"One morn, I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came, nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
"The next, with dirges due, in sad array,
Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne.
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay,
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
[Illustration: THE EPITAPH.]
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth--
Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had--a tear;
He gain'd from Heav'n, 'twas all he wish'd--a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode;
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
GRAY.
* * * * *
THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.
[Illustration: Letter M.]
Marvellous indeed have been the productions of modern scientific
investigations, but none surpass the wonder-working Electro-magnetic
Telegraphic Machine; and when Shakspeare, in the exercise of his
unbounded imagination, made _Puck_, in obedience to _Oberon's_ order to
him--
"Be here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
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