¡Days. [The following lines were written many years since, by Lord Caithness, a Scottish nobleman. Though they are evidently not the production of an experienced versifier, yet in genuine feeling, they will hardly loose by a comparison with the most polished verses of modern poetry.] Can time that wretched bosom cheer, By pride and passion shook? Ah no! before that cheerless eye, And in that with'ring breast, the ray EPIGRAM, Of D'Aubigny, on Henry the IV. giving him his Portrait. Why for a thankless prince's good, My brother soldiers, toil? When all he gives us for our blood METEOROLOGICAL JOURNAL, ending 1st December, 1813. S. W. W. S. S. N. N. N. N. E S. W. NW. Cloudy Cloudy diseases since 21s 37 44 36 30-05 30,10|30.18 22d 32 42 44 30-18 30.1030 05 23d 44 50 4230-05 30.1030.05 24th 40 44 42 30-00 29.80 29.83 25th 48 58|50|29.64129.50 29 52 26th 40 43 34 29 82 29.90 29.90 N. 27th 32 43 37 29.95 29 9829 95 W. W. Fair. Fair Hooping28th 35 38 32 30:00 29.90 29 83 N W N.W. Cloudy Cloudy cough, 29th 32 36 34 29.83 29 83 29 80 N.W N.W Cloudy Cloudy and Remit30th 30 38 36 29 88 29 75 29 68 S. ES. E Cloudy Fair. tent Fevers. 1st 34 423629 60 29.53/29.50 S N. Clouds Fair. Printed for JoHN COOK, by E. & E. HOSFORD, Albany. No. 14. THE STRANGER. "Therefore as a STRANGER, bid it welcome." HAMLET. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1813. VOL. I. MR. JOHN COOK, Sir, took 9 I need not tell you that I am an unfortunate foreigner, and a stranger in your city-the story I am going to relate will inform you of both, in language sufficiently plain. I arrived here about the close of autumn and after a short stay at up my lodgings in an obscure Inn in the suburbs of the town: for I did not wish to encounter the gaze of the multitude, nor expose myself unnecessarily to the rude observations of the boys in the streets.—I was not pleased with their unceremonious salutations, and their republican freedom of speech was not less novel than offensive. My long beard I found was the subject of their merriment, and my tall emaciated figure, sallow complexion and foreign accent, the objects of their ridicule. I was often stared at by the old as well as the young, and by both sexes without discrimination. Even the dogs I met in my way seemed to eye me with surprise, and would often follow my steps with looks of suspicion. I therefore seldom made my appearance in the open streets till the shades of night screened me from the impertinence of the inquisitive and protected me from the insults of the rabble. Sometimes indeed, tempted by the serenity and beauty of the morning, I would unconsciously prolong my walk, or loiter on my way till the sun had streaked the orient clouds, and kindled with his golden beam the tops of the tallest pines and summits of the neighbouring hills. Then did I consider myself fortunate if without insult I reached the threshold of the Inn. 'Twas in this obscure place, though poorly fed and coarsely lodged, that I enjoyed an undisturbed interval of peace and indulged without restraint the melancholy temper of my mind. But suspicion attaching itself to my character, I found it necessary once more to change the place of my abode—and accordingly settled my bill and prepared for my departure,-my Host I am glad to say had treated me with the greatest kindness-he had neither intruded upon my meditations, nor perplexed ine with his enquiries—I was neither insulted on the one hand, nor incumbered with civilities on the other. The only disrespect shewn me was the occasional appellation of “ old blackbeard," but this was in some measure excusable, for I had refused to communicate my name. I left this poor but peaceful habitation without any definite idea as to the course I should pursue-I was undetermined whether to travel into the interior of the country, or try again to find security in the more unfrequented suburbs of the metropolis. In this state of indecision I strolled about careless of my destiny, till I found myself in the vicinity of the capitol, in the broad street leading to the centre of the city. I now continued on, insensible to the jeers of the vulgar, and deaf to the idle ribaldry of the boys, till I was suddenly arrested by the sight of an object that brought to my mind the painful remembrance of the sports of my infancy-the peaceful pursuits and innocent pleasures of the morning of my life! I beheld before me the companion of my early days, but I beheld him in bondage and my heart bled at the sight. I perceived that I was not recognised his change of fortune seemed to have rendered him insensible or indifferent to the objects around him-apparently resigned to his fate, his eyes were either closed in dumb despair, or cast upon the earth with an air of silent but expressive agony. I wept like a child for my heart was melted by compassion, and my mind lost in the incomprehensible vicissitudes of fortune. It was a scene calculated to soften the most obdurate-It would have awakened the thoughtless, and convinced the votaries of wealth and pleasure of the instability of worldly grandeur, and of the frail tenure of all sublunary enjoyments-My own misfortunes now rushed upon my mind and I stood for a while absorbed in retrospective contemplation; in a deep but melancholy reverie. We had both seen better days-we had not only enjoyed the pleasures, but had often indulged in the luxuries of life-we had early tasted of the sweets of liberty. We had together inhaled the fragrance of the morning air, and together had watched the declining rays of the setting sun-we had repeatedly travelled through our native country and explored her "Frozen regions, and her burning zones”– We had traversed her once flourishing provinces from the straights of Gibraltar to the bay of Biscay-from the parched plains of Andalusia to the mountains of Asturias-we had together visited the vallies of Valencia,& together roamed along the flowery banks of the rivers of Arragon-we had wandered through the ancient kingdom of Castile, and examined together the vegetable productions of every province and almost of every field in Spain-In short, our fortunes were in some measure united— we were associates in peace & inseparable companions in the hour of danger. Here I was roused from my reverie by the crowd that had collected round me-& by the rude interrogations of a vulgar looking man, who untying the cord by which my old friend and fellow traveller the Merino Ram was fastened to the post, hurried him off to the north, while I, with the rabble at my heels, sought for refuge in the purlieus of the Pasture. PEDROSO, Late, Chief Shepherd of the migrating divisions of the MEBINOS of Spain !— FOR THE STRANGER, MEDITATIVE HOURS......No. 1. "Meditation here May think down hours to moments. Here the heart And Learning wiser grow without his books." Cowper. To trace the dark and winding mazes of the heart, to fathom the occult motives that urge man to action, may justly be called the maximum of human knowledge. This constitutes the study of the philosopher; and the orator, having once discovered the secret springs of the soul, no longer is forced to resort to the art of sophistry to compass his designs; but with a masterly hand, guides and directs the affections of his auditors with as much facility as the poet sweeps the cords of his lyre. This branch of knowledge is necessary not only to those who tread the higher rounds of life, but is equally important to all, whatever employment may engage their attention. The design of these numbers, which will be the result of a few leisure moments, is to cause those, who may take the trouble to notice them, to turn their thoughts inward, and scrutinize the movements of the human mind. It is a singular phænomenon, that man ever restless and desirous of knowledge, often visits other countries, traverses remote regions of the world, and yet never so much as turns his wakeful curiosity to explore the mysteries of his soul. That he should search the avenues of science and decypher the mouldering monuments of art, and yet be ignorant of himself; that he should spend the vigour of his life in acquainting himself with the general character of mankind and then totter to the tomb a stranger to his own character, is a melancholy reflection that will ever cause the tears of humanity to flow. This inconsistency may be ranked with the follies that complete the imperfection of human nature. Its cause is not unknown. There is a principle in man that prompts him to pass by every thing which appears free from impediments and easy to be performed at all times, as a matter of minor importance, and impels him to accomplish all other designs in view, before the attention is called to these secondary considerations. Self-examination, unfortunately, by some strange fantasy, seems to be ranged under the head of these inferiour concerns. cares and anxieties of life pressing upon the mind in such quick succession, scarcely leave us any leisure for the performance of this necessary duty. To snatch as many precious hours as possible, from the busy vortex, which too often alas! draws into its destructive whirl the virtuous and finer feelings of the soul, is the constant object of every great and good man. The fault of most literary men is, that they read too much, and think too little. The fault of the misanthrope is not that he thinks too intensely, but that, by dwelling constantly upon the dark and melancholy side of the picture, he forgets that other parts shine with heaven-illumined brightness. There is no station, the duties of which are so rigid, no consideration, the cares and perplexities of which are so imperious, that they will not suffer their restless tenant to occupy a few meditative hours in reflecting up The |