Miss Wishaw. 
Rev. Dr. George Wollaston. 
Miss Wollaston. 
Thomas Woodthorp, Esq.  Bilesden, Ongar, Essex. 
Mr. Wood, Edinburgh. 
Mrs. Wood, Berwick. 
Miss Wood, ditto. 
Capt.  Wood, of the 29th Regiment. 
Lieutenant Edward Wood, Royal Regiment of Artillery. 
James Wood, jun.  Esq.  Berwick. 
John Wood, Esq.  Beadnell. 
Mrs. Wood, Bamborough. 
Mr. Wood, Preston. 
Dr. Wood, M.D.  Colchester. 
Mrs. Wood, Putney. 
Miss Wood, ditto. 
Mrs. Wray. 
William Wright, Esq. 
James Wyatt, Esq. 
Mrs. Wyatt.

Y.

His Grace the Archbishop of York,
The Hon. John Yorke. 
Richard Yates, Esq. 
John Yeoman, Esq.  Murice. 
Mrs. Yorke. 
Charles Yorke, Esq. 
Mr. Robert Young, Edinburgh. 
Mrs. Young. 
Miss Young. 
Mrs. Younghusband, Elwick. 
T. P. Yvounet, Esq.

The following names have been received since the List was printed.

The Right Hon. the Countess of Uxbridge. 
The Right Hon. Lord Viscount Duncannon. 
Mrs. Alves, Edinburgh. 
Mrs. Buckley. 
Mr. Drury, Shields. 
Mrs. Haswell, Tinmouth. 
Mrs. Huddleston, Shields. 
Mrs. Hudson, Whitby. 
Robert Trotman, Esq.

CONTENTS

OF THE

First volume.

An American Tale. 
Sonnet to Mrs. Bates. 
Sonnet to Twilight. 
To Sensibility. 
A Song. 
An Ode on the Peace. 
Edwin and Eltruda, a Legendary Tale. 
A Hymn. 
Paraphrases from Scripture.

AN AMERICAN TALE.

“Ah! pity all the pangs I feel,
  If pity e’er ye knew;—­
An aged father’s wounds to heal,
  Thro’ scenes of death I flew.

Perhaps my hast’ning steps are vain,
  Perhaps the warrior dies!—­
Yet let me sooth each parting pain—­
  Yet lead me where he lies.”

Thus to the list’ning band she calls,
  Nor fruitless her desire,
They lead her, panting, to the walls
  That hold her captive sire.

“And is a daughter come to bless
  These aged eyes once more? 
Thy father’s pains will now be less—­
  His pains will now be o’er!”

“My father! by this waining lamp
  Thy form I faintly trace:—­
Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp,
  And pale thy honour’d face.

In vain thy wretched child is come,
  She comes too late to save! 
And only now can share thy doom,
  And share thy peaceful grave!”

Soft, as amid the lunar beams,
  The falling shadows bend,
Upon the bosom of the streams,
  So soft her tears descend,

“Those tears a father ill can bear,
  He lives, my child, for thee! 
A gentle youth, with pitying care,
  Has lent his aid to me.

Born in the western world, his hand
  Maintains its hostile cause,
And fierce against Britannia’s band
  His erring sword he draws;