His arriving at Cambridge wet, when no rain
had fallen there.

[May 1793.]

Ir Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found
While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around,
Might fitly represent the Church, endow'd
With heav'nly gifts, to Heathens not allow'd;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry.
Heav'n grant us half the omen-may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee!

A TALE.

[June 1793.]

IN Scotland's realm where trees are few,

Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,

Some better things are found,

For Husband there and Wife may boast

Their union undefil'd,

And false ones are as rare almost

As hedge-rows in the wild.

In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare
The hist'ry chanc'd of late-

This hist'ry of a wedded Pair,
A chaffinch and his mate.

The spring drew near, each felt a breast With genial instinct fill'd;

They pair'd, and would have built a nest, But found not where to build.

The heaths uncover'd and the moors
Except with snow and sleet,

Sea-beaten rocks, and naked shores
Could yield them no retreat.

Long time a breeding-place they sought, Till both grew vext and tired;

At length a ship arriving brought

The good so long desired.

A ship?---could such a restless thing
Afford them place of rest?

Or was the merchant charged to bring The homeless birds a nest?

Hush---Silent hearers profit most---
This racer of the sea

Prov'd kinder to them than the coast,
It serv'd them with a Tree.

But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call a Mast,

And had a hollow with a wheel

Through which the tackle pass'd.

Within that cavity aloft

Their roofless home they fix'd, Form'd with materials neat and soft, Bents, wool, and feathers mixt.

Four iv'ry eggs soon pave its floor, With russet specks bedight--The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, And lessens to the sight.

The mother-bird is gone to sea,

As she had chang'd her kind;

But goes the male? Far wiser he
Is doubtless left behind?

No--Soon as from ashore he saw

The winged mansion move,

He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love,

Then perching at his consort's side
Was briskly born along,

The billows and the blast defied,
And cheer'd her with a soug.

The seaman with sincere delight
His feather'd shipmates eyes,

Scarce less exulting in the sight
Than when he tows a prize.

For seamen much believe in signs,
And from a chance so new
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!

Hail, honoured land! a desart where Not even birds can hide,

Yet parent of this loving pair

Whom nothing could divide.

And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,

Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with Man,

For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and wo,

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,
And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love!

This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the BuckinghamshireHerald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words.

Glasgow, May 23.

In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock however visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food.