were Pedantry in the robes of Learning, Wit in the garb of Judgment, and Dogmatism in the clothes of Reason. I was going to enquire of my guide the name of the personage who was thus attended, when I accidentally caft my eye on a label that was over the throne, and infcribed--DEISM!

As this whetted my curiofity, I was now refolved to examine, more minutely, every thing within the edifice, and applied myself first to the pictures, with which the walls were quite covered. The pieces feemed, at the first glance, to be performed in a masterly manner, and by the glare of the colours and fplendour of the frames, invited and dazzled the fight at the fame time. On a nearer inspection, you cannot conceive how great was my difappointment; for what at a distance feemed to indicate the pencil of a Titian, when I came clofer, appeared beneath the touch of the meaneft Flemish dauber. It would be tedious, if not impoffible, to recount the fubject of every piece, let it fuffice to mention the most friking only. The first piece that intruded itfelf on my fight, was of the hiftorical kind,

and reprefented the depravity of the Chriftians in the fifth century. It was, indeed, very much laboured, difgufted the fpectator by too great a fhew of art, was, in some places, void of proportion, and had its capital images bigger than life. Next this hung a piece of no mean kind: this was a full length of Julian, but I could difcover very few features of the apoftate, nor indeed should I ever have known it had been intended for him, had it not been for the fragment of an epiftle, which was fubfcribed with his name, and laid on a table near him. The face expreffed fo much humanity, opennefs of heart, and benevolence, that it would have paffed better for the picture of the Christian bishop he ordered to be murdered, than for the Emperor himself. Below this hung a piece of Christ riding on an afs, crowned with thorns, and holding a reed in his hand; he was furrounded with a crowd, whose countenances betrayed the greatest degree of admiration, joined with the most profound ftupidity. On the fide of it was Mohammed, adorned with all the regalia of eastern pomp, furrounded by a troop of Janizaries, holding

More bleft than me, thus fhall
ye live
Your little day; and when ye die,

Sweet flowers! the grateful muse shall give
A verfe; the forrowing maid, a figh.

While I, alas! no distant date,

Mix with the duft from whence I came, Without a friend to weep my fate,

Without a ftone to tell

my name.
I wish I was where Anna lies;
For I am fick of lingering here;
And every hour affection cries,

Go, and partake her humble bier.

I wish I could! for when she died
I loft my all;
and life has prov'd
Since that fad hour a dreary void,
A wafte unlovely, and unlov'd.--

But who when I am turn'd to clay,
Shall duly to her grave repair,
And pluck the ragged mofs away,

And weeds that have "no bufinefs there?"

And who with pious hand fhall bring

The flowers the cherish'd, fnow-drops cold, And violets that unheeded fpring,

To fcatter o'er her hallow'd mould?

And who, while memory loves to dwell
Upon her name for ever dear,
Shall feel his heart with paffion fwell,
And pour the bitter, bitter tear?

4

I did it; and would fate allow,

Should vifit ftill, fhould ftill deplore-
But health and strength have left me now,
And I, alas! can weep no more.

Take then, fweet maid! this fimple strain,
The laft I offer to thy fhrine;

Thy grave must then undeck'd remain,
And all thy memory fade with mine.

And can thy foft perfuafive look,
Thy voice that might with mufic vie,
Thy air, that every gazer took,
Thy matchlefs eloquence of eye,

Thy fpirits, frolick fome, as good,
Thy courage by no ills difmay'd,
Thy patience, by no wrongs fubdu'd,

Thy gay good-humour-Can they " fade!"

GIFFORD.

FROM "LLOYD'S POEMS."

I rev'rence my

For me a plain and fimple man, forefathers, and would hold Their pious ord'nance facred! Much I hate The coxcomb innovator who would raze The deeds of other times! Moft fweet to me These chroniclers of life; oft round them twine Dear recollections of the past, the fum

Of all thofe comforts which the poor heart feels While ftruggling here, bearing with holy care Its little ftock of intermediate joy

To blefs the circle of domestic love,

And now farewel! Thus former years have fed My retrospective lays! fad barrenness

Scowls o'er the prefent time! No boyish sports,
No youthful dreams, nor hopes fantastic, now
Endear thy feftival! Rapture is fled,

And all that nourifh'd high poetic thought
Vanifh'd afar; yet refignation meek

Chaftens past pleasure with her evening hues,
And lends a fober charm, mild as the fhade
Mantling the scene, which gliften'd late be-
neath

Day's purple radiance, when grey twilight falls Soft harmonizing. Rich variety

Pales to a fadden'd famenefs!

Nor can I

Forget what I have loft fince laft I hail'd
Thy jolly tide! The aged friend is dead!
The friend who mingled in my boyish fports!
The friend who folac'd my eccentric heart!
The friend by whofe mild fuffrage unim.pell'd
I ne'er could taste of joy! Yes, the is dead!
So be it! Yet 'tis hard to fmile, and know
So fad a lofs! I bend before my God,
And filent at the paft, commune henceforth
Of days in store, of righteoufnefs to come,'
Of faith, of hope, and of a better world!