived, when I returned to the dwelling I had so lately left. But, alas! scarcely had I reached the threshold of the garden door, before my ear was astounded by the voice of a female, who informed me, that her spirit had just winged its flight from this theatre of strife, to that bourne from whence none return. MOORE. MY POCKET-BOOK.-BY. G. Y. H. I LOVE my Pocket-book, because every page of it is hallowed with memoranda of those past occurrences of my life, that I never review without reverting to some bright and verdant spots which I have passed in the course of my solitary pilgrimage. The rude delineation of my favourite ruin, presents to my mental eye all that transpired on the visits I have made to it. I again behold the lovely morning, the smiling countenances of my companions, and the antique monastery obtruding its sublime contour through the hanging woods which surround it. My Pocket-book recalls all its ecclesiastical pomp and stupendous architecture to my imagination. Yes, it was a blessed day, proud Rievaul! when I last beheld thy venerable relics, and saw the western glory poured on thy ivied walls, as the breath of autumn had just begun to sear the noble trees.-Delightful vision! I could have gazed till now on the departing greatness of the mouldering fane. The cottages of the villagers, scattered in groups amidst the foliage of the narrow valley; the rippling of the river; the croakings of rooks from the sounding aisle of the abbey; and the murmur of distant waterfalls; were calculated to soothe the heart of a misanthrope. When I see the sketch in my Pocket-book, it depicts all the events of that day, brighter because they are fled; when, in thoughtless gaiety, I and my antiquarian friends pursued our way through the woody scenery, contiguous to the wreck of monkish splendour: the sun, that day, appeared as though he had risen never to decline; and our attachment, to each other, as if never to abate: yet I saw the former impart his evening halo to the columns of the abbey; and as for the latter,-my friends and I are separated; yet, how sweet to muse on that morn, when,— Steep'd in a flood of glorious light,Type of that hour of deep repose, In wan, wild beauty, on the sight 66 Its time-worn towers arose." I love my Pocket-book, because it is a register of my attempts at song. I remember one day meeting with a little Irish boy, whose simple and unaffected tale of wo caused the dew of sorrow to emanate from my eyes; while his diminutive stature, careworn countenance, and wretched habiliment, were the stimulus to my unpretending muse to compose "stanzas to Henry McCreighton." His father was a reaper, and had been in the contest of Waterloo; but receiving his discharge from the army, he was travelling home, and little ragged Henry was obliged to seek a subsistence from the precarious generosity of strangers. To parody Sterne-" he was one of those characters which Wordsworth would draw, simple, wretched, and interesting." Poor child! how frowningly did fortune behold him!-Farewell, little and despised gem of the "Emerald Isle;" thy visage still haunts my recollection; and I often see thy lacerated feet, and again feel for thy sorrows. Other memoranda recall hours that are departed, and I hope to be forgiven for adducing a specimen of their pictorial influence, - "Mem. March 20th, 8 o'clock, Evening.-Saw the interior of Tchurch by torch-light." What scope for fancy does this sen tence afford! I traversed its dim chancel and north-aisle, where the busts, helmets, and tombs of warriors of noble birth, were lofty subjects for the moralist; while the music from the rustic assemblage in the gallery of the choir, pierced through the gloomy arches, and imbued the soul with melancholy. Many of my friends were sleeping in the shade of that interesting edifice, who had passed with me through its recesses, and with whom I had listened to the warnings of the gentle pastor; or, boy-like, gratified my curiosity in viewing the uncouth figures projecting from its roof. How solemn to wander in it by the glare of artificial light, and to ruminate on the vicissitudes that are between the cradle and our humiliating home-the grave. But my gloom was dispelled in the morning by cheerfulness; for I beheld the little church displaying its weatherbeaten spire over the romantic village and bridge of Topcliffe, creating its image on the river beneath. It was morning, and the scene whispered intimations to my heart, of "bluer skies and happier hours.". "Dear sacred spot! where infant sabbaths sped, While childish fancy hover'd o'er my head; Which, to the eye, was painted but to fade. ON TEACHING CHILDREN SOME USEFUL EMPLOYMENT. MR. EDITOR. SIR,-The writer of the subjoined article was, some time ago, persuaded to commence a work, to be entitled, "Sentiments on Education, &c. &c. ;" but, after making considerable progress, he sat down to count the cost; and finding, or fancying, he had not enough wherewith to finish it, he abandoned his design. The following is a fragment of this unfinished literary edifice; and, perhaps, in ransacking its ruins, he may, at some future time, discover other fragments, which he would cheerfully communicate for the Imperial Magazine, if the Editor, from the present specimen, can give him any encouragement. Rainton. WM. ROBINSON. The most sagacious writers on the subject of Education, have unanimously decided, that it is the imperious duty of every parent to train up his children to industry; and, in order to this, to teach them the knowledge and practice of some useful business. Such employments are, of course, not exclusively referred to, as require manual labour; but the remark includes any regular, useful pursuit, which shall occupy some considerable portion of their time, whether it demand the energies of the mind or the body. From this part of parental duty, there is, however, a very extensive dereliction among the opulent classes of society. Thousands are guilty of casting their offspring upon the dangerous ocean of life, without supplying them with the rudder of industrious habits. Many parents, if they can leave their children a few hundreds a year, deem it quite unnecessary to teach them any business; and even look upon active employments as humiliating and disgraceful to them. These sentiments will necessarily be imbibed by the children at a very early period; but they are the dictates of pride and vanity,-not of good sense; and least of all of piety. Were such parents properly aware of the untoward and vicious materials which form the moral character of man, and of the danger to which a separation from all useful pursuits expose us, they would instantly relinquish a practice which places their children so far out of the way of piety | drudge; and most affectingly verifies and happiness. the simple, but just remark, of Watts, that, All acknowledge, that sloth and idleness present the most deleterious opposition to the progress of religion in the soul. This may easily be evinced. Let it then be observed, that exertion, so far as it produces uneasiness, must necessarily be the object of our aversion; this is the germ of sloth. Now, when this hatred of exertion, and this preference of ease, is indulged and suffered to predominate, there will of course be a receding from all labour which demands energy, so far as this can be done:-consequently, the duties of piety will be shunned; for these demand the most energetic and unwearied activity. In proportion as the individual dislikes, and retreats from activity in general, so will he disrelish and abandon the active duties of piety. As he sinks under the soft dominion of sloth, and is enamoured with the ignoble luxury of doing nothing, religion will assume to him an undesirable and forbidding aspect; its duties will become painful and grievous: indolence will melt his resolution, enfeeble his efforts, and reduce him to an effeminate softness, which quite unfits him to sustain the conflicts and self-denying diligence of the spiritual life. But idleness operates injuriously in another direction,-by betraying us to the wild dominion of dissipation. The soul, essentially alert in its nature, cannot long enjoy the slumber of inaction, which soon ceases to be gratifying; and, in the end, becomes intolerably oppressive. Here then is a conflict of principles; the one struggling for exertion; the other shrinking from it. But something must be attempted to relieve the gnawing, sinking languor which the idle man feels. He will, therefore, undertake some light employment; from light, the transition is easy to trifling; from trifling, to vain; from vain, to extravagant; and | from extravagant, to every thing that is gross and scandalous. In this way, many a man, from being a sluggard, has imperceptibly become a confirmed voluptuary; and we have seen, with astonishment, one bad passion displaced by a worse. Lust for pleasure now takes the reins, and most cruelly urges him on to exertions even beyond his strength; and, of sensuality, he is now the patient, laborious | "Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do." In this downward and disastrous course, thousands have measured their steps. Reposing on the placid stream of indolence, it has borne them insensibly into the stormy and fathomless ocean of sensuality, from which, alas, but few escape; for "fleshly lusts war" more fatally against the soul than sloth.-The latter benumbs and impairs; the former obliterates and destroys. Now, let every parent who teaches his children no employment but that of eating, drinking, and dressing, remember, that he is familiarizing them with the ignoble shackles of sloth, and wilfully delivering them up to its hateful and degrading tyranny; and that he must therefore be answerable for all the evils it never fails to superinduce. Idleness is an enemy sufficiently dangerous even to those with whom, in their early years, every precautionary measure has been adopted to withdraw them from its influence; but how much more dangerous must it be to those with whom all such measures have been neglected; before whom no serious and useful object has been placed, to elicit their desires, and arouse their energies; who have been allowed, if not taught, to associate industry with servility, and leisure | with the "highest style of man." It is allowed, that business has its peculiar temptations; but that person who should adopt this as an argument for idleness, would be a greater fool than he who should starve himself and family, merely because, in the prosecution of trade, he would be exposed to risks and losses. It is needless to produce arguments from other quarters, to prove the necessity of parents teaching their children some useful business. Otherwise, one might observe, that were nothing but their present prosperity to be regarded, it would be a most powerful inducement to this mode of education. The children, it may be urged, are to inherit splendid fortunes-true; but it may also be urged, that ignorance of business generates idleness; idleness, profusion and intemperance; and under the dominion of these rapacious vices, a man might easily find means to squander the most enormous patrimony. A fortune is a pond, the waters of which will soon run out; well-directed industry is a spring, whose streams are perennial. That the Almighty intended man for active employment, is incontestable, from the circumstances in which he placed our first parents. "The Lord God put the man in the garden of Eden, to dress it, and to keep it." If an exemption from toil had been deemed more felicitous and honour able, that would certainly have been chosen. It is evident also from the fact, that all the good men mentioned in Scripture, and every useful character in any history, were laborious in their respective departments. The Son of God was, himself, the most amazing example of steady, severe, and unabated application to the great work which he had to do; and, indeed, nothing praiseworthy or useful can be accomplished by a man who is entangled in the birdlime of sloth. Finally, the nature of the soul places the subject beyond debate. Leisure is the rack on which it pines, struggles, and preys upon itself; and nothing but the power of habit can render that tolerable, which otherwise cannot be endured without inquietude, melancholy, or madness. [The following article, lately handed to the Editor, was written by a Lady, whose danger it describes. The occurrence took place at Parr, in Cornwall, and is here presented to the reader without fiction or exaggeration. EDIT.] I THINK it was in the year 1796, or 1797, during the month of November, being then about 25 years of age, that I met with the following occurrence. On the day in question, I had been at a town about five miles from my father's house, to which I was returning about five o'clock in the evening. In order to shorten my journey, the weather being cold and boisterous, I crossed a river near the sea, and travelled over a sandy beach, which was an usual route when the tide permitted; but at its further extremity I had to pass under a cliff, which, at high water, the influx of the waves renders dangerous, and sometimes impracticable. On approaching this place, I found that the tide had made greater advances than I had anticipated; yet, thinking myself safe, being within half a mile of my home, I entered the water without any apprehension; but I had not proceeded far, before I found it much deeper than I expected. Having discovered my error, the cliff being on my left hand, and the turbulent sea on my right, I endeavoured to turn my horse, and retreat; but, in doing this, the poor animal fell over a projecting rock, which both the water and the darkness conspired to hide. By this fall I was thrown on the opposite side next the sea, and in an instant was buried in the waves. I, however, retained my senses, and, aware of my danger, held fast by the horse, which, after some struggling, drew me safely on a sandy beach. But although I had thus far escaped the violence of the surf, my situation was dreadfully insecure. I now found myself hemmed in between two projecting points, with scarcely the possibility of getting round either. The tide was also encroaching rapidly on me, and the cliff it was impossible to scale. The wind, which had been blowing in an angry manner, now increased its fury, and the waves partook of the commotion. Thunder began to roll; and the vivid lightning gleaming on the surface of the water, just interrupted the dominion of surrounding darkness, to shew me the horror of my situation. This was accompanied with tremendous showers of hail, from the violence of which I could find no shelter. Thus circumistanced, I made a desperate effort to remount my horse, resolving to get round one of the projecting points as my only chance of safety, or perish in the attempt; but all my efforts proved unsuccessful, and to this inability it is probable that I owe my life. The tide gaining fast upon me, the poor animal, impelled by instinct, mounted a rock; and, taught by his success, as well as driven by necessity, I with difficulty followed the example. In this forlorn condition, I had time for a little reflection,-and but little, and in its first impulses it was exercised to less purpose; for I again made another ineffectual effort to remount, without duly considering the inevitable destruction that awaited me in case I had succeeded. The waves, urged on by the tempest, to the whole rigour of which I stood exposed, soon told me that my retreat was unsafe. The rock on which myself and horse stood, was soon covered with the rising tide, so that at times we were so nearly overwhelmed, that I could literally say, "thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.' Surrounded thus by water, and rendered partially buoyant by its encroachment, my horse made another desperate effort, and happily gained a still more elevated crag. I soon followed, but with considerable difficulty; and as all further ascent appeared impracticable, in this place I at first expected to meet my fate. Under this impression, with "but a step between me and death," I began seriously to reflect on the solemnities and near approach of eternity, into which, perhaps, a few minutes might hurry my disembodied spirit. In these awful moments, I can truly say, "I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord, and he heard me;" for in the midst of the waters, I knelt on a rock, and commended my soul to Him who hath all power in heaven and earth, well knowing that he was able to say to the turbulent ocean, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." For some time I felt a gleam of hope that I should survive the calamities of this disastrous night; but this was speedily destroyed by the increasing waters, which, nearly overwhelming us in this forlorn retreat, convinced me that the tide had not yet reached its utmost height. Conceiving my own deliverance to be scarcely possible, I felt anxious for the escape of my horse, and with this view, endeavoured to disencumber him of the bridle and saddle; that, in attempting to swim, he might find no impediment to prevent his reaching the shore. But, while I was thus engaged, to my utter astonishment, by another violent exertion, my horse partially ascended on another crag, sufficiently so to keep his head above the water. I was not long in attempting a similar effort, in which I happily succeeded. This, however, was our last retreat, for just over our heads projected a large shelving rock, above which it was impossible for us to ascend. Here I sat down, with a mind somewhat composed, to wait the event which was hastily approaching, and with an expectation suspended between the hope of life and the fear of death. After remaining in this situation for some time, without being increasingly annoyed by the roaring waves, I began to hope that the tide had reached its height, and in this I was at length confirmed by the light of the rising moon, which, gleaming against the rocks, shewed, to my inexpressible joy, that the water had actually begun to subside. I was now convinced, that if we could retain our position until the water had retired, and I could survive the cold, we might both be preserved; but this was exceedingly doubtful, as the posture in which my horse stood was approaching to a perpendicular, and I was cherished by the warmth which proceeded from his breath, as I kept his head near my bosom, and derived from it a benefit which experience only can explain. As the tide retired, and the moon became more elevated, I discovered, by its increasing light, to what a fearful height we had ascended, and the difficulty of getting down, in safety, appeared not less formidable, than the means of getting up had been extraordinary. This, however, through a watchful Providence, was at last with care effected, without any material accident. On reaching the beach, from which the waves had now retired, I endeavoured to walk towards my home, but found myself so benumbed, that I was unable; and my voice was so nearly gone, that I could not call for help, although I was not far from my father's house, and near many kind neighbours, who would have risked their lives to render me assistance, if they had known of my situation. Being unable to proceed, I seated myself upon a rock, and expected, from the intense cold, that here I must perish, although I had escaped the fury of the tempest, and the drenching of the waves. How long I remained here I cannot say with certainty, but, when almost reduced to a state of insensibility, I was providentially discovered in this position by my father's servant, who had been sent out to search for me, as, from the lateness of the hour, the family had anticipated some misfortune, and become alarmed. I had been in the water about three |