stimulated and inflamed, religion is abandoned, and every solid joy, every wish for never-fading felicity, is relinquished, for fleeting sensual gratification.

Oh! when will man be wise? when fix the boundaries to inordinate wishes-when draw the line of demarcation to hostile irrational desires? what, in reality, does he want? food, apparel, a habitation, and social friends. Possessed of these, why does he murmur? why does the sigh of discontent heave his bosom? nothing, indisputably, can excite it which justifies the conclusion,-that uniformity of condition is not calculated for, or rather, does not produce happiness. The eye loves variety; the brilliant views of nature are lovely, even to the dull.

But there are some so infatuated by this love of change, that no situation, however calculated to please a rational man, can give them any solid satisfaction.

Place them amidst the most beautiful scenery of nature, which, a few years past, they panted to enjoy, and ask them whether they feel those emotions of delight they formerly anticipated. The answer will prove favorable to the assertion, that the most valuable acquisitions impart to the possessor, after a certain period, no real happiness, extinguishes not the desire of change-the love of variety-the thirst for something not yet attained.

The votaries of dissipation are not exempt from this malady of the mind; pleasurable gratifications may be varied a thousand ways, in proportion to the ingenuity, taste, and power, of those who seek for them. But what is ultimately the result? a debilitated body, and an enfeebled mind, a tastelessness for rational pleasure, and an incapacity to enjoy it.

This disregard to the happiness in our possession-this illicit desire for something new, embitters every enjoyment, poisons the pure springs of happiness, and produces perfect imbecility of mind; every other idea is absorbed in this; every generous impulse is disregarded; the direction of judg ment is spurned, the admonitions of reflection and reason are unheeded, and nought but the visionary scenes of Elysium, pictured by vanity, is regarded.

The bold navigator, who roams over trackless oceans in quest of worlds unknown, is, perhaps, as much impelled by curiosity, or love of something new, as by patriotism. The

wish to see regions peopled by beings of different habits, customs, language, and laws; to view the appearances of nature in another dress; to survey the animals, birds, and botanic species, in another climate, is, perhaps, one of the strongest incitements to a mariner of understanding. Accustomed to behold the scenery of Europe, he no longer views them with enraptured eyes; he sighs for other objects,-he pants with ardour for unknown scenes, which no eye has yet exploredto traverse those realms on which not one of his countrymen has yet trodden. But what are his emotions when he arrives? -what addition to his felicity has he accumulated? After the eager thirst of public curiosity is gratified, he is no longer the object of applause and admiration, but, like Columbus, he will be, perhaps, ultimately neglected and disgraced.

Thus it appears that almost every station has its enjoyments lessened by the encouragment of this childish disposition; instead of being smothered in its infancy, it is nursed with care, and suffered to grow to a gigantic stature; it powerfully influences the heart, and gives the reign to imagination, which often hurries us to the brink of misery.

May every one reflect on the folly of this state of mind, and reject it with indignation! may they steadily cultivate virtue, and it will inevitably produce fruits of unperishable felicity. J. S.

THE LAST OF THE ALCHYMISTS.

Dr. Price cultivated alchymy and astrology as late as the latter half of the last century. Lest any of our readers should confound him with another Dr. Price, who was so celebrated about the time of the American war, it will be proper to mention that he was a physician, and a member of the Royal Society. In 1784, he publicly proclaimed that he could make gold, and had made it in the presence of several persons: he even presented some of it to the king. The Royal Society, however, empowered Kirwan, the celebrated chymist, and Woolf, the alchymist, to examine into the pretentions of the doctor, and he was obliged to submit to the trial. He first of all excused himself by saying he had employed all the powder in the first attempt; but was compelled by reproaches to begin

the task. In this state his art forsook him: with anxiety he endeavoured to convert mercury, by means of phosphoric acid, into silver; he performed experiments, which consisted in treating arsenic with volatile alkali, and what is called the Constantine experiment. All failed, and he was called on to to make some more of his powder. After an uninterrupted labour of six weeks, he made his will, distilled for himself a pint of laurel water, drank it, and died in half an hour, at the age of twenty-six, a martyr to a delusion, that even were it to be realized, would be of no value, nor of any utility. He was a man of great talents, but of greater ambition, and aimed at the reputation of the greatest genius of the age. He was possessed of considerable property, but wrecked his happiness, and lost his life, by being so credulous as to believe the asser tions of the alchymists.

FAREWELL. A FRAGMENT,

BY J. A. SHEA.

Farewell thou land, where bards and kings
In mouldering glory be!
The vessel lifts her mighty wings

To bear me far from thee.
To bear me far from thee, my land,
Beyond th' Atlantic brine,

Where, though I grasp no friendly hand,
Freedom at least is mine.

I've heard thy sighs-I've seen thy tears,
And shall I still remain,
To hear, as I have heard for years,
The clanking of thy chain?

No! on my danger-peopled path
Must even this day descend;

For thus

[The departure of the author for America renders this, his latest poem of some interest.-ED.]

THE ESMERALDA.

BY GODFREY WALLACE.

[The brilliant exploit on which the following story is founded, was performed in the early part of the revolution in Peru. San Martin, after freeing Chili from the Spanish yoke, had pushed his army to the very gates of Lima; and, with the co-operation of Lord Cochrane by sea, took possession of the ancient capital of Peru soon after the occurrences here detailed.]

It was on a bright and sunny evening that a curious cavalcade was seen issuing from the gate of Lima, and taking the road to Callao. It was composed of the liberty men" of the American frigate Macedonian, then lying in the harbour. A crowd of Peruvian boys followed it; and the very sentinels forgot their military gravity, and indulged in the irrepressible laughter which it excited. First came some half dozen sailors, arm in arm, whom a tiny midshipman in vain tried to keep in order. Then followed some dozen mules, each carrying two drunken sailors, slung like panniers, amid-ships, and guided by a stout Peruvian lad, seated en croupe. Two or three midshipmen, with some twenty steady fellows of the crew, brought up the rear. The pinioned tars had no idea of the propriety of their mode of conveyance, and vented all their tipsy rage on the "after-guard," as they styled the driver. But once on shore during a three years' cruise, the sailors had gone from the extreme of temperance and abstinence, to the extreme of excess; and having spent their last dollar, were now literally carried back to their vessel. Those, in front, as they passed the soldiers, cocked their eyes, thrust their tongues into their cheeks, and throwing out their legs horizontally, performed the mock military to perfection: then bursting into a roar of laughter at their own wit, trod on each other's heels, kicked each other's shins, shouted "heads up, ye lubbers!" and set each at complete defiance. The living panniers were less noisy, and groaned and hiccupped their discontent at being "triced up" to such heavy sailers, as they termed the mules; kicked the sides of the animals, aimed ineffectual blows at the "after guard," and ran desperate risk of life, as some restive beast throwing his heels in the air, threatened to dislodge them. The rear, exhilarated, but not tipsy, with

* Sailors on shore, with leave.

just enough aboard to show the sailor to perfection, cracked their jokes, trolled their songs, practised their manual fun upon the drunkards, and moved most merrily along. By dint of driving and swearing, the procession was urged over the seven miles from Lima to the sea, and reached Callao just as the sun flashed his last rays upon the Chilian brig, which was cruising, hull down, in the offing. The wharf, or quay, alongside of which the frigate's boats were lying in readiness to receive the " liberty men,' was crowded with people. Sailors, soldiers, guarda-costas, Indians, and idlers of all descriptions, were collected there. The clattering of the oars of newly arrived boats, the roll and splash of those leaving the landing, the voice of command, the English and American "God damn," the Spanish "Caramba," the French Sacre," and the Dutch Der tufel," were all heard, were all mingled in the general clamour and hurry at the close of day. These sounds were dying away as the Americans proached the quay; and by the time that the " liberty men' were tumbled aboard the two cutters and pinnace, nobody remained to witness their departure but a few guarda-costas, whose duty detained them along the shore.

66

ap.

It was a beautiful and tranquil bay across which the Macedonian's boats now pulled. On the right lay the castles of Callao, the long line of ramparts serried with the bayonets of the Spanish soldiers. On the left, anchored head and stern, were the frigates Macedonian and Esmeralda; the latter a new ship, fully armed, provisioned, manned, and equipped for a six months' cruise; and a little farther out lay the British frigate Hyperion, all within half gun shot of the castles. Within the men-of-war, the merchantmen were securely moored. A few black whale ships dotted the bay; and far off, in the shadow of the island of San Lorenzo, lay the patriot blockading squadron of Lord Cochrane.

The stern sheets of the pinnace were occupied by two midshipmen. At home, by his own fire-side on the Roanoke, the youngest would have been called a boy; but here, in the Pacific, the officer of a yankee frigate, it would have been sword and pistol work to have rated him any thing but a man. There was an air, too, of command about him, which sustained his pretensions to the character; and the sailors at the oars regarded him with that respectful kindness and ready obedi.