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Each pious mind, our gentry justly blame;
So I awoke, and lo, it was a dream.

-LINES

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

WHY

thus in haste, sweet boy, so soon to go,

And leave in tears, thy weeping friends below? Some heavenly voice, dear object of their love, Call'd hence thy soul, to dwell in realms above. Scarce hadst thou learnt the good from ill to know, Nor yet had drank the bitter cup of woe; When Heav'n ordain'd, no doubt for reasons wise, Thy early sun should set, no more to rise, Till call'd to meet thy Saviour in the skies. Sharp was the conflict which thou didst sustain; Tho' short the period, yet severe the pain; Till Death, with pity mov'd, struck home the dart, And thus compos'd to rest thy throbbing heart. Say, little cherub, for we fain would know,

Where dwells that essence bright, which here below,
Gave animation to this earthly clod,

And mov'd thy tongue to lisp the praise of God?----
Soft were thy manners whilst thou sojourn'd here;
To lose thee thus, demands a friendly tear;
But Heav'n from far might see a rising storm,
And kindly has secur'd thy bark from harm.
Thy angel face, those mild engaging ways,
Which when beheld, did admiration raise ;-
That fond attachment, which such joy did give;
Long in the mem'ry of thy friends shall live.
Why, cruel Death, exert thy awful pow'r,
To crop this tender scarcely op'ning flow'r?'
Why not direct thy shaft where age and pain
Implore deliv'rance, yet implore in vain ?-
Perhaps the world, with its delusive snares,
Might have defeated all their anxious cares,
Who foster'd thee, and with religious zeal,
Did to thy mind God's sacred truth reveal.
Let not us, worms, arraign the ways of God,
But lowly bow, and humbly kiss the rod;

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For some wise ends the high command was giv'n,

To snatch thy yet untainted soul to heav'n.

While friends thy absence mourn with weeping eye, Thou, clad with glory, join'st the choirs on high,

In rap'trous songs to all-redeeming Love,

The task delightful of the saints above.

May ev'ry thoughtless soul who hears, awake,
And from thy death an awful warning take;
Nor idly waste that time by heav'n design'd
In virtuous knowledge to improve the mind.
To those who rashly count on lengthen'd days.
Thy sudden call a warning loud conveys;
Methinks it says Vain fool, whoe'er thou be
Prepare! prepare! for soon thou'lt follow me."
Fain would the muse her feeble aid extend,
To comfort those who mourn a darling friend!
Would, if she could, a sovereign balm bestow,
To heal their grief, or mitigate their woe.
That sacred treasure in God's word is hid;
All grief excessive, in that word's forbid;
It does not break of nature's tie the thread,
A Saviour wept, when Lazarus was dead!!
Keep then, my friends, a Saviour's life in view,
And give to Nature, only what's her due.

J. H.

A WINTER THOUGHT.

WHAT though the sun withdraws his ray,
And clouds bedim the sky,

Yet soon shall winter pass away,

And spring salute the eye.

But ah! when wintry age draws on,

A dreary scene's in store!

Life's sun, that warm'd the heart, is gone,

And spring returns no more!

Then oh! before that sun goes down,

And sets in cheerless night,

Come, Wisdom, with thy starry crown,

And guide my steps aright.

And thou, Religion, heav'nly maid!

Thy choicest blessings bring;
Life then, though sunk in winter's shade,
Shall wear the bloom of spring.

ON THE

DEATH OF AN AMIABLE WIFE.

MY wife, my friend, my guide, my all combin'd♪
Lovely in person, lovelier still in mind→→
Farewell! All these, Eliza, sure thou wert,
Else whence this wretched vacuum in my heart?
Yet I'll not grieve too much-Eliza dead,
Shall bring down blessings on her husband's head:
Kindling with hope like thine, blest saint; I'll rise,
And, strong in Christian faith, assert the skies.
Was thine a death indeed? By Boundless Love
All but translated to the realms above.

God reads the heart; he saw thou wast prepar'd,
Through faith in Christ, to reap thy great reward;
And, ere a pang for us could well commence,
In pity to thy feelings, snatch'd thee hence.
Then I will teach our children too to join,
And bless, in life or death, the will divine.
Frail mortal that I am, I yet must feel,

The hand that dealt the blow alone can heal.
Sore struck, I bow submissive to my God,
Afflicted, yet resign'd, I kiss the rod,

(Oh! may the tears which now each other chace,
Not seem rebellious to the throne of Grace!)

And ardent pray that this severe decree,

May fit me for eternal bliss with thee!

EPITAPH

BY LAWRENCE STERNE.

COLUMNS and labour'd urns but vainly shew

An idle scene of decorated woe.

The sweet companion and the friend sincere Need no mechanic help to force the tear : In heartfelt numbers, never meant to shine, "Twill flow eternal o'er a hearse like thine; 'Twill flow whilst gentle goodness has one friend, Or kindred tempers have a tear to lend.

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We have before observed, that the air on the tops of high mountains

is colder than on the surface of the earth. This has been ascribed by some philosophers to the igneous, fluid, or elementary fire, being more rare in those elevated situations than on the plains. This fluid, they have supposed, is rarefied above by the action of the air, and below it is condensed by its own proper weight. They have considered fire as a fluid in motion, the parts of which are separable, and which is rarefied when its velocity is accelerated. Thus they have invented an hypothesis to account for this fact.

But the celebrated Bouguer has demonstrated, by principles the most simple, and most universally adopted, that it is not necessary, in order to account for the diminution of heat on mountains, to have recourse to hypotheses that are at best but doubtful. He has shewn, that the heat of the sun, on the tops of the highest mountains, is as great as in the plains; but that the rays of the sun, falling obliquely upon the former, and continuing but a few hours in the day, are not reflected with the same force as from the plains, where they fall more perpendicularly, and continue much longer: to which he adds, that the facility with which the air moves around a mountain is greater than that of the air in the plains, and consequently the greater cold of the air on mountains iş easily and rationally thus accounted for.

Philosophers have invented different instruments whereby to measure and determine the various properties of the air, and which serve for several useful purposes. The barometer serves to measure its weight, to tell when it is heavier, and when lighter. It is not necessary for us to describe this instrument; but by its means we can, with some VOL. IV.

3.F

exactness, determine the weight of the air, and, of consequence, tell beforehand the changes of the weather. Before fine dry weather the air is charged with a variety of vapours, which float in it unseen, and render it extremely heavy; then the quicksilver in the barometer rises. In moist rainy weather the vapours are washed down, or there is not sufficient density in the asr for them to rise, so that the air is then sensibly lighter; in this case the quicksilver is seen to fall. Our bodies also, especially those of persons afflicted with nervous complaints, seem to correspond with the changes of the weather-glass; they are braced, strong, and vigorous with a large body of air upon them; they are languid, relaxed, and feeble when the air is light, and refuses to give our fibres their proper tone.

The thermometer is an instrument whereby to measure the degrees of heat and cold in the air. By this instrument also the various degrees of heat and cold are determined in all other fluids.

The barometer is also serviceable in measuring the height of mountains; for, as the higher we ascend from the surface of the earth the air becomes lighter, so the quicksilver in the barometer will descend in proportion. It is found to sink at the rate of the tenth part of an inch for every ninety feet of perpendicular height; so that in going up a mountain, if I find the quicksilver fallen an inch, I conclude that I have ascended near nine hundred feet. In this, indeed, there has been some variation found; but it is not our province to enter particularly into this.

But notwithstanding the general uses of the barometer, it is subject to many irregularities, which no exactness of the instrument can remedy, nor any theory account for. When high winds blow, the quicksilver generally falls: it rises higher in cold weather than in warm, and is usually higher at morning and evening than at mid-day; and it generally descends lower after rain than before it. There are also frequent changes in the air, without any sensible alteration in the

barometer.

In order to determine the fact of the elasticity of the air, the windgun has been invented. This is an instrument variously made; but in all its forms the principle is the same, which is, to compress a large quantity of air into a tube, in which there is an ivory ball, and then giving the compressed air free power to act, and drive the ball as directed. Thus driven, the ball will pierce a thick board, and will be as fatal, at small distances, as if driven with gunpowder. This instrument has been assisted by heat-which we know has the power of expanding air to an unknown degree-by the aid of which a force has been given to the air-gun which gunpowder itself is not possessed of.

The air-pump is an instrument contrived to exhaust the air from a vessel adapted to that purpose, called a receiver. By this instrument the air is so totally exhausted, that animals die almost immediately in the vacuum, and even vegetables languish, and soon also die. Hence we are shewn what are the benefits and effects of air, in supporting animal life, and promoting vegetation,

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