There fine speckled creatures claimed kindred with

me,

And others that hopped, most enchanting to see.
Here long I regaled with emotion extreme ;-
Awoke-disconcerted to find it a dream;
Grew pensive-discovered that life is a load;
Began to be weary of being a toad :

Was fretful at first, and then shed a few tears.'
Here ends the account of the first thousand years.

MORAL.

To find a moral where there's none
Is hard indeed, yet must be done:
Since only morals sound and sage
May grace this consecrated page:
Then give us leave to search a minute,
Perhaps for one that is not in it.

How strange a waste of life appears
This wondrous reptile's length of years!
Age after age afforded him

To wink an eye, or move a limb,

To doze and dream ;—and then to think
Of noting this with pen and ink ;
Or hieroglyphic shapes to draw,
More likely, with his hideous claw;
Sure, length of days might be bestowed
On something better than a toad!

Had his existence been eternal

What better could have filled his journal?

True, we reply; our ancient friend
Seems to have lived to little end;

This must be granted ;-nay the elf
Seems to suspect as much himself.
Refuse not then to find a teacher
In this extraordinary creature:
And learn at least, whoe'er you be,
To moralize as well as he.

It seems that life is all a void,
On selfish thoughts alone employed;
That length of days is not a good,
Unless their use be understood;
While if good deeds one year engage,
That may be longer than an age:
But if a year in trifles go,

Perhaps you'd spend a thousand so.
Time cannot stay to make us wise,
We must improve it as it flies;

The work is ours, and they shall rue it
Who think that time will stop to do it.
And then, again, he lets us know
That length of days is length of woe.
His long experience taught him this,
That life affords no solid bliss:
Or if of bliss on earth you scheme,
Soon you shall find it but a dream;
The visions fade, the slumbers break,
And then you suffer wide awake.
What is it but a vale of tears,

Though we should live a thousand years?

XXXVI.

ON VISITING COWPER'S GARDEN AND SUMMER HOUSE AT OLNEY.

ARE these the trees ?-Is this the place?
These roses, did they bloom for him?
Trod he these walks with thoughtful pace?
Passed he amid these borders trim ?

Is this the bower ?-a humble shed
Methinks it seems for such a guest!
Why rise not columns, dome bespread,
By art's elaborate fingers drest ?

Art waits on wealth, there let her roam
Her fabrics rear, her temples gild:
But Genius, when he seeks a home,
Must send for Nature's self to build.
This quiet garden's humble bound,
This homely roof, this rustic fane,
With playful tendrils twining round,
And woodbines peeping at the pane :-
That tranquil tender sky of blue,
Where clouds of golden radiance skim,
Those ranging trees of varied hue-
These were the sights that solaced him.

We stept within :-at once on each
A feeling steals, so undefined;
In vain we seek to give it speech--
'Tis silent homage paid to Mind.

They tell us, here he thought and wrote,
On this low seat-reclining thus ;
Ye garden breezes, as ye float,
Why bear ye no such thoughts to us!
Perhaps the balmy air was fraught
With breath of heaven;-or did he toil
In precious mines of sparkling thought
Concealed beneath the curious soil?

Did zephyrs bear on golden wings
Rich treasures from the honied dew?
Or are there here celestial springs
Of living waters, whence he drew?

And here he suffered !-this recess,
Where even Nature failed to cheer
Has witnessed oft his deep distress,
And precious drops have fallen here!

Here are no richly sculptured urns
The consecrated dust to cover;
But nature smiles and weeps, by turns,
In memory of her fondest lover.

XXXVII.

THE TROUBLESOME FRIEND.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE YOUTH'S MAGAZINE.

SIR,In the hope that some of your correspondents may offer a few remarks on the subject on which I am about to address you, I have been

induced to lay before you certain grievances under which I have long privately groaned: and as it is possible that others besides myself may have similar things to complain of, you may, by the insertion of my letter, be rendering a public service while conferring a private obligation.

You must know that the house adjoining my father's is occupied by a family with whom we are on terms of intimacy. The eldest daughter especially, being a girl of my own age, I have always considered as a particular friend; and notwithstanding the complaints I am about to lay before you, I really feel a sincere regard for her; although I will not deny that the warm affection which I at first entertained is greatly damped by the continual vexations to which her conduct exposes me. In short, Sir, she is one of those good sort of people whose misfortune it is to be very soon affronted.

Now it is needless to state how many occasions will perpetually occur, between such near neighbours, of taking offence where there is a disposition to do so;—and that, notwithstanding the most sincere and diligent efforts on one part to avoid them. Being myself one of a large family, my time is very much occupied by domestic affairs; besides by attention to those pursuits which are necessary to the completion of my education. Now it unfortunately happens that our neighbour, although in circumstances apparently similar to my own, has, or makes a much larger portion of leisure than I can command; and hence arises one of the principal sources of uneasiness between us. She is so much