earth in terror and adoration, and teach his trembling heart that the terrible element before him, which strode out from the very bosom of the parched solid earth, and revelled flickeringly in the sky, fed by no hidden hand, lit by no torchdazzling! unquenchable! and sublime! was a God! a powerful and a mighty God! At that distant age there was no cunning philosopher to show the poor Persian that in reality what he saw was not at all to be wondered at-that beneath the sands o'er which he trode lay for ages the mouldering remains of antideluvian forests, gigantic shrubs, and masses of vegetable matters, numberless and unknown, and that the result of their gradual decomposition being the formation of a highly inflammable gas, (carburetted hydrogen,) it increased in time to such power and volume as to force its way upward to the surface of the earth, and then receiving the intense heat of vertical sunrays burst into flame, which was abundantly fed by the progressing decomposition.

No! the poor Persian only knew to

"Worship and wonder,"

and teach his fellows to " go and do likewise," and so continue until the dawn of Christianity would beam in, and show them that theirs was no true religion; but only like that single hieroglyphic in the solitary chamber of the pyramids amazing and unintelligible! J. T. C.

THE LATE REV. CHARLES WOLFE. The following discriminative sketch of the mental and moral endowments of the late Rev. Charles Wolfe is from the eloquent pen of the Rev. Dr. Miller, late Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, and author of "Lectures on the Philosophy of Modern History." It formed the conclusion of a letter to the Editor of the Morning Chronicle, Oct. 29, 1824, in which he fully establishes the claim of the true author to the disputed ode on Sir John Moore :

"The poetical talent that could produce such an ode was, however, but a minor qualification in the character of this young man; for he combined eloquence of the first order with the zeal of an apostle. During the short time in which he held a curacy in the diocese of Armagh, he so wholly devoted himself to the discharge of his duties in a very populous parish, that he exhausted his strength, by exertions disproportioned to his constitution, and was cut off by disease in what should have been the bloom of youth. This zeal, which was too powerful for his bodily frame, was yet controlled by a vigorcus and manly intellect which all the ardour of religion and poetry could never urge to enthusiasm. His opinions were as sober as if they were merely speculative; his fancy was as vivid as if he never reasoned; his conduct as zealous as if he thought only of his practical duties; everything in him held its proper place, except a due consideration of himself, and to his neglect of this he became an early victim."

In the Dublin University Magazine for November, 1842, No. CXIX., there is an interesting review of the last edition of Archdeacon Russell's memoir of the subject of the foregoing paragraph.

THE NATIVITY.

What glorious sounds were heard on hight,
From the spangled arch of the midnight sky,
When angel-tongues proclaimed the hour
Of Satan's might, of Satan's power-
Of death and hell had passed away,
As mist before the sun's bright ray-
And man, lost man, proclaimed to be
A victim saved-a slave set free!
Hark! to that burst of heavenly song,
In majesty it rolls along!
Now plaintive in its cadence wild,
Now calm and soft. how sweetly mild-

Now mighty; hark! that melody
Swells proudly out, and fills the sky;
Earth, lend your ears from shore to shore-
Was song so sweet e'er heard before?
Whence comes so soft a melody,

So full of deep delight?
And oh behold the midnight sky
Is filled with clearest light.
What mean those swiftly-flashing wings,
Like brightly-burnished gold?
Those wings whose flash a glory flings

So dazzling to behold?

Such strains to mortal ear ne'er came,
Such strains to earth ne'er given,
Announcing the Messiah's name,
By heralds sent from heaven!
Ye glorious orbs that ever roll,
And 'lume the liquid sky,
Whose perfect order fills the soul
With thoughts of majesty !
Around, about your beauteous spheres
A brighter light doth shine,
The countless host of heaven appears,
Sent from the Throne Divine.

O veil your beauty 'neath that beam,
That beam of rich st light,

Which from the Throne Divine doth stream,
Effulgent-beauteous-bright!

Hark! to that sound, it comes again;
Is there none to list to the heavenly strain?
Kings of the earth! in your banquet hall,
Are ye deaf to the charm of the angels' call?
Princes and nobles, who stand around,
Do ye not hear the glorious sound?
The sky is filled with a mighty voice;
Do you hear the words? do your hearts rejoice?
Can it be, that not to you alone

That voice proceeds from the heavenly throne?
O list again; what tongue can tell

The sweetness of that mighty swell?
But you hear it not; that hallowed song
To the banquet board doth not belong.
Revel away! let the foaming wine,

And the minstrel's song, and the dance be thine.
Who heard that beauteous melody

Resounding thro' the skies?

Ye hoary priests with calling high,
Ye priests of sacrifice-

Ye watchers of the running sand,
Expectants of the hour

When Israel's King on earth shall stand
In majesty and power-
Do ye not hear the heavenly throng
In joyful sounds proclaim,

In one tremendous burst of song,
The Saviour's glorious name?
Who heard that beauteous melody
Of joy and great delight?
The humble shepherds, as they lay
And watched their floeks by night:
The tidings of the Saviour's birth,
The song of triumph then-
"Glory to God, and on the earth
Peace and good will to men."
To them arose the star, whose beams
Illumed them on their way,

Which poured its light in silver streams
O'er where Immanuel lay.

Tandragee, Dec. 25, 1842.

H.

THE BALLAD-SINGER OF LIMERICK.

(Continued from our last.)

"I have not quite forgiven you, Kate," said Mrs. Creagh, as they sat round the fire on the following evening" I have not quite forgiven you yet, for not telling me that you would come back to Limerick. I thought you did not regret our parting as much as I did, and I was greatly disappointed.”

"She wished to tell you," said Mr. Comyn," but I would not allow her to do so, as I could not be certain of succeeding in this business of Arthur's till I arrived in London. I did not anticipate Miss Kate's influence with a high and mighty personage, who did us the honour of taking his curry with us several times. I can tell you, Mrs. Creagh, that, demure as she looks, she can flirt when she pleases, particularly with an old Nabob."

"A thousand thanks for exerting your influence so kindly, my dear Kate," said Mrs. Creagh.

Kate was about to deny the flirtation; but, looking up, she met Arthur's grateful smile, and she felt that there was no necessity.

Will our readers excuse our passing over the sorrow at parting the preparations-the journey against time to overtake the next ship bound for India-and all the accompaniments to a long voyage? If they have already taken one, they are fully informed on the subject; and if they have not, we magnanimously deny ourselves the pleasure of enlarging on it, having an equal contempt for the forestallers of pleasures and potatoes

It may be a matter of dispute, whether gazing on the same star is productive of such similarity of feelings as the rolling of the same vessel during the first week at sea. There is no such situation in the world for sympathetic souls-but alas! the freshness of feeling wears away; fat bacon loses its horrorsbrandy and water its virtue; and heroes and heroines cast on the unconscious dial on the mantel-piece, the anxions glance so lately reserved for the sole indexes of each other's minds; analyse the steam from the ship's coppers, instead of the "gales from Araby ;" | send messengers to the black cook, instead of sighs to home; and, in short, arrive at the melancholy but inevitable state in which heroes and heroines eat and drink like the soulless mortals around them.

Arthur and Kate enjoyed the pleasures of sympathy for an unusual long period, as the weather was very changeable and occasionally stormy.There were several cabin passengers, and amongst them a few ladies; but none complained of the monotony of a long voyage; for if a fine day per. mitted them to form a pleasant party on deck, the next, their amusements were delighfully varied by a gale, confining them to the cabins, if not to their le ths.

Whether owing to the above stated mysterious connection between sympathy and salt-water, or to the good offices of their mutual friend, Lion, who had become a univeral favourite on board, certain it is, that before the good ship "Sebastian" had crossed the line, the formal appellations of Mr. Creagh and Miss O'Carrol were exchanged for the more familiar ones of Arthur and Kate: and as they acquired a knowledge of the nature of their own sentiments, hopes, fears and conjectures were hazarded on the probability of their being returned, as sage as such hopes, fears, or conjectures ever can be.

On arriving at Calcutta, Arthur was installed into his office in due form: and after a few days spent at the hou e of Mr. Russel, Mr. C. myn's partner, Kate foud

herself established at her unele's, a handsome residence at a short distance from the city. The first year of her residence passed in uneventful tranquillity. Surrounded by the luxuries of the East and the comforts of home, Kate could, at times, fancy herself once more in her father's house, transported suddenly from the banks of the Shannon to those of the Hoogly, and all the intervening time a dream; but one, on whose incidents, with the exception of her mother's death, she looked back with the deepest gratitude. They had taught her the insignificance of her own position as an individual in the great scale of society; they had taught her that money is to be valued only as it affords an opportunity of relieving in others the wants she had experienced herself and, fair reader, rest?--they had taught her to win the love of will you blame her if she prized this more than all the Arthur Creagh, to feel its true value, and to return it with all the sincerity of her own Irish heart. He never told her that he loved her, but it was unnecessary; it was spoken by his frank smile of unaffected pleasure, whenever his duties permitted him to join her. Mr. Comyn had stipulated that all his leisure time should be spent with them: a condition acceded to without much difficulty. Arthur loved Kate, perhaps the better, for having once disliked her. There appears to be a natural tendency to extremes in the human mind; and the spring from love to hate, or from hate to love, is but the bolder and the more decided from the depth of the chasm which lies between. When Arthur found that he had wronged her that for a single fault he had condemned her whole character, the sudden reaction of feeling gave her a higher place in his estimation than she could have attained by the ordinary events of years. Kate, it is true, had become a little more reserved than she used to be, but it did not necessarily follow that he had fallen in her estimation. The frank expression of grateful feeling which might he used with perfect propriety by the Nabob's heiress to Arthur Creagh in Ireland, may assume the appearance of forwardness to the rising lawyer in Calcutta, when every day contributed to place them more on a level. His prospects were rapidly improving, and he knew that a few years steady exertion would place him in a position which would render a charge of presumption impossible, should he propose for her. Though not possessed of an unusual share of vanity, Arthur had formed no very unfavourable opinion of his chance of success with Kate. With manly consciousness of his own powers, he felt that he was superior to the military idlers who were glad of an excuse to kill time agreeably at Mr. Comyn's; bestowing perhaps an equal portion of admiration on his niece and his champagne. The higher that Kate rose in his estimation, the more secure did he feel of her appreciating his claims to her esteem-not that he would have been satisfied with that; but he knew from experience by how trifling an interval it is separated from love. So that though Arthur may, on an emergency, have been able to get up a creditable share of a lover's doubts and fears, it must be confessed, that, in general, he enjoyed a most unhero-like tranquillity of mind. Mr. Comyn seemed unconscious or heedless of how the young people got on, so that they appeared happy and availed themselves of every amusement in his power to procure them. There could be no doubt as to Mrs. Creagh's wishes, though too delicate to allude to them; and Anna Roche, or rather Mrs. Edmund Travers, who now constantly wrote to Kate, never concluded a letter without some praise of Arthursome trait of his generosity, or devotion to his mother. So that, altogether, their "course of love" seemed likely to run with a smoothness which would have paralysed the nervous sensibilities of a Lady Cherubina de Willoughby, were it not that whichever

of the weird sisters happened to be unusually disengaged at the time, was preparing a thunder-clap to break the monotonous calm of happiness, and sustain the reputation of the Swan of Avon with all the playreading folks in Calcutta.

One evening, towards the close of his second year in India, Arthur was preparing to go to Mr. Comyn's, having promised to practice a new song with Kate, when his servaut ran to tell him that a gentleman just arrived in the packet from England wished to see him. Having directed him to be shown up, the servant left the room, and in a few minutes Arthur heard his voice in apparent dispute with his visitor, who refused to tell by what name he should be announced. The black, accustomed to the state and formality of a rich merchant's family which he had just left, did not wish to abridge the ceremonies of introduction.

"What name, sar? he asked for the third time, as he held the door in his hand: "gentlemen always tell

me de name.'

"Is not your master an Irishman?" "Tink so, sar."

tained in Anna's letter. After announcing, with the deepest regret, the necessity for their removal from Limerick, she went on to say-

"Now that I must leave your mother, my dear Arthur, I feel it my duty to tell you, that for some months past I have been uneasy about her health. She has become very nervous and low spirited. When letters or other papers arrive from India, she cannot be persuaded that they do not contain an account of your death, until she has examined them herself; and when they happen to be delayed beyond the usual time, her anxiety is most distressing, We prevailed on her, much against her own inclination, to consult a physician, who says that though he sees no immediate danger, another year spent like the last two may undermine her constitution. She entreated me not to tell you this, and even Edmund is half angry with me for running the risk of destroying your prospects by what they call my womanish fears;' but I thought it better to tell you all, and leave you to decide for yourself. You need not, however, alarm yourself; the worst I dread is the ultimate wearing away of her health If you could fix the probable definite to look forward to, I think it would have almost as good an effect as actual return now."

Arthur was about to interfere, when the door opened, and the stranger entering the apartment, announced himself as Robert Travers, a cousin-inlaw of Anna's. He was a good-looking animated young man, apparently on amicable terms with himself and the rest of the world. Arthur advanced to meet him with that cordiality which the least patriotic feel towards a fellow countryman in a foreign land. "Mrs. Travers did not prepare me for the pleasure of seeing you so soon," he said: "she mentioned your intention of coming out in one of her last letters."

"I had no idea of coming so soon," replied Mr. Travers; "when she wrote, I thought I could remain in Ireland for some months longer;" and he smiled, as if there had been something ludicrous, as well as unexpected, about his departure.

"You were not very anxious to leave home, I dare say, Mr. Travers ?" said Arthur.

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Why, you see, Mr. Creagh, I look on a voyage to India as a view of one's own funeral procession, and I am not royal enough in my whims to have any particular wish to see it."

"I never regarded it in that light," said Arthur, smiling. "I have been here nearly two years, and I am alive yet, as you may perceive."

"Alive but not merry, like every one here," said Travers. "As I came along, I met so many people lounging about, who seemed to have nothing to do but opening their mouths for air, and closing them merely to kill time in opening them again, that I fancied myself turning into an oyster through pure sympathy.

Arthur laughed, but he was too anxious for news from home to join in his visitor's gaiety.

"If you were at your cousin's before leaving Ireland," he said, " perhaps you saw my mother.'

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I did see her a few weeks before I sailed-but I beg pardon for not having given you your letters before. The Travers' left Limerick six weeks before. Edmund's friends wished him to settle in Dublin. I heard Mrs. Travers regret it very much, on account of being so far from your mother. But your letters will explain every thing; don't let my presence prevent you from reading them, Mr. Creagh."

Arthur opened his mother's letter; it contained a great many cautions about his health; a relation of every thing likely to give him pleasure, but not a single word about herself. This, however, did not alarm him, being by no means an unusual omission, so that he was quite unprepared for the news con

Arthur laid down the letter; he knew that it would be impossible to fix the period of his return, if he waited to attain that degree of independence, the hope of which had induced him to leave his mother. All her affection-the sacrifices she had made for him since his childhood, rose up before him, and seemed to reproach him with breaking her heart: and his resolution to return by the next ship was instantly taken. How long he may have continued to meditate on the consequences of giving up his prospects in India, is uncertain; for his visitor, who had been moving about the room in a very fidgetty manner for some minutes, at last broke silence by exclaiming :

No; she died when I was a child."

Then, you cannot judge for one that has. Forgive me, Mr. Travers, for my apparent rashness; but if you knew my mother as I know her, you would think me an ungrateful wretch if I neglected her."

"I

"I believe you are right, Creagh; perhaps if my mother lived, I may feel as you do: but," he continued, resuming his usual gaiety of manner, ought to congratulate myself on your departure. Mrs. Travers gave me several gentle hints on the propriety of modelling myself after you, and if I became so sentimental, I fear I'd exhale in sighs some very hot day."

"I do not think you need feel any apprehension," said Arthur, "unless a very wonderful change takes place in you." "When do you mean to go?"

66

By the very next ship," Arthur replied. "Then you have no time to lose, as I inquired and was told it would sail the day after to-morrow.

'You would give it to them to forward Arthur at home," continued her uncle, seeing her hesitate. "That would be very grateful of you, Kate, and they would deserve it from you; but recollect, my dear, that you could not offer money to such people; they are too spirited, Kate."

There was a half malicious smile on Mr. Comyn's face as he spoke which puzzled his niece, but feeling that she could not stop now, she said

"Uncle, I would give it with myself."

"Yourself! did he propose for you, Kate?"

'No; he is too honourable to ask me to share his struggles; but I know he loves me. I never discouraged his attentions while he was likely to become an equal in fortune-shall I desert him now?" Will you desert me, Kate?"

"But for Arthur and his mother I never would have known you, uncle. They saved my dear, dear mother and myself from a terrible death, and must I repay it by

66

"My Kate, my darling, generous child," exclaimed her uncle, clasping her in his arms, you shall not desert either of us; I was only trying you, Kate; you have fulfilled my fondest wishes. Since I first knew Arthur, and all he had done for you and your poor mother, I determined that it should not be my fault if he were not well rewarded; we will all return together, and I suppose he wont object to waiting a month for you. Go and tell him so, dear."

Kate's excitement gave way to a burst of tears as she exclaimed

66

My dear uncle, I never knew you till now." "Then," he said, kissing her affectionately, "go away now, or I'll make an old fool of myself. Where is your courage now, Miss Kate ?" he asked playfully, perceiving that she was in no haste to obey him. "I insist on your going down this instant; he must be kept in suspense no longer. Tell him that I am so anxious to get rid of you, that I will give him thirty thousand pounds now for taking you, and the rest of my fortune at my death if he cures you of your obstinacy. You have been very saucy, and that is your penance," and he pushed her gently out of the room.

(To be concluded in our next.)

SWEARING. This is a most detestable vice; it has neither reason nor passion to support it. The common swearer is a fool at large-sells his soul for nought, and drudges in the service of the devil gratis. Swearing is void of a 1 plea; it is a low, paltry custom picked up by low and paltry spirits, who have no sense of honour, no regard to decency, forced to substitute some rhapsody of nonsense to supply the vacancy of good sense.

but are

EASY METHOD TO FIND THE TIME OF HIGH WATER. Take a cheap lodging in a cellar in Ratcliffe-highway. When the rats run out of their

holes and over your bed, the tide is rising; but when the flounders get into your pillow-case, and the bed is gently floated until your nose touches the ceiling, then it is high water. On the other hand, it is low water when you cannot afford to pay your rent; and it is then advisable to ebb yourself.-Punch's (London) Almanac.

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A sick man being admonished by his clergyman not to rely upon some favourable symptoms, repliedNo, sir; 1 do not admit such music into my ears." A man offering a horse for sale being told that he asked too high a price, said “That the shadow of his horse on the wall was well worth the price he was asking."

A labourer being urged to work in harvest time after the usual hour, said "There's no making an empty sack stand."

A poor carrier having received unexpected assist ance from a stranger, turned to him and said "God bless you, sir; may you wonder at your own good luck."

"A poor woman amazed at a lady's generosity, and knowing that she had very little money to spare, prayed with manifest sincerity-" May heaven be your banker!"

Sir Walter Scott once gave an Irishman a shilling when sixpence would have been sufficient. "Remem ber," said Sir Walter, "that you owe me sixpence." May your honour live till I pay you," was the reply.

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GRATITUDE AND INGRATITUDE.-Gratitude is a virtue disposing the mind to an inward sense and an outward acknowledgement of a benefit received, toge ther with a readiness to return the same, or the like, as occasions of the doer of it shall require, and the abilities of the receiver extend to. Ingratitude is an insensibility of kindnesses received, without an endeavour either to acknowledge or repay them. Ingratitude sits on its throne with pride at its right hand, and cruelty at its left-worthy supporters of such a state. You may rest upon this as an unfailing truth-that there neither is, nor ever was, any person remarkably ungrateful, who was not also insufferably proud; nor any one proud who was not equally ungrateful.

VELOCITY OF SOUND.-Dr. Derham found, by many accurate experiments, that sound moves at the prodigious rate of eleven hundred and forty-two feet in one second of time.

CHAMPAGNE. It is a mistake with amateurs to imagine that the briskness of champagne is a proof of its superior quality. The fact is, that in seasons when the grapes of champagne do not thoroughly ripen sugar is employed.