WHEN Music, heavenly maid! was youmg;.
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
'Throng'd around her magic cell ;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refined :
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness ruld the hour,
Would prove his own expressive power.
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,

E'en at the sound himself had made Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own'd his secret stings, In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurry'd band the strings. With woful measures, wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguild: A solemn, strange, and mingled air:

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild, But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure?

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hai).
Still would ber touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She callid on Echo still through all her song :

And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And hope, enchanted, smild, and waved her golden hair; And longer had she sung—bat

, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose. He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down

And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo;
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat:

And though,

sometimes, each dreary pause between; Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, [head. While each strain’d ball of sight-seemed bursting from his Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful state :
Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d:
And, now it courted Love; now, raving, callid on Hate.

With eyes uprais'd, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;
And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul,

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay,

Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
But, Oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known; The oak crown’d Sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen, Satyrs and sylvan Boys were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear; And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's estactic trial,

He with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd-
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol ;
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids,

Amidst the festal-sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing:
Vhile, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,

Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,

And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Music, sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,
Why, goddess, why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower
You learn’d in all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in the elder time,
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording sister's page
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound-
O, bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state;
Confirm the tales her sons relate!



Enumeration, of which the climax forms a principal part, is that figure which numbers up the perfections or defects of persons or things, or which brings under one head the several parts of an argument, and, like the concentration of artillery in battle, when brought to act upon any given point, bears down all before it. This figure admits of various modes of delivery, agreeably to the nature of the subjects which may be enumerated, but monotone is recurred to oftener than any other mode.


“ Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around Of hills and dales, of woods, and lawns, and spires,

And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all
The stretching landscape into smoke decays."


“O now forever,
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troops and the big war
That make ambition virtue! O farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit stirring drum, the ear piercing fife,
The royal banner ; and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war !
And you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone."


"Is it come to this? shall an inferior magistrate, a govere cor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red hot plates of iron, and at last, put to tl.e infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen ? "Shall

ither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the lears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman Commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty. and sets mankind at defiance?"


" I cannot name this gentleman, without remarking, thia! bis labours, and writings, have done much to open the eyes and hearts of mankind. He has visited all Europe—not to survey

the sumptuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples; not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosities of modern art; not to collect medals, or collate manuscripts ; but to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infection of hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrow, and of pain, and to take the guage and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt; to remember the forgotten; to attend to the neglected; to visit the forsaken; and to compare, and collate, the distresses of all men, in all countries."


Extract from a Sermon of the Rev. Thomas Gisborne, M. A.

on the happiness attendant on the paths of religion. “Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.”

Prov. iii. 17. Among the internal demonstrations of the truth of christianity, the excellence of the appropriate lessons respectively addressed in the sacred writings to different descriptions of men, holds a distinguished place. To the wicked the scripture speaks the language of indignation, tempered with offers of mercy. To the penitent it promises forgiveness. The righteous it animates with triumphant hope. To the ignorant it holds forth instruction; to the unwary, caution ; to the presumptuous, humility; to the feeble-minded, support; to the wavering, perseverance; to the dispirited, encouragement; to the afflicted, consolation. Wno but that power who discerns every variety of the human disposition ; every winding of the human heart; could have been the author of a religion thus provided with a remedy for every corruption; a defence under every weakness ?"


Extract from Pleadings of Sir George McKenzie against a

woman accused of the murder of her child. “ Gentlemen, if one man had any how slain another, if an adversary had killed his opposer, or a woman occasioned the death of her enemy, even these criminals would have been capitally punished by the Cornelian law: but, if this guiltless infant, who could make no enemy, had been murdered by its own nurse, what punishment would not then the mother have demanded? with what cries and exclamations would she have stunned our ears! What shall we say then, when a woman, guilty of homicide, a mother, of the murder of her innocent child, hath comprised all those misdeeds in one single crime; a crime, in its own nature detestable; in a woman prodigious ; in a mother, incredible ; and perpetrated against one whose age called for compassion, whose near relation claimed affection, and whose innocence deserved the highest favour?


The number, names, and utility of the pauses used in reading and speaking, must be too well known to need description here. Perhaps it may not be superfluous to make two or three remarks ;

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