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The blow is struck, the deed is done, Montalva to his, home is gone!

8.

But in Montalva's tow'rs was heard
The wild din of festivity;

And many a song, and jesting word,
Were sung and spoke right merrily.
And joyous was the pleasant lay,
For 'twas his sister's natal day ;-
And quick among the jovial band
Flew Bacchus' gift from hand to hand;
Such revels as in time of yore,

When gentle peace return'd once more,
And bade the maids and ladies sweet,
With joy the long-wish'd warriors greet;
Such revels then had fill'd the hall,
And such the noisy festival ;-
E'en the young infant at the breast,
Would lisp and smile among the rest.

9.

But the wind round Montalva's tow'rs
Blows loud and fierce; the tempest roars;
The spirit of the storm rides on the
stream,

And wide the red fork'd lightnings gleam:
Beneath their momentary flash,
The woods, the mountain forests crash;
Loud thunders roll along the sky,
And loud the echoing hills reply,
As if the Eternal One had hurl'd
His vengeance on a guilty world.

10.

Sudden the wind had staid its force, No longer were heard its threat'nings hoarse ;

Not a zephyr blew

To bend the light grass where it grew; › The storm was hush'd, and the tempest was still,

And each gentle rill
Without murmur mov'd,

As through its winding course it rov'd ; And the voice of the song was heard no more,

The jest and the laugh were o'er, And each one gaz'd on his neighbour's eye,

And trembled, he knew not why; And there came a shriek, so loud and dread,

As if the nations of the dead

Had burst their marble dwelling-place.
Extinguish'd was the taper's blaze,
And through the hall, so long and wide,
A shadowy form was seen to glide,
And the face of the revellers it gaz'd
upon,

But with no gentle mein;

And the lightning's flash illum'd the

scene,

And the shadowy form was gone.

VOL. IX.

No. II. On Greece.

Don Juan.

Of the three hundred, grant but three,
To make a new Thermopyla.
SLOW sets the sun; his ray serene
He throws upon a lovely scene;
Blest scene! where once, as eagle free,
The Grecian hail'd thee, Liberty!
Where now the Turkish despot reigns,
And rules with iron rod the plains
Where Greece, while Greece remain'd,
had fought

In Freedom's holy cause, and taught
The nations round to bend with fear
Before her brilliant high career.

Land of the freeman! canst thou be
So fallen, so low in slavery ;-
Land of the good, the brave, the wise,
Whose souls have sought their native skies,
Oh, can thy children but look on

The ruin'd pile, the mould'ring stone,
Which once were Grecia's Halls of State,
Where Senates held their grave debate?
Or can this slavish abject son,
Look on thy plain, O Marathon?-
Or stand, with soul unmov'd, and see,
Thy well-fought pass, Thermopyla?—
Or gaze on Leuctra's hallow'd plain,
And think on all those scenes in vain ?-
Ye sacred brave! in vain ye died-
In vain has flow'd the purple tide
Of millions, at their country's call-
Vain were your efforts, vain your fall!-
Your fame forgot, your valour gone
Your name, despis'd, remains alone.

To

No. III. .

Он beauteous as those airy forms,

That flit around the prophet's dream, That ride with lightning on the storms, Or melt away in glory's beam; Delicious as the incense sweet,

That from the temple's altar flies, And leaves behind the earth, to greet

Its purer mansion in the skies. In thee the charms that youth can give, The guileless heart, the gladsome smile, In beauty, like the Phoenix, live,

Just risen from its funeral pile. Clad in immortal light and grace,

The sculptur'd Venus, beauty's queen, Might catch new sweetness from thy face,

And learn new grandeur from thy mien. Constant as the planets run

Their course around the silver sphere, No Persian can adore his sun

With love or homage more sincere. Yes, like the plants, that bloom a while, Or shrink, as wills the solar ray;

The life created by thy smiles
Should, at one frown, dissolve away.

Θήτα

3 T

TO MELANCHOLY.

Intended as an Imitation of the style of the authors who wrote about the 16th century.

MYSTERIOUS passion, dearest pain,

Tell me, what wond'rous charms are these
With which thou dost torment and please?

I grieve to be thy slave, yet would not freedom gain.
No tyranny like thine we know,

That half so cruel e'er appear'd;

Yet thou art lov'd, as well as fear'd;

Perhaps the only tyrant that is so.

Thou'rt mystery, and riddle all;

Like those thou inspir'st, thou lov'st to be
In darkness and obscurity.

Even learned Athens thee an unknown god might call.
Strange contraries in thee combine;

Both hell and heaven in thee meet,

Thou greatest bitter, greatest sweet;

No pain is like thy pain-no pleasure too like thine.
'Tis the grave doctrine of the schools,

That contraries can never be

Consistent in the highest degree;

But thou must stand exempt from their dull narrow rules:
And yet 'tis said, the brightest mind

Is that which is by thee refin'd.

See here á greater mystery;

Thou mak'st us wise, yet ruin'st our philosophy.

N.

CLERICAL AND LAIČAL ANECDOTES.

IT s well known to most of our readers, that the ministers, for more than a dozen miles round Edinburgh, are in the habit of annually levying a considerable number of sermons, from the probationers of our church. Among those country clergymen, who thus willingly afford an opportunity to their young friends to exercise of their vocation, the Rev., Dr S of D—is particularly conspicuous-not so much, as is said, from the love of ease to himself, as to enhance the value of his own services in the estimation of his people most of them being of opinion, that, in point of comparative excellence, his own discourses are far superior to those of the best of his assistants. It happened, some twenty years ago, that a lank, raw-boned preacher, hall engaged to take the Rev. Doctor's duty for the ensuing Sunday; and, before its arrival, he had asked an acquaintance (now a most respectable clergyman) to divide the duties of the Sabbath with him, in the church of D—. It was arranged between the friends that they should leave town on Sunday morning at eight o'clock, to proceed to the scene of their labours. cording to previous appointment, Mr

Ac

P-, who had never before been at D-, called at his friend Mr M-'s lodgings, at the hour agreed uponfull of the expectation that, cheered with pleasant conversation, he was about to enjoy an agreeable walk, amid the freshness of the morning, "in the rosy time of the year." These delightful anticipations, howeyer, were nearly dissipated as soon as he had entered Mr M-'s room. He found him uncombed and unshaven, with only one stocking on, enveloped in the folds of an old greasy morning-gown, sitting at a table with several folios open before him, and with his eyes earnestly fixed on a small scrap of paper which he held in one of his hands.

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'Astonishing, Mr M-!" said Mr P-; "do I find you in that state at this late hour?-Get dressed, man— we shall be too late!"

"Oh man, Mr P-!" replied Mr M-, "I don't know what to do.I was out at supper last night, and staid till it was rather late, so that when I began to make my skeleton, I fell fast asleep, slept till the candle burnt out in the socket, and have scarcely got it finished yet."

"A skeleton, Mr M--! What do you mean by a skeleton ?” asked Mr P—

". Of my sermon for D-today, you know," was Mr M-'s reply, in a mournful sort of tone. "I never deal in composed discourses; I just make out a skeleton of what I am going to say, and thereby I put it quite out of the power of the people to call me a reader of my sermons. You know they don't like read discourses."

"There is no time at present to discuss that matter with you," said Mr P. "Get dressed, man-we shall surely be too late.”

crous incidents that had ever fallen
under his observation.
We may

just add, that no patron was ever so
kind as to bless Mr M-with a kirk,
and that he has long ago become a
skeleton himself.

After some more parley, Mr Mbegan to dress, taking, at intervals, a side-glance at the skeleton-and at length the journey was commenced. When the two probationers had fairly cleared the town, Mr M- said to his companion-" Just go you on before, and I'll look over my skeleton." Mr P-complied, and though he walked at a very slow pace, he soon got so far a-head of his companion, who, as he pored over his skeleton, seemed altogether unconscious of the slowness of his progress, as to render it necessary to stop, from time to time, and hail him to come along. In this unsocial manner they arrived within a mile of D when the church-bell begun to ring; then Mr M-, who had hitherto walked so tardily, hastily pocketed his skeleton, and bolted forward at full speed, leaving his friend, an entire stranger, to find his way as he best could. He did not attempt to keep up with Mr M-, but walked forward with an accelerated pace, and entered the church, after his friend with the skeleton had taken possession of the pulpit. The Duke and Duchess of B- -h, with a party of friends from England, forned a part of the congregation, which was numerous. Watching, running, and anxiety, had made the preacher nervous. His aspect was naturally uncouth, and his voice loud and harsh. On the present occasion, his appearance was peculiarly ghastly-his utterance a perfect asinine bray-and his discourse, of which the skeleton was the ground-work, the most incoherent piece of nonsense which had ever disgraced a pulpit. Mr P-used to represent the whole conduct of Mr M throughout the day, as a succession of the most ludi

The Rev. Ebenezer Erskine, the father of the Seceders, was, for some time, in the early part of his life, minister of the parish of Portmoak, in Fifeshire. After it had been arranged, that he should be translateit to Stirling, he endeavoured to keep his removal from Portmoak a profound secret. Some surmises of this event, however, got abroad, and were eagerly circulated among the people. While matters were in this state, Mr Erskine one day met one of those off-hand, forward, unceremonious old women, to be found in almost every parish in Scotland, who thus accosted him-" Weel, Sur, I'm tald ye'r gaen' to lea' us." "And who told you that, Margaret ?" enquired the minister. "Wha tald me, Sur? a-deed it's e'en the clash o' the kintra." "But, Margaret," rejoined Mr Erskine, " you know that is not to be depended upon. We should not lend an ear to idle rumours. Have you no better evidence that I intend to leave you, than what you call the clash o' the kintra?" Aye have I, Sur," replied Margaret; "it has been a gay dry simmer this, Sur, and you hanna cast ony peats; that's no like as if ye meant to winter wi' us."

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Margaret," replied the minister, "you know we are the Lord's servants, and it behoves us to obey his call.-If he has work for me in Stirling, you know it is my duty to go and perform it." Teugh!" exclaimed Margaret; "call here, call there! I've heard Stirling has a gay muckle stipend ;-nou am thinking if the Lord had called you o'er by to Auchterteel, you wud ne'er hae let on ye heard him!"

The late Mr Owen, a presbyterian minister at Rochdale, in Lancashire, was distinguished for the plainness of his manners, the readiness of his retorts, and the bitterness of his sarcasm; and many anecdotes of his singularities and his talents are still preserved, and frequently repeated by the dissenting ininisters in the north of England. One day, soon after a new Rector-not quite so wise

as Solomon-had taken possession of the valuable living of that parish, Mr Owen was riding slowly up a hill near the town, on rather a sorry steed. The new Rector, accompanied by a gentleman of the town, happened to be behind him, and far better mounted. "Who may that extraordinary-looking person be?" said the Rector to his companion. "Oh!" replied the other, "that is one of your own cloth-that is the presbyterian minister of the town." "Indeed!" said the Rector; "he is a great oddity-let us ride up and try of what metal he is made.' "You had better let him alone," said his companion, "otherwise you may perhaps find he has metal in him both sharp and weighty." Regardless of this caution, the Rector gave his horse the spur, was soon alongside of his presbyterian colleague, and accosted him thus “Pray, Sir, what makes your horse wag his tail so incessantly?" "The very same thing, Sir, that makes you wag your tongue-weakness." "I told you," said the Rector's companion, you had better let him alone, but you would not take my advice. You now know something of your neighbour's metal."

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Being on a journey, the same reverend gentleman met in the public room of an inn a party, among which was a lady of a figure greatly deformed. Her shoulders rose to her ears, her breast touched her chin, and she had a large bump on her back. Mr Owen had benevolence enough to feel, that physical defects were not a legitimate subject of raillery or sarcasm; and nothing could have tempted him to have applied these sharp weapons to the object just described, had she not provoked him by her own impertinence. Though they did not recognize each other as acquaintances, Mr. Owen and the little lady were not unknown to each other. During breakfast, presbyterian parsons became, either by accident or design, the topic of conversation. "I can't endure a presbyterian parson," said the little lady; "I would not marry a presbyterian parson for the world-I would rather marry a tinker than a presbyterian parson.' Why, Madam," said Mr Owen, "to tell you the truth, I think you have

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made a most suitable choice. You have carried the budget for some time, and you have brass enough in your face to establish your husband in his trade wherever you please."

Mr H, a dissenting clergyman, was, about twenty years ago, making a rapid progress, in converting to the tenets of his wild orthodoxy a large majority of the population in the British Empire. The · ranks of his followers, we believe, are now very much thinned, and the worthy dissenter has not yet had the felicity to become a martyr to the cause. Travelling in the north of Ireland, on a proselytising mission, he and his servant, both upon horseback, made a sudden halt, just as a catholic priest had dismissed a congregation. Anxious to gain attention, and to secure converts, Mr Himmediately pulled from his pocket a psalm-book, and commenced singing a portion from the psalms of David. After this, he raised himself in his stirrups, and began a prayer. Upon this a young Pat, one of the hearers, or spectators, made to his father the following remark :-" Och, and by Jasus, the ould one is done for at last." "The ould one-and done for at last!" retorted the father; "what do you mean by that, sirrah?" "Och, and to be sure, father," says young Pat, "I mean him! Have not the infantry been after bothering and fighting him these eighteen hundred years, and all to no purpose; and is it not plain that the ould one is to be routed at last, when the cavalry have joined in the attack?"

The Rev. Mr- -, of- some five-and-twenty years ago, had been engaged as usual, to preach on a sacramental Sunday, in the Tent of a parish some miles distant from his own. Upon this occasion, he had borrowed for his journey a horse, the property of the schoolmaster of the parish. The dominie was what is called " an excellent whip," and his horse really a good one. Mr, however, with all his whipping and spurring, was not making progress sufficient to ensure his arrival in time for the service of the day. A parishioner of his own happening to meet him, enquired if that was the dominie's horse?" Yes,”

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says Mr, "and a lazy brute it is; I shall not be in time for the Tent." "I tell you what," says the countryman; you know that the dominie, though one of his legs is shorter than the other, always rides well. If you would only raise your right leg a little, and touch the animal with the spur, just under the saddle, I'se warrant ye shall make better progress." No sooner said than done, when off flew horse and rider as fast as John Gilpin. Psalm-singing had commenced in the Tent ere Mr reached the scene of his future labours, yet his horse was not inclined to stop; and notwithstanding the rider's pulling the reins, and calling out"phrroo, you brute, phrroo *," his ride might have proved as long and as unsatisfactory as that of the celebrated equestrian just mentioned, had not the villagers come to his assistance. Somewhat flushed and flurried by his exertions, and being necessitated, instanter, to dismount and ascend the tent-pulpit, -instead of, as is customary, placing his hand on the head of the precentor, (who by this time had nearly sung the whole of the 103d psalm,) as a signal to stop, in order to commence prayer, Mr, in the hurried anxiety of the moment, stretched forth both his hands, as he had done during the latter part of his ride, exclaiming with much apparent fervour, "phrroo, phrroo !”

In the year 1794, when the demon of disorder was raging in France -when Britons had begun to imagine that the rights of man and those of kings were diametrically opposite to each other-when reformer and republican were considered synonymous terms, one party believing in the infallibility of statesmen, and the other exclaiming against them, as the oppressors of the people; the peace and happiness of almost every village were more or less interrupted by political discussion. In a royal burgh, north of Tay, there lived a merchant, who had, on many occasions, spoken pretty freely of his Majesty's ministers, and what he

• Phrroo-an expression used in Scotland, to stay the career of a horse or cow. It cannot be properly expressed by letters of the alphabet. It is a sound produced from the throat, aided by a compressed quivering of the lips.

conceived the abuses of the constitution; by which he had rendered himself popular among a certain class, and equally obnoxious to the magistrates, who firmly opposed all innovation. This man was one day passing along the street, with a pamphlet in his hand; the magistrates were walking in front of the Town House,

when one of them accosted the reformer thus-"Well, Mr -, is that the Rights of Man you have got?" "No, Sir, it is not, but it appears to me almost as good." "Pray what is it, Mr Fare we to have more "It is the Pro

sedition still?"

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verbs of Solomon, Sir." Ay, hold by them, Mr -; Solomon was a king-he will teach you the truth!" "I agree with you, Sir; for although I have not read the book since I was at school, I just happened to open it on the bookseller's counter, and the first sentence that met my eye pleased me so highly, that I immediately purchased the work, which I am resolved to read with attention."

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Ay, Mr- and what expression of Solomon's struck you so forcibly ?” "Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall be established," was the reply. The magistrate turned upon his heel, and was off.

A countryman was, early one morning, proceeding to town with a cart full of smuggled whisky, and very unexpectedly saw the excise officer approaching. Feeling that retreat was impracticable, he came forward with an air of easy confidence, and saluted the officer with-" Gudemorning, Sir! are ye frae Perth?" "Yes, Sir; what of that?" "Oh, Sir, could ye tell me what part of the town Mr the gauger lives?" "Yes, I can; do you want him?" "Ay! I want to see him, before there be mickle stir upo' the causey." "I am doubtful of your finding him at home; if you have any particular business with him, you may be disappointed," said the officer, anxious to know what could be wanted with himself. "Oh, Mrs

will likely be at hame, an' she'll do wi' me. As you're a civillike gentleman, I'll tell you: Mrthe gauger's a fine, discreet man, mair sae than ony i' the trade that I ken. My master mak's a drap o' the

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