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ALBUM TRIFLES FOR FRANCISCA.

I.

When the songs we loved in childhood,
Are awakened once again;
Though 'tis not our native mountains,
That are echoing back the strain;
There's a gentle feeling waken'd,
With which we would not part,
And though tears are on the eyelids,
There is joy upon the heart!
When the well-remembered voices
Fall again upon the ear,
Of the wanderer, returning,
After many a lonely year :
All the sorrows of the spirit,

Like the morning mists, depart,
At affliction's rising sunbeams-

And there's joy upon the heart!
When the hopes that we have clung to,
Thro' a dreary time of toil,

Seem, no more to mock our wishes,
In reality to smile;

We forget the pangs we've suffer'd,
From affliction's bitter smart ;
And though tears are on the eyelids,
There is joy upon the heart!

II.

Where is a home for us through the earth roving,
Sorrow encircling the pathway we tread;
Where are the forms of the loved and loving,
Who from our memory never shall fade?
In the grave-in the grave!

Where is a couch of rest, where we may slumber,

Disturb'd not by dreams of the strife of this world,

When the dark weight of griefs, our hearts that encumber,
Is in eternal forgetfulness furl'd?

In the grave-in the grave!

III.

The past, with its enjoyments!-wheresoe'er my thoughts should be,
They are turning, ever turning, with intensity to ye !

The village church, the village green, where childhood's years were spert,
Are rising to my mind with forms of fairest beauty bent.

My spirits young companions the delights of boyhood's hours,

When truth display'd her golden stores, and pleasure ope'd her flowers; The chasers of the honey bee, as she roam'd from spot to spot,

These, these, in spite of toil and time, can never be forgot.

The charms of youth's maturer time, those forms of grace and light,
The sunshine of whose glance dispel'd, the clouds of sorrow's night :
Whose voices were like music from some gentle fairy flute;
Whose bosoms were all purity that the world could not pollute.
Not unremember'd are they, for they haunt each daily dream,
And round my couch, like angels, to protect me ever seem.
In waking or in slumbering-from the first unto the last,
One thought is ever hunting me, and that thought is the past!

*K*

I'M TO BE MARRIED TO-MORROW.

Oh! prithee, Mamma, do not make such a fuss,
About prudence, and changing my station;
There have many gone thro', such affairs before us,
Nor suffer'd the least hesitation;

Every sentence I utter-cach gesture and look,
From propriety's pages I'll borrow,

That you ne'er shall have reason, to bring me to book,
Tho' I'm to be married to-morrow!

You say I'm too young, but Mamma, that's a crime,
Too light, for your grave reprobation;

And if I live long enough, surely in-time,

For complaint, you can have no occasion;
Mamma, dear Mamma, I would not have you think,
A moment, on sighing and sorrow,

I'm so happy, I'm sure, I shall not sleep a wink-
For I'm to be married to-morrow!

ANGLO-TASMANICUS.

ON GALLANTRY AND DUELLING.

With what inexplicable caprice mankind are prone to miscall actions, and misjudge their performers, can scarcely be rendered more manifest, than by adverting to the reception which is, cOMMONLY, extended to the “man of honor:" alias the duellist: alias the cold-hearted systematic murderer! and to the "man of gallantry:" alias the destroyer of parental peace: alias the treacherous betrayer of virgin confidence and of generous affection! These "men,' instead of being hunted down by the scorn and indignation of society as human monsters who deserve no toleration, are welcomed with "wreathed smiles"-(Oh! shame, where is thy blush? Oh! woman, where is thy frown?") are welcomed, I repeat, into the festive halls of beauty, rank, and professed morality, as an ornament to the banquet, and as, by their "honor" and "gallantry," shedders of eclat on the assemblage. Whilst the widow and the orphan offspring of the "honorable" ruffian's assassinated victim, are pining unpitied and desolate in destitution, and whilst the "gallant" deceiver's hapless prey, after seeing her grey-haired, broken-hearted mother, descend into the grave, which he, fiend-like, had dug for her, crouches shivering, hungry, and but half-apparelled, beneath the frozen winter's blaston the cold stone portal of some upstart villain, who has purchased wealth at the cost of his integrity, one might rationally conclude, that every generous sentiment would unite with the most prudential apprehensions, to expel from the hallowed recess of a father's home, the monsters to whom I have alluded. But, no! The parent who vindictively transports his famishing labourer for

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having snared a hare, is inconsistent enough, to entertain at table with his unsuspicious wife and uncontaminated daughters, the wretch whose practice is to seduce, and whose satanic pride is to boast that it is so;-forgetful, all the while, that the poacher's offence might, in truth, have resulted from necessity; but, that the "man of gallantry" must have been both ungrateful for hospitality, and a vilely dishonorable violator of faith reposed in his sincerity!-The "man of honor," too, who will, with a demon's black insinuations, first undermine the innocence of his entertainer's wife, and then give him "the satisfaction of a gentleman" at twelve paces, with a hair trigger-(the consequences of which not seldom are, that the insulted husband is assassinated-the seduced wife stabs herself in remorse, and her defenceless daughters are cast upon a merciless world, to be tossed by every temptation, as a straw on the ocean is moved by every ripple,) the "

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man of

honor" too, I say, is countenanced, by those who profess to love humanity, and hold vice in detestation-by those who make long prayers, and deprecate with all a Cromwell's cant, each dereliction from propriety! Most strange-most incomprehensible, that in England, the retreat of philosophy and the temple of christianity— in England, whose boast is to "call things by their proper names," and whose Criminal Laws, if framed agreeably to her constitution, recognize no distinction between the opulent and indigent, the noble and ignoble, amongst offenders:-most strange indeed! that the worst of blood-stained murderers, instead of being elevated on a tree of ignominious death, and gibbeted until his bones become blanched by the rains of Heaven, should be sheltered and caressed as gentlemen forsooth! or men of honor," and that the snake of the fire-side-the domestic fiend-the deliberate seducer, instead of being an object of universal hatred and reproach, should be nourished in the bosom of society, as a man of gallantry"—whilst his debased and grief-blanched victim, like a blighted lilly is drooping to the earth, abandoned by the destroyer, and prevented, by the barbarous prejudice of the world-which most ungenerously punishes seduction in the betrayed, not in the betrayer-from ever re-ascending by the climax of penitence and propriety, to at least within the outward pale of unstigmatized association! Yes, reader, it is strange, and it is pitiable, but alas! it is also true. Man, lordly man, expects when he falls, to be lifted; when he offends, and sorrows for offending, to be pardoned; but he too often acts as if he forgot that the author of his redemption had taught him to implore compassion in the degree that he displays it into his fellowcreatures. Poor feeble woman, on the contrary, if, beguiled by his perjured vows and fascinating flattery-his seeming truth and professed adoration-she drops but once from the elevation of her innocence, regains it NEVER! but is, from being degraded, alone, in person, (for I view her principles as yet, unpolluted) forced into that pity-moving but depraved connexion of unblushing harlots, who may be called the shameless ruin of their own sex, and the

shame of man :-a connexion into which I might almost assert that were even an angel of light to be cast, she would speedily resemble a spirit of darkness. AMICUS.

A THOUGHT.

As from the faintest spark, a spacious City, may, in a few hours become enveloped by all the horrors of a conflagration ;-and, as a ball of snow, impelled by the playful school-boy from the summit of a hill, accumulates both power and bulk, no less than speed, with every descending evolution ;-so nations may be plunged, as France has been, into anarchy, through the progressive influence of speculative patriotism. To the philosophy of the Abbè Raynal, misapplied to the public affairs of a People, too mercurial to be long contented under any form of Government, may be fairly ascribed the momentum given to the Car of Parisian murder, in 1792;-poor good old man, he indeed "furnished arms to the hand of licentiousness," and by having done so, proved the danger of broaching opinions and disseminating principles which the multitude do not understand-opinions and principles which, by fostering their natural love of novelty, and apparently sanctioning their factious promptness to be discontented, are productive of evils the most sanguinary, and innovative; when they are designed, rather to repair and beautify the edifice of the State, than to raze it to the dust.

T.

FIRST AND LAST LOVE.

I deem'd you loved me, for your eye
Would fondly rest on me ;

I deem'd you loved me, for your sigh
Would breathe your cheek would be
Tinged with a crimson, if I came
Across your path by chance;
And then what thoughts, without a name,
Spoke in your hurried glance !

I deem'd you loved me, for I knew
How in my heart I shrined you-
How in each gentle, tenderest clue
· Of fancy I entwined you;
I deem'd you loved, because I saw
Your actions like my own-
Your eye had my heart's timid awe,
Your voice my trembling tone.

I deem'd you loved-I ne'er had loved
Until that feeling burst-

Beautiful, glorious, tried and proved,
The passionate, the first.

I deemed you loved-I was deceived!
My dream of bliss is past :

Those only know like me bereaved,

Such First Love is the Last!

WHEN THE WORLD WAS IN ITS YOUTH.

When the world was in its youth,
(Now 'tis old and grey,)
There were maidens, fair and true,
Who felt love, and owned it, too:
Where, oh! where are they?

Is the world a wiser world?
Is it brighter grown?
Hath it kept its hopes of youth?
Or its brave free-hearted truth,
Since those maids have flown?

No? Then, if't no better be
Than 'twas in its youth,

Let's call back those maids to woo us;
Haply they may bring unto us
Gentle, gentle Truth.

THE SIEGE OF ST. SEBASTIAN.

It is very commonly remarked, that the most enterprising and reckless boys at school, are the sons of clergymen. Our schoolboy recollections of our late visitor, at Hobart Town, Lieut.Colonel Snodgrass, C. B., H. P., truly exemplified this remark ; for a more lion-hearted little fellow, never entered a play-ground. We have seen him, many a time, at the head of the boys, in a snowball battle, standing the brunt of the enemy, regardless of a host, and encouraging the bigger boys to the charge. If, in the game of bat and ball, on the ice, he was the well-known ringleader, and always first in the chace; or, if the ball was struck upon the land, Kenneth was the first, who dared to rush through the broken ice, upon the breach, and claim his right, with the ball in hand, to start the game afresh. When we draw back our memory, for nearly forty years, and compare the thin figure of the youth, the active spirit which animated him-communicating that spirit to others, wherever he went-and now observe him sobered down into the quiet autumn of life, we may truly observe with the poet

"Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud, without our special wonder?"

The military career of this brave officer, commenced in the year 1803; and, after having been (we may say,) on the field of battle,

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