was the first exclamation of the breakfast table; did she tell you where they should dine?' 'No, madam, I forgot to ask.' 'I can tell yon,' said the master of the house, with somewhat of a good humoured importance in his air, somewhat of the look of a man, who having kept a secret as long as it was necessary, is not sorry to get rid of the burthen. I can tell you,-in London.' 'In London!' Yes, your little favourite has been in high luck; she has married the only son of one of the best and richest men in B-; Mr. Smith the great batter. It is quite a romance;' continued he. William Smith walked over one Sunday evening to see a match at cricket: he saw our pretty Hannah, and forgot to look at the cricketers. After having gazed his fill, he approached to address her, and the little damsel was off like a bird. William did not like her the less for that, and thought of her the more. He came again, and again; and at last contrived to tame this wild dove, and even to get an entrance to the cottage. Hearing Hannah talk, is not the way to fall out of love with her. So William, at last finding his case serious, laid the matter before his father, and requested his consent to the marriage. Mr. Smith was at first a little startled; but William is an only son, and an excellent son; and, after talking with me, and looking at Hannah, (I believe her sweet face was the more eloquent advocate of the two,) he relented; and having a spice of his son's romance, finding that he had not mentioned his situation in life, he made a point of its being kept secret till the wedding day. We have managed the business of settlements, and William having discovered that his fair bride has some curiosity to see London, (a curiosity, by the bye, which I suspect she owes to you or poor Lucy,) intends taking her thither a fortnight. He will then bring her home to one of the best houses in B-, a fine garden, fine furniture, fine clothes, fine servants, and more money than she will know what to do with. Really the surprise of lord E's farmer's daughter, when, thinking she had married his steward, he brought her to Burleigh, and installed her as its mistress, could hardly have been greater. I hope the shock will not kill Hannah though, as is said to have been the case with that poor lady.' 'Oh no, Hannah loves her husband too well. Any where with him.' And I was right. Hannah has survived the shock.

She is returned to B, and I have been to call on her. I never saw any thing so delicate and bride-like as she

looked in her white gown and her lace mob, in a room light and simple, and tasteful and elegant, with nothing fine, except some beautiful green-house plants. Her reception was a charming mixture of sweetness and modesty, a little more respectful than usual, and far more shamefaced; poor thing, her cheeks must bave pained her. But this was the only difference. In every thing else, she is still the same Hannah, and has lost none of her old babits of kindness and gratitude. She was making a handsome matronly cap, evidently for her mother, and spoke evenwith tears of her new father's goodness to her and Susan. She would fetch the cake and wine herself, and would gather, in spite of all remonstrance, some of her choice flowers as a parting nosegay. She did indeed just hint at the troubles with visitors and servants, how strange and sad it was; seemed distressed at ringing the bell, and visibly shrank from the sound of a double knock But in spite of these calamities, Hannah is a happy woman.-The double rap was her husband's, and the glow on her cheek, and the smile of her lips and eyes when he appeared, spoke more plainly than ever any where with him.' M.

6

TO AN ENCAMPMENT OF GIPSIES.
GIPSIES! there's something in your life and looks,
That prompts and pleases the poetic mind:
O'er nature's landscape, mountain, lawn, and brooks,
Ye rove, by no unsocial laws confined;
And when in toil the rest of human kind

Are labouring for their bread like galley slaves,

Ye rest and shelter in the sunny nooks,

Where at small price the fruits of earth ye have.
For oft when night her murky shadow flings,
O'er field and fold, and eyes of husbandman,
Ye steal potatoes, sheep, and other things,

That come within your reach, to feed your clan,
And stop the mouth of swarthy imp that squalls,
Peeping with owlet eyes from forth your tented walls.

Ye bonnie bonnie hills, by yon green wood side!
Ye wild winding streamlets that murmuring glide!
How happy have ye seen me with my lovely bride!
But now she's for ever laid low.

Thou mavis that sing'st in the gay beams of morn,
How pleased did we list to thy voice from yon thorn,
But now since my Morag's for ever from me torn,
Thy song but adds weight to my woe.

Ah, Death! cruel Death! could not youth's fairest bloom,

And beauty and virtue arrest thy hard doom?

And save my soul's delight from the cold silent tomb,
And avert for awhile thy fell blow?

Now farewell, ye hills! and ye greenwoods adieu !
Ye wild birds, no more can your carols renew
My pleasure, for Morag is lost to my view,
And my sorrows for ever must flow.

A FRAGMENT.

THROUGH barren and deserted wastes, through sands Checkered by no soft resting spot of green;

Beneath a burning heaven, the Christian host

Pursued their weary march: it was that host,
When led by noble Godfrey, took the vow
To free Jerusalem;-the infidels,

Already on Dolyleum's field, had bowed

Beneath their arms; God and their own good swords
Had won the day, and on the Turkish tower
The blood-red banner of the Cross was seen
Waving in triumph.-Onward still they held
For Antioch; but in Lycoania's sands

Famine and thirst proved sterner foes than war,
And sickness, desert-bred, had thinned the ranks
More than the Turkish sword;-each wearied eye
Sought for some stream; for three days burning suns,
With merciless rays, had dried the pulse of life.

No speck was in the sky,-no little cloud
That promised rain; no shadowy grove, no green
For the tired eye to rest on. Onward still
The weary soldier march'd, and often raised
His mailed hand to Heaven in silent prayer,
And pointed to the blessed Cross he bore
Upon his bosom-and his prayer was heard;
For from some mountain cliff at length arose
The sound of running water; what a bound
Was then in every heart, and what a cry
Of joy, as from its parent source, clothed round
In lovely green, and clear, cold rivulet

Gushed sparkling in the sun! an angel's voice
Could not have sweeter been. Then down they sat
And doft their helms, and bathed their burning brows;
And from their heavy armour cleared away

The sharp, dry, desert sand; then pitched the tents,
And spread their frugal fare. No sounds were heard
But those of mirth; here on the grassy turf
The careless warriors lay, and oft between
Rose the sweet song of their own native land;
Even sweeter, because heard in foreign clime;
For nought like music has the magic power
To bring the shades of long forgotten joys
Back to the weeping memory: softer grew
The soldier's heart, and piety and love

Led all their thoughts to home; then silence sunk
Upon the camp, and every warrior breath'd
His evening orisons, and slept in peace.
Ere yet the sun with his earliest beam
Purpled the east, the Christian army rose,
Renewed in strength and hope; deep gratitude
Beamed in each countenance, as the leaders came
Forth from their tents, beneath the cool clear air,
To fit their armour on; each youthful squire
Smiled to his master; as he clasped the helm
Or fixt the spur, or backed the impatient steed,
And told how soon he hoped to gain renown
And knighthood in the breach of Antioch.
Thus marched they on in joy, and gained at last
The barren ridge of Amanus, which divides
With rocky girdle the Cilician waste
From the fair field of Syria, all behind,
Lay a drear desert, but before them spread
In rich expansion, that delightful vale
Through which Orontes rolled his sable wave.

IT may with truth be asserted, that if pure and rational happiness is to be found on earth, except in the temples of religion and the practice of benevolence, it is in the love of nature. The eulogium pronounced by Cicero on the pleasures of literature, in his oration for the poet Archias, is equally applicable to the calm and elegant satisfaction which a well directed mind continually derives from the beauty, magnificence, order, and regularity discoverable in the whole creation. "Such studies," said he, "are not only suited to every time, to every age, to every place, but they give joy in old age, and strength in youth, adorn prosperity, and are the comfort and consolation of adversity: at home they are delightful, abroad they are easy: thus when we travel they attend us; and in retirement they never leave us."

Your attention, my friend, has lately been directed to the wonderful formation of the root and stem. We will continue our investigations ou secreted fluids. Nothing is more astonishing than the production of flinty earths in vegetable bodies. A substance is found in the hollow stem of the Bamboo aruudo. Bamboo of Linnæus, called Tabasheer; which is supposed in the East Indies to be endowed with extraordinory qualities, like the imaginary stone which Shakspeare has so beautifully eulogized, as similar in its virtues to the benefits derived from adversity.

Some of this substance underwent a chemical examination, and proved as near as possible, pure earth. It is even found occasionally in the Bamboo cultivated in our hot-houses. A similar discovery has also been made by