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tkfM'Ml ■ The following l'm<s were written l y l!l ‘' i . , ' , ' l, j John’ Trumbull, author ol Met mi al, add to Miss Nancy Cook, m to.- year ]77>. The cirruinstanccs which gave rise to them were as follows: Trumbull and Thomas Wooster, both of whom have since been men ol eminence, were fellow students at law at Governor Griswold’s, father ol the late Governor Griswold ol Connecti cut. Roth of them were in the habit o’ visiting the family of the Hon. J. I*. Cook, whose daughter Nancy was a voun* r lady ol uncommon beauty and accomplishments. Wooster became extravagantly fond ol her, but the con ducted with the prudence becoming her station, not manifesting any par tiality for him more than others who visited the house. At one of these parties, Trumbull, who was alwyas full of vivacity, observed to Nancy, that Tom was so bashful he never could tell her bow much he loved her, and therefore be would persuade him to address her by letter. Soon alter, Trumbull wrote the following witty lilies, and sent them to Nancy with out the knowledge of W coster ; but as all concerned knew that it was the production of Trumbull none were of fended, and it became the subject ol frequent mirth at their family parties. It is supposed that it was published about that time ; but this communica tion was taken from the original, found a few years since in thediawei of the table occupied by Trumbull and Wooster, and all others who subse oeently studied law in that oflice. 1 Port. States. To thee, Dear X‘ancy, thee my sweeting, Poor Colonel Thomas sendeth greeting, Whereas, so pleas’d the powers above, I’m fallen most desperately in love; For Cupid took a station sly, In one bright corner of vour eye, And from his bow let fly a dart, Which miss’d my ribs and pierc’d my heart; Pierc’d through and through, and passing fur ther, Put all my insides out of order. Nor this the only plague I found; Cove entered at the viewless wound : As Mire into a Cheese will creep Through some small scratch, and eqfenngdeep While all without looks fair and w ell They leave Vour Cheese an empty shell, So thievish love w hen once got through Stole and bore off my heart to you, And left me heartless still at ease An empty shell like ‘V-cse. I Col. Toni being in g :if t Beseech yon to return my heart; Or else to” cure my ceaseless moan, Make an exchange and send your own. Oh! Nancy, thee 1 love more fully Than ever Hudibras lov’d Tuljy: Not Pinos of old nor Dido, Could love one half so much as 1 do. 1 hold my Nancy more a Goddess Than Venus gay, or Dian modest; Throughout the world thy glories shine, Nor hath the sun sucli pc” eras thine ; Thy beauty keeps the world together, Thy looks make fair the cloudy weather; And if a drought should come again, If you ,-hculd frown I know twould rain. For you, the earth produces flowers, For you clouds drop in lovely showers; Fruits only grow that you may eat, And Pigs and Calves to find you meat. Your cheering smiles w hich w e observe, Should you w ithdraw, the world would starve; Fiarth would refrain her wonted store, And plumbs and peaches lie no more. Oh Nancy-! would you love but me How mighty glad poor Toni would be; Fd stick to you like pitch forever, Not chance nor fate our love should sever. Then love me Nancy, for 1 tell you 1 am a pretty clever fellow ‘. And you must think tis true, for why No one ran tell as well us I. Here follow then, without objections, The “ Rent-roll” of poor Tom’s perfections. Know then all womankind that I_, When stretch’d out straight am six feet high, Whence from plain reasoning it appears I’m one of nature’s Grenadiers Yeti do whisper this between us — Serve only in the wars ot \ enus. I’m fair, and one good sign observe is, 1 have r> and hair Ma’am at your service. Os wit 1 brag not, yet have brains Enough, to walk in when it rains; I know the odds ’twixt cheese and chalk, To tell a hand-saw from a hawk ; L To c ane u man if he abuse rue, Anri hang my self if you refuse ine. mm a mm mmmm ii mummmmmmmmmmm ————— mtemmmm —— ” SKfS'OaiaiiLMm Irma the Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life. TIJF, F AMILY-TfIYST. The fire had received an addition of a large a.sh-roof and a heap of peats, and was beginning both to crackle and blaze; the hearth-stone was tidily swept —the supper table set; and every seat, bench, chair and stool occupied by its customary owner, except the high-backed, carved, antique oaken ar med chair belonged exclusively to the good man. Innocence, labour, content ment, and mirth, were here all assem bled together in the wide low-roofed kitchen of this sheltered farm-kouse, caller! from its situation in a low woody dell, the How : and ali that was wanting to make the happiness com plete was Abel Alison himself, the master and father of the family. It seemed to them that he was rather la ter than usual in returning from the city, whither he went every market dav. Lut though it was a boisterous night in April, with a good drift ol snow going, tiiey had no apprehensions whatever of his safety; and when they had heard the trampling of his horse's feet on the gravel, up sprung half a dozen creatures of various sizes to hail him at the door, and to conduct the i colt, for so they continued to call a : horse about fifteen years old, to his , fresh-strawed stall in ‘.he byre—All was right—Abel entered with bis usu al smile, bis wile helped him oft with his great coat, which had a respecta ble sprinkling of snow, and stiffening of frost; be assumed his usual scat, or, as his youngest son and namesake, who was the wit of the family, called it, his throne, and supper immediately smoking on the board, a blessing was said, and a flourish of wooden spoons ensued. Supper being over, and a contented silence prevailing, with an occasional whispering remark of merriment or af fection circling round, Abel Alison rested himself with more than his usu al formality against the back ot his chair, and putting on not an unhappy ! but a grave face, told his w ile, and family, and servant, all to make up their minds to hear some very bad news nearly affecting themselves. There was something too anxiously se rious in his look, voice, and attitude, to permit a thought of his wishing to startle them for a moment by some false alarms. So at once they were all hushed—-youngand old—and turn ed towards their father with fixed countenances and anxious eyes. “ Wife—and children —there is no need, surely, to go round about the bush —I will tell you the worst in a word. lam ruined. That is to say, all my property is lost—gone—and we must leave the How. There is no help for it—we must leave the How.” His wife’s face grew pale, and for a short space she said nothing. A slight convulsive motion went over all the circle as if they had been one body, or an electrick shock had struck them all sitting together with locked hands. * Leave the How !’ one voice sobbing exclaimed—it was a female voices— but it was not repeated, and it was un certain from whom it came. “ W by, Abel,” said his wife, calmly, who had now perfectly recovered herself—“ if we must leave the How, we must leave j a bonny sheltered spot, where we, have seen many happy days. But! what then ? surely there may be con tentment found many a where else be sides in this cheerful room, and round about our birken banks and braes.— For myself, 1 shall not lose a night’s rest at the thought, ami you, Abel, can bear it; and God bless you, I have known you bear a severer blow than this!” Abel Alison was a free, warm hear ted man, of a happy disposition, and always inclined to look at every thing in a favourable light. lie was also a most industrious hard working man. But he could not always say ‘ nay,’ — and what he earned by a month’s toil he had more than once lost by a mo ments easy good nature. He had sometime before imprudently become security for an acquaintance, who had no such rightful claim upon him— that acquaintance was a man of no principle—and Abel was now ruined —utterly and inevitably ruined. — Under such ’ circumstances, he could not be altogether without self re proach—and the kind magnanimity of his wife now brought the tear in his eye. “ Aye—aye—l was just the old man in that foolish business. I should have remembered you, Alice—-and all my bairns. But 1 hope—l know you will forgive me —for having thus been the means of bringing you all to pover ty.” Upon this, Abel's eldest, sou—a young man about twenty years of age, stood up and first looking with the most respectful tenderness upon his father, and then with a cheerful smile upon all around, said, “ Father, never more utter these words—never more have these thoughts. You have fed us—clothed us—educated us—taught us what is our duty to God and man. It rests with ourselves to practice it. We all love you—Father—we are gratelul—we would all lay down out lives to save yours. But there is no need of that now. What has hap pened? Nothing. Are we not well —ali strong—-cannot we all work ? As God is my witness, and knows my heart, l now declare before you, fa ther, that this is not a visitation but is a blessing. Now it will be tried whe ther we love you, father; whether you have prayed every morning and every nijiht for more than twenty years for ungrateful children ; whether vour toil in sun and rain, ami snow, has been thankless toil, or whether we will not all rally round your grey head, and find it a pleasant shelter—a smooth pillow—and a plenteous board;” and with that he unconsciously planted his loot more firmly on the floor, and stretched out his right arm, standing there a tall, straight, powerful strip ling, in whom there was visible protec tion and succour for his parents and theit declining age. One spirit kindled over all—not, a momentary flash of entlu siasm, not a mere movement of pity and love to i wards their father, which might give | wav to dissatisfaction and desponden | cy.but a true,deep,clear reconcilement, of their souls to their lot, and a resolu tion not to be shaken in its unquaking power, by any hardships either in an ticipation or reality. Abel Alison saw and felt this, and bis soul burned within him. “\N c shall all go to ser vice—no shame in that. But we shall have time enough, to consider ot all these points before the term-day.— We have some weeks before us at the How ; anil let ns make the rqost ot them. Wife., children* are you all happy ?” “ All—all —perfectly happy —hap- pier than ever,” was the general burst of the reply.” “ Stir up that fire, my merry little Abel,” said the mother, “and let us have a good, full, bright blaze on your father’s lace—God bless him 1” Abel brandished an immense poker in both hands, and after knitting his brows, and threatening to dim a mur derous blow on the temples of thebeau tiful little Alice on her stool close to the ingle, and at her father’s leet, a practical ioke that seemed infinitely amusing, lie gave the great ash root a thump that sent a thousand sparkling gems up the wide chimney, and then placing the poker under it like a lever, lie hoisted up the burning mass, till a blaze of brightness dazzled all their eyes, and made Luatb start up from his slumbers on the hearth. “ Come Alice,” said the father, for we must not be cheated out of our music, as well as our money, “ let us have your song as usual, ir.y bonny, linnet; something that suits Ihe sea son ; cheerful and mournful at the same time Auld iatig syne” or “ Lochaber no more.” I will sing them baith—Father—first the ane and then the aither ;” and as her sweet sii-j ver pipe thrilled plaintively along,! now and then other voices, and among them that of old Abel himself, were) heard joining in the touching air. “.Children said the old man, sup pose we make a Family-Tryst, which., |if we he all alive, let us religiously! j keep —ave —religiouslv, for it will be ! a day either of fast or of thanksgiving. Let us all meet on the term-day that is I believe, the twelth day of May come a twelve month, on the green plot of ground beside the Shaw Linn, in which we have for so many years washed our sheep. It is a bonny’, lone, quiet spot, where nobody w ill come to disturb us. We will all meet together before the gloaming and compare the stories of our year's life and doings, and say our players together in the open air, and beneath the moon and stars.” The pro posal was joyfully agreed to by all. Family worship was now performed. Abel Ylison prayed as fervenlly, and with asgreatfnl a heart as he done the night before: For his piety did not keep an account current of debtor and creditor with God. All was God's ;of liis own he had nothing. God had cho sen to vary him the mode and place of his few remaining years on earth. M as that a cause for repining? God had given him health, strength, a loving! wife, beautiful children, a good con-j science. No palsey had stricken him, j no fever had devoured him ; no blind- 1 ness darkened Ids path. Only a few grey hairs were as yet spirinkled among the black, His boys could bear being looked at and spoken to in any company, gentle or simple; and his daughters, they were like the wa ter lilies, that are serene in the calm clear water, but no less serene a mong the black and scowling waves. So Abel Alison and all bis family lay down on the beds, and long before mid night cheywere all fast asleep. The time came when the farm ; the bonny farm of the How, w as given up, and another family took possession. Abel’s whole was taken by the new tenant who was a good and hon est, and merciful man, at a fair valua tion. With the sum thus got, Abel paid all his debts ; that large fatal one; and his few small ones at. the Carperter’s shop, the Smith, and Widow Anderson’s the green, grey, black, brown, and white grocer, of the village; and then he and his family were left without a shilling. Yet none pitied them; they were above pity. They would all have scorned to beg or borrow, for many of their neigh bors were as poor, and not a great many much richey than themselves af ter all ; and therefore they set their cheerful laces against the blast, and it was never felt to touch them. The eldest son immediately hired himself at high wages, for his abilities, skill and strength were well known, as head servant in the next parish ; w hich was famous for its agriculture. The second son, who was of an ingenious and thoughtful cast of character, en gaged himself as one of the under gar deners at Pollock-Castle; and the third, Abel the wag became a shep herd with an old friend of his father's within a few hundred yards of the How. The eldest daughter went into service in the family ot the Laird ot Southfield, one of the most respecta ble in the parish, ‘t he second was kindly taken into the Manse as a nurse to the y< nug children, and a compan ion to the elder ; and Alice, who, from tier sweet voice, was always called the Linnet, became a shepherdess along with her brother Abel. The mother went to the hall to manage the dairy ; the Baronet being a great man for cheese and butter; and the father li ved with herfin a small cottage near the Hall-gate, employing himself in every kind of work that offered itself, for he was a neat handed man, and few things out of, doors or in, came amiss to his fingers, whether it requir ed a delicate touch ora stron<r blow. Thus were they all settled to their hearts content before the hedge-rows were qoite green ; and though some what. scattered yet were they all with in a two hours journey of each other, and their hearts were all as close to gether as when inhabiting the sweet, lawn, bird-nest like cottage of the How. ‘Flic year with all its seasons, fleeted happily by ; the long warm months of summer, when night brings coolness rather than thfc shut of light; the fitful, broken and tempestuous autumn ; the winter, whose snort, but severe days ot toil in the barn, and cheerful fire side-nights, with all their work ; and all their amusement—soon —too soon, it is often felt, gives way to the open weather and active life of spring; the busy, working, enlivening spring it self—were now flown by—and it was now the day of the Family-Tryst, the twelfth-day of the beautiful but capricious month of May. ( To be concluded next v:eek.) • From the U. S. Gazette. Literary and Scientific Intelligence. Effects of Cold. —ln the Journal of Capt. Parry’s Expedition to the Arctic Regions, w r e find that the most surprizing effect of an ex it emely low’ temperature, was that produced upon the mental faculties of such as were exposed to it. A party having been sent out inquest of some men, who had been led too far Irom the ship by their eager ness to secure a wounded stag, Capt. Parrj desired two young midshipmen, who seemed to have conducted the search, to come into his cabin that he might make inqui ries about an individual, who had not yet been found. “ When I sent for them into my cabin,” savs the commander “ they looked w ild, spoke thick and indistinctly and it was impossible to draw irom them a rational answer to any of our questions. After being on .board a short time, their mental faculties appeared gradually to return with the returning circulation, and it was not till then a looker on could easily persuade himself that they had not been drinking too freely. To those who have been accustom ed to cold countries,this will be no new remark; but I cannot help thinking, (and it is with this view that I speak ot it.) that a man may have been punished for intoxica tion, who was only suffering from the benumbing effect of frost; for I have more than once seen our people in a state so exactly resem bling that of the most stupid intox ication, that I should certainly have charged them with that of fence, had I not been quite sure, that no possible means were affor ded them on Melville Island, to procure any thing else than snow water. A circumstance connected with the intense cold of the atmosphere, is sufficiently striking to deserve mention. We allude to the great i audibility of sounds in the open air. It being very common to hear at the distance of a mile or more, per sons talking together at the ordi nary pitch of voice ; and “ to clay,” says the captain in his Journal, “I heard a man singing to himself, as he walked along the beach, at even a greater distance than this.” This fact we need hardly observe, is ow ing to the entire stillness of air: being unagitated by those currents which are produced in the atmos phere of more temperate climates by the mixture ol its different heat ed portions in their tendency to find their own level and restore the general equilibrium. From the Connecticut Her aid Restlessness seems to lie rooted in the very neture of man. When we are young, we wish to be older, and when we gflhv old. wc long io be HB again. In childhord we are to our parents and masters; H think how happy, we should be s co'ihl l>’ bee as a grown ip W hen v e are men, we find tin’ victims ol care, and ih c sie v / Er necessity and w e look w islil'u!i%- ”■§ to the careless innocence of \\ hen we are young w e envy the' T ’Eb his activity and vigor ; when web®’ reached our lull strength, \y e ‘"'‘Ml hack on the light sports and thouJfß’ less frolics of our tenderer yean B ‘I lie child loves the proud <lispl av 'j''E man makes; and the man looks v M a sad fondnees cm the fresh beau tv iffll Hie child. Hope is glowing, and‘.,! Git ion is strengthening in the bosom, and he therefore always \.VE forward and places his paradise ’ E* some bright fancy, which he shall find when he comes tonianluJß The man has lived by the unfit ir. happiness ; he has found |,L p f) M fainter, and his enjoyments less w.M mint ; and he therefore looks back 9 the sweet years of his bovhoml ar® sighs to think that youth should tv ® grow older. B “ I/homme sans urgent.—\ | Tl ® without money is a body without ® soul—a walking death—a spectr® that frightens every one. lbs Col)|| ® tenance is sorrowful, and his convex I satiou languishing ami tedious. If j® calls upon an acquaintance he neve® finds him at homy, and if lie opens 1® mouth to speak, he is inteiupted,evc® moment, so that he may not have ® chance to finish his discourse, vvhici® it is feared will end with his askin® for money. B He is avoided like a person infe® ted with disease, and is regarded as a® incumbrance to the earth. Yu® wakes him up in the morning, at® misery accompanies him to his bed ® night. The ladies discover that!® is an awkward booby—landlords b® lievethat he live upon air, and if I® wants any thing of a tradesman, he® asked for cash before delivery.” I First Love.— Talk of first love ® the world may, we nevei experienc® in a second any thing half so svte® The object beloved the second tin® may be more amiable —may be mw® deserving of affection, but in the bstß there is a novelty of circumstance an® feeling—an untasted cup of joy, whicliß in a repetition falls short of it® original flavor. We are in a secon® affection, going over a path already! trodden ; in the first, we explore a r.ew I track covered with wild roses a l ;® spontaneous luxuriance, that diifusrs! odours, which lose of their freshnessß on being again exhailed. We alway® know vve are in love the second time® from our former experience. The ■ first time we are novices, and receive! our maiden impressions gilded by I brighter hopes, and hallowed by a I sanctity that casts almost a religions! holiuess over them. Repetition oil lov e grows more and more sensual ; r.B is in youth’s first affection only that I a love, like that of angels is exchanged I —etlierial unstained, lucid with hea® venly purity. First love is like youth,l virtuous, full of generous impulse and I exalted feelings, fn successive visi*fl tations it becomes corrupted, as ini advancing years we get more ami‘mow I the creatures of circumstance, interest, I ami the world's custom. Youth is I infinitely nearer the optimism content I plated by moralists and philosophers I than manhood. “ Love,” too, it nasi been observed wisely, “ is always near-1 er allied to melancholy than to jollity I or mirth.” The instance recorded ol I the purest and most exalted passion I are among the sedate temperaments. I The souls that feed upon themselves, I that keep back from the multitude,! that cannot put up with common place, I but aspire to idealties and creations ot I their own—these have generally the I earliest, the most durable, and the I deepest impressions from love. An Irishman and an Englishman fal ling out, the Hibernian told him if l' c did not hold his tongue, he would break his impenetrable head,and let the brum* out of his empty skull. An old lady, proverbal for her pride of Christianity, one afternoon discovered while in the midst her work, the reverend shepherd of the flock of which she was * member, within a few paces and the house, and making straight to the door. Wishing to be thought well employed, she threw her spin ning aside and seized her spectacle 1 and biblc, though she coulcl n ct read a word, sat down, and ‘ va ’ engaged so deeply at the time the good man entered, as not to obserW him until he gently tapped her on the shoulder ; with “ la! macU n1 > do you read with your bible u P s ' l s, down?” ‘ k O dear it is Mr. * said she, “ I always read so ; left handed