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 his 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 ges tures 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 Analectic Magazine.

THE BATTLE OF ERIE.

AVAST, honest Jack! now before you get mellow,
Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow,
'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew,
Who keelhal'd the Britons, and captur’d a few.

""Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day,
Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay,

When we saw the bold Britons, and clear for a bott,
Instead of put in, by the Lord we put 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 motte our gallant men saw,

They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza!

"O! then 'twould have rais'd your hat three inches higher, To see how we dash'd in among them like fire!

The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could,
And a long time the brunt of the battle she stood.

"Twas peppering work-fire, fury, and smoke,
And groans that from wounded lads spite of 'em broke.
The water grew red round our ship as she lay,
Though 'twas never before 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,

But these gallant tars still the battle maintain'd.

""Twas then our commander, God bless his young heart,
Thought it best from his well pepper'd'ship to depart,
And bring up the rest who were tugging behind,
For why they were sadly in want of a wind.

"So to Yarnall 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 cockboat 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 muscle by any was seen.

"Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him,
But the devil a one ever graz'd e'en a limb,
Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat,
Till the crew pull'd him down by the skirts of his coat.

"At last through heav'n's mercy we reach'd t'other ship, And the wind springing up, we gave 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 hal'd 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."

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.

P.

Shine on her chosen green resort,
Where trees the sunward 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 cheek 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 snow.
Thus, ever thus, at day's decline,
In converse sweet to wander far,
O! bring with thee my Caroline,
And thou shalt be my ruling star.

FEMALE CELIBACY, OR THE GRAVE OF 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 gay,
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, 1813.

O, time! I would not blame thy power,
For Cynthia's youth and beauty flown,
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,
O time! she would have laughed 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 flattering suitors strove; Some proffer'd glittering gems and gold, And some of endless transports told, 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 a

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 she seen some gentle youth,

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

And had he sued

In plaintive mood,

And, sighing, look'd his 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 lov'd to wander through the shade;
Still from her breast
Forlorn, distress'd,

Would sometimes break unbidden sighs
That she had none whose feeling heart
In all her griefs might bear a part,
And share in all her joss.