these potations might have produced an uncomfortable effect upon my system. As it was, their only effect was, to make very excellent friends of us before we parted. It is almost needlesss to add, that this interview confirmed the high opinion, 1 had already formed of Mr. Colton's talents; and the extraordinary eccentricity of his mode of life gave him increased interest in my eyes.-Literary Magnet.

The Selector;

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF

NEW WORKS.

TIM TROTT AND BIDDY LOWE.

A BALLAD.

ONE Sunday to the village church

Both old and young were flowing;
Oh! the bells were ringing merrily,

And beanx with bells were going.
And Mister Trott was trotting there,
When Biddy Lowe so smart
Just pass'd-and though she only walk'd,
Her eyes-ran through his heart

Now Mister Trott began to leer,
And throw his eyes about ;
But, ah! he felt a pang within,
He fain would be without.
"For a suitor I might suit her well,
And why should I not please?
For though I may have silver locks,
I've gold beneath my keys."

For o'er his head he'd sixty years,
And more, if truth be told;
And, for the first time, now he thought
'Twas frightful to be old!

The service o'er, Tim walk'd away,
And o'er the fields did roam;

He sought her cot- and found it out,
But Biddy was at home!

Tim made a bow and made a leg,
And spoke with hesitation;
While Biddy frown'd upon his suit,
And smiled at his-relation!

But though so scornfully repuls'd,
And all his vows prov'd vain,

Tim Trott had lost his heart, and wish'd
To prove his loss a-gain!

Miss Biddy met her ancient beau,

And said with cruel glee, "Oh! Trott, though you're a little man, You seem to long for me!"

Tim stammer'd, hammer'd, hem'd, and sign'd,
He futter'd like a leaf-

With piteous look he eyed the maid,
But couldn't hide his grief.

Though I'm a man of substance, ma'am,' I'm like a shadow-elf; I've sigh'd and sigh'd until I am

Like one beside myself!"

Quoth she, and with a killing smile,
(Oh! most unkind retort,)
"You know I've cut you, ay, for long,

So now I'll cut you short!”

"Ah! make not of my size a laugh,
I would my limbs were stronger,
But though you never lov'd me, ma'am,
Say, could you love me longer?"

But Biddy's heart was hard as stone,
Tim's tears were shed in vain,
And when she cried, "Go, ugly man!"
He thought his beauty plain!
Quoth he, "I go-farewell-farewell,
I weep-for I'm resigned!

I feel my heart that beat before-
Left beating is behind!"

Absurdities in Prose and Verse.

THE WILD PIGEON OF AMERICA.

In the autumn of 1813, I left my house at Henderson, on the banks of the Ohio, on my way to Louisville. Having met the pigeons flying from north-east to south-west, in the barrens of natural wastes a few miles beyond Hardensburgh, in greater apparent numbers than I thought I had ever seen them before. I felt an inclination to enumerate the flocks that would pass within the reach of my eye in one hour. I dismounted, and seating myself on a tolerable eminence, took my pencil to mark down what I saw going by and over me, and made a dot for every flock which passed.

Finding, however, that this was next to impossible, and feeling unable to record the flocks, as they multiplied constantly, I rose, and counting the dots then put down, discovered that one hundred and sixty-three had been made in twenty-one minutes. I travelled on, and still met more the farther I went. The air was literally filled with pigeons; the light of noonday became dim, as during an eclipse; the pigeons' dung fell in spots not unlike melting flakes of snow; and the continued buz of their wings over me, had a tendency to incline my senses to repose.

Before sunset I reached Iouisville, distant from Hardensburgh fifty-five miles, where the pigeons were still passing, and this continued for three days in succession.

The people were indeed all up in arms, and shooting on all sides at the passing flocks. The banks of the river were crowded with men and children, for here the pigeons flew rather low as they passed

the Ohio. This gave a fair opportunity to destroy them in great numbers. For a week or more the population spoke of nothing but pigeons, and fed on no other flesh but that of pigeons. The whole atmosphere during this time was strongly impregnated with the smell appertaining to their species.

It may not, perhaps, be out of place to attempt an estimate of the number of pigeons contained in one of those mighty flocks, and the quantity of food daily consumed by its members. The inquiry will show the astonishing bounty of the Creator in his works, and how universally this bounty has been granted to every living thing on that vast continent of America.

We shall take, for example, a column of one mile in breadth, which is far below the average size, and suppose it passing over us without interruption for three hours, at the rate of one mile per minute. This will give us a parallelogram of one hundred and eighty miles by one, covering one hundred and eighty square miles, and allowing two pigeons to the square yard, we have one billion one hundred and fifteen millions one hundred and thirty-six thousand pigeons in one flock; and as every pigeon consumes fully half a pint of food per day, the quantity must be eight millions seven hundred and twelve thousand bushels per day which is required to feed such a flock.

As soon as these birds discover a sufficiency of food to entice them to alight, they fly round in circles, reviewing the country below, and at this time exhibit their phalanx in all the beauties of their plumage; now displaying a large glistening sheet of bright azure, by exposing their backs to view, and suddenly veering exhibit a mass of rich deep purple. They then pass lower over the woods, and are lost among the foliage for a moment, but they reappear as suddenly above; after which they alight, and, as if affrighted, the whole again take to wing with a roar equal to loud thunder, and wander swiftly through the forest to see if danger is near. Impelling hunger, however, soon brings them all to the ground, and then they are seen industriously throwing up the fallen leaves to seek for the last beech nut or acorn; the rear ranks continually rising, passing over, and alighting in front in such quick succession, that the whole still bears the appearance of being on the wing. The quantity of ground thus swept up, or, to use a French expression, moissonée, is astonishing, and so clean is the work, that gleaners never find it worth their while to follow where the pigeons have

been. On such occasions, when the woods are thus filled with them, they are killed in immense.numbers, yet without any apparent diminution. During the middle of the day, after their repast is finished, the whole settle on the trees to enjoy rest, and digest their food; but as the sun sinks in the horizon, they depart en masse for the roosting-place, not unfrequently hundreds of miles off, as has been ascertained by persons keeping account of their arrival and of their depar ture from their curious roosting places, to which I must now conduct the reader.

To one of those general nightly rendezvous, not far from the banks of Green River in Kentucky, I paid repeated visits. It was, as is almost always the case, pitched in a portion of the forest where the trees were of great magnitude of growth, but with little underwood. I rode through it lengthwise upwards of forty miles, and crossed it in different parts, ascertaining its width to be rather more than three miles. My first view of it was about a fortnight subsequent to the period when they had chosen this spot, and I arrived there nearly two hours be fore the setting of the sun. Few pigeons were then to be seen, but a great number of persons with horses and wagons, guns, and ammunition, had already established different camps on the borders. Two farmers from the neighbourhood of Russelsville, distant more than one hundred miles, had driven upwards of three hundred hogs to be fattened on pigeon meat; and here and there the people, employed in picking and salting what had already been procured, were seen sitting in the centre of large piles of those birds, all proving to me that the number resorting there at night must be immense, and probably consisting of all those then feeding in Indiana, some distance beyond Jeffersonville, not less than one hundred and fifty miles off. The dung of the birds. was several inches deep, covering the whole extent of the roosting place like a bed of snow. Many trees two feet in diameter I observed were broken at no great distance from the ground, and the branches of many of the largest and tallest so much so, that the desolation already exhibited equalled that performed by a furious tornado. As the time elapsed, I saw each of the anxious persons about to prepare for action; some with sulphur in iron pots, others with torches of pine knots, many with poles, and the rest with guns double and treble charged. The sun was lost to our view, yet not a pigeon had yet arrived, but all of a sudden I heard a cry of "Here they come !" The noise which they made, though distant

reminded me of a hard gale at sea, passing through the rigging of a close reefed vessel. As the birds arrived, and passed over me, I felt a current of air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down by the polemen. The current of birds, however, kept still increasing. The fires were lighted, and a most magnificent, as well as wonderful and terrifying, sight was before me. The pigeons, coming in by millions, alighted every where one on the top of another, until masses of them resembling hanging swarms of bees as large as hogsheads, were formed on every tree in all directions. These heavy clusters were seen to give way, as the supporting branches, breaking down with a crash, came to the ground, killing hundreds of those which obstructed their fall, forcing down other equally large and heavy groups, and rendering the whole a scene of uproar and of distressing confusion. I found it quite useless to speak, or even to shout to those persons nearest me. The reports even of the different guns were seldom heard, and 1 knew only of their going off by seeing the owners reload them.

No person dared venture within the line of devastation, and the hogs had been penned up in due time, the picking up of the dead and wounded sufferers being left for the next morning's operation. Still the pigeons were constantly coming, and it was past midnight before I perceived a decrease in the number of those that arrived. The uproar continued, however, the whole night; and as I was anxious to know to what distance the sound reached, I sent off a man, who, by his habits in the woods, was able to tell me, two hours afterwards, that at three miles he heard it distinctly. Towards the approach of day the noise rather subsided; but long ere objects were at all distinguishable, the pigeons began to move off in a direction quite different from that in which they arrived the day before, and at sunrise none that were able to fly remained. The howlings of the wolves now reached our ears, and the foxes, the lynx, the cougars, bears, rackoons, opossums, and polecats, were seen sneaking off the spot, whilst the eagles and hawks of different species, supported by a horde of buzzards and carrion crows, came to supplant them, and reap the benefits of this night of destruction.

It was then that I, and all those present, began our entry among the dead and wounded sufferers. They were picked up in great numbers, until each had so many as could possibly be disposed of; and afterwards the hogs and dogs were let loose to feed on the remainder.-Ac

count of the Wild Pigeon of America, by Mr. John James Audubon; Dr. Brewster's Journal of Science.

THE EVENING GUN.
REMEMB'REST thou that fading sun,
The last I saw with thee,
When loud we heard the evening gun
Peal o'er the twilight sea?
The sounds appear to sweep
Far o'er the verge of day,
Till into realms beyond the deep
They seem'd to die away.

Oft when the toils of day are done,
In pensive dreams of thee,
I sit to hear that evening gun

Peal o'er the stormy sea.
And while o'er billows curl'd,

The distant sounds decay,

I weep, and wish from this rough world Like them to die away.

A Set of Glees, by Thomas Moore, Esq.

JUDGE JEFFREYS-BROW.

BEATING.

NOTHING could exceed the treatment which a reluctant witness would experience from this judge. He fastened himself on such a person at the trial of Lady Lisle; and he was Dunne, the messenger who car. ried on a correspondence between the prisoner and Hicks, the person she was charged with harbouring; but the witness bore the attack for some time with great adroitness, for he seemed to have made a resolve that his mistress should never suffer through his testimony. However, Jeffreys grew quite mad; he lectured the witness, menaced him with hell-fire, then persuaded him, and uttered the most savage exclamations; but all in vain. At one time he thought of his old witticisms, and asked the man what trade he followed. "My lord, I am a baker by trade.". "And wilt thou bake thy bread at such easy rates ?" The witness had said that he travelled a great many miles, and had only a piece of cake and cheese for it. "I assure thee, thy bread is very light weight, it will scarce pass the balance here." He got out a name with all the acumen of the most wire-drawing advocate. "Now must I know that man's name."

"The man's name that I went to at Marton, my lord ?"-Lord Chief Justice. "Yes; and look to it, it may be I know the man already; and tell at what end of the town the man lives too."

-Dunne. "My lord, I cannot tell his name presently."-Lord Chief Justice. "Oh! pray now, do not say so; you must tell us, indeed you must think of his name a little."-Dunne. "My lord, if I can mind it, I will."-Lord Chief

After this the scene thickens; the drunkard's imagination gets disordered with the most grotesque conceptions. In stead of moderating his drink, he pours it down more rapidly than ever; glass follows glass with reckless energy; his head becomes perfectly giddy; the candles burn blue, green, or yellow; and where there are perhaps only three on the table he sees a dozen. According to his temperament he is amorous, musical, or quarrelsome. Many possess a most extraordinary wit, and a great flow of spirits is a general attendant. In the latter stages the speech is thick, and the use of the tongue in a great measure lost; his mouth is half-open and idiotic in the expression, while his eyes are glazed, wavering, and watery; he is apt to fancy that he has offended some one of the company, and is ridiculously profuse with his apologies; frequently he mistakes one person for another, and imagines that some of those before him are individuals who are in reality absent, or even dead. The muscular powers are all along much affected; this indeed happens before any great change takes place in the mind, and goes on progressively increasing; he can no longer walk with steadiness, but totters from side to side; the limbs become powerless and inadequate to sustain his weight; he is, however, not always sensible of any deficiency in this respect; and while exciting mirth by his eccentric motions, imagines that he walks with the most perfect steadiness. In attempting to run, he conceives that he passes over the ground with astonishing rapidity. The last stage of drunkenness is total insensibility. The man tumbles, perhaps, beneath the table, and is carried away in a state of stupor to his couch. In this condition he is said to be dead drunk.

When the drunkard is put to bed, let us suppose that his faculties are not totally absorbed in apoplectic stupor; let us suppose that he still possesses consciousness and feeling, though these are both disordered; then begins" the tug of war;" then comes the misery which is doomed to succeed his previous raptures. No sooner is his head laid upon his bed than it is seized with the strangest throbbing; his heart beats quick and hard against his ribs; a noise like the distant fall of a cascade, or rushing of a river is heard in his ears, sough, sough, sough, goes the sound; his senses now become more drowned and stupified; a dim recollection of his carousals, like a shadowy and indistinct dream, passes before the mind; he still hears, as in echo, the cries and laughter of his companions; wild fan

IMPROPRIETY OF BURYING
IN CHURCHES.

In the voyages and travels of Dr. Hasselquist, a Swedish physician, he observes, concerning burials, in churches and towns: "The burying-places of the Turks are handsome and agreeable, which is owing chiefly to the many fine plants that grow in them, and which they carefully place over their dead. The Turks are much more consistent than the Christians, when they bury their dead without the town, and plant over them such vegetables as by their aromatic and balsamic smell can drive away the fatal odours with which the air is filled in such places. I am persuaded that by this they escape many misfortunes which affect Christians, from wandering and dwelling continually among the dead."

The great Sir Mathew Hale was always very much against burying in churches, and used to say, "that churches were for the living, and the churchyards for the dead." He himself was interred in the churchyard of Alderley, in Gloucestershire. The best arguments for burying in gardens and fields will be found in Mr. Evelyn's Sylva, p. 625.