point as the honour of my best friend. It is impossible that I can refuse the request you make for my future friendship, and if my company can contribute to your satisfaction it is equally at your command; but Mrs. Ambrose joins me in opinion, that a few months' absence will be more desirable. My sister and myself have received an invitation to spend the winter with a distant relation in Wiltshire. We have thoughts of accepting it, but in this I will be guided by your wishes: did I not make them my first consideration I should be unworthy your generous concern. I remain, sir, with the

Dear Sir,

answer.

THE inability I feel to answer as I ought such a letter as you have honoured me with, can only be equalled by the generosity and disinterested friendship therein evinced: for that generosity and friendship I beg leave to offer my grateful acknow ledgements, and, at the same time, to assure you that no consideration but the one of still possessing your esteem could give me ease under the conciousness of having wounded your peace of mind. Suffer me then to request that you will ascribe my present conduct to my weakness, not to my capriciousness. Believe me, sir, independent of consideration respecting my own happiness, I have a far greater regard for yours than to risque it by bestowing my hand without my heart.-I have now only to regret the absurdity of my conduct, in not before discovering that I had not a heart to bestow. Your kind consideration for me in regard to my brother I am highly sensible of; but, although his good opinion may not be material, I cannot suffer him to be deceived in so essential a VOL. XXXVIII.

ever obliged and obedient servant,' MARIA VERNON.

LETTER XXI.

Colonel Ambrose to Mr. Vernon.

Sir,

I

You will be surprised at the contents of this letter, which is to in form you that I have altered my mind in regard to marrying your sister, or, in short, marrying at all. It is my intention to follow your example, and continue a bachelor. Now I hope you will not take amiss this alteration in my sentiments, and I flatter myself that we shall not be worse friends than before. have written to the young lady, and she declares herself perfectly satisfied in the matter. case, and she is the principal person concerned, I see not why the affair should be talked of. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you and your sisters when I come to town as old friends; in the mean time I renain your friend and servant,

As that is the

CHARLES AMBROSE.,

(To be continued.) K k

THE lovely month of May, with all her train of bloom-bedecked attendants, had appeared, to bless the growing year.

Soft as the slumb'ring infant's sigh'

was her balmy breath: all nature felt its genial influence; the birds warbled their grateful thanks to Nature's God for his beneficence; and delighted man might exclaim

How soft is now the gently-passing breeze; How sweet, the cowslip that bedecks the vale;

How pure the green that decorates the trees; How full of melody the wood-bird's tale; How rich the landscape bursts upon the sight; How still the streamlet wanders on its way! No more we find dull Winter's length'ning night,

But hail the softest hour of Spring's bright day.'

Author's Manuscript Poems.

Bloomfield, in his 'Farmer's Boy,' has displayed the rustic occupations of spring with great beauty; among the rest, the description of Spring and her attendants, with Giles's, cmployment as a shepherd, are particularly pleasing.

Neglected now the early daisy lies; Nor thou, pale primrose, bloom'st the only prize:

Advancing SPRING profusely spreads abroad Flow'rs of all hues, with sweetest fragrance stor'd;

Where'er she treads, Love gladdens ev'ry
plain,

Delight on tiptoe bears her lucid train;
Sweet Hope, with conscious brow, before her

flies,
Anticipating wealth from Summer skies;

torn:

meet,

And starve and pine, with plenty at their feet.

Loos'd from the winding lane, a joyful throng, See, o'er yon pasture, how they prur along. Giles round their boundaries takes his usual

stroll;

Sees ev'ry pass secur'd, and fences whole; High fences, proud to charin the gazing eye, Where many a nestling first essays to fly; Where blows the woodbine faintly streak'd with red,

And rests on every bough its tender head; Round the young ash its twining branches

meet,

Or crown the hawthorn with its odours sweet.

green;

Say, ye that know, ye who have felt and seen
Spring's morning smiles, and soul-enliv'ning
Say, did you give the thrilling transport way?
Did your eye brighten, when young lambs at
play
Leap'd'o'er your path with animated pride,
Or gaz'd in merry clusters by your side?
Ye who can smile, to wisdom no disgrace,
At the arch meaning of a kitten's face;
If spotless innocence, and infant mirth,
Excites to praise, or gives reflection birth;
In shades like these pursue your fav'rite joy,
Midst Nature's revels, sports that never
cloy.'

Such was the season, and such had been the day preceding my present walk. The fragrant sweetness of the air, loaded with the essence of a

thousand blossoms; the still serenity of the sky, without a cloud to darken its star-crown'd glory; the plaintive song of night's peculiar bird, and the distant cadence of a well-known waterfall, were all circumstances congenial to the moment, and to the state of my mind. A year, a little year, had elapsed, since a father, my only remaining parent, had sought the bourne from whence no traveller returns.'-And shall twelve trifling months make me forget him?-forbid it, every grateful feeling of my soul!-Never can I forget him; never can I cease to remember his unceasing goodness to me. It may, perhaps, not be fashionable to seem to possess any feeling, or to remember any kindness that a parent has shewn towards bis neglectful offspring: apathy may rule the votaries of fashion, but shall not be numbered amongst my catalogue of frailties-for frail is every child of man, weak as the reed that trembles in the storm!

My steps were pointed to the silent depositary of the dead: there, undisturbed, I could vent the still murmurs of my pensive breast; there I could call to recollection, uninterrupted by the voice of man, my parent's every act of affection; I could, with fancy's soothing aid, picture his form as it was when health shed her influence over it; and thus live over again, as it were, my better moments of existence. But, ah! fancy too, with fickle mind, pictures his hours of pain, pitilessly pictures his departing moments. Hea-, ven knows, I dread not the remembrance; no scream of agonising conscience fraught the dreadful hour with horror; no bitter recollection of studied sin disturbed his dying thoughts; no pang but that of bodily pain was felt. Oh! 'twas an awful moment! but it was a very

satisfactory one. To see a parent die most assuredly is a painful task; but to see him die happy, to feel confident that his sainted spirit will be so, is consolatory in the highest degree. I know not a greater satisfaction than the recollection of hav ing soothed my parent's last hour on earth, of having knelt by his bedside when nature yielded up her trust, and in a long, last sigh, his soul sought its heavenward course.

For e'en the bed where life expiring lies, So fraught with terror to the feeble mind, Causes no fear when there a good man dies, Who fixes hope on heav'n, to death resign'd.

So have I seen my life's best friend expire Without a murmur at each pang of pain. Fall fast my tears; embalm an honour'd sire, Whose spirit fled without one sinful stain. Father of ev'ry good that here we know! Lord of all space! Omniscient King of Heav'n!

Mercy's great God!-best friend of human

woe!

To whom eternal honour should be giv'n! Grant all the griefs that press upon my soul May teach it humbleness to thy commands; Teach it to bend to Mercy's just controul,

And bless the chastening of thy holy hands!
And when the feebly-beating pulse of life
Shall point the path to Nature's op'ning
tomb,
May blest Religion banish sinful strife,

And like my parent may I meet my doom!"
Author's Poems.

Having ended my melancholy visit to the grave of my father, I returned home; for I did not feel inclined, after such a course of thought, to extend my ramble, or let my loftier tone of mind sink to more unworthy objects than those on which it was fixed. But ere I wooed the goddess of repose, I gave my late sensations the following elegiac form:

Silence has clos'd the scene of noisy day; Soft-breathing Eve approaches, meek and slow; Whilst I, a lonely being, seek my way, To pour on Night's still ear the plaint of

woe.

My footsteps hear me where the mos grown pile

Sheds in the moon-beam softer tints of shade; Where grandeur sleeps beneath the gloomy aisle,

The crimson'd coffin low in splendour laid.

There the tall tomb uprears its pompous head,

With verse high-tounding, and with praise spread o'er;

As though the fulsome theme could please the dead,

Or soothe them on Eternity's vast shore.

But Time will mock the artist's feeble pow'r,

Will make the tell-tale marble's surface

plain;

And with the silent, slowly-moving hour, Will into ruin rock e'en yon proud fane!

Round the lone walls is many a humbler grave,

Where rest as quiet from the world's worst

storm

Now from his couch no more he starts and

weeps,

But all his woes and all his sorrows cease.

And here I come to shed the tender tear,
That falls in mem'ry of a father's love;
For here I linger'd o'er his mournful bier,
And here the luxury of grief can prove.

"While night-airs murmur in my pensive ear,
I call to mind his venerated form;
Nor find, while thus employ'd, a timid fear,
Nor heed the loud approaches of the storm.

For 'tis a debt to gratitude I owe,

A debt that gives a pleasure as I pay; It leads the mind its inmost thoughts to know, And points to Heav'n's eternal happy day.

No sculptur'd stone, 'tis true, points out the place,

Where rest his aches; but affection's eye The honour'd spot with greater care will

trace

Than if the praise-encumber'd tomb was nigh.