al reasons, my lord," replied the miller; "the first is, they have given to all these gentlemen of the jury ten broad pieces of gold, and to me but five; besides, I have many objections to make to the false reasonings of the pleaders, and the contradictory evidence of the witnesses." Upon this the miller began a discourse that discovered such vast penetration of understanding, such extensive law, and expressed with such energetic and manly eloquence that astonished the judge and whole court. As he was going on with his powerful demonstrations, the judge in a surprise of soul stopped him-"Where did you come from and who are you?"—"I came from Westminster-Hall," replied the miller, "my name is Matthew Hale, I am Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. I have observed the iniquity of your proceedings this day, and therefore come down from a seat which you are no ways worthy to hold, you are one of the corrupt parties in this iniquitous business. I will come up this moment and try the cause all over again." Accordingly Sir Matthew went up with his miller's dress and hat on, began the trial from its very original-searched every circumstance of truth and falsehood -evinced the eldest brother's title to the estate, from the contradictory evidence of the witnesses, and the false reasoning of the pleaders-unravelled all the sophistry to the very bottom, and gained a complete victory in favour of truth and justice..

THOUGHTS ON THE MAGIC ART.

THE Magic Art has been generally divided into three kinds, natural, artificial, and diabolical.

The first of these is no other than natural philosophy; but highly improved and advanced, whereby the person, who is well skilled in the power and operation of natural bodies, is able to produce many wonderful effects, mistaken by the illiterate for diabolical performances, even though they lie perfectly within the verge of nature.

Artificial Magic is what we call legerdemain, or slight of hand, whose effects are far from what they seem. They are deceptions and impostures, far from exceeding the power of art, and yet, what many times pass with the vulgar for diabolical likewise.

Diabolical Magic is that which is done by help of the devil, who, having great skill in natural causes, and a large command over the air, and other elements, may assist those that are in league and covenant with him, to do many strange and astonishing things.

The original of them we may suppose to be this. God being pleased to admit the holy patriarchs into conference with him, the devil endeavoured to do the same; and, to retain men in their obedience to him, he pretended to make discoveries of secret things. Agam, when God was pleased to work miracles for the confirmation of the truth, the devil in like manner, directed those who were familiar with him how to invoke his help, for the performance of such strange things, as might confirm the world in their error.

There are two ways, wherein we may imagine it in the devil's power to be assistant to such persons, as pretend to work miracles. First, by raising false images and appearances of things; which may be done, either by, affecting the brain, or confusing the optic nerves, or altering the medium, which is between us and the object. Secondly, he may be supposed able to assist magicians, by making use of the laws.of nature, in producing effects, which are not above the natural power of things; though they certainly exceed what man can do. Thus, to transport a body, with inconceivable rapidity, from one place to another; to bring together different productions of nature, which, separately, have no visible effect, but when united, work wonders: to make images move, walk, speak, and the like; these may come within the compass of the devil's power, because not transcending the laws of nature: though we cannot discern by what means they are effected.

There is a farther supposition of some learned men; that, under the divine permission, wicked spirits have a power to work real miracles, of which they perceive some intimations given in scripture. See Deut. xiii. 1. Matt. xxiv. 24. 2 Thess. ii. 9.

THE CURSE OF LAURA UPON HER SEDUCER.

LET THE LIBERTINE TREMBLE-WEEP AND REPENT.

FROM these black regions, these infernal plains,
Where God's just wrath in dreadful triumph reigns;
To thee, accursed! these doleful lines I write,

Lost as I am, and plunged in endless night.

Thus will I vent my unrelenting rage,
And pour my curses on the blacken'd page:
And, while my woe-born numbers grating roll,
Give a full loose to all my fiend-like soul;

Think not, detested wretch, t' escape thy doom;
Hell moves to meet thee; hell thy destin'd home.

While yet from these distracting torments free,
I liv'd a stranger to myself, and thee;

Thy guileful arts allur'd me first astray,
And turn'd my steps from virtue's flow'ry way:
Taught me through labyrinths of sin to run,
And form'd my heart a picture of thy own.
Snar'd by thy wiles, impassion'd by thy song,
With heedless haste, I madly press'd along;
A threatening God, with blasphemies, denied,
His precepts slighted, and his power defied.
To thee, Lorenzo, all these pangs I owe,
And tears of blood, that must forever flow.
In an ill moment snatch'd from earth away,
A guilty exile from the realms of day.

Ye powers! seize him, send your lightnings forth ;
And instant sweep him shrieking from the earth;
In these blue flames immerse his blacken'd soul,
Where I may see him writhe, and hear him bowl:
This comfort on my tortur'd soul bestow :

His cries shall somewhat mitigate my woe.

Didst thou not teach me once to scorn these chains, And laugh at "hell's imaginary pains?" could I but one dismal glance impart,

And pour a flaming torrent to thy heart!
My fellow-ghosts your awful doom declare,
And howl, in horrid notes, the pains ye bear;
Unfold your anguish, all your tortures tell,
And paint a dreadful picture of this hell.

But, why would my infernal pen reveal
What my impenitent companions feel?
Let me my own sad destiny relate,
And thou, Lorenzo, tremble at my fate!
Amid distracting tortures, racks and chains,
Incessant howlings, and eternal pains;
With grim despair, I make my dark abode,
Beneath the terrors of an angry God;

Whose flaming shafts transfix my trembling soul,
While lightnings blaze around, and thunders roll.
In everlasting darkness here confin'd,
A thousand sad reflections haunt my mind;
And vex my self-tormented spirit more
Than all the racks on this detested shore.

Here groupes of hideous demons round me wait,
Sport with my pangs, and ridicule my fate.
Now full before my sick'ning sight they place
The record of my sins, and my disgrace:
Now, offered mercies to my mind recall,
And tell me, how I madly scorn'd them all.
Then pierce my bosom with a fiery dart,
Or, with sharp talons tear my bleeding heart;
Mock my tormented soul, with anguish wrung,
"And toss my infamy from tongue to tongue;"
While stung with the insufferable wound,
Furious I rave, and bite the burning ground.

Still to imbitter all the woes I feel,
And aggravate the cruel pains of hell;