three times, and were treated by the natives with the utmost hospitality. My farm, called Wymannoo, was upon the east side of the river, four or five miles from its mouth. Fifteen people with their families resided upon it, who cultivated the ground as my servants. There were three houses upon the property, but I found it most agreeable to live with one of my neighbours, and get what I wanted from my own land. This person's name was William Stevenson, a native of Borrowstouoess. He had been a convict and escaped from New South Wales; but was notwithstanding an industrious man, and conducted himself, in general with great propriety. He had married a native, and had a family of several children. He was the first who introduced into the island the mode of distilling a spirit from the tee-root, of which, however, he became so fond, that the king was obliged to deprive him of his still.'—pp. 145, 146

(To be Continned.)

CHEMISTRY A CORRECTIVE OF PRIDE!

We know that Religion has on many occasions, been a corrective of pride; but never till we perused the following amusing anecdote, did we imagine that the abstract science of Chemistry might be applied to that moral purpose.

"In Germany, the taste for Chemistry extends as rapidly as liberal ideas. The following anecdote proves the truth of this observation. A Nobleman of a very ancient family, received lessons at Berlin from the celebrated Professor Klaproth, whose recent death has proved so great a loss to the sciences. One day as he was proceeding to the laboratory of the Philosopher, his carriage overturned, and he and his coachman were so severely bruised, that they were under the necessity of being bled. The noble German immediately conceived the idea of profiting by this accident to discover whether the blood of a gentleman differed in any way from that of a common person. He sent the produce of the two bleedings in separate vessels to Klaproth, and requested him to make a comparative analysis of them. The skilful Chemist, after the most scrupulous attention, found that each blood contained the same quantity of iron, lime, magnesia, phosphate of lime, albumen, muriat of potash and soda, subcarbonate of soda, sulfate of potash, extractive, mucous mat

ter, and water. The quantity of water was two hundredth parts greater in the blood of the Nobleman than in that of his coachman. This might have been an advantage to the latter, had so slight a difference been worthy consideration. It may therefore be presumed that the blood of a Nobleman and that of a plebeian are physically and chemically identical. The Nobleman, who was delighted with this result, transmitted a copy of the analysis to his son's tutor, in order that the young man might be reminded of it whenever he affected to believe that his blood was purer than that of other men.

THE ARTIST AND THE PORTER.

The following story is related in a late Paris Paper :-A painter who wished to represent the tragical end of Milo of Grotona, met in the street a porter of a most athletic form. He admired his colossal figure and vigorous muscles, and offered him a pound sterling on condition that he would stand to him as a model. It was only necessary to tie his hands, and confine them with an iron ring, in order to represent, as well as possible, the trunk of the tree in which Milo's hands were imprisoned when he was devoured by wild beasts. The porter readily consented to the painter's proposal: he stript himself and suffered his hands to be bound. Now, said the artist, imagine that a lion is darting upon you; and make every effort which you would do in such a case to escape his fury. The moded threw himself into the most violent agitation; but he made too many grimaces; there was nothing natural in his frightful contortions. The painter gave him further directions; but still he failed of producing the desired effect. At length he thought of the following singular method. He let loose a vigorous mastiff, which was kept in the yard of the house, and desired him to seize the unfortunate captive. This powerfully excited both gesticulation and utterance. The efforts of the porter thus became natural; and the fury of the animal increased in proportion as his struggles were violent. The painter, in a fit of transport, seized his pencils. The patient, however, who had been bitten and torn by the dog, uttered violent cries. Excellent! Brayo! exclaimed the artist. Continue: Oh! that's admirable! Finally, the sitting, or rather the torture, being at an end, the artist offered the promised salary; but

the model replied, that he had agreed to accept of a pound sterling for being painted and not for being bitten; he demanded a large indemnity. The affair has been brought before the tribunals.

AN ADDRESS.

SPOKEN BY MR. DOWTON, AT THE OPERA-HOUSE, ON THE OCCASION OF MR. INCLEDON'S FAREWELL BENEFIT, MARCH, 24, 1817.

The tuneful favourite of your youthful days,
Rais'd by your smiles. and nurtured by your praise;
Whom you proclaim'd, from competition free;

Unrivall'd in his native melody:

Now forc'd, alas! in foreign climes to roam,
To seek beyond th' Atlantic waste a home;
Ere yet to England's shore he bids adieu,

Pours forth one parting, grateful strain-to you.
Oh let the men, who with him trod the stage,
Who mark'd the promise of his earlier age;
Who saw with joy his talents ripen'd bloom,
Who hailed his progress, and now mourn his doom;
Shed for such talents' loss, the pitying tear,
While yet they may behold their brother here.
Here-where the friends who nerv'd his youthful power,
Now meet to consecrate his farewell hour:
Here-where the plaudits he has felt so long,
Now for the last time cheer your child of song;
To you his claim for kindness he prefer'd,
Your presence shows that his appeal was heard.
No actors here, as actors, now attend,
But friends assemble to support a friend.

Those friends would waft above one fervent pray'r,
One anxious wish, for him who owns their care:
May he, in lands where British accents sound,
Experience what he felt on British ground:
While to his ear your language they impart,

Oh, may they speak your language to his heart.
May all the social joys which here exist,
There wait upon the "wandering melodist!"

POEM COMPOSED FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE.

I. 1.

Fill high the cup in festive hall,

And pledge our kindreds hopes so bright,-
Yes, brothers, yes, at Brunswick's call
Once more our faithful ranks unite.
But oh! to what harvest of glory,

Gallant prince, dost thou summon the brave?
Where shall Conquest, all harness'd and gory,
Her banners triumphantly wave?——
For well thy heart of proof we know,
By many a hard encounter tried:

In evil hour the haughty foe

Thy daring arm of youth defied;

What time, on Helder's well-fought sands,
Catavia lean'd on Gauls firm bands,
And, in the van of England's war,
Mark'd against the Brunswick star.
II. 2.

But milder glories gild the crown
For Mercy wove by angel pow'rs;
Nor Love nor Pity shed a frown
To wither those immortal flow'rs.
And lo! where the tropic sun blazes.
The standard of glory appears!

And Conquest her trophy there raises

Nor tainted with blood, nor darken'd with tears!

For deep-intrench'd through many an age

There Vice and Superstition reign;

And Christian hands with impions rage
Have riv'd more deep the moral chain !
These are thy fruits, thy Pest accurst!
By Blood and Spoil and Av'rice nurst!
Less fatal on those tortur'd shores,
Blast of death! Aarmattan roars.
I. 3.

Dark with crime, and dropping blood,
Twice a hundred years had past;
Still, o'er mountain, vale, and flood,
Groans of Afric swell'd the blast.
Till he, her champion, dear to Fame,
Undaunted 'midst her foes appearing,
His guardian voice to Britain rearing,

Her countless sorrows dar'd to name.
Instant, starting at the sound,
Rose the patriot chiefs around.
The flash of Burke's prophetic eye
Blaz'd on the march of Liberty.

The heav'n-taught tones of Pitt were there,
To bid the fiend of guilt despair;
And Fox, triumphant from the tomb,
Seal'd the struggling monster's doom.

II. 1.

Hail! glorious day, whose beams foretell
New years of rapture yet unborn.
Hark! lightly on my answering shell
Float gleams of that triumphal morn.
Fate's darkling pages

To Britain 'tis given to unroll ;

And the long line of bright-moving ages
Await but her signal to start from the gaol.
"And haste, ye promis'd ages, haste,"
(Thus speaks the queen of many isles)
"And swift o'er Afric's bleeding waste
Unbosom all your treasur'd smiles.
Her mournful stream and matted brake
To other notes than Sorrow's wake;
And bid her mountain-echoes know
Other sounds than sounds of woe,"

II. 2.

Yes! rallying at the voice divine,
We kindle for the bold emprise!
And foremost in our phalanx shine
The brave, the uoble, and the wise.

And now, by the victims whose anguish

Wept on each death-freighted bark of despair,

And the millions that hopelessly languish

In the sad chains of exile, we swear,

And by the valour of the bold,

And by the freedom of the free,

And by our faiher's hallow'd mould,

And by our country's destiny,

Those tears shall cease, these wounds shall close,

And injur'd nations soothe their woes;

The cries of guiltless blood shall pause,

Chang'd to pray'rs in Britain's cause.

In allusion to Memnon's statue, which was said to utter sounds when touched by the rising sug.