PATENT AND DOWLAS.

Carey.

Pat. WALK in, Sir; your servant, Sir, your servant-have you any particular business for me?

Dow. Yes, Sir, my friends have lately discover'd that I have a genius for the stage.

Pat. Oh, you would be a player, would you, Sir?—pray, Sir, did you ever play?

Dow. No, Sir, but I flatter myself—

Pat. I hope not, Sir; flattering one's-self is the very worst of hypocrisy.

Dow. You'll excuse me, Sir.

Pat. Ay, Sir, if you'll excuse me for not flattering you. I always speak my

mind.

Dow. I dare say you will like my manner, Sir.

Pat. No manner of doubt, Sir-I dare say I shall-pray, Sir, with which of the ladies are you in love?

Dow. In love, Sir!—ladies!

Pat. Ay, Sir, ladies-Miss Comedy, or Dame Tragedy?

Dow. I'm vastly fond of Tragedy, Sir.

Pat. Very well, Sir; and where is your forte?

Dow. Sir?

Pat. I say, Sir, what is your department?

Dow. Department?-Do you mean my lodging, Sir?

Pat. Your lodgings, Sir?-no, not I;-ha, ha, ha, I should be glad to know what department you would wish to possess in the tragic walk-the sighing lover, the furious hero, or the sly assassin.

Dow. Sir, I would like to play King Richard III.

Pat. An excellent character indeed-a very good character; and I dare say you will play it vastly well, Sir.

Dow. I hope you'll have no reason to complain, Sir,

Pat. I hope not. Well, Sir, have you got any favourite passage ready?

Dow. I have it all by heart, Sir.

Pat. You have, Sir, have you?—I shall be glad to hear you.

Dow. Hem-hem-hem

"What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster

Sink in the ground-I thought it would have mounted.

See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death;

Oh! may such purple tears be always shed

For those who wish the downfall of our house;

If there be any spark of life yet remaining,
Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither,

I that have neither pity, love, nor fear."

Pat. Hold, Sir, hold-in pity hold, za, za, za, Sir-Sir-why, Sir, 'tis not like humanity. You won't find me so great a barbarian as Richard; you said he had neither, pity, love, nor fear-now, Sir, you will find that I am possessed of all these feelings for you at present-I

pity your conceit, I love to speak my mind; and— I fear you'll never make a player.

Dow. Do you think so, Sir?

Pat. Do you think so, Sir?—Yes, I know so, Sir!-now, Sir, only look at yourself; your two legs kissing as if they had fallen in love with one another; and your arms dingle dangle like the fins of a dying turtle! [mimics him] 'pon my soul, Sir, 'twill never do-pray, Sir, are you of any profession?

Dow. Yes, Sir, a linen-draper!

Pat. A linen-draper! an excellent business; a very good business— you'll get more by that than by playing-you had better mind your thrumbs and your shop-and don't pester me any more with your Richard and your-za, za, za-this is genius!-plague upon such geniuses-away.

THE CHAMOIS HUNTER-A LESSON OF LIFE.

M. F. Tupper.

THE scene was bathed in beauty rare,

For Alpine grandeur toppled there,

With emerald spots between ;

A summer evening's blush of rose

All faintly warm'd the crested snows,
And tinged the vallies green;
Night gloom'd apace, and dark on high
The thousand banners of the sky
Their awful width unfurl'd,

Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow,
That seem'd among its cloud-wrapt snow,
The ghost of some dead world:
When Pierre the hunter cheerly went
To scale the Catton's battlement
Before the peep of day;

He took his rifle, pole, and rope,
His heart and eyes alight with hope,
He hasted on his way.

He cross'd the vale, he hurried on,
He forded the cold Arveron,

The first rough terrace gain'd,
Threaded the fir-wood's gloomy belt,
And trod the snows that never melt,
And to the summit strain'd.

Over the top, as he knew well,
Beyond the glacier in the dell
A herd of chamois slept,

So down the other dreary side,
With cautious tread, or careless slide,
He bounded or he crept.

And now he nears the chasm'd ice;
He stoops to leap-and in a trice,

His foot hath slipp'd-O heaven!
He hath leapt in, and down he falls
Between those blue tremendous walls,
Standing asunder riven!

But quick his clutching nervous grasp
Contrives a jutting crag to clasp,
And thus he hangs in air ;-

O moment of exulting bliss!
Yet Hope so nearly hopeless is
Twin-brother to despair.

He look'd beneath,-
-a horrid doom!
Some thousand yards of deep'ning gloom,
Where he must drop to die!
He look'd above, and many a rood
Upright the frozen ramparts stood
Around a speck of sky.

Seven long dreadful hours he hung,
And often by strong breezes swung
His fainting body twists;

Scarce can he cling one moment more,
His half-dead hands are ice, and sore
His burning bursting wrists;

His head grows dizzy, he must drop,
He half resolves,-but stop, O stop,
Hold on to the last spasm,
Never in life give up your hope,—
Behold, behold a friendly rope

Is dropping down the chasm!

They call thee, Pierre,-see, see them here,
Thy gather'd neighbours far and near,
Courage! man, hold on fast :-

And so from out that terrible place,
With death's pale paint upon his face
They drew him up at last.

And he came home an alter'd man,
For many harrowing terrors ran

Through his poor heart that day;

He thought how all through life, though young, Upon a thread, a hair, he hung,

Over a gulf midway:

He thought what fear it were to fall
Into the pit that swallows all,

Unwing'd with hope and love;
And when the succour came at last,
O then he learnt how firm and fast
Was his best Friend above.

ON THE THREATENED INVASION.

Hall.

FREEDOM, driven from every spot on the Continent, has sought an asylum in a country which she always chose for her favourite abode : but she is pursued even here, and threatened with destruction. The inundation of lawless power, after covering the whole earth, threatens to follow us here; and we are most exactly, most critically placed in the only aperture where it can be successfully repelled-in the Thermopyla of the world. As far as the interests of freedom are concerned-the most important by far of sublunary interests!-you, my countrymen, stand in the capacity of the fœderal representatives of the human race; for with you it is to determine (under God) in what condition the latest posterity shall be born; their fortunes are entrusted to your care, and on your conduct at this moment depends the colour and complexion of their destiny. If liberty, after being extinguished on the Continent, is suffered to expire here, whence is it ever to emerge in the midst of that thick night that will invest it? It remains with you then to decide, whether that freedom, at whose voice the kingdoms of Europe awoke from the sleep of ages to run a career of virtuous emulation in every thing great and good; the freedom which dispelled the mists of superstition, and invited the nations to behold their God; whose magic torch kindled the rays of genius, the enthusiasm of poetry, and the flame of eloquence-the freedom which poured into our lap opulence and arts, and embellished life with innumerable institutions and improvements, till it became a theatre of wonders; it is for you to decide, whether this freedom shall yet survive, or be covered with a funeral pall, and wrapped in eternal gloom. It is not necessary to await your determination. In the solicitude you feel to approve yourselves worthy of such a trust, every thought of what is afflicting in warfare, every apprehension of danger must vanish, and you are impatent to mingle in the battle of the civilized world. Go then, ye defenders of your country, accompanied with every auspicious omen— advance with alacrity into the field, where God himself musters the host to war. Religion is too much interested in your success not to lend you her aid; she will shed over this enterprise her selectest influence. While you are engaged in the field, many will repair to the closet, many to the sanctuary; the faithful of every name will employ that prayer which has power with God; the feeble hands, which are unequal to any other weapon, will grasp the sword of the Spirit; and from myriads of humble, contrite hearts, the voice of intercession, supplication, and weeping, will mingle in its ascent to Heaven, with the shouts of battle, and the shock

of arms. The extent of your resources, under God, is equal to the justice of your cause. But should Providence determine otherwise, should you fall in this struggle, should the nation fall, you will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man!) of having performed your parts; your names will be enrolled with the most illustrious dead; while posterity to the end of time, as often as they revolve the events of this period (and they will incessantly revolve them), will turn to you a reverential eye, while they mourn over the freedom which it entombed in your sepulchre. I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, legislators, and patriots of every age and country, are bending from their elevated seats to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till it be brought to a favourable issue, of enjoying Your

their eternal repose. Enjoy that repose, illustrious immortals!

mantle fell when you ascended; and thousands, inflamed with your spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to swear by Him that sitteth upon the throne, and liveth for ever, they will protect freedom in her last asylum, and never desert that cause which you sustained by your labours, and cemented with your blood. And thou, sole Ruler among the children of men, to whom the shields of the earth belong, gird on thy sword, thou Most Mighty-go forth with our hosts in the day of battle! Impart, in addition to their hereditary valour, that confidence of success which springs from thy presence! Pour into their hearts the spirits of departed heroes! Inspire them with their own; and while led by thy hand, and fighting under thy banners, open thou their eyes to behold in every valley, and in every plain, what the prophet beheld by the same illumination-chariots of fire and horses of fire! "Then shall the strong man be as tow, and the maker of it as a spark; and they shall both burn together, and none shall quench them."

A SOLILOQUY FOR THE WORSHIPPERS OF BACCHUS.

(AFTER SHAKSPEARE).

To drink, or not to drink, that is the question :-
Whether 'tis better to abstain from wine, and bear
The jeers and gibes of all outrageous sots?
Or to take arms against a sober life,

And drown our sorrows in the juice of grape?
To take one glass, and by a glass to say we end
All sense of right, and give free scope to all
Our grosser passions-'tis a consummation
No honest man would wish. To swear-to fight-
Perchance to quarrel with our dearest friends!
Ay, there's the rub; for in that brutal state,
What deeds may not be done,

When we have shuffled off our better reason,
Might give us pause? There's the respect,

That makes sobriety so free from strife;

For who would live to bear his neighbour's scoff,

His children's wrongs, his once-loved friend's contempt,

His injur'd wife's laments, his own disgrace,