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For the Lady's Miscellany.

Messrs. Printers,

I shall be extremely grateful Cand indeed am for past favours) if you would favour me with the publication of the following lines, which I penned in haste but in raptures.

Yours respectfully,
JOSEPHUS.

DELIGHTFUL visions float across my brain,

Delightful fancies cheer my every vein, Received and favour'd by the Girl I love Envi'd by those less favour'd from above, Let not these visions ever pass away, 1.et not my Caroline, from virtue stray, Add to these favours thus already giv'n And let me have "the choicest gift of Heav'n."

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Accept my humble lines, and let my

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verse,

Shew that I bless the object of my birth, Let, sacred being, a son his feelings speak

His gratitude, while tears flow down his cheek,

For all thy pains and anxious cares endur'd

For all thy blessings and thy gifts. confer'd,

As you beheld my rising stature grow, Through thy glad veins, a pang of joy did flow,

As you did guide my infant heart to truth,

So did you turn to virtuous deeds my youth,

Forever may thy name my soul inspire, And be thy happiness my chief desire, And may thy precepts ever be my joy, And I still be, your ever much lov'd boy.

JOSEPHUS.

From the R. 1. Republican.

TOMB OF LAURA.

In yon dark and silent gloom, Entwin'd around my Laura's tomb,

The pliant ivy curls; Reclin'd beneath the willow's shade, By the destroyer's arm she's laid, Which fell destruction hurls.

Oft on that spot, by grief opprest,
While bitter anguish pains my breast,
I drop the silent tear ;

Oft, past endearments call to mind,
Till pleasing scenes my sorrows' blind,
And e'en my bosom cheer.

But oh! too soon these scenes are flown I wake from pleasure, and alone,

My LAURA oft address:

"Ah thou who sleep'st in death's em. brace,

"No more thy beauties can I trace;

"No more thy bosom press.

"No more beneath the arbor's shade, "For constant lovers, only made,

"I plight my vows of love; "No more where undulates the stream, "With thee of future pleasures dream, "Or wanton in the grove."

Fond hope, adieu! thy smiles impart
No pleasure to my throbbing heart;
Nor ray of joy diffuse ;
But rash despair my bosom swells,
And lost in phrenzy's magic spells,
I wildly court the muse.

THEODORE.

From the Charleston Courier.

THE RESCUED LAMB. [By a young lady of that city.) THE ground was thick cover'd with new fallen snow,

And chill blew the north wind around, When a poor little Lamb that had

stray'd from its flock,

Half perish'd and starving I found.

Its delicate limbs were all stiff with the cold.

And so touching its weak plantive cry, That, as it look'd wistfully up in my face,

I felt a tear start in my eye.

Poor wand'rer, I said, hard indeed is thy fate,

Thus early left friendless alone, Whilst thy mother distracted perhaps at thy loss,

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Makes the vallies resound to her in half-yearly volumes, containing twenty

moan.

But thou ne'er shalt have cause to re

pine at thy lot,

For I'll be a mother to thee;

six numbers each, (issued weekly) at One Dollar the volume, payable quar terly. Distant patrons to pay in ad Postage to be paid on all letters

vance.

directed to the Editors.

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OR,

WEEKLY

THE

VISITOR.

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with the prospect of bankruptcy, and wounded to the soul by the idea of the destitute condition, in which he might leave his only surviying child, he reproached himself incessantly for the want of parental justice, in having compli

ed with the intreaties of the too generous Constantia. That incomparable young woman, by the . most signal union of tenderness and fortitude, endeavoured to alleviate all the sufferings of her father.

racter, enabled the good old man to trlumph, for some time, over sickness, terror, and misfortune.By the assistance of Constantia, he struggled through several years of commercial perplexity; at last, however, the fatal hour arrived, which he had so grievously apprehended; he became a bankrupt, and resolved to retire into France, ruined fortune, by the aid of conwith a faint hope of repairing his

nections which he had formed in

that country. He could not support the thought of carrying Constantia among foreigners, in so indigent a condition, and he there

ore determined to leave her under the protection of her aunt, Mrs. Braggard, a widow lady, who, possessing a comfortable jointure, and a notable spirit of economy, was enabled to make a very considerable figure in a country town. Mrs. Braggard was one of those good women, who, by paying the most punctual visits to a catherdal,

To give a more chearful cast to his mind, she exerted all the vigour and all the vivacity of her own; she regulated all his domestic expences with an assidu.imagine they acquire an unques

tionable right, not only to speak aloud their own exemplary virtues, but to make as free as they please with the conduct and character of

ous but tranquil economy, and discovered a peculiar pleasure in denying to herself many usual expensive articles, both of dress and diversion. The honest pride and "every person, both within and with

soothe her agitated spirits, under the pressure of her various afflictions.

out the circle of their acquaint-pations by which she hoped to ance. Having enjoyed from her youth a very hale constitution, and not having injured it by any tender excesses, either of love or sorrow, she was, at the age of fifty-four, completely equal to all the business and bustle of the female world. As she wisely believed activity to be a great source both of health and amusement, she was always extremely active in her own affairs, and sometimes in those of others.

She considered the key of her store-room as her sceptre of dominion, and, not wishing to delegate her authority to any minister whatever, she was very far from wanting the society of her neice, as an assistant in the management of her house; yet she was very ready to receive the unfortunate Constantia under her roof, for the sake of the pleasure which would certainly arise to her, not indeed from the uncommon charms of Constantia's conversation, but from repeating herself, to every creature who visited at her house, "what a great friend she was to that poor girl."

Painful as such repetitions must be to a mind of quick sensibility, Constantia supported them with modest resignation. There were circumstances in her present situation that galled her much more. Mrs. Braggard had an utter contempt, or rather a constitutional antipathy for literature and music, the darling amuesments of Constantia, and indeed the only occu

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Her father, with a tender solicitude, had secured to her a favourite harpsichord, and a small, but choice, collection of books. These, however, instead of proving the source of consolitary amusement, as he had kindly imagined, only served to increase the vexations of the poor Constantia, as she seldom attempted either to sing or to read, without hearing a prolix invective from her aunt, against musical and learned ladies.

Mrs. Braggard seemed to think that all useful knowledge, and all rational delight, are centered in a social game of cards; and Constantia, who, from principles of gratitude and good nature, wished to accommodate herself to the humour of every person from whom she received obligations, assiduously endeavoured to promote the diversion of her aunt; but having little or no pleasure in cards, and being somewhat unable, from uneasiness of mind, to command her attention, she was generally a loser, a circumstance which produced a very bitter oration from the attentive old lady, who declared that inattention of this kind was inexcusable in a girl, when the money she played for was supplied by a friend. At the keenness, or rather the brutality of this reproach, the poor insulted Constantia burst into tears, and a painful dialogue ensued, in which she felt all the

wretchedness of depending on the ostentatious charity of a relation, whose heart and soul had not the least affinity with her own. The conversation ended in a compromise, by which constantia obtained the permission of renouncing cards forever, on the condition, which she herself proposed, of never touching her harpsichord again, as the sound of that instrument was as unpleasant to Mrs.Braggard, as the sight of a card-table was to her unfortunate niece.

Constantia passed a considerable time in this state of unmerited mortification, wretched in her own situation, and anxious to the most painful degree, concerning the fate of her father. Perceiving there were no hopes of his return to England, she wrote him a tender and pathetic letter, enumerating all her afflictions, and imploring his consent to her taking leave of her aunt, and endeavouring to acquire a more peaceable maintenance for herself, by teaching the rudiments of music to young ladies; an employment to which her talents were perfectly equal. To this filial petition she received a very extraordinary, and a very painful answer, which accident led me to peruse, a few years after

the death of the unhappy father

who wrote it.

It happened, that a friend requested me to point out some accomplished woman, in humble circumstances, and about the mid

dle season of life, who might be willing to live as a companion with a lady of great fortune and excellent character, who had the misfortune to lose the use of her eyes. Upon this application, I immediately thought of Constantia. My acquaintance with her had commenced before the marriage of her sister, and the uncommon spirit of generosity, which she exerted on that occasion, made me very ambitious of cultivating a lasting friendship with so noble a mind; but living at a considerable distance from each other, our intimacy lasted for several years by à regular correspondence. At the time of my friend's application, Constantia's letters had informed me that her father was dead, and that she had mode of life which I knew was no prospects of escaping from a utterly incompatible with her ease

and comfort. I concluded, therefore, that I should find her most ready to embrace the proposal which I had to communicate, and I resolved to pay her a visit in person, for the pleasure of being myself the bearer of such welcome intelligence. Many years had elapsed since we met, and they were years that were not calculated to

improve either the person or the

It

manners of my unfortunate friend. To say truth, I perceived a very striking alteration in both. would be impossible, I believe, for the most accomplished of women to exist in such society, as that to

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