"Behold the Cot where thrives the industrious swain,
Source of his pride, his pleasure, and his gain;
Screen'd from the winter's wind, the sun's last ray
Smiles on the window and prolongs the day;
Projecting thatch the woodbine's branches stop,
And turn their blossoms to the casement's top:
All need requires is in that cot contain'd,
And much that taste untaught and unrestrain'd
Surveys delighted; there she loves to trace,
In one gay picture, all the royal race;
Around the walls are heroes, lovers, kings;
The print that shows them, and the verse that sings.
"To every cot the lord's indulgent mind
Has a small space for garden-ground assign'd;
Here-till return of morn dismiss'd the farm-
The careful peasant plies the sinewy arm,
Warn'd as he works, and casts his look around
On every foot of that improving ground:
It is his own he sees; his master's eye
Peers not about, some secret fault to spy;
Nor voice severe is there, nor censure known ;-
Hope, profit, pleasure,-they are all his own.
Here grow the humble cives, and, hard by them,
The leek with crown globose and reedy stem;
High climb his pulse in many an even row,
Deep strike the ponderous roots in soil below;
And herbs of potent smell and pungent taste,
Give a warm relish to the night's repast,
Apples and cherries grafted by his hand,

And clustering nuts for neighbouring market stand.
"Nor thus concludes his labour; near the cot,
The reed-fence rises round some fav'rite spot;
Where rich carnations, pinks, with purple eyes,
Proud hyacinths, the least some florist's prize.
"Here on a Sunday eve, when service ends,
Meet and rejoice a family of friends;
And speak aloud, are happy and are free
And glad they seem, and gaily they agree.
APRIL, 1840.

B B

J. A.

66 What, though fastidious ears may shun the speech.
Where all are talkers, and where none can teach :
Where still the welcome and the words are old,
And the same stories are for ever told;

Yet theirs is joy that, bursting from their heart,
Prompts the glad tongue these nothings to impart;
That forms these tones of gladness we despise,
That lifts their steps, that sparkles in their eyes;
That talks, or laughs, or runs, or shouts, or plays,
And speaks in all their looks and all their ways,"

CRABBE.

BEAUTIFUL Celia !-you do not yet know your tenderest lover! Your enchanting beauty has collected around you a swarm of cringing slaves; but they do not love you. How little must you comprehend your own value, if you should become proud in consequence of their attentions! They do not love you, Celia. It is a grosser feeling that animates their rivalry. Each one of your charms in their eyes promises its own peculiar zest, its own peculiar rapture. These suitors regard you in the same light as Eve considered the apple, which appeared to her delightful to the eye, and yet more so to the taste. But I, who never saw you with my physical eyes, I can only consider you with my mental vision; and this reveals, beneath your earthly form, something more beautiful than beauty itself. Flowers, pictures, and statues I may admire, but this heavenly gift, which elevates your visible presence as much above all other beauties, as an angel excels a butterfly, this divine possession entirely captivates my heart. Without flattering you, (for wherefore should an ethereal lover, a genius, flatter?) I will direct your attention to more noble objects than the untiring worshippers of your youthful charms can place before you. I would wish to inspire your heart with an elevated pride, that will place you far beyond each rosy-cheeked maiden, in whom either nature or education has forgotten to elaborate the chiefest perfection; whose whole history may be summed up in a few words; who bloom, are plucked, and wither. Reflect, that you are advancing to an age, when the world will consider you either with approving or censorious eyes. Your beauty will attract toward you an attention which mere beauty is not worthy of. It is time, therefore, that you should learn the true object of your existence. If the force of sympathy is

rightly comprehended by me, reflection is at this moment whispering to your soul that which I now think.

Lovely Celia, the whole world is a shadow; a reflection of immortality, which alone is eternal and divine. Your soul is the image of the Divinity, your person the image of your soul. These colours, these graces, are the lustre with which it invests the body, and by means of which it should effect its proper objects. Beauty is a promise by which the soul is bound to entertain no thought that is not great, noble, and elevating. It is the talisman by which others should be made attentive to the lessons of virtue. For one possessed of beauty should be a tutoress; teaching by the example that she sets. Virtue, which, invested with beauty, moves among mankind, enters into their interests and passions, and is plainly to be observed by them; pleases more, touches more tenderly, and drives its arrows deeper into the heart, than when arrayed in all the imposing wisdom of the schools, or in the enchanting diction of a Richardson. Modesty appears more engaging, when it blushes upon lovely cheeks; the expression of feelings that betray a gentle disposition and goodness of heart, sounds more sweetly when proceeding from ruby lips; and how does a beautiful eye enrapture us, when, beaming with earnest, undissembled emotion, is raised in prayer toward the throne of the Almighty, and the pious reflections that well forth from the devout mind, are revealed with a bright and dazzling splendour in its glances! If wisdom, if innocence, if humility, if the noble sentiments which belief in the religion of Christ induces, operates with all their power upon hearts already softened and overcome by mere personal beauty, how can they do otherwise than admire this higher excellence? And in each elevated soul, from admiration will arise love, from love, emulation. O, Celia! what a benefactress to mankind could you not become! How many fools you might shame, who are not able to believe that unconquerable virtue may reside in a tender heart, at the same time with youth! How many could you not oblige to honour virtue against their will! How many who once feared her, would then, attracted by your charms, view her more closely, and consent to worship at her shrine ! How would the mere rarity of the sight attract attention! The world would believe that it was an angel appearing among men, to teach them by example. Then, perhaps, beauty and wisdom, when united, might touch those thoughtless persons who are too foolish to love virtue for its own sake. O, Celia! disappoint not the design of the Creator who formed thee! Do