ed the standards of various nations-among others, some of the United States, taken at Queenstown, Niagara, Detroit, and, mirabile dictu, at New Orleans. Four standards were of the kingdom of Candia, two of them richly emblazoned and embroidered; others were from Egypt, India, Badajos, and Martinique. The galleries were occupied in a very orderly manner by companies of soldiers perfectly clean and well dressed. Although a little. attached to "the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," I cannot look upon a European soldier without a degree of indignation; for they seem to me to be designed rather to enslave the people at home, than to combat their enemies abroad. The British soldiery certainly have a very martial air-appear to feed well, and feel their own importance. Apparently they have less connexion and sympathy with the citizens than the soldiers of Portugal or Spain. The reason I presume is, that they are made more independent of society than in those countries where they are poorly fed, clothed, and paid.

AN ingenious essay lately appeared in the New Monthly Magazine, proving to the world the decided advantages of "having no head." And I did entertain sanguine expectations, that some one more able than myself would have employed his pen earlier in setting forth the manifold advantages of "having no hands." Disappointed in this respect, I take upon myself the arduous task; conceiving it to be my bounden duty to convince mankind how unfortunate is the situation of every one possessing two, live, naked hands!—although I cannot but regret my inability to handle this feeling subject in a manner more worthy of its merits.

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The principal design of those uncouth appendages to the human figure, is, to perform all the duties and offices, which we are apt to suppose cannot be done, at least in so handy a manner, by the toes, the ankles, the elbows, or any of the other members, with which man is provided. But, however paradoxical it may appear-and however opposed to the vulgar adage, which says many hands make light work”-I venture to affirm that no hands make work still lighter. For if one is so happy as to be without those awkward and ungainly limbs, is it not a fair inference that he will have none of their peculiar duties to perform? Thus, at once, a world of trouble is shaken off his hands. He may then enjoy dignity and ease without the pains-to use a sailor's phrase--of

"lending a hand" to obtain them. Never will he undertake any ignominious handicraft-be seen toiling at a handcart-labouring at a handsaw-or confined between the degrading poles of a handbarrow.

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In military affairs he will never know the use of the manual, and war will have for him no danger. Hard indeed must be the heart of the orderly," who could command him to take up arms, or handle a musket. And then, in pecuniary matters, what advantages will he not possess! No one will ever think of borrowing from one who can never have money on hand. His credit, too, would be unbounded, for it would be barbarous to require of him a note of hand; unless he could sign it with his feet, with which, indeed, a man may sometimes make a pretty good runninghand.

Another advantage, Mr Editor, deserves particular consideration. He never will be obliged, as we double-handed wretches too often are, to shake hands with a disagreeable acquaintance; and can never injure his reputation by being hand and glove with an exceptionable character. Those disgusting articles, called handkerchiefs, will form no item in his wardrobe or his washing bill. And then, how many seven-and-sixpences will he not save in the single article of gloves! They, and the want of them, will be equally unknown. And yet he will never complain of cold hands or warm hands, of damp hands or dirty hands. "Tis true, he can never attain the fair fame of possessing a hand open as day to melting charity." But he will be equally free from the opprobrious appellation of a close-fisted fellow. What a guaranty for honesty! he will never lay his hands upon the property of another. And of perjury he can never be guilty, till oaths are very differently administered. He will live in peace with all his neighbours; at least, no one will ever receive an injury at his hands. He will never be liable to reproach himself with having fingered a bribe, or with having held up his hand to vote against the people and his country.

On the other hand, it cannot be denied that there are some privations, to which this improved specimen of the human animal will be subject. They are so trifling, however, in comparison with his advantages, that I cannot suppose any will hesitate to adopt the improvement. It is undoubtedly true, and I mention these things to show my candour, and do justice to the old-fashioned form of men, that there are many little pleasures-tending, perhaps, to make life agreeable-which he would be entirely obliged to forego. At card-parties, for example, he could only be a spectator, for no one would think of inviting him to take a hand. He could never take a lady's hand-or hand her to her coach-or, what is worse than all, Mr Editor, offer her his hand.

Is he desirous of pursuing the study of medicine? Alas! it would be a melancholy consideration, that he could never hope to have a single patient under his hands. In the law, too, who would plod through its rubbish of black-letter folios, unless he were cheered by the anticipation of one day being able to grasp the rich reward of some grateful and feeling client? As a divine, however powerful and persuasive the appeals he might pour forth, few at least of his fair auditors would be convinced of the purity of his motives or the soundness of his doctrines, unless his arguments were enforced in a more handsome and striking manner than they could be by this fingerless, ringless being.

But, notwithstanding these minor considerations, I trust enough has been said to convince all of the expediency of immediately relieving themselves of these appendages. And though some may be " up in arms" at the suggestion, they must be few who will not go hand-in-hand with me, in my benevolent plan for meliorating the condition of the human race.

POETRY.

AN APRIL DAY.

When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
"T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.

I love the season well

When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell

The coming-in of storms.

From the earth's loosened mould

The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives:
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song

Comes through the pleasant woods, and coloured wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along

The forest openings.

And when bright sunset fills

The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,

And wide the upland glows.

And when the day is gone,

In the blue lake the sky o'erreaching far
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.

Inverted in the tide

Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.

Sweet April!-many a thought

Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till to its autumn brought
Life's golden fruit is shed.

H. W. L.

GEN. FRASER-SLAIN AT SARATOGA.

In the pride of his daring, Fraser fell,

And while slowly away we bore him,
The warriors rude whom he loved so well
Shed burning and stern tears o'er him.

I die-he cried to his heart-struck chief,-
Life flows away like a fountain-
Let my funeral rites be few and brief,

And my tomb, the peak of the mountain.

There was not a heart but heaved with wo,
As the hero's hearse ascended,

And the vengeful shot of the watchful foe
With our farewell volley blended.

The pilgrim of honour seeks his grave,

Where the bright clouds rest in glory-
His memory lives in the hearts of the brave,
And his fame in his country's story.

S. H.

THE FOUR AGES.

FROM SCHILLER.

The dark purple wine in the goblet now foams,
Now sparkle the eyes of each guest;

The bard too appears,-to the banquet he comes,
And to good things he adds far the best.

For joy without song is but common and low,

Though in halls of the gods the rich nectar should flow.

His heaven-gifted spirit is pure and serene,

And the world as a mirror reveals;

All things, that on earth have been done, he hath seen,

And all that futurity seals.

When the gods met in council, he sat in their ring,

And watched the first causes whence worlds were to spring.

He unfolds in its cheerful and glittering hues
Life's varied and intricate folds;

The earth as a temple he decks; from the Muse
Such powers of enchantment he holds.

No roof is so low, and no hut is so small,
But heaven and its gods enter in at his call.

As the sculptor of old, to whose far-seeing eye
Invention called beauty at will,

Could carve earth and sea, and all stars in the sky,
On a shield's narrow orb with his skill;

The image of worlds, which are held by no bound,
He stamps on the moment's most fugitive sound.
The infantile age of the world he hath seen,

When the nations were happy and young;
As a light-hearted pilgrim hath socially been
All times and all races among.

His eye hath beheld the four ages pass o'er,
And now to the fifth he describes all the four.

First, Saturn was king, kind and just; all the while
As to-day, so to-morrow was fair;

The nations were shepherds, and lived without guile,
And needed for nothing to care.

They lived, and they loved, and they did nothing more, For fruits in profusion the earth freely bore.

Then labour succeeded; then fought each brave man
With the monsters and dragons of old,

And the heroes appeared, and the kingdoms began,
And the weak flew for help to the bold;

On the fields of Scamander the lances were hurled,
But Beauty was still the one queen of the world.

But victory followed at last on the storms,
From energy gentleness sprung;

Then rose in perfection of gods the bright forms,
Then the Muses in harmony sung!

The age of sweet Fancy, the maiden divine,
Is past; ne'er again will so fair an one shine.

Then sank all the gods from the heavenly throne,
The columns, the temple's beam;

And born for mankind was the Virgin's son,

The trespass of earth to redeem.

The transient delights of the senses were past,
Man's thoughts on himself were contemplative cast.
And the vain and the brilliant attraction was gone,
Which made the young world seem so bright;
In cloistered recesses hard penance was done;
And tilted the iron-clad knight.

But if life was then sombre and fearfully wild,
Yet love did not cease to be lovely and mild.