Mr. Seymour then sat down, amidst deafening shouts of applause. Messrs. Kenyon, Kirby, and Pelham expressed themselves decidedly opposed to the motion, which, on being put to the vote, was negatived by a large majority.

Before the members separated, the President requested their attendance on the fourth of June.

Signed,

C. DASHWOOD, SECRETARY.

ΤΟ

Oh, shall my memory greet thee not?
Because from home

Thou'rt doom'd to roam;

Say shall my bosom feel no more,

What it so deeply felt before,

Because 'tis mine to meet thee not?

Think'st thou thy absence grieves me not?

Oft sets in night

A star of light,

And leaves its place to darkness drear;-
Such, such is home, when thou'rt not here,
When sight of thee relieves mẹ not.

And hear me, love; or hear me not:
Though now afar,

Thou art that star,

And I thy absence must regret :

But can I thy dear worth forget?

'Tis thought of still, though near me not.

Deem'st thou thy weal can move me not?

My frequent cares,

And constant pray'rs,

(Which, breath'd for thee, seem to impart
A greater fervor to my heart),

Can never say I love thee not.

L

Perchance thou wilt believe me not;
But faithful youth

Ne'er spoke, in truth,

More purely so than that I tell-
By me thou art belov'd so well,
For worlds I would deceive thee not.

I trust I shall offend thee not,
That whilst away,

My thoughts will stray

To thee, at morning, noon, and night—
But feeling must have perish'd quite,
If all my thoughts attend thee not.

May thwarted hopes perplex thee not;
May no alarm

Of dreaded harm

Disturb of thine a single thought,

For realms I would not have that aught
Should come-but what would vex thee not.

Whilst ill can thus assail thee not,
Be sure of this,

There's not a bliss,

A weal, a good, I do not pray
May hover o'er thee, day by day,
And may these ever fail thee not.

When other joys prevent it not,
Thy thoughts will roam,

To those at home,

And 'mongst them should they visit me,

(Oh can that ever, ever be?)

I

pray you, love, resent it not.

PEMBERTON.

TO FANNY.

Why dim these tears my aching eyes?
Why seems this spot so drear?
My anguish'd breast responsive sighs,
Fanny, thou art not here.

Careless I roam-gay forms among,
Their joys I cannot share;
Heedless, I view the glitt'ring throng,
Fanny, thou art not there.

When tuneful songsters of the grove
Their dulcet strains out pour,
They bid me think, as wild I rove,
Thy tones I hear no more.

To think, as sets yon lord of day
All cloth'd in radiant smiles,
On thee his ling'ring beams still play,
My sorrow half beguiles.

As meets those rays my tearful eye,
To know on thee they shine,

I feel a link, a blissful tie,
Betwixt thy soul and mine.

E. N.

LINES WRITTEN IN SICKNESS.

May 4, 1828.

I am ill-and the pleasures of health
No longer are present to gladden :
I am ill-and the sickness of pain
My moments of sorrowing sadden.

Without is the linnet and thrush,

The May-song of morning is sounding;
The sunshine is bright on the lawn,
And freedom and peace are abounding.

I look, and I envy the fields—

They are wooing the freshness of air; I sigh, and I envy the streams,

For the music of nature is there.

I could fancy yon lark mocks my pain,
As he spreads out his wings to the skies;
As he carols, as free as the winds,

His song seems to laugh at my sighs.

I am ill-but away with complaints
That are utter'd again and again;
I will cease--for they bring no relief;
I will cease, for I know they are vain.

TO MARY.

What water is to thirsty soil,

Long burnt by summer's scorching ray; What rest to mortal is, when toil

Has worn his frame the livelong day:

What coming sun is to the flower,
When frost has cut its wither'd leaf;

Or music at that sad, sad hour,

When ev'ry feeling wakes to grief :

What to the trav'ller, parch'd with thirst,
As, faint, he journeys thro' the waste,
That welcome moment is, when first
He kens the spring that woos his taste:

A.

What to lone midnight Cynthia's beam;
Or what a saving hand to see,
When sinking in destruction's stream,
Dear Mary, is, the thought of thee.

C.

ENVY.

The proper study of mankind is man.-POPE.

Man is indeed a strange compound of various passions; introduced into this world in sin, he is the child of every momentary impulse; and, but that his hopes are directed towards the enjoyment of another world, he would, we may venture to say, be truly wretched. Among the conflicting passions which agitate his whole frame, there is scarcely one which is the source of greater evils than Envy. It is the parent of desire. We envy the possessions and attainments of others, and too often wish those attainments to be our's, indulging our self-willed appetites by setting at defiance both moral and social laws in the gratification of them. We are envious of the virtues of others, and, by so doing, ourselves become vicious. Rivalry may be said to spring from envy; and although a desire of emulating the good qualities of others is certainly praiseworthy, yet a continued system of rivalry is ill calculated to inculcate in our hearts good will and love towards each other. Jealousy also seems in some degree to be allied to envy; the main difference between them consisting in love, for we are jealous only of those we love. At this moment, I cannot remember what author it is who says, that "Where there is love there must be jealousy." Thus the lover is jealous of his mistress-the wife of her husband. But it may be asked, is envy confined to any one rank of society in particular? No: all are alike susceptible of it. The monarch, whose sleep is withheld from him by the cares of state, envies the calm repose of the cabin boy: this Shakspeare informs us. The