geon, whom they sent for,
immediately opened a vein, which so far recovered his senses, that he
had the use of speech, sat upright, rubbed his knees, shook hands with
divers persons he knew, and to all appearance a perfect recovery was
expected. But notwithstanding this, he died about eleven o'clock in
great agony, his bowels being very much convulsed, as appeared by his
rolling from one side to the other.

It is remarkable also, that Harding came to life again, and was carried
to Bridewell, and the next day to Newgate, where several people visited
him and gave him money, who were very inquisitive whether he remembered
the manner of his execution; to which he replied, he could only remember
his having been at the gallows, and knew nothing of Venham being with
him.

G. K.

* * * * *

LOVE AND JOY.

AN ALLEGORY.

In the happy period of the golden age when all the celestial inhabitants
descended upon the earth and conversed familiarly with mortals, among
the most cherished of the heavenly powers were twins, the offspring of
Jupiter, Love, and Joy. Wherever they appeared, flowers sprung up
beneath their feet, the sun shone with a brighter radiance, and all
nature seemed embellished by their presence; they were inseparable
companions, and their growing attachment was favoured by Jupiter, who
had decreed that a lasting union should be solemnized between them as
soon as they arrived at mature years. But in the meantime, the sons of
men deviated from their native innocence; vice and ruin over-ran the
earth with giant strides; and Astrea with her train of celestial
visitants, forsook their polluted abode; Love alone remained, having
been stolen away by Hope, who was his nurse, and conveyed by her to the
forest of Arcadia, where he was brought up amongst the shepherds. But
Jupiter assigned him a different partner, and commanded him to espouse
Sorrow, the daughter of Ate. He complied with reluctance, for her
features were harsh, her eyes sunken, her forehead contracted into
perpetual wrinkles, and her temples encircled with a wreath of cypress
and wormwood. From this union sprung a virgin, in whom might be traced a
strong resemblance to both her parents; but the sullen and unamiable
features of her mother were so blended with the sweetness of the father,
that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleasing. The maids
and shepherds gathered round and called her Pity. A red-breast was