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child breathed his last without sob or sigh in the arms of his distressed mother. This was a sad affliction for us,—but a sadder was in reserve for me. My poor wife, whose health had always been delicate, could not sustain the shock which she had received by the death of her only and beloved child, and she followed him to the grave in little less then half a year, leaving me to drag on my existence in solitude and sorrow. But even yet the measure of my grief was not full. I have said that Mary was unremitting in her attentions to Edward during her illness. This, independent of any attachment between then, was sufficient to destroy her life ; but her heart received a severe shock, and one which it never recovered. Yet she did not complain, although it was evident that some secret grief was preying upon her with insidious but certain fatality.

“Yet never word, or murmur of regret

Linger'd upon that gentle lip. The spirit
Was wean'd from this world, and look'd on high
In humble faith. The grave no terrors had
For one whom existence had no charms.”

“I had been reading to her one evening, and had paused to make some observation, when she faintly said to me : “My dear father',-she had always called me so,— I have been thinking that I shall soon follow poor Edward ; but I have a favour to beg of you before I die, which I am sure you will grant me.

When I am gone, my poor grandmother will have nobody to wait upon her, and to attend to her little wants and wishes. Will you see that she does not stand in need of any thing? Your exceeding kindness has emboldened me to make this request; and I shall be more happy now that I have spoken to you about her. And will you, she continued,—taking from her bosom, as she spoke, a beautiful locket set in diamonds, the gifts of her lover, a lock of whose glossy hair it contained wreathed with one of her own sunny ringlets—will you my more than father, keep this carefully for the sake of those whom you have loved so affectionately?'—I took the locket, and promised, as well as I could, to observe all that she required of me ; when, after remaining silent for a few minutes, she requested me to deliver to several of her young friends such tokens as she named, in memory of her friendship for them, and gave a few directions respecting her funeral, expressing an ardent wish to be buried very near to poor Edward, and earnestly soliciting me to perform the service over her. After this she again thanked me most warmly for all my kindness, and then, seemingly exhausted with the exertion she had made, endeavoured to compose herself to sleep. I quitted the apartment, therefore, and retired to my study, leaving her to the charge of the nurse and her poor grandmother, who, although too aged and infirm to be of service, yet seldom left the patient's chamber."

“ About two hours afterwards I was hastily summoned into Mary's room, and found that the icy hand of death was already upon her. There was, however, a placid smile upon her countenance, and she seemed perfectly conscious of her approaching dissolution. She extended her hand to me as I approached the bed,-for the power of speech was already taken from her,—and grasping mine affectionately, looked up towards heaven, and moved her lips in silent prayer. I had knelt down instinctively by the bed, and knew not, till the hand which grasped mine grew chill and clammy, that the spirit had departed from the lovely corpse

me.

before It was an awful moment, my friend ; and I then experienced such a feeling of sadness and desolation, that in my affliction I repined at the lot which Providence had assigned to me. But now that I am grown more calm, and the intensity of my sorrow has somewhat subsided, I look

upon

all this as a chastening to be patiently endured, and I bow me to the will of the Father, if not with cheerfulness, at least with resignation, conscious that He would not afflict me thus without some especial reason. He has given me strength to perform the last sad rites to my poor Mary's remains, and now that I am left alone in the world, I must endeavour to render my life useful to others, as well as acceptable to Him who gave it.” Such were the pious sentiments which these sad events inspired in my friend ; and it is but just to observe, that he acted up to them to his death, which happened some few years since. I remained at the Rectory more than a week, and when I left it, I had the pleasure of perceiving that the strong and benevolent inind of my friend had successfully combated the evils which hovered around him. But I did not quit the village without visiting poor old Margaret. I found her in a neat and comfortable cottage, bowed down with age and sorrow, and looking forward to the silent grave for that peace “ which the world can neither give nor take away!”

Miscellantes.

GREATNESS of Mind.-A Corsican, the leader of a 'gang of banditti, who had long been famous for his exploits, was at length taken and committed to the care of a soldier, from whom he contrived to escape.

The soldier was tried, and condemned to death. At the place of execution, a man, coming up to the commanding officer, said, “Sir, I am a stranger to you, but you shall soon know who I am ; I have heard that one of your soldiers is to die for having suffered a prisoner to escape ; he was not to blame ; besides, the prisoner shall be restored to you. Behold him here-I am the man. I cannot bear that an innocent man should be punished for me, and I come to die myself.” “No!" cried the French, officer, who felt as he ought the sublimity of the action, “thou shall not die, and the soldier shall be set at liberty. Endeavour to reap the fruits of thy generosity : thou deservest to be henceforth an honest man.”

ANECDOTE-Fact.-A genteel looking young man was seen to enter a church in time of service; he paused at the entrance ; the congregation stared, he advanced a few steps, and deliberately surveying the whole assembly, commenced a slow march up to the broad aisle : not a pew was opened : the audience were too busy for civility; he wheeled, and in the same manner performed a march stepping as if to Roslin Castle, or the Dead March in Saul, and disappeared. A few moments after, he reentered with a huge block upon his shoulders, as heavy as he could well stagger under. His countenance was immoveable ; again the good people stared, and half rose from their seats, with their books in their hands. At length, he placed the block in the very centre of the principal passage, and seated himself upon it. Then, for the first time, the reproach was felt.

Every pew door in the church was instantly flung open. But now

-the stranger was a gentleman; he came not there for disturbance ; he moved not; smiled not; but preserved the utmost decorum, until the service was concluded, when he shouldered his black, and to the same slow step, bore it off, and replaced it where he had found it. A VERY

SINGULAR CHARACTER.—In the year 1776, died at Catshoge, in Leicestershire, the Rev. Mr Hagamore, possessed of the following effects, viz. £700. per anumn, and £10,000 in money, which (he dying intestate) fell to a ticket-porter in London. He kept one servant of each sex, whom he regularly locked up every night. His last employment of an evening, was to go round his premises, Jet loose his dogs, and fire his gun. He lost his life as follows :-Going one morning to let out his servants, his dogs fawned upon him and suddenly threw him into a pond, where he was found breast high ; the servants heard his cries for assistance, but being locked up could of course afford him none. He had 30 gowns and cassocks, 100 pair of breeches, 100 pair of boots, 400 pair of shoes, and 80 wigs-yet he always wore his own hair ! 58 dogs, 80 waggons and carts, and so ploughs—but used none; 50 saddles and furniture, 30 wheelbarrows, 60 horses and mares, 200 pickaxes, 200 spades, 74 ladders, 249 razors, and as many walking-sticks as a toyman in Leicester-square offered £8. for!

Equality.—In the early part of the French revolution, a person wishing to leave Paris, to the interrogatories put to him at the barriers of that capital respecting his name, replied that he was Monsieur le Marquis de Saint Cyr—" Oh, oh," said the officer, we have no Monsieurs now.' L" Put me down as Marquis de Saint Cyr, then,” said he.-“ All titles of nobility are abolished," answered the man.- :-" Call me De Saint Cyr, only.” “ Saint Cyr, only.”

No person is allowed to have a De before his name in these days of equality.”—“Write Saint Cyr, then.' "That won't do either,” said the gruff Secretary,

all the saints are struck out of the calendar.' -“ Let my name be Cyr, then," said Marquis. “Sire, (Cyr is thus pronounced,) that is worse than all : Sires, thank God, are done away with.' Thus was the poor Marquis kept at the barrier on account of his being nameless.

EMANUEL SWEDENBURG.-A curious circumstance relative to this once celebrated character, and which excites unbounded interest amongst his numerous followers, has come to light within these few weeks past. It appears that he departed this life about 50 years ago, and was buried in the vault of a small church or chapel in the neighbourhood of Ratcliffe-highway. Some time after his interment, one of his disciples came over to England, and—whether prompted by supernatural inspiration or by his own blind superstition, does not appear-contrived, by means of bribing the sexton or grave-digger, to gain admitance to the

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cemetry where his body was deposited. Here, in the silent hour of midnight (having previously supplied himself with the necessary implements) he broke open the coffin, and severed the head from the trunk of the departed saint, with the former of which he safely decamped to his own country. This relic he preserved with the greatest care and veneration till the day of his death, when it was discovered by his surviving relatives; and from some written documents left behind the fanatic, the whole circumstances connected with this extraordinary affair were developed. His friends, alarmed at the consequences that might follow such an unhallowed violation of the tomb, and being desirous of atoning in some measure for the sins of him who had been guilty of so great a crime, caused the head to be forth-with transmitted to this country, with a request that the coffin mignt be re-opened for the purpose of ascertaining if it was the indentical head of the saint, and if so, that it might be restored to its original situation. In compliance with this request, the coffin was opened, and the above story proved to be perfectly correct, the trunk only of a skeleton presenting itself to the astonished eyes of those around. The head has accordingly been re-interred with due solemnity in the presence of the elders of the church.

HYPOCHONDRIA.–Of all diseases, chronic or acute, there is none to be compared to this. Every man will of course insist that his own peculiar malady is the most heinous, and he the most exemplary sufferer. I have heard maintained as worse—the headache, tooth-ache, fever, dislocation, rheumatism, asthma-I have had them all, and deny the assertions. Taken with its huge train of evils, which besiege and vanquish the body and mind at once, there is nothing (that I know of) which at all approaches the terrible “ Passio Hypochondriaca.” It is the curse of the poet -of the wit ;-it is the great tax upon intellect-the bar to prosperity and renown. Other ills come and pass away ; they have their paroxysms, their minutes or hours of tyranny, and vanish as shadows of empty dreams. But tliis is with you for ever. The phantom of fear is always about you. You feel it in the day at every turn ; and at night you see it illuminated and made terrible, in a million fantastic shapes. Like the hag of the Merchant Abudah, it comes for ever with the night, in one shape or another --devil, or giant, or hideous chimera ; or it is an earthquake or a fiery Hood-or a serpent twining you in its loathsome folds-orii sits in your heart like an incubus, and presses you down to ruin.

FLEXIBILITY OF THE HUMAN FRAME.-J. Clarke, a well-made man, and rather stout, exhibited, in the most natural manner, every species of deformity and dislocation to which the human form is liable. He frequently diverted himself with the tailors, who came to measure him for clothes, by changing his posture, and apparently his shape, when the clothes were brought home. He could dislocate the vertebræ of his back, and other parts of

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