lost Tannajee Maloosray."- Family Library, No. XV., Gleig's History of India.

LONGEVITY.

In the History of the County of Down, printed in 1744, are some curious notices of the aged persons of that county. We here present our readers with the following list, as a kind of memorandum of some very old persons who have died since that period.

1812 Owen Maghery

1812 M'Dowell 1815 James Magee 1816 Patrick Fitzgerald 1816 James Riddel 1816 Charles Haveran 1818 John Manson 1818 Ann M'Cullogh 1819 Isabella White 1821 James Walker 1822 Agnes Beck 1822 Jane Gibson 1824 William Gibson 1826 Samuel Cumming 1826 John Blackwood 1827 William Johnston 1828 Ann Anderson 1828 William Rainey 1828 William Irwin 1828 Thomas Taylor 1829 Jane Stitt

Districts

stronger, since it survived. A fatal malady had seized on the Cardinal, whilst engaged in the conferences of the treaty, and worn by mental fatigue. He brought it home with him to the Louvre. He consulted

Guenaud, the great physician, who_told him that he had two months to live. Some days after receiving this dread mandate, Brienne perceived the Cardinal, in a nightcap and dressing gown, tottering along his gallery, pointing to his pictures, and ex"Must I quit all these?" He claiming, saw Brienne, and seized him: "Look," exclaimed he, "look at that Correggio! this Venus of Titian! that incomparable Deluge of Caracci! Ah! my friend, I must quit all these. Farewell, dear pictures, that I loved so dearly, and that cost me so much!" His friend surprised him slumbering in his chair at another time, and murmuring, "Guenaud has said it! Guenaud has said it!" A few days before his death, he caused himself to be dressed, shaved, rouged, and painted, "so that he never looked so fresh and vermilion," in his life. In this state he was carried in his chair to the promenade, where the envious courtiers cruelly rallied, and paid him ironical compliments on his appearance. Cards were the amusement of his deathbed, his hand being held by others; and they were only interrupted by the visit of the papal nuncio, who came to give the Cardinal that plenary indulgence to which the prelates of the sacred college are officially entitled. Mazarin expired on the 9th of March, 1661.-Lardner's Cyclopædia.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

THE mean temperature of February was 37 degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer. The maximum, which was 54 degrees, took place on the 5th, when the direction of the wind was south-westerly; the minimum, which was 29 degrees, occurred on the 15th, with a north-easterly wind. The range of the thermometer was 25 degrees; and the prevailing wind north-east. The direction of the wind has been north-easterly, nine days; south-westerly, five; easterly, four; westerly, four; northerly, three; northwesterly, two; southerly one; and southeasterly, one.

The mean temperature of the air, during the days that the wind was observed from the south, since the commencement of the year, was 42 degrees; from the southwest, 40; from the west, 393; from the north-west, 383; from the east, 36; from the north, 35; from the north-east, 34; and from the south-east, 311.

Hoar frost, and icy efflorescences, were noticed on the following days: 8th, 10th, 15th, 16th, and 20th; the frost continued on the herbage during the whole of the 15th. The mornings of the 22d to the 25th were foggy, and also the evenings of the three former days, when the fog was very dense. The evening of the 11th, the whole of the 12th, and the afternoon of the 13th, was accompanied with wind. On the 19th, a few hail-stones fell in the forenoon. Rain has fallen more or less on the 1st, 2d, 4th, 5th, 6th, 9th, 12th, 17th, and 18th.

During the former part of this month, the vegetable kingdom began to feel the effect of the solar influence: the buds began to swell; they also exhibited a tint of lively green; and a few of the earlier species were unfolding their leaves; but when the chilling frosts took place, and the dense damp fogs enveloped the tender shoots, they shrank from the inclement atmosphere to await the arrival of a more genial season. Flora, however, scattered a few of her gems over the earth. On the 8th, several crocuses and primroses were observed in flower, and soon became abundant, together with the snowdrop. A few polyanthuses were seen on the 11th, and two or three wall-flowers. A daisy, here and there, has also been noticed.

POETRY.

THE SHELL-GATHERER.

FAR from my home, as once I stroll'd

By ocean's marge at eve's calm hour, Where the retiring billows roll'd

And foam'd and bellow'd with a voice of power.

Gay was the scene, for numbers there,
In search of peace, or health, or joy,
Met on the shore the breezy air,
While sparkling pleasure beam'd in every eye.

Here glittering cars, and horsemen there,
Indent the yellow sand-beds o'er;
And scatter'd wide, full many a pair
Pace arm-in-arm along the level shore.

But there was one that caught my glance,
A lonely one, that seem'd to be
Unmov'd by that gay fairy dance,
Upon the margin of the dark green sea.

A lovely girl she was, and one

Of tender years, and she was fair As e'er was seen by circling sun,

In all his spacious and his bright career.

Upon a fragment lately wash'd,

And wet by the retiring billow,

She sat, while wild waves near her dash'd,— Her head hung down-her hand became its pillow.

The rock on which she sat I gain'd

Her light blue frock, tuck'd up before,
A rare but hard-earn'd prize contain'd

Of shells fresh gather'd from the pebbly shore.
What ails thee, little child? I said,

Why sitt'st thou here, forlorn and wan?
The infant slowly rais'd her head,

And thus, with sorrow's voice, her tale began

No one will buy these shells of me,

Although for hours and hours I've striven
To pick the finest which the sea

Has on each sand-bed, rock, and shallow driven.
To sell them I have tried in vain,

And roam'd about the sandy shore;
Not one of all yon numerous train
Will give me aught for this my shelly store.
Pray, sir, she said, with angel-smile,

The tear-drop glistening in her eye;
Hope trembling in her breast the while,-
Do buy these shells!-she waited my reply.
Where is thy home, my little maid,

And wherefore seem'st thou so distrest?
Where do thy parents dwell? I said;-
She sigh'd, look'd down, and thus herself exprest.
In yonder cot beside the hill,

Its casement with green ivy deck'd,
I and my mother live, but still
No tender father have I-to protect.
My mother, too, lies ill at home,

The neighbours say that she will die-
To pick these shells I've hither come;
She sent me, for no other work had I.
No breakfast has my mother had,

To give it me she did prefer;
She weeps whene'er I cry for bread,-
She weeps, now there is none for me or her.
Do buy these shells of me!-now do!

She said, and ope'd her apron wide,
Expos'd her painted gems to view,
Whilst hope and doubt were in her face descried.
Ah! when an artless child implor'd

In tones from simple nature learn'd,
How could my heart remain unstirr❜d-
For her, poor suppliant, how my bosom yearn'd!
Poor child! I thought, is there not one,
In all yon proud and giddy throng,
Whose heart by sorrow's tale is won-
Can hear thy plaint, and heedless pass along?
And is that bliss reserv'd for me,

To place the pittance in thy hand,
And set thy little sorrows free-

I tripled ('twas a trifle) her demand.
Her gratitude consisted not

In empty words and art's address,
Which please, but which are soon forgot-
Her looks alone bespoke her thankfulness.
A shining tint of rosy dye

Did then her beauteous cheek adorn;
Tears trembled in her azure eye,
Which sparkled like the dewy star of morn!
The infant would have fain exprest,

And pour'd in nature's genuine glow
The raptures struggling in her breast,-
Go, child, I said, thou'rt truly welcome, go!
She curtsied low, then off she flew,

Like the young doe at morn's fresh hour;
I watch'd her motions till she drew
Nigh to her threshold 'neath the ivy bower.
In pensive thought I left the beach
Where Charity could thus refrain,
Nor to that child her bounty stretch,
Though struggling to relieve a parent's pain.
Long shall her shells adorn my cot,

And kind remembrancers shall be
Of feelings ne'er to be forgot,
Upon the margin of the dark green sea.
Near Halifax.
THOS. CROSSLEY.

THE GHOST OF LONDON BRIDGE; OR, THE OLD BRIDGE'S LAMENTATION. "TWAS on a chill November morn,

I pass'd Old London Bridge forlorn;

The wind sighed with a mournful dirge,
Nor could the sun, then hid, emerge,

Or pierce the gloom that spread around,
So misty was the morning found.
'Twas from its proud compeer I gazed,
A modern structure, newly raised,
With arch and buttress, huge and strong,
Praised and admired by passing throng.
As looking through the murky gloom,
I guess'd "Old Bridge" had met its doom;
Pickaxe and shovel seem'd arrayed,
In pulling down its balustrade;

I list'ning thought, each loosen'd stone
Utter'd a sad and dismal moan;
Certes, a sound, not chanticleer,
Came from the old and central pier,
While on my dim uncertain sight,

Methought there perched some restless spright;
Yet vague it was, dark, undefined,

Its form has vanished from my mind.
Yet, be it lubber-fiend or ghost,

It stirred not, but maintained its post,
And, in a voice sepulchral, shrill,

Thus mutter'd forth its thought and will

Why is my long dark sleep thus broke,

By noisy din of hammer's stroke?

Have not these ancient arches stood,
Time out of mind, the angry flood?

What busy crowds have paced my length,
Safe in my firm and long-tried strength,
Which, even now, resists the might
Of mason's working, day and night,
To raze my firm foundation-stone;

The thought draws forth my deepest groan.
What vestige is there of decay

To cause this hubbub, fear, dismay?
So far from signs of wasting strength,
I hear combustion used at length;
At least I know it by the shake,

And thund'ring noise, that make one quake.

"Am I to be supplanted by

Yon upstart younker flaunting high,
Rearing its head in proud disdain,
As if it were a Saxon, Dane,

Boasting deeds of former glory,
Chronicled in ancient story?

One would think, from banners waving,
(Scarce could I resist from raving,)
When the bellowing cannon's tongue,
Joined with the eager shouting throng,
That then thy triumph was complete,
Fixed at thy firm unshaken seat.
But, ah! 'tis known, thou proud compeer,
I own I speak it with a sneer,

That thou a weakening crack hast shown,
Which all thy boasting can't disown.
True, thou art of modern structure,
And, not less true, thou hast a fracture;
Nor do I feel the least surprise,
Nor open wide my ears, my eyes,
In startling wonder at the cause;
Art old and young, hath equal laws.
Moderns have now the happy skill,
Of raising, at a thought, or will,
As with magician's fairy wand,

What once took years to raise by hand;
Bridges, and palaces, and tow'rs,

Now rise by such strange quick'ning pow'rs,
That we, who come of ancient race,
Must travel with a slower pace.

"But here is where the difference lies,
The present build for modern eyes,
Our ancestors had other aim,
And, like Apelles, built for fame.
I, who have strode for ages past

Old Father Thames, am doom'd at last
To fall a victim to the age;
I speak, as would a seer or sage,
For ever since that hackney'd theme,
That haunts my day, and nightly dream,
That cuckoo note, the march of mind,'
Whose airy flight outstrips the wind,
For here the canker first took root,
From this I date my fall'n repute.
Moderns despise the works of yore,
They deem them objects to deplore,
And look upon a building old,
However strong, majestic, bold,

In all its parts, as obsolete;

A change would make it quite complete.
Sweep this, or that, then all is clear.
Builders they have, who soon will rear

A stately structure, to the view,
More sightly than their fathers knew;
Though they boast not its duration,
Yet 'twill gratify the nation.

Wren, if alive, might sneer about them,
And Inigo might gibe, and scout them,
Yet wiser than these masters were,
The modern taste they much prefer,
And if you doubt, or say a word,

The schoolmaster's abroad,' is heard. This is the cant-word of the day, Which none, they fancy, can gainsay.

"Age of refinement, age of boast, Hear the last words of my poor ghost; I speak it, mid a cloud of dust, That now surrounds my ghostly bust; You must a little wiser grow,

Although your movements should be slow; Art to endure, in every age,

Must time and labour long engage;

I point to works of Greece and Rome,
Go, imitate such works at home;
Reverse not, then, Augustus' pride,
His boast, and few could boast beside,
Who found a city built of mud,
Yet, ere he left, there stately stood
One built of marble, whose display
Was for all ages, not a day.
More could I speak, but that I feel
My head grow dizzy, and I reel ;
This cloud of dust, with noisy din,
Pains me, yet draws a ghastly grin,
To think that yonder bridge of stone,
Like me, shall heave a parting groan,
Ere half my span of years has fled,
Or half the storms around me shed.
"Tis thus I close my parting sigh,
Mock not my words of prophecy."

Here ceased the voice, nor could I see
Aught that had raised my phantasy;
The spectre form fled from my view,
If form it were, or vision true;
The tide regurgled as before,
With rushing sound and sullen roar,
Whose flood hath mingled with past time,
And swept its course with mournful chime,
Like that which through yon arch of stone
Smote on my ear with dismal moan,
Whose careless tide, soon, soon shall swell
O'er thy lost site- Old Bridge'-farewell! *
Shadwell, Jan. 9, 1832.
I. S. H.

"It is well known that Peter of Colchurch, the founder of Old London Bridge, did not live to witness the completion of the structure, but died in 1205, and was buried in a crypt within the centre pier of the bridge, over which a chapel was erected, dedicated to St. Thomas à Becket.

"Mr. Brayley, in his Londiniana,' written about five years since, observes, that, "if due care be taken when the old bridge is pulled down, the bones and ashes of its venerable architect may still be found;" and true enough, the bones of old Peter were found, on removing the pier, about a fortnight since."Mirror, copied in the Times, Jan. 14, 1832.

religion; and, like a general who has carefully viewed his position, and perceives every point of attack, proceeds to fortify himself and his cause where he is most vulnerable. Thus, in delineating the character, and attempting to analyze the mind of his hero, he observes, in reference to preceding remarks,

"This might appear to some, and may not improbably be subjected to the charge, as partaking a little too much of the pencil and colouring of the artist; as permitting, in the real character of romance, the imagination to be let loose upon a subject which ought to command the graver exercise of reason. The fact is for not anything shall be permitted to operate to the suppression of truth, and the Christianity of the case has nothing to fear in the way of consequence-the fact is, that such a man and such a life might-and it is penned with reverence-might, without the aid of imagination, without any art or exaggeration, form the ground-work of a lighter exhibition, say-a farce, to the awfully solemn and splendid representation of the Christian religion. But then, religion had nothing to do in the construction of the man's mind-a mind more nearly allied to the comic than the tragic in its operations, and whose effects, though perfectly undesigned on the part of the actor, laid a more powerful hold upon the lighter than the graver feelings. Christianity took the man as it found him, and performed upon him its grand work, which is not to change the construction of the mind so much as its nature; to affect, in other words, its illumination and renovation: nor is it requisite, to compare temporal things with spiritual, in cleansing a building, to change the position of either a door or a window."

He further remarks.

"This is not a subject slightly to be dismissed. Samuel Hick was untaught in the school of this world; art would have been lost upon him; he was one upon whom education and polished society could never have had their full effect; he seemed formed by nature, as well as designed by Providence, for the forge; and not anything short of the grace of God appears to have been capable of constructing more than a blacksmith out of the materials of which he was formed. It was never intended that the hand of a Phidias should work upon him. Such was the peculiar vein, though excellent in itself, that it would never have paid for the labour."-pp. 63, 64, 108.

"Samuel Hick, the subject of the present memoir, was in the moral world, what some of the precious stones are in the mineral kingdom, a portion of which lie scattered along the eastern coast of the island, and particularly of Yorkshire, his own county; a man that might have escaped the notice of a multitude of watering-place visitors, like the pebbles immediately under their eye;— one who, to pursue the simile, was likely to be picked up by the curious, in actual pursuit of such specimens, and thus,-though slighted and trodden under foot, like the encrusted gem, by persons of opposite taste, to be preserved from being for ever buried in the dust, as a thing of nought in the sand, after the opportunities of knowing his real value-when above the surface, had been permitted to pass unobserved and unimproved ;-one of those characters, in short, that could only be discovered when sought after, or forced upon the senses by his own personal appearance, in the peculiarities by which he was distinguished-who was ever secure of his price when found-but who would, nevertheless, be placed by a virtuoso, rather among the more curious and singularly formed, than among the richer and rarer specimens in his collection."pp. 1, 2.

Whatever credit Mr. Everett might wish to take to himself for acuteness of discovery 2D. SERIES, NO. 16.-VOL. II.

in this passage, and we are willing to concede to him no small share, we cannot but consider it as highly descriptive of the character so admirably introduced, supported, and delineated throughout the

volume.

It may be briefly observed, that Samuel Hick was born at Micklefield, in Yorkshire, of poor parents-was apprenticed to a blacksmith-united himself to the followers of the Rev. John Wesley-became a useful local preacher-and died in the full triumph of the faith of Christ. A few specimen extracts will exemplify, not only the cha racter of the subject of the memoir, but of the memorialist as a writer. Previous to his union with the Methodists, when in the eighteenth year of his age, he heard a Mr. Burdsall preach out of doors at York, on which occasion he was rather helpful to the good man.

"Samuel's attention was soon gained, and his affection won, which, to Mr. B., was of no small importance; for as he was proceeding with the service, a clergyman advanced towards him, declaring, that he should not preach there,-not if the Lord Mayor himself,' threatening to pull him down from the block.' Just as he was preparing to carry his designs into execution, Samuel, whose love to the preacher was such, that he felt, as he observed, as if he could lose the last drop of blood' in his defence, stepped up to the clergyman, clenched his hands, and, holding them in a menacing form to his face, accosted him in the abrupt and measured terms of the ring, upon which he had but a few minutes before been gazing,- Sir, if you disturb that man of God, I will drop you as sure as ever you were born.' There was too much emphasis in the expression, and too much fire in the eye, to admit a doubt that he was in earnest. The reverend gentleman felt the force of it-his countenance changed -the storm which was up in Samuel had allayed the tempest in him, and he looked with no small concern for an opening in the crowd, by which he might make his escape. Samuel, though unchanged by Divine grace, had too much nobleness of soul in him to trample upon an opponent who was thus in a state of humiliation before him, and therefore generously took him under his protection, made a passage for him through the audience, and conducted him to the outskirts without molestation, when he quickly disappeared. The manner in which this was done, the despatch employed, and the sudden calm after the commotion, must have produced a kind of dramatic effect on the minds of religious persons, who, nevertheless, in the midst of their surprise, gratitude, and even harmless mirth at the precipitate flight of their disturber, who was verted in an instant, by a mere stripling, from the lion to the timid hare, would be no more disposed to justify the clenched fist-the earth helping the woman in this way-than they could be brought to approve of the zeal of Peter, when, by a single stroke, he cut off the right ear of the high priest's servant. Samuel instantly resumed the attitude of an attentive hearer, without any apparent emotions from what had transpired. In the launching forth his hand, he gave as little warning as the bolt of heaven; the flash of his eye was like the lightning's glare a sudden burst of passion, withering for the moment-seen-and gone."pp. 11, 12.

con

Speaking of his religious character, in its beginnings, Mr. Everett observes,

"This case was one which would lead to the conclusion, that his religion commenced in heat 2 A 160.-VOL. XIV.