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Through the calm region, fades upon the ear,
Diminishing by distance, till it seems
To' expire, yet from the abyss is caught again,
And yet again recover'd.”

“ Descending,” however, from these “Imaginative Heights," which, as the poet justly observes, yield

“ Par-stretching views into Eternity," let us contemplate for a moment the singular scene which, on the night in question, actually presented itself to the view of Mungo Park.

The river, in this place, as he observes in his journal, is smooth and deep, and has very little current. Two tall trees, when tied together by the tops, are sufficiently long to reach from one side to the other; the roots resting upon the rocks; and the tops floating in the water. When a few trees have been in this manner placed across the stream, they are covered with dry bamboos; and thus form a sufficient bridge. Such a bridge is represented in the accompanying engraving, and being in keeping with the romantic scenery around, its appearance is highly picturesque. This bridge is every year, as it is needless to say, carried away during the rainy season, by the swelling of the Black River. It is, however, as constantly rebuilt by the inhabitants of the neighbouring village of Manna; who, in consideration of this service, demand a small trībute from every passenger who avails himself of the accommodation thus afforded.

Similar bridges are, in all parts of the world, common among the wild recesses of mountain-scenery; and often bear witness to a degree of mechanical skill on the part of those who construct them, which could scarcely be excelled among civilized architects.

Poor Mungo Park ! His memory will long be held in affectionate respect. Who can think of his lonely wanderings, his laborious efforts in the cause of geographical science, and, above all, of his “exile’s grave,” without feelings of melancholy regret !

Far from his father-land,

In Afric's solemn wild,
Her boundless sands around his path,

Like rising sea-waves piled,
'Twas his to trace her rivers' course,
From their dark, silent, hidden source.

With dauntless heart, and brave,

Boldly did he press on ;
Not halting on the weary road,

Until his task were done;
Yet thoughts of home within him burn'd,
To'ards that far shore his bosom yearn'd.

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In visions of the night,

When all was calm and still,
Bright memories would foudly rise,

Of many a vale and hill,
In that loved country o'er the wave,
Where he might never find a grave.

While treading that frail bridge,

The dark, deep stream beneath,-
Perchance sweet thoughts of mountain-rills,

And wild-flowers' fragrant breath
Stole o'er his soul; while dreams of home
Would to his longing spirit come.

Years have rollid on since then,

But he return'd no more
To dear familiar scenes of youth;

His patient toil is o'er.
None closed his eyes who loved him best,-
Enough—the traveller is at rest.

In the death of the amiable and enterprising Mungo Park, this country not only suffered the loss of one of the most distinguished travellers of modern times, but had also to lament the failure of an expedition no less interesting to humanity than to science.

Since his days, however, the ever-execrable slave-trade has been, so far as England is concerned, abolished; and the great scientific designs which he doubtless contemplated, having of late engaged the attention of other celebrated and enlightened travellers, will, it may be hoped, in due time be fully accomplished.

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With coral lips,—and blue, bright eyes,-
And roseleaf cheek,-and golden hair,-
And nymph-like shape,-how could I dream,
What made that Lady's daily fare?

It seems a fable-only fit
To tell to simple nuns in cloisters,
But I declare—by all that's good,
The lovely lady's food was-Oysters !

I swear it by the Powers divine,
By Venus and the rival Graces,
By Cupid and his roguish wiles,
His coaxing smiles, and soft embraces.

I saw them! In their rugged shells,
The little shapeless monsters lay,
Flabby, and cold, and colourless,
Before a creature bright as May!

And still she stoop'd her radiant head,
While, all-amaz'd, I watch'd and fear'd, -
And every time the head was raised,
One oyster more had disappear'd !!

Oh ! coral mouth! I whisper'd low,
Can this be done to humour thee,
Because some coral reef hath been
Some oyster's neighbour in the sea ?

Or, floating hair, whose threads of gold
Lie gleaming on that neck so white ?
Is it to prove the Pinna's shell
Hath silken tresses not so bright ?*

The lady smiled :—the coral door
That prison'd in her even teeth,
Unlock'd, and gently stood ajar,
And show'd the pearly gems beneath.

• The shell of the Pinna Marina is found covered with long silken hair ; gloves have been woven of this curious material.

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