anticipating all the horrors of ultimate want. The young man, in the mean time, having acquired what to his moderate wishes seemed enough, determined to return to England; and without notifying his intention to his parents, embarked on board a ship bound for his native land. He landed at Falmouth, and flew like lightning to Penrhyn, where constancy and love awaited him, and soon obliterated from his memory all the pains of absence. To enhance the joy of his parents at his unexpected return, it was agreed that he should disguise himself, go to their dwelling in the evening, pass the night there as a stranger, and acknowledge himself in the morning for their long-lost son. The night was dark and dismal, "Sky lour'd, and muttered thunder, some sad drops at the approaching scene of wo; but the youth, unsuspicious of the portent, and exulting in his heart at the near termination of his parent's difficulties, went gayly on, carrying under his arm a casket of his treasure, which he intended in the morning to be the offering of his filial affection. He knocked at the door, and craved a lodging, promising to renumerate his hosts for the trouble he should give. The chance of a trifling gain was an object to the wretched pair, and they granted his request. In his momentary absence from the room, the mother with a fatal curiosity opened the casket, and saw that its contents were gold. Her heart was now at war with feeling. The frightful form of approaching poverty had long floated before her fancy, and filled her soul with dark and desperate ideas. The treasure promised the means of saving her from shame and sufferings of want, and she determined to possess it. The youth now retired to bed; when the mother disclosed to her husband the discovery she had made; and urged him to secure it for themselves by murdering the stranger! The horror of the deed for a moment suspended its execution, but ah! what a foe is poverty to virtue! The scruples of the husband were quickly overcome, and he determined to commit the horrid act. The ruthless pair accordingly proceeded to the stranger's chamber, and whilst the mother held the light, the father thrust his knife into the heart of his guest. To avoid detection, it was necessary to bury the body of the murdered youth immediately; but what stretch of imagination can conceive the agony of the wretched parents, when, from some private marks, known only to themselves, they discovered their victim to be their only child! Happily the story ceases here; nor, were tradition more compleet, would I attempt to delineate those feelings of unutterable remorse which such a catastrophe must have produced in the survivors of this dreadful drama. JOHN DUNNING, LORD ASHBURTON. The general knowledge of Lord Ashburton was as solid as diversified; and his acquaintance with every branch of human information that bore upon his profession, as clear as it was profound. To these endowments he added an eloquence ready, exuberant and animated; which, though its full effect was a little obstructed by a trifling defect in manner, never failed to enchain the attention, to captivate the mind, and to convince the judgment. Perhaps one of the happiest compliments ever paid to a man for the possession of this enchanting faculty, was a reply of Dr. Johnson's, on a little recital of Mr. Boswell's, which respected a conversation that had taken place between Lord Ashburton and himself: "I told him," says Boswell," that I had talked of him to Mr. Dunning a few days before, and had said that in his company we did not so much interchange conversation, as listen to him; and that Mr. Dunning observed upon this, one is always willing to listen to Dr. Johnson;' to which I answered, "that is a great deal from you, sir." Yes, sir, (said Johnson) a great deal indeed. Here is a man willing to listen, to whom the world is listening all the rest of the year.' It is a pleasing circumstance to the friends of Revelation to reflect, that the great mind of Loid Ashburton may be added to the preponderating class of superior intellect, which has acknowledged and asserted the divinity of our religion. He was a firm believer of Christianity, a belief, I doubt not, built upon cool conviction; since he has been heard often to declare, that if the eviᏴ Ꮟ dences in favour of it could be made an abstract subject of judicial determination, they were such as would be altogether satisfactory and convincing to any court of law, in which they might be sifted, and to every enlightened jury to whom they might be proposed. As his lordship cannot, I presume, be denied to have possessed the deepest and most accurate knowledge of the nature and rules of evidence, the argument in favour of the authenticity of revelation, drawn from his declaration, is as compleat, as such a species of argument can be. EDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE. The horrors of Edystone had long been a subject of alarm to all the navigators of this part of the British channel; and iunumerable accidents pointed out the necessity of taking some measures to remedy an evil, which, as commerce increased, became every day of greater magnitude. Accordingly in the year 1696, Mr. Henry Winstanley, of Littlebury in Essex, a celebrated shipwright and mechanic, was employed to construct a light house on this formidable rock. The work was compleated in 1700, and stood the furious assaults of the winds and waves, till the year 1703, when some material repairs being required, the architect visited the Edystone that he might superintend them himself. With a confidence in the stability of his work, and a resolution of mind that deserved a better fate, he declared to his friends previously to his departure for Plymouth, in the month of November of the above mentioned year, it was his wish that the most violent storm which ever blew should occur whilst he was at the light-house, that he might see what effect it produced on the structure. His wish was unhappily granted to him. A violent gale of wind came on, and in the morning, when the inhabitants of Plymouth looked out for the light-house, not a trace was to be seen; the whole of it having been overwhelmed and swept away during the night. Three years after this melancholy catastrophe, a second light-house was begun under the direction of Mr. Rudyard, a silk mercer on Ludgate-hill, assisted by Messrs. Smith and Northcott, shipwrights, of Woolwich. In July 1708, it was furnished with a light; and the whole of it compleated in the succeeding year. For forty-six years Rudyard's edifice answered all the purposes of its erection; but by some carelessness in the persons employed, it took fire, in December 1755, and was entirely consumed. To this conflagration we owe one of the most extraordinary anecdotes recorded in the physical history of man. These persons had been appointed to take care of the building, and were on the spot when the accident happened. Whilst one of these was looking up to the flames which raged above, and gaping with horror at the sight, a quantity of melted lead, exceeding seven ounces in weight, poured down his throat! Wonderful to relate, the man perceived but a trifling inconvenience at the time, and actually survived the infernal dose eleven days. His body was then opened by Mr. Spry, of Plymouth, who found the mass in the stomach of the patient. He authenticated the circumstance in a well written account, communicated to the Royal Society. Notwithanding the disastrous fate of the two first light houses, in the succeeding year, 1756, the proprietors of the Edystone employed the ingenious Mr. Smeaton in the construction of a third. He commenced his work on the foundation the 5th of August. On the 12th of June in the ensuing year, the first stone of the structure was laid; and on the 9th of October 1759, it "stood fixed, its stately height;" the proudest monument which the world exhibits of man's triumph over the fury of the blast and violence of the ocean. The accomplishment of this great undertaking, and the genius that suggested it, will appear the more extraordinary, when it is recollected that, owing to frequent interruptions from the tide and the winds, the workmen were not employed more than a hundred and eleven days and ten hours, from striking the first stroke to finishing the building. Nothing less than a convulsion that shall displace the Edy. stone itself, will be able to destroy the light-house upon it, since it is dove-tailed into the rock, and thus identified with the mass that supports it. POETRY. A THE DERVIS. FROM THE PERSIAN. (Sir W. Jones's translation.) Oh! I have vow'd that ne'er again And gardens of celestial powers? Oh! who would seek their fragrant shade |