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those gifts which you prize so highly. Do your duty to society, and leave the rest to fate. By this time, the sound of the church-bell warned us it was time to make preparation for the duties of that sacred day. We parted never to meet again.

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9m 979 and 20COUNT ZENOBIO; A TALE O

In the inmost recesses of a gloomy and extensive forest, stood the once splendid, but now decaying, castle of R, inherited by the Count Ze nobio, from a long line of illustrious ancestors, many of whom had rendered themselves conspicuous by the active part which they had taken in the defence of their country, and others of them were distinguished for their great generosity, and for a very high sense of the duty which they owed to their fellow

creatures.

On the borders of the forest, and about two leagues distant from Count Zenobio's Castle, stood the residence of the Baron D'Espagnole, a man naturally of a good disposition; but headstrong and not easily diverted from any purpose, however unjustifiable, which he had in contemplation.

The Count and he had been in terms of intimacy from their early years, and a strict friendship had always subsisted between them.

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One evening, when the moveless mists which thicken the atmosphere had settled on vale and mountain, and had wraped the dusky forest in pitchy dark ness, Count Zenobio, who had been on a visit to the Duke D'A, and now on his return home, attended only by one servant, was foreing his uncertain way through the thick underwood with which the forest abounded. They had not proceeded far when they perceived a light at a distance, which piere ing through the haze, discovered, to their astonishment, a band of ruffians, who were attempting, by oaths and threats, to oblige a gentleman, whom they recognized to be the Baron D' Espagnole, to conduct them to his house and deliver up to them all the plate and jewels, or to prepare for instant death." Zenobio, struck with horror at his friend's situation, was about to precipitate himself into the midst of them, and rescue him, or perish in the attempt, but was deterred by his attendant, who, with great presence of mind, volunteered go and bring assistance from the castle, sufficient to secure the banditti.— We shall, for the present, leave him to his fate, and inform our readers, whose curiosity will be naturally aroused, in what manner the Baron D'Espagnole was placed in Kis present trying situation.

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When the sun's last rays were fading on the distant hills, he had determined, under cloud of night, to fulfil a long-promised visit to the Count, for the purpose of enjoying, in the centre of retirement, the conversation of one, whose esteem it was always his study to cultivate; but owing to the darkness of the night, and perplexity of the path, he lost his way, and wandered he knew not whether, till he at last observed, at a short distance, a light, which seemed to issue from a cave, towards which he immediately approached, and, though he had some doubts respecting its inhabitants, yet he was so spent with fatigue, that he resolved to enter, be the consequence what it might. As he approached towards the entrance he stood and listened, but all was silent. He then entered the faulted cavern, and proceeded along a straight passage, at the.

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end of which hung the light which first attracted his attention; hẹ again paused, and thought he heard one snoring, as if asleep; he turned to the side from whence the sound came, and entered an apartment, where he saw ten armed rullians, surrounding a large table covered with wines, preserved fruits, and all manner of dainties. They had drunk so copiously of the inspiring god, that he had resigned them into the arms of Morpheus. He sat down by some faggots that blazed at one end of the apartment. When, at length, one of the banditti awoke, and staring wildly round, his eye immediately caught a glance of the stranger, upon which he awoke his companions, the leader of whom knew the Baron, having served under him, at one time, the army; but his own features were so much altered, that the Baron did not recognise him. He still retained a respect for the Baron, which neither time nor his present way of life could efface. He resolved, therefore, within himself, not to injure his person, but by threats, to force him to conduct him and his gang to his house, as has been above stated.

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Meanwhile the timely arrival of a considerable force from the castle, put an end to the affair; for they, headed by the Count himself, suddenly rushed upon the banditti, and so startled them that they submitted without resistance; but begged that their lives might be spared, as they had intended, from the very first, to spare that of the Baron; but nothing would have prevented them from suffering on the spot, had not their leader, falling upon his knees, intreated permission to say a few words, which was granted with reluctance, when he disclosed his naine to the astonished Baron, who immediately cried out, hold! it is sufficient, thou wert always a brave fellow, and I heartily forgive you this offence, well knowing that nothing short of necessity could have prompted it. He then gave him an advice, which seemed to make the

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sired impression. They then mounted the horses which had been brought from the castle of Zenobio, and rode off. Such a signal service, rendered to one suscepible of the finest feelings, could not fail, one would naturally suppose, to make a deep and lasting impression. That the reverse, however, was the case, will be seen in the sequel.

Nothing could exceed the harmony which now subsisted between these two illustrious persons. The mind of the one was the storehouse of the other but at length the ill-fated hour arrived which was to end their friendship.

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Zenobio had long been enamoured of the daughter of the Duke of D'A a wealthy nobleman, and this was the only secret, which he kept concealed within his bosom, and he feared, that without the assistance of his friend, it would be impossible to accomplish his purpose. To him therefore he disclosed the important secret, and requested his assistance in the pursuit of the endearing object. But, alas! the Baron had seen and admired the same maiden, and longed for the possession of one who had enslaved his whole soul. He affected, however, to favour his friend's views, and, in the mean time, pretended that he would forward his design as much as lay in his power. Count, overjoyed in expectation of success, and firmly relying on his friends' veracity, was already contriving the best means for receiving his intended bride. More than a week had elapsed since the departure of the Laron, during which time he had heard nothing of him.

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One day, as he was musing, and wondering in his mind, what could have become of his friend, he observed, at a distance upon the highway which skirted the forest, a carriage approaching at full speed, with out-riders, in

splendid liveries, and a numerous train of attendants followed beltind. Such an unusual spectacle, in such a place, not a little surprised him; but what was his astonishment on beholding, sitting beside the Baron, the object of his affection, and still more was he surprised, when they took no notice of him. He inquired at one of the attendants the cause of such haste, and was told that the Baron had, that day, espoused Lady D'A, and that they were hastening home to a sumptuous entertainment. This operated like an electrifying shock. He reached home in despair; but was in some degree comforted by the consolation of an aged religieux, who acted as his chaplain. 2013

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Having settled his affairs, he retired to a' convent, where he spent the remainder of his life in calm resignation, and was often heard to exclaim, That, had his misfortunes been caused by any other than his tried friend, his grief on account of them would have been comparatively transient.'*****

The Baron, whose natural goodness of disposition now began to flow back upon his soul, was stung with remorse; and, resolving not to survive his disgrace, returned to the army, rushed on at the head of his troops in the first engagement, and fell a prey to precipitation and rashness in defence of his country. SILVICOLA.

FINE ARTS.

MR. HAYDON'S PICTURE OF CHRIST RAISING LAZARUS.

THE lovers of the fine arts will be gratified in learning that Mr. Haydon has made such progress in his picture of Christ raising up Lazarus, that it will be finished in a very short time.

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The figure of the Saviour in this picture will probably meet with more geal approbation, than that in the Entry into Jerusalem; for this, among other reasons, that it will be better understood. The head is exceedingly beautiful; the expression is of blended majesty and sweetness, a mixture of tenderness and sublimity, and the action at once simple, grand, and impressive The words have been spoken which even Hades must obey; and the right hand emphatically points to heaven. To that call and that action Lazarus comes forth, with his grave-clothes, like a cloud, about his head. His father and mother are near him. In the latter, the maternal feeling seems to predo, minate over the awe of this moment of wonders. In the countenance of the father, astonishment prevails; but it is not the broadly dilated gaze of mere amazement there is also a lively knowledge of the truth, a perception of his son's restoration, which speaks wonderfully in every feature, and places this. head among the finest instances of expression with which we are acquainted. At the feet of Jesus kneels Mary, the sister of Lazarus, mute and dejected. Her head is turned aside in hopelessness, and she, in the stupor of her sorrow, is yet unconscious of the wonder that is wrought. This is a sublime and touching contrast to the father and mother, and to the less complex terror of the men who have removed the covering of the sepulchre. These are starting away, with every muscle in action for removal. They are not academy figures, or models, stationary in a fixed attitude, as is but too often the case, even in the works of the greatest masters; but they are full of motion: and in no instance perhaps has Mr. H. better availed himself of his consummate knowledge of anatomy. The The proper parts execute their proper functions there is the whole secret-but in these few words how much is comprised.

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Kneeling at

the side of Christ nearest to the spectators, is Martha-every feature quivering with emotion; and behind is St. John bending forward with a countenance beaming with divive love. It is much, very much, to say but this head is worthy of the happiest hour of Raphael. There is also an admirable head of another disciple, with a hand to his brow, as if to assist his doubting sight.-Among the spectators, are many fine characters disposed with great skill, so as to form the finest contrasts. But we reserve ourselves for a more particular account of these, and of many other particulars, until the picture is finished,

In casting and disposing his draperies, we think Mr. II. has far outdone his former works. In one little accessory he has furnished matter of contro versy to the critics; he has placed on the head of a female a beautiful urn, having on it the relief of the famous Barberini or Portland vase, illustrative of the ethnical doctrine of the soul. This circumstance is very apposite to the subject of the picture. But a Grecian mythos at Jerusalem will hardly pass without some cavil, though the Romans-pupils of the Greeks in these matters -were masters of Judea.

SCIENTIFIC.

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THE HELIOTROPE, A NEW INSTRUMENT. WHEN Professor Gauss was engaged, in 1820, at Luneberg, in trigonometrical observations, to combine the Hanoverian with the Danish triangles, he perceived that when he directed his telescope towards the steeple of St. Michael's Church at Hamburgh, which was 7 German, 32 English, miles distant, the little round window in the upper part of it reflected the image of the sun towards him, and thus impeded him in his operations. This gave him the idea of using the sun's light for signals, by catching it with a mirror, and reflecting it to the place to which a signal was to be given. He made a calculation of the strength of the sun's light, and of the diminution it suffers in the atmosphere; from which it appeared that a small mirror, 2 or three inches in diameter, was sufficient to reflect the sun's image to the distance of 1 10 or more German miles. This is the Heliotrope, described to be of great importance in the measuring of large triangles, and is likely to supersede the methods hitherto employed. These consisted in placing or fastening, by night, several Argand lamps, with reflectors, at those places which it was intended to observe from a great distance. This measuring by night is very inconvenient, and by day, the light of the lamps is much too faint to be always seen at the distance of several miles through a telescope. The inventor of the Heliotrope, on the other hand, had full proof of the great advantage to be derived from it, when he was last year on the summit of the Brocken Mountain, to determine the 3 corners of the triangle for measuring the meridian of the north of Germany; on which occasion Professor Gauss gave signals with his instrument to his assistants, stationed at 14 German miles from him, on the Inselberg, in the forest of Thuringia. But the great use of the Heliotrope is not confined to such operations. It will be found greatly to excel the telegraph for giving signals, and in time will probably supersede it (provided the Professor could ensure the perpetual appearance of the sun.) As the reflected image of the sun is visible at so great a distance, the signal stations may be much fewer. The mode of using it is likewise more simple, it being merely necessary alternatively to show and to hide the mirror; the intervals, measured by a stop watch are the signals.

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16.

POETRY.

ON THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE YEAR'

By time's swift course, another year
Is now brought to a close;
With all its care, and hope, and fear,
With all its joys and woes.
Its last expiring wintry day,
Has darken'd into night;
Its setting sum's last feelie ray,
Has faded from the sight.

Thousands that hail'd its dawning ray,
When first its course began,
Now sleep in peace, with kindred clay,
Free from the cares of man.

Then were they full of mirth and glee;
Their hearts with hope beat high;
Ah! little could they then foresee,
How soon in dust they'd lie.

But now, another year's begun,

And all around are gay;
While rising in the cast, the sun
Has lighted up the day.

Now sparkles every eye with mirth,
Joy animates each breast;
They hail the year's auspicious birth,
With frolic, song and jest.

Winter must soon resign his reign;
Ere long, reviving spring
Will clothe the fields and trees again,
And all its pleasures bring.

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Paisley, 25th Dec, 1822.

THE AULD MAN'S LAMENT.

My beltine o' life, an' my gay days are gane;
An' now I am feckless, un' dowie, an' lane;
An' my lammas o' life, their lang wearifu' years,
Lake Lammas, has brought me its floods o' szut

tears.

Full threescore an' ten times the gowen has spread, Since first o'er the green sward my young fect did tread;

An threescore an 'ten times the blue bell has blawn Since, to pu' them, I first daunder'd blythe o'er the lawn.

The burn banks I us'd, when a callant, to range,
An' the ferney clad-clay braes now seem eerie an'
strange;

The burn seems na clear, an' the lift seems na blue;
But its ablins my auld een that dinna tell true.

The mates o' my young days are a' sede zwa',
They are miss'd on the meadow, an' miss'd in the
shaw;
Like the swallows, they fled when youth's warm
days were gane;

An' I'm left like a wing'd ane behint them my lane,
To you aged hawthorn, that bends o'er the turn,
Its win' scatter'd blossoms can never retur;
They are swept to the sea, o'er baith rough rock an'
Enn,

Sae-my comrades ha'e flourished, an' fled ane by

ane

It seems short to look back since my Peggy was
young,

Blythely she lilted, an' sweetly she sang;
Lut my Peggy has left me, and gane like the lave,
For the win whistles shrill o'er my dear Peggy's

grave,

My Peggy was ruddy, my Peggy was fair,
Mild was her blue eye, an modest her air;
But I needna tell now, what my Peggy has been,
For blanch'd are her red cheeks, an' clos'd are her

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LINES ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE
BIRD.

Sweet warbler, thy loss I deplore,
And remember thy song with a sigh;
Its sweetness can cheer me no more,
While the moments pass heavily by.
These hours can I ever forget,
When by grief and misfortune oppress'il,
I hear thy soft melody yet,
Which lall'd all my sorrows to rest.
Another inhabits thy cage,
But I cannot have patience to hear;
Its warblings may others engage,
But unheeded they fall on my ear.
In thy death, my poor bird, I can-irace
The fate that is destin'd for me:
Another will shine in my place,
And I be forgotten like thee.
Anderston Walk,

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We cannot insert the Inquirer, as his paper would subject ús to the charge of egotism.

The communication, sca Fuinburgh, signed B. S. soon.

MARY

We will give X. Y. S's, Dramatic Sketch a plice next week. We think a few alterations would inprove it. He will find a note at the printer's, if he pleases to send or call. We wish success to his other Carduous undertaking.

M. G. will pardon us for denying him a place, so must Y

Lines by Amicus next week, T, X. Y. Z, Juvenis, soon.

Let Dhuck tell us if the amiable wife be original-Bowler is not forgotten-Rednaxela next week.

R. Ln. must lie over for a little, Montana likewise-Montanus anon.

Our Poetical correspondents are so numerous we r ally cammot notice them all.

L. M'Lean must pardon us for thaking ourself as able to judge of poetical merit as himself. We will not say that we excel him in understanding Gaelic S. M. R. probably does.

Printed and published, Price Threepence alt-peuny, every Wednesday, by PURVIS & AITKEN, Lyceum Court, Nelson Street,

Where Comminications, post paid, may be addressed to the Editor, Sold by R. Griffin & Co. Public Library, Hutcheson Street, and by the Principal Booksellers, Glasgow By T. Colquhoun, Printer and Publisher, Stamp Office Closs, 291, High Street: Jnlin Anderson, Jun. 3757, North Bridge Street, and by the Principal Booksellers, Edinburgh. Also of the following Foo sellers: John Hislop, Greenock; John Dick, and M'Cormick & Carnie, Ayr; Thomas Dick, Paisley Robert Mathie, Kilmarnock Maleobu Currie, Port-Glasgow; D. Conde, Rothesay; James Thomson, Hamilton; M. Dick, Irvine; and John Shearer, Stirling.

Haydon's Picture and the Heliotrope, are the only articles not original in this number.

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