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tween them. That usual state of the features, which I call permanent physiognomy, is often altered by an unforeseen accident, which produces a new character of physiognomy, which, as I told you before, I will style accidental.

end. When I have been told that such a person was of a very lively and excellent temper, easily bursting into a passion but as easily appeased, the sole idea which arose in my mind was that of a fair and florid complexioned man. When I I can scarcely refrain from laughing, when I have heard of a gloomy disposition, the hidden read, in the works of ignorant people, the pitiful fire of which was never extinguished, my imagi❤ reasonings of which they make use, to affix a nation presented me with a picture of a pale meaning to the large or small size of the head, face. You may remark, that love of pleasure is the length or shortness of the nose, the fat or equally expressed by both; but in the first it will meagre state of the body. They grant to all be productive of follies alone, while in the other these signs nearly the same signification, with it may give birth to the most unbridled excesses. the hope of surprising us by their number, if The former are capable of sacrificing their lives the proofs they attempt to bring forward be in the pursuit of enjoyment; the latter, of leadfound too weak to convince us. It happensing those who accompany them in their wild sometimes, that as they repeat the same stories to every being who longs to have his physiognomy explored, they may meet with truth, but they are not in general to be trusted upon. The most apparently perfect symmetry of the shape, the most regular proportions, are not always the heralds of an excellent disposition. How many pleasing tempers do we not often descry beneath a rugged exterior! We are not therefore to judge of the superior qualities of the mind from the beauty or ugliness of its mansion of clay.

The complexion of a face, and conformation of the features, are the most solid foundations upon which our theory may rest. To them I will add also the eyes, those expressive luminaries of the body; and I will give you the scale of the different powers of these signs. The complexion indicates the passions in general; the conformation, or ensemble, those that are most habitual to us, and the eyes, their duration, moderation, or excesses.

Whoever has reflected on the principles of Our nature, well knows, that the fluids as they circulate through the organized matter with which our bodies are composed, tinge the very outsides of the channels through which they flow, with their predominant colour. Whether through its transparency, or the incessant return of those same fluids to the same places, our skin preserves a shade of their native die, and thus reveals their nature to our knowledge. Their hues are as varied as their motions: some run rapidly, while others move but slowly; some are red, others of a leaden cast, some are yellow, others green and even black. Every one may have remarked that florid visages wear the appearance of cheerfulness, while those of a livid complexion, seem dark and sad. The vivacity of the man endowed with the first may be very great, but will not last, while that of the other knows no

seach for it, to utter destruction.

Pleasing and lively passions are expressed by lively colours, and the contrary ones by dark hues. It would be of no avail to bring forward the complexion of the Africans to overturn my argument, as the attentive and constant observer will discover as much real difference between their black, as between the white of the Europeans. But we are more used to behold men of our own colour, and seldom find ourselves in company with several negroes, to be able to descry distinctly their every shade. One instance alone will suffice to prove the truth of my argument; is not the blush of modesty widely different from the animated hue of anger? Many people are very sorry not to have the power of checking their blushes in certain cases, either when they betray the consciousness of a fault, or proceed from the pure spring of innocence afraid of being suspected. But no reasoning can persuade me that the reddening shame which overspreads the face of the guilty, can bear any resemblance to the colour which dies the cheeks of the innocent.

Before 1 finish this letter, I must again repeat, that the complexion being only one of the signs which I have mentioned, it has no weight but with the concurrence of others, and is in itself more liable to error than any other. It denotes the germ of a passion, but not its fruits: education, necessity, the caprices of fortune, and espe cially the dictates of religion and virtue, the two celestial and inseparable allies, may stifle it in its birth, and the outward appearance may still remain visible, and deceive our observation. In my next I will treat of the conformation or ensemble of our bodies, and of the eyes.

(To be continued.)

E. R

POETRY,

ORIGINAL AND SELECT.

THE HUNGARIAN GIPSY's SONG. FROM Presburg's plain, from Bada's tow'rs, From old Carpathia's mountains drear, To bounteous halls and fruitful bow'rs, We charter'd libertines repair. There by Danube's silent wave,

Or 'mid the shades of Szelitz's cave,

Our ample feast we share; While round the bow! in fearless glee, We sing of love and liberty. And oft the Vaivod's fur-clad dame, Soft-smiling thro' her azure veil, In whispers tells some cherish'd name, And fondly hears our mystic tale; While where the honied chesnut dwells, Or where the melting melon swells In Semeswara's dale; We fill the bowl with fearless glee, And sing of love and liberty.

Now tho' in Alpine woods no more

Our lawless revelry we hide;
Tho' chased from Elba's envied shore

By Saxon wealth and Saxon pride; Still to this gem-fraught mountain's head, Or to yon river's golden bed

Our weary feet we guide;

Then round the bowl with fearless glee,
Rejoice in love and liberty.
Clipstone-street.

A. V-LL.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER. LITTLE offspring of the tender spring, By Zephyr borne on flutt'ring wing; Thine is Phoebus' cheering mien, Thine is Ceres' golden reign, The greenest grass thy humble bed, On palest primrose rests thy head; The sweetest gifts of bounteous earth, That burst spontaneously to birth, Or grow beneath man's fost'ring hand, All for thee their buds expand. For thee, in snowy vesture spread, The modest Lily rears its head; For thee around the blushing Rose Its sweetest, softest, fragance throws; When wearied, heavy hang thy eyes, The Poppy then her pow'r applies, Bid thy light wing to cease its flight, Till cheer'd by Sol's returning light. And when stern winter's frowns severe Proclaim how changed the smiling year, Its chilling pow'r thou canst defy, Give Sol a kind adieu-and die.

AN ORIGINAL AIR,

BY A CASMERIAN INDIAN. WHEN shall we three meet again? When shall we three meet again? Oft shall glowing hope expire, Oft shall wearied love retire, Oft shall death and sorrow reign Ere we three shall meet again! The' in distant lands we sigh, Parch'd beneath a hostile sky, Tho' the deep between us rolls, Friendship shall unite our souls; Still in fancy's rich domain Oft shall we three meet again. When around this youthful pine Moss shall creep and ivy twine, When our burnish'd locks are grey; Thinn'd by many a toil-spent day; May this long-lov'd bow'r remain, Here may we three meet again! When the dreams of life are fled, When its wasted lamp is dead, When in cold oblivion's shade Beauty, pow'r and fame are laid, Where immortal spirits reign Then may we three meet again! Clipstone-street.

A. YOLL

MARIA, OR THE MOTHER'S DIRGE.

BY WILLIAM CAREY.

DIRGE THE SECOND.

How fragrant is the breath of spring;
The Lark and Linnet, on the wing,
Their wild-wood carrois sweetly sing:

Oh list, how sweet, my daughter.

The morning sky is ting'd with gold:
The landscape lovely to behold:
The groves their vivid buds unfold:
Awake, arise; my daughter.

Art thou so fast in slumber bound?
And is thy chamber so profound?
So barr'd from light and clos'd from sound?
So cold thy bed, my daughter?

No sun thy narrow house can cheer:
No spring, no summer there appear:
No change of season marks the year:

No voice is heard, my daughter.

No play-mate can to thee repair;
Thy bed no lov'd companion share;
The worm alone has entrance there,

The silent worm,-my daughter.
Of late, I mark'd on Avon's side,
The bending lily's silver pride;
Reflected in the crystal tide;

And thought on thee, my daughter.

Alas, in one revolving hour,
A chilling blast, an angry show'r.
Beat down the lovely, ruin'd flow'r;
How like thy fate, my daughter.
The spring is past, it swiftly fled;
For Pain and Sorrow, on thy head,
The phial of affliction shed,

And blighted thee, my daughter.

But ah, the graces of thy mind,
Thy sense and gentleness combin'd,
Thy looks of love and voice so kind,

Can I forget, my daughter?.

Since I must quit this fatal place,
Oh could I once more view thy face,
And fold thee in a last embrace,

And press thy hand, my daughter.

Or could I ope' thy lowly shrine,
And lay my burning cheek to thine,
The world, I think, I could resign,

And sleep with thee, my daughter.

LINES

Occasioned by the departure of a Friend for Canada,

UNRUFFLED the wave and unclouded the sky, The sails gently swelling as kissed by the wind, Sweet England receding, the passenger's eye

Still look'd but in vain for the prospect behind. The cliffs proudly rising no more can he view

(Which the sailor, return'd after many a storm, Hails with transport as beacons of happiness true,)

Not a shadow is left for sweet fancy to form. In vain would he catch, at the close of the day, For the last time, the sound of some far distant bell;

But nought-save the vessel dividing its way,.
Is heard-or the boatswain proclaiming "all's

well."

Down my cheek let the tear be permitted to steal, At the song I have caroll'd, my bosom to swell; Believe me," 'tis hard to be parted," I feelBelieve me, "'tis hard to be saying farewell;" And perchance too, "for ever." Before I return, Of those whom I leave with so keen a regret, Haply some will be gone to that far distant bourne,

And the friend of their youth-haply others forget.

As I dwell on the thought shadows transiently rise,

And my breast, at the sound of " for ever," beats high;

But a glance of sweet sunshine from Anna's bright eyes,

Bids the gloom be no more, and disperses the sigh.

Yes, Anna, with thee I contented will roam;

With thee the wild beauties of nature explore; As thy falls in the sun, Niagara shall foam,

We with awe will their mighty creator adore. When the beautiful white bird announces the spring,

And the flowers of the cotton tree glisten with dew;

When their fragrance around palms and cedartrees fling,

We will far from the dog star their solitude woo.

When for mirth and for converse the circle we form,

At the social fireside, when snow covers the

ground,

We will smile at the boisterous force of the storm, And pass "to our friends," the sweet senti.

ment round.

Thus the passenger spoke, till the shadows of night

Stole slowly the bosom of Ocean along; To its rocky abode the gull winging its flight, On the breeze of night swelling the mariner's

song.

The white bird, mentioned in the 9th verse, is the chief Canadian bird of melody; it is a kind of ortolan, and remarkable for announcing the return of spring.

The cotton-tree is peculiar to Canada; tufts of

flowers grow on its top, which, when shaken in

the morning, before the dew falls off, produce honey that may be boiled up into sugar; the

Adieu, England! adieu, then my dear native seed being a pod, containing a very fine kind of

land,

Ye winds on your wings kindly waft my adieu; Many years must pass by, e'er again on your strand

cotton.

Immense forests apparently coeval with the world, abound in North America; trees in an endless variety of species, losing themselves in

I may hope the sweet joys of the past to renew. the clouds.

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Engrav'd by J. Balls, No 12, Castle St. Leicester Sq

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