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 terity.

A BUTTERFLY.

Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light; And, where the flowers of paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold, There shall thy wings rich as an evening sky, Expand and shut in silent extasy.

Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept,

On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb, and slept;

And such is man; soon from his cell of clay,

To burst a seraph in the blaze of day. Roqekb.

The following was the address of Mr. Abbott (now Lord Colchester), as Speaker of the House of Commons, to the Duke of Wellington, on the 18th of July, 1814.

" My Lord Duke,—Since last I had the honour of addressing you from this place, a series of eventful years has elapsed, but none without some note or mark of your rising glory. The military triumphs which your valour has achieved on the banks of the Douro and the Tagus, of the Ebro and the Garonne, have called forth the spontaneous shouts of admiring nations. Those triumphs it is needless on this day to recount. Their names have been written by your conquering sword in the annals of Europe, and we shall hand them down with exultation to our children's children.

" It is not, however, the grandeur of military success which has alone fixed our admiration, or commanded our applause ! It has been that generous and lofty spirit which inspired your troops with unbounded confidence,