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NY NATIVE VILLAGE. A SKETCH. (Continued from ..r last.) Bat, said I to myself, at this rate I shall never get to my NATIVE VILLAGE. So I clambered over the hill, often casting a took back at the Paradise behind, as it is said Adam did on leaving bis. Presently I came to the other extremity, overhang- iug the village, when it burst at once full in view. I was so near that I could see every object distinctly. I sat down on a bench, that I might take a more minute survey. The bright sua shone upon it in all its glory. Sweet day. 90 pnre, øo calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky." Never did it appear, to my fancy, to more advantage. The venerable yew-trees, coeval with the ground oul of which they sprung, in their sable garb. and the fine green chesnuts, with their luxuriant foliage, softened tbe glare occasioned by the whiteness of the church and the adjacent houses, and afforded a pleasing contrast to the eye to rest upon There are two very respectable gateways leading into the churchyard at the north and the eait sides, I was pleased to see tbe pathways, and the church and churchyard, all in snch excellent order. I have reason tõ he proud of my native village on many ac- counts. The sitaalion is beautiful, the counlry round fertile, and, above all, the inhabitantil are respectable, moral, and even religious. They have eyer stood pre-eminent among the sur- rounding parishes in alllhese respects; aud, what is of no small importance in a parish, they line now a Priest (from whom it derives that appellation, Priest's share), who is well calculated, by his zeal and ability, to raise its character still higher. When 1 cast my eyes on Ihe tombs, the whole volume of my life passed at once in review before me, aud my pen would bat ill describe the various emotions it awakened in my bosom. I traced it inversely, from the grave to the cradle. 1 had some- thing of a pasloral charge here. I constantly attended the church when at home and here I was sent owt of harm's way, to lisp my letters. There—" The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," said I. Amongst them lire those who were once most dear to me. Some were carried, like a shock of corn fully ripe; some rot down in their bloom and vigonr others in the green blade. By what secret power am I borne up above the ground, when so many. who gave promise of a longer life than mine, are now sleeping in the dost As I am liere, not so much to give a description of things, as of the feelings and sentiments they gave rise to, the inhabitants must pardon me if I presume to tell them, that. in my humble opinion, they are much too lavish in their use of lime-water. It may be very useful, Mnd it is donbtless wholesome and purifying, to whitewash the inside of the house; bat I cannot see the good of whitewashing the outside and the roofs also. Supposing it does add a litlle to the durability of the building, this is more than counterbalanceti bv the ofFensivene<s and injury the glare of the while occasions 10 the eyes; and a few shillings saved i"this way is not to be pat in the balance against tbe very nnpleasing and ungainly appearance it gives to the dwelling. This unseemly pTllclice is carried even to the charches, which entirely de!4tmYII their venerahle appearance and cbllfllcterof antiquity, "Jld makes thew look more like barns or out-boildiftj!;8, than a sacred edifice, the temple of the Deity. I hope this gentle hint will not be lost on those who have the power and affluence to check and remedy this unquestionably very bad taste. I moved forward, and entered the churchyard. It stands on an eminence, and commands a most picturesque and enchanting prospect or tbe coootry to tbe sonth. It presented to 10Y view many objects of intense interest, some" renowned in story," and immortalized by Dver's muse. To the east appeared Dynevor Castle, in majestic and awful grandeur, its ancient towers seem- ing to touch the very clouds, and crown the rich, romantic vale beneath. Straight before lay Golden Grove, in times of yore the seat of a Viceroy of Wales (i) and for many years the abode of the most inteHectaalof men (i), the pride and boast of tbe Church of England. I am astonished the Bard of Grongar has nut introduced into Lis charming poem this most conspicuous object, when scarce any other of note has escaped him. Surely there must be some secret reason for this; as it is said, the two most celebrated Poets of atitiqnity have studiously av ided any atlnsion to the greatest Orator of the age, for fear of giving offence in a higher quarter (I). At the feet of these princely domains, the meandering Towy glided along in gentle and peaceful murmurs—first showing her glassy form in the distance, then becoming concealed under the banks—now partly visible through the trees, or entirely hidden from the view, till again she appeared suddenly, and all at once, just benenth me, in all her silvery brightness and beauty, rushing from behind the wood into the open vale below, and welding her serpentine course through a long reach of green and fertile mea- dows. tin she becomes lost to the sight near Drusllwyn Castle. Thus have I seen the enohanting actress on the stage appear- ing at first at a distant comer, then changing her ground more renr or more remote, s >metiaies partly showing herself, then not at all, till advancing by decrees, she stood full before her audi- ence, in all the blaze of her charms.; then retiring slowly, step by step, and gliding, like the skailer on the ice, from side to side, from right to left, drawing after her the eager gaze of the ad- miring spectators, till at last she wholly c/isappeared behind the scenes. This Castle is now'reduced to a few bare walls, frowning o'er the vale beneath, and interesting only from the recollection of former times, the days of broil and battle, when it was the terror of the vanquished, and the security of the victors. It has puzzled many, curions in the origin of names. tit asoertain the real mean- ing of the term Dyrislwyn, Dros-y-tlwyn, or Dros-y-Uyn. The last I should imagine, from its position, to be the most correct one. Close on my right stood the newly risen hill," so cele- brated by Dyer's pastoral mnse, the Silent nymph with curious eye." While I lay on a sunken tombstone, feasting my eyes with this scene of natural beauty and romance, which the loveliness of the evening, and the golden tint of the western sun thrown over it, served to heighten still more, I fell into a profound reverie. My imagination, aided not a little by the fancy of the Bard, carried me back to the" olden times," and the many stirring events con- nected with the objects before me, which saw that regal castle's Broken pile romplete, Bis with tbe vanity of stale." I peopled the whole oonntry with military and armed men, more savage than wild beasts, tearing, destroying, and devouring each other. 1 saw the princely inhabitants in complete armour, andftbeir trusty vassals, armed like themselves at all points cap-qt-pie, mounted on tbe walls and turrets, frowning defiance, Rnd Veady to harl destruction 011 Ihe assailants helow. I pictured the Noble Earl, invested with bis brief authority, issuing forth from his palace in regal pomp, attended by his faithful men-al- arms-, prepared to execute bit delegated power. In the Castle, far below, 1 beard tbe shouts of the victors, and the groans of tbe vanqnisbed, and tbe oountry delnged with homan gore. "Ob I ambition iA a IrievoQ8 fault." And, lastly, the Bard himself appeared before me, in more peaceful times, "with his hand beneath bis head," in profound contemplation, and blessing his more favoured stars, which had thrown him on dajs suited rather to desooibu .t. part in the bloody fray, which had so cruelly torn bis unhappy country. I was suddenly roused from my reverie by the noise and shout- ing of men and cattle, returning home at evening from their work, in the road just behind me. Thns recalled to myself, I took a nearer view of the objects around. This was my native viitage here I had been sent to lisp my tetters here [ had gamboled many an idle hour, ere serious though' bad birth and here, too, amongst other boyish pastimes, I had delighted To urge the flying ball." The spot on which I stood was covered with the graves and tombs of those whom I had known in those days of boyish pas. times. They were all now gathered unto their fathers—not one remained no palsied old," no "garruloDS tongue of age," to amuse or flatter me with the tales of my cbildtiood or boyhood. I had known them all full of lusty life, their "simple annals" rushed on my mind. I remembered them bustling and brushing away the morning dew to their several avocations. on did the harvest to their sickle yield. • • • • How bowed the wood beneath their sturdy stroke." They were now lying futt powerteM, cold aud stift., sleeping in the dust. The cock, øhrill clarion, and the echoing horn, No ",ore shall ronse Ibem from their lowly bed." It is said of a famed warrior 01 old, that. while reviewing bis almost coantless army in tbe pride of his heart, bis exultation soon gave way to more sober reflections, and he even wept at tbe thought that not one would be alive a hundred years afterwards. To compare small things with great, I felt something of the same i>ioos emotion on reflecting that so many had disappeared, whom had known hale and strong, in so short a space of time (for it seemed to me like yesterday, or, to nse a scripture phrase, as a watch in the night), and on the narrow span of this pleasing, anxious being," as tbe Poet has finely described it. Alas thought I, what is it compared with the endless one which is to follow! I entered the Church it has two doorways, one bnilt in the Saxon, the other in the Gothic style of architecture. I have ob- served, that almost every Church in England,of any considerable size, has two entrances of this sort, and is built pretty much in the same stvle. The former is the more public entrance of the living and tbe dead, and the latter is for the somewhat more pri- v-ite admission of the Clergyman, the lay Rector, and a few of the parishioners, whose pews are at that end of the Church. It is altogether a respectable structure, adorned with many stately monuments of those who were once doubtless "Prinoes in J Havl." The most conspicuous is that of Bishop Radd and his farailv. The Bishop and his Lady are in a recumbent posture, and the children on their knees, with their hands clasped in each other, or with books in them, in the attitude of prayer. They are many of tbem time-honoured, that is, sadly mutilated. Having examined Ihem, one after another, J came to one more simple, but not unseemly amongst them—it was that of my venerable parents. How can I describe my emotions at the sight!—tbe thousand tender and affectionate recollections which it awakened in my breast! I have attempted something of a clumsy epitaph upon tbem (m). Here lay my mother What a volume of fond and endearing associations is summed up in that revered word! Well do I remember all her anxieties and her joys on my account; and of her loved partner, too, who largely participated in them all. Here, as I have observed, I was sent to lisp my tetters, with two or three more snobby urchins, like myself, creeping like a snail unwiHing to school." She was ever the last to see us off in the morning, encouraging as with many a kind word, and tender caution to be good, to keep out of barm's way. never quitting the spot till we were fairly out of sight. And she was the first to .took for our return at even. Her maternal form is now present to my mind, in all its endearing attractions. What pen can paint the thousand anxious, pleasing cares, which agitate a mother's bosom for her offspring! What son. what daughter can ever, in after-life, recompence her all her fond sollcitnde 1 Perhaps thy gentle spirit, thought I, is now hovering over the place, listening to my filial gratitude (M). If so, thou art amply rewarded for all thy maternal pains and troubles ;—so easy is it to satisfy a parent's love. (if The Earl of Carberry. (1) Jeremy Taylor. (/) Pluiarcb relates the following anecdote of the Emperor Augustas: -Thd one day, on enlerinlf bia palace, be observed bis nephew con. ceiling tometfeiaf under hi, gown (logs). It was a book of Cicero's, which, he feared, mifbt give offence 10 his uncle, who saw it in his possession- What have you got there! said be. He took it in his Iland. read it through while standing, and on returning it, said—This was a lood milD. my flear boy, II aood 111.10, aud a lover of hi. country, (lit) ON MY FATHER AND MOTHER. THOU art gone to the Krave-thy iliildren lament thee, Their faithful Infractor, their guardian, their guide; Gott waa thy gnardian, and the lamp that he gave thee, Illumines the path, all tbe vittaons have tried. Thou art gone to the grave, aa one weary to bed, The Saviour that led thee, again shall revive thee, When his Tramp shall assemble the quick and the dead, And the friends thou bast left, once more shall rejoin thee. Thv Partner soon followed, be would not forsake thee, 10 the dllrknr81 denounced OR man's fallen race; Bat tbe light of the SECOND, who bled on the Tree, Has shed o'er the tomb, its beams of glory and grace. Ya are gone to the grave, and all sorrow were vain; The hope of the righteous is a lamp through the gloom; The redeemed trinmphant in glory shall reign. Since tbeir Saviour, victorious, arOft fiom the tomb. ON MY MOTHER. RRNBATH tbis sculptured alone, II woman lies, Virtuons, sincere, affectionate, and wløe Meekness, benevolence, and troth combined, To leide ber word., her actions, and ber mind. The cbaritiea and sympathies of life. Adorned at once the Christian, mother, wife. To wortb tike tbis, surpassing filiat praise, Her grateful offspring this sad marble raise. (a** It is the doctrine of the Cbnrctt of Rome, that the spirit of the departed is Dot confined to the blissful abode of the good, but is at liberty to rrtum to this earth, and tn rove from one country to another, but that It retains a stronger partiality to the spot where the body it inhabited is interred. Hence the origin of the Invocation of Saints. Wbe'n they piostrate themselves before the image, it it in the hope that by their frayeri tbey will bring down the spirit into it, aad thereby a»Mer their petitions.—Mocheim's See. Dis. Who knows bat the felicity of tbe virtuous may consist in the consciousness of having duly discharged their various duties in life, still retaining some degree of concern and guardianship over those tbey toved ? Who can tell but the spirit of the departed may mount but a little way at first, rising by degrees from Unman to divine, from divine to angel, and archangel, cherubim and seraphim, becoming gradually more purified and sanctified, all it draws Hearer and nearer to the throne of the ETERNAL, whom nothing that defiletb can approach. There is nothing unscriptural or unorthodox in the supposition nay, there is something of scripture warrant for it-" In my Father's house are many mansions some higher and more honourable than others-some shall be placed on His right hand, some on His left, in his kingdom. Anil one star diilereth from another star in glorv." All these passages have evidentlv a re- ference to degrees of glory, and not only as respects different individuals, but likewise, perhaps, as rejects the same indivi- dual's becoming more and more exalted, from mansion to mansion, from the left hand to the right, and increasing in the magnitude .-if his splendonr. To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise," is a quotation which, according lo my thinking, by no means contradicts this 4 idea; for that Paradise may be much nearer to us than we imagine. The Scripture nowhere informs us where the blessed mansions of the virtuous are; we are only told that they are above —that the soul, when she quits her earlhlv tenement, wings her way upwards—that the spirit returns to HTM who gave it. But HE fills all space—" The heaven of heavens cannot contain HIM aud HE is as near to us one mile above as myriads, and myriads of miles as one. St. Paul says, that he was carried to the third heaven; which seems to imply, that the space imme- diately over our heads is the first. This, however, is a mere matter of speculation and, as the same Apostle savs, while we carry about with us this mortal integument, we can but see through a glass darkly." But what fills the immense space over our heads? is a natural question We see in the visible creation a regular, unbroken chain, at the summit of which man is placed. Why may we not then conclude, with equal reason, that the vast expanse above us, the wide unbounded prospect," is filled with innumerable orders of disembodied spirits, rising gradually one above the other, from earthly to divine, to angel and arohangel, refined and glorified more and more in their long journey through the bonnd- less empyrean. till in the revolution of ages, they become fit to approach the CENTRE OF A LL GOODNESS, the ETERNAL, SELF. EXISTENT DIVINITY ? I have been puzzled to analyze the feelings which tgitate us while meditating over the remains of those who were once most dear to us. We dwell upon them with mournful, indeed, but not altogether unpleasing sensations. They are gone beyond the reach of all the illil that flesh is heir to." It is, doubtless, the dying hope and legacy of parents—" When thy father and thy mother forsake tbee, the Lord taketh thee up." And it is some- thing of the same divine consolation that reconciles surviving friends to the inevitable destiny of oar nature, while pondering over the memory of those they loved I shall go to him, bat he shall not return to me." Who would not wish to indulge tbe pleasing ides, that those who bave been iustromental in bringing us into the world, or have been our companions on the path of life; or, as the Psalmist expresses it, those with whom we took sweet counsel together, and walked in the house of God as friends," do not lose sight of us the moment they have quilted it ?—that the connexion is not severed at once, and for ever. To the survivors, indeed, it seems to be, but to the depleted it may not be so. And the parable of Dives and Lazaru^ seems to confirm this opinion, where the former is represented as still re- taining both a consciousness of, and a concern for, this world a consciousness of a misspent life, and a concern (or those he bad left behind, in the request he makes to Abraham, to send to his five brethren to warn them. My heart now swelled into my throat—I could see no more. Witb slow and solemn steps I quitted tbe Church. [To be concluded in our next].



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BANKRUPTS from Tuesday's Gazette.


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