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With a little affected good nature, and cry
Nobody regrets the thing deeper than I.

Ah, ladies, and was it by Heaven design'd
That ye should be merciful, loving, and kind!
Did it form you like angels, and send you below,
To prophesy peace-to bid charity flow!
And have you thus left your primeval estate,
And wander so widely—so strangely of late?
Alas! the sad cause I too plainly can see,
The evils have all come upon you thro' Tea.
Cursed weed, that can make our fair spirits resign
The character mild of their mission divine,
That can blot from their bosoms that tenderness true,
Which from female to female for ever is due.
Oh how nice is their texture, how fragile the frame
Of that delicate blossom, a female's fair fame!
'Tis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath,
And shrinks from the touch, as if pregnant with death.
How often, how often, has innocence sigh'd,
Has beauty been reft of its honour, its pride ;
Has virtue, though pure as angel of light,
Been painted as dark as a demon of night;
All offer'd up victims-an auto de fe,
At the gloomy cabals, the dark orgies of Tea.

If I, in the remnant that's left me of life,
Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife,
Let me fall, I implore, in the slang-wanger's claw,
Where the evil is open, and subject to law.
Not nibbled, and mumbled, and put to the rack,
By the sly undermining of tea party clack :
Permit that I suffer a newspaper roasting,
But spare me! oh spare me, a tea-table toasting!

Hamilton and Jay. [The real author of the following elegant lines is unknown. They appeared some time ago, in a New York Gazette, with the fictitious subscription of PEERPOINT.]

THEN with such rays as gild the morning, shone In peerless pomp, thy genius, Hamilton,

Sublime as heav'n, and vig'rous as sublime,
She, in her flight, outstripped the march of time;
Pluck'd from each age, the product of each soil,
And o'er thy country pour'd the generous spoil.
By thy own labours, without aid from France,
We saw the splendid fabric of finance ;
Within whose halls, as by the enchantment bold
Of fabled Midas, paper turn'd to gold ;
At once the boast and wonder of mankind,
Rise to the magic music of thy mind.
Thus when Amphion left Cytheron's shade,
Beside Ismænus wave the shepherd stray'd,
And as he roam'd in solitude along,
And charm'd the ear of silence with a song,
Sweeping in symphony, his tuneful string
That Aung its wild notes on the zephyr's wing ;
The walls of Thebes, with many a glittering spire,
Rose to the strong enchantment of his lyre.

Immortal statesman! while the stars shall burn,
And to the pole, the trembling needle turn,
Ne'er shall the tide of dark oblivion, roll
Over that strong divinity of soul,
That conquer'd fate, and travers d unconfin'd,
The various fields of matter and of mind;
Thy heart to charity so warmly strung,
And all the sweet persuasion of thy tongue.
Yet, wast thou spotless in thy exit ?-nay;
Nor spotless is the monarch of the day.
Still, but one cloud shall o'er thy fame be cast,
And that shall shade no action, but thy last.

Then, with a milder, though congenial ray, Like Hesper, shone the kindred soul of Jay. His mind unshaken by an empire's weight, His eye undazzled by the glare of state : E’en in the shadow of power's purple robe, He gave our land the charter of the globe ; And bade our Eagle leave her native Pine, To bathe in light, beneath the sultry line : O’er every tide, with lightning's speed to sweep, Cleave ev'ry cloud, which whitens o'er the deep; Tower o'er the heads of conquerors and kings, And soar to glory, on her canvass wings.

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Cato's Soliloquy.-Addison.
IT must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well-
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ;
'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untry'd being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me ;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a pow'r above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Through all her works) he must delight in virtue,
And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when? or where ?- This world was made for Cæsar,
I'm weary of conjectures--this must end 'em.

Thus am I doubly arm’d—My death, my life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point;
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

САто.

Ode from the 19th Psalm.-ADDISON.
THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,

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Their great original proclaim.
Th' unwearied sun from day to day,
Dues his Creator's power display ;
And publishes to every land,
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,
And, nightly, to the list'ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth :
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ?
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid these radiant orbs be found ?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
“ The hand that made us is divine."

The Toilet.-COWPER.
AND now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, rob’d in white, the nymph intent adores,
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic powers.
A heav'nly image in the glass appears ;
To that she bends, to that her eye

she rears.
Th' inferior priestess, at the altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here
The various offerings of the world appear ;
From each she nicely culls, with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here, and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white;

Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billetdoux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms,
The fair, each moment, rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face.

Character of a Country Schoolmaster.-GOLDSMITH.

BESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew.
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face :
Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes—for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet he was kind ; or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declar'd how much he knew,
'Twas certain he could write and cypher too ;
Lands he could measure, times and tides presage ;
And e'en the story ran that he could guage.
In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill;
For, e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still ;
While words of learned length and thund'ring sound,
Amaz'd the gazing rustics, rang'd around;
And still they gaz'd-and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

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