Thou art not forgotten, O sacred dust!
Thy name still liveth among the just;
And oft shall the tear from affection's eye
Drop o'er the place where thine ashes lie!
When memory's retrospective power
Shall glance on many a long pass'd hour,
Its plastic hand shall embody to view
Thy sainted form, and thy features too!
Thy voice again shall utterance have,
And ring from oblivion's deepest cave;
And the heart, whence its treasur'd emotions
lie,

Shall bring from its cells an embalmed sigh;
They want no pompous marble to tell
That they love and cherish thy memory well;
No cold inscription to measure their wo,
Or praise the dear dust that mouldereth below.
Thy name is engraven upon their heart,
And cannot, except with death, depart :
None shall erase the record there,

Till their moveless dust reclines on its bier;
And then, dropping down to sweetest repose,
Find the grave shuts out all earthly woes!

Q.Q.Q.

THE SMUGGLERS.
(By W. M. HIGGINS.)

THE winds loud blow, the waves high beat,
And throw their vengeance on the shore,
They roll, and foaming at my feet,
High rise in grandeur more and more;
The vivid lightning's awful flash,
The dreadful thunder's rolling crash,
And sky discharges all her store.

Yet still the moon at times will peep, And lucid paint the foaming waves; The night birds join their horrid shriek, And winds disturb the watery graves; But see the solitary bark,

That stems the tempest drear and dark, And dashes through the rising waves.

She reaches now her much-wish'd port, Unlades her treasures on the strand,

No look-out there, nor threatening fort, To interrupt the hardy band;

Again the vet'rans put to sea, While comrades with the booty flee, And all is done as it was plann'd.

THE RUINED ABBEY. (By W. M. HIGGINS.) Now risen, mistress of the night, Dimly you shine, yet sweet delight You throw upon the scenery fair; The circling hills would seem to pierce The low'ring clouds that thicken there, And aim a tempest wild and fierce. The winds now rise, now whistle by, And shake the elms that flourish nigh, While now and then the moon will peep, And lighten round the ivy'd wall,

Herself withdraws, in silence deep,
And round her throws her dingy shawl.

Yet louder still the tempests blow,
And darker still the dark shades grow;
The vivid lightnings flash around
The ancient abbey's massy walls,

The thunder rolls with awful sound,
The torrent now with vengeance falls.

The tempest o'er the pale wan moon
Now wipes away the watery boon;

Again unmantled, shining high,
She lights the abbot's ruin'd hall,

Clouds now disperse, and wanton fly, The moonbeams on the abbey fall.

"TIS now the midnight hour, thick darkness spreads

Her sable mantle over half the world, And silence reigns,-save when the watch

dog's yell Breaks on the still of night, or shrieking owl Is heard continuous,-yet, lo! e'en now The sounds of footsteps fall upon mine ear, And there's a moving light that shines afar, Which gives the gloom around a darker hue! Nearer it comes-and by its glimmering rays, I mark the funeral pall of one who fell By the grim tyrant at the bud of morn! (In youth he fell, and left a hapless oneA widow'd wife-whose tears e'en now bedew Her husband's image in one infaut son.) With hurried steps the "bearers'

along,

move

As though half fearful, lest the air around Should be infected with the dire contagion. Quick to the grave they bear their burden straight,

Whose hungry jaws close on its victim soon,While sounds no solemn knell,-nor is there

Proclaims aloud, that mortals are but dust!
Ob, who can mark this closing scene of death!
Thus half enshrouded in night's murky veil,—
The time! the place! the isolated gloom!
And all its awful dark solemnity!
Nor feel unchill'd, unawed at the reflection,
That, long before to-morrow's glorious sun
Shall set within the canopy of heav'n,
We too may rest in death!—our sun of life
Go down, nor rise again for ever!

Yet we shall rise again on that dread morn Now known to none,-when at th' Eternal's word

Myriads shall start to life,-and yon vile dust,
And ev'ry mute inbabitant of the tomb
That now lies shrouded in mortality,
Shall rise!--and those who did their Master's
will,

Disrobed of earth, and brightly clothed in glory; Shall join the angelic hosts-whose chant shall be,

"O death, where is thy sting? Grave, where thy victory?" Highworth, April 12, 1825.

BIRTH-DAY LINES,

March 1st, 1825.

AGAIN the circling months bring round the day
When first I enter'd on life's dangerous way.
Again revolving time increases years,
Which at my birth were usher'd in with tears.
By these sad tears a prelude was ensured
Of coming pains, and cares to be endured.
A true presentiment of life's rough road,
It's chequer'd scenes of evil, mix'd with good;
The seasons o'er and o'er are come and fled,
(And friends once loved are number'd with the
dead,)

We see them pass, but have I them improv'd
With gratitude to Him who reigns above?

Alas! my love and knowledge, small the

sum,

The num'rous sins with added years have

come;

Feeble my best resolves, my purpose weak,
And oft, most trifling are the words I speak.
No day I see,
but swells the dread amount,
And follies oft my sleepless hours recount.

But there's a nobler day of glorious birth, When the glad soul shall quit the cumbrous

earth,

Transporting day, and ever blissful sound!
The ray divine shall be with glory crown'd.
No tears, no sorrows shall that birth attend,
The shadow'd vale has brightness at the end.
Faith in a Saviour's name shall aid my flight
Through Jordan's waves, into the realms of
light.

Till then, the signal's given, thou God of love, In ways of wisdom make me swiftly move; Nor yield to Satan's snares, nor nature's sway, Which leads the careless soul so oft astray. But blest with guidance, bright from heaven's high' throne,

I'll trust thy faithfulness, and journey on,
Thy promise plead, Thy future favours claim,
In an exalted Saviour's powerful name.
Joyful expecting, when this life is o'er,
To dwell with Jesus, whom I now adore.
March 1, 1825.

H.

THE CONVICT.

(Written after witnessing the Execution of Fergusson.)

"His bark's at anchor,-its sails are furl'd,
It hath 'scap'd the storm's deep chiding,→
And, safe from the buffeting waves of the
world,

In the haven of peace is riding."
ALARIC A. WATTS.

HE stept to meet his final foe,
With a smile and a sparkling eye;
And the passing-bell, with its tone of wo,
Seem'd to raise not his parting sigh.
He glanc'd on the multitude beneath;

Yet he look'd as calm as ever;
Though the solemn sound foretold his death,
He gave not one fearful shiver.
Why? because in that awful hour,

His God was there to support him; And he knew that soon to the blissful bow'r Ethereal forms would escort him. Yet, who can say what his soul endur'd, While he heard his own death-knell; And saw the light which on him pour'd, As he came from the chilling cell! Perhaps he once had enjoy'd the dream

Of his childhood's hours, and mus'd beside The bending branch, o'er the noisy stream, As the colours of ev'ning died;

And had felt that ecstasy which flows

From the seeing eye and the feeling heart; As he gaz'd on the beauteous tint that glows, When the rays of the sun depart.

But now all was nought, his view was where
The weeping eye is brighten'd;
And the golden streets that dazzle there
By the great" I Am" are enlighten'd.
Like a dying saint he calmnly stood,

And his lips they mov'd in prayer;
Clos'd were his eyes on the heartless crowd,
That were assembled early there.
The bolt was drawn-he quickly fell

Yes, he fell from this earth to heav'n:
He feels no more; but who can tell

How his mother's heart is riven.
He died, but she lives to think on him;

The dam from her offspring parted:
She sees him hang,-her eyes grow dim:
Oh! now she is broken-hearted!
G. Y. HARRISON.
Lambeth-Road, April 11th, 1825.

EPITAPH on the Monument erected to the
Memory of General STRINGER LAWRENCE,
in the Parish Church of Dunohideock,
Devonshire.

BORN to command, to conquer, and to spare,
As mercy mild, yet terrible as war,
Here Lawrence rests: the trump of honest fame
From Thames to Ganges has proclaim'd his

name.

In vain this frail memorial friendship rears;
His dearest monument's an army's tears;
His deeds on fairer columns stand engrav'd,
In provinces preserv'd and cities sav'd.
He died Jan. 10, 1775, aged 78.

THE NETTLE.~(A FABLE.)
If but attentively we look
In nature's wide-extended book,
Explore each page with curious eye,
And into every corner pry; ̧
Throughout this sublunary ball,
There's nought so useless or so small,
There's nought so mean, but it will still
Proclaim its heavenly Author's skill;
And, like the bee, a moral mind
In the rank weed may honey find;
Advice, instruction, may deduce
E'en from the hemlock's pois'nous juice;
Can truth from ev'ry flow'r exact,
And wisdom from a leaf extract.

Look but abroad! there's not a blade
On which so oft we careless tread,
Nor flow'r within the garden's round,
Nor shrub within the forest's bound,
Nor beast that roams the sandy plain,
Nor fish that wantons in the main,
Nor bird that cleaves the yielding skies,
Nor insect nearer earth that flies,
But to th' enlighten'd Christian's heart
Some useful lesson may impart.

Mark yonder unsuspecting child,
All thoughtless sporting on the wild;
The blue-bells tempt his little hand,
Beneath the hedge-row as they stand.
But whilst he strives the prize to gain,
Backward he starts, and shrieks with pain;
Unconscious of the nettle's pow'r,
Its leaves he touch'd in luckless hour,
And soon his fingers, swell'd and red,
With burning blisters are o'erspread.
It was the slightness of the touch
That burt his little hand so much :-
Had he but taken firmer hold,
And grasp'd it resolute and bold,
The barmless weed had lost its sting,
And prov'd an inoffensive thing!
Now ruminate awhile, and say,
Does this a moral too convey?

Yes, doubtless! when by sin betray'd,
Man wanders thro' the dubious shade,
When passion rules his youthful prime,
And folly urges on to crime;
When the vain world, by arts unbless'd,
Instils its poison in his breast,
Whilst urg'd by lawless appetite,

He loves the wrong, and spurns the right;
Her threat'ning lash should conscience shake,
And bid the trembling wretch awake,
Aghast he starts! he looks within,
And finds bis breast th' abode of sin :
His actions all in judgment rise,
And call for vengeance from the skies.
Whither! ab, whither shall he fly?
To heaven he dares not turn his eye!
His own vile self he dares not view,
Where shall be go? what must he do?

See, see! Religion's heavenly form
Approach amidst this mental storm;
With guiding hand she points the way
That leads from darkness into day.
She proffers aid,-but what the price?
Does she require no sacrifice?
Will she bestow her rich reward,
Her precepts, if we disregard?

Ah no! he treads her paths awhile, And hopes to share her constant smile; But when she talks of self subdued, Of passions quell'd and pride withstood, Of daily crosses, anxious cares, Continual watchings, constant pray'rs, Of Satan's wiles, and Satan's pow'r, Of dark temptation's trying hour, Denials frequent, inward strife, And all the Christian warrior's life; And when she says, contempt and scorn With patient meekness must be borne, Content from ev'ry thing to part That's near and dear unto his heart; Ev'n life itself he must resign, (If God require,) and not repine. He shrinks ;the prices he dares not pay, But deeply sighs, and turns away! The terms he marks as too severe, And deems the heavenly maid austere: And soon in pleasure's giddy round Her warning voice once more is drown'd. Fool! had he firmly onward press'd, Success his efforts would have bless'd; For those who seek with honest mind, And faith sincere, will surely find; And ev'ry trial, borne aright, Will strengthen for each future fight. Subdued desires content had giv'n, Whate'er the lot assign'd by Heav'n! His passions quell'd, and humbled pride, (Oh rich exchange!) had peace supplied; And all his crosses, all his cares, All bis temptations, watchings, prayers, Permitted by his God to prove How strong his faith, how great his love! These would but exercise the soul, And bring it nearer to its goal! Oh, then the present hour embrace! Begin that arduous, glorious race! For know, a crown, the winner's prize, Awaits thee far above the skies; And He who for thy ransom bled Shall place that crown upon thy head!

THE MISSIONARY'S DEPARTURE.

(Lines addressed to G. BENNETT, Esq. of the London Missionary Deputation, on his Visit to the South Seas.)

By J. MONTGOMERY, Esq.
Go!-take the wings of morn,
And fly beyond the utmost sea,
Thou shalt not feel thyself forlorn,
Thy God is still with thee;

And where his Spirit bids thee dwell,
There, and there only, thou art well.

Forsake thy father-land,

Kindred, and friends, and pleasant home;
O'er many a rude barbarian strand,
In exile though thou roam,
Walk there with God, and thou shalt find
Double for all thy faith resigned.

Launch boldly on the surge;
And, in a light and fragile bark,

Thy path through flood and tempest urge,
Like Noah in the ark-

Then tread, like him, a new world's shore,
Thine altar build, and God adore.

Leave our Jerusalem, Jehovah's temple and his rest: Go, where no Sabbath brake on them Whom Pagan gloom oppress'd, Till bright, though late, around their isles The Gospel-dawn awoke in smiles :

Amidst that dawn from far,

Be thine expected presence shown,
Rise on thein like the morning star,
In glory-not thine own;

And tell them, when they hail the sight,
Who turn'd thy darkness into light:

Tell them, His hovering rays
Already gild their ocean's brim,

Ere long o'er heaven and earth to blaze;
Direct all eyes to Him,

The Sun of Righteousness, who brings
Mercy and healing on His wings.

Nor thou disdain to teach

To savage bordes, celestial truth-
To infant tongues, thy mother's speech-
Ennobling arts, to youth;

Till warriors fling their arms aside,
O'er bloodless fields the plough to guide.

Train them, by patient toil,

To rule the waves, subdue the ground,
Enrich themselves with Nature's spoil,
With harvest-trophies crown'd,
Till coral-reefs 'midst desert seas
Become the true Hesperides.

Thus then in peace depart,

And angels guide thy footsteps!-No:
There is a feeling in the heart
That will not let thee go:
Yet, go-thy spirit stays with me;
Yet, go-my spirit goes with thee!

Though the wide world between
Our feet conglobe its solid mass;
Though lands and waters intervene,
Which I must never pass;
Though day and night with thee be chang'd,
Seasons revers'd and clime estrang'd-

Yet one in soul-and one

In faith, and hopes, and purpose yet-
God's witness in the heavens, yon sun,
Forbid thee to forget

Those from whose eyes his orb retires,
When thine his morning beauty fires!

When tropic gloom returns,
Mark what new stars their vigils keep,
How glares the Wolf, the Phoenix burns;
And, on a stormless deep,
The Ship of heaven-the Patriarch's Dove,
The emblem of redeeming love:*

While these enchant thine eye,
Oh think how often we have walk'd,
Gaz'd on the glories of our sky--
Of higher glories talk'd;
Till our hearts caught a kindling ray,
And burn'd within us by the way.

Those hours, those walks are past!
We part-and ne'er again may meet-
Why are the joys that will not last,
So perishingly sweet?

Farewell! we surely meet again

In life or death --Farewell, till then!

WE are pleased with the conviction, that Mr. Dick, in the volume before us, has conferred a benefit on mankind. To the rising generation it will prove essentially advantageous, by compressing a fund of information within a narrow compass; and multitudes who have reached the years of maturity, by perusing this work, will have an opportunity of augmenting their store of knowledge.

It is not to be understood, that the author of this publication lays claim to an exclusive originality of thought, or pretends to explore regions over which no predecessor has ever travelled. On the contrary, he has availed himself of long established truths, bas enriched his pages by the researches of others, and placed before his readers the result of laborious experiments, and tedious calculations, without puzzling them with the perplexity of either process. Many truths and scientific facts, which are here preIsented to our view, the author has collected from the voluminous writings of his contemporaries and precursors; and a considerable portion of his merit consists in the care of selection, the order of arrangement, and that condensation of expression, which assists comprehension, without infringing on perspicuity. Many striking observations are, however, purely original both in thought and language, so that they at once communicate new ideas, and impart lustre to others with which the understanding has been somewhat familiar. The work itself is the production of a mind extensively illuminated with science, and seriously impressed with the truths of revelation, through which it has been taught

"To look through nature up to nature's God."

The author's primary design appears to be, that of connecting the result of scientific research with the pure principles of the sacred writings, so that while the mind is irradiated with the beams of the former, it should be led to consider it as subordinate to the latter, both aiming at the same