The Cornwall Correspondent.

Curious Coincidence and Blunder.A correspondent wishes to know for what purpose Mr. Reid has introduced the word "gin admittin," in his Speech at the Court-House, on Monday week. We can inform our correspondent that this is no fault of Mr. Reid's but the Courier's who is very apt to err where gin is in the case, which, we fear will ultimately prove little else to him than blue ruin!!!

See Cornwall Courier, May 31.

The Shandrydan;

AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG:

Composed by T. Bulletree, jun. and set to music by Richard Brown, the great Fiddler.

The top of the morning-Will's up on his way:
His borses are prancing, his equipage gay.
He thinks there are few of the genus, called man
Can compare with himself in his own sbandrydan.
Dan, dan,
Shandry dan.

He's more like his crest, than bis crest's like a man.

When mounted, you'd think in a rostrum he sat,
With his whip for a bammer just queering a flat;
And here he is silent though, fast as he can,
He's going and gone in his own shandrydan.

Dan, dan,
Shandrydan.

He glides smoothly by, like the wind from a fan.

No duke's, lord's, or knights', can with Willy's compare!
It passes through dust like balloons through the air;
He passes by those, who once knew the queer man,
Long ere he had mounted his own sbandrydan.

Dan, dan,
Shandrydan.

He's the pink of all wits, and a gallant young man.

May Falmouth long boast of such great men in power,
Whose wings like an insect's will flatter their hour,
Until they are clipt by the band of the man,

That raised him to fame in his new shandrydan.

Dan, dan,

Sbandrydan.

Take care, Will! dont knock down' your own shandrydan.

Falmouth :

PRINTED FOR THE EDITOR, BY ALEX, HOLMES.

The suspense in my education, gave me more leisure than was altogether wholesome at my period of life. Various were our excursions at this time; but one of these I am certain will never, never, be erased from my mind. The friendship of youth is very different from that of manhood, especially if cut off by sudden misfortune. It resembles female friendship in its genuine tenderness, and seldom are its amiable traces totally eradicated from the memory.

It happened in the month of July 17, that Will Forrester and I agreed to ascend the rocks of Edinburgh Castle, in that quarter where the old buttress, ycléped Wallace's Tower, then o'er-hung, and I believe still, o'erhangs a smooth, perpendicular precipice, up

wards of one hundred feet in heighth. We made our ascent above where the precipice commences; the rocks are steep, abrupt, and turf-covered, on the stability of which latter, the security of our lives depended. We knew as little of fear, in those adventurous days, as the sailor on the giddy mast. Forrester led the way, on this occasion: In gaining the summit, you are relieved from danger, and the spirits become exhilirated by the elevation and the commanding view which surrounds you. We rested and breathed, and often do I reflect that we did not then rest and proceed no further. The breath of the rock-violet scented the noon-tide air. It was a tuft of these flowers that had attracted the attention of my companion to the brink of the buttress, which, though crumbling in the presence of all-destroying time, seemed built by no mortal hand. He had not yet stooped, when, O God, how still I feel the infliction! the kirb-stone sunk beneath his feet, and I beheld him no more. He fell the full depth of that sudden precipice, and comparatively happy in mind would I have been, had I conceived that feeling was extinct before he reached that rocky bed which was destined to mangle his unfortunate form. Horror struck, I fell back among the rank weeds that waved around, and when I revived, I saw some men bringing across the park a board to lay his lifeless body on. I would not intrust myself by looking down at the fatal spot; and, even now, after frequent reflection and conjecture, I cannot account for my extrication from those terrific rocks, in that melancholy and perilous hour. My young friend had been recognised before I got out of my danger, and was carried home. What a scene of agony in his father's house! He left his home fresh as the morning-he returned, borne along by strangers, a mangled bleeding corse, scarcely recognisable. Had I proposed the adventure, my spirit would never have been appeased, but my having often been there before made me easily acquiesce in his proposition. A friend, who repaired to the spot, on hearing of the disaster, accompanied me home, where I found a more kindly reception than I had anticipated. This perhaps. arose out of the feeling of my safety. But I

had to endure with youthful impatience many a kind and salutary admonition, never to tempt providence by climbing up the castle rocks again. Poor Forrester is still in my mind's eye' though years have endeavoured to efface him with shadows dim.' He was then, I thought, as good a youth

"As e'er my conversation cop'd withal."

His poor mother was inconsolable for the loss of her eldest son, who had become so useful in instructing the younger branches of the family. Her daughters were spared, it is true; but her hopes were centered in him. His talents were superior to those of ordinary youths. He had attained considerable perfection in scholarship; and it was the ambition of the father to endeavour to get his son brought up to one of the learned professions. His father's grief was subdued by a deep sense of religion, which is inculcated more zealouly by the Scottish than any other divines, who are, in general, ever active in their pastoral duties. This had prepared his mind against repining at the decree of Providence, inflicted, as he observed, for the best and wisest of purposes. Happy religion wise philosophy, that fortifies the mind of man against the numerous evils which lie in ambuscade around him.

The following lines were composed by a friend to the family, and, were placed over poor Forréster's grave as an

Epitaph.

If human pity in thy bosom glow,
An object worthy of it rests below;
No pride of ancestry, no boast of fame,
No deeds beroio consecrate his name.

Hamble in rank, yet proud of honest birth,
Inheriting by nature noble worth,

Yet he was great-in heart, if not in mind-
And melting charity for all mankind.

Romance before him spread her colours bright.
He was a thoughtful and a wayward wight,
And drank libations of Castalia's stream,
Till wrapt in inspiration's pleasing dream.

High on yon cliff be stood, one morning bright,
And in an instant sunk in endless night,

Till the last trompet sounding from the skies,
Bid all the virtuous to their God arise..

Biography.

THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS FROM OBSCURITY TO CELEBRITY.

Robert Bloomfield, the celebrated author of The Farmer's Boy and other poems, was, at eleven years of age, a poor fatherless farmer's boy himself, and in consequence of his mother finding it difficult to find him in clothing and other necessaries, was sent for by his brother to London, with whom he learned the trade of a shoemaker. And it was while following this employment in a garret (which his landlord from whom he hired a room kindly gave him the use of,) and amid six or seven other workmen, his active mind is said to have been engaged in composing the far-famed poem of The Farmer's Boy.

James Brindley, a most uncommon genius for mechanical inventions, and particularly excellent in planning and conducting inland navigation, served an apprenticeship to a millwright, near Macclesfield, in Cheshire; but his fame as a mechanic spreading widely, he was soon called upon to exert himself otherwise than in the business of his profession. To the genius of Brindley the country is indebted for the projecting and commencement of those great navigable canals, which have since proved of such high importance to the trading and commercial interests of the kingdom.

BRAVERY

Sir William Erskine.-This brave officer entered the Scots greys in 1743. He was cornet at the battle of Fontenoy, and carried a standard, his father, Colonel Erskine, commanding the regiment. In the morning of the battle, the colonel tied the standard to his son's leg, and told him, "Go and take care of your charge; let me not see you separate; if you return alive from the field, you must produce the standard. After the battle the young cornet rode up to his father, and shewed him the standard as tight and fast as in the morning.

Captain Douglas.-This gallant officer, who commanded the Royal Oak, when the Dutch sailed up the Mediterranean, had received orders to defend his ship to the last extremity, but none to retire, and therefore when the ship was set on fire, he chose rather to perish in her, than quit his station, exclaiming heroically Douglas was never known to quit his post without orders."

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