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war parents bury their children: nor is the difference small. Children lament their parents, sincerely, indeed, but with that moderate and tranquil sorrow, which it is natural for those to feel who are conscious of retaining many tender ties, many animating prospects. Parents mourn for their children with the bitterness of despair; the aged parent, the widowed mother, loses, when she is deprived of her children, every thing but the capacity of suffering her heart, withered and desolate, admits no other object, cherishes no other hope. It is Rachael weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they are not.

But, to confine our attention to the number of the slain would give us a very inadequate idea of the ravages of the sword. The lot of those who perish instantaneously may be considered, apart from religious prospects, as comparatively happy; since they are exempt from those lingering diseases, and slow torments, to which others are liable. We cannot see an individual expire, though a stranger, or an enemy, without being sensibly moved, and prompted by compassion to lend him every assistance in our power. Every trace of resentment vanishes in a moment: every other emotion gives way to pity and terror.

fession of arms, without taking into our account
the situation of the countries which are the
scene of hostilities. How dreadful to hold
every thing at the mercy of an enemy, and to
receive life itself as a boon dependent on the
sword! How boundless the fears which such
a situation must inspire, where the issues of
life and death are determined by no known
laws, principles, or customs, and no conjecture
can be formed of our destiny, except as far as
it is dimly decyphered in characters of blood,
in the dictates of revenge, and the caprices of
power!

Conceive but for a moment the consternation
which the approach of an invading army
would impress on the peaceful villages in our
own neighbourhood. When you have placed
yourselves for an instant in that situation, you
will learn to sympathize with those unhappy
countries which have sustained the ravages of
arms. But how is it possible to give you an
idea of these horrors? Here you behold rich
harvests, the bounty of Heaven, and the reward
of industry, consumed in a moment, or tram-
pled under foot, while famine and pestilence
follow the steps of desolation. There the cot.
tages of peasants are given up to the flames,
mothers expiring through fear, not for them-
selves, but their infants; the inhabitants flying
with their helpless babes in all directions,
miserable fugitives on their native soil! In
another part you witness opulent cities taken
by storm; the streets, where no sounds were
heard but those of peaceful industry, filled on
a sudden with slaughter and blood, resounding
with the cries of the pursuing and the pursued;
the palaces of nobles demolished, the houses
of the rich pillaged, and every age, sex, and
rank, mingled in promiscuous massacre and
ruin!

men from the world and its habits, that one
would think them indifferent to all that was
passing around them, and to all appearance a
if they had lost the faculties of both sight and
hearing. One cannot help deploring this state
of things which leaves them without help or
reflection, a butt to a thousand accidents which
equally excite our laughter and our pity It
is against this sunken rock that we would raise
a beacon to forewarn them. Science is so de-

sirable, and so proud a gift, that one cannot
but regret whatever tends to lessen it in the
eyes even of those who cannot appreciate
either its advantages or its merit.
The learned Professor M- was become
almost as famous for his absence of mind, and
disregard of worldly objects, as he was cele-
brated for the many valuable discoveries he
had made in the mathematical and other exact
sciences. He taught them in one of our first
schools; that from which so many able and
distinguished men have belonged-the Poly-
technic School. His scholars loved him: full
of veneration for the great talents and the
immense savoir possessed by their master.
They cherished in recollection the urbanity
and simplicity of his character, and descanted
with peculiar pleasure on the many amiable
traits exhibited by him in his social inter-
course with them. M. M-
arrived at
the age of 45, had still preserved many of his
early habits and childish propensities; so that
he seemed often to require some careful person
to remind him of what next he had to per-
form. To how many ills and mischances would
he not have been subject, if Heaven had not
placed by his side an angel who watched his
path, and spied out all his ways, with the so-
licitude of a mother. After being married
two years, the Professor lost his wife, and of
that short union one daughter alone remained.
Emma (for that was the name of this charm-

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In these last extremities we remember nothing but the respect and tenderness due to our common nature. What a scene then must a field of battle present, where thousands are left without assistance, and without pity, with their wounds exposed to the piercing air, while the blood, freezing as it flows, binds them to the earth, amidst the trampling of horses, and the insults of an enraged foe! If they are spared by the humanity of the enemy, and carried from the field, it is but a prolongation of torment. Conveyed in uneasy vehicles, often to a remote distance, through roads almost impassable, they are lodged in THE MISADVENTURES OF A SAVANT. ing girl), deprived at an early age of that

ill-prepared receptacles, for the wounded and the sick, where the variety of distress baffles all the efforts of humanity and skill, and renders it impossible to give to each the attention he demands. Far from their native home, no tender assiduities of friendship, no well-known voice, no wife, or mother, or sister, is near to soothe their sorrows, relieve their thirst, or close their eyes in death! Unhappy man! and must you be swept into the grave unnoticed and unnumbered, and no friendly tear be shed for your sufferings, or mingled with your

dust ?

We must remember, however, that as a very small proportion of a military life is spent in actual combat, so it is a very small part of its miseries which must be ascribed to this source.

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Of all objects which contribute to our More are consumed by the rust of inactivity wants, or even to our pleasures,-of all that than by the edge of the sword: confined to a is needful to our existence, or necessary to our scanty or unwholesome diet, exposed in sickly recreation, nothing is compassed without pains climates, harassed with tiresome marches, and and trouble. Certain it is, then, that to such perpetual alarms; their life is a continual as have secured to us something which adds scene of hardships and dangers. They grow to our happiness, or the duration and wellfamiliar with hunger, cold, and watchfulness. being of life, instead of awarding them insult Crowded into hospitals and prisons, contagion and mockery, the very reverse of this should spreads amongst their ranks, till the ravages of be the return for their labours, if we would disease exceed those of the enemy. not subject ourselves to the epithets of baseWe have hitherto only adverted to the suf-minded and ungrateful. But sometimes an ferings of those who are engaged in the pro- excessive pre-occupation so estranges such

care which had directed her first steps, she comprehended, although still a child, that her attentions to herself must be increased, in order to replace her whom death had taken from her. Alas! poor Emma soon discovered that a mother's watchful care is never to be replaced: at least, she was always forced to act for herself, though alone and friendless, on account of her father's occupations, as if her mother saw all her actions, heard every thing she said, and read her most inward thoughts. Nor was this all; for she had soon perceived that her father was unfit for taking a part in any thing beyond what related to science, which he cultivated as a passion. She considered it, therefore, a duty to exercise towards him an active vigilance, and her filial affection, moreover, rendered her observant and clear-sighted. Thanks, then, to this daughter, and the respectful tenderness his scholars bore towards him, the excellent M. M made some oversights the less, but the number of his mischances exceeded belief. He might have been likened to a blind man whose dog and staff save him probably onehalf of his faux pas.

When M. M

out,

was prepared to go Emma passed on him what she laughingly called her inspection. She turned and re

turned him in every sense of the word. She looked at him from all sides, for it happened sometimes that M. M- would dispense with his cravat, or forget his tie-wig, or put it on the wrong way. One day he had left home without putting a coat on, and exhibited himself in the street en robe de chambre. Upon this occasion the little blackguards of the town ran crying after him, as after a masque, and Emma herself was forced to go seek her father, and bring him back to the house, well scolding him for it, in spite of her inclination to laugh, from which she could hardly refrain. He was going to dine in the town, and I will only just ask you what sort of a figure he would have made in a drawing-room?

(To be continued.)

pear, and however we may, for a time, fancy
ourselves convinced by them, we have in our
breasts a certain instinct, which never fails to
tell us that all is not satisfactory; and though
we may not be able to prove that they are
wrong, we feel a conviction that it is impos-
sible that they should be right.

plainness of whose features prevented our noticing her at first, is found, upon nearer acquaintance, to be possessed of the more solid and valuable perfections of the mind, the pleasure we feel in being so agreeably undeceived, makes her appear to still greater advantage: and as the mind of man, when left to itself, is naturally an enemy to all injustice, we, even unknown to ourselves, strive to repair the wrong we have involuntarily done her, by a double portion of attention and regard.

If these observations be founded in truth, it will appear that though a woman with a cultivated mind may justly hope to please, without even any superior advantages of person, the loveliest creature that ever came from the hand of her Creator, can hope only for a transitory empire, unless she unite with her beauty the more durable charm of intellectual excellence.

They are certainly right in blaming those who are rendered vain by the possession of beauty, since vanity is at all times a fault; but there is a great difference between being vain of a thing, and being happy that we have it; and that beauty, however little merit a woman can claim to herself for it, is really a quality which she may reasonably rejoice to possess, demands, I think, no very laboured proof. From that time Emma never allowed M. Every one naturally wishes to please. To this Mto quit home without examining him end we know how important it is that the first from head to foot, to assure herself that no-impression we produce should be favourable. Now this first impression is commonly prothing was wanting to his toilette. duced through the medium of the eye; and The favoured child of Nature, who comthis is frequently so powerful as to resist for a bines in herself these united perfections, may long time the opposing evidence of subsequent be justly considered as the masterpiece of the observation. Let a man of even the soundest creation-as the most perfect image of the judgment be presented to two women, equally Divinity here below. Man, the proud lord of strangers to him, but the one extremely hand-the creation, bows willingly his haughty neck some, the other without any remarkable ad- beneath her gentle rule. Exalted, tender, vantages of person, and he will, without deli- beneficent is the love that she inspires. Even beration, attach himself first to the former. Time himself shall respect the all-powerful All men seem in this to be actuated by the magic of her beauty. Her charms may fade, same principle as Socrates, who used to say, but they shall never wither; and memory that, when he saw a beautiful person, he al- still, in the evening of life, hanging with fond ways expected to see it animated by a beauti- affection over the blanched rose, shall view, ful soul. through the veil of lapsed years, the tender bud, the dawning promise, whose beauties once blushed before the beams of the morning sun.

THE LILY AND THE ROSE.

The nymph must lose her female friend,
If more admired than she-

But where shall fierce contention end,
If flowers can disagree?
Within the garden's peaceful scene,
Appeared two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,
The Lily and the Rose.

The Rose soon reddened into rage,
And swelling with disdain,
Appealed to many a poet's page,
To prove her right to reign.

The Lily's height bespoke command,
A fair imperial flower;
She seemed designed for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her power.
This civil bickering and debate
The goddess chanced to hear,
And flew to save, ere yet too late,
The pride of her parterre;
Yours is, she said, a nobler hue,
And yours the statelier mien;
And, till a third surpasses you,

Let each be deemed a queen.
Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks
The fairest British fair;
The seat of empire is her cheeks,
They reign united there.

RELATIVE VALUE OF GOOD SENSE

AND BEAUTY IN FEMALES.

Notwithstanding the lessons of moralists, and the declamations of philosophers, it cannot be denied that all mankind have a natural love, and even respect, for external beauty. In vain do they represent it as a thing of no value in itself, as a frail and perishable flower; in vain do they exhaust all the depths of argument, all the stores of fancy, to prove the worthlessness of this amiable gift of nature. However persuasive their reasonings may ap

The ladies, however, often fall into the fatal error of imagining that a fine person is, in our eyes, superior to every other accomplishment, and those who are so happy as to be endowed with it, rely, with vain confidence, on its irresistible power to retain hearts as well as to subdue them. Hence the lavish care bestowed on the improvement of exterior and perishable charms, and the neglect of solid and durable excellence; hence the long list of arts that administer to vanity and folly, the countless train of glittering accomplishments, and the scanty catalogue of truly valuable acquirements, which compose, for the most part, the modern system of fashionable female education. Yet so far is beauty from being in our eyes an excuse for the want of a cultivated mind, that the women who are blessed with it have, in reality, a much harder task to perform than those of their sex who are not so distinguished. Even our self-love here takes part against them; we feel ashamed of having suffered ourselves to be caught like children, by mere outside, and perhaps even fall into the contrary extreme.

Could "the statue that enchants the world" -the Venus de Medicis, at the prayer of some new Pygmalion, become suddenly animated, how disappointed would he be if she were not endowed with a soul answerable to the inimitable perfection of her heavenly form? Thus it is with a fine woman, whose only accom. plishment is external excellence. She may dazzle for a time; but when a man has once thought "What a pity that such a masterpiece should be but a walking statue!" her empire is at an end.

On the other hand, when a woman, the

THE MUTUAL RELATION BETWEEN
SLEEP AND NIGHT.

In the human

The relation of sleep to night appears to have been expressly intended by our benevolent Creator. Two points are manifest; first, that the animal frame requires sleep; secondly, that night brings with it a silence, and a cessation of activity, which allow of sleep being taken without interruption, and without loss. Animal existence is made up of action and slumber : nature has provided a season for each. An animal which stood not in need of rest, would always live in day-light. An animal, which, though made for action, and delighting in action, must have its strength repaired by sleep, meets, by its constitution, the returns of day and night. species, for instance, were the bustle, the labour, the motion of life upheld by the constant presence of light, sleep could not be enjoyed without being disturbed by noise, and without expense of that time which the eagerness of private interest would not contentedly resign. It is happy, therefore, for this part of the creation, mean that it is comfortable to the frame and wants of their constitution, that nature, by the very disposition of her elements, has commanded, as it were, and imposed upon them, at moderate intervals, a general intermission of her toils, their occupations, and their pursuits.

But it is not for man, either solely or princi

pally, that night is made. Inferior, but less perverted natures, taste its solace, and expect its return, with greater exactness and advantage than he does. I have often observed, and never observed but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than the regularity, with which the greatest part of the irrational world yield to this soft necessity, this grateful vicissitude; how comfortably the birds of the air, for example, address themselves to the repose of the evening; with what alertness they resume the activity of the day.

Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that certain species of animals are in motion during the night, and at rest in the day. With respect even to them, it is still true, that there is a change of condition in the animal, and an external change corresponding with it. There is still the relation, though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them to their food or their sport.

If the relation of sleep to night, and in some instances, its converse, be real, we cannot reflect without amazement upon the extent to which it carries us. Day and night are things close to us; the change applies immediately to our sensations; of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most obvious, and the most familiar to our experience: but, in its cause, it belongs to the great motions which are passing in the heavens. Whilst the earth glides round her axle, she ministers to the alternate necessities of the animals dwelling upon her surface, at the same time that she obeys the influence of those attractions which regulate the order of many thousand worlds. The relation, therefore, of sleep to night, is the relation of the inhabitants of the earth to the rotation of their globe: probably it is more; it is a relation to the system, of which that globe is a part; and, still further, to the congregation of systems, of which theirs is only one. If this account is true, it connects the meanest individual with the universe itself; a chicken, roosting upon its perch, with the spheres revolving in the firmament.

The Gloss on Silk.-How much are we not indebted to chance for many of our great discoveries in the arts, and in trade especially! Here follows a notable instance of the fact, as it regards the latter. Octavio Mey, one of those enterprising foreigners who in the 17th century transferred from Italy to Lyons the industry of the silkworm, and had seen a fortune of many thousands dissipated in futile and vain speculation-this man, while musing on the banks of the Seine upon the means of repairing his losses, aud almost sunk in despair, was unconsciously chewing a few shreds of silk, to which the action of the teeth gave an uncommon lustre. Mey, observing this, conceived the notion, that, by a process at once simple and mechanical, the silk might be made to acquire that glossiness of character which we now find to be a principle in the manufacture of the article, in all climates and

BALLAD.*

The summer sun was sinking

With a mild light, calm and mellow,
It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks,
And his loose locks of yellow.

The robin was singing sweetly,

And his song was sad and tender; And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the song,

Smiled with a sweet soft splendour.

My little boy lay on my bosom

While his soul the song was quaffing, The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek, And his heart and his eye were laughing.

I sate alone in my cottage,
The midnight needle plying;

I feared for my child, for the rush's light
In the socket now was dying!

There came a hand to my lonely latch,
Like the wind at midnight moaning;
I knelt to pray, but rose again,

For I heard my little boy groaning.

I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast,
But that night my child departed;
They left a weakling in his stead,

And I am broken-hearted!

Oh! it cannot be my own sweet boy,
For his eyes are dim and hollow;
My little boy is gone-is gone,

And his mother soon will follow !

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Letter 1. How came there to be an Established Church?

2. How came there to be people called Dissenters?

3. What is the foundation of the domination of the former over the latter?

4. Does the Establishment conduce to religious instruction?

5. What is the state of the Establishment! and is it possible to reform it?

6. What is that compound thing, called Church and State? and what would be the effects of a separation of them? Cobbett to Peel, 1s. 6d. Cobbett to Labourers, 1s. 4d.

THE PEOPLE'S PORTRAIT GALLERY! Now in course of Publication, a series of

LIKENESSES the DE

LEGATES to the CONVENTION, and other recognised advocates of the cause of the Labouring Classes.

These Prints will be brought out in the very best style of Lithography, and in appearance will rival the most aristocratic productions of art.

Price of each Portrait, 30.; or proof impres

The dirge for the dead will be sung for me, sions on fine paper, imperial size, for framing, 6d.

And the mass be chaunted meetly, And I shall sleep with my little boy,

In the moonlight churchyard sweetly.

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The number of objects we see from living

The following portraits will appear in rapid succession:

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"This is an extraordinary poem."-Times. Also, price 6d.,

CAIN; a Mystery. By Lord BYRON. London: Cleave, Shoe-lane (one door from Fleetstreet); and all booksellers on order in town and country,

all places where the trade is encouraged. in a large city amuses the mind like a perpey Published for JAMES GLOVER, at Water-lane, This discovery, trifling as it may seem, not tual raree-show, without supplying it with any only saved the inventor from certain bank-ideas. The understanding thus becomes haruptcy, but in the and tripled his fortune. bitually mechanical and superficial.

Fleet-street.

John Cunningham, Printer, Crown-court, 72, Fleet-street.

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