Could Time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,

I prick'd them into paper with a ping

(And thou wast happier than myself the while,

Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile.)
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?

I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.

But no !-What here we call our life is such,
So little to be lov'd and thou so much,

That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

"Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast,
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd,)
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;

So thou, with sails how swift, hast reach'd the shore
Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,
And thy lov'd consort on the dangʼrous tide,
Of life, long since, has anchor'd at thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd.
Me howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd,
Sails ript, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,
And day by day, some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course;
But oh, the thought, that thou art safe, and he !
The thought is joy, arrive what may to me.

My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthron'd and rulers of the earth,
But higher far my proud pretensions rise,
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now farewell; time, unrevok'd has run
His wanted course, yet what I wish'd is done,
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have liv'd my childhood o’er again ;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine.

And while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft,
Thyself remov'd, thy power to soothe me left."

BISHOP OF LEON.

THE generosity of the English nation, and the Christian benevolence of individuals, were never more nobly displayed, than in the hospitable reception of the distressed French emigrants. Driven by sanguinary factions, from the enjoyments of home and affluence, numbers of them took refuge on our shores, where, strangers and friendless, they were exposed to the greatest hardships, The spirit of enmity, so often cherished from earliest infancy, between Englishmen and Frenchmen, was forgotten at their approach; their misfortunes, not their country, was considered, and a general emulation pre

vailed, of holding out the hand of friendship to these forlorn wanderers.

The wealthy only could give large sums of money for their relief; but there were a thousand ways of alleviating their misery, that came within the capacity of the middling classes. A cup of cold water, offered with kindness, we are told, will be accepted for its good intention ; and doubtless there were many of these humble gifts, that were concealed from notice by the obscurity of the giver. The naked were clothed; the hungry were fed; and, to the sick, medicines and consolation were administered.

Can there be a more beautiful picture of the amlable influence of humanity, than to see a whole nation, as with the voice of one man, extending commisseration to the unfortunate. On the other hand, the fortitude under such a transition of fortune; the patience, gratitude, and resignation of numbers of those afflicted persons, equally deserved admiration.

Perhaps none excelled the venerable bishop of Leon in these qualities. Though an exile in a strange land; stripped of his possessions; deprived of his relations; banished from his diocese, over which he had presided with the affection of a father; yet, he was never heard to murmur, but, in the midst of such deep trials, preserved the equanimity of his temper unruffled.

He seemed to feel more for the calamities of others than for his own, and passed the remainder of his life in transferring his pastoral cares to his fugitive countrymen. He devoted most of his time to their service, in administering to their wants, and sympathising in their

afflictions; and so highly was he esteemed, that he was entrusted by our government to dispense part of its bounty amongst his brethren.

Besides his other virtues, he was distinguished by a liberality of sentiment, in which the Catholics are, as a sect, thought deficient. In his addresses to the French clergy, who were resident here, he urged them to avoid all interference in religion or politics; a precept that he enforced by his own example.

This excellent person died, November, 1806, in London, at the house of Mrs. Silburn, where he lodged during his residence in the metropolis; and who, though in narrow circumstances, found means of rendering this abode as comfortable to him as tenderness and sympa. thy could do.

It is but justice to her merit to quote some particulars of this lady, recorded by the biographer of the bishop.

Mrs. Silburn was the widow of a cooper, who had left no children of his own, but had supported those of his brother, two sons and two daughters, and had died in indifferent circumstances. Notwithstanding which, his widow continued, after his decease, to maintain and educate them, though she had hardly any other means than those of letting lodgings: but her character, her economy, her benevolence, and exemplary conduct, had created her numerous friends.

The rent of the bishop's room was not high; but she demanded nothing, and received from him less than her accustomed rent. The bishop's lodgings became

the general rendezvous of all the French clergy; and her house was filled with the distressed from morning to night. Her charitable exertions were unremitted, and her assiduities incessant, in affording all sorts of comfort, particularly to the sick and infirm. For some weeks, the abode of this worthy woman was more like an hospital than a private lodging.

Such was the pious conduct of Mrs. Silburn, and peace of mind her bright reward.

CONJUGAL AFFECTION. ·

THE mental characteristics of the sexes are as distinct as those of their outward form: both are adapted, with the most nice exactness, to that department which they are destined to fill.

Nothing can be more absurd, than a contest for superiority where no rivalship subsists. A man, perfect in the qualities of body and mind, could his sex be exchanged, would make an odious woman; whilst the exquisite feeling, delicacy, gentleness, and forbearance of female excellence, would not only render a man ridiculous, but unfit him for the duties of citizen, husband, and father.

Sensibility is a most striking trait in the characters of women, and peculiarly adapted to enable them to fulfil the whole circle of tender offices that domestic connex