MR. MERTON, WHAT IS LOVE? THE beautiful lines in your first volume on "What is Love?” remind me of a more diffusive examination of this interesting subject, in which the anonymous author enters into detail, and, amidst the language of compliment, appears to feel what he writes. I am, Sir, yours, &c. Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be, And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound, I'll teach thee what it is to love, And by what marks true passion may be found. C. What is true Love---BARBAULD. If you would wish to know what love is, inquire not at the tongue of man, but at the heart of woman.---MATURIN. Oh! how shall they who never prove His witcheries divine, Portray the Deity of Love, Or paint his beamy shrine ? No, ask not cold, insensate man, For fickle man's inconstant will No, wouldst thou ken love's mystic lore, There read its tale of blighting hour, Go, wouldst thou scan the fateful book, Go, read it in her alter'd look, Go, read it in her wasted form, Its winning beauties fled; Its fires are chill'd and dead! Go, ye, who scorn the tyrant's dart, Go, then, inquire at woman's heart, 1 True love it is to struggle on And loathe, yet cling to life! True love is this: for aye to weep, True love is this: through good or ill, And bless, though all disown! And love, of fond delusion bred, And love is this: round lightsome bow'r But dearer, best, in fitful hour, When billows rage and swell! And love is this: unmoved to brave Nor sink appall'd from darksome grave, Love, tow'ring high on angel wing, Immortal, dares the Spectre King, BUONAPARTE'S THRONE. In the Chamber of Peers at Paris, the various ornaments and paintings, by order of Napoleon, still remain, with the exception of the luxurious fleur de lis having been substituted for the busy bee. What is, perhaps, the most extraordinary, the identical throne of Napoleon was, until lately, and may be still, the royal throne; nay, the very marks on the crimson velvet cover, from whence the bees were torn, were but imperfectly covered by the fleur de lis, and, as if by design, may be yet easily discovered. What a change! the throne of Napoleon so occupied! it certainly was never better filled! VEDO. MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. OH! Mary, how oft have I mourn'd o'er thy fate, Though many a day has darken'd the date, High beats the heart of the Scot for relief, On the proud shrine of Elizabeth's glory, Till History---dead---shall leave the sad story While charity breathes mankind will deplore And England, the dull callous witness, shall bear On the brightest page of her fame, An indelible stain for each hallow'd tear That sprung from this dark deed of shame. When tears cease to flow men will cease to deplore T. VOLTAIRE. VOLTAIRE was one of those men generally termed Deists-by some, indeed, ignorantly called an Atheist. He had a generous and sympathetic heart, and many of the finest feelings of humanity were conspicuously developed in his progress through life. Too great a man to adopt a doctrine merely because others had followed it before him, he only yielded to the conviction which was the result of reason; and it would have been well for his fame had it rested here: but this was not all; whatever he could not draw within the compass of his own comprehension, he rejected entirely. He is not the only example of a great man with a limited capacity; reformers of all ages have been the same. Although it be still true, that he who can enlighten society, will improve its condition, yet it is not indispensable that a reformer of the world should continually point out the road to wisdom; he does as much who shews the tract of folly. ON CATS. In the writings of Aristotle, the Cat is not once spoken of as a domestic animal; and from this circumstance some persons have inferred that, in his time, it was not (as far as he knew) admitted in any part of the world, an inhabitant of the house. In how great a degree, then, must our feelings of commiseration be excited for the age in which Aristotle lived! At that period, and in that portion of the globe especially, when man was so far civilized as to have made no inconsiderable progress in the arts and sciences; when the dark mist of ignorance was gradually dispersing before his ardent researches after knowledge, and when that dull rust of barbarism in which the now refined feelings of the soul were erewhile so deeply imbedded, was fast yielding to the burnishing hand of civilization, the awakening sympathies of man first prompted a more lively inquiry into the various properties and causes of such objects in animal and vegetable nature, as had before excited a mere transient notice, or, perhaps, a brief, rude, and ignorant admiration. These objects, before unheeded, or at best but slightly noticed, now assumed a more interesting appearance, and from being almost entirely unknown-from being deemed of the most worthless description-from unregarded insignificance-they now rose at once into a proportionate consequence, as a knowledge of their various useful and pleasureable qualities gradually rendered them of greater importance to the fast increasing wants of man, and as luxury and comparative refinement suggested new ideas of comfort, and new desires to be satisfied. In how great a degree, therefore, must our emotions of pity be excited-how much our astonishment raised-when we find that, though the rude imagination of men was even then racked to picture new delights, and every art employed to supply the imaginary deficiencies of their still barbarous luxuriousness-that, in all their increasing wealth, and daily expanding knowledge-they absolutely possessed no cuts!! Was this a refinement too great—did the numerous good qualities of such a useful domestic-of such an every way enlightened animal-entitle it to no place in their catalogue of luxuries?-did their category of animal beauty own not this, its brightest ornament ?-melancholy reflection!... For my own part, I quit at once this afflicting topic, left as I am to the undisturbed enjoyment of all my sorrowful feelings-a solitary bachelor-my remaining half blighted affections-(for I too, alas! have swelled the list of disappointed lovers!) are continually wound up in the existence of some fondly cherished feline pet; for there is something so irresistibly endearing-there exists (in my opinion) such a rational enjoyment in the possession of so lovely a creature's affections, that I have never yet succeeded in forming a permanent attachment to any other animal. In my cat, indeed, I at once recognize a pleasant tea-table companion, and a friend in whom I may repose my dearest trusts, and my most secret heart-workings-one to whom I may safely disburthen my soul of its most intricate and contending emotions-of all its hopes, and all its joys-its sorrows and afflictions, without a fear either of having my confidence abused, my happiness unregarded, or my tribulations unsympathised in; the gentle purring with which she PART VIII.-31. Ꭰ VOL. II. soothingly lulls my gloomiest reflections-the tender rubbings of her balmy nose with which she kindly attracts my wandering attention, and the friendly lickings of the hands and face that so eloquently impress upon me her mute yet intelligible affection, as she sits, lightly waving her elegantly tapering tail, upon my gratefully accorded knee-all--all conspire to render her the most pleasing domestic associate that yet remains to me, a secluded mortal, doomed to the most comfortable damnation of" single blessedness." Are you, too, a bachelor, gentle reader, and do you possess no soul-cheering cat? Has blooming health fled thy sallow cheeks---has Fortune---fickle Fortune---deserted thee---have thy friends shunned thee in thine adversity---and, oh ! that most darksome of ills, that summum of calamity, has the last, best, dearest companion of thy solitary hours---thy long-cherished cat too---hath unpitying, unsparing death robbed thee of her ? Man of an ill-starred fate ! then, indeed, is thy cup of affliction full, even to the brim! Health may again restore thy faded complexion to its former hue of rosy gladness; fortune may yet again kindly smile on thee, and friendship once more turn on thee its unclouded sunshine; but thy cat !---alas ! for ever departed from thee---thy cat, the firmest prop, the hallowed charm, of thy domestic existence, what shall again restore unto thee? what shall compensate thee for the loss of? If thou art a man of tender sympathies---of a truly feeling disposition, nothing, certainly nothing. When the peaceful evening sheds its mild influence around thee, and thy melancholy footsteps mechanically stay their farther progress before thy widowed habitation---when the pensive announcement on the green-painted hall-door summons the slip-shod porteress of thy mansion to open wide its portals for thine admittance---when the lonely parlour receives thee, alas! thy favourite cat runs not to greet thee with her welcoming endearments! When the refreshing tea curls in delicious fragrance beneath thy expanding nostrils, and the wellcrisped toast invites thine unclosing masticators to perform their glad office, no gentle purrings, no attractive. rubbings, attest thy pussy's claims to her accustomed participation in these enjoyments. When the appointed hour of rest beholds thee courting the balmy influence of sleep, and prowling mice invade thy silent chamber, frisk o'er the floor, or gnaw thy dangling garters, thou, poor bereaved, hast no cat, no kind guardian of thy nocturnal slumbers, to repel these troublesome intruders on thy somniferous quiescence; and when the awakening day pours on thy listening ear the diurnal proclamation, "Cats' meat! Cats' meat," a flood of tender recollections overwhelms thee with sorrow, a sigh escapes thy labouring bosom, and a mournful tear steals down thy pensive cheek, as the painful conviction that thou hast no cat to cater for, no hebdomadal account to settle for its daily subsistence, bursts like a resistless cataclysm upon thy saddening remembrance. Such was once my unhappy condition; often would I sit at the wideopened casement of my bedchamber, when night closed her friendly veil over the habitations of men, sunk in the black abyss of brooding melancholy; and when my weary sighs have pensively joined in the sad song of sorrow which the wildly wailing night-wind moaned mournfully round me, and my fast-falling tears have silently answered the large dropping rain which heavily pattered on the dimly seen house |