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He was habited in a light green mantle, and the clear drops fell from his dark hair, which was encircled with a wreath of water-lily, interwoven with sweet-scented flag: an angling rod supported his steps. The Genius of the Canal eyed him with a contemptuous look, and in a hoarse voice thus began.—

"Hence, ignoble rill! with thy scanty tribute to thy lord the Mersey: nor thus waste thy almost exhausted urn in lingering windings along the vale. Feeble as thine aid is, it will not be unacceptable to that master stream himself, for, as I lately crossed his channel, I perceived his sands loaded with stranded vessels. I saw, and pitied him, for undertaking a task to which he is unequal. But thou, whose languid current is obscured by weeds, and interrupted by mis-shapen pebbles: who losest thyself in endless mazes, remote from any sound but thy own idle guggling; how canst thou support an existence so contemptible and useless? For me, the noblest child of Art, who hold my unremitting course from hill to hill, over vales and rivers; who pierce the solid rock for my passage, and connect unknown lands with distant seas! wherever I appear I am viewed with astonishment, and exulting commerce hails my waves. Behold my channel thronged with capacious vessels for the conveyance of merchandize, and splendid barges for the use and pleasure of travellers; my banks crowned with airy bridges and huge warehouses, and echoing with the busy sounds of industry! Pay then the homage due from Sloth and Obscurity to Grandeur and Utility."

"I readily acknowledge," replied the Deity of the Brook in a modest accent, "the superior magnificence and more extensive utility of which you so proudly boast; yet, in my humble walk, I am not void of a praiseless shining, but not less solid than yours. The nymph of this peaceful valley, rendered more fertile and beautiful by my stream; the neighbouring sylvan deities, to whose pleasure I contribute, will pay a grateful testimony to my merit. The windings of my course, which you so much blame, serve to diffuse over a greater extent of ground the refreshment of my waters; and the lovers of nature and the Muses, who are fond of straying on my banks, are better pleased that the line of beauty marks my way, than if, like yours, it were directed in a straight, unvaried line. They prize the irregular wildness with which I am decked, as the charms of beauteous simplicity. What you call the

weeds, which darken and obscure my waves, afford to the botanist a pleasing speculation of the works of nature; and the poet and painter think the lustre of my stream greatly improved by glittering through them. The pebbles which diversify my bottom, and make these ripplings in my current, are pleasing objects to the eye of taste; and my simple murmurs are more melodious to the learned ear than all the rude noises of your banks, or even the music that resounds from your stately barges. If the unfeeling sons of Wealth and Commerce judge of me by the mere standard of usefulness, I may claim no undistinguished rank. While your waters, confined in deep channels or lifted above the valleys, roll on, a useless burden to the fields, and only subservient to the drudgery of bearing temporary merchandize, my stream will bestow unvarying fertility on the meadows during the summers of future ages. Yet I scoru to submit my honours to the decision of those whose hearts are shut up to taste and sentiment; let me appeal to nobler judges. The philosopher and poet, by whose labours the human mind is elevated and refined, and opened to pleasures beyond the conception of vulgar souls, which acknowledge that the elegant deities who preside over simple and natural beauty have inspired them with their charming and instructive ideas. The sweetest and most majestic bard that ever sung* has taken a pride in owning his affection to woods and streams; and, while the stupendous monuments of Roman grandeur, the columns which pierced the skies, and the aqueducts which poured their waves over mountains and valleys, are sunk in oblivion, the gently-winding Mincius still retains his tranquil honours. And when thy glories, proud Genius! are lost and forgotten : when the food of Commerce, which now supplies thy urn, is turned into another course, and has left thy channels dry and desolate; the softly flowing Avon will still murmur in song, and his banks receive the homage of all who are beloved by Phoebus and the Muses.'

+Shakspeare.

SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

THIS "Prince of Philosophers" was born at Woolstrope, in Lincolnshire. In childhood he displayed his genius, even in his play-things: for having collected a numerous set of tools, he was continually during his hours allowed for playing, making mechanical contrivances; and he used to try to measure the force of the wind, by the simple method of observing how much further he could jump before a strong breeze, than he could when the wind was against him. As he advanced in years, he was constantly found reading books that were considered far beyond his capacity. He was brought up to farming, in order that he might be able to manage his own estate, but a characteristic incident led to the immediate cultivation of his scientific pursuits. Being sent, on some occasion, to Grantham market, he was found by his uncle, in a hay-loft, working a mathematical problem, which proof of extreme ardour so pleased him, that he no longer hesitated to place his nephew at college.* Newton's disposition was invariably sweet: his temperance was so great, and his conduct so constantly guided by the most steady principles of virtue, that his mind was left in unruffled peace to pursue the grand objects that engrossed his superior powers. Like all great men who have steadily pursued art or science, he was perfectly modest in not attributing any thing to extraordinary abilities, but all to patience and industry. He used to say, "I keep the subject constantly before me, and wait till the first dawnings open slowly, by little and little, into a full and clear light. When involved in abstruse problems, he was wholly lost to the common concerns of life, and would go almost the whole day without food, or sit for hours on the side of his bed, half-dressed, taking "no note of time." The equanimity of his temper was scarcely to be disturbed by any occurrence; and the well-known story of the accident occasioned by his little dog, is a striking proof of this. But there may be those of our readers who have never met with it :-to such we relate it.

The animal overturned a candle in his study, which set fire to a number of papers-the almost finished labours of many years: but all that this irreparable loss drew from the philosopher, was the exclamation, "O Diamond! Diamond! thou little knowest what mischief thou hast done."

+ His father died when he was an infant, and his uncle became his guardian

To the immortal honour of queen Caroline the wife of George I. she so appreciated the talents of Newton, and his discoveries in science, that she always congratulated herself on being born in the same age, and having the power of conversing with so great a man. Sir Isaac Newton lived to the age of 85, but his memory became so weak that he could neither remember nor recognize several of his own writings.

SONG,

BY ANACREON MOORE.

"AND doth not a meeting like this make amends
For all the long years I've been wandering away,
To see thus around me my youth's early friends,
As smiling and kind as in that happy day?
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine,
The snow-fall of time may be stealing,-what then?
Like the Alps in the sun-set, thus lighted with wine,
We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.
What softened remembrances come over the heart,
In gazing on those we've been lost to so long,
The sorrows, the joys of which once they were part,
Still round them like visions of yesterday throng.
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,

When held to the flame, will steal out to the sight,
So many a feeling that long seemed effaced

The warmth of a meeting like this bring to light. And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide To visit the scene of our boyhood anew, Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide, The wreck of full many a hope shining through; Yet still as in fancy we point to the flowers, That once made a garden of all the gay shore, Deceived for a moment, we think them still ours, And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more. So brief our existence, a glimpse at the most

Is all we can have of the friends we hold dear;

And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,

For want of some heart that could echo it near.
Ah! well may we hope, when this short life is gone,
To meet in some world of more permanent bliss;-
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on,
Is all we enjoy of each other in this.

But come-the more rare such delights to the heart,

The more we should welcome and bless them the more. They're ours when we meet-they are lost when we partLike birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er. Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we driuk, Let sympathy pledge us thro' pleasure, thro' pain, That fast as a feeling but touches one link,

Her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain.

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O THOU fairest of Women; thou rose of the Vale!
Ah why do thy feet from thy dwelling thus stray?
Hast thou lost thy beloved, O breathe the sad tale,
That thy sisters may seek and direct him the way?
"With the roses and lilies and sweets of the grove,
My beloved is wand'ring in silence alone;
He's thinking and musing of me and my
love:
To me he's a lily, a rose newly blown."

'His eyes are like diamonds, so piercing and bright,
You would melt at the sight, did you see but their flame;
He's my guide, and my star, and iny watchman at night,
So true to his love he is ever the same.'

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'His teeth are as white and as pure as the snow; His forehead's a tower of marble on high;

His soft silken hair as gold brightly glow;

O'er his neck his fair ringlets with majesty fly."

But why need I tell you the charms of my love, See yonder he's tripping along the gay green, May it please ye fair maidens to hide in the grove, For by none but the moon should true lovers be seen."

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