The Belfast Monthly Magazine

Andrew Marvell, whose life was illustrious, and whose death appears to have been equivocal, is described by Dr. Granger, "as of a middling stature, pretty strong set, roundish faced, cherry cheeked, hazel eyed, brown haired." We are told also in the Biographical History, "that he was in conversation very modest, and of very few words." There was a portrait of him, painted in 1661, in the possession of the late Thomas Hollis, esq. of Lincoln's Inn, F.R. and A.S.S. who was a great admirer of his character, independence, and talents. Basire executed a print after this, in 1776, and it is observed of the original, "that if it does not look so lively and witty, it is from the chagrin and awe he had of the restoration, just then effected." The clerical whiskers adorn the upper lip, and the countenance' possesses rather a sombrous appearance: in short, according to one who esteem ed him greatly, "he is exhibited when he was forty-one, in all the sobriety and decency of the then departed commonwealth "

In point of language many of his compositions are penned in a majestic style; although at times he could assume the burlesque, and was considered by his contemporaries, as one of the wittiest and most humorous writers of that day. In Latin too, as well as English, he wrote with great facility and eloquence; and it was he who drew up the state

so many with cruelty, as we must do, if we admit without examination, the many accounts which history hands down to us on this subject. Impartial justice in judgeing fairly of our common nature requires as to pause and doubt.—(B. M. M.)

papers, during the protectorate under the inspection of Milton. It was he also who penned the Parliamenti Angliæ Declaratio."

Marvell was more eminent for his virtues and his talents, than for his wealth. Ile, however left behind him a small patrimonial estate, on which, and the honourable allowance from his constituents, paid after the manuer of ancient times, he subsisted with credit; for having but few wants, he was neither extravagant or expensive. As he was the last representative in this country who received pay from those he represented, so he appears to have been the only one, who was ever buried at their expense; the corporation of Hull having ordered fif ty pounds to be issued for that purpose, September 30, 1678.

His body was interred in the church of St. Giles' in the fields; and in 1688, a monument was erected there to his memory by the town of Kingston-upon-Hull, with an epitaph, at once expressive of "their grief and gratitude." This having been torn down by the zealous royalists, another inscription was placed at the expense of one of his relatives, of which the following are the concluding lines:

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ANDREW
MARVELL.

As a strenuous assertor of the constitution.
Laws and liberties of England,
And out of family affection, and admiration
Of the uncorrupted probity of his life
and manners,

218

DETACHED ANECDOTES.

THE EVILS OF MENDICITY, AND THE
DISADVANTAGE OF SUPPORTING THE
POOR IN IDLENESS.

THE

sup

vaga

to see the verses on the pretty incident of the dove's alighting on Shakespeare's statue. Of whatever na

HE utility of a system, which ture and disposition the animal had combines labour with been, he might have been presented port, is apparent, as practically as a symbol of Shakespeare. The and beneficially brought into effect gravity and deep thought of the by the plan of houses of industry.- bird of wisdom: the sublime flight "A prince of Liege, in order to canof the eagle to the starry regions, cel all at once the wrong side of his and the throne of Jove: the pensive spiritual account, bequeathed on his song of the nightingale, when she death-bed, his whole fortune, which shuns the noise of folly, and sooths was very large, to the poor, appoint- the midnight visionary: the pert ing the magistrates of Liege his ad- jackdaw, that faithfully repeats the ministrators. The consequence is, chit chat of the market or the shop: that of all the beggars and the sky-lark, that soaring seems to bonds in the Netherlands, Liege is sing to the denizens of the air, and now the common receptacle. It is set her music to the tone of beings no uncommon thing for an army of of another region-would all assort five or six thousand of these people with the genius of universal Shaketo invest the house of the chief maspeare." gistrate, and threaten to extirpate him, and all his generation, with fire and sword, if he does not instantly make a pecuniary distribution. The gentleman from whom I have this account, and who is a person of sense and veracity, resided some time in Liege, and to give an idea of the multitude of beggars that swarm in the streets of the town, told me further, that one day in walking half a mile, he gave away, to professed beggars, not less than fifty-eight pieces of money." [Letters of James Beattie, L.LD. lately published. The one whence this anecdote was extracted, bears date in 1774.]

SHAKESPEARE.

Mrs. Montague, in a letter to Dr. Beattie, on hearing that some verses had been made on a dove alighting on the statue of Shakespeare, erected by Garrick, at Stratford-upon-Avon, remarks," I wish much

MODERNIZING.

The Emperor Napoleon, in order language, and to simplify the acquire to give its proper weight to the French ment of useful knowledge, has ordered that all exercises and thesis in the universities throughout France, French; and that a knowledge of shall be performed and written in Latin and Greek shail, in no department of his government, be deemed a qualification for degrees, ranks, or offices, either political, medical, legal or clerical. The prescriptions of physicians are to be in French, and the service of the church is no longer to be performed except in the vernacular tongue.

The above alterations constitute a part of the great plan of simplification, which is at present making its way in the world, slowly but surely, notwithstanding the obloquy and prejudices which according to the present fashion of the times are

thrown on all improvements. "The learned languages," will be less prized, as the stock of present intellect is increased. The times are changed since knowledge was secluded from vulgar gaze in the Greek and Latin languages. They resembled the monasteries in which the votaries of learning at its revival kept retired. Now philosophy is

gradually accustoming herself to dwell among men. She is deserting the cloister, and taking up her abode "6 in swarming cities vast," and amid "assembled men" in the various waiks of life.

We might condescend to receive advantage even from French improvements.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE BLUSH.

LOVELIER than the roses flush, More touching than soft music's charms, Is timid woman's feeling blush, When aught the conscious soul alarms. O Nature thou, and thou alone, Can'st soften, melt us, or refine, One genuine touch each heart must own; Th' enchanting blush is truly thine. 'Tis love's own cloquence! which speaks Directly from, and to the heart, Portraying on the modest cheeks, What trembling lips dare not impart. For love cold reasoning still disdains, Nor waits for words his power to shew, But rushes potent through the veins, Triumphant on the face to glow. Bright harbinger from feeling's source! Morn's crimson glow, eve's tints are fine, We feel, we own their beauty's force, But ah, we feel them not like thine! Thou speak'st from moral beauty's store, Speak'st truth and virtue in the heart, And sentiments deep in its core, That language, weak, can ne'er impart. O glowing thoughts, and feelings warm! Ye that the sacred blush inspire, Quit not, O never quit this form, Lest virtue languish and expire.

Though fortune still has past my door,
I have been bless'd, and yet been poor.
No, riches ne'er shall cause a sigh,
Or bid a tear-drop wet my eye.

Nor o'er past sorrows do I mourn;
Tho' much, alas! this heart has borne,
Should I the painful tale disclose,
Thy gentle breast would feel my woes.
Thy heart for me would heave a sigh,
And tears would dim thy crystal eye.
But time's blest hand has soothed my mind,
I bow to Providence resigned:
Now seldom back I turn my view,
Lest scenes of grief awake anew;
And if they steal o'er memory's eye,
I strive to check the rising sigh.

Put say, Eliza, could'st thou bear,
To see thy only son most dear,
Whole years beneath the grasp of death,
Just struggling to retain his breath.

Would tears not often dim thine eye,
Would'st thou not, if a mother, sigh?
To bear long nights his weary head,
And each approaching minute dread,
To see death's image in that face,
Where dear lost features thou could'st
trace.

To watch that mild benignant eye,
So like his sire's, O thou would'st sigh.

I see that cheek where roses blew,
Now shrunk, and of the lily's hue,
And Oh, past scenes float o'er my brain,
When in some interval of pain

I mark the witty prompt reply;
My heart then heaves a double sigh.

Poor boy! no father's eye meets thine,
No breast to sympathize, save mine;
A trembling asp I stand alone,
None to approve, if duty's done.
Then, ah! no longer wonder why
The widow's lonely heart should sigh.

DELIA.

THE BOY AND THE BUTTERFLY.
Translated from the French.
"TWAS in a garden sweet and gay,
A beauteous boy rov'd with delight,
Before him in a rich display
Of colours glittering in the ray,
A butterfly attracts his sight.

From flower to flower the fickle thing
In many a sportive ringlet flies,
And seems so lovely on the wing,
No weariness the chace can bring,
Though vainly the pursuit he tries.
Now on a pink in balmy rest

He hopes to make the prize his own;
Now in a rose's fragrant breast
He thinks its flight he shall arrest,
But, lo! again the wanton's flown.
Yet still the chase no toil can bring;
Though vainly the pursuit he tries;
So tempting seems the lovely thing
Thus seen at distance on the wing,
Still glittering in his ardent eyes.

And now his hopes to tantalize,
Behold it on a myrtle near!
Next on a vi'let bank it lies-

He steals and with his hat he tries
To cover the gay flutterer here.

But all in vain each art and wile
To catch the beauteous playful thing;
Yet still he disregards his toil,
Its beauties still his pains beguile,
Thus seen before him on the wing.

At last the flutterer he espies,
Half buried in a tulip's bell,
Fie grasps the flower in glad surprise—
Within his grasp the insect dies!-
His vain regrets, his tears now tell.
Thus pleasure that gay butterfly,
In prospect cheers the mind;
But if too eagerly we clasp,
It perishes within our grasp,
And leaves a sting behind.

DELIA.

MELANCHOLY MOMENTS. "O madam, there are moments in which we live years: moments that steal the roses

from the cheek of health, and plantest furrows in the brow of care."

WHEN jostling with a world of care,
And struggling to sustain my part,
At times a prey to black despair,
I say, within this aching heart,

"O that I had wings like a dove,
Then would I flee away, and be at rest.”
The freezing look by grandeur dealt,
The cold salute of heartless pride,
When, weakly sensitive, I've felt
Within my wounded mind, I've cried
"O that I had wings like a dove,
Then would I flee away, and be at rest.
Or when neglect with blighting power,
Has apathized the sinking heart,
In that forlorn deserted hour,
I've cried, "O life with thee I'd part,
"O that I had wings like a dove,
Then would I flee away, and be at rest.”
But, ah! when musing on the grave,
Where those I love have sunk to rest,
Distracted then in thought I rave,
And sigh within this tortured breast,
"O that I had wings like a dove,
Then would I flee away, and be at rest.”
Fancy with all her dreams has fled,
To me the world has nought to give,
Even hope within my heart is dead,
Then wherefore should I wish to live?
"O that I had wings like a dove,
Then would I flee away, and be at rest,”
Even now, my mental gloom redoubling,
By care and grief at once oppressed—
To" where the wicked cease from troub
ling,