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beaten down, and battered, and crushed, and leaped on by the angry sea-that thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, are all in fierce contention for the masterythat every plank has its groan, every nail its shriek, and every drop of water in the great ocean its howling voice is nothing. To say that all is grand, and all appalling and horrible in the last degree, is nothing. Words cannot express it. Thoughts cannot convey it. Only a dream can call it up again, in all its fury, rage, and passion."

PROCESS OF COINING AT THE MINT.

The establishment upon Tower Hill was completed about 1811, at an expense of about a quarter of a million of money. In the process of coining, the ingots are first melted in pots, when the alloy of copper is added (to gold, one part in twelve; to silver, eighteen pennyweights to a pound weight,) and the mixed metal cast into small bars. And now begin the operations of the stupendous machinery, which is unequalled in the mint of any other country, and is in every way a triumph of mechanical skill. The bars, in a heated state, are first passed through the breaking-down rollers, which, by their tremendous crushing power, reduce them to one-third their former thickness, and increase them proportionately in their length. They are now passed through the cold rollers, which bring them nearly to the thickness of the coin required, when the last operation of this nature is performed by the draw-bench-a machine peculiar to this mint-which secures an extraordinary degree of accuracy and uniformity in the surface of

the metal, and leaves it of the exact thickness desired. The cutting-machines now begin their work. There are twelve of these engines in the elegant room set apart for them, all mounted on the same basement, and forming a circular range. Here the bars or strips are cut into pieces of the proper shape and weight for the coining-press, and then taken to the sizing-room to be separately weighed, as well as sounded on a circular piece of iron, to detect any flaws. The protecting rim is next raised in the marking room, and the pieces, after blanching and annealing, are ready for stamping. The coiningroom is a magnificent-looking place, with its columns, and its great iron beams, and the presses ranging along the solid stone basement. There are eight presses, each of them making, when required, sixty or seventy (or even more) strokes a minute, and as at each stroke a blank is made a perfect coin-that is to say, stamped on both sides, and milled at the edge each press will coin between four and five thousand pieces in the hour, or the whole eight between thirty and forty thousand! And to accomplish these mighty results the attention of one little boy alone is required, who stands in a sunken place before the press supplying it with blanks. The bullion is now money, and ready for the trial of the Pix, which. at the mint, is a kind of tribunal of judgment between the actual coiners and the owners, as the greater trial known by the same name in the Court of Exchequer is to test the quality of the money as between the master of the mint and the people.

IRISH PATENTS.--Among the patents lately granted for Ireland are the following:-Thomas Cuthbert Cockson and George Bell, of the city of Dublin, merchants, for certain improved machines, which facilitate the drying of malt, corn, and seeds, also the bolting, dressing, and separating of flour, meal, and all other substances requiring to be sifted.-Henry Clarke, of Drogheda, in the county of Louth, linen merchant, for improvements in machinery for lapping and folding all descriptions of fabrics, whether woven by hand or power.

TO DELIA,

Think not, my fair, I strike the lyre
For common ears, for vulgar fame,
Or sing my verses to inspire
An universal, burning flame.
No-though 'tis sweet to win the praise
Of wond'ring thousands; sweeter still
Is the deep homage one heart pays

To passion-breathing minstrel's skill.
Oh let thine eye of light but shine
Upon my true and ardent strain;
Let but one tender verse or line

A place within thy bosom gain.
And I will ask no brighter sun

To shed its glories round my fame, No other gentle heart whereon

To grave my lays or stamp my name. My lays presumptuous-nay, all thine: Thine, since from thee each thought doth spring; Each happy word, each flight of mine,

Is wafted on thy beauty's wing. Each glowing thought, e'en as I write,

Its lustre borrows from thy love; As does the pale-faced queen of night Her radiance from the sun above.

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WHIMSICAL CALCULATIONS.—What a noisy creature man would be were his voice, in proportion to his weight, as powerful as the grasshopper's, which may be heard at the distance of one sixteenth of a mile. The kolibri weighs about an ounce, as that of a man of ordinary size weighs about as much as 4,000 kolibris. One kolibri must weigh at least as much as four grasshoppers. Assuming then that a man weighs as much as 16,000 grasshoppers, and that the voice of one of these may be heard at the distance of onesixteenth of a mile, that of a man, were it in proportion to his weight, would be audible at the distance of 1,000 miles, and when he sneezed he would run the risk of bringing the house about his ears, like the walls of Jericho at the sound of the trumpets. Assuming, further, that a flea weighs a grain (which is something above its real weight,) and that it is able to clear one inch and a-half at a spring, a man of 150 pounds weight would, by the same rule, be able to make a spring over a space of 12,800 miles, and consequently leap with ease from New York to Cochin China, or round the world in two jumps!

TALENT AND GENIUS.-Talent shows me what another man can do; genius acquaints me with spacious circuits of the common nature. One is carpentry; the other is growth. To make a step into the world of thought is now given to but few men; to make a second step beyond a first, only one in a country can do it; but to carry the thought on to three steps, marks a great teacher.

FORGIVENESS. Among the ancients, forgetfulness of injuries was considered virtue; the heathen phitosopher even said, that, to forgive one's enemies was to be equal to the gods. Cato, whom all the world admired, said that he forgave every one but himself.

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A SAILOR'S SHOT.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE WAKE AT SEA."

Love-pshaw! 'tis passing strange that one cannot take up a book without finding some foolish thing in it about love. Even Addison, the wise Christian moralist, could not write his talented essays without giving us something on the subject, as if it had any existence save in the heated imagination of fools."

Thus spoke the master of the Ellen, Paul George, as he flung down a volume of the Spectator which he had been reading for some time previous. He wanted a few months of twenty, and had come to the very wise conclusion that, there was no such thing as love, because he never felt it; just like some of our pretended philosophers of the day, who deny the truth of Christianity, because they have not experienced its

miracles.

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I was," answered the old fellow, and he gnashed his teeth as he said it.

"Ha! ha! Why this moment you told me there was no such thing as love, and now I find you felt its bitterness in its disappointment." "I was a lubber and a fool then, sir-'twas that drove me to sea.'

,,

"Well, well, Ned, we shall have it all another time; but mind your helm now, or I'll think you are lubber still."

George found it necessary to give this caution to his old shipmate, on account of their passing through the narrow entrance of the magnificent harbour of K., formed as it is by the hand of nature, which has made this country as rich in harbours, as it is in every other blessing of our bountiful mother. This beautiful port is one, which the eye of a sailor would view with delight, as his anchor would rest on its bottom in perfect security. It cannot be less than eight miles in circumference, and is sheltered on every side from the rage of the mighty Atlantic. There around it are the mountains with their tall heads sleeping in the deep blue sky-there the fertile valleys in their verdure freshness and beauty, looking as lovely as when they came from the hand of nature's God-there the lakes shining in their sparkling love liness, and nemora frondea crowning each hill side. As the Ellen entered the harbour the sun was just sinking behind the chain of hills which forms the harbour's defence from the stormy west; it wore the smile of fair days in its parting salute, although in the morning it blew as severe a gale as when old Eolus

"Cavum conversa cuspide montem Impulit in latus, ac venti velut agmine facto,"

and which drove the good ship that George commanded into this fair port.

"Let go the anchor-away aloft and furl the royal and top-gallant sails-clew the remainder up and leave them so; we shall start at day-break." The commands were soon obeyed, but his intention of leaving K. was not fulfilled according as he said, and the obstacles to his doing so comprise the subject of our story.

Ned came aft for something.

"Are you sleepy, Ned?" inquired his commander. No, sir-got an hour after dinner."

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Well, then, come down to the cabin; you shall have a glass of grog, and let me hear of that pirate who stole your heart; but stop-I have you every evening-not so the bay of K. That headland overlooks a very pretty spot for a curlew. Yes, I'll have a shot-throw out my gig there, men-a row at all events, if it was only to make me sleep. Boy, my gun, shot-bag, and powder-horn." Thus, he changed his mind; and thus, poor Ned's promised glass of grog seemed dashed from his lips. But an old sailor never gives up any thing without an effort. "Will I go with you, sir, to row the boat-get the glass of grog when I come back?" inquired Ned. "Bah! you were an old pirate yourself, Ned; you know I never take any one to row my boat when Igo shoot. Mate, give Ned and all hands a glass grog.

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He jumped into his gig, and was rowing off when Ned hailed him with

"Take care you don't shoot a witch, sir-looks a nice place for them."

"Or a Flying Dutchman, Ned—eh."

"Or a woman," continued Ned.

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"You'll never be that good," interrupted Ned; "but if what?"

"If our skipper hasn't a heart as big as that water cask you are at.

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"And you have a head as empty as it," snapped Ned, striving to get some water out of it, without success, for there was none in it.

But we must follow him, who, according to Jim Grimley, has a heart of such large dimensions. On he flew like a bird, for some minutes, in the swift little gig, singing as he went, the song of a light and joyous heart. He stopped; it was to gaze upon his gallant little bark. There she lay motionless on the mirror-like surface of the water, as if resting herself after the labours of the morning, when the mighty Atlantic was tossing her on its wild wave-when billow after billow came roaring and foaming like a fearful host upon a hero, but who through it cut his way to safety and to glory. Might she not be aptly compared to the warrior resting after his victory? 'Tis said a soldier loves his horse who has carried him unscathed through many a field of blood; I know a man loves the home of his fathers; a lover the lady of his affections; but I doubt if the objects of their love is more dear to them, than his ship is to the sailor—that is, if he sailed in her in early youth and at length command her as his own, and that she is, what few are, beautiful and good, she becomes dearer to him than self. He watches over her as a fond mother over her child. If she is bruised his heart is so too-if she is too heavy laden, he feels as if half of that which is over her proper burden was laid upon his heart. The mother does not, with more anxiety, shield her babe from the severity of the cold, than the sailor does his ship from the tem

pest; nor is that kind parent more anxious about her
daughter's dress on the first night of her coming out,
than the sailor of the cut of his ship's top-sails.
"Lady M.," says Mrs. N., "who is your milliner,
you do have every thing so neat? Jane's dresses are
quite spoiled by that vile Mantelina."

"I say, Captain A.," says Captain B., "who made them royal and top-gallant sails of yours? they look very well. I got Stichgib to do mine, and they look as if they were made for winnow sheets."

After spending some time in looking on each and every visible part of his beautiful vessel, he rowed on in the direction of a large and gloomy looking rock, which was about one hundred yards from the beach. He sung "Life's like a ship in constant motion as he rowed along.

"

"Well I am a fool truly," he exclaimed, as he stopped singing" Here I am looking for a shot and roaring like a sea horse, but there is nothing to shoot at, save the bigrock."

He rowed around the last mentioned object until he got between it and the shore; then pulled in his oars, took up the gun and cocked it, to be all ready for letting fly at the first bird (he did not care what sort) that came in his way; but he soon grew tired. "There is no use stopping here nothing to shoot at," he exclaimed aloud, "not even Ned's witch nor the fly. Hillo! what's that? There is surely nothing earthly can sing so sweet," he continued, as the soft voice of an exquisite female singer fell upon his ear. He was not now more than fifty yards from the shore, and the flood tide was fast drifting the boat in towards the beach. There was not a breath of air stirring over the smooth face of the waters-all was as still as if no living object inhabited earth, save the singer on the shore and the hearer on the sea, owing partly to the gloomy nature of the place and the twilight fast hastening into night. He looked in vain for the form of the singer he now listened to with such breathless attention. In a few minutes the song was hushed, and all was silent as the grave. "Sailor as I am," he said, "I must acknowledge that voice to be as sweet as the sound of a fair breeze after a long voyage, when bound for home. But what sound is this ?-a flock of birds; now for it then."

Bang went the gun as they flew past, low and be

tween him and the shore. In a moment after, a shriek, long and loud, and of deep anguish, burst upon his ear, mingling its wild cry with the echoes of the gun's report, and depriving George of the right use of his reason for upwards of a minute; but when he did recover, one wild soul-harrowing thought flashed across his mind.

"Oh! God of heaven save me from this," he exclaimed, as he sunk upon a thwart. "Rash, rash, mad fool that I am. Did I pause for a minute, I would have remembered it was in the direction I fired I heard the singing; but I must know the worst," he continued, as he grasped his paddles. Half-adozen strokes sent the boat's fore foot high and dry upon the beach, and, almost without knowing it, he rushed towards a large white rock which lay about thirty yards from where he landed. Reader, have you ever, even in dreams, believed yourself the slayer of one of your kind, and that one no foe to you or yours? have you any remembrance of the soul-harrowing agony with which you gazed upon the body of that being whom you, in imagination, bereft of life? If so, you may be able to form an idea of the state of George's mind as he looked upon the object which met his view now. There, before his eyes, lay, or rather reclined, in a natural seat in the rock, the inanimate form of a young and lovely girl. Now, as he gazed upon that pale face on which the silver beams of the newly-risen moon were shining,

lighting it as if in mockery of the light of life which a few moments before shone from her eyes and lit up every feature of her angel-like countenance, how gladly would he have exchanged places with her. Oh! the despair and maddening grief which rent his soul at that moment! they have left a witness behindwrinkles, which only furrow the brow of age, are the characters used by them to write upon his brow they had been in his heart.

At such moments men think with the rapidity of lightning. A thought flashed across the mind of G. that she might not be dead, but only in a faint. With a cry of joy he sprung upon his feet, (for he had been kneeling at her side,) and rushed towards the

sea he drew his boot from his foot-filled it with
ling the briny liquid upon her face, and chafing her
water; in a moment he was again at her side, sprink-
temples and hands. He was now partly convinced
that she had only fainted, as he could perceive no
marks of blood upon any part of her person. Just
now a breeze sprung up, as if sent by Heaven to assist
him in his efforts to restore her to life. Oh! never
did the fond wife, awaiting the crisis to pass which
would consign the husband of her heart to the tomb
or restore him to her arms, watch with more anxiety,
and pray for the signs of hope, than G. did for some
mark of returning animation from her over whom he
now bent. Almost half an hour passed away (it
seemed like half a year) before he heard one faint,
long-drawn sigh. Do we not generally attach to a
sigh the idea of pain ?-but never did the bridegroom
listen to the merry marriage bell, nor the mother to
the first lisping accents of her first-born, with half the
joy that G. did to that sigh. She stirs !-moves one
hand!-and, joy! opens her eyes!--but sees him not,
stranger should cause a relapse.
for he stepped behind the rock, lest the sight of a
He could plainly

see her.

around: in a few minutes afterwards she spoke and At length she raised her head, and looked said.

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Where am I, mother?-come here-I cannot sec you, mother-what brought the sea here ?—I had a fearful dream!"

She then seemed to think a moment, and, after having done So, continued in a stronger voiceknow; but I do not feel any pain; I cannot be "Yes, a shot fired at me; it struck my bonnet, I Wounded."

"My God! I thank you for this mercy!" mentally exclaimed George. He was interrupted in his mental thanksgiving by the sound of the lady's voice

"I am not able to go home," she said; "what shall I do? I am scarcely able to move."

"Young lady!" answered George, appearing too abruptly before her; and what he feared a relapse was almost the consequence. She arose from her seat, and would have fallen to the earth, had he not caught her in his arms. He then said, in the softest voice he could command—

"I am a sailor, young lady, and a stranger. You wish to go home-I will see you there if you permit me, or leave you if you fear me.'

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The hand that was presented against his breast was withdrawn, as she enquired in an anxious voice, "Will you, then, see me home, and in safety; or my aunt's house in the village?"

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With great pleasure, madam."

Oh, thank you; my mother will be alarmed; your arm. Come, now, and let us hasten there.'

In silence they walked up the beach. George's heart was too full to speak; she was the first to break silence.

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Have you heard a shot, sir."

"I have, madam." He did not like to say that it was himself who fired it.

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"What I done is too trifling to mention."

"There is a God above us, young sailor; He saw you, though I did not; He will reward you; I can only be grateful."

"Do not mention it, madam."

"You belong to that ship in the bay?" "I command her."

"I was watching her and a boat that left her, and listening to a song that was sung by the rower of that boat, that detained me so long on the beach." They had now reached a respectable looking house. My aunt lives here," she continued: "she will send her car home with me, as I am unable to walk there, and unwilling to trouble you further; farewell, sir."

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Farewell, madam."

She offered her hand, which he raised to his lips, and departed for the beach.

George felt the usual exhaustion after unusual excitement, as he walked slowly down to the shore in search of his boat. Having found her, he stood for a few minutes by the water's edge, with one hand resting upon her stern head. All the incidents of the last hour passed in review before his mind's eye: the shot the shriek her inanimate form-his despair-the sigh. Instinctively his eyes wandered towards the rock where they were so lately, as if they

would see her there still. He shuddered at all the misery which he had escaped, as if by a miracle. "Fool that I am, must I never learn wisdom but by awful and dangerous lessons?" he exclaimed aloud. "Had I only thought for a moment, I should have recollected that it was in the direction I fired, from which the singing came. Oh! oh! old Ned, your warning not to shoot a woman," he continued, as he rowed fast for his ship, "was too soon forgotten; I really believe that old fellow possesses the gift of second sight." "Ellen ahoy." Aye, aye, sir." "Ready a painter for this boat."

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He was now nearly alongside.

All ready, sir, and a basket to hold the birds,"

answered old Ned.

"Heave then-so. Haul up alongside; take this gun." G. sprang upon the deck.

"Slack away

the boat, and make fast. Why don't you do what

you are told?"

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Ned; "but, Tom, you ought to remember that his toe and your counter are old acquaintances, before you flung the skipper's harsh words in my teeth."

This raised a loud laugh at Tom's expense.

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Right, Ned; but he gave me a stiff glass of brandy to cure the wound he made on my feelins," said Tom with a bow, for he prided himself as being by far the politest man in the ship. "But, indeed, I deserved what I resaved, for making his dog jump overboard afther an ould hat, and the ship goin' away at the rate of eleven knots, with studdin' sails alow and aloft, which had all to be taken in to heave her to." Clap a stopper on all that slack jaw," chimed in Jack Dermot; " you have paid out enough of that humbug. Did any o' yees mind how pale the skipper looked when he came on board? Blow me if his face wasn't as white as the new fore-royal.”

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"I did," answered Joe Sweetman; " and, after he spoke to Ned, he seemed to forget all about it."

"I'll bet a penny," said John Edwards, "he seen a ghost; he looked for all the world like our Kate the night she saw Ann Walshe's fetch."

"'tis

"Come, come, my tars," interrupted Ned, who thought more of the captain's pale looks than any man on board, but said nothing on the subject, time for hammock. You are aware the skipper said we were for sea at day dawn, and I think he'll keep his word, if he saw all the ghosts in K."

They turned in, and were soon in possession of "Tir'd nature's sweet restorer-balmy sleep." Not so their captain; his mind still dwelt on his late adventure; and, as the effects of the anguish which feelings of a pleasing nature seemed anxious to he endured were wearing by degrees from his heart,

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lovely girl, no person could deny; that she was well educated and respectable, were evident; that she was a little romantic, was admitted also. After spending an hour in convincing himself for the thousandth time in his life, that it was impossible he could he found, that in the catalogue of his female acquainever fall in love, the blood rushed to his temples when tances whom he believed he could not love, she could not be included.

their abode there." That she was a most

ceived no injury from her fright; but the forenoon "I will stop to-morrow, in order to see if she rewill do for that business-I can proceed to sea after one o'clock. Pho! what right have I to stop?-common politeness; bah! who expects common politeness from ceived any injury, it was from me; therefore I ought a sailor?-well, then, common humanity. If she reing to stop for a few hours the following day in order to stop;" and thus he reasoned himself into his deciddreaming of shots and shrieks, vows and rings, to see her again He then went to bed, and was soon

"And a thousand other foolish things."

(To be continued.)

RAW MATERIALS AND LABOUR.-A pound of iron costs one halfpenny; it is converted into steel; that steel is cast into watch-springs, every one of which is sold for half-a-guinea, and weighs only the tenth of a grain. After deducting for waste, there are in a pound weight 7,000 grains; it, therefore, affords steel for 70,000 watch springs, the value of which, at half-a-guinea each, is 35,000 guineas.

METHOD OF PREVENTING THE DESTRUCTIVE RAVAGES OF CATERPILLARS, &C. ON FRUIT TREES. Submit Indian-rubber to the action of heat till it losses all solidity, and becomes a viscid juice. With this saturate twine, which bind round the stem of the tree in various parts-this will effectually prevent the insects getting up. The value of threepence is sufficient for the protection of twenty fruit trees.

ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

The Hon. Francis North, subsequently created Earl of Guilford, was several times married, and had rather a numerous family. Lord Frederick North, many years Prime Minister to George the Third, was his eldest son, and the subject of our memoir his eldest daughter. Both were deprived of maternal care when they most required it, and both were consigned to the same foster-mother during their infancy; Of the life, public and private, of the former, Lord Brougham has furnished ample details in his "Statesmen of George the Third." Of the eventful history of the latter, the pen has been as silent as the grave

which entombs her remains.

Be it, then, the task of the writer of this unvarnished narrative to rescue her memory from obscurity. Her early days were spent under the roof of her mother's immediate relative, near Grosvenorsquare, London, where she received an education suitable to the position in society she appeared destined to fill. At twelve or fourteen years of age she became an inmate of Bushy-house, Middlesex, the then residence of the Earl of Halifax, whose daugh. ters, the Ladies Montague, watched over her young womanhood with anxious solicitude. The Earl of Halifax, being at that time (1748) one of the Lords of the Admiralty, was in the habit of being waited upon in matters appertaining to his office by a young man named Brett, nephew of Sir W. Smith, a London merchant, who offered her his hand. Brett, though respectably connected, and having good worldly prospects before him, was nevertheless not considered of suitable station to espouse the daughter of an earl, and she was therefore sent down to Preston to break off the acquaintance. After remaining here for some weeks under the care of two ladies named Astley, whose father was Mayor at the time, and lived at the entrance to Chapel-walk, Fishergate, she received an intimation that Mr. Brett, supposing she had gone to France, had set out in quest of her, and had been drowned in crossing

from Dover to Calais.

Mr.

Believing the statement, and much distressed in mind at the supposed sad event, she immediately returned to London, and related her troubles to her foster-mother; observing at the same time, that as her friends had deprived her of the object of her warmest affections, she would accept the first offer that was made to her. Her foster-mother having a nephew then lodging with her from Preston, with a view to improvement in his business, she communicated to him what the unhappy lady had stated. He made her an offer accordingly, and in three days they were married at Keith's Chapel, May-fair.

A few months afterwards the young couple quitted London, and she became the mistress of the identical house in Fishergate now occupied by Mr. Taylor, seedsman, which descended to her husband on the death of his father, and where she gave birth to 12 children, five of whom (daughters) have died within the last ten years, and one still survives, and lives in

Preston.

Harsh and unforgiving as it may appear, it is yet the fact, that this marriage (imprudent certainly under the circumstances) for ever cut her off from her former friends and acquaintances, not one of whom ever exchanged a single word with her afterwards, except Sir Roger Burgoyne, who married her particular friend, Lady Frances Montague, and who accidentally met her in London. Lord Strange, who then represented the county, and resided occasionally at the family mansion in Church-street, also recognised her after she had become a resident in Preston. He had known her when a girl, living with her relatives near his own residence in London, and evinced his sympathy at her altered position, by becoming a

customer to her husband, and recommended his friends to follow his example. With these exceptions, and now and then a small present through an unknown hand, she was completely severed from and neglected by her own noble, high-minded relatives, and sunk into the grave about the year 1790, at the age of 62, having about five years before lost her husband by death, and subsequently became so reduced in circumstances, as to be compelled to part with her jewellery, among which was a valuable ring, given to her by Charles Spencer, Duke of Marlborough, who married her cousin.

Mr. Brett, her "first love," it may be added, rose to eminence in point of position, having become member for Sandwich, and one of the Lords of the Admiralty, during the coalition ministry of Lord North and Mr. Fox, in 1782, but, it is understood, died unmarried, probably out of respect for the lady whom an affec friends had debarred him of, owing to his then infetionate regard on the part of her well-meaning rior station in life.-Preston Pilot.

The preceding sketch is very striking, but the reverse of fortune, as illustrated by the following fact, is still more so:-Mrs. Wyndymere died in Emanuel Hospital, London, in December, 1772, at the age of 108. She was cousin to Queen Mary and Queen Anne, and had been fifty years in the hospital. Strange reverse of fortune, that the cousin of two queens, and the niece of a king, should have been fifty years indebted to the tender mercies of an almshouse!

When

REFLECTIONS.-Going to dinner the other day we saw a little codger, about two years old, sitting in a wheelbarrow and trying to wheel himself. It struck in the same act, and we shall think so hereafter. us that many people in this world are often caught When we see a business man trusting every thing to his clerks, and continually seeking his own amusement always absent from his counting-house, and yet expecting to get along, he's sitting in a wheelbarrow and trying to wheel himself. When we see a professional man better acquainted with every thing else than his profession, always starting some new scheme, and never attending to his calling, his wardrobe and credit will soon designate him as sitting in a wheeibarrow and trying to wheel himself. we see a farmer with an over-abundance of "hired help," trusting every thing to their management, his fences down, implements out of repair, and land suffering for want of proper tillage too proud or too lazy to turn off coat and go to work-he's sitting in a wheelbarrow trying to wheel himself. When we see a mechanic run half a square every day to borrow a newspaper, and may be have to wait ten or fifteen minutes before he can get it, we shall suspect that the time he loses would soon pay the subscription, and consider him sitting in a wheelbarrow and trying to wheel himself. When we see a man busily engaged in circulating scandal concerning his neighbour, we infer that he is pretty deep in the mud himself, and is sitting in a wheelbarrow and trying to wheel him self out.

Scenes which a

WINTER. Thou hoary sire of seasons! Clad in thine icy dress and locks of snow, thou makest the most of thy brief reign, and scattereth thy benumbing influence around the earth. short time since were clothed with verdue, and exhaled fragrance, are now by thee made drear and desolate-covered with ice and snow; vegetation seems dead, the whole face of nature a barren wild; and the solitary wanderer pursues his cheerless and uncertain way, over hill and dale, bereft of those useful land-marks which should guide his uneven steps.

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