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More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
JUST once a year, when summer days are long,
When town is empty, and the moors are throng-
Just once a year I break the chains that bind,
For oine long months, my body and my mind,
And Aly, with eager pleasure, lo upbend
In tbe wild converse of one humble friend.
He was not humble twenty years ago,
When side by side we struggled, friend and foe;
When side by side we took our first degrees,
The boast of Johnians be, and I of Caius;
There as he lay upon his truckle bed,
Imaginary mitres graced his head;
Or French Savans, in flattering vision came
To hail the owner of his mighty name.
How would he then have scorp'd the fate tbat now
Sheds such contentment on his placid brow;
How turn with loathing from his humble lot,
Jo that lone vale forgetting and forgot?
And yet he loves it now; for all his care,
And all the objects of his love are there;
His is yon white-wash'a house with trees before,
And his the babes that play around the door;,
His is the church whose bigb but ruined tower
Is deck'd with ivy, and each brighter flower ;
And his the flock that come from vale and hill,
On sabbath days, that house of prayer to fill.
The Dilly stops, and there expectant stand
The vicar and his wife with open hand,
And looks of cordial love, that seem to say“
“We're glad you're come, and hope you mean to stay.'
The evening scarce suffices us to hear.
On either band the happenings of the year-
How Jack, my godson, to his sire's surprize,
Has gained, at Winchester, the Latin prize-
How tbe rude 'squire has ceased to swear,
And comes to church, and kneels when he is there
How well the Sunday school succeeds, and how
The girls all curtsey, and the boys all bow-
How rarely 'tis the game keeper can tell
He found a poacher skulking on the fell-
How drinking bouts, and boxing matches cease,
And some old saints have died in faith and peace.
So pass the evening hours, and pleased to hear
The toils and triumphs of a friend so dear,
I go to rest; but promise to attend,
Next morn, the parish progress of my friend,
First for the task with social meal and prayer,
Our bodies and our spirits we prepare ;
Then through the garden plot while still the dew
Gives every leaf a greener, brighter, hue;
And by the church-yard elms we take our way,
Beneath whose shadows lie the tombstones grey,
There stands, of transept and of nave bereft,
One narrow aisle, the little that is left,
And then the vicar pauses still, to tell
From what high glory Hartley Abbey fell;
How she in ancient time ber abhots sent,
With all a bishop's pomp, to parliament;
And spread her cloister'd palaces around
A hundred acres of that holy ground,
Till conscientious Henry's holy zeal
Reform'd the tainted church with fire and steel.
I ne'er could catch this antiquarian rage, -
But you may read the whole in Dugdale's page.
'Tis but a step across the village green,
Where the geese paddle in the pools between;
We lift the latch, and there before our eyes,
Bed-rid and blind the widow Thompson lies.
That short five minutes' walk across the green,
Suffic'd my friend to tell what she had been.
Loving and lov'd, she enter'd upon life,
A village beauty, and a farmer's wife;
And children sprung around, that left no fears
Of kindly succour in declining years,
All promis'd fair: but then her husband gave
His name, the credit of a friend to save;
And when the bill was due, that friend had ftown:
And left bis bail to mect the storm alone ::
Markets were dull, and harvest months were wet,
And so poor farmer Thompson died in debt.
Then, though her children bloom'd in manly pride,
Consumption came, and one by one, they died
All-all were gone; and she was left behind,
To mourn and suffer,-poor, decrepid, blind!
She knew the very step of him, whose voice
Had taught her 'midst her sorrows to rejoice;
And those wan features, as he took her hand,
Show'd joy that worldlings cannot understand-
A trust in bim that has the pow'r to save
A hope that, fearless, looks beyond the grave.
Then held the converse of her hopes and fears,
Befitting Christians in this vale of tears.
Not her's the lights by pride and passion bred
From the deep quagmires of a muddy head;.
Not ber's the fool-born jest and stifled sigh
With which philosophers prépare to die.
Her talk was lofty-yet 'twas humble too;
How much she had to hope, how inuch to do-
How little she had done, how much remain'd
To do, before the victory were gaiv'd-
To run, to fight, to wrestle, to endure,
To make her calling and election sure,
She spoke with gralitude of trials past,
And calmly dar'd apticipate the last :
She, when by cares o'erwhelm'd, by doubts distress'd,
Look'd to the cross for peace, to heaven for rest :
And confident in him who cannot lie,
Had made her patience strong, her courage high.
“Well," said I, dashing off a single tear,
'Tis surely good for us to have been here :
Such lively faith, such patient hope to see,
Does more than tomes of Dutch divinity-
Not for the world these visits would I miss,
If all your sick-list cases be like this.
“Like this I would they were, but those who go
To search the lairs of poverty and woe,
Must nerve tbeir hearts, and be prepard to find
The body's pain embitter'd by the mind ;
Or see the reckless sinner that can die
Without a hope, and yet without a sigh;
Or hoping all'in works of human pride,
As if no Saviour died-or need have died!"
I LOVE is a heat full of coldness, a sweet full of
bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, making
the thoughts, hair, eyes, and hearts ears; bred
by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jea-
lousy, killed by díssembling, and buried by
Love is a cameleon, which draws nothing in
the mouth but air, and nourishes nutbing in body but the tongue.
A man has choice to begin to love; but not to end it.
Love-knots are tied with eyes, and cannot be untied with hands; made fast with thoughts, not to be unloosed with fingers.
TRUTH. TRUTH is the glory of time, and the daughter of eternity'; a title of the highest grace, and a note of divine nature; she is the life of religion, the light of love, the grace of wit, and the crown of wisdom; she is the beauty of valour, the brightness of honour, the blessing of wisdom, and the joy of faith; her truth is pure gold, her time is right precious, her word is most gracious, and her will is most glorious; her essence is in God, and her dwelling with his servants; her will in his wisdom, and her work to his glory; she is honoured in love, and graced in constancy; in patience admired, and in charity beloved; she is the angel's worship, the virgin's fame, the saint's bliss, and the martyr's crown; she is the king's greatuess, and his council's goodness ; his subject's peace and his kingdom's praise ; she is the life, learning, and the light of the law; the honour of trade, and the grace of labour; she hath a pure eye, a plain hand, a piercing wit, and a perfect heart; she is wisdom's walk in the way of holiness, and takes up her rest but in the resolution of goodness; her tongue never trips, her heart never faints, her hand never fails, and her faith never fears ; her church is without schism, her city without fraud, her court withont vanity, and her kingdom without villainy. Tu sum, so intinite is her excellence in the construction of all sense, that I will thus only conclude in the wonder of her worth:--She is the nature of perfection in the perfection of nature, where Gud in Christ shows the glory of christianity.
MOUNT AND CASTLE OF TAMWORTH.
TAKEN BY THE LATE MR. HILDITCH. IBERATING by her prudence and valour the Kingdom of her brother, after its invasion by the Danes, as mentivued in the general history, by Pennant, Ethelfleda, the celebrated daughter of the illustrionis Alfred, rebuilt Tamworth in the year 913, after it had been totally destroyed by the invaders. This princess erect.
ed a tower on a part of the mount, which it E
is supposed forms the site of the present ruins of the castle, and where she, for the most part, resided until she died, in the year 920. .
Tamworth appears to have once been a town of very considerable note; and at an early period of our history, in the time of the Mercians, it was a royal village, and the farorite residence of some of their monarchs. The celebrated king. Ofta, dates one of his charters monks of Worcester from his palace here, in the year 781; and several of bis successors, in the next century, date various charters from this same place. At this time an extensive and deep ditch, forty-five feet in breadth, protected the town and royal domain on the north, west, and east sides, and the rivers Tame and Anker, at whose confluence it is situated, served as a great defence on the south. The former runs through the town, nearly dividing it into equal parts, one of which is in Warwickshire, the other in Siaffordshire. NO. II.