A New-York newspaper, writing on were followed up, new towns might be this subject, suggests the propriety of numbered, as streets often are at present, passing a law prohibiting the use of a and some such arithmetical combination name for a town or county that has ever might occur as a letter addressed to been used before for the same purpose. But immediately recoils, like Fear in the Ode, "Even at the sound itself had made." And well it might. For if the notion Mister Jonathan Snookinson, State of Confusion. DAUGHTER of earth! serene from thy high places Fair child of her who ne'er had such another! Still fair art thou, as when thou first ascended Heaven's ancient dome-undimm'd by ages hoary; "Walking in brightness," by pale stars attended; All mild and lonely in thy beauteous brightness, Thou hast been worshipped by every nation; Even where Lord Rosse's telescope is mounted; Of savages too numerous to be counted; THE MOON. The Chinese Emperor styles himself thy "brother;" I've heard, Egyptian heathens called thee Isis, On purer wing than that of old-world genus: Urania, Hecate, Queen of Heaven-'tis folly To hear inconstancy pronounced thy nature! Even the great Herschel, whose deep-searching gazes Thy names, in verse, would stretch from earth to Even he, who cultivates thy close acquaintance, zenith: Hits off thy character in one fell sentence: "Inconstant jade," (so ran his observations,)* Now chasing out of sight whole constellations; * At a meeting of the British Association held in England about five years ago. Let those who watch thy intricate gyrations, And learn to treat thee with a little charity: Their bosoms feel no grateful throb for what a light Thou rainest down on earth, thou lovely satellite! Long ere the rudest living form's creation, When thou wert marching round a world primeval, A wandering witness of the desolation That marked each mighty continent's upheaval, Wert thou, from center to thine utmost border, A rival chaos struggling into order. That face of thine-alternate round and brokenHas whitened jungles, mountains, lakes, and rivers, Whose names by mortal tongue were never spoken, And shone on earth's old boundaries torn in shivers: And thou hast watched the ruin and commotion, I've thought, when half the people of a city I heard thee hail them, with a voice of pity: Good people! put your money in your pockets. You should have been with me, and witnessed, gratis, Old Earth one pyrotechnic apparatus. And thou hast shone upon gigantic branches, Through which the huge-boned mastodon went crashing; And seen vast creatures sitting on their haunches, Their white teeth glittering, and their big eyes flashing, Crunching the under branches and the upper, Astronomers have tried thy weight and measure, And found thee wanting water; they have mapped thee; Determined every mountain, spot, and fissure- thee. I wonder if thou knowest that our race They say thy disk is dim with desolation, All pitted, scarred, and torn in every feature: It seems as if inanimate creation Had suffered small-pox, like a human creature: For just as pock-pits mar the best of faces, Have fierce volcanoes left on thine deep traces. They say thou hast no trace of vegetation; That, if thou hadst, they could not fail to spy it; Dumb, solemn rocks thy only population I wish earth's natives only were as quiet; For thou must know, good Moon! that our humanity Is prone to bloodshed, ravage, and insanity. They say, if any pile on thee existed, As large, for instance, as Westminster Abbey, Their searching telescopes could not have missed it; I hope the lunar buildings are not shabby; I wish they saw the shadow of a steeple, Whence to infer the existence of a people. Yet, sure we are thou lodgest one poor fellow- O Moon! when shall that man of thine conjecture Ah me, fair empress! terrible disasters Would spread their shadows, if our skies were moonless: Ten thousand themeless mortal poetasters, Who torture thee, would evermore be tuneless; And how could bashful girls make dumb confession.s, Unless thy light revealed their fond expressions? That thou hast horns, will scarcely be disputed; And thou hast limbs-if we can trust astronomy, Which does not teach us that these limbs are footed, Like those hinged on in animal economy; Nor whether, by some hedgehog-like appliance, Thou still art round, despite those limbs of science. From Tait's Magazine. THE LOST LOST FACULTY, OR SIXTH SENSE. DR. DONNE. (Continued from our last Number.) Two days after Dr. Donne had arrived in Paris, he was left alone in a room where he had been dining with Sir Robert Drury and a few companions. Sir Robert returned in about an hour afterwards, and found his friend in a state of ecstasy, and so altered in his countenance that he could not look upon him without amazement. The Doctor was not able for some time to answer his questions, what had befallen him. But after a long and perplexing pause, at last he said, "I have seen a dreadful vision, since I saw you. I have seen my dear wife pass twice by me through this room, with her hair hanging about her shoulders, and a dead child in her arms. This I have seen since I saw you." To which Sir Robert answered, Surely, Sir, you have slept since I went out, and this is the result of some melancholy dream, which I desire you to forget, for you are now awake." Donne replied, "I cannot be more certain that I now live, than that I have not slept since I saw you; and am as sure that at her second appearing she stopped, looked me in the face, and vanished." This was in 1612, and on inquiry it was found that at the moment of this apparition Mrs. Donne was confined prematurely of a dead child; but the mother lived. MR. SCOTT. This gentleman was a physician living at Norwich. He had retired from his practice, having acquired a handsome fortune by it. He was advancing in life, and being of a deeply religious turn of mind, it was his daily habit to retire to his study at certain hours for the purpose of meditation and prayer. On one of these occa sions he became suddenly conscious of the presence of a supernatural being, who addressing him in a distinct and audible voice, announced to him that he must prepare to die. He asked when it was to take place? The spectre replied, "This day year !" and immediately vanished. Mr. Scott instantly communicated the circumstance to his family, on whom, as may be supposed, it made a deep and painful impression. He himself, indeed, was the least affected of any of those interested; for so habitual had it been with him to contemplate a certainty, sooner or later, of such an event, that at his age he considered it might happen any day. The announcement, therefore, was looked upon by him as a salutary warning; and without altering his mode of life, which had always been that of an eminent Christian, he maintained his cheerful demeanor, and neither showed nor felt any uneasiness as to the result. As the time, however, drew near, the anxiety of his family and friends increased; and, in concert with himself, it was arranged that he and Mrs. Scott should take a journey to London, setting out on the very day named by the spectre. On that morning Mr. Scott rose at his usual hour, in excellent health and spirits. After breakfast, whilst preparations were making for his departure, he retired to his study as usual, and after spending a few minutes in devotional exercises, he ordered the coach to be got ready. At that period a journey to the metropolis was a very formidable undertaking; even the stage coaches making two days of it. As Mr. Scott was to travel in his own carriage, it was intended to occupy three or four days. Everything being ready, he took an affectionate farewell of his family and friends; and having handed his wife into the carriage, had his foot on the steps to follow her, when he suddenly fell | you hurt your wrist? have you sprained back in a fit of apoplexy, and instantly expired without a sigh or groan. The father of the writer of this account was living in the family of Mr. Scott, (who was his guardian) at the time of the occurrence; and the writer has frequently heard him mention the circumstances, which were well known at Norwich at the time (about 80 years ago,) being made the subject of a poem by Pomfret, and published in a volume of poetry by that writer. LORD TYRONE AND LADY BERESFORD. These noble personages were born in Ireland. They were left orphans in their infancy, to the care of the same person, by whom they were both educated in the principles of deism. When they were each about fourteen years of age, they fell into very different hands. The person on whom the care of them devolved used every possible endeavor to eradicate the erroneous principles they had imbibed, and to persuade them to embrace the revealed religion, which they refused. The arguments used were insufficient to convince them, though they were powerful enough to stagger their former faith. Though now separated from each other, their friendship remained unalterable, and they continued to regard each other with a sincere and fraternal affection. After some years had elapsed, and they were each of them grown up, they made a solemn promise to each other, that whichever should first die, would, if permitted, appear to the other, to declare which religion was most approved by the Supreme Being. Lady Beresford was shortly afterwards addressed by Sir Marcus Beresford, to whom, after a few years, she was married. But no change in condition had power to alter her friendship for Lord Tyrone. The families visited each other, and often spent more than a fortnight together. A short time after one of these visits, Sir Marcus remarked, when his lady came to breakfast in the morning, that her countenance was unusually pale and bore evident marks of terror and confusion. He inquired anxiously after her health; she assured him she was well, perfectly well. He repeated his inquiries, and begged to know if anything had disordered her? She replied no, she was as well as usual. "Have it ?" said he, remarking a black ribbon bound round it. She replied, "No, she had not ;" but added, "Let me conjure you, Sir Marcus, never to inquire the cause of my wearing this ribbon ; you will never more see me without it. If it concerned you as a husband to know it, I would not for a moment conceal it from you. I never in my life denied you a request; but of this I must entreat you to forgive me a refusal, and never to urge me further on this subject." "Very well, my Lady," said he, smiling, "since you so earnestly desire me, I shall inquire no further." The conversation here ended; but breakfast was scarcely over, when Lady Beresford inquired if the post was come in? She was told it was not. In a few moments she again rung the bell for her servant, and repeated the inquiry, "Is the post come in ?" She was told it was not. "Do you expect any letters ?" said Sir Marcus, " that you are so anxious respecting the coming of the post ?" "I do," she answered; "I expect to hear that Tyrone is dead. He died last Tuesday, at four o'clock." "I never in my life," said Sir Marcus, "believed you superstitious; but you must have had some uneasy, idle dream, which has thus alarmed and terrified you." At that instant a servant opened the door, and delivered to them a letter sealed with black. "It is as I expected,” said Lady Beresford, "He is dead!" Sir Marcus opened the letter. It was from Lord Tyrone's steward, and it contained the melancholy intelligence of his master's death on the Tuesday preceding, at the very hour Lady Beresford had specified. Sir Marcus entreated her to compose her spirits, and to endeavor, as much as possible, not to make herself unhappy. She assured him she felt much easier in her mind than she had done for some time past, and added, "I can communicate to you intelligence which I know will prove welcome. I can assure you beyond the possibility of a doubt that I am soon to have a son." Sir Marcus received the intelligence with that pleasure that might be expected, and expressed in the strongest terms the felicity he should experience from such an event, which he had so long ardently desired. After a period of some months, Lady Beresford was delivered of a son. She had before been the mother of two The event justified the expectation of every one. Lady Beresford was treated by her young husband with neglect and cruelty, and the whole of his conduct evinced him to be the most abandoned libertine, utterly destitute of every principle of virtue and humanity. To this, her second husband, Lady Beresford bore two daughters. Afterwards, such was the profligacy of his conduct, that she insisted on a separation. They parted for several years; when, so great was the contrition he expressed for his former ill conduct, that won over by his supplications and promises, she was induced to pardon, and once more reside with him; and was, after some time, made the mother of a "You have signed my death warrant," said she, "and I have not much longer to live; I must, therefore, entreat you to leave immediately, as I have something of importance to settle before I die." When the clergyman had left Lady Beresford, she sent to forbid the company daughters only. Sir Marcus survived the birth of his son little more than four years. After his decease, his lady went out little from home. She visited no family but that of a clergyman, who resided in the same village, with whom she frequently passed a few hours; the rest of her time was entirely spent in solitude, and she ap-coming; and at the same time to request peared forever determined to banish all Lady and her eldest son, of whom other society. The clergyman's family Sir Marcus Beresford was father, and who consisted of himself, his wife, and one son, was then about twelve years old, to come who, at Sir Marcus's death, was quite a to her apartment. Immediately upon their youth. To this son, however, she was arrival, having ordered her attendants to afterwards married, in the space of a few quit the room, "I have something to comyears; and the manifest imprudence of municate to you, before I die," said she, such a connection, so unequal in every "an event which is not far distant. You, respect, was but too well deprecated by my Lady, are no stranger to the friendall her friends. ship which subsisted between Lord Tyrone and myself. We were educated under the same roof, in the same principlesthose of deism. When the friends into whose hands we afterwards fell endeavored to persuade us to embrace the revealed religion, their arguments, though insufficient to convince us, were powerful enough to shake our faith, and to leave us wavering between the two opinions. In this state of perplexing doubt and uncertainty, we made a solemn promise to each other, that whichever should happen to die first, would, if permitted by the Almighty, appear to the other, to declare which religion was most acceptable to Him. Accordingly, one night, when Sir Marcus and myself were in bed, I awoke, and discovered Lord Tyrone sitting by my bedside. I screamed out, and endeavored to awaken Sir Marcus, but in vain. For Heaven's sake, Lord Tyrone,' said I, 'by what means or for what purpose came you here at this time of night? Have you forgot your promise?' said he. 'I died last Tuesday, at four o'clock, and have been permitted by the Supreme Being to appear to you, to assure you that the revealed religion is true, and the only religion by which you can be saved. I am further suffered to inform you that you are now with child of a son, who, it is decreed, shall marry my daughter. Not many years after his birth Sir Marcus will die, and will marry again, and to a man by whose ill treatment you will be rendered miserable. You will bring him two daughters, and afterwards a son, in child-bed of whom you will die, in the forty-seventh year of your age.' son. A month after that occurrence, being the anniversary of her birthday, she sent for Lady, of whose friendship she had long been possessed; and a few other friends, to request them to spend the day with her. About noon, the clergyman by whom she had been baptised, and with whom she had all her life maintained an intimacy, came into the room to inquire after her health. She told him she felt perfectly well, and requested him to spend the day with her, it being her birthday-" for," said she, "I am forty-eight this day." "No, my Lady," said the clergyman, "you are mistaken. Your mother and myself have had many disputes concerning your age, and I have at length discovered I am right. Happening to go last week to the parish you were born in, I was resolved to put an end to my doubts by searching the regis ter; and I found that you are forty-seven this day." you "Just Heaven!' exclaimed I,' and cannot I prevent this ? Undoubtedly, you |