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No! even a William Cobbett must confess
They showed not such disinterestedness--

That heaven, for which they dared a tyrant's flames,
The generous Parson, for our sake, disclaims;
And, 'gainst him, though a thankless world conspire,
He goes, for it, to everlasting fire!

Then, seek no more with satire to destroy,
But, in the Church's cause, your pen employ-
For, at her wealth, when envious laymen jeer,

She surely may despise their impious laughter,

literated, are supposed to exist to the present day.-(Della Cella, in Heeren's African Researches, vol. i. chap. 1, p. 55.

Such is, in substance, the account given by Sallust of this transaction, an account derived, no doubt, from those Carthaginian books stated to have belonged to the library of Hiempsal, king of Numidia, which the Roman historian tells us, he had caused to be interpreted for him and followed as the best sources of information in African affairs, and which were, most probably, a portion of the literary pillage of Carthage, that Scipio is mentioned to have bestowed upon the princes of Africa. (SALLUST, Bel. Jug. 17 and 79. PLIN. Hist. Nat. XVIII. 5.) Valerius Maximus, who, in his account of this act of Carthaginian patriotism, seems to have followed some Greek or Cyrenæan historian, as he accuses the Philæni of an act of injustice in leaving home too soon, which, both from the authority of Sallust, and the virtue naturally to be expected from their magnanimity, seems improbable, pays, however, this animated tribute to their noble self-devotion :-Ubi sunt superbæ Carthaginis alta mania? ubi maritima gloria inclyti portus ? ubi cunctis littoribus terribilis classis? ubi tot exercitus? ubi tantus equitatus? ubi immenso Africa spatio non contenti spiritus? Omnia ista duobus Scipionibus Fortuna partita est. At Philænorum egregii facti memoriam ne patriæ quidem interitus extinxit. Nihil est igitur, exceptu virtute, quod mortali animo ac manu immortale quæri posset.”—(VAL. MAX. v. 6.) If the sandstone pillars, above-mentioned, could be proved to be the real remains of the Aræ Philænorum, a better inscription to the memory of the Carthaginian patriots, than these words of the Roman author, could scarcely be engraved upon their monument.

What a pity it is, that every ancient work on Carthaginian history has perished. If we had even the Kagxndovaniv of the Emperor Claudius, in eight volumes, which, from the original materials extant in his time, would be comparatively valuable, and for which, with his Tuppavinïv, or history of Etrurian affairs, an almost equally interesting, though now obscure subject, he erected a new Museum at Alexandria, that the two publications might be alternately read there to the public, our loss would be partially compensated for.-(SUETON. in Claud. cap. 42.) But time has been almost as unsparing an adversary to the historical, as Cato to the political, existence of Carthage.-MS. Observations and Collections for a History of Carthage.

Since, as we've seen, to take their money here,

Is all the better for their souls hereafter.'

February, 1831..

IMPROMPTU,

Written, at the time of the Anglesey Proclamations, in the leaf of a Scrap-Book, containing a portrait of the Marquis, next to the following well-known verses :—

God takes the good, too good on earth to stay,
And leaves the bad, too bad to take away.

THIS couplet's truth, in PAGET's case, we find
God took his leg, and left himself behind.

LET FANATICS MURMUR AT LIFE.

AIR-Unknown.

I.

LET fanatics murmur at life,

And bigots at pleasure repine;

We mind not their folly and strife,

But drown all contention in wine:

And, though they may dream they are "Saints,"
We're more so-my friends, are we not?

1 This epistle, originally written for a little publication of the "Comet Club," was meant to be nothing more, in point of style, than a specimen of the "musa pedestris," or that unassuming class of composition in verse, as contrasted with poetry, from the connexion of which with topics of a common or familiar, as distinguished from those of an elevated or sentimental nature, merely that mode of expression is to be expected which may be defined as prose in metre. This will consequently be a sufficient excuse for the roughness of some lines, which, even independent of the difficulty of giving passages of Scripture in a sufficiently clear or literal manner in smoother verses, would, were the lines more polished, have only served to render the entire composition less easy and natural.

For, while they're all gloom and complaints,

We sit here, content with our lot.

Then, let each fill, and pass on the wine to the next; There's no Lethe like this, when our hearts are perplexed; And let music and joy

Every moment employ,

For "eat, drink, and be merry," to-night is our text.

II.

They tell us, that sages agree,
The study of mankind is man ;1
Then, who is there wiser than we?
Let pedants reply if they can-
For Truth in the world is concealed,
And books only teach us to doubt;
But here every heart is revealed—

For, "when the wine's in, the man's out."

So, let each fill, and pass on the wine to the next;
There's no Lethe like this, when our hearts are perplexed;
And let music and joy

Every moment employ,

For "eat, drink, and be merry," to-night is our text.

III.

Divines, if they choose it, may think,

They know more than we do of Heaven;

And say, if so deeply we drink,

We'll lose every one of the "seven;"

But we, in our bumpers, have found

The Heavens that number surpass

For, oft as the bottle goes round,

A Paradise beams in each glass.

Then, let each fill, and pass on the wine to the next; There's no Lethe like this, when our hearts are perplexed; And let music and joy

Every moment employ,

For "eat, drink, and be merry," to-night is our text.

May 5th, 1830.

"The proper study of mankind is man.”—POPE.

A CHARACTER.

Mes traits sont ceux de la satire:
Je les lance en me defendant.

BÉRANGER.

IN manners vulgar, cold and sour in mind—
In speech, one libel upon human kind—
A gloomy croaker both at friends and foes-
A dreary cloud to mirth where'er she goes—
Save when her hen-pecked spouse-now, like herself,
With scandal only pleased or sordid pelf—
Conveys some lie, with which, at others' fame,
Detraction's imps, her dearest kindred, aim,
Or counts some petty saving, ever sure
A ghastly leer of welcome to procure.
In looks, afraid the gazer's glance to meet―
A conscious mass of envy and deceit,
Of black ill-nature, and malignant art,
To gash the feelings and to stab the heart.
A ready firebrand in domestic strife,
A forward old maid, yet a childless wife;
Childless, since favouring nature hath decreed,
That vipers in our isle should never breed.
In face, a yellow, withered, sickly thing-

For how could health from such a conscience spring?
In faith, half-canting hypocrite and fool;

In reading, fitted for an infant school;

In writing, able just to scrawl her name—
Her letters, ugly as her haggard frame;
In covetousness, never satisfied;

In meanness, only matched by low-born pride--
A soul-less wretch, whom but one task becomes,
To gripe for farthings or to scrape for crumbs.
Yet, as the blind Egyptian turned of old
From gods of marble, ivory, and gold--
Gods formed in man's majestic air and shape--
To crouch before a crocodile or ape,

Thus, to her grovelling self, by this vile fiend,
Strange to relate! her husband's mind is weaned

From parents, brothers, all that should impart
The purest love to every generous heart.
Who that beholds this base intriguer live,

Blest with the means her birth could never give,
Who will not say,-"The proverb's truth is shown-
The devil is always sure to mind his own."

June 15th, 1829.

EPIGRAM,

On being playfully asked by two pretty girls, which should one prefer if he were going to make a choice?

"How happy could I be with either," was said By Macbeath to his wives in the play;

But, were two such "charmers" as you in their stead,
He could not wish either away.

Oh! no, until death with such angels he'd grapple-
Then both are so temptingly fair,

That, as Adam lost Heaven by eating an apple,
I'd forfeit my chance for a pair.1

THE PARSON'S "HORN OF CHASE."

A PARODY.

I.

To rob the poor, in open day,

The pampered Parson leaves his dwelling;
By Peelers joined, he takes his way,

With village brats around him yelling;

Behold him rush, like eager hounds,

When hares or foxes greet their eyes

Sheep, goats, and oxen, he impounds,
While, struck with dread, the peasant flies:

Query, pear-Printer's Devil.

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