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So round his melancholy neck
Poor Joe his drag-chain tied,
And hook'd it on a hook-"Oh! what
A weight is life!" he cried;
Then off he cast himself and thus
The cast-off carman died!
Howbeit, as his son was set,

(Poor Joe!) at set of sun,
They laid him in his lowly grave,'

And gravely that was done;

And she stood by, and laugh'd outright-
How wrong the guilty one!

But the day of retribution comes
Alike to prince and hind,
As surely as the summer's sun

Must yield to wintry wind:
Alas! she did not mind his peace-
So she'd no peace of mind.

For when she sought her bed of rest,
Her rest was all on thorns;
And there another lover stood,
Who wore a pair of horns:
His little tiny feet were cleft,

And cloven, like a fawn's;

His face and garb were dark and black,
As daylight to the blind;
And a something undefinable
Around his skirt was twin'd-
As if he wore, like other pigs,

His pigtail out behind.

His arms, though less than other men's,

By no means harm-less were:

Dark elfin locks en-lock'd his brow-
You might not call them hair;
And, oh! it was a gas-tly sight
To see his eye-balls glare.

And ever, as the midnight bell

Twelve awful strokes had toll'd, That dark man by her bedside stood, Whilst all her blood run cold;

And ever and anon he cried,

"I could a tail unfold !"

And so her strength of heart grew less,
For heart-less she had been ;

And on her pallid cheek a small

Red hectic spot was seen:

You could not say her life was spent
Without a spot, I wean.

And they who mark'd that crimson light
Well knew the treach'rous bloom-

A light that shines, alas! alas !

To light us to our tomb:

They said 'twas like thy cross, St. Paul's,
The signal of her doom.

And so it prov'd-she lost her health,
When breath she needed most-
Just as the winning horse gets blown
Close by the winning-post:

The ghost, he gave up plaguing her-
So she gave up the ghost!

Monthly Magazine.

H. L.

London.

MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.

In the annals of the world there have never been such rapid changes and such vast improvements as have occurred in this metropolis during the last seven years. We have no occasion now to refer to Pennant to produce exclamations of surprise at the wonderful changes in London; our own recollections are sufficient. Oxfordstreet seems half a mile nearer to Charing Cross than in the days of our youth. Swallow-street, with all the dirty courts in its vicinity, have been swallowed up, and replaced by one of the most magnificent streets in Europe; a street, which may vie with the Calle d'Alcala in Madrid, with the Quartier du Chapeau Rouge at Bourdeaux, or the Place de Louis Quinze at Paris. We must, for the present, overlook the defects of the architectural detail of this street, in the contemplation of the great and general improvement which its construction_has produced in the metropolis.

Other streets are proposed by the same active genius under which Regent-street has been accomplished; the vile houses which surrounded and hid the finest portico in London-that of St. Martin's churchare already taken down; a square is to be formed round this building, with two large openings into the Strand, and plans are already in agitation to lay open other churches in the same manner. Even the economical citizens have given us a peep at St. Bride's-being ashamed again to hide beauties which accident had given them an opportunity of displaying to greater advantage. One street is projected from Charing Cross to the British Museum, terminating in a square, of which the church in Hartstreet is to form the centre; another is intended to lead to the same point from Waterloo-bridge, by which this structure, which is at present almost useless, will become the great connecting thoroughfare between the north and south sides of the Thames this street is, indeed, a desideratum to the proprietors of the bridge, as well as to the public at large. Carlton-house is already being taken down-by which means Regent-street will terminate at the south end, with a view of St. James's Park, in the same manner as it does at the north end, by an opening into the Regent's Park.

Such is the general outline of the late and the projected improvements in the heart of the metropolis; but they have not stopped here. The king has been decora

ting Hyde Park with lodges, designed by Mr. Decimus Burton, which are really gems in architecture, and stand unrivalled for proportion, chasteness, and simplicity, amidst the architectural productions of the age.

Squares are already covering the extensive property of lord Grosvenor in the fields of Chelsea and Pimlico; and crescents and colonnades are planned, by the architect to the bishop of London, on the ground belonging to the diocese at Bayswater.

But all suburban improvements sink into insignificance, when compared with what has been projected and attained within the last seven years in the Regent's Park. This' new city of palaces has appeared to have started into existence like the event of a fairy tale. Every week showed traces of an Aladdin hand in its progress, till, to our astonishment, we ride through streets, squares, crescents, and terraces, where we the other day saw nothing but pasture land and Lord's-cricket-ground;-a barn is replaced by a palace and buildings are constructed, one or two of which may vie with the proudest efforts of Greece and Rome.

The projector, with true taste, has called the beauties of landscape to the aid of architectural embellishment; and we accordingly find groves, and lawns, and streams intersecting the numerous ranges of terraces and villas; while nature, as though pleased at the efforts of art, seems to have exerted herself with extraordinary vigour to emulate and second the efforts of

the artist.

In so many buildings, and amidst so much variety, there must, consequently, be many different degrees of architectural excellence, and many defects in architectural composition; but, taken as a whole, and the short time occupied in its accomplishment, the Regent's Park may be considered as one of the most extraordinary creations of architecture that has ever been witnessed. It is the only speculation of the sort where elegance seems to have been considered equally with profit in the disposition of the ground. The buildings are not crowded together with an avaricious determination to create as much frontage as possible; and we cannot bestow too much praise on the liberality with which the projector has given up so much space to the squares, roads, and plantations, by which he has certainly relinquished many sources of profit for the pleasure and convenience of the public.

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By the soft green light in the woody glade,
On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd;
By the waving tree thro' which thine eye
First look'd in love to the summer sky;
By the dewy gleam, by the very breath
Of the primrose-tufts in the grass beneath,
Upon thy heart there is laid a spell—
Holy and precious-oh! guard it well!
By the sleepy ripple of the stream,
Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream;
By the shiver of the ivy-leaves,

To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves;
By the bees' deep murmur in the limes,
By the music of the Sabbath-chimes;
By every sound of thy native shade,
Stronger and dearer the spell is made.

By the gathering round the winter hearth,
When twilight call'd unto household mirth;
By the fairy tale or the legend old
In that ring of happy faces told;
By the quiet hours when hearts unite
In the parting prayer, and the kind “ good-night;"
By the smiling eye and the loving tone,
Over thy life has the spell been thrown.
And bless that gift!—it hath gentle might,
A guardian power and a guiding light!

It hath led the freeman forth to stand
In the mountain-battles of his land;

It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas,

To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze;

And back to the gates of his father's hall,

It hath won the weeping prodigal.

Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray,
From the loves of its guileless youth away;
When the sullying breath of the world would come,

It is in the contemplation of these addi- O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home; tions and improvements to our metropolis, that we doubly feel the blessings and effects

* Monthly Magazine.

Think thou again of the woody glade,

And the sound by the rustling ivy made;

Think of the tree at thy parent's door,

And the kindly spell shall have power once more!

Monthly Magazine.

BOOKS.

F. H.

"Twere well with most, if books, that could engage
Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age; .
The man approving what had charmed the boy,
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy;
And not with curses on his art, who stole
The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.

COWPER

If there be one word in our language, beyond all others teeming with delightful associations, Books is that word. At that magic name what vivid retrospections of by-gone times, what summer days of unalloyed happiness" when life was new," rush on the memory! even now the spell retains its power to charm: the beloved of my youth is the solace of my declining years: such is the enduring nature of an early attachment to literature.

tions, as to the best modes of deriving both pleasure and improvement from the cultivation of this most fascinating and intellectual of all pursuits. Lord Bacon says, with his usual discrimination, "Some books are to be tasted, others to be swal lowed, and some few to be chewed and digested;" this short sentence comprises the whole practical wisdom of the subject, and in like manner by an extension of the principle, the choice of a library must be regulated. "Few books, well selected, are best," is a maxim useful to all, but more especially to young collectors: for let it be remembered, that economy in our pleasures invariably tends to enlarge the sphere of our enjoyments. Fuller remarks, "that it is a vanity to persuade the world one hath much learning by getting a great library;" and the supposition is equally erroneous, that a large collection necessarily implies a good one. The truth is, were we to discard all the works of a mere

temporary interest, and of solemn trifling, that incumber the fields of literature, the magnitude of numerous vast libraries would suddenly shrink into most diminutive dimensions, for the number of good original authors is comparatively few; study therefore quality rather than quantity in the selection of your books. As regards the luxuries of the library, keep a rigid watch upon your inclinations; for though it must not be denied that there is a rational pleasure in seeing a favourite author elegantly attired, nothing is more ridiculous than this taste pushed to the extreme; for then this refined pursuit degenerates into a mere hobbyhorse, and once fairly mounted, good-by to prudence and common sense! The Bibliomaniac is thus pleasantly sati 66 ap- rized by an old poet in the Shyp of Fooles."

The first book that inspired me with a taste for reading, was Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress; never shall I forget the intense emotion with which I perused this pious and interesting fiction: the picturesque descriptions and quaint moralities blended with this fine allegory, heightened the enchantment, which to a youthful and fervid imagination, "unsated yet with garbage," was complete. From hence forward my bias was determined; the passion grew with my growth, and strengthened with my strength; and I devoured all the books that fell in my way, as if " petite increased by what it fed on." My next step was,-I commenced collector. Smile, if you will, reader, but admire the benevolence of creative wisdom, by which the means of happiness are so nicely adjusted to the capacity for enjoyment: for, slender, as in those days were my finances, I much doubt if the noble possessor of the unique edition of Boccaccio, marched off with his envied prize at the cost of two thousand four hundred pounds, more triumphantly, than I did with my sixpenny pamphlet, or dog's eared volume, destined to form the nucleus of my future library.

The moral advantages arising out of a love of books are so obvious, that to enlarge upon such a topic might be deemed a gratuitous parade of truisms; I shall therefore proceed to offer a few observa

Styll am I besy bok assemblynge,

For to have plenty it is a pleasaunt thynge
In my conceit, and to have them ay in hand,
But what they mene do I not understandel

When we survey our well-furnished bookshelves, the first thought that suggests itself, is the immortality of intellect. Here repose the living monuments of those master spirits destined to sway the empire of mind; the historian, the philosopher, and the poet, "of imagination all compact!" and while the deeds of mighty conquerors hurry down the stream of oblivion, the works of these men survive to afterages; are enshrined in the memories of a grateful posterity, and finally stamp upon

national character the permanent impress of their genius.

Happy we, who are early taught to cherish the society of these silent friends, ever ready to amuse without importunity, and instruct without the austerity of reproof. Let us rest assured that it is "mind that makes the body rich," and that in the cultivation of our intellect we secure an inexhaustible store of present gratification, and a source of pleasurable recollections which will never fail to cheer the evening J. H. of life.

ETIQUETTE.

Philosophy may rave as it will," little things are great to little men," and the less the man, the greater is the object. A king at arms is, in his own estimation, the greatest king in Europe, and a German baron is not more punctilious than a master of the ceremonies. The first desire with all men is power, the next is the semblance of power; and it is perhaps a happy dispensation that those who are cut off from the substantial rights of the citizen, should find a compensation in the "decorations" of the slave; as in all other moral cases the vices of the individual are repressed_by those of the rest of the community. The pride of Diogenes trampled on the pride of Plato; and the vanity of the excluded may be trusted for keeping within bounds the vanity of the preeminent and the pri vileged. The great enemy, however, of etiquette is civilisation, which is incessantly at work, simplifying society. Knowledge, by opening our eyes to the substances of things, defends us from the juggle of forms; and Napoleon, when he called a throne a mere chair, with gilt nails driven into it, epitomised one of the most striking results of the revolutionary contest. Strange that he should have overlooked or disregarded the fact in the erection of his own institutions! Ceremonial is a true paper currency, and passes only as far as it will be taken. The representative of a thousand pounds, unbacked by credit, is a worthless rag of paper, and the highest decoration which the king can confer, if repudiated by opinion, is but a piece of blue riband. Here indeed the sublime touches the ridiculous, for who shall draw the line of demarcation between my lord Grizzle and the gold stick? between Mr. Dymock, in Westminster-hall, and his representative on a real horse" at Covent-garden?Every day the intercourse of society is becoming more and more easy, and a man of

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fashion is as little likely to be ceremonious in trifles, as to appear in the costume of sir Charles Grandison, or to take up the quarrels of lord Herbert of Cherbury.*

INDICATIONS.

WRITTEN IN THE FROST.

For the Table Book.

I know that the weather's severe, by the noses
That run between eyes smartly lash'd by the fair;
By the coxcombs that muff-led are smiling at roses
Got into the cheeks, and got out of the air.
By the skates, (slipp'ry fish) for the Serpentine's Fleet;
By the rise of the coal; by the shot-birds that fall;
By the chilly old people that creep to the heat;
And the ivy-green branches that creep to the wall.
By the chorus of boys sliding over the river,, 1
The grumbles of men sliding over the flags;
The beggars, poor wretches! half naked, that shiver!
The sportsmen, poor horsemen ! turn'd out on their
nags!

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By the snow standing over the plant and the fountain;
The chilbain-tribes, whose understanding is weak;
The wild-ducks of the valley, the drift of the mountain,
And, like Niobé, street-plugs all tears from the
Creek:

And I know, by the icelets from nature's own shops,
By the fagots just cut, and the cutting wind's tone,
That the weather will freeze half the world if it stops
If it goes, it will thaw t'other half to the bone..
Jan. 27.

ADOPTION.

P.

There is a singular system in France relative to the adoption of children. A family who has none, adopts as their own a fine child belonging to a friend, or more generally to some poor person, (for the laws of population in the poor differ from those in the rich ;) the adoption is regularly enregistered by the civil authorities, and the child becomes heir-at-law to the property herited by any subsequent caprice of the of its new parents, and cannot be disinparties; they are bound to support it suitably to their rank, and do every thing due to their offspring.t

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