minal convert to Christianity by taking advantage of a legal quirk, and “convincing a man against his will" by the threatened alternative of sundry pains and penalties. The Jew, however, could not have turned into a real Christian, and scarcely into a hypocrite. It was more easy for Falstaff to give reasons upon compulsion, than for Shylock to give faith. SONNET-TO A LADY SINGING. O! BREATHE, impassioned songstress, once again, That haunts the wanderer's visionary brain When home's fond memories rise, and vanished years, That Time's dim twilight mystery endears, Return, like shadows o'er the trembling main Beneath the half-veiled moon. Then waken still Those notes with more than mortal music fraught— A charm from heaven-a spell divinely wrought That clouds the heart, to cheer with holy dreams. WAR SONG. I. HAIL to the Brave! and hail the Land Where Freedom's dauntless guardians stand, II. How hallowed is the Patriot's grave, With ready hand and bosom brave, Hath fought and died as heroes die, III. How dear his proud immortal name To lead the brave to victory! IV. Oh! who that patriot honor warms, But nobly burns for deeds of arms, To force his country's foe to fly— To strike for death or liberty! V. The Victor's brow may proudly shine, While Beauty's hands the wreath entwine, But, Oh! his country's heart's a shrine For him who greatly dares to die, For glory and for liberty! BALLOONS. I HAVE read that the greatest height to which any balloon has ever ascended is twenty-three thousand, one hundred feet, which is the elevation reached by Guy Lussac in 1804. This is greatly above the highest mountains in the world, excepting the extreme peak of one of the Himmalayahs, which is twenty-eight thousand feet high. Man, winged only by his intellectual faculties, has out-soared the most ambitious of the feathered tribe. The highest flight of the Condor, is said to be about twenty thousand feet above the level of the sea. I recollect looking down from the top of the monument on Fish-street hill, and wondering at the littleness of man and beast. The Duke of Wellington happened to be passing at the very moment, and the hero looked any thing but heroic. It was a vision of Lilliput. What a sight it would have been for the sarcastic Swift, had he ascended in a balloon, and looked down upon this The proud rhodomon dim spot, which men call earth." tade of Richard the third "But I was born so high! Our eyrie buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun❞— must seem a very modest metaphor to our modern voyagers through the sky. Probably to their minds, even the gallant Hotspur's aspirations are tamely reasonable "By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon !" What a creature of circumstance is man! His opinions are as variable as the colours of the chameleon, and change with every change of position. "The great globe itself, with all that it inherits," seems to sink into insignificance if we are lifted but a mile from it. To follow up the illustration from Swift's admirable satire, how pitifully insignificant was a man six feet high in the land of Brobdignag. As we read of his standing upon the uplifted hands of a child, we do not wonder at the people splitting their sides with laughter when Gulliver, attempting to look big, drew his sword, and talked of his wounded honor. Gulliver's nice sense of his own moral dignity, in such a situation, seems a mockery of man; and yet thought and passion are not matters of length and breadth. What a world of gigantic and god-like imaginings reside in that little globe, the human skull; and yet within its diminutive limits, there is "ample room, and verge enough for more." The "thoughts that wander through eternity" had spacious cradles in the head of Milton. The very idea of the seat in the car makes one giddy. It looks awfully open and insecure. An inexperienced aeronaut would hardly dare to look towards the earth, "lest the deficient sight topple down headlong." There is something inexpressibly sublime in the objects presented to the imagination in these glorious excursions into the upper regions. I recollect reading somewhere an account of an aërial ascent, in which, though the aeronaut left the earth considerably after sunset, the sun again became visible to him as he rose high into the air. The solitary wanderer must have felt a vivid consciousness that he had left the exterior surface of this earthly globe, and was sailing through illimitable realms. What mighty thoughts would have passed through the brain of Milton, had the sublime bard been placed in such a position. The experiments that have been made with small birds, such as linnets and pigeons, let loose from the parachute at a dreadful height, are extremely interesting. They have generally trembled and fluttered awhile on the edge of the machine, then timidly plunged into the vast ocean of air, and at last, as if bewildered at the endless prospect of cloud upon cloud, have returned to the balloon. ELEGIAC STANZAS. I. OH! sweet departed Saint! If aught of earth could reach thine ear, 11. Not that my saddened heart Would stain thee now with kindred woe, Or bid thy spirit's sinless dreams impart A less ethereal glow! III. But, still, the thought of pain, That we, so true, shall meet no more, Hath agonized a breast whose griefs disdain Oh! desolate and cold! IV. Hope's lingering beam is quenched at last, The trusting mind futurity controlled Now dwells but on the past! O'er this deserted scene, V. Where'er my wandering eye may turn, Rise long-remembered spots where thou hast been, |