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Last Monday, at the cricket-match,
No rival stood before you;
In harvest-time, for quick despatch
The farmers all adore you;

And evermore your praise they sing,
Though one thing you delay so,
And I sleep nightly murmuring,
"Tom, if you love me, say so.'
Whate'er of ours you chance to seek,
Almost before your breathe it,
I bring with blushes on my cheek,
And all my soul goes with it.
Why thank me, then, with voice so low,
And, faltering, turn away so?
When next you come,
before you go
Tom, if you love me, say so.
When Jasper Wild, beside the brook,
Resentful round us lower'd,

1 oft recall that lion-look

That quell'd the savage coward.
Bold words and free you utter'd then :
Would they could find their way so,
When these moist eyes so plainly mean,
"Tom, if you love me, say so.'
My friends, 'tis true, are well to do,
And yours are poor and friendless;
Ah, no! for they are rich in you,
Their happiness is endless.
You never let them shed a tear,

Save that on you they weigh so;
There's one might bring you better cheer:
Tom, if you love me, say so.

My uncle's legacy is all

For you, Tom, when you choose it:
In better hands it cannot fall,
Or better train'd to use it.
I'll wait for years; but let me not

Nor woo'd nor plighted stay so:
Since wealth and worth make even lot,
Tom, if you love me, say so.

AN INVITATION.

If she be not fair to me,

What care I how fair she be.-Suckling.

I.

WHEREFORE, Fanny, look so lovely,
In your anger, in your glee?-
Laughing, weeping, fair, capricious!
If you will look so delicious,
Pr'ythec, look at me!

II.

Wherefore, Fanny, sing so sweetly?
Like the bird upon the tree,-
Hearts in dozens round you bringing?
Syren! if you must be singing,
Pr'ythee sing to me!

III.

Wherefore, Fanny, dance so lightly,
Like the wave upon the sea?
Motion every charm enhancing,-
Fanny! if you will be dancing,
Pr'ythee, dance with me!

IV.

Wherefore smile so like an angel,
Angel-like although you be?-
Head and heart at once beguiling,-
Dearest! if you will be smiling,
Pr'ythee, smile on me!

V.

Wherefore flirt, and aim your arrows
At each harmless fop you see?

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bursting of the earth, just below the village of
New Madrid, arrested this mighty stream in
its course, and caused a reflux of its waves, by
which, in a little time, a great number of boats
were swept by the ascending current into the
mouth of the Bayou, carried out and left upon
the dry land, when the accumulating waters
of the river had again cleared their current.
There were a great number of severe shocks.
but two series of concussions were particularly
terrible, far more so than the rest. They re-
mark, that the shocks were clearly distinguish-
able into two classes; those in which the mo-
tion was horizontal, and those in which it was
perpendicular. The latter were attended by
the explosions and the terrible mixture of
noises that preceded and accompanied the
earthquakes in a louder degree, but were by
no means so desolating and destructive as the
bled, the trees waved together, the ground
sunk, and all the destructive phenomena were
more conspicuous. In the intervals of the
a brilliant and cloudless one, in which the wes-
tern sky was a continued glare of vivid flashes
of lightning, and repeated peals of subterranean
thunder seemed to proceed, as the flashes did,
this night, so conspicuous for subterranean
from below the horizon. They remark that
thunder, was the same period in which the fa-
tal earthquakes at Caraccas occurred, and they
parts of the same scene.
seem to suppose these flashes and that event

NOTICE OF EARTHQUAKES ON THE other. When they were felt, the houses crum

MISSISSIPPI.

BY MR. FLINT.

FROM all the accounts corrected one by another, and compared with the very imper-earthquakes there was one evening, and that fect narratives that were published, says Mr. Flint, I infer that the shock of these earthquakes, in the immediate vicinity of the centre of their course, must have equalled, in their terrible heavings of the earth, any thing of the kind that has been recorded. I do not believe that the public have ever yet had any adequate idea of the violence of the concussions. We are accustomed to measure this, by the buildings overturned, and the mortality that results. Here the country was thinly settled. The houses fortunately were frail and of logs, the most difficult to overturn that could be constructed. Yet, as it was, whole tracts were plunged into the bed of the river, The grave-yard, at New Madrid, with all its sleeping tenants, was precipitated into the bed of the stream. Most of the houses were thrown down. Large lakes, of twenty miles in extent. were made in an hour; other lakes were

drained. The whole country to the mouth of
the Ohio, in one direction, and to the St.
Francis in the other, including a front of three
hundred miles, was convulsed to such a de-
gree, as to create lakes and islands, the num
ber of which is not yet known, to cover a tract
of many miles in extent near the little Prairie,
with water three or four feet deep; and, when
the water disappeared, a stratum of sand, of
the same thickness, was left in its place. The
trees split in the midst, lashed one with ano-
ther, and are still visible over great tracts of
country, inclining in every direction, and at
every angle to the earth and to the horizon.

They described the undulations of the earth
as resembling waves, increasing in elevation
as they advanced; and, when they had attain-
ed a certain fearful height, the earth would
burst, and vast volumes of water and sand and
pitcoal were discharged, as high as the tops of
the trees. I have seen a hundred of these
chasms, which remained fearfully deep, al-
though in a very tender alluvial soil, and after
a lapse of seven years. Whole districts were
covered with white sand, so as to become un-
inhabitable.

The water at first covered the whole country, particularly at the Little Prairie; and it must have been indeed a scene of horror, in these deep forests, and in the gloom of the darkest night, and by wading in the water to the middle to flee from these concussions, which were occurring every few hours, with a noise equally terrible to the beasts and birds as to men. The birds themselves lost all power and disposition to fly, and retreated to the bosoms of men, their fellow-sufferers in this scene of convulsion. A few persons sunk in these chasms, and were providentially extricated. One person died of fright; one perished miserably on an island, which retained its origi nal level, in the midst of a wide lake created by the earthquake. The hat and clothes of this man were found. A number perished, who sunk with their boats in the river. A

The people, without exception, were unlettered backwoodsmen, of the class least addict-geniously and conclusively they reasoned from ed to reasoning. And it is remarkable how inapprehension sharpened by fear. They remarked, that the chasms in the earth were in direction from south-west to north-east, and

they were of an extent to swallow up, not only

men but houses, and these chasms occurred frequently within intervals of half a mile. They felled the tallest trees at right angles with the chasms, and stationed themselves upon the felled trees. By this invention all were saved; for the chasms occurred more than once under these trees.

EVENING TIME.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.
Zech. xiv. 7.
I.

Ar evening time let there be light:
Life's little day draws near its close;
Around me fall the shades of night,
The night of death, the grave's repose ·
To crown my joys to end my woes,
At evening time let there be light.

II.

At evening time let there be light:
Stormy and dark hath been my day;
Yet rose the morn divinely bright,
Dews, birds, and blossoms cheered the way:
O for one sweet, one parting ray!
At evening time let there be light.

III.

At evening time there shall be light;"
For God hath spoken;-it must be:
Fear, doubt, and anguish take their flight,
His glory now is risen on me;
Mine eyes shall his salvation see:
-'Tis evening time, and there is light!

THE SONG OF NIGHT.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

I COME to thee, O Earth!
With all my gifts:-for every flower sweet
dew,

In bell, and urn, and chalice, to ronew
The glory of its birth.

OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, AND THE TIMES.

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On my own heart I lay

The weary babe, and sealing with a breath
Its eyes of love, send fairy dreams, beneath
The shadowing lids to play.

I come with mightier things!
Who calls me silent?-I have many tones-
The dark skies thrill with low mysterious

moans

Borne on my sweeping wings.

I waft them not alone

From the deep organ of the forest shades,

Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades,
Till the bright day is done.

But in the human breast

A thousand still small voices I awake,
Strong in their sweetness from the soul to
shake

The mantle of its rest.

I bring them from the past:

From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, From crushed affections, which tho long o'erborne,

Make their tone heard at last.

I bring them from the tomb;
O'er the sad couch of late repentant love,

5

cluded all possibility of his recovery. My mo-
ther was thus left with myself and a younger
brother,--with no means of subsistence except
the scanty earnings afforded by making fish-
ing-nets, and selling shells and weeds to those
whom curiosity and leisure brought to the
beach. One of her little customers, who was
daughter to the captain of a small merchant
vessel, offered to obtain a situation, as cabin
boy, for either of us, in her father's ship,-a
proposition my mother acceded to the more

they were decidedly pleasing; and melancho-
ly, rather than gloom, appeared to me to be
their habitual cast. I always piqued myself
on being a good judge of physiognomy; and,
as I walked up and down the deck of the Al-
"That
phonse, I repeated so often to myself,
man has a history," that, at last, during all the
dull monotonous voyage, I came to have but
one pervading wish, which gradually obtained
complete empire over me, to hear his story
from himself. I cannot describe to you the
burning intensity of my curiosity on this sub-gladly, as she had taken home the half-starved
ject. Day after day, night after night, I re-
peated, almost with feverish longing, "Oh
that I could hear Walter Errick's story!" I
do really think that, at that time, I would have
consented to lose an arm or a leg, if the loss
could have ensured the gratification of my
wish. Time passed, and the desire increased
in proportion as the likelihood of satisfying it
diminished. A thousand times I was on the
point of addressing him, of telling him the in-
terest he had inspired; but the cold gravity,
the insouciance of his melancholy, always re-
strained me: his was not a sorrow of the
heart, which could be relieved by unbosoming
himself to a compassionate friend; it was a
cloud over the soul, a dark veil thrown over
his natural feelings by some event of his past
life. Oh that I could discover how and when
it took place!

My wish was at last gratified. Walter Errick caught a fever when we were crossing the Line, and my profession, as a clergyman, obliged me to sit by him, and offer the consolations which our holy religion affords to the penitent sinner. For some days he was delirious, and during that time he seemed happier than I had ever seen him: he talked of the scenes of his childhood, fancied himself on the shore of the Isle of Wight, and would take my hand and gaze fondly into my face, murmuring some name in a low faint voice, or sometimes One night, after without speaking at all.

They pass-though low as murmurs of a dove, lying in a stupor for some time, he roused him-
Like trumpets through the gloom.

I come with all my train:

Who calls me lonely?-Hosts around me tread,
The intensely bright, the beautiful, the dread
Phantoms of heart and brain!

Looks from departed eyes,
These are my lightnings!-filled with anguish
vain

Or tenderness too piercing to sustain
They smite with agonies.

O, that with soft control

Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, I am th' Avenging One!-the armed, the strong

The Searcher of the soul!

I, that shower dewy light
Through slumbering leaves, bring storms!-
the tempest-birth

Of Memory, Thought, Remorse :-be holy,
Earth!

I am the solemn Night!

WALTER ERRICK.

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

He was

It was on board the Alphonse that I learnt the history of this unfortunate man. first mate there; and, though exceedingly unpopular amongst his messmates, there was something about him which excited my inte

rest.

He was a short thickset man, about the middle age, with a singularly grave countenance, which circumstance had probably obtained him among his companions the name of "gloomy Walter," by which he was constantly designated. There was, however, nothing harsh or forbidding in his general expression: on the contrary, when a faint gleam of something like gladness stole over his features,

self and asked for something to drink: after
a few moments' pause, he inquired how long
it was probable he should live? The sur-
geon replied, that at present there was no cer-
tainty of his death,-that he might and in all
"Nonsense!" said
probability would, recover.
he; "I am dying: I feel it-I know it: it is
the plague the plague of the body and the
We thought he was relapsing into de-
soul."
lirium, when, suddenly seizing my arm, he ex-
claimed, "I have a great wish to say some-
You have
thing to you, Sir, before I go.
brought on this fever: you have watched me
-suspected me,-I know you have: for above
a fortnight before I took to my bed, I could not
hear your foot on the deck, (and, oh, how well
I knew your step from the others!) without
feeling my heart beat as if it would have burst;
and when you looked at me so long and so
earnestly as you used to do, the veins in my
forehead swelled and throbbed, and my head
grew giddy. Sir, I could not sleep for that
look; and now you shall hear all,-why I did
it, and how it happened that no one but you
ever guessed what I had done." At that mo-
ment I confess I felt almost in the state the
wretched man had himself described: every
nerve in my body thrilled, and the drops stood
on my brow. I did not speak, however; and,
after some time, he continued.

orphan of one of the men who perished, or
were taken, the night my father died. My
brother and I performed the voyages alternate-
ly, and experienced the greatest kindness from
the captain, who frequently assisted my mo-
ther and little Mary, the orphan girl, with
small but useful presents during his short stay
on land. It was during the third voyage my
younger brother, James, had made, that I be-
gan to think of the orphan Mary as a wife.
Beautiful and gentle she was; and to live with
her and not love her was impossible. We used
to ramble over the beach together during the
bright summer evenings, and sit side by side
watching the waves rippling to the shore, or
looking for the ships in the distance, and
guessing their destinations and the feelings of
those within them. At length the time drew
near when James was to return, and I should
1 felt her
take his place, and bid farewell to Mary for a
The day, the hour came.
while.
last kiss on my lips, her warm bright tears on
my cheek; and the boat that brought me to
the vessel, rowed away again with her and
James and others, and became a speck in the
distance.

one.

"It was two years before I again saw the Isle of Wight, and my landing was an ominous The well known signal was hoisted, and I could see a white handkerchief fluttering in reply above the roof of our cottage. The boat put off from shore, and my heart told me, beJames was the one who pulled so stoutly, and fore my eye could distinguish, that my brother kept his glance so fixed on the deck of our vessel. got a pocket telescope, and looked out to see his bright and blessed countenance a few minutes sooner: and there he was, handsomer than ever; his sun-burnt face lit with gladness, his white smiling teeth gleaming in the sun, and the fresh breeze waving his ring. leted hair. I never felt so fond or so proud of him: I kept repeating, in a tone of triumph, to those near me, 'There's James,-that's my brother James,-do you see James?' never heeding or seeing their total indifference to the rapture which swelled my heart. Mary too, dear Mary! I could see faintly on the shore the outline of a figure I felt must be hers. I watched impatiently the light boat shooting over the waters, which lay as clear and smooth as glass: suddenly there was a momentary confusion; some one stood up, leant forward, and the boat upset, plunging all stood into the sea. For one single instant paralyzed, with my eyes fixed on the splashing glancing waters, as the sunshine played over the spot where fourteen wretches were struggling for life: another moment and I had leapt into the ocean, and was swimming with all the energy of love and despair to the place where the boat had sunk. As I swam from the vessel, I heard the captain shout out orders to lower a boat: we had but one left,-the rest had taken "I was born in a little fishing hut, at the part of the cargo to land. I knew, and reback of the Isle of Wight. I believe my father membered as I swam along, that this was too had originally been a farmer; but distresses small to hold all the sufferers; and though I had come upon him, and, under the ostensible could see boats in all directions putting off trade of a fisherman, he connected himself from the land, yet the time that must elapse with a gang of smugglers, who carried on sucbefore they could reach the spot rendered their cessful plunder in that part of the island. I used always to accompany him on his expedi- being of service very uncertain. At length I swam into the centre of the eddying waves: hands were extended, and faint efforts were tions, and was with him the night he was shot made to grasp me, by men already exhausted by the King's officers:-he fell from the boat with rowing: but they were strangers; and, in in which he was standing, into the sea; after that moment of excitement, I shook them off the struggle was over, two men looked for his as I would have done a troublesome animal. I body and brought it home: we then discovered that the wound was of little consequence, but the time he had been in the water pre-gazed,-I panted,-the dreadful thought struck

me that I might be too late: I shrieked out, 'James! A faint voice called me by my name:-a splash-an arm raised for a moment above the head, showed me where my brother had been. He rose again-I struggled forward -a dying wretch caught my arm-I shook him off-I even struck his extended arm as it was again listlessly stretched forth to lay hold of me:-I reached my brother; he rose once more with closed eyes-I caught him by the hair, and wept and howled in the agony of my excessive joy. I saw the boat from the merchant vessel nearing us: I called, I shouted; I felt my limbs failing with fatigue and emotion, and every now and then one of the strugglers round us went down with a faint bubbling groan. I thought again of the size of the boat, and shuddered; it would not, at the most, hold more than eight:-useless, indeed, was my fear! The boat neared-took us in-I looked up to heaven in gratitude, and round upon the waste of waters:-there were but two living souls of the fourteen!

"Death alone can erase the memory of that evening from my mind: there is but one other scene in my life which I can recall with equal intensity; and that!-Oh James, my merryhearted, handsome, affectionate brother,"and the sick man clasped his hands, and shook with a passion of grief. He mastered it, and continued more calmly, "That evening we were all at home together,-Mary, and my mother, and James, and I; and how they wept over me, and hung upon me, and blessed me! I told them good news too, that the vessel wanted repairing, and that the delay necessary would give us yet a little while together, before James would be obliged to leave us: and they told me-what? that the brother I had saved, and Mary, my Mary, were to be married directly; that they had only waited for my return to be present during the ceremony, and that now nothing remained but to fix the day. I hardly remember how I felt, or what I said; but I know that my eyes were riveted upon Mary like those of a person walking in his sleep, and that Mary laughed and blushed, and looked down; and then came and kissed my cheek, and hid her head on my bosom, and blessed me for having brought home HER James from the wild and treacherous sea. I recollect too, feeling bewildered, and gazing round me; and that the fire seemed to burn dimmer, and my mother's face to grow paler, and that I felt suffocated, and trembled all over. However, I shook James by the hand, and promised to be there on the wedding day and give the bride away. And when they had all gone to bed, I went out, and sat down on the beach, and looked across the sea to the place where the boat had sunk in the morning: and I thought over all that had happened that day,-iny joy at coming home, my agony of fear when I saw James drowning at a distance and no help near; and then I thought of Mary, and the choking pain rose in my throat, and I knelt in the cold moonlight on the sands and prayed a dreadful and a fervent prayer to God, that I might never live to see them man and wife! Yes, I wished, I prayed that they might be happy, but that I might be a cold corpse; and more than once I thought of plunging in the sea, and so ending my life: but I remembered the morning and the sinking wretches, and the cold grasp on my arm,— and I could not do it.

"At daybreak I went home, and I heard every thing settled for the wedding; and Mary looked quite happy, and confided to me all her little plans for the future; and how she had gradually guessed that James loved her; and how they used to walk along my favourite walks, talking of me, and wondering when I should come back, and what I would think of it; and the agony that filled her soul when the boat disappeared, and her gratitude when at last, she saw me coming to shore with James. And then she talked again of him, and told me all his merry jokes, and her anxiety when he was out fishing at night; and every

word she spoke went through and through my heart. Two or three days passed, and their wedding drew near. Every morning I wandered out, that I might see Mary as little as possible before she was James's wife; and every night I went out to fish. Sometimes he came with me, and sometimes I went alone. The last night we went out together, and Mary carried the lantern and the heavy boatcloak down to the beach, and kissed my brother and bade him good-bye till sunrise; and then she stooped down and kissed me, as I was unfastening the boat-chain, and said, in her low gentle tone, 'Bring him home safe, Walter.'"

(To be concluded.)

THE NEGLECTED CHILD. BY THOMAS H. BAYLY, ESQ.

1.

I NEVER was a favourite-
My mother never smiled
On me, with half the tenderness
That blessed her fairer child:
I've seen her kiss my sister's cheek,
While fondled on her knee;
I've turned away to hide my tears,-
There was no kiss for me!

II.

And yet I strove to please, with all
My little store of sense;

I strove to please, and infancy
Can rarely give' offence:
But when my artless efforts met
A cold, ungentle check,

I did not dare to throw myself,
In tears, upon her neck.

III.

How blessed are the beautiful!
Love watches o'er their birth;
Oh beauty! in my nursery

I learned to know thy worth;-
For even there, I often felt

Forsaken and forlorn;

And wished-for others wished it tooI never had been born!

IV.

I'm sure I was affectionate,-
But in my sister's face,

There was a look of love that claimed
A smile, or an embrace.

But when I raised my lip, to meet
The pressure children prize,
None knew the feelings of my heart,-
They spoke not in my eyes.

Y.

But oh! that heart too keenly felt The anguish of neglect;

I saw my sister's lovely form

With gems and roses decked; I did not covet them; but oft, When wantonly reproved, I envied her the privilege Of being so beloved.

VI.

But soon a time of triumph came-
A time of sorrow too,-
For sickness, o'er my sister's form
Her venom'd mantle threw :-
The features, once so beautiful,

Now wore the hue of death;
And former friends shrank fearfully
From her infectious breath.

VII.

'Twas then, unwearied, day and night
I watched beside her bed,
And fearlessly upon my breast
I pillowed her poor head.

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ON THE LAND CRABS OF JAMAICA. BY ALEXANDER BARCLAY, ESQ. CRABS abound in the eastern part of Jamaica, at all seasons, but are considered to be best in the months the names of which contain the letter R. They are most plentiful in May, the season at which they deposit their eggs, or run as the Negroes express it, and when the earth is literally covered with them. At this season it is impossible to keep them out of the houses, or even out of the bed-rooms, where, at one time scratching with their large claws, and at another rattling across the floor, they

make a noise that would not a little astonish and alarm a stranger. Occasionally they will lodge themselves very snugly in a boot, and if a person puts his foot upon them inadvertently, he has quick intimation of the intruder, by a grasp of his nippers. For a few weeks in this season, they may be gathered in any quantities, and the Negroes sometimes hurt themselves by making too free use of them. Even the hogs catch them, although not always with impunity, as a crab sometimes gets hold of one of them by the snout, from which he is not easily disengaged, and the terrified animal runs about squeaking in great distress.

At other seasons, and when more valuable, they are caught by torch light at night, and put into covered baskets. Crowds of Negroes from the neighbouring plantations pass my house every evening with their torches and baskets, going to a crab wood on the other side, and return before midnight fully laden. Their baskets will contain about 40 crabs, and the regular price is a five-penny piece, our smallest coin, equal to about 34d. sterling, for five or six crabs. At this rate a Negro will make 2s. 6d. currency in an evening; and the more improvident, who will not cultivate provision grounds, depend, in some measure, upon catching crabs, and selling them to the others. A hundred plantains, usually sold at five shillings, will purchase from sixty to seventy crabs, and two of these eaten with plantains or yams, make an excellent meal. I have seen upwards of a hundred Negroes pass my house in an evening, and return with their baskets on their heads, not only full of crabs, but with quantities of them fastened by the claws on the tops of the baskets. I make but a moderate computation, when I suppose they must have had, at the very least, three thousand crabs. Almost every Negro family has an old flour barrel pierced with holes, in which their crabs are kept. They are fed with plantain skins, &c. and taken out and thrown into the pot as wanted.

There is a great variety of crabs in Jamaica, of which two only are eaten. The black is the finest, and has ever been esteemed one of the greatest delicacies in the West Indies, not excepting even the turtle. These live in the mountain forests, on stony ground, and feed on the fallen dry leaves of the trees. The white crab, as it is called (although rather purple than white) used principally by the Negroes, but by the white people also, is larger,

and more resembles in taste the lobster of this country. These are amphibious, and are found in the low lands, principally in the woods, where, as I have already said, they are caught at night with torches. But they are numerous also in the cultivated fields, and in some of the low lying estates frequently do considerable damage to the planters in dry weather, when vegetation is low, by nipping off the blade of the young canes and corn, as it shoots through the ground. In situations of this kind, the Negroes have a somewhat singular method of catching them: they know from the appearance of a crab hole if there be a crab in it, and dig down with a hoe through the soft loam, till they come to water (about eighteen inches or two feet,) and then close the hole firmly with a handful of dry grass. In this manner a Negro will shut up two or three dozen of holes in a morning. About four hours after, he returns, and his prisoners being by this time drunkened (half drowned,) they tumble out along with the plug of grass, and are caught.

In the year 1811, there was a very extraordinary production of black crabs in the eastern parts of Jamaica. In the month of June or July of that year, I forget which, the whole district of Manchioneal (where the great chain of the Blue Mountains, extending from west to east, through the centre of the island, terminates on the east coast,) was covered with countless millions of these creatures, swarming from the sea to the mountains. Of this singu lar phenomenon, I was myself an eye witness, having had occasion to travel through that

district at the time. On ascending Quahill, from the vale of Plantain-Garden River, the road appeared of a reddish colour, as if strewed with brick-dust. I dismounted from my horse to examine the cause of so unusual an appearance, and was not a little astonished to find that it was owing to myriads of young black crabs, about the size of the nail of a man's finger, crossing the road, and moving at a pretty pace direct for the mountains. I was concerned to think of the destruction I was causing in travelling through such a body of useful creatures, as I fancied that every time my horse put down a foot, it was the loss of at least ten lives. I rode along the coast a distance of about fifteen miles, and found it nearly the same the whole way, only that in some places they were more numerous, and in others less so. Returning the following day, I found the road still covered with them the same as the day before. How have they been produced in such numbers, or, where are they come from? were questions that every body asked, and no one could answer. It is well known the crabs deposite their eggs once a year, and in the month of May; but, except on this occasion, though living on the coast, I never saw a dozen of young crabs together, and here were millions of millions covering the earth for miles along a large extent of sea coast. No unusual number of old crabs had been observed that season; and it is worthy of remark, that this prodigious multitude of young ones were moving from a rock-bound shore, formed by inaccessible cliffs, the abode of sea birds, and against which the waves of the sea are constantly dashed by the Trade-wind blowing directly upon them. That the old crabs should be able to deposite their eggs in such a part of the coast, (if that, as would appear, is the habit of the animal) is not a little extraordinary. No person in Jamaica, so far as I know, or have heard, ever saw such a sight, or any thing of the kind, but on that occasion: and I have understood, that, since 1811, black crabs have been abundant farther into the interior of the island than they were ever known before. -Barclay's View of Slavery in the West Indics.

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When the honied lips are mute,

And the strong arm crushed for ever: Look back to the summer sun,

From the mist of dark December; Then say to the broken-hearted one, "'Tis pleasant to remember!"

HOW SHALL I WOO HER? BY THE AUTHOR OF LILLIAN." L'on n'aime bien qu'une seule fois : c'est la premiere. Les amours qui suivent sont moins involontaires! La Bruyere.

I.

How shall I woo her?-I will stand
Beside her when she sings;
And watch that fine and fairy hand
Flit o'er the quivering strings:
And I will tell her, I have heard,
Though sweet her song may be,
A voice, whose every whispered word
Was more than song to me!

II.

How shall I woo her?-I will gaze,
In sad and silent trance,
On those blue eyes, whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance:
And I will tell her, eyes more bright,
Though bright her own may beam,
Will fling a deeper spell to-night
Upon me in my dream.

III.

How shall I woo her?-I will try

The charms of olden time,
And swear by earth and sea and sky,
And rave in prose and rhymne;-
And I will tell her when I bent
My knee in other years,

I was not half so eloquent,-
I could not speak for tears!

IV.

How shall I woo her?-I will bow
Before the holy shrine;

And pray the prayer, and vow the vow,
And press her lips to mine;

And I will tell her, when she parts

From passion's thrilling kiss,

That memory to many hearts

Is dearer far than bliss.

V.

Away! away! the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain ;-
You cannot wake that silent lute,
Nor clasp those links again:
Love's toil I know is little cost,

Love's perjury is light sin;

But souls that lose what I have lost,What have they left to win?

VANITY FAIR.

BY THOMAS H. BAYLY, ESQ.

1.

To Vanity Fair all my neighbours have been, To see all the sights that were there to be

seen;

Old and young, rich and poor, were all hurrying there,

To pick up a bargain at Vanity Fair!

II.

A very rich man ostentatiously came,
To buy with his lucre a liberal name;
He published his charities every where,
And thought he bought virtue at Vanity Fair!

III.

A lady, whose beauty was on the decline, Rather tawny from age, like an over-kept wine;

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II.

Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,
On his grey holy hair,
And touch'd the book with tenderest light,
As if its shrine were there:
But oh! that Patriarch's aspect shone
With something lovelier far-
A radiance all the spirit's own,

Caught not from sun or star.

III.

Some word of life ev'n then had met
His calm benignant eye;
Some ancient promise, breathing yet
Of Immortality;

Some heart's deep language, where the glow
Of quenchless faith survives;
For every feature said "I know
That my Redeemer lives."

IV.

And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death:
Silent-yet did not each young breast

With love and reverence melt?
Oh! blest be those fair girls-and blest
That home where God is felt!

FALLING LEAVES.

The leaves are falling from the poplar trees,
And through their skeleton branches I behold
Glimpses of clear blue daylight. Thus, me-
thinks

As one by one the joys of life decay,
Withered, or prematurely snapped, the eye
The opening vault of Immortality
Of age contemplates, with a clearer ken,
O'erarching Earth and Time.

Structure of the Sponge.-If a common sponge be carefully examined in a microscope, it will appear to be furnished with galleries and compartments, which rival, in intricacy and number, those of the celebrated labyrinths of Crete; the ramified entrances of a marine pavillion, gradually extending upwards, and sending forth branches in different directions, till they at length unite, and form a compound reticulation throughout the sponge. The extremities of the upper shoots are furnished with small openings at the ends of their fibres; and, as we trace these fibres downwards from the openings, a soft whitish substance may be discovered filling the internal hollow part of the ramifications throughout the whole sponge; which ramifications resemble catgut, are of an amber colour, and are undoubtedly the habitations of a particular kind of zoophytes. For, although we cannot distinguish either vesicles or cells, nor discover any other kind of organi. zation than that of a variety of hollow tubes inflected and wrought together into a multitude of agreeable forms, some branching like corals, or expanding like a fungus, many rising like a column, others resembling a hollow inverted pyramid with irregular cavities, entrances, or apertures; yet, from many obvious resemblances to different other kinds of marine productions, as well as from the chemical analysis of sponges in general, we are amply justified in referring them to the class of animal productions.

Books and Journals received this week, and to which we are indebted for part of this number:

The Muscum of Foreign Literature and Science-Edinburgh Philosophical JournalLiterary Souvenir-Amulet-Friendship's Of fering-Writings of Thomas Jefferson-Silliman's Journal-Newspapers.

THE RELIGIOUS MAGAZINE;

OR, Spirit of the Foreign Theological Journals and Reviews,

Is composed of the best articles in the Foreign Theolo gical Journals, Reviews and Magazines, and the quan tity of matter is very great. The selections are carefully and their tendency to advance the interests of pure evangelical religion. No article which can afford grounds of offence to any orthodox Protestant denomination, will, at any time, be admitted. We will not attempt to make the publication subservient to the purposes of any parti cular denomination, but shall select from Presbyterian or Episcopal, Methodist or Baptist writers, according as their papers shall best answer the avowed purposes of the publication.

Insects in a Mummy.-M. Figeac of Grenoble, while examining an Egyptian mummy, found amongst its fingers several dead coleop-made, with a reference solely to the merit of the papers, terous insects of a fine rose colour, in all its brilliancy. M. Jurine of Geneva ascertained that they belonged to a nondescript species of corynetes, (Fabricius,) which he is disposed to call C. Glaber. Circumstances indicate that the eggs of those insects were laid on the mummy during the embalming process, and subsequently became perfect insects. Arabs, indeed, had opened the mummy; but the envelope of the hands, where the insects were found, was untouched.

The

North-West Passage proved by Whales.Whales which have been harpooned in the Greenland seas, have been found in the Pacific Ocean; and whales, with some lances sticking in their feet, (a kind of weapon used by no nation now known,) have been caught both in the sea of Spitzbergen and in Davis' Strait. The following is one of the authorities for this fact, which, of all other arguments yet offered in favour of a transpolar passage, seems to be the most satisfactory:

A Dutch East India captain, of the name of Jacob Cool, of Sardam, who had been several times at Greenland, and was, of course, well acquainted with the nature of the apparatus used in the whale fishery, was informed by the Fishal Zeeman, of India, that in the sea of Tartary, there was a whale taken, in the back of which was sticking a Dutch harpoon, marked with the letters W. B. This curious circumstance was communicated to Peter Jansz Vischer, probably a Greenland whaler, who discovered that the harpoon in question had belonged to William Bastiaanz, Admiral of the Dutch Greenland fleet, and had been struck into the whale in the Spitzbergen sea.-Beschryving der Walvisvangst, vol. ii. p. 33.

Having access to all the sources of literary informa tion, we shall be able to give our readers an early acaccount of every new work which will tend to practical improvement, or increase the stock of theological learning.

Every article in the work is submitted to and approved by clergymen of the Episcopal, Presbyterian, Methodist, and Baptist churches.

It began in January, 1828.
The Religious Magazine is published monthly, at
83 per annum, by
E. LITTELL & BROTHER,
Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.

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