C is a plau for the introduction of cold, fresh, pure air, intended to be fixed at the lowest convenient pane of the window: if two aspects, choose the North to fall inwards, attached to the squares of the sash or lead weights, marked 11111.

The same model turned upside down, with a selvage of glass at the bottom, will admit pure fresh air, as the wind may be on one side, and disperse on the opposite side the foul and impure air.

A selvage of glass, three inches broad, fixed at the top of the square of C by putty into the rabbet, will carry the current up

[May,

ward, to prevent that current from having any disagreeable effect upon the head of the person sitting under the window, and the like form adopted will improve that with an outside projection fixed at the bottom.

Where the room is only lighted on one side, we recommend C to be used below, and C inverted with the selvage of the glass also, and the projection outward, fixed above, on the top of the window.

DESCRIPTION OF A SIMPLE BAROMETER.

Take a common phial bottle, and cut off the rim and part of the neck. This may be done by a piece of string, or rather whipcord, twisted round it, and pulled strongly in a sawing position by two persons; one of whom holds the bottle firmly in his left hand. Heated in a few minutes by the friction of the string, and then dipped suddenly into cold water, the bottle will be decapitated more easily than by any other means, even than by a guillotine. Let the phial be now nearly filled with common pump-water, and, applying the finger to its mouth, turn it quickly upside-down: on only a few drops will escape. Without cork removing the finger it will be found that or stopper of any kind, the water will be retained within the bottle by the pressure of the external air: the weight of air without the phial being so much greater than that of the small quantity within it. Now let a bit of tape be tied round the middle of the bottle, to which the two ends of a string may be attached, so as to form a loop to hang on a nail: let it be thus suspended, in a perpendicular manner, with the mouth downwards; and this is the barometer.— When the weather is fair, and inclined to be so, the water will be level with the section of the neck, or rather elevated above it, and forming a concave surface. When disposed to be wet, a drop will appear at the mouth, which will enlarge till it falls, and then another drop, while the humidity of the atmosphere continues.

PURIFYING OIL.

A discovery has recently been made in Denmark for purifying common fish oil, and rendering it equal to the best sperm, by means of animal charcoal, which is made in a peculiar manner from beef bones which have been boiled. The charcoal is mixed with the oil, and repeatedly agitated for two months, after which it is filtered with twelve strata of similar charcoal, used as soon as made. The quantity of gas evolved by the bones in the operation is considerable, and is used for lighting the manufactory and adjacent buildings. The residuum is mixed with clay for fuel; the loss in the process by the residuum is estimated at 15 per cent. and the gain is equal to 40 per cent. leaving a balance in favour of the discovery of 25 per cent.

SELECT

1822.]

Must make your plan, the more it's underAttract the Wealthy, and delight the Good: Tho' small at first your means to yield relief,

And check the progress of the Muse's grief, Those means each year increas'd success attends,

And Science triumphs to behold her Friends! Thus, the small ACORN, from a tender root, Puts forth a weak and unregarded shoot; But, Nature's faithful process once begun, It gains new strength with each revolving Sun,

Till its firm Stem the raging Storm defies, And its bold Branches wave amid the Skies! "Tis yours that soothing Comfort to impart, (heart, That winnows Sorrow from the bursting GENT. MAG. May, 1322.

Bids pining Talents hope for better days,
Cheer'd by your Bounty, foster'd by your
Praise :

As smouldering ashes dull the brightest fire,
So cold Neglect leaves Genius to expire-
But let the breath of Praise begin to blow,
The sparks rekindle, and the embers glow;
The renovated flame attracts the sight,
And all is Splendour which before was
Night!

Let not the sons of Vanity and Pride
The starving Author's poverty deride;
In Life, perhaps, neglected he may roam,
Without a friend, a comfort, or a home!
Tho' dull Obscurity his days o'ercast,
Fame may do justice to his worth at last ;
And many a Bard, a Moralist, a Sage,
Survive the memory of a thankless age;
For when corroding Time in dust shall mould
The Muse's votary, and the slave of Gold,
The wretched Miser to the Grave descends,
And, with his wealth, his worthless story
ends:

Not so the man, who rich alone in Mind,
Bequeaths his All-his Talents to Mankind!
When Genius dies, Oblivion does not tread,
With heavy footsteps, on the Poet's head;
Some Spark will rise immortal from his Urn
To light the Lamp that shall for ever burn!
Some portion of the pure ethereal flame,
Aspiring mounts to Heaven! from whence
it came,

While grosser matter seeks its native earth,

Alike unnotic'd in its death and birth.

What made COLUMBUS untried Seas explore,

[fore? Where never venturous Man had dar'd beWhere Death appear'd in every form most dire,

In Famine, Whirlwind, elemental fire! 'Twas FAME!--that Star by which all Heroes steer,

Embodied hope, and banish'd every fear!
'Twas LOVE OF FAME!-to vulgar minds un-
known,

The Master Passion of the Great, alone!
And where's the cold Philosopher would try
To chase the splendid Vision from the eye
To sink in apathy the ardent mind
And banish patriot feelings from mankind?
When LOVE OF COUNTRY ceases to inspire,
And unregarded burns the hallow'd fire,
That Nation soon will hasten to decay,
The Traitor's plunder, or the Invader's prey!
When selfish principles its place supply,
Nipp'd in the bud the gen'rous virtues die.
No Glory lures the Hero to the wave,
No Laurel springs upon the Soldier's grave!
And the firm Champion of the Public Cause,
Neglected lives and dies without applause!

Thea

But praise is needless-where all hearts commend

The PEOPLE'S FAVOURITE, and the SOLDIER'S FRIEND!

** Mr. Fitz-Gerald having written Five and Twenty Poetical Addresses for the Literary Fund, on as many Anniversaries, avails him

[May,

With whom thy lot in life is cast?
Does divine instruction grace
The words thy hand's employ'd to trace,
And mark thy lines from first to last?
Dost thou give to God the praise
For each mercy he displays?

Or is the vain applause of men,
The idle pageant of an hour,
The dream of pleasure, wealth, or pow'r,
The subject that employs thy pen?
Know the time approaches fast,
When, like a night-watch, will have past
The fleeting season of thy youth,
And manhood's more advancing stage:
Then the graver date of age

Shall reveal the weighty truth. Whether thou hast chosen well; Conscience shall sincerely tell,

Whether thou hast still maintain'd, In thy search for mental food, Deem'd by thee life's chiefest good,

The character by Heaven ordain'd. Blandford, May 6. MASON CHAMBERLIN.

ON LITERARY ATTAINMENTS.

AUTHOR! say, is learned leisure

A misfortune or a treasure?
On thy choice how much depends!
Wisely are thy themes selected?
Is thy deep research directed

To important moral ends?
Are the talents Heaven bestows,
Instruments of good to those

HE'S

is an old Bachelor like?"
like a thorn on lonely heath
Proud scorning Nature's balmly aid;
Nor screens from Winter's icy breath,
Nor yields to Summer kindred shade.
Still mocks the soft and genial skies,
The Eastern beam, the silent dew;
Nor scion bursts at morning rise,

Nor chalic'd eve its leaves renew.
The beacon finger'd out by Scorn,
For village maid will, guiding, say,
Turu from lone road 'fore yonder thorn,
The church-path is the better way.

* See Dr. Booker's interesting statement of Mr. Millhouse's case, in our last, p. 310. And

1822.]

And when its wasting sap is done, Swept by the blast in vagrant state, Time still repeats the spot to shun,

Few ask and none lament its fate. So he who thro' youth's gaudy noon, Frolic and wild from flow'r to flow'r, More wayward than the changeful Moon, Bends Beauty's vassal scarce an hour. Some passing adoration paid,

With incense sighs and vows to move; And bids the Muse with artful aid,

Recoin the similies of love. While roseate bloom, the eyes like stars, The dimpl'd smile, and mien divine, Seem like an holy Anchorite's pray'rs, To drop a bead with ev'ry line. Proud idling step and restless mind,

The varied scenes of folly roam ; Nor hope pourtrays, nor bliss would find, The banquet of one heart at home. How drawls the long and weary day,

The stupor bowl to wane the night; If Time reviews the trackless way,

What gem bestuds Life's idle flight? The gay, the giddy riot run,

To age what voice can seem to please; The stranger interest buys, would shun The cold damp brow of fell Disease. No hand to weed Earth's hallow'd spot, Nor shield from low uncandid fame : Last of his race perhaps his lotHe sinks with unprotected name.

J. H.

LINES TO ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, On reading his "May Day with the Muses." I LOVE thy tales, of rural vales,

Such honest joys diffusing ;
Each happy scene does intervene,
With pleasure most amusing!
'Tis thine to draw, what May Day saw,
In fond poetic measure;
The purling rill, the distant hill,

And Halcyon days of pleasure!
I pastimes see, once known to me,
And all my haunts discover;
Thy rural lyre past scenes inspire,
That are long gone and over!
O still may you the theme pursue,
Nor leave the lyre neglected;
From Fancy's bow'r still cull the flow'r,
Scholastic bards neglected!

Thy lays self-taught, with sweetness fraught,
In May Day dress appearing,

To village blades, and cottage maids,

Will ever prove endearing!

May 1.

T. N.

LINES

T.N.

[May

Child of the Muse! how sweet the theme
That speaks of Light and Life restor❜d!
As, touch'd by Morning's gentle beam,
Its grateful notes the Statue pour'd.
So, warm'd by Pity's ray divine,
The early strain of praise is thine,
The mother who, in Grief's excess,
Shrunk from her Child's imploring eye,
Like Hagar in the Wilderness-

"Let me not see the sufferer die !"-
The spring whence her relief has flow'd.
To her the angel Pity, shew'd
Friends of Distress! be your best fame

The homage of the Hearts ye raise! May distant climes still bless your name! And foreign tongues still speak your praise!

Wide as the world your scene! and free
As Heav'n's own gifts your charity!

SONNET.

J. S.

Stanzas for the Anniversary of the Literary Fund Society, May 21, 1822.

LO! by the stream of Babylon

The captive Israel weeps her fate
Far from her home-her glory gone,
Her habitation desolate,

No more her wonted strains are sung,
Her harp is on the willows hung.

Child of the Muse! thou too has wept
Thy woes in solitary pray'r;
Thy lyre in long neglect has slept

O'er the dark waters of Despair.

And thou hast known the chains that bind
In bitter thrall the captive mind.
On thee the smile of Bounty fell,
On thee descended Mercy's dew,
And broken was the with'ring spell
That Penury o'er Genius threw.
In the pure air that Freedom gives,
Thy Harp awakes-thy Spirit lives!

ENVY thee! thou mightst on earth have

shone,

But now to be a light in heaven hast gone! Well-done! thou hast achieved a perfect

birth,

[won Whose first new feeling hath more wisdom Than grey experience had, when left with

none,

Clay-worn and prison-bound—Oh, Earth!

Earth! Earth!

Thou 'ast nought so pure as toucheth and

not sear'th

(Alas! my brother was a fated one!) Th' electric chord within the "chosen breast! +"

What music canst thou hope, then, from the crash

Wherewith disdain oft strikes the tenderest String of the exquisite spirit, which heav'n's flash [thou "But touches to fine issues?" Wond'rest Its echo should be harsh and wrathful as thy blow?

IMPROMPTU

To him to whom it is addressed, who promised. the author a Fane, but never sent it. YOUR word I thought firm as a rock,

But now, alas! I find

Your promise is the weather-cock!
And all my hopes-the wind!! T. N.

* See the Obituary for this month. + Akenside.

"Fine spirits are not touchedBut to fine issues." Shakspeare.