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songs, of which both the poetry and the music were, like the broom and birch of the braes around them, the spontaneous and unsophisticated growth of their own beautiful country. And thus, with scarcely any books of amusement, without any games of chance, without stimulating liquors, and without ever seeing a newspaper, our simple ancestors managed to beguile their hours of leisure and relaxation cheerfully and innocently; and, on the whole, perhaps, quite as rationally, if not quite so elegantly, as their more bustling and ambitious offspring. Amidst the manifold improvements of more recent times (the value of which, in some respects, we are far from denying), it may yet be considered very questionable, whether all that has been abandoned of former manners has been equally well replaced, and whether even our progress in knowledge and refinement has not been but too dearly purchased by the sacrifice of qualities still more valuable.

CHARADE.

TAKE my first-how gracefully
She kneels beside the shrine !
While, o'er her pensive maiden brow,
Her clustering ringlets shine-
Her fairy dreams of love and youth
Are darken'd with the shade of truth.
Come, my second-spur on heel,-
How nobly dost thou ride!
A more majestic steed than thine
Ne'er dash'd thro' battle-tide!
The skies are blue around, above,---
Then I must mount, and meet my love.
Appear, my whole-appear to me,
With a bright form at thy side ;-
The festal lute shall welcome home
The lover and his bride.

Thy lips their sweetest vows have giv'n,--
Thy youth hath won the boon of heav'n!

R S

R, AUGUSTINE.

THE MALAYS,

In a memoir of the late Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, published by his widow, we find some original remarks on the Malay character. After expressing an opinion that the Malay islands are doubtless the real Taprobana of the ancients-the sacred isles of the Hindus, who, he asks, that has mixed with the east insular tribeswho that has become in the least acquainted with their ways of thinking, will not bear ample testimony, that their character is as yet unknown to Europe? Even their piraces and deadly creeses, which have proved such fertile sources of abuse and calumny, have nothing in them to affright; nay, there is something even to admire in them-their piraces are but a proof of their spirit and their enterprise, and the regulation of good government is alone wanting to direct this spirit and this enterprise, in a course more consonant with our notions of civilization. And now may I ask, what was the state of Scotland 200 years ago?

In the last prints from Europe, I observed the particulars of the trial of some unfortunate people of these islands, who were subsequently executed for attempting to cut off the ship Governor Raffles on her voyage to England. No doubt a general horror was excited by the atrocity of their conduct; but in the expectation of her going only a short voyage, and within their own latitudes, some allowance may be made for their feelings when they found themselves deceived, and hurried into a cold, tempestuous, and bitter climate, of which, judging from their own seas, they could have formed no previous conception. Suffering under the acuteness of bodily pain, and mental anguish, thinking on their families and their homes which they were daily leaving further behind, perhaps never to visit again, and seeing no end to the increase of their miseries-may not some allowance be made for them? I am far from wishing to insinuate discredit or censure on the parties connected with this particular instance. I doubt not that every thing was done that could be

done by the owners and captain; but I know that, generally speaking, such is the way that sailors in this country are procured for long voyages.

If even they were apprised of the length of their voyage and promised payment accordingly, will not their case in some degree resemble that of the first adventurers to the new world? The creeses is to the Malay what the practice of duelling is to European nations. There are certain points in the composition of every man's notions, which cannot be regulated by courts of law; but yet there are some points, and these are the very points on which all society hinges, which are not protected. In support of these, he contemns the law which stigmatizes him as a murderer, and the very men who made the law still say he is right. Neither the property, the life, nor the character of the Malay is secured by law; he proudly defends them by his own hand whenever they are endangered. The readiness with which an injury is thus redressed, has a wonderful effect in the prevention of injuries; and except in warlike enterprise, the Malay is seldom known to draw his criss, unless perhaps in defence of what he considers his honour. The certainty of resentment has produced that urbanity and consideration for the feelings of each other, that they are habitually well bred, and if they are to be called savages, certainly they are the most polite of all savages; but in truth they are very far from being savages.

CHARLEMAGNE AND THE MONK.

His subjects slept in peace, when lo! a sound
Of cautious steps broke through the pause of night,
And mighty Charles, amid the gloom profound,
Beheld a sudden form arrest his sight.

Close to his couch a trembling monk drew near,
But-loth to wound a partial father's heart,
By pouring such dread tidings on his ear-
Delayed sometime his errand to impart.
At length, with voice of dread, and stifled breath,
Beware, he said, thy son conspires thy death.

W. B.

THE PARTING,

THE night is lowering, dull and dark,
He holds her to his heavy heart;
Her eye is on the fatal bark,—
And must they must they part!
Oh! that a wish could chain the gales,
How long that dreary calm should last,
Or ere a breath should swell the sails,
That flap around the mast!

Oh! that no ray might ever rise,
To light her latest sacrifice!

There are they met-the young and fond-
That such should ever meet to part!
One hour is theirs, and all beyond

A chaos of the heart :

She hears him yet-his softest sigh-
The breathing of his lowest word-
Sounds that, by her, beneath the sky,
Shall never more be heard ;

Form, voice, that hour-all, save its sorrow--
Shall be but memory's on the morrow!

He is her all who bends above,

Her hope-the brightest, and the last ;

Oh! that the days life gives to love

Should ever be the past!

What gleam upon their startled eyes
Breaks, like the flash from angry heaven?
Lo, where the clouds, in yonder skies,
Before the gale are driven !

And, o'er their spirits, all grows night,
Beneath that burst of life and light.
The moon is forth,-but sad and pale,
As though she wept, and waited, still,
For him she never more shall hail,
Upon the Latmos hill:

The breeze is up,-the sail unfurled !-
Oh! for one hour of respite yet!

In vain!-'Tis moonlight in the world,
But Ellen's light is set;

The bark is tossing in the bay,-
The streamers point away-away!

One kiss of lips as wan and cold
As life to them shall, henceforth, be;
One glance-the glance that makes us old,
Of utter agony;

One throb-the bitterest and the last,
Awaking, but to deaden, pain,

In hearts that, when that pang is past,
Shall never ache again ;-

And the loosed cord,-the broken bowl,

Lie at hope's fountain, in the soul.

T. K. H.

TO MELANTHE.

WHEN the stars are sending

Their radiance o'er the sea,

And the moon's soft light is blending
The distant tow'r and tree,
Then, where yon stream is wending,
Unruffled, calm, and free;

My ev'ry thought unbending,
Then I wish for thee.

When day's bright orb is burning,
And gilding flow'r and tree,
Far as the eye is turning,

Nought but beauty can it see;
Then, when with love o'erflowing
1 bow the bended knee,
My heart with rapture glowing
Then I wish for thee.

When that bright orb is faded

Far, far behind yon tree,

And the moon's soft light is shaded,

And all is dark to me;

When the shades of night are falling

So gently o'er the sea,

Thy ev'ry look recalling,
Then I wish for thee.

M. H. J.

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