TO G. WENTWORTH, ESQ.

Grant youthful friendship is a feeble chain, Its feelings fervent, but its fervor vain ; Bright hues may dazzle, beauty lead astray, Or anger mar its concord in a day: Yet, may not early league remain as true As that maturer friendship ever knew? Nay, may it not from youth to age endure, Uninterested, earnest, faithful, sure; Be sorrow's prop, as misery's support, And share in danger, as it shares in sport? Oh! may it not, in confidence, impart Th' unwonted secrets of an open heart? It may, indeed; for well Heav'n has design'd Heart should with heart partake, and mind with mind; This does to life, indeed, true value lend, For ev'ry bliss is doubled in a friend.

Such was thine ever, Wentworth, unto me,
I knew not friendship till I met with thee;
Thou now hast left us,-and, may joy attend
Thy future steps, and all thy hopes befriend;
May honor, glory, riches, on thee wait,
Thy griefs be few, thy pleasures more than great:
May friendship's zeal, and softer love's caress,
Thy joys enhance, and ev'ry prospect bless.
Oh! may thy parents boast thee as the stay,
The hope, the solace, of their setting day;
And may'st thou live to see thy sons aspire
As well they may, to emulate their sire.

But, prithee, Wentworth, 'midst this promis'd bliss
In future scenes, at times, remember this:
Oh! let not coming splendor quite efface

The page which mem'ry should delight to trace:
And if thy thoughts, perchance, on boyhood dwell,
May it requite the recollection well:

But should, on future life, a crowd attend,
And falsely claim the sacred name of friend,
Friends to thy riches enemies to thee,

Oh! turn from them, to waste a thought on me.

CHARLES DASHWOOD.

MOONLIGHT.

Is there a man can see the glorious Sun
Rise o'er the world, his genial course to run;
Can watch his gradual rise to noontide's ray,
The life of empires, and the god of day;
And more than all that setting orb can view,
As for new lands, he bids these realms adieu;
But, as he gazes, owns, on ev'ry sense
The tribute due to that magnificence

Of dazzling splendor, which, from pole to pole,
Shines, light of lights, and fills with awe his soul?
No! never, no! Yet sweeter far to me

The moon, which shines when day has ceas'd to be.
She cannot boast the sun's more glaring light,
But, calmly, reigns fair arbitress of night.
Her's is no dazzling beam-th' enraptur'd eye
May closely view her as she rides on high;
And, whilst our thoughts to distant regions rove,
To dearest friendship, or to absent love,

We may, with peaceful soul, her disk admire,

And feel within, her softer, holier, fire.

Though calm her course, though tranquil be her beam, I would not change her modest, milder gleam

For all the splendor of meridian day,

And, with it, lose the thoughts that round me stray,
As oft I muse the pensive hours away

When the pale moon, with tints of silver hue,

Adds charms ne'er known before, to scenes I hourly view.

G. SELWYN.

TO SLEEP.

Come, Sleep, and to a wretch's eyes
Thy soothing balm impart,
Oh, let oblivion's gulph absorb
The woes which vex my heart.

Oft hast thou still'd my throbbing breast,
And lull'd my aching head,
Whilst sickness multiplied the gloom
Which sorrow round me spread.

Oft hast thou caus'd a blissful change
To steal upon my thought.
And, in imagination's eye,

Hast chains of pleasure wrought.

Thus, in successive scenes of joy
I've pass'd the fleeting night,
Nor grief nor woe my bosom knew,
Till beam'd the morning's light.

Again, sweet Sleep, would I enjoy,
Within thy silent arms,

That calm repose which brings relief
To all that now alarms.

Oh, give me visions, peaceful, bright;
Dispel the cares of strife;

Let sweet contentment waft me down
The silver stream of life.

Should it, again, be mine to tread,
Thus bless'd, on fancy's shore,
One only wish my heart would add,
That I may wake no more.

LATHAM.

WHAT IS A BORE?

What is a bore? That disagreeable visitor, whom we are so often doomed to encounter-that enemy who attacks every individual in some different shape. I confess the word puzzles me no little, but since Dr. Johnson has not deigned to give it an explanation, and though I feel confident that the generality of my readers are well acquainted with the meaning of this ominous monosyllable, I shall, nevertheless, attempt to lay before you the various definitions of many people, who so widely differ in the estimate they form of a bore.

"What a bore it is!" says Lady Emily, " to spend a week with a friend in the country, where there are no ' at homes,' no routs, no conversaziones, no concerts, no operas; nothing but walks in the country, through dirty lanes or swampy fields, and a dull rubber of whist after tea.'

"What a bore it is!" simpers Miss F., just emerged from the recesses of a boarding school, "to spend the spring in town, where you can see nothing but smoky houses, carts, and carriages, all the day long, and cannot get a glimpse of the green fields, budding trees, and frisking lambs; and where you hear the perpetual din of rattling wheels, instead of the sweet warblings of the nightingale."

"What a bore it is!" sighs the disappointed lover who has just received a not at home,'-" I have called here three times within the last four days, and the dear, cruel, little creature has denied herself each time-I really begin to think she loves some one else better than myself."

"What a bore it is!" drawls Frederick Finewaist, the Fop, "that the rascal Stultz has not sent my coat home. I positeevely declare I shall not be able to go to Lord C's. I must send my apology-how provoking! What a bore it is, to dine with a vulgar man, or to be recognized by an old-fashioned acquaintance or country cousin, when lounging in Hyde Park."

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"What a bore it is!" swears Colonel Lgamester, "to dine with my saintly uncle, who never stakes more than half-a-crown a rubber; forswears dice -looks on the Sporting Magazine in the light of the history of Belial, and goes to bed regularly at 10 o'clock."

"What a bore it is!" says the M. P., "to be in the minority-to have your bill thrown out,* or to spend thousands on an election that your adversary gains.'

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"It is a bore," says the Bon-vivant, "to dine with a man who never has more than one joint of meat on the table, who is stingy with his wines, and, at whose house you cannot eat as much as you like, without being noticed."

"What a horrid bore it is!" declares the school-boy, "to return to school after the holidays. A rainy day is a bore-particularly in the cricket season." And my friend Palmer, thinks it a far greater bore to have a dry correspondent, or troublesome contributor.

If I would complete my catalogue, it would be necessary for me to give as many definitions as there are people in the world-for that which is the subject of the greatest annoyance to one, is to another the summum bonum of all earthly happiness: as Horace says→→

Quot capitum vivunt totidem studiorum

Millia.

Of one thing I am convinced, that my readers (if by chance I have any) will agree, that it is a bore to wade through my compositions, and I shall, therefore, prevent their falling asleep, by wishing them a very good bye.

F. DARLINGTON.

* To be coughed down, when making your maiden speech.

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