pre

After this succeeds the inspection of the parish register; and, as the various baptisms appear for the ceding year, the circumstances attending them are narrated. The following is perhaps the best :

To name an Infant met our Village-sires, Assembled all, as such event requires; Frequent and full, the rural Sages sate, And Speakers many urg'd the long debate, Some harden'd knaves, who rov'd the country round,

Had left a Babe within the Parish-bound. First, of the fact they question'd — =‘ Was it true?"

"Was 't dead or living?" This was fairly prov'd,

'Twas pinch'd, it roar'd, and every doubt remov'd;

Then by what Name th' unwelcome guest to call,

Was long a question and it pos'd them all: For he who lent a Name to Babe unknown, Censorious men might take it for his own; They look'd about, they ask'd the name of all,

And not one Richard answer'd to the call; Next they enquir'd the day, when passing by,

Th' unlucky peasant heard the stranger's cry;

This known; how Food and Raiment they might give,

Was next debated-for the rogue would live;

At last with all their words and work

He was a footstool for the beggar's feet;
His were the legs that ran at all commands;
They us'd on all occasions, Richard's hands;
His very soul was not his own; he stole
As others order'd, and without a dole;
In all disputes, on either part he lied,
And freely pledg'd his oath on either side;
In all rebellions Richard join'd the rest,
In all detections Richard first confess'd;
Yet though disgrac'd, he watch'd his time
so well,

Base was his usage, vile his whole employ,
He rose in favour, when in fame he fell;
And all despis'd and fed the pliant boy:
At length, 'tis time he should abroad be

sent,"

Was whisper'd near him,-and abroad he went;

One morn they call'd him, Richard answer'd

not,

They doom'd him hanging and in time forgot,

Yet miss'd him long, as each, throughout the clan,

main'd to do?

Long lost to us, at last our man we trace, Sir ichard Monday died at Monday-place; His Lady's worth, his Daughter's we peruse, And find his Grandsons all as rich as Jews; He gave reforming Charities a sum, And bought the blessings of the Blind and Dumb;

Bequea h'd to Missions money from the Stocks,

And Bibles issu'd from his private box; But to his native place severely just, He left a pittance bound in rigid trust; Two paitry pounds, on every quarter's day, (At church produc'd) for forty loaves should pay;

A stinted gift, that to the Parish shows, He kept in mind their bounty and their blows!

We will make one more extract from this part :

Last in my List, five untaught Lads ap

He poach'd the Wood and on the Warren snar'd;

'Twas his, at Cards, each Novice to trepan, And call the Wants of Rogues the Rights of Man;

Wild as the Winds, he let his Offspring

By night, as business urg'd, he sought the Wood,

The ditch was deep, the rain had caus'd a flood;

The foot-bridge fail'd, he plung'd beneath the Deep,

And slept, if truth were his, th' eternal sleep.

This is impressive, and the character is delineated with much felicity.

The second part, which contains the Marriages, affords, as may be supposed, an ampler scope for illustration, and more to interest the feelings of the reader. We extract with pleasure the following, as well from its intrinsic merit, as from the circumsition of the kind that engaged and stance of its "being the last compoamused the capacious, the candid, the benevolent mind of C. J. Fox."

Two summers since, I saw at Lammas
Fair,

The sweetest Flower that ever blossom'd

there;

When Phoebe Dawson gaily cross'd the Green,
In haste to see and happy to be seen;
Her air, her manners, all who saw, admir'd;
Courteous though coy and gentle though
retir'd;

And deeply plunges in th'adhesive ground; Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes,

While Hope the Mind as Strength the
Frame forsakes:

For when so full the Cup of Sorrow grows,
Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows-
And now her Path but not her Peace she
gains,

Safe from her Task, but shivering with her pains;

Her Home she reaches, open leaves the door,

And placing first her Infant on the floor, She bares her Bosom to the Wind and sits, And sobbing struggles with the rising Fits; In vain, they come, she feels th` inflating grief,

That shuts the swelling Bosom from relief; That speaks in feeble cries a Soul distrest, Or the sad laugh that cannot be represt; The Neighbour-Matron leaves her Wheel and flies

With all the aid her Poverty supplies;

Unfee'd, the Calls of Nature she obeys, Not let by profit, not allur'd by praise; And waiting long, till these Contentions cease,

She speaks of Comfort and departs in peace.

Friend of Distress! the Mourner feels thy Aid,

She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.

But who this Child of Weakness, Want, and Care?

'Tis Phœbe Dawson, Pride of Lammas Fair; Who took her Lover for his sparkling Eyes, Expressions warm, and love-inspiring Lies: Compassion first assail'd her gentle Heart, For all his suffering, all his bosom's smart: "And then his Prayers! they would a Savage move,

"And win the coldest of the Sex to Love:" But ah! too soon his Looks Success de

Then by the Moon awaken'd, forth they

move,

And fright the Songsters, with their cheer. less Love.

So two sear Trees, dry, stunted, and unsound,

Each other catch, when dropping to the ground;

Entwine their wither'd Arms 'gainst wind and weather,

And shake their leafless Heads and drop together.

So two dead Limbs, touch'd by Galvani's Wire,

Move with new life and feel awaken'd fire; Quivering awhile, their flaccid Forins remain,

Then turn to cold torpidity again.

[To be concluded in our next.]

THE BATTLE OF MAIDA, an Epic
Poem, by Lieut.-Colonel RICHARD
SCOTT, of the Hon. East Company's
Bengal Establishment. 1 vol. 180S.
WHILE the philanthropist de-

plores the effects and the necessity of war, the patriot owns within his bosom, that the heroism of the warrior deserves to be recorded. The 1 influence of example, as a stimulus to great actions, must be admitted to a certain degree, though, perhaps, too much has sometimes been demanded for that influence, and too little for However, one point will be agreed the native energies of character. upon by all; that virtue deserves to be celebrated; and therefore we shall never withhold our sanction from any effort, whose object it is to commemorate actions of bravery and

merit.

1