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During her father's imprisonment, a frequent intercourse of letters passed between them, and when deprived of pen and ink, he contrived to write with a coal. When sentence of death was passed on the chancellor, and as he was returning to the Tower, his daughter rushing through the guards that surrounded him, threw herself upon his neck, and unable to speak, wept on his bosom in an agony of despair. The guards were moved to compassion at this affecting spectacle, while he tenderly embracing her, and bestowing on her his fatherly blessing, withdrew himself from her arms. He had not proceeded many paces, when she again rushed to him, again threw her arms around him, while the only words that escaped her were, "My father! Oh my father!" Unable to speak, while the tears flowed down his cheeks, he could only repeatedly embrace her, while all the spectators displayed the most tender sympathy. The cares of Margaret extended to the lifeless remains of her beloved parent: by her interests and exertions the body was interred within the chapel of St. Peter, within the precincts of the Tower, and was afterwards removed to the chancel of the church at Chelsea. His head having remained fourteen days exposed on London bridge, in conformity to his sentence, was about to be cast into the Thames, when it was purchased by his daughter. Being on this occasion summoned before the council, she firmly avowed and justified her conduct. This boldness excited the anger of the king, and she was committed to prison, whence after a short restraint she was liberated, and restored to her husband and family. The short remainder of her life was passed in domestic retirement, and in the education of her children: she only survived her father nine years, and died in 1544. In compliance with her desire the head of her father was buried with her, deposited in a leaden box, and placed upon her coffin. She was interred in St. Dunstan's church, Canterbury, the burying place of the Roper family.

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ROUSSEAU.

M.

THE following anecdote was forgotten in the confessions of this extraordinary man, but was afterwards collected by Monsieur Cerutti, in a conversation with Baron d'Holbach.

It would be hard (says the baron) to conceive the scene which ended in our rupture. He was.. dining with me, in company with several other literary characters and a vicar, who, after dinner, read to us a tragedy which he had written. It was prefaced by a discourse on theatrical compositions, of which this was

the substance. He made this distinction between tragedy and comedy. In come. dy, said he, the plot turns on marriage; in tragedy, it turns on murder. The whole intrigue, in the one and the other, turns on this grand event; will they marry? will they not marry? Will they murder? will they not murder? There will be a marriage; there will be a murder; and this forms act the first. There will be no marriage, there will be no murder, and this gives birth to act the second. A new mode of marrying and of murdering is prepared for the third act. A new difficulty impedes the marriage or the murder, which the fourth act discusses. At last, the marriage and the murder are effected, for the benefit of the last act.

We thought this system of poetics so original, that it was impossible to answer seriously the questions of the author. I will confess, that half laughing, half gravely, I ridiculed the poor vicar. Jean Jacques had not uttered a word, had not smiled for a moment, had not moved his arm chair; on a sudden he leaps up like a madman, and falling on the vicar, seizes the MS. throws it on the ground, and says to the terrified author, "Your piece is worth nothing, your speech is an extravagant-all these gentlemen are laughing at you-go away from hence, return, and vicarize it in your own village.

The vicar then gets up with no less fury, vomits forth insult upon insult against his too sincere critic, and from abuse they would have came to blows and tragic murder, had we not interposed. Rousseau went away in a rage, which I thought momentary, but which is not yet over.

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DR. SNEYD DAVIES.

doctor to the fair sex has ever been disNo trace of attachment of the worthy covered, but his late biographer has introduced into his life a ludicrous anecdote, which combines the modesty and simplicity of his character. One day, upon his return`from a visit, a lady who was a visitor too, solicited the vacant seat in his carriage in her way back to Kingsland. Though secretly disconcerted, neither good humour nor good manners permitted him to refuse. When he drew near the town, where he was to lose and spill his companion, afraid of the gossiping zeal which propagated and accepted reports, where sex was concerned, he thought it most prudent and sagacious to disarm raillery of its aim, by eluding observation. He therefore drew up the blinds of the carriage. The cunning of the Ostrich is not more ludicrous.

Che Mechanics' Dracle. Excellent Glue for External Work. IF a quantity of white lead be well ground up with linseed oil, and as much of the mixture be added to common glue as will make it of a whitish colour; the mixture forms an excellent glue for external work. It should be used rather thick, and it requires about double the time to dry it, that is necessary to dry common glue.-Sheraton's Cabinet Dictionary.

Petrified Wood.

About the year 1760, the Emperor of Germany being desirous to know the length of time necessary to complete a petrifaction, obtained leave from the Sultan to take up and examine one of the timbers that supported Trajan's bridge over the Danube, a few miles below Belgrade. It was found to have been converted into an agate, to the depth of half an inch only, the inner parts were slightly petrified, and the central parts still wood. These piles had been there upwards of 1600 years." - Kirwan's Geological Essays.

Wine from Grape Leaves and Twigs.

Experiments made in France, and repeated in this country, have proved that young shoots, the tendrils and leaves of the vine, possess properties, and contain substances, exactly similar to the ripe fruit. These, with water and sugar properly fermented, produce a wine similar to those of foreign growth. Forty or fifty lbs. of young leaves and tendrils are to be put into a tub of sufficient size, and seven or eight gallons of boiling water are to be poured on them. Let them infuse for 24 hours, pour off the liquid, press the leaves with a strong press, wash them with another gallon of water, and again press them. Add from 25 to 30lbs. of sugar to the mixed liquors; make up the quantity to ten gallons and a half; and ferment as in the case of gooseberries.

if necessary. When finished to your racked into a sulphured cask, and should liking, it must be carefully fined and be fined once more before bottling it.

As the principal use of either grapes or vine leaves is to furnish the proper ferment-the strength being furnished by the sugar-we would suggest, that

The Leaves and tender Shoots of Gooseberry and Currant Bushes may be

employed to make Wine.

The fruits of these contain the proper ferment as well as the grapes, and why should not their leaves and tender twigs also contain it, as well as those of the vine?

We earnestly recommend this fact to the attention of notable housewives, and we shall be glad hereafter to learn the result. We have no doubt ourselves, that it will prove favourable. To make these leaves yield their juice, macerate them with hot water, as directed to be done with the vine leaves.

In this country we have abundance of vines which never come to perfection, and still more of gooseberry and currant bushes, to supply any quantity of wine. Why should such a source of wealth be neglected?

A HUMAN FOSSIL.A human fossil has lately been submitted to public inspection, which was found near Moret, in the department of the Seine and Marne. A journal has the following remarks on this rare addition to the Cabinets of Natural History:-"Say, what art thou, a man or a stone? Did life ever animate those rude forms, which the eye can with difficulty define, and not, after all, without some aid from the fancy. Are these forms human? I see the place of bones, but I do not see the skeleton itself. This piece of freestone includes, it is said, certain portions of animal substance; if the naturalists think this a sufficient proof, I submit. As to the head of the horse, which is The above processes are for brisk pointed out to me in the midst of this wines. If sweet wines be wanted, 40lbs. singularly figured block of stone, I conof sugar should be used, and when the fess that I cannot think it any thing else first firmentation is over, the wine should than one of those figures with whieh, in be racked into a sulphured cask, (a cask her sportive moods, Nature sometimes in which some matches have been burnt.) delights to cheat the eye. Well, be it If a dry wine is desired, 50lbs. of fruit so; thou wert a man; thou hast lived; or leaves must be used to 35lbs. of sugar. thou hast felt the sympathies and the The bung must remain open, but the hatreds of thy species. Man of antiliquid must not be suffered to escape. deluvian days, would that thou couldst If the fermentation is too languid, assist suddenly start to life in the midst of us! it by heat and agitation. If too sweet-What pigmies should we appear bewhen finished, it may be bunged down side thee! Say, had the world, in thy day, till the spring, when the fermentation its detractors, its cheats, its charlatans, may be renewed: add some fresh juice, its courtiers, its flatterers ?

Driginal Poetry.

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THE FEMALE CONVICT.

SHE slirank from all, and her silent mood
Made her wish only for solitude:

Her eye sought the ground, as it could not brook,

For innermost shame, on another's to look;
And the cheerings of comfort fell on her ear
Like deadliest words, that were curses to hear!
She still was young, and she had been fair;
But weather-stains, hunger, toil and care,
That frost and fever that wear the heart,
Had made the colours of youth depart
From the sallow cheek, save over it came
The burning flush of the spirit's shame.

They were sailing over the salt sea foam, Far from her country, far from her home; And all she had left for her friends to keep, Was a name to hide, and a memory to weep! And her future held forth but the felon's lot, To live forsaken-to die forgot!

She could not weep, and she could not pray, But she wasted and withered from day to day, Till you might have counted each sauken vein, When her wrist was pressed by the iron chain; And sometimes I thought her large dark eye Had the glisten of red insanity.

She called me once to her sleeping-place;
A strange wild look was upon her face,
Her eye
flashed over her cheek so white,
Like a grave-stone seen in the pale moonlight,
And she spoke in a low unearthly tone-
The sound from mine ear hath never gone!
"I had last night the loveliest dream,→→→
My own land shone in the summer beam;
I saw the fields of the golden grain,
I heard the reaper's harvest strain,
There stood on the hills the green pine-tree,
And the thrush and the lark sang merrily,
A long and a weary way I had come;
But I stopped, methought, by mine own sweet
bome.

I stood by the hearth, and my father sat there,
With pale thin face, and snow-white hair!
The Bible lay open upou his knee,
But he closed the book to welcome me.
He led me next where my mother lay,
And together we knelt by her grave to pray;
And heard a hymn it was heaven to hear,
For it echoed one to my young days dear.
This dream has waked feelings long, long since
fled,

And hopes which I decmed in my heart were dead!

-We have not spoken, but still I have hung On the northern accents that dwell on thy tongue;

To me they are music,-to me they recal
The things long hidden by Memory's pall!
Take this long curl of yellow hair,

And give it my father, and tell him my prayer,
My dying prayer, was for him,"

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A REPLY.

Occasioned by PERCY SHELLEY'S beautiful Lines,

“Good Night! ah, no! the hour is ill.'
GOOD Night! ah, yes, it is "Good Night"
To many an aching breast,-
To many a throbbing head that seeks
The pillow's welcome rest.

Sweet to the sufferer's fevered frame,
Is evening's gentle close;

The softly whispered, kind "Good Night,"
That herald of repose.

While o'er the mourner's slumbers setal
Visions of happier years

He hails the sweet, though short reprieve
From sorrow and from tears,

If in the wanderer's dreams are near
The forms of friends away,-
He owns the shadowy night is good,
And mourns its transient stay.
When o'er the slumberer's couch arise
Visions of pure delight;
Unstained by earthly pain or care.
Ah, then it is good night!
Then I'll not mourn this short delay,
That severs, love from thee;
And in my dreams, if thou be near,
Twill be "good night," to ine.

CORRESPONDENTS.

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No. 79, WITH THE PORTRAIT OF WASHINGTON IRVING, WILL BE READY IF POSSIBLE NEXT WEEK.

The

We feel pleasure in accepting Bridal Blessing," for which we shall be at the expence of having a curious engraving, illustrative of that singular and ancient ceremony,

The Birds of Endermay,as also the lines from Eliza, the pathetic tale of Maria and the Dog, and The Water Lilly, shall have an early insertion.

Our fair correspondent, M. has our best thanks for her communications: we assure this Lady, her labours are duly appreciated.

We are obliged to W. B. C. S. S. for his favours, and shall be most happy of availing ourselves of the means he has pointed out, We assure our venerable and respected correspondent,t hat, as we are still in the heyday of life, we will not suffer him to transcribe for us.

Henry Orton, A. T. D. and Selection, must really excuse our inserting their communications, although we are well aware they are the very cream of Joe Miller.

We feel flattered by T. N.'s polite note. Mr. Jones will have the kindness to apply to the publisher.

LONDON: -WILLIAM CHARLTON WRIGHT, 65, Paternoster Row, and may be had of all Booksellers and Newsmen.

COMPRISING

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1. The flowers of Literature. 2. The Spirit of the Magazines. 3. The Wonders of Mature and Att.

4. The Family Physician and Domestic Guide. 5. The Mechanic's Dracle. The Bridal Blessing, an ancient Ceremony; with a curious Specimen of

The Flowers of Literature.

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THE BRIDAL BLESSING.

UPON that passage in the "Midsummer Night's Dream," where Oberon says,—

"To the best bride-bed will we,
"Which by us shall blessed he.

Mr. Steevens remarks, that it was formerly a common ceremony for a priest to bestow a benediction upon the nuptial couch, at the marriage of a princess; but he might have said, at all marriages. In an ancient manual, for the use of Salisbury, there is preserved a copy of the form employed, but as it is very long, and in Latin, we shall not trouble our readers with it. We may observe of this strange ceremony, that the people of modern times are too enlightened to credit the necessity of such holy aspirations to lull the senses, and dissipate the illusions of the devil. The married couple, no doubt, rejoiced greatly when the blessing was ended. In the French romance of "Melusine," the Bishop who marries the heroine to Raymondin, blesses the nuptial bed, and the good prelate is represented in a very ancient cut, of which the preceding is a copy, sprinkling the parties with holy water. Sometimes during the operation, the married couple only sat upon the bed, where they generally partook of a portion of consecrated bread and wine. It is recorded in France, that on frequent occasions, the priest was improperly detained till the hour of midnight, whilst the wedding-guests rioted in the luxuries of the table, and made use of language equally offensive to the clergy, and injurious to their own salvation. It was therefore, in the year 1577, ordained by Pierre de Gondi, archbishop of Paris, that the ceremony of blessing the nuptial bed, should, for the future, be performed in the day-time, or at least before supper, and in the presence only of the bride and bridegroom, and their nearest

relations.

There is a singularity in the cut, which is worthy of notice, viz. the horned headdress of the bride, a fashion which prevailed in England, during the reign of Henry 6th, and for a short time afterwards. In the Harleian MSS. there is an unpublished poem, by Lydgate, in which he bitterly execrates this unwomanish ornament.

ALLAN VERE.

Or, the Victim of Sensibility. ALLAN VERE inherited the soul of genius, but it was a consuming fire which warmed himself alone, and gave neither heat nor light to any other object. His spirit was all his own; from the sanctuary of his bosom it never sought to expand, for he regarded not the applause of the many, and delighted to brood in silence over the hidden stores of his intellectual treasure. His mind was cast in a mould of such delicacy, that it was not for this world. It was a stream whose current was equable and placid, but it was easily agitated, and when this agitation ceased, it did not, like the minds of his fellow men, recover its wonted tone, but subsided into a calm, reflecting melancholy. And this melancholy was his misery; for as one shadow blended away in the faint distance of time, another succeeded, and another, till his very being was tinged with a darkened hue, and a joyless, yet placid twilight hung perpetually over it. And why was Allan Vere unhappy? He had not been of the race of those, whose hard lot it is to drink of the fountains of sorrow. He was young, and had met with no calamities to blight the blooms of his youth, and to strew his path with the thorns of desolation. He did not dwell on a joyless, friendless wilderness. There were those in the world who loved, and honoured, and blest him-who called him son, and brother, and friend-yet Allan Vere was unhappy. He had the gloom which so often darkens the temperament of genius. He had been baptised in the waters of melancholy. He was miserable; yet he could not tell why.

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There was one being alone who could lighten up this sepulchral desolation, and yet Margaret Howard knew nothing of her power. It was no casual or short acquaintanceship which blended his soul so intimately with this beautiful being's. He knew her from her earliest girlhood. She was the sweetest little cherub that lighted upon the county of L and her beautiful spirit beamed like the rainbow, through a form hardly less beautiful. These times were not forgotten by Allan Vere. He thought upon the days gone by, when, like a seraph form, she hastened down her father's stately avenue to welcome him to his halls with her artless prattle-when she turned her blue eyes, shaded with light auburn hair, delightfully upon his countenance-when he took her in his arms, and ventured to kiss her carnationedcheek-or when he guided her little foot

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