midnight oil-or the bigot, wearing life away with fanatical zeal in false devotion require not the unshrinking firmness, the never-failing patience, the unbending fortitude, which is expected from almost every woman.

There is something in unmerited praise, which, to a heart not wholly callous, is more cuttingly severe, than the keenest reproof.

It is not in the first moments of joy or sorrow that we know the extent of our bliss or of our pain. Great grief stupifies, and great joys intoxicate. Nor is it till time has aroused us from the first, and sobered us from the effects of the latter, that we justly appreciate our sum of happiness or misery.

G

DE MOOR.

ETYMOLOGICAL NOVELTIES.

Heigh-ho!

A COCKNEY Corruption, by the addition of the two aspirates. The feeling that produces this ejaculation must be well known to all our brother scribblers and to too many of our readers. When we think of our troublesome creditors-and when do we not?-what idea rushes upon our minds? Alas, I owe ! Mercury.

This insidious deity, always studying to ingratiate himself with those he meant to cheat or dupe, was dubbed by the other gods a mere curry.

Goal.

The name of this building is sadly tantalizing to its unfortunate inhabitants; for while it seems to say to them go-all, its bolts, and bars, and turnkeys oblige them to stay-all.

Gazette.

This is a species of newspaper, containing information, which all are extremely anxious to gaze at.

THOUGHTS ON CONVERSATION.
[Translated from the French, for the Polyanthos.]

Ir any thing can be more foolish or ridiculous, than to be always speaking well of ourselves, it is to be always speaking ill of ourselves."

If all great talkers are tiresome, and even disgusting, what must be a great talker of himself!

Frenchmen, in conversation, will frequently all talk at once, and in the noise they make, do not understand each other ;the English say not a word,-which amounts to nearly the same thing.

Conversation is never more pleasing to us, than when it is with those, who possess not quite so much wit as ourselves. A man of wit, is silent among fools, as a rich man refuses alms to a beggar he has no change.

How enviable is that man, who can relish the conversation of men of wit, and endure that of fools!

Socrates, being silent in company, was requested to join in the conversation. He replied, "what I know, would be improper here ;—and what would be proper here, of that I am ignorant."

We ought neither to speak as we write, nor to write as we speak. The one would appear too stiff;-the other too negligent. The phrase, he talks like a book, was no doubt first spoken in a good sense; it can now be only used as an expression of ridicule,

Some one, who was reproached with always talking of himself, replied, that it was because he found no other person who spoke so well of him.

A PUN.

Ar a late fashionable assembly in one of our southern cities, a gentleman was asked which of the ladies present he thought the most beautiful. He replied, Why really, madam, they are all very beautiful; but I think that Miss (pointing to one who was dressed in the extreme of the fash ion) fairly outstrips them all.'

ORIGINAL POETRY.

MR. EDITOR,

The following Lines were written by a boy of fifteen. They were inspired by hearing a beautiful young lady describe a journey through pathless forests, in the course of which she crossed the rapids of the St. Lawrence in an Indian canoe and stopped at the cabins of the savages; and by immediately afterwards listening to her impassioned reading of the Lady of the Lake."

*

ORLANDO.

Он, could I weave the wizard rhyme
Like Highland Bard of Eastern clime,
Whose magic verse 'tis thine to roll,
Enchantress! on the raptur'd soul !
ANNA thy graces should inspire
The lay of an immortal lyre,
And every winning charm in thee
Should wake the soul of minstrelsy!-
LOCH KATRINE's wave of burnish'd gleam
Should yield to Lawrence' lucid stream;
And Clansman bold of Alpine band

To Savage of Canadian land;

The woody Trosach's darksome glen
To forests far from haunts of men,
Where the hoarse torrent spends its force
In the broad river's rapid course.

But let me pause. Her wit's bright dart
Will teach the poet to his smart,
That her attractions do not lie
Entirely in her matchless eye,
Nor in her sweet, expressive face,
Nor in her unaffected grace;
But that her form contains a mind
Enrich'd, exalted, and refin'd.

Then spare the bard, whose youthful heart,
Stranger to flattery and to art,
Thus trembling strikes the choral shell-
And now, Enchantress! Fare thee well!?

THE WRECK.

Now sprung each sailor from his death like sleep,
By Boreas, sweeping o'er the briny deep-
Loud rag'd his fury-fierce his tempests rise,
And echoing thunders shake the ambient skies.
Th' affrighted sea-boy, trembling, views afar
The wild commotion and the watry war
Thinks on his friends, and parents, left behind,
Sighs to the breeze, and looks on death resign'd.
The day declines, and night with sable wings
Redoubled danger to the vessel brings;
The lightning's flash illumes the distant shore,
And shews the haven they shall see no more.
"Breakers a-head!" the watchful sailor calls,
The dreadful word the stoutest heart appals.
The furious surge the tott'ring mast o'erthrows,
Whilst by the board the main and mizzen goes;
Masts, spars, and timbers, strew the shatter'd deck
And the once gallant vessel is a wreck.
Lash'd to the shrouds, with death on ev'ry side,
The sea-boy's shriek the furious winds deride;
No tender parent to assuage his grief,
No messmate near to yield a kind relief;

He quits the wreck whilst briny mountains rise,
And in despair the hapless sea-boy dies.
Whilst distant thunders sound his parting knoll
The murm'ring breeze shall hush to rest his soul';
Poor wandring sea-boy, all thy perils sleep,
And peace awaits thee in the faithless deep.
Boston, Jan. 16, 1813.

W. S.

TO MATILDA.

Was it only the form of sweet friendship I prest,
Was that kiss my Matilda the last?

Must I banish for ever that form from my breast,
With the hours of delight that are past?

Did you know how sincere is the friendship I feel,
Did your heart glow with fervor like mine,
You would feel ev'ry pang that now guides my appeal,
And smile mid forgiveness divine !
W. S.

CURRAN'S REPARTEE.
CURRAN, a name to Erin dear,
And NORBURY, the judge severe,
Together were at dinner placed,
Where Irish beef the table graced.
My lord with curious eye observed it,
Then called to Curran, as he carved it,
"If yonder dish (you sit close by it)
Contain hung beef, I think I'll try it."
CURRAN replied, with ready tongue,
If TRIED by you, 'twill sure be HUNG."

LORD KELLIE'S REPARTEE. WHEN KELLIE, thoughtless, young, and vain, Followed in Dissipation's train,

My lady gave him this advice—

"Dear son, leave women, cards, and dice ; Daily on vegetables dine,

And water drink, instead of wine."

"What," he replied, " is this indeed your wish, That I eat like a beast,-drink like a fish ?”

EPIGRAM.

To one, who changed his name from INCH to LINCH.
You say, good sir, your name is Linch ;
Excuse me but I know 'tis Inch..
To you applies the proverb well-
"Give but an Inch, you take an L.”