Mr. Seymour then sat down, amidst deafening shouts of applause. Messrs. Kenyon, Kirby, and Pelham expressed themselves decidedly opposed to the motion, which, on being put to the vote, was negatived by a large majority. Before the members separated, the President requested their attendance on the fourth of June. Signed, C. DASHWOOD, SECRETARY. ΤΟ Oh, shall my memory greet thee not? Thou'rt doom'd to roam; Say shall my bosom feel no more, What it so deeply felt before, Because 'tis mine to meet thee not? Think'st thou thy absence grieves me not? Oft sets in night A star of light, And leaves its place to darkness drear;- And hear me, love; or hear me not: Thou art that star, And I thy absence must regret : But can I thy dear worth forget? 'Tis thought of still, though near me not. Deem'st thou thy weal can move me not? My frequent cares, And constant pray'rs, (Which, breath'd for thee, seem to impart Can never say I love thee not. L Perchance thou wilt believe me not; Ne'er spoke, in truth, More purely so than that I tell- I trust I shall offend thee not, My thoughts will stray To thee, at morning, noon, and night— May thwarted hopes perplex thee not; Of dreaded harm Disturb of thine a single thought, For realms I would not have that aught Whilst ill can thus assail thee not, There's not a bliss, A weal, a good, I do not pray When other joys prevent it not, To those at home, And 'mongst them should they visit me, (Oh can that ever, ever be?) I pray you, love, resent it not. PEMBERTON. TO FANNY. Why dim these tears my aching eyes? Careless I roam-gay forms among, When tuneful songsters of the grove To think, as sets yon lord of day As meets those rays my tearful eye, I feel a link, a blissful tie, E. N. LINES WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. May 4, 1828. I am ill-and the pleasures of health Without is the linnet and thrush, The May-song of morning is sounding; I look, and I envy the fields— They are wooing the freshness of air; I sigh, and I envy the streams, For the music of nature is there. I could fancy yon lark mocks my pain, His song seems to laugh at my sighs. I am ill-but away with complaints TO MARY. What water is to thirsty soil, Long burnt by summer's scorching ray; What rest to mortal is, when toil Has worn his frame the livelong day: What coming sun is to the flower, Or music at that sad, sad hour, When ev'ry feeling wakes to grief : What to the trav'ller, parch'd with thirst, A. What to lone midnight Cynthia's beam; C. ENVY. The proper study of mankind is man.-POPE. Man is indeed a strange compound of various passions; introduced into this world in sin, he is the child of every momentary impulse; and, but that his hopes are directed towards the enjoyment of another world, he would, we may venture to say, be truly wretched. Among the conflicting passions which agitate his whole frame, there is scarcely one which is the source of greater evils than Envy. It is the parent of desire. We envy the possessions and attainments of others, and too often wish those attainments to be our's, indulging our self-willed appetites by setting at defiance both moral and social laws in the gratification of them. We are envious of the virtues of others, and, by so doing, ourselves become vicious. Rivalry may be said to spring from envy; and although a desire of emulating the good qualities of others is certainly praiseworthy, yet a continued system of rivalry is ill calculated to inculcate in our hearts good will and love towards each other. Jealousy also seems in some degree to be allied to envy; the main difference between them consisting in love, for we are jealous only of those we love. At this moment, I cannot remember what author it is who says, that "Where there is love there must be jealousy." Thus the lover is jealous of his mistress-the wife of her husband. But it may be asked, is envy confined to any one rank of society in particular? No: all are alike susceptible of it. The monarch, whose sleep is withheld from him by the cares of state, envies the calm repose of the cabin boy: this Shakspeare informs us. The |