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nolds, I remarked to her that I had never seen any picture by Jervas, which was rather extraordinary, as he was a fashionable painter in his day; she said, “Nor I either; I wonder how that should be. I do not know that I ever saw one;' then addressing Sir Joshua, she said, 'Brother, how happens it that we never meet with any pictures by Jervas the painter?' When he answered very briskly, because they are all up in the garret.””

“ When Richardson was a very young man, in the course of bis practice, he painted the portrait of a very old lady, who, in conversation at the time of her sitting to him, happened to mention, that when she was a girl about sixteen years of age, she sat to Vandyke for her portrait. This immediately raised the curiosity of Richardson, who asked a hundred questions, many of them unimportant: however, the circumstance which seemed to him as a painter to be of the most consequence in the information he gained, was this: she said she well remembered, that at the time when she sat to Vandyke for her portrait, and saw his pictures in his gallery, they appeared to have a white and raw look in comparison with the mellow and rich hue which we now see in them, and which time alone must have given them, adding much to their excellence."

" It was one of Sir Joshua's favourite maxims, that all the gestures of children are graceful, and that the reign of distortion and unnatural attitude commences with the introduction of the dancing master. He delighted much in marking the dawning traits of the youthful mind, and the actions and bodily movements even of infants; and it was by these means that he acquired the ability which enabled him to portray children with such exquisite happiness, truth, and variety. A circumstance, as related by himself, occurs to my remembrance, which may serve to prove the truth of the above observation, as well as to show how watchful his mind was to catch instruction wherever it was to be gained.

“ Sir Joshua being in company with a party of ladies and gentlemen, who were viewing a nobleman's house, they passed through a gallery of portraits, when a little girl, who belonged to one of the party, attracted the particular attention of Sir Joshua by her vivacity, and the sensible drollery of her observations; for whenever the company made a stand, to look at each portrait in particular, the child, unconscious of being observed by any one, imitated, by her actions, the air of the head, and sometimes awkward effect of the ill-disposed position of the limbs in each picture; and this she did with so much innocence and true feeling, that it was the most just and incontrovertible criticism that could be made on the picture.”

For the Analitic Magazine.

THE BATTLE OP ERIE.

SVAST, honest Jack! now before you get Delov, Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old leisov, 'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-eater crew, Who keelbal'd the Britons, add captir'da feu. • sT was just at sunrise, and a glorious day, Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bus, When we saw the bold Britons, and clear ior a boring Instead of put in, by the Lord se pet out. “ Up went Union Jack, never up there before, * Don't give up the ship,' was the motto it bore; And as soon as that motto our gallant men saw, They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza! 50! then 'twould have rais'd yoer het three inches bighes, To see how we dash'd in among them like fre! The Laurence went first, and the rest as they coul, And a long time the brunt of the battle she stoot *. 'Twas peppering work—ire, fury, and smoke, And groans that from wounded lads spite of 'em brok. The water grew red round our ship as she lay, Though 'twas nerer be!ore so, till that bloody day * They fell all around me like spars in a gale, The shot made a sieve of each rag of a sail, And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd, Bat these gallant tars still the battle mainizin'd. 55 'Twas then our commander, God bless his young hear., Thought it best from his well pepper'l ship to depart, And bring up the rest who were tugging behind, For why- they were sadly in vant of a wind. “So to Yarpall he gave the command of the ship, And set out like a lark on this desperate trip In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet, Who with many a broadside our cockbaat did greet. « I steer'd her, and damme, if every inch Of these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch; But our tight little commodore, cool and serene, To stir ne'er a mucele by any was seen. “ Whole rolleys of murkets vere levell’d at him, But the doril a one ever graz’d e'en a limb, Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat, Till the crew pulld him down by the skirts of his coat. * At last through heav'n's merey we reach'd t'other shin, And the wind springing up, vegare her the whip,

And ran down their line, boys, through thick and through thin,
And bother'd their ears with a horrible din.
“ Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that,
We bang'd them, and rak'd them, and laid their masts flat,
Till one after t'other they hald down their flag,
And an end put for that time to Johnny Bull's brag.
“ The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Provost,
Not able to fight or run, gave up the ghost,
And not one of them all from our grapplings got free,
Though we'd fifty-four guns, and they just sixty-three.
“ Smite my limbs! but they all got their bellies full then,
And found what it was, boys, to buckle with men,
Who fight, or, what's just the same, think that they fight,
For their country's free trade and their own native right.
“ Now give us a bumper to Elliot and those
Who came up, in good time, to belabour our foes,
To our fresh-water sailors we'll toss off one more,
And a dozen at least to our young commodore.
“ And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean,
And that sort of thing, by the Lord I've a notion,
I'll bet all I'm worth-who takes it—who takes?
Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes.”

P.

CAROLINE.
By Thomas Campbell, (not published in his works.)

GEM of the crimson-colour'd even,
Companion of retiring day,
Why at the closing gates of heaven,
Beloved star, dost thou delay?
So fair thy pensile beauty burns
When soft the tear of twilight flows,
So dire thy plighted step returns,
To chambers brighter than the rose.
To peace, to pleasure, and to love,
So kind a star thou seem'st to be,
Sure some enamour'd orb above
Descends and burns to meet with thee.
This is the breathing, blushing hour,
When all unheavenly passions fly:
Chas’d by the soul-subduing power
Of love's delightful witchery.
O! sacred to the fall of day
Queen of propitious stars appear!
And early rise, and long delay
When Caroline herself is here.

POETRY

Shine on her chosen green resort,
Where trees the stinward summit crown;
And damask flowers that well may court
An angel's feet to tread them down.
Shine on her sweetly scented road,
Thou star of evening's purple dome!
That lead'st the nightingale abroad,
And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.
Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath
Embalms thy soft exhaling dew;
Where dying winds a sigh bequeath
To kiss the check of rosy hue.
Where winnow'd by her gentle air
Her silken tresses darkly flow,
And fall upon her brows so fair,
Like shadows on the mountain snot.
Thus, ever thus, at day's decline,
In converse sweet to wander far,
0! bring with thee my Caroline,
And thou shalt be my ruling star.

FEMALE CELIBACY, OR THE GRAVE OP CYNTHIA.

By the author of the Bachelor's Soliloquy."*

WHERE youthful circles make resort

Nightly to flaunt in trim array, Where meet in fashion's airy court The light, the giddy, and the gas,

I would not seek

To wet one cheek
With gentle pity's holy dew:
Why shade with clouds a summer sky?
Why dim the lustre of an eye

Which sorrow never knew?
But lives there one whose feeling breast

Those festive scenes can bear to leave,
To wander where the weary rest,
And feel how sweet it is to grieve?

If such there be

O! come with me, And view poor Cynthia's lowly bed; 'Tis yonder little fresh-green sod, Where seldom mourner's foot hath trod, Or pious tear been shed.

* See Analectic Magazine, May, 1815.

O, time! I would not blame thy power',

For Cynthia's youth and beauty flowe, I mourn but that so sweet a flower Should bloom and wither all alone :

For she was fair

Beyond compare,
And ever was her heart so blithe
By gay good-humoured mirth upborne,

time ! she would have laughid to scorn
Thy very glass and sithe.
For her, soft dreams, and slumbers light,

Succeeded calm unruffled days;
Each eye beam'd on her with delight,
Each tongue was tuneful in her praise :

And at her feet,

With reverence meet,
A crowd of Aattering suitors strove;
Some proffer'd glittering gems and gold,
And some of endless transports tolů,

And everlasting love.
But little could their prayers avail,

Nor one could win the maiden's choice;
She little heeded flattery's tale,
She scorn'd the sound of mammon's voice.

The gay attire

Could she admire
Of beaux that glitter'd by her side;
While every vagrant butterfly
That frisks beneath a summer sky,

Could rival all their pride!
Yet had slie seen some gentle youth,

Of manners mild, by sense refin'd,
Whose pure integrity and truth
Spoke manly dignity of mind;

And had he sucd

In plaintive mood,
And, sighing, look'd lis anxious pain,
And had he dropt a silent tear,
The tribute of a soul sincere,

He had not sued in vain.
What though the charms which nature sprea

With raptur'd eye she oft survey'd, What though “by heavenly musing led," She love to wander through the shade;

Still from ber breast

Forlorn, distress'd,
Would com times break unbidden sigo:
?bat she had uone whose feeling heart
In all her griefs night bear a part,

And share in ali her jocs

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