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reach of its vapours. It is a small grotto, about eight feet high, twelve long, and six broad; from the ground arises a thin, subtile, warm fume, visible enough to a discerning eye, which does not spring up in little particles here and there, but in one continued stream, covering the whole surface of the bottom of the cave; having this remarkable difference from common vapours, that it does not, like smoke, disperse into the air, but quickly after it rises falls back again, and returns to the earth, or hovers to a certain height, above which it never rises. This fact is ascertained by the colour of the sides of the grotto, which, as high as the vapour ascends, is of a darkish green, but above this it has only the appearance of common earth. As I found no inconvenience from standing in it myself, so I believe no animal, if its head were kept above this mark, would be in the least injured. But when, as is often the case, a dog, or any other creature, forcibly kept below it, or the animal is so small that it cannot hold its head above this noxious vapour, it presently loses all voluntary motion, falls down as dead, or in a Swoon; the limbs at first become convulsed and trembling, till at last no more signs of life appear, than a very weak and almost insensible beating of the heart and arteries; which, if the animal is left a little longer, quickly ceases also, and then its fate is irrevocable; but if it be snatched out and laid the air, it soon revives, and, if thrown into the adjacent lake, resuscitation is still more rapid.

THE MORALIST.

BY FREDERICK TYRRELL, ESQ.

Let youth pluck the rose, and a wreath let him weave,
While wet with the dew of the morn;

But alas! he will find, when with me at the eve,
That the rose left behind it a thorn,

The pluck'd rose is the classical emblem of death,
"Tis the mirror we hold to the fair,

It teaches how virtue embalmeth the breath,
But if pluck'd-it empoisons the air.

Fair Ladies see this withered flower,
Unsightly now to view,

'Twas once the garden's boasted pride,
And beautiful as you;

Anon.

Each passer by in rapture gaz'd,
As they may gaze on thee;
Then learn a moral from my tale,
Soon thou as changed may be.

Let not the pride of fashion's way
Allure thee to forget,

That ere yon sun has sunk in night,
Thy sun of life may set ;

Thou'rt young-but many young as thee

By death are oft called hence;

Then learn a moral from my tale,

Let folly ne'er drown sense.

There's time for thought, there's time for mirth, But one thing keep in mind,

Let all thy doings ever be

Good, innocent, or kind:

Do no one harm, nor harm yourself,
And death you need not fear;
Then learn a moral from my tale,

And from all vice keep clear.

"Do unto others as you'd have
All others do to thee,"
Your conscience then for ever will
From all reproach be free;
When mixing in life's giddy scenes,
Think on this faded flow',

And then the moral of my tale,
Will cheer your calmer hour,

Thus moralized an aged man,
Upon a rose decayed,

To two fair ladies, in whose charms,
Nature her art display'd;

They thank'd him as they turn'd away,
A tear stood in each eye,

Each learnt a moral from his tale
They'll think of till they die.

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was obliged to go away again, upon finding that his servant had forgot to put a pair of breeches in his portmanteau.

Between Adam and me the great difference is,

Though a Paradise each has been forc'd to resign, That he never wore breeches till turn'd out of his,

While for want of my breeches I'm banish'd from mine.

Mr. Moore, it is well known, is the author of a volume published under the title of "Little's Poems;" which name; it is supposed, he adopted in allusion to his shortness of sta ture, and which furnished his friends with subjects for repar tees and epigrams in abundance. At this period, our bard was in the habit of paying frequent visits to Carlton House, when his present majesty, after a perusal of the volume in question, is reported to have addressed him thus wittily and briefly," More Little, Little Moore."

The following lines made their appearance when he published his translation of Anacreon, and certainly boast much point:

When Moore in amorous strains first sigh'd,
And felt the fond poetic glow;

The enraptur'd world enamour'd, cried,
'Man wants but Little here below.'

But, bursting from concealment's span,
He gave each heart Anacreon's store;
Though little was the wish of man,

He found that yet he wanted Moore !

GREECE. A FRAGMENT.

-SHE was soft and fair

As any who are tenants for the grave;
And He was dark and proud, as in his lair
Might be a lion-as an Afric slave
In his own land, before the gyves were set
Upon his limbs that gall him even yet.

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