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the folding of our innocent sheep, an emblem of the church, but for making the walls of one of the first Christian Oratories in the world; and particularly in this Island, that venerable and sacred fabrick at Glastonbury, found by St. Joseph of Arimathea, which is storied to have been first composed but of a few small Hasel-rods interwoven about certain stakes driven into the ground: and walls of this kind, instead of laths and puncheons, super-induced with a coarse mortar, made of loam and straw, do to this day inclose divers humble cottages, sheds, and out-houses in the country."--EVELYN.

"Le noisetier n'est célèbre que par la superstition de la baguette divinatoire faite de branches légères, &c. Jacques Hymar, paysan de St. Veran, se rendit tres-célèbre dans cet art, sous la régence du Duc d'Orleans. Il prétendoit découvrir, avec sa baguette, non seulement les eaux, les mines, les trésors cachés sous terre, mais encore les cadavres, leurs meurtriers, et même les traces de ces meurtriers. Mons. le Regent le fit venir à Paris, et toute cette cour, composée en grande partie d'esprits forts, qui ne croyoient pas en Dieu, fut émerveillée des miracles opérés par Jacques Aymar.”—GENLIS.

HYMNS AND POETICAL RECREATIONS.

On observing the Evening Star grow larger and brighter as it approached the horizon.

AT even-tide,

When the sun was gone,
I saw a star-

The only one

It was so small,

So faintly bright,

It seem'd no more

Than the glow-worm's light:

So very sad,

So very wan,

I thought it wept
Its going down;

And did not like

To quench its fires,

When other stars
Where lighting theirs.

I watch'd that Star

I saw it sink

Nearer and nearer

To the brink:

There was a cloud-
It pass'd it through,
And larger and larger
I saw it grow.

Gone was the hue Of sickly white

Its cheek was now Of the vermil bright

I saw a light Its form unfold,

As if its locks

Were of streaming gold.

Thou lovely Star!

I know 'twas so

Thou look'dst so sad

For haste to go:

Thou didst not like To shine alone

In the cold, cold night, When thy Sun was gone.

That vermil tint,
That glow so bright,
That halo beam
Of celestial light-
O they were like
What spirits feel,

When they bid the world A last farewell.

Thou didst not set,

Thou didst not fade,

Thou didst not quench

Thy beams in shade—

Thou wert but sad

For haste to flee

From a world too dark,

Too cold for thee.

THE SKY LARK.

In allusion to the asserted fact, that the Lark, rising high in air, perceives the day-break and begins his song, before it is perceptible on the earth.

WHY dost thou sing so sweet a lay,

Songster invisible!

When not a beam of light is seen
In valley or on hill?

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Full many a heart will list the lay,
And love the joyful tone,

That through the wakeful night has cried,
"Ah! when will it be gone?"

THE NEGRO BOY.

(A true Story.*)

Ah, where are they whose sympathizing hearts o'erflow
With all the gen'rous feelings pity can bestow;

Whose thought is love, whose love, an ever kindling flame
Fanned into greater fervour, by the very name,

Of human shame and sorrow? To their list'ning ear,

I turn to tell a tale of slav'ry and of fear;

A tale, which tho' it raise the son of Mammon's scorn,

Will deeply sink in hearts of Britons freely born;
And in the Christian's breast will many thoughts inspire,
Of faith's firm hold, and glowing love's seraphic fire.

In that dark land, where freedom's voice is scarcely known,
There lived a negro boy, unpitied and alone,

With not one heart to love him, or one voice to cheer
His path of toil and suff'ring, or to help him bear
The load of obloquy, and scorn upon him shed,
Tears all his solace, bitterness his daily bread:
But heav'nly mercy gave, what human hearts denied,
And from the gospel mirror, pour'd a rapid tide

Of light and cheering beams o'er his desponding soul,

That chased the gloom, and made the wounded spirit whole:
Till then, he had oft murmur'd at the cruel hand
Of av'rice and oppression: now the stern command
Is heard, and is obey'd. Religion makes him meek,
Christ his example, he can turn the smitten cheek;
Can unrepining bow beneath his wretched lot,
Secure, whoe'er forgets him, Christ forgets him not.
Firm to one point alone, all others he can yield,
There duty calls, and there his resolution sealed
With many a prostrate vow of gratitude and love,
Supported by an unseen pow'r, shall faithful prove.

*We insert this on the credit of our unknown correspondent, but hope, for humanity's sake, it is not a true story.

His Saviour's worship, and the study of his word
With him are sacred duties; here he owns no Lord,

But him to whom his most devoted thoughts are giv'n,

Whose slightest word's his law, whose faintest smile his heav'n.
Yet there were those, whose envy mark'd the youthful saint,

Like Daniel he was holy, and they made complaint
Of the poor slave's devotion to his new-found God:
Their malice took effect, and soon he felt the rod,
'The human scourge; by art infernal, surely made
The stigmatizing badge of that nefarious trade;
Which blacker than the hue its wretched victim wears,
Plants its sad fields in blood, and reaps the crop
Nor in this hour of anguish saw he e'en one look
Of pity. The cold blood almost his heart forsook;
When to increase his woe, the savage master said,
"Where's now thy God?"—A moment, and he raised his head,
And what was meant for torture, served but to compose

in tears;

The tumult of his spirits; well the suff'rer knows
He is not left alone. Meekly he said, "He's here,
I feel his sacred presence, and he makes me bear
Without repining, what else had pow'r to fan
My soul into a flame of rage, O barb'rous man."

But who shall teach the furious tiger to be tame?
Repulsed, he will but rage the more; it was the same
With him who wore the tiger's breast in human guise:
Again he plies the lash, again the despot cries,
"Where now is he you term your helper and your Lord,
Where all his promised aid, his vainly trusted word?”
Not vainly trusted, I can hear his cheering voice
In gentle whispers, speaking to my soul, "Rejoice,
Rejoice, poor sufferer, that to thee 'tis given
Thro' tribulation's gloomy vale, to reach at heav'n;
Pity and pray for him, whose fury shall but break,
Spite of itself, all chains, all bondage from thy neck;
Speed thy long wished for flight, and ope to thy glad eye
The untold vision of a blest eternity."

He paused, and on his murd'rer cast his languid gaze,

Then turned to heav'n his eye, that spoke of love and praise;
Will not these melting looks and words the savage touch?
No! man, lost man, lists only to his passions. Such

As trust corrupted guides, must even go astray;
Can they be right, who blindly choose the devious way?
Sin, whilst with freedom's shade it cheats our willing minds,
Close and more close each day our galling fetters binds.

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