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but three days for an answer. The answer I mean," says he, "is the full value of what you might have made of your ship and cargo; and tell the cardinal, that if it be not paid you in three days, you have express orders from me to return home."

The quaker followed his instructions; but the cardinal, according to the manner of ministers, when they are any way pressed, began to shuffle; therefore, the quaker returned, as desired. As soon as the protector saw him, he asked, “Well, friend, have you got the money?" On being answered in the negative, he said, "then leave your direction with my secretary, and you shall soon hear from me." Upon this occasion, Cromwell did not stay to negociate, or to explain by long tedious memorials, the reasonableness of his demand. Though there was a French minister residing in England, he did not so much as acquaint him with the story; but immediately sent a man of war or two, with orders to seize every French ship they could meet with. Accordingly, they returned, in a few days, with two or three French prizes, which the protector ordered to be immediately sold; and out of the produce he paid the quaker what he demanded for the ship and cargo. He then sent for the French minister, gave an account of what had happened, and told him there was a balance, which, if he pleased, should be paid to him; to the end that he might deliver it to those of his countrymen who were the owners of the French ships, that had been so taken and sold.

MY BOSOM LOVE,-A SONG.

BY M. F. MACARTHY, ESQ. AUTHOR of THE BRIDE OF THE ISLES, &c.

دو

Here's to thee, my own, my bosom love!
The first red cup to thee!

O thine around the festive board,

The earliest thought must be.

Whate'er thou art, whate'er thou wert,
I will not name thy name;

'Tis written deep within my breast,
My glory and my shame;

Then pour into the sparkling cup
The vintage wave, and be
One brimming bowl quaff'd freely off,
My bosom love, to thee!

Here's to thee, my own, my bosom love!

Or weal or woe betide,

One heart will still be true to thee,
One friend is by thy side;

And though the stainless bloom be gone,
That shone upon thy brow,

I may laud the more-but never,

Never love thee more than now.

Then pour, &c.

Here's to thee, my own, my bosom love! Although it be in vain

That I, as once I fondly hoped,

Should hope for thee again : But if above thy adverse path Some kinder star yet shine,

What heart will hail the welcome ray

More anxiously than mine?

Then pour, &c.

Here's to thee, my own, my bosom love! Though one dark losel dims

Thy pure and peerless beauty,

And the iron's on thy limbs,

The thought of thee comes o'er the soul,
In life's desponding hours,
Like music heard in solitude,
Or breath of fragrant flowers.

Then pour, &c.

Then here's to thee, my bosom love!
The first red cup to thee!

And thine in every festive hour

It faithfully shall be:

As priests unto the holiest shrine

Their primal offerings cast,

The first red cup that's crown'd to-night,

Beloved one, thou hast!

Then pour, &c.

CONTENT,

AN EASTERN APOLOGUE.

BY J. HORWITZ.

A king, who was one day leaning out of the window of his palace, which was built near a river, perceived on the beach an old and decrepid man, limping on until he came near the palace, when he seated himself by the water side.

The old man opened a small bag, took out of it a hard erust of bread, and threw it in the water. When the bread was thoroughly soaked, he made a hearty meal of it. He then took out a wooden cup, dipped it in the water, and drank with as great a zest as that with which he seemed to relish his repast. Having satisfied the cravings of nature, he retired some distance from the shore, to shelter himself from a burning sun, under the foliage of a large tree, and there threw himself down and slept soundly.

The king, in the meanwhile, watched all the motions of the old man attentively; he called his attendants, and bade them to take special notice of him, and, as soon as he waked, to bring him before him. They accordingly did as he commanded, and the old man was brought before his majesty. The king observed to him, 66 I have noticed that thou hast warmed thyself in the sun, and that thou hast taken a piece of stale rye bread out of thy little sack, and, after soaking it in the water, hast eaten it; afterwards thou didst satisfy thy thirst with the water from the river, and then refresh thyself with sleep, by throwing thyself under yonder tree. Art thou the same man?" "I am," answered the old man, "the very

same."

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“Then," rejoined the king, "I am much astonished how thou canst endure such living.' The old man answered and said, " my dear lord, I am as much rejoiced and satisfied with it, as if I had fed on the greatest dainties of your majesty's table." The king then said, thou mayst be satisfied from necessity, but it is impossible that thou canst enjoy such living.” The old man answered, "my dear king, I will show you those who lead a worse life than I." "Proceed," said the king. The old man observed, "he that strives after money and property has a worse life; he is always desirous of becoming rich; he is never at rest; his mind is agitated, and his heart palpitates; by day he runs hither and thither, and by night

he sleepeth not, ruminating how he can acquire substance; day after day passeth away, and he wanders like a madman, rushes into the world, travels over wildernesses, crosses oceans in pursuit of an annual fair, amidst thieves and robbers, sorrows and anxieties, trouble and labour, nothing stops his cupidity, there is no rest for him. He risks his life on the furious billows of the ocean, and on the waste land of the wilderness; and even if he reaches home, he is perplexed with making up his accounts, and preparing for other journies and other voyages; the more he has, the more he wishes to have; he has never enough, and he verifies the verse he that loveth silver, shall not be satisfied with silver-sleep shall fly from his eyelids.'. 'Besides," said the old man," he not only leads a miserable life in this world, but he exchanges the world to come for money, so in the end he loses both." As soon as the old man had finished his reflections, the king said, " I truly, old man, thou art more wise, and more happy than me, all my courtiers, and all those who aim at naught but riches and power."

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The king henceforth loved the old man much; he became his favorite, and received many valuable presents, so that he could live the rest of his days comfortably.

THE AUTUMN EVE, A SONNET.

The clouds are tinged with amber! yon small isles
That thickly gem the blue reposing sea,

Vary like opals in the sun-sets' smiles,

And vesper-hymns are weav'd by bird and bee. There's melody in the rills which brightly gush

Among these trees and flowers; and reapers leave The half-shorn wheat-field; while the beauteous thrush Serenely carols to the mellow eve!

Ten years have fled! on such an eve as this
I was a beauteous child! I loved to dwell
Beneath the firs that skirt yon cottaged dell;
Nor thought I of the fleeting hours of bliss.
The stream, in which I bask'd, is laughing yet;
But ah, on me, joys sunny beams have set!"
REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

THE TRUE NARRATIVE OF PAUL AND

VIRGINIA.

[There are few who have not wept over the fate of Virginia, as described by the master-hand of St. Pierre. To know that the tale is founded on fact, increases the intensity of its interest, while it makes us desirous of learning the real circumstances which gave birth to it. We cannot, therefore, but believe that the following letter will be gratifying to the admirers of this beautiful fiction.

The gentleman, by whom it was written, examined most carefully all the facts relative to the loss of the vessel; and, the better to acquaint himself with the different places mentioned by St. Pierre, made the circuit of the island on foot, visiting every part of that romantic spot. The correctness of his statements may be most fully relied on; the story required not the embellishments of fancy to render it deeply interesting.]

I have made the researches you requested, relative to the loss of the St. Gerant; and have discovered that nothing can be more true, nothing more affecting, than the fate of the unfortunate Virginia; its details must touch the coldest heart. I have examined and read the correspondence of the Directors of the India Company, as well as the declarations of those who were saved from the shipwreck, which are found upon the records. Almost all the circumstances of the sad event, I learned from an officer, who knew, and had made a voyage with Virginia; who was employed in saving the effects of the St. Gerant, and who had all the particulars of her loss from a naval officer, that had been fortunate enough to escape.

There were two young ladies on board this vessel, Mademoiselle Caillon and Mademoiselle Mallet; ut which of them was Virginia, I do not now recollect. She went, while still very young, to the Isle of France. In the year 1741, she returned to France with her uncle, who had been employed in the island as chief engineer. She was then about twelve years of age,—of a good figure, very pretty, and above all, interesting from extreme sensibility and modesty, which characterised all her actions. Her education was finished, and her mind and character fully developed, when her uncle,

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