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is labour badly applied, as it may be wheelTo the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

ed up all moderate hills with as little labour

as using a walking-stick, and is really an asTE readiness with which you insert in sistance. I found it so ; and could go up

your excellent iniscollany •v^V Oseful quicker than otiinps without it; and it was invention, greatly interests and instructs its only in very long and very steep and_bad readers. I was much amused with a descrip- pills, that I found it any wogit at all. This, tion of the Velocipede; and soon after was in hilly countries, reduces the rate of going, induced to purchase oue, on which I rodina as you inny poie, to walking nearly half. distance of twenty-nge mys, a very hilly way. I think we have, in a great degree, road, and returned to boiloa, the sine disc got rid of jolting, by means of a spring of tance, on the succeeding day; and hwe since lance-wood lying along the whole length of paid a visit to Watford, asteen in les, and re- the perca, which promises to answer well, turned the next day, with increased satis- with very little increase of weight. I do faction.

not think any natal-springs are at all appliI cangot however consider this machine as cable. I do not think it liable to bring on likely to be brought to any beneficial travel- rupture, as is supposed by some, unless a inao Jing uza, bu! ther?as muy situations ia is foolih enough to force up hill, or over which it mit be use I with advantage; and very rough goount; the moving a machine in such situations, it is a very superior mode not nore' tíın from forty to fifty pounds, of exercise, which may he regulated entirely can never do it. at the will and cepicity of the ruler. It has I do not profess to be a very swift travelthis great advantage, that it enables the rider ler; I could not run a mile without much to take any degree of exerciso without disc exertion, as I have but little wind; but I tressing his breath; nileed, so subtle is it, want the first seven miles in an hour: and, that those in pod health and strength, who on the average, made six miles an hour, oc. are inclined to go on, are surorised to find, casioned by the hills and bad road ; though, that using it a shorelin", and w.thout feeling on level and good roads, I expect I could the sensation of xcited luns, are in a ro- have exceeded that rate of travelling conleat perspiration, without appearing to thein- siderably, without great exertion. But I do selves to have done esough to ocrasion it. I not believe the arcounts of ten and twelve have found invariably, fran all who have 1 miles an hour being performed, except down sed it, that this is the case, and cannot get a hill, which is counteracted by the up-hill satisfactory reason for it. I find it a inosterertion. I do not believe those of two sensible machine: it will indicate or point wheels behind will answer, as they would out the least rise or fall of ground; and on, require very great exertion, and occasion that account, I should always recommend greater fatigue; and the difficulty of balancthe rider to get off and walk ip hills, if they ing, is overcoms in a very short time. The are even very small. Its natural tendency price I gave for mine is eight go neas ;

and is to run down hill; it will of course require i think they cannot be made under, as they exertion to force it in riding up hill, and it require true and good work.

E, B.

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Extracted from the English Magazines, Aug. 1819.
THE EVERLASTING ROSE.* In Autumn's chaplet thou art wreathed,

And round December's forehead bære.
HAiLin thy hues! thou lovely power,
Stis: shed around thy soft perfume,

With thee the graceful lily vied,
Stili smile amid the wint'ry hour,

As summer breezes waved her head, And boast even now a spring-tide bloom.

And now the snow-drop at thy side

Meekly contrasts thy cheerful red.
Thine is, methinks, a pleasant dream,
Loose fingering in the icy valc,

'Tis thine to hear each varying voice, Of smith chat hailed the morning beam,

That marks the seasons sad or gay ; And sighs more sweet for evening's gale!

The Summer thrush bids thee rejoice,

And wintry robin's dearer lay.
Still are thy green leaves whispering
Low sounds, to fancy's ear that tell

Sweet flower! how happy dost thou seem of mornings, when the wind bee's wing

Mid parching heat, 'mid nipping frost; Shook dew-drops from thy sparkling cell!

While, gathering beauty from cach beam,

No hue, no grace of thine is lost !
In April's bower thy sweets are breathed,
And June beholds thy blossoms fair:

Thus hope, 'mid life's severest days,

Still siniles, still triumphs o'er despair * This and the two pieces following are from Alike she lives in Pleasure's rays, Poems, yc. by John. Anster, Esq. just publish

And cold Affliction's winter air. eil. The Bride of Corinth, near the conclusion of this little volume, is high-wrought, and ter Charmer, alikr in lordly hower, rific in interest. We are sorry only to refer to

Anil in the hermit's cell she glows; it; ont Mr. Anster's poems deserve a general The Poei's and the Lover's hower, porousal.


VOL. 6.]

Original Poetry


BALLAD.* THE sunimer sun was sinking

With a mild light, calm and mellow, It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks,

And his loose locks of yellow; The robin was singing sweetly,

And his song was sad and tender; And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the song,

Smiled with a sweet suftsplendour. My little boy lay on my bosom

While his soul the song was quaffing, The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek,

And his heart and his eye were laughing:
I sat alone in my cottage,

The midnight needle plying;
I feared for my child, for the rush's light

In the socket now was dying !
There came a hand to my lonely latch,

Like the wind at midnight noaning;
I knelt to pray, but rose again,

For I beard my little boy groaning:
I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast,

But that night my child departed-
They left a weakling in his stead,

And I am broken-hearted!
Oh! it cannot be my own sweet boy,

For his eyes are dim and hollow,
My little boy is gone to God,

And his mother soon will follow!
The dirge for the dead will be sung for me,

And the mass be chanted meetly,
And I will sleep with my little boy

In the moonlight churchyard sweetly.


(From the Gaelic.) The original, of which I know nothing, is, I am

told, printed in Doctor Smith's “Gaelic Poems,” The present imitation is from a literal translation by a friend.)

CHORUS. LIKE the oak of the vale was thy strength and thy

He gazes till his dim eyes fail
With gazing on the fancied sail:-
Anxious he looks-what sudden streak
Flits like a sunbeam o'er bis cheek!
-"Joy, joy, my child, it is the bark
That bounds on yonder billow dark!"-
His child looks forth with straining eye,
And sees-the light cloud sailing by-
-His grey head shakes !-how sad, how weak
That sigh!-how sorrowful that cheek!-
Thy Bride-thy beloved, is smiling in sleep,

She thinks on her love in the visions of night,
She welcomes her wanderer bome from the deep,

And her Dargo she folds in the arms of delight;
Alas! is the dream of Cremina untrue ?
The lord of her bosom no more shall she view;
The beam of his valour hath darkened and died,
And Erin beheld how he perished in pride!

His Bride from her slumbers will waken and weep,
But when shall the hero arouse him from sleep?
The yell of the stag-hound-the clash of the spear,
May ring o'er his tomb,- but the dead will not hear;
Once he wielded the sword, once he cheered to the

But his pleasures are past, and his slumber is sound;
Await not his coming. ye sons of the chace.
Day dawns !-but it nerves not the dead for the race;
- Await not his coming, ye sons of the spear,
The war-song ye sing-but the dead will not hear!

Oh, blessing be with him who sleeps in the grave, The leader of Lochlin ! the young and the brave ;On earth didst thou scatter the strength of our foes, -Then blessing be thine in thy cloud of repose!


Thy foot, like the ernet of the mountain in flight;
'Thy arm was the tempest of Loda's fierce breath,
Thy blade, like the blue mist of Lego, was death!-

Alas! how soon the thin cold cloud
The hero's bloody limbs must shroud!
And who shall tell his sire the tale!
And who shali sootbe his widow's wail!
- I see thy father full of days;
For thy return behold bim gaze ;
The hand that rests upon the spear
Trembles in feebleness and fear-
He shudders, and his bald grey brow
Is shaking like the aspen-bough,

OM my slumber I woke at the dead bour of

And down to the ocean I sped;
The moon on the billows was trembling and bright,

As it rose o'er the Pyramid's head.
Its beams lent a magic far dearer than sleep,

As I trod my lone course on the sand;
And dear was the blast as it blew o'er the deep,

For it came from my own native land.
The battle had ceased with the sweet setting sun,

But I heard its dread tumults again;
I paused-it was nought but the answering gun

of the watchman afar on the plain.
I thought of the woe and the carnage again

I looked o'er the wave's distant foam ;
And the tear that had started at sight of the slain,

I shed for the friends of my home.
Oh! pleasant it is, on a far foreign shore,

To think on the days that are pasi-
It wakes the dull spirit that slumbered before,

Like the rain 'mid the burning waste.
Was it hope or illusion my bosom that warmed,

When I thought on the birch of the grove ;
Like a wretch half-bewildered with magic that

I heard the sweet voice of my love.
To the spot O for ever be fettered my sight--

With the sound ever charmed let me be ;
Even this corse-covered strand is a couch of delight,

When such visions ny fancy can ste.

* The woman, in whose character these lines are written, supposes her child stolen by a fairy. I need not mention how prevalent the superstition is in Ireland, whirh attributes most instences of sudden death to the agency of these spirits.

+ Eagle.

Ho! Swiss arise,


For these they join in worldly strife,

But home, sweet home, is all to me!

Loved home! dear scene of every bliss

That clings around my grateful heart !
The Gaul is on his way,

My M—'s smile, my infant's kiss,
His banner to the blast is flying--

What purer joys can life impart! The peasants on thy hills are sighing,

Content with what my God has given, As they look at the long array.

I live what others wish to be ; o! Swiss arise,

Enjoying earth and hoping Heaven, The Gaul has doomed thee to death;

My home, sweet home, is all to me! Hark, hark to the groans and sighs,

July 6, 1819.

VICANUS. As they rise from the vales beneath, Thy arm once was strong when the Austrian fell, And his buckler was pierced by the arrow of Tell;

TO MY DOG Though his horses were many as leaves of the spring, And the eagle o'ershadow'd the land with his wing COSSACK, my mute companion, as thou sleep'st

On the warm rug, coil'd up in little room, Yet he fell from his heights, while destruction and fear

Enjoying much delight, why do thine ears

Erect with sudden tremors—why should sighs Hung black as the shadow of night on his rear.

Swell thy shagg'd sides--and inarticulate sounds Ho! watchman of the night,

Escape in feverish murmurings from th bosom?Dost hear the hoof on the plain ?

And still, whene'er in these mysterious fits Dost hear, in the spirits of affright,

of visionary sadness I have pluckt The voices of the slain?

Thy shaggy ears--why, with an eye where grief I heard the horses hoof on the plain,

And love shed mingling glances, dost thou lie As he paces the distant bound;

The hand that broke thy slumbers, and advance And the dying man, from the field of the slain, The supplicating paw, and seem to feel Slow breathes a mournful sound.

More than thy wonted fondness for thy master ? Bind, bind the shield on the arm-

Is it, that in the lonely sea-girt Isle Let loose the sword from its sheath ;

Where thy sweet days of puppyhood were past, And the bells that welcome the victor home,

Thou hast imbib'd from the old seer who nurst thee Shall toll for the brave in death,

Ought of prophetic vision--as thou slept
On the dark hills capp'd with eternal clouds ?

Has that mysterious power, which haunts the wild
HOME, SWEET HOME! And solitary glens, ta'en from thine eye

The film which hides the future? Dost tbou see SOME love to range the world's wide round,

The woes which fill the chequer'd rolls of Time ? Some court the city's giddy charms,

And do the joys of sorrows whi h await Some list the trumpet's clanging sound,

Thy quite unconscious Master--as they pass, Joy'd at the thoughts of war's alarms ;-

Cast their unreal shadows o'er thy dreams ?
Ambition's arts and Pleasure's smiles

Is't this, which, when awaken'd, bids thy tail
With deep distrust I cautious flee,
And Glory's vain deceitful wiles,

Quiver with kindness,-this that taught thine eye

Its mute but eloquent language ?-Sweetest Cur, For bome, sweet home, is all to me!

Tho' Cur thou be, unseemly , bandy-legg'd, Fond hopes of wealth, vain dreams of ease,

Cloath'd in a matted wilderness of hair; Offuture riches, future rest

Yet hear me, Cossack, I would trust the heart And all that Fancy's self en please,

That beats within that canine breast of thine, Fill the void chasm of many a breast.

More for its faithfulness, than many a one They seek the busy haunts of life,

Dwelling in that proud shrine-a human bosom. Explore the desert, brave the sea,



of at least 400,000,000 of manufacturers. How 'N a few days will be published, Moral evident it is, then, that machinery enables us

to enjoy luxuries without labour; that Manners, Foreign and Domestic, with Re- labour of this kind is no longer necessary: tlections on Prayer; by Hannah More. and that the manufacturers ought now to be

Mr. Owen, of Lanark, stated, at the re-enabled to return to the land. cent meeting in London, that 200,000 pair of A school on the Lancasterian system was hands, with machinery, spin as much cotton opened at Florence on the first of May, and now, as, forty years ago, without machinery, already affords the most unequivocal proof would have employed 20,000,000, that is to of the advantages resulting from the plan of say, 100 to 1; that the cotton spun in a year, mutual instruction : a singular instance of at this time, in this country, would require, the rapid progress of the pupils is mentioned, without machinery, at least 60,000,000 hands, A grenadier, named Pascal Bresci, 25 years with single wheels; and, that the quaotity of age, wno scarcely knew the alphabet, las of manufactured work, of all sorts, done by in the space of twenty days learned to read the aid of machinery in this nation, is such as with facility, and to write correctly from would require, without that aid, the labour dictation.

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From Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine. THESAURUS OF HORROR ; OR THE CHARNEL-HOUSE EXPLORED!! &c.* THIS THIS is a very pretty title, and we philanthropist is very far from being

think the book is likely to have a happy. Most men have something or run. The“ Grave" of Blair is a sweet other in this troublesome world to disa poem, but the name is much too simple, tress them, but his case is one of the "Thesaurus of Horror" puts the imag- most hopeless.

He is not afraid of a ination at once on the alert, and noth- change of ministers, nor of the escape of ing can be more pointed than the Buonaparte from St. Helena, but, ever sinister born of the dilemma, the “Char- since he arrived at the age of maturity, Del-House Explored.” Nothing can he has been in constant terror of being be more delightful than the philosophi- Buried Alive. Oa this subject, and cal, poetical, and historical variety of this subject alone, has he meditated for the title-page.

The only fears one twenty years past, and he has now givhas are, lest the bill of fare promise en to the public the fruits of his meditamore than the landlord can furnish; tions below the tombs with as much but we can assure our gentle readers, composure as the awfulness of his most that this is far from being the case, and desperate condition would admit. that for the sum of three and sixpence This work is dedicated to the Duke per be ad, they may sup full of horrors of Sussex, and in the dedication the at the Ordinary of Mr. Snart.

melancholy Snart informs his patron, But to be serious—John Snart the that, next to the subjects of religion,

“the horrors of the grave by premature Thesaurus of Horror; or, the Charnel-House interment are paramount to all others.” Lsplored !! being an Historical and Philanthropie. Other writers, he informs us, have ocal Inquisition made for the Quondam-Blood of its Inhabitants ! by a contemplative Descent into the casionally treated of this theme, but Untimely Grave!'shewing, by a number of Awful “petrified by the Gorgon's horrid front, Peets that have transpired as well as from Philo- have retired from the charge, and left it sophical Inquiry, the Re-Animating Power of Fresh Earth in cases of Syncope, &c. and the Extreme

unfinished, rather than wound the feelCriminality of Hasty Funerals : with the Surestings of themselves and the public by Methods of Escaping the Ineffable Horrors of Pre- probing it to the bottom, until, like a mature Interment !! The Frightful Mysteries of the long neglected disease, the evil (bury, Roman Empire, but Triumphed over all Christening alive) has become desperate, and dom, for a Thousand Years! Entombing the Scien- almost incurable, by inveterate custom." tes, and subsequently Reviving all the Ignorance We really had no notion that things and Superstition of Gothic Barbarity! By John had got to this leogth, but have not the Smart, onar@ganos, Author of the Mathematical Principles of Mensuration, &c. 8vo. London.

presumption to contradict Mr. Soart on G ATHBNEUM VOL. 6:

a subject which he has so deeply studi

ed. It would appear from his state- from premature interment. They bave ments, that most people are buried got so accustomed to it, that it is not alive, and that as matters are now con- uncommon to hear the shocking expresducted, any lady or gentleman who is siod of "being buried alive" under a interred, perfectly dead, has good reas- cart load of blankets. But he is noton to consider her or himself unusually withstanding resolved to perseverefortunate. We perceive by reference and we dare say featbusiastic man that to Dr. Jamieson's Essay on Creation, he is) he hopes to live and see the in the Antiquarian Society, wherein day when hearses 'will traverse the Inhumation is treated of incidentally, streets of our cities, burthened with the that the custom of burying the suppos- peaceful dead, and not, as at present, ed dead, -for we must speak cautious- with persons riding unconsciously to ly-is one of very long standing. It quarters wherein they almost all awake ought, therefore, either to be given up in the morning, with feelings which it is immediately, or there ought to be a rad. needless to describe. icai reform in this system of rotten bur- We have often seen the obstinate roughs. For, the weight of taxation perversity of the world at large well in the open air, is notting to the preso described, but never so well as by Mr. sure below, and the Scotsman himself Snart. will allow, that a starving, is not so

“ A proud or self-opinionated man may great an evil as a buried population.

very fairly be compared with a bottle which The Duke of Sussex is well known has always been kept full of wine, &c. ontil as the eloquent chairman at religious, could such bottle cogitate, it would think


it is ready to burst by fermentation ; and, poliucal, and poetical dinners, and Mr. repletion an essential quality of its oron, (for Snart seems io desire that he would fermentation, though a bouncing quality, speedily arrange a dinner at the London though it might be induced to insult all emp

like pride, arises from mutability,) and Tavern for the consideration of this ty ones, or those filled with sober teater, or subject, and at which a society might other less changeable fluid than itself, yet a be formed, entitled, “Society for the tween the vessel and the liquor contained in Suppression of Premature loterment." jt, both as to the quantity and quality, and

learn modesty from the lesson." Never, says the great O'necv@ganos, does magnanimity shine so resplendent- At page 94 Mr. Snart addresses ly as “ when it' intrepidly passes the himself to the feelings and imagination Rubicon of horror, descends into the of his readers, and that person must be premature grave, and snatches the poor deaf indeed to his own interests, who devoted victim from the ineffable fate is not awakened to a sense of bis dahof living inhumation, or being Buried ger by the following appeal, which we Alive!!!” Without doubt, the catho- think equal to any thing that pulpit oralic emancipation itself ought to be post- tory has produced from St. Augustia poned till after a general grave-delivery to Dr. Chalmers. of all his Majesty's subjects, be their “ All other deaths admit of some relief; at religious persuasion what it may, least, the sorry one of expiring ! that is, of

The Duke is then told that, not only suffering the breath to escape from the lungs, ought he to bestir himself in this great ever oppressed through life) they shall find a work, from motives of pure philanthro- resting place in the grave, from all their lapy, but that in this case,

bours and sorrows 100! but this appalliog “ virtue is its

thought of another conflict in the gaol of de own reward, for he that establishes this liverance murders all hope, and the very law upon an universal basis, eventually ers breast, and stilles it in its exit; entailing secures himself from the direful penal- a second death infinitely worse than that de ties arising from neglecting it."

signed by nature, the horrors of which baffe Mr. Snart is aware that mankind are plement of misery that far transcends the

the human pen to describe ! A peedless supslow to listen to the voice of wisdom, original penal sentence denounced on Adam and therefore, be is far from being san - and his posterity for transgression, (“thou

shalt die !") and refuses the manumitted guine in his expectations that they will slave his free emancipation soon adopt measures to save themselves “ Behold the hapless victim of this horrid

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