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I was a stricken deer, that left the herd
Long since, with many an arrow deep fixt in
My panting side was charg'd, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades,
There was I found by one, who had himself
Been -hurt by the archers. In his sides he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars,
With gentle force soliciting the darts,
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live.
Since then, with few associates, in remote
And silent woods I wander, far from those
My former partners of the peopled scene:

With few associates, and not wishing more.
· Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a lise to come!

He then animadverts on the indifference with which religion is treated by the generality of mankind--and forms this admirable apology for the concern which he himself had expressed :'Twere well, says one, sage erudite profound, Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose, And over-built with most impending brows, 'Twere well, could you permit the world to live As the world pleases. What's the world to yon? Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk As sweet as charity from human breasts. I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, And exercise all functions of a man. How then should I, and any man that lives, Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein, Take of the crimson stream meandering there, And catechise it well ; apply thy glass, Search it, and prove now if it be not blood Congenial with thine own: and if it be, What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, To cut the link of brotherhood, by which One common Maker bound me to the friend? True; I am no proficient, I confess,

In arts like your's. I cannot call the swift
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds,
And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath:
I cannot analize the air, nor catch
The parallax of yonder luminous pointy
That seems half-quench'd in the immense abyss.
Such pow'rs I boast not---neither can I rest
A silent witness of the headlong rage;
Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, .'
Bone of my bone, and kindred souts to mine!

The poet, in a few pages afterwards, speaks of the union of learning and piety in former days the compliments here passed on Newton, Milton, and Hale, possess equal truth and beauty

- Phifosophy baptiz'd,
In the cure fountain of eternal love,";

Has eyes indeed, and viewing all she sees • As meant to indicate a God to man,' ; ;

Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own.' | Learning has borne such fruit in other days

On all her branches---piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true pray'r
Has flow'd from lips wet with castalian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in his word sagacious. Such, too, thine
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,
And fed on manna! And such thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd,
And sound integrity, not more than fam'd
For sanctity of manners undefild.

In this retirement, it appears that Mr. C. had an hare, which he thus mentions, after having condemned the savage pleasures of the chace: Well, one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare , Has never heard the sanguinary yell Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. Inaocent partner of my peaceful home,'". 9

Whom ten long years experience of my care,
• Has made at least familiar; she has lost
Much of her vigilant instinctive dread,
Not needsul here beneath a roof like mine.
Yes---thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou mayst frolic on the floor,
At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm’d;
For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd
All that is human in me to protect

Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. * If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave;

And when I place thee in it, sighing say,” • I knew at least one hare that had a FRIEND!

There is a sweetness in this sketch of his favour. ite bare, which the reader of sensibility will feel it is honourable to the poet's humanity. Indeed all his writings are of this: cast-and this amiable trait is deserving of particular commendation. The muse of Cowper is, on no occasion, boisterous and overbearing-whilst, indeed, it lashes the vices and follies of man, it breathes a child-like tenderness towards every living thing capable of receiving felicity

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A FARMER, not accustomed to large dealings, A in the county of Chester, lately brought to Stockport market a quantity of oatmeal to sell, and an article which forms a great part of the subsist-ence of the lower orders of society in that neighbourhood, soon found a purchaser. It being usual for the middle-man, as he is called, to pay in a good bill of two months, the bargain being struck, and the bill produced, the farmer instantly raised an objection to take such a piece of paper for money, but an appeal to custom soon decided against him. However, not being perfectly satisfied, he applied to a shopkeeper to have it put into cash, and was told it might be done for ten shilling's, which he at length agreed to give, but was again astonished to find the cash was likewise composed of paper, commonly called young Newlands. An appeal a second time to custom obliged him to submit; but still unwilling to be disappointed, he applied to another person to know if he could get these scraps of paper put into King GEORGE'S guineas, and was told, that by paying two-pence each for them that it might be done. A third bargain was struck at the expence of eight shillings and four-pence; but just before he left the town, it came into his head that some of these guineas might be light, and that possibly they might not do so well for hoarding, he therefore had thein tried in a balance, and, unfortunately for him, twenty-three were found wanting. Here it was in vain urged by his friends that custom had rendered the weighing of gold quite useless in that neighbourhood, and he positively gave eleven shillings and sixpence in exchange for twenty-three that were full weight, and went home after all these deductions with more than four times the sum the same quantity of that article would have produced to him two years ago.

A young clergyman, of great modesty, preach. ing before Charles II. took for his text the 13th verse of the 139th Psalm-" I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Apprehension, rather than the warmth of the weather, having caused him to perspire, he had, just before naming the text, wiped his face with one of his hands, on which was a new black glove, and the consequence may easily be imagined. The Duke of Buckingham, one of his audience, on comparing the words of the text with the figure of the preacher, was seized with a fit of laughter, in which he was joined by Sir Henry Bennet, and several of the courtiers, nor was the king, who loved a jest, to the great discomfiture of the preacher, able to resist the contagion,

• Dr. Resbury, a divine in the same reign, while walking in the streets of Windsor, observed a person pass him, and turn frequently, to consider him with attention. Offended' at length by an observation so pointed, he roughly reproved the stranger for his impertinence, who bowing, and civilly asking pardon, informed the Doctor, that he was a painter, and was then engaged in designing a pic. ture of Nathan reproving David, and never had he seen a face so reproving as that of his reverend antagonist. The Doctor, enraged, used still harsher language. « It is enough, sir,” replied the artist, “ I have got as much as I desire, and ain greatly indebted to you"-saying which, he coolly walked away.

Mr. Maundy, of Canterbury, Dr. Radcliffe, and Dr. Case, spending an evening together, were very jovial. • Here, brother Case," says Dr. Radcliffe, is a health to all the fools, your patients." " I thank you, good brother,” replied Case, "let me have all the fools, and you are heartily welcome to the rest of the practice.

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