rish of Kirkurd, twenty-three miles from Edinburgh, there was found in a gravel hillock, a built stone coffin, about four feet and a half long, two feet and a half wide, and two feet and a half deep; it had no other bottom than gravel, the sides built of several stones, and the cover one entire stone.

The body was not lying at full length, as by the size of the bones it appeared to have been about six feet long. There was found among the bones three flint stones, the largest of which is about nine inches long, resembling the point of a halbert, the edges and point sharp like a spear, and the other end round, as if fitted for a handle; another of a circular form, and sharp in the edges, about three inches diameter; the third in form of a cylinder, three inches long, and one inch diameter. There was likewise found a kind of ring, neatly carved, about three-fourths of an inch thick, in which were two small holes by which it seemed to be hung by a string, it admitted a man's finger, and is two inches and a half diameter; there were two kinds of round pieces as large as a coat button, thick in the middle, and thin on the edges. The above three upon examination were found to be coal.

If any of your correspondents can tell whether the person here interred had been a warrior, as some suppose, or a druid, as others allege; or have any other observations to make concerning it, they will be very acceptable to, Sir,

Your most humble servant,

Meunt Bog, 30th Dec. 1791,

A HN,

REFLECTIONS OF FREDERICK THE GREAT.

Selected from his letters.

OH! how prudent, moderate, forbearing and mild, does the school of adversity render man! The proof is terrible; but where it has been endured, its utility continues to the end of life.

Letters to the marquis d' Argens, LXXVI. How different is it, my dear marquis, to view objects of ambition at a distance, through a deceitful prism, by which they are embellished, from examining them closely, naked as they are, and stripped of their tinsel ornaments! Vanity of vanities! Vanity of victories! This is the sentence of a sage. It comprehends all things, and in itself contains reflections which every man ought to make, but which are seldom made in the hurry of action. Letter XCV.

Oh how hard is the human heart! It is said I have friends; yes, and excellent friends they are to be sure! They stand peaceably still, and see me going to destruction.

"I wish you every happiness !" "O, then, I am drowning, throw me a rope!" "Pardon me, sir, you will not be drowned, I think, and I fhall catch cold by going into the water." "Nay, but good God! I am absolutely sinking sir!" "I hope not, dear sir, and if the worst fhould happen, which God forbid, be persuaded, that I fhall make it my businefs to write a very handsome elegy on your death." Such marquis is the world. Letter XCVIII.

To be continued.

PORTSDOWN HILL*, A POEM.
To the Editor of the Bee.

-Hence Britannia sees

Her solid grandeur rise :---
Hence rules the circling deep and ases the world.
THOMSON'S SUMMER.

Or all the hills which claim poetic worth,
From snow-clad Sandwich + to the frozen north,
From Japan's isles which hail the rising morn,
To Chilian cliffs that ev'ning rays adorn,
None more deserves the tributary song,
Than thou, PORTSDOWN! if that could praise prolong:
The bards of old gave fav'rite hills their fame,
With gods and heroes join'd each sounding name,
With fancied beings peopled ev'ry grove,
War raged here, and there were scenes of love:
For as the poets wav'd their magic wands,
Black regions gloom'd, or smil'd celestial lands,
Fame follow'd still to Pluto's dark abodes,
Or soar'd on high, where Jove his fiat nods;
These, still obsequious, mark'd each fav'rite hill,
And to a river swell'd each purling rill.

But thou, my Portsdown! tho' to fame unknown,
Superior glories hast around thee thrown;
Tho' on thy summit no proud cliff aspires,
No scenes tremendous,---no volcanic fires,
No rocks impending bar the wish'd-for path,
No yawning-caverns stretch their jaws of death,
But thence around th' enraptur'd eye surveys
Rich scenes of glory, far surpassing these.

The varied landscape wide-extended lies;
Lawns, woods, and spires, in distant prospect rise;
Old Ocean's waves, that roar around thy coast,
Or howl thro' cliffs in foaming billows tost;
Thro' cliffs,---the bulwarks of Britannia's pow'r!
That awful centre of her thund'ring store!
Planted by nature's ever careful hand;
The fixed barrier of fair Freedom's land,
Thy much lov'd Isle ‡, its rocky sides displays,
Frowning defiance on the subject seas.
VOL. vii.

II

* A hill which overlooks Portsmouth town, dock, and harbour, Spithead, the isle of Wight, and a vast track of the adjacent country.

Sandwich isles, discovered by captain Cook in his second voyage.

Isle of Wight, which forms Spithead, and defends the island of Porten from the ocean.

Herc hast thou, Portsdown! seen, in awful state
Riding sublime, the British navies wait
In dread array;---their masts like forests rise;
Their blazing colours waving in the fkies;
Along their decks ten thousand heroes stand,
Courting each gale to waft the wifh'd command,
To bear the thunder 'midst the daring foe;
Or round the globe as guards to commerce go;
His captain's nod each tar impatient eyes,
At half a word the unfurl'd canvas flies.
Full in the wind; they boldly stretch away,
And shout, exulting, "Now's the wifh'd-for day!”
"The wifh'd-for day!" the crowded fhores reply,
"And succefs crown it!---Triumph now or die."
Oft hast thou, thus, seen British sons go forth
To plow the southern ocean, or the north;
To bear their terrors to the rising day,
Or thunder with the sun's declining ray;
Or, what more pleasure to the soul imparts,
And warms to rapture soon the coldest hearts,
When crown'd with laurels from each region borne,
The guards of commerce thou hast seen return.

Thus the fam'd ancient sire, who, anxious, gave
His fav'rite youth the trusty well tried glave,
To make his way on Fortune's ample field,
Where battles rage, and dangers triumphs yield:
When thro' long toils and various perils train'd,
He comes distinguifh'd to his native land,

The good old man's rekindl'd ardour glows,
And warm'd to rapture from his bosom glows:
"Welcome my child! I now dismiss my fears.
Thou prop!---support! of my declining years:
Enjoy in peace thy laurels bravely won,
And be my guard, thou dearest fav'rite son!"

Thus dost thou see, when war's wild rage is o'er,
The British navy rang'd along thy fhore.

For this fair prospect, all the pomp of courts
The sov'reign leaves, and to thy brow resorts,
From whence he views, in glorious landscape thrown,
The nation's pride, and guardians of his crown.
He sees, exulting, how this ample guard,
To pour their thunders ever stand prepar'd;
Tho' his great mind, superior to the glare
Of false ambition, says, "Be far off war:
In Britain's welfare all our cares are plan'd,
To find her plenty with a gentle hand,
To bid her commerce flourish round the world:

For these alone are all our sails unfurl'd,

And but for these, those thunders ne'er fhould rgat,
Those vefsels anchor on a hostile fhore.

Thus spoke the monarch, or he thought at least,
While love and pity warin'd his royal breast,
As down thy side his gliding car descends,
To meet the blessings of his subjects friends,
Whose love and loyalty united, give
The truest welcome sov'reigns can receive.

Unlike this welcome met, in days of yore, A prince, ill fated, on the Portsmouth shore, When scap'd from wand'rings, here, in cells immur'd, Trembling he lay, nor here, alas! secur'd. Those hoary walls which bear his sacred bust, When he and rebels crumbled are in dust, This lefson teach in ev'ry future sway, To reign like George, and like to us obey; Then fhall the grateful subjects crown the plains, To pour their blefsings if a father reigns. Such late thou saw'st around thy sea-girt base, Where winding harbours all thy form embrace, Where splendid towns adorn thy binding there, And firm-built mounds repel the ocean's pow'r ; Thou saw'st the whole one living scene display, And shouting thousands lead the monarch's way, To where he heard unnumber'd blows resound, Saw Labour smile, and Toil rejoice around; To where he saw his wooden bulwarks rise, Tow'ring aloft of vast capacious size, Whose oak-ribb'd sides, black-frowning swell on high, Where forth in smoke destructive thunders fly; "Midst smoke and noise he saw our splendour rise, And Chearful Freedom smile without disguise.

As when in annual round, with life fraught ray,
In Spring's fair season comes the orb of day,
Creation smiling owns his genial pow'r,
And prostrate nations the bright god adore;
So you, great prince! when led by public cares,
Where one wide scene of industry appears,
Saw grateful thousands 'midst their toils look gay,
And heard their blessings on your gentle sway.

* Charles D.

L