us from that unexplored country on which we fear to tread; the last pause between experience and doubt,the last dark silent curtain which separates Time from Eternity. ELEGY. He who hath roam'd, with slow and pensive tread, Till his wrapt soul hath held, or seem'd to hold, Such lofty dreamings o'er the fancy creep, Survey the spot:-no pomp arrests the eye, The green turf smiles beneath the summer sky; And wild-flowers sweet a glittering mantle spread The humble mound, with verdant moss o'ergrown- These are the honours of that lone church-yard; Within the church recline, in humble state, Nor hears th' oppressor, in his narrow bed, Amidst the rest there is a nameless cellHere let me pause-I knew its tenant well; And still in memory's charmed mirror find Blest years of sunshine with her name entwined. Ask not of me 't were useless to impart That name 'tis written on the poor man's heart. If she had faults, in death they are forgot,If she had follies-I perceived them not. Her virtues-seek not on her tomb to find The record stamp'd on living Friendship's mind. Seek it not here :-no monumental stone Lifts its proud head to make those virtues known: No pompous phrases on her tomb reveal The deeds in life she gloried to conceal. Seek it not here-go, view the widow's cot; Her name lives there-ber deeds are unforgot; Go, view the sick man on his restless bed-Her gifts remain, her memory is not fled; View the lone orphans in their drear abodeListen-they pray-her name is breathed to God. Or-if thou lov'st to revel in distress, Nor shrinks thy soul from deepest wretchedness— The long, long silence, and the still, fix'd gaze My boyhood's dream is over-Life hath fled, On every side the prospect glitter'd fair, Light were my sorrows and I knew not care: And friendly faces all around me shone, And every voice breathed Friendship's sweetest tone; Nor knew I then a kinder friend than her, Whom now I honour in her sepulchre. When the glad Sabbath bade the rustics meet, And lightsome footsteps throng'd the swarming street, How oft with looks of pride, in Sunday dress, I sprung to meet her welcome and caress ! How oft, with beating heart and anxious eye, Of that fair mansion I shall view no more. Within that Hall glad faces used to shine, And young eyes gleam'd, and pulses throbb'd with mine; And when, at evening, in that Hall we met, "Laugh'd the heart's laugh," nor knew th' approach of care, Spirit, who far above yon silent sky Till the last trumpet's startling voice shall shake August, 1819. K. S.. PETITION OF JEREMY GUBBINS. To his Most Gracious Majesty the King of Clubs. The Humble Petition of Jeremy Gubbins, Grocer, dealer in tea, tobacco, and snuff, No. 30, Bishopsgate-street Within; who, having diligently perused the account of the proceedings in his Majesty's most excellent Club, humbly intreats that he will take his piteous case into consideration. Please your Majesty, I hope your Majesty will excuse my neglect of the forms requisite to addressing so great a personage, on the score of my utter ignorance, having never been acquainted with the etiquette of Courts. Wherefore, trusting to your Majesty's sweetness of temper, I will proceed to state my case: My father (peace be to his soul!) was a worthy and respectable Grocer, No. 30, Bishopsgate-street Within. He, poor man! cared little for the luxuries of life, while he had his slice of bread and butter and cup of tea in the morning, and his pot of beer and pipe in the evening. I Having such a good example continually before me, was, from my youth upward, a pattern of prudent and well-tried economy; indeed, my father, while he patted my head, used to say, that "the honour and fortune of the Gubbinses would never suffer while I was the representative of the family.' .. When my poor father (peace be to his soul !) departed this mortal life, I succeeded to the fortune and estate of the Gubbinses in Bishopsgate-street, whence I date the melancholy era of |