exertions. I weighed all in my mind; was still undecided, for my pride still carried its weight; when I thought of the pure, beautiful Susannah Temple, and-my decision was made. I would not lose the substance by running after shadows.

That evening, with many thanks, I accepted the kind offers of Mr. Cophagus, and expressed my determination of entering into the Society of Friends.

"Thou hast chosen wisely," said Mrs. Cophagus, extending her hand to me," and it is with pleasure that we shall receive thee.'

"I welcome thee, Japhet Newland," said Susannah, also offering her hand," and I trust that thou wilt find more happiness among those with whom thou art about to sojourn, than in the world of vanity and deceit, in which thou hast hitherto played thy part. No longer seek an earthly father, who hath deserted thee, but a heavenly Father, who will not desert thee in thy afflictions."

"You shall direct me into the right path, Susannah," replied I. "I am too young to be a guide, Japhet," replied she, smiling; "but not too young, I hope, to be a friend."

The next day my clothes came home, and I put them on. I looked at myself in the glass, and was any thing but pleased; but as my head was shaved, it was of little consequence what I wore; so I consoled myself. Mr. Cophagus sent for a barber and ordered me a wig, which was to be ready in a few days; when it was ready I put it on, and altogether did not dislike my appearance. I flattered myself that if I was a Quaker, at all events I was a very good looking and a very smart one; and when, a day or two afterwards, a reunion of friends took place at Mr. Cophagus's house to introduce me to them, I perceived, with much satisfaction, that there was no young man who could compete with me. After this I was much more reconciled to

my transformation.

Mr. Cophagus was not idle. In a few weeks he had rented a shop for me, and furnished it much better than his own in Smithfield; the upper part of the house was let off, as I was to reside with the family. When it was ready I went over it with him, and was satisfied; all I wished for was Timothy as an assistant, but that wish was unavailing, as I knew not where to find him.

That evening I observed to Mr. Cophagus, that I did not much like putting my name over the shop. The fact was, that my pride forbade it, and I could not bear the idea, that Japhet Newland, at whose knock every aristocratic door had flown open, should appear in gold letters above a shop-window. "There are many reasons against it," observed I. "One is, that it is not my real name—I should like to take the name of Cophagus; another is, that the name, being so well known, may attract those who formerly knew me, and I should not wish that they should come in and mock me; another is

"Japhet Newland," interrupted Susannah, with more severity than I ever had seen in her sweet countenance," do not trouble thyself with giving thy reasons, seeing that thou hast given every reason but the right one, which is, that thy pride revolts at it."

"I was about to observe," replied I, "that it was a name that sounded of mammon, and not fitting for one of our persuasion. But,

Susannah, you have accused me of pride, and I will now raise no further objections. Japhet Newland it shall be, and let us speak no more upon the subject."

"If I have wronged thee, Japhet, much do I crave thy forgiveness," replied Susannah. "But it is God alone who knoweth the secrets of our hearts. I was presumptuous, and you must pardon

me.'

"Susannah, it is I who ought to plead for pardon; you know me better than I know myself. It was pride, and nothing but pride-but you have cured me."

"Truly have I hopes of thee now, Japhet," replied Susannah, smiling. "Those who confess their faults will soon amend them; yet I do think there is some reason in thy observation, for who knoweth, but meeting with thy former associates, thou mayst not be tempted into falling away? Thou mayst spell thy name as thou listeth; and, peradventure, it would be better to disguise it."

So agreed Mr. and Mrs. Cophagus, and I therefore had it written Gnow-land; and having engaged a person of the society, strongly recommended to me, as an assistant, I took possession of my shop, and was very soon busy in making up prescriptions, and dispensing my medicines in all quarters of the good town of Reading. And I was happy. I had employment during the day; my profession was, at all events, liberal. I was dressed and lived as a gentleman, or rather I should say respectably. I was earning my own livelihood. I was a useful member of society, and when I retired home to meals, and late at night, I found, that if Cophagus and his wife had retired, Susannah Temple always waited up, and remained with me a few minutes. I had never been in love until I had fallen in with this perfect creature; but my love for her was not the love of the world; I could not so depreciate her-I loved her as a superior being -I loved her with fear and trembling. I felt that she was too pure, too holy, too good for a vain worldly creature like myself. I felt as if my destiny depended upon her and her fiat; that if she favoured me, my happiness in this world and in the next were secured; that if she rejected me, I was cast away for ever. Such was my feeling for Susannah Temple, who, perfect as she was, was still a woman, and perceived her power over me; but unlike the many of her sex, exerted that power only to lead to what was right. Insensibly almost, my pride was quelled, and I became humble and religiously inclined. Even the peculiarities of the sect, their meeting at their places of worship, their drawling, and their quaint manner of talking, became no longer a subject of dislike. I found out causes and good reasons for every thing which before appeared strange, sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Months passed awaymy business prospered-I had nearly repaid the money advanced by Mr. Cophagus. I was in heart and soul a Quaker, and I entered into the fraternity with a feeling that I could act up to what I had promised. I was happy, quite happy, and yet I had never received from Susannah Temple any further than the proofs of sincere friendship. But I had much of her society, and was now very, very intimate. I found out what warm, what devoted feelings were concealed under

her modest, quiet exterior-how well her mind was stored, and how right was that mind. Often when I talked over past events, did I listen to her remarks, all tending to one point, morality and virtue; often did I receive from her at first a severe, but latterly a kind rebuke, when my discourse was light and frivolous; but when I talked of merry subjects which were innocent, what could be more joyous or more exhilarating than her laugh-what more intoxicating than her sweet smile, when she approved of my sentiments? and when animated by the subject, what could be more musical or more impassioned than her bursts of eloquence, which were invariably followed by a deep blush, when she recollected how she had been carried away by the excitement ?

There was one point upon which I congratulated myself, which was, that she had received two or three unexceptionable offers of marriage during the six months that I had been in her company, and had refused them. At the end of that period, thanks to the assistance I received from the Friends, I had paid Mr. Cophagus all the money which he had advanced, and found myself in possession of a flourishing business, and independent. I then requested that I might be allowed to pay an annual stipend for my board and lodging, commencing from the time I first came to his house. Mr. Cophagus said I was right the terms were easily arranged, and I was independent. Still my advances with Susannah were slow, but if slow, they were One day I observed to her, how happy Mr. Cophagus appeared to be as a married man; her reply was, "He is, Japhet; he has worked hard for his independence, and he now is reaping the fruits of his industry." That is as much as to say that I must do the same, thought I, and that I have no business to propose for a wife, until I am certain that I am able to provide for her. I have as yet laid up nothing, and an income is not a capital. I felt that whether a party interested or not, she was right, and I redoubled my diligence.

(To be continued.)

THE COMPLAINT OR REMONSTRANCE OF THE
COLOUR BLUE,

FORWARDED TO THE EDITOR OF THE METROPOLITAN, BY THE HON. MRS. ERSKINE NORTON.

IMMATERIAL though I be,

(So at least the wise agree,) Though on the pupil of your eye, 'Mid evanescent rays I lie,

With them to live, with them to die;

Yet frown not, smile not, scorn not, if you please, sir,

That I, 'mid other transient bubbles, seize, sir,

A corner in your magazine,

To show my wit, and vent my spleen;

That I, like other "airy nothings," claim

"A local habitation and a name;"

And that the atoms of the colour Blue
Should club, as other angry atoms do,
And this petition, or remonstrance, frame.
Sir, in the world's first ages,
By poets, painters, sages,

Was I not ever termed celestial Blue?
Cerulean, colour of the arching sky,
Reflected in one grand expansive hue,
On the broad oceans that beneath it lie?
Young Green was nursed upon the lap of earth,
But I from the empyrean sprang to birth.

Such was my greatness and my power!
And yet within a lady's bower,

What colour deckt the meekest flower?
The same that on the firmament was set,
Arrayed the perfum'd violet;

Or dwelt within the depths of beauty's eye,
Calm in its shrouded purity;

Or on her snowy temple lightly drew

The wandering vein of heaven's own hue.

I weep-and azure tears o'erflow
My gilt-edged paper, white as snow;
I weep to think upon the rage,
That hath possessed this scorning age;
This age of pun and soubriquet,
When not e'en I escape the play,
Of wordy witlings ever mocking;
Who, when a lady reads and writes,
Or such lines as these indites,
Or talks of nations and their rights,

Dub her a "Blue stocking."

When gentlemen and ladies, with lank hair,
And turned-up eyes, and long grave faces,
Distribute tracts, exhort you to beware,
In unknown tongues, with sad grimaces,
Proving the world one universal suare,
Baited with folly and disgraces:

To wound my feelings, such unhappy wights
Are named Blue lights.

Behold yon war-ship in her pride!
Soon will she stem the battle's tide,
Her sides are big with death;

But her sails are yet unfurled,
And her pennon lightly curled,
Waves to the breeze's breath.
Why are those women rushing,
All pale and breathless to the shore,
Hearts beating and brows flushing,
For those they never may see more?
Wherefore at this moment run to greet her?
Alas! they spy,

With straining eye,

The ominous Blue Peter!

When hungry husbands coming late,
Important from affairs of state,

From City or the House, are made to wait
For that first object in their daily fate,

Their dinner :-When mammas perceive
Their giddy daughters, without leave,
The rich peer's eldest son to grieve,
And with the handsome young one weave
A merry waltzing measure,

Thoughtless of all but pleasure:

When a young lordling full of life and fun,
Turning a sudden corner meets a dun :-
What colour do these people take? is't true
They all look Blue?

Another point I wish to clear;
Pray tell me why, when ghosts appear,
Or other goblins are expected

From the dark shades below;
The coming of spirits are all reflected
In flames of bluish glow?

Fires, candles, lamps, assume the fatal hue,
They all burn Blue.

And there's another kind of spirit,
That doth my luckless name inherit;
A spirit more destructive far

Than pestilence, or dark-browed war:
In want, and woe, and dire disgrace,
The monster showed its haggard face,
And the affrighted world, as it flew in,
Groaned out Blue ruin!

Nor is this all-the tint of heaven,
E'en to the imps of ill are given;
Their brimstone jackets thrown aside,
They robe themselves in Blue;
And then 'tis said, blown up with pride,
Their course on earth pursue.

So, when madam takes the dumps,

Or when her spouse looks grave and mumps,
Or aunty moans o'er this world's folly,
Or fair Miss Kate is melancholy:
Whence the source of all their evils?
They're haunted by Blue devils.

O shame!

Yet pardon me, there 's one nickname
I love, and never will disclaim:

English sailors gave it me;

It is their type- and chivalry,

Among her banners proud and free,

Boasts none more stainless or more bold;
To honour I indeed were cold,

Could I withhold it where 'tis due ;
So, gallant sir, with pride to you,
I sign myself "True Blue!"

Rio de Janeiro, April 1835.

E. B. E. N.