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An existence of Twenty-one years almost precludes the necessity of a preface to usher our “ TELESCOPE" into the world.

In the present volume we have endeavoured to maintain the character of the work in each department, and trust we shall be found not to have laboured in vain.

The first portion is chiefly devoted to memoirs of the most eminent characters who have died since our last volume. “ The Astronomical Occurrences” are again contributed by the indefatigable Mr. BARKER, and will be found to contain much novelty and interest; more especially in the

Telescopic Objects; and the “Notes of a Naturalist,” being furnished by PROFESSOR Rennie, need no other passport to popularity.

The illustrations are various, and will be found useful as well as pleasing.

On the whole, we commit our Twenty-first volume to the world with some confidence, that we shall not be dissappointed in our expectations.

January 1st. 1834.

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The hour which gives thee birth, and scents thy breath,
Consigns thy patient to the arms of Death !

While thon, the beautiful, with ruddy cheek,

With polish'd brow, 'midst cheerful song and hymn, Mingled with storms that shake the mountains bleak,

That rend the skies already cold and dim,

Art welcomed like a winged cherubim
That brings some message from th’ Eternal spheres,

And while the full goblet sparkles to the brim
Unveils some future joy, unmixed with tears,
Or aught that rudely fills the languid mind with fears,

The prince and peasant equally salute

Thy lovely presence, and the feast prepare ; Music is heard—the barp, the breathing flute,

And softest melody, with wisdom rare,

Upite their powers to hallow one so fair; Yet could the secrets of thy breast be known,

How many would put on the brow of care ? The king would start half-frenzied from his throne ! The brightest eyes would weep, and crowds begin to mourn!


For ah! spite of thy loveliness and youth

Spite of those charms which we so much admire, The thoughtful muses must unfold the truth

The truth so fraught with woes and evils dire,

That did the gods themselves our verse inspire We could not tell their numbers, or explain

Their nature ; for so linked with wild desire Is every pang we feel-grief, death, and pain, The loss of kindred hearts, that ne'er will throb again!

Thy promises are flattering, we confess,

And many sanguine minds thy praises sing : Those dream of bliss, and perfect happiness,

And all the beauties which thou deign’st to bring

Unclouded skies, gay visions, blooming Spring Adorned with flowers, love that nought destroys,

And groves that daily with rejoicings ring, Where Truth celestial sits, and nought annoys The sacred seats of Hope, and her immortal joys. Vain expectations ! how they fade away!

A few months pass, and man begins to see The roses drooping with a swift decay,

And leaves, once glorious, whirled from ev'ry tree!

Thine age comes on-thy beauty, and thy glee, Thy reign of light and darkness all are o'er;

And though he hailed thee as a deity Whose birth would bring him great and ample store, Yet will the sufferer sigh, nor wish to see thee more!

But thy career's an emblem of our state

So moralists contend; and if 'tis so, Why should we be ambitious to be great,

As though the wealthy were exempt from woe

And all those perils poorer mortals know?
But such the frailty is of man's rude breast,

Ev’n where the purest truths and virtues glow,
That riches, coronets, the lofty crest,
Are reckoned still to be the beautiful and best!

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