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may know that we are just risen from Breakfast in Health and Spirits this twelfth Instant at nine in the morning.

'Our Voyage hath proved fruitful in adventures, all which being to be written in the Book, you must postpone yr Curiosity. As the Incidents which fall under your Cognizance will possibly be consigned to oblivion, do give them to us as they pass. Tell your Neighbour I am much obliged to him for recommending me to the Care of a most able and experienced Seaman, to whom other Captains seem to pay such Deference that they attend and watch his Motions, and think themselves only safe when they act under his Direction and Example. Our Ship in Truth seems to give Laws on the Water with as much Authority and Superiority as you Dispense Laws to the Public and Examples to your Brethren in Commission. Please to direct yr answer to me on Board as in the Date, if gone to be returned, and then send it by the Post and Pacquet to Lisbon to

'Y' affectionate Brother,

'H. FIELDING.

'To John Fielding Esq., at his House in Bow Street, Covent Garden, London.'

... I believe autograph letters of Henry Fielding are very rarely met with. The above is in very good preservation.

SONNET.

'When Letty had scarce passed her third glad year,

And her young, artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a coloured sphere
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know
By tint and outline all its sea and land.
She patted all the world; old empires peeped
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers; how she leaped,
And laughed, and prattled in her pride of bliss!
But when we turned her sweet, unlearnèd eye
On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry,
"Oh yes! I see it,-Letty's home is there!"
And while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair.'

Rev. Charles Tennyson Turner.

THE TOUCAN.

(REVIEW OF WATERTON'S 'WANDERINGS.')

'How astonishing are the freaks and fancies of nature! To what purpose, we say, is a bird placed in the woods of Cayenne, with a bill a yard long, making a noise like a puppy-dog, and laying eggs in hollow trees? To be sure the toucan might retort, To what purpose were gentlemen in Bond Street

created? To what purpose were certain members of Parliament created? pestering the House of Commons with their ignorance and folly, and impeding the business of the country? There is no end to such questions. So we will not enter into the metaphysics of the toucan.' Sydney Smith (1769-1845).

PRAYER.

'For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hoping to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back by the loud sighings of an Eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the libration, and frequent weighing of its wings, till the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the storm was over, and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had learnt music and motion of an angel as he passed sometimes thro' the air about his ministries here below. So is the prayer of a good man.' Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667).

THERE IS A SEASON FOR EVERYTHING.

A good woman, in conversation with her pastor, was inveighing against the self-indulgence and pro

digality of some neighbours, whom she prophesied would come to grief in consequence. Such extravagance, Sir,' said she; 'they deny themselves nothing— butter'd toast, in season and out of season?

FIRE.

'Sweet maiden, for so calm a life
Too bitter seem'd thine end;
But thou had'st won thee, ere that strife,
A more than earthly Friend.

'We miss thee in thy place at school,
And on thine homeward way,
Where violets by the reedy pool
Peep out so shyly gay :

'Where thou, a true and gentle guide,

Would'st lead thy little band,

With all an elder sister's pride,
And rule with eye and hand.

'And if we miss, O, who may speak
What thoughts are hovering round
The pallet where thy fresh young cheek
Its evening slumber found?

'How many a tearful longing look

In silence seeks thee yet, Where in its own familiar nook

Thy fireside chair is set?

'And oft when little voices dim

Are feeling for the note

In chanted prayer, or psalm, or hymn, And wavering wildly float,

'Comes gushing o'er a sudden thought Of her who led the strain.

How oft such music home she brought— But ne'er shall bring again.

'O say not so! The springtide air

Is fraught with whisperings sweet; Who knows but heavenly carols there With ours may duly meet?

'Who knows how near, each holy hour, The pure and childlike dead

May linger where, in shrine or bower,
The mourner's prayer is said?

'And He who will'd thy tender frame (O, stern yet sweet decree !)

Should wear the martyr's robe of flame,

He hath prepared for thee

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