FOUND.

THE key to the trunk of an elephant. A hair from the head of a river. A dozen feathers picked from the "wings of the wind." A drop of blood from the heart of a stone. The nail from the finger of scorn. The diary of the "man in the moon." A boot from the foot of the mountain.-The owners are requested to call, prove property, pay expences, and take them away.

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF OUR PASSIONS.
Say love, for what good end design'd,
Wert thou to mortals giv'n?

Was it to fix on earth the mind?
Or raise the heart to heav'n?
Deluded oft, we still pursue
The fleeting bliss we sought,
As children chase the bird in view,
That's never to be caught.

Oh! who shall teach me to sustain,
A more than manly part?

To grow thro' life, nor suffer pain,
Nor joy to touch my heart.
Thou blest indifference be my guide,
I court thy gentle reign;

When passion turns my steps aside,
Still call me back again.

Teach me to see through beauty's art,
How oft its trappings hide

A base, a lewd, a treacherous heart,
With thousand ills beside.

Nor let my gen'rous soul give way,
Too much to serve my friends;
Let reason still controul their sway,
And shew where duty ends.

If to my lot a wife should fall,

May friendship be our love;
The passion that is transport all,
Does seldom lasting prove.

If lasting 'tis too great for peace,
The pleasure's so profuse;
The heart can never be at ease,
Which has too much to lose.

Calm let me estimate this life,
Which I must leave behind;
Nor let fond passions raise a strife,
To discompose my mind.

When Nature calls, may I steal by,

As rising from a feast;

I've had my fill of life, and why
Should I disturb the rest?

QUERY-How many children did the mother of pearl have?

VOL. I.

3 D

COPIED ADVERTISEMENT OF GOLDSMITH'S

VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

THERE are a hundred faults in this thing, and a hundred things might be said to prove them beauties, but it is needless. A book may be amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very dull, without a single absurdity. The hero of this piece unites in himself the three greatest characters upon earth: he is a priest, an husbandman, and the father of a family. He is drawn as ready to teach, and ready to obey; as simple in affluence, and majestic in adversity. In this age of opulence, and refinement, whom can such a character please? Such as are fond of high life, will turn with disdain from the simplicity of his country fireside. Such as mistake ribaldry of humour will find no wit in his harmless conversation; and such as have been taught to deride religion, will laugh at one, whose chief stories of comfort are drawn from futurity!

PLAYING TRUANT.

We never knew a boy in the habit of playing truant, and wasting the golden hours of youth, to become a great and distinguished man; most often the idler of early life is the laggard in the world's race. Truly happy is the boy whom parental or friendly care saves from the alluring danger of youthful days. The reason why truancy is so serious an evil, is not the loss of a day or two at school, now and then, or any other immediate or direct consequence of it; it is because it is the beginning of a long course of sin; it leads to bad company, and to deception, and to vicious habits; it stops the progress of preparation for the duties of life, hardens the heart, and opens the door for every temptation and sin, which if not closed, must bring the poor victim to ruin. These are what constitutes its dangers.

A TRUE GENTLEMAN.

ONCE on a time, when the Adige suddenly overflowed its banks, the bridge of Verona was carried away, with the exception of the centre arch, on which stood a house, whose inhabitants supplicated help from the windows, while the foundations were visibly giving way. "I will give a hundred French louis," said the Count Spolverini, who stood by, "to any person who will venture to deliver these unfortunate people." A young peasant came forth from the crowd, seized a boat, and made for the shore, where he landed them in safety. "Here is your money, my brave young fellow," said the Count. "No," was the answer of the young man, "I do not sell my life; give the money to this poor family, who have need of it.' Here, indeed, spoke out the true spirit of the gentleman, though he was but in the garb of a humble peasant.

OUR LOADS OF HUMILITY.

THAT excellent church reformer, the Rev. S. G. Osborne, wishes for bishops who may drive about their dioceses in gigs, really and actively performing the duty of supervision. This, we must say, with all respect for Mr. Osborne, is an inconsiderate suggestion, and had he been acquainted with the writings of Mandeville, he would not have thrown it out. The author of the Fable of the Bees, having observed on the state of the bishops with their coaches and four, makes the reflection that it requires a great many horses to draw such a load of humility as lies in a Christian bishop. Now, how could such a load of humility as our Philpots, or Blomfield, be drawn by one horse? It would be a case of downright cruelty to animals, punishable by the magistracy.

JUNE.

Now genial suns and gentle breezes reign,

And summer's fairest splendours deck the plain;
Exulting Flora views her new-born rose,

And all the ground with short liv'd beauty glows.

Soft copious showers are extremely welcome towards the beginning of this month, to forward the growth of the herbage. Such a one is thus described :

The clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,
In large effusion, o'er the freshened world.
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard,
By such as wander through the forest walks,
Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves.
But who can hold the shade, while heaven descends
In universal bounty, shedding herbs,

And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap.

The following tokens are given by Dyer, in his Fleece, to mark out time :

If verdant elder spreads

Her silver flowers; if humble daisies yield

To yellow crowfoot and luxuriant grass,

Gay shearing time approaches.

Before shearing, the sheep undergo the operation of washing. Upon the brim

Of a clear river, gently drive the flock,

And plunge them one by one into the flood:

Plunged in the flood, not long the struggler sinks,

With his white flakes, that glisten thro' the tide;

The sturdy rustic, in the middle wave,

Awaits to seize him rising; one arm bears,
His lifted head above the limpid stream,
While the full clammy fleece the other laves
Around, laborious, with repeated toil;
And then resigns him to the sunny bank,

Where, bleating loud, he shakes his dripping locks.

The shearing itself is conducted with a degree of ceremony and rural dignity, and is a kind of festival, as well as a piece of labour.

At last, of snowy white, the gathered flocks
Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd,
Head above head, and ranged in lusty rows:
The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears;
The house-wife waits to roll her fleecy stores,
With all her gay drest maids attending round:
One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd,
Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen,
and rays
Her smiles, sweet beaming, on her shepherd king.

A simple scene! yet hence Britannia sees

Her solid grandeur rise: hence she commands

Th' exalted stores of every brighter clime,

The treasures of the sun without his rage.

A profusion of fragrance now arises from the fields of clover in flower, honeysuckle, and the still more delicious odour from the

bean blossoms.

Long let us walk

Where the breeze blows from yon extended field

Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast

A fuller gale of joy, than liberal, thence

Breathes thro' the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul.

THE HAY SEASON.

The fragrance of the new-mown hay, the gaiety of all surrounding objects, and the genial warmth of the weather, all conspire to render it a season of pleasure and delight to the beholder. It is at this season that we can peculiarly feel the beauty of these charming lines of Milton :

As one who long in populous city pent,

Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms

Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight,
The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,

Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.

Though the other senses are so much gratified in this month, the ear loses most of its entertainment, as the birds, now the season of courtship and rearing their young is past, no longer exercise their musical powers.

The groves, the fields, the meadows, now no more

With melody resound. 'Tis silence all,

As if the lovely songsters, overwhelmed

By bounteous Nature's plenty, lay entranc'd
In drowsy lethargy.

A HAPPY RETORT.

"MADAM," said a snarling son of Esculapius, "if women were admitted to Paradise, their tongues would make it a purgatory." "And some physicians, if allowed to practise there," retorted the lady, "would soon make it a desert."

ANECDOTE OF GOLDSMITH.

"I was invited," said the Doctor, "by my friend, Percy, to wait upon the Duke of Northumberland, in consequence of the satisfaction he had received from the perusal of one of my productions. I dressed myself in the best manner I could, and after studying some compliments, I thought necessary on such an occasion, proceeded to Northumberland House, and acquainted the servants, that I had particular business with his Grace. They shewed me into the anti-chamber; where, after waiting some time, a gentleman very elegantly dressed, made his appearance. Taking him for the Duke, I delivered all the fine things I had composed, in order to compliment him for his master, who would see me immediately. At that instant the Duke came into the apartment, and I was confounded on the occasion, that I wanted words barely sufficient to express the sense I entertained of the Duke's politeness, and went away extremely chagrined at the blunder I had committed."

CURIOUS DYING SCENES.

ACCORDING to Fielding, Jonathan Wild picked the pocket of the ordinary while he was exhorting him in the cart, and went out of the world with the parson's corkscrew and thumb-bottle in his hand.

Petronius, who was master of the ceremonies and inventor of pleasures at the court of Nero, when he saw that elegant indulgence was giving place to coarse debauchery, perceived at once, that his term of favour had arrived, and it was time to die. He resolved, therefore, to anticipate the tyrant, and disrobe death of its paraphernalia of terror. Accordingly, he entered a warm bath, and opened his veins, composed verses jested with his familiar associates, and died off by insensible degrees.

Democritus, the laughing philosopher, disliking the inconveniences, and infirmities of a protracted old age, made up his mind to die on a certain day; but to oblige his sister, he postponed his departure until the three feasts of Ceres were over. He supported nature on a pot of honey to the appointed hour, and then expired by arrangement.

When the three sons of Diagoras, of Rhodes, were crowned at the Olympic games, "Die, Diagoras," whispered a friendly Lacedæmonian," for you are too happy to live any longer." He took the hint, and forthwith expired of joy, in the arms of his children.