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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 s 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 inore 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 manner 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 represcuted, so he appears to have been the only one, who was ever buried at their expense; the corporation of Hull having ordered fifty 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:



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,
ROBERT NETTLETON, of London, mer-
chant, his
Grand Nephew,
Hath caused this small memorial of him,
To be erected in the year 1764.




THE utility of a system, which


labour with port, is apparent, as practically and beneficially brought into effect by the plan of houses of industry."A prince of Liege, in order to cancel all at once the wrong side of his spiritual account, bequeathed on his death-bed, his whole fortune, which was very large, to the poor, appointing the magistrates of Liege his administrators. The consequence is, that of all the beggars and vagabonds in the Netherlands, Liege is now the common receptacle. It is no uncommon thing for an army of five or six thousand of these people to invest the house of the chief magistrate, 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.L.D. lutely published. The one whence this anecdote was extracted, bears date in 1774]

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to see the verses on the pretty incident of the dove's alighting on Shakespeare's statue. Of whatever na ture and disposition the animal had been, he might have been presented as a symbol of Shakespeare. The gravity and deep thought of the bird of wisdom: the sublime flight of the eagle to the starry regions, and the throne of Jove: the pensive song of the nightingale, when she shuns the noise of folly, and sooths the midnight visionary: the pert jackdaw, that faithfully repeats the chit chat of the market or the shop: the sky-lark, that soaring seems to sing to the denizens of the air, and set her music to the tone of beings of another region-would all assort with the genius of universal Shakespeare."


to give its proper weight to the French The Emperor Napoleon, in order language, and to simplify the acquiredered that all exercises and thesis in ment of useful knowledge, has orthe universities throughout France, French; and that a knowledge of shall be performed and written in Latin and Greek shall, in no department of his government, be deemed a qualification for degrees, ranks, legal or clerical. The prescriptions or offices, either political, medical, 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


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.

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

advantage even from French imWe might condescend to receive provements.

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

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

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, "Olife 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 oppressedTo" where the wicked cease from troub

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