Though profoundly ignorant of his meaning, I agreed to his proposition, the result of which I shall disclose to thee in another letter.

Fare thee well, dear Asem; in thy pious prayers to oùr great prophet, never forget to solicit thy friend's return; and when thou numberest up the many blessings bestowed on thee by all-bountiful Allah, pour forth thy gratitude that he has cast thy nativity in a land where there is no assembly of legislative chatterers;—no great bashaw, who bestrides a gun-boat for a hobby-horse;where the word economy is unknown;-and where an unfortunate captive is not obliged to call upon the whole nation to cut him out a pair of breeches.

Ever chine,

MUSTAPHA.

POETRY.
(From Salmagundi.)

THOUGH enter'd on that sober age,
When men withdraw from fashion's stage,
And leave the follies of the day,
To shape their course a graver way;
Still those gay scenes I loiter round,
In which my youth sweet transport found:
And though I feel their joys decay,
And languish every hour away,
Yet like an exile doom'd to part
From the dear country of his heart,
From the fair spot in which he sprung,
Where his first notes of love were sung,
Will often turn to wave the hand,
And sigh his blessings on the land;
Just so my lingering watch I keep,
Thus oft I take the farewell peep.

And, like that pilgrim, who retreats
Thus lagging from his parent seats,

When the sad thought pervades his mind,
That the fair land he leaves behind
Is ravaged by a foreign foe,
Its cities waste, its temples low,
And ruined all those haunts of joy
That gave him rapture when a boy;
Turns from it with averted eye,
And while he heaves the anguish'd sigh,
Scarce feels regret that the loved shore
Shall beam upon bis sight no more ;-
Just so it grieves my soul to view,
While breathing forth a fond adieu,
The innovations pride has made,
The fustian, frippery, and parade,
That now usurp with mawkish grace
Pure tranquil pleasure's wonted place!

'Twas joy we looked for in my prime, That idol of the olden time; When all our pastimes had the art To please, and not mislead the heart. Style oursed us not,—that modern flash, That love of racket and of trash; Which scares at once all feeling joys, And drowns delight in empty noise; Which barters friendship, mirth and truth, The artless air, the bloom of youth, And all those gentle sweets that swarm Round nature in their simplest form, For cold display, for hollow state, The trappings of the would-be-great.

Oh! once again those days recall, When heart met heart in fashion's hall; When every honest guest would flock To add his pleasure to the stock, More fond his transports to express Than show the tinsel of his dress! These were the times that clasp'd the soul In gentle friendship's soft controul;

Our fair ones, unprofaned by art,
Content to gain an honest heart,
No train of sighing swains desired,
Sought to be loved and not admired.
But now, 'tis form, not love, unites;
'Tis show, not pleasure, that invites.
Each seeks the ball to play the queen,
To flirt, to conquer, to be seen;
Each grasps at universal sway,
And reigns the idol of the day;
Exults amidst a thousand sighs,
And triumphs when a lover dies.
Each belle a rival belle surveys,
Like deadly foe with hostile gaze;
Nor can “ her dearest friend” caress,
Till she has slyly scann'd her dress;
Ten conquests in one year will make,
And six eternal friendships break!

How oft I breathe the inward sigh, And feel the dew-drop in my eye, When I behold some beauteous frame, Divine in every thing but name, Just venturing, in the tender age, On fashion's late new-fangled stage! Where soon the guiltless heart shall cease To beat in artlessness and peace; Where all the flowers of gay delight With which youth decks its prospects bright, Shall wither 'mid the cares, the strife, The cold realities of life!

Thus lately in my careless mood,
As I the world of fashion view'd,
While celebrating great and small,
That grand solemnity, a ball,
My roving vision chanc'd to light
On two sweet forms divinely bright;
Two sister-nymphs, alike in face,
In mien, in loveliness, and grace;

Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom,
In all their brilliance and perfume;
Like those fair forms that often beam
Upon the Eastern poet's dream!
For Eden had each lovely maid
In native innocence array'd,—
And heaven itself had almost shed
Its sacred halo round each head!

They seem'd, just entering hand in hand, To cautious tread this fairy land ; To take a timid hasty view, Enchanted with a scene so new. The modest blush, untaught by 'art, Bespoke their purity of heart; And every timorous act unfurld Two souls unspotted by the world.

Oh, how these strangers joy'd my sight,
And thrill’d my bosom with delight!
They brought the visions of my youth
Back to my soul in all their truth;
Recall's fair spirits into day,
That Time's rough' hand had swept away.
Thus the bright natives from above,
Who come on messages of love,
Will bless, at rare and distant whiles,
Our sinful dwellings by their smiles.

Oh! my romance of youth is past-
Dear airy dreams, too bright to last.
Yet when such forms as these appear,
I feel your soft remembrance here;
For oh! the simple poet's heart,
On which fond love once play'd its part,
Still feels the soft pulsations beat,
As loth to quit their former seat :
Just like the heart's melodious wire,
Swept by a bard with heavenly fire-
Though ceas'd the loudly swelling strain,
Yet sweet vibrations long remain.

Full soon I found the lovely pair
Had sprung beneath a mother's care,
Hard by a neighb'ring streamlet's side,
At once its ornament and pride.
The beauteous parent's tender heart
Had well fulfill'd its pious part;
And, like the holy man of old,
As we're by sacred writings told,
Who, when he from his pupil sped,
Pour'd two-fold blessings on his head :
So this fond mother bad imprest
Her early virtues in each breast,
And as she found her stock enlarge,
Had 'stampt new graces on her charge.

The fair resign'd the calm retreat, Where first their souls in concert beat, And flew on expectation's wing, To sip the joys of life's gay spring; To sport in fashion's splendid maze, Where friendship fades, and love decays. So two sweet wild flowers, near the side Of some fair river's silver tide, Pure as the gentle stream that laves The green banks with its lucid waves, Bloom beauteous in their native ground, Diffusing heavenly fragrance round; But should a vent'rous hand transfer These blossoms to the gay parterre, Where, spite of artificial aid, The fairest plants of nature fade, Though they may shine supreme awhile 'Mid pale ones of the stranger soil, The tender beauties soon decay, And their sweet fragrance dies away. Blest spirits ! who, euthron'd in air, Watch o'er the virtues of the fair, And with angelic ken survey Their windings through lifo's chequer'd way. Who hover round them as they glide