a mistake; and I now acknowledge and claim it as mine with more pride than I heard it recited, convinced that a leaf of bay, which could have been supposed to be intertwined in the wreath which adorns the brow of Sheridan, can never wither.

To dry the tear by sorrow taught to flow,

To feel for other's wants, and soothe their woe,
Is the prerogative of man alone;

The badge whereby Humanity is known.

Nay, 'tis the stamp which marks the favour'd line,
The sacred spark which proves the race divine.

The laurell'd glories of th' embattled field
To sober thought no solid joy can yield.

Not all the luxuries which wealth await,

Not all the pomp attendant on the great,
Nor all the influence ally'd to pow'r,

Can charm the heart in calm reflection's hour.
But deeds of " melting charity" review'd,
In recollection find delight renew'd ;

They yield a pleasure which can never cloy,
For great excess, there, purifies the joy.
The children of misfortune you relieve,
Ten-fold repay the blessings they receive.

Among that number, tell me, may I dare
Humbly to rank the poor and aged Play'r?
O, may I hope your kind remembrance dwells
On former heroes, former beaux and belles!

Think how they toil'd among these mimic scenes, The sworn liege subjects of the sister Queens. Think how they rais'd the laugh, or drew the tear, For fat Sir John, or venerable Lear.

"Twas your applause first nurs'd their early Spring,
And did their Summer-Fruit to ripeness bring,
Their yellow Autumn mellow'd was by you,
And their exertions in return were due:
But now, their little race of glory run,

Still let your favour cheer their Winter sun.

LINES

FOR THE

TOMB OF A GOLDFINCH.

Stop, Passenger! and drop a tear
To grace my little urn;

Pause o'er the Corse that moulders here,
Nor from my ashes turn.

To sad captivity consign'd,
Ne'er mid the groves I flew ;
Alone upon the perch I pin'd,
Nor Mate nor Nestling knew.

With Nature's feelings still at strife,
Evolv'd my transient breath;
Depriv'd of joy I pass'd my life,
Depriv'd of hope in death.

But thou, when thy sad struggle's o'er,

On ardent wing shalt rise;

Thine earthly prison is no more,

Thy mansion is the skies.

THE

DEATH OF THE HEIR APPARENT.

EVENTS which may be called the common events of life, pass on unnoticed; and unknown, excepting to the few individuals who are connected in the small circle where their consequences extend. A man dies, his relations lament him, his heir replaces him, and he is forgotten. His life was insignificant to the community at large, and his death leaves no gap in society. Even in the highest class, the class of nobility, all we can say is, that bis influence extended to a wider circle; but it has its limits: the limits of his own territorial possessions. He who has great influence in Bedfordshire, is powerless in Staffordshire. He who is a great man in Cheshire, is nobody in Devonshire. If a nobleman lose his heir, it is no matter to the world at large. Thomas dies, and Philip inherits; no more. When we rise to Kings, the

wide extent of the influence of their lives, their actions, their heirs, has no limits but the circle of the whole earth. The remote consequences of every thing appertaining to them, operate from the equator to the poles. The life of the King, and the death of the sceptre's heir, are so important that history can hardly trace their effects, or wisdom calculate their bearings.

In the chronicles of our own country we may find exemplifications of what I say; not only in the lives of our Sovereigns, whose actions and their immediate effects are known to all; but in that very circumstance, which I have named as immaterial, generally speaking; that is, in the death of the heir apparent.

Let us remount to that period from which we date the throne; to that stock from which to this hour we derive our Kings; to that mortifying æra when a foreigner, a bastard, conquered us; trod on our necks, and made us slaves. To the battle of Hastings, which placed William I. on our throne. Him, whom to perpetuate our humiliation, we never speak of but as the Conqueror.

I do not mean here to write the life of any one man who has reigned in England. My purpose is briefly to shew what ensued when an heir apparent