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record on the polished marble that such a man was born, such a man lived, and such a man died—and there ends the tale.

But independently of this contrast which naturally leads to lowering notions of humanity, there is something so serene, so calming, and so unworldly within the precincts of a church-yard, that to me it is impossible to pass one where the rudely built church is caught at intervals between the gloomy yews, and perchance the well-grown, oaks, and where the moss-grown dwarf wall, running between the holy sanctuary and the busy road, marks the boundary of death and the never-failing sanctuary that gives peace to trouble and rest to fatigue. Here the houseless wanderer finds a home. My body, mind-guided, bends involuntarily towards the neat turn-style, that modestly retiring admits the solitary visitor, and I wander with infinite pleasure through the straight lines and right angles formed by the careful sexton, in digging his graves. Each grave-stone is to me "a simple annal," and whether I read of the good father, the kind child, the affectionate mother, or even nothing but the name of the lifeless being that there lies dormant, I have the faculty within that enables me to pursue their actions in my own course. The very turn of the stone, the smoothness or neglect of the grave, the freshness of its verdure, are to me all traits that help to make a picture out of what sort of a being that was that now lies impotent and motionless. But when I meet with the quaint epitaph, the pithy sentence, that in half a dozen lines is to record the virtues of perhaps a century's growth, I stand and decypher the half-legible letters with a gout and delight that is truly vivifying. I like to read of a woman that has passed her weary days in solicitude, and anxious care for the welfare of her husband and her family, or of the man who has struggled with hardships, hoping, and toiling, and hoping that he shall by and by be able to climb at least a little hill, and look round with pleasure on the happy horizon of his own making; and though the uncouthness of the wording or the mistakes in the orthography may call from pedantry and criticism a satirical smile, I forget that there is such a thing as grammar in the world, or if I remember it, it is only to feel the more certain that the eulogy is true, and that the genuine hand of affection, overcoming its native bashfulness, has taken up the pen to record the virtues of appreciated merita /

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Epitaph-hunting is one of my hobbies. I read and read and read, aud never willingly quit the place if I am conscious of leaving one behind.This feeling has given me many treats, and I have often found my trouble richly rewarded, after poring over a number of common-place tomb-stones (most of which, however, have their claims for me) to find some rich morceau lurking beneath the shade of a sinking stone, that some years hence it would be in vain to try to decypher. It is to this passion that I owe my first acquaintance with Ben Jonson's admirable epitaph, which I discovered in some church-yard, I forget what, in scribed on the tomb-stone of the lady of a nursery-man :—

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T Underneath this stone doth lie

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As much virtue as could die,

Which, when alive, did vigour give Moto & P
To as much beauty as could live, poolde
Virtue, worth, and goodness joined,
Formed the essence of her mind.

971 Istensone wer oilf at a tivnoq -Dub"

14 had never read or heard it before, and it entirely took me by sur prise, if I remember right, I had been reading just before my perpetual plague," Affliction sore, long time I bore, &e!" Conceive my delight in popping on such a byour as this, I am sure I must have read it a dozen times before I was satisfied, and at length marched off with it

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in my memory to display with proud delight at home I was then very young, and the first thing I did was to announce my incalculable prize, the value of which, however, was nominally though not intrin sically lessened by the information I received, that it was well known as Ben Jonson's, and therefore, though I might have made a beautiful discovery for myself, I had made none for the world. It is many years ago since I read this epitaph, perhaps I have never repeated it since, I certainly never wrote it down, yet the words instantly offered themselves to my memory, and I shall love it ever, for it has the additional merit to me, above its real worth, that I discovered it in some obscure nook, and was able to appreciate its excellence. I believejo ele at that time, it helped not a little to flatter my vanity.vited usɔ I won sigucat

There is something in the architecture of country churches that admirably tallies with my kindly feelings towards the receptacles of the dead that surround them. The rude square tower of Saxon growth, formed of unhewn stones, or broken flints, mixed in a thick mortar; the superadded peak, by courtesy called a spire, that has sprung from it in a later age for decency's sake, and in many instances the here and there ships that have been joined to the main body of the building for the reception of the increasing parish, all serve to render the scene charmingly y'rustic, and to point out that here you may throw away alk the false politenesses and ceremonies of the world, and indulge at large in the native growth of your own sensations. A church-yard is a sort of Palace of Truth, where the mind, to itself at least, is to be opened in unrestrained discourse, and to pour forth its original feelings with alt the untutored freedom that nature prompts." #660 07% 711 16 133 If we quit the immediate precincts of this place of charm, there is still something in its neighbourhood to remind us where we are, and tos please the imagination. The neat parsonage is sure to be near with its smooth lawn and well-cleaned windows, smiling on the road-side traveller a pleasing benediction; and usually the decent alms-houses attached to the parish are to be met with here, where drooping age finds a crutch to sustain it against the last buffets of a rude world. A thickset hedge, or perchance a row of shaking aspens, emblems of the ancient forms that fit around them, will often divide the little portion of ground set aside for these remnants of men from the land of their last home, that is ever near to remind them softly that there they must end; and in those quiet scenes they see the conclusion of every thing. The church-yard of the place where I went to school was, and always will be, dear to me. It stood almost at the entrance of the vil lage, with a neat white railing, a more modern invention for the dwarf Wall front to separate it from the road; and the church-yard, in through which the frequently-intersecting path wound to the porch, was thickly set with tombs of all sizes and descriptions. In one corner I well remember a stately monument of smooth stone, topped with a vast sarcophagus, that round its ample sides announced "the birth, paren COUMBIFAINOKS Vas hobun, pangng what not wel ́s adsor

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tage, and education" of the once proud mortal that lay there in mouen ful dust; near it grew some stately firs, and often towards the autum nal equinox I have seen the angry wind shake down the nuts in mimic shower on this piece of human ingenuity, and watched them bound from one angle to another of the walk as they presented themselves in jutting proportion. Near the church door stood a capacious yew, the largest I certainly ever saw, and I have heard it eulogised as the finest in England; its sturdy trunk sprang from the earth just where several of the paths met in one large arena before the venerable porch; over this space the luxuriant branches of the yew spread themselves, and with their thick foliage formed a natural portico against the dazzling sun or pelting torrent. Another monument I likewise well remember, though whose existence it records has entirely escaped me, was a little square, surrounded by iron railings, and gradually falling to pieces; the main device, and what I suppose has principally impressed it on my memory, were four little naked boys, Cupids I then thought them, though now I can hardly believe that the God of Love could find his way to the throne of Death. Be they what they might, there they stood with picturesque patience supporting the flat tablet which finished the whole design. I have some faint recollection that they had torches in their hands, but whether this was really so, or only the after offspring of my own brain, owing to my thinking them Cupids, I cannot assert void aft

Sweet village, and sweeter church-yard! in thee, near thee, and round thee, I have wandered many a summer's day, full of my own boyish reveries, and solitary as my own thoughts, save now, and then I would meet an old care-worn yet well-known countenance, that would kindly greet me with the words of cheering humanity; and then, the acknowledgment of human beings over, would pass on his way, and leave me again to the glory of a summer sky, and the undisciplined, starts of my own foolish brain, that seemed to partake of the sentiment of the very woods through which I wandered; and burst to and fro in as uncontrouled a course as the wild branchings of the sweet greenwood forest, where the wind whistled, the birds sang, and I wandered all alike free.BIFRONS.

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COMMON PLACES.

LXXVI.

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Mankind are an incorrigible race. Give them but bugbears and idols—it is all that they ask; the distinctions of right and wrong, of truth and falsehood, of good and evil, are worse than indifferent to them. Tarot povs lo nolaviɔnos vi LXXVII. The DEVIL was a great loss in the preternatural world. He was always something to fear and to hate. He supplied the antagonist powers of the imagination, and the arch of true religion hardly stands firm without him. Mr. Irving may perhaps bring him into fashionagain. BEN dorog oft of buoy fog LXXVIII. I Perhaps the evils arising from excessive inequality in a state would

to

be sufficiently obviated, if property were d divided equally among the surviving children. But it is it is said it would be impossible fo make a law for this purpose, under any circumstances or with any

qualifications, because the least interference with the disposal of property would be striking at its existence and at the very root of all property. And yet this objection is urged in those very countries, where the law of primogeniture (intended to keep it in disproportionate masses, and setting aside the will of the testator altogether) is established as an essential part of the law of the land. So blind is reason, where passion or prejudice intervenes!

LXXIX.

I should like, once in my life, to spit in the face of a legitimate monarch, who claimed me and the rest of mankind as his property. Who-ever he might be that openly or in his secret mind did this, assuredly, with a fit opportunity, the sacredness of his person would not prevent me from thus expressing my opinion of him and his claims.

LXXX.

Kings, who set up for GoDs upon earth, should be treated as madmen, which one half of them, or as idiots, which the other half, really

are.

LXXXI.

Tyrants are at all times mad with the lust of power.

LXXXII.

Reformers are naturally speculative people; and speculative people are effeminate and inactive. They brood over ideas, till realities become almost indifferent to them. They talk when they should act, and are distracted with nice doubts and distinctions, while the enemy is thundering at the gates, and the bomb-shells are bursting at their feet. They hold up a paper Constitution as their shield, which the sword pierces through, and drinks their heart's blood! They are cowards, too, at bottom; and dare not strike a decisive blow, lest it should be retaliated. While they merely prate of moderation and the public good, they think, if the worst comes to the worst, there may still be a chance of retreat for them, hoping to screen themselves behind their imbecility. They are not like their opponents whose all is at stake, and who are urged on by instinctive, fury and habitual cunning to defend it: the common good is too remote a speculation to call forth any violent passions or personal sacrifices; and if it should be lost, is as fine a topic as ever to harangue and lament about. Patriots are, by the constitution of their minds, poets; and an Elegy on the fall of Liberty is as interesting to hear or to recite as an Ode on its most triumphant success. They who let off Ferdinand the other day, confiding in the promises of a traitor and in the liberality of a despot, were greater hypocrites to themselves than he was.

LONDON-Published by HENRY L. HUNT, 38, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden, and 22, Ola Bond-street. Price Fourpence; or, if stamped for country circulation free of postage, Sevenpence. Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in town; and by the following Agents in the country:

Edinburgh, Messrs. Bell and Bradfute.

Glasgow, W. R. Macphun.

Exeter, T. Smith.

T. Besley, jun. High-street.

Leeds, James Mann; Duncan-street.

Liverpool, T. Smith.

Birmingham, J. Drake.

Dublin, A. M. Graham, College-green.
Leicester, T. Thompson.

Printed by C. W. REYNELL,

Bath, at the London Newspaper Office.
Bristol, Hillyard and Morgan.

Sunderland, W. Chalk, High-street.
Dundee, T. Donaldson.

Norwich, Burks and Kinnebrook, Mer-
cury Office.

Yarmouth, W. Meggy.

Armagh, P. Moller.

- Taunton, J. Kerswell, High-street. Broad-street, Golden-square

I

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Travels through part of the United States and Canada, in 1818 and 1819. By John M. Duncan, A.B.

[Concluded.]

MR. DUNCAN gives a very interesting chapter upon the American Indians, in which he ably combats the selfish arguments that represent them as altogether incapable of civilization. We can all estimate both the source and the value of this application of logic, so exercised as it has been on the subject of Negro slavery:

"What I have seen and heard among the Tuscarora Indians, confirms to the utmost what I have long believed, that it is folly and worse than folly, to talk of the impossibility of civilizing the North American aborigines. It is a matter of shame to intelligent men, that such assertions should ever have been made. That it may be difficult to carry it into full effect I readily grant, but the principal obstacles which exist, have arisen from the unprincipled conduct of the white traders, many of whom, if morality were the standard of our determination, are much better enti. tled to the appellation of savages than the poor despised Indians.

Since the period when Europeans first set foot in the western continent, their conduct towards the Indians has been with few exceptions, for there have been a few, a combination of deceit, rapacity, and cruelty, too atrocious to be characterized by any ordinary epithet of aggravation. They found a few thousands of naked men in peaceful possession of immense tracts of fertile ground, watered by vast lakes and navigable rivers; they cast their covetous eyes upon the immense continent, and at last, by fraud and intrigue, succeeded in acquiring possession of nearly the whole, and in almost entirely extirpating the race by which it had been peopled. "It would be a long and a heart-rending tale, to recount the various circumstances under which this has been accomplished; but features of general resemblance pervade them all. The white men were strong the red men were weak; the white men were crafty and designing-the red men open and unsuspicious; the white men wanted the land-the red men were obliged to let them have it. Rum, powder, and the bayonet, were the efficient agents in completing the change. The Indians were instigated to mutual havoc and massacre, and the whites completed what they began. The dispirited remnants of the scattered tribes became the slaves of drunkenness and sloth; and the land which was yet left them, they were easily persuaded to exchange for intoxicating liquors, or whatever else their spoilers chose to give. Finally,' said the Indian chief, they drove us back from time to time into the wilderness, far from the water, and the fish, and the oysters. They have destroyed the game; our people have wasted away, and now we live miserable and wretched, while they are enjoying our fine and beautiful country."

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"After Europeans had thus plundered them of their territory-debased, and almost exterminated their race to fill up the measure of their cruelty, they slandered their character with every possible misrepresentation, till the Indians of North America are regarded, by most European nations, as the very abstraction and condensation of all that is hateful in human nature;-men whom it is perfectly impossible to reclaim from barbarism, and who may therefore be consigned to destruc tion, without the slightest injustice, and without any cause for remorse, completely blotted from the catalogue of living creatures.

VOL. I.

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