114

Such are the blessings of friendship, that mankind, animated by it, would be willing to forego their other darling pleasures, if discarding them would conduce to the happiness of a friend; the coward would assume strength in his defence, and the miser (if such a wretched being can possibly entertain so noble a passion) would quit the satisfaction of gazing upon his hoarded wealth, and forfeit them for the advantage of his friend.

THE MANCHESTER IRIS.

wish to obtain that perfect state of happiness the lake, pleased with the gentle rippling of
to which mankind aspire, must be very cir- the tiny billows, as the wind dashed them in
cumspect in the choice of a friend; for upon sportive grandeur against the pebbly shore:
this single circumstance depends his happiness again we walked together along the verdant
or misery. He must discover the peculiarities fields, relating our mutual exploits, our hopes,
in the disposition of the person he wishes to our fears, and in the excess of our fond fan-
honour with the sacred title, and judge whe-cies, forming schemes, and laying plans for
ther such a disposition be congenial with his the business of our after life. Already tired,
own, for without a perfect uniformity of temper not with the pleasures, but with the fatigues
friendship cannot exist,-hatred and dislike of our stroll, we were returning homewards,
must necessarily ensue.
each engaged with his own thoughts, musing
upon the actions of the day, or reflecting upon
our present condition, and future prospects.
Just as we had gained the outskirts of the
wood, we were not a little surprised to hear the
sound of distant music, which, wafted across
the waters, came to us mellowed down into an
indescribable sweetness. It was nevertheless
of the most solemn kind, and anxious to learn
the cause to which we were indebted for what
was so congenial to our imaginations, we
quickened our pace, and soon heard more dis-
tinctly the deep sounds of the drum, and the
slow and protracted notes of the trumpet, and
could distinguish the measured tread of sol-
diery. The sun was shining with peculiar
brightness, and through the trees we could
perceive the nodding plumes, and the glittering
helmets of the troop, as they wound along
the road, not far from the spot in which we
were. By taking a nearer route through a
small grove which bounded the path, we soon
reached the road, and the whole procession
was before us. The villagers had, ere this, left
their employment, and like ourselves were
spectators of the scene. From one of these
we learnt its meaning.

B. I. T.

THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.

A SKETCH,

The sounds of woe, the sounds of death
From yonder valleys come ;-
The warrior plume, and the laurel wreath
Are sinking to the tomb.

Old Song.

IT was a fine autumnal afternoon in the year 1764. I was then in all the vigour of youth, and unoppressed with the cares of life; I had experienced many of its pleasures, but as yet knew not any of its solicitudes; a partaker of its joys, but a stranger to the sorrows which all must feel. I was at this time on a visit at the residence of a relative, in a romantic situation, commanding a delightful prospect of, perhaps, the most picturesque scenery in England. In the front was a noble expanse of waters, encircled on every side by fertile fields, some covered with the yellow corn, which ever and anon was waved in the gentlest motion by the cooling breeze-some, already shorn of their rich produce, displayed an agreeable contrast in their whiteness, while in others were seen the careless rustics cheerfully pursuing their annual labour, in all that innocent, inirth which accompanies the anticipation and enjoyment of the harvest-home. Behind was a romantic wood; not indeed arrayed in all its summer foliage, but just beginning to yield to the soft touch of time, which bids the bud and blossom to appear, and which destroys them both. It was to me, however, far more agreeable in its partial decay, than it could have been in its richest splendour; for there is no season of the year so congenial to my feelings, as that in which the leaves fall off, and the flowers fade; that which produces the witching twilight, when the sun has set, but left behind him the golden tinge of his departing rays, which commingles with the shades of evening, forming an intermediate state, more lovely than either the broad light of day, or the thick darkness of night.

I had been wandering amidst such scenery as this with a young friend, much about my own age. At one time we threaded the mazy windings of the wood, plucking such wild fruit as still remained, and presented itself to our view. Then we wandered along the banks of

former possessor. But the most affecting sight was still to come. Next to the body appeared the gallant courser which had carried the young warrior over many a bloody plain, which had shared his glory and his dangers, and which to a soldier is almost as dear as life itself. Slung across the saddle were suspended the hero's boots. The poor animal forgetting his natural fiery ardour, instead of proudly pawing the ground as he was wont to do, appeared conscious that his master was now no more. He walked slowly along, drooping his head, and displaying, more forcibly than words can express, the sorrow which he felt. Noble animal, exclaimed, thou hast indeed lost thy lord ;---no more shalt thou experience his kind attention,--no more shalt thou bear him to the battle-plain,--no more enjoy with him the glories of victory, or the comforts of peace; thou wilt shortly be doomed to another master, who perhaps will be as cruel, as thy former was humane. The officers of the regiment closed the military part of the procession, which was followed by a large concourse of the gentry and the peasantry of the place.

They soon arrived at the village church, a fine old gothic building. A row of stately elms was planted around the burial ground, which contained the remains of some of almost every person in the parish. Here then, whilst beholding the obsequies of the stranger, they were reminded of the death of those most dear to them. The service was performed by the worthy rector amidst the most prevailing silence, and many a rustic face was bedewed with tears, The corpse was committed to the grave, and the minister closed the It was the funeral of Captain Edward Hau- service, when the last token of military service trey, a young officer, who had but just reached and respect was performed, the whole body his 22nd year. He had, nevertheless, been a firing three vollies over the house of death. considerable time in the army, and had but a The procession then moved slowly off, in the same order as before, we following them with few months ago returned from foreign climes, where, in the service of his country, he had the eye as they marched along, their arms regained applause and renown, but when dead,flecting the beams of the setting sun, and instead of being crowned with his well-earned their plumes waving in the wind, till they laurels, was to be shaded with the cypress and were out of sight. the willow. Handsome and accomplished, beloved by his faithful soldiers, he was on the eve of being united to the idol of his heart, when he was suddenly cut off in the prime of life, just as he was about to realize his fondest hopes, and enjoy those pleasures which he had so anxiously anticipated. As the neighbouring church was the spot, where slept the ashes of his ancestors, his remains had been conveyed from the place where the regiment was quartered, as the last office which surviving friends can perform for the dead.

Every former thought was now banished from our minds, and reflecting upon the spectacle we had witnessed, we pursued our way Of course this was homewards in silence. the chief topic of conversation there, and many circumstances of Captain Hautrey's life were related. This I learnt was the day which had been fixed for his nuptials, and the amiable object of his love, so affected with grief at his death, had never recovered her accustomed spirits. She was indeed more than commonly distressed, and a settled gloom First marched the troop, which had been seemed to have taken possession of her heart. under his orders, with their arms reversed--I was much struck with the recital of the nor was there one countenance of these hardy Captain's story, and retired from the family sons of war unaffected with grief--sorrow was circle to enjoy alone the luxury of grief. The pourtrayed upon each manly face, as they for country was now still; each had returned to the last time beheld the coffin which contained his respective habitation, there, no doubt, to the earthly relics of their kind commander. talk like us over the circumstance which had Immediately following them was the full band, taken place. The moon had arisen, and threw playing as they went a solemn requiem to the a soft and melancholy light upon the unruffled dead. Next was the body of the deceased, lake, all nature was clothed in silent beauty, borne by six of his sorrowing men; on the and scarcely a breath of wind rustled amid the pall were deposited his helmet, sword, and leaves. I was ever a lover of such scenes as spurs, the sight of which inspired a train of these; and never did I find one more suited to mournful ideas,--the weapon which had been the nature of my soul than the present. I wan drawn against the enemies of his country, and dered out, unaccompanied, and unperceived, sheathed in many a foeman's heart, had now and soon arrived at the banks of the lake.-finished its work of death, and was consigned to its scabbard never more to be used by its

The night was calm, not a zephyr blew,
To bend the light grass, where it grew,

And a balmy fragrance breathed around
The air, and I faintly heard the sound
Of a distant voice, which floated along
The lake's expanse-what was the song,
Which the unknown chaunted so charmingly,
And fell on my ear so soothingly?

Nor was I mistaken. I heard, indeed, the voice of some unknown fair one, now tuned to a wild cadency, and now sinking so as to be inaudible. Wondering what this could be, I advanced slowly towards the spot from whence I imagined the voice to proceed.Judge of my surprise, at discovering a beautiful female figure reclining against the bank of the lake, evidently pierced to the heart with some secret grief. She was of the middle stature, her features were of the most en

gaging loveliness. Her dark black eye shot such wild and melancholy glances, as would have arrested the attention of the most indif

ferent. Her hair was flowing over her neck
and shoulders in the most enchanting disor-
der, and her dress bore such an air of neg-
ligence, as convinced me that I had met with
a real child of affliction. I concealed myself
so as to escape her observation, and listened
to her wild and irregular discourse. At one
time she talked in a strain quite incoherent,
but at another her voice was tuned to a be-
witching melody. Her song was love, of dis-
appointment, and death, and I well remem-
ber the following lines;

Why shineth so clear the bright moon-beam
Down on the still and the lucid stream?
Why sparkle so richly the silver waves
As each succeeding the former, laves
The pebbly shore for aye repelling,
The heaving force of its gentle swelling?
Why sheddeth its light each aerial star,
Glittering so richly in Dian's car?
Why over the lake, and over the tree,
Is silence floating so lovelily?

Or why hath the air such a magic power?
This this is the lovers most favourite hour.

But no-be is gone-such scenes cannot please,
No more can such softness my poor heart ease.

See, see, from my arms how they cruelly tear him,
And in cold martial pomp, to his sepulchre bear
him;

Yes, yes, it is so, for my Edward is gone,
And Ella, poor Ella, must wander alone.

If my Edward had lived, this cloudless night
Would have smiled on our rest so peerlessly;
And since to yon stars he hath winged his flight,
To those stars will I follow so fearlessly,
That all at our fate will sigh and say,
No pair e'er loved so true as they.

Here the poor maiden looked wildly around, and again sunk into a settled pensiveness of soul. At length she slowly retired, and left me to reflect upon her melancholy fortunes. I bent my steps toward the hospitable roof of my relation, my mind soothed with the soft scenery which every where surrounded me, and filled with the most solemn and agreeable meditation. I did not mention the affecting circumstance I had witnessed, to any of the family, and soon after bad them farewell.--But though since that time nearly three-score years have passed over my head, now silvered o'er with age, during which I have felt the vicissitudes of fortune, the cares and anxieties of life, its sorrows, and its griefs, yet never was erased from my memory the recollection of "THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL."

T. C.

Benè vixit, qui benè latuit.
Benè precasse, est benè studuisse. Aquinas.
Browne an Irish man, but Cornish Beggar
lived long.

EPITAPH.

Here Browne ye quondam Beggar lies;
Who counted by his tale,

Some six score winters, and above:

Such vertue is in ale.

Ale was his meat, his drink, his cloaths,
Ale did his death reprieve,

And could he still have drank his ale,
He had been still alive.

Bernardine monks boasted yt ye sun shined
only on their cell.

Bradford said we must go to ye grammer school
Best things worst to come by.

of repentance, before we go to the Univer-
sity of Predestination.

Balaam had benefit by a good angel though
a wicked man.

Beatitudo hominis est Deus..

Bona opera via regni, non causa regnandi.
Bern.

Bernardus non vidit omnia.

Bonifas pope, when Phocas Emperor. The
first pope called by ye Empr. Universal
Bishop.

Benedictio duplex, charitativa, authoritativa.
Bilson and Smith composed ye Preface to ye
last translation of ye Bible.
Before thou marry, be sure of a house wherein
to tarry.

Bells in England say, Funera plango; fulmina
frango; sabbata pango; similiter exito len-
Bells of Bolton cast near Northampton, on
tos; dissipo ventos; paco cruentos.
ye greatest of 'em this inscription is, viz.
'I call men to ye grave.'

A bishop being told by one, yt he hoped to
see him at his diocess ere long replys “I
fear I shall be in heaven before that time."
Beggars of Bath.

Brine of tribulation may keep you sweet, when
ye honey of prosperity will rott you.

Hence,

1-20.r
20
15- 180.r
12

= what C does in 1 hour,

+

15-300x
20

And

I per question. This reduced gives x, the part A does in 1 hour, consequently he would finish the whole in 30 bours.

And (1-3) 12 gives, the part B does in 1 hour, he would therefore finish it in 20 hours. Also (1–3) ÷ 20 gives, the part C does in 1 hour, hence he would finish it in 60 hours.

Solutions to the saine question were received from Arithmeticus, J. H. and Messrs. W. M. Laurie; T. Bainbridge, jún., Robert Andrew, and W. Wilson the solution of J. J. jun. was erroneous.

Question No. 14, by Mr. W. Williams, jun. Required in the line which joins two luminous bodies, the point where the quantity of light is the least possible.

Question No. 15, by Mercurius.

In a sphere of 24 inches diameter, how deep must a round hole be made, of 6 inches diameter, to contain one gallon wine measure?

Question No. 16, by Mr. Johnson.

There is a vessel whose length and breadth in one sum are 25 feet, and its depth thrice its length; required its dimensions when the capacity is the greatest possible.

Correspondents, that no question can be inserted unless We must again beg to remind our Mathematical it be accompanied by a solution from the author.

REPOSITORY OF GENIUS.

Answer to Charade, No. 15, by S. R.
Thy riddle R. S. is silence' I find :-
When thou writest again, keep this riddle in mind.
Charade, No. 16, by R. S.

My first is the male to a cow,
My second a bird often found:
My whole, it is known does not low,
But utters a musical sound.

On a musical Box and China Jar, which fell together satin, the border trimmed with puckerings of pink

EXTEMPORE LINES IN ITALIAN,

On the first appearance of Mr. Salter in the much admired Tragedy of Virginius, as a Roman father.

SALTER del tuo agire trasportato!
Tutto ver sembravami! e lagrimai!
E quasi divenni marmo gelato.
Corone d'allori il Popolo grato
Perciò a Te donò nè fia mai
Da noi (per altrui perfidia) separato.
SINAMI ACYLLS.

We hope for a translation in English, by some of our readers.

THE MUSAEID.

No. VII.-THURSDAY, MAY 9, 1822.

Non amo te.-MARTIAL.

Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl,
And from the palm to draw its freshening wine.—-

THOMSON.

was preparing a set for the quadrille, and shall be happy to accompany you in Les Lanciers,' or Les Graces, Mademoiselle.' Her fairy steps were lighter than her angel voice was sweet. Volatile was entranced, enraptured, en— ¿ but his ecstacies may

at the deep full richness of her voice. Tea was far
advanced, when Volatile was ushered into the room,
and it was only among the younger part that he could
attract the least notice, all the elderly ladies being
completely immersed in conversation. Pray, Mr.
Volatile,' said Miss Fairbrow,' what has kept you so
long, we had almost ceased to expect you, and were
abandoning ourselves to disappointment.' But you
see I'm here to comfort you; I hope I didn't keep
tea waiting, however.' 'Oh, no.' 'Mr. Volatile,'
said a waxen puny girl, have you seen Miss
Shufflebotham, that the town speaks so much of, I'm
sare she is not so handsome as some people say;
Mr. Printwell takes great airs about her, but I
don't think much of her, certainly she is quite the
belle of Ardwick, but that's not much, you know.
'Oh fie,' interrupted Volatile, it's very cruel in
you to say so-you know every body thinks her
so beautiful. Oh,' said Miss Gilhulme, tossing up
her head with the greatest affectation, the foolish
little chatterbox-d'ye know Mr. Volatile, she has
had her likeness taken by the automaton, and she
makes such a fuss about it-there's no bearing-
what d'ye think she says she made Mr. Allknown
such a speech about that portrait—that—'
mercy's sake, my dear Miss Gilhulme, do spare
the poor girl-Then,' said the unrelenting lady,
there's Miss Potier and her brother Harry, with
her fair tresses à la mode de Charles, and her beau-
tiful sleepy languishing look, and her For pity
if not for love, Miss Gilhulme, have a little mercy.'
And oh-that affected Miss Rind, and her sweet
flirt the juvenile ****** with his odious glass, which
he so continually bores one with—and his drawling

• For

We drink chocolate.-Coffee is a liquor that we relish not.---Tea is a beverage only fit for old maids, washing-women, and cockneys, the genera of humanity which we utterly eschew, loathe, and abominate Why then do we write on a subject so detestable? We answer-we have good reasons:-if any one ask which be they?' We have only to repeat- we have reasons, that we could and would give if we chose, but not upon compulsion.-We are led perhaps to complain more grievously upon this subject than we ought, because we have always an alternative of one of the two last-mentioned fluids forced down our throats when we answer the numerous cards of invitation which rest upon our chimney-piece.-It is mighty curious indeed to observe how Volatile avoids bringing his lips in contact with these obnoxious potions-how he seems to sip, and contrives to spill into the saucer-anon rises to relieve some lady from her finished cup- then mingling with the chat which prevails on such occasions, delays it to the last minute the servant comes.- now do take another cup Mr. Volatile'—says the lady of the house -Volatile is inflexible, the untouched cup is carried away, and his spirits revive-like the drooping bud after the April shower-and he seems more pleased by the departure of the cups rattling upon the tray--impertinences and then-' here Miss Gilhulme's than the devotees of gunpowder are by the hissing of the entering tea-urn.-Nevertheless there is a something exceedingly inspiring in the mute eloquence of a jingling tea-cup, something which causes the heart even to respond to the insipid prattle which such weak draughts promote ; but these delights have been carried to too great an extent-and tea parties in general are now become meetings, where scandal and defamation are the principal objects of conversation, and, where the demerits and defects of a neighbour are entered upon with the most rigid and censorious asperity. Volatile where are you going in such a confounded burry,' said Panacey, as the former was hastily passing him, I can't stop,' said Volatile, peevishly, Zounds you must, for I've a hundred things to tell you, and yet I won't detain you if you really are so anxious to be gone,' said the Doctor, observing Volatile's impatience; but in the name of petulance whither are you going,' To the, no, no,' said he laughing, 'I'm going to Mr. Ravenhair's, I will see you at ten, I shan't be later.' What, ha, how many quadrilles did you dance at Mr. Give's ball with one partner, eh, but;' Oh you must excuse me now,' said Volatile, and off he went. Now Mrs. Ravenhair and her sister, are in our opinion, very handsome, and very pleasant, and very entertaining, and we do not know whether we love more their good qualities, or admire their beauty; we have also been enchanted by their exquisite singing, and we have no hesitation in asserting that Miss Fairbrow is much the best singer, in a private room, that we have ever had the pleasure of hearing, indeed we have been absolutely astonished

scandal became so loud that Volatile ventured to
solicit her attention to Miss Fairbrow, who wished
to know whether she would take more tea. No
thark ye, my love.' Nay now do oblige me-'
Upon my word I have quite finished. Mr. Volatile
you have taken nothing at all, I really wish you
would help yourself to the cake, or bread and butter,
Miss Gilhalme has prevented you from eating.' 'Oh
no, I can assure you,' said Volatile, I have quite
finished.'
John you may take away,' said Mrs.
Ravenhair, I believe we have all finished.'' Mr.
Volatile d'ye sing?' said Miss Fairbrow, as the man
removed the équipage au thé I think you have a
singing face.' No indeed, Miss Fairbrow, you are
a bad physiognomist if you think so, upon my honour
I never sung except once, and that was to please an
old aunt of mine-but I have heard so much of your
talents, and have been so well pleased with what
little I myself have had the pleasure of witnessing,
that I hope you will favour us with a song.' What
must it be then,' said she, laughing, and rising she
took up her music book. Oh you best know,' said
Volatile. We have before spoken of Miss Fairbrow's
singing, and had then no hesitation in giving it our
unqualified meed of approbation, but if the word of
a man may be trusted whom this last effort has dis-
tracted with the concord of sweet sounds, her singing
this evening was the ne plus ultra of harmony.

When Miss Fairbrow had finished Miss Gilhulme
attempted to renew her pertinacious babbling, but
Volatile would not attend to her. Though. I canuot
sing I can dance,' said he to Miss Fairbrow, who

best be painted by the following delirious effusion of

his muse.

daughter and image of May,

0
The zest of each joy, and the balm of each sorrow,
As bright as the radiance that beams in the day,
And as sweet as the hope that beguiles in to morrow..
A star of delight at whose beamy approaching
The signals of triumph are seen in the skies;
The wind's hoarsest murmurs the tempest's reproaching,
Are sunk into breezes, are fallen to sighs.
And while all around (hushed in quiet) reposes,
The voice of creation proclaims in the gales;
Bright queen of the fair, of the lilies and roses,
High priestess of beauty, and wisdom, all hail !
Such shall be for ever the rapturous greeting,

The joy and the harmony wak'd by your tread;
Where pleasure with pleasure, and joy with joy meeting,
Shall break the black bandage of sorrow and dread.
O mighty enchantress! say, where is that fairy
That grac'd every charm which attends in your train?
And which rare as exquisite, fleeting as airy,

Earth ne'er had before, and will ne'er see again.
'Tis something compounded of all the lost graces,
Of all the bright beams that ere beauty has cast;
Which in its wide range of perfection embraces,
The blaze of the present, the future, the past.
A spirit, an essence, a radiance, breaking

Around like an halo, that waits on your call,
That fires in your eye-beam, that plays in your speaking,
That glows in each part and yet mingles in all.
The bright emanation diffused from a relic,
Too sacred for earthy or Cyprian shrine;
Diffusing around it that lustre angelic,

The wide circling glory that marks it divine.

A form at whose glance, at one sight of whose motion,
Your joys and your sorrows alike would be o'er;
Your thoughts would be lost like a drop in the ocean,
And leave but behind them the wish to adore.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

What can we say to our correspondents for our long neglect of them? Nothing. What must our correspondents say to us? Nothing, if they please. We know we have behaved very uncivilly, but it will not become them to abuse us. We have indeed had some of the fairest hands disfigured with the hurry of indignation, first, at our unmannerly replica. tions and now at our contemptuous taciturnity; but had they known the gracefuluess of silence, they would not have committed themselves in petulance and wrath. Young ladies who are unaccustomed to communications with editors, will no doubt take it grievously amiss that they do not meet the same implicit attention which they usually receive, and to which perhaps their merits may justly entitle them; yet if they could know how it afflicts us to wound them, they would not blame us for delaying the painful sentence of condemnation, or the damning with faint praise,' which we are too often compelled to be stow on their productions.

Clarinda would not have written to 'demand some notice of her verses from Mr. Volatile,' nor have expressed herself amazed, at his want of gentlemanly propriety,' had she been aware that it was his bigh sense of 'gentlemanly propriety,' which forbade him to tell a lady that her verses were very silly verses: nor would Fannia have thought that the editors might long since have found space for her sonnet in some number of the Musaeid,' could she only have imagined that it was her measure, and her numbers which were in fault.

But briefly, dear Correspondents, Juliet, Aminta, Kate, Jane, and Olivia, your ratings are lost upon us; we wont even tell you what we think of your Communications, but not one of them shall be published.

F: is wrong. We were not ashamed of meeting her in the Square the other day, but we saw her point us out to her friend and we hate to be attacked about the Musaeid. Delia wants to know how she must spend her time? Profitably.

Mrs. Matadore's account of Miss Spadille's tea party will be inserted, but we cannot promise when. We heard the secret of the wedding long before Matilda sent it to us: we know the day too, which, we dare say, she does not, and the Millineries, which are ordered, from Mrs. Bean, that's the name we believe.

THE EDITORS of the MUSAEID at the IRIS OFFICE.