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coming gravity, also named John Smith; and he had enjoyed his pontificate several previous commemorations; his chaplain was James Beethom. The ornaments of the spinners and manufacturers had a neat and even elegant appearance, from the delicate and glossy whiteness of the finely combed wool which they wore. The apprentices and masters' sons, however, formed the most showy part of the procession, their caps being richly adorned with ostrich feathers, flowers, and knots of various coloured yarn, and their stuff garments being of the gayest colours; some of these dresses, we understand, were very costly, from the profusion of their decorations. The shepherd, shepherdess, and swains, were attired in light green. The wool-sorters, from their number and the height of their plumes of feathers, which were, for the most part, of different colours, and formed in the shape of fleur-de-lis, had a dashing appearance. The combmakers carried before them the instruments here so much celebrated, raised on standards, together with golden fleeces, rams' heads with gilded horns, and other emblems. The combers looked both neat and comfortable in their flowing wigs of well-combed wool; and the garb of the dyers was quite professional. Several well-painted flags were displayed, one of which represented on one side the venerable BISHOP in full robes, and on the other a shepherd and shepherdess under a tree. Another had a painting of MEDEA giving up the golden fleece to JASON: a third had a portrait of the KING: and a fourth appeared to belong to some association in the trade. The whole procession was from half a mile to a mile in length.

When the procession was ready to move, Richard Fawcett, Esq. who was on horseback at the head of the spinners, pronounced, uncovered, and with great animation, the following lines, which it had long been customary to repeat on these occasions, and which, if they have not much poetical elegance, have the merit of expressing true sentiments in, simple language:

Hail to the day, whose kind auspicious rays
Deign'd first to smile on famous bishop Blase!
To the great author of our combing trade,
This day's devoted, and due honour's paid;
To him whose fame thro' Britain's isle re-
sounds,

To him whose goodness to the poor abounds;

bread.

Long shall his name in British annals shine,
And grateful ages offer at his shrine !
By this our trade are thousands daily fed,
By it supplied with means to earn their
In various forms our trade its work imparts,
In different methods, and by different arts,
Preserves from starving, indigents distress'd
As combers, spinners, weavers, and the rest.
We boast no gems, or costly garments vain,
Borrow'd from India, or the coast of Spain;
Our native soil with wool our trade supplies,
While foreign countries envy us the prize.
No foreign broil our common good annoys,
Our country's product all our art employs;
Our fleecy flocks abound in every vale,
Our bleating lambs proclaim the joyful tale.
So let not Spain with us attempt to vie,
Nor India's wealth pretend to soar so high;
Nor Jason pride him in his Colchian spoil,
By hardships gain'd, and enterprising toil,
Since Britons all with ease attain the prize,
And every hill resounds with golden cries.
To celebrate our founder's great renown
Our shepherd and our chepherdess we crown;
For England's commerce, and for George's

sway,

Each loyal subject give a loud HUZZA.

HUZZA!

These lines were afterwards several times repeated, in the principal streets and roads through which the cavalcade passed. About five o'clock they dispersed.

FLORAL DIRECTORY,

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mean," said the old gentieman, and taking a paper from a drawer, he held up this exemplificatica:

Just then an unmarried gentleman, "of a certain age," entered the room. On becoming acquainted with the topic, he drew from his pocket a small packet, and said, with a merry smile, "Here was my Valentine." It contained a rib of some small animal completely enveloped with white satin ribbon, ornamented by a true lover's knot at each end, and another in the middle. Father and daughter both had a laugh at the " old bachelor," and he, laughing with them, put into the young lady's hand the poetical address that accompanied his rib':

Go contemplate this lovely sign!
Haste thee away to reason's shrine,
And listen to her voice;
No more illusive shades pursue,
To happiness this gives the clue,
Make but a prudent choice.
'Till Adam had a partner given,
Much as fair Eden bloom'd like heaven,
His bliss was incomplete;
No social friend those joys to share,
Gave the gay scene a vacant air!
She came 'twas all replete.
And could not genuine Paradise,
The most extensive wish suffice,
Its guiltless lord possest?
No-not without a kindred mate;
How then in this degen'rate state,
Can man, alone be blest?

But now the Muse withdraws her aid;
Enough, thy folly to upbraid;

Enough to make thee wise:
No more of pensive hours complain,
No more, that all life's joys are vain,
If thou this hint despise.
Feb. 13, 182-.

A Friend.

"Well now, this is capital!" exclaimed the laughing lass. "After such a Valentine, you must take the hint, my dear sir. it's really a shame that so good-natured a man should remain a bachelor. I recollect, that when I could only just run about, you used to be so kind to me; besides, how you dandled and played with me! and since then, how you have read to me and instructed me till I grew up! Such a man is the very man to be married: you are every way domestic, and it's settled; you must get married."-"Well, then, will you have me?" he inquired, with a cheerful laugh. "I have you? No! Why, you are too old; but not too old to find a wife: there are many ladies whom we know, of your age, wholly disengaged; but you don't pay them any particular attention." Her father interposed; and the gentleman she addressed playfully said, "It is a little hard, indeed, that I should have these fine compliments and severe reproaches at the same time: however," taking her by the hand," you will understand, that it is possible I may have paid particular attention to a lady at an age when the affections are warmer; 1 did; and I reconciled myself to rejection by courting my books and the pleasures of solitude

Hast thou been ever waking

From slumbers soft and light,
And heard sweet music breaking
The stillness of the night;
When all thy soul was blending
With that delightful strain,
And night her silence lending
To rivet fancy's chain;
Then on a sudden pausing,

Those strains have ceas'd to plav
A painful absence causing

Of bliss that died away!
So from my soul has vanish'd
The dream of youthful days;
So Hope and Love are banish'd,

And Truth her pow'r displays.

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The origin of so pleasant a day, the first pleasant day in the year, whether its season be regarded, or the mode of its celebration, requires some little investigation; nor must some of its past and present usages be unrecorded here.

St. Valentine's Morning. Hark! through the sacred silence of the night Loud chanticleer doth sound his clarion shrill, Hailing with song the first pale gleam of light Which floats the dark brow of von eastern hill.

Bright star of morn, oh! leave not yet the wave
To deck the dewy frontlet of the dry;
Nor thou, Aurora, quit Tithonus' cave,
Nor drive retiring darkness yet away.

Ere these my rustic hands a garland twine,
Ere yet my tongue endite a single song,
For her I mean to hail my Valentine,
Sweet maiden, fairest of the virgin throng.

Attend we upon ELIA. Hark, how triumpnantly that noble herald of the college of kindness proclaims the day!

"Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name in the rubric, thou venerable arch-flamen of Hymen! Immortal Go-between! who and what manner of person art thou? Art thou but a name, typifying the restless principle which impels poor humans to seek perfection in union? or wert thou indeed a mortal preiate, with thy tippet and thy rochet, thy apron on, and decent lawn sleeves? Mysterious personage! like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other mitred father in the calendar.-Thou comest attended with thousands and ten thousands of little Loves, and the air is

Brush'd with the hiss of rustling wings; singing Cupids are thy choristers, and thy precentors; and instead of the crosier, the mystical arrow is borne before thee.

"In other wo.ds, this is the day on which those charming little missives, ycleped Valentines, cross and intercross each other at every street and turning. The weary and all for-spent twopenny postman sinks beneath a load of delicate embarrassments, not his own. It is scarcely credible to what an extent this ephemeral courtship is carried on in this loving town. to the great enrichment of porters, and detriment of knockers and bell-wires. In these little visual interpretations, no emblem is so common as the heart, that little three-cornered exporent of all our hopes and fears, the bestuck and bleeding heart; it is twisted and tortured into more allegories and affectations than an opera-hat. What authority we have in history or mythology for placing the head-quarters and metropolis of god Cupid in this anatomical seat rather than in any other, is not very clear; out we have got it, and it will serve as well as any other thing. Else we might easily imagine, upon some other system which might have prevailed for any thing which our pathology knows to the contrary, a lover addressing his mistress, in

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perfect simplicity of feeling, Madam, my liver and fortune are entirely at your disposal; or putting a delicate question, Amanda, have you a midriff to bestow?" But custom has settled these things, and awarded the seat of sentiment to the aforesaid triangle, while its less fortunate neighbours wait at animal and anatomical distance.

"Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door. It

gives a very echo to the throne where Hope is seated.' But its issues seldom answer to this oracle within. It is so seldom that just the person we want to see comes. But of all the clamorous visitations, the welcomest in expectation is the sound that ushers in, or seems to usher in, a Valentine. As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal entrance of Duncan, so the knock of the postman on this day is light, airy, confident, and befitting one that bringeth good tidings.' It is less mechanical than on other days; you will say, 'That is not the post, I am sure.' Visions of Love, of Cupids, of Hymens, and all those delightful, eternal common-places, which

having been, will always be;' which no schoolboy nor schoolman can write away; having their irreversible throne in the fancy and affections; what are your trans. ports, when the happy maiden, opening with careful finger, careful not to break the emblematic seal, bursts upon the sight of some well-designed allegory, some type, some youthful fancy, not without

verses

Lovers all,
A madrigal,

or some such device, not over abundant in sense-young Love disclaims it,-and not quite silly-something between wind and water, a chorus where the sheep might almost join the shepherd, as they did, or as I apprehend they did, in Arcadia.

"All Valentines are not foolish, and I shall not easily forget thine, my kind friend (if I may have leave to call you

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