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or more undeviatingly directed to objects of substan-tial importance; and it is painful to reflect, that hisfatal illness was prematurely induced, in consequenceof such exertions. Let the qualities of his heart andhis moral excellence command our regard; for theservices he has rendered, let the debt of gratitude bepaid to his memory. W. The following specimens of Mr. Eddy's poetry aresufficient to convince any one who reads them, thathe had a cultivated mind, a feeling heart, and a fineimagination. THE LAMENT on his misfortunes, writ-ten when the author was only eighteen years of age,is, beyond all question, an honourable proof of mindand taste.— In former days how blithe my moments past,Each New Year's day was happier than the last;Unknown to sorrow, and serenely gay,In mirth and frolic passed my harmless day;Unconscious of the il1 by fate design'dFond dreams of glory filled my youthful mind—Now, sad reverse! though scarce to manhood grown,Has dire misfortune mark'd me for her own.No social converse charms my listless ear,In death-like silence rolls my lonely year,Lonesome I sit, of every hope despoil'd,The sons of pleasure shun misfortune's child.Unfit for me are those whose hours employThe voice of gladness and the song of joy.In careless apathy I pass the dayWith some dull book to trifle time away,Or take a lonely walk, or pluck a flower,Or mark the presage of a coming shower,Or paint some landscape on the verdant plain,Or bounding vessel on the wat'ry main,Or muse in silence on an absent mindAnd dream of pleasure that I ne'er shall find,Or pore upon the news with serious face,And mark what slaughter Europe's realms deface.Thus pass my days—but when the evening raySmiles in the west, with purple lustre gay,I mark the moon that skirts the fleecy cloud,Or veils her beauty in the misty shroud,While stars unnumbered deck the blue profound, Whose sparkling fires her silver throne surround,Light all the vast expanse, and move sublimeThro' Heaven's vast concave from the depths of time;Then shine the streams where silent vessels glide,And scarce a zephyr curls the glassy tide.O'er misty vales the mountains rise to sight,And shadowy grandeur fills the vault of night—This is reflection's hour—the shining sceneSheds o'er my pensive mind a soft serene,