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SLEEP OF PLANTS.

In the middle of the eighteenth century, botanists thought they had made a new discovery, which they called by a very pretty metaphorical name,-the Sleep of Plants. It was observed, however, as far back as the time of Chaucer, who, speaking of this flower, in his "Legende of Good Women," has the following lines:

"There lovith no wight hartyer alyve,

And whan that it is evyn, I rynne belyve,
As sone as the sonne ginneth to west,
To see this floure, how it will go to rest,
For fere of night, so hatith the darkenes,
Her chere is plainly spread in brightnesse
Of the sonne, for then it will unclose."

LINES BY A YOUNG LADY BORN BLIND.

If this delicious, grateful flower,
Which blows but for a little hour,
Should to the sight so lovely be,
As from its fragrance seems to me,
A sigh must then its colour show,
For that's the softest joy I know;
And sure the rose is like a sigh,
Born just to soothe, and then-to die.

My father, when our fortune smil'd,
With jewels deck'd his eyeless child;
Their glittering worth the world might see,
But, ah! they had no charms for me;
A trickling tear bedew'd my arm-
I felt it-and my heart was warm;
And sure the gem to me most dear,
Was a kind father's pitying tear.

These exquisite lines appeared some time ago in the newspapers without any name affixed. If they are, as stated, truly the production of "a young lady born blind," she must be allowed, not only to excel all who have gone before her, afflicted with the same deprivation, but to be an ornament to her sex and country.

THE SIGH.

ONCE, when no language yet was known,
Save what expedience taught alone;
When words and signs, and symbols spoke,
The grave discourse and sprightly joke,
And all the thoughts that heads produce,
Found language suited to their use;
But when the heart had learn'd no tone
To make its inward anguish known,
A youth, 'tis said, who felt a flame,
Known far too well to need a name,
Reclin'd beneath a hazel grove,

Thought much of her whom much he lov'd.
As thus he lay, a passing gale

Pour'd through the trees a mournful wail;
And while the trees prolong'd the moan,
His heartstrings caught the plaintive tone
With anguish strung, and beating high,
Gave to the world the earliest sigh.
Thus erst did nature first impart
A language to the burden'd heart;
And thus the bosom learn'd to tell
What words can never show so well.

TO THE ÆOLIAN HARP.

I NEVER hear that plaintive sigh,
Borne on the trembling zephyr's wings,
But fancy paints some spirit nigh,
Who breathes in rapture o'er thy strings;

Some minstrel sylph or fairy power,
Whose music charms in lonely hour.

Eolian harp! the magic swell,
That lingers midst thy sounding wire,
On whose wild notes I love to dwell,
Could aught but angel voice inspire?

Could mortal voice so sweetly sing,
Or raise the soul on fancy's wing?

A.

Ah! no-No mortal voice e'er sung
A strain so soft, a breath so light;

No chord such witching numbers rung,
But what was tuned by airy sprite;

Some seraph, wanderer of the sky,
Who sighs the notes of melody.

In vesper hour no requiem swell,
Borne on the breezes of the night,

On which the pious crowd would dwell,
To waft the soul to realms of light,

E'er threw around such magic power,
Or breath'd more sweet in lonely hour.

That song is o'er; the breeze of night
Shall sweep in silence o'er the strings;

And, ah! that breath, so soft, so light,
Shall move no more on zephyr's wings;

Thy trembling chords no more shall sigh,
No fairy minstrel hover nigh.

Farewell, sweet harp! for damp decay
Upon thy mouldering chords shall dwell,
And thou shalt breathe no future lay,
And thou shalt raise no future swell;

The breeze flits by, the music's o'er,
The fairy sounds can charm no more.

A.

DEATH OF CAMOENS.

THERE is a rare copy of Camoens, in the possession of lord Holland, which M. de Souza alleges must have been in the hands of the poet himself. At the bottom of the title page, the following curious and melancholy testimony of his unfortunate death is written in an old Spanish hand, which states, that the writer saw him die in an hospital at Lisbon, without even a blanket to cover him.

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Que cosa mas lastimosa que ver un tan grande ingenio mal logrado! yo lo bi morir en un hospital en Lisboa, sin tener una sauana con que cubrirse, despues de aver triunfado en la India oriental, y de aver navigado 5500 leguas por mar: que auiso tan grande para los que de noche y de dia se cançan estudiando sin provecho, como la arana en urdir tellas para cazar moscas!"

ENGLISH LETTER AND POEM, BY VOLTAIRE.

THE subjoined letter is copied literally from the autograph of Voltaire, formerly in the possession of the Reverend Mr. Sim, the editor of Mickle's Poems.

Sir,

j wish you good health, a quick sale of y' burgundy, much latin, and greeke to one of yr Children, much Law, much of cooke, and littleton, to the other. quiet and joy to mistrss brinsden, money to all. when you'll drink y' burgundy with mr furneze pray tell him j'll never forget his favours.

But dear john be so kind as to let me know how does my lady Bollingbroke. as to my lord j left him so well j dont doubt he is so still. but j am very uneasie about my lady. if she might have as much health as she has Spirit and witt, Sure She would be the Strongest body in england. pray dear st write me Something of her, of my lord, and of you. direct yr letter by the penny post at mr Cavalier, Belitery Square by the R. exchange. j am sincerely and heartily y' most humble most obedient rambling friend

to

john Brinsden, esq.
durham's yard

by charing cross.

VOLTAIRE.

THE following stanzas, which are easy and natural, and display a greater command of the English language than the above letter would lead us to expect from the author, first appeared in some letters and poems of Voltaire, printed in Paris in 1820. They were addressed to lady Hervey, during the author's stay in England, about the year 1726.

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TOLERATION.

(From "THE CHRISTIAN DISCIPLE," an American Publication.)

In a conversation with a few friends on church government, a clergyman who was of the party said, "No one was entitled to administer the offices of the church, who had not received episcopal ordination; for wherever the episcopal succession is preserved, there only is a true church:""Nulla ecclesia sine episcopo." Tertullian.

The opinion of another gentleman being required, he replied, "There is in the history of one of the Indian tribes, in America, an anecdote somewhat analogous, which, with permission, I will read." Taking down a book, he apparently read from it; but, in truth, repeated from memory the following pleasing apologue of his own composition.

"As the sun was hastening to cool himself in the placid waters of Lake Erie, Commemoroonah, sachem of the Tuscaroras, sat at the door of his wigwam, scouring his red-rusted scalping-knife. Bambarrah, his faithful squaw, was preparing hominee for the supper of her lord; whilst their sons were striving, who, with truest aim, could direct the tomahawk.

"At this interesting moment, three envoys approached, bearing a talk from Alpequot, the renowned sachem of the Chippewas, which they thus delivered :

"Brother, when the great Spirit created tobacco for the solace of red men, he delivered to Animboonah, father of the Chippewas, a torch, which he had lighted at the great daystar. The Chippewas have not suffered this celestial spark to be extinguished; but from it have all our pipes been ignited for ninety-nine thousand five hundred and fifty moons. This therefore, and this only, is the true canonical fire; all other is unholy and damnable. (A belt of wampum.)

"Brother, I send you a portion of this sacred fire, preserved by uninterrupted succession, that with it you may light your pipe, and diffuse the blessing through your nation. (A belt of wampum.)

"Accept this, and the Chippewas and Tuscaroras will smoke together the calumet of peace, as long as the Wabash shall pour its silver waters into the dark torrent of the Ohio. Reject it, and instantly shall the red war-hatchet be dug from its repose; and the warriors of Tuscarora shall be given as a feast to the sons of Animboonah. (A belt of wampum.)

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Decide! for Alpequot will suffer no pipe to be smoked that is not lighted from the fire uninterruptedly derived from the great day-star.' (Three belts of wampum.)

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