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some decent qualities—some fellow-feelings, which it might be as well to remember. But give him an opportunity of pursuing his own selfish considerations—if a lawyer, give him a brief—if a physician, a patient, and mark how forgetful he will become. My memory will be coolly adjourned to the next rainy day, when his spirits and his pockets have attained a corresponding level. What then is there in a worldly friendship that should make me regret to leave it; or why should I prize a posthumous recollection, which springs only from the head-ache or the weather?

Another motive for contemplating our decease with calmness, consists in the sympathy of every thing around us. The principle of nature, whether animate or inanimate, tends decidedly to destruction and decay. The friends of our youth fall off—the column moulders in the dust—the flower passes away with its season, and Death with wasting hand, scatters the blight of ruin over all. Is he a stranger then, that he should surprise us; or an enemy that we should distrust his approach? Far from it! he is the night that follows the morning, when the spirit, fatigued with the labors of the day, sits longing for the hour of repose.

Pass but a few years-a few short years of sorrow and disease, and this hour of repose shall

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overtake us. The church on which I now gazethe Elm-grove, which now waves its branches in the twilight, shall fall like myself, a ruin to the earth. The very flag-stone on which I am seated, shall moulder, and of the corpse that sleeps beneath it, not a trace, not a fragment shall remain. Wave on then, ye dark groves of Llansaddon, let the spring gale murmur music amid your boughs, and the autumn blast scatter abroad your foliage, for the hour is at hand when all shall be silent and forlorn.

truce to reflection-twilight already darkles over the horizon, and the night-breeze from its temple, amid yon elms, is offering up an evening hymn. Hark! how gloomily its diapason swells and falls upon the ear; now pealing with the deep-toned music of an organ, and now lingering in a dying close upon the gale. It is time to retire, the breeze has sung itself to sleep, and but one faint gleam of day yet glimmers from the storied windows of the church. An instant longer and I shall be alone, with darkness and the dead.

Stranger! whoever you may be, should chance, inclination, or necessity, lead you to the retirement of South Wales, pay a passing visit to the church yard of Llansaddon. The peacefulness of its situation will tranquillize-its beauty elevate your soul.

Whatever be your fate in life, your fancy will here meet with kindred associations. Have you been a lover, have you listened to the dying voice, have you closed the glazing eye, have you watched the parting moments of the idol of your affection? look around, and be assured, that many now lowly laid, have like yourself lived and loved in vain. Are you

friendless in the world ? so were some who lie slumbering beneath your feet. Is your

mind untuned by the harsh discords of society ? let the moral spirit of the landscape lure it back to peace, for an hour spent in contemplation beside the grave, like a study well directed, is never without its advantages.

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N.B. The following facete article was presented unto me by my dear and devout friend, the Reverend Rabshakeh Rattletext, an accomplished scholar, and Baptist Preacher at Llandovery, in the neighbourhood of Llangadock. Hearing that by the blessing of the Lord, I had undertaken to illumine my fellow creatures through the enlightened medium of “the Inn-keeper's Album,” he kindly offered to contribute his mite, and forthwith indited the subsequent lucubration, which is undoubtedly veracious inasmuch as my reverend friend hath often partaken of the convivialities he describes, though now from increasing age, and the holy office he hath accepted, he is for ever prevented from renewing them. For the truth of his assertions with regard to the hostilities still pending, between the Red Lion and the Castle, I can myself vouch; for on passing, the other day, through Llangadock, I was refused a glass of ale, (albeit I had the requisite monies in my hand) because Mistress Roderick unjustly suspected me of a lurking preference for her rival. Nathless, I am bound to say that excellent accommodation may be had at both places, and at the Red Lion in particular, where a damsel, of an exceeding comely and winsome aspect, ministereth unto the customers, even as the beauteous Moabitess (see Ruth, chap. III.) ministered unto Boaz, the son of Elimelech.

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W. F. D.


.“ If I forget thee, oh! Llangadock, let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, yea, if I prefer not Llangadock in my mirth.”


The numberless innovations that luxury and fashion are daily introducing into England, have effected but little change in the more sequestered retirements of South Wales. Carmarthenshire, in particular, has solitudes and hamlets of its own, where the inhabitants retain much of the primitive simplicity of their manners. In the village of Llangadock these traces of a better age are as characteristic as the scenery that environs it. Shut out from general observation by its distance from the main road, it presents little or no attraction to the superficial tourisı; but stands sweetly sheltered in the bosom of its own Black Mountains, like a

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