The verses are as follows:

A PASTORAL ANSWER

To the Rebus and Plate of Fruit in number 108. By PHILANDER.

DAMON.

Awake my love, my sweet Celinda rise,
And see Aurora paint the Eastern Skies,
O come and taste the Sweets of early Dawn,
Whilst silver Dew Drops gild the verdant Dawn.
Thy Shepherd waits, and with impatience too,
To kiss thy Lips, chaste as the morning Dew,
For sweeter than the breath of Morn is thine,
Each gay CARNATION must to thee resign.
Arise my Fair, thy comely Charms display,
Which like glad Phoebus cheer the opening Day.

CELINDA.

I know to whom that tuneful Voice belongs,
Sweeter to me than Larks' or Linnets' Songs;
But soft! I'll not confess it, though 'tis Truth,
I'll chide him, that I will, ungen'rous Youth.
Whoe'er thou art, thus to distrust my Rest
Before the Bird of Dawn has left her Nest,
Fly from my Window or by Heav'n I swear,
Thy vast Impertinence shall cost thee dear.

DAMON.

Patience, sweet Maid, and let thy Anger cease,
Thy constant Damon humbly sues for peace,
No dangers threaten to molest thy Charms,
He gently comes to clasp you in his Arms,
Inviting thee thy Garden Walks to tread
Where Flowers and Fruit their pleasing Odours
shed,

There press thy Lily hand with Joy in mine,
And like two tender Vines together twine.

CELINDA.

Fie, Damon, fie! Let not the Traitor's Vice,
Nor Flattery be thy morning Sacrifice,
Bnt haste! into my Garden Walks repair,
And when I'm dress'd, perhaps I'll meet you
there.

Gather that Fruit you think I most approve,
And thereby show one instance of your Love.
He's gone, with what sweet Raptures beats my
heart,

Joyful I'll meet him, though 'tis Grief to part.

DAMON.

Meeting her as she enters the Garden. Hail, fair Celinda, at thy entrance see Each Flower bends its lovely Head to thee, Thy Damon too, at thy approach rejoices, And feathered Songsters raise their tuneful Voices.

See at thy Feet the glittering Gems of Morn, Hear from the Woods the softly winding Horn,

Nature, luxuriant bends the Boughs for thee, And crowns with mellow Fruit each spreading Tree.

See in this Plate which in my Hand I've got The Nonpariel, sweet Peach and Apricot. 2.3.1. Gooseberries and Strawberrries, Currants red and white. 4. 6. 5.

(Excuse me if I have not gathered right)
The juicy Cherry and Pine Apple too. 7. 8.
All yield their charming Sweets to pleasure
you.

But see our Flocks forsaking yonder plain,
We now must part-at eve we meet again.

Celinda is evidently very much in love with Damon at whose appearance the heart of the maiden beats with "sweet Raptures"-and as Damon is only another name for Philander, the author: so Philander is obviously but another designation of the great "A. B." No one but the Poet Laureate, pursued by pining young ladies, and annoyed to death by the hopeless attachments he causes, could work with such delightful nonchalance, and easy assurance. He advances in splendid costume, with the most killing air; and standing beneath Celinda's chamber window invites that maiden to come out and see the Dawn and the Dews, which are not as chaste as her Lips; as the Carnations are not so red. He promises to reward the maiden for her condescension-and this reward is "to kiss her Lips!"

Celinda loves the gallant wooer, but like Juliet, wishes not to be won too easily. She affects anger, and declares chidingly that his impertinence shall cost him dear:-and then it is that the gallant begs her to be patient, and promises if she will descend, to bestow upon the maiden his supreme reward:-" he will clasp her in his arms!" And instead of pouts and frowns, the wily A. B. who understands his adversary, receives smiles and favor: Celinda descends-they gather the fruit of the rebus: and the poem ends. It will compare favorably with the best pastorals of the same description in the language. What the puzzle is I leave it to your young readers to discover. The figures following the lines in the last strophe seem to indicate the secret.

Let me leave these pastoral scenes for a moment now, and call your attention to

the following little poem which I think is really delightful for its ease, grace and freshness. It is taken from the Virginia Gazette for June 2, 1774: and will be found more graceful with each new perusal. Neither the dignified writers of elegies and prologues, nor the framers of patriotic odes against the despotism of the mother country write with anything like the grace and elegance of the "giddy trifling girl." There is an admirable mixture of earnest feeling, and coquettish wit in the composition. It proves what scarcely needs any proof—that the maidens of Virginia were as true as steel in the storm of the Revolution. He who writes, holds in admiring love the memory of those dear dead maidens; and rescues these simple verses of one of them, from the gulf of oblivion, with no slight satisfaction.

TO THE PRINTER.

Permit a giddy trifling Girl

For once to fill your Poet's Corner, She cares not though the Criticks snarl Or Beaux and Macaronies scorn her, She longs in Print her Lines to see, Oblige her, (sure you can't refuse it) And if you find her out-your fee Shall be to Kiss her-if you choose it,

Perhaps you'll think the Fee too small

You would not think so, if you knew her, For she has Charms confess'd by all

Who have the Happiness to view her,
The favor that to you she proffers
Has been solicited in vain,
And many flattering, splendid offers
Rejected with a cold disdain.

She scorns the man however pretty,
However Riches round him flow,
However wise, or great or witty
Who's to his Country's Right's a foe,
He, that to flatter his Folks in Power
His Country's Freedom would betray,
Deserves the Gallows every Hour,

Or worse, to feel a Tyrant's Sway.

May such alone be unprotected

By Justice and by Nature's Laws, And to despotic Power subjected,

Suffer the miseries they cause, To scorn them is each Female's duty, Let them no children have or wife, May they ne'er meet the Smiles of Beauty Nor any social joys of Life.

It is plain that the "macaronies" "beaux" and "pretty" fellows stood a bad chance with the "giddy trifling girl” unless they united heart and hand with Henry, and Pendleton, and Jefferson and Mason. If any one doubts whether this was a real bona fide sentiment, let him' read the old records of that period: and he will see that the women, even the girls were true to the cause of liberty as the needle to the pole. The Boston Port Bill sealed up every tea-canister in Virginia-and from Major Cheeseman's wife who kneeled in 1676 before Governor Berkeley the dishonored gentleman and begged him to take her life and spare her husband's-to the lady who in 1781, when forced, too, on her knees, and commanded by Arnold's drunken soldiers to drink to the King, drank "Success to Washington!" too-from first to last, under every peril, when the gloom was deepest, and the storm most threatening, the women of Virginia have been true to their land and to humanity. The record of their noble truth and great devotion shines in the lightning flashes of the Revolution. The tender bosom of the weak woman was informed with a spirit as resolved and stern as that of the strong soldier:-and until history fades and is lost, this will not be forgotten. If the mother of the Gracchi could point to her sons, our noble mother Virginia can point to her daughters too!

"Whatever record leaps to light They never shall be shamed!"

The Boston Port Bill called forth many pieces of verse North and South :--among them the following which may be of interest to readers to-day:

Written by a Lady on receiving a hand-
some Set of Tea China.
Specious instrument of ill
Banish'd in disgrace retire,
Let concealment hide thee still
Nor to Public View aspire.

You indeed in days of yore

Would have met a better Fate, Placed amidst my Choicest Store

Serv'd for Use or Serv'd for State.

Still alas! thou might'st have been

Chiefest favorite of the Fair Now thou art with Horror seen

As a Ministerial Snare.

Dared'st thou hope thy gaudy Dress

(Soldier's like) of gold and blue E'er could make thy Guilt the less Or my steady Soul subdue.

No, the luxuries of life,

One by one, I could resign But thou Volunteer in Strife India, first farewell to thine!

Before ending my short sketch of that poesy of other times, let me return again to the old volume of the Gazette for 1768, from which all but these two latter pieces have been extracted.

This year 1768 seems to have been marked by an extreme rage for "acrostics" and some of these have been presented. I wish now to take from the old pages, two or three more copies of verses of the same description. They are, like the former, not remarkable for poetic merit, and should not be criticised upon this score too severely. They breathe however a generous and gallant spirit, very Virginian in its character, and may interest not only those who recognize in the names, their fair ancestresses, but also every one who dwells with pleasure upon such traces of our Virginia past as remain to us.

The following is a reply to an acrostic which is missing from the volume of the Gazette here referred to. This time it is "V. G" not the eternal "A. B" who explains, and his verses are very ardent. The Analytical Rebus of June 2d answered.

TO THE AUTHOR.

Hail, gen'rous youth! thy tuneful song

So ravished my heart

That I must venture, right or wrong

Thy rebus to impart.

By just equations I have found

The pleasing charming name From earth to Heav'n may it resound

And gain immortal fame.

Dear ALICE CORBIN! darling maid! 'Tis she invok'd thy lays, With sense and virtue she's array'd

And well deserves thy praise. Grant her, kind Heav'n a virtuous youth Whose bosom flows with love and truth

Strange gallant protestations of gallants long mouldered into oblivion, with the maidens whom they toasted in the old, old days! They live but on the yellow old page; the Philanders and Strephons, the Mays and the Cynthias. Damon is dead this many a day, and no more calls to beautiful Celinda in the early morning when she rises from her couch, to come into the garden where the roses bloom, and give him an embrace. No more does youthful Strephon die for love in rhyme, and swear that unless Minerva's choice, Apollo's fond delight, takes pity on him, he must follow her who loved and left him in his youth. They are all gone-Cynthia and Celinda, Damon and Strephon-"white as their smocks" or their doublets-and as cold!

Whither have you flown O maidens of a long dead generation? There was a time when you smiled and sighed-when your frowns or your laughter plunged the gallants into misery or the most exuberant delight. You had pearls in your hair and the rose of your cheeks was in blossom. Are the roses all gone, when the miserable pearls are still ours? You played merrily your parts beneath the deep blue skies-those skies of the elder Virginia. And now, have you gone forever? Will you come no more back, if we call to you, and sigh for you? Will you still remain silent and cold when we adjure you?

Alas! yes. For you are the stars of another generation. It is four score years since you shone in the skies-you will shine no more to the eyes of mortals. Alice and Catherine-Nancy and LucyNelly and Frances, and Celinda and Cynthia!—you were the grandmothers of the present generation-you have crumbled away into dust beneath emerald sward: from your tender maiden breast grow flowers. You played your merry games beneath the old Colonial skies and went away to Heaven:-and now we, your descendents, in another age, read of your happy faces with such pensive smiles!pondering so wistfully as we follow the traces on the yellow page-those traces chronicling the love and purity and fondness of the dear dead maidens of the

past. He who is trying to repeat a few of the gallant words which celebrated something of your goodness, loves you all. He takes his hat off and salutes you; and is glad to be the writer that he is— however poor and humble-to be able thus to speak of you.

In reading the good old Gazette we go away from the present and for a time live in that forgotten country old Virginia-hearing all about the lovely damsels and the gallant youths. Honest A. B. is paying grandest compliments to many maidens-and his "Plate of Fruit" is being handed round for every one to taste. "M." and "J. E." and many other poets celebrate their sweethearts:and the little beauties are as plain to us. The "pleasing charming name" of Alice Corbin does not come to us as an idle sound-"V. G." discourses of her beauty. The name is music sweeter than the warm

breath of the sighing South wind to at least two brave fellows who unite to sing her praises, and we hope were one of them-made happy by the "darling maid."

And it is not Alice only who is beautiful and good-who draws the gallants to her feet, and makes them toil for rhymes. Kate's lips are Honey we are told and her eyes blue as Heaven: prudence and reason, simplicity and goodness-all these combine in her character and face; and make the bachelors put on their finest fair topped buskins, and gallop off to "Leak's” where Kate it seems resides. Thither they rush in crowds, to see the little beauty, and before them all the poet "M." He tells a rival who "bestrides a bay gelding" following far behind, that he's a "dolt" and never will win Kate: and then winds up with excellent advice about the hay and the sunshine, making a good rhyme. "Hay" and "obey" it is: covertly hinting doubtless at the marriage ceremony: and indeed "M." seems very desirous himself of having Kate, Mrs. M. Who would not have desired it? Have not all the Kates except the shrew of Shakespeare, been as good as they were beautiful? Who ever knew one anything but pure and lovely? Not the present writer. Such was beyond doubt

this one to whom gallant verses were inscribed-and Nancy, Lucy, Nelly, Frances-all were no doubt as sweet. Are they not fairer than Cytherea or the darling May of brilliant Phœbus: and will not Strephon and Jack Tar obtain their hands or perish in the attempt? Endymion on some Virginia Latmos is dazzled by the first-and Phoebus bows and hides his head before the smiles and flowers of Lucy. The bright eyes of the maidens cause the utmost anxiety to their gallant lovers; and the reader will share our hope that all these honest Corydons got their sweethearts, and were made supremely happy.

I have presented but a brief specimen of that old gallant poesy. The volumes of the Virginia Gazette contain many "effusions" of this description, well worthy of perusal.

I have read them with smiles and laughter almost---with pensive pleasure, and curiosity. They will occasion a similar emotion to every true Virginian who attentively considers them, for they possess a strange interest. What is it comes up from the page as we read? Is it a ghostly laughter-a glimmer of bright eyes-a shadow of something flitting and impalpable like a reverie or a dream? It is this shadow of a dream which the writer of to-day tries in vain to grasp the outline of those dear dead maidens of the former years-the real picture of that life which played itself beneath other skies, and never will come back.

If my idle and discursive sketch has persuaded any one of its existence, it is not written wholly for naught.

Richmond, June 16, 1856.

II.