LA DOUCE INDIFFERENCE.

SAY, can the lily of the vale
Refuse its fragrance to the gale?
Or can the rose in op'ning spring
Forbear perfuming Zephyr's wing?
Can the bright dew-drop on the bower
Deny its freshness to the flower?

Or can the stream flow through the plain
And not enrich the growing grain?
Say, does the seed in bed profound
Conceal its virtues under ground?
Or do the blossoms as they blow
Belie the parent seed below?
Does the gay lark refuse to sing
And usher in the bashful spring?
And does not bashful spring improve
The universal soul of love?

Search nature round,-Sophia, fair!
Say can you find Indifference there?
'Tis sympathy's wide reign I see
Where all obey, yet all are free,-
The sweetest part of her domain-
Must she then claim your heart in vain ?
Shall beauty's richest blossoms shoot
And overpow'r the embryo fruit?
To you fond Nature has been kind,
And lagging Art you've left behind :
Then conquer in fair Nature's cause,
And oh! forbear to wound her laws.

Indifference is only sweet,
When lips like yours the word repeat:
But when the sense they would impart,
The lips are strangers to the heart.
Then substitute a word more dear,
More just to you, to us more clear:
Of that dark annulet beware,

It ill becomes a hand so fair:
A circlet of a richer hue-
Enchanting maid! is formed for you.
Then hail sweet sympathy at once!
Avaunt! LA DOUCE INDIFFERENCE!

P. R.

HISTORICAL QUESTIONS TO HUME AND SMOLLETT'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Robert Horner, LL. B.

THE real utility of these Questions will recommend them to every one wishing to be firmly grounded in the history of our own country. As such we draw attention to them; they are connected with an edition of Hume and Smollett's History of England, which is decorated with a series of wood vignettes, and will ornament the cabinet of the student and the traveller, the former for its economy in price, the latter for its portability; although the more opulent will doubtless prefer the genuine standard editions of the London trade.

66

SIR,

TO THE EDITOR OF THE LITERARY MAGNET.

Who steals my purse steals trash, 'tis something, nothing,
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

SHAKSPEARE.

AMIDST the prevailing distresses of the times, so much talked about by every body," and so much sympathized in by " all the world ;" I cannot help conceiving that, whatever may be the distresses and misfortunes of others, I have the greatest of all possible reasons to complain of continued, incessant, and everlasting, as well as unmerited injustice; and notwithstanding my frequent public appeals for redress, I am sorry to say they have hitherto remained unheeded, a circumstance at which I cannot but feel surprised, seeing that few appeals to public justice, in this happy country, fail to engage attention, and to meet with consolation, if not with redress.

The liberality and intelligence, however, which I understand pervade your pages, will I trust afford me another opportunity of laying my grievances before the humane and enlightened, and at all events, if I can but excite your sympathy for one who is so truly unfortunate, I shall at least consider that my labour in this application has not been in vain, since the consolations of enlightened friendship have power to soothe the rigours of endurance, and smooth the pillow of affliction.

With a desire to occupy as little of your valuable time as possible, I shall proceed, without prolixity, to a relation of my distresses. At a period of the year when all nature is budding into beauty,-when general festivity is prevailing, and all features are smiling at the prospective introduction of May, with all her alluring attractions, I alone appear to be overshadowed with gloom and despondency, in consequence of the frequent, and I may say, the general odium with which I am every where -by every body-and all the world, treated, without being able to form any reasonable conjecture why or wherefore.

I allude to the unwarrantable liberties taken with my name upon all occasions at all times-in all places-and under all circumstances; from which it would appear that I am

Every thing by turns,
And nothing long.

I am continually and everlastingly charged with misdemeanours and delinquencies, from which I have not even a chance of obtaining acquittal; I am accused of every impropriety of conduct which can attach to the character of a human being. The public-all the world—and every body, though undefinable by any body, are my accusers, and every day brings some additional charge against me, the sum and accumulation of which it would be utterly impossible for me to enumerate.

To bear calamity with resignation, and to draw cheerful inferences from adverse circumstances, is said to form a very important feature in moral philosophy; and forbearance to be a great virtue, which I am very willing to acknowledge; but there are cases in which forbearance may almost be considered criminal; it is not in nature to be continually subjected

to unmerited odium without repining. I can refrain no longer. I am in every body's house, and almost at all times on the tip of every body's tongue, and the only consoling inference I can draw from this is, that although absent I am seldom forgotten; yet with all the recollections of mankind I have no sympathy in my wrongs, no notice taken of my complaints. My appeals to the public are unheeded. All the world is engaged in pursuit of pleasure or profit. Every body is, every where and no where, too busy with his own affairs to afford one moment's serious consideration for me, though frequently compelled to be the subject of his conversation; and thus situated, I have scarcely a remaining hope of finding any body my sincere friend, unless I can prevail upon you to act in that character upon the present occasion.

The arrival of the Easter holidays and their attendant attractions, when festive mirth and gaiety are the orders of the day, have only had the effect of rendering me still more gloomy and sad; for, can you believe it, sir, in consequence of the inauspicious morning of Good-Friday, when it is customary to have a wrestling match, a game at foot-ball, and other sports, in Copenhagen Fields, it has been asserted by somebody that nobody was there, that nobody worked on Good-Friday; and in some of the fashionable circles at the west end of the town, that nobody was at the Mansion House to partake of the festivities of Easter Monday. Now be it known to all, that I deny these imputations altogether; nay, the latter requires no refutation, for did not the Lord Mayor, by timely advertisement, inform the public, all the world, and every body, that tickets were issued for as many visitors as could be accommodated; and his Lordship, no doubt occupied by more important business, wholly forgot me in his list. Round assertions are also made, that nobody ate buns on GoodFriday, from which it has been denounced by some as a vulgar practice; that nobody is in the secret, and that nobody knows what; while many a dandy of the present day is said to be nobody; and in the city it is as confidently asserted, that nobody was excluded from the Lord Mayor's ball-all which are equally untrue. Why these imputations are so lavishly cast upon me, I cannot conjecture, being harmless and inoffensive myself. Every body appears to have a desire to drag me into public notice, and I am made the hack of all the world, being introduced by them merely as an object of detestation, laying all their mischievous intentions and actions of which they are themselves ashamed, to my charge, and leaving me to the consequent punishment if once taken prisoner. However, I am at present fortunately pretty secure on that point, for, although my name and character are vilified without mercy or discretion, none attempt to describe my person or divulge my residence, though every ignorant pretender affects to be acquainted with them: how much longer this may continue to be the case, I am unable to judge, but you will, I doubt not, acknowledge with me, that such scandalous reports as are daily and hourly raised and circulated against me, are calculated to rouse the indignation of any feeling mind; but mine has been more particularly wounded-by an assertion, certainly intended to convey an idea of non-importance upon your labours, which it is impossible for me to suffer.

It is, that nobody reads the Weekly Literary Magnet. Now, although without form or shape myself, I hear the public-all the world-and every body, delighted at its contents, and anxious for each forthcoming number; its attractions are felt and appreciated, and although I am beyond the verge of its power, I have sufficient evidence of the high estimation

in which it is held. It is this, and this alone, which induces an unfortunate obscure to seek for consolation in its pages, determined if possible in future to prevent-the public, every body, all the world, and any body, from the indiscriminate use, and undeserved abuse, of the name of your persecuted correspondent.

NOBODY.

MR. GARRICK'S FIRST APPEARANCE.

THE following is a copy of the play-bill which announced Mr. Garrick's debut at the theatre in Goodman's Fields:

Goodman's Fields.

Oct. 19, 1741.

At the Theatre, Goodman's Fields, this day will be performed,
A Concert of Vocal and Instrumental Music,
Divided into Two Parts.
Tickets, 3s. 2s. and 1s.

Places for the Boxes to be taken at the Fleece Tavern, near the Theatre.
N. B. Between the Two Parts of the Concert will be presented an
Historical Play, called the

Life and Death of King Richard the Third.
Containing the Distresses of King Henry VI.

The artful acquisition of the Crown by King Richard.
The murder of young King Edward V. and his Brother in the Tower.
The landing of the Earl of Richmond,

And the death of King Richard in the memorable battle of Bosworth Field, being the last that was fought between the Houses of York and Lancaster; with many other true Historical Passages.

The part of KING RICHARD, by a Gentleman

(who never appeared on any stage) :

King Henry, by Mr. Giffard; Richmond, Mr. Marshall; Prince Edward, by Miss Hippesley ;* Duke of York, Miss Naylor; Duke of Buckingham, Mr. Paterson; Duke of Norfolk, Mr. Blades; Lord Stanley, Mr. Paget; Oxford, Mr. Vaughan; † Tressell, Mr. W. Giffard; Catesby, Mr. Marr; Ratcliff, Mr. Crofts; Blunt, Mr. Naylor; Tyrrell, Mr. Puttenham; Lord Mayor, Mr. Dunstall. The Queen, Mrs. Steel; Duchess of York, Mrs. Yates. +

And the part of LADY ANNE, by Mrs. Giffard.

With Entertainments of Dancing,

By Monsieur Fromet, Madame Duvalt, and the two Masters and Miss

Granier.

To which will be added, a Ballad Opera, in one Act, called
The VIRGIN UNMASKED.

The part of Lucy, by Miss Hippesley.

Both of which will be performed gratis, by Persons for their Diversion. The Concert will begin exactly at Six o'clock.

* Afterward Mrs. Green, a celebrated comic actress, and the first representative of Margaret, in the Duenna.

Brother of Mrs. Pritchard, one of the greatest actresses that ever graced the English stage, in both provinces of the drama.

Not the late Mrs. Yates, of Covent Garden Theatre, wife of the well-known comic actor.

SHEPHERDESS OF THE MOUNTAINS.*

As he advanced to man, his associates were chosen from the most daring and ferocious of the natives of the mountains, who, regarding him as the destined heir of the gloomy chieftain, whose dominions withal were wide, willingly joined his band, and placed their lives without a dissentient word at his disposal. His fame, accordingly, quickly became known; and many were the stories disseminated of his adventures. Superstition-and superstition is generally a dweller of the hills-clothed him with a thousand terrors. His father had long been considered as some one scarcely of human lineage, and it was but one step in the marvellous to make his offspring of no mortal race; and, in the delineation of his character we might almost follow the poet in his description of the Giant king. So wonderful in the eyes of the rude people amongst whom he dwelt, was the son of the lord of Col-derg.

""Twas said his voice could stay the falling flood;
Eclipse the sun, and turn the moon to blood:
Roll back the planets on their golden cars,
And from the firmament unfix the stars."

The boy, as he advanced in stature and in years, becoming more desirous of throwing off every tie that could bind him to human intercourse and we would wish to lay aside the marvellous in our narrative-withdrew from his native wilds, and resided principally among those inaccessible approaches of the Tyrol, which, as they are continuations of that immense chain of mountains that shut out Ausonia, with her cloudless skies and balmy breezes, from the world beyond, are perhaps still better adapted for the occupation of the outlaw, than the loftier ranges which gird Switzerland, and her solitary sister Savoy. His evil fame had reached, but not alarmed the glen. Hid in its recesses, and assured that whatever might befall him,

necessary to remark, generally uses its fore-legs in a contest with its enemy, aiming rather to squeeze its foe to death, than to attack, at least in the first instance, either with its paws or teeth. Aware of this, therefore, the bear-hunter-a being, it is true, hardly human, and indifferent to the dangers, as he is utterly unacquainted with the comforts, of life-seeing his adversary approaching, lays aside his weapons of offence, only employed in cases where they only can avail, as it is considered desirable to injure as little as possible the skin of the animal, and walks up quietly to meet it. The bear, too, advances, and they are soon locked in each other's embraces. In the instant of the grapple, however, the hunter, by a sudden and dexterous maneuvre, thrusts his head under the jaws of his antagonist, and then exerting all the strength of his sinewy arms, holds it in that position, so as to prevent its assailing him with its teeth. He then rolls over, dragging the bear along with him; and as he takes care that the combat is on a spot adapted for his purpose on a declivity-generally there are precipices of height sufficient for his enterprise, yet not of such as materially to endanger his life, they thus descend the hill together rolling like a ball, and bounding from precipice to precipice, the bear from its superior gravity always falling undermost, and receiving, consequently, at every shock a mortal wound. On reaching the bottom of the glen, or ravine, the animal is most frequently found lifeless in the arms of its daring antagonist, who, himself uninjured, if any symptoms of vitality remain, easily puts a period to its existence.