widow, some orphan, who came to renew over the bier of their benefactress-the grateful tears they had lately shed for her kind

ness.

It was this high and holy spirit of self-devotion which gave a loftiness to her feelings far above the tone of ordinary humanity. Feeble in health, and absorbed, as she seemed to be, in the gentler duties of her sex, she possessed a commanding firmness and ener gy of mind, which, when the occasion required, revealed itself in the highest efforts of masculine intrepidity. There was no peril capable of dismaying the lofty calmness of her mind; no personal fears had power to alarm her. We have seen this infirm and suffering woman in situations which might have shaken the sternest courage, display an heroic disregard of danger, such as real life can scarcely parallel, nor imagination surpass., We remember her when a dreadful accident placed her on the brink of almost inevitable destruction, when there seemed no prospect but of instant death, in its most appalling form. At that moment the only terror which had power to reach her heart, was the thought of being hurried from the world before she had provided for the many helpless beings who had been accustomed to share her bounty. Yet this, which in others would be an honourable and sublime effort of courage, is the picture of her habitual benevolence. Even in her last moments there was still the same anxiety, lest her illness should disquiet her friends; and often was her physician urged from her bedside to go and console those who, she believed, needed still more than herself, his attention.

To the fulness and perfection of this exalted being, something might seem wanting if we forebore to mention her piety. Religion has never yet appeared to our eyes more lovely than in her life and character. The principles of our faith she had known and examined, and believed with the deepest solemnity of conviction; her daily conduct was an habitual practice of its duties. Of the salutary influence of both over our present happiness and our future hopes, her life was a signal and consolatory example. Her benevolence was constantly repaid by the enthusiastic gratitude of the many whom it relieved; and over the darkest hours of sickness and sorrow, such as few have felt, her religious confidence diffu

sed a holy calm, and a tranquil resignation, which this life alone could never supply. She who had suffered much, and who had survived so many objects of her early affection, looked to the future for consolation and happiness: the purity of her heart could anticipate that future without fearfulness; and in her character a high and fervent aspiration towards heaven was blended with a lowly meekness of temper, which prosperity could not seduce nor misfortune subdue; and which approached nearer, than it has ever been our lot to see it, to the perfect goodness of the great model of christianity.

Such-so gifted in intellect-so accomplished in acquirements so endowed with all that was estimable in her own sex, or distinguished in ours-such lived and died this exalted woman. As her active virtues extended beyond the limits usually assigned to female usefulness, so too did the general admiration of her character. On no former occasion has the loss of any lady caused, throughout our society, a more deep and sad impression; nor could any tomb be surrounded by a wider circle of sincere and enthusiastic friends.

But it is time to pause. They who did not know the full and varied excellence of this admirable woman, might mistake, for the common eulogium of departed worth, this grateful memorial of our veneration; nor might it befit the memory of the most retiring and unostentatious of human beings, to dwell with too much fondness on her virtues. But we owe it equally to ourselves, and to society, not to decline too far the expression of our sorrow, which no one, surely, who knew her, will deem excessive; and it may not be an unavailing consolation to those who, in the land of her nativity, still cherish her remembrance, to know how many there are who once loved her goodness, who venerated her virtues, and who will cease but with their lives to deplore their misery in losing her.

Σ.

ORIGINAL POETRY.--FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

To the memory of lieutenant Nathanie! Sherman, of the city of Newyork, adjutant 6th regiment United States' Infantry, who died at Sackett's Harbour (during the expedition against York) of a fever, occasioned by excessive fatigue on the march of that regiment from Plattsburg. It is due to the merits of this promising young officer, to say, that his extreme mortification at being unable to proceed with his regiment, was the cause of a relapse in the disorder, which suddenly terminated his existence.

LAMENTED youth, accept the tear
That falls unbidden on thy bier,
And dews the lonely urn;

Ah! but for war's destructive power,
You still had cheer'd the social hour
Of those who now must mourn.

Yet not where Battle's vengeful storms,
The face of genial day deforms,

Death's sable curtain drew;

But had that been thy honoured part,
Thy dauntless breast had met the dart,
First of the daring few.

Yes, Glory's call had urged thee on
Where'er a deathless name was won,
Thy gleaming sword to bear;

And where Fame opes her temple wide
Had cheerful pour'd the crimson tide,
To grave thy mem❜ry there.

But cold Disease assail'd thy breast,
Her icy hand thy temples prest,

And chain'd the tow'ring mind;
And there amid the din of war,
From home and soothing Friendship far,

Thy martial soul resign'd.

Ah! who shall paint the mother's grief,

Or bring to those fond souls relief,

Who kindred fetters wear!

None, none-they lov'd the youth too well-
Their bleeding hearts alone can tell,

How deep their sorrows are.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

A.

MR. OLDSCHOOL,

A VERY imperfect copy of the following tribute was published in an early number of the Port Folio, under the signature of Atticus. Finding it has become popular, I, in conformity with Swift's advice, avow myself its author; and, having retouched and enlarged this tributary verse to my lamented friend, I entreat you will do me the honour to insert it auctior et emendatior in your elegant miscellany.

BURKE'S GARDEN GRAVE-AN ODE.

BY MR. DAVIS.

J. D.

JOHN DALY BURKE, an Irishman by birth, but an American by adoption, fell in a duel with a French gentleman on the banks of the Appamattox, and was buried in the garden of his faithful friend, the worthy general Jones; a spot which Rousseau would have coveted for the place of his interment, beyond the sepulchres of kings. Burke's History of Virginia has "placed a nation's fame amid the stars;" and his songs are often warbled by our southern ladies in bower and in hall.

I CLIMB'D the high hills of the dark Appamattox,
The stream roll'd in silence the wild woods among;

All was still-save the dash of the wave from the white rocks,
Where the sea-fowl indulg'd in his tremulous song.

On my right, where the poplars in fair clusters gleaming,

Half embosom the sky-piercing turrets of Jones,

The sun's liquid rays upon Daly's tomb streaming,

Mark'd the spot where the bard had found rest for his bones.

Accurs'd be the hand, with resentment prevailing,

That pointed the weapon compelling thy fall;

That brought from their bowers the Muses bewailing
Thy body convuls'd with the murderous ball.

On the river's stain'd margin, there Clio was seen,
With Terpsichore mourning thy fine spirit fled;
Thalia no longer retain'd her gay mien,

But hid in Melpomene's bosom her head.

Yet sweet is the spot, hung with clustering roses,
Where Erin's lov'd minstrel is gone to his rest;

For the sun's parting beam on his green grave reposes,
And the wren, sweetly plaintive, builds there her soft nest.
And oft shall the damsels, with bosoms high swelling,
Whose voices, in concert, his soothing lays sing,
Dejected-repair to the bard's narrow dwelling,
And deck the rais'd turf with the garlands of spring.

TO THE EVENING STAR.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

Hail fairy orb! thy pallid ray
Shall guide me on my lonely way;

To trace those scenes where late I rov'd,
In converse with the friends I lov'd.

'Then bright each hill and dale appear'd
And thy mild beams the vision cheer'd,
But now thy languid smiles betray,
Like mine, that they are far away,
Whose presence cast o'er Nature's face,
A warmer glow, a sweeter grace.
Hail to thy bland prelusive light,
Thou smiling harbinger of night;
I greet thee, for thy friendly aid,
When last through fairy scenes we stray'd;
While pensive twilight cast its vail
O'er winding path, through hill and dale;
Till thou, above the mountain top,
Beam'd like the cheering star of hope.

Bedford Springs.

SYDNEY.