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Vol. XXXIV" for the YEAR l803 .

X OWJ1D (9W,

Printed lor G. and J. ROBIN SON,
N? 2 5, Pa f er nofter Row.

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LADY’S MAGAZINE,

ENTER TAINING COMPANION

FOR

THE FAIR SEX ;

APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For JANUARY 1803.

Address to the Public . 3

The Twins; a Tale, . 5

A Morning’s Walk in January, . 9

Characteristic and Critical Remarks

on Females, . 10

Account of the JLife and Writings of

Petrarch, . 1 1

The Story of Eponina, . 15

Account of Curiosities in Constanti¬
nople and its Environs, . 18

Ladies’ Dresses on her Majesty’s

Birth* Day, . 23

9 The Story of Clara Farnese, . 27

10 Life of Robert M‘Kenzie, . 28

1 1 The Moral Zoologist, . 33

12 Signc and Hubor; a Gothic Ro¬

mance, . ...37

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

13 Parisian Fasli

ionsr

the

Dresses on t

o o

Remarks on the Dresses on the
Birth-Day,

The Antiquity of Ladies’ Trains, 45
Poetical Essays: — On a coining
Storm. The 'Virgin’* Consola¬
tion. Song. Love in a Storm.
Ode to Fortune. Ode for the
New Year. Celia’s Resolution.

The Advice, . 46 — 48

Foreign News,..., . 49

Home News, . 52

Births, . 55

Marriages,... . 55

Deaths, . 56

**>

This Number is embellished with the following Copperplates :

An elegant Frontispiece, — The Ladies of GreatrBritaln receiving the
Offerings of Plenty and Commerce.

An engraved Title-page.

For the Moral Zoologist — The EAGL£.

An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

A new and elegant Pattern for a Veil, See.

MUSIC — u Celia -a favourite Cavatina from Mr. Shield’s Collection
of German Melodies, never before published in England.

LONDON:

Printed for G. and J. ROBINSON, No. 25, Pater-noster-Row ;

Where Favours from Correspondents continue to be received.

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TO CORRESPONDENTS.

T. T’s Epithalamium requires revision, especially with respect to the
mythology : the verses that accompany it are somewhat incorrect in many
places, but both have several good lines.

C* * ' .4. /

We should be obliged to the contributor of Count Schweitzer for a
continuation of his romance ; at any rate we should be glad to receive
a line from him on the subject.

We should be happy to hear again from R. A. C.

Arabella’s hint shall be attended to, as far as may be found practicable.

vV1^ : 1 v> 1 >'* . # •'

The Remarks on the luxury of ancient times, compared with the mo¬
dern, shall have a place.

The Ode to Robin-Advice to Strephon— An Extempore addressed to
M iss R,-B,«— Inscription for a fountain, are received, amd under consider^
lion. ' ' •

ADDRESS TO TEE PUBLIC.

I HE commencement of another year again requires
that we should express the gratitude with which the
favourable reception this Miscellany has been and
still continues to be honoured with, by the public in
general, and our fair patronesses in particular, natu¬
rally inspires us : our exertions to contribute to the
entertainment and instruction of our readers have met
with the most flattering proof of approbation, and
such as must encourage us not to relax in their conti¬
nuation.

The Lady's Magazine has uniformly been con¬
ducted on the same plan on which it was originally
established. It was intended to form a repository for
such productions of genius— -especially female genius — ■
as might otherwise have been neglected and lost ; and
also for such selections from the most esteemed pub¬
lications of the times as appeared most suitable to the
delicacy and refined taste of the Fair Sex. In the exe¬
cution of this design we have endeavoured equally to
avoid what might be found too formal and heavy, and
what might be censured as too light and frivolous 5 wre
need not add that we have likewise carefully rejected
whatever has the slightest tendency to licentiousness
and immorality ; for we trust we can never be sup¬
posed capable of offering to our Fair Readers so gross
an insult.

B 2

IV ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC.

With political opinions and disputes we have never
intermeddled. The return of Peace has happily allayed
the storm which had so long desolated Europe, and in
a great measure calmed those animosities which rankled
in the breasts even of worthy persons of different par¬
ties ; because, though both had the best intentions, each
surveyed the objects before him in a different point
of view ; yet we trust that, on no occasion, either in
our selections or observations, have we failed to show
ourselves the steady friends of the liberties, the true in-

xJ *

t crests, and the honour of our country.

•«< ■ ✓

To our Correspondents, many and most grateful ac¬
knowledgments are due. To them we are undoubtedly
indebted for some of the most valuable pieces which en¬
rich our publication. Among these have occasionally
been some, which, from the inconstancy of their au¬
thors, have unfortunately been left unfinished frag-
merits ; but the number of these is very few compared
with those the contributors of which have been more
honourably faithful to their engagements. We shall
certainly always exert our utmost care to prevent this
impropriety ; but, while we admit the original commu¬
nications of correspondents, it will sometimes happen.

Wc now enter on the Thirty-Fourth Volume of
the Lady’s Magazine, fully persuaded that, by the
arrangements we have made, and the contributions we
are confident we shall receive, we shall still continue to
obtain for our Miscellany the same flattering approba¬
tion with which it has been honoured for so Ion v a series
of years.

THE

LADY’S MAGAZINE,

♦ .*

For JANUARY, 1803.

THE TWINS;

A TALE.

young prince of Germany, who
had not long been married, present¬
ed to his youthful bride several of
the children of the first families in
his little principality, to serve her
in quality of pages. Among these,
the handsome Ernestus was especi¬
ally distinguished by his mild and
polished manners ; he gained the
Commendation and esteem of every
person who conversed with him ;
and the prince himself was so charm¬
ed with his behaviour, that he one
day did his father the honour to re¬
pair to the old mansion in which he
resided, to congratulate him on hav¬
ing so amiable a son. While he
was conversing with him, he saw
enter a voung maiden of great beau¬
ty ; but so exactly resembling Er¬
nestus, that the prince could scarcely
believe she was not his page in a fe¬
male dress. She had his features,
his eves, his manner, and the very
tone of his voice. She was in fact
his twin-sister, the lovely Ernestina.

The great are as often the prey
of sudden and violent passions as
other men, and perhaps more fre¬
quently. The prince could not re¬
sist the beauty of Ernestina ; and,
when he left her residence, he car¬
ried the shaft of love deeply infixed

in his breast. He made several
more visits to her father, who soon
perceived that this honour was not
addressed to himself. His daughter,
whose virtue was irreproachable,
perceived the same ; yet the prince
repeated his visits, and the public
began to interpret them in a manner
not very favourable to the reputa¬
tion of Ernestina. In this embar¬
rassment, her father, acting in con¬
cert with his daughter, caused are-
port to be circulated that she was
extremely ill, and, soon after, that
she was dead.

Ele then repaired to court, but
did not find the prince there, which
gave him not a little pleasure, as his
absence was particularly favourable
to the project he had formed. Ele
addressed himself to the princess,
and discovered to her the passion of
her husband. — c Madam/ said he,
‘ it is in your power to save the
prince from an act of infidelity, and
at the same time preserve the ho¬
nour of my family. The tender
maiden who is the cause of mv fears

j ,

is the twin-sister of Ernestus : she
resembles him so perfectly, that
even the affection of a father finds
difficulty in distinguishing the one
from the other. By an act of gene-

The Twins j — a Tale .

ro^fy you may render service to
yourself, and bestow on me a fa-
vour which nothing can efface from
my hearty

At these words lie stopped, shed¬
ding tears, and in the utmost agita¬
tion. The princess was not less
disturbed and confused; she pressed
him to explain himself, ai\d he thus
continued

‘ Tile request, which I would
make on my knees, is this. Permit
my daughter to assume the dress of
her brother, and let me confide her
to your virtue. She will deceive
every eye: she will, be Ernestus to
every other person but yourself by
her wonderful resemblance to him ;
she will be Ernestina only to you.

I will send her brother away pri¬
vately, to seek glory, in the armies
of the emperor. I can discover
only this means, strange as it may
appear, to preserve to you the fide¬
lity of a husband you love, and to
.shield me and my family from an
ignominy which will weigh me to
the grave. These evils will cer¬
tainly befal, if you do not comply
with my earnest and respectful
prayer; for, sooner or later, the
prince must learn that Ernestina is
not dead ; and 'how will it be possi¬
ble to resist so violent a passion in a
man whose sovereign power frees
him from every law but his will ?

The good sense of the princess
would not suffer her to listen to this
proposal, without stating the almost
unanswerable objections to which
it was liable. She perceived how
difficult it must be long to keep
such a secret, which, should it be
discovered, would only accelerate
the danger it was intended to avoid.
— f Besides/ added she, f how can
I prevent a psge from seeing his
comrades? and, though they should
continually fake your daughter for
Ernestus— an oversight with which

we certainly ought not to flatter our-
selves — can we be perfecly sure that
a young girl of her age will not con¬
ceive a partiality for one of these
young men, especially in the midst
of the liberty, and perhaps licen¬
tiousness, in which they live?’

The father of Ernestina did not
attempt to answer these objections,
except by his tears, which he shed
copiously, holding his hands before
his eyes. The princess was greatly
moved, and, consulting only her
heart, said to him —

f Respectable old man, I will
not afflict your -silver hairs: your
reasons have not persuaded me, but
your virtuous grief compels me. I
will receive Ernestina, and I will
watch over her as if she were my
own daughter. I will do all that is
in my power, and leave the rest to
heaven.’

These consoling words restored
new life to the aged parent of Er¬
nestina, who could find no language
to express his gratitude. Ernestus
was called. He came, and the
plan which had been adopted was
imparted to him. He acquiesced in
what was proposed, and set out
with his father, telling his compa¬
nions that he would return the next
day.

Scarcely had he arrived at his fa¬
ther’s house, when the worthy man,
fondly embracing him, addressed
him thus : — ‘ Go, my son, seek glory
in your country’s cause : you cannot
fail to find it, since you enter on
your career to save the virtue of
your sister. But never forget that
you still have an affectionate father;
and be careful of your life, that you
may return to close his eyes.’ His
sister threw herself, at the same
time, into the arms of her amiable
brother, and soon after he departed.

The next day the modest Ernes¬
tina arrived at the court of the

The Twins s—ci Tale .

prince, dressed as a page, much
fatigued, and greatly embarrassed.
She was taken for Ernestus, whose
appearance of trouble and melan¬
choly was attributed to grief for
the death of his sister. But how
might she answer to ail the ques¬
tions of her companions ? She had
never seen them; she did not even
know their names. The recollec¬
tion of this circumstance, which had
never before occurred to her, made
a very forcible impression on her,
and not withont reason. Each of
these youths. reminded her of dif-'
ferent incidents. 'She knew not
what they referred to, and could
.only .answer by her contusion and
tears. Ail were convinced that the
grief of Ernestus was poignant in
the extreme, since even his memory
had been impaired by it. Happily
for the timid beauty, the princess,
having been informed of her arrival,
sent for her. But her embarrass¬
ment was much greater when she
appeared before her highness in the
dress of a man: she, however, only
received greater proofs of favour
and regard from her protectress,
who led her into her closet, and em¬
braced her as her daughter.

Virtue is ingenious : the princess,
with great prudence, availed her-
*self of the confusion and grief of
Ernestina to deliver her, in a great
degree, from her embarrassment.
She told the governor of the pages'
that their mirth was too boisterous
for the sorrow of Ernestus, and re¬
quested that a chamber might be as-
. signed him at a distance from them.

O- ,

A lady of honour, of an advanced
age, and whom the princess had
previously made her confidante,
proposed a small closet, near her
own apartment, which she under¬
took — since, as she said, Ernestus
was her relation — to take care should
be immediately provided with every

thing necessary. This arrangement,
which had nothing so peculiar in it
as to excite a suspicious attention,
secured Ernestina from all commu¬
nication with the pages ; and it also
more removed her, for some time,
from the sight of the prince, who,
besides, was very frequently absent.
When the princess did not fear to
be surprised, she caused Ernes timt
to be brought into her chamber by
the old lady of honour, where she
treated her with the warmest friend-'
ship. She was delighted with her
mildness, her politeness, and her
pure and grateful heart. When the
prince made longer journeys, which
detained him several days, she
would make htr sleep in her cham¬
ber, and even in her bed.

But at length the pages began to
be greatly surprised that, they no
longer saw Ernestus among them,
and they talked in various ways of a
conduct so extraordinary. They
could no longer believe in so pro¬
tracted a grief for the death of a
sister. Some said, laughing, that
perhaps the old lady of honour had
fallen in love with him; others, that
he was perhaps himself enamoured
of some younger beauty. The prin-'
cess, being informed of these little
scandals, thought to silence them
by producing Ernestina as a page;
but, as it was not the turn of Er¬
nestus, the rest murmured at seeing
him so soon raised to the rank of
gentleman to the prince, and envy
succeeded their gross jokes. The
princess, however, had contracted
such a friendship and affection for
Ernestina, that she could not ref'aln
from passing with her, in all tiys
security of innocence, every mo¬
ment in which she was at liberty,
by clay or by night.

It chanced that, one night, the
first page, who was older than Er¬
nestus, and , always jealous of the

The Twins ; — a Tale .

preference which had been given to
the latter, was dispatched by the
prince with a letter for the princess,
which he was charged to deliver
only into her hands, even if she had
retired to rest, which then she had.
In consequence of these orders, he
was introduced to her, and, when
he gave her the letter, he perceived
she had a companion in bed with
3ier, and recognised the features of
Ernestus. Impelled by the demon
of envy, the page flew to his master,
and told him that he had seen Er¬
nestus in bed with the princess.

The violation of conjugal honour
is the most cruel of injuries. The
prince became furious. He imme¬
diately set out to exterminate the
perfidious pair, and arrived the fol¬
lowing night. The princess, who
did not expect him for three days,
was sleeping tranquilly by the side
of the virtuous Ernestma. The air
of modesty impressed on their fea¬
tures arrested for a moment the
arm raised to destroy them. Provi¬
dence, the protector of innocence,
caused the princess to awake, and
dictated to her the following words :

' Stop, rash man ! you believe
you are about to take vengeance on
guilt, but it is virtue you are going
to assassinate. You have been able
to suspect me without cause; but I
will make you blush. Behold, in
me, the protectress of that inno¬
cence which you wished to violate,
in contempt of the fidelity which
you owe to me. Criminal lover of
the sister of Ernestus ! it is in your
own bed that I have sheltered her
purity from your violence. It is
.Ernestina whom you see in your
place. Kill me now if you dare;
but respect the virtue I protect/

These words stunned like a thun-?

der-bolt the humiliated prince— •
The sword dropped from his hand ;
he sank on his knees before his in¬
sulted wife ; and left the chamber
overwhelmed with shame, and with
every indication of repentance.

The princess now rang her bell.
The trembling Ernestina had fainted
at sight of the sword suspended
over her head, and was with diffi¬
culty recovered. The princess
caused her to resume her female
habit, and, when she was herself
dressed, directed that her husband
should be called. He came with
grief and regret pictured in his
countenance. He acknowledged
and detested his error. The prin¬
cess was in his eyes a sublime and
adorable woman; but Ernestina a
celestial angel, whom he dared not
to look on. Pie drove from him,
without pity, the envious page, who
had calumniated two such exalted
women. He sincerely returned to
the fidelity which he owed the prin*
cess, and of which he found her so
transcendent ly worthy. She soon
after brought him a son. He then
repaired to the father of Ernestina,
and said to him — ‘ Since you possess
so much honour, let me request you
to communicate the germ of it to
the heir to my states. You must
undertake his tuition/ The old
man endeavoured to excuse himself
from accepting such an employment
on account of his age ; but the
prince replied — f You will be assist¬
ed not only by your excellent
daughter, from whom the princess
will not suffer herself to he separat¬
ed, but likewise by your son, who
will soon return from the army. I
will take care of the fortune of both ;
formed to virtue by you, they will
instil the love of it into my child/

«• .1

A Morning's If

A MORNING’S WALK in
JANUARY.

"ER since I was capable of re¬
lishing the beauties of nature, 1 have
been extremely partial to morning
walks. Oft, when Youth and
Health danced hand in hand, I have
shook off Sleep's downy fetters,
bade adieu to my pillow', and pur¬
sued my early excursion. Bloom¬
ing flowers decorated my path ; the
melodious symphonies of untutored
songsters saluted mine ears; sportive
Zephyrs regaled me with fragrancy,
and fanned me with their silken
pinions.

With walking tired, 1 have resled
on a mossy bank, and from my
pocket drawn thy ‘ Seasons/ Thom¬
son ! Sweet entertaining page ! de¬
lightful work! rich in descriptive
beauty !

4 Hail, Nature’s poet! whom she taught
alone

To sing her works, in numbers like her own:
Sweet as the thrush that warbles in the dale,
And soft as Philomela’s tender tale.’

But where are now those flowery
scenes and enchanting landscapes
that filled my mind with agreeable
emotions ? They are all vanished.
January, frigid January! holds his
icy reign, and Nature is divested of
all her attractive ornaments. To
walk forth, and mark the progress
of tyrant Winter, be my present
employment.

* Bv gloomy twilight, half reveal’d,

With sighs I view the hoary hill,

The leafless tree, the naked field,

The snow-topp’d cct, the frozen rill.’

Dr. John sox.

Where are the flowers that paint¬
ed yonder mead? Where are your
songs, ye feathered sons of music ?
The savage season has blasted each
floweret, and silenced each pipe.

* No mark of vegetable life is feen ;

No bird to bird repeats its tuneful call :
Save the dark leaves of some rude ever¬
green ;

Save the lone redbreast on the moss-
grown wall/ Scott.

Vo l. xxxi v:. %

' alk in January . 9

Poor Robin, I pity thy forlorn
condition! condemned by this se¬
vere period of the year to suffer the
extremity of hunger and cold.—
Well may thy plumes be ruffled,
and thy songs unharmomous. Seek
my cot : thou shall find an hospital
hie shelter there. I will leave a
broken pane for thy entrance. —
Grimalkin is dead : the determined
foe of all thy feathery tribe is no
more. There thou mayest hop in
safety, and feast on crumbs. My
little ones will never injure thee;
but will cherish, with fondest care,
their plumy inmate.

During the vernal months, sur¬
rounded by the blossoms of Spring,
I loitered in my path, to enjoy th#
engaging scene. Now, regardless
of all around, I hasten to terminate
my early jaunt.

How keen the breeze ! how un¬
pleasant the morning ramble, while
visited by

* Tiie bleak affliction of the peevish East !*

Dark clouds shroud Nature's
golden eye ; the bubbling rill lies
bound in icy fetters ; the blackbird
is mute ; and Philomela has emi¬
grated from this inclement clime,
to sing in more propitious groves.

* How sicklied over is the face of things!

Where is the spice-kiss of the southern
gale }

Where the wild rose that smil’d upon the
thorn, —

The mountain-flower, and lily-of-the-
vale ?

4 Father of heaven and earth ! this change
is thine.

By Thee the seasons in gradation roll,
Thou great omniscient Ruler of the world!
Thou Alpha and Omega of the whole 1

4 ’Tis ours to bow to Thee the humble knee :

’Tis ours the voice of gratitude to raise:
’Tis thine to shower Thy blessings o’er the
land ;

’Tis thine t’ accept the incense of our
praise.’

Wot v.

Haverhill. John Wk b b .

10 Characteristic and critical Remarks on Females.

Characteristic and critical RE-
• . MARKS on FEMALES.

4 To <lread no eye, and to snspect no tongue,
is the great prerogative of innocence ; an
exemption granted only to invariable
viltuq.’ JOHNSON-.

1ST EITHER age, beauty, nor exalt¬
ed merit, can escape the malignant
animadversions of the world ; for,
howsoever we may be adorned with
external attractions, or possessed of
intellectual powers, or how pure
and exemplary soever all our actions
are, yet some will endeavour to
lessen our distinction by indirect
and petty calumniation. Upon a
general survey of the public man¬
ners, we perceive, with regret, that
eminent women are more obnoxious
to detraction than eminent men.
Women of extraordinary beauty are
sometimes considered as splendid
meteors; but women of conspicuous
intellects are beheld as dazzling
constellations. Hence both are re¬
garded with invidious eyes, and
censure is denounced to obscure
their brightness; for censure is wil¬
lingly indulged, because for a while
it implies a superiority in the censor.
But, as the liberal thinker may in¬
quire whence this censoriousness
arises, we answer, in brief, that it
arises from the impenetrable dark¬
ness and incurable ignorance of the
uneducated mirid. All intellects at
the dawn of reason are improveable;
but if the period allotted by na¬
ture— and by an over-ruling Provi¬
dence, which influences the active
operations of the soul — elapses un¬
regarded* then the powers of the

p ’ i

mind relax, recede, and become
torpid; whilst the soul, then inca-.
poble of advancing into (he regions
of science, becomes in subjection to
ip noranee. ; and, sensible of its own
•imbecility, cherishes envy and hatred
of all mental excellence in others.

Having thus observed, it behoves
ii'is to remark, that — perceiving how

willingly blame is bestowed, and
bow reluctantly praise is given —
we have assumed the privilege of
examining the mental and corporeal
accomplishments of females ; and,
instead of repressing their influence,
we intend to ascribe to them such
praise as may, in our estimation, be
considered to be the real tributes of
merit. Convinced of the liberality
of our researches, and inflexibly
dependent on the candour and accu¬
racy of our discrimination, we are
fearless of severe criticism from the
liberal and candid reader ; and criti¬
cal observations from all others we
regard with contempt. In the
course of our investigation, the rigid
moralist must not expect that we
mean to discover faults as well as
virtues: it is not within our sphere,
but is a prerogative which belongs
to superior power.

Lucretiais, like an early flower in
spring, the emblem of ax.tless inno¬
cence, She is young. Her mind is
uncontaminated by pride, and there¬
fore is suffered to expand its powers,
and is not contracted. Pride is the
first vice which is discoverable after
childhood : it is in its consequences
the most malignant ot all spiritual
evils. Its operation on the mind is
like the action of an inveterate cor¬
rosive sublimate on the body — it is
adverse to ail that is actively bene¬
ficial. It soothes the mind into in¬
dolence, by gentle whisperings that
it is sufficiently enlightened — an in¬
dolence which, like that indulged by
the cold-pierced traveller, occasions
a fatal stupefaction. The mind, be¬
ing adorned with purity and conse¬
quent freedom, is now upon the eve'
of blossoming into celebrity : it is
nowcapable ofthe highest improve¬
ment, and must be self-taught, if Lu¬
cre tia is desirous to acquire a digni-*
tied superiority and irresisliljle capti¬
vating influence. Her conversation
is modest, and not inelegant ; and
her remarks, we think, indicate the

'Account of the Life and Writings of 'Petrarch. 11

basis of correct discrimination. The
conciliating brilliancy of her eyes,
when engaged in conversation, and
their fixed situation during attention,
demonstrate to us that she is quick
and contemplative; and she is capa¬
ble ot becoming a celebrated and a
severe critic, if she can persuade
herself to disregard the self- pleasing
.effects of her beauty, read little, and
think much. History and natural
philosophy we recommend to her
attention. Although Lucretia may
smile at our proposition, yet we
assert that beauty in a lady of quick
apprehension is a deplorable calami¬
ty. She is passionate, not resent¬
ful; and hence she exhibits sensibi¬
lity and strength of memory. Her
voice is melodiously soft, and has
the remarkable property of amelio¬
rating the rigid asperity of our na-
-ture. Upon the whole, from the
most exact and deliberate consi¬
deration, we think her sensible, re¬
tentive, intelligent, contemplative,
critical, penetrating, amiable, and
exemplary.

But even Lucretia, whose amiable
qualities deserve our most exuberant
panegyric, may at some future pe¬
riod become the subject of calum¬
niating insinuation : it is a cloud
which all great and glorious charac¬
ters must expect to pass over them ;
but let her be consoled when we
inform her that this will be the cri¬
terion of her excellence. And we
shall desist from our remarks, with
these admonitions to her — Conti-
,nue in your present purity and ex¬
cellence. Never cease to improve
and exercise the latent powers of
your intellect. Your understanding
is bright — do not suffer its lustre to
.Joe obscured by negligence, or by
too intemperate a desire to amaze
people by your natural attractions.
And, lastly, we wish you to pre¬
serve your native good humour ;
for our best moral writer observes,
■ thut, \ without good-humour, virtue

may awe by its dignity, and amaze
by its brightness, but will never
gain a friend or attract an imitator.’
Wallingford. S.

(To be continued.)

Account of the Life an d W r i t-
ings oj PeTRAR-CH.

Petrarch was a native of

Florence, and is considered as the
second constellation in the Tuscan
hemisphere. His admirers, and the
honours they have bestowed on
him, have been numerous ; and their
adoration of him would have been
very rational, if it had been within
any bounds. He was the first au¬
thor that gave to Italian poetry a
rich and inimitable harmony, and the
elegance and softness of hisnumhers
are universally acknowledged. He
•added a fourth grace — modesty.
In all his works there is not a single
instance which can give the least
alarm to chastity ; and the judicious
author of an ecclesiastical history
(Fleury) has either been inattentive
to Petrarch’s merit, or is outrageous
in the cause of prudery, when he
supposes him dangerous to virtue.
In contradiction to the authority o
twenty such historians, a tender and
honest sensibility of heart can never
be considered as one of the snares
or sin ; nor verses, traced with a
virgin’s pen, as. destructive of mo¬
rality. Petrarch might perhaps be
put with safety into any hands, if his
thoughts had been more simple or
natural, and his taste more correct;
for, as was observed of Seneca,

( those things, which are well said,
do not do so much good to youth, as
those, which are bad, do harm.’ —
Yet this objection goes merely to
his stvle.

Many of his critics have reproach¬
ed him with monotony, and they
have reason an th«rr side, A me-

(J 2

12 Account of the Life and Writings of Petrarch .

taphysical passion does not appear
to be a proper subject for poetry ;
and Petrarch* in all probability,
would have resembled the ancients
more, if he had loved like them, and
borrowed their pencil to paint his
mistress.

Le^bia, Delia, Cynthia, Corinna,
Hypsipile, Glycera, and Nemesis,
inconstant, avaricious, and libertine
as they were, still interest us; while
Petrarch’s divine Laura makes but a
feeble impression on the reader who
looks into her history. Some per¬
sons have supposed her only an alle¬
gorical personage— -an Iris in the
clouds, to whom the poet has given
a name, in order to exercise his
muse. This great problem was
long disputed ; and, after many trea¬
tises and Various dissertations, the
allegorical sense has generally pre¬
vailed, though what was intended by
it even the advocates for the con¬
struction have not settled. One
has imagined it to be the Christian
religion ; a second, poetry; a third,
the soul;, a fourth, philosophy; and
others, penitence, virtue, and the
Holy Virgin. The enigma afforded
amusement to various scholars; and
the famous vEiia, Ladia, Crispis, did
not occasion more embarrassment to
any CEdipus of the last century.
Laura, however, existed in reality:
her maiden-name was Denoves,
and she married Hugh de Sade, a
gentleman of Avignon. Worn out
with bringing into the world a very
numerous family, she lost at an early
hour her celebrated beauty, and died
of the plague in 1348. Petrarch
only became acquainted with her
when an indissoluble knot had put a
fatal bar to any nearer connexion ;
and she inspired him with a passion
both real, and, in some measure, the
most extraordinary. The emble¬
matic object of her name — the object
the most common, and almost hourly
before his eyes — affected him with
the' most lively and violent emotions.

with a weakness bordering on insa¬
nity; every laurel (frivolous resem¬
blance in the name!) appeared an
image of his Laura; and he scarcely
ever saw it without those sighs,
shiverings, and palpitations, that he
experienced in the presence of his
divine beauty.

Doubts have been entertained of
the reality of Petrarch’s passion ; or,
at least, it has been suggested, that
it has been exaggerated. His idea,
that ‘ he who is deeply in love can¬
not easily describe,’ has been cited
in support of the opinion; but great
passions are sometimes silent. If,
in one sense, they rouse the mind;
in another they soften, and render
it weak and languid. While they
affect the nervous system in accele¬
rating its action, in the end they
cause a stupor, which deadens the
imagination, and destroys its viva¬
city and vigour.

Infidels of another kind have not
feared to doubt of Laura’s rigour,
of which the poet in her life com¬
plained so bitterly, and after her
death remembered with satisfaction
and with gratitude. Contemplating
their history without prejudice or
partiality, we shall see Petrarch be¬
loved by a virtuou.s vcoman, who
conceals her attachment for him,
from the apprehension that his know¬
ledge of it might be productive of
ill consequences. To preserve heir
honour, and to retain her lover, was
what she wished. By that little
species of coquetry which dismisses
a lover always without enjoyment,
though never in despair, — a practice
which is yet in vogue, — and by the
management of some little favours
of no great mome nt, and some little
cruelty which gave no great con¬
cern, — a woman of tenderness and
sensibility amused for twenty years
the greatest genius of the age, with¬
out a real speck upon tier character,
i he constancy of Petrarch is matter
ot astonishment, as his whole life

Account of the Life and Writings of Petrarch . 13

appears to have been one continued
series of pets and quarrels. The
ardour of his natural disposition,
and the adust blood which circulated
.within his veins, as well as his own
vivacity, are equally repugnant to
his tedious metaphysical passion ;
though he consoled himself with less
rigid mistresses, by whom he left
two children. At the age of sixty,
he writes to a friend nearly in the
following manner: —

* My health and constitution are
good; and neither age, nor business,
nor abstinence, nor discipline, has
been yet able to subdue my rebel¬
lious passions. As the spring ap¬
proaches, I must be again under
arms; and even at present I am at
war with myself. But grace is my
resource, and through its assistance
I trust I shall succeed in mastering
i%self/

To recollect Petrarch is to recol¬
lect the fountain of Valclusa, so
celebrated, and of which there have
been so many erroneous ideas. The
world has weakly imagined that Pe¬
trarch and Laura passed their days
in love and oblivion of the universe,
on the margin of its pellucid stream,
under branches of myrtle filled with
turtles, from whom they received
lessons of love and constancy. The
peasants still show to the credulous
traveller garrets, which they say
were once inhabited by Petrarch ;
a»d they assure him that Laura’s
house was opposite, and connected
by a subterraneous passage now
filled up with ruins. These are vul-
.gar and foolish tales, without the
least foundation. Far from sharing
or multiplying the beauties of this
solitude, madame de Sade never
saw it in Petrarch’s company; never
did she animate and ornament with
her living graces the wild and sim¬
ple beauties of the place. Petrarch
also repeats, in twenty different pas¬
sages, that he had retired to this
romantic desert for the purpose of

flying from Avignon and from
Laura,

It is the fate of genius and of
beauty to immortalise every thing
connected with them. Independent
of Valclusa, the hermitage near
Belford, of the countess de la Suze.
one of the graces of the court of
France, as beautiful as tender, has
been consecrated to sensibility and
love. To this sequestered retreat,
sheltered by a solitary rock, she
came, conducted by the elegiac
Muse, and breathed in sighs her
passion, her misfortunes, and her
melancholy. This desert, where the
grand-daughter of Coligny retired — «
where, plaintive and alone, she
mingled her tears with the gurgling
streams that trickled down ; where
she reflected with tenderness on the
count de Flamarin, her lover; and
where she relieved her throbbing
heart by tears and verses — is still
called, with the stream that washes
it, the fountain de la Suze.

To return to Petrarch.— -The col¬
lection of his Italian works contains
sonnets, symphonies, canzoni, ma¬
drigals, and ballads. Of the madri¬
gals, delicacy forms the charm, which
insipidity destroys. The learned
Menage, or rather his editor, says—

i La ballade , a rnon gout , est un chose fade * :*

and those of Petrarch will not a'ter
the opinion. In number, happily,
they are few. The symphonies are
in a vitiated taste; where the poet
fetters himself with chains, and sa¬
crifices sense to sound. Neither
Greece nor Rome disgraced herself
with such productions, and their
harmonious language was never
crippled with those trifling restric¬
tions. Petrarch attached himself
principally to his sonnets and can¬
zoni, and he excelled in both. He
there displays every elegance and

* < TLe ballad, to my taste, is somewhat

;n3ipid.’

14 Account of the Life and Writings of Petrarch .

harmony of which the language is
susceptible. The sonnets amount
to upwards of three hundred; and
there is not one in which some in¬
genious thought, some beautiful
sentiment, some hash of genius, is
not to be found. Unfortunately,
these little pieces lose their spirit
and their beauty as they extend.
Elegantly as they begin, the con¬
clusion is often faulty.

The verses of Petrarch are the
verses of a poet; his eanzoni are
the verses of a great poet. Of the
whole collection, the most distin¬
guished is what he sent to the
younger Stefano Coionna, and not,
as has been idly told, to that sub¬
lime fool of Rienzi, who attempted
the restoration of the Roman re¬
public, and, with a grain of folly
less, might have succeeded. The
three eanzoni of ‘ The Eyes'* are
also master-pieces. By the Italians
the}' are styled the ‘Three Graces’
and The Divine/ and they are
never spoken of but with transport
and with rapture.— These little
odes, where genius and the heart
seem to dispute which has the
largest share, deserve our admi¬
ration ; they include every thing
the most tender and the most de¬
licate that fell from Petrarch ; they
are the most gallant of^all his
poetry, and the quintessence and
'elixir of love, though they have
their faults.

Petrarch has perhaps never been
well translated, and it may never
liappen to him. To understand
him perfectly requires a long and
intimate acquaintance with him.
Elis beauties are fruits that we must
gather from the tree ourselves, to
taste them in their highest flavour..
His sentiments and thoughts are as
volatile perfume, which escapes
when attempted to be conveyed
into another viol. Notwithstand¬
ing his translators may have been of

the first abilities, the lovely butter¬
fly, in passing through their hands,
has left a part of the powder of its
wings, and the little that re¬
mains is deadened and has lost its
gloss,

Voltaire hath indeed transfused
the spirit of two of the eanzoni into
his imitations of them, which equal
the originals ; and the French might
be satisfied with seeing Petrarch in
their language, if the whole were
as happily executed as the speci¬
men of one or two pieces by an
anonymous writer. One inconve¬
nience has attended Petrarch,
which he could not foresee nor
prevent; and that is, an innumera¬
ble crowd, of execrable imitators.
They are thick clouds of starlings
rising from the a i Ires of the phoe¬
nix. The limits within which Pe¬
trarch confined himself, who had
more delicacy than genius, they
have prescribed to this species of
poetry itself ; and they have thought
that their mistress, and their mistress
only, was to be sung, and sung ex¬
actly in his manner. The same
images were introduced, the same
forms of expression used. The eye
was as luminous as the sun'; the
heart was a volcano, or ‘ Monte
Ghibello / but these trifles at last
ceased to be' in fashion. Cold as
the snow of Nova Zembia is, it is not
comparable to these copies ofanori-
ginal,whose greatestmerit consists in
purity, elegance, and grace. ‘ Eat,
lord/ said the Persian magicians to
their deity, when they threw into
their sacred fire the incense, the
myrrh, and the faggots, which were
to feed the flames. The same com¬
pliment may be properly bestowed
on the immense mass of the can-
zoni, with which Italy has been
pestered. Petrarch^ as he advanced
in life, blushed at having been thp
author of so many Italian verses,
which he calls f Nugeilas Vulgates/

The Story of Eponina . 15

Vulgar Trl fles ; yet to these trifles
he is indebted for his fame.

We have many of his Latin
poems, which are never read ; and
an epic poem with the title of
( Africa’ — a tedious and prbsai'c re¬
lation of the second Punic war.
Silvius -Italians has treated nearly
the same subject; and Silvias Itali¬
cs, who then slept in the dust of
Swis.serland, is Virgil in comparison
to Petrarch.

Petrarch has also made use of
the Latin in many prose composi¬
tions, and he was both much at¬
tached to it and considered it as
his mother tongue. He did not
indeed foresee a long existence of
the Tuscan idiom, in his opinion a
bunch of straw, that is extinguish¬
ed as easily as it is set on fire. Plis
Latinity was unequal and incor¬
rect ; or, speaking more exactly,
he had not any Latin style of his
own. Every where the ‘ disjecta
membra’ are to be seen — a motley
assemblage of phrases from Cicero
and Seneca, and scraps from St.
Augustine, and his other favour¬
ites. Vet his treatise 4 De sui
ipsius et aliorum ignorant ia/ on
his own ignorance and that of
others, will repay the reader for
his trouble.

It an idea is formed of Petrarch
as a frivolous person, who passed
his life at the feet of his mistress,
his lyre in his hand, and tears in his
eyes, it will be an erroneous one.
Neither love, nor poetry, nor even
study, had so absorbed his facul¬
ties as to leave him no spare mo¬
ments for more active duties. He
was a statesman, an able negotia¬
tor, a profound politician ; but his
lyre and his love have alone im¬
mortalised him. It would be use¬
less to repeat what ail the world
knows — his solemn coronation as a
poet in the Capitol : the form is,

notwithstanding, curious, and re*

° >

sembles the pompous bulls of many
universities.

This honour, which at present
would be ridiculous, was then of
great importance, and in high esti¬
mation ; and, consequently, it was
the object of Petrarch’s wishes.
Experience convinced him of his
vanity and folly, and he lived to
think very sensibly of the matter.
What, perhaps, displeased him
more than the absurdity insepara¬
ble from ‘ the permission of making
by authority verses that should last
tor ever/ was the necessity he was
reduced to of sharing the hqnoiir
of the laurel with his countryman,
Zanobi de Strata, crowned by the
emperor Charles IV. in person,
with those evergreens which flut¬
tered round his temples without
bearing any fruit. — Zanobi had
merit, though he is not to be rank¬
ed With Petrarch. Some of his
works are in the public library of
his native city, and .among them a
poem on the sphere, which' has
never been thought worthy of being
printed. Of such a rival, Petrarch
had no reason to be jealous ; but. lie
could not conceal his sentiments.

The Story of Eponina.

I HE following little history has
in it something so peculiarly in¬
teresting and affecting, that it can
scarcely be read without the most
lively emotion.

During the struggles of Otho,
Vitellius, and Vespasian, for the
sovereignty of Rome, and in the
unsettled state of the empire, Sabi¬
nas, a native of Langres, an ambi¬
tious and wealthy man, of high
quality, put in his claim, among
others, to the possession of the
throne. Encouraged by his coun¬
try me n to this bold undertaking, lie

4 £2 7

The Story

pretended, by casting an imputation
on the chastity of his grand-mo-
ther, to trace his lineage from
Julius Caesar. Having revolted
against the Romans, he caused
himself, by his followers, to be sa-
luted emperor.

But his temerity and presump¬
tion quickly received a check : his
troops, who were defeated and
scattered in all directions, betook
themselves to flight ; while, of those
who fell into the hands of the pur¬
suers, not one was spared. In the
heart of Gaul, Sabin us might have
found safety, had his tenderness for
his wife permitted him to seek it.
Espoused to Eponina, a lady of ad¬
mirable beauty and accomplish¬
ments, from whom he could not
prevail upon himself to live at a
distance, he retired from the field
of battle to his country-house.
Having here called together his
servants, and the remnant of his
people, he informed them of his
disaster, and of the miscarriage of
his enterprise ; while he declared to
them his resolution of putting a
voluntary period to his existence,
to escape the tortures prepared for
him by the victors, and avoid the
fate of his unfortunate companions.
He proceeded to thank them for
their services, after which he gave
them a solemn discharge : he then
ordered fire to be set to his man¬
sion, in which he shut himself up ;
and, of this stately edifice, in a few
hours nothing remained but a heap
of ashes and ruins.

The news of the melancholy ca¬
tastrophe, being spread abroad,
reached the ears of Eponina, who,
during the preceding events, had
remained at Rome. Her grief and
despair on learning the fate of a
husband whom she dearly loved,
and who had fallen a victim to his
tenderness for her, were too poi¬
gnant to be long supported. In

of Eponina .

vain her friends and acquaintance
offered her consolation ; their ef¬
forts to reconcile her to her loss
served but to aggravate lier di¬
stress. She determined to abstain
from nourishment, and to re-unite
herself in the grave to him without
whom she felt existence to be an
intolerable burthen.

For three days she persevered in
her resolution. On the fourth.
Martial, a freedman, who had been
a favourite domestic in the service
of her husband, desired to be ad¬
mitted by his mistress to a private
conference, on affairs of the utmost
importance.

In this interview, Eponina learn¬
ed, with an emotion that had nearly
shaken to annihilation her languid
and debilitated frame, that Sabinus,
whom she so bitterly lamented, was
still living, and concealed in a sub¬
terraneous cavern under the ruins
of his house, where he waited with
impatience to receive and embrace
his beloved and faithful wife. This
scheme had been concerted in con¬
fidence with two of his domestics,
in whose attachment Sabinus en¬
tirely confided. It had been hi¬
therto concealed from Eponina,
that, through her unaffected grief
on the supposed death of her hus¬
band, greater credit might be given
to a report on which his preserva¬
tion entirely depended. To these
welcome tidings Martial presumed
to add his advice, that his lady
should still preserve the external
marks of sorrow, and conduct her¬
self with the utmost art and pre¬
caution.

Eponina promised, with tran¬
sport, to observe all tkat was re¬
quired of her, however difficult
might be the task of dissimulation :
and to endure yet a short delay, lest,
suspicion should be awakened, of
the meeting which she anticipated
with so much tenderness and joy.

The Story

At length, devoured by a mutual
anxiety, this affectionate pair could
no longer sustain a separation. By
the management of the faithful
freedman, Eponina was conveyed
in the darkness of the night to the
retreat of her husband, and brought
back, .with equal secrecy, to her
own house, before the dawning of
the ensuing day. These visits were
repeated with the same precautions*
and with great peril, during seven
months, till it was at last deter¬
mined, as a plan which would be
attended with less inconvenience,
and even with less danger, that Sa¬
bin us should be conveyed by night
to his own house, and kept conceal¬
ed in a remote and private apart¬
ment. But this project, in its exe¬
cution, was found to abound in un¬
foreseen difficulties : the extensive
household and numerous visitants
of Eponina, who feared to change
her manner of life, kept her in a
continual terror of a discovery, and
harassed her mind with insupporta¬
ble inquietude. Sabinus was there¬
fore again removed to his subterra¬
nean abode, whose darkness love
illumined.

The intercourse between the
husband ^ndxwife thus continued
for nine years, during which inter¬
val the pregnancy of Eponina af¬
forded them at one time the most
cruel alarm. But this interesting
and amiable woman, by a painful
but ingenious stratagem, contrived
to elude suspicion and satisfy in¬
quiry. She prepared an ointment,
which, by its external application,
produced a swelling of the limbs,
and dropsical symptoms, and thus
accounted for the enlargement of
her shape. As the hour of her de¬
livery drew near, she shut herself,
under pretence of a visit to a distant
province, in' the cavern of her hus¬
band ; where, without assistance,
and suppressing her groans, she
Voi, XXXIV..

of Eponina. 17

gave birth to twin sons> whom she
nurtured and reared in this gloomy
retreat.

Conjugal and maternal affection,
thus united, while time and impu¬
nity had in some measure allayed
her fears, drew her more frequently
to the place which contained the
objects of her cares, till her ab¬
sences gave rise to curiosity and
suspicion. She was at length
traced to the cavern of the ill-fated
Sabinus, who, being seized and
loaded with irons, was, with his
wife and children, conveyed to
Rome.

Eponina, distracted at the conse¬
quence of her imprudence, rushed
into the presence of the emperor
Vespasian, and, presenting to him
her children, prostrated herself at
his feet. With the eloquence of a
wife and a mother, she pleaded the
cause of her husband, and, after
having extenuated his fault, as
proceeding from the disorders of the
times rather than from personal
ambition, from the calamities of
civil war, and the evils of oppres¬
sion, she thus proceeded to address
the emperor: ‘ But we have wait¬
ed, sire, till these boys shall be able
to join to those of their mother their
sighs and tears, in the hope of dis¬
arming your wrath by our united
supplications. They come forth,
as from a sepulchre, to implore
your mercy, on the first day in
which they have ever beheld the
light. Let our sorrow, our misfor¬
tunes, and the sufferings we have
already undergone, move you to
compassion, and obtain from you
the life of a husband and a father/
The spectators melted into tender¬
ness and pity at the affecting specta¬
cle ; every heart was moved, every
eye was moist, but that of a pitiles.
tyrant, deaf to the voice of Nature,
and inaccessible to her claims.

In vain did this heroic and ad-

18 Account, of Curiosities in Constantinople, 8(c.

mirable woman humble herself be¬
fore a monster, whose heart ambi¬
tion had seared, inexorable in cru¬
elty, and stern in his resolves. To
political security the rights of hu¬
manity were sacrificed and the
husband and the father coldly
doomed to death.

Eponina, determined to share the
fate of her husband, wiped away
her tears, and, assuming an air of
intrepidity, thus addressed the em¬
peror : f Be assured/ said she, in a
firm and dignified tone, * that 1
know how to contemn life. With
Sabinus I have existed nine years
in the bowels of the earth, with a
delight and tranquillity untasted by
tyrants amidst the splendors of a
throne ; and with him I am ready
to unite myself, in death, with no
less cheerfulness and fortitude/

This act of ill-timed severity
threw a stain upon the character
and memory of Vespasian, whose
temper in other respects had not
been accounted sanguinary. The
generous affection and heroism of
Eponina were consecrated in the ad¬
miration of future ages.

Account of Curiosities in
Constantinople and its En¬
virons.

[From Travels in the Crimea — a History of
the Embassy from Petersburg to Con¬
stantinople , lately published.]

The winter was become so se¬
vere by the beginning of Decem¬
ber, that I was obliged to have re¬
course to a chafing-dish to heat
my chamber, instead of a stove, a
thing rarely to be met with in the
houses at Constantinople. This ri¬
gour of the season made me for a
moment apprehensive that I should
not be able to execute my project ;
but towards the middle of this

month the weather became so fine,
that I determined to take advan¬
tage of so fortunate a circumstance,
and to employ the few days I was to
remain in this capital in a pursuit
the most agreeable to my feelings.

I set out in a fine morning about
nine o’clock, accompanied by four
persons belonging to the embassy.
As we proposed making our first
visit to Scutari, we embarked in a
caique, and went on shore in the
island which contains Leandcr’s
Tower, directly off the coast of
Asia. Two bostangis, charged
with the care of this tower, con¬
ducted us to the highest part of it.
The view of the sea, of the se¬
raglio, of the city itself, and of the
Dardanelles, forms a most singular
and ravishing spectacle; but it is a
pleasure which has already cost
dear to a number of mussulmans.
This tower is less celebrated for its
antiquity and elevation than for the
object to which it is destined. It
is here that the grand-signior holds
in confinement the kislar-agas who
have had the misfortune to incur
his displeasure. Their fate in this
exile is soon decided. They often-
er receive the intelligence of being
condemned to death than that ot
being pardoned. Very near this
tower, which is of an immeasura¬
ble height, as well as the greatest
part of the Turkish edifices, is an¬
other of much smaller size, called
the light-house, and which, in fact,
serves to contain the fires that are
constantly kept during the night,
for the purpose of lighting the ships
which float in these parts. The
highest part of the inclosure is
constructed with squares of glass,
so that the fire which is every even¬
ing made in it, on a column of
stone, is visible on all sides, and
serves to indicate the situation of
the port to the ships which arrive
from the Black Sea,

Account of Curiosities in Constantinople, 8Cc. 19

We were scarcely re-embarked in
our caiques, in order to continue
our researches, before we perceived
on the surface of the water a pro¬
digious quantity of dolphins, whose
number and incessant motion an¬
nounced an approaching change of
weather. In fact, we had no soon¬
er arrived at Scutari, than a very
heavy rain fell, and continued for
some hours. The narrow streets
and niggardly appearance of the
houses in this town were very little
alluring ; and we soon reached its
extremity, where we found a beau-
tiful cypress wood, which serves
for a burying ground to the Turks.
We remarked several tombs of ra¬
ther distinguished appearance, the
inscriptions of which afforded me
the following information : when
the Turks made themselves masters
of the Greek empire, they did not
content themselves with merely de¬
stroying every monument ot the
arts, and of architecture, but they
seized and carried off a large part
of the w’recks, and transported
them to Asia, where they used
them for ornamenting their tombs.
This is the origin of the great num¬
ber of fine mausoleums which are
seen at Scutari, decorated with
marble columns, which are the la¬
bour of the Greeks.

In general, the Turks regard
Asia as their original country, and
prefer it to all their possessions in
Europe. This is also the reason
why the greatest part of them, after
their death, are transported to Scu¬
tari. On their death-bed they con¬
sider it as a privilege, and a motive
of consolation, to carry out of the
world with them the certainty that
they shall be buried in the country
of their ancestors. At some di¬
stance from this wood we remark¬
ed the ruins of an ancient palace,
almost half a league in circumfe¬
rence, and which before the taking
of Constantinople sometimes served

for the residence of the Ottoman
emperors. Nothing more of the
ancient magnificence of this edi¬
fice is remaining than some co¬
lumns, statues, and foundations of
walls. At half a league from
thence we reached the Cape of
Chalcedon, and a village of the
same name situated near the sea»
We here rested ourselves during a
short time, in hopes that the rain
would cease; but, seeing that it
rather increased, we resolved on
returning in the same track by
which we came.

Alter a few days, however, we
had again fine weather. The ver¬
dure, which on all sides embel¬
lished the fields and neighbouring
meadows, though we were now only
in the middle of December, encou¬
raging the desire I felt to make new
excursions, I embarked with some
of my companions, and pursued a
direction along the Bosphorus, to
enjoy the delightful view presented
by the coasts of these straits, on
which are situated a number of
handsome country-houses. In par¬
ticular, we remarked a palace de¬
stined for a country residence for
Selim, and which was now build¬
ing. Further on we perceived the
country-house that the capitan- pa¬
cha owns, in right of his wife, niece
to the grand-signior, as I have al¬
ready remarked. These straits are
broader and narrower in different
places; the water which is com¬
pressed in one of these narrow pas¬
sages is called the Devil’s Current,
and runs with such rapidity, that
at a certain distance from thence
we were obliged to take in our sail,
and have our vessel drawn with
cords. In another passage of the
straits, you see on one side the Ru-
meli Hissar, (Fort, or Castle, of
Europe ;) and on the other the An-
doii Hissar, (Strong Castle of Asia
Minor.) Both the one and the
other are defended by a great num*
D 2 -

A) Account of Curiosities in Constantinople , &c.

|>er of old towers, and batteries of
sufficient strength to hinder the
most powerful fleet from entering
the Bosphorus.

On leaving this place the pro¬
spect becomes still finer and more
extensive, and is increased by the
country-houses of the foreign am¬
bassadors, built at a small distance
from the shore, the grandeur and
beauty of which exhibit the most
varied and agreeable picture. That
oi the Russian ambassador is one of
the handsomest and most conside¬
rable. Leaving the straits, we per¬
ceived at a distance two other
castles which protect the entrance
ot the Bosphorus ; and at the ex¬
tremity of the horizon we discover¬
ed the waters of the Black Sea.
Several large ships in full sail be¬
fore the wind added still more to
the beauty of this magnificent spec¬
tacle.

Towards noon we landed, and,
having taken a guide, advanced on
foot towards Belgrade, where the
foreign ambassadors formerly re¬
sided during the summer. After
walking half an hour, we met with
a large aqueduct, composed of
pretty high walls, and supported by
several ^‘cades. 'It was construct¬
ed about sixty years ago by a
grand-visir, who was beheaded for
incurring too much expense in
budding this edifice. As night was
advancing, and we were still far
from Belgrade, we were obliged to
renounce the project we had form¬
ed of visiting this town. We
therefore returned to our abode by
the way we came, enchanted with
our little excursion, and with the
, tranquillity we had not for a mo¬
ment ceased to enjoy.

In the course of my rambles, I
have had frequent occasions of ex¬
periencing the politeness of the
Turks, which proves to me that
this nation is extremely well dis¬

posed and inclined to oblige^ and
that the climate alone is the cause
of the idleness, and indifference
with which they are reproached.
The Turk, when offended, or pro¬
voked to jealousy, becomes terri¬
ble, and nothing blit the blood oi
his adversary can calm the passion
which transports him. During my
excursions in the environs of Con¬
stantinople I was frequently a wit¬
ness of the obliging and hospitable
propensities of this people. The
first T urk I applied to when I
wanted directions in regard to the
road I was to take, always offered
himself as a guide, and with the
same readiness presented to me a
part of his food or refreshments.

When we had examined the
greatest part of the curiosities in
the neighbourhood of Constantino¬
ple, our next object was to discover
those which remained to be seen of
the town itself. With this view
we profited of an excellent occa¬
sion that presented itself for grati¬
fying our wishes. The grand-sig-
nior having granted to the Russian
embassy a written permission to ex¬
amine minuely whatever mivht be
interesting m this capital, the most
curious amateurs of our suite as¬
sembled at the ambassador’s, and on
the morning of the of Decem¬
ber we advanced towards what is
properly called Constantinople, es¬
corted by the Turks, who had re¬
ceived an order to accompany us,
and by a great number of foreign¬
ers, who were eager to take ad¬
vantage of so singular and fortunate
an occasion.

The church of St. Sophia, or ra¬
ther the mosque of that name, situ¬
ated at the entrance of the seraglio,
was the first object which attract¬
ed our curiosity. Arrived at the
doors of it, we were each of us pre¬
sented with a pair of yellow slip¬
pers, which we were to put on be-

Account of Curiosities

fore entering the interior of the
temple, -_which is of a prodigious
size. The quantity of steeples be¬
longing to it give it an air of mag¬
nificence, which excites equal re¬
spect and admiration. This edi¬
fice was built in the sixth century,
under the emperor Justinian, by
the two architects' Antennicus and
Isidorus. It is built entirely of
marble, and decorated with an infi¬
nite number of large columns skil¬
fully laboured ; is two hundred and
seventy feet long, and two hun¬
dred and forty wide. It is pre¬
tended that it has a subterranean
communication with the sea, which
allows of small vessels advancing
■as tar as the mosque. The arches,
as well as the walls, are covered
with mosaic productions of perfect
workmanship, and with paintings
which represent the twelve apostles.
rI he first are falling to decay, and
the pieces which detach themselves
are carefully collected by the
Turks, and sold to foreigners.

W e next directed our course to¬
wards the mosque of Aclimet. On
the road we perceived the column
of Theodosius the Great, now be¬
come black with age, and already
half in ruins. There still exists on
some of the remaining portions an
account of the victories of this em¬
peror. The pyramid, sixty feet in
height, which, as well as ’the
mosque, is situated in the Atmei-
dan, was brought from Egypt by
order of Theodosius. This monu¬
ment did not escape our attention.
The mosque, having been built
more recently, is in a more modern

j 7

taste than the temple of St. Sophia ;
but it wants the respectable impres¬
sion from the hand of time with
which the first of these monuments
is distinguished, and which is not
its least considerable ornament.

The mosque of Soliman, which
we next visited, is at a considera-

in Constantinople , 8 ic.

ble distance from that of Achmet ;
and is infinitely handsomer, and in
a much more agreeable situation.
This mosque commands the whole
port, and a part of the coast of
Asia.

We entered it at a time when an
iman was preaching in a loud and
articulate voice. He was surround¬
ed by a certain number of audi¬
tors on their knees, and with their
faces turned towards the east. We
were quite astonished on finding,
by our interpreter, that the preach¬
er had all at once dismissed the
subject of his discourse, and was
now treating of the strangers who
had just entered. He had been
kind enough to exclude us without
mercy from eternal happiness, in
the picture he drew of us to his au¬
ditors, and which appeared to cap¬
tivate all their attention. This
idea, which was not very flattering
or consoling to us, was fortunately
soon succeeded by other objects,
Vvrhich, by degrees, destroyed the
impression of such an apostrophe.
Our conductor having led us into a
very handsome chapel, by the side
of the mosque, informed us that the
grand sultans were interred there.
In fact, we saw a great number of
mausoleums, decorated with tur¬
bans, and covered with mother of
pearl. We were on this occasion
told* that the imans or priests often
express themselves, even in the
presence of the grand-signior, with
great boldness and freedom on the
corruption of the manners of the
court, and the abuses that were in¬
sinuating themselves into the go¬
vernment ; and that the freedom of
speech they use, and which occurs
rarely in a state so subjected to des¬
potism, has more than once pro¬
duced the happiest effects on the
mind of the sultan and of the great
officers of state.

The Turkish mosques contain

Account of Curiosities in Constantinople 9 Sic.

many interesting and curious ob¬
jects for the lovers of antiquities:
among others, many vases from an¬
cient Egypt, from Athens, and from
what is properly called Greece.
We saw in the mosque of Soiiman
four columns, which we were told
had been brought from Troy. Sa¬
tiated, as it were, with the num¬
berless curiosities we had met with
on this day, we retired to our
abodes, and consecrated its re¬
maining portion to reflecting on
the vicissitudes of fortune, and on
the past grandeur of the nations
whom these different monuments
had recalled to our remembrance.

Some time after we formed the
project of making an excursion on
the water in the environs of Con¬
stantinople, and of profiting of the
same opportunity for seeing, at
least, the exterior of the seraglio,
and tfe castle of the Seven Tow¬
ers. On Friday the -fith of Fe¬
bruary, the weather being very
fine, I determined to put my plan
into execution. About eight
o'clock in the morning I joined se¬
veral friends ; and, after going
through a part of rera and Galata,
we proceeded to the quay, where
we embarked. As the sea wTas
very calm, we were soon at a di¬
stance from the town, and within
view of the high mountains which
border the coasts of Asia, which at
this time were still partly covered
with snow. A great number of
edifices appearing on the two
shores, and Leander's Tower, built
on a rock in the middle of the sea,
were the objects which first pre¬
sented themselves to our view'.

The port was filled with ships of
all dimensions; and the eagerness
and activity which prevailed, toge¬
ther with the majestic, view of
Constantinople, and the high walls
which surround it, irresistibly at¬
tracted our notice, and fixed our ob¬

servation. When we were near the
seraglio, we ordered the boatmen,
who conducted our ca'iqne, to take
a direction nearer to the shore, as
we wanted to see the port more at
our leisure, as well as the country-
houses of the sultan, which are built
in the Chinese taste. The seraglio
is concealed by a thick wood, and a
great number of batteries, which
defend the approach to it. Along
the walls, which are very high, is a
narrow path on the banks of the
sea: but it is not permitted to a
single mortal to enter it. These
wails, with which the seraglio is en¬
vironed, are supported by marble
columns taken from the old Greek
edifices. After losing sight of this
palace, we discovered at the extre¬
mity of the town the castle of the
Seven Towers, called in the Turk¬
ish language Edikul.

We quitted our caique in this
place to proceed on foot to the
fort. In the narrow streets of the
town through which we passed we
saw some remains of ancient Greek
edifices, of which only the walls
are now existing. Our course
having conducted us near several
weaving manufactories, we entered
one of them to examine the man¬
ner in which the Turks fabricate
this celebrated stuff’, half-silk, and
known by the name of Schari de
Stamboul; the beauty of which we
greatly admired.

A short time after, we arrived at
the foot -of the castle of the Seven
lowers. This fort is built near
the sea, and is defended by high
walls and towers, which prevent
the view of any thing that passes
within. We very much wished
to penetrate as far as the first gate :
but we did not dare to make an at¬
tempt of this sort, being acquainted
with the rigorous orders given on
this subject, and the little lenity
shown by the Turks towards those

Ladies' Dresses on Her Majesty's Birth-day .

who ventured to infringe them.
Having gained one of the gates of
the town, vve thought it advisable
for our greater security to pass tor
Frenchmen ; which enabled us to
examine with greater facility the
outside of this place. It is envi¬
roned in the spot where we were
by a ditch, and a triple wall, both
of which are remains of the times
of the Greeks, and which immedi¬
ately brought to our recollection
that the ancient Byzantium was a
town of great strength ; but all the
outworks which defended it are
fallen to decay, and the ditches re¬
placed by gardens and fruit-trees
of every kind. We found along
the.se ditches a wide paved road,
which conducted us to a large
opening made in the wall. We
were told that this was the breach
by which Mahomet II. had made
his second entrance into Byzan¬
tium, which occasioned the loss of
so much blood. A large stone, on
which are still existing some Turk¬
ish characters, confirmed us in this
belief. This wall continues a little
further, and then terminates in the
pla«e where the fresh water com¬
municates with the strait. As we
had already visited the port in the
morning, we returned on foot, and
about four o’clock regained the
suburb of Pera.

Ladies’ Dresses on Her Majes¬
ty’s Birth-day, 1803.

Her Majesty. The dress consist¬
ed of a rich petticoat of white satin,
over which were draperies of dark
slate-coloured crape, striped with
broad silver net, edged with silver
ribband, rich fancy fringe, and bal¬
loon ornaments, cords, tassels, &c.
The mantle of slate-coloured velvet,
with JaVge silver spots, fringe, and

silver ornaments. The whole had
a most splendid appearance.

Head-dress of slate - coloured
crape, most richly embroidered with
silver, with a profusion of dia¬
monds.

Princess of Wales, Petticoat of
lilac velvet, covered with a rich
silver net, border of vine-leaves,
and bunches of grapes : the vine-
leaves black velvet, veined with
silver, and surrounded with rich
stones ; the bunches of grapes in
topazes and emeralds ; drapery and
train Etruscan shape. A rich bor¬
der of vine-leaves and grapes, in
topazes and various other stones;
the train and drapery all in one ;
the trimming continued all round—
a beautiful stone fringe surround¬
ing the whole ,* sleeves, a silver net
of rich tassels. This drapery was
far superior to any we have seen ;
it was really most elegant and su¬
perb, and displayed her royal high¬
ness’s usual taste.

Princess Elizabeth. A puce satin
petticoat, richly embroidered in
gold sprays ; a puce velvet dra¬
pery, embroidered in broken waves
of gold spangles, and bordered with
a rich pattern of gold and puce,
from the olive’s shape, intermixed
with , large drooping bunches of
gold foil, laurel leaves, an upper
drapery of puce velvet, in stripes
of gold foil shells united together
by rich gold cords and tasseis : on
the left side, a drapery in broken
waves of gold spangles, and droop¬
ing bunches of foil and laurel
leaves; puce velvet sashes, em¬
broidered in close stripes of gold
spangles, were brought from under
the rich draperies to fall to the bot¬
tom of the petticoat, which gave a
striking and peculiarly elegant ef¬
fect ; train puce velvet, and gold
tissue. The rich tassels and fringes
which ornamented this dress com¬
pleted the elegant and majestic ap-

Ladies' Dresses on Her Majesty's Birth- day.

pearance of the whole. It was
such as always distinguishes the
taste of her royal highness’s dress.

A most superb and rich head¬
dress of entire gold, with a great
number of beautiful ostrich feathers,
diamonds, &c.

Princess Mary. A rose-coloured
satin petticoat, embroidered in
waves of silver spangles ; a black
velvet drapery of conspicuous
shapes, forming three distinct cor¬
ners, each corner filled with a clump
of silver foil shells, and bows of
silver cords ; from each corner pro¬
ceeded a rich stripe of rose colour
and silver, bordered with deep
points, alternately, of rose satin and
silver foil, with brilliant wreaths of
silver 'stars : on the left side, a dra¬
pery of black velvet, with silver
spangles, and border of rose colour
and silver, with rich tassels and'
fringe ; the bottom of the petticoat
a black velvet and silver chain,
rich silver fringes, cords, and tas¬
sels ; train rose - coloured, silver
and black velvet tissue.

Princess Amelia. Body and train
of rose-coloured figured velvet ;
petticoat of rose-coloured satin,
richly embroidered in waves of sil¬
ver ; the drapery black velvet, most
beautifully embroidered with sil¬
ver and rose-coloured satin, and
trimmed with tassel fringe. Her
highness’s dress was a further dis¬
play of her usual taste.

Duchess of York. Petticoat of
gold tissue, trimmed with a deep
gold fringe ; draperies real sable,
gold tissue, large gold bullion, with
beautiful, tassels ; elegant Indian
shawl of gold tissue, dressed with
sable ; train white satin, inlaid
with gold, trimmed with sable.
This dress was extremely magnifi¬
cent.

Princess Sophia of Gloucester
wore a beautiful lilac satin petti¬
coat, superbly embroidered with

silver, in rich stripes, bordered
with black velvet, richly spangled ;
the drapery raised embroidered
sprigs ; an elegant wreath of black
velvet and silver leaves across the
petticoat, fastened with a black
velvet knot, spangled; the train
black velvet, striped with silver
lilac satin front, and sleeves beauti¬
fully spangled, to correspond ; the
whole superbly trimmed with, sil¬
ver.

Princess Castelcicala. A brown
crape petticoat, ornamented with
gold ; brown crape drapery, em¬
broidered with borders of gold foil,
scollops, and twills of gold cord ;
train brown satin and gold.

Marchioness of He adj- 'or t. Petti¬
coat of white crape, richly embroi¬
dered in gold stripes, drawn up on
the left side with rich cords and
tassels ; the body and train of puce
velvet.

Marchioness of Sligo. Petticoat
of white cibipe, ornamented with
white stripes of velvet applique,
intermixed with silver, and trimmed
with silver fringe.

Countess of Cardigan. Body and
train of black velvet, petticoat ol
amber satin,1 with velvet stripes,
richly embroidered with silver ; the
drapery of black velvet, richly em¬
broidered with silver and amber
tulips tied up with cords and tas¬
sels. A black velvet head-dress,
embroidered with silver, and fine
yellow feathers, diamonds, &c.

Countess of Macclesfield. Body
and train of purple velvet, orna¬
mented with gold ; petticoat of
rich purple satin, superbly embroi¬
dered with gold ; the drapery of
purple velvet, most elegantly orna¬
mented with gold. The tout en¬
semble of this dress was one of the
most elegant we witnessed, and did
infinite credit to her ladyship’s taste,
as well as to that of the marthande
des modes who prepared it.

Ladies' Dresses on Her Majesty's Birth-day . 25

* T , r

Countess of Talbot. A black
velve and violet -coloured crape
petticoat, richly embroidered with
silver spangles and pearl ; silver net
drapery, looped up with silver rope
and tassels; body and train of
folack velvet, and violet crape em¬
broidered with silver ; head-dress
violet leathers and diamonds.

Countess of Clonmel . White
crape petticoat embroidered with
gold, and trimmed with rich ermine
and rows of gold beads; the dra¬
pery shaded orange embroidered
ribband, looped up with gold bul¬
lion rope and tassels ; the body and
train black velvet embroidered
with gold ; head-drees black velvet
and embroidered ribband, and
orange feathers and diamonds.

Countess of Jersey. An elegant
and splendid dress : the petticoat
of purple crape^ tufted with silver
The sash of purple crape, crossed
with embroidered bands of foil-
stone and silver, on black velvet,
tufted in variegated stripes, to cor¬
respond with the petticoat; the
whole fastened up with elegant
silver rollio and tassels. The train
of black velvet, richly bordered
with foil-stone and silver, tops of
sleeves of silver tufted crape, taste¬
fully fastened up with silver pord
and tassels. The head-dress com¬
posed of black velvet, a profusion
of diamonds, a plume of fine fea¬
thers, with a real heron. Her la¬
dyship looked beautiful, and her
dr, ess was certainly one of the most
brilliant at court, producing a
striking and novel effect.

Viscountess Castlereagh. A buff
satin petticoat, with rich border of
purple velvet, tufted with silver
and chain ; two draperies on the
right of superb black lace, edged
With silver; on the left, a handker¬
chief; drapery of black lace, edged
with broad silver fringe, silver
pocket-holes, and a rich displav of
Y«l. XXXIV.

silver rollio, and tassels. The train
purple velvet, edged with silver ;
body and sleeves 'richly embroider¬
ed in silver, the old English slash
sleeve, with under ditto, of buff
satin, drawn through. Head-dress,
a plume of buff and black feathers,
velvet, and diamonds.

Lady Mary Taylor. White
crape petticoat, richly embroidered
in waves ; over the petticoat a dra¬
pery, beautifully ornamented with
crescents and stars, composed of
coquehcot and silver, drawn up on
the left side with rich fringe and
tassels : train of coquehcot satin,
richly embroidered with silver, the
sleeves of white satin. This dress
was one of the most tasteful at
court.

Lady Honora Lambert. A su¬
perbly rich and remarkably ele¬
gant dress. The petticoat white,
beautifully embroidered in silver,
with a deep silver fringe, the dra¬
pery embroidered to correspond,
and tastefully interspersed with a
light laurel trimming of silver,
finishing with cord and tassels;
the train white velvet, very richly
embossed with silver, and trimmed
to match the petticoat. The whole
of this dress looked uncommonly
elegant.

The Lady Mayoress was dressed
in a most magnificent and elegant
sty 1^3 ; her ladyship’s dress consist¬
ed of a white satin petticoat, richly
embroidered with gold spangles, in
large sprigs round the bottom ;
white crape drapery, embroidered
with gold in mosaic pattern, and
edged with loose gold tassels ; a
sash of ditto embroidery, fastened
with a bow, and end trimmed with
bread gold fringe, and edged with
tassels to correspond with the dra*
pery ; the whole ornamented and
fastened with rich gold rope and
tassels. Head-die^s embroidered
in gold, and a plume of beautiful

New Fashions .

ostrich feathers* and diamond
sprays. This dress was very su¬
perb* and one of the handsomest at
court. '

Lady Lucas . Crape petticoat,
fringed with gold and rich gold ap¬
plique ; the drapery of the same, fe¬
stooned with green velvet wreaths,
gold fringe, cord, and tassels ; train,
green velvet, fringed with gold,
half sleeves, striped with gold net,
suit fine blond. Cap white crape
and green velvet, richly spangled
gold ornaments, and white ostrich
plume.

Lady Nichols. A white satin
petticoat, with a double row of
swandown round the bottom;
white crape drapery appliqued in
white satin, and full trimmed with
line broad blond, and a net- work of
Roman pearl fringe, fastened with
chains and tassels of Roman pearl;
a white satin train trimmed with
swandown ; body and sleeves or¬
namented to correspond; a white
crape cap, richly embroidered in
gold ; a plume of ostrich feathers.
The elegance and taste of this dress
were extremely admired.

Lady Elizabeth Villiers . A white
crape petticoat, richly spangled
with silver, the bottom ornamented
with white and silver ; an elegant
sash ot crape, with alternate stripes
ol crimson and silver, crossed the
petticoat, and returned with square
end, tastefully embroidered in rich
crimson and silver, trimmed with
broad silver fringe ; an elegant
loop oi silver supported the centre
ot the sash, and fastened up to the
corner with rich silver tassels ; the
train white satin, edged with crim¬
son and silver, tops of sleeves crim¬
son and silver embroidery : the
head-dress crimson and black vel¬
vet, with superb diamonds, and
handsome plume of feathers.

Lady Louisa Corry was extreme¬
ly well dressed in a petticoat of

rich pink satin, elegant border of
black velvet, tufted with silver ;
the draperies formed of black lace,
of a very elegant and novel pattern,
edged with silver fringe and rollio,
supported with rich silver cord
and tassels ; the train of black vel¬
vet, edged with silver net ; body,
and slash sleeves, richly spangled
in silver ; pink under sleeves,
drawn through the tops. Th^
head-dress, a handsome plume of
pink feathers, and a profusion of
diamonds. Both the wearer and
dress were particularly beautiful.

Mrs . Robert Williams. Petticoat-
of white crape, ornamented richly
with gold ; drapery of ditto, on
right side, with a deep gold fringe,
a sash of crape crossing ditto, twist¬
ed with large gold rolleaus ; a
shawl drapery on left side, trimmed
with deep gold fringe, and tied up
with large gold and tassels ; bot¬
tom and pocket-holes elegantly
finished and trimmed with gold ;
train of rich white satin, ornament¬
ed with gold fringe. Head-dress
composed of embroidered crape,
feathers and pearls.

Miss Townshend. Purple satin
petticoat, bordered with black vel¬
vet points, embroidered with gold ;
black velvet and gold points, with
purple satin, formed an elegant
double drapery ; purple satin robe,
embroidered round with black vel¬
vet, and gold points. This was a
very striking elegant dress.

New Fashions.

These were not very striking.
The waists remain the same, and ail
other parts of the dress, except that
the hoops are happily diminishing
in size, to the great comfort of the
crowd. The prevailing colours
were black, orange, purple, and
brown, but above all black, par¬
ticularly black velvet. Diamonds
were worn in greater profusion

The Story of Clara Farness.

Ilian ever ; stones of all colours
were also worn. Feathers were
much worn, and many of them in a
reclining position. Few artificial
flowers appeared ; but many were
in embroidery. Nothing very new
appeared in the style of dressing
the hair : but we were happy to see
that no one introduced the French
fashion of antique dripping locks.

'The head-dresses were chiefly com¬
posed of spangled crape, feathers,
and diamonds. The shoes, as
usual, were made to correspond
with the dresses.

' —

The Story of Clara Farnese.

Clar A Farnese was sister to
pope Paul III., and the person to
whom he owed his cardinal's hat,
and consequently all that followed
upon it, though he rewarded her
ill for it ; for he poisoned both her
and her mother, that he might have
all their wealth. Their father was
a poor man, who went about selling
sausages, like Horace’s Salsamenta-
rius. Clara was married young,
and was soon a widow ; she was a
most agreeable woman, but no
gffeat beauty : her brother was bred
to letters, and was one of those
poor churchmen who was looking
about on all hands where he might
find a patron ; when, on a sudden,
his sister’s charms, and her artifices
together, raised him to a height to
which he was far enough from pre¬
tending at that time. At some
public ceremony, Clara Farnese
was so near pope Alexander VI,
and was so much in his eye and in
his thoughts, that he ordered one of
his attendants to inquire who she
was, and where she lived. Instru¬
ments, on such occasions, are never
wanting to great persons; and,
notwithstanding the pope’s great

age, yet his vices still hung so close
to him, that he could have no quiet
till Clara Farnese was brought to
him. She resolved to manage her¬
self on this occasion, and to raise
her price as high as possible; so a
cardinal’s hat for her brother was
asked and granted ; a promise of it
w as made at least ; upon which
she attended on the old lewd pope :
yet, when the next promotion came
to be in agitation, the proposition
for abbot Farnese was rejected
by Caesar Borgia with scorn : he
had never been a slave t'o his word,
and he had no mind that his father
should observe it on this occasion.

The method of promotion is this :
the pope settles the list of the car¬
dinals, and writes down all their
names on a paper, with his own
hand; and in a consistory, when
all other business is ended, he
throws down the paper on the ta¬
ble, and says to the cardinals, ‘ Yon
have now some brethren/ Upon
that, one of the secretaries takes up
the paper, and reads the names
aloud ; the sbiri [the popes's guard]
are at the door, and, as soon as one
is named, they run for it, to see who
shall be able to carry the first news
to the party concerned.

On this occasion, the pope, after
he had concerted the piomoiion
with his son, wrote down all the
names. Clara Farnese was in great
apprehensions for her brother: she,
being to pass that night with the
pope, rose when the old man was
asleep, searched his pockets, and
found the paper, but her brother's
name was not in it; so she set her¬
self, with great care, to counterfeit
the pope's hand, and wrote her
brother's name the first in the list.
Next morning she kept the pope
in bed as long as possible, till word
was brought him that the consis¬
tory was set, and the cardinals
were all come ; for she reckoned
£ 2

Life of Robert M'Kenzie .

that, the less time the pope had for
being dressed, there was the less
clanger of his looking into the paper.
Accordingly, without. ever opening
it, he went into the consistory, and,
as usual, threw down the list on the
table; but, to the great surprise of
him, and all his confidents, the first
name that was read was that of ab¬
bot Farnese. However, the pope
thought it better to let the matter
pass than to suffer the true secret
to be known. It is well that the
doctrine of the intention does not
belong to the creation of cardinals;
otherwise here was a nullity with a
witness. Thus began the long
course of pope Pauli IPs greatness,
for he lived above fifty years after
this, and laid the foundation of the
family of Parma, which he saw
quite overthrown, his son being
assassinated in his own rime, and
both his grand-children having re¬
volted against him, which, as was
believed, hastened his death, though
he was then fourscore. From him
are descended the present king of
Spain, and the duke of Parma
(Don Philip), by their mother, Eli¬
zabeth Farnese. There are several
pictures of Clara Farnese in the Pa¬
lestrina.

ROBERT M'KENZIE;

OR, THE

ADVENTURES OF A SCOTSMAN.

[ IV? it ten by himself , and iditedby R. Fer¬
ric — G/asg-onv. J

CHAP. I.

XN the latter end of the year 17—
honest farmer M‘Kenzie was re¬
turning from the city of Glasgow,
in North-Bntain, where he had

been disposing of the product of his
farm. In that opulent city he had
met with some old friends, who had
tempted him to taste more real
whiskey than he was accustomed
to. In this agreeable amusement
the hours passed unheeded by, and>
before our honest gentleman could
get quit of the city, the hour of ten
had struck.

As he jogged leisurely on his road
homewards, he began to calculate
his profits, and a violent perspira¬
tion bedewed his brow when he
reflected that he had more than,
twenty miles to travel over a road
noted for robberies, and that in a
moment he might be -deprived of a
whole year’s savings. When these
thoughts agitated hi- mind, he was
almost tempted to turn his horsed
head, and make the best of his way
to the city he had left; and would
have done so, had he not reflected
that now there was more danger in
returning than going forward.

In order to get rid of these gloomy
thoughts, he pressed his horse for¬
ward to its utmost swiftness, when,
on a sudden, his suspicions seemed
to be verified by a loud whistle that
sounded close by his side. He had
hardly time to recommend himself
to heaven, and brandish his truaiy
oaken cudgel in the air, when three
men jumped from behind a thick
hedge, and, in a tremendous tone,
ordered the farmer to stop ; at the
same time assuring him no harm
was intended him. Their rhetoric
would have been little heeded by
M'Kenzie, who did not seem in¬
clined to v\ ait the conclusion of their
apostrophe; but a pistol, glittering
within a foot of bis head, rooted
him to the spot. One of the men,
who appeared the superior of the
rest, and who had a little boy in his
hand, who cried bitterly, then ad¬
dressed 'the farmer in these words ;

Life of Robert McKenzie. Q9

* Do you stand in need of mo¬
ney }’

Answer (in a tremulous tone)
e Alas ! yes!’

f Have you a wife and children ?

' Yes.’

‘ Will you take this boy, and
bring him up as your own son, if
you are well paid for doing so?’

The farmer, who had recovered
his spirits a little, ventured to de¬
mand the quantum that would be
given as a premium with the boy.
The speaker made no other answer
than drawing a bag from below his
surtout, which he said contained a
thousand pounds, and which would
be given along with the boy, on this
condition, that the farmer would
swear he never would reveal to his
neighbours how the child came into
his possession, but would say he
was the offspring of some relation or
other, whom he was taking charge
of; and, if possible, would obliterate
from the mind of the boy the mys¬
terious manner he came into his
possession.

After fevolving , the terms for
some time in his mind, the farmer
agreed to the bargain, upon condi¬
tion his wrife was apprised of the
secret. After some demur the
stranger agreed to this, and the oath
being taken, with that exception,
the boy was delivered into McKen¬
zie’s hands, along with the bag that
induced him to accept of such a
strange gift ; when the strangers
immediately disappeared.

The young fellow, by threats,
having been stopped from crying,
was taken up by M'Kenzie, and
placed before him, who now pro¬
ceeded at a great rate, praying fer¬
vently he might not be intercepted
with the load he carried ; and, alter
he had got within a few miles of his
house, his anxiety became extreme
how to prevent his friends and neigh¬
bours from discovering the addition

he had made to his fortune, and to
induce his wife to submit to the ad¬
dition he had made to his family.
Of her pacification he was certain,
when she saw the bag of weighty
arguments he carried under his arm ;
and to his children and neighbours
he determined to say the boy was
his nephew, w'hom a dying brother
had committed to his charge. These
thoughts had brought him to his
stable door, wjjen he was awakened
from his reverie by hiS horse stop¬
ping at the well-known place : then
lifting; his protege gently down, who
had been during this period enjoy¬
ing a sound repose, he secured his
horse, and, taking the boy in his arms,
carried him into the house, where
we will leave them for the night.

CHAP. II.

Tiie reader perhaps will have an¬
ticipated that the boy so mysteri¬
ously introduced to their know¬
ledge was no other than the hero
of the subsequent pages. Thus far
they are right, and I have now been
relating to them the narrative of
what 1 may call my debut in life,
which I learned many years after¬
wards. At this time i was .about
five years of age, very tall and
stout, and already I had begun to
be noted for a certain stubbornness,
which eminently distinguished me
in the after-period of my eventful
life; all that I now remember,\pre-
vious to my introduction to the
reader, is a very confused recollec¬
tion of having lived in a good house,
where I was made much of by a
man and woman, who seemed ear¬
nestly interested in my welfare. The
family of which I now made a part
consisted of dhe farmer, his wife,
two sons, and a daughter. To at¬
tempt to do proper justice to their
characters would require the pen
of a Smollet or a Fielding. The
larmer was noted for an honest

SO Life of Robert M‘Renzie.

Roughness, congenial to the clime
where he first drew his breath; his
rib was a compound of avarice, va-
fnty^and superstition; the daughter
was the exact counterpart of her
mother, but the sons were noted for
candour and honesty. Such ap¬
peared to me to be the leading fe a-
lures^ of their characters, when age
lad enabled me to make the obser¬
vation. To this family (the younger
branches of which were not much
older than myself) I was introduced,
lire morning after my arrival, as the
siephew of the farmer,, and was re¬
ceived in a very flattering manner.
The money, which remained a se¬
cret with my new uncle and aunt,
made them- notice me with such
gracious smiles as evidently in¬
duced the rest of the family to pay
me more attention than they would
otherwise have done. The childish
routine of my boyish days can be of
no interest to the reader; I shall
therefore slightly pass over what
happened to me during that period,
fit! the time when I dearly pur¬
chased a small knowledge of men
and manners.

1 must, however, do this justice
tro my country, as to say, that none
could receive a better education
upon less expense; a schoolmaster
taught within one mile of my resi¬
dence, and from him I learned
every thing worthy of attention.
To a knowledge of the Latin lan¬
guage this worthy man added that
of Greek, French, and Italian,
which he taught for a trifle that
would astonish my readers. Find¬
ing in me a peculiar aptness for li¬
terature, this gentleman paid every
attention in his power to perfect
ray education ; and, from the small
library which his humble fortune
enabled him to procure, supplied
me with such books as appeared to
him best adapted for enlightening
the mind and improving the heart.

In a word, I can boast, that in (be
deep wilds of Scotland I acquired
an education which the most po¬
lished seminary in the metropolis
could not improve. Nor even were
the lighter sciences wanting : a
dancing and fencing master regu¬
larly made their appearance from
Glasgow' at the neighbouring vil¬
lage for some months during the
summer, and from them I acquired
the name of an expert fencer and
a genteel dancer.

In these studies the time flew
quickly on, and I had now arrived
at the age of sixteen without any
thing material having occurred
worthy of a place in these my true
and authentic memoirs. No in¬
quiry had ever been made concern¬
ing me, and I had entirely forgot
that I was any thing else than what
I appeared. 1 had always been
treated with uniform kindness and
benevolence by the honest farmer,

W I '

who had now arrived to a conside¬
rable degree of opulence, and none
of his children had any idea but that
I was in reality their cousin. At
this time, as my ideas began to un¬
fold, I shah endeavour to give my
readers an impartial sketch of my
person and character. I was about
five foot high, well limbed, and of
a ruddy and sanguine complexion.

I was early remarked for a firmness,
inclining to obstinacy ; horn with
ardent passions, that kindled like
tinder, to the utmost susceptibility
of tenderness I added a great de¬
gree of pride and stubborn courage,
insomuch, that, from my earliest
years, I was certain to be found
the chief ringleader in every skir¬
mish or petty broil, so frequent at
that time in Scotland ; and in these
encounters it was remarked, that
an obstinate degree of courage
never failed me, either in making
an attack or skilfully conducting a
retreat.

Life of Robert M( Kenzle*

From (he nature of the books
which had been put into my hands
.in my early years, which greatly
turned upon warlike achievements,
I had early embraced the deter¬
mination of following a military
career. The lives of sir William
Wallace and Robert Bruce poured
a flood of Scottish prejudices into
my mind, which no new scenes or
countries can ever eradicate. At
this period it was destined than an
unfortunate occurrence should drive
me from these tranquil scenes, and
launch me unexperiened on the
busy haunts of men.

CHAP. III.

If the secret motives of the ac¬
tions of men, from the beginning of
time to this day, were thoroughly
known, I am confident it would
be found that love, or a communi¬
cation between the two sexes, has
been, and still is, the main spring
upon which the fortune of man
generally hinges. Such has been my
case, and such has been the case of
thousands.

Near the residence of my foster-
father there dwelt a widow, whose
sole comfort and subsistence rested
on a daughter, whose bright eyes,
while I write these lines, seem to
beam before me. In a word, this
daughter was a first - rate rustic
beauty, and held the pre-eminence
over all the belles of the neighbouring
village, while I, on my part, shone
conspicuous as a first-rate beau.
Placed in these relative situations,
we fell to be matched in every scene
of revelry, which, at certain fairs,
and other periods of the year, were
held in the place.

As this peerless damsel appeared
to be nearly of the same age with
myself, we had long noticed each
other with the most \tender friend¬
ship; but, shortly after we had seen
our third lustrum , the reader will

si.

not be surprised to hear that our
friendship ripened apace into a
more ardent affection.

Upon one unfortunate night (the
consequences of which the reader
will have to judge of in the subse¬
quent pages), a periodical merry¬
making had called upon me to join
in an entertainment given. at the
vdlage, which was to conclude with
a ball, for which I had previously
secured the hand of my inamorata*
After having enjoyed la danse fill
Aurora warned us of the approach
of day, I was entrusted with the
care of Mary Smellie (so was this
girl named), who, from the .proxi¬
mity of her habitation to my own,
was naturally placed under my pro¬
tection, and, after I had seen her
home, I was as naturally, on her
part, invited in. Her mother was
in bed, fast asleep ; the house was
solitary ; my passions, were heigh t¬
ened with the scenes of the night m
which we had been engaged, and
in which a liberal sacrifice had beeai
made to Bacchus. Let me here,
draw a veil, and desist from ant
further relation.

Before I proceed further, ft will
be proper to apologise to my reader*
for introducing them to such com¬
pany. This apology will be at
once accepted when they reflect
that this is a true history, and'that
the veracity so becoming in .a hi¬
storian compels me to mention
events which otherwise I would
be the last to take notice of.

After having spent several hours
with this girl, i returned to my
home, with a heart alternately agi¬
tated wifh joy and torn with re¬
morse. A few interviews, however,
completely removed the latter sen¬
sation, when I saw that no evil
consequences resulted from the
meeting.

In this delicious intercourse days
and weeks dew unheeded by, till I

Life of Robert McRenzie\

was suddenly roused from the le¬
thargy into which I had sunk by
the information of Mary Smellie’s
pregnancy. Then only did I fee I
the bad effects arising from a mere¬
tricious intercourse, which at that
time appeared to me as an ample
penance for the crime ; for I expe¬
rienced a degree of agony which
cannot be described when I re¬
flected that my boiling passions had
plunged two innocent, beings into
the horrid vortex of ruin and shame ;
nor was the poignancy of my grief
any way abated with the reflexion
(which 1 had never before made)
that I was poor, friendless, and
guilty, and that I had no funds
wherewith I could support the in¬
nocent fruit of ray crime. Never
let my greatest enemy be conscious
of one half of the torture I felt on
these reflexions, and when the
swollen eyes of Mary, in whose
countenance grief was wrote in le¬
gible characters, told me that she
was.ru hied, abandoned, and undone.
This must be accounted for by
the severe laws of North-Britain in
these cases, where the unhappy cul¬
prits must undergo the disgrace of
a stern rebuke, from a rigid presby¬
ter ian, in the face of a whole con¬
gregation. This had often come
under my inspection; and, at- the
time, I sympathised with the suf¬
ferers, little thinking that it would
soon come to be my own case.

1 he time now nearly approached
when I knew that Mary's pregnancy
no longer could be concealed ; and
the more I reflected upon the tram
of evils that a discovery would thro w
upon me, the less resolution f felt
to withstand it ; and at last I deter¬
mined upon an instant elopement,
as I was conscious that, if I absent¬
ed myself, my uncle would not
allow the child to be maltreated ;
and, previous to my departure, I
determined to make a declaration

in writing to him of my guilt, and
of my earnest wish that lie would
comply with my desire, in protect¬
ing my child. Little preparations
were necessary to fit me for my de¬
parture. The funds which I had
to depend upon for a subsistence, in
the peregrinations which my luck-
less stars had condemned me to,
were only three guineas, a late gift
of my uncle’s, which I had thrown
aside as useless. With this money*
and a single change of linen, I de¬
termined to take my departure from
the almost paternal roof which had
hitherto sheltered rue. Having de¬
termined upon that night as the
time for putting my purpose in exe¬
cution,. I previously wrote the fol¬
lowing letter to the honest farmer,
whom, at that time, I considered
in the light of my uncle ; —

c My dear uncle,

f You will throw your eyes on
these lines, and you will be asto¬
nished when I confess that I am a
rascab You tremble : the letter
falls from your grasp : lift it up, for
it is true. In one word, I am a de¬
ceitful villain: the innocent Mary
Smellie has fallen a victim to my
passion, and is at this moment six
months advanced in her pregnancy,
of which lam the author. After
this confession, I need hardly add,
you will never see me more. Pro¬
tect the mother, be a father to the
child, and may heaven’s everlasting
blessings light upon you and yours,
prays ‘ R. McKenzie.’

Alter having finished this incohe¬
rent epistle, I went over to the
beautiful cause of my distress, with
a mind which devils need not have
envied.

The extreme grief which was so
evidently depicted on her counte¬
nance rent my very soul, and the
address which her mother made me
served very little to heal my wounded

The Moral Zoologist,

bosom ; for, knowing the friendship
which subsisted between her daugh¬
ter and myself, she earnestly en¬
treated me to inform her- if I knew
the cause ol her daughter’s sorrow,
continuing in these words — ' For¬
merly, my Mary was blithe as a
iavrock, the greatest pride o’ aw
her freends ; of late her spirits have
entirely sunk, and she seems totally
absorbed in the most profound di¬
stress. Conjure her, Robert, to
have mercy on her aged mither,
and disease the cause of her grief.’
This pathetic remonstrance totally
unmanned me; and, in a paroxysm
of the deepest agony, I rushed from
the cottage, and cursed the hour of
my birth, determined instantly to
put my intended flight in execution.
Rushing homewards, I seized my
money and the linen I had formerly
wrapped up, threw the letter for
my uncle on a table, and ran
many miles without once knowing
or reflecting whither I was going,
or what were my intentions.

(To be continued.)

Vie MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

(Continued from Vol. XXXI II.
p. 691.)

PART II.— BIRDS.

LETTER I.

From Eugenia to the Right Hon.

Lady - ..

After having taken a moral sur¬
vey of the different tribes of qua¬
drupeds, their conformation, various
instincts, and manners of life, which
have afforded us such ample matter
for admiration of the power and
wisdom of the great Author of Na¬
ture, I shall now proceed to invite
your ladyship’s attention to the fea¬
thered inhabitants of air, — a pleasing
race of animals, which contribute
much to the solace and entertain-
Vol, XXXIV.

ment of man, and scarcely in any
instance are to him the cause of fear
or alarm.

The bodily structure of birds ap¬
pears to be peculiarly adapted to
flight and swiftness; all their parts
are proportionably light, and a large
surface is expanded without solidity.
The shape of the body is sharp
before, to pierce and make way
through the air; it rises gradually
to its bulk, and decline's into an ex¬
pansive tail, by the aid of which it
floats in the air. They have, in
consequence, frequently been com¬
pared to a ship making its wav
through water; the trunk of the
body answers to the hold, the head
to the prow, the tail to the rudder,
and the wings to the oars.

The wings of birds are usually
placed at that part of the body
which serves to poise the whole,
and support it in a fluid that at first
seems so much lighter than itself.
They answer to tke fore-legs of
quadrupeds. These instruments of
flight are furnished with quills, which
differ from the common feathers
only in their size. To enable birds
to move their wings with sufficient
force to raise themselves by the re¬
sistance of the air, they are furnished
with two very strong pectoral mus¬
cles, situated on each side of the
breast-bone. The pectoral mus¬
cles of quadrupeds are very feeble
in comparison with those of biris.
In quadrupeds, and also in man, the
muscles by the action of which mo¬
tion is communicated to the thighs
and hinder parts of the body are
much the strongest, while those of
the arms are comparatively weak:
in birds, on the contrary, the pecto¬
ral muscles that move the wings or
arms are of prodigious strength,
while those of the thighs are ex¬
tremely weak. Birds can therefore
move their. wings with a degree of
force which, when we merelv con¬
sider the size ot the animal, must

The Moral Zoologist

appear incredible. The flap- of a
swan’s wing will break a man’s leg;
and a similar blow from an' eagle
has been known, it is said, to de¬
prive a man of life.

In fine, the whole conformation
of birds, conspires to the rapidity ot
their motion. Their feathers are
very light, have a broad surface, and
hollow shafts; the wings are con¬
vex above, and concave below;
they are firm, and spread wide. The
body is likewise extremely light;
for the flat bones are thinner than in
quadrupeds, and have much larger
cavities in proportion to their size.
BufFon observes that, according to
the anatomists of the French Acade¬
my, ( the skeleton of the pelican is
extremely light, not weighing more
than twenty-three ounces, though it
is of considerable bulk.’

This power of swift motion some
birds exert in a remarkable degree.
Many species scarcely rest a single
moment; and the rapacious tribes
pursue their prey without stopping
or turning aside, while quadrupeds
require to be frequently recruited.
An eagle, says BufFon, will rise out
of sight in less than three minutes;
and therefore must fly more than
three thousand five hundred yards
in one minute, or twenty leagues in
an hour. A bird might, therefore,
perform with ease a journey of two
hundred leagues in a day, since ten
hours would be sufficient which
would allow time for frequent inter¬
missions of rest, and a whole night
for repose. The swallows of ptir
climates, and other migratory birds,
might thus reach the equator in
seven or eight days. Adanson saw,
on the coast of Senegal, swallows
that had arrived on the ninth of
October, that is, ineight or nine days
after their departure from Europe.
The old Italian traveller, Pietro
della Valle, says, that in Persia the
carrier-pigeon travels as far in a
single day as a man can go, on foot,'

in six days. It is a well-known
story that a falcon of Henry II.
which flew after a bustard at Fon-
tainbleau , was caught the next morn¬
ing at Malta, and recognised by a
ring which had been fastened to it.^
A Canary falcon, sent to the duke of
Lerma, returned in sixteen houcs^
from Andalusia to the island of
TenerifFc, a distance of two hundred
and fifty leagues ; and sir Hans
Sloane assures us that Ut Barbadoes
the gulls make excursions in flocks
to the distance of more than two
hundred miles, and return the same
day.

Birds appear to possess several
senses in greater perfection than
either quadrupeds or men. They
have in general, and birds of prey
especially, a very piercing sight.
A havyk will perceive a lark at a
distance at which it could not be
discovered by either men or dogs;
and a kite, from an almost imper¬
ceptible height in the clouds, darts
down on its prey with most unerring
aim. That the hearing of birds is
extremely delicate and accurate, is
manifest from the readiness with
which many of them learn tunes,
repeat words, or imitate other
sounds with the greatest exactness.
Their sense of smelling seems to be
equally vivid in the generality of
birds. Many of them scent their
prey at a vast distance, and others
are preserved by this sense from
their merciless pursuers. In decoys,
where ducks are caught, the men
who attend them always keep a
piece of turf burning near their
mouths, on which they breathe, lest
the fowl should smell them and fly
away. As the practice is general,
there seems iinie reason to doubt
that it is necessary, and certainly
must be admitted as a proof of the
acuteness of the sense of smelling in
at least this species of the feathered
tribes.

But the instincts observable in

The Moral Zoologist.

birds' are more particularly worthy
the attention of the moral naturalist,
as they evince the wisdom of the
great Creator, and his care for the
preservat.on of his works, to all of
which lie widely extends his tender
mercies. The nests framed by the
various species of birds are remark¬
ably adapted to the climate in which
they are found, their habits of living,
and the dangers to which they are
exposed from their natural enemies
and pursuers. In the construction
of these nests almost every species
has a peculiar architecture of its
own, adapted to the number of eggs,
thedemperature of the climate, or
the respective heat of the little ami-
mars own body. When the eggs
are many, it is requisite that the
nest should be warm, that all may
receive an equal portioryof the ani¬
mal heat. The wren, and all the
small birds, therefore, make the nest
very warm, because their eggs are
numerous ; while, on the contrary,
the plover (that lias but two eggs),
the eagle, and the crow, are less
solicitous in this respect ; since,
their eggs being few, and their bo¬
dies large, they can with certainty
communicate heat to them by sitting
on them. With respect to climate,
it may be observed that water-fowl,
in warmer countries, are very care¬
less in making their nests; but, in
the colder, take every precaution to
render them warm ; and some spe¬
cies will even strip the soft dow'n
from their breasts, to line and de¬
fend .them against the cold.

Every species of the feathered
creation, however, in general, when
about to make its nest and hatch its
young, resorts to th.osc places where
the climate is sufficiently favourable,
and food found in the greatest abun¬
dance. 1'he larger birds as also
those of the aquatic kinds, choose
places as remote as possible from
the observation of man. Some
birds, who are in danger principally

from the serpent, hang their nests on
the end of a small bough, and form
the entrance from below, by which
means they are secured both from
the serpent and the monkey tribes.
But all the smaller birds, which feed
upon fruits and corn, and conse¬
quently frequently devour the pro¬
duce of the labour of the husband¬
man, seem to take every precaution
to conceal themselves ; while the
larger kinds, which lead their lives
at a distance from the abodes of
men, appear to be merely intent on
guarding against wild beasts and
vermin.

The patience and perseverance
of birds, while hatching their eggs
and attending their young, is ex¬
treme. They cannot be driven from
the nest, either by hunger or the
dread of danger. The female is
frequently fat when she begins to sit,
but wasted and almost starved be¬
fore her young are fledged. Some
of the larger birds bring the female
food while she is sitting, and that
in ' considerable abundance; but,
among the smaller tribes, the male
only sits near her on some tree, and
soothes her by his singing: when
she is tired, he will sometimes take
her place; and, while she flies
abroad, patiently wait her return.
When the young are hatched, the
old birds are employed in the most
indefatigable manner in supplying
them with food. The rapacious
kinds now become morethan usually
fierce and active. They carry their
prey, yet warm with life, to the
nest, and early accustom their young
to seize and rend it. The smaller
birds discontinue their singing, and
give their whole attention to the
providing of sustenance for their
offspring. They take care to pro¬
cure them a regular supply; and
feed them in their turns, that one.
may not engross all to himself, and
deprive the rest of nourishment.
When the whole family is fully
F 2 ' • •

36 The Moral Zoologist .

plumed, and capable of avoiding
danger by flight, they are led forth
by their parents, and initiated in the
art of providing for their own sub¬
sistence. They are shown the
places which their prey haunts, or
where their food is generally found
in greatest abundance ; they are
taught the methods of discovering
and carrying it away; till at length,
when they are sufficiently able to
take care of themselves, the old
ones finally leave them, and all con¬
nexion between them ceases for
ever.

Though birds are so perfectly
formed for a wandering life, and so
well fitted for changing place with
ease and rapidity, we yet find them
hi general addicted to remain in the
places where they have been bred.
The rook does not desire, unless she
be disturbed, to leave her native
grove; the blackbird frequents the
hedge to which she has been ac¬
customed y and the redbreast conti¬
nues in one certain district, from
which he seldom removes, but seems
to claim as his own, by driving out
every intruder of the same species.
They appear to be excited to mi¬
gration only by the change of the
seasons, by hunger, or by fear.
Actuated by one of these powerful
motives, the birds usually called
birds of passage forsake us every
year for a certain period, and make
their regular and expected returns.

These annual emigrations have
afforded much employment to the
curiosity of mankind, yet are there
few subjects concerning which less
has been discovered. It is generally
believed that the cause of their re¬
treat from the places they frequent
is either the scarcity of food, or
the want of a convenient situa-
.tion for producing and nurturing
their young. Thus the starling, in
Sweden, at the approach of winter,
passes every year into Germany,
and 'the lien-chaffinches of the same

Vi i f • , ; ! t . a * ; * »«<*•• v • , * « r «. -

country are seen every year to fly
through Holland in large flocks, in
quest, no doubt, of a warmer cli¬
mate. Others make journeys of
much greater length. The quails,
in spring, quit the burning heats of
Africa for the milder temperature
of Europe; and, when the summer
is over, return to enjoy in Egypt
a winter which has none of the
rigours of that season. These
journeys are made by them in such
a manner that they appear a pre¬
concerted undertaking. They meet
in some open place for several days
before their departure, and seem to
discuss the mode in which they shall
proceed, by an odd End of chatter¬
ing, When their plan is settled,
they all take flight together, and
often are met with in such numbers
that they seem ,o mariners, at sea
like a cloud resting on the horizon.
The strongest and boldest, and by
much the greatest number, arrive
safely at the place of their destina¬
tion; but many grow weary by the
way, and, overpowered with fa¬
tigue, drop down into the sea, and
sometimes upon the decks of ships,
where they become an easy prey to
the sailors.

Of the prodigious number of
water-fowl that frequent our shores,
it is astonishing now few are known
to breed here. These seem to be
induced to their migrations not so
much by the want of food as by the
desire to fi|id a secure place of re¬
treat. They are too shy and timid
to be at their ease in so populous a
country ; while it was less so, and
when many parts of it were a mere
waste and uncultivated tract of
woods and marshes, several species
of birds, which now migrate, remain¬
ed with us through the year. The
great heron and the crane formerly
bred in the marshes of this country,
though they now annually forsake
them. Their nests, like those of
most cloven-footed water-fowl, were

Signs and TIabor ; a Gothic Romance.

built on the ground, and exposed to
ejcery invader. Bui, as cultivation
increased, these birds became more
and more disturbed, till at length
they have been obliged to seek,
during the summer, a more lonely
retreat, where they may be secure
from the intrusion of the labourer
and the attacks of their pursuers.

Among the numerous tribes of
the duck kind, there are only five
species that breed here ; the tame
swan, the tame goose, the sheldrake,
the eider duck, and a few of the
wild ducks. The rest make a part
of that astonishing multitude of
water-fowl, which annually repair
to the dreary lakes and deserts of
Lapland from the more southern
countries of Europe. They there
can rear their young in undisturbed
security ; they find plenty of food,
and can feed at their ease. So im¬
mense are their numbers that Lin*
pmus observed the surface of the
river Cafix covered with them, in
their progress, for eight whole days
and nights. When they fly, many
of these species generally arrange
themselves ip a long line, or some¬
times angularly in two lines, meet¬
ing in. a point like the letter V re¬
versed. The bird which leads .at
the point seems posted there to
cleave the air, and facilitate the
passage of those which are to follow.
When fatigued with his exertions in
this laborious station, he falls back
into one of the wings of the file,
while another succeeds to his place.
In general these birds return to our
warmer climate about the beginning
of October; but many qf the hardier
kinds of the web-footed fowl re¬
main in the northern countries
during the vvhole winter, except
when it proves more than ordinarily
severe, and compels them to seek a
milder region..

The migration of swallows is
attended with circumstances which
render ii difficult to form a decided

opinion concerning it. It is admit¬
ted that they pass, in great numbers,
into warmer climates at the ap¬
proach of our winter, and return
about the beginning of summer;
but it is also asserted that numbers
of them continue here, during win¬
ter, in a torpid state, making their
retreat, like bats, into old walls or
hollow trees ; and, according to
accounts so well attested that it
seems impossible to refuse belief to
them, they have been drawn up in
clusters from the bottoms of rivers
and pond"’, and revived on being
brought into a warm place.

I need not remind your ladyship
in how striking a manner the struc¬
ture and various instincts of the fea¬
thered tribes evince the power and
wisdom of the great Creator ; the
facts need only to be recited, and
the comment will present itself to
the dullest apprehension. I shall
conclude this letter, therefore, with
assuring your ladyship that I re*
main, with the utmost esteem and
affection, your faithful Eugenia,
(To be continued.)

SIGNE AND HABOR;

OR,

LOVE STRONGER THAN DEATH:

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

[F/ cm the Danish cf M. Suhm .]

* Ah ! te mese si partem animse rapit
Maturior vis, quid moror alteram *

. .-...Noa ego perfidum

E>ixi sacramentum. Ibim us, ibfmus,
Ulcunque precedes, supremum
Carpere iter comites parati.5

King Sigar * dwelt in Sigerstedt,

aqd reigned over the southern part

^ Sigar, according to Saxo Grammaticus,
vyastho 34tl> king of Denmark. The stoiy
of the love-adventure of his daughter Sigi e
with Hagbarth (the son of Hamund, a king"
of Norway), and their deaths, as related by
the above-mentioned fabulous historian^
has famished the subject of M. Suha'a ro¬
mance.

38 Signe cmd Ilabor ;

of Zealand. Bern, princess of Up-
sal, was his queen. By her he be¬
came father of Syvald, A If, and
Alger — brave warriors. Signe, his
only daughter, was as renowned for
beauty and understanding as her
brothers were for courage and mar¬
tial prowess. To these she added
a firmness and constancy in her re¬
solutions rarely to be found in her
sex, a truth and sincerity which'
were admired even in those early
ages, and a magnanimity which
rendered her worthy of the sceptre.
She declared her intention publicly
to make a vow, in the temple of
Frey a % that no man should loose
her virgin zone, unless he should
first have overcome her two bro¬
thers, A If and Alger, in fight, and
compelled them to sue for a truce.
Her eldest brother Syvald, widely
as the fame of his heroism was
spread, she too fondly loved to ex¬
pose to any danger. ‘ The warlike
deeds of my brothers/ said she, 4 are
known on the Frisic, the British,
and the Francic shores. There have
they furnished food to the raven f ;
tire re the bird of Odin screams over
the bodies of the slain/

The Danish people crowded in
multitudes to be present when Signe
took this vow. She walked in so¬
lemn state to the altar, took from
her head the garland she wore, and,
holding it before the statue of the
goddess— f I swear,’ said she, * by
thee, O Frey a ! who governest the
night, and inclinest ail hearts to
love, that I never will take from
my head this virgin crown* (and,
thus saying, she replaced it on her
head) ‘ till a warrior shall woo me
who shall prove himself the bravest
of men/ She now took U horn filled

* Freva was the Venus of the northern
nn thologv. She was represented sitting in
a chariot drawn by cats.

p The standard of tire ancient Danes
fcore the figure of a raven.

a (J o th ic Rom a n cc.

with marc’s blood, and poured it on
the image of the goddess, on the
chariot, and the figures ol the ani¬
mals attached to it. Her yellow
hair, which outshone the flaming
gold, floated on her snow white
shoulders, ajid was bound with a
crimson ribband. Her large blue
eyes beamed with the exalted and
generous sentiments of her soul,
and resembled the eyes of Odin
when he glances them on his victo¬
rious warriors. The whole assem¬
bly raised a shout of joy, and struck
their swords upon their shields
with so loud a clangour, that the
birds, as they flew over, fell down
with fear. With one voice ex¬
claimed the multitude — f The vow
becomes the daughter of Denmark.
Signe is an heroic Dane/ Some ve¬
nerable matrons alone wept and
said — ‘ Signe must for ever remain
a virgin; never will she know the
joys which Freva bestows on other
mortals, for her brothers are invin¬
cible.’ — ‘ Even then/ replied Signe,
* the race of my royal house will not
fail/ — ‘ See/ said the matrons, ( the
moon is veiled in clouds : Freya
mourns that her beloved daughter
has proved faithless to her/ — ‘ No;
Freya mourns for Oddur *, and is,
willing that my love should resem¬
ble her own/

Signrmovv arose ; he took in his
hand his sceptre, which was sacred
and venerable, not on account ot
the value of its materials or decora¬
tions, but from its antiquity and the
heroes by which it had been borne.
It was merely a knotty staff of ash,
from which all the branches, had
been cut. Sigar waved it and said
— ‘ I swear by this sacred sceptre,
borne by my great ancestors, and
which was cut from the tree by t lie

p Oddur was the husband of Freya.
According to the northern mythology, he
had left her, and she continually wept hi§
absence.

a Signe and 1 tab or ;

heroic chieftain Dan*, with his
own roval hands, that this oath of
my daughter shall be observed in¬
violably, and that 1 will give her to
no one but to him who shall excel
all others' in courage and martial
achievements. 1 will defend her
with the whole force of my kino;-

• * D

dom against all violence, and every
daring attempt/ The whole as¬
sembly now exclaimed — ‘ Sigar is
worthy of Signs, and Signe is wor¬
thy of Iter race/

At that time lived in Norway, in
the district of Drontheim, a king
named Hamund. He had four va¬
liant sons, Hukon, Habor, Helvin,
and Hamund. They had all ob-i
tained renown by long sea-excur¬
sions and great victories ; Hakon
especially, for he had conquered
the Swedish king Hugleik, the bro¬
ther of queen Bera, and placed him¬
self on the throne of Upsal. One
da\ , Habor came to his fadier Ha-
rrfund, and said to him — ‘ Father, I
envy not mv brother the great name
he has acquired ; may his fame
spread to the ends of the earth ! But
1 will not consent that mine shall be
less than his: I too will merit to
sit with Odin/ The old king em¬
braced his son, and a tear flowed
down his cheek — the first he had
shed since he had wept over the
grave of his* beloved queen Alvilda.
— ‘ I know/ said he, * the valour of
the Normans; thus must a Nor¬
wegian think 1 cannot sufficiently
thank thee, great father Odin, that
the sons thou hast given me resem¬
ble me. My ships, my warriors,
mv swords, iny shields, my darts,
are ready : choose the best of them ;
choose as many as thou wilt, and
carry the glory of Norway through
the world. But,- tell me, whom

* The founder, according to the northern
traditions, of the* kingdom of Denmaik«r

a Gothic Romance. o9

wilt thou attack, that thy renown
may equal that of thy brother ?

Habor was long silent : his
cheeks glowed with an anxious
flame: at length he said — "The
Danish Freya, Signe, the daughter
of Sigar, has made a vow that she
will marry the warrior who shall be
able to overcome her brothers lit
fight. She means to continue for
ever a virgin, and defies us with the
scornful pride of her race, with
Danish pride. But this hand shall
combat, conquer, and obtain the
prize/1

The aged Norman turned pale.—

* Rash youth/ said he, ‘ thou rushest
upon certain death. But this 1 reck
not: for, though thou sbouldst fall
without victory, thou wilt not with¬
out glory. Yet thou riskest the ho¬
nour of Norway. The Danish he¬
roes are fierce as bears robbed os
their young. They know not flight.
How often have I seen their furious
valour in the martial encounter ’
They fought by my side, but never
vet against me; for much more do
I wish Ihe Dane,s to be my friends
than my enemies. Desist from your
purpose, my Habor, and contend
not in vain against the sons of war.’

‘ Signe is the prize/ exclaimed
Habor, while his eyes, sparkled
with redoubled fire. ‘Fame vaunts
her virtues and her beauty. Norway
cannot lose her honour, though 1
should fall. It is honourable to fail
by A) f and Alger; and Norway has
a thousand warriors, as brave as I,
who will avenge my death. I will
fight, though more than mortal force
opposed me: Signe is the prize/

' ‘ I recognise the Norman/ re¬
plied the king, ‘I -recognise my
son. Immoveable in his resolution,
he defies danger, terror, death, and
fate. Go, my son, thy valour be
thy conductor. Living or dead,
tiiou wilt do liie honour. Thou art

Signe and Habor s

the image of thy mother Alvilda :
t'bou hast her beauty heightened by
manly vigour and martial courage.’
— The old man embraced him. —

* May fortune follow thee/ said he,

* and Odin and the Fates be thy
guides !’— -Habor withdrew from the
arms of his father, hastily retired,
and said to himself when he was
alone — f Whether living or dead, I
will be worthy of Hamund/

A fleet was now fitted out with
all expedition, and in a short time
a hundred well-appointed vessels
were assembled at the mouth of the
Nidelbe. They were manned with
brave and chosen warriors ; the
youth of Norway flocked to them
from every part, for all were anx¬
ious to share in this heroic, enter¬
prise, and derive honour from the
conquest of a hitherto invincible
people. The Tellehoans came with
their bows, the inhabitants of Hor-
deland with their two-edged axes,
and those of Drontheim with their
broad swords. The sails of the ship
which carried Habor were of silk of
a deep gold colour, to signify the
fire that blazed in his breast, as also
the courage with which he would
brave every danger. His shield wras
white, with a golden border. On
it was represented a bear conflict¬
ing with a wild boar. The wind
was favourable, and in eleven days
they reached the Belt, and the next
day the river which flowed up to Si-
gerstedt. There Habor landed with
twelve of his bravest attendants.

When he approached the city, a
sentinel called to him, and demand¬
ed wherefore he was come. — ‘ My
name/ said he, * is Habor; I seek
Sigar, and propose to win his daugh¬
ter in combat/ — The sentinel
laughed aloud Friend/ said he,

* you would attempt what is impos¬
sible. The force of Alf and Alger
is like the thunderbolt. But wait
a short time : I will inform the king.

a Gothic Romance .

He will not be offended at your rash
and absurd wfish to fall by the
hands of his sons/

The sentinel hastened to his so¬
vereign. — * Hail !’ said he, ‘ king
Sigar. Without are thirteen valiant
Normans. Their aspect is fierce,
and fire sparkles in their eyes.
Their leader, Habor, demands Signe
or death. Bera, the queen, burst
into a contemptuous laugh — * Now/
said she, ‘ shall I be revenged, if
not of Hakon, at least of Hakon’s
brother. Hakon drove my brother
Hugleik from his throne, on which
he sits, arrayed in the splendor pur¬
chased with his treasures, and, with
my brother’s silver horn in his hand,
devotes the name of Hugleik to the
scorn of his insulting court. But by
Alf and Alger shall Habor fall ; the
ravens shall drink his blood, and
afterwards shall the turn of Hakon
arrive/

Thus proudly spoke the queen ;
but Sigar turned pale, for he was
no warrior. He had made some
naval expeditions in his youth, but
more from compliance with the cus¬
tom of the age than from martial
inclination. He therefore said — ‘ I
could not have expected this chal¬
lenge. The Danes and Norwe¬
gians are both brave, and from time
immemorial have been friends to
each other. Great is the prowess
of Alf and Alger; but the valour
of Habor is also known through all
the regions of the north. The vow,
however, shall be fulfilled ; and I
trust that Odin will still continue to
extend his favour and protection to
Denmark/

* This is spoken as becomes a
king/ rejoined Bera. * Habor
rushes on certain death. Shall not
the Danish and Swedish royal
blood, which flows in the veins of
my sons, animate them to vanquish
a wretched Norwegian freebooter ?’

Nothing more was how said.

Signe and 1 labor ;

The sentinel received orders to ad¬
mit the strangers, and Habor enter¬
ed the palace ox Sigar with the air
of Balder*, when he walks in Val¬
halla f. Sigar and all his warriors
arose to salute him. A kind of shud¬
dering seized Sigar, and Bera her¬
self felt a tremor. Sigar extended
to him his hand.

‘ Welcome,’ said he, r great
northern hero — hero from a friendly
country — be seated by my side. We
will spare neither beer nor mead
while thou shalt remain at my court :
thou art worthy to be our guest.’

* King of the Danes,’ answered
Habor, * I hate idleness ; my soul
cannot remain inactive, and victory
follows my banners. You know my
purpose: your warrior must have
told it to you.’

‘ I know it,’ said the king,, with
a half-stifled sigh ; ‘ but Alf and
Alger are now not with us. For a
short time they are employed in an
expedition to the Wendean shores,
where they bathe themselves in the
blood of robbers* Remain, how¬
ever, here : my daughter, shall bring
you a horn Full of mead.’

Habor now sat in silence, while
all admired the countenance and
demeanour of the hero. Sigar look¬
ed on him with fear and anxiety,
Bera with hatred and malignant
hope of revenge, and the chiefs as¬
sembled at tire court with reve¬
rence. Habor turned his eyes on
the white shields, tbe shining swords,
and blood-besprinkled banners.
Fancy pictured to him Signe; the
Norwegians hastening to welcome
him with shouts of victory ; and Alf
and Alger extended at his feet. In

* The son ot' Odin, one vf 'he most
beautiful of the gods, corresponding to the
Apoiio of the Greeks.

-J- The abode vi the souls of heroes after
deafh ; the Elysium of the northern mytho¬
logy.

Vol. XXXIV.

a Gothic Romance.

his reverie, he thought he saw blood
dropping from the swords and
shields. — f A happy omen !’ exclaim¬
ed he, transported beyond himself,
and with a voice like thunder. The
knees of Sigar smote together, and
Bera could scarcely breathe. .

Signe now entered with the sil-
ver-tipped horn in her snow-white
hand. She approached Habor,:
two female attendants bore up her
train, in it, and in her vest, were
embroidered in gold, by her own
lianas, the heroic acts of her bro¬
thers.

‘ Flabor, brother of Hakon,’ said
the queen in an angry vpice, and
with eyes sparkling with hatred,—
f Signe brings thee the fatal draught,
the prelude of thy death.’ Habor
started, and would have answered
the queen, had not his whole soul
been enchained to Signe the mo-
merit he gazed on her beauty. He
took the horn, pressed her hand,
and, with the liquor, drank in love.
She inclined her head with indescri¬
bable grace when she gave him the
horn, and said, with downcast eyes,
— f Healthful be your draught!’—
f Poisonous!’ exclaimed the queen
with violence.’ — ( A guest,’ said
Signe, * demands our hospitality and
respect.’

Love and courage now filled the
heart of Habor. ‘ Signe/ said he
to himself, f thou art worthy of the
bravest hero, and thou shalt be
mine.’ Signe departed with light
and graceful steps : and Habor fol¬
lowed her with his eyes, enraptured.
He sighed for the first time in his
life. — f Perhaps,’ said he, ‘ I shall
fali, and Signe shall not be mine !’
But immediately his rnaniy courage
revived. — f I will not fear,’ exclaim¬
ed he : ‘ inspired as I am with the
love of glory and of Signe, victory
is cei tain ! ’

(To be continued.)

G .

Parisian Fashions .

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

(With an Engraving elegantly co¬
loured.)

The hair is dressed in twists, co¬
vering the forehead, instead of the
tuft a D Anglbise ; the hair gathered
’behind in silk or gold stuff, or
striped silver gauze. It is like¬
wise dressed in twists, with fronts
of black or poppy velvet, forming a
band over the temple, and fasten¬
ing the hair, which passes in twist¬
ed curls over the top of the head :
this latter head-dress is executed in
crape, which rises in small puffs in
the front. Embroidered kerchiefs,
tied under the chin, are still preva¬
lent. The rose has returned to fa¬
vour with tile modistes. Orange
colour is also frequently worn. Li¬
lac is quite discarded. Capotes of
white satin are also much in fashion,
and velvet ribbands in squares of
zig-zags. Coloured feathers are
also worn; and three white plumes,
one above the other, appear some¬
times in white velvet hats. Flowers
are worn only in the hair. The
metal arch, which encircles the
combs, is no longer in the same di¬
rection with the teeth ; but, when
the comb is placed in the head,
the arch or diadem appears per-
' pendicular. Long shawls embroi- ,
de red- with gold are most prevalent.

borne young persons wear riding
coats a EEcnyere , wi(h small lap-
pels, faced with velvet, the same as
the collars': nut-brown is the most
fashionable, and gaiters areas much
worn as boots.

Within these last few days, some
women of fashion have begun to
dress their hair in that mode which
is called a la Ninon. It divides
the' hair on the middle of the fore¬
head, leaving it very low from the
brow to the. crown of the head. On
the very front is a single curl. A
large love-luck falls down on each

side to the shoulders. On the neek,
behind, the hair' is partly in plaits,
partly in loose curled locks. In
those dresses which are the most
common, the hair is in many curls
over the brow, but in plaits on the
neck. Flowers are no longer in
fashion. The velvet caps have
been lately of a dark-green colour.
The hats are still turned up behind.
The toque-caps are of three or four
folds over the brow, with a plain
feather. They are often all of one
piece, particularly those of white
satin. In both caps and hats, the
satin and velvet are flesh-coloured,
rose, orange, or crimson ; many
feathers are worn, and few or no
flowers. Diamonds are much
worn, — in garlands, crosses, egrets,
or sultanas. Chains of pearls on
links of gold suspend the medal¬
lions from the necklaces.

The hair is now dressed in curls,
which proceed half over the hinder
part of the head, leaving only two
inches of the nape of the neck visi¬
ble. This head-dress is called a
demi-Tituf. Under the temples the
hair still plays in waving locks.
Diamonds, or steel spangles for the'
hair, are set on black velvet. The
turbans still go so low as to the
neck. Within these few days,
some ladies have been observed to
wear on the turban an esprit, in
a transverse direction. Most of
these turbans are of satin and vel¬
vet, of two colours. They are some¬
what of a cap form. The colours
of the velvet are amarant, crimson,
and orange; the satin is white or
tawney.. Except in. that which is
called an undress, shawl turbans
are rarely worn. The back part of
the hat. is still turned up; and the
edge of the turn-up is pressed into
a wolf’s- throat form. The very
top of the hat is often in the forni-
ofa dome. Its compartments are
formed of bands of satin on a ground

Engraved Tor the Ladle, s Magazine JartL.i8o3

PARIS DM SS

Parisian Fashions .

of velvet, or of loops of velvet on a
satin ground. The hats are of a
flesh-colour and a black, of a flesh
and rose, or of a black and rose.
Some ladies cover them with a
puffed crape, the ground colour of
which is violet, flesh, or rose.
Grey beaver hats iiave gone out,
and black beavers are coming again
in fashion. On these is worn a
small gold string, tied behind, and
ending in glandular tassels. Hats
made of velvet solely are either
flesh-coloured, black, or orange.
Coloured feathers are entirely out
of fashion. The tuft of curls over
the front becomes continually
larger ; and hence the veils. Savoy-
handkerchiefs, and cornet-caps, are
worn so much backward as not to
occupy more than half the same
space as formerly. The longest of
the robes falls not lower than the
middle of the leg, or the tip of the
ancle : its waist is long, its sleeves
are wide and plaited. The petti¬
coats are short. — Some of the young
men of fashion wear spencers of
the same colour with their coats.

There is no fashion more preva¬
lent than mob caps of amaranthine
or flesh-colour. The hat is worn
turned up with deep plaits or
wolfs teeth upon the leaf. Ring¬
lets of hair are gathered upon the
forehead or top of the head. The
mobs are of velvet, and hats of sa¬
tin or flesh-coloured velvet : they
are decorated with flat feathers :
the ends of the ribbands are not
cut in points, but are rounded.
Some of our elegantes make a prac¬
tice at the theatre of laying aside
their hats or mob caps, as they
would their tippets or shawls; the
head then appears about three
parts cropped. The head-dresses
are constantly formed of long ring¬
lets, and not unfraquently orna¬
mented with tufts of flowers, with
gold faii guipees. Some of our

fancy flower- workers make ban¬
deaus and arrows, which they edge
with pearls ; and at a certain di¬
stance they rival the diadems and ..
arrows of the jewellers. Velvet
ribbands striped are most fashion¬
able. Some of our modistes apply
narrow stripes of black velvet on
tose satin, or jonquil, and flesh-co¬
loured ribbands ; others apply
spangles and tinsel on velvet.
Pointed capotes, a L’Anglaise, are
still the fashion : those most in re¬
pute are of silk. The small lace
cornettes and lace handkerchiefs
are worn entirely back, to display
the ringlets in front, which seem to
be the most favourite style of dress.

[From a Paris Correspondent.']

Amidst all the remarkable
changes consecrated by fashion
in the new dress of the ladies, we
must remark the absence of rouge,
which was once the chief attribute
of the grande toilette. In fact,
formerly they could not go to a
ball, to a theatre, nor even to the
smallest circle, without rouge ; and
a lady without fard was a neglected
fair-one. Now, however, paleness
is the fashion. Pale countenances
are not so striking, but they breathe
more candour, and inspire more in¬
terest. Some persons assure us,
that this fashion is to be attributed
to the fine picture of Psyche by
Gerard. Our elegantes have found
something so mild, so gracious, so
attractive, in the demi-tint which
the painter had given to his pic¬
ture — the young female had an air
of such innocence— that our belles
wished to resemble her, at least in
colour. Hence, when we see a
lady at a ball without rouge, we
call her a figure a la Psyche. Per¬
haps the origi'n of this mode is due
to caprice, the source of so many
others. It appears, however, to
have become so general, that eti-
G 2 *

London Fashions.

quette will banish rouge ; and a
lady with fard will no longer be
able to appear in a public assembly.
Yet we do not so soon return to
simple nature, lor white is still per¬
mitted. Thus, to speak more pro¬
perly, we do not say that the sex
has quitted rouge, but that it has
passed from rouge to white. But
in fact nothing is lost in the world ;
the one quits what the others take
up ; and, from our elegantes, fard has
passed to our petits-maitres ; and
that Titus, who affects a great sim¬
plicity, who has left off powder,
scents, and silk stockings, whom
you would take for a quaker by his
boots,and fora Roman by his hair — =-
that Titus has preserved all that
the ancient mode had most effemi¬
nate and degrading. . Those bril¬
liant colours, that fresh tint, which
form so agreeable a contrast with
his black locks — nothing of all this
is his own ; and often, before he goes
out, a petit-rnaltre, in order to enjoy
freshness and youth, has himself
most carefully painted.

LONDON FASHIONS.

V -

Jl^OBE of 'blue satin, with a dra¬
pery of white lace, which is fasten¬
ed on the right side, and passes
round the front. The body quite
plain. A full piece of lace, joining
the drapery, is fastened to the left
shoulder, whence it is drawn across
■the bosom. White sleeves made
full. A round and full turban of
white lace, ornamented with os¬
trich feathers.

Opera dress of scarlet velvet,
trimmed round with swan’s-down ;
turban sleeve ol white satin. Cap
of scarlet velvet, with a plume of
ostrich feathers in front.

■ess hat of scarlet velvet, orna¬
mented with ostrich feathers. A

Parisian shawl, placed so as to
show the most fashionable manner
of wearing it.

Cap made of a half-handker¬
chief of lace, and ornamented w-ith
a wreath of flowers; the ends of
the handkerchief tied under the
chin. A short robe of muslin, with
a lace tucker drawn round the bo¬
som.

Turban of white muslin, finished
with a bow, and a long end on the
right side, and ornamented with a
white fkwer in front. White
muslin dress, with a drapery of
fine kerseymere. Silver bear muff.

Pelisse of dark silk, made with a
high collar and lined with crimson.
White waistcoat buttoned close
over the bosom. Bonnet of velvet
and ribband, with scarlet and black,
feathers in front. Bear muff.

Lebr unfs new hat of velvet, and
straw beads. Short cloak of ker¬
seymere, embroidered with Egyp¬
tian brown.

General observations. — The pre¬
vailing colours are Egyptian brown,
green, crimson, and amber. Caps,
or turbans, are at this time univer¬
sally adopted ; the latter ornament¬
ed with plumes of white or mixed
feathers. In pelisses, silk has given
place to kerseymeres. Straw' hats
are still worn, lined with velvet.

Remarks on the Dresses on the Birth -
’ day.

Although the dressCs of the la¬
dies were not so profusely brilliant
as they have sometimes been on si¬
milar occasions, the youthful part of
the courtly visitors never looked
more lovely. Jewels were not so
generally worn as on most of the
gala days of last year.

The head-dress has undergone
little variation; a less display of
1 diamonds than in preceding times.

Bows of hair, and ostrich plumes
fancifully disposed, were generally

The Antiquity of Ladies' Trains .

adopted^ and had a very light and
pleasing effect ; every thing tend¬
ing to produce the contrary being
universally exploded.

Such has been the progress
good taste among our leading belles
of fashion; that alb heavy appen¬
dages of dress, which used to en¬
cumber rather than to adorn, have
been judiciously relinquished tor
decorations more delicate and ap¬
propriate. This was particularly
apparent in the splendid assemblage
on the birth-day.

White satin, gauze, and muslin,
were the chief articles of wlwch the
prevailing dresses were formed.

In the trains and petticoats a fa¬
shion was generally displayed,
which has been often relinquished,,
and as often re-assumed* and never
fails to please— the Vandyke trim¬
mings — which were attached to
the dresses of the most celebrated
beauties ; a species of decoration
which is calculated as well for the
display of the most simple as of
file most splendid robe.

Stars, spangles, sprigs, gold
fringes, and light tassels, were
abundantly used.

Point lace also appeared in much
request.

The tout ensemble of female taste
has seldom, if ever, been more fe¬
licitous; and although court dresses
are generally too uniform to attract
by the variegated charms of indivi¬
dual objects, yet it must be allowed
that the drawing-room on t l\e birth¬
day presented an amplitude of va¬
riety, with very few instances of
that cumbersome appearance which
too often characterises the attire
prepared for such occasions.

It would be, perhaps, in some
degree invidious, certainly not a

O t J

little difficult, distinctly to enume-

y J

rate the dresses which more parti¬
cularly displayed an exquisite taste
and judgment. We may, however,
without danger of impropriety.

mention that of the princesses as
the most rich and beautiful that
ever graced a court, evincing their
accustomed fancy, which always
of exhibits a happy union of royal
splendor and simple elegance.- — It
would indicate a want of taste in
ourselves not to mention the dress
of the lady mayoress as exceedingly
magnificent and becoming.

Buttons, of a rich gold colour,
elegantly diversified in damask
shades, were generally wrorn.

The Antiquity of Ladies'"
Trains.

Ladies’ trains are of considera¬
ble antiquity in the British islands.
They were introduced by Richard
the Second’s queen, and then
thought so improper and unchris¬
tian like, that a morose old-fashion¬
ed divine wrote a tract — f Contra
Caudas Domivarnm ! ’ — ‘Against la¬
dies’ tails !’ Scotland Soon became
infected with this dress ; and there
it was also most ungallantly attack¬
ed. A statute passed, A. D. 1460,
‘ to prohibit the enormous excres¬
cence of female tails I ’ In Germany,
the ladies were not less persecuted
for this innocent whimsev. A pope’s
legate issued a mandate, in the 1 4th
century, in which it was declared—
‘ that the apparel of women, which
ought to be consistent with' mo¬
desty, but now through their fool¬
ishness is degenerated into wanton-
ness and extravagance — more parti¬
cularly the immoderate length of
their petticoats ( immoderate iovgi-
tudo superpellicioruni) , with which
they sweep the ground — :be re¬
strained to a moderate fashion, a-
greeablv to the decency of their
sex, under pain of excommunica¬
tion. A Scotch poet of this time
observes—

< They waist more claith within few yeires
Than wald claitti fvftie score of freris '

I 46 j

POETICAL ESSAYS.

ON A COMING STORM.

The storm draws near — the day ’s
o’ercast ;

The whistling of the wind I hear :
Chill is the nature of the blast.

And ev’ry robin tells its fear.

- — Lately a gleam of vivid light
Enchanted ev’ry heart with joy :

It. was a prelude of the night,

Which soon shall ev’ry heart annoy.
In the deep forest’s inmost dell,

When not an air was heard abroad,
Seem’d a low breeze to passing swell,
And the pines bent, as with a load.
High, from the north, with fearful
scream,

Did, in a line, the wild geese pour:
Dark was the wave of ocean’s stream,
And hollow did it mount the shore.
Nature, revolving ought of change,
To tune her song prophetic deigns ;
And seldom, •vainly , can we range
To mark her purpose where she
reigns,

— Soon shall the thick’ning haze close
down,

Soon to the sight each object cease :
O’er the poor flock the snow be blown,
And its gay bieatings Iiushed in
peace.

— It may be, as he seeks his home,
The wearied rustic’s heart shall fail ;
And that he could not onward roam,
Shall be the morning’s earliesfr^ale.
It may be, that the tale, when told,

S.hall wither all his partner’s soul;
And drop her, on the hearth, as cold
As him, attached from every pole,
—It may be, that the bounteous lord,
Who lives secure beneath the hill,
Shall hear — and, from his plenteous
hoard,

Shall take sufficient for bis < will ;
And to the cot, with eager haste,

Shall bend his charitable feet ;

To check, of grief, the needless waste,
And as a friend the orphans meep
— And haply, e'en a night so dire,

Mav truly bless the lowly brood ;
That Heaven may visit not in ire.

But by misfortune work their good.

Haply, their orphan sad estate,
Produc’d by such a sudden blow,
May int’rest him who mourn’d their
fate

A future friendship to bestow.

And if on Fancy’s wing we soar,

The chances of their lives to view,
‘There we may scenes of joy explore,
And with their cause this night renew,
— ’Tis possible, the wildest storm,
Almighty Power ! thou send’st a-
broad ;

Though to the brightest scenetuleform.
May be a blessing — not a rod.

And human hearts, thou form’st to
know

Thy goodness, too, as welfas power,
Should to their Author bend them low.
And fret not at the darkest hour.

— To pity, when the murky night,

Or whirling snows around descend;
Oh ye ! whose fate has been to light
Within the sphere which nerves s,
friend,

To pity yield— be want supplied.

The storm, all merciless, may raises
Remember who has not denied,

And, with thy actions, render praise.

THE VIRGIN’S CONSOLATION.

STREPHON ask’d me -but once, and
I gave him denial,

Intending to snap him the very next
trial: .

But, alas! he’s determin’d to ask me
no more,

And pow makes his court to the fair
Leonore.

But I ’ll comfort myself, since I ’m full
well assur’d,

Hehie’er wou’d have taken a maid at
her word :

Had he been worth the keeping, if
great were his pain,

I know he’d have ask’d me again and
again.

December 27, 1802. ****.

POETRY.

SONG.

Fly from the world, oh ! Bessy, to
me,

Thou ’It never find any sincerer;

I ’ll give up the world, oh! Bessy, for
thee,

I can never meet any that ’s dearer !

Then tell me no more, with a tear and
a sigh,

1 hat our loves will be censur’d by
many :

All, all have theirfollies, and who will
deny

That ours is the sweetest of any ?

When your lip has met mine, in aban¬
donment sweet,

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?

Have we felt as if Heaven denied them
to meet ?

No ; rather ’twas Heaven that did it !

So innocent, love, is the pleasures we
sip,

So little ofguilt is there in it,

1 hat I wish all my .errors were lodg’d
on your lip,

And I ’d kiss them away in a mi¬
nute !

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to
his shed,

From a world which I know thou
despisest;

And slumber will hover as light on
our bed

As e’er on the couch of the wisest !

And when o’er our pillow the tempest
is driven,

And thou, pretty innocent, fearest.

I’ll tell thee, it is not the chiding of
Heaven,

'Tis only our lullaby, dearest!

And oh ! when we lie on our death¬
bed, my love!

Looking back on the scene of our
errors ;

A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then
above,

And Death be disarm’d of his tet rors!

And each to the other, embracing, will
say,

‘ Farewell ! — let us hope we’re for¬
given !’

Thy last fading glance will illumine
the way,

And a kiss be our passport to
Heave* !

LOVE IN A STORM.

LOUD sung the wind in the ruins
above,

Which murmur’d the warning of
Time o’er our head*;

While fearless we offer’d devotions to
love, — [es our bed.

The rude rock our pillow, the rush-

Damp was the chill of the wintery air.

But it made us cling closer and
warmly unite;

Dread was the lightning and horrid its
glare, [delight.

But it show’d me my Julia in languid.

To my bosom she nestled, and felt not
a fear,

Though the shower did beat, and the
tempest did frown;

Her sighs were as sweet, and her mur¬
murs as dear, [down.

As if she lay lull’d on a pillow of

ODE TO FORTUNE.

iNT OT piningLove,butwan-ey’dCare,
Now preys upon my bloom ;
Untimely nips the roses there,

And sheds them o’er my tomb.

In this lone solitude confin’d,
ToDiscontenta prey;

With thoughtful brow, and anxious
mind,

I count the tedious dav.

■i

Remote from all society,

Amidst a sordid race,

My dwelling stands; where Honest?
Scarce ever shows her face.

f - i

Fair Peace, Content, nor smiling Joyu
E’er set their footsteps here ;
Domestic jars do life annov,

And constant scenes of care.

Say, Fortune, cruel goddess! say
Why this hard lot assign’d;
Unmix’d with any soft allay,

Or aught to cheer the mind 5

Ah ! why thus blindly dost thou dea’ ?

Why on the worthless smile ?
Whilst Merit does too often feel
Thy frowns in sad exile?

On me no longer wreak thy spite,

Who ill thy frowns can bear ;,

Bm, by some pleasing turn, delight,
And snatch me from despair.

Eudocia.

Poetry.

ODE roR TtiE NEW YEAR, 1803.

BY H. J. RYE, ESQ.- POET-LAtlRE AT.

1 HOUGH the tempestuous winds no
more

The main with angry pinion sweep,
Though raging ’gainst the sounding
shore <

No longer howl th’ impetuous seas ;
But, sooth’d to rest, the billows sleep,
Save where soft Ze-phyr’s tepid
breeze

Fans with its silken wing the rippling
deep :

Yet still with unremitting eye
The pilot marks th’ uncertain sky ;
The seaman watches still the gale,
Prompt or to spread or furl the sail ;
Mindful of many a danger past,

T.oss’d by the turbid wave, check’d by
the adverse blast.

II.

Not keen Suspicion’s jealous glance,
Not tierce Contention’s fev’rish rage,
Shall bid Britannia point the lance
New realms to grasp, new wars to
wage.

In conscious rectitude elate,

In conscious power securely great,
While she beholds the dang’rous tide
Of battle’s crimson wave subside, —
Though firm she stands in act to dare
The storms of renovated1 war,—

Her ready sword, her lifted shield.
Provoke not the ensanguin’d field,
More than the wary pilot’s cautions
urge

The wind’s tempestuous strife, or swell
the foaming surge.

III.

Oh! from our shores be exil’d far
Ambition’s wild and restless crew,
Who, through the bleeding paths of
war,

False Glory’s daemon-form pursue ;
Whose burning thirst, still unsubdu’d
By deluges of guiltless blood,

Glares on the regions round with fiend¬
like eyes,

While scarce a vanquish’d world its
wish supplies ;

Yet ne’er may Sloth’s inglorious charm
Unnerve the Briton’s manly arm,

Nor Sophistry’s insidious art
E’er lull the manly Briton’s heart.

May Peace, with Plenty by her side.
Long, long o’er Albion’s fields preside ;
Long may her breath, with placid gale
Of Commerce, swell the happy sail;
But, rous’d in Justice’ sacred cause,
Insulted rights or violated laws,

Still may her sons, with fierce delight,
Flame in the gleamy van of fight ;
Spread o’er the tented plain, or brave
With warlike prow the hostile wave ;
And on each firm ingenuous breast
Be this eternal truth impress’d : —
Peace only sheds perennial joys on
those

Who guard with dauntless arm the
blessings Peace bestows.

CELIA’S RESOLUTION.

BY A YOUNG LADY.

Let foes envenom’d arrows fling,
And welcome — lovely Celia said j — .
Not Envy’s self can dart a sting

That shall disturb a harmless maid.

Contented with my little store,

I envy none their gaudy pride ;

And of kind Heaven ask no more,
Than my just wants to be supply’d.

No gold, no jewels, charm my eye;

No fop shall ever gain my heart;
For grandeur I will never sigh,

Nor from fair Virtue e’er depart.
December 27, 1802. ****.

THE ADVICE.
Excuse me, Celia, if I dare

Your conduct disapprove:

The gods have made you vvond’rous
fair.

Not to disdain, but love.

Those nice pernicious forms despise,
That cheat you of your bliss ;

Let Love instruct you to be wise,
While youth and beauty is.

Whene’er those charms, shall once de¬
cay,

And lovers disappear,

Despair and Envy will repay
Your being now severe.

December 27, 1 802. O.

C 49 ]

FOREIGN NEWS.

~ Constantinople, No<v. 25.
11/NGrLA.ND is said to have signified
its readiness to deny its aid to the re¬
bellious beys in Egypt, on conditipn
that the Porte shall agree to an alli¬
ance for the express purpose of effec¬
tually protecting Egypt against all fo¬
reign invasion. The grand signior
has hitherto declined giving his as¬
sent to such a treaty. But as Russia
will most probably accede to it, vve do
not suppose that the Porte will, after
that, steadily refuse the alliance.

• The Porte has made public the last
news from Egypt. The beys twice
attempted to force their wav to Alex¬
andria, through the Turkish lines, by
which they were divided from it.
The pacha of Cairo twice frustrated
their enterprise.

Colonel Sebastiani takes the title of
envoy-extraordinary from the French
republic to the whole Levant.

Dec, 8. The disastrous news of the
defeat of the Ottoman army, in Egypt,
is confirmed ; a part were made pri¬
soners, another cut in pieces, and the
small number that escaped the ene¬
my owed their safety to the garrison
of Cairo, which made a sortie as soon
as it was informed of the disaster.
The ammunition and provisions have
fallen into the hands of the beys, whp
suspended their pursuit only at thp
solicitation of the English.

The reis-effendi has had two con^-
ferences this week with the English
ambassador ; it is generally believed
they related to the evacuation of
Egypt by the English troops ; but be¬
fore that measure takes place, Greats
Britain requires to be reimbursed the
expense of re-conquering Egy.pt,
which she estimates at thirty-six mil¬
lions of piastres. From these and
other circumstances, it is obvious that,
in the present conjuncture, the Eng-
Vol. XXXIV,

lish will not abandon Egypt so sooa;
they behave there very well, do nor
meddle in the affairs of government,
and observe the strictest neutrality.- —
Sebastiani, after having qualified him¬
self at- Cairo, as minister plenipoten¬
tiary for the whole Levant, is gone to
Suez. ' ..

Citizen Ruffin, charge d‘ affaires of
the French republic, has complained
to the reis-effendi, of the Porte hav¬
ing given a mark of deference to the
.English, relative to the navigation of
the Black Sea.

Genoa , Dec. 11. Political tran¬
quillity is not yet fully re-established
in the republic of the Seven Isles.
The Russian -admiral on that station
was lately obliged to employ both a
land and a naval force against the
enemies of good order.

We are informed that great prepa¬
rations are making for war along the
Barbary coast, and that, on the SHh of
November, five ships of war sailed
from the harbour of Tunis. One of
them was wrecked near Vado. The
crew, consisting of eighty-six men,
were made prisoners by the Etrurian
troops, and conveyed to Leghorn,
after a slight resistance. The Eng¬
lish frigate the Provoyante arrived at
Porto-Rhe on the 20th of November.
She had sailed from Malta eight days
before. The captain states that an
English fleet was cruising off the
island of Corsica, and that within the
last month several English ships of
war and transports had entered the
Mediterranean.

Ratisbon , Dec. 17. The delibera¬
tions of the diet cn the Rcces of the
deputation will be opened on the
7th of January. The deputation was
on the point of adjourning, in conse*
quence of the stagnation of the busi¬
ness entrusted to its charge ; but, as

Foreign News.

it expects every day to receive some
important communication, it has re¬
solved to assemble whenever it shall
have matter to deliberate upon.

Hamburg, Dec. 17. We are assured
that England has made insinuations at
Petersburg and Vienna, with a view
to a treaty of alliance ; but the latter
cabinet is decidedly averse to an al¬
liance which would give umbrage to
the government of the French repub¬
lic, of which it has no reason to com-
-plain, all the difficulties relative to the
■pi ah of indemnities having been
settled, and the plan having been
modified in a manner satisfactory to
Austria. -.The archduke Charles has
had a large share in promoting this
decision. -

Stockholm , Dec. -17. Mr, Arbuthnot,
-the English ambassador, gave, last
night, a grand entertainment in ho¬
nour of the birth of the prince of Fin¬
land, at which were present prince
William of Gloucester, and tvfro hun¬
dred other persons of rank and
•fashion.

The exports of last year, from the
ports of Stockholm, were 848,332 c*wt.
of iron ; 62,826 cwt. of manufactured
goods ; exceeding the same exports for
last year by aboutl50,000 cwt. of iron,
and 1-0,000 cavt. of manufactures.

The provinces of this kingdom have
sent deputies to Paris to offer their ad¬
dresses of thanks t<b his majesty for his
late realisation of the state paper mo¬
ney. V ' • - ■ <•• -

'Vienna , Dec. 18. The duchess
dowager of Parma arrived here on
the 15th instant. * j

Privy counsellor of state, count Pa-
•tochi, went last night to bed with a
wax light burning on a table beside
him; the light by some accident fell
upon his hair and bed-clothes. He
was in a short space of time so much
burnt, that he expired in a few mi¬
nutes after the countess and her cham¬
ber - maid had succeeded in extin¬
guishing the flames.

Coffee, to the value of twenty-eight
millions of guilders, wat, last year,
imported into the Austrian domini¬
ons.

Basle , Dec. 20. Citizen Hocpffner,
editor of a German gazette at Berne,

has been again arrested, for inserting
in his journal a satire against the mi¬
nister and general in chief Ney.

Brussels, Dec. 21. We hear from
the Hague, that the Dutch ships of war
which are to transport the French
troops to Louisiana, and to protect
them on their passage, are completely
armed and equipped, and are now-
ready to sail from Helvoetsluys. Ge¬
neral Victor and his staff-officers will
take their passage on board the admi¬
ral’s ship, The other officers, civil
and military, will have their accommo¬
dation for the voyage on board others
of the ships of war. The troops, con¬
sisting of six battalions of infantry, se¬
veral detachments of- dragoons, and
one detachment of artillery, will sail
in the transports. General Victor is
said to have given public notice at the
•‘Hague of his intention to sail within
a few days. The French troops have
not yet entered the Hague. New
orders are expected from Paris, in re¬
gard to this movement.

Berne , Dec. 23. The letter of the
first consul, containing the basis of our
future constitution, has produced
here an extraordinary sensation, such
as was never experienced at any pe¬
riod of the revolution. In general,
federalism appears to have many par-
tizans, but we are still ignorant whe¬
ther the canton of Berne will preserve
its ancient limits. In the contrary
event, the system of unity would be
preferred, because then Berne would
be the chief place of the republic, and
the residence of the government.

Gothenburg , Dec. 23. The fire
which broke out here on the morning
of the 20th instant, with irresistible
fury, was not entirely got under till
ten last night. All the buildings be¬
tween the great South-haven-street
and East and West- haven -streets,
and Wall-street, together with the
Gymnasium and School, have become
a prey to the flames, which have de¬
stroyed the best-built quarters of the
city. The magnificent cathedral, the
episcopal pa’ace, the post-house, the
town printing-office, are all laid it*
ashes. Among all the fires which
this town has suffered for many yearss
this has been the most destructive.

Foreign J\rew$,

Frankfort, Jan. !. By letters from
Vienna, we have the important news,
that the emperor of Russia has ordered
a very strong note to be presented
to the Austrian ministers, by his am¬
bassador count Rasoumowsky. He,
in that note, demands of the court of
Vienna to renounce its pretensions
upon the bishopric of Passau, or any
part ot the Bavarian dominions.
Count Rasoumousky, alter presenting
this note, had a long conference with
count Cobentzel, in which the inter¬
ests of Bavaria are said to have been
discussed. Austria has communicated
to the ambassador a counter note, de¬
claring that she will evacuate Passau,
and relinquish it to the elector of Ba¬
varia, as soon as the grand duke of
Tuscany shall be in possession of the
indemnities secured to him by the
convention of Paris.

Hague, Jan. 3. General Victor,
who some days since went to Helvoet-
sluys to inspect the expedition pre¬
paring there, has returned with gene¬
ral Berthier to this place. The legis¬
lative body has approved the proposal
of the directory, for the observation of
a day of general thanksgiving and
prayer. The day appointed by the
directory is the 2d of March ensuing,
---The government has passed a de¬
cree, authorising the officers of the
Batavian brigades to complete their
corps with the Dutch emigrants who
composed the corps formerly in the
service of the prince of Orange, and
in the pay of England. ---We are
again assured that the prince of
Orange has promised many of these
emigrants, that he will procure them
to be incorporated in the corps which
he is raising in Germany, in the states
allotted to him as indemnities,

Brussels, Jan. 7. It is certain that
the first consul will, very soon, make
a journey through the nine Belgic* de¬
partments of the French republic..
General Beiliard, who has the com¬
mand of the 24th military division,
and was one of Bonaparte’s comrades
in arms in the famous campaigns of
Italy and Egypt, having gone to
Paris, has received order3 to form,

near Brussels, a camp of ten or twelve
thousand men.

Baris, Jan . 9. The account re¬
ceived a few days ago from America,
of the death of general Leclerc, at
St. Domingo, is confirmed. He died
on the 1st of November, after ten days
severe illness. In his last moments he
gave directions with respect to the
civil and military government of St.
Domingo, and appointed general Ro-
chambeau to succeed him as captain-
general and commander-in-chief.
His body was embalmed and sent to
France,, in the Swiftsure, which isar-’
rived at Toulon. ---Madame Leclere
came home in the same ship The
chief consul went into mourning on
the 10th instant, and was to continue
in mourning for ten days. He has re¬
ceived compliments of condolence
from all the constituted authorities,
and from the foreign ambassadors.

The news from St. Domingo, which
comes down to the 9th of November,
is extremely disastrous. The blacks
took advantage of the hot weather, and
rose. In the south, the insurrections
were partial ; but the north is de¬
scribed to be in the most dreadful
state. Dessalines, Christophe, and
Clervaux, have abandoned the French,
and joined ?he insurgents. As soon
as they received an account of general
Leclerc’s death, they advanced with
horrible yells, but were checked by
general Clausel. The situation of
affairs growing more critical daily,
the generals resolved not to wait the
arrival of Rochambeau, but to make
a general attack. It took place on the
6th of November, and the enemy were
forced to evacuate the plain. The
expected reinforcements had not ar¬
rived, and disease had made tremen¬
dous ravages. General Dugua’s name
is to be added to the list of the generals
that havb fallen victims to the climate.
When the dispatches were sent off,
the fury of the yellow fever had
begun to abate ; but the season had
been considerably delayed, and less
rain had fallen than, was wished and
expected.

H 2

C 52 ]

HOME NEWS.

*>p ^ London , Dec. 31.

i- HE dangerous practice of forcing
little chimney sweeps to climb up a
siich on the outside of St. George's
church, Hanover square, still conti¬
nues, notwithstanding the very hu¬
mane suggestions of Mr. Mainwaring,
at the last Westminster sessions, who
threatened to send the first person he
found offending in that way to the house
bf correction. A dirty brute, for he
cannot be called a man, was yesterday
employed for near two hours in forc¬
ing a child, at the risk of his life,
to climb up the. place alluded to;
sometimes by sending another lad to
poke him up, by putting his head un¬
derneath him, and at others by prick¬
ing him with a pin fastened to the
end of a stick. The poor child, in
the struggles to keep himself from
falling, had rubbed the skin from his
knees and elbows, while the perspi¬
ration arising from fear and exertion
covered his face and breast, as if water
had been thrown upon him. The
humanity, however, of some by-stand-
ers rescued the boy from his situa¬
tion, and treated the master with con¬
siderable roughness.

Tuesday a young woman, under
twenty years of age, went to visit her
mother in St.John’s lane, Clerken-
vveii, when a disagreement arose;
soon after which the daughter insist¬
ing on treating her mother with a
dram, went out as if to purchase some
liquor ; but, on her return, presented
to her a tea-cup, containing some
aqua ~ fortis, which the old woman
raised to her head, and was about to
swallow, but fortunately was prevent¬
ed by the effervescence and nauseous
effluvia of the deleterious liquid. We
have not heard that this unnatural
Wretch is in custody.

Portsmouth, Jan, 1. Last Sunday

morning, at half past one o'clock, a
shocking fire broke out in a house in
Frederick -street, Portsea, inhabited
by Messrs. Mayne, and Newberry,
shipwrights. It is very extraordinary
that no conjecture can be formed of
its origin, The family, it seems,
went to bed at ten o’clock, and must
inevitably have perished, had it not
been for the incessant mewing and
noise of a cat, which disturbed their
rest, and timely warned them of their
danger. The whole of the furniture
was destroyed : but what we have
mostly to lament is, a girl about four
years of age was burnt to death. Her
uncle had made his way down stairs,
as far as the street-door, when, on be¬
ing asked after the child by its father,
he immediately returned, and had
actually placed the child on a table
while he turned himself to open the
garret-window to escape ; but, dread¬
ful to relate, when he again looked
round, the child had fallen from the
table and through the flaming floor.
He then effected his escape, by leaping
from me window into the street ; and,
though much hurt, ran instantly to
the dock-yard for assistance, when,
two engines momentarily set out from
thence, and another from Portsmouth;
but, the tide being at ebb, a sufficiency
of water could not be procured ; there¬
fore recourse was had to pull down,
the house to smother the fire, which
prevented its spreading further.

A‘very liberal subscription has been
made in money, linen, &c. by the
opulent inhabitants of Portsea, and the
shipwrights in that yard, for the suf¬
ferers. Some of the bones of the girl
have been found, and collected for in¬
terment. On Monday a coroner’s in¬
quest sat on them.’* Verdict — Acci¬
dental death.

2. On Monday the new bason, in

Home News.

the dock-yard, was opened. It is an
extremely beautiful and grand work,
being capable of floating several line-
of-battle ships, and to receive them
at any time of the tide. At high tide
the depth of water in the bason is
twenty-two feet. The Russell went
out, completely repaired, and the
Ajax went in to repair.

Edinburgh, Jan. 3. The trial of
John Miller and Alexander Mitchell,
accused of murder, came on this day
before the court of sessions. The par¬
ties, together with Stephens and
Shearer, who were admitted as evi¬
dence for the crown, were charged
with culpable homicide, in killing
and slaying Mr. Hutchinson, writer,
on the 5th of September last. These
four persons had been drinking toge¬
ther on the day named, and were
standing near the Cannongate, when
Mr. Hutchinson and a Mr. Black
passed, with a dog following them ;
one of the party struck the dog with a
cane ; a scuffle ensued for a long
time, till at length the deceased and
Mr. Black were put to flight, when
a large stone was thrown, which hit
the deceased on the temple; in conse¬
quence of which he languished from
that night till the following Tuesday,
when he died. Mitchell was appre¬
hended at Newcastle, and brought
back.

This trial occupied the whole of
the day, —-The lord -justice Clerk
summed up the evidence with great
perspicuity, and the jury found the
parties guilty, art and part, of culpa¬
ble homicide; and they were sen¬
tenced to be imprisoned five weeks,
and to be banished from Scotland for
the term of five years.

Dublin , Jan. 4. On Saturday last
- the bodies of nine persons, driven on
shore at Kilbarrack the day before,
were interred in the church-vard
there. They had all belonged to the
brig Frederick, frqjn Cork to this
port, which had been unfortunately
wrecked on the North Bull, and of the
entire crew one only was saved. A
boat, laden with potatoes, for Dublin,
was also lost on the hme night, and
ail hands perished.

Tuesday se’nnight, Mr. White, of

Williamstown, near Castle-Belling*
ham, county Louth, was attacked at
his stable door, after dismounting
from his horse, by six armed villains,
who robbed him of bank notes to a
large amount, and violently abused
him ; they afterwards entered his
house, and plundered it of several arti¬
cles of value. This robbery was com¬
mitted a little after four o’clock in the
evening.

Detachments of the 3d dragoons
were stationed, on Thursday last,
in Drogheda, and the neighbouring
towns, for the protection of his majes¬
ty’s mails.

Portsmouth, Jan. 6. The following
intelligence was brought by the Hound
sloop of war from Gibraltar. Some
time ago a squadron of four sail of the
line — the Gibraltar, of 84 guns, Su¬
perb, Dragon, and Triumph — sailed
from Gibraltar for Malta. Soon after
they had left the Rock, the crew of the
Gibraltar mutinied, took possession of
her, and run her up under the sterns
of the other ships, cheering as a sig¬
nal; but the crews of those ships
remained faithful to their king and
country, and steady in that discipline
and obedience which, equally with
the skill and courage of our sailors,
have raised our navy to such a height
of envied pre-eminence and power.
The mutineers, unable to produce any
effect upon those ships, became panic-
struck, and were easily subdued by
their officers, who behaved with great
gallantry. The ringleaders were im¬
mediately secured, and three of them
have been tried and executed.

London, Dec. 8. M. Andreossi has
been able, through the assistance of
our police, to discover in this country
a forgery of French bank-notes and
government paper to an enormous
amount. The persons engaged in
it are all Frenchmen. Having re¬
ceived information of the plan, and
the names of some of the ruffians en¬
gaged in the plot, he communicated
the facts to our ministers, who exerted
all the powers of the police to assist
him in the discovery. Sir Richard
Ford was on Friday and Saturday
employed in the examination of the
delinquents. They have been taken,

Home News ,

with all their apparatus, and with the
proofs of their guilt. They will be
delivered up to the French govern¬
ment,. there to be brought to trial for
the offence. The alacrity which mi¬
nisters have shown on the occasion,
to assist in the discovery of this diabo¬
lical plan of mischief, is a seasonable
reproof of the splenetic insinuations
against their honour, with which the
French journals are incessantly filled.

F . His royal highness the prince of
Vv'ales, on his arrival in town from
Brighton, had an interview with Mr.
Addington ; and we understand that
his claims as duke of Cornwall are in
, a train of settlement. His royal high¬
ness is to have an establishment of
clear 75,000/- a year, for which a mes¬
sage from his majesty will be brought
down to the two houses of parliament
on their meeting.

Deal , JanA5. The following sin¬
gular circumstance has occurred "here.
A person, who has kept a public
house in the neighbourhood of Deal
with much respectability for some
years, was disputing with another
person in Deal : high words arose,
and a soldier belonging to the regi¬
ment in barracks there came up, and
inquired what was the matter. After
the altercation had subsided, the sol¬
dier said to the publican, that he was
sure he was a Lincolnshire man by
his voice and dialect ; the publican
said he was, but that he had not been
there for some years. The soldier
soon after called on one of the magis¬
trates of Deal, and informed him, that
a murder was committed about twelve
years ago in Lincolnshire, by three
men ; that two were taken and exe¬
cuted, but that the third, though fre¬
quently advertised for, was never
found, and that he suspected the pub¬
lican was the man. The magistrate
sent a statement of the circumstance,
and a description of the publican’s
person, to the place where the murder
was siated to have been committed,
and received for answer that the
statement made by the soldier was
correct, and that the description of
ihe publican answered, in a great
measure, that of the murderer who
had made his escape ; ^but that, if it

was the same person, he had a gun¬
shot wound in one of his- legs. The
publican was taken up, and on Iris
legs being inspected by a surgeon, he
pronounced that a wound appearing
on one of the legs was a gun-shot
wound : in consequence of which the
publican has been committed to Deal-
gaol, in order to be sent to the county
where the murder was committed to
take his trial.

London , Jan. 17. Yesterday, as a
party of lads were sliding on the ice
in the pond in Lock’s-fields, as they
were pressing pretty close on each
other, the ice suddenly gave way, and
two of them plunged into the water;
a man, seeing this circumstance, rush¬
ed in, and, at the hazard cf his own
life, rescued one of them ; but the
other could not be taken c*at. till fur¬
ther assistance was procured, when
the unfortunate youth was quite dead.

20. Yesterday Edward Marcus
Despard, James Sedgwick Wrattan,
William Lander, Arthur Graham,
Samuel Smith, John Macnamara,
and Fhomas Broughton, charged with
high treason, were removed from
Newgate to the New Gaol, Surry.

At eleven o’clock this morning, the
following judges, appointed on this
special commission, proceeded to tfie
court-house in the Borough: — Ed¬
ward, lord Ellenhbrough, chief-justice
of England ; sir Alexander Thomson,
knight, one of the barons of the ex¬
chequer ; sir Simon le Blanc, knight,
one of the justices of the court of
King’s Bench; and sir Alan Cham-
bre, one of the justices of the court of
Common Pleas.

As soon as the court had met, the
grand jury were called over, when
lord Elienborough addressed them in
a charge suitable to the occasion, after
which they withdrew ; and, about
half after seven o’clock in the even¬
ing, returned a true bill for high trea¬
son against E. M. Despard and twelve
others. The prisoners were then put
to the bar, and informed of the finding
of the bill, as also that they would be
arraigned on Saturday, the 5th of Fe¬
bruary, and that their trials would
probably commence on Monday, the
7th of February.

Births,— Marriages

Mr. Despard lias chosen for his
council Mr. serjeant Best and Mr.

G urney.

■■■ BBTI"

BIRTHS.

December 19. At Broomfield-house,
Clapham- common, the lady of Wil¬
liam Wilberforce, esq. Mi P. of a son.

28. At his house, Bedford-square,
the lady of. Peter Pole, esq. of a son.

29. At Bath, the lady of colonel
Monro, of a daughter.

At Belmont, Hants, the countess of
Clanricarde, of a son.

At his house, in York-street, Port-
man-square, the lady of Montagu John
Wynyard, esq. of the Coldstream regi¬
ment of guards, of a son.

January 2. The lady of Charles
Thellusson, esq. of a daughter.

3- At Cheltenham, the lady of col.
Campbell, 6th regiment, of a daughter.

At Bangor- castle, the lady of the
fight horn Robert Ward, of a son.

6. At St. James’s-place, Mrs. H. W.
Brown, of a daughter.

8. At Black heath -hill, the lady of
captain C. Caldwell, of a son.

At Bath, the lady of Dr. William
Robertson, of a son.

11. The marchioness of Bute, of her
first son, at the marquis’s house, in
South Audley-street.

12. The lady of Francis Freeling,
esq. of the General Post-office, oF a
daughter.

1 6. At Walton-oti-Thames, the lady
of Richard North, esq. of a son.

17. In Mansfield-street, the lady of
the earl of Limerick, of a daughter.

At Limehouse, the lady of Charles
Hampton Turner, esq. of a son.

At Stone-hall, Surry, Mrs. Clayton,
of a son.

The wife of J. Woodward, labourer,
of St. Helen’s, Lancaster, of three girls,
who, with the mother, are likely to do
well : the mother is now in her 50th
year, and the father upwards of 65.

, ' MARRIAGES.

December 19. Richard Catton, esq.
of Fakenham, to miss Eleanor T urner,
of Tavistock-place, one of the daugh¬
ters of the late George Turner, esq. of
Barban, in Westmoreland.

21, Robert Foote, esq. of CharUon-

place, near Canterbury, to miss Kep-
nel, youngest daughter to the honour¬
able Mrs. Keppel.

John Pearson, esq. of Tettenhall,
Staffordshire, to miss Hooke, eldest-
daughter of the late George Philip
Hooke, esq. lieutenant-colonel of the
I Till regiment of loot.

23. Dr. Fearon, to miss Rose, daugh¬
ter of the rev. Wm. Rose, rector of
Beckenham, Lent.

Mr. Robert Baker, surgeon, of Frith-
street, Soho -square, to miss Scott, of
St. Martin’s- lane.

28. Charles Watkins, esq. of the
Middle Temple, London, to miss Mary
Williams, second daughter rtf the rev.
Thomas Williams, vicar of Alfrisron,
in Sussex.

29. At St . George’s, Hanover-square,
Aubone Surtees, esq. to miss Honey-
wood, eldest daughter of sir John Ho-
neywood, hart.

Jan. 1. William Hale, esq. son of
gen. Hale, to miss Webster, daughter
ofRowland Webster, esq. of Stockton.

2. At Plymouth, iieut. Thompson,
of the Aggressor gun-vessel, toiniss H.
Price, second daughter of John Price,
esq. of the royal navy.

4. The rev. J - Davies, T wickenham,
to the youngest daughter of John
Hughes, esq. of Morva, South- Wales.

At St. Pancras church, Mr. Vincent
Gahagan, of Tichfield- street, Mary- ia-
bonne, to miss Elizabeth Agnes Kay.

6. Mr. Bury, druggist, of Leaden-
hall-street, to miss Talbot, of Dur-
weston-street, Portm an -square.

8. Henry John Lamette, esq. of
Great Ormond-street, to miss Matilda
Raynes, of New Buckingham, 'Norfolk.

10. At Bleckley, near Northwich-
park, the hon. and rev. George Rush-
our, son of lady Northwick, to lady
Caroline Stewart, daughter of the earl
of Galloway.

Joseph Farror, jun. esq. of London,
to miss Eliz. Black, of Portsea, Hants.

11. Jacob Wood, esq. of Bensdm-!
house, Crovdon, to miss Jane Watson,
daughter of J. Watson, esq. of Preston.

13. The rev. J. J. Watson, vicar ofj
Hackney, to miss Caroline Powell.

Jos. Goodhart, esq. of Limehouse, to
miss Woide, eldest daughter of ihe rev.
Dr. Woide, of the Museum, deceased.

14. At Ardfry, county Galway, lord
Clonbrock, to the hon. miss Blake,

Deaths .

<pnfy dmd and heiress of the right hon.
lord Wallscourf,' and gfand-daughtes.
of the late earl of Louth.

At Earsdon- church, Northumber¬
land, the right hon. lord Delaval, to
miss Knight.

15. O. Anburey, esq. of Thornbury,
in Gloucestershire, to miss E. Douglas,
sister to W. Douglas, esq. Newman -
street.

John F. H. Rawlins, esq. to miss'
Baker, eldest daughter of W.m. Baker,
esq. of Bayfordbury, in the County of
Hertford, and grand- daughter of the
late right hon. lady Juliana Penn'.

Mr. Bepj. Rooke, jun. attorney, of
Hertford, to miss Kinder, only daugh¬
ter of W. Kinder, esq. of St. Alban’s.

John Atkinson, esq. of the East-
. India House, to miss C. Haines.

18. The rev. William Digby, of
■Often ham, Worcestershire, to the hon.
miss Charlotte Elizabeth Digby, maid
of honour to her majesty.

DEATHS.

December 19. At his house, at Acton,
Samuel Wegg, esq. senior bencher of
fire hon. society of Gray’s-inn, a vice-
president of the Royal Society, and
one of his majesty’s justices of the
peace for the counties of Middlesex
and Essex, in the SOth year of his age.

21. At her house, in Argyle- street,
viscountess Bateman.

At her house, in Bedford-row, Mrs.
[A. BretteH, widow of the late col. Bret-
tell, arid niece to the late lord Hawley.

22. At her house, in John-street,
Berkeley- square, Mrs. Prances Til-
son, sister to the late John Tilson, esq.
of Wailington-park, Oxfordshire.

25. Lady Bowyer, widow and relict
bf sir W. Bowyer, bart. late of Den¬
ham, in the county of Bucks.

28. At Cheltenham, Tho. Crowder,
&sq. late of the Enniskillen dragoons.

At Edinburgh, Mrs. Monro, relict of
Dr. George Monro, late of Auchin--
buoy, Stirlingshire.

At Ividesley-bank, Alice Marland,
iged 102 ; and at Winbury, Cheshire,
knn Edgeley, aged 105.

At Glasgow, lieut.Tho. Burbridge,
jf the 14th regiment of foot.

T. C. Sharp, esq. at Great St.
Helen’s.

At his brother’s house, in London,
\zariah Pinney, esq. of Somerton-
£rly, in the county of . Somerset.

January 2. At his house, at Twick¬
enham, sir Richard . Perry n, knight,
late one of the barons of the exchequer.

3. At Staverton, near Daventry, in
Northamptonshire, Mrs. Ann Downes.

4. In Ireland, Mrs. Hawkins, lady
of the lord bishop ofRaphqe.

5. Mrs. Russell, wife of Geo. Rus¬
sell, esq. of Old Barge-house, Christ¬
church, Surry.

At her house, in Baker-street, Port-
man-square, Mrs. Beckford, relict of
the late Frs. Beckford, esq.

At Clapham, Abraham Wilkinson,
esq. aged 63, of Dublin, one of the di¬
rectors of the bank of Ireland.

Mrs. Hake, wife of the rev. A. D«
Hake, of Peterborough, and niece of
the late general Philipson.

7. At Greenwich, Mrs. Maule, wife
of ‘Stephen John Maule, esq.

In Charlotte-street, Portland-place,
Mrs. Barry, wife of Mr. Barry, painter*
J. Leslie, es.q, of Buckingham-street.

„ 8. Mrs. Mary Johnston, wife of cap-,
tain Johnston, of High Holborn.

At Counde-hall, in the county of
Salop, Henry Creper Pelham, esq.

In Kilmainham-gaol, near Dublin,
where he had been confined since his
arrest at Oliver Bond’s, in March,
1798, Mr. Laurence Griffin, the last
and only remaining of the Irish state-
prisoners.

9. Peter Le Mesucier, esq. governor
of the island of Alderney.

11. Mrs. Stainforth, many years
housekeeper at Buckingham-house.

Mrs. Radclifle, wife of Benjamin
Radciiflfe, esq. of the Stamp-office, So-'
merset- place.

14. Mrs. Billings, of Southampton-'
row, Bloomsbury, widow of the latQ-
John Billings, esq. of Gower- street.

15. Mrs. Jane [nnes, wife cf Mr.
William Innes, engraver, of Grace-
church-street.

At Bath, miss Randell, daughter of
the late J. Randell, esq. of Queenhithe.

At Brompton, aged 8:5, Mrs. Mey-
sey, relict of the rev. Thomas Meysey,-
of Pirton, in the county of Worcester.

! 6. At Smyth’s-hall, in Essex, C. A*.
Crickett, esq. M. P. for Ipswich.

1 8. In Wimpole- street, lady Parker,
wife of admiral sir Peter Parker.

19. Mrs. Levy, of Albemarle-street.

At Clifton, Bristol, T. Vernon Dol¬
phin, esq. ofEyford, in Gloucestershire.

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THE

I LADY’S MAGAZINE,

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ENTER TAIN TNG COMPANION

FOR

THE FAIR SEX;

APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

1 f >■ 4 * t

For FEBRUARY 1803.

T The Hu (band reftored, . . 59

2 Signe and Habor : a Gothic Romance,

, 61

3 The Monks and the Robbers, .... 65

4 Account of the new Comedy— ‘ Hear

both Sides,' . . . . . 67

5 The Song of Morrough, the Bard,. . 6.9

6 '1 he Dramatift, .......... f . . , 7;

7 Story of Lockman, a Pcrfian PRyii -
cian,- »••««•*••. y

8 On MoJeftyand Diffidence, Aflorance

and Impudence, ; ..... 7 5

9 Critical Obfervatiens on the novel of

* Tom Jones,’ . . . . 77

jo The Renunciation, . gy

1 1 On the Delire of Riches,, .". . .. /. S8

This A umber is cmbdlifhcd with the following Copperplates.

1 The Husband restored. t

2 Tor the Moral Zoologist — The FALCON.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern for a Veil, & c.

5 MUSIC — ‘ The Sluggard. ’ — by Ms. W. Bar a I.

LONDON :

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THrS NUMBER CONTAINS, '

** 1 * ' ' ' ' ~ 4 -r K,

12 Parifian Falhions, . 90

13 London Faihions, . 92

14 The Moral ^oologhf, .......... 93

1 5 Account of the new Play — * The He¬
ro of the North/ 98

16 On Love, . 100

17 Poetical Essay's: — Incle and Ya-

rico. The Vigil of Elva. An Elegy.
To Fancy. Songs in the new Hillo-
rical Play of ‘ The Hero of the North.’
Anacreon tic,.’."'. . ior—104

lS Foreign News, . 10^5

19 Home News,. . . 108

20 Births, . : . .til

21 Marriages, . . . m

22 Dfcathsj ,.......,,.,,..,....112

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TO CORRESPONDENTS,

In confequence of the unfortunate fire which, in the beginning of the
inonth, confumed the printing-office of Mr. Hamilton, the printer of this
Magazine, feveral contributions of different correfpondents., intended for
Infertion in this number, have been deftroyed or loft.-— Among thefe are9
the continuation of the Life of Robert McKenzie — -Lhe Eaflern Slaves, by
E. W .—A Morning's Walk in February , by J. Webb— and feveral other
pieces* If pur Correfpondents can fend other copies, they fl)ail certainly
fee infer ted.

Veritas is received, and fhall have a place.

The Effay, entitled Political Arithmetic , is likewife received.

The Elegy and Epitaph, by J. M* arc intended for infertion.

cSUS^(ftZ/?2

E ngr or cd for the lady ir Magazine.

THE

LADY’s

For FEBRUARY, 1803.

THE HUSBAND RESTORED;

A TAlE.

(With dn elegant Engraving,)

Fn the midft of the rrioft perplexed
A and di fir effing circum fiances of
life, when misfortunes appear to
accumulate on every fide, many are
the examples whkh prove that the
virtuous, however unhappy, ought
always to hope, and never to de-
fpair.

Mr. Woodgrove, a gentleman of
fmall fortune, married, from affec¬
tion, (which, however ardent, would
be fiigmatifed as inconfiderate by
the coldly prudent) a lady who had
fit 11 lcfs property than himfelf, for
fhe had literally nothing. For forne
time they fcarcely perceived that
they were daily growing poorer; and
even when the ‘ hungry meagie
fiend, worldly want,’ preifed clofe
Upon them, they for a while fondly
imagined that, clafped in each other’s
arms, they could defy, not only
penury, but pain and death.

But thefe illufions muft at lafl
vanifli ; the idea that love can render
his votaries happy, when oppreiied
by the extreme of indigence, re-
fembles, perhaps, too much the boaft
of the ftoic, that he v/ould fmile in
the heated bull of l’halaris. The
moment of difirefs arrived, and at
the fame time an offer was made to
Mr. Woodgrove to go out to India

with a gentleman, in & fituatioa
which might ultimately pro^e ad¬
vantageous to him. The offer, in
their fituation, could not be refufed*
Mrs. Woodgrove took a tender and
forrowful farewell of her hufband*
and returned to her father* who*
though he had nothing to give her*
lived decently, and was foon sifter
brought to bed of a fon.

Within about a twelvemonth af¬
terwards, a lady in the neighbour¬
hood conceived a particular regard
for Mrs. Woodgrove, and took her*
with her fon, to refide with hef.
For feveral years fhe continued with,
her as a companion, and lived as
happily as was poflible, in a ftate
of reparation from the man whom
file valued more than all things elfe
in the world. From him fhe had
in the couife of this time heard
more than once, and alfo received
remittances in money. But after¬
wards fhe heard no more from
him for the fpace of three or four
years.

In the m-:an time, Mrs. Smeaton,
the lady with whom Mrs. Wood¬
grove had fo long reiided, died;
and M rs. Woodgrove, at the defire
of Mr. Smeaton, undertook the
management of his boufshoufd ^f-.

I 2

The Hujland Rcjlored ; a Tale.

fairs. He had always diown the
greateft frieiiuihtp to her, and now
manifefted a more particular attach¬
ment, which appeared greatly to
increafe after the occurrence of a
fomewhat particular, and, to Mrs.
Woodgrove, a very dith eding in¬
cident.

Mr. Smeaton, coming up to the
capital on fome bufinefs, chanced to
fall in company with a gentleman
lately arrived from India, of -whom
he inquired whether he could give
him any information of a Mr.
Woodgrove who was in India.
The oentleman replied, that he had
feen him about two years before, at
Calcutta; and that, if he remem¬
bered rightly, he was to embark in a
few days on board a country fhip
for Tome place on the coaft ; and
that, if he had done fo, he was no
longer living— for that fhip had been
left, and all on board perifhed.

This account Mr. Smeaton com¬
municated, but gradually, and with
tendernefs, to ' Mrs. Woodgrove.

. She was much alarmed and di-
flreded; but if ill chei idled a fecret,
though feeble, hope. As for Mr.

’ Smeaton, he entertained no doubt
of the death of Mr. Woodgrove,
and’ from this time his kindnefs and
attachment to Mrs, Woodgrove be¬
came daily more and more confpi-
cuous. About the fame time, too,
Mrs. Woodgrove’s father died,
and file was left without a relative,
or any friend to whom die could
apply," except Mr. Smeaton ; and
his increafing attachment foon be-
gan to wear fo paflionate an ap¬
pearance as to give her great mi-
[ eafinefs. He endeavoured, by every
means in his power, to procure proof
that herhufhand was dead, though he
was too honourable to attempt to
praetife any deception ; and he ufed
every argument to perfuade her,
that, had he “been living, fhe could
never have remained fo long with¬

out hearing from him. But nothing
could induce her to give up the
hope die dill cheridied. Her con-
ftancy only irritated, and rendered
more ardent, his paflion, which he
at length did not Temple openly to
declare. She rejected all his offers
in fo peremptory and firm a man¬
ner, that, at length, overpowered
by his frantic pallion, he fwore that
neither die, nor her fon, fhould re¬
main longer under his roof, and
obliged them to take the few things
they could call their own, and leave
his houfe immediately.

Mrs. Woodgrove fet out with her
fon to take her way to a neighbour¬
ing market-town ; but, in the agita¬
tion of her mind, miffed her road,
and took one that lead into a neigh¬
bouring foreff, where die wandered
the whole day, without knowing
where die was, or whither die went,
till evening came on, when, per¬
ceiving a gentleman at fome dis¬
tance on horfeback, file preffed
haftily forward, and, conjuring him
to dop, informed him in general
terms of her dittreffed fltuation, and
earneftly requeded him to inform
her, if it were in his power, where die
might meet with fuitable and lafe ac¬
commodations for the night. The
gentleman, furprifed to meet with a
woman of fujeh. appearance in fuch
a place, told her, that if die and her
fon would accompany him to the
houfe of his uncle, which was a?
the di fiance of about three miles,
die would there be certain to meet
with hofpitable protedlion. As they
went along, he learned that die had
a hufoand in India ; on which he
obferved, that Mr. Harland, his
uncle, had arrived from India, where
he ‘had been feveial years, only the
night before, and that die might
podibly be able to obtain from him
fome information relative to her
hufband. This intelligence produc¬
ed’ no fmail agitation in the breaft

Si'gne and Habor ; i

<yf Mrs. Woodgrove, which was
immediately filled with the con¬
futing fenfations of alternate hope
and fear.

On their arrival at Mr. Har-
land’s, the young gentleman haft
ened to inform his uncle of the
ftrangers he had brought, and the
manner in which he had found
them. Mrs>. Woodgrove was im¬
mediately introduced into the par¬
lour, when, what was her imprife
to lee, fitting there with Mr. Har-

land, - her hufoand ! — fie had

come over with Mr. Hailand, and
had propofed to go out the next
day, when fomewhat more reco¬
vered of his fatigue, to find his
wife, and furpri'e her with his re¬
turn. The fenfations excited by
this unexpefted meeting, in the
breafts of all who were actors in it,
it would be fruitlefs to attempt to
defcribe. Mr. Woodgrove had ac¬
quired a very fufficient competence ;
but his defire to return to the wo¬
man to whom his heart was ftill
devoted would not fuffer him to
make a longer ftay, merely to accu¬
mulate a cumbrous fortune. Thus,
when this. affectionate and virtuous
woman feemed about to be defected
bv the friend who had fup ported
her, and abandoned to indigence,
lhe, unexpectedly, found the bujkand
{tie had fo tenderly loved rejiared
to her; with — if not the fortune of
a nabob — at leaft fufficient wealth
to enable them to lead the remain
der of the4r lives in independence,
and urnverfally refpected.

S1GNE and HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

(Continued from p. 41. )

'poURTKBN days elapfed before th
* two brothers returned. In th

Gothic Romance. 0

mean time Habor was conftantly
court, and took part in all the man
exercifes and (ports which we
there cuftomary. He fwam, ra
leaped, and hunted and gained t]
prize from all who entered into cor
petition with him : Sigar admin
and feared him. He propofed
his queen, Bera, whether it wou
not be more advifable to indu
him to defift from his purpofe.

‘ He is immoveable,’ faid ft
and it is preferable that he fhoi
be fo, for he ru flies on his own <1
-ftrufHon. The keen fwords of j
and Alger (ball extinguifh my an^j
in his blood, and this fliall be but t
beginning of my revenge, Hakq
frantic at Habor *s death, fliall mac
encounter my foils, and fall. Tj
ravens fliall pluck out his eyes, a
indict on him the punifhment he Is
merited, for feat mg himfeif on t
throne of Odin. Habor is no
and magnanimous, I will confe
but he is, therefore, the more wi
thy vieftim to the injured ghoft
my brother.’

f Not long after, Habor engat
in the chace with other hunt*
when a furious wild-boar ruft
fuddenly out of the wood, and m;
direClly towards Bera. Sigar c
charged at him an arrow with a f
ble and .trembling hand, wh|
ftruck, but fell, without penetratj
his touvh hide. At the fame infn
Habor fprang upon the beaft, i
plunged his hunting- knife into,
throat : the ferocious animal fj
and fprinkled Bera with his bio;
The haughty queen Hammered w
difficulty a few cxpreffious of thai
fulnefs, which, however, were nil
indicatory of ftiame and imply
bility than of gratitude. All otl!
who were prefent extolled the :
roic deed to the fki.es ; Signe, ala]
caft down her beauteous eyes, i
e faid nothing.

,e * Why were you ft lent,

j (laughter?* faid Bera, when they
vere alone. 4 AH praife Habor,
tnd foon they may praife the van-
Ibuifher of A If and Alger. — Do you
;hink that he is braver than your
brothers? — Will they fall as eafily
is the wild-boar ?*
f Thoufands have they conquer¬
ed,* anfwered Signe; 4 they are he¬
roes, and Habor is a hero alfo.*

4 But who,* faid the queen, 4 do
you think will conquer ?’

For the firff time in my life/ re¬
plied Signe, 4 I feel anxiety for my
brothers.*

4 Heaven grant there may be no
wifh for Habor!*

4 I am a Dane.’

4 Such ever remain, and prove
.'ourfelf efpecially wot thy of your
riother’s illuftrious defcent.’

Here the dialogue ended, and the
jueen and her daughter feparated.

Habor was free and unconftrained
n his carriage and conveifation
ivith all, except the princefs, with
whom he was diffident and referved.
He fpake to her feldom, and faid
Hit little. She anfwered in a few
yords, and never fpoke to him but
n reply. He had in his train a
ionfidential friend, named Afrnund,
jvho expreffied his furprife at the
:ondu6t of Habor.

4 Why/ faid he, 4 are you fo
lie nt when you are with Signe? —
Love infpires courage.

4 Love/ faid Habor, 4 caufes ti¬
midity.’

4 How often/ added Afrnund,
1 have I feen you turn pale — pale
before a woman — you, who innu¬
merable times have faced and braved
death!-— Why do you not diidofe
he fecret of your heart? — Speak,
md Signe will love 1’

4 What fav von, Afrnund? — Do
,’OU not remember Signe’s vow? — <•
she mav not, fhe cannot, love me
ill fl.e is allured that I am braver
ban her brothers. — 1 love her. —

But either I (hall fall, or X fhall
conquer. — If I fail, I conceal my
love. — In Valhalla, Signe fhall be
my joy. — If X conquer, then is
Signe mine.*

4 She will, no doubt, be yours/
faid Afrnund, ‘for vows are facred :
but wifi file love you? — Were you
to avow to her your fentiments,
you would be more certain of her
affedlion.’

4 She does not hate me. — Were
Signe to give me her heart ^ithout
referve, and I were to fall in the
conteff, file would be unhappy ; and
fliould X not be the e?ufe of her
unhapptnefs ?’

Habor was filent, and tears Lowed
down his cheeks.

4 A hero weeps!’ exclaimed Af-
mund.

4 I am a man/ faid Habor.

4 And for a woman you weep V

4 I will die for her— every thing
will I do for Signe. — I will engage
in the bloody conflict.

4 But fhould you kill her bro-

thers? — Will Signe then - —

4 She has made a vow to Freya/

4 J fear Bera/

4 She cannot change the manners
of the nation j this will net be per¬
mitted her.’

4 Signe, indeed, is charming.5

4 Yes, rofes are not fo fair; they
expand not fo beauteous before the
zephyr as her lovely lips unclofe.
Grace and gentlenefs fmile upon
them. He nos* is not lo fair. —
Freya herfelf weeps not fuch tears.
— She alone can bellow the apple of
Jdun f, — With her is an eternal

’ j

* The daughter of Freya.

f Idun’s apple, in the mythology of the
north, was eaten by the gods, and renewed
their youth, jdun was married to £rage, the ^
god ot eloquence. 1 he meaning of rhe al¬
legory, doubtlefo, is that the god*, that is, re¬
nowned men, renew or prolong their lives,
and acquire immortality, by their own elo¬
quence, or the fame bellowed on them Ly
poets and oiators. "

, Sig *ne and Habor ;

fpring.— ~My heart tells me that (he
will be mine.’

4 But fhould your heart deceive
you, dear friend ? — Accept my ad-
v vice : — let us return to Norway.- —
Fly the fire that confumes you, and
which will either procure you death
from the fwords of the brothers of
Signe, or expofe you to fall by the
hatred and vengeful machinations of
her mother. ’

4 Is this the language of Afmund ?’
exclaimed Habor. — 4 Return! — be
difhonoured ! — lofe Signe ! — - O
death, I embrace thee! — Say thus
again, and our friendfhip mull be
at an end.’

4 You command,’ anfwered Af¬
mund, * and 1 am filent.’

4 It is refolved,’ faid Habor. — 4 I
can but die., and then — then — the
tears of Signe fhall comfort me.— -I
know my own worth, and I am cer¬
tain of Signe’s pity

4 I am filent ; but fuller me to afk
you one queftion : — When did you
fee Signe fhed tears ?’

4 When I had killed the wild
boar, and advanced towards the
place where Bera and the princefs
were, what a lcene drew my atten¬
tion I — Signe leaned againfl a broken
tree, with her eyes fixed on the
dead animal--— -Concern and anxietv

N *

were painted in her countenance,
fighs burft from her breaft, and her
tears flowed. In a broken voice, lhe
called on Bera, Alf, Alger, and Ha¬
bor, and then fank down at the foot
of the tree, and bedewed its roots
with tears. — Qh Heaven! that they
had been filed for me!’

4 Drink her tears, and then die,
happy Habor ! — the noble Signe
loves thee. — Speak to her, and avow
your paflion.’

4 A6tions fpeak more than words,’
replied Habor. — f My virtue, my
courage, fhall fpea|t, and not my
tongue. — My filence fhall be pro¬
found as my paflion is ardent.’

a Gothic Romance*

Sigar and Habor fometimes play
ed at chefs, but the latter always wa
vidlor. One day the princefs wa:
prefent, and Sigar, as ufual, loft.

4 Avenge my defeat, daughter,
faid the king, 4 for you are an ex
ceilent player; and let your fuccef
bt the forerunner of your brothers
triumph.’

Signe cafl an anxious look oi
her father; but, without returning
an anfwer, took her feat,

4 Princefs,’ faid Habor, 4 I accep
this challenge, according to thi
words of your royal father. — Yot
fhall reprefent your brothers, and
will contend as againfl: them.’

4 No, Habor,’ anfwered fhe, whil
a tear of fenflbility moiflened he
eye, 4 confanguinity reftrains m
from treating with levity the defes
of my brothers, while hofpitalitl
forbids me to wifh yours.’

Thefe words drew a fmile frotj
Svanhild, a princefs of Gothland
who had been brought up from he
earlieft years with Signe, and wh
was the affianced bride of Alger.

4 We will then commit our for
tune to the goddefs of delliny,’ aij
fwered Habor, with an exprefliO;
of fatisfadtion in his countenance
The eyes of Signe brightened ujj
and flie began to play.

The game lafled a long tim<
They frequently delayed the movi
and when they made it, appear^
not to have known what they wet
doing. They overlooked man
opportunities, and at length the!
two kings remained alone on* th;
board, and neither could lay claii
to vidtorv. Bera walked backwan

and forwards in the chamber, wit,
an air of difquietude.

4 My daughter,’ faid (lie, 4 is ve^
polite to this ftranger; fhe has n:
exerted her whole flrength.’

4 It feemed to me,’ faid Svanhil
4 that Haber played better agaii
Sigard

Signs and Habor ;

I have employed my utmoft
dll,’ faid Habor, 4 but Signe plays
etter than Sigar’

4 Yes,’ anfwered Bolvife, 4 file is
woman, and beamifui.’

Bolvife was the principal counfel-
>r of Sigar, and almoft blind from
ge, which, however, had not im-
aired his underftanding or his fub-
letv ; for, in the whole court, there
i/as not a perfon more artful and
itriguing.

At another time it chanced that
Ligar and his attendants, accompa-
ned by the queen, the princefs, and
labor, went out on a hunting-partv.
labor rode by the fide of Sigar, but
litb his eyes almoft conftantiy fixed
>n Signe. They came to a river,
vhich a flag they had roufed fwam
tver. Sigar alighted from his horfe,
is did Habor likewife; many of the
:ompany remained on the bank of
he river, partly on foot, and partly
)n borfe-back ; while others plunged
n, and followed the flag. Signe
•emained on horfeback ; and, her
houghts being employed on her
secular fituation, let the bridle drop
Vom her hand. Her horfe im-
nediately leaped into the dream
to follow the others, and fee fell
from his back, while the animal
tank in a kind of gulf, and was
drowned. Scarcely could theftand-
ers-bv perceive the accident before
they faw Habor in the midft of the
fiver, with the p'inctfs on his back.
He foon brought her out ; and
Svanhild, and ail who were prefent,
haftened to give her every necefiary
affiflance. She had fainted, but
was foon recovered; and, fixing her
eyes fit ft upon Habor, and then
upon Svanhild: — * Was it not Ha-

a Gothic Romance ,

bor who faved me?’ faid fee, with
a feeble voice.

4 You wjfh to find it was he,’ faid
Bera, haftily interrupting her.— ‘ No
perfon can do any thing but Habor.’

4 Yes, it was Habor who faved
you,’ laid Belvife, a worthy and wife
man, the brother of Bolvife.

4 It was a fortunate accident/
added the queen, 4 that he was fo
near the bank — Had he faved the
horfe too, he would have done more
perhaps than another could have
done.’

4 Your hatred fpeaks,’ retorted
Belvife, fomewhat haftily. — * Let
Odin and the fatal goddeffes decide
his lob, and let us be content with
their decree.’

Sigar approached Habor, took
him by the hand, and faid : — 4 Thou
haft faved our daughtei — from giav
ti tilde I would willingly preietve
thy life — combat not with my fons.’

4 I fear them not,’ anfwered
Habor.

On their return, Signe extended
her hand to Habor, but drew it fud-
denly back, while a crimfon blufe
overfpread her cheek.

4 Habor has preferved my life,*
faid ftie, 4 and how can I avoid feel¬
ing for him the warmed friend-
fhip ?J

Habor made no reply; for the
eyes of the queen were fixed on
him, and he wifhed not to increafe
her anger. Bur he glanced at Signe
a look which fuffioiently fpoke his
meaning; a look which can only
proceed from the eyes of lovers, and
which no painter can pourtray, or
poet deferibe.

(To be continued.).

The Monks and the Robbers; a Tale.

The MONKS and the ROBBERS j

A TALE.

( Continued from Vol. XXXIII.
p. 512.)

lternately bearing their fair
captive, who by this time had
recovered her perception, the robbers,
apprehenfive ftiil of purfuit, preflfed
forward, nor counted themfelves free
from danger, till they reached their
place of deftination, and delivered
their lovely prize to their employer.
Again immured within the walls
of Reveldi, again configned to the
mercy of Tancred, and again con¬
fined to her chamber, the haplefs
Juliet, when left to herfelf, gave un¬
reft! rained indulgence to the anemifh
that opprefted her, and fpent fome
time in tears and forrowfuj reflexion
— reflexion that made her feel more
keenly the increafo of afftidftion
which the recent events had brought
upon her, by reftoring to her, now
that every hope of their union was
extingnifhed, her long-loft Rudolpho.
Mtyre poignantly now than ever fhe
felt and deplored the cruel deceit
which had been prabliled on her, and
the dreadful eonfequences that re-
fulted from it — eonfequences which
feparated her from him whom fhe
ttill loved with unabated violence —
deprived her of every hope of com¬
fort and confolation, and doomed
her to the keenelt del pair and dilap-
pointment . to the torments of hope-
lefs love— -to the milery of being
married to him of whom die found
every circum fiance concur to
ftrengthen her abhorrence, and from
whom fhe expebted to experience
naught but inlul t and perfecution,
But, keen and afflibtive as were the
ideas thefe things excited, they were
yet increafed by the dreadful fhock
which the information of her mar¬
riage had given to Rudolpho, the
violence of the emotions he betrayed,
and the ftate of agitation and delpair
Vol. XXXIV,

in which he took leave of her, when
he and the count Verucci depart¬
ed to fearch in the foreft. She
knew the ardour and impetuofity of
his feelings, and fhe anticipated the
molt fearful eonfequences from the
wound he had received in the dis¬
appointment of his long-cherifhed
hopes ; which anticipation was
llrengthened by reflecting on the en¬
counter of the preceding night, his
exclamation on di (covering her, and
the furious confiibt that followed.
She differed the moft dreadful appre-
henfions, left the agony of his mind
had made him court death from the
fwords of his adverfaries ; and the
emotions which her doubt of his
fafety excited, more than thofe
which arofe from her own fttuation,
threw her into a paroxyfm of grief.

Her thoughts were yet abforbed in
forrowful contemplations, and the
tears which they produced yet flowed
down her cheeks, when the lord
Tancred entered the apartment. Her
bofom throbbed with increafed an-
guifti, and her tears burft forth afrefh
at fight of him ; while he, with looks
of kindnefs and compallion, feated
himfelf beftde her, and, with a voice
of pity, befought her to be compofedj
but file regarded him not, and, turn¬
ing filently away from him, continued
ftiil to weep. He now grafped her
hand in his, preffed it ardently to his
lips ; and, drawing her gently to¬
wards him, began to lolicit her lovej
but, inftead of anfwering his profef-
fions, fhe {hatched away her hand,
and reproached him with the bale
and deceitful manner in which he
had abted towards her j but her fear
of him checked her upbraiding, and
prevented her from exprefting entire¬
ly the refentment and abhorrence
which his condubt had excited in her
bofom : yet fufficient proof of both
was apparent in her manner to ren¬
der him almoft hopelefs of producing
lentiments more accordant to his de-

66 The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tale .

fires. Still, however, he perfevered
in his efforts; and endeavoured by
threats, as well as entreaties, to win
her to his purpofe; blit ftill he found
him tel f as far as ever from the ac •
complifhment of his wifhes. The
faint hope he had indulged now va-
nifhed, and the anger which his dis¬
appointment had kindled in his bo-
fom bur Id forth. He fwore, in the
ftrongeft terms, that if, on his return
from Palermo (whither, he faid,
bufmefs of import called him imme¬
diately) file ftill perfifted in her ob-
ftinacy, force fliould give him the
rights he claimed. He bade her not
flatter herfelf with a hope of a fecond
time efcaping from his power; and
then threatening her with every buf¬
fering in his power to inftidt, if file
confented not to his wifhes, he quit¬
ted the apartment. She trembled
at his threats; and though, in his
prefence, file had, in a great meafure,
concealed the terror they infpired,
yet, when left to herfelf, her fortitude
gave way, and her min'd funk deeper
in defpondency; which was increafed
upon difeovering the additional pre¬
cautions that were taken to prevent
the poffibility of again efcaping from
her prifon.

During; the lord Tancred’s hay at
Palermo, where, engaged in a round
of diftipation and amufement. he con¬
tinued for fome weeks, Juliet paffed
her time in a ftate of the moft. fear¬
ful fufpenfe and expectation, which
every day increafed. The lonelinefs
of her fituation, and the want — almoft
total — of employment, contributed
tonourifh the deep melancholy which
had taken poffellion of her thoughts.
Her days were fpent in mournful
regret of the paft, and dreadful an¬
ticipation of the future ; and her
nights were wafted almoft without
fleep. If, wearied by miferable re¬
flexions, fhe fought a temporary obli¬
vion to her woes, her (lumbers were
fhart, and difturbed by fearful

dreams ; which often fo ftrongly im-
prefled her fancy, that, awaking, fhe
would, affrightedly, gaze around her
chamber, and find fome difficulty to
perfuade herfelf that fire had been
dreaming.

One night, when, ftarting from a
dreadful dream, {he thought fhe be¬
held, by the light that burned in her
chamber, a figure {landing clofe to
her bed-fide, which feemed, the in-
ftant her eves were diredted towards

it. to glide away and vanifh into air.
Trembling with inexpreflible terror,
her fight fhot rapidly round the large
and but half-illuminated apartment,
but all was ftill and filent ; and, as
no caufe for alarm was viflble, file
began to think that the impreftion
which her dream had left upon her
imagination had deceived her, when
a flight noife, which feemed to pro¬
ceed from a dark part of the cham¬
ber, renewed all her fears. Almoft
involuntarily, her eyes were directed
to difeern from what it arofe ; and
flie thought fhe perceived a faint and
glimmering light, which appeared as
if fhining through fome crevice in the
wall of a recefs near her bed-fide.
She had but an imperfebl vie'w of it.
It feemed to move rapidly along, and
in an inftant vanifhed from her fight.
She knew it was impoflible any hu¬
man being could have entered her
chamber, as fhe had been careful to
lecure the only door by which admit¬
tance could be gained. She endea¬
voured to reprefs the fuperftitiou$
djead which affailed her thoughts,
and to perfuade herfelf that its caufe
was imaginary, and proceeded merely
from an imagination difordered by
the terrific figures which floated be¬
fore her eyes while they were doled
in deep : but the evidence of her

fenfes refitted theft endeavours ; and
the more fhe pondered on it, the
more fhe was terrified at what fhe
had feen and heard.

(To be continued)

Account of the New Comedy —* Hear both Sides / 67

Account of the New Comedy —
‘Hear both Sides’ — performed
. f or the frf Time at the cl heatre-R yal ,
Drury-Lane, on Saturday, Jan. c2<).

The characters were thus repre-
fented : —

Fairfax,

Mr. Dowtcn.

Headlong,

Mr. C. Kemble.

Sir Ralph Afpen,

Mr. Suett.

Tranfit, his fon,

Mr. Bannifter.

Melford,

Mr. Raymond.

Steward,

Mr. Wroughton.

Quillet,

Mr. Cherry.

Bailiff,

Mr. Wewitzer.

Gregory,

Mr. Collins.

Major Tennis,

Mr. Caulfield.

Sir Luke Loftu'.l,

Mr. Webbe.

Mailer of the hotel,

Mr. Madox.

Robert,

Mr. Hollingfworth.

Caroline Melford,

Mrs. Pope.

Fliza Aipen, -

Mrs. Jordan.

THE TABLE.

'"I^he fcene lies in London. The
chief character in the piece is
Fairfax, a folicitor, of great credit,
and who, till a verv fhort time be-
fore the opening of the piece, has
uniformly maintained a high repu¬
tation for probity and feeling. Hav¬
ing, however, become the inheritor
of confiderable property belonging
to a rich old man, whofe nephew he
had appeared to patronife, Fairfax
begins very rapidly to lofe his credit,
particularly as he appeared to be in
intimate connexion with a worthlefs
attorney, named Quillet, who is
fuppoied, by fraudulent means, to
have become podehed of the fortune
of a Mr. Melford. Matters remain
in this' dubious hate, and Harry
Headlong, the nephew, whofe pro¬
per inheritance Fairfax has obtained,
arrives in London, in expectation
of getting at once into pofitfiion of
the vaft fortune left bv his uncle.
Harrv Headlong, with a good heart,
is a wild young man, who has al¬
ready fquandered two fortunes by
generous profufion. He foon be¬

comes acquainted with Tranfit, an¬
other thoughtlefs but well-meaning
young man. Harrv has a high
opinion of Fairfax, and loon quar¬
rels with Tranfit, becaufe the latter
fpeaks ill of Fairfax. Tranfit is ar-
refied, and an intended duel is pre¬
vented. Tranfit had conducted him-
felf in fuch a wild manner, that his
wife Eliza, who is the niece of sir
Ralph Afpen, is induced to feparate
from him, chiefly, however, owing
to the artful falihoods of Sir Ralph.
Eliza, finding her hulband in town,
puts on a mafic, and has an inter¬
view with him. Knowing he is in
diftrefs, fhe gives him a pocket-
book, containing bank-notes, which
he prefents to Harry Headlong, who
takes it to relieve the diltrefies of
Melford, and for that purpofe gives
it to Caroline Melford, the daughter
of the latter. It appears that Har¬
ry had feen Caroline at a mafque-
rade in Italy, and had conceived a
violent attachment to her, but never
could afterwards find her. Melford
and his daughter redded in the fame
hotel with sir Ralph and Eliza, and
the ladies are acquainted. When
Headlong v i fits the hotel, for the
purpofe of relieving the neceffities
of Melford, whom he had known
in happier days in Italy, Caroline
conceals herfelf under her veil for
fome time, but afterwards lets Head¬
long know that die is the objeht of
his felicitous fearch. Fliza ieeing
the pocket-book, which die had pre-
fented to her hulband, in the hands
of Caroline, and hearing it had been
given to her by a young man, na¬
turally concludes that it was an of¬
fering of gallantry, and is full of
jealoufy. Tranfit, on a fubfequent
interview, really does pay gallant
homage to Caroline ; but he fuppofies
his own wife is dead. Thefe mat¬
ters, however, are all explained, and
the only remaining myftery refits
upon the conduct of Fairfax. At
K 2

6 S Account of the new Comedy — c Hear both Sides d

length, Fairfax, who feems to have
afted a very myfterious part fum-
mons all the characters together, in
order to vindicate his conduit. He
feverely reproaches Hariy Head¬
long for not attending the calls of a
dying unde, though Fairfax had
earneftly conjured him to return to
England- In defence of himfelf,
for getting poft'n ;ou of Harry’s in¬
heritance, he allcges'rhat the tefta-
tor left his fortune to one who was
likely to life it properly, rather than
to one who was Jikely to facrifice it
bv extravagance. He then gives
Harry the title-deeds of the eftates,
and alfo reftores thofe of MeJford,
which he obtained from Quillet, the
vile attorney, whofe clerk has be¬
trayed him. Finally, he informs sir
Ra’ph, thatTi'anfit is the iflue of a
clandeftine marriage, which sir
Ralph had contracted with a lady at
Bruflels, whom he deferted, and who
died foon after. In conclufion,
' Fairfax fully explains h:s conduft,
and fhows that he is fairly entitled
to the good name he had previoufly
acquired — QuiUet is to abide the de¬
cision of the law upon his bad prac¬
tices; Eliza is reconciled to her huf-
band whofe conduft has been bafe-
)y miireprefsnted to her; Headlong
marries Caroline, and poetical juf-
tice is, upon the whole, accorn-
plifhed.

Mr. Holcroft is the avowed au¬
thor of this piece. Several of the
fcenes are extremely effecting though
generally rather too much detailed.
Many of the fentiments are noble
and inflruCtive, particularly thofe in
which Fairfax reproves Headlong
for his imprudence and extrava¬
gance, and IVelford, for his want
of feeling in the time of his profpe-
rity. The generofity of the young
men is fomewhat too great for the
ordinary c aft of human nature; they
give away every thing, and in the

next moment fall facrifices to claims
which a part of what they had un-
neceflarily given awav would have
fatisfied : others of the fentiments
are more inflated than natural.
The only fault of the piece is, an
overftrained philanthropy, in no
way ufeful to public morals. The
general character of the play, in this
refpeft, refembles thofe of Kotze¬
bue, and in many parts is equally
fucce/sfu). This chara&er is well
kept up; but fo much of the au¬
thor’s attention has been directed to
it, that the piece fails to intereft in
other points. There is a want of
bufmefs and of buftle. The play
is, however, written in the nervous
and elegant ftyle which diftingui flies
all Mr. Holcroft s productions; but
there is very little originality of
character in it, though the charac¬
ters are well and boldiy drawn.

The prologue, delivered by Mr.
Bannifter in a mafterly ftyle; con-
lifts chiefly in comparing the enter-
prife of dramatic writers with the
daring enterprife of Garnerin’s de¬
scent in a parachute. The epilogue
is much better than the prologue,
though little more than a verfifica-
tion of Joe Miller’s ftory of the
quaker’s giving a bad name to his
dog. The allufion is exprefsly
- made to Fairfax but it was generally
thought that another application
was meant -namely to the author,
who has been cenlured for his po¬
litics, but whofe opinions are' now
by no means favourable to France
or Bonaparte. It was extremely
well fpoken by Mrs. Jordan. Mrs.
Jordan aifo fang a very beautiful
long in a moft exquifite ftyle, in the
firft aft ; it was encored with enthu-
ftafm, and its effeft promoted the
good humourof the audience through
the remainder of the piece.

The play was, on the whole, re¬
ceived extremelyfavourab'y, and has
been feveral times repeated.

The Song of Mor rough, the Bard . 69

The SONG of MORROUGH, the
BARD, on the Defeat cf the
D aNes, at Clantarfe, near
Dublin, by Brian Borom, the
great Monarch of Ireland , A. Z).

'1039*.

TTave I not my harp in my hand,
A and fhall I not fins; the chiefs
of the battle; thofe who brought low
the warriors of the north ? Oh, kino-
or the eaft ! thy father was there,
and the red-haired loft their
ftrength : they fled before him, as
the deer from the fummits of Man-
gerton before the ftriplings of the
green lake. Their leader, the
Kiighty Sueno, called aloud — 4 Why
will ye fly, ye hardy men of the cold
hills ? The raven j- claps her wings,
and why will ye fly, ye Tons of the
fea ? The battle is on the fand of
the fliore, the waves are white be*
hind, and whither would ye fly, ye
men of the cold hills ?’ They heard
him not, but they fled : behind them
was the old king; his fword was as
the' fword of Fune- mac-Cule %,
when he fmote the ftrangers in the
plains of Tura : with him was the
flower of the fouth. The fons of
MacCarthy were there, whofe halls
are ever open to the ftranger and
the mafter of the harp. The bold
O’Briens were there, who tame the
waves of the great river; the wide
of heart ! the generous mailers of
many fheep ! Were ye abfent then,
oh ye branches of O’Sullivan? —
Clantarfe well knows ye were not f
\ e left the fifliy fhores of the great
lea-: ye left the green iflands of the

* In the battle, the victorious monarch was
mortally wounded, and died next day, in the
$4th year of his age. — T his fong was recited
in the hall of Morrough O'Brien, king of
Leinfter, the eldeft fon of Brian Borom.

ft A raven was painted on the Danilh ftand-
ards : this, they imagined, clapped its wings
at the approach of vidtory ; the Danes, being
but lately converted to Chriftianity, had
not yet loft this part of their pagan fuperfti-
tion.

X Fune-mac.Cule, the real name of Fingal.

weft, and fought for the land of your
fathers. Thoufands were there be-
ftdes, from Ihe vales and the forefts,
who fmote them on the back. In
the morn, the fpear was darted; at
the foot of Hoath they fled; and
the red fun faw that we fought well.

But what ftvali I fay of thee, oh
Mac Murchudah § ? who fliook
hands with the robbers, and invited
them to the blaze of thy fire : bafe-
ly thou did ft a rife againft the land of
thy fathers ! For this art thou fallen !
the ftrong fteed of the hoary king
prefled thee to the ground, and his
fpear fent thee to feel the punifti-
ment of the treacherous ! For this
art thou fallen, and no bard to la¬
ment thee ! The fons of thy houfe
hate the found of thy name : no pile
of ftones rifes on the beach to point
out the feat of thy remains : thou
art never remembered in the halisof
the great asa friend of the land, and
a man of the faviog arm. Think of
the proud Mac Murchudah, oh ye
fons of the great! and think for
what he is fallen !

On the top of the clift I flood,
and beheld the battle of the flrong,
near the white waters. Cormac
was there, and the young T urges
Rood before him ; they fought long,
till the (word of the fon of Mahoun
pierced the bread of the foe. —

4 Lie there, oh thou unhappy!’ Laid
the generous Cormac : 4 thou wert
better than thy fathers ; thy foul was
tender, and loved the voice of the
fong : but they defpifed the firings
of brafs ; they burnt the books of
our bards (j ; they fent the fpeakers
of the deeds of the great to the (mall
iflands of the north: for this we do

§ Mac Murchudah, king or' Leinller, adift-
ed the Danes in their conquefts in Ireland :
he joined them alfo in this battle, where he
was llain.

|| Turgefuis, the Dane, having conquered
Ireland, burnt all their books, and hauilhed
their bards and hiftorians. Edward I made
ule ol the lame policy to extinguiih the love of
liberty in Wales.

70 The Song of Mo Trough ? the Bard,

flil! hate their memory. But thou

lihalt be praifed in the afTemblies of
tour men of words: well hail thou
done alfo in war, and our heroes
ifhali remember thee.

The enemy now is flying ; but
where, oh Fergus of the fweet pipe !
where is now the king with the
filver hairs? ‘There he is, on the
left,’ faid the mailer of the fweet
pipe, beftriding the body of the
mighty Ringo.’ I looked again
from the cliff, and faw the father of
warriors fall : he fell to the ground ;
an arrow from the craftv Harold
pierced the fide of the king; his
white head touched thefand; the
mighty man was.no morel Connor,
the fon of his heart, faw him fall ;
over the bodv of his father he laid

his mantle ; he waved the red
fword rohnd his head, and fmote the
deftroyer of the land — fmote the
fwift Harold : down he fell : his
wiles availed him not: he fell be¬
neath the fword of Connor.

Oh, thou ilrength of our hands !
i art thou gone ? — thou mighty Brian,
art thou fallen ? In the days of
thy youth thou .wert fwift and
flrono : in the hours of thy wrinkles

o ✓

i thou wert wife, nor did thy Ilrength
forfake thee! Do we not remember
the rnufic of thy hall ? Do we not
ftill think of the board of Cincora ?

• — Three thoufand men of war fate
round it, and many fweepers of the
firings were there ; three thoufand
fate daily around it, and thy door
was never Unit. When the bold men
of wrong went abroad, didft thou not
arife and hind them ? Did not the
ilrong Mac Bruin bow down before
thee, when the wailings of the or¬
phans reached thine ear ? Tby
fword was powerful, and thy laws
were good. From the lakes of the
north to the hollow bays of the
fouth, did not a fair virgin* walk,
adorned with the gold and the bright

* This is a attefted by all the liilh
feavds and hiftorians.

flones of other lands ? Who then
did wrong, allured by the love of
gold or the beauty of the daughter of
Connel ? — Alone fhe went, and un¬
touched file returned ; for they re¬
verenced thee and thy laws.

Oh, king that ;art gone ! oft have
I heard thy voice exhorting thy f ms
to great things. — 4 Remember the
deeds of your fathers; remember'
the fword of Denough. The voice
of our father Colman was ftrong,
and his feet fwift up the mountain :
from him proceeded Turlough, the
good of heart ; from him fprang
Lorcan, the tamer of the horfe :
mighty were thefe brothers in war,
and great in the meetings of the
wile-men. Think of them, oh my
fons ! they Unit not their gates
again ft the poor; they inquired not
whofe footfteps founded in the hall :
the wanderer was welcome to the
houfe of Lorcan, and Turlough gave
his hand to the needy and bade him
fit down. Think of them, oh my
fons! for good they were at home,
mighty in war, and great in the
meetings of wife men !’

Oh, king that art gone ! I fee thy
children who fhail rife in the day to

come. As thou haft faid of Tur¬
lough and Lorcan, they fhail fpeak
of thee : the fons of the fweet found
fhail raife thy praife with a ftronger
fweep on the firings : the fathers
fhail praife thee, and fay to their
fons, 4 Think of Brian Borom!’ —
the thoughts of the virgins fbaU

o o

praife thee, as they bln fit at the hour
of their marriage : as the caftles of
the fons of the ft a fall to the ground,
and the grafs grows within their

o o

trenches, the tillers of the field fhail
rejoice, and think of thy name.

Oh, king' who now remained !

‘ thy father was great, and mighty
was his lofs: but arife thou, and look
upon his fpiiit. Think of his fword
on the ftrand of Clantarfe, and let
thy foul lemember his open gates
and the board of Cincora.

The Dr am at {ft ; a Tale .

r* I

( i

?ht DRAMATIST;

A TALE.

(From the French, )

I^eltcour followed the advice of
Agathe, and at every commen¬
dation that he bellowed on Fintac,
Fintac thought he difcovered in
him a new degree of merit.

4 The juflnefs of underffanding,
the penetiation of this young man,
is without example at his age,’ faid
he to his friends.

At laft the confidence he placed
in him was fuch, that he thought he
could truft to him what he called
the fecret of his life: this was a dra¬
matic piece he had compofed, and
which he had not had the refolution
to read to any one, for fear of rilk-
ing his reputation. After demand¬
ing an inviolable fecrefy, he ap¬
pointed the time for reading it. At
this news, Agathe was tranfported
with jov.

4 That is well,’ faid he : f cou¬
rage; redouble the dofe of incenfe;
good or bad, in your eyes, this piece
has no equal.*

fintac, tete-a-tete with the young
man, after double- locking his Itudy-
door, drew out from a cafket this
precious manufcript, and read, with
enthufiafm, thecoidefl, the mod in-
ftpid, comedy that ever was written.
It cod the young man a great deal
of mortification to applaud what he
felt to he flat and infipid ; but Agathe
had recommended it to him. He
applauded it, therefore, and the
dramatifl «- as tranfported.

4 Confefs,’ faid he to him, after
reading it, 4 confefs this is very
fine.’

4 Yes, very fine.*

4 Very well: it is time to tell you
why I have chofen you for my only
confidant. I have burned with de¬
fire, this long time, to fee this piece
on the flage; but I would not have it
go on under my name. (Ceiicour
trembled at thefe words.) I was

unwilling to truft any perfon; but,
in fliort, I think you worthy of this
mark of friendfhip: you fhali prefect
my work as your own ; I will have
nothing but the pleafure of the fuc-
cefs, and I leave the glory of it to
you.’-

i he thought of impofing upon
the public would alone have terri¬
fied the young man; but that of fee-'
ing appear, and being damned un¬
der his name, lb contemptible a
work, fuocked him hill more. Con¬
founded at the propofal, he with-!
flood it a long time ; but his oppo-
iition was to no purpofe.

/ My fecret being confided,’ faid
fintac to him, 4 engages you in ho¬
nour to grant me what I afk. It is in-!
different to the public whether the
piece be yours or mine, and this
friendly impofition can hurt nobody
in the world. My piece is my trea-
fure — I make you a prefent of it ;
the very remote!! pofferity will
know nothing of it. Here then
\om delicacy is fpared every way:
if, aftei this, you refufe to prefent
this work as your own, 1 fhali think
you do not like it, that you only de¬
ceive me in praHing it, and that vou
are equally unwoithy of my friend-!
fhip and of my efieem.’

f What would not Agathe’s lover
refolve upon, rather than incur the
hatred of her uncle.’ He a flu red
him he was only reffrained by laud¬
able motives, and allied twenty-four
hours to determine.*

4 He has read it to me,’ ibid he to
Agathe.*

^4 Well?*

4 Well,' it is execrable!*

4 I thought fo.’

c But he tells me that he will
have it pafs for mine.’

4 Ah, Celacour ! let us praife
Heaven for this adventure. Have
you accepted it?’

4 Not yet; but I fliall be forced
to it.’

4 So much the better.’

The Dramatift ; a Tale .

‘I tell you it is deteftable !’

I. ‘So much the better ftilh’

4 It will be damned !’

f So much the better, I tell you :

we muft fubmir to everv thing.’

• * ^

Celieonr did not deep, through

uneafinefs and grief. The next dav
he repair d to his uncle, and told
him that there was nothing which
he would not fooner refolve upon
than difpleafe him.

4 1 would not,’ laid the dramatift:,
‘expofe you raihly. Copy out the
piece with your own hand. You
dial! read it to my friends, who ;a;e
excellent judges ; and, if they do
not think the fuccefs infallible, you
are no longer bound to any thing.
I require onlv one thing of you;
that is, to ftudy it, in order to read
it well/

This precaution gave the young
man form. hope.

‘ I am,’ laid he to Agathe, f to
read the piece to his friends : if
they think it bad, he excufes me
from bringing it out.’

* They will think it good, and fo
much the better: we fhould be un¬
done if they were to diflike it.’

4 Explain yourfelf, pray.’

4 Get you gone ; they muft not fee
us together.’

What (lie had forefeen came to
pafs. The judges being aftembled,
the dramatift: announced this piece
as a prodigy, and efpecially in a
young poet. The young poet read
belt; and, after Fintac’s examp'e,
thev were in ecftafies at every line —
they applauded every fcene. At
the conclulion they huzzaed ; they
difcovered in it the delicacy of Ari¬
stophanes, the elegance of Plautus,
?he comic force of Terence; and
thev knew of no piece of Mol i ere fit
to be brought in competition with
this. After this trial, there was no
longer room to hefttate.

The players, however, were, not
of the fame opinion with the wit s ;
for they knew before- hand that

thefe good people had no tafte ; but
there was an order to perform the
piece. Agathe, who had a Hiked a i
the reading, had applauded it with
all her might; there were even pa¬
thetic paflages at which fhe appear¬
ed to he moved, and her enthuftafrn
for the work had a little reconciled
her to the author.

4 Could it be poftible,’ faid Celi-
cour to her, 4 that you fhould have
thought that good r’

4 Excellent !’ faid fhe : ' excellent
for us 1’ and at thefe words fhe left
him without faving more.

While the piece was in re hearfal,
Fintac ran from houfe to houfe, to
difDofe the wits in favour of a
young poet of fuch great execra¬
tions. At iaftthe great day arrives,
and the dramatift affembles his
friends to dinner.

4 Let us go, gentlemen,’ faid he :
4 fupport" your own performance.
You have judged the piece admira¬
ble, you have warranted the fuccefs,
and your honour is engaged. As
to me, you know how great my
weaknefs is ; 1 have the bowels of a
father for all riling geniuses ; and [
feel, in as lively a manner -as them-
felves, the uneahnefs they fuffer in
thofe terrible moments.’

After dinner, the goo i friends of
the dramatift embraced Celieonr
tenderly; and told h m, that they
were going, into the pit to be the
witneftes, rather than the inftru-
ments, of his triumph. They ac¬
cordingly repaired thither. The
piece was played, but ft' was not
finifhecl , arid the fit if mark of im¬
patience was .fhown by thefe good
friends.

Fintac was in the houfe, trem¬
bling and as pale as death ; but ail
the time that the play lafted, this
unhappy and tender father made
incredible efforts to encourage the
fpedfators to fuccour his chiid. In
ffiort, he faw it expire ; and then,
finking beneath grief, he dragged

The Tramatift ; a Tale.

himfelf to his coach, confounded,
deje&ed, and murmuring againft
Heaven for having been born in fo
barbarous an age. As for poor
Celicour, they had granted him the
honours of a latticed box ; where,
ieated on thorns, he had feen what
they called his piece, tottering in the
Hr ft a<£f, Humbling in the fecond,
and falling in the third, fintac had
promifed to go and take him lip,
but had forgot it. What was now
to become of him? How efcape
through that multitude who would
not fail to know him again, and to
point him out perhaps to hits and
hoot him ! At laH, feeing the front
empty, he took courage and de¬
scended ; but the (lore rooms, the
galleries, the Hairs, were yet full:
his conHernation made him betaken
notice of; and he heard on all fides,

' It is he, without doubt. Yes, there
he is: it is he! Poor wretch ! It is
pity ! He will do better another
time!’ He perceived, in a corner,
a groupe of damned authors crack¬
ing jells on their companion. He
faw aifo the good friends of Fintac,
who triumphed in his fall, and on
feeing him turned their backs upon
him. Overwhelmed with confufion
and grief, he repaired to the houfe
of the real author; and his firft care
was to afk for Agathe. He had
liberty of feeing her, for her uncle
had fhut himfelf up in hisclofet.

‘ I forewarned you of it. It is
fallen, and fallen fhamefully/ faid
Celicour, throwing himfelf into a
chair.

‘ So much the better/ faid Aga¬
the.

4 What, fo much the better! when
your lover is covered with fhame,
and makes himfelf, in order to pleafe
you, the talk and ridicule of all
Paris? Ah, it is too much ! No,
mademoifelle, it is no longer time
to jeft. I love you more than my
life ; but, in the Hate of humiliation
Vojl, XXXIV,

in which you now fee me, I am ca¬
pable of renouncing both life and
yourfelf. I don’t know how it has
happened that the fecret has not
yet Heaped me. It is little to expofe
myfclf to the contempt of the pub¬
lic ; your cruel pnde leaves me in
my dilgrace! I know him: he will
be the firfl to blufh at feeing me
again; and what I have done to
obtain you, perhaps, deprives me of
hope for ever. Let him prepare,
however, to refume his piece, or to
give me your hand. There is but
one way to confole, and oblige me to
filence. Heaven is my witnefs,
that if, through an impoHibility, his
, Work had fucceeded, I fnould have
given to him the honour of it: it is
fallen, I bear the fhame; but it is an
effort of love, for which you alone
'. cap be the recompenfe/

4 It mu ft be confeft/ faid the art¬
ful Agathe, in order to irritate him
Hill more, ‘ that it is a cruel thing to
fee one’s felf hiffed for another/

‘ Ho cruel, that I would not a
fuch a part again for my own father/
f With what an air of contempt
they fee a wretch pals along whole
play is damned !’

4 The contempt is unjuH; we con¬
fole ourfelves for that : but their
infolent pity— -there isthe mortifica¬
tion!*

4 I fuppofe you were greatly con-
fufed in coming down Hairs ? —
Did you falute the ladies?’

‘ I could have wifhed toannihftate
myfclf/

‘ Poor youth ! and how will yon
dare to appear again in the world?3

4 1 will never appear again in the
world, I fwear to you, but with the
name of your hufband, or till after I
have retorted on M. de Fintac the
humiliation of this failure/

4 You are fully refolved then to be
peremptory with him?’

4 Vefy fully refolved, do not
doubt ir. Let him determine this

Story of Lockman, a Perfian Phyfician.

very evening. If he refufes me
your hand, all the news-papers fhall
publifh that he is the author of the
damned piece.’

4 And that is what I wanted,’ faid
Agathe with triumph; ‘there is the
objetd of all thofe So-much-the-bp.tte.rs
which put you fo much out of pa¬
tience. Go fee my uncle; hold
firm ; and be allured that we {hall be
happy.’ E. R.

Darlington , Dec. 27, 1802.

Sbhe Story of Lockman, g Per¬
sian Physician.

In the city of Cafwin, in Perils,
there was a great number of pub¬
lic baths ; one in particular behind
the garden of the king’s palace,
which is now half deftroyed, and of
which the following dory is told,
•viz. That there lived heretofore at
Cafwin a very famous phyfician,
named Lockman, a black Arabian,
who had acquired fo great reputa¬
tion, not only by the books he had
written in medicine, but alfo by
many other excellent productions,
that the inhabitants have dill a very

oreat veneration for his memory.
& J

Nay, it is to be found in their PLu-
ludan, they gave him the furname
of Wife; for it is written in the fixth
chapter of the fecond book, that the
wife Lockman, being one day aiked
by what means he had attained fo
great learning and knowledge, he
made anfwer- — 4 It was by means of
the ignorant * and uncivil; for he
had always done what was contrary
to what he had feen them do.’- —
This Lockman,- — having attained a
great age, and being upon his death¬
bed, — fent for his fon, and told him,
that he would leave him an inefti-
inable treafnre ; and, having com¬
manded to be brought him three
glaiTes full of certain medicinal wa¬
ters^ he laid they had the virtue to

raife up a dead man to life, if they
were applied before the body began
to corrupt. That, calling upon the
deceafed the water that was in the
firft glafs, the foul would return to
the body : that, upon the pouring
of the fecond, the body would (land
upright ; and that, upon the third,
the perfon would be abfolutely
alive, and fhould do all things as
before: that, however, he had very
feldom madeufe of this experiment,
out of a fear of committing a fin, by
undertaking to intermeddle with
that which is referved to God alone ;
and that, out of the fame confidera-
tion, he exhorted him to be very
careful how he made ufe of it, as
being a fecret rather to be admired
than put often to experience. With
thefe exhortations, Lockman dying,
his fon was very mindful of the
advice he had given him ; and, pre¬
tending the fame tendernefs of con-
fcience as his father had exprdled
before him, he referved the glades
till he might have occafion to make
trial of them upon, himfelf. Ac¬
cordingly, being at the point of
death, he commanded a man that
waited on him, to make ufe of thofe
glades as his father had taught him.
The man having caufed hismafter’s
body to be brought into the bath
above-mentioned, poured upon it
the two firft glades, which wrought
the effeft which Lockman had pro-
mifed thev fhould; infomuch that
the mailer fitting up, and impatient
to return to life, cries out ‘Bids!
bi is ! — that is to fay, ‘ Pour ! pour!’
— at which words the fellow’ was fo
frightened, that he let the third glafs
fall down to the ground ; fo that the
unfortunate Lockman Sade was
forced to lie down again, and take
the journey which all other mortals
do. The Perfians confidently af¬
firm, that, near the ruinous bath,
the voice of 4 Bris ! bris ! ’ is dill
many times heard.

On Modejiy and Diffidence , AJfurance and Impudence . 75

On Modesty and Diffidence,
Assurance and Impudence.

r I ''he backwardnefs and referve
which fometimes happily deters
people, unawed by other confidera-
tions, from doing things which they
are confcious are in themfelves
wrong, and for which they know
the world mull cenfure them, is a
virtue, and a very amiable one,
though in bad company: this is
truly modefty; and it always de-
ferves the applaufe of others, and
the utmoft encouragement in the
bread: of the poffieffior. But, on the
other hand, that fenfation of the
fame turn which awes and prevents
a man from doing publicly an ac¬
tion which he knows to be right,
and by which himfelf and others
would be profited, is not the virtue
which adds in the other caufe, but
is a mifchievous counterfeit of it,
which we ought to diftinguifh from
it by the name of diffidence, and
which it is every man’s intereft to
get the better of, and every body’s
advantage, who has any concern
with a man, that he fliould banifh
for ever from his remembrance.

As we are apt to confound the
fenfe of the words modefty and diffi¬
dence, we add to the perplexity by
ufing in the fame manner two others,
which are indeed their proper o.p-
polltes, and which, under juft regu¬
lations, would ferve very happily to
diftinguifh them, and to keep them
feparate for ever. We generally
nfe the words affiirance and impu¬
dence as fynonymous terms, and
employ them indifferently to ex-
prefs the lame ideas: but this is great
injuftice; as the one is a naturally and
eternally odious and diftafteful qua¬
lity; the other, if not an amiable,
at leaft is a good and ufeful one.

As I would 'diftinguiih modefty,
as that quality which repreftes us
Jhom being eminent in ill, from

diffidence, which deters us from
being -conftderable in any thing, I
would feparate the ideas conveyed
by the words aflurance and impu¬
dence ; by underftanding the former
to exprefs that freedom of deport¬
ment, and fenfe of confequence,
which arifes in a man’s breaft from,
the confcioufnefs of what are his
real merits and qualifications; and
the latter, that boldnefs and import¬
ance which a man affiumes from a
pretenfion to qualities of which he
is not pofleffied.

Affiirance, in this fenfe of the
word, is the oppofite of diffidence ;
an adtive, valuable quality, and the:
contradictory one to a blamable
habit: and, on the other fide, impu¬
dence, a deteftable habit, the con¬
tradictory one of a very amiable
and ufeful virtue. As contrarieties
cannot exift at the fame time in the
fame fubjedf, it is eafy to fee, that
impudence and modefty will never
be found in the fame perfon, nor
affiirance connedted with diffidence*
But, on the other hand, as there is
nothing of this natural oppofition
between the other qualities and ha¬
bits, unlefs from our confounding
the terms, we are not apt to wonder
that we fometimes fee the boldeft:
pretenfions, when not fupported by-
merit, fink, in an inftant, into the
mod fheepifh bafhfulnefs; nor are
we to fuppofe the character to be
formed of contraries, when we fee
the man who is moft allured and
firm on fubjecls he is acquainted
with, and in occurrences he perfedtly
underftauds, become referved and
humble in fuch as he is confcious
he is not prepared for, nor a mafter
of their whole fcope.

In thele diftinct fenfes of the
words impudence and affiirance,
we {hail find fome of the moft ufe¬
ful and moft amiable characters in
the world, and fome of the moit
diftafteful and contemptible, con-
L 2

75 On Modejly and Diffidence ,

founded by the unthinking, under
the fame general term of cenfure;
and when we can divert otirfjves of
thofe two troublefome and mif-
dhievous qualities, partiality and
envy, forme flight tindhire of w*hich
is infeparable from felf-love, and
confequently is inherent in us all,
We fhall find infinite pleafnre in fe-
parating the good from the bad, and
real advantage in the eoverfation of
the friends whom we have fofeledled*
Aconfcioufnefs of whate ver degree
of merit a man portefTes in whatever
way, is infeparable from the poflefs-
irigit: fome men may have more
artifice and addrefs to hide it; or they
may have a greater love for diiii-
mulation ; or they may, finally, think
it more worth their while to con¬
ceal it; but to dertrov the confciouf-
nefs of it, while the thing itfelf ex-
ids, is as impoflible as to feparate
the fliadow from the body in the
fun-fhine : the man who has a fenfe
of h:s own fuperiority in any thing
that is in itfelf valuable, cannot but
be pleafed with that fenfe ; this plea-
lure will diffufe itfelf through all his
difeourfe, and will be feen in any of
his adfions that are connected with
the fubjebt of his honeft pride; and
as be will be convinced, that he is
above the reproof or contradiction
of thofe who are lefs acquainted with
it, he wi 1 1 1 a 1 k a nd act w it h an o pe n n efs
and freedom, at which he who is in
- terror about the truth of every thing
he advances, and in continual hazard
of being convinced of error in his
alTertions, will find it as imprudent
as impoflible for him to arrive.

Such a deportment, fo founded, is
what we ought properly to under-
ftand by the term aiiurance; and
fuch an aifurance is at leart an al¬
lowable, if not a’ defirable quality:
he who prefumes fo far upon the
ignorance of thole with whom* he
converfes, as to affume this beha¬
viour where he has not that inward

Ajfurance and Impudence *

confcioufnefs to fupport it, places
impudence in the feat of aifurance
Few people are able to judge, in
many cafes, whether this eafy bold-
nefs has a juft Or falfe foundation ;
and as fuperiority, in any refpebt, is
a thing one man is very ill fatisfied
with allowing to another, it is not
a wonder that the two qualities,
though fuch perfect and direct op-
pofttes in themfelves, are unavoid¬
ably confounded by the generality
of the world, and purpofelv, though
very difingenuoully, by too many
of thofe who are able to judge of
them. We find Cicero and De«
mofthenes very frequently decla¬
ring, in very exprefs terms, a
confcioufnefs of their own abilities,
which the ingenuous candour of the
times they lived in never accufed
of impudence; and Ovid and Horace
talk in the eafieft manner in the
world, of their having procured
themfelves immortality by their
poems. I reverence the age in which
a well-grounded aifurance was thus
in fa£h though perhaps not exactly
in name, dirtinguilhed from impu¬
dence; and am apt to believe, that a
great deal of the fpirit of thefe ini¬
mitable writers would hare been
lofr, if they had not been confcious
of living among a people of judg¬
ment, who allowed them a repu¬
tation which it was their duty to
fupport.

I am well allured, that impu¬
dence would never have produced
one good line or one juft fentiment
from any of thefe authors, in con-
fequence of a falfe applaufe given
by the injudicious rabble; but it is
nioft certain that the fpirit fuch a
deferved fame kept up in thefe
authors, has given birth to many
of the paflages which have been ad¬
mired in them for fo many ages, and
will be fo as long as good fenfe and
judgment live in the world.

Darlington, Dsc , 28. E» R.

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of 1 Tom fortes? 77

Critical Observations on the
Novel of ‘Tom Jones.’

In a Senes of Letters from an Unde to
his Niece.

LETTER I.

DEAR NIECE,

everal years have intervened
fince you and I were accullomed
to read over together the writings of
the inimitable Fielding. Of all his
performances, the ‘ Hidory of a
Foundling’ afforded us the higheft
delight. At the time to which X
now allude, a few winters only had
snowed on your head: Yet you
lidened to the tender tale with at¬
tention, fympathifed with the for-
rows of the beautiful Sophia, and
oftentimes {bed a tear as a tribute to
the fufferings die underwent. Nei¬
ther were you lefs attentive to thofe
paflages of this incomparable ro¬
mance, which ferve to excite iifi-
bility and fet the table in a roar.
Few authors have fo happily fuc-
ceeded in exciting the mirth of their
readers as Mr. Fielding, and you
feetned to feel the impreffion, Since
thefe days of plavful childhood in
you, and of my then fiftieth year,
many birth-days have palled over.
You, my dear niece, though yet a
young woman, have encountered
many trying feenes of life ; and, at
the age of twenty-five, now find
yourfelf a widow and mother of
three children : for myfelf, I have
already paded my grand climacteric;
aad, during thefe three fcore and
odd years of pilgrimage on earth,
have experienced many rubs and vi-
ciifitudes of fortune. Adverfity is
at lead produdfive of one good
confequence, that it weans U3 in
fome meafure from the follies and
delufive profpedts of this world.
For you, I doubt not, but many
fclefSngs are in. Rare. Of thefe, a

debent competency is none of the
lead, to which permit me to add
the prattle of your infant family,
and the care and afliduity which
your attendance on them requires
from you. It is with a view of
alleviating what I am fen fib le you
mud feel, from the great lofs you
have experienced, that I now ad-
drefs you with ‘ Tom Jones’ in my
hand, to intreat you will once more
run over thofe entertaining pages.;
and permit me to add a fhort com¬
mentary at the conclufion of each
chapter. You are not ignorant of
the veneration in which I hold every
period which came from the pen of
this inimitable author; and of all
his works, the * Hidory of a Found¬
ling’ is the mod interefting f whe¬
ther we confider it as a dramatic
novel, or, in its mod ferious parts,
as an indructive piece of morality.
T aken in theformer view, it abounds
with that true and genuine wit and
humour that we fhould feek for in
vain among the works of the nut
merous clafs of romance writers;
and, as a moral writer, the various
paflages to be met with in the courfe
of thefe volumes, entitle Mr. Field¬
ing to the higheft rank, among authors
of this clafs. I had almod faid,
that a complete body of ethics might
be gleaned from an attentive peru-
fai of his entertaining pages. My
own partiality to the works of Mr.
Fielding, and particularly to the
book now’ under consideration, is fo
great, that thofe who do not know
me will fcarcely credit how often X
have travelled over this agreeable
path. In fa£t, whild the ‘ Hidory
of a Foundling ’ fhould remain on
the dielves, it would not much grieve
me, although fome malicious en¬
chanter, as formerly happened to
Don Quixote, fliould carry away the
red of the library.

I fhali now delid from any further
reflexions, and proceed t© the talk I

78 Critical Ob [creations on the Novel of 6 Tom Jones .

have undertaken. To begin with
the dedication, which, as it is ma¬
naged by the generality of authors,
proves, not unufually, the m oft un-
interefting portion of the book:
but this addrefs, in which the reader
has generally not the fmalleft con¬
cern, Mr. fielding has contrived to
render pleating even to thofe who
have no connection either with the
author or his patron. Of Mr. Lyt-
tleton, under whofe aufpices Mr.
Fielding has thought fit to u flier
this hiftory into the world, every
one, who is acquainted with his
character, muft acknowledge that
the author, in the fele&ion of a
patron, could not have made a more
judicious choice. Mr. (afterwards
lord) Lyttleton was himfelf at once
a writer of eminence, and the Me-
caenas of men of letters. Without
adulation on the one hand, or a
blunt pertnefs 6n the other, Mr.
Fielding’s add refs is polite, affable,
friendly, and rdpectful. On this
occ.afion two other perfonages were
introduced, who were well known
in the annals of thofe times. The
duke of Bedford was a man of great
political talents ; and, in pr ivate
life, an honour to the high rank he
filled in the commonwealth. The
! c ha rafter of Mr. Allen will long be
held in veneration for Alining talents
and univerfal philanthropy ; and
more particularly by the inhabitants
of Bath and its neighbourhood,
where he redded, and where his
public no lefs than his private mu¬
nificence was eminently confpicu-
ous. In the dedication, Mr. Field¬
ing declares, that to recommend
goodnefs and innocence was his
ftncere endeavour in writing that
h ftory: that he had employed all
the wit and humour of which he
was matter to effebt this purpofe ;
and that he had endeavoured to
laugh mankind out of their fa¬
vourite follies and vices. The de¬

dication occupies only twelve pages
of ietter-prefs, and muft be allowed
to have exhibited a fpecimen of
panegyric hitherto unrivalled in c-ur
language.

The firft chapter of 'he firft book,
Mr. fielding ftyles an introduction
to the work, or a bill of fare to the
feaft; and he declares it his inten¬
tion to prefix a bill of fare to every
courfe which is to be ferved up in
that of the enfuing volumes. Ac¬
cordingly, to each of the books in
this hiftory, we {hall find an intro¬
ductory chapter, which, though not
immediately conceited with the
thread of the ftory, ferves, in gene¬
ral, as a very appropriate prelude
the contents of the following book ;
and, though thofe chaptei s bear
little relation to the main body of
the hiftory, foine ufe/ul moral in-
ft ruction never fails to be conveyed
in thefe eftays, In the greater part
of novels, the two or three firft chap¬
ters ufuaily form a tedious infiptd
narrative, as an introduction to the
w'oi k ; and the reader is under the
nectftity of turning over eight or
ten pages ere he is introduced to
any of the dramatis perfonce^ or can
form any conception of the author’s
dtiit. whereas Mr. fielding, in his
firfi chapter, though a very fhort
one, explains his deftgn to his read-
eis; and, in a witty allufion, com¬
pares his book to an entertainment
where he presides as cook, and of
this banquet his readers are heartily
invited to partake. May I be per¬
mitted to add, that few of thofe
who received this card of invitation,
and are endowed with a nice literary
tafte, would wifh to abfent them-
felves from the feafiq or that none
of thofe who have partaken of the
banquet ever expreffed the fmalleft
difiatisfabtion at the ingenious cook¬
ery fet before him; which, though
confiding but of one fpecies of pro-
vi^on— human nature — is, never-

Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of 4 Tom Jones * 79

thelefs* offered to our view in fuch a
variety of cookery, that fome part at
leaft of the entertainment mud fuit
the tafte of every gueft : and here
give me leave to remark on the
univerfal inlight which this writer
po hefted into the various manners
of the feveral ranks and orders in
fociety: the modes and cuftoms of
the inferior orders of mankind are
moft admirably delineated, in the
feveral different characters to be
met with throughout the twelve
ftrft books of this hiftory, as will be
more particularly touched upon
hereafter; whilft, in the five fuc-
ceeding books, we are introduced to
the regions of the more polifhed
circles; which, as Mr. Fielding juft I y
remarks, afford but little fcope for
an author to exercife a talent for
humour. Yet, even in thefe more
folemn paths, the writer has con¬
trived never to let the lubjeff take
that infipid turn, fo frequently to
be obferved in the works of thofe
novelifts who attempt a defcription
of high life.

The fecond chapter introduces to
ns Mr. All worthy’s fitter, mil's Brid¬
get. The account given by the
author of the former of thefe per-
fonages cannot but infpire his read¬
ers with a with to become further
acquainted with his exalted charac¬
ter. Much genuine wit and true hu¬
mour is difplayed on the appearance
of mifs Bridget Allworthy.

The accidental difcovery of the
foundling, by Mr. Allworthy, forms
the fubjetft of the third chapter; in
which the benevolence that warms
the bread: of this philanthropic cha¬
racter interefts the feelings of every
tender and lympathetic heart. The
gravity of this fcene is enlivened by
many ffrokes of true humour, in the
obfervations of Mrs. Deborah Wil¬
kins.

In the fourth chapter, we have
a defcription of Mr. Allworthy^s

houfe, with an eulogium upon the
benevolence of his difpofition, and
an exemplification of this virtue, in
a fubfequent difeourfe between this
good man and his lifter, when he
determines to provide for the child.

The behaviour of Mrs. Deborah,
in the fifth chapter, cautious to hear
the opinion of hermiftrefs before ftie
ventures to deliver her own, exhibits
a lively portrait of a lady’s woman,
and is managed with infinite hu¬
mour.

The haughty demeanour of the
waiting-woman, when the proceeded
in fearch of the mother of the found¬
ling, the voluntary confeffion of
Jenny Jones, and the pert afrs and
aftumed confequence of Mrs. Wil¬
kins, form the fubjeft of the fixth
chapter.

Mr. Allworthy’s lecture to Jennv
Jones, in the feventh chapter, be¬
speaks the gcodnefs of the authors
difpofition, and the foundnefs of his
underftanding : indeed no one could
have fucceecied in depi&ing the
charafter which our author has fup-
ported with fuch juftice and fpirit
throughout the whole novel, but he
who had himfelf a heart overflowing
with the milk of human kindnefs,
and whofe feelings were in unifon
with the pifture he drew. Nor
could any one, not gifted with the
fplendid abilities of a Fielding, have
brought forward thefe excellent
endowments in fo captivating a light
fo his readers. The character of
Mr. Allworthy isfupported through •
out the whole novel with the moft:
uniform propriety; and, if fuch a
man had ever exiited in real life, his
example, and the exercife of his
practical virtues, muft have attracted
the love and veneration of allaround
hirpi. Mr. Allen (the patron of
Mr. Pope) is fuppofed to have fat
for this picture.

The liftening of mifs Bridget
and Mrs. Wilkins at the keyhole iu

$0 Critical Obfervatwis on the Novel of * Tom Jones .

Mr* Allwortfiy’s ftudy-door ; the
fmile of mifs Bridget, 6 fweet as the
breeze of Boreas in the pleafant
month of November;’ the exclama¬
tion of the two ladies againft beau¬
ties, and the prudent demeanour of
the waiting-woman, in artfully col¬
lecting the opinion of her miftrefs
before (lie ventures to declare her
own ; form the fubjedt of the eighth
chapter; which abounds throughout
with fo much humour, that the
reader mufl be of a very morofe and
faturnine difpofttion, or of a very
barren underllanding, who does not
feel himfelf inclined to give a loofe
to mirth on the oc call on.

The fatirical reflexions vented by
the mob againfl Jenny Jones, after
her return from Mr. Allworthy’s,
and the quick tranfition of their
malice againfl Mr. Allworthy him¬
felf, are in ftridt conformity to the
behaviour of the lower orders of
fociety in real life, and are a plain
densonflration that the author in this,
as on every other occafion through¬
out the work, has adhered to the
declaration he fet out with; namely,
to cook up the fingle difh he had
offered to his readers (‘human na¬
ture’) fo as to fuit the palate of all
his numerous guefts.

The panegyric be flowed on Mr.
Allworthy, at the commencement of
the tenth chapter, in the encou¬
ragement given by him to men of
genius and erudition, as it refefts a
diftinguifhed honour upon gentle¬
men of fortune of this description,
fo is it a tacit rebuke on thofe men
of rank and eftate who are ready, as
Mr. Fielding expreffes it, to bellow
meat, drink, and lodging, on men
of wit and learning, on condition
that fuch perfons feed their patrons
with entertainment, inftrudtion,
flattery and fubferviency. The re¬
mainder of this chapter, which in¬
troduces to our notice the charadter
of the two Blifils, abounds with true

humour; and fo like wife does the
following chapter, where mifs Brid¬
get’s playing off the artillery of her
charms on each of the brothers is, I
believe, by no means a phenome¬
non in fingle ladies, who, like her,
are advanced to at leaf! the meridian
of life. The artifice wffch the cap¬
tain and the dodfor formed to con¬
ceal their intrigues from the notice
and obfervation of Mr. All worthy,
is another fpecimen of our author’s
fkill in the delineation of human
nature.

The artful manner in which Dr.
Blifil conveys to Mr.a Allworthy
the ftrft intimation of his brother’s
marriage with mifs Bridget; his ex¬
treme diffimulation ; the means he
afterwards took of giving a different
turn to the converfation between
Mr. Allworthy and himfelf, when
he repeated the fame to his brother,
faying — 1 1 promife you I paid you
off, which I knew I might fafely do,
after the declaration he had made in
your favour :’ — thefe circumftances
of duplicity, I fay, in a great mea-
fure alleviate the concern we fhould
otherwife feel, when we are told that
the hard-hearted villain, his brother,
procurestbe doctor’s difmifiion from
Mr. Allworthy's, and he dies qf a
broken heart. The reflexions upon
this behaviour in the captain, which
Mr. Fielding aferibes to envy, con¬
clude the thirteenth chapter of the
firft book of the hiftory.

I am, dear niece,

Your affedlionate uncle, &c.

LETTER II.

DEAR NIECE,

The introductory chapters in the
front of each book of the ‘Hiftory of
Tom Jones,’ have always appeared
to me among the moft inftrudtive,
and by no means the lead: entertain¬
ing, parts of the work, Viewing them

Critical Obfervatlons on the Novel of ‘ 'Tom Jones .

?n the light of detached eflays, per-'
haps there are few ferious writers
who have inculcated fuch inftruftive
leflons of morality as Mr. Fielding,
in thefe introductory chapters :
indeed the whole novel teems with
inftruCtion, as well as entertain¬
ment ; and there is fcarcely a page
wherein the young reader is not
encouraged in the purfuit of fome
virtue, or inftru-fted how to fllun a
temptation which might lead him
into the paths of vice and folly.
To run over the pages of this hifto-
rv, as the general clafs of novels are
perufed, in a defultory manner, and
folely in the view of palling away a
few idle hours, would be a forry
compliment paid to the ingenious
author. But even when taken up
in the way of amufement only, no
author, in our own or any other
3angu3ge (at lead: none that 1 have
ever perufed), can boaft fuch a
plead ng diverlity of incidents, and
fuch an aflembiage of various and
diffimilar characters, as are to be
met with in the work under conli-
deration. But if fiudied, as it de-
ferves, with attention, this novel of
* Tom Jones’ will be found to teem
throughout with the jufteft re¬
flexions upon men and maimers ;
and few of the moral evils of life but
may be avoided, by liflening atten¬
tively to the counfel ofthefe inftruc-
tive pages. Asa proof of the juftice
of my aflertion in iupport of this
my favourite author, and of his fu-
periority over all other writers of
this clals, let the works of our bed
novelifts— I Ipeak not of the nume¬
rous herd of novels which are a
difgrace to the literature of the pre^
lent age, but of the works of men
of the firft literary tflents; — Jet
thefe publications, 1 fay, be com¬
pared with thole of Mr. Fielding,
and I doubt not but every reader of
talte will pronounce in favour of
our author. The introductory chap¬
ters, as I have before obferved, exhi*-
Vol. XXXIV.

bit leflons of morality and virtue ;
and as every part of this delightful
hiflory is marked with the mod
lively flalhes of true and genuine
humour, fo in thefe prolegomena,
at the head of each book, whilft the
author inculcates leflons of morality ,
he ftill maintains a finding counte¬
nance. As it was formerly re¬
marked of one of the greateft wits
among the ancients, fo it may be
truly faid of Mr. Fielding, that,
whilfl he lathes the vices of the age,
he performs his office with fo much,
gentlenefs and good manners, than
the perfons whom he reproves laugh
at their own pictures, and take his
corrofive in good part, whilft their
fancy is tickled by the manner in
which it is applied. Thefe are rare
talents, and which I fcarce, know to
be applicable to any other writer.

Mr. Fielding’s fatirical reflexions
on thofe hiftorians who relate plain
matter of fad, muft be acknowledg¬
ed applicable to moft hiftorical com¬
pilation. Thefe kind of hiftories
(as he obferves in the introductory
chapter under confideration) do
very often refemble a news-paper,
which conflfts of juft the fame
number of words whether there be
any news in it or not. The beauty
of the fimile, wherein he compares
the regifters of time to a ftate-lotte-
rv, will not be overlooked by you.

In the fecond chapter of this
book is detailed a converfation
which pafled between Mr. Allwor¬
thy and captain Blifil, wherein the
latter inftdioufly attempts to with¬
draw the good man’s affection from
the foundling, by quoting texts of
Scripture in fupport of his argu¬
ments. The whole of this chapter,
wherein Mr, Allworthy confutes the
captain’s politico, merits the moft at¬
tentive perufal ; and the explanation
there given of thofe texts, which have
too frequently been quoted bydefign-
ing men as a palliation of the moft
flag ra at outrages, and often have a

w O 7

82 Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of c Tom f ones Is

wonderful effedl on weak minds,
who are perpetually miftaking that
for a judgment which is only
brought about through the natural
concurrence of accidental events,
will (if ferioufly perufed) remove
thofe ill-judged and cenforious far-
cafms, too often imputed to thofe
who, through the indifcretion of
their parents, and not from any falfe
Heps of their own, have the misfor¬
tune to be born out of wedlock.

The third chapter abounds in
every fection, nay in everv line,
with the mod poignant ftrokes of
wit and humour* The character of
the fchoolmafkr and his wife are
Wrongly delineated ; and perhaps
there never was fketched a more
finking refemblance of a fcoiding
wife, and of an eafy pliant hufband,
than in this family-piece of Mr. and
Mrs. Partridge.

The chit-chat between Mrs.
Partridge and her gofliping neigh¬
bours in the chandler’s fhop, the
introduction to this fcene, and the
fubfequent game of fifty-cuffs be¬
tween the hufband and wife, form
the chief contents of the fourth
chapter, in which is difplayed a vein
of truly comic humour. The fimile
of the cat and moufe, and the eight
fucceeding fedlions, are particularly
beautiful, and would excite rifibility
in the mufclesof Heraclitus himfelf.

The long and laboured harangue
of captain Blifil, on charity, in the
fifth chapter ; his endeavours to
exclude every largefs from the feve-
ra! meanings ufually annexed to this
virtue, together with Mr. Allwor¬
thy’s reply, proclaim at once the
defigning, infidious views of the
captain, whilft they form a frefti
inftance of Mr. Allworthy’s benevo¬
lent difpofttion. No preface could
have been more artfully imagined
by Blifil— -(in the introduction of the
lubjeft he wifhed the good man
fhould be made acquainted with,
namely, the ftory respecting Par*

tridge, which he had learned through
the canal of Mrs. Wilkins) — than
the expedient he had fixed upon, of
banifhing the noble virtue of bene¬
volence from the human breaft;
and, could he have prevailed on Mr.
Allworthy to adopt thefe falfe no¬
tions of charity, his end would, mofl
probably, have been attained; and
the foundling would, probably, have
been abandoned to his fate. Mr.
All worthy’s difcourfe on charity is a
fpecimen, among various other paf-
fages which 1 fhall have occafion to
point out to you hereafter, of the
various perfections which met in
the compofition of our author ;
who, while he fhines with unrivalled
lu ft re in the defcription of comic
fcenes, (hows himfelf equally pof-
fefied of thofe talents which confti-
tute a good moral writer.

In the fixth chapter, we find Par¬
tridge, the fchoolmafter, at the bar
of Mr. Allworthy. The difplay of
wit on this occafion is what the read¬
er would feek for in vain in anv
other court of judicature. The ob-
fervation in the third feCtion is well
worthy attention, and the evidence
of Mrs. Partridge truly laughable.
The non-appearanceof [enny {ones,
when fent for to be prefent at the
examination, is one of the many
in fiances throughout the work of
the nice connexion preftrved be¬
tween the feveral parts of this novel,
and the relation each part bears to
the whole. It will appear, by-
and-by, how necelfary it is to the
thread of the ftory, that Jenny
fhould now abfent herfelf, as fhe
will hereafter be found a very prin¬
cipal agent in the drama. The
death of Mrs. Partridge feems to be
another event neceiTaiy to the clue
of the hiftory, and is related in this
chapter. The juftice of the author ’s-
reafoning on the marriage-ftate, and
the opprobrium with which he
brands indifference between man
and wile, is founded on an intimate

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jor.es . ’

knowledge of the human heart, and
ought to be a caution, for married
folks of every defcription, to (bun
this lamentable quickfand, other-
wife they may live to experience
that fituation which Mr. Fielding
declares to be the only one in the
marriage- ftate excluded from plea-
fure, and which it feems fell to the
lot of captain Blifil and his lady.
The reflexions in the ‘penultimate
feCtion of this chapter are worthy
the author of the hiflotv: and a ftriCt
adherence to the rules laid down by
him in this place may, if properly
attended to, form a cement to many
friendfhips, which would otherwife
be fhip wrecked for lack of that
overlooking difpofltion whichis here
recommended.

The two following chapters,
which conclude the fecond book,
relate to the fudden deceafe of cap¬
tain Blifil ; where the folemn de¬
portment of the phyficians, the la¬
mentations of the widow, her decent
behaviour ort the occafion, her con¬
tinuance for a whole month under all
the decorations of ficknefs, the tran-
fition of her drefs from weeds to
black, from thence to grey, and
from grey to white : — thefe feveral
paflages are managed with fuch true
humour, and in terms of wit fo pe¬
culiar to our author, that if there are
any readers who cannot relifh the
entertainment, thefe muff be of a
very faturnine complexion indeed.
Nor fhould the epitaph on the cap¬
tain pafs unregarded, wherein is a
juft fatire on the long-laboured pa¬
negyrics which are frequently in¬
ferred on marble, to perpetuate
the memory of the mod worthlefs
characters in fociety: and this brings
to my recollection a paflage in a
book of travels, publifhed fome
twenty years fince, where the au¬
thor fays ( fpeaking of the Englifli
burial-ground at Lifbon) — ‘ Here I
i|vy long flattering inferiptions to the

memory of opulent Englifli mer¬
chants, memorable only for their
wealth; w hilft the immortal writer of
*‘Tom Jones” lies interred without
a done to indicate, “ Here lies
Henry Fielding.” *

The introductory chapter to the
third book conveys the reader
twelve years forwarder in the regifter
of time. In the third feCtion of
this chapter are contained feafonable
reflexions on mortality, directing
the true ufe we ought to make of
the difpenfations of Providence,
whenever it (hall pleafe him to call
from us thofe friends with whom
we are connected by our natural
confanguinity or efleem, illuflrated
in the conduCt of Mr. All worthy, oil
the event of captain Biifil’s demife.

In the nextfeCfion of this chapter
is a very humorous defcription of
the behaviour of fuch women, who
mourn for their hufbands more
through decency and form, than
from any fincere regard and efleem
for their memory.

The fecond chapter of this book,
which introduces to our notice Tom
Jones, the hero of the piece, and his
companion, mailer Blifil, with a
fketch of Mr. Wetlerms character,
abounds throughout with poignant
humour and lively ftrokes of wit.
The contrail of the vicious difpofi-
tion of Tom Jones, oppofed to the
fober virtuous habits of mafler Bli¬
fil, is managed with the mofl deli¬
cate irony. The entrance of Tom
into Tquire Wefiern’s manor, the
firft introduction of that gentleman
in this hiftory, the examination of
Jones before Mr. Allworthy, the
punifhment inflicted bv the rev.
Mr. Thwackum, Mr. Aliworthy’s
compunCtion for his fevere treat¬
ment of the foundling on this ac¬
count, and his prefent of a little
horfe, as a kind of fmart-money,
are incidents very artfully brought
forward j and do, in truth, all o'
M 2

84 Critical Qbferva lions on the Novel of c Tom Jones?

them combine to illu fixate fundry
other paflages in the following part
of this hiftory.

Square and Thwackum, intro¬
duced at the third chapter of this
book, perform each of them a di-
flinguiihed character among the
dramatis perfonte of this novel. The
ruling principle which actuates the
conduft of thefe gentlemen, forms a
remarkable contraft, in the dif-
courfe and actions of each other ;
and the character of each of them
opens upon the reader in the difpute
maintained between ihefe extraordi¬
nary perfonages at Mr. All worthy's
table. Oppolite as the opinions of
thefe two men are drawn, and
if range as are the tenets of each, —
the one a religion ill: without any
traces of charity or focial virtue,
and the other a philofopher unbiaffed
by any religious principle, — the
eharadlers which Mi-. Fielding has
here drawn of them proclaim the
hand of a mafter. Each of them
throughout the wholeph ce preferves
that peculiar turn of fentiment
•which the reader was taught to ex¬
pect from him at his primary in¬
troduction. In the following chap¬
ter, the authordeclares his intention,
on bringing thefe two extraordinary
perfonson the ftage, which, he fays,
was not done in the view of im¬
puting an odium either on virtue or
religion, which he truly ltyies the
greateft perfections of human na¬
ture ; but that it was with an eye to
their fervice that he had taken upon
him to record the lives and actions of
twooftheirfalfe and pretended cham¬
pions, Mr. Fielding’s reafoning on
this fubjedf, in the hi ft, fecond, third,
fourth, and fifth left ions of this chap¬
ter; is worthy the heart from whence
it flowed. The quarrel between
jpalter Blifil and Tom jones, in the
latter part of- this chapter, gently
unfolds the difpofition of the two
lads; and the ruling principle of

each, by which they were mitigated
to the fupport of thofe characters
they are deitined to play in the
enfuing drama.

In the fifth chapter, the characters
of the divine and the philofopher
are further illufirated, together with
the motives by which thefe artful
men were actuated, however diflimi-
lar their opinions might be on other
occafions, to favour and protect
mafter Blifil, and to difcountenance
Tom Jones.

The fixth chapter abounds
throughout with ftrokes of humour.
The aim of both the divine and phi¬
lofopher upon the heart of the wi¬
dow, and the affedtion which Mrs.
Bl.nl fhows towards Tom, are paf-
fages which ferve not only to divert
the reader’s attention, and to lead
him on by degrees towards the ca-
taftrophe of the piece, but to di lea¬
ver more fuliv the characters of
✓

Thwackum and of Square.

The advice given by Mr. Fielding
to his young readers, in the feventh
chapter, cannot fail to infpire them
with an emulation, not only that
their fentiments be intrinfically good
and virtuous, but that they appear fo
to the world. This is one of thofe
chapters which ought to be read
over and over, to imprefs on the
young reader a neceflity of regu¬
lating all his adtions by prudence
and circumfpedtion, emphatically
fly led, by Mr. Fielding, guards to
virtue, without which flie can never
be fafe. This novel abounds with
moral apophthegms, artfully intro¬
duced ; which, to thofe who read
with attention, will operate as a bea¬
con to divert them from thole foi¬
bles, which the warm and fanguine
temperament of Jones was perpe¬
tually leading him into ; and,
though our hero afterwards recover-

o .

ed from thofe falfefteps, which, from
an over-heated imagination, he was
induced to take, yet his devious

The Renunciation ; a Tale*

(rack ought never to be purfued by
tjaofe who wilh to prefer ve a fair
character through life.

The eighth and ninth chapters
abound with true attic fait. The fale
of the little horfe, and of the Bible,
which were undertaken in order to
raife money to fatisfy the importu-
m te wants of the game-keeper and
his family, is related by Tom Jones
to Mr. Allworthy in {trains fo pa¬
thetically conceived, that the perufal
cannot fail to excite in every bene¬
volent heart the like emotions which
arofe in that of the good man to
whom the tender tale was addrefled ;
and which is {till heightened from
the contrail: exhibited mthe opinions
which Th'wackum and Square
think fit to deliver on this fubjeht.

The different lights in which Tom
Jones and Blifil are reprefented in
the tenth chapter, cannot fail to in-
tereft the reader in favour of Tom,
and to fiir up an indignation againft
Jdlifil.

t I am, clear niece.

Your affectionate uncle, &c.

(To be continued )

The RENUNCIATION;

A TALE.

(By Mifs E. Yearn cs. )

qPHE caftle of La Fontaine was
fituated on the Rhine : the en¬
trances to it were defended by a
ditch and draw-bridge, which gave
adrpiflion to a fpacious court, over¬
grown with high grafs, and led to
the grand hall from which the apart¬
ments of the caftle appeared. Thefe
gloomy rooms, adorned with mag¬
nificent furniture, gave decided proof
of their antiquity, and filled the mind
with fenfations of folemn awe, when
viewing the fallen grandeur of de¬
parted opulence. The battlements

and turrets appeared proudly to
overlook the Rhine, feeming to bid
defiance to the ravages of time and
the fury of the Form; while the
hanging woods, of fir and pine,
veiled fts rugged walls from com-
mon obfervation.

Within the ' caftle bloomed the
beauteous and fair Antoinette, who
was a pattern of female foftnefs;
delicacy, and goodnefs: love had
not yet entered her youthful breaft,
and file knew no blefling fo great
as that of her father’s tendernefs,
and her fifter Clara’s friendfiiip and
efteem : forrow had never held but
a momentary hold on her heart,
and the keeneft anguifii die had ever
felt feized her on the death of mon-
fteur La Fontaine, her only fur-
viving parent.

Antoinette- fought relief in never-
ceating tears. On the banks of
fome wild and melancholy ftream,
with ail the enthufiafm of grief, fils
would mourn her parent loft; and,
from that moment, took no delight
in her former fports, or her fifter
Clara’s friendfiiip. Happily a change
foon appeared : her tears no longer
flowed; for, while fhe gazed on
the fucceflor to her father’s do¬
mains in filent admiration, the
wounds her breaft had received gra¬
dually healed, and a thoufand de¬
licious fenfations fwelled her tender
heart.

The count d’Arville was very
young, beautiful, tall, graceful, and
engaging: he had not yet difpofed of
his heart, and thought Clara and
Antoinette tw-o very amiable and

beautiful women. The fprightlinefs
of the former charmed him, and
the artlefs beauty of the latter called
forth all his admiration ; but he had
not yet decided to which to give his
heart.

Antoinette’s returning gaiety de¬
lighted the amiable Clara, who lived
but in the happinefs of her lifter ;

1 6

The Renunciation ; a Tale .

and to fee' her fmtle was the higheft
gratification fhe derived, the com¬
pany of the count excepted. D’Ar-
vijle’s flay at the caftie far exceeded
the time he had at firft propofed;
yet he knew not how to tear him-
felf from the enjoyment of the com¬
pany of thefe amiable ladies. Dif-
fatisfied with himfelf for not know¬
ing his own heart, and quickly de¬
ciding which of the two held him in
chains, he at length prepared to
probe the wound he had received ;
and, after mature examination, found
that the bright eyes of Clara had fo
inftantaneoufty pierced him. With
this convidfion, he one day fought
his enflaver, and opened to her the
fecret of his heart. Clara blufhed;
and, with liberal candour, con felled
a fimilar attachment. The count
appeared in raptures, and the heart
of Clara throbbed with the li velieft
joy. To the lifter of her affedions
fhe prepared to communicate her
happinefs: but what was her emo¬
tion on beholding Antoinette’s coun¬
tenance change from a burning
blulh to an alhy palenefs; and, being
repulfed with coolnefs, the next mo~
ment to find her lifelefs in her arms.
Clara’s agony was extreme ; and, till
her fifter’s eyes unclofed, file did
not venture to breathe; and when
they did, Hie gave a vent to her
fupprefled tears. Antoinette did
not attempt to interrupt them, but
fat by her fide, mournfully gazing
at the caftie, ever and anon heaving
a deep-drawn figh. Clara at length
recovered from her emotion ; and,
taking a hand of Antoinette, with
an affectionate preflure, afked if the
found herfelf better. Her filler
fpoke, but the inquiry remained un-
anfwered.

( Succefs and welfare attend you,
with the objedf of your affeHions ;
and may you, my fweet Clara,’ faid
flie, 4 never know' a moment’s fol¬
low, pofiefted of him,'

Clara appeared more and more
furprifed. Antoinette, after a ftrug-
glc with her feelings, thus continued :

4 Go, leave me now, filter, fince I
am quite well. Seek the count
d’Arville: he, no doubt, miftes your
long abfence from the caftie — fare¬
well, happy Clara.’

Her filter looked back with a
lingering anxiety, ataiofswhat to
underftand by her behaviour ; and,
when out of Antoinette’s fight, again
burft into tears.

Meanwhile the count d’Arville
was buried in revolving thepaft, and
dwelling on the hopes the beauteous
Clara had given him, till the ap¬
pearance of the objedt of his thoughts
interrupted them. He ftarted when
he faw her, and became alarmed at
her pale, melancholy countenance.

4 Does my adorable Clara already

repent of the half promife file has

given me?’ afked he.— ‘ Ah ! if fo,

1 am verv wretched indeed.’

Clara blufhed at the retort; and,
in a faint voice, allured him, fhe
did not as yet repent. The count’s
uneafinefs, at her reply, immediately
vanifiied. Bur, when he heard of
Antoinette’s indifpofition, he again
became deyedted ; and, taking leave
of Clara, he went in fearch of the
fair invalid, file found her, appa¬
rently difeompofed, fitting in an
arbour in the garden, where Clara
had left her. At fight of him fhe
would have retired, but he pre¬
vented her retreat by catching he?
hand ; at the fame time he ex*?
claimed —

4 O, Antoinette! do not- quit
me!’

4 What would you, fir?’ allied
file.

" 4 four prefence, a few moments,®
returned d’Arville; and Antoinette
refumed her feat. Some minutes,
palfed without either fpeaking. An¬
toinette at length broke the paufe^
by fuddenly exclaiming;

The Renunciation ; a Tale.

* I congratulate you, count d’Ar¬
ville. I have unfortunately broke
in upon your happinefs, and inter¬
rupted the jov this day ought to
"wear throughout the cafile. You
mult pardon me, and - — ’

‘ Good heavens, Antoinette!
would you apologife for your indif-
polliion? I fliould be feififti indeed,
if that were bv me thought un-
timelv; or - ’

Here a fervant brought a letter to
the count, which he found to be
from his father, defiring his imme¬
diate attendance home, to be pre-
fent at the nuptials of his only fader,
mademoifelle Palmira d’Arville;
and the count, with mournful Heps,
went towards the cafile with the
beautiful Antoinette.

The next dav d’Arville departed,
and the following week the ladies
removed from the cattle to a eon-i
vent in the neighbourhood. Here
Antoinette had not long refided be¬
fore a high fever 1'eized on her, and
nearly reduced her to the yawning
grave. Clara hung over the dying
maid in an agony too great to be de-
fcribed; and, from her delirious
ravings, learnt the fatal paflion that
had hitherto preyed upon her, and
had now reduced her to fuch a
condition. Clara was divided be¬
tween love and duty. Muft file

give up d’Arville? had he not faid
he lived but for her? ah ! would he,
if (he renounced him, marry An¬
toinette? he certainly would, she
thought ; and, believing herfelf af-
fured of this, file determined never
to wed the count.

‘Live! live! my charming Antoi¬
nette ! ’ file cried, clafping her to her
breaft. ‘Live, my filler ! my angel !
d’Arville is yours, and yours only!’

Antoinette's hollow eye gleamed
with the fire of tranfport; her pa e
cheeks were fuffufed with burning
blulhes ; and the fweeteft Indies

lighted up her heavenly counte¬
nance.

‘ Can it be?* file cried: Ms it
pofiible fuch a bleifing is in {lore
for me? — Ah, no! — Yet can you
trifle with my feelings? — You can
— you do. He loves the happier
Clara: with his own lips he faid it;
and, in that moment, I fir ft knew I
was the moll wretched of women/

‘ Then be fo no longer, if d’Ar¬
ville can make you otherwife, my
Antoinette; for, indeed, indeed, I
will give him up to you/

‘ And can you make fuch a facrL
fice ?’ ailed Antoinette.- — ‘Ah ! no, it
muft not be: I will not rob you of
happinefs; for who fo deferving of
it as mv beauteous filler?’

Clara tried every endeavour to
overcome her filler’s objedlions,
which at length proved effectual;
and file had the pleafure of feeing
Antoinette gradually recover health,
from the hope file ofttimes gave her
of love being nearly extinguilhed in
her heart, and that file could now
behold d’Arville as her hufband
without emotion.

Jn the meantime the count had
feen his filler Palmira’s haDpinefs
ratified by an union with the man
of her choice ; and, having taken
an alfeflionate farewell of his father,
who longed for the time when his
fon would bring his bride, fet out
from his chateau for the caftle La
Fontaine. As he journeyed to¬
wards it, his thoughts were "con-
Itantly fixed on its mi ft re fibs. His
Clara’s lively faliieseveiy moment
rung in his ears: he dwelt upon
her fmiles with pleafure, and wiflied
moft ardently again to enjoy them.
rihe image of Antoinette next pre¬
ferred i tie: If.

‘ What an angelic countenance!*
thoughtne: ‘what eyes! whataform!
— but, oh ! her voice how thrilling,
how transporting ?*

On the Define of Riches *

He felt a throbbing at his heart

mC>

he had never experienced before,
and forfome time forgot there was a
Clara in the world.

When he arrived at the convent,
he was met by Claia; his joy was
great at the fight of her, but his eye
fought with a lingering anxiety for
her fiber. Clara perceived it, and
inflantly told him of her fortunate
efcape from death. His counter
nance every moment changed while
file was talking.

‘ Thank Heaven, file is well !’
ejaculated he, when file had finifhed
the account of her illnefs. 4 Thank
Heaven fhe is well /

4 Shall I bring her to vou ?’ afked

O J

Clara, withdrawing her penetrating
eye.

4 Ah! — will you indeed? — Can
you? — ah, you know not — ’

Be flopr, confeious of what he
was uttering; and Clara, with a
futile, left the convent parlour.

In a few minutes file returned,
leading the beauteous invalid; d’Ar-
vilie ruflied forward to meet her;
and Antoinette, burfiing into a
flood of tears, hid her head in the
bofom of Clara.

‘Ah, Antoinette!’ cried the count,

c how altered fince 1 lab faw vou.

To what danger have vou not been
expofed?’

‘Ah, if I had loft you, then indeed
the world would have been loft to
me !’

He funk at her feet,, feizing her
hand, and imprinting on it countlefs
burning kibes. A thoufand blubies
crowded over her face: fhe fighed :
file wept ; but did not withdraw her
hand.— -Clara's heart expanded with
joy. — She joined their hands.

4 1 fee how it is,' fhe cried : 4 ye
love each, other, and thus let me
unite two grateful hearts/

A few months after, d’Arville and
Antoinette were married; and, as

the happieftof men, the count nevetf
ceafed to blefs Clara’s generous

RENUNCIATION.

Yarmouth , Dec. 11, 1802.

On the DESIRE of RICHES.

A s the love of money has been iri
* ^ all ages one of the padions that
have given great difturbance to the
tranquillity of the world, there is no
topic more copioufly treated by the
ancient moralibs than the folly of
devoting the heart to the accumula¬
tion of riches. Thofe who are ac¬
quainted with thefe authors, need
not be told how riches incite pity.,
contempt, or reproach, whenever
they are mentioned ; with what
numbers of examples the danger of
large pobebions is illuilrated, and
how all the powers of reafon and
eloquence have been exhaubed, in
endeavours to eradicate a defire
which fee ms to have rooted itfelf
too brongly in the mind to be
driven out; and which, perhaps,
had not lob its power even over
thofe who declaimed againb it; but
would have broken out in the poet or
the fage, had it been excited by op¬
portunity, and invigorated bv the
approximation of its proper objebt.

Their arguments have been, in¬
deed, fo unfuccelsful, that it is doubt¬
ful whether it can be biown, that, by
all the wit and reafon which this
favourite caufe has called forth, a
fingle convert was ever made ;
that even one man has refuted to be
rich, when to be rich was in his
power, from the convidtion of the
greater happinefs of a narrow for¬
tune; or difburthened himfelf of
wealth, when he had tried its in¬
quietudes, merely to enjoy the peace
andleifure and fecurity of a mean
and unenvied bate.

On the Defire of Riches . 89

It *s trite, indeed, that many have
Jaegledted opportunities of railing
themfelves to honours and to wealth,
and rejedted the kindeft offers of
fortune: but however their modera¬
tion may be boaded of by themfelves,
or admired by fuch as only view them
at a diffance, it will be, perhaps,
feldom found that they value riches
lels, but that they dread labour or
danger moi e than others. They are
unable to route themfelves to action,
to if rain in the race of competition,
or to if nd the fliock of conteff; but
though they therefore decline the
toil of climbing, they neverthelets
wiih themfelves aloft, and would
willingly enjoy what they dare not
feize.

Others have retired from high fta-
tions, and voluntarily condemned
themfelves to privacy and obfcurity:
but even thefe will not afford many
occafions of triumph to the philofo-
pher; for they have commonly onlv
quitted that only which they found
themfelves unable to hold, and pre¬
vented difgrace by refignation ; or
they have been induced to try pew
meafures by general inconfiancy,
which always dreams of happinefs in
novelty, or by a gloomy difpofition,
which isdifgufted in the fame degree
with every date, and wifhes every
feene of life to change as foon as
it is beheld. .Such men found high
and low ilations equally unable to
fatisfy the wifhes of a di tempered
m nd, and were unable to fhelter
themfelves, in the clofeft r„ treat,
from difappointment, folicitude, and
mifet y.

Yet, though thefe admonitions
have bee n thus neglebted by thofe

O J

who either enjoyed riches or were
able to procure them, it is not rafhly
to be determined that they are alto¬
gether without ufe: for, fince far
the greater ; art of mankind muff
be confined to conditions compara¬
tive'!)’ mean, and placed in fituations
from which they naturally look up

^ PL. XXXIV.

with envy to the eminences before
them, thofe writers cannot be
thought ill- employed who have ad-
mini if ered remedies to di {'content
almolf univerfal, by fhowing that
what we cannot reach may very well
be forborne; that the inequality *of
diffribution at which we murmur, is,
for the moff part, lefs than it fee ms j
and that the greatnefs which we
admire at a diffance has much fewer
advantages, and much Jefs fplendor,
when we are differed to approach it.

It is the bufinefs of moraliffs to
deleft the frauds of fortune, and to
fhovv that fhe impofes upon the
carclefs eye, by a quick fucceffion of
fhadows which will flirink to no¬
thing in the gripe; that fhe difguifes
life in extrinfic ornaments, which
ferve only for fliow, and are laid
alkie in the hours of folitude and
ofpleafure; and that, when great -
nefs afpires either to felicity or wif-
dom, it fhakes off thofe diftindtions
which dazzle the gazer and awe the
fupplicant.

It may be remarked, that they
whofe condition has not afforded
them the light of moral or reli-
gious inftruction, and who colledt
all their ideas by their own e’es,
and digeft them by their own under-
Handings, feem to confider thofe
who are p'aced in ranks of remote
fuperiority as a! moff another and
higher fpecies of beings. As them¬
felves have known little other mi-
fery than the confequences of want,
they are with difficulty peifuaded
that where there is wealth there can
be borrow ; or that thofe who glitter
in dignity, or glide along in af¬
fluence, can be acquainted with pains
and cares like thofe wbichjie heavy
upon the reft of mankind.

This prejudice is indeed confined
to the lowed meannefs and the <rk-
ed ionorance ; but it is confined only

O ^ ' J

becaufe others have diown its folly
and its falsehood ; becaufe it has been
eppafed in its progrefs by hifio-ry

and philofophy, and hindered from
fpreading its infection by powerful
preservatives.

The doctrine of the contempt of
wealth, though it has not been able
to extinguish avarice or ambition,
or fupprefs that reluctance with
which a man pades his da vs in a hate
of inferiority, mu ft, at leaf!, have
made the lower condition left grating
and wearifornfy and has consequently
contributed f the general Security
of life, by hindering that fraud and
violence, rapine and circumvention,
which muft have been produced by
an unbounded eagernefs of wealth,
arifing from an unfhaken conviction,
that to be rich is to be happy.

Whoever finds himfelf incited by
fome violent impulfe or paflion to
purfue riches as the chief end of his
being, muft, furely, be fo much
alarmed by the fuccefiive admoni¬
tions of thofe whofe experience and
fagacitv have recommended them as
the guides of mankind, as to flop
arid confid'er whether he is about to
engage in an undertaking that willT
reward his toil ; and to examine
whether he rufties to wealth through
right and wrong, what it will confer
when he has acquired it • and this
examination will feldom fail to
reprefs his ardour, and retard his
violence.

Wealth is nothing in itfelf ; it is
not ufeful but when it departs from
us; its value is found only in that
which it can pure hale, which, if we
iuppofe it put to the beft ufe by
thofe who poftefs it, feems not much
to deferve the defire or envy of a
wife man. It is certain, that, with
regard to corporeal enjoyment.,
money can neither open new ave¬
nues to pleafure, nor block up the
paffages to anguifh. Difeafe and
infirmity ftill continue to torture
and enfeeble, perhaps exafperated by
luxury, or promoted by foftnefs.
With refpebt to the mind, it has
rarely been obl'erved that wealth

Fajhions*

contributes much to quicken the
difeernment, enlarge the capacity,
or elevate the imagination ; hut
may, by hiring flattery, or laying
diligence afleep, confirm error, and
harden ftupidity.

Wealth cannot confer greatnefs,
for nothing can make that great
which the decree of nature has or¬
dained to he little. The bramble
may be placed in a hot-bed, but can

never become an oak. Even rovaltv

itfelf is not able to give that dignity
which it happens not to find, but
oppreftes feeble minds, though ir
may elevate the ftrorg. The

y O

world has been governed* in the
name of kings whofe exiftence has
not been perceived by any real
efifefts beyond their own palaces.

When, therefore, the defire of
wealth is taking hold of the heart,
let us look round and fee how it
operates upon thofe whofe induftry
or fortune has obtained it. When
we find them oppreffed with their
own abundance, luxurious without
leifure, idle without eafe, impatient
and querulous in themfelves, and
defpifed by the reft of mankind, we
fhall foon be convinced, that, if the
real wants of our condition are fa-
tisfied, there remains little to be
fought with folicitude, or defired
with eagernefs.

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( IVith an Engraving elegantly co~
loured.)

The opera boxes have lately af-
^ forded a difplay of all .that was
moft fp lend id and fafhionable in
Pails. Toque caps; drefies of hair
and velvet; drefies of gold-lace and
hair, in plaits; drefies, in which the
hair flowed at its natural length,
were then the moft confpicuous.
The quantity of ring and ferew
curls is diminifhed. Many wear

PARIS DRESS

MutLow Sc. Ritffdl &• f

, 1

■ i

» *

V '

- - ■; 1 ■

- ■

• - . .. •

Parifian Fajhtons .

their hair quite fhort. Both men and
women have ail the hair but that on
the neck, fii ft combed forward, and
then bruflied up on the head. Some
of the toque caps are of black velvet,
with heel fpangles. Some wear
fillets of gold wire, which enclofe the
whole hair, except only a fmall part
on the forehead. ' Thefe fillets end
in fmail egg-like fphericles of go d.
The fafliionable toque caps have, for
the mod part, one or two white
feathers on them, nearly in a per¬
pendicular polition. The fatin hats
and capotes are turned up in front.
Their colours are white, orange, or
rofe. The brim .is, in fome in-
dances. broad on the right fide, hut
abruptly fhortened on the brow
and over the left cheek. Every
fort of head-drefs hides the hair on
the neck, and exhibits fcrew curls
over the brow. At the tides, the
hai r is fometimesin love-locks, fome-
times in fpiral curls, fometimes con¬
cealed entirely. Small laced bon¬
nets are chiefly worn in undrefs;
they are of a fingle piece; and there is
fometimes an handkerchief over the
bonnet. Veils are not much worn.
Where worn, they are very much
concealed. The efprit - egrets are
much lefs frequent than fmooth flat
feathers. Amaranth and Turkifli
red are the favourite colours for the
tunics.

Sbart tunics, ftyled a-la-Juive , are
much worn, edged with a broad
lace : they are of white fatin, or of
black velvet. Spencers begin to be¬
come rare among the more elegant
clafles; thole which are dill feen are
black, or dark brown. The cloth
fhawls are for the molt pair fcarlet.
7 oques are more worn than ever:
they have three of four folds above
the forehead, and are ornamented
with a fiat feather: they, as well as
the hats, are commonly of rofe,
orange, or flefh-coloured velvet.
Hats of white fatin are in vomie.

Flowers are laid aflde as ornaments
of the head-drefs; but foliage and
flowers are employed more than
ever in the embed idling of the robes,
which, in full-drefs, exhibit fedoons
of vine and oak leaves, and fm.dl
roles.

Since the cold has fet in, the hair
is lefs fliovvn; and the tuibans
are made clofer than ufual, and
almod conftantly of velvet. Square
cloth fhawls are, from the fame
caufe, generally worn to the exclu¬
sion of the Turkifh fhawls.

Mod of the young- men, even in
full-drefs, and without powder, wear
the hair cropped. A black feather is
worn in the hat. The hat, itfelf,
is a French bat, not fubjeft to clofe
under the prelfure of the arm. The
fliirts have round plaits on the bread
and Beeves.

The public balls are quite de¬
ferred; private balls are exceedingly
numerous. At the mafk bails, do¬
minos are chiefly worn.

The fafhion of drefiing the head
in hair only, begins to ceafe. White
fatin turbans, in fome indances
filvered, are very generally worn.
The toque caps now fafliionable, are
Polonefe, of white or rofe-coloured
fatin, high and flat, -edged with fur,
fwan’S-down, or white crape. A
fort of round cap, fairing the form
of the head, but fomewhat larger,
and of white or rofe-coloured fatin,
is much worn. White and rofe
are the colours univerfally pre¬
ferred by high and low. Edgings
of fwan's-uoun are dill the mod
fafliionable : fome wear them even
on their capote The bum of the
capote is frill turned up, which
makes it to appear larger. Neither
coloured feathers nor flowers are
now worn. The hair on the fore¬
head is dill worn in ring-curls : the
ringlets frequently hang on borh
tides Ql the ears. All fhawls, but
N 2

Q% London

thofe of Caflimire, are fquare, and
are decorated with acorns, garlands,
and four flowers of gold. They are
generally of a flame-red colour, a
purple, or an amaranth.

Men of fafhion.now wear great¬
coats of fine broad-cloth. The col¬
lar, and the doubling of the breaft,
are very fmall. Duffle great-coats
have either a Angle large collar, or
have five collars falling one over
another.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Full- Drejfes.

CHORT robe of plain patent ret
^ or crape, embroidered with fliver
plate, in a manner which pioduces
the fame effebt on both Ades. The
Aeeves fhort and plain, are made of
white lace, and finifhed with a brace¬
let. The train -is of white fat in,
embroidered round the bottom with
Alver. White {hoes. Tiara orna¬
ment in the hair, and bracelets on
the arms.

Drefs of pink crape or patent net,
embroidered with gold plate, in the
fame manner as in the preceding.
The drapery finifhed in a point on
the left fide, and fattened to the drefs
with gold cord and taffels. Very
full fleeves of pink crape, the fame
as the drefs. The front made plain
and very low, with a lace tucker
drawn full round the bo tom. A
white fatin petticoat, embroidered
round the bottom with wold.

Rourid-cirefs, with a long train of
Egyptian cat t h colour, trimmed with
gold fringe ; fhort fleeves and- hand¬
kerchief of white crape, trimmed
with net.

A fwan’s-down tippet, falling very
low.

A Niobe turban of velvet and
gold ornaments, with amaryllis of
.gold in front.

Fajhiotis.

Shoes, gloves, and ridicule, of
flefh-colour. Diamond ear-rings
and necklace.

Promenade- D refjes.

Round-drefs of cambric muflin.
Spencer cloak of black velvet,
trimmed all round with broad lace.
Black velvet bonnet, ornamented
with black feathers. Bear muff.

Round-drefs of white muflin trim¬
med round the bottom with a co¬
loured border. Long fleeves made
acrofs, and confined with two brace¬
lets. Long veil of lace, or patent
net, twitted round the head, the ends
falling on each fide. A gold comb
on the top of the head. Bear muff.

Robe of white fatin, open in
front, and laced with green velvet.
Spencer of green velyef, with fleeves
a-la-Mameluke , trimmed with iw.tm’s-
down.

Spanifli hat of green velvet, trim¬
med with white, decorated with an
oifrich-feather, inclining over the
right flioulder.

Ear-rings and necklace in the
oriental Ryle, of gold ; with a lock¬
et-watch pendant to a gold chain.
White muff and gloves. Shoes of
green velvet.

Head— Drefs .

A fmall round turban of white
crape, trimmed round the front with
gold. A white offrjeh-feather placed
behind, fo as to fall over the left flde.

Genet a l (j bfervatior, s .

The prevailing co'ours are puce,
coquelicot, green, and amber. Po¬
lities of velvet or kerfeymere are
univerfal. Dreffes are made very
low in the back; and the lace which
trims the boforn, inflead of forming
a frill, is drawn up dole as a tucker.
The fleeves are made quite plain, or
very full; the plain ones confltt of
alternate ftripes ot lace and muflin.

Feathers are generally worn,
chiefly off rich. Beaver hats and
bonnets have, for the prefect, luper.*-
ieded thole of velvet.

The M'otal Zcchgifl.

the MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

part n *.

(Continued from £.?>*]*)

LETTER II.

From

Eurznia
6

Lady

to the Right Ho ft.

TV JoTHiNGmo re facil i fates the flu dy

^ of the works of nature than a
regular diilribution and claflification
of them. When we attempt to ar¬
range the different fpecies of birds,
the • Erft difti notion which offers
itfelf, is the oiviEon into land- and
water-fowl, diftmguilhable by their
legs and toes. The toes of land-
birds are divided without any mem-
brane or web between them, and their
legs and feet formed for the purpofes
of running, .grafping," or climbing;
while the legs and feet of water-
fowl are adapted to wading in the
water, or lwimming on its fur face.
But this diltinclion alone is far from
fufficient for the arrangement of fo
numerous a race of animals; the
number of fpecies of birds amount¬
ing to above a thouland, and the
catalogue, by the refearches of the
curious, being daily increafing.

Linnaeus, whole name is indif-
putably entitled to the Erf! place
among thofe who have attempted to
form fy Hematic arrangements of
the works of nature, divides all
birds into fix dalles or orders : viz.

I. Accipitres, or the Rapacious
kind, containing four genera.

II. Pica:, or the Pie kind — 23
genera.

* This Second. Fait of the Moral Zoolo^ji,
which treats o t Buds, not being Written by
Mils Murry, the author of the former part,
(continued through the la{h three volumes of
the Lady’s Magazine) we comply with her
requeft in thus announcing to our readers —
that, though the title and affumed name are
ft ill retained, the Moral Xoclogdi >is now con¬
tinued by another band,

III. Anseres, or the Goo/e kind
— 1 3 geneia.

IV. Grallje, or the Long-legged
or Crane km * — 20 genera.

V. Gallin/e, or the Poultry'
kind — 10 genera.

VI. Passe res, or the Sparrow
kind — 1 7 genera.

Mr, Pennant, in a fyftem of or¬
nithology, which is perhaps one of
the neatefl that has appeared, puh-
1 iflied • in 1781, diftinguiflies birds
into two Divifions' — Land-birds and
Water-fowl.

The firfl Divijion comprehends
Ex Orders. Thefe aVe:

I. The Rapacious- — 3 genera.

II. The Pies — 26 genera.

IIP The Gallinaceous — 10
genera.

IV. The Columbine — 1 genus
-—the Pigeon.

V. 1 he Passerine — 16 gene-
ra.

VI. Th e Struthtous — 2 se-
nera — the Dodo and the Oftrich.

The Lcond Divijion comprehends
three Ciders:

VII. The Cloven-Footed — 1 7
genera.

V i II. The Pinnated-Feet — 3
genera.

IX. The Web-Footed— 17 ge¬
nera.

The genera contained in both,
thele fyftems are t'ubdivided into a
very great number of fpecies, which
it is not my intention to enumerate
in thele letters with a dull recital
of merely their difti native marks.
The number is befides much too
great; the fpecies of birds being at
lea ft ten times as numerous as thofe
of quadrupeds, and fubjed to end-
lefs varieties. In the account I
propofe to give, I fhall feledt fuch
fpecies as are mull remarkable, and
refer them in general to the Lin-
naean fyftem ; though I fhall not
fcruple occafionally to depart from
an arrangement which dalles the

The Moral Xooloafl.

humming-bird with the raven, and
the rail 'with the oftrich.

In my next, I {hall -begin with the
firft Order , or that of the Rapacious
birds.

With the fincereft willies for your

ladyfhip’s welfare and happinefs, I

remain vour affectionate friend,

Eugenia.

LETTER III.

From the Janie to the fame ,

The characters of the order of
Accipitres , or Rapacious birds, are — •
the bill fomewhat curved : the upper
inaudible dilated on both tides behind
the lip, and armed with a half¬
tooth: the mftrils wide: the feet
clofe feated, fhort, rebuff: the toes
warty under the joints, with nails
bent, and very fharp : the head and
neck mufcular: the Jkin adhefive.
Their food is the rapine and carnage
of carcafles : their nefts are placed
in lofty fituations : their eggs are
about four in number* : the female
is the larger: they are monoga¬
mous, or pair.

Buffon remarks, that thofe birds
of prey which lubfift on flefh, and
wage perpetual war againft the other
winged tribes, are much lefs nu¬
merous, comparatively, than the
ravenous quadrupeds; and that, in
iaCt, there is only a fifteenth part of
the birds carnivorous, while, of the
quadrupeds, more than a third come
under that defignation.

It is a lingular property, common
to all birds of prey, that the female
is flronger, and one-third larger,
than the male, which is exactly the
reverfe to what obtains in quadru¬
peds, and even in other birds. Yet

* M. Buffon oblerves — ‘ It is Arrange that
Linnaeus thou Id affert that birds of prey lay
about four eggs ; for there are fome, fuch as
the common and feu- eagles, which have only-
two, and others, as the ketirel and merlin,
that have leven.*

in this we may, perhaps, perceive
the wifdom of that Providence,
which 4 hears the young ravens,
w'her 'hey cry, and gives them their
food m due feafon.’ The female,
among rapacious birds, has entirely
the care of the brood, and is there¬
fore endued with greater ffrength
to enable her to provide for
them.

All birds of prey fly high; their
wings and legs are ffrong ; their
fight piercing; They are in general
not fo prolific as other birds. In
birds, as in quadrupeds, the general
law obtains, that the multiplication is
inverfely as the bulk ■ though to this
rule there appear to be fome excep¬
tions. Almoflall birds of prey are
unfociable. Formed only for war,
they lead a life of folitude and rapa¬
city. They choofe their habitations
in unfrequented places and defert
mountains. They make their nefts
in the clefts of the rock, or on the
tops of lofty and inacceflible trees.
Thence they make their excurfions
in quefl of prey, and compel the
leffer birds to feek fafety by flight
or concealment. But to prevent the
fmaller tribes of the feathered race
from fuffering the deflrudtion to
which thev would be liable, were
all the weaker fpecies to be the prey
of all the flronger, indiferiminateiy,
it has been wifely ordered by the
great Author of Nature, that every
clafs of birds of prey attack only
fuch other birds as are in fize next
inferior to themfelves. The eagle
flies at the buftard or the pheafant,
while the fparrow-hawk pin fucs
the thrufli and the linnet ; and all the
fpecies which are the prey of thefe
birds of rapine, have various re¬
formers by which they endeavour,
and very frequently effect their
el cape.

The fiercenefs of this clafs of
animals appears to extend in fome
meafure even to their \oung* which

The Moral

they force from the neft fooner than
birds of a gentler kind. Other birds
do not abandon their young till they
are able completely to provide for
themfel ves; but the rapacious kinds
expel them from the neft while they
frill need, in fome degree, their pro¬
tection and fupport. This proceeds
from the great difficulty they fome-
times find in procuring food; and
the great facrifices they have made,
and hunger they have endured,
while, to fupport their offspring,
they have almoft famifhed them-

felves.

Of the Accipitres, or birds of the
Rapacious kind, Linnaeus enumerates
four genera — the Vulture, the Fal¬
con, the Owl, the Butcher-bird or
Shrike. Mr. Pennant includes in
this order only the Vulture*, the
Falcon, the Owl; referring the
Shrikes to the fecond order, or that
of Pies.

The eagles are referred by Lin¬
naeus to the genus ol the falcon..

I (hall, however, treat of them by
the name by which they are com¬
monly known, and begin with them,
fince the eagle has fo long borne the
title of the King of Birds.

THE GOLDEN EAGLE.

This bird is the large!! of the
eagle kind. The female meafures,
from the tip of the bill to the extre¬
mity of the feet, more than three
feet and a half; the wings, when
expanded, extend above eight feet,
and it weighs from fixteen to eigh¬
teen pounds. The male is fmaller,
and does not weigh more than
twelve. The bill is very ft.ro ng,
and refembles biueiffi horn: the .eyes
are large, but funk in a deep cavity,
and covered by the projection of the
fuperior part of the orbit : the iris is
of a fine bright yellow, and fparkles
with dazzling fire.

This bird is the Falco Chryfaflos

of Linnaeus. Thefpecific characters,
as given by him, are: 6 The cere
is yellowifh ; the feet woolly and
riifty-coloured ; the body of a do iky,
variegated, ferruginous colour ; the
tail black, with a waved cinereous
bafe.’ He adds, that its feet are
clothed with feathers as far as the
nails ; that in fine weather it foars
into the higher regions of the air;
but when a ftorni impends, hovers
near the earth.

The eagle, in feveral refpeCfs, re-
fembles the lion. Both are poffetled
of great ftrengtb, and exercife an
undifputed fovereignty over their
fellows of the foreft. Equally mag¬
nanimous, they difdain the more
ignoble animals, and only purfue

fuch as are more worthy their con-

— /

quel!. It is not till after having
been long teafed and provoked by
the cries of the rook or the magpie,
that this generous bird will attack the
contemptible intruders. Nor will
the eagle fhare the plunder of an¬
other bird, or fatiate hinafelf with
prey that he has not himfeif taken.
He never defeends to feed on carrion,
how hungry foever he may be; nor
will he return to the carcafe he has
himfeif made his prey, after being
once fatiated ; but leaves it to ani¬
mals more ravenous and Jefs delicate.
Like the lion, he remains folitary in
the midfl of the defert; for it is as
rare to fee two pair of eagles on the
lame mountain, as two lions in the
fame foreft. This inftinClive love
of folitude feems, indeed, to have
been implanted in rapacious animals
of this bulk, by the great Difpofer
of Nature, in order that they may
find a more ample fupply of prey.
Both the eagle and the lion have
fparkiing eyes, and nearly of the
fame colour. They are alike proud.

* The naked /kin which covers the bafe of
the bill in fome birds ; fo caked from its re-
lembkn^ wax.

So . The Moral Zoologi/l .

fierce, and incapable of being eafily
tamed. Great patience and much
art are requifite to tame an eagle;
and even though taken, young, and
fubjefled and familiarifed with the
greateft attention and care, it is ftill
a dangerous domeftic, and will fre¬
quently turn its ftrength againft its
mailer. Authors inform us that
the eagle was anciently ufed in the
ea ft for falconry ; but this practice
is now laid aftde. He is too heavy
to be carried on the hand without
great fatigue, nor is he ever brought
to be fo tame or fo gentle as to re¬
move all fear of danger.

The eagle rifes higher in the air
than any of the winged race, and
hence he was termed by the ancients
the Bird of Heave and regarded in
their mythology as the meftenger of
Jupiter. He can diftinguifh objects
at an immenfe diftance; but his
fccnt is not equal, to that of the

vulture. He purfues his prey by
his piercing fight ; and when he has
feized.it, checks his flight, and places
it on the ground, to make trial of its
weight before he carries it off.
Though his wings are vigorous, his
legs are ftiff, and therefore it is with
difficulty that he is able to rife, eftpe-
eialiy when loaded. He bears away
geefe and cranes with eafie, and will
It kewife carry off hares, lambs, and
kids. When he feizes on fawns or
calves, he immediately drains their
blood, and then conveys the mancled
bodies to his ey-y or airy, which is
the name ufually given to his neft.
One of thefe nefts, found in the Peak
in Derbyfhire, has been thus de-
fcribed by Willnghbv — 4 it was
made of great flicks, reftinv one end
on the edge of a rock, the other on
two birch-trees. Upon thefe was a
layer of rufhes, and over them a
layer of heath, and .upon the heath
rufhes again, upon which lay one
young one, and an addle egg ; and
by them a iamb, a hare, and ihiee

heath-pouts. The neft was about
two yards fquare, and had no hollow
in it. The young eagle was of the
fbape of a gos-hawk, of almoft the
weight of a goofe, rough-footed or
feathered down to the foot, or hav¬
ing a white ring about the tail.’

Smith, in his c Hiftary of Kerry,*
relates, that a poor man, in that
county, procured a comfortable fub-
fiftence for his family, during a fu tu¬
rner of famine, out of an eagle’s neft,
by robbing the eaglets of food,
which was plentifully fup plied by
the old ones. Pie profraaed their
aifiduity beyond the ufual time, by
clipping the wings, and retarding
the flight of the young. It was for¬
tunate, however, that the old eagles
did not furprife the codntryman
while he was thus employed, as their
refen tment might have been dange¬
rous ; for it happened, in the fame
county, that a peafant refolved to
rob the neft of an eagle, that had
built in a fmalkifland in the lake
of Killarnev, and lwam to the ifland
for that purpofe. while the old ones
were away He took the young
out of the neft, and was preparing
to fwim back with rhe eaglets tied in
a firing ; but, while he was vet up
to the chin in the water, the old
eagles returned, and, miffing their
young, quickly fell upon the plun¬
derer, and, in fpite of all his rtfift-
ance, dilpatched him with their
beaks and talons.

An inftance is recorded, in Scot¬
land, of two children being carried
oft by eagles: but, fortunately, they
received no hurt by the way; and
the eagles being purified, the child¬
ren were taken out of the nefts un¬
hurt, and reflored to their affrighted
parents.

The eggs of the eagle feldom ex¬
ceed two at a time in the larger fpe-
cies, and not above three in the
fmalleft. She fits on them, it is faid,
for thirty days ; but often, even of

The Moral Zoologijl .

th is fmail number of eggs, a part is
addled, and it is extremely rare to
find three eaglets in the lame neft.

The plumage of the young eagles
is not ot lb deep a call as in thofe
that have attained their full growth.
At fir If it is white, then a faint yel¬
low, and afterwards a bright copper-
colour. Age, as well as gluttony,
dife fe, and confinement, contributes
to render them white. They will
live, it is faid, above a century; and
even at that period, according to
fome accounts, their death is not fo
much occafioned by their great age
as by their inability to take fufte-
nance, in confequence of the bill
growing fo much curved as to be¬
come ufelef-. It has, however, been
obferved, that eagles, when kept in
confinement, occafionally fliarpen
their bill, the increafe of which, for
feveral years, is not to bfc difcern-ed,

Thefe eagles feed upon every kind
of flefh, and even upon that of other
eagles. When they cannot procure
flefh, they greedily devour bread,
ferpents, lizards, &c. When urged
bv hunger, they will fly upon and
bite dogs or men, or any animal that
comes within their reach. The
eagle drinks ftldom, and perhaps
not at all when at perfeft liberty; the
blood of its prey being probably
fufficient to quench its thirft.

The golden eagle inhabits Greece,
the mountains of Bugev in France,
thofe of Silefia in Germany, the fo-
refls in the neighbourhood of Dant-

p * ,

zic, the fummits of the Carpathian
mountains, the Pyrenees, and fome
of the mountains of Ireland. It is
alfo found in Afia Minor, and in
Perfia ; for the figure of the eagle
was the war-ftandard of the Perfians,
before it was that of the Romans.
With the latter, this golden eagle
(aquila fulva) was conlecrated to
Jupiter. The accounts of travellers
fhovv that it exifis in Arabia, Mauri¬
tania, and in many other countries
Voi. XXXIV,

Africa and Afia, as fgr as Tartaiy;
but it has not been diftovered in Si¬
beria, or in any other part of the
north of Afia. It is not found in
North- America, thoughthe common
eagle is an inhabitant of that divifion
of the globe.

THE RING-TAIL EAGLE.

This fpecies of eagle, which com-
prifes two varieties, the brown and
the black eagle, is lefs generous than
the golden eagle. It.difFers in fize,
both the varieties being fmaller; in
the colours, which are confhnt in
the golden eagle but vary in the
ring tail eagle; and in its cry, the
golden eagle uttering frequently a
doleful pi tint, while the ring- tail
eagle felciom fcreams.

This bird is called by Linnaeus
Falco Fuhus. Its fpecific charadfersj
as given by him, are — ‘The cere
yellow ; the feet woolly and dull
ruff-coloured ; and the tail marked
with a white ring.’

The fpecies of the ring- tailed eagle
is more numerous and diffufed than
that of the golden eagle, the latter
being found only in the warm and
temperate climates of the old conti¬
nent, while the former is frequent in
colder countries, and in both conti¬
nents, and inhabits France, Savoy,
Switzerland, Germany, Poland,
Scotland, and even North-America*
on the bleak fhores of FJudfon’s-Bay0

THE ROUGH-FOOTED EAGLE.

This bird is alfo called the P!a

ihue Eagle , and the Screaming Ea^ie^
from its continually uttering moans
or lamenting cries. It is fmaller
and feebler than the other

eagles.

It meafures, from the tip of the bill
to the extremity of the feet, only
two feer and ^ half, and its wings are
proportionably fhorter, and, when
expanded, fcarcely extend four feet.
Its plumage is of a dirty brown3
l'potte^ on sjae. thighs and wings with

98 A c count of the new Play—

white fpots, and its neck is encircled
with a white ring. Linnaeus reckons
it a variety of the F lc Ga’Unarius ;
becatife it is fmaller, and its wings
more variegated. The fpecific cha¬
racter is, that ‘ the cere and feet are
yellow; the upper part of the body
dufky; the lower tawny, with dun
oval fpots; the tail darkifh and ring¬
ed/

This fpecies, though not numerous
in any particular country, is Scatter¬
ed over alrrtod the whole of the an¬
cient continent. But it does not
appear that it is found in America,
though the bird called the Oronooko
eagle bears feme refemblance to it in
its plumage.

This rough-footed eagle is much
more docile, and more eafily tamed,
than the other two fpecies of eagles;
and, were it fufficiently courageous,
it might be employed for the pur-
pofes of falconry, as it is lighter on
the hand, and lefs dangerous to its
mader. But it is as cowardiv as it
is noify; and a well trained fparrow-
hawk will attack it, and prove the
victor. The female, which in the
eagle as in all other birds of prey, is
larger than the male, and, while in
a ftate of nature, more bold and
fubtle, lofes much of its courage
and fagacity when deprived of its
Liberty.

It is remarkable that the eigle
never goes in queft of his prey but
in company with his mate, except
' when the latter is confined to the
care of her young. They are al~
mod always feen together, or at a
fmall diftarice ; and it is laid that
one beats about and roufes the prey,
while the other, perched on a tree
ora rock, watches it, and feizes it as
it attempts to efcape. They will
frequently foar beyond the reach of
the eye, though their cries may then
dill be heard, refembling the bark¬
ing of a fmall dog. Though the
eagle, is a voracious bird, it will live

The Here of the North:

a long time without food. Buffon
tells us, that he was affured, by a
perfon of veracity, that an eagle,
caught in a fox- trap, lived five
whole weeks without the lead fufte-
nance, and did not appear to droop
or be enfeebled till towards the lad
week ; at the end of which it wa$
killed, to end its lingering differing.

Ail thefe fpecies of eagles, in
general, prefer defeit and moun¬
tainous tradis, and the interior coun-.
try of the continent, becaufe idands
are rarely fo well docked with
animals. They fometimes, in¬
deed, make excurdons into idands,
but do not take up their refidence,
or lay their eggs there. When
travellers fpeak of the neds of eagles
found on the fea-diore, or in idands,
they do not mean thofe we have
deferibed, but the fea-eagles and
ofpreys, which feed on fiih more
than on land animals.

(To he continued. )

Account cf the New Historical
Play, called 4 The Hero of
the North,’ performed for the
frf Time at the Theatre- Royal , Dru¬
ry- Lam, on Saturday, Feb. 10.

'he following were the characters,
which were .hus reprefented :

Guftavus Vafa,

Mr. Pope.

Cafimir Ruben/ki, N

Mr. Wroughton.

Carlowitz,

Mr. Raymond.

Ufo,

•

Mr. De Camp.

Bremiomar,

Mr, Caulfield.

Sigifmund of Caimar,

Mr. Kelly.

Gabriel,

Mr. Dowton.

Marco fh,

Mr. Bannifter, ju

I wan

Mr. Sedgwick.

Vilitzki,

Mr. Filher.

Nydorf,

•

Mr. Grimaldi.

Bafilftern,

Mr. Gibbons.

Princefs Guniida,

Mrs. Young.

Santa Michelwina,

Mrs. Harlowe.

Frederica Rubcnfki,

Airs. Mountain.

Paulina,

•

Mifs Menage.

Alexa,

Mrs. Bland.

Ulrica,

Mifs Tyre.

Chorus of Warriors, Priefts, and Miners.
Chorus of In a ns and Swedifli Matrons.

Account of the new Play — c The Hero of the Norths • S9

The hero of this piece is the ce¬
lebrated Guftavus Vafa, whofe name
will for ever be held in veneration
by his countrymen. After an un-
fuccefsful attempt to affert his right
to the crown of Sweden, in battle,
Guftavus, in order to efcape from
the rage and ftratagems of his tri¬
umphant enemy, has buried himfelf
in impenetrable feclufion. The
piece opens at this period ; and the
fii-ft fcene reprefents the in tide of a
cottage belonging to MarcofF, a
loyal miner, who refides in the pro¬
vince of Dalecarlia. Soon after,
lome travellers without doors beg to
be fheltered from the feverity of a
fnow-ftorm. They are admitted,
and feem to be an aged peafant and
his daughter. In a few minutes a
fhout is heard, and it appears that
Carlow'tz, the governor of the pro-
vtiy> with a large retinue, is in
Ult of thefe humble travellers.
y cotf hard liftened to the anxious
^ the latter, and concealed
thT a. private clofet. The go¬
vernor at firft fufpects that MarcofF
has concealed the fugitives, as they
were traced through the fnow to
his cottage. He however deceives
the governor, and fends him upon
a falfe (cent in purfuit of them.
The fugitives prove to be Cafi-
mir Rubenfki, a martial nobleman,
in the intereft of Guftavus, and his
daughter, Frederica, of whom Guf¬
tavus is deeply enamoured. Mar¬
coff is therefore highly delighted in
finding that he has been inftrumen-
tal in preferving the lives of thofe
who are dear to his lawful prince.
As, however, it would not have
been fate for Cafimir and his daugh¬
ter to remain in the cottage, MarcofF
leads them into the mines, to afford
them a Fecure {belter: a ft ranger of
a dignified demeanor, and appa¬
rently very unhappy, had previ-
oufly obtained the fame fhelter.
This ftranger is foon dffcovered to

be Guftavus, who, having reafon to
rely on the fidelity of the miners,
reveals himfelf. They are ail in his
favour, and prepare to join with
other friends, who, according to
the tidings of Cafimir, are ready to
take the field again in fupport of
their fovereign. It is neceffary,
however, in the firft inftance, that
ftratagem lbould be put in prafilice;
and, as the governor isofan amorous
difpofition, and has made fome gal¬
lant advances towards Alexa, the
wife of MarcofF, fhe is coun felled
to pretend to make an aflignarion
with the governor, who promifes to
fend all his guards to a remote place,
and to open the gate for her him¬
felf. While thefe matters are in
train, Sigifmund of Calmar, another
noble chieftain, who is in the inter-
eft of Guftavus, and betrothed to
the princefs Gunilda, lifter of the
latter, purfues her in the habit of a
pilgrim. The princefs Gunilda is
going to take the veil, by order of
the ufurping power in Sweden,
and the awful ceremony is to be
performed in the convent of St.
Catharine’s, on the day that Sigif¬
mund a rives at that place. By the
alfiftance of Gabriel, the gardener
of the convent, to whom the prin¬
cefs had fhown great humanity du¬
ring his ficknefs, the lovers are
brought together, and the princefs
is conveyed out of the convent.
They are, however, unfortunately
intercepted by the guards of Car¬
lo witz, and carried to the caftle.
Alexa attends her appointment with
the governor ; and while the latter is
engaged in amorous parley with her
before his caftle, Marcoff and the
martial miners fteal into it, and a
conteft foon follows, in which the
forces of Guftavus are victorious.
Brennomar, an officer ot the gover¬
nor, determines to hold out to the
laft; and, having fecured himfelf
from the immediate purfuit of Guf-

o a

100

On Love*

tavus, by railing the draw-bridge,
whi*h divides one part of the caflle
from the other, bids defiance to the
latter. Guftavus, after a vain exhor¬
tation to this man, orders his troops
to fcale the walls. At this moment
Brennopiar prefents the princefs
Gunilda, who is in his power, and
threatens to kill her as foon as Guf¬
tavus commences the a (fault. In
this inferefting moment Guftavus
paufes, and items inclined to with¬
draw his forces, in order to preferve
his fiih-r. The princefs, with the
moil heroic loyalty, fortifies the
refolution of her brother, and is on
the point of being facrificed, when
the governor is brought forward.
Scorning to owe any advantage to
the deftruftion of a helplefs woman,
the latter orders Brennomar to give
up' the princefs. Guftavus, ftruck
by this act of generofity, offers to
decide the conteft fingly with the
governor, in order to avoid the
dtftruftion of the forces on both
fides, by a renewal of the battle.
The governor :s affected by this aft
of heroic condefcenfion, and a fenfe
of loyalty impels him to fall on his
knees, and acknowledge his rightful
monarch. The piece then, ofcourfe,
concludes, with the happinefs of
the lovers, and the acceflion of
Gufiavus to the throne of Sweden.

The author of this piece is Mr.
Dimoncf jun., a fon of Mr. Dimond
who has long been refpefted for his
theatrical ability,- and the judgment
and general propriety with which
he has conducted himfelf as mana¬
ger of the theatres at Bath and
Briftol.

Though we cannot fpeak much
of the dramatic ftrufture of the
prefent piece, in point of originality,
yet we may fairly fay that it pof-
feffes ftrong met it, in point of in-
tertfl. The events are fufpended
in fuch a manner, as powerfully to

arreft the feelihgs. In faft, we may
confider this piece as 4 dramatic paf-
ticcio . Some of the incidents may be
traced in 4 Richard Cceur de Lion,9
in 4 The Siege of Belgrade, * in
4 Lodoilka,’ in 4 The Iron Cheft,9
and even in 4 Peeping Tom;’ for
the manner in which Marcoff takes
the money, which the governor is
going to prefent to Alexa, is a coun¬
ter-part of what happens between
the amorous Mayor of Coventry,
Tom, and pretty Maude.

However, with all the refem-
blances, and all its im perfections, it
is a piece very honourable to the
talents of a young author. The
fentiments are fometimes elevated
and noble, the diftion elegant and
vigorous, and the imagery highly
poetical.

The overture is of the martial
kind — grand and impreffive. Tjhe
mufic, in general, is partly the corK*
pofition of Mr. Kelly, and parti
felefted, It is very creditable ta
his talents, and what hg has the
merit of compofirig hands firmly in
competition with what he has de¬
rived from other mafters.

The feenery is varied, beautiful,
and magnificent. Among the moft
(hiking, are Marcoff’s cottage, the
governor's caftle, the interior of the
caftle-, the convent, and the church,
as well as the awful excavations of
the mines.

On LOVE.

/* < *

Tf you would know whether you
-*• love violently, examine the power
which love and reafon have over
your heart: if reafon be fuperior,
you do not love enough: if love be,
you love fomewhat too much : but,
if their power be divided, you are in
a condition to enjoy all the delights
of the paflion, and to be aftuated
only by realonable defires.

[ 101 ]

POETICAL ESSAYS.

INKLE and YARICOj.a TALE.

“O is E, feeling ifcufe, and fing the va-
rious ills [Avarice, flow :

Which from that haneful fource, fell

Sing of a vouth by bounteous Nature
blefs'd

With fair, engaging, prepoffefling form ;
In whole young bread no other paifion
reign’d

But love of gain, which led him to re¬
quite [tude.

The kindeft deeds with black ingrati-
Studious of all the arts t’ increafe his
wealth, [his age,

An afluent merchant liv’d. To bl'efs
Heaven gave afon — the model of his fa¬
ther.

The anxious (he, with all a parent’s
care, [reafon,

Watch'd the firfi dawnings of his Inkle’s
And turn'd the dream of juvenile affec¬
tion

In Intereft’s ford.d channel - -

Scarce had five lufires, with the r in¬
fluence bland, [cheek,

Matur’d the role that blclTom’d on his
When, wi filing to amafs fome yellow ore,
This avaricious youth refolv’d ro try
His fortune on the rough tempeltuous
ocean.

He fai ’d ; when, lo ! propitious
breezes wafted

The gliding veffel o’er the briny deep.
At length a ftorm arofe, which drove the
ba 5 k

Tofeek for fafety in a fhelr’ring creek.
Inkle, attended by fome boon com¬
panions, [food :

Quitted the Ihip, and went in quell of
Nor far they bad proceeded : when fome
Indians [form’d

Mark’d all their motions, and in fecret
An ambufcade to cut the party off.

Too well their plan fucceeded : few

efcap’d [y°ung Inkle.

The bloridy fcene ; but with that few

In wild affright he fought a gloomy

foreft, [gain’d

—Tear to his feet lent wings — until he

A fpot remote, where thick embowering
Ihades [fierce ray.

Form'd a retreat unpierc’d by Sol’s
Breathlefs and f<uint, upon a graffy hil¬
lock [that fleep

He threw his weary limbs, and hop’d
Would d own his forrows in a fiiort
oblivion ; [deity

But hop’d in vain. The downy-pinion’d
Flies from the head where Care her vi¬
gils keeps, [ltd.

And takes his fiation on the tearlefs eve-
Not long he’d lain, when, lo ! an In¬
dian princefs

Stepp’d from a neighb’ring thicket, and
alarm’d him.

Her almofi naked form, her brown com¬
plexion, [rican,

And the wild graces of this South- Ame-
Surpris’d the youth. Nor iefs the gay
attire,

The fair, engaging, European face,
Fill’d with delight the gazing negro*
maiden.

Then, Yarico, thine unfufpeiling
heart [Love !

Imbib’d that foft enchanting paifion,
Awhile aftonifh’d flood the nymph
and Twain ; [gard,

But foon furprife gave place to fond re-
And in endearments pafs’d the circling
hours ;

Still not unmindful of her lover’s fafety,
The anxiou-s virgin led him to a cave,
Where choiceft fruits were cull’d for his
repaft, [fpring.

And water brought him from the cryftal
Willing to make his hermitage^de-
lightful,

She beautify’d it with the (kins of beads.
And party-colour’d plumes of beauteous
birds,

Prefented to her by her former lovers.
When Phoebus (his diurnal journey
ended)

Reclin’d his golden head on Thetis’ lap:
When Evening, friend of lovers, dufky
Evening,

Spread his biown mantle o’er the wide
creation ;

POETRY.

102

To unfrequented groves, and flowery
folitudes,

She led the youth to take his nightly reft.
There nightingales with mufic charm’d
his ear,

And falls of water lulled him to repofe,

: Sweet were his {lumbers ; for the tender
maiden [ing danger,

Watch’d round him to avert approach-
And lock’d her lover in her faithful
arms

In fcenes like thefe the lovers fpent
their time, [own;

Until they learn’d a language of their
A tender dialed!, unknown to fchools.
He told her, if {he’d leave her native
country, [live

And go with him to Britain, fhe fbould
In fplendor, ride in houfes drawn by
horfes.

And fliine in purple robes of richeft filk,
Such as his coftly waiftceat was compos’d
of.

The enamour’d maid comply’d with
all his wifties ;

Confented to abandon parents, friends;
To leave her home, the fceneof fplendid
comforts; [lov’d.

And crofs the ocean with the man {he

Blame not, yefair, her fond credulity ;
Had ye been Yarico, you’d done the
fame !

By him inftru&ed, the obedient prig-
cefs [mam,

Travers’d the margin of the roaring
And ’fpied at length a veffel, made it

fignals : [embark’d.

It flopp’d its courfe. The loving pair
And to Barbadoes plough’d the liquid
plain.

Too foon they reach’d that mart of
human traffic, [fold;

Where captive negroes are like cattle
.Doom’d to endure their haughty tyrant’s
fcourge, [galling yoke.

And wear, through life, dire Slavery’s

Ali danger pafs’d, young Inkle rumi¬
nated, [venture :

Revolv’d within his mind the late ad-

He view’d his lofs of time with deep re¬
gret, [maiden.

And to repair that lofs he fold the

Fain would my pen omit the fliameful
fad,

And let it fteep in everlafting iilence ;
But truth forbids.~~-He fold hh Yarico —
His fond believing damfel — for a Have !

Words are too faint to exprefs in
proper language

The poignant pangs that wrung her
faithful ‘heart,

When told of his intention : foon flie
found him ;

And ftrove to foften his obdurate nature.
With all the ftlent eloquence of tears ;
But ftrove in vain.<— = .

11 Unkind, ungrateful Inkle i’ cried
the maiden, [heart ?

1 Why wilt tnou break an t ver-c nit ant
Oh 1 think for thee \ left the l eft of
homes, [ e member

The kindeft, tendereft parents S Oh,
Wit'\ what a fond affectionate anxiety
I did preferve thee from my fivage
countrymen 1 [love,

And can you thus requite my gen’rous
And wrong the maid who ventur’d all
for thee?

i RefleCt upon the facred oaths you
l\vore ! —

The vows of everlafting love you rflade.
Within my native groves and palmy
{hades !

4 There is an awful Power that rules
on high, [roll,

Who bids the loud tremendous thunder
And launches from his arm the fwift-
wing’d lightning :

(Oh, dread his vengeful bolt, and blaft-
ing flafti !)

He, who ne’er fails to punifh perjur’d
lovers, [mine !

Will dreadfully avenge fuc-h wrongs as

6 But if thefe fad complainings will
not foften [virtue.

Thy callous heart, and bring it back to
Yet let the infant, which I bear within
me,

Excite parental feelings in thy bofom.
Oh, fpare thy helplefs, unborn innocent !
Doom not thy little-one to certain woe !
Then {hall the pretty cherub, with gay
fmiles, [mother

Repay thy kindnefs, while its happy
Grows weary with invoking bleffings on
thee.’

Unmov’d, unmelted by this foft ad-
drefs, [planter —

He left the nymph abruptly — fought the
(To whom he ’d fold this greatly-injur’d
viClim)

Inform’d him of her pregnant fituation.
And aik’d advance of price ; this end
obtain’d, [ifle,

Cheerful he fail’d to Britain’s fea-girt
And left poor Yarico to pine in bondage.

John Webb®

Haverhill, January 29, 1S03.

POETRY.

. 103

THE VIGIL OF ELVA. ■

(From 4 Poemt by William Richard [on, A. M.
Prcfejfor of Humanity in the Unwerjity of
Glafgowd)

eary with the toil? of war,
From his native valley far,
Underneath a fecret lhade,

By his wedded Eiva laid,

With mail unclafp’d, his morrion lying
near,

And leaning on a rock his maffy fpear,
Edwald all unconfcious flept ;

While Elva heav’d the tuneful figh and
wept.

ir.

1 Softly, very foftly blow,

Gales the woody wild that fweep ;

Gently, very gently how,

Surges of the adjoining deep!

May no din, nor tumult rude,

On this lone recefs intrude !

And now, beneath the moon-light ray,
The languid gale, flow panting, dies
away-, fthe wave

With ebbing paufe and hollow groan,
Murmurs expiring in adiftant cave.

III.

4 And now, while not a vagrant found
Strays on hill or dale around,

Gentle fleep ! on downy wing,

Thy opiate effences and ballams bring;
From thy plumes of dulky hue,

Softly fliake the fragrant dew,

And to Edwald’s ravifh’d fenfe
Thy mildeft influence dilpenfe.

I V.

4 Anon, with animated bloom,

In youthful glow let Famy come;

And, bright with many an orient gem, .
Let a blazing diadem
Prefs her auburn locks, that flow
O’er a bofom white as fnow :

And let her gorgeous vefture, hemm'd
with gold, [fold.

A thoufand hues in mingling flov/’rs un-

4 Oh ! at this folcmn, ftlent hour,

May flie wave her rod of pow’r,

And to Edwald’s mental eyes
Bid domeftic fcenes arife !

High let the caflle’s banner’d brow
In vifion guard the furrow’d vale below ;
Where in flow flare to meet th’ Hibernian
deep,

Sabrina’s mighty waters fweep.

Flowing from the Cambrian wire,

Let Muflc’s melting voice confpire,
With Love’s foft accent, while he Teems,
Rapt in the tranfport of ecftatic dreams.
Again to tread, and, with endearment
fweet,

His hofpitable threfbold greet.

VI.

4 Oh ! while around his thrilling knees,
The blooming pledges of our love he fees,
Gufhing from the well-fpring clear
Of pure affebTion, let the genuine tear
Quench the wild light’ning of his ardent
eye,

And every vengeful wiih within him die.

VII.

4 Gentle dreams ! with lenient charm,
Th’ impatience of his foul difarm ^
With kindly influence afluage
The tumult of vindibtive rage ;

Oh ! let no form of injury intrude
On the foft calm of his forgiving mood ;
But let him wake to peace of mind re-
ftor’d,

And flieath the fury of his fiery fword 1*
AN ELEGY.

filent groves refound my laftadieux*
Ye grottoes facred to the fylvan
Mufe.

The town I feek, fince here all joy is fled.
To 1'oothe my anguifh for Ciarifla dead.

No more the fliepherd’s pipe delights the
ear :

No more their fbngs difpel corroding care :
Alas, their notes of joy have fwiftly fled !
Each fwain laments the fair Ciarifla dead.

The birds no more pour forth their anP-
rous tale ;

But notes of anguifli die upon the gale.
No flow’rs adorn the once enamel’d
mead , [fa ’s dead.

She who out- bloom’d them all — Clarif-

The lambkins now forget their wanton
fport ;

No longer do they to the vale refort ;
The opening rofe reclin’d falutes its bed ;
E’en favage beaus bewail Ciarifla dead.

The foaring lark omits to hail the morn ;
The blighting infebh peft the rifing corn ;
And gioomy clouds the aether over-
fpread —

All nature mourns the fair Ciarifla dead.
Tooley-f.reet , Southwark. J. S:**k.

POETRY.

TO FANCY.

rolific Fancv, ft HI attend,

Sweet wanton, airv (hade,

, A care-worn mortal’s wifh befriend,

« Who courts thy potent aid.

Thy gentle magic, oh ! impart,

, Thar lulls the fenfe cf grief ;

11 That calms the reftlefs throbbing heart,
And brings the mind relief

Be thine to whifper foothmg peace ;

Each anxious thought deftroy;

To bid conflidling paffions ceafe,

Or turn to fprings of joy.

Thy pow’r diftraftion’s felf beguiles ;

Each opiate balm diftils :

By thee the wretch contented fmiles,
Nor feels the prefent ills.

*Twas thou, on Homer’s darken’d light,
Could pour the vifual ray ;

Could cheer his age and wafted fight,
And ope poetic day.

*Twas thou the wond’rous fong* in**
fpir’d

That canght the infant gaze ;

When rude untutor’d Greece admir’d,
And lifp’d the voice of praife.

’Twas thou the jafper gates unbarr’d,
When Milton’s foul furvey’d
Th e dread Eternal ’s countlefs guard.
The feraph band array’d.

Lur’d on by thee, in youthful pride,
(Gay nature’s vernal bloom)

We wanton blithe, on pleafure’s tide,
Regardlefs of our doom.

How fweetly Ideal the halcyon hours ;

In vain each end we mifsj
Each foft ideal joy is our’ s,

If Fancy ftamps the blifs.

Oh ! wrapt in fleecy clouds, defeend,

As falls the gentle dew ;

Benignant, ftili my couch attend.
Aulpioious fprite, adieu.

SONGS in the new Hi fori cal Play of
* The Hero of the North.’

A 77k —A lexa . — ( Kelly ) .

H 1 fliould mv love ir> fight be flain,

I ne’er could bear my woe,

This ftrfcken heart would burft with,
pain.

Yet no diftraeflion fhow.

This faithful eye no tear would fhed,
This lip betray no figh,

I fhould but hear my love was dead,
Juft blefs his name, and die.

Then fhould the trumpet wake thy zeaj^,
Dear youth, guard well thy life,
Though for thyfelf thou canft not fed,
Yet, oh I preferve thy wife !

For like the grafted flower that lends
Some hardier plant its bloom,

That ftorm which on the one defeends*
Muft breathe a double doom !

SONG. — G a b r i e l ( Kelly).

Oh, when I was young how I kifsM
and I toy’d,

The lakes, fweet creatures! my time
quite employ’d ;

I wrote them fuch pofies,

’Bout fweet-briars and rofes,

When dancing, their pride was with me
to be feen :

Though now run to feed,

And am call’d an old weed,

Yet I do as I pleafe,

Still enjoy my heart’s eafe,

And contented I know I ’m an old ever¬
green.

Shut up in this place as though under a
Lame,

My trunk remains firm, yet my fap an’t
the fame ;

There ’s not a day palfes,

But ail the young laffes,

Like ivy cling round me wherever I ’m
feen j

Though grown fomewhat old,

My heart’s not yet cold,

I’m as bly the and as gay,

As a daify in May,

And my love for the wenches remains
ever green.

ANACREONTIC.

F ess the grape, and let it pour
Around the board its purple fhower;
And while the drops my goblet flee^>,
I’ll think — in woe the clufters weep.

W eep on, weep on, my pouting vine !
Heav'n grant no tears, but tears of wine.
Weep on, and as thy borrows flow,

I ’ll take the luxury of %uoe l

* The Iliad.

t 105 ]

Naples, Dec. 12.

Y>Y lett ers from Algiers of the 5th in ft.

we learn that the regency had de¬
clared war againft Denmark. Orders
were given to the Danifh conful to take
his departure within three days. Thefe
were accompanied with menaces of vio¬
lence, if he fhould fail to comply.

Citizen Dubois ThainviMe, agent for
the French republic, having fpecial or¬
ders from the iirft conful to protedt all
powers in amity with France from the
injuftice and violent outrage of thofe
pirates, fignified to the dey, that the
Frft conful would hear with concern of
condudf fo irregular towards a power,
againft which there was no reafonable
ground of complaint, and which had
lately paid him a very confiderable tri¬
bute.

The med'ation of France was highly
offenfive to the dey ; he feven threatened
to fend away the French agent with the
Danifh conful. Matters are fuppofed
to have been fince mutually accommo¬
dated between the parties.

The Danifh agent remains ; and it is
believed, that, for this time, the regency
wiil not put into execution its threats of
declaring war againft Denmark.

Turkijh Frontiers , Dec. 25. The Ot¬
toman Porte has, in compliance with fo-
licitations from the court of Vienna,
agreed to defift from the fearch of boats
pafftng up and down the Danube.

Conjiantinople, Dec. 27. According to
official intelligence from Alexandria,
eight Englifh fhips have arrived, to take
on board, as is faid, the Englith troops
in that country, and to convey them to
England. The adjutant of general
Stuart arrived a few days ago in this ca¬
pital, and this evening will have an au¬
dience of the reis tffendi. Nothing yet has
tranfpired refpe&ing the contents of the
difpatches which he brought, and which
have been delivered to the grand vizier,
Vol. XXXIV,

Rome, Jan. 1. Moft of the public
papers have given out, that the command
der Rufpoli, appointed by his holineA
to be grand mailer of Malta, was not to
be found. It was faid alfo that he had
refuted to accept the appointment. We
are, however, flow positively aftured,
that in the beginning of laft December
he was found at Bath, returning from
Scotland, and proceeding to London ;
and though he fhevved forfie reludfance
at fir ft to accept the nomination of his
holinefs, there is reafon to believe that
he will obey the new letters which he
mult by this time have received from
thejovereign pontiff.

P.atiJbon , Jan. 1. We have received
the important intelligence, that the
Auftrian troops now in garrifon at Pafi*
fau have received orders to quit that
city, and to remove into Innvertel and
the bilhopric of Saltzburg. The eva-*.
cuation will take place before the end
of January. This order has' been given
in confequence of the convention~con~
eluded on the 26th of December, be¬
tween France and Auftria, to which
Ruffi a has formally acceded, and which
is actually fubmitted to the approbation
of the deputation of the empire.

Genoa , Jan. S. This day, three
French fhips of the line have entered
©ur port, under the Command of vice-¬
admiral Bedou, after a voyage of twenty-
days from Breft ; each with a crew of
560 men. Onboard this fquadron the
Polifh demi-brigade will embark, after
being reviewed.

Gibraltar, Jan. 10. We have had a
feries of the worft weather and the moft
violent gales of wind for a month paft
that have occurred in the memory of
the oldefl inhabitant. Yefterday and
laft night it again blew a hurricane*
This morning no lejs than fourteeii
veffels were difeovered on ihore at the
bottom of the bay, fevcr&i of which will

106

Foreign News.

be wrecks ; only one of them is Eng-
lifh ; the reft are French, Dutch, or
Spanifh. The Cynthia floop of war,
deftined for England, ftill remains wind-
bound.

Katijbon , Jan. 12. The Auftrian en¬
voy and minifter plenipotentiary to the
diet, M.de Fahnenberg, is charged with
making a propofition to the diet relative
to the prefervation of a balance of reli¬
gion in the College of Princes, which
could not be maintained if the plan of
Indemnities was ftridftly adhered ’to.
The plan propofed by M. Fahnenberg
diftributes the votes according to the
Importance of the different powers. Of
feventy voices given to the catholics,
Auftria is to have ten, the grand duke
of Tufcany eight, Bavaria twelve, & c.
Of fixty-eight proteftant voices, Bran-
denburgh to have thirteen, Hanover
feven, &c.

It is eafy to forefee that this plan
will meet with much oppofition from
the ftates known by the description of
the Pruflian party.

M. de Hugel, the Imperial plenipo¬
tentiary, has given his adhefion to the
laft conclufum of the deputation. He
has on this occalion prefented to the
ambaffadors of the mediating powers a
note, in which he invites them, in the
moft pr effing manner, to bring before
the diet, and to have decided, the points
yet unfettled, viz. the remainder of the
endowment of the elector arch-chancel¬
lor, and the annuities to be affigned to
the different ftates injured by the dif-
pofitions of the plan of indemnity ; the
formation of a fund to maintain the
sle&or of Treves without recurring to
the payment of Roman months, .1 he
diet fat on the 10th, but no vote was
given on the affairs of the indemnities.

Berne, Jan. 14. Roederer has pre¬
pared a plan of a conftitution for the
ci-devant ariftocratic cantons. A grand
council, conhfting at Berne of two hun¬
dred and ninety-four members, and at
Zurich of two hundred and twelve, is,
according to this plan, to form the le-
giflative power. The organic laws are,
however, to be fubmitted to the fanc-
tion of the Helvetic diet, which will
rejeEfc them if they have any thing in
them oppofite to the cantonal conftitu-
tion. Ths council names the principal
officers and deputies to the diet. A

petty council of twenty-feven members
for Berne, and fifty for Zurich, unites
the executive, adminiftrative, and judi¬
cial powers. The penfioners and fecre-
taries to be elected by the councils.
The grand council to hold a regular fit¬
ting of fourteen days every fix months j
it may be brought together on extraor¬
dinary occafions by the convocation of
the petty council. The members of the
grand council to have no falary : thofe
of the petty council to have eight hun¬
dred francs at Zurich 5 fix hundred at
Berne ; one thoufand two hundred at
Lucerne. The members of the grand
council to be for life, thofe of the petty
council to be re-ele6ted every year.
The principal articles of this plan are
much difapproved of, particularly the
proportion of numbers between Berne
and Zurich. Remonftrances have been
prefented on this head, which it is
thought will have fome effect.

Brujfeh , Jan. 20. It appears that it
is not in the vicinity of our city alone
that an encampment is to be formed for
twelve thoufand men. Accounts from
the borders of the Rhine mention, that
an equal number of troops is to be fta-
tioned on this part of the frontier. The
general commanding the twenty-feventh
military divifion has received pofitive
orders to this effedt. According to the
fame advices, the prefers of the four
new departments are to meet in a few
days at Coblentz, to confer with citizen
Dauchy on all matters that concern
their governments. General Beliard
had let out on the 13th for Paris, with
the greateft precipitation ; he returned
yefterday evening, but did not ftop a
moment. He proceeded immediately
to Ghent, where the counfellor of ftate,
Pellet de la Lozere, ftill is. It is not
known what occahoned this precipitate
journey, and this return equally preci¬
pitate.

Milan , Jan. 24. A decree of the
vice-prefident, dated the 21ft of this
month, has been promulgated, declaring
that every perfon pubiifhing printed
works is relponfible to government for
their contents as far as regards the re¬
ligion of the ftate, public morality, and
the freedom of.vvorfhip, guaranteed by
the conftitution ; for every attempt
againft public order, fubmiffion to the
laws, or the refpedt owing to govern-

Foreign News . 107

ment and the authorities, as well as
again ft every thing that might inter¬
rupt the harmony, and the attention
due to friendly powers, and tending to
the defamation of individuals. In con-
fequence, the author will be obliged to
put his name to his printed work ; the
printer will alfo be bound to annex his
own to it : and, if the author chooie not
to be known, the refponfibility is to
fall on the printer, even to the fevered
confequences, unlefs he difeovers the
author. Every proprietor of a prim¬
ing office is obliged to notify it to the
local police authorities, under the pe¬
nalties mentioned in the decree. All
compofitions for the theatre; every pe¬
riodical paper, as well domeftic as fo¬
reign ; all foreign works, fo far as they
are articles of commerce or traffic ; are
alike fubjedt to the operation of the de¬
cree. The privilege of judging is veiled
in a magiftracy, compofed of three per¬
sons refiding at Milan, fubjedt refpec-
tively to the minifters of the interior
and of worth ip, in every thing that re¬
gards their departments. This magi-
ftracy is the centre of all the inferior
offices of inquifidon throughout the
territories of the republic.

Hague , Jan. 25. The enormous
thicknefs of the ice has given rife to
confiderable apprehenfion that its break¬
ing will, this year, be more dangerous
in moll diftridts than in former feafons.

The government, by means of notices
tranfmitted through different provinces,
has taken effe&ual meafures to have
the dykes which fecure the fafery of
Gueldres and a part of Holland put
into a fituation capable of refilling the
i-mpetuofity of the ice. On the other
fide orders have been given to the inha¬
bitants of the villages fituated on the
Rhine, the Wahal, and the Met fe, to
form themfelves into detachments, to
name perfons to command them, and
to be ready to march in cafe of danger
to the places where their prefence may¬
be neceffary.

Admiral de Winter is to go to Lifbon,
after a lliort flay at Toulon, about the
beginning of February. There he is to
finilh his cruife and to return heme. In
his iateft communications to our go¬
vernment, he obferves, that the coafts
of Italy are entirely abandoned by the
Barbary pirates.. The Batavian flag

has been highly diftinguilhed in the
Archipelago.

Pam, Feb. 3. Upon the news of
the death of general Leclerq, and of the
urgent necefiity of the army in St. Do¬
mingo for immediate affiftance, the mi¬
ni lie r of war propofed to fuch of the
foldiers as were willing to erobark'in
that fervice to come forward and offer
themfelves for it as volunteers. 'Nearly
fixty thoufand men from the old corps
accordingly enrolled their names for an
expedition to St. Domingo.

The fir ft conful has diredled the mi-
nifter of war to teftify to thofe gallant
men, that he has had the bigheft fatis-
fadlion in being informed of the gene¬
rous fpirit with which they had made
their offers ; but that, as fifteen thou¬
fand men had recently been difpatched
to the Weft Indies, no farther luppues
of troops were, at the prelent moment,
wanted for that fervice. He, however,
was d-efirous that they Ihould know with
what efteem he beheld that Icve of
glory and of danger which is the true
charadleriftic cf French heroifm, and
the heft pledge for the lafting proipe-
rity of a great nation.

Feb. 8. The government of the re¬
public has decreed, on the 4th of this
month, the forms of convocation : ift,
of the eledloral colleges of the depart¬
ment ; 2d, of the adts for nominating
the prefidents of the Paid colleges ; 3d,
of the letters of the firft conful to the
public officer commiflloned to receive
the oaths of the prefidents of the faid
colleges ; 4th, of the letters of the firft
conful to hie prefidents of the colleges;
5th, of the letters of the hi ft conful to
the chief infpedtor of the national gen¬
darmerie ; 6th, of the letters of the firft;
conful to each general commanding a
military divifion ; 7th, of the arretes for
affembling the eiefloral colleges of each
circular diftridl ; 8th, of the adls for no¬
minating the prefidents of fuch colleges ;
9th, of the letters of the firft conful to the
public officer commilfioned to take the
oath of the prefident of fuch colleges
ioth, of the letters of the firft conful to
the prefidents of fuch colleges; 1 ith, of
the letters of the firft conful to the
chief infpedlorof the national gendarme¬
rie ; 12 th, of the letters of the firft conful
to each general ccpimanding a military
divifion.

t z

[ 103

HOME NEWS.

Gla/gow, Jan.. 1 5.

N Sunday afternoon a crowd of. dis¬
orderly perfons affembled in front
of the College, on the pretext of Search¬
ing for a dead body, and though all the
college, rooms were immediately opened
and Searched by the magiftrates, and
the moil perfedt atSurances given that
the body was not in the college, and
that the college had no concern either
diredUy or indiredUy with the matter,
they proceeded to adbs of violence,
breaking mod of the front windows,
and threatening to break into the build¬
ings.

Yefterday they again affembled, and,
pfter the molt daring adds of outrage,
were difpetfed by the magiftrates. No
perfon has been materially hurt. To^
day the univeriity is protedled by a mi¬
litary force, and the buftnefs of the col¬
lege is to go on as ufual to-morrow.
Several perfons have been apprehended
and committed to prifo.n in confequence
©f this outrage, and rewards ar£' offered
by th.g magiftrates and by the college
for the difcovery of any of the perfons
principally concerned in exciting this
difturbance.

Jan. 29. The number of new build¬
ings at prefent going on, and :o be begun
in the Spring, in this city and its neigh¬
bourhood, afford a ftnking proof of its
profperity, and of the increafe of the
population. A great number of houfes
are to be built immediately, and lots of
building ground have, within thefe few
days, been formed in different parts of
the city, to the amount of 8o,pool.
Sterling. Five hundred houfes are foon
to be built, chiefly for operative weavers,
by Societies intQ which they have form¬
ed themfelves. Every member is to
have a houfe built for him, for which he
is to pay, at his entry into the Society,
fix pounds Sterling, and every month
thereafter half a guinea, till the whole
expenpe bp defrayed.

London , Jan. 31. A Singular attempt
to commit Suicide occurred yefterday
evening at the Chefhire Cheefe, Fleet-
ftreet. A refpedlable-looking young
man, who had frequently been in the
houfe, who had conducted himfelf with
propriety, and who, from his appear¬
ance and other c.ircum fiances, is fuppofed
to be a clergyman, after dining, and
offering up large libations, Suddenly
left the room in a ftate of extreme in¬
toxication. In a Short time the report
of a pifto! was heard: Some gentlemen
in the houfe inftantly ran into the yard,
where they found the young man in
the greateft perturbation, his mouth
bleeding moft copioufly, and the pifto!,
on their entering the yard, thrown from
him. He appeared, at firft, much agi¬
tated, and declared he was “ a dead
man.” Nothing further than a violent
contufion of the lip, however, appeared to
have taken place ; and whether the pif-
tol was loaded with ball, or not, is yet
unknown. On his being taken into the
houfe, and queftioned as to his inten¬
tion, he Said, had his deftgn taken place
he Should have been now in heaven.
In Some further conversation, he, in a
very incoherent manner, attempted to
juftify Suicide. Qn being alked where
he lived, he faid,in Mount-ftreet, Lam¬
beth. His condudl evincing every mark
of infanity, whether from intoxication
or orherwiSe, it was deemed neceffary
to place him in a ftate of Security until
the morning : he was therefore taken to
the Compter.

About one o’clock on Saturday a man
threw himfelf over London bridge : he
was hurried by the torrent from the
water-works arch under a veffel : his
body difappeared, and is not yet found,
Fie had for Some time been mentally de¬
ranged.

Newark, Jan. 31. Thurfday morn¬
ing, a perfon going into the houfe of
Mrs. Mayfield, of Beamon d Crofs, near

Home News.

103

tliis town, beheld the woman, who was
very old, lying before the fire, and burnt
to a cinder ! It appeared fhe had been
at breakfaft alone, and had probably
fallen into the fire in a fit.

London, Feb. i. A very ferious acci¬
dent has taken place in the Padding^n
Canal, which, till reparation can be
made, has entirely put an end to the
navigation. It appears that the cylin¬
ders which run under the canal, and are
conftrufted for the purpole of carrying
off the land waters, have burft, owing to
the Hidden freft, an-d let out nearly all
the water in the canal, from its com¬
mencement at Paddington to the fourth
bridge.

The hurricanes for the laft fortnight
on the whole of the Eaft Riding of
Yorkshire have been more tempeftuous
and fatal than were ever known. No¬
thing has been feen along the whole
Ihore but parts of wrecks of vefTels and
the dead bodies cf unfortunate men who
have perifiied in the fiorms. The
American conful, his wife, and child,
were with great difficulty faved at Brid¬
lington Quay, and were brought on
lhore, nearly naked, in an ppen boat.
A black, who attempted to fwim to the
Jfhore, was dallied to pieces again!! the
rocks.

Feb. z. A gentleman in a refpeft-
able mercantile houfe, not long fince
married to a .very amiable young lady,
exhibited of late fome fymptoms of
mental derangement, particularly in
writing an incoherent letter to his part¬
ner, with ‘whom he was in the clofeft
habits of intimacy, requefting him to
take care of his wife after he was gone.
The iubftance of this letter was commu¬
nicated to the lady, who judged it right
to watch narrowly the conduft of her
hufband, fearing he had fome defign on
his life. Notwithftanding the precau¬
tions ufed, the unfortunate gentleman
found means, on Tuefiiay lafi, to go to
a chemift’s, and purchafe a crown’s
worth of laudanum in a phial, with
which he wandered towards Bedford-,
fquare, and 'here drank the contents.
Soon ^fter, he went into a public-houfe,
and fat down, the landlord, fuppofing
ifijn intoxicated, took little notice of
him, till, appearing very ill, he was
questioned. The unfortunate perfop

then afked for brandy : the landlord gave
him fome, which had the immediate
effect of bringing a good deal of the lau¬
danum off his ft omach, or he rauft ihortlf
have died. His pockets were the®
fearched, when nothing was found about
him but the direction to a friend’s houfe*
which probably he had put in his pocket
on purpole: through. this friend intelli¬
gence was conveyed to the lady, who, on
on her arrival, found her hufband in the
moft deplorable ftate, with one fide of
his face and body completely paraiyfed.
Notwithftanding the heft: medical alfift-
ance, he ftill remains in this ftate, and
very little hopes are entertained of his
recovery. This rafh aft cannot other-
wife be accounted for but by infanity, as
the gentleman was in no pecuniary or
other embarraffment.

Feb. 4. In the night between Tuef-
day and Wednefday laft, the extenfivc
manufactory of Mefirs. Wedgwood and
Byerley, at Etruria, in StafFordfliire,
was discovered to be on fire : the neigh¬
bourhood was immediately alarmed, and
every aififtance poffible was rendered-
but confiderable damage was done before
the flames could be extinguilhed.

Feb. 5. The fpecial commiffion for
the trial of colonel Defpard and twelve
others, on an indiftment for high trea-
fon, was this day. opened at the court-
houfe, Horfemonger-lane, in the Bo¬
rough. The judges on the com million
were lord Eilenborough, Mr. jullice Le
Blanc, Mr. juftice Chambre, and Mr.
baron Thompfon. The prifoners were
arraigned, and pleaded not guilty; after
which the court adjourned till Monday,
Feb. 7.

Dover, Feb. 6. The Hyacinth, cap¬
tain Pollet, mafter, from Calais, arrived
yefterday evening, with twenty-one
paffengers and baggage; alfo the L'A-
chille, captain Robert Cornuc, from
Boulogne, with Mrs. Sufannah Meynai,
Jofeph Eftridge, e!q., and the corpfe of
Edward Eftridge, and two carriages..
For fome days paft a great deal of mo¬
ney h^s been brought over from Calais :
this morning were landed from the
Duchefs of York, captain Watfon, from
Calais, 18 cafes of money; from the
Hyacinth, 4 cafes, 5 bags and 2 calks
ditto ; and from the Auckland, captain
Nopris, 23 cafes and calks ; making in

1 10 Home

all 52 packages of money, weighing 68
cwi. 3 qrs.

London-, Fob. 7. The trial of colonel
Defpard for treafon came on this day at
the court-houfe, Horfemonger-iane, and
laitcd eighteen hours, till nearly three
o’clock the following morning. Seven¬
teen witneffes were called on the part of
the profecution. Mr. ferjeant Beft ad-
d refled the court in behalf of his client,
the prifoner ; and, after a very able
Speech, called witneffes to character, viz.
lord Nelfon, general fir Alured Clarke,
fir Evan Nepean, and George Long,
efq. 5 all of whom fpoke highly of the
conduct of colonel Defpard while he
bore a commiffion in his Majefty’s Ser¬
vice. Mr, Gurney then add re fie d the
court and the jury alfo in behalf of the
prifoner, and was replied to by the folici-
tor-general. The arguments of counfei
on both fides being concluded, the lord
prefident proceeded to fum up the evi¬
dence, which he did in a fpeech of nearly
two hours. A few minutes before three,
the jury retired to confider their verdict :
at half pad, they rerurned into court,
and pronounced a verdict of guiliy \ but,
in confideration of the high teftimonials
to the colonel’s former good condudt and
charadter, they begged leave to recom¬
mend him earneftly to mercy. The
court, after thanking the jury for their
patient attention, adjourned till Wednef-
day, when the trials of the other pri¬
soners will be proceeded on.

Colonel Defpard was dreffed in a
dark-blue coat and Scarlet waificoat :
his hair was without powder. His be¬
haviour during the whole of the trial
was cool and colledled : he paid much
attention to the evidence, but did not
put any queflions himfeifto the different
witneffes. He handed Several letters to
his counfei during the progrefs of the
trial, and at one part of it wiftjed to be
permitted to fit near them : the court,
however, could not depart from the
tifual form of the prisoner's remaining
st the bar.

The colonel heard the verdidt with
firmnefs.

Feb. 8. The new palace at Kcw is
not expected to be finifhed for five years,
when the expences, it is eftimated, will
amount to nearly half a million of mo¬
ney. The joills for the flooring are

News .

formed of caff: iron: the ceilings are t©
be compoled of the new ffucc'o ; and the
better to obviate any accident from fire,
iron is fubftituted for wood on every
poffible occafion. One wing, comprifing
part of the offices, is built ; and the
whole is to be Surrounded by a wall 30
feet high, which will give it the appear¬
ance of a fortified prilbn.

Feb. 9. The court met, at the fef-
fions-houfe, Horfe monger- lane, purfuant
to adjournment, a little after nine o’clock
in the moraine, and proceeded to the
trial of the following prisoners — John
Wood, Thom as Broughton, John Fran¬
cis, Thomas Phillips, Thomas Newman,
John Doyle, Daniel Tyndal, James
Sedgwick Wrattan, William Lander,
Arthur Graham, Samuel Smith, and
John M£Namara.

The trial lafted from nine in th$
morning till fix the next morning. The
evidence was nearly the Same as on the
trial of colonel Defpard. The jury re¬
tired for one hour and thirty-five mi¬
nutes, and then returned a verdidt of
guilty againft the nine following pri¬
soners, viz. John Wood, Thomas
Broughton, John Francis, Thomas
Newman, Daniel Tyndal, John Sedg¬
wick Wratten, William Lander, Arthur
Graham, John McNamara.

Thomas Philips and Samuel Smith
were acquitted.

Mr. Defpard was then ordered into
court, and was Speedily brought to the
bar. The court then announced to the
priSoners their convidtion, and put the
ufual queftion, if they had any caufe to
fliew why fentence fhould not pafs.

Mr. Defpard addreffed a few words
to the court, but in So low a tone of
voice as to be inaudible to our reporter.

Lord Ellenborough then proceeded to
addrefs, firft Mr. Defpard, and after¬
wards the other prifoners, in a molt
Solemn, awful, and impreffive manner,
on the enormity of their offence, which
filled every eye in the court with tears.
His lordfliip then proceeded to pafs the
awful fentence of the law in cafes of
high treafon — which is, hanging, dif-
emboweling, quartering, and behead-
ing.

Feb. 14. Some curious Galvanic ex¬
periments were made on Friday laft, by
profeffbr Aldini, in Dr, Pearfon’s lee-

Ill

Births . — Marriages o

ture rooms. They were inFituted in
the prefence of his excellency the ara-
balfador of France, general Andreolii,
lord Pelham, the duke of Roxburgh,
lord Caftlereagh, lord Hervey, the hon.
Mr. Upton, &c. The head of an ox,
recently decapitated, exhibited aFonifh-
ing effeAs : for the tongue being drawn
out by a hook fixed into it, on applying
the exciters, in fpite of the ftrength of
the aliiftmt, the tongue was retraced,
fo as to detach itfelf, by tearing itfelf
from the hook : at the fame time a loud
noife iffued from the mouth, by the ab-
forption of air, attended by violent
contortions of the whole head and
eyes. /

Feb, 21. This day colonel Defpard,
Broughton, Francis, Graham, Wood,
Wratten, and M‘Namara, were exe-
$uted, purfuant to their fentence, on a
fcaffold erected on the top of the new
gaol, in the Borough. They were firft
drawn on hurdles, acrofs the court-yard
©f the prifon, to the foot of the Fairs
leading up to the fcaffold. Colonel
Defpard addrdfed the populace in a
Ihort fpeech, which he delivered with
manly firmnefs.

After hanging about half an hour,
they were taken down, their heads
placed on a block, and fevered from
their bodies; the executioner holding
up the head of each, and exclaiming,
“ This is the head of a traitor,” men¬
tioning the name.

They were turned off about nine
•’clock. There was not the leaF ten¬
dency to riot or difturbance : a great
body of the civil power, and a large
military force, were, however, on duty.

BIRTHS.

January 24. The lady of the right
hon. Lord Hervey was lafely delivered
of a fon, at his LordFiip’s houfe, in
Cleveland-row.

27. Lady Caroline CapeJ, at the hon.
J. T. Capel’s refidence, at Holm-bulb,
near Hortham, of a fon.

29. Ac Panmure-houfe, the lady of
the hon. capt. John Ramfay, of the 9 2d
regiment, of a daughter.

At Cottle’s houfe, Wilts, the lady of
B. Hobhoufe, efq, M,Pe of a daughter.

30. At his houfe in Ruffel-place,
the lady of Charles Bilhop, efq. of a
daughter.

At Everton, near Liverpool, the lady
of William Robifon, efq. of a fon.

In George- Freer, Manlion-houfe, the
lady of George Smith, efq. of a fon.

31. At Ampton, in Suffolk, lady
Charles Fitzroy, of a daughter.

The lady of W. Mills, efq. of John-
Freet, Pentonville, of a daughter.

The lady of fir F- L. Wood, of Hens-
worth, of a daughter.

The lady of Daniel Blake, efq. of a
fon.

February 3. The lady of W. Davies,
efq. at his houfe, in Gower -Freet, of a
daughter.

The hon. Mrs. J. Markham, of the
Admiralty, of a fon.

The lady of Vincent Kennet, efq. of
New CavendiFi-Freet, Portland -place,
of a daughter.

5. At Melbury, the' countefs of II-
cheFer, of a fon.

Lady Mary Murray Ocmertyre, of a
daughter.

9. In Queen Anne-F^eet Weft, the
lady of Hugh Doherty, efq. of the 29th
Light Dragoons, of a fon and heir.

The right hon. lady Clifford, at his
Lordlhip’s feat, Ugbrooke, near Chuck-
ley, of a fon.

Vifcountefs Southwell, of a daughter.

to. The hon. Mrs. Spencer Perceval,,
at the houfe of the Attorney General, in
Lincon’s-Xnn-fields, of a fon.

12. At Chelfea, the lady of lieutenant
Bremer, of the Royal Navy, of a daugh¬
ter.

The right hon. lady Charles So-
merfet, at his lordfliip’s houfe, at Had¬
ley, near Barnet, of a fon.

At RocheFer, the lady of the bom
and rev. Dr. Marlharn, of a daughter.

13. At Great Ealing, the lady of Rd.

Chambers, jun. efq. of Hanley CaFle,,
WorceFerfliire, of a daughter.

14. In Baker-Freet, the lady of lieut.
colonel Knox, of the iF Foot Guards, of
a fon.

MARRIAGES.

January 20. At St. George’s church,
Kanovcr-fquare, major-general Gent,
to mifs Temple French.

27. At ChepFow, in MonmouthFiire,
George ChriFopher Pulling, efq. captain

Marriages.'— ‘Death?*

in the royal navy, to mifs Mofery of

Chepftow*.

At Pool, Michael Svveetman> efq. of
Rofs, in Ireland, to mifs Saunders,
daughter of Thomas Saundets, efq. of
Poole, Dorfet.

At Canterbury, after a courtfliip of
thirty years, Mr. M. Devine, to Mrs.
Jane Edwards. — They are both up¬
wards of 70 years of age.

At Yarmouth,, by the rev. Dr.
Turner, Mr. S. Simplon, woollen-dra¬
per, to mifs Judith Barley, daughter of
Mr. Batley, -merchant,

29. Captain Hodder of the royal navy,
So mifs Troy, elded daughter of the late
J. C. Troy, efq. of Chatham.

February r. At St. Margaret’s
Church, Weftminfter, Mr. Samuel
Charouneau, of the great fandluary,
Weft minder, to Mrs. Brown, of Strut-
ton -grounds. *•

Mr. Thomfon, of Grovefnor-row,
Chelfea, to mifs Ann Mably, of Avlef-
feury, Bucks.

La ft week, at Hadham, Herts, Mr.
C. Cheffins, of Hoddefdon, farmer, to
mifs C. North, of Hadham.

z. By fpecial licence, at the earl of
Jerfcy’s, in Stratfocd-piace, by the rev.
&gerton Robert Neve. John Ponfonby,
efq. to the right hon. lady Fanny
Viiliers.

In the Ifle of White, J. P. Murray,
efq. M.P. for Yarmouth, only fon of the
late hon, general J. Murray, to mifs
Rufhworth* elded daughter of E.
Ruftiworth, efq. of Frefti water-houfe,
and grand -daughter of lord Holines.

At Hanmer,. in the county of Flint,
l«rd Kenyon, to mifs Hanmer, daughter
of fir Thomas Hanmer, hart, of Bettis-
fLeld-park.

At Bromley, Kent, by the rev. Dr.
Smith, Mr. Edward Lattar, attorney
there, to mifs Robifon, of. the fame place.

At Deptford, T. Nunn, efq. of Red-
crofs-ftreet, Cripplegate, to mifs Nichol-
ibn, fecond daughter of the late R.
Bicholfon, efq. of Ldam hit-hill, Kent.

3. At St. Andrew’s Church, in Ply¬
mouth, captain Walrona, of the Cold-
ffcream Guards, to mifs Flail, of Ma-
xtadon.

The rev. Dp* Price, chaplain to his
royal highnefs the prince of Wales, to
tnfts Pepvs, eldeft daughter of Edmund

Pepys, efq. of Upper Charlotte-dree?,-
FitzFoy-fquare.

5. Mr. Rauhnfon, of Tottenham- court
road, to mifs Seymour, of Portland*
ftreet.

7. At Hardon, in Norfolk, the rev.
W. Legard, fon of the late fir Digby
Legard, hart, of Ganton in Yorkftvire, to
mils Olderlbaw, eldeft daughter of tfny
late Dr. Olderfhaw, of Stamford.

Capt. George Hope, of the royal navy,
to lady Jemima Johndone, daughter of
the right hon. the earl of Hopetoun.

9. At St. Margaret’s Church, by
the rev. Dr. Fynes, captain Howard
Elphinftone, of the royal engineers, to
mifs Warburton, eldeft daughter of
John Warburton, efq. of Parliament-
ftreet.

At Balindean, in Perthlhire, the hon,
major-general John Hope, to mifs Louifa
Dorothea Wedderburn, daughter of fir
John Wedderburn, bart.

10. At Windfor, Matthew Buckle,
efq. of Sheet, in Hampfhire, to mil's
Buckle, daughter of the late admiral
Buckle.

• DEATHS.

January 25. Suddenly, at Briftol, H.
W.T. Hawley, efq. lieut- colonel of the
king’s dragoon guards.

Thomas Allwright, efq. firft captain
of the royal naval hofpital at Green¬
wich.

31* At his apartments in the city
chambers, J. Vaughan, efq. late banker
in Cornhill.

February 4. At Paris, the lady of fir
Alexander Grant, bart.

5. At Plymouth, lieut. John Newton,
of the royal navy, aged 67 : 52 years of
his life he had fpent in the fervice of his
country, out of which' he was 43 years
a lieutenant.

6. At Weft Moulfey, Mrs. Shuker.

10. Lieut. -col. Frederick Manners,

of the 96th regiment. *

At Bath, John Buchanan, efq. of
Devonlhire-ftreet, Portland-place.

At his houfe, Devonlhire-ftreet,
Portland-place, Walter Kettleby Alder,
efq. aged 49.

, At Chefter, at the advanced age. of
84, Mrs. Conway Hope, widow of the
late George Hope, of Hope, efq. and
the only remaining daughter of the late
fir Thomas Longuevilk, bart. deceafed*

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LADY’S MAGAZINE,

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For MARCH, 1803.

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,
Benevolence its own Reward ; an

Anecdote, . IX$

Account of the Weftphalian Secret

Tribunal, . .

Pariiian Fafhions, . J20

London Fafliions, . ..,.,, , . j lo

Manners of the Englilh during the
Reign of Henry VI., . I2 ,

6 Comparative Luxury of ancient and

modern Times, . l2^

7 Eaftern Apologues.. . '....126

8 On the Benefits of Regularity and vir¬

tuous Condudf, . IZy

9 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of

‘ Tom Jones,’ . . ^ 1

10 A Morning’s Walk in February,. . 140

1 1 A Morning’s Walk in March,. . . 141

12 Charles and Henry ; a Tale, _ 14.2

13 Mary’s Tomb; a Fragment, _ 144

21 Births, . . . 167

22 Marriages. — Deaths,; . . 168

14 Account of the new Comedv— ‘ John

Bun.* . 145

15 Signe and Ht^bor ; a Gothic Romance,

147

16 Chara&eriftic and critical Remarks on

Females, . . T ^2

The Moral Zoologift, . . 3^4

Poetical Essays; — Anacreontic.
Prologue to * John Bull.’ Lyrical
Epilogue to ‘ John Bull/ Horace,
Book I Ode XXII. To Mifs Price,
ot S — y. Ode to Hope. Lines
addreffed to Eva. On Winter. Ele¬
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Foreign News, . ,...i6x

Home News, . . . j

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The Eflay by I. T. cannot be inferted till the conclusion is fent* efpe-
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The communication of Lucinda fhail be attended tq.

The Ode to Spring— Damon and Myrtilla — Ode to Hymen — Verfes to
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THE

LADY’s MAGAZINE,

For MARCH, 1803.

BENEVOLENCE ITS OWN REWARD j

AN ANECDOTE FOUNDED ON FACT.

( With an elegant Engraving ,)

Tn a gloomy evening, in the month
of November, a violent ihower
of rain compelled Mr. Darwel, a
gentleman of confiderable propel ty,
to take fhelter at the firft inn he
could find on the road along which
he was riding, and which flood near
the entrance of a fmall country-
town. While he remained here,
waiting for better weather, he over¬
heard the landlord and his wife,
who were in an adjoining room,
confulting together in what manner
they fliould get rid of a poor woman,
their lodger, who they perceived had
no longer any money to fatisfy their
demands; and whom they, there¬
fore, unanimouflv refolved the next
day to turn into the ftreet, and aban¬
don to the kindnefs of the parifh,
and the generolity of the world at
large. Mr. Darwel, who had heard
the whole of this confultation, was
not a little moved by the unfeeling
manner in which the final relolution
was taken; and, as he pofiefied a
confiderable portion of the tivue fpi-
rit of active benevolence, he refolved
to inquire further into the fituatioil
of this poor woman, and, if he found
her delerving, to afford her fome
relief and protedfion. With this
view he called the landlord, and,
entering into converfation with him,
foon induced him to mention his
^dger ; whofe hufband, he faid, had,

he fuppofed, run away from her;
but he could not afford to maintain
her on that account, and fo, as he
found all her money was gone, he
mu ft make her rufi after him.

‘As to the woman he*felf/ faid
he, ‘ I have nothing to fay againfl:
her ; fhe is certainly a very decent;
quiet, good woman, but what of
that ? I cannot live by her decent-
nefs and goodnefs. There is above
ten (hillings due to me already, and
that, if I can’t get it, why it muft
go : but I muft have her take her-
felf away, for I want the room— -and
take herfelf away {he fhall.’

Mr. Darwel now exprefied a de¬
fire to fee this woman ; telling his
hoft, that if he found her to be the
perfon he fufpe£ted, he fhould not
lofe his ten (hillings, but that he
would himfelf endeavour to do
fomething for her relief.

‘ Oh, ho!’ lays Boniface; ‘ I think
I underftand you. Well, now, you
will find her as comely a lafs as you
would wifh to fet eyes on; and, as
file is in fuch want, I dare fay a little
money will go a great way, com¬
pared with the price of thele things
in town.’

Without making any reply to this
illiberal infinuation, Mr. Darwel,
according to the directions given
him by the landlord, went up Itairs,
and in a poor rdbm, with fcarcely

Q 2'

1 1 6 Benevolence its own Reward ; an Anecdote .

any thing in it but a wretched bed,
found Mrs. Martin, a handfome,
middle-aged woman, with an infant
of about two months old in her lap.
He introduced himfelf by telling
her the plain fa£t — that having over¬
heard feme difeourfe concerning
her, in which were particulars that
at once excited his companion and
gave him a favourable opinion of
her, he had wiflied to fee her, to
enquire of herfeJf her real fhuation,
and to endeavour to afford herfome
relief.

4 Sir,’ faid fhe, 4 to be thus ad-
dreffed by a ffranger, cannot but
appear very extraordinary to one
who, for a long time, — that is to
fay, finee file has been afiailed by
misfortunes and poverty,— has not
heard profeffions of friendfhip from
any living creature. J hope my
fituation does not embolden licen-
tioufnefs to make to me any unwor¬
thy overtures ; which, whatever I
may appear, will be rejedted with the
moft indignant fcorn. I, befides,
{fill have a hufband who loves me,
and who, when he regains his liber¬
ty, will revenge any infult offered
me, at the hazard of his life/

Tears gufhed into her eyes as fhe
fpoke thefe words.

* Madam,’ faid Mr. Darwel, 4 be¬
lieve me, I fcorn the idea of making
fo bafe an offer as much as you can
the infulting propofal. My only
motive far wifhing to fee you, was to
relieve your diftrefs. The tempo¬
rary relief of a guinea I could eafily
have fent you; but I have often
obferved that benevolent intentions
frequently fail of half their effedf
for want of proper inquiry.’

4 Sir/ faid Mrs. Martin, 4 your
appearance and manner infpire me
with confidence. My fiery is not
long. I refided feveral years with a
country-gentleman of fortune as his
houfe-keeper, when I became ac¬
quainted with the perfon who is now
my hufband. Mytnafler — -who was

a very worthy, but a very whimfieal
and almofl fuperannuated old gen¬
tleman, — was greatly offended at my
marrying, and, when he paid me the
wages due to me, forbad me again
to enter his houfe. I had, however,
faved fome money in his fervice,
and with that my hufband, who had
been bred to the fea, purchafed a
fmall coafting veffel, and for about
two years we lived very happily,
and were fufficiently fuccefsful in
our undertakings. But at the end of
that time my hufband’s veffel was
wrecked, he loft his all, though
(thank Heaven!) he preferved his
life; and, nothing we attempted
fucceeding, we are at length reduced
to the fituation you fee. About
three weeks ago, too, to complete
our misfortunes, he was prefled and
carried on board a fhip of war which
failed immediately; and thus am I,
perhaps for a very long time, de¬
prived of him, and of all earthly
afti fiance.’

* That (hall you not be,’ faid Mr.
Darwel, ‘ for I have ftill wealth
enough left to do fome good in the
world with, though I am on the
point of lofing the one-half of my
eftate ; becaufe my father, who was,
as you fay of your mafter, a very
worthy, but almoft fuperannuated
old gentleman, concealed fome deeds
of importance (I fiippofe for fafety)
in fuch a manner that they cannot be
found; and, without they can be
produced, the claimants againft me
have fo plaufible a cafe, that an eftate
of two thoufand a year muft be loft.
I will pull the houfe down, however,
but I will find them. But ali this is
nothing to you. Permit me to afk
you the name of the gentleman with
whom you refided as houfe-keeper ?’

4 Mr. Darwel, of Hadley-hall,
Hampftiire. He died, I underftand,
about a twelvemonth ago.’

4 My father! — But it is not fur-
prifing that I fhould not know you ;
for I refided many years abroad with-

117

Account of the Wejlphallan Secret Tribunals .

my uncle, in the Well: Indies, and
ohly came home on the death of my
father. You knew my elder brother,
who died about a year before my
father ?’

‘ I did : he was a good and amia¬
ble young gentleman. He died
about a month after I left Hadley-
hall.*

Mr?. Martin now Teemed to mufe
for awhile; then, fuddenlv Halting,
exclaimed —

4 1 could almoil venture t© wager
a good Turn that I can find the deeds
you have mentioned, if the large
ihed near the green-houfe has never
been examined. I have freauentiv

.i. ✓

obferved my mailer go into that
Hied, and Teem to look round as if to
fee that nobody noticed him. I
one day happened to be near, unob-
ferved by him, and, as you know a
woman’s curiofitv, watched him,
and Taw him go into a dark corner,
open a private door, and go down
fome fleps. I remember, too, that
he once told me that he had by acci¬
dent found fo private and fecure a
place, that he believed he could con¬
ceal any thing he chofe in fuch a
manner that it fhould never be difco-
vered. This information may, per¬
haps, prove of importance to you.’

Mr. Darwel was much llruck with
this intelligence, and, procuring a
poft -chaife, took Mrs. Martin imme¬
diately with him to his houfe, which
was about twenty miles diftant. She
found the place {he had defcribed,
though the opening was fo artfully
concealed that there was not the
lead appearance of a door. In the
cellar to which the ftairs led, were
above a hundred guineas in money,
and, in a cheil, the writings which
had been fo anxicufly fought in vain.

Mr. Darwel prefented Mrs. Mar¬
tin with the money, and fettled on
her an annuity of a hundred a year.
Her hufband, in a few months after¬
wards, returned to England, pro¬
cured his difcharge, and they lived

together happily on the eflate, and
under the protect ion, of Mr. Dar¬
wel. I

Account of the Westphalian
Secret Tribunals.

npHE fecret ti ibunals of Weftphalia
were at firil only defigned for
that country alone, and had no juris¬
diction whatever elfewhere. The

extent of their power was limited on
the weft by the Rhine, on the eaft
by the Wefer, on the north by
Friefland, and on the fouth bv the
Wefterwalde, e. the weftern foreft
and Hefte. They are firft n ention-
ed as generally known in the year
1220, and reported to have been in
force to the year 1663. They were
never formally abrogated, but loft
their influence by degrees as the
fword of juftice was wielded by*
vigorous hands.

The emperor being fupreme judge
of all fecular courts of judicature in
Germany, was alfo the foie in Di-
tutor and chief of all tribunals.

Free counties were certain dif-
tricts, comprehending feveral pa¬
rities, where the judges and coun-
fellors of the fecret ban admmiftercd
juftice conformably to the territorial
ftatutes. A free county contained
feveial tribunals fubjedt to the con¬
trol of the nuijfor of the chair ( ’ Jhibl-
herr). Theie mafters.of the chair,
v; ho commonly were fecular or eccle-
fiafticai princes, held their appoint¬
ment by the will of the emperor,
which they forfeited by deciding on'
matters not within their juriididtion,
or if they deviated from the laws of
the free tribunals. They appointed
th z free counts (f eygrajen) who were
prefidents of particular tribunals of
the fecret ban. They were prefent¬
ed by the mafters of their chair to
the emperor for confirmation, who
were made refponfible for them,
upon which they wereinvefted with \

118

Account of the Wejlphallan Secret Tribunals*

the royal ban, and obliged to fwear
fealty and obedience to the head of
the empire. The latter alfo could
pun fli the free counts, or deprive
them of their office ; occupy the
feat of a free count in the tribunals,
decide in matters of appeal brought
before him, infpedt and reform the
tribunals, and appoint the free
knights; but this was confined to
the territory of Weftphalia.

The number of thefe free knights
belonging to each tribunal never was
lefs than feven, nor did it amount
to more than eleven. Seven free
knights, at lead, were required to
compofe a plenary court (<vollge-
richt ), in which the final fentence
was pronounced. Knights of other
tribunals were indeed permitted to
be prefent on thefe occafions, as
vifitors, but were not allowed to give
their vote. On their reception they
promifed, upon oath, to give in¬
formation to the fecret ttibunal of
every thing coming under its jurif-
didtion, perceived by themfelves, or
reported to them by creditable per-
ions, and not to fuffer any created
thing betwixt heaven and earth to
divert them from the execution of
their duly. They alfo bound them¬
felves to promote the intereft of the
facred Roman empire, and not to
invade the poffdiicns of the maders
of the chair, and of the free courts,
except on legal grounds. After
having taken this oath, they were
not permitted to reveal, even to their
confeflbrs, the fecrets of the tribu¬
nal ; and on tranfgreliing this law,
though only in the mod trifling
point, they were hanged without
mercy. They pronounced judgment
according to the datutes of the
Weftphalian fecret tribunal, and
executed it conformably to the
decrees of the free courts. They
knew each other by certain fecret
figns.

The original conftirution of the
{beret tribunals did not long, how¬

ever, continue in force; all forts of
abandoned characters being admit¬
ted. The number of free knights
allowed to every tribunal was ori¬
ginally limited to eleven, but in a
lhort time many of them amounted
to fixty or feventy, who were not
even podeifed of an inch of landed
property in Weflphalia, and were
induced by felf-intered, ambition,
and revenge, or fome other dif-
graceful motive, to join the adbeia-
tion. The meeting-places of the
members of the fecret tribunals de¬
generated into haunts of ianguinary
banditti, who indifcriminately atfaf-
dnated the innocent with the guilty.
The rnaders of the chair being ac¬
tuated by the mod fordid avarice,
divided the free counties into nume¬
rous fmaller feats of judice, where¬
by the number of fptes and fecret
informers was prodigioufly increaf-
ed, and various opportunities afford¬
ed for fraud, impodtion, and ex¬
tortion, Although they were ori¬
ginally authorifed to pronounce fem-
tence only in criminal cafes, they,
at length, in order to increafe their
fees, interfered in private and do^
medic affairs, and contrived to Jay
even counts and princes under con¬
tribution. On their admiffion they
vowed, in the mod folemn and aw¬
ful manner, to judge with incor¬
ruptible impartiality, to regard no
perfon, and even to be infenfible to
every emotion of the heart, in
framing their decrees : but, on the
contrary, they were fwayed by felf-
ifhnefs, and were acceflible to cor¬
ruption; they were partial to their
friends, while they profecuted their
enemies with the mod rancorous
malice, and prodituted their function
by rendering their authority fubfer-
vient to the gratification of the mod
brutal paliion. They were deaf to
the lamentations of calumniated in¬
nocence, aflaffinated their relations
to obtain the inheritance of their
edatesj and were more dreadful to

139

Account of the IVeJlphalian Secret Tribunals .

the virtuous than the midnight ruf¬
fian. A free count frequently added
at once as witnefs and as judge.
The fpv, informer, witnefs, and
judge, were, in many infiances,
united in the fame perfon ; in fhort,
the abufes which difkraced the fecret

v_>

tribunals rendered them a real cui fe
to mankind.

In the beginning of the 15th cen¬
tury, their power in Germany rofe
to an alarming degree.} and we may
fafely affertthat the German empire,
at that time, contained more than
140,000 free knights, who, without
either previous notice or trial, exe-
cuted every one who was condemn¬
ed by the fecret ban. Aufirians,
Bavarians, Franconians, and Sua-
bians, having a demand on any one
whom they could not bring to jufiice
before the regular couits of their
country, applied to the Wcfiphalian
fecret tribunal, where they obtained
a fummons, and, in cafe of non-
appearance, a fentence, which was
immediately communicated to the
whole fraternity of free knights; a
ftep by which was put in motion a
hofi of executioners, bound by the
mod dreadful oath to Ipare neither
father nor mother, nor to regard the
facred ties of friendfliip or matrimo¬
nial love. If a free knight met a
riend condemned by the ferret ban,
and gave him onlv the flighted hint
to fave his life by flight, all the other
free knights were oound to hang
him feven feet higher than any other
criminal. The lenience being pro¬
nounced in the fecret ban, thev were
obliged to put it in immediate exe¬
cution, and not permitted to make
the lead remondrance, though they
\vere perfectly convinced that the
victim was the bed of men, and in¬
nocent of the crime alleged again!]:
him. This induced almofi every
man of rank and power to become a
member of that dreadful affociation,
in order to fecure himielf a y:nft its
effedfls. Every prince had force

free knights among his connfdlors,
and the majority of the German
nobilitv belonged to that fecret or-

j n

der. Even princes (for indance,
the duke of Bavaria and the mar¬
grave of Brandenburg i were mem¬
bers of the fecret tribunal. The
duke William of Brunfwic is report¬
ed to have laid — c I mud order duke
Adolphus of Slefwic to be hanged,
fhould he come to fee me, led the
free knights fhould hang me.’ —
It was difficult to elude the proceed¬
ings of the free knights, as they at all
times contrived to deal at night,
unknown and unfeen, to the gates of
the cadles, palaces, and towns, and
to affix the fummons of the fecret
tribunal. When this had been done
three times, and the accufed did not
appear, he was condemned by the
fecret ban, and fummoned once
more to fubmit to the execution of
the fentence : and, in cafe of non-
appearance, he was folemnly out¬
lawed, and then the invifible hand3
of free knights followed all his heps
till they found an opportunity of
taking away his Ifr'e. When a free
knight thought himfeif too weak to
feize and hang the culprit, he was
bound to puiiue him till he met
with forne of his colleagues, who aE
filled in hanging him to a tree, near
the road, and not to a gibbet, figni-
fying theieby that they exercifed a
free imperial judicature throughout
the whole empire, independent of all
provincial t.ibunals. ]f the devoted
victim made refiflanc.e fo as to com¬
pel them to poignard him, they tied
the dead body to a tree, fixing the
dagger over his head, to iliow tiiat he
had not been murdered, but exe¬
cuted by a free knight.

d heir tranfaftions were fhrouded
in the mofi profound concealment,
and the fignal by which they recog-
nifed one another never could be
difeovered. Their fecret proceed¬
ings wtre not permitted to be dif-
clofed to the emperor himfeif, al-

ISO Pari/ian Fajhiom .*

though he was fupreme m after of
the chair : only when he afked,
i Has N. N. been condemned?’ the
free knights were allowed to reply in
the affirmative or negative ; but
when he enquired ‘ Who had been
condemned by the fecret ban ?’ thev
were not permitted to mention any
name.

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

(With an Engraving elegantly co¬
loured.)

’The head-drefles in hair become
much lefs frequent and give
way to the turbans. The latter,
fome time fince, were almoft all of
them of a tingle colour — white, em¬
broidered with diver. It is now
not uncommon to fee them of two
colours, as rofe and white, nakarat
and white, orange and white.

Beaver hats <voith the ridin.g~dre.fs,
are much worn. Some very round
toquets, which adjuft well to the
form of the head, begin to be feea:
they are of white or rofe-coloured
fatin more or lefs puckered.

The fafhionable ffiops dill fhow
upon fale, hats of white, orange,
rofe, and flefh-coloured fatin. Some
ufe a crape of an amaranth, a geeen,
or a fky-blue colour. The mod
common ornaments of the hats, are
knots of ribbands, fwan - down
edgings, and peculiar decorations of
cut crape. The turbans are of fil¬
tered crapes, or of ciimfon dlk em¬
broidered with gold. Some women
of fadiion' comb down the hair
fmooth, and fimply bind it with a
band of black velvet. Golden ar¬
rows, lyres of pearls, or diamonds,
and combs of rich materials, are dill
much in ufe. Topazes, indead of
cameos, are now enchafed in the
centre of the combs. Cornelians
are now out offafhion. The palm-
branch necklaces are dill generally
worn.

London Fajhions.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Evening DreJJes .

A round drefs of yellow dlk or
^ muOin; the back made plain,
and very low on the ffiouiders, with
a fmall frill of white lace at the
bottom of the back. Plain deeves
of white fatin, with full yellow epau¬
lets, trimmed with lace.

A drefs of blue mudin, made low
and full over the bofom ; a half
handkerchief of patent net or lace,
fadened on the ffiouiders, and drawn
full over the bofom. Full deeves
of white fatin or farfnet. Pearl
necklace. An embroidered hand¬
kerchief twided round the head,
with one end falling over the right
ffioulder. A blue feather, fixed on
the right fide fo as to fall over the
left fide.

Morning Dreffes.

A round drefs of white muflin, the
oack made full; long deeves, with
lace twided round from the dioulder
to the wrift. White tippet, bonnet
of white dlk, trimmed, and tied
under the chin, with a white dlk
handkerchief; the bonnet turned up
in front, and lined with coquelicot.

A fhort drefs of white mudin,
trimmed all round with a wreath of
white crape and beads. Plain fhort
deeves of worked mudin, trimmed
round the bottom with puffings of
ribband. Petticoat with a long
train, trimmed round the bottom
the fame as the deeves. The hair
dreffed long and full over the face,
and ornamented with a wreath to
correfpond with the drefs.

General Gbfervations .

Barcelona handkerchiefs of vari¬
ous colours, and with gold and di¬
ver trimmings, are much worn as
turbans. A draw bonnet with a
high dome crown, called the St.
Cloud, has jud: been introduced.
Pearl necklaces are much worn.
The prevailing colours are blue5
green, and amber.

-Engraved tcrtfte ItidjefJMaga xint

2£utfvft' Sc. MxiJsWZ t o*

Pam ^ IDmiess

Manners oj the hnglijh during the Reign oj nenry vu nrr

On the Manners and Private

Life of the English during the
Reign a/Henry VI.

(from Ellis's i Specimens of the early Engljk
Poets' )

Tt is generally agreed that, before
A the Norman conquefi, and for a
long time after, nearly all the lands
of the kingdom were cultivated by
ferfs, whole fituation was, in many
refpefts, fcarcelydillinguifliablefrom
absolute flavery. It may, however,
be inferred from Pierce Ploughman,
that about the middle of the four¬
teenth century, and probably much
eailier, the labouring poor, though
Bill ferfs with refpeft to their feudal
lords, were perfectly free withrefpedt
to their immediate employers. The
poet fays —

‘Labourers that have no land to live on, but
their hands — -

But if they be highly hired, elfe will they
chide.’

During a great part of the year,
indeed, they were glad to work for a
mere fubfifience ; but when provi-
fions were plentiful, they could only
be induced to work at all by the
temptation of excefiive wages. —
Againft this indolence the author
inveighs with great vehemence; but
his remonfirances were probably in¬
effectual, becaufe a fiupid inienfibili-
ty, and a heedlefs profufion, are the
natural charafteriflics of an oppreifed
and degraded people.

Belides, their conduct feemsto have
arifen, in fome meafure, from the
imperfeCt Bate of agriculture. Ani¬
mal food formed a confiderable part
of the fupport of the people; but as
the whole of the manure was ufed on
the arable lands, and it was impofli-
ble that large numbers of cattle could
fubfifi, during the cold fealon, on
the natural pafiures, they were
flaughtered and halted, in autumn,
for a winter provifion. This is a
•leafon adduced by hr John Fortelcue
' Vol. XXXIV,

for rejecting the gabelle, or falt-tax,
as a fource of revenue for England.
‘In France/ fays he, 4 the people
falten but little meat, except their
bacon, and therefore would buy little
fait, but yet they be artyd (com¬
pelled) to buy more fait than they
would. This rule and order would
be fore abhorred in England, as well
by the merchants, that be wonted
to have their freedom in buying and
felling of fait, as by the people, that
ufen much more to fait their meats
than do the Frenchmen,7— Foi tefeue
on Monarchy , chap. x.

But it appears that, partly from an
improvidence ufual in a barbarous
hate of focietv, and partly from the
want of thofe internal means of com¬
munication which tend to diffufe
general abundance, thefe Bores of
animal food, as well as the grain,
were often confumed before the re-
prod uCtion of a frefh Bock. Hence,
in Pierce Ploughman, the poor are
reprefented as reduced to ‘loaves of
beans and bran/ and to ‘feed hun¬
ger with apples, chyboles, and char-
veil/ until the return of the harvefi:
a£ain enabled them to waBe their
time in idlenefs and profufion.

Even the farmers themfelves,
the order to which Pierce Plough¬
man apparently belonged, do not
feem to have fared very fumptuoufiy
during fome part of the year; for
he declares that his whole provifion
confifis in * two green cheefes, fome
curds and cream, and an oat-cake:’
but he adds, that, ‘ after Lammas,
he might dight his dinner’ as he likes.
The particulars of his wealth are a
cow and calf, and a cart-mare, which
he keeps for the purpofe of carrying
manure upon his land. Thefe ar¬
ticles, perhaps, were defigned to
give an exaCt Batement of his condi¬
tion in fociety ; for they feem to
agree with what fir John Fortefcue
confiders as fuflicient for the mainte¬
nance of a yeoman.

It is very honourable to the good

rznz. manners oj we xzngnjn auring tue Keign oj nenry v L

fenfe of the Englilh nation, that our
two bell early poets, Chaucer and
the author of Pierce Ploughman,
have highly extolled this ufeful body
of men 5 while the french minlirels
of the twelfth, thirteenth, and four¬
teenth centuries, univerfally feem to
approve the fupereilious contempt
with which the nobles affefled to
reat them. The abfurd prejudices
of chivalry on this fubjefl are not ill
exprefted by Lydgate, where he
makes Achilles exp refs his appre-
henfion that, —

In this rage furious and wood,

Full likely is that all the noble blood
Throughout this worlde fhall deli loyed be;
And a rural folk (and that were gieat pity)
Shall have lord fhip, and wholly governance ;
And churlis eke, with fcrrow and mi (chance,
In every land fhall loidis be alone,

When gentlemen fhali llayen.be each one.’

There is a curious chapter in fir
John Fortefcue’s treatife ‘ De Lauai-
b.is Legum Anglia?,’ which feems to
prove that the fmaller land-holders
in England ufually enjoyed more
comfoits than, from the general lan¬
guage of hiftoria.ns, we Ihould be led
t o i m agin e ; f o r h e affe r t s t h a t 4 1 h ere
is : caret- a fmall village in which you
may not find a knight, an efquire, or
fome fubftantia! houfeholder, com¬
monly called a frankleyne, all men of
confiderable eftatts: there are others
who are called freeholders, and

t ;

many yeomen of eftates luffkient to
make a fubftantial jury,’ — (Chap,
xxix.) This wealth he attributes
principally to the inclofure of our
pa-flu re- lands.

The fame writer thus deferibesthe
comparative poverty of the French
common people: — ‘The fame com¬
mons be fo impoverifhed and de-
ftroyed, that they may unneth
(fcarcely) live. They drink water ;
they eat apples, with bread right
brown, made of rye. They eat no
fiefli, but if be feldom a little lard, or
of the entrails or heads of beafh
ilain for the nobles and merchants
®f the land, They wearen no wool¬

len, but if it be a poor coat under
their oulenuoft garment, made of
great canvafs, and call it a frock.
Their hofen be of like cairafs, and
pafFen not their knee, wherefore they
be gartered, and their thighs bare.
Their wives and children gon bare¬
foot ; they may in none otherwise
live. For fome of them that was
wont to pay to his lord, for his tene¬
ment which he hireth by the year, a
feute (a crown), payeth now to the
king, over that feute, five feutesj
wherethrough they are artyd (com¬
pelled) by neceffity fo to watch, la¬
bour, and grub in the ground, for
their fuftenance, that their nature is
much wafted, and the kind of them
brought to nought. They gon
crooked, and are feeble, not able to
fight,’ &c. Fort ej cue- cn Monarchy ,
chap, iii.

But though the lower orders of
people in England were fo advan-
tageoufly diftinguifhed from thofe of
other nations by a fuperiority in
food and clothing, their domeftic
buildings feem to have been much
inferior to thofe of the continent;
and this inferiority continued even
down to the reign of queen Eliza¬
beth, as appears from the conftflion
of Harrifon.

‘ In old time,’ fays he, 1 houfes of
the Britons were (lightly fet up with
a few pofts, and many raddles (hur¬
dles) with liable and ail offices under
one roof; the like whereof, almoft,
is to be feen in the fenny countries,
and northern parts, unto this day,
where, for lack of wood, they are
enforced to continue this ancient
manner of building. So in the open
and chain pain countries, they are
enforced, for want of fluff, to ufe no
ftuds (upright beams) at all; but
only frank- pofts and fuch principals,
with here and there a girding, where-
unto they fallen their fplints or
raddles, and then call it all over with
thick day, to keep out the wind,
which otherwife would annoy them.

Manners of the Englifh during the Reign of Henry VI. 123

C€ rtes, this rude kind of building
made the Spaniards in queen Mary’s
days to wonder; but chiefly when
they faw what large diet was ufed in
many of thefe fo homely cottage^;
infomuch that one, of no lhnfall repu¬
tation among them, faid after this
manner: — ; Thefe Fnglifli,’ quoth
he, ‘ have their houfes made of flicks
and dirt, but they fare commonly fo
well as the king.’ — Harr if on's Be-
feription of England, prefixed lo Hot in-
fed. p, 187.

Glazed windows are always men¬
tioned by our early poets with an air
of affectation which evinces their
rarity *; lothat we are not furprifed
at being told that the yeomen and
farmers were perfectly contented
v/i h windows of lattice, booms
provided with chimneys arealfo no¬
ticed as a luxury by the author of
Fierce Ploughman; but it is difficult
to read with gravity the fallacious

O 0 o

oblervations of Harnfon, on the ill
confequences attending the enjoy¬
ment of warmth without the rifk of
£u {location. — 4 Now,’ fays he, ‘have
we many chimneys, and yet our ten¬
derlings complain of rheums, ca¬
tarrhs, and pofes (colds in the head).
Then had we none but reredofles f,
and our heads did never ache. For as
thefmoke in thofe days was fuppofed
to be a fufficient hardening for the
timber of thehoufe, foit was reputed
a far better medicine to keep the good
man and his family from the quacke
(ague) orpofe, wherewith, as then,
very few were oft acquainted.’ —
Defer ip lien of En fan. ’, p. 212.

After wimeffing the indignation
which this author has vented againft
the tenderlings of his time, the read¬

* Anderfnn (c Hi dory of Commerce,’ vol. i.
p. 90.) lays, that they ware fir ft introduced
into England A. D. 1180.

■f I nis word is fometimes ufed to exprefs
fome part of a chimney, and fometimes as a
fubftirute forone. It ieems to mean a plate of
jroo, 01 perhaps a coating of brick, Lo enable
the wall to refill the flame.

er may poflibly learn with fome
furprife, that from the latter end of
the thirteenth to nearly the flxteenth
century, perfons of all ranks, and of
both fexes, were univerfaliy in the
habitoffleeping quite naked. This
cuitom is often alluded to by Chau¬
cer, Gower, Lydgate, and all our
ancient writers; yet it prevailed at a
timewhen theday-d’'efs of both fexes
was much warmer than at prefent,
being generally bordered, and often
lined with furs ; infomuch that
numberlefs warrens were eftabliflied
in the neighbourhood of London,
for the purpoie of fupplying its inha¬
bitants with rabbit- (kins.

Perhaps it was this warmth of
clothing that enabled our anoetiors,
in defiance of a northern climate, to
ferenade t heir miftrefles with as
much perfeverar.ee as if they had
lived under the torrid zone. Chau¬
cer thought he had given us the date
of his dream with fufficient exa.fl-
nefs when he deferibed it as happen-

ing —

1 About fuch hours as lovers weep,

And cry after their ladies grace.’

In France, it appears from the
A>- eft a Amor urn, the lovers were fome¬
times bound to conduct les taboutins
et les bas mens [triers to the doors of
their miftrefles, between midnight
and daybreak, on every feftival
throughout the year ; though the
principal feafon for fuch gallantry
was the beginning of May, when the
windows were ornamented with
pots of marjoram, and maypoles
hung with garlands carried through
the flreets, and railed before every
door in fucceflion. This was called
Ttxeil er les pots de mariolain ?, and
planter le n.a : . The fame feafon
appears to have been chofen by
Enghfh lovers for the purpofe of
‘crying alter their ladies grace.’

Jn houfes of which the walls were
made of clay, and the floors of the

1 <24 Comparative Luxury of ancient and modern Times .

fame materials, and where the
llabling was under the fame roof
with the dwelling rooms, the furni¬
ture was not likely to be coftly.
Of this the author before quoted re¬
ceived, from fome ancient neigh¬
bours, the following defeription: —

* Our fathers (yea and we ourfelves)
have lien full oft upon {haw pallets,
on rough mats, covered only with a
flieet, under coverlets made of dag-
fwain or hopharlots (I ufe their own
terms), and a good round log under
their heads, in head of a bolder or
pillow. If it were fo that our fa¬
thers, or the good man of the houfe,
had, within {'even years after his
marriage, purchafed a mattrefs or
dock- bed, and thereto a fack of
chaff to reft his head upon, he
thought himfelf as well lodged as the
lord of the town; who, perad ven¬
ture, lay feldom in a bed of down or
whole feathers. As for fervants, if
they had any fheet above them, it
was well; for feldom had they any
under their bodies, to keep them
from the pricking draws that ran oft
through the canvafs of the pallet.’

The progrefs of improvement in
building was from clay to lath and
plader, which was formed into
pannels between the principal tim¬
bers: to floors or pargets, as Har-
rifon calls them (i. e. parquets),
coated with plafter of Paris; and to
cielings overlaid with mortar, and
waftied with lime or plafter 4 of de-
ledtable whitenefsd Country houfes
were generally covered withfhingles ;
but, in towns, the danger of fftes
obliged the inhabitants to adopt the
ufe of tiles or (late. Thefe latter
buildings were very folic!, and con¬
fided of many dories projefting over
each other, fo that the windows on
pppofite Tides of the ftreet nearly
met.—* The walls of our houfes on
the inner Tides,’ fays Harrifon, * be
either hanged with tapeftry, arras-
work, or painted cloths, wherein
either divers hiftories, or herbs,

beads, knots, or fuch like, are ftain-
ed ; or elfe they are feeled with oak
of our own, or wainfeot brought out
of the eaft countries.’ — This relates,
of courfe, to the houfes of the
wealthy, which he alfo reprefents as
abounding in plate and pewter. In
earlier times, wooden platters, bowls,
and drinking-vedels, were univer-
fally ufed, excepting in the houfes
pf the nobles. In France, if we may
believe M. de Paumy (fief rinse des
Fran pis J, dices of bread, called
fains i rancho irs , were ufed as a fub-
ftitute for plates till the reign of
Louis XII.

On the Luxury cf ancient Times

compared with that of modern.

1I7e every day hear violent decla-
’ * mations againd the luxury of
the prefect age, without ever taking
the trouble to confider that our good
anceftors, of the 15th and 16th cen¬
turies, were dill fonder than we are
of magnificence in drefs and the deli¬
cacies of the table. Of this all the.
authors of thofe times furnifh nu¬
merous proofs.

At the marriage of William, duke
of Bavaria, the gueds brought 3534
horfes, who were all lodged and fed
at the expence of the prince. This
may be fudicient to give fome idea
of the coft and profufion in other
refpetfts. At the marriage of Wil¬
liam of Rofenberg, one of the rich-
ed lords of Bohemia, who married
Mary, margravine of Baden, there
were confumed 40 dags, 120 pieces
of game, 2130 hares, 240 pheafants,
30 heathcocks, 2030 partridges, 1 50
fat oxen, 546 calves, 634 hog-,, 430
flieep, 5135 geefe, 3106 capons and
pullets, 18120 carps, 10209 pikes,
6080 trouts, 2600 lobders, 7096
dried fifli of different kinds, 330 tails
of ftork-fifti, 675 lampreys, 30,997
eggs, &c. There were drunk iiqo

Comparative Luxury of ancient and modern Times. 1 25

fetiers of the wine of the Tyrol,
Auftria, and the Rhine, 40 tons of
Spanifh wine, and prodigious quan¬
tities of wines and liqueurs . The
horfes confumed ,3703 bufhels of
oats. The feftivities lafted from
the 26th of January, 1378, to the
lit of Mav of the fame year.

This fpirit of extravagance pre¬
vailed not only among the great, but
among perfons of meaner condition,
who would not fcruple to expend in
a iingle day the fruits of the induftry
and labour of a whole year. Many
of the governments of Europe, there¬
fore, found themfclves obliged to
enact fumptuary laws, which were
certainly welt intended, but, for the
molt part, were never carried into
effect. Such, for in fiance, is the
regulation of the municipal body of
Munden, by which even perfons of
quality are reffii&ed from having,
at the celebration of their nuptials,
more than 24 tables, with 10 per¬
fons at each, and the feaft was to
lail only three hours. Behind the
ho ufe were collected all the poor
perfons of the town, with a flag at
their head, and all thefe mendicants
mult be regaled. The front of the
houfe was befieged by all the crip¬
ples in the neighbourhood.

Yet, notwithflanding a great num¬
ber of fimilar regulations, profufion
find expence increafed in a very
alarming manner among all ranks
of fociety. A defcription has come
down to us of a feaff given by duke
Frederick of Wirtemberg, when he
received from king James I., of
England, the order of the garter.
It reminds us of the times of Lu-
cullus, if not for the tade difplayed,
at lead for the luxurious prodigality
which reigned at it *. There were
ferved up to the table of the abfent
king go difhes, and nothing was

* This feaft was given in the great hall of
the knights, in die caille at Stutgard.

fpared that could fead the eyes and
ears of the gueds. All the viands
were feafoned with fpices fo rich ancl
odorous, that, the moment the filvef
covers of the difhes were raifed, fq
voluptuous a perfume exhaled, and
filled the air, that the gueds were
reminded of that ambrofia on which
the gods regaled in Grecian fable,
To delight the eye, there were tvva
kinds of fervices of confedfionary
one of which might be eaten, anc
the other was to lead the fight, b)i
the elegance of the figures and de¬
corations in gold and filver. Hen
were reprefented different birds —
fuch as fwans, cranes, danding eretf
and railing their long necks; pea¬
cocks di fdaying their brilliant plu
mage. Fillies, likewife, were for met
in padry, fome with their natura

colours, others ornamented will

gold and filver

We will now p:oceed to th<t
diflies of parade. — On the roya
table appeared a cololfal Herculesf;

raifino' the jaw-bone of an afs, in

dead of a club*, to flay two other

whom he had gotten under his feet
an allegorical figure, meant to repre
fent the heroifm of king James
Had not this fedival taken place ii
the fird year of the reign of tha
monarch, it would have appearef
intended to ridicule him. Th
table of duke Frederick was orna
mented with a Minerva, placed o
a pededal. On the table of th j
Englilh am ballad or was a Mercury
and on another table live favages, 1
To enliven the fpirits of thl
gueds, the band of the ambaflador'
and that of the duke, played b|
turns. Without reckoning a greri
number of trumpets, the band of th
duke was cqmpofed of fixty mq

* It: was thus that the greater part of tl
gods and heroes of antiquity were caricature
to fandtify the profane perlonages of mythf
logy, by aligning them the habits and atttj
b~t.es of the Biule.

E after n Apologues*

1 £6

icians. After the banquet, different
kinds of dances were executed; and,
luring fupper, the Englifh perform¬
ed fo well the drama of the facred
jiiiftory of Sufannahj that, according
jo the teftimony of contemporary
lUthors, they received the greateft
IJpplaufe, and were rewarded with
ich prefents.

S Yet the mo/alifts and cenfors of
hole times exclaimed loudly ap-ainft
he fumptuoufnefs of habits, ° and
he mutability of modes.. In fa6f,
;very day produced a new fafhion.

Who would believe it?— in the
fioft remote times we find a luxury,
l| magnificence, which is without
txample in the prefent times. We
[tead, in a very ancient manufcript,
Jiat St. Eloi, a native of Limoufin,
pll known for the excellence of his
bldlmith's work, wore, in 628,
girdles covered with precious hones.
Yhen ftp came to the court of
flotaire, he made for that prince a
'at of m a dive gold ; and an entire
Irene of the fame metal for Da-
pbert. Thefe riches, the fruits of
|e commerce of the Levant, which
|ie negociations with the emperors
f Conftantinople had opened, arofe
jom the fpoils of Italy, from which
jjkmtry the French never returned
ithout being laden with an im-
ienfe booty, even when they were
liven out of it.

pared for thofe who withhold and
moderate their raged

4 I am not at all angry,’ faid

Hu fan, coolly.

‘ And he who pardons thofe who
have offended him’ — faid the Have,
continuing the verfe.

4 I pardon thee,’ faid Hu (fan.

_ 4 And God efpecially cheriflieth
him who renders good for ill,’ faid
the Have, hid continuing the words
of the divine doctrine.

Ili fey Lid Huffan, prefenting
his hand; f I give thee thy liberty,
and four hundred drachmas of diver/
The (lave returned a thoufand
thanks to the virtuous calif. — 4 Oh,
my prince,’ cried he, 4 you imitate
the tree abounding with leaves and
fruit, who friendly lends its Lade
and yields its fruits even to him
whole audacious hand hurled Hones
agaiiiff it.’

EASTERN APOLOGUES.

THE SAGE.

* Thou,’ faid Mirvan to the re¬
nowned philofopher, Tahika, ‘ who
knowefl all things, tell me, I pray,
what I fhall do to attain unto wif-
dom?’ ,

4 You fee,’ anfwered the philo¬
fopher, 4 yon blind man, how he
walks armdil the crowd with the
help of his ftaff; he maketh fure of
nothing till he hath touched it : you
fee him ; why ah: you then what
you ought to dor You have the ex.-
ample before your eyes.’

THE POWER OF RELIGION.

^he calif Huffan, fon of the
- great Ali, being at table, one of
js (laves let fall a plate of boiling
:e upon his head. Huifan calf a
ivn look at the flave, who, trem-
ing, proffrated himfelf before him,
d repeated thefe words, from the
blime Koran; — 4 Heaven is jpre-

r '

THE CALIF AND HIS FAVORITE.

4 Wherefore,’ faid Hormus,
4 have you withdrawn from me your
confidence?’ Hormus was the calif’s
favorite.

4 I have fallen into many errors,’
replied the calif, 4 and thou didft
not admonilh me. If thou didft not
lee my faults better than myfelf, that
Lows thy ignorance; if thou didft
lee them, that proves thy treachery,’

On the Benefits of Regularity and virtuous Conduct . 1 27

Kings, treat thus the favorites who
deceive ye ; fo (hall ye oftener hear
the voice of truth, and, perhaps,
one day, ye may find a friend.

On the Benefits of Regularity
and virtuous Conduct.

ADDRESSED TO YOUTH.

6 Eye well your conduct, let your deeds be
wife, —

There all the merit of your reafon lies :

The want of virtue, wealth nor pomp avail,
Beauties difgufb and mil'eries entail.’

rpiiE creation exhibits a finifhed
^ picture of confiftency, uni¬
formity, and order; and the juft
exactitude evident in the moft mi¬
nute work of the Almighty hand
tends to prove that it is from thence
Nature draws her unequalled beauty.
Wherefore, man living negligent of
order, and contrary to that regulari¬
ty of conduct eftential to his happi-
nefs and comfort, militates againft
the deftgns, and daringly violates the
laws, ol God: as by judicious laws
and regulations the peace and in¬
ternal tranquillity of nations are
preferved, fo, by union and fit pro¬
priety is the domeftic felicity of
private families fecured. -By juft
order and regulation, the meaneft
plebeian is fitted for his fituation in
life, and fulfils the duties thereof with
as much honour to himfelf as the
moft potent prince in the govern¬
ment of his empire. It is the fenfe
of propriety that ftimulates the obe¬
dience of the fubjeCt to his king, and
regulates the conduct and prompts
the fubmiffion of the fervant to his
mailer. It is that which excites the
parent to love, cherifh, and promote
the comfort of h is offspring ; and
the child, in return, to behave with
mutual tendernefs, and follow' with
. due obedience the will of its parent.

As all men, in the various and
multiplied ftations ol life, may, by

circumfpection and regularity of
conduCt, become their feveral fta¬
tions ; fo, on the contrary, thole
who live heedleftly, without fore¬
thought ordetermined management,
are continually involved in tumult
and confulion; nor can their affairs
be otherwife, iince it cannot be ex¬
pected that an incoiiftdei ate choice;
of things to be done, want of judg¬
ment in the time, and ignorance of
the fitted; method of performing
them, can ever be crowned with
fuccefs, or terminate fatisfaCtoriiv.
In faCC I mu ft affirm, that to live
unthinkingly in the world, without
a fixed rule of conduCt, is one of the
moft abundant fources of miferv in
life. The aCiions of a wife man
will be clearly in unifon with the
harmony of the creation ; every
circumftance in which he is engaged
is undertaken with prudence, and
carried into execution with caution
and confiftency ; and, however un¬
fortunate the event may prove, he
ftill enjoys the pleafurable fatisfac-
tion of feeling, in his own corn*
fcience, that his intention was good,
though the refult, by the unforefeen
contingencies incident to human
affairs, ran counter to his wilhes
and expectation.

The world, as it emerged from a
mafs of undigested matter, and at
the fat of the Creator, alTumed the
beauty difcoverable in all its parts;
fo, were it di veiled of the order and
proportion that now pervades it,
would it not immediately fall into an
undiftinguiihable chaos of confu-
iion? And were man left without
the guidance of rule, and fwayed
only by his paffions and inclinations,
we thou Id loon find him involved in
a defperate conflict between his will
and his reafon. Alas! when a mind,
from ill government, betrays inter¬
nal tumult, the faculties of its me¬
lancholy polfelfor are convulfcd, his
ideas are wandering and perplexed,
his imagination bewildered, and.

128 On the Benefits of Regularity and virtuous Conduct.

'when the period arrives that reafon
throweth off the (hackles of impru¬
dence, conlcience never fails poig-
| nantly to condemn his want of con-
deration.

J The world, however thoughtlefs,
l|j in its own favourite habits, will rea-
Idily arraign the man who appears
I to do bufinefs without method, and
' lives with regulation. In fa£l, who
ij could place confidence in that cha-
r abler whole actions are as uncer¬
tain as the wind, and whofe promifes
cannot be relied on? in a word,

I whofe qualities are enveloped in
: caprice, and whofe only guide the
premature impulfe of the moment.

1 This man merits reprobation, and
Jj he is conlidered as one who inter¬
rupts the harmony of fociety; and
j is accordingly judged incapable of
I performing the duties of amity, or
] preferving inviolate the ties of civi-
lifed compabt. Nor is heunjufflv
: itigmatifed ; for can he, who has no
| government over his own path on s
land condubt, be fuppofed to pc fiefs
one virtuous property conducive to
the general good or ornament of his
fellow-creatures? The man govern¬
ed by his inordinate affections, and
whofe uncontrouled willies wildly
purfue their gratifications, may ju Il¬
ly be compared to a kingdom void
of all law and government, where

cj 7

its inhabitants, riling fuperior to le-
giflative order or a lenfe of fubordi-
nation, are continually imbrued in
civil anarchy. The mind of fuch a
man is rent with tumultuous and
contending -pallions, and his heart is
an utter flranger to peace and tran¬
quillity. It Ihould be conlidered
that he who thus abts, in manifelt
oppofition to the laws of his Creator,
certainly fruftrates the very end of
his exiffence : nay, his degradation
is fuch, that he degenerates beneath
the beaffs that peiilh, inafmuch as
they perform the purpofcs for which
they were made. From infebls man

may draw the mold ufeful lellbns of

ceconomy. Let him behold the
wifdom of the ant, and lament his
folly. Let him review the indefati¬
gable labours of the bee ; and, from
her unremitting exertions, let him
learn the excellence of induftry:
and hence, — lhame to a fuperior
being, endowed with reafon and fa¬
culties capable of the moll fublime
funblions — let him be taught vir-
tue ! Let him reflebl they are infi¬
nitely more honourable to their
¥

Maker, and more obedient to his
commands, and mark with difmay —

4 How thofe in common all their wealth be¬
llow’

towards the general weal : they,
though void of fenfe and judgment,
rebel not againll his will, nor de¬
viate from the paths that nature
has allotted them. Let thefe conli-
derations, I fay, inllrubl man: — let
him alio be convinced, and avow his
inferiority to thofe little creatures
which he prefumes to defpife, and
blufh at the abjebl confeilion!

We have attempted to delineate
the difagreeables arifing from a con-
dubl void of order and regularity ; a
few observations will now be offer¬
ed on that mode of manners and be¬
haviour the mod important to our
comfort, and which, if adopted in
our earlier years, may carry us
through life in fafety and peace, and
at the termination of it afford the
moll fanguine hope of everlaffing
happinefs.

To youth, on its firfl entrance
into public life, whatever be its aim,
felf-moderation and government are
effentiaily incumbent. The falla¬
cious fcenes then prefenting them-
felves to view are at once uncom¬
monly flattering and delulivej and,
as yet inexperienced and forcibly
impelled by lively fpirits, we rullj
into dangerous indifcretions, that
too often our riper years and fober
reafon molt bitterly lament. Cre¬
dulous and iiiconfiderate, we are apt

On the Benefits of Regularity and virtuous Conduct. 1 29

to gild every profpesft, and our
youthful imaginations depitfture plea-
lures fpringing upon every fide;
nor do we difcover the ‘ ferpent con¬
cealed from our view *,* till cruel
difappointment crulhes our expefra-
tions, and leaves us to regret the
rafhnefsof our conduct, and the im¬
minence of our danger. Thus,
then, to avoid thefe perils, an early
and ferious regard to rectitude and
regularity of manners is abfolutely
necefiary: nor can we a£I a wiler
part than laying down a certain plan
of demeanour, and accuftom our-
felves to the regular obfervance of
it ; by which we fhall arrive at luch
a ftandard of judgment, that we may
be enabled at all times rightly to
efiimate things of value, and reject
thofe which, however inviting in
appearance, are unworthy ; and —
what is of infinitely more import¬
ance, amid the infidelity, falfe doc¬
trines, and prejudices of the times — •
we may, for the moft part, weigh
its errors in the juft fcales of reafon,
and give the preference to the
holding fajl that which is good. —

Be allured, adherence to virtue and
probity is the only foundation of all
that is good, honourable, or valua¬
ble in life; and, as Juvenal faith, —

■ 1 — — - — c Semita certey

'Tranquil! <£ jier virtutcm jiatet umca vitce .*’

And, profligate and vicious as the
world appears, it will involuntarily
join in paying that tribute to virtue
which it unqueftionablv demands.

The importance of an early atten¬
tion to conduct thus impreffed, we
will now obferve that piety, and a
ftrict obfei'vance of the precepts and
doftrinesof revealed religion, are in-
difpenfably ueceflary, In youth, a
religious difpofition is highly merito¬
rious; while, on the other hand, a
negligence of divine obligations and
difregard of religion indicates a heart
deftitute of every generous emotion.

* LareC anpuii in htrba.

Vox. XXXIV.

At this period of life the paffions
glow with ardour, and the impref-
fions which the heart at that time
receives are generally lafting, and—

* Grow with our growth, and ftrengrhen
with our ftrength/

Wherefore, if in oyr youth wc
cultivate a due regard to religion*
we fhall imbibe fuch a fenle of grati¬
tude and love towards our Creator,
fuch a zeal in his fervice and rever¬
ence of his word, that neither time
nor the vitiated praftices of the
world will be able to draw us aftde
from the paths of duty. Neither
the misfortunes nor the viciffitudes
of the fucceflive periods of our lives
will be able to interrupt our reli¬
gious fentiments. Then may we
truly exclaim, in the words of the
Roman hero :

- - — ‘ Let grief or fear

Difturb man’s reft, Cato knows neither of
them ;

Indifferent in his choice, to fleep or die/

Youth erroneoufly imagine that
religion impofes the neceffity of fo-
lemnity of manners, and afperity in
reproving the faults of others; "but
this is a grofs error, and repugnant to
the dictates of Chriftianity. True
religion is averfe to fupercilioufnefs,
and breathes in affability the true
fpirit of meeknefs. It forbids not
focial cheerfulnefs, within the bounds
of reafon ; but is an avowed enemy
to fuperftitious bigotry and unne~

cefTarv formalities.

* T

The principles ot piety inculcated,
every other moral duty will be dif-
charged from motives of conscience.
We fhall honour and reverence our
parents ; we fhall fubmit with humi¬
lity to our fuperiors, either in age,
wjfdom, or ftation; and to thofe in
fubje£lion, our exemplary conduift:
will be attended with the moft bene¬
ficial confequences, both as it re-
fpefls their moral improvement, as
well as diligent employment of time.
Remarking the comfort and advan¬
tages we apparently derive from a

ISO On the Benefits of Regularity and virtuous Conduct.

pious conduCt, our fervants will be¬
come virtuous, and, from our pre¬
cepts and example, labour indefati-
gably in our employ, and ultimately
promote our interelt.

In youth, modeft diffidence and
humble deference of opinion are
truly becoming, and the acknow¬
ledged prefages of real merit. While
no deformity is fo degrading to a
young man, or more fubverfive of
his future advancement in life, than
felf-conceit, in obftinatdy purfuing
the dictates of his own judgment,
however contradictory to the willies,
and adverfe to the riper opinions)
of his more experienced friends.— -
Alas ! how many have been brought
into contempt by precipitancy, and
that politive unyielding felf-opinion
that proudly towers above all con¬
viction, and have been alhamed of
their rafimefs and former arrogance.

Here it may not be improperly
obferved, that occalional recreation
is certainly as necelfary to the mind,
as it is conducive to the health of
the body : but if we immoderately
indulge in pleafures, they become
habitual; and that which was before
innocent, maybe rendered, by im¬
prudent indulgence, highly crimi¬
nal. Yet as the world teems with
novelty, and as the love of variety
is but too congenial to the human
mind, the inclination, moll efpe-
dally in youth, is, from the enjoy¬
ment of one pleafure, impelled to
delire further gratification. Thus
the mind, from continued participa¬
tion in the follies of the world, is
rendered carelefs and averfe to every
virtuous conlideration, and, from
blindly following the dictates of
wild and fenfual appetite, ruin in¬
evitably enfues. Alas! the want of
due reliraint in the gratification of
our defires has been the fatal rock
on which too many have fplit. —
Diligence and induflry, however,
are faithful guardians, and the bell
Securities againft the ali-feducing

allurements of pleafure. A natural
genius and the greateli abilities have
the molt dangerous tendency, either
if there be a want of prudence in
their direction, or activity in the
exercife of them. Indeed, unlefs
indultry becomes habitual when flat¬
tering profpeCts are the ftrongell in¬
citements to emulation, we are fel-
dom influenced by them at an ad¬
vanced period of life. What is
more contemptible than idlenefs ;
or what is a more certain conductor
to penury, guilt, and ruin? Shun,
therefore, this daemon of deftruCtion,
and quickly redeem your miflpent
time; — then will you not have to
lament, in the day in which death
fhall clofe this mortal fcene, either
indolence or inactivity; but view
with pleafure and fatisfaCtion the
things that are paft.

Youth fhould be familiarifed to
fcenes of diltrefs. They fhould vifit
the habitations of wretchednefs, and
a fenfe of jultice will excite com-
miferation for the diltrefles of others;
for what is more honourable to the
human character, the certain indica¬
tion of a good heart, than to fvmpa-
thife with another’s woe? Let not
the comforts we enjoy, or the nu¬
merous Meltings the Almighty has
fo liberally bellowed on us, engen¬
der felfilhnefs, nor Heel our heart
againlt the neceflities of our fellow-
creatures : for, be alTftred, to fport
with misfortune argues the degene¬
rate heart, in which no feeling that
dignifies human nature claims refort.

I fhall conclude this effay with
obferving, that lincerity and truth
are fo requilite in all our dealings,
that no qualification can compenfate
for the want of them. The charac¬
ter of ambiguity renders us liable to
conltant fufpicion. Diflimulation in
youth is particularly odious, and
leads indifputably to the commiflion
of the molt perfidious actions as we
advance in life. Let us then adhere
to truth and jultice. ever bearing in

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of 6 Tom Jones,* 131

mind that fublime rule of doing
always to others what we would they
lhould do unto us; and, whatever
our misfortunes, we need not blufh
at poverty; confcious integrity will
foothe the haggard brow of diftrefs,
and, amid our ndceffities, cheers us
with that ferenity, which neither
earth can give, nor man deprive us
of. Henry Frances.

Jan. 14, 1803.

Critical Observations on the
Novel of ‘Tom Jones.’

In a Series of Letters from an Uncle to
bis Niece.

(Continued from p. 83.J

LETTER III,

DEAR NIECE,

n the introductory chapter to the
fourth book, we are entertained
with a companion between the kind
of hiftory which Mr. Fielding has
undertaken to compile, and thofe
voluminous accounts of different na¬
tions and countries, the perufal of
which, as he wittily obferves, fhould
be always attended with a tankard of
ale, the liquor which generally in-
fpires the writers of fuch hiftories.
This kind of hiftorians Mr, Fielding
likens to the compilers of our daily
prints; obferving, that the watchful-
nefs which Homer afcribes to Jove
himfelf can only be proof againft
a ne'wlpaper of many volumes.
Whereas, it is neceflaty that the
heroic, hiftorical, profaic, poem,
which he offers to his readers, fhould
be interfperfed with fundVy fimiles,
defcriptions, and other kinds of
poetical embel’lifhments, to fupply
the place of the faid ale. On this
occasion, he takes the opportunity
of declaring his intent to introduce

the heroine of this romance in the
following chapters of this book*
Accordingly, in the next chapter,
this lovely maid is brought on the
ftage ; as a prelude to which, he in¬
vokes the balmy Zephyrs of the
lovely Flora to affift as harbingers
to her approach. The language
which the author makes ufe of on
this occafion, cannot fail to delight
every reader; but, like many other
parts of this work, will make a more
forcible impreffion on thofe who are
verled in claflical lore. This ob-
fervation I fhall have various occa-
fions to repeat in the Gourfe of the
following pages. The portrait which
the author has drawn of Sophia is,
in truth, a mod: finiflied piece, and
conveys an idea of true beauty and
fymmetry, equal to what could have
been delineated by the pencil of his
fiiend Hogarth. In truth, the poet
and the painter were kindred ge¬
niuses ; the characters which Mr.
Fielding has introduced are fairly
fet before our eyes, whilft the por¬
traits of Mr. Hogarth feem to be
fpeaking forms.

The childifh incident of the bird,
in the third chapter, opens to us the
character of Sophia; and whilft her
behaviour, as an aCtrefs in this
fcene, interefts our feelings in her
behalf, prepares the way for that
friendfhip which afterwards glowed
in her breaft towards Tom Jones,
whofe gallantry is very confpicuous
on the occafion.

The diipute between Thwackum
and Square, on the fubjefi: of the
bird, in the fourth chapter, is truly
charaCteriftic of the ruling principle
which actuated each of thefe extra¬
ordinary perfonages. The humour¬
ous though juft obfervations of Mr.
Weflern on this head, with the
grave anfwer of the counfellor to the
Tquire’s queftion, will not efcspe
your notice.

The fifth is a moft interefling chap-

S 2

132 Critical Obfer nations on the Novel of c Tom Jones?

ter. — The contraft between the
thoughtlefinefs of Ton* Jones and
the wary fober carriage of Blifil, ap¬
pears in a fti iking light. The requeft
of Tom Jones to Sophia, begging
her interceflion with the ’fquire in
h^half of the game-keeper, ferves to
keep the reader’s curiofitv alive, and
to introduce us to the acquaintance
of black George and his family, to
whom we are afterwards obliged for
no fmall portion of entertainment.

The fcene which palled between
Sophia and Jones at this time laid
the foundation of an honourable and
affectionate attachment on his fide,
as the incident of the bird had for¬
merly kindled in the breaft of So¬
phia a tender flame towards our
hero. All the circumftances in this
chapter, the requeft of Tom Jones,
Sophia’s behaviour on that occafion,
her playing over to the ’fquire his
favourite tunes, the fuccefs which
attended her application to the old
gentleman in behalf of black George,
and the rage of young Blifil exprelfed
againft Jones on account of the phi¬
lanthropy and good-will exerted by
him towards the game-keeper, fully
illuftrate the characters of each of
the actors in this fcene, which dis¬
plays throughout the inimitable co¬
mic talents of the author.

Jones’s gallantry towards Molly
Seagrim, in the fixth chapter, and
his adherence to her from a princi¬
ple of confidence, however culpable
his attachment to this girl may have
been in a moral or religious point
of view, feem necelfary to be de¬
veloped to the reader at this time,
as an apology (to ufe the author’s
own expreffion) for his infenfibility
towards the charms of Sophia.

Mr. Fielding never negleCts any
opportunity of doing juftice to every
worthy charaCier, and that in a
manner peculiar to himfelf. Thus,
in the fifth fe&ion of the chapter
under confide ration, he paffes a very

handfome encomium on the then
lord chancellor Hardwicke. The
introduCiion of this compliment muft
be acknowledged, by all thofe who
recoiled! the period when this noble¬
man prefided in the court of chan¬
cery, to have been a juft tribute of
praife to his confummate know¬
ledge of the laws, to his unrivalled
ability as a ftatefman, and his un¬
common difcernment and penetra¬
tion in every branch of knowledge.
Philip earl of Hardwicke was a
Kentifti man. His father (Mr.
Yorke) was an attorney at Dover.
The fon was an articled clerk to a
folicitor of eminence, in one of the
inns of coin t; and, at this early age,
exhibited a tafte for the belles-lettres ,
by a literary effufton which was pub-
lifhed in the ‘ Spedtator,’ under the
fignature of Philip Homebred *.
Having ferved out his clerkfhip,
Mr. Yorke procured himfelf to be
called to the bar, where he was foon
diftinguiftied as a young man of
great abilities and fuperior talents,
and was quickly refpedted as an
eloquent pleader, became a king’s
council, and palled lucceffively
through the offices of folicitor and
attorney- general ; from whence he
was advanced to the high dignity of
chief juftice of the king’s-bench, and
afterwards filled the important fta-
tion of lord high chancellor of
England, and was created a peer by
the ftyle of earl of Hardwicke. This
high poft he enjoyed for a long
term of years, during which time not
one of his decrees was reverfed, and
he was efteemed by the pradtifers
one of the molt upright lawyers that
ever lat upon that bench. Lord
Hardwicke refigned the feals on a
change of miniftry, in 1757. At
his death, he was i'ucceeded in title
and eftates by his eldeft fon. Of
the Chancellor’s other children, fir

* See the 36th No. of the 5 Spectator.’

Critical Obfervatlons on the Novel of * Tom fanes.* 1 33

Jofeph Yorke, after having redded
many years at the Hague in quality
of ambaflador from our court, on
his return, in 1788, was created
lord Dover. Another of lord Hard*
wicke’s fons was brought up to the
church, and become a biffiop; and
his daughter intermarried with lord
Anfon.

Jones’s triumph over Molly Sea-
grim’s chaftity is delivered in terms
peculiar to Mr. Fielding, who pof-
lefled the rare talent of embellifhina;
plain narrative with the llovvery
wreath of wit and humour.

The feventh chapter, though fhort,
forms a very neceftary link in the
chain of events to be commemorated
in this hiftory, and is a very proper
introduction to the battle fo beauti¬
fully fling in the fucceeding chapter,
which is one of thofe, as I remarked
before, that can only be truly reliffied
by fuch readers as are intimately
acquainted with the daffies; yet it
abounds with fuch a redundancy
of humour, that it muff afford infi¬
nite delight to every reader. The
ironical iketches in the account of
this engagement, between Molly Sea-
grim and the Somerfetfhire mob,
muff be highly entertaining to every
ciafiical reader, and is, in truth, the
moft finifhed Ipecimen of the mock
heroic I ever recoiled to have met
with ; and I am perfuaded there can
be no reader of tafte and learning
but muff be fafeinated with the
magic humour with which every
period fo luxuriantly abounds.

The twelfth chapter exhibits a
lively picture of cottage manners.
The quick tranfition of the mother’s
temper from anger to placability, at
the touch of the gold which Molly
put in her hand ; Mrs. Seagrim’s
addrefs to her hufband, and the ap¬
plication of his infallible noftrum;
are feenes fo truly comic, that a dif-
ci pie of Heraclitus himfelf muff be
provoked to laughter at the recital.

The ftory related by pa non Sup¬
ple at Mr. YVeftern’s table, brings
forward another example of Mr.
Fielding’s power to excite the mirth
of his readers. Clergymen of Mr.
Supple’s caff are, perhaps, rarely to
be met with in the prefent day; but,
at the time when our author wrote,
the pedantic learning, fuch as is here
charaderifed, formed one diftin-
guifhed feature in the clerical order:
and, although in thefe enlightened
times, fuch a charader as parfon
Supple in real life would be conft-
dered as a phenomenon, it will,
neverthelefs, be a fubjed of plea-
fantry, as Mr. Fielding has fketched
out the portrait.

In this chapter the charader of
Mr. Weftern opens upon our view.
This gentleman will be found to ad
a very diftinguifhed part in the fub-
fequent ftages of the drama. The
charader of a country Tquire, fuch
as exifted in the days of Mr. Field¬
ing, was, perhaps, never more pro¬
perly delineated. This portrait you
will, perhaps, be inclined to think is
the child of the author’s fancy,
mid that a man fo clowniffi in his
addrefs. fo untutored in his manners,
and fo unlettered and uninformed in
every refped, never exifted in that
clafs of life. But the truth is, Mr.
Fielding, in this charader, as in
every other portrait which he has
drawn, adhered clofely to his origi¬
nal; and, at the time when this ro¬
mance was written, there were many
country Tquires who might have fat
for the pidure, although at prefent
(within half a century from the time
when this author wrote) nearly the
whole race leems to have become
extind, for which various reafons
may be affigned. The modes of
life have varied with greater rapi¬
dity during this lapfe of time, than
in any preceding century from the
epoch of the Norman conqueft.
The improvement in the roads, fmee

134 Critical Ohfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones *

that period, has invited gentlemen*
who were ufed to refide throughout
the year at their country- feat, to pafs
four months out of the twelve in
London : and to this they are not
feldom induced through the remon-
ftrances of their ladies; for the in-
difcriminate admiffion of women to
the table has operated with no feeble
influence towards humaniling and
polilhing the manners of our fex,
which, at the time when, as Mr.
Fielding obferves, it was the cuftom
for women to come in with the firft
difh and to retire after the firft
glafs, were, it muft be acknow¬
ledged, of a call: too ferocious and
unrefined. But, perhaps, the molt
powerful motive towards effedling
this change remains yet to be con-
fidered — namely, the military turn
which during the late and preced¬
ing wars has obtained among every
defcription of people. When the
militia a61s were firft paffed, at the
commencement of the prefent reign,
the younger gentry were all of them
emulous to qualify themfelves for
commiffions in thefe corps, and this
affociation foon effedfed a change in
their manners and addrefs. The
militia having been encamped with
the regulars, during the time of the
American war, were perpetually
tinder military duty; and, at the
peace, returned to their eftates, not
only in the habit but with the man¬
ners of a foldier. During the late
calamitous warfare, not only the
militia have become regulars, but
every tenth man capable of bearing-
arms rode a trooper in the yeo¬
manry cavalry, or was metamor-
phofed into the foldier under fame
volunteer commander. Hence, not
only the manners of the country
gentleman have undergone a revo¬
lution, but other clafl’es in fociety
likewife, which heretofore wereconfi-
dered as plebeians, have rifen into
confequence; fothat, asourinimitable

dramatift phrafes it, 4 the toe of the
peafant treads fo near upon the heel
of the courtier that it galls his kibes/
The yeoman, who rides in his land¬
lord’s troop, and is often admitted
to his table and his hunting parties,
forgetting the obfcurity of his origin,
afiumes the air and confequence of
fir John. Thus, the feveral differ¬
ent claffes of fociety being huddled
together in a vile chaos of diforder,
little diftindtion is preferved between
the man of rank and his tenant.
After all, it muft be acknowledged
that this infubordination has effected
a confiderable refinement in our
manners. The eafy communication
with the capital has likewife contri¬
buted in no flight degree to this end,
and introduced a total change in
country breeding. The courtly man¬
ners of the town have pervaded
every corner of the kingdom, and
banifhed that rufticity which for¬
merly attached to thofe individuals
who refided at a diftance from the
metropolis. The London pavement,
the London papers, and the London
drefs, together with the London
phrafes and degagee air, have found
their way to every country village;
fo that the inferior tradelmen, and
even the upper rank of domeftics,
affume a garb and addrefs fuperior
to what was the charadleriftic of the
’fquire half a century back; and thefe
latter are become rivals in politenefs
and elegance of living to the inha¬
bitants of Bond-ftreet and Grof-
venor-fquare. But thefe improve¬
ments (for improvements in fome
meafure they certainly are) cannot
be brought about but at a confider¬
able expence; and hence the advance
in price of the necelfary articles of
confumption have kept at leaft an
equal pace with our improvements.

In the eleventh chapter, the ami»
able traits in Mr. Allworthy’s cha¬
racter are brought forward in a
linking point of view. Much as

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of € Tom fanes. 9 1 3J

Jones had given offence, neither the
fophiftry of Thwackum nor the phi¬
losophic jargon of Square could
prevail on the good man to with¬
draw the affe£lion which was fo
firmly rooted in his breaft towards
the foundling.

Mrs. Honour’s relation to her
miftrefs of the intrigue carried on
between Jones and Molly Seagrim,
in the twelfth chapter, is conceived
with infinite humour, and delivered
in the appropriate terms and pert
loquacity of a lady’s woman. So¬
phia’s reprimand, by which the fe-
cret of her attachment to Jones is
betrayed, and her determination to
fhun his company in order to fub-
due her pafiion, are circumftances-
perfeflly in nature; and fo likewife
are the reflexions that the author
makes on them, which are exprelfed
in a (train of true humour.

The accident which befel Sophia
in the hunting-party, and the broken
arm which Tom Jones encountered
in his attempts to fave his miftrefs,
as related in the thirteenth chapter,
are further fpecimens of Mr. Field¬
ing’s dexterity in bringing forward
incidents which, whilft they mini-
fter temporary delight to the reader,
operate in furtherance of the main
defign, and ferve to correct the fe-
veral parts of the fable, not by a
dull languid enumeration of plain
matters of fa<ft, but by painting the
whole reprefentation in lively and
glowing tints. Thus, in the laft
chapter, Sophia, fired with indigna¬
tion at the profligacy of her lover's
conduct, forms a refolution of dis¬
carding him ; but the gallantry which
he now difplays in rescuing her from
impending death, at the expence of
a brbken arm, diftipates all her
anger, converts her refentment into a
more indiffoluble bond of attach¬
ment, and endears him to her three¬
fold.

In the*fourteenth chapter, a new

and entertaining character Is intro- 1
duced, in the perfon of the furgeonj f
and here it may be obferved, that!
Mr. Fielding never lofes any oppor-l
tunity of ladling the pedantic often-
tation of profelfional coxcombs,
whatever their abilities may be in
other’ refpefts, with the keenefi:
edge of his fatirical wit. Inftances
of this kind have been before re¬
marked, and will frequently offer
themfelves to our view in the fub-
fequent pages of the hiftory. The
difcourfe between Sophia and her
maid opens to us the delicate fen-
fations of a virtuous and accom-]
plifhed young woman roufed by the
danger (he had efcaped, through the
gallantry of our hero, and warmed
by the irrefiftible charms of his
perfonal bravery and addrefs; and
this dialogue with Mrs. Honour
tends likewife to co-operate in the'
main drift of the novel, by prepar-j
ing the mind of the reader for the
fubfequent elopement of the young |
lady, who appears now to have
fallen a vi£fim to a paflion already !
too ftrong for refiftance, by Mrs.:
Honour’s relation of the incident of t
the muff. The effe£ts which this!
relation had on Sophia are truly]
natural; and the whole chapter, 1
whether confidered as a fpecimenj
of genuine humour or as a prelude]
to matters of greater importance,,
cannot fail to yield infinite delight:
to every reader of tafte and judg-j
ment. I fhall now clofe my obferv¬
ations for the prefent, and fub-
fcribe myfelf

Your affe&ionate uncle, &c.

LETTER IV.

DEAR NIECE, -

Let us now proceed in our ex¬
amination of the fifth book of ‘Tom
Jones.’

The introductory chapter to the :

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones.*

136

fifth book contains a fevere rebuke
on the then race of critics. What
Mr. Fielding has been pleafed to ad¬
vance upon contrail, in this place,
which, as he obferves, runs through
all the works of the creation, and
which it is neceffary for every au¬
thor to preferve in his characters,
will appear to be exemplified in the
work before us, and cannot fail very
forcibly to ftrike the mind of every
reader who perufes thefe pages with
attention. The fimiles, culled upon
the occafion, form a very didin-
guifhed part in this literary bouquet.
The introduction of the difcourfe on
’pantomimic reprefentations, in this
[place, enables the author to difplav
lfii$ talents of ridicule upon that
childifh fpecies of dramatic mum¬
mery, and to difmifs the chapter
with ironical farcafms on himfelf.

In the fecond chapter of this
book, the diffimilar characters of
Allworthy, Thwackum, ’fquireWes-
'tern, Bfifil, and Square, are fct in a
I more confpicuous light - and as thefe
are intended hereafter to form the
principal dramatis pcrfon.t^ Mr.
Fielding has, in this place, artfully
introduced them to the reader’s no¬
tice, that he may be perfectly ac¬
quainted with the excellent worth
©f Allworthy, and with the eccen-
tricity of the other four. The fame
philanthropy and the like fcrious
deportment didinguifh Mr, All-
worthy on this, as on every other
occafion. Thwackum (till preferves
his haughty fupercilious demeanour,
and the pedantic manners of the
©dentatious prieft may be traced in
his difcourfe; whild Square main¬
tains the fame falfe principles of phi-
lofophv. The accident which hap¬
pened to Square, during his difpute
with Thwackum, whild it forms a
ievere reprimand on thefe kind of
dogmatics, is delivered in language
fo replete with humour, that it can-
pot fail to excite a fmile in the

reader. The uncharitable difpo-
fition of Thwackum, in clapping a
judgment on the back of Square,
ads as a pretty fmart memento,
though delivered in truly comic
terms, to perfons of this character.
Blifil, who makes one among thofe
who appear as vifitors to Mr. Jones'
In his illnefs, is dred forth in the
fame hypocritical array in which we
have been accudomed to view him.
The boiderous condud of Mr.
Wedern, contraded with the amiable
deportment of his daughter ; the in¬
nocent developement of her attach¬
ment to Jones, at the reply of our
young hero to her father’s preding
felicitation for him to accept of the
forrel mare which had been the in-
flrument of the difader that had
befallen his midrds ; together with
the effect which mifs Wedern’s
manifed diforder, on this conven¬
tion, occafioned in the bread of
Jones; are all of them circumdances
which are managed with infinite

<r>

humour and addre fs .

The druggie which takes place
in the mind of Jones between love
and honour, as related in the third
chapter, in which the chade and
delicate paflion which he entertained
for Sophia and the pledge of eternal
fidelity which he had vowed to
Molly Seagrim, pull different ways;
and the doubts he entertains of Wef-
tern’s confent to his union with his
amiable miftrefs, if he fhould ever
be fo happy as to obtain the confent
of the daughter; together with the
hazard of incurring Mr. All wor¬
thy’s difplealute; are a lively picture
of what mud have paffed in the mind
of every young man of merit and
difeernment, and cannot fail to inter-
ed us in favour of the hero of the
piece,

The converfation between Tom
Jones and Mrs. Honour, on the fub-
je£t of the muff, in the fourth chap¬
ter, is managed with infinite humour.

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of € Tom Jones ? 1 37

This incident conHitutes a ftriking
feature in the fequel of che romance,
^nd the efre£t which it produces on
Jones is fuch as might naturally be
fuppofed to refult from the rehearfal
of the {lory, in rivetring his affec¬
tions on Sophia. You will call to
mind the effect which the incident
of this very mu If wrought on So-
phia, as related in the fourteenth
chapter of the lad book.

The reflexions which arife in the
mind of Jones, when deliberating
on the alternative of quitting all
hopes of Sophia or or deferring
Molly Seagvim, continue, in the fifth
chapter, Hill to haunt him with un-
eafinefs; and he forms the refac¬
tion of endeavouring to calm the
rage which he fuppofed would be
levelled againft him by this inamora¬
to, on being made acquainted with
the dreadful intelligence, by offering
her a fum of money. The fubfe-
quent part of this chapter, which
relates the interview between Jones
and Molly, the converfation which
pa(Ted on the occafion, and the difco-
very of Square, the philofopher, be¬
hind a curtain in Molly’s apartment,
are all of them paffages truly comic,
and fuch as cannot fail to excite rifi-
bility in every reader. And here
permit me to repeat my aflonilh-
ment at the wonderful addrefs of our
author, on the introduction of cha¬
racters and paffages, which, as they
are neceffary in the prefent contex¬
ture of the work, ferve, at the fame
time, to con.neCt the feveral parts,
and to bring forward events without
exceeding the limits of natural caules,
and without trefpaffmg on probabi¬
lity. In this contrivance, ‘ The
Hiftory of a Foundling’ differs to¬
tally from the flimfy compofition of
the general run of novels. By the
difcovery which Jones made, on his
vifit to the manfion of the Seagrims,
he not only rid himfetf of Molly, a
matter unavoidably necetlary to be
accomplifhed previous to the prole -
Vo>. XXXIY.

cuting any further his honourable
fuit with mifs Welder n ; but the
tongue of the philofopher, who had
hitherto fhown himfelf no lefs an
implacable enemy than Thwack^m,
the divine, was effectually filenced.
The jargon of philofophic rant is
admirably delineated in every fen*
timent which proceeds from the
mouth of this worthlefs character.
The artifice of Molly, in perfuading
Mr. Square that he alone had pof-
feflion of her heart, though Jones
had formerly enjoyed fo much of
her favour, may be conceived to
have flowed naturally from a phi

j o

of her depraved appetite. But, as
Molly had hitherto been reprefented
to have fallen a victim to the per*
fonal charms of Jones, fomething
was neceflarv to convince the read¬
er of her rergiverfarion, and this is
brought in full view before us in the

next chapter.

The male coquetry of Will Barnes
is bv no means a phenomenon in
the rural walks of life. Every day’s
experiencefurnifhesus with inftances
of ploughmen of tnisdefeription, and
who make it their boafl to have tri¬
umphed over the chafbty of their
female affociates From this eclair *
cijjement , the reader is conducted, by
progreflive lteps, to the difcovery
which Jones makes of his palfion
for Sophia. Having given over the
criminal inrercourfe with Molly,
Sophia Wefletn alone becomes the
objcCt or his attention. The per¬
turbation which this caufed in his
fpirits, the aukward miftakes which
he frequently committed in confe-
quence, and the ill effeCt which a
concealed paHion caufed in his
health, are circumflances plainly in
nature ; and the eHeem and pity
which Sophia conceived for the ena¬
moured youth may, on this fcore,
be eafilv accounted for. The acci-
dental meeting of the young couple
in the garden falls out very d-propos ,
to bring about the overture of a

138 Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of c Tom Jones.

paffion which Tom had long con¬
cealed ; nor is there any tiling forced
or unnatural in this meeting. The
image which the fidi-pond raifes in
the mind of Sophia, of the narrow
efcape of Tom Jones many years
before, as related in a preceding
chapter, furnifhesher with a fubje£t
of difcourfe, and this enables Tom
to reveal a paffion which he had
Jong concealed within his breath
The delicacy with which this fhort
but momentous difcourfe between
the two lovers is managed, will be
readily acknowledged by every one;
and that reader mud be very prudifh
indeed who centimes this reply of
Sophia — i Mr. Jones, I will not
sided: to mifunderftand you.’ In
truth, Sophia had not overftepped
the moil rigid bounds of decorum.
And here give me leave to repeat,
what I have often had occafion to
remark,’ with what art our author
introduces charaders and incidents,
which not only conduce to the
prefent amufement of the reader,
but ferve as a link in the great

chain of the hiflorv. Thofe who

*•

turn to the third chapter of the
fourth book may convince them-
felves of the juft ice of the remark, in
the incident there related of the
bird.

In the feventh chapter we are
treated with a fpecimen of Mr.
Fielding’s talent in the pathetic ;
and here lie feems to be not lefs the
man of genius than in the exhibi¬
tion of comic fcehes. We are here
introduced to Mr. Allworthy’s cham¬
ber, and, as it was then imagined,
his death-bed; yet even on this me¬
lancholy occafion flafli es of wit oc-
cafionally break forth, as when, in a
witty drain peculiar to himfelf, he
gently ladies the formal fons of
Hippocrates. The pidure of a
good man, informed by his phyfi-
dans that his thread of life is nearly
ipun, witn his domeffics weeping
around him, mud work a corre-

fponding effed in every feeling
bread. In this chapter tlge feveral in¬
cidents are fketchedout by the hand
of a mader. The fcene appears full
in our view, and every charader may
be conceived to be exhibited before
us like portraits on a canvas. The
fpeech that Mr. Allworthy delivers
to his furrounding audience would
have been received for the fird-rate
pulpit eloquence, and have done
honour to the mod eloquent preach*
er. The feveral difcourfes which
he addredes to Blifil, to Square, to
1’hwackum, and to Jones, are fur¬
ther traits in the benevolent difpofi-
tion of Mr. All worthy, and confirm
us in the opinion we had before con¬
ceived of the good man. We all of
us fympathife in his bufferings, and
we all wifh to be able to fay, with
him, at our latter end, 4 That life is,
at bed, only an entertainment; and
that to enjoy this feaft, and partake
the company of our friends, a few
moments longer, can be of no mate¬
rial confequence.’ The bitter la¬
mentations of Blifil, who ‘ blubbered
aloud,’ when oppofed to the gener¬
ous and manly condud of Tom,
exhibits in lively colours the ruling
paffions of each. The chapter is
difmifled with a witty allufion to
the tears of Mrs. Wilkins, which
are faid to have flowed from her as
fad as the, Arabian trees drop their
medicinal <nim.

The fohloquy of Mrs. Deborah
Wilkins, in the third chapter, and
the argument maintained between
Thwackum and Square, on thefub-
jed of their legacies, whilft it deve-
lopes the fordid difpofition and felfifh.
views of each of thofe perfonages,
furnifhes a condderable portion of
entertainment from the manner of
the delivery. The arrival of the
lawyer from Salilbury at this critical
juncture, when, from the inability
of Allworthy to attend to bufinefs,
Blifil was deputed to give audience
to this firanger, will appear hereafter -

Critical Observations- on the Novel of e Tom Jones.9 I 39

to have been a fortunate circum-
fiance for Mr. Blifil. The obfiinacv
of Blifil in urging, contrary to the
opinion of the phyfician, the expe¬
diency of making Mr. Allworthy
acquainted with the death of his
filter, at a time when his own difiem-
per was likely to be aggravated by
the difcoverv, Blows the addrefs
and difcernment of the author in
arranging his characters, and align¬
ing to each of them, at their en¬
trance, that peculiar tendency or
turn of mind which, from the pri¬
mary introduction of fuch characters,
the reader was led to expeft. The
fimile of the general and the phyfi¬
cian is very humorous. The man¬
ner in which Blifil delivered the
melancholy tidings to Allworthy,
* firfl applying his handkerchief to
his eyes in order to wipe away a
tear, or, if there were none, to wipe
away that none, is real wit. The
refignation in which Mr. All worthy
received the fad tidings is charac-
teriftic of fo good a man.

The behaviour of Jones, as re¬
lated in the beginning of the ninth
chapter, fo contrary to that of Blifil
or any other part of the family, muff
intereff the feelings of every tender
heart in his favour. This relation is
interfperfed with many ftrokes of
genuine humour. The tumultuous
joy expreffed by Jones, on hearing
the favourable report delivered by
the phyfician, naturally refulted on
the tranfition from heart-rending
woe to the contrary extreme, and
which, in a fanguine cenffitution
like his, could not fail to produce
thefe extravagant raptures. When
the conduit of Tom Jones and of
Blifil are contraffed, the one fwal-
lowing bumper after bumper till he
became literally drunk with joy, and
the other, with a truly faturnine

7 J

acidity of countenance, and with the
pedant at hrs elbow, gravely re¬
proving our young hero for the in¬
decency of his behaviour j if thole

different portraits, I fay, were to

appear in real life, few readers I

fhould hope would hefitatein whofe

favour to pronounce their decifion.

The anfwer returned by Jones to

his quondam tutor, upon the farcafni

thrown out by Tnwackum refpeCf-

ing Mr. Allworthy’s legacy, and the

contempt expreffed by the former

towards the pedagogue, — ‘ No, let

the earth open and fwaliow her own

dirt (if I had millions 1 would fay it),

rather than fwaliow up my .dear glo-

lious friend!* — as they are charac-

teriffics of a young man endued with

the moft virtuous and generous fenti-

ments, fo do they no lefs manifeft

the tendernefs and fenfibility of the

author’s heart. Mr. Fielding’s ob-
fervations on the effects of inebriety
upon different conftitutions, will, I
think, be generally allowed to be
well-founded. Blifil’s fcornful re¬
turn to Mr. Jones’s tender of recon¬
ciliation, and the fcandalous infinua-
tion of the former on the illegiti¬
macy of Tom’s birth, are demonftra-
tive of his malignant difpofition;
and fo, likewife, were the feeble
threats and defiance of Blifil, after
the frav was at an end; the former
of which was altogether as favoura-
ble to that young mangas in the pri¬
mary attack the fuperiority lay on
the fide of Jones.

The tenth and eleventh chapters
are feafoned with true Attic fait
from beginning to end. The battle
between Jones and his two oppo¬
nents, Blifil and the parfon, is re¬
lated in a Brain of humour that
might extort a fmile from the moB:
auftere ftoic. The appearance of
’fquire WeBern and his companions
happens very a-propos to confirm the
regard which Sophia entertains, for
Tom ; and which, in addition to the
entertainment it affords to the readf
er in the delivery, contributes in no
fmall degree to the main defign, by
gradually developing the plot.

In the twelfth chapter, the afiil£»
T 2

140

J Morning’s Walk in February.

ance which J ones tenders to his
lovelv miftrefs, when (lie had fwoon-
ed on beholding the condition he
was in, calls forth all her teuder-
nefs, and leaves no room to doubt of
her regard for Tom; and this cir-
cunnflance likewife introduces him
again to Mr. Weftern’s houfe. The
pious wifh of the author, that quar¬
rels between fovereign princes
might be 'determined by pitched
battles at fifty-cuffs between the par¬
ties, and the fage obfervations of
Mr. Wefern, on Thwackum’s hint
that the whole difturbance was occa¬
sioned by a wench, are truly comic.

Here I fliall paufe for the prefent,
and fubfcribe myfelf

Your affectionate uncle, Sec.

(To be continued .)

... \ f

J MCRNING’.f WALK in
FEBRUARY.

® TTail! February, hail!’ I ex-
claimed, when I began this
early excurfion. ‘ Though murky
clouds veil the bright eye of day, and
fleecy fnows fhroud from my fight
the green face of earth ; though the
genius of the ftorm howls in the
troubled air, and gelid frofts glaze
the bubbling rill ; yet I anticipate
with pleafure the gentle reign of
Spring, and enjoy in idea the ap¬
proaching vernal feafon.’

The fight of the fimple fnowdrop,
the harbinger of the flowery race,
filled my mind with agreeable fatis-
fadtion. This innocent flower had
forced its way through the frozen
foil, and feemed to bid defiance to
the howling blaft and piercing gale.
It coveted not the light-winged ze¬
phyr that fans the bofom of the filver
lily, nor the funny beam thatflufhes
with crimfon the fummer rofe; but
bloomed unhurt, furrounded by
feathered fnows, and flourifhed amid
the feverity of hoary-erffted Winter,

No unfit emblem of Virtue in ad-
verfity ; — though the bleak ftorm of
affliction and the rude blafts of mis¬
fortune beat on her unfheltered
head, yet (he is tranquil and refigned,
and theffnileof complacency is feen
on her countenance.

During my ramble, I entered a
leaflefs grove, rny favourite rural'
refort during the vernal months;
but, ah l how changed the feene
fince when on the well-known ftile 1
fat, and liftened to the ftrains of
refponfive nightingales. The 4 little
bands of fong’ were fled, to feek for
fuftenance at the cottage gate or the
friendly barn ; and the timorous
hare, which ufed to feud along be¬
fore me, or dart acrofs my path,
driven by neceffity, had fought the-
village garden. A hollow found
murmured through the wood, the
prefage of a coming ftorm; its
driving fleet beat upon me, and
admoniflied me to return.

On my way home, I paffed a for¬
did hut, where Poverty reigned in all
his terrors. A groupe of half-naked,
half-fa mifhed, children met my view,
and excited my commiferation :
touched with the fight, I was ready
to cry out, with old Lear —

— - c Poor little wretches 1

How will your clay- built ihed,your unfed tides.
Your loop’d and window’d raggednefs, defend
you

From feafons fuch as thefe ? Take phytic,
Pomp ;

Expofe thyfelf to feel what wretches feel ;
Then thou may’ft thake the fuperflux to them,
And thow the Heavens more juft !’

Shakspeare.

After dropping my mite into the
treafury of Charity, I left this feene
of domeftic mifery, and fought mine
own comfortable fire-fide.

1 How bleft the man, whofe morning ramble !

leads

Where pine the fons of indigence and care!
His little gift their gladden’d eyes amaze,

And win, at (mall expence, their fondelt 1
prayer.’ Shenstone< .

Hauer hill , John WebiL -

A Mornings Walk in March . 1 41

A MORNINGS WALK in
MARCH.

* The dawn was overcaft, the morning lour’d,
And heavily in clouds brought on the day,’

hen I bade adieu to Mor¬
pheus, and his 1 paradife of
happy dreams,’ unbound Sleep’s
‘ foft fillet from mine eyes,’ and be¬
gan with alacrity my early ramble.

The firft objedl which engaged
my attention was a primrofy bank.
To the pleafure occasioned by the
light may be attributed the following
apoflrophe.

' Modeft primrofe ! meek-eyed
flower! drefl in the plain attire of
Simplicity, thou envieft not the gaudy
tulip, that flaunts in all the colours
of the rainbow; nor the blufhing
rofe, with all her fragrant fweets.
Thou art not ambitious of deco¬
rating the gardens of the opulent, or
of adding a grace to the Scenes of
polifhed cultivation; fora mofly dell
is thy favourite fituatton, and a rude
bramble thy only Shelter from the
ftorm.

Emblem juft of the virtuous cot¬
tager ! Bleft with a little and con¬
tent, he prefers his rulTet garb to
filken veftments; and never ftghs
for grandeur,, wealth, or honour.
He withes not to move in the circles
of the great, nor to make a brilliant
appearance amongft the votaries of
worldly fplendor; for he is perfectly
fatisfied with his lowly condition,
and his higheft ambition is —

* To reign the monarch of his humble fhed.*

Fearful of encountering the ruffian
blafts of Eurus, moft of the buds and
bloftoms of nature lay fafely conceal¬
ed in their fecret folds, till gentle
breezes and vernal airs invite them
to peep forth.

* Rough thy appearance, March ! but plea-
fant thou,

The harbinger of Spring. The morning walk.
Not undelightful now, tho’ through the wood.
The Steen wood lingYwg, now, no gentle gale.

’Mid the full foliage of the clufter’d boughs,
Melodious moves. What though the vernal
mead

No rich probation fpreads of golden flowers.
That laugh luxuriant in the fummerfun ;

Y et over its calm greennefs may the eye
Gaze, and be fatisfied.’

My path conducted me to a rook¬
ery, where, —

‘On the tall elms,

Their penfile nefts the feather’d artifts build;
The rocking winds moleft them not ; for, fee.
With fuch due poife the fabrics are conftrufted.
That, like the compafs in the bark, they keep
True to themfelves, and ftedfaft e’en in
florais." Smart.

Well pleafed I flood, and marked
with fixed attention the manners of
the cawing tribes; and admired the
incefiant application, the fond afli-
duity, and the unwearied folicitude,
which the footy aflembly difplay in
providing for their clamorous young.

Ye unnatural fathers! (and fuch
there be) who, deaf to the voice of
Nature that fpeaks within you, deaf
to the plaints of helplefs infancy!
will not furnifti the welcome morfel
to the afking hand and craving |
mouthj-— go to the rook, imitate her
ways, and be wife !

4 Oh, for a lav/ to noofe his guilty neck 'j
Who ftarves his own, who persecutes th4
blood

He gave them, In his children’s veins,

And wrongs the woman he had iworn to love.

COWPER, ■

PalTing along, I obferved a femijj
circle on the verdant turf formed o^j
deep-green grafs. Traditionary tale$
inform us, that on thefe particular
fpots elves and fairies danced, light- jj
ed bv night’s filver lamps: nay, im- 1
mortal Shakfpeare affirms that the)|
make them.

— — Ye demy puppets, that

By moonfhine do the green four ringlets maW'j
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whofcl
paftime

Is to make midnight mufhrooms -*

But whether thefe light-footed
gentry are painters of deep-greeni!

Charles and Henry ; a Tate.

Or manufacturers of muflirooms, it
is not for me to determine ; yet I
have gathered many of the latter
from ©ft thofe 4 green four ringlets.5

Ever partial to the melody of the
groves, I felt a pleafurable fenfation
when I heard the plumy choirifters
chaunt again their mellifluous carols.

c Methought the fhrill-tongued Thrufh
Mended his Ring of love ; the footy Blackbird
Mellow’d his pipe, and foften’d every note/

Bl AIR.

The hedge-fides, decorated with
primrofes, and the fteepy bank
adorned with cowflips and violets,
recalled to my mind the happy period
of childhood, when I ranged thofe
fcenes, collecting the flrft-fruits of
Flora.

Yes, fond remembrance led me to review
The Ample calm delights when life was new;
"When, free from care, in blithe infantile
hours,

Ijchas’d gay butterflies, and gather’d flowers :
Oft as the gaily-pinion’d trifler flew,/

Sipping from every bloom neftareous dew,

I mark’d its courfe — purfued its devious way,
Till at my feet the beauteous vidtim lay.

With truant foot I rov’d o’er hill and vale,
And pluck’d with eager hand the primrofe
pale :

Lur’d by the violet’s aromatic fimell,

I tore the blue- rob’d fragrant from the dell.
What confcious pleafure revell’d in my
breaft,

Jf chance directed to a warbler’s nefH
Ufelefs, ye feather’d pair, your anxious pain 5
Your fond folicitude was all in vain.

Unfeeling boy ! I feiz’d the msfl'y dome,

And bore the callow generation home.

Oh, envied paftime ! innocent employ !
Superior far to fcenes of riper joy !

Stranger to guilt, to furly grief unknown,
Light fat my heart upon its bofom-throne.

Hater bill. John Webb.

CHARLES and HENRY 5

A TALE.

Af all the paflions inimical to the
peace of man, jealoufy is the
moil dire. It abforbs every faculty
and feeling, both of mind and body ;
its corroding power fo influences
mankind, when once it is allowed to

gain admiflion into the breaft, that
they are no longer like themfelves,
but are entirely changed; and, from
being mild, unfufpicious, and happy,
become gloomy, ferocious, and
revengeful.

"Charles and Henry were the Tons
of adjacent neighbours: in infancy
they were playmates, in early man¬
hood infeparable friends. Charles
was of a hafty temper; he was ex*
trernely irritable: but his paflion was
foon over, and he was then alhamed
of his cond 11ft, and forry for what
had happened. Henry, on the con¬
trary, was mild to as great a degree
as his friend was impetuous. Though .
fo diflimilar in their tempers, they
ftill continued clofely united in the
bonds of friendfliip.

At length Charles conceived an
affeftion for an amiable young lady.
It was impoflible to fay, whether the
beauty or good qualities of Maria
ftione moft refplendent. Their af¬
feftion was reciprocal — it ripened
into love; and, in leading Maria to
the altar, Charles became the hap-
pieft of men.

Time fled imperceptibly away on
halcyon wings: Henry ftill remain¬
ed the friend of Charles, and viflted
at his houfe more like a brother
than a mere neighbour.

A year had not elapfed, when
Maria brought her hufoand a fon,
which added ftill more to their feli¬
city. He was named Charles-Hen-
ry, and it is almoft needlefs to men¬
tion, Henry was his godfather

From the nature of Henry’s vifits,
it frequently happened that he was
alone with his friend’s wife; but his
mind was pure — it revolted at the
bare idea of impropriety, and Maria
was fafe. But, alas ! purity of mind
is far from being always fecure
againft the attacks of malevolence
and envy : fo it fared \yith Hen¬
ry; fome mifcreant inftnuatgd into
Charles’s mind, that his friend had
Rolen the affeftions of his wife; and

Charles and Henry ; a Tale . - 145

and that, under the mafk of friend¬
fhip, he was daily plundering his
cleared hopes. Stung to madnefsby
this intelligence, Charles indantly
fent his friend a challenge, couched
in thefe terms ;

4 Henry,

£ Your unparalleled bafenefs in
dedroying my peace, by deducing
the wife of mv bofom, has made life
a burden.— -Meet me at five to-mor¬
row morning, in the green lane,
there to furrender your forfeit life,
or add to your infamy by honourably
taking mine. This alone can fatisfy

4 Charles/

To defcribe Henry’s feelings on
the receipt of this note, is far beyond
the power of language; he was al-
moft diilra&ed, and for a length of
time either to write or fpeak was
too great an effort. When he be¬
came a little more compofed, he ad-
drefied the following lines to his
friend : *

4 Dear Charles,

( The talk I have now to perform
is a mod painful one indeed. By
your note I am given to unrierdand,
that you fuppofe me capable of de¬
ducing your wide. Oh, Charles,
how unkind was that thought ! how
unlike your dormer friendfhip! —
You may believe me, when I affine
you, that no one circumdance od my
life, that I can call to remembrance,
ever probed my feelings to the de¬
gree this has done ; but condcious
rectitude has relieved me, and I deel
a pride in telling you, I am not the
diabolical villain you imagine, either
in thought or deed. Still thecharge
again d me is a mod derious one,
it would deparate brothers for ever.
What hellifh fiend can have infuded
into your mind the dire paffion od
realou dy, is not for me to determine;
I can only again repeat, folemnJy re¬

peat, that your dufpicions are entirely
unfounded.

4 That I have been innocently
familiar with your wife, is mod cer¬
tain; it was the familiarity of an old
acquaintance of her own— an oldplay-
fellow and friend of her hufband’st-
but, good God ! could I have deli*,
berately endeavoured to feduce the
wife of that friend, — could I have
calmly endeavoured to tear her from
every thing mod dear in life, by
bafely ingratiating myfelf with her
for the mod infamous of purpofes, I
diould have hated myfelf for ever \
I diould not have dared to walk
ere£t among my fpecies ! I diould
have thought myfelf eternally pointed
out by the finger of fcorn and con¬
tempt ; and if one man had whif-
pered to another as Ipaffed, I diould
have confidered him as faying —
* There goes a wretch, who bafely
feduced the vrife of his friend; fliun
him as you would a viper, he is not
worthy to eat the bread of life.57

4 I am fure a little reflexion will
convince you of the truth of my
my affertions; but I fliall attend you
to-morrow morning, prepared to de¬
cide this affair in your own way, if
you then continue to perfld in you£
unkind doubts.

4 Though I am fearful this will
difunite us for ever, 1 dill wifh to
fubferibe myfelf,

4 Dear Charles,

4 Yours ever truly,

' Henry/

The morning came, and with it
Charles and Henry; they were un¬
accompanied; Henry only was arm¬
ed. Charles was now convinced of
his friend's innocence, and as Henry
approached him, he fmiled and ex¬
tended the hand of friendfhip : Hen¬
ry, in a paroxyfm of joy, throwaway
his pidols, ran into his friend’s arms,
and for fome moments they were
both fo overcome by their fenfa-
tions as to be deprived of utterance.

144

Marfs Tomb ; a Fragment.

Charles was the firft to break the
imprefiive (Hence. He ftammered
out : — e Henry, I have injured
you! — grofsly injured you!’ He
paufed, while Henry replied : — f You
have, indeed, Charles; but it is for¬
gotten.’

c Bed: of friends, can you then
forgive me? — Can you forget my ill
ufage ? *

* Believe me, Charles, it is for¬
gotten ; your prefent conduct has
entirely obliterated the tranfa<5licn
from my memory.’

They now entered into an explan¬
ation, when it appeared, that a
rafcal, whom Henry had difmifled
from his fervice, had contrived to
perfuade Charles that his former ma¬
iler had deduced his wife, and, from
he natural impetuofity of his tem¬
per, Charles at firftbelieved the whole
to be true, and. in the heat of his paf-
licn, fent the challenge to his friend ;
but, upon a little reflexion, he began
to perceive the improbability of his
dory. While he was in this frame
of mind, he received Henry’s letter,
which completely convinced him
that he had been the dupe of a
wretch, who had endeavoured, by
his infernal machinations, to deftroy
the peace of a happy family.

Thus ended an affair, which, but
for the cool difpaflionate temper of
Henry, might have terminated in
bloodlhed, and made two happy
families miferable for ever: — May
it be a warning to all, how they
credit the bafe infinuations of thofe
difappointed and envious wretches,
who are never fo happy as when
working the definition of thofe
around them. J. M. L0

MARY’j- TOMB; a Fragment.

(Re fpe£t fully addrefled to E - P - , of

His Majeliy’s Ship J — - - .)

few mornings ago, I paffed, by
chance, through the church-

7 O

yard of Ya - th, and could not

help paufing for a moment on be¬
holding a tall handforrte girl, kneel¬
ing at the foot of a lowly grave.
Her hands were devoutly clafped,
and her tearful eyes raided to hea¬
ven. She daw me not, and the fol¬
lowing affectionate doliloquy iffued
from the modi beautiful lips nature
ever formed.

f Peace to thy fpirit, thou amiable
unfortunate! thou irrefiftible child
of wit and humour, peace be to
thee ! and may you, lovely victim of
prejudice, be far happier in un¬
known regions, than when on this
troubled earth: for Slander, that
b'afe fiend! cannot reach thee now,
my deareff, beft of friends! Angels
will open wide the gates of Heaven
to admit my fpotlefs, perfecuted
Mary, and blooming cherubs loudly
chaunt forth her praife! Methinks I
now behold thy fragile form bending
beneath its weight of woe, repofed on
the fopha, with your hand clafped
faff in that of Edward’s, and a pen-
five fmile directed to thy Catharine:
a fmile which even the happy Ed¬
ward himfelf envied my pofleffing !
Oh ! could thy devoted friend but
have been near thee to have fmooth-
ed thy rugged pillow, and to have
catched thy laft expiring figh, this
throbbing bofom would have acquir¬
ed a tranfient compofure from thy hea¬
venly brow, and a fmall thrill of fere-
nity would have animated this full
heart ! But, no; fate, cruel fate! was
unpropitious to poor Catherine, and
detained her far diflant from her
beloved Mary and friendfhip !’

The lovely mourner hefitated :
flie placed one hand on her heart;
while, with the other, file fire wed
feme frefh-gathered flowers over the
tomb, from n. fmall wicker bafket
which was Banding by her fide.

A little fpaniel now came fkipping
up: it was Mary’s. The agitated
maid arofe ; file looked at. the dog,
then at the grave, and then again at.

Account of the new Comedy — ‘ John Bull.'

145

die dog. ‘ Pizarro! Pizarro!’ {he re-
a {Turned, 4 only legacy of my angel
friend ! even thou doff mourn for
thy fallen miff refs ! Come, come to
me, my beauteous animal, and
let me fondle thee and think of
Mary !’

Catherine now for the firft time,
beheld me: a faint blufh tinged her
pale cheek for an inffant; while,
with a dejected air and downcaff
eyes, {he turned from Mary’s tomb;
and, followed by Pizarro, {lowly
difappeared, leaving me to mv own
reflections, which at that moment
were not the molt pleafant.

C. B. Yeames.

Harnuicb) Feb. 28, 1803.

Account of the New Comedy,
entitled 4 John Bull, or The
Englishman’s Fire-Side,’ per¬
formed for the firft Ti?ne at the The¬
atre-Royal, Covent-Garden , on Satur¬
day , March 5.

'T^his piece is the acknowledged
A production of Mr. Colman.

The characters
fented : —

Sir Simon Rochdale,
Frank Rochdale,

Lord Fitz-Bulaam, -
Peregrine Rochdale,
Tom Shuffleton,
Dennis Ballerudderv,
Waiter,

Thornbury,

Lady Caroline 7
Braymoie, - $
Mary Thornbury, -
Wide to Dennis,

were thus repre-

Mr. Blanchard.

Mr. H. |®hnfton.

Mr. Waddy.

Mr. Cooke.

Mr. Lewis.

Mr. Johnftone.

Mr. Emery.

Mr. Fawcett.

Mrs. H. Johnfton.

Mrs. Gibbs.

Mrs. Davenport.

FABLE.

The county of Cornwall is the
feene of action in this drama. Pere¬
grine, when about flxteen years of
age, being of an adventurous turn,
left his family for the purpofe of
frying- his fortune in the Eaft-Indies.
Vul, XXXiV.

Previous to his departure he was
kindly received by Thornbury, who
had juft fet up in buftnefs at Pen¬
zance, and who. without knowing Pe¬
regrine’s ftory, gives him ten pounds
in pity of his diftrefs and a letter
to a captain of an Eaft-Indiaman at
Falmouth, by which means Pere¬
grine obtains a paflage, and acquires a
large fortune. After thirty years
have elapfed, he returns to this coun¬
try, and is ftranded on the coaft of
Cornwall, in which county he was
born. The ten pounds, given to
him by Thornbury, he had fepa-
rately employed in trade, and had
raifed it into a capital of ten thoip
fand pounds; and this fum, which he
had put into a box and flung about
his perfon, was all he was able to
have in the wreck of the {hip. He
rambles over a defo'ate heath, and
at laft reaches a little public-houfe,
with the fign of tiie Bull, kept bv
an Iriftiman, named Dermis Bull-
gruddery. At this time the plav is
fuppoled to begin. Soon after Pe¬
regrine has made inquiries after his
old benefaStor, Thornbury, who is
now a brazier, he hears the fereara
of a female in diftrefs. Peregrine
flies to refeue her, and {he proves to
be Mary, the daughter of Thorn¬
bury. Having been feduced by
Frank Rochdale, the fon of fir Si¬
mon Rochdale, a magiftrate, and a
man of great property, in the neigh¬
bourhood, {lie quits her father’s
houfe, juft at the time when the con-
fequences of her frailty cannot be
much longer concealed, and was at¬
tacked by a robber as {he was wan¬
dering in pftrfuit of a ftage to con¬
vey ht r to London. Peregrine ob¬
tains her confidence, and promifes
her redrefs, placing her in the mean
time at the Bull public-houfe, and
leaving money with the landlord for
her fupport. Peregrine's firft object
is, to di {'charge his obligation to
Thornbury, whom he finds in a ftate

146

Account of the new Comedy — ' John Build

of bankruptcy, having been fecurity
for a friend, by whom he is deferted,
to the amount of fixthoufand pounds,
as well as in the midff of diftrefs
on account of his daughter’s flight.
After Peregrine has in vain attempt¬
ed to induce Thorn bury to accept
the vaft accumulation of the fum
formerly given to him by the latter,
he perfuades Thornbury to let him
pay his creditors upon condition of
refloring his daughter. Having
brought, the father and daughter to¬
gether, Peregrine now turns his
thoughts towards the redrefs which
ought to be obtained for poor Mary.
For this purpofe, he goes to fir Simon
Rochdale’s, and is introduced to
Frank Rochdale, who is full of con¬
trition for his conduct towards Mary,
and who had fent Tom Shuffleton,
a wprthlefs man of fafhion, with a
letter to her, and a promife to pro¬
vide for her. Shuffleton forms at
once the mod difhonourable views
upon her; and, in order to fecure
her, gives her a letter of recom¬
mendation to the female condudlor
of a notorious brothel in London.
Peregrine having fortunately fruflra-
ted this wicked purpofe, difclofes the
villainy of Shuffleton to Frank, who
is firongly attached to Mary, and
willies to repair her wrongs by mar¬
riage, but is prevented by his father,
who has entered into a matrimonial
treaty with lord Fitzbalaam, a ne-
ceffitous peer. After the reconci¬
liation between Thornbury and his
daughter, the former alfo determines
to feek redrefs at Rochdalc-caftle.
With feme difficulty he gets an au¬
dience of fir Simon, who allots only
two hours in the day to his duty as a
magiflrate. Thornbury relates the
wrongs which his daughter had re¬
ceived, without revealing the name
of the betrayer, and the magiflrate
promf'es him ample compenfation.
When fir Simon, however, finds
that his fon is the offender, he re¬

cants, &nd his pride revolts at the
idea of fuffering his fon to marry the
daughter of a brazier, though, with
all his dignity and grandeur, bis own
great-grandfather was a miller, a
circumftance that he is very anxious
to conceal. Thornbury feverely re¬
proaches him with having difgraced
his office, and gets into the feat of juf-
tice himfelf. All the reproaches of
Thornbury, and all the entreaties of
his own fon, have no effedf upon
the vain and proud mind of fir Si¬
mon, who is determined that his fon
fliall not debafe himfelf by the pro-
pofed match. At length Peregrine
comes forward, and proves himfelf to
be the elder brother of fir Simon, and
ofcourfe the proper inheritor of the
title and fortune. During thefe
tran faction?, Tom Shuffleton avails
himfelf of the licence brought for
the purpofe of lady Caroline’s union
with Frank Ilochdale, and pei fuades
her to marry him at the next church.
The powerful intervention of Pe¬
regrine in favour of poor Mary at
laft induces fir Simon to confent to
her marriage with his fon; and the
piece ofcourfe concludes with a full
redrefs of her grievances, and the
happinefs of the parties in general.

We have here given merely an
outline of a drama that abounds in a
multiplicity of incidents and epifo-
dical circumflances, which we fhall
not attempt to delineate. The fable
comprehends a very flriking and
very diverting mixture of the pathe¬
tic and the ludicrous, nor is it only
diflinguifhed by an alternation of
affedling and laughable events in its
main ftrudlure, but almoft every
feene confifts of interefling circum¬
flances mingled with facetious
points, that at one moment excite
tears and the next provoke merri¬
ment.

It may, perhaps, be alleged that
the author fometimes defeats hi$

147

Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance.

own purpofe, in thofe frequent vi-
ciffirudes of laughter and diftrefs ;
but he has the example of Shake-
fpeare for fuch a pra£tice; and who
jRiyll prefume to find fault with it,
as the effect is fo ftrong in the piece
before us?

There is certainly no linking
novelty in the plot but it is worked
up in fo able a manner, that it takes
a firong hold on the feelings. The
fame may be faid of the charaTers :
none of rhem, perhaps, are firiCfly
new, but they are placed in fuch
fituations, that they powerfully aid
the general impreffion, and operate
diftinTly upon the mind by ihe fitu¬
ations in which they are involved.
The character of Thornbury is well
drawn ; fo is that of Peregrine : and
the author has exerted all his comic
fkill in pourtraying that of honelt
Dennis, the publican. Shuffieton is
an admirable portrait of the falhion-
able loungers of Bond-ftreet, and we
fear there are too many originals to
warrant the dramatic copy. The
reft of the charadters have no very
marked peculiarity.

The fentiments are warm, digni¬
fied, and impreffive. The language
is, in genera], neat and elegant, and
is occafionallyembellifhed writh much
poetical grace.

It is impoffible to fay too much in
favour of the principal adfors. Faw¬
cett exhibited the agonies of parental
grief, and the honelt bluntnefs of an
Englifhman, with mafterly fkill.
Johnftone was exquifitely diverting
in Dennis. Lewis rendered Shuflie-
ton a very humorous fketch. Blan¬
chard deferves great praife for the
manner in which he performed the
part of fir 5imon, which we under-
ftand was defigned for Munden.
Emery, in the ruftic waiter, alfo de¬
ferves a very commendatory notice.
Cooke very highly diftinguifhed him-
felf, by the impreffive manner in
which he delivered the moral and

benevolent fentiments of Peregrine.
Mr. II. Johnfton difplayed great
feeling and charadteriftic propriety
in Frank Rochdale. Mrs. Gibbs
gave fimplicity and intereft to the
tender anxieties of Mary.

The play was received by a very
crowded audience, without the {mail¬
ed token of difapprobation in any
part ; and Lewis, in announcing it
for the next evening, obtained a loud
and tumultuous tellimony of unani¬
mous con lent.

The prologue, in vindication of
John Bull’s national character* is well
written. It is afcribed to Dibdin,
of this theatre. The epilogue, which
confided of a humorous fong, ad¬
verting to the events of the piece,
was fo well given by Johnftone, that
it was encored. [See the Poetry.)

IIPI' I li

SIGNE and HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

( Continued from p. 64. )

Tn the meantime, Alf and Alger ra-
'*• vaged and laid wafte the Wendean
coafts with fire and fword. Hilde-
gifle, a handfome and brave Saxon
prince, had joined them; and daily
intercourfe in their common danger,
and copnnon joy in victory, had
formed the clofeft band of friendfiiip
between them. The two Danifil
princes, therefore, faid to Flilde-
gifte : — We cannot more evidently
ftiow our friendfhip to you, and
render it eternal, than by endeavour¬
ing to obtain you for a brother-in-
law. Hildegifle heard the propofal
with joy, but exprefted his fears.
Not only the content of king Sigar
and his queen were to be obtained,
but that of Signe herfelf, from whom
he had received a refulkl about two
years before; her vow likewile ap¬
peared to be an infuperable obftaels,

V 2

143

Signs and Habor ; a Gothic Romance .

Alf now thus addrefled him : — * I
know that the fimple fupei fiitious
girl has made an abfurd vow. We
iigree on every fubje6t, except reli¬
gion. She believes in all kinds of
gods and goddtffts, and I, for my
parr, believe only in myfelf, I
trnft in my own right hand, and
my own courage, for fafety and fuc-
cefs. It is true Signe is chaffe and
referved, and I could almoft believe
that (lie is refolved to live and die a
virgin, fince ihe has made a vow to
marry only him who {hall vanquish
myfelf or my brother; for that is
impoffible; and, during two years,
no perfon has adventured- to make
her an offer, and enter the lifts againft

US.’

* What hope, then,’ faid Hilde-
gifle, 4 can I entertain?’

4 You mull wait fome years,’ re¬
plied Alf. 4 When Signe perceives
that no perfon comes to woo on
fuch dangerous terms, and when her
lather, her mother, and her brothers,
unite their entreaties, and you make
your appearance, and add your fe¬
licitations to ours, doubt not that fhe
will be very willing to be abfolved
from her rath vow, notwithstanding
her chaflity, her piety, and her re-
folution ; for neither man nor wo¬
man is made to live alone. You
will do well, however, to accompany
us home.’

4 Moil willingly would I,’ replied
the Saxon prince; 4 but I have made
a vow to my father to return to him
immediately, to aid him to combat
the pirates.’

4 Vows of that kind,’ anfwered
Alf, 4 mull certainly be kept ; but I
cannot fay the fame of all the fimple
ones that are made by the fuper-
hitious.’

Alger now fpoke. 4 I certainly,*
faid he, 4 am no bigot ; but we ought
not to contemn the gods — their
wrath may be kindled, and Odin is
powerful/

4 Yes/ replied Alf, haflily; 4 your
Odin is as powerful as the red of his
fellows. Do you not fee that the
moil zealous worfhippers of the gods
fall in battle, or die on the bed of
iicknefs, as well as their contemn¬
ers ?’

4 But what, then, are we to think
of Niffheim *?* afked Alger.

4 I think nothing about it/ replied
Alf; 4 for 1 never faw a ghoft.’

4 Syvald thinks very differently/
anfwered -Alger, 4 and yet he is a
brave warrior/

4 Yes/ faid Alf; 4 and on that ac¬
count he is Signe’s favourite, and en¬
joys the rare advantage of not being
included in her vow/

4 Yet that cannot be/ replied Al¬
ger, 4 becaufe fhe thinks more mean¬
ly of his courage; for that is at this
moment evinced by the ravaged and
fmoaking Britifh coafts/

They foon after parted : the Sax¬
on prince repaired to his father, and.
Alf and Alger returned home. A
fliort time before they arrived, Sy¬
vald had likewife returned. Habor
and he foon contra£led the warmcfl
friendfhip* for each other; for both
were brave and magnanimous. Sv-
vald wifhed that Signe. had not made
her rafh vow; for now muff he fear
for the life either of his friend or of
his brothers. 4 But honour/ he faid,

4 muff rife fu peri or to, and retrain,
our wiflies; and the gods may fend
aid, and extricate us from embarrafs-
ments in which no human powers
can afford us relief/

One day, when the king fat at ta¬
ble, and with him Syvald, Bera,
Signe, Habor, and all his warriors,
Alf and Alger unexpectedly entered.

4 Hail, my royal father !’ faid the
former; 4 long may Odin grant thee
to drink beer and mead with thy

* The place which, according to the north¬
ern mythology, will be the abode of the wick’
ed after the end of the world.

149

Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance.

warriors! thy fortune has given vie-
tory to myfelf and Alger ; thy fame
has filled the Wefidean coads. I
have contracted a friendftiip with the
brave Saxon prince, Hildegifle, and
promifed him my filler in marriage:
for her extravagant vow mud not be
regarded; other wife {he mult die a
virgin, for who will dare to oppofe
me in arms?’

4 That dare I,’ exclaimed Habor,
fuddenly darting up. 4 There are
my fleet gauntlets ; one for thee, Alf,
and the other for Alger. I am the
lover of Signe, and will conquer or
• die.’

4 Now wilt thou certainly be mar¬
ried?’ faid Alf to his filter, jeeringly:
4 what fayelt thou to this adventur¬
ous lover?’

Signe cad down her eves, but no
alteration was difcernible in her
countenance. 4 My vow,’ faid die,
* is facred. May the gods prefer ve
my brothers, and Frey a difpoie of
my fate !’

4 Yes,’ faid Alf, 4 you afpire to
obtain a lover who fliall be fuperior
to your brothers; but I hope to
compel this dranger, whoever he
may be, 5 -

4 My name is Habor : Hamund is
my father, Drontheim is my birth¬
place, and hitheito I have not
known defeat.’

4 I have heard fpeak of you; you,
perhaps, expect the fortune of Ha-
kon, but he conquered an old man ;
I am young and vigorous. I have
a twofold inducement to fight: to
avenge the death of Huglcik, and
to punidi thy rafhnefs. Had thou
not heard of my fame ? I extermi¬
nate my foes, and take no pri lon¬
ers.’

Signe fupprefled a figh.

f You are proudly confident in
your own ltrength,’ anfwered Ha¬
bor; 4 well is it for you that Signe
is your dder, and that I am the guelt

of your father, otherwife Ihould my
fword’ - •

The blood mounted in the cheeks
of Habor ; he laid his hand on his
fword, and looked on Signe.

4 Peace in the hall of the king!*
exclaimed Syvald.

4 l fee the ghod of Hugleik fol¬
lows thee,’ faid the queen to Habor*

4 eager to bathe in thy blood.’

Signe again fupp reded a dgh.

A council was now held to condder
in what manner the combat Ihould be
conducted: Sigar, Bera, and Bol-
vile, propofed that Habor diould
dght alone with Alf and Alger fuc-
ce diveiy ; Sigar, becaufe he wilhed
to (pare the blood of his fubjefts ; and
Rera and Boivife, becaufe they
hoped that Habor would more cer¬
tainly fall. Bera alfo defired that
Alger diould combat with him drd,
and then Alf: for, thought Ihe,
though Alger diould be dain, my
brave and deareft Alf will dill live,
and will obtain an eader victory
over an antagonid wearied and ex-
hauded. But Belvife, Syvald, Ha¬
bor, and Signe, propofed, that the
warriors diould contend at the head
of their troops. ' The three former
thought this more honourable to the
warlike bands of their refpeCtive
nations; and 'igne, that [labor
would thus be expofed to lefs dan¬
ger. She could not conceal from
herfelf that die wilhed Habor might
conquer, but die wilhed his victory
to be obtained in luch a manner
that her brothers might be faved.
Long die endeavoured to druggie
again ft the wild that Habor might
vanquidi her brothers, but love ob¬
tained the victory.

At length Alf and Alger acceded
to the propofal, that the Daniili. I
people diould ihare in the glory they i
were confident of ac poring. Tne
conditions of the conteft were fet¬
tled. The party which diould com-

150

Signe and Habor ;

pel the other to fly fhould be deemed
vidors; and whoever fliould fall
fhould acknowledge himfelf con¬
quered, and defift from the combat.
Alf however declared, that he would
not depart from his conflant prac¬
tice of never ceaflng to fight while
he could obtain revenge, or fpaiing
a fallen foe.

The queen Bera applauded his
refolution, and called him the aven¬
ger of Hugleik, and the defender of
Sweden and Denmark.

4 Your courage is fomewhat harfli
and cruel, my brother,’ faid Syvald.

Habor only exclaimed — 4 I will
fliow myfelf worthy of Signe ; fhe
can only love the brave.’

Near Sigerfledt was a pleafant
grove, in which Signe often walked,
accompanied only by Svanhild.
Habor had as yet not fought an
opportunity of converfing with her
alone; but, before he departed, he
was defirous of knowing her fenti-
ments towards him : he therefore
repaired to the grove, where he
found her, and advanced to meet
her, while Svanhild ftepped aflde into
another walk.

4 Signe,’ faid Habor, 4 I go un¬
daunted to meet your brothers in the
martial conflict. The prize is the
honour of Norway, and your heart
and hand. Even fliould I fall, mv
name will be immortal. But, alas !

I cannot then hope your love ; for
you cannot beftow your love on the
vanquiflied/

4 Then,’ faid Signe, 4 fhall I never
fee thee more ?’ and fhe covered with
her hand her eyes, which were filled
with tears.

4 Vanquiflied (halt thou not fee
me; that indignant pain will I not
infli/t on thy heart. Into the midfl
of your brave Danes will I throw
myfelf, if I find the battle turn
againft me, and feek a death worthy
of my afpiring hopes.’

a Gothic Romance .

Signe ftretched forth her hand to
Habor. 4 Either fhall I be thine,
Habor/ faid flie, 4 or be the bride of
no other man ; for who will dare to
contend with my brothers fhouldfl
thou be vanquiflied? Thine fhall I
be, either here or in the dwellings
of the immortals.’

4 In the dwellings of the immor¬
tals,’ exclaimed Habor, 4 may then
Odin himfelf envy my happinefs l*

4 And Freya mine!’ replied Sig¬
ne: * but live, conquer, and fave
my brothers.’

4 How can I fave Alf,’ faid Ha¬
bor ; ‘ he will neither give nor re¬
ceive quarter r

f I flill cherifh a hope,’ replied
Signe, 4 that your honour and my
brothers’ lives may both be preferv-
ed. Go to the combat, and take
this ring, as an aflurance, that, living
or dead, I am thine; for thou pre-
fervedft my life, and though thou
fhouldfl: fall, thou art worthy of the
victory.’

4 My courage and my flrength
redouble/ exclaimed Habor; 4 this
ring fhall be my fliield/

4 Go then, Habor, and Freya
be your guide and prote&refs.
Meet me here to-morrow, and I
will bring you other prefents’.

Habor now departed with light
and eafy Heps, while joy and courage
fparkied in his eyes. Continually
he looked back on her with whom
he had left hi.s heart; while Signe
flood motionlefs with her eyes fixed
upon him, and often ftretched out
her arms towards him.

When Habor was gone, Svanhild
joined her companion. 4 Signe/
faid fhe, 4 love has fubdued your
heart/

4 Did you then indulge your cu¬
rio fi tv by liftening, and hear what I
faid?’ aiked Signe.

4 No/ replied fhe ; 4 my eyes
alone were necefiary to difcover

Signe and Habor; a Gothic Romance,

this fecret, if a fecret it be. Oh,
may you be happy ! — But what then
mud be the fate of my Alger?’

4 Fear nothing for him; I trull the
gods will guard his life.’

4 And his honour. — Ah ! you
xvifh that Habor may obtain the vic¬
tory.’

4 It is not difgraceful to be over¬
come by the braved of men.’

4 Is Signe a Dane ?’

4 Danes and Norwegians have
long been friends : their friendfhjp
(hall be only renewed and ftrength-
ened by this martial encounter,
and I fhali be the pledge of their
union.’

4 You love with fixed affedtion, —
Has Habor then already conquered ?’

* His manly demeanour and mar¬
tial air will not permit me to doubt.’

4 But Alf is refolved that he will
have vidtory or death.’

‘ He caufes me much anxiety ; yet
dill I hope that Heaven will prove
propitious to my prayer, and pre-
ferve at once my lover and my
brothers!’

But Bera, your royal mother? —

Signe deeply fighed.

‘ Never will {he confent that you
fhould marry Habor. To feek ven¬
geance upon Habor fhe confiders
as a facred duty.’

4 I am Bera’s daughter : fhe has
always fhown towards me the affec¬
tion of a mother. She will not,
{lie cannot, qppofe the laws and
manners of my country, or require
me to break a folemn vow.’

* Openly fhe cannot ; but by fecret
machinations and art much may be
efFedted. ’

4 Our friendfhip alone can induce
me to reprefs my anger, when I hear
you fpeak thus of my mother.’

4 Dearelf Signe,’ faid Svanhild,
while {lie threw her arms around
her, and clafped her in a fond em¬
brace, 4 my fincere affedion for
you is alone the caufe of my fears.

151

I fear for your fate; I only entreat
you to be cautious.’

4 Bera is my mother, I am her
daughter: I can die, but I cannot
violate the laws of filial duty.*

The next day Habor repaired
to the appointed place of meeting,
but he came an hour before the
time which had been fixed. Haftiiy
he walked backwards and forwards
with unequal fteps, and iometimes
flood Bill, ablorbed in anxious
thought, while every feature of his
countenance dil'played the perturba*
tion of his heart.

4 Harlh vow !’ exclaimed he,

4 which enjoins me to fprinkle the
bridal bed with blood, with the
blood of the brothers of her to whom
my heart is devoted. But thus muft
Signe be won. Yet may not this be
avoided? Heaven is gracious. Oh,
that I knew the decree of the fatal
god defies ! Can Signe love me when
1 return fmeared with the blood of
her brothers ? — can fhe ? — Ihe al-
readv loves me.— Her vow is facred ;
Freya heard it. I am guiltlefs;
fhe herfelf dictated the terms on
which alone fhe can be won. If
my wifhes may avail, her brothers
lhall not fall. But Alf will only
accept death or victory — and if he
fall, I have fulfilled the vow. I can
think only of Signe ; I muff — I will
win her, at whatever coif. When
flie is the prize, the ride of death is a
fport— a dance.— But Bera, what
will fhe fay— what will ihe do? Bera,
the Swede, in vain has Hie Da-
mfh childen, her heart is Swedifh
— Bera I fear. The braveft heroes
cannot fhake niy courage in the
field, but I fear a woman. Yet
what can fire do? the vow was;
made publicly, in the prefence of
the whole people.— —But where is1
Signer5

4 Here file is,’ anfwered the ten- 1
der voice of the Danifh maiden, the ]
vJce of affedtion, 4 Here, Iiabor, is!

152 Char after ifklc and critical Remarks on Females*

a fmall reward for having preferved
rny life. Take this mantle, woven
of (ilk feven times doubled : it ffiall
ward off the deadly darts of the ene¬
my, and every blow aimed at thy
lift’d

4 Whofe hands have woven it?’

4 Whofe but mine ?’

4 That/ faid Svanhild, 6 I can
bear witnefs to ; though I thought
the prefent intended for a bro¬
ther.5

Signe blufhed.

4 Habor/ faid (he, 4 has preferved
my life.'*

4 And won your heart/ faid Svan¬
hild.

4 Brave warrior/ added flie, turn¬
ing to Habor, 4 may you enjoy the
happinefs to which you afpire!-—
But fpare Alger ; let him return
with life and honour; let him not be
yanquifned till after a brave refin¬
ance; for to the man whofe honour
is forfeited I cannot give my hand.
But the renown and Courage of
Alger permit not a doubt that he
will acquit himfelf bravely, and as
becomes him who is the choice pf
Svanhild.’

4 Should I vanquifh him/ faid
Habor, ‘I know well that it cannot
be without difficulty, without the
braved refiftance.’

4 Noble hero !’ faid Signe, 4 go,
where love and honour call you; let
them guide you to the field, and
may they conduct you fafe back! —
May you profper agreeable to
my" hopes and vvidies, and may
no finider event cloud your re¬
turn !’

4 The affurance of thofe hopes
and willies/ exclaimed Habor, 4 is
the mod propitious and animating
of omens ; it {hall lead me to victory,
which {hall not be pur chafed by
caufe for mourning.’

( To be continued.)

j, 1 ' * . ..

Char after if ic and critical Remarks
on Females.

( Continued from p. 11.)

4 To fcattcr pruife or blame, without regard tej
juftice, is to deftroy the diilinftion of good
and evil.’

hat the female character has of
late years been greatly improv¬
ed and exalted, is a fa6t which is
demondrable, by comparing the
public opinion of a learned writer,
given about the middle of the lad
century, with the general opinion
which is at prefent entertained of
the fex. Junius, to whom we al*
lude, in hfs celebrated Letters, ob-
ferves, that ‘Women are timid,
vindictive, and irrefolute; their paf-
fions counteract each other, and
make the fame creature at one mo¬
ment hateful, at another contempti¬
ble.’ If this unamiable defeription
could not be controverted by the
brilliant qualities which charaderife
many females of the prefent age, we
might, in contemplating the fubject,
be induced peeviffily to exclaim,
with Milton,-—

— - — - — ( Oh ! why did God,

Creator wife, that peopled higheft heav’n
With fpirits mafeuline, create at laft
This novelty on earth, this fair defeft
Of nature ?’

But whatever might have actuated
Junius to cenfure the ladies of his
time, it is yet manifeft, from daily
obiei vation and experience, that the
women of the prefent period deferve
an eminent commendation, fmee
many of them have acquired honour
and renown by their private exer¬
tions to alleviate mifery and pro¬
mote the happinefs of fociety ; whild
others have gained immortal reputa¬
tion, by their public endeavours to
enlarge the boundaries of fcience.
However, without adducing literary

Char after [flic and crltkal Remarks on Females . 153

authorities to fupport our allegations,
and without attempting to eftablifh
by argument what now ftands un-

contradi&ed, we Hiall only fubmit
the characters which we endeavour
to illuftrate to the judgment of the
candid reader, as a fair elucidation
of our firft proportion.

Belinda may defervedly claim a
pre-eminence in public opinion,
from the general exercife of her be¬
nevolence. Her difpiay of benefi¬
cent a£ts at her early age, is a ftrong
and unequivocal teftimony of the
genuine excellence of her heart.
We obferve fometimes that fome
will affect to be benevolent from
motives of oflentation, but we fel-
dom perceive very young perfons
actuated by fuch principles; for the
juvenile mind has a natural tenden¬
cy to every thing which is good and
amiable", fo long as it remains free
from the intervention of evil habits
and examples. Belinda, in this re-
fpect, gives us a linking inftance of
the truth of this obfcrvation ; for,
being protected from evil commu¬
nications, file continues unvitiated,
and confequently undefirous to be
diftinguifhed for any other qualifica¬
tion than what would conduce to
render her truly feminine and amia¬
ble. We admire and approve her
remarks on general fubjects; they
evince a fteady reflexion and a com-
prehenfive intellect: but we would
recommend to her to dived herfelf

•f timidity, and alfume greater con¬
fidence : bafhfulnefs ufually proceeds
from a feclufion from public focial
intercourfe. It oftentimes reprefles
the efforts of genius, by confufing
and diforganifing the regular con¬
nexion of ideas, and, confequently,
on many occafions, makes a perfon
fuffer uneafy fen fat ions, and appear
ridiculous. Perhaps Belinda, from
experience, is ready to acknowledge
*he accuracy of this remark ; and
hence we admonifh her to place
Vol, XXXIV.

greater reliance on her own ability,
as it will make her talents appear
more confpicuous. Diffidence mere¬
ly ffielters a lady from envy, but it
furnifhes no evidence of a folid
judgment; and fuch an one mud
not be furprifed if her opinion is
received with indifference, when
it is advanced without confidence.
Neverthelefs we are not advocates
for confidence, when it is not erefted
on the balls of merit; we deteft it
when it is affumed only from an in¬
ordinate ambition to be confpi-
cuous, and not with the view of
promoting a good purpofe, as much
as we deteft vice when it affumes the
external femblance of virtue. Be¬
linda difcovers the goodnefs of her
heart by her complacency, and her
lingular fuavity of difpofidon; and
though poffefling a very aftive ima¬
gination and lively fenfibility, yet
ihe has a peculiar evennefs of tem¬
per, calm and ferene as a fummer
fea unruffled by the wind. Some
are apt to attribute fuch an equabi¬
lity of temper to dullnefs and lim¬
pidity, but we anfwer this by ob-
ferving,' that dullnefs can never be
artriburable to an active perfon. In
addition to thete obfervations, we
cannot forbear remarking that Be¬
linda poffeffes affability in an emi¬
nent degree. Without this virtue,
a lady cannot juftiy expeft to be
beloved, although her qualifications
be great, her extraction noble, or
her beauty fplendid. She may in¬
deed be admired by fome, and fear¬
ed by others; but few will confider
her qualified for focial endearments,
and for a friendfhip which may be
at once fond and lafting. Affability
has fuch conciliating power, that it
oftentimes counteracts the virulent
operations of malice, and protects
the female from the malignant in-
fluence of envious obfervations. If
praife be the tribute .of merit, we
know no one more dcferving of it

154

The Moral Zoologift .

than Belinda. It has been well ob-
ferved, by a lady of diftinguifhed
knowledge, whole opinion we reve¬
rence and fubmitto, that high enco¬
miums palfed on the unmerited ought
to make them feel more fenfibly
how undeferving they are of fuch
compliment; and that many, who
now revel in eafe and indolence, were
they rewarded only adequate to their
merit, would be deprived of every
luxury which they enjoy. We ac¬
knowledge the propriety of thefe
obfervations, and at the fame time
deplore that many individuals are
not recompenfed in proportion to
their merit; for we conceive that if
a tribunal were eftablifhed for afcer-
taining the degrees of merit in ladies,
and bellowing on them propor¬
tionate rewards and honours, as they
regarded behaviour, Ikill and inge¬
nuity in the arts, or literary know¬
ledge, we fliould perceive numbers,
who now bloom in retirement, be¬
come publicly celebrated, and re-
prefented as patterns for fucceeding
generations to admire and imitate;
among!! whom we fliould realonably
expedt to fee Belinda diftinguifhed
as one bright exemplar. And we
conclude with thefe perfonal obfer¬
vations to her : Preferve your pre¬
sent redlit.ude of conduct, that your
friends may always abound, and
continue that benevolent opennefs of
manners which renders you both
amiable and lovely ; and without
which all your artificial attainments,
however excellent they are, will be
incapable of attracting and fecuring
a permanent admiration. Our de¬
lineations we hope will induce the
fecret gratulation of your confcience,
becaufe that will be the proof of
their being applicable and juft ; for
otherwife your 'liberal mind could
only confider them as irony, fatire,
and reproach. S.

Wallingford.

(Tq be continued.)

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART It.

(Continued from p. 9S.)

THE ERNE.

he difference between the ernes
and the eagles con ft fis, fir ft, in
the want of plumage on the legs;
the eagles being clothed as far as the
pounces, but the ernes naked in all
the lower part : fecondly, in the
colour of the bill ; that of the eagles
being of a blueiih black, and that of
the ernes yellow or white : thirdly,
in the tail being white; which has
occafioned one of the varieties of the
erne to be fometimes called the
'white-tailed eagle. They alfo differ
from the eagles in their habits and
inftindls. They do not retire to
deferts and lofty mountains, but
frequent the woods and plains of
inhabited and cultivated countries.
They go in queft of their prey only
during a few hours in the middle
of the day, and fleepthe reft of their
time ; whereas the eagles are much
more adlive, alert, and induftrious.

There are three varieties of the
erne, which are confidered by Lin¬
naeus, and other fyftematic writers,
as diftindl fpecies.

Firft, the great erne, or cinereous
eagle, called Falco Albicilla by Lin¬
naeus. It is of the fize of a peacock,
being about two feet nine inches
long. The head and neck are of a
pale afh colour, the iris and bill pal£
yellow. The fpace between the
eyes and the ears is naked, with
fmall ftraggling briilles, and of a
bfueifti hue. The body and wings
are cinereous, with dun intermixed;
the tail white; the feet woolly below
the knees, and of a blight yellow;
the claws black. It is more vi¬
gorous, rapacious, and fierce, than
the common eagle, and lefs attached
to its young, which it will frequently
drive from the neft before they

155

The Moral Zoologift.

can procure fubfiftence, and which it
has been faid, would perifh were it
not for the charitable aid of the
ofprey which ufually takes them
under its prote&ion. The great
erne inhabits feveral of the northern
countries of Europe, particularly
Scotland and the adjacent iflands,
and preys upon fifh, principally the
larger kinds.

Second, the little erne, or white¬
tailed eagle, Falco Albicandus , Linn.
It is of the fize of a large cock,
being about two feet two inches
long. The head and neck are afh-
coloured, bordering onchefnut; the
cere and feet are naked and yellow-
ifli. The upper part of the body is
of a dull ferruginous colour, the
lower ferruginous and blackilh.
The tail is white. The bill and iris
are inclined to yellow; the tips of
the quill-feathers verging on black;
the claws black.

Third, the white-headed erne, or
bald eagle, the Falco Leucocepbalus
of' Linnaeus. This fpecies is three
,feet three inches long, and weighs
nine pounds. The body is of a
i dufkv colour; the head and tail are
white, and the feet partly woolly.
The head grows white till thefecond
year. It preys on fmall animals,
fuch as fawns, pigs, and lambs, and
Jikewife on fifli. It will watch the
ofprey when in queft of its prey;
and, when that bird has feized a fifh,
will purfue till the ofprey lets it
drop, and catch it with furprifing
; agility before it falls into the water.
It builds in forefts of pine and
> maple, and generally in the vicinity
of the fca-fhore. Its neffs are very
ilarge, and it ufually lays two eggs.

I *

THE OSPREY.

| This bird, called Falco HaliaBos
'by Linnaeus, refembles the eagle
imore than any other bird of prey,
ibut differs from it in fo many re-
’,fpe6Is that it is generally confidered

by naturaliffs as confirming a difc
tindf genus. It is much fmaller than
the eagle, and has neither the figure,
the carriage, nor the flight of that
bird. It preys, likewife, on fiflj,
which it will catch feveral feet below
the furface; and that this is its ordi¬
nary food is evident from the ffrong
fifliy flavour of its flefli. Another
difference between it and the eagle
is, that its feet and the lower part of
its legs are not feathered; and the
hind pounce, which in the eagles is
the longefi:, is in the ofprey the
fhortefr. The bill, alfo, is of a
deeper black than that of the eagle ;
and the feet and toes, which in the
eagle are yellow, are commonly
blue : fome individuals, however,
have the legs and feet yellowifh.
The belly is entirely white, the tail
broad, and the head thick and bulky.

Ariftotle tells us, that this bird
has a very acute fight, and that it
rears only two young, which it com¬
pels to look at the fun, and kills that
whofe eyes are too weak to fupport
the dazzling light. The fame has
been faid of eagles in general ; but,
though it has been repeated by feve¬
ral authors, modern naturalifts have
not been able to afcertain that it is a
faff, and there can be little doubt
that it is a fiction. That Ariffotle
was miftaken with refpeft to the
number of the young is certain ; for
the ofprey often lays four eggs, and
feldom three only, and raifes all that
are hatched.

The ofprey does not choofe its
refidence among high mountains and
rocky precipices, but frequents low
and marfhy grounds, lakes that
abound in fifh, and the fea-fhore;
though it does not appear to give any
particular preference to the latter,
fince it is more frequently found in
inland countries, near rivers, lakes,
and other frefh waters ; and it is
obferved bv Buffon that it is more
common in Burgundy, which is in

X 2*

156

The Moral

the centre of France, than on an v of
the coafis, whence he infers that the
name of Haiiaclos , or lea eagle, has
been improperly given to it by Ari-
flotle, Linnaeus, and others. Among
the larger bu ds of prey, the ofpreys,
in the opinion of Buffon, are the
mod numerous : they are dilperfed
over the whole of Europe, from
Sweden to Greece, and are even
found in the warm countries of
Egypt and Nigritia.

THE SEA EAGLE.

This bird is nearly as large as the
golden eagle: its body, indeed, is
longer, though its wings are fhorter.
From the tip of the bill to the ex¬
tremity of the talons it is three feet
and a half, and its wings when ex¬
panded extend about feven feet.
Linnaeus calls it the Falco Ojjifragus ,
and thus defcribes it. ‘ Its cere is
yellowifh; its body ferruginous; its
feet are partly woolly; the tail fea¬
thers white along the infide. It
refembles the golden eagle, and is of
the fize of a turkey.’

Ariftotle allures us, that the fe¬
male fea eagle not only rears her
own young with the mod tender
affection, but takes under her care
the young eaglets which have been
driven out and abandoned by their
cruel parents, and feeds and nurtures
them as if they were her own off-
fpring. The aflertion has been re¬
peated by many other authors; but
the fabl does not appear to be au¬
thenticated.

The fea eagle feeds chiefly on fifh,
which it takes by darting down upon
them from above, when the noife of
its plunging into the water is heard
to a great diftance, efpeciaily in the
night. It is fometimes drowned in
attempting to catch fifh that are too
large and ftrong ; by which, not
being able to diftngage its talons, it
is dragged under the water. It

Z colon/}.

does not, however, confine itfelffd
fifh for fubfi (fence ; it will, likewife,
attack game ; and, as it is large and
if rong will feize and carry offgeefe
and hares, and even lambs and
kids. _

This bird is not very prolific ; as it
lays only two eggs once a year, and
often raifes but a fingle young one,
the fpecies is no where numerous.
It is, however, widely diffufed, fince
it is found in almoft every part of
Europe, and is, probably, the eagle
which fome travellers have defcribed
as frequenting the (bores of the lakes
of North America.

THE OROONOKO EAGLE.

This fpecies of eagle is fomewhat
fmaller than the common, or ring¬
tail eagle, and moil refembles the
fpotted, or rough-footed eagle. It
has a tuft on the crown of the head, ■
confiding of two black feathers about
two inches long, and two other
fmaller ones: thefe feathers can be
railed ordeprefdd at pleafure. The
wings and tail are edged with whitifh .
yellow; the legs are clothed to the
feet with white and black feathers.

This bird is called by the Indians
of Bran l Uruiaurana • By Linnaeus
it is claffed with the vultures, with
the epithet Haipyia . It is faid to be
as large as a ram, and to be able to
cleave a man’s fkull with one (froke
of its bill. Latham calls it the creft-
ed vulture. It fubfiffs by preying on
other birds, efpeciaily the arras and
paroquets; but, what is remarkable,
it never deigns to furprife its prey-
while on the ground, or perched on
a branch, but waits till it has taken
its flight, and feizes it on the wing.
Buffon thinks that the Oroonoko
eagle, the crowned eagle of Brafil,
the Peruvian eagle, and the crowned
eagle of Guinea, are all the fame
bird.

(T^ be continued.)

[ 157 1

C f T

POETICAL ESSAYS.

ANACREONTIC.

"CRIEND of ray foul! this goblet fip,

1 >T

will chafe that penfive tear;
’Tis not fo fweet as woman’s lip,

But, oh ! ’tis more fincere.

Like her delufive beam,

’Twill deal away thy mind ;
But, like Affeclion’s dream,

It leaves no ding behind !

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to

fhade,

Thefe flow’rs were cull’d at noon;
Like woman’s love the rofe will fade,
But, ah ! not half fo foon !

For, though the flower’s decay’d,
Its fragrance is not o’er;

But once when love’s betray’d.
The heart can bloom no more.

PROLOGUE TO ‘ JOHN BULL.’

BY T. DIBDIN.

So you’re all here — box, pit, and galle¬
ry, full

Of Britifh jurors, come to try John Bull.
‘ Who a6ts John Bull ?’ methinks I hear
you fay ;

No charadter’s fo nam’d in all the play.
‘ The title’s then a trick F — We {corn
the charge,

John Bull is Bntijh character at large.
’Tis he ; or he : where’er you mark a
wight

Revering law, yet refolute for right,
Plain, blunt, his heart with feeling, juf-
tice, full,

That is a Briton — that’s (thank Ileav’n)
John Bull!

And John, till now, we fet it down for
certain,

Has always ta’en his feat before the cur¬
tain ;

And fo he does— no matter 'where your
places,

I fee hisgen’rous mind in all your faces.
Whether he fits by fweetheart, friend,
or bride,

John Bull ’s as warm as at his own fire-
Jids .

Look up aloft, and you may fafely fwcaf
He ’s bigoty pleas’d, clofe to his iafs — -juft
tocre :

That hand, which round her vvaifl s
kindly thrown,

Should any He mtjlijl , would knock him
down :

For John is ft'ill (as tells the lyric page)
A lamb in love — a lion in his rage.
Where fafhion’s polifh (hows him more
refin’d, [Boxes.

John, bill to focial gaiety inclin’d,
Freely, though aim’d at by fatiric whim.
Laughs 'with the bards who raife the
laugh at him.

Or look below, and you may fee him fir.
Gracing, with critic date, an Englifh pit ;
To whom, thus midway plac’d, 1 fay be
kind,

John Bull before, oh ! fpare John Bull
behind. [ Pointing off

Should you condemn, fans mercy, the
poor elf,

’Twere fuicide for John to kill himfelf\
Nor blame the fears which make the
bard thus fue,

John Bull ne'er trembles but at facing

LYRICAL EPILOGUE TO ‘JOHN
BULL.’

SUNG BY MR. JOHNSTONE.

| ’m come here, d’ye fee, to do fome-
thing new.,

So I hope you’ll allow me a fiddle or two.
At talking I ’m ftrange as the man in
the moon ;

So if I may fing, i fhall J peak more in tune.

Tol de rol, &e.

And methinks now I hear the critic mea
fay,

’Tis a trumpery, Bartlemy-fair kind of
play ;

It fmells flrong cf Smithfield— that all

rauft allow,

For it ’s all about bulls and the yellow red

cow.

And yet a good moral the author indites.
For the bleliings it paints of an Englifh-
man’s rights—

158

POETRY.

A braxjefsthe mars, and the barrifiers all

Know,, that brafs has great weight, firs,
in Wejlminfter -hall.

But fill! an improbable tale has been told,

That Peregrine fwam, firs, though load¬
ed with gold :

If he who finks cajh lliould happen to
fwim.

Pounds to /billings I’ll bet, his cafh will
not fink him*

But now an excufe comes plump to my
fight—

Suppofe we fliould prove that the gui¬
neas were light ?

And to do thefe fad tricks, firs, all men
have a hank,

For the guineas are clofely Jkut uf> in the
Bank !

Then, obeying the diftates of nature's
fir ft law,

A delicate female has made a faux pas ;

But critics, who to praife, firs, are never
in hafte,

Will, I fear, not agree that the incident’s
cbajle. *

'Tom Sbuffietcn oft may in Bond-Jlreet be
found,

And if all the puppies were in Thames to
be drown’d ;

At this real maxim you need not admire.

For a wager I ’J1 bet, they ’ll not Jet it on
fire !

Then, Mr. Brulgluddery, and his fat
dear — [and beer —

A fweet pair who agree, firs, like thunder

Though I rifhmen’s jokes are worn out
and hack'd ,

Yet how charmingly, fure, Mr. John-
ftone did aft.

I ’ve given you now the beft parts of the
p!ay.

Which I hope you’ll not drive, firs,
completely away;

But nightly be fuffer’d, with glee, to so
on.

By unanimous voice, though I fear not
nem. con .

Then let us refieft, with pleafure and
pride,

On the comforts furrounding each man’s
fire-fide ;

At which fhould the foe e’er infukingly
frown,

May he ne’er want a poker to knock him
fiat down /

HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXII,
Integer <vitce, 8c c.

he man, my friend, whole pureft
heart

Is free from racking, guilty fears,
Nor needs the aid of Moorifh dart,

Nor quiver fill’d with poifon’d fpears :
Safe and fecure, o’er Lybia’s fands.

Or Scythia’s icy cliff, he goes ;

Or where, through ever-barren lands,
Hydafpes (fam’d in fable) flows.

For as of her my bofom charm’d,

I fung within the Sabine grove,

A furious wolf faw me unarm’d,

And fled as if by hunters drove :

No beaft more dreadful, fierce, and curft,
Apulia’s forefts ever bore ;

None e’er more wild Numidia nurs’d,
Though tawny lions haunt the Ihore.

Place me on that unfriendly coaft,
Refrefn’d by no foft fummer’s gale,
Which winter girts in endlefs froft,

W here clouds the fkies for ever veil ;

Place me beneath Sol’s burning rays,

A clime forbid to human race,

Still, ftill I ’ll chaunt my Celia’s praife,
Her lovely form and heav’nly face.
March i, 1803. V - N.

TO MISS PRICE, OF S - Y.

ould I, like Mantua’s bard, re-
hearfe

My charmer’s praife in fofter verfe,

Her coral lips, her flowing hair,

Her ivory teeth, and bofom fair,

On thee alone I ’d every thought employ,
And fing thy worth in ftrains of endlefs

j°y-

Had I Anacreon’s power to pleafe.

His fprightly fallies, and his eafe;

Or could, like tender Sappho, move,
And fire the heart with rapturous love ;

I ’d tell my tale, and whifper in thine
ear,

How long I ’ve lov’d thee, and have lov’d
fin cere.

NoMufe, fave theirs, enough could grace
Th’ enlivening beauties of thy face ;
Notafte, fave theirs, enough refin’d
To paint the treafures of thy mind.
Though I the bold afpiringtafk purfue
For all my future blifs depends on you.

P-~— LL.

POETRY. 1 59

ODE TO HOPE.

pOMEi Hopei thou blefling from a-
^ bove,

Fair offspring of eternal love,

Thou lenient balm of grief ;

When troubles rife in frightful form,

On Life’s rough fea in bitter dorm,

ThOu canft afford relief.

When forrows rack the aching heart,
Thy friendly aid thou doft impart,

And foothe the fuff’ ring mind :

Say, who this load of life could bear,
Didil thou not kindly interfere,

With luilre all divinei

The wretch that ’s exil’d from his home,
Defin’d in foreign lands to roam,

Of every friend bereft ;

Through the dark clouds that intervene,.
Perceives thy light, and courts thy
gleam,

While forrows him befet.

The captives in their wretched cell,
Where fighs, and groans, and darknefs,
dwell,

And clanking chains refound;

Thy cheering ray their minds illume,
And diffipates the dilmal gloom,

While ftretch’d upon the ground.

When dreadful thunders loudly roll,
Which lhake the earth from pole to pole,
And vivid lightnings glare :

When o’er the deep the billows rife
In frightful form, and lave the Ikies,
And fill each foul with fear:

While dreadful anguifh and defpair
In every fjiiior’s face appear,

And bring each danger nigh ;

’Tis thou that dillipates the gloom,

Fair Hope ! — thy radiant rays iHume,
And quell the rifing figh.

When War, with all its horrors, reigns,
The dead and dying ftrew the plains,
And Commerce droops its head ;
The widow, and the orphan child,

Look up to thy benignant (mile,

And court thy friendly aid.

The Chriflian, too, when parting breath
Proclaims the near approach of death,
His ardent wiflits rife :

Celeftial Hope ! thy brightening ray
Points out an everiafting day.

Beyond the vaulted (kies.

Philip Gove.

Fore -fired -bill) Exeter.

LINES ADDRESSED TO EVA,

WRITTEN IN AUTUMN.

* "pAiR laughs’ the blufhing dawn, the
orient Sun

Already has his golden courfe begun.

When from my couch I raife my aching
head,

And find the darkling mills of night are
fled ;

I look around, all nature gay I fee,

But, ah ! her fmiles have loft their
charms for me.

The ruftic peafantry, with blithefome
long,

Now cheeriy trip the devv-fring’d vales
along,

The lark, with Ihrill-ton’d carol, greets
the morn,

And wanton breezes kifs the waving
corn ;

Health, peace, and joy, in every face I
/ fee — ■

Strangers, alas ! long fince to wretched
me.

Perchance, when life’s fhort fev’riih
dream is clos’d,

And this weak frame in death’s cold
arms repos’d,

Fate may diredt my once kind Eva’s eye

To where inhum’d my mould’ring re-
liques lie ;

Then, ftruck by late remorfe, yes, even
ihe

May teach that eye to drop a tear for me.

Betray’d by love, by friendfliip’s guife
deceiv’d,

Of happinefs and her at once bereav’d.

That nought on earth can comfort now
impart,

Defpair and grief fo lacerate my heart:

Yet, Eva, ftill I weeping think of thee.

And thou, perchance, ere long, may’ll
weep for me !

Oh ! I w’ould wander where the
murky gloom

Of fombre cyprefs (hades the lonely tomb,

There would I mufe, the haunts of men
difdain,

Till moody madnefs feize my heated
brain ;

Such thoughts alone with my vex’d foul
agree.

For dark and fad is all the world to me.
February 15, 1803. Selim.

160

POETRY.

ON WINTER.

TVTow froft invefts each waving fpray,
In vain the vernal throftle lang;
Now, pierc’d by Phoebus’ fainter ray,
The cryftal pendents weeping hang.

Couch’d on the mountain’s dreary fide,
The flocks in contemplation lie :
Mute is the voice of joy and pride,

And want bedims each mournful eye.

In Winter’s hoary mantle clad,

Bereft of fuftenance and hope,

They mnfe in meditation fad,

Or crop the fcanty rifted flope.

No more the bird* of rofy day,
Exulting, flaps his downy breaft ;
And tunes, aloft, his matin lay
To harmony and gentle reft.

Now rough the Boreal tyrant blows,
Deforms the wood and verdant dale ;
And round the arid foliage throws
Dry, curling, in the rattling gale.

The low’ring clouds, to hail condens’d,
Defcending, fweepthe fterile ground ;
Or, wide in fleecy fnows difpens’d,
Involve the folitary round.

The fervile blafts his will obey :

Hills, woods, and limpid ftreams com-
plain :

Stern Winter holds his tyrant reign,
And rules with arbitrary fway.

ELEGIAC LINES,

To the Memory of an Infant , the Author’s
Godfon , •who died before he was wean¬
ed.

Qweet babe, adieu l how foon thy ear-
^ 1 y bloom

Was doom’d to moulder in the fflent
tomb !

Thy form too fweet, thy temper too fe-
rene,

To linger long upon this earthly fcene :
Too good to dwell amongft the fons of
men,

The Almighty took thee to himfelf
again :

And whilft thy mother fondly weeps for
you,

And all thy friends are pitying of thee
too,

Perhaps you hover round, an angel blefts

And ftretch your pinions o’er your mo¬
ther’s breaft;

That breaft where you fo lately hung
and fmil’d, [guil’d.

And all your mother’s lonely hours be-

Perhaps you pity us ! bleft fpirit, fay ?

You want not pity in thofe realms of
day;

Where, happy with the fpirits of the

juft,

i The wicked vex not, and the weary
reft.’

You might have liv’d, and finn’d for
meaneft ends,

And thus have been a trouble to your
friends :

Or illnefs might have feiz’d thee, if not
fin,

And thus a trouble toyourfelf have been.

Fond parents, grieve no more ; your fon
yet lives

In either breaft, there fond remem¬
brance gives

His form, his features, and his temper
mid ;

In fancy thus again you clafp your child.

Father of Mercy ! may we, when we
die,

As pure as him, attend thy throne on
. high:

Till then protedf us here; thy mercy

give ;

And teach us, for that period, how to
live !

EPITAPH ON THE SAME.

Stop, gentle friend ! an inftant ftop
thy way !

A beauteous infant fleeps beneath this
clay.

A fvveeter babe ne’er breath’d upon the
earth ;

All nature feem’dtofmile uponhis birth:

But ere his lips were taken from the
breaft,

By ficknefs feiz’d, he Tank to endlefs reft.

We can but pay the tribute of a tear !

Stranger, if feeling to thy heart is dear,

Drop thine befide his grave, and mourn
his doom,

Who bloom’d a day, then haften’d to the
tomb I

Go, gentle friend ! and, warn’d by his
fad fate,

' r

Prepare thyfelf to meet a future ftate !

February 14, 1803. J. M.

* The lark..

[ 161 ]

FOREIGN NEWS.

Con Jlantinople, Jan io.

N the 26th of December, in the
evening, an adjutant of general
Stuart had a conference with the reis
effendi, and propoftd, in the name of
the Englifh government, that the porte
ifiould grant a pardon to the Egyptian
beys, and affign them a diftant place in
Upper Egypt for their refidence, where
they Ihould engage to live peaceably, and
conduct themfelves as faithful fubje£ts of
the porte.

The reis tfFendi, who had expended
very different propolals from the Englifh
adjutant, anfwered, that the porte \fould
communicate its determination on this
fubjedl, to the Englifh ambalfador, lord
Elgin. The latter, accordingly, had
feveral conferences with the reis effen¬
di, and the negociation was yefterday
evening brought to a conclufion, as lord
Elgin took his leave of the grand vizier.

. The porte has, in fa£t, contrary to gene¬
ra; expedition, granted a pardon to the
beys, under the following conditions :

1. ‘ The cavalry of the Mamelukes
jhali enter immediately into the fervice
of the pacha of Cairo.

2. 1 The porte will affign to the fix
infurgent beys, the little town of Awan,
in Upper Egypt, where they fhallrefide
in peaee, and fubjedl to the porte, with¬
out interfering, in any manner, in the
public affairs and government of Egypt.’

As foon as this convention was con¬
cluded, lord Elgin declared officially to
the grand vizier, that Egypt fhould be
immediately evacuated fry the Englifh
troops, which wo> Id be conveyed from
thence to Malta. The latter illand the
Englifh will continue to retain pofieffion
of, till they have certainty of the main¬
tenance of peace -between England and
France.

On the 6rh inff. the French ambaffa-
dor, general Brune, arrived here with
the fquadron from Toulon, confillineof
Vgl.XX&LV.

a fhip of the line, a frigate, two brigs,
and two corvettes. This fquadron,
like wife, brought the French agents of
legation and commerce, deftined for the
different ports of the Levant.

Corfu , Jan. 28. Since the nth of
this month two hundred and eighty
perfons haye been arrefted, of whom
two hundred were peafants, and eighty
bourgeois, all inhabitants of the borough
of Pottamo, the centre of the difordeni
and malfacres which have enfanguined
this ifle. They are clofely confined in
the prifbns of the old cafile, and we ex-
pedl every day the decifion of their fate.
Some of them are accufed of having af-
filled to burn more than thirty houfes
belonging to the nobles, and to ruin the
grounds attached to them. Since this
falutary meafure, we enjoy the greateft
tranquillity. The proprietors are re¬
turning to their refpedtive pofleffions,
without fear of being difquieted as be¬
fore. It is to the Ruffian garrifon that
we are indebted for the peace that we
enjoy. The greateft tranquillity pre¬
vails alfo in the ifle of Zante, through
the care of the delegate lent thither.
The minds of the people of Cephalonia
appear alfo to be perfectly reconciled.

Rome , Feb. 17. His holinefs, by vir¬
tue of the right conferred upon him by
the great powers of Europe, of appoint-
ing the grand mailer of the order of
Malta, has chofen M. le Bailly de
Thomafi, a Neapolitan knight. The
commander, de Bufy, has let out from
Ivome to Sicily to carry to the new
grand mailer the brief of eledtion, con¬
ferring upon him that dignity.

Berne, Feb. 23. General Serras ar¬
rived here yefterday morning from Pa¬
ris : he is the bearer of very important
news for us. There is to he eftablifhed
in each canton a com million of fcvea
members, in order to put into adlivity *
the new cantonal conftitution,. Six of

162

Foreign News.

thefe members are appointed by our de¬
puties at Paris, and the feventh by the
firft conful. As foon as the cantonal
commiffions fhall have entered upon
their funbtions, the prefent government
will diffolve itfelf. The epoch of that
dilfolution is fixed for the xoth of
March.

Hamburgh , Feb . 23. It is not yet
known for what purpofe the fum of
28,000 /. has been paid by England to
Denmark : fome fay it was for the car¬
goes of the veffels that were unjuftly
condemned ; others fay, that it is to de¬
fray the expence of the war, and the
Ioffes occafiuned to Denmark bv the

taking of her iflands by Great-Britain.

Munich , Feb. 23. The formal order
lias arrived from Vienna, to the Auftrian
genera!, Strauch, to deliver up the city
of Paffau to the Bavarian troops, which,
to the number of 4000 men, took pof-
feffion of that place yefterday at ten in
the morning.

The corps of Auftrian troops deftined
to take poffeftion of the bifhopric of
Eichftert, having obtained a free paffage
through the dutchy of Bavaria, is in full
march for its deftination. '

Gn the 19th the baron de Crum-
pipen, commiffary of the grand duke,
took civil poffeffion of the city and
bifhopric of Saltzbourg.

Hague, Feb. 24. Government has re¬
ceived difpatches from admiral De
Winter, dated the 30th of January,
ftating, that the veffels of his fquadron
were in good condition in the harbour
of Toulon, and that he meant to fail
with the firft favourable wind to return
to Holland.

jt has been definitively decreed, that
the French troops, who are to remain
in this republic, are to have their head¬
quarters at Breda j a military office, and
a commiffary of war, will be eftabliffied
there. The Dutch refcripticns, payable
after the peace, have rifen 5 per cent,
fince the decree of the Jegiflative body,
annulling the decree of government,
which had converted them into perpe-*
tual rents. ' i

Brujfels , Feb. 2%. We are affured
that government has approved of the
laft plan which was prefented, for im¬
proving the port of Antwerp. The
f^an, which is a very extenfive one,

comprifes the following points : firft,
the railing of the bar at the mouth of
the harbour, which will enable veffels
of 600 tons to enter the port. Se¬
condly, to clear out the port, and to
rebuild the quays. Thirdly, the efta-
blifhment of arfenals, naval and mili¬
tary founderies, &c. And laftly, a
dock-yard for the building of frigates
and iloops.

A French courier, on his way from
Paris to Peterfburgh, paffed through
the city laft night. Couriers have for
fome time paft been very frequent
between Paris and Berlin. It is
laid that M. Otto, who fulfilled fo ho¬
nourably his million in England, is ap¬
pointed ambaffador from the French
republic to his Pruffian majefty.

Banks oj the. Mein, Feb. 28. A ne-
gociation has been opened at Hamburgh
between his Daniffi majefty and the
fenate of that city, upon the fubjebl of a
difpute which has taken place refped-
ing the right of collation to fome pre¬
bends belonging to Hamburgh. It is
fuppofed that the emperor of Ruffia
will offer his mediation on the occa-
fion.

It is now determined that the duke
of Mecklenburgh^Schwerin is to be
created an debtor. There have been
negotiations upon this fubjebt between
Ruffia, Pruffia, Auftria, and France,
which have terminated in favour of
that prince. /

General Deroi, who commanded the
Bavarian troops 6n the banks of the
Inn, is appointed governor of Paffau.
The Auftrians have evacuated almoft
the whole of the bifhopric which falls
to the ffiare of the grand duke of Tuf-
cany. There only remains one com¬
pany of the regiment of Sporck.

Augfburg, March 2. Letters from Ve¬
rona fay, that movements are making
among the French troops in Upper
Italy, which feem to announce the pro¬
ject of occupying fome maritime places
in this country. Thefe movements
may iikewife have a relation to the
future fate of Sardinia, the prolongation
of the ftay of the Engliffi troops at
Malta, of the cruifing of an Engliffi
fquadron on the coafts of Italy.

Paris, March z. The camp which is

to be formed between Bruffels and

■ , ■ \

163

Foreign News.

Louvain, at the epoch of the journey of
the firft: conful into the Belgic depart¬
ments, will be eftablifhed in the plain
of Cortemberg. The number of troops
of which it will be compofed, appears
to be definitively fixed at 15,000 men,
who, as foon as the l'eafon permits, will
be marched to their deflination.

BreJ ?, March 5. The effects of ge¬
neral Decaen, and of the officers belong¬
ing to the expedition to India, were
yefterday embarked. They were them-
lelves to go on board, and the fine wea¬
ther will, no doubt, expedite their de¬
parture. The captain-general Decaen,
and vice-admiral Linois, embarked in
the Marengo, formerly called the J. J.
Rouffeau. The fhips employed in this
expedition are crowded with a vaft
number of paffiengers. Tranfport vefTels
are expected from Bourdeaux and L’
Orient, which are to fail foon after on
the fame deflination.

8. The expedition for India, which
failed in the afternoon of the day before
yefterday, mull have made a rapid pro-
grefs in its voyage ; for the wind, which
was faveurable, blew very frefh during
that night and the whole of yefterday.
The vefTels that compofe the expedition
are, the Marengo of the line, the frigates
La Semilante, L’Atalante, La Belle
Poule, and the tranfport, La Cote-d’Or.
General Vander Mac Sen, adjutant-
general Binot, and the officers of the
etat-major, departed with general De¬
caen. General Montigny having re¬
ceived a cut on one of his fingers, in
getting into a boat, has remained on
Ihore.

Paris, March 8. General Brune, am-
baffador of the French republic to the
fublime porte, arrived at Conftantinople
the 2 r ft of January.

His fquadron was compofed of fix
Ihips, large and fmall, one of which was
a fhip of the line. He has been re¬
ceived by the captain pacha. The
vizier and the divan have fent him pre-
fents, and his reception has been at¬
tended with the utmoft folemnities.
The news of his arrival has fpread joy
throughout the whole empire.

The fame day the ambaflador of
England embarked on board a frigate
of his nation* to repair to Palermo, and

from thence to England. His frigate
got under-weigh about eight in the
evening, yet he thought proper to falute
the feraglio with eighteen difeharges of
cannon, though it was night; a circum-
ftance which extremely alarmed the
city.

The commiffaries for foreign affairs
in all the trading tovvtos of the Levant,
have obtained firmans, and have de¬
parted for their deflination, on board
the different fmall vefTels of the fquadron.

The porte has nominated Galeb
fendi the refident ambaffador at Paris.
All the commercial relations of the
French have refumed in the trading
lowns of the Levant their ordinary
courfe. They have reafon to flatter
themfeives at the fupport they have re¬
ceived from the Turks. On the de¬
mand of general Stuart, the porte has
granted to the Mamelukes that part of
Upper Egypt compofed of Sevan and
Senne. &

The captain pacha daily experts news
of the evacuation of Alexandria.

17. It is now certain, that, in com¬
pliance with the wifhes of the mediae,
ing powers, the elector arch chancellor
of the empire will in future fix his re-
fidence at Ratifbon, where, on important
occasions, he will preftde in perfon at
the Germanic diet.

We hear from Italy, that the pope
now ferioufly thinks of executing the
noble plan of Michael Angelo, for turn¬
ing afide the Tiber from its channel, in
order to recover thofe monuments of
antiquity which are there buried.

Leyden, March 18. According to ad¬
vices from the Hague, the Batavian
government has received information
that the dey of Algiers has declared
war againft the French republic. It
was declared on the 16th of January^,
not much more than five months after
the laft fettlement of differences be¬
tween the two powers. If we may be¬
lieve our letters from Paris, the caufe of
this renewal of hoftilities is the firft con¬
fabs refufal to pay the wonted tribute
to the dey. f^The infolence of the Al¬
gerines vyill, in this inftance, not cfcape
that chaftifement which it well deferves*
and which France, no doubt, is already
prepared to infii6L

[ 164 1

HOME NEWS.

Cork, March i.

FEW days ag®, a woman preferred,
at a pawn-broker’s office, inHoare’s-
lane, a bundle of clothes as a pledge,
demanding at the fame time to be in¬
formed of the fum which the pawn¬
broker would lend. After a proper
infpedtion of the contents of the bundle,
flie was anfwered that eighteen ffiillings
was the higheft fum that could be ad¬
vanced on the goods; but, as the wo¬
man feemed to confider the fum to be
inadequate to her wants, ffie repacked
her bundle with great care, in the pre¬
fence of the clerk, and withdrew to the
door. In about a few feconds ffie re¬
turned, and faid ffie had changed her
mind and would accept of the fum offer¬
ed her, laying, at the fame time, a
bundle on the counter: ffie, according¬
ly, received the money, and went away.
The clerk took up the bundle to convey
it up hairs to the ftore-room, and had
proceeded a part of the way, when He
perceived fomething to move within the
bundle ; a circumftance which caufed
him to re-examine what he thought he
had before infpetkd with fufficient ac¬
curacy ; and, upon opening the outhde
folds of the bundle, his aftoniffiment
on perceiving a fine boy may be eafier
conceived than expreffed. The woman
had prepared two bundles as much alike
as poffible, and, by the dexterous fubfti-
tution of the one for the other, ffie con¬
trived to impofe the infant on the clerk.
It ffiouid be hated, with the credit it
deferves, that the pawn-broker, having
had the child chriftened, and called
Bundle-boy, provided it with proper
clothes and a nurfe, and has exercifed
the mo ft attentive humanity to the little
orphan.

London, March i. Yefterday afternoon,
about three o’clock, part of the bank of
the Paddington canal gave way, a little
on this fide the firft hridge ; the water
ruffied through the tunnel clofe to the
fpot, and the meadows on the other fide

were immediately inundated; the lock
at the bridge prevented the water flow¬
ing from the upper part of the canal.
The gap is about eight feet wide, a log
of timber is placed acroft, and planks
driven to fecure the lower part of the
bank. The water in the bafon, and to
the firft bridge, has funk between two
and three feet. Indications of a fjmilar
accident have appeared on the oppofite
bank, near the fecond bridge.

Portfea , March z. A curious feizure
was made laft week. Upon occafion of
a marriage, the bridegroom gave an
entertainment xot, his friends at the
Society-hall, and fent the wine from his
own houfe ; foon after the company
were placed at the table, two revenue-
officers entered, and feized all the liquors
in the room ; they had been purchafed
at the cuftom-houfe, but the gentleman
had neglected to take out a permit for
removing them from his own houfe to
the place of entertainment.

Edinburgh, March 7. Laft week, Peter
Duncan, farmer, at Baldowrie, returning
home in the evening, had been thrown
from his horfe — his foot had ftuck in the
ftirrup, and, dreadful to relate, when
the horfe arrived, the matter was found
ftill entangled, but quite dead, his head
having been dreadfully bruifed.

On the evening of Tuefday laft, the
ift inftant, a moft melancholy event
happened at Arboath. — Captain Hyte-
man, of the brig Providentia, of Ham¬
burgh, lying there under repair, went to
bed in his cabin, in which a pan of live
coal was imprudently left. Mr. Camp¬
bell, cuftom-houle officer, was alfoin the
cabin, intending to ftay all night. Next
morning both gentlemen were found
dead. It is conjedtured they had been
fuffocated early iu the night, as every
attempt to reftore animation proved in-
effedtual.

London , March 8. The following mef-
fage from his majefty was communicated
to both houfes of parliament :

Home News .

( GEORGE R.

* His majefty thinks it neceffary to
acquaint the houfe, that as very confider-
able military preparations are carryingon
in the portsof France and Holland, he has
judged it expedient to adopt additional
meafures of precaution for the fecurity
of his dominions. Though the prepa¬
rations to which his majefty refers are
avowedly diredted tocolonial fervice, yet
as difcuffions of great importance are
now fubfiftkig between his majefty and
the French government, the refult of
which muft at prefent be uncertain, his
majefty is induced to make this commu¬
nication to his faithful commons, in the
full perfuafion, that, whilft they partake
of his maiefty’s earn eft and unvarying
folicitude for the continuation of peace,
he may rely with perfedt confidence on
their public l'pirit and liberality, to ena¬
ble his majefty to adopt fuch meafures
as circumftances may appear to require,
for ftipporting the honour of his crown
and the elTential interefts of his people.

‘ G. R.’

Pirtf mouth, March 9. In confequence
of orders having been received from
government, large parties of feamen
from the different ffiips lying at Spit-
head and in the harbour, amounting to
above fix hundred, were ordered on
ihore in feparate gangs late laft night, for
the purpofe of impreffmg feamen for
the fleet; and fo peremptory were the
orders, that they indifcriminateiy took
out every man on board the colliers, &c.
The merchants to whom the colliers
belong, have great difficulty to procure
people to take care of their vefftls and
cargoes till the captains- are releafed.
Early this morning the fame buftle was
repeated, and feveral gangs paraded the
point, and picked up a great many ufeful
hands, whom they lodged in the guard-
houfe on the grand parade, from whence
they are to be conveyed on board. The
receipt of thefe orders, and the prompti¬
tude with which they have been exe¬
cuted, have given rife to many conjec¬
tures. Orders have alfo been received
to give five guineas bounty per man for
the royal marines.

London , March 11. Yeftcrday a mef-
fage from his majefty was delivered to
both houfes of parliament, announcing
his intention to callout the militia.

Two proclamations were Blued yefter-
day afternoon : the one for encouraging
feamen and landmen to enter themfelvesj
on board his majefty’ s (hips of war; and
the other for recalling and prohibiting
feamen from ferving foreign princes and
dates, and for granting rewards for dis¬
covering fuch feamen as iliall conceal
themfelv.es.

About nine o’clock laft night, a fire
broke out at Mr. Johnfon’s cooperage,
in Branch-alley, adjoining Rofemary-
lane, which for a length of time threat¬
ened deftrudtion to the whole neighbour¬
hood, the houfes in that quarter being
al! chiefly built of wood. About eleven
o’clock, feveral fmall houfes, attached to
the cooperage, were entirely deftroyed,
and it was thought by the abidance of
the firemen and engines that the fire
would be prevented from extending fur¬
ther: but that was not the cafe; for
about twelve o’clock it communicated
itfelf to fome buildings in Chamber-
fireet, and began to rage again with,
greater violence, and in the courfeofaa
hour did material damage: near a dozen
houles were deftroyed. It was near
two o’clock before the fire was com¬
pletely got under.

Ipjwiib, March 14. James Wright,
convidted of indecently and publicly
expofing himfelf in the church-yard of
St. Lawrence, in this town, was fen-
tenced to be confined for one year, and
to ftand in the pillory of the public
market for one hour in the courfe.of that
term, and to pay a fine of one fhilbng at
the expiration of the year, to find fure-
ties for his good behaviour for three years
longer; h'mfelfin one hundred pounds,
and two fureties in fifty pounds each..
T his fentence gave general fatisfadfior,,
as the prifoner had not been liberated
from gaol above a year, where he had
been confined twelve months forafimi-
lar offence.

Portsmouth , March 14, Admiral lord
Vjardner is daily expedited here to hoift;
his flag. The Dreadnought, of 98 guns,
was this day commilfioned by captaia
Bowen, who was lord Howe’s mafter its
the Queen Charlotte on the glorious
ift of June. — Sailed yeftcrday, the Dry¬
ad, of 36 guns, captain Domett, for
Cork ; and the Apollo, of 36 guns, capT
t%tn Dixon, for Dublin, to imprefs fea¬
men. — This morning failed the Mar-

155

Home News.

gtana, of t6 guns, captain Raynsford,
tor Lymington ; and this evening the
Kite brig, captain Pipon, for Yarmouth,
with prefs-warrants, to get feamen at
thofe places. An exprefs arrived at
the port-admiral’s office this after¬
noon, from the admiralty, which is faid
to contain inftrudtions relative to im-
prefled men, &c. The Puiffiant and
Royal William are ordered to be report¬
ed, as to which is in the belt ftate of
repair as a receiving fhip. The confta-
bles, and gangs from Un'ps, continue
very alert in obtaining feamen ; many
of whom have been fent on board dif¬
ferent fhips in the harbour this day.
The Hydra frigate is ordered to fome
port in Ireland, to imprefs feamen.
The whole of this day cannon have
been mounting on the ramparts round
the garrifon.

Sheer nefs , March 15. The men in the
dock-yard work from day-light in the
morning till dark, and every exertion is
ufed to equip the fleet. Admiral fir
James Saumarez is arrived here, fo
that the place now affumes a warlike
appearance. Arrived at the Nore, from
the Thames, the Amelia, lord Proby,
and Africaine, captain Manby : from
Sheernefs, the Huffar, captain Wilkin-
fon, and the Ethalion, captain Stuart.
The three latter have been paid two
months advance this day. The Raifon-
able, captain Hotham, and the Mino¬
taur, captain Mansfield, are both put
into commiffion, and ordered to be fitted
with all poffible expedition. The Di¬
ligence {loop, captain Kerr, arrived yef-
serday from the Thames, and is ordered
zo the mouth of the river, to imprefs
men from the fliips coming up. A
hundred and feventy regular troops are
arrived at the garrifon here.

London , March 16. Yefterdav morn¬
ing, as a gentleman on horfeback was
riding along Providence-row, towards
the country, his horfe fuddenly took
fright, owing to the keeper of the turn¬
pike gate attempting to feizc the reins
upon the gentleman refufing to take
fome bad halfpence offered in change,
and running off with great fpeed, made
towards Finfbury-fquare. The gentle¬
man finding the horfe unmanageable, he
fuddenly threw himfelf oft without re¬
ceiving any injury. The horfe imme¬

diately after leaped into the area, at the
corner of the fquare, carrying the iron
railing along with him, where he was
dafhed to pieces.

A dreadful cataftrophe has happened
in the family of Emanuel Harrington,
a poor man refiding between Bracknall
and Swinley lodge. On Thurfday
morning laft, about one o’clock, afmoke
being perceived, he went down flairs,
and on opening a room, in which was a
quantity of heath-broom heads, he faw
fome heath-duft on fire, and attempted
to extingulfh it, but it communicated
with the brooms immediately, and he
was inftantly fo much afftdted, that with
difficulty he got out of doors. Having
recovered his breath, he begged his
wife to put the children out at a cham¬
ber window, when flie immediately let
down an infant three months old, and a
boy aged fix years': fhe then went into
the room over the fire after a child aged
two years, and a girl of nine years (who
were heard juft before) but could not
find either of them ; being almoft fuf-
focated, and expedting the floor to fink,
ffie got back to the other room, and
efcaped from the window. The houfe^
being old lath and plafter, and boards,
was in a few minutes enveloped in
flames. The diftreffed family went to
Ramflade (the neareft houfe) almoft; na¬
ked, where they were very humanely re¬
ceived, and met with very kind afliftance
from feveral good neighbours. About
a fourth part of the bodies of the twoi
poor children have been got from the
ruins. It is thought that the fire pro¬
ceeded from fome burning foot falling
down the chimney.

The following circumftance took
place laft: week at Crofcomb, near
Wells : — A young man, lervant to a
farmer, had been prevailed upon by his
worthlefs father to purloin fome hay,
and was caught in the fadt of putting it
upon his father’s Ihoulders. His miftrefs
remonflrated with him on the enormity
of the offence, but promifed him for-
givenefs upon the hay being returned.
However, the unhappy lad being {truck
with remorfe, the fame evening hung
himfelf in an out-houfe. The coroner’s
jury returned, without hefitation, a
verdidt * felo de fe — ’ but, through
the humanity of the churchwardens, the

Births .

ignominious Tenter, ce of the law was
difpenfed with, and the corpfe was fuf-
fered ru be buried in the back part of
the chn'ch-yard.

The interment of the remains of his
grace the duke of Bridgwater, which
was to have taken place yefterdav, has
been delayed from the following cir-
cumftance : it appearing to the family,
that neither the countenance, nor any
corporeal parts of the deceafe had un-
flerpone the leaft change whatever,
finre death, but that the features, on
the conrrary, continued to wear the
moll placid compofure The houfehold
phyfic-ians, calling in two others, in-
ipeftcd the remains yefterday, and, from
this unaltered ftate, recommended that
the interment might be deferred, until
that change fhould take place to which
mortality is almcft invariably fubjedt.
The funeral rites have accordingly been
fufpended.

19. A gentleman and lady palling
through Fleet.ftreet, on Thurfday even¬
ing. between feven and eight o’clock,
were attacked, near Serjeant’s-inn, by
a gang of pickpockets, one of whom,
on being detected bv the gentleman,
drew a knife, and cut him in a danger¬
ous manner in the neck and throat.

Difpacches were received yefterday
by the Imogene, (loop of war of fixteen
guns. The Imogene was difpatched
from this country laft. Odtober, with
directions npt to give up the Cape of
Good Hope till further orders. It was
Scarcely expected that Ihe would arrive
time enough to prevent the furrender;
but fortunately Ihe had a very quick
palfage, and reached the cape juft fix
hours before the Dutch were to take
pofieffion of the lettlement. This event
will of courfe have a confiderable influ¬
ence on the pending negociation.

The following is a letter we have
received from a gentleman at the
Cape :

1 Cape-town , Jan. 4.

1 I have juft time to tell you, that on
the very day intended for our depar¬
ture, a floop of war arrived with orders
for us to keep the Cape till further
advices from England. — What can be
the caufe, yon bell know on your fide
of the water. God fend us home fafe
and foon. Adieu.’

»l ....

21. This day being the anniverfary
of the memorable battle of Alexandria,
the Turkilh piece of ordnance, taken
in that battle, was placed in St. James’s
park, amidft a great concourfe of peo¬
ple : it is fixteen feet in length, but was
originally twenty feet ; the carriage for
this cannon, on each fide, in different
compartments is inlaid with copper;
the centre one reprelenting Britannia
feated on a rock (with a lion at her feet)
pointing to the Britifh camp; the figure
of a crocodile, four feet long, is exe¬
cuted in a mafterly ftyle of work man -
fhip. The royal crown, with the in¬
itials G. R. the fword and feeptre, at
the lower part, add to the embellilh-
ments; and alfo a ftar, with the motto of
the knights of the garter : the head of
the cannon refts on the figure of a
fphinx.

The band of the guards, as foon as tc
was placed, played ‘ God fave the king,*
and the foldiers and populace gave three
huzzas.

Among the company who were pre¬
lent were his royal highnefs the duke of
York, the earl of Chatham, accom»
panied "by the countefs, lord Gwydir,
and a number of nobility.

A temporary cbevciux-de-frize has
been put up till the iron railing is fi-
nilhed,

BIRTHS.

Feb. 23. The queen of Pruffia, of a
princels.

25. In Clifford-ftreet, the lady of the
hon. John Bridgman Simpfon, of a foix.

At Laugharne-caftle, Carmarthen-
fill re, the lady of R. J. Starke, efq. of a
daughter. t

26. At Holton. park, near Wheatley,
Oxon, the lady of the hon. T. Parker,
of a daughter.

March 1. At his apartments, in the
royal, hofpital, Greenwich, the lady of
capt. Bourcher, R. N. of a fon.

Lady Paget, of a fon.

3. At her houfe, in Hertford-ftrect,
vifeountefs Middleton, of a daughter.

4. The lady of Mr. St. George
Caulfield, at his houfe in 'St. James’s-
fquare, of a daughter.

The lady of col. White, of the fir ft
guards, of a daughter.

Marriages,' ^Deaths.

163

MARRIAGES.

February r 5. Ar Bath, John Miller,
efq. of RufFeli-fquare,to mifs Bond, only
furviving daughter of fir J as. Bond, bart.

March 1. Mr. W. Lipfcum, of Cobh am,
Surrey, to Mrs. Wright, of Otterfhaw.

Mr. Jof. Jacob, of New Bond-fireet,
to mifs Grantham, of Bammerfmith.

David Power, efq. of Cork, Ireland,
to mifs S. Chandler, of Mortimer-ftreet.

At St. Pancras, Mr. Richard Good¬
win, to mifs Sufanna White.

By fpecial licence, at Ardfort-abbey,
the feat of the earl or Glendore, Harry
Verelitj efq. of Alton, in the county of
York, to mils Herbert, only daughter of
Henry Arthur Herbert, efq. of Muck-
rus, in the county of Kerry, Ireland.

T. Richings, efq. of Thaives-inn,
Holborn,to mifs C. Patterfon, Lambeth.

5. Mr. Hunfden Noel, of Brighton, to
mifs Frome, of Brompton.

John Martin, efq. of Lombard- ftreet,
So mifs Frances Stone.

At Bath, lieutenant-col. Alexander
Colfton, to mifs Warington.

g. W. H-afle wood, efq. of Devonfhire-
fireet, Portland-place, to mifs M. Godial.

At Edinburgh, the hon. Alexander
Murray, eld'eit fon of lord £lil>ank, to
mi& Oliphant, of Bachihen.

Thomas Rutfon, efq. of Hillingdon,
Middl'efex, to mifs Ifabella Stable, niece
to fir Daniel W illiams,, one of the police
magiftrates of Whitechapel.

At Halifax, William Parker, efq. to
mifs Anti Adumefa Prieftley.

g. At Hackney, Benjamin Walih, efq.
of Lower Clapton, to mifs Clarke, cldeft
daughter of Jfaac Clarke, elq.

12. Mr, W. Clifton, of Mount-row,
Lambeth, toMrs. Biddle, of Weft-fquare.

Mr. Thos. White, of the Borough, to
mifs L Bechley, of Cuekfield, Suffex.

Mr. Henry Shutz, of Little St. He¬
len’s, to mifs Elizabeth James.

Mr. William Kerl, of London, to
mifs Ann Clapham, of Luton.

18. Mr. T. Pedley, of Houndfditch,
to Mrs. Elizabeth Gladman Ci.nk, of
Union -ro\y, Tower-hill.

19. R. Page, efq- of the ifland of Ma-
deira, to mils frlftlps, daughter of Wil¬
liam Philps, efq. Brunlwick-fquare.

MV. J. Brown, of St. Paul’s church¬
yard, to mifs Fletcher, of the Strand.

William, Heap, efq. to mifs Cooper,
cf Finfbury-fquare,

DEATHS.

February 25. At her houfe, at Round -
oak, Egham, aged 8 7 years, Mrs. Revel!,
re lift of Henry Reveil, efq.

At Clifton, near Briltol, C. S’. Britten,
efq. father of Mrs. Heily Addington.

At her filter’s houfe, in Baker-ftreef,
Portman- (quire, Mrs. Middleton, wife
of John Middleton, efq. of Strawford-
houfe, near Witte he Iter.

Mrs. Hall, wife of Richard Hall, efq.
of Lawrence-lane, Cheapfide.

Mrs. King, relift: of the late Mr. T.
King, of King-ftreet, Covent-garden.

At Mr. Strutt’s, Groton, mifs Mum-
ford, aged 23, daughter of Mr. Mum-
ford, of Bricet. — The deceafed, in a fit
of laughter, broke a blood-veffel, and
expired a few minutes after.

27. Mrs. Wood, wife of John M.
Wood, efq- daughter of the rev. Edward
Dane, of Shrewfbury, and niece to lord
Kinnamd, and fir W. Pulteney, bart.

28. In the 1 6th year of his age, mailer
Beelton 'Richard Long, eldeft fon of B.
Long, efq. at his houfe, Sutton, Surrey.

March t. At Walworth, Mrs. Gill,
filter to Mr. Altley, of the Royal Am¬
phitheatre, Weltmi niter- bridge.

2. Mr. Randall, malt and coal-mer¬
chant.— He had come to town to market,
and on the carriage arriving at the place
he was found dead, fuppofed to have
been fuffocated in a fit of coughing. He
was a man of large property.

Chr. Chambers, efq. of Mincing-lane.

Mrs. C. Page, relift of Mr. W. Page,
of Devonlhire-ftreet, wine- merchant.

In Thayer-ftreetjManchefter-fquare,
Henry Bollock, efq. aged 76.

In Grafton-llreet, Mrs. Cuffe, relift:
of Thomas CufFe, efq. of Grange, coun¬
ty of Kilkenny, daughter of Edward
Herbert, efq. of Muftrufs, county Kerry,
and mother to the countefs of Farnham.

3. Lieut. -gen. D’Oyley, of an apoplec¬
tic fit, at his houfe, in Halfmoon- ftreet.

5. At Holloway-down, ElTcx, David
Mitchell, efq. aged 71 years.

The rev. Mr. Peachy, chaplain to his
royal highnefs the duke of Cumberland.

In Bryandone-ftreet, Mrs. Day, wi¬
dow of tire late captain John Day.

8. His grace the duke of Bridgwater.

At Shere, in Surrey, the rev. George
Bray, in the 75th year of his age

14. Aged 73, Mrs. Lowth, relift of'
the late bilhop of London,

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THE

1 1

LADY’S MAGAZINE.

ENTERTAINING COMPANION

FOR

THE FAIR SEX;

APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For APRIL, 1803.

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

1 The Captive releafed ; a Tale,.. 171

2 Account of the new Comedy entitled

‘ The Marriage Promife,’ . 173

On Tafte in good Eating, . 175

The Fatal Letter, . , . 176

Augufta and Emily ; a Tale,. .. . 177
A Query, . 180

7 The Slaves; an Eaftern Tale,. ... 18 1

8 Critical Obfet vations on the Novel or

‘ Tom Jones/ . 184

A Morning’s Walk in April,.. . 19 1

Anecdote, . 192

Matilda; a Drama in Eve A£ts,.. 193
CharaCteriftic and critical Remarks on

Females,. . . 197

Account of the Life and Mufical Pro¬
ductions of D-r. Arnold, . 198

This Number is embelliJJied with the following Copper -plates:

5 MUSIC-

1. The Captive Released.

2 For the Moral Zoologist — The CUCKOO.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern for a Veil, &c.

-On the Beginning of Spring. The Words by King Tames I.
The Mufic by W. Barre.

LONDON :

Printed for G. and J. ROBINSON , No. 2^, Paternofler- lloiv ;

Where Favours from Correfpondents continue to be received.

14 Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance,

zoo

15 Parifian Fafhions, . 206

16 London Fafhions, . 207

17 The Moral Zoologid, . 207

18 Mifcellaneous Thoughts', . 212

19 Poetical Essays: — Stanzas from

the French of Segur. Valentine
Epiftle to a young Lady. Epitaph on
an Infant. The Old Maid’s Petition.
To Thomfon Webb. Ode on Spring.
To a Tuft of Early Violets. Sonnets
On defeending a Mountain near Co¬
imbra— To Hope, . 2x3 — 216

20 Foreign News, . . 217

21 Home News, . 220

22 Births, Marriages, Deaths.. 22 3 — 224

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TO CORRESPONDENTS,

We ihould be glad to hear again from the contributor of Rohan
I/DKenzie,

The Eflay entitled Political Arithmetic is unavoidably deferred, but fhall
certainly appear in our next.

Lucinda’s communication is not forgotten.

' - \ " -

Cajlle on the Wold is only deferred on account of its length.

Dip' s Acroflic requires revihon and corre&ion. We are unwillingly
obliged to fay the fame of Angelina — Verfes from a Young Lady to her
Bog on feeing him beg — >and Stanzas written after dancing with a
YoiingLady. v

. •• - '

✓

THE

LADY’s MAGAZINE,

For APRIL, 1803.

THE CAPTIVE RELEASED ;

A TALE.

{JVith an elegant Engraving .)

A BOUT the middle of the twelfth
century, Rodolph, count of
Ravenfoerg, in Weftphalia, exer>
r.ifed a defpotic tyranny over his
own fubjefts, and frequently com-
mitted unprovoked and lawJefs ra¬
vages on the territories of the neigh¬
bouring barons and counts. He"re~
fided in an ancient cadle, which was
built on an almoft inaccelhble emi¬
nence ; and which; beddes the natu¬
ral ftrength of its fituation, was
ftrongly fortified with all the art of
thofe times. He here maintained a
chofen body of armed followers,
trained in the drifted difcipline, and
inured to war and plunder. Their
courage, or rather then* ferocity,
could not be redded by the feeble
and unwarlike vaflals of the feudal
lords, whofe domains adjoined to his
territory ; and, on the dighted pre¬
text, he either laid them linger con¬
tribution, or feized their lands and
annexed them to his own fove-
reignty.

Conrad, count of Ritberg, had
incurred the difpleafure of Rodolph;
or more probably the fertility of
his fields, improved by indudrious
cultivation, excited his greedinefs.
He drew out his troops, or rather
his banditti, to enforce fubmiflion
to his pretended claims; but Conrad
refoived to oppofe force by force,
and, arming his numerous vadals
and dependants, gave the command
of them to his nephew Erned,

who, having ferved for a time in the
armies of the emperor, added to
native courage a condderable know¬
ledge of the military art. By the
fkilful difpofitions of Erned, his
foldiers, if the peafants he led could
deferve to be called by that name,
were fo fuccefsful in their brd: en¬
counter, that- Rodolph, who had too
much defpifed his enemy, was
compelled to retire to his cadle
with the lofs of many of his mod:
refolute men. lie, however, foon
afterwards again took the held, and
proceeding with more caution, en¬
tirely routed the raw troops of
Erned, who now ded panic-druck
at the firlt charge : their leader, who
difdained to dy with them, was tak¬
en prifoner while endeavouring to
rally them. Rodolph then over¬
ran and ravaged all the territory of
count Conrad, who was compelled
to take refuge at the court of Albert
duke of Saxony.

Rodolph, haviug Erned in his
power, and being enraged and mor¬
tified at the defeat he had differed
by his means, and the lofs of fo
many of his braved men, meanly
wreaked his revenge on his prifoner.
He condned him in a dungeon in
his cadle, where he caufed him to
be chained to the wall, and allowed
him for his iubddence only a foamy
portion of bread and water, which
was brought him only once in the
day*

The Captive Releafed ; a Tale \

172

Even the mod ferocious of the
foidiers employed by Rodolph in
the defence of his depredations and
numerous adts of injuftice. con¬
demned his difhonou cable cruelty
towards his prifoner, Eineft; but
not one of them dared to encounter
his wrath by making any remon-
ftrance. They murmured fccretly,
but they obeyed their tyrant. Em¬
ma, his daughter, however, whofe
difpofition was as gentle and amiable
as that of her father was arrogant
and hateful, found means, by thing
her influence with his keepers, to
gain ad million into his dungeon,
to carry him fupplies of provifions
and wine, and comfort him with
prornifes that the would avail herfelf
of every opportunity to prevail on
her father no longer to difgrace
himfelf with fuch unfoldierlike fe¬
ver it ies. She kept her word, and
fo earneftly pleaded his caufe with
the haughty Rodolph, who, not-
withflanding his natural ferocity,
fondly loved his daughter, and
would hear her when he would
liften to no one elfe, that he con¬
sented to liberate him from his
chains, and treat him with more
humanity. At the fame time that
he gave orders for his releafe, Ilo-
dolph commanded that he fliould be
brought into his prefence, and thus
addretfed him : — 4 I releafe you
from the chains with which, in the
heat of my paflion, I had perhaps
unjufllv loaded you, at the inter-
ceiiion of my daughter, whofe fa¬
vour you feem to have obtained, I
know not by what means. Having
proceeded thus far, I muff now re-
itore you entirely to liberty, left
that pity and friendfhip which you
have excited in her bread fliould
ripen into a more tender paflion,
which I do not wifli her to feel.
You are free: be gone inftantly,
and let tne fee you no more.’ Erneft
immediately obeyed the injunctions

without hefitation, and without
reply.

In the mean time Albert of Sax¬
ony, who had taken the expelled
count of Ritberg under his pro¬
tection, railed a body of troops to
force Rodolph to do him juftice.
When they were ready to march,
Ernelf arrived, and was invited to
accompany them; but he declined
bearing arms againft the father of
her who had treated him with fuch
compaffion and kindnefs, and pro¬
cured him his liberty. Albert and
Con raid fet out on their expedition,
and Rodolph refuting to liften to
their proportions, the troops en¬
gaged, and Rodolph was defeated
and (lain in the battle. Emma im¬
mediately fur rendered the cattle to
Albert and Conrad, who told her
that they meant not to deprive her
of her rights on account of the in-
juftice of her father; they would
only take what he had wrongfully
obtained, and leave her in full pof-
feffion of that territory to which file
was heiref3. f And as,5 added Albert,

4 you will need the protection of a
hiifband, I have a fon, a gallant
youth, who will fucceed to my do¬
mains and my wealth ; and who, I
am certain, will be proud to receive
the hand of a ladv fo beautiful, and
of a difpofition fo truly amiable.’

4 I am fenfible,’ replied Emma,
fomewhat haftilv, ‘ of the value of

•V * '

the offer you have made me, and
how much it demands my gratitude ;
but if I marry, he fliall be my huf-
band, whofe delicacy, and perhaps
affedticn for me, caufed him to re¬
fute to bear arms againft my father,
left he fhould give me pain.’

Erneft was foon made acquainted
with this frank declaration. He flew
with rapturous eagernefs to meet
this fair deliverer: they were mar¬
ried, and their defendants pofleifed
the county of Rayenfberg for feverai
centuries.

Account of the new Comedy — ‘ The Marriage Promife. ' 373

Account cf the New ^Comedy,
entitled 4 The Marriage Pro¬
mise,’ performed for the firft Time
at the Theatre-Royal , Drury Lane,
on Saturday, April 16.

The Charadlers were thus repre-
fented. *

Charles Merton,
Sidney,

Tandem,

Confols,

George Howard,
Farmer Woodland, -
Policy,

Jefferies,

Mrs Howard, - -
Mrs. H arvey, - -
Emma Harvey, - -
Mary Woodland, -

Mr. C. Kemble.
Mr. Dwyer.

Mr. Bannifter, jun.
Mr. Dowton.

Mr, Pope.

Mr. Palmer.

Mr. Hollingfworth.
Mr. Powell.

Mrs. Powell.

Mrs. Sparks.

Mrs. Jordan.

Mils Mellon.

FABLE.

HpHE feene lies at a village near
London, and the play opens
with the expected arrival of Charles
Merton, who, on the death of his
father, enters into a fortune of ten
thoufand a-year. He is accompanied
by Sidney, a fafnionable fpendthrifr,
who plans a drinking match, in
which Merton is fo much intox¬
icated that, though a mo ft excellent
and honourable young man, he at¬
tempts improper liberties with Mary,
the daughter of farmer Woodland.
She is refeutd from his violence by
George Howard, another farmer in
the neighbourhood who is attached
to Mary, and who demands the moft
fubmiffive apology from Merton, in
fuch menacing language, that the
latter, however eager to atone for
his improper condudl, rather con-
fents to hazard the iffue of a duel.
Previous, however, to the interview
between Merton and Ploward, the
former, in expiation of his error,
had lent a letter to farmer Wood¬
land, offering his hand to Mary,
and this is The Marriage Promife ,
which gives the play its title. Soon

after this letter had been difpatched.
Emma Harvey ..waits on. Merton to
folicit the renewal of a leafe, that
had expired that day, of a cottage,
in which file and her mother had
loner refid ed. Merton is io much
ftruck with the beauty, elegance,
and fimplicity, of Emma, that he
foon repents of his Marriage Pro¬
mife, and is inclined to give himfelf,
as well as the renewed leafe, to the
fair fuppliant. Tandem, a pert,
filly, meddling, fteward to Merton,
having heard of the quarrel between
his mafter and Howard, employs a
couple of men to feize the latter
upon his arrival on the ground ap¬
pointed for the duel. Howard im¬
putes the interruption to the coward¬
ice of his antagonift. Before Mer¬
ton goes to the field he opens a
box, left fealed by his father, which
contains a paper, fignifying that the
latter had been married previous to
his union with Charles’s mother, and
that his firft wife is ftili alive, but had
folemnly engaged never to reveal
the fecret. This fecret is alfo
known to Jefferies, a faithful old
fervant in the family. Merton de¬
termines to renounce the fortune he
had obtained, in behalf of the heir
by the former marriage, but cannot
wreft from Jefferies a difeovery of
the party. At length, the awful
meeting between Merton and How¬
ard takes place, and juft as they are
going to fire, Jefferies rufties in, and,
ftruck bv their mutual danger, in-
forms them they are brothers, that
Mrs. Ploward was the firft wife of
the late Mr. Merton, and that her
ion George is the iffue of the
marriage. Mrs. Howard proves to
be the daughter of old Confols, a
rich ftock-broker, from whom file
had eloped five-and-twenty years
before, and from whom the had
ftudiotifly concealed herftlf during
the whole of that time. The dh-
coverv is effected by the accidental

3 74 Account of the new Comedy — c The Marriage Promifc?

entry of Confols into Howard’s cot¬
tage, where he receives the mod
charitable attention, upon the notion
of his being in diftrefs, while he is
in reality in fearch of proper objedts
for patronage and bounty. It ap¬
pears that there is a ftrong attach¬
ment between Howard and Mary ;
therefore Merton is eafily releafed
from his Marriage Promt] e , and ena¬
bled to offer his hand to Emma, and
hence, with the profpedf of a double
marriage, the piece concludes.
There is an underplot arifing from
the defire of Tandem, the vain of¬
ficious fteward, to be married to
Mary, and his attempts to get her
father into gaol for arrears of rent,
becaufe he will not crofs his daugh¬
ter’s inclination.

This piece is the production of
Mr.- Ailing h am, the author of 4 For¬
tune’s Frolic.’ It is confined to
three a£rs, but it is fufficiently long.
If it does not exhibit any high pre¬
tentions to dramatic fame, it is a
piece of confiderable merit, and very
well calculated to excite a ftroag
intereft, and to afford much am life -
ment : there is a livelinefs and hu¬
mour in the dialogue, and the plot
is worked up in fuch a manner as to
take a ftrong hold on the feelings.

The fentiments, in general, if not
new, are moral, finking, and im-
preffive ; and are conveyed with
energy, and fometimes with elegance.

The characters, of Confols and
Tandem have the chief claims to
novelty. Whether the former, after
labouring to acquire great wealth,
and being ftill alive to acquifition,
would be fo ready to encase in a
career or Quixotic benevolence to
get rid of it, may be queftioned.
However, the part is fufficiently
probable for dramatic purpofes, and
that is enough.

The fame can hardly be fa id re-
fpecting the long concealment of

Mrs. Howard, as fhe is a very ex«=
ceilent woman, as file was aCtually
married, and as fhe, for no adequate
reafon, fecludes herfelf five-and-
twenty years from an affectionate
father. Nor does it feem quite pro¬
bable, notwithftanding fo great a
length a length of time has elapfed,
that the father and daughter fhould
dilcover no traces of each other,
fince the latter muft have been a
full-grown girl when file run away
with a gallant. Wre conceive it to
be ftrange that farmer Woodland
fhould be ignorant of the affediori
that exifted between his daughter
Emma and Howard, as he is a fond
parent, as the parties had no reafon
to conceal their regard, and might
very fuitably be united.

There is the fame inconfiftency
in this play as*in the •' Iron Cheft •/ —
a man records an account of an
action difhonourable to himfelf,
which he willies to bury in eternal
oblivion, jf old Merton did not
with that his property fhould de-
fcend to the iffue of his firft mar¬
riage, for what purpofe did he leave
a paper diicloftng the fecret to his
fon by the fecond, particularly as
he is anxious to have his memory
remain untainted ? Surely he would
yvifli to have his memory as much
Fevered by his own fon, as by the
world in general. Thefe are cer¬
tainly reasonable objedfions, yet
they weigh but little againft the
general merit of the piece.

i he aiding throughout deferved
high praife: Charles Kemble hardly
ever appeared before to fo much
advantage. There was an ingenu¬
ous fpirit, a fenle of honour and
feeling, that gave ftrong effedl to
the part of Merton. Dwyer was
fpirited. D’owton was excellent in
Contois. Pope gave a noble vigpur
to George Howard. Mrs. Jordan
had all her fpirir, with an inteiefting
mixture of fentiment, in Emma: ffie

On Taftc in

■*

fang two airs, in the nr ft of which
foe was encored : they are both
pleating compofitions, but the fe-
cond does not fuit her voice. Kelly
is the compofer. Mrs. Powell was
very natural and very interePing in
Mrs. Howard. Mr. Powell dif-
played his ufual good fenfe and feel¬
ing in Jefferies ; and Palmer gave a
good portrait of ruPic humour and
parental affection in farmer Wood¬
land. Mils Mellon alfo deferves a
yery commendatory notice for her
tendernefs in Mary. Bannifter was
truly ludicrous and diverting in
Tandem, which may be claffed with
his mop whimfical performances.

The prologue, which was an al-
lufion to the title of the play, ap¬
peared to be written with poetical
fpirrt, Mifs Mellon fpoke an epi¬
logue which turned on an author’s
hitting the talfe of all parties like a
cook.

The play was extremely well re¬
ceived throughout, and it is proba¬
ble will become a favourite.

On Taste in good Eating.
[Frow the French .]

sphere is a wide difference be-
-*■ tween mere voracious gluttony
and the tape of a connoiffeur in good
eating. An CEftiak, overgorged with
filli-oil, may die ef the forfeit ; and
a citizen of Paris may, in all decen¬
cy, die of indigeftion : but the pride
of the glutton of taffe is to die, like
Apicius, Puffed to the chin with the
tnoft refined productions of cookery.

Good eating has been fometimes
a fubject of cenfure with men of
aufiere virtue, but thofe were cer¬
tainly not bleffed with a good di-
geftion. When we talk of modera¬
tion in our pleafures, we naturally
blame the moP thofe exceffes which

we are ourfelves no longer able to

commit.

good Eating . 1 7.5

Seneca is fo fevere upon gluttons,
that we may eafily believe the vi¬
gour of his own fiomach to have
been worn out. Livy Ipeaks in the
fame tone, but it is very well known
that hiPoiians have no good di-
gePion. Juvenal, in his Satire on
Parafites, belches out thunder and
lightning again P it, according to his
ufual way. Terence makes it a
fubjeit of fport in his Adelphi.
Pliny diPinguilhes Apicius as the
rnoP thriftlefi; of all fpendthrifts.

Apicius, we know, kept an aca¬
demy for teaching fkill in good eat¬
ing; expended two hundredund fifty
thoufand pounds, in the purchafe of
Sicilian lampreys, Venafran oil,
wines, &c. &c,; and when he faw
his fortune reduced to the fmall fum
of five-and -twenty thoufand pounds,
prudently put an end to his life with
his own hand, left otherwife he
fliould have lived to die of hunger.

The Greeks, likewife, cultivated
the fcience of good eating with ex¬
traordinary attention. They had
many highly-valued books on this
fubject. Such were thofe of Nume-
rius of Pleraciea, Hegemon of Tha-
fos, Philoxenes of Leucada, A Slides
of Chio, Tyndaricus of Sicvon,
ArchePratus, and others. And we
— what have we to compare with
thofe, but fuch humble productions
as 4 The French Cook/ 4 The Royal
Cook/ f The Modern Cook/ ‘The
Gifts of Comus/ 4 The City Cook/
4 The School for the Officers of the
Mouth/ and fome other works, not
lefs humble ?

At Rome, a cook had four talents,
or nineteen thoufand livres, a-'vear.
What a poet had then I know not ;
but, by all that I can fee, neither our
poets nor our cooks would have been
greatly the objects of favour at
Rome.

J. J. Rouffeau would perfuade us
that no people ever become faPi-
dioufiy nice in good eating, but fuch
as have previouPy lop all the deli*

176

The Fatal Letter ,

cacy of moral fenfibility ; — that a
people fupremelv fkilled in good
eating muft have funk to a brutal
fordidnefs of character, fuch as de¬
mands only line adtreffes, dull pan¬
tomimes, fingers, and rhubarb.

Good cookery had its origin in
Aha. The Perfians taught it to the
'Greeks: the Sicilians became diftin-
gui &ed m afters in the art: it found
its way thence to Rome : from the
Romans it was taken up by the
French. We have now our An-
tiochus Epiphanes, our Vitellius, our
Apicius, our Antony, our Curtilius,
who live only to eat, and eat with
expence and tafte. A tingle difli
comes not on their tables, but at an
expence for which whole families
might be entertained. The Nandefs,
the Verys, the Roberts, and the
mailers of our other faflnonable eat¬
ing houfes, derive from this their
fame and fortune. Our dancers and
fihgers are famous; our cooks mucfi
more famous.

While writing this, I have juft
received a new book, named i The
Glutton’s Almanac.’ What a charm¬
ing publication ! It is the very
ej'prit des loix of cookery ! He
tells, among other things, hov. a
potage may be made, for two perfons
only, that fhall coft ninety livres.
Whether is the gratitude of the pub¬
lic due more to the inventor of this
foup or to count Rumford ? I could
wifh this 4 Glutton’s Almanac5 to
have had for a frontifpiece, a child in
an empty barn, with broken win¬
dows, half-filled up with fnow,
gnaihing its teeth and clafping its
hands in defpair, after faying to its
unfortunate mother, who had no
bread to give — 4 Muft I, then, mo¬
ther, eat the ftool I fit on?’

V ILLETERQU E.

THE FATAL LETTER.

l often hear of dean Swift di¬
recting a love-letter to a
bifliop, and that intended for the
bifhop to his milirefs. The foil ow¬
ing fimilar miftake happened in the
time of James I. When this mon¬
arch’s daughter married the pala¬
tine, many foidiers of fortune fol¬
lowed her, among whom was one
Duncomb, an officer in the earl of
Pxfoi d’s company : he left a beauti¬
ful rniftrefs behind him in England,
to wdiom he was paffionately attach¬
ed, and had promifed to marry.
Her fortune being fmall, his father
threatened to difinherit him. Tq
alienate his affections from this lady,
he lent him to the palatinate. He
charged him, at his departure, never
to think of her more, if he vviftied to
be remembered by him. The lover
had been abfent fome time, and his
heart beat with undiminifhed affec¬
tion. He refolved to give way to
his affedtion, and wrote to his mif-
trefs, alfuring her, that no threats or
anger of his unfeeling parents fhould
ever banifh the tender recollection
of their reciprocal pa (lion. Having
cccafion to write to his father, he
addreffed his father’s letter to his
rniftrefs, in which he renounces his
rniftrefs for ever. T he father, with
cruel indignation, fent to his fon a
letter of the moft unkind nature*
Whether it was this letter, or a fenfe
of fhame for the miftake that had
happened, that fhe ftiould fee he
had renounced her, the lover, alive
to the fineft fenftbilities, run himfelf
on his fword, and his death was fin-
cerely lamented by all the Englifh in
the palatinate.

177

Augnjla and Emily ; a Tale.

AUGUSTA and EMILY;

A TALE.

[by Miss c. b. yeamfs.]

A t Afhton-grove, the feat of his
anceftors, refided Horatio Har-
court, a gentleman not more refpe fl¬
ed for his immenfe wealth than his
amiable and gentle manners. With

O %

a heart tenderlv alive to the misfor-
tunes of his fellow-creatures, he
gained the love and efteem of all
who knew him; for not one was
there to be found who would not r ifk
his life for the prefervation of that
of the good ’fquire. Yet had he,
though apparently the happiefl man
in the world, an alloy to that great-
rtefs of foul which was the leading
fpring of all his actions, and which
fpread a gloom over the hilarity
that ufed to diflinguifh the once gay
Horatio. A wife, more beautiful
than Helena, but more cruel, trea¬
cherous, and refentful, than Megaera,
embittered thofe hours which ought
tr> have been devoted to the love of
her alone with peevifh jealoufies and
infatiate broils. Still he bore it all:
for the manly Horatio fcorned to
life a bufband’s power towards her;
&nd only by foft rebukes was the
giddy wife informed of his poignant
bufferings by her blameable conduCt,
which made not the lead: impreflion
on her adamantine heart.

To the Hermitage of Hope —

1 A paradife, by nature fweet,

Where the wood’s brown branches meet.
Nigh where the haunted waters play,
Rapt in airy vifion fiveet’ —

would Horatio retire from the harfli
taunts of Mrs. Harcourt; and, truft-
ing that time might work a change
in her he fo truly loved, he conti¬
nued to meet with a penfive fmile
the deftroyer of his repofe.

Horatio’s only offspring was a
daughter; a child of four years old.
In beaut v of perfon fhe refembled
Vol. XXXIV.

her mother, it is true; but far differ¬
ent Were their difpofitions : for if
at that tender age her temper could
be judged of, Augufla Harcourt was
the moif perfect of nature’s children
in that iheflimable gift — good¬
nature.

The darling of her fond father,
and the whiling attendant on her
capricious mother, Auguffa entered
her fixteenth year; an age in which
our padions are at war with each
other, and when we vainly view the
actions of men in the faired light,
trutling too oft in the flowery
fpeeches of their fubtle tongues.
Alas! guilelefsourfelves, artlefs and
fincere, we expert to find all equally
to fleer by the pure compafs of
virtue: but foon the deluflve mafk
is withdrawn ; and human nature,
with her numerous frailties, ftands
dif'clofed before 11s. At that moment
the modern refinements of art appear
fafcinating, the Alining paths of plea-
fure alluring, and the gaudy attrac¬
tions of fliow and equipage prefent
themfelves too forcibly to be with-
flood. Then it is that fo many
amiable fair-ones throw aflde the
captivating blufli of fimplicity, for
the more ftudied fimper of fafliion.

Augnfta now was all the mofl
faflidious could wifli ; lovely, amia¬
ble, fincere, and generous, fhe out-
rivalled every belle, when gaily
tripping up the luxuriant ball-room
of Mrs. Harcourt.

At one of thofe routes which were
weekly held by her beautiful mother
at Afliton -grove, A ugufla beheld lord
William Agincourt, fonto the earl of
Cuthbert. His lordfhip was jufl re¬
turned from making his three years3*
tour on the continent ; not a petit -
maitre , but a graceful, accompiifhed
youth, fit to adorn the high rank he
held in fociety. To enumerate the
many brilliant perfections which For¬
tune had beftowed on her favourite
pupil requires a much more able pen;
iufliceit, that he beheld the blooming
2 A

178

Augufta and Emily ; a Tale .

mifs Hare mi r.t with partial fondnefs;
in his brealt glowed an honourable
paftion, and he fighed to difclofe it
to the charmer of his foul.

A reciprocal affedtion took pof-
feffion of the throbbing bofom of
the lovely Augufta ; and, when the
long wi filed for hour arrived in
which the noble lover declared his
fentiments, that moment was the
moft blifsful of her exigence. Mifs
Ha rcourt’s extreme youth foared
her above difguife : — Hie adored
the all* graceful Agincourt, and,
trembling, fa id — -

f Although you poffefs mv warm-
eft affedtions, dear lord William! f
muft refer thee to my father: his
counfels I will follow, and never
fwerve from the duty of an affec¬
tionate and obedient child ; — a cha¬
racter which is ever attended,
through the weary walks of life, by
a guardian angel to protedt it from
harm.’

‘.Lovely maid!’ foftly returned
he, ‘ if, in the ftation of wife, you
are guided by the fame precepts of
honour and humanity, the man who
pofteftes thee will be fupremely
bleffted, andferaphs might look down
with envy on his blifs.’

Sweetly fmiling, Augufta Heaped
from his embraces, and glided to the
Hermhage: his lordfhip followed;
and, arm-in-arm, they entered the
charming abode of Hope, wheie
was lea led Mr. Harcourt. A gin-
court was eloquent in hi? caufe, and
Augufta’s vermilion bluflies difeo-
vered to her father that file was not
uninterefted in his verdidh

Horatio's compofure was ruffled
by the trying feene now before him,
and a gentle fmothered figh burft
from its confined boundaries as he
gazed on the fuffufed eye of Au¬
gufta. Diftradled vifions arofe to
his tortured imagination, and pic¬
tured this moment as the epoch of
his child’s mifery or happi nefs for
her future life. Xhe thought would

not bear infpedlion. A folemn
paufe enfued; and Horatio, fainting,
fell in the extended arms of Agin-
court.

He foon recovered, to the great
relief of the weeping girl, who was
fcarcely in a better fituation than

J ■

her father. Lord William would
have left them, and returned to the
grove for Mrs. Haicourt, fearing
(ignorant of the caufe) that his
indifpofition might increafe ; but
the mild parent prevented him.

‘No,’ faintly faid he, ‘go not for
the difturber of my repofe : that fiend
which racks my frame to agony go
not for A — Heraiftd his eyes to hea¬
ven, wiped the descending tear from
his pale cheek, and continued : —
‘ My child ! my Augufta ! only footh-
er of my mifery ! look nor fo fad:
for the wild fenfation of the brain
hashed; and now 1 wait to catch
that fvveet fmiie which adorns thy
beauteous countenance, to thiow a
{hade of illumination over mice
own.*

Augufta threw her ivory arms
around his neck, and embraced him
with tranfport, laving — ‘ Now I am
again happy : the current of my
father’s fpirits is returned ; and
peace cheers this panting heart,
which heats fo quick for you, my
beloved parent.’

His lordfhip gazed oh the intereft-
inggiri, now more truiv bewitching
by the dutiful accents which flowed
from her guilelefs bread ; and,
gtacefully bending his knee to Mr.
Ha>court, implored him to give a
favourable reply, and not to crufh
the hopes his fanguine fancy had
railed.

‘ Lord William,’ folemn ly replied
he, 4 weigh well what, thou art about
to requeft; and re fie 61 whether it is 3
pafflon founded on a bafts firm and
lafting,ortheti anfitorv impulfe of an
hour, which induces you to requeft
my ftanclion for addreihng mils Har-
court. If the former, Agincourt is

179

Augufta and Emily ; a Tale .

noble; but if the latter, an affaffin
is to be preferred to him who would
fwear at the facred altar to protect
an unfufpe<fting,female through life,
when only the caprice of his volati¬
lity urged him to unite himfelf to
her, and thus commit an aHion
which common humanity would
fhudder at.’

‘ Heaven is my witnefs/ replied
his lordfliip, firmly, ‘ that this heart
pays fin cere and ardent homage to
the beauty and virtues of Augufta
Harcourt. And never will thofe
fentimenrs be efttanged from rny
foul till death overtakes me, and
ends my cares in the bed of reft.’

Satisfied by the anfwer of lord
William, Horatio gave his entire
approbation to his looking on Au¬
gufta as the foie object of his affec¬
tions, and future bride, provided it
was equally confonant to the wifhes
of' earl Cuthbert.

Jn raptures at the condefcenfion of

Mr. Harcourt, his lordfhip preffed

the taper fingers of Augufta to his

lips, and departed for Henly-lioufe,

the country refidence of his maternal

aunt, ladv Anna Beauclerk. Mifs

Harcourt lightly retraced back the

flowery path to the grove, and haft-

ened up to her drefiing-room, to

write epigrams, and inftrubt the

drefs-maker how to fix the coftlv

✓

ornaments on a new gold-muffin
robe of her mother’s, which that
Hill lovely woman was to make her
entree in at a private theatrical of
her friend Chriftina Strangeways.

All now was hilarity and happi-
neft at Afhton-grove ; for fhortlv
the nuptials of the youthful heirefs
were to be celebrated with true
eaftern pomp and magnificence.

Earl Curhbert, accompanied by
his daughter, lady Mary, had already
arrived at the Grove- and Augufta
fondly clafped to her breaft that
amiable young lady, when intro¬
duced by her admirer Agincourt.

The evening before that morn

which ,was to give Augufta to lord
William, the penfive lady Mary
ftrolled, with her intended fiber,
around the delightful environs of
the Grove. The fun had already
crimfoned the weftern fky, and the
nightingale had begun her melodious
{train, when they found themfelves
yet two miles diftant from home.
Augufta fmiled at the vain fears of
the trembling ladv Mary, and re-
affuredher, by faying — 4 It was moil
probable Agincourt would come in
queft of the runaways.’

The hu mble cottage of the wiring
Maitland now reared its lowlv roof
from behind a thickfet hedge, when
her lady in ip flopped, and declared,
half fainting, file could walk no
further ; and earneftly begged of
Augufta to afk for their admiftion at
the cottage, till notice could be fent
to the Grove of their fituation.—
Augufta affented, with an encou-
raging fmile, at the fame time un-
clofingthe little white paling which
feparated them from the dwelling;
and, after giving a gentle rap at the
door, the two fair friends entered.
Oh, Heavens! what did they behold !
(a fight which appalled their humane
hearts with horror !)— Mrs. Mait¬
land, weeping in agony by the fide
of her dying daughter, met the
diftraefted eye of Mary and Augufta.
On a neat white bed refted the poor
Jeffy. Her fenfes returned at inter¬
vals ; and then would fhe prefs her
mother’s hand, and prav to Heaven
to forgive her the crime of which
fhe had been guilty, in deviating
from the duties of a virtuous daugh¬
ter. At the time when Augufta and
lady Mary intruded on the private
woes of the good widow, Jeffy’s
reafon for a fhort moment had re-
affumed its fway : fhe looked around
the humble abode that fheltered her;
then at her mother ; then at the
weeping lady Mary; and, laftiy, her
futiken eves retted on the agitated
Augufta.

9a A 2

iso

A Snier\\

‘"Oh, mifs Harcourt!’ (he ex¬
claimed, — now faint, and then with
an enthufiafui that brightened up
her once-lovely dark eyes, and cauf-
ed the returning blufh to kifs her
fnowy cheek, — ‘ take warning by
pay haplefs fate, and never truft to
man. Perfidious man ! that caufed
me to outftep the paths of inno¬
cence, and forget my Creator, But,
no; your guilelefs bofom knows no
harm. Deareft madam, excufe the
artlefs language of a fimple girl, in
daring thus to warn you againff
errors which are, which can be, only
mine!’ continued the fainting Jeffy,
while ftrong convulfions fhook her
frame. A. cordial was adminiftered
to the diftreffed fufferer ; who,
taking the hand of Augufla, added —
€ Kqvv often has your good father
infiilled into my mind the pureft
leffons of virtue. “ This you owe
to yourfelf, ] e ff y , ’ ’ he would fay:
“ but, moft of all, think of your
Almighty Father !” But I was
wicked 5 forgot his worthy precepts,
and fell, bringing my dear mother
with for row to the grave.’

Mrs. Maitland rufhed into her
daughter’s arms, while Augufla knelt
by her fide. The trembling lady
Mary walked to the window to con-
ceal her fwollen eyes from the
attention of JefTv, while ftided fobs
ruffled her fragile form,

‘Can you forgive me, mother?’
poor Maitland dowly uttered.—
* Can you pardon the faulty child of
your affections V

f My beloved Jelly,’ replied Mrs.
Maitland, ‘revive; and live clafped
jn my bofom ! for now thou aft again
my child, and more dear to my
heart than ever.’

‘It is well; and I (hail die in
peace! Now, beloved mother, fare¬
well!— Kind (hanger! beloved 'mifs
Harcourt! remember the unfortu¬
nate Jeffy, and fometimes think
kindly of her! Farewell! farewell
for ever !’

Her cold icy hand grafped Au-
gufta’s, her eyes glared in their
throbbing fockets, her pale lips fe¬
vered, and a convullive fit fhook
her frame : it ceafed ; her counte¬
nance affumed the lerenity of a fweet
deep; and, with a fhort dgh, Jelfy
Maitland expired.

Man, didembling creature! thop
bafe betrayer of our fex! the fer-
pent which dings us with his delu-
five tongue, wrecks our repofe, and
blads the tender dower ere it blooms!
Poor Jeffy ! how many, like you,
have fallen viftims to the infidious.
arts of man ! But, finely, never
_was a fairer rofe tarn idled by it§
rude deftroyer! for thou wad all a
fond parent cpuld widi. Not a laf$
that (ported on the green was thy
equal ; for thou waft their rulfic
queen, happy and beloved by all,
till **** ftepped jn, and, with hi§
cruelty, crudied thee down for ever !

Peace to thy memory, thou beau¬
teous vidftim of a guilty paflion
And when chance leads the forlorn
traveller to thy mpffy grave, let
him, like me, died a tear over the
evergreens that fur round thee, and
cry — ‘ Heaven help thee! miftaken,
lovely Jeffy !’

{To he continued.')

To the Editor of the Lady’/
Magazine.

sir,

t will be the means of faving a
young head from almod total
baldnefs, if any one of your medical
readers or correfpondents can pre¬
fer i be for me a fafe, eafy, and effec¬
tual preventive againft the falling
off' of the hair of the head ; and alio,
a fafe, eafy, and effectual recipe for
reftoring loft hair, which did not fall
off through any known caufe, of
vidble illncfs. I am, fir,

Yours, &c.

Eliza Clarke.
iY— - Teh. 18, 1803.

181

The Slaves \ an

THE SLAVES;

AN EASTERN TATE.

A lzemia, the pride of beauty,
the defcendant of Heros, .in
xv hofe veins flowed the blood of
princes, firft gazed on the light of
heaven beneath the fhadows of the
wide-fpreading banana. The vi£tim
of European oppreflion, the earlieft
JeflTon of her youth was for row.
Reared in the lap of flavery, the
.chill hand of tyranny reprefled the
glowing emotions of her heart, and
withered in their bloom the ex¬
panding bloflfoms of her mind; yet
her form was comely as the moun¬
tain pine, and her polifhed limbs
moved graceful as the waving cedar.
From' her eyes beamed the foft fuf-
fufion of love, and her coral lips
difpenfed the perfumes of Hadra-
mut. But the loud la{h of the ty¬
rant’s fcourge awoke her to daily la¬
bour, and the fierce beams of a torrid
fun fcorched her veins as fhe toiled
amidft the proud pofieflions of lux¬
urious idlenefs. Oft has fhe liflened
through the {hades of night to the
foft murmurs of the ripling ftream,
where her fad heart has flghed with
the keen pangs of difappointment.
Here often would {he exclaim : —
4 Why are my hopes withered be¬
neath the blafting influence of in-
juftice ? — why does the phantom,
happinefs, which I vainly feek, elude
my grafp? — am I defined to per¬
petual inifery ?

The thrill yell of the tyger could
not appal thebeauteous Alzemia, and
to the dreadful note of the cruel
hyama (he would liflen with pro¬
found attention: its folitary tone
leemed to accord with the defpair
of her foul. Man alone, intelligent
man, awakened her fears, and rob¬
bed her bofom of tranquillity. The
fierce tenants of the defert, urged
by the calls of nature, roam for
prey, a&d eagerly fate their hungry

Eajlern Tale -

appetites with their defined viTims.
Yet the loud roar of the lion pro¬
claims his approach, and the fliarp
hifs of the ferpent warns the tra¬
veller to avoid his path. But man
fmiles when he wouid deftroy; and,
with the blandifliments of courtefy,
and the language of love, plunges
the haplefs objefts of his .unfated
avarice in mifery and defpair.

Alzemia’s heart owned the vir¬
tues of the lofty Molarcha, whofe
ftubborn foul never bent beneath the
fcourge of oppreflion. Firm were
his limbs as the root of the broad
plantain ; and, from his nervous arm,
the unerring javelin had often pierced
the fhaggy boar. The fierce beams
of paflion darted from his eye as he
toiled through the fultry day by the
fide of Alzemia : he {'corned the
iafh of the tyrant, and the oppref-
flve heat of noon ihrunk not his
vigour. His talk of labour love
rendered light, and his fond heart
beat with rapturous emotion if in
fecret he could lift the burthen that
prefled the gentle arms of the haplefs
maid. But his midnight groans
echoed through his narrow hut, and
the heavy dew of defpair refted on
his brow.

4 Shall the proud Molarcha,’ he
cried, 4 who once reigned lord of
earthly power, yield to the im¬
perious dictates of paflion? {hall he,
at whofe command a thoufand dam-
fels {ported in the fprightly dance,
whofe fubje<fts kifled the ground, and
hailed him as the mighty warrior,
clafp the rofe of beauty to his breaft
only to give being to flaves? — No;
the great Molarcha, whofe heart is a
ftranger to fear, who never Ihrunk.
from the brandifhed lance of his ene¬
my, will reign defpotic over his own
foul,’

Sad were the days of Alzemia,
and deep the fbrrow of her heart;
but fhe looked forward to the land
of her fathers as the place of reft, the

182

The Slaves ; an E after n Tale .

fought death as the end of her
fiavery, and longed to be folded in
his cold embrace. Pining anguifh
had already begun to blaft the fair
form of beauty, when the proud
lord whom die obeyed commanded
his haves to prepare v the feafh
Loud beat the timbrels at the gate,
and the found of mufic echoed
through his hall ; while the saved:
of the throng led up the dance.
But Alzemia gazed with ftupid for-
row on the voluptuous fcene. Yet
her pen five face, as die languidly
reclined where the cool air fanned
her glowing cheek, caught the eye
of a ftr anger gueft, and pallion fired
bis veins: he demanded the beau¬
teous maid as the partner of his bed,
and the reluctant vidlim was led to
grace his luxurious couch. But the
heart of Alzemia dirunk from dif-
honour, though her hand trembled
as the pointed the dagger to her
bofom : — ‘ Great Alla,’ die cried,
4 forgive thy haplefs daughter for
daring to rudi unbidden into thy
prefence; death, alas! is the only
refuge of virgin loved The blood
flreamed from her fide; and, with
her eyes raided to heaven, the ex¬
pired. Shuddering as he beheld
the lifekifs corpfe, the cold-hearted
dealer in human fiedi turned with
horror from the fight, whi'e com¬
punction rioted in his bofom, and
his heart fickened at the mifchief
he had created. Molarcha had be¬
held, with indignant anguifh, the
object of his fecret fighs torn from
his fide, and urged to frenzy as (lie
raft a la ft lingering look on him,
he caught a deadly weapon and
aimed a blow at his tyrant. Alarm
filled the fumptuous dwelling, and
the haughty lord trembled with the
dread of retribution; But all was
foon hu filed in filence ; the daring
have was dragged, foaming with
rage, to his dungeon, where, loaded
with chains, he was left to groan out

the night. The feaft and the dance
continued, nor could the fighs of
mi fiery, or the vjfitation of death,
interrupt the fieftive fcene. The
ftortny pafiions of Molarcha were
all inflamed : he curb’d this tyrant
that opprefted him, and blafphemed
the mighty power that governs and
fu ftai n s t h e world . Vainly h e fo u ght
to relieve the fury of his foul by the
deep wounds lie infiidted on his
body; the raging of his mind ren¬
dered his fie fin infenfible to pain.
Hour after hour palled in this flare
of intolerable anguifh-, when fud~
dcnly his rage was fufpended, and
every feeling loft in wonder and
awe. A noife, like the roar of the
mighty ocean when the ftorm riles
high, filled the air, the earth fliook
beneath his feet, while a light more
bright than the fun-beams at noon
fhone through the deep gloom of
his dungeon, and a figure, in whole
lace beamed love and benevolence,
flood before him.

f Thv borrows, Molarcha,’ cried
the genius, 4 have afeended to the
throne of the beneficent Alia, who
pardons thv prebumption and pities
thy affliction, who has fent his fier-
vant to teach thee wifdom to calm
the fwelling rage of thy bofom. I
will fhew thee the heait of thine
oppreftbr: thou flialt behold it torn
with remorfe, and gnawed by the
fiend of avarice. Thou (halt fee
him as he toftes on his bed of down,
while the daemons of fear torment
him; and thou thv (elf (halt own,
that vice needs no other flames to
punish than the hell which it enkin¬
dles within the bofom of the vicious.*
So faying, he fpread his garment
over the alicnilhed Molarcha, and
they mounted together through the
legions of the air. As they hovered
over the perfumed chamber, where
luxury repofed, the eyes of the Gave
weie enlightened, and he beheld the
lord of the Eaft, at whole nod u

The Slaves ; an Eafisrn Tale*

18 3

thoufand wretches bowed the knee,
writhing beneath the tortures of a

guilty mind. Every breeze that
played through the apartment ftart-
led his foul; he groaned with anguifti
while he anticipated a dreadful re¬
taliation.

4 Mv Haves are come !’ cried he,
in broken (lumbers ; ‘ already they
deftroy mv Coftiy palace; tearful
will be their vengeance ; how (hall
1 fupport their cruel tortures E Fear
at length fuhjnled, and remorfc,
even more agoniling, ufurped its
place.

Molarcha bowed before the ge¬
nius; his fpirit was humbled to the
dud. 4 1 am as a worm in the
hands of the mighty Alla/ cried he,
4 who has deigned to enlighten mv
nnderftanding — Virtue alone gives
happinefs to man. I will follow
her paths, and adore the beneficent
Ruler of the world.’

Again they bounded through the
wide regions of the air with fuch
impetuous vc!o(ify, that Molarcha
loft ail confcioufnefs, and every idea
was 'fufpended, till at length he
opened his eyes on a new world.
His faculties were now awakened
to frefh vigour; he felt keener fen-
fations thrill through hi' frame, while
he feemed to grafp a wider fphere
of comprehenfion as he gazed on
the objects around him. The fun
(lied a mild, but not opprcftlve, heat
over fields of verdure and hedges
of myrtle, and the modeft dwellings
that covered the plain charmed the
eve bv their uniform (implicity.
He moved (lowly forward, while
groups of happy beings, who alter¬
nately fcattered the grain through
the field, or fported over the mea¬
dows, hailed his arrival. Here
he beheld the proud European
embracing the tawny negro, and
confefling, with joy of heart, the iu~
periority of thofe delights which
flow from mild equality and recipro¬
cal ki.ndnefs. The cruel diftinftions
of mafter and (lave were unknown

in this happy ‘region, where love
directed the inclinations and wifdom
guided the actions of the inha¬
bitants.

4 Almighty power, ftupendous
being!’ exclaimed Molarcha with
rapture, 4 thou haft brought me to
the land of felicity. I am no longer
a Have; I breathe in freedom, and
will vvorfliip for ever before thy
throne in grateful adoration.’

4 Hold/ cried the genius, fternly,
4 thou art not yet worthy to be an in¬
habitant of the land which I have
(flown thee; thou mu ft return to the
lower world, for thou yet wanted:
underftanding. It is from the expe¬
rience of evil, man learns to appre¬
ciate good : the purfuit of vice pu-
niflies the vicious, and in the fchaol
of ad verfity they are taught. The
great fource of light and life is above
thy praife, and delighteth not in
thy adoration ; virtue alone is pleat¬
ing to him, and his delight is in the
dealings of the juft. Here every
heart beats with love towards its
fellow — for where all are equal, envy
mult vanifh. In this happy fociety
labour excites to reft, and reft re-
frelhesfor labour; plenty covers each
board, but voluptuous luxury is un¬
known. Here knowledge opens her
varied (lores to the enquiring mind,
and the fecrets of nature are un¬
folded. To him who purfues the
path of re&itude the road to the hill
of wifdom is eafy : bur to him who
brutalifes his nature and finks the
(lave cf fenfuality, the afeent is diffi¬
cult, and r tigged are the regions
through which he muftpafs.’

The voice of the genius now
founded like thunder in the ears of
Molarcha; his eyes were again dol¬
ed, and his fenfes fufpended; when,
lo ! the dawn glimmered through his
dungeon, and he beheld himfelf a
(lave. Fie felt the heavy chains
that galled h:s limbs, but his mind
wa- calm, and he awaited his fate
with fortitude. • / C, V.r.

■J 84 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of L Tom Tones?

Critical Observations on the
Novela/ 4 Tom Jones.’

In a Series of "Letters from an Uncle to
his "Niece .

(Continued from p. l40,J

LETTER V,

DEAR NIECE,

T now proceed to the examlna-
^ tiori of the fixth book of ‘The
Hiflory of a Foundling.’

0 y O

The introductory chapter to the
fixth book treats on the power of
love in the human bread, and of the
difference between the delicate effu-
don of that paflion and the turbu-
lency of irregular defires. Thefe
obfervations form a very proper
introduction to the fubjeCt matter of
this book.

In the fecond chapter, the reader
Is' brought acquainted with Mrs.
Weftern ; whole character, though
highly charged, has nothing impro¬
bable in the imagery, if we form to
ourfelvesthe idea of a woman haugh¬
ty and imperious by nature, and
from education and habit rendered
vain and ridiculous in her carriage :
and, who, having in her youth been
difappointed in love, now, in the
days of dale maidenhood, gives her-
Telf wholly to the dudy of politics.
The books to which die had recourfe
for affidance in this ftudv, as enu-

j '

merated by Mr. Fielding, were, of
all others, the mod likely to tickle
her pedantic third for this kind of
reading j and which, as Mr. Field¬
ing cbferves in another place, is
woi fe in a woman than any of the
alfeCrations of an ape. How incon¬
gruous foever Mrs. Weftern’s de-
•portment may feem, when contraded
to that of the ladies of the prefent
day, who prudently limit their am¬
bition to feminine accomplifhment,
leaving political refearches to the

fagacity of their hufbands ; there
have formerly exifted in our ifland
women of Mrs. Weftern’s defcrip-
tion, and this is diffident to jultify
Mr. Fielding in bringing her upon
the dage. This lady will be found
to aCt no inconfiderable part in the
drama; and, whenever die appeal's,
the fame affeCtation of learning and
political talqnts, the like haughtinefs
of demeanour, and rage for polemi¬
cal and difputadoUs altercation, will
be found to prevail throughout the
piece, in which each individual
fpeaks and aCts on every occafion in
the very manner which charaCterifed
fuch perfon on the fil'd introduction
to our notice. The dialogue which
paffes between the brother andfider,
in this chapter, is laughable in the'
extreme.

The ruling principles of Mr. All¬
worthy and Mr. Weftern are placed
in the mod confpic.uous point of
view, on the Tquire’s abrupt pro**
pofal of the match to Mr. All worthy,
in fe third chapter. Mr. Fielding’s
definition of true wifdom, m the
latter part of this chapter, forms
one, among many, of thofe hints
which abound in this work, arid
cannot fail to be highly beneficial to
thofe young readers who will fubmit
to liflen to indruCtion adminidered,
as all thofe of Mr, Fielding’s are*
with a fmiling countenance.

The coldnefs and referve of Blifil,
when Allworthy communicates to
him the nature of Wefiern’s vifit, in
the fourth chapter, ' flow fponta-
neoudv from his faturnitie com¬
plexion ; Mrs. Wedem, likewife,
appears in her true character, when
her brother informs her of Allwor¬
thy’s medage.

0 _ • j

The difeourfe between Mrs.
Wedem and her niece, the afTimiec?
importance of tiie old lady, and her
felf-gratulation at having made a
difeoverv of the favourable opinion
of Sophia towards Blifil; the equivo¬
cal language which Mrs. Wedem

Karmccu uojervanom on tue i\ ove/ of * i cm tones . x 85

makes ufe of on the occafion, fo as
in the end to draw from Sophia an
acknowledgment of the paftion fhe
entertained for Jones, and the rage
excited in Mrs. Weftern at the dif-
covery, form the entertainment of
the fifth chapter, the whole of which
evinces the abilities of a mafter.

Every period in the fixth chapter
teems with genuine wit and true hu¬
mour. Mrs. Honour’s addrefs to
her miftrel's, and her fubf quent
difcourfe, are delivered in the true
fpirit, and in the natural ftyle, of a
ladv’s woman. Sophia’s rebuke at
the mention of Jones’s name, her
deter mination tofeek out Mr. Jones,
under pretence of walking with her
aunt in the grove, and fixing Mrs.
Honour to her needle- work, mark
the origin from whence they fprang.

The formal couitfhip of Mr.
Blifil ; the favourable light in which
he viewed the modeft repulfes of
Sophia; the extravagant joy of the
father ; the fond careftesand warm
proteftations which, in confequence
of Blifil’s report, he beftows on his
daughter, and his fudden tranfition
to a violent fit of rage upon his being
undeceived by Sophia; his breaking
from her, and dafhing his face
againft the floor ; and his fending
Jones to plead for his rival ; form the
entertainmentof the eighth chapter;
which, while it developes the cha¬
racter of Mr. Weftern, gradually
introduces to the reader’s notice an
occurrence of very interefting mo¬
ment to the thread of the ftory, and
which is related in the eighth chap¬
ter. Were the meeting between
Jones and Sophia, defcribed in this
chapter, to be exprefied by the pencil
upon canvas, the ptfture would be a
high treat to every man of fcience;
and fuch readers who can truly relifh
the defcription lo beautifully deli¬
neated by the pen of Mr. Fielding,
may, through the aid of an imagina¬
tion warmed bv the fubje£t, find
Vo l. XXXIV.

little difficulty in bringing each of
the parties before their eyes.

The figurative expreflions which
introduce the ’fquire to the lovers,
in the ninth chapter, after having
been informed of the whole fee ret
by his lifter, are perfectly well ap¬
plied on the prefent occafion ; and
the feveral chara£ters of Tones and
Weftern are very properly diferi-
minated, in the altercation which
paftes between them. The ductility
of parfon Supple is characteriftic of
fome of the divines of thofe days,
many of whom did not Temple to
fubmit to the vileft indignities from
their patron, in return for the con¬
venience of his table.

The tenth chapter forms an intro¬
duction very material to the events
afterwards to be related, it was
upon the information given by
Weftern to Mr. Allworthy, in this
chapter, that the latter came to the
refolntion of difearding Jones from
his protection, and abandoning him
to his fate. The manner of Weft-
ern’s relation, in the broad Somer-
fetfhi re dialect, of what had pafled
at his houfe, renders the interview
truly humorous. The artful in-
finuations thrown out by Blifil, after
Weftern had taken his leave, fhow
the dark malignity of his difpofition,
and probably operated more fatally
towards alienating Mr. Allworthy’s
regard, and haftening the crifts of
Jones’s fate, than any circumftance
which Weftern had before related ;
and thefe hints of Blifil, having
been ftxengthened bv the evidence
of Thwackum, confirmed the truth
of the whole ftory in the mind of the
good man, and brought on the dif-
miftal of the unfortunate youth, as
related in the eleventh chapter.
The farcafms and reproaches vented
on this occafion againft Allworthy
by the neighbouring gofiips, are
characteriftic traits of low-bred and
illiterate minds.

2 B

186 Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of i lom Jones.

The purloining of the bank-bill,
in the twelfth chapter, naturally
excites our refentment againft black
George, though in other refpedts a
friendly, good-natured, fellow: and,
indeed, his fubfequent conduct
evinces the gamekeeper’s attach¬
ment to the foundling, and that he
would readily do him any fervices
within his power, in return for the
benefits conferred on him by our
hero; and, fo far as the articles of
his creed extended, he would have
fcorned to have violated the precepts
of morality. But the temptation
overcame his integrity, which did
not afpire to extend beyond the bare
letter of the law. On this breach of
truft in the gamekeeper will be
found to reft a very confiderable
portion of the tale related in the
following pages. The fame nar¬
row principles which had actuated
George, in concealing the bank-bill,
cauftd the hefttation which he ex-
prelled, whtn afked by Jones if he
would do him the greateft favour in
the world,

1 he thirteenth chapter opens with
the fagaciotis lefture delivered by
Mrs. Weftern to her niece, and the
boifterous treatment of the ’fquire.
After which we ai e entertained with
the dialogue between Sophia and
her maid. The pert airs of a lady’s
woman in this, as in all the conver¬
sation of Mrs. Honour, are ftrongly
marked ; and her loquacity at the
prefent juncture feems neceftary to
the thread of the ftory, as it- conci¬
liates her mill refs to Jones, of whole
Sincerity fhe began tq entertain feme
doubts. This hidden tranfipon
which Mrs. Honour’s tale of Mr.
Jones having been deferted bv All¬
worthy oqcafions in the tender bread
of Sophia, is ftridlly in nature. The
conference between the confidence
of black George and his avarice is
Jaughable enough.

The laft chapter of this book con¬

tains a dialogue between Mr. and
Mrs. Weftern, in language which
betrays the ruling principle of each j
and the confequence is, the enlarge¬
ment of Sophia and her delivery into
the hands of her aunt, a meafure
which feems $ neceftary towards the
introduction of the important mat¬
ters contained in the feventh book.

in the introductory chapter to the
feventh book, the comparifon made
fo often of human life to the ftage
fupplies the author with materials
for compiling a moft valuable eftay ;
in which he confiders the individuals
which compofe human nature as the
audience at the reprefentation of the
drama, and not as the aCtors, as they
have been generally held forth:
this gives him an opportunity of
commenting on the behaviour of
black George in the laft chapter,
and of extenuating the offence he
had been guilty of. The reafoning
of our author upon this head mani-
fefts the clearnefs of his intellects
and the purity of his heart. The
different opinions entertained by the
diffeient ranks of fociety aifembled
at this drama, on the conduCt of
black George, are delivered in a,
ftyle of great humour: in fhort, the
candour recommended in this chap¬
ter ought to be carefully implanted
on the n emory of every young per-
fon ; and this (if duly attended to)
will in fome meafure enable them to
refift that bias towards (lander and
detraction lo powerfully impreffed
on the human mind, and enable
them to take every occurrence by
the right handle.

In the fecond chapter, the perufal
of Blifil's letter determines therefo-
Jution of Jones, and he forthwith
hires horfes to proceed for Brilfol,
in order to feek his' fortune at fea ; a
very natural expedient for a perfon,
like him, bereft of every comfort on
fho re.

In the third chapter, we are cop.-

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of ‘ Ti m Jones' ] 87

dudfed to Mr. Weftern’s, where a
dialogue pafies between Sophia and
her aunt, in which the latter ha¬
rangues, with great volubility of
Speech, on the obligations which
young women lie under of alfenting
to any treaty of marriage which their
parents may think proper to enter
into on behalf of their children. The
language made ufe of by Mrs. Wef-
te rn on this occasion is dictated by
thofe prudential confiderations by
which parents are induced to facri-
iice the comfort and happinefs of
their daughters to their own avarice
and caprice, treating the idea of the
young woman’s content as a matter
of the flighteft confequence, and
enforcing the necefiity of her iub-
mililon from her own fuperior fa-
gacity, backed by fimiles and au¬
thorities drawn from her favourite
ftudy of politics, the ufua! fnpport
of all her ipfa elixirs. The entrance
of 'fquire Weftern, who had miftak-
cn his filler’s figurative expreffions,
and the dficourfe which palled be¬
tween thefe two originals, are cif-
curnffances in which the author has
dilplayed much true humour.

The wit and humour difplayed by
the author, in the third chapter, muft
be acknowledged genuine by every
reader. In truth, the good ’fquire
never makes his appearance but his
dialed! and manner draw forth a
lmile from the reader. The inter¬
ference of Sophia on behalf of her
aunt, fliows the mildnels of her dif-
polition, and the native goodnefs
of her heart • and her feafonable
obfervation refpedfiwg the diftribu-
tion of her aunt Wedern’s property,
if Ihe had died yederday, awakens
the fenfation of avarice in the mind
of her father, and he forthwith ap¬
plies his endeavours to prevent (he
departure of his lifter, by detaining
her hordes. The converiation which
Mrs. Honour held with her mi d: refs,
when the latter had retired to her

chamber, tends to rivet the affe&ions
of Sophia yet more clofely to her
admirer.

In the fourth chapter Mr. Wef-
tern’s allufion to the fuppoied de¬
merits of his deceafed wife, which
we are told was his ufual refource
when his temper was foured by any
trifling vexation, and that the match
between the ’lquire and his lady had
not been founded on the leaft tinc¬
ture of reciprocal affedfion or re¬
gard, his conclufions, therefore, in
favour of Blifil, were natural enough.
The author’s reflexions onjeaioufy
proceed from a judicious train of
reasoning on that baneful difeafe of
the mind.

In the fixth chapter, a reconcili¬
ation takes place between the ’fquire
and his lifter, and poor Sophia is
made a facrifice to this reconcilia¬
tion. At the interview u hich, under
the ’{quire’s diredHons, takes place
between Blifil and Sophia, in this
chapter, the awkward fituation in
which they are placed is well deferr¬
ed. The impetuofity of Mr. Wef¬
tern, in breaking in upon Blifil and
declaring his refolution to dole with
Allworthy that very afternoon, is
charadteriftic. The obfervations of
the author upon the condudt of
Blifil, and the advantages which he
derived from the inltrudHons of
Thwackum and Square, ferve to
imprefs in a forcible manner upon
the mind of the reader thofe fenti-
ments of dillike which he had con¬
ceived for thefe three perfonages
upon their firft iotroduaion to his
notice. The villainous intentions
of Blifil are painted in their true
coloms to the reader, whijft thev
are concealed from A 11 worthy by
equivocal anfwers to thofe queitions
which the good man thought fit to
propofe, by which the uncle is kept
in ignorance of the true ftatement
of the tranfedtion. The fadts relat¬
ed in this chapter naturally lead t©
2 B 2

/ ; - ' ,

I8B Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of e Tom Jones?

one of the moft important events in
the whole hiftory ; namely, the flight
of Sophia, which takes place foon
after.

The intelligence conveyed to So¬
phia by Mrs. Honour, in the feventh
chapter, forms a good excule for the
refolution taken by the former of
leaving her father’s houfe. As fhe
faw herfelf upon the point of being
facrificed to the man fhe detefted,
the moft rigid cafuift will And it
difficult to refolve the ftep fhe 'was
about to take into a breach of filial
duty; and there feems great pro¬
priety in making Mrs. Honour the
principal agent in this determina¬
tion, fo well calculated for the pry¬
ing curiofity of a lady’s woman.
The manner in which fhe delivered
the intelligence to her lady, and the
fears (lie entertained, when requeft-
ed to accompany Sophia in her
flight; her yielding at laft, in confe-
quence of the reward held out by
her miftrefs; are all of them lively
reprefen tations, embellifhed with
true humour. Sophia’s determi¬
nation to throw herfelf under the
protection of a lady of quality is
well conceived. The debate which
pafled in the imagination of Mrs.
Honour, balancing the integrity
which ftie owed to her miftrefs with
the advantage likely to refult to her
upon betraying the whole fecret to
Mr. Weftern, proceeds naturally
from the contracted ideas of a per-
fon of her inferior breeding and
education; and the altercation which
afterwards takes place between Mrs.
Weftern’s waiting- woman and her¬
felf, ftrongly marks the character and
difpofition of thefe two Abigails,
and is related with infinite humour.
The entrance of Mrs. Weftern at
this critical junCture, very oppor¬
tunely ripens the projeCt which Mrs.
Honour was defirous fhould refult
from this feolding match.

In the ninth chapter a very hu¬

morous account is given of Mr,
Weftern's demeanour in the cha¬
racter of a magiftrate. His mifeon-
ftruCtion of a fpeech of his daugh¬
ter’s, and the fond caretfes he be¬
llows on her, by which the refo¬
lution of Sophia was nearly over¬
come, and (lie was on the point of
exerting the mmoft filial obedience,
by confenting to give her hand to
Blifil, mark the virtuous principles
of our heroine, whom nothing but
the profped of utter ruin could have
prevailed on to defert her father.
And it fhould ever be remembered
by the youthful female readers of
this novel, that the conduCt of So¬
phia, in leaving her father’s houfe,
ought not to be brought as an ex¬
ample to encourage other young
women to imitate her conduCl. Her
fituation was a finguiar one, and
fuch as (though it may fometimes
have taken place, which is fufficient
to juftify the plot of a romance)
rarely, very rarely, happens in rear
life. The bank bill which Mr.
Weftern gave his daughter at this
interview, will appear to be a very
neceffiary agent in the fequelofthe
hiftory.

The tenth chapter overflows with
wit and humour. The converfaticn
which Jones maintains with the
countryman affords the author an
opportunity of dilplaying his talents
in this way. No terms could have
been more appropriate to the bent
of ruftic curiofity, generally to be
met with in the converfe of the
lower orders in the country, than the
impertinent queftions propofed to
Jones by thefe boors; nor is the
converfaticn between Jones and the
quaker lefs charaCleriftic. The cu*

riofity of this man in his endeavours

to fifh out the bufinefs of Mr. J°neS>
and his officious relation of his own
private concerns, the rage wbic
this excited in Jones, his pufhinS
the quaker out of the room, theiu°‘

Critical Qbfervat'tons on the Novel of 6 Tom Jones.* 189

fequent converfation between the
latter and Robin, and the bidden
tranfition in the mind of the quaker,
upon being informed of the parti¬
culars which the landlord had learn¬
ed from the information of the
guide and the watch, fo ftriCtly
maintained by the former, and his
dread of being robbed, though he
had nothing to lofe ; all thefe cir-
cumftances are calculated to excite
mirth in the reader, and the language
in which thefe aCtors feveraliy ex-
prefs themfelves is charaCteriftic of
each fpeaker. When it becomes
neceflary for Jones to depart from
this houfe, the event is not related
in a dull, languid, enumeration of
plain matters of faCt, but through the
intervention of an accident, which
at once .Cup plies the young traveller
with companions on the road, and
determines him to relinqui fn his for¬
mer project of going to fea. This de¬
reliction, and the incidents which
occur in the profecution of his new
plan, ferve to conneCt the feveral
parts of the hiflory in the fucceeding
pages.

Never was an event related with
more pleafantry and true humour
than the? arrival of a company of
foldiers, in the eleventh chapter.
Every line teems with wit, and the
whole cannot fail to be a dainty
treat to every reader of tafte. The
ferjeant’s introduction of the tipler
to hiscommaodingodicer is expreffed
in verv laughable terms.

J o

In the twelfth chapter, a cenfure
is palled on thofe in power for fuf-
fering men of real merit to grow
grey in the fervice of their country,
and to be under the command of
boys. This conduct has at all times
been complained of as a grievance
attached to the navy, the army, and
the church. The lieutenant’s cha¬
racter, given in few words, ferves to
prepolfeis the reader in his favour.

The outlines of the birth and cha¬
racters of the other officers, lead us
to expeCt food for laughter at the
table where the company is feated ;
and fo indeed it turned out, not-
withftanding the accident of the
broken head..

The converfation between the
lieutenant and the landlady, in the
thirteenth chapter, furniflies a very
humorous feene; but the fagacious
obrervations of the doCtor, uttered
in a ityle of feientific jargon, which
it was impoffible for any perfon, not
bred to the profeffion, to compre¬
hend ; the evafive anfwers which
he returns to the lieutenant’s ques¬
tions, with his duCtility of compli¬
ance to the landlady’s requeft ; are all
of them brought forward with fo
much humour, as cannot fail to ex¬
cite burfts of applauding laughter
from every one who reads thele
feveral circumftances. The idea of
the doctor’s fubmitting to the land¬
lady’s recipe of chicken broth rather
than lofe the cuftom of the houfe,
though , perhaps it may not apply
to many of the furgeons in thefe
more enlightened times, mu ft not
therefore be condemned as unna-
tuial; for, in the days when Mr.
Fielding wrote; many individuals
migrht be found to juftify his fatirc.
The difcourle which the lieutenant
maintains with Jones, fliows the
force of habit and education. This
officer is reprelent.ed as a worthy
man and a good chriftian, yet he
recommends Jones to take out the
enfign as foon as poffible; and when
the latter objeCts to premeditated re¬
venge, as being contrary to the
precepts of the Gofpel, the lieutenant
acknowledges there is fuch a com¬
mand, but refers it to a miftranf-
lation. Such effect will the early
habits, contracted by every man
through the medium of his pro¬
feffion, have upon his future actions ;

1<K> Critical Qbfervations on the Novel of c T om 'Jones.

they will always leave a tinge upon
the mind, with difficulty to be eradi-
eated hereafter.

The fourteenth chapter abounds
with humorous fketches through¬
out ; fpecimens of which will appear
in the dialogue that, paffes between
Jones and the ferjeant, and in the
relation, given by the centinel, of
the terrors which he felt at the ap¬
pearance of Jones, whom his fears
reprefented as a ghoff. The fudden
recoil eftion of the ferjeant, upon
Jones’s threats 'Of acquainting the
lieutenant with the deception he had
endeavoured to pafs on him refpect-
ing the price of the (word, is a good
ipecimen of that prefence of mind
which is not it n frequently met
with in perfons of the lower ranks
of life, and muff be allowed to
have been carved from tha( difh
which Mr. Fielding, at the out¬
let of thehiftory, promifed to regale
his gueffs — human nature. The
portiait which our author has drawn
of Mr, Jones, when he proceeded in
icarch of the enfign, is Iketched in
inch lively tints as almoft juftify the
terrors which ihook the poor centi-
nel. The doctrine of ghofts and
hobgoblins is fcarcely vet eradicated
in many parts of the country ; and,
at the time when this book was pub-
lifhed (more than half a century
back'! this fond credulitv was in no
want of advocates, even among thofe
of more enlarged underflanding.
Whether the banifhment of thefe
ideas from the minds of the vulgar
mav not have intioduced a more
dangerous evil in its ffead, I fhall
leave to the decition of the moraliffs:
if I may be allowed to fpeak my
honefi: fentiments on the occafion,
thefe fuperftitious notions have not
effected half the mifehief in the
world as thofe which have arifen
from the cant and folly of enthu-
hafm. How rapidly the deleficn of

fupernatural agency has declined,
may be gathered from a companion
of the prefect times with an event
which took place about the year
1 7 5 4* when a poor ignorant" old
woman, not thirty mdes from the
metropolis, was actually drowned by
the populace on a charge of prac-
tihng necromancy and witchcraft:
nay, it is yet in the memory of
many perfons now living, that the
good people in London were palfied
with fear, during feveral weeks,
through the delufion of fome Ample
women ; and many grave City di¬
vines were driven almoff to declare
theii belief, that the noifes they
heard were occafioned by an in-
viiibie fpii it, though it afterwards
proved to be the artifice of a cun¬
ning let of females to extort charity.
Well then might the ferjeant be in¬
timidated at the figure of Jones.
The efcape of Northington is ne-
Ctffaiy towards bringing forvvaid
other incidents which contribute to
the main thread of the dory.

The laft chapter of this book, ac¬
counts for the fudden Right of
Northington; and the quarrel be¬
tween the lieutenant and his colo¬
nel, in the, twelfth chapter, appears
now to have been properly intro¬
duced in that place, to explain the
fecret how the enfign becomes pof-
felfed of money fufficient to bribe
the landlady : and as this, adventure
will hereafter be found a neceffary
agent towards introducing a lady of
no i neon fide rable figure to our "no¬
tice, his efcape from the hands of
juftice, by fome means or another,
was necefiary to be effected, as a
preparatory fteptoan incident which
we fhall find recorded in the next
book; and whom could the author
fix upon, as better adapted to the
purpofe, than this loquacious hoftefs,
who, from the whole tenor of her
character, as fketched in the next

191

A Morning's Walk in April.

book, feerns favoured by nature for
carrying into effect a projeft of this
kind? and of this her declaration of
the foldier’s guilt, though (he herfelf
was confcious of his innocence, ex¬
hibited a finking inftanre. The
argument between the drawer and
chamber-maid, on their millrefs di¬
recting them feverallv to attend Mr.
Tones, and their afterwards march¬
ing up to his chamber together, is
related with much humour.

I am, dear niece,

Your affectionate uncle, &c.

(To be continued.)

A MORNING b WALK in
APRIL.

* Behold, to the enraptur’d eye,

Fair Spring defcends the fouthern (ky !

A primrofe wreath furrounds her hair ;

Her green lobe floats upon the air.

She waves her wanton wings, and round her
ihowers

Soft dews, and rich perfumes, and variegated
flowers.’ Scott.

‘ An April morning,’ as Sterne
fays, * had opened its moifl
eye-lids,’ when I began my monthly
tour . The lark was up before me,

and, elevated in aether, was tuning
his early anthem ; and, as if Simu¬
lated by his example, the feathered
tribe were quitting their moffydwell-
ings to join the chorus of gratitude
and praife. Soon the 4 tuneful na¬
tions’ were aroufed, and all around
was melody.

* The blackbird ftrove with emulation fweet,
Vi- hile Echo anlwer’d from her clofe retreat :
The fporting white-throat, on tome twig’s-end
borne,

Pour’d hymns to freedom and the riflngmorn.
Stopt in her fong, perchance, t.he flartin^
thrufh

Shook a white fliower from the black-thorn
bufh ;

Where dew-drops thick as early bloflbms hung,
And trembled as the minthel fweetly flung. ’

Bloom fi el 0.

The weather was feafonable, per¬
fectly Aprilian, funfhiny and flow¬
ery; but with fuch a morning the
early rambler is feldom fatisfied,
little thinking that without thefe
fruClifying (Lowers Creation would
not difplay her brilliant tints, nor
charm us with the view of her gold-
en-fpctted robe: the birds would
ceafe to make the groves refound
with harmony, the dowers to regale
us with their blofTomed fragrancy,
and the fruits of the earth to arrive
at maturity.

From a neighbouring copfe the
wryneck exclaimed 4 Pe pe-pe!’—
Unmufica! fongfler ! Herald of the
cuckow ! thy plain note p'eafes me
more than the melodious drains of
the accomplifhed chorifter; for thou
proclaim eft that rofy fpring {lovely
leafon!) is commenced. Smiling
period! that exhibits to the enrap¬
tured fight all that is charming to
the ear, pleafing to the eye, or grate¬
ful to the fen it.

The hedges began to array them~
felves in green attire, and the black¬
thorn to difplay its fnnvvy bloffoms..
The fongful tribes were all abtivitv,
fabricating their curious domes.
Looking up a tree, I faw a chaffinch's
neft thereon. What ingenious archi¬
tect, who without any implements
could rear fo beautiful* a ftrudlure!
It would have put the art and inge¬
nuity of fir Chriftopher Wren and
Inigo Jones to the left to have ere<t-
ed, with fuch materials, fo commo¬
dious an edifice.

‘ Pretty birds !’ I exclaimed, 4 may
you quickly enjoy your new-built
dwelling. No unfiiendly aft of
mine (ball mar your domeftic feli¬
city. I will notdemolifh your little
home, plunder you of your eggs,
nor rob you of your young. No,
innocent warblers! 1 will not defpoil
you of your tender offspring. I am
a parent — I can feel for you. What
if fome cruel tyrant was to bereave

192

Anecdote *

roe of my little ones ! I fhudder at
the idea: but, if the bare fuppofi-
tion cauie fuch poignant fenfations,
what would be the confeqtiences of
the reality ?’

Towards the eonclufion of my
morning’s walk, the following pleaf-
5ng perfonification, written by an
anonymous poet, occurred to my
mind, which gives a juft defcription
of this changeful month.

*• Next came a blooming boy, in vobe of
green ;

On his fair brow a flowery crown was feen,
"Where the pale primrefe with the cow flip vied,
And fragrant violets Ihone in purple pride
Around the ltripling flock’d the plumy-
throngs,

To hailhim with their foft, "harmonious, fongs.
And now he fmii’d with joy, and now apace
The cryftal tears bedew’d his alter’d face :
Tike the young fondling on his mother’s
breaft,

Who cries for abfcnt joys, and thinks them
belt j

*Mid fmiles, and tears, and frowns, he on¬
ward came,

With gentle pace — and April was his name.’

Mover bill. John Webb.

ANECDOTE.

y /

A lmansor, king of Morocco, one
day loft himfelf while hunting.
A furious ftorm arofe, and the earth
was drenched with torrents of rain;
and, as night approached, the dark -
nefs rendered the tempeft ftill more
dreadful. While the king fought a
place of /belter, he met with a poor
fifherman who was going to fifh for
eels in a neighbouiing pond. Al-
manfor aceofted him, and afked him
which was the road to the king’s
palace.

‘You are ten miles from it,5 faid
the fifherman.

The king afked him to conduct
him to it.

4 That I would not attempt/ faid
he, ‘were you Almanfor himfelf;
for in this dark night we might eafi-
ly both be frnothered m the marfhes.’

‘ What is Almanfor to you,’ faid
the king, ‘ that you fliould mention
his name ?’

‘ What is he to me ?’ replied the
fifherman : 4 a thoufand lives fuch
as yours or mine are not worth one
of his leaft important days ! No
prince better deferves the afte&ion
of his fubjedts ; arid that I have for
him is fo great that I love him better
than myfelf, and yet I love myfelf
very well.5

‘ You mu ft have received fome
very confiderable favours from him,
or you would not talk thus.5

4 Indeed I have not: but, in facft,
what more confiderable favours can
we receive from a good king than
ftricft juftice, and a wife and peace¬
able government? Under his pro¬
tection, I enjoy in peace whatever
it has pleafed God to beftow on me:
I go into my cottage and come out
of it when I pleafe, and no perfon
dares to injure or difturb me. — .
Come, you fhall be my gueft to¬
night, and to-morrow I will fhew
your way wherever you pleafe. 5

The king followed the good man
to his cottage, dried himfelf, flipped
with his family, and took his repofe
till the next day, when be foon found
his courtiers and the company with
whom he had been hunting. He
amply rewarded the fifherman, giv¬
ing him his caftle of Caefar Alcubir,
which afterwards became one of the
fineft towns in Africa, diftinguifhed
for the arts and fciences and the
cultivated manners of the inhabit¬
ants.

1 93

Matilda ; a Drama •

To the Editor of the Lady’j Magazine.

sir,

1 send you the translation of a French play, entitled ‘Matilda.’ The-
fubjeft is taken from Mrs. Inch bald’s pleafing novel, ‘ A Simple Story/
though the author (M. Monvel, member of the national inftitute) has
not mentioned her name in acknowledgment, but only that of M.
Defchamps, the tranflator of the novel under the title of ‘ Simple Hiftoire /
The piece has been a<5ted at Paris with much applaufe.* Yours, &c.

Twickenham, March 25, 1803. Eleanor H - -

MATILDA ; A DRAMA

IN FIFE AC TS .

Count d’Orlheim.

Ma tilda, his daughter.

Amelia Walstein, the friend of the late
countefs d’Orlheim, and who had brought
up Matilda.

Ernest, rtephew to count d’Orlheim.

M. H erman, chaplain to the count.

CHARACTERS.

M. E lou me, fteward to the count.

Baron Wodmar.

Louisa, chamber-maid to Matilda.

Philip, fervant to the count, in love with
Matilda.

Charles, another fervant to the count.
Several other fervants of the count and baron..

'The Scene is a Saloon in the Cafe of Orlbeim.

ACT I.

Scene I.
Louifa, Philip „

Philip ,

That do you fay, my dear
charming Louifa; will you
.always love me ?

Louifa. Always, my dear Philip:
I can promife without danger of
breaking my word. I am of a fami¬
ly in which infidelity was never
known.

Philip. Thofe families, my dear,
are not very numerous. I fliould
not be willing to fwear as much for
mine. But I (hall be a pattern to
my dependents.

Louifa. I hope you will, indeed.
But count d’Orlheim comes here to¬
day, and you will inform him of our
intentions, and alk his permillion,
will you not?

Philip . I (hall give him two hours
to take breath, for it is not a very
lhort journey from Berlin to our
caflle; and when he has recovered a
little from his fatigue, I will go to
him, and, with the utmofl polite-
Vol. XXXIV.

nefs, lay before him the Bate of our
affairs, and our plan for future feli¬
city. He will approve it; he will
make us a handfome prefent : we
Shall marry, be happy, and foon en¬
rich the world with another family of
thole good but fc arce people who
know not what infidelity is.

Louifa. I would not advife you to
pronounce that word in his pre¬
tence ; it will not be the means of
advancing our affairs.

Philip. Why fo ?

Louifa. I cannot tell : firlf, be-
caufe it is a fee ret ; fecondly, be-
caufe 1 do not know it.

Philip. Thofe are excellent rea-
fons, certainly. But, perhaps, the
count has fuffered by this kind of
infidelity ?

Louifa {in a low ‘voice , and fignif-
cantly). I allure you it is whifpered
fo.

Philip. It could not be by the poor
late countefs his wife ; for whofe
death I have fo often feen you fhed
tears ?

Louifa {with the air of a terfon
2 C

194 Matilda ;

biozus more thanjhe is willing to tell).
Alas ! - -

Philip. It is fa id they lived fe pa¬
ra, fe more than ten years.

Louifa. That is a long time $ efpe-
cially if there fhould be no caufe for
it but mere fufpicion.

Philip . I have been told, too, that
when the countefs was on her death¬
bed, the count remained obftinately
Hi ut up in his chamber, and would
not even go to receive her laft fare¬
well.

Louifa. And what do you think of
his exprefdy forbidding any perfon
ever to mention her name in his
hearing ?

Philip. Or what is to be thought of
his treatment of his daughter Matil¬
da, who, fince the death of her mo¬
ther, has returned to this caftle,
where the poor girl lives as if her
father were an abfolute ftranger to
her?

Louifa. All this gives room for
many conjectures,

Philip If I had been longer in the
fervice of the count, I will engage I
ifhould have know n fomething more
of this fecret. — So the countefs,
whom you all believed to be fo vir¬
tuous, was actually — —

Lou fa ( ha (lily) . I do not fay that.

Philip. What, then, is it that you
do fay ?

Louifa. Nothing at all : you have
forced me to fpeak. Be allured that
I know nothing with certainty ; and
that no perfon in the houfg, on this
fubjeCt, ' knows more than myfelfj
not even, perhaps, Mr. Herman,
our chaplain, the intimate friend of
the count'; and if he does not know,
certainly nobody elle does.

k y *

Philip. Do you not think that
rnadame Amelia Waiftein, fo long
the friend of the countefs d’Oil-
heirp, and who never abandoned
Matilda, knows fomething ?

Leu fa. Yes; if Hie would tell — I
believe fhe does. But there is no
getting a word out of her.

a Drama*

Philip. And young Mr. Erneff,
the nephew of the count, whom he
intends to make his heir, to the ex-;
ciufion of his own daughter, what
does he fay to all this ?

Louifa. Mr. Erneft > Since his
long illnefs, that is, ever fince the
return of Matilda to the caftle, his
character has greatly altered. All
his; former vivacity and fprightli-
nefs are changed into melancholy
and dejeCtion. I am much miftaken
if his amiable coufin has not made
an impreffion on him.

Philip. Do you believe fo ? — •
There are in almoft all families in-
comprehenfible fecrets of one kind
or another. But, after all, this is
no bufinefs of ours. I am forry for
the count, who is unhappy; and I
am forry for poor Matilda, who, if
her mother was guilty, ought not to
fuffer for the crimes of another.

Louifa. Guilty 1 — Crimes! — Who
faid a word pf any fuch thing?—
Be on your guard not to Jtalk to any
body elfe as you do to me ; for if you
do, you may depend on it we itiall
not remain long at the caftle.

Philip. Am i addicted to talking?
Except vourfelf, I arn dumb to all
the world. — Here is Mr. Herman,

Scene II.

Henman , Louifa , Philip .

Herman. How has Matilda pa fled
the night ?

Louifa. Very indifferently, fir.

Herman [a fide). Poor child ! —
{Aloud.) And how does rnadame
Amelia ?

Louifa. She does all (lie can to re¬
vive the fpirits. of my young lady.

Herman. Will they not. come
down this morning?

Louifa. Come down! — Good
Heavens 1 — The count will be here
to day.

Herman. Yes, I know it; but it i?
as yet early and the count, perhaps,
will not be here till nopn.

Matilda ; a Drama .

Louifa . His nephew, Mr. Erneft*
is, I believe, juft going to mount his
horfe to go to meet him.

Herman. His nephew will be well
received ; ( afide ) and his daughter
obliged to hide herfelf. ( Aloud ) Is
the count’s fteward in the caftle?

Philip. Mr. Bloume? Yes,’ fir, I
have juft come from him.

Herman. Requeft him to come to
me — 1 have a word or two to fay to
him — 1 will wait for -him here.

Philip I will let him know im¬
mediately. [£.r;/.

Scene JII.

Herman , Louifa.

Louifa. I am going up again to
my lady and madame Amelia, have
you any metlage to fend to them?

Herman. No; I ftiall fee them
when they comedown.

Lcitifa. Oh ! I had forgot,' — Mr.
Erneft, who rofe before it was day¬
light, met me a little while ago, and
alked me if you were to be feen.

Herman. I am not very defirous
to receive his vifits.

Louifa. He is a very amiable
young man.

Herman . Yes ; his exterior appear¬
ance is very good.

Louifa. No perfon can have a
more prepofTeffing countenance.

Herman. Men, in thefe days, can
afiume almoft any countenance that
fuits their intereft.

Louifa {afide'). He does not love
Mr. Erneft, and that, indeed, is the
only fault he has. {Aloud) If I
meet him, then, I will tell him that
you do not with to lee him.

Herman. No, by no means : I may
think lb; but it would be very rude
to tell him fo: he is the nephew of
the count. — if he alks you, you may
tell him that 1 am engaged — very
much engaged.

Louifa. I will not fail. (Afide —
going) How is it pollible not to love
Mr. Erneft! — to me it is incon¬
ceivable.

195

a Scene IV.

Herman alone.

Mr. Erneft — Mr. Erneft, who
takes advantages of the prejudices
of an irritated father, who will
gather the fruits of injuftice, who
will defraud the natural heir, and
enrich himfelf with herfpoils — Yes,
certainly I hate him — or, at leaft, I
endeavour all in my power to hate
him— for I own I find it difficult.
He has a certain air of fenfibilitv,

ef '

mildnefs, and candour, which mull
greatly intereft in his favour all who
do not know what caufe there is to
fufpedt him. But who can pene¬
trate the fecrets of the eonfciences
of men 1

Scene V.

Herman , Bloume.

Bloume. Philip has told me, fir,
that you wifiied to fpeak with me.

Herman . Yes,£nydear Mr. Bloume.
The count will be here in a few
hours: have you difpofed every
thing in the cafile according to the
directions I gave you, by his orders?

Bioume . Alas ! yes, fir. The iron
grate has been put up, and the heavy
door, to (hut in the Jong gallery that
feparates the apartments of the
count from thofe occupied by his
amiable daughter, and madam Ame¬
lia Wallfein, her companion. Every
thing is arranged as you directed.

Herman. That is fufficient.

Bloume. During four years that I
have lived jn the fervice of the
count I have executed no orders
that gave me fo much pain.

Herman. I believe it.

Bloume. The amiable Matilda is,
then, to be again a prifoner, as long
as her father lnall continue at the
cafile.

Herman {nvi/h a figh). Prifoner.
indeed; that is the true name for
her fituation.

Bloume. And by order of hor
father !

: C z

Matilda ; a Drama .

156

Herman. And, what muft hill
more excite aftonifhment, by order
of a man who is good, generous, be¬
neficent, to all around him, and bar¬
barous only to his daughter.

Bloume. But how is it poffible he
fhould hate her ?

Herman. He adored her, Mr.
Bloume. She is his only child. —
For fix whole years I knew him the
moft tender of parents. Matilda is
the exaCt portrait of her mother;
and no perfon is ignorant how ten¬
derly count d’Orlheim loved his Ca¬
roline, his amiable and unhappy
lady.

Bloume. But for a man to love his
wife, yet banifh her from him for
ever, and refufe even to fee her on
her death-bed ; to have a charming
daughter, yet to make her a prifoner
an his own houfe, never to confent
to fee her, and to threaten never to
forgive thofe who fhall even pro¬
nounce her name in his .prefence;
furely, this is inexplicable extrava¬
gance.

Herman. Yet what are the contra¬
dictions which do not meet in the
human mind and heart; where we
find at once reafon and folly, vice
and virtue, vengeance and remorfe !
Such is man, my dear Blourne, and
thus, with fome trifling differences,
are we all conftituted. When we
recollect this, we {hall find no caufe
for pride.

Bloume. It is faid that the young
baron Wodmar, fince the death of
his father, has made offers to Ma¬
tilda : why has the count refufed
them ?

Herman. Wodmar will never ob¬
tain Matilda. The very name of
this young man makes count d’Orl¬
heim turn pale and fhudder, and ex¬
cites emotions of fury which all his
yea ion cannot reprefs.

Bloume. Yet the count was the
friend of his father.

Herman . Their intimacy was un¬
equalled. Wodmar, though he was
a widower and had a fon, became a
Tuitor for the hand of the beauteous
and virtuous Caroline. But count
d’Orlheim obtained the preference.
The baron furmounted his paflion,
and became their moft intimate
friend. Six years were pafled in
the iitmoft harmony. A journey
which the count made, an abfence of
fifteen months, and an unexpected
return, divided the friends, feparated
the hufband and wife, and fpread
difcord and confufion through the
family. The countefs fet out with
her daughter in the middle of the
night, and fliut herfelf up in a fo-
litary caftle at a great diftance from
hence. Count d’Orlheim took re¬
fuge at Berlin. Baron Wodmar
appeared no more, but left Pruffia,
travelled, and only returned to his
native country to yield his laft
breath.

Bloume. All this feems to prove
that a reafonable motive of jea-
loufy -

Herman. Does jealoufy then re¬
quire a reafonable motive ?

Bloume. But in fjaCt the countefs
d’Orlheim -

Herman . Was a moft refpeCfable
woman. She died the victim of a
myftery which could never be pene¬
trated.

Bloume. Here comes Mr. Erneft—

Herman (with diJfatisfaSton) . Pie
does. I cannot fhun him. Go,
my friend, I will fee you again in a
moment. Our converfation will
not be long. I never find much to

fay to people I do not love. - -

[ Exit Bloume , ‘who, as he pajjes Er-
neft , makes him an obeifance, which hut
politely returns . ]

(To be continued.)

CharaBeriftic and critical Remarks on Females. 197

Char after ijlic and critical Remarks
on Females.

( Continued from p. 154.)

4 Bafe envy withers at another’s joy,

And hates the excellence it cannot reach.’

Thomson.

Tt has been before obferved, that
* women who are rendered con-
fpicuous by qualities which adorn
and dignify human nature, are
oftentimes envied; and, that envy
in oneperfon manifefts the exigence
of excellence in another : but, as
all mull acknowledge that to emu¬
late another’s virtues is more com¬
mendable than to envy them, it is
the province of the moralift to exert
his utmoft endeavours for the pur-
pofe of inducing perfons to be
emulous, iriftead of envious, by con¬
vincing them that a great and vir¬
tuous character is eafilv attainable,
if its acquifition is ear ne lflv defined.
Young perfons are fometimes in¬
clined to be envious of .another’s
exalled reputation, from a doubtful'
confideration that their own can
never, by any human exertion, re-
femble it; and, therefore, left this
confideration fhould influence the
youthful mind of Selina, which we
with to perceive always regulated by
the principfts of prudence, we fhall
in this place prefume to take a re¬
view of her conduct, and point out
a track whicji cannot fail to lead her
to celebrity, and thus we commune
with her as her friendly and fami¬
liar monitors:

Selina, we are well pleafed with
that obedience to parental injunc¬
tions, which we have at all times
beheld you as a daughter, ftridtly
obferve: — be affured that parental
affedtion. is ftrongly indicative of
virtuous inclinations, and that, in
proportion as it leflens, the mind
becomes more ex do fed to evil. We

admire the meekneis of your tern-

per; fo long as you preferve it you
will not be friendiefs. Feminine
meeknefs has a kindly operation 011
the mind of man, and infufes into
his breaft the virtue of general be¬
nevolence: it operates on the ftronger
paflions as oil on a fluctuating lake,
which, wherefoever it flows, fmootiis
the iurface, and pacifies the undu¬
lations, of the water. You are juft
arrived at the age of reafon, and,
in a few years, you will be intro¬
duced into public notice. Your
mind is contemplative, and capable
of diftinguiftiing good from evil.
You are furrounded with various
temptations, and hence it will be
incumbent on you to exercite your
utmoft vigilance and circumlpec-
tion, left you fliould liften to*the
captivating folicitations of fafhion
on one fide, or be allured by the
general prevalence of diflipatioii
on the other. You mu ft confider
your character as the deareft earthly

* 4

bleflinr of the free-born mind. We

think we may fafelv entertain an
exalted opinion of your rectitude
amidft every temptation, although
we too often perceive that .vice
fteals on the human heart by im¬
perceptible gradations. W,e have
obferved your behaviour to be uni¬
formly prudent from earlieft in¬
fancy, and hence we reafonably in¬
fer that it will continue fo. You
deferve applaufe for the fcdulous
attention which you give to the
inftrueftions recommended to you
for your mental improvement: a
continuance of the fame attention
will infure to you confiderable
literary attainments, which will
make you refpedtable in public fo-
ciety. Your mufical acquirements:
are to be efteemed, and we cannot
pafs by them without a comment.
As a mufician, you deferve the praife
of ingenuity and (kill— your ear is
chaite, and your judgment corredf.
The knowledge of mufi.c we can-

198

Account of the Life ,

fider as an elegant accomplifhment,
and it certainly has an immediate
tendency to promote virtue; for,
wh 1 lif the ear is foothed by harmo¬
nious iounds, the Heart, by a fecret
Sympathy, is capable of being improv¬
ed. In a fhort time you may expedt
to be fur rounded by fycophants; one
will praife your fen fe, another your
accontiplilhments, and others your

uty, ife guarded againft the foft
notes of flattery. Beauty unquef-
tionabiy has an extenfive power ;
but though it will nttradf admira¬
tion, it will not always fecure it.
A lady having beauty alone is like
an elegant portrait, which can only
be gazed at. For the moll part,
handforne ladies are ignorant, vain,
and luperci lions, and fometimes
vicious: they are fond of flattery,
and parafites at' all times abound:
they are pra.fed till beauty fades,
or till more enchanting beauties
appear and lupplant them, and then
they link into contempt or oblivion.
But thofe ladies are otilv truly
efteemed who are diAinguifhed for
their fuperior meeknefs and affa¬
bility, virtue, and benevolence, The
exemplarinefs of your character is
at. prefect unimpeachable : it re As
with you to maintain it, and the
longer it is preferved unfpotted, the
moi e valuable will be your acquaint¬
ance and fritndfhip. Jf ladies in
general would imitate your con¬
duit, we are convinced that they
would delerve greater commenda¬
tion, attract more rational admir¬
ation, and be more beloved.
tV ailing ford.

{to be concluded in our next, )

Accou NT of the Life and Musical
Productions of Doctor Ar¬
nold.

from Dr. Reeds Nczv Cyclopaedia. ]

JV/f R • Samuel Arnold received his
| muiicai education aft the Chapel

&e. of Dr, Arnold,

Royal, St. James’s, partly under Mr.
Gates, and partly under his fucceflor*
Pr*. Nares. He manifeAed early
indications of thofe talents by the
cultivation and exercife of which he
acquiied Celebrity in the fcience to
which he was devoted ; and his ap¬
plication, as well as fnbfequent at¬
tainments, fully juftified the expect
tations which were formed con-
ceming him both by his parents and
pi eceptors. It is hardly neceAary
to mention that lively little air, ‘ If
tis joy to wound a lover,’ which Arft
excited popular attention, as it was
foon fucceeded by various compo-
fnions of a luperipr kind, which
evinced the genius and taAe, and
eAabli filed the proftffional reputa-
tion, of Mr. Arnold.

About the year 1760, Mr. Beard,
one of the managers of Covent-
garden rheatie, duly apprized of
his extraordinary merit, introduced
him to the notice of the public, as
compofei to that h'oufe; and, in the
year <7 76, he was engaged by Mr.
Geo; ge Col man, to conduct the mo-
fical ^department at the theatre in
the Hay-market. The chief mu-
flcaj pieces that were produced for
many years at this theatre, were
com poled by Mr. Arnold.

Having in early life enjoyed the
benefit of Handel’s direction and
luperintendence, and having derived
bom this fublime compofer a taAe
for facred muAc, he diverted his
attention Irom thofe lighter pieces
in which he had gained reputation,
to die compoAtion of oratorios; and
Ins performances of this kind lerved
to augment the fame which he had
already acquired. In the year 1767
he made choice of the ‘ Cure of
Saul/ written by the late rev. Dr,
Frown, for the fubjedf of his firft
cffoit in the higher Ayle of rnuAcal
compoliticn. Such was his fuccefs,
that tins produdlion is generally al¬
lowed, to be the beA in its kind fine?

Account of m Li % ibl. VJ UL

tile time of Handel. It wasgeneroufly
preferred by the author to the fociety
inftituted for decayed muficians and
their families ; and to that fociety it
proved a very valuable acquifition.

The approbation of the public
encouraged Dr. Arnold to proceed ;
and the 4 Cure of Saul’ was foon
followed by the oratorios of 4 Abi-
ipelech/the 4 Refurretfion/ and the
4 Prodigal Son/ which was perform¬
ed during; feveral fucce.iive Lents

o ,

at the theatre-royal in the Hay-
market, a • d Covent-garden theatre,
un t-' his own management and
direction. About the time of his
cor moling the 4 Refurrection/ he
pubbihed, in fcore, four fets of
Vauxhall longs, moil of which are
Angularly fweet in their melodies,
and difplay in their accompaniments
a thorough acquaintance with the
characters and powers of the various
infh uments. 4 Of ail his oratorios,’
fays an anonymous writer, 4 the
41 Prodigal Son” reflects the greateft
honour on his talents and judgment/
So high, indeed, was the fame of
this facred drama, that, in 1773, it
was performed, with his permiffion,
?t the inftalment of -the late lord
North as chancellor of the univerfi-
ty of Oxford. In confequence of
his ready compliance with the re-
queft made to him for the purpofe,
he was offered an honorary degree in
the theatre, but he preferred obtain¬
ing it in the academical mode; and,
agreeably to the ftatutes of the uni-
verfity, he received it in the fchool-
room, where he performed, as an
exercife, Hughes’s Poem on the
Power of Mufic. On this occalion
it is cuftomary for the mulical pro-
felTor of the univerfity to examine the
exercife of the candidate; but Dr.
Hayes, then profelfor of Oxford,
returned Mr. Arnold’s fcore un¬
opened, faying to him, 4 Sir, it is
quite unneceffary to ferutiaife the

exercife of the author of th£ Pro¬
digal Son/

In 1771 Mr. Arnold married a
lady of good family and fortune;
and about the fame year he .pur¬
chased Marybone- gardens, which
were a much-frequented feene of
gaiety and falhion. Here he pro¬
vided for the entertainment of the
public feveral excellent burlettas,
which were very favourably receiv¬
ed.

On the death of the late Dr.
Nares, in 1783, Dr. Arnold was
appointed his fuccdfor as organift
and compofer to his majefty’s chapel
at St. James’s; and at the grand
performance of the commemoration
of Handel, in Weftminfter-abbey,
the firft of which took place in 1784,
he was one of the fub-directors, and
prefented with a medal, which his
majefiy permitted the fub-directors
always to wear as a teftimony of
his approbation of their condu£t on
that occafion. I11 1 786 Dr. Arnold
projected the plan of pnblifiiing an
uniform edition of all the works of
Handel, and he proceeded as far as
1 1 8th number, enriching his edition
with beautiful engravings. He alfo
publifhed, about the fame time, four
volumes of cathedral mufic, intend¬
ed as a continuation of Dr. Boyce’s
well-known work; three of the vo¬
lumes are in fcore for the voices,, and
one for the organ. In 1789, the
Academy of Ancient Mufic chofe
Dr. Arnold for the director and
manager of this inftitution; and he
condudted it with honour to himfelf,
and with fatisfaction to the acade¬
micians and fubferibers. In 1796
he fucceeded Dr. Hayes as con¬
ductor of the annual performances
at St. Paul’s for the feaft of the fons
of the clergy, and in this fuuation,
he uniformly maintained his diftin-
guifhed character as a muficai pro-j
fdfor,

™gne ana tiabor ; a Gothic Romance .

Dr, Arnold clofed life, after a
gradual decay, in the fixty- third
year of his age, on the 22 d of Octo¬
ber, 1802 i and his remains were in¬
terred, with every mark of refpe6f,
in Weftminfter-abbey. He had five
children, of whom two daughters
and one fon furvived him. His fon,
Mr. Samuel Arnold, is the author
of feveral mufical dramas which
have been well received, and of a
novel, entitled ‘The Creole;’ and
he is now making rapid progrefs in
the pro fehi on of a portrait-painter.

Of the abilities of Dr. Arnold, as
a mufical compofer, it is needlefs to
add any thing by way of eulogium ;
the public approbation has antici¬
pated the tribute of applaufe which
the biographer might be difpofed to
pay to his memory. His oratorios
are not unworthy of the dilciple of
lb great a mailer as Handel; and
fuch was the verfatility of his ta¬
lents, that he not only acquitted
himfelf with high credit in thofe
fc le m 11 and augutt fubjecls which
relate to our religious duties, but in
thofe tender, playful, and humorous
compofitions which belong to the
bell of our public amufements. The
4 Maid of the Mill,’ the ‘Agreeable
Surprife,’ ‘ Inkle and Yarico,’ the
‘Surrender of Calais,’ the ‘Ship¬
wreck,’ and ‘Peeping Tom,’ will
continue to delight as long as a
fenfe of harmony l'ubfifts. Arnold's
6 Shun a mite Woman,’ one of his
lateft produ&ions, pofTefies the ge¬
nius of his earlier compofitions, with
that additional fcience which he had
derived from ftudy and experience.

It may be further mentioned, to
the honour of Dr. Arnold’s charac¬
ter and memory, that the exercife of
his profeflional talents was not con¬
fined either to the amufement of
the public, or to his own private
emolument. Many charitable infti-
tutions have derived great benefit
from his voluntary and gratuitous

abidance. Befides his profefiiona!
excellences, and the general bene*
volence of his difpofition, Dr. Ar¬
nold poll died many qualities which
entitled him to the efteem of thofe
who knew him. ‘ His genius and
fcience,’ fays an anonymous writer,
who feems to have known him well,
and to have juftly appreciated his
merit, k procured him a numerous
circle of friends, and his focial
and amiable difpofition conftantly
preferved them. His converfation
was pleafant and unaffe&ed ; his
heart was framed to feel for the
diftrefs of others; and his friend-
fhip was zealous and fincere.*

SIGNE and HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

(Continued from p. i$2.)

Tn the meantime, Alf and Alger
collected an army. They affem-
bled a hundred fhips, and Habor
as many. Both fleets carried the
fame number of mariners and fol-
diers. In refplendent ornaments the
fhips of Habor were excelled by thofe
of the Danes. Some of them had
their prows gilded ; fome were de¬
corated with heads of dragons or
lions, and all were painted red,
blue, or yellow. The hern of the
veil'd which was to carry the princes
was formed in the fhape of a golden
dragon’s tail. Swords and fpears
glittered on the decks, and fhields
hung over the fides. Alf bore on
his fhidd the figure of a warrior in
complete armour piercing a bear,
over which was inferibed the name
of ‘Habor/ He went to Signe, who
was indifpofed, and faid to her —
‘ Th 11s fhall if fare with Habor, and

then Hildegifle fhall be thine’ -

‘ Yet, then, muft he fir ft over¬
come you, brother.— But if you

Signe and Habor;

^ain a victory over Habor, you cer¬
tainly will be fafe.’

‘ I believe,’ anfwered Alf, f that
Bera is in the right-, when lie fays
you love that Norwegian: I believe
you wilh him to obtain the victory
more than you wifh that we fhould.’

Signe was file-it for fome time 5
at length fhe anfwered — 4 1 leave it
to Heaven to dilpofe of my fate;
I am prepared for every event.*

An innumerable multitude fol¬
lowed the warriors to the fhips.
oigar led the way. He took leave of
Alf, Alger, and Habor. His knees
trembled and knocked together.
Bera appeared more courageous.
She furveyed Habor with a revenge¬
ful eye.

‘ Go,’ faid file, in a low voice;
* go to certain death !’

‘To certain virfory,’ retorted
Habor, who overh ard her.

She embraced her Ions, faying -
‘ My good wifhes go with vou ! I
am certain that you All return the
avengers of Hugleik, the conquerors
of this proud Norwegian, who
thinks that he alone is worthy of
‘Signe. — Oh, ye gods! may Signe
rather die a virgin'! may 1 rather
die without a furviving child to
-clofe.my eyes, than this hated man,’
pointing to Habor, « boaft of vic¬
tory !’

Alf whifpered her — « Do you,
then, call on the gods?’

4 In compliance with popular pre¬
judice,’ anfwered fhe.

Svanh 1 Id came next. She wore a
white robe, on the bi eafi of which
was the portrait cyf Alg^r embroi¬
dered in gold by her own hands.
She took from her head a crown of
oak- leaves —

4 This, faid fhe, 4 will I place on
your brow, dear ' lger, when you
return unhurt, and united in friend-
fhip with your antagonifr.’

4 i hat,’ laid the queen, in a whif-
per to her, is the voice of the friend
Vol. XXXIV.

a Gothic Romance . QQ 1

of Signe, not of the affianced bride
of Alger.’

'4 He may ire viftorious, yet be
united in friend hip to his antago-
nifl His honour is above all things
dear to me,’ replied Svanhild.

Alger tenderly embraced her,
then tore himfelf from her, and
fprang into the Yip Svanhild
dropped a tear; and all prefent ma-
nBeifed an anxious concern, except
Byra, Alf, and Bolvife.

( How fondly Alger loves Svan¬
hild !' faid Bera.

4 W 10 does not love the good and
affectionate heart?’ anfwered Syvald.

Habor and Syvald took leave of
each other as became heroes, with
refolution, yet with tendernefs. —
They embraced each other.

4 May Heaven difpofe every thing
fo!- the belt !’ faid Syvald.

4 Your friend I (hall ever remain,
let what will happen,’ anfwered Ha¬
bor. 4 Bear to Signe my affection¬
ate farewell. Tell her that I will
fight bravely, yet will not forget
that I am contending againft her
brothers.* He now broke a gold
ring, and giving one half of it to
Syvald, — 4 Carry,’ faid he, 4 this to
Signe it (hall be a pledge that X
will be hers, living- or dead. The
other half 1 wull bring her when I
return crowned with viclory J

When the Danes went on board
their fh :ps, the affembied multitude
wi filed them good fortune and a
fafe return: but when the Norwe¬
gians embarked they w^ere fiient;
for though they admired and loved
Habor, yet their Danifh fpirit did
not luffer them to wiffi him good
fortune and victory. Alver the
prieft of Thor, offered a facrifice on
the bank oi the river, ard confulted
the entrails of the bead. Fiercely
he rolled his eyes, and wrinkled his
forehead; frantic weie his attitudes;
frequently he unclofed his lips, as if
about to fpeak, gnathed with his

202

Signe and Habor y a Gothic Romance \

teeth, damped with his feet, while*,
his whole body trembled, and at
length faid, in a fearful voice, and
with broken exclamations, — * Re¬
conciliation — Death — Conflagration.
— Defeat — Joy — Lamentation —
Speedily — Far-removed’ -

A fhuddering feized the multi¬
tude^ who obferved a profound ft-
lence. Svanhild fainted, and funk
in the arms of her female attendant,
Gun war. Bolvife alone laughed,
and the queen faid to him: 4 The
prediction is ambiguous, as udrai.
The impoftor w idles to perfuade us
that he knows fometbing. He pro¬
nounces words of contrary mean¬
ings, and thus has bis choice of two
©ppofite events. But he lives by
fuch deception.’

The (hips now defeended the
river, their green, yellow, blue, and
red flags waving in the wind. 'The
found of flutes and harps was heard
on board. On the fhore, youthful
maidens and newly-married women
danced to the found of drums, cym¬
bals, and conchs. They wiflied that
Signe might obtain a hufband die
loved, and that the honour of Den¬
mark might remain unfullied ; yet
at the fame time they fighed, for
they comprehended not how two
things fo oppofite could be recon¬
ciled. The queen, however, wifhed
only the defeat and definition of
Habor and the Norwegians; and
thefe die believed were certain.
Signe, thought die, will buffer her-
felf to be perfuaded to recal her
vow when Habor is vanquifhed ;
and Freya will not be offended, for
ffie knows nothing of it. But though
Signe fhculd refute to be perfuaded,
what will be the confequence? die
will perhaps die unmarried. Many
maidens die unmarried. But I fliall
obtain my revenge. The blood of
Hugleik yet frpokes. Sweden and
Denmark will be avenged. Signe
may borrow for awhile; but time

will heal every borrow. She is
young; die is a maiden — a true
maiden, or die would not fo fud-
denly have loved this dranger. She
may as Suddenly love another.’

In the mean time Signe was a
prey to the mod: tormenting anxiety.
Her love of her brothers and of her
country druggled in her heart with
her affeef ion for Habor. She dared
not even afk herfelf what die really
wifhed. Imagination now reprefent-
ed to her tender heart her brothers;
her converfe with them from her
youth; the cheerful hours die had
p aided with them, and the tender
cares die had felt for them ; the ca-
refies and joyful embraces they had
mutually lavifhed on each other as
often as they had returned crowned
with victory. How diould die now
receive them? — Perhaps dead,
wounded, or, to fuppofe the mod
favourable idue, vanquidied.

4 Radi vow! and vet muff it not

be broken.’ Freya heard it. 4 Yet,’
faid die, f it was this vow which
gave to me Habor; but for it, he
probably had never been me. Ha¬
bor 1 dear to me is the name. He
who bears it is a hero, and I will
love him as a heroine. Remember,
Signe, thou art a princefs, thou art
a Dane. Kabor may fall, Signe
may die : but Habor, too, may con¬
quer; find conquer in fuch a man¬
ner as to become the friend of my.
brothers. A If and Alger mud: dill
be allowed to be brave warriors,
though another diould be found
to excel them. Signe, fhow that
thou art worthy of Kabor. He
cannot love one unworthy of him.
He braves death to win thy hand,
for thy heart is already his; ancf
wilt thou fear to die for him ? Live,
dear Kabor, live; live for Signe;
Signe liver, and wiil die for thee.
Arife, Signe, dry thy tears, and diow
thyfelf worthy of Habor.’

She left her chamber with a firm

, Sig 'tie and Habor ; a Gothic Romance •

203

ftep; her tears no longer flowed,
Ihe lifted to Heaven her eyes, which
beamed with animation and hope.
Before fhe reached the hall of her
father, fhe met the queen, her
mother.

* What, fo calm and fo unruffled,
Signe,’ faid Bera, 4 while on your
account your brothers are gone to
engage in the deadly conflict!’

6 I trull the gods will protect
them,’ faid Signe; 4 I leave them
and my fate in the hands of the
gods/

6 Yes,’ faid Bera contemptuoufly,
f the gods will, no doubt, defcend
from Heaven at your prayer.’

Signe anfwered only with a ligh.

4 Why do you figh, Signe ?’ faid
Bera.

' Becaufe my mother, on a fnbje£l
of fuch imoortance, thinks other*-
wife than 1 do — otherwife than all.’

4 Alf and Bolvife think as I do.’

4 The latter deferves not to be
mentioned ; but Alf gives me much
uneafinefs.’

4 Alf has frequently returned vic¬
torious, though he believes not in
the gods, but trulls in himfelf
alone.’

f We live not merely for this
toorld, but for another.’

4 Of this world we are certain ;
of the o' her not. Frode facrificed
daily to the gods, yet was varrquifhed
and llain.’

4 He died like a hero: we mud all
die. After death virtue will be re¬
warded. Heaven is the lad dwelling
of the virtuous.’

4 You hope to find Habor there?’

4 Him and all the virtuous.’

4 Poor Signe ! vou live for another
and an uncertain world, and negleft
the prefent, of which you are fure.’

Here they parted ; Bera with looks
of contemptuous pity, and Signe
with eyes exprcllive of a gentle and
feffe&ionate compaffion. Signe was
calm, but not indifferent; Ihe was

penlive and fflent, and made no
anxious enquiries, for die had pre¬
pared her mind for whatever might
be her fate. Bera, with cruel jell¬
ing, frequently fpoke of the joy Ihe
Ihould feel when Habor’s head
ihould be laid at her feet. Sigar was
filent and lighed. Syvald faid little,
but lignihecl that he nulled in 'the
gods.

Bolvife faid, 4 I hope our princes
will not leave a Norwegian alive. *

4 And faid Beivife, 4 earnedly
entreat the gods that the iffue of the
conteil may be for the general good
of both Norwegians and Danes,
Svanhikl Ihowed, in the whole of
her behaviour, affe61ion to her
lover, and tendernefs for her friend,
the princefs. tier attendant, Gun-
vor, when the was alone with her,
would alk her, 4 How can you, child,
widi well to him who would take
the life of your lover ?’

4 The princefs Signe is my
deareft friend : die loves him, and
he is worthy her love.’

‘ But he is gone to draw his fword
againd him who loves you and whom
you love.’

4 Signe’s vow compels him, and
he loves Signed

4 But do you not alfo love Alger?’

4 You know well what anfvver mv
heart mud return. But Signe too
is dear to me ; and I love all whom
die loves.’

4 But Ihould Alger fall — diould
the hand of Habor -

4 Say no more, dear Gunvor; let
us not render ourfelves unhappy by
anticipating misfortunes that may
never affaii us. 1 trud that the gods,
who know the virtues of Alger, will
protect him, and that he will return
home in fafety, and with unblemilbed
honour. Yes, even though Kaboi%
diould conquer. I know Alger, and
that he will not return but as be¬
comes a hero.’ ^

The two fleets now defeended the.

2 D 2

204

Signs and Habor ; a Gothic Romance .

river, and ploughed the fea with
foaming prows. Ship was oppofed
to (hip: they grappled fait each
other, and the naval combat was
changed into a fight on firm ground.
The fhips on each fide were of equal
fize, and fiiied with an equal number
of warriors, except that the veffel on
board of which were the Danifli
princes was higher than that which
carried Habor. Alfand Alger en¬
deavoured to avail themfelvesof this
advantage, to leap down into and
board Hahor’s {hip. They therefore
poured upon it a fliower of flones,
darts, and other miffile weapons.
Habor ordered his men to kneel, and
hold their fhields over their heads.

4 This ftorm,’ faid he, 4 will foon
be over and do little damage. Let
the Dares exhauft their flrength in
fuch ineffectual efforts.’

At length Alger ordered his men
to rufh impetuoufly forwards, and
endeavour to break the flrong pha¬
lanx of their enemies. But the
Norw egians were immoveable : they
flood like a wall. When the attack
of the Danes had failed, and their
miffiles were expended, the Norwe¬
gians flatted up, as they had been
dreAed bv Habor; and forme of
them climbing up on the fhields of
thofe in front, who ftill remained on
their knees, gained the deck of the
Danifli fliip. fjjibor entered it fir ft,
and was immediately followed by
Afmund, Biorn, and Afgrim (for
the names of thefe heroes ought to
be iinmoi talifed). In an inflant
they threw their fhields on their
backs, and, furioufly wielding their
xnaffy fwords with both hands, drove
back the oppofing Danes, and de¬
feated their attempts to furround
them ; till, in this manner, thirteen
Norwegians had entered the Danifli
fliip. The Danes were then reduced
to act folely on the defenfive, and
fiercely did the battle rage. Loud
was the claihing of fwords and the

dang of battered armour. The
blood flowed in torrents on the deck,
and with difficulty could th‘e warriors
keep their feet. They fought man
to man; and, when their lwords were
blunted with ineffectual blows, they
feized each other with furious gripe,
and endeavoured to decide the con-
teffc by the difference of bodily
flrength, fince their courage was
equal.

4 Redouble your efforts, brave
Danifli heroes V exclaimed Air :
‘‘prove yourfelves invincible, as you
have always hitherto been deemed,
by the defeat of Norway’s braveft
warriors 1’

4 Advance, brave Danes!’ cried
Alger: 4 exert all your courage and
all your flrength, for you combat
with Norwegian?!’

4 Oh, ye gods!’ exclaimed Habor,

4 give me flrength, give me fortune,
to vanquifh thofe who otherwife
will e ver remain invincible ! Signe!’
exclaimed he again, and ruflied with
more than mortal force on Alger.

The Danifli hero retreated one
flep backwards, and fet his foot on
a part of the deck which was flip—
pery with blood. The fhipfunk and
rofe with an undulating motion, for
a Norwegian fell. Alger flipped,
and Habor preffing on him with
redoubled violence, he fell. Loud
refounded his arms, and far was
heard his fall amid the tumult of the
battle. So thunder the wild waters
of Sarpen* in their headlong de-
feent, or the furious waves that lafh
the Norwegian rocks.

Rage, indignation, and fear, filled
the breads of the Danes when their
prince fell. Habor flooped over
him, and faid —

4 Deareft friend ! you have, I
hope, received no dangerous hurt?-’

Alger flretched out to him his,

, * The great cataratt near Sarpiburg, in thV
diocefe oi Chriftiania, in Norway. T»

205

Signe and Habor ;

fcand, and faid — 4 Thou hail con¬
quered : with refpedt to me, Signe is
thine.’

Habor railed him ; they embraced
each other, took their helmets from
their heads, and feaied their recon¬
ciliation with the kifs of friendfliip.

During this Dene the other war¬
riors flood ina&ive fpe<flators, and
their fwords ceafed from the work
of blood. But nofooner had Alger
retired than A!f fiercely exclaimed —

4 Here, Habor, here am I, the
avenger of Alger, of Denmark, and
of Signe !’

As a wolf, raging with hunger,
efpies and rufhes on his prey, fo
ruflied Alf on Habor. With one
furious blovf he cleaved bis fliield
and gauntlet, and the cuirafs and
mantle of Signe alone preferved his
life. The flrength of Alf began to
fail after this violent effort, and the
No rwegians, by Habor’s orders,
prefled upon him, and endeavoured
to make him a prifoner; for Habor
was unwilling to afcend the bridal
bed defiled with a brother’s blood.
But to effedff this was impoflible:
furioufly he wielded his terrible
falchion, and hewed down many a
warrior. Habor then took the ring
of Signe.

‘ I Twore,’ faid he, 4 by this facred
jewel, that Signe fliould be mine,
here or in heaven. For Signe I
combat : never will 1 renounce the
precious prize, though I fliould be
forced to bathe my hands in a bro¬
ther’s blood.’

The warriors now clofed : — fo
fight two furious lions: their eyes
flafli fire, they druggie with tre¬
mendous flrength, and furious rage;
while the behokler fhudders with
difmay. The reft of the warriors
defifted from the battle, and viewed
the terrible combatants with admira¬
tion and awe. Habor difcharged a
dreadful blow on the head of Alf,
which iplit his helmet, and deeply

a Gothic R.omance .

wounded him in the neck. More
furious was the ftroke of Alf; it fe¬
vered in like manner the helm of
Habor, and inflicted a deep wound
in his cheek. 7'he blood poured
from the wound, of Alf, and en¬
feebled he Tank on his k&ee.

4 You fail,’ faid Habor; f yield,
and let us be friends.’

4 i will have no friendfliip/ faid
Alf; f give me death!’ and, railing
his fword, aimed a blow at Habor,
which he with difficulty avoided ;
and which, had it taken piace, had
ended his life.

Enraged and indignant, Habor
ruflied on him, and, cleaving at one
blow his cuirafs, buried his fword in
his fide. Alf fank fenfdefs on the
deck, while the blood ftreamed from
his wounds.

4 1 have fl^in the brother of Signe!’
exclaimed Habor, with a faltering
voice; and, burfting into tears^
threw himfelf on his body, and em¬
braced him.

7 he red fliield, the fignal of
battle, was now taken down from
the maft; and the white fliield, the
token of peace, hoifted. The Danes
on board the other fliips had obtain¬
ed fome advantage, and a hundred
and fifty Norwegians had fallen ;
but, the Danifii princes being van¬
quished, the viftorvand Signe were
adjudged to the latter. •* Habor took
the tendered care of Alf, caufed him
to be conveyed to his own bed,
bound up his wounds, and, by the
aid of reviving liquors, reftored him
to fenfe.

‘ My lord,’ faid Afmund to Ha¬
bor, 6 you are anxious for others,
3nd forget yourfelf; your own
wounds require your attention.’

4 Let me,’ replied Habor, 6 be
fecu're of the life of Alf; it will then
be time enough to think of myfeif.’

He continued, therefore, to fit by
the bed of Alf till the latter moved,
and opened his eyes. He then led

£0 6

Pari/tan Fafhwm

him ; f for,’ fa id he, * my prefence
inay difturb him.’ Afmund then
drefted the wound in Habor’s cheek
as well as he was able.

Alf continued long iilent after he
recovered bis fenfes. At length he
enquired for Habor, who came to
him at his requeft.

4 Habor,’ laid he, 4 the laws of
honour command that Signe fliall
be thine; but, in my heart, never
can I be thy friend ; for thou art the
vidlor.’

4 It grieves me much,’ anfwered
Habor, 4 that the brother of my
Signe fhould refufe to be my friend ;
but 1 and Signe will do all in our
power, and may the gods profper
bur endeavours, to conquer his
averfion.’

4 It is in vain,’ replied Alf, eager¬
ly, 4 if is in vain that thou entertain¬
ed fuch a hope, for thou haft con¬
quered ; this offence my heart can
never forgive. Let it fuffice thee
that Signe is thine.’

4 Alf, too, fliall be mine, that is,
my friend. But fpeak no more, it
may irritate your wounds.’

4 I will fay no more. To-mor¬
row the fliips will return; but leave
me here ; were I able I would not
go to witnefs thy triumph.’

(To be continued.)

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( JVTh an Engraving elegantly co¬
loured.)

HThe return of mild weather has
produced great changes in all
he concerns cf the toilette. The
atin douillcttes are fucceeded by light
fhort robes. The fpencer is now
of a light cotton or linen fluff, rich¬
ly trimmed with lace. Veils and
parafols are again it) ufe, anti forne
dozens of crops have been feen.
Thtfe have the Rair as fhort as ppfti-

ble on the nape of the neck, and be¬
hind the ears. On the crown of
the head the hair is long, and col-
lecled in a pyramidal form, or elfe
laid over the brow. Hats are now
much more common than turbans :
the round are turned up in front,
the oval are nearly of the figure of
a bow net. Rofe, lilac, jonquil,
and barbel-blue, are the favourite
colours. Some hats, of the laft of
thefe colours, have radiations of
black velvet patched upon them.
Hats of white ft raw, with rofe rib¬
bands, begin to be worn. Fiats of
yellow draw are not yet in general
ufe: their brim is narrow, and they
are worn with white ribbands.
Cornets are ftill very much in faftiion
for undrefs. Coloured girdles are
(fill worn, crofted on the back like
the letter X, The fleeves of the
white robes are long and white, but
not puffed.

The women of faftiion have in
general cut their hair fhort; fo that,
except tranfparent cornets and veils
fattened to the form of the head, few
other novelties of head d refs have
of late come into ufe. Yellow are
preferred to v hite ftraw hats : the
crown is high ; the brim is narrow,
and of one breadth all-round; and
over the hat is a half handkerchief
of Florence. Lilac is the common
colour for the handkerchief. Low
waifts for the gowns, and robes
without a tail, are to be feen only in
full drefles. The drefles are trimmed
with a narrow frizzled lacing

Though the number of turbans
rather di mi nifties, the crape turban ,
fuch as represented in the plate, is
ftill much worn. The faftiion of
ftriped ribbands appears to be com¬
mencing. They were called, laft
year, Scotch ribbands; they are
now called ribbands ct-la- Pamela .
The three reigning colours for the
fichus, or neck-kerchiefs; are li¬
lac, rofe, or white; force of them

Engraved for the Ladies Magazine ^ipriL 1803

The Moral Zoologl/l. 207

are ftriped. The flowers worn are
thofe at prefe'nt in feafon, as the
hyacinth, jonquil, and lilac. Among
the more artificial ornaments we
meet with ananas, or pine-apples,
executed in the form of that fruit,
but of a lilac colour, for lilac ftill
continues the prevailing colour. It
fuits admirably a delicate complex¬
ion, but in the rage of fafhion this
property is never thought of. Bru¬
nettes , one would fuppoie, were
fondefl of it. Crept heads are all
the rage, with Meditfa locks in tor¬
tuous twifts about the face. W hat
a compofi ion of lovelinefs and ug-
Jinefs dots one of our elegantes pre-
fent ! eyes that would melt a. heart
of (tone, and the head-drefs of her
would turn a heart into done.
Veils ftill hold their empire; and the
little green paralol multiplies its
number as the rays off he fun in-
creafe their fervour. The black
and white lace fhawls are of enor¬
mous fize. Within thefe few days
the Bois de Boulogn and Longchamp
have been well attended. The pet¬
ticoat tranfparencies juft reach the
calf of the leg, and difplay a fine
ancle to great advantage. Nankeen
gaiters and pantaloons, with dark-
coloured coats, are in general ufe
with our young men or fafhion.
The difplay of golden-backed combs
is not fo great as ufual, yet the
fafhion ftill continues in force.

LONDON FASHIONS.

ress of blue muflin ; the back
made plain and very low ; the
fronts formed of a half iquare of the
fame muflin, which is fattened on
each fhoulder, drawn full acrofs the
bofom, and tied in a bow oefoi e ;
a full tucker of the fame under it.
The fleeves full, and drawn up in
the middle with quilled or puffed
ribband; the train very long, and

trimmed round the bottom with
the fame as the fleeves. The head
ornamented with a filver net, open
at the top to admit the hair in large
curls. White fhoes.

A white crape drefs over a farfnet
flip, made very low over the bofom
with a lace tucker ; the fleeves drawn
up with fteel ornaments, and trim¬
med round the bottom with ribband
and fteel: the bottom of the train
trimmed with the fame as the fleeves.
The hair drelled in the moft fafhion-
able manner, and ornamented with
a gold band.

Drefs of plain muflin. The head
ornamented with a twift of muflin,
faftened on the right fide, one end
falling over the right fhoulder.

Evening drefs of peach-coloured
taffety ; the fleeves of white latin,
with full epaulets the fame as the
drefs, drawn up and trimmed with
white ribband. Turban of fatin,
ornamented with blue feathers faft¬
ened on the left fide, and falling over
the right.

General Qbfervations.

The moft fafhionable colours are
blue, pink, and pea-green. Pelices
are fuperfeded by fur tippets or white
cloaks. Straw hats of various
fhapes, with dome crowns, are be¬
coming general. Ornaments of
gold, filver, or fteel, are univerfaily
worn in full drefs.

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART It.

(Continued from p. l/j6.)

THE PONDICHERRY EAGLE.

his bird is the moft beautiful
of the rapacious tribe. The
head, neck, and bread, are covered
with exceedingly white feathers,
longer than broad, the f baft and
edge of which are of a fine jet black.
The reft of the body is of a glolly

£08

The Moral Zoologiji.

chefnut, lighter under the wings than
above. The firft fix wing feathers
are black from the middle to the
tips, The cer-e is fky- coloured ; the
point of the bill yellovv, verging on
green : the feet are yellow, the talons
black. It is of a diminutive fize ; on
which account Buffbn is of opinion
that it ought to be excluded from the
eagles, fince it is not more than half
the bulk of the fmalleft, It is found
on the coaft of Malabar, where the
natives pay adoration to it as a kind
of divinity. It occurs likewife in the
kingdom of Vifap.oor, and the terri¬
tory of the Great Mogul; but it ap¬
pears to be, even in thefe countries,
a rare bird. It is the Falco Pontice-
rianus of Lihnaeus.

THE WHITE-J OHN,

This bird, which is very common
in France, received its name {Jean Is
Blanc ) from the peafantry of that
country, on account of the white-
nefs of its belly, the under furface
of its wings, its rump, and its tail.
This is however only true of the
male, the female being almoft entire¬
ly grey. Bu-fFo n observes that the
white-john is fo different from the
eagles that it fcarcely ought to be
clafTed with them, as it feems to
have a confiderable affinity to the
kite and buzzard. Like the kite
and other rapacious birds of the
ignoble kind, its wings are fhort in
proportion vo the fize of its body:
this is particularly obfervable in the
female, whole fize is a third larger
than that of the male.

The white-john commonly lays
three eggs of a rrev fiate colour.
The male provides largely foi the
fubfiflence of his mate during the
time of incubation, and even while
ihe is employed in watching and
training her young. Hens, young
turkeys, and ducks, are earned off;
and where poultry fails, rabbits,
partridges, quails, lizards, and frogs.

become the indiferiminate prey of
thefe greedy invaders.

This bird is the Falco G alliens of
Linnaeus, who appears to have ap¬
plied to it that epithet becaufe it is
very common in France, but fcarce¬
ly known in moll other countries.

I have thus deferibed the principal
fpecies of the eagle tribe, the moft:
noble and generous of the feathered
race : in my next I fhall proceed to
the vultures, a much more ignoble
clafs, inactive, cowardly, and glutton¬
ous ; and whofe characteriftics, in
general,- form acontraft to the fpleri-
did qualities of the eagle. In the
mean time, I remain your ladyfhip’s
moft affectionate and faithful

Eugenia.

/ LETTER IV.

F rom Eugenia to the Right Hon .

The vulture has been placed by
Linnaeus in the firft rank among the
rapacious kinds of birds, while the
fpecies of eagles are referred by him
to the genus of the falcon. He has
no doubt obtained this pre-eminence
from his fuperior (Length and fize,
for in courage and generofi'y he is
far inferior to the eagle. The latter,
unlefi preffed, will not feed on car¬
rion, nor ever devours any thing but
what he has himfelf taken ; while
the vulture, on the contrary, is in¬
delicately voracious, and feldom
attacks living animals when he can
be iupplied with the dead. The
eagle meets and fingly oppofes his
enemy; the vultures alone of all the
predatory birds, when afraid of re-
fiftance, form combinations againft a
tingle enemy, and meanly overpow¬
er him by numbers. They are not
nice in the choice of their food ; rats,
ferpents, fifh, and the'flefh of dead
animals, though haif rotten, are
equally acceptable; putrefaction, in-
ftead 'of deterring, feems to allure
them. They unite the (Length and

209

The Moral Zcolegift.

bruelty of the tiger with the cow¬
ardice. and gluttony of the jackal,
like which they aflemble in docks,
devour carrion, and dig up the car-
cafes of the dead : the eagle, on the
contrary, in courage and magnani¬
mity appears to refemble the lion.

Betides this difference of indincf,
the vultures are fuffieiently diftin-
guifhed from the eagles by their ex¬
ternal appearance. Their heads and
necks are bare, or only covered with
a very flight down, or a few drag¬
gling hairs. Their eyes are more
prominent, while thofe of the eagle
are funk in the focket. The claws
of the eagle are aimed femicircular,
as they feldoni red upon the ground,
while 'thofe of the vulture arediort-
er and lefs curved. The podure of
the vulture is not fo ere£t and dately
as that of the eagle, but inclines for¬
ward. Vultures may even be diflin-
guidied at a didance, as they are the
only birds of prey that are found
together in greater numbers than
two or three. Their flight, too, is
flow and laborious; they rife with
difficulty from the ground, and make
feveral efforts before they can mount.

Vultures, though rare in Europe,
are numerous in Egypt, Arabia, and
the i hands of the Archipelago. In
thefe countries their fkins, which
are as thick as that of a kid, form a
valuable article of commerce. The
dealers in them take off the large
hard feathers, and, as it were, con¬
vert the in fide down of the wing into
a very warm and comfortable kind
of fur, which is commonly fold in
the Afiatic markets.

The eagle chafes by fight; but the
feent of the vulture being far more
acute, he appears to be guided j>rin-
ci pally by that fenfe. No fooner
does any animal fall than the vul¬
tures aflemble round it from everv

quarter, and from difiances much too
great for them to have been able to
lee their prey. The internal forma¬
tion of the vulture differs conddera-
Vol.XXXLV.

bly from that of birds of ’ the eagle
or hawk kind. There is not only a
craw, but a domach, which, from
the thicknefs of its lower part, may
almod be conddered as a gizzard ;
fo that the vultures feem fitted, by
their drufture, not only to be carni¬
vorous, but feed on grain, or indeed
almod any thing elfe that may fait
in their way.

TtlE FULVOUS, OR GOLDENT
VULTURE.

This bird, the Vultur Fulvus of
Linnaeus, is one of the larged of the
European fpecies. It is in feveral
particulars like the golden eagle, but
larger in all its dimenfions. From
the tip of the bill to the end of the
tail it meafures four feet eight inches.
The bill is about feven inches long;
the tail two feet three inches ; the
legs are more than a foot in length,
and the neck feven inches. The
wings extend eight feet, and the
larged feathers of the wing are about
three feet in length. The head,
throat, and upper part of the neck,
are covered with a pale-red down;
the back, rump, and coverts of the
tail, are blackifh. All the lower parts
of the bo.ly, the bread, belly, and
fides, are brown — deep towards the
head of the bird, but yellowifh as
they approach nearer the tail. The
eyes are level with the head, with
large eye-lids, \yhich are moveable,
and furnifhed with ladies ; the iris
is of a beautiful orange colour; the
bill long and hooked, black at each
extremity, and blueifh in the middle.
The claws are black: fh, but not fo
large or crooked as thofe of the
eagle.

Buffon obferves that c the fpecies
of the fulvous vulture confids of two
varieties ; the fir d called by natur-
a lifts the tawny vulture (the vautour
fauve of Bi idon), andthefecond the
golden vulture. The difference be¬
tween thefe two birds, of which the

210

The Moral Zoologijl.

fir ft is the fulvous vulture, is not fo
considerable as to conflitute two
clifti net fpecies, tor both are of the
fame lize, and nearly of the fame
colour: in both the tail is compara¬
tively fhort, and the wings very
long; and bv this common character
they are diftinguifhtd from the other
vultures.’ He adds, that he is even
inclined to believe that ‘ the bird

mentioned bv Belon, under the name

of the black vulture, is ftiil of the
fame fpecies with the golden and
fulvous vultures; for it is of the
fame fize* and its back and wings are
of the fame colour as in the golden
vulture.’ It fhould feem, however,
that it is not very eafy diffinftly to
difcriminate the different fpecies of
vultures; for theflmenaturalift after¬
wards fays— ‘ It appears to me that
the black vulture, which Belon fays is
common in Egypt, is one of the fame
fpecies with the cinereous vulttne,
and that we ought not to feparate
them, as fome naturalifts have done;
fince Belon, who alone has mention¬
ed them, does not diftinguifh them,
and fpeaks of the cinereous and the
black as competing the fpecies of the
great vulture.’

The European vultures of the
larger kind may be reduced to four
fpecies : the fulvous vulture, the
Alpine, the cinereous, and the creft-
ed or hare vulture. Of the fmall
or afh-coioured vulture fome enu¬
merate three fpecies : the brown vul¬
ture, the Egyptian vulture, and the
white-headed vulture.

THE ALPINE VULTURE.

This bird (the Vultur Percnoptcriu
of Linnaeus) is ranked by Ariftotle
among the eagles; though he confeffes
that it is rather of the vulture kind,
as it has all the bad qualities of the
eagles without any of their virtues.
It is fo daftardly that it will fuffer
5 tie 1 f to be purified and beaten by the
crows'; it is indolent in the chace,

and of fiuggifli flight; and conti-
nually uttering doleful cries of hun¬
ger while in queft of carrion. The
wings are fnorter, and the tail longer,
than in the eagles; the head is of a
bright-blue; the neck white and
naked, or covered merely with a
hoary down. At the lower part of
the neck is a collar of fmall white
hard feathers, refembiing a ruff.
The bill and the naked fkin cover¬
ing its bafe are black, the hook of
the bill whitifh. The lower part of
the feet and legs are naked, and of a
leaden colour. The claws are black,
fhorter and ftraighter than thole of
the eagle. This bird is remarkably
diftinguifhed by a brown fpot upon
its bread, immediately below the
ruff, lhaped like a heart, and edged
with a ffraight white line.

The vulture of the Alps is in ge¬
neral of an ugly and ill-proportion¬
ed figure; and is even rendered dif-
gufting, by the continual iffuing of a
kind of humour from its noftrils
and two other apertures in the beak,
which feem provided for the con-
ftant difeharge of this matter. The
craw is prominent, and when it is
upon the ground the wings are al¬
ways extended. This fpecies is more
rare than thofe of the other Euro¬
pean vultures, as it is only found on
the Alps, the Pyrenees, and the
mountainous parts of Greece.

THE CINEREOUS VULTURE

is fomewhat fmaller than the fulvous
vulture; and the neck is covered
with a longer and thicker down, of
the fame colour with that of the
feathers on the back. It has a fort of
white collar which proceeds from
both tides of the head, and extends
in two branches to the bottom of the
neck, bordering on each fide a black
fpace, under which is a narrow
white ring. The legs are brown,
and the feet yellow.

i tje moral luooiogijv.

TZTT

THE CRESTED, OR HARE VULTURE.

This bird, though inferior in fize
to the three former, is hill fufficient-
ly large to be ranked among the great
vultures. Its wings, when expand¬
ed, extend near fix feet: it has a
long and ftraight tail, a blackifh rudy
plumage, and yellow feet. On the
head are two tufts of feathers re-
fembling horns, which it erefls when
fitting on the ground or perched,
but which are not perceived when on
the wing. It has a particular dride
in walking, and will advance fifteen
inches at each fiep. It preys on al-
modevery kind of bird; it alfo catches
hares (from which the Germans
have given it the name of Hafen-
geyer — hare-vulture), rabbits, young
foxes, fmall fawns, and even fifh :
its favourite food appears to be the
entrails of animals, whether living
or dead. It makes a great noife in
its flight, which is more rapid than
that of other vultures. It is fo
fierce that it cannot be tamed. It
is extremely voracious, yet has been
known to bear the want of food for
fourteen days. It breeds in the
moll unfrequented parts of thick fo-
refis, on the top of the tallefl trees.
Gefner relates that two of thefe
birds were caught in Alface, in the
month of January 1513; and, in
the following yerir, others were
found in a ned built in a lofty thick
oak near the city of Mifen.

The vultures of all thefe four fpe-
cies lay but few eggs, and breed only
once a-year. Arifiotle fays that
they have only one or two young.
They generally build their nefts in
fuch lofty and inacceffible places
that they are feldom di (covered.
Vultures feem more fenfible of cold
than eagles, and are mod numerous
in warm climates.

Of the (mailer kinds of vultures
three fpecies are reckoned: — the
white-headed vulture, the brown
vulture, and the Egyptian vulture.

Of thefe, the firft only is found in
Europe.

THE WHITE-HEADED VULTURE.

This is the Vultur Leucocephalus of

Linnaeus. The head and under¬
part of the neck are naked, and of a
reddifh colour. The large feathers
of the wings are black ; the red of
the plumage is white. It is fup-
pofed to be the little white vulture
of the ancients. It is common in
Greece and Germany, and has been
found even in Norwav, whence M.
Buffon received a fpecimen. It is
alfo frequent in Arabia and Egypt.

I fliall now proceed to describe
the fpecies of vultures which are
natives of America and Africa, be¬
ginning with

THE KING or THE VULTURES.

This bird (the Vultur Papa of
Linnaeus) is undoubtedly the mod
beautiful of the genus. The htad
and neck are naked, which is the
difcriminating charadler of the vul¬
tures. It, however, is not large;
the utmod length of the body not
being more than two feet and two
or three inches. The bill is thick
and fliort ; in fome entirely red;
in others only red at the tip, and
black in the middle. The feathers
on the bread, belly, thighs, legs, and
ufider furface of the tail, are white,
dightly tinged with yellow ; thofe
on the rump and the upper furface
of the tail vary in different indivi¬
duals, being in fome white and in
others black; the other feathers of
the tail are always black, as_are the
great feathers of the wings, which
are commonly edged with grey.
The feet are fometimes of a dull
white or yellowidi, and the claws
black ; fometimes both feet and
claws are of a reddifh colour. The
claws are very diort, and but little
curved.

But what this bird is principally
remarkable for is the odd formation
• 2 E a

of the fkin of the head and neck,
which are bare. This fkin arifes
from the bafe of the bill, and is of
an orange colour ; from whence it
ifretches on each fide to the head,
^nd thence proceeds, like loofe jag¬
ged comb, and falls on either fide
according to the motion of the head.
The eyes are furrounded by a red
fkin, and the iris has the colour and
luftre qf pearl. The head and neck
have no feathers ; the crown qf the
head is covered with a flefh- coloured
fkin, which is of a lively red behind,
but darker before. Belov/ the hind
part of the head rifes a little tuft qf
black down, from which extends
on each fide, under the throat, a
wrinkled fkin of a brownifli colour
mixed with blue, and reddifh to¬
wards the end. Under the naked
part of the neck is a collar, or ruff,
formed of rather long and foft fea¬
thers, of a deep afli colour. Intq
this collar the bird fometimes with¬
draws its whole neck, and fometimes
a part of its head ; fo that it feems as
if it had withdrawn its neck into its
body. From the refemblance of
this collar ,tp a cowl, fome natur-
alifls have given to this bird the
pame of the monk.

This fpecies of vulture is a native
of South America, and not of the
Eaft Indies^ as fome authors have
afferted. Mr. Edwards was inform¬
ed by Perry, a dealer in foreign ani¬
mals, that this bird comes only froriK
America; and Navarette, fpeaking
qf birds, fays: ‘ J faw, at Acapulco,
the king of the xopilqtes, or vultures;
it is one of the mod; beautiful of
birds.’ It is common in Mexico
and New Spain, and appears to bq
peculiar to the fouthern regions of
the new continent, and not found in
the old.

Not withftanding the fuperior beau¬
ty by which the external appearance

of this bird is didinguidied, it do.e$
not differ in its habits or inftindls
from the red: of the vulture tribe ■
it is, like them, duggifh and daftard-
ly, attacking only the weaker ani¬
mals; and preying on rats, lizards,
and ferpents, as alfo on carrion, and
even excrement and every kind of
filth.

(To be continued .)

Miscellaneous Thoughts.

'“There are a clafs of perfons whom
A we only allow to have merit, be¬
came we are weary of refuting it.
They obtain their reputation, as
the poor do alms, by their impor¬
tunity.

J-

Courage in our manner of think¬
ing is much more rare than what is
called bravery; yet in the firff cafe
the danger is only imaginary, and in
the other real.

Money, in the hands of the covet¬
ous man, refembles thofe delicate
viands which were formerly fervec^
up to the dead.

Who would believe it? — a woman
without modefty refembles the fun
without a cloud — Both hurt delicate
eyes.

There is a talent, a gift, or an art,
of impodng on others in converfa-
tion, independent of a fuperiority of
mind or rank. This is fometimes
the effedt of a certain natural dignity
which infpires refpedl, or great wif-
dom which infpires referve. Often,
however,, it is no other than a vice :
pride impofes on modefty; the fool
will impofeon the man of wit, pro¬
vided he be only a man of wit. — -
Often, again, it is the afcendancy;
lqme naturally have over others; or
the effedi of an advantageous figure 3
air, manner, or tone of voice.

' [ 213 ]

POETICAL ESSAYS,

STANZAS.

[From the French of Segur.' J

BY MR. GEORGE DYER.

* » < ’

np hink not, tho’ gaily flows my lay,
**• Too meanly of the tuneful art ;
Song claims the right to flirt and play,
Nor leis can adt the moral part.
Mirth, while it lightly trips along,

The weightier truth lhall lift to light ;
And hence I learn to rev’rence Tong,
While ftill its milder charms delight.

II.

The Samian prince, that prince fevere,
His peopje rul’d vvith iron hand ;
Great was his power, and great their
fear :

None ddrft refill the dread command.
Anacreon charm’d the tyrant down,
Affuag'd his wrath, and wak’d defire ;
Such force have tender numbers fliown,
And hence I love the tender lyre.

III.

The rofe, ere yet its leaves unfold,
Requires the fun’s enliv’ning ray •
And, would you warm the heart, when
cold ?

Go, try the love-infpiring lay.

Ah ! little aids the profe-told tale,
Drefs’d in no charms, nor wing’d with
fire :

But love, in verfe, lhall feldom fail j
And therefore will I blefs the lvre.

IV.

Behold the man of dauntlefs brow,

Who knows r*o meafure in his crimes !
To ftoic rules he fcorns to bow ;

He dreads no cenfor of the times.

But ridicule, if it reprove,

Shall leave the long-remember’d
fmart :

And hence I love the lhafts of fong ;
For they can reach the guilty heart.

When griefs and cares perplex’d my
breall,

To books I ran, to feek relief:

But Plato could not yield me rell,

And Seneca brought no relief.

Anacreon, more one verfe of thine
Than feven old fages me lhall pleafp ;
Still then lhall playful fong be mine;
For fong the troubled heart lhall eafe.

i * •

VALENTINE EPISTLE TO A
YOUNG LAPY.

x i .

DEAR GIRL,

iTHiN smy conllant breall.

The fondeft love for ever glows ;
There pure affedtion is imprell,

Nor change nor diminution knows.

Oh ! then accept the artlefs ftrain
Which true fincerity indites ;

And look vvith kirtdjiefs on a fwain,
Who melts with fondnefs while he
writes.

Hark 1 through each vocal wood and
grove

The feather’d warblers tune their
throats ;

Their little hearts dilate with love.

And love infpiresthe fongfters’ notes.

Each am’rous bird feledts to-day

Some fav’rite mate, fincere andtrue$
And, oh ! Ihould I, as well as they,

My Plarriet find propitious too —

Would Ihe on me her heart bellow.

And all my tendernefs requite,

Then would my throbbing bofom glow
With inexprelfible delight.

Yes, dearell girl ! my faithful foul
To you alone for refuge turns ;

Nor can the pow’r of fate controul <
d he fondnefs which within me burns.

In vain my fears obtrufive ftrive,

With anxious thoughts my breall to
fill ;

Hope keeps th’ unchanging flame alive,
And bids me love vvith ardour ftill.

And mull a heart by fondnefs fvvay’d
Be ftill denied its tender claims ?
Forbid it, dear enchanting maid !

And deign to love your faithful

James.

pojl in y.

2 U

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

Death, with cruel, ftern, relent-
lefs power, [flower;

Has laid in duft a beauteous human
And fpoil’d each blooming grace and
roly charm

By the dire ftroke of his gigantic arm.

Though deep in earth the lovely bloflom
fades, [lefs fhades,

And waftes its fragrance in thefe cheer-
Yet this fair plant lhall quit this tomb,
and rife

To grace the glitt’ring fcenes of Paradife.
Haverhill. John Webb.

THE OLD MAID’S PETITION.

* But, earlier, happier is the rofe diftill'd,
Than that which, withering on the virgin
thorn,

Both lives and dies in Angle bleflednefs.’

Shakspeare.

T>ity the forrows of an antique maid,
-®- Who mourns her Angle, fad, forlorn
eftate :

Ye bachelors, attend to my complaint,
And let commiferation foothe my fate.

Hard is the lot of the unwedded dame,
Topafs ’mid fcorns and jeers her term
of life ;

Who gladly would her liberty refign,

To gain that enviable title — wife.

From this pale cheek the crimfon tints
are fled,

By cruel Time of every charm de¬
flower’d ;

Difpleas’d with all, and with myfelf dif-
pleas’d,

I brood in filence — by the fpleen de¬
vour’d.

Oft-times, to fpeed the lazy-footed hour,
I fit and ftroke, fvveet pufs, thy tor-
toife brow ;

Chirp to my linnet, or, with gentle hand,
‘ Bind the pink ribband round my dear
bow-wow.’

While difappointment preys upon my
mind,

And all fair wedlock’s profpe&s round
me clofe,

Oh ! blame not if, with care-difpelling
glafs,

I gain a fhort oblivion of my woes.

Once I knew happier days, when hal¬
cyon mirth [hour :

Gilt the bright pinions of each joyous

Each golden morning wak’d me to new
blifs.

And fable eve to charm poflefs’d the
power.

Yes, eve had charms ! — At ball, with
graceful eafe,

I danc’d, in fafhion’s gayeft trappings
drefs’d :

What maid but view’d me with an en¬
vious eye !

What youth but felt a palpitating
breaft !

Beauty was mine — (forgive my fulfome
tale !)

Difporting Cupids frolick’d in my
hair :

Young Smiles and Graces play’d upon
my cheek ;

Nay, Envy own’d the truth — that I
was fair.

Amid the fuppliant crowd that own’d
my fway

Alexis bow’d — a dear, engaging youth ;

Upon his brow fair Virtue fat enthron’d,

And his black eyes beam’d conftancy
and truth.

Coquetifh arts a while the Twain de¬
ceiv’d ;

At length he faw I [ported with h's
pain :

To fhun contempt he fought the hoftile
fcene,

And met his fate on India’s torrid
plain.

But why fliould retrofpedlion wound my
mind ?

I long for innate peace, for prefent
reft :

Oh, for fome friend — fome tender- heart¬
ed friend !

To fill the craving void within my
breaft !

Oh ! would he come, and proffer hand
and heart,

Glad I ’d relinquifh fav’rite dog and
cat ;

Dicky fhould all my fond carefles lofe,

And fpirits yield to tea and focial chat^

Pity, ye bachelors, her haplefs lot,

Who fighs ‘ to love, to honour, and
obey

Then Love fhall fhower his bleffings on
your heads,

And gentle Hymen the kind deed re¬
pay. John W£bb.

Haver hill, March 24, 1803.

POETRY. 215

TO THOMSON WEBB.

* How ftrong the tie that links the anxious fire
To the dear child that prattles round his fire.’

DEAR BOY,

ho’ three annual feafons have not
Shed on thee their influence kind ;
Tho’ the cheerful morn of reafon
Dawns not on thy infant mind:

Yet a father’s partial fondnefs
Dedicates to thee this lay ;
Blithefome, fprightly, playful fportling !
With a fmiie my love repay.

Tranquil is thy little bofom ;

Care doth feldom it moleft:

But foft peace, with downy pinion,
Hovers round thy gentle breaft.

Little think'll thou what (harp trials
May await thy riper years ;

What temptations may aflault thee,
Traveling through this vale of tears.

Ne’er may ficknefs blaft thy comforts —
Grant my wiih, ye heav’nly powers !
But may Health, that roly goddefs,
Paint thy path with faired flowers.

If inconflant, changeful, Fortune
Shower not her rich gifts on thee,

In fome homely, draw-bound cottage,
Eat the bread of induftry.

Tread the (hiniijg ways of Virtue,
T.hen Content will be thy gueft ;
Then true joy will fill thy bofom,
Though no ftar adorn thy bread.

Safely may’d thou crofs time’s ocean,
Weather all the dorms of drife ;

And when thy^fliort voyage is over.
Anchor in the port of life.

John Webb.
Haverhill, January 29, 1S03.

ODE ON SPRTNG.

TA7 inter is fled with all its gloom,

And Spring appears in lovely
bloom,

And gilds fair Nature’s face ;

Her powers enliven every heart,

And fweet fenfations do impart
To all the human race.

Nor to the human race alone,

But every creature in each zone
Feels its reviving power ;

Each bird, each bead, and things that
creep,

The fifti, and monflers of the deep,

And every plant and flower.

For, lo ! fair Flora’s tribe to view
Difplay their variegated hue,

Which gives the eye delight : —
The fnow-drop and the primrofe pale
Difclofe their fweets in yonder vale,
With lilies rob’d in white :

The polyanthus and jonquil,

The daify and the daffodil,

The jafmine and pea-flowers ;
With pinks, and rofes, and woodbine,
Whofe tendrils round each branch en¬
twine,

And deck the fhady bowers.

And now, when breaks the infant day,
The fky-lark mounts th’ aerial way,
And fpreads the tidings round:
The cuckoo chaunts her Ample lay,
While thrufh and linnets on the fpray
Make woods and dales refound.

The milk-maid quickly trips along,
And cheerful fings her rural fong ;

While in the grove and vale,

The (Keep and lambs fc fportive play,
Wantonly frifk, all blithe and gay.

And breathe the foft’ring gale.

The fower ftalks along the plain ;

With lib’ral hand commits the grain
Into the faithful foil :

While rains defeend in copious fhowers,
Refrefh thegrafs,the plants, and flowers,
And blels the ruftic’s foil.

The river with frefli vigour glides;
While on its banks, fail by its fides.

The angler baits his hook ;

With every wily art and care,

The finny tribe drives to enlhare.

That wantons in the brook.

While Nature fhines in lovely hue.

The iky aflumes a vivid blue ;

While the bright orb of light
Through Aries takes his flaming way,
Diffufing far his vernal ray,

And equal day and night.

And now, while Spring illumes our ifle,
And Peace and Plenty jointly fmiie.

Let every being raife
To Him who made, who governs, all,
Who form’d this vaft ftupendous ball,

A grateful fong of praife !

Philip Govf.

Fore-Jlreet-bi!!> Exeter.

216

POETRY.

TO A TUFT OF EARLY
VIOLETS.

weet flow’rs ! that from your hum¬
ble beds

Thus prematurely dare to rife,

And truft your unprotected heads
To cold Aquarius’ wat’ry (kies:

Retire, retire ! — Thefe tepid airs
Are not the genial brood of May ;
That fun with light malignant glares,
And flatters only to betray.

Stern Winter’s reign is not yet pah ;

Lo ! while your buds prepare to blow,
On icy pinions comes the blaft,

And nips your root and lays you low,

Alas, for fuch ungentle doom f

But 1 will fhield you ; and fupply
A kindlier foil on which to bloom,

A nobler bed on which to die.

Come then — ere yet the morning ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your
ere ft,,

And drawn your balmieft fweets away,
O come, and grace my - :s breaft !

Ye droop, fond flow’rs; but did ye know
What worth, whatgoodnefs, there re-
fide ;

Your cups with liveiiefl tints would
glow,

And fpread their leaves with con-
feious pride.

For there has liberal Nature join’d
tier riches to the (lores of art ;

And added to the vigorous mind,

The foft, the fympathifmg, heart:

Come then— ere yet the morning ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your
creft,

And drawn your balmy fweets away —
Oh come, and grace my— - ’s breaft !

Oh ! I fhould think — that fragrant bed,
Might I but hope with you to (hare — *
Years of anxiety repaid,

By one fhort hour of tranfport there.

More bled than me, thus (hall ye live
Your little day; and when ye die,
Sweet flow’rs ! the grateful Mufe dial!
give

A verfe ; the forrowing maid, a figh.

While I, alas ! no diftant date,

Mix with the dufl from whence- I
came ;

Without a friend to weep my fate,
Without a ftone to tell my name.

SONNETS,

I. tVrilteh March 8, iSci, de/c ending a
Mountain near Coi?nbra.

XTe fir-crown’d cliffs, as mournfully t
wind

Among your moffy crags,; my penfive
ear

Elfrida’s parting accent feems to hear :

’Tis but the cedar o’er yon rock reclin'd*

Her neck in forrow droop’d beneath the
fhade

t)f her fine hair; and as fhe figh’d
‘ farewel,’

Her dark-blue eyes were bath’d in
tears, that fell

On her fairbofom — mid the foreft glade 4

Where the dim convenes fpiry turrets
frown,

Ting’d by the fading beam, the fillers
breathe

Their orifons; and hark! the woods
beneath

In echoes faint reply: my fpirits own

Its influence, as the foft religious lay

Floats on the ev’ning breeze and dies
away. Ernest.

II. To Hope.

Friend of the friendlefs ! foother of
the mind !

Whofe balmy gale can foften ev’ry
care !

From thee the wretched fureft comfort
find ;

By thee fubdue the hagged fiend —
Defpair.

The helplefs wight by thoufand ills op-
prefs’d,

Who finks beneath misfortune ’s gall¬
ing yoke,

Blefs’d with thy ray can calm his trou¬
bled breaft,

And foothe the anguifh of a heart half
broke.

The trembling lover ftill on thee relies

(Though wan hisvifage and his look
profound),

Till at the fall he gains the blooming
prize,

And finds with bland fuccefs his
wifhes crown’d.

Then fhed thine-rnfluence o’er my head
benign,

And make thy glowing raptures ever
mine. J.V.

April z, 1803.

C 217 1

FOREIGN NEWS,

Tar Is, March 17.

HE volunteer cavalry, who are to
compofe the guard of honour to the
firft conful while he is at Brulftels, are
a corps of a hundred young men of
fortune, and of very good ptrfonal ap¬
pearance. They are to wear the old
national drefs of the times 6f Ferdinand
and Ifabella, for their uniform. Its ex¬
pence will be 100/. fterling to each vo¬
lunteer.

Mr. Forfait formerly minilter for
naval affairs, now councilor of ftate, ar¬
rived within the'e few days at Antwerp.
He is faid to have authority from the
firft confulto examine the means propos¬
ed for the execution of the plans laid
before government, in order to render
Antwerp at once a military and com¬
mercial post.

Preparations begun to be made at Ra-
tilbcn, for a negociation between citi¬
zen Laforet and Baron d’Albini, rela¬
tive to the duties on the navigation of
the Rhine. It is expefted that feven-
eighths of the expence of colleftirfg thele
duties may, by the new arrangement, be
fpared.

Stutgard , March 22. According to
private letters from Paris, aliudcd to by
the Algmeine Zeftung, the opinion is
generally prevalent there, that a rupture
with England is inevitable, it is al-
feFt ed even, that the firft conful faid on
the 13th, before feveral perfens —

* We have made war for ten years — •
we will make it for ten years more.’

And upon another occafion he ft id to
lord Whitworth, after having enquired
with, much affability about his health,
and after having fpoken of the ap¬
proaching fine weather —

* In order that the hope of poffefting
you ftill among us at this period be
rtalifed, it will certainly be neceffary
that your government fhould change its
conduct. What does this meflage mean l
It is only to imorefs terror. Two great

Vo*/ XXXIV.

powers, like France and England, can¬
not make each other afraid. The French
people may be killed, but cannot be
frightened. We aie for peace ; but we
are alfo for the fulfilment of folemn
treaties.’

The firft conful then addreffed him-
felf to the Ruffian minifter, who was
near the Englifh ambaffador, and laid
to him in the moft ferious tone,

‘ If war be renewed, let all treaties
be covered with crape. God and Eu¬
rope will judge us.’

On the other hand, fome perfons pre¬
tend to have heard, from the mouth of
the minifter, that it was four to one in
favour of peace ; it is'aftbrted even that
a man was taken up on the Exchange at
Paris, for having ftpread a report that
war was certain.

Berlin, March 22. On the evening of
the 20th ult. the French general Du-
roc arrived here from Paris, having
been preceded, fome hours before, by
his adjutant, who had been difpatched
as a courier by the marquis Lucchefin??
to announce the departure of general
D uroc from Paris, and the occafion of
his million. So fudden an appearance
of general Duroc has excited here
grear attention. His million has been
occafioned by the *!u den warlike prepa¬
rations ^jf England. He is faid to have
brought a propofal for the king of
Prulfia to aft as a mediator to prevent
a new breach between France and
England. It is however fuhyy deter¬
mined that the king will not, himfelf,
take the moft diftant participation in
the affair.

General T 'roc will only remain here
five days, and then return with ail
fpeed to Paris. He is accompanied by-
major Segur and colonel Co berg, the
latter of whom will proceed from thence
to Peterfburgh. He will probably only
remain bere ft' long as may be (Efficient
to learn the iffiue of the propofals mad?
2 F

218

Foreign News.

to our court, iij order to regulate by it
his proceedings at St. Peterlburg.

Hague , March 25. A report is in
circulation, that' our government has
applied to one of the firft powers of the
North, to obtain permififion to preferve
a ftate of neutrality, in cafe of a war
between France and England.

Stutgard , March 25. According to let¬
ters from Bafle, a great number of
French troops are expelled there from
the interior of France, in order to pro¬
ceed to Italy. The greater part of the
French troops in Switzerland are in¬
tended for the fame deftination. The
fituation of affairs between France and
England has, it is faid, induced the firft
conful to aftemble a conftderable force in
the fouthern parts of Italy.

The generals of divifion Klein, Pully,
Chabat, and Yerdier, as well as the
generals of brigade Fiorelle, Quefnel,
Milhaud, and Lefuife, have joined the
French army of Italy; other generals
will repair thither alfo. Weare dill un¬
acquainted with the nature of the differ¬
ences which feem to exift between
France and England, but it is certain
that they are, and will be, abfolutely
foreign to Germany, which is of great
importance for the repofe of Europe.

Brujfels , March 25. By letters from
Flufhing we have the news that mer¬
chant drips, which came in thirty hours
from the coaft of England, brought in¬
formation that feveral Englidi diips of
war had already failed to take a ftation
in the North fea. The fame letters
date, that the arrival of a body of French
troops is expected to augment the gar-
rifbn of Flufhing.

Between the 16th and 19th of this
month there arrived at Calais an Eng¬
lidi date meffenger and three couriers
from London, with difpatches from the
French ambaffador, general And reofli,
addreffed to the minifter of foreign
affairs. Two couriers and a date mef-
fertger on their way from Paris to Lon¬
don arrived at Calais at the fame time.
Both fets cf couriers travelled with the
utmofl celerity. The fame letters add,
that fevers I bodies, of Englidi troops,
and even a numerous train of artillery,
are on their march to .Dover, and to the
reft of the Englidi coaft oppefite to the
draft of Calais, and to th® coaft sf

Picardy. It is obferved that the Eng-
lifh are returning home in alarm, in
eonfequence of the difpodtions which
have taken place.

29. Several demi-brigades of infantry
of the line and light infantry, fome
regiments of cavalry, with a fufficient
body of artillery, are going to Holland
to take a podtion along the coaft. The
Dutch Gazette of Haarlem ftates at
15,000 the number of the French troops
deftined for Holland.

Other Dutch papers announce that
the Batavian government has had offi¬
cial information of the fpeedy approach
of thofe forces, and has, in eonfequence,
taken meafures for their fubfiftence.
We learn from other quarters, that all
is in movement in the ports of Batavia.
Preparations of all forts are with the
greateft adfivity forwarded. Several
Englidi fhips of war have been already
feen in the North fea. A camp of Dutch
national troops will be formed next
month above the Hague.

Hague, March 29. The French Ga¬
zette of Leyden gave, fome days fince,
information that the march of the
French troops to enter this republic
had been for the prefent flopped. But
the courfe of the negociation now ap¬
pears to have ordered matters as to that
march in a manner expreffly the reverfe.
The French ambaffador received dif¬
patches by a courier laft night. Their
contents have been communicated, in
the following terms, to the Batavian
government. The government will, in
the beginning of the month of April,
receive into its pay fix battalions of
French infantry and as many fquadrons
cf French cavalry, with a large detach¬
ment of artillery with its field-pieces.
General Montrichard will have the
chief command of thefe troops, as well
as the other French troops already in
the territory of the republic. Generals
Frere and Delaloi, whofe arrival is daily
expected, will command under him.
General Often remains in Zealand, and
will there have the command of the
95th demi-brigade of the line.

Paris , March 31. It has been difeo-
vered at Hamburgh, that an order had
been given to a manufaftory of fire-arm3
at Thuringes for 30,000 mufquets of
the French model, and that 30,000 fto-

219

Foreign News.

$ns of the value had been paid in ad¬
vance. The apparent and pretended
purchafe is the ftave-trade. The faft
that fu^h a (peculation has been made is
aicertained, but its avowed' purpofe is
evidently fuppofititious. It cannot be
imagined that lo confiderable a quantity
of arms can be employed in a branch of
traffic, to which a great variety of mer-
chandife and but a fmall quantity of
the fame articles are generally necef-
fary. There is reafon to believe, that
the intention of the fpeculators was to
furnifh the means of defence and de-
ftrudlion to the revolted negroes of St.
Domingo; and more than one circum-
llance renders it probable, that thefe
fpeculators are i Anglo-Americans.’

Laft Wednefday a decree palfed the
legiflative body, at Paris, for a gold
and filver coinage. The filver pieces
are to be quarter francs, half francs,
three-quarter francs, two -franc pie¬
ces, and five-franc pieces'. The franc
is to contain five grammes, of which
nine-tenths are to be pure filver, and
one-renth alloy. The gold coinage is
to be of twentv and forty franc pieces,
each having nine-tenths of gold, and
one-tenth of alloy. The copper pieces
will be thofe of two hundredrhs, three
hundredths, and five hundredths of a
franc. Thefe coins are to bear on one
lide the head of the firft conful, with
the legend, i Bonaparte, Firft Conful,’
and on the other the value of each, fur-
rounded by two branches of olive, with
the legend, 1 French Republic.’ The
five-franc pieces are to have the legend,
i God protects France.’

Bruffels , April i. A battalion of in¬
fantry of tiie garrifon of Bruffels, a
battalion of the garrifon of Mechlin,
and corps from that of Louvain, fet out
on their march two days ago, in order
to proceed towards the frontiers of the
Batavian republic. We are aifured
that other corps of troops will immedi¬
ately purfue the fame dircblion. How¬
ever, we learn by letters from Breda,
that the head quartersof the French aux¬
iliary troops in the pay of the Batavian
republic, now in that place, expedt to
receive orders to proceed to fome other
place. Thefe dilpofitions, however,
will depend upon the refult of the nego-
ciationi between the French and Engliffi

governments. No workmen can be found
at Bruffels ; they are all employed either
by the conftituted authorities or by pri¬
vate individuals, on the preparations
making with the utmoft celerity for the
reception of the firft conful.

Amfierdam , April 5. Private letters
from Paris contain the following intel¬
ligence : After the firft conful had re¬
ceived, on the 29th of March, a cou- '
rier from general Andreoffi, an extra¬
ordinary council of ftate was held,. and
the important queftion of peace or war
again debated. It is underftood that
the votes were not adverfe to the main¬
tenance of peace, and a courier was
fent off to general Andreoffi, at London,
with the ultimatum of the French go¬
vernment. England, it is faid, is to
evacuate Malta, and a treaty of com¬
merce to be negociated between the
two nations. Should war, however,
enlue, it will not be declared by the
chi ef conful; but a fenarus-confultum
will be paffed, which will render it a
na >nal tranfafilion. This document,
it is faid, is already prepared and
printed.

Rotterdam , Aprils. The Batavian
government was, fome days fince, in¬
formed, that, in cafe of neceffity, the
town of Fluffing would be declared to
be in a ftate of fiege. We are this
morning affured, that the French ge¬
nerals have, in purfuance of that notice,
actually declared that town to be in a
ftate of fiege. We have the fame news
from the Hague. We this day learn
that general Montrichard has enjoined
all officers, fuperior and fubaltern, who
are now at the feat of government,
forthwith to repair to Breda, there to
receive farther orders. All thefe inci¬
dents feem to indicate war. The trad¬
ing intereft of this city, and of Am-
fterdam, is now in the greateft uneafi-
neis. We are in particular furprifed,
that a foreign power fbould, of its own
authority, and by its own troops, have
declared one of our towns in a ftate of
fiege, at a time wh$n no affiftance has
been demanded from it, when we have
no differences with the Brkiffi govern¬
ment, and when \ye are nor, as our
great ally would perfuade us, in the
final left danger of invafion front ILL
tain.

2F1

I 220 ]

HOME NEWS,

Tturiford, (Efflux,) Jpril z.

AST W ednefday, being market-day,
a farmer, who brought a fowling-
piece with him, went into a houfe, and
inquired for a perfon to do fome repairs
to it. He gave it to a perfon to look at
it, who, not knowing that it was loaded,
flood before the muzzle of the piece,
when by fome accident it took fire, and
the whole contents lodged in his groin.
Profeffional gentlemen were retorted to,
who extracted part of the charge, and
pieces of his clothes, which the Ihot
forced into the wound, but they give
very little hopes of his recovery

London , April 7. A legacy, left by the
tate duke of Bridgewater, was brought
to be ftampedatthe Stamp-office. The
legacy was for 482,450/. and the flamp-
duty came to 14,473/, 10;. being three
per ce7it. on the legacy.

An inftance of fuicide occurred yefter-
day, of an extraordinary and a moft
lamentable kind. — Mr. Habgood, part¬
ner in the houfe of Habgoo :, Joyner,
andBloxarn. wholefale haberdafhers, in
IRood-lane Fenchurch-ftreet, attempted
to put a period to his txifience, at his
flock-broker’s, Mr, Gierk’s, in Prince’s-
ilreet, cdofe to the Bank. For feveral
days it had been obferved, that he was
very melancholy, and a particular vvi'ld-
nefs about his eyes was noticed. Yefter-
day he rofe fuddenly from dinner, and
went out to take a walk, it was fup-
pofed. He went to his flock-broker’s,
as above, where he converfed for fome
time ivith Mrs. Clerk; but while left
alone, he went into a fmall apartment,
taking from oil the defk the clerk’s pen¬
knife, with which he cut his throat in a
moft deliberate and determined manner,
cutting and hacking it with a refolution
that could arile only from infanity. He
was heard to groan and make a noife,
and on going to the elofet he was found

ftaiiding, and blood ftreaming from his-
throat. This was' about half paft two
o’clock. The fa6l trajifpired, and a
concourfe of people inftantly alTembled
round the door. Two furgeons were
fent for, who fewed up the wounds.
He remained alive and fenfible lad night,
but fo weak, from lofs of blood and a.
cut in the windpipe, that very little
hopes were entertained of his recovery.
It is fuppofed Mr. H-ibgood committed
this deed in confequence of Ioffes in the
funds.

8. Y e ft e relay being Maunday- Thurs¬
day, in commemoration of the Palfover,
his majefty’s bounty to as many poor
men and. women as the king is years old,
was diftributed in Whitehali-chapel, by
the rev. the-dean of Weftminfter, fub-
aimoner to his majefty. The rev. pre¬
late delivered a fttort explicit exordium
on the royal beneficence. The poor
were as ufual regaled with a platter of
fifl), a ratio of beef, and four three-pen¬
ny ioaves ; after which, in the afternoon,
after evening fervice was performed by
thejev. Dr. Moor, and an anthem by the
chorifters of the Chapel royal, the rev.
Dr. Vincent, in the body of the chapel,
gave to every applicant who had a right
to the benefadlion cloth to each man for
a coat and fhirt, a pair of finoes and flock -
ings ; to each woman, cloth for a fhift
and camblet for a gown, with two little
leather-bags, one containing a one-pound
note, the other as many filver penny-
pieces as the king is years old. After
which, each perfon had given to them a
fmall wooden bowl of wine, to drink
the king’s health — when they departed,
well pleafed with what they had re¬
ceived.

Yefterday morning, as colonel Mont¬
gomery and captain Macnamara of the
royal nary were ridirg in Hyde-park,
each followed by a large Newfoundland

Home News .

dog, the dogs attacked each other, and,
each gentleman defending his refpeflive
dog, words of fuch import enfued, that a
meeting was appointed. The place^of
rendezvous was agreed to be Primrofe-
hill ; and about five o’clock, juft in the
valley under the hill, appeared colonel
Montgomery, attended by major Keir,
and captain Macnamara, accompanied
by another gentleman. The ground
meafured was fourteen paces ; they both
fired together ; colonel Montgomery
received a bail in his right breaft, and
fell! Captain Macnamara was wound¬
ed in the groin, but able to walk to a
coach which was in waiting for him.

At the report of the piftols, Mr.
Harding, of St. James’s-ftreet, who ac¬
cidentally happened to be there, ran to
the fpot, and, with great humanity, aflifl-
ed in carrying the colonel to his coach,
which drove to Chalk-farm, where Mr.
Heavifide immediately, but too late, at¬
tended. Colonel Montgomery is dead,
and falls a lamentable inftance of that
pernicious cuftom which renders an hu¬
man life liable to be facrificed in a per-
fonal quarrel.

Weymouth, April n. A terrible affair
happened on Saturday fe’nnight. — A
prefs-gang from a frigate, lying in Port¬
land roads, confifting of a captain and his
lieutenant, with the lieutenant of ma¬
rines, and twenty-feven marines, and
abo^t as many (ailors, came on Ihore at
Portland- caftle, and proceeded to the firft
village, called Chefelcon. They im-
prefi'ed Henry Wiggot and Richard
Way, without any interruption what¬
ever : the people of the iftand took the
alarm, and fled to the village of Eai'on,
which is fituated about the centre of the
|fl and, where the people made a ftand at
the pond. The gang came up, and the
captain took a man by the collar. The
man pulled back, on which the captain
fired his piftol, at which fignal the lieu¬
tenant of marines ordered liis men to fire,
which being done, three men fell dead,
being all fliot through the head, viz.
Richard Flann, aged 42 years; A. An¬
drews, 47 years; and Wm. Lano, 26
years : all married men, two of them
quarry-men, and one a blackfmith. —
One man wai fhot through the thigh, and
a young woman in the back; the ball is
dill in her body, and but lrttle hopes are
entertained of her recovery. Poor Lano,
?he blackfmith, was at his fh op-door, and

there fell dead. An inqijifition has been
held, and a verdift given of ‘ Wilful
Murder’ againft the whole, leaving the
law to diferiminate the ringleaders.

London , April n. A lady, in Mount-
ftreet, GrcTvenor-fquare, on retiring to
her bed-chamber, between nine and ten
o’clock on Friday evening, by feme ac¬
cident, unfortunately fet fire to part of
her drefs ; fhe was obferved by a lady
oppofite to ruff) into the drawing-room
in a perfect blaze, who cauled an alarm,
and was the means of a perfon in the
fame houfe hurrying over; he was the
fir ft who could give her the lead afiift-
ance ; from the carpet being encumber¬
ed with feveral heavy articles, it was
fome moments ere he could throw it
over her, and not till foe was moft fe-
riouffy burnt in the neck, jfhoulders,
and face. Medical affidance was im¬
mediately procured, but in vain ; fhe
died on Saturday morning about fix
o’clock, another vidlim to the faffiion-
able mode of drefs.

On Friday evening lad, about eight
o’clock, a fire broke out at the houfe of
Dr. Clarke, navy-furgeon, in Sion-
^gardens, Aldermanbury : it began in the
kitchen, and the flames afeended to the
fecond floor in a few minutes, but, by
the fkilful exertions of the firemen, was
got under without farther damage.—
The dodtor’s fon, a child about three
years old, was fomewhat hurt, as was
Mrs. Clarke, in her fuccefsful endea¬
vours to fave it. Mr. Clarke was abfenr,
being on board his fhip at Sheerneis,
and the property was not infured.

Lincoln , April 12. Lady Inglebv Am-
cqtts had nearly experienced a dreadful
accident, a few days fince, at her feat at
Harrington, near Spilfby, in this county.
Whilft her ladyfhip was flirting the fire,
a coal fell on her gown, and the flames
had already reached her handkerchief,
which would, mod probably, have prov¬
ed fatal before the family could have
rendered afiidance, when her ladyflup’s
great prefence of mind induced her to
roll herfelf in the carpet, by which fhe was j
providentially extricated front her dan¬
gerous fituation.

London , April 13. On Monday, being j
Eader -Monday, there was a very hot
prefs on the river, between London-
bridge and Greenwich; when the prefs-
galleys boarded mod of the boats going;
down the river, and took a great many

Home News*

0Q&

young men who were going a holiday-
making, and corrdudted them on board
the tender. One boat, with fix flout
young men in it, refilled a prefs-galley,
and a defperate conteft enfued. One of
tiie young men, feizing on the boat-hook,
infilled that they Ihould not take any
one of them aw.ay, and the red, with
fiicks, kept off the gang for the fpace of
ten minutes ; but another boat coming
up, they were overpowered, and dragged
on board the galley. Some of the young
men were feverely bruifed, and the life
of one of them is defpaired of.

15. Yefterday, Mr. Heavifide, the
furgeon, d re fled the wound of captain
Macnamara, at Blake’s hotel. The cap¬
tain is recovering: he is ftill in cuftody
of feme of the police-officers. As foon

Mr. Heavifide had difmiffed, his
patient for the day, Mr. Townfhend,
one of the Bow-ftreet officers, read to
him (Mr, H.) a warrant from fir
Richard Ford, and arrelled him as a
principal in the murder of colonel Mont¬
gomery. Such is the language of the
law, which regards every one who is
prefent as a principal in a duel, if
previoufly privy to it. Mr. Heavifide
attended on the field as captain Macna-
mara’s furgeon. Fie was conveyed to
Bow-ftreet, where he underwent a
private examination before fir Richard
Ford. Several perfons who were fpedta-
torsof jthe duel were alfo examined pri¬
vately, and bound over to appear. After
the examination, Mr. Heavefide was
fully committed to Newgate for trial,
Handing charged with aiding and affift-
ing in the murder of colonel Montgo¬
mery. He went to Newgate in his
own carriage, in the care of Town fh end,,
accompanied by Mr. Holloway, his fo-
licitor. Captain Macnamara, it is ex¬
pected, will be alfo committed to New¬
gate for trial. The feconds have not
yet been heard of.

16. Yefterday afternoon, about five
o'clock, as Mr. Spencer Townlhend, a
gentleman who holds a high fkuaticn

I in the navy-office, Sornerfet-houfe, was
returning from the office to his houfe
in Cleveland court, St. jame&’s, he was
ftopped within a few yards of his own
I door by a gentleman of the name of
Grant, lately a merchant in Lawrence
Pountney-lane, with a piftol in each
hand, who approached, and thus ad-
drefled him : 1 You d-~-d v — n, you are
the cauls of destroying the happinefs of

my mind; take one of thefe pillols,
and you fliall ffioot me, or I fhall fhoot
you.’ Mr.Townlhend, perceiving Mr.
Grant aftuming an attitude which in¬
dicated a refolution to carry his defpe¬
rate purpofe into immediate execution,
made an attempt to ruffi fuddenly by
and gain his own door ; when Grant,
who flood in his way, turning round as
it were with intent to follow him, dif-
charged one of the piftols at him. The
piftol was loaded with fwan-fhot, but
the parties were fo clofe at the time of
the fire, the charge probably paffied
him like a fingle ball, and Mr. Townf-
hend fortunately efcaped unhurt by it ;
Mr. Townfhend, however, was not
thus freed from danger, for, in the
Bidden fpring to gain his own door,
his foot flipped, and he fell upon the
pavement; and Grant, feizing the op¬
portunity, followed up his diabolical
intent, by difeharging the contents of the
fecond piftol at him, while he lay prof-
trate upon the ground. The contents
of the piftol paffied through Mr. Town f-.
hend’s coat, and flightly wounded one of
his knees, and the wadding lodged in the
fkirt of his coat, and fet fire to it. Mr.
Townfhend, however, made a Bidden,
exertion, and recovered his feet.

Mr. Grant was fecured, and imme¬
diately conveyed to Bow-ftreet, where
he underwent a long examination be¬
fore Mr. Bond, and fir William Par-
fons; after which he was committed for
further examination. Mr. Grant, we
undtrftand, appears to be infane, and
the caufe of his melancholy ftate, as
well as of the crime which he attempted,
is fuppofed to be this: Some time ago,
he paid his addreffies to a daughter of
the late lord Dudley and Ward, who.
was bequeathed by the will of her
father a fum of 4000I. Mr. Townf¬
hend was one of the truftees in the
will, in whom the above fum was
vefted for the ufe of the young lady, in
cafe ffie ffiould marry with the confent
of her friends. This confent Mr. Grant
was unable to obtain ; and Mr. Townf¬
hend, as a faithful truftee, adhered to
the will. This difappointment is fup¬
pofed to have preyed upon the mind of
Mr. Grant, and to have produced that
alienation of underfta.nding, under the
influence of which he made the above
defperate attack.

zi. Yefterday, the grand jury, at
Clerkenweil, threw out the bill of in-

223

Births. — Marriages.

di£hnent againft captain Macnamara
and Mr. Heavifide for murder. Mr.
Heavifide was accordingly difcharged
from Newgate.

22. Captain Macnamara was tried at
the Old-Bailey, for man-daughter, on
the verdict of the coroner’s jury which
fat on the body of colonel Montgomery,
and acquitted .

BIRTHS.

March 26. At his houfe, in Duke-
ftreet, Wedminder, the lady of William
Lubbock, efq. of a fon.

31. The lady of John Prinfep, efq.
M. P. of a fon.

April 2. The lady of Edward Denni-
fon, of Caftle-Bear, Ealing, efq. of a fon.

At her father’s houfe, CoIIege-dreet,
Wedminder, the lady of captain G.
Murray, of the royal navy, of a fon.

At his houfe, in Charlotte- dreet,
Bloomfbury, the lady of fir Francis Vin¬
cent, hart, of a fon and heir.

5. At his houfe, in Gloucefter-place,
the lady of the hon. major-general
Forbes, of a fon.

6. In Guildford-ftreet, the lady of the
lion. J. Abercromby, of a fon.

8. At her houfe, in Tenterden-dreet,
Hanover-fquare, Mrs. Doyle, of a fon.

Mrs. Edward Orme, of New Bond-
ftreet, of a fon.

9. The lady of James Adams, efq.
M. P. for Harwich, at his houfe in
Berkeley-fquare, of a fon.

The lady of J. M. Raik.es, efq. of a
daughter.

n. At his houfe, in Upper Berkeley-
ftreet, Portman-fquare, the lady of the
rev. Mr. Beville, of a daughter.

In Holles-ftreet, the lady of Gilbert
Mathifon, efq. of a fon.

At her houfe, in Manchefter-fquare,
ths right hon, lady Charlotte Drum¬
mond, of a fon.

In Taviftock- place, Taviftock-fquare,
the lady of R. Caton, efq. of a daughter.

12. In Cavendifh-row, Dublin, lady
Harriet St. George, of a daughter.

At her houfe, in Spring-gardens, the
•ountefs of Berkeley, oi a daughter.

13. At Baldwins, Kent, the lady of
fir John Harrington, of a daughter.

14. At his houfe, in Portlund-place,
the ladv of J. Ellis, efq. of a daughter.

15. In BernerVftreet, the lady of
Coutts Trotter, efq. of a daughter.

MARRIAGES.

March 30. Mr. George Rorarier, of
Great Caftle-ftreet, Cavendilh-1 quaro,
to mifs Hale Martin, of N° 6, Queeii
Anne-ftreet Eaft.

J. M. Scott, efq. of Ballyganrion, in
the county of Wicklow, to the rig lit hon.
lady Arabella Brabazon.

April 2. Henry Perkins, efq. r »f Cam¬
berwell, to mifs Latham, dam 'later of
Thomas Latham, efq. of Champ ion-hill.

Thomas Thirtieth wayte, efq. 0 f South-
wick-place, to mifs Guitton, youogeft
daughter of the late John Guit ton, efq.
of Wickham, Hants.

At St. James’s church, Job ta Leach,
efq. to mils Julia Ruih, fecond daughter
of lir W. Beaumaurice Rulh.

At Lydeard St. Laurence, ne ir Taun¬
ton, fir Joh,n Leller, to mifs Ru! Tell.

4. William Nettlefold, efq. ; itiorney-
at-law, of Barnard’s-inn, to mi fs Grao*
Gawler, of Lambeth.

At Hammer fmitlq Thomas F Jond, efq.
elded fon of Hr Jas. Bond, ba t. to mils
Read, youngell daughter of 1 .he late J.
Read, efq. of Porcheder-lodj je, Hants.

7. Mr. Thomas Blizard, of America-
fquare, furgeon, to mifs A dor, , daughter
of Mr. Thomas Alton, of B: lliter-lane.

Mr. Godby, of Lombard i-dreet, to
mifs Eliza Layton, daughu x of Tho¬
mas Layton, efq. of Kentilh -town.

.8. Mr. Saunders, to mil's Jane Cal-
kett, younged daughter of Daniel Cal-
kett, efq. of Ely- place, FI jiborn.

9. At Mary -la- bonne ch arch, J. H.
Budd, efq. to mifs M. Rein igle.

12, Mr. Kelly, of Fareb iam, Hants,
furgeon, to mifs Leathes, c f Stamford-
dreet, Black-friars.

14. Mr. A. D. Welch, of Leadenhall-
dreet, to mifs Allen, of V\ falthamdow.

Launcelot Haflope, efq. of America-
fquare, to mifs H. Stock, il> tughter of T.
Stock, efq. of Highbury-pb tee, Iflington.

15. At Ipfwich, R. Wil tlhire, efq. of
New Bridge-dreet, to mifs M. Bleadsn.

At Edinburgh, the hon. lord Polkem-
met, to mifs Sinclair, daugt .te r of the late
George Sinclair, efq. of L {lifter.

Geo. Hollings, efq. of Vlount-dreet,
Berkeley-fquare, to mils A aria Barker,
daughter of Richard Bar ter, efq. lur-
geon to the 2d regiment < f life-guards.

18. Major Maxwell, t ded fon of dr
W. Maxwell, bart. to mis s C. Fordyce.

Death**

*<zh

<44 Tr

DEATHS.

March 19. At Chertfcy, Mrs. Hud¬
son, in the 65th year of her age, wife of
Sul. Hudfon, late of Titchfield-ftrect.

24. At her boufe in Thornhaugh-
ftreet, Bedford-fquare, aged 69, Mrs.
Gafkcl.1, relidt of Peter Galkell, efq. of
the city of Bath, and only daughter of
William Penn, late of Shannagarry, in
the county of Cork, efq. the grandfon
and heir of William Penn, theyfounder
and firll proprietor of the city of Phila¬
delphia and province of Pennfylvania,
in Amer ica.

28. At her houfe, at Inverness, Mrs.
Marv HiJtchinfon Frafer, widow of the
late Simon Frafer, efq. of Fanellan.

30. In. the 83d year of her age, Mrs.
Reynold s, of Cleveland-row.

At G addefden Cottage, in the county
of Hertf ord, in the 69th year of her age,
Mrs. Noyes, reiidt of Thomas Herbert
Noyes, eJq. and filler to the late Thomas
Halfey, efq. of Gaddefden-piace, in the
fame county.

At his feat near Ealing, Middlefex,
in the 7 9 1 ;li year of his age, Thomas
Devenifh, efq. many years an eminent
■udfioneer.

31. At her father’s houfe in Great
Marlboron gh-ftreer, of a decline, Mifs
Siddons, e fdeft daughter of Mrs. Sid-
dons, of D rury-lane Theatre.

In Harle y-ftreet, Mrs. Clay.

Mrs. G odfrey, of Holland-ftreet,
Kenfington.

At Bath , Mrs. Bogle French, the
wife of Natlhaniel Bogle French, efq. of
Dulwich. ' v

April 1. A it Hatley St. George, in the
county of (Cambridge, Mrs. Quin-tin,
wife of T. Qjuinrin, efq. of that place.

3. At Bret nford, Mrs. Trimmer, wife
of Mr. Jame s Trimmer, and daughter
of the rev. W illiam Cornwallis, of Wit-
terfham, Ken t.

At York, F flr.Thomas Sanderfon, late
fheriff of that city, and uncle to the late
fir James Sam Jerfon.

4. At Co Itnds-houfe, Edinburgh,
Mrs. E. Ste wart, daughter of fir J.
Stewart, bart , of Goobtrees.

5. At her boufe in Wimpole-ftreet,
lady Frances Williams Wynn, in the
86th year of h er age. She was relid of
fir Watkin 'Vidlliams Wynn.

■ 6. At Broot fee- houfe, in Barham, lady
Qxenden, lacb^ of fir Herfiry Oxeudea,

barr. and daughter and co-heirefs of Cii
George Chadleigh, bart. of Devonfhirei

At his houfe in Piccadilly, the right
hon. fir W. Hamilton, knight of the
bath, aged 78.

At Bath, Mr. William Newberry, of
Croydon.

7. At Edinburgh, in the 77th year
of his age, the earl of Dumfries, one of
the fixteen peers of Scotland.

At St. Leonard’s Hill, near Windfor,
G. Birch, efq.

At his houfe in King-ftreet, Portman-
fquare, Jofeph Chaplin Hankey, efq.

Mrs. Sarah Lawrence, relid of Mr.
Thomas James Lawrence, of Cheapfide,
woollen-draper.

At his houfe in Gower- fireet, God¬
frey Kettle, efq.

9. At his houfe in Jermyn-ftreet,
general de Banermeiffer, refiaent mini-
fier from the court of Heffe Cafiel, in
the 63d year of his age.

At her feat in Kent, the countefs dow¬
ager of Chatham, mother of the right
hon. William Pitt.

i2. At his brother’s houfe in BifhopE
gate-ftreet, the rev. Robert Wall, fellow
of Merton-college, Oxford.

Of an apopledlic fit, Mr. Daniel Hen-
wood, of Smithfield.

At her houfe in Charles-fireet, Berke¬
ley- fquare, Mifs Conyers, e Id e ft daugh¬
ter of the late John Conyers, efq. of
Copped Hall, in the county of Efiex.

14. At his houfe at Sonning, near
Reading, .after a Ihort illnefs, admiral,
fir T. Rich, bart.

M. A. Horatio Reloe, the youngeft
daughter of the rev. W. Beloe.

In Wigmore ftreer, Mrs. Feake,
daughter of the late governor Feake, of
Durrington, in FI Hex, in her 32d vear.

At her houfe in Wigmore-ftreet, ’in
her 63d year, Mrs. Emma Little, relift
of the [ate Thomas Little, efq.

17. Mr. James Aickin, late of Drury -
lane Theatre, in the 64th year of his age.

Suddenly, at the Deanry, BriftoJ, the
rev. Dr. Layard, dean of Briftol, in,, the
54th year of his age.

18. At Stratford- houfe, in the county
of Efiex, the right hon. John lord
Henniker, baron Kenmker of Strat-
ford-upon-Slaney, of Stratford -houfe,
and Newton-hall, both in the county
of Efiex; Great Bkaning’s-hall, in fihe
county of Suffolk ; and St. Peter’s, in the
I fie of Ti\a*et,

i v^» yp» /t> /]> /j\ /js vJC /]> vjT /pT^r. yp? 4> 'i> 'f* »’i> /i'* 'i' v <p yi> <is vjv

THE

LADY’S MAGAZINE

ENTERTAINING COMPANION

FOR

THE FAIR SEX;

APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For MAY, 1S03.

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

2
3

Envy difappolnted ; a Tale, . 227

Political Arithmetic, . 230

Obfervations on the Month of April,

?32

A Morning’s Walk in May,. ... 233
Letter from Mr. Garrick to the Se¬
cretary of the Cuftoms,. . 234

6 Reflexions on Happinefs, and the Plea-

fares of the Imagination, . 233

y DlfculTionof the Queftion whether Wo¬
men have more Wit than Men, 236
S Dialogue on Duelling,. ......... 237

9 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of
* Tom Jones,’ . . . 239

10 Auguita and Emily ; a Tale,. . .. 245

11 Matilda ; a Drama, . 248

12 Anfwers to a former Query, . 252

1 3 Chara&eriftic and critical Remarks on

Females,.... . . . 253

14 On the Female Character, . 255

15 Parihan Falhions, . . 260

•n, ofM ■ ■■■•■d,.. . . 268 — 272

Foreign News, . 273

Home News,. . . 276

Births,.. . . 279

Marriages, . .279

Deaths, . 280

This Number is emhellijhcd with the following Copper -plates:

I Envy disappointed-

2, For the Moral Zoologist — SPARROWS, Male and Female.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern for a Veil, &c.

5 MUSIC — A new Son g, fet to Mulic by Mr. Barre.

LONDON:

Printed for G. and J. ROBINSON, No. PatermJUr-Rtm ;

Where Favours from Correfpondents continue to be received.

_\b

■yp

~r>

London Falhions, . .,.260

The Moral Zoologift, . 261

Sketch of Bonaparte’s Perfon,.. .. 266
Account of the new mulical Enter¬
tainment — c The Fan Fugitives,’ 266

Mifcellaneous Thoughts, . ..267

Poetical Essays: — TotheMemo-v
ry of John Freeftone, Carpenter. Ode
to Venus. Evening. Proud Dumfer-
line, the Caftle on the Wold ; a Go¬
thic Tale. Lines addrefled to Mifs
S 1 * P — A paftoral Ballad.
Epitaph on Dr Small. Air, fung by
Mrs. Jordan in the 4 Marriage Pro-
mife.’ On Riches. To Mifs A.

•511

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Engraved, for the Lady's Magazine .

THE

LADY’s MAGAZINE,

For MAY, 1803.

ENVY DISAPPOINTED*

A TALE.

( With an elegant Engraving ,)

XXTkek the malignant paflion of
* ’ envy appears in all its odious
forms, it can only excite our con¬
tempt, and, in fome rneafure, Our
pity : its poifon, when recognifed,
is its own antidote; ■ but when difii-
tnulation veils it beneath a cheerful
exterior, infinuating tnanners, and
a thaw of friendfhip, in order to the
attainment of its bafe purpofss, dt is
far more vile and hateful, fince it is
doubly dangerous to the objedt it
deftines for its vidtimi

Mifs Eliza Lafcefles was a young
iady of fortune, beauty, and elegant
accomplifhments. She had gained
the affections, and accepted the ad-
- dreffes, of Mr. Charles Pierrepoint,
a young gentleman of genteel con¬
nexions and confiderable expecta¬
tions, whofe engaging manners,
good fenfe, and manly franknefs of
character, continually won more
and more on the heart of his Eliza.
The friends of both had given their
approbation to their intended union,
which was only deferred by fome
circumftances,* which however it
was very certain would occafion no
long delay.

Mifs Lafcelles was in habits of the
moft familiar intimacy and enter¬
tained the frncereft friendship for a
mifs Vane, who was of a character,
notwithflaoding the Ipecious appear¬
ance of the moft amiable difpolition,
entirely different from her own.
Mifs Vane had great vivacity, was

extremely artful, and capable of the
moft coriiplete diftimulation, by
which Die concealed the utmoft felf-
iftinefs and vanity. Before Mr,
Pierrepoint had ferioufly declared
himfelf the fuitor of mifs Lafcelles,
mifs V^tne had frequently endeavour¬
ed to attraff his attention, conceiving
that a marriage with him would be
(what is commonly called) a very-
good match for her. But he pre¬
ferred the leniibility and tendernefs
of mifs Lafcelles to the giddy flip¬
pancy of mifs Vane. The latter
Had indeed been frequently before
difappointed in advances of the fame
kind to others, for file was feveral
years older than mifs Lafcelles. HeP
love of fe If and offended vanity foon
produced a mean envy of the tri¬
umph of her companion ; but fhe
was too well praftifed in diflimula-
tion to appear in any manner dif¬
appointed or ruffled in her temper.
Her heart, however, was feeretly a
prey to the moft malignant and
baneful of pafftofiS, and fhe refolved
to employ the vileft artifice to pre¬
vent the union and happinpfs of two
perfons who had in reality never
given her the leaft caufe of offence.

To carry this b.ife defign into ef¬
fect, file expreffed a warmer Triertfl-
fhip than ever for mifs Lafcelles, and
was alrnoft infeparable from her;
fne appeared in the fame manner
friendly and fanrnhar with Mr.
Pierrepoint ; and, ift converfing with
*- G 2

22S Envy dif appointed ; a Tale .

each feverajlv, lavifhed the greateft
praifes on the good and amiable
qualities of the other.

But, on a fudden, fhe entirely
changed her behaviour, in the latter
refpedi, towards both mifs Lafcelles
and Mr. Pierrepoint. To the former,
when the converfation had any re¬
ference to her lover, fhe exprelfed
herfelf with fatiricai levity ; ridi¬
culing, in fa£t, though in a very
cautious and covert manner, the
warmth of her attachment to him,
and throwing out obfcure intima¬
tions that (lie could give her in¬
formation that would furprife her,
and perhaps cure her of her pre-
poffeflion for him, if fhe thought it
advifeable to intermeddle in an affair
fo delicate. Mr. Pierrepoint, on
the few occafions when fhe kappen-
ed to be with him while mifs Laf¬
celles was abfent, lhe rallied, with
much vivacity, on his love-fick con¬
dition 5 reminded him that Cupid
was blind; and gave fome very art¬
ful but diflant hints, that he was by
no means acquainted with all that
palTed in the mind, nor indeed with
all the conduct, of the miftrefs he fo
fondly adored.

She had thus, without venturing
on any pofttive falfehood in matter
of fa<ff, and by that expofmg herfelf
to detection and fhame, inftilled into
the hearts of the two lovers ajea-
Joufy which began to operate of it-
felf to the furtherance of her views.
She carefully fanned the flame file
had kindled with all the artful in-
duflry fhe could exert, and coldnefs
and diftrufl were fo.on but too appa¬
rent in all their behaviour to each
jother.

She now pretended to obferve this
alteration in them with much fur-
* prife, and even undertook tc mediate
between them ; but at the fame time
took care to infufe into all her over¬
tures for a reconciliation fuch infi-
rhuations as effectually tended to

widen the breach between them.

To mifs Lafcelles fhe would fay —

‘ Believe me, my dear, you muff

give .up thefe lofty expectations of

perfe&ion in the other fex. You

are, I believe, now abfolutely in love,

which a woman certainly fhould

never be, at lead: not before mar¬
riage ; and when you are married
you may perhaps fee ff ill lefs reafon
for being fo. Even fuppofe Mr.
Pierrepoint’s affairs fhould be a little
embarrafled, and yours fhould be
particularly convenient to him at
this time to repair them, you may fee
hundreds of women who were mar¬
ried from no fublimera motive, who
yet live very happily with their huf-
bands.*

‘ Do you mean to fay that you
know or have heard any thing t#
that effect?’ faid mifs Lafcelles.

f I certainly do not ; for as to the
idle fcandals that were flying about
at Mrs. Tattle’s card-tables the other
night, I know you would pay as
little regard to them as I do.’

She talked to Mr. Pierrepoint in
nearly the fame ftrain'. — ‘ You love?
fick fwains,’ faid fhe, ‘will never
admit your miftrefles to be other than
angels ; you at laft find them to be
mere women, and complain bitterly
of your fate. Even fuppofe that mifs
Lafcelles fhould have had in view
fome more affluent fortune, or the
diflindlion of a title, fhe will differ
but little from the generality of her
fex : and 1 do not fee why fuch a cir-

«r

cumflance, when you have obtained
her, fhould diminifb your happinefs.
If all thofe whofe wives would have
accepted a better match, had it been
offered them, were on that account
to make tbemfelves unhappy, the
number of miferable hufbands would
be very much increafed.’

‘ Have you a k nov/ledge of her
entertaining any views of this kin di*
faid Mr. Pierrepoint, wjti) greaS
warmth.

229

Envy difappointed ; a Tale.

‘ Not I, indeed,’ replied mifs
Vane 5 c nor, if {he had, fhould I
have been her confidante ; fhe
knows too well my friendfhip for
you. But I feared that you might
have heard fome filly reports that
have been circulated, which I am
perfuaded are without foundation ;
though, as I faid before, I cannot
expedl to be in her confidence on
fuch a fubje£t.*

The entrance of a third perfon
here interrupted the converfation,
and laved mils Vane from the ne-
cefiity of numerous prevarications,
to which file would have been
driven by the further enquiries
which Mr. Pierrepoint would cer¬
tainly have made, had he had an
opportunity.

Mr. Pierrepoint now refolved to
go to mifs JLafcelles, and take a final
leave of her, unlefs he eould obtain
from her a fatisfa&ory explanation
of the alteration in her behaviour,
and the myfterious infinuations of
mifs Vane. Eliza, who had like-
wife, in the mean time, been in-
duflrioufiv praftifed on by her falfe
friend, received him with particular
coldnefs, which greatly heightened
the perplexity and irritation that
preyed on the heart of her lover.
At length, unable longer to endure
and difguife his feelings, Mr. Pierre¬
point thus addrefied her —

‘ I have for a long time, Eliza, ob-
ferved a very vifible alteration in your
conduct towards me. and fuch as
convinces me that I have obtained
no place in your heart which may
not more eafily be obtained by an¬
other, who poffefles what is more
finable to the gratification of female
vanity than any thing I can boaft.
Nor do I fay this from mere fu-
fpicion, for I have the ftrongeft
proofs (fo jealoufy will always call
'jts trifles light as air). I fay, I have
the ftrongeft proofs, that you have
fa view fome other perfon who is

efteemed my fuperior in fortune and
rank, and this renders you fo cold
to me. I can bear it no longer :
you rnuft explain it. It is better
that we fhould feparate for ever
than remain in this date of diftatis-
faction and diftruft.’

* l ean explain nothing,’ faid mifs
Lafcelles; £ you are the caufe of all
the diflatisfaftion, and the diftruft
is yours.’

* Evafive anfwers, madam,’ faid

Mr. Pierrepoint, ‘ are ufelefs ; if
you perfift in refufing to return
any other, I {hall confider them as
a full proof that you wifh to put an
end to all further connexion be¬
tween us, and from this time I - *

At this moment mifs Lafcelles ‘mo¬
ther entered, and introduced to her
daughter fome ladies from a diftant
part of the country, who had come on.
a vifit to the family. Mr. Pierrepcdn^
after a few cold compliments, with
which he endeavoured to conceal
his embarraftrnent and perturbation
of mind, took leave with much more
formality than, ufual, and went
away.

The feelings of the two lovers,
after this fcene, are not eafily to be
deicribed. Mifs Lafcelles found
the prefence of her vifitors an in-
fupportable burthen to her, and
when {lie retired to reft {he patted a
fleeplefs night. Mr. Pierrepoint
rambled about, he fcarcely knew
whither, and did not attempt to
take reft at all. Sometimes he re¬
folved to fee her again, and, in a
more gentle and fubmiffive tone, in¬
treat her candidly to put an end to
his doubts, in companion to his fuf-
ferings; at other times revolving in
his mind all the artful fuggeftions of
mifs Vane, his jealoufy rekindled,
and the pains it inflicted increaf|d
till he almoft determined to end
uncertainty by deipair, and utter
fome dreadful vow that he would
never fee or think of her mose.

£30

Political Arithmetic •

In the morning, mifs Lafcelles
rofe early ; and, as folitude agreed
beft with her difturbed Hate of
mind, walked for fome time alone
in a park, at a little diftance from
her father’s houfe. She at length
fat down on a bench, fcarcely no¬
ticing any thing around her, her
thoughts being wholly occupied on
the fubje£I moft interefting to the
feelings of her heart.

Mr. Pierrepoint, at the fame time,
in the courfe of his wanderings,
approached the fame fpot, and foon
reconciled his Eliza. He advanced
without being perceived. Juft as
he came up, mifs Lafcelles took in
her hand a miniature picture of her
lover which ine had received from
him as a prefent, and, furveying it,
broke out into the following ex¬
clamations : —

6 Oh, Charles ! how frank, how
generous, Teems that countenance!
what an affedlionate confidence does
it appear to difplay ! yet how have
you treated me ? My heart was af-
fedtionately, fincerely, and wholly
devoted to you ; but yours - *

Mr. Pierrepoint had (topped for a
moment, perceiving he was not feen,
and heard this. He could reftrain
his feelings no longer • he threw
himfelf at the feet of his Eliza, and,
in the ftate of mind in which the
‘two lovers now were, an explanation
foon took place, by which they dis¬
covered the treacherous practices of
their pretended friend, but real
enemy; and the tendered: recon¬
ciliation took place, which was never
-.afterwards difturbed. Mifs Vane
was in future (hunnedby them with
equal averfton and contempt, and
conftgned for punifnment to the cor-
rodings of her difappointed envy ;
fcr the tortures infiifted by that
wretched paftlon, as the ancient poet
has juftly obferved, are fiercer than
'any that have been invented by the
cruei tyrants.

To the Editor of the Lady’j
Magazine.

sir,

The infertion of the following
tranflation of «an Effay on the
fubjedt of Political Arithmetic, pub¬
licised in the Gotha Almanack for
the prefent year, will oblige an
occasional correfpondent, and, I
prefume, convey fome amufing
information to your readers.

Your’s, &c.

Chejier, Feb. 20, 1803. J. Ma

POLITICAL ARITHMETIC.

Tf we fuppofe the earth to be peo-
pled with aboutathoufand millions
of fouls, and reckon 33 years for a
generation, there will die in that
fpace of time one thoufand millions
of perfons — confequently there will
die —

Every year, 30 millions

Every day, - 82,000

Every hour <- 3,400

Every minute, 60

Every fecond, - - 1

But as, on the other hand, the
number of thofe who die is to that
of thofe who are born as 10 to 12*
there will be born—

Every year, 36 millions

Every day, - * ~ - 98,400

Every hour, - - - 4,080

Every minute, - - - 68

Every fecond, 1

If men did not die, there would
be at prefent about 173,000 millions
of perfons on the earth. As the
fuperficiai contents of the land
amounts, at Ieaft, to 1387 billions
(thoufands of thoufandsof millions)
of fquare feet, there would ftiil re¬
main 9110 fquare feet for each per-
fon.

If we reckon three generations to
the century, and fuppofe the world
to have exified only 3800 years,
there will have been but 180 gene?-.

Political Arithmetic .

5231

stions from the creation, 127 from
the deluge, and 36 from the chrifti-
an aera to the prefen t time ; and, as
there is no family which' can trace
its defcent to the time of Charle¬
magne, it follows that the mod:
ancient cannot reckon more than
33 generations — indeed very few
.can go fo far back without manifeft
fiftion ; and the mod; illuftrious, for
a tnoufand years of diftincftion
have 4800 of obfcurity.

On an equal extent of ground,
where

there lives in Iceland
there live in Norway
Sweden,

Turkey,

Poland,

Spain,

Ireland,

Germany, 127
England, 132
France, 153
Italy, 172
Naples, 192
Venice, 196
Holland, 224
Malta, 1,103

Iceland is, therefore, the part of
the world, at leaft of Europe, which
is moft thinly peopled, and Malta
the moft populous.

Of the whole of the inhabitants of
a country one-quarter ufually live
in the towns, and three-quarters in
the villages.

Of a thou land perfons, 28 are
efti mated to die every year.

The inhabitants of a country or a
city are renewed nearly every thirty
years ; and in a century the human
race is renewed 34 times.

Of 200 children, not more than
one dies in child-birth.

Of iooo- children fuckled by the
mother, there do not die more than
300; but of icoo children fuckled
By nurfes, 300 die.

The mortality of children has

greatly increafed in the prefent
luxurious nge, Convuliious and
dentition carry off the greater part
of them.

Among t 1 5 deaths there is only
one woman in child-birth; and
among 400 only one who dies in
the month after labour.

The fmail-pox ufually carries off
8 out of 100 who are attacked by
it. . ^

It has been obfeiwed, that the
finall-pox is more fatal to girls than
boys.

Of 300 who are inoculated, not
one dies.

From a calculation founded on
bills of mortality, it appears, that
among 3123 deaths there is only-
one perlon of 100 years of age.

It is confirmed by experience and
the obfervations of phyficians, that
out of ico perfons who live in great
towns there will not be more than
20 ill during a month in the courfe
of the year, or 24 during a fortnight.

There are more old perfons in
elevated than in low places.

The proportion between the
deaths of women and tbofe of men
is as 100 to 108. The probable
duration of the life of women is 6a
years ; but after that term it is more
favourable to men.

Married women live longer than
thofe who remain unmarried.

By obfervations made during the
courfe of 50 years, it appears^that
the greateft number of deaths has
always been in the month of March;
the next greateft in the months of
Auguft and September; and the
leaft in the months of November,
December, and February.

Of ioco deaths there are 230 in
Winter, 290 in Spring, 223 in
Summer, and 235 in Autumn. "

More perfons, therefore, die in the
Spring than in any other feafon of
the year. I11 great cities, however

1 perfon,
3 perfons,

232 Obfcrv aliens on the Month of April.

fucli as Paris and London, the
greateft number of deaths are in
Winter.

Half of thofe who are born die
"before the age of iy; fo that thofe
who furvive that period enjoy a
happktefs denied to half the human

race. *

The number of old perfons who
die in cold feafons is to that of thofe
who die in warm ones as 7 to 4.

The firft month, and efpecially
the firft day, of life, are remarkable
for the greateft number of deaths.
Of 27 35 children who died very
voung, 1292 died the firft day, and
she remainder during the firft month.

According to the obfervations of
the great Boerhaave, the moft healthy
children are born in the months
of January, February, and March.

The married women are to the
whole fex in a country as 1 to 3 ;
and the married men to all the
males as 3 to 5.

The greateft number of births
happen in the months of February
and March.

The number of twins is to that of
other children as 1 to 65, or 70; fo
that among 65 or 70 births twins
are found but once.

The number of perfons living is
ufually to that of children born in
the year as 26, 27, or 28, to 1 ; ac¬
cording to the fecundity of mar¬
riages.

The number of marriages is to
that of the inhabitants of a country
as 175 to 1000.

In very populous countries, out
©f 50 or 54 perfons there is but one
who marries.

Jn the whole extent of a country
we can only reckon four children for
each marriage, 01* with another :
in cities and great towns we can only
reckon 3 3 children for 10 marriages.

The men able to bear arms are a
fourth part of the whole inhabitants
of a country.

The number of widows is ufually
to that of widowers as 3 to 1 ; but
that of widows who marry again is
to that of widowers who marry
again as 100 to 120, or as 3 to 6.

The number of widowers in a
country is to that of all the inhabit¬
ants as* 1 to 51; that of widows to
that of thofe fame inhabitants as

1 t0 r$*

The widowers and widows, taken
together, are to the married couples
of a country as 3 to yr

Observation on the Month of
April.

( From a French ‘Journal ,)

Tn this month the moft celebrated

miftreffes of the kings of France
have breathed their laft : Diana de
Poitiers, Gabrielle d’Eftrees, ma-
dame de Maintenon, and madame de
Pompadour. This remark is con¬
nected with a more general obferva-
tion, which is, that the greater part of
celebrated women have died in the
month of April.

Laura, the miftrefs of the poet
Petrarch, died on the 6th of April ;
Diana of Poitiers, on the 26th ;
Gabrielle d’Eftrees, on the 9th ; the
duchefs de Longue vi lie, on the 15th;
mademoifelle de Montpenfier, on
the 5th; madame de Sevigny, on the
14th ; madame de Maintenon, on
the 15th; madame de Caylus, on
the 15th; mademoifelle de Luflan,
on the 2d ; madame de Pompadour,
on the 15th ; Judith, queen of
France, on the 19th; Joan, of Na¬
varre, on the 9th; Elizabeth, queen
of England, on the 3d; Chriftina,
queen of Sweden, on the 19th.

We might hence be led to con¬
clude, that of all the months in the
year that of April is the moft dan¬
gerous to women in general. „

A Mornings Walk in May . 233

A MORNING V WALK in
MAY.

( Forn in yon blaze of orient light,

Sweet May ! thy radiant form unfold:
tTnclofe thy blue, voluptuous eye,

And wave thy lhadowy locks of gold.

Warm with new life, the glittering throngs,
On quivering fin, and ruftlilig wing,
Delighted, join their votive longs,

To hail thee, goddefs of the fpring.’

Darwin.

T>efore I began ’ this agreeable
morning ramble —

‘ Bright Phcebus, rifing from the fhades of
night,

With rofy keys unlock’d the gates of light.'

The weather was extremely fine*
delightfully calm, and beautifully
ferene. Cheered by the influence
of vivifying tun-beams, the unno¬
ticed daify reared its dewy head,
and the blithe tenants of the bouoh
chaunted their merry modulations.
To an early walker this morning
was particularly inviting.

* For April, with his childifh eye,

Alike prepar'd to laugh or cry,

Had, unlamented, flown away.

And left the world to Love and May.'

Nature, like a fair bride, was ar¬
rayed in beauty, and the profufion
of blofloms which decked the apple-
trees impregnated the air with aro¬
matic fragrancy. Not one envious
cloud intervened to rob creation of
Sol’s refplendent rays. Aloft in
aether the lark was praifing his
Maker, and a cheerful blackbird on
an adjacent fpray was offering up his
early gratulations.

* Sweet, O fweet, the warbling throng,

On the white-emblofibmed lpray,
Nature’s univerfal long
Echoes to the rifing day.’

Cunni ngham.

Amid the general choir of plumy
performers, the voice of thecuckow
was heard; whofe Ample plaintive
note is ever grateful to the contem-
Vol. XXXIV.

plative philofopher, and to the truant
fchool-boy,—

‘ Who ftarts the curious found to hear.

And imitates the lay.'

Creation fmiled, dreffed in her ma¬
ny-coloured robe 5 the trees, whofe
naked limbs were (hook by the breath
of Boreas, now clothed in eye-cheer-
ing green, waved their verdant orna¬
ments; and the meadows, which a
few weeks before appeared crifped
by frofts, or mantled by fnow, were
enamelled with gold cups and
fprinkled with ‘daify flowers.’ — ■
How exhilarating to my fpirits was
this lovely change! What an heart¬
delighting metamorphofls !

‘ Stern Winter now, by Spring reprefs’d,
Forbears the long-continued ftrife;

And Nature, on her verdant bread,

Delights to catch the gales of life.

i Now o’er the rural kingdom roves

Soft Pleafure, with her laughing train :

Love warbles in the vocal groves,

And vegetation plants the plain.’

Dr. Johnson*

In the courfe of my walk, I called
at a rural cottage, furveved its little
garden, and feared myfelf in a leafy
arbour. Being alone, I took a retro-
fpeCtive view of paff times, and
reflection produced the following
apoflrophe.

‘Shady recefs! oft in the jocund
feafon of youth — the May of human,
life — with gay companions did I
vifit thee, and fpent fome blifs-tipt
moments in amufing converfation
beneath thy verdant canopy. Calm
retreat ! dearer to me than the proud
alcove ! within thy green abode,
with the maiden of my choice, in
“ courtfliip’s blooming hour,” I ’ve
fat.

“ Crowa’d with delight, the minutes flew
along,

And fcatter’d bleflings from their balmy
wings.”

When I was about terminating
my walk, I efpied a wren’s neft;-
2 H

234 Letter from Mr . Garrick to the Secretary of the Cujloms . "

I will not attempt to defcribe it ; but
will quote a beautiful defcription
from Hervey’s * T heron and Afpa-
lio.’

4 The wren makes up by contri¬
vance, what is deficient in her bulk.
Small as fbe is, fhe intends to bring
forth, and will be obliged to nurfe
up a nnmerouS ifl'ue. Therefore
with the corre&eft judgment (lie
defigns, and with indefatigable in-
dwftry finifhes, a neft proper for that
purpofe. It is a neat rotund, length¬
ened into an oval, bottomed and
vaulted into a regular concave. —
To preferve it from the rain, it has
feveral coatings of mofs ; to defend
it from cold, it has but one window,
and only a fingle door, or rather the
window and door are the fame; to
render it both elegant and comfort¬
able, it has carpets and hangings of
the fined, fofteft, down. By the
help of this curious manfion, our
little lady becomes the mother of
multitudes; and the vivifying heat
of her body is, during the time of
Incubation, exceedingly augmented.
Her houfe is like an oven, and
greatly aflifls in hatching her young ;
which no fooner burft from the fhell
than they find themfelves fcreened
from the annoyance of the weather,
and mod agreeably repofed amid the
ornaments of a palace, and the
warmth of a bagnio.*

Haverhill » John Webb.

Letter from Mr. Garrick to the
Secretary of the Customs.

DEAR SIR,

ot Rachael weeping for her
children could drew more bor¬
row than Mrs. Garrick — not weep¬
ing for children — f^ie has none—
nor indeed for her hufband ; thanks
be to the humour of the times, (lie
can be as philofophical upon that
Jubjedt as her betters. What does

die weep for then ? Shall I dare
tell you ? It is — it is for the lofs
of a chintz bed and curtains. The
tale is diort, and is as follows: I
have taken fome pains to oblige the
gentlemen of Calcutta, by fending
them plays, feenes, and other fer-
vices in my way; in return they
have fent me Madeira, and poor
Rachael the unfortunate chintz.
She has had it four years, and upon
making fome alterations in our little
place at Hampton, fhe intended to
diew away with her prohibited pre-
fent. She had prepared paper,
chairs, &c. for this favourite token
of Indian gratitude. But, alas! all
human felicity is frail. No care
having been taken on my wife’s
part, and fome treachery being ex¬
erted againd her, it was feized, the
very bed, 4 by the coarfe hands of
filthy dungeon villains, and thrown
amongthe common lumber.’

If you have the lead pity for a
diftrefled female, any regard for her
hufband (for he has had a bad time
of it), or any wifhes the environs of
Budiy-park be made tolerably neat
and clean, you may put your finger
and thumb to the bufinefs, and take
the thorn out of Rachael’s tide.

I am, dear fir, your’s,

D. Garrick.

text.

{ For earthly power doth then lock, likeft
God’s,

When mercy feafons jufticed

Shakspeare’j Merchant of Venice,

PETITION.

O Stanley, give ear to a hufband’s petition, ,
Whofe wife well deferves her diftrefstul f
condition, C

Regardlefs of his and the law’s prohibition. '
If you knew what 1 fuffer fince fhe has been
caught,

(On the hulband’s poor head ever falls the
wife’s fault,)

You would lend a kind hand to the contraband

lade»

And fereen her, for once, in her illicit trade.

' — /

Reflexions on Happinefs^ and the Pleafures of the imagination. 235

lor true, as ’tis faid, lince the firft Eve undid
’em,

Frail woman will long for the fruit that’s for¬
bidden ;

And hulbands are taught, now-a-days, fpit?
of ftruggles,

Politely to pardon a wife, though Ihefmuggles.

If your honours, or you, when the fex goq
aftray, {

Have fometimes inclin’d to go with them
that way,

We hope to her wifhes you will not fay Nay. J

’Tis faid that all judges this maxim do keep,

Not their juftice to tire, but at times let it
fleep.

If more by the Scriptures their honours are
mov’d,

The over-much righteous are there difapprov’d.

Thus, true to the Gofpel, and kind as they’re
wife,

Let their mercy reftore what their juftice de¬
nies.

Reflexions on Happiness, and
the Pleasures of the Imagina¬
tion.

TTope, deceitful as it is, fays the
“*■ judicious La Rochefoucault,
ferves at lead to conduft us to the
end of life by an agreeable road.
But that it may poffefs this advantage,
it muft be rational and fuited to our
condition. If it is more chimerical
than probable, it Can only be con-
fidered as the . extravagance of a
heated imagination. To hope with
fome foundation is reafon ; to hope
contrary to hope itfelf is madnefs.
Good fenfe mull fupport the illufion.

Though hope frequently deceives
us, it, neverthelefs, has its utility.
The innocent pleafure it gives in¬
vigorates us to aft. Hope well con¬
ceived diffufes a calm through the
foul, and tranquillifes the mind.
It is a balm which promotes health,
and agreeably prolongs life, to which
it attaches us by a fecret charm.

We are only happy from our de¬
files. It feems that our eagernefs to
purfue any objeft befiows on it a
value. The imagination embeliifhes,
magnifies, and forms, at its pleafure,

the fubjefts which excite it to aft:
they are rofes which it divefts of
their thorns before it prefents them
to us.

Enjoyment is the tonchflone of
happinefs and pleafures, which dif-
covers what is falfe, or of the nature
of alloy, in them. Our fatisfaftion
is never perfect : the enjoyment of
happinefs always detrafts fomething
from happinefs itfelf. When plea¬
fure paffes from the imagination to
reality, it lofes much of its value in
the paffage, becaufe it arrives either
too late, or in circumftances which
prevent our taffing all itsfweets.

Happinefs never comes up to the
idea we had formed of it. Some¬
thing is always wanting when we
have obtained pofieflion. We re-
femble that Sybarite, who, when laid
on a bed of rofes, could not deep the
whole night, becaufe a leaf of one
of them was doubled under him.
Such is man: he defires, he fighs for
an object ; and when he poflefles it,
he is not content, he (till complains.
Why? Becaufe he enjoys.

To believe ourfelves happy is to
befo; but, in order to this belief,
the chimerical idea we embrace muft
have all the appearances of reality, or
at leaft the pofiibility of real exift-
ence. When thefe conditions are
wanting, fuch an imagination is only
the delirium of a man in a fever.

The pleafures of imagination are
lively, becaufe nothing blunts their
edge, and it prefents them to us
without any foreign mixture; they
are pure, becaufe the foul taftes them
independently of the fenfes. They
are not corrupted by fear; they are
not followed by difguft : they are all
pleafure.

The degree of ambition makes
the difference of fortunes. Without
forming defires which can never be
gratified, let us profit by the advan¬
tages we pofiefs, and we fhall avoid
many difappointments. Let us con-

2 H 2

'K. L A A*

236 Inquiry whether Women have more Wit than Men .

ftder as ufelefs vvhatever we have
not, and what we have as fufficient
for our happinefs; let us weigh every
thing in the balance of reafon; let
us eftimate it according to its true
value; and this eftimation will en¬
able us to difregard whatever is
wanting to us. The lefs we pofiefs,
the more we are free; our pofief-
ftons, in fact, render us dependent.
The imagination is the moil valua¬
ble gift that nature has beftowed
upon us: it is an infallible refource
for all our wants. Let us ufe it
moderately, left the frequent illufton
lhould become habit, and ceafe to
have its due effeCt on us.

J)iscussion oj" the Question whe¬
ther Women ha-ve more Wit than

Men.

■. t

\_By a French JViiter .]

nr his queftion has been examined
*■* by the late La Beaumelle, and
he has not hefttated to affign the
fuperioriry in wit to the fex which
fo evidently pofleftes the fuperiority
in the graces. It is not merely to
gallantry that we are to attribute the
pre-eminence he has thus allowed to
women; he eftablifties it on their
exterior and their natural difpoft-
tions. He fupports his opinion by
the authoiityof a philofopher who
was nothing lefs than gallant. Dio-
genes the Cynic laid, on his return
from Sparta into Attica, that he came
from the apartment of the men into
that of the women.

Women, adds La Beaumelle, unite
an themfelves a thoufand charms ;
and {hail wit be the only one which
is wanting to them ? Shall Nature,
fo conftant, fo regular, fo uniform in
her works, fail to be fo in this fingle
inftarice ? After having lavithed on
woman the moft brilliant gifts, fhali
the have withheld from her that

which was moft: eftential to give
them effeCt ?

The part of man in fociety is that
of a thinking, of woman, that of an
agreeable, being. The former go¬
verns the world by reafon, the latter
by charms and foqthing delicacy.
To the one, heaven has given vigour
of body and folid fenfe; to the other,
beauty and the graces: can we fup-
pofe that wit has been denied her ?

Formed to pleafe ; born, fo to
fpeak, with that defign ; living only
to execute it, growing old with re¬
gret at not having fufficientlv pleaf-
ed ; dying with chagrin at not being
able longer to pleafe, and with the
defire of ft ill pleaftng ; mull not wo¬
man have received from heaven that
quality which may heft enable her
to attain the objeCt to which {he tends
as if by inftinCt; that perfection
which is moft proper to maintain the
equilibrium between the two fexes,
to corredt the imperious powers of
the one and to give full effeCt to all
the brilliant charms of the other ?

In fine, experience comes to oqr
aid, to prove the truth of this con¬
jectural theory, and atteft the fupe¬
riority of woman. Where, let me
alk, do we find men who exprefs

themfelves with that facility*, who

. * '

think with that delicacv, who fpeak
with that elegance, which we fo
much admire in almoft all well-edu¬
cated women ? To them alone it
appertains to adorn their ideas with
the lively colours which have been
tempered by the hands of the Graces
themfelves.

We do pot find in their conver-
fation or their writings thofe far¬
fetched allufions,thofeprecifephra{es,
thofe forced antithefes, thofe harfh
figures, which are at prefent fo much
in fafhion ; but in return, they de-
fcribe with vivacity, they delineate,
they paint. Every thing in their
productions is grace or fentiment,
and often both combined.

£37

Dialogue on Duelling.

DIALOGUE on DUELLING.

(By Dr. Bro%vn} of Trinity College , Dublin .)
Philemon .

t much furprifed me to hear, Eu¬
genio, that you, a religious man,
and a firm believer, have lately been
on the point of fighting a duel, and
even feem to court it.

Eugenio. 1 own myfelf wrong,
Philemon, and will neither juftify it,
nor endeavour to palliate it by the
excufe of paffion ; yet give me leave
to fay that 1 do not think that fub-
je<t is ever fairly handled, nor the
arguments for duelling allowed their
full weight.

Philemon. Why, have you any
doubt that duelling is indefenfible ?

Eugenio. Not t-fle leaft : all I
mean to fay is, that its condemners,
before they cenfure its fuppprters,
fhould maturely copfider all the lat¬
ter have to fay.

Philemon. Surely they are fatis-
fatorily and perpetually confuted in
the pulpit, and by the clergy every
day.

Eugenio. A? to the clergy, permit
me to fay, they have often appeared
to me its beft defenders.

Philemon. That is a paradox, in¬
deed ! — How fo ?

Eugenio. By fpeaking in conver-
fation with as much contempt and
reprobation of men who do not
wifli or decline to fight duels as any
other men do; but with infinitely
more force, on account of their
order : fo that the clergy, like the
ladies, while, /peaking in formal
language, they abufe duelling, give
bv thefe bve hints the ftrongeft in-
ducements to it. I have heard a
clergyman, after defcending from the
pulpit, where he had preached againft
' this pradVice, talk with contempt of
a man for not fighting.

Philemon. Believe me, Eugenio,
you fee the matter in a falfe light :
the clergy, like all other perfons.

defpife cowardice, and while they
think that fuch conduit proceeds
merely from timidity, juftly deride
it; but if they thought it proceeded
from confcience, they would not
call it cowardice. I dare fay, in
the infiances to which you allude?
there could be no reafon to think
that this averfion to. combat pro¬
ceeded from confcience.

Eugenio. Upon reflection, I be¬
lieve you are right; and acquit them,
except of want of caution and dif-
crimination. I did know a young
and very fpirited man, who de¬
clared, very early in life, that he
never would fight a duel, and was
honoured for it. I with I had done
the fame; but then I wifli I could
have been lucky enough to fignalife
mvfelf in the eaufe of my country,
or to prove my courage in fome
really juffifiable way. — But I am
lofing fight of my original in¬
tention.

Philemon . Proceed then to fay
what can he plaufibly urged in de¬
fence of this horrid cufiom.

Eugenio. I decline the common¬
place topic of the difficulty of war¬
ring with general opinion ; 1 reduce
the arguments for it to two — felf-
defence, and the fupport of recti¬
tude.

Philemon.. I fhall be glad to hear
how you make them out. flow are
you driven to felf-defence when you

have the laws to defend vou ?

✓

Eugenio. A bully or a bravo may
do me irreparable injury, where the
laws cannot help me. Suppofe him
my rival in a liberal profefiion,
where mv income depends upon
popular opinion; fuppofe him de¬
termined to filence or expofe me to
the public eye; and by thus reducing
me to contempt, to deprive me of
mv income, and my wife and family
of fubfiftence. You will not deny
that fuch things are poffible; and
that a man who would bear infuhs

238

Dialogue on Duelling .

tamely 'would not, for inftance at
the bar, get buiinefs. Does he not
attack me, in the eyes of common
ienfe, at the point of the fword, as
much as the robber who aftails me
on the highway? nay more, for the
robber would take but a few gui¬
neas, but this man reduces me to
beggary, and my ftarving infants
upbraid my dereliction. How could
an indictment for a challenge re¬
medy thefe evils? Surely there may
be, an implied felf-defence as flrong
as a literal one.

Philemon, What a firing of fo-
philms does the man impcfe upon
himfelf, who argues according to
his wifhes ! you have formerly
wifhed to convince yourfelf that
duelling was compatible with re¬
ligion, and were willingly deceived.
Not to dwell on the greater proba¬
bility that, by fighting and lofing
your life, you may inftantly reduce
your family to that d ill refs you fo
much feem to dread, let me obferve
that you have been perpetually beg¬
ging the queftion ; you have not
fhovvn that the decay of bufinefs is
a neceflary confequence of the de¬
cline of the challenge, and that
clients will be fo abfurd as not to
apply for aid to the man who has
fuperior knowledge of the laws, be-
caufe he does not make a trade of
fighting ; their own intereft will
carry them to the beft fLop, though
it were kept by a quaker. Show
me an inftance of a man of virtue,
religion, real honour, and know¬
ledge, ruined becaufe he would not
fight a duel ; let the experiment be
tried, if it has not been. But fup-
pofe me miftaken, is this an argu¬
ment for you, Eugenio ? 4 1 will dif-
obey God, and fly in the face of
heaven for my own intereft!’ Is
that the genius of the Chriflian re¬
ligion ? Take up your crols and
follow him, and do not deceive
Yourfelf with the idea that you may

difobev religion when it counteracts
intereft : as well might you argue
that you had a right to fteal, becaufe
your family was in danger of ftarv-
ing; or, if fome writers on law
have juftified that, to murder the
man to whom vou are next heir.
But be convinced there is no necef-
fity of making fo hard a druggie;
nor is there any real danger of your
being prejudiced, even in this life.
Heaven will, very probably, reward
you even here; for I am convinced,
that even worldly profperitv is made
by Heaven to follow religious con¬
duct in this life, much more than
either the railers againft, or defend¬
ers of, Providence feem willing to
allow.

Eugenio. Well, I will fay, in col¬
lege language, conceditur (granted).
But what would you fay if an ac¬
tual attack was made on your per-
fon ? Men have been often kicked and
beaten.

Philemon . Then felf-defence would
come in. I would go armed and
repel the afTailant.

Eugenio. Allow me to be fome-
times right : that would not do : I
allure you the cafe has happened,
the affailant was killed. It was
proved that the felf-dt fender had
never been known to go armed
until a fortnight before. Malicious
intention was from thence argued ;
he had been attacked only by the fift,
but by a very flrong man, and he was
a very weak one : he had powerful
enemies, falfe evidence was given
of his making the full aflault, and
lie very narrowly efcaped being
hanged.

Philemon. You put a cafe that is
very fpecial; too much fo to draw
general concluftons from. Every
man does not encounter powerful
enemies and falfe evidence. But what
have all thefe things, for inftance,
to do with your cafe? You were in
a public aflembly, in no danger of

239

Critical Observations on the Novel of * Tom Jones.9

perfonal violence ; and, as to de¬
fence of income, furely you were in
more danger of lofmg the belt and
fureft part of your livelihood if
ever you did fight, and yet you
quarrelled with a very good-natured
man to whom you wifihed well.

Eugenio. There I recur to the
pofition of its being in defence of
rectitude.

Philemon. Pray tell me how?

Eugenio. I had conceived at the
time that a fyftem feemed to be
formed to bear down liberty of
fpeech, and prevent, by intimida¬
tion, right from being fupported.
It appeared to me at the time, that
fo far from a breach of religious
duty, I was fulfilling a moral obli¬
gation, in endeavouring to do juftice
to my country (which cannot be
done without liberty of fpeech),
even at the expence of my life, and
that I had a right to lay down my
life in fuch a caufe as much as in
the field. I do not fay I was right,
or that I might not be miftaken, as
to fuch an intention; in this par¬
ticular gentleman I am fure I was.
Cafes are poffible. Suppofe a man
were to threaten the defenders of
the Chriftian religion, or to en¬
deavour to prevent their Ipeaking
its truths by the fword ; might they
not repel fuch violence?

Philemon . Your laid infiance is
really too ludicrous: that a man
fhould think himfelf juftified in
'defending the Chriftian religion by
a direct breach of it, you cannot
ferioufly maintain; and fee whether
this does not illuftrate the former.
Heaven intended that you fhould
fupport the rights cf your country ;
but not by a breach of God’s laws :
there is no fuch demand upon you.
A firm and fieadv, but cool and de¬
liberate, manner of delivering your
fentiments, if they contain any
real weight, will always infure re¬
spect and attention ; and it is always

free for you, if you have ability
fufficient, to encounter inventive by
argument, and, if you have dignity
of charaCler, to opoofe to unpro¬
voked attack the feelings of all the
rational and refpeCled part of man¬
kind.

Eugenio. Well, lam fure you are
right ; but you will own the talk is a
very difficult and delicate one.

Philemon. I will own it; but that
is no excufe for a breach of duty-

Critical Observations on the
Novel 0/ ‘Tom Jones.’

In a Series of Letters from an Uncle t®
his Niece .

( Continued from p. 191.J

LETTER VI.

DEAR NIECE,

I now refume my obfervatlons on
the novel of 4 Tom Jones.’ The
introductory chapter to the eighth
book is a well-written eflay, defigned
to ridicule the idea of calling; in
ghofts, or other aerial fpirits, as
agents in a romance. The author’s
reafoning on thefubjeCtis very juft,
and will be acknowledged to "be fo
by every reader who attends to the*
arguments he makes ufe of on the
occafion. The juftice of his remark
on the tale related by lord Claren¬
don in his 4 Hiftory of the Rebel¬
lion’ will be readily aftented to.
The method taken by Mr. Field¬
ing of illuftrating what he has faid
ot the marvellous and the incredible
by referring to the ads, as tranfmit-
ted to us bv hiftory, of the four Ro¬
man emperors, Trajan and Anto-
nine, and Nero and Caligula ; the
good deeds of the two former,
which formed ftriking contrafts to
the (bamelefs barbarities of the
other two: introduces a ftorv of mo-

1 0

*- 1 ‘ ^ 4 - 1

£40 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones.9

dern date, and which had then been
recently perpetrated. The villanies
of Fiflier, our author obferves, will
obtain eafv credit with pofterity,
whilft the relation of a<fts of bene¬
ficence and humanity will with
more difficulty find belief. The
/ketches of a benevolent mind,
which were intended for the late Mr.
Allen, are drawn by the hand of a
mailer. The diftich alluded to is
taken from Mr. Pope, and is as fol¬
lows :

« Let humble Allen, with an awkward
fhame,

Do good by Health, and hfufh to find it
fame/

Mr. Fielding’s own works are a
good comment upon what he fays
on confervation of character. On
this head I have before taken occa-
hon to fpeak, and fhail probably
find an opportunity of painting out
to you feveral other inflances of
the fame in the courfe of this our
literary converfation.

The fecond chapter of this book
opens with the converfation be¬
tween the landlady and our hero.
The artful difcourle of the former,
by which fhe draws from him the
i'ecret of his attachment to Sophia,
and a part of his own hiftory, for
the hearing of which her curiofity
was wound up to the higheft pitch
of expectation by the feeble hints
which file had gleaned from the
poft-bov ; all the fe circumftahc.es, I
fay, denote the propenfity to idle
•curiofity in the minds of the female
mob, and which are falfely imputed
as chara fieri flic traits attached to
women in general. The artifice of
the fugacious dame, and the fudden
departure of her civility on view of
the expiring purfe, by which her
whole frame was in a manner pal-
fed and her brained complaifance
turned into contempt, mark the
fordid avarice of an inn-holder,
which, as Mr. Fielding obferves of

the poftillion^ in another part of
this novel, is pretty much the fame
ail the world over. How far this
behaviour in our inqiiifitive landlady
accords with the idea we had an
expectation of finding in her from
her primary introduction, mufl be
obvious.

The dodlor, at his fecond vi fit,
turns out to be the fame prating
coxcomb as before; and the hints
winch the landlady throws out, with
the furgeo&’s reply, are character-
iftic.al of both thefe perfonages.

I have obferved, in a former let¬
ter, that the adventure of Jones with
the company of officers, where the
broken head occurred, would lead
to the introduction of a perfon who
was to act a very diftinguifhed part
in this hiftory. This perfon makes
his appearance in the fourth chapter:
and here give me leave to intreat
your attention to the addrefs of
the author, in adapting every paf-
fage of his book to the incidents
which occur in real life. Here we
often perceive the moft material
incidents which occur in our com¬
merce with mankind to arife from
fuch flender accidents that we are
fcarcely able to trace them from
their i ounces, and often the moft
unfortunate iffues fpring from thole
occurrences which at the time feemed
to hold out the moft flattering pre-
fages ; and fo, on the other hand,
thofe events have frequently turned
out the moft profperous and hap¬
py that have owed their birth to
incidents which, at the outfet, ap¬
peared the moft untoward.* Thus
Louis XVI. ended his life on a
fcalfold, from having entered into a
league with the trans-atlantic re¬
publicans, by which he gave his
iubjeCts an idea of freedom and in¬
dependence. So in this tranfcript
of the events of human life, an ac¬
cident which, at the time, was likely
to prove fatal in its confequences to

Critical Ohfer vat Ions on the Novel of c Tom Jones* 241

poor Jones, turned out to his ad¬
vantage by introducing him to the
acquaintance of a man, without
whom his future reconciliation with
Mr. Allworthy could not fo eafiiy
have been brought about, I mean
little Benjamin the barber.

The dialogue between Jones and
little Benjamin, in the fifth chapter,
abounds with humour. The pe¬
dantic quotations of the barber
will be in a peculiar manner relifh-
ed by thole who have enjoyed a
clalfical education. The remark of
Mr. Fielding upon the partial man¬
ner in which Jones relates his hif-
torv, and that this will always happen
to every perfon in the like predica¬
ment, and that his vices will come
purified through his lips ; the juflice
of this obfervation will, 1 fay, be
generally acknowledged. The ca¬
talogue of books in Benjamin’s li¬
brary is charafteriftic.

The arrival of Benjamin, under
the 'character of a furgeon, in
the fixth chapter, furnifhes an op¬
portunity to Mr. Fielding of dif-
playing thofe talents for true humour
of which he had fo gfeat a fhare.
The alfumed gravity and ftlf-im-
portance of little Benjamin when
he had taken upon him this new
profefiion, is a good fatire on thofe
furgeons who fuppofe they derive a
confequence from a haughty car¬
riage and fupercilious demeanour.
The dilcovery of "Partridge, the
fchool-mafter, under the difguife of
little Benjamin, and his refolution
to attend Jones in his travels, not
only accommodates that young man
with a facetious companion on
the road, but turns out, in the fequel,
to be a neceflary character among
the comic adlors of the novel.

In the feventh chapter much hu¬
mour is difplayed in the dialogue
which takes place between the land¬
lord and his wife, refpe&ing Jones,
in which each of them adheres clofely
Vol XXXIV.

to the characters given of them — the
hulband a worn-out fox-hunter,
and the dame a petulant and im¬
perious fcold. The obfervations
upon inn-keepers, at the clofe of
this chapter, may be applied to the
major part of thatclafs.

The arrival of J ones and his com¬
panion at the Bell, in Gioucefter;
the defcripdon of the perfonages
atfembled at table (one of whom
will be hereafter brought forward as
a neceflary aiior in the fcene) ; the
officious impertinence of the petti¬
fogger, and the loquacity' of Par-
tri Ige, in the kitchen; are related,
with much humour, at the fame
time that they are a freffi proof of
our author’s happy talent in bring¬
ing forward incidents which, ripen¬
ing bv degrees, contribute to the
main defign of the piece, whilft
they ad mini Per prefent delight to
the reader. The compliment paid
to Mrs. Whitfield, in this chapter,
is a frefli indication of the beneficence
of the author’s heart.

The travels of Mr. Jones and his
companion, with the flight of Sophia,
accompanied by her maid,' together
with the feveral epifodes which ac¬
company7 the relation in the re¬
mainder of this and the three fuc-
cetding books, have always appeared
to me to conftitute the moil inter-
e fling part of the tale.

The converfation between Jones
and Partridge, in the ninth chapter;
the reluflance exprefled by the lat¬
ter of becoming a volunteer againil
the rebels, and his accommodating
temper to the principles of his ma¬
ker, when he had diffiovered the
error he had committed in the mif-
apprehenfion of Jones’s refoh'e to
join the royal army ; are all of them
charadteriftical oddities in the pe¬
dant’s character, and mull excite ri-
fibility in every reader.

The tenth chapter opens upon m
with a very extraordinary incident

s I

oX(i Critical Obfervations bn the Novel of * Tom Jones

in a moft beautiful epifode, wherein
is i elated the liory of ihe (nan of the
bill. The pufillanimity of the
fchool-rnafter again breaks out upon
his approach to the old man’s re-
fidence. The relation which the
houle-keeper gives of the manner
in which her m after paffts his time,
and of the habit in which he is ufu-
aily equipped, again fecal the ter-
rois of Partridge. The fhrieks of
the o'd man at being attacked by the
robbers at the gate, affords the author
an opportunity of introducing this
tale in the mo ft natural manner,
ft nee it impdfts upon the old gen¬
tleman a kind of necefftry of grati¬
fying the curioftty of Jones, to whom
he had laid Himieli under the high-

eft obligation, Jones having juft be¬
fore been refcued bv him from the
moll imminent danger: whereas it
would hive demanded no fmall
portion of credulity in the reader,
to have fuppofed that a p/erfon who
had lived fo manv years in retire-

-J 4

merit would have condefcended to
lav open the c ire urn fiances of his
life to a ft ranger 'who had broken in
upon him fo abruptly. Not only gra¬
titude for his deliverance, but the
qyeftions propofed by the man of
the hill to Mr. Jones, are a i efficient
'jiifriftcatton to the latter for his re*
quell, The mifanthropic refteftions
to which the old man gives vent,
at the ciofe of this chapter, appear
to have tv en the natural refult of
thole misfortunes which he had
•undergone, and cannot on any other
reafoning be juftifted. The ftory
of the man of the hill is delivered in
very appropriate terms, and the
folirces vc hence all his misfortunes
originate may ferve as a beacon
for young min to avoid that baneful
rock on which he was fh ip wrecked :
namely, an affociation with idle
companions of either fex ; but par¬
ticular! v it flionld teach them to

j - . . p - j

f'nun the fociety :bf abandbrfcd fe¬
males, by an. immoderate attachment

to whom he was tempted to the
perpetration of a crime which had
well nigh brought him to an igno¬
minious end. 1 he ftcry, related by
Partridge, of the white-faced calf, is
not only laughable in itfelf, but
ferves as a juft fa tire on thofe per-
fans who are weak enough to yield
affentto the fuperftitious doftrine of
ghofts and fpirits.

The pi (ft tire of a gaming table, in
the twelfth chapter, is well drawn ;
and, from the effefts here related
which thefe allocations had on thofe
who frequented them,, the youthful,
readers of this beautiful tale may,
it is to be hoped, be induced to
avoid thefe vicious feenes, where
the un'ufpefting youth rarely efcapes
with impunity, and is not feldom
completely ruined by the expe¬
rienced lb a r per.

lathe thirteenth chapter, the pre~
carious fituation of a gambler, and
the want and miferv to which he is
occa {tonally reduced, are fet forth in
the mod impVeflive language. The
manner in which the man of the
hill is reclaimed by an accidental
meeting with his father, who had
fallen into the hands of ruffians, is
perfectly confdnant to reafon and
probability, and opens a wav for his
eicape from that horde of robbers in
whofe focietv he' was initiated, and
from whom it might have been
difficult for him to have efcaped
without this cafual interference. The
compliment paid to the do ft or forms
a delicate eulogium (as I conceive)
on Mr. Rankin, king’s furgeon to
George the fecond, at the time when
this novel was written. This ana-
chronifm may be juftified by the
practice of the beft writers, among

the ancients. The recognition be-

■ »>

tween rlYe father and fon is exp re fled
in terms the mo ft affecting: The
reformation in the manners of the
latter, OH this occafion, his re-
timi ro his father’s houfe, and his
dofe application ‘to the ftudy of

Critical Ohfervations on -the Novel of c Tom Jones. * * 24$

philofophy and religion, hold out a
falutarv leflon to tuch youths who

J *

may have been led aftray through
the influence of bad example. The
juft tribute of praife which Mr.
Fielding offers to the facred writings,
when contrafted to the moft admired
moral authors of antiquity, is a con¬
vincing teftimony of the author’s
piety and redlitude of heart. The
character drawn of the old man’s
brother is a true portrait of a mere
country fox-hunter. The ^indnefs
of the man of the hill towards
Mr. Watfon, whom he met with
feveral years after at Bath, and
whole life he preferved at the time
when he had plunged himfelf into
the Avon ; his tender folicitude
afterwards towards this abandoned
charafter, and the pecuniary relief
which he oenerouflv afforded him in

his neceffity ; muft awaken a tender
fen fat i on in evervbreaft fvmDathifmg
in acts of true benevolence and
friendship: and the fubfequent be¬
haviour of Mr. Watfon, in betraying
his friend to the foldiers, muft excite
deteftation againft the wretch who
could act with fuc.h black ingrati¬
tude. The furprife exprefted by
the old man, in the fixteenth lection
of the fourteenth chapter, at Jones’s
recapitulation of fome hiftorical
events of public notoriety, may feem
to bear marks of improbability, it
being unlikely for any man to pais a
life fo very reclufe as to by ignorant
of the convulfious which had twice
agitated his owi^i country within a
courfe of lixty years; in which pe¬
riod the two rebellions of 1715 and
3747 had taken place, and the latter
was then raging in the heart of the
kingdom. This objection was not
overlooked by Mr. Fielding, as ap¬
pears -by the queltion which Jones
put to the man of the hill. If we
attend to the eccentricities of this
lingular character, his ignorance of
the foregoing extraordinary facts
will ceafe to appear improbable ;

and, though fuch as are not. to be
met with in our daily commerce with
the world, is perfectly reconcileabfe
to thofe precebts which our author
has, in another place, laid down
as being indilpenfably nc.cefla.ry to
writers of this clafs *.

The hiftorical remarks made by
the man of the hill, in his tou;r
through E 0.1 ope, which he relates
to Jones in the fifteenth chapter,
furnilh a curious fpecimen q f h.i$
mifanthropje turn of mind, and are
truly characteriftic ; at the fame
time that they may be confidered as
a juft criticifrn on the generality of
modern travels, in which the authors
ufuaily fpin out huge volumes with
the recital of much unin-terefting
matter, and which may probably
contribute to the pecuniary exigen¬
cies of the writer, bur can be of
fmall avail towards the initruCUop of
the reader. From an attentive pe-
rufal of this beautiful epifode, it
mav be .learnt that folitude was never
defigned for man. This mifan-
thrope, however he might alfedt to
think ot, hen wife, was nevertbelels a
malecontent at bottom ; and of this a
more convincing proof could not be
given than thofe perpetual railings
againft his fellow- creatures. Every
perfon who fequefters himfelf from
the commerce of the world does, in.
fome meafure, become the fame un¬
gracious cynic with this man of the
hill. Such people, having immured
t h e m fe 1 v es . w i t h i n the .dual I c treu i t
of a village, in which perhaps. they
keep up only a trifling afl'ociatioa
with their neighbours, the temper
becomes peeviih; their.notions con-
tradfed ; their manners clownifU;
and, when the infirmities ofage over-
take them, they find themfelv.es,
like a drone in .the mid ft of a. hive of
bees, defected by (hole who have
been wifi, enough to mix. with foctety,
and to adopt thole various mod.es of

ri' L>' -r—. ..

* ifce iheintrorhi&ory chapter ro the 8th Lcwjc.

2 1 1

#44 Critical Objervations on the Novel of ‘ Tom Jones *

life which are perpetually on the
change. Not only the habit, but
the phrafes and common-place dif-
courfe, become fo varied, in the
revolution only of ten or fifteen
years, that what was efteemed as the
rnoft graceful in one period, would
he confidered as truly ridiculous
in the other; and the perfon who
fhould adhere invariably to old
culloms and antiquated phrafes, will
find his language and his wardrobe
equally obfolete, and to the other
part of the world will appear fcarce-
]y lefs ridiculous than the man of the
hill, when he was firft feen by the
affrighted Partridge in his long beard
and ill-formed tunic. As in the
walks of real life, fo in this mirror of
human agency, the moft trivial oc¬
currences frequently lead to great
events. Of this' I have had many
occafions to remark. The
which Partridge takes, at the clofe of
this chapter, is of this kind ; which
(however trifling in itfelf) is, in its
confequences, productive of events
the molt important to the enfuing
part of this hiftory. I am, &c.

LETTER VII.

DEAR NIECE,

The introductory chapter to the
ninth book forms a juft criticifm on
the general run of novel writers 5
the compofition of which, as Mr.
Fielding wittily obferves, in the
opinion of thofe authors, requires
neither learning nor knowledge, but
paper, pens, and ink, with the ma¬
nual capacity of ufing them. The
feveral good quaiites enumerated by
Mr. Fielding as neceffary to conffi-
tute a comic hiftorian or writer of
novels, will totally exclude that qui¬
ver of male and female pens, who
have at various" times, in and fince
the days of our author, attempted to
fcribble in this department of litera¬
ture. The compliment paid to Mr.
Garrick, Mrs. Cibber, and Mrs.,
Clive, is moll delicately exprrifed ;

and thofe who are old enough to re¬
coiled the inimitable excellencies of
thofe three performers, cannot fail
to acknowledge the juflice of the
panegyric.

The intelligence contained in the
fecond chapter of this book is a ne-
ceflary prelude to thofe circum-
ftances which lead to the cataftrophe
of the whole. The accidental ren¬
contre between Jones and Norther-
ton, and the revenge taken by the
former on that adventurer, fall in
naturally with the thread of the
Rory. All the incidents here related
do not exceed the ftridefl: limits of
probability. How neceffary the ap¬
pearance of the lady was at this time
will appear hereafter. This chap¬
ter, as you will perceive, is embel-
lifhed with many witty flrokes.

The rich vein of humour which
difplays itfelf through the third chap¬
ter, proclaims the inimitable hand of
Henry Fielding, and reminds one of
what Scaliger, the famous hypercri¬
tic, fays of the greatefl wit among the
ancients. How far the admirers of
4 Tom Jones’ may claim a right of
placing Fielding on a par with Ho¬
race, in point of wit, I will not de¬
termine : for my own part, without
infringing on the laws of Parnaflus,
I fhall not helflate to declare, that
the novel writer has far exceeded
the old lyric poet in humour.-—

4 That in felicity of invention, chafli-
ty of ftyle, and in the novelty and
variety of expreliion, his writings
are not barely faultlefs, but above all
praife.’

The relation of the Upton fray
cannot but provoke burfls of laugh¬
ter from the moft prudifh reader.
The defeription here drawn of Sufan
Chamber-maid, brings to our recol¬
lection the celebrated Maritornes.
Indeed the fententious manner in
which this battle is rehearfed bears a
great refemblance to the ferio-comic
writings of Cervantes ; and both the
Spanitk and the Englifli hiftories will

£45

Augujla and Emily ; a Tale

be read with delight, fo long as any
relitli {hall be left for true and ge¬
nuine Attic w it and humour. The
addrefs of the ferjeant to Mrs. Wa¬
ters ; and the apology of the hoftefs,
when fhe had learned the quality of
her female gueft, whom {lie had hi¬
therto treated with fuch rudenefs
and indignity; are truly character-
iftical. The libations offered by the
ieveral parties on their reconcilia¬
tion, muff again incline us to extol
the talents of our author.

The fifth chapter exhibits a fur¬
ther infiance of our author’s talents
at the mock-heroic, the beauties of
which cannot fail to be relifhed by
every ciaffical reader.

The converfation in the kitchen,
between the ferjeant, Mr. Partridge,
and the coachman, related in the
fixth chapter, abounds with humour.
The difpute between the ferjeant
and the landlady, refpeCting Mrs.
Waters, is maintained in very ap¬
propriate terms ; and To, likewife,
is the converfation between the land¬
lord and his wife. The loquacity
and pedantic quotations of Part¬
ridge, and the inquifitive temper of
the landlady, are diftinguifhing traits
in the character of each. The alter¬
cation between the landlord and the
ferjeant; the mifapprehenfion in the
former, of a phrafe uttered bv Par-
tiidge; and the battle between the
ferjeant and the coachman ; are inci¬
dents all managed with infinite hu¬
mour.

In the feventh chapter is, given an
hifiorical account of Mrs. Waters,
fo far as was neceffary to unfold the
myfferv of her having been found in
company with enfign Northerton;
and this is one proof, among many
others to be met with in this moft
pleafing novel, how far plain narra¬
tive may derive embellifhment under
the management of a fkilful and in-r
genious writer. I am, dear niece,
Your affectionate unde, &c.

(To be continued.)

AUGUSTA and EMILY;

A TALE.

[p.Y MISS C. B. YE AMES.]

[Continued from p . 180.)

6 And art thou gone for ever from
me !’ exclaimed, franticly, the
poor widow, when (lie beheld the
cold dew of death on the pale cheek
of the late blooming Jeffy. 4 Art
thou gone to reft? — to feek that
repole in a kinder region, which thy
ill ftarred fate denied thee in this!’

Mrs. Maitland could no more.
Tears drowned her feeble voice into
a faint-like prayer for the poor de¬
parted, in which fhe acquired a de¬
gree of painful ea!e — -eafe that re-
fembled the welcome calm after a
boifterous tempeft. Lady Mary and
Augufta were totally unable to fup-
port the awful feene : their bofoms
heaved with pitying anguifh, and
large pearly drops gently defeended
to abate the depreffing grief which
fwelied their humane hearts.

M r. 1 Tarcou! t's chariot now rolled
up to the humble gateway, and from
it alighted the handfome Agincourt,
with pleafure [park ling' in his fine
exprelfive eve, and expectation glow¬
ing in his vfit nous breaft. He re-

peatedly embraced the agitated girls,
and fomewhat cheered the aged
mourner by giving her ftrong adur-
ances of his future favour and pro¬
tection.

When ftated in the carriage, with
her {lender form repofing for relief
in the boforn of Augufta, lady Mary
heaved a bitter figh and fainted ;
mifs Harcourt fhrieked aloufl, and
Aeincourt was not a little alarmed

at the indifpofition of his amiable
Mai v. The fair invalid, however,
fhortly recovered, to te-animate the
fpirits of the deprefled lover; and
the broad walk, which was the en¬
trance to Afhton-grove, now ap¬
pearing, lord William and mifs
Harconrt were all themfelves.

§46 Aimtfta and Emily ; a Talc .

Lady Paul’s indifpofftion increaf-
ed, and the venerable eari'Cuthbert
felt ali the father ruffling to his heart

on feeing his beloved girl in fuch an
alarming ftate. The feeling Horatio
exhorted him to comfort; while his
nnamiable fpoufe fat deep in medita¬
tion, fitudyfog the part of Alicia, in
Rowe’s pathetic tragedy of ‘ Jane
Shore,’ to pfoaie her mcft charming
friend, the Hionourabie Chriftina
Strangewavs. Her hufband was fup-
ported by Augufta and the lady of
the man (ion, and Mrs. Kar court did
for once condefcend to flip from her
fingers the part of Alicia, to conduct
the emaciated Paul to her chamber:
Horatio thanked her with a pen five
fraile, and the fubtle wife prefled bis
hand to her lips with feeming plea¬
sure.

T he marriage of Augufta was now
postponed till the recovery of Paul ;
and Afhton-grove, lately the abode
©f happinefs, was changed to a feene
of dark defpair. It would have con¬
tinued fo for ever, had not tfye
folufoing rofe again returned to re¬
place the lily in the pleating face of
Mary. Earl Cuthbert again grew
young, with her return of health;
and mifs Harcourt, if poffible, was
too happy at the recovery of her
delicate friend.

As the family were one morning
feated in the break fade parlour, a
fervant came to Mr. Harcourt with
the meflage, that ‘Two ladies wiftied
to fpeak with him in private.’

4 in private!’ retorted Mrs. Har-
conrt, her face inftantaneoufly grow¬
ing red with rage. Tn private’’
file again repeated ; and, taking the
hand of Horatio as lie was walking
to the door, forcibly detained him.
Mr. Harcourt fpoke not, but the
ftrong emotion which prefled hard
to his foul was too vifible for the
timid Augufta not to notice it.

* Deary dear mamma!’ (lie fofdy

exclaimed, kiffing her burning cheek,
and prefting the hand which dill
confined the pafiive Harcourt by
her fide, — 4 let my kind refpedled
papa be at liberty to hear the ac¬
count that tbofe fair ladies have,
perhaps, brought him. Pray do!’
file faintly added ; 4 Pray do !*

Mrs. Harcourt deigned not to
bcftqw an anfvver on fuch a 4 forward
miff,’ as fhe ufuafly ftyied her; but,
with a look of favage fiercenefs, or-
dered her again to her feat.

4 That being who can refift fo
fweet a pleader as Augufta Harcourt,’
fternly replied Horatio, ‘muff be
dead to all feelings of companion—
dead to all fenfe of honour and hu¬
manity!’ and for once he darted a
look not very kind on his turbulent
partner.

The company was all confufion ;
now7 fear, then hope, a (Tailed them,
at what might follow from the en¬
raged Mrs. Harcourt. Lady Mary’s
fpirits already began to be too much
affedted, and, making a low curtfey
to Mrs. Harcourt, and calling a lin¬
gering look of regret on Augufta,
fine 1'uffered the earl, her father, to
lead her to the garden, leaving her
brother to take care of and confole
his adored miftrefs.

The footman now returned with
a fecond fummons for Mr. Harcourt,
faying 4 That the patience of the
ladies was totally exhaufted ; and
that if he (Horatio) was not at li¬
berty to receive them, they would
iuftantly_ depart from the -Gi ove.’

4 Am I doomed to be for ever
vour Haver’ exclaimed Horatio to
has wife.

4 Oh, no!’ returned fhe; 4 1 would
not that you ftiould wait on me in
that occupation and, railing her
fnowy ft reamer to her eyes, fhe
walked majeftically to the further
end of the room.

‘ In bondage to yoip madam,*

Augufla and Emily ; a T 'ale ,

Continued he, 4 1 have long been
held; but, for the fake of my darling
Augufla, have refrained from con-
tefling your ufurped power. But
know that your ill-treated captive
now burftsafunder hisgalling chains,
to talie the fweets of liberty, as
once he did before he beheld Aga¬
tha ! the cruel wife, and unkind
mother! the hard-hearted miflrefs!
and the how affaflin to this bleeding
heart!’

‘Dare you to treat me thus?*

. •/

returned hie haughtily. * Dare you
thus to triumph over the wretch
your wife?’

4 I dare do all within the roomy
bounds of honour; and now am not
your infatuated lover, but your huf-
band!’ replied the noble Harcourt.

Mrs. Harcourt began, like a mad¬
dened furv, bv tearing handfuls of
her luxuriant golden hair, and de~
snolifhing the fragrant china vafes
which lined the apartment, to the
inexpreilible grief of her daughter,
who fat weeping bv the fide of lord
William.

Horatio, however, heeded not the
furious Agatha ; but, killing the
ambrofial lips of his Augufla, de¬
parted to meet his vifitors. As he
approached the library, his heart
palpitated, he knew not why. He
gently opened the door, and two
elegant females rivetted hisattention
to the fpot. The elder of the two
appeared about thirty years of age;
tali, (lender, and majeHic, fine com¬
manded awe; while her fafeinating
features infpired the love of every
beholder, who pollefi’ed net that
apathy of foul to gaze on a beautiful
woman withoutadmiringand owning
the abfolute power file muff always
command over the human faculties.
They were both habited in fable
robes, and the youngefl might cer¬
tainly be allowed to be pretty; if
not fo ftri kingly beautiful as her
companion, at leall the whole con¬
tour of her countenance exhibited a

*4?

heart fo feeling, afoul fo generous,
and fenfibility fhone with fo much
animation in her full azure eye, that
Horatio fecretly felt a parental affec¬
tion in her favour.

4 Madam, may I afk your com¬
mands ?’ he faintly uttered* addreffing
the elder lady; while his eyes were
conftantly fixed on the bewitching
graces of her companion.

A heavy figb was the only anfwer
fiie was capable of making him, till
thefirfi: druggie of her feelings was
over: fhe then faid — 4 Sir, you once
had a fifter, who, if remembrance
is (fill dear to you, loved you with
the fondefl affection.’

Harcourt trembled, turned ‘pale,
and caught hold of a chair for fup-
port. * Go on, madam ! go on
pioufly ejaculated he, taking his eyes
from the young ft ranger to raife
them to heaven.

She continued—4 A few months
back your filler, the fpot! efs Emily,
breathed her lad in my feeble arms,
intruding to my care her only trea-
fare ; with drift injunftions, fix
months after her deceale, if you
were dill living, to deliver her from
mine into your hands; and, if not,
the innocent Emily would have been
for ever lheltered in my humble cot.
With the afTu ranee that you would
fondly protect her detlitute orphan,
the anxious mother funk into a pro¬
found deep never more to awake.
Behold, in this beauteous girl, the
image of the departed Emily,’ con¬
tinued die, leading forth the agitated
maid to her enraptured uncle. *

4 And is this the daughter of my
Emily? my bed belovecband unfor¬
tunate fider !’ exclaimed he, glowing
with enthufiaftic fondnefs, and fa-
luting her with rapture.

4 It is,’ replied his niece; * and
thus humbly does your devoted
Emily kneel for protection to the
only relation die pofiefles in this
world !’

J-Ieraifed the weeping Emily, and

£48

Matilda ; a Drama*

prefted her to his heart, faying —
* Ail the love I bore to my angelic
filter 1 transfer to her Emily.’

Madame de Perpignon, for that
was the lady’s name, thus continued,
taking from her bo form a final) pack¬
et of papers — 4 This, like wife, my
dear fir, I was to prefent. It is a
narrative of the feries of misfortunes
mv unhappy friend encountered /
and madame de Perpignon wiped
a fide the trickling tear.

«- Whence do ybu come ?’ fondly
enquired Horatio. ,

4 In a fmall cottage, near Paris, I
dwell ; and there 1 fir It and laft be¬
held the fainted Mrs. Lewis/ replied
madame de Perpignon. 4 And, in
a few days/ continued {lie, preffing
the white hand of Emily, 4 1 muff
leave my darling young friend under
a more worthy guardian.’

Mifs Lewis wept, and the amiable
de Perpignon was not lefs affe filed.

4 My beloved girl 1’ exclaimed
Mr. Harcourt, 4 you (hall have no
reafon, l hope, to regret leaving
France for England, except the dear
delight of refiding with your re fpect-
ed friend, and vifiting thole favourite
haunts which were once your mo¬
ther’s/ i

4 Sir/ returned Emily, 4 1 would
not with to be thought ungrateful;
but’ — Here fobs choaked her utter¬
ance, and madame de Perpignon
concluded the broken fentenc®.

4 Scenes of blifsfui childhood,
feenes of rofy pleafures, and feenes
where a dutiful child can fancy to
herfelf fhe beholds her beatified mo¬
ther, are too dear to be left without
a figh/

Emily could not exprefs her gra¬
titude to her friend, but by flinging
herfelf into her arms: flie repofed
for relief on the ruffled bofom of de
Perpignon.

Mr. Harcourt now fummoned
Augufta to his prefence, and the
beautiful girl eagerly flew to learn
the requeft of her father. Horatio

prefented Emily ; and, in an ?m-
preflive tone, bade her confider her
in future as her After. Augufta em¬
braced the weeping Emily, and led
her forward to lady Mary and Agin-
court. Horatio followed, fupporting
madame de Perpignon, and intro¬
duced to the now appealed Agatha
and his worthy friends his beauteous
niece, whom he faid for the future
he fhould confider as co-heirefs with
his Augufta to his fortune and affec-
tion.

(To be continued .)

MATILDA ; a DRAMA.

(Continued fro?n p. 1{)6.)

Scene VI.

Herman , Ernefi ...

Ernefi.

erhaps, fir, I difturb you ?
Herman (fitting at a table ficatter ~
ed over with papers ). It is certain,
fir, that, at the moment when your
uncle is expended, I have a thoufand
things to attend to.

Ernefi. I will not detain you long.
I was told this morning that the
amiable Matilda is indifpofed.

Herman. The melancholy profpefil
file has before her ; the continual
renewal of trouble and forrow -

Emefi . Oh, I {hare all her forrow !

Herman (with a?i ironical fimile ).
You, fir!

Ernefi. Much more than you may.
believe. My uncle, it is faid, has
given fome orders relative to the
countefs.

Herman (fifing, with an air of fup-
prefied indignation). Very rigorous
orders. 1 fhould be furprifed to
find that you are ignorant of their
purport.

Ernefi (with milanefs and concern ).
That is to fav, vou accufe me of
aving prompted them.

Matilda ;

Herman. I have the misfortune
not to know how to diflemble.

Erne ft . How ! Do I hear this
from you, who were once fo much
my friend ?

Herman. Matilda was then in the
arms of her father; fhe was not re¬
jected from the bofom of her family 3
hie had not been facr diced to him —
who has not, nor can have, any right
to be preferred to her.

Ernejl ficith eagern-efs). You fay
trnlv, Mr. Herman ; he has no right.
He was an orphan, unfortunate, de¬
ferred from his cradle, and reduced by
a concurrence of difaftrous events to
languid! in obfeurity, in poverty.
He owes his prefervation and his
happinefs to the mother of ihe unfor¬
tunate Matilda. But nothing: has
abated his gratitude; he has ever
acknowledged his benefadtrefs, and
refpeffed the rights of Matilda,
vvhofe flighted iiineafinefs is a torture
to his heart. He, 1 call Heaven to
witnefs, cannot reproach himfeif
with having ever contributed to the
misfortunes of any perfon.

Herman. I wifh he may not, for
his own fake.

Ernejl (with a deep Jigh). And
what muff I not differ, if my coufin
has conceived the fame harfh opinion
of me which you appearto entertain ?

Herman (with vivacity). You enjoy
advantages to which die is entitled
by birth : you wili inherit her for¬
tune.— (Checking himfej, hut JIM
with firm refs) . — Compare her rights
and her fituation with yours — and
then decide.

Erne (l ( with great warmth) . I
take from her her fortune ! - 1 !

Herman (wrh a farcajtic /mile).
You ■ know the count has planned
for you a great marriage.

Ernejl (firmly) . It has not taken
place.

Herman (with an ironical fmile).
But it will take place, and the great
wealth which ought one day to be¬
come Matilda's -

Vol. XXXIV.

a Drama. 243

Ernejl {with firmnefs). Will never
be mine. — (He fixes his eyes on Her¬
man, endeavouring to difeever his
thoughts). — It will go to Mr. Wod*
mar, who, fince his father’s death,
has not concealed his views on Ma¬
tilda.

Herman (vaguely). He has been
here feveral times.

Ernejl (with .a timid curiojity) . He
fee ms — is, I luppofe, favourably
received ?

Herman. That fecret remains with
your coufin.

Ernejl. And fhould my uncle ap-
prove of this match -

He man ( Jo me what hajlily). That
I think he never will.

Ernejl (with a fudden emotion of
jcy> which he infant ly reprejjes) . Oh! — -
Time will juftify me, Mr. Herman*
time will reftore to me your efteem
and friendfhip.— But fome one is
coming. — I muff leave you,— Hea¬
vens! — It is Matilda!

Scene VII.

Mat il cl a, Amelia Waljlein , Ernejl ,
Herman.

Matilda (with furprije at feeing
Ernejl). Ah! my dear Amelia! Her¬
man was not alone !

Emnejl (approaching her ref ped fully).
Excufe me, madam; I fhoukl be
molt unhappy if I thought I gave
you a moment’s uneafinels. If my
prefence is improper, I will with¬
draw immediately.

Matilda (embarrafed and timidly).

I expected to find Mr. Herman
alone — But there is nothing in your
appearance, fir, which can give me
uneafinefs. ..

Ernejl. Pardon me— I had feared
—Such harfh opinions are enter¬
tained of me — You turn pale, dear-
eft coufin ! — Louifa told me this
morning that you were indifpofed —

Matilda (with a deep figh). I am
not happy ; and the pains of the mind
have a great influence on the body,

2 K

t ;

£ 50 Matilda ;

Ermf (with a fit ong expreffion of
concern and tender nefs ) . You are not
happy ! — For whom then was happi-
nefs intended ?

, Matilda (with an exprejjion of for -
row, hut without harjhnefs) . It ap¬
pears, not for me, and that you know
better than any perfon.

Ernejl (fighmg). I know — that I
do not defer ve your hatred.

Matilda. To figh for the happi-
nefs you enjoy is not to hate you.
Hatred is too painful a fen'timent,
and I will not add it to my other
fufferings.

Amelia {as if impatient of a ccncver-
Jatim which had continued too long, hut
without unpohtenf ) . Matilda, we
have no time to lofe : your intention
was to take a ihort walk before the
arrival of your father- — and if Mr.
Erne ft will permit -

Ernef A obey, and retire. Erneft:
will’ never, willingly at leaft, be an
obftacle to the flighted defire of his
amiable coufin (with exprefi've mild-
nefs). All appearances are indeed
againft me, and I have nothing for
me but the teftiraony of my heart.
[He offers to gcy hut fops when he fees
Louifa ft)

n Scene VIII.

Matilda , Amelia Walfein , Ernef,
Herman , Louifa.

A Louifa. The gate was open, and
no perfon but myfeif in the avenue.
It was to no purpofethat I told Mr.
Wodmar that you could not be
feen, and that you was at home to
nobody;' he would hear nothing I
faid. He would follow me, and you
will fee him in a moment.
ii Matilda .. Indeed ! My deart ft
Amelia, let us be gone this i aft-ant.
I Ernef (at the bottom of. the flagc ,
a fide, and with eager joy) . She refill! s
to fee him ! * '

A' Amelia: Mr. Herman, you v ill
difmifs him as foon as poftible.

Matilda. Do not delay; Welflm.il
ijiot be gone before he comes.- —

[Exeunt.

a Drama .

Erneft (afde) . Would fhe fiy him,
if her heart felt a prepoftelfion in his
favour ?

Louifa. Here is Mr. Wodmar.

Scene IX.

IVodmargftErnejiy Herman, Louifa:

Wodmar . I did not hope to have
the pleafure of meeting you here,
fir; I fuppofed your impatience to
fee again an uncle who muft be fo
dear to you -

Ernef ( clciy ). I fhall not delay,
fir, to fulfil my duty,

Wodmar. He will, I think, arrive
this morning.

Ernef ( with cold politencfs). We
expexft him. Permit me to leave
you [ They bow. Exit F,rnef.

Wodmar ( politely fainting Herman ).
I afk your pardon, fir; I did not fee
von.

Herman. Sir !

Wodmar (to Louifa') . Mav I be per¬
mitted to pay my icfpecfs to the
lovely Matilda?

I.ouija. She is not at home, fir, at
prefent. f

Wodmar. I was told that I fhould
find her in this faloon. is fbeui the
garden ?

Louifa. She may be; hut I am not
certain. I will go and look for my
miftrefs: (afde) and I will anfwer
for it that I do not find her. [Exit.

Scene X.

Herman , Wodmar.

Herman. I do not think, fir, that
you can fpeak to her to-day. The
count, her father, is expected here
every hour.

Wodmar. This is precifely thecir-
cumftance which caufes roe fo ear-
neftly to folieuthe favour I requeft.
Join your entreaties ter mine, Mr.
Herman, and endeavour to prevail
on maddrn Waiftein and her amia¬
ble fiend not to refufe me a favour
on which depends, peihaps, our
common happinefs.

Merman . I cannot promife you

M a till a ;

fuccefs ; I can only anfwer for my
own zeal. [Exit.

Scene XL

JVod r.ar alone .

Erneft has always feemed to ob-
ferve me with an anxious aryl mif-
truftful eye. Does he love Matilda?
This is not the fil'd: time I have en¬
tertained that fuipicion. Is he be¬
loved ? No, certainly ; he mu ft ap¬
pear too culpable. But, alas! 1 am
fo, in fad, much more than he! —
One word, one Tingle word, and
Matilda would be happy. But this
decilive word, honour, or at lead
what is mid-iken for honour, a cruel
prejudice, forbids me to pronounce.
Oh: my father! what a crime was
yours !

Scene XII.

Wodmar , Charles . „

Charles. I am glad I have met
with you, fir ; I wanted to fee you. •

Wodmar. Did you, Charles ? —
What intelligence do you bring me?

Charles (looking round him, fuJpi~
cior-Jly). Nobody is coming, I hope.
We ought not to be Teen together.
You are waiting here to Tee the
countefs IVJatiida?

Wodmar . Yes.

Charles. You will not Tee her, thenr
As I pafied along the farther end of
the garden, I heard madam Wal-
dein and the counted Matilda ra'k-
ing together. I was behind a hedge,
To that they did not Tee me. From
what they faid, 1 underttood that
they were feeking Tome retired
place, to avoid being Teen by you.

Wodmar. What have I done that
they fliould be To anxious to avoid
me ?

Charles . \ do not know. But we
mud be very careful to prevent anv
fufpicion that we have a communi¬
cation with each other. The ut.nod
confidence is placed in me here, and
l deierve it: for if my young nrfif-
trefs were more happy; if I knew

a Drama. 25 1

that my mader would oneday redore
her to his affedions; in fine, if mar¬
riage were not yourobjed; do not
believe that for all the treafures in
the world { could be capable of ad-*
ing treacheroufly towards the count,
in whofe farndv I was born., and who
has always treated me with the great-
ed kindnefs; or his amiable daugh¬
ter whom, when little, I have fre¬
quently carried in thefe arms.

Wodmar goffering him a purje). I
know very well you are- a worthy
fellow, and I can never fufficientiv
recompenfe your feryices.

Charles. No, fir, no! Keep your
money: that is not, neceffary to in¬
duce me to Ter vc; you with all my
heart. My aim5 in affifiing you in
your defigns, is to give happinefs to
Matilda. Make her happy, and I
am fufficiently rewarded. But (be
not offended at what l am going to
fay) you are not the objed of her
affection : you may become fo in
time; but you certainly are not at
this moment. This Matilda has
frequently declared to madam Wal-
dein. I have mvfelf heard her.'

If, therefore, you prefs her for an
anfwer to your avowal of your paf-
fion for her, you will not, at prefenr, „
obtain one in your favour.

Wodmar. I am afraid I (hall not,
indeed. gi

Charles. I am fure you will not.
You will, therefore, confider what is
to be done.

Wodmar. To have recourfe to' the
means we hdve before talked of
would be to proceed to a dreadful
extremity.

C harks. It would, mod certainly.

Wodmar. My heart revolts at the
thought of carrying her off by force.

Charles. So does mine — 1 cannot
deny it.

Wodmar. It is impolfible that ! can
content to employ Inch violent
means, till l have lod all other hope.

Charles. Alas! I am much afraid

that before the day is over - At all

a Ka

2350 Anfwers to a former Setter y.

events, there is a key of the little
gate of the park. 1 1 have procured
it without the knowledge of any
perfon. You will fend her, in the
morning, fuch of your domefiics as
you pl^ce mod confidence in. They
may let themfelves in with this key.
I will wait for them between the
wall and the hedge; and we will con¬
cert together fuch meafures as fhall
remove all difficulty, in cafe of any
urgent neceflity.

IVodmar. I wifh to fee Matilda
once more, and to fpeak to her father :
let us, at lead, have nothing to re¬
proach ourfslves with.

Charles . That is acting like a man
of honour. But, above every thing,
endeavour to engage Louifa in your
intered. She is the handfome cham¬
ber-maid of our young lady, and in
an affair of this kind a chamber-maid
is a very neceffary affidant. I be¬
lieve there is a particularly good
underdandtng between her and my
companion Philip, a worthy lad,
much attached to Mr. Erned. You
will lament to her your hard fate,
figh, and move her tender feelings.
Amorous young ladies, like her, are
always compaffionate. If you meet
\yith her, do not lofe a moment.
Go di redly into the garden. They
know you are here, and will not
return, I am certain. At the bottom
of the broad walk, behind the Caf-
cade, you will find a thick grove.
At the farther end of that is a grotto.
I here they are concealed.

Wodv.ar. Which way mud I go?

Charles. On this fide. You will
turn to the right. Yes, that way.
But the key — you have forgotten the
key. Your ferv an.ts — remember, —
in the morning. A little addrefs,
difpatch, and courage, and we dial!
be furp to fucceed.

\_Extunt at different doers'.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

(To he ccnjtiwied,)

ANSWERS to a former QUERY.

To the Editor of the Lady’j
Magazine.

SIR,

n anfwer-to the query of Eliza
Clarke, in your Magazine for

— ' « o

April, p. 180, Itranfmitthe follow¬
ing extrad, from Dr. Turnbull, for
her perufal, which I by chance, a
few days back, happened to read in
your agreeable mifeeilany for the
year 1784.

c With regard to the falling of the
hair off the head/ fays the doctor,
‘ I know of no better method than to
cut away all the hair, diave the head,
and rub it for three or four weeks
with honev and rum. — Or, Take a
handful of box leaves, 2nd boil them
in a quart or more of water, to the
one-half confumption ; drain the
decodion, and rub the head all
over, every morning, for a month
or more, with the decodion.

‘ As it is a very ferious affair for a
young lady to want her hair, the
above method may be tided before
die parts with it; and I advife her to
lay slide, as much as poffible, the ule
of the hot curling tongs.’

That the fair Eliza may gain bene«
fit by this, i fincerely hope.

And am, fir,

Your humble fervant,
Catherine Bremen Yeames.
Harwich) May 4, 1803.

To the Editor of the Lady ’dr
Magazine.

SIR,

In anfvver to the query of Eliza
Clarke, 1 would recommend her to get
her hairdiavedeff, and bathe her head
with brandy tiiree or four times a-
day: not but at the prefent time the
lofs of her own hair can be of little
conb-quence, fince the deficiency
may be fo eafily remedied by the art
of a peruke- maker. And, as die
may chance to difiike the colour of

, Char after i/ll c and critical Remarks on Females. 253

her own hair, fhe has the advantage
of choofing whatever {hade (lie
pleafes; which will, exclufive of
adding an air of fmartnefs to her
perfon, render her entirely in the
falhion. ] am, fir,

Your humble fervant,

Eliz. Ye AMES.
, Harwich, May 3, 1803.

Char after ]Hc and critical Remarks
on Females.

(Concluded' from page 198.)

'The love of pleafure is infepara-
A ble from human nature; and
therefore everv thin? which is con-

J O

ducive to fu blu nary happinefs is
fought after by the majority of man¬
kind with unceafing avidity ; but as
the difpotltion of the mind mate¬
rially varies in different individuals,
and, as it is an acknowledged truth,
that the fame thing which pleafes
one perfon will not pleafe all, it is
neceffary that pleafure fhould be
capable of being derived from a
great variety of caufes, in order that
it might be adapted to each diftindl
inclination. No propofition admits
of fo little equivocation as this ;
namely, that the fame incident
which gives pleafure to one, fome-
times conduces to the mifery or un-
eafmefs of another, and hence
that caufe is univerfally confeffed to
be the moft excellent, and confider-
ed as the bed; flandard of admira¬
tion, which promotes the felicity
of the greatefi number of perfons,
whether it be a mental exertion
or a mechanical performance, or
whether its effects are perceptible
by its operation on the intellectual
or corporeal fenfes. Now amongft
many excellent properties which
we fometimes difcover in women,
we do not find any one more ex-
tenfive in its influence, beneficial

in Its operation, or more congenial
to the foul, than vivacity: it checks
the corrofions of care, di tfl pates the
torpi tirde of melancholy, corretls
the liffleffnefs of indolence, exhi-
li rates, harmonifes, and enlarges the
heart, and induces benevolence.

Thefe preliminary obfervations
lead ns to confider the endowments
of Velera, whofe diflinguifhing cha-
ratferiflic is vivacity ; but her
fprightlinefs alone would not render
her confpicuous among her fex,
were it not reftrained and regulated
by an accurate and difcriminating
judgment — a judgment ftrengthened
on one fide by nature, and refined
on the other by acla'fical education.
With thefe qualities, in converfatioa
file delights, the ear, her wit excites
mirth, and her fenfe infpires. re-
fpe£t. Notwithffanding this, Ve¬
lera is oftentimes governed by two
principles, which have been repre-
fented by the cenforious as imper¬
fections in her general character;
one of them being an ambition to
be fignalifed in matters of opinion,
and the other an irritability of tem¬
per. As an apologetic anfwer to
the firft of thefe objections, we ob-
ferve, that ambition, or rather
emulation, of this nature, is the ne-
ceflary and unavoidable confequence
of education; it is the well-grounded
evidence of a fu peri or energy of
mind, a prerogative which exclu-
flveiy belongs to every lady who
has been unremittingly affiduous to
improve her underftanding. As to
the fecond, we know that irritability
of temper in fome perfons is a dan¬
gerous failing, and accompanied
with malignity; in others it is nei¬
ther dangerous nor malignant, but is
merely indicative of acute fenflbility
and quick apprehenfion. We la¬
ment that ignorant people, who are
always ftrangers to abftracfed think¬
ing, fhould ever prefume to point
out errors and propofe amendments in

254 Charafterijlic and critical Remarks on Females.

others who a£t in a more difficult and
enlightened fpbere, folely bec'aufe
their ideas of external re&itude do
not exactly coincide. T hefe per-
fons intermingle different objects,
things,, and confequences, altoge¬
ther* and then from the incongruous
mafs educe an inference, which
they obtrude on others in the form
of an opinion. Surely this is abfurd,
and muff be, as the learned and ex¬
emplary Dr. Johnfon obferves, ‘ one
of the many inconffffencies which
folly prbduces,' or infirmity fuffeis,
in the human mind.’

Admitting therefore that ambition
and irritability are imperfections ex-
ilting in Vetera, they refemble
fpots on the fun’s ciifk, which ran
only be feen by obferving that lu¬
minary through a darkened medium ;

■ or, to be more intelligible, her im¬
perfections can only be feen by
perfons whole narrow , pnd con¬
tracted mental vifion is obfcured
and darkened by envy, ill-nature,
affedation, or ignorance. Women
©f vivacious difpefitions- are comr
Rionly paffionate, though their paf-
£dn is ieklom conneded with any
mtfchievous‘ propenfity, and there¬
fore may be defined to be an irri¬
tation, or a coll dion of ideas produ¬
ce d in tiie mind bv fome fuel den
fortuitous circuncffance, caufing an
»u plea fan t emotion which cannot
be fuppreffed, and which terminates
in immediate difapprobation or re¬
fen f men, t.

We feldom find a lady whofe ex¬
ternal appearance is lovely pofiefftd
of an improved underftanding : this
is not the consequence of a deficient
capacity, becaufe beautiful and un-
handfome women are alike endued
with improvable powers and firength
of mind; but it is the confequence
of fomething more obvious. Beau¬
tiful women are admired, and nat¬
tered, and reiterated flattery gradu¬
ally induces a feif-impor tance, and

an irrefiffible ambition to be cele¬
brated only for beauty. All things
therefore which tend to beautify the
mind are difregarded. An under¬
ftanding tutored into elegance can
only charm a few intimate acquaint¬
ance; but beauty has a more exten-
five influence, and falcinates all be¬
holders ; the female experiences
this, and lives fludious only of
outward embelli {laments, until ad¬
vanced age, decayed beauty, difap-
pointment, and negled, convince
her of her error. Vetera is an ex¬
ception ro the general remat k which
we thus have made : file has feen
the propriety of uniting elegance of
mind with the elegance of nature.
Being unmindful of her own per¬
form! attractions, file has evinced
how eafy it is for a lady to pleafe,
as well thofie who are capable of
diferirninating real excellence, as the
fuperficial obiervers w ho know or
feel fcarcely any thing befides that
which operates immediately upon
their eve-fight. It is pleafing to be¬
hold a lady, the fplendour of whole
perfonal qualities is heightened by
candour, parental afiedion, and at¬
tention to domeftic duties. Such
„we c onfider Velera ; and, comparing
her with many others, efteem her a
fuperior among her lex, to adopt
the fimile of Horace, as the moon
arnongft the leffer luminaries, — 4 Fc~
lut inttr ignps tuha minor es A

Since we have attempted to fiiow
the fairer fide of the female charac¬
ter, we have been cen fured for being
too exuberant iq our praife, as
tending to create vanity.. Now
with unaffected deference to fupe¬
rior difeernment, we remark, that
as human judgment is liable to
error, we might have been rmftaken
in fome particulars off our deline¬
ations ; but \vc prefumed that this
miffake would act beneficially, in-
afmuch as the lady who felt her
merit too highly rated would, we

On the Female Character.

conceited, infteacj of being vain,
exert her future endeavours to de-
ferve and corroboiate that opinion
which we had given. In our defer ip-
tion of charadfers we have endea¬
voured to coniine our opinions to
theunerring principles of truth : and
we disregard any iofinuation that
our fentiments have partaken of

mere adulation, fince we wifhed to

' %

diftinguifh rightly ; and where any
one’s conduct deferved our praife
we were de tiro us. to befto'w it as a
tribute of refpedl and approbation;
and we were {Emulated to exprefs
impartial fentiments fr&m a convic¬
tion that we were wholly inde¬
pendent of the favour of thofe
whom we attempted to charafferife :
and laftly we were unconcerned
whether our exertions incurred ap¬
probation or difiike, if fuch appro¬
bation or diflike re lul ted from par¬
tial if r, felf-love, envy, ill-nature,
peevifhnefs, or contempt, or from
any other caufe than juft and dif-
palfionate criticifm. Scoolt.

Wallingford, Kay 7, 1 803.

On the Female Character.

( By il Jr. Gisborne.)

Tn different countries and at differ-
ent periods female excellence has
been eftimated by very different
ftandards. At aim oft every period
it has been rated among nations
deeply immerfcd in barbarifm, by
the fcale of ferviie fear and capa¬
city for toil. Examine thedomeftio
proceedings of favage tribes in the
old world and in the new', and afk
who is the beft daughter and the
btft wife. The anfwer is uniform.
She who bears with fuperior pa¬
tience and perfeverance the vicif-
fi tudes of feafons, the fervour of
the fun, the dews of night. She
who, after a march through woods

and fwamps, from morn to eve, is
the firtf to. bring on her fh'o aiders a
burden of fuel, and- foremoft in
e retting the family wigwam, white
the men hand around in liftiefs
unconcern: pie who fear hes with
the greateft activity for roots in the
fo.relt, prowls with the mo ft fuccefs
along the (ho re for limpet?, and
dives with unequalled fortitude for
eggs in the creek : die who hands
dripping and fa mi died before her
hufo mel while he devours, ftretdied
at cafe, the produce of her exertions,
waits his tardy permiffion without d
word or a look of impatience, ani
feed?, with the humbleft gratitude
and fhorteft intermiffion of labour,
on the feraps and offals which he
difdains: die, in a word, who is the
mod tolerant of harddiip and of un-
kindnefs. When nations begin to
emerge from grofs barbarifm, every
new ffep which they' take toward
refinement is commonly marked by
a gentler treatment and a more
reai’onabie eftimalion of women ;
and every improvement in their
opinions and conduct re foe riling the
female fex prepares the way for
additional prog refs in civilization.
It is not, however, in the rudenefs
of uncivilized' life that female worth
can either be fitly apprehended, or
be di (played in its genuine colours.
And we diall be thefoefs inclined to
wpnder at the peryerfion of ideas
which has been exemplified on this
fu.bjeff, amid ignorance and necef-
fity, among Hottentots and Indians,
when we confider the erroneous
opinions on the fame topic which
have obtained more or iefs currency-
in our country, and even in modern
times, it would perhaps be no un¬
fair representation of the fmtiment
which prevailed in the laid age to
affirm that fhe was completely vtrf-
ed in the fciences of pickling and
preferving, and in the myfterv of
crofs-ftirch and embroidery; fhe

256

On the Female Character.

who was thoroughly miftrefs of the
family receipt - book and of her
needle, was deemed, in point of
folk! attainments, to have reached
the meafure of female perfection.
Since that period, however, it has
been univ-erfally acknowledged, that
the intellectual powers of women
are not reftriCted to the arts of the
bo ufe -keeper and the fie m pits efs.
Genius, ta lte, and learning itlelf,
have appeared in the number of
female endowments and acqui fit i ons.
And we have heard, from time to
time, feme bold afTertions of the
rights of the weaker fex, frigmatif-
ing in terms of indignant com¬
plaint the monopolifing irq office of
the other; laying claim on behalf
of their clients to co-ordinate au¬
thority in every department of fei-
ence and erudition ; and upholding
the perfeCl equality of injured wo¬
man and ufurping man in language
io little guarded, as fearedy to per¬
mit the latter to confider the labours
of the camp and of the fenate as
exclufively pertaining to himfelf.

The Power who called the human
race into being has, with infinite
wiidom, regarded, in the ftruCtu re
of the corporeal frame, the talks
which the different fexes were re-
fpedively defhned to fulfil. To
man, on whom the culture of the
foil, the ereClion of dwellings, and,
in general, thofe operations of in¬
ti u ft ry and thofe rnea hires of de¬
fence which include difficult and
dangerous exertions, were ultimately
to devolve, he has imparted the
ftrength of limb, and the robnftnefs
of confutation, requifite for the
perfevering endurance of toil.
The female form, not commonly
doomed, in countries where civiliza¬
tion is far ad vanned, to labours more
fevere than the offices of domeftic
life, he has caft in a finalier mould,
and bound together bv a loofer tex-
lure. Put, to protect weaknefs from

the oppreffion of domineering fu«
periority, thofe whom he has not
qualified to contend he has enabled
to fafeinate ; and has amply com-
penfated the defied! of mufcular vi¬
gour by fymmetry and expreffion,
by elegance and grace. To tfie it
appears that he has adopted, and
that he has adopted with the moft
confpicuous wirdorn, a correfpond-
ing plan of diferi ruinating between
the mental powers and difipolitions
of the two fexes. The feience of
legiflation, of jurifprudenoe, of po¬
litical eeconomy, the conduCt of go¬
vernment in all its executive func¬
tions, the abftrufe refearches of
erudition, the inexhauftible depths
of philofophy, the acquirements fub-
ordinate to navigation, the know¬
ledge indifpenfable in the wide held
of commercial enterprife, the arts
of defence and of attack by land
and by. lea which the violence or
fraud of unprincipled affiiilants ren¬
der needful ; thefe, and other ftu-
dies, purfuits, and occupations, af-
ligned chiefly or entirely to men,
demand the efforts of a mind endued
with the power of clofe and com-
prehenfive reafoning, and of intenfe
and continued application, in a de¬
gree in which they are not requifite
for the dilcharge of the cuftomary
offices of female duty. Jt would
therefore feem natural to expeCf,
and experience, I think, confirms
the j u lfice of the expectation, that
the Giver of all good, after bellowing
thofe powers on men, with a liber¬
ality proportioned to the fubfiffing
neceffity, would impart them to the
female mind with a more fparing
hand. It was equally natural to
expect, that in the difpenfation of
other qualities and talents, ufefui and
important to both fexes, but par¬
ticularly fitmed to the fiphere in
which women were intended to
move, 'he would confer the larger
portion of his bounty on thofe who

On the Female Character •

Q$7

seeded it the moft. It is according¬
ly manifeft, that in fprightlinefs and
vivacity, in quicknefs of perception,
in fertility of invention, in powers
adapted to unbend the brew of the
learned, to refrefh the overlaboured
faculties of the wife, and to diffufe,
throughout the family circle, the
enlivening and endearing fmile of
cheerfulnefs, the fuperiority of the
female mind is unrivalled. Does
man, vain of his pre-eminence in
the track of profound invefligation,
boafl that the refult of the enquiry
is in his favour ? Let him check
the premature triumph ; and lid en
to the itatement of another article
in the account, which, in the judg¬
ment of prejudice itfelf, will be
found to reftore the balance. As
yet the native worth of the female
character has been imperfectly de¬
veloped. To efiimate it fairly, the
view muft be extended from the
compafs and fhades of intellect, to
the difpolitions and feelings of the
heart. Were we called upon to
produce examples of the moll; ami¬
able tendencies and affections im¬
planted in human nature, of mo-
defty, of delicacy, of fympathifing
fenfibility, of prompt and active be¬
nevolence, of warmth and tcnder-
nefs of attachment, whither lhould
we at once turn our eyes ? — To the
filler, to the daughter, to the wife.
Thefe endowments form the glory
of the female fex : they fhine amid
the darknefs of uncultivated barbar-
ifm ; they give to civil ifed fociety
its brightefl and moft attractive
luftre. The priority of female ex¬
cellence in the points now under
confideration man is feldom undif-
cerning enough to deny. But he
not unfrequently endeavours to ag¬
grandize his own merits, by repre-
fenting himfelf as charaCterifed in
return, by fuperior fortitude. — In
the firft place, however, the reality
of the fad alleged is extremely pro-
Vo l. XXXIV.

blemarical. Fortitude is not to be
fought merely on the rampart, on
the deck, or the field of battle. Its
place is no lefs in the chamber of
ficknefs and pain, in the retirements
of anxiety, of grief, and of dlfap-
pointment. The refolution which
is difplayed in braving the perils of
war is, in moft men, in a very con-
fiderable degree, the effeCf of habit
and of other extraneous caufes.
Courage is efieemed the commoneft
qualification of a foldier: and why
is it thus common ? Not fo’ much
becaufe the flock of native refo-
lotion-, bellowed on the generality
of men, is very large ; as becaufe
that flock is capable of being in-
creafed by difeipline, by habit, by
fympathy, by encouragement, by
the dread of fhame, by the thirft
of credit and renown, almoft to
an unlimited extent. But the in¬
fluence of thefe caufes is not refir i 61-
ed to men. In towns which have
long fuflained the horrors of a
fiege, the defeending bomb has been
found, in numberlefs inftances,
fcarcely to excite more alarm in the
female part of the families of private
citizens than among their brothers
and hufbands. In bearing viciffi-
tudes of fortune, in exchanging
wealth for penury, lplendour for
difgrace, women feem, as far as ex¬
perience has decided the queftton, tt>
have flaown themfelves little inferior
to men. With refpeCt to fupporting
the languor and the acutenefs of dif-
eafe, the weight of teflimony is
wholly on the fide of the weaker
fex. Aik the profefTors of the me¬
dical art what description of the
perfons whom they attend exhibits
the highefl pattern of firmnefs,
compofure, and refignation, under
tedious and painful trials, and they
name at once their female’ patients.
It has, indeed, been averted, that
women, in confequence of the flight
er texture of their frame, do not
2 L

<25S

On the Female Character,

undergo, in the amputation of a
limb, and in other cafes of corporeal
buffering, the fame degree of anguifh
which is endured by the rigid muf-
cles and ffubborn finews of perfons
of the other fex under fimiiar cir-
cumftances; and that a fmaller por¬
tion of fortitude is fufficient to
enable the former to bear the trial
equally well with the latter. The
sffertion, however, appears to have
been advanced not only without
proof, but without the capability of
proof. Who knows that the nerves
are not as keenly fenfible in a finer
texture as in one morerobuft? —
Who knows that they are not more
keenly fenfible in the fir ft than in
the fecond?— -Who can eftimate
the degree of pain, whether of body
or of mind, endured by any indi¬
vidual except himfelf? — How can
any perfon inffitute a comparifon,
when of neceflitv he is wholly igno¬
rant of one of the points to be com¬
pared ?■ — If, in the external indica¬
tions of mental refoJution, women
are not inferior to men, is a theory
which admits not of experimental
confirmation a reafonable ground for
pronouncing them inferior in re¬
ality ?— -Nor iet it be deemed won¬
derful that Providence fhould have
conferred on women in general a
portion of original fortitude, not
much inferior, to fpeak of it in the
lowed terms compatible with truth,
to that commonly implanted in per¬
fons of the other fex, on whom
many more feenes of danger and of
ffrenuous exertion are devolved.
If the natural tendernefs of the fe¬
male mind, cherifhed, too, as that
tendernefs is in civilifed nations,
by the eftablifhed modes of eafe,
indulgence, and refinement, were
not balanced by an ample fhare of
latent refolution; how would it be
capable of enduring the fhocks and
the forrows to which, amid the un¬
certainties of life, it mult be expofed?

— Finally, whatever may be th£
opinion adopted as to the precife
amount of female fortitude, when,
compared with that of men, the
former, I think, muff at leaf! be
allowed this relative praife : that it
is lefs derived from the mechanical
influence of habit and example than
the latter, lefs tindfured with ambi¬
tion, lefs blended with infenfibility,
and more frequently drawn from
the only fource of genuine ftrength
of mind, firm and adlive principles
of religion.

The reader will have been aware
that the fketch which I have endea¬
voured to trace in the preceding out¬
lines, is that of the female character
under its cuftomary form; not under
thofe deviations from its ufual ap¬
pearance which are known fome-
times to occur. It is our firft bufi-
nefs to fettle the general rule, not to
particularife the exception. But
amid the endlefs diverfity of nature;
amid the innumerable multitudes of
contemporary individuals, diftin-
guifhed each from the other in their
minds no lefs than in their counte¬
nances, by ftronger or fainter lines
of difference, and thrown into a
variety of fituations and circum-
ffances, feverally calculated to call
forth and improve particular talents
and encourage particular purfuits,
exceptions will be frequent. Hence
many infiances might be produced
from each fex, of perfons who have
po defied a more than common fhare
of the qualities and difpofiyons
which in ordinary cafes are found
moil confpicuous in the other. It
might even be pofiible to date fome
examples of women who have fcarce-
ly been furpafled by the mo ft emi¬
nent men in depth and comprehen-
fivenefs of intellect ; and of men
who have nearly equalled their rivals
of the other fex in quicknefs of fan¬
cy, in delicacy of fentiment, and in
warmth of affection. There are alfo

On the Female Character.

£59

jserfons of each fex who are greatly
deficient in thofe qualifications by
which it was natural to cxpe<51 that
they would have been diftingui (lied.
Eut all thefe cafes are variations
from the general courfe of things,
and variations on which, at prefent,
it would be ufelefs to enlarge.

Of the errors and vices which in-
feft human nature, fome are equally
prevalent in the two fexes ; while
others, in confequence of the pecu ¬
liarities bv which the character of
the one fex is difcriminated from
that of the other, peculiarities which
®;ain. additional ftrength from the
diverfity in the offices of life re-
fpeflively afiigned to each, do not
exercife an equal power over both.
Thus, among women in whom fe¬
minine delicacy and feeling have not
been almoft obliterated (1 am not, at
prefent, taking religious principle
into the account), intemperance in
wine, and the life of profane lan¬
guage, are unknown; and file who
ihould be guilty of either crime
would be generally regarded as hav¬
ing debafed herfelf to the level of a
brute. On the other hand, there
are failings and temptations to which
the female mind is particularly ex-
pofed by its native fl:ru6lure and dif-
pofitions. On thefe treacherous
underminers, thefe inbred a’fiailants
of female peace and excellence, the
fuperintending eye of education is
fleadily fixed. The remains of their
unfubdued hoftility will be among
the circumflances which will exer¬
cife even to the dole of life the mofl
vigilant labours of confcience. It
is neceflary, therefore, to be explicit
on the fubjedf.

The gay vivacity and quicknefs
of imagination, fo confpicuous
among the qualities in which the
fuperiority of women is acknow¬
ledged, have a tendency to lead to

unffeadinefs of mind ; to fondnefs of
novelty ; to habits of frivoloufnefs?
and trifling employment-: to diflike
of fober application; to repugnance
to graver ffudies, and a too low efti-
mation of their worth ; to an unrea-
fonable regard for wit and ihining
accomplifhments to a tbirft for ad¬
miration and applaufej to vanity
and affedfation. They contribute,
likewife, in conjunction with the
acute fehfifaihty peculiar to women,
to endanger the compofure ancl
mildnefs of the temper, and to ren¬
der the difpdfition fickle through
caprice, and uncertain through irri¬
tability. And fenfibility itfelf, An¬
gularly engaging and amiable as it is,
fhares the common lot of earthly
bleffings, and comes not without its
difadvantages. It is liable to fudden
exceffes; it nurtures unmerited at¬
tachments ; it is occafionally the
fource of fufpicion, fretfulnefs, and
groundlefs difcontent ; it iometimes
degenerates into weaknefs and pufil-
lanimity, and prides itfelf in the
feeblenefs of character which it has
occafioned. And if, in common, it
fills the heart with placability and
benevolence; it is known at other
times to feel even a flight injury with
fo much keenneis as thenceforth to
harbour prejudices fcarcely to be
fhaken, and averflon fcarcely to be
mollified.

There is alfo another fource of
female errors and temptations which
has not yet been noticed, becaufe it
fprings not from mental peculiarities;
namely, the confcioufnefs of being
diflinguifhed by perfonal attractions.
The effects of this confcioufnefs on
the female character, if confidered
by themfelves, are extremely fink¬
ing, and in many cafes are ultimate¬
ly combined with thofe which re-
fult from the qualities and difpofl-
tions already fpecifted.

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( [With an Engraving elegantly coloured .)

'The fuccefiion of the fpring-
A fafhions has been interrupted
by the return of cold weather. The
Jewifh coats (or Jofepbs J, of filk, are
again in ufe ; they are edged with
black lace. Capotes of dark-green
taffety, or of ftraw and filk tiffue, are
very much worn. The ladies who
wear their hair fliort cover the head
with a cornet, or fimply with a veil.
The fnawls, which were lately ga¬
thered on the neck in the fafhion of
a cravat, are now fpread out on the
{boulders. Almoft all the ftraw hats
are bound with a violet filk hand¬
kerchief. Violet and rofe are the
prevailing colours. The neweft
ribbands are radiated and clouded
with different fhades of green. Long
hair is worn fmooth and unfrizzled,
with a necklace round it as a band,
and with a comb to fallen it up.
Handkerchiefs are worn on the head,
in feveral different fafhions, initead
of bonnets.

The capotes of the neweft ftyle
have round crowns, and have fmall
pecked ornaments. The prevailing
colours, next to black, are Florence
rofe-lilac, and jonquil and green.
A great number of Jewifh tunics are
{till made, as are alfo gimp kerchiefs.
Thefe tunics have fometimes endive
trimmings, and fometimes have fer¬
reted feftoons of muflin. The reign
oi the canekons is paffed; but the
Savoyard kerchiefs, caps and mob-
caps of figured muflin, frill keep their
ground. Cornettes are now/, for the
molt part, fubftituted for toquets .
The moft fashionable ribband is lilac
and orange-coloured, and is flriped
and clouded. In the afiemblies of
opulent females we bill obferve a
great number of crops. When a
woman of fafhion enters her box,
{he takes off her hat, hangs it up,
and remains bareheaded.

-London Fafhions .

The young beaux have very high
collars to their Hurts. The angles
of a fafhionable collar rife above the
neckcloth as high as the nofe.

Our fafhions have taken a retro¬
grade direction. With the excep¬
tion of fwan furs, of fatin and vel¬
vet, ail dreffes are in the winter
fly le. Very deep caps are much
run on : they have the front made
very broad. Sometimes they are
edged with plaited ribbands, and
fometimes trimmed with cut taffety.
The ribbands are either tartan, or
embroidered with hieroglyphic cha¬
racters, and called Mameluke rib¬
bands. Tulle is no longer ufed for
trimmings. Yellow ffraw hats, plain
or pearled, are worn in the form of
caps : the brim is cut away on the
neck, where it is abfolutely neceffary
that the roots of the hair fliould be
left uncovered.

The trinket-dealers begin to dif-
continue the exhibition of palmated
chains, and difplay, in their bead,
round treffes, or cordelieres. The
ear-rings and arched combs are or¬
namented with diamonds.

The young men of fafhion wear
very fhort coats, with fkirts fo fepa-
rate as to allow the breeches to be
feen between them. Thefe coats,
which are light on the arms and
very broad on the fhoulders, have,
of courfe, a number of folds towards
the fleeve, and fit aukwardly, like an
ill-made coat. They are worn with
yellow buttons, which are oftener
globular than fiat. The riding-coats
have fmall velvet lappels, and n®
crofs pockets.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Promenade DreJJes.

ound drefs of blue Cambray
muflin, with a long train, large
Iac$ veil, flowing loofe.

Engraved ibr the Ladies Maqazhie May 180S .

PARIS dress

• ••

!'•

;

■* % ‘ ‘I • ■

The Moral Zoologift . 261

Round muflin drefs, with an em¬
broidered fliirt handkerchief. A
muflin or lace fhawl, lined with
coloured filk, and richly embroidered.
Straw hat with dome crown, adorned
wiih oak leaves and wheat-ears.

Muflin drefs. Large orange-co¬
loured filk French fhawl, with a pale-
blue border. Straw gipfey hat, tied
with blue.

Drefs of lilac Cambray muflin.
Shawl cloak of patent lace, wdth
arm-holes, and worn with the point
behind. Bonnet of firaw and lilac-
coloured filk.

General Obfervations.

The fhawl cloaks and fhawl pe-
lijfes , worn with the point behind,
and with arm-holes or fleeves, and
alfo the large plain muflin and filk
fliawls of various colours, have lately
been very generally worn. Straw
hats of various patterns, particularly
of the dome crown and gipfey form,
are as prevalent as in former fprings.
The coloured and figured Cambray
muflins, chiefly flate, lilac, and blue,
are becoming general.

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART II.

(Continued from p. 212.)

THE BRASILIAN OR CARRION
VULTURE.

HIS bird (the Vultur Aura of Lin¬
naeus) is called Ouroua , or Aura,
by the Indians of Cayenne ; Umbu ,
by the Brafiiians ; Zopilotl , by the
Mexicans; and by the French fettlers
in St. Domingo the Merchant. As
it bears fome refemblance to the tur¬
key, the Spaniards and Portuguefe
have given it the name of Gallinaro ,
and Catefby and Clayton denomi¬
nate it the Turkey- Buzzard. Dam-
pier and Sloane call it the Carrion -
Vulture , which name has been adopt¬
ed by Pennant and Latham. It is

very little larger than a wild goofe.
The head and neck, as in other vul¬
tures, are bare of feathers, and have
only fome draggling black hairs.
The wrinkled fkin which covers
thefe parts is variegated with blue,
white, and red. The wings when
clofed extend beyond the extremity
of the tail, which yet is of confider-
able length. The feathers over the
whole body are of a deep-brown
or almoft black colour, with a tinge,
varying by reflexion, of dull green
and purple, The beak is of a yel-
lowifli white, the feet are of a livid
colour, and the claws black. The
noftrils are longer in proportion
than thofe of the other fpecies of
vultures.

.With refped to its habits and in-
ftinds, the Brafilian vulture is per¬
haps more daftardly, filthy, and vora¬
cious, than any of the reft of the
tribe of which thefe qualities are
among the principal charade rift ic,s.
Their flight is lofty and rapid; but
they dare not attack any animal in
the lead capable of refiftance, unlefs
when they are aflembled in numer¬
ous flocks, and their vidim is either
wounded or afleep. Hans -Sloane,
who law many of thefe birds in Ame¬
rica, fays, that they fly like kites,
and are always lean. All accounts
agree that they fly very high in the
air, and generally in’ large flocks.
They pafs the night on lofty trees
or inacceflible rocks, from ^ which
they repair in the morning to the
vicinity of inhabited places, where
they watch for their prey. Their
fight and fmell are remarkably
acute; and they can defery from a
vaft height, and at an immenfc
diftance, the carcafes on which they
prey; and which when they difeover
they all fall upon at once and devour
in filence, till they are frequently fo
glutted that they are unable to rife
from the ground. When this hap¬
pens, lome travellers tell us, they
have the power of vomiting their

a be .Moral Zoolmfi.

food till their bodies arefufllciently
lightened to admit of their making
their efcape. In feme parts of South
America, where the hunters kill
beads merely for their Ikies, thefe
vultures follow them irv great num¬
bers ; and when they perceive a
ear cafe flayed and left on the ground,
they call to each other, and, alight¬
ing on It, In an inf fan t devour the
ilefh, and leave the bones as clean as
if they had been fc raped with a
knife. Both tbe Spaniards and Por-
tuguefe, who refide in the countries
where they traffic in hides, are fo
fenfible of the benefit they derive
from thefe birds, by their devouring
the bodies left by the hunters, which
otherwife would foot) .putrefy, and
perhaps occafion infectious diftem-
pers, that they have inipofed a fine
upon thofie who fhall deftroy them.
This protection has rendered them
extremely numerous in Guiana, Bra-
fii, and New Spain.

Thefe birds are likewife extremely
lifeful in thofe regions, by their en¬
mity to the alligators, or American
crocodiles. The female alligator,
which in the rivers of America
grows to the enormous length of
twenty-feven feet, lays her eggs, to
the number of two or three hundred,
in the fands, on the fide of the river,
where they are hatched by the heat
of the climate. While depofiting-
her burden, hie takes every precau¬
tion to conceal the place from all
other animals; but feldom can elude
the piercing fight of this fpecies of
vultures, who fit fi lent and un fee n
among the neighbouring trees and
view the operations of the crocodile,
with the pleafing expectation of an
approaching banquet. They pa¬
tiently wait till the crocodile has larid
the whole number of her eggs, co¬
vered them v’ith the fand, and re¬
tired ; then, all at once, they pour
down upon the neft, tear up the
fand. in a moment, lav the eggs bare,

* 6 VU *

and prSfently devour the whole of
theme :

This fpeciss of vulture is likewife
found in Africa, an.d is called by
Hoi ben the 6 eagle of the Gaped
* They feed,’ fays this author, 4 up¬
on dead animals. I have often feen
the fkeletons of cows, oxen, and
wild beafts, which they had devour¬
ed. I call thefe remains fkeletons;
for no operator could have anato-
mifed them more completely. Thefe
birds have an. extraordinary method
of fepa rating -the flefh from the fkin
and the bones, and yet leaving the
fkin quite entire. On approaching
the carcafe we fhould not fuppofe
that it is deprived of its internal
fubflahce, till on a clofe examination
we find it nothing but fkin and
bone. The manner in which they
proceed is this : they firft make an
opening in the belly of the animal,
from which they pluck out and
greedily devour the entrails; then,
entering into the hollow which they
have made, they feparate the flefh
from the bones without ever touch¬
ing the fkin. It often happens that
an ox after being unyoked from the
plough, and left to return alone to
its flail, lies down by the way; and
if thefe birds perceive it in this un¬
guarded pofture, they infallibly fall
upon and devour it. They will
fometimes attack them when grazing
in the fields, by collecting to the
number of a hundred or more, and
making the aflault all together.—
They have fo acute a fight that they
can difeern their prey at an amazing
height, and when it would efcape
any human eye ; and when they
perceive the favourable moment
they drop directly upon the animal
which they watch.’

Catefby obferves of this kind of
vultures, that ‘ they feed on carrion*
and fly continually on the fearch ;
they continue long on the wing, and
rife and defeend fo fmo.othly tha£

The Moral

the motion of their pinions cannot
be perceived. A dead careafe at¬
tracts great' numbers- of them, and it
is amufing to fee their difputes with
each other while eating. An eagle
often prefides at the banquet, who
does not fuffer them to approach
till he has fatisfied his appetite.
Thefe birds have a mod acute fcent,
and fmell carrion at a vad didance,
to which they refort from ail quar¬
ters, wheeling about and making a
gradual defcent till they reach the
ground.

The fledi of this bird is entirely
ufelefs as food: it has a rank. and
putrid flavour, which no care of
clean ffng or art of cookery can re¬
move ; and emits a dench fcarceiy
fupportabie.

4 The carrion vultures,’ fays Mr.
Pennant, f are not found in the
northern regions of the ancient
continent ; but in the new they are
common through its whole extent
from Nova- Scotia to Terra del Fue-
go, and alfo in the Wed - India
iilands, though they are faid to be
fmaller there than on the main
land. They fwarm in the torrid
zone, and about Carthagena efpe-
cially; they haunt inhabited places,
fit in numbers on the roofs of houfes,
or walk with fluggidi pace along the
dreets.

THE CONDOR.

The condor has been claffied
among the vultures by Rav, Lin¬
naeus, and mod natnralids, on ac¬
count of the nakednefs of the head
and neck ; but his habits and drf-
pojitions appear to give him a
greater affinity to the eagles, as he
is courageous, fierce, and lives by
the chace. If the power of dying
be conlidered as the effiential cha¬
racter of birds, the condor has an
indubitable claim to be dyled the
larged of this race of animals; for
the cadowary, the odrich, and the
dodo, not being able lo lift them-

Zoohglft. fitfS

. * *■ »
felves' from the ground, ritay be re¬
garded' as imperfect birds, or a kind
of intermediate' links between birds
and quadrupeds. The wings of
the condor extend !ffom nxteen to
eighteen feet; the body; the bill,
and the talons, are proportionably
large and ’drong, and its courage is
equal to its ftrength. The mod full
and complete defcription of this
bird which has been given by any
traveller, is that of father Feuille,
which I fhnl! here fubjoin

4 The condor is a bird of prey
which frequents the valley of Ylo,
in Peru. I difcovered one there
perched on a high rock. I ap¬
proached it within gun-fhot, and
bred ; but, as my piece was only
charged with fwan-fhot, this was not
able diffidently to pierce the bird's
feathers. I perceived, however, by
its manner of flying, that it was
wounded; for it was with difficulty
that it could reach another rock
about five hundred paces didant, on
the fea-fliore. I therefore charged
again with a bullet* and hit the bird
under the throat. I faw 1 had fuc-
ceeded, and ran up to feize it; but
even in death it was. terrible, and
defended itfelf upon its back, with
its claws extended againd me, fo
that I fcarceiy knew' how to lay
hold of it. Had it not been mor¬
tally wounded, I fhould have found
it no eaiy matter to take it ; but I at
lad dragged it down from the rock,
and, with the afliftanceof one of the
Teamen, carried it to my tent to
make a coloured drawing of it. •

4 The wings of this bird, which I
meafured very exactly, when ex¬
tended, were eleven feet four inches
(twelve feet one inch, Englilh) from
one extremity to the other. The great
feathers, that were of a beautiful ifiin-
ing black, were two feet twm inches
long. The thicknefs of the bill was
proportionable to that of the body,
and its length was three inches and

The Moral Zoologijt ,

a half: the point hooked down¬
wards, and was white at its extre¬
mity; the other part was of a jet-
black. A fhort down of a brown
colour covered the head ; the eyes
were black, and furrounded with a
circle of reddifh brown. The fea¬
thers on the head, neck, and wings,
were of a light brown ; thofe on the
back were rather darker. The
thighs were covered with brown fea¬
thers to the knee. The thigh bone
was ten inches long, the leg five
inches. The toes were three before
and one behind : that behind was
an inch and a half, and the claw
with which it was armed was black,
and three quarters of an inch. The
other claws were in the fame pro¬
portion ; and the leg was covered
with black fcales, as alfo were the
toes, but in thefe the fcales were
larger.

4 Thefe birds univerfally haunt
the mountains, where they find their
prey : they never defcend to the
fea-fhore, but in the rainy feafon ;
for, as they are very fenfible of cold,
they go there for greater warmth.
Though thefe mountains are fituated
in a warm latitude, the cold is often
very fevere; for a great part of the
year they are covered with fnow,
but particularly in winter,

4 The little fubfiftence which thefe
birds find on the fea-coafl, except
when large fifh are call on fhore
by {forms, obliges the condor to
continue there but a ihort time.
They ufually come to the coaff at
the approach of evening, liay there
ali night, and fly back in the morn¬
ing.’

Frezier, in his Voyage to the
South Sea, describes this bird in the
following manner :

‘We one day killed a bird of
prey called the condor, the wings of
which meafured nine feet. It had
a brown comb, but not jagged like
thaf of the cock. In the fore part, it

had a red gizzard, naked, as in the
turkey. This bird is commonly
very large, and will carry off a
lamb with eafe. GarcilafTo fays that
he had feen fome in Feru, whofe
wings extended fixteen feet/

By the accounts of other travellers,
it certainly appears, that thefe two
condors, deferibed by Feuillee and
Frezier, were either very young, or
uoufually fmall for their fpecies.
The fathers Abbeville and Laet
afiert, that the condor is twice as
large as the eagle, and fo flrong
that it will carry off and devour a
fiieep ; that it even attacks flags,
and eafiiy beats down a man. There
are fome, fay Acofta and Garcilalfo,
whofe wings extend fixteen feet.
Their bill is fo flrong and fo hard,
that they eafiiy pierce an ox’s hide.
Two of thefe birds will attack and
kill a cow ora bull; and they will
carry off children of ten or twelve
years old, and prey upon them.
Sometimes they will even dare to
attack men. Sloane, in his account
of this bird in the Philofophical
Tranfadiions, fays — 4 It has often
happened that one of thefe birds
has killed and eaten children often
or twelve years old/ Fortunately,
however, they are rare; for if
they were numerous they would
extirpate all the cattle. Defmar-
chais fays, that thefe birds mea-
fure eighteen feet acrofs the wings ;
that their talons are thick, ftrong,
and very hooked; that the American
Indians afiert, that they will feize
and carry off a hind, or a young
cow, as eafiiy as an eagle would a
rabbit; that, they are of the fize of
a fiieep'; that their flefli is coriaceous,
and has the feent of carrion ; that
they are extremely fharp- lighted,
and of a fierce afpe£t; that they fel-
dom frequent the forefis, where there
is fcarcely room for the expanfion
of their enormous wings ; but that
they haunt the fea-fliore} the fides

Engi'crred ror i/ie Ladys Magazine, .

265

The Moral Zoologt/l.

«>F rivers, and the favannahs, or na¬
tural meadows. Condamine, in his
Voyage to the River of the Amazons,
relates that he has often feen the
Condors among the mountains of
Quito, and on the banks of the
river Maragnon, hovering over a
flock of'ftieep, fome of which they
would probably have carried off had
they not been deterred by the pre¬
fence of the fhepherd. It is a ge¬
neral opinion, he adds, that this
bird can bear off a roe-buck, and
that it fometimes preys on a child.
It is reported that the Indians decoy
it by prefenting to it the figure of a
child formed of a very vifcous clay,
upon which it darts with fuch eager-
nefs and force, that it ftrikes its
talons in fo deeply, it cannot difen-
gage them, and thus is taken. De
Solis, fpeaking of this bird, fays,
that there were, in the menagerie of
the emperor of Mexico, birds of
fuch aflonifhing fize and ferocity
that they feemed to be monfters;
and that he had been informed their
voracity was fo prodigious that each
of them would devour a whole iheep
at a fingle meal.

It is doubted whether this extra¬
ordinary bird be confined folely to
South America. Buffon and other
naturalifts have thought that it is to
be found likewife in Africa, Afia,
and even in fome parts of Europe.
Garcilaffo fuggefts that it may be
the fame bird with the ruch , or ror, of
the eaftern nations, fo famous in the
Arabian tales, and mentioned by
Marco Paolo. c It appears to me,’
fays Buffon, f that the bird, faid to
be'almoft as large as an oftrich, in
the * Hiftory of the Voyages to the
Southern Continent/ which the
prefident de Broffes has digefted
with equal judgment and care, mull
be the fame with the condor of the
Americans. I am alfo of opinion
that the bird of prey found in the
vicinity of Tarnafar, a city in the
Vojl. XXXIV.

Eaft Indies, which is faid to be much
larger than the eagle, and of which
the bill is ufed to make the hilt of a
fword, is no other than the condor ;
as is, likewife, the vulture of Sene¬
gal, which attacks and carries off
children. The ferocious bird of
Lapland, as large and thick as a
fheep, mentioned by Regnard and
Martiniere, and of whofe neft Olaus
Magnus gives an engraving, is pro¬
bably the fame.” M. Buffon like-
wife fuppofes that the laemmer geyer
( lamb vulture)of the Germans, which
frequents the Alps, is the fame
bird with the condor; but other
naturaliffs affirm that it has fince
been difcovered to be quite a differ-,
ent bird. It is the vulture eagle
of Albin, and the Kultur Barbatus of
Linnaeus : the condor is the Vultur
Gryphus of Linnaeus. With refpedf,
probably, to this fpecies of vulture,
Gefner relates, from the teftimony
of George Fabricius, an author of
credit, that fome peafants between
Miefen and Brifa, in Germany, lof-s
ing every day fome of their cattle,
which they fought for in vain in
the forefts, obferved a very large
neft, refling on three oaks, con-
ftru£led of Hicks and branches of.
trees, and as wide as would cover a
cart. They found in this neft three
young birds already fo large that
their wings, when extended, were fe-
ven ells in width; their legs were as
thick as thofe of a lion, with talons of
the fize of a man’s fingers; and in
the neft were feveral fkins of calves
and ftieep. Valmont de Bomare
and Salerne thought, as well as M.
Buffon, that the loemmer geyer of the
Alps muft be the condor of Peru ;
and the latter defcribes a large bird,
fhot in France in 1719, at the caftla
of Mylourdin, in the parifh of St.
Martin d’Abat, the wings of which,
when extended, meafnred eighteen
feet, and which he thinks muft have
been the condor, not only from its

2 M

oj the new Entertainment— t The Fair Fugitives*

fize but the colour of the plumage,
which was mottled with black and
white in the fame manner as that of
the Peruvian bird of prey.

The condor is happily a rare bird
in every quarter of the globe : he
generally avoids the haunts of men,
and dwells either on lofty and in-
acceflible mountains, or in remote
defects, where he is feldom feen.
And your ladyftiip may here obferve
that, by the wife difpofition of Pro¬
vidence, the tribes of rapacious
birds are of two characters ; either
they are fierce and bold, like the
eagle, or mean and daftardly,like the
vulture. In the former cafe, they
feek folitude, and chafe their prey
finglv; in the latter they are fre¬
quently gregarious, and afTemble in
flocks to devour the carrion on
which they feed. Had the fiercer
and more courageous tribes attacked
in ^roops what creatures could have
refilled their ferocity and ftrength ?
But moll: wifely has this diverfity
in their habits and infiinXs been or¬
dained to prevent the feebler races
of animals from being' too much
thinned, or totally extirpated.

Your ladyffiip’s good fenfe and
genuine piety will, I doubt not,
frequently fugged to you firmlar
reflexions that may efcape the ob-
fervation of your affectionate

Eugenia.

(To le continued .)

Sketch ^Bonaparte’s Person.

■The perfon of the firft conful is
-*• fmall. below the ordinary fize
of men. The confular garb does
not become hint ; he looks bed in
the plain Uniform of a national
guard, which he much a deeds to
wear. His face is drongly marked
with rr.eiancholy, reflection, and
deep thought^ the fines ofprematur?

age are very vifible upon it. He is
faid to be impenetrable even to his
friends. His head is remarkably
large, and his eyes are well formed
and well fe t, animating a counten¬
ance which has been feldom
known to fmile. His voice is the
deeped toned, and feems to ilfue as
from a tomb. His mouth is large
and handfomej and in general it
may be affected, there is that har¬
mony of features which denotes an
entire charaXer. The various re-
femblances of him are tolerably
exaX ; though they by no means do
him judice, nor give his look, which
is extremely interefting and inu?
preflive.

Account tf the New Musical
Entertainment called f The
Lair Fugitives,’ performed for
the firft Time at the Theatre-Royal 9
Convent-Garden, on Monday } May 1 6*

CHARACTERS.

Zafco

Courtenay -
Le Blanc •
De Merville
Pedro - -

Grnubo -
Julie -
Adelaide
Katharina

Mr. Incledon.

Mr. Hill.

Mr. Simmons.

Mr. Davenport.
Mr. Blanchard.
Mr. Emery.

Mrs. H. Siddons.
Mrs.H. Johnflon.
Mrs. Mills.

TAhe feene is laid in Guadaloupe;

-*• Julie is juft arrived from a
convent at Lifbon, where fhe has
been educated, accompanied by her
friend Adelaide. They are attended
by Courtenay, a Britifh naval offi¬
cer, and Le Blanc, a French officer,
their refpedfive lovers,’ with whom
they had become acquainted at
Lifbon, and who are alfo at that
time fummoned by their duty to
Guadaloupe. De Merville, Julie’s
father, is averfe againft her match
with Courtenay; and, to avoid an
immediate match with his rival, fhe

<267

Mifmlaneous Thoughts*

flies her father’s houfe under the
protection of Ornubo, a flave, and
in the midft of a hurricane. The
violence of the temped impelsCourte-
nay, from ankiety for her fafety, to
feek her there, when he finds the.
houfe in ruins, its mafter involved
in the deftruCtion, and the houfe-
hold made captive by the brigands.
Ornubo, amid the iolitude of the
hills, attempts to make Julie the
victim of his brutal palfion, when a
random fliot kills him. and fhe be¬
comes the prey of Zafco, the rebel
chief. Courtenay, in a rencontre,
vainly endeavours to refcue her.
They both become captives to the
infurgents. Courtenay, however,
el'capes ; and meeting Le Blanc,
with Adelaide (whom he had en¬
countered, a wanderer accidentally
feparated from her friend) under
his protection, affifts him in attack¬
ing the rebels, and the piece con¬
cludes with the refcue of Julie, and
the burning of the rebel camp.

This piece is the firft dramatic ef¬
fort of Mifs Anna Maria Porter, al¬
ready known to the literary world for
her poetical talents. If it has faults,
they are fuch as a young dramatift,
and a female one particularly, can¬
not be expeCted to be without. To
conceal them, therefore, were to
wrong the fair author in withhold¬
ing that which may contribute to
her improvement, and ought not to
impair her reputation : they are the
faults of inexperience, rather than of
incapacity. The materials are good ;
but there is a certain fkill requifite
in making up of the bell materials,
which is acquired only by a familiar
acquaintance with the fcene, and
careful attention to its efFeCt — a kind
of mechanical dexterity, become in¬
deed of fo much importance, that,
of latter days, it has crowned with
l'uccefs plays of which claflical cri-
ticifm has difdained the fcrutiny.
The incidents of the Fair Fugitives

want coherence ; they are never,
by their intimate connection, or by
a happy contrivance of lituation,
wrought to interefi ; the attention
is too much on the flutter, To this
point, however, our objections are
confined. Mifs Porter has a claim
to the indulgence of the critic oa
yet another fcore : — this piece, we
underhand, was not originally writ¬
ten as an opera; the arrangements
of the theatre required its transform¬
ation, and the incidents are pro¬
bably much diftorted from the au¬
thor’s original conception.

The approbation on the fall of
the curtain was nearly unanimous.
A warmer reception could fcarceiy be
wilhed or expeCled, considering the
unfavourable circumftances which
attended the piece’s preparation.
Braham and Munden have feverally
feceded from the dramatis j>erJon<e
fince its firft call.

Miscellaneous Thoughts.

rF'HE vain man loves to fpeak
'*■ only of himfelf, but he does
not perceive that others are tired
and difgufied with hearing him.

The ordinary effefts of envy are
lefs deliruClive of the reputation of
him whom it attacks, than of him
who nourifhts it.

The worthy man fee* envy, ex*
peCts ingratitude, and follows the dic¬
tates of bis confcience and his heart.

The man who has only memory,
is like him who pofleffes a pallet and
colours;' but who is not yet a painter.

In morals, it is eafier to give the
impulfe than to regulate it.

Friendfhip has no equivalent.

The pleafure of vanity lafts only
for a quarter of an hour: that of a
good aCtion does not pafs away fo
quickly; the heart treafures it up
for the time when nature feems t*
deprive us of every other.

[ 268 ]

POETICAL ESSAYS.

TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN
FREESTONE, CARPENTER ;

Who died Feb, i, 1803, aged 92 Years.
His Teeth all remained perfetl , and hs
could read without Spe Hades.

T5AUSE, reader ! Here is laid a man of

A years ;

A long, long traveller through a vale of
tears :

He ’s gain’d the point to which the liv¬
ing tend.

Qf rich and poor behold the journey’s
end !

Build not thy hopes, fond man! on length
of time ;

Life’s fun may never reach meridian
prime ;

The clouds of fate may intercept its light,

And Ihroud it in the grave’s unchanging
night.

But wiler theu, the prefent fpace im¬
prove,

And fix thy views of happinefs above:

Then, when thou quitt’ft the fcene, in
youth or age,

Kind feraphs will condu£t thee off the
11 age ;

Bear, on glad wing, thy joyous foul
away,

To balk for ever in the fount of day.

John Webb.
Haverhill , March 19,1803.

ODE. TO VENUS.

T7ENUS, queen of Cnidos fair!
v Lovely goddefs, hear my prayV !
Give me Celia to my arms,

Deck’d with all herheav’nly eharms,— .
Charms which far outfhine the dav;
Ever fprightly, ever gay !

Td^yiy longing arms, O give
Her for whole fake alone I Jive. .
yenus, ever young and fair ! ' * ,

LoVely goddefs, hear my pray’r ! " ;

"V. J ames*

EVENING.

At evening’s penfive fhade 'tis fweet

■**’ to rove

Along the margin of the filver flream ;

With foul attun’d to harmony and love.

Soft as the lhadows from the moon’s
pale beam.

Refledlive thought fills the expanding
mind ;

. With energy fublime our bofoms glow:

Senfations quick, and feelings more re¬
fin’d,

Throb in the heart,-— through all the
fenfes flow.

What rapture then to fee the rifing tear

Of warm emotion, ftartingto the eye!

In friendfhip’s voice to read the heart
fincere ;

To mingle thoughts, and melt in fym-
pathy !

Then, as,the landfcape fades before the
fight,

All ruder paffions fleep within the
breaft ;

Ambition’s cares are Tooth’d to calm de-
light ;

The foul, with nature, feels the hour
of red.

What is the glare of rude tumultuous
joy ! -

What the vain pomp of courts ! the
gaudy throng 1

To the mild pleafures which no blafis
deftroy,

• And which to cultivated minds be¬
long? E, W.

PROUD DUMFERUNE,

THE CASTLE ON THE WOLDj

A GOTHIC TALE.

EE p In a lone fequefter’d dell
A dreary, ruin fpread,

The; fcene of ey’ry midnight fpell $
So neighbours found it laid.

POETRY.

At eve ftrange noifes oft were known ;

■When thunders rent the pole,

Title lights would feem to dance alone,
The bell would loudly toll :

And flirieks, and fereams, and horrid
cries,

Full oft would fill the air ;

And fpe£lred forms were feen to rife :
As thofe who pafs’d declare.

In feudal times this place had been
A pow’rful baron’s hold ;

It ftill is call’d Proud Dumferline,

The Caftle on the Wold.

Young AlKvin dwelt upon the moor;

A ruftic life he led ;

He beauteous Mary did adore,

And foon he hop’d to wed.

All Mary’s friends were rich and gay;

Though poor her lovers are,

Yet at no very diftant day
They rich and happy were.

But dire Misfortune’s iron hand
Upon them heavy bore ;

They loft their cattle, loft their land 5
They funk, to rife no more.

Fond Mary had to Allwin vow’d
She’d love him evermore;

But ftill her parents were too proud
To wed her to a boor :

For fuchthey deem’d poor Allwin’s race,
Though Mary was inclin’d
To think misfortune no difgrace, —
They equal were in mind.

Young Alhvin would not brook difdain ;

His love was clofe confin’d ;

Aud, though he went through wind
and rain,

He ne’er couid Mary find.

One evening, as the dell he paft
To take his ufual rouud.

In hopes dear Mary might at laft,

To blefs his arms, be found ;

By thought beguil’d, he wander’d late,
Unconfcious where he went,

Till near the gloomy caftle’s gate
He found his fteps were bent.

Bous’d from his torpor, round he gaz’d $
The night was now come on ;

It thunder’d loudly; and, amaz’d,

He heard the bell toll ‘ One !’

The ftorm advanc’d; the rain loud beat ;

Tremendous light’nings flafh ;

An oak was ftruck — at Allwin’s feet
It fell with pond’rQus crafh !

269

Alarm’d, he tow’rds the caftle-gate
His wayward footfteps bent,
Intending, fhelter’d there, to wait:

Till this dire ftorm was fpent.

He reach’d at length the inner hall,
And gain’d a fheher’d feat;

He lean’d his arm ’gainft the damp wall;.
His heart with anguifh beat.

He fat, in contemplation loft ;

The thunder louder roar’d ;

The owlet fcreech’d upon his rooft j
The rain ftill heavier pour’d.

Sudden a diftant murm’ring found,
Between the thunder’s paule,

Affail’d his ear : he liften’d round,
Anxious to learn the caule.

’Twas filent all ! Again moft near,

The thunder Ihook the zone ;

It paus’d ; when, lo ! he feem’d to hear
A deaf’ning, hollow, groan.

Eager to find from whence it came.

He rufh’d acrofs the room ;

And, guided by the light’ning’s flame,
Explor’d the diftant gloom.

A flight of fteps he fliortly found.

That downwards feem’d to lead :

He onward prefs’d — but now profound.
The darknefs check’d his fpeed.

The light’ning found no entry here;

The noife continued on ;

But ftill, as he advanc’d more near,
AlTum’d a different tone.

It rofe full oft upon the air
A many-mingled cry ;

And laughs and lhrieks united were
With clamour loud and high.

The fteps had ceas’d, and now he pac’d
A gloomy paffage- floor ;

He kept on ftill with cautious hafte ;

At laft he reach’d a door,

Which right acrofs the paffage flood,
And farther accefs flay’d ;

All of the firmeft, hardeft wood.

This flubborn door was made.

The founds no more his ears invade,-
He tried the door in vain :

Exhaufted on the floor he laid;

Some reft he wiih’d to gain.

Tir’d Nature yields to Somnus’ power,
And foon, on Allwin’s head,

His poppies, in a plenteous fhow’r,
Were bountifully fhed.

POETRY.

270

He flept, and dream’d of Mary lov’d:

He thought her parents, now,

Had all their prejudice remov’d;,

And alter’d their ftefn vow.

v i •

He thought dear Mary to his arms
Was giv’n by their confent :

But, lo ! a voice his ear alarms ;

His happinefs is fpent.

He wak’d, and felt his arms confin’d;

Around him ruffians ftand ;

Some torches beat, while others bind
His legs with hempen band.

Their features fpoke them robbers vile,
Their language fpake the fame :
They talk’d of plunder and of fpoil;
They gloried in their ffiame.

Between them All win’s borne along,
Through fubterranean gloom,

Till, in a cavern large and long,

They paus’d upon his doom.

Sufpended from above, a lamp
Illum’d the difmal fpace;

It was a dreary, dreadful, damp,

And folitary place.

Yet here the diabolic rout
Their revels often hold ;

And here they drink, and fing, andfhout,
And here divide their gold.

Stretch’d ontheground poor Allwin lay,
Expedling fome hard fate;

But the adventures of the day
Soon underwent debate.

Some trifling viHanies, at firft,

Were quickly hurried o’er;

But one recounted caus’d a burft
Of jcjy, unknown before.

Twas how that night a houfe they
robb’d,

Upon the neighb’ring moor.

Young Allwin’s heart with terror
throbb’d,

And bled at cv’ry pore :

For there liv’d all on earth held dear.

His parents and his love;

He liften’d on — but fear’d to hear
What their fad lot might prove.

The houfe too foon, alas I he found
Was own’d by Mary’s fire ;

And , as the woe-fraught tale went round.
He learn’d ’twas fet on fire.

H is foul was agonis'd to know
If Mary perifh’d there;

Yet ft ill he would not anguifh fhow,

Or leem at all to eare.

He heard, with deep attention, no\fp
That, ere it was on fire,

They feiz’d, and laid in prifonlow,

Both Mary and her fire.

Her mother, too, was here confin’d^

But All win’s heart was rent,

To think, fo near him, Mary kind
Was in a dungeon pent,

And he unable now to fave :

H is mind was torn with grief;

His arm was ftrong, his heart was brave,'
But could not give relief.

A thought now beam’d his mind acrofs*
If queftion’d he fhould be,

To fay a crime moft foul and grofs
From home had made him flee s

That, as laft eve the dell he paft.

The ftorm came on amain,

Which made him to the caftie haite,
Some fhelter there to gain :

That, as he fat within the half.

He heard a difmal cry,

Which follow’d, brought him where
they all

Had feen him fleeping lie':

That now the noife was caus’d, he knew.
By bringing pris’ners there ;

But, if they ’d let him join their crew.

He ’d gladly take a fhare

In any fin of deepeft dye;

For now he roam’d in fear.

An outlaw’d villain, doom’d to die
For crimes the moft fevere.

This ftory in their breafts, he thought.
Some influence might gain ;

He only wifh’d they could be brought
To take him in their train :

He then would have it in his pow’r
To fave his fondeft love;

He then, in feme propitious hour.

Might this vile horde remove.

This tale, fuffice it now to fay,

Deceiv’d the plund’ring crew ;

And Allwin, ere another day,

Is nam’d a robber too.

Some days elaps’d, he ’s forc’d to join
The robbers, in his turn ;

He ’s forc’d to fight, nor feem to pine.

Or fhew’ he felt concern.

Night after night he join’d them, yet
Expecting loon to find
An opportunity moft fit
. To leave them far behind.

{To be concluded m our next.}

POETRY

271

LINES,

addressed to MISS S— — P— .

nno thee, fvveet maid, 1*11 tune the
trembling firing :

The vocal groves lhail with thy praifes
ring :

Thy graceful port, thy fmiling afpedfr,
meek,

The rofeate blulhes glowing on thy
cheek,

With twice ten thoufand charming
beauties more

My warm imagination keeps in ftore,
What cold unfeeling heart can fail to
move, [love.

Or charm the foul with airy dreams of
Such hcav’nly fweetnefs round each fea¬
ture plays,

Celeftial beings might, enraptur'd, gaze,
Surpris’d fuch charms fhould centre all in
one,

As fhine unrivall’d in yourfelf alone.
Could I reveal the tumult of my breafi,
Ellrang’d to pleafure, happinefs, and
reft,

'Twould melt thy heart, and urge the
tender tear ;

For love and pity Cure are inmates there.
No venal paffion in my bofom glows,
Pure as the ftream from cryftal fountain
flows :

Thy lovely form I’ll treafure in my
heart,

Nor from thy beauteous image ever part :
At thought of thee, my breafi with rap¬
ture burns,

A prey to hope and racking fear by
turns :

Each fofter feeling rifes at thy name,
And ev’ry paffion kindles to a flame ;
Swift through each vein the vital cur¬
rent flows,

Nor finds my heart one moment of re-
pofe.

On wings of love, I ’d fly earth’s utmofl
bounds,

For thee, and brave ftern Fortune’s en¬
vious frowns.

Oh, then, dear girl ! incline a lenient ear,
Nor fternly check the fympathiflng tear ;
’Tis thine to give my wounded heart
relief, [grief.

And from my breafi remove this load of
Oh 1 deign, at leafi, to grant one footh-
ing fmile, [guile ;

My breafi to calm, and ev’ry care be-
Then fhould my tongue, enraptur’d,
own the blifs,

Could I but feal it with a fervent kifs.

Accept the homage due to beauty’s
fhrine ; [thine :

For fuch, ah P — r- ! for ever will be

Nor think the youth who pens thefe art-
lefs lays,

With honeft warmth, too Iavilh in thy
praife. W. M. N.

A PASTORAL BALLAD.

eneath the wide boughs of a beecfy
One evening young Colin reclin’d.
Away, as he thought, from all reach,
From the ’fquire, from the courtier,
or hind ;

A languor pervaded his frame,

His features difcovered his care.
When thus he began to exclaim.

And pour forth his fighs in the air.

4 Ah, Pamela ! Pamela dear !

Why raife from my heart the deep
figh ?

Why force from this eye the moift tear ?

For you would I cheerfully die.

A vidtim I fell to defpair.

When firft thy fweet image I knew ;
I lov’d you becaufe you were fair,

You fpurn'd me becaufe I was true.

‘ The brook, that meanders along
Refledfs thy gay form to the fky,

As round thee the light-featherM
throng

Each other^tttempt to outvie.

Can I of thy charms then be mute.
When to thee all offer their lays?
Each fhepherd his pipe and his flute *
Attunes in my Pamela’s praife/

No fooner thefe words had he faid.

No fooner had vented his grief.

Than flew to his arms the fair maid
With looks that gave inftant relief.
i Ah, why/ fhe exclaim’d, 4 could you
blame ?

Why injure the nymph that was true ;
Whofe heart has been ever the fame,
And prov’d but too conftant to you?*

Unable to make a reply,

O’er her charms with amazement he
hung,

While words feem’d to flow from his eye
More eloquent far than his tongue.
Next morn to the church they repair.
Attended by villagers gay,

Where the hand of his long-belov’d fair
Drove each rankling paffion away.

V. J AMES.

Southampton, April 30, 1803.

272

POETRY.

EPITAPH ON DR. SMALL,

In the New Churchy at Birmingham ;

BY DR. DARWIN.

M. S. ■

Gultelmi Small, M. D.
qui op. Feb. xxv.

M.DCC.LXXV.

Ye gay and young, who, thoughtlefs of
your doom,,

* Shun the difguftful fnanfions of the
dead,

Where Melancholy broods o’er many a
tomb,

Mould’ring beneath the yew’s un-
wholefome fliade;

If chance ye enter thefe fequefler’d
groves,

And day’s bright funihine for a
while forego,

Ohf leave to Folly’s cheek the laughs
and loves,

And give one hour to philofophic woe !

Here, while no titled duft, no fainted
bone,

No lover weeping over beauty’s bier,

No warrior frowning, ■ in hiftoric ftone.

Extorts your praifes, or requefts your
tear ;

Cold Contemplation leans her aching
head,

On human woe her Heady eye flie
turns,

Waves her meek hand, and figli s for
Science dead,

Jfor Science, Virtue, and for Small,
Hie mourns !

AIR.

Sung hy Mrs. Jordan, in the 1 Mar¬
riage Promise.’

you ng Cclinette, a lovely maid,

Had fhe been wile, as ihe was fair,
By Lubin had not been betray’d ;
Who prais’d her fhape, and prais’d
her air,

And Hole her heart away:

Ah! \vel!-a-day.

By vows as falfe as falfe could be,

He ruin’d lovely Colinette ;

And carelefs then away went he,

And left the maid to pine and fret,
And figh her life away :

Ah ! well-a-day.

ON RICHES*.

OAST not to me Peruvian ore,

Nor Coromandel’s glowing ftiore.
Where richer gems are found :
The blifs of thefe but fpecious fhow ;

Sq Nature thought, when deep below
She hid them under ground.

Though polifh’d fine by toils of art.
Say, can the brilliant blaze impart
r The vivid glow of health ?

Or bid, when life no longer charms,
The bofom beat to joy’s alarms ?

Then tell me— what is wealth ?

Oh ! fay, when o’er the couch we bend.
Where droops feme dear departing'
friend, %

Can wealth his flight delay ?

Or when the fpark of hope is fled,
Defpair ftill hovering near its dead,'
Can wealth revive the clay ?

What nature aiks indeed is fmall-j
A little compafs circles all

Thofe wants that gold fupplies :
But, trace the wants of mind in man,
;Tis then you ’ll find the boundlefs plan.
Extends to diftant ikies.

One only fobftitute below,

And ah, how few the bleflings know
To be belov’d and love !

For, (lire, ’tis love that gives delight
In regions where, ’midft purer lighr,
Superior beings move.

Mile-End. Autolicus,

TO MISS A. C - N, OF M - Th

"P AIRE3T work of this creation!

Nature’s comelieft, fweetc-ft flow’r !

My pure love has no ceflatien,

But increafes ev’ry hour.

Oh ! too charming, heav’nly creature !
Maid by whom my heart’s fubdu’d !

Graces fliine in ev’ry feature,

Graces fuch as ne’er were view’d.

Had Jove feen thee when a-roving,

He had felt all love’s alarms ;

And with eyes not half fo loving
Would have gaz’d on Io’s charms.

Happy youth, fuch virtue gaining,

Days of endlefs joy muft know;

And, each wiih in thee obtaining,

He muft tafte of heav’n below.

V. James,

[ 273 ]

* «. * *

FOREIGN NEWS.

r r w'«-i~r».i 74m. —■ ^

Conjianilnople , March io.
he beys in Egypt are complying
with the conditions entered into
with the Turks. They have already
given up their mamelukes to the army
of the grand vizier, and are thensfelves
preparing to retire to A. van, in Upper
Egvpt. More tranfports are conti¬
nually arriving from Malta, for the
conveyance of the Englifh troops which
are about to evacuate Egypt.

Genoa , March 26. The Englifh fri- .
gate the Niger, of 32 guns, which is
arrived from Malta in a week with 1x0
perfons, confirms the evacuation of
Egypt by a part of the Britifh troops.

Bern, March 29. At Frey burg,
where the Landammann D’Affry was
iolulted in his houfe, an order has been
publifhed, that every perfon palling
through the ftreets, in dark evenings,
after nine o’clock, fhall be arrefted ; and
that wherever more than four perfects
are found handing together in the
ftreets, in the evening, they fhall be
difperfed,

Paris, March 30. A letter from Vi¬
enna. of the 1 6th, fays 1 The day before
yefterday M. Stuart, counfellor of le¬
gation in the Britifh embaffy, fet off in
great hade for London, with very im¬
portant diipatches, fuppofed to relate to
Malta.’

Accounts from Conftantincple, of the
18 th of February, fay, 4 that the French
fquadron only waits for a favourable
wind to fet fail ; and that the laft ad¬
vices from Egypt ftate, that the tranf¬
ports are already arrived at Alexan¬
dria, on board of which the Englilh
troops were to embark.

General Bernadette will fet off im¬
mediately upon his embafiY to Ame¬
rica*

Calais, April 3. Affairs have fuddenly
taken an appearance of war in dais place,
and along the coaft. Three thoufand
troops came in here laft night and this
V>L, XXXI V.

morning early ; two thoufand more
marched into Boulogne ; and at Offend,
Dunkirk, and in every place, troops are
hourly flowing in.

.Nantz, April 4. We have, by the
Egyptienne frigate, news from Port-au«
Prince, of the 9th of February, that
fome mulattoes, at the head of a number
of negroes, had furprifed the Anfe-a-
Veau, deffroyed it by fire, and commit¬
ted at it various cruelties. General Ro-
chambeau, with 1800 men newly ar¬
rived from France, and general La-
plume, with 1200 men, marching again ft
thole negroes, difperfed them with
great (laughter. Their mulatto chiefs
were made prifoners. General Ro-
chambeau had fixed his head-quarters at
For t-au-Prince, and its inhabitants are
no longer in alarm.

Mechlin, April 6. The day before
yefterday arrived in this city a detach¬
ment of artillery, which yefterday
morning proceeded on its march for
Dutch Brabant. Yefterday, hkewife,
two battalions of the 10th demi-brigade
paffed through, taking the fame route.
It appears that all the French troops on
this deftination will be provifionally
ftationed in garrifon or cantonment in
Breda, Bergen-op-Zoom, Bois-le-Duc,
Huifden, Gertruydenberg, and in the
environs of thole frontier places, and
that they will not march into the inte¬
rior of the Batavian republic, except in
the cafe of an actual war with Eng¬
land.

Ghent, April 6. On the 4th, the
eighth demi-brigade, in garrifon at Bru¬
ges, embarked at Brefkens for the Ule
of Walcheren. Several companies of
cannoneers embarked to-day for the
fame place. The 95th demi-brigade
arrived fome days ago at Fiufning, to
remain in garrifon till further orders.
A detachment of the thirteenth regi¬
ment of dragoons repaired yefterday to
the ifle of CMfand. The 19th regiment
2 N

274

Foreign News .

of dragoons will arrive to-morrow at
Ghent; it is going to Brelkens, where
it will receive further orders. The two
firft battalions of the 48th demi-bri-
gade, completed to its full number, fet
off yefterday from Antwerp for Breda.
They were followed by different com¬
panies of horfe and foot artillery.

Brujfels, April 6. Gur letters from
Maeftricht announce, that an unex-
pedled letter, tranfmitted from govern¬
ment on the 26th of March, by the
general commanding the divifion, oblig¬
ed the 1 ft and 2d battalions of the
48th demi brigade of the line to fet
out three days after — that is, on the firft
inftant — for Breda. By the fame order,
thofe two battalions are immediately to
be completed out of the 3d, in borh offi¬
cers and men : and it ffiould feem, that
they are deftined for forne diftant ex¬
pedition. The 3d battalion, now at
Venlo, is immediately to march hither.
So confiderable a diminution of the
garrifon has produced a nece fifty for
employing the national guard to per¬
form the fei vice of certain polls.

The two battalions, of which mention
is made in the letters from Maeftricht,
arrived on the 3d inftant at Malices,
front wh'ch they proceeded in the
morning of the 4th to Breda.

The Engl iff have n ow fhips of war
eruifing in the North Sea and in the
Straits of Calais* ’I he Downs are
covered with gun-boats and other light
veffels. We have information that
feverai ftrong fquadrons are about to
fail from different ports of England to
cruife in( fight of the coafts of France
and Holland.

Hague, April 9. The French envoy,
Semonville, gave previous notice to our
government of the placing the town of
Fluffing in a ftate of fiege, which mea-
fure appears to have been haftened by
the refufal of the Englifh to deliver up
the ifiand of Goree to the French.

The 7000 French troops which have
entered Breda, Fluffing, Middleburg,
and Veere, will be reinforced with
nearly an equal number; — that is, with
four battalions of infantry and three
fquadrons of cavalry; which will take
pofilffion of, or have already occupied,
Herzogenbnfch, and other places in our
territory. To-day 600 men have en¬

tered Nimeguen, where, yefterday, the
gates were ffut againft them.

All thefe, amounting to 12 or 14,000
French troops, which are well clothed
and accoutred, come from Belgium,
where they will be replaced from the
interior of France. A conr.mumcafion
will be eftabliined by telegraphs from
the frontiers of our republic to Paris,
which never was done in the late war,
for the telegraphic line only extended
to Lifie ; it will new be continued to
Bruffels, and fo to Paris. The telegraph
dftedlor, Chappe, will ereft a tele¬
graph on the church of St. Suduia, at
Bruffls,

Citizen Michaud is arrived here as
Commijfaire ordonnateur , to fupei intend
every thing relative to the maintenance
of the French troops, which, as well as
their pay, will be furniff ed by cur re¬
public.

In about ten days the couriers, which
have been fent to Peterftmrgh from
London, Paris, and the Hague, are ex¬
pected back. The anfwers they bring
will decide the prefent crifis ; and this
decifion, it is hoped, will be pacific.

Amjlerdam , April 9. In cafe of a
rupture with England, three armies,
according to our gazettes, will be im¬
mediately affernbled on the coaft near
Boulogne, in Normandy, and in Bel¬
gium. Moreau will command in a
camp to be formed near Breft; Oudinot
at Cherbourg; Maffena at Dunkirk;
and Macdonald a fourth army, in Hol¬
land.

The Batavian referiptions, payable
after the peace, are at 61 three-fourths.

The Engliff papers have afferted,
that a German regiment, in Batavian
pay, at the Cape, offered to enter into
the pay of England. This is without
foundation.

Paris, ■ April 27. We are informed
from Befancon, under date of the zid,
that Touiffaint Louverture, who was
in cuftody at Fort de Joux, departed
this life a week ago.

Sixty boats, and upwards of 600 indi¬
viduals, condemned to the galleys, are
daily employed on the works at Cher¬
bourg. The mound is already above
a metre higher than low water.

Br i lie, May 2. The French troops

which arrived here from Helvoetftuys

275

Foreign News

fome days fince were drawn out yefter-
day, in the Great Square, where car-
touches were diftributed to them : guards
were at the fame time placed at the
town-gates ; and a detachment of gre¬
nadiers went to the houfe of Mr. Van
Linth, keeper of the national magazine.
An officer, who was with Mr. Van
Dinth, came out in a few moments with
the keys. Thefe he delivered to the
French cannoneers who flood near the
magazine. They proceeded immedi¬
ately to draw away the carriages, and
other implements of artillery which
they, found there. It is affirmed, that
a certain number of horfes have been
demanded from the chief magiftrate, to
carry the artillery and ammunition to
the batteries; and that, in cafe of ne-
ceffity, the horfes of the inhabitants muff
be employed in that fervice.

Rotterdam, May. z. Some days fince,
a part of the artillery and troops of the
armament deftined for Louifiana was
difembarked. The fhips, on board
which they were, have buffered confi-
derable damage, and are to be repaired
as faff as pofiible.

The Englifh have not yet left our
coafts. They feem even to augment
their force there.

Brujfels , May 7. We have now pofi-
tive information, that the firfl conful
will come firfl to Bruges and Oftend,
to infpedl the coafts of Flanders, and the
reparations which the dykes of Polders
and Watringues, in that which was
formerly Dutch Fftanders, are about to
receive. It is impoflible to defcribe the
impatience with which he is expected
here. Strangers of diftindiion ftill con¬
tinue to take lodgings at BrufTels for the
time of his arrival. Among thefe is the
duke of Bedford.

Paris, May 8. Letters from Naples
ftate, that the Englifh (how a difpo-
fition to occupy the ifland of Sicily, in
order to prevent the French from doing
fo, Ihould hoftilities break out ; and
light flotillas are to be ftationed off MeG
fina and Catania, in the ftrait which
feparates Sicily from the kingdom of
Naples.

It is reported that general Rocham-
beau is on his return from St. Domingo ;
and that he has been fucceeded in the
command by general Lapoypt.

General Caffarellie, aide-de-camp to

the firfl conful, has efpoufed made-
moifelle Julienne d’Herviily. She was
pref'ented, 011 Sunday laft, to madame
Bonaparte.

T ic duke of Bedford, with feveral
other Englifhmen of d.flindtion, dined,
on Saturday daft, at he houfe of the
minifter for foreign affairs.

General Rapp ha. returned from his
million to Switzerland. M.Conftaurine
de Maliardoz, and M. Albert Fegali,
•have arrived here from Friburg, on a
miffion, which is fuppofed to relate to
the nominations of the new authorities
of the Helvetic cantons.

1 1. The firfl conful, on Monday, met
with a dangerous accident, o which the
confequences might have been the mofl
ferious, if he bad not happily refeued
him felt by extraordinary prefence of
mind. About three in the afterfioon,
he went from St. Cloud to take an air¬
ing in the gardens in his calafh, or fo-
ciable. Madame Bonaparte, Cambace-
res, the fecond conful, and fome other
perfons, accompanied him. The calafh
was drawn by four horfes, and Bonaparte
himfclf drove. The horfes, being young
and fiery, became ungovernable. They
broke over a gate in their way, and
then fell. The firfl conful, to avoid
falling forward, fprang off at a fide,
and fell at fome diftance from the car¬
riage. He had a violent fall; but it
was fortunately on the grafs, fo that he
fuflered no injury, but by flightly fprain-
ing his hand. He refted well laft
night ; and this morning he went to
Malmaifon.

By an order of government of the
18th of April, the feamen and ftiip-car-
penters, &c. of the maritime in fen prion,
whofe names were enrolled in the lift of
emigrants, and who have returned to
France, or ftiall return before the firfl
Germinal, year 12, are to have their
names removed from the lift of emi¬
grants, and replaced on that parr of the
maritime infcription to which they pre-
vioufly belonged, or on fuch other part
of it as they fhall themfelves defire.

Th e news from Genoa mention, that
fix fliips of the line have been out on
the flocks at Toulon, rd are to r?e ready
to be launched wbhin ox months. It is
added, that feveral rhe (hips are' to be
immediately built i he fame sort.

2 N 2

t 276 ]

HOME NEWS.

Falmouth, April 29.

A FEW days ago, a young woman,
d re fled as a Teaman, came to one of
the rendezvous houfes in this place, for
the purpofe of entering herfelf for the na¬
vy ; but her Tex being Toon difcovered, fee
wa« of courfe rejected. It appears that
Ihe belongs to a parifh at a fmall diftance
from Falmouth ; and that her attachment
to a young man, who is gone into the
navy (and by whom fhe is with child),
actuated her to this extraordinary pro¬
ceeding, tor the fake of following
him.

Plymouth. April 30. The fhips fitting
for lea at Hamoaze are exactly as fol¬
low St. Jofef, of 1 12 guns ; Ville de
Paris, or 1 12 ; Prince, of 98 ; Canopus,
of 84; and Conqueror., of 74. When
ready for fea, which will be foon, as vic¬
tualling hoys are hourly alongfide, vic¬
tualling and. fioringthem for fea, with the
following Ihips, already vi&ualled and
ftored, in Hamoaze, Cawfand, and Tor-
• hay, they will furnifh no bad 1 pec i men of
aftivity of the artificers at this yard
and its dependencies, as well as of the
captains, officers, and crews of thole
Ihips, viz. Salvador del Mundo, 112
grins, capt. Lane ; La Tenant, 84 guns,
captain fir E. Pellew ; Malta, 84 guns,
capt. F.. Berkeley ; Spartiate, 84 guns,
captain G. Murray ; Mars, 74 guns,
capt. Sutton 5 Culloden, 74 guns, rear-
admiral Thornborough ; Plantagenet,
74 guns, captain A. Hammond.

The only feip to be called ineffective,
out cf thefe eleven Tail of the line, is Ei
Salvador del Mundo, of 1 12 guns, fitted
as a receiving- fhip, and for'the flag of
admiral lord Keith, as fuperintendifio-
pert- admiral.

Portfmoutb, May 1. Sailed the King-
fifher, Ant, Swan, and Lord Howe Hoops,
with troops for jerfey.— The Ruffell, of
74 guns, captain Williams, is ordered to
join the fquadron at Torbay, and will
Tail on Monday, The His, of 50 guns,

captain Lobb, which came in yeflerday,
fell in with his ipajefty’s fhip Utrecht,
captain Rogers, on Wednelday evening,
and immediately rear-admiral Thorn-
borough fiiifted his flag’from the Xfis to
that Tliip. The His foon after parted
company, leaving off Goree the follow¬
ing Ihips : — Utrecht, 64 ; Africain, 44 5
Leda, 38 ; Hydra, 38 ; Ambufcade, 38 ;
Conflance, ty ; and two revenue cutters. ^

There were three French frigates in
Helvoetflqys, where it was believed the
whole of the Louifiana expedition had
difembarked.

Dover, May 4. Lafi: night, after poll,
Le Deux Amis, captain GilJot, arrived
here from Calais, with 16 paffengers ;
the news by this veffel is warlike : and
to-day the Succefs, captain Philip Cor-
nue, arrived here from Boulogne, with
major Schminter and captain Honyvvood,
Ton of Filmer Honywood; member of
parliament for this county. Wrhen they
left Paris, moll • of lord Whitworth’s
heavy baggage was faid to be packed up ;
and rsport faid, that every entreaty had
been made to Bonaparte, by his friends
and relations, to induce him to be peace¬
able, but without effcdU Mr. Shaw, the
meffenger, palled through Boulogne this
morning about fix o’clock, on his way to
Calais, no Eng’iiih veffel being there to
bring him : three veffej's are now in fight,
and he is fuppofed to be in one ©f them.

St. James’s , May 4. This day, the
chevalier d’Anduaga, envoy extraordi¬
nary ancf minifier plenipotentiary from
Spain, had a private audience of his ma-
jefly to deliver his credentials. — And
Rufus King, efq. minifier plenipoten¬
tiary from the United States of Ameri¬
ca, had an audience of leave of his ma-
jefty.

London, May 5. One of the mod ex¬
traordinary forgeries ever known was
this day pradiiled. Between nine and
ten o’clock in the morning, the following'
letter was received by the lord mayor ;

Home News.

'* To the right hon. the Lord Mayor.

4 Downing-jlreet 3 A. M.

‘Lord Hawkelbary prefents his com¬
pliments to the Lord Mayor, and is hap-
P y to inform him that the negotiation
between this country and the French
republic has been amicably adjufted/

The letter was fealed with lord
Hawkcfoury’s feal.

The Lord Mayor, not doubting the
truth of the intelligence, communicated
the news immediately to the Stock Ex¬
change and Lloyd’s, and ordered the fol¬
lowing bulletin to be polled up at the
Manfion-houfe :

4 May 5, 1 803.

4 Lord Havvkelbury has, this morning,
informed the Lord Mayor, that the ne¬
gotiation with the French republic is
brought to an amicable coftclufion.’

Stocks immediately rofe five per cent.
They were 76^, 71 — 6g|, 70L

Soon after twelve o’clock, however,
the Lord Mayor received, by one of the
clerks of the treafury, a note from Mr.
Vanfmart, announcing to his lordlhip
that the letter he had received was a
forgery.

Never was there feen fuch a fcene of
confternation and confufion as that which
took place. The bills polled up at the'
Manfion-houfe were immediately torn
down, and one of the city-marlhals was
fent over to the Stock Exchange, to in¬
form the brokers of the contents of Mr.
Vanfitrart's letter. The fall of the funds
was, of courfe, rapid and great. The
three percents . fell below 63 — they then
recovered a little, and role to 64; —
a rife and fall of feven per cent, in one
morning !

The Lord Mayor has ilTued bills, of-
fering five hundred guineas reward for a
aifeovery of the author of the forgery.

6. Mr. Addington informed the hc-ufe
of commons that it was fappofed lord
Whitworth had left Paris ; and that gen.
Andreofli, the French imoaffadof, had
that morning applied for paifporcs to
return to Fr mce.

7. The paper called cTbectimes pubiifh-
ed this morning that a melfenger had
arrived late laft night from Paris, and
that the difpute between the two gov em-
ments was completely adjufted.

In conlequence of this, and the for-
:gery vetterday, no bufinefs was done for
a confiderable time on the Stock Ex¬
change} and it was agreed that the

my*
** / i

market fhould be clofed, until the truti
of this report could be afeertained.

An application was made at twelvi
o’clock, by the Lord Mayor, to tin
Chancellor of the Exchequer, for tin
purpofe of ascertaining whether any
communication was to take place : at
anfwer was inftantly returned, of which
the following is an extract : -
4 Extract of a letter from the right hon,
Henry Addington to the right hon.
the Lord Mayor, dated May 7, 1803 :
4 If any information had been receiv¬
ed by government, which could properly
be the fubjedt of public communication*
your lordfliip may be affured that fuch a
communication would not be withheld/
In confcquence of this anfwer, the
Stock Exchange opened at one o’clock.
Confois began at 63, and at two were at
6 A

°24*

9. On Saturday afternoon two galleys,
each having an officer and prefs-gang'ia
it, in endeavouring to imprefs fome per-
fons at Hungerford-ftairs, were refilled
by a party of coal-heavers belonging to
a wharf adjoining, who affailed them
with coals and glaf bottles : feveral of
the gang were cut in a moft fhoekmg
manner on their heads and legs, and a
woman who happened to be in a wherry
was wounded in fo dreadful a manner,
that it is feared flie will not furvive.

The imprefs on Saturday, both above
and below bridge, was the hotteft that
lias been for forne time : the boats be-
longing to the Chips at Deptford were
particularly adtive, and it 'is fuppofed
they obtained upwards of two hundred
men, who were regulated on board the
Enter prize tiJl late at night, and fent in
the different tenders to the Nbre, to be
put on board fuch ill i p s whofe crews are
not completed.

i he impreffed men, for whom there
was not room on board the Enterprize,
on Saturday, were put into the Tower,
and the gates fhut, to prevent any o£
them effecting their efcape.

I he imprefs on the riverwas ycflerday
continued with the urmoff activity. *

12. Ycflerday, about three o’clock, an
obftruction took, place in the narrow part
of the Strand, near Exeter-’chajm.e, in
confequence of the. breaking down of an
hackney-coach. Two men and a woman,
eroding the ilreet, unfortunately ran be¬
tween two coal- waggons, then in contact
with each other } when the tvyu men and

Hme News,

£7B

the woman were fo jammed in, that,
jjnotwithftanding their foreams and
fiirieks, before any affiftance could be
given they were killed oq the fpot.

| 13. Oldfield, a lunatic, went laft night

to the Queen’s-houfe, about half paft ten,
and alked the porter if he had any com¬
mands for him. On knowing him, he
was f cured it: the guard-room all night,
when Sayers, the Bow-ftreet officer, took
him to Torhill-fields : he was taken be-
fo. e fir R. F ord yefterday morning, by
Sayers and the porter, when it ppeared
he came from Dover, where be had a
wife and fix children, having broke out
of the work-houfe after fifteen weeks’
confinement; he had like wife been in
Bethlem fame time ago (eleven mont'hs) :
he was remanded, after a private ex¬
amination, and fent to Tot-h ill-fields
again, till an order for Bethlem is * brain¬
ed. He ufed to go with a Bible under
his arm, dreffed neatly : he is about forty.

A bowl made of granite, weighing five
tons, is juft arrived from Egypt, in the
Anacreon tranfport, a' a prefect for the
Lord Mayor of London. There being
certain duties to pay, hi.s lordfhip wrote
to the lords of the treafury to have the
j duties taken off.

14. The right bon. lord Hawkefbury
fent the following letter to the Lord
Mayor, which his lordfhip read at the
Stock Exchange :

‘ My lord,

4 1 think it right to lofe no time in in¬
forming your 'lordfhip, that Lifle, the
mefTenger, has juft arrived from Paris,
with difpatches from lord Whitworth ;
and that his lordfhip had received his
pafl ports, and was on the point of letting
out from Paris on Thurfday evening,
when the mefTenger came away.

16. The following meffiage from his
majefty was communicated to both houfes
of parliament.

,< G. R.

4 His majefty thinks proper to ac¬
quaint the houfe, that the difcuffions
which his majefty announced, on the
8 th of March, as then fubfifting between
his majefty and the French government,
have terminated.

4 The conduct of the French govern¬
ment has- obliged his majefty to recall
hts amba ffador from Paris ; and the arri-
bvftador from the French republic, has
left London.

♦ TJis majefty has given diredfions for

laying before the houfe, with as little de¬
lay as pofhble, copies of fuch papers as
may be proper for the information of
parliament, at fo important a junfhire.

‘It is a confolation to his majefty to
reflect that no endeavour has been want¬
ing on his part to preferve the bldfings
of peace; but, under the .circumftances
which have occurred to difappoint his"
juft expeditions, his majefty relies with
p; rfect confidence on the zeal and pub¬
lic fpirit of the houfe, and upon the ex¬
ertions cf his brave and loyal fubjedts, to
fupport his determination to employ the
power and refources of the country, in
oppofing the fpirit of ambition and en¬
croachment which now adfuates the
con duff of the French government, in
upholding the dignity of his crown, and
in aliening and maintaining the rights
and effintial interefts of his people.’ «

19. This day there was a grand inftal-
Iation of Knights of the Bath, in Weft-
minfter-abbey. The procelfion was
Iplendid and fumptuous in the high eft
degree. Her majefty, four princefiTes.,
and the princefs of Wales, attended to
view the procelfion, and lac ir. a box
fitted up for the occafion at the weft end
of the fourh aifle in the abbey.

20. On Wednefday a maniac endea¬
voured to gain admiffion to his majefty
at the levee, tie laid he had rifenfrom
the dead, and had a com million from.
Heaven to kill Bonaparte; but was di¬
rected to fee the king of England firft.
He was apprehended by the police-
officers, who carried him before fir R.
Ford, by whom he was committed to a
place of confinement.

21. Wednefday evening another fatal
duel took place near Chalk-farm. The
parties were a Mr. Thomas O’Reilly, an
officer in the army, and a gentleman of
the name of Hobart. They met at fe veil
in the evening, in a field a little to the
north of the houfe, attended by their
fe'conds. The combatants fired at the
f me moment, and Mr. O’Reilly was
ffiot in the body, near the hip ; on re¬
ceiving of which, he ran fotne fhort
diftance, and then walked; but before he
coulf, get to Chalk-farm be fainted with
the lots of blood. The ball, which had
lodged near the ftfin on the op polite fide,
was fuon ffiter extracted ; notwjthfland-
ing winch he d ed yefterdav afternoon,
and the coroner’s inqueft have returned
a verditt of ‘ Wilful Murder.’

Births ••

BIRTHS.

April 28. At Chatham, the lady of fir
William Eurdett, hart, of a daughter.

At Briftol, the lady of lieutenant col.
Baillie, of a fon.

In Gloucefter-place, the lady of E.
Fletcher, efq. of a fon.

The lady of col. Hay, of Maidftone,
of a daughter.

29. Lady George Cavendifh, of a
daughter, at his lordftiip’s houfe, in
Saville-row.

May 1. At Brighton, the right hon.
lady Leftie, of a daughter.

In Portland-place, the lady of George
Simpfon, efq. of a fon.

At Newport, in the I fie of Wight,
the lady of lieut. Trickey, of a fon.

3. The lady of Richard Solly, efq. of
York-place, of a daughter.

4. At Netherby-ball, Cumberland,
lady Catherine Graham, of a daughter.

5. At Southampton, the lady of
Z. H. Edwards, efq. of a fon.

The countefs of Sunderland, of a fon.

Same morning, lady Sefton, of a
daughter.

The lady of major Maifter, of a fon.

xo. At Brompton, Mrs. Pollock, the
lady of capt. pollock, of the Eaft-lndia
company’s military lervice, of a daugh¬
ter.

11. On Wednefday lad, in Portman*
ftreet, the lady of John Wyldmore
Smith, of a daughter.

MARRIAGES.

April 25. At Ore, the rev. Henry
Hodges, to mils Murray, of Beau-port,
in Suffex.

28. At St. Bartholomew’s the Great,
-•Nathaniel Belchier, efq. of the royal
navy, to mifs Bryant, daughter of the
rev. Edward Bryant, of Newport, Effex.

At-Kenfngton, Mr. D. Williams, to
mifs E. Marth, of Sloane-fquare.

\ 30. At Bath, Thomas Auftin, efq.
major in his majefty’s 60th regiment, to
mifs Margaretta Morland, third daugh¬
ter of the late Thomas Morland, efq. of
Lambhurft, Kent.

Marriages . ^yy

At Camberwell, by the rev. G. Land-
ley, Edward J. Utterton, efq. of the
Middle Temple, to mifs Brown, eideft
daughter of i . Brown, elq. of Peckanj-
lodge.

May 3. Mr. Randall, of Southampton,
to Mrs, Jordan, late of Gofport.

5. At Balindean, in Perthlhire, Phi- 3
lip Dundas, efq. M. P. to mifs Wedder- 1
burn, daughter of fir John Wedderburn, I
bart.

At St. Martin Outwich, the rev.
Robert Price, to mifs Grtce Rofs, of
Bilhoplgate-flreet.

At Baltinglafs, county of Wicklow,
Mr. Frafer, of the 71ft regiment of
foot, to mifs Eliza King.

At St. James s, vVeftminfter, Gervas
Wylde, efq. of the Eaft Middlefex mi¬
litia, ro mils Sophia Plalker, fecond
daughter of Thomas Plalker, efq. of
Ciiiford-ftreet.

At St. George’s, Hanover- fquare,
Charles Littiedale, efq. eideft fon of
Thomas Littiedale, efq. of Harley-
ftreet, to mifs Catherine Louifa Caftell,
daughter of Samuel Caftell, efq. of
Bruton-ftreet.

Joleph Sladen, efq. of St. James’s-
ftreet, Bedford-row, to mifs Ann Main-
waring, fecond daughter of Wm. Main-
waring, efq. of the Crefcent.

7. At Mary-la-bonne, Mr. Archer
Brunell, of Bail.ghall-ftreet, to Mrs.
Head, of Beaurnonr-ftreet.

John TOmlinfon, efq. of Cley, in
Norfolk, to mils Chad.

At Mary-la-bonne church, James
John Smith, efq. to mifs Hanchett.

10. The rev. J. W. Wilbraham, rec¬
tor of Falmouth, to mifs J. Croucher, of
Baker-ftreet (North), Portm m-fquxre.

At vifcount Oxmantown’s, S'ephen’s-
green, T. TeniEn, efq. of Caftle-Te-
mfon, Rofcommon, to the right hon.
lady Frances King, youngeft daughter
of Edward earl of Kingfton, and aunt
to the prefent earl.

14. At St. George’s, Ilanover-fquare,
capt. Whyte, of the royal navy, fon of
general John Whyte, to Mrs. Mowbrayq
widow of George Mowbray, efq. of
Mortimer, in the county of Berks.

Wm. Sharp, efq. to mifs Ann Nalh,
of Albion-ftreet.

At St. George’s, Hanover-fquare,

■?<

\ 4 i

Deaths .

buckles Lethbridge, efq. of Rookely-
ovife, Wilts, only fon of John Leth-
ridgej’ efq. of Stanth:il-park; Somer-
;t, to mil's Ann Goddard, fecond daugh-
cr of Ambrofe Goddard, efq. M. P. for
he county of Wilts’.

The rev. John Clayton, of Kenfing-
on, to mifs Ellis, only daughter of Wm.
illis, efq. of Fenchurch-flreet.

At St. Mary-le- Strand, .Thomas
Jentley, of the Little Hermitage, near
lochefter, efq. to mil's Lunan, of the
strand.

At St. James’s, Clerkenwell, W.
Howard, efq. of St. John’s-fquare, to
nil's Ann Elliott, of the fame place.

At Aldgate- church, George Wynd-
lam, efq. to mifs Dominions.

DEATHS.

March 20. Mifs Rebecca Payne, third
laughter of Mr. Payne, of Lagfheath,
n the county of Suffex, after a long and
painful illnefs, which fne bore with
true chnftian fortitude.

April 16. At Lifbon, iff the 38th year
of his age, where he went for the re¬
covery of his health, Simon Frafer the
younger, of Lovat.

zqT At Clifton, mifs Erikine, filler to
fir W. Erfkine.

25. At his houfe in Mile-End green,
in the 62b year of his age, capr. George

Young. T '

27. In Mortimer-ftreet, the only
daughter of capt. W. G. Rutherford.

28. At Lambeth, of an apoplectic fir,
Mr. W. Brown, flock-broker.

At her houfe, in Brunfwick-fquare,
the wife of W. Walker, efq.

29. Rowland Conyers, elq. late of Ar-
gyle-ftr-eet, in the 78th year of his age.

' 30. Lady Harriet Hamilton, eldeft

daughter of the marquis of Abercorn,
in the 2 1 it year of her age, after a l'hort
illnefs, at her father’s* feat, the Priory,
near Stanmore. She was to have been
married, in a few days, to the marquis
of Waterford, who now remains over¬
whelmed with the deepell afBi&ion.

Mrs. Munday, of Clapham -common.

At Vitry-fur* Seine, near Paris, Wm.
Finland, efq. of Ireland.

May 1. At her houfe, in Upper Sey¬
mour- fixeef, after a few days’ illnefs.,
lady M. Melbourne.

At the fame hour alfo died at her
houfe, in Park-ftreet, Grofvenor-fquare,
Mrs. E. Hervey, many years the inti¬
mate friend of lady M. Melbourne.

2. At Darn-hail, vice-admiral fir G.
Florae, hart.

4. At his. houfe, on Stockwell-com-
mon, John Salilbury Iioare, efq. late of
Honduras.

In John-ftreet, Weft, Mr. Vigne.

At Tenbury, Mrs. Mary Price, aged
ninety- two.

On Tuefday laft, at Lymington,
Mrs. Alien.

At his apartments, in town, major
Thomas ThifpeFowke.

At his houfe, in Gioucefter-place, J.
Cotton, efq.

7. John Lord Rivers, a lord of his
majefty’s bed-chamber, lord- lieut. and
cuftos rotulorum of the county of Perth.
He is fuc'-eeded by his only fon George,
now lord Rivers.

At his houfe, in Beaumont-ftreet,
Mary -la-bonne, Mr. C. Brown, botani¬
cal painter.

At Oxford, aged 73, Charles Haldon,
fen. printer, who bad for forrse years
enjoyed one of the penfions for decayed
printers, agreeably to the will of the
late Mr. Bowyer.

8, Mrs. Deihons, widow of the late
Mr. Deftions, of Threadrieedle-ftreet.

At Cantlefton-cafile, Glamorganfbire,
the lady of col. Huddlefton, of the royal
artillery. - - *

ti. After four days’ illnefs, Mr. J,
Ovendon, attorney, of Jermyn-ftreet.

13. Mrs. Crawford, of Hoxton-fquare,
aged 57.

At Chelfea, Mrs. Draper, wife of
Mr. Draper, of the navy-pay office,
Scmerfet-place.

14. Mrs. Dawfon,\vife of John Daw-
fon, efq. of Bedford-ftreet, Bedford*
fquare.

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THE

LADY’S MAGAZINE,

ENTER TAINING COMPANION

THE FAIR SEX;

APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For JUNE, 1805.

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

1 The Miftakes of Jealoufy, . 283

2 The Moral Zoologift,. . 285

3 A Morning’s Walk in June,. . . . 289
Signe and Habor; a Gothic Romance,

290

Anecdote, . .295

The Monks and the Robbers,. ... 296

7 Critical Obferyations on the Novel of

* Tom jones^i . 298

8 Robert M'Kenzie ; or, the Adven¬

tures of a Scotlman, . 307

9 Ladies’ D re lies on his Majefty’s

Birth-Day, June 4. . 31 1

10 Augufta and Emily ; a Tale,. . . . 3 1 6

11 Matilda ; a Drama,. . . 319

12 Parihan Falhions, . 322

13 London Falhions, . 322

14 Detached Thoughts,.., . 323

1 <

This Number is embellijhed with the following Copper -plates :

1 The Mistakes of Jealousy.

2 For the Moral Zoologist — MAGPYE — JACKDAW.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern for a Veil, Sc c.

£ MUSIC — A new Son g, let to Mulic by Mr. Barre.

LONDON :

Printed for G. and J. ROBINSON , No. 25, Paternofer-Bozo ;

Where Favours from Correfpondents continue to be received.

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Poetical Essays: — Proud Dum-
ferline, the Caftle on the Wold.
Sonnets. The War-Worn Sailor.
The Virgin’s Prayer. Lines ad-
dreffed to a young Gentleman. Em¬
ma. The Cottage Maid On hear¬
ing Marriage ridiculed by a Liber¬
tine. Ode for his Majeiry’s Birth-
Day, 1803. SeduAion’s Triumph j
or, Phcebe’s Defliny. Anfwer to
the Valentine Epiftle in the Maga¬
zine for April. State of Europe in

1803. The Kifs and the Bhifh . 324

Foreign News, . 329

Home News, . 332

B^ths,..., . 335

Marriages, . 335

Deaths, . 336

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(

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The piece of poetry fent with the Cajile on the Wold our Correfpondent
will perceive is inferted this month.

The Effay figned Clementina is not forgotten.

Several other corrections and alterations, befides Thetis for Perjina , are
fieceffaiy in the poem tranfmitted by mifs Y — — .

We ihould be obliged to Leonce for the communications he offers.

Lines written after dancing with a Young Lady — Ode on the Vernal
Equinox*— An Evening’s Walk with three Young Ladies — Epiftle to a
JYifer— Rebus by W. R.— Acroftic by Florio— are received.

v - . . n

I T

Engraved for tfu’Lady 's-Magccuixe

/ '

THE

LADY’s MAGAZINE,

For JUNE, 1803.

THE MISTAKES OF JEALOUSY:

A TALE.

( With an elegant Engraving.}

HPrere is no paffion which will
fooner betray the perfon over
whom it exercifes its power into
ridiculous fituations than jealoufy.
Blind and unreflecting in its nature,
it hurries thofe who yield to its
wild impulfe, without calling in the
aid of reafon to reftrain it, into
fuch abfurd extravagancies as render
them objeCts of pity to their friends
and of contempt to ftrangers.

Mr. Wilmore was a gentleman
pofleffed of many excellent, and
even amiable, qualities ; but they
were all obfcured, and rendered of
little utility to himfelf or others,
by an unhappy difpolition to fufpeCt
every one with whom he had any
intercourfe, of fome feeret defigns
unfriendly to his interefts. By
brooding over his own gloomy dii-
truft, he wrought himfelf into a full
conviction that the chimeras pre-
fented by his imagination were re¬
alities: and by his abfurd beha¬
viour, in confequence, procured
himfelf the contempt, and, in many
inftances, the enmity and oppo-
fition, of thofe who would otherwife
have been his friends, and have
tendered him eflential fervices,

As a very confiderable eflate of
which he was the owner, was, if he
died without heirs, to pafs into an¬
other family, which, as ufual, he
fufpe&ed of having aCted with no
great friendlhip towards him; and
has he had now attained, or rather
palled, the meridian of life, he be¬
gan to look around for fome young
lady by forming a union with whom
he might difappoint their expefta-
tions. His attention was foon
drawn to mifs Laetitia Marfden, the
daughter of a gentlem a of fmall
fortune, whofe beauty and accom-
plifh merits induced him to make
her an offer of his hand, with a very
ample fettlement. Mifs Marfden,
though not abfolutely enamoured
with his perfon and manners, fuf-
fered herfelf to be perfuaded to
make no objection by her father and
brother, who were extremely eager
for a match which they confidered
as likely to prove highly profitable
and advantageous to herfelf and her
family.

For a fliort time Mr. Wilmore
conduced himfelf in a manner
which was liable to no objection ia
his intercourfe with mils Marfden

284

The Mijlakes of Jealoufy ; a Tak.

and h^r family: but it was not long
before his natural unhappy difpo-
fition began to difplay itfelf. By
repeated interviews and conversa¬
tion with his intended bride, her
charms and vivacity infpired him
with a real and ardent paflion; but
this only gave a new and more vio¬
lent impufe to his natural jealoufy,
which difplayed, itfelf on a variety
of occafions. Laetitia frequently ex-
preiTcd to her brother her fears that
fuch a temper mull render her very
unhappy after marriage, but was
anfwered that jealoufy was the Sign
and the proof of love.

‘ That there is a jealoufy,’ anfwer¬
ed die, 4 which is the genuine off-
fpring of love, I cannot but admit;
but there is alfo another, of far bafer
origin, which centers entirely in felf.
This wretched paflion rages in the
breads of thofe who are fo far from
loving that they even hate the per¬
son of whom they are faid to be
jealous. Candidly to confefs the
truth, I much doubt whether the
jealoufy which Mr. Wilmore fo
frequently difpiays be not rather of
the latter kind, originating more in
a mean fufpicious temper, confcious
of feeblenefs of mind and want of
defert, than in any very violent af-
feHion which he entertains for me.’

Mr. ?vlarfden could only reply by
an awkward and ill-timed raillery of
the fine-fpun fentiments which his
fifter had imbibed, and which he
faid were not at all fuited to the
fober practice of common life, in
which, for the fake of great and
Solid advantages, little impei fedions
ought to be overlooked, and not to
be too minutely enquired into with
refpedf to their nature or origin.

Laetitia cultivated a particular in¬
timacy and friendship with a young
lady named Laura, who was efpe-
cially diftinguiSfied by her acutenefs
and vivacity. She communicated
to her, confidentially, her fears of

the effedfs of the fufpicious and jea¬
lous difpofition of Mr. Wilmore,
and the little expectation (lie had of
happinefs in a union with him; to
which it feemed, neverthelefs, thatfhe
would be obliged to confent, unleSs
Site was refolved to give the greateft
offence to her father and her brother,
who would never forgive her if She re-
fufed. Her friend, in anfwer, la¬
mented that parents Should fo fre¬
quently facrifice the happinefs of
their children to views of intereft;
and refolved, though without com¬
municating her intention to Laetitia,
to give fuch a diredlion to the fufpi-
cions which the miflruftful temper
of Mr. Wilmore was continually en¬
gendering, as might exhibit him in
Such a light to Mr. Marfden and his
Ion that Laetitia might be ultimately
freed from h;s addrefies, to which flic
every day conceived a greater dif-
like.

Mr. Wilmore, among his other
fufpicions, tormented hknfelf with
fears of a rival. Laura artfully en¬
couraged his jealoufy, without, how¬
ever, difgracing herfelf by any abfo-
lute falfehood. Mr. Wilmore lurk¬
ed on the watch, near the houfe, in
the dufk of the evening ; and at
length, feeing fome perfon come out,
rufhed haftily upon him, and making
no doubt but that he was the more
favoured lover, to whom his ima¬
gination attributed the caufe of the
increasing coldnefs which he ob-
ferved in the behaviour of Laetitia,
he addreSTed him in very rude lan¬
guage. But what was his furprife
when he difcovered this fuppofed
rival was no other than Mr. Marf¬
den, tfie father of Laetitia; who-was
not a little aftonilhed at the ftrange
habitation he had received from his
intended fon-in-law. The apolo¬
gies and excufes of Mr. Wilmore,
however, foon induced Mr. Marf¬
den to think no more of the adven¬
ture ; for he was more intent on pro-

The Moral Zoologjl ,

curing Mr. Wilm ore’s great eftate
for his daughter than anxious that
his character and difpofition might
appear to be fuch as fhould enfure
her happinefs.

Yet ftill Mr. Wilmore could not
banifh from his fufpicious mind his
jealous fears of fome unknown rival.
He took an opportunity to confer
on the fubjedt with Laura, who
archly told him, that though the
knew of no fuch perfon, yet die
poffibly might not be admitted into
all mils Laetitia’s fecrets. She added
that die had jud feen a gentleman
go into Mr. Marfden’s1; but that he
fo much refembled Laetitia’s brother,
that fhe had fuppofed he mud be
him.

This was fufficient for Mr. Wil¬
more. His diftempered imagina¬
tion immediately reprefented to him
that he had now fufficiently afcer-
tained the fa£t that attempts were
making to impofe on him; and he
immediately fet out, with great heat,
to demand an explanation of all the
parties concerned.

As he approached the houfe, in
the dufk of the evening, by an ave¬
nue of trees leading to it, he per¬
ceived a gentleman coming from it,
who, though he could not fee him
very diftin&ly, he could difcern
greatly refembled, both in drefs and
appearance, the brother of Laetitia.
He retired back to fome didance, to
let him advance further from the
mandon; and then, fuddenly rufhing
on him with his fword drawn, with
which he had provided himfelf for
the occafion, exclaimed, with a fu¬
rious voice —

‘ I mult immediately know, dr,
why your vidts are made there ? —
No delay 1 — I have detected the im-

podure.’

What was the furprifeof Laetitia’s
brother, for he was the perfon thus
feized, at being accoded in fo drange
a manner! It was not without fome

£85

difficulty, and even danger of ferious
injury, that he could bring the infa¬
tuated man to recognize him. Blit
the confudon of Mr. Wilmore, when
he was convinced of his abfuni
midake, is not to be defcribed. —
He had recourfe to his former ex-
cufes and apologies; but fuch repeat¬
ed extravagance could not be difre-

garded; and both the brother ana
the father of Laetitia refolved that,
from that time, all connexion be¬
tween him and the family fhouLl
ceafe, in which Laetitia herfelf not
lefs willingly concurred.

This incident, however, in itscon-
fequences, operated, in a great de¬
gree, to the advantage of both par¬
ties. Mr. Wilmore was fo afhamed
of his foolifh and precipitate coa-
duT, that he ever afterwards r.e-
p reded and greatly correbted his
natural difpofition to fufpicion and
jealoufy ; and mifs Marfden was
preferved from a matrimonial union
in which fhe had very little profpebt
of happinefs.

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART II.

{Continued from p. 266.)

LETTER V.

From Eugenia, to the Right Equ.
Ladv - — .

^pHOUGH I place the falcons after
the vultures, on account of their
inferiority in fize and ffrength, they
certainly merit to be ranked before
them, with rcfpect to their more
noble qualities. Linnaeus has there¬
fore, with reafon, claiTed them in
the fame genus with the eagles. —
The falcon, though diminutive in
fize, is not inferior to the eagle either
in courage or generofity; and, from

TtG - The Moral 2eohgi/t.

its being do me. (Heated by man and
rendered fubfervient to his pleafures,
becomes a much more interefting
objedt of curiofity.

Falconry, though now in a great
meafure difufed, was the principal
amufement of our ancedors. A
perfon of rank fcarcely dirred out
without his hawk on his hand, which
in old paintings is the criterion of
nobility. Harold, afterwards king
of England, when he went on a
moft important embaffy into Nor¬
mandy, is reprefented, in an old bas-
relief, embarking with a bird on his
fid and a dog under his arm. 4 In
thofe days it was thought fufficient
for noblemen’s fons to wind the
horn and to carry their hawk fair,
and leave dudy and learning to the
children of meaner people.’ This
diverfion, in fine, was in fuch high
edeem among perfons of diftinc-
tion throughout Europe, that Fre¬
deric, one of the emperors of Ger¬
many, did not think it beneath his
dignity to write an elaborate treatife
on falconry.

The expence which attended this
fport was .very great. Among the
old Welch princes, the king’s fal¬
coner was the fourth officer in the
Irate; but, notwithdanding all his
honours, he was forbidden to take
more than three draughts of beer

from his horn, led he fhould become
intoxicated and negleft his duty.
In the reign of James the Fil'd, fir
Thomas Monfon is faid to have
given a thouland pounds for a cad
of hawks ; a prodigious fum, if we
confider the value of money in that

age. At a period when the people
had no rights, and exided only by
the permiilion, and for the fervice, of
their fuperiors, we cannot wonder
at the rigour of the laws enacted to
guard an amufement purchafed at fo
extravagant a rate. In the reign of
Edward the Third, it was made fe¬
lony to deal a hawk ; and to take its
eggs, even in a perfon’s own ground,

was punifhable with imprifonment
for a year and a day, together with a
fine at the king’s pleafure. In the
reign of queen Elizabeth the im¬
prifonment was reduced to three
months; but the offender was to
find fecurity for his good behaviour
for feven years, or to lie in prifon
till he did procure it. « Such/ fays
Mr. Pennant, f was the enviable date
of the times in England. During
the whole day our gentry were em¬
ployed with the fowls of the air or
the beads of the field. In the even¬
ing they celebrated their exploits
with the mod abandoned and brutiffa
fottiffinefs. At the fame time the
inferior ranks of people, by the mod:
unjud and arbitrary laws, were lia¬
ble to capital punifhment, to fines,
and thelofs of liberty, for deftroying
the mod noxious of the feathered
race.’

The manner of training a falcon
to the purfuit of game is as fol¬
lows:— -The mader begins by put¬
ting ftraps upon his legs, which are
called jeffes, to which there is faden-
ed a ring with the owner’s name, by
which, in cafe he fhould be lod, the
finder may know where to bring
him back. To thefe alfo are added
little bells, which ferve to mark the
place where he is, if lod in the chace.
He is always carried on the fid, and
not differed to deep. If he he dub-
born and attempts to bite his head,
he is plunged into water. Thus by
hunger, watching, and fatigue, he is
conftrained to fubrnit to have his
head covered by a hood or cowl
which covers his eyes. This trou-
blefome employment continues often
for three days and nights without
ceafing. It rarely happens but at the
end of this time his neceffities and the
privation of light make him lofe all
idea of liberty, and bring down his
natural wildnefs. His mader judges
of his being tamed when he permits
his head to be covered without refin¬
ance, and when uncovered he feizes

The Moral Zoolonjf.

the meat before him contentedly.
The repetition of thefe leffons by
degrees enfures fuccefs. His wants
being the chief principle of his de¬
pendence, it is endeavoured to in-
creafe his appetite by giving him
little balls of flannel, which he
greedily lwaliows. Having thus
excited the appetite, care is taken to
fatisfyit; and thus gratitude attaches
the bird to the man who but juft
before had been his tormentor.

When the firft leffons have fuc-
ceeded, and the bird fhews ftgns of
docilitv, he is carried out upon fome
green, the head is uncovered, and,
by flattering him with food at dif¬
ferent times, he is taught to jump on
the fift, and to continue there.—
When confirmed in this b -bit, it is
then thought time to make him
acquainted with the lure. This lure
is only a thing fluffed like the bird
the falcon is defigned to purfue, fuch
as a heron, a pigeon, or a quail ; and
on this lure they always take care to
give him Iris food. It is neceffary
that the bird (hould not only be ac¬
quainted with this, but fond of it, and
delicate in his food when fhewn it .
When the falcon has flown upon
this, and tafted the firft morfel, fome
falconers take it away: but bv this
there is danger of daunting the bird;
and the fureft method is, whea he
flies to feize it to let him feed at
large, and this ferves as a recom-
pence for his docility. The ute of
this lure is to flatter him back when
he has flown in the air, which it
feldom fails to do; and it is always
requifite to affift it by the voice and
the ftgns of the mafter. When
thefe leffons have been long repeat¬
ed, it is then neceffary to ftudy the
character ; to fpeak frequently to
him, if he be inattentive to the voice;
to flint him in his food, if he do not
come kindly or readily to the lure;
to keep waking him, if he be not
fufficiently familiar; and to cover
him frequently with the hood; if he

fear dar'knefs. When the familiarity
and docility of the bird are fufticient-
]y confirmed on the green, he is
then carried into the open field; but'
llill held by a firing, which is about
twenty yards long. He is then un¬
covered as before; and the falconer,
calling him at fome paces diftance,
fhews him the lure. When he flies
upon it, he is permitted to take a
large morfel of the food which is
tied to it. The next day the lure
is fhewn him at a greater diftance,
till he comes at laft to fly to it at the
utmoft length of his firing. He is
then to be fhewn the game itfeif
alive, butdifabled or tame, which he
is defigned to purfue. After having
feized this feveral times with his
firing, he is then left entirely at
liberty, and carried into the field for
the purpofe of purfuing that which
is wild. At that he flies with avidi¬
ty; and when he has feized it or
killed it, he is brought Pack by the
voice and the lure.

By this method of inftructi on a
falcon or hawk may be taught to fly
at any game whatfoever; but fal¬
coners have chiefly confined their
purfuit only to fuch animals as yield
them profit by the capture or plea-
fure in the pursuit. The hare, the
partridge, rvid the quail, repay the
trouble of taking them ; but fportf-
men generally prefer the diverfion
afforded by the falcon's purfuit of
the heron, the kite, or the wood¬
lark. Infield of flying directly for¬
ward, as fome other birds do, thefe,
when they fee themfelvcs threatened
by the approach of the hawk, imme¬
diately take to the fk<es. They fly
almoff perpendicularly upward,
while their ardent purfuer keeps
pace with their flight, and endea¬
vours to rife above them. Thus
both diminish bv degrees from he
gazing fpe£lators below, till they are
quite loft in the clouds; but they
are foon feen defcending, {haggling
together, and ufing every effort on

f 8& The Moral Zoologift.

both fides ; the one of rapacious in-
fult, the other of defperate defence.
The unequal combat is foon at an
end : the falcon comes off victorious ;
and the other, killed or difabled, is
irrade a prey either to the bird or the
iportfman.

As for other birds, they are not fo
Bauch puriued, as they generally
ly ftraight forward, bv which the
Iportfman lofes fight of the chace,
and, what is ft ill worfe, runs a chance
of lofing his falcon alfo. The pur-
fuit of the lark, by a couple of mer¬
lins, is conddered, to him who only-
regards the fagacity of the chace, as
one of the moil pleafing fpeCtacles
this exercife can afford. The amufe-
ment is to fee one of the merlins
foaring to gain the afcendant of the
lark, while the other, lying low for
the belt advantage, waits the fuccels
of its companion’s efforts; thus while
the one (loops to ffrike its prey, the
pther feizes it at Its coming down.

Of many of the ancient falcons
ufed for the chace we at this time
know only the names, as the exact
fpecies are fo ill defcribed that one
may eafily be midaken for another.
Of thole in ufe at prefent, both here
and in other countries, the princi¬
pal are the gyr-falcon (or jer-falcon),
the common falcon, the lanner, the
facre, the hobby, the kedril, and the
merlin. Thefe are called the long¬
winged hawks, to diftinguifh them
from the gofs-havvk, the fparrow-
hawk, the kite, and the buzzard, that
are of fliorter wing, and either too
flow, too cowardly, too indolent, or
too obdinate, to be rendered fer-
wiceable in the field.

THE GYH-FALCON.

This bird is the larged of the fal-
eon-tribe, and approaches to the
magnitude of the eagle, being nearly
of the fize of the ofprey. His bill is
yellow and very much hooked, the
throat is white, and the whole
plumage of the fame colour, but

marked with dufky lines, fpots, or
bars.

This bird is a native of the arc¬
tic regions, both of Europe and Alia:
it inhabits Ruffia, Norway, Iceland,
and Tartary ; but is never found in
the warm or even temperate coun¬
tries. Buffon thinks it probable that
there are three didindl and perma¬
nent breeds of the gyr-falcons, viz.
the Iceland gyr-falcon, the Norwe-
gian gyr-falcon, and the white gyr-
falcon. Linnaeus makes two fpecies
of the gyr-falcon— Falco Gyr-falco ,
perhaps the Norwegian gyr-falcon
of Buffon. f Its cere is cerulean ;
its feet yellowifh; its body dufky,
with cinereous dripes below; and
the fldes of the tail white.’ His
fecond fpecies is the Falco Candiclus ;
no doubt the v>hite gyr-falcon of
Buffon. ‘ The cere and feet are of
a blues fn cad, verging to cinereous;
its body is white, with dufky fpots.*
To this belongs a variety, which is
the Iceland gyr-falcon; of which the
feet are yellow, the body is dufky,
with white fpots on the back and
wings, and below white fpotted with
black.

The gyr-falcon is, next to the
eagle, the mod formidable, the mod
active, and the mod intrepid, of all
the rapacious birds. It is alfo the
mod valuable, as it is the mod
edeemed for falconry. It is bmught
from Iceland and Ruffia into France,
Italy, and even into Perfia and Tur¬
key; nor does the heat of thofe cli¬
mates appear to diminifh its fpirit or
its drength. It boldly attacks the
larged of the feathered race : the
dork, the heron, and the crane, are
eafy victims; and it kills hares, by
darting diredlly down upon them.
The female, as in other birds of
prey, is much larger and dronger
than the male, which is called the
Fiercel Gyr-falcon , and is ufed in
falconry only to take the kite, the
heron, and crows.

(To be continued.)

A Morning' s Walk in "June,

A MORNING** WALK in
JUNE.

6 ’Tis June, ’tis that fweet feafon’s prime
Wnen Spring gives up the reins of Time
To Summer’s glowing hand;

And doubting mortals hardiy know
By whofe command the breezes blow
Which tan the fmiling -land.’

Whitehead.

"Phcebus had driven his glittering
A chariot through the golden gates
of morn, and was advancing on his
journey, when J ar.ofe and walked
tofurvey the fields of corn, the rural
landfcapes, and all the green and

flowerv fcenerv of creation.

* *>

‘ O. Nature ! how, in every charm fupreme,
Thy votaries lead on rap cures ever new !

O for the voice and fire of Seraphim,

To fing thy glories with devotion due !’

Beattie.

I chid myfelf for wafting, in what
Thomfon calls ‘ dead oblivion,’ the
delightful hour of morning; when
every breeze was pregnant with
fragrance, and every bufii replete
with melody.

‘ Falfely /luxurious, will not man awake ;
And, fpringing from the bed of Sloth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the filent hour,

To meditation due, and facred fong?

Who would in fuch a gloomy ftate remain
Longer than nature craves ; when every Mufe
Ana every blooming PJeufure waits without,
To blefs the wildly-devious morning- walk ?’

Thomsot-

Suxely ’tis a rational as well as an
innocent amufement to quit the
couch of indolence, and devote the
morning hours to the inftrudtive re¬
creation of roving through fuch
beauteous eye-encbantino Irenes. —
To me how grateful is an ear ly trip
over dew-befprinkled plains ! —

£ When the rofy-finger’d Morn
Opes her bright refulgent eye,

Hills and valley.; to auorn ;

Wiiile from her burning glance the fcatter’d
vapours fly.’

Ye candidates for untainted plea-
fures ! ye advocates for unpolluted
Vol' XXXIV.

joys! evacnate your couches, quit
your cots, repair to the hills, —

* And take the fweets of exercife and air.*

In the courfe of this engaging
ramble, 1 fat down upon a flowery
bank,-—

1 clothed in the foft magnificence of Spring,*

and liftened to the drains of a mu-
lical blackbird, who, perched on the
top of a lofty elm, was chanting his
matins.

4 Sooty fongfter/ I exclaimed,
4 fing on ! Long mayeft thou enj.oy
that feat, free from the attacks of the
deftruffive kite, or more deftrueftive
fchool-ooy ! Still continue to addrefs
thy morning- hymn to nature’s God,
and reproach ungrateful man, if he
remain filent !— Sweet rninftrel ! oft
when Sol, that fplendid limner,
paints with golden pencil the eaftern
fky, may I leave my pillow, hearken
to thy fong, and imitate thy ex¬
ample!'’

A woodbine hedge, hard by, per¬
fumed the air with honeyed fweet**,
which, mingled with the fragrance
proceeding from a clofe of beans in
full bloftbm, yielded odours grateful
to the fenfe as thofe that iftue from
the fpicy groves of Arabia.

In an adjacent meadow, a groupe
of young lambs, in fportive mood,
were playing their artlefs gambols.
PJeafing fight ! enough to foften the
rugged temper of the Cynic, and to
imocih the ruffled brow of care.

- f \ 1 * * *

‘ Say, ye that know— rye who have felt and
teen

Spring’s morning fmiles, and foul-enlivening
green 5

Say, did you give the thrilling tranfport way?
DiU your eye brighten when young lambs, at
play,

Leap’d o’er your path with animated pride,

Or gaz'd in merry clutters by your fide ? *

‘ Ye who can (mile (to wit’dom nodifgrace)
At the arch meaning of a kitten’s fuce,

If ljrotiels, innocence, and infant mirth,

Excites to praife, or gives lefi-dtion both,

In lhades like thefe purlue your i'av’ rite. joy,
Midft na. lire’s revels, (ports that never cloy.

290

Signe and. Habor ;

* A few begin a fliort, but vigorous, race,
And Indolence, abafb'd. foon flies the place :
Thus challeng’d fon^r, lee thither, one by one,
From every fide a/Temblmg play-mates run,

A thoufand wily antics mark their (lay j
A darting crowd, impatient of delay :

Like the fond dove from iearful prifon freed,
Each feems to fay, “ Come, let us try our
fpeed.”

Away they fcour, impetuous, ardent, ftrong,
The green turf trembling as they bound along,
Adown the (lope — then up the hillock climb.
Where every mole- hill is a bed of thyme;
There panting ftop : yet fcaicely can refrain;
A bird, a leaf will fet them off a.gaip.

Or if a gale with ftiength unufual blow,
Scatt’ring the wild -briar roles into mow,
Their litile limbs increafing efforts try.

Like the torn flow’r the fair afTemblage fly.
Ah, fallen role ! fad emblem of their doom !
Frail as thyfelf, they perifh while they
bloom !* Bt-OOMFIELD.

Haverhill John Webb.

SIGNE and HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

( Continued from p. 20 6*)

IN the mean time anxiety and eager
expectation prevailed at the court
of Sigar. The imagination of the
monarch reprefented to him his fons
returning vanquifhed, \yoiinded, and
bleeding. Syvald was thoughtful.
As the waves impel the rolling vef-
fel, lo fluctuated his mind between
his brother and his friend. The
whole foul of Syanhild was filled
with thoughts of Alger. She laid
fierfelf down to reft, but every mo-
ment darted up again, for the cla fil¬
ing of Swords founded in her ears.

4 Alger is brave!' fa id the to her-
fel f: ‘ who can be compared to him ?
But the goddefs of war is change¬
able. Hildurf% it may be, favours
Habor; Signe is happy, and 1 un¬
happy. Can I then think of being
pohappy, when Signe rejoices? —
Can 1 weep while Signe fmiles ?’
Oppreffed by fueh anxious fears,

* The goddefs of war, in the northern my¬
thology.

a Gothic Romance .

Ihe palled the night. As often as (he
clofed her eyes, images more cruel
than death prefented themfelves, and
banifhed repofe.

Bera laid to herfelf, with a forced
contemptuous laugh, fora Secret fear
preyed on her heart — ‘The Norwe¬
gian acquits himfelf bravdy, but he
falls. Before Alger, before Alf, all
mufl fall!’

Yet in her heart fhe was contriv¬
ing in what manner, (liquid the iiTue
be contrary to her wifhes. (lie might
flill delay, or, if poffible, deflrpy, the
happinefs of Habor.

* Every day,’ laid file, 4 in which
he embraces not Signe, adds to my
happinefs. Signe Suffers, but my
revenge is gratified.’

But what, in the mean time, palled
in the heart of Signe ? It was filled
with tendernefs for her brothers,
with love for Habor, and with con¬
fidence in the gods ; who, (lie hoped,
would liften to her prayers, and
bring back the combatants recon¬
ciled, and united in friendfliip, with
uninjured honour. Should Habor
fall, her refolution was more firmly
fixed than ever.

The fun now rofe, and his golden
rays began to dream over the Turn-
mits of the mountains. A Sentinel
was brought to the king.

‘Hail, Sovereign f Said he; ‘a
flame appears in the fouth, and Seems
to approach.’

‘ It proceeds,’ Said Syvald, 4 from
the golden flags of the (hips widely

are returning.’

< . v o

4 Bring me my flaff!’ cried Sigar3
apd, in his hafte to rife, fell down.

Joy, mixed with anxious fear, was
diffufed over the countenance of
Svanhild. ‘Is Alger with them?’;
exclaimed Sue,

4 S i rriple girl !’ faid Bera, 4 the
Ships are as yet Scarcely vifible, and
can you expebt that the men on
board them Should be Seen ?’

Svanhild held her hand before her
face, to conceal her tears.

ri *

Signe and Habor ;

All now haftened to the banks of
the river, to meet the returning (hips.
Svanhiid was the fir ft who arrived
there; Signe came next, with acom-
pofed calmnefs in her countenance
and manner; Sigar was laft. A
{hip, decorated with golden dream¬
ers, moved majefticaiiy futwai'ds
before the reft; and on its deck
flood two warriors of diftin&ion.
It approached nearer, when fudden-
ly Signe exclaimed 4 Habor l*' and
Svanhiid ‘Alger!’ at the fame in-
ftant. The queen immediately Tank
down and fainted, and her attendants
were obliged to carry her away.
Svanhiid fainted too, and was not
reftored to fenfe till her lover Alger
clafped her to his breaft. 4 My
Svanhiid !’ — 4 My Alger !’ was all
their excel® ve joy permitted either
to utter.

Signe approached Habor, and faid
to him, 4 Does Alf live ?’

4 He does,’ replied Habor, and
embraced her for the firft time.

4 He lives, but vanquifhed,’ faid
Bolvife, with anger and malice but
too apparent in his countenance.

4 He did every thing the brave
man can do,’ faid Habor ; 4 but Odin
and Signe aided me.’

Signe hung on the neck of Alger,
and again enquired after Alf. —
4 The propitious gods have heard my
prayer l’ exclaimed fhe, when Alger
had briefly told her what had hap¬
pened. 4 Habor is mine, yet the
honour of Denmark and of my bro¬
thers is prefer ved !’

The anxious crowds now return¬
ed homewards, but wi;h much lels
hafte than they came. Signe and
Habor went hand in hand, fondly
gazing on each other. Their con-
verfation was of honour and virtue,
of the gods and love. By the fide of
Habor” walked Syvald, who held his
friend’s hand and was filent, for he
would not difturb the intercourle of
the lovers. Alger followed with
Svanhildj, who hung on her lover,

a Gothic Romance . £91

{bedding tears of joy; they fpoke
only of their mutual affeHion. —
Among the multitudes wliofucceed-
ed were many fimilar feenes. Young
married women embraced their re¬
turning hufbands, diflolved in eefta-
tie tears; affianced maidens walked
hand in hand with their lovers, while
joy fparkied in their eyes; aged pa¬
rents feemed to have new life infufed
into them by their fons, who fup-
ported them. But what words can
deferibe the grief of thofe who had
loft their lovers, their fons, their
hufbands? Yet’tbefe confoled them-
felves with the reflection that they
had died like heroes; that the fkalds*
fhould fing of their glory, and ftones
of victory be ereCted to their memo¬
ry. All agreed that the Danes and
Norwegians were the two moft he¬
roic nations in the world, and in¬
vincible as long as they fhould re¬
main united Without chagrin or
envy, the Danes extolled the bravery
of the Norwegians, and the Norwe¬
gians that of the Danes. 4 If For¬
tune,’ faid the former, ‘deferted for
once our princes, Habor alone could
have deferved her ffniles.’ All were
unanimous that this was to be con-
fidered as the laft conteft between
the two nations. 4 Signe,’ faid they,
4 will difpel the clouds of diftruft and
animofity, and unite us by an eter¬
nal bond : then may the whole
world oppofe us in vain!’

In the meantime, Sera confulted
with Bolvife in what manner fhe
might defer, and if poffible prevent,
the marriage of Habor, and fatiate
her vengeance. Her rr.ind was
ftrong, but malignant. She was re*
folved to call cunning to her aid,
fince force had failed her. She went
therefore to Habor and Sigoe, and
thus addrefted them:

4 Before your victory, Habor, I
will frankly confefs It, 1 hated, but
now I admire you. You have van-

* The bards of the northern nations.

a P a

292

Signs and Habor ; a Gothic Romance .

quifhed my fons, and the firft emo¬
tion 1 felt was grief and regret ; but
now I rejoice that I have found for
Signe a hufband worthy of her.’

She threw herfelf on the neck of
Habor, and filed feigned tears.—
Habor embraced her, while theiive-
lieft joy fwelled his heart, and tears
ruflied into his eyes. Signe was
filent.

‘ The hero weeps,’ faid Beta.

‘ True heroifm is ever accompa¬
nied with the mod refined fenfibili-
ty,’ faid Signe.

‘ But do you love Habor as well
as before, now he has that ugly fear,
the confequence of his wound ?’
afked the queen.

4 Much more,’ replied Signe: ‘it
was for my fake that he received the
wound.’ And file ki (fed the fear,
while the hero cla ped her to his
bread. Pure, innocent, and ge¬
nuine joy fliot through their veins,
and they trembled in each other’s
arms.

‘ They love *, they mutually love !’
faid Bera to herfelf. ‘ They enjoy
the mod enviable delight. S gne

o o

loves my enemy: die deferves fe¬
vered punidiment. Habor mud not
live, though Signe fhould meet her
death with him.’ The heart of Bera
recoiled at the latter thought 3 but
again die faid to herfelf — 4 Signe is a
female 3 die is young; die loves life
and pleafure; die will weep, and die
will forget.’

Her reverie was interrupted by
Habor, who exclaimed — ‘ Dcared
Signe, you think only of me; you
forget to thank the bed of mothers !’

Signe took the hand of the queen,
killed it with trembling, fighed and
wept. Bera clafped her to her
bread, and tears darted into her eves.
The wi ckeded of mortals fomerimes
recoil from the crimes they meditate
the commidion of, for the human
heart was not framed for malignity.

‘ Excellent and amiable pair!- faid
Sera, 4 repair to-morrow to Freya’s

temple; and there, O daughter! take
from thy head thy virgin crown, and
declare before all the people that he
who has vanquidied Denmark has?
vanquidied thee’ -

6 I have not vanquidied Den¬
mark!’ exclaimed Habor, badly:
‘ on the contrary, the Danes had
gained the advantage over the Nor¬
wegians ; but the fatal goddedes had
ordained that Alger diould fall, and
the Danidi princefs’ — (he fondly
threw his arms round Signe) — 4 in-
fpiretl me with redoubled ftrength
and courage.’

Indignation fparkled in the eyes of
Bera, but the hero noticed not her
looks. He proceeded — 4 After hav¬
ing appeared in the temple to-mor¬
row, 1 fliould prefume that my hap-
pinefs may be crowned bv the cele¬
bration of our nuptials on the fame
day.’

‘ Lovers/' anfwercd Bera, 4 are
always in hade • but you have a
father, you have brothers, who fliould
be witnedes of your happinefs.’

4 1 had al mod forgotten that, dear-
ed mother!’ faid Habor ; 4 but my
Jove deprives me of recoliertion.
My father is old-— I cannot expert
his prefence; but my brothers, efpe-

cialiy Hskon, the brave Hakon’ -

He had no fooner pronounced thefe
inconsiderate words, than he fud-
denly recollected hrmfelf and was
filent.

The cheeks of Bera glowed, but it
was not with the warmth of friend-
fhip. She turned her head towards
the door.

4 Ler us go.’ faid die, 4 to Si gar.
and learn what are his commands in
this refpert.’

When thev had arrived in the
✓

prefence of the king, Signe threw
herfelf on her knees befoi t he r r val
father, and kiffrd his hand. Habor
embraced him, and faid—

4 To-morrow, with your approba¬
tion, I and my bride will exchange
our vows'— —

Signe and Habor;

♦

* And celebrate your marriage,’
interrupted -Sigar.

Signe prefled the hand of Habor
to her lips.

4 That,’ faid Habor, ‘ was mv
wifh ; but the queen has reminded
me of my father and my brothers,
who fhould partake with us in the
joy and happinefs of the day, and
whom love, by fixing all mv thoughts
on one dear objedf, had almofl: cauf-
ed me to forget,’

4 But what fays Signe to fuch a
propofal?’ faid Sigar.

Beta was about to anfvver, but
Signe prevented her.

4 From the moment that Habor
conquered,’ faid lhe, with alacrity
and flrmnefs, f I became his, and I
have no will but his.’

Her eyes metHabor’s with tender
glances, which mutually fpoke the
feelings of their hearts. Bcra could
not but admire their virtue, and
turned pale.

Jt was now agreed that Habor
fhould return to bring his brother,
and, if poflible, his father; and that
Bolvife fhould carry his invitation to
Hakon as foon as it fhould be known
that he had arrived at Drontheim.
In the evening Habor met Signe
with Svvald.

4 And can you,’ faid the latter to
Signe, * ccnfent that Habor fhould
leave you, and return to biscountrv ?’

4 Why not?’ anfvvered Signe. —

4 I will not deny the love I feel for
him ; I love him as myfelf, nor do
I blufli to confefs that I wifh to be
united to -him by an indiffoluble
bond. Falfehood and affeffation
could alone dictate fuch a denial.
Love is no fliame, nor is it even a
weaknefs. But 1 love his honour
more than I love myfelf, and his
honour enjoins him to love and
prove his affection to his father and
his brothers. Ought he, in an ef-
fcminate unmanly manner, to remain
continually with me? Then were

a Gothic Romance. *93

he not the brave hero, the Habor
whom the world admires, the Habor
who is my glory, whom my enemies
envy me, and on whofe a flexion all
my friends congratulate me.’

Syvald embraced her. ‘Thou art
my After, * faid he: ‘ fuch is ever the
language of real love. May the gods
make thee as happy as thou art vir¬
tuous!’

Habor, in the mean time, flood as
it were enti anced. He wasfllent;
fo r exceffive joy isTpeechlefs. The
words of Signe penetrated bis heart:
he heard, he faw, he was alive to,
nothing but Signe. Suddenly he
awoke from his delicious dream,
when he heard the voice of Syvald.
He took the hand of Signed and
prefled it to his heart.

‘ May the gods grant,’ faid he,
with a voice at once animated and
tender, ‘ may the gods grant that
we may ever remain as virtuous as
we are devoted to each other; and
may the fates be propitious to our
union ! ’

' The fate of virtue cannot but be
happy !’ anfwered Signe, and threw
herfelf into the arms of her lover.

As it was night, they now fepar-
ated ; a id Syvald accompanied
Signe to her apartments, which
were at fome diftance from the royal
refidence of her father.

* Beloved After!’ faid he, ‘ why
fhould your happinefs be deferred ?
"Why did you give your confent to
this fe pa ration ? Oh, much do I
fear what may be the iflue*’

He was fllent : Signe uttered not
a word, but gazed on him with ex-
preflive eves,

4 I read in your heart,’ continued
he, ‘ great contending duties — thofe
of a daughter and a bride. A mother
mufl not be fufpebted. Flabor,
efpecially, mufl not entertain fufpi-
cions. Hope mufl rather ftrive with
fear, and every danger be e.ucouu?
tered.’

294

Signe and Habor ;

Sigtie prefled his hand, and fighed.

Signe, Svanhild, and Gunvor,
were now alone.

4 Bera appears friendly,5 faid Svan-
Tiild ; 4 blit much do I fear her friend-
£hipi5

4 She is my mother and my queen,5
anfwefed Signe.

4 She is,’ rejoined Svranhild; 4 but
file has brought with her from her
own country a hatred both to Danes
and Norwegians.’

4 Mere prejudice l5 faid Signe.

* All countries produce mean and
ignoble minds, and all, thofe which
are exalted and generous. My mo¬
ther cannot be of the number of
the former.’

4 You hope, yet fuffer not a little
from anxiotis fear,5 anfwered Svan¬
hild.

Gunvor now {poke. — 4 Dear
Svanhild !’ faid die, 4 you would en¬
feeble the virtue of Signe, were it
poffible, by infufing into her mind
mean fufpicions, which you carry to
an extreme. Bera has always been
a good and tender mother. She has
given her confent to Signe’s choice ;
and the laws enforce the fulfilment
of the engagement. What then can
Signe fear, fo long as (he is obedient
to the dibfates of virtue and her
duty ?’

Thus Gunvor fpoke; but fecretlv
refolved to examine carefully, and
obferve what advantage to herfe.lf
might be derived from circum-
dances.

4 Virtue and duty,5 anfwered
Signe, 4 fhall always be my guides.
Gonicious of my upright intentions,
lean fear nothing. Living or dead,
I will ever be Habor's.5

Signe and Svanhild retired to red
together, according to their cuftom.
They converfed for a long time of
their lovers; their perfonal accom-
plifhments, their deportment, their
itrength, courage, defeent, and ho¬
nours : nothing was forgotten. Each

a Gothic Romance •

extolled her own, yet no envy of
diffatisfaeffiort took birth in their
hearts. In her dreams, Signe Teem¬
ed to herfelf to dand at the foot of
the altar, holding the hand of her
lover in her’s. She withdrew her
hand, and found it bloody. She
darted in her deep, fighed heavily,
clafped Svanhild in her arms, and

exclaimed ‘Habor! - Is Habor

dead i*

4 Deared Signe!’ faid Svanhild,;
awaking, 4 compofe yourfelf : to-
morrow is the hapjfy day.5

4 Yes,5 anfwered Signe, 4 Heaven
fhall proteSf me!’ and again fhe fank
into peaceful deep.

We will now turn from the couch
of the virtuous to that of the vi¬
cious.

Gentle deep clofed not the eyes
of Gunvor : her thoughts were
anxioudy employed on the profpeA
of future wealth.

4 The queen,’ faid die to herfelf,
‘hates Habor, and this hatred mud
procure me riches. But then, Signe*
the affectionate friend of my Svan¬
hild, mud be wretched. Be it fo.
Why will die act contrary to her
mother’s wifhes ? Why will die
marry the conqueror of the Dangs ;
the man who is polluted with the
blood of her mother’s brother ? —
But die has made a vow which her
mother has approved? Yes; but
the event that has happened wa'sfup-
pofed impoffible. Who could have
imagined that the Danidi princes
could have been vanquidied ? How
alluring is the fplendour of gold! —
it cannot be redded,’

Hadily die rofe, a prey to redlefs
anxiety, and directed her trembling
deps to Bera’s chamber. As die
approached it, die heard a cry like
the fc ream of the night-owl. It was
the voice of Bera, who faid to Bol-
vife, her confidential counfellor — -

4 Let death rather overtake Signe,
Sigar, all my fon?, and even me my-

Anecdote i

8: 95

felf, than Habor continue to live ;
than my enemy enjoy happinefs in
the arms of my daughter !’

Gunvor now entered. Even her
cruel heart recoiled, and felt a mo¬
mentary compun&ion, at the light of
the queen, who fat with her arms
ftretched out towards Bolvife ; her
countenance pallid ; her eyes red,
not with tears but rage, and ready to
ftart from their fockets. Revenge
loured in the wrinkles of her fore¬
head, mifchief in her cheeks, frantic
rage in her livid lips. Every mufcle
was contracted and distorted, as in
.one who knows he muft die, yet
dreads death becaufe he fears eternal
vengeance. Gunvor entered and
laid — ‘ Fear nothing, queen; Gun¬
vor will aid your revenge.’

Eera lifted up her eyes, which
fparkled with infernal joy; and,
with a malignant fmile, exclaimed — •
* Aid my revenge, and your reward
is certain,'

Bolvife appeared calmer; an infi-
dious and malicious fmjle feemed to
indicate that bale fatisfaCtion which
relults, in vile minds, from the con-
fcioufnefs that their plans of villany
are well concerted and matured. —
Mean and treacherous in his nature,
he took cunning for wifdom, and
found pleafure in deceit. Virtue and
£he fight of others’ happinefs he de-
tefted'. Frequently he entertained the
idea of deceiving Beta, and difcover-
jngall to Habor; but he was reftrain-
ed from this by recollecting that Ha¬
bor was happy, and Bera miferable.

Gunvor advifed that Habor fhould
be immediately murdered ; fince, as
fie fufpected nothing, he might be
eafily furprifed.

c Such a proceeding,’ faid Bolvife,
'is not fafe : the foolifh multitude
admire him, and we may endanger
ourfelves.’

4 He would, befides,’ faid Bera,
1 die a too eafy death: let him enjoy
t|ie happinefs of to~morrow? that he

may feel a keener pang when death
and defpair difappoint his hope.’

Bolvife flatted upand exclaimed—?
1 I yield to you the palm, for this
refinement in the cruelty of re¬
venge.’

After long confutation, it was
refolved that Habor fhould be fuffer-
ed to fet out on his journey, and
then be challenged and attacked by
Alf, who fhould be {Emulated to
the afiault by being reminded how
difgraceful it was for fuch a hero to
be conquered. Gunvor objected
that by this the queen expofed the
life of her fon ; but Bera replied,
that would be more expofed were
Habor taken by furprife. — 4 Be¬
fides,’ added fhe, 'fuch conduCt will
appear more generous and juftifia-
ble.’

* ‘Ti ■ue,’ faid Bolvife; i we fhould
have the appearance of virtue, but
not virtue itfelf, fhe chimera of
feeble minds, who fear the gods
they themfelves have made.*

(To be continued.)

ANECDOTE.

[ From the ( Souvenirs de Ffeljcie* of MuJame
cle Genlisi]

rT~'HE following lingular anecdote
of the celebrated phyfician Chi¬
rac I received from M. Schomberg.

Chirac was at the la ft extremity
in the illnefs of which he died.
After fome da\s of delirium, his
fenfes half returned: on a fudden he
felt his pulfe.

4 I have been called too late!’
cried he : — * has the patient been
blooded ?’

‘No!’ was the reply.

4 Then he is a dead man !’ faid he.
The prediction was verified.

The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tale .

The MONKS and the ROBBERS;

A TALE.

.(Continued from p. 66.)

f~\TTHESSEv bv the gloomy and
terrific images whirl) rufhed
upon her thoughts ? and which pro¬
duced the mod tormenting and un-
eafy fenfations, the affrighted and
trembling Juliet lay lor fome time
icarcely daring to move or breathe,
when fuddenlv the folemn ftilnefs
that reigned around was difturbed

bv diftant and confufed exclama-
*

tions as of fome one calling for help,
jt feemed to approach nearer, and
Juliet thought it was the voice of
Tancred. Startled at this, but doubt¬
ful from her belief that if he had
returned to Reveldi file would have
heard it, and willing, from the ter¬
ror which the mere foo-geftion and

the remembrance of his menaces
mfpired, to perfuade herfelf that it
could not be he, fire liffened with
the moft anxious attention to catch
again the found ; but it had ceafed,
and another, like the forcing of a
door, iucceeded. Footffeps were now
tliilinclly heard within a clofet that
opened into her chamber, and in a
moment the door flew open, and
Tancred rufhed into the room with
all the fymptoms of violent con¬
firmation. His face was pale and
haggard, he trembled in every
joint, and his whole appearance was
ftrongly expreflive of the utmofl
terror and agitation. He daggered
forward, and, falling on the neared
feat, lay for afliort time motionlefs,
and feemingly infenfible.

Surpriled to find him returned to
Reveldi, at his man if eft di border,
and at his fudden and unexpected
appearance in her chamber 5 and
alarmed at what file inftantlv con¬
jectured were his intentions in
dealing to her chamber at fuch an
hour, and by a way utterly unknown

toher; Juliet gazed at him fearfully
for fome moments: but perceiving
that he ft ill lay apparently over¬
powered with terror on the feat
where he full had fallen, fhe fprang
from the bed, and was haftily putting
on part of her cirefs, when he feemed
fomewhat to revive

4 Horrible fhadeh he exclaimed,
in low and breathlefs accents, while
h is whole frame trembled exceffively,
4 purfue me not. Hence! hence*
Wherefore doft thou come? Soft,
his — Ha! and what art thou?’ added
he, darting up, and wildly gazing
on Juliet, who juft then paifed him
to unlock the door, with an intent-
tion of fummoning her attendants,
who flept in an adjoining chamber.
4 ’Tis thou, Juliet! Oh! leave me
not/ he cried, as fhe unfaftened the
door; 4 but come to me ! Let me
feel that 1 have a human being near
rue! for I have been tortured with
dreadful viflons! purfued by horrid
phantoms V

He pa u fed, and again funk back
upon the feat, feemingly overcome
by the emotions which the re¬
collection produced. His features
u’ere diftorted : his eyes rolled wild¬
ly around, and his every limb fhook
with terror.

Bafe, cruel, and treacherous, as
his conduct had been to her, and
much as (lie had buffered by that
conduct, Juliet yet could not behold
the aoonv he endured unmoved ;

o 4

but the ftrong fenfe of terror and
abhorrence which had been excited
in her mind by the affliction he had
brought upon her, bv the indigni¬
ties fhe had already fuffered, and by
the perfection and violence fhe
expected to fuffer from him, check¬
ed the compafiionating fentiments
ilie otherwise would have felt : yet
the remembi ance of the efteem fne
once entertained for him induced
her to regard him with fome degree
of commiferation. Rler looks act

297

The Monks and the Robbers; a Tale .

corded ; and the gentle tone In which
fhe almoft involuntarily enquired
what was the matter, appeared great¬
ly to affedt him. He railed himfelf
up, and feemed much more collect¬
ed than before.

‘ Canft thou,’ he cried, 4 fpeak
thus to thy crueleft enemy ? Canft
thou look thus compaffionately on
his fufferings who fo vilely caufed
thee to fuffer ? Oh, yes! I know
thy gentle nature : know that thou
canft feel even for me, bafely as I
have wronged thee; and to know it
adds another pang to my tortured
foul, already racked with agony and
defpair, already harrowed up by the
horrors I have this night witnefted;
horrors which, perchance, may
often haunt me. Madnefs is in
that thought! Let me not think
that ever 1 fhall fee again that dread¬
ful phantom! hear again thofe ap¬
palling founds, the mere recollection
of which di ft rats me with horror
inexpreflible, and can only be ex¬
ceeded by what I felt at the moment
when the dreadful fpectre flood be¬
fore me ; when its hollow voice
murmured founds the moft fearful
that ever aftailed human ear! The
blood feemed to freeze in my veins,
my limbs ftiffened, and my fenfes
feemed to forfake me; but when
thev returned, how horrible was’ —

He flopped, interrupted by a (light
noife from the clofet, which was
almoft immediately followed by a
deep and awful groan. He ftarted
at the found, and exclaiming —
‘ Again it comes, that horrid phan¬
tom!’ wildly rullied acrofs the room
towards the chaniber-door. While
he yet fpoke, a tall and ghaftly
figure flowly glided from the clofet.
Juliet, whofe terror and agitation

now almoft equalled Tancred’s,
gazed wildlv at it as it advanced into
the room, and inftantly recognifed
the form and features of her father.
She faw no more, but fcreamed
aloud at the fight, and immediately
drooped on the floor, deprived of
fenfe and motion.

Her attendants, roufed from their
fleep by her fcreams and the noife
of her fall, huffily arofe, and, in a
few minutes, baftening to their
lady’s apartment, found the lord
Tancred extended, apparently life-
lefs, on the floor; but Juliet was not
to be found. Amazed and alarmed,
they called up fome others of the
domeftics, who conveyed their in¬
animate lord to his chamber ; but it
was fome time ere he was recovered
to a confcioufnefs of his exiflence.
When his faculties refumed their
energy, how dreadful was the gloom
that prefented itfelf to his mind !—
The terror he had undergone made
ftrong impreflions on it; the dread¬
ful fight he had feen continually
occurred to his imagination. His
confcience rofe lip in judgment
againft him, and tormented him with
agony and remorfe inexpreflible,
which the myfterious difappearance
of Juliet, who had in vain been,
fought after, not a little contributed
to increafe. All the pleafing pic¬
tures which his fancy had drawn of
happinefs in the gratification of
his ambition, his avarice, and his
defires, vaniflied; and of all the per¬
nicious counfels he had heard, and
which had excited him to deeds that
he otherwiie would have fhuddered
at, none now could foften his fenfe
of the guilt he had incurred by lift*
ening to them.

( To be continued.)

Vol. XXXIV.

298 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones?

Critical Observations on the
Novel of ‘Tom Jones.’

A a Series of Letters from an Uncle to
his Niece .

[Continued from p, 245.)

LETTER VIII.

DEAR NIECE,

n the introductory chapter to the
tenth book is difplayed a fund of
erudition, delivered in terms of true
wit. The fifth feCtion deferves to
be engraven in letters of gold. Let
but the fentiments exprefled in thefe
few lines be imprinted on the me¬
mory of the attentive young reader
of this moral hiftory, and I am con¬
fident the happieft effeCts will refult
from the obfei vance of the precept
here inculcated. He would then be
enabled, not only to fhun thofe
foibles which had brought difgrace
on his favourite characters, but
fliould from hence be inclined to re¬
frain from cenfure, even with re-
fpect to thofe people whofe actions
in general might not quadrate with
that evangelical rule of doing as we
would be done by; fince thofe imper-
fet cha raters might have a bright
fpeck fufficient to retrain our cen¬
fure on their evil ations.

The fats recited in the tenth
book appear all of them moft effen-
tially requifite towards introducing
the fubfequent events, which follow
each other in a regular climax of
progreffion ; and the molt trivial
circumftance in one way or another
contributes to the main defign. —
The charaters brought forward are

fuch as are to at a principal part in
the future feenes ; and fo ingenious
and acutely is the dialogue written,
that every reader of tafte muft relifii
it with peculiar latisfation and de-
light.

The fecond and third chapters

relate the further tnnfations at the

inn where Jones and his companion
had taken up their abode. The ar¬
rival of Mr. Fitzpatrick, his burft-
ing into the apartment of Mr. Jones,
the converfation between the two
Irifhmen, and the behaviour of Mrs.
Waters, are given in the moft ap¬
propriate terms, and the whole
abounds with ftrokes of the moft
poignant wit and humour; and in
the fame clafs may be ranked the
converfation between the landlady
and Sufan the chamber-maid, at the
beginning of the third chapter. The
arrival of the lady and her maid, in
this chapter, will appear hereafter a
neceffary occurrence in the thread
of the ftory : indeed the manner in
which this occurrence is related, the
contraft which appears between the
affability of the lady and the affect¬
ed airs and pert loquacity of her
attendant, cannot fail to afford a treat
to the reader. The difeovery which
Partridge had opened to the land¬
lady refpeCting Jones, and which file
now imparts to her new gueft, leads
to thofe paffages which gradually
tend to the cataftrophe of the plot.

In the fifth chapter the curiofity of
the reader is fatisfied, by being in¬
formed that the lady in the fine
riding-habit was no other than So¬
phia herfelf, and her attendant, Mrs.
Honour. The arrival of our he¬
roine at this inn, and at this critical
period, is brought about without the
fmalleft deviation from the laws of
probability; and the fteps which So¬
phia took, in order to difeover if
Jones was then really at the inn, and
in the circumftances which Par¬
tridge had deferibed to Mrs. Honour,
were the moft likely means of afeer-
taining the truth. In the dialogue
which pafles between the landlady
and Partridge, 'and between the pe-
dagogne and Mrs. Honour, the fe-
veral fpeakers exprefs themfelves in
the moft appropriate language, the
fentimeuts of each being delivered

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom fones. f 295

in terms coincident to the opinion
we had already conceived of them.

The fixth chapter difpofes of fuch
characters whole appearance is at
prefent no further neceffary, by
fending them off to Bath in the
coach with the two Irifh gentlemen.
The arrival of Mr. Weftern at the
inn is related in the feventh chapter,
where the peculiarities of that gen¬
tleman are well preferved. The
arraignment of Jones before the
Worcefterfhire magiftrate, the wife
demeanour of the juftice, and the
behaviour of Mr. Weftern, are de¬
livered in a truly comic ftrain of
humour j and in the two following
chapters the efcape of Sophia is
accounted for. The remarks of Mr.
and Mrs. Weftern on this occafton
are truly chara&eriftic. Mr. Field¬
ing’s obfervations on the becoming
fortitude neceffary to the fair fex,
and which, as he juftly remarks, is
not incompatible with that tender-
nefs and fuavity of difpofttion fo
peculiarly their characferiftic fea¬
tures, is defervingthe conliderationof
every female reader of this romance,
and is in a very peculiar manner
exemplified in the conduCt of Sophia
at hex meeting the man who had
been difpatched by Mrs. Honour.
The route of Sophia and her maid
is deferibed with great humour;
and their arrival at the inn which
Jones and his companion had chofen
for their abode is accounted for on
rational grounds.

The introductory chapter to the
eleventh book forms a pretty fevere
farcaftn on thofe gentlemen who fet
themfelves up as arbiters of wit and
learning, under the denomination of
critics. Thefe felf-created dictators
in the commonwealth of Parnaffus
Mr. Fielding does not hefttate to
brand with the epithet of ftanderers i*
the flanderer of books, our author con¬
tends, is a character not lei's noxious
than the flanderer of the reputation
of others. In this chapter he takes

an occafion to afeertain the original
meaning of the Greek word which
we translate critic, and to deferibe
thofe who are exempted from the
cenfures here paffed on that clafs of
writers.

The cafual rencounter between
the two coufins on the road, men¬
tioned in the fecond chapter, is with¬
in the bounds of probability, though
not one of thofe occurrences which,
as our author in another place ob-
ferves, are to be met with in the
home articles of a newfpaper.-—
From the trivial accident which hap¬
pened to Sophia whilft Ihe was en¬
deavouring to accommodate Mrs.
Fitzpatrick with a handkerchief, an
incident afterwards arifes which tends
in a very material degree to the
cataftrophe of the plot, by intro¬
ducing {ones to his miftrefs at a time
when his affairs were in a very cri¬
tical fttuation. The portrait drawn
of the landlord of the inn where the
ladies flopped after their long and
toilfome ride, is no diftorted likenefs
of many a hoft in real life. Many
people there are, as well in this as in
other profeflions, who, if they can
maintain a reputation for fhrewdnefs
and cunning among their neigh¬
bours, are not very folicitous as to
the ftains which may attach to their
rporal characters.

The hiftory of Mrs. Fitzpatrick,
given in the fourth, fifth, fixth, and
feventh chapters of this book, forms
a moft beautiful and entertaining
epifode. In the fixth chapter the
pathos of the narrative is relieved by
the converfation of the landlord at
fupper, which is a lively fpecimen of
the vis comica. The embarraffment
which appears in Mrs. Fitzpatrick
at her relation of the manner in
which file efcaped from confinement
opens in fome meafure the character
of that ladv, which feems in every
refpect to have formed a contrail to
that of Sophia. . The concluding
fentence of the feventh chapter
2 Q %

300 Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of 6 Tom Jones?

ought to be imprinted on the mind
of every young married woman. I
mu(i own 1 have always dwelt with
particular delight on the two epi-
fodes of the man of the hill and this
of Mrs. Fitzpatrick : both of them
are written in that peculiar ftrain of
humour and turn of phrafe peculiar
to Fielding; and from each of them,
by the attentive reader, may be
gleaned inftruftion no lefs than
amutement During the remainder
of our Hay at the inn the repall is of
the moft elegant kind ; and the difh,
which has been fo often ferved lip
to us, never was cooked in a more
relifhing gout than what is brought
forward in the eighth and ninth
chapters. The metaphorical allu¬
sions on Mrs. Honour’s fcolding,
the reafon aifigned for this outcry,
the anecdote of Mrs. Gwyn, the in¬
temperate rage of the landlady, the
chagrin of her hufband at the failure
of his predi&ions, and the ter ms in
which he delivers the melfage of the
noble peer to the ladies, are all of
them paffages of fuch a truly comic
turn that they cannot fail to excite
burfts of laughter in every reader.
The hurricane occafioned by thefe
events called forth a noble gueft,
who will appear to be of feme confe-
quence in the enfuing part of the
drama : this was the noble peer,
through whofe intervention Mrs.
Fitzpatrick had obtained her liberty,
and whofe converfation and addreis
towards that lady accounts, in the
mind of Sophia, for that part of her
coufin’s hiftory over which Mrs.
Fitzpatrick was defirous oi calling a
veil. You cannot but have remark¬
ed that mere narrative, which under
the management of other writers
•would appear dull and inlipid, de¬
rives embeliifhment from the co¬
louring of our author’s pencil. To
inflance in this place the account of
led captains, the contraft drawn be¬
tween hired vehicles and thofe which
(for diftin&ion s fake) are termed

gentlemen’s coaches, and the dia¬
logue which palfes between the fa-
gacious landlord and his wife; thefe
are all of them fpecimens of true
humour; and the wit of every period
is enhanced from appearing in a part
of the hiftory which, as I faid be¬
fore, as a plain narrative, feems in
fome meafure to need this kind of
ornament. The equanimity of So¬
phia at difeovering the lofs of her
bank-bill holds forth a ufeful lefton
to the fair readers of this novel, to
bear up with fortitude againll every
trifling difappointment. The praifes
which Mr. Fielding bellows on the
feveral noblemen’s feats mentioned
in this chapter cannot fail to recal to
the imaginations of thofe who have
vifited thefe delightful fpots the
pleafure they had heretofore expe¬
rienced on viewing them. The
compliment paid to Mr. Allen, who
then relided at Prior-park, is re¬
markable for the delicacy of the con¬
ception and the terfenefs of its ex-
preffion. The contrail between the
beautiful feenes of Devon and of
Dorfet, when oppofed to the gloomy
paths over the barren heaths of Bag-
fhot and of Stockbridge, is finely
painted. The itinerary of the nu¬
merous offspring of Wealth and
Dullnefs, defci ibed at the latter end
of the ninth chapter, is beautifully
chara <51eri flic.

The doubt which was entertained
refpebling the amorous complexion
of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and her attach¬
ment to the noble peer, were fully
confirmed by her behaviour in the
coach. As the difpofition of the
twocoufins was in diredt oppofition
to each other, the actions and prin¬
ciples of Sophia being regulated by
the nice!! laws of decorum, whilft
thofe of Mrs. Fitzpatrick were at
leaf! problematical; hence it is not
to be wondered at that the two ladies
fhould remain no longer together
after their arrival in town. This
chapter finiflies the eleventh book

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of 4 Tom Jones' SO I

of the hiftory; and I {hall here con¬
clude my letter, by a (Turing you that
I remain, &c.

LETTER IX.

DEAR NIECE,

The twelfth book contains the
travels of Jones and his companion
to their arrival in London, and will
be found a mod delicious cookery of
the difh offered up at the commence¬
ment of this mental repaft. Never
did human nature appear in a more
ludicrous attitude than in the follow¬
ing pages. It is in truth a favoury
difh, and which, though often repeat¬
ed, can never pall the appetite, fo
well feafoned is it with the true Attic
fait of wit and humour. The meta¬
phor which Mr. Fieldinghas thought
proper to make ufe of, in the intro¬
ductory chapter of this book, to¬
wards elucidating the fubjedt he has
taken up, namely, the difcrimina-
tion between what may be termed
plagiarifms in an author and what
not, is very happily conceived.

In the fecond chapter, the hunting-
match, and afterwards the drinking-
bout between the two ’fquires, is
related in terms replete with wit and
humour. The remark of the author,
in the third chapter, of having been
frequently given to jumping on pe-
rufal of voluminous hiflorians, is a
well-founded rebuke on tliofe mi¬
nute defcriptions which are often¬
times met with, as well in hiflorians
and voyage-writers, as in the modern
novels. The pedantic obfervations
of Partridge, on the man of the hill,
are perfectly in nature* and fo like-
wife are his fears of being fliot in
battle, and the comfort he derives
from the procradination of his term
of years in this life, and of dying in
his bed at a good old age: in fhort,
the whole of this chapter is replete
with true and genuine humour; and
not lefs in nature is the converfation
with the beggar man whom they

cafually meet with, in the fourth
chapter. Upon the circumftance of
the pocket-book which this man had
found, depends a very confiderable
portion of the entertainment to be
met with in this book. The (kill of
our author, in connecting the feveral
incidents of his drama fo that each,
part may have a coincidence with
the other, and his art in making the
mod trivial circumflances in fome
way or another conduce to the main
defign, we have taken notice of more
than once; and I know of no one
example that more clearly illuffrates
this obfervation than the pocket-
book in quedion. The fortuitous
coincidence of the feveral incidents
relative to this toy, namely, the lofs
by Sophia, the beggar’s fortunate
difcovery, and the accidental meet-
ing of Jones and the beggar man,
though they are all of them occur¬
rences neceffary to the thread of tire
dorv, vet in all thefe fortunate
events there is nothing: forced or un-
natural, but all is brought about
through a combination of fucb
caufes which we mav obferve to hap¬
pen every day in real life; and the
mind eafily yields its affent to the
feveral incidents, not fo much be-
caufe they were neceffary to the plot,
but becaufe it feels the propriety of
the relation. The dialogue between
Jones, Partridge, and the beggar,
flows in a truly comic drain, and
each of the adtors in the fcene ex-
predes himfelf in the mod appro¬
priate terms.

The exhibition of the puppet-
fhow, in the fifth chapter, furnillies
the author with a jud iubjedt of
criticifm on fentimental comedies.
Of this defcription are many of thole
which have lately had a run on the
ftage ; particularly thofe comedies
which have been t ran dated from the
German, and which have freauentlv
attracted full houfes. In relation to
thefe folemn reprefentations, the
fame quedion might, without any

5025 Critical Qbfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones

impropriety, be alked, which the
manager of Covent-Garden theatre
once put to an author, upon his offer¬
ing a comedy and a tragedy for his
acceptance. Mr. Rich, the patentee,
after having perufed the former,
gravely accofled the author in thefe
terms—4 Pray, fir, is this your co¬
medy or your tragedy ?*

In the fixth chapter, poor Grace’s
frailty, and her appeal to the condudt
of the lady in the puppet-fhow, as an
excufe for her backfliding, furnifhes
a good argument for the landlady to
turn the weapons of the puppet-fhow
man againfl himfelf. This chapter
and the next overflow with humour
in every line. The ferious alterca¬
tion in the kitchen deferves your no¬
tice, as a fpecimen of colloquial dif-
putation, in which the peculiar turn
of each of the fpeakers is ftrongly
marked with an analogy to his pro-
feflion. The incidents brought to
light in the eighth chapter are a
further illuftration of what 1 have
before obferved, refpe fling the ex¬
cellent difpofition of the feveral parts
which connect the links of this hifto-
ry, and the nice coincidence of each
part to the whole. The quarrel be¬
tween the puppet-fhow man and
his merry-andrew ; the intelligence
which, in confequence of this dif-
pute, Mr. Jones obtained of the
track which his lady had taken; and
the meeting with the poft-boy who
had attended on Sophia ; however
extraordinary they may appear at firft
fight, may neverthelefs be match¬
ed by thofe which frequently occur
in real life. The arrival of our
travellers at the inn where Sophia
had been lodged, and the meeting
wflh Mr. Dowling, the attorney,
form fubjects for the ninth and
tenth chapters. This gentleman
will hereafter appear to be a
very principal agent in bringing
about a reconciliation between Mr.
Allwoi thy and Jones. The obferv-
ations which Mr. Fielding makes in

this place, on the prevalence of ha¬
bit and the change which the pro-
feffion of a man frequently works in
his natural difpofition, are the refult
of deep reflection on the manners
and principles of men : at the fame
time Mr. Fielding fpares no pains to
exculpate thefe characters from the
charge of inhumanity and felfiflmefs,
where the trade or calling of the
man is out of the queftion. This
he illuftrates in the cafes of a bur¬
geon, an attorney, a butcher, and a
loldier. Great numbers of the law¬
yers, in the days when our author
wTrote, were men of low breeding,
and of little or no education ; for at
that time it was eafy to procure ad-
miflion to practife in the courts,
which are now rendered inacceffible
to any but men of property and fcho-
laftic acquirements. Mr. Dowling’s
ignorance of the dead languages, and
indeed his inability to converfe on
any other topic but what related to
his own profefiion, is therefore eafily
accounted for. The relation of our
travellers’ peregrination in a dark
and rainy winter’s night, in the
eleventh and twelfth chapters, is fet
forth in very picturefque language,
and with infinite humour. Though
we cannot avoid compaflionating
poor Jones, accommodated as he was
with an ignorant guide and Hum¬
bling horfes; yet we cannot refrain
our mirth at the fuperflitious fears
of the pedant, and at his tale of the
farrier, which laid is in the true
Cervantic ftyle. The introduction
of our triumvirate to the gipfeys,
the converfation which palled be¬
tween Jones and the king, with the
feveral paflages that took place in
the barn, are all of them faithful
copies from real life; and fo like-
wife is the. intrigue between Par¬
tridge and one of thefe footy ladies.
The gipfeys were once a numerous
race, and had fpread themfeives over
the greatell part of Europe. In
England there were large gangs of

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tdmjones 7 3U¥

them. Juggling, fortune -telling, and
thieving, were the diftinguifhing
features of this community; and the
obfervations which the king makes
refpe£ting bis fubjeits is a pretty juft
one — ‘Our people rob your people;’
and I believe there are but few in-
ftances of their having paid a vilit to
any parts where they have not left
marks of their pilfering diipofitions.
But their numbers are now confi-
derably diminifhed. The dialed! of
thefe people was a kind of broken
Englifh, of which the fpecimen
given by Mr. Fielding is no bad re-
femblance. Whenever our author
relates mere matter of faff, he never
fails to embellilh the narration with
fome enlivening jeu d’efprit : thus,
in the prefent chapter, the amorous
parley between Mr. Partridge and
the female gipfey is introduced as a
relief to the difcoutie which paftes
between Jones and the king. In
the latter part of this chapter, the
obfervations of the author, recom¬
mending a limited form of govern¬
ment in preference to abfolute
monarchy, muft be readily afiented
to by every reader.

In the eleventh chapter, the expe¬
ditious route of our travellers from
Coventry to St. Alban’s is related;
and to diverftfy the fcene and render
the recital more pleafing, we are
treated with a very facetious dialogue
between Jones and his companion.
On this occnfion you cannot but
have obferved how nearly the len-
timents of the lower orders in fo-
ciety accord with thofe of the peda¬
gogue, in relpedt to the notions of
right and wrong. Few of thole
whofe ideas have been narrowed (if
I may fo exprefs myfelf) by a mean
birth and illiberal breeding, are ca¬
pable of diftinguifhing between the
literal eonftru&ion of the decalogue
and that decorum and comprehend ve
energy which regulate every a 61 of
thofe of more elevated and enlarged
minds. Mr. Partridge, though he

had a fufficient fund of grammatical
lore to render him pedantic, was of
that clafs of men who, provided they
keep within the letter of the law,
conclude they have fulfilled every
thing required of them: even the
rebuke of Jones would haveaffedted
him but little, had not our hero pre¬
fumed to fneer at his affedlation
of fuperior knowledge. f A little
learning,’ fays Mr. Pope, ‘ is a dan¬
gerous thing ;’ and fo it proved to
Mr. Partridge, whofe hackneyed
quotations fervecl only to make him
appear ridiculous in the eyes of men
of real erudition, who in general
converfation avoid everything which
may denote them to be better lettered
than their neighbours. The attack
made by the highwayman on Mr.
Jones, as related in the fourteenth
chapter, may very eafily be reconciled
to probability. Mr. Jones’s genera¬
lity on this occahon is very confpi-
cuous, and this occurrence ferves
hereafter to combine with other
pafTages very material in the future
period of this hiftory. I am, &c.

LETTER X.

DEAR NIECE,

In the thirteenth book we are in¬
troduced to a fociety totally different
from any of the former perfonages
in this work. The rural lcenes
which have hitherto engaged our
attention now give way to the more
elevated profpedts of a town life.
Mr. Jones and his friend have now-
reached the capital ; and not only the
perfons with whom they have con-
nedtions differ, as I before obferved,
both as to their manners and be¬
haviour, from their former affociates,
but as the hiftory draws nearer to a
conclufion the dialogue, for both
thefe reafons, becomes more ferious
than that to which we had formerly
been accu homed. Indeed, as the
company in which Mr. J ones now
paftes his time is chiefly made up
of perfonages ' of rank and fafhion?

jot critical uyermiiom on the Kovel of 6 Tom Jones.*

among whom the eftablifhed laws of
politenefs and decorum do not ad¬
mit of that variety of manners to be
met with in the more humble walks
ol life, the whole would have form¬
ed a dull infipid narrative, had not
the author contrived to enliven the
feene with fome humorous fketches
from among the lower orders in
fociety.

In the introductory chapter to this
book the invocation exhibits a true
dafficai tafte. The two preceding
fedfions are beyond all description
beautiful, and indeed, in fome mea-
fure, prophetic. Many a tender
maid, whofe grandmother was then
fcarcely born, has lent forth the
heaving figh from her fympatbetic
bread: while die read the many
affe&ing paflages to be met with in
this hiftory. Perhaps there never
was a groupe of authors more hap¬
pily aflociated than thofe enumerated
by Mr. Fielding in this chapter-
two of them of ancient, and four of
modern, date. You will, doubtlefs,
admire the very elegant manner in
which he paffes a juft, and at the
fame time the moft delicate, tribute
of praife on two of the moft amiable
perfonages then living (lord Lyt-
tlelon and Mr. Allen); nor is the
compliment which he pays to the
vaft erudition of Mr. Warburton,
afterwards bifnop of Gloucefter, lefs
refined.

The fecond chapter of this book
recites, in very humorous terms,
the arrival of Mr. Jones and Par¬
tridge in London, and their fruitlefs
inquiry after the peer who had
brought Sophia and Mrs. Fitzpatrick
to town. The gentle tap at his lord-
fliip’s door; the apparel of Jones;
the appearance and behaviour of the
porter; the comparifon drawn be¬
tween the keeper of this gate and
Cerberus, the dog who is faid, in
Virgil, to ftand fentinel at the gates
of tlell ; are calculated to excite hu¬
mour in every reader. The con-

verfation between Mrs. Fitzpatrick
and her maid likevvife ferves to en¬
liven the plain narrative delivered
this chapter; and from the
opinion which this lady now con¬
ceives of Sophia from her difinge-
nuous manner of not having made
any mention of Jones in the relation
of her adventures, feem to originate
many of the perplexities which befel
our heroine at lady Bellafton’s.
Curious is the charafter which Mr.
Fielding has drawn of lady Bellaf-
ton ; yet, ftrange as the conduct of
this lady appears, it is by no means a
phenomenon in high life. The
grave difcourle which paffes between
lady Bellafton and Mrs. Fitzpatrick,
and the concern which each of them
expreftes for her coufin Sophia;
whilft the one was eager to be intro¬
duced to Jones and was fully de¬
termined to fupplant poor Sophia
in his affe6fions, and the other had
no further end to accompiifh than
to regain the friendfhip of her uncle
and aunt Weftein at the expence
of her coufin; exhibit a lively por¬
trait of many perfons in real life,
where every individual ftrives to
advance his own intereft, however
detrimental the means may prove to
the intereft and well-being of his
neigh bou r.

In the third chapter is ftiown the
advantage which Jones derived from
meeting with the merry-andrew
mentioned in the eighth chapter of
the preceding book. The pofteffton
of the pocket-book now relieves him
from an embarraffment which he
would other wife have felt at the
interrogation put to him bv Mrs.
Frzpatrick. The arrival cf lady
Bellaftcn and the peer is announced
with much humour. The fimile
by which the converfation is com¬
pared to a French difh is a witty
allufion ; and the farcafms fo freely
beflowed on Jones, when he bad
taken leave of this brilliant circle,
are a convincing proof that the au-

Critical Qbfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones' 305

thor was not unacquainted with the
modes and ufages of the bon ion.

The family with whom Mr.
Jones takes up his habitation, as
related in the fifth chapter, being
the fame whofe rooms Mr. Allwor¬
thy occupied when in town, affords
materials to the author in the pro-
fecution of his hiftory ; as it will
be feen hereafter that, the miftrefs
of . .the houte and her daughters are
very principal aCtrefles in the dra¬
ma, and that in fome fort, through
the means of Jones’s connexion with
this family, the pafiages which lead
to his reconciliation with Mr. All¬
worthy and the developement of
the whole plot, is brought about.
The contraft between the men of
wit and pleafure at the commence¬
ment of the l a ft century and thofe

who in modern days have afiumed
the like denomination, is a well-
directed irony again ft the latter, and
is maintained with infinite pleafant-
ry. The relation of the depute
between the voung gentleman who
inhabited the fir ft floor of the houfe
and his fervant, and the diftrefs of
mifs Nancy on the occafion, is very
animated; the latter circumftance
leads us gradually to the expectation
of a circumftance which hereafter
affords a confiderable portion both of
intereft and humour. Thefpeech of
Mr. Nightingale, on this occafion, is
truly characteriftic from a yuunggen-
tleman of wifdom and virtu, fuch as
he is deferibed in a preceding FCtion
of this chapter. The brief (ketches
of the widow paint her in lb pre-
po.fiefling and amiable a light, as to
induce the reader to wifh for a more
intimate acquaintance with her.

The manner in which lady Bel-
lafton contrives to obtain an inter¬
view with Mr. Jones, in the fixth
chapter, is happily conceived. Upon
the fanguine expectations which
Jones entertained of meeting with
Sophia at the mafquerade, though

Vo l. XXXIV.

the foundation for thefe hopes were
in reality very (lender, Mr. Fielding
takes occafion of exprefling his fenti-
rnents in a language peculiar to
himfclf on this happy difpofltion of
mind; and as well thofe readers who
feel themfelves actuated by this fan¬
guine turn, and view every event of
life in the faireft and mod promif-
mg light, as thole whofe fatui nine
complexions are unable to reach to
this elevation, muft acknowledge the
juftice of his reafoning. The grave
leCture of the mother, upon the
fubjeCt of mafquerades, ought to be
confidered by every young lady un¬
der the like predicament with the
daughters of Mr. Miller as a ufeful
and important leflbn. The convers¬
ation between Jones and Partridge,
wherein the extreme indigence of
the former is made known, prepares
the mind of the reader for fome
unexpected event which may operate
to the relief of his neceflity. To
preserve a confiftenev in the thread
of the ftory, and that every event
might fall out according to the ufual
accidents of human life, it was ne-
ceflarv that Jones’s finances fhould
become exhaufted ; and, that the
tale might at length be brought to a
happy iflue, it was like wife of in -
poitance that his purfe fhould be
recruited. But how is this to be
accompli died ? Not by fupernatural
means; for all thofe events which
do not fall within the com pals of
human agency Mr. Fielding has
difcUimed. To bring about this
event, therefore, we (hall hereafter
find that the mafquerade ticket is
no feeble inftrument; nor could our
hero have been fairly reliered from
his prefent diftrefs without fome
fuch interpofition as the author has
provided for him in the perfen of
lady Bella fton. The blemiftles in

the character of this lady are of ft>
grofs a nature as to preclude all
credit in the minds of thole who
a R

kji unui \juju! 'uutiutis p/Mwt it(/w uj i uni j uncs .

have been brought up in virtuous
habits, and are unacquainted with
the manners of high life: but too
true it is, that the modes derived
from a town education have planted
in many a female mind vicious
habits, which have thrown out no
lefs vigorous {hoots than may be
obferved in the conduct of the lady
in queftion. Under Mr. Fielding’s
management no evil can accrue
from the perufal of thofe pages
wherein the gallantries of this lady
are recorded, as the relation of them
is always accompanied with fome
{Inking contrail.

The faculty of our author in ex¬
citing the mirth of his readers we
have frequently had occafion to re¬
mark ; and various inllances have
occurred in the foregoing pages,
and more will be obferved in the
prefent and fucceeding books, of
his fuperior excellency in depi6ling
thofe pallages which have a more
ferious tendency. The ftory related
by Mrs. Miller, in the eighth chap¬
ter, is fet forth in language fo pa¬
thetic, and withal in terms fo artlefs
and unaffefted, that it cannot fail
flrongly to imprefs the feelings of
every benevolent reader. And now
permit me once more to exprefs my
admiration at the fkill and addrefs
of Mr. Fielding, in adapting to each
of the perfonages whom he intro¬
duces a turn of fentiment and of
language peculiar to their feveral
characters, and of affigning to them
the fame peculiarity of expreflion,
whenever either of them is intro¬
duced. Mrs. Miller is reprefented
as a woman of good underltanding,
of ftri6t virtue, and endued with
the moll tender feelings of hu¬
manity. Thefe traits in her cha¬
racter are vilible in all her deport¬
ment, whenever {lie is introduced to
our notice; and fo far probably an
author of inferior abilities might

have fucceeded. But what I mean

: « . „ ' . -c . • ,.t

chiefly to infill upon is, the happy
talent of Mr. Fielding in appropri¬
ating to each of his characters the
fame phrafeology and the fame
mode of exprefiion throughout the
novel, fo that each of the dramatis
perfume is diftinguifiied by this cir-
cumftance. In the cafe of Mrs,
Miller, we recognife her by her
circumlocution ; which, however^
does not render the converfation
lefs pleafing. The tale of woe, re¬
lated in this chapter, of the Ander-
fon family, is well imagined, and
coming from a lady, with whofe
character we have realon to be ena¬
moured, renders it more interefting
to the reader.

In the ninth chapter we are again
introduced to the company of lady
Bellallon. The tormenting ideas
which are here faid to have arifen
in the mind of Jones, are fuch
which his unfortunate circumftances
may naturally be fuppofed to occa¬
fion. What Mr. Fielding relates
of lady Bellallon, in the fifth fection*
will not prepoftefs the reader with g
very high opinion of her perfonal
charms. Indeed, from the character
which our author has given of this
lady, we may reafonably conjecture
that her perfon was not lefs tar-
niftied than her mind. The con¬
tents of the notes which Jones is
{aid, at the latter part of this chapter,
to have received from lady Bellallon,
are well adapted to denote the tq-
mult and perturbation of her mind,
after the rebuke which {he had re¬
ceived from her dependent, and are
a demonftration co what Ihifts a
woman may be reduced, through
that contamination which is the
confequence of every deviation from
the paths of rectitude and purity of
manners.

The meeting between Jones, Mrs,
Miller, and Mr. Anderfon, in the
tenth chapter, forms a very pathetic
lcene. The enthufiaftic gratitude of

Robert M'Kenzk ; or, the Adventures of a Scotfman. 307

Mr. Anderfon, with the reply of
Jones, are coached in language
which denotes the hand of a mafler.

The appearance of Sophia, in the
eleventh book, is brought to pafs
from a concurrence of very natural
circumftances. The riot at the play-
houfe was of itfelf competent to¬
wards haftening the return of our
heroine. In this place I would in¬
treat yourrecolleftion ofthatpafifage,
in the fourth chapter of the twelfth
book, wherein Jones fortunately
meets with the beggar- man and
ilrikes a bargain with him for the
pocket-book, which now appears of
jo much confequence to the hiftory.

I am, dear niece,

Your affectionate uncle, See.

(To be continued.)

ROBERT M'KENZIE ;

OR, THE

ADVENTURES OF A SCOTSMAN*.

\lVr\tten by h'mjef \ and edited by R. Ferric —
Glefgoiv.]

(Continued from p. 33.)

CHAP. IV.

n the language of Milton, I might
now have faid, ‘ that the world
was all before me, and Providence
my guide;’ but, unfortunately, the
confoling ideas of that divine poet
never happened to enter my memo¬
ry: on the contrary, I was plunged
in the moft profound melancholy ;
and it was not till I had left my
houfehold-gods ten miles behind me
that the fmalleft gleam of hope dart¬
ed on my mind. About this time,
however, I recovered in a fmall de¬

* The lofs of a confiderable quantity of the
copy of this work, begun in January lafl (as
mentioned in the notices to correfpondenta for
February), has occafioned a long interruption in
its continuance ; but we hope we may now
rely on the gentleman who favours us with the
sommunication that it will be rcgvlarly eon-
anusi till it if comoUt?d,

gree, and was enabled to make an
obfervation with refpeil to the place
in which I was; for, by the direction,
of a finger-poft, I found I was only
thirty miles diftant from Edinburgh,
to which place I refolved to dire6t
my fleps.

Nature, in fpite of forrow, cried
aloud for refrefhment; and, upon
making a ftri6t look-out, I obferved
a fmali cottage which the proprietor
had dignified with the name of an
inn, and, to fupport the title, had
affixed St. Andrew, the tutelar faint
of Scotland, completely decked in a
Highland garb, over the wall, as a
fign-board. Having entered into
this cabaret, I was welcomed, in the
common ftyle of Scotland, with
good oat-cakes, bad cheefe, a flagon
of whilkey, and a hearty * Whare
gang you, my braw laddy?’

As this queflion in my circum-
fiances was rather mal-a-prcpos, I did
not trouble myfelf to anfwer it ; but,
applying the flagon to my lips, in
the hafte of defpair took a draught
of the liquor which would have
ftartled an older man. This pota-
tion had an almofl inftantaneous ef-
fe£t on my mental faculties; but,
after I had tailed fome of the provi-
fions, no entreaty could induce me to
poffpone my departure. Although
a very dark night had now fet in,
my anfwer only was — 4 1 am a poor
ifolated being ; and, whether 1 live
or die, 1 fhall not be miflfed by more
than two perfons in the world.’ —
With this obftinate determination,
after fatisfying mine hoil for his re-
frefhments, I fet forward for the
capital of Scotland, on one of the
darkefl nights in the end of Octo¬
ber I had ever feen: but to me was
alike the noontide glare of a per¬
pendicular fun, or the murky (hades
of eternal darknefs.

Suftained by the ilrength of the
malt fpirits I had imbibed, I pro¬
ceeded at a great rate, and had alrea¬
dy got within fifteen miles of Edin-

3 R 2

SOB Robert McKenzie; or, the Adventures of a S coif man.

burgh when I was overtaken by a
man on horfeback, who began to
enter into converfation with me;
who, by the fuperior ftyle of his
language and the obfequioufnefs of
his attendant, I had reafon to be¬
lieve ranked in the firfl clafs. How¬
ever as my fbrrows were deep-root¬
ed in my heart, nothing but the
whifkey I had drunk dcwuld have
induced me to enter into converfa-
tion with any one : as this was the
cafe, I fupported the difcourfe with
proper fpirit, and was politely in¬
vited by the ftranger to mount be¬
hind him, in order, as he exprefied
himfelf, that we might not part.
Thefe words had hardly been uttered
when five men rufhed from a dry
ditch on the road-fide, and imme¬
diately difcharged their piftols. The
bullets having flruck the horfes of
the riders precipitated them both on
the earth, fortunately without doing
them any injury. I was the only
fufferer, as a ball had grazed my left
fhoulder.

At the moment the difcharge was
made, oneof theaffailants cried out —
‘Tremble, thou wretch; for the
wrongs of my filler fhall now be
expiated in thy heart’s blood!’

The temporary fiaih which the
difcharge had made, ferved to illumi¬
nate the road fo far as to make the
aggvreffors vifible ; and my two com¬
panions drew piftols from their
pockets and fired them at the men,
apparently with effect, as two heavy
groans announced. For my parr,
being unprovided with fire-arms
and irritated with the pain of my
wound, I rufhed upon the man
who had grafped one of my friends,
and with one blow of an oaken cud¬
gel, which I carried in my hand, I
precipitated him to the earth: his
accomplices fhared the fame fate;
both, after a fevere fhuggle, mea-
furing their length on the ground,
under the heavy Ihrokes of my trufly
bludgeon.

The gentleman who had firfl ac- '

celled me, and who had by this tintu
recogniied the good fuccefs which
had attended my exertions in ilk
fervice, now came forward; and,
ckfping me in his arms fwore that
he was rny eternal debtor, as he was
confcious that I had faved his life.
An exquifite fetife of pain prevented
me from anfwering this polite ad-
drefs, and I could hardly ftammer
out that I had been fevtrely wound¬
ed, when 1 fank infenfible in his
arms.

The firft object that prefented
itfelf to my eyes, when I regained
my fenfes, was the figure of a gen¬
teel youth, hanging over my bed-
fide, in a fmall room which appeared
like a cottage. When this gentle¬
man faw me revive, he informed
me that he was the perfon to whom I
had rendered fuch a material fervice;
and added, that, after I had fainted,
his fervant and himfelf had with
difficulty removed me to a fmall cot¬
tage, near the feene of action where
I then was ; and that a furgeon had
been fent for immediately from a
neighbouring village.

The entrance of the furgeon here
broke off the difcourfe. lie, after
having examined my hurts, pro¬
nounced (with a candour feldom
found in his craft) that my wound
was a mere fcratch, that my fainting
was only owing to fatigue and lofs of
blood, and that he would guarantee
my refloration to health after a quiet
reft of twenty-four hours; at the
fame time, after dreffing my arm,
giving me a potion for the purpofe of
procuring me found repofe.

Thefe tidings feemed to create an
unufual degree of joy in my young
friend, who took the doctor by the
hand and exclaimed — ‘ I fwear by
FEfculapius, you are the molt worthy
fon of Galen that ever opened a
vein.’

Toth is rhodomontade the furgeon
anfvvered with a bow; but infilled
that the room fliould be cleared, in
order that I might enjoy the repofe

Robert McKenzie ; or , the Adventures of a Scotfhian. 309

I flood fo much in need of. To this
the only anfwer was an immediate
departure^ faying, as he went our,
that he would wait till he law me
reftored to health, though that time
fhould not come for a twelvemonth.

When I awakened next morning,
I found myfelf in good health ; that
is to fay, I was totally recovered from
the ficknefs that had pervaded my
whole fyftem the preceding night,
and the only mark that remained
was a (light wound, wholly unworthy
of notice.

The gentleman with whom I had
met the evening before having en¬
tered my apartment, and feeing me
in that date, propofed that I fhould
immediately let off for Edinburgh,
where he faid he was proceeding pre¬
vious to our meeting ; and announc¬
ed himfelf by the name of Kenneth
*

Murchifon, ftv led lord Gartferry,
only fon of the earl of Kirkintilloch.
After this previous introduction, his
lordihip, with the utmoft delicacy,
proceeded to inquire what were my
future views, and whether the place
of his friend and companion would
fuit my intentions.

4 My lord,’ I replied, ‘ I am a
poor ifolated being, cut off from
every connection, i have nought to
expeCt, that you would condefcend
fo far as to receive me into your
fervice ; but this you may depend
upon, that my life and action, con¬
fident with honour, fiiall be devoted
to your fervice.’

After this explanation had taken
place between us, his lordihip dif-
atched a fervant to the neighbour-
ood of Falkirk to order a poft-
chaife, and at the fame time he mu¬
nificently fatisfied the people of the
houfe and our fon of iEfculapius for
the trouble they had had. „

When we were on the road, Mur¬
chifon, after having properly fatif-
fied himfelf that 1 knew fomething
of the modern languages, proceeded
as follows ;

‘It will be proper,’ he began,
4 previous to your introdudfion to
my father, that 1 fhould inform you
of certain peculiarities in his charac¬
ter which will the better enable you
to condudl yourfelf in fuch a man-
ner as may gain his efieem. In his
early days my father was diftinguifh-
ed as a man of gallantry. Every
court on the continent refounded
with his fame. This continued for
forne vears, till he was awakened from
his dream of pleafure by the duns of
his creditors; who at laft became fo
urgent for their cafii, that my father
was obliged to bethink himfelf not
only of a retrenchment, but aretreat;
in a word, he was obliged to bury
himfelf in his native manfion, fituated
in the wildeft part of Perthfhire;
where, by rigid economy, he fatif-
fied his creditors in the courfe of
three years. In this place, however,
he foon experienced fo much ennui,
from the unvarying round of his
days, that in a fhort time he became
as much famed for a mifanthrope as
he- had formerly been for a man of
pleafure : yet even here his heart
was not able altogether to refill the
attacks of that fly archer Cupid.
The bonnie daughter of a neighbour¬
ing laird, whofe beauty and gude
blude were her only portion, con¬
vinced him he was flill a man. In
the language of Caefar, my father
might have laid that he came, faw,
and conquered ; for, in iefs than a
month after his firft declaration of
love, my mother prefided in the
halls of his anceftors as countefs of
Kirkintilloch.

4 For fome time my father feemed
to experience a renovation of his
youth: but, alas! he was foon
plunged in the fame gloomy apathy
as before ; for, in lets than a year
after his marriage, his lady expired
in giving me exiftence. This event
nearly diftra£led my furviving pa¬
rent ; who for a long time, from the
ftrong refemblancc that I bore to my

310 Robert M'Kcnzie ; or, the Adventures of a Scoff man.

deceafed mother, could not endure
my approach. I was therefore early
fent to the univerfity of Glafgow,
where I have paffed the moft part of
my days, with no other token of re¬
membrance from my parent than a
regular fupply of pocket-money.
Latterly, however, he feems awaken¬
ed to every feeling of parental ten-
dernefs, and has transferred to me
that ardent affection which was for¬
merly devoted to my mother. But
you will obferve that, indulgent as
he is to me, he is not only ftern,
but morofe to the red of mankind.
This is a foible which every exertion
I have hitherto made cannot eradi¬
cate, and I had reafon to believe
myfelf Angularly fuccefsful when I
prevailed upon the earl to leave the
founding halls of his forefathers to
accompany me to Edinburgh, pre¬
vious to my departure for the conti¬
nent, which I intend to vifit in the
courfe of a fewdays; and in my tour,
with your leave, 1 fho.nld be happy
of your company, in the fituation
of my travelling-companion.’

After making a fuitable anfwer to
the difcourfe of lord Gartferry, I
could not avoid forming an anxious
anticipation of my introduction to
this morofe father. Another reve¬
rie continued till the poft-chaife
flopped at an elegant houfe in Char-
lotte-fquare, the manfion of the earl
of Kirkintilloch. After we had en¬
tered the houfe, lord Gartferry, per¬
ceiving an evident degree of agitation
in my countenance, allured me that,
from the powerful recommendation
of having laved his life, my reception
would oe cordial and fatisfa<ftory.
Defiling me to follow him, his lord-
fhip preceded me into a room, where
I beheld an elderly gentleman, who
at his appearance fprung into his
arms, and exclaimed c My dear font’
Murc'hilon returned the embrace;
and, taking me by the hand, intro¬
duced me to his father, with thefe
words —

‘ If your fon is dear to you, *what
recompenfe owe you not to this
young man ; for in him behold the
preferver of my life? Attacked bv a
band of ruffians, i fhould, ere now,
have been food for the worms, had
he not gallantly interpofed and de¬
fended me from their barbarity.’

The earl, on hearing this, turned
pale, and llaggered back ; but, reco¬
vering from his emotion, he clalped
me in his arms, and bedewed my
face with a parental tear. Language
is too feeble to exprefs the rapturous
gratitude with which I was pene¬
trated ; fuffice it to fay, that the earl
gave his inftant confent to the propo-
fal of making me attendant and com¬
panion to his fon, and defired me
from that moment to confider hi?
houfe as my home.

My mihd was thus relieved from
*

a load which hung heavy on it, and

again my heart opened to the pr®-

fpedfof happinefs: a happinefs which

would have been unalloyed, had it

« *

not been for the idea of the ill-fated
Mary Smellie, which conftantly in¬
tervened to difturb my repofe.

The morning after the day on
which I had been introduced to the
earl, being accuftomed to rife early,.
I had betaken myfelf to a library
adjoining to my chamber. The
volumes which were here colledfed
confided, for the moft part, of the
beft authors, ancient and modern,
moft of which I had previoufiy
perufed ; but, upon looking nar¬
rowly around, I found a fmall prefs
filled with books, which were mark¬
ed as collected by lord Gartferry.
Curious to learn what ftudies pecu¬
liarly attracted his attention, I turned
fome of them over, and found moft
of them to confift of French and
Italian novels, a fpecies of reading
with which I was little acquainted.
Taking up one of the volumes of the
witty Crebillon, I was perufing it
with fuch eagernefs that I had utterly
fbrgot the hour of breakfaft, whea I

was fuddenlv Interrupted by the earl
of Kirkintilloch; who, obferving
that I was reading, came forward,
and requefted I would allow him to
fee the book I feemed to perufe
with fo much attention. When he
had examined it, he proceeded thus:

f This is a book which ought to
De put in the hands of no young
man. The feenes are drawn in fo
lively a manner as highly to intereft
the reader; but the ideas fuggefted in
every* page render the work very
unfit for a youth. The intereft

which I take in your future fortune
induces me to point out this to you,
and 1 hope that what I have obferved
will prevent you from perufing fuch
books in future.’

Thefe words were pronounced
with fuch a dignified air, that I was
deprived of the power of making an
anfwer; but, in filence, returned the
book to the place whence 1 had taken
it.

During our ftay in Edinburgh the
elegant buildings with which that
city abounds entirely engaged my
attention, and my time was complete¬
ly taken up in fatisfying the curiofity
which that romantic capital failed
not to raife. The beautiful view of
the (hipping in the Firth of Forth,
and the country around the city,
which appears one continued garden
when viewed from the turrets of
Edinburgh caftle, is peculiarly at¬
tractive.

While I was enjoying the pro-
fpeCt, I could not help turning round
to lord Gartferry, who commonly
attended me in thefe excurdons, and
exclaiming ‘ What folly mull it be
to wander over Europe, gaping like
a fool at the curiofities of nature,
when your own capital abounds with
fuch beautiful and romantic feenes
as this !’ /

4 Ha, ha, ha, MftCenzie! thou art
a true Scot. Although this is the
firft city thou haft ever feen, yet I
could fwear thou art of opiaion that

it can be exceeded by none ; and the
reafon of fuch preference is plain,
<viz. becaufe this city is in Scotland/

Not w idling to enter into any
argument on the fubjeCt, I gave up
the point; yet neither reafon nor
ridicule could efface the idea that
Edinburgh was the brft of cities.

Through the kindnefs of the earl
and his fon, every neceflary that
could be required by any gentleman
was provided for me; and I was in¬
troduced to every company on the
fame footing with his lorddiip, and
treated in every refpeCt in a fimilar
manner.

Two weeks had now elapfed fince
my introduction into the family of
the earl, and the packet that was to
conduit us to the continent was now
on the point of being ready to fail.

(To be continued. )

Ladies’ Dresses on his MajestyV
Birth -Day, June 4.

Her Majefty.

etticoat of amber colour, and
diver tilfue, with ornaments of
ftne black lace, with a great profu-
bon of diamonds, in various forms
fufpended ; the draperies were in
large Vandykes, and at each Van¬
dyke was a large diamond, and feve-
ral chains of diamonds, bows, and
other ornaments: the whole had a
mod fuperb appearance, together
with the addition of a diamond fto-
macher, and bouquet of diamonds;
(leeve bracelets, &c. ; body and train
of the fame ; diver tiffue, ornament¬
ed* to correfpond. Her majellv’s
head-drefs was amber-coloured fatin,
richly fpangled diver, and a tiara of
diamonds.

Princefs Augufia. A white crape
petticoat, very richly embroidered
in diver, and a bol der of lilac, wijh
diver worked; over which a drapery
of lilac crape, moft fuperbjy embroL

fU * >44

j uuuted urtycs on uis

dered in filver convolvulus, and
large Vandykes round the draperies,
and bouquets of filver flowers ; body
and train of lilac farcenet, wove in
filver.

Princefs Elizabeth. A white crape
petticoat, richly fpangled with filver,
with full draperies of rich filver tif-
fue gauze, formed in divifionsv by
broad Vandyke filver foil, and bril¬
liant rouleaux , drawn to a centre, and
fattened with handfome large filver
bunches of oak and acorns; a broad
'foil bottom ; the whole elegantly
difplayed and highly finifhed, with
rich filver cords and taflels: train
white and filver tiflue; head-drefs,
an elegant difplav of feathers and
diamonds, taljefullv difpofed, The
tout enfemble of her royal highnefs, as
ufual, bore afplendid appearance.

Princefs Mary. A white crape pet¬
ticoat, fuperblv embroidered in filver;
a fuperb large drapery of final i filver
rings, with a rich border of filver
foil, ftudded with large white beads,
and intermixed with fpangles, broad
fheaves joined to bunches of lilies of
the valley; final! pointed draperies
thrown over with a border of foil
leaves, drawn up with wreaths of
lilies of the valley; rich filver cords
and taffcls. This petticoat merits
much notice, as it was peculiar ly ad¬
mired for the light and elegant dis¬
play of talte; white and filver tifiue
train.

Princefs Sophia. The fame as prin¬
cefs Mary’s in everv refpeef.

Princefs Amelia. Body and train of
blue filver tifiue, richly trimmed
with Bru dels lace, &c. &c. Petticoat
blue crape; on the left fide fli ipes of
foil, and ttars of tteel bugles ; on
the right, a drapery elegantly em¬
broidered with filver, forming
bunches of flowers, bordered with a
foil chain, and drawn up with I and-
fome cord and taflels; fecond dra¬
pery bordered the fame, and tied up
with bullion and taflels to form a
large Vandyke.

lviajejty s mrw-uay*

Princefs of Wales. Her royal high*
nefs’s drefs was magnificent beyond
defeription : the petticoat and train
of rich filver tifiue, with drapery all
round, embroidered in a mod ele¬
gant and tafteful -manner, with high
polt filed tteel wreaths of flowers, in¬
termixed with ttars, rofes, and cref-
cents of rhe fame; alfd filver fpangles
and pearls; the pocket-holes fancied
with filver rculea\tx and lace; hi gh_
polifhed tteel embroidered band
round the waift : head-drefs fuperb
diamonds and feathers.

Duchefs of York wore a white crape
petticoat, with a mod fuperb border
in filver, a-la-Grecque . over the pet¬
ticoat; drapery canfitting of chains
of filver, vvirh an elegant border of
filver railed flowers, drawn up on
the left fide, with diamonds, and
cords and raflels; body and train of
white crape, embroidered in chains
of filver to correfpond. This drefs
was much admired, and we never
faw her royal highnefs look fo well.

Princefs Sophia of Gloucefer. A
beautiful filver- gauze petticoat, em¬
broidered border, and broad filver
fringe ; the drapery feftooned in
crefcents, and fuperb filver plumes,
with rofes fufpended with elegant
taffels ; a wreath of rofes fancifully
dil played on the left fide of the pet¬
ticoat: rhe train filver gauze, richly
trimmed with filver.

Princefs Caflelcicala. A white and
gold petticoat, with purple and gold
draperies, rich cords and taflels; train
purple crape.

Duchefs of Dorfet , White crape
petticoat, moil fuperbly embroidered
in filver, with very broad and rich
border of the fame; robe white and
filver.

Duche/s of Northumberland. Petti¬
coat white fatin, drapery colour de
Cannelle , with broad fcrole border,
elegantly embroidered in filver;
robe, colour de Cannelle.

Duchefs of Gordon. Petticoat of
white crape, richly embroidered in

313

Ladies' Drejfes on hi

(liver, draperies of rich filler gauze,
degantlv trimmed with rich (liver
tadel and cord ; train of rich diver
gauze, trimmed with rich Wheat-
fheafs in diver; (leeves of diver net,
with cord and tadel ; the whole
trimmed with fine broad blond: head-
drefs white oftrich feathers and dia¬
monds.

Marchioncfs of Douonfbire. Petti-,
coat white crape, mod fumptuoufly
embroidered in diver fpangles, white
drapery, with rich Mofaic border,
drawn up with wreaths and bunches
of mignonette; robe, white crape
and diver.

Marcbioriefs of Sali/hujy. Blue and
filvey, with white petticoat, trimmed
with diver, and feftooned with oak
leaves; head-drefs, profufion of dia¬
monds in front. We obferved a
cameo of his majefty on a large ruby,
to which was (ufpended*a very large
and beautiful pearl.

Countefs of IVefmor eland wore an
elegant petticoat of white crape, co¬
vered with the mod: beautiful point
lace, with ornaments of jewels fixed
on the petticoat, in a mod elegant
ftyie: the whole formed a fuperb
drefs. Her ladvfhip’s body and train
were trimmed with pearls.

Countefs of Cbolmondeley. A petti¬
coat of lemon colour crape, richly
embroidered in brown and diver;
draperies of the fame; the whole
elegantly trimmed with large diver
tafiels, and diver rouleaux ; train of
lemon colour crape, trimmed with
blood and diver; pair of Bruftbls
lace fleeve?, and Brudels lace hand¬
kerchief; turban of lemon colour
crape, with feathers of the fame and
diamonds.

> Countefs of U .bridge* A white
crape, rich embroidery in diver; the
under petticoat in elegant Mofaic
work, over which an embroidered
drapery of a different pattern, with
a rich border, rich cord and tafiels,
fine broad blond ; the whole was
Vol. XXXIV.

■ Mnjeftf s Birth-Bay.

extremely elegatht, and much ad¬
mired.

Countefs of Aberdeen, A white ''rape
petticoat, handfomely formed dt bot¬
tom with rich diver rouledux. lo con¬
trived to have a new and very plead¬
ing effe't; the drapery obliquely
fattened with beautiful rouleaux and
crape, that gave it the appearance of
broken waves, ridng in gentle order,
and fo continued till loft under the
fluidity of an elegant diver cord and
tailel; blue farfenet body and train.

Count fs of Carnarvon wore a very
futperb drefs, quite in the Indian
ftyie: it confided of a diver gauze,
thrown over a white farfenet petti¬
coat in draperies, with a rich embroi¬
dery interlperfed, and bordered with
Vandykes, taftefully drawn up from
the right to the left fide with rich
bullion and tafiels; train of Indian
gauze, trimmed with diver and Bruf-
fels lace. This drefs altogether was
extremely elegant, and, as ufual,
difplayed her ladyfnip’s fuperior
tafte.

Vifcountefs Hereford. A train of
white crape, richly trimmed with
diver, (leeves appliqued with ditto,
and trimmed with large diver bul¬
lion; petticoat of white crape ap¬
pliqued, and rich border of diver in
demi-Vandykes, and finiftied at bot¬
tom with a deep direr fringe; right
ddc ornamented with rich embroi¬
dered ftripes upon green; a drapery
on the left fide appliqued, bordered
with Vandykes, and fringe to corre-
fpond with petticoat, and tied up
with very large (liver rope and taf-
lels ; pocket-holes handfomely finifh-
ed with diver, &c.

Vifcountefs Hampden. A date-co¬
loured crape body and train, orna¬
mented with diver and yellow rofes:

J r

whitfc crape petticoat, with yellow
and diver; a drapery of (late colour
crape, taftefully drawn up with hand-
fome diver cords and tafiels, embroi¬
dered with diver, and decorated with

* 2 a

314

Ladies' DreJJes on his Majejly' s Birth-Day.

large yellow rofes : the whole had a
moll beautiful effect, and was much
admired.

Lady Augufta C layering. A white
fatin petticoat, with rich embroider¬
ed border in filver, and a moll beau¬
tiful pink drapery, elegantly em¬
broidered in lilver, with large rich
tallels : a pink train. Her ladylhip
wore a very fplendid coronet of
jewels on her head.

Lady Mary Thynne. Petticoat of
pea-green crape, richly embroidered
in bugles and beads ; draperies of the
fame, vandyked with white fatin,
and trimmed with lilk cords ; train
of pea-green crape, embroidered in
bugles, and trimmed with broad
blond lace; head-drefs, pea-green
feathers, and bandeau of diamonds.

Lady Ann AJhley. A white crape
petticoat; the drapery of fpangled
crape, with a beautiful embroidery
acrofs the petticoat, and tied up with
large filver taflels and cord of un¬
common richnefs; the body and
train of white crape, very richly
fpangled, and embroidered fleeves
and point lace; head-drefs, lilver
bandeau , diamonds, and feathers :
the tout enjemble very brilliant and
beautiful.

Lady Toung. A white crape petti¬
coat, with crape draperies, taflefully
ornamented with white ribband and
blue corn flowers ; the draperies
drawn together with large bunches
of wheat ears and corn flowers.
This drefs was much admired for its
fimple but truly elegant appearance ;
train white figured farcenet.

Lady Lounge, the lady of fir George.
This lady’s drefs d if ployed a great
deal of tafle and elegance; white
crape coat richly fpotted over with
large filver fpangles, at the bottom a
running pattern of white filver rofes
and leaves, trimmed with deep filver
fringe over the coat ; two draperies
of Pomona green crape, with a rich
border of filver rofes and leaves,

covered over with large filver fpan¬
gles, trimmed with filver fringe;
pocket-holes of the turban kind ;
body and train white crape, with
filver fleeves and turban half ileeve ;
head-drefs white crape, with filver
border tocorrefpond with the drefs;
truly elegant.

Lady Caltborpe. A dark-green crape
coat, ornamented with bunches of
lilies of the valley; the leaves of
fine white lace, the flowers white
beads rifing out from the centre of a
large crefcent, made of white lace
furrounded with fmall beads; acrofs
the coat a loofe green crape drapery,
flowered with a deep white fine lace,
trimmed with beads to correfpond
with the coat ; the whole covered
over with beads fufpended : the bot¬
tom of the coat trimmed with lace
and beads, which had a beautiful ef¬
fect; turban pocket-holes with large
hows of green ribband; body and
train dark-green crape, with turban
fleeves. This lady is remarkable for
the elegant tafle of her cpurt-drelfes,
and generally defigns her own pat¬
terns.

Lady Grantham. Petticoat crape,
with deep border of white and filver,
and lilac; a drapery of white and
filver, with loops of filver rouleaux y
and fmall bunches of blue flowers :
rich filver cord and tallels ; train
lilac and white gauze in flripes,
fringed with filver; cap lilac, white
and filver, with white oltrich plume.

The Lady Mayorefs was elegantly
and fuperbly drefled : the petticoat
of lilac crape, embroidered in filver
flars ; a drapery and point of beauti¬
ful filver Venetian net and taflels,
with a broad border of embroidered
fprigs and crefcent?, edged with taf-
fels, ornamented with large rouleaux
and brilliant filver tallels ; train of
lilac crape, richly embroidered in
filver to correfpond ; head-drefs a
plume of oflrich feathers, and dia¬
mond fprays and aigrette . Her lady-

315

Ladies' Drejfes on his Majeftf s Birth - Day •

fliip's drefs was very magnificent,
and one of the handfomeft at court.

Mrs. Dupree was d refled with much
elegance and tafte : her petticoat a
rich embroidery of (liver upon white
crape, edged with a border of Ve¬
netian net and bullion; bafes of foft
crape, looped up withemboffed filver
rope and taiTels ; the body and train
to correfpond, with diamond epau¬
lets and armlets ; head-drefs a wreath
and feather of diamonds.

Mrs. Charles York. A blue crape
petticoat, richly embroidered with
fib'er foil and fpangles ; elegant
drapery of the fame, richly embroi¬
dered with borders of antique fcroll,
covered with filver fpangles; the
drapery was feparated by very large
rich t a fiels and cord ; blue and filver
train ; head-drefs feathers and dia¬
monds. It was fupei b, and admired
in general.

Mifs Addingtm. Str aw-coloured
crape petticoat ; fpotted bead crape
drapery, elegantly ornamented with
yellow laburnums, beads, and taffels,
and a draw train. This young lady
at trailed much admiration.

Mifs Courtenay. Petticoat of buff
crape, richly embroidered in filver ;
draperies of buff crape, embroidered
in lilies of the valley in filver, rich
filver cord and taffels; the petticoat
trimmed with broad blond ; train of
brown and filver tiffue, trimmed
with wheat-flieaf trimming in filver,
with fleeves of buff crape fpangled
and blond ; head-drefs buff and
white feathers.

Mifs Calthorpe. White crape petti¬
coat, with fettoonsof artificial mois-
rofes and rofe-buds acrofs the petti¬
coat as a drapery, fattened up with
bows of white ribband; body and
train white crape, with the turban
fleeves; the bottom of the petticoat
trimmed with white lace, and large
bunches of mofs-rofes. This drefs,
from its elegant fi nplicity,was great¬
ly admired, and does the defig ner
much credit.

Mrs. Mainnx'aring. A white crape
drefs, richly embroidered with diver"
foil ; bottom of the petticoat and
drapery trimmed with deep filver
fringe; pocket-holes ornamented with
bows of crape, trimmed filver fringe;
train beautiful brown imperial net ;
fleeves of white crape, embroidered
with filver, and twitted with ditto ;
head-drefs of net, fiiver feathers, and
diamonds, to correfpond with the
drefs.

Mrs. Weld (on her marriage, by
her mother, lady Stourton). Attired
in white and filver; the petticoat
embroidered in fmall fprigs, a bor¬
der round the bottom of embroidered
crefcents, double draperies of em¬
broidery, edged with loofe filver taf¬
fels, drawn up on one fide with filver
rouleaux and taffels ; head-drefs a
plume of oftrich feathers and dia¬
monds.

Mifs Main*waring. A pale- green
crape petticoat embroidered with
filver, and fattened with tinged pink
and white rofes ; the fafhes and bot¬
tom of petticoat trimmed with broad
filver fringe, turban pocket-holes,
and filver-edged bows; train of green
crape ; embroidered fleeves, twitted
with filver bands; head-drefs com-
pofed of feathers, pearls, and filver.

The Mifs Cookes. Violet crape
dreffes, ornamented with wreath and
bunches of flowers; petticoat finilh-
ed at bottom with feftoons of beads ;
fatties of violet crape, tied up at left
fide with large rope and taffels, tafte-
fully eroded with wreaths of maidens-
bluih, rofes, and fattened at right
fide with bunches of ditto; pocket-
holes eroded with wreaths of ditto,
and tied with bead-cord and taffels ;
train of violet crape, elegantly or¬
namented with a coq de perle ; head-
drefs, pearls.

General Olfervations.

The prevailing colours were lilac
and paie-blue : more white than

2 S 2

516

Augujla and Emily ; a Tale.

iifual was worn, and flowers were in
extraordinary abundance ; much Bri-
tifli lace was alfo feen, which, for
beauty, furpaffes Bruftqls. The
fiead-dreftes almoft univerfally con¬
fided of feathers and jewels, few
caps being worn. The feathers
were large oft rich ones, drooping on
the fide of the head, the ends falling-
on the neck: the hair is ftill drefted
in the Grecian ftvle, long beads and
bows of hair; the corkfcrew curls
and round beads are abolifhed.

Of jewellery, diamonds in profu-
fton, ornamented pombs in the head,
antiques, amethyfts and coloured
ftones, gold necklaces, thick gold
cords, and gold chains about the
neck, were in high vogue, to many
of which were fut pended medallions,
Rouge (an article of d refs) was rather
ltfs put on than ufual. The fleeves
were fhorter than ever; very little
ruffles were worn. The waifts were
much the fame as formerly ; hoops
rather Imaller, a change which adds
to the grace and comfort of the ladies.
The drapery petticoats, and the
Hoped trains, are the greateft im¬
provements that have been made in
the court-drefles, as nothing is more
ftiffand formal than either plain.

AUGUSTA and E'MILY j

A TALE.

[by MISS C. B. YiAMES.]

(Continued from page 248. b

7X 4Ys and weeks ro'led on. Afh-
^ 'ton grove was again enlivened,
and Mrs. Harcourt greatly approved
of her affable niece. Madame de
Perpignon had juft left her Emily
with her fond uncle, and ladv Ma-
ry’s health was perfectly re-eftablifh-
ed, when Horatio, who had often
beheld the papers of his deceafed
filler with humid eyes, gained the

refolution to break the fatal fealj
and, with a throbbing heart, read as
follows;

6 EMILY TO HORATIO.

i Can I, or dare I, put down on
paper the guilty indiferetions of my
paffc life ? Oh, Horatio! only bro¬
ther of my foul! perufethe errors of
the once-innocenr Emily with leni¬
ty— with companion of heart; and
do not upbraid and load my memory
with curfes! for when you behold
thefe lines, written in the agony of
affliction, the tyrant Death will have
taken this emaciated form to that
happy bed of reft, where— perhaps
unpitied — 1 may deep in quiet!

4 Well, well do I remember with
what fond affection you kiflfed away
my flowing tears, and prefflff me to
your heart, when my beloved father
led me to the open arms of my
mother; confenting to let me ac¬
company his After, Mrs. Dickfon,
to London. Fatal confent ! for
from that dreadful hour has followed
all the mifery of the now-wretched
Emily !

4 In the bufy feenes of the gay
metropolis, I became immerfed in
all its fafluonable gaieties: a coquet
without knowing it, I ftill purified
with eager avidity its luxuriant plea¬
sures, to the infinite delight of Mrs.
Dickfon, who was a pr defied lady of
the haut ton. Still in an hour of
languor a thought of the rural fhades
of Afhton-grove would crofs my
mind, and caufe a figh to fwell my
bread for its worthy inhabitants. — ■
But could I refill the fweet deli¬
rium of being the favourite oft a
throng of youthful beaux and belles ?
No!

4 My little flock of fortitude
forfook me, and I funk fainting on
the bofom of my beauteous inis,
when mv kind father wrote me word
that, if it was agreeable to me, £
might fitav with the bewitching Mrs,
Dickfon the enfuing winter. Mv

317

Augufta and Emily ; a Tale .

heart drongly throbbed, my temples
beat with violence, and only under
the preffure of the beautiful foft
hand of Inis could they gain com-
pofure. ......

4 Mifs Randolph was the fincerq
friend of her falle Emily. Oh, be¬
loved Inis! methinks 1 now behold
thy foft angelic countenance beam¬
ing with animating fweetnefs on
thy deftroyerl thy cruel, cruel Emi¬
ly! Inis, when I firft beheld her,
was the foie furviving offspring of a
numerous family, and under the
guidance of a mod worthy relation
of her deceafed mother. She was
not rich nor handfome, yet there
was that inexpredible fomething in
her foft fpeaking eye which made
her more than beautiful — more than
all that is lovely. Inis, dear Inis!
if thou art permitted to look down
from thy bleffed abode on thy defo¬
late Emily, gaze on my altered
fra ne with pity, and fend forth one
of thy dder-feraphs to animate this
aching bread with comfort! Ah!
dare 1 to afk thee, beatified faint! to
pity thy fubtle friend? No: the
blood freezes cold to my heart; my
dififened fingers deny to trace more
at this moment than that I am mod
wretched! Farewell, till the pangs
are pad which rend it to defpair and
madnefs!

* # # # #

c The tafk is heavy, yet I mud
fubmit : the druggie is over, and 1
now mild unfold the fecret thoughts
which agitated this guilty foul!

6 Captain Jenkins was introduced
to me by Mrs. Dicklon, as an objeff
worthy of gaining. Fie was young,
handfome, and engaging; and heir
toafplendid fortune when he attain¬
ed his twenty-third year. 1 played
away all my little dock, of arts to
gain the affeffion of this graceful
hero, but in vain ; for foon (ah,
foon!) did 1 perceive that mifs
Randolph’s penfive finite and firm

plicity of manner had more en¬
twined thbmfelves around his vir¬
tuous bread than all that I could do.
Mv fpirits tqok the alarm: I could
not bear to fee my humble friend,
with her moderate fbare of beauty,
eclipfe me, the reigning toad ; but
differed the fiend jeajoufy to enter
my bread, and like a flaming torch
it fired my heart.

4 Alfred Jenkins now fprfook me,
and in the amiable Inis’s chains fad
was held, She loved him with the
mod qrdept pallion ; and quickly
would their fpotlefs loves have been
riveted in Hymen’s bands, had I
not infufed into the unfufpeffing
mind of ALfred fufpicions injurious
to the honour of Inis, refpeffing
her and a young attorney, whom, as
a fider ward, die had been brought
up with.

* Frederick Santer was mod
amiable, mod engaging; and, ju the
tender friendfhip of the blooming
Inis, forgot the fhafts aimed by in¬
gratitude. For poor Frederick, by
the ill matured few, had been cruelly
treated: his fpirits, lefs manly than
feminine, could ill fupport a fliock
which a bolder heart would perhaps
have dnuidered at; and, had not the
kind, mifs Randolph fupported him
in his languid hours, by her mild
jeffons of piety and refigpation, the
confequences in all probability
would have proved fatal, and the
worthy Santer have fallen a devoted
viffim to the foul tongue of ca*
lumny.

4 Inis truded me, her Emily, with
the fecret workings of her foul.
Her own boioin free from every fail¬
ing, die did not fufpeff but that
mine was equally as pure; but I
(wretched I!) deluded her, and in
an evil hour dabbed her peace for
ever, and brought her — an angel ! — *
to the early tomb. On her lover I
doated to didraff ion, nay maiinefsj
but when I beheld his eves fo be-
witchingly animated when addreffing

8 1 $ Augujla and Emily ; a Tale.

the mild Randolph, and fo contrary
when add re fling me, my pride took
the alarm, my bofom heaved with
** contending emotions,” and I
fwor<° to have my revenge.

* From the time that I difclored
the horrid tale to Jenkins, a fettled
melancholy took pofleflion of his
mind; his eyes, no longer fparkljng,
were conflantly fixed on the ground;
and, when his once rubv lips un-
clofed, he uttered the murmurings
of a diftradfed foul. Yet he revealed
not the fufpicions infufed into hitn
to the agitated maid, but buffered
her to remain ignorant of the caufe,
ignorant of the wound his heart
had received. At length, in one
dreadful hour, he caught Frederick
fupporting her in his arms. He
ruffled upon him, drew his fword,
and pierced him to the heart; then,
branding the diftradted, though in¬
nocent, caufe of his mifery with
infamy, fell upon the reeking wea¬
pon, and clofed his own life — a
prey to the infldious arts of a fubtle
wqman!

# # # . #

* # #

* Long, long did the unfortunate
mifs Randolph exift a mourning
maniac, to load my fight with the
crimes I had been guilty of, in bias¬
ing her peace for ever. She breath¬
ed no figh, fhe {bed no tear ; yet her
wretchednefs preyed heavy upon her
fragile form, and only ended in her
death.

4 When the news firfF reached
me of my once-loved Inis’s death,
my heart felt freed from a heavy
weight wjiich it could ill fupport,
and fmiles again revelled on my
countenance to betray the unthink¬
ing. Ah! why was I born, if not to
live virtuous ? But let me not re¬
pine : his pad — ’tis over — and only
the barbed arrow is left in this
biftratded heart! But to return.

* A twelvemonth paifed, and my
regretted fire breathed his fail, leav¬

ing me a fmali fortune, which was
inadequate to fupport my numerous
wants. England now to me was
hateful ; and, under the protection
of the volatile Mrs. Dickfon, I tra¬
velled to the continent. My miltaken
aunt foon left me for, I truft, a
better world ; and i then remained
alone in Venice, the voluptuous
Venice.

4 Misfortunes had changed my
perfon and foftened my heart; mild
tendernefs and feeling companion
alone reigned there, and gained me
the affections of Edwin Lewis, an
Englifh gentleman of a prepoflefling
and mild exterior, joined to the moff
profound knowledge, which he had
improved by travelling and the fenfi-
ble converfe of the moft enlightened
men. For him I felt not that ardent
aftediion I had done for the regretted
Alfred: no, the paflion which the
worthy Lewis infpired was refpedt,
which foon ripened into a pure at¬
tachment never to be fevered till
death fhould part us, perhaps for
ever!

4 Emily, my fweet blooming Emi¬
ly, was our only offspring, and un¬
der the tender care of her father fhe
pafied her early years. Happy to'
appearance, in the repofing care of
my adoring hufband, I fpent eleven
years; and when thefe watching
eyes beheld the lad fight of my
beauteous Lewis, I fwooned, and
continued for eight months a prey fQ
wretchednefs, till the innocent footh-
ings of my child recalled me, and I
then felt what it was to be deprived
of an adoring partner.

4 1 now quitted Venice, the fcene
of my mifery, and palled into the
romantic wilds 6f Fi ance ; where
chance led my ffeps to the fweet
retired dwelling of madamede Per-
pignon, a woman whom to defcribe
would be impoflibie, fo lovely, fo
fafcinating, was fhe. To her I told
my ftory ; yet fodifguifed it, that
to this hour file believes me fpotlefs*

319

Matilda; a Drama .

Nay, do not undeceive her: let one
at lead revere me.

4 Now, Horatio, this bleeding
heart has difciofed its forrows, I will
fpeak of my child, the image of my
tweet Lewis! Oh, Horatio! brother
of my affections!' fpurn not the
tender girl ; but clafp her to your
heart, and teach her to tliun her
mother’s fatal condu£t. Rear her
an Inis, but warn her not to refemble
her mother.- Horatio, ’tis hard,
’tis painful, for me to fay farewell!
yet it mud come. Oh, brother!
prote6l mv child, mv Emily, who
mud not fuffer for mv crimes! —

Remember ’tis my lad requeft. —
Farewell, kind Horatio, farewell!

4 Thy devoted fider,
c Emily Lewis.’

(To he continued.')

MATILDA ; * DRAMA.

(Continued from p. 252.)

. J

Act II.. — Scene I.

Herman , alone.

TLTr. Wodmar is not here: I fup-
■*■*■*■ pofe he was tired of waiting,
and went away.

Scene II,

Tided mar, Matilda , Amelia, Herman,

Louifa.

Wodmar ( following Amelia and
Matilda ). Fly me not, madam. —
I afk onlyone moment. Condefcend
to facrilice it to the tender attach¬
ment I feel towards you.

Amelia. The honourable views
you have declared to Matilda mud
certainly, fir, enfure to you her ut-
mod edeem; but die has not con¬
cealed from you that fhe cannot give
you her heart in return for yours;
anddnce your lad converfation with
her, 1 do not believe that fhe has
changed her femiments.

Wodmar. Permit me to afk the
young lady herfelf whether die has
condefcended to confider my pro-
pofals ?

Matilda . They were certainly of a
nature to merit my attention — but —
I caimot accept them.

Wodmar. You hate me, then,
lovely Matilda ?

Matilda. I hate no perfon.

Wodmar. Are you happy ?

Matilda . I can fubmit to what is
my fate.

Wodmar. Do you flatter yourfelf it
will one day be lefs feyere ?

Matilda. Thofe who have no hope
mud be wretched indeed.

Wodmar. The count, your father,
is expelled to arrive to-day?

Matilda. He is, fir.

Wodmar. And he has renewed
thofe orders which place between
you and him an infurmountabie
barrier.

Herman {eagerly). How, fir! —
Can you imagine -

Wodmar. I cannot doubt it. The
daughter of count d’Orlheim, banidi-
edto the mod remote apartment of
themanfion, is feparated from him
by a grate and an iron door, which
none dare open till his departure;
by the mod rigorous injunction
never to appear in his prefence; by
a prohibition to the whole family to
fpeak in her favour, or even to pro¬
nounce her name. I know every
thing. My curiofity may be thought
reprefyenfible ; but humanity, but
love, are its motives and its excufe.
Deared Matilda, you are rejected,
deferted, profcribed! — You weep!
Alas!— pardon me. Judge me by
my heart, and forgive the harfli
means which necefiity compels me
to have recourfe to. Your father
comes, and in his train hatred and
contempt for the unfortunate Ma¬
tilda, who is condemned to confine¬
ment and grief. Yet VYodmar is
at your feet ; Wodmar, who adores
you, who wifbes to refcue ycu from

SCO Matilda;

your fate, who offers you his hand,
his fortune, his heart. Say but the
wdrd, and I Will fpeak to the count,
and perhaps I may obtain his con-
lent. You fhall 1^0 lodger languifli
aiid fuffer: you (ball be refiored to
the rank to which you were born,
and my Whole life fha'li be dedicated
to the obliterating from your me¬
mory the unmerited perfecution
your innocence has differed.

«r

Lfiuija ( aft!.;. ) . The gentleman, it
cannot be doubted, means very An¬
te rely and generouflv.

Amelia, You certainly, fir, have
Undeniable claims to our gratitude.

Herman. You feem to deferve to
be happy.

Matilda l much emharrajjed ) . I can¬
not, fir, but be fenfible of your ge-
nerefity ; but I depend on a father —

VYodmar (eagerly'). You will theii
permit me to loiicit his content; and
if he grant it, you promife. -

Matilda '( hajllly ). No — ( Checking
herj'elj^ and Timch confujed.) I — I —
promife nothing.

JVddwlar (with warmth). But if
your heart is free, if you do not
hate me, fuffer me to refcue you
from vour prefent fituation, and ter¬
minate your fufferings; with which
I reproach myfelf, which render me
miferabie, and of which, in fine, I
am the caufe.

All {-with the great eft furprife). You !

Amelia. What have yob faid ?

Herman. Explain yourfelf.

Wodmar. I caijiiot. . Honour for¬
bids me to fpeak. 1 am innocent,
yet culpable. I am the vi6tim of a
crime which I have not committed,
and which enchains me ih its fearful
bonds. You alone can give me the
power and the right to make repara¬
tion for this crime. Matilda, have
pi tv on yourfelf and on me — fave
vourfeif from negledf and di (grace —
fave me from real or fe and defpair.

- — Be rffine.

Matilda. I cannot comprehend,
fir, what part you can have in my

a Drama.

Li • ? , ' v ; ^

griefs; it is a tnyttery which I dcs
not even defire to penetrate. 1
thank you for the intereft you
take in my fituation. 1 am fenfible
to the proofs of can efieem which un¬
happily 1 Can only repay with.mv
gratitude. But I muff refute my
confent to your adting in the naan
her you propofe; for I cannot ac°
cept your hand. Be happy ; but
wuh another. I wifli it, and you
deferve it. As to nrty misfortune, it
may be mitigated. A father will
not always be inexorable: Heaven,
I truft, will infpire mine with com-
paffion. Should my fate not change,
I fhall be able to fub'mit to it. A
pure confidence and a blamelefs life
are cotifolations under fuffering ;
courage familiarifes us with it, and
death is its termination.

JHodmar. Me too, believe me,
courage fhall never for fake. Love
Audi redouble its force, and I will
prevent you from prefenting to the
inhuman pity of mankind the fpec-
tacle they admire of virtue drug*
gling with adverfity, and which they
tell us Heaven views with compla¬
cency. But this is a calumny agai n ft
Heaven in which I will not join.

I will call it to witnefs that in defpite
of your father, and, if necefiary,
even of yourfelf -

Scene III.

Amelia , Matilda, IHodmar, Herman j
Louifa, Phihp.

Philip. A courier who precedes
the count has this moment alighted
in the avenue. My matter Will im¬
mediately arrive, and Mr. Erneft is
gone to meet pirn.

Matilda. My father! Oh, Hea¬
ven! Let u$ be gone. Happy Er-
nett !-r— Unhappy Matilda! —

[ She retires with Amelia.

Herman (accompanying them.) . How
much do I lament your fituation,
and fympathife in all you I fufferings !

JJ od mar (looking after them ) . tjil- ■

Matilda ; a Drama .

fortunate Matilda! And of your
misfortunes I am the caufe!

Louifa ( afide , looking at Wodmar) .
He flays. What is his intention?

Herman (to Wodmar, ‘with a kind
of ensbarraffment). The count, on his
arrival, will, no doubt, come into
this faloon.

Wbdmar. And as I mu ft fpeak
with him, I fliall remain here.

Herman. This may not be the fa¬
vourable moment. Do not expofie
yourfc-lf, fir.

Wodmar ( haughtily ). How!- — -
{Checking himjel, ) . The count fliall
fee me. My fate depends on him;
but his alfo depends on me.

Herman. I fliall fay no more. —
{ Afide) . Fa ta 1 interview! — {To Lou-
i)a). Endeavour to perfuade him to
go. A woman may perhaps obtain
what he refufes to my intreaties.

I He retires to the bottom of the ft age.

Scene IV.

IWoumar, Louifa.

Wodmar {afide). Let me calm, if
polhble, my troubled mind y I have
need of all my reafon.

Louifa {afide). This gentleman has
feme very excellent qualities; but
he feems to be too hafty, and a little
inclined to obflinacy. — {Aloud). Per¬
mit me, fir, to reprefent to you- -

Wodmar. You have heard what I
faid to Mr. flerman : 1 perfiit in
my resolution.

Loiiifa. I have done, fir!

[Offering to go'; Wodmar flops her.

Wodmar. Your name is Lou i fa, I
think ; is it not ?

Louifia. Yes, fir.

Wodmar . You were brought up
with the beauteous Matilda, in this
old caflle, which the eountefs, her
mother, inhabited for ten years?

Lou l fa. I was born here, fir.

Wodmar. Matilda loves you, and
honours you with her confidence?

Loiiifa. I hope, fir, 1 am not un-
deferving of if.

Wodmar. There is here a very

Vol. XXXIV.

321

obliging and deferving young man,
of the name of Philip, to whom I
believe you are not abfolutely indif¬
ferent.

Louifa {fniling). You feem to be
very well informed, fir.

Wodmar. Oh, perfectly fo !

Louifa. What may be the mean¬
ing of all thefe queftions?

Wodmar. That if you will promote
my inte'refts with the amiable Matil¬
da, my gratitude fliall be boundlefi ;
and you and Philip, who, it is faid,
are foon to be married, fhail have no
reafon to repent that you have ferv-
ed me.

Louifa. I beg, fir, you would fay

no more.

Wodmdr. I am naturally not defi¬
cient in generality, and when fer-
vices of fuch importance are render¬
ed me — •

Louifa. But I, if I oblige any per-
fon, always do it difin t ere fled iy.

Wodmar. That is not very common.

Lon fa. But it is very right.

Wodmar. It may be fo. But
young ladies in your {filiation fre¬
quently have opportunities to be¬
come acquainted with fee rets.

Louifa . If I have 1 am able like-
wife to keep them ; nor do I ever
endeavour to difeover what it is not
wifiied that 1 fhou'l'd know.

Wodmar . You are very Angular.

Louifa. \ hope not; that would be
little credit to my lex.

Wodmar. Mr. Erneft I believe fees
Matilda every day : fhe admits him
to the moft familiar intimacy?

Louifa. Mr. Jim eft is her cou fin,
fir.

Wodmar. That will not prevent
her from thinking him agreeable.

o o

Louifa. Certainly not; it *s only
neceflarv to look on him to think iq.

He has very fine expi eflive eyes.
Wodmar. Oh, you have noticed

his eves ! have you ?

Louifa. With pleafure, and with¬
out clanger. But, fir, you take a
ufeleE trouble ; neither your quel-
2 T

322

Parlfian Fajhions.— London Fajhiom.

tions nor yonr promifes will obtain
any thing of me. I (hall only fay,
\rhat I think I ought to fay, I am
neither to be gained nor dazzled.
I attend to my own bufinefs, and
not to the fecrets of others. I am
not fitted for intrigue. I believe
that you are generous and deferving
of Matilda. Do not degrade your
character by endeavouring to^ de-
bafe mine. I refpeft you greatly,
but I cannot ferve you in the man¬
ner you feem to wifh. The moft
effectual fervice that I can render
you, in my opinion, would be to
perfuade you to leave this apart¬
ment before count d’Orlheim comes.
Whether with reafon or not, he is
faid to be much prejudiced againft
you. Do not provoke a difagreeable
explanation, I conjure you ; and if
you fincerely love Matilda, give her,
in your refpedt for her father, the
moft certain proof of your love for
herfelf.

Wodmar . I adore Matilda, I re-
fpe<ft count d’Orlheim, and I fhall
always efteem yourfelf for the pro¬
priety of your condu6L

Louifa. I only do my duty. I
bear a noife. Some one is coming.
No doubt it is the count.— ( Afide )
I am curious to fee how they will
meet, and hear what they, will fay to
each other.

Wodmar. Let me not forget that
he is' unhappy, and by my fault. —
He comes. How my heart palpi¬
tates ! What an afcendancy muft
he have over us, the very fight of
^vhom enforces a blufti !

(To be continued .)

' ' * . ■

PARISIAN FASHIQNS.

(Wifh an Engraving elegantly coloured.)

AD-drefles in hair, turned up
and plaited behind, are ftil{ in
vogue. Yellow flraiu hats} plain or

pearled , are much worn. An attempt
has been made to introduce flat cor*
nettes, a-la-payfanne. For hats, the
colours white, green, and lilac, are
ftill in favour. Turbans, which are
become fomewhat rare, are worn
more over one ear than another ;
fometimes aimoft the whole of one
fide of the head is left uncovered.
Double colereties, in the Englifh fa-
fhicm, are frequent; as are round
robes trimmed with three rows of
ribband. Robes with long trains
are rarely to be feen. The only
lhawls in fafhion are long fhawls.
They are worn fufpended to the
neck, and are of Cafhmire, refem-
bling Cafhmire, or, at lead, bordered
with Cafhmire. The ribbands in
vogue are ftriped deep-green and
apple-green.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Full DreJJes .

A short robe and petticoat of
white crape over white farcenet,
the petticoat made very long and
trimmed round the bottom with fil-
ver chefs ; the robe made fhort in
front with a handkerchief corner
behind, the fronts drawn full acrofs
the bofom and- looped down with a
diamond ornament ; the fleeves
ihort and plain with full epaulets, the
whole trimmed with filver or gold
chefs. A bandeau of diamonds or
pearls through the hair with a whole
bird of paradife feather fixed on the
right fide.

A dreft> of patent net worked with
gold, the body plain and very lov/ in
the back, drawri round the bofom
with a l^ce tucker. The fleeves or¬
namented with gold cord and tafiels;
the whole ornamented with gold
trimming; the hair drefled and orna¬
mented with a gold bandeau and
flowers.

Enginvcd tor the Ladies Magazine , June 1803

MutLew Sc. Jtufjrcll Cc

323

Detached Thoughts •

Promenade DreJJes .

A round drefs of white muflin,
with a plain habit fhirt of cambric,
fhawl of variegated filk net, ftraw
bonnet with a flower.

Round drefs of plain pink Italian
farcenet, with a habit (flirt of work¬
ed muflin and lace, fhawl of white
muflin, hat of white filk turned up
in front and ornamented with a yel¬
low7 fancy flower; the hair drefled
full over the face, with a diamond or
pearl comb in front.

1 lead DreJdS.

A bonnet of pink filk with a white
lace front, a full double crown finifli-
ed on the top with a bow and tied
under the chin with pink ribband.

A ribband and ftraw hat, the rib¬
band in diamonds, and the ftraw in
beads, turned up in front and orna¬
mented with a flower.

A turban of white fatin and crape
ornamented with a plume of white
oftrich feathers,

A hat of white fatin trimmed all
over with beads, with two oftrich
feathers.

A hat of yellow filk covered with
black lace, a yellow oftrich feather
in front.

A cap of pink filk, and net tied
under the chin with pink ribband,
and covering the left fide of the face.

A morning bonnet of ftraw or
chip.

A cap of white lace, with a bunch
of rofes in front.

A ftraw hat with a double front,
turned up before and ornamented
with a flower.

General Olfervatlons ,

The prevailing colours are blue,
lilac, rofe, and pea-green. A hand¬
kerchief has been introduced called
the nun’s handkerchief {fichu reli -
gieufe ) made of embroidered muflin,
with open work in front ; tied round
the neck, and trimmed with net.
The fhawl pztijje, defcribed in our
laft, is much worn in drefles. Laftre

draws, either all luftre, or mixed
with chip or Leghorn, chiefly of
the fmall Obi (hade, are among the
fpring novelties. The other hats,
the moft general, are the Ample
gypfey, called the merry gypfey,
of plain white chip, trimmed with
puffings of white or blue ribband,
and tied under the chin: alfo the
converfation hat, covering one ear,
made of farcenet or muflin of va¬
rious colours, and ornamented with
a wreath of flowers.

DETACHED THOUGHTS.

BY VOLTAIRE.

TTonour is the inftinH of Virtue,
A A and the fource of her courage.

Pride performs as many ignoble
offices as rapacity.

The vi£tim of misfortune is con-
foled, if he believes himfelf cele¬
brated.

Good company is a difperfed re¬
public, fome ofwhofe members one
occafionally meets with.

The imagination proceeds in a
gallop, the judgment in a walking
pace.

There is no mifer alive who has
not formed the intention of living
expenfively at fome future time :
death comes, and corffigns the execu¬
tion of his project to his heir.

It is faid of beggars that they are
never out of their road, becaufe they
have no fixed abode. It is the very
lame with perfons who difpute with¬
out being poflefled of determinate
notions.

Converfation is the communica¬
tion of our foibles.

A dull man is the torpedo of fo-
ciety, and a man of imagination a
contagious flame.

* Mifers reftmble mines of gold
which produce neither flowers nor
foliage.

Honour is the diamond that Vir¬
tue wears on her finger.

2 T a

[ 524 ]

POETICAL ESSAYS.

PROUD DUMPER LINR\

THE CASTLE ON THE WOLD 5

A GOTHIC TALE.

{Concluded from page 270.)

Dor many nights in vain he went,

A His life became a weight ;

And oft he’d in his cell lament
The harlhnefs of his fate.

Although fo near him Many is,

He knew not truly where :

The captain often (wore that his
Should be the maiden fair.

One ftormy eve thefe robbers bold
Some travellers waylay :

Their force was equal — when, behold !
The robbers' troop gave way.

They fled in fear acrofs the dell,

And Allwin now del Cried
A proper time to quit them well,

As o’er the vale they hied.

Full foon a thicket’s gloom he gain’d,
And, fhelter’d there, kept flili
Till afl were pail,- — then foon regain’d
The cottage on the hill;

Where dwelt his aged parents clear,

Now worn with grief And’ dread;

For All win oft they d opt a teai ,

They mourn’d, and thought him dead.

Loud blew the blaft, the rain hard beat,
No light the cafements held ;

He knock’d, and foon, with tranfport
fweet.

His time-worn fire beheld.

His prefence now their hearts reviv’d,
His {lory ’s quickly fold ;

A.nd foon as early morn arriv’d,

He from the cottage ft roll'd.

To gain afliftance was his aim ;

A little village near
Afforded what he v/rfh’d to claim- — -
Some men who knew not fear.

A chofen band, by Allwin led,

March’d off without delay ;

They fwore to fight till all were dead.

Or conquerors come away.

The caftle foon appear’d in fight,

And, as they nearer drew,

Each heart beat high to win the fight,
And extirpate this crew.

Full foon they reach’d the caftle-wall ;

They fiient pac’d along;

They pafs’d the entrance, pafs’d the hall,.
In confcious virtue ftrong.

They heard at length the noify horde ;

A feaft they feem’d to hold ;

In bumpers large the health they roar’d
Of Sigifmund the Bold.

The caufe brave Allwin knew too well f
His Mary’s heav’nly charms
This day were doomM to quit their cell.
For Sigifmund’s curs’d arms.

To celebrate the union vile,

He gave this pamper’d treat ;

And now he went, with ghafily fmile.
The heav’n-born maid to meet.

The drunken gang tumultuous came,
With Sigifmund along;

To Mary’s cell their way they frame—
A roaring, reeling throng.

But ere they reach’d poor Mary’s cell.
The darkfome paffage wound.

Where Allwin’s parry, hidden -well.
Were lifl’ning all around.

Attentive now, brave Allwin’s men
Awaited his command ;

He gave the word, and eager, then,
They charg’d the robbers’ band.

The battle rag’d ! each nervous blow
Pafs’d quick from fide to fide:

But foon the bandit’ chief's laid low;

By Allwin’s hand he died l

In oaths his lateft breath he fpent ;

Curs’d all he mod defir’d ;

Curs’d heav’n and earth, with brow
ftern bent ;

Then, with a groan, expir’d !

The rebbers now, their chieftain’s dead.
Explor’d their g!o©my way ;
Through fubferraneous vaults they fled,
In terror and difinay.

Purfu’d by Allwin’s heroes brave,

Full many met their fate;

The reft kneel down, and mercy crave.
Though mercy was their hate*

POETRY*

Meantime young Allwin pac’d around.
In fearch of Mary dear;

When loon her prifon-door he found,
And burft it ope’ in fear.

Ekoedting Sigifrnund accurs’d,

Her thoughts on Allwin bent,

His wretched Mary fear’d the worft,
With l'orrow aim oft fpent.

A bed of llraw alone fhe had.

Where ftretch’d it: dread Hie lay;

Her bofom heav’d, her heart was fad,
Her face was turn’d away.

A- glirrrpfe he caught — with tranfport
fix’d, "

His heart with joy beat high;

With anguilh keen it ftill was mix’d,
•A) thas he law her lie.

When Mary neard the door unclofe,

In piteous tone fhe cried —

€ Oh! take me, Heav’n, to thy repofe,
Ere I ffiotfld be his bride !’

Yqung Ail win heard ; his heart reviv’d ;

He fprang acrols the cell :

At Mary’s feet he knelt, depriv’d
Of utterance to tell

The joyful tidings he had brought
To Mary and her friends ;

But foon tc :ch he gave each thought,

And no" if filer, ce ends.

* Dear Mary !* he exclaim’d, ( behold

Your AHwin at your feet :

No more (hall Sigifmund the Bold
Invade your ions retreat :

* For, cradled in the arms of death,

Ilis paffions are at red ;

And, though he curs’d with his laft
breath , v

Oh, may he join the bleft 1’

Fond Mary turn’d — on Allwin gaz’d —
Then fainted in his arms :

She foon reviv’d, yet. Sill amaz’d,

Her heart beat love’s alarms.

Allur’d of fafety by her love,

More eafy now fhe grew :

He told her how each party drove : —

‘ They drove, my love, for you 1

* But faith and virtuous valour prov’d

Too ftrong for thi vile data ;

Our caute was juft — -kind Heav’n ap¬
prov’d,

And favour’d our weak plan.’

While thus he fondly told each thought,
His men came vi&ors there,

And Mary’s parents with them
brought, — •

A weaken’d, woe-worn pair.

To paint the feene which follow’d here,,
Too weak the poet’s pen :

A feene to reeling ever dear ! —

To good and virtuous men !

Their raotures o’er, now Reafon bled,

I 9 r

Exerted her mild fway ;

And Allwin, by each parent prefs’d.
Ne’er knew a happier day.

Towards his father’s houfe he led
The joyous, happy train ;

For Mary’s fire nor houfe nor bed
Could boad upon the plain.

By fire his houfe and goods deftroy’d,-— .

’Tvvas hard to be endur’d :

His lands remain’d; and, overjoy’d.

He found his herds fecur’d.

Now each one gain’d a night’s repofe.
Quite free from dire alarms ;

And Sol ftill found them when he rofc.
Fall lock’d in Sleep’s foft arms.

Ref refix’d and happy they awoke,

To them all Nature l’mil’d ;

They met — of dangers paft they fpokej
And thus their time beguil’d.

Their kind deliverer they blefs’d ;

Their hatred was remov’d ;

And, by their own confenr, he prefs’d
The maiden whom he lov’d.

Th-ey now confefs’dthat wealth was vainj
That pride was vainer ftill ;

That riches could not joy obtain.
Without their Maker’s will.

By Aihvi.i urg’d to name the day.

And make his joy complete,

A month was doom’d to pals away
In preparation fweec.

Meanwhile .he captive robbers met
\ juft, but wretched, fate :

Kind Pity’s eyes with tears were wet ;
She mourn’d their haplefs ftate !

Hours, days, and weeks, crept flowly on ;

A ling’ring month it feem’d ;

And Allwin hail’d the happy morn,

As giorioufly it beam’d.

A rev’rend father join’d their hands ;

The marriage vow was made ;

And, bound in Hymen’s ffiken bands.
Their toils were all repaid.

Their wedded life in pleafure fled ;

Nor want nor woe they knew;

A cherub otf-pring blefs’d their bed ;

In peace each moment flew.

April 2, i Sol.

J. M. L,

POETRY

SONNETS.

T. THE VILLAGE SABBATH.

*1 ■'he farm houfe left, rrom upland hills
and dells

The ruftic troop crowd through the
church-yard lane ;

With lively chime refound the bufy bells,
wind their footfteps to the ivy’d
fane.

JJiefs d in their Sunday fliocs, their
milk-white frock,

The lifping younkers trudge with
fhining face ;

Che curate, watchful fhepnerd of his
flock,

Smiles on his charge with unaffefted
grace.

His partner, do&refsof the peafant train,

Her offspring by, fhowers bleflings as
fhe goes ;

Their little hands huge books of prayer
fuftain,

Their cheeks more ruddy than the
damafk. rofe !

Bleft emblems of the golden age !•— how
few

Scenes of tranquillity, like yours, pur-
fue.

May 13. E. S.

ij.

The ncifv din of day was o'er,

Sol fank beneath the weft;

I ftroll’d along the Medway’s lliore ;

All Nature was at reft.

The peaceful eve fucceeded day,

No zephyr curl’d the tide ;

The fainteft, feebleft, twilight ray.

Was now my only guide.

* This fcene,’ I cried, ‘ might foothe the
mind

Of mifery and grief;

Pale forrow here a balm would find,
The tortur’d foul relief.

T would lull the care-worn form to reft,
Make woe forgot, and anguilh blefs’d/

J. M. L.

THE WAR-WORN SAILOR.

Dehold l with many a fear, in peace,
The war-worn failor come,
Trufting to find, in health and eafe,

His wedded love at heme.

His children dear he hopes agattf
To clafp to his warm breaft :

■Mas • his hopes are all in vain ;
They’re number’d with the bleft f

He came, and found his offspring dead.
His wife of fenfe beguil’d ;

A fever’s fire, in all its dread,5
Left her a maniac wild.

She knew her Henry ! knew her mate £■
She funk down by his fide !

Her fenfe return’d — Alas, too late ?

She fhriek’d, fhe wept, and died !
April z, 1803. J. M. Lr

THE VIRGIN’S PRAYER.

* Qoddess of love !’ a virgin cried*-
‘ Oh, grant my ardent pray’r !
Grant I may foon become a bride,

A hulband’s love to fhare !

‘ marriages in heaven are made
(And lnoft believe they are),

May mine be free from forrow’s fhade.
From anger, and from care !

‘ May he with whom I join for iife
With temper mild be bleft !

May fad affliction, friend to ftrife.

E’er fly our home to reft !

May brawling dtfeord’s bitter fate
Ne’er wound our peaceful lives 1
I hope to be, with fuch a mate,

The happieft of wives !’

May 2, 1803. J.M.L*

LINES,

Addrejfed. to a young Gentleman.

TF you wiffl for a pleafant companion
A through life.

One deferving your fondnefs and care,

I can point out a maid that would mak&
fuch a wife, [Tquare.

And her dwelling’s near Finfbury-

Then now is the time, while fhe ’s An¬
gle and free,

To folicit her hand, and be bleft ;

For her fortune ’s immenfe, as it always
muft be [breaft*

Where virtue’s enthron’d in the

As to riches, they ’re baubles, and muft
not compare

With the beauties of perfon and mind;-
And the man who for wealth only va¬
lues the fair,

I pronounce a difgracc to mankind.

D. W«

POETRY. 327

EMMA.

npHE dimpled fmile on Emma’s cheek

**■ Sofr luftre fpreads around ;

Hei .rk-blue eye , have learnt to (peak,
And every word ’s a wound.

Her auburn locks in ringlets flow.

On her white bofom reft ;

O’erfhade a face unknown to woe,

In matchlefs beauty drefs’d.

Emma, benevolent and kind,

In native humour gay,

Of beauteous form and generous mind,
Come, — fmile our cares away.

Kingsland , 'June 6, 1803. J. M.

THE COTTAGE MAID.

"E'air Emma dwelt in yonder cot,

4 Far ihelter’d in yon woodland glade;

Content and virtue were the J )t
Of Emma fair, dae cottage maid.

An aged parent’s care to foothe,

She lent a widow’d mother aid ;

Repaid by-duty, love, and truth,

Hef1 ’mother — once the cottage maid.

A rill, low mu rm’ ring by the cot,
Meander’d through the woodland’s
{hade,

As proud to deck the pretty (pot

Where Emma liv’d, the cottage maid.

A foe to virtue in diftrefs,

(Whofe villain fmiies may forrow
fade !)

His tale of love would often prefs
On Emma fair, the cottage maid.

The tale (he heard, as truth believ’d ;
With virtuous love it was repaid :

His fiow’ry words and vows deceiv’d
An aftlefs girl, —the cottage maid.

No more the fprightly dance is feen, —
’Tis pity’s tear bedews the glade :

A villain’s art o’erlhades the fceue,

And mbs of peace the cottage maid.

King si And , June 6, 1803. J.M.

ON HEARING MARRIAGE RIDI¬
CULED BY A ’LIBERTINE.

arriage, thou ftite by gracious
Heaven defign’d,

Supreme of earthly bhfs. to human kind !

From God’s own lips the benedidfion
flow’d [flow'd.

On thy firft rites, and the firft pair be-

In later times, behold the nuptial fealt

By Jef us’ prefence dignified and grac’d.

The obedient water own’d his power
divine,

And at command blufh’d into gen’rous
wine.

High-honour’d union I anathemas wait

On the rafh man that mars thy happy
ftate ! Auto licl's,

Mile-End , June 13, 1803.

ODE FOR HIS MAJESTY’S
BIRTH-DAY, 1803.

BY H. FYE, ESQ.. POET-LAUREAI.

Y?kitaim, alas 1 has woo’d in vain,

^ Reluftant Peace! thy placid charm’s^
Compell’d, fhe treads once more th’en-
fanguin’d plain,

Where Fame, where Freedom, call’d,
aloud for arms.

Yret be awhile the battle’s found
In notes of feftive triumph drown’d;
Whether the fiends of Difcord fly
Portentous through the fiery fky,

Or, hound in fare’s coercive chain.
Howl ’mid th’ infernal feats in vain.

On this aufpicious day the Mufe,
Jocund, with grateful voice, her wont¬
ed theme purfues.

Amid the boaft of tyrant Pride,

1 he pomp of ftate, the arm’d array.
Can all the fhouts of Slavery hide,

Y hat (laves unwilling homage pay ■?
No force can fhield Ambition’s head 1
From noon-tide care, from midnight
dread,

When the ft ill monitor within
Searches th’ abode of blood and fin ;
While he who rules with virtuous fway.
Whom freemen glory to obey,

Sees every hue a ft thebulwarkof a throne.
His people’s fureft guard — its fiacre d
rights their own.

Then let the Mufe, with duteous hand.
Strike the bold lyre’s re (pan five
firings, [land.

While every tongue through Albion’s
Joins in the hymn of praife (he fings;
And Labour, from the furrowed plain.
And Commerce, from the billowy main.
With voice lymphonious, bid arife
That pureft incenfe to the (kies,

Above the proudeft wreath of Fame,
Which ever grac’d the vigor’s name,

A nation’s votive breath by truth con-
fign'd- [humankind!

To blefs a patriot king — the friend of

328 POETRY.

SEDUCTION'S TRIUMPH:

OR*

PHOEBE'S DESTINY.

Qad Phoebe mourns her haplefs fate,
^ To peace and virtue loft ;

Her youth was pafs’d in blilsful ftate,

By difcord never crofs’d.

Perfhafion grac’d Orlando’s tongue ;

For Phoebe’s heart he (bed ;

On all he fpake die fondly hung,

With tendernefs endued.

But, mark the villain’s artful plot !

A moment weak he feiz’d ;

Her virtue gone, he fled the fpot.

With h is fuccefs well pleas’d.

Bereft of friends, poor Phoebe grieves.

Ye affluent and humane,

Pier ev’ry hope to you ihe leaves ;

Pity her grief and pain.

May 2, 1803. J. M. L.

ANSWER

TO TPIE VALENTINE EPISTLE,

In the Magazine for April.

PEA R YOUTH,

HY alk me to beftow
A gift which long has been your
own —

A Ample heart, with nought to boaft
But conftancy to you alone ?
vA heart that once was gay and free
Till taken captive, love, by thee.

Three fummer funs this earth has feen
Since, my dear James, thy worth I
knew ;

Tho’ cheering Hope long fince has fled,
They’ve found me conftant ftill to
you :

Nor time nor chance a change (hall fee
In that poor heart that’s fix’d on thee.

Gay Mirth, with all its fmiling train.
Invites me to her willing arms j
But what, alas ! is Mirth to rne,

Or Pleafure’s fafcinating charms ?

No Mirth or Pleafure can I fee, — ■
Depriv’d of all I love, in thee.

By iieknefs and by grief opprefs’d, -
I thought of thee, tny heart to cheer ;
Religion pointed to the Ikies,

/ And bade me hope to fee thee there.
Conftant to death will Harriet be,

Aflci, dying, breathe a pray’r for thee.

Jy 4..

STATE OF EUROPE IN 1803.

wo nations at prefent all Europe
command ; [land : —

One governs the fea, and the other the
This fpreads its domain from the north
to the fouth, [the mouth ;

And lives, like a thief, from the hand to
While the other, like bees, with a well-
hoarded [lore, [ftill more.

To the eaft and weft ranges, to gather
In France moil are beggars, marauders,
or robbers ;

In England — directors, contractors,
flock -jobbers.

Thefe nations, once great, in their pride
and their glory,

Now talk of their greatnefs, but tell a
new ftory j

One ’s anxious for plunder, but fears to
get knocks ;

T’other fears to make war— for fear of
the flocks:

No matter if thoufands are fent to their
graves, [tion of flaves ;

Where a conful commands a whole na-
But in England the value of lives is com¬
puted

By annuities granted, transferr’d, or
commuted ;

Our glory and pride with the flocks rife
and fail,

’Tis0/»»^#zdetermine$ the fate or ns all ;
Then how vain about glory all pother or
fufs,

Since confuls govern them, and confab
govern us !

THE KISS AND THE BLUSH.

Y gentle Grace, I did but feek,
From offl that delicate fair chtek,
To fteal a kifs : and lo ! your face
All o’er with lhame and anger glows !
What have I done, my gentle Grace,

But turn’d a lily to a rofe ?

And well you know, \ye all declare
That face too delicately fair.

Your cheeks — your forehead too — were
flu fti’d !

Your neck, and e'en your bofom, blufh’di
And ftiame may claim the larger part
In that fair neck, and all above j
But the blufh fo near the heart,

O let it be a blufih of love ! ^

Pygmalion thus lit up with life,

The ftatue that became his wife,

l s.29 h .

"bed f’

' >

nient
,T ye

FOREIGN NEWS,

Cadiz, May 27.

ship that put in at Gibraltar brings
information that the greateft alarm
exifted at that place, in regard to the
difeafes which were making great ha-
vock on board the Englilh fquadron in
the Mediterranean, and of which the
infettion was dreaded.

Hamburgh , May 29. A levy of all
nicies from the age of j6 to the age
of 50 has been ordered in Hanover, but
has been attended withlcarce any clledt.
Whole villages refufe to fubmit to it,
while others take refuge in the terri¬
tories of Denmark or Hamburgh ; and
it is computed that within the Taft four
days 600 Hanoverians had arrived at
Hamburgh or Altona.

The duke of Cambridge, who diredfs
thefe preparations, wiftting, under the
exifting circumftances, that the oath of
fidelity to his father Ihould be taken,
found but five perfons in the city of
Zell who had taken that oath, and thefe
were even in the fervice of govern¬
ment.

I learn from good authority that five
Frenchmen have been arrefted : three at
Hanover, and two at Zell.

The greateft fermentation betides
prevails in the electorate of Hanover ;
archives, jewels, plate, all are packed
up, and ready to be removed. The
regency of Hanover had wilhed to dif-
patch its archives by Hildelheim, but
the count de Schuilembourg obje&ed to
receiving them.

It is -certain that the orders of the
regency with relpeCt to the enrolment
and the oath meet with much oppo-
fition, particularly in the cities. It has
been fo violent in the city of Luneburg,
that the magiftrates have been qbliged
to fhut the gates of the’eity. Reports
are alfo in circulation refpeding the
difturbances that have taken place at
Hanover from the fame caufe.

Hanover, May 31. The day before
Vox.. XXXIV.

yefterday, in the afternoon, the com*
mercul counfellor Brandes, lieutenant-
colonel Boch, and M. Von Bremer, fet;
out on a million (ft importance, fuppofed
to be the French head-quarters, to con¬
clude fuch a conventional arrangement
as may preferve this country from the
mifehiefs which muft enfue from 3.
French invafion.

Bremen, May 31. The French troops,
6000 ftrong, have entered Quacken*
bruck, and thence marched for the
neighbouring county of Diepholz, The
Hanoverian diftridl of Wildelhaufen,
which, by the plan of indemnities, has
been alligned to the duke of Olden-
burgh, has been pointed out by bound¬
ary marks fet up along the frontier.
We fiiall fee whether the French will
take their route through Wildelhaufen.

Boundary poles have likewife been
fet up along the frontiers of the ter¬
ritory of Bremen, with the word £ neu«,
trail ly on them.

The ftridteft difcipline is maintained
among the French troops, who condudt
themlelves with the utmoft decorum
and good order.

Berlin, May 31. It is underftood
that our fovereiga remains firm in his
refclution -not to intermeddle in the
difpute between England an,d France,
Should a Ruffian fquadron ^appear itt
the Baltic, it will only be to perform
fome cuftomary evolutions and marine
manoeuvres.

We hear nothing more of a cordon
ynder general Blueher. v

Bremen , 'June 1. Yefterday evening
about 8000 French arrived in the vi¬
cinity of Vechte, on the frontiers of
Diepholz : of thefe 300, which com-
pole the advanced guard, inftead of
palfing through Wildelhaufen, have
marched by Goldenftedt to Diepholz
and Hoya.

z. The accounts received here are no
longer of fo gloomy a nature as th?y

a U *

f Di ~
"’he 1

JMPH s

v reign 'News*

were. The French troop. ed, to
the number of 8000, are a ' epholz,
Vechte, and Cloppenburg, re they,
no doubt,- wait for teinfor.eyhlents be¬
fore they proceed furthef on their
march. /. We entertain gfeat hopes,
however, that an accommodation will
be effected by the deputation that has
been fent from Hanoyer to general
Mortier.

The French advanced troops have
fallen in with fome fmall Hanoverian de¬
tachments, but no hoftilities have taken
place. The principal force of the Ha¬
noverians is at Nien-berg.

The Hanoverian deputation which
has been fent to general Mortier, in the
vicinity of Vechte, has a French efcort
with it.

The French troops, according to the
lad accounts, have advanced through
Diepholz to the county of Hoya; they
are already at Suhlinger heath.

Our town has. received an aflurance
that it fhall fuffer no injury by the
march of the French troops. It is in¬
tended that two regiments fhall march
through the territory.; though this, if
poifible, will be avoided.

The French, it is faid, will pafs the;
Wefer at Hoy a.

A French corps is at Eperer, near
Diepholz, and the French troops are
only eleven and a half German miles
from Hanover. They have not yet di-
re6led their march towards the territory
of Bremen ; and the report that a ftrong
corps was advancing through the terri¬
tory of Bremen to Cuxhaven, and had
palled the Wefer at Bremerkhe, is en¬
tirely without foundation.

The Hanoverian deputies have arriv¬
ed at the French head-quarters. What
is faid of the conditions propofed is
mere report. In the mean time the
French appear to Hand Hill, and-even,
for the fake of more conveniently diftrG
buting themfelves, fomewhat to retreat;
an advanced part of them is, however,
cantoned in HarpHed.

Leghorn, June 1. Our city has been
declared in a hate of fiege, by order of
general Murat. All the Englilh who
refide here are on 'their parole as pri-
foners of war. Two fhips of the lame
nation, with their rich cargoes, have

already fallen into the hands of the
French. Cne of them was in the road,
ready to depart; and the other, not
being informed of the war, was taken
by a French privateer.

Banks of the Maine, June 8. We learn,
frorh Ratilbon that there has been re¬
ceived, at the didlatura of the diet, a
communication from the Hanoverian
rninikers, prefen ted by the fecretary of
the legation of Brunfwick Lunenburgh,
who provifronally difeharge here the
functions of minifter from that court.
The communication contains a decla¬
ration of the Hanoverian government
to this purport' : ‘ that the king of Eng¬
land, in quality of eledtor of Brunfwick
Lunenburgh, had propofed to confine
himfelf within the bounds of the ftridted
neutrality in the war between Great-
Britain and France, in the fame manner
as he did from the year 1795, till the con¬
clusion of the treaty of peace at Lune-
ville ; that the treaty there' concluded
between France on the one part, and
the emperor and empire on the other,
provided that no French army Ihould
in future enter the territories of Ger¬
many ; and that it was confequently
expected that .the Hanoverian Hates
would not be fubjedted to any part of
the burthen of this war, &c. The other
rninifters have taken this declaration ad
referendum. And it appears, from the
known difpofition of moll of them,
that the above communication will pro¬
duce no particular confequence, and will
only be inferred apud ada.

In fadl, the miniflers of Pruffia, Aus¬
tria, Bavaria, Wurterhburgh, the arch¬
chancellor, Ac. have already fpoken
out pretty plainly in regard to this affair,
in their private converfations, and at
particular meetings among themfelves.
They regard the conteft between France
and the Hanoverian government, as
vveli as the eventual occupation of the
king of England’s dominions in Ger¬
many, as matters in which the interefts
of the German empire can have no con¬
cern, if the French do not pafs the
frontiers of the eledlorate of Hanover.
Befides, the intention of the French
government not being to raife any pre-
tenfions to the final Sovereignty of that
country, but to occupy it till the re-

331

Foreign

: ^oration of peace with England,- it is
| impoffble to fee how the emperor and
empire can have any right of interpo-
fition in the affair.

Hague, June 8. . A courier arrived at
nine this morning from the army of
lieut.-gen. Mortier, with difpatches for
the Bureau of the poll of the army,
which were immediately forwarded to
Paris. It is known that Hanover and
Ofnaburgh have capitulated.

It has alfo been announced by letters
to the principal dire&or of the poll,
that a column of French troops has
been fent againft Hamburgh, and that
it has taken poffeffion of that city — fo at
lead it is fuppofed.

The Dutch fiff ing-fmacks, taken by
the Britifh veffels, have been releafed ;
and our government has been informed,
that the Hffery will not be molefled by
the Engliff cruifers1.

Brujfels , June 8. We are informed
from Rotterdam, that the Englifh fqua-
dron under the command of vice-admi¬
ral Thornborough, now cruifing at the
mouth of the Meufe, and within fight
of the coaft of Holland, has been aug¬
mented by the recent arrival of a
feventy-four-gun fhip of the line and
two frigates. The Englifh have a con-
fiderable naval force at the mouth of
the Texel and in the North Sea. No
hoflile attempt is, however, dreaded, as
the coafls have been every where put
in a good date of defence 5 and the in¬
trenched camp on the north point of
Holland, between the Helder and Cal-
lantfoog, is, from time to time, enlarged
by the arrival of new bodies of Batavian
troops.

According to this intelligence, the
Batavian government, which will take
an adlive part in the war againif Eng¬
land, is going to equip and arm a nu¬
merous fquadron, which, if neceflary,
will take part in an expedition againd
the coads of Britain. It is faid, that a
naval divifion will be formed in the
ports of Zealand.

General Rapp, aide-de-camp to the
ftrft conful, who, on Saturday lad, paded
through this city on his way to Holland
and to the head-quarters of the army
Under general Mortier, has already

di (patched from Nimeguen a courier to
governrhent. That courier paffed through
this city yederday, and proceeded with
the greatest expedition for Paris. Se-
verkl couriers from Paris have, within
thefe few days, paded through Bruffels,
on their way to Holland, to the French
head-quarters, and into Germany, with
difpatches, which, in the prefent fuuation.
of affairs, cannot but be of tfie greated
importance.

9. Letters from the Hague mention,
that Mr. L'idon, the Britifh ambaffador,
having obtained his paffpdrts, was yef-
terday to leave .that place, for Helvoet-
fluys, there to embark for England,
Letters of recal have been, likewife,
difpatched to M. Schimmelpenninck, the
Batavian ambaffador at London. His
immediate return is expedited. This
fa£t puts an end to every doubt that
might have been entertained in regard
to the participation of the' Batavian
republic in the prefent war. The go¬
vernment of that republic is now con¬
certing with that of France the mod
fuitable means for profecuting. the war
with vigour. The fame letters affure
us, that the commifiion which was fent
to Paris, to fubmit to the French go¬
vernment certain propofitions for the
neutrality of Holland, will be recalled,
as that meafure is no longer judged to
be neceffary. The works in the dock¬
yard, and other naval preparations, are
about to be pufhed forward with great
activity in the ports of Holland. Several
(hips, of the line, frigates, and other
veffels of war, will very foon be put in a
condition for fervice.

General of brigade Monnet, who has
the command at Fluffing and in the
iile of Waicheren, has put the coafts
in a good date of defence, and has alfo
provided for the fecurity of the road of
Fluffing.

The following is the circular letter
iffued by the Britifh vice-conful, at
Hamburgh, on the 2d.

‘ Gentlemen, you are required to
leave the port with your ff ips, and to
make fail in an hour, in order* that you
may take advantage of the tide to
Cuxhaven.

‘ E. Nicholas.*
jUi

t 332 ]

HOME NEWS,

'London, June 4.

esterday morning, at half paft
one o’clock, the Three Cranes pub¬
lic houfe, in Mile-End-road, was dis¬
covered to be on fire* which burned fo
furioufiy that in two hours the houfe
was burned to the ground before they
could procure any engine, get water,
®r gain admittance to the houfe to fave
any property, or the lives of the un¬
fortunate family, who fell a facrifice to
the flames* By four o’clock in the after¬
noon fix of the bodies of the unfor¬
tunate fufferers were dug out of the
ruins', which, although ftiockingly
burnt and mangled, are known to be
the bodies of Mr. Williams, the mafter
«f the houfe, his wife, her mother, and
three children. This unhappy fire is
fuppofed to have been occasioned by a
rope-match being left burning when
they went to bed. It being Bow fair,
they had company in the houfe till a
kte hour, and the men were lighting
their pipes with this match.

Dover, June to. Laft night* about
twelve, the Auckland packet, captain
Hammond* arrived here from Calais as
a flag of truce, and brought a courier
with difpatches to count Staremberg
and count Woronzow. The French
are faid to be building flat-bottomed
boats and gun- boats on a new con-
it'ru&ion* An order has been received
at Calais to march all the Engliih there
up to Valenciennes. The Englifh
packets, Sutton and Lattimere, are ftill
detained. The French row-boat pri¬
vateers begin to come over on our fhore
as foon as night comes on. They have
not made any capture of note.

Dublin , June 14. The La Bonne
Marie, from Port-yu- Prince to Bour-
deaux, captured- on the 7th ult. by his
majefty’s ihip Caroline, captain Page,
in lat. 46. 30. N. long. 9. 30. W.
Captain Page, fent Mtffrs. Stut and
Curran, nudfhiprrten, and fix men

6n board her, to carry her to port.
When off the Old Head of Kinfalc*
blowing a gale of wind and fqually, the
men were aloft taking in fail j when
the Frenchmen, being feven in number,
rufhed on deck, fei^ed Mr* Stut’s
fword, confined him in the cabin, and
had poffeffion of the fhip in about an
hour. When the Englillimen came 09
deck, Meffrs. Stut and Curran rufhed
out of the cabin, knocked the man at
the helm down, and fought man to
man for fome time on deck. At length,
a pilot hooker hove in fight, when the
Frenchmen defifted and were imme¬
diately fecured. Mr. Stut, the mid-
fhipman, is hurt above his eye, from a
llroke of a fword, but no way danger-
oufly. We are happy in being able to
claim one of the above young gentlemen:
(Mr. Curran) as a native of our own
country. We underhand he is a fon of
the celebrated barrifter of that name.

Plymouth, June 14. Catwater, the
eaftern arm of Plymouth harbour, is
now quite a wood of prizes and detained
Batavians j there is juft room enough
left for a paffage way. The number of
French prizes and Batavian fhips fent
into this port in three weeks, by the
sdtivity of our cruifers, is aftonifljing,
and amounted yefterday to 105 fail of
all deforiptions. The computed value
of vefifels and cargoes cannot be lefs
than a million and a half fterling, as
many of the Batavian cargoes coft in
Batavia from 40,000/. to 60,000 /. each,
as per manifeft, befides private ven¬
tures ; a circumftance unparalleled in
this or any former war ; for, befides
the lofs of private veffels, a confiderable
defalcation in the revenues of France
and Holland will be fuftained by the non¬
payment of the duties on importation.
One circtmaftance on board one of the
Batavian Eaft-Indiaman detained and
fent in, is particularly diftreffing: Two
Lurch young ladies, whofe parents had,

Home Newt.

333

$iied at Batavia, were coming to Europe
with their whole property and fortune
inverted in merchandife, to a confider-
able amount, and being profound peace,
of courfe not infured. The chance
of war, and perfidy of their country,
fent by our cruifers the fhi p into this
port, and of courfe their inveftments
will be, if condemned, prize to the
lucky captors.

15. The fkulking French row-boats,
from St. Maloes, Havre, Cherbourg,
&c. make fore work of taking prizes
on the coaft of Devon, &c. They are
equipped as fifhing boats, fail from their
own ports in the dufk of the evening,
and get clofe in with our coarts a little
before day-break,, where they lay to as if
fifhing, fhowing perhaps only two or
three men, the reft concealed : if a
vert'd, who runs it without convoy,
happens to near the land, the row-boats
make fail, board her, and have, in the
late war, carried off, unmolefted, feveral
coafters worth io,oool., and have not
been ablent, at this feafon of the year,
above twenty-four hours from their own
ports.

Dover, June 16. Laft night, at feven
o’clock, the French fchooner l’Unbord-
able gun-boat arrived here, being one
of thofe velfels mentioned to be taken
in my laft, by the Jaloufe and Cruifer
gun-brigs, with a frigate in company,
name unknown. They were bound
from Dunkirk to Calais, where Bona¬
parte is expected in a few days, to ex¬
amine the craft and troops deftined for
the invafion of England', this fchooner
is a very long, low-builr, vefTeJ, and
mounts two twenty-four pounders for¬
ward, and one at the ftern, on Hides,
with two twelve-pounders, midlhips:
the ftern-gun is a beautiful brafs piece,
ornamented with trophies of war, and
two dolphins in the middle, to hoift it
by, with the words ‘ le curature ’ near the
muzzle ; and the motto, ‘ ncc piuribus
impar ’ near the breech. It is one of
the pieces they ftole from Fluffiing at
the beginning of the revolution. This
vert'd, with the brig taken in company,
were both run on fhore, and mod of
the men cfcaped out of them, but were
put into gaol as foon as they landed.

Arrived at five, a. m. a Ruffian cou¬

rier with djfpatclles ; and failed this
day the Auckland, with Mr. Shaw,
king’s merttnger, with difpatches to
Pans. Upwards of twenty partengers
failed in the above veffel.

London, June 16. Mr. Shaw, the
meffenger, left town laft night, with
dilpatches for Paris. A cabinet coun¬
cil was to be held at Windfor this
morning. Lord Pelham fet out for
Windfor between eight and nine o’clock.
It is fuppofed the council was held for
the purpofe of declaring war again ft
Holland.

M. Schimmelpenninck, the Dutch
ambartador, left town this morning.

17. Yerterday, a deputation of the
lottery-office keepers waited, by ap¬
pointment, on the chancellor of the ex¬
chequer. The propofed lottery is to
confift of 80,000 tickets (with liberty
to the purchafers to convert that number
into 90,000), to be drawn at three fepa-
race periods, viz. in September, Janu¬
ary, and April, next. Ten days draw¬
ing in each ©f thefe periods.’

Lord Hawkefbury brought the fol¬
lowing meffage from his majefty to the
houfe of commons.
i G.R.

* His majefty thinks it right to in¬
form the houfe of commons, that from
an anxious defire to prevent the cala¬
mities of war being extended to the
Batavian republic, he communicated to
that government his difpofition to re-
fpedl their neutrality, provided that a
fimilar difpofition was manifefted on
the part of the French government,
and that the French forces ^ere forth¬
with withdrawn from the territories of
the Batavian republic. This proportion
not having been admitted by the go¬
vernment of France, and meafures hav¬
ing been recently taken by them, in
direft violation of the independence of
the Batavian republic, fiis majefty
judged it expedient to direct his minf-
fter to leave the Hague; and he has
rtnee given orders, that letters of marque
and general reprifais ffiould be irtued
againrt the Batavian republic and its
fubje&s.

4 His msjefty has at all times manifeft¬
ed the deepeft and moft lively imereft for
the profperity and independence of the

534

Home Newk

v of ted Provinces. He has recourfe to
■thefe proceedings with the moft fincere
regret, but the condu6t of the French
government has left him no alternative ;
and in adopting thefe meafures he is
adtuated by a fenfe of what is due to his
own dignity, and to the fecurity and
dfential interefts of his dominions.

G. R.’

18. A moft daring attempt to com¬
mit a ftreet robbery took place, on
Thurfday night, in Lower Brook-ftreet.
As a gentleman was returning home
from the theafre, about eleven o’clock,
in his carriage, a man on horfeback
rdde up to the coachman, and preferited
a piftol to his head, fwearing he would
blow his brains ©ut if he did not im¬
mediately flop his horfes. There being
no alternative, the coachman complied,
on which the ruffian went to the door
of the carriage, which he opened, and
demanded the gentleman’s watch and
money ; on which the latter, inftead of
furrendering, jumped out of the oppoftte
door and gave the alarm. The robber,
finding himfelf in danger of being appre¬
hended, put fpurs to his horfe and gal-
lopped off; but, being-clofely purfued, he
quitted his fteed, in Grcfvenor-Mews,
and efcaped.

Yefterday evening an inquifition was
held at the Alfred’s Head, near the
Elephant and Caftle, Newington, on
the body of Thomas Minchin, a lad of
feventeen years of age, who loft his life
on Thurfday afternoon la'ft, by fir Tho¬
mas Turton’s carriage running over
him. Several witneffes were called to
prove the fa<51, who agreed that he was
thrown down in an attempt to draw the
carriage of fir Thomas Turton. A
verdibt of accidental death was given as
to the deeeafed, and a forfeiture of 40 s.
as a depdand for the wheels of the car¬
riage.

Thurfday night, one of the Hamp-
ftead ftage coaches, palling near Red-
Lion hill, was flopped by a Angle high¬
way m a q, who took from the perfon of
an elderly lady about 10/. and a gold
watch, with which he gallopped off
towards town : although he was im¬
mediately purfued, the villain got clear
off.

Dover, June 19. The private fecre~
tary of general Andreoffi was fent down
yefterday to Dover, under the care of
Mr. Waifh, the rneffenger, and fent out
of the country in the Exprefs packet,
captain Deli, who failed for Calais about
2 p. m. with the foreign mail and near
twenty paffehgers. This day, about
ir a. m. a French rneffenger arrived
from Calais in an open boat, with dif-
patches for lord Havvkefbury : he fet off
immediately in a chaife and four for
London, under care of a perfon charged
to condudt him to the fecretary of ftate.
No news has tranfpifed, and many con¬
jectures are on foot refpe&ing the objeCt
of his difpatches : feme fay it is re-
fpeCting Hanover. Sailed the Drake
privateer, captain King, on a cruife to
the Weft ward. We are now full of
troops, having no lefs than three re¬
giments of infantry and four troops of
cavalry.

Half paft fix, p. m. News is juft re¬
ceived here by a boat, that a lharp aCtion
has been fought between Boulogne and
Calais, between a French brig and a
fchooner and the two floops of war on
this ftation ; the F rench brig and fchooner
are both taken :* the lailors on our
heights can fee them Handing for Eng¬
land. Should they come into our roads,
will fend further particulars in my
next. All the Eneiifh at Calais are
marched to Valenciennes.

Plymouth.. June 19. Orders are come
down to liberate the mailers, mates*
and crews of the detained Batavian Ihips,
and to let them take a change of linen
aad clothes ; they are free to go home
when they pleafe. The feamen moftly
enter on board men of war, or privateers.
The hatches of the Batavian Ihips are
fealed down, and papers fealed up till
their fate is afeertained.

Hull, June zo. Thirty-two veffeis
from Hamburgh, under convoy of the
Melpomene frigate, including fourteen
outward-bound ihips from London,
which, after reaching the Elbe, confi*
"dered it 'not prudent to proceed farther
on their voyage, arrived off the Humbsr
oa Wednesday laft.

335

Births, — Marriages,

BIRTHS.

May ii. At his houfe, in Lincoln’s -inn-
‘fields, the lady of John Peter Grant,
efq. of a daughter.

12. Mrs. Belville, of Grofvenor -place,
of three very fine boys ; and they, with
the mother, are all likely to fdo well.

June 6. Mrs. John Schneider, of Finf-
bury-fquare, of a foil.

8. In Lower Brook-ftreet, lady Henry
Stuart, of a fon and heir.

10. In Great Cumberland-place, the
lady of William Holland, efq. of a fon.

11. In Lincoln’s-inn-fields, the lady
of G. B. Tyndall, efq, of a daughter.

12. At T rofton-hall, Suffolk, the lady
of Capel Lofft, efq. of a daughter.

13. At her houfe, in Tilney -ffreet,
the right hon lady M. Myers of a fon.

At her houfe, in Guildford-ftreet, the
lady of J . Mackintosh, efq. of .a daughter,

14. In Upper Guildford-ftreet, Ruf-
fel-fquare, the lady of Michael Fur-
longe, efq. of a fon.

16. In South Audley-flreet, the
countefs of Albemarle, of a daughter.

In Weynaouth-ftfeet, the lady of G.

S. Marten, efq. of a fon.

Mrs. H. Siddons, of a daughter.

MARRIAGES.

May 19. Horace St. Paul, jun, efq. of
Ewart- houfe, to mifs Ward, daughter
of the late lord Dudley and Ward.

25. Colonel William B. Davis, of the
Eaft-India company’s fervice, to mifs
Maria Blair, daughter of colonel Blair,
of Stratford-place.

The rev. Mr. Bullock, to mifs Sarah
Clitherow, of Bofton-houfe, Brentford.
After the ceremony, the new-married
pair partook of an elegant dejeune at lord
Gwydir’s houfe in Whitehall j among the
company were the countefs of Cholmon-
deley, mifs Seymour, and Mrs. Baker.

31. The rev. George Stanley Faber,
B. D. fellow of Lincoln-college, Oxford,
to mifs Scott Waring, daughter of ma¬
jor Scott Waring, of Ince, Oheihire.

Jun£ 3. Lord vifcount Glerawley, bo
lady If. St. Lav 'rcnce, daughter to the
earl of Howth.

John Cooper, efq. of Poplar, to mifs
Sarah Gibfon, of Grove-ftreet, Hackney.

6. Captain John Covert, of Soho-
lquare, to mifs E. Woolley, of Purewell,
Chrift-church, Hants.

7. The hon. and rey, W. Capel, 4th

fon to the late earl of Effex, to mifs
Salter, only child of T. Salter, efq. of
R i c km ariifwo r t h .

9. T. F. Egerton, efq. of Choldertoe*
Wilts, to mifs Wyndham, eldeft daugh¬
ter of the late William Wyndham, efq,
of Denton, in the fame county.

At St. George’s, Bloomlbury, John
Scott, efq. to Mrs. Ernft.

10. The rev. W- Penny, of Heckfield,
to Mrs. Ford, only daughter of Solomon
Fell, efq, of Drayton-green, Middlefex*

At Brighton, Mr. Edward Bryant,
furgeon, of Brook-ftreet, Holborn, to
mifs J ane Belchier.

11. The rev. Henry Byron, vicar of
Granby, fon of the hon. and rev. Rich¬
ard Byron, of Houghton, to mifs Pow-
ditch, eldeft daughter of Thomas Ppw-
ditch, efq. of Peckham.

T. Tilfon,efq. of Earl- ftreet, Black-
friars, to mifs M. M. Johnfon, daugh¬
ter of the late Freelove Johnfon, efq.

12. Matthews Beachcrofr, efq. lieu¬
tenant-colonel of the light- horfe volun¬
teers of London and Weftminfter, to

' mifs Serrard, of New Millraan-ftreet,

13- At Bradford, Yorkihire, Jacob
H. Bulk, efq. to mifs Martha Daw fon,
daughter of J. Dawfon, efq. of Royd’s-
hall, in the fame county.

At St. Luke’s, Chellea, Thomas Weft,
efq. of Sloane-ftreet, to mifs L. Dallas,
of Upper Fitzroy-ftreet, Fitzroy-fquare,

. 15. H. C. Boifragen, M. D. of Bath,

to mifs Fanfhawe, only daughter of
J. G. Fanfhawe, efq. of Parfloes, Effex.

16. J. S. Hage, efq. commiffioner-
general from his Danilh majefty in the
ifland of Spnta Cruz, to mifs Maria
Rufiini, daughter of the chevalier Ruf-
pini, of Pall-mall.

18. Henry Cadwallader Adams, efq.
of Anfty-hall, Warwicklhire, to mils
Curtis, eldeft daughter of fir W. Curtis,
bart. of Culiand’s-grove, Southgate. -

Mr. W illiam White, to mifs Robfon,
both of Fulham.

Mr.Geo. Yeeles, of Bathford, Somer-
fet, to mifs Sarah Baddeley, of Shetton,

. Staffordfhire.

21. Lieutenant-col. Peacocke, eldeft
fon of fir Jofeph Peacocke, bart. to mifs
Morris, eldeft daughter of John Mor¬
ris, efq. of Claremont, G iamorganfliire. -

23. At Fife-houfe, by the feftor of
Chcynies, the duke of Bedford, to lady
Georgian a Gordon*

DEATHS.

Deaths')

Lately, atBrompton, Middlefex, Mrs,
Ann Sewell, widow, aged 79 years.

May 20. The lady of William Bur¬
roughs, efq. M. P. for the borough of
Enni&illin.

At his houfe, in Gower- ftreet, captain
William Mackintosh, late of the hon.
Eaft-India cothpany’s fervice.

At the houfe of Richard Parks, efq.
Lamb’s Conduit-place, Foundling, Her¬
bert Gvvynne Browne, efq. of Imley-
park, in Northamptonihire, aged 59.

21, At Amwell, Wm. Whittingftall,
efq. of Hoddefdon, Herts.

At her houfe, at Kenfington, after a
few hours’ illnefs, the hon. Mrs. Lut-
treck, eldeft daughter of the late hon.
Mr. juftice Gould, and only filter to the
countefs of Cavan.

ii. Aged 7c, Mrs. Tilbury, relidt of
the late Mr. Tho. Tilbury, of Norwich.

26. At Lydiard-Tregotoze, near
Wootton-BalTet, the hon. Mr. St. John,
tldeft fon of lord vifeount Bolingbroke.

29. At his houfe, in Serle-ftreet, Lin-
coln’s-inn- fields, the infant daughter of
James Buller, efq.

30. At Deptford, Kent, of a confump-
tion, in the 47th year of his age, Mr.
George Mitchell, attorney-at-law. -

At his houfe, onCroom’s-hill, Green¬
wich, Willian? Hagen, efq. •

'June 3. Mr. John Holyoake, of Bar¬
bican, aged 69.

Mr. Robert Croft, of Fleet-fireet,
many years tailor to his royal highnefs
the prince of Wales.

In the 43d year of his age, the right
lion, and right rev. father in God, lord
George Murray, D. D. and lord bifho.p
of St. David’s, brother to the prefent
duke of Athol.

4. At Forglen, Scotland, the right
hon. Wm. lord Banff.

6. At Stoke-Newington, of a decline,
Mrs. J. J. W etherhead.

8. At her lodgings, ar Rrompton, after
a lingering and painful illnefs, the beau¬
tiful mifs Courtney, filter to Mrs.
Drummond, of Boulton- row.

At his father’s houfe, Robert Lea
Jones, efq. commander of his majefty’s
Lifbon packet Prince Adolphus, ftation-
td at Falmouth, and 2d fon of J. Jones,
■sfq. of Frankly, near Bradford, Wilts#

At Grantham, on tfie road to Scots
land, Patrick Heron, efq. of Heron.

In the 23d year of her age, mifs Eli¬
zabeth Wiiliamfon, of Rolls-buildings,

9. At his houfe, at Stamford-hill,
John Simpfon, efq.

The rev. H. R. Courtney, lord bifhop
of Exeter, at his houfe, in Lower Grof-
venor-ftreet.

1©. At Chelfea, Wm. Lyndon, efq.
of Great Ryder-ftreet, St. James’s.

Sherland Swanfton, efq. of Charter-
houfe-fquare.

12. After a Ihort illnefs, at the earl of
Derby’s, in Grofvenor-fquare, Mrs.Far-
ren, mother to the countefs of Derby.

13. Mr. Charles Hurlellone, of Kent-
ilh-town.

15. At his houfe, in Queen-fquare,
London, Edward Dickinfon, efq. of
Dofthill-houfe, in Warwicklhire.

At Hanger-hill, near A6ton, S. Mil¬
lar, efq. late of St. James’s-ftreet.

At Bath, the rev. David Brymer, late
fellow of Wadham-college, Oxford.

At his apartments, High-Iioiborn,
Wm. Pearfon, efq. brother to the late
Jofeph Pearfon, efq. door-keeper to the
houfe of commons.

16. AtKentilh-town, mifs Hepwortb,
daughter of Mrs. Taylor, of Hatton-
garden.

17. Mrs. Thomas Harper, of the
Strand.

At Shrub’s-hill, near Egham, in the
89th year of her age, Mrs. Challoner,
relief of George Challoner, efq. of Staf¬
ford Ihi re. /

1 8. Mrs. Pope, of Drury-lane theatre.
On Friday the 10th Ihe was taken fo
ill on the ftage that Hie could not go
through her part. She remained at
home, gradually recovering ; no alarm
prevailing for her fafety till Saturday
evening, when fine fuddenly dropped
from the fofa. A lady with her called
for affiftance, and lhe was railed up.
She feemed to be fenfible, but incapable
of fpeaking, and in a few minutes lhe
expired. Upon examination by a fur-
geon, it was found her diforder was
apopleftic ^ brought on, it is fuppofed,
by exertion and anxiety in her profel-
fion. Some of the veins in the head had
burft and occafioned her death., Ske •
was only 2 6.

THE

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LADY’S MAGAZINE,

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ENTERTA INING CO MPA NION

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APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For JULY, 1803.

■* *

THIS NUMBF,

1 TheWidaw; a Tale . 339

2 On the Difference between the 'Sexes,

34r

3 On what is called a falfe Voice,.. . 344

4 A Morning’s Walk in July, . 345

5 Matilda : a Drama,. , , . . 346

6 Wit and Beauty,. . . 348

7 Anecdotes of Dr. Moniey. . 350

8 Character and Manners of the Inhabi¬

tants of Scio,. . .• . . 3 3 r

9 Augulta and Emily; a Tale,.. ..353

10 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of

* Tom Jones,’ . 333

11 Robert M‘Kenzie ; or, the Adven¬

tures of a Scotfman, . 360

12 The Moral Zoologift, . 363

13 Slgne and Habor; a Gothic Romance,

371

14 Panflan Falhions, . 376

R CONTAINS,

15 London Falhions, . 376

16 Long Train j and fimrt Trains, _ 377

17 Detached Thoughts...... . 379

ib P.o e t 1 c A'L Essays — Perainbuiatory

Mufings from Blenheim houfe, Ox-
•fordlhire, to TIriey, Herefordflnre —
Anfwer to Lines addrelTed to a Young
Gentleman in the Magazine for June,
1S03 — - Jufcription written on an
Hermitige in one of the Minds of the
Weft-Indies — bongs, fung at the Fef-
tival ot the Royal Jertrterian So¬
ciety, &c. — The Wtfh of a Friend —

380 — 384

Foreign News, . . ^ 85

Home News, . ^gg

Births . ^91

Marriages, . .

Deaths,. .- . nyz

2 1

This Number is embellijhed with the following Copper- plates:

1 The Widow.

2 For the Moral Zoologist — The DOMESTIC COCK.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern for a Veil, or Handkerchief, &e.

LONDON :

Printed for G. and J. ROBINSON, No. 2j, Pat ernofer - Row

Where Favours irom Correfpon dents continue to be received.

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■I

TO CORRESPONDENTS,

The verfes entitled Clementina are not intended for infertion : fome of the
lines at the beginning are good j but, on the whole, they are extravagant
and almoft unintelligible.

The Evening Wal \ and the Acrojlic, by Alonzo , are very incorreft,
Laura's poetical communication is likewife too defective for infertion*
The Eflay by J. L. {hall have a place.

The Fop of 1803- — J* T’s Extempore — Maria’s Tomb — Elegy by F— v
Abfence ; a rhapfody— The Waterfall — R, N’s Enigma— are received and
tinder confideration.

THE

LADY’S magazine

For JULY, 1803.

THE WIDOW;

A TALE.

{With an elegant Engraving.)

66 Oh> • fot'feken by our

^ friends, deferted by the
world, and plunged in poverty,
what remains for us but death ?
There, by the grave of thy beloved
father, where I have laid thee, lovely
innocent, could I fee thee breathe
thy laft, without a pang, and almoft
with joy, when I reflect on the
hardfhips, the miferies, to which we
mu ft inevitably be expofed in our
forlorn and unprotected ftate. Not
long fince, in the midft of affluence
and even luxury, I fufpeted not
what evils fate had in ftore for usj but
fancy pictured the brighteft feenes
of golden futurity. Oh how falla¬
cious are the hopes of mortals — -how
treacherous is their fecurity ! Sud¬
denly burft the unexpected ftorm ;
all the illulive profpet vanifhed,
and the dark gulph of poverty and
wretchednefs yawned beneath our
feet. Wefank- who (hall fave?’

Thus lamented an unhappy wi¬
dow, at the grave of her hufband.
She had laid down her child to give
a looleto her grief : the placid infant
flept unconlcious of his mother’s
woes. Tears at length relieved her
oppreffed heart, and grief for a mo¬
ment gave way to the delicious feel¬
ings of maternal affection. She
raifed her child, clafped him in her
fond embrace, with a thoufand ten¬
der careffes, and rofe to go away.

As fhe turned, {he faw a gentle®
man at a little diftance behind her,
who, (he fuppofed, and rightly, had
overheard all her foliloquy.

She ftarted, and was retiring with
a more precipitate ftep, when the
ftranger thus add relied her :

‘ Madam, I have overheard fome
of your paflionate exclamations. X
could with, though nothing is far¬
ther, 1 hope, from my dilpofition
than to be guilty of any intruffve
impertinence, to be made acquainted
with your misfortunes and prefent
fituation ; for without a knowledge
of the complaint it is not poffible to
apply a remedy. Providence has
bountifully bellowed on me the
means of relieving, in fome degree
at lead, the wants of my fellow-
creatures ; and I trull alfo the inclin¬
ation to afford fuch relief, as far as
may be in my power.’

‘ Sir,’ anfwered fhe, 4 I know not
why I fhould helitate to relate my
ftory to you. Indeed, after what
you have heard, it would be affec¬
tation and folly to refufe. Perhaps,
if you refide near this fpot, you will
know it all as foon as I mention the
name of my late hulband, Mr. Bet¬
terton. He was the proprietor of a
large, and apparently ffouriffiing,
manufactory, at the diftance of nearly
a mile from this place.

4 About two months lince, be was-

340

The Widow ; a Tale

feized with a fever, which carried
him off in three days. His commer¬
cial affairs were found embar raffed,
ftnce, being a man of adlive and en-
terprifing induftry, and highly re-
fpedted for faithfplhefs and punctu¬
ality in his dealings, hdhad obtained
almoft unlimited credit, though the
real capital he poffeffed tO'fupport it
was but imall in proportion to the
extenfive trade in which he engaged.
Had he lived, there is little doubt
but a great fortune would ultimately
have been the reward of his labo¬
rious exertions. But on his death
his creditors, conferring together
and finding their demands numerous
and great, took the alarm, and have,
by legal procefs, divided all they
found among themfelves. I have
nothing fecured to me ; for 1 blufh
not to own it, I had no fortune.
The affection of my hufband was all
my fortune. My relations are poor,
and refide at a great diftance: to
them, therefore, I cannot apply ;
and thofe who were my polite friends
in my affluence daily {hock me with
their - cold and diftant behaviour.
Tor myfeif, I heed not this change in
their hollow courtefy. The Jof s of
the hufband I loved is a blow that
makes every other evil feem light,
except the fate of my child. O my
child ! — It pierces my heart to think
what will become of him ! how I
ill ail provide for him ! To-morrow
2 muft le&ve jny late home, and go I
know not whither ; but it fhall be
far from the place where 1 fo lately
enjoyed fo much happinefs, which is
now changed into the deepeil mi-
fery.’

Here file ceafed, unable longer to
reftrain a torrent of tears,

Mr.Ma-rfton, the ftrangerto whom
file had been fpeaking, endeavoured
to foothe her grief; and told her,
that his home fhouki be her home
■until fome means fhoulci be found of
providing for her and her child*

His lady, he faid, when (he heard her
ftory, wopld be as defirous to afford
her all the relief in her power as fhe
could be herfelf.

Mrs. Betterton furveyed the bene-
volent ftranger with aftonifhment ;
fhe thought fhe faw fomething in his
countenance that commanded her
confidence, and (lie accompanied him
home that 2ery evening.

Mr, Mar ft on introduced her to his
ladv, to whom he related her ftorv,
and who received her with the moft
delicate and fympathifing affability ;
and alfo to a Mr. Clifton, his friend,
who had lately arrived from the Eaft
Indies, where Mr. Mai fton had like-
wife refided for feveral years in a
public employment. Mrs. Better-
ton’s child attradfed the attention of
them all, by his beauty and vivacity.
Mr. Clifton efpecially appeared de¬
lighted with him : he took him repeat¬
edly in his arms and carefled him.

4 I think,’ faid he, c there is fome-
thing in this child which fafeinates
me ; i cannot take my eyes off him.'

‘ He is a poor little orphan,’ faid
Mr. Marfton: ‘ you have told me,
formerly, I remember, that you went
to fea a poor fatherlefs boy; fo far,
there is a kind of affinity between
you. You have now a princely
fortune ; you rauft do fomething for
him.’

‘ I certainly ftiall,’ faid Mr. Clif¬
ton. 4 There is, indeed, fomething
fo furprifingjy attractive to me in
his innocent countenance, that 1 am
almoft refolved to adopt him for my
fon, as 1 do not think 1 ftiall ever
marry now. But in that cafe his
mother mull permit me to change
his name; for I would revive in him
my real name, as ail my family, ex¬
cept myfeif, appears to be extindf.
I do not knowwhetherl have ever told
you that my original name was not
Clifton, but that I affumed it at the
requeft of the gentleman who pa-
tronifed me in the Eaft In4i.es, and

On the Difference between the Sexes .

34i

to whom I am indebted for my for¬
tune.’

{ I think I have heard fomewhat
of that,’ laid Mr. Marfton. c But
what name is he then to take ?’

c Betterton,’ laid Mr. Clifton.

e Betterton '/ exclaimed the mo¬
ther. ‘ Good heavens 1 that is his
name at prefent !’

4 How !’ faid Mr. Clifton ; f who
was your hufband ?’

Mrs. Betterton related her firft ac¬
quaintance with him, her marriage,
his death, and defcribed her prelen.t
diftrefsful fituation.

* Your account/ faid Mr. Clifton,
* is of too iate date. Where v/as he
born ? Are you acquainted with any
of the events of his very early
years : ’

‘ I only know,’ faid Mrs. Better-
ton, f that he was born at a village,
the name of which I do not recoiled!,
near Tewkefhury, in Gloucefterfhire.
1 have heard him fay that his father
died about a month before he was
born, and his mother in lefs than a
twelvemonth afterwards. His elder
brother went to fea with an uncle,
and he never heard of him afterwards.
He was himfelf brought up by an
aunt, who at her death, about feven
years fuice, left him a few hundred
pounds.’

‘ My brother'.’ exclaimed Mr.
Clifton, darting from his feat. ‘ It
is impoffible I fhould doubt it. I
was born near Tewkefbury ; my fa¬
ther died about a month before my
mother was brought -to-bed of my
brother, and lhe herfelf died within
a year afterwards. My aunt took
my infant brother to bring up, and
1 went to the Baft Indies with my
uncle, who died foon after his ar¬
rival there. Fortune threw me into
fituations in which I have obtained
aji ample fortune, and, believe me,
the widow and child of my brother
fhall never want. I have often en¬
deavoured to procure lb me informa¬

tion concerning him, but never was
able. In me, however, his child,
whofe winning ways fo wonderfully
attached me to him before I could
lufpeti that he was fo nearly rel ted
to me, fhall find not only an unde,
but a father ; nor fhall you, madam,
I truft, ever have caufe to regret that
you have a right to call me brother/
Mr. Clifton fettled an ample an¬
nuity on Mrs. Betterton j liberally
educated her fon, procured him an
advantageous eftablifhment in life,
and left him at his death the bulk of
his fortune.

On the .Difference between, the
Sexes.

Nature has made a great differ¬
ence in the external appearance of
man and woman, we may reafonably
expect to find one as remarkable' in
their moral characters ; for Nature,
in her general courfe, is always uni¬
form, confident, and true to her own
defigns.

Men and women have ever been
found to differ in their way of think¬
ing and acting. The female lex has
always been considered as the weak-*
er j but it is no inhperfettion in a
dove to want the ftrength of an
eagle.

There are certainly mkny a&ions
becoming of women which would
'greatly difgrace a man. I fhall en¬
deavour to diftingnifh their principal
chara&eriftics ; principally attending,
at prefent, to the peculiarities of the
male character.

I only propofe to confider the two
fexes together, without comparing
particular men with particular wo¬
men. Many of the female lex are,
both in body and mind, formed much
ftronger than many of the male ;
but upon comparing the moll per¬
fect man with the molt perfect wo-

342

On the Difference between the Sexes .

man, and proceeding gradually
through ail the human fpecies> we
find that the females, in general, are,
both in their bodies and minds,
weaker than the males.

Our wife Creator having deftffied
women to be the mothers of man¬
kind, they are hence, in general,
more fubjedt to infirmities, accidents,
and difeafes, than men, whofe ftruc-
ture of body is robufler than theirs.
And as, by the law of Nature, the
mind generally correfponds with the
body, the minds of men are in gene¬
ral ltronger than thole of women :

though Nature fometimes produces
prodigies of both fexes.

Men being by their nature and
make defigned to perform thole of¬
fices, both of body and mind, which
require more ftrength, labour, and
application, than women are formed
for 'j v/e expedt men to fliew more
prudence, wifdom, and knowledge,
than women, in all the weighty con¬
cerns of life. Prudence, wifdom,
and knowledge, are necelfarily re¬
quired to difcover the proper means
of obtaining a,n end, and to diredt
us how to proceed when dangers
threaten, difficulties prels, or obita-
cles oppole our progrefs.

It is jultly expedted from men to
provide for tlMir families, defend
their country, perform the laborious
exereifes, and engage in all the.ro-
buft employments of life, for which
they are fitted by their juperior men¬
tal and corporeal ftrength. And
hence it is jultly accounted fcandal-
•ous in a man who has a family to
leave tbe fupport and maintenance
of it to .his wife. Nor can he be
properly called a father who takes
no care or pains to provide, for his
children, but devolves that .office En¬
tirely upon the mother.'

Courage, valour, and intrepidity,
being virtues luited to the make of a
man, are jultly expedled from him 5
as they require fupenor ftrength of

mind and body, which enables hint
to encounter dangers, difficulties,
and misfortunes.

This fuperior ftrength obliges the
men, cn all occasions, to defend and
protedf the women, who, from their
weaknefs, are lefs capable of defend¬
ing themfelves. No woman can be
defpifed, or fuffer in her charadler,
for refufmg to engage in battle ; but
fhould an officer refufe to fight the
enemy, he is defervedly branded for
a contemptible coward. Men are
formed to ftand firmer, and behave
braver in dangers, than women.

In thofe diftreffes and misfortunes
which reduce women to tears and
bewailing, men are to exert their
ftronger mental powers to difcover
and employ the proper means of
preventing or remedying the evils
they dread or fuffer.

All thofe duties and virtues are
incumbent upon men which cannot
be performed and exercifed without
magnanimity, courage, labour, and
difficulty. And though there fhould
have been Amazons in the world,
yet the military virtues certainly be¬
long properly, and indeed exclulively,
to men.

The lubduing the paftions, and act¬
ing the part of rigid integrity in de¬
fiance of every inducement, though
it fhould wear the exterior appear¬
ance of a fpecies of virtue, requires
a ftrength of mind and firtnnefs of
relolution more to be expedited from
the male than the female fex. Men,
on account of their greater ftrength,
lhould confider theinlelves asdeffined
to the fevereft duties and molt heroic
virtues, which they are more obliged,
by their nature, to pradtile than wo¬
men.

Nature conftantly tempers one
gift with another, in order to main¬
tain a proper equality. If the fe¬
male fex cannot boaft of many he¬
roines in the lublirner virtues, it is
not deformed by io many monlirous

343

On the Difference

vices, and wicked characters, as have
appeared among men. There have
always been abundantly mere cri¬
minals executed of the male than of
the female ftx.

All hiftory, indeed, is incompara¬
bly more ornamented by the names
of iliuftrious men than of illuflrious
women. But though men have a
great fuperiority over women in
refpeft to the qualifications for vir¬
tue, they, in faCl, fink greatly below
them in vice.

There are many endowments
either fo fmall in kind or confining
of fuch petty accomphfhments as
very well l'uit the female character,
but ill comport with the male. Men,
being deftined by their nature to
exercife the higheft virtues, and
fitted for the greateft undertakings,
are too robuft for what is delicate
and minute.

When women fit at their toilette
to decorate themfelves in a proper
manner, their defign is certainly
more laudable than objectionable ;
but would it become a man to bellow
fo much time and pains in adorning
his perfon ? •

Expertnefs and readinefs in judg¬
ing of lace and needle-work is
doubtlefs an accomplifhment in wo¬
men, that would ill become a man.
Men fhould not endeavour to be
well verfed in thefe kinds of female
arts.

Many of the failings common to
both fexes are much more cenfur-
able, ridiculous, and defpicable, in
men than in women. 1 mean fuch

between the Sexes.

%•

failings as either confift in things of
a trifling nature, or arife from fome
remarkable weaknefs or want of
power in the mind or body. Fear
does not ill become a woman, for
no one ex peCls great courage in that
fex. When women cannot bear to
fee a drawn fword, or fhudder with
fright at the report of cannon, or
manifell other fimilar timidity, men
are fo far from laughing at them, or
defpifing them for it, that they ra¬
ther compaflionate, fupport, and en¬
courage them. But does he deferve
the name of a man who trembles at
the fight of a naked fword, or runs
from the firing of cannon?

It is becoming in women to blufh,
and aft with referve and fhynefs ;
but fuch bafhfulnefs is ridiculed in a
man. Timidity, and even what may
be termed modefty, beyond a cer¬
tain degree, proceed too much from
a want of fortitude and firmnefs of
mind to become the male character.

Superftition, credulity, prejudice*
and hafty judgments, are more par¬
donable in the fofter female than in.
the rough mafculine fex. Such foi¬
bles are unbecoming a firong under-
flanding, and fhould be avoided by
men, merely on account of their
fex, even though they had no other
reafon.

Thefe outlines may give a gene¬
ral idea of the character of men as
contradiftinguifhed from that of wo¬
men, and enable us to form a right
judgment of ourfelves with refpeCt
to our virtues and vices.

Torh, Jpril 27. Clementina.

I ”■

544 On what is called a Falfe ¥cice ,

On what is called a False Voice.

( •From Defpiau s Cl SeleSi Amufements in Phi-
Isfopiy and Mathematics.'”')

A fine voice is certainly prefer-
able to every itiftrumerit what¬
ever. Unfortunately, many perfons
have only a falfe voice 3 but, in
general, this dots' not arife from any
defeat in the organs of the voice,
which are aimed; the fame in all man¬
kind: it originates from the ears,ow-
ingto an in equality of flrength inthele
organs, or to feme want of delicacy
or tendon 3 in confcquence of which,
as they receive unequal impreftions,
we neceffarily hear falfe founds, and
the voice, which endeavours to
imitate them, becomes itt elf falfe.
On this fubjedt Dr. Vandermonde
made a very firnple experiment,
which he relates in his EfTay on
improving the human Mind, and
which may be repeated on children
who pronounce with a falfe voice,
in order that a remedy may be ap¬
plied at that tender age when the
organs are fill fufceptible of modi¬
fication.

The experiment, as he deferibes
it, is as follows : 4 1 made choice,’
fays he, * of a clear day, and having
fixed on a fpacious apartment, I
took up my flation in a place judg¬
ed moft convenient for my experi¬
ments. I then (lopped one of the
ears of the child who was to be
the fubjedt of them, and made her
recede from me, till fire no longer
heard the found of a repeating
watch which I held in my hand,
or at leaf; until the found of the
bell produced a very weak impref-
fion on her organs of hearing. I
then delired her to remain in that
place, and immediately going up,
to her, unftopped her ear, and hop¬
ped the other, taking care to caufe
ber to fliut her mouth, left the found
ftiouid be communicated to the ear

through the euftachian tube. I then
returned to my ftation, and making
my watch again ftrike, the child
was quite furprifed to find that the
heard tolerably well; upon which
1 made a fign to her to recede again
till file could fcarcely hear the
foundi* It refu Its from this ex¬
periment, that in the ears of perfons
who have a falfe voice, there is an
inequality of flrength ; and the
means of remedying this defied! in
children, is to afeertain, by a fimilar
mode, which ear is the weakeft,
f When this has been dificovered,
not liing better can be done, in my
opinion/ fays Dr. Vandermonde,
6 than to ft op up the other as much
as poflible, and to take advantage
of that valuable opportunity of fre¬
quently exercifing the weak ear, but
in fuch a manner as not to fatigue
it. The one thus made to labour
alone will be ftrengthened, while
the other will always retain the fame
force. The child’s ear fhould from
time to time be unftopped, in order
to make it fing, and to difeover
whether both ears have the fame
degree of fienfibility.’ This natural
defetft may be then corrected, and
any perfon may be made to acquire
a true voice, provided the means
pointed out by Dr. Vandermonde
be early employed.

Perfons who have a falfe voice,
in confequence of fome inequality
in the ears, may be compared to
thofe who fquint 3 that is to fay,
who, in order to fee an objedf di-
ftinctly, do not turn equally to¬
wards it the axis of both eves, be-
caufe they have not the fame vifual
powers. It is probable that the
former, if they had early accuftom-
ed themfelves to make ufe of onlv
one ear, would hear diftinftly dif¬
ferent founds, which they would
have imitated, and would not have
contracted a falfe voice.

A Morning's Walk in July. 345

A MORNING’/ WALK in
JULY.

* When Morning, rifing from hisfhadowy bed,
Bound his gold fillet round the mountain’s
head — ’

arose and walked. The delight¬
ful ferenity of the weather en¬
livened myfpirits; and the whifper-
ing gales, laden with ambrofial ef-
fence, regaled me with their balmy
burden. With propriety, I ex¬
claimed with Milton —

‘ Sweet is the breath of Morn — her rifing
fweet.

With charm of earlieft birds.’

How delightful ’tis to ramble in
the cool of the morning, free from
the fultry influence of Sol’s meri¬
dian rays! It was fuch a fmiling
fcene that prompted my youthful
Mufe to ling the following (trains —

‘ Oh, lovely morning, hew thy beauties
charm me !

What tranquil blifs attends the early walk!
This is the feafon when (as poets fing)

The goddefs Health is feen to trip along
The dew-itnpearled lawn. — At break of day,
Oft will I quit the downy arms of Sleep,

To climb yon hill, to view furrounding profpedts,
Or gather flowers in this enamell’d vale.
i Hark, howjthe fongful minftrels of the
grove

T une their glad numbers ! whiht the lowing
herd,

And ever- bleating flock, with their hoarfe
mufic

Can charm the rural wanderer. See thofe
lambs,

How gaythey gambol o’er the verdant turf,
And play their fportive frolics round their
dams.

c Sport on, ye playful woolly innocents !
Enjoy your artlefs paftimes whilft you may ;
For your Ihort lives can boalt few hours like
thele.

‘ But, fofc ! methinks I hear fume nefilings
cry

For their accuftom'd food : I ’ll pierce yon
copfe,

And try to find the helplcfs young complain¬
ants.

Lo ! there it funds — the mud wall’d tene¬
ment,

Environ’d round with briars and pointed thorns,
Contains an unfiedg’d race of infant fonglters.
Well may the feather’d parents flutter near,
Fearful that I fhould violate their cell,

And rob it of the pledges of their love.

Von. XXXIV.

‘ Supprefs your anxious grief, ye jetty war¬
blers !

I ’ll not defpoil you of your callow brood 5
Nor, with rude hand, demoliih yourclay dome.
May kindly fate from this your fnug retreat
Avert the Ichool-boy’s eyes, and turn his feet.
His little truant feet, another way.

‘ Bu: I mud bid thefe pleafing (eenes adieu.
Farewei, ye grazing beafts and warbling birds ;
I go to fetfk the “ favage haunts of man.”

I pafied through a meadow, where
the grafs was laid proflrate by the
mower’s fey the. The blulhin? flow-

• O

ers which lately drank the filver
dew, and died around rheir odours,
now lay withering on the ground,
their colours faded, their beauties
tarnifhed.

Significant refemblance of youth
cropped by the ftroke of death in
rofy bloom, (tripped by that uni-
verfal del pod er of all its radiant
honours, diverted of every trait of
lovelinefs, and configned to the
gloomy cavern of the tomb !

On the top of fome lofty trees,
the ‘ fons of long’ tuned their dulcet
matins, to welcome the king of day,
who with fplendid dignity was rifing
from his faffron couch.

4 Great fource of light and heat!’
I exclaimed, Mhall little birds greet
thy appearance with melody, and
fliall not man rejoice at thy pre¬
fence, and admire thy fplendor?

“ Cheer’d by thy kind invigorating warmth,
I court thy beams, .great majefty of day !

If not the foul, the regent of the world.
Firfl-born of heaven, and only lefs than God !

Armstrong.

‘Glorious luminary! without thy
all-cheering rays, Nature would be
clad in fables, nor could flie boart
one attraftive charm. Potent lamp !
thy influence pervades the inmoft
recedes of the rock, ripens the ore
to gold, and adds brilliancy to the
diamond ;

Tinctures the ruby with its rofy hue.
And on the fapphire fpreads an heavenly blue •
For the proud monarch’s dazzling crown pre¬
pares

Rich orient pearl, and adamantine {tars.”

Blackmoxe.

Matilda ; a Drama.

546

Though the feafon of flowed was
drawing towards a clofe ; though
numbers of Flora’s gay affemblage,
the yellow cowflips that proudly
nodded on the cliffy and the azure
violets ‘ that grew at foot of a thorn/
had refigned their charms; yet the
corn-fields difplaved a pleafing fcene,
which gladdened my mind ; and
Geres, advancing, exhibited to view
a proipedt of future plenty, which
caufed the peafant's heart to bound
■with joy. The hedges were adorned
with a profufion of eglantines, which
bloomed unnoticed and undefired

i i •

‘ Thus humble virtue lives unknown below •

Thus flowers of genius difregarded blow ;

Like lilies of the vale, they flourifh fair,

And wufte their fweetnefs in the defert air.’

Hater hill. John Webb.

MATILDA; a DRAMA.

(Continued from p. 322.)

Scene V.

Count d'Orlhein. /, Erne ft , Herman ,
Bloume Louifa , Philip , and the
other demefeics of the family . IV od-
inar retires to the bottom of 'he ft age,
unpei ceived by count a Orlhcim.

Count d' Qrlheim ( clafping Erncftt in his
arms).

T/merace me a thoufspd times,

^ my dear nephew. \ on are

reftorect to me, and Heaven has thus

granted all my. withes. (He turns

tow-a ds the f truants who far round

him ) I thank you all for your kind

welcome. You fee me again with

pleafure, and I return to you with

joy. (To Ter man, who Jlands refpeCl-

ful’y at fame dijiance ) Herman! my

good Herman! come to the arms of

vour be ft friend.

Herman. Pardon me, fir, if others
have preffed forwards, and been fjrft
to welcome you.

Count d’Orlbeint. Oh? my friend ’

need you attempt to excufe.yourfelf
in that refpetft to me ? I am always
impatient to fee you, and happy
when I have feen you. (He looks
round with a kind of dif quietude, and
frequently turns his eyes towards the door
of Matilda's apartments.) — I fuppofe
every thmg is right there — all are
well ?

Hermatf. We all wifhed for you,
fir, and your prefence renders us all
happy.

Count d* Qrlheim (with involuntary
dffquietude) . Herman, can you tell

me? — Erneft, do you know? -

Erne ft (eagerly). What, d^ar
uncle ?

Herman (with eager nefs like wife) .
What would you afk, fir?

Count eC Orlheim (endeavouring to
compofe hirrifelf). Nothing, dear Er-
nefi; ! — Nothing, Mr. Herman U —

( AJide) My heart betrays me in de~
fpite of myfelf.

Scene VI.

Eniyr Amelia : the Count difeovers an
emotion of indignation, but imme¬
diately reprefes it, and goes to meet
her.

Count dhOrlheim. Madam (with
eoldnefs and confer aint ), I hope I fee
you in perfeH health ?

Amelia (with eoldnefs and dignity ).

I haften, fir, to exprefs my attach¬
ment to you — to all that ought to be
dear to you; and efpecially my gra¬
titude.

Count ■ d' Orlhcim. You owe me
none, madam. What I have done,

I believed that I ought to do. I
fhall never alter my conduct.

Amelia (fide). What a reception!
What coldnefal

Wodmar (at the bottom of the ft age 5*
wit- fa pprefe'e d in digs a Don, a/de) .
Not a word of Matilda j

Count ? Qrlheim. I fhall not dine
with you to day, my dear nephew;
very urgent bufinefs requires my
prefence at a place about a mile from
hence. But to-morrow I fhall havg

Matilda ; a Drama . 347"

your company, and this lady’s. I
muft now go up into my chamber.
Ernefl, you will b- here in about an
hour: I vvidi to (peak to you. Do
not go away, Mr. Herman. (As he
is. going, he perceives Wodmar) . Hea¬
vens! Sir! Are you here?

Ernejl (a fide, with furprife and difi
faiisfaftion) It is Wodmar!

Herman (< ajide ). What will enfue ?
Wodinar (voith dignity , hue fome-
what embarraffd). I prefume to hope,
fir, that you will not refufe me a
moment’s converfation.

Count d'Orlbeim ( coldly and am to
conjlraint). 1 received, fir, fome time
fince, a letter from vou.

Wodmar. And I come to receive
an anfwer.

Count d'Orlbeim. I dial l do myfelf
the honour to tranfmit you one in
writing.

Wodmar. Why would you wifh to
defer it ?

Count ddOrlheim. At another time.
Wodmar. It is, perhaps, etfential
to us both not to lofe the prefent
moment.

Count d'Orlbeim ( difcontentcdl y ) .
Since you indd on it, fir. — ( With
mildnefs) You will leave us, my
friends.

Ernejl (afide). What will be the
iffue ?

Amelia (afide'). Poor Matilda! you
are to be the fubjedt of the conver-
fation, and this perhaps will be luffi-
cient to complete your ruin.

\Exeunt all hut Count d'Orlbeim a id
Wodmar f\

Scene VIT.

Count A Orlbeint , Wodmar.

[fThcy remain fome time 'without /peak¬
ing* Count d'Orlbeim appears much
agitated , and fixes his eyes on the
ground. Wodmar feems gredtly em-
bar raffed and confufidf)

Wodmar. Count d’Orlbeim — ~;—
Count d'Orlbeim. Sir! —

Wodmar (timidly). My prefence
lays you under redraint.

Count d'Orlbeim (coldly). I did not
expert to find you here. May I afk
whv vou are corhe ?

v «<

Wodmar. I have already told you
in the letter which you have not an¬
fwer ed.

Count d'OAheim (with much embar -
rajfmrnt). Itfkited, I believe, thatyoti
wi (lied to fpeak to me on a fubjedt of
importance; but it was not in my
power to conjecture what it might
be. (With cold polite nef s) I am now
ready to hear you : condefcend to
inform me what has procured me the
honour of this vifit ?

Wodmar. Love, I adore vour
daughter.

Count d'Orlbeim (with furprife
mingled ~ with anger). Matilda ! — And
you come to folicit her hand ?

Wodmar. On your con lent all the
happinefsof my life muft depend.

Count d'Orlbeim (fixing his eyes on
him). You wifli to marry Matiida ?
You !

Wodmar. My fortune, my rank,
my life, all are at her feet.

Count d'Orlbeim ( firmly , after a
fioort paufe). Heaven preferve me
from ever giving my confent to fuch
a union!

Wodmar . Why? — Affign your
reafon.

Count d'Orlbeim. I cannot affign it.
Enmity has no part in my refufal.
But honour, but nay duty impofe on
me i!s neceffity.

Wodmar. Your duty ! — Honour !

Count d'Orlbeim. I will obey them.

Wodmar. And you will not aliign
a reafon ?

Count d'Orlbeim. I fliall fay no¬
thing.

Wodmar Perhaps when you know
that rny offers have not been totally
reje&ed - — .

Count d'Orlreim (alarmed). You
are beloved!

Wodmar. Matilda ads with too
much propriety to ma sfuch a con-
feifion : file knows that fhe depends
on a father*

2 Y

548 - Wit and

Count d'Orlheim. Matilda depends
only on herfelf. She may difpole
of her heart and of her hand, I fhall
not oppofe her choice whatever it
may be — (lowering bis voice, but
with firmnefs ) provided you are not
its objedf.

Wodmar (with fupprejjed anger).
Count d’Orlheim ! —

Count d'Orlheim (with dignity) i

Sir!—

Wodmar. Do you not perceive
what an infult ? -

Count d'Orlheim. I offer you no
infult. I refufe you, and I muff
refufe you.

Wodmar. Deign then to affign the
caufe of your refufal.

Count d'Oriheim. You muff fup-
pofe that I have powerful reafons
for it ; and your delicacy ought to
refpedt my fecret.

Wodmar. Your cOndudf but too
clearly reveals it. Matilda is hated
by her father. She will perhaps be
difinherited, and abandoned by him
to defpair; but I will remain faith¬
ful to her, and do my duty.

[Exit.

Scene VIII.

Coutit d'Orlheim alone.

How is my heart expofed to be
repeatedly rent with the moil: poig¬
nant bufferings! — I wifh to hate
Matilda, but Nature enforces me to
love her with the mod: ardent affec¬
tion. O Matilda! how wretched is
thy father !

Scene IX.

Count d'Qrlbehn, Herman , Ernejl.

Herman. Mr. Wodmar has juft
gone out, feemingly tranfported
with pafiion, and as if in defpair.

Ernejl. And you, my dear uncle,
are in a ftate of agitation in which I
have never before feen you.

Herman . You cannot reftrain your
tears !

Count d'Orlheim. Leave me, I
conjure you — leave me fome mo¬
ments to myfelf.

Beauty .

Herman. Can this youn^ mkn have
had the audacity ! —

Count d'Orlheim. He is unhappy>
and I — I am a thoufand times more
to be pitied than he is. [Exit.

Herman (to Ernejl.) We muft not
leave him. Let us at leaft follow
him at a dillance ; our aftiftance may
be neceffary. [Exeunt.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

(To be continued.)

WIT and BEAUTY.

TTTit and Beauty had one days
* * difpute : Beauty claimed the
precedence of Wit in every thing;
Wit likewife preferred his claims,
but they were confined to what were
his due. The difpute divided the
empire of Paphos, and it happened
on the day of a feftival in honour
of Venus.

Beauty had in Paphos a fe pa-
rate altar and fanftuary. On her
altar incenfe was perpetually burn¬
ing; the haughty goddefs repaid the
homage of the world with a fmile,
and Love was fatisfied. Wit was
admitted into the temple, rather
from favour than regard, and ap¬
peared to referable thofe buffoons,
whom it was formerly the fafhion
to maintain in the courts of princes,
who were treated roughly, but paid
liberally. They feem, indeed, well
to have deferved their hire, for
what greater fei vice can be rendered
to the great than to preferve them
from littleffnefs and ill-humour?

Beauty offered to refer her caufe
to the whole aflembly, and a number
of perfons of both fexes were drawn
by lot to compofe the tribunal.
Thofe who were verging towards
the decline of life, were excluded :
Beauty refufed them as interefted
judges; and Wit, though he might
have reafon to complain, fubmitted
to the regulation.

Wit and

Beauty advanced to" plead her
caufe : h'er air was haughty and
confiden*, and the agitation (lie felt
from the. occafion added fire to her
eyes, arid heightened the crimfon of
her complexion. She preferred her
claims: they were, that Wit (hould
yield to her in all things ; that he
iliovdd even rank only as her fer-
va It; that he (hould have no altar
like her, but come every day to caft
incenfe into the fire continually
burning in her fanftuary. She was
then filent, rather from a failure of
ideas than from prudence. Her
difcourfe had begun to diminiffi the
impreffion which the view of her
charms excited; her (ilence was
more efficient in her behalf, and a
fmile again fecured her audience in
her interefts.

Wit then advanced into the mid ft
of the aflembly. His features were
not regular, but they were extremely
engaging. Kis eyes were full of
fire. His forehead was lofty, and
nis hair well arranged. All his moft
trifling gefiures were delicate and in-
tcreftincr The tone of his voice

was mafculine, forcible, or tender,
according to the fentiment it con¬
veyed. Every one waited with
impatience to hear what Wit would
fay in his defence, and obferved not
that his ftature was low, becaufe he
was well proportioned. The fire of
his eves communicated that of his
foul. Beauty began to lofe her in¬
fluence before him. He bowed with
a confidence mingled with refpedt,
and fpoke as follows : —

4 My charming antagonift has fo
many advantages over me, that I
cannot doubt that you will permit
me to have recourfe to every means
in mv power that may tend to gain
my caufe. I requeft then, that judg¬
ment may be deferred till the day of
the great feftival, which will be ce¬
lebrated three years hence. During
this interval I will fubihit to every

j Beauty* 349

thing that Beauty may require of me*
I leave you to judge whether any
mean jealoufy enters hato this difpute
on my part.’

Every one applauded the pro-
pofal, and the delay he requefied was
immediately granted. A lift was
made out of the names of the judges,
and inclofed in a box of cedar;
and, from that day, Beauty received
the homage of Wit, without enter¬
taining a doubt that (lie (lioulii
finally obtain the vi<9tory.

Three years foon elapfed in the do¬
minions of pleafure, and the folermra
feftival arrived. Paphos refound¬
ed with the found of flutes and cym¬
bals, and the fiiouts of a thou-
fand happy lovers. The judges in
the great caufe between Wit and
Beauty affembled to give their final
decifion. The lift was taken out of
the box of cedar, and the names
called over, and anfwered to by each,
as they took their feats.

Wit prepared to addrefs the court.
After having confulted the eyes of
all with a Angle glance, he caufed
the claims of beauty to be read, and
began by a modeft exordium, in
which, without exalting hirnfelf
above his rival, he only afpired to
equal honours. In fupport of his
rights, he compared wit and beauty,
with refpect to their intrinfic excel¬
lence, the pleafures they procure,
the fuperiority they beftow, and the
dangers to which they expofe their
poftcfibrs. It was not difficult for
him to (how the advantage which
a lover of wit and fenfe, vvhofe eyes,
countenance, language, and geftures,
every inftant difcover new charms,
has over an inanimate figure, which,
however fine and ftriking at the firft
glance, muft quickly weary, and
even difguft. He eafily proved that
it is impoffible long to love what
excites our contempt ; and defcribed
the inexhauftible refources of wit
in love, with fo much paffion, that

350

Anecdotes of Dr. Monfey •

the whole aflembly, crowding round
him, left, without perceiving it,
Beauty deferted for the firft time.
His eloquence foon completed the
confufion of his rival,

4 Let us compare/ faid the orator,
4 wit and beauty, with refped to
their duration. Age gives to the
one, while it takes away from the
other : we. acquire knowledge, in
proportion as perfonal charms fade.
Wit is of every age, beauty is limited
tooneajone; the latter approaches
old age, when the former only ac¬
quires maturity. A difeafe, an un¬
favourable breeze of air, a nothing.
In fine, deftroys beauty ; while wit
Is expofed to no fuch accidents,
and can only be deftroyed by what
deftroys life.’

The orator now found himfelf in¬
terrupted by numerous fighs which
proceeded from the breafts of the
judges.. The whole aflembly im¬
mediately turned on them its eyes.
Four of the moft elegant females,
who were of their number, h^d loft
thofe charms which, three years
before, had rendered them trium¬
phant and haughty. The beautiful
Zelia, another of them, was ena¬
moured of a youth who was not
very handfome, but admired for his
wit. Their repeated fighs and ar¬
dent looks weie fo many arguments
in proof of the pofitions of the
orator; till at length the judges,
painng from one extreme to an¬
other, would perhaps have driven
Beauty from her empire, had ftie
not prefented herfelf before them,
diftqlved in tears. This addrels was
truly eloquent, and Wit was about
to reply. But moderation impofed
file nee on both parties; and the
judges decreed, that Wit and Beauty
fhould henceforth poftefs the fame
rights, mutually render each other
the fame refped, and receive from
others the fame homage. Since this
decifon, the altar of Beauty is fome-

what more frequented by woriien ;
blit many more lovers relbrt to that
of Wit.

Anecdotes of Dr. Monssy.

TAr. Monfey was many years >hy~
fician to Chelfea Hofpital. He
was a man of very compreheni ’e
underftanding, genius, and wit, and
of infinite whimficality, all which he
preferved in full force to his death,
at the age of ninety-fix, in December
1788. He was by nature, what
Swift was from affectation and fpleen.
Dr. Monfey was particularly blunt
in his humours, and 4 gave his worft
of thoughts the worft of words ;’ but
thofe thoughts were never malignant.
His opennefs of manner, and fe-
verity of language, proceeded en¬
tirely from a love of truth, and a
difdain of every thing that favoured
of affedation and foppery. With an
appearance of rigour and parfimony,
he was really tolerant to natural fail¬
ings, and poffefted a very benevolent
heart, always ready to promote pa¬
tronage for diftrels, and to fet a
liberal example.

This gentleman entertained the

h i g h eft ad mi ration for M rs . Mo ntagu e

(the late worthy patronefs of chim-

ney-fweepers) and confidered her as

one of the firft intelledual charaders

he had ever known in his . loner and

<_>

large intercourfe with mankind. The
following extrad of a letter of plea-
fantryfiom Mrs. Montague to Dr.
Monfey, in January 1785, when the
dodor was ninety-three years of
age, evinces a reciprocity of friend-
fhip : —

4 My dear dodor, I flatter myfelf
you do not love me lefs vehemently
at ninety than you did at eighty-
nine; indeed* I feel my paffion for
you increafes yearly. A mifer does
not love a new guinea, or an anti-
quarv an old one, more than I do

Character and Manners of the Inhabitants of Scio. ?35 1

you. Like a virtuofo, I admire the
verd antique on your character, and
fet a higher price on your affections
every day. if the winter of the year
had been as pleafant as the winter
of your age, I fliould have called on
you at Chelfea before this time;' but
it has been fo harfn and fevere, that
I durlf not venture myfelf abroad
under its influence, &c.’

Dr. Mon fey lived fo long in his
office of phyfician, at Chelfea Hof-
pital, that, during many changes of
adminiffration, the reverfion of the
place had been promifed to feveral
of the medical friends of the different
pay-mailers of the forces. Looking
out of his window, one day, the doc¬
tor faw a gentleman examining the
houfe and gardens, who he knew
had got a reverfion of the place; he
therefore came out to him, and thus
accoded him : — 6 Well, fir, 1 fee you
are examining your houfe and gar¬
dens that are to be ; and I will adlire
you that they are both very pleafant
and very convenient; but I muff
tell you one circum fiance — you are
the fifth mun that has had the rever¬
fion of the place, and I have buried
them all; and what is more,’ faid the
doCior, looking fcientifically at him,
* there is fomething in your face that
tells me I fhall bury you too.’ The
event juftified the do&or’s predic¬
tion, as the gentleman died a few
years after ; and, at the time of Dr.
Monfey’s death,- no perfon had the
promife of the reverfion.

_ Dr. Monfev, by will, directed that
his body fliould be anatomifed, and
the fkeLton preferved in Chelfea-
Hofpital.

Character and Manners of the
Inhabitants of the Island of
Scio, in the Archipelago.

( From Olivier's Travels in the Ottoman Empire .J

nPHE legiflaror who may wifh to
. obferve the influence of inbL

tutions and of laws, on the morals,
character, and induflry, of man,
ought principally to turn his eye to¬
wards a people who, living under
the lame fky, on the fame foil, pro-
felling the fame religion, differ, ne¬
ver thelefs, from themfelves to fudi
a degree, that they appear incog-
nifible. After having eroded a
little arm of the fea, I thought my¬
felf tranfported into another region,
into another climate. I had feeu
the Greek bent under the yoke of
the mod frightful defpotifm : he was
deceitful, rude, timid, ignorant, fu-
perbitious, and poor : here he en¬
joys a fhadow of liberty ; he is
honed, civil, bold, indudrious, wit¬
ty, intelligent, rich. Here I no
longer brad that mixture of pride
and meannefs which charaClerifes
the Greeks of Condantinople, and ,a
great part of the Levant; that ti¬
midity, that cowardice, which is oc-
cadoned bv perpetual fear, that bi¬
gotry which prevents no crime.
What didinguidies the inhabitants
of Scio from the other Greeks, is a
decided inclination towards com¬
merce, a warm tade for the arts,
a keen defire for enterprife ; it is a
fprightly, pleafant, epigrammatic,
wit: it is fometimes a fort of mad
and burlefque gaiety, which has given
rife to the following proverb:—4 it
is as uncomnion to fnci a green horjs as a
prudent’ Sciotd

However time may be the over-

drained meaning of this proverb, in

regard to a few inhabitants of Scio,

there are a great number who know

how to combine the mod circum-

fpeCI prudence with the mod liveiv

and the mod amiable fprighdinefs*

No other town in the Levant pre-

fents fo great a mafs of information ?

no other contains fo manv men ex-

«r

empt from prejudices, full of good
fenie and reafon, and blelfcd with a
head better organifed.

Some among them may, never--

5 5 ‘2 Character and Manners

thelefs, be reproached with a ridi¬
culous pride, a mifplaced fanaticifm.
We have feen fools find the gratifi¬
cation of their vanity in a rich port¬
folio, a fine houfe, or a numerous
let of fervants. The ignorant man,
who had no perfonal titles to difplay
in focietv, thought to be quit towards
it, in recalling to mind thofe of his
anceftors. The druggie which exifls
between the two churches has fre¬
quently given rife to fcandalous
fcenes, of which the Turks alone
have taken advantage; and the in¬
fluence of the prieflhood is, perhaps,
too great in a country that wfifhes to
apply itfelf to agriculture and com¬
merce.

Not with (landing their grotefque
drefs, the women are more amiable
than thofe of the capital, becaufe
they are more courteous, more gay,
more lively, and more witty. They
are feen with tolerable freedom at
their own home, in prefence of their
relations; and they enjov, more than
elfewhere, a liberty which they fel-
dom abufe. They fpend, in all fea-
fions, part of the day in finging and
working, playing, or amufing them-
felves before their houfes v they
make up to pafiengers, frequently
fpeak to them firft, without knowing
them ; aim at them a jefl or an epi¬
gram : if the latter difpleafe, pay
them a delicate witty compliment,
if they have an agreeable manner or
prepoffelling countenance. If you
anfvver them in the fame tone, the
converiation begins aloud : you exert
all your wit and gentility, you laugh,
and y6u part from each other pleafed
and gratified.

If you go to the efplanade, into
the gardens, and round the town,
you will meet, on Sundays and ho¬
lidays, groups of young damfels,
who flop you very frequently, play
you a thoufand pranks, afk you for
money, offer vou flowers and com-
fits. You may in like manner ad-

of the Inhabitants of Scio.

drefs yourfelf to them firfi, and be¬
gin with them by fome pleafantry.

But in this country every thing
pafies in converfation with the girls,
and the married women are much
more referved than one would fup-
pofe at the firll accefs. It is not
that Scio does not refemble almofl
all the towns of Europe, and that
amorous intrigues do not frequently
occur; but fcandal, at leafl, is rare ;
public protlitutes conceal themfelves,
and decorum reigns every where.

More circurnfpedt in regard to the
Turks whom they meet, the women
of Scio do not addrefs themfelves to
them, nor do they anfwer their
queflions ; they know that they
would expofe themfelves to fome
brutality on their part, or, at leafl, to
fome indecent converfation. But
they preferve in their prefence that
free air, that confident look, which
is not to be feen even in the women
of the capital.

Whether eafy countenances and
gaiety, under a beautiful fky, alike-"
concur to give to women agreeable
forms, regular features, foft and
(lightly animated colours; or whe¬
ther the Greek women have lefs de¬
generated here than elfewhere from
their ancient beauty, it is certain
that there are not to be found in any
other country of the Levant fo many
beautiful women as at Scio; and,
nevertbeiefs, fuhjugated by a bad
tafle, they make too grd'at a life of
red, white, and black, which, very
far from adding to their charms,
caufe that foftnefs to difappear, con¬
ceal that delicate complexion, de-
flroy that bloom, which every where
render women fo agreeable and fo
captivating.

Here they frequent the baths
much more feldom than the Greek
women of Smyrna and Conflanti-
nople; and this, perhaps, is the rea-
fon why their beauty lafis longer.
They attribute the w’hitenefs of their

Augujla and Emily ; a Tale .

teeth to the almob continual and
general cuftom of having mabic in-
cefi'antly in their mouth ; but perhaps
they owe this advantage bill more to
the diflike that they have to fmoking,
in which the others find an inexprefii-
ble plea fu re.

Economical and temperate in their
family, the richeft as well as the
pooreb (how an excebive love of
gain. Thofe lefs gifted by fortune
employ themfelves in making book¬
ings, caps, and purfes, which they
fell to paflengers, or carry to their
dealers. The rich women embroi¬
der handkerchiefs, and all the linen
in ufe among the orientals; feveral
have a frame in their own houfe,
and work at fome fort of filk or
cotton buff* Sweetmeats, conferveS
of rofes and orange flowers, fyrups
of lemon, and bergamot citron, oe-
cupy a great number of women of
all ages and all conditions. It is
generally in the country that' they
breed the filk-worm and fpin cot¬
ton.

AUGUSTA and EMILY;

A TALE.

£by miss c. b. yeames.]

( Concluded from page 319.)

\XTith a figh and a throbbing
** heart, Horatio folded up the
papers of themifguided Mrs. Lewis,
and left the hermitage to return to
the grove, to meet the placid fmiles
of Emily and the lively fallies of
Auguba.

‘Wretched penitent!’ mentally
mourned he, as his feet trod on the
verdant carpet of nature — * Deluded
girl ! to a6t fo perfidioufly to thy
ideareb friend !— But are we not all
Iprone to err?’ immediately thought
‘he, and his fiber’s conduft ap-
peared lefs horrid.

Vol. XXXIV.

A bep now approached near him %
it was mifs Lewis, ever beauteous,
but now more bewitchingly animat¬
ed by the pale blufh which exercife,
in eroding the flowery path, had
given her; file bood before her
abonibied uncle with all the graces
fluttering round her, with ail the un*
fophibicated charms of innocence
pictured in her youthful form.

‘ Ah ! my dear uncle,’ cried {he,
‘ why this agitation ?• — Why thofe
tears ? ’

4 Sweet Emily !’ returned he*,
‘ feek not to know the caufe which
hath fo diburbed me. feek it not.’

* Forgive my curiofity, beloved
fir!’ replied file, refpeCtfully prefling
his hand to her lips : — 4 Forgive the
poor orphan intrubed to your love 1*

4 Afk not for that which you need
not, pieafing girl !’ exclaimed Mr.
Harcourt; and bovvly they walked
to the grove.

4 Agincourt,’ faid Auguba, bluffi-
ing, 4 has been prefixing me to name
an early day for’ — —

4 Our union, which is to complete
my biffs,1 returned he with eager-
nefsv

4 Methinks,’ cried lady Mary, fix*
ing her brilliant eves on William
with an arch fmile, 4 you are forne-
what too much in hafte to beai the
obedient Auguba from her fond
fire.’

Mr. Harcourt thanked her by a
fmile more expreflive than words ;
and, taking the hand of Auguba, he
placed it in lord William's, faying ;
— f In thy protecting arms I place
my child, my beb beloved 5 I think
by fo doing I infure her happinefs
with yours for ever ! if not-- but oh !
that will not bear the thought, fo let
it vanifh like the empty bubble of a
miby morn, which, for a time, ob-
feure^ to make more brilliant the
golden radiance of a blufhing day.’

‘ Accept the mob fervent thanks
which my poor tongue can utter,*

2 Z

554

Augujla and Emily ; a Tale.

exclaimed his lordfhip, ‘ for fuch a juft entering into the large deco-
precious gift: a gift for which an rated hall of the park, from whence
eaffern monarch might lowly bow. they pafs into an apartment where
lint 1, the humbled: of her flaves, they were regaled with the choiced
will ever proftrate myfelf before her fruits and viands that can feaif the
god-like image, and own no other eye or refrefli the appetite.

Ihrine but that of my adored Au- Every thing went off with the
oufta.’ moff unbounded eclat ; and Mrs.

<D t • ^

So palled the day in planning Elarcourt, if not the bed loved, was
fcenes of future felicity, on the part the mod admired. It is true the de-
of the youthful groupe ; and, by licate Chriftina, in the mild anxious
Horatio, in penlive fadnefs, at the mother, by fome was allowed to be
feparation which was fo foon to take more elegant, more bewitchingly
place between h'Mn and his daughter, lovely; but then the commanding

The night now approached in air, the expreliive cad of counte-
wbich Mrs. Harcourt was to make nance, and the didindl delivery of
her fecond appearance in the delight- fpeecb, gave the dramatic palm to
ful paragon of fafhion, the neat Agatha. Alonzo next came in for
theatrical of her friend mifs Strange- his ftiare of approbation: none was
ways. The part was Elvira, in Pi- more deferving of it, though none
zarro; and, as the beautiful repre- wiflied for it lefs ; as he only per-
fentative of the noble Spaniard, die fonifiedthecharadtertogratifythear-
drovetogain applaufe. The abode dent widi of his fair coufin Chridina.
of the admirer ofThalia was Strange- Mr. Chambaud was the mod
way-park, an elegant manfion, four plealing of men; tall, handfome,
miles didant from the Grove. and poffeffed of the mod enlighfen-

The palpitating heart, the tearful ed underdanding, he infpired the
eye, and trembling form, were all highed fentiments of refped and
known to the ne\V Elvira; and when admiration. Emily beheld him with
die depped into the coach which partial fondnefs, and Orlando could
was to convey her to the doating not gaze on the beautiful mifs Lewis
arms of her friend, her cheek glow- without feeling the power of her
ed with expe6Iation, and her agile foft blue eyes. Every hour and at
1‘nnbs were nearly convulfed with every interview his paflion for the
pleafure. Cards of invitation were charming girl became more evident;
didributed many miles around the and the modeft maid, had ndt deli-
fairy environs of its playful midrefs : cacy prevented her, could have be-
but none of the courtly company trayed the fame emotions of tender-
fhone more beautiful than the amia- nets. ChTambaud one day fought,
ble party from the Grove. Earl Emily. He avowed his love; he
Cuthhert being (lightly indifpofed, preffed his fuit with ardour; and,
Mr. Harcourt chofe to day at home, throwing himfelf at her feet, ex-
to be his attendant, in the room of claimed —

lady Mary; and Emily, who never 4 if I have not offended you, be-
before had beheld a dramatic re- loved Emily, deign to beftow an
prefentation in England, longed anfwer on thy devoted Chambaud ;
for the hour which was to take and, if you cannot give me hope,
her to its entrancements. Mifs crufh at once all my earthly happi-
Harcourf went to pleafe her mother, nefs !’

and Agincourt could not day be- ‘ Alas !’ foftly cried Orlando,

hiad. Behold them, therefore, now turning from her, \ why did I ever

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of ‘ Tom Jokes.* 355

leave mv native land, to become To
wretched — fo very wretched, that,
without my charmer confents to be
mine, this wan frame will Shortly
fink to ’ -

Emily’s agitation became ex¬
treme, her eyes fparkled with a
gliftening dew, and only could file
utter — •

4 Rife, Mr. Chambaud, and grant
me vour pardon. I refpeCt your
numerous virtue?,’ added fee ; 4 but
prefs no further. Leave me.’

Her voice faultered : Orlando
perceived it. He killed her hand;
and, with a look of animated tri¬
umph, left her..

To Augufta, the friend of her
bofom, mifs Lewis imparted the
confefhon of Chambaud, and foon
was Mr. Harcourt informed of the
fame. X° Agatha, who now began
to grow more mild, both towards
her child and her hufband, it gave
infinite delight ; as file admired no
one more than the graceful marquis,
the amiable coufin of her fweet
Christina. Warmly beat the heart
of the voung Emily, when her uncle
prefented her hand to her adored
Orlando.

4 Live happy!’ he cried: 4 live
virtuous! and may the days of the
fee on d child of my affections glide
on in blifsful ferenity !’

All prefent wept; and the now
foftened Agatha fell on her trem¬
bling knees before her hufband, lay-
ing —

‘ Dare 1 afk you to pardon the
a {Tallin of your peace?’

4 It is paft, beloved Agatha!’ cried
he ; 4 and let this aufpicious hour be
ever facred. I am eager to accept
your offer of a reconciliation to my
affeCtions, which, fpite of your cut¬
ting negleCt, could never be alienated
from you.’

4 This kindnefs is too much from
you, dearelt Horatio!’ exclaimed
She, half fainting in his arms. He

gently fupported her, and Agatha
once again was the loving and be¬
loved wife of Horatio.

Mild blew the weftern wind, and
ferenely beamed the azure vault of
heaven, when the two fair coulins
were led to the altar of Hymen by
the moft worthy of men. Jt was at
the village-church of Afliton that
the folemn fervice was performed,
and never looked more blooming
the beautiful Augufla and Emily.

Lady Mary Paul ever lived a life
of celibacy, to watch over the de¬
clining years of her father, and to be
the choice companion of her fweet
Hirer, Augufla, who, with her Wil¬
liam, diffufed bleffmgs around her
with a plenteous hand: while the
fair marchionefs Chambaud, after
flaying in England a twelvemonth,
bid adieu to her adoring relations,
and returned to her own country ;
where, in the friendship of her early
friend, madame de Perpignon, and
the affectionate arms of her hufband,
the affable Orlando, fee lived happy,
admired and refpeCled by all.

Harwich, 'June 3, 1803.

Critical Observations on the
Novel of ‘ Tom Jones.’

In a Series 'of fetters from an Uncle to
his Niece.

{Continued from p. 307 ■)

LETTER XL

DEAR NIECE,

he introductory chapter to the
fourteenth book forms a well-
written effay, on the qualifications
neceliary to constitute a judicious
author ; and in this Serious difeuf-
fion much humour is interfperfed,
particularly in the fifth fedlion,
where feme ironical compliments are
paffed on two eminent perfonages
who flourished at the period when

356 Critical Obfer vat ions on the Novel of 6 Tom Jones.

our author wrote; namely; Mr.
Fdex, the dancing- mailer, and Mr.
Broughton, the celebrated pugilid.
The reafon which Mr. Fielding
gives for the inability of authors in
defcribing the manners of high life,
namely, from their being excluded
the fociety of people of rank and
condition, will be allowed to be well-
founded ; and fo likewife is his
obfervation, that the manners of the
higher clafles of fociety do not admit
of that diverlity of charafter which
is to be met with in the more hum¬
ble walks of life, where, from the
variety of callings among the gene-
i'al mafs of the people, their feveral
habits, converfation, and behaviour,
become more diverfified, than
amongft thofe who are redrifted by
the laws of fafhion and the univer-
fality of prejudice. How far the
farcafm may be well-founded, that
the whole race of the gentlemen and
ladies of the ton are, with a few ex¬
ceptions, dedicated to the mod fri¬
volous purfuits, I fhall not take
upon me to determine. The ruling-
principle which Mr. Fielding, in
the laft feftion of this chapter, de¬
clares to have then been charafteridic
of many individuals in high life,
may probably apply to the prefen t
beau tnonde .

The fecond chapter of this book
exhibits the amorous complexion of
lady Beiladon in a very drong
and ludicrous point of view. The
two notes written by this lady to
Jones, and the three poftferipts to
the lad note; but, above all, her
fudde,n appearance at the heels of
thefe billet-doux ; are peculiarly cha-
ratteridic of the agitation of a female
mind bewildered in a labyrinth of
doubt and anxiety, arifing from the
turbulence of her unruly padions.
The abrupt entrance of Mrs. Ho¬
nour, the retreat of lady Beiladon
behind the bed, the converfation
between Jones and the waiting-wo¬

man, and the awkward dilemma to
which Jones is reduced, form alto¬
gether a mod curious fpecimen of
the ridiculous, and contribute to
render this a mod humorous and
laughable feene. The extreme rage
of lady Beiladon ; the facility with
which her anger is pacified, al¬
though fhe was convinced, from the
cleared and mod pofitive evidence,
that Sophia alone podeded the
edeem of Jones; are circumdances
which again proclaim the unruly
paffions of this lady, and that the
indulgence of an illicit commerce
had worn out all traces of that deco¬
rum of behaviour fo necedary to
preferve from infult the female cha-
rafter; that decorum or prudence
(which in another place our author
terms the guard of virtue) without
which no woman can fafely trud to
her own refolutions.

The letter which Jones received
from Sophia by Mrs. Honour, and
which is given to the reader in the
third chapter, forms a driking con-
trad to thofe of lady Beiladon, in
the lad chapter; and the dilemma to
which Jones is now reduced, of feign¬
ing illnefs led his non-compliance
with the appointment made to her
ladyfnip diould fan theembers of her
irritable difpofition, conditute, in
the fequel, a feene of the utmod
pleafantry, as will appear in the
feventh chapter of the fifteenth book.
But, fird, it became necedary for
Jones to palliate the irregularities of
the preceding night with Mrs. Mil¬
ler, and to reconcile the hurricane
which had paded at that time in his
chamber to the drift ideas of de¬
corum entertained by his virtuous
hodefs. Mrs. Miller is, therefore,
now introduced ; and the grave
lefture which die reads to Jones on
this occafion, delivered in the ap¬
propriate terms and charafteridic
phrafes of this good woman, not
only confirrnsfhe reader in his good

Critical Obfervationsm the Novel of ‘ T vn Jones? 35/

opinion of her — (which, had fhe ta¬
citly fubmitted tothcfe irregularities,
might have judly expofed her cha¬
racter to cenfure), — but leads on to
other matters neceflary towards the
catadrophe of the piece. That part
of Mrs. Miller’s fpeeeh wherein,
from a grateful impulfe, (he offers a
juft tribute of praife to Jones for his
generous behaviour towards Mr.
Anderfon, dil'covers to the reader
that this man was the identical per-
fon who had hopped Mr Jones and
Partridge, on their journey to Lon¬
don. The remaining part of this
chapter, wherein Jones feverely re¬
bukes Partridge for having divulged
this piece of'fecret hidory to Mrs.
Miller, and for having likewife re¬
vealed to that lady the connection
between Mr. Allworthy and our
hero, — a matter which Jones be¬
came acquainted with through the
like fource of communication, — is
replete with the molt laughable pe¬
riods, arifing from the fimplicity
wherewith Mr. Partridge drives to
exculpate himfelf from the charges
brought againff him.

The fourth chapter of this book is
one of thofe in which the virtuous
difpofition of the author fhines forth
with the moft conspicuous luftre.
The language wherein he delivers
the moral lentences contained in this
and the two fucceeding chapters
is a (hiking proof that his capacity
was not lefs adapted to the painting
fcenes of a grave and folemn turn,
than to thofe of a more airy and hu¬
morous cad : of this various in¬
dances have occurred in the fore¬
going pages, but none that do great¬
er credit to his talents for exciting
iympathy than the chapters under
con fide rati on. This fourth chapter
opens fome further traits in the
character of Mr. Nightingale, pre¬
pares the reader for the melancholy
catadrophe of poor Nancy, and leads
to an under-plot, in which Mr.
Jones’s exertions, in behalf of Mrs.

Miller’s family, will be fet in a very
confpicuous point of view.

T he hidory of Mrs. Miller, in the
fifth chapter, is very properly intro¬
duced in that place where the good
woman is anxious to convince Jones,
to whom fhe dood indebted for num-
berlefs favours, that no conii deration
but that of giving offence to Mr.
Allworthy, and of entailing a dis¬
grace on her family, tliould have
prevailed on her to part with fo good
a friend. This little epifode forms
a mod intereding tale, which is re¬
lated with an artlefs fimplicity, and
clothed in the mod unaffected lan¬
guage, The fame undifguifed free¬
dom, the fame turn of periods, and
the lame loquacious though not un-
pleafmg circumlocution, mark the
addrefs of Mrs. Miller, whe rever
(he makes her appearance in this
hidory. The pathetic grains of that
period wherein Mrs. Miller relates
the death of her hufband will not
efcape your notice. Mr. Allwor¬
thy’s letter to the widow is above all
praife; and the effufions of grati¬
tude which, in her relation of this
circumdance to Jones, break forth
towards her benefa&or, are fuch as
befpeak the mod tender heart. —
That the fenfations of the author
were in unifon with thea&ors in the
fcene he has painted cannot admit
of a doubt. The fentiments ex-
preffed by Mrs. Miller, in the fifth
feaion, re deft the greated honour
upon the foundnefs of her under-
Handing : fhe fays, they were the
fentiments of her'hufband; and fo I
will venture to alfert they are of
every worthy divine, and of every
fenfible and unbiaffed individual, in
the Chridian woilcj.

The irony, at the outfet of the
fixth chapter, and the compliment
paid to thofe people who have that
hrmnefs of mir.-d which rolls a man
as it were within himfelf, and, like a
polifhed bowl, enables him to run
through the world without being

SSS Critical Obfermtions on the Novel of 4 Tom Jones*9

flopped by the calamities of others,
forms a beautiful eulogium on the
Sympathy of generous minds; whilft
it is a keen reproof on thofe obdu¬
rate hearts which feel only for them-

felves. The man of the hill, as we
have before feen, was tinctured with
this mifanthropy : we are not, there¬
fore, to be aftonifhed that Jones,
who was fo eminently diftinguifhed
for the opposite quality, fhould fmile
when the old man, in the courfe of
his ftory, introduced a quotation
from Horace., of which the eleventh,
twelfth, and thirteenth lines of the
chapter now under confederation
are a pretty clofe verfion. The an-
fvver of Partridge to his mafter’s
queftions, and his remarks upon
what had happened to poor Nancy,
are perfectly in character. Gene-
rofity of fpirit 2nd liberality of fen-
timent are very rarely to be found
within the lower ranks of life, among
whom Mr. Partridge (notwithstand¬
ing his proficiency in the claffics)
ought to be numbered. Thefe ex-
ceUeat qualities, though indeed they
may in fome meafure attach to the
temper of the individual who pof.
felTes them, ipay neverthelefs be
attained by every one who will re-
folve to ffiun calumny of every kind,
not to liften to every goffip’s tale,
and, in fliort, to take everything by
the right handle. Mrs. Miller’s ad-
drefs to Jones, and indeed the whole
feene which paffes between them, is
a fine fpecimen of the pathetic;
which is ftill heightened by the in¬
nocent piattle of little Betfey. Mr.
Jones’s humanity and tendernefs of
difpofiiion fhine forth with confpi-
cuous Iuftre on this occafion; and I
am perfuaded you never read the
penultimate fedion of this chapter
but you join with the mother in im¬
ploring Heaven to ffiower down all
its bieffings on the head of one
whofe heart ovet flowed with fuch
tender fenfations.

The converfation between Mr,

Jones and Mr. Nightingale, in the
feventh chapter, is perfectly con¬
fident with 'the idea which a long
acquaintance with the hero of the
piece enables us to have formed of
him; and, with refped to Nightin¬
gale, the intimations which have be¬
fore been given of this gentleman
are very proper harbingeis to the
reception Mr. Jones met with from
him on this occafion. Though a
man of the ten and of vertu (as we
have been in formed before), his
principles were by no means fo vi¬
tiated but he was well inclined to
liften to the friendly admonitions of
Jones, and to aft accordingly.

The eighth chapter conveys Mr,
Jones to the houfe of old Nightin¬
gale; a vifit which he undertook, in
difeharge of his promife to his
friend, in the laft chapter, in order
to inform him of the engagement
between young Nightingale and mifs
Nancy. The portrait drawn of old
Mr. Nightingale, in this chapter, ex¬
hibits by no means a diftorted re-
femblance to thofe gentlemen who,
like him, deal in money, and 4 take
the advantage fometimes of the ne-
ceffities of private individuals, and
fometimes of thofe of the public.*
To fay the truth, it would be an
eafy talk, among the gold and filver
mongers every dav aftembled in the

o * * __

rotunda at the Bank of England,
and in the public walks at the Royal
Exchange, to Angle out individuals
who might fit for the pidure; and
fo near a refemblance does the ficti¬
tious character of Mr. Nightingale
bear to the money-brokers in real
life, that every reader who hath been
in the habit of converting with the
commercial part of mankind, or (to
fpeak in the modern dialed) with
the monied men of the citv, cannot
fail to call to remembrance the fea¬
tures of fome one or other of his
acquaintances in the vifage of Mr,
Nightingale. The converfation be¬
tween Jones and the old gentlerqjaa

Critical jObfervations on fife Novel of c 'Tom Jones? 35,9

forms a very ludicrous fcene ; the
quedions of our hero being framed
in terms fo ambiguous and equivo¬
cal, that the avarice of Mr. Night¬
ingale is tickled, and he is thus pre¬
vailed on to entruft Jones with more
of the ft cret refpeding the match
he had propofed for young Nightin¬
gale than he would otherwife have
done. The entrance of the brother
at this interval, when the old gentle¬
man was thrown into the utmoft
perplexity, and, as it were, ffruck
dumb from the unwelcome tidings
of Mr. Jones, proved a fortunate
circumdance to this latter, for whom
the uncle of young Nightingale
(hows himfelf a powerful auxiliary;
for, although the fenfible advice
which he gives could have little
effedt in removing the prejudices of
the father of the young man, fince
the cleaned reafons and bed-founded
arguments, as Mr. Fielding elfe-
vvhere obferves, can be of no avail
againd the force of habitual avarice;
it will, neverthelefs, be found, in the
fequel, that the uncle’s approbation
of the nephew's conduct, and his in¬
troduction at this jundture, are in¬
cidents very material towards the
catadrophe of this little epifode,
and, indeed, towards the catadrophe
of the main dory, with which this
beautifultale is materially connected ;
and is a further fpecimen of Mr.
Fielding’s ingenuity in weaving the
thread of his piece, where every
incident appears to have, been
brought about through the mod
natural chain of events, at the fame
time that every occurrence is fo ju-
dicioudy managed as tofurnifh forth
a fund of amufement, independent
of its connection with the red of the
drama. The terms in which our
author defcribes the broad features
in the mental and perfonal qualities
of mifs Harris, are exprefted in a
humorous dyle peculiar to himfelf:
other writers might have dwelt with
the mod tedious prolixity on. the

deformities of mifs Harris’s mind
and perfon, and might on this occa-
iion have fpun out many pages of
phlegmatic narrative, but Mr. Field¬
ing chofe to exprefs himfelf in the
rood laconic phrafes, by which the
reader has a perfeCt comprehendom
of the lady’s attractions, at the fame
time that he is highly gratified by
the manner of the relation.

In the ninth chapter, each of the
parties a [fern bled at Mrs. Vi tiler’s
appears in the precile drapery of
character wherein fuch perfon had
been heretofore introduced to our
notice. The manner in which Mrs,
Miller relates to Jones the pleading
contraCt which had taken place
during his abfence, and thofe un¬
bounded terms of gratitude with
which die prefaces her dory, at once
proclaim the innate goodnefs of her
heart, and confirm us in the opinion
we had before entertained of her.
You will obferve with what art the
writer has contrived to bring about
this revolution, and how necelfary it
was that the uncle of young Nightin¬
gale fhonld make his appearance at
his brother’s during the fcene which
palled between Jones and the old
gentleman. The con fed! on which
young Nightingale makes to- his
uncle may be traced, with great pro¬
priety, to the ruling principles of the
young man, which is that of an open
unfufpeCling youth. His attendance
upon his uncle to his lodgings, how¬
ever improbable it may appear to
thofe readers whofe chief delight
confids in perufal of dull inlipid
narration and plain matter of faCt;
that he fhonld be prevailed on to
leav§ his bride, as related in the
twelfth chapter, in which light fhe
had been before reprefented to the
unde; ferves to illudrate the petition
which our author had before laid
down, that it is contraft alone
which can add charms to every inci¬
dent of life. The abrupt depa< ture
of the nephew with the old gentle-

360 Robert M6Kenzic ; or 3 the Adventures of a Scoff man.

man conduces likewise to thefupport
of the main drift of the novel, as
will appear from the matter con¬
tained in the fubfequent book. The
obfervations of the author, in the
fourth and fifth fections of this chap¬
ter, upon the effects of duplicity,
when played otfi at each other by
two people, the object of each of
whom it is to ferve his own intereft
at the expence of his fiiend, may
be confirmed by every day ’’s expe¬
rience in the commerce of the world,
where thofe who have been many
years converfant in the artifices of
mankind will be enabled to bring to
their recollection inftances not iefs
Illuftrative of the point in quefiion
than the apt allufion quoted by Mr.
Fielding, of the two horfe -jockeys.

(To be continued.)

ROBERT MKENZ1E;

OR, THE

ADVENTURES OF A SCOTSMAN.

£i Written by himjelf, and edited by R. Ferric —
Giajgc'iv. ]

( Continued from p. $11.)

chap. v.

^1 'he earl, previous to the depar-
'*• ture of his fon, determined to
give a grand ball at his houfe, as a
farewel to the friends of the young
lord. The moll colfly decorations
that wealth could procure or art
produce were brought forward on
this occafion, as the earl proclaimed
his determination to celebrate this
event as his refufcitation from the
dead.

A large ball-room was formed by
two or three of the principal rooms
being thrown into one, in order to
accommodate the numerous com¬
pany that Were invited on the oc¬
cafion.

This long wifbed-for evening at
length arrived, and for fome time
every idea that I had conceived of
pieafure* was here realifed. The
magic fplendor of the fcene, the ele¬
gance of the ball-room, which the
blaze of light difplayed to peculiar
advantage, and the many apparently
happy beings fluttering in the maze
of pieafure, feemed altogether fuch
a coup-d'ceil to me, unacquainted
with the fplendid fcertes of the great,
as it is now impoffible for me to
exprefs. Totally furrendering my
fenfes to the brilliancy of the fcene,
I gave myfelf up folely to pieafure.
The footing on which I Hood with
the family of the earl had been fuch
as enabled me to form many eligible
connexions, and I had therefore no
reafon to fuppofe but fome of thofe
beautiful females I faw on every fide
would join me in tracing f Hi mazy
labyrinth of the dance. Nor were
my hopes difappointed ; a young
lady to whom I had been intro¬
duced confented to honour me with
her hand, when, in a moment, every
thought, fave that of defpair, was
driven from my mind, on the fudden
Appearance of a young lady coming
clofe to my fide, and whifpering, in
a low' tone that made me tremble : — >

4 Robert, what a wretch thou muft
be ! At this moment* when nothing
but pieafure feems to be your objeff,
the wretched victim of thy crime
deplores, in terms that would melt
a ftone, thy apoftacy and guilt.’

As foon as the had faid this, the
turned round, and, haftily mingling
with the w'ell-drefled crowd, efcaped
every fearch I could make, and 1
then faw her no more. This inci¬
dent entirely deprived me of every
inclination to enjoy the fcene before
me ; and, pretending to have been
attacked with a fudden iilneft, I re¬
tired to my apartment, where, in
darknefs and fitence, I gave myfelf
up to defpain

Robert M‘Kenzie ; or , the Adventures of a Scotfman . 36 1

The following day was that fixed
for our departure, when the buftle
of preparation alleviated in fome
meafure the poignancy of my grief.
The earl of Kirkintiloch, when he
was informed that every thing was
ready for our departure, took us
into his ftudy and add relied us to the
following effect : —

*• Young gentlemen, you are now
going to leave vour native country
for a confiderable period : it is,
therefore, proper that your conduit,
while you remain in a foreign coun¬
try, may be Inch as will throw no
difgrace on the name of Scotfmen.
In faying this to you, I fay every
thing: for if vou conduit vourfelf
as becomes a Scotfman, you can ne¬
ver be guilty of any thing criminal.
Go, and keep honour ever in your
view. Bravery you both poftefsj.
but remember that virtue will de¬
generate into vice, when not pro¬
perly tempered with prudence. I
do not with to weary you with any
old-fafhioned maxims, which, per¬
haps, you may think originate in
my want of knowledge of the world ■
therefore, come to my arms, my fon,
and let me bid you a long adieu.’

With thefe words he clafped his
fon in his arms, and remained for
fome moments fpeechlefs; then,
gently pufhing us out of the room,
he defired us to haften away. In
obedience to this order, we took
our departure, in a very forrowful
mood, for the port of Leith, where
a x packet, that was to convey us to
Bourdeaux, Lay ready for our de¬
parture, in which veftcl our equi¬
page, and fervant had been pre-
viaufly lodged.

The moment we entered the
packet got under weigh, and in a
few hours after having cleared the
pier of Leith I firft faw the Ger¬
man Ocean.

To me every thing appeared
fublime : the romantic iflet of lnch-
Vot. XXXIV.

keirh, the diftant plains of the ver¬
dant Fife, the rugged rock of the
Bafs, and the majeffic fpires of Lclin-
burgh, when viewed altogether in
the clear radiance of a mid-day fun,
formed a romantic and Angularly
grand appearance. Even JYlurchi-
fon, who commonly was not very
heedful of the fublime of nature,
was ffruck with the fight, and ac¬
knowledged that the feene was de¬
lightful.

By degrees the fcenc ieflened to
our view, and in a fhort time no¬
thing more of my native Ifle was to
be fee n than the diftant rocks of
Fifenefs. A foothing melancholy
now ftole over my frame j and, re¬
tiring to the cabin, 1 fat down to
the writing defk and produced the
following

LINES ON leaving SCOTLAND.

Farewell, my dear, my native dime !

Adieu, my lov’d and happy Ihore t
I now mud- wander for a time ;

Pci haps, I’ll never fee thee more f

StiD in my heart I’ll fondly gmfp the hope
That Scotia yet may be my dwelling-place j
Then, in the time, my country’s haplels lot,
With mournful tendernefs, I’ll fluwiy trace,

Where are thy patrioB, faithful, ardent, bold,
Who lov’d thy wilds, and blefs’d thy fea-
girt coaft ?

Neglc&ed Scotia ! once thy pride and boaft,
Ah ! where are now thy patriots, &m’d of
old?

W hen Wallace fhook, unaw’d, the glitt’ring
fpear.

And glorious flood, the chieftain of the
brave ;

When rumour dill convey’d from ear to ear
Ihat Wallace never would become a
Dave —

Thofe were the days when, nobly great,

Thy patriot warriors their country lov’d ;
When war’s rude clamours in a bleeding
date

Their ardour and their courage nobly
prov’d.

Kail, Scotia, hail! my native land, adieu!

Adieu again repeats the trickling tears
My native home, a long farewel to you t
Adieu 1 adieu, to all that 1 hold dear i

a a

36% Robert MiKenzte; cr> the Adventures of a Scotfmarit

Night having now veiled the
world in darknefs, I fought his lord-
fhip, whom I found talking and
joking with the Tailors. With fome
difficulty, I perfuaded him to retire
to the cabin, where he found the
verfes I had wrote carelefsly laying
on the table. After haftily reading
them over, he burft into a fit of
J a lighter.

4 Poetafter !’ exclaimed he, 4 thou
art a forry loon ; thou muft come
under my tuition in the art of
poetry..’ Then fitting down to the
table, he produced, in a moment, the
following

HYMN to VENUS.

Loveiy godders, young and gay,

Cheerful as the month of May,

Venus, nam’d the Cyprian queen,

Who lov’d of gods and men hail been,
Deign to hear a lover’s prayer,

N or leave him haplefs to defpair 5
Kindly grant his firft requeft- —

He anxious waits your high beheft.

Grant he may a female find,

Who, fmiling gently, may prove kind :
Grant that handfome the may be.

And this is all I afk of thee.

‘There!’ pointing to the verfes
he had wrote, 4 there is an im¬
promptu for you ; you muff now
acknowledge that I am your fupe-
rior in the art poetic.’

Upon reading over his vq^fes,
I at once acknowledged that 1 was
conquered: this declaration put his
iordfhip in alto; and, in the higheft
glee, he declared he would celebrate
his victory in a libation to Bacchus.
In this I was forced to partake ; and
in a fhort time forrow had- banifhed
to the realms below all reflections on
our exit from our native country,
and all dread of the feas were ex¬
pelled by the native energy of old
port.

As nothing particular occurred in
the voyage, it will be proper to give
my readers a fketch of the character
of his Iordfhip, and to introduce to

their acquaintance Donald MfAI-
pine ; and who, perhaps, may turn
out a perfon of confequence in the
following pages.

Lord Gartferry was of an open,
unthinking, and generous, charac¬
ter: the long banifhment that he
had undergone had, undoubtedly,
tended to produce many evil pro-
penfities in his mind ; but even this
cii cumftance could not eradicate the
noble candour, the manly frank nefs,
and the generous heart, that fhone
confpicuous in his every word and
action. Thefe powerful recom¬
mendations could not fail to efface
the unfavourable ideas that his
volubility, heedleffnefs, and va¬
nity, were but too apt to excite.
Our fervant, Donald M‘Alpine, was
a compound of pedantry, fimplicityj
and pride ; but thefe failings were

likewife overbalanced bv his brave-

rv, honefty, and fidelity.

The reader will here, undoubt¬
edly, exclaim, that three men, of
the characters here depicted, were
well calculated to make. the tour of
Europe to advantage ; and, indeed,

I muft acknowledge, that the fubfe-
quent adventures that befel us were
to be expeCted from the rafhnefs and
folly of our outlet.

On the morning following the
day on which we had embarked, my
friend Murchifon feemed to be in
deep and unufual ftudy, and his
features beamed with an anxious
exprefiion that convinced me fome
new fcheme was in agitation : nor •
did I mifiake; for, immediately’'
after breakfaft, he took me afide and
be^un thus : —

4 Robert, is not the man a fool
who leaves his country to improve
his mind and cultivate his under-
ftanding by travelling in foreign
lands, and yet is contented with
being whirled over the continent in
a poft-chaife?’

4 1 muft acknowledge no improve-

Robert MKenzie ; or, the Adventures of a. Scotfman 363s.

ment will rcfult from fucfy travel¬
ling.’ T- ' .

‘ Well, then, hearken to me in
filence, and reverence my determi¬
nation ; for know that I am refolved
that we (hall improve our time ;
therefore, as we are both adepts in
the^French and Italian languages, I
propofe that we fet out from Bour¬
deaux on horfeback, and traverfe
the continent in that mode. Bv this
means we (hall be enabled to mingle
with people of every rank and de-
Icription, and gain a thorough know¬
ledge of the leading features of
every nation; to fay nothing of the
interefting adventures that we may
reasonably hope to meet with by this
mode of proceeding.’

I was much alarmed at this im¬
prudent propofal, which 1 law was
only the prelude of many dilagree-
able confluences that would arile
therefrom : however, every reprer
ientation that I could make had not
the fmalleft effect with Murchifon,
who, having once taken a refo-
lution, I law could be induced by
no argument to relinquilh it. There
was, therefore, no other remedy than
fubmiffion; and, with a very bad
grace, I agreed to begin this equef-
trian journey through France; from
whence we were immediately to fet
off for Italy.

The ducuffion of this fubject had
been hardly finiihed when the lofty
fpires of Bourdeaux appeared to our
view; for which place we imme¬
diately made, and in a fhort time
effected our landing on the Gallic
fliore.

c H a p v i .

Sublime Genius! who did ft in-
fpire Cervantes, Le Sage, S mol let,
and Fielding, aid and affift me in
the undertaking which 1 have fet
about ; infufe into me feme fmali
portion of their lire; enable me

to excite in my readers an ardent
intereft for my welfare, and todepift
properly theff range and uncommon
feenes and adventures to which I
was expofed. , And. reader, previous,
to .the travels which we have to-
make in each other’s company, al¬
low me to deprecate thy wrath for
the +'ollies and vices of which I was
guilty: fuff^r me to hint, that my
education and the manner in which
J had lived were not adapted for
forming a cynic; think that youth,
health, and vigour, are always fub¬
ject to err, and then be fevere upon
me if thou canff.

The narrow and dirty ftreets of
Bourdeaux were by no. means
adapted to convey a good opinion of
that place to thole who had fo lately
arrived from the elegant lquares of
New Rd in burgh. This reflection
occurred, in a . peculiar manner, to
our truffy fervant from whom we
expected to derive no fmali degree
of amufement in the courfe of our
peregrinations.

‘ The muckle deel tak this town!*
cried he out, when we- were on the
road to the inn ; ‘ it’s a hard thing
that a body canna gang without rin-
ning their flioon up to the head in
giaur : if this be claific grund, gude
faith I’m wearied o’t.’

The uncommon attention that this
fpeech procured him from the paf-
fengers did not feem to difquiet him
in the lead; degree ; on the contrary,
he continued vociferating with the
lungs of a Stentor, when he was cut
fhort, in the midft of his harangue,
by our entering the inn to which we
had been di refled.

The next morning Murchifon
called up the fervant, and told him
that he intended to travel incog.;
and that, therefore, he muff be
careful not to addrefs him by his
title, or to give the ieaff fufpicion
to any that the mafter he ferved
was a Mi Lor Anglois. M4Alpine
3 A a

364 Robert McKenzie ; or, the Adventures of a Scotfman.

having promifed to comply with
thefe injunctions, was difmifted, and
our holt was font for, to whom Mr.
Murc.hifon (fo I fhall in future name
lord Gartferry) explained his defire
of immediately procuring three ftout
horfes.

Through the aftiftance of our
landlord, we were foon put in pof-
fefiion of three fpirifed nags; and,
upon the morning of next day, we
took our departure from Bourdeaux,
on the Quixotic plan of making an
cqueftrian tour over the comment.

The occurrences of the firft week
by no means claim the attention of
the reader ; as fuch I will pafs over
the ufuai routine of a traveller’s jour¬
nal, and take notice of no more than
what I confider as worthy their at¬
tention. Upon the Monday of the
fecond week of our departure from
Bourdeaux, as we travelled through
the delightful plains of Dauphiny,
Murchifon, after a long paufe in our
conversion, exclaimed that he was
determined we fhould no longer
exift in the apathy of our prefect
ftate. 4 Nop added be, continuing
the convei fation, 4 I will, this even¬
ing, convince you that every man
has it in his own power to achieve
the moft romantic undertaking,
when a proper degree of prudence,
courage, and firmnefs, is blended in
his fpirit; and, to convince you of
this, I here undertake that 1 will
fpend this evening in the chateau of
the provide ft lord of this neighbour¬
hood, and be received with kindnefs
and plea fure;- and, in fhort, I have
built a moft admirable fuperftruClufe
in my mind, in which 1 muft be af-
jfifted by vour advice and directions. *
My friend here clofed the dif-
courfe, and in the courfe of a few
hours we arrived at the fmall village
of Fierrers, where we directed our
fteps to the principal inn, dignified
with the poi trait of Louis k Bien
Aimi, ■ •

The garrulity of French land¬
lords, under the old regime, was here
admirably exemplified in the perfon
of our hoft; for, in the courfe of a
few minutes that we were in his com¬
pany, more intelligence was poured
in upon us than would havefufticed to
have enabled us to pafs upon the no -
blefje of that part of the country as
acquaintances or friends. Among
other topics which our hoft intro¬
duced and difeufted, he pulled out a
letter from his pocket, and con¬
tinued —

4 Gentlemen, you have, no doubt,
long ago, heard of the baron of
Hautement ?’

A negative anfwer.

4 What ! not heard of the baron ?
how extraordinary! 1 thought all
the world knew him; and let me
tell you that I am much afraid for no
good. My brother is his chief but¬
ler, and now and then fends me
accounts of his behaviour; and fuch
accounts, mon D eu !' —

Our hoft here fhrugged up his
fhoulders; and, opening the paper
he had in his hand, he continued :

4 My brother, you muft know,
gentlemen, has received a good edu¬
cation, and explains thefe masters
far better than 1 can ; you fhall,
therefore, hear his letter on the
fubjedt,’

* DEAR PERRIN,

4 The accounts which I have fo
often transmitted to you, of the
condudt of my maftcr, is ftill the
only news which I can entertain
you with; but, in fadt, the dark
myfterious condudt of that gentle¬
man is fufticitnt to fill volumes, and
ftill the reader -would never be able
to divine the raufe of Inch condudt.

When a man isbleffed with health,
a beautiful and amiable contort, and
riches in abundance, the world
would be apt to think that that man
had no realon to complain; yet here.

365

The Moral Zoologijt.

fuch a cafe does exid : and I
am fure that no wretch who toils in
a galley is more defer ving of pity than
our baron. Amidd the rage of a
temped, when the roar of thunder
and gleams of lightning drive the
traveller to feek for refuge, the ba¬
ron’s condant pradlice is to rulh
from his cattle, to wander throughout
the forelts which lurround his man-
don, to tcale precipices, and daih
through the angry torrents ; and,
when feized with thefe fits of infa¬
ncy, as furely I may call it, he will
be abfent for weeks, and no perfon
ever yet could learn where he con¬
ceals himfelf, or difcover his abode.
Laft night he returned from an exr
curfion of that kind, and, by his pre¬
fence, this terrific manfion feems
enveloped in a double gloom. His
lady is truly to be pitied ; young,
amiable, and innocent, (lie was la-
crificed, by an avaricious father, to
the baron de Hautement, and fince
then file has never enjoyed a fingle
day of true happinefs.’

Our hod then proceeded to read
Jfome family details, in which he
was foon cut lliort by Murchilon,
who had paid an uncommon degree
of attention to the letter, and who
now requefled that our communi¬
cative holt would leave us a little to
ourieives.

(To be continued.)

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART II.

( Continued from p, 288.)

THE COMMON FALCON.

here are many apparent va¬
rieties in this fpecies. Bridon
reckons no led than twenty-five ;

but BufFon reduces this to two — the
genteel falcon, or falcon gentle, and
the pilgrim, paffenger, or peregrine
falcon: both thefe are much led
than the gyr-falcon, and nearly of
the fize of the raven. They differ
but {lightly, and, perhaps, only from
the different dates they were in
when deprived of their liberty by
man. Thefe differences are more
eafily to be learned by experience
than taught by defenption. The
falcon gentle moults in March
and even earlier; the peregrine fal¬
con does not moult till tne middle
of Auguft. The peregrine is broader
over the (houlders; the eyes are
larger and deeper funk ; the bill
thicker; the legs longer and better
fet than in the falcon gentle.

The forrel falcons, which are the
young ones, and which have been
caught in September, Odlober, and
November, are the eaiieft bred to
the purfuit of game ; thofe which
are caught later, in winter, or in the
following fpring, and confeqnemly
are nine or ten months old, have
taded too much of freedom to fubmit
patiently to captivity, and their fide¬
lity or obedience can never be relied
on ; they often deferr their mader
when he lead expedis it,

Thofe caught in the ned are
called ninny falcons. When taken too
young, they are often noify and
difficult to train. They ought not*
therefore, to be didurbed till they
are confiderably grown.

The peregrine falcons are caught
in their paffage every year, in Sep¬
tember, on the i Hands in the fea,
and the high beadhes by the diore.
They are naturally quick and docile,
and very eafy to train. They are
caught not only on the coafts of
Barbary, but in all the lilands of the
Mediterranean, and particularly that
of Candia, which formerly furnifhed
the bed falcons.

3 65 The Moral Zoolmjl,

THE LANNER.

This bird is now fo rare, that
Buffo n tells us he could not procure
a fpecimen of it, as it was not found
in any of the French cabinets.
BrifTon and Salerne confefs that they
never faw it ;; and Be Ion, though he
defcribes it at confiderable length,
does not give the figure. Mr. Pen¬
nant has, however, given a defcrip-
tion of one that was caught, while
purfuing wild ducks, under the nets.

4 The larmer, or lanner- fa-icon,’
fays Beion, * generally confrr'ucts its
aerie, in France, on the tail-eft trees of
the fore ft, or on the hi g heft rocks.
It is left corpulent than the genteel
falcon or falcon gentle, and its
plumage is more beautiful than that
j of the facre, efpeciaily after moult¬
ing j it is aifo fhofter than the other
falcons. It fub lifts, better than any
other falcon, upon coarfe flefh. It
is fcafilv diftinguifhedy for its bill
and feet are blue ; the feathers on
the front mottled with black and
white, with fpots ft retching along the
feathers, and not tranfverfe as in the
common falcon. The neck is fhort
and thick, as is alfo the bill. The
female is called Lanner , and is much
larger than the male, which is named
Lanner et : they are both fimilar in
the colour of their plumage.

This bird breeds in Iceland, and
is alfo found in Sweden ; for Lin¬
naeus places it among the native
birds of that country. It is the Fal-
co-Laniaritis of his fyftem ; and its
fpecific chara&er, as given by him,
is, that its ‘ cere is yellowilh ; its
feet and bill cerulean ; its body
marked beneath with black longi¬
tudinal fpots.’ It is found alfo in
the Ferroc illands, on the Uralian
mountains, and in fome parts of
Tartary.

THE SACRE.

This is a fpecies which has a near
affinity to the lanner, and, like that,
is extremely rare. Beion, it feems

probable, is the only na’turalift who
has feen and described them both.
According to his defcription. 4 the
plumage of the facre is inferior in
beauty to that of other birds of the
falcon kind, being of a dirty ferru¬
ginous colour, like that of the kite.
It is low ; its legs and toes blue, in
fome degree fimilar to the lanner.
It would be equal to the common
falcon in fize, were it not more
compact and rounder fhaped. It is
a bird of intrepid courage, and com¬
parable in ftrength to the peregr'ne
falcon. It is alfo a bird of paffage,
and it is rare to find a man who can
boaft that he has ever feen the
place where it breeds. Some fal¬
coners 2re of opinion that it is a
native of Tartary and Ruffia, and to¬
wards the Cafpian Sea; that it mi¬
grates towards the fouth, where it
lives part of the year, and that it is
caught by the falconers who watch its
pafiage in the iflands of the Archipe¬
lago, Rhodes, Cyprus, &c. The male
is called the facre , and the female the
facret } the only difference between
them confifts in the fize.’

This bird is the Falcc-Sacer of Lin¬
naeus, who thus charafrerifes it: —

4 Its cere and feet are cerulean; the.
back, breafts, and coverts of the wings,
mottled with dufky ; the feathers of
the tail marked with kidney-lhaped
fpots.’ It inhabits Europe and Tar¬
tary. It is two feet long, and weighs
two pounds eight ounces. The feet
are feathered almoft to the toes.

To this fpecies is to be referred
the American facre , or fpeckleci par~
triage hawk \ of which the feet are
blue; the body, and the wing and
tail feathers, marked with dufky
pale bars; the head, breaft, and
belly, ftained with dufky white lon¬
gitudinal fpots. This variety is a
native of Hudfon’s Bay and other
parts of North America. It preys
on the white grous, and will even
feize them while the fowler is driv*

The Moral Zoologifi .

ing them into his nets. It breeds in
April or May in unfrequented
places, and has, it is faid, only two
eggs. It is about the fize of a crow.

THE HOBBY.

The hobbv is much fmaller than
the common falcon, and differs from
the latter no lefs in its habits than
its fize. The falcon is fierce, fpi-
rited, and courageous, and will at¬
tack an enemy far fuperior to him
in fize. The hobbv has not fuffi-
cient courage, except when it is
trained to the rhace, to atempt any
prey beyond larks and quails. But
his defeat in courage is compenfated
by his indefatigable induflry. No
looner does he perceive the fportf-
man and his dog, but he clofely
follows them, and endeavours to
catch the fmall birds they put up
before them ; and what efcapes the
fowling-piece eludes not the hobby.
Itfeems not intimidated by the noife
of fire-arms, or ignorant of their
fatal effedls ; for it continues to
keep clofe to the . perfon who
flioots. It frequents the plain coun¬
try near woods, efpecially where the
larks are numerous, among which
it commits great havoc. The larks
immediately recognife, by inflinfl,
their deflrudlive enemy, and when
they defcry him inftantly fquat
down, and endeavour to conceal
themfelves among the bufhes and the
herbage. This is the only manner
in which the lark can hope to
efcape ; for, though it foars to a
great height, the hobby can flill
foar higher. They, therefore, re¬
main fixed to the ground through
fear, which .affords the fowler an
opportunity of drawing his net over
them. This was formerly pradtifed
and termed daring the larks.

The hobby is the Falco-Subbuteo
of Linnaeus, The cere and feet
are yellow ; the back is dufky ; the
nape of the neck, white ; the abdo¬

367

men pale, with dufky oblong fpots ;
the under fide of the rump and the
thighs rufous. The male weighs
feven ounces; the length is twelve
inches ; the extent of the wings two
feet feven inches. It inhabits Eu¬
rope and Siberia. In fummer it is
frequent in England, where it breeds,
and migrates in Odlober.

THE KESTREL.

„ A V

The keftrel is one of the mod com¬
mon or the birds of prey in France,
and efpecially in Burgundy: there is
fcarceiy an old caftle or deferred
tower but is inhabited by it. It is a
handfome bird; its fight is acute;
its flight eafy and well fupporred : &
has perfeverance and courage, and
refernbles, in its inftindl, the noble
and generous birds. The female is
larger than the male. The head is
ruft-c.oloured ; the upper fide of its
back, wings, and tail, is marked
with crofs bars of brown ; and all
the feathers of the tail are of a rufly
brown, varioufly intenfe; but in the
male the head and tail are grey, and
the upper parts of the back and
wings are of a vinous ruff colour,
fprinkled with' a few fmall black
fpots.

Though this bird ufually fre¬
quents old buildings, it lefs frequent¬
ly breeds in them than in the woods.
It depofits its eggs fometirr.es in the
holes of walls, or in the cavities of
trees; at other times it conftruTs a
very flimfy fort of neft, compofed of
flicks and roots, pretty much like
that of the jays, upon the tailed trees
of the forefl : fometimes it occupies
the nefls deferted by crows. It fays
four eggs, but more frequently five,
and fometimes Ex or feven, of which
the two extremities have, like the
plumage of the bird, a reddilh or
yelloUufh tinge. Its young are at
fir ft covered with a white down, and
fed by the parent with infedls ; they
are afterwards fupplied with field-

26$ The Moral Zoologifl.

mice, which the keftrel can defcry
from a great height, as it hovers or
wheels (lowly round, and on which it
darts down inftantlv. It will fome-
times carry off a red partridge much
heavier than itfelf and often catches
pigeons that happen to ftray from
the dock Its ufual prey, however,
befides field-mice and reptiles, is
fparrovvs, chaffinches, and other fmail
birds.

This fpecies being more prolific
than moft of the rapacious tribe, is
more numerous, and more widely
diffu fed. It is found through the
whole extent of Europe — from Swe¬
den to Italy and Spain, and even in
the more temperate parts of North
America.

This bird is the F alco-Tinminculus
of Linnaeus ; and its I pecific charac¬
ter, as given by him, is, that ‘ the
cere and feet are yellowiffi; the back
rufous, with black points; the bread
marked with dufky {freaks; the tail
rounded.’

The keflrel was formerly trained,
in England, to take young partridges
and feveral kinds of fmail birds.

It is frequently found in the de¬
fects of Tartary and Siberia ; it ap¬
pears in Sweden early in the Spring,
and departs in September. It is
uncertain* whether it proceeds farther
north.

THE MERLIN.

This fmail bird (for it only weighs
about five ounces and a half) refem-
bles the common falcon in difpofition
-and courage, but is fhaped more
like the hobby, though its wings are
much fhorter, and reach not near to
.the end of the tail; while in the
hobby they project fomewhat be¬
yond it.. Notwithffanding its di¬
minutive fize, it was formerly trained
to chafe quails and partridges, which
it would kill by a fingle itroke on
the head.

- The merlin differs frqm the ge¬

nerality of the rapacious tribe by ft
character which brings it nearer to
the common rlafs of birds; Wz. the
male and female are of the fame
fize. The great inequality of fize,
therefore, obferved between the
fexes in birds of prey, keros to de¬
pend upon the magnitude; for in
the fhrikes or butcher-birds, which
are frill fmaller than the merlins, the
males and females are likewife of the
fame fize; while in the eagles, the
vultu res, and the falcons, the female-
is a third larger than the male.

The merlin flies low, though with
great fwiftnefs and eafe ; it haunts
woods and bufiies, where it watches
for and purfues the fmail birds; it
hunts without being accompanied
by the female ; it breeds in the moun¬
tain for efts, and lays five or fix eggs.

This bird is the Falco-jE/alon of
Linnaeus, who thuscharadlerifesit: — *
f The cere and feet are yellow ; the
head ferruginous ; the upper fide of
the body affi-cerulean, with ferru¬
ginous fpots and ftreaks; the under*
fide yeliowifh white, with oblong
fpots.’

THE GOSS HAWK.

The gofs h awk and fparrow hawk,
like the merlin, have their wings fo
fliort as not to reach near the end of
the tail; a character which, among
birds of prey, teems to be confined to
the hawk kind and the butcher-birds.
The gofs hawk is nearly of the lame
fize with the white gyr-falcon, but
has longer legs than moft of the fal¬
con tribe, it is larger than the com¬
mon buzzard, being one foot ten
inches long, but it ;s of a (lender And
more elegant fhape. The back, neck,
and wings, are brown ; the belly
and under part of the throat while
or yeliowifh white, with longitudinal
brown fpots the firft year, and tranf-
verfe brown bars afterwards. Th«.
bill is of a dirty blue; the legs are
featberiefs j the tees cf a deep yel-

' \

Engraved /hr tkeXadyir Magazine .

369

The Moral Zoologi/li

low, the nails blaekifh, and the fea¬
thers of the tail, which are brown,
are marked with very broad bars of
a dull grey colour. During the firft
year, the throat of the male is mot¬
tled with a reddifh colour, by which
it differs from the female, though it
refembles it in every other refpedt
except fize.

The difpofition of the gos-hawk is
fo ferocious that if one of them be
.left at liberty with feveral falcons and
hawks, it will kill them all, one after
another. M. BufFon kept two, a male
and female, in the fame aviary, but
they never fnewed the leaft affeftion
for each other, but fought frequently
with great fury, and at length the
female killed the male, after they had
remained five months together.

The gos-hawk is a native of the
mountains of Franche Compte, Dau-
phiny, and Burgundy. It is also
found in the neighbourhood of Paris 3
but it is (till more common in Ger¬
many, than France; and it feems to?
advance to the north as far as Swe¬
den, and to the eaft and the fouth as
far as Perfia and Barbary : there are
alfo varieties of it in America.

This bird is the F 'a 'co ■ P alumbarius
of Linnaeus.

THE SPARROW-HAWK.

The fparrow-hawk (th e Falco-Nifus
of Linnmus) is about the fize of a
magpie : the female is much larger
than the male. The back is of
an earth-colour fprinkled with white
fpots ; the under part of the body is
more deeply ftained 3 the under fur-
face of the wings and tail is varied
with broad white and narrow dirty
ftripes. There is alfo a white fpar-
row- hawk, which has been killed in
England.

The fparrow-hawk is docile, and
may be eafily trained to chafe part¬
ridges and quails : it will alfo catch
pigeons that ftray from the flock, and
makes great havoc among the chaf¬
finches and other fmall birds.

You, XXXIV.

Sparrow-hawks are found Hal¬
tered over the whole of the ancient
continent ftorn Sweden, to the Cape
of Good Hope. According to
Kiempfer, they are common in Ja¬
pan as well as in every part of the
Eaft Indies.

THE KITE. '

The kites and buzzards have the
fame kind of inferiority to the falcons
and hawks which the vultures have
to the eagles ; 1 deflitnte of the cou¬
rage and generous qualities which
diftinguifh the lat;er, and are cow-
ardly and flothful, though rapacious.
The kite is eafily diftinguilhed, not
only from the buzzards but from all
other birds of prey, by a tingle pro¬
minent feature : his tail is forked %
the middle feathers being fhorter
than the reft leave a vacancy that
may be perceived at a confiderable
diftance. The wings are alfo long¬
er in proportion than thole of the
buzzard, and enable him to fly with
much greater eafe. In fa6t he ap¬
pears to be perpetually on the wing*
The eafe and elegance of his morion
are truly admirable : his long narrow
wings feem abfolutely fixed 3 and all
'his motions appear to be governed
by the tail alone, which quivers
continually. He rifes without any
effort, and defeends as if he glided
down an inclined plane : he accele¬
rates or retards his courfe, flops and
hovers fufpended over the fame fpot
for a long; time without the leaft mo-
tion being obfervable in his wings.

The wings of the kite extend near
five feet, though he meafures only
tixteen or feventeen inches from the
tip of the bill to the claws, and
fcarcely weighs two pounds and a
half. Some of thefe birds, however,
are twenty-feven inches long, and
weigh forty-four ounces. The iris,
the cere, and the feet, are yellow $
(hence it is called by Linnaeus Falco -
Fuhus ) : the bill is of a horn colour*

370 The Moral

blackilli towards the point, and the

claws are black. The kite lives

principally upon accidental carnage,

as almoft every bud is able to make

good his retreat. His fight is ex-

trem ly keen, and he can defcry his

prey on the ground, when foaring,

at fuch a prodigious height as to be

bevond the reach of our view. He
«/

defcends with extreme rapidity upon
whatever he can devour without re¬
finance, but attacks only the fmaller
animals and feebleft birds, particu¬
larly young chickens ; but the de¬
fence of the hen, when fhe is near
enough, is fufficient to make him
relinquifh his prey.

It was formerly an amufement
much in vogue among the great in
France, to chafe the kite with the
fparrow-hawk ; from which practice
the bird was called Le Milan
Royal, the royal kite. In thefe en¬
counters the kite, fo daftardly is his
nature, though neither deficient in
weapons, ftrength, nor agility, will
fly before a fparrow-hawk much
fmaller than himfelf ; circle and rife,
as if to conceal himfelf in the clouds ;
and fuffer himfelf to be beaten
without refiflance, and brought to
the ground, not wounded, but over¬
come more by his own fears than
the ftrength of the affailant.

The kite is extremely common in
England and France, and appears to
be icattered over the whole of the
ancient continent, from Sweden to
Senegal ; but it feems to be doubtful
whether there are any birds of this
ipecies in America.

The kite has been fuppofed by
fome writers to be a bird of paffage ;
but in England and France they
certainly continue the whole year.
They commonly build their nefts in
the hollows of rocks, though fome
authors have faid that they build in
forefis upon old oaks or firs. The
female lays two or three eggs, which
are whitifh with pale yellow fpots,

Zoologljl «

and, like thofe of all the carnivorous
birds, rounder than hens’ eggs.

THE BUZZARD.

The buzzard is a fluggifh inactive
bird, and will often remain whole
days together perched on the fame
bough, and feldom removes to any
great difiance from his ufual refid-
ence. In his choice of food he
gratifies his native indolence, and
eats frogs, mice, worms, or infedls,
which he can eafily feize, rather
than birds that mud be purfoed.
He lives in fummer by robbing the
nefts of other birds and fucking their
eggs. He more refembles the owl
kind, in his countenance, than any
other bird of prey. His figure im¬
plies the ftupidity of his difpofition ;
and fo little is he capable of inftruc-
tion from man, that it is a common
proverbial expreffion to call one who
cannot be taught, or continue? ob-
ftinately ignorant, a buzzard.

This bird is, in length, about twen¬
ty or twenty-one inches ; the wings,
when extended, expand four feet and
a half 5 the tail is only eight inches;
and the wings, when doled, reach a
little beyond its point. The iris is
of a pale yellow, and atm oft whitifh ;
the cere and feet are yellow ; the
body dufky ; the belly pale, with
dirty lpots; the tail ftreaked with
dufky colours ; the claws black. It
is the Falco-Buteo of Linnaeus.

The female conftruds her neft
with fmall branches, lined in the in-
fide with wool and other foft, lights
materials. She lays two or three
eggs, which are whitifh, fpotted with
yellow. Both the male and female
tend their young longer than the
other birds of prey, many of which,
as has been already obferved, expel
their brood before they are able to
provide with eafe for themfelves.
Ray even affirms, that if the mother
happens to be killed at this feafon,
the male buzzard will hatch and
rear the young.

.Engraved for the Zadvs Magazine .

' I

Signe and Habor ;

The buzzard does not feize its
prey on the wing, but fits on a tree,
a bu(h, or a hillock, and thence
darts on the fmall animals or birds
which are not fufficienlly prepared
to make effectual refiftance.

This fpecies affords fo many va¬
rieties, that, if we compare live or
fix common buzzards together, we
fhali fcarcely find two that are alike.
Some are entirely white, others have
the head only white, and others are
mottled with brown and white.
Thele differences are principally to
be attributed to age or fex, for they
are all found in the fame climate.

I cannot conclude this defeription
of the falcon tribes without remaik-
ing to your ladyffiip, what cannot
but already have occurred to you,
that the diver ft on of falconry and
hawking, as well as that of hunting,
does no honour to the feelings of
thofe who pradfife it. Strange is it
that man, who boafls his rationality,
his fenfibihty, and exalted endow¬
ments, ftould call fuch cruelty /port,
and find a barbarous pleafure in the
terrors, the cries, and the death, of a
feeble and wretched animal !

In my next I (hall proceed to de-
fcribe the rapacious birds which prey
by night, in the different fpecies of
owls.

I remain, with the fincerefi: wifhes
for your ladyfhip’s welfare and hap-
pinefs,

Eugenia.

(To be continued.)

SIGNE AND HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.
(Continued from page ityf)

'The beams of the glorious orb of
**K day now Rreamed over the
lofty head of the Stevnsklinte *.
Signe awaked from light and peace-

a Gothic Romance . 371

fill flumbers, and Syvald aflifted her
to array herfelf for the olemn cere¬
mony of the day. She feemed as if
attired by the loves and graces. On
her head fhe placed her crown of
flowers, with a fmile of confcious in¬
nocence and pure exultation.

‘ Beauteous is my lovely friend/
faid Svanhild; ‘ beauteous in her
perfon, and ftili more lovely in her
mind.’

Signe fmiled.

‘ The recollection,’ faid fhe, f that
Habor has proved himfelf a hero,
and yet that my brothers are fafe,
perhaps, animates my countenance :
it is Habor who adorns me.’

Thus fpake fhe in unfufpicious
innocence, for fhe thought all around
her as undifguifed and virtuous as
herfelf. Gitnvor turned pa:e : her
confcience fmote her; but the thirft of
gain overpowered its remonftrances,
and fhe remained firm in her trea¬
cherous purpofe.

When noon approached, began
the proceflion. All the young and
beauteous maidens of the riry pro¬
ceeded towards the temple, with
crowns of flowers on their heads.
Hand in hand they went, joyoufly
dancing and finging, with enchant¬
ing voices, the heroifm of Habor, and
its tranfcendent reward. Signe did
not dance, but light was her ftep as
that of the young rein-deer in the
Norwegian fields. Scarcely did fhe
touch the earth. For her alone the
furrounding multitude had eyes.
EreSt fhe walked as the towering
mail: of fome (lately {hip / the weit
wind wantoned in her robe, and joy
animated every motion. All who
gazed on her felt infpired with re¬
verence, while their hearts dilated-
with the tendered: willies for her
happinefs and welfare

On the other fide, the Norwegian
hero, attended by all the martial
youth of the city, proceeded towards
the temple. They wore white tu¬
nics, with long white mantles, and

* A promontory in Zealand.

372

Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance *

each had his (word hv his fide and
bore on his arm. his fhield. They
advanced dancing and Tinging, but
their dance was martial and their
Tong manly. They drew their
fwords, and, finking them on their
fhields, Tang the praifes and happi-
nefs of Signe • for to her was deftin-
ed the braveft of warriors, the hero
of Norway, the friend of Denmark.
As when Tome conquering chief, the
father of his country, returns home,
after having defeated his enemies and
given victory and liberty to his coun¬
trymen, who rend the air with ap¬
plauding (bouts ; fo walked, fo look¬
ed, Habor, amid the acclamations of
the admiring multitude.

Habor and the proceflion of
youths firft entered the temple. —
Habor kneeled before Sigar, who,
immediately railing him from the
ground, embraced him, and called
him his fon. He then kneeled to
Bera, who 1 ike wife' raifed him, with
diffembled afreet ion. 4 Happinefs
attend you !’ faid the, aloud; but in
her heart — 4 May the eagles rend thy
mangled corfe!’-— A cold fhuddering
feized her limbs; for maternal ten-
dernefs ftruggled with her third for
revenge, but the cruel defire of re¬
venge overpowered affedtion.

Syvald joyfully advanced to meet
Habor, and led him to the altar. —
Signe now entered the temple, into
which the furrounding multitudes
thronged, and bore her, as it were,
in their arms, to the feet of Sigar.

4 My wi flies are fulfilled,’ faid the
aged monarch ; 4 thou art happy :
what more can my heart defire ?’

Paternal tears flowed down his
cheeks, while Signe hung on his
neck in an ecflafy of filial tender-
nefs and joy. Bera endeavoured to
aj pear fatisfied and happy, but it
was with difficulty fire concealed
her confufion and perplexity. She
embraced Signe with an afllimed
tendernefs. The conilraint apparent

in her manner was remarked by
none but Signe ; for all were intoxw
cated with joy, a.nd joy is devoid of
fufpicion.

Sigar now led his daughter to the
altar, with flow and folemn ftep.
The heart of Habor exulted as fhe
approached, and at length they held
each other by the hand, and their
beating pulfes met. They flood
thus for fome time, as it were en»
tranced, and forgetful of the cere-
mony they were to perform, till they
were reminded by Hafthor, the
priefl of Freya. Signe then took
the crown from her head, and laid
it on the ground before the image of
the goddefs —

* Goddefs of love !’ faid fhe, 4 I
lay down my crown before thee, for
the braveft of heroes has won mv
heart.’

Habor took a chain from his neck,
— 4 Be this,’ faid he, 4 an offering to
thee, O Freya 1 for the mod tran-
feendent of maidens has won my
heart.’

The priefl now placed in the hand
of each a horn filled with blood,
which they poured into a brazen
veftel that flood before the image of
the goddefs.

4 As this blood mixes together/
faid he, 6 fo may your happinefs,
your fates, your hearts, and you^*
fouls, unite and intermingle ! So
Jong as blood fhall flow in your veins,
fo long as the diftaff of Freya* fhall
fhine in the heavens, in life fhall you
be one, one after death, and renew
your loves in Freya’s hall.’

A folemn awe pervaded the whole
affembly, who worfhipped in pro¬
found fllence ; for the goddefs herfelf
feemed to be prefent. Even Bera
trembled; fo powerful is the in¬
fluence of the invifible divinity even
on the impious. Gunvor too fhud-
dered, and was obliged to cling to a

* A conftellation of the northern aftronomers,*

Signe and Haber; a Gothic Romance. 373

Column of the temple for fupport.
At that moment both were ready to
confefs and renounce the evil pur-
pofes of- their vicious hearts; but the
feeling was but tranfient, and then-
native malignity foon regained its
fway. Bolvife alone, hardened in
wickednefs, fhrunk not,' but faid to
himfelf — ‘ How oreat will be the

pleafure of deftroying fuch happi-
nefs !’

When this impreffion of religious
veneration had fomewhat fubfided,
Svanhild preifed the hand of tiger,
and laid, mild as the gently-breath¬
ing zephvr — f Now have 1 a fore-
tafle of the joy that awaits me when
thou (halt vow eternally to be mine.’

f Svanhild,’ faid alger, ‘I bw
thee in Signe, and all my thoughts
were fixed on my deareft Svanhild.’

The pried: now took a cenfer full
of burning coals, and, calling on it
fome fweet perfumes, incenfed with
it Signe and Habor

i May the gods blefs you !’ faid he;
s may they fliower down on you hap-
pinefs, honour, and glory! — May
their bleffings be innumerable as the
particles of the fmoke of thefe per¬
fumes!’

He next took a linen cloth, and
giving to each an end of it to hold —
‘ Thus,’ faid he, ‘ may you from this
day. bear together the burden of
your lot in life, whatever it may be.’

The betrothed pairthen embraced
each other, and the ceremony con¬
cluded.

When the proceffion left the tem¬
ple, Signe and Habor walked at the
head of it, hand in hand; Sigar and
Bera followed ; next came Alger
and Svanhild; and Syvald walked
with Belvife. The banqueting con¬
tinued three days. Beer and mead
flowed in profufion; the tables were
covered with various difhes of fifii,
meat, and fruits ; and all indulged,
without reftraint, in joy and merri¬
ment, in which even Bera, Bolvife,
and Gunvor, appeared to participate.

But the principal joy of Bolvife was
the projeHed mifehief with which
he hoped to fatiate his envy and ma¬
lignity; and the delight of Gunvor
to think of the gold (lie had already
received, and {fill more to anticipate
that which fhe expefled. Bera fuf-
fered mod; for (lie faw the love of
Signe for Habor now manifeft with¬
out diiguife; but her greateft pain
might be faid to produce her great-
eft pleafure, that pleafure which the
hope of revenge can give to bafe and
gloomy minds.

Alf could not, on account of his
wounds, be prefent at this feftival.
Of his wounds he was rapidly reco¬
vering, but indignation at his defeat
rancored in his heart.

4 Habor,’ faid he to himfelf,
4 owes all his happinefs to my dif-
grace; in iecret he triumphs over
me, whatever may be his apparent
behaviour. How is it poffible that
vve can be friends ? He defpifes me,
and I hate him. What will the
Danes fay of me ? 44 There is the

vanquifhed warrior’”— A Norwe¬
gian has vanqirfhed rae, and yet he
lives! My name is fallen! my glory-
lies in the duft !— But my plighted
faith — my honour! — Oh, death!
come to my aid !’

Bera and Bolvife found him in
this perturbed ftate of mind. They
artfully reminded him of his former
great achievements, and the renown
he had acquired.

4 Heretofore,’ faid they, 4 thou
wert invincible, the greateft hero of
the north. Habor is now the for¬
tunate warrior. He commiferates
thee.’

• Commiferates me! Have I then
lived to fee the day when pity is be¬
llowed on me ? ’

His rage was fierce ; with difficulty
was he pacified, and prevailed upon
to relign himfelf to fleep. But his
fleep was ftiort and interrupted. —
As the fire which has feized a loftv
budding, after confuming it inter-

374

Signe and Habor ;

Daily, at length burfh forth and en¬
velopes the whole in one furious and
invincible dame; fuch was the mind
©f Alf. In his reft led flumbers the
fatal goddefs Rota* Rood before
him. She touched him with her
javelin, from which, diftilled thick
drops of a powerful liquor which
penetrated to his heart.

‘ Habor lives/ feemed fhe to fay
to him, £and thou permitted him to
live, degenerate Alf! He beads
that he is thy conqueror, and has
compelled thee to confent that he
lhall infold Signe in his arms. Arife!
Avenge thyfeif! Avenge Denmark!
Behold, I have devoted Habor to
death. Arife! ftrike, flay, deflroy
him who has deprived thee of thy
honour! — thy honour, which thou
haft Iha ruefully loft!’

Up leaped Alf franticly from his
couch ; wild were his looks as thofe
of the defpairing malefaffor on the
fcaffold ; vengeance glared in his
eves. The words * honour fhame-
fully loft!’ feemed ft ill to refound in
his ears, and he repeated them with
furious frenzy. Pale and livid was
his countenance, all his limbs trem¬
bled, his mouth foamed, he gnafhed
his teeth, tears of rage and delpair
guflied into his eyes, and he exclaim¬
ed ‘Vengeance* Vengeance!’

At the fame moment entered Bera
and Bolvife.

‘Vengeance againft whom ?’ aid¬
ed Bera.

‘ Againft ■whom but Habor ? ’

Undifguifed and cruel joy fpark-
led in the eyes of the queen ; flie ap¬
plauded the indignation of her fon,
and Bolvife concurred in the fame
fentiment. Alf related his dream;
and Bolvife, diflembiing his real
opinion, told him that fuch dreams

* One of the Valkyrias, or virgin god-
detTes, who wait on the heroes in Valhaila.
They were alfo lent by Odin into battle, to
mark cut thwfe who were to fall : they may,
therefore, be confidered as the Fatal Sifters of
War.

a Gothic Romanes*

were not to be difregarded ; for they
were fometimes fent by the gods to
encourage mortals to great actions.
Rage and revenge inclined Alf to be¬
lieve what he had before contemned,
for without luperior aid he feared he
fhoiild not be able to overcome Ha¬
bor. After fome conference, the
plan was determined according to
which it was judged moll advifable
to proceed. Alf had wifhed to chal¬
lenge Habor immediately to Angle
combat; but Bera and Bolvife repre-
fented to him the uncertain iflue of
fuch a conte ft, ancf that very proba¬
bly it might be prevented by the
people.

The day arrived on which Habor
was to depart. He firft took leave
of Alf, who behaved to him with the
utmoft coldnefs, Habor mentioned
nothing of what was paft, that he
might not tear open a recent wound.
He took an affectionate leave of Sy-
vald and of Alger; Svanhild wept,
and Bera forced into her eyes a falfe
tear. Sigar gave a free courfe to
the feelings of his heart. Tender,
affedlioriate, yet firm and noble, was
the behaviour of Signe, and that of
the hero her affianced hufband, at
their feparation.

‘ Embrace for me/ faid fhe, ‘ thy
aged father, and bring him hithert
the father of Habor will be dear to
me as my own ; and the brother of
my Habor beloved by me as my own
brother. Aftemble all my friends,
and let them accompany thee. I
cannot have too many witnefles of
my happinefs. Duty carries thee
from hence, let Love bring thee
back. The gods love the pious.’

‘ Yes,* replied Habor, 4 Love fliall
bring me back. I will fly on the
wings of Love, fwift as the raven of
the north. Odin will give me a
favourable wind, for he has been
propitious to me.’

All followed him to the fltip, Alf
excepted; all wifhed him happinefs
and a fpeedy return ; and all were

375

Signe and Habor ;

fincere in their whiles, the queen,
her (on, and their evil counfellor,
excepted. Danes and Norwegians
joined hands.

4 We are now,’ laid they, ‘one
people; one fpirit, onewifh, ani¬
mates us all.’ On the deck of the
(hip, Signe gave Habor the laft kifs.
Her tears fell, but they were tears
full of hope. Habor affeftionately
killed them away, while his feelings
moiftened his own eyes.

‘ I fee a hero weep !’ faid Bolvife.

‘Yes,’ anfwered .Signe; fOdin
himfelf wept forGunland.’

Svanhild fank, melting into tears,
into the arms of Alger.

e Were it AHer,’ thought die, ‘and
I were parting from him, perhaps
never io fee hirn more !’ —

Habor had a favourable and c.on-
ftant wind. He found his brothers
in Drontheim, but his father was
confined to the bed of ficknefs. He
related his good fortune, and the aged
Sovereign appeared to acquire new
jftrength at the recital. Habor was
encouraged to (communicate to him
the purpofe of his vifit, and to re¬
quest him and his brothers to ac¬
company him to Denmark.

‘ I am old and infirm,’ faid Ha¬
mund,' but where can X better die
than in the arms of mv fon and his

bride? And fhould I not attain the
happinefs of feeing my daughter-in-
law, I fhall die on the fea, which I
have fo often wifhed : wherever we
breathe our laft, Valhalla is near us.’

Within four days Hamund and
his fons had made every thing rea¬
dy for their journey, for they faw
that Habor was eager to return.

‘ Such,’ faid Hamund, ‘ was my
eager left to meet Alvilda.’

Wherever Habor appeared the
people crowded round him and
blefled him.

' Thou,’ faid they, ‘haft reftored
and confirmed our ancient friendlhip
with the brave nation of the Danes;
now are we both invincible,’

a Gothic Romance.

As foon as Habor had departed,
Alf prepared to carry into execution
the plan that had been concerted by
Bera and Bolvife. He fignified that
he wifhed t© make an expedition, in
company with Hildegifle, to the Qr-
cades, there to acquire pillage and
glory.

‘ Deareft brother,’ faid Signe, f why
wilt thou leave me, and not be pre-
fent at the final celebration of my
nuptials ?

‘ They may be celebrated without
me ; my prefence is not neceflary.’

4 Deareft Alf,’ faid file, while fhe
prefled him in her embrace, ‘ for¬
give what is paft ; think that Ha-
Vor is thy friend, thy brother, and
my hufband/ Recollect thy vows
the gods heard it. Thou art faith¬
ful, noble-minded, arid brave.’

The heart of Alf began to relent*
he clafped his fifterfin his arms, and
the tears flarted into his eves. He
had nearly avowed and renounced
his cruel purpofe ; his confeflion
was on the point of e leaping from
his lips; when Gunvor, with eagle-
eye, perceived his refolution failing,
and, haftily turning the difeourfe to
another fubject, gave time to his
heart again to harden.

From among thofe who offered to
accompany him in his expedition,
he chofe only fuch as were capable
of the moft barbarous deeds, and
endowed with a favage and feroci¬
ous courage ; but of thefe he found
fo few, that his fhips had not a twen¬
tieth part of their full number of
men, and he was obliged to rely on
the Saxons whom Hildegifle was to
aflemble. Difappointed paflion and
defpair actuated Hildegifle, and he
was bound by no engagement of
honour. Were Habor once remov¬
ed out of the wav, it feemed to him
that he might again hope : the mother
and the brother were friendly to his
wifhes; and Signe, though (he might
weep for a time, would, he prefum¬
ed, at length forget her grief, and

3/L Pariflan Fajhions

he might fucceed to Habor. ‘Am I
not,’ thought he, 'as nobly defcend-
ed as he ; am I not as brave, and as
well formed to win the love of the
fair.’ Vanity blinded him to his
defers, and he eagerly joined in the
fchemes of Alf a gain ft his rival.

After the departure of Alf, Signe
became anxious and uneafv. She
faid nothing; but the was thoughtful,
and even melancholy. Svanhild
was the firft to notice this, for not
the lead; alteration in the countenance
or manner of Signe ever efcaped her.

c Ought I not/ faid Signe, 4 to be
uneafy, when I reflect that my bro¬
ther will not forget ? He is eager
to obtain a great name ; he is ardent,
and every thing is to be feared.’

4 But the virtue and bravery of
Habor,’ anfwered Svanhild, 4 relieve
us from all fear; betides, the gods—

4 Yes, in the gods I with to truft ;
but perhaps my vow was too proud,
and by it I have expofed both my
brother and my hufband to danger.
It is true I propofed by it to efcape
from Hildegifle. He had gained the
approbation of my mother, blit I
was averfe to him . I felt he was in
no manner formed for me — Yet ftill
I truft in the gods.— But it is not
long fince you yourfelf, deareft
Svanhild, had your fears.’

‘ I own,’ anfwered Svanhild, e I
had my fears of Bera ; but the affec¬
tion of a mother feems now to have
regained its fway in her heart.’

‘ Bera!’ faid Signe, and fupprefled
a figh.

( But, deareft Signe,’ rejoined
Svanhild, 4 you was yourfelf, till
within thefe few days, happy, cheer¬
ful, and full of confidence.’

* What we with,’ replied Signe,
* we are eaftiy induced to hope,’

(To be cont biued.)

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( Wit ban Engravings elegantly coloured.)

he reign of the capotes ftill con¬
tinues ; never were they more

— \ London Fafhiom *

numerous, or made in a greater V5.**
"riety of fafhions. Apple green is a
favourite colour for them in taffety ;
we alfo fee them of deep green, role,
light yellow, jonquil, and lilac. Straw
hats with very large fides, and of
yellow ftraw, are extremely fafhion-
able : a fmall demi-fxhu eh marmotie
is frequently thrown over them*
White tunics , i uith long lotfe fleeces, are
much in vogue. White is indeed
become almoft the only colour fob
Jewifli tunics and the round robes.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Promenade DreJJes .

obe of white mufiin, with a train
petticoat ; the robe trimmed with
Cambray mufiin ; the fieeves plain,
with full epaulets of the fame mufiin.
A fmall ftraw hat, trimmed with
pea-green ribbands.

Plain robe of white mufiin, with
frock fieeves, drawn plain -round the
bofom ; a lace fliir't ; hat of yellow
fatin, plaited with black ribband,
and turned up all round, with a yel¬
low feather to fall over the left fide.

Drefs of blue Cambray mufiin,
made high in the neck, with a col¬
lar ; long fieeves from the elbow to
the wrift of white mufiin. Hat of
white chip with a filk band, and or¬
namented with orange-coloured
leaves in front.

Plain drefs of white mufiin. Bon¬
net of pink and white filk, orna¬
mented with a flower. Shawl-with
a pea-green border.

Drefs of buff Cambray mufiin,
with a white filk collar, drawn down
in puff's ; the epaulets very full and
drawn up to correfpond with the
bofom ; the back made plain, with
white filk frogs.-

Robe of lilac cambric farfnet,
{hewing the front of the laft drefs.
The hair dreffed and ornamented
with cameos.

Drefs of thin mufiin, with a dra«

Engraved. tor the ZaJies Magazine .July, 1803 .

Mud W Sc. Jlufsett Co 5

FAR IS DRESS

Long Trains amljhori Trains. 37 f

.*,*■ ■'* i * -4

pery fattened on the left fide, trim-
tned with lace; the ileevs of white
fiik, ornamented with beads. The
hair d re (led with a cameo.

General Observations ,

The prevailing colours are lilac,
pink, blue, and pea-green. Small
round draw hats, and others of men’s
fhapes,are the molt favourite, orna¬
mented with flowers or white veils.
White cloaks of all fi > apes are very
general, but the prevailing is the long
Spanidi cloak, which reaches nearly
to the ground.

Long Tr a 1 ns and shout Trains.

[From the Frerujp Journal ‘ Des Dames et des
Modes.’]

MR. EDITOR,

our lad account of Englifli
fadiions, I am lorry to fay it,
has produced a very difagreeable
effect, by occafioning di fun ion in
one of the mod peaceable and har¬
monious focieties that ever exifled;
for fuch it really was, though, which
you will no doubt think very extra¬
ordinary, it was competed of Pari-
dan ladies. Yes, fir* we were eight
warm infeparable friends ; and we
are now divided, fince the appear¬
ance of your falhionable bulletin, into
two parties. Four of our number,
fince they perufed that aiticle, have
lengthened their robes, and declared
decidedly for long trains; while the
other four, among whom is your
humble fervant, adhere, from tade,
principle, and alfofrom convenience,
to the fail', ion of drefies which do
not defeend below the ancle. After
a very interefting diicuflion, which f
dial! proceed to communicate to you,
we divided, as I fa id, into two par¬
ties, which may be called the fac¬
tion of the long trains and the fac¬
tion of the (bore trains*

V q l. XXXIV.

As this fchifm has given me not a
little pain, fince it has deprived me
of f >ur friends, I (hall recapitulate
all the arguments for and again ft the
fubjetd in queftion, and detail the
whole difcullion occafioned by the
article in your journal; and, imce
you have excited the difpute, I trud
you will be fo generous as, by your
authority, to determine it Perhaps,
as you are of the other fex, you may
conceive the fubjed too futile and
frivolous for your attention; but
you will recoiled that you are only
the minifter of fafhion; and you
willobferve, likewife, that all our
mod ferious journalids have for
more than a month employed their
attention on enigmas aird charades,
to which the queftion on long and
diort trains cannot in any manner
be confidered as inferior in weight
and confequence.

* c

But to proceed to fads. I was
chofen by my party to ipcak as ad¬
vocate for their caufe, and the fol¬
lowing is the manner in which I
con dud ed our defence.

4 Ladies,’ Paid I, 4 1 rife to fpeak
in behalf of fhort drefies. If I wifh-
ed to make a parade of my erudi¬
tion, I might adduce in our favour
the practice of the Hungarian,
Swedifh, Daniih, Audrian, and
Hamburg women, as alfo that ofthe
more diitinguifhed part of the fex of
the whole north of Europe, I might
likewife allege the dreis of far the
mod numerous claftes ofthe females
of the continent, the peafant women
and country lalles,- and girls in infe*-
rior ftations. I migbr likewife wade
your time, and perhaps exhauft youf
patience, by a prolix diflertation on
the drefies of ancient times. But
this I 111 a 1 1 leave to fome male
orator; for I with to prove that
women can fomerimes talk lefs
and more to the purpofe than men.
Befides, of what importance is the
antiquity of a fafhion compared with

3 78 Long Trains and fhort Trains.

its convenience ? And, permit me
to afk you what can be more conve¬
nient than a fhort drefs? If we
walk on foot it touches neither the
mud nor the dud. In a carriage
we are not incommoded by it, nor
does it hang to the door of the
coach, or entangle under your feet
on the ftep, at the hazird of occa-
fioning falls which may prove ex¬
tremely dangerous. When the wea¬
ther is cold we may approach near¬
er the fire in fuch dreffes, without
fo much fearing the difaftrous con-
fequences of a cafual fpark. Such
is their convenience in the winter ;
and in fummer it is certainly not lefs
evident. In the public walks they do
not prevent the gentlemen from
walking with us, or coming near us.
When at a ball they do not throw
down the dancers, but have the ad¬
vantage of difplaying the handfome
foot of the lady who dances. Yes,
ladies, let us not fear fhewi ng our feet ;
but, inftead of employing the mate¬
rials of our drelles to make long
trains, let us ufe them to coveH- the
boforn, the fhoulders, and the el¬
bows; we fliall thus fave ourfelves
many grave reproofs from moralifls,
and what is, perhaps, not of lefs
confequence, many preferiptions of
phyficians.’

Having thus made it clear that
fhort drelles unite the advantages of
convenience and ornament, and that
they are more conducive to health,
I think I am undeniably entitled to

call upon you to give them the pre¬
ference.

The lady who adled as counfel on
the other fide now role, and took a
diredly contrary line of argument.

4 All women/ laid (he, ‘ except
Eve (who neverthelefs was the fir ft
woman in the world), have worn
long trains. Not to mention the Jew-
ifh or Hebrew women, the Greek
and Roman women all wore long
trains.; witnefs Andromache, Agrip¬

pina, Iphigenia, Berenice, Calfimdra,
Cornelia, Cleopatra, Emilia, and fo
many others. Long trains, ladies,
long trains! No doubt fome wo-
men of the firft diftindfion in the
northern countries may wear fhort
robes, but in all courts long robes
are the etiquette.- A fhort petticoat
gives the air of a country girl, while
a long train adds to grace and be-
(lows dignity. A long train, by
railing the duft, feems to furround
beautv with a cloud of legitimate
inrenfe. A long train prevents the
rafh from approaching, and favours
the careful addrefs of the elegant
and fafhionable. When difpiayed,
how truly graceful ! When railed
by a fair hand, how varioufly ele¬
gant mav be the attitude ! and with
this ornamental property is united all
the convenience on which the lady
who preceded me has fo amply di¬
lated. I mud therefore demand the
preference for long trains.’

The company now proceeded to
give their votes, and thus we were
divided into two parties-. I mult
leave it, Mr. Editor, to your diferi-
mination and diftinguilhed abilities
in every thing relative to faflfion, to
unite us again in the fame opinion,
if you may be able. To effedf this,
however, I am convinced will be
very difficult, and I will tell you
why.

No fooner was the queftion dif-
pofed of, than I obfei ved that every
one of t hole ladies who had declared
in favour of fhort drefTes, and fuch
as were clofe over the bofom, had a
handfome foot, but no breaft; while,
on the contrary, all thofe who had
given their vote for long trains had
a well-made breaft, but an ill-turned
leg. This being the cafe, I am afraid,
Mr. Editor, it will be tafier to alter
our fnape than to induce us to
change our opinion on thefe fub-
jedts.

Youmuft excufe me fromfigning

379

Detached Thoughts.

my name, but I am your Conjlant
Reader — and wait your anfyver with
impatience.

DETACHED THOUGHTS.

*T'' o 'praife our enemies is either a
great virtue or great treachery.

Diltruft him who does a good ac¬
tion too publicly.

A benefit repaid by gratitude no
longer appertains to the benefactor:
ingratitude reftores it to him en¬
tire. N

The opportunities of making our
fel lew-creatures happy are more rare
than is ufuallv imagined : the punish¬
ment for having negleCted them is
not to meet with them again.

Science is like land, one can pof-
fefs but a fmall portion of it.

Afflictions are in morals what
bitters are in medicine.

In works of genius, as in mecha¬
nics, time increafes force.

Hope is the aliment of the foul,
but it is always mixed with the poi-
fon Fear.

Honour is a kindly mixture of
refpeCl for one’s-felf and for man¬
kind.

What is difpute ? — An offering
made in the temple of Pride, inftead
of that of Truth. ,

Dilpute, when it is moderate, is a
ufeful flmck, which dcvelopes the
germ of ideas and fhakes down the
fruits of the mind.

A rapid reader too frequently re-
fembles a traveller who thinks he
can acquire a knowledge of a coun¬
try by riding through it poll.

It happens to perfons who are
imdefervedly extolled as to the Spa¬

niards in Araucana, whom the In¬
dians, at firft, took for divinities ; but
on whom they revenged their mif-
take, when they were convinced, by
their vices, that they were men.

Notwithftanding the multitude of
works that are produced, we. are
taught only one half the things which
we ought to know. A great deal
has been written on the art of fpeak-
ing, but fcarcely any thing on the
art of likening.

Maffieu, the celebrated deaf and
dumb pupil of the ftill more cele¬
brated Sicard, being afked * What is
gratitude?’ immediately wrote down
— c It is the memory of the heart. ’
He was again afked — 4 What is eter¬
nity?’ His anlwer was— ‘ A con¬
tinual day, without a yeflerday or a
to-morrow.’

The comparifons fo commonly
made between the rofe and pleafure
fliew of how trail dent a nature the~
latter is, and how foon it fades
away.

Plealures are in general like

o r

odours, which are frequently noxious
in proportion as they are agreeable.

Misfortune' difpofes the mind to
tenefernefs and friendlhip ; becaufe,
having no refource but in the inter¬
com fe of confidence, the unhappy
attach themfeives with warmth to
thofe who will liflen to the recital
of their griefs and fympathife with
them in their fuffeiings-.

The mouth of the wicked is like
the box of Pandora ; when it opens,
calu mnies and mifehiefs are diffuled
through fociety.

The future is an idol at the feet
of which we are continually pro-
ffrate; like Janus, it has two faces,
one of which excites fears, while
the qther infpires hopes.

3 C 2

I 380 ]

: ' J

POETICAL ESSAYS.

1?ER AMBULATORY MUSINGS

FB. O'M B L'ENREIM HOUSE, IN OX¬
FORDSHIRE, TO TETLEY, HERE¬
FORDSHIRE *. ' •

[From Mr. V. Dyer's Poetns.l

f " l " ■ I ■ f

TjT HERE Blenheim’s turrets rife to
view,

And where, at length to Nature true.
Grave Vanbrugh, wearying long his
head,

Soften’d down his houfe of lead f ,

And where^ as bends the fpacinus dome,
The rival arts of Greece and Rome
Still live in R.yfbrac’s free defign.

And {fill in Rubens’ colouring fhine;
Where Marlborough's valour, Marlbo¬
rough's praife,

The fair-wrought tapeftrv difplays,

Mid varying pleafure through the day,
Who might not linger life away r
Or now, as fpreaas the fair domain,
O’er lake or lawn, o’er hill or plain,
Thro’ woods, and groves, or vifla clear,
The cr:v dal riv’iet fparkling near,

Still lok’ring idly gay a’ong,

Mufe, as infptr’d, the fvlvan fongijl?

-9 '■•‘"■t: ^ ,r*t — ■ «• 1 - " ' ' ~ - - * — » —

* This poem intends to fhovv the eftedf of
variety on the human mind, as well as the
pleafure of female fociety. and not to compare
together with the mod difcriminating accuracy
the different' places alluded to, though did rir
urination is not entirely overlooked.

-j- The general ftyle of Vanbrugh is here
alluded to, and not the character of this partk
«ular building. ' After feme obfervations on
the Greek and Roman architecture, Gilpin
■well remarks of- Blenheim, ‘Vanbrugh’s
attempt feems to. have been an effort at genius:
and if we can keep the imagination apart from
the five orders, we muff: allow- that he has
created a magnificent whole, which is inveffed
with an air of grandeur, feldom ieen in a more
regular kind of building. What made Van¬
brugh ridiculous, was his applying to Imail
houfes a ftyle of architecture, that could not
poffibly fucceed but in a large cnc.’ Obftrva-
F.ons relative chiefly to Fi£iurcjquc Beauty,
part ii. chap. 3.

+ The fcenery, on entering the great gate
from Woodftock, is the mafter piece of the
great improver Brown, who ufed to lay, al¬
luding to the lake, ‘ The Thames would

How vain yhe wifh ! how quick th®
change! ' ^

Thro’ fim.pler fcenes my footfteps range.
Where Nature fmiles in peerlefs grace-.
And Art but claims ’the fecond place; *
Scenes, trimnYd by Shenftone, neat and

Where Fauaus’ felf might pipe all day,
So fimple, too, that not a fwain
B it there might wake his rudeft ftrain.
Hail/Leafowes § ! now 1 climb thy hill.
Now blefs the babbhng of each rill,
Now wander down the fairy glade,

Till rous’d I hear the hoarfe cafcade.
And glow's again through ev'ry grove
The foul of Poefy and Love ;

Then fofr I figh yn paftoral ftrain ||,

Nor dream of BFnheim-houle again.

Sometimes fad, and fometimes gay,
Like careldfs pilgrim (fill | ftray,

Till foon arriv’d at Hagley bow’r^f :

I figh to linger there an hour :

Where Lyttelton, in learned eafe,
Polifli’d his verfe, and prun’d his trees;
Where Pope, the tuneful groves among,
Soft,asatTwickenham,pour’dthe fong :

And Thofnfon fix’d in colours clear
The changeful feafons of the year.

Hail, clalhc fcenes ! the willing Mufe
Her flow’rs of many-mingling hues
Might here entwine, and onc-e again
Hagley bloom forth in cheerful ftrain.
Then farewell Shenft'one's limpler fcene ;
The ruftic feat, the meadow green,
Willows that near the riv’let weep,

The; nnurmVmg begs, the milk-white
fhcep ;

never forgive what he had done at Blenheim.’
Price, however*, in his Ej/ay on iht PiElurefque ,
has minutely criticifed k.

§ The' residence, pro, erly the adorned farm,
of the late William -Shenftone, the poet.

1J Tt was intended iomewhat to charafferife
Shenftone’s poetry in thefe lines. It has been
well done by Gray. ‘ But then there is Mr.
Shenflone, who- trufts to nature, and fimple
fentiment ; — why .does he not do better ?— ■ -
He goes on hopping about his own gravel-
yalks 5 and never deviates from the beaten
paths, for fear of being loft.’ Gray’s Better
to JVarton , in Mrfon’s Memoirs of tbe Life and
Writings of Grab.

The feat of lord Lyttelton.

When Hagley’s beauties rife to view,
Yes! I could bid you all adieu* *]

Ever muting, ever ranging,

Ever pleas’d, yet ever changing,
MurmYing onward ft ill I go,

As brooks thro’ winding valleys flow,
That fparkle ft ill, and ftill complain,
That ev’ry rude reftraint difdain, t

And, gliding on home latent ore,

Steal fomething not potiefs’d before ;
Then flow along in headlong hafte,

And babble o’er the fenny wafte.

Ah ! then does Nature deck, in vain
The hill and valfe, the grove and plain ?
And can her curious hand fupply
Nothing to fix this vagrant eye?

Shall art flil'l vary, ftill improve
The winding walk, the tapering grove.
And yet man’s reftiefs heart implore
With mifer- mutt’ rings fomething more ?

Thus onward flow I bend my way,
Till tioon to Titley-houfe I ft ray ;

And now delights me moll of ail
The fair retreat of Titley - ball.

Where near fair Ey wood’s fear is feen,
And Oxford f fimiles like Beauty’s queen,
Where Shobden’s terrace glitters high,
And varying mountains meet the Iky.
But when fuch num’rous charms invite,
Why moftdoes Titley-houfe delight i
iEliza there, melodious maid,

Such meafures to my ear convey’d,

As, had Cecilia been but near,

Cecilia had not fcorn’d to hear:

Softly fad, or fweetly ftjrong,

She directs the varied long,

To native fcenes new charms can give,
And bid the breathing landfcape live;

Or', as the Sports and Loves infpire,
Wakes the foul-fubduing lyre : —

Hence I welcom’d moft of all
The fair retreat of Titlyy-hall.

Vocal groves, and tuneful ftreams,
Kindling wild poetic dreams,

Where Dryad nymphs are wont to
ftray,

Or Na'iads lwim in wanton play ;
Mounts that climb Jove’s vaulted fky,
While Ocean’s god rolls thundering by ;
Valleys rch, and meadows fair,
Touch’d with Flora’s pencil rare,

* The deflgn however at Hagley is allowed
to be more obfcure. minute, and trifling, as
well as poflefled of lefs variety, than the Lea-
fowes 1— — the author’s object thould be kept in
view, which is to delineate the effed of variety
on the mind.

• 4. xhe feat of the earl and countefs cf Ox¬
ford.

Rare, as when the nymph was led
By Zephyrus to his bridal bed,

(Then pencii’d did the fields appear
In all the glories of the year :)

Wideft glens, and deepeft glades,
Curving walks, and hoarfe cascades.

All that Nature loves t’ impart,

Or owns the plaftic charm of Art 5
All that Fancy durft conceive,

Or Fiftion’s various hand can weave;
All muft cloy the fated eye
Till Beautv’s lovely form be nigh:
Where Woman walks, there fee ms
t’ appear

The Venus of the fmiling year;

Far from her we feed on fighs,

Though roving fields of Paradife,

ANSWER TO LINES
Addrejfed to a young Gentleman ,

In the magazine for June, i8q$«

TV/Tany thanks to my friend for the

•*-*-*• trouble he takes

To point out rhe lafs who’s to blefs
me for life ;

But, refolv’d to prevent matrimonial
miftakes,

I ’ll ne’er choofe by proxy a partner
for life.

Britifh fair, both for virtue and beauty
renown’d 1

Lovely lafles ! muft laugh at that lover
fo blind

Who can’t feck for himfelf, and by
looking around,

’Midft fo many fine lafles, find one to
his mind.

On the beauti es of perfon and mind theft
ynu dwell,

Prefer them by far to the fplendor of
gold ?

Still virtue and wealth, in my mind, far

excel

All the charms love and poverty ever
unfold.

Still I thank you, my friend, for your
trouble and care

In providing a pilot to fleer me
through life.

If you’ll call, your young friend has a
bottle to fpare ;

But, pardon him, fir, he will choofe:
his own wife.

July 1,1803. J

m PokTuv.

INSCRIPTION,

Written on an Hermitage in one of the
ljlands of the IVeji- Indies.

BY MARIA RIDDELL*.

[From the ‘ Metrical Mijcellary-

ITKIN this rural cot I reft,

With Solitude to cool my breaft ;
And, while beneath th* umbrageous
bowV,

Content beguiles each rofeate hour;

And while with Anna oft I rove,

Soft friend fir ip’s mutual fweets to prove ;
I Icorn the pageants of the great,

Nor envy power and empty date.

No thoughtlefs mortals e’er invade
The facred limits of this glade;

No buly footfteps here are feen,

To print the flow’r-enamell’d green:
But, far remote from pomp and nolle,
No care my happinefs deftroys;

Save when the lov’d idea reigns
Of diftant Albion’s blifsful plains,

Far, far remov’d; perhaps, no more
JDeftinM to hail my natal Ihore.
(Perhaps, Horatio, thy dear form -v
No more thefe languid eyes may f
charm, C

No more this faithful bofom warm ! ) J
Here, fafe'in this ftquefter’d vale,

The ftock-doves pour their tender tale ;
He re, too, the peaceful halcyons reft,
And weave, fecure, their downy neft;
Or fportive now, on azure wing,

Flutter in many an airy ring;
Expanding, gorgeous, as they fly,
Their fapphire plumage to the Iky.

Soon as Aurora wakes the dawn,

I prefs, with nimble feet, the lawn,
Eager to deck the fav’rite bow’r
With ev’ ry opening bud and flow’r;
Explore each firrub and balmy fwept,

To fcatter o’er my molly feat ;

.And teach around in wreaths to ftray
The rich pomegranate’s pliant fpray.

At noon, reclin’d in yonder glade,
Panting beneath the tamarind’s ihade;
Or where the palm-tree’s nodding head
Guards from the fun my verdant bed ;

I quaff, to flake my thhrfty foul,

The cocoa’s full nedtareous bowl.

At eve, beneath lorne fpreading tree,

I read the infpir’d poefie
Of Milton, Pope, or Spenfer mild,

And Shakfpeare, Fancy’s brighteft
child :

To tender Sterne I Lend an ear,

Or drop o’er Heloife the tear ;

# The author was1 then but fixteen.

Sometimes with Anna tune the lav.
And clofe in long the cheerful day.

’T is thus the circling year is fpent
In harmony and fweet content';

And when (ftiould Fortune fo ordain)
I view my native realms again,

I ’ll ne’er forget the tranquil hours
I fpent in India’s fpicy bow’rs ;

Nor e’en prefer the world’s great ftage
To this fequefter’d Hermitage.

SONGS.

I. THE FOE OF THE FACE.

Sung by Mr. Dignnm , at the Ftjh’val of
the Royal Jennerian Society.

et Antiquity tell of her heroes fo
bold, [of old ;

Who hydras have vanquish'd in fables
Our hero we hail, and the day of his
birth, [the earth ;

Who foils a dread monftcr that ravag’d
For thus will vve fight the dire foe of the
face, [our race.

Who fpoils us of beauty, and murders

The foe at whofe fight the gay palace
has mourn’d, [adorn’d.

Who rifles the bloom that the cottage
Who mars youth and age with his horri¬
ble torture,

We ’ll join heart and hand, and allow
him no quarter ;

For thus will we fight, & c.

Ye foldiers, all ardent your courage to
prove, [iove,

In defence of the land and the ladies you
To arms !— let us fave the fair hopes of
the nation, [tirpation ;

And this tyrant purfue till he meet ex-

For thus will we fight, &c.

And ye whofe calm bofoms contention
abhor, [pons of war ;

Who flirink at the founds and the vvea-
Yet hafte to cur aid, at Humanity’s call,
Till Nature prevail, and the monllej
mu ft fall ;

For thus will we fight, &c.

All nations, all ages, all ranks, fhall com¬
bine, [vine;

In this war of benevolence, juft arid di-
O’er the world, betwixt man and his
brother be peace,

But with man’s cruel foe may the ftrife
never ceafe >

For thus will we fight, &c.

POETRY.

383

II. Written by R. BLOOMFIELD,

and Jung on the fame Occajion nuith the

preceding.

Come hither, mild Beauty, that dweU’ft
on the mountain,

Sweet handmaid of Liberty, meet us
to-day ; *

Thy votary’s Philanthropy; alk from
thy fountain

A foul-eheering necfar wherewith to

be gay. , ^

The cup may o’erfljw, and new grapes
hill be growing ;

The eyes of the drinker refplendent-
ly ihine ;

But grant us, bright nymph, with thy
srif’.s overflowing:,

__ W> O 7

To lighten our hearts and to relifh
our wine.

Is Beauty’s gay rofe-bud a prize worth
en Turing ?

Its guardianlhip refts with thefriends
of our caufe :

Shall we mark un concern’d what the
blind are enduring * ?

No ! mercy and peace are the find of
our laws.

Wave dreamers of vidt’ry, be brav’ry
requited,

Be fails in at! climes dill with honour
unfurl’d ;

All lovers of man with our caufe are de¬
lighted :

’T is to baniih the fears and the tears
of the world.

All nations {hall feci, and all nations in¬
herit,

The wonderful bleffing we place in
their view ;

And if in that blcfllng a mortal claims
merit,

Oh, Jcnntr , your country refigns it to
you !

From the field, from the farm, come the
glorious treafure f ;

May its fifty faving impulfe, all frefli
as the morn,

Still fpread round the earth without
bounds, without meafure,

Till Time have forgot when his Jen¬
ifer was born !

* It is worthy of remark, that, in the fchool
for the indigent blind, in Sr. George's -fields,
the lofs of fight in more than one haj of the
children has been oocafioned by fmall-pox.

•f The vaccine fluid.

III. THE CRIPPLED SOLDIER.

Tune — ( Beggar Girl/

Oh ! pity a foldier, all woe-worn and
lame,

Who, in fighting your battles, is co¬
ver’d with fears ;

I fought not for wealth, but for honour

tD 7

and rarne ;

Now behold me a cripple, return’d
from the wars !

May each heart of beneficence melt at
my tale,

And pity the foldier all vvoe-vvora
and lame ;

For the ftorm knows no mercy, a ud
hard blows the gale !

Pray fpare me a trifle, and fave me
from fhame.

Fardiflant from hence my poor family
dwell ;

Their lot is mod wretched, and hard

to be borne ;

My wife, to fupport them, once matches
did fell ;

But now flie is dead, and they ’re left
quite forlorn.

Mav each heart of beneficence. Sec*

j 7

To them I am trav’ling, but lame as yots
fee ;

The journey is more than my limbs
can well bear :

[ am driven to beg and to bend on my
knee,

And requeft the fmall pittance your
goodnefs will fpare.

May each heart of beneficence, See.

Reliev’d by your bounty beyond my belt

hope,

To the home of my youth 1 go for¬
ward with glee ;

With the journey my llrength will be
able to cope,

And my heart will remember your
kindnefs to me.

May each generous heart that was
mov’d at my tale,

And pitied the foldier all woe-worn,
and lame,

Be rewaidtd by Heav’n ; for, when
hard blew the gale,

They fpar’d me a trifle, and fav’d me
from fli am e,

July 4, 1803. J. M. L-

POETRY.

384

IV. A PICTURE OF FRANCE.

Tune — ‘ Hearts of Oak.*

The nation of France is a nation of fools,

They fondle and fawn on each rafcal that
rules ;

They have prov’d themfelves alfo a na¬
tion of knaves,

And when firft they revolted they made
themfelves Haves :

But Old England, more bleft, boafts a
fine race of men,

Who always are ready,

And always are heady,

To fight and to beat them again and
again.

Sam Cuhttes they were nam’d, and then
Robefpierre led,

And all who were rich at the guillotine
bled ;

But that tyrant at length met the fame
fate himi'elf, , [and pelf.

And his enemies ftar’d all . his plunder
But Old England, &c.

His fuccelFors not long over France held
the fway, [fvvept away ;

But, like thofe before them, were foon

Thus each villainous faction in turn
went to pot,

In oblivion, were buried, and quickly
forgot.

But Old England, &c.

Thus they chang’d for fome time, till a
meteor arofe ;

The Corfican came, and he cruft’ d all
his foes :

He waded through blood, Virtue fled at
his name ;

Thus he rofe, — thus at la-ft he their
chieftain became.

But Old England, &c.

*Tis not eafy to paint his ambition in
rhyme,

And Fir A Conful affuag’d it a very ftort
time ; *

He dreams that an emperor foon he (hall
be — [thing to me.

Of the Gauls, or the Well, is the lame
But Old England, &c.

But I fear that, when grac’d with an
emperor’s veft.

His palfion for power will ne’er let him
reft;

He will ftnve, like the Romans, in days
that are paft, [vaft.

To be mailer of Europe, though ever ft
But Old England, &c.

Thus we fee that the French, for a fe»
ries of years,

Like a pilot unlkilful for harbour that
fleers,

Have been ftruggling for freedom, but
quite mifs’d their aim ;

Thefubftance is gone, and they ’ve only
the name.

But Old England, &c.

Oh ! grant, ye kind povv’rs !

own native ifle,

Bleft with freedom and plenty,
may fmile ;

that our
for ages

Grant that dire revolutions may never
invade

The content of our homes, or the hopes
of our trade.

But if Frenchmen dare fight, we ’ve a
fine race of men,

Who always are rcadv,

And always are fteady,

To fight and to beat them again and
again.

July 4, 1803. J. M. L.

THE WISH OF A FRIEND.

Wherever you dwell, may content
* be your lot ;

And friendlhip, like ivy, encircle your
cot !

May each roly morn, drefi’d in mantle
of peace,

Shed health o’er your cot, and your
bleffings increafe !

May gay finding Plenty adorn the fair
fpot !

May Sorrow ne’er enter the door of
your cot !

But Friendlhip and Love in your dwell¬
ing relide,

And a virtuous wife o*er your cottage
prefide !

May your honefl endeavours be crown’d
with fuccefs t

May you ever live happy — ne’er vvitnefs
diftrefs !

May Good-humour and Mirth, in your
rural retreat.

In thy cottage of F riendftip, with Inno¬
cence meet!

On thy neat humble roof may *‘thefe
bleffings defcend 1

’T is the wilh free from guile — his the
with of a friend.

King stand* July 1 ? 1 8 03 . J . M,

[ 385 ]

FOREIGN NEWS.

Britjjels , Jutie 14.

TyE learn, nran official manner, that
the firft conful will leave Paris in
the courfe of this week, to undertake
his journey to the Belgic departments.
'I he following has been publifhed by
the prefedl to the mayor of Bruffels.

‘ I haften, citizen, to inform you, that
I have been officially informed that the
firft conful fets out this week upon his
journey to the Belgic departments. I
write you to accelerate the preparations
for his reception.

‘ Doulcet Pontecolant.’

Ofnaburgb , June 15. Our garrifon is
compofed at prefent of fixteen hundred
French infantry, under the command of
general Dronet. It is te be reinforced
without delay by four hundred huffars.
It is pofitively afferted that a confider*
ble body of troops is to come to take pof-
lelfion of our country, and that the head¬
quarters will be eftablilhed here.

Paris , June 16. Lieutenant-general
Mortier, commander in chief of the
army of Hanover, informs the minifter
at war, that he entered the city of Hano¬
ver on the 15th June; that the moft exa<5t
difcipline has been preferved, and that
two foldiers of the forty-eighth demi-
brigade, who had been conv idled of hay¬
ing committed pillage and other ex-
ceftes, have been ffiot. ’The army found
there fifteen thoufand new mufquets ;
five thoufand pair of piftols ; fixty am¬
munition-waggons, provided with good
horfes ; one hundred pieces of artillery,
of different calibres ; the component
parts of a bridge, fit for the paffage of
the Elbe ; magazines filled with powder ;
a foundery in the belt condition, and
amply fupplied.

According to the documents found in
the garrifon of Hameln, above five hun¬
dred pieces of cannon have been furren-
dered to the French army. The gene¬
ral of brigade Frere, who occupies Har-
hourgftadt, is on his march to Cuxhaven ;
and for the purpofe of intercepting the
paffage of all Emjlifh veffels that may be
Vol. XXXIY.

on the Elbe, general Rivaud, who occu¬
pies Verden, is charged with the execu¬
tion of a fimilar plan on the courfe of the
Wefet to its mouth. The park of field-
artillery belonging to the army of Hano¬
ver, which is at Zell, has been given up
to general Dulaloy, commander of the
artillery : it confifts of forty field-pieces,
provided with good horfes.

General Mortier adds, that although
he found but little money in the dif¬
ferent public ehefts, yet it will be fuffi-
cient to provide for the payment of the
troops, and that in future the French
army in Hanover is to receive only its
orders from the firft conful.

The inventories already received from
the different garrifon s of Hanover make
the contents of the magazines amount to
more than four hundred thoufand pounds
of powder, three millions of cartridges,
and forty thoufand mufquets.

The returns of the Hanoverian*army,
now prifoners of war, make the infantry
amount to twenty-ftx battalions, of five
hundred men each, officers included,
which is from eleven to twelve thou¬
fand men. The cavalry is twenty-two
fquadrons, forming together above four
thoufand men. The number of men
belonging to the artillery is about leven
hundred. The garrifon of the fortrefs
of Hameln conlifted of three batta¬
lions of infantry, a fquadron of cavalry,
a regiment of veterans, confifting of one
thoufand men, four officers of engineers,
and an officer of miners. General Du¬
laloy writes, that he is engaged with
the greateft adtivity in organifing his
great park of artillery ; that it wants for
nothing, and that it abounds with war¬
like ftores.

18. Chaptal, the minifter of the inte¬
rior, has written a letter to the prefedt
of the department of the North, iketch-
ing out the firft part of the route of the
firft conful in his vifit to the Low Coun¬
tries. He is to fleep at Amiens, Bou¬
logne, Calais, Dunkirk, Lifle, Oftend,
Ghent, Antwerp, and Bruffels. At the

3 D

386 Foreign

laft city he is to arrange the plan of the
remaining part of his journey.

Genoa, June 18. The Englifh fleet in
the Mediterranean has been confiderably
reinforced ; one division blockades the
ports of Porto Ferrajo and Leghorn ;
another is cruifing in the Strait of Mef-
iina, to prevent the French from paffing
over to Sicily ; and frigates are ftationed
before the principal ports of the king¬
dom of Naples.

A brigantine, which arrived here on
the 1 2th, depofes to having feen eighteen
fail of Engiilh ihips fleering a weflerly
courfe.

A Danifh fhip, which arrived the day
before yefterday from Spain, met, off
Cape Corfe, an Engiilh fquadron of
leventeen fail, proceeding towards
Gibraltar with the troops from Egypt.

A Ragulan Ihip, from Cadiz, arrived
yefterday. Off Porto Maurizio Ihe fell
in with an Engiilh fquadron of eleven
fail of the line.

Hanover , June 19. Citizen Rapp, ad¬
jutant-general of thefirft conful, arrived
in this city on the evening of the 17th,
after having fuccelhvely vifited the ports
and maritime cities which are to be oc¬
cupied by the French army, particular¬
ly Stadt and Cuxhaven. Immediately
after his arrival, he let out with gene¬
ral Mortier, to infpedt the fortrefs of
Kameln. They returned this morning
together.

It is known that the deputies of Ca-
lenburg-Grubenhagen, of Hoya Lunen¬
burg, Bremen, Verden, and Lauenburg,
affembled here immediately after the
conclufton of the convention of the 3d.
They came to a refolution to fend a de¬
putation from among them to the ftrft
conful. The choice fell upon Mr.
Ramdonz, counfellorof the fupevior tri¬
bunal of appeal at Celle, and Mr. Hinu-
bet, counfellor of legation. Thefe de¬
puties left this the 10th, to proceed by
Gottingen to Paris. General Mortier
infpefted their paffports. The deputies
of .Gfn&burg had not arrived at the time
of their departure : thole of Lauenburg
take no part in this million, becaufe their
*ountry is not occupied by French
troops.

Bv the fifth article of the convention
of Suhiingen, ail the arms and artillery
.are to be given up to the French. The
artillery of Hameln and of this city con*

News.

fifts of three hundred and fourteen pieces
of ordnance, forty-five mortars, about
five howitzers, and ten.iron field- pieces.
Brapn, colonel of artillery, has befides
furrendered at Celle five howitzers,
twenty-two fix-pounders, and fourteen
three-pounders ; the French troops have
alfo received all the pontons. Each
Hanoverian horfe battery carried three,
and each battery of the line two pieces
of artillery. About thirty-nine thou-
fand mufquets and five thoufand pair
of piftols have been fupplied to the
French. Independent of all thefe, fe-
veral fmall parcels of artillery have re¬
turned to Hanover from the territory of
Lauenburg. Eight Englifh horfes, of
an Ifabella colour, belonging to the
king’s fiud, have alfo been fent from
Lauenburg to Hanover.

Hamburgh , June 20. The French re¬
turned to"Guxhaven onTuelday, the
13th ultimo , to the number of three hun¬
dred ; and, on Wednefday, the French
minifter made known officially to our
fen ate the good difpofitions of the fir ft
conful; and when alked why they had
pofTefled therrffelves of Cuxhaven ? it
was anfwered, that it was a fimple mili¬
tary difpojition ; that the Pruflians had
done fo in the affair of the northern con¬
federacy ; and, further, to prevent the
Britifh from having recourfe to it for a
hoftile purpofe. It is juft now faid, that
Rufiia has declared againft France: we
wifh for the confirmation of it.

Frankfort, June 21. The deputies of
the Hanoverian regency, who fiet out
for Paris, palled through Frankfort on
the 1 6th. They had an audience of
his Pruflian majefty the evening before,
at Wilhelmfbade. According to accounts
received here, the electoral minifter of
Hanover has been removed from Heldef-
heim to Ratzburg, a city in the territory
of Lauenburg.

Utrecht , June 23. The fecond batta¬
lion of the regiment of Saxe-Gotha,
that was in garrifon at Schoonhoven,
paffed through this city to-day, on its
way toBildt, whence it is to continue its
route for Deventer or its environs. —
The fecond fquadron of Batavian dra¬
goons, which was proceeding from De¬
venter to Flaariem, received orders yef¬
terday, on its march, to return to its
former garrifon. The firft battalion of
the iixth Batavian demi-brigade is a!fq

387

Foreign News*

on its march from Leyden to Deventer.
The firft battalion of the fifth demi-
brigade, after having returned hither
from Zwol to proceed toHardwicke, had
again received counter-orders the day-
before yefterday ; it was yefterday fent
back, on its march to the environs of
De venter. Numerous corps of French
troops are proceeding from all quarters
to the fame deftination.

Hanover, yune 25. His roval high-
fiefs the hereditary prince of Denmark,
arrived in this city ©n the 22d, under
the name of count Storman, accompa¬
nied by his two fons, princes Chriftian
Frederick and Frederick Ferdinand. —
Notwithllanding the rigorous incognito
which this prince obferved in his jour¬
ney, the commander in chief, general
Mortier, fent to meet him a guard of
honour of feventy dragoons, who efcort-
ed his carriage. His royal highnefs, on
alighting at his lodging, found alfo a
guard of honour of two huflTars and two
grenadiers. In the evening the prince
was at the play, in general Mortier’s
box, and next morning fet off for Neu-
dorf, with an efcort of forty huffars.

27. People talk here of the fpeedy
paffage of the Elbe by the French troops.
All the veffels at Stade, Lunebourg, and
Harbourg, have been put in a ftate of
requifition. The Hanoverians have re¬
tained all the veffels on the oppofite
bank of the Elbe. The French troops
are in motion throughout all Hanover :
they are advancing in great hafte to¬
wards the environs of Lunebourg, where
they are to form an army of feventeen
thoufand infantry and two thoufand
cavalry. Provifions are conveying from
all quarters to the fame deftination. —
The head quarters of the French army
will be transferred hence to-morrow to
Lunebourg.

28. Yefterday evening general of ar¬
tillery Dulaloy and the field-commiffary
of the French army fet off for Lune¬
bourg. General Mortier, accompanied
by the adjutant-general Rapp and the
general of divifion Ranfoutz, command¬
ant of the cavalry, took rhe road this
morning for the fame place. General
Berthier will follow to-morrow.

General Mortier, having concluded
the convention of Suhlingen, under the
condition that it fhould be ratified by the
firft conful } and Bonaparte infilling upon

the difarming of the Hanoverian army*
the French troops approach the Elbe to
execute that difarmament.

Paris, July 1. Mi*. Green, a member
of the Englilh parliament, is juft arrived
in France, to conftitute hirhfelf a pri-
foner of war, in the room of one of his
countrymen, who is defirous of return¬
ing to his family, to receive thofe atten¬
tions which his age and health require.
Mr. Green has been received in France
with that refpedt which his generous
condudl deferves.

Boulogne, July 1. The firft conful is
arrived within our walls. The confti-
tuted authorities prefented each ad-
dreftes of congratulation. The add refs
of the council of the firft diftrift of the
department of the Pas de Calais contains
the following exprefiions :

‘ You will attack London in London,
and this new Carthage lhall be deftroyed.
The people of Boulogne, the neareft to
thefe proud iflanders, have already leen
the laurels of Nelfon fade before their
pert , they wait for Cornwallis, his fuc-
ceffor, to prove to him, that the French,
who conquered one Cornwallis in Ame¬
rica, have not degenerated.’

Brujfels, July 1. All the brigades
compofing the thirty-fecond fquadron of
gendarmerie formed a junction yefterday
at Bruffels, and were reviewed by gene~
ral Grange, infpettor-general of the
gendar?nerie. It appeals, that, after
leaving Rruftels, the firft conful will
proceed dire&ly by Tongres to Mael«
tricht. He will vifit the plain upon,
which the battle of Lawfelt was fought,
as well as the new^road which is to be
made between the'fe cities. Bonaparte
will afterwards pafs through Liege and
Tongres, for the purpofe of vifiting the
theatre of the battle of Raucourt/ Ac
every ftep are to be met, in our country,
places rendered famous by the engage¬
ments and battles that have been fought
there. ^ There is fcarce any part of the
Low Countries that has not been many
times drenched with the blood of the
warriors of Europe.

3. All the Englilh £1 ill in this city,
who are objetts of the arrete of govern¬
ment relative to the Englilh detained
in France as prifoners of war, arc cer¬
tainly to leave this city for Valen.
ciennes.

[ 388 }

HOME NEWS.

Grantham , June ig.

Eew days iince, a gypfey fortune-
teller went to the houfe of a perfon
near this town, and, finding his wife at
home, perfuaded her that fhe would pro¬
duce a thoufand pounds, if the latter
would confent to be locked in the cellar
while fhe performed her incantations ;
to which the fimple woman confenting,
the fortune-teller decamped with a 5/.
note and a number of filver fpoons.

Dover, July 1. The Auckland, capt.
Hammond, arrived here laft night from
Calais. Bonaparte was not then arrived,
but was expected every hour; the ftreets
were decorated with green boughs, &c.
to welcome his arrival. It is currently
reported at Calais, that 'the communica¬
tion will be opened by packets as flags of
truce again on their fide; and the cap¬
tains of the French packets hold them-
felves in readinefs to come every day. —
This morning the Drie Goofters, Pruf-
fian paffage-veffel, P. Reverry, mafler,
arrived here from Calais, with Mr.
Horfley and family, and feven other paf-
fengers. A firing was heard at Calais
laft night after they got out of port;
and they fuppofe Bonaparte was arrived
there from Boulogne. A heavy firing
has been heard moft part of to-day on the
French coaft ; by fome it is fuppofed to
be an ad'tion with fome floops of war and
gun-boats; others fay fir Sidney Smith
is bombarding Calais ; and it is fo very
thick, that we cannot fee above a mile
<or two from our own fhore.

London , July 2. The new houfes in the
neighbourhood of Ruflel-fquare having
been repeatedly robbed of the lead in a
Ihort time after it was laid on the roofs,
the builders have lately taken the pre¬
caution of fitting up a room in the up¬
per part of the houfe as foon as poffible
after the roof was on, for the purpofe
of a man to fleep in, to keep watch. —
Yeflerday morning, between three and
four o’clock, a man, who was keeping
watch in a houfe, in Coram-ftreet,
Brunfvvick-fquare, was alarmed by

hearing fome perfon taking the lead off
the roof, upon which he went down
flairs, to get the affiftance of the watch¬
men, to fecure the robber : the alarm
being given, a number of perfons joined
in the purfuit, which continued for
about an howE and. a half ; during
this time the thief efcaped from build¬
ing to building,, and at length got
into a chimney, where he was, however,
difcovered. Thofe in purfuit of him
threw bricks down the chimney upon
him, which obliged him to quit that
fituatien, and he got from that building
by means of Aiding down the rafters, in
the front of which a number of perfons
were affembled to prevent his efcaping:
he endeavoured to get out backwards,
when an inhabitant of Hunter-ftreet
difcharged a blunderbufs at him as he
entered the garden, the contents of which,
lodged in his body, and he expired in a
few minutes. On examination, they
were found to have entered his belly and
thighs, and he likewife appeared to be
wounded under his left ear, fuppofed by
a fhotfrom one of the piftols difcharged
at him in his flight. His appearance
was that of a man in great diftrefs ; and
he is fuppofed to have been afhoemaker,'
as a pair of fhoemaker’s pincers was
found upon the roof of the building
where he was firft feen.

4. Saturday afternoon, about three
o’clock, a thunder-ftorm commenced,
which, particularly in the north-eafl
part of the city, and the adjacent country,
was rremendoufly awful. During the
ftorm the lightning, defcending by the
chimney of the houfe of Mrs. Colley, the
India Arms, Blackwall, after fluttering
the houfe confiderably, (truck the fer-
vant-maid, who was two hours before
fhe was tolerably recovered. The houfe
adjoining was alfo materially injured.
Two boats were blown over ; and, but
for the timely affiftance of a boat from
Somerfet-houfe, two men would inevita¬
bly have perifhed. The lightning let
fire to a carpenter’s fhop in Gravel-lane,

Home News . 389

Southwark. The lhavings and other
combuftibles were inftantly in a blaze,
but were happily Toon extinguifhed by
the endeavours of two men, who were
at work when the accident happened.

5. Yefterday, about one o’clock, the
inhabitants of Coram-ftreet, Rufieli-
Iquare, were alarmed by the lcreams of
a woman, at intervals calling out mur¬
der. The cries were traced to the
apartments of a journeyman flioemaker,
in Little Coram-ftreet ; and, on the
room being entered, the wife of the man
was difcovered with her throat cut in a
Ihocking manner. This had been per¬
petrated by her hufband as they were
fitting at dinner, in confequence of a
trifling difpute. The man was fecured,
and a conftable fent for, who took him to
the public-office, Bovv-ftreet, where he
underwent an examination before fir
Richard Ford, who committed him for
further examination till the fate of his
wife is known.

7. Yefterday, upwards of forty per-
fons, taken into cuftody the preceding
night, under authority of privy learch-
warrants, principally at a public-houfe
of ill fame in Tottenham-court-road, and
another near Leicefter-fquare, were
brought before Nicholas Bond, efq. and
fir William Parfons, for examination at
Bow-ftreet, when many of them not
being able to give a good account of
themfelves, and being able men, were
fent on board the tender at the Tower
to ferve his majefty. Two very noto¬
rious characters among them were ar-
refted in the office for pretended debts,
no doubt for the purpole of preventing
their being fent to fea, as the writs were
dated only yefterday, and at the iuit of
perfons as notorious as themfelves, but
which the magiftrates could not prevent
the execution of, as there was no parti¬
cular charge againft: the prifoners before
them.

8. Robert Aftlett, a calhier of the
Bank of England, was tried at the Old
Bailey for felonioufly Healing, iecreting,
and embezzling, certain exchequer-bills,
to the amount of between two and three
hundred thoufand pounds ; but it ap¬
pearing that the bills had not been fign-
ed, as required by law, by the auditor of
the exchequer, the court directed an
acquittal, and he was accordingly ac¬

quitted, but detained on a civil aCUon
for debt.

The prifoner had been arraigned on
this charge the preceding feffions, but
the informality in the figning the bills
being admitted, it was thought an alarm,
might be excited fhould it be publicly
known that they had no legal value.
The trial was therefore put off, and in
the mean time an a£t of parliament
pafled, declaring them valid, notwiths¬
tanding the informality in their figna-
ture.

9. This day, about two o’clock, the
roof of the centre tower, or rather the
lanthorn, of Weftminfter-abbey, was dif¬
covered to be on fire. The flames foon
aftfumed a formidable appearance, rifing
to a confiderable height above the pa¬
rapet. The fire was firft perceived
about a quarter paft two o’clock. The
fcarcity of water (there being no plugs
within a convenient diftance), and the
progrefs the fire had made, previoufly to
its being difcovered and to the confe-
quent arrival of the firemen and engines,
was fuch as, in any other inftance, might
have been of the mod ferious confe-
quence; but, in the prefent, the flames
were fo high at firft, that noflream from
an engine could have reached them.
When, however, the engines did arrive,
they were of the moft effential lervice
in playing upon the choir, into which
the melted lead, and burning timber,
fhowertd continually with a noife like
thunder. The interior of the abbey
could be compared to nothing but a
volcano, at the moft awful period of. its
eruption. The fize of the beams and
the immenfe height from which they
fell, and which the obfeurity occafioned
by the fleam and fmoke rather magnified
than diminifbed, prefented the moft ter¬
rible and uncommon fpedlacle.

More than two hours pafled in fuf-
penfe as to the poffible fate of the whole
building, till about five o’clock, by cut¬
ting away timber from above, and play¬
ing upon the choir below, the deftruc-
tive element was prevented from ex¬
tending itfelf, and confiderably over¬
come : fortunately little or no wind was,
ftirring.

The damage done is the total deftruc-
tion of the lanthorn, and much of. the
timber adjoining, the communion-table.

390

Home News.

pews, part of the choir, flails, and pul¬
pit. The organ, one of the fin eft in the
kingdom, happily was not injured. We
are happy in not having heard of any
other accidents.

12. A melancholy accident happened,
on Saturday laft, near Pordand-chapel.
A lady had taken leave of her child,
previous to her going out of town, and
had turned it over to the care of the
nurfery-maid, who inftantly carried it
up ftairs. The child, however, eager to
fee her mamma go out, ran to the win¬
dow, and before the fervant could fly to
its affiftance, in reaching too far over the
window-frame, fell into the ftreet, at
the moment the mother was ftepping
into her carriage. The lcene is better
imagined than defcribed ; the child was
taken up lifelefs — the mother conveyed
in doers frantic.

14. Yefterday Mr. Gray, who kept
the Bell Savage Coffee-houfe, on Lud-
gate-hill, went out in a gig, with two
children (boys) ; and coming home
down Gray’s-inn-lane, towards Holborn,
the gig unfortunately came in contaft
with a returned chaife ; the conculhon
was fo great, that the poft-boy was
thrown off the bar on the pavement,
and killed on the fpot. Mr. Gray and
the two children were thrown out on
the oppofite ftde: one of the children
was killed on the fpot ; the other child
had his arm broke, and was otherwife
dreadfully bruifed : and Mr. Gray him-
felf was taken home fpcechlefs, in which
Bate he ftdl remains.

15. Yefterday a h&lf-yearly general
court of the proprietors of bank-ftock
was held at the Bank, for the purpofe
of declaring a dividend. In the courfe
of doing this, it became neceffary for
the chairman of the court of direftors to
ftate the lofs the company had fuftained
by Mr. Aftlett. The adtual lofs he
ftated at about three hundred and twen¬
ty thoufand pounds ; about feventy- eight
thoufand pounds has been employed in
fources from which the diredlors think
they will be able to recover, and they
are determined to profecute to that
effe£t„ On the part of the dire&ors, it
was ftated that the lofs by Mr. Aftlett
would make no alteration in the divi¬
dends. That lofs amounted to nearly
the entire dividends of the half year ;
but the affairs of the company were in

fo profperous a ftate they would be able
to divide as ufual. The chairman then
proceeded to explain, that the court of
diredfors were not to blame for the mal-
pradtices of Mr. Aftlett, who had iuc-
ceeded in making away with the effects
of the Bank, by interlining furns, and by
calling out falfe fums when the property
was regulated. On this fubjedt a very
detailed and fatisfadfory explanation was
given, in which the mode of doing the
bufinefs was fully deferibed. The di-
redtors too relied on Mr. Aftlett’s cha¬
racter and long fidelity. Under all cir-
cumftances, it would have required a
fupernatural power to have at firft de-
tedted him.

18. On Wednefday evening laft, be¬
tween eight and nine o’clock, a circum-
ftance happened at the Surrey fide of
Weftminfter-bridge, which was very
near being attended with fatal confe-
quences. A very young man, genteely
dreffed, ran with great violence to the
water- fide, flung his hat againft the
fteps, leaped over feveral boats, and
plunged headlong into the river. He
was inftantly followed by a beautiful
young girl, dreffed in white muflin, who
plunged in after him. The watermen
were fo aftohillied with the fuddennefs
of the affair, that they had not time to
prevent either from committing this
rafli adf. One of the watermen, how¬
ever, got out his fculler, and with great
difficulty refeued both of them from de-
ftrudtion j after which they were pre¬
vailed on to go to their refpeCtive homes.
The female laid fhe was an unfortunate
girl, and refided near Blackfriars-road.
1 he young man is fuppofed to have
formed a connexion with her, which led
him into great diitrefs, and to an at¬
tempt at filicide.

A mod calamitous circumftance hap¬
pened on Friday noon in Queen-ftreet,
Ratcliff- highway : — A lodging-houfe,
from feme unknown caufe, fell, with a
dreadful crafk, to the ground, carrying
all its unfortunate inhabitants in the
general wreck along with it; men, wo¬
men, and children, to the number of fix,
were fhortly after dug out of the ruins,
moft fhockingly bruifed and maimed :
they were taken tothe London infirmary,
where there are no hopes of their reco¬
very.

Births*— Marriages,

3 91

BIRTHS.

June 26. At Winchefter-houfe, Chel-
fea, the lady of the hon. and rev. Tho¬
mas de Grey, of a daughter.

At his houfe, in Bloomlbury-fquare,
the lady of John Fowden Hindle, efq.
of a daughter.

At the Redtory- houfe, Finchley, the
lady of the rev. Ralph Worlley, of a
daughter.

29. In Gloucefter-place, the right
hon. lady Cathcart, of a fon.

At Hertford, the lady of the rev.
Thomas Lloyd, of a fon.

At col. Calvert's houfe, in Grofvenor-
place, Mrs. FI. Calvert, of a daughter.

30. At his houfe, in Hereford-ftreet,
the lady of Jofeph Smith, efq. of a fon.

July 2. At his houfe, in Manchefter-
fquare, the lady of James Lawrell, efq.
of a daughter.

3. At Herdmanfton, in Scotland,
the right hon. lady Sinclair, of a fon.

5. At Wood flock, Oxfordfhire, the
right hon. lady vifcountefs Aflibrook,
of a daughter.

6. At his houfe, in Mansfield-ftreet,
Portland-place, the lady of Plaftow Tra-
paud, efq. of a daughter and fon.

The lady of John Smith, efq. of
Finfbury-fquare, of a fon.

7. At her houfe, in Baker-flreet, the
right hon. lady Charlotte Gould, of a
fon and heir.

9. In Upper Grofvenor-flreet, the
lady of the rev. W. Gamier, of a fon.

At Forell-hail, Effex, the lady of the
rev. T.B. Stanes, of a fon and heir.

10. In Goodge-flreet, the lady of T.
Tibdin, efq. of a daughter.

j8. Mrs. Snaith, of Manfion-houl'e-
ftreet, of a daughter.

19. At Somerfet-place, lady Louifa
Rodney, of a daughter.

MARRIAGES.

June 24. Richard Edwards, of Nan-
horon, efq. lieutenant-col. of the Royal
Carnarvonfhire Militia, and eldeft fon
of the late captain Timothy Edwards,
of the royal navy, to mil's Lloyd, only
daughterof R. Lloyd, efq. of Rholbcirio.

28. John Pepys, elq. of Upper Char-
lotte-ftreet, Fitzroy-lquare, to mifs
Bond, eldeft daughter of the late J.
Bond, efq. of Mitcham, Surrey.

The rev. IF. Frazer, redlor of Sr.
Martin’s, Ludgate, to mifs Lloyd, of
Upper Kennirtgton-place.

William Soltau, efq. merchant, to
mil's Wilfon, daughter of J. Wilfon, efq.
of Stoke-Newington.

William Ward Jackfon, efq. of Nor-
manby, in Yorkfhire, to mifs Louifa
Martin Atkins, youngeft filler to Ed¬
ward Martin Atkins, efq. of Kingdom
Life, Berklhire.

The rev. Edward Nares, redlor of
Biddenden, Kent, to mifs Cordelia '
Adams, fecond daughter of Thomas
Adams, efq. of Olborne-lodge, in Kent.

At St. George’s church, Mr. J. Du¬
val, to mifs J. Bagnell.

30. Mr. Geo. Y eeles, of Bathford,
Somerfet, to mifs Sarah Baddeley, of
Shelton, Staffordihire.

July 4. At Leyvilham church, by the
rev. Mr. Hugh Jones, T. Tanner, efq.
vto Mrs. Warner, only daughter of capt.
George Simfon, late of the Eaft-India
company’s fervice.

5. The rev. Henry John Wollafton,
re£lor of Pafton, Northamptonshire, to
mils Louila Symons, younger daughter
of the late William Symons, efq. of
Bury St. Edmund’s, Suffolk.

6. Mr. John Gibbons, grocer, to
mifs Lucy Mayo, both of Bath.

7. Sir Henry Peyton, bart. of Hag-
beach, Cambridgeinire, to Mrs. Brad-
Ihaw, widow of the late James Brad-
ftiaw, efq. of Portland-place.

Mr. Weldon, furgeon, of Wigmore-
ftreet, to mifs Richardfon, of Mortlake.

The rev. D. Fiiher, D. D. of Hack-
ney, to mifs 1L. Toms, fecond daughter
of the late rev. I. Toms, of Hadleigh.

Mr. James Dempfter, of Baron-houfe,
Mitcham, to Mrs. Bundoch, widow of
the late John Bundoch, efq. of Mitcham.

Mr. John Imber, of Frotne, aged
about fourfcore years, duly confidering
the mifchievous effeas which a life o*f
celibacy produces, and having before
long drank of the * perpetual fountain of
domeftic fweets,’ led Mrs. Hefter Yeeles
(whofe journey through life has been
nearly as long as that of her fpoufe) to
the altar of H fmen !

10. Edw. Bayley, efq. of Wytheford,
Salop, to mifs Horner, of Bucklerfbury.

William Doidge Taunton, efq. of the
Middle T emple, to mifs Henrietta At.
kinfon, third daughter of Plenty Wil¬
liam Atkinfon, elq.

12. Mr. P. Moore, of R.ed-lion-
fquare, to mifs S. Lainchburv, of Oi-
mond-ftreet.

Deaths .

14. Alex. Bruce Morris, efq, of the
yiand of Berbice, to mifsr Arabella Beard,
of Fenchurch-ftreet.

At Guillborough, Northampton (hire,
W. Abbott, efq. of Wim pole- ftreet, Lon-
don, tomifsWarci, daughter of W. Zouch
Lucas Ward, efq. of Guilfborough-hall*

18. S. Chilver, efq. of New Burling-
ton-ftreet, tomifs Clementfon, daughter
of John Clementfon, efq. of Copt-hall,
in the county of Bedford.

Mr. Joleph Curtis, of Shoe-lane, to
mifs Ann Peters, daughter of the late
Mr. James Peters, wine and brandy-
merchant, of Holborn-hill.

19. Wm. Dickinfon, efq. jun. M. P.
fon of William Dickinfon, efq. M. P. of
King-Wefton, Somerfetfhire, to mifs
Smith, eldeft daughter of Samuel Smith,
efq. M. P. of Woodhall-park, Herts.

DEATHS.

June 22. At Prefcot, in Lancafhire,
W. Atherton, efq. of that place, aged 61.

a 5. At his brother’s houfe, at Dow-
ham, near Berwick-upon-Tweed, Wm.
For her, efq. late major of the fixth bat¬
talion of the 60th regiment, and fon of
Ralph Forfter, efq. of the latter place; a
vi&im to the melancholy effedts of a
length of fervice in the Weft-Indies.

At his houfe, in Bath, the rev. Wil¬
liam Somerville, A. M. of Dinder, So¬
me rfetfliire, prebendary of Wells, re6tor
of Somerville’s Alton, and vicar of Bi«
bury, in the county of Gloucefter.

Edward Gordon, efq. of Bromley,
Middlefex, aged 76. .

At Hartforth, near Richmond, in
Yorklhire, in the 8iftyearof her age,
Mrs. Raine, wife of the rev. Mat[hew
Raine, of that place, and mother of the
rev. Dr. Raine, matter of Charter-houfe
fennel, and of Jonathan Raine, efq.
M.vP. barri(ler-at-law.

2.6. At his houfe, at Charing-crofs,
Mr. John Walter, upwards of forty
years bookfeller there.

Mr. Waugh, of Limekilns, Green-
\vieh, aged 82.

The infant fon of Robert Lambert,
efq. of the royal navy, at his houfe in So-
merfet-ftreet.

29. ,At his houfe, in Great Cumber¬
land place, in the 65th year of his age,
William Blake, efq. of South-Cgrolina,

30. The infant daughter of Ior4
George Henry Cavendilh.

July 1. At Alloa, much regretted, Mr,
David Flint, aged 69.

At Gibraltar, in the 23d year of hist
age, Mr. Charles Douglas Morrifqn^
after a ftiort illnefs. V'

Mr. Thomas Evans, formerly an emi¬
nent bookfeller in Paternofter-row.

Lately, in the iftand of Corfu, Mr.
Robert Cole, eldeft fon of Mr. Cole, of
the Strand.

AtTeddington,the rev. P. Mackenzie.

4. At No. 74, Guildford-ftreet, the
youngeft daughter of J. Scarlett, efq,
barrifter-at-law.

6. After a lingering illnefs, at his feat
of Velynydd, in the county of Brecon,
captain Thomas Hughes Williams, of
the 24th regiment of foot, in the 2zd
year of his age.

7. In Sackville-ftreet, Dublin, fir An¬
thony Brabazon, bart. of New-park,
county of Mayo.

At Tyrelta, near Downpatrick, Mrs.
Hamilton, relidt of the hon. Mr. baron
Hamilton.

8. At hislordlhlp’s houfe, in Hertford-
ftreet, the youngeft daughter of lord
Bruce, aged four years.

At Catisfield, Hants, vice-admiral
Robert Biggs.

12. At Exeter, in an advanced age,
Mr. William Jackfon, organift of the
cathedral of that city.

13. The rev. Samuel Harper, F. R. S.
upwards of forty-feven years librarian
of the Britilb Mufeum, and thirty-feven
years chaplain tothe Foundling-hofpital.

14. At his houfe, Eaft-Sheen, Surrey,
William Browne, cfq.of Watling-ftreet.

15. At Iflington, Mrs. Ives, aged 47.

16. At his houfe, in Gloucefter-ter-
race, John Bridges, efq. of an apoplexy.

1 7. At Sunbury, Middlefex, Roger
Boehm, efq. one of the directors of the
Bank of England.

At his houie, in Billiter-fquare* Philip
Morlhead, efq. attorney-at-law.

At his houfe, at Pentonville, Mr. Rid¬
ley Surtees, ftiip and infurance-broker.

At his father’s houfe, in Gray s-inn-
lane, Mr. Wm. Bray ley, herald-painter.

18. At her brother’s houfe, at Brent¬
ford, mils Elizabeth Anthoney, late of
Beaconsheld.

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THE

LADY’S MAGAZINE,

ENTER TAINING COMP A NION

~~ 1 * I K * * • '

THE FAIR SEX;

APPROPRIATED

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For AUGUST, 1803.

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

1 The Generous Curate; a Tale... 395

2 On Flattery, . 398

3 Anecdote of Macldin, . 400

4 A Morning’s Walk in Auguft, . . 401

5 On the Aullerity of old Age,. . . . 402

6 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of

‘ Tom Jones/ . 403

Maiilda ; a Drama, . 407

A fad Reflection, . 413

9 The Monks and the Rubbers ; a Tale,

4x4

io On the Employment of Time by the

Female Sex, . 417

Remarks on the Reign of Elizabeth,

42 1

Remarks on the Reign of James I.,

422

13 InflruCtions of Lewis XVI. for the
Education of the Dauphin, . 423

Maxims of Lewis XVI., . . 426

Signe and Habor; a Gothic Romance,

428

Parifian Faihions,. . . . . .43 1

London Falhions, . .....431

The Moral Zoologift, . 432

Poetical Essays: — Idyllion, occi-
floned by the drawing of a Cafcade in
Stirl i ngfhire. Infcription, intended
for a Statue of the late Duke of Bed¬
ford. Betfy of the Grove. Ode to
Morning. Summer Evening at Home.
Winter Evening at Home. The
Mof-:-cover'd Cot.
tue’s Triumph.

Ellen ; or, Vir-

Night.

A Canzonet,
436—44°

20 Foreign News, . 441

2 1 Home News, . 444

22 Births — Marriages — Deaths, . 347

This Number is embellifhcd with the following Copper -plates.

The Generous Cur ate.

For the Moral Zoologist— The PHEASANT.

An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

New and elegant Pattern for a Gown or Apron, &c.
MUSIC — The Sea-Boy.

LONDON :

Printed for G. and J. ROBINSON, No. 2$, Paternofler-Bow ;

Where Favours from Correfpondents continue to be received.

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TO CORRESPONDENTS,

Hilaries contribution is inadmiffible, from reafons which we doubt net
will eafily fuggeft themfelves to the author.

J. C.’s communication is intended for infection*

We hope foon to hear from R. F.

'Lucindas Effay (hall have a place.

A He Rival Lovers— Addrefs to the Genius of Britain— Lines to Mifs Y*
"Hope, an Extempore— Epiftie to Maria — R. L.'s Enigma**— are re-

iron

eeived.

Ungrcu'edfor the lady s Magazine .

THE

LADY’S magazine,

For AUGUST, 1803.

THE GENEROUS CURATE;

A TALE.

( With an elegant Engraving,)

'T'he generous and benevolent
man acquires with difficulty
that knowledge of the world which
is neceflary to guard him againft
impofition : incapable of deceit
hi wile If, he cannot miftruft it in
others ; and it is only by experience,
frequently dearly purchafed, that
he can be taught tofufpefl external
appearances and fair profefiions.
^ et though this dilpofition may
render the virtuous the occafional
prey of the vicious, they frill enjoy
the rich reward of a good con¬
ference, and fometimes meet with
kindred fpirits who amply recom-
pence them for all they may have
fuffered from thofe of bafer nature.

In a fmal! village, d i flan t a few
miles from a fafhionable place of
fummer refort, in the North of
England, refided a young clergy¬
man of the name of Manning, who
performed the clerical duties at the
parochial church of the place in the
abfence of the vicar, who was a
man of wealth and eminence, and
had other preferments to a tend to,
for the fmall ffipend of thirtv pounds
a-year. So fcauty an income muff
necefTarily have confined him to
the pra&ice of that felt-denial and
mortification winch was more fre¬
quent in the church in the primi¬
tive ages than it is at prefent ; but,
fortunately, he was employed in the
fame manner by the red tor of a

neighbouring parifli at the fame
falary, and thus, between both, hg
not only made fliift to live, but to
fave a little money, without break¬
ing into a fmall capital ofa hundred
and fifty pounds which had been
left him by a relation, and which
he had put out to interefl in the
hands ofa refpeftable farmer in the
neighbourhood.

Mr. Manning was a man of the
fimplefi: manners and moff unfu-
fpicious goodnefs of heart. He had
never even feen the capital, and was
almoft as little acquainted with the
habits and real character of perfons
who have been bred up and long
refided in great cities as with thofe
of the inhabitants of the moon. He
had a ferious and heart-felt fenfe of
the great truths of religion and the
importance of the duties of his pro-
fefiion, which he mofi confeientioufly
performed. The exercife of cha¬
rity and benevolence was not con-
fidered by him as a duty, but a plca-
fure in which it was a luxury to
indulge. The poorer dalles of hi?
parifhioners loved and adored him ;
and the more wealthy a ,d fafijon-
able, in their o xafionai -vifits,
though they m:ght frni e at h;s firn-
plicity and ignorance of what is
called the world, could not but ad¬
mire, and indeed revere, his un¬
affected piety, his blameiefs conduct,
and ufeful virtues.

3 E 2

The Generous Curate.

3 96

As Mr. Manning was walking, on
a fine fummer’s evening, along a
pleafant rural path which led to the
village in which he redded, he was
overtaken by a ftranger, whole
air and manner appeared to an¬
nounce him an accomplifhed gentle¬
man, and who entered into converfa-
tion w ith him on the feafonable fere-
nity of the weather and the beauties
of the furrounding fcene, interfperf-
ing many moral and religious re¬
flections in his difcourfe. The wor¬
thy curate was extremely pleafed
with his companion, who appeared
to him to poffefs very extenfive
information on every fubjeCt, and
who feemed to be as diftinguifhed
for his morality and piety as for his
various knowledge and experience
in life.

The ftranger foon found an op¬
portunity to advert to the hiftory of
his own affairs. He was, he faid,
the ion of a gentleman who had
poffeffed a confiderable eftate in
Yorkshire, but who, by too great
indulgence in fafhionable pleafures,
had left it fo incumbered with debts
and mortgages, that the whole had
fallen into the hands of his uncle,
who had advanced money to his fa¬
ther at different times. There was,
however, he added, a part of it, of
the value of four hundred a-year,
which was of inch a nature, that he
was convinced the law allowed no
claims of that kind on it, and it mu ft
devolve to him. But he who had
feized if had a much longer purfe
than himfelf, and defended his pre¬
tended right w’th obftinacy : he
was, he laid, indeed, at that very
moment, in an extremely difagree-
able and mortifying fituation — for
want of only about twenty pounds,
which he knew not how immedi¬
ately to raife, he Ihould incur an
expence to the amount of treble
that fum at leaft, befides a tedious
delay, and perhaps be ultimately
obliged to • defift from profecut-

ing a claim which was univerfally
allowed to be juft. He then
proceeded to fevere invectives a-
gainft the rapacity, cruelty, and
fraud, of his uncle; who, he faid,
had not in reality advanced more
than half the money he claimed,
and who, he verily believed, had
been guilty of forgery to eftablifh
his demands, though he could not
then obtain proofs of that faff. He
ended with repeating of what effen-
tial fervice the fum he had men¬
tioned would be to him at that time,
adding a number of moral obferv-
ations on the wickednefs of the
world, and the deceit and felftfhnefs
of mankind in general.

The honeft curate, who had,
indeed, before, as well as now,
heard of the wickednefs of the
world and the deceit and felfifhnefs
of mankind, never once fufpedfed
that they could lie hidden under fo
plaufible an exterior, or that the
perfon with whom he was converf-
ing was no ether than a (harper.
He felt a generous indignation

O CD

againft the conduct of the uncle
who could endeavour to deprive the
(on of his brother of his sight, and
render him a beggar; and he fin-
cerely fy m pat hi fed with the perfe¬
cted nephew. Feeling thus, he,
without hefitation, anlwered that he
hoped all mankind were not alike;
and told Mr. Hawkley, the ftranger
who had related tins fad ftory, that,
though he was entirely unknown to
him, he (liould be welcome to the
money he wanted imediately, if it
would enable him to recover his
right and refeue him from- indi-

gence.

This was more than his new friend
had expended; however, after much
pretended hefitation and many pro-
mife.s of the ample remuneration,
which he would one day make for
fuch generofitv and the confidence
repofed in him, which he declaied
he could not have believed he

The Generous Curate

Ihould have found in the world,
he iuffered himfelf to be prevailed
on to accept the offer. He went
home with Mr. Manning, and con¬
trived his converfation fo as to learn
the exact (late of the good curate’s
affairs, and thus formed an effimate
of the precife advantage that might
be made of his credulity.

A few days after, Hawkley re*
turned with a companion who per-
fonated an attorney : they inform¬
ed Mr. Manning that it was dif-
covered that Mr. Hawkley would
be able to recover a much larger
part of the efhate than he had at fir ft
expected, but that, to enable him
to do this, fifty pounds more would
be neceflarv immediately, for which
they offered what they called un¬
deniable fecurity.

They proceeded in this manner
till they had obtained from the un¬
wary curate all the ready money of
which he was poffieffird, and all that
he had out at intereft in the hands
of the farmer. Hawkley then tried
a new lure: he told the curate that
he thould now foon be able to make
him ample amends for his generous
kindnefs, for that he had lately met
with fir John Heathcote, who had
been the intimate friend of his fa¬
ther, and who would fupply him
with money for his lavv-fuit. He
added there Wasra living of about
three hundred a-vear now vacant,
in the gift of fir John, and if he
<*nuld raife or borrow about a cou¬
ple of hundted pounds he knew
liow to apply the money in fuch a
manner as to infure him the prefen-
tation.

Mr. Manning rejected this pro-
pofal with a kind of indignation :
he faid he would never be concern¬
ed in any tranlaefion fo disgraceful
to a Chrifiian divine as the obtain¬
ing a living by the aid of money.

* No, no/ cried Hawkley, 4 I
mean no fimoniacal contra<5i, I af-
fure you but I am jult going to fet

397

out to meet fir John, and if you can
raile me about thirty or forty pounds
more, for the laft time, I will take
care that vour piety and virtue fhali
not fail of meeting its due reward.’

The curate advanced the money,
though he was obliged to borrow jt,
after which his pretended friend left
the town where he had refided : it
was difeovered that he and his com¬
panion were two notorious cheats
and fwindlers ; and the curate was
arrefled and thrown into jail for the
debt he had contracted.

He remained there. for fome time
in a very wretched filiation, till
one morning, as he was reading in
his gloomy apartment, the attorney
of the perfon at whole lift he had
been arrefted came in, and told him
that he was at liberty-— his debt hav¬
ing been paid by a gentleman in the
outer room, who wiilied to foeak
with him.

When the afionifhed curate came
out, he found an elderly gentleman,
who, as foon as he began to exprefs
his gratitude, flopped him, faying —

4 I do no more than whac. I
efleem my duty* I fet apart a por¬
tion of my wealth for the benefit of
the poor, the fick, and the impri-
foned. I have, on enquiry among
the poor people of the pari flies in
which you officiated, heard a cha¬
racter of you which is aimed unex¬
ampled in thefe times. I am only
the inflrument in the band of Pro¬
vidence of relieving you from dif-
trefs, incurred fole;y by your iim-
plicity and generofi y.’

_ ‘ Providence, hr/ faid .Mr. Man¬
ning, f has, I conceive, juflly
puni ffied me for yielding, as 1 fear
1 did in my heart too much, to the
temptation of obtaming preferment
by undue means. The knave who
impofed on me told me there was a
vacant living in the gift of fir John
Heathcote, who had lately become
his friend, which he could procure
for me if I would advance him aa

39$

On Flattery.

additional fum of money. I ex-
prefi'ed my indignation at the pro-
pofid, but I fear my heart yielded.
I am defervedly punifhed ; I have
loft the fituation 1 had, while, per¬
haps, neither the liv ng nor the
fuppofed patron ever had exiftence.
The illufion has vanifhed, but the
crime remains.’

‘ You remind me,’ faid the gentle¬
man, * of what more I ought to do for
you. I am fir John Heathcote; the
living which has been mentioned to
you is vacant, and at my difpofal ;
this is, perhaps, the only truth
the artful knave who impofed on
you has told you. That living is
yours; you are certainly the pet fon I
have for fome time fought for to fill
it. Take it, as the reward of your
■virtue and piety, and your benevo¬
lent, thoug'i mi-placed, generofity.

The good curate could find no
objection to accepting the living on
thefe terms. He afterwards married
a diftant relation of fir John’s, with
whom he received a handfome for¬
tune, which enabled him not only
to live in a ftyle of refpe&able affl li¬
enee, but to perform numerous adds
of charitv and generofiv; virtues con-
genial to his nature, and which ren¬
dered him beloved and refpedted by
all around him.

ON FLATTERY.

There is nothing againfl which
we ought to be fo much on our
guard as fla tery. Of this every
perlon will foon be convinced who
has occafion to try the friendfhip of
mankind ; yet he who is fond of his
own praife, whatever may be his
penetration and wari net's, will not
be always proof againft its artful in-
finuations. It blinds even the moft
clear fighted, and infenfibly draws
them into fnares which it requires
more than common exertion to ex¬
tricate themfelves from, and often

ends in their ruin. Very little proof
is required to convince us of the
truth of thefe obiervations.

If a man is admired for a fine
voice/ we fhall always find him
emulous to entertain, not fo much
to oblige the company as to hear
himfelf applauded. Thus are thofe
people whom he miftakes for his
friends always fure ®f hjin ; and,
from this vain opinion of himfelf, he
is led promifcuoufly into all forts of
acquaintance, very often to his great
prejudice. When a man is indiffe¬
rent as to his company, there is
fcarce.ly any vice in which he will
not readily partake, in imitation of
his companions. Thus led from
vice to vice, by the wretched and
fenfelefs commendations of the vi¬
cious, his days and nights are con-
fumed, while that which fhould
conftitute happinefs for future
years to himfelf and family is totally
neglefted. Let this man come to
want, and try the friendfhip of thofe
with whom he has fpent fo many
joyous hours, and fee if one of them
will afiift him.

But the fair fex are more par¬
ticularly liable to become the vie-
tims of flattery. Has Nature be¬
llowed on any young lady a finer
face than many others can boaft, in
how many various modes is fhe
afTiled ? Even education aflifts and
prepares the way for this flattery
and its baneful effects. But how
much are the parents and friends of
fuch a female to blame, who, inftead
of endeavouring to make the mind
as beautiful as the face, by early
improving it in knowledge and the
virtues requifite to form the de-
firable perlon, rather chufe to in¬
itiate their daughter or pupil in all
the vanities which but too fre¬
quently lead to all the vices of the
times.

In confirmation of thefe reflec¬
tions, I ‘fhall here add the fliort hif-
tory of a young lady with whom I

0)1 Flattery *

was formerly acquainted, and whom
I fha.ll call Laetitia. • ,

All who knew Lcetitia mu ft ac¬
knowledge that Nature had been
profufe in her bounties, to make
her a moll lovely perfon. No¬
thing could be more beautiful or
elegantly genteel than was her forqn,
nor were any of her perfections loft
~on the delighted parents of the
young lady. Their firft care was to
drefs her even extravagantly; the
glafs and praifes of her family foon
convinced her that their encomi-
ums were not falfely beftowed.
Thus fi om childhood to rjper years
was file taught to be delighted with
her own form, and to believe the
flatteries of her friends. As years
advanced fne became the envy of
her lifters and idol of herfelf; her
dilpofttion, which was naturally do¬
cile, wanted only a little improve¬
ment, with lefs knowledge of her
own charms. Her good fenfe, had
it been cultivated by proper exam¬
ple and precepts, would have made
her the greateft ornament of her fex.

By the perfuafion of her friends,
Ihe was, at ten years old, fent to a
board in g~fchool of the firft eminence
for giving the finishing touch to
the polite accompli fhments of the
pupils. Het e all fhe attained was the
ill-will and diftfteem of her fchool-
fellows; with juft a fufficient ftock
of learning to read and write her own
name. Her dancing-mafter, how¬
ever, derived much honour from the
proficiency (he made under his in-
ftrinftions. Her education being
now complete, fhe appealed in the
world, at fixteen, a moft finiihed
coquet. Beauty never appears with
greater luftre than in t he fmiles of
an innocent young creature of that
age; it is not, therefore, to be won¬
dered at if every tongue was lavish
in her praife, nor was her under-
ftan ling proof againft the entiemg
'r.fti uations of battery. No affem-
bly, ball, or pout, at which (he could

399

appear, was negfe&ed by her; and
fhe was a conftant attendant at all
public diverfions. Many women,
of iuperior fenfe but inferior per-
fonal arti actions, has fhe made un¬
happy by her coquetifh and flio-hty
behaviour to their hufbands &and
lovers.

In the mid ft of this variety of
admiration and variegated feenes of
pleafure, fhe was furprifed by the
unexpected marriage of her lifter
(who is now lady L****) to a per¬
fon of rank, honour, and fortune.
She frankly owned fhe had never
been fenoufly afked the queftion,
and wks amazed that a perfon who’
had not half her charms, had feeii
nothing of the gay and polite world,
but had lived immured in a retired
village, lliouid on a fudden be fo
preferred, and fttine our, as it were
with fuch fplendor. This brouoht
her a little to refleaion. °

4 Surely,’ faid (lie to herfelf, < I
have loft no opportunity to’ pur
myfelf forward; no entertainment
have I neglected, or miffed any
company where I thought I might
engage admiration ; yetam [ {ee%m
mgly djfregarded, and my fifter
preferred.’

An honeft and (incere friend, to
whom fhe complained, was kind
enough to tell her it was by thofe
very means fhe had loft the oppor-
t unity of marrying to advantage;
f For/ laid fhe, ‘ 1 never knew a
perfon, though ever lo lovely, who
from making herfelf fo cheap, did
not rather lo fe efteem than acquire
any iolid f»iendlhip. Neither can a
woman who is delighted at the
anxieiies (lie occafions by trifling
witn married men, or, what is much
the fame, coqueting with youn*
reliows who file is certain are to be
joined in wedlock, perhaps on the
morrow, to a woman full as deserv¬
ing as herfelf, ever expect to et
with a man fooiiih enough to un¬
gage with fuch an uncertain partner.

400

Anecdote of Macklin.

T h is r e afon I n g h ad n early wrought
a reformation; but, unfortunately
for her, a coach had juft arrived to
convey her to Vauxhall, where fhe
was taken great notice of by a gen¬
teel youth, whofe appearance fa-
tisfied her— he was a conqueft not
to be (lighted. 'Full of thefe
thoughts, fhe waited the approach of
morning with the utmoft anxiety,
perfuaded ihe (liould hear more from
her new admirer: nor was fhe dif-
appointed ; a footman brought her a
billet-doux , rer,uefHng that ihe per-
fon who fent it, and who had the
rapturous pleafure of feeing her on
the preceding evening, might have
the honour of paying her a vifit.
To this, with the approbation of the
lady at whofe houfe fne was, fire
confenied ; and, at the ufual hour of
tea, fire faw at her feet a very agree¬
able young fellow, fuperbly drefTed,
whofe account of hinrfelf was, that
he was the fon of a country gentle¬
man of immenfe fortune in Lin-
eolnfKii-e, and requeded her per-
iniffion to wait on her father for his
eonfent to a union with her for life,
if fire would permit him to afpire to
fuch tranfcendent happinefs. A few
vifits determined in his favour, and
he fet out on his journey.

Laetitia’s parents readily believed
his dory, and, as they had very lit¬
tle to give their daughter, thought it
a match of great advantage, and
therefore attended him to town,
where the wedding was foon after
celebrated. But, ah! this golden
dream prefently vanifhed ; and
lire who had thought herfelf a match
for a nobleman now faw herfelf the
wife of an induftrious young inn¬
keeper, juft fet up in the city of
Norwich ! He frankly owned he
was charmed with her perfon, and
had no other way of gaining her
than the method he had taken ; but,
if (lie could forgive it, it (liould not
be his fault if (lie was not much

happier than the wife of a noble¬
man, whofe pretended friends are
generally only fo many fycophants
and Batterers.

Grief and adonifhment had near¬
ly made her a£t defperately; but
' when (lie recollected that fhe had no
other leffon to learn but to defpife
flattery and ambition, (lie wifely
thought it was bed to appear Satis¬
fied, and immediately ret ired with her
hufband to his refldence, where,
her good fenfe prevailing over the
folly in which fhe had too much
indulged, fhe made a notable bar-
woman, and is now furroimded by
a numerous family, whom (lie is
^continually teaching the ufeful lef¬
fon — to guard againd flattery, and
avoid vanity and diflipation.

Lynny July J. L.

- jets*®- — » — »

ANECDOTE of MACKLIN.

n e night, when Macklin was
preparing to begin one of the
leriures which he gave on Shak-
fpeare’s plays, hearing a buz in the
room, he (pied Foote in a corner
talking and laughing mod immode¬
rately. This he thought a fafe time
to rebuke him, as he had not be¬
gun his leflure, and confequently
could not be fubject to any criti-
cifm: he therefore cried out, with
fome authority —

4 Well, fir, you feem to be very
merry there ; but do you know
what I am going to fay now?’

O O 4/

4 No, dr,’ fays Foote, ‘ pray do
you ?’

The ready and unembarrafled
manner of this reply drew on fucli a
burd of laughter as fllenced the
ledhirer for (ome minutes, nor could
he then get on till called upon by
the general voice of the company t©
proceed.

401

A Mornings- Walk in Augufi.

A MORNING’/ WALK in
AUGUST.

* Now blooming Health exerts her gentle

reign,

And firings the finews of th’ induftrious
Twain :

Soon as the morning lark falutes the day,
Through dewy fields I take my frequent way ;
Where I behold the farmer’s early care,

In the revolving labours of the year.’

Gay.

efreshed b) the * golden dew
of fleep,’ 1 arofe, and traverfed
the plenty-burdened plains. Har¬
well was juft commencing. The
reaper had put his fickle into the
wheat, and the mower wielded his
fey the to cut down the barley :

* For Auguft, in her yellow mantle dreft,
Health in her looks and plenty in her bread;,
Appeal’d.’

Each induftrious hind was on the
alert, eager to aft his part in the ap¬
proaching bufy feene,

‘ The fmile of morning gleam’d along the hiHsi
And wakeful Labour call’d her Tons abroad ;
They left, with cheerful face, their lowly vills>
And bade the fields refign their ripen’d load.

^Each different p*ofpe& yielded frefh delight,
Where on neat ridges wav’d the golden
grain;

Or where the bearded barley, dazzling-white,
Spread o’er the fteepy Hope or wide cham¬
paign.’ Scott.

Waked by the fervid rays of Phoe¬
bus, the light-winged infeft tribe
were all in motion.- The butterfly
rare were roving from ftower to
flower, and fporting in the exhila¬
rating fun-beams. Beauteous but¬
terfly!' purfue thy playful career of
b.ujTy infignificanee.

* Full on the lucid morn thy wings unfold,
Sfarr’d with ftrong light, and gay in living
gold;

Through fields of air at large exulting fly,
Waft on the beam, and mount th’ expanded
iky ;

O’er flowery beauties plumes of triumph wave,
Imbibe their fragrance, and their charms out-
' brave ;

The birds thy kindred, heaven thy manfion
claim,

And fhine and wanton in the noon-day flame.'

Dwight.

Enamelled rover! while fummer
reigns, may no rude ftorm fweep
thee from exiftence! Lorn* maveft
thou continue to gad from rofe to
rofe, fipping the dewy neftar, un-
molefted by unfeeling little urchins !
Haften from them — they lone to
leize thy gilded pinions, and to be¬
reave thee of thy little life. Haften
from them, nor ftop even for my
Horatio.

Gaudy infeft L emblem of the
gay-dreft coxcomb who flutters from
plealure to pleafure during youth —
human life’s gay fummer, — waftes
his golden hours in a round of frivo¬
lous enjoyments, and at length quits
the ftage without having contributed
any thing that may be beneficial to
fociety.

During this rural jaunt, I pafted
by a wheat-field, which a labourer
had engaged to reap; but Death,
that univerfal reaper, cut him down
ere he could fulfil his engagement.
He was a virtuous cottager, an hum¬
ble cultivator of the ground!, an ufeful
member of thecommunily. Far, infi¬
nitely far more ferviceable to fociety
than the favage conqueror; who, in-
ftead of ploughing the glebe, fowing
the feed, or gathering in the harveft,
delights in deforming the fruitful
feenes of nature, and marks his pro-
grefs with defolation and deftruftion.

‘ What are ye, monarchs I — laurell’d heroes !
fay,

But /Etnas of the fufferihg world ye fway ?
Sjveer Nature, dripp’d of her embroider’d robe.
Deplores the wafted regions of her globe ;

And ftands a witnefs, at Truth’s awful bar.

To prove you there — deftroyers as ye are [’

Cowper,

Happy obfeurity ! how placid thy
votary! how fweet his enjoyments !
how calm his days ! how tranquil his
nights!

* The lily, fereen’d from every ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur’d fpot where rofes
fpring ;

But blows negle£ted in the peaceful vale,

And feents the zephyr’s balmy- breathing
wing,’ 'Ogiivi*.

3 F

Vol. XXXIV.

40*2 On the Avjlerlty of old Age.

With confciousfatisfaXion T rang¬
ed through Ceres’ brown domain,
£nd viewed with delightful fenfations
fuch a profpeX of future plenty.
What a pleafing contrail to tholp
unhappy plains defolated by the
jeourge of war! No military ma¬
rauder flatted from the adjacent
thicket to plunder me of my pro¬
perty, or rob me of mine exiftence.

No hufbandman, with tearful eves.

* *

beheld his promi fed hopes blafted —
his fields of corn dellroyed by a
mercilefs horde of difeiplined barba¬
rians. Rambling thus, filled with
agreeable reflexions on my own
ftjfety and fecurity, well might my
Mule break forth in drains like
thefe- —

— — c Happy feene !

Ne’er may thy daify’d meads, thy corn-clad
plains,

D.ink the warm life-dream from a warrior’s
veins !

Ne’er may the trumpet’s clang, the drum’s
rude be3t,

Affright blithe Echo from her cool retreat.
Nor iruy the cannon’s thunder fhake thy
■ grov-es, -

And chafe the Dryad from the haunt Ihe loves.’

Bathed in the d6w of labour, each
ruftic aXor on the ftage of harvefl
played with alacrity his ufeful part;
while the patient gleaner, with un¬
remitting induflrf, picked up each
draggling ear. Ye fons and daugh-
ters of toil, foon will your fatiguing
tafks be finifhed !

* For, ere fweet Summer bids its long adieu,
And winds blow keen where late the bloffom
grew, ....

The buttling day and jovial night will come,
The long-accuPcomed feaft of harveft-home.
No blood-ftain’d vidlory, in dory bright,

Can give the philofophic mind delight !

No triumph pleafe while rage and death de-
ftroy ;

Reflection fickens at the mondrous joy.

And where ’s the joy, if rightly underftood,
Like cheerful praife for univerfal good ?

The foul nor check nor doubtful anguidr
knows,

But free and pure the grateful current flows.

Behold the found oak tablet’s maffy frame
Beftride the kitchen floor ! the careful dame
And gen’ruus boft invite their friends around;
While all that clear’d the crop, or till’d the
ground,

Are guefls by right of cuflom. Old and
young,

And manv a neighb’ring yeoman, join the
throng ;

With artifans that lent their dext’rous aid.
When o’er the field the flaming fun-beams
play’d.

With thanks to Heaven, and tales of ruftic
lore,

The manfion echoes when the banquet ’s o’er.
A wider circle fpreads, and frriles abound,

As quick the frothing horn performs its round;
Care’s mortal foe, that fprightly joys imparts,
To cheer the frame, and elevate their hearts.
Here, frelhand brown, the hazel’s produce lies
In tempting heaps, and peals of laughter rife ;
And crackling mufic, with the frequent fong,
Unheeded bear the midn’ght hour along.’

Bloomfield.

Haver bill. John W e e b.

On, ihe AUSTERITY of old AGE.

ere is nothing more unjuft

than the ill temper which many
old people fliew towards young men.
An attempt to check the merriment
and fportivenefs of youth is not lefs
prepofterous than to be angry with
the fpring . of the year becaufe it
produces nothing but blofloms, and
to expeX from that early feafon the
fruits of autumn. How different
was the temper of Anaxagoras, the
Greek philofopher! That amiable
old man, when at the point of death,
was afked by the citizens of L#mpfa-
cus what dying command he would
wifli to enjoin them. His requeft
was that every year, during the
whole month in which he died, all
the children in the city fhould hev
permitted to keep holiday. Diogenes
Laertius, who relates this ftory, adds,
that this cuftom was obferved in his
remembrance.

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tqm Jones *

Critical Observations on the
Novel of 6Tom Jones.’

In a Series of Letters from an Uncle to
his Niece.

( Continue d from p . 360.)

■i -

LETTER XII.

DEAR NIECE,

introductory chapter to the
**■ fifteenth book exhibits a firing
of judicious obfervations upon that
mofl excellent difpofition of the
mind diftinguifhed by the term fyin-
pathy, or tendernefs of heart, and
which Mr. Fielding puts in contrail
to thofe virtues which apply to the
regulation of our moral conduct
only; flill leaving upon the mind
that felfifhnefs which inclines a man
to run through life, as a polifhed
bowl rolls over the fmooth furface of
a green, without being fo far affe&ed
by the miferies and unhappinefs
of his fellow-creatures, as to be in¬
terrupted in his career of pleafure
through the confideration of his
neighbour’s diflrels. Thefe cardi¬
nal virtues Mr. Fielding choofes to
denominate wifdom ; fince they are
the mofl likely to contribute to the
repofe of thofe who regulate their
conduCt by thefe rules alone: where¬
as fuch virtues which are of a focial
and philanthropic tendency can only
be exercifed by thofe whofe hearts
beat in unifon with thofe of the ob¬
jects of their humanity. The in¬
ference which Mr. Fielding draws
from this reafoning, namely, that
virtue is not its own reward, mull
find an eafy afTent from every reader.

The vifit of lord Fellamar to So¬
phia, on the fcore of having afforded
her protection the evening before
during the riot at the playhoufe,
and the difeourfe which, at his inter¬
view with lady Bellaflon, afterwards
palled between that lady and his lord-
Ihip, form the fubjeat of the fecond

403

chapter of this book. This noble¬
man will hereafter appear to have
been a very necelfary agent in the
hands of lady Beljailon towards the
management of her defign ; and
when her ladyfhip's views were
fruflrated, and lord Fellamar after¬
wards becomes convinced of the real
flatementof the bufiuefs, this noble¬
man, who wasdefigned by lady Bel¬
laflon to have effedled the ruin of
the young couple, becomes (among
others) a happy tnftrument towards
bringing them together. In the
mean while the artifice of ladv Bel¬
laflon, to effeCtuate her malignant
plor, and to facrifice the lovely So¬
phia to the vicious intrigue lhe was
carrying on with Jones, affords an¬
other fpecimen of our author’s ad-
drefs in connecting the feveral parts
of his drama. The difeourfe which
lady Bellaflon addreffes to lord Fella¬
mar is calculated throughout to
blow up into a flame thofe fparks
which Sophia’s charms had kindled
in his bread. The dialogue be¬
tween thefe two noble perfonages
(though as to the fentiment not very
exemplary) may ferve as a fpecimen
of table-talk among perfons of dif-
tinCtion.

The defeription of that fociety
mentioned in the third chapter, un¬
der the denomination of ‘ the little
world,’ and the virtuous tokens by
which the members of this fociety
were didinguifhed, namely, the obli¬
gations they were under of telling an
innocent lib once within twenty-
four hours : though fuch defeription
would be rejedled as beyond the
bounds of credibility, if related of
any perfons who had the fmallefi por¬
tion of bufinefs to occupy their at¬
tention, may, neverthelefs, be re¬
conciled to probability, when the
members are known to have confid¬
ed only of thofe who have neither
bu finds nor rational amufement to
fill up their vacant hours, and where
the time mud neccflarily hang hea-
3 F 2

404 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom "Jones.

vily on their hands. The fhort dia¬
logue which paflfes between lady
Bellafton and Tom Edwards forms
ili iking portraits of two of the
members of this fociety, fuch as at
the firft intimation of the club we
were led to expe£t; nor could any
thing be conceived more appropriate
to the lady’s views than the effect
which the innocent fib circulated by
Edwards occafioned on the mind of
Sophia, and which could not fail to
convince lord Fellamar of her at¬
tachment to the young man who
was fuppofed to have fallen in the
duel. The plot which was after¬
wards concerted between lady Bel¬
lafton and lord Fellamar, but which
chiefly owed its rife to the fertility
of the lady’s brain, affords a demon-
ftration to what lengths the paflion
of jealouiy may be carried, when it
has once taken pofTeflion of the fe¬
male bread.

The fourth chapter difplays a
fcene wherein lady Bellafton appears
to be the principal aCtrefs, and
which, out of the refpect we bear for
the female race, but particularly
ladies of rank- and diftinction, w*e
fhould hope does not often pafs in
real life : be this as it may, thus far
mu ft be acknowledged in behalf of
our author, that allowing the cha¬
racter of lady Bellafton, as it has
been hitherto fketched, to have
been a portrait of fome of the wo¬
men of figure, the language which
fhe addreffes to lord Fellamar, and
the arguments fhe urges in order to
enforce his compliance with the
black defign file had formed, are
perfectly in unifon. with the idea we
have hitherto entertained of her
ladyfliip.

The manner in which lord Fella¬
mar attempts to carry into effeCl the
fage inftruftions given to him by the
lady, is related in the fifth chapter.
The language in which the enrap¬
tured peer introduces his fuir, and

the reception which Sophia givei
him, are conveyed iri terms appro¬
priate to each ; and w hen from the
precaution of lady Bellafton, in re¬
moving every obftacle, the violence
of lord Fellamar’s brutal attack mud
have proved of dreadful confequence
to the young lady, no circumftance
could have been fo fortunate as the
arrival of the ’fquire ; whofe ap¬
pearance, though unexpected, is ne-
verthelefs contrived without the
fmalleft violence having been offer¬
ed to probability; and fo natural
does this event appear to the reader,
that he acquiefces in the happy ad-
drefs of the author, and rejoices at
the elcape of his favourite character
at this critical period.

The introduction of ’fquire
Weftern affords Mr. Fielding a frefh
opportunity of difplaying his won¬
drous talent for exciting the merri¬
ment of his readers. The addrefs
and manner of Mr. Weftern through¬
out this fcene is truly charaCteriftic.
The language he makes ufe of on
the occafion is wrhat we have all along
been accuftomed to hear, whenever
this gentleman appears on the liage;
and, though of itfelf fufficient to ex¬
cite laughter from the moft puritani¬
cal countenance, is ftill rendered
more humorous when contrafted
with the grave leCture of parfoa
Supple; and his fervile ductility
when, at the ’fquire’s threats, he ex¬
claims — ‘ 1 humbly crave your pai>
don ; I aflure your worfhip, I meant
no fuch matter.’

The continuation of this fcene,
where lady Bellafton wilfully miftakec.
the meaning of the ’fquire, and en¬
courages lo^d Fellamar to fuppofe
that be was the perfon- alluded to by-
Mr. Weftern, when he was (peaking
in favour of Blifil, paves the way to
a truly comic eclaircijje?ns.nt between,
his lordllnp and Mr. Weftern; and;
from the fubfequent fpeech of lady
Bellafton. Mr, Weftern comes to a.

Critical Cbfervatiom on the Novel of c Tom Jones.’ 40 <5

determination to remove his daugh¬
ter immediately from her ladyfhip’s
protection. Laughablein the extreme
is the ’fquire’s reproof to parfon Sup¬
ple, and his reply to Sophia when die
intercedes on behalf of Mrs. Honour.

The reader is not fuffered to re¬
main long in fufpenfe as to the
means by which the ’fquire became
acquainted with the refidence of his
daughter. This difcovery forms the
fubjeCf of the fixth chapter. And
here permit me once again to ex-
prefs the very high gratification I
enjoy when 1 confider the wonder¬
ful texture of this novel, in which
fcareely an incident is brought for¬
ward which does not by fome means
or another contribute to the advance¬
ment of the main defipm.

In the twelfth book we are en¬
tertained with an account of the
meeting between Sophia and Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, and of their travelling
together to London. This recog¬
nition of thefe two coufins, and the
converfation which pafied between
them at the inn, not only forms a
very pleafing epifode, but contri¬
butes, as we fhall fee aaon, very ma-,
teriallv towards the denouement of the

hilforv ; fince if Mrs. Fitzpatrick
had not, at the time of her cafual
rencontre with Sophia, learned the
particulars refpeCfing her flight and
f'ubfequent retreat to lady Bellafton’s,
Mr. Weftern could not have come
to the knowledge of his daughter’s
-refidence, or the reader mull: have
been left in the dark as to the
fource through which he gained his
intelligence ; and this improbability,
though, as Mr. Fielding obferves,
it be fuch as the reader is often
obliged to digeft in the generality of
novel-writers, would have been in-
confiftent with the accuracy of our
author. The letter which Mrs.
Fitzpatrick writes to Mrs. Weftern
is conceived in terms the moft likely

to regain the favour of that lady.
Flattery, when exprefled in deli¬

cate language, comes recommend-
ed with fuch charms that it never
fails to captivate thofe to whom it is
add refled: even thofe perfons who
affect to defpife this alluring bait wifi
not fail to be won by it when judi-
ciouflv managed. But Mrs. Fitz¬
patrick, well knowing the vanity of
her aunt Weftern, throws off all
decorum in her addrefs to that lady.
Her letter abounds throughout with
the molt fulfiome adulation. And,
probably, this method would have
had the defired effe6i, and have
brought about a reconciliation be¬
tween Mrs. Fitzpatrick and her un¬
cle and aunt Weftern, had not the
act of which the niece had been
guilty towards her aunt conftituted
an offence of fo heinous a nature as
never to be obliterated from a female
bread. That the compliments with
which Mrs. Fitzpatrick fed her aunt
Weftern werea highly-flavoured difh
to the extreme vanity and felf-con^
ceit of that lady, is apparent from
the obfervation exprefled upon the
fentiment of her niece’s letter in her
addrefs to the ’fquire, in which fhe
quotes the expreflion of her coufta
with the odious Iriih name, to
ftrengthen ner declaration of the
regard fhe entertained for the honour
of her family. Every period of the
converfation maintained between
Mr. and Mrs. Weftern in this chapter
is truly charadteriftic, and laughable
in the extreme.

The manner which the author has
taken of conveying to the knowledge
of Mr. Jones the Unwelcome tidings
concerning Sophia, in the fever.th
chapter, forms a moft humorous
feene, and is a frefh proof of Mr.
Fielding’s art of embellifhing plain
narrative with the flowery language
of vi it and humour. The figurative
fpeeCh of Mrs. Honour, by which
(lie keeps Mr. Jones in the moft tor¬
menting fufpenfe, is conveyed in
the true fpirit of a chamber-maid;
whilft the ideas which this equivo-

40 6 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of 6 Tom y ones. 9

cal relation of Mrs. Honour’s tale
awaken in his breaft, form a lively
portrait of the defpairing lover in
the queftions which Jones propofes
to her. The clefpair to which Mrs.
Honour abandons herfelf, on re-
hefting that her own hopes are
totally fruftrated by the removal of
her miftrefs from the protection of
lady Bellafton, exhibits in appropri¬
ate language the felfifh temper of
this loquacious Abigail. The unfea-
fonable intrufion of lady Beliafton,
during this colloquy between Jones
and Mrs. Honour, and the means
which the former purfued in order to
conceal the waiting-gentlewoman
from her ladyihip’s notice, lead on to
a feene replete with true humour,
and, in the end, the difeovery made
by lady Bellafton of the chamber¬
maid’s retreat, contributes to relieve
Mrs. Honour from the dreadful
ideas file had conceived of the con-
fequences of her being deprived of
her late fervice, by recommending
her to the employment of lady Bel¬
lafton. Nor does the approach of
Mr. Nightingale, which precipitated
the retreat of lady Bellafton, tend
alone to bring about this elevation
of Mrs. Honour, but leads on to
farther incidents of material con-
fequence to the thread of the main
ftory, as will be feen in the ninth
chapter. The embarraftment into
which lady Bellafton is thrown, by
an unexpefted meeting with Mrs.
Honour behind the bed, may ferve
to inculcate this moral lelfon ; that
vice, however cautioufly it may be
purfued, rarefy fails to lead its vota¬
ries into the mod awkward dilem¬
mas, and to expofe them to the
fcorn and derifion of mankind.

The eighth chapter recounts the
marriage of mifs Nancy with young
Nightingale, an event brought about
through the zeal and good offices of
Mr. Jones ; and here Mr. Fielding
takes occafion to treat his readers

with a few fenftble remarks on that
mod excellent quality of the human
mind, philanthropy. By the prac¬
tice of this godlike virtue, the per-
fon who confers a benefit feels a
great joy not lefs ecilatic than the
perfon on whom the benefit is be¬
llowed ; and may fay, with Jones
and the man in the play of Ter¬
rence, ‘ I am a man, and cannot
think myfeif uninterefted in any
misfortunes which may befal my
fellow-creatures.’

The letters which Tones receives
from lady Bellafton, as recorded in
the ninth chapter, may be confi-
dered as a tranfeript of the tumults
which agitated the impure mind of
this inamorata ; and both in the
language in which they are penned,
and from the hafte in which they
were difpatched at the heels of each
other are a convincing argument of
her violent and guilty paftion to¬
wards Jones; and the confufton fhe
had been thrown into at the hurri¬
cane which had palled the evening
before, and which had palfied every
nerve, fo that file was reduced to
the moil mortifying dilemma in
what manner to aft. From what
follows, in this chapter, will be feen
the good effefts which ai ofe from
the fortunate entrance of Nightin¬
gale, at the moment when Jones
was giving audience to lady Bellafton.
The information fupplied by Night¬
ingale, refpefting the notoriety of
that lady’s character, furnifhes Jones
with the means of extricating him-
felf from the difagreeable amour he
had plunged himfeif into with lady
Bellafton, from whofe trammels he
would otherwife have found it diffi¬
cult to efcape.

The embarraftments which- Mrs-. N
Miller is thrown into, on the re¬
ceipt of Mr. Allworthy’s letter, as
related in the tenth chapter, places
the excellent dilpofition of that
amiable woman in a confpicuous

Matilda; a Drama .

point of view. The comment
which Mr. Fielding fubjoins on the
noble motives which caufed this
agitation in Mrs. Miller, will, if
properly attended to, operate as an
infinitive lefTon to the youthful
readers of this novel, and incline
them to adorn every action of their
Jives with that graceful manner and
decorum, that fomething which, as
the excellent poet, quoted by Mr.
Fielding on this occafion, obferves,

* - gives their aifts a light,

Makes them not only jutt, but bright.'

Th is mofl excellent precept,
which inclines u$ to catechife our
own hearts by the chritlian rule of
doing as we would be done bv, and
of regulating all our aftions by that
rule, may be ex prefled by the word
candour — a term of very extenflve

__ J

import. Thofe whofe minds have
been polillied by a liberal education,
will be able to trace out, from thei,r
own feelings, the various good in¬
clinations excited by this quality,
without any afliftance from me ;
and as to thofe untutored mortals,
whether among the great vulgar or
the fmall, whofe difpofitions incline
them to walk juft within the fettled
rules of ftoical apathy, in defpight
of all that I could urge in favour of
candour, I fliould defpair of making
one convert. This excellent qua¬
lity is, in truth, rarely found to
warm the hearts cf any, except of
thofe who have enjoyed the benefit
of a liberal education, and is not
univerfally the property of thefe.
Mrs. Miller, it is plain, was under
the influence of this virtue when fhe
was troubled in mind at the receipt
of Mr. Allworthy’s letter.

The fidelity of Jones is llrongly
tempted, in the eleventh chapter,
by a letter from the widow Hunt,
which is delivered to him fhortly
after the receipt of Mrs. Honour’s
note, in which fhe declared that her

407

interference could no longer be of
any avail ; and the flender hopes
which, in confequence, exifted cf
obtaining Sophia, might almoft have
juftified his acceptance of the amo¬
rous widow’s tender. How far this
gentle hint may be confidered by
female readers as a fmall de¬
viation in the lady from the rigid
precepts of decorum, is not for me
to determine : be this as it will, it
may be referred to that ingenious
cookery which the author has con¬
trived to ferve up in fo many differ¬
ent modes to his numerous gue{lsr
and fbrnifhes him with a fair op¬
portunity of fetting off the fidelity of
Jones towards his accomphfhed
miftrefs.

The laft chapter of this book, in
whirh Partridge informs his mafter
of the difeoverv he had made, from a

J f

cafual rencontre with Black George,
turns out afterwards to have been a
lucky incident, by fupplying an
agent, through whofe good offices
he is furnifhed with the means of
correfponding with Sophia: hu¬
morous in the extreme is the man¬
ner in which Mr. Partridge commu¬
nicates his intelligence.

I am, &c„

(To be continued^)

MATILDA; a DRAMA.

(Continued from p. 348J

Act III. — Scene T.

Charles , entering cautiou/ly , and looking
round the falocn.

here is no perfon here, we have
nothing to fear. — (He returns to
the door , and. J peaks to i Ix'ce domeJUcs
who are waiting without ) . — You mav
go and get every thing ready. — Pafs
that way, between the wall and the
hedge of elms. I will go on the
other fide. We mull not be feen

405

Matilda ; a Drama.

to be together. I hear a none : fame
one ig coming. Be gone inflantly:
keep dole to the wall; it is impoffi-
ble that you fhould be Teen.

Scene II.

Amelin , Herman , entering by the door
* which leach to the apartment of Ma¬
tilda.

Amelia. I did not dare to aik you

before Matilda; when her father is

the fubjed, I am always fearful that

i he may hear fomething that mnft

mortify and wound her.

Herman . Mr. Wodmar has left the

houfe in the moil violent* agitation ;

nor does the count appear much lefs

difturbed. But why do you not afk

him vourfelf? The efleem which

he muff have for you — — -

Amelia. Recoiled that I was the

intimate, the confidential friend of

his wife, whom doubtlefs he fufped-

ed, whom he condemned unheard ;

though never, perhaps, did a woman

of purer virtue breathe the vital aif.
*

He believed me her accomplice;
and he can no longer efteem me:
he certainly hates me. This you
muff have been convinced of bv the
cold reception which he gave me
this morning. He treats me, in¬
deed, with civility, from refped to
his own charader, and I remain
here from regard to Matilda. How
could I abandon the unfortunate
offspring of my friend ! I have
facrificed delicacy, pride, and juft
refentment, to the child whole birth
I witnefted, whom I love as if Ihe
were my own, and who has no other
friend to foothe her grief, and con-
fole her in her fufferings, but my-
f elf. I muft not permit a regard to
my own eafe to make me negled
the duties impofed on me by friend-
Ihip.

Herman. How much do you in*
creafe the refped I have ever enter¬
tained for you ! but what muft it not
havecoft you to ad thus nobly?

Amelia .. It has indeed coft me
many a painful feeling. Ah ! Mr.
Herman, I fcarcely know which is
moft intolerable ; to deferve re¬
proach by guilt, or continually to
fuffer it when innocent.

Herman. Some one is coming.—
It is the count.

Amelia. I will
of me.

Herman. He walks but (lowly,
you have time enough to retire.

Amelia. How much did 1 once
refped,. admire, and love him; and
now it is painful to me to appear in
his prefence ! f he goes towards the
d or which leads to the apartment of
Matilda.) And this door, which
leads to the apartment of his daugh¬
ter, is it not dreadful to think that it
muft be ftiut as carefully as if here
were forne cruel and implacable
enemy from whom his life is in
danger ?

Herman. He is at the door.

Amelia. Let me be gone. [ Exit.

Scene III.

Her 7n an alone.

I thought he was preparing to fet
out for the. neighbouring manlion,
whither he faid he muft go on bufi-
nefs of particular importance.

/ " . i . i i. •

i ». «

Scene IV.

Count d'Orlheim , Herman.

Count A Qrlbeim ( holding forne pa¬
pers in hi shandy and greatly agitated).

I cannot find in my cabinet forne
papers which I want; perhaps they
may be in this ’ferutoire.

\_He opens the ferutoire.

Herman. Can I affift you, my lord ?

Count d'Orlheim. I thank you, Mr.
Herman ; but I fhould be more
obliged to you to inform my nephew
Erneft that I wilh to fpeak with him
here.

Herman . I will tell him imme¬
diately. [ Exit IIcrmanr

Matilda; a Drama*

4og

Scene V.

Count cTOrlhcini , alone, fitting donjon
at the fc rut tire.

Let me breathe a moment. This
Wodmar, this Ton of my moft £ruel
enemy, who appears before me with
fuch audacity — who has dared to alk
* — Doft thou wifli, then, wretched
youth! to be guilty of fomethingyet
more monftrous than the crime of
thy father? — (He • ifes , and walks
backwards and forwards greatly agi¬
tated.) — What! will thefe ideas pur-
fue me every where? I came tofeek
here that peace of nund which I
cannot find at Berlin, Alas! here
it was that 1 was happy; here I
loved, and believed myfeif beloved!
At Berlin, I was deceived, betrayed,
aiihonourcd ! — ( He paufey a moment ,
in a kind of reverie.) — D’Orlheim,
recal thy reafon, and banilli from
thy mind ideas which muff render
thee wretched. — -{He advances to the
ferutoire , and looks into feveral of the
drawers.) — j cannot find it! yet this
deed is indifpenfable. If it is not
here, J know not where it can be. —
(He opens another drawer , which he
had not examined , and tales out a port¬
folio). — Perhaps it is in this. —
(Opens it, and farts wildly.) — Hea¬
vens! the letter of the villain! the
portrait of the mod perfidious of
women! Such were her features!
fuch was file whom I adored! whom
I idolifed ! — who betrayed me! —
Such the was! — ( Throws down the
portrait , and opens the letter.) — And
thou who calledft tiiyfelf my friend,
monfier of perfidy! this is thy final
letter! Difgraceful flight and death;
death, which thou fhouldeft only
have received from my hand, with¬
drew thee from my juft vengeance!
(He throws the letter on the tac t. , and
•walks backwards and forwards u the
mojl violent agitation.) — hundred
times have I read this dreadful let¬
ter, yet never does it meet my eyes
but an irrefiftible impulle gompt**
Vo l. XXXIV.

me to read it again. I feem to
doubt my own wretched nefs, and
wifhto convince myfeif that it is real.
( He takes up the letter , and reads it
with a faltering voice.)

‘ I yield to your fears, my dear
Caroline; I obey your injunction,
fince you doubt whether count
d’Orlheim has not fufpeCted our
fecret, and fear the piercing eye of
his jealoufy fhould at his return,
which is now near, make a full dif-
covery of it. i banifh myfeif from
you and from my country, to plunge
myfeif in defpair, and die for ever
adoring you. You requeft me to
return you your portrait: I have
fent it you. It was dear to my heart ;
it was the fame which count d’Orl-
heim had pofieflecl, and which you
obtained from him to give to me;
but at your defire I reftore it. —
You loved me before you gave your
hand to d’Orlheim; you loved me
after he was your hufband. You
now break the tender connexion
that has fubfifted fo long between us,
and I obey , though I die. Adieu!
May you be happy J and fometimes
when you look on our Matilda, the
fruit of our tender love, think of
your unhappy lover, the unfortu¬
nate Wodmar/

‘Our Matilda, the fruit of our
tender love!’ — that Matildaon whom
during fix years of error 1 lavifiied
the tendered names, the mofi affec¬
tionate carefies ! How fondly have
1 embraced her ! How have t prefT-
ed her to my heart! How tian-
feendentiy happy have 1 thought
myfeif in being her father! Even
now, notwithstanding all my efforts,
an irrefiftible power continually
attraCfs me towards her. Yet (lie is
not mine. She is the fruit of guilt.
Her birth is the feal of mv fiiarne.
Gracious Heavens ! what am j do¬
ing ? Some perfon may come every
moment. I have fent for Erneft.
Aia& ! let me conceal my weaknefs,

4 1 5 ’ Matilda ;

. . \ *

fince ten long years have not en¬
abled me to triumph over it. Erneft
comes.

Scene VI,

Count d'Orlheltn , Erneft,

Erneft. Dear uncle, I come accord¬
ing to your requeft. I wait your
commands.

Count cPOrlheim. Come nearer to
me, Erneft. Why have you in my
prefence that em bar raffed sir, that
timidity, as if diftruftful of your bed:
friend ? Give me your hand.-—
You continue to love me, Ernefl ?

Erneft (with great emotion'). Oh,
rny dear uncle! my benefactor!
how can you doubt my affection, or
iny gratitude?

Count d'Orlheim » I cannot doubt
them, dear nephew. Sit down.—
[ E? ' neft takes a chair , and feats hlmfelf
Kvitb an air of great ernbarrafjment ;
the Count proceeds in a heft fating man¬
ner.'] — You recoiled', rny fon — yon
know how pleading it is to me to
caU you by that name — you recoi¬
led the converfation we had toge¬
ther about fix months ago?

Erneft ( hef.tatingly ). Yes, dear
uncle.

Count aOrlheim. You recoiled
What was the fubjed of it?

Erneft. It related to a propofal of
marriage.

Count aOrlheim. Yes; I propofed
to you an advantageous plan of
marriage, which you declined in
fuch a manner as ltd me to fulped
that your heart was not entirely
free : yet I thought I could difcover
jir your language and manner a
great defire to comply with my
wifhes; and I have ever fince in¬
dulged a hope that you would at
length be able to conquer a tran¬
sitory inclination, a folly of youth.
You were attacked by illnefs. I
know not whether I am to attribute
the caufe of it to the efforts you
made to furmount the pauion which
began to arife in your bread; but
your fuuation made a great irnpref-
iiun on For fix man.ths \ ah-

a Drama.

ferved the mod complete filence>
I allowed you time to liden to rea-
fon. But I have not forgotten the
alliance I propofed; and I now’, Er-
ned, exped from you a decidvo
anfwer.

Erneft (with a ftgh). What do
you require of me ?

Count d'Orlheim. To accept the*
happinefs which I offer you : an
amiable wife, and the honour of a
diftinguiflied alliance. I require
that you ftiould not forget that I have
made you the heir of my name, my
title, my poflefiions; 1 require that?
you fnould notdifappoint my hopes*
nor puniih me for the partial fond-
nefs i have entertained for you.

Erneft (rift eg) . Alas! How unfop*
tunate am I !

Count d'Orlhehn. I do not under-
Hand you. What ! for a flight pre~
diledion ?

Erneft \ Slight ! I once thought it
was — —

Count d’Orlheim. You were certain,
you laid, that you fhould be able tic

conquer it.

Kmeft. I hoped fo — but I was de¬
ceived - ~

Count d'Orlbeim. Thus you faci i-
dee me to a fenfelefs pafiion ; you
facridce yourfelf to the too fatal
confequences of a choice which is no
doubt fhameful, dace you dare not
avow its ohjed.

Erneft. Oh, if 1 dared to fpeak!

Count a'Orlbeim. What prevent^
you ?

Erneft. I cannot.

Count d'Orlheim (with fupprsffed

anger). You could, nephew! did
you not know that you mull blufh —

Erneft (with vivacity and dignity )r
Erneft, thanks to your inftrudions
and example, will never need to
blu 111 for the fentiments of his heart.

Count d'Orlheim. Yet Erneft dis¬
appoints the fond eft of rny willies ;
Erneft has no regard to my happi¬
nefs ; Erneft can talk eft virtue, fen-
timent, and delicacy, w hile his con-
dud i^ali ingratitude!-

Matilda ;

*Ernef. Gracious Heaven ! what a
\cxert, what an unmerited, reproach !

Count a 'Orlbeim, Such are men !

Ernef, Dear uncle !

Count d’Orlbeim. All thofe on
Vhom 1 have lavished my affection
have made it their fludy to plunge
me in delpair.

Erne ft. And can you fay this to
•me? Dear uncle, lillen to me, I
conjure vou» Do not judge me with
precipitation, with rigour, I may
lay with injustice. We cannot com¬
mand the heart, but we may refoive
to rend it : it is not in our power to
triumph over the moft imperious of
pafiions, but we may condemn our-
lelves to live eternally wretched 5 and
this I can do. No, I will not be un¬
grateful, I will not difappoint your
hopes 5 you (hall not accufe me of
having deftroyed your happinefs.
Fix the day of my marriage : lam
ready to obey you. I can renounce
happinefs, but never your affection .

Count d ’ Orlbeim ( clafping bun in
hi s arms , then Jinking back in his chair ,
And endeavour i .g to conceal bis tears.)
And tell me, cruel youth, can I be
happy, when 1 make you unhappy?

Erne ft. It is not of me that you
are now to think ; 1 will undergo
my fate, and you (hall never hear
from me a murmur. But iiften to
me. Pardon me for what T am about
to fay. Open to me your heart. It
is to that I would fpeak — to that
heart fo generous and good, which
only exiffs by benevolence, to whole
affection misfortune is an undeniable
claim, and which fuppliant forrow
and perfecuted virtue never implore
in vain.

Count d' Orlbeim {with agitatio?i) ,
Speak — Speak !

Esnefi ( kejiiatingly ). My dear
uncle !

Count d'Orlheim ( anxioufy ), Pro¬
ceed.

Ernef. I have been the objeft of
your generous affeftion ; you have

a Drama. 411

done every thing for me — r every
thing. — But — you have — a daughr
ter.

Count d' Orlbeim fifng, with vio¬
lent emotion , vihicb he exdeavsurs to
fupprfs). Rath unfortunate youth [
what have you laid ? — Begone !

Ernef [with great warmth)* My
father, hear me.

Count a' Orlbeim. Leave me th’13
indant.

Ernef ( throwing hi mf elf at bis feet).
You Ihall hear me, my father your
happinefsdependk on your hearing me.

Count d' Orlbeim ( raifng Ernef y
and as if f rug g ling with his emotions ).
I will hear you,

Ernef. My benefactor, my father!
do you not remember her to whom
I jowe more than life. ( Count d 'Orl¬
beim farts , and appears greatly agi¬
tated,) She was the mother of Ma¬
tilda. My mother, your filter, had
formed a connexion which you
judged unworthy of your family
and of herfelf. Her fortune was en¬
tirely loft : her hufband abandoned
her and died, and (lie foon followed
him to the grave. I remained an
orphan, without fupport, without re¬
source, a reed expoled to the ltorm.
You took pity on my helplefs in¬
fancy, and fnatched me from poverty
and wretchednels : but you refilled
to fee me, and I was brought up at a
diltance from you. The mother of
Matilda brought me to your arms;
you could not refill her tears, and I
became your fon and hers. Never
was I feparated in her heart from the
dear child of which file was herfelf
the mother. An,d Ihall I deprive
this child of the poffeffions which
appertain to her? Shall I thus infult
the memory of my dear proteCtrels,
by ufurping the rights which nature
claims for her offspring ? Shall I take
from her daughter the affections of
her father ? Shall I fhut his heart
againft her ? Shall I be happy, rich,
refpeCted, while file is abandoned)
3 G 2

4 1 2 Matilda ;

pro (bribed, and wretched ? Alas !
then fhould I, indeed, be a monfter
of ingratitude and of guilt, to be ab¬
horred by myfelf, and execrated by
all good men. Reafons of which I
ignorant, and which I {hall not
attempt to penetrate, fame unknown
griefs, may be for yon a {efficient
excul'e ; but where {hall J find mine ?
Who ill all juftify me ? You alone —
you alone, my dear benefactor, can
give me this. Reftore to Matilda
your kindnefs, your afFebtion, and the
place which the ought to occupy.
Let her be happy, and I am ready to
obey you. 1 will accede to every
plan j I will comply with every wiffi
you can form. 1 {hall be lets rich,
but I fhall live at peace with -my¬
feif. I fhall dare to lift up my eyes :
no one will have a right to hate me.
You will be juft, and will, I know,
always efteem me.

Count d'Orlheim. That' is to fay,
you difapprove of my conduct, i
ought to have forefeen it. Yes, I
am a cruel — an unnatural father.
Yet it was not for you, Erneft, to
reproach me with this.*— {He rifes,
takes Erneft by the hand , and proceeds
in an iinprrftftve hut agitated manner .)
Have you read in my inmoft foul ?
Do you know what paftes there ?
Do you know the fecret of my con-
fcience ? Have you a right to judge
me ? Yet you have loved me h — No,
Erneft, never, never ! You have
awakened griefs which many long
years had fcarcely a flu aged j you
have given new ftrength to the poifon
which has fo long devoured my
heart ; you have torn open all my
wounds. Begone from me. Let
me fee you no more. I renounce
yctu : I renounce the happinefs of
loving aftd being beloved. I will
live and die folitary, delerted, for¬
gotten, wretched. {He 'Jinks { into an
arm-chair.) And it is you — you, who
have condemned me to this wretch-
ednefs.

a Drama .

Erneft {on his knees ; the count turns
from him in a repulfive pcfture) . Oh,
my only fupport ! my protebior ! my
father !

Count d'Orlheim. Begone, I fay !
leave me ! leave me !

Scene VII.

llertnan, Count d'Orlheim, Erneft.

Herman . tleavens ! What do I
fee-?

Count d'Orlheim . An ungrateful
— un grateful — But I ought to be
aecuftomed— —

Herman. What has he done ?

Count d'Orlheim . In contempt of
my ftribteft iojunbtion, without re-
{pebf to fecrets of which he muft
ever be ignorant ; without regard to
my painful fttuation, he has dared to
{peak to me of - — —

Herman. Of whom ?

Count d'Orlheim . Of Matilda — of
her mother.

Herman {bajlening to raife. Erneft, mho
ftill remains on his knees, in the moft "vio¬
lent agitation). How ! what ! {in a tone
of voice expre.jftve of furprife and joy )
In their favour !

Count d'Orlheim. Ungratefully he
accufes me : he centimes my condubt;
he rejebts both my aftebtion and my
benefablions ; he willies me to reftore
to Matilda — -

Herman {pr effing Erneft to his brraft
• with the Livelieft expreftlon of joy). To

Matilda !

Count d ’ Orlheim . Let him be gone;
let him fly me ; I renounce him ; I
will never tee him more.

Herman, He is a young man ; his
youth meri ts fome indulgence, {{fount
d'Orlheim remains ftlent and gloomily
thoughtful) . — -Your anger is juft; but,
at the fame time, his fault, it muft
be acknowledged, is that of a good
heart.

Count d'Orlheitn {takes the hand of
Herman, and preffes it to bis hr e aft ; then
turns to Erneft , "with emotion , but without
anger), I give you till to-morrow*

413

A Sad Reflect ion.

to determine on naming to me the
obje£t which has infpired you with
fo violent a paihon. RecolleCt, es¬
pecially, that I cannot accept the
iacrifice of your happinefs • that I
appeal only to your reafon, to your
heart — ( endeavours to fupprefs btS
tea s) — to the defire it may feel for
my affection, of which it certainly
appears to be truly worthy. ( vVitb
great rmldnefs) Go. ( Erneji tak s the
band of bis uncle and kiffes if, ’while the
tear j Jiart into bis eyes. As be cafes Her¬
man, the latter clafps his hand and em¬
braces him. unfeenby Count d’ Or It eim, who
appears abforbed in thought. Exit Erneji .)

Scene VIII.

Count d' Orlheim, Herman.

Count d ’ Orlheim (, greatly agitated,
and unable to fupprefs his tears'). 1 mu ft
go. You know I (hall not dine here.
In the evenhjg, my dear Herman,
we fliall lee each other again. [He
appear • thoughtful and abfeni , and throws
careleffu on the table the papers he had taken
on of the fcrutoife). My friend, you
know not my heart.. Cruel fenli-
bility, what pangs dob thou indibt
upon me !

Herman. Do not go yet ; your
emotions are too violent.

Count d} Orlheim. I have particular
buhnefs. It is tlue, my head feems
confuted, I fcarcely know what I do 5
but I muft go. ( Goes a fenv flops ,
then returns and tbrozvs bimjelf into the
arms of Herman). Oh, my dear
Herman, could you conceive what I
luffer ! Did you know what, in faff,
it is now time to inform you of.
( Paufes for fome moments , then , afde)
Heavens! what was I about to fay!
(Aloud, clapping the hand of Herman)
In the evening, my friend, in the
evening. [ Exit, leaving on the table
the papers he bad thrown on it.

Scene IX.

Herman, alone.

I muft now blufh for the too hady

opinion which I formed of Erneb.
How unjult, llanderous, and wicked,
may we be with the moll pure in¬
tentions ! But I will make him every
compenfation in my power. (Ap¬
proaches the table, and fees the papers left
there by the Count). What! he has
forgotten his papers ! But perhaps
he did not want them. They were
there before him ; and, had he wanted
them, he would, no doubt, have taken
them. lie will not return till the
evening 5 I may, therefore, till then,
let my poor prifoners at liberty. I
have now, for the firft time, fome
confolatign to adminifter to their
hearts. They {hall, at lead, know
that Erneft is entitled to their ebeem.

(To be continued.)

1 — B ~i fc— aa»

A SAD REFLECTION".

The keen wind of the mountain
A Brakes the tattered garment of
the care-worn traveller as he bends
before the dorm ; but the pelting of
the temped impedes not his courfe.
Hope animates his mind * his home
is prefent to his view 5 domedic af¬
fection cheers his heart, and the ex¬
pected frnile of welcome gives vigour
to his limbs. In fancy he beholds
the cheerful blaze on his cottage
hearth, and his lteps quicken, but the
whirlwind arifes, and the foreft-oafc
trembles to its root. The blue light¬
ning darts acrofs the blackened hori¬
zon, and the Ihrieks of difmay are
heard from afar. He reaches the
thrediold of his clay-built cot; all
within is lilent as the grave — for
there the partner of his cares lies a
diffened corpfe. The gloom of de~
fpair diivers at his heart : he finks
on the earth and rifes no more.

Thus the mind meets adverlity,
buffets its keen drokes, and becomes
vigorous by exertion ; till one pierc¬
ing fhaft drives hope from the bread,
and the heart finks opprdTed at the

414

The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tati*

fiiddened profpe£b : but forrow will
have an end, and the grave is the re¬
fuge of defpair. E. W.

, r

Tke MONKS mid the ROBBERS;

A TALE.

(Continued frcm page 297 .)

A confused account of what had
*■ happened at Riveldi, and the
disorder it had occafioned its lord,
Quickly fpread through the neigh¬
bouring village, whence it was not
long in travelling to Apoftolico, who,
from what he gathered by mak¬
ing inquiries into the bufinefs, be¬
gan to apprehend that the welfare of
himfelf and brethren was fome-
Vvhat endangered by it : for Tancrcd,
in the firft moments of terror, had
fent for, and had been vitited by,
the fuperior of an adjacent mo-
naflery — an event which they had
every reafon to dread, fince they knew
that the padre ablate was no friend
to their community, but willing to
catch at any thing to injure them ;
"and they doubted not but this occa-
iion would furnifh them with an oo-

portunity which- they were perfectly
fatisfied he meant not to let efcape
him. As they feared, therefore, that
the prieft had drawn from the con-
fcience-ilricken and affrighted Tan-
cr^d every particular of his guilty
proceedings, they could not. hatter
themfelves with a hope that the con¬
spicuous part they had taken, both
in the plan and execution of them,
‘would be ; concealed ; and they anti¬
cipated, with no ftnall degree of
alarm, the evil confequences which
this circumftance would probably
bring upon them,

A few hours (It owed that their
alarm was not without foundation ;
for, juft at dark, u hile the whole
community were aiTem^Jed together,
deliberating on what course they
jhcwld pur fue in this dilemma, they

were ftartled by a violent ringing of
the bell at the gate. The monks,
fufpicious from their fears, immedi¬
ately bade Serifino learn who it was,
but on no account to open the gate.
He flew to obey them, and, in a mi¬
nute, returned, in the utmofi: con-
fternation, with intelligence that it
was a throng party of the emiflaries
of the holy office. The monks
ftarted at the dreaded name ; and
fome of them, with marvellous flu¬
ency, began to pour forth a volley of
imprecations and abufe upon the in¬
quisition,

4 Peace ! peace !’ exclaimed the pri¬
or ; * the few moments we have to
refolve let us not wafte in idle words,
but employ them rather to a better
purpofe — to endeavour to efcape,
which, clofely as we are preflfed, trull
me, fathers, I know to be yet in out
power.’

‘ But how ? — how ?’ cried FideJe,

4 is not the enemy at our gate ?’

4 Go to ! what of that ?* replied
the prior. ‘ Have we not a door in
the garden that looks towards the
thick eft of the foreit ; and is it not
eafy, while thefe knaves are em¬
ployed at the front gate, for us to
efcape by the other way, unfeen and
unknown ?’

f Ka ! I conceive ye now/ an-
fwered Fidele. ‘ Let ’s away, then,
while we may. I take it for granted,
none of ye have any paffionate defir©
to vifit the cells of the inquifition.’

* You may fwear that, father/ laid
another of the community : ‘ fuch
chickens of the church as we are d»
not admire cooping.’

{ Aye/ cried another, * nor roaft-
ing either.*

‘ We have certainly lefs to fear
than the laity,’ laid Apoftolico, * yet
it will never do for us to fall into th«
clutches of thefe landtified knaves $
efpecialiy when we know we havp
enemies among them.’

f Therefore,’ chimed in Fickle,,

•' fcamper is the word, my fad?/

The Monks and the

* Let us throw off the cowl,’ re-
fumed the prior, * and a (fume the
iword. We have horfes plenty in
our ftables, and money in our coffers.
Let us collect the molt valuable ar¬
ticles we poffei's, mount our fleeteft
Iteeds, and feek fhelter among our
freebooting confederates of the foreft
here. Friends,’ continued he, ‘ you
have but little time to choofe. Is
there any among ve more willing
to rifk himfelf in the hands of the in-
.^uifition, than to follow me in once
more feeking his fortune in the
world ?*

* None ! none !* exclaimed the
brethren all at once, ‘ we’ll all
follow/

‘ Aye, marry, will we,’ cried Fi-
dele, ‘ one and all wed! follow. Aye,
follow as we were wont, and whether
as brothers of the blade or the
church, by fea or by land, in the
field or the convent. Vis all the fame;
plunder ’s our word — you ’re frill our
captain/

A loud noife at the gate now
reached their ears. The officers of
the holy office, impatient at not
gaining admittance, and finding that
Vieir ringing and knocking were of
no avail, now proceeded to bui ft the
gates open ; but they were well fe-
cured, and for fome time baffled all
their efforts.

f They force the gate,’ exclaimed
the prior.- — ‘ Halle, comrades, hafte !
they’ll be upon us anon/

He faid, and part of them haftened
to pack up the choiccft of their trea-
fures ; whilft the reft equipped the
horfes and ltd them forth into the
garden. Not a moment was loft,
in a few minutes every thing was
prepared for the march. In momen¬
tary expectation of hearing the gates
give way, they were compelled,
though with infinite reluClance, to
abandon fevcral valuable articles
which would have taken too much
time in figuring t as it was, they had

Robbers ; a Tale* 415<

but a narrow efcapej for, before they
could fix the baggage on the horfes
and mount, the officers had forced an
entrance, and the noife they made
occafioned no fmall difturbance among
the fugitives.

‘ The knaves are in/ cried Fidele,
* fly, matters, fly for your lives, and
the devil take the hindrnoft/

The monks feized the baggage,
threw themlelves on their horfes, and,
fattening the garden gate after them,
to retard, at leaft, if not prevent,
purfuit, made rapidly into the midft
of the foreft. Still they galloped
forward, nor flackened once their
pace, though they were not purfued,
till fafely ftieltered in the cavern of
the robbers, whom they found all
jovially affembled round a table well
covered with difties of various kinds
of food. The banditti were much
furprifed at beholding the fathers
enter their cave, and ftill more fo
when they learnt the mifchance.
which had driven them thither.
They v/elcomed their reverend con¬
federates to the garrifon, and preffed
them to partake of their fare. They
had no occafion to repeat the offer.
The monks inftantly feated them-
fel ves at the table, and with marvel¬
lous difpatch began to make havock
among the provifions, 'While they
were feeding, the robbers enquired
in what manner they meant to difpofe
of themfelves ; and, on the fathers,
declaring, that they were marvellous
tired with the reftraints of a monkifh
life; that they lamented not the mis¬
fortune that had forced them from
it y that purie-taking, in their opi¬
nion, was a vocation infinitely better
than praying, which was unworthy
men of (pint- — 'Fidele laid, unwor¬
thy men who had once, as molt of
his brethren had done, flourifhed
a fword, and cried * Stand,’ who had
exercifed throat-, fitting, ftabbing m
the dark, and other fit mm ary means
of diipatcbing troublcfoms knave*

416

The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tale.

out of the way, as an honourable
calling.

Sanguigno hailed them 'brothers,
and invited them to join his troop.
The monks embracing the propofal,
a difficulty arofe, touching the choice
of a captain : the banditti were una¬
nimous in favour of Sanguigno, who,
fince their captain’s death, had fup-
plied his place ; while their new af-
fociates were the fame in favour of
the prior ; and, as they exceeded in
numbers, the former were obliged to
acknowledge his authority. Fidele,
then, grafping a goblet overflowing
with wine, faluted his chief by the
appellation of ( excellentijjhno capitano
and drank it oft to his long life and
proiperity. The reft of the gang
followed his example, and made the
cavern ring with the found of their
voices.

Matters being thus adjufled, they
began to difcourfe on other fubjedfs,
and to moiften their clay with liberal
potations of. the right Falernian
wine.

* Here’s concord among ourfelves,’
faid Apoflolico, holding his full cup
in his hand, 4 and the laft and belt
half of it to our enemies.’

f' Excellent good, i’ faith,’ cried Fi¬
dele — 4 a cord for the necks of thole
who feek to place one about ours,’

‘Bravo! Bravijjimo /’ with no lit¬
tle noife exclaimed the relt of the
troop, and, with marvellous alacrity,
followed his example in draining
their capacious cups to the bottom.
Again, repeatedly, and in quick luc-
ceflion, each man charged his cup
to the brim, and as often emptied it,
while, as the potent fpirit dillurbed
the ceconomy of their heads, their
fettivity grew more riotous and noify,
and they feemed moil of them haften-
ing with no fmall fpeed to the goal
of inebriation, when

‘ ’Sblood,’ exclaimed Sanguigno,
flatting fucldenly up, 4 what fit we
here for, my mailers, when we have

bufinefs i’ th’ foreft of marvellous im*'
port ?’

‘ Plague of all bufinefs,’ exclaimed
Fidele, ‘ that difturbs good fellows
from the bottle, fay I.’

e But what is this mighty bufinefs ?’
enquired Apoftolico.’

‘ Some brave followers of our call¬
ing,’ replied another of the robbers,
4 have had a marvellous falling out,
and i’ faith had well nigh come to
blows.’

‘ Their weapons were out,’ faid
Sanguigno ; ‘ but the chicken-

hearted villains could not find it in
their hearts to ufe ’em. An they
get us among them they fliall Itrike,
and floutiy too, I warrant ye. I ’ll
have no boy’s play; I’ll ha’ blood;
I’ll be revenged. That fellow, there,
that captain, fliall know Sanguigno
is not one to put up tamely with his
fcurvy ufage. We’ll fee an his hu¬
manity ’ll (land him in any Head
when l come about him.’

‘ Humanity 1’ repeated Fidele,

4 what a plague has a robber to do
with humanity ? — He ’s not fit for the
calling.’

‘ So fay I,’ anfwered Sanguigno,
’tis your flout bullies, who make no
more of killing men than if they
were flies, that are the bed plun¬
derers.’

‘ Put this fame captain is none

fuch,’ laid the fellow that fpoke be¬
fore; ‘ he’s one of your knaves that
ftand much upon blood-letting, and
one too that ’s for ever preach¬
ing about humanity and the like o’
that; yet the villain will fight — *
fight like the very devil: his weapon
will fly about your ears like light¬
ning. He would never ffrike firfi,
nor let us without it was a fair match ;
and then, if the knaves made ever
fuch a flout refiflance, we were not
to revenge ourfelves on them ; but
the inflant they cneu Quarter, qui¬
etly to put up our weapons.’

‘ Put him quietly into /Etna, a

On the Employment of Time by the Female $e,v. 417

rafcally knave!’ cried Sanguigno :
‘an’ he ever caught me at that I’d
give him leave to eat me ! ’Sblood !
when plunder’s the word, kill all, I
fay; they can tell no tales then. —
For mine own part, I never fpare
either man, woman, or child.’

‘ As for the women, Sanguigno,
you fhould fpare them, for the fake
of her you was fo deeply fmitten
with.’

4 Hey ! who’s that ?’

f What, you don’t remember the
woodman’s daughter there?’

4 Pooh ! the girl was a fool, and
there ’s an end.’

4 The bufinefs was, {he could not
abide that black-haired vifage of
thine; and, i’ faith ! I marvel not at
it — it ’s enough to fcare the devil.’

4 ’S blood, vou livered thief! ’tis
the face of a man.’

4 It mu ft be then of the devil’s
head ferving-man. But this fweet
youth, my mafters, was not to be put
off by a (imple wench : he got me
and this fellow,’ pointing to another
of the troop, ( to alhft him ; and one
night when we chanced to be on the
prowl near this fpot, we three burft
into the woodman's hut.’

CTo be coni biued.)

On the Employment of Time by
the Female Sex.

f By Mr. Gijborne.)

TT'oung women fometimes com-
plain, and more frequently the
complaint is made for them, that
they have nothing to do. Yet few
complaints are urged with leis
foundation. To prefcribe to a
young perfon of the female fex the
precife occupations to which fhe
fhould devote her time is impoffible.
It would be to attempt to limit by
inapplicable rules what muft vary
according to circumftances which
cannot previoufly be ascertained.
Yql. XXXIV*

Differences in point of health, of
intellefft, of rafte, and a thoufand
namelefs particularities of family
occurrences and local (dilation,
claim, in each individual cafe, to be
taken into the account. Some gene¬
ral refiedlions however may be of¬
fered.

I advert not yet to the occupations
which flow from the duties of ma¬
trimonial life. When to the ra¬
tional employments open to all wo¬
men the entire fuperintendence of
domeftic economy is added, when
parental cares and duties prefs for¬
ward to affume the high rank in a
mother’s breaft to which they are
entitled, to complain of the diffi¬
culty of finding proper methods of
occupying time would be a lamenta¬
tion which nothing but politenefs
could preferve from being received
by the auditor with a fmile. But in
what manner, I hear it replied, arc
they who are not wives and mothers
to bufy themfelves ? Even at pre-
fent, young women in general, not-
withftanding all their efforts, to
quicken and enliven the flow-paced
hours, appear, if we may j udge from
their countenances and their lan¬
guage, not unfrequendy to feelthem-
felves unfuccefsful. If drefs, then,
and what is called dillipation, are
not to be allowed to fill fo large a
fpace in the courfe of female life as
they now overfpread; and your de-
ftre to curtail them in the exercife of
this branch of their eftablifhed pre¬
rogative is by no means equivocal ;
how are well-bred women to fup-
port themfelves, in the fingle ftate,
through the difrnal vacuity thatfeems
to await them ? This queition it may
be fufficient to an Ever by another.
If young and well-bred women are
not accuftomed, in their fingle ftate,
regularly to affign a large proportion
of their hours to ferious and inftruc-
tive occupations,what profpeft, what
hope, is there, that when married
they will affume habits to which
5 H

418 On the Employment of 'fine by the Female Sex .

thev have ever been drangers, and
exchange idlenefs and volatility far
deadinels and exertion ?

To every woman, whether (ingle
f r married, the habit of regularly
allotting ro improving books a por¬
tion of each day, and. as far as
may be practicable, at hated hours,
cannot betooftrongly recommended.
I life the term improving in a large
fenfe j as comprehending whatever
writings mav contribute to her vir-
tue, her ufefulnefs, and her innocent
fatisfadfion ; to her happ’nefs in this
world and in the next. She who
believes that (lie is to furvive in
another hate of being through eter¬
nity, and is duly imprefled by the
awful conviction., will not be re¬
duced from an habitual hudy of the
Holy Scriptures, and of other works
calculated to imprint on her heart
the comparatively (mail importance
of the pains and pleafures of this
period of exiftence ; and to fill her
with that knowledge, and infpire
her with thofe views and difpofitions,
which may enable her to rejoice in
the contemplation of futurity. —
With the time allotted to the regular
perufal of the word of God and of
performances which enforce and il-
ludrate the rules of Chriftian duty,
no other kind of reading ought to
be permitted to interfere. At other
parts of the day, let hidory, biogra¬
phy. poetry, or fome of the various
branches of elegant and profitable
knowledge, pay their tribute of in-
drucdionand amufement. Butlether
studies be confined within the drift¬
ed limits of purity. Let whatever (lie
perufes in her mod private hours be
inch as (lie needs not to be afhamed
©f reading aloud to thofe whofe
good opinion file is mod anxious to
defer ve. Let her remember that
there is an all-feeing eye, which is
ever fixed upon her, even in her
dofed retirement.

There is one fpecies of writings
which obtains from a confiderable

proportion of the female fex a re¬
ception much more favourable than
is accorded to other kinds of com-
pofition more worthy ot encourage¬
ment. it is fcarcely neceffary to
add the name of romances. Works
of this nature not unlrequentfy de-
ferve the praife of ingenuity of plan
and contrivance, of accurate and
well-fupported difcrimination of
character, and of force and elegance,
of language. Some have profeffedfy
been compofed with a defign to
favour the intereds of morality.
And among thofe which are deemed
to have on the whole a moral ten¬
dency, a very few, perhaps, might be
felefted which are not liable to the
difgraceful charge of being conta¬
minated occafionally by incidents'
and padages unfit to be prefented to
the reader; a charge fo very gene¬
rally to be alleged with judice, that,
even of the novels which poffefs
great and edabliflied reputation,
fome are totally improper, in con-
fequence of luch admixture, to be
perufed by the eye of delicacy.- —
Poor indeed are the fervires render¬
ed to virtue by a writer, however he
may boafl that the object of his per¬
formance is to exhibit the vicious as
infamous and unhappy, who, in
tracing the progrefs of vice to in¬
famy and unhappinefs, introduces
the reader to fcenes and language
adapted to wear away the quick feel¬
ings of modedy, which form at once
the ornament and the fafeguard of
innocence, and, like the bloom upon
a plum, if once effaced, commonly
difappear for ever. To indulge in a
practice of reading romances is, in
feveral other particulars, liable to
produce mifcm evens effects. Such
competitions are to mod perfons ex¬
tremely engaging. That dory mud
be uncommonly barren or wretched¬
ly told, of which, after having heard
the beginning, we defire not to know
the end. To the pleafure of learn¬
ing the ultimate fortunes of the he-

On the Employment of Time by the Female Se.v. 419

rocs and heroines of the tale, the
novel commonly adds, in a greater
or a lefs degree, that which arifes
from animated defeription, from
lively dialogue, or from intereit-
ing fentiment. Hence the per-
ufa! of one romance leads, with
much more frequency than is the
cafe with refpeCt to works of other
kinds, to the fpeedy pernfal of an¬
other. Thus a habit is formed; a
habit, at fi d, perhaps, of limited in¬
dulgence, but a habit that is conti¬
nually found more formidable and
more encroaching The appetite
becomes too keen to be denied; and,
in proportion as it is more urgent,
grows lefs nice and died in its fare.
What would formerly have given
offence, now gives none The pa¬
late is vitiated or made dull. The
produce of the booic-club and the
contents of the circulating library
are devoured with indif rimin ite
and infatiable avidity. Hence the
mind is fecretly corrupted. Let it
be oblerveu, too, that in exact corre-

foondence with the increafe of a
*

paffion for reading novels, an aver-
fion to reading of a more improving
nature will gather drength. There
is yet another confequence too im¬
portant to be overlooked. The
cataftrophe and the incidents of
romances commonly turn on the
viciffitudes and effe&s of a paflion
the mold powerful of all thofe which
agitate the human heart. Hence the
ftudy of them frequently creates a
fuleeptibility of imprellion and a
premature warmth of tender emo¬
tions, which, not to fpeak of other
poflible eife&s, have been known to
betray young women into a ludden
attachm nt to perfons unworthy of
their affe&ion, and thus to hurry
them into marriages terminating in
unhappinefs.

In addition to the regular habit of
ufeful reading, the cudom of com¬
mitting to the memory feleCt and
ample portions of poetic compofi-

tions, not for the purpofe of often-
tatioully quoting them in mixed
company, but for the fake of private
improvement, deierves, in confe-
qutnee of its beneficial tendency, to
be mentioned with a very high de¬
gree of praife. The mind is thus
fdored with a lading treafure of fen-
timents and ideas, combined by
writeis of tranfeendent genius and
vigorous imagination, clothed in ap¬
propriate, nervous, and glowing
language, and impreffed by the
powers of cadence and harmony.
Let the poetiy, however, be well-
chofen ; let it be fuch as elevates the
heart with the ardour of devotion, adds
energy and grace to the precepts of
morality, kindles benevolence by
pathetic: narrative and reflection, en¬
ters with natural and lively deferip¬
tion in>o the varieties of character,
or prefents vivid pictures of what is
grand or beautiful in the feenery of
nature. Such are in general the
works of Milton, of Thomfon, of
Gray, of Mafbn, and of Cowper.
It is thus that the beauty and gran¬
deur of nature will be contemplated
with new pleafure. it is thus that
fade will be called forth, exercifed,
and corrected it is ihus that judg¬
ment will be drengthened, virtuous
emotions cheriflieci, pieiy animated
and exalted. At ail times, and every
circumdance, the heart penetrated
with religion will delight itfelf with
the recolleCtion of paflages which
difplay the perfections of that Being
on whom it truds, and ihc glorious
hopes to which it afpires. When
affliction weighs down the fpirits, or
ficknefs the lfrength, it is then that
their cheering influence will bedou-
biy felt. When old age, difabling
the fuflferer from the frequent ufe of
books, obliges the mind to turn in¬
ward upon itfelf, the memory, long
retentive, even in its decay, of the
acquifitions which it had attained
and valued in its early vigour, dill
fuggefts the lines which have again.
3 Ii z

420 On the Employment of Time by the Female Sex.

and again diffufed rapture through
the boforn of health, and are yet
capable of overfpreading the hours
0i' decrepitude and the couch of pain
with confolation.

But it is not from books alone
that a confiderate young woman is to
feek her gratifications. The dif-
charge of relative duties, and the
exercife of benevolence, form addi¬
tional fources of activity and enjoy¬
ment. To give delight in the af¬
fectionate intercourfe of domeftic
fociety; to relieve a parent in the
fuperintendence of family affairs;
to fmooth the bed of ficknefs, and
cheer the decline of age; to exa¬
mine into the wants and diftreffes of
the female inhabitants; to promote
ufeful inftitutions for the comfort of
mothers and for the inftrudfion of
children, and to give to thofe infti¬
tutions that degree of attention
which, without requiring much
time or much perfonal trouble, will
facilitate their eflabiifhrnent and ex¬
tend their ufefulnefs : thefe are em¬
ployments congenial to female fym-
pathy; employments in the precife
line of female duty; employments
which diffufe genuine and lading
confolation among thofe whom they
are defigned to benefit, and never
fail to improve the heart of her who
js engaged in them.

In pointing out what ought to be
done, let jultice be rendered to what
has been done. In the difeharge of
the domeftic offices of kindnefs, and
in the exercife of charitable and
friendly regard to the neighbouring
poor, women, in general, are exem¬
plary. In the latter branch of
Chriftian virtue, an acceffion of
energy has been witneffied within a
few years. Many ladies have ftiewn,
and ftill continue to ffiew, their ear¬
ned folicitude for the welfare of the
wretched and the ignorant, by fpon-
taneoufly eftablifhing fchools of in-
duftry and of religious inftrueftion ;
and., with a dill more beneficial

warmth of benevolence, have taken
the regular infpedfion of them upon
themfelves. May they ftedfafily
perfevere, and be imitated by num¬
bers !

Among the employments of time,
which, though regarded with due
attention by many young women,
are more or lefs negledfed by a con-
fiderable number, moderate exercife
in the open air claims to be noticed.
Sedentary confinement in hot apart¬
ments, on the one hand, and public
diverfions frequented, on the other,
in buildings ftill more crowded and
Hiding, are often permitted fo to oc-
cupy the time as by degrees even to
wear away the relifh for the frefhnefs
of a pure armofphere, for the- beauties
and amufements of the garden, and
for thofe 6 rural fights and rural
founds,’ which delight the mind un¬
corrupted by idlenefs, folly, or vice,
Enfeebled health, a capricious tem¬
per, low and irritable fpirits, and the
lofs of many pure and continually re¬
curring enjoyments, are among the
confequences of fuch mifeonduci.

But though books obtain their
reafonable proportion of the day,
though health has been confulted,
the demands of duty fulfilled, and
the duftates of benevolence obeyed,
there will yet be hours remainiug
unoccupied ; hours for which no
fpecific employment has yet been
provided. For fuch hours it is not
my intention to preferibe any fpeci¬
fic employment. What if fome
fpace be affigned to the ufeful and
elegant arts of female induftry?-—
But is induftry to pofiefs them all?
Let the innocent amufements which
home furniffies claim their fhare.
It is a claim which fhall cheerfully be i
allowed. Do amufements abroad ,
offer their pretentions ? Neither :
fhall they, on proper occafions, be !
unheard. A well-regulated life will

never know a vacuum fufficient to :
require an immoderate ffiare of pub- 1
lie amufements to fill it.

Remarks on the Reign of Elizabeth.

421

REMARKS on the REIGN of

ELIZABETH.

[F, 'om Ellis’s ( Specimens of the early English

Poets.’ J

r| Rib poetical history of this im-
**■ portant reign, which oc¬
cupies near a century in our annals,
could not easily be comprised in a
moderate volume. Epic and didac¬
tic poems, satires, plays, maskes,
translations from the Greek, Latin,
and all the modern languages, his¬
torical legends, devotional poems,
pastoral sonnets, madrigals, acros¬
tics, and humorous and romantic
ballads, were produced during this
period, with a profusion which,
perhaps, has never since been
equalled. No less than seventy-
four poets are assigned to the reign
of Elizabeth in the new edition of
the f Theatrum Poetarum,’ and the
catalogue might certainly be much
further extended.

It is true, that, of these claim¬
ants to immortality, the far greater
number have been very generally
consigned to oblivion : a few, such
as Drayton, Fairfax, Warner, sir
John Harrington, sir Philip Sidney,
sir Walter Raleigh, &c. continue
to be cited, in deference to their
ancient reputation 5 but Shak-
speare, Jonson, Fletcher, Spenser,
and sir John Davis, are still con¬
fessed to be unrivalled in their
several styles of composition, al¬
though near two centuries have
elapsed, during which the progress
of literature and the improvement
of our language have been constant
and uninterrupted.

The literary splendour of this
reign may be justly attributed to
the effects of the Reformation.

‘ When the corruptions and impos¬
tures of popery' were abolished,’
says Mr. War ton, f the laity, who
had now b(*?n taught to assert
their natural privileges, became
Impatient of the old monopoly of

knowledge, and demanded ad¬
mission to the usurpations of the
clergy. The general curiosity
for new discoveries, heightened
either by just cr imaginary ideas
of the treasures contained in the
Greek and Roman writers, excit¬
ed all persons of leisure and for¬
tune to study the classics. The
pedantry of the present age was
the politeness of the last.’ Of
this pedantry he adduces a curious
instance in the occupations of
queen Elizabeth, whose marvel¬
lous progress in the Greek nouns
is recorded with rapture by her
preceptor Roger Ascham 5 and he
might have found many similar ex¬
amples in Anne JBullen, and other
distinguished characters. But these
efforts of patience and industry in
the great, were perhaps necessary
to encourage and preserve the
general emulation of the learned.
In a short time, all the treasures of
Greek, Latin, and Italian literature
were laid open to the public,
through the medium of translation.
The former supplied our poetry
with an inexhaustible fund of new
and beautiful allusions j the iatter
afforded numberless stories taken
from common life, in which variety?
of incident and ingenuity of con-*
trivance were happily united. The
genius which was destined to com¬
bine this mass of materials, could
not 'fail to be called forth by the
patronage ot the court, by the in¬
centive of general applause, and by
the hopes ot raising the literary
glory of our nation to a level with
that which was the result of Jts
political and military triumphs.

It must also be remembered
that the English language was, at
this time, much more copious, and
consequently better adapted to
poetry, than at any prior or subse¬
quent period. Our vocabulary
was enriched, during the first half
of the sixteenth century, by almost
daily adoptions from the learned

422

Remarks on the

languages ; and though they were
often admitted without necessity,
and only in consequence of a blind
veneration for the dignity of poly¬
syllables, they must have added
something to the expression, as
well as to the harmony and variety
of our language. These exotics
however did not occasion the ex¬
pulsion of the natives. Our vulgar
tongue having become the vehicle
cf religion, was regarded, not only
with national partiality, but with
pious reverence. Chaucer, who
was supposed to have greatly assist¬
ed the doctrines of his contem¬
porary fWicklifie, by ridiculing the
absurdities, and exposing the im¬
postures of the monks, was not
only respected as the father of Eng¬
lish poetry, but revered as a cham¬
pion of reformation : and a familiar
knowledge of his phraseology was
considered, at least in the reign of
Edward VI. as essential to the
politeness of a courtier. f I know
them,’ says Wilson, in his Ilheto-
rick, f that think rhetorick to stand
wholly upon dark words : and lie
that can catch an inkhorn term by
the tail, him they count to be a
fine Englishman and a good rhe¬
torician. He that cometh lately
wit of France will talk French-
English, and never blush at the
matter. Another chops in with
English Italianated. The fine
courtier will talk nothing but Chau¬
cer.' This, by the way, may
serve to explain the cause of Spen- ,
ser’s predilection for a phraseology,
which, though antiquated, was not
cither obsolete or unfashionable.

The whole world of words,
therefore (to borrow an expression
of one of our glossarists), was open
to Shakspeare and his contempo¬
raries, and the mode of employing
its treasures was left very much to
their discretion. Criticism was
in its infancy ; this was the age of
adventure and experiment, under-

i? eign of James I.

taken for the instruction of poste¬
rity. Mr. Warton thinks he sees
in the writers of this reign f a cer¬
tain dignified inattention to nice-
ties,’ and to this he attributes the
flowing modulation which now
marked the measures of our
poets : but there seems to be
neither dignity nor inattention in
deviating from rules which had
never been laid down : and the
modulation, which he ascribes to
this cause, is not less likely to have
resulted from the musical studies,
which at this time formed a part of
general education. The lyrical
compositions of this time are so far
from being usually marked with a
faulty negligence, that excess of
ornament, and laboured affecta¬
tion, are their characteristic ble¬
mishes. Such as are free from
conceit and antithesis, are, in ge¬
neral, exquisitely polished, and
may safely be compared with the
most elegant and finished speci¬
mens of modern poetry.

Remarks on the Reign of
James I.

[From the Same.]

T t has been remarked by bishop
Percy, that almost all the poetry
which was composed during the
early part of the preceding reign
was remarkable for the facility
and musical flow of its versifi¬
cation 5 whereas the compositions
of Donne, Jonson, and many of
their contemporaries, are, in gene¬
ral, unusually harsh and discordant.

Indeed, our literature could
not fail of reflecting, in some de¬
gree, the manners of the court.
Our maiden queen, unable to sub¬
mit, without some degree of
peevishness and regret, to the ra¬
vages made in her charm* by the

423

InflruBions of Lewis XVI. <§r.

attacks of age and infirmity, spread
uneasiness and constraint all around
her : and the playful gallantry in¬
separable from a female court, was
gradually succeeded by a more
cold and gloomy system of man¬
ners. Poetry, which had long
been busied with the loves and
graces, was now ©ccupied with the
abstruse researches of science ; and
fancy seemed to be crushed and
overlaid by the weight of learning.

The accession of James I.
who brought to the throne the ac¬
complishments and dispositions of
sl pedagogue, contributed to the
growth of pedantry and affecta¬
tion ; and at the same time the
sullen spirit of puritanism, which
began to be widely diffused, con¬
curred in vitiating the national
taste. The theatres alone seem to
have been the refuge of genius :
indeed no period of our history
has produced so many models
of dramatic excellence : but the
wretched spirit of criticism which
prevailed in the closet, is evinced
by the multiplied editions of Donne,
Herbert, and similar versifiers :
by the general preference of Jonson
to Shakespeare ; and by the num¬
berless volumes of patchwork and
shreds of quotation,which form the
prose compositions of this age.

It is remarkable, that the
series of Scotish poets terminates
abruptly in this reign 5 and that no
name of eminence occurs between
those of Drummond and Thomson.
Indeed it is not extraordinary, that
the period which intervened be¬
tween the union of the two crowns
and that of the countries, should
have proved highly unpropitious to
Scotish literature. Scotland be¬
coming an appendage to the sister
kingdom, was subjected, as Ire¬
land has since been, to the worst of
all governments, being abandoned
to the conflict of rival families, who
were alternately supported by the

English administration ; so that it
exhibited a species of anarchy
under the auspices of a legitimate
sovereign.

James I. was himself a poet,
and specimens of his talent, such
as it was, are to be found in many
of our miscellanies. He also wrote
some rules and caa teles, for the use
of professors of the art, which
have been long, and perhaps de¬
servedly, disregarded.

Instructions of Lewis XVI. for
tbs Education of the Dau¬
phin *.

IN A LETTER TO THE ABBE

f Ft om the ! Political and confidential Corn-
fpondenc4 of Lexvis XVI. xv th Obfervations,
on each Leittr, by Helen Maria IVilliaitts.'J

Paris, March 11, 1791..

■\/rou afk me, hr, for fuch inftruc*
tions as may be fitted to dire6t
the education of the Dauphin, at
that tender age when the paffions-
are yet dormant, but when reafon
furnifhes the child with the difpofi-
tion and the means of improve¬
ment.

Thefe inftrudlions appear to me
the more neceflarv, as there are but
few works extant proper to ferve as
guides for preceptors, and to train
un a child with ufefulnefs. 1 fend

vou a feries of reflections which have

been fuggefled to me by the ftudy of
good writers, and which I have en¬
deavoured to fimplify as much as
poflible. I have performed this
talk with the zeal dictated by a
father’s tendernefs, and the feelings

* Thefe Inftruttions, and the Maxims
which follow, do equal honour to the head
and heart of the unfortunate monarch. The
fame may be l'u;d of the whole of the corre-
fpondence contained in this publication. The
observations lubjoined to each letter by Mifs
Williams, appear, in general, to be equally
candid and judicious. £.

424 Injlru&ions of Lewis XVI.

of a man deeply penetrated with
the duties which belong to that rank
which my fon is called to fill by his
birth.

You have to form the heart, and
perfeft the moral and phyfical facul¬
ties, of a child.

Example, feafonable advice, praife
bcftowed with addrefs, and reproof
tempered by mildnefs, will awaken
in the heart of your young pupil a
tender fenfibility, the dread of doing
wrong, the delire of a&ing well, a
laudable emulation, and the wilh of
pleafing his preceptor.

Few books, but thofe well chofen ;
elementary works, clear, concife,
and methodical ; agreeable occu¬
pation, which, without burdening
the memory, excites curiofity, in-
fpires a tafle for ftudy and the love
of labour ; will foon form the mind
of a vvell-organifed, docile, and
ltudious, child.

Extrafts often repeated, walks,
and rural labours, the toils and plea-
fures of which the preceptor fhouid
partake, and which may be limited
to the cultivation of a final} garden ;
a few lports with children of his
own age, in the prefence of the
mafter; fuch are the infallible means
of preferving the child’s health, of
laving him from the languor of idle-
nefs, and of ftrengthening his con-
ftitution.

You ought to fix the hours of
your ftudies, your walks, and your
manual occupations, fo as to render
them commodious to yourfelf and
ufeful to the child.

I will fet apart fame moments to
inftruft my fon in geography: the
firft elements will be unfolded to
him, and we will lay before his
young mind the annals of ancient
and modern nations.

I fhouid not be difpleafed that
my fon made himfelf acquainted
with fome mechanical art, in the
moments of leifure or recreation.
I am well aware that people blame

me, and make it the fubjefl of plea-
fantry, that 1 handle the tools of
the fmith whilft 1 wield the fceptre
of kings. This tafte I inherit from
my anceftors. One of our fuperla-
tively fage philofophers has made an
apology for me in his writings ;
and this, perhaps, is all J found
good in his Emile, all at lead: that
appeared to me worthy of being
excufed.

Let the principles of the different
branches of knowledge be engraven
on my foil’s memory. I defpife
fuperficial minds; they are ignorant,
prefumptiicus, and more liable to
error than other men.

Never encourage by adulation
the caprices of your pupils; my
fon will learn but too foon that the
time approaches when he will be at
liberty to indulge them.

Magnify in his eves the virtues
that conftitute a good king, and let
your leffons be adapted to his com-
prehen (ion. Alas ! he will be one
day but too ftrongly tempted to
imitate fuch of his anceftors as were
diftinguifhed only by their military
exploits. Military glory dazzles the
brain ; and what fpecies of glory is
that which rolls its eye over {beams
of human blood, and defolates the
imiverfe ?

Teach him, with Fenelon, that
pacific princes, alone, are held by
the people in religious remem¬
brance. The firft duty of a prince
is to render his people happy : if he
knows what it is to be a king, he
will always know h@w to defend
his people and his crown.

He muft be made familiar with
our beft French authors, in order to
unfold, in his intellectual faculties,
that purity of expreffion which
ought to belong to the language
and writings of a prince, whom all
his /ftfbjedts will have a right to
judge. _ 6 ;

Teach him early to know how to
pardon injuries, forget injuftice, and

4 25

for the Education of the Dauphin.

reward laudable actions ; to re(pe<T
morality, to be good, and to ac¬
knowledge the fervices which are
rendered to him.

Speak to him often of the glory
of his anceftors, and prefent to him,
as a model of his condud, Lewis
the IXth., a religious prince, and a
friend to morality and truth ; Lewis
the Xllth., who would not punifti
the confpirators againft the duke of
Orleans, and on whom the French
conferred the title of 1 Father of his
people.’ Point out to him alfo
Henry the Great, who fed the city
of Paris while it infulted and made
war againfl him ; and Lewis the
XIVth., not while he gives laws to
Europe, but when he pacifies the
world, and becomes the protestor of
talents, of the fciences, and of the
fine arts.

Curb the paffions and never con¬
ceal the foibles of your pupil. Let
the calm of private virtues regulate
his defires, and he will become
mild, pacific, and worthy of being
beloved. You will then have en-
fured the fuccefs of your undertak-
ing, you will be applauded, and will
partake of that gratitude which na¬
tions owe to thofe who have imi¬
tated the wifdom of Fenelon, while
he was employed in the difeharge of
thofe duties which have raifed him
to immortality.

It is not on the exploits of Alex¬
ander, or Charles the Xllth., that
you ought to dwell with your pu-
pil — thofe princes who have devafted
the earth. Difcourfe with him, and
that often, of fuch princes as have
protefled commerce, enlarged the
fphere of knowledge — in fiiort, of
fuch kings as have been really ufe-
ful to their people, and not of thofe
on whom hiftory has been too lavifh
of praife.

You are acquainted with the bed
authors, and the proper methods of
inftru&ion ; and you appear to me
to have benefited from your ftudies,
Vo*. XXXIV.

and the firft lefions of youth ; you
polfefs knowledge. Endeavour to do
for my fon as much as was done for
vourfelf. But do not be too eager to
enjoy the fruits of your labours,
or fear proceeding too (lowly • and
be convinced that your pupil un-
derflands your preceding lefions
before you widen the limits of in-
ftru&ion. Never diflemble with
him, nor differ him to appear more
learned than he really is : it is
(hameful for a prince to polTefs only
fuperficial knowledge, and his pre¬
ceptor (liould fpare him that dif-
grace.

Pretend to (tud.y with your pu¬
pil, and thus excite his emulation
by awakening his vanity. This
method is fometimes fuccefsful, and
is honourable to the mafter while it.
is delightful to the pupil.

Speak to him fometimes, and ever
with'refpedt, of God, his attributes,
and his worfiiip. Prove to him
that the authority of kings proceeds
from God, and that, unlefs he be¬
lieves in the power of the mader of
kings, he will foon become the
vidtim of thofe men who believe in
nothing, defpife authority, and ima¬
gine themfelves to be the equals of
kings.

Let him be taught, from his ear-
lieft years, that religion is worthy of
ail his homage and all his admira¬
tion ; that incredulity and falfe-phL
lofophy undermine, imperceptibly,
the throne, and that the altar is the
rampart of religious kings.

In an age fo enlightened as our
own, your pupil mud be diffidently
verfed in the knowledge of experi¬
mental phiiofophy, to be able to
appreciate ufeful difeoveries. It
would be very humiliating for him
not to know how to difeufs certain
fubje&s, which, in that cafe, would
only ferveto difeover his ignorance.

( When he had given his meafure,*
to ufe an expreflion of Montaigne,
he would be only a king in name.

426

Maxims of Lewis XVI .

While our young pupil is acqui¬
ring the art of governing, let fome
rays of light be reflebfed on him
from the mirror of truth ; above all,
be careful to imprefs thofe truths
which may remind him that he is
placed above other men only to
render them happy. Remember to
teach him, that when every thing is
in our power, we muff be extremely
fober in the ufe of our authority.
Laws are the pillars of the throne t
if they be violated, the people think
themfelves abfolved from their en¬
gagements. Civil wars have taught
us, that it is aim oft always thofe who
govern, who have caufed, by their
errors, the effufion of human blood.
The juft king is the good.

Teach your pupil, that vices and
exceffes diftionour thofe who ought
one day to be cited only as models
for imitation.

Difplay to him the charms of
meeknefs, goodnefs, and modera¬
tion. Reprefs the impetuous feel¬
ings of his nature : never be the

O *

flave of his caprice ; and feek the
friendfhip of your pupil, not by a
dangerous complaifance, but by ra¬
tional confidence, by the pure ca¬
re ffes of affection, and wel!-dire£ted
affability.

Do not fuperfluoufly fatigue his
memory ; but let every moment of
his exiftence be occupied. Let al¬
ternate labour and recreation fill up
the moments which are pafied with
you. Ufe all your efforts to lead
him to wifli to fee you, and to regret
your abfence

I had tranfcribed, for the life of
my fon, the late dauphin, a great
number of ideas upon education :
fome errors, borrowed from modern
philofophy, had glided themfelves
into rnv work. Experience has
taught me better. I think I have
fent you a copy of my treatife :
make a choice from it ; but beware
of all thofe erroneous principles
which are the offspring of novelty,

of the fpirit of the age, and of the
poifon of incredulity.

Far be from him all thofe works
of that philofophy which pretends to
judge God, his worfhip, his church,
and his divine law. The paftions
will one day but too powerfully in¬
cline your pupil to fhake off the
yoke of religion, and flatterers will
avail themfelves of that moment.
Teach him to refpeft holy things ;
and unveil before him falfe phi;o-
fophy.

I fhould have manv things to fay

... ' <3 J

to you, which my tendernefs for my
fon would didlate, and m v wifh to
form his heart and mind ; but I
fear taking too feiitenrious a tone,
and having the air of giving laws to
his preceptor. I have perfect con¬
fidence, fir, that my letter will fome-
times be confulted bv you ; but I do
not defire that it fhould be the only
rule of your conduc'd. I muft fee
you from time to time : come, and
fee me, with your pupil. Amidft
the griefs that rend my foul, my
confolation is in my fon ; and I ob-
ferve, with complacency, the pro-
grefs he daily makes, and which he
owes to your care and your friend -
Hup* Lewis.

Maxims 'written by the Hand of
Lewis XVI.

( From the Sjmei)

Tt does not always depend upon a
king to render his fubje&s hap¬
py ; but it is in his power to make a
profitable ufe of their talents, by
giving them employments of which
they are capable.

ii.

To do good, and hear yourfelf
evil fpoken of with patience, are
the virtues of a king.

427

Maxims of Laois XVI.

III.

To confer benefits on others is to
receive them yourfelf.

IV.

The bed manner of avenoinp1
ourfelves is by not refembling him
who has injured us.

He who refufes to obey univerfal
and political reafon, that is, Provi¬
dence, refembles a fugitive {lave ;
he who does not fee it, is blind.

vi.

We mud not adopt the opinions
of our fathers like children, that is,
oniybecanfe our fathers have enter¬
tained thofe .opinions, and be¬
queathed them to us ; bat we fhould
examine them, and follow truth.

VII.

To be happy is to make our own
fortune; and that fortune confids in
good difpofitions of mind, good pro¬
pen fities, and good actions.

VIII.

We ought to receive benefits from
our friends without ingratitude, and
without meannefs.

IX.

AfFedfed franknel's is an hidden

Let us give to all the world, more
liberally to the good, but without
refufing to fatisfy the necefiitics of
any pei fon, not even of our enemy ;
fince we do not give to morals or to
character, we give to man.

XI.

What a mighty refource is the
tedimony of a good confidence!

XII.

Religion is the mother of the vir¬
tues: the worfhip we owe to God
fhould be preferred to all things.

XIII.

To love, we mud know: to know,
we mud put to a trial. I never
confer my friendfhip but with the
Utmoft precaution.

XIV.

Bad muficians, and bad poets, are

infupportable to thofe who liden ;
but nature has given them the pri¬
vilege of being delighted wirhthem-
felves.

xv.

To applaud injuries, to relifh
calumny, although not of our in¬
vention, is to become guilty.

XVI.

Party-quarrels are only flying
fparks when the fovereign takes no
fide; but they become conflagra¬
tions when he throws his weight in¬
to either fcale.

XVII.

Falfe demondrations of edeem
and friendfhip feem to be allowed in
politics, but never in morality; and,
on examination, we may perceive
that the reputation of deceit is as
ignominious for a prince as it is
hurtful for his intereds.

xviri.

An avaricious prince, is, with re-
fpedt to the peopje, like a phyfician
who differs the patient to be difled
by bis own blood ; and a prodigal
prince is like a phyfician who kills
by too much bleeding.

xrx.

He who wiflies to reduce his
equal to fubjection, is always fan-
guinary or deceitful.

xx.

Misfortune is the thermometer
that marks the coldnefs of our
friends.

xxi.

It is more from the mind of
Marcus Aurelius than from his
maxims that we mud judge the
man and the monarch.

XXII.

A work written without free¬
dom, mud be without intered and
without merit.

xxiii.

It is only what merits being
known, that merits being written.

XXIV.

Soldiers are inftituted for the de¬
fence of the country; to let them
3 la

42S

Signs and Habor ;

out to other ftates is to pervert, at
the fame time, the end of commerce
and of war. It is not permitted to
traffic with holy things ; and what is
more facred than the blood of men ?

XXV.

A cohesion fhould be made of
all the faults which princes have
committed, from precipitation in
politics, for the life of thofe who
defire to form treaties and alliances.
The time they muft' employ in read¬
ing them over would lead to falutary
reflexions.

XXVI.

We muft diftioguifh between flat¬
tery and praife. Trajan was en¬
couraged to virtue by the panegyric
of Pliny: Tiberius became obfti-
nate in vice from the flattery of the
ienators.

XXVII.

A fcourge from Heaven lafls but
£ certain time, ravages but a few
countries, and the Ioffes which it
occafions, however terrible, can
be repaired ; but the crimes of’ kings
ex ofe whole nations to long fuffer-
ings.

XXVIII.

The princes of Machiavel are like
the gods of Horner, who were de-
fcribed as robuft and poweiful, but
never juft. Lev is Sforza was in the
right to be only a warrior, fince he
was only an ufurper.

xxix.

It were to be wjflied, for the hap-
pinefs of the umrld, that kings were
always good, without being, howr-
ever, too indulgent; in order that
goodnefs in them might always be a
virtue, and never a weaknefs.

XXX.

A king who reigns by juftice has
the whole earth for his temple, and
all good men for his rpinifters.

a Gothic Romance .

SIGNE AND HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

( Continued from p. 376.)

A lger, who was unacquainted
with the fecret deftgns of his
brother, would willingly have ac¬
companied him in his expedition,
but that he feared it would be too
long protra&ed, and he wiilied not
to be abfent at the nuptials of his
After Signe. He, however, went
with Belvife to invite Hakon. They
travelled with great expedition, and
were received by Hakon with the
utinoft courtefy.

* I will go,’ faid he, to Sigerftedt,

* but not without a military guard.
I fear Bera; I fear Alf : the ex¬
pedition of Alf is fufpicious.’

‘ Bera,’ faid Alger, 4 is my mother,
and Alf is a hero.’

f Alf is a hero, h*‘t his pride is
wounded, and Bera is the mother of
Alf as well as of Alger.*

Alger felt in his heart that the
apprehenfions of Hakon were but
too well juftified by circumftances,
nor could Belvife refift his rifing
ftifpicions.

Hakon was at all times prepared
for war and maritime excurfion: two
hundred Blips were foon affembled
at Stockfund, and with thefe he fet
fail for Zealand.

In the mean time Alf and Hilde-
gifle put to fea with one hundred
and thirty fliips ; among which,
however, were only five Danifh
fltips, the reft were all Saxon,
They lay to near Skagen to wait for
Habor. And now, for the firft
time, the leaders difcovered to their
crews the purpofe of their expedi¬
tion, and diftributed among them
arms, clothing, provifions, and beer.
The Saxons made no objection, f°r 1
they believed their prince would 1
never commit injuftice ; but the few i
Danes, bad as they were, recollected |
the treaty, and could not reconcile j

Signe and Habor;

ihemfelves to fuch a faithlefs breach
of it, which, they faid, mud be fo
diftreffmg, fo fatal, to the matchlefs
princefs, the beauteous Signe. In
vain were they promifed double
pay; in vain did Alf declare that he
would give up to them his whole
fhare of the booty that fhould be
taken ; they remained inflexible till
he allured them rhat he was certain
that Habor would make the firft
attack upon him. They then all
exclaimed that they would fight for
their prince.

After they had continued at their
flation two days, the Norwegian
i fhips appeared in fight. The Sax-
! ons immediately began the attack,
and, at laft, the Danes followed
them, when the engagement began
to grow warm. The Norwegian
fleet confided only of thirty light
veffels, commanded by Helvin and
Hamund, whom their father and
brother had ordered to fail forwards
to announce their coming. The
Norwegians foon perceived that
their enemies, whom they took to
be Saxons only, for they could not
lufpeSt that any Danes were with
them, were greatly fuperior to them
in force; but they refolved rather
to die than to fly: they, befide«,
hoped that their countrymen, who
were foon to follow them, might
arrive in time to their afliflance.
The battle was obfiinate and long;
but at length all the Norwegian
fnips were either taken or funk,
except three, which, though ex¬
tremely ihattered, made their efcape,
and carried to their comrades the
difafirous tidings. Alf himieif, as
alfo Hildegifle, with four other
fhips, had borne down upon, and
lay clofely engaged with, the fliip of
Helvin and Hamund. Here the
conflict raged with the greateft fury,
and many brave warriors weltered
in their blood. At length Alf and
Hildegifle, with a number of their

a Gothic Romance. 429

followers, boarded the Norwegian,
fliip.

4 Here are Danes!’ exclaimed the
Norwegian princes to each other:
4 what means this?’

Alf allowed them no time to
enquire, but pierced Helvin through
the body, whom he immediately
knew to be the brother of Habor,
by his refemblance to that hero in
perfon and the armour he wore.
1 lamund was at the fame inftant
flain by the Saxons.

f Lie there,’ (aid Alf; f now fhall
Habor have little reafon to triumph
and joy.’ ,

When the Normans faw their
princes fall, defpairing of victory or
efcape, they threw their fliields over
their backs, and, plunging into the
fea, ended their lives amid the
waves, rather than fail into the hands
of their enemies. The Saxons and
Danes then railed the fliout of vic¬
tory, though they had little caufe to
boaft; for forty of their bed fhips
had been funk and defiroyed in the
furious combat, which was fo
bloody that neither fide would ac¬
cept prifoners Alf now expe-
rienced a horrible joy ; yet was not
his vengeance fatiated, for he thirfted
for the blood of Habor. He caufed
the heads of Helvin and Hamund
to be cut off, and fixed upon javelins
fet up in the prow of his fhip.

When the melancholy tidings of
thefe fatal events reached Habor,
rage, and the juft defire of fevere
revenge, took full poffeflion of his
bread. Hamund fhed no tears,
but faid, with a kind of wild and
cold indifference —

4 Now may I end my life amid
the tumult of war, as I have always
wifhed.’

Habor foon after defcried the
golden flag of the enemy.

4 There,’ exclaimed he, * is the
enfign of our treacherous foes; now
fliall my revenge be fatiated !*

4S0

Signs and Habor ; a Gothic Romanes.

Hamund fiarted up, and feized
two javelins —

6 Show me the enemy,’ faid he,
for his eyes were dim.

‘ Expofe not thy life raihly,’ faid
Habor; ‘heavy, more than fufii-
ciently heavy, is the weight of grief
which has already fallen on me to¬
day.’

4 I am feeble,’ anfwered Hamund,
* blit 1 will revenge my fons as
much as my ftrength will enable
me, and the world fhali fay the aged
Hamund fell glorioufly.’

6 What do I fee !’ exclaimed
Habor ; ‘ a warrior ftands on the
prow of the foremoft iliip, and on
each fide of him is a bleeding head.
Ah ! fliould they be thofe of my
brothers ! — By the powerful Thor
they are !’

He was filerst; he looked furi-
oufly around him. — ‘ Alf!’ he ex¬
claimed immediately after, and his
fword, which he had drawn, fell
from his hand.

f The brother of Sione!’ cried

the aged Hamund, glancing his
eyes wildly upon Habor, who was
filent, and anfwered only by a fran¬
tic look exprelfive of rage and de-
fpair, while the colour of his coun¬
tenance changed, bv turns, from the
fiery rednefs of the ardent coal to
the livid palenefs of the hfeiefs coi fe.
Fierce and dieadful were the
thoughts which now, for the fit ft
time, harrowed his foul.

Hamund feized two javelins, and
th rew them with all his might; but
they fell harmlds— the one in the
water between the ihips, and the
other bv the fide of Alf. It now
feemed as if Rota touched the heart
of Alf with her javelin, and ex¬
claimed to him — ‘ Avenge thy dif-
grace : I devote Hamund to Odin;’
lor at firfi he appeared confuted and
abaftred at the fight of Habor. A
convidion that he had violated his
engagements, his honour, his duty,

wrought powerfully on his heart;
and he would have fled had not his
pride forbidden him: bur, fuddenly,
he threw away his fword, and,
grafping a bow which lay near him,
and fitting to the firing an arrow,
drew it with a nervous arm. pointing
the deadly fiiaft, with unerring aim,
at Hamund. The arrow cleaved
the air with incredible fwirtnefs, and
buried itl'elf in the fide of Hamund.
The daggering warrior, exerting all
his ftrength, drew it forth ; a torrent
of blood followed; he fell, and bit
the deck in mortal agony, while his
eyes clofed in death. Furioufiy
Habor feized his fword; and, though
the difiance between the ftiips was
ftill feveral yards, he leaped it at one
mighty bound, and, wielding his
weighty weapon with both hands,
di (charged at Alfa tremendous blow.
The head of the Norwegian prince
fell, and bounded on the deck.

f Begone to Hael *, perfidious
wretch,’ exclaimed the furious Ha¬
bor.

And now, on every fide, the bat¬
tle raged with accumulated fury.
Many brave warriors were buried in
the fea while they attempted to
board the ftups of their adverfaries.
The decks fwam with blood; and
death appeared in a theuiand diffe¬
rent and horrid ftiapes.

The Danes, confounded by the
death of their prince, and disheart¬
ened by the injuftice of the caufe in
which they fought, fought fafety in
flight ; but the Saxons continued
their refiftance longer. At length
Hildegifle, perceiving that all re-
fifiance was in vain, and being-
wounded in the leg, followed with
his Saxons. He was the more rea¬
dy to abandon the conteft, as hope
again revived in his heart; ‘for Ha-

# The goddefs of death, in the Northern
mythology : her abode is deferibed as moft
gkonsy and dreary.

Parifian Fajhions, — London Fajhions. 43 1

bor,’ he fa id to himfelf, i has (lain
the brother of Signed

Habor did not purfue him; he
was detained by a powerful and fa-
cred duty — the committing to the
earth the remains of his father. He
raifed over the body of Hamund a
lofty mount, near Skagen, and
compofed, himfelf, a funeral fong
in honour of him, which he and
his warriors, three times encom-
pafling his grave, fung with a loud
voice, ftriking their {words upon
their fhields at the end of every
lfanza. Under the fame mount he
depofited the heads of his two bro¬
thers.

{To be continued.)

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( JVith an Engraving , elegantly coloured. )

^I^he devcijh tunics , voith loofe Jlceves ,
**■ not very wide, but rarely fitting
ciofe to the arm, dill continue to be
much worn. The coloured fichus,
crcjfed over the neck , have, like wife,
not yet loft their vogue; but they
are not two davs together of the
fame colour. The yellow ftraw hats
and deep capotes are ftill in>favour.
Veils are feldom worn ; the cuftom
of edging the capotes with a broad
hanging lace has rendered them
ufelefs. We fee many robes of
black crape; but white is ftill the
prevailing colour : lilac is ftill in
fafhion, but not fo common as the
rofe and flefh colour. Jewifii tu¬
nics, of different colours, trimmed
with black lace, are frequently
feen.

All the young men of fafhion
wear white filk ftockings. Silver
buckles are common. Black, or

dark brown, is more worn than
blue.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Promenade DreJJes ,

A dress of plain muflin, with a
. cambric habit ftfirt ; a huffar
jacket of blue filk; helmet bonnet
of ftraw, ornamented with a green
wreath: nankeen (hoes.

A plain drefs of white muflin,
with long fteeves ; habit fhirt of
mufiin and lace ; Leghorn hat ; nan¬
keen jfhoes.

Head DreJJes,

Hat of white chip, tied down
with white ribband, orange leaves in
front. Cap of white net, with quilt¬
ings of net round the front, and or¬
namented with a fa.ncy flower. Tur¬
ban of white fatin and mufiin, with
two rows of beads round the front,
and ornamented with oft rich fea¬
thers. Cap of white lace, trimmed
with pink ribband; fancy flower in
front. Hat of white chip, and lilac
crape, turned up in front, and orna¬
mented with offrich feathers. Cap
of white lace, with a fancy flower.
A double front ftraw bonnet, with a
dome crown. Drefs hat of blue
crape, ornamented with feathers or
flowers. Round hat of ftriped
yellow.

General Obfervations .

? The prevailing colours are lilac,
blue, and green. Drefles are made
very low in the back, with the waifts
fhort. Lace continues to be worn
generally. Plain Leghorn hats are
at prefent coniidered as moil faflfion-
able. Cloaks of worked muflin,
trimmed all round with lace, arc
moil prevalent.

432

The Moral Zoologift.

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.
part II.

{Cant inusd from p. ^ / 1 ♦)

LETTER VI.

From Eugenia to the Right Hon,
Lady -

The chara&ers of the owl genus
are — the bill hooked, and co¬
vered at the bafe with bridles, in-
ftead of that membraneous fubdance
called the cere in other rapacious
birds. . The nodrils of owls are ob¬
long, and their tongues cloven at
the end. The heads are, in every
fpecies, remarkably large, and, in
fome, the large aperture of the ear
is covered with a tuft of feathers
refembling horns. Their claws are
hooked and (harp; and the outer
toe capable of turning backwards
like that of the parrot.

The eyes of the owl are large and
protuberant, and fo delicate that
they are dazzled by the broad light
of day, and unable to endure the
full rays of the fun. In the morn¬
ing and evening twilights, they leave
their retreats to chafe, or rather to
fearch for, their prey. The nights
which are illumined by the mild
light of the mprn, are to them the
fined of days — days of p'eafure and
abundance, in which they can feek
their prey for feveral hours together,
and obtain an ample fupply of pro-
vifion. In nights when file is not
prefent, their researches are confined
to a (ingle hour in the morning and
in the evening ; for, though owls
are dazzled by too bright a day-light,
they do not fee bed in the darked
nights, as fome have erroneoudy
imagined. Their fight fails when
the gloom of night is completely
fettled; and, in this relped, they
differ not from other animals — fuch
as hares, wolves, and dags, which

leave the woods in the evening to

feed, or to hunt during night; only

thefe animals fee dill better in the

day than in rhe night; whereas the

organs of vifion in the nocturnal

birds are fo much overpowered by

the brightnefs of day, that they are

obliged to remain in the fame place

without moving ; and when they

are compelled to leave it, their flight

is flow and irregular, and they are

evidently afraid of driking againft

fome obdacle which thev cannot

difeern.

It is, however, to be obferved,
that this weaknefs of fight by day is
not the fame in every fpecies of
owls. The great-eared owl fees
fo didinClly in open day, as to be
able to fly to confiderable didances ;
the little owl chafes and takes its
prey long before the fetting, and
after the rifing, of the fun. Travel¬
lers inform us that the great-eared
owl, or eagle owl of North America,
catches the white grous in open day,
and even when the reflection heigh¬
tens the intenfity of the light ; and
Belon remarks, that ‘ if we care¬
fully examine the fight of thefe
birds, it will not be found fo weak
as is ufually imagined.’ The long¬
eared owl, the tawny owl, the
white owl, and the aluco or brown
owl, appear to be thofe which are
mod dazzled by the fplendor of
day, and fee bed with the lead
light.

Owls, in general, remain during
the day in fome dark retreat; the
cleft of a rock, a hollow tree, or the
holes of fome ruinous and moulder¬
ing tower, are the folitary abodes of
thefe gloomy birds. There they
frequently increafe the dreary me*
lancholy of the feene by their hide¬
ous cries, the difagreeable tone of
which has been rendered more ter¬
rific by prejudice and fuperftition.
The voice of the white, or, as it is
called, from its lharp difcordant

Engraved for the Ladys Magazine .

K it i V *• ■ A < « • '

The Moral Zoohgl/l .

433

cry, the fcreech-owl has always
been regarded by the common peo¬
ple as ojminous of death It is only,
however, when the owls are fhvdon-
ary that they utter tfitfe d deful
notes, which are w ob.tblv a call to
cour'fliip: while in purfwit of their
prey they are all blent, as the fmalleft
hoifc might alarm thr little animals
they endeavour to.furprife. When
their purfuit has been fuccefsful they
foon return to, their folitude, or to
their young, if they are rearing them.
But if they have found but little
prey, they will continue their fearch
lit i 1 1 longer; and it fometimes happens
that, obeying the d -ffates of appetite
rather than thofe of prudence they
pm 1 ue fo long that broad day breaks
in upon them, and leaves them
dazzled, bewildered, and at a di-
flance from home.

In this diflrefs they are obliged to
take (belter in the firfl tree or hedge
that offers, and continue there con¬
cealed all day, till the returning
darknefs once more reftores to them
the power of fight without uneafinefs
and pain. But it often happens that,
notwithflanding all the precaution
they take to conceal the mfelv.es, they
are difcovered by the other. birds of
the place, who, perceiving their fear
or their conftrained fituation. feem
to delight to infult them. The black-
bird, the thrufli, the iay, the red-
breafl. and the titmoufe, all aflemble
to enjoy the fport. The fmalieft,
the feeble-fl, and the rhofl con¬
temptible, of the enemies of the owl,
are then the fore mo if totormen? him.
They increafe theirci ies anu .turbu¬
lence around him, flap him with
their wings, and are ready to (hew
their courage to be great, as they are
fenfible that their danger is but
fmail. The u-nfor'unate owl, not
knowing how to defend himfelf or
how fo flv, patiently fits md fullers
all their infults. He remains mo-
tionUfs and confounded, hears their
c lies and noife, and only replies by
Vo l. XXXIV.

fome awkward and filly gefiu res,
turning- round his head his eyes**
and his body, with a particularly
foolifh air. He even fuff, rs hi nfelf
to be aiTaulted without making re-
fifl-ince. The appearance of an owl

* * i

by day is fuffHent to fct the n hole
grove in a kind of uproar. Either
the averfionall the fmail bird h*ive to
him or theconfcioufnefsof theii own
fecurity induces them to purfue him
without intermiffion; while by their
mutual cries they feem to cal! upon,
all they meet, and encourage each
other to join in, and continue with
ardour, the chace. Sometimes, how¬
ever. the little birds arp guilty of the
fame indifcretiori in purfumg him
which he had himfelf committed in
hunting for his prey. They follow
him, and continue their perfection
till the evening returns and again
reflares to him his faculty, and then
he makes many of the fore ni.o ff of
his purfuers pay dearly for their
former teazing and infults.

Of tins pf openfjty of the fmail er
birds to flock round and perfecute
the owl the bird-catchers avail them-
felves. They have the art of ■coun¬
terfeiting the cry of the owl e.xa6jtly;
and when they have limed the
branches of a hedge they conceal
themfelves, and give the call. Im¬
mediately d.i the little birds flock to
the place where they expeft to find
their well-known enemy ; but iu-
ftead of finding their blinking anta-
g on ifl, they are. (luck fait upon the
iime-twigs. This method of catch¬
ing birds mufl be put in practice
about an hour befoi erlie clofe of day,
for if it be deferred later the fame
birds which flock together in the day
to chafe and infult him fly from him
with as much dread as they before
difplayed infoience.

T he no£Iurnal bird? of prey, which
areall included in thed'fr rent (pec es

of owls, differ 'from the; birds which
commit their ravages in the day, not
only by the delicate eis of their lenfe

434

The Moral Zoologijl.

of fight, but by that of their hearing,
which appears to be fuperior to that
of other birds, and peihaps to that
of every other animal; for the drum
of the ear is pi oportionably larger
than in the quadrupeds, and befides
they can open and fhut this organ at
pleafure, a power pofleffed by no
other animal. They are alfo ciiffin-
guifhed by their mode of flying,
which is a kind of tumbling, and con-
ftantly fideways and without noife,
as if they were wafted by the wind.

I fbali now proceed to give a brief
defcription of the principal fperies of
the owl genus. They may be divided
into two kinds; thofe that have horns,
and thofe without. Thefe horns are
only two or three feathers that fiand
up on each fide of the head, over the
ears, and give this bird a kind of
horned appearance. Of the horned
owls there are three principal fpecics:
1 A, the great- hoi ned owl, or great-
eared owl ; 2d, the long-eared owl,
or common-horned owl; and, 3d,
the fcops, or littie-horned owl. Or
the owls which are not honied there
are at leaft five fperies; 1 A, the
aluco, or the black owl; 2d, the
tawny owl; 3d. the white owl ; 4th,
the brown owl; 'and, 5th, the little
ew).

THE GREAT-HORNED OWL.

This bird is bv foine called the

eagle owl, and is indeed the eagle of
the night, and the king of that tribe
©f birds which avoid the light of day,
and prowl for prey in the (hades of
the evening. At firA view he ap¬
pears as large as the eagle, but is
really much 1 mailer, and different in
all his proportions. The legs, body,
and tail, are fhorter than in the eagle ;
the wings are not fo broad ; they
extend about five feet. The head
is much larger than in proportion to
the fize of the body, and the cavities
of the ears are broadband deep. On
each fide of the head rife two tufts
ut feathers, refembling horns, two

inches and a half long, which the
bird can ei e<A or deprefs at pleafure.
The bill isfnort, thick, hooked, and
black; the eyes are large, tranfparent,
and furrounded with an iris of an
orange colour. The face is encircled
with fmall white frizzled feathers ;
the neck is very fhort; the body co¬
hered withareddifh-brown plumage,
fpotted on the back with yellow and
black, and with yellow on the belly-;
the feet are clothed to the claws with
a thick down and ruftv feathers;
the claws are black, very ftrong, and
hooked.

This bird ufually haunts rocks, or
old deferted towers, folitary churches,
or the ruins of ancient caAles; he
feldorn ventures into the plains, or
perches on the boughs of trees. He
preys, in general, on young hares,
rabbits, moles, and mice; which latter
he (wallows entire, but afterwards
throws up the hair, bones, and (kin,
fo rrrsed into a kind of ball. He will
alfo devour ferpents, lizards, toads,
and frogs, and feed his young with
them; in providing for which this
bird is particularly active and fuccefs-
ful, itsneA being ufually quite cram¬
med with provffions.

This fpeciesofowls make their ne As
in the crags of rocks or in the holes
of ioftv old walls, and fometimes in
hollow trees. Their neA is about
three feet in diameter, formed of
final! dry fticks and l oots, and lined
with leaves. They ufually lay one
or two eggs, and (ometimes, though
rarely, time. Their eggs are larger
than thofe of the hen, «nd in co¬
lour fo mew bat refemble their owm
plumage. The young are very vo¬
racious, and the parents procure them
fubfiftence with much more agility
than might be expected from their
fize and apparent awkwardnefs. —
They v, ill frequently attack the buz¬
zards when they have taken any
prey, beat them, and feize their
plunder.

The great- horned owl is fome-

The Moral Zoologlft . 435

times employed by falconers to lure
the kite, when rhey with to catch him
for the purpofe of training the falcon.
On this occafion they affix to the owl
a fox’s tail, to add to the Angularity
of his fig ure. Thus accoutred, he
fkims (lowly along, flying low, which
is his uiua) manner. The kite,
either curious to obferve this odd
kind of animal, or perhaps inquifi-
tive ro fee w hether it mav not be

_ y

proper for food, flies after, and
cornes nearer and nearer, holering
and defcendingincautiouflv, till he is
furprifed by the falconer, or c aught
by fome ftroog-vvinged hawk let
loofe upon him.

This bird is the Strix Bubo of Lin¬
naeus : it inhabits Europe, and is
found, though rarely, in the north of
England, Chefhire, and Wales.

THE LONG-EARED OWL.

This owl, fometimes called the
common horned owl, is much lefs
than the former, the wings only
extending about three feet and a
half. The horns, or ears, are much
fhorter, and fcarcely exceed an inch
in length, though they are very wide,
like thofe of the great-horned owl.
They rather refemble the ears of
quadrupeds than their horns, and
confift of fix feathers variegated with
yellow and black. The upper parts
of the head, neck, back, and wings,
are marked with ftreaks of grey, dull
yellow, arid brown ; the bread and
belly are of a dull yellow, marked
with flender brown ftreaks pointing
downwards. The bill is fhort and
blackifh; the eyes are of a fine yel¬
low: the feet covered with rufty-
coloured feathers as far as the claws,
which are rather broad and of a
blackifh brown. The length of this
bird, from the beak to the claws, is

about a foot: the tail is five or fix
inches long.

Thefe birds feldom take the trou¬
ble to build a neft, but generally de-
pofit their eggs, of which they lay
four or five, in the old nefis of other
birds, particularly thofe of magpies,
which it is well known make a new
one every year. The young, which
are a* firfl wh'te, acquire their natu¬
ral colour in the courfe of about a
fortnight.

This fpecies is much more com¬
mon and numerous than the pre¬
ceding, which is rarely to be found
with us in winter, whereas the long¬
eared owl is to be found in every
feafon of the year. It is more com¬
mon in France and Italy than in
England. It can fupport cold, and
is found in Sweden. It appears alfo
that it is found in Canada, and in
many other parts of North- America.
The owl of Carolina, described by
Catefby, and that of South America,
mentioned By father Feuillee, are
probably only varieties of this fpe¬
cies in confequence of the difference
of climates, as they appear only to
differ in the fhades and diftribution
of their colours.

The ordinary habitation of the
long-eared owl is in the walls of old
buildings, the clefts of rocks, or ca¬
vities of hollow trees in mountain
forefts, whence it rarely defeends
into the plains. When attacked by
other birds, it makes a vigorous de¬
fence with its claws and beak ; and
when affailed by too powerful an
antagonift, it turns upon its back, to
have the more ready ufe of thefe
weapons.

This bird is the Strix Otus of Lin¬
naeus, who makes its fpecific charac¬
ter that ‘ the tufts of its ears confift of
fix feathers.’

(To ie continued .)

; [ ■436

POETICAL ESSAYS.

IDYLLION,

'Occajtoned by the drawing of a Cafcade
ir> Stirlingshire, executed by a Lady of
djiinyuifh < d Rank.

[By TV ?7. R/chardfon , A . iff. Prcffjf.r cf Hu¬
manity i a the Univetfiiy of Glajgo

eneath the overflowing deep,
Amid their cor. a! groves,

Them lyres the tuneful Nereids fvveep,
And chaunt their happv iov.es :
While rolling o’er their cry Hah pi Har’d
arch, [march.

In rude array th’ enormous billows

IT.

And Naiads too, that duly bring
Their tribute to the main,

With rapture finite the vocal firing,
And pour the fefiive drain ;

Or trim v^th glitching (par their mofTy
cells, [(hells :

Or in the grotto range their fpetkled

III. '

- And glory in the various fongs

That celebrate their courfe ;

And tell what praife to them belongs,
What dignttvr’Qf foiurce;

What peerlefs dame, fair maid, r or fage
ferene„, i

Or poet.,; ever pac’d their margin green.

, y ; . iv. >’ ' , ,

Fair Leven, in foft-flowing verfe,

■•£ xu Its. in Smollet h, n a m y ; • >

Nor hail., triumphant, to rehearfe
V The i fluid c whence fhe came ;

The woody .'Hands, the refounding caves,
■And rocks that Lomond’s hoary billow
. lave* f. ; -.i

— - j — • — - - - 7 - : - — -

* ..On, the Lde of the Leven is erected a
pillar near the birth-place cf Dr! Smollett.
This river Hikes from Loch Lomond, into
which falls the river Endrick, running through
Strath Endrick, dole to the ruins of an old
caftle, in which Napier of Me rebut on is laid
tt> have refined when he invented the Loga¬
rithms. This river receives the Blane, on the
fide of which -the eelebStd^ George Buchanan
was bo n and near which an obelifk has been
ere&ed to his memory. Having loft his pa¬
rents in his infancy, Buchanan, was educated by
G Her lot, his maternal uncle. The Dowaic
enters the Blane near its junction with the
Ludrick.

Th’ Endrick in wildly-lyric mood
Di fp lays her laurel crown;

And tells, that, mufing by her flood,
Sage Napier earn’d renown :

That oft ihe paus’d, and mark’d at mid-
v. night hour

The pale lamp glimm’ring in his ivy’d
tower.

VI.

Triumphant ev’n the yellow Blane,
Though by a fen defac’d,

Boafl- that Buchanan’s early drain ;
Confol’d her troubled breafl :

That often, mufe-ftruek, in her loneliefl
nook,

The orphan boy por’d oh fome metred
- book.

VII. . !

Poor Dovvalt grieves ; no joyful ftrains
Flow from her trembling wire ;

All unrenown’d the Narad ’plains
Amid her fiber choir :

Yet who can bo'kll of dells fo fweetly
wild,

Or ivy’d grey-rocks more abruptly pil’d!

vnr.

How deeply ton’d the white cafcade,
Whirl’d by her rapid ftreams,

That roars amid the cavern’d glade,
And thro’ the green-wood gleams !
Yet ’mid the nightly gloom the fobbing
gaje j

Swells with the murmur of her lonely
wail.

IX.

Her heath-crown withers on her brow ;

And uninferib’d her urn. — i I

Change, Naiad, change thy tone of
woe ;

Ceafe, Naiad, ceafe to mourn !
Soon to thy lifter nymphs wilt thou pro-,
claim,

That thou haft earn’d an equal fliare of
fame. » .

For M*** with eye of tafte -
Hath feen ; with touch of fkill
Hath feiz’d ' thee, ’mid thy woody
wafte,

And rufhing down thy hill :

Flath feen thy dewy treftes wave aloft ;
Surpris’d, and held thee by compullion
fofr ;

PQETRY.

Hath feed thy white robe, gem’d with
pearl,

Flow from the rueged fteep ;

Where Dryads their green flags un-

;• furl,

And through the valleys fweep :

Stay, NT'ad, at her powerful bidding
flay !

And welh I ween, thou wilt not ha fte
away.

XII.

For by her pencil’s magic power

She bids rhy beauty live :

Now, Dowalt, blefs th’ aufpicious
hour !

Now, Dowalt, ceafe to grieve ;

But to the choir of elder nymphs pro¬
claim,

That noble M*** has given thee fame.

■ fMiaw -

INSCRIPTION,

INTENDED FOR A STATUE OF THE

LATE DUKE OF BEDFORD.

By the Right Hon . Richard Fitzpatrick.

ERE let no fymbols of deftru&ive
War,

No blood-flam’ d- conqueror’s triumphal
car,

No fculptur’d trophies, to the penflve
mind

Retrace the miferies of human kind ; _

Where happier emblems celebrate his
worth,

Who liv’d not to defp nl, but blefs, the
earth !

With anxious care and deep refearch,
to fcan

That fir ft of fciences — the good, of man ;

To cherifh Culture’s progrefs through
the land,

Stretch forth toTnduftry a foft’ring
hand ;

To feel, on principles feverely juft,

In rank pre-eminent, a facred truft ;

To prize in riches but their pow’r to
grant

Reward to Merit and relier to Want:

Praife of fuch high defert, fay, who
ffhall claim ?

And, hark ! a nation’s voice re-echoes
Ruffe IPs name !

437

How, through the annals of their coun¬
try, ill in e

Th’ unfading honours of his patriot line \
Difaftrous days of civil ftrife they faw,
When vaulting Pow’r o’erleap’d the
bounds of Law:

Their temp’rate wifdom ftrove, alas ! in
vain,

Thofe threading flames of Difcord to
contain

Which loon blaz’d forth' — the fiend’s in¬
fernal brand .

Spread dr- valuation through the fated
land ;

And Peace, from Albion’s mangled bo-
forn driv’n,

With virtuous Bedford wing’d her way
to Heav’n.

Again, when Pow’r’s unquench’d and
quenchlefs third - -

The facrcd boundaries of Right had
burft,

Another Ruffell Freedom’s champion
flood,

Nor fpar'd for her, nor wifti’d to fpare,
his blood ;

But died, oh, victim of perverted laws!
An unrepinin martyr in hercaufe.“

Far happier thou! Thy more aufpi¬
cious day,

Of lawful rulers own’d the chaften’d
fway;

Who, on the downfal of a tyrant’s
throne, -• * *

Hadfix’dthe juft foundation of theirown.
But, ah! too foon was veil’d in endiefs
night

Th’ accomplifh’d promife of a dawn fo
bright.

All-ruling Powers! by whofe myfterious

doom

Life’s fleeting'tenantc fink into thetomb,
With la vifhNature’sVicheft gifts adorn’d.
Still muff a Ruffell be "belov’d and
mourn’d.

.Ceafe, fond complaint! though man’s
precarious breath

Yield, uorefifting, to theftiaft of Death,
The lafting good a patriot’s cares achieve.
The figh which millions o’er his adies
heave, .

The bright example of rhat gen’r-ous
, mind,

Whofe God-like impulfe was to ferve
mankind,

Bequefts to unborn ages fliall remain,
And mark — that Virtue has not liv’d in
vain.

438

POETRY.

BETSY OF THE GROVE.

Weet Betfy of the Grove doth dwell
Within yon’ village fmall :

Her beauties I could fondly tell;

But virtue ’s more than ail.

And Hie is virtuous ’tis well known,
As all her actions prove:

I wifh’d, alone, to call mine own,

Sweet Betfy .of the Grove,

But now, alas t all hope is fled 1 —
Though once I vainly told

How much my heart for Betfy hied 1
To me fhe prov’d moft eoid :

For happier William won her heart,- —
He gain’d her mutual love:

This day he weds, no more to part
From Betfy of the Grove:

May all their days glide happy by !
Though happincfs to me

Will now be ftrangc ; where’er I fly,
My heart can ne’er be free !

I blame her not — it was no crime,

If me flie could not love.

May peace and pleafure fill her time,—
Sweet Betfy of the Grove !

July 4-» 1803. J. M. L.

ODE TO MORNING.'

[From Gref will's < Memoirs of Literary Cka-
r a^ers.’]

TN blufhing beams of foften’d light
Aurora heals upon the fipht :

Vv ith chaHe effulgence darts from far
The lplendors of her dewy car ;
Cheer’d with the view, I blefs the ray
That mildly fpeaks returning day,

Retire, ye gloomy fhades, tofpread
Your brooding horrors o’er the dead !—
Bane of my flumbers, fpedlres gaunt,
Forbear my frighted couch to haunt !
Phantoms of darknefs, horrid dreams, —
Begone ! for lo ! fair Morning beams.

Emerging fr6m the incumbent (hade,
Her luftre cheers the brilliant mead : —
Ifafte, boy, — the tuneful lyre. — I lbng
To meet the goddefs with a fong ; —
Hafte, while the Mufe exerts her pow¬
ers,

And drew herfmiling path with flowers.

The violet, charg’d with early Tweets,
Fair Morn ! thy cheerful prtdence

greets ;

The crocus lifts her faffron head,

And bloomy fhrubs their odours fhed j
Ah ! deign our incenfe to inhale
Borne on the gently-fvvelling gale.

When Morning’s charms the fong in-
fpire,

Be mine to wake the warbling lyre ;
Oh, waft, ye breezes, to her ear
The mingled (trains of praife^and pray¬
er :

Bid her approve our faint efiays,

And teach the offer’d gift to pleafe.

For," ah ! thy beauties to pourtrsy,

Fair mother of the infant day, —

What time in rnildeft fplendors drefl
Thy lucid form appears confeft, —

Still itiuft the admiring bard defpgir,—
Oh, Nymph — fuperlatively fair !

Thy crimfon cheeks a blufh difclofe
More vivid than the opening rofe ;

Thy foftly-waving locks unfold
More luftre than the burnifh’d gold;
The envious ftars their lights refign,
And Lunafs beam is loft in thine.

Mortals had lain, without thine aid,
Ingulph’d in night’s perpetual (hade :
The brighteft colours but difpiay
A luftre borrow’d from rhy ray ;

And every grace that art can boaft
Without thy genial help were loft,

Faft bound in Lethe’s dull embrace,
’Tis thine the fluggard to releafe ;
Thou wak’ft to life the torpid mind,
To deathful flumbers elfe confmn’d :
And pleas’d to lhare thy tranquil frnil®,
Man with new vigour meets his toil.

Betimes the fprightly traveller wakes :
The fturdy ox his ftall furfakes,

Patient his finevvy neck to bow,

And bear the yoke and drag the plough ;
His fleecy charge the fhepherd leads
To graze beneath the fylvan fhades.

Lull’d in bis fair one’s gentle arms,
The lover if thy voice alarms ;

If with regret the attradiive couch
He leaves, and blames thy near approach;
Still let him deem thy call unkind,

And cafl the ‘ lingering look behind.*

His be the iiluftvejoys of night ;

My b oaft fhail be the cheerful light :
Give me to watch the orient ray,

And hail the glad return of day ; —
And long, oh long — ye Pow’rs divine,
May luck reviving joys be miad

POETRY. ' 439

SUMMER EVENING AT HOME-

[From the fecond Volume of 1 Poems by the
Rev. William Lijle Bowles.']

poME, lovely Evening, with thy (mile
of peace

Vi fir. my hamble dwelling, welcom’d in

Not with loud fhouts, and the
throng’d city’s din,

But with fuch founds as bid all tumult
ceafe

Of the fick heart ; the grafshopper’s
faint pipe

Beneath the blades of dewy grafs unripe,

The bleat of the lone lamb, the carol
rude

Heard indiftindtly from the village
green,

The bird’s laft twitter from the hedge¬
row fcene,

Where, juft before, the fcatter’d crumbs
I ftrew’d,

To pay him for his farewell fong — all
thefe

Touch foothingly the troubled ear, and
pleafe

The (billy ftirring fancies — though my
hours

.(For I have droop’d beneath life’s early
fhow’rs)

Pafs lonely oft, arid oft my heart is fdd.

Yet I can leave the world, and feel moft
glad

To meet thee, Evening, here — here my
own hand

Has deck’d with trees and fhrubs the
Hopes around,

And whilft the leaves by dying airs are
fann’d,

Sweet to my fpirit comes the farewell
found, v v

That feeins to fay-*-* Forget the tran-
fient tear,

Thy pale youth thed — -Repofeand Peace
are here.’

WINTER EVENING AT HOME.

[From tbt fame .J

air Moon, who at the chilly day’s
decline

Of fh rp December, through my cot¬
tage pane

£)oft lovely look, fmiling, though in
thy wane;

In thought, to feenes, tranquil and
bright as thine,

Wanders my heart, whilft I by turns
furvey

Thee flowly wheeling on thy ev’ning
way ;

And this my fire, whofe dim, unequal
light,

Juft glimmering, bids each fhadowy
image fall

Sombrcus and ftrange upon the
darkening wall,

Ere the long Evening fets in deepeft
night !

Yet thy ftiil orb, feen through the freez¬
ing haze,

Shines calm and clear without; and
whilft I gaze,

I think — around me in this twilight
room —

1 but remark mortality’s fad gloom ;

Whilft hope and joy cloudlefs and foft
appear

In the fweet beam that lights thy diftam
fphere !

THE MOSS-COVER’D COT.

Y N yon mofs- cover’d cot, that’s with
ivy o’erfpread,

The poor village cottager dwells ;

There freely diftributes his honefl-
earn’d bread,

As the plain ruftic flory he tells.

While his children fit fmiling around
him fo gay,

Or climb up his knee for a kifs,

For the bread they receive — filial duty
, they pay,

And make it the cottage of blifs.

In the flow’r-woven bow’r, by the fide
of the cot,

Return’d from the toils of the day,

’Midft his fam’ly he fits, his fatigues are
forgot ;

They fmileall his forrows away.

’Tis a lov’d virtuous wife that adorns hi$
neat cot;

Her looks are good-hnmour’d and gay;

Thus blelV d m i ch a paitner, content
with his lor,

He fmiles in the eve of his day.

Kmg dandy May zb, 1803. J. M.

440

POETRY.

E L L E N\

Or, VIRTUE’S TRIUMPH,

A N aged pair who dwell in yonder
cot,

Whole time-worn features weary
age proclaim,

Whole virtuous deeds bedeck the ruftic
fpor,

Proclaim’d by Truth the afts of honed
fame.

The frowns of Fortune lately threaten’d
hard

To rob their humble roof of virtuous
wealth’;

Bat Iieav’n, in kindnefs, their afSift ion

1 (par’d.

And fmiling Peace return’d to aged
Health.

Their only daughter, beauteous Ellen
nam'd.

Unknown to art, fcarce Tcap’d Orlan¬
do’s wiles ;

Seduc’d from home, by villain arts de¬
tain’d,

Her aged parents rcbb’d of Virtue’s
fmiles :

’Till deeping Virtue vtak’d in Ellen’s
bread,

Rous’d the fine feelings of a tender
mind :

The blufli. of confcious guilt each look
exprefs’d :

She fled Orlando, for her parents kind.

Return’d, reclaim’d, each former fault
forgot.

As aged friends forgive the faults of
youth,

The merry villagers all crowd the cot,

And welcome Ellen in the paths of
Tiuth.

Kings lan cl, Ait gu ft \ , 1803. " J.M.

NIGHT.

TJ Alt, Night! congenial to the cheer-
■*"*' lefis heart,

Shed thy deep umber o’er my carev
> /Worn mind ;

That my perceptions, like thy fhadows
dark,

No trace of former happmefs may
find.

Then memory no more this bread (hall
warm, [delight;

Painting pad feenes of rapture and

. ...»

Nor glowing vinons dial! my f&tibf
.charm,. J

Flulh’ cl with the glare of Day’s obtru-
five light.

Once in full confidence I fought re pole.

And yielded to affedfion my fond ft ui,

’Till -painful doubts in this fad bo.fom
rofe,

And dark fufpicion o’er my reafop
dole.

Of peace bereft, I hd.il Night’s darkeft
lhade,

. To hide my anguifli e’en from Pity’s
eye ;

For hope is fled, and life’s gay dream
mud fade ;

Dark is my fate, and dark the lowering
Iky.

Farewell each blifsfui feene that charm’d
my fight ;

The voice of Friendlhip foothes not
now mine ear :

Dead is my heart to every foft delight :

Life’s current ebbs — check’d is rhe
falling tear. E. W.

A CANZONET.

EASE, Corydon, ceafe to reprove; -
^ It our fcandal lhali never prevail ;
The charming de^rgirl that i love
Would laugh fliould I mention your
tale.

You fay (lie ’s too forward and gay,

And prattles with every fwatn :

But her kindnefs thefe only difplay;

So now you ’ve an anfwer again.

Oh, had you but feen the fair maid,

When fil'd for her beauties 1 figh’d ! 9
Like mine, had your heartbeen betray’d,
Like me, for her love would have died.

Lad Michaelmas-day, from our fair,

I conducted the nymph to her cot :

Not a fhepherd, I vow, that was there,
But envied my happier jor.

In Phillis each charm is combin’d :

Her cheeks are as red as the rofe ;

Her (kin is as fair as her mind ;

. And her eyes are far blacker than

floes.

How happy the fihepherd mud be !

But, hold ! I mud finifb my long;
For, Corydon, Corydon, fee,

My charmer comes tripping along.
■dugtft 3s 1S0 3. IAKOBOS-

[ 441 ]

FOREIGN NEWS.

Conjlantinople , June 6.

N the 26th of laft month the porte
received a courier, difpatched by
the commander in chief in Egypt, with
the intelligence, no lefs difagreeable than
unexpected, that the city of Alexandria
has been taken from the Turks. That
important place is at prefent in the
power of a corps of Albanians. Thefe
troops, the braveft and molt refoiute of
the Ottoman army, compoled, with'
others, the garrifon of Alexandria 5 for
feveral months they had received no
pay, and all their reprefentations on the
fubjefl were unavailing. The Arnauts,
becoming impatient, made their officers
co.^ubl them to the refidence of the
pacha of Alexandria, who, from fear,
inflantly forwarded an order to the
tefterdar, or paymafler-general, for the
payment of the arrears. Provided with
this order they repaired to the tefterdar,
who redded at fome diflance from Alex¬
andria. The latter, in a haughty tone,
refufed payment, alleging that he had
no funds. This proceeding fo irritated
the Arnauts, that, after treating the tef¬
terdar, and all thole who were with him,
with cruelty, thev conducted him in
chains to Alexandria. At the approach
of the rebels, the commandant ordered
all the other troops of the garrifon under
arms; the gates were fhut, and the guns
pointed againfl the mutineers. The
latter, roufed to fury, fwore that they
would conquer or die : they advanced
with fome ladders, and other inflruments
of attack, picked up in hafte, (baled the
fortifications of the city, where terror
and confternation were already fpread ;
and, in ihort, the rebels made themfelves
mailers, in a few hours, of the important
fortrefs of Alexandria, fortified by the
French, and after them by the Englilh,
The pacha made his efcape, with feveral
of his partifans, by a gate oppofite to
that by which the afiailants entered.
The military cheft fell into the hands of
the Arnauts, and a number of the inha¬
bitants became victims to their furv.
Vol. XXXIV.

The taking of Alexandria by the rebels
may, in the prefent (late of affairs, have
very important refults with refpeCt to
the whole of Egypt. The porte is
anxious to employ all the means in its
power for the reconqueft of Alexandria ;
and the captain pacha will haflen his
departure, with the fleet under his com¬
mand, in order to accompliih this im¬
portant objeCt.

Hague , July z. The king of England
having refufed to ratify the convention
concluded with general Mortier and the
Hanoverian government, and it being
confequently refolved to difarm tKe
Hanoverian troops, and treat them as
prifoners of war, general. Defloles has
fet out for Hanover, in order to concert
fuch meafures with general iClortief as
the prefent circum fiances may require.
It is aifo thought not improbable that
the armv of defence, that is collecting
at Dave nter will alfomarch for Hanover.

We are informed that a law is imme¬
diately to be promulgated, prohibiting
the importation and fale of every kind
whatever of Englilh. goods: it is not,
however, known, whether this prohibi¬
tion is to extend to colonial produce.
Another law, alfo under dikuffion, has
for its objeCt to prohibit the exportation
of corn, vegetables,

The commiffion, compofed of per Tons
interefted in the fa fineries, authorifed by
government to claim the reflitution of
the boats that have been taken by the
Englilh, and to demand an an m ok fled
exercife of fiilimg, have failed in a flag
of truce : it is not expected here that
the demand will be in the lead complied
with.

Lauenburgb , July z. On 'the 30th of
June, general Leopold Berthier, with
fome attendants, arrived at Hohnftorff,
and was conducted bv certain Hanove-
rian fluff-officers to an interview with
field-marflial Walmoden-Gimborn. —
After a conference with ma Thai '.Vail-
moden, the French general was conduct¬
ed back to the ferry by lieutenant-colo-

442

Foreign News.

nel Von Bock. He returned the fame
evening to Lunenburgh. It is believed,
that general Berthier demanded, that
the horfes, arms, and artillery of the
Hanoverian army Ihouid be immediately
furrendered to the French j and thatAhe
common Soldiers of the Hanoverian
army ihouid fubmit to go, prifoners of
war, to France, lyiarfhal Walmoden
Is underftood to have replied, that Since
his Britannic majefty had not ratified
the convention of Suhlingen, the Hano¬
verian army was not farther bound by
it, and would expend the laft drop of its
Wood fooner than fubmit to fuch condi¬
tions.

Holjlein, July 4. On account of the
prefent hate of things in Lauenburgh,
the Danish cordon of troops on the con¬
fine between Holftein and Lauenburgh
las received a reinforcement of one
thoufand troops.

By the laft accounts, a new negocia-
tion has begun between, the French and
the Hanoverians, and the hope of peace
returns

Amjlerdam , July 4. We are informed
that the French government has de¬
manded, in the moft precife manner, that
Similar meafures Should be taken in this
republic as thole adopted in France, to
prevent evsry kind of communication,
direfct or indirect, with England. —
It is expedLd that the exportation of
every kind of provisions wilt be Severely
prohibited : orders are already given for
the examination of vtffels at their failing,
and for fequeftrating all thofe whofe
papers are not conformable to regulation,
&£.

Hague, July sz.Meffrs. Six, jacobfon,
and Blanked,, who were fent to Paris
about fix weeks fince from the Batavian
government, returned hither this day.
It is laid that the objedt of their nego¬
tiations will be committed to the com-
KHliioners of State who are deputed to
meet the firft conful at Bruffels. —
There have been lately Some new move¬
ments amonglt the French and Batavian
troops in this country. A camp has
been formed in North Holland, and
another nearer to the frontier. There
isalfo a report of forming a fecond corps
referve in the province of O very del.
The former of thefe plans will certainly
be carried into effedf ; the fecond is more
doubtful, as it owed its origin to fome
difficulties which kudarifea iu Hanover,

but which are now completely deie
away.

Milan , July 17. Admiral Nelfon has
fent Several Ships, that were about to
enter the port of Naples, to Malta. —
The Englifh take all veSTels bound for
ports which are in poSTeSfion of the
French.

Tonningen , July 23 . In confequence ef
the blockade of the Elbe, there have
put in here forty -fix Ships that were
bound for Hamburgh, five for Gluek-
ftadt, five for Altona, &c.

Copenhagen, July 23. Our troops in
HolSlein Still continue to hold the posi¬
tions which they had taken contiguous
to the Hanoverian frontier.

Since the beginning of this month,
not fewer than 1294 Ships having Enter¬
ed the Sound. Of theie three huhdred
are EngliSh. Here are now three Eng¬
lish frigates, a Sloop of war, an armed
ihip, and two cutters.

Mr. Lifton, the English minister, had
an audience of the king on the 15th inft.

No RuSlIan fleet has yet appeared
here.

Wefmer, July 26. This town, formerly
a poSfelfton of the duke of Mecklenburg
t Schwerin, but transferred by the treaty
of Weffphaiia to the crown of Sweden,
is to be reftored to Mecklenburg
Schwerin, by a treaty which will be ra¬
tified at Hamburgh on the 15th of Au-
guft. The fum to be paid to Sweden
is one million two hundred and fifty
thouSand rix-doliars, of which an instal¬
ment of three hundred and fifty thou-
fand rix-dollars will be paid August 15.

Paris , July 26. Bonaparte is Still tha
declared head of the army of England.
Some change, however, has been made
in his Staff. General Berthier is to be
chief, and Deffolles fecond, in command,
Petiet, the counfelior of State, is name-d
director of the military adminiftratio*,
and general Donzelot is to command
that part of the army which extends
from Cherbourg to Dunkirk. The lieu¬
tenant-generals are faid to be Mac-
donald, Mortier, Souk, and Belliard.

Since the fir ft conful has infpedted the
coaSts and the different ports of Flanders, v
the labours of the dock-yards are in *
date of great activity. The construc¬
tion of gun- boats as well as of flat-bot¬
tomed boats k going on at Offend and
Bruges. The fame is to begin vvith&yt
delay at Ghent, Eclufe, Antwerp, 3rd-

Foreign News * 443

fels, Louvain, Dieft, and the other towns
of Belgium. Some frigates are alfo to
be built and armed at Oftend, Bruges,
and Antwerp. Every thing now bears
I warlike 3fpe6t in thofe provinces.

A number of dock-yards are eftablilh-
ed on the borders of the Seine, from
Rouen to Candeber. There every where
prevails an extraordinary activity, which
no pains are Spared to augment.

Augujl i. That part of the fquadron
from St. Domingo which was expected,
and which confided of five fail of the
Jine, commanded by rear-admiral Be-
dout, happily arrived the 16th ult. The
frigate Dido, difpatched from Guada-
loupe, arrived at the fame time.

We are allured that the firfi: conful
will remam but a fhort time at Paris,
and that he will immediately vifit the
coafts of Brittany. Admiral Truguet is
named admiral of the fleet at Bred.

Adrrrral Bruejx is appointed to com¬
mand the expedition preparing at Bou¬
logne.

The fquadron from St. Domingo is
arrived at Corunna.

The arrival of the conful Lebrun, at
Bruffels, is confidered as a prefage of
the renewal of an important negociation,
which will be carried on there, where a
congrefs wiM be held, if England, open¬
ing her eyes to her intercds, and forget¬
ting her animofiry, will at length accept
the mediation of the principal powers of
the North.

The court of Sweden has publifhed its
accelfion to the convention concluded
two years ago, between Ruffia and Eng¬
land, relative to the commerce and navi¬
gation of neutrals in time of war.

Letters from Brulfels fay, that M.
Lombard, privy-counfellor to the king
of Prulfia, has offered the mediation of
his court, conjointly with that of Rulfia,
to endeavour to effect a pacification be¬
tween France and England. Time mud
fhew what foundation there is for this
intelligence.

From Peterfburgh we learn, that a
fleet is fitting out with gre tt expedition
at Cronfladt. It confids of twenty fail
of the line and feveral frigates. The
corps of artillery in garrifon at Peterf¬
burgh has had orders to hold themfelves
in readinefs. It is laid that they are to
be embarked, but there is no certainty
as to their dedmation. There will be
this year, towards the end of fummer,

grand manoeuvres in the neighbourhood
of Krafnofclo.

Deventer, Augujl 5. To-morrow, and
the following dav, the whole camp of
Batavian troops on Gorfell-hea'h will
break up and march to Breda and Gan-
da, and the French troops will march
from our vicinity, which will be a very
agreeable relief to the inhabitants of the
country.

Hague , Augujl 6. Vice-admiral De
Winter has arrived fafe in the Texel
from Ferrol, on board a fhip under Pruf-
flan colours. He yederday came to the
Hague, and was prefent at the council of
marine. The ihip which brought him
was four times vifited by the Englifh,
but they did not reeognife the admiral.

The French army of referve, which
was to occupy a camp on Gorfel-heath,
will not now be formed, unlefs fome
unexpected occurrences take place. —
The 104th demi-brigade belonging to
that army has received orders to march
to Ter Goes, and fome Dutch troops,
which were to join the fame army, have
received orders to march to Nimeguen
and other places.

A camp of eight thoufand men will
be formed at Gouda.

Our ftate commilfion, which was fent
to Brulfels, has returned, as has the
French ambaflador Semonville.

Citizen Scrnmmelpenninck is likewife
returned from Bruffels, and the report
that he was immediately to be placed at
the head of our government is not yet
confirmed. He is gone to Hoorn, to
receive his lady, who has returned from
London, and is now there. It is now
faid that he will go as commilfioner ex¬
traordinary to Paris. As it is fufpe&ed
that the Englilh have fome hoftile de-
figns on Zealand, the number of French
troops there will be augmented to ten
thouland men.

All our maritime villages are provided
with ftrong guards of cavalry and in¬
fantry. A flrong military guard marches
every day from hence to Scheveningen,
being daily relieved, and at night re*»
inforced with a piquet.

The minifter at war, Pyman, has
returned with his attendants from the
tour he has made, to infpeft into the
preparations carrying on for the defence
of the republic.

There is a report that the French
troops at the Hague will be withdrawal
5 L 1

[ 444 ]

HOME NEWS.

Dublin , 'July 25.

N Saturday evening, about half paft
eight o’clock, a body of rebels ap¬
peared in Thomas and James’s Greets, to
the number of five thoufand, regularly
armed, and marching in regular order
for the cafile. Juft at that time lord
Kilwarden, who had been at his country -
houfe (about five miles from town),
hearing of the rljing (while at his din¬
ner), was determined to quit the country
and come to town ; and, ordering his
carriage, let off with his nephew and
daughter. On coming to the canal, he
faw a great mob on the banks of it, be¬
tween him and town: he then ordered
the coachman to drive through Thomas-
ftreet; and, unfortunately for himfelf,
drove into the centre of the rebels, who
pulled him out of the carriage, and
piked him in eight places. His nephew
thought to efcape by jumping out of the
carriage and running away, but he was
followed and murdered. This delay,
dreadful as the murder was, is conlider-
ed to have faved the cafile, as it gave time
for a corps' of the Liberty Rangers to get
fome men together, and attack them, in
the event of which there was one officer
and fix or feven men killed, and the
whole would have been put to death but
Tor a part of the 62b regiment, who
were quartered in a barrack not far
from Thomas-ftreet, coming up : the
rebels then gave way, running i,n every
direction, leaving eight or nine men dead
only. The rebels killed fo,me gentle¬
men, whofe names I forget. Lieute¬
nant-colonel Browne, of the 31ft regi¬
ment, is. killed, and a captain Cole, late
of the fame regiment of dragoons, is fo
badly wounded, as not expedited to reco¬
ver — he is an Englifh gentleman.

Government have been fince very ac¬
tive, and difeovered depots of various
kinds ; in one are taken thirty thoufand
pikes; in others, ammunition to a great
amount, and made up for various pur-
pofes, all after the French plan : in
ffiorr, the quantity is beyond the idea of

any perfon. There was a trifling riling,
it is juft now rumoured, in Belfaft.

It is faid there are two bodies of rebels
now in open arms in the county of Kil¬
dare ; one body of them had poffeifion
of Celbridge and May north on Saturday
night ; but, we hear, they have with-
diawn to the hills, finding their friends
did not fucceed in this town. We do
not know what has occurred in the
country yet.

The rebels put forward two procla¬
mations.

Belfaft, July 26. Some flight fymp-
toms of infurreftion having been difeo¬
vered in this neighbourhood, the neceffa-
ry precautions have been taken for the,
defence of this town. Every thing, how¬
ever, is quiet ; and, whatever may be
the /whiles of the difaffe&ed, the vigi¬
lance and ftrength of the loyalifts are
fuch as muft deter from attack.

Dublin, July 28. A party of the Law¬
yers’ Corps onTuefd.ay feized a number
of pikes in the timber-yard of Donnel-
lan, in Baggor-flreet. They were con¬
cealed in pieces of timber, like thofe
which were difeovered on the Coal-quay.

The fame day a party of the Attor¬
neys’ Corps feized a quantity of ball-
cartridges, powder, and fheet-lead, at
the houfe of one Ilinchy, a grocer, at
the corner of Cuffe-lfreet. He denied
having fuch things in his houfe, when
queftioned before the fearch. The
powder was found fecreted among large
tea-canifters, and fome of the ball-car¬
tridges in the drawer of the table at
which he took his meals. Hinchy was
taken into cuftody, and is now in the
Provoft prifon, ami the ammunition, &cc.
brought away on cars. Mod of the
pikes which have been recently difeo¬
vered are upon the conftrudtion of flat
hold-fafts. The defign of this, it is
likely, was, that if any of the mifereants
were detected making them, they might
allege they were befpoke work for 1 ale
at ironmongers.

There are above one hundred prifon»

Home News .

445

ers in the Provoft gaol, charged with
rebellious practices. Two of the lervants
of the lord mayor are among them ;
alfo one Ryan, a coal-fattor ; Cophlan,
an umbrella-maker, from the qir v ;
and a young man of the name of Ma¬
guire (fon of an opulent perfon in the
city), who was taken in the drefs of a
lailor ; moft of the rdf are ccp-ntry-
looking ruffians, helpers of ftables, and
other perlons of f ch low defcriptton,

London , July g.%. Two hundred car¬
penters employee bv governmen mart -
ed in a bodv, on Monday tall, from die
yard of Mr. Copeland, builder, in St,
Martin’s-Lne, to She. rnets. where they
are to re Pupped tor Gibraltar, to hudd
barracks for tne aecorn mod anon of the
troops. Their com rad is f r twenty-
eight {hilling1 a week, and to be lent
home again tree of expence. Much fa-
tisfahtion appeared among them at the
nature of the tervice on which they
were employed.

29. A few days ago a little boy, about
twelve years of age, playing among feme
of the new buildings at Camden Town,
fell into a well, in which there was
near twelve feet depth of water, and
for fome time fupported himfelf from
finking by clinging to the brick-work,
but at length, being quite exhaufted,
and no one coming to his afiiftance, he
funk, and it was a confideruble time be¬
fore the body was got out of the water,
when there was evidently a temporary
fufpenfion of life ; but Mr. Andrews,
the furgeon, coming paft at the time,
immediately ufed the means recommend¬
ed by the Humane Society, and was fo
fortunate as to reftore the youth to life
and his perfedt fenfes in the courfe of a
tew hours.

Cork, July 30. The prefent circum-
fta nces appear to require that we fhould
mention, for the information of the
country, the hate of this city and
county ; and we have the iatisfaclion to
lay, that we cannot remember any pe¬
riod of greater tranquillity than now
prevails in this city and the neighbour¬
hood, notwithftanciing two perfons of
confiderable eminence in trade have this
day been fully committed to the New
Gaol, on changes of high-treafon. Such
was the confidence of the magiftracy,
that thefe perfons were efcorted to prilon
only by the fheriffr, one conftable, and
two foldieu.

London , July 30. Difpatches were re¬
ceived laft night by lord Hawkefbury,
and at the A hniralty, containing intelli¬
gence of the capture of the illand of Sr.
Lucie.

The orders to commence hoftilities
were received at Barbadoes by general
Greenfield on the 17th of May. An
expedition was fitted our, and on the
20th at ni fh: the fort of Morne Fortunee
was carried by alfaiilt, and the illand of
St. Lucie was taken. Our lols in killed
has n ,t been great, but leveral officers
have been wounded.

The Pur and Tower guns were
fired at noon.

Auguft 1. Fridav night, about feven
o’clock, a young man, about eighteen
years of ag , went into a pond between
Somers Town and pancras, to bathe,
when he was loon entangled by fome
weeds, and drowned. A middle-aged
man coming accidentally by, immediate¬
ly threw off his clothes, except his
breeches and flocking . and leaped into
the pond, when, after affording all the
afiiftance he could, he alfo got entangled
in the .weeds and di (appeared. His body
was taken out in about twenty minutes,
and carried to a neighbouring public-
houfe, where means were ufed for his
recovery. Tut without effect. It was

td * I

above two hours before the other body
could be found; a third man, who ven¬
tured for the prefervation of the two
former, was near (haring a fimilar fate;
but having a rope tied round his body,
he was drawn out.

P&rtfmoutb, Augujl%. Yefterday even¬
ing this town and the whole country
around were in a ftate of war-whoop,
in confequence of a fignal from the fig-
nahpofl, at St. Catherine’s, Hie of
Wight, announcing £ that the enemy
were on the coaft in flat-bottomed boats.*
The volunteers of this town, Portfea,
and neighbourhood, were affembled on
the glacis to be formed into companies,
when a meffenger arrived with a letter
to general Whitelock, who was on the
ground, communicating the event ; he
immediately called the officers tog ther,
and defired that when three guns fhould
be fired from the platform they were to
be armed with fuch weapons as they
fhould think themfelves moft capable of
ufing, ‘ iu order to meet our moft daring
and implacable foe, who was on our
coaft.’ The general then left the ground.

446

Home News.

clifpatched melTengers to all the coaft
along, ordered the guns round the batte¬
ries to be loaded, ail the recruits in the
garrifon to receive their arms, and indeed
every rneafure was adopted that the na¬
ture of the event feem to demand. The
flat-bottomed boats were armed, man¬
ned, and out of the harbour, in fo fhort
fc {pace of time, as does the mod infinite
credit to captain O’Brien and the of¬
ficers under him.

Admiral Holloway fhifted his flag
from the Gladiator to the Magnificent,
of 74 guns, captain Jervis, at St. He¬
len’s. and pm to fea, with the Orpheus,
captain Hill : Galatea, captain Heath-
cote ; and the Starling gun-brig, lieut.
Guyon. After repeated guns were fired
from the I fie of Wight, confirming the
flgna!, lights hoifled on eminences, fig-
»ak repeated from the admiral’s Ihip'to
the telegraph, and from thence to the
next telegraph ; every man momentarily
expe&ing his fervices to be peremptorily
demanded; and the inhabitants of the
town kept in the moft alarming fufpenfe
ail night ; the fignal was annulled, by
faying, * It was a fleet of coafters, in
company with feverai American ftiips !’
The ftiips which put to fea are fince
returned, and the flat-bottomed boats
are moored in the harbour.

15. Their royal highneflfes the dukes
of York and Cambridge, and attendants,
with the general, admirals, and cap¬
tains, paid a vifit on board his majefty’s
fhip Britannia, of icq guns, in the har¬
bour, commanded by the right hon.
William earl of Northefk. Upon their
royal highneflfes getting on board, the.
ftandard was difplayed at the maft-head,
and a falute fired in honour of the royal
vilitors. Their royal highneflfes then
vifited the dock-yard, and infpe&ed
with much fatisfabtion the numerous
body of ufeful artificers in our arfenal,
and recommended to the commilfioner,
fir Charles Saxton, one half-day’s leave
of a b fence from their duty for the
workmen of every department in the
yard, which has accordingly taken place.
At half pa ft twelve their royal high-
neflfes took leave of this place, with their
attendants, in three x pofl-chaifes and
four, to proceed, it is thought, imme¬
diately to Southampton, and from thence
to the Ille of Wight.

London, Aug u ft 15. Captain Hallowed
arrived this morning at the Admiralty,

with the pleafing' intelligence of the fur-
render of Tobago to his majefty’s arms.
As foon as the capture of St. Lucia had
been effebled, the troops failed, underthe
command of general Greenfield, againft
Tobago, which was taken, we under-
ftand, without any lofs,on the 30th June.

The Park and Tower guns were fired
on the occafion at one o’clock.

Saturday the lord-mayor received in¬
formation from the office of the right,
hon. lord Pelham, of feverai perfuns
fufpebted to have a treafonabie corre-
fpondence with the rebels in Ireland ; in
conlequence of which his lordfhip lent
ieverai of his officers about two o’clock
to the houfe of a Mr. Willes, an en¬
graver, in 'LeadenhalUftreet, in which
they apprehended a Mr. Thomas Claf-
lon, who had given Mr. Willes an order
for a large leal, the fize of a crown-
piece, with the motto of ‘ Erin g$
bragb .’ A Mr. Davis, another engraver,
was likewife taken up, having been con¬
cerned in this 'bufinefs. They all three
underwent feparately a long private ex¬
amination before the lord-mavor, Mr.
King, of the Alien-office, fir Pv. Ford, and
feverai other Middlesex mag fixates.
Mr.Ciaffon confeflfed givingtheorder for
this feal, which, he laid, he was going
to ule in his trade as a merchant, which
he carries on to a great extent, undtr
the firm of Claftbn and Jamcfon, in
Btirr-ftrecr, Aldgate. Several boxes of
papers were brought from this gentle¬
man’s houle to the Manfion- houfe,
where they have been undergoing a ltr;ct
invelligation, and lome of which are
laid to be of feditious tendency. It ap¬
pears this gentleman had been an officer
of the Middlelex militia ; is a native of
Ireland, from w hich he had made a pre¬
cipitate retreat fome time fince, not with
the moft immaculate charabler ; and the
name of Jamefon, added to die firm of
his houle, lie calls a relation of his wife’s.,
but no fuch perfon is to be found. He
was ordered into clofe confinement on
Saturday, and no perfon fuffered to lee
him but in the prefence of the gaoler,
nor any letters to go to or from him
without examination.

Dublin, Augufi 16. Saturday laft, Mr.
Philip Long, of this city, merchant, was
taken intocuftcdy, at his houfe in Crow,
ftreet, by the fuperintendent magiftrate,
on a charge of ledicious practices* and is
rail detained.

Births*— Marriages* 447

BIRTHS.

July 22. In Orchard-ftreet, the lady
<af H. M, Goold, efq. of a fon and heir.

23. Mrs. George Meredith, Notting¬
ham -place, of a fon.

26. At her father’s houfe, in Biker-
fireet, Poftman-fquare, the lady of cap¬
tain Sober, of a daughter.

29. In Bloomfbury-fquare, the right
honourable lady Ellenborough, of a fon.

In Dublin, lady A.M. Cotton, of a fon.

The lady of Jofeph Blandford, efq. of
the Inner Temple, of a daughter.

At Great Henney Parfonage, the wife
•f the rev. Charles Andrews, of twins,
a fon and daughter, all likely to do well.

31. Mrs. Pariih, of Guildford-ftreet,
•f a daughter.

Auguft 4. The lady of Geo. Lynn, efq.
#f Southwick-hall, Northamptonlhire,
©f a daughter.

8. The lady of Charles Abbott, efq.
Queen ’s-iquaie, Bioomfoury, of a fon.

At Twickenham, the lady of John
Dean Paul, efq. of a fon.

9. At Bell- Vue, in the Ille of Wight,
the lady of G. Ward, efq. of a daughter.

1 1. The lady of commiffioner Otway,
• fa fon.

Airs. Grant, of Wreft-fquare, of a
daughter.

At Stepney-fquare, the lady of A. W.
White, efq. of a daughter.

12. The moft noble the marchionefs
of Winchetler, at Rupert-houle, of a fon.

16. Lady [.Long, Hill-ftreet, of a fon.

17. The hon. Mrs. Barnard, in Hill-
Street, Berkeley-fquare, of a daughter.

The lady of M. Lewis, efq. of York-
ftreet, Weftminfter, of a fon.

MARRIAGES.

July 1 5. Wm. Bolland, efq. of Knaref-
borough, to ndfs Kempfter, of Chelfea,

28. R. Robinfun, efq. New Bond-
ftreet, tomifs Robfon, eldeft daughter of
J. Robfon, efq. Conduit-ftreet.

Mr. Day, lblicitor, of Gerrard-ftreer,
Soho, to mifs Mary French, of Dover-
ftreer, daughter of the late provoft
French, of Glafgow.

The rev. H. Longden, redtorof Rock-
bourne, Hants, tomifs Davies, Homerton.

Auguji 1. John Harvey Tucker, e(q.
of the Middle Temple, eldeft fon of the
hon. James T ucker, of Bermuda, to mils
Mary Browne, youngeft daughter of the

lute William Browne, efq. formerly
governor of that iftand. «,

2. Marlhal Benner, efq. of London, ta
mifs Eliza Cooke, daughter of Mrs.
widow Ifaac Cooke, of Briftol.

4. At his grace the duke of Hamilton"*
houfe, in Grofvenor-piace, the right hon.
lady Sufan Hamilton, to lord vifeount
Fincaftle.

Sir Hungerford Holkyns, baronet, of
Harewood, Herefordlhire, to mifs Phi¬
lips, youngeft daughter of John Philips,
efq. at his houfe, Bank, Lancalhire,

John Keate, efq. of Eton-college, t®
mifs E. Brown, daughter of Dr. C.
Browa, of Berlin.

5. John Iggulden, efq. of Dodtors-
commons, to mifs Gotobed, only daugh¬
ter of John Gotobed, efq. of Littlt
Sion-houfe, Middlefex.

John Sirapfon, efq. of Portland-place,
and of Fair Lawn, near Sevenoaks, Kent,
to mifs Barker, daughter of Rube re
Barker, efq. of Croydon.

6. Tho. Braddyl, efq. to mifs France*.
Chefter, of Hampton, Middlefex.

Mr. Maitland Falcon, banker, ia
Workington, to mifs Chriftian, of Wig.
more-ftreet, eldeft daughter of Air. Jo-
feph Chriftian, of the Strand.

'9. The rev. J. Smith, chaplain to the
hon. Houfe of Commons, and ftudent of
Chrift-church, to mifs Anne Barnett,
youngeft daughter of the late hon. VvV
Barnett, of the illand of Jamaica.

10. T. Billington, efq. of Baker-ftreer,
Poftman-fquare, to Mrs. Ford, widow
of the late John Ford, efq. of Sunburv.

1 1. Philip Roche, efq. of Limerick, to
the hon. Anne Plunkett, youngeft daugh¬
ter of the right hon. lord Dunfany.

Th« bifnop of Limerick, to mif*
Roflewin.

Abel John Ram, efq. eldeft fon of col.
Ram, M. P. for the county of Wexford,
to Frances A. Port, youngeft daughter of
J. Port, efq. of Ham-ball, Stafford (hire.

Charles Langford, efq. fon of the rev.
Dr. Langford, to mifs Penrice, daughter
of Edward Penrice, efq. of Droitwich*
Worcefterfhire.

n. The rev. William Page, fecond
mailer of Weftminfter-fchoo!, and ftu¬
dent of Chrift-church, Oxford, to mifs
Mary Davis, fecond daughter of Tho¬
mas Davis, efq. of Bicefter, Oxon.

George Nigel Raynsford, efq. of Lin-
coluVinn, to mifs Catherine Peers, fe-

443

Deaths.

cOnd daughter of Robert Peers, efq. of
Chifteharnpton-lodge, Oxfcrdfhire.

t}. At the duchefs of BuccLugh’s, at
Richmond, by the dean of GlouCefter,
and a fpecial licence, fir Charles Dou¬
glas, bart. to lady Caroline Montagu.

E. Lumby, efq. to mils Phillips, of
Roxby-lodge, Surrey..

David Ogilvv, efq. of Cockfofter, in
the county of Middlefex, to Mrs. Ra-e,
of Ladyfield-place, Edinburgh.

Matthew White Ridley, efq. eldeft foil
of fir M. W, Ridlev, bart. member of
parliament for Newcafqr- upon -Tyne,
to mifs Laura Hawkins, .hr gbtgr of the
late George Edward Hawkhr, elq.

16. W. J. Stretton, efq. of Fitzroy -
fquare, to mifs Glover, daugmtr of the
rev. R. Glover, of Dean’s-yard, Weft-
minfter.

The rev.T. B. Stirling, of Strabane,
Ireland, to mifs Eliza Hall, lecond
daughter of capt. W. Hall, of Shepper-
ton, late of the hon. Eaft-India compa¬
ny’s fervice.

In Scotland, Dr. J. Stoddart, his raa-
jefty’s advocate in the Admiralty of
Malta, to mifs Ifabella MoncreifF, eldeft
daughter of fir H. MoncreifF, bart. of
Wellwood.

17. Captain Alex. Francis Baillie, of
the rsyal navy, to Mrs. Elizabeth Gor¬
don, of New Town, Edinburgh.

18. The hon. John Dutton, fon of the
right hon. lord Sherborne, to the hon.
mifs Legge, only daughter of the right
hon. lord Staweli.

DEATHS.

July 18. At Albano, near Rome, in the
73d year of his age, the right hon. and
right rev. the earl of Briftol, lord.bilhop
of Derry. He is fucceeded in ms title
and eftates by his only furviving fon,
lord Hervey.

19. At Cheltenham, mifs Elizabeth
Bentham, only daughter of the late rev.
Edward Bent h,am, D.D. canon of Chrift-
church, Oxford, and Regius ProfdFor of
Divinity in that univeriity.

26. At his houfe, in Upper Brocdc-
ftreet, Grofvenor-fquare, George Rufh,
efq. of Farthinghoe, in the county of

Northampton, formerly a captain in the
Middlefex militia.

At Tooting, Mrs. Jane Hotchkifs,
late of Forty-hill, Enfield.

At her houfe, at Hampftead, Mrs.
Debaufre, widow, aged 74 years.

That ingenious arrift, James Malton,
efq. of Norton- ftreet, St. Mary-le-bone.

27. The rev. Matthew Ken rick,
LL, D. rector of Bletchingly, Surrey.

29. At her Ion’s houfe, at South-
Lain bet h, aged 82, Mrs. Alexander, re¬
lict of Mr. Shelton Alexander, of Nor¬
wich, and daughter of the late Henry
Stubbing, D. D. chancellor of Sarum.

Au'gujh 1. At Queen-ftreet, Weftmin-
fter, Mr. William Woodfall.

At Dublin, after a ftiort illnefs, mifs
Rigg, eldeft daughter of Mr. Rigg,
formerly of Sulfex.

±. At Carmarthen, John Phillips, efq.
barrifter-at-law.

3 . At Whitehall, near Briftol, after a
long and painful illnefs, the rev. Charles
Page, of Northleach, Gloucefterlhire.

5. At Sandgare, in Kent, in the 18th
year of her age, after a long and painful
illnefs, which was fupported with exem¬
plary patience, mifs Mary Bella nd, 4th
daughter of Mr. Bolland, of Ciapham.

John Chalie, efq. of Bedford-fquare.

Mr. Shelley, of Wimbledon, Surrey,
and Mincing-lane, London, father to
the lady of Mr. Garthfhore, one of the
lords of the Admiralty.

7. At Hoddefdoh, Herts, Benjamin
Henfhaw, efq. fon of the late rev. Jofeph
Henlhaw, reibor of High Ongar, Effex.

9. In Manc’nefter-fquare, the lady of
William Garthfhore, M. P. for Wey¬
mouth, having fuddenly loft her father
a few days before.

j%. At Walthamftow, in the 17th year
of her age, mifs Eliza Phipps, fecond
daughter of Mr. Phipps, of Copthall-
court, Throgmorton-ftreet.

14. In White-horfe-ftreet, RatclifFe,
at a very great age, and the oldeft in the
Greenland trade, being fifty years in it,
captain R. Waterhoufe, who, in his life¬
time, frequently faid, that he furvived
every commander in the trade twice
over.

THE

LADY’S MAGAZINE,

E NTER T A IN ING CO MPA NI Q$f

FOR

THE FAIR SEX;

•3£

-ft

appropriated .

SOLELY TO THEIR USE AND AMUSEMENT.

For SEPTEMBER, 1303.

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

t Morad and Zoraida j an Eaftern Tale,

45r

^ Memoirs of Solomon Geffner, . . .454

3 Anecdote, . 456

4 A Morning’s Walk in September, 457

5 Anecdotes of Kang-Hi, Emperor of

China... . . 458

6 Critical Obfervations on the Novel of

‘ Tom Jones,’ . 459

7 Improved Tooth-Powder and Biuihes,

469

8 Maxims of Lewis XVI., . 470

9 On Good Manners, . 476

10 Matilda : a Drama, . 477

11 The Moral Zoologift, . 481

•

486

12 Panfian and London Fafliions _

13 Heroic Behaviour of Madame Ltt~

vergne, . 487

14 Hiftory of Sophia M., . 490

15 Poetic al Essays : — The Manlion

ot Health. Epilogue to the ‘ Maid
of Briftol.* Addrefs, on the open¬
ing of Covent - Garden Theatre.
Contentment. An Elegiac Tribute
to the Memory of a Favourite Cat.
The Nautilus and the Flying-Fiih,
a Fable. Lines on the providential
Efeape of Benjamin Hills, &c.. 493

16 Foreign News, . ....497

17 Home News, . . j00

This Number is embellifhed with the following Copper ■'plates;

1 Morad and Zoraida.

2 For the Moral Zoologist — The NIGHTINGALE— THROSTLE.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 New and elegant Pattern for a Gown or Apron, &c.

^ MUSIC— The Poor Soldier’s Petition.

LONDON :

Printed for G. and J\ ROBINSON \ No. 2$, Paternojler-Rozo ;
Where Favours from Correfpondents continue to be received.

4k.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The continuation of Si«ne and Habor in our next.

The Monks and the Robbers is likewife deferred till next Month.
Lucinda’s EBay is hot forgotten.

_ »

The requett of from Kiiigfland, fhall be attended to.

J. M. L. will find fome of the pieces he mentions in the prefent Num'-
ber : the others will be inferted occalionally.

Invocation to the Mufe — The Bard of Fancy — Stanzas to Eliza — Mid¬
night-— Lines on Defpair- — The Triumph -of Britain — Acrotiic by C. P?*
are received.

> ' ■ ■ ■ ’ ' • /

; ,i ...

i i

■> \ i ' . ■ \ ‘ : ■ - ! -

■' , 1

JE ngraA’ed. for the- XafLy's Magazine .

THE

LADY’S magazine.

For SEPTEMBER, 1803.

MORAD AND ZORAIDA;

OR, THE

VINDICATION OF PROVIDENCE :

AN EASTERN TALE.

( With an elegant Engraving,)

Con of the dud, learn refignation
^ to the difpenfations of Provi¬
dence. Submit with humilitv to

the decrees of Him who called thee
into exifte&ce, nor , daringly cenfure
what thou canft not un-derftand.
Doubt not that, if thou art virtuous,
whatever befals thee will ultimatelv
conduce to thy true happinefs and
real good.

In the city of Bagdad, fo cele¬
brated by the lages of antiquity,
lived Morad, the fon of Ibrahim,
whofe name was an aromatic that
perfumed the remote!! corners of
the eaft. His perfon was noble as
the rifing oak in the foreft, and his
mind pure and unfullied as the me¬
ridian beam of the glorious fun.
His bounty wiped a wav the tear
from the eye of the fatherlefs, nor
did the mourning of the widow pafs
unregarded at his gate. Compla¬
cency and benevolence were ever
feated on his brow, intelligence
beamed in his eye, and every virtue
was natural to his heart. Whoever
faw him admired and praifed him ;
and the more he was known the
more he was relpedted and be¬
loved.

• It chanced one day, as he flrayed
through the edge of a wood, the

tall trees of which cad a delightful
fhade, he difcovered a beautiful
damfel deeping by the fide of a
pellucid rivulet where it formed a
gently murmuring cafcade. Her
veil had fallen in fuch a manner
that it no longer {haded her lovely
face- He hopped, he gazed, he was
enamoured, he was enchanted. Zo-
raida,tbe deeping fair one, for whom
his heart now fo tenderly palpitated,
was the daughter of a rich mer¬
chant of Balfora, who had lately
arrived at Bagdad. She was beau¬
teous as the day; theblulh of the
morning was lefs rofy than her
cheek, and the diamond of Goi-
conda not fo brilliant as her 'eye.
Her bofom was white as the fwan
upon the waters, and gentle as the
murmur of the unruffled dream.
How olt, oh ye groves of Balfora,
have ye re-echoed with the fame of
her beauty ! how oft, oh ye valleys
of Bagdad, have ye refounded with,
her praife ! Ye know that her
voice could enchain the tiger of
the defert, and arreft the wild drag
as he darted from the hill : ye know
that the fpices of Ormus could not
equal the perfume of her breath,
nor the daughters of Paradife excel
her in dignity and grace.

3 M Z

452 Morad and Zoraida ; an Eaftern Tale*

Zoraida had walked out In the
morning to enjoy the beauties of
the fcene not far from her father’s
refldence. When the fun climbed
the vault of Heaven (lie fat down
near the rippling dream, and deep
clofed her lovely eyelids. While
Morad was gazing enraptured on
her, {he awoke, and feeing a (han¬
ger near her, fcreamed aloud.
Morad foon fucceeded in his endea¬
vours to calm her fears, and the
more he convcrfed with her the
more he was delighted. He pre¬
ferred his fuit as a lover ; her heart
approved, her father confented, and
a day was appointed for the cele¬
bration of their nuptials. The im¬
patience of Morad to poflefs the
only object that had ever engrofled
his heart was unbounded, and his
imagination continually banquetted
on the expectation of the felicity
which he was fo foon to enjoy in
her arms. The heart of Zoraida
was not lefs anxious, .and agitated
with plealing hope, though delicacy
clofed her lips. In filence (lie
counted over the days, the hours,
which were to pafs before (lie might
give a loofe to her affeCtions in the
tendered intercourfe with all (lie
held dear, with her beloved, her
adored, Morad.

But, alas ! while the prefent mo¬
ments of thefe tender and mutual
lovers were rendered happy by the
anticipation of the future, an order
arrived for Zoraida to attend the
caliph, whole ears the fame of her
beauty had reached, and who wifhed
to fatisfy himfelf whether the
praifes which rumour fo lavifiily
bellowed on it were deferved.
Neither her religion nor her alle¬
giance would allow her to frame any
caccufe for not attending without
delay at the command of the prince
of the faithful, much lefs admit of a
refolution to difobey. The caliph
was worshipped with an implicit
j*verence by all his fubjects, as the

fucceffor of the holy prophet, Ma¬
homet, and his word was confidered
as the irrevocable decree of fate.
Zoraida, therefore, was immediately
carried, with an anxious and fearful
heart, to the palace ; and, the mo¬
ment flie5was beheld by the caliph,
declared the mod favourite of his
queens.

It is not in the power of language
to deferihe the diftraCtion of the two
lovers, at being thus unexpectedly
torn for ever from each other’s
arms. Morad, when he heard that
his Zoraida had captivated the ca¬
liph, regarded the happinefs of his
life as entirely at an end, and confl-
dered the angel of death as the only
minifter of repofe. During two
whole days and nights he wandered
through the different apartments of
his palace in a date of abfolute
phrenfy, calling, at intervals, in the
mod pa (donate maner, on the name
of his lod Zoraida. On the third
day, becoming fomewhat calmer*
he began to refleCt on all the cir-
cumdances of his pad life, in order to
difeover, if poffible, in what he had
fo much offended the prophet, that
fo fevere a punidtment was inflicted
on him. After long revolving in
his tnind ail the various aCts of his
life which he could recolleCt, and
finding onlyr fome youthful indif-
cretions, which appeared to him
much more than counterbalanced
by a number of meritorious deeds,
he infenfibly fank on his knees, and
began to expofluiate with his
Creator.- —

‘ Oh, thou great author of the
univerfe, who fits enthroned above
the feven heavens, where even the
conception of no prophet but the
holy Mahomet can dare to foar, look
down in mercy on a wretch, who
numbers himfelf with the mod un¬
happy of human beings, though he
has condantly entertained the mod
profound reverence for thy laws.
Tell him, oh thou who art infinitely

Mo rad and Zoraida \ an Eajtern Talc . - 453

exalted, inform him, thou who art
inexpreffibly juft, why he, who has
ever made it his unalterable ftudy
•to deferve thy awful approbation of
his actions, is doomed to fuffer what
the moft impious tranfgreftbr of thy
divine commands would confidently
declare to he too great a punifh-
mem for the moft enormous of his
crimes. 1

Scarcely had he ended when a
bnrft of thunder fhook the palace,
and a blaze of hidden light illumi¬
nated the apartment. Terror feized
Morad, he fell proftrate, and co¬
vered his face with his hands, while
a voice, awful as the trumpet of
Heaven, demanded his attention,
and thus proceeded : — •

4 Ceafe, oh mifitaken man, to
doubt the mercy and juftice of the
lupreme lord of all things, who,
though he afts from motives to
thee unknown, and inflidts feverities
which human ignorance and rafh-
nefs may deem unjuft, is yet ever
watchful for the happinefs of the
virtuous, and perfectly confiftent in
his government of the world. Con-
fider, Morad. that this world is a
tranfiiory bubble, which muft fhort-
lv bur If upon the ocean of time;
that life is at beft but a fhort voyage,
in which every paffenger muft meet
with fome difagreeable gales in or-
der to teach him his dependence on
the hand of infinite goodnefs, and
•enable him to prove himleif worthy
of entering into an everlafting port.
Without fome adverfe ftorms to
ruffle the fea of human exiftence,
the creature would frequently be¬
come forgetful of his creator, and
by that be far more endangered by
the fierceft tempeft. From mercy,
therefore, a variety of fhqals and
quickfands are placed in his way,
which conftantly preferving in him
a fenfe of his dependence on the
divine being in this world, compels
him to fteer his bark ia the -proper

courfe, and enables him to arrive at
endlefs happinefs in the next. But
independent of this general order in
the ftate of things, know, Morad,
that becaufe thou were particularly-
favoured and protefted by Heaven,
it was decreed to fnatch Zoraida
from thy arms. She was, oh man,
thy Offer. Ibrahim, thy father,
journeying to Balfora, had an in¬
trigue with her mother, and fh«
was the offspring of their guilty
commerce. Think not to fay, that
as you were both utterly ignorant
of this you could have committed
no crime ; had your union taken
place, Inch diicoveries would have
been made as would have rendered
y our 1 elf, and her, and bath your
families, moft miferable. The fe-
cret of which you are now in¬
formed has been in like manner dif-
clofed to Zoraida; file fubmits, and
her heart will foon incline to the
caliph, from a union with whom
as much good will be derived as evil
from a marriage with you. Zoraida
is wife and virtuous: the caliph is
too prone to caprice, oppreflion,
and cruelty, . He will mofbpanion-
ately love her, and fhe, by her influ¬
ence over him, will induce him to
perform many good actions, which
otherwife he would not have per¬
formed, and diffufe plenty and hap¬
pinefs over her country., Inftru&ed
thus, bow with fubnmflion. and no
more queftion the wifdom or the
juftice of that providence which
governs the world.’

The voice ceafed,.the light difap-
peared, and Morad arofe from the
ground. He fubdued his paffion,
lived many years in peace and
happinefs, and left many children
who fucceeded to his virtues and
fortune* The eldeft of his tons be¬
came grand vifier to the caliph
Haroun-al-Itafchid, and ordered
tbefe events to be recorded ifi the
chronicles of Bagdad.

454 /Memoirs of Solomon Geffner .

Memoirs of Solomon Gessner,
the celebrated German Writer.

from a nezv Edition of his Works in EngTiJh.')

Cwit'zeklani), which poffeffes

no original language of its

own, but borrows thofe of the two

great nations in its vicinity, may be

faicl to have more than clifcharged the

debt, in the works of l’cience and ge-
. . . o

nius by which it has enriched thefe
languages. How much the litera¬
ture of France has been improved
and adorned by natives of Switzer¬
land, particularly by citizens of Ge¬
neva, it is unneceffary to fay 3 and
Germany is under fimilar obligations
to thofe cantons that ufe her lan¬
guage, but more efpecially to the
canton of Zurich.

Of this little re pub lie was Solo¬
mon Geffner, the German Theocritus,
a complete translation of whole works
is now for the fir ti time prefented to
the Englifh reader. He was born in
the year 1/30, and was the fon of a
refpedflable printer and bookfcller,
fr^m whom he received a liberal and
even a learned education, whofe
profeflion he adopted, and whom in
due time he fiicceeded. Fortunate¬
ly the houfe of Orel, G either, and
Company, into which he was received,
had been . long eilablifhcd, and was
known over Furope,. by the extent
of its correfponderice and by the
choice and elegance of the work's
which it gave to the world. Geffner
was not therefore involved in the
cares of a new eftablifh merit, nor
was it neceffary for him to engage in
the details and fatigues of bulinefs 3
ancf the bent of his genius being ob¬
vious, his partners, by whom he was
beloved and efteemed, freely indulg¬
ed him in his favourite ftudies and
purfuits.

In the twenty-fecond year of his
age he made a tour through Germany,
in part for the purpole of extending

the connections of his houfe, but
chiefly urith a view to his own im¬
provement. In the courfe of this
journey, he became acquainted with
the greater part of the German men
of letters of that day, and his talents
were doubllefs flimulated by the fym-
pathy and the emulation which fuch
intercourfe is fo particularly calculat¬
ed to excite. On his return to
Zurich in 1753, he gave his firfl:
publication to the world, a fmall
poem in meafured profe, entitled
Night 3 and this meeting a favourable
reception, he foon afterwards pub-
lifhed his paftoral romance of Daph-
nis, in three cantos. In the firfl of
thefe poems he contrived to introduce
a compliment to Gleim and Hage-
dorn, from whom he had received
civility and kindnels in the courfe of
his tour. To Daphnis he prefixed a
letter to himfelf from Mademoifelle
- — -/ with his reply, both written,
in a playful and animated ftyle, from
which we are led to believe, that the
heroine of this paftoral was a real
perfonage, f Yes,’ fays Geffner,
in the language of gallantry, and per¬
haps of truth, f while I defcribed
Phillis I thought of you, and the
happy idea of writing a romance
fupplied me with a continual dream
of you, which rendered our feparation
lets intolerable.’ In thefe early pro¬
ductions, with fomewhat of the irre¬
gularity and the extravagance of
youth, we find that luxuriance of
imagery, and that foft amenity of
fentiment and of expreffion, by which
almoft all his other writings are cha-
racterized. At this period of his life,
Ovid fe eras to have been a favourite
with Geffner. In his Night, we
have a fable on the origin of the
glow-worm ; and in his Daphnis,
an epitode on the amours of a water-
god and a nymph 3 entirely in the
manner of that poet.

The iuccefs of thefe publications
encouraged Geffner to indulge his

Memoirs of Solomon Geffner . 4 55

tafte in rural poetry, and to give to
the world his Idyls, in which, as he
himfelf informs us, he took Theocri¬
tus for his model. The Idyls pro¬
cured their author a high reputation
throughout Switzerland and Germa¬
ny. They were the principal and
favourite objects of his attention, on
which Jjte exerted great tafte and thill.
They are defcribed by himfelf as the
fruits of tome of his happieft hours ; of
thofe hours, when imagination and
tranquillity fired their fweeteft in¬
fluence over him, and, excluding all
prefent impreffions, recalled the
charms and delights of the golden
age.

The Death of Abel, which is
already well known to the Englith
reader, by the tranflation of Mrs.
Collyer, made its firft appearance in
17-58. Its reception was ft ill more
flattering. T hree editions of it were
publifhed at Zurich in the courfe of
a tingle year, and it was toon trans¬
lated into all the European lan-
g'uages. In moft of thefe it has gone
through various editions j and there
are few of the productions of the
century that has juft elapfed which
have been fo generally popular.- — -
After this he publifhed feveral of his
lefler poems, among which was The
Firft Navigator *, which is perhaps
the moft beautiful of his works. He
made fome attempts likewife in the
paftoral drama, of which his Evander
and Alcinna is the chief. His Eraf-
tus, a drama of one act, was re-
prefented with fome applaufe in fe¬
veral focieties, both at Leiptic and
Vienna.

The poems of Geffner were
almoft all given to the world before
he had completed his thirtieth year.
About this period he married, and,
as he himfelf informs us, his father-

* - - - — - -

* Of which a tranflation was given in this
Magazine. Vol. XXXII. 1801.

in-law, Mr. Heidigger, haying a
beautiful collection of paintings, con¬
fiding chiefly of the works of, the
great matters of the Flemish fchool,
he devoted his leifure to the ftudy of
their beauties, and became deeply
enamoured of their art. Geflner,
who in his youth had received fome
leflbns in drawing, refumed the pen¬
cil, but with a timid hand. At firft
he ventured only to delineate decora¬
tions for curious books printed at his
office, but by degrees he rofe to
bolder attempts. In 1?65 he pub¬
lifhed ten landfcapes, etched and en¬
graved by himfelf. Twelve other
pieces of the lame nature appeared
in 1 76p ; and he afterwards executed
ornaments for many publications
that ilfued from his prefs, among
which were his own works, a tranftaT
tion into Germao of the works of
Swift, and various others. The repu¬
tation which he acquired by his pencil
was learcely inferior to that arifing
from his pen , He was reckoned among
the bett artifts of Germany ; and Mr.
Fufelin., his countryman, in his
‘ Hiftorical £ flay on the Painters,
Engravers, Architects, and Sculp¬
tors, who have done honour to
Switzerland,’ gives a diftinguiflied
place to Geffner, though then^alive..-
The private character of Geffner
was m a high degree, amiable and
exemplary. As a hufband, a father,
and a friend, his virtues were equally
confpieuous. His call of mind was
pen five, and even melancholy ; his
manners gentle.— In conversation. he
was mild and affable, and, where the, ,
fubject admitted of it, often highly
animated, riflng into great elevation
of fentiment and beauty of expief-
fion. But in every part of his de¬
portment there was that unaffected
iincerity, that fimplicity and modefty,
by which true genius is fo generally
diftinguiflied. With qualities ' fuch
as thefe, Geffner could not fail to be

Anecdote .

loved and refpected ; and, uniting to
tafte and literature the talents requi-
lite for afitive life, he was raffed by
the fuffrages of the citizens of Zurich
to the firft offices in the republic.
In 1 765 he was called to the great
council ; in 1 767 to the leffer. In
1768 he was appointed bailiff of
Eilibach ; that of the four guards
£n 1776 J and in 1781 fuperintend-
ant of waters ? all offices of truft and
rejponfibility, the duties of which he
clilfvharged with fcrupulous fidelity.

The fame of the accompliffied
and virtuous magiftrate of Zurich
fpread to the remote!! parts of Eu¬
rope. The emprefs of Ruffia, Ca¬
therine II., fent him a gold medal as
a mark of her efteem : and ftrangers
from ail countries vffjting Switzer¬
land courted his fociety, and gave
him the molt flattering proofs of their
refpedt and admiration. In the
height of his reputation he was cut
off by the ftroke of a palfy, on the
2d of March, 1788, in the 56th
year of his age.

ANECDOTE.

A k ex-prieft, named Thuring,
died lately at St. Servan, whole
life had been marked by an adven¬
ture that might appear extraor¬
dinary, even to fuch as read ©nly
romances, and fee only melodrames.
Thuring had been, oil his return to
France, with his wife and two
ehildren, and a confiderable proper¬

ty, which he had acquired in New
England, but fuffered fhipwreck
within fight of the coaff of Brittany,
and fwam afhore alone. Not
doubting that the fea, which he faw
covered with the ruins of his for¬
tune, had alfo fw all owed up His
wife and children, he haftened to
bury his defpair in a monaftery which
attra&ed his notice. His fuperiors
dilcovered in him fome talents for
the pulpit, and fent him on a
million to preach in the neighbour¬
ing cities and villages. He was
preaching one day, precifely the
fame on which, five years before,
he had fuffered fhipwreck^ in the
city of Croifie, on the inftability of
human affairs, a text which gave
him an opportunity of quoting the
tale of his own misfortunes as an
example. He had fcarcely finifhed
his interefting picture, when a fe¬
male, who had liffened with parti¬
cular attention, fereamed and fainted.
Being removed into the facrifty,
llie recovered juft as the fermon
had ended, and the firfl object (he
perceived was Father Thuring, who,
attributing her fainting to his elo¬
quence, had come to pay her a vifit.
The female was his own wife,
whom he bad believed to be
drowned, but whom fome fifiier-
men had brought off the rocks when
the veffel funk.

The hulband retained his cowl ;
the wife took the veil in a neigb^
bouring convent ; and both found,
in religion, confolations which pro!
lotiged their exiftenca.

A Mornings Walk in September . 457

• " x \

J MORNING'* WALK in
SEPTEMBER.

‘ Now foften’d funs a mellow luftre Hied ;
The laden orchards glow with tempting red ;
On hazel boughs the clufters hang embrown'd,
And with the fportfman’s war the new-fhorn
fields refound.’

HEN

* The lark had given the lazy lab’rer warn¬
ing

Of the approach of rofy Mrs. Morning,’

1 arofe, and finding myfelf rather
unwell, I walked, in hopes the falu-
brious air would impart relief to my
difordered head ; nor did I hope in
vain. ,

- ( Beauteous Health !

Oft may my bread, through quiv’ring trees, in¬
hale

Thy roly biddings with the morning gale :
What are the fields, or all the flowers I lee
(Ah ! taflelefs all), if not enjoy’d with thee !’

Parnell.

The weather was pleafingly calm,
and ferenely mild; the mull cal lark
had left his lowly perch, and, fear¬
ing above the clouds, waschaunting
a requiem to departing Summer.

‘ Soon,’ 1 exclaimed, 4 thefe plea-
fant rambles, thefe golden-eyed
mornings, thefe white opportunities,
will all be pad! Soon will thefe
captivating feenes, thefe eye-delight¬
ing landscapes, thefe flowery glades,
experience a difagreeable change!’

< Soon, ah, foon ! the painted feene,

The hill’s blue top, the valley’s green,

Mldd cloud* of fnow, and whirlwinds drear,
Shall cold and com fovtlefs appear !

The northern blaft flrall fweep the plain,
And bid ray penhve bofom learn,
Though Nature’s face fiiall fmile again,
Though on the glowing bicair of Spring
Creation all her gems fhail fling,

My April morn of youth fhail ne’er
return.’

Walking through a meadow, I
darted a partridge. Alarmed at my
approach, it winged its courfe with
the utm-oft rapidity.

Vo l. XXXIV.

4 Fearful bird!’ I faid, 4 whv doff
thou fly from me ? I am no favage
fowler, who, armed with leaden de-
ffruSfion, would bereave thee of thy
life. Numerous as my faults are,
cruelty to the feathered tribe muff
not be clafled among them.

4 Fearful bird 1 long mayeft thou
enjoy thy flowery vales, thy cooling
fhades, and thy tryftal fprings, un*
molded by tyrant man, that mod
inveterate enemy of ail thv fpecies.
And thou, unfeeling fportfman!
who, like me, may range thefe
feenes, O fpare the plumy race!
fhorten not their vital term ! permit
them frill to fport in fields of air, or
feek their fuflenanceon the plains of
nature! Reflect that when their iives
are extingniflied, they are extin-
gui (lied for ever ; like thee, they
cannot boaffan hereafter.’

* Since, then, this tranfient gleam of day

Be all of life they fhare.

Let p.ty plead within thy bread
That little all to fpare.

* The cheerrul light, the vital air,

Are blefiings widely given;

'Let Nature’s commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.

‘ The well-taught philofophic mind
To all compaflion gives ;

C’afls round the world an equal eye,

And feels for ali that lives.’

Mrs. Barba uld.

’Tis an unpleafant fight to the
lover of rural rambles to view the
beauty of Nature tamifhing, and the
glory of Summer departing. With
ungrateful emotions he anticipates
the approach of Winter, when Crea¬
tion fits 4 like a widow, in her weeds.’
Then, with fancy’s eye, he furveys
the fnowy plains, the leaflefs ti'ees,
and the frozen rivulets. Then the
melancholy Mufe will ftrike the lyre
to notes like thefe.

Gay Spring, with all her beauty-beaming
train

Of variegated flowers, has left the feene i

3 N

458 Anecdotes of Kang- hi , Emperor of China,

Her tuneful Philomela has forgot
To pour her mufic 1 on the night’s dull ear.’ ,
Bright Summer is departed ; lo ! yon fields,
That wav’d with golden treafure, are divefled
Ofall their pride of plenty — all are bare ;

And Ceres mourns her ruinated reign.

Along the cheerlefs plains no more is heard
The reaper’s ditty, nor the millt-maid’s fong :
Hufh’d in the brfy hupi of ruftic labour,

And din of fharp’ning feythe ; fave where the
peafant,

With fadden’d heart, chops the rude ftubble
down.

But foft, dull Mule. Though Winter’s fri¬
gid breath

Will blaft the feenes of beauty, yet there are
Fire-fide enjoyments ; calm, domeftic blifs;
The tales and tricks ot artlef's rofy prattlers,
Indrudtive friends, and entertaining volumes,
To fpeed the leathern wing of lowering T>me,
Till Spring, returning, prompts the Morning’s
Walk

Haverhill . John Webb.

Anecdotes of Kang-hi, Empe¬
ror of China.

J7" ang-hi was one of the mofi il-
lufirious princes that ever fat
■upon the thione of China. To
great taLnts and a compreher five
underfianding he added the graces
of virtue and of piety, and from his
earlieft life exhibited that ardour of
mind fo well fulled to the difficult
talk of government. He afeended
to the throne in 1661, and died in
j 724.

When the emperor Cham-chi, his
father, was on his death-bed, he
afiembled his children together to
fix upon a fucceffor to his kingdom.
On diking his eldeft ion if he fbould
like to be emperor, the latter anfwer-
ed that he was too weak to fupport
fo great a burden. The fecond made
neailv the fame anfwer. But when
he put the quefiion to young Kang-
hi, who was not quite feven years
old, he replied —

4 Give me the empire to govern,
and we (hall fee how I fhall acquit

myfelf.*

The emperor was much pleafed
with this bold and fimple anfwer.

‘ He is a boy of courage,’ faid
Cham-chi : 4 let him be emperor.’

The pomp and thebufinefs of the
throne did not interrupt the labours
of Kang-hi. He ufed to tell his
children, by way of making them
Hud v7 —

4 1 came to the throne at the age
of eight years. Tching and Lin,
my two mini fie rs, were my mafiers,
and they made me apply mvfeif in-
ceflantly to the ftudy of the King,
and the annals of the empire. Aft¬
erwards they taught me eloquence
and poetry. At fewnteen years
of age my pafiion for books made
me get up before day, and fit up
very late in the night. I applied
my mind fo much that my health
fuffered by it, but my fphere of
know ledge was enlarged, and a great
empire cannot be well governed un-
lefs the monarch has a great iliare
of knowledge.’

A flvort time before he died, he
fent for the princes his fons, and
thus addrefied them —

4 I have diligently ftudied hifiory,
and f have made mv reflections upon
every thing that has happened in my
reign, i ha\e obferved that all thofe
who were defirous to do mifehief to
others died miferably ; that thofe
who had no feeling met with perfons
more cruel than themfelves; and
that even foldiers who were fan-
guinary without necefiity did not die
a natural death. The Tien (Hea¬
ven) revenges one man by another,
and he often makes him that has pre¬
pared the poifon drink it himfelf.

I am now feventv-two years of age:

I have feen the fourth and even the
fifth generations of many families:

I have confiantiy obferved happi-
nefs, peace, and wealth, perpetuate '
rhemfeLes in thofe families who
love virtue. Poverty, calamity, re-
verfe of fortune, and a thoufand
accidents, have before my eyes pre¬
cipitated into mifery, or deftroved,
thofe families that had enriched

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of c Tom Jones. 9 45$

themfelves by injuftice, and who
were prone to revtnge and delivered
up to diforder. ] have concluded,
then, from all that I have feen, that
the courfe of events is juft. Thofe
who a£t uprightly gather the pleafant
fruits of their good conduct, and
thofe who a 61 viciouflv receive their
punifhment even in this world.’

His penetration of mind, his great
knowledge, the majeftv of his ap¬
pearance, his bravery, his magnifi¬
cence, his indefatigable application
to the bufinefs of hjs kingdom, pro¬
cured Kang-hi from his fubje&s the
glorious appellation of ‘ the father
and the mother of his people,’

Critical Observations on the
Novel of ‘Tom Jones.’

In a Series of Letters from an JJncle to
his Niece.

{Continued from p. 4QJ. 'I

LETTER XIII.

dear niece,

he introductory chapter to the
fixteenth book contains fome
pertinent obfervations on the ufual
ftage device of prefacing a new dra¬
matic entertainment with a prologue ;
which, as Mr. Fielding very juftly
remarks, frequently has little or no
relation to the piece which, is to fol¬
low. So necefiary were thefe pro¬
logues confidered, that, in the time
of Mr. Dryden, at the clofe of the
feventeenth century, no dramatic
performance could find its way to
the fta^e, unlefs the author could
have interefi: enough with that cele¬
brated bard to procure one of his
writing. Dryden was poet-laureat,
and a man of unrivalled excellence
in poetical compofitions ; and fo
much was the town prepolfeiTed in

i ' '

his favour, that the rpoft finifhed
piece would not be re! i lhed by the
audience unlefs let off by a pro¬
logue from his mafierly hand; and,
on the contrary, many a dull comedy
has met with public applaufe when
fanCtioned by his fat. Mr. Pope,
fpeaking of Torn Southern, afamous
dramatic poet of thofe times, calls
him the man —

* whom Heav’n Tent down to raifa

The p rice of prologues and of plays

Tom, it feems, had offered a play
to the manager, which waS” refufed
unlefs he could procure the necelfary
paffport from Mr. Dryden. This
he obtained, but not till the poet had
pocketed a much larger fum for his
piece than he had ufualiy exa6ted
from other play-wrights : 4 which,’
faid he, 4 young man, is not from
any difrefpeft to you; but the play¬
ers have had my goods too cheap :
yes, fir, they have had them too
cheap.’ Tom paid the laureat his
fee, and obtained an advance of price
upon his play. Mod of Mr. Dry-
den’s prologues fall, with great
juftice, under the criticifm paffed by
Mr. Fielding on the generality of
thofe pieces; and, if compared with
thofe written by the late Mr. Gar¬
rick, will appear to have little merit,
in truth, the reign of Charles the
Second (though it abounded with
men of genius in every department
of learning and of fcience) was by no
means the sera either of purity of
manners or challity of fiyle The
nation, having been lately delivered

7 O y

Nfrom the trammels of anarchy and
fuperftition, now verged to the con¬
trary extreme. The witty monarch,
as he was the patron of men of learn¬
ing, fo was he likewife an encourager
of immorality and buffoonery : in
confequenoe of this luxuriance of

* Pope’s c Epiille to Mr. Thomas Southern,
an his Sirth-day, 174.2.’

3 N a

46 0 Critical Obfervations on

the court, the ftage, which has ever
been held the mirror of the times,
became a hot- bed of vice 5 and fo
corrupt was the tafte of the town,
that peals of laughter fhook the
Jioufe, excited by fuch indelicate
language as would in thefe days be
fcouted by the audience in the upper
gallery. At the time when Mr.
Fielding wrote (more than half a
century later than the days I have
been fpeaking of), Mr. Garrick pre-
ikied at Drury-lane, and a challer
tafte prevailed. The difficulty in
penning the introductory prefaces
to each of the books of this novel
Mr. Fielding likens to that of writ¬
ing prologues ; and that as it has
been faid by a dramatic writer, 4 that
he would rather write a play than
the prologue to it; even fo,’ fays our
author, * 1 could with lefs pains
compile one of the books of this
biffory, than I could write the intro-
duel ory chapter to it.’

Tn the fecond chapter of this book
we are treated with a very laughable
incident, which took place foon after
Mr. We Hern’s arrival at his new
lodgings in Piccadilly: I allude fo
the vifit paid him by an officer, who
brought with him a challenge from
lord Fellamar. The meeting be¬
tween this officer and our ’fquire
affords the author an opportunity of
exercifing his unrivalled talent for
true humour. The dialogue which
paffes between thefe two, difpntants
is confonant to what one might ex¬
pert from characlersfo very diffimi-
jar; and Mr. Fielding has taken ad¬
vantage of this contraft, in fetting
before his readers a delicious treat
ot genuine wit and humour. The
Conduct of Sophia on this occahon,
and her tender lolicitude for the
welfare of her father, are f'refh traits
of her gentle difpolition; and mani-
feft the filial regard file entertains for
him : circmnftances which, wh ilft
they ill lift rate the fentiments we had
all along conceived of her, ferve to

the Novel of c Tom Jones /

endear this amiable charader ftiil
more firmly to the reader. The
’fquire’s unkind reflections on his
daughter, and his charging the infuh
he had juft experienced to her ac¬
count, as having arifen from her
refufal to marry Blifil, are frefh in-
ffances of that fingularity of difpofi-
tion and rufticity of manners which
diitinguiffi him throughout; and ff>
does Jikewife the hidden tranfition
from the fondeft expreffions of lotte
to the extremeft paroxvfms of rage.
The concluding part of this chapter,
in which this ftrange infatuation of
Weffern by perfifiing in the resolu¬
tion of facrificing his beloved dauoff.
ter to the man She detefts is com¬
pared to the apathy of a gaoler to¬
wards a prifoner torn from the fond
embraces of his wife, or to the cruel
treatment of a bawd towards a young
creature whom ffie has decoyed into
herfnares, is well imagined.

The good offices which Black
George renders to Jones, by pro¬
curing a letter to be delivered to
Sophia in the manner related in the
third chapter, and the tender attach¬
ment manifefted in behalf of his
young mifbefs, are circumftances
which, being exerted towards a fa¬
vourite charader, half incline one to
pardon that deviation from moral
reditude of which we know him to
have been guilty, and may be confi-
dered as a comment upon what Mr.
Fielding obferves—4 There is no
individual fo very bad as not to have
fome commendable traits in his cha¬
rader.’ The patient attendance of
the ’fquire at the door of Sophia’s
apartment, whilft Black George is
paying his compliments to the lady;
the obfervations of the author on the
effed of grief, and the allufion to a
widow’s lamentation; are Specimens
of genuine wit and humour. The
two following fedfions form a pretty
frnart ficie-blow at fome of thole
child i fli experiments and frivolous
obfervations u hich have at times

Critical Obfervatms on the Novel of % Tom Jones’ 4 Si

fcten the amufement, not to fay the
ferious avocation, of men of letters :
experiments which have found their
way from the clofets of tbel'e vir-
tuofos into the cabinets and tranf-
adtions of our royal fociety, and
thofe of other learned bodies on the
continent. Mr. Fielding is not the
only author who has glanced at this
propenfity in writers of natural and
experimental philofophy towards the
inveftigation of trifles; Dr. Swift,
in his * Voyage to Laputa.’ falls
upon them without mercy, and, in
a witty ft rain of irony, attacks the
whole fraternity. The pains taken
by Jones that the letter to Sophia
lliould come under her infpedtion,
and the ingenious artifice he ufes for
this purpofe, together with the ftyie
•of that letter, are convincing pledges
that he ft ill maintained the fame un¬
remitting affe&ion towards his fair
miftrefs; and, inthatfenfe, this letter
was a ne.ceftary inftrument towards
keeping alive that partiality which
Sophia had manifefted towards
him, at a time when every means
was ufed to alienate her regard.
Thefe reafons, I fay, are a fufficient
apology to the reader for the appear¬
ance of this letter, at that very junc¬
ture when our heroine flood in moft
need of fortitude, from the arrival
of a frefti auxiliary on the fije of
Blifil in the perl'on of her aunt
We ft era, to whom we are intro¬
duced in the next chapter.

What terms ftiall I find ftrOng
enough to convey to your mind the
pleafure I have always experienced
on the perufal of the fourth chapter
of this book? To fay that the wit
and humour with which tnisfeene
abounds are, beyond all competition,
fuperior to any I ever met with in
the perufal of other comic writings,
would be to exprefs my ideas in lan¬
guage difproportionatc to its merit.
In the perufal of the inimitably hu¬
morous dialogue which paftes be¬
tween the three perfons aftembled at

the Tquire’s lodgings, namely, Mr,
and Mrs. Weftern, and the reverend
Mr. Supple, it requires no very
ftrong imagination to reprefent each
oi the parties Handing before us; and
had this feene been delineated on
canvas by the pencil of our author’s
friend Hogarth, the pi ft u re muff
have excited thofe pleafing fenfa-
tions in the mind of the beholder
which his incomparable it etches,
never fail to produce. You will
obferve how nicely the confervatton
of charadter is maintained in each of
the fpeakers throughout this dia¬
logue. The felf-importance of Mr.
Weftern when he communicates to
his fifter, in his coarfe provincial dia¬
led, the means he employed to gain
poiTeilion of his daughter, and the
confinement to which he had doom¬
ed her; the rage into which he is
thrown at the lady’s fevere rebuke;
and, again, when we view him tem¬
pering that rage with an affected
refp. dt towards his fifter, on her
farcaftic reply; the unfortunate di¬
lemma into which the poor doctor is
precipitated by his officious inter¬
ference, and when his mediation is
fcornfullv rejected both by his patron
and the lady in their turns; the iraf-
cibility expreffed by Mr. and Mrs.
Weftern towards Mrs. Fitzpatrick;
the apparent reconciliation which,
in confequence of this offenfive
league, took place between thefe two
originals; the fatirical invediives ut¬
tered by the Tquire againft his fifter
after file had left the room : all thefe
feveral paffages, I fay, combine to
render this chapter truly admirable.
Through this interview, like Tfe,
Mrs Weftern recovers once more the
poffeftion of her niece, a meafure
which was neceftary to be accom*
plifhed as a ftep towards the fur¬
therance of the main defign, which,
as we have before remarked, is gra¬
dually advanced through a chain of
incidents, many of which, like the
various combinations of accidents in

40£ Critical Obfer-vations on the Novel of ( Tom Jones /

ireal life, lead to very important
iiTues, though fcarcelv perceptible
at the time in which they occur.

The remittance of the bank-bill
to Mr. Jones by Sophia, as recorded
in the fifth chapter, demonftrates
what a neceffary agent this valuable
article proved in the contexture of
$he novel. It was this bill to which
Mr. Jones was indebted for an in¬
terview with Sophia at lady Bel-
jfofton’s; and now again, through its
friendly aid, he is railed from the
Brink of diftrefs to affluence ; and
all thefe good effeds are brought
about through a chain of natural
events, and without the fmalleft de¬
viation from probability. The ad¬
venture at the playhoufe is related
with great humour. Perhaps the
character of Partridge is, in this
chapter, fomewhat overcharged ;
and it may be urged, that no man
of common fenfe (and Partridge has
been hitherto reprefented as not
void of (hrewdnels) could have been
fo extremely ignorant as to have
made thofe remarks, which are fa id
to have proceeded from him at the
exhibition, at the playhoufe, of the
tragedy of Harrilet. It will be faid,
perhaps, they are fuch obfervations
which one fhould exped to have
fallen from a child juft taken from
its nurfery ; and that a grown per-
fon, though he had never witnefled a
theatrical reprefentation before,
could not have made fuch foolifh
remarks. But how feverely foever
this chapter may be treated by the
faftidions critic, every candid reader
will agree with me, that the whole
fcene abounds with true humour;
*aod this alone is more than fufficient
to plead in extenuation of fo trifling
an error, if fuch it may be efteemed.
But 1 have a more forcible argu¬
ment frill to offer in behalf of our
author : no man living had more of
the milk of humati kindnefs than
Mr. Fielding. Of this we have
. feen numberlefs inltances in the

i 4

work under confederation, and, in¬
deed, all his writings exhibit proofs
of his univerfal benevolence and
tcndernefs of difpofttion. This
generous fympathy inclined him to
do juftice to every diftinguifhed
cbarader. On the prefent occafion
he feems to have fent Mr. Partridge
to the play-houfe in order that the
author might pay a handfome com¬
pliment to his friend Mr. Garrick ;
and this eulogium, fo j’uftly the due
of that celebrated ador, you will
obferve to have been expreffed in
terms of the moft refined delicacy.
I allude to the feveral remarks made
by the fagacious Mr. Partridge in
reply to the queftions of Jones and
Mrs. Miller. By means of this
play-houfe fcene, likewife, Mrs.
Fitzpatrick is again introduced;
and it will be feen hereafter how
fortunate an incident this proved in
the main thread of the Hiftorv.

The fixth chapter of this book
accounts for the arrival of Mr.
Allworthy and his nephew in Lon¬
don, upon the information which
Weftern had furni filed the latter
with, refpeding the difcovery of
Sophia. The artifice of Blifii
on this occafion, by which he ob¬
tained the confent of Mr. Allwor¬
thy, is at once charaderiftic of that
cunning and duplicity which mark
his behaviour whenever he appears;
and the eafe with which Mr. All¬
worthy refigns that opinion -which
his own prudence and caution fug-
geft, to the w'eak arguments of Mr.
Blifii, feconded by the rhetoric of
Thwackum, is an inftance of what
Mr. Fielding hath before advanced
- — that the moft fagacious head often
gives way to the didates of the ten¬
der heart.

Square’s journey to Bath, wfflich
is hinted at in this chapter, will ap¬
pear hereafter to be not without
its ufe ; fince, from this very cir-
cumftance, a way is opened (and
that by the moft natural means) of

Critical Obferv aliens on the Novel of c Tom Jones 403

difpo'mg Mr. Allworthv to liften to
the recital of thofe circum (lances
which, bv a hapov combination, are
brought forwatd in vindication- of
our hero.

The remaining chapters of this
book contain abundance of infor¬
mation, which all tends in a very
material degree towards the main
fcope of the novel. The reception
which Mrs. Weftern gives to her
brother and Mr. Blifil, and the con¬
verfation which paffes on the occa-
fion, is delivered in very appropriate
terms, and calculated to excite
laughter in the perufal. The ex¬
treme artifice of lady Bellafton, and
the fcheme which (lie imoarts to
lord Fellamar of delivering Jones in¬
to the cuftody of a prefs-gang, form
a juft delineation of the vindictive
dilpofition of a haughty and amor¬
ous woman like herfelf, thwarted
in her defigns upon a man whom
Hie had hitherto retained in her
fervice through the ties of gratitude,
and ftung with the fevered! refent*
ment at the ill fuccefs of her amour.
The ruling principle of Mrs. Wef-
tern fhews itfelf without any am¬
biguity in the converfation which
paffes between her and lady Bel-
lafton at the interview between the
two ladies ; for no fooner does lady
Bellafton mention the name of lord
Feliarnar as a l'uitor to Sophia, than
Mrs. Weftern immediately doles
with the propofal, forgetful of the
promifes fne had made to Biifij.
In truth, fuch was her ambition of
ennobling her family, that fne was
indifferent as to the perfonal and
menial accomplifhments of the per-
fbn deftined for the huiband of her
niece, provided his fuperior quality
could elevate her to the rank of a
countefs. Much of the denoue¬
ment of the piece depends on
the production, to Mrs. Weftern,
of the letter written by Jones to
lady Bellafton, as recorded in the
ninth chapter of the preceding

book. In order that a proper cli¬
max may be prelerved throughout
the novel, and that everv character
brought forward may contribute its
fliare of entertainment and alfo be
the means of conducing by freftt
incidents to the main ddign, Jones,
in the ninth chapter, is again intro¬
duced to Mrs. Fitzpatrick ; and the
reafon why file had before avoided
any converfation with him is ac¬
counted for, and we are likewifts
informed on what grounds (lie now
fought his acquaintance. The
plan formed by Mrs. Fitzpatrick,
and to which file now folicited the
acquiefcence of Jones, was plaXifibl©
enough, and (whatever effect St
might have produced with refpedfc
to Mr. Jones’s affairs) could not
have failed to gratify the implacable
refentmem Mrs. Fitzpatrick bore
towards her aunt Weftern, on ac¬
count of the repulfe file had met
with from that lady. The tender
glances and amorous expreffions of
Mrs. Fitzpatrick, in her converfation
with Jones, are perfectly conformant
with the idea that every reader mult
have conceived of this lady, from
the time when he fir ft became ac¬
quainted with her at the inn, when
file relates to Sophia the hiftory of
her married life; and whatever
cenfure may be fuppofed to attach
to this part of the novel, and how¬
ever this levity of converfation in
Mrs. Fitzpatrick .may be conft-
dered as a deviation from the
rigid laws of decorum1 by novel
writers of a fentimental turn, and
by the grave readers of thofe iolemn
performances, thefe reftedfions will
never be made by any man of tafte
on Mr. Fielding, who has taken all
his characters from nature, and by a
proper diftribution of them has
illuftrated the position advanced by
him in another place, that, with re-
fpedt to every incident in real life,
there can be no pleafure wheie there
is no contrail.

46 4 Critical Obf creations on the Novel of c Tom JonerC

But there was another event
brought about through the medium
of this vifit of Jones to Mrs. Fitz¬
patrick, very neceffary in the con¬
texture of the novel. The circum-
fitance to which I allude is, the ren¬
contre between Jones and Mrs.
Fitzpatrick which was the immedi¬
ate confequence of our hero’s vifit
to the lady, as related in the next
chapter. How intimately the fub-
Jedt of the following book is con¬
nected with thefe particulars will
appear in the fequel. The conclud¬
ing chapter of this book leaves the
reader in fufpenfe as to what may be
the fate of poor Jones, now in prifon
on a charge of murder, and whole
borrows are ftill aggravated by the
information conveyed in a letter de¬
livered to him by Partridge.

I am, Sec,

LETTER XIV.

©EAR NFECE,

The introductory chapter to the
feventeenth book of the 1 Hiftory
of a Foundling,’ fli ort as it is, ap¬
pears neceffary to relieve the atten¬
tion of the reader in fome decree
from the anxiety he cannot but

have buffered for Jones, and from
any ill opinion which -the apparent
impofflbility of delivering his hero
from the calamitous fituation to
which his imprudence has now re¬
duced him without the inter- •
vention ef a fupernatural agency,
might incline him to entertain of

o t t

the author. The interpolation of
elves and fairies Mr. Fielding has
before difclaimed, and again repro¬
bates in this chapter. Fie obferves,
that fiiich calamities which a man
derives from his own imprudences
(though they may not constitute
him a felon to the world, he yet
becomes a fela de jre), ought to
be carefully ftored in the memory
©f every youth who pe'rufes thole
pjiges ; for he who fooli fitly facri-

fices the fpring of life to the gra¬
tification of unlawful pleafures
muff eh her expiate his offence by
an early diffolution, or be content to
drag on a miferable exiffence till
overtaken by a premature old age.
The advantages poffeffcd by the an¬
cient writers, and by the Arabians,
of calling in the aid of their feveral
deities to relieve a hero in di ft refs
where every human effort would be
unavailable, come in very properlv
at this part of the Hiftory, where
the troubles of Jones are fo multifa¬
rious as to baffle all earthly aifift-
ance. In fine, this fhort chapter is
very judicioufly introduced to pre¬
pare the mind of the reader for the
numerous events related in the fol¬
lowing book.

In the feeond chapter of this
book Mr. Blifil is introduced to Mr.
Allworthy at the hreakfeft table of
Mrs. Miller, and relates the unfor¬
tunate incident which had taken
place on the rencontre of Jones
with Mrs. Fitzpatrick — declaring
that Mr. Jones had been guilty of
murder. The venomous exordium
with which Blifil did not omit to
introduce this tale, reprefenting
Jones as one of the greateft and
moft atrocious villains and a mon¬
ger in iniquity, excited the relent-
ment of Mrs. Miller in behalf of
her friend ; and the good woman
could not refrain, even at the hazard
of Mr. All worthy’s difplealure,
from a warm reply in vindication of
the Unfortunate youth, whofe cha¬
racter was likely to buffer through
the mifreprefentation of a defama¬
tory fcoundrel. The zealous
terms which Mrs. Miller made ufq
of on this occafion, excited in
Mr. Allworthy fome difpleafure
again# the lady at having contra¬
dicted Biifil’s relation, and at the
impaffioned tone of voice in which
file exprtfied herfelf on the occafion*
You will remark the cor trait ex¬
hibited in this chapter between fits

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of 6 Tom femes? 46 S

behaviour of Blifil and that of Mrs.
Miller : the one brim-full of joy at
having made difeovery of an acci¬
dent, the repealing of which to Mr.
All worthy was likely to blaft every
profpedt of happinefs Jones, could
have, and to prove the provable
means of his deftrudtion by the
molt ignominious death, or which
at leaft could not fail of fhipwreck-
ing all the hopes he had formed
withrefpedl to Sophia : -on the other
fide, we fee Mrs. Miller Handing
forth in behalf of her friend, and
in the warmed language defending
his caute, and even facrificing Mr.
All worthy’s favour to her gratitude
towards Jones. Here, as ip many
other inftances, the author has ex¬
emplified the truth of his own pro¬
portion — that it is contrail which
gives a beauty to every incident
through life. The grave deport¬
ment of Mr. Allworthy, the dilli-
mulation of Biifil, and the circum¬
locutory addrefs of Mrs. ^Miller,
may be remarked in the difeourfes
of thefe perfonages as the prominent
features di ftinguifliing them from
each other.

The converfation between Mr.
All worthy and Mr. We Hern, in the
third chapter^ affords Specimens of
the deepeft penetration and know¬
ledge of mankind which mark the
obfervations of the former, and of
frue and genuine humour in the
eoarfe language of ’fquire Weftern,
at the fame time that the main plot
of the novel is by means of this
dialogue gradually unfolded. The
fourth fedlion of this chapter, in
which Mr. Weftern takes occalion
to relate to Mr. Allworthy the con¬
verfation which palled between him-
felf and his liflerand the other ladies,
on the match proposed bv lady
Bellafton between Sophia and lord
Fellamsr, is delivered in terms the
mod truly comic. The arguments
urged by Mr. Allworthy to diffuade
Mr. Weftern from forcing the in*
‘ V*k> XXXIV.

clinations of his daughter are couch¬
ed in that impreffive ftyle that can¬
not fail to interelf the attention of
every reader endowed with a tru<a
tafte and delicate feelings. The
portrait which Mr. Allworthy draws
of Sophia mult be allowed to have
been Iketched by the pencil of a
mailer. What Mr. Fielding has.
here faid refpedling the heroine of
his piece, deferves to be ftudied by
every young woman who would
wifh to excel in thofe qualities that
adorn the mind and fet off the
perfonal graces : but that quality, to
exprefs which he is obliged (he fays)
to have recourfe to negative terms,
is very rarely to be met with in
young women of modern education,
and is yet fo necefiary towards
enabling them to fhine in every
relation of jdonneftic life. The re¬
liance which Mr. Ailworthy brings
in of Sophia’s model! reply to
Thwackum and Square, on their
appeal to her decificn in a difpute
which had arifen between them,
elucidates Mr. Allworthy’s mean¬
ing ; and, as that unaffuming dif-
polition is fo rarely inculcated
either by the precept or example
of the governefs or the parent,
thofe young women who take up
this novel in the way of inlfrudtion
ought to direct their mod ferious
attention to this beautiful paff.ge,
and regulate their condudl according
to this , golden rule. The arguments
which Mr. Allworthy makes ufe
of again!! forcing the inclinations of
a young woman in the momentous
affair of marriage, may, perhaps, be
read to as smear advantage by the

. ^ . * r

elder ranks in fociety. Too often,
alas ! has the felicity of the child
been facrificed to the avaricious
principles of the father. To ex¬
po fe the folly and (I may add) the
guilt, of this ftrange propenli y, was
one of the principal deligns of the
author in compofing the beautiful
novel under conlideration, mors
20

465 Critical Obfervatims on the Novel of c Tom Jones*

particularly of this chapter. Mr.
Blifil’s fpeech on this occafion ac¬
cords in every refpeSl with the idea
we had before conceived of him, and
every period brings to our view the
hypocrite and the villain. Mr.
Allworthy’s obfervations upon love,
in his difcourfe with Blifil after the
departure of Mr. We hern, feem the
relult of a deep investigation into
the difpofitions of mankind, and
with which the chapter is dif-
inified.

The Smile in the two firft fedions
of the fourth chapter is very hap¬
pily chofen, and forms a very ap~
polite introduction to the fcene

■A.

which pafies between Mrs. Weflern
and her niece. The peremptory
manner in which Mrs. Wdlern
exprefTes her Sentiments, and her
determination that lord Fellamar
(hall be introduced to her niece,
are charadteriflics of that lady’s
violent dilpolition. The like fuper-
cilious arrogance which we have fo
often noted as her ruling principle
now fwells her up to fo ferocious a
paroxyfm of anger towards the
gentle Sophia, that {he declares a
resolution of delivering mifs Wefi-
tern up to her father; a meafure fo
repugnant to the temper of the
young lady, that fhe found it necef-
lary to roufe another of her aunt’s
pafiions, namely, commiferation,
and this ihe effectually accomplifhed
by the following apoilrophe : — 4 If
my dear aunt forfakes me, where
fhall I find a protedlor ?’ The re¬
ply which Mrs. VVeftern made to
her niece’s detail of lord Fellamar’s
rude conduct is perfedflv charac-
terifiic, and is delivered in laugh¬
able and truly humourous language.
The vanity difplayed by the old
lady, on this occafion, encouraged
Sophia to feed it with an additional
proportion of the treacle of com¬
pliment; by which the pride of Mrs.
Wellern was fo effectually gratified,
that fhe yielded an implicit con¬

currence in her niece’s fentiments,
that fire ought not to be left alone
with fo turbulent a lover. The in-*
telligence conveyed in this Chapter
feems abfolutely necefTarv towards
winding up, by flow degrees, the
clue of the novel; for fo powerful
an auxiliary on the part of Sophia
having been gained over, the haliy
marriage with lord Fellamar is to¬
tally prevented, which could not
with confiflency have been much
longer poliponed whiHl Mrs. Wef*
tern united with lady Bellafton in
all the fchemes die had concerted
to bring about the union between
Sophia and his lordfhip.

The fifth chapter of this book
holds out a portrait of undilfembled
friendfhip not often to be met with
in real life. The garrulous difpo-
fition of Partridge had furnifhed
Mrs. Miller with the knowledge of
every circumftance relative to Jones
and Sophia, by which (lie was en¬
abled to proceed on her benevolent
errand in fearch of cur heroine, as
related in the fucceeding chapter.
The prifon fcene here brought for¬
ward is extremely interefting; anji
fo likewife is the interview between
Mrs. Miller and mifs Weirern.
The perfuafive eloquence of the
former overcomes the refolution
taken by Sophia, and Mrs. Miller is
fufrered to depofit the letter fne had
brought from Jones. The re¬
mainder of this chapter, though not
of very material importance to¬
wards the thread of the flory, is
conceived in a vein of pleafantry
that cannot fail to engage the atten¬
tion of the reader. The meeting of
lady Bellafton, lord Fellamar, Mrs.
Wellern, and Sophia, at lady Tho¬
mas Hatchett’s drum, revives in
Mrs. Wellern the delign {he had
formed of uniting her niece witfe'
lord Fellamar, which Sophia?s ac¬
count of the rude behaviour of that
nobleman and her well-timed flat¬
tery had nearly obliterated.

Critical Obfervations on the Novel of ' Tom Jones* 467

The difcourfe which paffes be¬
tween Mr. Allworthy and Mrs.
Miller, in the feventh chapter, is
an exemplification of the ruling
principles of all thefe worthy
perfonages. The fentiments of
gratitude which warm the bread: of
the good woman towards Mr. Jones
would not allow her to be filent at
fuch time when an opportunity
prefented itfelf of urging any thing
in his behalf; although, in the ebul¬
lition of her grateful fentiments,
fhe might hazard her individual
advantage: fuch was the predica¬
ment in which fhe flood at prefent
with refped! to Mr. Allworthy.
The ju tlice of his noble heart would
not permit any evil intentions to be
imputed -to his nephew, whom he
conceived to have been ill treated
by Jones ; yet he could not but ap¬
prove of that fympathy which Mrs.
Miller expreffed towards a man
from whom file had received fuch
various obligations. Shallow wits
have in all ages been eager to re¬
ded! on the loquacity of women,
when, in truth, it is this volubility
of fpeech which enables them to
fhine with the greater luftre, and
which fets forth their other good
qualities to the higheft advantage,
when this talent is poffeffed by a
female of Mrs. Miller’s fagacity.
The ludicrous remark which Shak-
fpeare puts into the mouth of one of
his characters : — 4 that filence is
only commendable in a maid not
vendible, or a neat’s tongue dried,’
may, in my opinion, be ferioufly
applied to the lovely part of the
creation in general. It is the com-
mon place chit-chat of weak and
uninformed minds only that can
give difgufl. Women who, like
Mrs. Miller, temper their conver-
fation with good fenfe and judicious
remarks, will never fail to gain the
plaudits of our fex. The foftnefs
with which Mrs. Miller graced her
plaintive tales wasfureto captivate

the hearts of her audience, and what*
ever good end (he had in view her pa¬
thetic add refs feldom failed to effedl;
and lo it happened at this time,
when fhe was addreffing Mr. All¬
worthy on behalf of her young
friend. No fpeech can be con¬
ceived more impreflive than the
one which Mrs. Miller addrefies to
Mr. Allworthy, in the fourth fedlion
of this chapter. Its eloquence was
infenfible ; and Mr. Allworthy,
laying afide the momentary dffplea-
fure he had fhown at the warmth of
fome part of her addrefs in favour
of Jones, confeffes his approbation
of her fentimental harangue by an
ad! of benevolence towards this de-
ferving woman ; namely, by in¬
forming her of his intention to wait
on old Nightingale in order to ob¬
tain, if poffible, his affent to his
fon’s union with mils Nancy.
This chapter, independent of the
entertainment it affords, and, I
may add, of the inftrudlion it holds
out, contributes towards the main
drift of the work, not only in Mr.
Allworthy’s vifit to Mr. Nightingale
the elder, but chiefly in the arrival
of Blifil, and Dowling the attorney.
It will be feen hereafter how ne-
ceflary the attendance of Dowling is
towards unraveling & myfiery, on
which the main plot feems to hinge.
Mr. Fielding ’has contrived the
molt natural incident for bringing
this gentleman to town, without
violating in the finaliefl degree the
laws of probability.

The fcene brought forward in the
eighth chapter places each of the
charadters in that light in which we
had been accuffomed to view them.
The tergiverfation of Mrs. Weftern,
who, notwithftanding her aiTent to
Sophia’s propofition, that lord Fella-
mar’s addreffes ought not to be en¬
couraged, in confequence of his rude
behaviour, is eafily prevailed on by
lady Bellaffon to concur with her,
and to favour that nobleman’s pie-
3 Q 2

46 S Critical Obfermtlom on the Novel of c Tom Jones *

tensions; the awkward apology of

his lordfhip to Sophia; the bombaft

which he gives vent to on thisocca-

jion; the modeft referve of Sophia,

•whilft, in language peculiar to her-

felf, fhe ftrives to convince him that

her conflrained confent could never

operate for the happinefs of either;

the perfidy of Mrs. Honour and of

Betty; and the artful conduct of
*

Mrs. Wefiern towards Mrs. Miller,
by which fhe gleaned from that un-
fufpefting woman much intelligence
refpeCling Jones; the liftening of
Mrs. Wefiern, and her confequent
irruption into the apartment where
Sophia and lord Feliamar were fit¬
ting, at the inftant when his lord-
fhip’s inuendoes refpeCling Jones
had excited the indignation of our
heroine : ail thefe circumftances, I
fay, are fo judicioufly arranged, that
the reader yields implicit acqui-
efcence in the colloquial difputa-
tions of each of the perfonages
brought forward, as being confonant
with the opinion he had before en¬
tertained of each of them. The
contrail: between the two characters
of Mrs. Wefiern and Mrs. Miller
will, no doubt, ftrike very forcibly
your attention: the one all meeknefs
and fimplicity — the other long hack¬
neyed in the modes and habits of the
gay world, and in confequence a
firange compound of affectation
$nd deceit. It is no wonder that
Mrs. Wefiern, under thefe artful
difguifes, fhould find it an eafy talk
to elude the penetration of the un-
fufpe&ing widow, and to draw from
her many fecrets which fhe wifhed
to be informed of refpeCling Jones
and Sophia.

The ninth and lafi chapter of this
book conveys us again to the prifon,
where Nightingale and Jones are
difeourfing on the fubjeCl of the
duel.; the former having derived in¬
formation upon that head from in¬

terrogating part of the crew of a
man-of-war lying at Deptford. No¬
thing forced or unnatural appears in
this meafure, whilft the introduction
of fo material a difeovery in this
place ferves to keep the reader’s
mind in fufpenfe, and thus unfolds,
by flow gradations, the various in¬
cidents which now remain to be
brought forward towards winding
up the catafirophe of the piece.
The arrival of Mrs. Waters at this
precife time is an elucidation of what
I formerly obferved, that the intro¬
duction of this lady to our notice at
Upton was not merely to bring for¬
ward a comic actrefs in that feene:
in truth (he wiil be found, as I then
obferved, a very necefiary agent in
the drama. The favourable opinion
which Mrs. Waters had conceived
of our hero from their fhort ac¬
quaintance at Upton, operates as a
very powerful incentive to fpirit her
inquiries after him ; when (lie col¬
lected from the difeourfe of Mr.
Fitzpatrick that the gentleman by .
whom he had been wounded was no
other than the individual Mr. Jones,
with whofe vivacity and fprightly
converfation die had been heretofore
fo agreeably entertained. I have
before taken the liberty of pointing
out to you the artful difpofition and
nice contexture of the various parts
of this inimitable romance, and with
what wonderful dexterity the feveral
ramifications (if I may fo exprefs
myfelf) are interwoven, that every
incident, of however trifling a nature
it may be, has a tendency towards
the main defign of the plot, although
at the firft introduction it appears to
be meant only to diverfify the plan,
and to keep the attention alive. In
this refpeCt, as I have formerly ob¬
ferved, Mrs. Waters will be found to
Hand forth in a very confpicuous
manner, I am, &c.

( 7 o be concluded in mr next,)

Improved Tooth-Powder and Brujhes . 4 6§

5 To the Editor of the LadyV
Magazine.

sir,

ossessing, from the prefcription
of a late eminent medical practi¬
tioner, a recipe for an excellent
tooth-powder, which I have long
ufed with comfort and advantage, I
wifh to make it public through the
channel of your widely-circulating
Magazine, for the general benefit of
my own fex, and of fiich individuals
of yours as prefer cieanlinefs and
found nefs of teeth to rottennefs and
excruciating pain.

Take, of Jefuits’ bark, one ounce;

Myrrh, one ounce;

Orris-root-powder, half
an ouni e ;

Coral-powder, half an
‘ounce* ;

Calcined ovder - (hells,
quarter of an ounce:
Let the ingredients be well mixed
together, dry; and they are imme¬
diately fit for ufe.

from my own experience, and the
grateful acknowledgements of feveral
friends who have tiled it upon my
recommendation, I can fafely affei t
this to be a mod valuable powder, at
the fame time that it is confkkrably
cheaper than the generality of ready¬
made tocth-p jwders vended in the
Ihops: for the quantity here pre-
fcribed (which is diffident to lad
feverai months, and may be procured
at any druggift’s) does not coif quite
two (hillings.

In addition to this powder, let me
alfo recommend tooth-brufhes on a
new cpnftrudtion for the inner fur-
face of the teeth. Jnflead of the
common brufh in the fhape of a
Roman T, let two bru flies be made,
with the crofs pieces inclining, the

* Or (agreeably to the luggeftion o> au ex¬
perienced chymift) as the effect of the coral
powder and of the oyiter-fbells is precifely or
irearly the lame, it may be as well to ufe only
cne of thefe ingredients, but in greater quanti¬
ty, -viz. three quaiters ot an ounce of either the
coral or the oylier-fhell Ir either be entitled
to a preference, he would give it to the latter.

one like an Italic T, the other in the
contrary direction, for the oppofite
(ides of the jaw. Whoever will
make trial of thefe, will find them
far more convenient and agreeable
than thofe in common ufe The
fame will be the confequence of
ufing, for the infide of the from teeth,
a brufh with the hair (landing in the
diredion of the handle, fo that, when
put horizontally into the mouth, the
hair, pointing outward towards the
hand which holds the brufh, bears
full upon the infide of the teeth,
without the neceffitv of draining the
mouth wide open. This brufh is
bed made upon horn or diver bent,
to the proper ffiape, to avoid the in¬
convenience of a joint in bone or
ivory, which might fometinies be
attended with danger.

Before 1 conclude, I cannot for¬
bear recommending to a'l parents to
train their children, with refpedl to
their teeth as 1 have fuccefsfully
trained a daughter of mine. Scarce¬
ly was my Eliza four years old,
when 1 iurnifhed her with \ tooth-
brufhes, taught her the ufe of them,
and took care to make her ufe them
every morning in my prefence.
Th us fhe became fo habituated to
the ufe of the brudi upon her deft
teeth, that, long before the growth
of that lecond fet which are to lad
her during life, fhe was fully pre¬
pared and difpofed to pay due atten¬
tion to their cieanlinefs and prefer-
vation. And the confequence is
fuch as might naturally have been
expefled: for, though’ die is now
above forty years of age, and has
fpent ten of thofe years in America—
whofe climate, or fruits, or*whatever
elfe it may be, feems remarkably in¬
jurious to the human teeth — hers
ate dill as beautifully white, and as
comfortably found, as any fet of
teeth i ever have feen. I do not
quote this example in commendation,
of the tooth powder which 1 have
above recommended; for it is onlv
fifteen years fines (lie fird began to

f O

470

Maxims of Lewis XVI.

life that: I wholly attribute the hap¬
py Hate of her teeth to the fmgle
circuro fiance of cleanlinefs, by what¬
ever means attained; though per¬
haps fome people might fuppofe her
to inherit that bleating from her
mother; fince, at the age of fixtv, I
fHll retain all my teeth fo found
and folid, that there appears much
lefs danger of mv lofingany of thole
tifeful appendages of the mouth,
than (if I may judge from the pre¬
sent afpedt of the times) of wanting
food to employ them.

I am, fir,

Your conffant reader,

Henrietta W **#*n'.>
Wejtminjler , Aug . 22.

Thoughts in Manuscript, tranf-
crihed by Lewis XVI/&, and col-
hided from the works of Staniflaus
LtC’zinfky, king of Poland, his great¬
grandfather *.

£ From- the € Political and confidential Corre-
jfimdence of Lewis XVL With Obfervatims
on each Liter, by Helen Maria Williams.']

T^hat a wile king, who knows
A his duties, which he loves and
p-ractifes, who, by his goodnefs and
humanity, calls forth that homage
which his dignity would give him
bo right to exact,— -that a king, the

* Thefe fketches are preferred to the
public not as original thoughts of Lewis the
Sixteenth, but as opinions which he adopted
from the writings of his great-grandfather,
the king of Poland, and which were found
copied in his hand-writing. There are cer¬
tainly a great number of excellent maxims
contained in this feledtion ; and Lewis the
Sixteenth having carefully clafied them, they
have been deemed worthy of publication, as
difplaying the temper and difpofition of his
own mind. The fentiments which we take

the trouble of tranferibing are generally fuch
as we find congenial to our own, and which
we wi#h to imprefs on the memory by retrac¬
ing them with the pen, and acquiring in this
manner 4 fort of property in the feelings and
ideas to which the heart is in fympathy.
Thefe maxims are the produdtion of a king
who appears to have merited the title which
has been given him, that of a fage.

friend of men, and the man of his
fubjeds, Ihould not tafte, or be ca¬
pable of tailing, pure and folid
happinefs, may appear furprifing,
and yet is true. He fees none
around him but falfe and interefted
perfons, whom his virtues difpleafe
even at* the very moment when
they affeff moll to applaud them ;
he meets only with hearts lervile in
their wants, infolent and haughty
when in favour, ungrateful when
they have no longer any thing to
expeft— men, in ihort, who, al¬
ways fluctuating between paflion
and intereft, and always clafliing,
never unite but for the purpofe of
perverting his fentiments, weaken¬
ing his power, and who, under the
appearance of fubmiffion, gain his
confidence, which they betray.
Notwithflanding his talents, his
good intentions, and even his
probity, the wicked fuppofe him to
be vicious, the good faulty, the cul¬
pable harfii, and the innocent too
indulgent.

There exits no true fatlsfa&ion
for fovereigns but fuch as 13 de¬
rived from reciprocal affection per¬
manently eilabhihed between them
and their fubje&s. Happy then the
fovereign who, in order to win the
love of his people, neglects nothing
by which he mav defer ve it.

To win hearts is to reign pver
them : and is riot this dominion
preferable to that which is only
maintained by force and power;
fince force and power are ufually
fupported only by the love of the
people, who are obliged to obev ?
An hero is formed only to conquer
and deftroy; a king fhould ftudy
only to render his fubjects good
and happy. The one mull neceffa-
rily have enemies, in order to obtain
renown ; the other Hands in need„
for his glory, only of being beloved
by his people. A king may eafiiy
become a great man ; an hero «§
not always lo8

Maxims of Lewis XVI \ 47 1

The authority of the laws Is the
foundation of the authority of a
fovereign : their obfervance confli-
tutes his fafety ; and he finds in it
his glory — a glory far fuperior to
that of arms, which is ufually fought
by princes, who, under fpecious
pretexts of dignity and utility, and
from the foie motive of extending
their limits or fignalifing their va¬
lour, breathe nothing but contention.
This fpecies of glory may indeed
augment their reputation or their
power; but it cods too dear to hu¬
manity, fince its price is blood. Are
fovereigns then the chiefs, the pro¬
tectors, the fathers, of other men,
only to facrihce them to their paf-
fions ? And ought they not to
fliudder at compelling them to make
this facrifi.ce, even when it becomes
indifpenfably requifite for the pre-
fervation of the (late ?

The liberty of a fovereign does
not differ from that of his people :
he is not permitted to will all that
he can do ; he is obliged, like them,
only to will what he ought. With
fuch difpofitions, he has nothing to
fear from his fuhjefts ; and his tub-
jeCts love more than they fear him.
Exempt from all inquietude, he
lives amidd them with confidence:
all the happinefs enjoyed in the
date is attributed to him, and ail
the punifhments he orders are con-
fidered as the refult of the la\Vs.
Perfuaded that whatever regulates
drengthens his power, he never
wifhes it to be increafed.

It is not enough for a fovereign
to remedy the abufes of his own age :
he ought alfo to prepare remedies for
evils to come. It is not merely for
<he time of his own life that the
dedinv of his dates is confided to
him : lie ought, by his laws and his
example, to reign even after death.

A fovereign can do nothing more
ufeful than to infpire a nation with
a great idea of itfelf. It is necefiary
-ihat men fhould be attached to their

own country, even by a feeling of
pride.

A man of genius cannot govern
a date without firmnefs; and it is
precifely that firmnefs which ren¬
ders a date unhappy when it is go¬
verned by a man of no genius.

A prince may fometimes flackers
the reins of power ; but he mud
haden to feize them again, on the
flighted fufpicion that his goodnefs

may be abufed.

«* __

The diffimulation of a king
ought to extend no farther than to
filence.

Happy. the prince who can rely9
for the adminiftration of his fin¬
ances, on a man equally wife and
enlightened, difinterefted and faith¬
ful. A treafurer who is an honed
man is himfelf a treadire, more
precious than all thofe which are
confided to his care.

OF THE GREAT.

What are the great in the eye of
reafon, even the lead fevere? They
only differ from other men by the
pededal on which they are raifed ;
and this bafis, not making any part
of themfelves, renders them neither
more wife nor more happy.

Nothing here below is great but
bv comparifon : it is the misfortune^
of one portion of mankind which
ferve to give fplendour and effeff to
the happinefs of the other. We
only appear rich, powerful, re-
fpeftabie, becaufe others are indi¬
gent, weak, or degraded. We owe
to them, in fiome fort, all our great-
nets; and we fhould be aimod no¬
thing if they were not beneath us.

I with there were Jefs didance
between the people and the great;
the people would not imagine the
great to be greater than they are,
and would feav them iefs; and 4 he
great would not imagine that the
people are more miferable and in¬
significant than they really are, arj-i
would therefore fear them more.

•4/2

Maxims of Lewis XVI.

OF POLITICS.

Diffimulation debafes politics, as
liypocrify degrades devotion ; nei¬
ther can fupply the want of what
they attempt to counterfeit.

True policy fhould be founded on
the moft fcrupuious equity, the
mod rigid integrity, a reciprocal
confidence of protection and of fer-
vice, and an uninterrupted conti¬
nuation of mutual fuccour between
the prince and his fubje&s. Not
merely the duties, but the particular
interefts, of both make this requisite;
and on this their mutual happinefs
depends. If that harmony which,
in the moral order, has jaws as im¬
mutable as thofe of the phyfical
world, were deflroyed, monarchical
-government would degenerate into
arbitrary fway, and obedience would
be transformed into fiavery.

Notwithdanding the wifed laws,
inflabiiit v belongs to dates : and

c/ o 7

for them, as for all fublunary things,
it is lading long, to change but-
little.

Every date is compofed of two
parts; one which governs, and one
which is governed. The aim of
policy is to obtain a perfect ac¬
cord between thofe two parts :
fo that the drd may not, by abufipg
its authority, opprefs the fecond ;
and that the obedience of the latter,
conformable to the law's, mav pro¬
duce the general welfare of fodety.

I compare the public weal to a
beloved child, of whom we ought
never to lofe fight, unlefs we could
bear to fee it expofed to all forts of
accidents.

Of all the evils that can hefal a
nation, there is not one to which
attention and forefight, may not ferve
fis a remedy. Thole evils are al-
, mod always defperate at their very
origin, but yield to precautions
taken to prevent their birth : it re¬
quires, however, penetration, and a
fpecies of nddrefs, to anticipate their
approach ; fince thofe evils refemble.

according to a celebrated politician3
languifhipg didempers and con-
fumptions, at tird esfily cured, but
didovered wdth d-fficulty; and in
their progrefs eafy to didingudh,
but hard to cure. That prudent
fagacity which fees from afar the
misfortunes of the date, may. no
doubt, eafily prevent their taking
place; but the moment in which,
not having been perceived, they
break forth, and that we cannot
unravel their caufe and their nature,
it becomes almod impodible to day
their courfe. In monarchies, as in
certain machines, fimplicitv is per¬
fection ; a greater number of fprings
and movements might appear to
give them more play, but would, in
reality, ferve to diminifti their juft-
nefs and their force.

OF JUSTICE AND THE LAWS,

It may feem a matter of furprifb
that laws being in all dates fo pre-
cife, fo clear, and fo notorious as
they are, it fhould be requidte, in
law-fuits, to have recourfe to fo
great a number of judges, advocates,
and other perfons beddes, in order
to examine, difeufs, and unravel, the
flighted affairs. If the tribunals, in
pronouncing on the differences, be¬
tween parties, while they decided in
favour of one according to equity,
punifhed at the fame time the other,
as guilty of a ftate crime, by daring'
to defend a bad caufe, contrary to
the fpirit of the law, and in the
hopes of deceiving the judges and
of obtaining a fentence conformable
to their own wiflres, would there be
many law-fuits in the world ? Such
means would put an end to thofe
expenfive fophifms, thofe fubtle
ambiguities, thofe ufclefs forms,
thofe difhonourable contentions of
chichane, thofe pretended oracles,
interelled to deliver anfwers con¬
formably to the dedres of thofe who
confult them, and who, in the dark
fchaos of comments and gloffes, the'..

473

Maxims of Lewis XVI ,

intricate paths of which they alone
can tread, lead, -indifcriminately, to
right or left, thofe who are weak
enough to follow their fteps.

Upon the whole, laws which ex¬
plain themfelves with fufficient clear-
neis in all cafes that can occalion
difputes would thus be rendered
more refpedfable.

Independently of that primitive
juftice, the feeds of which are im¬
planted in our hearts, there are laws
formed upon thofe principles, and
which ought to regulate all our
fentiments.

I would not altogether blame the
cufiom introduced in the tribunals,
of purchafing the advice of lawyers,
and recompenfing their labours;
but I wifh that the citizens were
prevented from commencing a
doubtful procefs, in which their
advocate promifes them fuccefs, of
which he himfelf has no hopes.

In the place of thofe mercenary
counfellors, whom I conlider as a
fort of peftile-nce, the ravages of
which are fo much the more exten¬
sive as no prince has yet thought of
flopping their progrefs, the Hate
ought to fubftitute, at its own ex¬
pence, a certain number of expert
and difinterefted perfons, who, on
being confulted by the parties be¬
fore the fir ft hoftile demonftrations3
fhould difplay to them, Amply and-
gratuitoufly, the injuftice or equity
of their claim?, and engage them,
y fe a r or hope, to renounce or
fiipport their pretenftons. This
kind of tribunal would be fo much
the more ufeful, as it would fubdue
the greater part of thofe paflions
which fow divifion among!! men ;
and it muft effedt this fo much the
more eafily, as thole paflions in
their birth would not have had time
to contradt that degree of warmth
by which they are ufuaUy inflamed
on the firft refiftance they expe¬
rience.

Vol. XXXIV.

OF FINANCE.

The ftrength of a flare, properly
fp caking, conflfts only in a wife ad-
miniftration of its finances; and in-
almuch as a prudent occonomy is
neceflary for a private individual
who wi flies not to fall from the
condition in which Heaven placed
him, fo is it indifpenfabie for a
kingdom that feeks to maintain its
ftrength and Iplendour, fince it is
the f’pring that gives motion to all
the wheels of the ftate.

Nothing is fo important, in every
kind of government, as funds always
ready in cafe of any urgent necefiity %
and it often happens that fums pro¬
perly applied produce a greater
effedt than the fuccefs of the hap-
pieft war, or the negociations of the
moft able minifters.

Whether it be the effedt of pru¬
dence, fear, or oftentation, princes
in the moft peaceable times maintain
more troops than their wants re¬
quire, or their finances admit. But
it it be neceflary t;o keep on foot fo
great a number of troops in time of
peace, and if it feems unjuft to make
the fubjedt continue to pay even
thofe that are difbahded, why do not
fovereigns take thofe funds from their
treafury, or fup ply them by the
means of ceconomy? What would
it coft them to allot every year a furn
more or lefs confiderable, and place
it in commerce ; by means of which,
like a feed that unfolds itfelf in the
bolom of the earth to which it is
confided, itwould infenflbly increafe,
and become equally ufeful to thofe
who furniflled the fflnds and thofe
who employed them to advantage?
Whatever war then broke out, we
ftiould find ourfelves able to fuftain;
and the people would not be fubjedt-
ed to taxes, which, efpecially from
the manner in which they are col¬
lected, become ftill more burden-
fome than they are in themfeives.

474

Maxims of Lewis XVI.

' " ' ■ , •. •

OF EMPLOYMENTS AND CONDI¬
TIONS.

One of the misfortunes that take
rile in a ftate from the confufion of
employments and of talents, and
from the fmall proportion between
men and their condition, is, that the
greater part of thofe whofe minds
are elevated by inftruilion, and who
are adequate to the higheft employ¬
ments, finding themfelves obliged,
in order to obtain them, to pay
court to men of ordinary capacity,
too limited to appreciate their merit,
make choice of retreat, yvhich ac¬
quires every day new value in their
eyes— happy in being accountable
only to themfelves for their ftudies
and reflexions. Such men are in¬
deed ufelefs to the ftate; but it is
the ftate which leaves them without
ufefulnefs.

We have but too often expe¬
rienced that thofe who owe their
employments only to court favour,
facrifice to it bafely the intertfts of
the nation: they ceafe to be citizens,
in order to become the infiruments
of tyranny-,

Good fenfe, religion, policy, every
confideration engages us to ipare the
people: without this, whatever order
may prevail in a ftate, the weak will
always be the vidims. 1 he founda¬
tion of a ftate is the people; if this
foundation be of mud and clay, the
ftate cannot laft long. Let us then
Jabour to prop this: its ftrength will
conftitute our vigour, its inde¬
pendence our fafety; and it will
t’uftain us the more fecurely, fince
the people would have the perfua-
fton that they fhould perifli with us,
if they did notcherifh in their hearts
our interefts, and tfye glory of their
country.

We fhould no lefs efteem the vir¬
tues of the flirub, however lowlv,
however humble, it may appear,
than the flirub may court the fhelter
we can bellow. Without this reci¬

procal interchange, every thing falls
to ruin in a ftate; and there appears
neither fagacity, nor invention, nor
commerce, nor any of thofe aids
which are neceffary for the orna¬
ment or the wants of life.

OF IRRELIGION.

Which are mod unreafonable,
the errors of idolaters, or thofe of
deifm which are profeffed in our
days? Thofe adored a vile infeil,
only becaufe they believed it to be a
god: our philofophers affeit to be¬
lieve in God only fo much as leaves
them at liberty not to fear him.
The former do not believe them-
felves to be the creatures of their
idols, and yet offer them incenfe ; the-
latter acknowledge their Creator in
their God, and yet refufe him their
gratitude. The wife ft heads of an¬
tiquity feared to irritate gods that
had no power; our infidels attribute
all power to God, and brave his
wrath and jufiice. The one be¬
lieved in Providence,- and undertook
nothing without confulting their
gods;, the others afcribe all to
chance, and will only draw refources
from their own flock again ft the
misfortunes which befal them. —
Thofe, in a word, wifhed to owe
every fort of , obligation to a reli¬
gion which promifed them no re-
compenfe fufficiently fpecious to en*
gage them to fubmiffion ; while thefe
profcribe that one which abounds in
fo many fources of confolation from
its morality; and having no rule of
conduit for the prefent, they pro-
pofe to themfelves no objeil for the
future.

What! thofe wits of the firft or¬
der, intoxicated with their own me¬
rit, dazzled by their own acquire¬
ments, who imagine they have at¬
tained the higheft degree of pene¬
tration granted to man, and who,
from the zenith of iheir fphere, look
down with pity on the ignorance,
credulity, and fuperftition, of other

475

Maxims of Lewis XVI.

mortals— what ! wits fo vain, fo full
of themfelves, can ferioufly embrace
an opinion the antipodes of pride,
an opinion that referves for them¬
felves only utter deftruCtion!

How can they who are fo haugh¬
ty, fo daring, humble themfelves fo
far as to believe they are deftinedto
the entire annihilation of their be¬
ing ? That portion of themfelves
which they have cultivated with fo
much care, which they have embel-
Jifhed with fo many acquifitions,
which they have taken fo much
pains to decorate in order to be di-
ftinguifhed from others — will they
contemplate it, without regret, rea-
dv to mingle itfelf with the duft of
the tomb ?

Who can fail to be furprifed at
the hideous contrail which we re¬
mark in their ideas ? Why fo much
pride among men who no longer
hope to exift ?

Hypocrites ferve God, only to
deceive men. More culpable than
atheifts, who deny the Divinity,
without being able to deceive them¬
felves, thefe believe in him, preach,
adore, and mock him ; but, by a
natural confequence of their profa¬
nations, more unhappy than atheifls,
whofe blindnefs all things confpire
to difiipate, they fall into a deceitful
tranquillity, an hardnefs of heart,
from which nothing recals them,
and which makes them find that of
the punifhments of Heaven the moft
terrible are thofe that avenge without
correcting.

OF CONSCIENCE.

If laws had been promulgated to
Tecompenfe good actions, as they
have been eftablifhed to punifh
crimes, the number of the virtuous
would furely have been more in-
creafed by the attraction of the pro-
mifed benefit, than the number
of the wicked can be diminiftied
by the rigour of the punifhments
wjth whi^h they are menaced. This

is precifely what takes place at the
tribunal of confidence ; the perverle
are there punifhed by cruel re¬
proaches for even the moft hidden
crimes, while the good receive the
recompenfe of their fecret virtues,
not only by an exemption from all
remorfe, but by flattering teftimonies
which envy cannot pervert; by a
fecret charm, which it is eafier to
feel than to define; by the foothing
retrofpeCl which a noble mind invo¬
luntarily takes of itfelf, with no other
view than that of being further ex¬
cited to the practice of its duties.
This delightful felf-complacency is
not an illufion of felf-love to which
virtue is a ftranger. The reflections
of fuch a mind are all true, juft,
and refpeCtable, as itfelf.

There exifts a tribunal in the
world, 'more tremendous than any
which a wife policy has eftablifhed.
Unlike fuch, it is in vincible : it has
neither axe nor fafees : it is every¬
where, and the fame among all na¬
tions. Every man has a right to
give his opinion in it ; there the
Have judges his mafter, the fubjeCl
his fovereign : men of worth com-
pofe and refpeCl this tribunal ; and
it is only the moft abandoned who
difregard its decifions.

OF virtue.

Virtue, deftitute of meeknefs and
politenefs, is a bait without a hook.
How many refpeCtable perfons re-
femble Uiyftes at the cottage of
Eumaeus ! they are heroes covered
with rags. .

There isafupreme dignity, which,
of itfelf, confers no rank, and which
refults from the quality of an honeft
man.

All the fineft talents united are
not worth one virtue.

Such is the misfortune of hu¬
manity, that, in order to become
conftantly virtuous, it feems ne-
ceflary not to have been always fo.
Not that I pretend that we mull take

3 P 2

4.7 6 On Good Manners ,

the path of vice to arrive at virtue :
let us not go in fearch of enemies, in
order to have the honour of combat¬
ing with them. But, upon the
whole, it is a truth, which expe¬
rience at tells, that we are never bet¬
ter than when we have had the mif-
fortune of not being always good.

Mu ft we ceafe to be virtuous in
order not to be expofed to the fhafts
of envy? How unfortunate would
it be, if the fun ceafed to enlighten
that it might not dazzle weak eyes !

OF PRAISE.

Praife is a tribute which we owe
to virtue : yet though, of all tributes,
this be the rnoft eatily paid, it is in
general only half rendered, and al-
moft always refufed. The collec¬
tors of this tax would be mere loi¬
terers in the world.

Exceffive praifes ought to offend
us more feniibjy ihan abufive lan¬
guage-

We, fooner or later, humble thofe
whom we have made vain by our
praifes.

OF ELOfiUEN C E.

Eloquence is eftimabie only fo far
as it ferves truth. The one fooths
the heart, which the other rends.

I cannot endure an orator who
thinks onlv artificially, and wi flies
pie to think in the fame manner.
He methodically clips the wings of
my mind, fo that I can only drag my
fteps after him in the narrow path
which he traces for me.

An orator who ftudies to be flow¬
ery is like a wreftler who prides
him-feif in his beauty, when ail that
js required of him is ftrength.

Nothing is fo great an inftance of
ill manners as flattery. If you flatter
all the company, you pleafe none;
if you flatter one or two, you affront
the reft.

Where company meets, I am
confident the few reafonable perfons
are every minute tempted to curfe
the man or woman among them who
endeavours to be moft diftinguifhed
for their good nature.

A man of fenfe would rather faff
till night than dine at fome tables,
where the ladv of the houfe is pof-
fefied with good manners ; uneaft-
nefs, prefling to eat, and teaflng with
civility.

■ A courtly bow, or gait, or drefs,
are no part *of good manners ; and,
therefore, every man of good urn
derftanding is capable of being well
bred upon any occafion.

Good manners chiefly confift in
adtion, not in words: modefty and
humility are the chief ingredients.

1 have known the court of Eng¬
land under four reigns, the two laffc
but for a fhort time; and whatever
good manners or politenefs i obferv-
ed in any of them was not of the
court growth, but imported.

Argument, as ufually managed, is
the worft fort ol converfation ; as it
is generally in books the worft fort
of reading.

Qood converfation is not to be
expedled in much company, be-
caufe few liften, and there is conti¬
nual interruption ; but good or ill
manners are difcovered let the com-*
pa ny be ever fo large.

Perpetual aiming at wit is a very
bad part of converfation. It is a

ON GOOD MANNERS.

[by dean swift.]

oop manners is the art of mak-
^ ing every reafonable perflon in

flirt of infult on the company, and a
cpmftraint upon the fpeaker.

f or a man to talk in his own trade^
or b.ufinefs,,lor faculty, is a great
breach of.good manners. Divines,
phyiicians, lawyers, foldiers, and

the company eafy, and to be eafy particularly poets, are frequently
purfelves, guilty of this weak nefs.

Matilda; a Drama . 477

MATILDA; ^ DRAMA.

( Continued from, p. 413 .)

Act III. — Scene X,

Herman , Louifa, Philip.
Herman .

Louisa, do me the pleafure to go
and tell Matilda and madame
Amelia, that the count is gone out,
and will not return till the evening ;
that they may come down; and that
I have feveral things to communi¬
cate to them.

Louifa . We will go dire&ly.
Herman. Oh ! one of you will be
fufncient.

Philip. Eut what am I to do while
file is gone ?

Louifa. We are partners in every
thing, and do whatever we have to
do together.

Herman. I no longer wonder that
one half of your bufmefs is not done
at all, and the other half badly done.
However, go together, fince it muft
be fo.

Louifa . Mr. Herman, we heard
juft now a loud talking in this fa-
loon ?

Philip. Some perfons feemed to be
difputing with great vehemence.

"Louifa. Mr. Erneft and his un¬
de - - —

Herman . What, you were liftening
at the door?

Philip. That would have been

very becoming, to be fure ! -

No ; we only happened to be walk¬
ing under the windows.

Louija. Without any intention of
liftening, I do affure you.

Herman. Well, go and carry the
meftage which I defined you to carry.
But let me warn you that if any
thing is told in the family of what
has palled here, if a fingle word of

what has been faid - \

Philip. How can you, fir, fuppofe
that we fpould divulge— -

Louifa. O dear, fir, we heard no¬
thing. £ Exeunt*

Scene XI.

■ •

Herman , alone.

This worthy Erneft! — Was it
probable that, with fo mild a coun¬
tenance, fo pleating, fo attractive, an
exterior, he could be a diihoneft:
man? It is true, we fee examples
of this every day, But, even at the
rifk of being deceived, is it not
better to think too favourably of the
wicked than unjuftly of the virtu¬
ous ?

Scene XII.

♦ -

Herman , Amelia, Matilda .

Herman ( olferving Matilda enter
timidly'). Come in, come in ; I have-
good news to tell you. Fear no¬
thing ; the count, your father, is
gone out, and will not return till
the evening.

Amelia. I told you, Matilda, that
he would not dine here.

Matilda {to -Herman). You have
feen my father, and I have feen-
him too-— but only from the top of
the old tower, through the battle¬
ments — at a great diftance — at a
very great diftance — I law him em¬
brace you all, while I — I was oblige
ed to hide myfelft

Herman. Your fituation is lefs
defperate than you may imagine.

Matilda. What do you mean?

Herman. Your name has been
mentioned in the prefence of the
count, and he has pardoned the pre-
fumption.

Matilda {eagerly). Some one has
adventured lo mention my name to

my father ! — What heart fo gene¬
rous ?

Plerman. That of Erneft.

Matilda {with a lively emotion of
joy). Erneft — Dear Amelia, Erneft
has fpoken of me to my father!

Amelia {with a ferious air) . You
know not yet with what intention.

478

Matilda ; a Drama .

Herman. With an intention pure,
Boble, and generous. Notwith¬
standing the pofitive orders of the
count, that no perfon Should ever
fpeak to him of his wife, or of Ma¬
tilda ; notwithstanding the danger
of difobedience, Erneft has pro¬
nounced, in his prefence, the name
of his benefa&refs, and that of Ma¬
tilda. He has refufed the inherit¬
ance to which Matilda alone has
a legitimate claim : he has demanded
for her the kindnefs, the affeeftion,
the heart, of her father; and, pre¬
ferring the anger of his protedtor,
defertion, and poverty, to the eternal
reproach of having deprived his
innocent relative of her right, he
Jias nobly difeharged the duty of a
virtuous man. He has raifed him-
felf above us, whofe timid friend¬
ship had lefs to lofe, and therefore
ought to have adventured more.-—
He merits our friendship, our re-
fpedf, our gratitude. — Yet this was
the man we fufpedted and up¬
braided !

Matilda. How much my heart is
relieved. (To Amelia.) I always told
you fo.

Amelia. Your prejudice in favour
of Erneft - - .

Matilda. Prejudice 1 becaufe I
cannot endure to think ill of any
one. — Oh ! it is fo plealing to be¬
lieve in virtue !

Herman ( taking her hand , which
he clafps affectionately). Dear Ma¬
tilda !

Amelia . I have no reafon to hate;
and if you were lefs unhappy - .

' Scene XIII.

Herman , Amelia , Matilda , Louifa ,

Philip : the two latter entering haft -

ilyt pale , and fcarcely able to

breathe.

Herman (farting). What is the
matter ?

Amelia. Why do you look fo
pale and terrified ?

Matilda, Louifa !—

Louifa. Oh, I cannot fpeak !
Philip. I tremble from head to
foot.

Herman. What has happened ?
x Philip. Juft now, as we crofted
the garden —

Louifa. Thinking of nothing —
Philip. Chattering jocofely to¬
gether. —

Louifa. At the little gate, which
we found open —

Philip. And which I had made
fa ft — I am very fure I had —

Louifa . WithinSide, almoft under
the window of mifs Matilda,, we
faw four men — •

Philip. All well armed, and fuch
ill-looking fellows—

Louifa. Oh! frightful!

Philip. A hedge prevented their
feeing us —

Louifa. It was well it did.— We
overheard a good deal of what they
faid : there is a terrible plot.

Philip. Our buSinefs is with this
window, faid one,—

Louifa. It is not high, and the
balcony may be of fervice to us, re¬
plied the other.- —

Philip. With a rope ladder, added
he.

Louifa. I have one, anfwered the
firft.— There. will be enough of us.
Philip. All with arms —

Louifa. Swords —

Philip . Piftols.

Louifa. At the mention of pi¬
ftols —

Philip. At that of fwords- —
Louifa. I, who am afraid of fire¬
arms —

Philip . And I , who do not love
them —

Louifa. I faid to Philip— let us be
gone — -

Philip. And run —

Louifa. To relate —

Philip. Without faying a word —
Louifa. Without turning back —
Philip . We were looking for
you —

iuQuifi. We have found you—

479

Matilda ;

Both. And here we are.

Herman . And what does all this
mean ?

Philip . It means that there are
thieves in the garden.

Amelia . And what do they expeft
to find in the fmall detached apart¬
ment in which we refide ?

Matilda ( Jinking into an arm -
chair). My heart mifgives me;
my fears overpower me.

Herman. Why fhonld you be fo
much alarmed ? Whatever may
have been the intention of thefe
mifcreants, they are no longer to
be feared now they are difeovered.

Amelia. We muft colledd all the
domeftics and fervants ot the houfe,
and fearch the garden and all the
environs.

Herman. I will go and call them.

Amelia. I follow you.

Matilda ( endeavouring to rife).
Mv mind is fo agitated — .

Herman. Stay where you are,
Matilda.

Aneha. We will return to you
immediately.

Louifa. 1 will go and fhow you
the way.

Philip. Let us firft collect all our
people : when we are about twenty
or thirty in number - .

Louifa . I dare fay we fhall be able
to defend ourfelves again ft four rob¬
bers, though 1 make no doubt they
are terrible fellows.

Philip. Never mind; we will not
fear them.

ljouifa. No; we will not fear
them. ' l Exeunt ^

Scene XIV.

Matilda alone , and fill feated.

I s

T blufti at my own weaknefs.
Alas 1 fo young, yet fo familiar
with grief and troubles ! They
have quite deprived me of all cou¬
rage ! But let me for a moment
banifli thefe thoughts. — My father
was here this morning^-Here — 1

a Drama .

breathe the fame air which he
breathed. — He, perhaps, fat in this
chair ; and it was here, perhaps,
that Erneft fpoke to him of mer —
Erneft 1 — Thefe ideas fomewhat re¬
lieve the grief with which my heart
is opp reded. O, my father ! liften
to Erneft — extend to me your arms
— do not repulfe your daughter~fhe
reveres you — one lingle look from
you, one word from your lips, one
fingie affe&ionate word, and all my
griefs would be forgotten ! ( She

walks up the fage , and fops at an open
door , which leads into the garden .)
Some one is coming. — Surely it

cannot be - 1 muft be deceived. — .

Gracious Heaven ! — Yes, it is — it is
my father. — I muft be gone. — But it
is impoffible : — there is no wav out
but this by which I meet him.
{She walks hafily up and down, in mof
violent agitation). Where lhail I
hide me ? — Whither fly ? Wretched
Matilda! thou art loft ! Oh, earth,
hide me in thy bofom !— -Conceal
an unfortunate daughter from the
light, the anger, the malediction, of
a father 1

Scene XV.

Matilda , Count d ’ Orlheim, followed

by a fewant.

Count dOrlhetm (to the few ant, as
he enters). My thoughts were en¬
gaged on fomething eife, I tell you,
and I forgot to take them. — I muft
have left them in this faloon— upon
that bureau — -there they are, I am
Certain. — ( Perceiving Matilda , he ut¬
ters a loud exclamation ) . Heavens !—
Whom do I fee ? — It is her!

Matilda (on her knees , her hands
clafped and extended towards her fa¬
ther). Forgivenefs ! Companion !
my father, have pity on me. (Her
voice and frength fail her — -fie finks
and faints ) .

Count d ’ Qrlheim (runs to her , raifes
her in his arms , and, placing her in the
chair y fays to the fervant) — Run, By,

4 SO Matilda i;

procure immediate* afli fiance. ( The
jervant goes out haflily , and Count
d' Orlheim ffxes his eyes on Matilda ).
Ail the features of her mother ! —
her very voice. — (He feizes her
handy preffes it to his heart , then drops
it,, with a deep Jigh)- All the fea¬
tures of her mothef! — All, all ! —
If I look on her again, I ft) all not
fffeape my weaknefs---lN!o— - 1 will
defend rnyfelf againfl her, and
againfl my fe If !

Scene XVI.

Amelia Herman , Bloume, Ernefi ,
Louifa, Philip, Count dd Orlheim 5
Matilda, ft ill in a fainting fit.

\ Herman. We have found no per-
fan —

Anklia. They had, no doubt,. all
fled.'

(They perceive Count d * Orlheim and
Matilda).

Alt. (with an exclamation of aflo-
nifhntent) . Heavens !

Herman ( running to Count d'Orl-
iicim). You have returned, fir, very
unexpectedly.

(Amelia flies to Matilda ; Count
4’ Orlheim approaches Erncft,
Bloume , and Herman, Jhows them
Matilda, and feems to make djign
that they fhould afiifl her. Louifa
end Philip eagerly offer their fer-
vices ).

Count d 'Orlheim ( /how fug the pa¬
pers which he had taken off the table) .
Agitated— difturbed in my thoughts,

I had forgotten to take thefe. — (Go¬
ing, he flops fuddenly , and feeing Er¬
nejl jupporting and hanging oxer Ma¬
tilda, t hr ufts the papers into his pocket ,
and Jays , with a fault er in g voice ) —
Herman, and you, Mr. Bloume, you
will follow me. [ Exit huffily , Her¬
man and Bloume follow ,]

Scene XVII. - -

Ernejl, Amelia, Matilda , Louifa
Philip .

Ernejl. This is an alarming acci-

a Drama.

dent. — What will be the cotjfe-
quences ?

Amelia . Dear Matilda!

Matilda ( opening her eyes, and
with a faint voice j . Where am I ?

Amelia. With your Amelia — with
your friends.

Ernejl. Yes, with your friends,
lovely Matilda — with friends who
are all willing to facrifice their lives
for you.

Matilda (looking round her).
Where is he ? — Has he left me
He was there.— He clafped my
hand.

Amelia. Take courage 5 we ill a 1 X
be able to bear whatever may be
our lot.

Matilda ( alarmed). ' Has he then
pronounced my doom ?

Ernejl. No, no ; he has laid no¬
thing. He fighed ; he looked, I
thought, with kindnefs on you.

Louifa. I few tears tiart into his
eve-s.

Ernef. No ; he did not condemn
you.

Matilda (looking at Ernejl , and
ft retching out to him her hand, which
he hiffes with tranjport). Is it you,
■lirneti r— Ah ! I am greatlv indebted
to you. (7o the others). Yes,

I heard his voice— his dear voice. —
But my lenfes had left me.- — I think,
however, that he-. prefled me- — preff-
ed me to his bofom.

Amelia. Oh! if he did! - .

Philip and Louifa (eagerly). He
ought to have done fo.

Tailed (eagerly). He did foj I
am certain he did.

Scene XVIII.

Erne.fi , Amelia , Matilda, Louifa ,

Philip, Herman, why enters fowl?/,

and with looks exp refill'd of great

emharraffment and alarm.

^ Louifa. Here is Mr. Herman. —
Gracious Heaven, how pale he
looks! — See, Philip. — What is the
mazier with you, Mr, Plermaa ?

481

The Moral Zoologift .

Herman. How fhall I tell vou ?
1 bring an order — a fearful order !

Eme ft. From whom?

Herman. From the count.

Amelia. What is it ?

Matilda, I fn udder.

Herman. Before night, mifs Ma¬
tilda mull -

Erneft. Proceed.

Herman Leave this manfion for
ever: the order is irrevocable.

\_All appear in the utmofi confirmation ,

and a profound filence enfiues for fame

moment /.]

Erneft ( with violence ). No, this
horrible act of in juft ice fhall not be
committed! this innocent and lovely
victim fhall not be facrificed; or, at
leaft, the fame blow (hall fall upon
me ! 1 fly where my duty calls me.

Matilda. Stop.

Herman (/peaking at the fame in-
Jlant -1 with Matilda ). Stop: you will
not fave her ; but you will ruin your-
felf.

Eme ft (zvith the utmofi heat and
agitation). Talk not to me of my
ruin when I lee deftrudlion ready
to fall on innocence, virtue, and
honour! I lofe every thing if Ma^
tiida is loft. 1 mull; fave Matilda,
©r peri fit with her. file rujhes out .

Matilda. He adds to my misfor¬
tunes !

Scene XIX.

Herman, Matilda , Amelia, Lottifia,
Philip.

Herman. Vv hat fhall I fay to the
count ?

Matilda ( zvith tears and a fault er -
ing voice). That I w ill obey him,
(She falls on her knees and raifes her
hands). Merciful Heaven! be my
fupport, my refuge, and forfake
not an unfortunate and feeble crea¬
ture ! — ( She rifes and leans on the ar?n
of Amelia), Let us go, my dear
friend j 1 have but a few moments
more to be with you.

Amelia. But a few moments! —
Do vou think, then, that I will ever

Vol. XXXIV.

leave you ? No, 'deareft Matilda!
vour fate fhall be mine : the little we
have we will fhare together. Mis¬
fortune exifls not when we have
courage, nor can there be poverty
when we are willing to labour.

Matilda (embracing Amelia , then
turning to Herman and grefenting him
her hand ). Farew'el ! Do not forget
me: you will be ever prefent to my
thoughts.- — (To Lou'tfa and Philip ).
I thank vou for all your fer vices;
your difinterefted compaffion.—
( She extends to them her hands, vshich
they ki.fs and bathe zvuhHkevr tears) .
Farewell I am driven from my fa¬
ther’s houfe: I go to live and lan-
guifti far from you ; but I fhall al¬
ways love you.

Herman. There is a fmali farm-
houfe, at a little diftance, where you
wall be received with kindnefs, and
may remain for this night. To¬
morrow I will endeavour to find for
you a more fuitable afylum. Do
not fink into defpondence; the pre¬
fent is the moment when courage is
neceflary. Recoiled! that, to enable
you to fupport your misfortunes,

there ftill remain to you - ~ —

Matilda. Your friendftiip, my in¬
nocence, Heaven, and my dear
Amelia.

fihe throws herfilf into the' arms of
Amelia , who fuppo ts and leads her
of : Herman, Louifa , and Philip „
follow, in tears , and exhibiting all
the emotions of grief and affection, ]
END OF THE THIRD ACT.

(To be continued.)

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART II.

{Continued from p. 435.)

THE SCOPS, OR LITTLE HORNED
OWL.

'T’hj-s fpecies of horned owl is eafl-
ly diftitiguifhed from the other
two by its fmali ftze, being only
ieven inches long, and by the gats,

482

The Moral Zoologift.

which only rife about half an inch
from the head anti are compofed of
a fingle feather ; its, head alfo is much
fmaljer in proportion to its body
than in the two laft-dtfcribed fpecies,
and the feathers are more beautifully
variegated with biown, black, and
red. The legs are clothed to the
beginning of the daws, with fea¬
thers of a ready grey mixed with
brown fpots.

This fpecies is iikewife diftin-
guillied by itsinfUnff; for in fpring
and autumn it migrates into other
climates, and feldom paffes the win¬
ter either in England or France, but
departs after, and returns a little be¬
fore, the fwallow. It is however
but feldom feen and much feldomer
taken in this country. In years
when mice have multiplied: ex¬
tremely, thefe owls, it is faid, have
been known to alienable in flocks,
and make war on them fo fuccelT-
fully as entirely to clear the fields.
Dale, in his appendix to his 4 Hiftoi y
of Harwich,’ gives two inftances of
this, from Child rey. * In the year
1580, at Hallow- tide, an army of
mice fo over-ran the mar flies near
Soiuh-Minfler that they eat up the
grafs to the very roots : but at length
a great number of Jh tinge painted
€<vjIs- came and devoured all the
mice. The like happened in Efiex
anno 1648.’ Dale fuppofes thefe to
have been the long-eared owls, but
the term ftrange painted cewis items
rather to point out the (cops.

The colour of thefe owls greatly
varies, according to the climate,
their age, and, perhaps, fex. They
are all grey when young, but as they
grow oider fome become browner
than others.

This bird is denominated Strix
/Siops by Linnaeus.

THE ALUCO OWL.

The aluco, which' may be called
the black owk, was by the Greeks
named JAy&icorax, or the night-
raven. It is the Strix Aluco of Lin¬

naeus, and is by fome called the
brown owl. and the howlet. it is
thelargefl of the tribe of owls which
have not ears, being near fifteen
inches long from the tip of the bill to-
the claws. The upper part of the
body is of a deep iron grey, varie¬
gated with white and black fpors
the under part white with blackifll
longitudinal and tranfverfe freaks.
The tail is fome what more than fix
inches long; the wings when fpread
meafurethreefeet two or three inches.
The face appears, as it were, funk in
the plumage; the eyes are buried itx
greyifh ragged feathers ; the legs are
clothed to the beginning of the claws
with white feathers, mottled with
black fpots.

This bird during furamer lodges
in hollow trees in the vroods 1 in
winter it approaches the cultivated
grounds and habitations of the huf-
bandman. Its raolf ufual prey ir
field-mice, but it Iikewife purfues
and catches fmall birds, which it
i wallows entire. Its cry refembles
the howling of wolves, and it is faief
to liner it more loudly and frequent¬
ly in frofiy weather.

It ufuaily lays four eggs, of adufky
grey colour, round, and nearly of
the fame fize with thole of a fmall
puiiet.

The aluco owl is a native of mofi
parts of Europe, and among the
Caimuck Tartars revered as a lac red
bird.

the tawny owe.

The tawny owl is diflinguifhed
from the other earlefs owls by its
bluet fit eves, the variegated colours
of its plumage, and the peculiarity
of its cry. The back, head, and
coverts of the wings, are of a tawny
red, mottled with black or dufky
fpots of various fizes ; the bread and
belly are yellowilh, mixed wirhr
white, and marked with narrow
black {freaks pointing downwards.

Th is bird is the Strix Siridula of
Linnaeus, and is deferibed by him as

48$

The Moral Z cologjt .

^•native of Sweden. It is alfo found
in other northern countries, and in¬
habits the more fouthern deferts of
Europe and Tartary: in England,
likewile, it is pretty frequent in the
woods, where it breeds in the rooks’
nefts. Varieties of it are found in
America and the Weft-Indies.

Gether and Aldrovandus, as well
as Linnaeus, and many other natu-
ralifts who have written in Latin,
have applied the name Strix to this
fpecies; but Buffon thinks, and he
feems to have well fupported his
opinion, particularly by a paifage
from Ovid, that the white owl, or
common barn owl, and not the
tawny owl, was the Strix of the an¬
cients.

THE WHITE OWL.

The white owl, or common barn
owl, may be considered as almod a
domedic bird, as it inhabits barns,
hay-lofts, and other out-houfes, as
well as the roofs of churches and
ruinous buildings. It utters conti¬
nually a difagreeable kind of hiding
or blowing, which refembles the
fnoring of a man who fleeps with his
mouth open. When it flies or
alights it alfo fcreams with a harfh
und mournful note, which the igno¬
rant and fu perditions regard as omi¬
nous, confidering it as the mefTenger
of death if its doleful cries are heard
near the -chamber of any fick perfon^

The beauty of its plumage, how¬
ever, in fome degree compenfates
for its difgufting tones. The up¬
per part of the body is yellow,
waved with grey and brown, and
fprinkled with white points ; the
under part is white, marked with
black fpots. A circle of foft white
feathers furrounds the eyes. The
bill is white, except at the tip, which
is brown. The legs are covered
.with white down; the claws are
white, and the nails blackifh. There
ure others of this fpecies, the bread
and belly of which are of a fine yel¬
low fprinkled with black points : in

others they are entirely white, in
others yellow, and without a fmgle
fpot.

The white owl does not, like the
aluco and the tawny owl, lodge its
eggs in the neds of other birds, but
carelefdy drops them in the holes of
walls or trees, without any prepara¬
tion of withered grafs, roots, or
leaves, for their reception. It breeds
in the month of March, when it Jays
five or fix eggs, of an oblong fhape
and a whitifh colour. The young
when fird product are entirely
white, and are fed by the parents,
chief! v with infers, and morfels of
the flefh of mice. When about the
age of three weeks, they are fat and
plump, and are reckoned by the
French good eating.

Thefe owls are eafily caught, by
placing a fmall net at the entrance of
the holes they inhabit in old build¬
ings ; but, except taken young, they
will not live, lhut up in cages, hut
reject all fudenance, and ufually die
of hunger in ten or twelve days.
When confined they never utter their
harfh and grating cry, which found
they give only when dying at perfe6l
freedom The female of this fpecies
is rather larger than the male, and
its plumage is more light and di-
ftinft in its colour: it is, in facd, the
mod beautifully varied of any of the
nocturnal birds.

The white owl is the Strix Flctm~
mea of Linnaeus : it is common in
every part of Europe; and found
through the whole extent of the con¬
tinent of America, though not far¬
ther north than the latitude of Swe¬
den. In Tartary it is a facrcd bird,
from a tradition that it was inftru-
mental in favingthe emperor Tenghis
Khan.

THE BROWN OWL.

This fpecies, alfo called the rock
owl, is very common, though not fo
frequently feen in the vicinity of our
habitations as the white owl. It is
lefs than the tawny owl, being only
3 U a

The Moral Zoologi/l.

484

eleven or twelve inches from the
bill to the ciaw£. The head is
fmooth ; the upper part of the body
tawny, with dufky longitudinal fpots;
below it is. whitifh with dufky lines:
the tail is marked with dufky bars.
The legs are covered with feathers :
the bill is entirely brown. It haunts
quarries, rocks, ruins, and defert-
ed edifices: it prefers mountainous
tradis, craggy : precipices, and fe*
queftered places ; but it fcarcely ever
reforts to the woods, or lodges in
hollow trees. The peafants are
ufually friendly to this bird, being
pleafed with its loft and plaintive
note, which it varies according to
the weathe^ and thus becomes an
unerring predi&er of rain.

Like the white owl, the brown
owl makes no neft, but leaves its
eggs in any hole which may offer.
It lays three white eggs, perfectly
round, about the fize of thole of a
wood- pigeon.

' This bird is the Strix- Ulu/a of
Li nnaeus, whofe fpecific character of
it is: ‘That the upper part of its
body is dufky, with white fpots; the
fail feathers infpribed vvith white
lines.’ It includes two varieties ;
1. The Arctic owl, Strix Airtlica ,
•which inhabits the northern parts of
Sweden-— 2, TheCafpian owl, Strix
Accipitrina , which inhabits the Caf*
pian Sea and the fouthern parts of
IRulIia and Tartary.

THE LITTLE OWL.

This is one of the fmaileft of the
owl genus. It is nearly of the fame
fize with the leaps, or little horned
owl, both being about feven or eight
Inches long from the point of the bill
to the claws, and not larger than a
blackbird. But it is eafilv diftin-
guifhed from the (cops, by having
no prominent feathers at the ears
like that bird, by the difference of
colours, by the regular difpofition
of the white fpots on the wings and
the body, by the fhortnefs of its tail
and wings, and by its cry. It fddom

is found in the woods, but frequents
old deferted buildings, ruins, and
caverns, and never lodges in hollow
trees* It is not, flridfly fpeaking, a
nocturnal bird, for it" endures the
light much better than any other
fpecies of the owl kind. It preys
principally on mice, but frequently
chafes fwallows and other fmall birds,
though not veyy fuccefsfully. It
forms a very rude neft in the clefts
of rocks and holes in old walls, in
which it lays five eggs, fpotted with
white and yellow.

This bird is the Strix PaJJerma of
Linnaeus, wh@fe fpecific character of
it is, that ‘ its head is fmooth, and
the feathers of its wings marked with
five orders of fpots.’ It is veiy rare
in England, but is more frequent in.
Germany and fome other parts of
Europe: it is alfo found in North™
America from Humbn’s Bay to New
York.

Thefe are ail the fpecies of owls
inoft common in Europe ; but I can¬
not conclude the account of thefe
birds without adding a brief deferip-
tion of fome others, which are other
varieties of fome of thefe fpecies, or
which in their principal charae-
teriftics refemble the owls.

THE HARFANG.

The bird known by this name in
Sweden, is called by Edwards the
great white, owl. It is bigger than the
great homed owl, but has no tufts of
feathers on its head, nor is its head fo
large in proportion as that of the owls.
It is perhaps the moll beautiful of
this kind of birds, its plumage being
white as fnow. The head, the bo¬
dy, the vvisgs, and the tail, are mark¬
ed with fmall brown fpots. The
higher part of the back is tranfverfely
barred with fome brown lines; the
fides below the wings are aifo barred
in the fame manner, but by narrow¬
er and lighter lines : the great fea-
thers of the wings are fpotted with

\Th&. Moral loologifl, 455

brown on their outer edges; there
are fpots alfo on the coverts of the
wings, but the inferior coverts are
pure white. The legs and feet are
covered with white feathers; the
nails are long, flrong, black, and
very {harp. The bill in black, hook¬
ed like a hawk’s, and has no corners
on the edges.

This bird appears to be confined
to the northern parts of America and
Europe; and, in the latter, is feldom
feen farther fouth than Dantzick.
On the mountains of Lapland it is
almofl: white and fpotlefs. Ellis
fays it is common about Hudfon’s
Bay, where it is of a dazzling white,
hardly diftinguifhable from fnow.
It is found there the whole year, and
hunts the white groufe (or par¬
tridges) in open day. It is the Strix
Nyflea of Linnaeus.

THE LITTLE HAWK OWL.

The bird thus named by Edwards
is called in the neighbourhood of
Hudfon’s Bay Capar^cocb, and by
Latham the Canada owl. It appears
to participate of the nature of both
the hawk and the owl. [t is very
little larger than the fparrow-hawk,
which it refembles in the length of
its wings and tail ; though in the
fhape of its head and feet it is more
nearly allied to the owl : it, how¬
ever, flies and catches its prey like
the other rapacious diurnal birds.
The head, back, and wings, are
brown mottled with white; the low¬
er part of the throat, the brealt, bel¬
ly, fides, legs, and rump, are white;
the nails are hooked, {harp, and of a
deep brown colour.

T his bird is the Strix Funerea of
Linnaeus. It flies high like a hawk,
and preys by day upon the white
groufe. it will frequently follow
the fowler, and often fleal the game
before he has time to pick it up. It
is not only found in North Ameri¬
ca, but in Denmark and Sweden,
and is very frequent in Siberia.

the Brasilia ist eared owl.

This bird is called the Caboor by
the Indians of Brafil. it is about
the fize of a fieldfare ; the body, back,
wings, and .tail, are of a pale dufky
colour; the head and neck are mark-
ed with very fmall white fpots, , and
the wmgs with larger fpots of the
fame colour; the tail is waved with
white ; the bread: and belly are of a
whitifh grey, clouded with light
brown. It ha,s tufts of feathers on
its head, like the other eared or
horned owls.

Marcgrave fays that this bird is
eafiiy tamed ; that it can bend its
head, and flretch its neck ,fo much as
to touch with the point of its bill the
middie of its back; that it frolics
with men like a monkey, and makes
feveral antic motions ; that it can
erect the tufts on the Tides of its
head fo as to reprefent fmall horns
or ears ; and that it feeds upon raw
flefh.

From this defcripdon BufFon is of
opinion that it approaches nearly to
the European fcops, to which lpe*
cieshe like wife refers the owl of the
Cape of Good Hope defcribed by
Koiben.

The wifdom with which the
works of the great Author of Nature
are formed and adapted for the feve¬
ral flations in which they were in¬
tended to a£t, is confpicuous in the
owl, which, being defigned to take its
prey by night, has its eye fo con-
'itru&ed that the pupil will admit of
great dilatation and contraction. By
its dilatat ion it takes in the rays of
light focopioufly as to be able to fee
in places almofl dark ; and by its
contraction it excludes the ftrong
light of day, which would ad too
powerfully on the retina, which in
animals of this kind is extremely de¬
licate, and endowed with the molt
acute fenfibility. Befldes this, the
iris and ba$k of the eye are fo form-

«d as to reflect the rays of light, and
affift vifion in tbelq birds.

As a moral emblem, the owl may
remind us of thofe depraved and
gloomy characters who, confcious of
their vicious propendtiesand crimes,
continually feek darknefs and con¬
cealment, where they prey on the
unwary. If they leave their lurk-
ing-tplaces, and are feen in their
true colours, they become the ob¬
jects of general fcorn and invective,
like the owl purfued by the fmaller
birds, till they can again fly from
the light, and bury themfelves in that
obfcurity which is mod congenial to
the darknefs of their deeds.

Your ladyfh-ip needs not to be af-
fured that 1 remain, with the utmoft
cdeem and affection, your faithful

Eugenia.

(To be continued .)

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

(With an Engravings elegantly coloured . )

he Pamela hats, of white draw
without trimming, continue to
be much worn, as alfo thofe of yel¬
low draw, in like manner, without
trimming. Other ladies of fad) ion
wear only a veil difpofed and fajiened
as in the Plate. The handkerchief
mth a frill is alfo in much vogue.
As the coquettifh fafhion of the mo¬
ment attaches no le(s importance to
a full back than a fine neck, thofe K
ladies who would be diftinguifhed for
tafle take great care to comprefs their
ihoulders, and place the neckker-
chief fo high that there may be a
large uncovered fpace between the
neckkercnief and the edge of the
robe. Black crape is much in vogue
for robes; but it is beginning to give
way to the rofe, lilac, and green. If
the backs have not buttons from top
to bottom, there is at lead a button
at the waid ; buttons are alfo worn
at the ends of the (leeves,

At-a late fete atFra.kati, two-thirds

London Fajhhns .

of the robes had extremely long
trains. The mod fafhionable la¬
dies wore black or brown perukes.
Strings of pearls were paffed ob¬
liquely over the locks of this bor¬
rowed hair ; and a rich comb raifed
the whole alrnod perpendicularly.
Befides the comb^ fome wore gold
pins furmounted with a cameo.

The young men of fafhion, in¬
dead of white dockings, wear them
of the fame colour with their
breeches ; of the colour of nankeen
when the latter are nankeen, grey
whenphey are grey, and grafs-greera
vvhen they are green. The hats
have fmaller brims than they had
when they are cocked, and larger
when they are round. The fieeves
are open below, and buttoned with a
dngle button. The breeches arc
not quite fo large, come up very
high, and are buttoned at the knee*
with large buttons; the waiftcoat,
which comes down very low, has a
dngle row of buttons. The crava^
is narrow and not very thick.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Promenade Dreffes.
ound drefs of blue Cam&ray
muflin, A fcarf cloak of plain
or worked muflin, with lace let in
the back, and trimmed all round
with deep lace. Straw hat turned
up in front.

Evening Drefs .

A round robe of white muflin, the
waid veryfhort, with a plain back,
the front low, with a lace tucker
drawn clofe round the bofom ; tur¬
ban fieeves.

Head Dreffes.

Turban of blue crape, ornament¬
ed with white odrich feathers.

Cap of white lace, with a d#ep
lace border, ornamented with a
wrfc ith of rofes,

Engraved, for the. Ladies Magazine, Sept V 18 03 .

Mildew Sc. JRufseil Co*

PARI S

D R E S S

Heroic Behaviour of Madame Lavergne.

Hat of white chip, the froqt turn¬
ed up and lined with lilac:, the hat
trimmed with green, andornamented
with a green and lilac feather.

A mob cap of white lace, tied
under the chin, and trimmed with
lilac.

Hat of white filk, with a full
crown, the front turned up, and lined
with lilac ; oftrich feather in front.

A clofe bonnet of white muflin,
the fides and top of the crown trim¬
med with white lace.

General Obfervatians .

The favourite colours are lilac,
green, blue, and white. Spanifh
eloaksand large neckkerchiefs, trim¬
med all round with broad lace, conti¬
nue to be worn. Habit fliirts of
lace and muflin, or of embroidered
muflin, are verv general for morn-
ingdrefies; and for evening drefs,
lace tuckers drawn clofe to the
throat. The drefles are made very
plain, and the waiffs continue to
thorten.

Heroic Behaviour of Madame
Lave 119 he.

rom ‘ fy.ter effing Anecdotes of the Heroic
ConduB of Women dui h g the French Revo¬
lution. .’]

HPue heautiful and accom pi ifhed
Madame Lavergue had been
married but a very Jhort time to M.
Lavergne, governor of Lotigwy,
when that fort furrendered to the
prulfians. The moment Longwy
was retaken by the French the gor
vernor was arretted, and conducted
to one of the prifons of Paris.
Madame Lavergne followed to the
capital. She was then fcarc.ely
twenty years of age, and one of the
lovelieft women of France. Her
hulband was upwards of fixty, yet
his amiable qualities hr ft won her
efteem, and his tendernefs fucceeded
to iqlpire her with an affedtion as

fincere and fervent as that which he
poffelfed for her.

That dreadful epocha of the revo¬
lution had already arrived, when the
fcaffold reeked daily with the blood
of its unfortunate victims ,5 and while
Lavergne expected every hour to be
fummoned before the dreaded tribu¬
nal, he fell fick in his dungeon. This
accident, which at any other mo¬
ment would have filled the heart of
Madame Lavergne with grief and
inquietude, now elevated her to hope
and confolation. She could not be¬
lieve there exifted a tribunal fo bar¬
barous as to bring a man before the
judgment-feat who was fufFering1
under a burning fever. A perilous
difeafe, fhe imagined, was the pre-
fent fafeguard of her hufband’s life;
and file promifed herfelf, that the
fluctuation of events would change

his deftiny, and tiniiTi in his favour
that which nature had fo opportune¬
ly begun. Vain expectation! the
name of Lavergne had been irrevoca¬
bly inferibed on the fatal lift of the
11th Germinal of the fecond year of
the republic (June 25th, 1794), and.
he muft on that clay fubmit to his
fate.

Madame Lavergne, informed of
this decifion, had recourfe to tears
and ^applications. Pcrfuaded that
fhe could foften the hearts of the re¬
prefen tatives of the people by a
faithful picture of Lavergne’s fitua-
tion, flie prefented herfelf before the
committee of general lafefcy : fhe
demanded that her hufband’s trial
fliould be delayed, whom fhe repre-
fented as a prey tQ a dangerous and
cruel difeafe, deprived of his ftrengtb,
of his faculties, and of all thofe
powers either of body or mind,
which could enable him to confront
his intrepid and arbitrary accufers.

4 Imagine, oh, citizens !’ faid the
agonized wife of Lavergne, 4 fuch
an unfortunate being as I have de-
feribed, dragged before a tribunal
about to decide upon his life, while

4S5

Heroic Behaviour of Madame Lavergne.

reafon abandons him, while he
cannot undefftand the charges brought
againfl him, nor has fufficient power
of utterance to declare Ins innocence.
His'accufers, in full polTeffion of their

moral and phyhcal firength, and al¬
ready inflamed with hatred againfl
him, are inflig'ated even by his help*
lefsnefs to more than ordinary exer¬
tions of malice ; while the accufed,
fubdued by bodily buffering and
mental infirmity, is appalled or ftu-
pified, and barely fuflains the dregs
of his miferable exigence. Will you,
oh citizens of France, call a man to
trial while in the phrenzy of delirium?
Will you fummon him, who perhaps
at this moment expires upon the bed
ofpa.in, to hear that irrevocable fen-
tence, which admits of no medium
between liberty or the lcaffold ? and,
if you unite humanity w i • h juflice,

can you buffer an old man - * At

thefe words every eye was turned
upon ’ Madame Lavergne, whofe
vyouth and beauty, contrailcd with
the idea of an aged and infirm huf¬
band, gave rife to very different emo¬
tions in the breafts of the members
of the committee, from thole with
which (lie had fo eloquently fought
to infpire them. They interrupted
her with coa fe jefts and indecent
raillery. One of the members af-
lured herewith a fcornfu’r fmile, that,
young and handfome as fhe was. it
would not be fo difficult at, fh- ap¬
peared to imagine to find means of
confolation for the lots of a hufband,
who in the common courfe of nature
had lived already long enough. An¬
other of them, equally brutal and ltiil
more ferocious, added, that the fer¬
vour with which file had pleaded the
caufe of Inch an hatband was an un¬
natural exeefis, and therefore the
committee could not attend to her
petition.

Horror, indignation, and defpair,
took poflelfion of the foul of Madame
Lavergne ; fine had heard the pureft
and moil exajted affedtion for one of

the worthiefl of men contemned and
vilified as a degraded appetite. She
had been wantonly infulted, while
demanding juflice, by the admilira-
tors of the laws of a nation ; and fhe
rufhed in lilence from the prefence
of thefe inhuman men, to * hide the
burlling agony of her forrows.

One faint ray of hope yet arofe
to cheer the gloom of Madame La-
vergri&’s clelpondency. Lumas was
one of the judges of the tribunal, and
him file had known previous to the
revolution. Her repugnance to leek
this man in his new career was fub-*
dued by a knowledge of his power,
and her hopes of his influence. She
threw herfelf at his feet, bathed them
with her tears, and conjured him, by
all the claims of mercy and huma4
nity, to prevail on the tribunal td>
delay the trial of her hufband till the
hour of his recovery. Dumas re¬
plied coldly, that it did not belong
to hitn to grant the favour file {eli¬
cited, nor fhould he chule to make
Inch a requelt of the tribunal : then,
in a tone fomewhat animated by in-
folence and farcaffn, he added, ‘ and
is it then fo great a misfortune,
madam, to be delivered from a trou-
blefome hufband of fixty, whofe death
will leave you at liberty to employ
ymr youth and charms more ufe-
fully r’

Such a reiteration of inful t
roufed the unfortunate wife of La¬
vergne to delperation -} (lie fhrieked
with infupportable anguifh, and,
rifing Lorn her humble poflu re, fhe
extended her arms towards heaven
and exclaimed-— ‘ Juft God ! will not
tue crimes of tln l'e atrocious men
awaken thy vengeance! Go, monfler/
fhe cried to Dumas, c I no longer
want, thy aid, I no longer need to
fnpulicate rhy pity : away to the tri¬
bunal, there wifi J aim appear : then
fihall it be known whether 1 deferve
the outrages which thou and thy bafe
affociates have heaped upon me.*

From the preience of the odious

Heroic Behaviour of Madame Lavergne •

Dumas, and with a fixed determina¬
tion to quit a life that was now be¬
come hateful to her, Madame La¬
vergne repaired to the hall of the tri¬
bunal, and, mixing with the crowd,
waited in filence for the hour of trial.
The barbarous proceedings of the
day commence — M. Lavergne is
called for — The jailors fupport him
thither on a mattrefs ; a few queflions
nre proposed to him, to which he
anfwers in a feeble and dying voice,
and fentence of death is pronounced
upon him.

Scarcely had the fentence paffed
the lips of the judge, when Madame
Lavergne cried with a loud voice,
Vv$e le Roi ! the perfons neared the
place whereon the flood, eagerly fur-
rounded, and endeavoured to fdence
her ; but the more the adonifhment
and alarm of the multitude augment¬
ed^ the more loud and vehement be¬
came her cries of Vive le Roi ! The
guard was called, and directed to
lead her away. She was followed
by ,a numerous crowd, mute with
confiernation or pity 5 but the pa fT
l’ages and daircafes ttill refounded
every inflant with Vive le Roi ! till
fhe was conducted into one of the
rooms belonging to the court of
juftice, into which the public accul'er
came to interrogate her on the mo-
lives of her extraordinary condudt.

4 I am not actuated/ file an-
fwered, 4 by any bidden impulfe of
defpair or revenge for the condemna¬
tion of M. Lavergne, but from the
love of royalty, which is rooted in
my heart. I adore the fyftem that
you have deflroyed. I do not expect
any mercy from you, for 1 am your
enemy ; I abhor your republic, and
will perfift in the confeifion I have
publicly made as long as 1 live ’

Such a declaration was without
reply : the name of Madame La-

483

vergne was indantly added to the
lift of fufpedted : a few minutes
afterward (lie was brought before
the tribunal, where fhe again uttered
her own accufation, and was con¬
demned to die. From that inftant
the agitation of her fpirits fub Tided,
ferenity took podeffion of her mind,
and her beautiful countenance an*
nounced only the peace and iatisfac-
tion of her foul.

On the day of execution, Ma¬
dame Lavergne firft afeended the
cart, and delired to be fo placed that
die might behold her hufband, The
unfortunate M. Lavergne had fallen
into a fwoon, and was in that condi¬
tion extended upon draw in the cart,
at the feet of his wife, without any
figns of life. On the way to the
place of execution, the motion of the
cart had loofened the bofom of La-
vergne’s fhirt, and expofed his bread;
to the fcorching rays of the fun, till
his wife entreated the executioner to
take a pin from her handkerchief
and fallen his diirt. Shortly after¬
wards Madame Lavergne, whofe at¬
tention never wandered from 'her
hufband for a (ingle infant, perceiv¬
ed that his fenles returned, and called
him by his name : at the found of'
thar voice, whole melody had fo long
-been withheld from him, Lavergne
raided his eyes, and fixed them on
her with a look at once exprefiive of
terror and affection. f Do not be
alarmed,’ die faid, c it is your faith¬
ful wife who called you 3 you know
I could not live without you, and we
are going to die together.’ Lavergne
burd into tears of gratitude, fobs and
tears relieved the oppreilion of his
heart, and he became able once more
to exprefs his love and admiration of
his virtuous wife. The fcaffold,
which was intended to depurate,
united them for ever.

3 a

Vox.. XXXIV.

490

Hijtory cf Sophia M.

HISTORY of SOPHIA M.

[From the fame-\

Cophia M. was the only daugh-
^ ter of the count de M. when
the revolution commenced. A little
before that period die had loft a
brother, the hope of his family. —
The count de M. had given to the
preceptor of his fon a houfe and
garden in the village of M. of which
he was proprietor, together with the
free ufe of his maufton-houfe, as a
reward for his care in the education
of his fon. The name of this man
was Durand. Before the revolution
he had been an ecclefiaftic, and till
that period had fuccelsfully conceal¬
ed the chara61er of his mind under
an appearance of a rigid probity and
the mo ft devoted attachment to his
benefactor’s family. Nothing was
more fofeign to his foul. In the
profcription of the nobles of that
time, he founded the defign of build¬
ing his own fortunes and gratifying
his enormous avarice. He luccefs-
fully atfumed the mafic of patriotifm,
and began his enterprize by forming
a numerous party among the peafants
©f the neighbourhood. As he fore-
law that this conduct might render
him an obje£t of fear in the houfe of
the count de M. he had the add re Is
to perfuade the count that what he
did was foreign to his feelings, and
was done entirely for the interefts of
his benefactor, and to acquire the
power of being a mediator between
him and the violent party among the
people. He managed with fo much
artifice, that he actually produced
certain circumltances that convinced
the count that in him he had a fe-
eret friend on whofe affection, zeal,
and authority, he might rely, to fave
him from any ferious effects of the
profcription.

Thus deceived, the count had
admitted Durand to a ftill m® re inti¬

mate confidence, and placed in hr#
hands the molt lacred fecrets of hi*
houfe. It was now that this hypo¬
crite learnt that the countefs de M.
had a brother, who had been a colo¬
nel in the regiment of — — , and was
then an emigrant, and in the fervice
of the princes, with whom file kept
up a regular correfpondence j that
Sophia M. was violently attached
to the chevalier St. Andre, who lived
retired in a neighbouring chateau $
and that to fereen the chevalier from
the requifition, his marriage with
Sophia was inftantly to take place.
He was alio informed that the count
de M. had had an uncle lately de-
ceafed in England, leaving hiny his
heir j but, that he might not incur
the penalties of an emigrant, he had
refolved to poftpone to a more fa¬
vourable opportunity his journey t»
England. r

Upon thefe fads and many
others, the knowledge of which he
artfully drew from the count, Durand
laid the foundations of his guilty en»
terprife. Unhappily other events
but too well feeonded his bafe defigns.
Become the mayor of his village,
afterwards a member of the revo¬
lutionary committee, and one of the
moft active agents of the fyftem of
terror, he found it eafy to profecute
his fcheme at full liberty, and at his
pleafure to undermine the fortunes
of his benefactor’s houfe. He per-
fuaded the count, that his delaying
his journey to England, to take pol'-
feilion of the fortune left him there,
was fo far from being advantageous
to him in the public eye, that this
circurrrftance did but render him the
more lufpebted, it being confidently
reported that he only wifhed to de¬
prive his country of a confiderable
property, and to leave it in the hands
of the moft inveterate enemies of the
French revolution. Betrayed by
this reafoning, the count refolved to
go to England. Durand procured

Hi/tory of Sophia M. 491

him the neceflary paffports, and, pre¬
tending it as a mark of his affection,
recommended to him a domeftic, to
whom he gave the character conve¬
nient to his purpofes. This man
was an unprincipled wretch, the crea¬
ture of Durand, whofe comrniifion
was to retain the count in England,
under various pretences, till his name
fhould be infcribed on the lilt of
emigrants ; or, if the count fhould
be refolved to return to France, to
deftroy him by poifon.

The count de M., when he took
a mournful leave of his family, re¬
commended them to Durand, as a
fure friend from whom he expedted
the moft generous fervices. He be-
fought him to avert from his houle
t/gje dangers that might naturally be
expected to threaten it during his
abfence, and promifed him a reward
for thefe important fervices, that
would enable him to pafs the re-
mainder of his days in eal'e and
affluence.

The bafe Durand feemed to
enter cordially into every engage¬
ment which the anxious alarms of
his benefactor required, and took
his leave of the count, invefted with
entire authority to enter his houle
whenever he fhould think fit, and
Superintend all its concerns., The
exceffive timidity of the countefs but
too rapidly increaled the power of
this fatal authority. She contented,
at the mitigation of Durand and to
avoid all fufpicion, that the letters
of her brother, the emigrant, fhould
be addreifed to himfelf : and thus the
placed in the hands of this lecret
enemy a weapon to deltroy her at his
pleafure.

The only individual of this molt
unfortunate family who had dived
into the depths of this wicked man’s
heart, was Sophia M. She had
often lamented the cruel necelfity
that had compelled her parents to
place themfelves in the power of

Durand ; file had even more than
once remonftrated with them on the
weaknefs of their conduct 5 but
confiderations more urgent, in ap¬
pearance, than her fufpicions, had as
often filenced her arguments, and
with the reft of the family (lie had
by degrees yielded to the authority
of this perfidious mediator.

Durand, who in a little time
faw no obftacles to his projects of
enriching himfelf by overthrowing
the fortunes of his benefaCtor, now
entertained another paftion ftill more
criminal than all that had hitherto
occupied his depraved mind. He
fed himfelf with the hopes of enjoy¬
ing the charms of the amiable Sophia,
and to dlfhonour her before he de-
l'troyed her. To accomplifh this, he
faw that he muft fir ft feparate her
from her mother and the chevalier
de St. Andre. Nothing was more
eafy for him to effect. The corre-
fpondence of the countefs with her
brother, which he had intercepted
and fent to Paris, ferved his purpole
with refpeCt to the mother. She
was arretted by order of the com¬
mittee of general lafety, and fent to
Paris. The chevalier de St. Andre
he fecretly denounced for having
withdrawn himfelf from the law of
requifttion, and an order arrived to
arreft him and fend him to the army.

In thefe two events, the entire
work of this confumnaate villain, he
had the addrels to appear an abfolute
ltranger to their origin. He even
acquired from them a greater degree
of influence over his victims, and the
two families whom he facrificed to
his paftions ftill imagined that they
owed him their gratitude and their
love for the intereft he took in their
unhappy fate.

Sophia, now in the hands of the
brutal Durand, oppofed to his paftion
a refinance made ftill more powerful
by horror and indignation. To
fubdue her, he was not afhamed t®

3 R 2

49§

tmveil before ber all tbe black nefs
of hi? heart. He coolly told her
that fhe was miftrefs pf the lives of
both her mother and lover, and that
any longer refiftance would deliver
them to the fcaffuld. This declara¬
tion difcovered at onde to Sophia the
depth of the abvfs into which her
whole family, and that of the cheva¬
lier, were plunged. She refolved at
all hazards, if pcffible, to efcape from
Durand as foon as night fhould arrive.
A country lad whom Durand had
placed over her as a fpy and guard,
but whom (lie had moved to com¬
panion by her tears, contrived the
tneans of her efcape, and ferved as a
guide in her flight.

Sophia had a friend who redded
at Paris, in the ftreet St. Florentine.
To her fhe fled, and remained con¬
cealed with this friend till the fatal
events Which we are going to relate
tore her from that afylum. The
firft was thatot the condemnation and
execution of her mother. Various
were the means employed to fave her
mother in this extremity, and well
may the reader imagine her delpair
when the found all ineffedtual. But
her mip fortunes were not yet at their
height. Inftrutled by a trufly per-
lbri of what palled in the houfe of
the count de M. the young St. Andre
could no longer refill his impatient
defire to fave his miftrefs. Without
reflecting on the conieque.nces of de¬
left ion, he retired privately to the
count de M.-’s houfe, and from
thence to Paris to Sophia, This
amiable girl ftill continued to weep
for her mother, when the arrival of
St. Andre aggravated her mifery by
exciting new alarms. She received
her lover, however, with unfeigned,
though momentary, tranfports. Ab¬
sence, and her own forrows, had
rendered him ftill more dear to her.
Alas 1 fixe imagined for a moment
fee had placed him out of the reach

of danger, in the houfe of a fer&
friend ; but the deteftable Durand
watched day and night over thefe
unhappy people for their deft rudf ion.
Informed by his agents that the
young Sft Andre had appeared at M®
and again immediately taken the
route to Paris, he wrote to the re¬
volutionary committee of the fedlion
of the Thuilleries, denouncing him
as a deferter. The committee dif¬
covered the afylum of St. Andre.
On hearing of his arreft, Sophia faw
the whole extent of her new misfor¬
tune, and prepared herlelf for its en-
counter with a courage that appeared
above her natural llrength, greatly
impaired by long fuffe rings ; (lie had
the fjrmnefs to attend at the trial of
her lover, and, without betraying
herlelf, to hear fentence of death
agfainft him. Pier fortitude carried
her ftill farther ; the was prefent at
the execution of St. Andre ; fhe fol¬
lowed his remains to a fpot where
they were thrown into a hole with
other/carcafes. She purchafed from
the avarice of the man who luperin-
tended this fpecies of burial the head
of her lover. She deferibed the head,
and offered a hundred louis-d’ors to
the man for this fervice. The head
is promifed to her. She went home .
for a veil to conceal her prize : fhe
returned alone, wrapt the head in
the veil, and was retiring home ; but
her bodily ftrength was lefts than the~
violence of her pafiion. She funk
down at the corner of the ftreet St.
Florentine, and betrayed to the af¬
frighted paftengers her depot! t and her
fecret. She was fent to the revolu¬
tionary tribunal, who made a crime
of this addon, of her birth, of her
fortitude, and even of her misfor¬
tunes. She was taken from the tri¬
bunal immediate^ to the place of
execution, happy in contemplating
a fpeedy termination to the long and
forrowful hiftory of her life.

, [ 493* ]

POETICAL ESSAYS.

THE MANSION OF HEALTH.

HE manfion of Health is hard by.

It hands on the edge of the plain ;
Both Sicknefs and Want feem to fly,
And Peace always waits in her train :
The tenants are hardy and ttrong ;

They labour, but long not for wealth ;
Th eir with is alone to prolong

Their lives in the manfion of Health.

Thele ruftics, more happy than thofe
Who are link’d in vile Luxury's chain ,
At ev’ning they link to repole,

Their breafts free from furrow and
pain t

At morning’s flrft beam they arife,
..Blefs Him who gives virtue and
wealth ;

Their pray’r may be read in their eyes :
’ Bis — Grant us the manfion of Health.

May we, like thefe cottagers bleft,
Induftrioufly fpend a inert life,

And pal- all our leifure at refl.

Unhurt by difcordanca or ftrife :

Oh, grant our requeft, yJkind Pow’rs !

We alk not lor grandeur or wealth ;
In peace may we pafs all our hours,
And dwell in the manfion of Health !
4uSHft 3i 1803- J. M. L.

EPILOGUE

TO THE

'MAID OF BRISTOL:

\IVritttn by Mr. Colman.~\

Ty times like thefe, the lailor of our
■ play, _ [fay; —

Much more than common failors has to
For Frenchmen, now, the Britilh tars
provoke,

And doubly tough is ev’ry heart of oak ;
Ready to die or conquer, at command, —
While all are foldiers who are left on
land. *

Each Englilh foul ’s on fire, to firike the
blow [rant low.

That curbs the French — and lays a ty-
Sweet wolf! how lamb-like ! — how, in
his defigns, [fhines!

‘ The maiden modefty of Gnmbaid’
Strifes he concludes hwixt nations who
agree ;

Freedom bellows on dates already free;

Forcing fedrefs on each contented town.
The loving ruffian burns whole diftri£l«
down ;

Clafps the wide world, like death, in his
embrace; [race;

Stalks guardian butcher of the human
And, aping the fraternity of Cain,

Man is his brother,- — only to be flain.

And muft Religion’s mantle be pro¬
fan’d,

To cloak the crimes with which an
atheift’s ftain’d ?

Yes;- -the mock faint, in holy motley
drefs’d, [fefs’d; — -

Devotion’s * Public Ledger’ {lands con-
Of every, and no faith, beneath the fun;
* Open to all, and influenc’d by none ;*
Ready he waits, ‘ to be or not to be,*
Rank unbeliever, or (launch devotee.

Now Chriftuns’ deaths, in Chriftian
zeal, he works —

Now worships Mahomet, to murder
T urks ;

Now tears the Creed, and gives free-
thinking fcope —

Now, dubb’d ‘thrice catholic,’ he flrips
a pope.

A mongrel muftulman, of papal
growth,

Mufti and monk, now neither, or now
both ;

At rnofque, at church, by turns, as craft
thinks good; [blood!

Each day in each, and ev’ry day in

God ! muft this muftiroom defpot of
the hour

The fpacions world encircle with his
power ?

Stretching his baneful feet from pole t<*
pole,

Stride, Corfican Colofius of the whole?
Forbid it, Heaven ! — and forbid it, man !
Can man forbid it? — Yes; the Englilh
can.

’Tis theirs, at length, to fight the world’s
great caufe,

Defend their own, and refeue others’
laws.

What Britons would not, were their
hairs all 1 ves, [and wives ;

Fight for their charter, for their babes.
And hurl a tyrant from his upftart
throne, [own?

To guard their king fecurely hi*

POETRY.

*94

ADDRESS,

"WRITTEN BY MR. T- DTBI3IN,

And ’ fpoken and Jung by Mr. Fawcett,
on the opening of Covent-Garden Thea¬
tre , Monday , September 12, 1803.

“CROM Thefpiiin camps, where fum-
mer colours fly,

Return’d to winter quarters , here am I :
Proud of my million, by the general lent,
To bid you welcome to our royal tent ;
To hope this favour’d field you’ll oft re¬
view, [you ;

Where many a battle will be fougnt for
To hope you’ll often greet, as hereto¬
fore, [corps.

With golden fmiles, the Covent-Garden
In Fame’s gazette, perhaps, our mi¬
mic band [mand ;

Has advertis’d fome change in its com -
Has told you, here a fav’rite chief you ’ll
find,

Vice another favourite refign’d :

And our new captain we falute with
pride, [as tried.

Since, by your judgment, he’s approv’d
Yet inclination, duty, each impel
To fpeak of him who lately rul’d fo well:
Who though he quit a truncheon for
the ranks, [thanks ;

His mirthful elforts ftill fliall afk your
And hold, while honour’d here with ap¬
probation.

His poft of honour in a private ftation.
Henceforth, when Muftc fhall eflfay
the drain, [train;

With all her beft-lov’d fongllers in her
When gay Thalia fhall, alternate, court
Your fmiles, bedeck'd with flow’rs of
frolic fport ;

In laughter's interval, at times you’ll
hear

Melpomene petition for a tear.

Thus artifts render vivid tints more
bright,

By blending fhadow with oppofing light ;
And, faith, our artifts, through pall days
of heat, [meet.

Have toil’d your warmer patronage to
\T uniting ai the new decorations.
Should you approve their pains, to
make us gay, [may fay,

Haply, each morn, fome moduli dame
4 John, take a fide -box.' — ‘ There ’s no
room below.’

* No room at a!! ? — Oh, then, I’m fure
I ’ll go !

*T is only empty places one avoids :

So, John, be fure we call to-day at
Lloyd’s ;

Where every body runs to give their
mite,

And, for a wonder, all are in the right/
Then 4 Speed the Plough ;’ let’s joia
with heart and hand,

Lords, ladies, gentle, fimpie, fea and
land :

Each caflle, village, city, fliip, and town,

Should form a club to knock invaders down .

And ever may we boaft this houfe brim-
full

Of friends determin’d to fupport John
Bull!

And lhould his defperate foes our fury
brave,

We ’ll chaunt their requiem in a loyal

fiave.

[Tune — * The Islanb.’J

If the French have a notion
Of croliing the ocean,

Their luck to be trying on dry land ;
They may come if they like,

But w'e’ll foon make them ftrike
To the lads of the tight little ifland.

Huzza for the boys of the ifland — •

The brave volunteers of the ifland !
The fraternal embrace
If foes want in this place,

We ’ll prefent all the arms in the ifland*

They fay we keep fhops
To vend broad-cioth andflops,

And of merchants they call us a fly land ;
But, though war is their trade,
What Briton ’s afraid
To fay he ’ll ne’er fell ’em the ifland ?

They ’ll pay pretty dear for the ifland !

If fighting they want in the ifland.
We ’ll fliow ’em a fample
Shall make an example
Of all who dare bid for the ifland.

If met they fhould be
By the boys of the fea,

-I warrant thev ’ll never come nigh land :
If they do, thofe on land
Will foon lend them a hand
To foot it' again from this ifland.

Huzza ! for the king of the ifland !

Shall our father be robb’d of his
ifland ?

While his children can fight,
They ’ll ftand up for his right,

And their own, to the tight little ifland !

POETRY. *95

CONTENTMENT.

ESCEND,thou fweet confoling gued,
And calm the tumult in my bread !
Make ev’ry anxious thought reiign’d,
And kindly foothe my tortur’d mind :
Hence murmurs, fighs, and fears, drive
far away;

Here let thy halcyon brood for ever flay.

Around my long-af3i<5ted head
Thy heav’nlybalm propitious feed ^
Exert thy kind relieving art.

And heal my forrovv- wounded heart.
Oh, bid each jarring, rankling palfioa
ceafe,

And gently harrtionife my foul to peace.

Oh, foft a linage r of our woes 1
From thee each real bleffing flows :
Thou cheer’d our gloom, ferenelybright,
And mak’ft our cares and forrows light.
From envy, malice, pride, and difcord
free,

We here enjoy a paradife in thee.
Augujl 2, 1803. Academicu*.

AN ELEGIAC TRIBUTE

TO THE MEMORY OF A FAVOUR¬
ITE CAT.

qhe ’s gone ! fhe *s gone ! in plaintive
^ drains I ’ll mourn, [urn.

Weep and diffolve in cears o’er Tabby’s
Snuff our the day — let nought but night
remain ! [[pain !

Extinguilh pleafure — nourilh care and
Hung be each room with black — dark
be each dreet,

While difmal faces difmal faces meet!
For univerfal joy fhall now give way
To uni ve rial lorrow and difmay.

Pale are my cheeks — my eyes with
weeping fore ; [more !

For Tab, my darling Tab, is now no
I ’ll frown, I ’ll figh, I ’ll murmur, I ’ll
complain :

I ’ll do all this, although it be in vain*
With eyes cad down, I ’ll contemplate
the ground, [found.

And mourn my forrows in a feeble
Death (cruel death ! ) hath fmote poor
Tabby’s heart — - —

Kill’d Tab outright — and thus kill’d me
in part.

Her lovely form, and many playful
tricks,

\\ ron my fond heart at doatingfixty fix.

Low in the earth her beauteous form is
laid,

Each funeral rite with due decorum paid.
There red, in peace, a faithful fer-
vant’s bones !

Here dwells her mourning midrefs,
Deborah Jones.

Kingiland , Augujl 1, 1803. J, M.

THE NAUTILUS AND THE
FLYING-FISH ;

A FABLE.

[From JEfoft's Fables verjified by IF S eers.J

HP he Nautilus his little fail
’** Expanded to the vvedern gale;
With much delight enjoy’d the breeze.
And fkimm’d along the fummer Teas ;

A flying filh, that o’er his head
Not far with wings undipt had fled,
Accofts him thus, with pride and fcorn— »

‘ Of all in Neptune's kingdom born,

I boafl, alone, the precious gift,

Above the waves mylelf to lift;

With HHx to fwim, with birds to fly.
Tenant at once of fea and fky :

Whild you, if hard the winds fhould
blow,

Mud lie in dreary caves below,

Or creep befide the coral grove,

Nor dare the depths of ocean prove-5
‘ True, friend,’ he cried; ‘ but yet my
life [drife :

Than yours is much more free from
From every bank you fear a fhot,

And dread at every dip a plot ;

So many wanderers of the main
Are dill in wait their prize to gain.
Befides, where lies the mighty boad,
That you can fwim, or fly at mod ?

More ufeful arts from me are caught *.

By me was navigation taught ;

Whence Britain’s thunders now ar£
hurl’d

In terror through a didant world,

Her canvas fpread on every fide
Where Ocean rolls his foamy tide.*

No more he faid ; when from on higk
The fllh, his wearied pinions dry,

Fell in the dolphin’s mouth a prey,
Whild lightly he purfued his way.

Before you cenfure others’ ways,

Be fure your own will merit praife :
From thofe we glean of humble mind
Tae arts bed fiuited to mankind.

495

POETRY.

LINES* '

Oecqfioned by the providential efeape of
Benjamin Hills, an inf ayt , from immi-
' nent danger of being drovjned.

RITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF MR.
AND MRS. HILLS, OF WKITfe-
KOTLEY, ESSEX.

Aft has my Mufe in plaintive num-
^ bers fung,

When Death’s keen arrow pierc’d the
fair and young ; \

Touch’d thefoft lyre when my Clarifla’s
heart

Felt the unerring archer’s pointed dart;
Or tun’d the gratitude my break did
feel,

When fportive Coiirade ’fcap.’d the
threatening wheel. ,

What poignant grief impels the pa¬
rent's tear,

Kobb’d of his babe by accidents, fevere !
Bur, oh ! what joy when his fond arm

can lave

A blooming prattler from an early grave!
Such j y, ye . parents kind, ye felt of
late,

When your dear boy was fnatch’d from
certain fate ;

When Benjamin, in childhood’s rofy
bloom, [tomb.

By Providence was refeu’d from the
Mount, mount, wild Fancy, on excur-
five wing, [bring,

And to my mind the feene at Notley
Where the fvveet fportiing fpent hisjov-
ous hours

In chafing butterflies, and plucking
flowers ;

Thoughtlefs how foon the dire impend¬
ing ftorm

Would mar its {’ports, and * whelm its
cherub -form.

Methinks I fee the little trifler ftray.

And to the fatal pond diredl his way :
Angels of pity, your f ft pinions fpread,
And from th' impending danger fereen
hisflipad !

Cannot your care prolong his little
breath ?

Alas, he finks to find a wat’ry death!

Hafte, hafte, ye light i<nvifible& of air !
Go, and aroufe a mother’s tender care :
Inftfle into her e > r the dire alarm,

And claim th’affi ftance of a fatherk arm.
*Tls dor !— -Parental fondijcfs feeks
the place, [embrace;

And tears its darling from Death's cold

Bears the pale lifelefs treafure to his
door,

Sufpended animation to reftore.

At length the pulle begins to bound
again,

And the warm current rufli through
ev’rv vein;

The crimfcn ftream t® life’s red foun¬
tain flows,

And the wan cheek with rofy blufhes

glows.

Words are imperfect things to paint
the blifs,

The heart-felt rapture, of a feene like
this : t

Once more that dear engaging voice to
bear ;

Sweet prattle, grateful to a parent’s ear?

To fee him climb, with joyous heart-felt
glee,

That unambitious throne-— a father’***
knee !

Ye tender relatives, forbleflings given,

Let your warm gratitude afeend toHea-
ven :

While many a bloffom feels Death’s
blafting power,

In bluffing radiance blooms your fa¬
vour’d flower.

Let what Almighty Goodnefs deigns to
{pare

Be kindly nurtur’d with afliduous care ;

r or P rovidence, by its forbearance, cries,

‘ Still keep thy child, and train him fer¬
tile ikies.’ • -

And thou, my Benjamin, my un¬
known friend,

Accept thefe wifliesby a ftranger penn’d ;

'I hey come from one who boafts an in¬
fant train,

And Knows a parent’s joy — a parent’s
pain :

May Heaven on thee its choiceft comforts
fiiow’r,

Ana tip with blifs the wings of every
Hour !

May fmiling Health illume thy every
day, [way ?

And flrew with rofeate blooms thy future

Oh, may’ll thou to thy friends a bleflihg
prove.

And foothe declining years with filial
love !

And when thy feet life’s deftin’d round
‘ have trod,

Oh, may thy fpirit mount to dwell with
God!

Haver bill, John Wees,

[ 497 ]

v \

, FOREIGN NEWS.

Confifwtinoph ?, June 29.

HE chams of. Erivan, Sus, Cheutz-^
|ou, Hoi, and Terois, have fent
hither ambafladors to remonftrate
againft the invalion of the country<of
the Lefguis, by the Ruffians. They
have reprefented to the Porte, that
Ruffia is making daily encroachments
on the ancient portions, and that it was
in this manner that they feized on the
Crimea. The porte, conftant in its
fentiments towards Ruffia, has fent
back the ambafladors, recommending
patience to them. We have received
here the diftreffing intelligence, that
the cities of Mecca and Medina have
been taken by the new Arabian fec-
taries.

The vittory gained by the pacha
of Damafcus over Abdul Wechab has
not been followed by thofe happy con-
fequences which were expe£ted. Ac¬
cording to the laft intelligence, that
rebel, having received numerous re¬
inforcements, again advanced and took
pofleffion of Mecca. The. porte is
going to fet on foot two formidable ar¬
mies ; one of which is deftined tp bom-
bat the pretended caliph in Arabia,
the other is to a ft againft the hordes of
brigands which lay wafte Turkey in
Europe. Thefe preparations require
great expence, and, unfortunately, our
finances were never in fo bad a ftate.
The war which has broken out between
England and France places the porte
in a very embarraffing fituation. We
are allured that it has been already re¬
quired to forbid Englilh ffiips to enter
its ports, and even to prevent them pair¬
ing the Dardanelles.

July 9. The part of the capitan
pacha’s fleet that put to fea firft, fet
fail on the 24th of laft month. Two
days after the Tuikilh high admiral
went out himfelf with the remainder of
' his Ihips. The whele armament made
V#k. XXXIY.

fail for Egypt : it confifts or one fliip of
120 guns, fix of 74, and eight frigates ;
and has on board a considerable number
of troops. It feems that the laft ac¬
counts from Cairo have given reafon to
judge it fupertluous that the pacha,
who has already embarked and pro¬
ceeded on his way to be inverted with
the government of Egypt, fhould be
in flailed there. Perhaps, itr will be left
in the hands of the one who held it
provifionally. As foon as the gapitgn
pacha overtook the divifion .which
failed before him, with the new pacha
of Cairo, the latter left the fleet, and is
fince returned to Conftanti-nople.

Antwerp , July 1 5 . The government
of the republic decrees as follows : — •

‘ From the date of the publication of
the prefenf arrete, there fhall not be
received in the ports of France any
veflel which has cleared out from an
Englilh port, nor -any veflel which has
touched at an Englilh port. The mi-
nifter of the interior, the minifter of
finance, and the minifter of marine, are
charged with the execution of this de¬
cree. --

(Signed) BqnapaEte.

H. B. Maret, Sec.*

The government of the republic, on
the report of che minifter of the inte¬
rior, decrees —

‘ That, from the date of the publica¬
tion of the prefent arrete, no Englilh.
flag of truce, whether it be a packet or
any other, fhall be received in any
French port between Breft and the
mouth of the Scheldt inclufive. The
flaps of truce fhall be received only in

O c J

the Bay of Audierne, near Breft.
The minifters of the interior and the
marine are charged with the execution
of this arrete.

(Signed) Bonaparte.

H. B. Maret, Sec.5

i *

Foreign News.

The government of the republic, on
the report of the minifter of marine
and of the colonies, decrees —

‘ That an embargo be laid on all
fifhing boats above the burthen of ft-ven
tons; the boats under feven tons alone
fhall continue to filh. The crews of
the boats that are permitted to fifh fhall
confi.ft only of feamen who have reach ad
the age which is exempted from the
maritime confer! prion, or of young per¬
sons under the age of fifteen. The
boats that are permitted to fifh fhall not
go more than a league from the coaft.
All the feamen who devote themfelves
to fi filing (ball receive pafies, defenbing
the route by which they are ro travel,
to take them to the military polls of the
republic, where they fhall be employed
and paid according to their rank in
the for vice. The minifter of the ma¬
rine is charged with the execution of
fras arret, p.

(Signed) B on a p a r t >: .

Mark!', Sec.’

21. The adrp ini ft ration of the forefts
is to mark put, in thole moll contiguous
rb Ambleteufe. W-iificnt, and Grave-
lines, and particularly in that qf Gurnet,
thofie coppices where there might be
procured without delay 1,000,000 of
fafeines, fifteen inches in diameter and
fix feet in length, together with fuch
flakes as -fhall be neeeffary in using th.de
fafeines.

At Antwerp docks are to be built
on that -part of the ban k of the '.Scheldt
which lies between the fiuict; of the
bkadej.ancl the Rung Quay, -and which
comprehends .the abbey of St. Michael*
the city dock, and all the private pro¬
perty Situated between thefe two efta-
feliihments.

■ Roitie , July 23. ft is rumoured here
that the English are -preparing at
Malta an expedition again ft Kgyp , aid
that it i> their intention to occupy that
country, and to keep dt as a dcptXu;
equivalent to that which the French
have, in their hands (Hanover). Ad¬
miral Ndfon fuperimends thefe pre¬
parations. An armed flotilla .has failed
from Ancona, purfuaut to orders from
his highnefs, to .chafe the Barfaae.y cor-
iairs, who, however, do not now fhow
•themfelves often in the Adfkide. The

Englifh continue to keep a large force
in that fea : eight fhips of war belong¬
ing to that power have appealed off
Ancona. They refpeft the pontifical
and the Auflrian flag, and that of the
other powers not at war with them.
The two Ruffian plenipotentiaries to
the grand mafter of Malta have con¬
tinued their journey by Naples, on their
way to Mefiina.

Milan, July 28. An order of the
fenate has lately been publiflred at Ge¬
noa, forbidding the importation of arty
Englifh colonial or other commodities.
Ail neutral fhips that enter there mu ft
bring a certificate from the Ligurian
commercial commifiioner, at the place-

■ . .4

where they took in their landing, that
they have no Englifh goods on board,
or be fubjedf to a very ftridf fearch.
Notwithftanding thefe regulations, how¬
ever, fo many merchant fhips have
found their way into Genoa with thefe
commodities, that the price of colonial
products has confiderably' fallen, ' ef-
pecrally the article of fugar, which i-s-
twenty per cent, cheaper than it has been.
Admiral Nelfon is making prepara¬
tions at Malta for an expedition t<v
Egypt. A new conliftution has been-
publifhed at Corfu for the Seven
United Iflands.

Haerlem, Aug. 2. The P ruffian privy
cbunfellor, M. Von Lorribad, is re¬
turned to Berlin ; he does not appear
to have entirely obtained -the object of
his million, which, befides the opening
of the Elbe and the Wefer, had, we
are allured, another very important
object.

The Hanoverian deputies have like-
wife returned to their country, without
any great hope of feeing, its fate alle¬
viated.,

Hanover, Aug. 5. The fuperioi?
counfetlor of appeal, Von Ramdohr,
and, the coun.C,l lor of legation, Von
Hamber, returned yefterd ay from their
miffion to: Paris and Bruffels, at which
latter city they had an audience with
the firil conful.

It is find that a confiderable part of
the French troops vyfll'fhortly be with¬
drawn Rom the Hanoverian territory*
According to accounts circulated here,-
the number of French, troops in this
territory, exclusive of the principality

Foreign News •

of Ofnaburgh, is now about 17,600
men, viz. in the principality of Calen-
bergh, 4,480 infantry and 840 cavalry:
in the principality of Luneburg, 4,623
infantry and 1,155 cavalry ; in the-
duchy of Lauenburg, 860 infantry and
26 j cavalry : in the duchies of Be men
and Verden, and in the country of bla¬
dder, 2,970 infantry and 1,050 cav
valry : and in the county of Hoya, S80
infantry and 503 cavalry.

BruJfAs, Aug. 5. The hope of a fuc-
cefsful ilfue to the Ruffian mediation,
notwithttanding us acceptance by the
belligerent powers, is not great. France
infills on the /tains quo y from the date of
a convention for an armiflice to be con¬
cluded 3 and, confeauently, while Eng¬
land retains poflelhon of Malta, will
continue to occupy the territory and
parts of Lower Saxony, of which (he
has taken poflfeffion. To this, how¬
ever, the cabinet of St. James’s has not
yet con fen ted.

Amfitrdam, Aug. 9. It is generally
fuppofed that the French have not col¬
lected fo many troops in Zealand merely
for the defence of that ifland, but with
'a. view of employing them in tile in¬
tended expedition again!! England.
At Flulbing, the preparations for put¬
ting that place in a date of defence
againft any attack of the Englifh dill
continue. Several houfes have been
pulled down for that purpofe- at Old
FluUiing. The American dates have a
confiderab’e fmn of money to pay to
France for the ceffion of Lcruifiana : a
loan has in confequence been opened by
the houfe of Hope and Co., De Smerh,
and Wiilink. It is not to exceed rive
millions of dollars, for which American
funds will he provided. The whole
capital will be liquidated by the Ameri¬
can States before the year 1821.

Paris , Aug. 12. The chief con ful ar¬
rived lad night, between nine, pnd ten,
at St- Cl< ud.

The fird conful gathered exa£l in-
formation, when at Pmis and Bruflels,
refpebling the capitals which the inha¬
bitants of. Belgium ha«l lodged in the
Englifh funds. He engaged the mer¬
chants- to withdraw their capitals as
fpeedfly as puffible, giving them to un-
tferdaad, that there was no longer- any

499

reliance to be placed on the liability of
the Britiffi funds.

AmfierAam, Aug. 13. Admiral De
Winter took his padage from Ferrol to
the Texel as a Danifh merchant. The
fhip on board which he failed was feveral
times detained by the Englifh, The
lad time it was vifited, an Englifhman,
who thought he knew him, Laid to
him — ‘ I! I am not rfiidaken, I have
the h on ur to know you.’ — ‘That may
pollioiy be,’ Laid De Winter, ‘ but [
certainly do not recolltVcl: ever to have
Fen you before.’ — 5 1 think,’ replied, the
other, ‘ we have been oppofed to each
ocher in an engagement.’ — ‘ 1 alk vour
pardon,’ replied De Winter, ‘ but 1
was not at Copenhagen at the time of
the ba— there.’ — ‘ I never knew
you,’ returned the Englifhman, ‘ as a-
D; me, but f think you are the brave
Dutchman, admiral De Winter.’ The
admiral then produced his pafs as a.
native of Denmark, and with this the
Englifh were (at is (led, and- lufftred the-
(hip to proceed. This anecdote is re¬
lated by M. De Vries, the captain of
the fhip in which De Winter came from
Ferrol to the Texel. Three; richly
laden Dutch EdlTFoclia (hips are ar¬
rived in the Ems. Our refer ipt ions are
rilen to 49I.

Firu>/ a, slug. 13. An ordinance of
neutrality has b en publilhed he’re, bv
which all the fubjebts of his imperial
majefty are forbidden to enter into the.
fervice of France or England, either by
land or lea. It confhts- of twenty -one.
articles and regulations, the admiffintr
of prizes into the imperial harbours.,
the manner in which they are to be
difpofed of, See. It is -dated Auguft 7,

1 803,

KafnJhons Aug. 15. His Britannic
majefty -has protefted againd the con¬
vention concluded on the Elbe on the
5th of July, as being without his know¬
ledge and authority.

Apifitrdfyv,’, , Augtt 16. It- is now con¬
fidently laid, that Rutlia-has offered to
occupy the bland of- Malta for ten year;.,
if- France will withdraw her troops
from certain countries. This prnpo-
htion, however, has been rejcdled by
England.

a»s 4

[ 500 ]

( •

HOME NEWS.

Brifiolf Aug. 8. that had been erefted in the day, and

QN Tuefday laft Mr. Hunter, a overthrew their engines for driving
king’s meffenger, paffed through piles, &c. threw their fhovels, mattocks,
this city, on his route from Waterford balkets, &c. all into the fea ; but few
to London, having in his cuftody, we days pafs but they fire fome lhot at our
are lorry to lay, an officer receiving cruifers, but hitherto without e fife ft.
Britifh pay, and of rank, it was faid. One of the fturdy Tailors who went
fnperior to that of captain ; againft over in our laft flag of truce, being
v/hom circumftances of fo fupicious a alked by the harbour-mafter at Men-
nature had appeared, that it was deemed gaud’s office, what news in England,
proper to feize both his perfon and told him we were all very impatient in
papers, and convey them to the fecre- England for their coming, and quite
tar) of ftate s office, for examination. ready to receive them, * and,’ lays the

» A few days finee a man was appre- honeft tar, ‘ why, lure, you are a d _ d

bended at \Vells, or in its neighbour- long while preparing : we expefted
hood, luppoled to be a fpy, as he had you a month ago j but this I can allure
been traced to Uphill, on the Sorrier- you, not one of you will live to go back
fee coaft of the Briftol channel, where again.’ Mengaud hearing this, put an
he is faid to have been employed in end to the conyerfation,
taking foundings of the channel, and London, Sept. z. This morning, about
that his conduft in other refpebts in- two o’clock, a dreadful fire broke out at
duced ftrong fufpicions as to its objeft. Aftley’s, and confumed the whole of
lie fpoke French badly, but Englifh that building, and deftroyed, or greatly
he Ipoke like a native. damaged, about twenty houfes. Mr.

Dove), Aug. 21. A Pruffian galliot and Mrs. Aftley were not in town,
arrived here from Calais this morning The mother of Mis. Aftley, unfortu-
about five o’clock- with Eugenio Guier- nateiy, was in the boufe that was in-
teny, a Spamfh mtffenger, with dif- habited by her fon and daughter, in
patches for the Spaniib ambaflador, and front of the theatre. She was an old
feveral young ladies who had been at lady, about ^o, and rather infirm. Two
fchool at Rouen) they have been de- gentlemen made ufe of every effort in
tained at Calais for near a month, and their power to fave her. A ladder was
«are releafed in conlequence of nfhdame . raifed to the window. She was feen to
Bonaparte’s nephew and niece being approach the window, and, as we hear,
lent over. The news by this vefiel is, to run back on a fudden, as if recolieft-'
that they ft ill taik of invading us, al- ing lomething j probably fhe wifhed to'
though they are fo ciofeiy blockaded fave fome papers or money in the houfe,
by our cruifeis that they cannot fend As fhe was coming back to the window
even a fiftiing boat out to procure a difti ' a fecond time, the floor of the room'
©f filh. They have been cqnltrufting a gave way, and fhe was feen to fall in
battery on the fand, near Boulogne, .with it. It was now impolfible to fave
but have been much annoyed by the fhot her : fhe was burnt to death,
from our cruifers ; the bombs have About fix o’clock the flames were
knocked down two houfes in the lower got under. Two children belonging to
town of Boulogne: a few nights ago, a waterman were in great danger, bur,
the boats of our cruifers went on fhore by the intrepidity of the firemen, were
«nd deftroyed great part of the works faved.

Jrhmc Npivs.

501

Carlifle , S ept. 3. Hatfield, the noted
impoftor, who married Mary Robinfon,
commonly called the Beauty of Butter-
mere, under the name and title of the
lion. C. A. Hope, efq. was executed
here this day, purluant to his 1’entenee,
for forgery.

Dublin , Sept. 3, Owen Kir wan was
executed to-day, in Thomas-ftreet, on
the fame gallows where his partners in
rebellion and affaffination expiated their
crimes. His conduit was decent, and
he acknowledged the jultice ot his len-
tence and the impartiality of his
trial.

IVbiteba'veriy Sept. 6. William Knotr,
in a he of paliion, threw a knife at his
wife, which miffed her, but unfor¬
tunately ftruck his fon (a boy nine
years of age) on the fide, and occafioned
his immediate death. The coroner’s
inqueft fat on the body, and brought in
a verditt of manflaughter againft the
unhappy father, who'has been commit¬
ted to Carlifle gaol.

London , Sept. 8. The vittualling-
office has received orders to fuppiy pro-
vilions for ioo,oco men, for one year,
commencing the iff of January next.

This morning the royal Weftminfter
volunteers riiarched from their place of
drill to St. Clement’s church, where,
after hearing an excellent fermon, they
were prefented with their colours,
which, from every appearance, they are
well qualified to defend, They form
an exceedingly fine body of men ; their
uniform is military and elegant with¬
out gaudinefs, and their appearance is
fuffkient to Thow that they have been
- well difeipfined. There were in num¬
ber not lefs than izoo-

Margate , Sept. 10. The defenfive
preparations along the coaft ftiil con¬
tinue with unabated activity, and the
meafures adopted are fuch as to leave
nothing to apprehend on the (core of
l'ecurity. General Dundas has juft
finifhed a moil minute infpettion of the
whole of the extenfive lines in this part
of the country, and expreffed himfelf
perfettly fatistied with the very excel¬
lent ftate of the feveral fortifications,
and the judicious difpofitions of the
forces in every direction. An addi¬
tional battery is now con ft rutting on
our eaftern cliff, and though begun

only on Thurfday afternoon, fuch is
the expedition uled on the occafioo,
that it is expttted to he completed by
Tuefday next. The Texel, of 74,
guns, and two other fhips of war, re¬
main ftationed in' Margate roads, under
the command of that much rdpe&ed
officer, captain Byng.

Dover, .Sept. 12. The right hon. W.
Pitt came into town yefterday about
three o’clock, and embarked on board
one of our great boats, named the
Polecat, to make trial of a gun fitted
upon the undermentioned conftruttion.
He let tail, accompanied by colonel
Hupps, captain bhlington , lieutenants
Stow and Greenword, and Mr. fames
Moon, Who .planned the fixing of the
gun. Arter failing off two or three
miles, the gun, which was an eighteen-
pounder, was fired three times with
round and twice with cannifier-fhot,
and was found to anfwer very com¬
pletely, being fired in feveral direttions.
Fftcy boats are to be fitted ud imme¬
diately in like manner, to a£t as gun¬
boats if wanted. After giving his en¬
tire approbation to the fitting of the gun,
&c. lie landed and proceeded to inlpecb
the Dover volunteers, of whom he is
colonel : he entered the field where
they were drawn up to receive him,
about 500 ft rung, when the men went
through their exerciie and field ma¬
noeuvres in a manner that did them
great credit, confide ring the ffiort time
that they had been trained ; lord Mahon
colonel Phipps, colonel Brcderic, coh
Churchill, and feveral other military
gentlemen, were prefent, and feemed
very well pleafed with the men's ap¬
pearance. At fix he let off for VValmer
caftle.

Salt oil l, Sept. 12. On Saturday morn¬
ing, a man arrived in apoft-chaife at an
inn here, and while he was taking feme
refrdhmem he fent for Mr. Cecil, rhe
landlord, into his roum, and converfed
with him as to the beft method of getting
to the perfon of the king, at Wmdfor -
faying he had juft arrived from abroad'
and that he had, fome very important-
arrangement to make with "his majefiy;
but from his general behaviour Mr!
Cecil ftrougly lufpetted he was going
to Windfor for an improper purpole
and fent off an exprels to Windfor to

50t

Home News.

that effei?t ; and ifr eonfcque'nce Ed¬
wards ami Dowfet, the police-officers,
arrived at the inn in a Ihort time.
Eari Rofslvn, who i elides in the neigh¬
bourhood, hearing of the circumftanee,
came to the Lnnv and queftioned him
as'ra' the? ohjefii of his journey : he faid
his name was Cobbet, that he came
from Jet' fey, and was landed on Port¬
land ifland, among the rocks ; but fe’fuf-
ed to tell the particular object of his
journey, or the bull lie Is he had with
the king. EafI Rdfilyn gave orders to
the officers to take him to London.

Dublin* Soft. 13. The daughter of
an eminent barriller was arretted near
Dublin on Friday fe’ennight, charged
with holding a correfpondente with
young Enmrktj who was to be tried
vefterday upon a charge of high treafon.
it appearing, how-eve r, that there was
nothing treafonabie in the letters that
pallbd' between them, their mutual fell-
tinrents being thofe of afledlion and
love, fhe -has fince" been liberated, to
the great hftppin els of the numerous
friends of her m uc h - re fp ebie cl f a t h t r .

Liverpool, Sept'. 13. Laft night, a
little before ten o’clock, a fire was dif-
ectvered in' Mr. Gilding’s livery. liable?,
Park-ftreet, which burlt out with the
great-eft rapidity, and threatened the
deftruhtion of the whole neighbourhood,
but the Are was got under at eleven
©’clock. All the extettftve range of
ffabling belonging to Mr. Gilding
was, however, entirely con-fumed. The
oorfes were all’ fared except one.
Prince1 William of Gloucefter was pre¬
lect, attended by his officers, giving
every direction requifite on the unfor¬
tunate occafion, and continued till a late
hour. The different corps in the town

came forward with alacrity to enforce

«/

£D©ckorder and prevent plunder.

Dover, Sept. 15. News has juft been
received here, that twenty- fix French
gUn-boats have efcaped out ofBolougne,
under cover of the dark, and are gone
into Calais ; our cruifers are gone after
them, as it is fuppofed they will come
out, being, it is faid, bound to Dun¬
kirk.

"fwfcys Sept.,iy. It is hardly to be
ddcribed with what ardour and en-
thufiaira all ranks' of people in this
iffimd are- labouring to meet the threat¬

ened aftaults of our he$oring enemies.
We are raking every precaution which
indefatigable zeal and 'experienced
councils^ can loggeft. It was lately
determined to fortify the town- hall,
and the only difficulty on eurth car¬
rying the project into > exception • was
tile want of labourers. *'With a fpiric
of pat riot ifm that would have rove ho¬
nour to ancient Rome in her / days,
the whole population of the .ft • \ from
the high eft to the fturrffileb rank, fi-ave
nobly volunteered their peri oual 1. rvmcl
upon this important work.

I Volvtrbconpion , S pt. 16. On x uef-
day, at no n, a Shocking accident hap¬
pened here. As the Lon dot and Salop
waggon was palling from John -ftreet
into King-ftreet, it wa* met bv a gentle¬
man in a gig, who, finding himfeit placed
in fuch a lituation, from the narrow nefs
of the ftreet, that his g’g and felf were
in danger of being crufhed to pieces,
jumped out. and endeavoured to turn
the leading horfes to the oppofite fidr
of the ftreet. The driver of the wag¬
gon was ar this time at the back of it,
and, in endeavouring to get round to
his proper lituation, he was crufhed
between the' waggon and the wall in fo
dreadful a manner, that hi; ribs were
broken in, and he was otherwife fo
much bruiled, that he died before he
could be conveyed to the workhoufe.

Daft ford. Sept. 20. Yefterday morn-
irrg, about two o’clock, a violent ex-
piofion was felt here, in corrfequence of
one of the powder- mills having caught’
fire, and which burnt very furioufl'y
for three hours after the explofion.
The fern ills belong to Miles Peter An¬
drews, efq. ; and it was a fortunate cir-
cumftance that no wind prevailed, other-
wife the dwelling-houfe of that gentle¬
man, which is near the place, muft have
been deftroyed. No cauie whatever’
can be aftigned for the accident, while,
fortunately, not an individual was hurt.

London , Sept.- 1 7. Aftietr, the bank
cafhier, was again tried at the Old 'Bai¬
ley for embezzling property of the Bank
of England, and found guilty. The
verdibt was, indeed, merely pro forma *
as- the tpjeftion of law oil which the cafe
turns is referved for the deciftoii of tht
twelve judges.

BIRTHS.

Aitgufi 27. At his houfe, in Tooke’s-
«^urt, the fatly of Richard Enocii Chap¬
man. efq. of a fon.

At his houle, in Peter-ftreet, the lady
Thomas Hake, eiq. of 'a fon.
iS. At Fairy-hill, Kent, .Mrs. Camp¬
bell, .of a dausrhrer.

O , *

In Haft-ftreet, Bloomlbury, the lady
«i c.-.ptsin G. H. Lowry, of the royal
-navy, .of a fon*

31. The lady of Dr. Crichton, . of
Cliftord-ftreet, Burlington-gardens, pf a
♦laughter. " - ,

September 3 . The lady of fir Robert
Williams, bart. M. P.. pf a daughter.

5- At Yartno.uth, the lady of fir Ri¬
chard BedingfeU, barr. of a fon.

- The lady of Dr. Cairns, of Bernard-
ftreet, RuflHt-fquare, of a daughter. •
The lady of Dr. Bird, of Chelmsford,
•f afpn. •

7. In Threadneedle-ftreet, the lady of
W. W. Prefcott, efq. of a.lon.

ir. The lady of brigadier-general
Hunter, of a fon. / •

13. In Portland -place, the countefs of
Mansfield, of a daughter.

^ 17. In Strat ford-place, the lady of F.
41. Smyth, efq. of a fon.

MARRIAGES.

Augitjf 24. At Thchfield, capt. E. J,
Foote, of the. royal navy, to mils Patton,
*id.eft daughter of vice-admiral Patton.

27, Mnjor Stewart, of the 95th regi¬
ment of foot, to mils Palmer, of Brighton.

29. Richard William Peirfe, elq. of
Thimble by-lodge, to mifs Clarke, of
Thorp- hall, in the county of York.

James Lumfden, efq, latejieutenant-
aplontl of the 55th regiment, to mils
•Lydia Hi.chens, 2d, (laughter of Richard
tiichens, efq. of Puttairc, Cornwall

3P* G. Brett, efq. of York-place, Port-
man-fquare, to nrufs Templeton, daugh¬
ter of the late captain Templeton, of the
4th dragoon-guards.

At Plymouth, captain C. Roger, of
the royal navy, and commander of the
Fowfey fea-fencibles, to mifs Crawford.

Rev. Mr. Rowe, ledurer of St. An¬
drew’s, Plymouth, to mifs Andrews, of
Plymouth-dock.

Mr. Date, merchant, to mils Hine,
hvih of Plymouth.

•. Marriages * 503

\it ■ • • - . . '-'''I

31. John James, jun. efq. of Kew, t«
mifs A. Renouard, of iNotting-hiil.

Walter Strickland, efq. Ion of fir Geo.
Strickland, bare, of Boynton, Yorkfiiice,
to mifs Welle rn, youngeft daughter of
the late Maximilian Weftern., efq. «sf
C ok-c t ho n>e, Ox fordfh i re .

Mr. Sidneft, of Thavies»inn, to Mi?.
Wilton, of Prefect t*fireet.

Dr. Adams, fellow of Trinity-hall,
Cambridge, to mils 8, Scott, •daughter
of the late rev. T. Scott, rector of King’c
Stanley, in GlouceileriWe. . .

Peter Free, efq. of Throgmorton-
ftreer, to mils Clark, daughter. of Geo.
Clark, efq. of Lombard-ftreet.

Brigadier-general T. Peter, to mifs
BarbaraCunmnghame^d daughter of A.
Cunninghamerjefq. merchant^ Giafgevv.

September 3. Alexander Gray,. efq. of
Argyle-flreet;, to mifs Bazetr, daughter
ofH./Bazett, efq. of Richmond, Burrey.

Mr. F . He i i c 1 of N.e w - coil r t , C r u rc li¬
ed- friars, to mifs Scott, of. Kenningtojn.

William Le Blanc, efq. -»f the Inner
Temple, to mils Ann- Elliott, daughter
of Philip Elliott, efq. of Briftol.

7. T. W. Cpoke., elq. of 'Semer, Suf¬
folk, to mifs Mathews, eldelt daughter
of R. Mathews, efq. or Wargrave, Berks.

*0. T. p. Spencer, efq, of Vauxhsil,
to mifs Rofs, daughter ot the late .Wilt.
Rols, efq. of Streatham, Surrey.

At Chelfea, capt. Henry Hornby, t*
tnifs Jane M. Smith. *

11. At Richmond, Philip Defpard,
efq. to mifs Rainsford.

172. Lieut. -col. Peachy, late M. P. for
Yarmouth, to mifs Emma Frances .Char,
ter, youngeft daughter of Thomas Char- .
ter, efq. of Lynchfield.

13. John Bellamy, efq. of Clarence-
place, Pentonville, to mifs Richardfon,
only daughter of the late Thomas Ri-
chardfon, merchant, of Fore -ftreer.

Richard Edward*, efq of High Elms,
Hertfordlhtrc, to mUa Hawacd, of
Thornhaugh-ftreet.

14. Edward Harman, efq. of London,
to mifs Rawlinfon, eldeft daughter of tbs
late T. Rawlinfon, efq. of Lancaller.

15. Wm. Willis, jun. efq. banker, of
Lombard-ftreet, to mif* Ponton, daugh¬
ter of Thos. Ponton, efq. of Batterfea.

Mr. Jofeph Lowe, of Charterhoufe-
fquare, to mifs Maria Mack into Hi, third
daughter of L. Mackintosh, efq. of Bur-
rows-buildings.

504

Deaths.

DEATHS*

Attgvft i3. At Aberdeen, in the 6 S.th
year of his age, Janies Beattie, LL. D.
profeflbr of moral philofophy and logic
m Marifchaf- college. ■

23. In Artillery-place, Finfbury-
fquatt;, Mrs. Median, wife of Daniel
Meilaa, efq.

25. At St. 'Mary’s Tflqq mifs Horne,
«!deft daughter of the late vice-admiral
fir George Home, bart.

Mr. Wild man Smith, of Frederick’s-
place, Old Jewry, aged 39.

At an advanced age, at his houfe in
Paddington, Mr, Miller, who formerly
kept the Cheihire Cheefe public-houfe,
Milford -lane — He was well known for
his (kill at the game of draughts.

Mr. Hambly, mailer of the Coach and
Horfes public-houfe, in Caftle-ftreet,
Leicefier- fields. — Uncommon exertion
in Seammgthe manualexercife produced
a fever, and brought on his death.

Mrs. Smith, of Little Chelfea, wife of
Mr. R. Smith, wine-merchant, late of
the Haymarket.

At her houfe, in Lower Grofvenor-
ftreet, Mrs. Morton, relidl of the late
hoi?. J. Morton, chief-jufiice of Chefler.

In Old Burlington-llreet, Herbert,
the deleft fon of Richard Croft, M. D.
in his x ith year.

At Sand well-park, the feat of the earl
of Dartmouth, John Roupe, efq. at the
early age of 33 years,

26. At her houfe, in Queen Ann-
fireet Eaft, Mrs. Ford, relid of the late
Samuel Ford, furgeon.

Thomas Taylor, efq. of Eaft-ftreet,
Walworth, after only 19 hours’ illnefs,
in his 74th year.

At Teign mouth, J. G. Pole, efq. only
brother to fir Wm. Templer Pole, bart.

28. At Almvick-caftle, Northumber¬
land, lady Frances Percy, third daughter
of his grace the duke of Northumber¬
land. Her iadyfhip was in her 19th year.
She was a moft beautiful and accom-
plifhcd young lady.

At Goodwyns, near Hertford, mifs
Byron.

At his h»ufe, in George’s- fquare,
Edinburgh, lieutenant-colonel George
Clark, of the hon. Eaft-India company’s
fervice.

29. At her houfe, in Leaden hall- fireet,
Mrs. Sarah Price, widow of the late Mr.
John Price, of Woodford-bridge, ElTex.

Mr. John Ladley, of Mount ftreet,
Grofvenor-fquare, aged 60.

At Exmouth, Devon, in his„2 2d year,
John Townly Ahmuty, efq fon of Mrs.
Ahrnuty, of Brighton.

30. At capt. Parker’s, Camberwell,
Mrs. Meritor), wife to captain Henry
Meriton, of the Exeter Eaft-Indiaman.

31. Henry Hunter, efq. of Kiiburne,
in the county of Derby.

Sept. 2. At Newcaftle-upon-Tyne, in
the 60th year of her age, Elizabeth El¬
mer, reli»5l of John Elmer, late of Sr.
Peteriburgh, and filler to the late George
Bolton, efq. of BlachpooJ, in the county
of Northumberland.

At Ulverftone, John Robicfon, efq.
attorney-at-law, aged 66.

•4. Captain William Stewart, of the
14th regiment of foot.

5. At Cheltenham, the lady of fie
John D’Oyle, bart.

6. Of a dropfy, Mr. Edward New¬
comb, of Bridge-ftreet, Weftminfter.

7. Wm. Blamire, efq. of the Hatton-
garden police-office.

9. At Woolwich, Mrs. Johnftone,
widow of the late lieut. -general William
Johnftone, of the royal artillery, in the
58th year of her age.

1 1. At Pet worth, Suflex, after a long
and fevere illnefs, which he endured
with the utmoft fortitude, Mr. Charles
Moritz Klanert : he was univerfally
efteemed. .. *

14. Aged 26, Mr. David Davenport,
fecond fen of the rev. — — - Davenport,
of Bardwell, Suffolk.

Dr. Wm. Murray, furgeon of his
ijnajefty’s dock-yard, Woolwich.

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•TIT

THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

■3fr

1 Miftakes or. both Sides ; a Tale,. . 507

2 Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance,

509

3 Mifcellaneous Thoughts, . ..512

4 The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tale,

5*3

5 Fafhionable Revolutionary Dialogue,

5i5

On Self-Efteem, . 5*6

Letter of Lord Walpole, . 517

Anecdote, . 5 20

A Morning’s Walk in O&ober,. . 521
Critical Oblervations on the Novel of

* Torn Jones,’ . 522

The Old Maid ; a Welfli Tale,. . 525
Manners, &c. of the Tartars of the
Crimea, . 529

13 Love and Duty; a Tale,.

•533

rTs

14 On the Difference between (Economy

and Avarice . ,....537

Particulars of the Manners and Ha¬
bits of tire Mai tele, . . 538

Matilda • a Drama, . 541

Parifian Fafhions, . 546

London Fafhions,. . . 546

The Moral Zoologift, . 547

Poetical Essays : — The Naval
Triumph of Britain. Anticipation,

550—55*

Foreign News, . 553

Home News, . ....556

Births, . “559

Marriages, . 559

Deaths, . 560

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This Number is cmbelUJhcd with the following Copper -plates:

1 Mistakes on both Sides.

2 For the Moral Zoologist. — VULTURE.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern rbr a Gown, Apron, &c. &c.

5 MUSIC— Disinterested Love : the Words and Mufic by W. Barre.

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are aifo received. / ^

THE

LADY’s magazine,

For OCTOBER, 1803.

MISTAKES ON BOTH SIDESj

A TALE.

■ .

{With an elegant Engraving.)

Among the giddy circles of fa-
fhionable life, the youthful and
gay lord Orwell fhone confpicuous.
Elegantly formed, of an amiable dif-
pofttion, accompanied by the raoft
pleafingmanners, which had received
the higheft polifh of politenefs, and
dillinguifhed for his unaffected viva¬

city and genuine wit, he was the foul
of every company in which he ap¬
peared. Endowments of this bril¬
liant nature, it will naturally be fup-
poled, rendered him a favourite with
the fairer fex, who vied with each
other in attempts to impofe on him
their chains, and lead him in triumph
a willing captive.

But the female whofe fair exterior
was una'nimated by underftanding,
or in whom levity and frivolity had
extingui filed good fenfe, could make
little impreffion on the heart of Fre¬
derick Orwell. His natural difcern-
ment foon difcovered whether vani¬
ty conftituted the whole of the cha¬
racter, or whether real intelligence
and merit were apparent through the
difguife of modern manners.

His attention was attracted, his
admiration excited, and his heart
morefenfibly affefted than he was at
firft confcious of, by the unequalled
beauty, the intelligent fprightlinefs,
and amiable manners, of lady Anne
Penthievre. The fpark of love,

which the firft view of her had kin¬
dled in his bofom, was, by frequent¬
ly indulging in the pleafure of her
company, fanned into a flame* and
he foon found an opportunity of
avowdng to her the impreflion {lie
had made on his heart. The unaf¬
fectedly modeft and delicate, yet
evidently favourable, manner in.
which fhe received his declaration,
ri vetted his pleating chains, and from
that time he became her acknowledg¬
ed and approved fuitor, and moft
ardent lover.

After having enjoyed for fome
time the unruffled tranquillity of un-
difturbed confidence in each other,
the fiend Jealoufy injected a drop of
her gall into each of their hearts, and
rapid and tormenting were the ef¬
fects of the hateful poifon.

At a fplendid ball given by a lady
of diftinction, and to which lord Or¬
well and lady Penthievre were in¬
vited, the latter danced with a younsr
nobleman equally diftinguiflied by
his perfonal accomplifhments, the
ancient honours of his family, and
his extenfive eftates. Her lover,
whofe eye was attentively fixed on
them, thought he perceived that his
lordihip was too fenfible to the beau¬
ties and elegant carriage of his part¬
ner; and that (he, in her turn, dif-
played too great a degree of exulta-

.508

Mijlakes on loth Sides ; a ‘f, ale.

tion in having thus excited his atten¬
tion. Not a little piqued at this, he,
in his turn, {elected as his partner
a young lady of great beauty, and
heirefs to an immeofe fortune, to
whom he paid the moil flattering
attention, which the on her part
feemed molt willingly to receive.
Hit beha viour he rendered purpofely
fo confpicuous that it could not
efcape the notice of lady Anne; and
the fame evening a vifible coolnefs
took place between them, though
not a word was faid by either with
refpedf to the tranfadlion which had
given each offence. They feparated
without the leaf! explanation, and
their officious imaginations, brooding
over wha' had paffed, fwelled the
trifling incidents which had given
bir?h tc their idle jealoufy into um
deniable proofs of the fuggeflions
of ground lefs fufpicion, and infur-
mountabie obflacles to their union.

For two whole days the hearts
of the lovers weie a prey to acute
pains which they had never known
before. At length lord Orwell found
that he obtained not only eafe, but
that hi? fufferings were changed into
ecftatic delight, by admitting the idea
that he had been nmftaken, and that
his dearth: Anne had not fwerved
in tnought from her fidelity to him.
He immediately ftarted up, and haft-
ened to the houfe of her aunt, with
whom {he reflded. He paifed into
the garden where {he was fitting
alone, indulging, in fadl, the melan¬
choly difpofition of mind into which
the rupture that had taken place be¬
tween her and her lover had plung¬
ed her. The moment file faw him
approaching, the fir ft fenfation of
her heart was an exultation of
joy, the expreffion of which however
{lie checked, conceiving it more
fuitableto the dignity of her fex, and
her confcious innocence, to treat
with careiefs levity and disregard the
man who could fo readily admit fu-
fpicions which file efteemed deroga¬

tory to her honour, and fo eafily
permit himfelf to take- a. mean re¬
venge. She received him,, therefore,
with an air of the greateft indif¬
ference, which, however, v cofl: her
not a little painful exertion to af-
lume. Her careiefs manner, and
apparent levity, revived in the heart
of lord Orwell all his former fufpi-
cions with redoubled force,. He
endeavoured, at firfl, to anfwer her
with equal levity and indifference,
but in this auempt he failed. The
mingling flames of love and jealoufy
blazed too fiercely in his heart for
him to refifi: their united power.
Abruptly he affuined a ferious air-—

4 I muff/ faid he, 4 1 mult put an
end to this trifling. I wifb to know
what I am to think of what i lately
faw. If rank and wealth have fueh
fuperior attractions in your eyes, I
am ready — l am wiling — yes, I am
willing to refign’ - —

4 No apology, I entreat you/ re¬
plied lady Anne, with a fcornful
fmilcn 4 If the fortune of an heirefs
bean object fo much preferable, you
might refrain at leaft from endea¬
vouring to invent accufations which
you know have no foundation.’

4 Madam/ returned he, 4 that in-
finuation is but a poor fubterfuge.
Let me have, — and I think*! am en¬
titled todemand it of your candour, — ■
let me have/ added he, railing his
voice, 4 an explicit declaration — an
explanation’- -

4 My lord/ anfwered file, 4 this,
certainly, is language I cannot un¬
derhand. I know not what- 1 am to
explain: at any rate, fuch an ex¬
planation as you feem to 'require is
beneath me.’

4 My lady/ rejoined he, haft ily
turning round, and taking out his
watch, 4 if you had beeadifpofed to
give it, I have not time to hear it;
for now I recoiled! 1 have a particu¬
lar engagement.*

Thus faying, he made her a formal
obeifance, and abruptly left her.

509

Signs and Habor ;

The rupture between thefe two
miftaken lovers was now become
wider than ever, and the difficul¬
ty of a reconciliation apparently
much greater. Both, at the fame
time, fecretlv blamed themfelves
for the manner in which they had
ahled ; ffie, that (lie had treated
him with fuch affiimed levity and
indifference, which did not accord
with the real feelings of her heart ;
and he that he had expreffed himfelf
in a manner fo hafty and peremp¬
tory.

At length, the aunt of lady Anne,
an elderly lady of the mod friendly
and generous difpofition, difcovered,
from the melancholy and vilible
unealinefs of her niece, and the ab-
fence of lord Orwell, that there
was fome difagreement between the
lovers. She queftioned lady Anne
on the fubjedt, and was foon fatis-
fied that the moft groundlefs fu-
fpicions had inhibited fevere pains on
two excellent hearts; and, if a re¬
medy were not timely employed,
might feoarate for ever two amiable
perfons who appeared born for each
other. She accordingly fent for
lord Orwell, and, in the pretence of
her niece, thus addreffed him : —

f So, I find the common cafe has
happened : you have quarrelled
with one another you know not for
what. But fo it always is : you
people of undemanding, when you
are in love, have no more wit than
the fooHffieft country boys and girls.
Here are nothing but mifiakes on
both /ides , and faults on both fides.

I am fure you love her, and I know
file loves you; fo take her hand,
and be happy in defiance of Jea-
loufy and all her imps.’

Lord Frederic gladly obeyed the
advice of the good old lady, and
took and ardently preffed the hand
of lady Anne, who, burfiing into
tears, filently and tenderly avowed
the truth and warmth of her affec-

a Gothic Romance.

tions ; while her lover, throwing
himfelf at he»; feet, folicited her
forgivenefs for having once quef¬
tioned her dilinterefted fidelity and
fincerity. Their mutual confidence
in each other was never again dif-
turbed by fufpicion, either previous
to or after their union for life, which.

foon took Diace: and their affedfion-
» *

ate gratitude to the good old lady
who had thus extricated them from
their difficulties, and reconciled them
bv her candid and friendly inter¬
ference, knew no1 bounds.

SIGNE and HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

( Continued from p. 451.^

Tn the mea.i time Hildegifle, with
* the remainder of his fleet, which
confided of forty fhips, had returned
to Sigerftedt. He immediately re-
paired to the queen and related to
her all that had happened. At the
firfl part of his narrative the mani-
feffed the greateft joy ; but, when
he difclofed to her the death of Alf,
{be raved as one frantic with grief,
rage, and the furious thirff of re¬
venge. When her contending paf-
fions fuffered her to give utterance
to her thoughts, ffie exclaimed —

‘ Let Bolvife be called ; of him
we muff afk counfel how to abi.’

Bolvife, the artful, infiduous, and
malignant Bolvife, came at her
fummons. He advifed that an af-
fembly of the people fhould imme¬
diately be convened, and informed
that Habor, impelled by a deadly,
yet diflembied, hatred, had attacked
and (lain Alf, though not with im-
punity, fince his father and brother
had fallen in the fierce conffibt
which his treachery had occafioned.

6 This affembly,’ added he, « may
eafiily be induced to decide as we
wifh, if the Saxons are allowed to
have voices in it ; for they will cer-

SlO

Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance.

tairdy outvote the few Danes who
have feats with them ; fame of
whom are abfer.t with Alger, and
dill more with Syvald : and we
mud haden the meeiingof the a fern -
foly before the return of the abfent
Danes.’

4 Thirikeft thou, then,’ faid Hil-
degide, f that my Saxons — ’ but fud-
denly he checked himfelf ; for it in-
ftantly occurred to him, that if
Habor were condemed to death as a
traitor, he might with much more
Confidence hope to obtain Signe.
Love therefore clofed his lips, and
imperioudy inclined him filently to
acquiefce in treachery.

The adembly of the people was
convoked without delay. Bolvife
accufed Habor, and depicted his
conduct in the blacked colours.
Hildegide fupported him feebly and
fearfully. But the queen deter¬
mined the wavering, and difpelled
every doubt. With difhevelled hair
and eyes flafhing pfrenfy, with
blood-dained cheeks torn with her
own hands in dreadful defperation,
die rudied into the adembly ex¬
claiming — - ‘ Murder! Vengeance !
Death !’

Sigar, in the mean time, over¬
whelmed with grief, wTas unable to
rife from his bed. The death of
his fon inflidted the fevered of
wounds on his heart. He raved
again d Habor, yet could he not com¬
prehend his conduct.

4 He is,’ faid he, 4 a hero—a true
hero, and could not, furelv, aft un¬
worthy of himfelf. I know not
how to take his life; yet the blood
of Alf demands it. My fon mud
be avenged. Yet Signe — ’

At the fame indant S'gne lay pro-
drate at his feet. Beia, who feared
her tender and perfuafive affeHion,
had placed guards at her door, under
the pretext of preventing her from
doing herfelf injury. But thefe
Signe had perfuaded to let her pads.

A long time they withdood her en¬
treaties and her tears; but her beau¬
ty, her courage, the dignity of her
demeanour, and her ardent affec¬
tion, at jength prevailed.

* Desired father,’ exclaimed die,
4 Habor is accufed — ’ and (he em¬
braced the knees of the aged mon¬
arch — f he is accufed innocently.’

4 He has killed Alf.’

4 Yes ; in the martial conted — in
fair combat.’

4 No ; by treacherous affault : the
tedimonies are againft him.’

4 Let him come and defend him¬
felf; his open, generous demeanour
fhall be his defence, and convince
all who look on him that he is inca¬
pable of treachery.’

4 The witnedes fby he is guilty.*

Signe tailed her head, while con¬
fidence, courage, and love, beamed
in her eyes.

4 Guilty ! — Habor cannot be
guilty ; my heart declares him in¬
nocent. Liften, deared father, to
thy daughter: give her a fecond
time that life which thou didd fird
bedow upon her.’

The head of Signe fank on her
knees, and her tears dreamed in
torrents. Tender and yielding was
the heart of Sigar : a cloud feemed
to veil his eyes; and the drops of
forrow flowed down his beard, and
moidened the cheeks of his daugh¬
ter, mingling with her tears.

4 Deared S:gne, thou declared
Habor innocent, and innocent he is
in my eyes. Would to Heaven
that the adembly of the people had
not already pronounced him guilty !

• — But now, what can I do ?’

4 You are king ; refufe your con-
fent, and the fentence of the people
has no power.’

4 A las ! I have already given my
word to Bolvife.’

Transfixed as with a thunderbolt
was Signe ; the breath of life feemed
to forlake her : at length die ex-

Signe and Habor;

claimed, with a feeble and faulter-
ing voice : f Syvald, Alger, Bolvife,
where are you ? The gods have or¬
dained that you fhould be abfent for
my punifliment. Is it thus, ye di¬
vine powers, that ye forfake inno¬
cence, that ye abandon thofe who
hope and confide in you !’

Her eyes remained fixed, and a
dead filence followed : Sigar could
not endure to lookon her; but turned
away his face in fpeechlefs fuffering.

At this moment entered Bera and
Bolvife, with an air of triumph
which they could not conceal.

4 Hail, fovereign lord!’ laid they;
c Alf fhall be avenged : the affembly
has decreed Habor a treacherous
a (Tallin.’

‘ But how ! Signe here !’ exclaim¬
ed Bera, with the ftrongeft emotion
of furprife at the fight of her daugh¬
ter.

f The death of Habor,’ anfwered
Signe, 4 will not rellore life to Alf.
But what did I hear ? Habor trea¬
cherous ! the hero Habor, my friend,
mv hufband, a treacherous affaffin !’

4 Signe/ faid Bera, endeavouring
to affume afoothing mildnefs, 4 for¬
get the man fo unworthy of thy
heart.’

4 Unworthy of my heart ! No ;
he pofteftes, and eternally fhall pof-
fefs, my heart. My vow, my with,
the confent of my parents, and the
approbation of the gods, have given
it to him, and nothing can deprive
him of it: nothing can change my
determination and my deftiny.’

f But recollect, dear Signe, he has
murdered thy brother! thy brave,
thy worthy brother! my much-loved
fon! the fhield and bulwark of Den¬
mark! and (hall he not then pay his
forfeit life?’

4 Habor cannot have acfted unwor¬
thy of himfelf : all his former gene¬
rous acts, all his noble demeanour,
his exalted magnanimity, mv affec-
tions, and my heart, declare him in¬
nocent/

a Gothic Romance . 5 1 1

4 I commiferate, fincerely com-
miferate, thy feelings: in the fame
fituation I might judge in the fame
manner. Thy ardent, tender affec¬
tion moft powerfully pleads thy ex-
cufe: but the fentence is pronounc¬
ed, and is irrevocable.’ *

4 My heart alfo is irrevocable. In
banifliment with him, tranfcendently
more happy fhall I be than in this
hated palace. Exiled with him, it
will be blifs to wander. But Norway
is his country: it is alfo mine. The
whole world is the country of virtue
and the hero/

With a noble dignity, the princefs
turned to leave the chamber. Her
ftep was as the ftep of Odin, when
he approaches his throne to fit in
judgment with the gods. She had
formed her refoiution fixed as the
decree of the deftinies. Bolvife
looked after with a malignant and
contemptuous eye. .

6 The princefs,’ faid he, 4 fee ms
refolved to be married; but there are
more men than Habor/

Signe darted on him a glance f?g-
nificatory of contempt which (lie
had never before expreffed or felt.
She anfwered not, but her eyes
faid — 4 Thou deferveff no anfwer.
Let paienefs overfpread thy cheek,
bafe flanderer! and honour that vir¬
tue of which thou haft no know¬
ledge.’

Sigar, with difficulty, raifed him¬
felf in his bed, and exclaimed — ‘In-
folent daftara! thou infulteft my age
and my weaknefs. Kooweft thou
not that refpect and reverence is
due to everv female, efpecially to
the daughter of rhy fovereign ?*

Bolvife retired, at a fign from Be¬
ra, without anfwering, though his
foul was rent with rage, and the
fecret wifh of his malignant heart
was : 4 May the Furies grant that

thou and Habor may fall by each
other’s fwords.’

In the mean time Signe had
thrown herfelf into the anus of her

5 1 2 / Mifcellaneous Thoughts*

affectionate friend Svanhild. — -

4 All is loft,’ exclaimed ftie, ‘ ex¬
cept virtue and honour. Habor is
condemned as dtterving death; con¬
demned to death bv the Danes, who
never decided unjuftiy till now that
their fentence whelms me in wretch-
ednefs.’

4 Deareft friend,’ replied Svan-
httd, ‘endeavour to calm thy agi¬
tated mind. Scarcely any Danes
have condemned Habor: the affem-
bly confifted almoft entirely, of Sax¬
ons.’

‘ Of Saxons! How can ftrangers
give judgment in the affembly of
Denmark?’

4 So it was determined. Bera had
ordered that they ftiould have voices
on this occafion.’

4 Why is (he my mother ? Yet I
am her daughter!’

A blufli crimfoned the cheeks of
Signe : ftie covered her eyes with
hel hands, and dared not look upon
SvanhiSd, who exclaimed : ‘ Oh,

amiable and virtuous maiden, wor¬
thy of a better mother and a better
fate !’

A profound ftlence followed,
which was fuddenly interrupted in
an unexpended manner.

(To be continued.)

Miscellaneous Thoughts.

A great writer has faid that there
are three inanimate things, that
have each a quality appropriate to
them which never changes : — fufpi-
cion, the wind, and fidelity, Sufpi-
cion never leaves the mind it has
once entered — the wind never enters
any place whence it cannot come
out — and fidelity, when it is once
gone, never returns.

We cannot hope really to pleafe
9ne part of mankind, without wilh-

ing, from the fame reafon, extremely
to difpleafe the other.

Next to juft thoughts, bold
thoughts are moft eftimable.

Thofe who have violent paffions
are frequently the moft worthy per-
fons, if we except thofe paffions.

Intereft is the reverfe of glory.

Natural merit without education
is a rough diamond, which muft be
examined clofely to afeertain its va¬
lue : it is only efteemed by con-
noiffeurs. As for that fuperficiai
merit which is beftowed by educa¬
tion and an acquaintance with the
world, it is an artificial brilliant
which dazzles the eyes of the igno¬
rant, but is defpifed by connoiffeurs,
A happy natural difpofition* cul¬
tivated by a good education, and
brought to perfection by an inter¬
course with perfons of merit, unites
every perfection, and attraCls the
admiration and praife of every one.

Though it is of the nature of ivy
to creep, yet it can raife itfelf to a
great height by means of the tree to
which it faftens, from which it de¬
rives its nourishment, and which
it prevents from acquiring that
ftrength and perfeCtion to which it
would have attained without it : a
lively image of the prince and the
flatterer.

Since it is acknowledged to be
the greateft of pleafures to be alone
with the objeCt of our love ; whence
is it that the vain man, who is a prey
to felf-love, cannot endure to re¬
main a moment by himfelf ?

Since affeCtion and friendftiip are
two of the ftrongeft bonds which
attach us to life, it ftiould feem that
the great ought to quit it with lefs
difficulty.

Fortune is like a river which turns
aftde when it meets with elevated,
places : virtue and greatnefs of mind
place men out of its courfe.

The Monks and the
The MONKS and the ROBBERS;

A TALE.

( Continued from page 4 1 J .)

* T'he old knave went about to

* fhow fight,’ continued the rob¬
ber; 4 but a (lice o’ th’ fconce quiet¬
ed him in no time; and a lufty
ltroke with a ftiletto, from San-
guigno, quickly ftopt his wife’s howl¬
ing; and we fhould ha’ fettled our
bufinefs with the wench eafily '
enough, but fhe made fo much
noife that the troop we muttered in,
being hard at hand, heard her; and
our captain, this fame fellow we
have been talking of, andfometvvo
or three of our comrades, quickly
bur ft into the cot. At fight of us the
captain {formed like the devil, and,
in a twinkling, fetches me San-
guigno a ftroke o’ the head that
lei led him bleeding to the floor.’

* He (hall pay for that V exclaim-,
ed the ferocious lieutenant : ‘ I ’ll ha’
his blood ! — his heart’s blood!’

4 Aye, marry, we’ll make him rue
the day he turned three poor honeft
fellows out of their living P

‘ VVhar, a plague!’ laid Fidele,

‘ did he turn ye out?’

4 Aye, marry did he. He and
fome of his knaves, your fneaking
pitiful-hearted villains that labour in
their vocation with none of the true
free-bootingfpirit aboutthem ! thruft
us forth to ftarve or be hanged for
aught they cared. But we did not
care to do either: fo we joined fome
brave fellow's that had quarters here;
and, when that was done, what does
we but ftt a friend, we have among
our old comrades (who’ll ftand up
back and edge for us if need be),
we fet him to work to fist them toge¬
ther by the ears. And, i’ faith ! the
knave managed matters fo marvel¬
lous well that they ha’ had divers
delperate fquabbles ; and once or
twice they lu g d out, but the cap-
Vol, XXXIV.

Robbers; a Tale . 5 1 3

(

tain found means to lay their choler.
To fay truth, my matters, the
rogues are afraid of him ; and in¬
deed there is a fomething about him,
I can’t tell what, that makes ye do
juft as he’d have ye ’

4 They ’ll mutiny in fpite of him,’
cried Sangiiigno. 4 All his gofiip
won’t fave him now.’

4 His knaves are wond'rous va¬
liant j ii ft now,’ refumed the fellow
who lpoke before him, 4 and make a
marvellous coil about fome under¬
hand tricks they have found him
out in. He’s got, it feems, fome
fellows hid among the caves of the
garrifon ; but whereabouts, they
can’t for their lives find out. They
fometimes do’nt fee him for hours
together: they take it, he then goes
to look after ’em. Who or what the
devil they are, or what they do
there, none of the troop can tell.
There’s one of ’em, to be fure, they
do know fomething of: he they
found one night, no great while ago,
as they were out on the prowl, bleed¬
ing and fenfelefs on the road,
through the foreft here ; and the
tender-hearted captain mutt needs,
forfooth, have him fetched to the
garrifon and from that time they
ha’ never fet eyes on him, nor does
the captain ever fay any thing about
him. They fufpeft he ?s playing
faft and loofe with ’em, and has
fome way of going forth into the
foreft which they do n’t know of.
Some of his troop have tried to dog
him ; but he caught ’em at it, and
roundly fwore he ’d crop their ears
for them an’ they ever did fuch a
thing again, and well nigh feared the
poor knaves out of their wits. But
one fellow was not to be put down
in that way : he muftered courage,
one morning, and flvly fkulked after
the captain; and by the light of a
lamp he carried, he plainly law him
in difeourfe with two ftrange men,
and was near enough to hear what
they faidft

514

The Monks and the Robbers ; a T ale.

‘.The vill ains,’ cried Sanguigno,
e took upon ’em to abufe our worthy
mailer, the lord Tancred, about the
lady Juliet, and about his wife ; and
that fcurvy i ogue, the captain, fvvore
he had murdered her in the vaults
under the caftie.’

The three monks who were
concerned in that tranfa&ion (fo
fecret, fo fecnre as they thought from
even the poffibilitv of detection)
were not a little a (Ion idled at finding
themfelves deceived, and perplexed
to conjecture by what means it be¬
came known to the captain. Nor
could the robbers at all fatisfy their
curiolity in that particular; for the
fellow, from whom it appeared they
heard this, apprehenfive of danger
from difcovery, found it expedient
to march his body back as fpeedily
and filently as he could.

4 And, i’ faith, he was in the right
on Jt !’ laid one of the robbers.
‘I wou’dn’t ha’ been in his fkin for
all Sicily : for ’t was a mercy that
fame fpithre captain had n’t caught
him ; and befides, in them caves, a
body runs a plaguy rifle of lofing his
way. They are as dark as the devil ;
and. as crooked, mafters, as one of
his horns, twilling and twining the
Lord knows how far under ground.’

4 Marry, and we mull know too/
cried Fidele; 4 and know alfo who
he ’s got there,’

4 Aye, and make fure of ’em too/
anfwered Sanguigno. — ‘ There ’s
wond’rous fecurity in a home-ftroke
of a fliiletto. There’s nothing to
be done without blend- letting,’

4 Thou fay’ll true/ faid the prior ;
4 therefore, an’ there be any of thefe
knaves attached to this fame captain,
difpatch ’em on the fpot ; and the
firft man that dares but fay a word
in way of difapprova), down with
him too.’

4 Bravo F exclaimed the inhuman

lieutenant. 4 Slav -(every mother’s

✓ • \

fou that ’s not on our fide. An’ I

do n’t leave thofe I ftrike as dead as
a door-nai!, would I may never car¬
ry a weapon more.’

4 Now, then, let ’s to horfe/ re¬
fumed the prior. ‘ The night
waftes : 'tis meet we beflir our-
felves.’

He faid, and all arofe to prepare
for the march. Part of the robbers
equipped the horfes, while t lie reff
furnifhed their new comrade^ with
arms, and changed their monkifh
veftments for others better fitted to
their prtftnt profeflion ; then the
monks concealing their* fhaven
crown beneath an iron fkullcap, all
veftiges of their holy calling were
funk at once ; and now, every thing
being ready for the march, the whole
troop mounted their horfes and Tal¬
lied forth into the foreft.

The fky was clear and cloudlefs ;
and the moon, glittering brightly
between the trees, ferved to light
them through the dreary and almoft
parhlefs wiidernefs in which they
rode. Over a wild and rocky coun¬
try they purfued their way ; and,
after fome time, entered, between
fome large and fpreading trees, a
narrow and winding defile, formed
by nigged cliffs, whofe overhanging*
brows almoft joined above them.

‘ We (hall be among ’em prefent-
Jy,’ cried Sanguigno, as the troop
flowlv wound through the defile,
4 We’re near the fpot.’

4 What ! among thefe rocks ?’ faid
Fidele, as they were about to enter a
wild romantic dell, environed by
high and rugged rocks. 4 By ’r
lady, a rare fhelter in cafe of pur-
fuit !’

4 Aye, marry/ replied Sanguigno ;
4 and it has proved fo more than
once afore now. ’T was here we
baffled the knaves who purfued us,
as I told ye, ye know, that night we
feized the lady Juliet.’

And now the troop, having croft
the dell, could proceed no further on

315

Fajhlonable Revolutionary Dialogue.

horfeback. The word was given to
difmount. Then, leaving their
horfes in charge with a few of their
number, the reft,' preceded by San-
guigno, bearing a lighted torch,
which they had brought with them
that they might find their way
through thefe caverns, haftened for¬
ward ; and, palling through the
chafm in the cavern’s fide, directed
their fteps along the rugged and
winding path beyond. Arrived at
the door of the garrifon, a fignal,
previoufly agreed on, gained them
immediate admittance. They found
their confederates affembJed, and
waiting* their arrival ; and, as foon
as they appeared, faluted them with
a loud fhout.

Apprehenfive of their proceed¬
ings being betrayed to the captain,
the malecontents had been careful to
conceal, as well from thofe whom
they knew were firmly attached to
him, as from thofe who were indif¬
ferent about the matter, the confpi-
racy they had formed again ft him,
and the afliftance they had obtained
to fecure it fuccefs. Thefe men,
therefore, flared in aftonifhment at
fight of the prior and his followers,
and were about to inquire what they
did there; but, when the former
was introduced to their notice, was
hailed their NobiliJJimo Capite.no by
many of their comrades, and them-
felves were required to do the like,
they began to underftand the bufi-
nefs, and to underftand too the ne-
ceflity of immediate compliance.
Mod of them declared for the prior,
but fome few *>f the mnft faithful
partifans of the captain (who chanced
to be at this time aofent from the
troop) were entertaining fome
thoughts of efcaping, when San-
guigno and fome of their comrades
fingled them out; and, in an inftant,
two of them, pierced with many
wounds, fell beneath their daggers.
The reft fled, and the mereilefs lieu¬
tenant, trampling over the bleeding

bodies of his vkftims as they lay
writhing in the agonies of death on
the earth, and with the mod fero¬
cious e3gernefs, purfiied their com¬
panions down one of the paliages
which led from the cavern; but the
darknels ftirouded them inftantly
from his fight, and obliged him to
return.

(To be continued.)

Fashionable Revolutionary
Di alogue. ,

[From a French Journal .]

Qo, you have fet up your coach I
find ?

Why, one muft do as the reft of
the worjd does.

But are you not afraid of the ob-
fervations of the cenforious?

What fhould they cenfute?

You know how rapidly your for¬
tune was-acquired.

Rapidly ! — You are quite miftaken.
Six months would fuftice for a knave
to do it in; but an hone.fl man, like
me, takes three years.

Th ree years?

Ah, my dear friend, they were
three brazen ages !

Now 1 rather think thev were
three golden ages.

You know not what it coft me to
gain the laft million.

Lefs, perhaps^ than to acquire the
firft crown.

But, now, may I take trie liberty
to afk you what you have done, or
what you do?

I hear, fee, and fay nothing.

You will never ride in your coach
by that.

I hat is the leaf! of my cares.

You will never keep a cook.

1 can do very well without.

You will be always poor.

Poverty is not a vice.

No, but it is worie.

Very well, my friend, you have

3 U.z

516

On Self -Eft eem.

already acquired the air and manners
of a perfon of fortune; and that is a
great deal in an age in which thole
who, like you, have fuddenly fet up
a carriage, are frequently, from ha¬
bit, inftead offtepping into it, going
to get up behind,

ON SELF-ESTEEM.

OELF-efleem, founded on rational
principles, is one of the Hrft re¬
quisites to a happy life; and, to the
'honour of virtue and religion, jet it
be remarked, that it is attainable
only by a benevolent, a wife, and a
prudent conduct. Men who, by
early education, by happily falling
among good examples, by reading
good books, and by forming good
habits in confequence of all thefe

advantages, conduct themfelves in
all things with reafon, with modera¬
tion, wit h kindnefs -thefe are they,
who, after ail the pretenfions of vo-
luptuoufnefs, enjoy the mod of this
world; for their happinefs flows
like a gentle dream uninterrupted
in its courfe, uniform and conftant,
while that of others is like a torrent,
which dafhes from rock to rock, all
foam, ail noife, for a little while, till
it is loft in the ocean, >or wafted
away by its own violence. It is cte-
ftructive of others, deftnidfive of it-
felf, and too turbulent to admit of
pure tranquillity.

Let tnofe who have wandered in
purfuits which themfelves are ready
to acknowledge delufive and unfa-
tisfa&ory, refolve, by wav of experi¬
ment, to try whether the plea hire of
that felf-efteem which a riles from
rectitude of conduct be not the mod
pleating polfefiion which this world
affords; whether it does not promote
a conftant cheer fulnefs and oaietv of

O v

heart which renders life a continual
ieaft. The path of duty, compa¬
ratively fpeaking, is lire wed with

S' VJT "

flowers,, and furrounded with fra¬
grance. To the timid, the flothfuf,
and ill-difpofed, the firff entrance
may appear to be clofed with briars;
but he who has courage to break
through the difficulties raided by his
own imagination, will find himfelf
in as pleafant a walk as is to be
found beneath the moon.

I fh'all not draw a deceitful pic¬
ture with the colours of rhetoric.
Much uneafinefs and fome farrow

muff be the lot of every man in his

prefent ffate ; but I contend that
the pleafantnefs of wifdom and vir¬
tue is not fictitious, and that he who
faithfully adheres to them will, upon
the whole, enjoy all the delight of
which his nature and fituation render,
him capable. ,

Many philofophers maintain that
felfifhnefs is the fpring of all our acti¬
vity. Whether their dodtrines be
well founded or not, it is certain that,
in purfuit of the pleafure of rational
felf-efteem, we may be as ftlfifh as
we pleafe without incurring the dif-
grace of meannefs; for to the indulg¬
ence of this kind of felfifhnefs, it is
neceffary to cultivate every thing
hoeral, generous, ufefui, amiable.'
The plcafure arifing from it is not
unfocial, though it centres in felf;
for it is not to be enjoyed but by-
promoting the good of fociety.-—
This plcafure is the firff reward
which Providence has been pleafed
to affign to the honeft efforts of
humble virtue, a reward infinitely
disproportionate to that referved for
it in a better ffate, but ftiil of a pure,
of a celeftial nature, and great
enough to excite the raoft ardent
efforts in the acquifition.

W h a t h a p p i n e fs c a n f u b ft fl w 1 1 h o u t .
this effential ingredient, felf-com-
placency ? External circumftances
are of no value without it. ' Titles,
rank, power, property, the grand
idols of a qn'oftrate world, are de¬
ceitful and e'tfipty whenever the de¬
licious tranquillity of a mind foothed

317

Letter of Lord JValpote .

to rational complacency is a flranger
to the bofom.

There is this additional advan¬
tage in being fatisfied with onefelf
on folid reafons, that it puts one
an gooff humour with the world.
All nature feems to fmile with us,
and our hearts, dilating with con-
fcious virtue and benevolence, feel
a new delight in the communication
©f complacency.

J. c.

Letter from Lord Walpole to
the Rev. Mr. Milling.

■v

fFrom Code’s Memoirs of his Lordihip.J

Wolterton, Norfolk, May 29, 1745.
DEAR Slit,

am really aftiameff of having neg¬
lected fo long to return you, and
my good old friend [Greffi'er Fagelj ,
who remembers me lo kindly and lb
often, my grateful thanks for your
generous fympathy with me in the
affliction I felt from the death of my
dear brother, the late lord Orford.
This heavy ftroke made fo deep an
impreflion upon my heart, that for a
long time I could do nothing but la¬
ment my own lols. ****** *
As to politics, I can only tell
you, that my thoughts, as well as
my fituation, are at a great di [lance
from them, and my res rujiica em¬
ploys me entirely. Retired from the
noife and nonfenle of a, public Ita-
.tion, no man, I thank God ! can
have more realon than I have to be
fatisfied with th-e more folid . and in¬
nocent pleafures of a private life. In
this fituation my mind is kept in a
pleating activity, very different from
that which aril'es from the tumult of
pallions, and the hurry of affairs.
My houfe, of my own building, is
not extremely large nor little; is nei-

convenient. The fituation is upora.
an eminence that commands a moft
agreeable profpect of woods inter¬
mixed with fruitful fields, and fo
dickered by thick and lofty trees in
the cold quarters, as not to be ex*
pofed to the inclemency of the ri¬
gorous fealbns. It is encompaffed
with a mod delightful and innocent
army of vegetable ftriplings of my
own raid n of, which are already
(though but of twenty years growth
from the feed), with a becoming
rivalfhip, ftretching and fwelling
themfelves into timber. They are

all of noble and worthy extraction j
the names of their families are oaks,
Spanifh chefnuts, and beech-; and
I believe none of their relations, in
any country, can be more promifing
and hopeful than they are. They
are fo ranged and difciplined as to
form, in fome parts, molt agreeable
lines and walks, and openings in
other places 5 from the right and left
they difcover fpacious and delightful
lawns.

Before my houfe, on the fouth.,
a green carpet, of the fineft verdure,
gratifies the eye, and gradually leads
it into a more extenfive plain. On
one fide a lake of living water catches
and fills the fight, from whence a
molt beautiful fluid glides with a ler-
pen tine and feemingly endlefs cur¬
rent, and lofes itfelf in a wood on
the other. My rural walks and con-
temptations amidft this mild, diverfi-
tied, and engaging fcene, afford me
constantly new fources of health and
pleasure, and make me lament the
noify, anxious, and tumultuous hours
fpent amidlt the broils of faction, or
vain attempts to ferve an ungrateful
public.

If this defcription pleafes you,
come, my dear friend, come and par¬
take of the beauties from whence it
is drawn. Come, and let us re-

ther to he envied nor defpifed. The member our friends in a modeft cup
ffiipofition of the rooms is neither of fmi ling home-brewed ale, and for*
magnificent tior contemptible, but give and forget our enemies, and

51 S' Letter of Lord JFalpoICe

pray for the peace and liberties of
Europe 5 the tirft of which, I am
afraid, is not fo near as I could wifh,
becaufe the laft feem to be in greater
danger than ever, which, notwith¬
standing my retirement, and my phi-
lofophical pretenfions, gives me fre¬
quently uneafy moments.

The beginning of the campaign
by the fuccefsful progrefs of the
Anftrians in Bavaria, and the confe-
quent reconciliation of that prince
with the queen of Hungary, was
'very hopeful, and could not have
been bought too dear by the mari¬
time powers, if a right ufe had been
made of them. The ufe I mean
would have been to have laid hold
of the king of Pruftia’s offers (if he
had made any tolerable ones), and
put him out of the fcale againft us.
I know the character of that prince ;
I know how little he is to be fruited,
and I would not have trufted him
without good fecurity for the execu¬
tion of his engagements. But if he
would have agreed to abandon
France, and would have given, by
difarming, or by any other means,
fecurity for his good behaviour, the
difference of a hundred thoufand not
acting; againft us, while all the other
princes and electors of Germany,
either out of affection or fear, had
in a manner declared for us, would
have greatly ftrengthened the com¬
mon caufe, and put the operations
upon a right principle, in carrying
them directly againit France, and
againit France itanding alone. Such
a.diverfion might have been made in
Alface, and fuch a reinforcement in
the Low Countries, as would have
given the allies a great fuperiority,
enabled them to have recovered
what they had loit, and to have
prefted the French io clofely as to
have obliged them to grant us a
fate and honourable peace.

But now, my dear friend, I appre¬
hend that the principal object of
the court pf Vienna will be (leaving

the Low Countries to be defended
by the maritime powers), todiftradty
divide, and devour, the Pruftian do¬
minions. Their pride, their venge¬
ance, and, above all, their bigotry,
will naturally lead them to cleftroy
a Proteftanf power that has dared to
offend them. It is true, the Pro-
teflant prince, in whofe hand this
power is lodged, deferves to be chaG
tifed for the unworthy and perfidious
ufe he has made of it. But I can¬
not wifh to fee that Proteftant power
deftroyed : it may in fome time or
other fall into better and honefter
hands, and may thereby prove of
fingular advantage for preferring
the Proteftant religion and the li¬
berties of Europe. Hence it is that
I have often wifhed to fee a ftriff
and lading union, in peace and war,
between the maritime powers and
the houfe of Brandenburgh, fo as to
make their own mutual defence of

the Proteftant religion and the ba-
^ — *

lance of Europe a common caufe
between them ; for the late long
and expen five wars have fo ex-
haufted England and Holland, as
to make it impoftible for them to
exert themfelves, as they have for¬
merly done, for thefe good ends,
without a fupplemental power, fuch
a3 Brandenburgh, taking a (hare
in it, and bearing, by men and
money, fome part of the neceftary
charge.

I know the debts of England.

O 7

and I need not tell you of the
debts of Holland, which, in pro¬
portion to the extent and opulence
of the two countries, are ftill more
enormous. I need not tell you alfo,
that the houfe of Brandenburgh is a
rifing houfe ; the economy of the
late king of Pruflia, the fpirit of
difeipline he introduced into his ar¬
my, the ambition, talents, and ac¬
tive. genius, of the prefent monarch,
mult render that houfe a powerful
friend or formidable enemy.

But can we, will you fay, be

Latter of Lord Walpole.

allied with the houfes of Auftria and
Brandenburgh at the fame time ? I
anfwer in the affirmative, becaufe I
believe the thing poffible now ; how
long it may be fo exceeds my fore¬
fight to determine. Perhaps thofe
two powers may, from the amor
fceleratus kabendi, or the luft of am¬
bition, come to look upon their in-
terefts to be fo irreconcilable that it
will be fcarcely poffible to be well
with them both. In fuch a cafe we
mult choofe which of the two it will
be moft prudent to adhere to, and,
for my part, I ffiould not once hefi-
tate in the choice. I perhaps may
be lingular in my opinion here ; but
I know the court of Vienna too well
ever to expeft the fmallelt fpark of
gratitude, generofity, or public fpirit,
in their tranfacfions with us. Their
conduit in this prefent war, which has
been undertaken more in their own
behalf than ours ; the ftate of their
troops, which are near 40,000 in¬
ferior to the number ftipulated ; the
timoroug and indifferent conduct of
the troops, thus deficient 5 all this
makes me look about to fee if there
is any thing in the queen of Hun¬
gary, except her fair face, that
ought to make her the darling of

O O

the Britilh. nation and of the United
Provinces.

Odtober the 2f)th, O. S. 174 5.
The rebels in Scotland, after hav¬
ing got (I am afraid by treachery)
the capital of the kingdom, and in
confequence increafed their numbers
confiderably, fo as to get the better
of the king’s 'troops then lent
againft them, having deferred (whe¬
ther in expectations of getting the
caltle of Edinburgh, or of fuccours
from abroad, or from an unwilling-
nefs of the Highlanders to leave
.their own country), having, I lay,,
deferred marching fouthward^ and
to get into England, where all the
frontier towns were under the great-
£lt aftonilhment, and entirely un¬
prepared and deltitute of means to

r(ifift them^ gave time for people
to recolledt themfelves, and, by re¬
covering themfelves, to think of
their own defence, and of the fatal
confequences of falling under the
cruelties and bondage of a Popifh
arbitrary government, with lubver-
fion of their religion, liberties, and
property. Thefe apprehenlions rouf-
ed the laity to enter into general af-
fociations, and in many counties into
fubfcriptions ol large turns for mak-
mg them effectual, by raffing regi¬
ments, companies, or troops, accord¬
ing to the different fchemes pro-
pofed in different counties ; and riot
only the whigs, out of real zeal, but
alio the tones, for fear of being fin—
Ipefted, joined in the allocations,
and a great many of them in the
fubfcriptions.-

In the mean time, the preach-
eis, ol all diltinftions, from the
pulpit inculcated with great energy
info the people the difmal effects of
falling under a popiffi governor ; and
fermons and pamphlets being all'o
pi in ted daily, letting forth popery
and llavery in their true colours,
have had fuch a wonderful elfe&
upon the minds of the commonalty,
that the popular cry in all places is
loud in favour of our happy conftitu-
tion, and with a deteftation of any
change in it. '

The city militia palfed, laft Sa¬
turday, through St. James’s park,
before his majefty, with fuch an af¬
fluence of people attending them as
was never, I believe, feen before;
^nd when a particular perfon (’t:s
faid well enough drolled) fcattered
m the race ol his majefty lome trea-
fonable papers, the mob was fo in-
cenled, that, had it not been for the
guard, t is thought they would have
torn him to pieces.; f0 that the
fpirit and lirength of the nation ap¬
pears vitlbly in favour of the cr0-
vernment; and as general Wade
wili have a lufficient number of re¬
gular troops, and is inarched to-

Anecdote .

ward' Scotland, Vis hoped and be¬
lieved that, by the blefling of God,
the rebellion there will foon be di-
f per fed, unlefs France openly and
vigoroufty fnpports the pretender’s
eaufe, for the preventing which our
navy is very diligently and properly
employed.

As to the parliament, although
the addrefs was unanimous and zeal¬
ous the ftrft day, yet tome queftions
were darted that portended divilions
amongff us then. However,, yefter-
day, upon a motion f to enquire into
the caufes of the progrefs of the
prefent rebellion, ’ which, if car¬
ried, might have led us into divi¬
sions and party faction, the houfe
was fo fully convinced of the necef-
iifcy of putting immediately an end
to the prefent rebellion preferably to
all other confederations, and that the
£re fhould be quenched before we
fhould enquire who kindled or pro¬
moted it, that it was carried not to
put that queftion at this time, by K)4
again ft 112, a majority of 82. So
that I hope we ftrall now proceed
unanimoully, or at leaft with a great
majority, to find fuppHes, and ways
and means to enable the king to fup-
port the government, and reftore
peace and tranquillity to this king¬
dom. I can fay nothing at prefent
about foreign affairs 5 my paper, my
time, and the confufion they are all
m, will not allow it.

ANECDOTE.

r r

■^rHE following anecdote will not
-i- only prove the fallacy of the
remark, that a woman cannot keep
a fecret, but will ferve as an addi¬
tional inftance of that generous and
humane fpiril which fo nobly cha™
xaHerifes our fair countrywomen.

Some vesrs fince, a lady called at
a glover’s tb op in the outfkirts of
$he town, and purchafed a pair of

gloves for her immediate wear ; ob-
lerving at the time that fhe was on
her road to Barnet ; that fhe had
left her gloves at a friend’s houfe
where fhe had called, and that fhe
was apprehend ve of being be¬
nighted if file went back for them.
The. glover fitted on the lady’s
gloves, and the lady, after paying
for them from a purfe well flocked
with Bank-notes* ftepped into her
poft-chaife, and proceeded on her
journey. She had feared v reached
Finchley-Common, when a high¬
wayman flopped the chaife and
demanded her money : he intreated
her not to be alarmed, he had no
intention upon her perfon ^ if file
fnrrendered her property it was all
he wanted ; diftrefs,. and not his
will* urged him to the defperate
act, and he was determined to re¬
move his penury or perifh. The,
lady gave her purfe* and the depre¬
dator rode off. After he was gone
and the fright had fubfided, the lady
imagined that, in the addrefs of the
highwayman, fhe recognifed the
voice of the glover fhe had tome
time before dealt with. This con¬
ceit firuck her fo forcibly, that fhe
ordered the poft-boy to drive back
to town, not choofing, as file fa id*
to venture further over the heath.
On her arrival at the glover’s, fhe
knocked and gained admittance y
the glover himfelf opened the door.
The lady deft red to fpealg with him
in private. The glover fhowed iter
to a back parlour, when flie ex-
ciaimed —

4 I am come for my purfe, which
von have robbed me of this even-

ing on Finchley-Common !’

The glover was confounded.
The lady proceeded.

‘ J c is of no ufe for you to deny
it: I am convinced, and your life is.
at my mercy. Return me my pro¬
perty, and truft to my humanity {*

The glover, overcome with guilt*
fliamcj and confufton? returned the.

52 1

A Mornings Walk in October.

purfe, confefTed his crime, and
pleaded his diftrefles. The lady,
after a fuitabie admonifhment, gave
him a ten-pound note, bade him
mend his way of life, and keep his
own counfel; adding, that Die would
never divulge his name or place of
abode. She kept her word ; and
though the robbery was Hated in
the public papers, the fubfequent
difcovery was omitted, and it was
not till very recently, that a minute
of this Angular tranfadiion was
found among the papers of the lady
alluded to ; even in this private
memorandum the name and refid-
ence of the fhopkeeper were care¬
fully omitted, and the fccret, in that
particular, reds with the lady in the
grave.

After this tale, the truth of which
may be relied on, who will fay, that
a woman cannot keep a fecret ?

A MORNINGS WALK in
OCTOBER.

* Shorn of their flowers, that ihed th’ untrea-
fur’d feed,

The withering pafture and the fading mead
Lefs pleating grow.’ Bloomfield.

q^His morning was extremely fog-
gy, the thicknefs of the mift
fhrouded day’s radiant eye, and
deprived creation of its illuminating
ray ; but foon the interpofing va¬
pour vanilhed before Sol’s penetrat¬
ing beam, and

* A flood of glory bur It from all the Iky.’

Pope.

Thus virtue is oft obfcured by
the clouds of calumny till the (hades
of (lander are difperfed by the
beams of truth, and (lie, like the
golden luminary, (bines forth with
priftine luftre.

During this early trip, the lark
did not fing me one fong ; the lin¬
net was mute ; nor did I once hear
the voice of the black* bird.

V«l. XXXIV.

‘ Ye plumy Tons of harmony !’ I
exclaimed, ‘ ye, who on towering
pinions chaunt carols in the air, or
cheer with your melody the bofoni
of the grove, what means this fi-
lence ? Are ye brooding over your
fears, and anticipating future want?
Has the profpedt of Winter de«
prefled your fpirits, and robbed you
of the inclination forflnging? Fear
not, ye citizens of the bough; dill
warble the lay of love, and tune the
fong of innocence. That Being
who formed you will feed you.

f( Tho’ unto you no granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleafmg

fong ;

Yet our kind heavenly Father bends his eye
On the leaft wing that flits along the Iky :

To him you fing when Spring renews the
plain ;

To him you cry in Winter’s pinching reign j
He hears the gay and the diftrefsful call.
And with unfparing bounty fills you all.”

Thomson.

* Though the provident farmer
has gathered in the grain, and the
fields are deprived of every fheaf,
yet dill the briar will furnith you
with fcarlet hips, and the hawthorn
with crimfon berries. Necefiity,
inventive necefiity, will difcover to
you the ways and means to appeafe
the calls of hunger. The greedy
l'parrow may repair to the friendly
farm, and the domeftic robin “ pay
to trufted man his annual vifit.” ’

I marked, with regret, that th$
groves had loft their glofiy green,
and had afliimed a yellow hue — a
metamorphofts ungrateful to the
fight of one who loves to wander
through the domains of Nature.
With feeling propriety, I could
then cry out, with the amiable
Scott,

* Farewell the pleafant violet-painted (hade.
The primros’d-hill, and daify- mantled
mead ;

The furrow'd land with fpringing corn array'd ;
The funny wall w.ch bloomy branch?*,
fpread.

3 X

522 Critical Observations on the Novel of 1 Tom Jones .*

* Farewell the bovv’r with bluflfing rofes gay ;

Farewell the fragrant trefoil'- purpled field ;
Farewell the walk thro’ rows of new-mown

hay>.

When ev’ning breezes mingled odours
yield.

* Farewell to thefe.’ —

Farewell to harveft alfo, the
reaper’s enrol, the fong of the glean¬
er, and the gay feftivities of harveft-
home.

c Cold weeping Winter ! now I turn to thee. >

Hater bill. John Webb.

Critical Obse rvations on the
Nove l of 4 Tom Jones.’

In a Series of Letters from an Uncle to
his Niece.

( Concluded from p. 458.)

LETTER XV.

DEAR NIECE,

HPhe introductory chapter to the

eighteenth book announces th®
near approach to the concluhon of
this delicious repaft. In language
the in oft happily chofen, and with
the molt polite and friendly addref's,
audio a witty drain of metaphor, Mr.
Fielding takes leave of his numer¬
ous guefts. The ftrnile which he
has chofen on this occafion, of the
affemblage of travellers in a ftage-
coacb, and their mounting into the
vehicle on the laft day of the jour¬
ney, is well adapted to exp reft his
fentiments on taking a parting fare¬
well of his readers, and the analogy
is preferved with nice diferimination
and true humour. When you fliall
have attentively perufed this novel to
the conclufion, you will readily allow
the jufticeof Mr. Fielding’s obferva¬
tion; that, from the variety of mat¬
ter to be collected together, there
can be final! opportunity ox later-

fperfing thofe delicious feenes with
which we had been regaled in the
former part of tbrft work. All will
be plain narrative only, fays Mr.
Fielding; and true it is that, in the
general run of novels, thofe chapters
which introduce the work to our
notice, and the one-half of the laft
volume, are generally of a very dull
and fopor«fic caft : but, with Mr.
Fielding, this obfervation does not
hold good. Although we have been
richly entertained in the fir ft part of
this literary repaft, we (hall find
abundant fources for commendation
now that the cloth is about to be re¬
moved, in the variety of the laft
ccxikery of the difli which hath al¬
ready been ferved up with fuch va¬
riety of fauces. To exprefs myftlf
without a metaphor, it will be leen
that this book is embeilifned "with
many comic paflages which will ren¬
der the perufal of it not lefs pleafing
than the former part of the work.
The critics, of whom Mr. Fielding
complains in the final fedtion of this*
chapter, add to the various inftances
which every day’s experience brings
to our notice, that merit never fails
to be attended by envy.

The curioiity of Partridge, in lift-
ening to the difeourfe which pafied
between Mrs. Waters and his m after,
furnifhes a fubjedt for the fecond
chapter of this book. The horror
exprefted by Jones, at the informa¬
tion of Mrs. Wateis, is conveyed in
language well adapted to the con¬
ception which fuch an abominable
intercourfe muft have excited. The
author’s obfervation, in the fixth
lection of this chapter, that fome of
the molt confiderable events in life
are frequently produced by a nice
train of little circumftances, is very
juft, and will be fubferibed to from
the experience of every individual.
By the various accidents which inter¬
vened to prevent a meeting between
Mrs. Waters and thefthoolmafter at
Upton,, the author has jucUcioufly

Critical Obfervatiom on the Novel of 1 Tom Jones. 9 523

contrived to conceal the main inci¬
dent on which" the vvhoie plot de-
pends, tiii the time when it became
neceifary to- bring it forward.

The intelligence communicated in
the third chapter conduces, in every
branch of it, towards ripening the
main lot. Mr Allworthy, by his
rifit to old Nightingale, not only
prevails on ni a to content to his
fan’s marviape with mifs Nancv, but
a fraud is brought to light through a
coincidence of fortuitous circum-
ftances, and which Mr, Fielding dyles
one of thofe extraordinary chances
whence good and grave men have
concluded that Providence often in¬
terferes in the difcoverv of the mod

a •

fecret villaoy: this lingular incident
was the arrival of Black George, at
the precife time when Mr. All wort by
and the old gentleman were bolding
their conference. The intelligence
which Nightingale afterwards relates
to Mr. All worthy, with refpeCt to
Black George’s vifit — namely, the
depofit of five hundred pounds in
bank-notes, which Nightingale was
to lay out for his advantage, and the
production of tjhe notes to Mr, All¬
worthy, leave no doubt in the mind
of that gentleman of thofe notes be-

O #

ing the identical papers which he had
prefented to Jones when he ditcard-
ed him from his favour, as related in
the former part of the work. Thus
is one very material caufe of the
good man’s difpleafure again!! the
foundling removed; and you will
obferve of this difcoverv, that it was
brought about through a combina¬
tion of the mod: natural cautes. —
What can be conceived more na¬
tural than that a fellow of George’s
(lamp, who had poffeffed himfelr hy
the mod unjuftifiable means of !o
confiderable a treafure, fhould apply
to a money- fcrivener, in order that
it might be difpofed of to the bed
advantage; and that all the other
incidents refpeCting Nightingale
fliould fall out as we have feen, lb as

by a fortuitous combination of caufes
to produce this material difcovery?
Mr. Allworthy’s beneficence, dif-
played in this chapter, fets him in a
mod captivating point of view. The
account which he gives to Mrs.
Miller of his embady to old Nightin¬
gale, and the difcovery he had made
refpeCting the five hundred pounds,
is conveyed in the mod impreflive
language, and fo, likewife, is his
tender recollection of the affection¬
ate regard he had formerly borne
towards the foundling.

Mr. Square’s letter, in the fourth
chapter, befpeaks the favour of the
reader towards that eccentric charac¬
ter: from the ample confeffion he
makes, refpeCting the (bare he had
taken in the misfortunes of our fa¬
vourite, we no longer remember his
faults, but confider them as fully
expiated by this atonement. Square’s
letter is well written, and the moral
and religious fentiments which Mr.
Fielding has put into the mouth of
this philofopher are a tedimony of
the author’s belief in the great truths
of Chriltianity, and are a memento to
the reader of what he had before faid,
on his introduction of this man and
of Thwackum the divine — that the
bringing thefe perfons on the dage
was not done in the view of im¬
puting an odium on religion, but
with an eye to their fervice that he
had taken upon him to record the
lives and aCtions of two of their falfe
and pretended champions. Thefe
men have both of them performed
very diftinguifhing, though not very
honourable, parts in the foregoing
drama; and without the confeffion
which Mr. Square now makes, a
very material part of the clue would
be deficient. By this letter Mr.
Allworthy becomes, acquainted with
the real truth of every circumftance,
the mifreprefentationof which raifed
his difpleafure againd Mr. Jones.
Thwackum’s phanfaical pride, now
that the time approaches for doling
3 Xa

5% 4 Critical Obfer vations on the Novel of c Tom Jones.'

juflice to every chara£ler, remains to
be pumfhed, and this is fufficiently
brought about from the imperious
language in which his Setter to All¬
worthy is couched. This letter is a
direct contrail to the humiliating
epiftle of Mr. Square. It is penned
in the true fpirit of an intolerant
prieft fwollen with ecclefiaftical
arrogance, and placing the meek-
nefs and complacency of his patron
to the account of weaknefsand pufil-
lanimity.

The perfidy of Blifil in fending
Dowling to examine the fellows at
Alderfgate, in order, if poffible, to
procure evidence for the convi£tion
of Jones, is brought forward in the
fifth chapter. This circumffonce,
which comes by accident to the
knowledge of Mr. Allworthy, excites
a temporary difpleafure a gain ft that
young man from his uncle; but this
is of fthort continuance ; Mr. Blifil,
by theglofs with which he varniflies
his conduft, having the art to impofe
a belief on Allworthy that the mo¬
tives which prompted him to exa¬
mine the fellows at Alderfgate pro¬
ceeded from a wifh to exculpate
Jones. Much light is thrown on the
lubje£t by the tale which Partridge
relates to Mr. Allworthy. The
manner in which the pedagogue de¬
livers his harangue will excite your
laughter; for though, in thh part of
the hiltory, there feems to be fmall
opportunity allowed the author of
indulging that vein of pleafantry fo
peculiar to himfelf, yet he contrives
(as in the prefent inftance) to excite
the merriment of his readers in
the midft of mere narrative. In
this place likewife, as in every other
period of the hiliory, Mr. Fielding
difplays that good-nature and milk
bf human kindnefs with which his
heart at all times overflowed. A
fpecimen of this appears in the cha¬
racter given by Partridge of the Sa-
lilbury and Lymington attorneys,
who were, as I prefume, exifting

characters in thofe two places at that
time. The arrival of Mrs. Waters,
at the precife moment when Par¬
tridge had reached that part of his
ftory which relates to the amour car¬
ried on between Mr. Jones and his
fuppofed mother, affords a fair op¬
portunity to theauthorof introducing
Mrs. Waters as an evidence capable
of developing the whole myfterv.
The ftory of mils Bridget’s amour
with Mr. Sumner, and the confe-
quence of which this amour was pro¬
ductive, is related in a very pleating
manner. Her anfwer to- Mr. All-
worthy’s reflections on the unjuflB
liable conduCl of his filter in con¬
cealing this tale; namely, that Ihe
always profeifed a contrary inten¬
tion; and the villany of Dowling
and of Blifil ; appear in their proper
light to Mr. Allworthy : and the
evidence communicated by Square,
in his letter, receives elucidation
from the fame. The arguments
urged by Mrs. Waters in favour of
illegal concubinage, in the eighth
chapter of this book, are very pro¬
perly controverted by Mr. Allwor-
thy; and, indeed, the reafons to be
urged againft this illicit commerce
are fo ftrong, and the evils arifing
from it, when taken in a religious or
prudential view, fo numerous, that
the frequent praClice of this degene¬
racy feems to militate not lefs again#
common underllanding than the
precepts of our holy religion. The
obfervation of Mr. Allworthy, in
reply to Mrs. Waters, that a derelic¬
tion of thofe faults which may have
occafioned the cenfures of the world,
and a perfeverance in avoiding all
fcandal, will in the end obtain for-
givenefs of that world, much as it is
inclined to cenfure, is an encourage¬
ment for every perfon who may have
incurred the ill opinion of his neigh¬
bours to drive to clear away any
afperfion which his former indifcre-
tion may have brought upon him.
The examination of Mr. Dowling

525

The Old Maid ; a Weljh fate.

Confirms what Mrs. Waters had be¬
fore related to Mr. Allworthy, and
leads on to farther difcoveries.

In the ninth chapter of this book
is exhibited a very intereding con¬
vention between Mr. All worthy
and mifs Weftern ; and here Mr.
Fielding's talents as a ferions writer
fliine forth to great advantage. His
fentiments are exprefled in language
the moil appropriate to the fubjedt
he has in hand; vvhilft the fenflble
deportment, the modeft demean¬
our, and judicious reply of Sophia,
at once denote the heroine of
the piece, fuch as we have before
witneded whenever the was intro¬
duced to our notice. The latter part
of this chapter, in which ’fquire
Weftern makes his appearance,
forms a contrail to the pathetic fcene
before recorded. The yerfatility in
the temper of Mr. Weftern, which
has hitherto appeared as a prominent
feature in that gentleman’s charac¬
ter, is well expredld, by the fudden
traniition from the mod violent dif*
pleafure which he had hitherto ex¬
erted again# Jones to the fonded
expreflions of regard towards that
young man, as related in the tenth
chapter.

Th ree chapters more bring this
agreeable novel to a conclufion. —
And now, my dear niece, permit
me to crave your pardon for having
thus long intruded on your patience,
in the minute review which I have
taken of the feveral beautiful paf-
fages that offer themfelves to our
notice in the perufal of the 4 Hiffory
of a Foundling,’ many of which
your own good fenfe would probably
have pointed out to you without my
aflidance. The dyie, the manner,
and the nice contexture of the whole
plot, certainly jollify every eulo-
giurn which has been bellowed on
the work in the preceding obferva-
tions.

THE OLD MAID;

A WELSH TALE.

( By Mifs Eitz. Ycames.J

'The dark mantle of night had
fpread itfelf over the valley of

- , in the Aland of Anglefea :

the hills, the lofty trees, were robed
in the brown fhade : the ploughman
home w aid bent his eager deps,
weary with the toil oi day, followed
by his faithful maftiff, the partaker
of his lowly fortunes, who had ad¬
hered to him from his earlieil days.
T he folitude of the place was calcu¬
lated to infpire religious awe; for
nought broke in upon the filence
that reigned, except the faint notes
of a female voice who was tuning a
hymn to her heavenly Maker. The
found proceeded from a little cot¬
tage fituated near a deep grove, the
trees of wh:ch nearly concealed the
neat white brick dwelling from the
eye. The jeflamine and honey-
fuckle fpread their tender branches
over the upper windows, and a row
of flower-pots lined the lower: to it
belonged a fmali track of land fertile
in grafs and corn. Here the ewe
and the innocent iamb were to be
feen playing their innocent gambols;
and there, fusther on, the gentle
cow wdth her milk-white calf. Hap¬
py fcenes of rural fvveets! the eye
receives more gratification while
refling on ye, than it pofliblycan do
gazing on works clothed in a Iefs
limple garb. The lad note of the
hymn had juft died away when a
young woman ruflied into the cot¬
tage, and flung herfeif at the feet of
its owner.

4 1 am come to afk your confent,
deared lady,’ fhe cried, 4 to my union
with Wiliiam Stewart.’

4 Rife, my Philippa; you have it,*
replied (lie.

4 Thank you, beloved Marianne,*
laid Philippa, kiflmg her hand, 4 for
this kind condefcenfion. Yon who

I atn, &c.

52 6

The Old Maid ; a Weljh Tale.

are againft marriage vourfelf: who
are rel'olvt-d to live Angle all your
life, yet coiafent lor your adopted
daughter to war again ft yarn fyftem/

4 1 have no right to with- hold my
approbation, Philippa/ replied Ma-
rianne : 4 vour father and mother are
flili living 3 although you think the
alone your father, mother, and all'.
To me you are fo; for when I took
you, an infant to this houfe and my
feofoui, did not 1 vow to live for you
— to devote my days to your im¬
provement? I reared vour tender
days. With what fondnefs I doated
on you none can tell : with what
delight I beheld your daily improve¬
ment none can conceive. Oh, Phi¬
lippa! muft I then be parted from
you ? Muft you leave me lor Stevr-
#rt? But why do I repine? Is he not
more worthy your love than i am ?
Is he not better calculated *o guard
your future days? Oh, yes!' then be
it fo. JSt ver lhail one more repining
expreffion efcape my lips.’

* Oh, no; I will never leave you !’
cried Philippa. 4 My Stewart will
Puffer me to attend you all your days.
Here, then, will he and 1 take up
our abode, if you, Marianne, will
Puffer us/

*'■ ‘ Kind girl!’ laid Marianne, em¬
bracing her, ‘you have anticipated my
withes. Here, then, fhali j view you
ftiil more happy than you have ever
been: the pita fure of love lhail ani-
ihatt your countenance, and light up
the expreffion of your byes. Young
William, too, wiii be the enlivener
of our evening hours, ana the alli-
ducus lover of my Philippa: the
sffiduous lover! — Ah, let me not
think of his love ; for are not fome
men faifer and lo he may prove!
Pnihppa, beware.’

The agitation Marianne evinced,
the urjpi etfive t ne of her voice at
the la two words, greatly furprifed
her young auditor; who, in a tre/n-
teiiog voice, replied —

‘ Surely, not! — he cannot be un¬
true ! Why, deareft madam, fhould
we judge him by another’s mifde-
mean our ? ’

4 1 had forgotten myfelf/ Paid Ma¬
rianne, recovering her cornpnfure.
4 1 did not recollect my lovei had a
particular r afon for his conduct.
Ah, Philippa, 1 (peak in enigmas to
you ! Hear nny Lory, and pity me/

She then began as follows — —

4 I was the only daughter of the
mod: tender of parents, whofe hopes
were placed in me. To the utmoff
of their power they indulged my
every with, nor ever repined at the
overbearing diipofition I daily more
evinced, although the whole houfe -
hold complained of it, and from the
higheil to the lowed I was hated by
them. 1 was nearly fixteesi when f
Bril became acquainted with lord
Francis Ledger, an Englifh noble¬
man, who inllantly profefied a vio¬
lent attachment for the little Welch
girl. Lord Francis was very young ;
his perfon was elegant, his manners
were extremely prepoffeffing, and
his difpofition was very amiable. I
muff confefs his attentions were Bat¬
tering to nr.e. I prided myfelf on
the conqueft i had made, and fecretly
determiiud to rivet his chains mort
clofely by every power I could com¬
mand. Ah ! why was I fo cruelly
fevere ? I now fhudder to reviavy
my giddy condudf, and the pangs ii
gave to my indulgent parents. But
to return : lord Francis, flattered by
my feemi’ng approbation, ventured
to difclofe to me his paflien. After
hearing him to an end, I flung away
the mafk I had hitherto worn; and,
frowning on him, declared that his
addrefles could never be acceptable
to me; telling him that he had
miftaken my conduct, and that I
never intended to be any thing more
to him than a friend. At this de¬
claration he ffarted ; the blood for-
fook his cheeks, and he exclaimed—

3 ’ A 4.

527

The Old Maid ; a Weljh Tale .

u Oh3 fatal miftake ! How have
I drunk the delicious poifon from
your confeating eyes, until my
whole foul has yielded to excels of
love, and I have ventured to afpire
to the fupreme delight of calling you
mine! Ah, wretched Ledger ! how
have you dreamed ! ’Tis plain
Marianne never loved you ; but the
fmiles foe bellowed on you were the
Imiles (lie cad on every one elfe !”

‘ For the fir ft time, I felt mv heart
beat with compaffion. For him, I
believe my eyes expreffed the fenfa-
tion I felt; for his were inftantly
animated as in * tone of pleafure,
and he cried —

i: By Heavens! you do pity me,
and tni* beam of compaffion repays
me for all the pangs 1 have expe¬
rienced for the laft few moments.”

‘But, fnatching my hand from his
tender grafp, I repul fed him a fecond
time, and left him abandoned to
defpair. Philippa, you muft con¬
demn this condu6t. I knew it was
wrong, and bitter tears have I many
times fince fhed at the recolle^llon of
that period of my life. From that
hour I never met lord Francis, as he
left Wales and returned to England.
No doubt you muft think my parents
were furprifed at his fudden flight :
indeed they were, and my mother
took an early opportunity of in-
uiring of me concerning it. But I
id not choofe to difclofe the truth,
therefore returned evafive anfvvers
to all her anxious inquiries.

‘For fome months I heard no¬
thing of lord Francis. In the inte¬
rim my tender mother died ; and,
while I was yet in my weeds, I re¬
ceived the news of poor Ledger’s
death. From that hour my conduct
underwent a total change : I was no
longer proud and tyrannical, but
humble and condefcending. No
longer hated, I became loved and
reverea. The hand which had once
turned aftde the weeping children of
poverty was now ftretched out to

relieve their diftrefles. Thcfe eyes,
which had often turned wfth iicken-
ing difguft from the fight of pale
difeafe and rags, were now erti ployed
to trace out fuch wretched objects.
The tongue which had fcofTti at
their ftirFenngs was now tiled to
foothe the dift relied, and mv bofom
was now the cradle for the head of
ficknefs. Sweet were the fenfations
I experienced from thefe afls of
charity-; and, while clafped mo my
aged parent’s grateful heart, after
relating to him the wretched fcenes
I had witnelfed and foftened, I felt
what it was to be virtuous.

‘ I had in ft entered mv eighteenth,
veir when I chanced to meet with
Mr. Conway, a young Englishman
of the moft engaging manners. He
was about a twelvemonth older rhan
myfelf ; his form was tall and grace-
ful ; iiis eyes were dark, full, and
fparkling; his features all peculiarly
beautiful ; and his voice a model of
manly perfection. Oh, Philippa!
here my heart full found a covert
in which to reft itfelf. His form,
his face, were the counterpart of
him I had fondly drawn in imagi¬
nation as the man of all others I
fhould moft prefer to wed. Now,
indeed, did I firft love : its fweet
deliriums, its pleating reveries, and
painful agitations, each aflailed me
by turns, and every eye perceived
it. My countenance was the faith¬
ful index of my mind ; my colour
went and came every moment I
fpent in his company ; in my eyes
could be read the language 1 would
have uttered : there were the fecrets
of my foul bid open, tfnd in one
fatal moment Conway read it — with
Teeming tranfport read it. Faife
deceive.- 1 never flia.ll I forget the
rapture he pretended to feel ; at my
feet he pouned forth a thoufand wild
expreffions of delight, and even
Ihed tears on mv hand as he prefled
it in his. In faulrering accents T
con Tented to his alkmg my father's

52 8

The Old Maid;

leave to addrefs me ; and, with a
throbbing at my heart, nearly
amounting to agonv, received a kifs
from his lips, the firft pledge of his
love. How {hall I relate what
followed ? How lay before you the
injuries, though juilly inflicted, I
received ? Suffice it to fay, he ob¬
tained the confent of my father to
our union ; and I was the moft
bleft of women, believing Conway
to be equally happy. One day
when I was at my harptichord,
playing to him and my father, the
latter turned the converfation on
our marriage ; and Conway, taking
the opportunity, lold me I was cruel
to keep him fo long in fufpenfe,
and begged me to name the day
which was to make him the moil
envied of men.

“ O, then, I will fay this time
two years,” cried I, laughing.

ts Such a long time ?” faid Con¬
way, mournfully.

“ I can name a much longer,”
replied I. “ What would you
think if I faid never?”

ff Never!” repeated he, and the
expreffion of his countenance was
changed to that of fire. Revenge
fparkled in his eyes, and a malig¬
nant fmile played round his lips.

“ It is your own fault, Conway,”
cried my father : “ why do n’t you
name the day yourfelf ?”

“ My fault is it, Marianne ?” ex¬
claimed my lover in a low tone,
his countenance once more ail foft-
nefs. “ Oh ! if it is, then pardon

‘ He inftantly quitted the room, to
my no fmall furprife. The fame
evening as I was fitting alone in
my dreffing-room Conway vifited
me : I was furprifed at his fudden
appearance and the folemnity of his
air, but he allowed me not time
for refle&icn. The inftant he
entered, finking at my feet, and
hiding his head in my lap, he burft
into tears. Aftomliunent tied my

a TV eljh Tale .

tongue, and he uttered thefe words
without my once attempting to in¬
terrupt him : —

u Oh, Marianne ! hear the con-
fefficns of the perfidious wretch
before you, and curfe me for a
traitor. I am the only brother of
the late lord Francis Ledger, of
courfe the fuccefTbr to his title and
eftates. When I was not more
than feventeen, my father forced
me to wed a woman double my
age, who was doatingly fond of me.
At that time I did not feel my
chains galling; and as my father,
at his death, left me ten thouland
pounds more for my compliance,
I ceafed to regret the part I had
a£ted ; and, while I rifled my wife’s
coifers, felt I had done wifely by
following his advice. About two
years back, my brother, who had
vifited Wales, returned home to
England. With eager hafte I flew
to meet this much- loved youth;
but, ah ! what a change did I not
behold in him : haggard care fat
upon his brow, and Lis blooming
cheeks now refembled the faded
flower. Oh, M rianne ! I will not
relate the pangs I faw him fuffer.
Suffice it to fay, my poor Francis
met an early death, and I, his only
relation, vowed to avenge his fate.
Too well have I fucceeded ; but,
alas! while 1 was kindling love in
your foft breaft, I catched the fire
myfelf. But I could qot recede, for
I had fworn to carry on the plot;
thus far how I have lucceeded you
too well know.”

f He ceafed. I heard no more.
A deadly licknefs feized on my
heart, my head turned round, and I
funk on the floor. When I reco¬
vered, I found myfelf fupported by
my father, who was weeping over
me. I eagerly enquired for Con¬
way : he had left the houfe. I
raved, I tore my hair, and acted
with all the wildnefs of a maniac,
until nature, exhaufied, fank within

Manners , <§r. of the Tartars of the Crimea . 529

$ne, and I again dropt on the bread
of Mr. Howel. For fome months
I lay on the bed of ficknefs, and
when I recovered I learned my
beloved father was no more. This
lad {hock nearly proved fatal to
me; and my reafon, it was much
feared, would entirely leave me.

* However, it proved otherwife,
and I lived to figh out many a
lingering year. When I was out
of danger, I removed from that
fpot of misfortune; and, having
fettled the chief part of my fortune
on the poor, I fought this vallev
where I determined to live and die/
Here Marianne ended. She
wiped away the big tear from her
fine blue eye, and called forth a
{mile on her countenance; but the
effort was a painful one, her bofom
heaved, and heart-rending fighs
burft forth. Philippa tried to com¬
fort her : Ihe fpoke in the lofted
tone imaginable. The mod tender
language flowed from her ruby lips,
and on her gentle bofom the took
the head of her diflrtfled fiiend.
Somewhat compofed, Marianne fmi-
led fweetly on her for her cares ;
and, preding her to her bofom, (he
called her the daughter of her heart,
the foother of her afflftions, and
the only true friend die p< defied.
The next day Piiilippa w as united
to Mr. Stewart, and mifs Howel
felt all her fears ceafe at the end of
the ceremony, when Philippa flung
herfelf into her arm?, no longer
mifs Reeve, but Mrs. Stewart.
Marianne thus addreffed her, with a
(mile of fatisfadtion beaming in her
heavenly countenance*: —

‘ My fears of your lover’s con-
flancy are over— my pangs ended —
I fee vou happy. Behold thy ami¬
able William equally fo too : what
can I more defiie? — As a wife, may
you be happy ; more lo than I have
been in a date of celibacy. It I
had never beheld the too- beauteous
Conwav (or, more properly fpeak-
Vol'. XXXIV.

ing, lord Ledger) I had been hap*
py : as it is, I mud be tranquil.’
Harwich, Aug 25, 1803.

Account of the Persons, Dress,
and Manners, of the Tartars
of the Crimea.

[From Travels through the Southern Frov'ncet
of the Rujf.an Empire, trapJJattd from the
German of M. Fallas. ]

'T'he Tartar inhabitants of theCri-
^ mea may be divided into three
clades. The fird includes the Na-
gays, of whom I have fpoken in the
preceding volume of thefe Travels;
as alto thole Nagays, who, being a
remnant of the Tartars of the Kuban,
were taken prifoners in the Turkidi
fort of Anape, and, to the number of
4,500, carried into the Crimea ;
where they were difperfed among the
nobility for their maintenance ; but
afterwards, by order of the court,
they were confidered as fubjedts, and
dill dwell in their own permanent
villages ; having acquired opulence
by rearing cattle and cultivating
lands, from which they are enabled
to pay high rents to their landlords.
All thefe Nagays are, as their
times evince, the unmixed defend¬
ants of the Mongolian tribe, who
formed the bulk of the army of
Tthingis-Kban, which invaded Ruf-
fia and the Crimea.

The fecond clafs confilts of
thofe Tartars who inhabit th^ heaths
or deppes as far as the mountains,
efpecially on the North tide ; and
who, in the didridt of Perekop, where
they are dill unmixed, retain many
traces of the Mongolian countenance
with a thinly icattered beard : hey
devote themfelvcs to the rearing of
cattle to a greater extent than the
mountaineers, but are at the lame
time hulbandmen, though they pay
no attention to gardening. In fitua-
tions deltitute of done, they build.

530 Manners , fyc. of the Tartars of the Crimea

like the inhabitants of Bucharia, with
unbaked bricks of clay ; and make
ule of dried dung for fuel, of which
they prepare large quantities, and
pile it up in the fame manner as turf,
to ferve them during the winter.
Nearer to thefe mountains, thefe
Tartars, as well as the nobles, are
more intermixed with the Turkifh
race, and exhibit few of the Ka'!-
imuk- Mongolian features : this ob-
fervation alfo applies to the Crimean
mobility, in whom thofe peculiarities
are almoft entirely obliterated.

To the third clafs belong the
inhabitants of the fouthern vailies,
bounded by the mountains 3 a mixed
race, which feems to have originated
from the remnants ot various nations,
crowded together in thefe regions at
the conqued of the Crimea by the
armies of the Mongolian leaders; and
which in partsdifplay a very fmgular
countenance, with a ftronger beard,
but lighter hair 3 the other Tartars
not considering them as true defend¬
ants of their r^ce, but giving them
the contemptuous name of Tat*.
They are alfo, by their cofiume, re¬
markably dittjnguifhed from the
common Tartars of the heaths,
though the drefs and veils, of the
women are alike. Their houfes, or
huts, are partly formed underground;
being generally condruCted again It
the deep precipices of mountains,
one half excavated from the earth,
or rock, and only the front railed
with rough Hones; having at the
fame time flat roofs covered with
earth. There are among them fkil-
ful vine-d refers and. gardeners, but
they are too idle to undertake new
'plantations, availing themfelves only
of thofe left by their predeceffors,
' £fpeciall.y the indulirious Greeks:
hence very few young trees are leen
in their gardens. They alfo grow
fax and tobacco, which, as objects
of culture, are unknown to the Tar¬

* From the Turkifh word Mur-cT&ti which
Signifies a renegade. • ■

tars of the heaths : with proper en*
couragement, they might probably
be induced to cultivate the vine, and
attend to the production of filk. On
the whole, they are at prefen t un¬
profitable and unworthy inhabitant^
of thofe paradifaical vailies, in which
they have always fhewn themfelves
the fird and mod ready to revolt
againd the Ruffian government.
Thefe though tlefs people even de-
droy the forefts on the mountains in
the mod effectual manner, partly by
their indiferiminate felling of trees,
and partly by their numerous herds
of goats. In the lad war with
Turkey, they were all ordered to
dwell at the didance of ten verfts
from the coad, in order to avoid the
danger arifing from their acting as
1 pies and traitors : it would; indeed,
be1 for the general good ‘to remove
them entirely from thefe vailies into
the interior of the country ; at the
fame time peopling the former with
induftrious letilers, who would con¬
tribute to the profperity of the em¬
pire, by the cultivation of wine, oil,
filk, and cotton : which will never
be attempted by the prefent inactive
podfedors.

Ill the codume of the Tartars
inhabiting the plains there is feme
variety. Young perfons, dpocially-
thofe of noble or’ wealthy iamilit;?,
drefs nearly in the Circadian, Pblifli,
or Kozak fafh.ion, with fbort or Hit
deeves in the upper garment. 1 he
nobility of more advanced age wear,
like the common Tartars, uuilit
deeves ; and old men differ the whole
beard to grow, whereas the young
and middle-aged have only whi fivers.
Their legs and feet are deeded either;
in half-boots of Morocco or other
leather, or they ufe dockings of the
fame material, efpecially in the*
towns: over thefe are worn dippers
or dogs, for walking abroad ; and,
in dirty weather, a kind of tfifit-
dioes. Their heads are uniformly
diaved 3 or, at lead, the hair is cut

Manners, f'c. of tire Tartars of the Crhnra. 531

Vfcry (hart, which they cover with a
high cap, quilted at the top with
cotton, and generally green, being
edged with black or grey lamb’s thin.
This cap is never moved by way of
compliment. The clergy and the
aged wear under it the Fez, or a red
woven calotte. T.hofe who have per¬
formed a pilgrimage to Mecca are
difiingui fried by a white htanderchief
round the edf>c of their cap. Inch
being the mark of a JFaajhi: There
?ire alfo in the Crimea fome Emirs,
who wear the green fillet, round their
head. Among the young nobility,
however, Circadian caps are the tnoft
common hcad-drefs.

The phyfiognoniy of the true
Tauridan Tartars bears great relem-
blance to that of the Turks and Eu¬
ropeans. There arc handfome, tall,
robufl people among them ; and few
are inclined to corpulency: their
complexion is rather fair, and they
have black or dark-brown hair. The
boys and youth have mofily a plea'f-
ing and delicate countenance ; to
which circum fiance, together with
the reftraints impofed on women,
may, perhaps, be attributed the
odious propenfities prevailing here,
as well as in Turkey and Pe.rfia.

The drefs of the Tartar women
is very different from that of the Na-
gays : they are in general of low fta-
ture, owing probably to their con¬
fined treatment in early life ; though
their features are tolerably handfome.
Young women wear wide drawers ;
a fhift reaching, to their ancles, di¬
vided before, and drawn together at
the neck ; a gown open in front,
made of ftriped filk, with long
ileeves, and adorned with broad
trimmings embroidered with gold :
they have alfo an upper garment of
fome appropriate colour, with Ihort
thick Turk i fit Ileeves, edged with
ermine, fur, or gold lace. Both
girls and married women fallen their
gowns with a heavy cindture or
girdle, having in front two large

buckles, like thofe made by the Ar¬
menians and Jews, of embodied or
filigrane work ; and which were once
in fafhion among the Rufiian ladies
at Peteriburgh and Mofco. Their
hair is braided behind in as many
loole trefies as it will afford ; and is
covered either with a fmall red cap
or Fez, efpecially during childhood*
or with a handkerchief eroded under
the chin. Their fingers are adorned
with rings, and the nails of their
hands and feet tinged with Kna
( Lawfonia ), which is imported from
Conftantinople, and is fometimes
mixed with vitriol, to render the co<*
lour browner and more permanent ;
as it will thus continue about two
months. But paint is rarely employed
by yo\mg females.

Married women cut off their
hair obliquely over their eyes, and
leave two locks alfo cut tranfverfely * ,
hanging down their cheeks ; they
likewife bind a long narrow firip of
cloth round the head, within' the
ends of which they .confine the reft
of the hair, and turn it up from be¬
hind, braiding it in two large trefies.
Like the Perfians, they dye their
hair of a reddith brown with Kna.
Their under garment is more open
below, but in other refpeffs fimilar
to that of the unmarried, as' are their
upper drefs and girdle. They paint
their faces red with cochineal, or other
drug’s, and white with an oxvd of

O *

tin, called Aklyk, which they care¬
fully prepare over a dung fire, in
fmall earthen pipkins. They alio
dye the white of the eye blue, with a
finely pulverifed preparation of cop-^
per ( Mafdajh ) brought from Con-
Itantinople, and, by a particular pro-
cefs, change the colour of their eye¬
brows and hair to a fiumng black,
which is retained for feveral months.
At weddings, or on other foie mu
occafions, the wealthy farther orna¬
ment their faces with flowers of
gold-leaf; colour their hands and
feet, as far as the wait and ancle, o£
3 Y »

b 3% Manners , 8k o. of the Tartars of the Crimea *

an orange hue, with kna, and de-
ffroy all the hairs on the body with
a mixture of orpiment ;md lime.

The women, both married and
single, wear yellow half boots or
stockings of Morocco leather (Ter-
luk ), or socks : for walking, they
ule red slippers with thick soles; and
in dirty weather, put on stilt-shoes,
like the Circassian females. Abroad
they wear a kind of undress gown
(P’eredshe) of a loose texture, ma¬
nufactured by themselves of white
wool, and called Chirk a.: next, they
wrap several coloured Turkish or
white cotton handkerchiefs round
their head, which they tie under the
chin, and over all this throw a white
linen cloth reaching half-way down
the arms, drawing it over the face
with the right hand ; fo that their
black eyes alone are visible. Inde¬
pendently of this mummery, they
evade as much as possible the com¬
pany of men, and, when they acci¬
dentally meet a man in the streets, a
false modesty enjoins the woman to
• avert her face, or turn towards the
wall.

The nobility and the priesthood
are highly respected among the
Crimean Tartars ; and, in former
times, were often able to make a
formidable resistance to the Khan,
and even to effect his deposition.
The Khan was always chosen from
the family of the Ghireis : I am,
however, by no means convinced,
that they sprang from a direct de¬
scendant of Tshingis-Khan. From
this family (of which there is no
male branch now remaining in the
Crimea, though there are several
in the Turkish empire) were also
uniformly chosen the Kalga- Sultan
and Nuraddin-Sultan, who are the
persons next in rank to the Khan.
The Tshobanghirei are the only de¬
scendants of a collateral branch of
fhe Ghireis in Crim-Tartary who,
at the request made by one of the
former Khans to the Sultan at

Constantinople, were excluded from
the right of succession, which was
formerly granted to their own
family.

It would be superfluous to en¬
large on the religious ceremonies,
nuptial solemnities, and other
customs, of the Tartars ; as in
every other respect they agree with
those of the Turkish Mahometans,
so often described by travellers.
Polygamy, however, rarely occurs
even among/the nobles and more
wealthy inhabitants of towns ; yet
there are some persons in the
villages who incumber themselves
with two wives. Male and female
slaves are not common in that
country ; but the nobility support
numerous idle attendants, and thus-
impoverish their estates ; while their
chief pride consists in rich and
beautiful apparel for themselves and
their wives, and in handsome equi¬
pages to ride into town ; being ac¬
companied by a train of domestics,
who follow them on every excur¬
sion, though the chief employment
of the latter is that of giving their
master his pipe, at his demand ;
standing in his presence, or assisting
him to dress ; and, in all other re¬
spects, living in the same indolent
manner as their lords. Another
source of expense is the purchase of
elegant swords, and especially of
excellent blades ; the distinction
between the different sorts of which,
together with their names, con¬
stitutes among the nobles a com¬
plete science. They are also great
admirers of beautiful and costly
tobacco-pipes, together with ex¬
pensive mouth-pieces of milk-whit®
amber, that are likewise used by
the Turks, and of tubes of curioug
w oods ; but the Kallian, or the pride
of the Persians, is scarcely knowm
here ; and the Tartars only employ
small ornamental bowls made of
clay, which are almost every mo¬
ment filled with fine-cut leaf-to-

Love and Duty ; a Tale • « S3 3

bacco. The generality of these
noble Lords* or Marses, were so
ignorant, that they could neither
read nor write ; and, instead of
signing their names, they substi¬
tuted an impression of their rings,
on which a few Turkish words are
engraven. Some of thp young
nobility, however, are beginning to
study not only the Russian language,
«f which they perceive the ne¬
cessity, but also apply themselves
more sedulously to reading and
writing, and thus become more
civilised. — The expence of wearing
apparel for the women shut up in
their harems is, according to their
manner and fortune, little inferior
to that of Europeans ; with this
single difference, that the fashions
among the former are not liable to
change. Even the wives of the
common Tartars are sometimes
dressed in silks and stuffs, em¬
broidered with gold, which are im¬
ported from Turkey. In conse¬
quence of such extravagance, and
the extreme idleness of the labour¬
ing classes (who only exert them¬
selves for procuring the necessary
subsistence), there are very few
wealthy individuals among the
Tartars. Credulity and inactivity
are the principal traits in the Tartar
.character. To sit with a pipe in
their hands, frequently without
smoakihg, for many hours, on a
shady bank, or on a hill, though
totally devoid of all taste for the
beauties of nature, and looking
straight before them 5 or, if at
work, to make long pauses, and
above all to do nothing, constitute
their supreme enjoyments : for this
mode of life a foundation is pro¬
bably laid by educating their boys
in the harems. Hunting alone
occasionally excites a temporary
activity in the Murses, who pursue
their prey with the large species of
greyhound very common in the
Crimea, or with falcons and hawks.

LOVE AND DUTY ; a TALE,

n a chateau delightfully fituated
upon the banks of the Rhone, ia
the fertile province of Languedoc*
lived monfieurde Sennetcre. He had
in the early part of his life fervei
in the French army, and had obtain¬
ed no fmali fha re of glory, as well
on account of his bravery and iarraa-
nefs in danger, as of his prudence
and judgment in conducing feveraH
hazardous enterprifes : at length,
however, upon the death of his far
ther, he retired to the family eftate,
bringing with him a lady whom be
had recently married, and who was
endowed with every excellence that
could render her dear in the eyesaf
her adoring hufband. This happy
couple were the admiration ami
efteem of every one in the neigh¬
bourhood, and the poor and needy
were fure of meeting with afTiftance
from their generofitv and unbounded
hofpitality. Their union had only
been bleffed with one daughter*
who was named, after her mother
Juliet, and poileffedjike her, a mini
fraught with virtuous principles, and
a perfon and countenance which
could have afforded a model to the
niceft art i ft. To thefe qualifications
was, however, added a heart which
would melt with pity at the woes .of
another, but which was too fufcepti-
ble of the tender paflion of love, as
the fequel will prove.

Among the numerous visitors at
the chateau, the count de Fiefque
was particularly afliduous to pleafi
He was a young man of good family
and. had lately arrived in that neigh¬
bourhood, in hopes that the falu-
brious air of the country might re¬
pair a conflittition con-fiderably in¬
jured by too much indulging in the
fafhionabie diffi patio n and levities

of the gay metropolis of France. _

He wds pofTcfTed of a confiderab'le
fhnre of wit and vivacity; andr
from his dear-bought experience of

Love and Duty ; a Tale t

$3*

the world, he was an entertaining

companion. But his qualities weie
particularly calculated to pleafe the
iair fex, and never did he appear to
inch advantage as when in their
company. Notwithstanding he
was naturally of a bad difpofition;
and proud of his defcent and family
honours, as he had been recom¬
mended by feme of the hr ft fami¬
lies in F.anee, M. de Senneterre en¬
deavoured to render his flay iri
his family as agreeable as pofiib e ;
confequently he introduced him
to all his acquaintance, and the
\oung and unexperienced heart of
Juliet was pleaftd at the gaiety he
oecalioned, and the attentions he
always paid her. At every ball he
conftantiy engaged her hand, nor
would lie fcarcely buffer any other
to have the honour of dancing with
her. His cooverfation was par¬
ticularly adapted to pleafe and en¬
tertain her, and, at length, his pre¬
fence became fo necefiary, that,
if any unavoidable accident pre¬
vented him from attending her to
any party* her natural gaiety for-
look her; and, in head of partici¬
pating in the pleafure of her young
triends, file felt herfelf opprefhd by
an unaccountable heavinefs a file
rejoiced if fhe could make her
efcape from the mirthful fcene ; and,
retiring to her room, would give
herfelf up to the uninterrupted
enjoyment of her melancholy
ideas.

Monfieurde Senneterre, far from
perceiving the attachment which
fubfifted between the you; g people,
confideied the whole of the count's
conduct as proceeding from his great
politenefs, and a wifh that, by
making himfelf agreeable, he might
in fome flight degree recompenfe
him for his hofpitality. Madame
de Senneterre, it is true, entertained
fome fufpicions; but fhe confidered
the match as a defirable one for her

daughter* and intended, when her
fufpicions of the corn tY intentions
Were confirmed, to communicate
the matter to her hufband.

The count, about a fortnight be¬
fore his intended depature from
Languedoc, opened his mind, firft
to Juliet, from whom lie expe¬
rienced an encouragement accord-
ing with her natural modefiy, and
theli to her mother, to whom he
reprefented matters in fo favour¬
able ai light, arid with fuch perfua-
five arguments, that at length he
induced her aid and influence with
her hufband. Monfieur dc Senne*.
terre, upon the affair being made
ktiown to him, with iris' ufual pru¬
dence and forefight, confidered how-
far it would be conducive to his
daughter’s happinefs, and what rea-
fonable objections could be brought
agamfc it. Upon mature delibera¬
tion, he found that the young man
was dependent on his family, as his
circumfiarices were considerably
emba Trailed by the diffipated life-
he had led at Paris, and tfiat the
pride of his family would be an in-
i operable bar to his union; like¬
wise, in his opinion, the count’s
bad conftitutiorr, and proud and
peevifh difpofition* eclipfed his
other qualifications however bril¬
liant. Thefe objections determined
him to refufe his confent to the
-marriage. The count was fo hurt
at the unexpected refufal of what he
thought was a eondefcenfion on his
part, that he, imn ediately after the
conference, left the chateau, pre-
tending that his prefence was pie¬
ce fiarv to the fettling of fome affairs
on his effate.

Nothing could equal Juliet’s fur¬
row when the news of his depar¬
ture reached her. Her pride at
length came to her relief, and fuo-
gefted that a man who could adt in
fo cool a manner towards her, was
no longer worthy of her love ; anti

j Love and Duty ; a Tu fa*

tile, therefore, nobly determined to
foake off all remains of affection
for the count. But, alasJ how vain
are our beft refolves \ the image of
the count was ever prefent to her
eyes ; and the more foe endea¬
voured to forget him, the more
confpicuous his good qualities ap¬
peared. On the one hand, the com¬
mands of her father, the exhortations
of her mother, and her own fenfe of
duty, furnifhed ffrong arguments
againft the count; but a (ingle
engaging action of his would (ud-
denly rufh on her memory and
deffroy the good effects they might
otherwife have produced. It is
difficult to fay what might have
been the final iffue, had not her
father, perceiving the conflict in her
mind, privately informed her that,
from feme fecret caufe, her marriage
with the count would be the death¬
blow to hxs happinefs. Immedi¬
ately upon receiving this intelli¬
gence, the touted betvveeen love
and duty became decided ; and,
although the talk was difficult, Ihe
refolved totally to overcome her
unfortunate attachment. Nature,
after fome time had elapfed, began
to yield to the weight of woe which
oppreffed her mine} j and Juliet,
the once gay and happy Juliet, was
fad (inking into her grave. Her
parents became alarmed at her wan
and pale appearance, and perceived
fome prompt remedy mud be
adopted before the malady fliould
have taken too drong a hold on her
conftitution. M. de Senneterre,
repented the jinejje (for it was in
reality nothing more) he had ufed
to make her forget her diffipated,
though accompiifhed, lover. How¬
ever, he determined to try if the
gaiety of the metropolis might not,
in fome degree, at lead amufe her
mind. Accordingly he fet off for
Paris, after making himfelf certain
that he fliould not meet the count
there. Indeed, that mifguiefod

young man, after many fruitlefk
attempts to (often M. de Senneterre,
has plunged dill deeper into difli-
pation, and had become a defperatc
gamefter.

While he was thus unworthily
employed, the fair objeH of his
affections was gradually recovering
her wonted ferenity of mind, and,
indeed, the fociety of the marquis
de Hautfort contributed in no frnaif
degree towards the re-eftab!ifliment
of her health. He was a young
nobleman of twenty-five years of
age, who had been educated in
England, where he had fpent the
early part of his life, under the eye
of his father, who had, until his
death, continued ambaffador there.
He died juft as his ion was enter¬
ing his twenty-firft year, leaving
him heir of his immenfe poflef-
fions, and of his mental as well as
bodilv perfections.

This nobleman, from the firft
fight of Juliet, became deeply in-
terefted in her welfare, and ftrove
his utmoft to comfort her. Juliet,
pleafed with his (incerify of man¬
ner, poured forth her griefs, with¬
out refer v.e, into his friendly bo-
fom ; and, after fome time, his
confoling fociety polfeffed fufficie»t
charms to relieve her mind, and
make her forget her for rows." At
length, a mutual congeniality of
difpofition, and a fenfe of gratitude
on her part, and of efteem on his,
matured their friendfhip into love.
Monfieur and madame de Senne¬
terre faw with pleafure the change
which had taken place in their
daughter’s mind ; and fo great was
their affeCfion towards her, that
their gratitude was unbounded to¬
wards the author of fuch a happv
revolution. Affairs were in thfs
fituation when the count de Fiefque,
rendered defperate by his repeated
Ioffes at play, came to Paris, fe-
crerlv, with the intention of car-
rying off Juliet by force. He was

336

Love and Duty ; a Tale.

®rged to attempt this unjufliftable
aft, not only by the embers of his
former paffion, but by the hopes of
' obtaining feme fup plies, which
might enable him to continue for
fame time longer his exceffes ; for,
although he was fenfible that M*
tie Senneterre would be greatly in-
eenfed at his eonduft, yet he ima¬
gined that his beloved daughter’s
tears and entreaties might in time
pacify him, Befides, he was cer¬
tain of receiving, on the day of his
marriage with Juliet, twelve thou¬
sand livres, which had been left at
her own difpofal by a relation.
Urged on by thefe confiderations,
he procured three defperate fellows
who, for the fake of gain, agreed to
follow him on this expedition. He
made choice of a dark night, when
he knew that M. and madame de
Senneterre, with their daughter,
would return from vifiting a friend
Who lived at Verfailles. Having
provided themfeJves with mafks,
two faddle-horfes, and a pod-coach
and four, they flationed themfelves
at a retired part of the road leading
from Verfailles to Paris. After
waiting tiil one o’clock, the count
began to fufpeft that he had re¬
ceived wrong information, when
the rattling of a carriage relieved
him from his doubts. Immediately
he ran into the road, and flopped
the carriage, which proved to be
the one he had been waiting for,
feut which, contrary to his expec¬
tation, contained the marquis de
Hautfort, who, being feated next
the door, jumped out, and trans¬
fixed one of the ruffians, who had,
without effeft, difeharged a piflol at

him. He next encountered the

count himfelf, and, while thus en¬
gaged,. another of the ruffians,
coming behind him, would have
thrufl him through the body, had
not monfieur de Senneterre, who
had by this time got out of the
coach, difpatched him. A few

feconds after, the count fell, having
received a home thrufl through the
body, but not till he had 'given the
marquis a flight wound in his fword
arm. The remaining villain, upon
feeing the fate of his companions,
mounted one of the horfes and
galloped off. The marquis imme¬
diately returned to the carriage,
where he found madame de Senne¬
terre fupporting her daughter, who
had fainted away upon hearing the
clafhing of the fw ords, and flil! re¬
mained in a flate of infenfibility.
The marquis and M. de Senne¬
terre gave up all thoughts of pur-
fuing the villain who had efcaped,
and turned all their attention to the
recovery of Juliet, who foon re¬
paid their exertions by exhibiting
figns of returning life, and who in
a fhort time (after repeated affur-
ances that her father and the mar¬
quis remained unhurt) perfeftly re¬
covered. But what were the fur-
prife and horror of M. de Senne¬
terre, upon unmafking the counte¬
nances of the flain ! He difeovered
the face of the count de Fiefque,
ftill diflorted by all the agonies of
death, which were confiderably
aggravated by meeting with fuch a
dreadful and unexpefted check,
when he fondly imagined that his
Jong-concerted plans were on the
point of being fulfilled.

M. de Senneterre placed the dead
bodies in the pofl-coach, which had
arrived for a far different purpofe,
and commanded the poflillions to
proceed, under the guidance of his
fervant, to the hotel of the due de
Blaifon, the nearefl relative of the
unfortunate count, to whom mon¬
fieur de Senneterre intended on the
next morning to explain the whole
affair, and the fervant was defired to
fignify the fame to that nobleman.
The marquis had in the mean time
retired to a neighbouring village
where his wound had been dreffed,
and had returned to the carriage by

On the Difference between (Economy and Avarice, 537

the time monfieur de Sq^neterre had
difpofed of. the dead bodies. The
remainder of the journey was pafled
in (ilence, the attention of every ©oe
being fo entirely engrofled in medi¬
tating on the late rencontre.

The next morning M. tie Senne-
terre, agreeably to his promile, wait¬
ed on the due de Blaifon, and in¬
formed him of the particulars of the
event which had occafioned the
count’s untimely death. The duke,
fenfible of the atrocity of his ne¬
phew’s defperate attempt, had him
buried privately, and hufhed up the
affair by giving out that he had been
killed by robbers. On the fame day
the marquis declared his pafiion for
Juliet, firft to that lady, and after¬
wards to her father ; by both of
whom he was fo favourably receiv¬
ed that, in a few days’ time, he led
the fair objedt of his affections to the
alta r; and, if real happinefsis to be
poffcfled on earth, the marquis and
Juliet certainly enjoyed it. Often¬
times would Juliet reflect with terror
upon the narrow efcape file had
experienced of being united to a man
with whom file muff have been mi-
ferable, and at the fame time con¬
gratulate herfelf with honed pride
upon the victory file had obtained
over her own feelings.

Many of my fair readers may ex¬
claim — £ Oh ! let me placed in fuch a
fituation, never would I pain my
dear parents’ hearts; but, on the
contrary, would adt conliftent with
the (tridteft principles of duty.’ —
But let them remember that, when
once an unfortunate attachment has
taken root in their tender hearts, all
other confidqrations are abforbed in
a lentiment fo dear to them; and
that it will require the greateft: for¬
titude and perfeverance to open
their eyes to their true interelf.
Should the preceding tale meet the
eye of any one under (imilar circum-
ffances with the beauteous Juliet,
may they imitate her noble exam-
Vol. XXXIV, ,

pie ! and thus (how that they poffefs
a degree of reafon and a fenfe of
duty which m;ght honour the great-
elf philofopher.

Eugeni, us.

On the Difference between (Eco¬
nomy and Avarice.

Tonomy is as diftant from ava-
u rice as from prodigality. — -
Avarice accumulates not to enjoy,
not to reproduce, but merely for the
fake of amaffing: it is an inflindf, a
mechanical and contemptible ddire
of obtaining more. (Economy is
the daughter of Wifdom and enlight¬
ened Reafon. She knows how to
deny herfelf what is fuperfluous, to
procure what is neceflary; while
avarice refufes what is neceflary, to
lay up what is fuperfluous againft a
futurity which never arrives. (Eco¬
nomy may be difplayed in a fump-
tuous entertainment, and will even,
furnifh the means to render it more
elegant. Avarice, on the contrary,
wherever it appears, vitiates every
thing. An cec Gnomical perfon com¬
pares his means with his prefent
wants, and with his future wants,
with what is required of him by his
family and friends, and by humanity
in general. An avaricious man has
no family, no friends, fcarcely has
he wants, except the with of enlarg¬
ing his flore, and the reft of the hu¬
man race exiifs not to him. (Econo¬
my willies to confume nothing in
vain; avarice to confume nothing
whatever. The former is the effect
of a laudable calculation; laudable,
becaufe it prefents the means of dii-
charging our duties, and being gene¬
rous- without an injury. Avarice is
a vile palhon; vile, becaufe it consi¬
ders only itfdf, and facrifices every
thincr to itfelf alone.

O .

(Economy is t (teemed a virtue,
and not without reafon, fmee, like

3 Z

538 Particulars of the Manners and Habits of the Maltefi.

other virtues, it fuppofes {Length of
mind and command over ourlelves.
No virtue, iri.faft, is perhaps more
beneficial. It provides for the nur¬
ture and mftrudtion of youth, and
the eafe and comfort of old age; at
the fame time that it fee u res re-
fources for maturity, and procures
iis that ferenity of mind which is
neceffary for propriety of conduct;
and that independence which raifes
us above meannefs.

It is by ceconomy alone that we
can be liberal; or, at leafl, that we
can be fo long, and with good e fife 61*
When we are only libera! from pro¬
digality, we give, without difeern-
ment, to thofe who do not merit our
liberality, at the expenfe of thofe
who do; and the prodigal is fre¬
quently obliged to implore the fuc-
cour of thofe who have been the ob¬
jects of his ill-judged profufion. The
oeconomical perfon, on the contrary,
gives only what he can with propri¬
ety difpofe of. He is rich with a mo¬
derate fortune, whereas the avari¬
cious and the prodigal are poor in
the midfl of an exuberance of wealth,

Lucinda.

Some Particulars of the Man¬
ners and Habits of the Mal¬
tese.

[ From slnderfons 1 Journal - f the Expedition
to Egypt .’]

bring the time that I had the
honour qf ferving in the garrifon
of Malta, thofe objefts which were
more particularly calculated to at-
tra 6t the notice of a firanger had
been greaily diminifhed from the
previous circumfiances in which it
had been involved. Its curious and
fmgular government was no more ;
its Grand Matter and its Knights had
either fled, or were fcattered abroad ;
in (liort, its peculiar manners arid
ancient cuftoms were, in a great
meafure, palled away and dilTplved 5

and we lived at Malta as in any othei?
diftant fortrefs.

I (hall not, however, refrain
from relating fome particulars of the
manners and habits of the Maltefe
people, as they prefented themfelves
to my observation.

Of the domefiic life and private
manners of the higher orders of the
Maltefe I fliall not pretend to give
a particular defeription, as our com¬
munications with them were confined
to public afiemblies. W e were con¬
tinually invited to balls during the
winter, when dancing, with a pro¬
fufion of confectionary and Sicilian
wines, compofed the entertainment.
To their dinners or fuppers we were
never invited, which did not, how-.

• - - v i. \ m x / '

ever, appear, to, proceed from an in-
hofpitabie,^ifgpp.tipn, but arofe more
probably the narrow ftate of

their finances, as an income equal to
four hundred pounds fterling was the
largeft in the illand, except that of
the bifhop.

The Maltese are a very indus*
trious people, being educated to la¬
bour and active employment from
their cradles ; nor are they ever seen
in a state of inactivity, but when
they are engaged in the duties of
their religion, which, however, must
appear to the more enlightened pro¬
fessors of Christianity to occupy
too large a portion of their time.

The staple manufacture of
Malta is the cotton which it pro¬
duces. It is bodi white, and of a
dingy yellow ; but principally of the
latter colour. Of this material they
weave a narrow cloth of about half
an ell wide, which has no variety but
of plain and striped.

The number of people which 'are
employed in this fabric is very consi¬
derable, as almost every house con¬
tains a loom, and every loom is in
continual occupation. The women,
as well as the men, are employed
in its several branches, from the
teagipg of the cotton to the comply

Particulars of the manners- and Habits cf the Maltefe. 559

Jion of the piece. They may, in¬
deed, be frequently seen alternately
' engaged rin teasing, spinning, and
weaving. They spin both with the
spindle and the wheel, and the fe¬
male manufacturers .are generally
heard to cheer their toil with airs
of a pleasing and sprightly me¬
lody.

The rearing of poultry forms
no inconsiderable branch of trade
among the middling and lower
.-classes of the people. The quantity
of fowls and eggs which this do¬
mestic commerce produces is incre¬
dible. At almost every door a large
wicker basket contains a cackling
family, which is only for a short
time of the day permitted to range
. in liberty : as they are accustomed
to this state of confinement from the
time that they are hatched, they feel
an attachment to it, and a kind of
chirping noise from their owners
calls them back with eager haste to
their wicker habitations. This use¬
ful traffic does not interfere with,
and adds its profits to, those cf other
occupations.

The wood-cutters form a pe¬
culiar description of hardy and use¬
ful labourers. The only fuel in this
island is wood, which is brought
, thorn Sicily and Naples : and as it is
#f a very hard contexture, it be¬
comes an act of necessity to split or
cut it into small pieces for firing.
These men, who are more numerous
than may be imagined, are armed
with an axe and a saw, with achissel
and a wedge j and thus equipped,
they pass through the streets, making
known their want of employment to
the inhabitants by a certain kind of
cry peculiar to their occupation, it
is a long and laborious exertion
©f their art which gains them a
•urn equal to eight - perfce of our
money.

The fishery also employs a con-
liderable number of tins industrious

pieople. The Maltese are very ex¬
pert both with tlie.net and the line,
as it appears from the plenty as well
as variety of fish with which the
markets abound.

There is another occupation
which gives bread to a great number
of the Maltese, and is that of sell¬
ing goafs milk and butter. In the
morning and evening the milkmen
drive their goats through the streets,
and stop to milk them at the houses
of their respective customers. Of
this useful animal there are great
numbers in every part of Malta, and,
like the poultry already mentioned,
they are seen as living attendants at
the doors of the houses.

The Scripture image of the ox
that treadeth out the corn is realized
in this island. It is a practice which
probably derives its origin from the
Arabs, who formed a principal part
of its former inhabitants, and an
intermixture of whose language is
still perceptible in the vulgar tongue
of Malta. The ears of grain being
strewed on a flat piece of ground,
cattle are then introduced, yoked
together, which are led to and fro
till the grain is separated from the
husk.

There is, . perhaps, no country
in the world where its inhabitants
have such an upright carriage of
their figure as those of Malta. This
graceful circumstance proceeds from
the peculiar manner in which they
direct the shape of their infant, child¬
ren, No sooner is a child born
than it is placed between two pieces
of board, which reach from the feet
to the neck, and are attached to the
body of the infant with rollers of
linen, but in such a manner as not
to produce pain or impede the circu¬
lation. In this manner the Maltese
children are universally treated, till
they are able to walk ; and ‘thus they
acquire that erect, gait which never
forsakes them.

3 Z 2 ,

540 Particulars of the Manners and Habits of the Maltefs .

That there is no other' provision
for the poor than the benevolence of
individuals, appears from the great
number of beggars which infest the
streets. This indeed has been a
complaint which travellers have fre¬
quently made in the great towns of
Roman Catholic Countries. Among
these mendicants, the proportion of
those in a state of blindness is very
great 5 a circumstance which must
proceed from the sandy surface of
the island, and the continual and
glaring reflection of an ardent sun on
such a white mass of rock.

In La Valetta there are a great
many two-wheeled carriages for hire,
which are numbered as in London.
They are of a very clumsy construc¬
tion, of a square shape, and large
enough to contain six persons. With
this unwieldy machine, and so load¬
ed, one horse or a mule will go at the
rate of four or five miles an hour.
The latter, however, are more ge¬
nerally used, as they are remarkably
.large and strong in this island. For
about twopence a person may be
.taken from one end of the city to the
other ; while for a little tour in the
country, or the use for a whole day,
a dollar is considered as very ample
-satisfaction. The driver uses neither
whip nor spur, but keeps a sharp nail
in his hand, with which he pricks
the side of the animal in order to
quicken his motions. He runs along
'by his side, with the reins in one hand
and a swinging kind of movement of
the other. These drivers are seldom
seen either with shoes or stockings
but on an holiday. Their general
dress is a pair of loose trowsers, a
coarse shirt, a waistcoat, round
which they tie a long, red, worsted
sash, and a woollen cap. On their
festivals some little addition is made
to their dress, in the way of decora¬

tion, according as their finances will
allow them.

There is a peculiarity in th«
laws of Malta, by which no debt is
recoverable which is not formed by
special Contract in writing ; and un¬
less the written obligation is pro¬
duced, no process will issue against
the debtor. My own experience, in
the character of treasurer to the re¬
gimental mess, gave me this insight
into the jurisprudence of the island 5
when, from the want of this form¬
ality, the cook was justified in re¬
fusing the payment of seventy or
eighty, dollars which I had advanced
him.

There is but one cemetery ia
La V aletta,. which is chiefly allotted
for the pour- babble, foreigners, and
heretics. t : _ 1 baa ted in the Flo-
riana paff cl ;tiie city, close to. the
line, and' slkbourided by a wall of
about sixteen feet in height, which
is furnished within with several rows
of stone shelves, containing the
skulls of those who have been buried
there during several centuries. They
are arranged with a curious regula¬
rity, and might be considered as de¬
corating the inclosure of a grand
anatomical theatre.

Though all ranks of people ars
devotees, and minutely attentive to
the multiplied superstitions of the
church, yet chastity docs not appear
to maintain its due rank among th®
virtues of their religion. It certainly
is not to be found in this island j
while prostitution, from the familiar
and open manner in which it is car¬
ried on, both by married as well at
single women, and with the know¬
ledge of their husbands and rela¬
tions, is not, unless attended with
some peculiar degree of enormity,
considered as a crime.

' • Matilda

MATILDA; a DRAMA,

(Continued from p. 48 1 .)

Act IV. — Scene I.
Wodmar , alone.

hat have I heard? Matilda
d liven from the manfion in
which the was born! Nothing then
is left for me but to carry into
immediate effe6t the plan which is
fo repugnant to my feelings. But
it muft be fo. I fubmit to my fate.

Scene II.

t&barlesy in the drefs of a pojlillion ,
with a whip haniif Wodmar .

Wodmar. Ah, Charles ! I am
glad to fee you. Bpt ivhy in this
drefs? —Are you ordered to accom¬
pany Matilda?

Charles. Alas ! It is, perhaps, the
lad: fervice I {hall render her.

IVcdmar. What ! Does Matilda
go this very evening ?

Charles. Madame Amelia accom¬
panies her : they are now prepar-
ing for their departure. Louifa,
Philip, and myfelf, have been af-
fifting her. The unhappy Matilda
bathes with her tears the few things
file carries with her. Madame
W alftein, in her indignation, willies
her ro leave every thing behind
her; but our young miftrefs thinks
that would be to upbraid her father,
to whom, notwithftandino- his ri-
gour, Die owes refpeft, love, and
fubmiflion, to the lad moment of
her life.

Wodmar. Charles, now is the
time that I have need of your zeal,
afliftance, and courage, of which I
have already received fo many
proofs.

Charles. My courage ! I think it
has entirely forfaken me. .In pro¬
portion as the time draws nigh my
refolution fails me. I endeavoured

a Drama . S4 1

■ * r * 1 1 ♦

to infpire you with it this morning,
you muft now return me what f
gave you. ( Laying his hand on his
heart ) There is fomething here
which tells me our plan is a feriotis
crime; and of fuch crimes I have
never been guilty, nor would I
choofe to begin now.

Wodmar. What ! will you leave
me?

Charles, Only reflect. To carry
off, by force, an innocent young
lady ! —

Wodmar. From whom do I car¬
ry her off? Not from her father.
Matilda has no father. He has
driven her from his boufe.

Charles. He has indeed ; driven
her from it moft cruelly.

Wodmar (s with warmth). She is
for ever proferibed, abandoned,
difinherited,

Charles. So amiable a young
lady !

Wodmar. Poverty, difgrace, Will
be henceforth all her portion : and
you will fuffer her to fink into this
wretched condition ?

Charles. 1 buffer her! I would
facriftce tnv life for her.

Wodmar ( with increajtng warmth
What is it I with ? Her happinefs.
What is my defign ? To refeue her
from inevitable calamities. What
is the object of the plan in which
you feem fcrupulous of giving me
afiiftance? To give her my heart,
my hand ; to beftow on her my
fortune, and place her in that
fituation which fire ought to fill in
fociety.

Charles. That is ail true.

Wodmar. Charles, Charles, be 2
naan; be compaffionate ; be gene¬
rous ; fave an innocent victim.

Charles. It (ball be fo. I will do
every thing for Matilda. But, re*
collect, your honour, your integrity,
is engaged. I have not much pe¬
netration or experience, and it is
eafy for you to deceive me. But if
you do deceive me ; if you lead me

54S - Matilda ;

to commit a bad a&ion, my life will
from that time be moft wretched.
My confciepce would ne\*er agaiu
fuffer me to enjoy peace. I would
rather die an hundred times than
live tormented with the recollebtion
of having ailifted in a vicious a £1.

Wodmar . Be calm : rely on the
feelings of my heart as much as on
thofe of your own.

Charles. - I am at your difpofal.

Wodmar . You will fet out pre-
fently. My attendants and myfelf
will wait for you in the copfe, about

mufket-fliot from the caflle ; and
when the time and place fhall ap¬
pear favourable — —

Charles. Let there be as little tu¬
mult and violence as poffible.
Think of the fituation of the un¬
happy Matilda. Be careful not to
terrify her.

Wodmar . Difmifs every fear of
that kind. Some one is coming.

I muft avoid every eye. Do not
forfake me, but refume your cou¬
rage. It is in the name of Matilda
that I conjure you to liiow yourfelf
a. man. [Exit.

Scene III.

Charles , alone .

- Why does my heart beat thus ? —
Why do I feel fo difturbed in my
mind, fo enfeebled, fo confuted?

Scene IV.

Amelia , Charles .

Amelia. Can you tell me, Charles,
whether Mr. Herman be returned?

Charles. I do not think he is,
Madam ; he would not leave Mr.
Erneft.

Amelia. Mr. Erneft, then, per-
fifted in going to his uncle ?

Charles. Nothing, madam, could
dfftuade him from it. Mr. Herman,
however, followed him, and re¬
queued me to charge you bv no
means to fet out till he returned.

a Drama.

- • • ' ■ i >• \ '

Amelia. We will wait for hint*

Charles . Here he is, madarrh

Scene V.

Herman, Amelia, Charles.

Herman. It was impaffible for
me to return fooner.

Amelia. There is no alteration, I
fuppofe, with refpeH to us.

Herman. None. I could not
leave Erneft, whole violence and
impetuotity I feared. He haftened
after his uncle, and I apprehended
an explanation between them might
ruin him without procuring any
benefit to the unhappy Matilda,
whofe defence he determined to
undertake. When we reached the
houfe where the count had propofed
to dine, Mr. Erneft defired to (peak
to him, but was refufed by order of
his uncle, who, no doubt, con-
jeftured the nature of his appli¬
cation. He fent in a fecond requeft,
but to no purpofe. Our young
friend, with all the ardour natural
to his age, attempted to force his
way, notwithftanding the oppo-
fxtion of the domeftics, when the
count appeared. 4 Begone/ Laid he
to his nephew, 4 refpeft my quiet,
my will, my misfortunes. Begone,

I command you, or I fhall fufpeht
vour intention is irretrievably to
ruin her you pretend it is your with
to lave.’ Erneft, pale and breath-
lefs, fank into mv arms. The count
left us; the fervants followed him,
and I brouo;ht back with me the
wretched Erneft, whofe ftghs, ex¬
clamations, and defpair, have rent
my heart.

Charles {a fide). It is well ; I ara
now perfe&ly fa fished — fully deter¬
mined, I fliall only do a good
abtion,

Amelia. It is then only to hi*
daughter that the count is cruel.

Matilda ;

Charles {with violence). Yes ; cruel,
inhuman, he deferves fo to be
called.

Herman. Alas! what he feems to
fuffer in his own mind does not in¬
dicate cruelty. Let us hope every
thing from time, and the virtues of
Matilda. You will now fet out
without delay ; Charles will accom¬
pany you 3 and to-morrow — Hea¬
vens ! here is the count !

Amelia . How fhall I avoid him?
It is impottible.

Scene VI.

Count dtOrlheim , Herman, Amelia ,
Charles.

Count d' Orlheim {to Herman ). If
my nephew be returned, go and tell
him, from me, tH&t 1 rtquett him,
in the name of^'tiis^ffffeiMlhi p for
me, and my affeWibiY for him, not
to endeavour to fee me to-day — To¬
morrow I will hear him.

[ Exit Herman .

Scene VII.

Count d ' Orlbeim , Amelia , Charles.

Count. d’Qrlbeim {turning to Ame¬
lia, who offers to retire) . Do not go,
madam ; I could wifn a moment’s
converfation with you. I am in¬
formed that you are preparing to
fet out.

Amelia. Yes, fir; L will never
leave the daughter of my friend. I
have lived to love her, to confole
her under her fufferings, and to my
laft breath I will fhare her misfor¬
tunes. I do not forget that you
received me under your protedfion
when a widow, reduced to indigence,
and withotit kindred to aid or pro¬
tect me. Your benefits will be
always prefent to my recollection ;
but, from your coldnefs towards
me, 1 mtift declare, that I fhould
long fince have refufed them, had
not the unhappioefsofmy friend, the
youth of her daughter, and the mis-

a Drama . 545

fortunes which threaten the future
life of Matilda, impofed on me the
neceffity of living with her, and ac¬
cepting your benefactions.

Count cV Orlheint (with a fentiment
of feverity which he endeavours in
vain to diffemble). Oh, madame
Walflein, why have thefe generous
fentiments, this pride which X can¬
not blame, this delicacy, been fo
faifified, fo facrificed?

Amelia . What do you mean?

Count d'Orlheitn {as if about t§
fpeak with warmth , * but checking
bimfelf). Nothing.

Amelia {with frmnefs). Explain
yourfelf, count : for a long time
you feem to have entertained odious
fufpidons of my condudb I know
not what you have to reproach me
with. Speak.

Count cCOrlheim. 1 fhould fay too
much.

Amelia. I do not fear any thin^
you can fay with truth. What
evidence have you again!! me?

Count d'Orlbeim, Your confidence ;
that fhall avenge me.

Amelia. Oh, Matilda! Matilda!
it is for your fake that I fuffer this.

Count d’Orlbeim . It is the firfl
time that a reproach has efcaped me.
The evil admits not of remedy; and
I ought not to have uttered a com¬
plaint. But we cannot be at all
times matters of ouifelves.

Scene VIII.

Herman, Count d'Orlbeim , Amelia ,

Charles at the bottom of the f age.

Count d'Orlbeim. Come hither,
Mr. Herman. Here is a deed,
madam, which fecures to you and
the daughter of your friend the
pottettion of that ettate on which
you have refided thefe ten years.
You will find in this port-folio" what
will at all times procure you both
an honourable fubfittence. But,

544 Matilda ;

whether I live, or whether I die,
ypu know too well — you muft be
more convinced than any perfon—
that young Wodmar ought not to
afk the hand of her whom you
accompany.

Amelia . I know this !— I ?- —

Count d’Qrlheim (fixing his eyes
ftedfaftly on her). Yes, you.

Amelia. Every word confounds
me.

Count d’Qrlheim. I believe it. —
Charles, do you go alone ?

Charles. Yes, my lord.

Count d'Qrlheim. How do you go?

Herman. A carriage has been
provided, and we are now waiting
for it.

Count d'Qrlheim ( eagerly , and with
at degree of f violence ). Let all my

lervants take horfes, and efcort the
carriage armed.

Charles ( a fide ). Our whole plan is
mined.

Count d'Qrlheim. I have not for¬
gotten what the audacious Wodmar
laid to me at parting. At his age,,
a young man of his charatder is
capable of any thing. (To madame
Waljlein ) The manfion in which
you will refide, defended by numer¬
ous fervants, will fecure you from
any attack: — betides, I dial! take
care to provide — Charles, what do
von wait for?

(i-

Charles. 1 am going immediately.

( Afide ) One refource only is left
Uis; we muft try it with difpatch.

Scene IX.

Count d ’ Orlheim , Amelia , Herman .

Count d'Qrlheim (with emb arr aff¬
luent ; his eyes fixed on the ground).
If ever you fhould have occasion for
my advice, my affiflance, my pro¬
tection — you will always find me —
Honour has its laws — frequently
they are cruel (with a deep figh) but
kumanity muft not forget its duties.

a Drama .

Scene X.

Count d ’ Qrlheim , Amelia , Herman?
Philip .

Philip. Is it by your order, my
lord, that your nephew, Mr. Erneft,
leaves the caftle ?

Count d'Qrlheim. How? — -

Philip. His horfe, carrying a light
portmanteau, is ready, and waiting
for him at the gate of the park.

Count d’Qrlheim. Where is he
going?

Philip. I know not. But he is
now in his chamber : the door is
half open. I have feen him. He
is writing, and lhedding tears pro*
fufely. Every moment he utters
your name.

Count d’Qrlheim. Herman, Philip,
,haften to him. Bring him to me
this inftant. I wifti to fee him. (T&
madame IValJlein) Follow them, X
entreat you. — Bring me ErnefL.

Scene XL

Count d’ Qrlheim , alone.

Mad youth! what does he with?
What is he about to do ? He would
leave me who- am his friend — his
father. — And can I blame him ? — *
Is the world acquainted with the
reafons why I aft as I do? — Does it
know my fhame and my defpair ? — -
Erneft v/ill be accufed as the caufe
of the futferings of Matilda. Erneft
is not guilty, and he will not expofe
himfelf to the accufalion, it is
upon me that the whole weight of
mi fiery muff fall-— upon me, whom
heaven has doubtlefs condemned
to deiive only wretchednefs from
thofe gentle affections in which all
other living beings feek and find
felicity.

Scene XII.

Count dd Qrlheim , Erneft, Amelia 9
Herman.

Herman . Philip did not deceive

545

Matilda

you : your nephew was on the
point of leaving us. A letter which
he had written to you would have
informed you of his reafons. I
haye, however, prevailed on him,
in the name of that affedion and
refpeCt which he owes you, to de¬
clare them to you himlelf. — Here
he is.

Count d’Orlheim Is it, then, true
that you will leave me ? — You, you,
Erneft !—

Erneji (offering to throw himfelf at
his feet). Oh, my father ! — -Honour
and my duty! — \

Count d’Orlheim ( raijing hint) and
kindly). Honour and your duty re¬
quire not that you fhould abandon
me.

Emefi. Matilda-leaves you.

Count a ’ Orlheim (with his eyes cafi
to the ground , and a faultering voice.)

It muft: be fo.

Ernejl . It is by your orders.

Count d’ Orlheim ( with a Jlgh
which he endeavours to fupprefs): It

muft be fo.

Ernejl. You then command Er-
neft to leave you for ever. Your
heart is too juft not to feel that this
muft he the confequence.

Count d' Orlheim (looking fixedly at
him, and [peaking with mildnefs ) . Y ou
hope, no doubt, that my attention
and friend (hip will follow you in
the banifhnient you impofe onyour-
felf.

Emefi. I ought not to expert it.

Count d’ Orlheim. What refources
have you?

Emefi. One only- — the excellent
education, which I owe only to your
generoftty, fhail furnifh me with the
means of fubfiftence. I will live to
love you, and die bleiung you. —
This is my only hope.

< o unt d 'Orlheim. And the fortune
which I had intended for you.

Emefi ( w th dignity and firmnefs).

I will never enrich myfelf with the
fpoils of the unfortunate. At the
moment when your unhappy
V 4>l . XXXJV,

; a Drama .

daughter is compelled to leave her
father’s houfe, he ought, likewife, to
depart who may be accrued of hav¬
ing planned and effected her ruin.

Count d’ Orlheim. Worthy young
man, your heart fulfils my expecta¬
tion. Far from injuring you in
my opinion, vour conduct, this day,
has increafed" the efteem and affec¬
tion 1 before entertained for you.
But, notwithftanding vour determi¬
nation, nothing but death (hall fe-
parate us. ( With the gi e ate fit fenfibility^
and unable to refir ain his tears) Thou
(halt dole my eyes; thou fhalt weep,
over my a flies; and my memory
(hall live eternally in thy heart.
By the tears which you fee me died,
fwear to me that you will not aban¬
don an old man who has nothing
left but thee in the world. Erneft,"
my dear Erneft, have pity on thy
father.

Scene XIII.

Count d ’Orlheim, Emefi, Amelia, Her -
?nan, Louifia , Philip, fervants.

Louifi (behind the ficenes). Help! —
Help ! — '

Count d ’Orlhdm. What is that ?

IsOuifa ( Jlill behind the ficenes).
Matilda ! Matilda ! Help !

Amelia (ft ar ting). Matilda!

Philip (running in, followed by
other Jervants). Loud cries * and
fereams proceed from the pavilion.
It is the voice of Louifa.

Erneft and Count d ’ Orlheim (at
cnce). We muft learn the caufe.

Herman. Let US go'.

l.ouifa (as J he enters , finks into the
arms of thoje near her , pale, trembling,
and fcarcely able to /peak). Help me
— Help us.

Count d 'Orlheim. What has hap¬
pened ?

Amelia, Herman, Erneft , (at once).

Spe3k ! —

Louifia, Matilda. Villains !•— Mr.
Wodmar,

4 A

545

Parlfian Fajhions.— London Fafkions.

Count d'Orlheim. Wodmar ! — what
of him ?

Louijd. I knew him — Matilda and
I— we were alone — The window is
broken — Some ill looking fellows —
Wodmar is at their head— They
are carrying oit Matilda — Matilda
is gone —

All. Gracious Heaven !— -Let us
purfue.-—

Count dCOrlkeim Jpivith ’violent agi-
tation)0 Erneff, in you is all my
hope — Reftore me my daughter —
Reftore me Matilda — Arm your-
felves— -Let us purfue — Am i not
fufficiently wretched! —

( All rujh out confufedly, and in the
greatejl alarm. The curtain falls) .

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

(To be continued.)

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( With an Engraving , elegantly coloured )

rT"HE wicker chief s with frills ccn-
tinue ftill in vogue for morn-
in g-d redes. Thefe frills are fewed
all round, and on the bridle of the
morning-caps, which are worn of
worked muflin. Wide fleeves are
fukable to this drefs, Many fa-
fhionable ladits likewife wear co¬
loured neck kerchiefs.

T he fafhion of lace pound the bofom
ftiil continues. Flowers are feme-
times palled through the ringlets of
the locks reserved in front of the
cropped heads'. All the flowers now
worn imitate nature. See Elate.

Straw hats and capotes , trimmed
in front with a lace which falls like
a veil, are extremely numerous.
This lace, which is always white,
hangs alrnoft as low as the veils
formerly defeended. The new yel¬
low draw hats have a very broad
furrowed brim*,'

. v *

I IF there is at prefent any prevail¬
ing colour it is the rofe ; but we ftill
frequently nieet with lilac and green.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Evening Drefs .

A trained petticoat of white
1 muflin, with a fhort drefs of
pale blue filk or (ham muflin, trim¬
med all round with broad black lace;
plain , white fleeves of lace or em¬
broidered muflin. Habit +hirt of
lace.

Walking Drefs ,

Short round drefs of white muf¬
lin j pelice of tea-coloured filk,
drawn clofe round the neck, and
trimmed all round with very broad
black lape. A large draw bonnet,
lined with pink, and turned up all
round.

Head Drejfes.

A white lace veil, placed on the
head to form a cap. The right fide
hanging carelefsly over the face, and
ornamented with a row of beads,
and a medallion. The left fide
drawn clofe over the hair, with a
wreath of rofes.

Head- drefs of hair, banded with
hair and beads. A white oftrich
feather in front.

A large ftraw bonnet, turned up
in front, and lined with blue.

Cap of lace or muflin, ornamented
with a green wreath.

White beaver hat, turned up in
front, and ornamented with roles.

The hair dreffed with a black
velvet band, and gem clafp.

A Chinefphat, trimmed round the
edge with white lace, and orna¬
mented with a wreath of flowers.

A white veil thrown carelefsly
over the hair, and confined with A
wreath of myrtle.

5i7

The Moral Zookglfl.

General QJjfervations,

At this feafon little alteration
takes place in the general orna¬
ments of drefs : a few pelices have
appeared ; but white cloaks or fur
tippets are yet moll prevalent.
In full drefs, feathers and flowers are
invariably ufed. The make of the
drefles has not dithered flnee laid
month. Lace is flill much worn.
The favourite colours are lilac, blue,
and pea-green.

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART II.

( Continued from p, 4S6.)

LETTER VII.

From Eugenia to the Right Hen.

HPhe butcher-bird, or fhrike,
-*■ called by the French. Pie
Grief che , clofes the lift of rapacious
birds, and connects them in the
great chain of nature with the pies.
To the former the fhrikes are allied
by their ftrength, their crookrd
beak, their courage, and predatory
life ; and to the latter, by their fize.
the form of their toes, and their
feeding ufually upon injects, though
they prefer the flefli of other birds.
There is like wife another property
in which they differ from the gene¬
rality of birds of prey, which is,
that thev aflociate in families even
after the young are able to fly ;
whereas moft of the predatory birds
drive their young from the neft
very early, and fometimes before
they are capable of providing for
themfelves.

Thefe birds, though of a fmall
fize, and apparently notendowed with
great ftrength of body, will attack,
with the utmoft intrepidity, 'mag¬

pie's, crows, and keflrils, much
larger ai d ftronger than themfelves ;
and, in thefe encounters, they are
almuft always fuccefsful. When the
parents unite to drive other birds
from their neft, they do not
merely wait their approach; hut,
if they fly near their retreats, they
rufh upon them with loud cries,
and beat them off with fuch fury
that they feldom venture to return.
When overpowered by the too
great ftrength of their antagonifts,
they have been known to fall to
the ground together ; the combat
ending with the death of both the
affailant and the defender;

The butcher-birds chafe all the
fmall birds upon the wing, and
will fometimes kill partridges and
young hares. Thrufiies, black¬
birds, and other birds of a fmaller
fize, are their common prey, which
they feize by the throat and llran-
gle. It is laid that, when they have
killed their p-ev, they will fix it on
a thorn, and, when thus fpitted* tear
it to pieces with their bill. It is flip-
pofed that nature has taught the fti ri ke
to have recourfe to this extraordinary
expedient becaufe it has not ftrength
fufficient to tear its prey with its
feet, like the other rapacious birds.
V hen confined in a cage, they
will {tick their food between the
wires before they devour it.

The principal fpecies of the
butcher-bird known in Europe, are
the great alh-coloured butcher-bird,
the wood-chat, the red-backed but¬
cher-bird, and the fmall butcher¬
bird. There are, however, many
ether fpecies and varieties, fre¬
quently only differing li ghtly in the
colour of the plumage, found in
both the old and new continent.
As this bird is an inhabitant of every
climate, except the ardlic regions,
Linnaeus and Brilion have enume¬
rated each twenty-fix fpecies, and
Buffon fourteen.

4 A a'

The Moral ZooIogifL

548

THE GREAT ASH-COLOURED BUT¬
CHER-BIRD.

This bird ( the Lanius Excubitor of
Lintusus) is about ten inches in
length, and ufually weighs three
ounces. The head appears large,
the mufcles which move the bill
being very thick and drong. The
frown of the head and back are afh-
coloured ; the wings black, with a
white fpot. The tail confifts of
twelve feathers of unequal length,
of which the two longed: in the
middle are black, the next tipped
with whit?, which gradually in-
creafes to the outermod, which is
entirely white. The throat, bread,
£nd belly, are of a dirty white.

This bird is very common in
France, where it is found during
the whole year. In Summer it in¬
habits the woods and mountains;
but reforts to the plains, and ap¬
proaches the habitations of the huf-
bandman, during Winter. It breeds
among the hills, either on the
ground or on the loftied trees. Its
ned is condru6\ed of white mofs in¬
terwoven with long grafs, and lined
with wool. The female, which does
not differ from the male in fize, and
is only didiriguifnable by her plum¬
age being of a lighter colour, lays ge¬
nerally five or fix, and fometimes
fev. n, or even eight, eggs, about
the fixe of thofe of the thi ufh. She
feeds her young at fird with infeSis,
but afterwards with flefh, which the
male provides for them wit Si the
mod ailiduous care. The young
continue with the old birds even
after tiiey have arrived at their
adult date. They afiid the parents
in providing for the common fup-
port, and the family lives together
in the utmoft harmony during the
Winter, till the return of Spiing,
Ty exciting amorous connexions,
puts an end to the union.

There are leveral varieties ot

this fpecies found in different coun¬
tries, In Italy there is one with a
red fpot on the bread, and, among
the Alps, another entirely white.
In Germany and Switzerland there
are others of a larger fize. The
bird, called the dial-bird by the
Englifh in Bengal, is the fame with
the butcher-bird of the Cape of
Good Hope, and differs from ours
only by the brownidi black colour
of the upper part of the body.

THE WOOD-CHAT.

This bird is fomewhat fmaller
than the former, and may eadly be
didinguidted by the colour of its
head, which is fometimes red ; its
eyes alfo are whitifh or yellowifh,
while in the former they are brown ;
and its bill and legs are blacker.
It is migratory, leaving Europe in
Autumn, and returning in the
Spring from Africa.

The male and female are almod
exactly of the fame fize, but differ fo
much in their colours as to appear
of didinct fpecies. The wood- chat
con drafts its ned very neatly, and
with the fame materials as the great
adi-coloured fhrike above deferibed.
It generally lays five or fix eggs,
and fometimes more, of a whitifh
colour, and either entirely fpotted
with brown or yeilowiih fpots,

THE RED BACKED DUTCH ER-EIRD.

The red- backed dn ike is a little
fmaller than the wood-chat. It is
feven inches and a half long, and
meafu res between the extremities of
the wings, when expanded, eleven
inches. It weighs two ounces. The
tail is fomewhat of a wedge- dm-ne.

The- back is grey; the four middle
q u ills of the tail are of an uniform' -
colour ; the bill is lead-coloui ed.
It inhabits Europe, and breeds in
Sweden as well as in France. It is
migratory, departing with its family
in September or October, and re-

The Moral Zoologl/l , 3 4.9

appearing in May, It makes its
neft in the trees or bufhes in the
open country, and not in the woods.
It is the Lanius Collurio of Linnaeus,
of which the wood-chat is a variety.

THE SMALL BUTCHER-BIRD,

Naturalids are divided with re-
fpe£t to the genus to which this bird
belongs; Buffon, Bri Bon, and others,
clafiing it with the titmice, under the
name of the bearded titmoufe ; and
Pennant and Edwards ranking it
with the butcher-birds, to which
Linnaeus admits that it has a re-
fembtance, though he makes it a
fpecies of the genus Parus , deno-
minating it Pqyiis Biarmicus. It is
called by Edwards the Leaf butcher¬
bird. The latter naturalift fays, that
feverai cocks and hens of this fpe¬
cies have been killed in the neigh¬
bourhood of London, but were fo
little known that they had no name.
The countefj of Albemarle brought
a cageful of them from Denmark,
where they are faid to be very
common ; and, it is fuppofed, that
fome of them efcaping, were the
origin of the colony in England.

This bird greatly refembles, in
fize and figure, the long-tailed tit¬
moufe. The total length, includ¬
ing the tail, is fix inches and a
quarter; the extent of the wings,
when expanded, fix inches and a
half. The head is of a pearl-grev;
the throat and fore-part of the neck
of a filvery white ; the bread of a
dirty white, tinged with grey in
fome iubjeCds, and rofe-coloured in
others. The red of the underpart
of the body is rudy ; the upper part
of a light red The bill is fliort,
drong, and very convex ; its colour
yellow. On each fide of the bill,
beneath the eye, is a long triangular
tuft of black feathers.

With the habits of thefe birds we
are not very well acquainted, on ac¬
count of their fcarcity. Albin fays,
it is reported they inhabit the coun¬
ties of Effex and Lincoln, and al¬
ways among the fens. Frifch fup-
pofes this bird to be analogous to
the canary-bird, and that the two
fpecies would intermix, but adds it
is too rarely found for the neceflary
experiments to be made. ‘ This
opinion of Frifch/ fays Buffon, f is
inconfident with that of Edwards
and Linnssus, who fuppofe it to
refemble the fhrike/ Lottinger af-
ferts that it breeds in holes of trees,
and frequently con forts with the
long-tailed titmoufe. The raoft
curious circum France related of thefe
birds is, that when they red, the
male fpreads his wings over the
female. i This attention/ as Buffon
obferves, ‘ were it well authenti¬
cated, mud imply many other inre-
reding particulars with regard to
incubation/

The different fpecies of the dirikes
feem to difplay to us an inftru&ive
example of what may be effected
by courage and an undaunted fpirit,
dnee we fee thefe little birds,
fcarcely equal in fize to larks, flying
with fecurity among the hawks" and
kites, the buzzards and the ravens,*
which, knowing their intrepidity,
feem rather to fear than feek an en¬
counter with them. Courage will
give (Length to the weak, while ti¬
midity enfeebles the drong. Let us,
at the fame time, remember that the
only fource -of true courage is the
confcioubiefs that we are engaged
in the caufe of judice and of virtue.

I remain, wnh the utmod refpedt
and affedion for your ladyfhip,

Eugenia*
{To be continued ,)

[ 550 ]

POETICAL ESSAYS.

THE NAVAL TRIUMPH OF
BRITAIN.

; I '

£ From Mr. Maurice's 1 Crijis of Britain .’J

TJritons, the crifis of your fate
draws near,

Exalt your ftandards, grafp th’ aveng-
ing fpear :

In radiant arms,( indilfolubly join’d,

Be firm, and brave the pow’rs of earth
combin’d.

But, oh Britannia ! what immortal
ftrain

Shall paint thy triumphs on the bound-
lefs main ?

Who fing the heroes that, from age to

age,

Through ev’iry clime have bid thy thun¬
der rage ;

From burning realms where fouthern
deeps refound,

To where eternal frofts the pole fur-
round r

Who (hall thy Howard’s deathlefs feats
recite,

Thy fearlefs Drake’s, invincible in
fight,

Whofe valour, with the ftorms of Hea¬
ven combin’d.

The proud armada to the depths con-
fign’d ?

To ardent glory’s nobleft fires awake,

What terrors could appal the foul of
Blake ?

When oh the Belgic chief, that dar’d to
fweep.

With high-fufpended broom, th’ in-
fulted deep,

Furious he'rufh’d ; and tore, indignant,
down,

That barbarous emblem of ufurp’d re¬
nown ;

Then, driving o’er the furge the routed
foe,

Swept the proud vaunter to the gulfs
' below.

Far diftant od the vaft Atlantic main,

To check the ravages of hoftile Spain,

Skilful as brave, along a dread-fraught
coaft,

Pocock to vidtory leads a gallant hoft :

Condemn’d to perilh on a barb’rous
ft rand.

Pale round his veffels glides a fpedlree!
band ;

And oft before his midnight couch they
rife,

Flames in their hands, and lightning in
their eyes,

Revenge ! they fhout ; and, towards
Havannab’s fpires,

Wave their red arms, and point their
hoftile fires.

’Mid threat’ning rocks, and waves ia
mountains roll’d,

Great Hawke contending with the
ftorrn behold !

Nor rocks, nor roaring furge, nor mad-
d’ning wind,

From its firm centre fhake his ftedfaft
mind ;

On fate’s tremendous verge the line he
forms,

To France more dreadful than a thou-
fand ftorms,

Bids, through a night of clouds, the
fleet advance,

And hoftile fires illume the dark ex-
panfe.

In vain their broken line the Gauls
oppofe,

While, as the furious confhdt fiercer

glows,

The Britifli cannon raging, tier o’er

tier,

Flame on their van, and thunder on
their rear.

Wild as the whirlwinds that impetu¬
ous fvveep

The raging furface of the troubled
deep,

The Gallic veffels o’er the furge are
tofs'd,

Or fwell the pomp of Britain’s vidlor
hoft!

’Twas then, while heav’n with angry
tempefts lower’d,

Ar.d vidlory on Hawke’s proud ftandard
tower’d,

’Twas then from heav’n, the brilliant
deed to crown,

Britannia’s angel rufh’d in lightning
down,

From France her naval wreath for ever
tore,

And ftamp’d to dull on Bifcay’s ftormy
£horc !

POETRY.

Xf, urg’d by rage, and furious from

defpair,

Gaul’s baffled fleets again the ocean
dare/ -

The brave Cornwallis, on the billowy
field,

Shall rcuz’d Britannia’s direft venge¬
ance wield ;

Or "Nelfon. dreadful in her kindled ire,

Rain on thofe fleets a ftorm of liquid
fire.

See ! far remote in Afia’s fultry iky,

A thouland flags in crimfon radiance

fly ;

Here ! round the Baltic’s frozen frontier
hurl’d.

Her deep ton’d thunders fhake the
northern world.

Sublimely thron d on Vincent’s rocky
height,

Hark! Glory, from her ferine of cir-
cling light,

Loud hails her Jervis, on th’ Iberian
main,

Refiftlefs burfling through the line of
Spain !

Ardent to gain the wreath that Ruflfel
crown’d,

And brave Bofcawen’s vet’ran temples
bound,

Recklefs of florms, behold intrepid
Hood

Plough, with unwearied toil, the briny
flood ;

Xn all their ports the fkulking foe he
braves,

And burns to plunge him in the whelm¬
ing waves !

Laft, but not humbled, on the roll of
fame,

With nerve of adamant, with foul of

flame,

See fearlefs Duncan, ranging, undif-
may’d,

Belgium’s dire feore, with death and
peril fpread,

And rufe, regardlefs of impending
doom,

Where ev’ry billow yawns — a wat’ry
tomb !

Though ruin hover in a thoufand
forms,

Refolv’d, Batavia’s marfeal’d fleet he
florms ;

Tremendous on the foe his vengeance
falls,

And thick around defeend the rattling
bails.

£51

Retreat is vain ; behind the breakers roar,

W hile Butain s wafteful thunders urge
before !

The doubling gam'e the dauatlefs Scot
purfues,

And, in tne jaws of death, the fight re¬
news.

Aloft in air her tatter’d ftandards fly ;

Low bends the (lately maft that pierc’d
the fky ;

Devouring flames confume the glowing
deck ;

And a third navy floats— a boundlefs

wreck !

Gaul views, enrag’d, her ftrongeft prop
o’erthrown,

And into air her daring projedls blown.

Rage, baffled Gaul ! for thus, ere yon¬
der fun

Thrice his bright journey round the
zodiac run,

In black difgrace feall all thy triumphs
end,

And all thy tow’ring pride in (moke
afeend.

The injur’d objedl of thy jealous hate

Hurls at thy impious head the bolt of
Fate; q

On outrag’d heav’n’s and man’s deter¬
min’d foe

Slow, but refiftlefs, rolls the fatal blow!

Ye myriads, whom her direful thirfl
of blood

Plung’d in the rapid Rhone’s empur¬
pled flood,

Or from the cannon’s rending mouth
confign’d,

In mangled fragments, to the blading
wind :

All whom dire Robefpierre^s unfparing

, r?§e [age *

Crufe d in the blooming vigour of your

Or, by fucceeding Molochs dragg’d to
death,

Who, deep in dungeons, drank in-
fedlion’s breath :

All who, by hunger’s pangs to madnefs
fir’d,

On your own fabre’s guiltlefs edge
expir’d,

Or, to avoid unnumber’d horrors
quaff’d.

With pale and quivering lips, th’em-
poifon’d draught :

Shout from the grave ! — in your, in
nature’s, caufe,

Th’ avenging fword infulted Britain
draws J

55 2 POETRY.

See her bright enfigns blaze from fhore
to fhore ! v '

See her bold offspring round thofe en¬
figns pour !

Her ancient nobles, warm with all the
fires

That burn’d at Creffy in their daring
fires ;

Her . valiant knights, whole breaming
banners show

Their blazon’d triumphs o'er the haugh¬
ty foe ;

Her gen’rous merchants, fam’d through
ev’ry clime,

Of fpotlefs faith and dauntlefs foul
fublime,

Whefe flags, through many a diftant fea
unfurl’d,

Uphold the commerce of the ravag’d
world,

In focial bands remoteft nations join,
Chill’d at the Pole, or fcorch’d beneath
the line ;

Patriots to virtue dear, for freedom
bold,

Who honour ftill their proudeft treafure
hold ;

Her peafants, glowing with a Briton’*
zeal,

Whofe loyal hearts are oak, whofe finews
fteel ; , ,

All ranks, all ages, feel the high alarms,
At glory’s call, impatient, rulh to arms ;
Ardent to meet a foe their fouls dif-
dain, [the main !

Conqu’rors on fliore, and fov’reigns on
To victory rufh on, ye dauntlef*
bands [hands!

The fate of Europe trembles m your
Oh ! bill for glory pant, for Britain
burn, [return

Nor to the flieath th’ avenging blade
Till Liberty her trampled rights regain,
Till juftice re-aflume her ancient reign,
Till vanquifh’d Gaul in blood her crimes
bemoan, [own 5

And HeavVs avenging arm repentant
Or, in the chain file forg’d lor Europe,
bound, N

Spend her vain rage, and proftrate bite
the ground.

Britons, the cribs of her fate draws
near ;

Advance your ftandards, launch th’
avenging fpear ;

In radiant arms ind.ffolubly join’d.
Your firmtiefs hath fubdued the world
combin’d 1,

ANTICIPATION.

Toehold ! with how much joy the
thrilling thought

Runs through all ranks, through ev’ry-
fex and age :

The dibant pleafure to the prefent
brought,

Can oft’ with fancied joy the mind
engage.

In earlieft dawn of life obferve the child

Anticipating ev’ry promis’d blifs :

The boy unfolds his hopes with tranf-
ports wild ; |

Emotions fofter mark the blooming
mifs.

The rqfeate cherry, ere the child de¬
vours,

Is often to the longing mouth con¬
vey’d ;

(As oft’ the mouth with difappointment
fours)

Once more the beauteous fruit mub
befurvey’d:

Once more be feen, then fuck’d, then
feen again,

Anticipating what the tafte will be ;

Yet when 'cis tailed, Fancy’s lively
brain

Pictur'd it fweeter than reality.

The youth anticipates the meeting foft.

’T.vvixt him and her to whom he
pledg’d his heart ;

Perchance her foul ere then may mount
aloft, [fmart.

And leave him only forrow’s painful

Increafing years increafing wants unfold:

The man anticipates how wealth to
gain;

To fickle Fortune prays aloud for gold,

Who oft’ returns him only grief and
pain.

Why, then, will anxious man his time
misspend,

When difappointment thus each hope
o’erturn* ?

Why do his devious beps fo wand’ring
bend ?

Alas ! for novelry his foul ftill burns.

Defcending now to age, man clings to
hope : [brave ;

Religious hope infpires the good and

Infpries the mind with iiis on earth to
cope,

Anticipating blifs beyond the grave.

Augujl 3, 1803. J. M.L.

t 553 ]

FOREIGN' NEWS.

Hanover, A /guJl 5.

HE day before yefterday the Ruffian
lieutenant-general, baron Von Drief-
fen, arrived here from Pyrmont.

The members of the executive com-
miffion have been offered an honorary
guard, which, however, they have de¬
clined.

Cbnftantinople , Augujl 9. The porte has
received very difagreeable advices from
Egypt. The rebellious Arnauts have
driven out of Cairo the fmall number of
janiffaries who remained faithful to the
porte, and invited the beys in Upper
Egypt to make a common caufe with
them. Thefe have accepted the invita¬
tion, and alfembled their troops, under
the command of Ibrahim bey, at Giza,
whence they frequently fend out de¬
tachments to Cairo, which is in their
poflTeffion. The porte experts ftill more
unpleafing accounts from Egypt.

The advices from Syria are likewife
very unfavourable. The rebels, under
Abdul Wechab, who had taken the city
of Medina, were on their march againft
Damafcus. The report that they had
been defeated is not confirmed. T he
porte has now fent orders to all the pa¬
chas in Afia to unite their forces, to refill
the enemy of the Mahometan religion.

Naples, Augujl 16. The French troops
in the provinces of Paeglia and Abruzzo,
which have hitherto been maintained,
and, in part, clothed by our fovereign,
will, in future, be paid by the French
republic, and be obliged to purchafe
their provifions with ready money.
Our court is indebted for this arrange¬
ment to the interferences and remon-
ftrances of the emperors of Germany
and Ruffid.

Hague, Augujl 16. The exchange of
the ratifications of the convention con¬
cluded on the 1 5th of June, between the
French, Batavian, and Italian republics,
took place at Brulfels the 24th of July.

It is confirmed that citizen Schimmel-
penninck will go to Paris as ambaflador,
and commiflary-general from our re-
Vol. XXXIV.

public. The French general Cafiagnes
has fixed his head-quarters at Gouda,
where he embarked on the 13th on
board a yacht for Amfterdam. Gene¬
ral Uumonceau has reviewed the troops
in and near Haerlem.

Brujftls, Augujl 17. An embargo has
been laid on all the veflels on our canal.
The objedt of this meafure is undoubt¬
edly to procure a fupply of Teamen. The
number of workmen employed in the
conftrudlion of gun-boats and flat-bot¬
tomed boats has been confiderably aug¬
mented, Never did fuch activity pre¬
vail in our naval preparations. The
department of the Scheldt, and the city
of Ghent, which is the principal naval
port in the department, are to contribute
a million and a half of francs, all of
which will be employed in conftrudting
(nips of war on the Scheldt.

Constantinople , Aiigujl 1 1. The intelli¬
gence which the porte has received, in.
the beginning of this week, by feveral
couriers from Egypt and Arabia, is very
gloomy. The rebels in Egypt have
obtained the fuperiority in fo decided a
manner, that it begins to be doubted
whether that rich and fertile province
will ever be re-conquered. Several of
the Turkifh minifters openly acknow¬
ledge that the departure of the Englifli
from Alexandria has been very prejudi¬
cial to the fovereignty of the porte.
The Arnauts or Albanefe have found
means to form a dole connection with
the Mamalukes, and with their com¬
bined forces have entirely defeated the
army of the Turkish pacha. Several
thoufands of his troops have been left
dead on the field ; and the reft are fo
difperfed, that he will fcarcely be -able
ever to colleCt theny together again.
Many of the fugitives have likewile
gone over to the rebels, and been admit¬
ted by them into their Service.

Cairo is now in the l^ands of the re¬
bels, and Alexandria alone remains in
the pofleffion of the porte. The new
pacha, who was appointed governor 0 £

554

Foreign News.

Cairo, was obliged to fly from that city
with about a hundred men. It is ex¬
pelled that the rebels will foon march
againft Alexandria, and that the feeble
garrifon there will open its gates to them.
Such was the (ituation of Egypt in the
latter end of July*

Several councils have been held, and
the grand fignior has appointed Dgtzar,
pacha, who, with the alii fiance of the
Knglifh commodore, fir Sydney Smith,
defended Acre againft Bonaparte, to
head the force colledted to ait againft the
Arabian rebels under Abdul Wechab.
Dgezar is appointed pacha of Damafcus,
retaining at the fame time his former
pafhalik, which is the frft example of
two of the largeft governments in the
Turkifh empire being held by one per-
fon.

The rebel, Abdul Wechab, is in pof-
feflion of the cities of Mecca and Medi¬
na, and claims the califat or fovertignty
of the grand fignior.

The danger is confidered at Confran-
tinople as very great-, and the means to
avert it are very feeble and inefficient.
Dgezar pacha has received the promife
of a large turn of money monthly, which
the porte is not in a condition to pay,
and he may, in confequence, excufe
hitnfelf for having effected nothing
againft the rebels.

25. The porte has received advice,
that the rebels, under Abdul Wechab,
have been entirely defeated and difperf-
ed, before Damafcus, by the troops un¬
der the command of the pacha of Acre,
and the other pachas. Mecca is again
in the hands of the Turks.

30. The trade of the Black Sea, and
efpecially that of the Ruffian commer¬
cial town of OdcfTa, which, for fome time,
has been greatly increafing, begins to
fufFer confiderably from &fae naval war.
The Engl i fli take ail (hips in the Ar¬
chipelago and the Mediterranean which
are laden with corn for French ports, or
which they fufpebt is intended to be
conveyed to them by an indiredf route.

Advice was received here to day, that
- an EngiiHi fqua.dron of one fliip of the
line, three frigates, and four brigs, had
taken, almoft under the cannon of the
iftands, one Spamfh and leveral Ragufan
fiiips, as ,alfo fornc vefiels belonging to
the inhabitants of the republic of the
Seven Iftands. As tbefe captures may
be confidered as a violation of the Turk-

ifii territory, the Auftrian internuncio
complained to the porte of the condubt of
the Englifh. The porte on this made
application to the Englifh envoy, Mr.
Drummond, who, however, declared
that he could not decide on this maritime
quefiion, and mu ft content himfelf with
informing his court of the circumftance.

According to accounts from Egypt of
the 7th of June, the citadel of Cairo had
had been given up to the beys, by the
Arnauts, the day before.

Advices from Cyprus ftate, that Ingel
bey, who had arrived with two frigates
before Damietta from Alexandria, had
been repulfed, in an attack on that town,
by the troops of the beys.

The civil and religious war in Arabia
ftill continues. The city of Mecca is
held by a fhereif, who is under Abdul
Wechab, but Medina is in pofteffion of
the Turks. Abdul Wechab has retired
into the defert tocollefl new troops.

The number of houfes deftroyed by
the fire of the 18th inftant, near th«
feraglio, amounts to above five hundred.
The damage is the more considerable, as
that quarter was inhabited almoft entire¬
ly by perfons of diftinftion. It is fup-
poled the fire was wilfully caufied by
evil-difpofed perfons, the enemies of the
grand vizir. The latter, to appeafe the
commotion among the people, has given
liberty to feveral prifoners.

Italy, Sept. 2. Three French fhips. of
war have arrived at Genoa, from Tou¬
lon ; they are laden with ammunition,
and bound to Ferrajo.

The king of Naples has difbanded a
great part of his troops, with permiffion
to enter into any foreign fervice they
may choofe.

4. It is laid that a corps of five thou-
fand Italian troops, bv order of the firft
conful, will march to Paris, where they
will wait till they receive farther direc¬
tions. The general of divifion Pino has
the command of them. The Italian
republic is building a great number of
fiat-bottomed boa's and gun-boats, on
the banks of the Po and the Adige.

8, The expedition fitting out at An¬
cona is intended for the conqueft cf the
Morea, which the French propofe to
hold for a time as a compenfation for
Malta.

The French envoy at Naples has
made a reprefentation, by order of the
firft conful, againft the ftay of the

Foreign News.

555

Englifli general Stuart ; in confequence
of which it has been fignified to him to
withdraw, and he has gone on board the
Englifh fleet.

The grand mafter of Malta ha-5 fud-
denly retired from M'eiftna, in Sicily,
where a landing by the Englifh was ap¬
prehended, to Catanea.

Dunkirk, Sept. 9. Several houfes in the
vicinity of our town have been, it is faid,
allotted for the ufe of different offices.
The principal adminiftration will be at
St. Omers. General Soult is expedted
at Boulogne ; and the general of divifion
Gerard will go to Lifle, in the place of
gen. Vandamme, who is appointed lieu¬
tenant-general to the army of England.

On the 5th the Englifh threw two
hundred bombs into Boulogne; two
houfes were damaged, and a woman
wounded.

Paris , Sept. 9. Yefterday the fir fi con-
ful reviewed his whole body-guard, in
the plain of Sablons. The body-guard
will immediately let out for St. Omers.
Bonaparte, who will foon fet out for St.
Omers, will frequently go and return
between that city and Paris, fo that he
will pafs at leafl eight days in the month
in the capital.

The commiflary of the marine at
Bourdeaux has written to the chamber of
commerce there, that no more privateers
will be permitted to fit out there ; and
this order has been notified in the ex¬
change.

General Duroc is, it is faid, appoint¬
ed lieutenant-general of the ftrft conful
for the expedition againft England.

Berlin , Sept. 12. It is now determined
that French troops fhall occupy the ter¬
ritory of Gottingen, and application has
been made here for permiifion to march
a demi-brigade through Hildelheim,
which has been granted, and the proper
orders have already been ifiued.

Milan , Sept. 12. Various movements
Hill continue to be blade by the French
and Italian troops ; we fhall, no doubt,
foon know their objedt. A great quan¬
tity of artillery has been taken from the
fortrefs of Mantua, for the ufe of the
veflels of war which are building in the
Adriatic fea. On the loth.inftant war
was folemnly declared againft England,
by found of trumpet, at the town-houle
at Milan.

Dieppe, Sept, 14. This morning about

eight o’clock, two Englifh bomb-vefTels,
two frigates, and two fmaller fhips of
war, appeared off our coaft. The batte¬
ries of Puy, and one of the batteries of
Dieppe, fired fome fhot at them. They
anfwered with a dreadful fire, and dif-
charged from two hundred and fifty
to three hundred bombs, and above 400
balls, againft the town, many of which
flew half a mile beyond it. About thirty
Ihot ftruck the houfes; a fliell fet two
houfes on fire in the fuburb De la Barre,
and one of them was much damaged.
Chimneys were knocked down, balls
entered the windows and damaged the
furniture, &c. We maintained, on our
part, a very native fire, and the Englifh
were obliged to put out to fca. It is
faid that fome of our balls reached them.
We are in fear of another vifit from
them foon. Many perfons have left the
town and retired farther up into the
country.

General Delmotte has taken the com¬
mand of the marine troops at Breft.

While England is threatened with a
defcent from the coafts of the Channel
and aiong Belgium, an expedition will
be undertaken to Ireland from the
coafts of ci-devant Normandy and Brit¬
tany.

T roops are drawing towards the coafts
from the vicinity of Strafburg.

St. Falery, Sept. 17. An Englifh divi¬
fion, confiding of fix fail, appeared be¬
fore St. Valery on the 14th inftant; they
approached within half a mile, cannon-
fhot, and kept up a continued fire with
bombs and balls. Several of their bombs
fell within the town. One fell on the
top of a houfe, and burft with a terrible
expl jfion. Another entered a houfe, and
broke all the furniture and windows.
The owner fortunately was abfenton his
duty in the fervice. Other balk beat
down chimneys. The enemy continued
a terrible fire during the fpace of an hour,
T. he number of bombs and balls which
they difcharged is eftimated at 200. The
balls were many of them thirty-two
pounders. Our apprehenfions were the
> greater, as the cairn weather permitted
ttiem to take good aim : fuddenly, how¬
ever, we perceived them make a fignal
to (land out to lea ; fortunately they fet
fire to no part of tUe town, nor was any
pcrfon wounded.

4 B z

[ 555 1

/ .

HOME NEWS.

r "umaummmr n i

Bnjol, OR obey 2.

US morning, about three o’clock,
there was a terrible fire on the cp-
pofite fide of Dolphin- ftreet, a fhort
diftance from the bridge, a iugar-houfe,
belonging to Mr Worfley : a great
quantity of fugar was fa-ved, and taken
into Bath- ftreet, where it was guarded
by the militia, although much was con-
fumed with the inward part of the
building. It is fuppofed the lofs is
about 7,oool. It was inibred for more
than 1 i,ogo1. It is not known at pre-
fent how it happened, but reported, that
.the men were at work at the time. For¬
tunately for the inhabitants, there
was po wind. The only accident that
occurred was, one of the firemen had
his hair burnt from his head at the time
the roof fell in.

A defperate affray took place on Sun¬
day laft, about eleven o’clock, at the
corner of Avon-ftreet, Bath, between
fome foldiers of the army of referve ;
when the watchmen interfering to re-
jftore order, feveral of the foldiers drew
their bayonets upon them, and ftabbed
.one of them to the heart j anorher watch¬
man was feverely wounded, but it is
hoped not mortally. Several of the
party were apprehended.

London , Qti. 3. On Friday afternoon,
about three o’clock, a Swedifti captain,
in company with two others of his
countrymen, coming down Cotnhill to
attend ’Change, having an umbrella
over his head, was accofted by a woman
with a child in her arms, who begged
him to protect her from the rain for a
few minutes. To this the gentleman
humanely confented ; and the woman,
pretending that ihe had been travelling
for feveral hours, and was fo much ex-
haufted as to be ready to fink with
fatigue, he confented to carry the child
for a few paces ; pretending in the
mean time to adjuft part of her drefs,
the woman lagged behind a few paces,
and contrived to give the gentleman the

fiip, leaving him to provide in the heft
manner he could for the infant, which
was about two months old.

Dublin , Obi. 3. Thomas Keenan was
tried to-day on the fame charges of high-
treaion with thofe who preceded him.
It was proved that he was an aftociate of
M‘Intofh, and was arrefted along with
him in the town of Arklow, whither
they had fled -after the 23d of July.
Fleming lwore pofitiveiy that he was
one of thofe who piked lord Kil warden.
The jury, after five minutes’ conference,
returned a verdidt — Guilty.

Sentence of death was immediately
pronounced. The prifoner did not de,
ny his having been engaged in the con-
fpiracy, but pofitiveiy denied having
been one of the murderers of lord
Kilwarden.

IVMnt-ofh, convi&ed on Saturday, was
this day executed in Patrick-ftreet, op-
pofite to the houfe where he had been
manufafituring the powder for re-,
bellion.

This maIefa<ftor was a Scotchman,
and was brought to Ireland, being a
carpenter by trade, by the perfon who
built Sarah’s bridge, to carry on that
work, being very fkilful in his line. He
was then a remarkably quiet, weil-con-
dudted man, and afterwards was fo di-
ftinguifhed for two or three years, in
the employment of Mr. alderman Foot.
It appears it was not until May laft
that he had been deluded from his for¬
mer propriety of condudf, when he got
connected with traitors.

4. A very melancholy occurrence
took place on Thurfday laft, in the
county of Cavan : as lieutenant Kerr, -
of the Portland yeoman infantrv, was
exercifmg his corps, a Jhot was dis¬
charged from the ranks, which entered
bis body, and he mftantiy fell. The
aftoniSbmenr produced by this dreadful
circumftance may be eaftly to >ceived, as
lieutenaift Kerr was a gentleman much
beloved by his corps, and highly re-

Nome News*

fpe&ed in the country. Upon an in-
yeftigation, it appeared that the brother
pf the man who had fired this unfortu¬
nate fhot had beep the night before
footing wild ducks on a neighbouring
lake, and that he innocent perpetrator
had borrowed his mufquet,- and was
fuffqred to fail ipto the ranks without
having it properly examined. Lieut.
Kerr mrvived but four hours. A
coroners inqueft was held on the body,
and, after an accurate enquiry, a verdi£t
was found of — Accidental Death ; in
confequence of which the unhappy man
who had caufed it was admitted to bail.

London , 0£t. 4. On Saturday morn¬
ing Dennis D’Eon, a foreigner, was
brought to town from Brighton, by
Townihend, who apprehended him at
that place, on fufpicon of being a fpy
from the French government. The
fame day he was examined before fir
Richard Ford, ar Whitehall, and com¬
mitted to the houfe of correftion, Cold-
bath-fields. He ferved Under Bona¬
parte during the late war.

A gentleman, who left Morlaix on
the 27th ult. and who was at Granville
when the attack was made upon that
place, flates, that fix houfes of the town
were deftroyed, and one gun-boat and a
few fmall veffels funk, and one of the
inhabitants killed. There were fixteen
gun-boats ready for fea, and eight more
buiiding. A confiderable number of
troops were iikewife alfembled in the
neighbourhood, to be employed on the
expedition. *

5. On Sunday morning, early, the
Borough cavalry left town for Brighton,
where they have been called upon duty.

The Tower-hamlet militia have had
orders to be in readinefs to inarch, at an
hour’s notice, for the coaft, and are in
daily expe&ation of being fent off.
When this takes place, we underftand
the third and fourth regiments of the
Loyal London Volunteers will be order¬
ed on duty in the city, it having fallen
to their lot by ballot.

The Eaft Kent yeoman cavalry,
amounting to near rooo men, are to
affemble to-morrow at Maidftone, under
the command of earl Camden, and to
continue to exercife together for a
week. This body of men are as well
mounted and as well difeiplined as any
fet of volunteers in the kingdom, par-

«T

ticularly the troop of the sari <
Darnley.

6. In the courfe of the laft fortnig1
there have been upwards of 70, o<
Hand of arms ilfued from the Tower.

Ki*apfacks are ordered for the bt
gade of royal Eaff-India volunteei
with camp equipage, and every artic
neceffary for a march. They a
fhortly to have 4 grand fharn-fight <
Epping Foreft, previous to the real <y
expended on the coaft. The men a
all in high fpirits, i confident in arn
and eager for the fray !’

The fecond regiment of Eaft-Inc
volunteers have received orders to ho
themfelves in readinefs to march at
moment’s notice.

The Bloomfbiiry corps have receiv
orders to hold themfelves in readinefs
march, and provide themfelves wi

knapfacks, See.

By accounts received from Marga
we underftand that all the troops in tf
diftnft, including the volunteers, £
ordered to hoH themfelves in readini
to march at a moment’s warning;
that if the enemy fhould attempt a lan
ing on this part of the coaft, they w
be received at the point of the bayon
The whole coaft, indeed, appears to
in a ftate of preparation. .

7. Yefterday morning, — Thom
fon was executed in the Old-Baik
He hacj been conviffed of robbing a:
ill-ufing a very old woman on t
Hammerfmith road. He appeared
the fcaffold in a very emaciated fta
and had no friends to take care of i
corpfe.

As two failors were travelling to t
North, on Tuefday fe’nnighr, they toi
up their lodgings at Whittingham th
night, and were recommended to a cc
tage contiguous to the great tower«f cl'
place. The evening being very wi
and the wind high and boifterous, th
congratulated each other that they h
got in fnug and fafe. About
o’clock at night, part of the eaft wall
the tower gave way, and fo fudden a
dreadful was the fall (it being abo
forty feet high) that it literally cruih
the roof, walls, and houfehold furnitui
to atoms, and buried a woman and h
child, with the two travellers, und
the ruins. The cries of a girl, dang
ter of the poor woman, brought fevt.

Home Naw,

\5$

?rfons %o the place of defolation, who
imediately Set to work in order to
fcue the fuppofed dead bodies. The
did was firft difcovered, next the mo-
ter, and laftly the two Tailors, none
[whom were much injured.

Woolwich , Oil. 7. Early yefterday
orning a fire broke out at a gentle-
an’s houfe contiguous to Woolwich
3rren, on the Plumftead fide, which
tirely confumed -the fame, together
tth a houfe adjoining. Apprehenfion
as at firft entertained for this valuable
ilitary depot, but the drum having
at to arms, and plenty of water and
liftance obtained, the flames were
evented from doing further injury.
re do not hear that any lives were
It, nor h®w the fire began. It is
d that between 400I. and 500I. in
ink-notes were loft.

London , Oil.%. On Wednefday, while
tting the ordnance into the Regulus
j()ck-Ihip, at Chatham, the Iheers not
ing Sufficiently Secured* a cannon of 40
"i. fell on two men, one of whom was
lantly killed, and the other furvived >
|t a fhort time. Same day, in the in»
nchments on the lines, the ground
jdenly gave way, by which a ferjeant
I his thigh broke, and a private was
terribly bruifed, that he died the
st day.

Deal, Oil. 9. By a cutter lately arrived
|m off Breft, we learn, that, on taking
tjeep into that harbour, Several men-of-
r pennants were leen flying at the
in top-maft heads ; and the mails of
onfiderable number of fhipping, fup-
to be tranfport veffels, were di-

j fitly observed. It is generally ima-

led the whole (of this armament is
dined for Ireland.

London, 10. Friday afternoon, a young
y, about eighteen years of age, was fit-
g near a fire, a'c work with her needle,
Whitechapel, when a Spark flew upon
V clothes. She perceived it, and
•iught foe bad feaken it off, but in an
mt fee perceived her gown in
es ; flic fereamed, called to her mo¬
il*, who came to her afiiftance, and
leavoured to roll her in the carpet,

: in vain : in her great torture and
jht fee aifehgaged iierfelf from her
:her *and ran into the ftreet, where
urn was paffmg at the time with a
\\ ho endeavoured to extinguifli
flames with it, but to.no purpyfe ;

fee unfortunately continued to run
down the ftreet, and the wind con¬
tinuing to raife the flames till all her
clothes were entirely burnt off her, fee
was taken into a neighbouring houfe a
moft Shocking fpefitacle. She ftill Sur¬
vives, but with very little hopes of
recovery.

11. On Friday laft a moft dreadful
accident happened on board the Altos
Weft-Indiaman, in the wet docks at
Blackwall: an officer of the excife hav¬
ing, incautioufly, placed himfelf againft
a handfpike left in the windlafs, the pall
of the latter gave way, by which he re¬
ceived a violent blow, was thrown
down the fore hatchway into the fliip’s
hold, and killed on the Spot. Several
merchants, who vvitneffed the misfor¬
tune, have humanely entered into a
Subscription for the deceafed’s family,
which confifts of his widow and Several
Small children. On Saturday, alfo, a
labourer belonging to the Docks fell
from the foot-way on the outer-gate
into the bafon, where he remained near
twenty minutes before he was taken
out ; the different means recommended
for the reftoration of drowned perfons
were ufed, but every effort to recover
him prove'd ineffectual.

Dover , Oil. 12. The York, of 64
guns, came, to anchor in the road laft
night. She is bound to Dungenefs,
where fee is to be ftationed as a block-
feip. From the hills of Dover there .
were Seen this day, about twelve, an
Englife frigate, two gun veffels, and
feveral cutters, lying to off Point Dak
pree. The report here is, that another
attack will be feortly made on Boulogne.
At the block-houfes fituated on Dover-
cliffs, the centinels have orders to parade
the works night and day. This was a
late order, and arifing, it is Said, from
advices received on this fide the water,
that on the oppofite coaft the French
were all in motion. Not a gun heard
this day in any direfiiion.

London , Oil. iS. Yefterday afternoon,
at three o’clock, the Clerkemvell corps
mufiered at their parade ground, and
proceeded from thence to the great
field, near White-Conduit houfe, for
the purpofe of going through their evo¬
lutions^ Haying reached the Spot, the
commander, Francis Magniac, efq. was
about to form the line, when his horfe
took fright, and plunged So defperately.

Births. — Marriages.

that he threw his rider to the ground ;
by which accident, unfortunately, his
right fhoulder was diflocated. The
phyfician andfurgeon of the corps being
prefent, haflened to his affiftance, and
having replaced his fhoulder, bled him,
and led him carefully off the ground.

19. On Sunday afternoon, a Gravef-
end boat coming up the river under full
fail, and with a frefh breeze of wind
weflerlv. came infide the tier, off the
jutty of the London docks. Going at
the rate of feven or eight miles an hour,
fmall boats had hardly a chance of get¬
ting out of her way; and one wherry,
in which were two gentlemen and the
waterman, was literally run over by her.
The waterman got on board the Gravef-
end boat, and one gentleman (captain St.
Barbe, of Ratcliff) was enabled, from
his fituadon, to fnatch hold of a rope un¬
der the bow-fprit, which he held faff,
and was carried on with the veffel, hang*,
ing partly in the water; but the other
paffenger (a Mr. Marten, of America-
fquare) was funk with the wherry, and
the Gravefend boat went over both.
In a fhort time he rofe, fwam towards a
palling lighter, and was providentially
enabled to hold on by the oar of the
lighter till a wherry, which had put off
from the flairs to take captain St. Barbe
from his perilous fituation, came alfo to
his refeue. We are happy to ftate that
the gentlemen are well, except that Mr.
Marten has both his legs bruifed, and
has received a fevere blow on his laead,
fuppofed to be againft the Gravefend
boat’s bottom when riling the firfl; time
after his being run down, and by which
he was funk again.

BIRTHS.

Sept. 16. In Coppice-row, Cold-bath-
fields, Mrs. Ann Turner, wife of James
Turner, junior, of a daughter.

2, 5. At his houfe, in Portman.fquare,
the lady of cob Beaumont, M. P. of a
daughter.

zb. At Chelhunt, the lady of John
Dunkin, efq. of a daughter.

03. 2. At Wim'bledon, at the hon.
J. S. Wortley’s, the right hon. lady Lo¬
vable, of a fon.

3. At his houfe, in Bloomfbury-
fo”are, the lady of Charles Badham,
IVT D, of a daughter.

6. The lady of Richard Toulmii
efq. of Surrey- ftreet, of a daughter.

8. In Great James-ftreet, the lac
of W. Money, efq. of a fon.

9. At Gainford, county of Durban
the lady of capt. Byron, of the roy,
navy, of a fern.

10. At Mr. Afhley’s town refidenc
in Giofvenor-fquare* lady Ann Afhle'
of a fon.

At Redburn, Herts, of a fon and hei
the lady of James Kelly, efq.

11. At his houfe, in York-buiiding

the lady of capt. Philip Ccdd, of
daughter. '

At Botley, the lady of fir Jofe
Mawhey, bart. of a daughter, whiq
died foon after its birth.

MARRIAGES.

Sept. 20. At Dunottar-houfe, Ales
ander Hadden, efq. of Nottingham,
mifs Ann Innes, daughter of the la;
Alexander Innes, efq. of Cowie, Kir
cardinefliire.

At Edinburgh, David Kemp, efq. fc
of the rev. Dr. Kemp, to mifs Co
quhoun, eideft daughter of fir Janu
Colquhoun, of Lufs, bart.

23. AtChidcock, near Bridport, D01
fet, the rev. Gilbert Langdon, to mi:
Fitzherbert.

28. Hope Stewart, efq. of Ballechii
to mifs Louifa Morley, fecond daughti
of the late James Morley, efq.

William Sampfon, efq. of London,
mifs Harriet Stelbank, of Ranrifgate,

29. Wm. Lowndes, iun. efq. of Che
ham, Bucks, to mifs Harriet Kingfioi
fecond daughter of John Kingflon, efi
of Baling- houfe, Rickmanfwerth.

Richard Wood, efq. of Manchefter,
mifs Nicholfon, of Dudcote, Berks.

03. 1. J. Atkins, efq. M. P. of Char:
ton, to mifs Burnaby, only daughter
the rev. Dr. Burnaby, of Greenwich.

Captain William Mitchell, of the (h
Mars, to mifs Stanley, of Greenwich.

3. John Fox Seaton, efq. of Pont
fradt, to mifs Brown, daughter of Th
mas Brown, efq. of Upper Tooting.

At Houghron-le- Spring, the rev.
Reed, to mifs Mary Ann Story.

Mr, Tho. Walker, of Low Fotherl
to mifs Thomfon, niece of captain Gi
fon, of Oak wood.

6. Dr. Hugh Macpberfon, phyfici
in Aberdeen, to mifs Charters, elde

Deaths,

laughter of the late S. Charters, efq. of
jhe hon. Eaffilndia company’s fervice.

At Worcefter, captain Marcus J, An-
tefley, nephew to the right hon. Richard
rarl Anndley, to mifs Caroline Smith.

» Thomas James Riley, efq. of the Ge¬
neral Poft-office, London, to mifs Mary
j^nn Gallop, of Bow- lane, Cheapfide.
j Mr. S. Sothebv, of York-ftreet, Co-
fent-garden, to mifs Harriet Barton, of
he Ifie of Wight.

: 8. Thomas Campbell, efq. author of
[The Pieafures of Hope,’ to mifs Matilda
Sinclair, daughter of R, Sinclair, efq. of
park-ftreet.

i g. W. Leedle, efq of Holles-ftreet,
Lo mifs E. Andrews, of Gray’s-inn-lane.

: io. In the ifland of Guernfey, John
pameron, efq. major in his majefty’s 43d
:igh t infantry regiment, tomifs A. Brock,
yiece of admiral fir Jas. Saumarez, hart.

! 11. At Broughton, Jonathan Rafh-
jeigh, efq. of Hatton-garden, to mifs
Jealy, of Alresford, Hants.

( 14. William Browne, efq. of Tal'en-
iyre-hall, to mifs Catherine Stewart,
daughter of the late William Stewart,
•>fq. of Caftle-Stewart.

. 16. John Carter, efq. or Ham worthy,
rDorfetfhire, to mifs Snork, of Poole.

( 18. At St. Pancras’ church, London,
liV. N. Skinner, efq. to mifs Parflov\,
pnly daughter of the late major Parllow,
->f the 3d or king’s regiment of dragoons.

[ DEATHS.

e Sept. 23. Mifs Catherine Cornelia
rVIavers, youngeft daughter of Mrs.
players, of Clay brook -houfe boarding-
school, Fulham, ftged 1 9, of a pleurify.
g At his mother’s houfe, Clapham, Sur¬
rey, Honorius Combauld, efq.
j AtRotherhithe, lieutenant John Grif¬
fith, of the royal navv, aged 67.
r 24. Mrs. Cock, of York-ftreet, Weft-
minfter, in the 36th year of her age.

I 28. At her brother’s houfe, at Wal-
^harnflow, mifs Mary Brucklhaw.

. Mrs. Armftrong, wife of F. Arm-
,1 r on g, efq. of Walcot- place, Lambeth.

. At Kingfbury-clifF, Warwickfliire,
plrs. Willoughby, wife of Robert Wil-
jougbby, efq.

■ Mr. John Robertfon, formerly an errfi-
ient apothecary in Biffiopfgate-ftreet.
rj 29. At Fort William, Mr. Alexander
’j/PIntyre, merchant there.
t At Horndean, aged 84, colonel Mon-
coe, of the royal marines.

At Turnham-gfeen, in the 83d year
of his age, Ralph Griffiths, efq. LL. D.

In the 9th year of her age, the eidefh
daughter of the rev. Geo. Hodgkins, of
Stoke Newington.

Mrs. Slaughter, wife of Mr. William
Slaughter, of St. Martin’s-lane.

Mr. Thomas Taylor Yoxall, of Grif-
fin’s-vvharf, Southwark.

Od?. 1. At Barrogil-caltle, of a fever,
the right hon. lady Helen Sinclair, fe-
cond daughter of the earl of Caithnefs*

3. At Watford, Herts, in the 70th
year of her dge, Mrs. Newman, filler to
the late Mr. alderman Newman.

Everhard Fawkener, efq. one of the
eommiffioners of (lamps, at his feat at
Miftley, near Manningtree, in Effex.

Mifs Caroline Harford, daughter of
Mr. Harford, Clapharn-cornmon, Surrey.

At Guernfey, captain John Tew, of
the fifth regiment of foot.

At Maidenhead, on his return to his
houfe at Chertfey, R. Douglas, efq. of
Mains.

5. At Iflington, Mr. James Wilfon,
formerly a feedfman in Weft-Smithfield.

Mrs. Wright, wife of Mr. Wright, of
Wild-court, Lincoln’s-inn-fields, book-*
binder.

At Sutton, Lincolnfhire, the rew.
Timothy Mangles.

6. At Epfom, Surrey, aged 98, Mrs.
Nicholls, relift,of Dr. Frank Nicholls,
mother of John Nicholls, efq. late M. P*
and daughter of the late Dr. Mead.

Near Cadleiffi, Devon, Mr. J. Pearce,
aged 90. In a concealed part of the
houfe were found fix thoufand guineas
and half-guineas, to the joy of his execu¬
tors. He always pleaded want of money.

7. At Allan, Rofsffiire, Mrs. Monro.

8. Was interred, in St. George’s-
chapel, Wind for, in the grave with her
beloved hufband, the hon. Anne Brude-
nell, relift of the hon. colonel Robert
Brudenell, and one of the bedchamber-
women to her majefty.

At Clapham-common, in the 83d
yearof her age, Mrs. Elizabeth Milward,
relift of the late Mr. William Milward.

At her houfe, in Bath, Mrs. Porter
Walch, relift of the late P. Walch, efq.

10. Mrs. Currer, wife of Thomas Cur-
re r, efq. of Ormiilon.

11. In the 67th yearof her age, Mrs,
Jacob, of Chapel-row, Little Chelfea.

12. William Smith, efq. of Bryan*
ftone-ftreet, treafurer of the ordnance*

O'*

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THIS NUMBER CONTAINS, ^

13 Leontes and Eugenius ; or, the Con- ^

trait : a Tale . ‘, . 597 "5f

14 The Moral Zoologift,.. ....... 602 "^F

13 Poetical Essays: — The Shield. *7^

To Mrs. -■■ ■■ -. Rhymes in Praife *
of Rhyme. Addrefs to the Evening- 2k.
Star., The Mendicant. The Adieu,
on leaving the*Country. Acroftic.

The Harmony and Magnificence of O'
the Univerl’e. Paftorai. Odes : *t|
I. To the Mocking-Bird— -II. To a *£k*
Cricket. To a Lady’s favourite Cat. &
Epitaph,.. . ....604 — 608 ,J>

16 Foreign News, . 609

17 Home News...... . 612 ’O'

18 Births, . .615 *$F

19 Marriages, . .....615 ^

20 Deaths...., . 616 2k.

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This Number is embelUJhcd with the following Copper-plates: ^

1 Secander and Nourima ; an Eaftern

Tale,. .563

2 Parifian Falhions, . 565

3 London Falhions,. . . 565

4 Signeand Habor ; a Gothic Romance,

566

5 On the Perfonality of the Deity, .569

6 Virtuous Reign of Balm, Ring of

Delhi, . . . .57^>

7 Licentious and eventful Reign of Kei

Kobad, . 583

8 A Morning’s Walk in November, 586

9 Singular Matrimonial Caufe,. . . . 587
Artifices of the Pfylli, or Serpent-

Eaters of Egypt, . 589

Defcription of Cadiz, . 5 90

Account of the new Mufical Drama —
* The Wife of two Hu{bands,’.-594

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i Secander and Nourima.

2, For the Moral Zoologist — INDIAN SHRIKE.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

4 A new and elegant Pattern for a Gown, Cap, or Apron, &e.

5 MUSIC— A Hint for Britain : the Words and Mafic by W. Barre.

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We fhall be extremely obliged to A. F. for the Novel Hie offers, entitled
1 "he Highland Hermitage : her letter had been overlooked; but an anfvver
has been returned, addreffed as hie requeued.

The Lines written during a Vi (it in the Country are intended for
mferfton. 1 ^ ■

Moral RefleXions on a Morning’s Walk late in OXcber, in our next.

The JSxcurfion to Birchington—D. W.’s Contribution— Ballad, and
0d§ of Anacreon, by J. W. V.— To a Firfl Confui— and f. W.’s Ex-

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- i i

THE

LADY’S magazine,

For NOVEMBER, 1803.

S EC AND ER ,nd NOURIMA;

an eastern taxe,

( With an elegant Engraving.)

rT"' h e reputation of the opulent
merchant Haleb, for integrity
and pfin&uality in his dealings, and
the great wealth he had acquired by
the mod honourable means, was dif-
fufed through the rich province of
Erivan, in which he redded, and
conveyed by the caravans of traffic
to all the great marts of commerce
in the eaft and in the weft. The
bounty of Providence had bedowed
on his probity a reward far greater
than riches, in the domedic happi-
nefs which he enjoyed with his be¬
loved wife, Zeita, and his daughter,
Nourima. Nourima was beauteous
as the rifing morning, and mild and
gentle as the decline of day. Her
filial affedtion was the fpring of all
heradions; and to be certain that
die gave happinefs to her father was
the greated joy die could know.

, Saha!, a brave and fuecefsful ge¬
neral of Almamun, the ea'iiph of
Bagdad, had chanced to have fome
intercourfe with Haleb, for the pur-
chafe of certain valuable commodi¬
ties which the latter had procured
from Jnda. In the courle of this
tranfafrion, it happened that Sahal
accidentally obtained a fight of Non-
rima. Her beauty made an imprei-
fion on him that he had never before
experienced, and his growing pal-
fio ii was dill more excited by the

praifes which, on enquiry, he heard
continually bedowed on her virtue
and her prudence. He avowed to
Haleb the affe&ion he had conceiv¬
ed for his daughter, and folicited her
hand in marriage. The merchant
found no objection to the offer; it
appeared, in fad, highly flattering
to him, for Sahal was in great fa¬
vour with the caliph, and riches and
honours were at his difpofal. Nou¬
rima, at her fird interview with
him, was as much prepofiefled in
his favour for his perfonal qualities,
as her father had been from ma¬
ture confideration of the advantages
which might be expected from fuch
an union.

At the moment when the confent
of Haleb and his daughter was ob¬
tained, and preparations were mak¬
ing for the intended marriage, Sahal
received a mefiage from court, re¬
quiring his immediate attendance on
the caliph, to give his advice on
certain affairs of the utmod emer¬
gency. Sahal indantly hadened to
Bagdad, lea'^ng his friend and coi»-
fident, Secander, to condu6t Nou-
rima, by eafy journeys, to the ca¬
pital, where he propofed to celebrate
his nuptials with a fplendor fuitable
to his rank. ,

Secander was a brave officer, who
had owed his promotion in tht ar-
4 C %

J.64 Seconder and Nourima ; an Eq/fern Tale .

mies of the caliph to the patron¬
age 'and recommendation of Saha!,
whofe life he had laved in battle.
The gratitude of Sahal appeared to
know no bounds, and on all ocra-
fions he conferred on Secander
every favour it was in hk power to
bellow; and the fidelity of Secan¬
der to his benefactor had ever been
found by Sahal to equal his own ge-
nerofity. He pofiefled an excellent
underflanding, and had conflantly
manifefted a high fenfe of honour,
and the ftribteft integrity.

But the charms of Nourima,
whom Secander, in confeqnence of
the truft repofed in him, had fre¬
quent- opportunities of beholding,
inflamed his paffions, and over¬
powered his reafon. Unmindful at
once of honour, gratitude, and
fsiendfhip, he revolved in his mind
bv what means he might gratify his
wild defires ; and, when they had
proceeded to a confiderable diftance
from the refidence of Haleb, on their
journey towards Bagdad, he con¬
trived to lead Nourima into a foii-
tary place, at a diftance from the
reft of the efcort and attendants,
where, in language bordering on
infanity, be difclofed to her his
frantic paftion:—4 Forget Sahal,’ faid
he, ‘and let me fucceed him in vour
heart. There is a rebellion againft
the caliph, io formidable that it
muft overturn his throne. Fly with
me — 1 (hall be received with open
arms by the infur gents — they (hall
owe vidtorv to me-— all the honours
of the empire will be at my dif-
poial, and you fhall {hare my for¬
tune.’

Nourima replied, with indignant
fcorrt, 4 Though I were as certain
of obtaining all the power and ho¬
nours you fo abfurdly offer me, as
lam convinced that what vou fay is
falfe, I would preierve my fide¬
lity to Sahal, by whom you have
*■ Io perfidioufly abfed : [ would pre¬
fer beggary, or even chains and

death, with him, to a throne with
you.’

4 Go with me,* exclaimed he,
fiercely, and drawing a dagger,
while his eyes flafhed with ungo¬
vernable frenzy, ‘ go with me, or
thou died!’

The beauteous Nourima, fenfible
that no deliverer was near, fainted
and fank, deprived of fenfe and mo¬
tion, at his feet.

A.t the fame moment, a dreadful
bur it of thunder fetmed to rend the
elements, and a refplendent form,
bright as the meridian fun* appear¬
ed to the eyes of the jaftoniftied Se¬
cander.

‘ Erring mortal,’ faid the genius,

4 adore the mercies of Heaven. Be-
caufe thy former life has been vir¬
tuous and juft, I am fent to rebuke
and reftrain thy madnefs, now that
the powers of evil have gained an
afeendency over thee. Precipitate
not thyfclf into irretrievable mifery
for the gratification of a bafe and
wretched paftion. IXecollebl how
much you are indebted to your he-
nefablor, and the praifes which
have hitherto been univerfally be¬
llowed on your gratitude and fide¬
lity. Beftebt with horiGt on the
crime you are about to commit,
and deftft, — and repent ere it be too
late.’

The genius difappeared ; and Se¬
cander, overwhelmed with aftonilh-
ment and contrition, railed and re¬
covered the terrified and diftreft’ed
Nourima. In ft fence he con* ^fled
her fafely to Sahal, to whom he.
confefted the bafe purpofe he had
entertained, and related all that had
happened. 4 I come,’ faid he, 4 to
offer you my life, as an atonement
for my folly and crime. Take it — •

I fhall willingly rdign it — X have-
defer wed to die.’

Sahal liftened to his narrative
with the greateft emotion, and ex¬
treme aftoniftiment.— —When he
had Sufficiently recovered bimfelf

565

Pariftan Fajhions.

to ipeak, he anfwered : — ‘ We are
ail liable to folly, and all may incur
guilt. Can I condemn where Hea¬
ven has more than pardoned, by
preventing the crime? Live, Se-
cander, and let the generous a£ls of
your life furpafs, if poflible, thofe
you have already performed, and
thus efface the memory of your hav¬
ing once for a moment (frayed from
the path of honour and virtue.’

Sahal and Nourima were mar¬
ried, and paffed the remainder of
their lives in that happinefs which
mutual affection beftows. Sahal,
foon after his marriage, headed the
troops of the caliph againft a nu¬
merous body of rebels, whom he
completely defeated, and returned
home crowned with victory and
glory. In this expedition Secander
again fought by his fide, and again
prefer ved his life, but with the lofs
of his own. He fell, and his death
proved the fincerity of his repent¬
ance, and atoned for the crime, he
had meditated in the frenzy of paf-
fion.

, PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( With an Engraving, elegant ly coloured, )

Ctraw hats trimmed, as in the
^ plate , are Hill much worn with an
undiefs. Under the white ftraw
hat a fmall cap is ufually feen. The
ribands now in vogue are of taffetv,
of five or fix colours, both fpotted
and ftriped. We fee fome hats made
entirely of thefe ribands.

Ilead-drefles in hair are at prefent
the only ones for a full drefs : they
are ufually ornamented with pearls,
or a comb enriched with engraved
Hones. The flower of the moment
is the rofe-coloured poppy, of which
are formed diadems. — The fichus
eroded over the bofom are alrnoft
general. They are worn of filk, of

— London Fajhions .

different reds, and with a worked
border of a ftrong bright colour.

The robes are either of black
crape, which is common, or, in full
drefs, of amaranth-crape, fpangled
with golden flars. Rofe-colonr is
at prefent a very fafliionable colour ;
amaranth and lilac are likewife fa-
fhionable colours. For the Cafhmire
fhawls, amaranth and jonquil are
the prevailing colours.

The bags called ridicules are very
plain, and become rare. Even in
an undrefs, a handkerchief muft
fupply the place of the bag. In one
corner the money is put, and a knot
made; the other corner is paffed
through the ring of the keys, and
another knot made. This is incon¬
venient, but fuch is the dictate of
fafhion.

LONDON FASFIIONS. v

Full and Walking Drefs.

REfs of plain or fprigged muflin,
the front quite plain and drawn
round the bofom, the fleeves fhort
with alternate ftripes of lace and
muflin, the train very long and
trimmed round with vandvke. A
round turban of white fatin, orna¬
mented with white oftrich feathers.
Swanfdown tippet.

A fhort round drefs of cambric
muflin. A pelice of green velvet,
trimmed all round with black lace.
A bonnet of the fame, with a green
oftrich feather.

Promenade Dreffies.

Plain drefs of white or coloured
muflin, with long fleeves. A cloak
of blue velvet, lined with yellow
filk, and trimmed all round with
deep black lace. A bonnet of blue
velvet, covered with lace.

A fhort walking drefs of thick
muflin. A military fpencer of pur¬
ple velvet, trimmed with filk oil'd.

566

Signe and Habor ;

Purple velvet bonnet, ornamented
with a w hite oftrich feather.

Head Dreffs.

A cap of fpngged muflin, with a
piece of deep lace let in round the
front; a, deep lace border, n

A clofe mofniiig’borinet of black
or coloured velvet,

A cap of white lace, with a bow
of narrow white riband on the right
fide.

A hat of black velvet, the crown
fiat, with a twill of velvet and filk
cord round ft, the front turned up
and ornamented with black feathers.

A turban of white fatin and crape;
white ofbich feathers.

The military or helmet hat, made
of willow or catgut, with a military
feather over the crown.

A green velvet bonnet, the crown
full, the front final! and turned up;
a white oftrich feather in front.

A hat of white fatin, quilted all
over to form diamonds ; a white
feather/

General Qhfervati'ons,

Cloaks have now wholly difap-
peared, and given place to fpencers
of evefy defcription, but the moft
fafhionable is the military fpencer
made of velvet ; a few pelices have
like wife appeared. Long fleeves of
white fatin, embroidered or fpangled,
or of white lace, are much worn in
full dreis. The moll favourite co¬
lours are blue, pink, green, purple,’
and yellow.

SIGNE and HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.

(Continued from p. $12 >.)

Habor, as foon as he had com¬
mitted to the earth the remains
of his father and his brother, fet fail
for Zealand, where his fliip arrived
before the reft of the fleet, and he

a Gothic Romance «

immediately landed, with only three
attendants. As he rightly judged
that Hildegifle had already brought
to Sigarftadt intelligence of what
had happened, and perhaps a partial
or falfe account, he refolved to dif-
guife himfelf, that he might not be
expofed to any unneceflary danger,
and yet enjoy the pleasure of em-'
bracing his Signe, declaring to heg
the truth, and conferring with her
on the manner in which he ought to
a6L He, therefore, when he ap¬
proached the royal reftdence of Si-
gar, aflumed the habit of the Skiojd-
moer * *, as did alfo Abound, ^nri his
two other companions. Impelled by-
love, he foon arrived at the gates of
Sigarftadt, where, when queftio-ned
by the fentinels, he anfwered 4 I
am a Skioldmoer, fent by Hakon,
and bring good tidings from him,
and from Alger and Belvife.,—r 4 Go
then,’ faid the fentinel, ‘ to the
apartments of Signe; fhe receives
with kindnefs and Lofpftably enter-
tai ns* all fuch brave maidens.’

Habor entered the chamber of
Signe at the moment fhe reclined
her head on the bofom of Svanhild,
and ftood locked in her embrace.
By the glimmering of a feeble lamp
he viewed, motionlefs with joy, the
object of his ardent affection. Signe
raided her head ; her countenance
exprefled a noble forrow ; her gold¬
en locks floated around her neck in
pleading- diforder, for the veil which
had covered them had fallen, and
her dhow-white robe difplayed the
elegant proportion of her beauteous
perlon. Habor, to difguide himfelf,
had tinged his hair and eye- brows
black ; but what can elude the eagle-
eye of love? In an inftant the lire
of joy and hope fparkled in the eyes
of Signe, and crimfoned her cheeks. 1

She threw herfelf into the arms of

- < — - . . . “*

* Warlike maidens, attendants at the
courts of the ancient northern heroes, who
bore ihields, and arms, followed the armies,
and occafionally carried difpatehes as couriers.

587

Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance,

Habor, and embraced him as clofely
as the ivy clafps the oak—4 Habor!’
fhe exclaimed — 'Signe!’anfweredhe:

more could neither utter. They

flood motionlefs, like marble fta-

tues. Attentive only to each qther,

the reft of the world difappeared to

their eyes. Overpowered, at length,

by her tumultuous legations, Sftgne -

fank and fainted ; aqd with difficulty

was reftored to perceptihn by the

affe<ftionate attention of Svanhild.

* -

Then were again repeated the ardent
embraces of the happy lovers; till,
at length, thefe extreme emqtions
fubliding, memory and reafon re¬
lumed their fway. Signe replaced
her veil ; and Habor recollected that
his three companions (till flood with¬
out. They were immediately intro¬
duced ; and when their feet had been
wafhed, and they had taken refrefh-
menr, they were conduced to the
apartments in which they were to
repofe. Gunvor wafhed the feet
and hands of Habor, and was fur-
prifed to find them fo rough and
hard. Habor obferved to her, that
Hakon fpared his fhield-'bearing
maidens as little as his warriors ;
and that he required they Ihould
follow him wherever he went. This
only increafed the fufpicion of Gun¬
vor, which was ftill more confirmed
by the voice of Habor. — 4 You are
not a woman,’ faid fhe to herfelf;
and at the fame moment, cafting a
glance at Signe, as fhe looked on
Habor, file perceived her eyes
fparkle with joy. Immediately fhe
turned to Habor, and faw in his
countenance a correfponding ex-
prellion of pleafure.— Jr is Habor !’
inftantly thought fhe. She afked
Signe where the llranger fliould
pafs the night. — 4 In the chamber
adjoining to mine,’ anfwered Signe.

Habor now arofe and walked ;
and Gunvor then recognifed him
perfectly. — 4 Gold,’ faid ffie to her¬
felf, 4 muft be the ruvvard of this

difcovery and her countenance
brightened with a bafe and felfifh
joy.

She now went to Svanhild, and,
exulting in her penetration, could
not refrain from intimating what
fhe had obferved. — 4 This woman,’
faid Ihe, ‘ is very mafculine. I could
almoft fnfpeCt her to be a man in
female attire.’

Svanhild could no longer pre¬
serve her ufual mildnefs, for file
alarmed at the danger which leenxed
to menace her friend: — 4 Make no
obfe( vat ions, Gunvor,’ faid Ihe, 4 on
things which do not concern you,
but filently obey the commands you
receive.’

4 This unufual haugbtinefs,’ faid
Gunvor to herfelf, 4 fhali coft thee
dear. I fhali foon enjoy the plea fine
of revenge. ’ — She/ however, affiun-
ed the appearance of complacency
and fatisfaCtion both towards Svan¬
hild and Signe. She took the fhield
and fword of, Habor — v I will re¬
move 'thefe,’ faid (lie, 4 into the cl of etj
they are too heavy for you to carry
about continually. ’ Signe and Ha-
bordid not attempt to prevent her,
for they had full confidence in her.

Gunvor now left them, Svanhild
went into the adjoining chamber,
and the two lovers remained alone.
Signe then related to Habor aiJ that
had occurred.

4 Do you believe me guilty?’ faid
he.

4 No, Habor,’ replied lire, 4 my
heart tells me that thou art innocent.
He whom I love cannot a£l balCv
and unworthily of himfelf and me?

Habor then gave a true and c?r-
cumftantiai relation of the mourn:..!
events that had happened.

4 A If fought hib own death,’ faid
Signe; 4 but thy life, brave hero, is
in danger.’

4 My life! let it be fo ! But,’
faid he, throwing his arms affection¬
ately round her, 4 if I lofe it, if I

56 8

Signs and Habor ; a

become the vi£!im of Bern’s impla¬
cable r age and cruel revenge, what
will then my Signe do V

* Die, die with thee ; thou art
my life, thy death is my death.
Pleafure would it be to me to live
with thee in a defert; pleafure will
it be to die with thee. Together
will we pafs the threlhold of Val¬
halla; our love fhall be renewed in
the hall of Freya. I call ye to wit-
nefs my vow, ye awful goddefles of
death, who dwell in the regions be¬
neath : — The moment which ends
the life of Habor fhall alfo end
mine V

She threw her arms around his
neck, while her attitude and her
eyes fpoke {fill more expreffively
than her lips. Habor embraced her
with his nervous, arm ; he pretfed
her to his bofom with all his force,
and Signe felt it not.- — 4 G, celeflial
love! divine conftancy !’ exclaimed
he : * pleafure wili it be to die — to die
with thee!— but greater pleafure is it
thus to gaze upon thee.’ — Tears
gufhed from his eyes, mingled tears
of joy and forrow ; — and Signe
drank them in. Tears like wife
Signe fhed, and Habor drank them
in. Long they remained filent ; at
length, Signe laid ;

‘ Should!! thou, in whom alone I
live, be condemned to death, the
cruel fentence will be immediately
executed ; and how fhall l know the
hour ?’ '

* I will diredl Afmund, my faith¬
ful Afmund,’ faid Habor, * to con¬
ceal himfelf in the grove, near the
place of judgment: and, if I am
condemned, he fhall difplay the fa¬
tal enfign, the red banner, within
view of your apartment/

Immediately Habor flarted up,

Gothic Romance ,

and went to awaken Afmund ; but
he found him ffill awake.

‘Why canfl thou not fleep, faith¬
ful Afmund?’ faid Habor.

‘ The danger of my friend,’ an-
fwered Afmund, 4 diflurbs my mind,
and difpels fleep.’

‘ And dof! thou not think of thy
own danger?’

‘ I heed not my own \\h ; my
friend alone occupies my thoughts.

Habor then told him what had
been agreed on between him and
Signe. Afmund immediately rofe,
and went out to conceal himfelf in
the grove, to wait and obferve the
event.

Habor then returned to Signe.,
‘ My heart,’ faid (he, 4 is exceed¬
ingly heavy : Heaven grant that
nothing worfe than death, may await
us.’

4 What can you mean ?’ faid Ha¬
bor.

4 That we may be feparated, and
yet live.’

4 Dearef! Signe, fhould we evem
be fo feparated that no hope fhalT
remain of our meeting again, death
is every-where to be found.’

4 Death, indeed, is every where
to be found ; and who fhall pre-;
vent our meeting in the hall of
Freya?’

4 But, dearef! Signe ! fhould we
be furprifed here with each other,,
will not the cenforious world con¬
demn us ? — Night, love, no wit-,
nefs — ’

4 Bolvife, at leaf!, will, no doubt,
fo judge ; but I am already thy
wife: my heart is thine.’

c The purity of our love, w«
mufi, however, remember, cannot
be conceived by the multitude.’

(Tp be concluded in 0117 next.)

569

On the Perfonality of the Deity.

On the Personality of the Deity.

[From Patey’s i Natural ‘Theology

'TTie great energies of nature are
A known to us only by their ef¬
fects The substances which produce
them are as much concealed from
our senses as the divine essence itself.
'Grhvitutum, though constantly pre¬
sent, though constantly exerting its
influence, through every where
around us, near us, and within us ;
though di fused throughout all space,
and penetrating the texture of all
bodies with which we are ac¬
quainted, depends, if upon a fluid,
upon a fluid, which, though both
powerful and universal in its opera¬
tion, is no object- of sense to us ; if
upon any other kind of substance
or action, upon a substance and
action from which we receive no
distinguishable impressions. Is it
then to be wondered at, that it
should, in some measure, be the
same with the divine nature ?

Of this however we are certain,
that, whatever the Deity be, neither
the universe , nor any part of it
which we see, can be he. The
universe itself is merely a collective
name : its parts are all which are
real ; or which are things . Now
inert matter is out of the question ;
and organized substances include
marks of contrivance. But what¬
ever includes marks of contrivance,
whatever, in its constitution, testifies
design, necessarily carries us to
something beyond itself, to some
other being, to a designer prior to,
and out of, itself. No animal, for
instance, can have contrived its own
limbs and senses ; can have been
the author to itself of the design
with which they were constructed.
That supposition involves all the
absurdity of self-creation, i. e. of
acting without existing. Nothing
can he God which is ordered by a
feisdom and a will, which itself is
Vo*. XXXIV. ‘

void of ; which is indebted for any
of its properties to contrivance ah
extra. The not having that in his
nature which requires the exertion
of another prior being (which pro¬
perty is sometimes called self-suffi¬
ciency, and sometimes self-compre¬
hension), appertains to the Deity,
as liis e-senlial distinction, and re¬
moves his nature from that of all
things which we see. Which con¬
sideration contains the answer to a
question that has sometimes been
asked, namely. Why, since some¬
thing or other must have existed
from eternity, may not the present
universe be that something ? The
contrivance, perceived in it, proves
that to be impossible. Nothing
contrived can, in a strict and proper
sense, be eternal, forasmuch as the
contriver must have existed before
the contrivance.

Wherever we see marks of con^
trivance, we are led for its cause to
an intelligent author. And this
transition of the understanding is
founded upon uniform experience.
We see intelligence constantly con¬
triving, that Is, we see intelligence
constantly producing effects, marked
and distinguished by certain pro¬
perties ; not certain particular pro¬
perties, but by a kind and class of
properties, such as relation to an
end, relation of parts to one another,
and to a common purpose. We
see, wherever we are witnesses to
the actual formation of things,
nothing except intelligence pro¬
ducing effects so marked and distin¬
guished. Furnished with this ex¬
perience, we view the productions
of nature. We observe them also
marked and distinguished in the
same manner. We wish to account
for their origin. Our experience
suggests a cause perfectly adequate
to this account. No experience, no
single instance or example, can be
offered in favour of any other. In
this cause therefore we ought t€
4 9

57® Om the Perf Quality of the Deify*

jest : in tins cause the common
sense of mankind has in fact rested,
because it agrees with that, which,
in all cases, is the foundation of
knowledge, the undeviating course
of their experience. The reasoning
is the s-ame as that by which we
conclude any antient appearances to
have been the effects of volcanos or
inundations; namely, because they
resemble the effects which tire and
water produce before our eyes ; and
because we 'have never known these
effects to result from any other
operation. And this reserpblance
may ' subsist in so many circum¬
stances as not to leave us under the
smallest doubt in forming our opi¬
nion. Men are not deceived by. this
reasoning; for whenever it happens,
Sts it sometimes, does happen, that
the truth conies to be known by
direct information, it turns out to
be what was expected. In like
manner, and upon the same founda¬
tion (which in. truth is that of ex¬
perience), we conclude that the
works of nature proceed from intel¬
ligence and design, because, in the
properties of relation to a purpose,
subserviency to an use, they re¬
semble what intelligence and design
are constantly producing, and what
nothing except intelligence and de¬
sign ever produce at all. Of every
argument which would raise a
question as to the safety of this rea¬
soning, it may be observed, that if
such argument be listened to, it
leads to the inference, not only that
the present order of nature is in¬
sufficient to prove the existence of
an intelligent Creator, but that no
imaginable order would be sufficient
to prove it ; that no contrivance,
were it ever so mechanical, ever so
precise, ever so clear, ever so per¬
fectly like those which we ourselves
employ, would support this conclu¬
sion. A doctrine, to which, I con¬
cern , no sound mind can assent.

The force however of the rea¬

soning if? sometimes sunk "by our
taking up with mere names. We
have already noticed, and we must
here notice again, the misapplication
of the tarai e law/ and the mistake
concerning the idea which that term
expreffes in phyfics, whenever luch
idea is made to take the place of
power, and (fill more of an Intel¬
ligent power, and, as fuch, to be
affigned for the caufe of any thing,
or of any property of any things,
that exifts. This is what we are
fecretly apt to do when v/e fpeak of
organised bodies (plants, for inftance,
or animals), owing their production,
their form, their growth^ their qua¬
lities, their beauty, their ufe, to any
law or laws of nature : and when
we are contented to fit down with
that aniwer to our enquiries con¬
cerning them. 1 fay once more,
that it is a perverfion of language
to affign any law, as the efficient,
operative, caufe of any thing. A
law prefuppofes an agent, for it is
only the mode according to which
an agent proceeds 5 it implies a
power, for it is the order according
to which that power a£!s. Without
this agent, without this power,
which, are both diftindt from itfelf,
the law® does nothing 5 is nothing.
What has been (aid concerning
f law./ holds true of mechanifm .
Mechanifm is not itfelf power.
Mechanifm, without power, can do
nothing. Let a watch be con*?
trived and conftrudted ever fo inge-
niouffy ; be its parts ever fo many,
ever fo complicated, ever fo finely
wrought or artificially put together,
it cannot go without a weight or
fpring, i. e. without a force inde¬
pendent of, and ulterior to, its me¬
chanifm. The fpring adling at the
centre will produce different motions
and different refults, according to
the variety of the intermediate me-
ehanifm. One and the felf-fame
fpring, adfing in one and the fame
manner, viz. by limply expanding

On the Pcrf&mliiy of the Ddtp

ttfelf, may be the eaufe of a
hundred different and all ufeful
movements, if a hundred differ¬
ent and well-devifed fets of wheels
be placed between it and the final
effect, e. g. may point out the, hour
of the day* the day of the mon;b,
the age of the moon, the pofxXion
of the planets* the cycle of the years,
and many other ferviceable notices ;
and thefe movements may fulfil
their purpofes with more or lels per¬
fection, according as the mechanifm
is better or worfe contrived, or bet¬
ter or worfe executed, or in a better
or worfe date of repair : but in all
eafes, it is nece{jary that the Spring
act at the centre > The courle of
our realbnirig upon fuch a lubjedt
would be this. By infpedt’mg the
watch, even when {landing ftiil,
we get a proof of contrivance, and
of a contriving mind, having been
employed about it. In the form and
obvious relation of its parts we fel
enough to convince us of this. If
we pull the works in pieces, for the
purpole of a clofer examination, we
are ftiil more fully convinced. But,
when we fee the watch going, we fee
proof of another point, viz. that there
is a power fomewhere, and fomehow
or other, applied to it ; a power in
aft ion ; that there is more in the
fubjeft: than the mere wheels of the
machine ; that there is a fecret
fpring or a gravitating plummet ;
in a word, that there is force and
energy, as well as mechanifm.

So then,' the watch in motion
eftablifhes to the obferver two con-
clufions : one; that thought, con¬
trivance, and dehgn, have been
employed in the forming, propor¬
tioning, and arranging of its parts ;
and that, whoever or wherever he be,
or were, fuch a contriver there is;
or was: the other; that force or
power, diftinCt from mechanifm, is,
at this prelent time, acting upon it.
If I law a hand-mill ?veh at reft, I
ffiould fee contrivance ; but, if I

571

faw it grinding, J fhould be affUre d
that a hand was at the vvindlafs,
though in another room. It is the
fame in nature* In the works of
nature we trace mechanifm ; and
this alone proves contrivance : but
living, aftive, moving, productive
nature, proves alfo the exertion of
a power at the centre ; for, where-
ever the power refkies may be de~
nominated the centre.

The intervention and difpojfi-
tion of what are called 4 Jemmf
caufes* fall under the fame observ¬
ation. This dffpofffcioo is or is not
mechanifm, according as we can or
cannot trace it. by our fenfes, and
means of examination. That is all
the difference there is ; and it is a
difference which refoefts our facul-
ties, not the things themfelves. Now
where the order of fecund caufes is
mechanical, what is here faid of
mechanifm briefly applies to it.
But it would be always mechanifm
(natural chemiftrv, for in fiance,
would be mechanifm) if our fenfes
were acute enough to d.efcry it.
Neither mechanifm, therefore, in
the works of nature, nor the inter¬
vention of what are called fecond
caufes (for I think that they are the
fame thing), excufes the neceiiity
of an agent diftinftfrom both.

If, in tracing thefe caufes, it be
faid, that we find certain general
properties of matter, which have
nothing in them that hefpeaks in¬
telligence, I anfwer, that, ftiil the
managing of thele properties, the
pointing and directing them to the
ufes which we fee made of them,
demands intelligence in the higheft
degree. For example, fnppofe ani¬
mal fecrebons to be elective attrac¬
tions, and that fuch and fuch attrac¬
tions univerfaily belong to fuch and
fuch fubitances; in ali which there
is no intelledt concerned ; ftiil the
choice and collocation of thefe lub-
ftances, the fixing upon right fub-
ftanccs, and dffpofing them in right,

4 D Z

5 72

On the Ferfonality of the Deity.

places, mud be an a<5b of intelligence.
What mifchief would follow, were
there a fingle tranfpoft ion of the
iecretory organs ; a fingle miftake
in arranging the glands, which com-
pofe them ?

There may be many fecond
caufes, and many courfes of fecond
caufes, one behind another, between
what we obferve of nature and the
Deity; but there mult be intelli¬
gence fome where ; there mu ft be
more in nature than what we fee ;
and,amongft the things unfeen, there
muft be an intelligent, defigning,
author. The philoiopher beholds
with aftoniftiment the production of
things around him. Unconfcious
particles of matter take their fta-
tions, and feverally range rhem-
felves in an order, fo as to become
collectively plants or animals, i. e.
organized bodies, with parts bearing
ftriCt and evident relation to one an¬
other, and to the utility of the whole :
and it fhould feem that thel'e par¬
ticles could not move in any other
way than as they do; for they teftify
not the fmalieft fign of choice, or
liberty, or diferetion. There may be
particular intelligent beings, guiding
thefe motions in each cafe ; or they
may be the refult of trains of me¬
chanical difpoiitions, fixed before¬
hand by an intelligent appoint¬
ment, and kept in aCtion by a power
at the centre. But, in either cafe,
there muft be intelligence.

The minds of mod men are
fond’ of what they call a principle ,
and of the appearance of iimplicity,
in accounting for phenomena. Yet
this principle, this fimplicity, re-
fides merely in the name ; which
name, after all, comprifes, perhaps,
under it a diverfified, multifarious,
or progreflive operation, diftinguifh-
able into parts. The power in or¬
ganized bodies of producing bodies
like themfelves, is one of thefe prin¬
ciples. Give a philoiopher this,
and he can get on. But he doeg

not refleCt what this principle (if
fuch hechoofe to call it), what this
mode of production, requires ; how
much it prefuppofes ; what an ap¬
paratus of inftruments fome of
which are ftriCtly mechanical, is
ncceilary to its fuccefs ; what a
train it includes of operations and
changes, one fucceeding another,
one related to another, one minifter-
ing to another ; all advancing, by
intermediate, and, frequently, by
fenfible fteps, to their ultimate re¬
fult. Yet, becaufe the whole of this
complicated aCtion is wrapped up in
a fingle term, generation, we are to
fet it down as an elementary prin¬
ciple ; and to fuppofe, that, when
we have refblved the things which
we fee into this principle, we have
lufficiently accounted lor their origin,
without the necelhty of a defigning,
intelligent, Creator. The truth. is,
generation is not a principle but a
procefs. We might as well call the
calling of metals a principle : we
might, fo far as appears, to me, as
well call fpinning and weaving prin¬
ciples : and then, referring the tex¬
ture of cloths, the fabric of muffins
and calicoes, the patterns of diapers
and clamafks, to thele as principles,
pretend to difpenfe with intention,
thought, and contrivance, on the
part of the artift ; or to difpenfe,
indeed, with the neceffity of any
artift at all, -either in the manufac¬
tory of the article, or in the fabrica¬
tion of the machinery by which the
m anu factory was carried on.

And, after all, how, or in what
fenfe, is it true, that animals pro¬
duce their like ? A butterfly, with a
probofeis infiead of a mouth, with
four wings and fix legs, produces a
hairy caterpillar, with jaws and
teeth, and fourteen feet. A frog
produces a tadpole. A black beetle,
with gauze wings and a crafty co¬
vering, produces a white, frnooth,
foft, .worm ; an ephemeron fly, a
cod-bait maggot. Thefe, by a pro-

57$

On the Perfonality of the Deity •

grefs through different ftages of life,
and action, and enjoyment, (and, in
each date, provided with imple¬
ments and organs appropriated to
the temporary nature which they
bear. • arrive at lall at the form and
fafhion of the parent anmial. But
all this is procefs, not principle ;
and proves, moreover, that the pro¬
perty of animated bodies of pro¬
ducing their like belongs to them,
not as a primordial property, not by
any blind necellity in the nature of
things, but as the effeCt of (econo¬
my, wifdom, and defign ; becaufe
the property itfelf affumes diverf-
ties, and lubmits to deviations, dic¬
tated by intelligible utilities, and
ferving diilinhl purpofes of animal
happinefs

The opinion which would Con-
fider f generation’ as a principle in
natiuey and which would aiiign this
principle as the caufe, or endeavour
to fatisiy our minds with fuch a
caufe, of the exiftence of organized
bodies, is confuted, in my judgment,
not only by every mark of con¬
trivance difcoverable in thole bodies,
for which it gives us no contriver,
offers no account, whatever ; but alfo
by the further consideration, that
things generated potfefs a clear rela-.
tion to things not generated. It it
were merely one part of a generated
body bearing a relation to another part
of the fame body, as the mouth of an
animal to the throat, the throat to the
ftomach, the ltomach totheintelfines,
thole to the recruiting of the blood,
and, by means of the blood, to the
nourilhment of the whole frame : or
if it were only one generated body
bearing a relation to another gener¬
ated body, as the fexes of the fame
fpecies to each -other, animals of
prey to their prey, herbivorous and
granivorous animals to the plants or
feeds upon which they feed, it might
be contended, that the whole of this
correl'pondency was attributable to
generation, the common origin from

which thefe fubftances proceeded.
But what fhall we fay to agreements
which exift between things generated
and things not generated $ Can it be
doubted, was it ever doubted, but
that the l-iiqgs of animals bear a re-4
lation to the dir , as a permanently
elaftic fluid ? They a<5t in it and by
it: they cannot adt without it. Now,
if generation produced the animal,
it did not produce the air ; yet their
properties correlpond. The eye is
made for light, and light for the eye.
I he eye would be of no ufe without
light, and light perhaps of little
without eyes : yet one is produced
by generation ; the other not. The
ear depends upon 'undulations of air.
Here are two lets of motions; firlt,
of the pulfes of the air ; fecondly,
of the drum, bones, and nerves of
the ear; lets of motions bearing an.
evident reference to each other : yet
the one, and the apparatus for the
one, produced by the intervention of
generation ; the other altogether in¬
dependent of it.

If it be laid, that the air, the
light, the elements, the world itfelf,
is generated ; I anfwer, that I do not
comprehend the proportion. If the
term mean any thing Similar to
what it means when applied to
pi ants or animals, the' proportion
is certainly without proof ; and, I
think, draws as near to abfurdity
as any proportion can do, which
does not include a contradiction in
its terms. I am at a lots to con¬
ceive, how the formation of the
world can be compared to the ge¬
neration of an animal. If the term
generation fignify fomething quite
different from what it rgniffes upon
ordinary occafions, it may, by the
fame latitude, fignify any thing. In
which cafe a word or phrale taken
from the language of Otaheite,
would convey as much theory concern¬
ing the origin of the univerfe as it
does to talk of its being generated.

We know a caufe (intelligence)

On the Personality of the Deity,

LW t

£7+

adequate to the appearances which
we with to account for : we have
this eaufe continually producing
jam liar appearances : yet, rejecting
this eaufe, the fufficiency of which
we know, and the aft ion of which
is con flan tly bhfore our eyes, we are
invited to refort to fuppofitions, de-
ftitute of a fingle faft for their fup-
porfe, and confirmed by no analogy
with which we are acquainted. Were
it neceflary to enquire into the mo-
gives of men’s opinions, I mean their
motives feparate from their argu¬
ments, I fhould aim oft fufpeft, that,
t>ecaufe the proof of a Deity drawn
from the conftitution of nature is
sot only popular but vulgar (which
may ariie from the cogency of the
proof, and he indeed its higheft re¬
commendation), and becaufe it is a
fpecies aim oft o (puerility to take up
with it, for thefe reafons, minds,
which are habitually in fearch of
invention and originality, feel a re-
fiftrlefs inclination to ftrike off into
ether folutions and other expolitions.
The truth is, that many minds are
mot fo indifpofed to any thing which
can be ottered to them as they are
to the fiatnefs of being content with
common reafons ; and, what is molt
to be lamented, minds confcious of
Superiority are the moft liable to this
uepugnancy.

The * fuppofrtions’ here allud¬
ed to all agree in one charafter.
They all endeavour to difpenfe with
the neceffity in nature of a particular,
perfonal, intelligence ; that is to fay,
with the exertion of an intending,
contriving mind, in the ftrudture
aud formation of the organized con-
flitutions which the world contains.
They would refolve ftl produftions
into unconjcious energies, of a like
kind, in that refpeft, with attrac¬
tion, magnetifm, eleftricity, &c. 5.
without dny thing further.

In this the old fyftems of atheifm
and the new agree. And I much
doubt, whether the new fchemes

have advanced any thing upon th&
old, or done more than changed the
terms of the nomenclature. For
inftance, I could never fee the dif¬
ference between the antiquated fy-
ftem of atoms, and Button's organic-
molecules. This philofopher. hav¬
ing made a planet by knocking off
from the fun a piece of melted glafiq
in confluence of the ftroke of a
comet ; and having fet it in motion,
by the fame ftroke, both round its
own axis and the fun 5 finds his next
difficulty to be, bow to bring plants
and animals upon it. In order to
folve this difficulty, we are to fup-
pofe the univerfe replenished with
particles, endowed with life, but
without organization or fenfes of
their own ; and endowed alio with
a tendency to marffial themfelves
into organized forms. The con-
courfe of tftefe particles, by virtue
of this tendency, but without intel¬
ligence, will, or direftion, (for I do
not find that any of thefe qualities
are aferibed to them,) has produced
the living forms which we now lee.

Very few of the conjectures,
which philofophers hazard upon
thefe fiibjefts, have more of pre¬
tention in them, than the challeng¬
ing you to fhew the direft impoffi-
bility of the hypothecs. In the pre¬
fen t example, there feemed to be a
pofitive object ion to the whole fcherne-
upon the very face of it 1 which was,
that, if the cafe were as here repre-
fented, new combinations ought to
he perpetually taking place ; new
plants and animals, or organized
bodies which were neither, ought to
he ftarting up before our eyes every
day. For this, however, our philo¬
fopher has an anfwer. Whilft fo
many forms of plants and animals
are already in exiftence, and, confe-
quently, fo many f internal molds/
as he calls them, are prepared and
at hand, the organic particles run
into thefe molds, and are employed
in fupplying an aeceffioc of fu3*»

On the PerfonaUfy of the Deity.

575

ftxnce to them, as well for their
growth as for their propagation.
By which means things keep their
ancient courfe. But, lays the fame
phiiofopher, fhould any general lofs
or deftruftion of the prefent con-
ftitutiori of organized bodies take
place, the particles, for want of
4 molds1 into which they might
enter, would run into different com¬
binations, and replenifh the wafte
with new fpecies of organized fub-
liances.

Is there any hiftory to coun¬
tenance this notion ? Is it known,
that any deffruftion has been fo re¬
paired ? any defert thus re-peopled ?

So far as I remember, the only
natural appearance mentioned by
our author, by way of fa<5t whereon
to build his hypothecs, the only
fupport on which it reds, is the
formation of worms in the inte¬
stines of animals, which is here
aferibed to the coalition of fuper-
ahundant organic particles, floating
about in the firft p adages ; and
which have combined themlelves
into thefe fimple animal forms, for
want of internal molds, or of vacan¬
cies in thole molds, into which they
might be received. The thing re¬
ferred to is rather a fpecies of faffs,
than a tingle fact ; as fome other
cafes may, with equal reafon, be
included under it. But to make it
a faCl at all, or, in any fort, appli¬
cable to the quefiion, we mull begin
with afferting an equivocal genera¬
tion contrary to analogy, and
without neceffity : contrary to an
analogy, which accompanies us to,
the very limits of our knowledge or
enquiries ; for wherever, either in
plants or animals, we are able to
examine the fubjeCf, we find pro¬
creation from a parent form : with¬
out neceffity, for I apprehend that
it is feldom difficult to fugged: me¬
thods, by which the eggs, or l'pawn,
or yet invifible rudiments, of thefe
yermin, may have obtained a paffage

into the cavities in which they are
found. Add to this, that their on™
fancy to their fpecies, which, I be¬
lieve, Is as regular in thefe as in
the other vermes, decides the ques¬
tion againff our phiiofopher, if, ffa
truth, any quedion remained upon
the fubjeft.

Ladly ; thefe wonder-working
indruments, thefe " internal molds/
what are they after all? what, when
examined, but a name without fie-
nmcation ; unintelligible, if not fi d-
contradictory ; at the belt, differing
nothing from the f efiential forms’
of the Greek philofophy ? One ihort
fenteoce of Buffon’s work exhibits
his febeme as follows. * When this
nutritious and prolific matter, which
is diffufed throughout all nature,
pafles through the internal mold ©£
an animal or vegetable, and finds a
proper matrix or receptacle, it
gives rife to an animal or vegetable
of the fame fpecies/ Does any
reader annex a meaning to the ex-
prefiion "internal mold5 in this fen-
tence ? Ought it then to be faid#
that, though we have little notion of
an internal mold, we have not
much more of a defigning mind ?
The very contrary of this affertion is
the truth. When we fpeak of an
artificer or an architect, we talk of
what is comprehenfible to our un-
derftanding, and familiar to our ex¬
perience. We ufe no other terms
than what refer us for their mean¬
ing to our confciou'fnefs and obferv-
ation ; what exprefs the conlfant
objects of both : whereas names,
like that we have mentioned, refer
us to nothing; excite no idea ; con¬
vey a found to the ear, but I think
do no more.

Another fydem which has late¬
ly been brought forward, and with,
much ingenuity, is that of appe¬
tencies. The principle, and the IhorJ
account, of the theory, is this.
Pieces of foft, dudfile matter, being
endued with propenfities or appe-

On the PerfonalliJ of the Deity*

§76

tencies for particular actions, would,
by continual endeavours, carried on
through a long feries of generations,
work themfelves gradually into fuit-
able forms ; and, at length, acquire,
though perhaps by obfcure and al-
jnoft imperceptible improvements,
an organization fitted to the aCtion
which their refpeCtive propenfities
led them to exert. A piece of ani*
ihated matter, for example, that
was endued with a propensity to fly,
though ever fo fliapelefs, though no
other we will fuppofe than a round
ball to begin with, would, in a courfe
of ages, if not in a million of years,
perhaps in a hundred million of
years, (for our theorifts, having eter¬
nity to dilpofe of, are never fparing
in time,) acquire wings. The lame
tendency to loco-motion in an aqua-
tic animal, or rather in an animated
lump which might happen to be
Surrounded by water, would end in
the production of jins : in a living
fubftance, confined to the folid
earth, would put out legs and feet ; or,
if it took a different turn, would
break the body into ringlets, and
conclude by crawling upon the
ground. f

Although I have introduced the
mention of this theory into this place,
I am unwilling to give to it the
name of an atheijlic feheme, for two
reafons ; fir ft, becaufe, fo far as. I

am able to underftand it, theoriarinal
^ ^
propenfities and the numberlets va¬
rieties of them (fo different, in. this
refpeCt, from the laws of mechanical
nature, which are few and fimple)
are, in the plan itfelf, attributed to
the ordination and appointment of
an intelligent and defigning Creator :
fecondly, becaufe, likewife, that
large poltulatum, which is all along
affumed. and preluppofed, the faculty
in living bodies of producing other
bodies organized like themfelves,
feems to be referred to the fame
caufe; at leaft is not attempted to
fee accounted for by any other, in

one important refpeCf, however, the
theory before us coincides with athe»
iftic fyftems, viz. in that, in the form¬
ation of plants and animals, in the
ffruCture and ule of their parts, it
does away final caufes. Jnftead of
the parts of a plant or animal, or
the particular ffruCture of the parts,
having been intended for the action
or the ufe to which we fee them ap¬
plied, according to this theory they
have themfelves grown out of that
atiion, fprung from that ufe. The
theory therefore difpenfes with that
which we infift upon, the neceffity,
in each particular cafe, of an intel¬
ligent, defignirrg mind, for the con¬
triving and determining of the forms
which organized bodies bear. Give
our philofopher thefe appetencies *
give him a portion of living irritably
matter (a nerve, or the clipping of
a nerve) to work upon ; give alio
to his incipient or progrefiive forms
the power, in every ftage of their
alteration, of propagating their like 3
and, if he is to be believed, he could
replenifh the world with all the
vegetable and animal productions
which we at prefent fee in it.

The feheme under considera¬
tion is open to the fame objection
with other conjectures of a fimilar
tendency, viz. a total defeCt of evi¬
dence. No changes, like thofe which
the theory requires, have ever been
obferved. All the changes in Ovid's
Metamorphofes might have been ef¬
fected by thefe appetencies, if the
theory were true 3 yet not an ex¬
ample, nor the pretence of an ex¬
ample, is offered of a tingle change
being known to have taken place.
Nor is the order of generation obe¬
dient to the principle upon which
this theory is built. The mammae
of the male have not vaniftied by mu-
fitation ; nec eurtorvm , per multafa:-
cula , Judaorum propagini decjl pra:-
putium. Jt is eaty to fay, and it has
been faid, that the alterative proeefs
ia too flow to be perceived 3 that it

577

On the Perfonality of the Deity .

Has beeh carried on through traCts of this organ is as follows; ‘'From
immeafurable time; and that the the lower edges of the under chap
prefent order of things is the relult hangs a bag, reaching from thewhole
of a gradation, of which no human length of the bill to the neck, which
record can trace the flops. It is is laid to be capable of containing

eafy to fay tins; and yet it is Hill fifteen quarts of water. This bag

true, that the hypothefis remains the bird has a power of wrinkling
deftitute of evidence. up into the hollow of the under chap.

I he analogies which hare been When the bag is empty it is not

alleged are of the following kind; feen : but when the bird has fi (lied

the bunch of a camel is faid to be
no other than the effedt of carrying
burthens, a fervice in which the
fpccies has been employed from the
mofl anci&n t rimes of the world.
The firft race, by the daily loading
of the back, would probably find a
fmall grumous tumour to be formed
in the fiefii of that part. The next
progeny would bring this tumour
into the world with them. The life
to which they were deftined would
inCreafe it The caufe which firft
generated the tubercle being conti¬
nued, it would go on, through every
fucceffion, to augment itsiize, till it
attained the form and the bulk under
which it now appears. This may
ferve for one in fiance; another, and that
allb of the paflive fort, is taken from
certain fpecies of birds. Birds of the
crane kind, as the crane itfelf, the
heron, bittern, ftork, have, in gene¬
ral, their thighs bare of feathers.
This privation is accounted for from
the habit of wading in water, and
from the effeCt of that element to
check the growth of feathers upon
thefe parts : in conlequenceof which,
the health and vegetation of the
feathers declined through each gener-
ation of the animal : the tender
down, expofed to cold and wetnefs,
became weak, and thin, and rare,
till the deterioration ended in the re-
fult which we iee, pf abfolute naked-
nefs. I will mention a third in-
ftance, becaufe it is drawn from an
active habit, as the two iaft were
from paffive habits ; and that is
the pouch of the pelican. The de¬
scription which natumlifU civ# of

Vol. XXXIV.

with fuccefs, it is incredible to what
an extent it is often dilated. The
firft thing the pelican does in fi filing,
is to fill the bag • and then it re¬
turns to digeft its burthen at leilure.
The bird preys upon the large fifties,
and hides them by dozens in its
pouch. When the bill is opened to
its wideft extent, a perlon may run.
his head into the bird’s mouth ; and
conceal it in this monftrous pouch,
thus adapted for very lingular pur-
pofes.’ Now tkis extraordinary
conformation is nothing more, fay
our philofophers, than the refult of
habit ; not of the habit or effort of
a fingle pelican, or of a tingle race
of pelicans, but of a habit perpetu¬
ated through a long feries of genera¬
tions. The pelican foon found the
conveniencyof relerving in its mouth, '
when its appetite was glutted, the
remainder of its prey, which is fifti.
The fullnefs produced by this at¬
tempt of courfe ftretched the ftdn
which lies between the under chaps,
as being the moft yielding part of the
mouth. Every diftention increafed
the cavity. The original bird, and
many generations which fucceeded
him, might find difficulty enough in
making the pouch anfwer this pur-
pofe : but future pelicans, entering
upon life with a pouch derived from
their progenitors, of confiderable ca¬
pacity, would more readily accelerate
its advance to perfection, by frequent¬
ly prefling , down . the lac with the
weight of fitli which it might now
be made to contain.

Thefe, or ol this kind, are the
analogies relied upon. Now in the
4 E

578

On the P erf Quality of the Deity .

fir ft place, the inftances themfelves
are unauthenticated by teftimony $
and, in theory, to fay the lead;
of them, open to great objections.
Who ever read of camels without
bunches, or with bunches lefs than
thofe with which they are at p refen t
ufually formed ? A bunch, not un¬
like the camel’s, is found between
the fhoulders of the buffalo ; of the
origin of which’ it is impoffible to
give the account which is here given.
In the fecond example ; Why fhould
the application of water, which ap¬
pears to promote and thicken the
growth of feathers upon the bodies
and breads of geefe and fwans and
other water-fowls, have divefted of
this covering the thighs of cranes ?
The third in dance, which appears to
me as plaufibie as any that can be
produced, has this again d it, that it
is a dngularity redriCted to the
Ipecies ; whereas, if it had its com¬
mencement in the caufe and man¬
gier which have been adigned, the
like conformation might be ex¬
pected to take place in other birds,
which fed upon filh. How comes it
to pals, that the pelican alone was
the inventref?, and her defcendants
the only inheritors, of this curious
refource ?

But it is the lefs necedary to
controvert the in dances thergfelves,
as it is a draining of analogy beyond
all limits of reafon and credibility,
to affert that birds, and beads, and
fifh, with all their variety and com¬
plexity of organization, have been
brought into their forms, and diflin-
guifhed into their feveral kinds and
natures, by the fame procefs (even if
that procefs could be demondrated,
or had ever been actually noticed), as
might feem to ferve for the gradual
generation of a camel’s bunch, or a
pelican’s pouch.

The folution, when applied to
the works of nature generally, is con¬
tradicted by many of the phaenome-
frsLt and totally inadequate to others.

The ligaments or dri&ures, by which
the tendons are tied down at the
angles of the joints, could, by no pod
fibility, be formed by the motion or
exercife of the tendons themfelves ;
by any appetency exciting thefe parts
into aCtion 5 or by any tendency
arifing therefrom. The tendency is
all the other way j the conatus in
conftant oppofition to them. Length
of time does not help the cafe at all,
but the reverfe. The valves alfo, in
the blood-veffels, could never be
formed in the manner which our
theorid propofes. The blood, in its
right and natural courfe, has no ten¬
dency to form them. When ob-
druCted or reduent, it has the con¬
trary. Thefe parts could not grow
out of their ufe, though they had
eternity to grow in.

The Jenj'es of animals appear to me
altogether incapable of receiving the
explanation of their origin which this
theory affords. Including under the
word r fenfe’ the organ and the
perception, we have no account of
either. How will our philofopher
get at vifion , or make an eye ? How
ihould the blind animal affeCt fight,
of which blind animals, we know,
have neither conception nor defire?
AffeCting it, by what operation of its
will, by what endeavour to fee, could
it fo determine the fluids of its body
as to inchoate the formation of an
eye ? or, fuppofe the eye formed,
■would the perception follow ? The
fame of the other fenfee. And this
objection holds its force, aferibewhat
you will to the hand of time, to the
power of habit, to changes too flow
to be obferved by man, or brought
within any comparifon which he is
able to make of pad things with the
prefent : concede what you pleafe 19
thefe arbitrary and unattefted fuppo-
fitions, how will they help you ?
Here is no inception. No laws, no
courfe, no powers of nature, which
prevail at prelent, nor any analogous
to thefe, could give commencement

579

Virtuous Reign of Beilin, King of Delhi,

to a new fenfe. And it is in vain to
enquire, how that might proceed,
v^hich could never begin.

I think the fenles to be the
mod inconfi dent with the hypothecs
before us of any part of the animal
frame. But other parts are dif¬
fidently fo. The folution does not
apply to the parts of animals which
have little in them of motion. ]f
we could fuppofe joints and mufcles
to be gradually formed by action and
exercife, what action or exercil'e
could form a fkull, or fill it with
brains ? No effort of the animal
could determine the clothing of its
{kin. What conatus could give
prickles to the porcupine or hedge¬
hog, or to the dieep its deece ?

In the la d place ; What do
thefe appetencies mean when applied
to plants ? I am not able to give a
fignification to the term, which can
be transferred from animals to plants ;
or which is common to both. Yet
a no lefs fuccefsful organization is
found in plants than what obtains in
animals. A folution is wanted for
one, as well as the other.

Upon the whole; after all the
fchemes and druggies of a reluctant
philofophy, the neceffary refort is to
a Deity. The marks of defign are
too drong to be got over. Defign
mud have had a dedgner. That de-
figner mud have been a perfon.
That perfon is God.

Vi rtuous Reign o/'Balin, King
/Delhi.

[ From Maurice’s MoJe> n Hijiory of liindcjlan. J

IV/Tahmud leaving no Ions behind
him, nis vizier, Baliu, who was
of the fame family, mounted, by the
univerlal defire of the nobles, the
throne of Delhi,

In the reign of Altumfh, forty
of that monarch’s Turkifh daves,
who were* in great^ favour, enter t*d

into a folemn affociation to fupport
one another, and, upon the king’s
death, to divide the empire among
themfelves ; but jealoudes and dif-
fentions having arifen afterwards
among them, prevented this pro¬
ject from being executed. The
emperor Balin was of their number;
and, as feveral of them had railed
themfelves to great power in the
kingdom, the drd thing he did after
his accefdon was to rid himfelf of
all who remained of that affociation,
either by fvvord or poifon ; among
whom was his own nephew, Shere,
a man of great bravery and repu¬
tation.

His fears, after thefe affaffina-
tions, were entirely difpelled, and
he became fo famous for his judice
and wife government, that his alli¬
ance was-courted by all the kings of
Perlia and Tartary. He took parti¬
cular care that none but men of
merit and family diould be admitted
to any office in his government ;
and for this purpofe he endeavoured
to make himfelf acquainted with the
particular talents and connections of
every perfon in his court. As he
was very affiduous in rewarding
merit, he was no lefs fo in punidi-
ing vice ; for whoever mifbehaved in
their dation was certain of being
immediately difgraced

He expelled all batterers, ufur-
ers, pimps, and players, from his
court ; and being one day told, that
an omrah, an old fervant of the
crown, who had acquired a vad for¬
tune by ufury and monopoly in the
bazar, or market, would prelent
him with fome lacks of rupees, if he
would honour him with one word
from the throne; he rejected the
propofal with great difdain, and faid.
What mud his fubjects think of
a king who fiiould condefcend to
hold difeourfe with a wretch fo
infamous ?

Balin was fo famous for his
generodty, that all the princes of
4 E z

580

P Irtuous Reign of Ralin 3 King of Delhi .

the Eaft, who had been overthrown
by the arms of Gengis, fought pro¬
tection at his court. There came
upwards of twenty of thofe unfor¬
tunate fovereigns from Turkeitan,
Maver-ul-nere, Chorafan, Perfian
Irac, Azerbijian, Perfia Proper,
Koom, and Syria. They had a
princely allowance, and palaces for
their reddence allotted them and
they were upon public occafions
ranked before his throne, accord¬
ing to their dignity ; all handing to
the right and left, except two
princes of the race of the Caliphas,
who were permitted to fit on either
fide of the mufnud. The palaces
in which the royal fugitives redded
in Delhi took their names from
their refpeCtive poifeffors* In the
retinue of thofe princes were the
mod. famous men for learning, war,
arts, and fciences, that Ada at that
time produced. The court of India
was, therefore, in the days of Balin,
reckoned the mod polite and magni¬
ficent in the world. All the philo-
fophers, poets, and divines, formed
a fociety every night, at the houfe
of the prince Shehid, the heir ap¬
parent to the empire ; and the noble
Chofro the poet predded at thofe
meetings. Another fociety of mu-
dcians, dancers, mimicks, players,
buffoons, and dory-tellers, was con-
dantly convened at the houfe of the
emperor’s fecond fon Kera, or Ba-
gera, who was given to pleafure and
levity. The omrahs followed the
example of their fuperiors, fo that
various focieties and clubs were,
formed in every quarter of the city.
The emperor himfelf having a great
paldon for fplendour and magni¬
ficence in his palaces, equipages,
and liveries, he was imitated by the
court. A new city feemed to lift
up its head, and arts to arife from
the bofoms of luxury and expence.

Such was the pomp and gran¬
deur of the royal pretence, that none
«ould approach the throne without

being impreded with awe. The
ceremonies of introduction were con¬
ducted with fnch profound folem-
nity, and every thing difpofed fo as
to excite reverence and adcnifhment
in the beholders. Nor was Balin
lefs magnificent in his cavalcades.
His date elephants were caparifoned
in purple and gold. His horfe-
guards, confiding of a thoufand
noble Tartars in fplendid armour,
were mounted upon the fined Per¬
fian deeds, with bridles of diver,
and daddies of rich embroidery. Five
hundred chofen men in rich livery,
with their drawn fabres, ran before
him, proclaiming his approach and
clearing the way. All the omrahs
followed according to their rank,
with their various equipages and at¬
tendants. The monarch, in fhort,
feldom went out with lefs than one
hundred thoufand men 5 which he
ufed to fay was not to gratify any
vanity in himfelf, but to exalt him¬
felf in the eyes of the people.

The feftivals of Nauraz and
Ide, as alfo the anniverfary of his
own birth, were celebrated with
wonderful pomp and fplendour.
But, amidft all this glare of roy¬
alty, he never forgot that he was
the guardian of the laws, and pro-
teCfor of his meaneft fubjeCts. It
was before Balin’s time a cuffom in
Hindoftan, in cafes of murder, to
fatisfy the relations by a certain fine,
if they contented to accept of it.
He abolifhed this cuffom, which has
been fince revived, and ordered the
fubah of Budaoon to be put to death,
upon the complaint of a poor woman
for killing her fon.

When Balin was only an om-
rah, he gave into the courtly vices
of wine, women, and play. But,
upon his accetiion, he became a
great enemy to all thofe luxuries \
prohibiting wine upon the fevered;
penalties to be drank in his domi¬
nions 5 laying great reftriCtions upon
women of pleafure, and banifhing

581

Virtuous Reign of Balin , King of Delhi.

all gamefters from his court. So
zealous was Balia to lupport his au¬
thority, that for the di (obedience of
one man he would order a force to
the remoteft parts of the empire to
bring him to punifhment. In cafes
of inlurreCtion or rebellion againft
his government, he was not con¬
tent, as had formerly been thecuftom,
to chaftife the leaders, but he ex¬
tended the capital punifhment of
high trealbn to the meaneft of their
vatfais and adherents. This feverity
rendered it neceffary for the fubahs
to have the king’s mandate for every
expedition or any hottilities they
were about to commence.

In the fourth year of the reign
of Balin died Shere, the nephew of
the late emperor, who had, from the
time of Mahmud, governed the pro¬
vinces upon the banks of the five
branches of the Indus, and other
diftrifits. He was e deemed a man of
great genius, and an intrepid war¬
rior ; having defended his country
from the incurfions of the Moguls,
who now became the terror of the
Eaft. Balin, upon the demife cf
Shere, gave Sunnam and Semana
to the noble Timur, and the other
countries were divided among other
©mrahs of his court. The Moguls, .
encouraged by the death of Shere,
began again their depredations in
thofe provinces. The mutual jea-
louftes and diffentioris among the
fubhas prevented them from doing
any thing effectual for the public
good.

The emperor, therefore, was

obliged to appoint his eldeft foil

Mohammed, at that time bearing
• • _ *
the title of the noble. Malleck, viceroy

of all thofe frontier provinces. Mo¬
hammed was immediately dilpatcliGd
to his government with a fine army,
and fame of the wife ft and belt ge¬
nerals in the empire. The prince
himfelf was bleit with a bright and
eomprehenfive genius, taking great

delight in learning and the company
of learned men. He, with his own
hand, made a ch©ice collection of
the beauties of poetry, feleCted from
the mod famous writers in that art.
The work confifted of twenty thou-
fand couplets, and was efieemed the
criterion of tafte. Among the learned
men in the prince’s court, the noble
C’hofro and Haffen bore the firtt
rank in genius, Thefe, with many
more of his philofophical fo-
ciety, accompanied fiim on this ex¬
pedition to Lahore. Mohammed
was vifited at Lahore by Ofman
Marindi, who was effeemed the
greateft man of that age. But no
prefeats or entreaty could prevail
upon him to remain out of his own
country ; fo that after a fiiort Hay
he returned. We are told, that as
he was one day reading one of his
poems in Arabic before the prince,
all the poets who were prefent were
transported into a fit of dancing. But
the piece affected the prince, to all
appearance, in a quite contrary man¬
ner ) for the tears began to flow fall
down his cheeks.

The fame of the enlightened
Sadi of Schiraz, the celebrated poet,
being great at that time, Mohammed
invited him twice to his court 5 but
that renowned fage excufed himfelf
on account of his .years, and, with
much difficulty, was brought to ac¬
cept of fume prefents. Sadi, in return,
fent to Mohammed a copy of his
works, and did honour to the abilities
of the noble Chofro, the prince’s
favourite, and prefident of his learned
fociety. The prince, every' year,
made a journey to fee his father at
Delhi, to whom he always- behaved
with the greateft filial affection and
duty.

His eldeft fon having heard of
his father’s arrival, proceeded to
Delhi to vifit him, and v/as re¬
ceived with the greateft affeCtion
and joy. He had not remained at1

58 r2

Virtuous Reign of Balin, King of Delhi .

the capital three months, during
which his father and himfelf were
infeparable, when news was brought
that the Moguls had invaded Mul¬
tan. Mohammed haftened his de¬
parture to oppole them 5 but, before
he had taken leave, thinking he
might never fee him again, his
father called him into a private
apartment, and gave him a feries
of the moft lolemn inftruftions for
his conduct both as a man and a
monarch .

Balin having ended his inft ruc¬
tions, embraced his fon tenderly,
and parted with him in tears. The
prince immediately marched againft
the enemy, and having defeated and
flain Mohammed, chief of the Mo¬
guls, he recovered all the territories
of which they had potieffed them-
felves in the empire, Timur, of the
family of Gengis, who was a prince
of mighty renown in the empire,
and of the race of the conqueror of
Aha, at this time governed all the
eaftern provinces of Perfia, from
Chorafan to the Indus, and invaded
Hindoitan with twenty thoufancl
ehofen horfe, to revenge the death
of his friend Mohammed, who had
been killed the former year. Having
ravaged all the country about De-
balpoor and Lahore, he turned to¬
wards Multan. The prince Mo¬
hammed, who was then in Multan,
bearing of his detigns, haftened to
the banks of the river of Lahore,
which runs through part of Multan,
and prepared to oppofe him. When
Timur advanced to the river, he
faw the army of Hindoitan on the
oppolite bank. But the prince, de¬
li rou 3 of engaging fo great a chief
upon equal terms, permitted Timur
to pafs the river unmolefted.

Both armies then drew up in
order of battle, and engaged with
great fury for the fpace of three
hours, in which both com¬
manders eminently diltinguifhed

their valour and condudt. The
Moguls were at kft put to flight,
and the nobles of India purfued
them with imprudent dilorder. Mo¬
hammed, fatigued by the purfuit,
baited by a large pond of water,
with five hundred attendants, to
drink. He there fell prcltrate upon
the ground, to return God thanks
for his victory.

In the mean time' one of the
Mogul chiefs, who had hid hirnlelf,
with two thoufand horfe, in a neigh¬
bouring wood, rulhed out upon Mo¬
hammed, and began a dreadful
daughter. The prince had juft
time to mount his horfe, and col¬
lecting his fmall party, and encou¬
raging them by his example, fell
upon his enemies. He was at laft
overpowered by numbers, after hav¬
ing thrice obliged them to give
ground, and he unfortunately ie~
ceived a fatal arrow in his bread,
by which he fell to the ground,
and in a few minutes expired. A
body of the troops of India appear¬
ing at that inftant, the Moguls took
to flight. Very few of Mahom-
med’s party efcaped from this con¬
flict. Among the fortunate few
was the noble Chofro the poet, who
relates this event at large, in his
book called Chizer Chani.

When the army returned from
the purfuit of Timur, and beheld
their prince in his blood, the flouts
of victory were changed to the wail¬
ings of defpair. No dry eye was
to be been, from the meaneft loldier
to the omrah of high command.
The fatal news reached the old king,
who was now in his eightieth year.
The fountains of his tears were ex-
haufted, and life began to be - a bur¬
then to him. However, bearing
himfelf up againft the ftream of
misfortune, he fent Kei Chofro his
grandfon, and the fon of the de-
cealed, to fupply the place of his
father, Kei Chofro, upoo his ar-

583

Licentious and eventful Reign of Kei Kobad.

rival at Multan, took the command
of the army, and, pouring the balm
of benevolence and kindnefs into
the wounds of his afflicted peo¬
ple, began to adjuft his government,
and provide for the defence of the
frontiers.

Licentious and eventful
Reign ^Kei Kobad.

[FVphz the Same.']

LLJ hen Balin was numbered with
the dead, Kei Kobad his
grandson, in his eighteenth year,
ascended the throne, and assumed
all the imperial titles. He was
a prince remarkably handsome in
his person, and of an affable and
mild disposition. He had a talent
for literature, and his progress in
science was considerable. His mo¬
ther was a beautiful princess, daugh¬
ter to the emperor Altumsk 3 and
if purity of blood royal is of any
real worth, Kei Kobad had that to
boast, for a series of generations.

As he had been bred up with
great strictness under the roof of his
father, when he became master of
his own actions he began to give a
loose to pleasure without restraint.
He delighted in love, and in the
soft society of silver-bodied dam¬
sels, with musky tresses, spent great
part of his time. When it was pub¬
licly known that the king was a man
of pleasure, it became immediately
fashionable at court 5 and in short,
in a few days, luxury and vice so
prevailed, that every shade was rilled
with ladies of pleasure, and every
street rung with music and mirth.
Even die magistrates were seen
drunk in public, and riot was heard
in every house.

The king fitted a palace upon
the banks of the river Jumna, and
retired thither to enjoy his pleasures
^disturbed ; admitting rio com¬

pany but singers, players, musicians,
and buffoons. Nizam, who was
nephew and son-in-krw to the chief
magistrate of Delhi, to whom Kei
Kobad owed his elevation, was raised
to the dignity of chief secretary of
the empire, and got the reins of
government in his hands 5 and El-
laka, who was the greatest man for
learning in that age, was appointed
his deputy. Nizam, observing that
the king was quite swallowed up in
his pleasures, began to form schemes
to clear his own way to empire.
3 he first object of his attention was
Chosro, who was now gone to Gaz-
na, to endeavour to bring that nobl®
and royal Tartar, Timur, over to
his party, in order to recover the
throne of Delhi $ to which he claim¬
ed a title from his father’s right of
primogeniture, as well as from die
will of the late emperor. But in this
scheme Chosro did not succeed, and
he was obliged to return from Gazna
in great disgust.

In the mean time, Nizam en¬
deavoured to make him as obnoxious
as possible to the king, who, at
length, being prevailed upon to en¬
tice Chosro to Delhi, Nizam hired
assassins to murder the unfortunate
prince on the way. The viilanies
of Nizam did not stop here. He
forged a correspondence between
Chapa the vizier and Chosro, and
thus effected that minister’s disgrace
and banishment. Ele also privately
assassinated all the old servants of
Balin, insomuch that a general con¬
sternation was spread through the
city, though none as yet suspected
Nizam to be the cause. The more
he succeeded in his atrocities, he
became less secret in the execution;
and though he began to be detested
by all ranks, his power and influence
was so great with the king, that h<*
was the terror of every man.

While tilings were in this si¬
tuation, advices arrived of another
irruption of Mogul* into the dl.-v

584 ' Licentious and eventful Reign of Kei Kobad.

tricts of Lahore. Barbeck and Jehan
were sent with an army against
them. The Moguls were defeated
near Lahore, and a number of pri¬
soners brought to Delhi. The next
Step the traitor took was to inspire
the king with jealousy of his Mogul
troops, who, as soldiers of fortune,
had enlisted in great numbers in his
service. He pretended that, in case
of a Mogul invasion, they would
certainly join their countrymen
against him ; insinuating, at the
same time, that he believed there
was already some treachery in¬
tended.

The weak prince listened to
those villainous intimations* and,
calling their chiefs one day together,
he ordered them to be set upon by
his guards and massacred 5 confis¬
cating, at the same time, all their
goods and wealth He seized upon
all the ornrahs who had any connec¬
tions with the Moguls, and sent them
prisoners to distant garrisons in the
remotest parts of the empire.

In the mean time, prince Kera,
the emperor’s father, who had
contented himself with the kingdom
of Bengal, having heard how affairs
were conducted at the court of Delhi,
penetrated into the designs of the

X O

minister, and wrote a long letter to
his son, forewarning him of his
danger, and advising him how to
proceed. But his advice, like that
of others, was of no weight with
that vicious, luxurious, and infa¬
tuated prince. When Kera found
that his instructions were slighted,
and that things would soon be
brought to a disagreeable issue, he
collected a great army, and directed
his standards towards Delhi, about
two years after the death of Balin.
Kei Kobad, hearing that his father
had advanced as far as Bahar, drew
out his forces, and marched down to
meet him, encamping his army upon
the banks of the Gagera. , Kera lay
upon the Sirve, and both armies

remained some days in hourly ex¬
pectation of an action. The old man,
finding his army much inferior to
that of his son, began to despair of
reducing him by force, and accord-
ingly began to treat of peace.

The young prince, upon this,
became more haughty, and by the
advice of his favourite prepared for
battle. In the mean time, a letter
came from his father, written in the
most tender and affectionate terms,
begging he might be blessed with
one sight of him before matters were
carried to extremities. This letter
awakened nature, which had slum¬
bered so long in Kei Kobad’ s breast,
and he gave orders to prepare his
retinue, that he might visit his fa¬
ther. The favourite attempted all
in his power to prevent this inter¬
view, but finding the prince, for
once, obstinate, he prevailed upon
him to insist, as emperor of Delhi,
upon the first visit, hoping by this
means to break off the conference.
His design, however, did not suc¬
ceed 3 for Kera, seeing what a head¬
strong youth he had to deal with,
consented to come to the imperial
camp, and ordered the astrologers
to determine upon a lucky hour, and
crossing the river, proceeded to¬
wards his son’s camp.

The young monarch, having-
prepared every thing for his fa¬
ther's reception in the most pom¬
pous and ceremonious manner,
mounted his throne, and arrogantly
gave orders, that his father, upon
his approach, should three times
kiss the ground. The old man ac¬
cordingly, when he arrived at th*
first door, was ordered to dismount,
and after he had come in sight of
the throne, he was commanded to
pay his obeisance in three different
places as he advanced.

Kera was fo much fhocked at
this indignity, that he buril out into
a flood of tears ; which being ob-
ferved by the fori, he could no longer

Licentious and eventful Reign of Kei Kohaci. 585

fupport his unnatural infolence, but,
leaping from the throne? fell on his
face at his father’s feet, imploring
his forgivenefs for his offence The
good old man melted into com-
paffion, and, railing him in his arms,'
embraced him, and hung weeping
upon his heck. The Irene, in limit,
was fo affecting on both tides, that
the whole court were in tears, Thefe
tranfports being over, the young
king helped his father to mount the
throne, and, paying him his refpeCts,
took his place at his right hand,
ordering a charger full of golden
funs to be waved three times over
his father’s head, and afterwards to
be given among the people. All
the cm rah s alio prefen ted to him
their prefents.

Public bulinefs heinc then dif-

cuffed, every thing was fettled in
peace and friendfhip, and Kera re*
turned to his own camp. A friendly
intercourfe commenced immediately
between the two armies lor the
fpace of twenty days, in which time
the father and fon alternately vilited
one another, and the time was (pent
in feftivity and mirth. The prin¬
cipal terms fettled between the two
kings were, that they fhould re-
fpeClively retain their former domi¬
nions 5 and then Kei Kobad pre¬
pared to return to Delhi, and Kera,
having fir ft given feme wholefome
admonition to his fon, fet off for
Bengal.

The king, on his return to
Delhi, continued in his former courfe
of pleafure, till wine, and intem¬
perance in his other pafftons, had
ruined his health. Pie fell lick, and
then began to recoiled the advice of
his father, and to confider Nizam as
the caule of all his uiltrofs. He im¬
mediately began to form fchemes in
his mind to rid him fell ot that
wicked minifter. He lor this pur-
pofe ordered him to the government
of Multan ; but Nizam, perceiving
his drift, contrived many delays, that
Yql. XXXIV.

he might get a favourable oppor¬
tunity to accomplifh his murderous
intentions. Plis deligns, however,
reverted upon his own head. * The
omrahs dilpatched him by poifon,
feme fay without the kind’s know-
ledge, while others affirm that it was
by his authority.

Mai leak Ferofe, the fon of Mai®
lock, chief of the Afghan tribe called
Chilligi, who was deputy governor
of Sammana, came, by the king’s
orders, to court, and was honoured
with the title of Shaifta Khan, and
made lord of requefts, as alfo fubah
of Birrrn. Chigen was promoted to
a high office at court, and Surchar
was made chief fecretary of the
empire. Thefe three divided the
whole power of the government
among!! them while the king by
this time became affiicfted with the
pally, by which he loft the ufe of
one tide, and had his mouth dif*
torted.

Every omrah of popularity or
power began now to intrigue for
the empire, which obliged the friends
of the royal family to take Keio-
mourfe, a child of three years, fon to
the reigning emperor, out of the
Haram, and to fet him upon the
throne. The army, upon this, fplit
into two factions, who encamped on
oppolite tides of the city. The
Tartars efpoufed the caufe of the
young king, and the Chilligies, a
powerful tribe of Afghans, joined
-Ferofe, who ufurped the throne.
Upon the firft disturbance, thole
Tartars who had fet up the young
prince, jealous of the power of the
Chilligies, ahem hied themfelves, and
proferibed all the principal Chilligian
officers.

Ferofe, being the firft in the
bloody lift, immediately rebelled.
Chigen had been deputed by the
Tartar party to invite Ferofe to a
conference with the ftek king, and a
plot was formed for his aft'afli nation.
Ferofe, difeovering his defigns, drew
4 F

A Mornings Walk in November .

upon the traitor who came to invite
him, and killed him at the door of
his tent. The fobs, of Ferofe, who
■vyere renowned for their valour, im¬
mediately put thenlfelves at the head
of five hundred chofen horfe, and
making an alfault upon the camp of
the Tartars, cut their way to the
royal tents, which were pitched in
the centre of the army, and, feizing
the infant king, carried him, and
the ton of Malleck ul Onirah, off, in
fpiteof all oppofition, to their father.
They killed Surcha, who purfued
them, with many other men of
diftindlion. When this exploit be¬
gan to be noifed abroad in the city,
the mob flew immediately to arms.
They marched out in thoufands, and
encamping at the Budaoon gate,
prepared to go againft Ferofe, and
refeue the infant king, for they
greatly dreaded the power of the
■Chilligies, who were a fierce and
favage race. Malleck ul Gmrah,
The old minifter fo ofte n mentioned,
confidering that this ftep would oc-
cafion the affaflination of the young-
king, and of his own ion, who was
in their hands, exerted his great in¬
fluence and authority among the
people, and at length prevailed with
them to difperfe.

Ferofe, in the mean time, fent
an aflaflin to cut off the emperor Kei
JCobad, who lay tick at his palace on
the banks of the Jumna. The villain
found this unfortunate prince dying
upon his bed, deferted by all his at¬
tendants. He beat out. the poor
remains of life with a cudgel ; thea
rolling him up in his bedclothes,
threw him out of the window into
the river. This afiaifin was a Tartar
of home family, whofe father had
been unju fitly put to death by Kei
iCohad, and he now had a complete
revenge.

When this horrid deed was per¬
petrated, Ferofe afeended the throne,
smd aflfumed the title of Jellal ul dien,
having put an end to the dynafly

of Gaur, and commenced that of
Chilligi.

A MORN TNG 7 WALK m
NOVEMBER.

i No more the Morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flower of various hue ;

Noon fpreads no more the genial blaze,

Nor gentle Eve diflils the dew:

No irrific warbles through the grove;

No vivid colours paint the plain;

No more, wirh devious fteps, I rove

Thru’ verdant paths now fought invai*..

Dr. Johnson'

_ .. i ...

TIPThen Time’s monitory tongue
* * had proclaimed the hour of
feven, I arofe and took a — I will not
fay pleaffnt — walk. As I ffrolled
along, furveying the gloomy feene
around, I exclaimed:

4 Voila la difference ! This field,
where lately waved the bearded bar¬
ley, ftript of its fmiling treafure,
wears a difconfolate countenance.
Where are the mounting larks that
thrilled their foft fymphonies in air?
Where the blackbirds that filled with
mellifluous mutic the fliady copF ?
Has the dreary feafon untuned their
pipes, and robbed their throats of
melody? I low dull each objeht that
once infpired delight ! The eye no
longer loves to view the landfcapes.
A choir of plumy muficians no long¬
er enchants the ear, nor perfumes
flagrant as thofe of Arabia ravifli
the fenfe. Not one tunny ray,. nor
one particle of warmth, from the
great fountain of heat, (beds its com¬
fortable influence on my walk. A
full eh fiience reigns

“ Through all yon fadden’d grove, whofe
fcarce is heard

One dying ilraiu to cheer the woodman’s toil.”

Thomson.

4 Well might the grove look fad,
when Philomela, the leader of the
feathered band, and fome other infe¬
rior performers, were emigrated to
diftant regions, where brighter funs
illumine fairer ikies,.

Singular Matrimonial Caufe .

Amufire birds ! fay, where’s your hid re¬
treat

When the froft rages, and the tempefts beat ?
Whence you return, by fuck nice inftindt led,
When Spring, fvveet feafon ! lifts her bloomy
head ?

Such baffled fearches mock man’s prying pride :
The great Almighty is your fecret guide !”

Though my fummer friends, the
nightingale, the redflart, and the
wryneck, had mounted aloft, ‘and
left ill days to me/ yet the faithful
redbreaft was the companion of my
morning walk, and, perched on a
naked bramble, fung his autumnal
fong.

The trees had put off their green
habiliments, and the peevifli gale
rocked their leaflefs boughs.

* The verdant leaves that play’d on high,

And wanton'd in the weftern breeae,

New trod in duft negledled lie,

As Boreas ftrips the bending trees :

The fields that wav’d with golden grain,

Like riiffet heaths are wild and bare ;

Not moift with dew, but drench’d with rain j
Nor health nor pleafure wanders there.’

Dr. Johnson.

To difpel the gloom, the hunter’s
horn reverberated through the vale,
the opening pack fent forth what a
fportfman would term a joyous crv,
and roufed Echo, ‘the babbling gof-
fip of the air/ from her mofly cell.
Horfemen and footmen, with looks
big with expectation, were all in
motion, all on the alert.

4 Affiidlive birch

No more the fchool-boy dreads; his prifon
broke,

Scamp’ring he flies, nor heeds his mafter’s call.
The weary traveller forgets his road,

And climbs the adjacent hill. Thet plough¬
man leaves

Th’ uhfinifh’d furrow; nor his bleating flocks
Are now the fliepherd's joy. Men, beys, and
girls,

Defert th’ unpeopled village, and wild crowds
Spread o’er the plains, by the fweet frenzy
leiz’d.’ Somerville.

But why this din? Were the
gallant youths chafing the fhaggy
wolf or favage boar? No: 4 thefe
Britain knows not!’ The Ions of

587

the chafe were difplaying their va¬
lour, and exhibiting their activity,
in purfuing the fearful hare, that
trembles at a (baking leaf, and ftarts
at every breeze.

It isalmoft unneceflary for me to
inform the fair reader that I did not
join in the cruel amufement, but
haftened home ; exclaiming, with
the humane Cowper— — —

4 Man may difmifs compaflion from his heart,
But Godwill never.* —

Full many a crime, deem’d innocent on earth,
Is regifter’d in heaven; and thefe, no doubt.
Have each their record, with a curfe annext.*

4 The Task.*

Haverhill* John Webb.

Singular Matrimonial Cause,
tried before the Special Civil Tribu¬
nal of the Higher Garonne, fitting at
Touloufe , Sept. 20, 1803.

A young peafant of the depart-
ment of l’Arriege, named La

F~ - , fell defperately in love

with a girl aged twenty-one years, 01
the commune of Cattaigne. He faw
that there were many obftacles to his
obtaining her in marriage. Her
parents were rich, and he pofletted
nothing. He at length devifed a
new mode of marrying her without
the confent of her parents; and,
what is more, without her onvn /

Fie p relented himfelf, accompa¬
nied bv a perfon in woman’s apparel,
before the mayor of St. Girons. He
produced the necettary papers, and
with them a ceitificate, of the banns
haying been publithed in the com¬
mune where the gii 1 redded. His

marriage with Marie A - — was,

in confequence, cttablittied by the
civil magittrate. The parties thpn
withdrew, taking wirh them the of¬
ficial act of the celebration of the
marriage. Being provided with this
piece, the bridegroom repaired to
Cattaigne, and, prefenting himfelf
4 F '2

5 SB Singular Matrimonial Caufe .

before her parents, claimed the girl
as his wife. Nothing could exceed
the furprife of the parents, the girl,
and her brothers. She declared that
Ihe knew nothing, had conferred to
nothing, and that fhe was not mar¬
ried. She went before a notary to
proteft again# this pretended mar¬
riage. ami gave a power of attorney
to her brother \o proceed at law in
her behalf. On inquiry, it was
found that the certificate of the pub¬
lication of the banrm was forged, and
tnat in fa 61 no fuch banns had been
publifked. A complaint was lodged
before the magiftrate, and a com-
mifiary of government was ordered
to take up the caufe, and diretff the
profecution, More than two months
were confirmed in the inquiry whe¬
ther it was Marie A - that had

figured at the marriage, or whether
it was another perfon. During this
interval, circumfiances furnifiied La

IF-” - with opportunities of feeing

the girl whom he claimed as his
wife. The refult of thefe inter¬
views was, that file quitted her fa¬
mily, and went to live with him,
Hating publicly that fhe was his wife.

The officer who was charged with
the purfuance of the fuit, difeover-

ed at length where La F - lived,

and found the young lady in his com¬
pany. She declared, that being
united to him by the tie of marriage,
fhe had (worn an eternal love, amt
would follow him to the end of she
world. 1 he officer, however, ful¬
filled his duty. He arreffed La

F — - , and placed him in prifon

at Touloufe. Then commenced the
ufuai proceedings : La F - un¬

derwent a firft interrogatory; he
afferte.d that there was no difg’uifein
the matter, a d that the girl who had
followed him to prifon was the fame
that he had married, ar.d the fame
from whom he had the certificate of
the publication of the banns at Caf-
faigne. The young lady defiled
alfo to be examined. She declared

herfelf to be his lawful wife. She
retraced the protefl made before the
notary, as well as the power of at¬
torney given to her brother. She
Laid that thefe fteps were taken at
the in fiance of her brother, and to
avoid his fury at a time when he
threatened to kill her. The certifi¬
cate, ihe La id, fhe had from a perfon
whom fiie would not name, who
took pity on her {filiation, and lent
an aid to furmount the dbfiacles
which oppofed her marriage. She
laid, that though of full age, fhe did
not dare to oppofe the will of her
brother; that fhe was obliged to have
recoifife to ftratagem, and that {he
availed herfelf of the firft moment of
liberty to throw herfelf into the arms
of her hufband. In confequence of
this declaration fine was held to be
an accomplice, and was put under
confinement. At length, after three
months, the young couple was’
brought to the bar. and the affair
fubmitted to trial. The act of ac-
cufit'on was read, ami the witneffes
examined. The public officer, whofe
writing and fignatore had been coun¬
terfeited, declared the certificate to
be a forgery. Some perfpns {killed
in the companion of hand-wr ting
depofed to the fame effect. The
mayor of St. Girons, and his fecreta-
ry, with the witneffes prefent at the
marriage, agreed unanimoefiy in
laying, that the girl 2t the bar was
not the perfon who appeared with

the accuftd La F — - as his bride,

and with whom his marriage had
been celebrated. The young lady
peril fitd in hei fiory. She poin ed
out rhe mayor and his fecretary; file
defenbed the furniture ot the charm-
ber where the marrLge took place;
file related fonje particular circum-
ftances and expref lions which oc¬
curred at the time; file recognfied . -
all the parties pr.dem, and deferibed -
them by their lev oral names and
occupations.

The con. miffary of government

r Serpent* * Eaters of Egypt. 5 8$

in purfuing the caufe dated that the
latter depositions of the gill were
nothing more than To many officious
falfehoods, calculated to fave the
man to whom, bv a tardy caprice,
fae had fur rendered her perfon It
was evident that his hardy enterp'ife
had touched he** feelings, and induc¬
ed her to recal her fir ft declarations.
’But as the accufation againfl her
was founded folely on her own a£l,
and as ffie had done nothing repre-
heniibie in the eye of the law, he
prayed that die might bed (charged.

With refpebt to the forgery, it
was, he laid, in full proof, it did
not appear to hare been commuted

by La F- - , as he knew not how

to read or write. But he had made
life of it, knowing it to be forged,
and could not efcape from the con-
fequences. The accufed was defend¬
ed with warmth and talent by a
young advdcate. An able lawyer
was retained for the young woman,
but her discharge rendered it unne-
ceffary for him to plead. The tri¬
bunal pronounced La F - guilty^

and fubjefied him to the punifhment
prefcribed by the law.

This caufe, by irs fingularity, col¬
lected an immenfe coticourfeof peo¬
ple, who felt a mod; lively intereft
for the young parties. Every thing
fpoke in their favour. They are
both handfome, of a prepolfeliing
figure, and in the trial they (hewed
much firmnefs and prefence of mind.
Every one dedred to fee them happy,
and fo'got the violation of the laws,
on feeing, on the one hand, a young
man, deeply in love, employing the
moil haring, and at the fame time
ingenious, means to obtain the object
of his paflian; and on the other, a
young woman, inierilible at fir ft, but
fubdurd by tue proofs of fo violent
an attachment, of which (he at length
partook fo far, as to endure with
him e i B h t months of imprisonment.
After the judgment die declared that
Ihe would never ferlake him, and

that die would follow him even to
the gullies.

it now appears that La F—
ventured an this hardy enterprife
without her knowledge, and that it
was a young man of his acquaint¬
ance, cl reded in a female habit, who
appeared before the mayor and mu¬
nicipal officers, and reprefented the
girl whim he intended to marry;
but that, in the fubfequent inter¬
views which he had with Marie
A — — , lie managed fo dextroudy as
to fucceed in infpiring her with a
mutual path on

Artifices of the Psylli, or Ser¬
pent-Eaters of Egypt.

f From Jlikin i Tronjlition of Dtnon’ s Travels.

he ferpent, though not winged,
is dill the object of fome forcery
in Egypt. I was with the com¬
mander-in-chief one day, when the
Pfylli were introduced, and we put
many queftions to them relative to
the myftery of their feci, and the
fuppofed command over ferpents
which they appear to po fiefs. They
anfwered our queftions with more
adu ranee than intelligence, but we
put them to the proof.

‘ Can you tell us,’ faid the genera!,
4 whether there any ferpents in the
palace ; and, if there are, can you
oblige them to come forth from
their retreats ?’

They anfwered both queftions in
the affirmative ; and we put them to
the proof; on which they fearched
all the rooms, and prefently alter
they declared that there was a fnake
m the houfe ; they then renewed
their fearch to di .cover where he was
hid; made fome convuffionsin palling
before a jar placed in the corner of

■ — - - — — - r . ■

* To elucidate he preceding extraordinary
oronrrenae o ;r re iders are referred to the

£ New Regulations ;\jr Marriages in France,’
inlert A in tur Supplement for 1801, p. 68«.

590 Defer iptlon of Cadiz,

one of the rooms, and declared that
the animal was there ; where indeed
we aft u ally found ,one. This was a
true Comus’s trick; we looked at
each other, and acknowledged that
they were very adroit.

Being always curious to obferve
the means by which men command
the opinions of others, I regretted
that I was not at Rofetta at the pro-
ceffion of the feaft of Ibrahim, in
which the convulfions of the Pfylli
form the moft entertaining part, to the
populace^ of this religions ceremony.
To make up for my lofs, I a eld re tied
fcnyfelf to the chief of the fedt, who
was keeper of the okel, or tavern of
the Franks: I flattered him; and
he promifed to make me a fpedlator
of the exaltation of one of the Pfylli,
s s foon as he fhould have blown into
bis fpirit , as he exprefled it. From
my curiofity, he thought I bade fair
to be a profelyte, and he propofed to
initiate me, which I accepted ; but
when I learned that, in the cere¬
mony of initiation, the grand-mafter
fpits in the mouth of the neophyte,
this circumftance cooled my ardour,
Snd I found that I could not prevail
on myfelf to go through this trial ;
fo I gave my money to the high-
prieft, and he promifed to let me fee
one of the infpired.

They had brought'vvith them their
ferpents, which they let loofe from a
large leather fack in which they were
kept, and made them ereft their
bodies and hifs, by irritating them.
I remarked that it was the light
which principally caufed their anger,
for as foon as they were returned in¬
to the fack their patlion ceafeti, and
they no longer endeavoured to bite.
It was alfo curious to obferve that,
when angry, the neck for fix inches
.below the head was dilated to the
fize of one's hand. I foon faw that
even I could manage the ferpents
perfectly well without fear of their
fangs ; for having well remarked,
that the Pfylli, while they were

threatening the animal with one
hand, feized it on the back of the
head with the other, I did the fame
with one of the ferpents with equal
fuccefs, though much to the indig¬
nation of the performers themfelves.
After this, they proceeded to the
grand myftery : one of the per¬
formers took a fnake, which he had
previouflv difabled by breaking the
under jaw, and by rubbing away the
gums till the whole of the palate
was deftroyed ; he then grafped it
with the appearance of paflion, and
approached the chief, who with
great gravity gave him th e fpirit, that
is to lay, after uttering fome myfte-
rious words, blew into his mouth ;
and, at the inftant, the other was
feized with a facred convulfion, his
arms and legs difiorted, his eyes
feeming to ftart from his head, and
he began to tear the animal with his
teeth ; whilft the two attendants,
appearing to commilerate his fuffer-
ings, reftrained his ftruggles v/ith
difficulty, and fnatched from his
hand the ferpent, which he was un¬
willing to let go. As foon as the
fnake was removed, he remained ag
if ftupid ; but the chief approached
him, muttered fome words to him,
retook from him the fpirit by afpir-
ation, and he returned to his natural
ftate. Now, however, he that had
feized the fnake, beginning to be tor¬
mented with the fame ardour to
confummate the myftery, came up
to the chief to demand the fpirit ;
and as he was ftronger and more
adtive than the firft, his cries and
convulfions were ft ill more violent
and ridiculous. I had i ow f<*en -
enough of the initiation, and thus
ended this grofs juggling.

— -nfiriaariii ■

DESCRIPTION c# CADIZ.

[From Fijcher’i 1 \ Travels in Spain.* j

hs weftern coart of -Andalufu
is of a f*uicircu}ar form, the

59 1„

Defcript 'ion of Cadiz.

foil them point of which terminates
in an ifthmus, that extends about
fix leagues to the weft ward, at
the extremity of which is the city
of Cadiz. The bay between the
coaft and this ifthmus forms one of
the tineft gulphs in Europe, which
at its broad'eft part refembles the
lake of Geneva between Nion and
Thonon.

If you imagine yourfelf on board
a veifel entering the bay, on your left
is the fortrels of La Rota, and on
the right that of San Sebaftian. On
one fide you behold the fhores lined
with batteries, on the other the ram¬
parts of Cadiz. Oppofite, vand be¬
yond the fort Santa Catalina (St.
Catherine), is feen the great white
mafs of houfes at Cadiz with their
fiat roofs, and the church towers,
which feem to rife out ot the fea.
You then enter the fecond divifion of
the bay. At the head and in the
dittance you perceive the entrance
into the third part, called Puntalen-
baya, which is defended on the left
by the fort of Matargordo, and on the
right by that of San Lorenzo.

Having laid thus much, it is un-

necell'arv to add that Cadiz is fur-
✓

rounded by the fea to the louth-
ward, the weft ward, and the ealt-
ward. The fouthern and eallern
parts are 300 fee t above the level of
the fea, and the weftern icarcely fifty.
There the lamparts are high and
built upon the rocks, forming the
external boundary of the town ;
though under thefe ramparts is a
fecond quay, very broad, and divided
into two branches, which has been
partly gained from the fea.

This fituation gives Cadiz the ad¬
vantages ot an excellent air, and a
temperature not otherwile to be ex-
peCted in fo fouthern a latitude.
The fea air, which at once refrefhes
the body and (Lengthens the nerves,
moderates the heat in bummer, and
makes the winters, which are always
very mild, refemble fpring. How¬

ever hot the weather raav be in fum-
mer from ten till one, the after¬
noons are generally cool, for the lea-
breeze (mara) inereafes every hour,
and flows throughout the night.
Thus Cadiz enjoys in fummer the
molt happy temperature, while the
heat is quite opprellive at Madrid,
and in general throughout the in¬
land parts. But it mult be obferved,
that it becomes more intenfe here
whenever the folano or fbuth-eali
wind prevails.

This wind is pregnant with the
molt fuffocating vapours, and come*
from the oppofite coaft of Africa*
The whole atmofphere, without ex¬
aggeration, then feems on fire, and
the air every inffant becomes more
burning hot, like that of an oven.
And yet this wind is only felt by its
effects ; for during the molt oppreflive
folano the air is perfectly calm, and
feems to have totally loft its elafticity.

The atmofphere is at thefe times
filled with an almoft imperceptible
vapour, but which gives to the fky
a bluifh chalky colour, and which
even at noon envelopes the fun in a
kind of haze, making it appear
larger by refracting its rays. The
fea too is as calm and fmooth as a
lake, the water inconceivably warm,
and frequently the fifh appear on the
furface and feem expiring with heat. '
On fhore moft animals are not ex¬
empt from its effedts. Birds fly in
a lower region of the air, clogs hide
themfelves, cats feem in a rage,
mules are uneafy and gafp for
breath, fowls are rettlefs and run to
and fro, and pigs roll themfelves in
the earth. Man alone feems to
fuller lefs : yet the folano is more cr
lets felt according to the ditierence of
conftitutions. it almoft always pro¬
duces a violent tendon of the nerves*
renders the circulation of the blood
flower, and excites to excefs and to
voluptuoufnels.

Although the extent of Cadiz is
very limited, yet a prodigious quzuj-

5*2

tiejcripiidn

tity of houfes are heaped together
there^ and the population is very
numerous, being reckoned between
75 and 80, .000 The houfes being
very high and very much crowded
together, feem to juftify this compu¬
tation ; but the fame caufe accounts
for the frnall number of fine edifices.
If we except the churches- the 1110-
nafteries, the great hofpital, the, cuf-
tom-houfe, and other public build¬
ings, Cadiz, notwithstanding its
great riches, contains blit a very
fra all number of remarkable houfes.
The greater part are of ftone from
Puerto de Santa Maria, which is
brought acrofs the hay at a frnall
expence. The houfes being prodi-
gioufly high, the ft reels, which are
narrow, neceifarily appear very dark,
and make a very lingular impreiiion,
when we rai-fe our eyes and fee fuch
a multitude of balconies arid fo
fmall a portion of Iky. The ftreets
however are extremely well lighted
at night. The pavement, which is
excellent, is compofed of very fmall
ftones, furnifhed with caufeways on
each fide, and kept nearly as clean
as in Holland. Cadiz however con¬
tains fome fine ftreets, among others
that called Calle-ancha, or Broad-
llreet, and has befides three large and
two fmall fquares.

As to the ftyle of architecture,
the’ climate teems to have irrevocably
fixed that introduced every where by
the Moors ; flat roofs with Irnall
towers and plots of flowers, well-
paved fquare courts (patios), which
by their neatnefs and ornaments re¬
ferable drawing-rooms, galleries that
run round it on each floor, large rooms,
fnlall windows, and walls carefully
whitened ; all which is the character
of African architecture.

The environs of Cadiz on the
north fide, or that next the land,
prefen t the traveller with a view
equally Angular and grand. During
the laid league as he arrives he is be¬
tween the bay on the right and th.Q

ocean on the left. The land rifes
ten fathoms above the level of the
fea, and is dn all fides lalfied by its
waves, fo that it refembles a dike
with which fome bold adventurer has
divided the waters of the lea. You
will readily conceive I am fpeaking
of the narrowed: part of the ifthmus,
Cadiz being fituated on the broadefL
From this fpot the eye takes, in the
whole bay with all its finuofities and
divifions, and commands a forell of
malts which continues from Caracca
to Cadiz, while in front is the brilliant
mafs that forms the town with its
ramparts and towers. On the left
the view extends over the vaft ex-^
panfe of ocean, in which the fort of

San Sebaftian appears to float, be-
caufe it is built on a fmall landy Atrip
ot land connected with the iilhmus,
but at high water inundated by the
fea.

At length the road fomewhat de-
parts from the fea in proportion as
it widens ; but it is completely deferi
till a little before entering Cadiz,
where is a pretty row of houfes, a
fmall church, and to the right and
left fquare gardens adorned with
green palifadesj You then pais the
gate and fee, at the extremity of the
baftions of the fort, on the right the
bay', and on the left the tumultuous
ocean 5 in a few minutes you are in
Cadiz. Here you behold a broad
open fpace and- fome elegant build¬
ings, which render this road toler¬
ably agreeable 5 but that which leads
upon the ramparts would hanifh the
remembrance of this pleafure, were
it not renewed by entering on the
Plaza de ia Mar.

The appearance of this opening
and the various groups that fill it,
produce indeed a very fine effect. It
exhibits a great many little booths or
flails, where are fold fowls that are
brought every week from Africa ; a
number of tables with .all kinds of
fifli, among which are often fword-
fiflj (pefcado de efpada) and a great

*■ .r

593

Defcripiion of Cadiz

variety of fhell-fifh and polypi ; fell¬
ers of lemonade and orgeat, whofe
(hops are adorned with foliage and
lemons, or little fountains playing ;
water-fellers with their wheel-bar¬
rows, and ice-fellers with their ice-
tubs ; a long row of fruit- (hops,
where grapes, water-melons, Seville
oranges, and pomegranates, figs,
fweet oranges, and all kinds of fruit,
are piled up ; fellers of grafshoppers,
which are fhut up in brafs-wire cages
to enliven the bed-rooms of thole
who are fond of them, efpecially the
ladies ; Turks barefoot, with large
pantaloons, black beards, and long
pipes, fitting down and eating dates ;
tables covered with images of faints
and failors’ caps, fmall cook- fhops,
and wine-fellers’ booths covered with
fail-cloth. To thefe peculiarities of
Cadiz add a little of the tumult of
Madrid, and you will have a com¬
plete idea of the Plaza de la Mar.

The quay immediately without
the gate prefents an equally animated
profpe<ft. For there a multitude of
fruiterers, water- fellers, wine-fellers,
cooks, itinerant hardware-men, and
ballad-fingers, conftantly afifemble.
Here you fee failors feated around
a jug of wine playing at cards, an¬
other troop are dancing, a third box¬
ing, and farther on fiddlers intermin¬
gled with porters. Some boats now
arriving, a cry is heard of A1 puerto !
Al puerto ! Every one crowds to the
ftairs, all is in motion, and every
thing adds to the tumult.

Imagine alfo the eifccf of fe-
veml hundred merchant (hips lying
at anchor off the town, the mixed
multitude of failors from all nations,
the noile of men loading and un¬
loading flips : all this, I lay, J mult
leave to your imagination, for it
would be impodible to give you an
idea of this lcene, which is embel-
lifhed by the view of a fleet in the
diftance.

The ramparts of Cadiz, which
are the fin eft and broadeft I have
Vo l. XXXIV.

feen, are ufed as a promenade. On
the weft fide they command a view
of the bay, the oppofste coaft, and
the quay -below the ramparts, where,
when the fea is rough, the waves fly
up to a confiderable diftance. On
the fouth and eaft ftdes is the i ru¬
men fe expanfe of ocean, and, as I
have already faid, the Englifh fleet
blockading the port. A fmall part
to the weft ward is bordered by five
row’s of elms, forming four avenues
adorned with elegant feats, and con-
ftituting the alameda ; but the trees
are fmall and ftunted, in confequence
of the drynefs and rockinels of the
foil, the fea air, and the heat of the
climate. However, this promenade
is much frequented, efpecially at
night. The cool fea-breeze, the
multitude of charming women, the
lights in the neighbouring houfes,
the inftruments and gay airs heard
on all fides, the ferene and ftany
heavens, which in this fine climate
difplay themfelves in all their mag¬
nificence, all thefe charms fafcinate
the fpeftator, and make him pafs his
evenings very pleafantly.

A great part of the ramparts,
which to the fouthward are (haded,
ferve for the lower clafies t^ take
their fiefta. Extended upon benches
or upon the walls, the water-carriers,
porters, foldlers, and failors, quietly
refign themfelves to fteep, and half
naked enjoy the luxury of the fea-
breeze, Along the ramparts is a
row of houfes, forming a kind of
view I need not defcribe,

I fhould call thefe ramparts (in¬
cluding the alameda) the only pro¬
menade at Cadiz, if the environs on
the land fide did not afford a very
pleafing variety. It is true, the foil
is fo fandy, that it is not eafy to
walk there ; but the pure and re-
fre thing fea- air, and the abovemen-
tioned view of the bay and of the
fea, attract thither a great number of
people of both fexes and of all Con*
ditions.

4 G

5$4 Account of the new Drama — -c The Wife of two Hufbands

"The inhabitants of Cadiz, how¬
ever, compenfate the want of pro¬
menades by parties of pleafure in the
environs. They go out in carriages
either to Puerto de Santa Maria,
where are fine avenues and gardens,
or to Chiclana near the ilia de Leon,
which is almofi entirely covered with
country houfes, and commands a
very fine view of the bay, the town,
and the fea. It is even the fafhiyn
to go in fpring and autumn in par¬
ties of pleafure to Chiclana, which is
a charming place, and offers the en¬
joyments of the country combined
with all the luxuries of Cadiz.

In no place indeed is found
fuch a union of all the pleafures and
luxuries of life : abundance of wines,
liqueurs, provifions, refloratives, and
all kinds of confumable articles.
The fpirituous wines of Rota, Ma¬
laga, Xcres, Manzanilla, &c. are
here extremely cheap (nine-pence
or ten-pence the quart), and the
beft fruits are fold for almofi. nothing.
You may purchafe two large bunches
of Mufcadine grapes for a farthing,
the fineft water-melons for two¬
pence, or a large dice for a farthing,
and a large orange for the fame
price, as alfo a lima or large lemon.
There are ice-cellars called Nevenas,
generally kept by Italians, where aM
the refinements of luxury are en¬
joyed ; for Epicurifm is carried to
the utmoft at Cadiz even among the
middle clafies.

Yet the moft indifpenfable ne¬
ed] ary of life is wanting, I mean
frefh water, which is brought from
Puerto de Santa Maria, where hun¬
dreds of barrels are continually load¬
ing and unloading. This water is
bad, containing much calcareous
matter and very little air, which it
entirely lofes by the heat and car¬
riage, It taftes almofi like boiled
water, and in addition acquires a
putrid tafte from the calk. It is
true the inhabitants attempt to cor-
ttidi it by filtration, by mixing fnow

with it, and other means, but few
people can afford all thefe expences ;
for the ice is brought from the
Sierra, a diftance of thirteen leagues,
and the mules that bring it only
travel by night; yet a flock always
arrives at Cadiz regularly every other
day. The common water is detefl-
able, and to have better it is necefl'ary
to buy fnow-water either from the
water venders or from the ice-cel¬
lars, where it cofts near a halfpenny
a glafs. For domeflic purpofes,
wafhing, See, rain water is colie died
in fubterraneous ciflerns, into which
various pipes are laid ; but as this
water evaporates during the great
heats, which alfo increafe the con-
fumption, every barrel of fpring
water cofis about four-pence half¬
penny. Hence an economy is prac¬
ticed in the confumption of water,
which at firfl excites the aftoniff-
ment of foreigners.

Account *>f the new Musical
Drama, called ‘The Wife of
two Husbands,’ performed, for
the firfl Tune, at the Theatre- Royal }
Drury- Lane, on Tuefday . Nov. 1.

HP he charadlers were thus repre-
fen ted :

The Count Belfior, . Mr. H. Johnfton.

Maurice, . Mr. Wroughton.

Theodore, . Mifs De Camp.

Monteniro, . Mr. Kelly.

Armagh, . Mr. Jahnftone.

Carronade, . Mr. Bannjfter.

iritz, . Mr. Caulfield.

Walter,.. . . Mr. Cooke.

The Countefs Belfior.. . . . Mrs. Powell.

Eugenia, . Mrs, Mountain.

Ninetta, . Mrs. Bland,

Rofaline, . Mil's Tyrer.

THE FABLE.

The daughter of baron Werner,
a young lady of fifteen, had been
entrapped into a marriage with Ifi-
dore Fritz, a young officer of profii-

Account of the new Drama — c

gate habits and defperate fortune.
Though (lie poftefftd eveiy accom-
plilhment, Fiitz looked only to her
fortune : but, being difappointed in
his interefted expectations, he foon
began to neat her with the moil
brutal cruelty. Ha fatner, the ba¬
ron, incerjfed at her imprudence,
and at the difgrace which fuch a
marriage brought upon his family,
reloived never more to admit his
daughter to his prefence. In order
to avoid her he quitted Vienna,
where he ufually redded, and for a
length of time no tidings could be
procured of him.

Mils Werner, afterwards countefs
Belfior, difvufted with her hufband’s
brutality, and preyed upon by the
remorfe (lie felt for her difobedience
to her father, refolved upon quitting
Fritz, and, with her infant fon, wan¬
ders about in fearch of her father.
She at length difeovers him, pining
in penury and ficknefs, and afflnfted
with blindnefs. She exerts every
means that induftry can fupply to
alleviate hisdiftrels, and is alfiduous
in her attentions to him; never dar¬
ing, however, to let him hear her
voice, left it fhould lead to the difeo-
very of her.

About this time count Beiftor, a
Sicilian nobleman, arrives at Vienna,
and, attracted by the engaging per-
fon and manners of mils Werner,
makes her an offer of his hand.
Not long after file receives informa¬
tion of the death of Ifidore Fritz;
and, the information being confirm¬
ed by documents apparently authen¬
tic, file accepts theoffer of the count’s
hand, and accompanies him to his
eftates in Sicily, taking with her the
baron Werner, her father, to whom
file prefents a farm in the name of
the countefs Belfior. The count
foon afterwards is cnlled to his poll:
in the armies, and* upon the day of
his expected return, the drama com¬
mences.

Xke countefs fooa receives a let*

The Wife of two Hujbafids.' 5(j5

ter from Vienna, informing her that
Fritz, her former hufband, is ftill liv¬
ing. The villain, it would appear,
had cau fed certificates of his death
to be forged and fent to his wife, in
order to induce her to enter into a
fecond marriage with the count, that
he might afterwards put in a claim
to his wife’s property. '

Soon after the count’s return,
Fritz found his way to Sicily, and
gained means to have an interview
with the countefs. He proposes to
her to affift his views in getting pof-
fefiion of the property, but file in¬
dignantly rejects the propofal ; upon
which he daringly claims of the
count the poflefiion of the eftates
belonging to his wife. Here,
however, Fritz, while holding out
thefe threats, is recognifed as a
deferter from the Auftrian army,
and fecured and imprifoned as
fuch.

The eount, liftening only to the
generofity of his nature, is ftill
anxious to fpare the life of the ruf¬
fian, and for that purpofe refolvesto
fend him to a foreign country. In
order to provide him with the means
of preparing for the voyage, the
count appoints an interview at night
with Fritz. Fritz meets the count
accordingly, but refolves on the de-
ftru6tion of his benefaffor. With
that view, he places an accomplice
behind a tree, inftrutfting him to
ftab the fecond man that paffes.
Fritz, followed by the count, ad¬
vances towards the tree ; but Car-
ronade, an Englifh failor, in. the
fervice of count Belfior, fteps for¬
ward, and leaves Fritz the fecond to
pals, by which timely interposition
the aflallin fell the vfiffim of his own
contrivance, under the dagger of
his accomplice.

Baron Werner, who had hitherto
proved deaf to his daughter’s intrea¬
ties for forgiveneis, now confents to
pardon her, being allured of the fu*-
cerity of her repentance.

4 G 2

596 Account if the new Drama

This interefting drama is pro-
feffedly a tranilation of one bearing
a fimiiar title in French, and which
has had a confiderable run, and ftiil
continues to be performed at Paris.
The verfton, we underhand, is by
Mr. Cobb. The principal plot, and
the more ftriking incidents, are al-
moft exaft copies of the original.
In the under plot, and lefs material
parts, there are many and wide al¬
terations adopted, no doubt, for the
purpofe of introducing c ha rafters
and circumftances, whole fituations
and fentiments reflect the com¬
plexion, and correfpond with the
temper of the times: their introduc¬
tion, therefore, could not be unfea-
fonable ; and the imprefiion they
were intended to produce was re¬
peatedly acknowledged by the ac¬
cording plaudits with which they
were diftinguiihed. As to the merits
of the piece itfelf, auftere criticifm
may perhaps difcover in it many
improbabilities, and fotnething of an
immoral tendency. That a young
lady of fifteen, deaf to the advice, and
regardlefs of the authority of a fa¬
ther, and -liftening only to the wild
fuggeflions of a blind and romantic
paflion, ftiould rufti into the arms of
a man in every refpeft unworthy of
her choice, is a flip that cannot well
be allowed to pals by uncenfured.
Yet the unabated ardour of filial
affeftion, and the unwearied praftice
of an ardent and exemplary repent¬
ance fo forcibly difplay themfelves
in every fubfequent aft of her life,
that a due regard to the frailty of
human nature mull prompt and ad-
Hionilh the forgivenefs of her youth¬
ful and thoughtlefs indifcretion.
Still when duty is tranfgreffed and
virtue wounded, there might always
be left behind a tear that will conti¬
nue to disfigure the iovelieft features
and the moft exemplary deport¬
ment :• in the prefent cafe, the de-
teftation of the fault is loft in the

— f The Wife of two Kifbands /

admiration of the virtues that fue«
ceed and atone for it.

The play is caft in the mould of
the German fchool, and is fome-
what tinged with the colour of its
morality. Its more ferious parts
are, however, highly interefting,
aud take a very powerful hold upon,
the paffions. Nor was their effeft
impaired by the performance. Mrs.
Powell’s afting afforded a moft per-
feft pifture of the filial affeftion, the
ardent contrition of the countefs:
and Mr. H. Johnfton, in the count,
had all the eafe, dignity, candour,
and generofity, which fo prominent^
ly mark that charafter. Wrough-
ton, in Maurice, difplayed, with his
ufual accuracy and pathos, firft the
unrelenting fternnefs of the irritated
father, and afterwards the returning
influence of parental fondnefs, when
the caufe of his refentment was re¬
moved, and its afperity foftened
down. Mifs De Camp, in Theo¬
dore, was more interefting, if pofii-
ble, than in the part of Julio ; and
every thing ftie attempted, afting,
ftnging, and dancing, was warmly
admired, and rapturoufly applauded.
Bannifter, in the Englifh failor, and
Johnftene, in the Irifh ferjeant, ex-
preffed fentiments fo perfeftlv cha-
rafteriftic of both profeffions and
both countries, and they fo happily
applied to the prefent moment, that
it is needlefs to fay they were eagerly
feized on, and as enthufiaftically
cheered. Indeed nothing was want¬
ing, on the part of the performers,
that could give-every poffible effeft
to every paffage and incident of the
play ; and their exertions, joined
with its intrinfic merits, could not
well fail of procuring it that decided
fuccefs with which it has been at¬
tended. Almoft the whole of the
mufic was compofed by Mr. Maz-
zinghi, and does infinite honour to
his ftyie and tafte; what was feleft-
ed argued a no iefs degree of felicity.

Loonies and Eugenios ; or, the Contrafi : a Tale*

The fcenery and decorations are
moft beautifully pi&urefque.

LEONTES and EUGENIUS ;

0 R,

THE CONTRAST 4

A TALE.

^The leffons of infancy fallen with
irrefiftible force on the mind ;
while the fuff imprefiions of our
early years influence our future fate,
and diredt our conduct through life.
We are creatures formed by a com¬
bination of minute circumftances
which few perfons have the oppor¬
tunity of obferving, and the few to
whom they might be known gene¬
rally pafs them by unobferved.

Leontes and Eugenius inhabited
the fame village, and pafted the ear-
lieft period of their lives in the fame
.boyifli purfuits. From the retired
fituation in which they lived they
had few companions, and their hearts
feemed toimbibe fentiments of affec¬
tion for each other from habit and
neceflity rather than from choice
and congeniality.

The father of Leontes inherited a
fmail eftate, on which he had refided
from infancy to age: for though
the poffeffion of a few paternal acres
had precluded him from the neceflity
of applying to trade, yet the re-
fources they fupplied were too (len¬
der to afford him an opportunity of
mixing with mankind; or correfting
the local prejudices of youth, by a
more enlarged view of fociety.

His fon, the darling object of his
affections, difcovered in infancy a
c 1-ear nefs of perception and viva¬
city of temper which rendered him
highly interefling. As his years
matured he appeared, in the eyes of
a doating father, a youth of uncom¬
mon talents, and to thefe parental
fondnefs added every virtue. Ths

penetration of Leontes foon difco-
vered the blind partiality of his fa¬
ther, over whom he eafily gained a
complete afcendancv, and even while
yet a boy contrived to rule him with
entire fway. This early and fuc-
cefsful effort for power foftered his
ambition, and rendered him at once
daring in exploit and fubtle in in¬
trigue. He was ever ready to lead
his youthful companions to fcenes of
depredation, and was foremoft in all
the plots which a fchool-boy’s acti¬
vity could invent or buoyant (pints
execute ; while his artful condoCt
generally excluded him from any
(hare in the difgrace or punifliment
which, on the deteCiion of his mifl*
chief, commonly fell on fome le&
culpable offender.

Far different was the lot of Euge¬
nius. Bred under a father whole
rigid difcipline, though it enforced
the obedience -of thofe around himt
reprefted their fympathy and chilled
their affection ; his riling fpirit
(lirunk beneath the harfli commands
which daily checked his youthful
gaiety. The efforts of his untaught
but afpiring mind were damped by
fe verity, and even the hours of re¬
creation were embittered by feverr
prohibitions. His walks were bound¬
ed, and his little feet were not allo w¬
ed to tread beyond the limits pre¬
formed by authority ; while the i ip#
fruit, which hung luxurioufly over
his head, was forbidden to his touch.
He trembled at the light of his fa¬
ther, left fome involuntary offence
fhould awaken his paflious and call
forth the feverity of his anger. The
conftant fear by which he was en-
flaved produced timidity of charac¬
ter ; and, though he was ever ready
to allift his companions in iblving a
problem, or compofing a letter, his
own performances were produced
with fuch a feeming confcioufnefs
of their deficiency, as half pei fuaded
thofe to whom they were addreffe^
to overlook their merit.

19$ Leontes and Eugenius ; or, the Contract a Tate.

When permitted to vjfit Leontes,
the heart of Eugenius bounded with
pleafure ; the road to his home
feemed the path to freedom, and he
felt like a wretch emancipated from
chains. Yet, amid ft the gaiety in
which he there indulged, a ligh
would often efcape him when he
contemplated the happier lot of his
young afiociate. But, fpite of thefe
tranfient feelings of regret, thepleaf-
ing fenfations which liberty infpired
prevailed, and the earlieft ideas of
happinefs, in the mind of Eugenius,
were affociated with his friend Leon-
tes. The fentiment thus im prefled
long continued to warm his heart ;
and when compelled to relinquifh
this early objett of his affe&ions,
and acknowledge him no longer
worthy of his efteem, it fnapped the
tie which bound him to fociety.
The years of childhood were at length
paffed, and the two friends entered
on the theatre of the world. With
hearts beating with expectation, they
bade adieu to their native village and,
as the vehicle that conveyed them to
the metropolis rolled rapidly along,
they gave loofeto the Lilies of youth¬
ful imagination, and anticipated all
'the joys which independence could
be flow.

Leontes, who had been deftined to
the ftudy of the law, took pofteffion
of elegant chambers provided for
him in the Temple. His father,
who had lately come into pofteffion
of an unexpected addition to his
fortune, was enabled to fix him in
his new career with all the advantages
which riches could beftow; while
Eugenius, who had chofcn the prac¬
tice of phylic, was placed as the
humble attendant of an apothecary.
It was the favourite and often-re¬
peated maxiin of his father— ‘Let
my fon fhift for himfelf, as I have
done before him ; for he will have
no abidance from me. Neceffity, I
know, flvarpens the wit ; keermefs
Hhd induftiy are the only talents? to

procure money; and money, m
every civilifed country, will pur-
chafe refpeCt 1 have fhown him
the ladder, let his own ingenuity
teach him how to afeend it.’

While the days of Leontes were
pafted in learning the arts of chi¬
cane* and his nights in riot and de¬
bauchery, the hours of his friend
were devoted to the incelfant
drudgery of compounding drugs.
But the mind of Eugenius was not
funk to his fituation: though each
iucceeding day brought a return of
toil, his aCfive fpirit defied the power
of deep, and a large portion of his
nights was ufually pafted in ftudy.
He beheld with pity the various dif-
eafes to which the human frame
was liable ; and, actuated by benevo¬
lence, he purfued the ftudy of medi¬
cine with ardour. Sometimes too,
to footh his lacerated bofom, in
which early feverity had planted the
thorn of forrow, he would turn the
querulous language of complaint
into the harmonious drains of poefy.
As often as he could deal an hour
from the toils of bufinefs, he repair¬
ed to the apartments of his only
friend, and beheld, without envy,
the rapid progrefs he was making in
the road to fame and fortune. In
the fociety of Leontes, which habit
had rendered dear, he forgot his
cares; and, during thofe pleating
moments, ceafed to regret his own
unpromifing fituation.

His friend continued to receive
his vifits with the language of polite-
nefs; and Eugenius, open and un-
fufpeding, doubted not the fincerity
of his profeffions. In his prefence,
Leontes regretted that want of dif-
cernment in mankind which could
leave merit, when opprefted by
poverty, unregarded; but in his ab-
fence he laughed, with his gav com¬
panions, at. the poor apothecary; and
wondered he had not fpirit enough
to better his condition by daring
adventure, or end hi* miserable ex-

Leontes and Eugenius ; cr , the Contrajt : a T ale. 5jj

iftence by a piftol. He felt, with
arrogant exultation, the difference
which fortune had placed between
them ; and, though he too much
admired the converfation of Euge-
nius to break off the connexion, he
meanly wifhed to make the Ipirit of
his friend crouch before his wealth
and profperity. This, however, he
neve; could accompbfh. The op-
preffed youth beheld w>th indif¬
ference his fplendid reddence and
luxurious board : to the fancied me¬
rits of the man he paid an involun¬
tary tribute of refped, but ro the
tinfel which decorated his exterior
he was infenhble.

Eugenius, though devoid of thofe
fhowy accomplifhments which a dine
could contribute to his advancement
in life, pofleffed a fimplicity of cha¬
racter and an integrity of heart which
excited the refped. of every one
with whom he was connected. His
employer, who pofleded a liberal
mind, acknowledged his ul efu In-els,
and delighted to converfb with him
on fubjeds of profedional know¬
ledge. This was a lour e of exqui-
dte pleafure to a heart panting for
fympathy, and writhing under pa¬
rental unkindnefs and negled. To
excite the attention of his fellow
mortals, and fee their affections
drawn towards him, was indeed a
■delightful fenfation ; but the kind-
nefs with which Louifa, the only
child of the apothecary, treated him,
filled his botom with rapture, and
thrilled every nerve with joy. She
occupied his thoughts by day, and
her image reded on his pillow by
night.

Louifa united all the graces of an

elegant perfon with a feeling heart.
Her attentions to Eugenius were at
firft the offspring of benevolence.
It was her delight to filed happinefs
on all around her, and die knew the
importance of minute attentions in
producing the felicity of man. But
Ter heart was foon fenfible of the

worth of Eugenius; and that kind-
nefs, wFTich had commenced under a
fenfe of duty, was continued from
the Ipontaneous effulions of friend-
fhim Though free from the paldon
of love, the was fully fenfible of his
meiits ; his tafte was congenial to
her own, and with him fhe knew no
referve. His prefence gave her de-
light, though his abience produced
no pain in her bofom.

'The feelings of Eugenius were,
however, far more poignant ; for,
while he fancied himfeif indulging
onlv the fentiments of admiration,
he was drinking in large and intoxi¬
cating draughts of the tendered paf-
fion. Yet his love was devoid of
every other hope except that imper¬
ceptible feeling which, working in-
fenfibly on a lover’s imagination,
levels all didindions, and places him
at the fummit of his widies.

‘ How can I exped, how dare I
even with,’ thought he, ‘that Louifa,
endowed with all the grac s both of
perfon and mind, ca reded by the
world, and balking in the funfhin'e
of profptnty, Ihould lacrifice all
thofe advantages to an unfriended
being like myfelf? My wilhes are
unreafonable,’ fighed he,” ‘and my
hopes unjud, and I will conceal
them from the objed of my love.
If my feelings are unconquerable, I
will filently endure- my anguio,, and
no word dial I efcape my lips that
may betray the prefumption of my
heart.'

The fear of betraying himfelf to
Louifa gave him, in her prefence,
an embarrafled air, and threw an
unufual referve over his behaviour.
Her prefence, which once feemed,
to infpire him with delight, now
appeared to cad a tenfold gloom over
hi- penfive mind. He diunned her
fociety, and the moments he was
compelled to pafs with her were
evidently moments of redraint. She
beheld this change with a painful
emotion ; the fentiments of friend*

•y

600 Leontes and Eugenius ; &r9 the Contrafl : a Tale .

Blip and efteem, which fhc had long
entertained for him were beginning
to ripen into warmer feelings, and
leer heart ftekened with difappoint-
ment. Louifa feemed to liften to
the dilates of worldly prudence,
which feparated her from Eugenius;
ta: her heart was too noble to force
©is him thofe affeftions which he
feemed fa affkluoufty to flnm ; and,
aided by female pride, hie repaid his
fancied negleft with indifference.

It was at this period, when his
heart was almoft burfting with its
farrow?, and panting for the relief
v ©f communication, that Eugenius, in
faltering accents, confeffed to his
friend the prefumptuous love in
which he had dared to indulge.
JLeontes, who regarded every thing
with a view to worldly intereff, and
whofe mind was free from thofe de¬
licate fcruples which oppreffed the
heart of his friend, laughed at his
filly refinement.

* Why, man,* cried he, f rt is the
luckieft hit in the world! this is the
•eery road to fortune! Louifa muff
inherit her father's wealth : you will
fucceed him in his profeffion, and

war eftablifhment in the world is

•>»

fccure,’

* It is true,’ replied Eugenius, de¬
jectedly; ‘ but what have I to offer
as an equivalent for all thefe advan¬
tages? Louifa would do honour to
lank and fortune; her merit would
enobletkles: and can I folicit her
acceptance of a being who has no¬
thing but uncorrupted and fincere
love to bellow in return ? No;
though my paffion is become the vital
fpark that animates my exiffence, I
cannot bear to addrefs her when my
profeffions would allow of fuch a
mercenary interpretation. Ah, Le¬
ontes ! afford me confolation, and
foath rhy affiifted heart with thy
frlendfliip: but do not perfuade me
to an a6t from which my judgment
and my feelings equally revolt.’

Leontes liftened for fome time to

what he termed the rhapfodies of re v
finement; and then by every effort
of reafon, aided by the more power¬
ful liimulus of ridicule, he endea¬
voured to induce his friend to alter
his refolution.

‘A woman’s heart,’ faid he, ‘is
formed of melting materials; and
Louifa will, no doubt, be eafily per-
fuaded to love you. And why
fhould you fhun the fortune that
awaits you? You have the power
of making her happy. It is not her
wealth which you feek ; and you
may fave her from falling a vidlim
to fome fpecious deceiver, who^-pof-
felling more worldly advantages than
yourfelf, yet incapable of appreciat¬
ing her worth, may be attracted only
by her fplendid fortune.5

Eugenius at length, influenced
partly by the wifhes of his friend-,
but more by the feeret pleadings of
his own heart, eonffenfed to renew
his former attentions to Louifa ;
while Leontes promifed, if he would
procure him an introduction, to difi-
cover, if poffible, the fentiraents of
the lady, and aid the wifhes of his
friend. In this he was fincere..
The habits of their early friendfliip
were not yet erafed from his mind;
and, as he could not reduce Euge¬
nius to the outward behaviour of an
humble dependent on himfelf, his
next wiili was to raife him to con-
fequence in the world, that he might
not blufli for the poverty of his
friend. His talents and virtues ex¬
torted from Leontes the tribute of
refpecl; but he had not magnanimi¬
ty enough to fhow the coxcombs
with whom he affociated, that he
dared to prize merit as it deferved,
when fhrunk in obfeurity, and chill¬
ed by negleCl.

Eugenius now endeavoured tore-
gain the Liendfhip of Louifa, which
it was evident he had loft by his late
conduct. His acute feelings* how¬
ever, and a painful conicioufnels of
his fituatio», embarraffed all his as-

Leontcs and Eugenius ; or, the Contrajl : a Tale . Go 1

tions, and gave to thofe attentions,
which flowed from the heart alone,
the appearance of conftraint and
effort. She watched his conduct
with attentive observation, while fhe
attributed the change in his manners
to a motive which roufed her pride
and awakened her delicacy. He
had, (lie fancied, difcovered her
partiality; and, actuated by pity,
was endeavouring to fofter an affec¬
tion for her againlf which his fpon-
taneous, feelings revolted, but on
thefe terms the fcorned his love.
4 I am not fo humbled in fpirit,’
thought fhe, f as to accept his com-
pallion. He fliaii know that he is
free, that my proud heart difdains
the faci ifice he would make.’

Thefe refolutions were hardly
formed before Leontes was intro¬
duced to her acquaintance. The

hate of her feelings were eafily de¬
veloped by him ; but one evening
pafled in her focietybroke the bonds
of friendfliip, and drove from’ his
mind all remembrance of Eugeni us.
He beheld in her an objeff calcu¬
lated to gratify all his partions: her
beauty would excite admiration, and
raife the envy of his artociates;
while her wealth would admin ifter to
his ambition, and afford new fources
of diliipated pleafures. To accom-
p’iili his fcheme, however, it would
be necertary to deceive both the
lovers, and this he conceived would
be no difficult talk. He had but to
induce Louifa to follow the bias her
mind had already taken, and the
hopes of Eugenius he knew would
be eafily repreffed. With well-af-
fedled for row, he informed him, that
his paiiion had given offence to the
object of his tendered willies, and
that from her he had nothing to ex¬
pect, for die had iiftened to his
warmed pleadings with indifference.
The gloom of difappointment fad-
dened the features of Eugenius; life
feemed to have lod every charm,
and the purfuits which had hitherto
Vox,. XXXIV.

occupied his at*ention were now
wholly neglected.

Leontes, in the mean time, exert¬
ed all his talents to captivate the
heart of Louifa ; while the eafy
gaiety of his manners gave a peculiar
charm to his actions. Circumdances
confpired to forward his withes;
his friendthip for Eugenius proved
to tiie mind of his midrefs the worth
of his character; while the fplendor
of his prefent dtuation, and his ele¬
vated expectations, fecured him the
approbation of her father. Morti¬
fied pride, too, pleaded for him in
the bofom of Louifa^ the humble
Eugenius had neglected her love,
while the brilliant, the elevated
Leontes, laid his honours at her feet.
His efforts were fuccefsful, her heart
yielded to Ins perfuafions, and in a
few months after their fir fb acquaint¬
ance die became his bride.

Eugenius beheld thefe changes
with the apathy of defpair : his bu-
finefs was negledted, arid he fought
to banifh painful reflections by in¬
toxicating liquors; while his counte¬
nance, haggard with woer exhibited
a mournful picture of tire pangs
which corroded his heart. Louifa,
though ignorant of the caufe, pitied
the for rows which feemed to prey*
on his frame. She fought an oppor¬
tunity of converting with him in
private; and, not doubting but that
he had teen her former partiality,
fhe frankly confeffed what had been
her intentions toward- him.

* But,* added die, kl commend
your fincerity, and admjre your
principles : in refilling to facufice
vour feelings to vour intereft you
have perhaps condemned your'felf tp
poverty; and are now, l fear, re¬
gretting vour hard lot. Yet do not,
my fiiend, be di Icon raged ; .1 will
add my influence to the friendfliip
my father already feels for you, and
I have no doubt but we fliaii fccure
to you his prefent pra&ice.’

This feene was too much for the

4 H

602

The Moral Zoologi/t.

fortitude of Etigenlus. The treachery
of his friend and the lofs of his belov¬
ed Lo«ifa were at once revealed to
his view. He gazed on her face with
wild agony, while he funk before
her, and with impallioned addon
preffed her hand to his burning bo-
fom. Caution was now impoiiible;
and every feeling which had agi¬
tated his heart was developed, while
he bade an eternal adieu to the wo¬
man he fo ardently loved, and from
whom he was now fepa rated by a
barrier which time could not re¬
move. Cifappointed at once in his
friendfhip and his love, his reafon
was fufpe tided, and he remained for
fome years a diftradfed maniac.

But the violence of his difeafe was
at length foftened by time ; and,
though melancholy ftill clouded his
countenance, he was at length per¬
mitted to wander again at liberty in
the world. Society, however, no
longer afforded him delight; the
feverity in which his early years had
been nurtured reprelfed the energies
of hope ; he had been once fatally
deceived, and from th^Lmoment he
viewed mankind with diftrufl and
fufpicion. in a folitary hut which
lie has raifed on the futnmit of a
jock, whofe lofty top overhangs the
fwelling ocean, ne has for forne
years refided ; while a fmall annuity,
which he inherits from his father,
ferves to procure him the neceffaries
of life.

The few beings who relide near
his habitation, regard him as afevere
irnfanthrope, and fhun his folitary
abode ; while, depreffed by the
gloom of melancholy, he pailes the
heavy hours of exiftence forgotten
by the world, and loft to its joys.

But Leontes, rich and luxurious,
courted by mankind, and furround-
ed by pleafures, is famed for the
bftentatious difplay of his bounty,
and regarded as the benevolent friend
©f the wretched. It is true, his
treachery has poifoned the fource of

his domeftic comforts. Louifa, ac¬
quainted with his arts and the rafh-
nefs of Eugenius, regards his diffi-
mulation with difgulf; while the
bondage which unites her to the
man whofe conduc'd fhe feels fhe
mult delpife, corrodes her heart and
bows down her fpii its with forrovv.
But though hie has endured every
trial in filence, nor fullered a mur-
mpr of complaint to efcape her lips,
the world condemns the difcontent
which fits on her brow, and Leontes
is pitied as the victim of a capricious
woman. He maintains a polite ex¬
terior, which dazzles mankind, and
throws an impenetrable veil over
the deformity of his mind; while,
by the plaufibility of his manners,
he contrives to fix the fbgma of his
vices on every being with whom he
is conceded. E. W,

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART II.

( Continued from p. 54*9.)

LETTER VIII.

From Eugenia to the Right Hon.

Lady - .

The fecond order or clafs of birds,
- in the fyllems of mail modern
haturalifts, is the Picee, or pie kind;
the charaderi flics of which, accord¬
ing t© Linnaeus, are — the bill knife-
fliaped, with a convex back; the feet
furni filed with three toes before and
one behind; the body flringy and im¬
pure:-— that they gather their food
from dirt and rubbifh; build their
nefls on trees, the male feeding the
female during the time of incubation;
and that they are monogamous, or
pair.

This order conneds the rapacious
birds with the gallinaceous, or poul¬
try tribes. It contains, in the Lin-
naean fyftem, a great variety of

Lngmi'ceL for the fLadys JUagazine .

The Moral Zoologlfi . 60 3

Hera, extending from the parrot and
the raven to the humming-bird;
birds fo different in their form and
habits that fcarcely any characters
will apply to them all. They live
upon fielli, infers, fruits, and grain.
They, in general, contribute but
little to furnifti out the pleafures, or
fupply the neceffities, of man. Many
of them ferve rather to teize than to
aflift or amufe him. Though they
feem fond of frequenting his neigh¬
bourhood, becaufe they, for the mod:
.part, live by his labour, they appear
chiefly intent on making depreda¬
tions on the fruits of his induftry;
and, when they are taken or killed by
him, he finds no compenfation in the
generality of them, either living or
dead, for the lofs he has fuftained.

But though, with refpect to man,
almoft the whole of this clafs is either
Ufeiefs or noxious, with refpedt to
each other no race of birds is more
ingenious or aCtive, or has difpofi-
tions more aptly fuitable to focial
life. — ‘ Could we,’ favs Goldfmilh,
€ fuppofe a kind of morality among
birds, we fhould find that thefe^ are
by far the mod induftrious, the tnoft
faithful, the moft conftant, and the
mod connubial. The rapacious
kinds drive out their young before
they are able to druggie with ad-
verfity, but the pie kind eberifh their
young to the lad. The poultry
clad are faithlefs and promifeuous in
their courtfllip; but thefe live in
pairs, and their attachments are
wholly confined to each other. The
fparrow kind frequently overleap the
bounds of nature, and make illicit
varieties ; but thefe never. T hey
live in harmony with each other :
every fpecies is true to its kind, and
tranfmits an unpolluted race to poite-
rity.’

Many of the birds of this kind are
remarkable for their capidi’y tor 1a-
ftruCtion. They havealiWf>d all an
exprelfion of cunning or archned m

their look, and crows' have been
taught to fetch and carry with the
docility of a fpaniel.

Birds of this clafs make their neds
generally in trees and bufhes. Both
male and female labour conjointly in
building their neds, and the former
often relieves .his mate in the duties
of incubation. They, in faCt, take
this office by turns; and, when the
young are produced, both are alike
aCtive in their endeavours to fupply
them with food.

Some of thefe birds live in focie-
ties, and in thefe there appears to
be an obfervance of general laws ;
and, if we believe fame writers, a
‘kind of republican form of govern¬
ment is edablifhed. Each is watch¬
ful for the fafety of the flock, arid
this vigilant attention feems not un-
frequently to be Extended to birds of
another fpecies. The fowler, when
endeavouring to fnrprife a flock of
ducks or wild-geefe, is often disap¬
pointed by the cry of alarm given by
a crow or a magpie, which apprifes
the thoughtlefs creatures of their
danger, and warns them in time to
provide for their fafety*

In a few general characters, bird*
of this clafs appear all to agree ; as in
having hoarfe voices, flight active
bodies, and a rapidity — or, at lead,
facility — of flight, that enables them
frequently to elude the purfuit of
even the boldeft and molt vigorous of
the rapacious tribes.

In my next, I fnall proceed to the
defcrip'tion of the genus which is
placed bv Linnapus, and moft other
natural) Its, except thole who clafs
the fhrikes with the pies and with
the rapacious birds, in the front of
this tribe.

With the fin her eft willies fur your
ladvflluVs happinefs, and the utmoft
efteem and affection, i lemaiu.

Your ever-faithful

Eugenia.

(To be continued.)

4 H a

[ 60* 3

POETICAL ESSAYS.

THE SHIELD.

1 From the 1 Poet ir.nl Works of the late Thomas
Little, Efq:\

* you not: h-'ar a voice of
death ?

And did you not mark the paly form

Which rode on the filver mill of the
heath,

And fung a ghoftlydirge in the dorm ?

‘ Was it a wailing bird of the gloom.

Which fhrieks on the houfe of woe
all night ?

Or a fhivering fiend that Hew to a tomb,

To howl and to feed till the glance of
light ?’

s ’T was not the death-bird's cry from
the wood, - rblaft ;

Nbr fliivering fiend that hung in the

'T was the fnade of Hclderic- — man of
blood — [are pad !

It fcreams for the guilt of days that

* See ! how the red, red lightning drays,

And fear es the gliding ghofts of the
heath !

Now on the leaflefs yew it plays.

Where bangs the fhield of this fon of
death !

* That fhield is blufhing with murderous

ftains, [fprav ;

Long has h hung from the cold yew's

it is blow’ n by florins, and wafh’d by
rains,

But neither can take the blood away !

4 Oft by that yew, on the bLfted field,

Daemons dance to the red moon’s light,

W bile the damp boughs creak, and the
fwinging fhield

Sings to the raving fpirit of night P

TO MRS.

And oft fhe fwore fhe ’d never rove ;
And I was deftin’d to believe her 1.

Then, lao’y, do not wear the fmile
Of her whole fmile could thus betray,
Alas 1 I think the lovely wile

Again might Heal my heart away.

And when the fpell, that dole my mind-,
On lips lb pure as thine I fee,

I fear the heart which fhe refign’d
Will err again, and fly to thee l

[Frew the Sami r. j

(PWF.r.T Ldy ! look not thus again ;

*■ Thofe little pouting fnnles recall
A maid remember’d now with pain,
Who was my love, my 'life, my all !

Oh ! while • his heart delirious took
Sweet poifon from her thrilling eye,
Thus would fhe pout, and lifp, and look,
And I would hear, and gaze, and High !
Yes, I did love her — madly love —

She was the- dearc.il, heft deceiver 1

THYMES in PRAISE of RHYME.

\From Mifs Watts's Pcems.~\

Though we mull own, poetic didlios
Too oft delights to deal in fibtion ;
Yet this is certain, honell Rhyme
Will fell plain troth at any time,

And in one word will oft fay more,

Than the beft Profe cculd in a fco«£,

A few plain cales we fhall flaie,

To free this matter from debate.

Mark you yon glutton at a feaft ?
And what lays Rhyme ? he calls him—
beaft j

See you yon drunkards [willing wine ?
Pvhyme in a moment names them— .
fzvine :

When Flavia, not content with four,
Adds a fifth hufband to her flore, f
Rhyme thinks a word, but fpeaks no
more.

What wants that fenatcr who blufters,
And all his tropes and figures mufters,
Againft the man who rules the fteerage ?
Rhyme whifpers in your ear — - a peerage.
What makes you patriot drain his lungs.
And bawl as loud as twenty tongues,
To prove his country’s dire difgrace ?
Pvhyme Inkling (ays — a pierce L a place !
When pritfts above ft.-ek their abode.
Yet love to loiter on the road,

And ft 11 on lords and ftarefmen fawn,
Rhyme foakes his head, and whifpers —
Inzer;.

Which is the nymph, who, foor as feen.
Is iiail'd thiough Europe, beauty's
queen,

Before whofe charms the faireft fade ?
Rhym* gymly fight — the Brjt'i/b maid .
Which is' tie man whofe daring foul
Conducts in war, from pole to pole,

His country’s proud triumphant carl
Rhyme ihouts aloud — the Britijb tar ,

POETRY.

60.5

ADDRESS to the EVENING STAR. But he roves unconfta’d, in a b>.rn gQ~$

to reft,

And th^s happily fpends ail his days,

Augujl i, 1803. J. M. L,

THE ADIEU,

ON LEAVING THE COUNTRY,

[ From the Greek of Mofchus.']

BY J. E. S. MORRITT, ESQ..

T T ail. Hefperus ! bright torch of
Beauty's queen !

Dear facred gem of dewy evening,
hail !

So Ihine thy rays above her fpangied
(been,

As glows the moon above thy ra¬
diance pale.

When to th’ accu ftom’d fair my ifoot-
fteps ftray,

Now timely fliine j for, lo ! the change¬
ful Moon

D rives her dim chariot in the blaze of
day.

And envious fetsere half the night be
done.

No plunder tempts me through the

treacherous lhade ; .

For me no nightiy traveller ilia.ll hcaun arm content be tne lot

mourn: ° * Of each cottager honeft and poor.

T is Love that calls thee — be his voice Kingslanu , Sept. 1, 1803. j. M»

obey’d ; .

Sweet is her love, and claims a fweet — .

return.

ACROSTIC.

A D IEU, ye lo v ’<1 fcenes of my youth
Where in days of ray childhood
ft ray’d ! —

Sylvan fcenes deck’d with virtue and.
truth —

Adieu, native cot in thq glade !

Farewel to the green-bower’d grove ?

Flow’ry banks and cool grottos, adieu!
R.uftic fcenes deck’d with friendfhip and
love, [you.

Sweet Peace, fmil’mg, dwells amid ft

Farewel to each neat ruftic cot !

May forrow ne’er enter your door!

THE MENDICANT.

Through fome village or town oft
I merrily trud-e,

And deceive as l travel along ;

I am ready as molt fome fad ltory to
fudge,

When I wilh to impofe on the throng.

Now a failor I feem, though I ne’er was
at fea ;

And a foldier fometimes I appear :

Vet kind females will oft grant aftift-
ance to me, *

While their gifts arc enhanc’d by a
tear.

When a foldier or failor no longer will

do,

Then I inftantly alter my plan,

And difguis’d as a t woman , with infants
a few,

7 \

I no ionger am like the fame man.

! the life of a beggar is furely the
be ft ;

Neither r,ax?s nor h ou fe -rent he pays;

AyfOST charming is the maid whole

IVi. virtuous heart

I s free from pride, from ypnirv, and art,

S3y now, O Mule! what theme (hall be
my care,

Such as may bed pourtray a heavenly
fair ?

P oftefs’d of ev’ry charm, of ev’ry
grace ;

A mind unfullied; in each look we
trace [face :

The queen of beauty pictur’d in her

T ruth’s pure ft ray in ev’ry glance we
lee ;

Youth’s artlefs fmiie, and virgin mo-
defty-:

Peerlefs in beautv, as in thought re-

’ . fin’d;

Envy of woman — pride of all mankind;

Grace, elegance, and eafe, at once com¬
bine ;

Refie&ing all that ’s lovely, fair, divine!

O fay, how bleft the youth who gains
her heart muft be :

May Keav’n deny that happinefs to alt
but me ! J. V.

September 3, 1803.

POETRY.

696

The HARMONY and MAGNIFI¬
CENCE of ibe UNIVERSE.

fcFrom Boyd's Tranjlation of Dante's Paradifo <]

ternal vvifdom and eternal love,
Join’d with interminable power
above,

Union ineffable, in blifs fupreme,
Gave to exiftence this ftupendous whole,
Where’er the eye can reach, or foaring
haul

Extends around its intellectual beam.

Unrivall’d order and celeftial grace,

Seen thro’ the llages of unbounded fpace,
Whene’er the mental eye, with fteady
view,

Surveys its glory to the heav’nly king,
Lifts the wrapt foul on Contemplation’s
wirtg, [ture new.

And ev’ry povv’r expands with rap-

Now ye that hear the heav’nly Mufe’s
voice, [Ikies,

Purfue her journey through the op’ning
Where the firft motion wheels her
mighty round,

And whirls the planets with refiftlefs
fway ;

In felf-enj oyment wrapt, and blifs
profound.

Behold yon’ (tuning path obliquely run,
Where, with his glorious retinue, thefun
Marshals the leafons, and conducts
the year:

What wii'dom in the Pow’r that taught
his ray [per’d day,

To warm the fubjedl world with tem-
Not coldly diftant, nor oppreffive near.

Had any other circuit been aftlga’d
For this setherial cavalcade to wind,

In froft to (lumber or to fink in fire,
Had been the lot of all fublunar things :
Here Contemplation reds her weary
wings, [mire.

And (lops a while to tremble and ad-

Indulge this holy prelibation firft,

That your ripe mind, in holy habits
nurs’d,

May fcorn that earthy fume that
damps the foul,

And brings it down from its aetherial
flight :

For thy behoof I range the fields of light,
Culling the fruits of heav’n from pole
v to pole.

Nature’s great herald now, whbfe eye
afar

Celeftial influence (beds from ftar to ftar,

And meafures time in hisdiurnal race ,
Had reach’d the welcome ftage, that calls
the light

Of Phofphor fooneft from the womb of
night,

To drive the vapours from Aurora’s
face.

Bright regent of the planetary train,
How I was wafted to thy high domain

Is all myfterious as the fource of
thought ;

There, oh ! what fplendours flafh'd upon
my view,

When my celeftial guide my notice
caught.

Transfiguration in a moment came,
Diftinbt (he ftood vyithin the folar flame,

Light within light ! but more re-
fplendent far:

No radiant change of lifted colours gay
Was there, no painting with illufive ray

Her matcbiefs form that feeble aid
. could fpare.

Let intellect, experience, art, combine.
Vain were their pow’r to paint that
fcene divine ;

E’en Faith, with angel ken, would
fcarce fuffice :

That Fancy's plumage fails to mount the
height

is furprife ; for who can bear the
fight

When Sol with double Iuftre fires the
(kies ?

Such was th’ appearance of the heav’nly
band,

Who in the funny region took their
(land,

Wonders of wifdom ! Miracles of
love !

For ever finging in alternate lays
To Him, who cheers withever-vital rays

The glorious circle of the faints above„

‘ T o this material fource of life and light,
His pow’r,’ my leader cry 'd, ‘ has wing’d
your flight

Never did mortal feel fo deep a glow
Of filial love, commix’d with filial (ear:
Heav’n’s dome, the radiant nymph, the
l'olar fphere* [(how.

Seem’d all to vani(h, like a pafling

POETRY.

But inly vex’d to fee my feeming< fcorn,
Shefmii’d benignant, like the roly morn.
Her fmile recall’d me from my rapt’-
rous trance :

Sudden the cope of heav’n falntes my
^ fight, . [bright,

The glories darting round the fquadrons
Call’d toexiftenee by her magic glance.

Difbanding foon, the files, with fplen-
dour crown ’d, [r/und;

Jn one wide- waving glory hermn’d us
Their gen’ral chorus charm’d the
lift’ning ear :

Oar optics lefs enjoy’d the double noon,
Form’d like an halo bending round the

BiQon,

When a thin vapour veils her ihining
fphere.

Unnumber’d are the myftic wonders
known [throne ;

On this high footflool of the burning
No mortal ftrain the tenourcan convey
Of that loud hymn that round the con¬
cave rung : [long,

The mahi who wants to learn the lofty
Mali mount on wings of fire the
milky way.

As well might thoughtlefs mortal's hope
to hear, [fphere,

From mutes, the mufic of the folar
Whofe long-drawn modulation feem’d
to ring

From the bright fquadrons in a triple
round, [bound,

As in full march they pac’d the folar
Chanting the glories of their heav’nly
king,

Tike ftars that circle round the ftedfaft
pole,

For ever pointing to their radiant goal,
Thefe living funs, reflecting blaze on
blaze,

Mov’d on, or paus’d, as in a feftive hall
Gay nymphs, that tend the mufic’s dy¬
ing fall,

Sufpend their Hep, or thrid the
fportive maze.

Then, as the heav’nly anthem feem’d to
reft, [drefs’d :

A dill fmall voice my ravifh’d ears ad-
* Since grace, the gentle ntrrfe of love
divine,

That knows its objeCt, and expands its
flame, [claim ;

Infpires your foul, the deep afeent to
Oh, mortal man 1 immortal biifs is
thine !

607

‘ None here can to thy thirfty foul deny-
Fair Truth’s neCtareous draught, a rich,
fupply ;

No more than to the main the wint’ry
flood freer ;

Can ftep adown the Hope his fwift ca-
Then, if you with to know our fortunes
here, [mental f®od.*

You foon fhall fate your mind with

■ ii I "i^ WNn

PASTORAL.

Since Damon has ftray’d from thefe

plains,

How joylefs, how cheerlefs am I !
Defpair oft intrudes on my brains,

And rends from my bread the foni
figh.

Benevolence beam’d on his face :

To all he was gentle and free :

W rule paffion enliven’d each grace.

How melting his accents to me !

Now, abfenr, he heeds not my woe;

Nor thinks he how ardent 1 love.

His worth taught this heart firft to glow*'
Can wifdom the feeling reprove ?

At eve, when the heart-cheering found
Of mufic invites to the dance ;

When pleafure is fmiling around,

And gaily the fhepherds advance ;

I fly from thofe feenes of delight,
Though joy they to others .impart :
Can Mirth’s vain enchantments invite
To rapture the love-ftricken heart ?

In that grove where, in happier hours,
With Damon I’ve fpent the long day —
While pleafure abforb’d all my powers,
So fweet would he fing the fond lay — •

I could penfively wander alone,

When night in deep fombre is clad,
And lift to the nightingale’s moan,
Whole mufic ’s fo foothingly fad.

To me will he always prove true ?

I figh, while my bofom beats high :

Yet, lure., when he bade me adieu,

The tear glitten’d moift in his eye.

I faw him, reluClant, depart,

While forrow pervaded his foul ;

And grief heav’d the figh from hU
heart

Of anguilh he could not controul.

Now, abfent, he heeds not my woe ;

Nor thinks he how ardent I love :

Like mine fure his heart ne’er can glow ;

Its forrows his bread ne’er can prove.

September 8, 1803. E. W.

POETRY.

ODES.

''[From DiivtCi 1 Travels in the U ited States.’’ J
I. TO THE MOCKING-BIRD.

Oweet bird, whofe imitative drain
^ Of all thy race can counterfeit the
note,

And with aburthened heart complain,
Or to the long of joy attune thy phroat ;

To thee I touch the ft ring,

While at my cafe men t, from the neigh-
bYmg tree,

Then hail’d the coming fpring,

And plaintive pour’ll thy v®ice, or
mock’ll with merry glee.

Thou brin^ed to my mind
The characters we hud
Amid' the motley feeues of human life ;
How very few appear
The garb of truth to wear.

But, with a borrow'd voice, conceal a
heart of llrife.

• Sure then, with wifdom fraught,
Thou art by nature taught,
Pidembled joy in others to deride;
And'when the mournful heart
A flumes a fprightly part,

To note the cheat, and with thy mock¬
ing chide,

B.ut when, with midnight long,

Thou firig’ft the woods among,

And fofter feelings in the bread awake ;
Sure, then, thy roiling note
Dogs Am pa thy denote,

And fhows thou canft of others’ grief
partake.

Pour out. thy lengthen’d drain ;

With woe and grief complain,

Arid blend thy kurows in cJpe mournful
lay :

Thy moving tale reveal,

Make, me loft pity feel ;

I love in filent woe to pals the day.

II. TO A CRICKET.

Little gueft with merry throat,

‘That ( hirpeft by my taper's fight,
Come, prolong thy biithfome note,
Welcome vilitant of night :

Here enjoy a calm retreat,

In my chimney fafely dwell,

No rude hand thy haunt fhali beat,

Or chafe thee from thy lonely cell.

Come, recount me all thy woes.

While around us fighs the galej
Or, rejoic’d to find re pole,

Charm me with thy merry tale.

Say, what paid on moves thy bread *
D&ts fome dame employ thy care ?
Perhaps with love thou art opprefs’d,

A mournful viftim to defpair.

Shelter’d from the wintry wind,

Live and dug, and banifh care;

Here proteflion thou fhalt find,
Sympathy has brought thee here.

TO A LADY’S FAVOURITE CAT.

BY MR. G. DYER.

rince of cats ! with (kin fo deck.
Sharpen’d mouth, and jetty check ;
And tail as coral fhining bright,

And eyes that can defy the night :
With whifkers, claws, and Renting note,
For ever nsoufing as it goes —

All thefs proclaim as mere a cat
As ever tuzzled mciiife or rat.

But when I mark thy miftrefs nigh—
(And I have look’d with fearching

«y<0-

The purring foft, the tender gaze,

And all thy little fondling ways ;

The playful tail, the touch fo bland,
When ftroking Sappho’s lovely hand ;
And when on Sappho’s bufom fpread,

I fee thee nedle dole thy head;

And this, and more rhan this, I lee,

Till, happy pufs ! I tnvy thee : — •

Oh ! then, methinks, time was that thou
Wail not what thou appeared now :
While drinking thus of love thy fill.
Thou feemeft but a lover ftill ;

Yes, prince of cats, if right I fcan,

The time has been when thou wail MAN.

EPITAPH.

CTR ANGER, who friik along this
church-path way, [lay;

Stop thy quick flep, and read this ferious
To folemn mufings one fhort hour de¬
vote,

And give a loofe to falurary thought :
While this according done attrads thine
eye, [mud die 1

Hear it exclaim — ‘ Thou, mortal, too,
Be wife in time, reform, repent, amend ;
Life has no length— eternity no end.’
Haver bilk John Webb.

E 609 3

I ' * ” ■* f* .

• / . V

FOREIGN NEWS.

- - - - \

Breft, September i 8 .
rJ1HE prefect of Finifterre has received
and communicated to the feveral au¬
thorities of the department, the official
intimation that the firft conful will im¬
mediately repair to Granville and St.
■Maloes. It is notsftated that he will ex¬
tend his journey to Breft : it is deemed,
however, not improbable, and in that
expectation a guard of honour is pre¬
paring for his reception.

Amflerdam , September 20. All our
ftips of war, gun-boars, and flat-bot¬
tomed boars, will be affembled at three
principal ftations, *1 jiz. in the Texel, at
Helvoetfluys, and at Flulhing. Each of
thefe divifions will be under a rear-ad¬
miral as commander ; and admiral De
Winter will have the command in chief
of the whole fleet.

Mentz , September 23. The movements
the troops towards the coaft continue
to be very aCtive. No perfon any longer
doubts that the expedition againft Eng¬
land will be undertaken. The remain¬
der of the garrifor* in Lorrain, Alface,
and Burgundy, have begun their march.

Frankfort , September 24. The imperial
charge d'affaires, M. Scheillein, has of¬
ficially notified to our fenate the declara¬
tions by patent of his imperial mqefty,
that he will obferve a perfedl neutrality
in the war between France and Eng¬
land ; for which communication he re¬
ceived rhe thanks of the fenate.

Bruffls , September 24. General Da-
vtmft, commandant of all the forces
which are to be concentrated in the ci-
devant Flanders, and 'which will form
the centre of the grand army of Eng¬
land, and general Dumas, chief of the
ftaff, who, with feveral officers of rank,
have made a tour to Dunkirk and along
the coafts, to make the neceffary difpofi-
t'ions for organiling the corps which are
there affemb ling, returned immediately
after to Bruges, where they were pre*
lent at rhe adminiftraticn of the oath to
the members of the legion of honour,
which was performed with great csre-
¥9L. XXXIV.

rnony. They are now employed in
reviewing the troops which fucceffively
arrive kt Flanders, and in making pre¬
parations for the eftablilhment of a camp
at Bruges. The garrifon of that place
will be no lefs numerous than that
Ghent ; among other troops expefted at
that place, there are fome regiments or
cavalry* and the confular body-guard,
who will precede the chief conful. It
appears that only one camp will he
formed between Ghent, Dynfe, and
Bruges, but it will be occupied by an
army of eighty thoufand men.

The garrifon of the ifland of Cadfant
has been augmented, within thefe ten 01*
twelve days paid, to about two thoufand
men. All the pods on the coaft have
been occupied by double the number of
men ; and the command of all the troops
collected on the ifland has been entrufled
to general Dumont, military commiffary
of the department of the Scheldt.

The troops that are to compofe the
army of Flanders already begin to ar¬
rive, and a great number of men are ex¬
pected fucceffively, who are now on their
march from different points of the inte¬
rior of France. As the fecond journey
of the ftrft conful to our departments has
been retarded for fome days, it is fup-
pofed he will not arrive before the 7th
or 1 2th of October.

If letters from Paris may be credited,
and they are confirmed by advices from
the north of Germany, it appears that
urgent propofitions for a mediation have
been renewed by Raffia, both at Paris
and London, and that at the fame time
the cabinet of Peterlburgh has renewed
in the molt preffing manner, its fob cita¬
tions for railing the blockade of the Elbe
and the Wefer. It is further added
that the firft conful does not decline an
accommodation with England on juft
and equitable grounds. It is believed,
that it is the arrival of thole pacific pro-
poiitions that has delayed the departure
of the firft conful, Bonaparte, from Pa¬
ris. Such, at leaft, are the public ru-

610

Foreign News.

room's now sfloar, and which by no
means appear devoid of foundation.

Paris, September 25. On the 22c! in-
ftant, five regiments of dragoons were,
reviewed by the firft conful, in the plain
of Rocqincourt, near V c r fai lies. A great
number of perfons went to fee the man¬
oeuvres of thefe difinounted regiments,
which, it is laid, are. to form a part of the
army of England. The next day, there
was a great concourfe of people at the
dock-yard, near the Invalided, where two
fiat-bottomed boats were launched.

A fpedfacle of the fame kind as the be¬
fore-mentioned, but much more grand,
took place yefterday, in the port of
Breft, it being the feftivalof the republic.
Two fhips of war were launched r the
Vengeur, of 118 guns, and the Caffart,
of 74 guns. A few days before, another
74, the Suffrein, was launched at L’O-
rient. It is ftated, in difpatches from
the minifter of the marine, that the la-'
beurers at the dock-yards at Rochrort
are in equal activity, fo as fptedily to
funiiili to the republic another veil'd, the
Lion, of 74 guns, and four frigates, all
of which are in great forwardnefs. In
this la ft. port, within the year, they have
ajfo finifhed two fnips of the line, the
Majeftueux, of 129, and the Magna-
nime, of 74 guns.

26. On the 17th inftant, vice-admiral
Truguet, counfel.lor of ftate, was ap¬
pointed commander of the naval rorceat
.Breft. Rear-admiral LacroflE, maritime
prefect of the diftrtth of Havre, and
captain Bonnefom, maritime prefect of
the diftridt of Dunkirk. Thefe two di-
ftridls, which are the principal, extending
from Antwerp to Cherbourg inciuiively.
The grand, or, as it is termed, the na¬
tional flotilla, which is forming in all the
ports above included, and for the afTem-
bling of which Boulogne ferves as a
central point, is, as has been ftated, un¬
ifier the command of admiral Breuix.
The Toulon fleet, compoftd of nine fail
of, the line and fix frigate^, put to fea on
the isth inftant, but was obliged to re¬
turn into the road, after having been at
f'ea only ten hours. It is faid that their
fpeedy return was owing to the appear¬
ance of the Engliili fleet, of twenty- one
fail, which was announced on the fame
4ay by beacons from Matfcifles.

Leyden , September 29. The English
fhips of war, which are cruifing on the
trails of this republic, have lately given

fome difturbance. Yefterday morning,
one of the enemy’s vt fiefs, with fome
gun- boats, approached the coaft of Zand-
fert, off Haerlem, funk one fifhing-boat
by their fire, nearly deftroyed another,
and damaged fever a 1 houfes of the vil¬
lage. The troops on the fpot did their
duty, and were fpeedily reinforced.

Pans , Gflober 4. Ncgeciations for
peace are now no longer fpuken of. We
arc allured that the laft pr#pofitions
made by Ruflia have not been found ac¬
ceptable on our part.

Some perfons believe that, befides the
expedition againft England, another
great one is preparing, which is fup-
poled to be intended 'for Egypt.

The troops afiemble'd on the coaft now
receive pay as in the field.

7. When the firft conful goes to thi
army of England, it is underftood that no
council of government will be eftablifh-
ed, but the two other confuls will take
the abminift ration of affairs.

Tke fortifications of Bruffels, Leigc,
Dornick, Cortryk, Namur, Menin, and
twenty-four other places, will be dernev
lifbed, and the ground appertaining to
them be fold, as our frontiers are now
altered and extended.

Several engineers have received orders
to give in a detailed plan for a jundfion
of the Rhine with the Maefe and the
Scheldt. The work will be begun it?
the fprmg, unlefs the war fhould occa¬
sion this important undertaking to be
delayed.

Our fleet at Tculon is ready to take
advantage of the firft favourable oppor¬
tunity to fail on the fecret expedition.

11. 'i he greater part of our troops are
now in full motion.

1 he army deftined for the landing is
England, and for other purpofes, will
now be organifed with the greateft acti¬
vity.

The generals and chiefs ©f the ftaff of
the armies of Bayonne, St. Omer, and
Bruges, have all let out for the places of w
their deftination, and the troops 'which
will compofe rhefe armies are^either al¬
ready arrived or are on their march.
The army of Compeigne, which is to
ferve as the army of referve, is alfo now
formed. General Ney, who is to have
the command of it, is immediately ex-
peifed at Compeigne from Switzerland.

Yefterday the general of brigade, Ra-
mond Dutailiis, fet out for the camp, a s

Foreign News .

611

chief of the ftaff. The minifter at war,
Berthier, will, it is faid, fet out the day
after to-morrow, to infpedl the camp at
St. Omer and Bruges, and the military
politions on the coaft.

A camp of twelve thoufand men will
likewife be formed at Cherbourg. With
refpedt to the time when the expedition
againft: England will put to fea, nothing
is known with certainty. To-day it was
reported that it would not take place fo
foon as was at fir ft intended.

iz. It is determined, we are adored,
that Bonaparte will put himfelf at the
head of the expedition againft England,
and go on board one of the landing vet-
fels. A plan has lately been laid before
the council of ftare, for fitting out a great
number of flat-bottomed boats, which
fiiall be faftened together with iron
chains, and will carrv a great number of
men. Bonaparte is eftablilhing a marine
guard, to conftlt of cholen tailors, who
will form the crew of the lliip on board
of which he embarks.

13. The ftrft conful now carries on an
immediate correfpondence with the em¬
peror of Ruilia. The return of a cou¬
rier from Rudia is daily expected; and
it is now faid that another ambaftador
will arrive in the room of Mr. Markoff.

The firft conful is every day employed
feveral hours in his cabinet, on the lub-
jedt of the .expedition againft England.
The time of his departure is at prefent
an impenetrable fecret; but at any rate
the prefent winter muftbe produdtive of
very important events.

16. We flatter ourfelves that Ruffia
will continue to obferve her fy dem of
neutrality. I tr is 'faid that prince Dolgo-
rucky is appointed iuccedor to count
Markoff.

Some emigrants of diftmdfion have
been fent to the Temple, charged with
intrigues againft the government.

The Spanifh minifter, llervas, who is
appointed minifter of finance in Spain,
now refides here: he is father-in-law to
general Duroc.

The preparations for the expedition
againft England are continued with un¬
abated a&ivity ; there will be no thought
of peace till the decifion of the great
feene now preparing.

Two couriers have arrived here from
Madrid ; one to the Spanifh ambadador,
the chevalier Azzara, and the other to
minifter Talley rand. Spain is now

unanimous with France with refpedt to
the meafures to be taken. We (hall
foon fee the confequences of her unioh
in the war againft England.

The gun- boats, provided with pieces
of heavy artillery, which are built ac¬
cording to the directions of the coun-
fell or of Hate, Farfoit, are much pre¬
ferable to thofe built towards the ciofe of
the laft war. A vtjiTel is building at St.
M'aloes for the fir ft conful.

23. The Ruffian ambafiador, M.
Markoff, was again abfenc from the
diplomatic audience. Citizen Vos von
Steen wyk, rhe Batavian envoy, gave, in
his letters of recal.

' The eighteen gun-boats which h#ve
arrived at Boulogne, from Havre-de-
Grace, met with no refiftance. Some
Englifh cutters, which endeavoured
to prevent their junction, could effect
nothing. T ney were obliged to keep
at a diftance from the batteries of the
coafts; and a diftant cannonade, which
did little damage on either ftde, was all
that took place. The balls of the Eng¬
lish flew over our fhips, and the land
troops fhewed great courage.

A great part of the French infantry
in Switzerland have received orders to
return to France, and march to the coafts
of the Channel. Tne cavalry will re¬
main fome time longer, and, it is faid,
receive a reinforcement. In the room
of gejaer.il Ncy, who is to command the
camp at Compeigne, general Barbou
will take the command of the troops in
Swi -.Zetland, where a new French am-
baflador will be appointed.

The reports which have lately been
circulated, that the preparations in our
harbours are carried on with lefs adtivi-
ty, are entirely without foundation.

The Batavian rear-admiral, Verheul,
is frequently clofeted with the ftrft con¬
ful, vvhofe particular confidence he has
obtained.

Some accounts from Spain fay, that
the troops encamped at Valladolid are
deftined to add againft Portugal, in cafe
England fhould fend troops to that
country.

The minifter at war, Berthier, is ex¬
pended back here to-day.

An improved bafon is conftrudting in
the harbour at Honfleur, under the iirft
{tone -mf which is depoftted a piece of
money, bearing the head of the Brft
conful ,

4l 4

[ 612 3

HOME

Cork , September 29.

T IEUTEN ANT-general Tarleton this
*-* day reviewed the whole of the gar-
, rifon, regulars and yeomanry, in the
Mardyke field. After the review, the
general attended the magiftrates of the
iouthern cl i ft ricks of this county, who
rnet him by appointment at the grand
jury room. He addreffed them in a Ihort
but animated fpeech, in which he point¬
ed out the refponfibility which he ex-
pefted from them ; that each magi-
flrate Ihould watch over the diftrift in
which he refided, and Ihould make con-
llant communications to him of every
occurrence that might tend to difturb the
quiet of the country ; that he would
himlelf vifit each particular diftrift ; and
that he would take care that no part
Jh ou Id be without the means of fupport-
ing the loyal and juft inhabitants, againft
thofe who might be difpofed to aft dif¬
ferently.

Edinburgh , OBober 5. On Saturday
fnorning the Royal Mid-Lothian Volun¬
teer Artillery paraded on the Caftle- hill,
\yhen major Brown formed them into a
circle, and addreffed them in an animat¬
ed fpeech, in which he acquainted them
that government had received informa¬
tion, that part of the Dutch and French
troops had embarked on board the flotilla,
and were defined for this country. In
confequence of this, he felt it neceflary
to afk the corps whether an extenfion of
their fervices would be agreeable to them.
The major had no fooner concluded his
addrefs, than the whole corps teftified
their affent by loud acclamations, dnd
they offered to extend their fervices to
any part of Great Britain.

9. His majefty’s minifiers have com¬
plied with the propofal of the county of
Edinburgh, and have permitted its vo¬
lunteer force to be completed to fix times
its original militia, exclufive of the men
which it furniflied to the corps already
pftabli Unjoin the city.

Dover , OBober 9. Waggons are or¬
dered to be provided and'kept in readi -

NEWS.

, ... f

nefs in the principal towns along the
coaft, for the purpofe of conveying inro
the interior of the country the Vick, the
women, and children, Ihould th* French
fucceed in effefting a landing. Thofe
provided for this town were lafx Sunday
collected oh the parade, for the infpec-
tion of Mr. Pitt, as lord warden of the
cinque ports.

Plymouth , OBober 18. On Sunday or¬
ders were received here, from therranf-
port-board, to provide as foon as poftibLe
fait provifions and ftores, of different
deferiptions, for four months, for twenty
thoufand tons of fhipping for the tranf-
port fervice. The objeft of this order
is, of couife, kept a profound fecret.

Dublin , OBober z6. This day the
town was full of the rumour of another,
and immediately intended, infurreft ion y
and it was faid that feventeen ftrange
perfons were taken up in different parts
of the city, under fufpicious circum-
ftances. it is found on inquiry into the
bufinefs, however, an idle report. Two
or three men have indeed been brought
here from the country, and among them
one named Neale, brother-in-law td
Dwyer, the famous rebel robber.

It is underftood that our theatre will
not be permitted to be open this winter'.

Shorncliff'-, OBob o' 27. There was an
alarm here the night before laft, in con¬
fequence of a hut taking fir e, which the
remote parts of the camp imagined to be
the beacon, and feveral regiments, in¬
fluenced by this idea, were immediately
drelfed and under arms. The miftake,
however, was foon correfted, and they
retut ned to their beds ; but they are en¬
titled to grea,t praife for the expeditious
manner in which they turned out on this
occafion.

The Eaft Middlesex regiment was
reviewed yefterday by major-general
Moore, who expreffed bimfeif h'ghly
pleafed at their appearance and ditci-.
pline. The ground was crowded with
military fpeftators, amon^ whom were
brigadier-general .CampbuJ, lord Folk-

Homs News.

f>Jg

Hone, the hon. captain Bouverie, and
eolonel Ravenihaw.

This morning an alarm was founded
in Sandgate, by order of the command¬
ing officer of the 14th light dragoons, to
try how foon the troops of that regiment
would be mounted ; and, though they
were in watering order and totally un¬
prepared, they appeared mounted and
completely equipped for fervice in le'fs
than half an hour.

The ftridleft orders are enforced here,
no officer being fuffered to Deep out of
camp. The foldiers, on retiring to bed,
are obliged to have all their necefiaries
properly packed and ready to put on at
a moment’s notice in the darkeft night.
The cavalry have received fimilar orders,
each man’s faddle and accoutrements
being to arranged that no confufion can
take place, if neceffary to mount at night.

The tea fencibles are very vigilant all
along the •oaft, and every individual
manifefts a zeal not only to do his duty
but even to go beyond it.

Waterford, November 1. On Saturday
evening laft a moft atrocious murder was
committed in the liberties of this city.
The following are all the particulars of
this horrid tranfa&ion which have come
to our knowledge : — About the hour of
nine o’clock on the above evenin g, John
Scott, glafs-blower, was returning home
to his houfe, fituate on the road toGrace-
dieu, and immediately above Mr.
Strangman’s concerns. Being a yeo¬
man in Mr. May’s corps, he was drefT-
ed in uniform, and had his arms with
him. His wife, alarmed by his not re¬
turning at the ufua! hour that night,
role early on Sunday morning to make
inquiries ; and, within two hundred
vards of her own dwelling, difeovered
the mangled corpfe of her murdered
hufband.^ The bayonet was found near
the body, broke and bloody^ the mul-
quep had been carried off, blit the butt
end, and a part of the flock, *^ere afer-
wards found in a neighbouring field.
His head and face were dreadfully bruif-
ed and battered, probably by the butt
end of the mufquer, as it was all ltained
with blood; two deep wounds ado ap¬
peared in his head, as if made with a
triangular inflrument, no doubt with his
own bayonet, which, in the judgment
of Dr. Poole and furgeon Barker, who
examined the body, occafioned his death.

At eleven o’clock on Sunday, joiiu

Roberts, efq. coroner of this city, held
an inqueft on the body, when a verdict
was found of wilful murder againfl per-
fons unknown.

Yefierday, William Hamilton, who
was lately apprehended in Ennifkillen,
was brought into town and lodged in the
Caftie.

EaJIbourn, November 2. A man named
Walter, a fiffierman here, lately put an
end to his exi (fence, by (hooting himfelf
through the head with a fowling- piece,
the barrel of which is upwards of four,
feet long The unhappy man above-
mentioned was a widower, aged upwards
of forty years, and the father of fevcral
childr&n : he had, for a confiderable time
pad, entertained an affection for a wj-
dow in his neighbourhood, who is like-
wife a parent, and who, in a fit of jea-
loufv, lie firft attempted to flioot with,
the fatal engine with which he deilroy-
ed himfelf, but was prevented from the
com mi (lion of that ait by a young man,
the objedt of his jealoufy, who pufhed
the muzzle of the piece afide at the in-
flam it was difeharged by Walter at the
widow’s head. Thedefperate man was
afterwards apparently appealed, and left
the houfe with his gun, faying he fliould
go home. He, however, foon after re¬
turned to the door of the widow’s houfe,
with his piece re-loaded, and, having
tied a firing to the trigger, pulled it with
his foot, when the whole charge paffed
through his head, and killed him *n the
fpot. The coroner’s jurv on Monday
returned a verdict of lunacy.

London, November 2. A fortnight ago,
the fifth regiment of the Loyal London
Volunteers had a grand field-day in the
neighbourhood of Highbury-barn. On
their return home, a member of the
corps received a violent injury from one
of his comrades, which is likely to cofi:
him his life. On marching up Ludgate-
hill, one of the regiment was told by a
'fellow-foklier, that he had not the right
fiep, and that, if he did not alter it, he
might inadvertently tread upon his heels,
which Ihortly proved to be the cafe. The
perlon who had been trodden upon was
much hurt from the accident, and faid,

‘ If the gentleman did fo again, he would
knock him down with his mufquet.’
The gentleman, anxious to avoid a quar¬
rel, and being near home, fell cut -of the
ranks, and a Mr. Pritchard filled his
place, which was not oblcrsed by th*

614

Home News.

man before Him. Mr. Pritchard foon
felt the inconvenience of the* perfon’s
marching, and faid, ‘ Indeed, fir, you
have not got the right Hep.’ Upon
which the irritated volunteer turned
quickly rounds and aimed a defperate
blow at the ether’s head, the force of
which was in a great degree parried by
Mr. Downs, an officer, who was aware
of its coming; the lock of the mufquer,
however, ftruck Mr. Pritchard fo forci¬
bly on the forehead that it brought him
to the ground, and cut him fofevereiy
that he was obliged to be taken to Mr.
Ramfden, the furgeon of the regiment,
who dreffed the wound, and found it to
be of a dangerous nature. He has lin¬
gered in great agony ever fince.

3. Yefterday, the 8th regiment of
Loyal LondonVolunteers, under the com¬
mand of colonel Canning, had a grand
field-day, and alham fight, upon a regu¬
lar plan, near Hornfey. Mr. George
Dewy, a refpedtable wine-merchant m
CrutchecLf riars, led on the F rench pa rty
to the attack, and was made prifoner in
the conteft, at which time the firing
Was very brifk, and he, unfortunately,
received the contents of a mufquet in
his right fide, and immediately fell.
The, blood gulhed from the wound as
well as from his nofe and mouth. He
was diredlly carried to the Sluice -houfe
and laid upon a bed, where Mr. Lee,
the furgeon to the regiment, attended
him. Colonel Canning, however, was
defirous of his having every poffible ad¬
vice, and accordingly fent off for fir W.
fBlizard ; who, on his arrival, gave but
faint hopes of recovery, unlefs inflam¬
mation could be prevented.

Yefttrday morning, at feven o’clock,
a man engaged, for a wager of one hun¬
dred guineas, to walk four miles in
thirty-five minutes. He performed the
talk, with eafe, three minutes within the
time, going and returning twice in thir¬
ty-two minutes, from the upper end of
Hioane-ftreet at Knightfbridgc to the
Chelhire-cheefe at Cheifea, being exact¬
ly a fpace of one mile. For the la ft
half-mile he took the matter quite at
his eafe, being perfectly fecure of the
wager. There was a great concourfe of
people, though the hour was fo early,
and the thing was not very public.

4. Daniel Haac Eaton, formerly a
feookfeller in Newgare-ftreet, convitted
affibut three years fince of publilhing a

feditious libel, and who was outlawed, in
confequence of not appearing to receive
judgment, was yefterday apprehended
by Rivett, one of the Bow-ftreet officers,
and lodged in the cuftody of the fheriff
of London.

On Friday laft a perfon, having
previoufiy watched a gentleman out of
his houfe in New Cavendiih-ftreet,
knocked at the door, and demanded im¬
mediate audience of the gentleman’s
wife, and, while the footman was gone
up flairs, to inform her of the fame, the
fellow made Shift to carry off anew pair
of leather fmall-clothes. The gentle¬
man returning home immediately after,
ordered his carriage to let oft to Mon-
mouth-ftreet, and from thence to Rufiel-
court, Prury-lane, without meeting with
the robber. He then ordered his coach¬
man to drive to Rag-fair, when, after a
’fruitiefs fearch of near an hour, as he
was coming away, he faw a crowd of
people together, and curiofity induced
him to fee whether any thing was the
matter, when he law a man felling the
identical pair of leather breeches that h«
had loft. He was immediataly taken
into cuftody ; and, having played the
gentleman feveral tricks of the fame na¬
ture, he was determined to put a flop to
his career, which he has effected by the
inftant means he purified.

8. Laft night Mr. Dewy, of the 8th
regiment of Loyal London Volunteers,
who was wounded in a fliam fight near
Hornfey, expired at the Sluice -houfe, in
excruciating pain.

On Sunday morning, a young man
was arrefted at an inn in Holborn by
T own fend and Sayers, two of the Bow-
ftreet officers, under authority of a war¬
rant, wherein he Hands charged with
feditious prablices. Yefterday he under¬
went a private examination before fir
Richard Ford, at the public-office, Bow-
ftreet, and was committed to Tothill-
fields-bridewell. The prifoner fays, that
he has lately efcaped from France in an

American veffel : that he is a native of
7 /

this country, but has been many years at
Havre with his father, who, he lays, is
a merchant there.

14. This day, intelligence was re¬
ceived of the. furrender eft the Dutch
fettlements of Demerara and Efiequibo,
notice of which was immediately tranf-
mitted into the city by the following
letter to the lord mayor:

Births . — Marriages.

615

* Dozening - ftreet, November 14, 1803.
4 My lord,

‘ I have the honour to acquaint your
lordfhip, that I have this moment receiv¬
ed intelligence of the furrender of the
colonies of Demarara and Effequibo, on
the 1 9th of September laft, to his ma-
jefty’s forces, under the command of ge¬
neral Grinheld and commodore Hood.

4 1 have the honour to be, Sec.

* Hobart.

‘The right hon. the lord mayor, &c. &c.’

BIRTHS.

08. 27. At Guildhall, the lady of the
city remembrancer, of a daughter, her
tenth child.

Lady Caroline Rufhout, of a daugh¬
ter, at Northwick-park, Worcefterfiiire.

30. In Duchefs-ftreet, Portland-place,
Mrs. Gore, of a fon.

In Merrion-fquare, Dublin, the coun-
tefs of Meath, of a fon.

The right hon. lady Catherine Brown-
low, of a fon.

At^Whedial-hall, Hertfordfhire, lady
Charlotte Howard, of a daughter.

In the ifland of Guernfey, the lady of
rear-admiral fir Jas. Saumarez, of a fon.

3 1 . The lady of the hon. col.Vaughan,
M. P. of a fon,

November 1. Mrs. Carftairs, of Strat¬
ford-green, in Effex, of a daughter.

2. At his houfe, in Baker-ftreet, Port-
man-fquare, the lady of major Davifon,
4>f a daughter.

In Charloue-ftreet, Bloomfbury, the
lady of Rich. Butler, efq. of a daughter.

A.Theladyof Joihua S.S. Smith, efq.
•f Hampton-courr-green, of a fon.

At his houfe, in Devonihire-place, the
lady of John Tunno, efq. of a daughter.

8. At Iugeftree, the right hon. coun-
tefs Talbot, of a fon.

10. Of her tenth child, the lady of J.
Griffiths, efq. of LovverGrofvenor-Ilreet.

At Flower-place, Surrey, the lady of
the hon. George Nevill, of a fon.

12. The lady of lord vifeount Falk¬
land, of a fon.

14. At Grange, near Wakefield, the
right hon. lady Amelia Raye, of a fon.

MARRIAGES.

O8ober 20. At Downton, in Wiltffiire,
Arthur Foulks, efq. of Brockenhurft-
houfe, to mifs Mary Mackenzie, fecond
daughter of George Mackenzie, efq, of
Clarendon, in Jamaica.-

William Dunbar, efq. of Southampton-
row, Bloomfbury, to mifs Jem met t, of
the Fernier-hail.

z%. At Northampton, Mr. Walter
Watkins, farmer, to Mrs C. Leakius,
widow of William Leakins, newfman.

Roflon Gamage, efq. of Aldermanbu-
ry, to mifs Waite, of Tooting, Surrey.

27. At Bingley, in Yorklhire, captaia
Charles Johes, of his maje fly’s 18th re¬
giment of light dragoons, to mifs Buf-
feild, only daughter of Johnfon Atkin-
fon Busfeild, efq. of Myrtle -grove.

At St. Margaret’s church, Weftmiri-
fter, Afbury Dickens* efq. late of Phila¬
delphia, to mifs Lillias Arnot, daughter
of the late H. Arnot, efq. of Balcormo.

At Grefham, the rev. Francis Edward
Arden, to mifs Pinkard, of Blickling.

29. William Wilcocks, efq. of Nor¬
wich, to Mrs. Chollett, widow of the
late S. Chollett, efq. of Croome, Surrey.

Nov. t. John Brettle, efq. of Thur-
garton, Nottinghamfhire, to mifs Rad-
difh, of Storrington, in Suffiex.

Wm. Egerton, efq. of Tatton-park,
M.P. for the county of Chefter, to mifs
Payier, daughter of T. W. Payler, efq.
of Iliden, near Canterbury.

The rev. Thomas Whalfey, reffor of
Eaton, Northamptonfhire, to mifs Ca«-
therine Maria Packe.

Geo. Auft, efq. of Chelfea, to the
hon. Mrs. Murray, widow of the late
hon. W. Murray, brother to the earl of
Dunmore.

4. Lieut. -col. Hosford, to mifs Brock-
fop, daughter of Edward Brockfop, efq.

8. Thomas Solly, efq. of St. Mary
Axe, to mifs Travers, eldeft daughter of
Benjamin Travers, efq. of Clapton.

At St. Ma’ry-la-bonne church, Na¬
thaniel Evans, efq. of Carher- lodge, ia
the county of Cork, Ireland, to mifs
Parker, niece to adm. fir P. Parker, bart.

10. Lieutenant Jackfon, of the 6th
regiment of foot, to mifs Elam, daughter
of Gervas Elam, efq.

Mr. George Twining, to mifs Brew-,
fter, of Clapton.

15. Mr. Owen, attorney, of Bart-
lett’s-buildings, to mifs Catherine Dabbs,
daughter of the rev. John Dabbs, of
Seckington, in Warvyickfhire.

17. At St. Mary-la-bonne church, the
rev. Edward Dawkins, to inifs Hannah
Littledaie, daughter of Thomas Little-
dale, efq. of Portland-place.

1 3. At Fulham, R, Mafon, efq. %(

Deaths ;

Great Ruffe! -ftrcoty Bloorofbury, to mifs
Sto$e, of Walham-green.

1 9. William Curtis, efq. of Lombard-
ftreet, banker, eldeft fon of' fir Wm,
Curtis, bart. to mils Lear, daughter of
‘George Lear, efq. pf Laytonftone.
DEATHS.

Qttober 11. At his houfe, at Langford,
in Wiitlhire, aged 65, Robert.Budand,
efq. brother to the late fir John Borland,
a baron of the exchequer, and uncle ta
J. Burland, efq. M. P. for Totnels.

12. At Walworth, T. Thompfon,
efq. aged 76, many years a cafnier of the
Bank of England.

■ 13. At Sherfield-houfe, in Hampfnire,
Mrs. Lockhart, wife of J. Lockhart, elq.

At her father’s houfe, in Baker-llrcet,
Mrs, A. S. Sober, wife of captain Sober.

14. At her houfe, in Gay - Erect, Bath,
vifeountefs Northland, wife of lord vil-
count Northland, ‘of Ireland.

. At his houfe, in Canterbury, William
Scott, efq. of the ancient family of Baliol
Scotts, late of Scott’s- hall, Kent.

, 18. At her houfe, v at Fulham, Mrs.
Chauncy, re lift of the late W . H.Chaun-
cy, efq. of Edgcott, N ortha in p con & i r e .

2.0. Henry Spence Hogarth, elq. of
Ford-place, near Stifior d, EiTex.

2i. At his feat, at Twickenham, in
the 74th year of his age, lord Frederick
Cavendiih. He is iuccceded in his
eftateFy lord G. H. Cavendiih, to whom,
as wed as the duke cf Devor.fkire, he
was uncle.

- 23. At Dalnamain, in the county of
Sutherland, enlign James Sutherland,
late of the Caithnefs highlanders.

24. In Great Queen -ftreet, Mrs.
W ildman, re lift of the late William
Wildmafi, efq. .

Zy. A t Que e n woo d -hill, Surrey, T.
B. H. Sewell,- efq. lieutenant-colonel of
the late Surrey fencible cavalry.

27. At Port (mouth, Mrs. Pearce, wife
of li eut. j asv Pearce, of the royal marines,
and daughter of the bon. Mr. Roper.

• At Watford, Herts, Mr. Samuel Dea¬
con, attorney-at-law.

At Harrow fcfiool, Soame Jenyns,
eldeft fon of the rev. Mr. Jenyns, of Bot-

(ham-hall, Cambridgeftlire.

29. The lady of Edmund Lechmere,
of Hanley-callle, Worcefterfhire.

November 1. At his houle, in Pall-
mall, Geo. Hatch, efq... late one of the
members of the board of revenue on the
Bengal eftabliihment.

Col. Charles He&thcote, paymafter oi
the Hereford diftridf, and late of Derby.

At Caroline -mount, Chink ford, Effex,
Efther Cooke, wife of Wm. Cooke, efq.

At Exmouth, the lady of Henry Har¬
ford, efq. of New Cavendilh-ft.reet,

2. The hon. Mrs. Mary Elizabeth
Forbes, daughter of the right hon. lord
Forbes, filler of her grace the duchefs of
Athol, and wife of John May, efq. bank¬
er, in Edinburgh.

Mrs. Wright, wife of Thos. Wright,-
efq. of Titchfield-ftreet, aged 75,

At Linlithgow, James Andrew, efq.
late provoft of that burgh.

At Paifley, Mr. John Patifon, late
chief magiftrate of that place.

At Newport, in the Hie of Wight,
Renj. Smith, efq. in the 87th year of his
age, formerly of Cannon- ftreet, London.

At his feat, at Carlton Kings, Glou-
cefierfhire, Dodington Hunt, efq.

3. At Southampton, aged 77, Mrs.
Richards, relidt of the late F. Richards,
efq. captain in his majefty’s navy.

4. At Turnham-green, Mr. Dove, of
Blandford- houfe, Portman-fquare.

At her feat, at Wonerih, near Guild¬
ford, the right hon. lady Grantley, refidt
of the late and motherof the prefent lord
Grantley, in the 95th year of her age.

5. Mr. Richard Inving, of the Holm,
near Long town-, Cumberland, aged 74'.

At Edinburgh, fir John Gibfon Car¬
michael, bart. of Skirling.

< 6. At Ilford, Elfex, Mrs. Lee, wife
of G. Lee, efq. banker, Lombard- ftreet.

Mr. C. Bibb, long known in the gay
circles of Covent garden and St. James’s
by the name of Count Bibb.

8. At his houfe, at Canonbury, John
Srruther Ancrum, efq. in his 49th year.

Mr. Chriftie, fen. of Pall-mall.

ro. In the 83th year of his age,, in
Gioucefter-ftreet, Queen -fquare, Wm.
Jack fon, efq. one of the caihiers of the
Bank of England. He had been in the
fervice of the company between 50 and'
60 years, and was the father of the Bank.

- 13. At the Hot wells, Briftol, captain
Charles Whyte, of the 2d Royal Lanca-
XI, ire Militia.

15. At Taunton, Somerfetlhire, Mrs.
Luttrell, motherof J. F. Luttrel, M. P.

At Mpnckon-reftory, near Taunton,
the rev. Dr. Croffman. 4

16. Mifs Catherine Thompfon, eldeft,
daughter of the late Mr. Thompfon, of
Mortimer-ftreet,

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THE

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For DECEMBER, 1803,

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THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

< . , . ■ . , • •

1 The Clandeftine Lovers ; a Tale, 619

2 The Moral Zoologift, . 621

The Phyfician ; an Apologue,. . 624
Mifcellaneous Maxims,. ....... 624

The Relation of Animated Bodies to

Inanimate Nature,. ...... , 625

The Poet of Ednam, . .627

A Morning’s Walk in December, 628

8 On the Drefs of the. Parifian Ladies,

629

9 Origin of Jahn-o’-Groat’s Houfe, 631

10 Account of Alnwick-Caftle, Sec. 632

11 Anecdote, . .635

12. Matilda; a Drama, . 636

13 The Hiilory of Albano, anoble Vene¬

tian,.. . .641

14 Extraft from the Mufical Drama—

< The Wife of two Hulbands/..646

As*

</£>>

„’\T>

4£*

15 Parifian Fashions,, . . .T.T. . 652
i<> London Fashions,. .,/. ......... .‘653

17 Account of the new Mufical Drama —

‘The EngTifh Fleet in 1342,’.. 654

18 Signe and Habor ; a Gothic Romance, 4jv

V{v

_6S6

A?/T_

19 Prefentation of the Du chefs of Bed¬

ford to the Queen, . . . . ; 66 1

20 Poetical Essays: — Anacreon, Ode

1. Abfence ; a Sonnet. Songs in
the new Comic Opera-— ‘ The Wife

Qf two Hufbands/ To Mils - - »,

on her alking the Author, why {he
had fleeplefs Nights ? Reuben and
Rufe; a Tale of Romance, 662 — 63

ForeighlNews,. . 665

Home News,... . 668

•SyT

4j£

■7&

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4£*

*^s

23 Births,’ Marriages, Deaths, 671— 7a

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This Number is embellijhsd with the following Copper -plates;

1 The Clandestine Lovers.

2 For the Moral Zoologist — SNAKE EATER.

3 An elegantly-coloured PARIS DRESS.

'4 New and elegant Patterns for Gowns, &c.

5 MUSIC— Hymn to Money: the Words and Mufic by William Barre.

ck.

/JS

^k.

4lv

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LONDON :

Printed for G. and j. ROBINSON , No. 25, Paternojltr* Row ;

Where Favours from Correfpondents continue to be received.

4fc

•TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Tke Continuation of the Monks and the Robbers wili appear In the
Supplement.

We hope A. Fermok received the anfwer tranfmitted according to her
requeft : we ftiail be happy to hear ^gain from her.

E. R.’s Poem is unfuitable, on account of its too greatlength.

L.M.’s EfTay.— A.D.’s Communications — and various favours of other
correfpondents— -will have a place in the Supplement.

The Wary Hujband, a Poetical Effufion — The Jolly Volunteer, a Song—
and Lines addreifed to Mifs E. F.— are under condderadon.

Eng rav'd tor the ladys Magazine- .

THE

LADY’s magazine.

For DECEMBER, 1803.

The CLANDESTINE LOVERS;

A TALE.

{With an elegant Engraving .) '

/'T',he fon of fir George Dafiilv,
not with (landing he was heir to
the extcnfive eflates of his father^
and pofielfed befides a very ample in¬
dependent fortune, which had been
bequeathed to him by an uncle, was
remarkable for fuch a Angularity in
his opinions and manners as fre¬
quently rendered him an object of
merriment to his giddy companions.
He had no foul, no tafte, no reiifli
for either drinking, gaming, or in¬
triguing with and deceivingcredulous
females. He defpifed otlentation
and pride, honoured and loved vir¬
tue and religion, and, in fhort, was
in every thing the very reverfe of a
modern young man of fafhion.

The latter, however, was the cha-
rafter exhibited by his father in ear¬
ly life ; and, even in his more ad¬
vanced years, he was flili a lover of
the lame diifipation : but his paf-
ilons having become lefs ardent, the
advancement of his intereft was on
every occafion preferred to indulg¬
ence in pleafure. He continually
ridiculed the precife and puritanical
ideas, as he called them, of his fon,
whofe love of retirement and fci-
ence, and whofe efirangement from
the hollow extravagance of modifii
life, he confidered as mean and con¬
temptible in a per ion of his ram-t arid
foitune.

But all the remonflrances of fir
George with his fon on this fubjedt
were delivered in fuch a manner,
and conveyed in. fuch language, as
only tended to confirm the latter
Hill more in his averfion to habits of
life which could induce a father fe-
rioufly to reproach his fon with
meannefs of fpirit, becaufe he fu-
fpefted him of being too much ad-
dibted to the. love of the humbler
virtues, and the practice of difinter-
efied benevolence.

During a vifit which young
George made to a friend who re-
fided in the neighbourhood of the
ancient city of York, as he was one
day taking a retired walk in the en¬
virons, and enjoying the*contem-
plation of the beauties of nature, he
chanced to meet with a young lady,
whofe perfon and manner made a
more forcible imprefiion on him
than he had ever before experienced
from any of her fex. He entered
into converfation with her, and was
equally charmed with her vivacity
and good fenfe ; and file* on her
part, gave a proof that file had con¬
ceived, in fome degree, a favour¬
able opinion of him, by confenting
to meet him again at the fame place,
about the fame time on the follow¬
ing day. Thefe interviews were
feveral times repeated, and young
4 K. a>-

&c10 The Clandefilne

George found bimfelf more and
more enamoured with his lovely
companion. He at length, with a
timid delicacy, requefted to be in¬
formed of the name and fituation in
life of the amiable perfon to whofe
delightful company he was indebted
for fo many happy hours. She told
him, without hefitation, that her
name was Louifa, that file was the
daughter of a tracjefman in London,
that file had two or three thou fan d
pounds independent fortune of her
own left .her by a relation, and that
flie was on a vifit to an aunt who re-
fided at York.

George had now conceived fo ar¬
dent and linccre a paffion for the
lovely ft ranger, that he could no
longer delay avowing it ; but, from
his natural predilection for humble
and unoffentatious life, and his wifh
to be beloved for his own fake, and
mot on account of the exterior and
fortuitous circum fiances of wealth
and title, he told her, that he pof-
feffed a fmall eftate of about three
hundred a year, on which it was his
wifh to live retired from the follies
and crimes attendant on wealth and
ambition, with fuch a delightful
companion as her I elf, who appeared
to him to entertain congenial ideas.

Thefe interviews between the lov¬
ers continued day after day. They
rambled they knew not whither, of
feated themfejves beneath a hedge,
or under the fhade of a wide-fpread
ing tree? and mutually plighted to
each other prormfes of the tendered;
love, and never-ceafing fidelity.

But one day, when George re¬
paired to the uiual icene of his hap-
pinefs, to meet the object of his
fondeft withes, he found her not.
In vain he waited, in vain he fought
her in every field, lane, or oopfe,
through which they had ever wan¬
dered ; he found her not. Another
day came, and with it the fame dis¬
appointment. He now recollected

that, in the intoxication of his hap-

••

Lovers ; a Tale. '

pinefs, notwithftanding the very ex¬
plicit account he had obtained from
her of her fituation and family, he
had forgotten to enquire either the
place of abode of her father, or the
name or refidence of the relation
where fire was on a vifit. lie, how¬
ever, made numerous enquiries ;
but all were fruitlefs. He after¬
wards hurried up to town, and en¬
deavoured, if pofiible, to difeover
the father of his loft Louifa, now,
by her fudden difappearance, ftill
more endeared to his heart ; but all
his refearches were in vain.

In the mean time, ftr George
Dafuly having renewed his acquaint¬
ance with lord Fitzofborne, after an
interruption of all intercourfe be¬
tween them for many years, on ac¬
count of fome trifling difference, it
appeared to fir George and his lord-
fhip, in a conference which they
held together, that a marriage be¬
tween the fon of the former and the
daughter of the latter would greatly
contribute to the intereft, honour,
and advantage, in every point of
view, of themfelves an i their re-
fpe&ive families. Mter a few meet¬
ings, they fettled between them all
the neceffary preliminaries of any
importance, and nothing was want¬
ing but the trifling ceremony of in¬
troducing the two young perlons to
each other, figning the contracts*
and going through the little formali¬
ties requifite by the law of the land
to a matrimonial union. Sir George,
however, had his fears, that a mar¬
riage thus concluded might not per¬
fectly accord with the romantic ideas
of his fon ; and his lordfhip had
fome doubts that his daughter might
have a little amour on her hands
which might occasion fome difficul¬
ty, and which, in fact, had been
the principal reafon why he had pro*
poled the marriage, and readily con¬
ferred to terms to which he would
otherwife probably have demurred.

It accordingly happened,, in

The Moral Zoologift.

cafes, as had been fufpe&ed. George,
when his father began to explain to
him the great increafe of wealth and
influence he now had an opportunity
of obtaining, only by marrying a
young lady of great beauty and en¬
dowments, to whom he could have
no poffible objeffion but the very
foolifh one that he had not yet feen
or converfed with her, declared it
was abfolutely impoffible for him to
accede to the terms. Lord Fitzof-
borne found his daughter not lefs
averfe to marrying a man fhe had
not yet feen, and of whofe affeffion
for her the was fo far from having
received any proof, that (he was cer¬
tain he could not love her.

L1 this dilemma flr George and
his lordfhip held another council,
in, which it was refolved, at any rate,
to introduce the young couple to
each other : for the baronet thought
he could rely on the perfonal ap¬
pearance and deportment of his fon
to fubdue any little previous predi¬
lection on the part of the lady ; and
his lordthip was equally fatisfied
that the beauty and accomplifh-
ments of his daughter muff prove
irreliftible.

George and the young lady, when
the propofal of a n interview was
made to them feparately, Jikewife
readily confented to fee" each other
once; for they mutually thought,
that, by explicitly and candidly de¬
claring the ieal (late of their hearts,
they mult finally terminate the whole
affair.

When introduced to each other,
both appeared extremely furprifed
and confufed. George fir ft recover¬
ed himfelf ffifficiently to break fi-
Jence, — 4 Madam,’ faid he, 1 did I
not know it to be impoffible, I
fhould think you the angtl I have
loft, who has made on my heart an
impreflion which never can be ef¬
faced. But though you are her
lovely image, never can my affec¬

tion fwerve from her, unlefs I fhould
difcover ffie has deceived — ’

c I am her,’ exclaimed Louifa,
ftarting up — 6 X have not deceived
you, except in concealing from you
my birth and fortune, that I might
enjoy the pleafure of being loved in«
dependent of them.’

‘1 deceived you, ’a nfwered George,
1 in the fame manner, with pre¬
cisely the lame views, and rapturous
is my reward !’

f So 1 fo !’ cried his lordfhip to
his daughter, ‘ this was your coun¬
try intrigue ! I had received fome
intimation of it from lady Holford,
your aunt; for you had been feen
with this gentleman, I fuppofe, by
fome female who knew you, and
who informed your aunt. You were,
in confequence, hurried up to town
at a moment’s warning; and I made
this match for you as fa ft as I could*
for fear of the worft : — but it has
turned out all very well— all very
well, indeed P

... „ F • ' .*» , . ~ a. ' I ■

The MORAL ZOOLOGIST.

PART n.

{Continued from p. 603.)
LETTER XX.

From Eugenia to the Right Ihn*
Lady — - .

HP he genus placed by Linnaeus®
and molt other naturalifts, in
toe front of the order of pic<z, or pies,
is called by him pft acus (parrot),
and contains the parrots, parakeets,
macaos, maccaws, or avas, and lo-
rirs? amounting to a hundred and
forty-one ip^cies, befides numerous
varieties. The large kind, which
are of the fize of a raven, are ca lied*
maccaws; the next fize are limply

622

The Moral Zookgijl.

called parrots ; thofe whefe cry re-
lerjn bits the found of the word £ lory’
are called lories; and thofe of the
kaft fize are called parakeets. The
difference between thefe confiffs
Father in the fiz_e than, in any pecu¬
liar conformation : they all have two
toes before and two behind, for
Abiding and climbing; Prong hook¬
ed bills, for breaking nuts and other
hard fu balances on which they feed ;
ap.d loud harlh voices, wjrh winch
they fill their native woods with
clamour.

Buffon ranges the parrots in two
«reat daflcs ; the fir ft comprehend¬
ing thofe of the old continent, the
iepond thofe of tfie new. The firlf
he fubdivides into five families ; the
cpckatous, the parrots properly fo
called, the lories, the long-tailed
•parrakeets, and the fhort- tailed par-
lakeets. Thofe of the new world
compofe fix other families ; the
snaccaws, the amazonians,tbe creeks,
the ppppi njays, the long-tailed pa¬
roquets, and the fhort-tailed paro¬
quets.

It is obferved by Buffon, that,
among the numerous fpecies of par¬
rots that are -known and defcribed,
there is not one common to the new

and th cold world. In the fame manner,
among quadrupeds, it is remarked,
that none of thofe which are pecu¬
liar to the tropica! regions of one
continent are to be found in the
fame latitude in the other. No ani¬
mal that is incapable of bearing the
sigours of cold is found to pals from
the old to the new world, becaule it
is only from the regions of the north
that this migration is made. The
•parrot is incapable of traverfing that
vafi fpace between Africa and the
Bail: Indies; and all the different
tribes of this extern five clafs remain,
therefore, confined ' to their prirni-
five Rations on each herhifphere;
So iliort and heavy are their fights,

that th'

Cel

n ffiarcei y crof.c an afro

of the fea feven or eight leagues
broad ; and hence almolt every
ifiand in the Weft Indies is diftin-
guifbed by a race of parrots peculiar
to itfeifi,

TheGreeks at firfi were acquaint¬
ed wjth only one fpecies of parrot,
or rather parrakeet, which was the
fame with that now called the great ring
parrakeet. They were brought from
the ifiand of Taprobane into Greece
by Oneficrityg, who commanded
AlejpndeUs fleet. They were fo
new and uncommon, that Arifiotle
himfelf appears not to have feen
them, fince he only fays — £ there is
an Indian bird called pfiitace, which
is (aid fo fpeak.’ — But the beauty of
thefe birds, and their power of imU
fating fpeech, foon made them the
objects of luxury among the Ro¬
mans, and the prevalence of that
practice provoked the indignation
of the rigid Cato. They were lodg¬
ed in cages of filver, of (hells, and
of ivory; and the pi ice of a parrot
often exceeded that of a flave. Until
the time of Nero, however, no par¬
rots were known at Horne but thofe
from India, when thofe who mini-
fiered to the pleasures of that extra¬
vagant and luxurious emperor found
them on an ifiand of the Nile, be¬
tween Syene and Meroe, called Ga-
ganda.

The Portuguefe, w-hofirfi: doubled
the Cape of Good Hope, and ex¬
plored the fhores of Africa, found the
country of Guinea, the ifiands (bat¬
tered in the Indian ocean, and alfo
the continent, inhabited by various
kinds of parrots, all unknown in
Europe, and in Inch vaft numbers
that it was with difficulty they could
be prevented from devouring the
rice and maize. Thefe, however,’
were far inferior, both in numbers
and variety, to thofe that prefented
themfelves to the firit adventurers
in the new world. Some of the
.ifiands there were called the

The Moral Zoologift. 6fS

excufe for thofe who (pend whole

Ifles, from, the vafi quantities of thefe
birds which were found upon them.
They .conftituted the fir ft article of
commerce between the inhabitants
of the old and n^w continents. In
thele regions, every foreft fwarms
with them, and the rook is not bet¬
ter known in Europe, than the par¬
rot in the Eaft and Weft Indies.

Considering the great varieties
and numbers of thefe birds, nothing
feems more extraordinary, than that
only one fpecies of them fhould be
known to the ancients, and that at
the time when the Romans boafted
of being mafters of the world.
Among all the numerous fpecies of
parrots now known, fcarcely one
naturally breeds in the countries that
acknowledged the Roman power :
a fufficient proof how vain was the
claim of even that ambitious people
to univerfal dominioh.

The great docility of thefe birds,
and the eafe with which they may
be taught to imitate the human
voice, renders them objects of cu-
riofity and amufement. The great
'number of words they are capable
of learning and repeating, is very
furprifing. ‘ W e are allured by a
grave writer,’ fays Dr. Goldfmith,
* that one of thefe was taught to re¬
peat a whole fonnet from Petrarch ;*
and that I,’ adds the doritor, £ may
not be wanting in my inftance, I
have feen a parrot, belonging to a
diftiller, who had fuffered pretty
largely in his circumftances, from
an informer who lived oppofite him,
very ridiculoufly employed. This
bird was taught to pronounce the
ninth commandment : Thou Jhalt not
bear falfe witnefs again ft thy neighbour.
The bird was generally placed in its
cage- over 2gainft the informer's
houfe, and delighted the whole
neighbourhood with its perfevering
exhortations.’

f The extreme fagacity and do¬
cility of the bird,’ continues the
Fame author, * may furnifh the beft

hours tn teaching their parrots to*
fpeak, and indeed the bird on thofe
occafions feems the wife ft animat
of the two. It at firft obftlnately
refills all inftru£Hon, but feems to
be won by per fev era nee* makes a
few attempts to imitate the fir'ff
founds, and when it has got one
word diftimft, all the fuccefcding
come with greater facility. The
bird generally learns mod in thofe
families where the m after or mif-
trefs have the leaf! to do, and be¬
comes more expert in proportion as
its inftrudtors are idly affiduoks.
In going through the towns of
France, fome time fince, I could
not help obferving, how muck
plainer their parrots fpoke than ours*
and how very difliildtiy I underftood
their parrots fpeak French, when I
could not underftand our own,
though they fpoke my native lan¬
guage. I was at firft for aferibin®
it to the different qualities of the
two languages, and was for entering
into an elaborate difcufliomon the
vowels and confonants; but a friend
who was with me folved the diffi¬
culty at once, by alluring me, that
the French women fcarcely did any
thing elfe the whole day, than fit
and inftrudf their feathered pupils,
and that the birds were thus diftindf
in their leffons, in confequence of
continual fchooling.’

The parrots of France are cer*
tainly very expert, but nothing to
thofe of the Brafils, where the edu¬
cation of a parrot is confidered as a
ferious bufinefs. The hiftory of
prince Maurice’s parrot, given us
by Mr. Locke, is too well known
to be repeated here ; but Clufius
allures us, that the parrots of that
country are the moll fenfible and
cunning of ail animals not endued
with reafon. The g~eat parrot,
called in that country the Aicuros9
he tells us, is a prodigy of under-
ftanding. ' A certain Srafilian wo-

0£4* Mifceltdneous Maxhmi

man,’ he fays, ( that lived in a vil¬
lage two miles d ifdant from the
ifland on which we redded, had a
parrot of this kind, which was the
wonder of the place. It feemed
endued with fuch ufidef (landing, as
to difcern and comprehend whatever
fhe faid to it. As we fometimes
11 fed to pad's, by that woman’s ho ufe,
Ihe ufed to call upon us to ftop,
promising if we gave her a comb,
or a looking-glafs, that Ale would
make her parrot ling and dance to
entertain us. If we agreed to her
requeft, as foot) as (he had pro¬
nounced fome words to the bird, it
began not only to leap and Ikip on
the perch on which it flood, but
alfo to talk, and to whiffle, and imi¬
tate the Aioutings and exclamations
of the Brafilians when they prepare
for battle. In brief, when it came
into the woman’s head to bid it ling,
it fang ; to dance, it danced. But
if, contrary to our promife, we re-
fufed to give the woman the little
prefent agreed on, the parrot feem¬
ed to Sympathize in her refentment,
and was filent and immoveable ; nei¬
ther could we, by any means, pro¬
voke it to move either foot or
tongue.

(To le continued.)

The Physician; an Apologue.

Avery fkilful but covetous phy-
flcian, coming to vifit Laho-
raib, the philofopher, when he was
in a fair way of recovery, found
him eating a ragout. 4 What are
you doing ?’ faid he; f fuch food is
poifon even for the bell: conftitu-
fions.’

Lahorafb anfwered, f I acknow¬

ledge what you , fay to be true I
was to blame, and for the future
will refrain from indulging iil? ap¬
petite. — But what do I owe you for
your attendance during my ill-
nefs ?’

The phyfician demanded a very
confiderable fum.

f Your fees,’ faid tile philofopher,
paying him, * are too exorbitant for
your patients. Endeavour to re¬
move the dileafe under which you
, yourfelf labour : Believe me it is as
ler ioiis as mine. Riches are to the

mind, what ragouts are to the body.*

_ I • * • . ) > • s.

■ — rntmum

Miscellaneous Maxims*

TJ'r. ankness ‘ is one of the great-
eft virtues, but it is the lead re¬
warded.

The fame generofity which makes
us forget the benefits we have con¬
ferred, will prevent us from forget¬
ting thole we have received.

If men undsrftood their true in-
terefts, they would frequently take as
much pains to avoid being troubled
with a great fortune, as they do to
acquire one.

Fortune may be juftly compared
to a coquette : ilieis engaging, charm -
ing, leducing ; furrounded by a
crowd of adorers • at the fame time
her mod afliduous followers are
commonly the greateft dupes of her
caprice and levity.

Thofe only ought to read much
who can forget much.

A man of excelfive timidity is
nothing: confidence doubles every
quality; with it we are doubly re-
lpe£table or doubly contemptible.
How many perfons we find willing
to rilk this alternative !

The Relation of Animated Bodies to Inanimate Nature. 6% 5

The Relation of Animated Bo

dies /^Inanimate Natuke.

\From Pa/ey’s 1 Natural 'Theology.1]

\\T E have already considered re-

* ' lotion, and under different
views ; but it was the relation of
parts to parts, of the parts of an
animal to other parts of the same
animal, or of another individual of
the same species.

But the bodies of animals hold,
in their constitution and properties,
a close and important relation to
natures altogether external to their

own ; to inanimate substances, and
to the specific qualities of these,
e g. they hold a strict relation to the
elements by which they are sur¬
rounded.

I. Can it be doubted, whether
the wings of birds bear a relation to
air, and the jins of fish to water ?
They are instruments of motion,
severally suited to the properties of
the medium in which the motion is
to be performed : which properties
are different. Was not this dif¬
ference contemplated, when the in¬
struments were differently consti¬
tuted }

II. The structure of the animal
ear depends for its use not simply
upon being surrounded by a fluid,
but upon the specific nature of that
fluid. Every fluid would not serve :
its particles must repel one another ;
it must form an elastic medium : for
it is by the successive pulses of such
a medium, that the undulations ex¬
cited by the sounding body are
carried to the organ ; that a com¬
munication is formed between the
object and the sense ; which must
be done, before the internal ma¬
chinery of the tar, subtile as it is,
can act at all.

III. The organs of voice, and
respiration, are, no less than the
ear, indebted, for the success of
their operation, to the peculiar qua¬
lities of the fluid in which the ani-

Vol. XXXIV.

mal is immersed. They, therefore ,
as well as the ear, are constituted
upon the supposition of such a fluid,
i. e. of a fluid with such particular
properties, being always present.
Change the properties of the fluid,
and the organ cannot act : change
the organ, and the properties of the
fluid would be lost. The structure
therefore of our organs, and the
properties of our atmosphere, are
made for one another. Nor does
it alter the relation, whether you
allege the organ to be made for the
element (which seems the most
natural way of considering it), or
the element as prepared for the
organ .

IV. But there is another fluid
with which we have to do ; with
properties of its own ; with laws of
acting, and of being acted upon,
totally different from ' those of air
and water ;■ — and that is tight. To
this new, this singular, element ; to
qualities perfectly peculiar, perfectly
distinct and remote from the qualities
of any other substance with which
we are acquainted, an organ is
adapted, an instrument is correctly
adjufted, not Ids peculiar amongft
the parts of the body, not lefs Gngu-^
lar in its form, and, in the fubflance
of which it is compofed, not lefs re¬
mote from the materials, the model,
and the analogy of any other part of
the animal frame, than the element
to which it relates, is fpecific amidft
the fubftances with which weccn*
verfe. If tins does not prove ap .
propriation, I deflre to know what
would prove it.

Yet the element of light and the
organ of vifion, however related in
their office and ufe, have no connec¬
tion whatever in their original.
The a£th>n of ravs of light upon the
fill faces of animals has no tendency
to breed eyes in their heads. The
fun might lhin'e for ever upon living
bodies without the fmalleft approach
towards producing the fenl# oi fight.

4 b

626 The Relation of Animated Bodies to Inanimate Nature.

On the other hand alfo, the animal
eye does not generate or emit light.

V. Throughout the univerfe there
is a wonderful proportioning of one
thing to another. The fize of ani ¬
mals, of the human animal efpe
cially, when confidered with refpedt
to other animals, or to the plants
■which grow around him, is fuch, as
a regard to his conveniency would
have pointed out. A giant or a
pigmy could not have milked goats,
reaped corn, or mowed grafs; we
may add, could not have rode a
horfe, trained a vine, (horn a fheep ;
with the fame bodily eafe as we do,
if at all. A pigmy would have been
loft atpongft rufhes, or carried off
by birds of prey.

It may be mentioned likewife,
that, the model and the materials of
the human body being what they are,
a much greater bulk would have
broken down by its own weight.
Theperfonsof men, who much ex¬
ceed the ordinary ft a lure, betray this
tendency.

VI. Again ; and which includes
a vast variety of particulars, and
those of the greatest importance,
how close is the suitableness of the
earth and sea to their several inha¬
bitants: and of these inhabitants to
the places of their appointed re¬
sidence !

Take the earth as it is 3 and
consider the correspondency of the
powers of its inhabitants with the
properties and condition of the soil
which they tread. Take the inha¬
bitants as they are 3 and consider the
substances which the earth yields
for their use. They can scratch its
surface, and its surface supplies all
which they want This is the length
of their faculties 5 and such is the
constitution of the globe, and their
own, that this is sufficient for all
their occasions.

When we pass from the earth
to the sea, from land to water, we
pass through a great change 5 but an

adequate change accompanies us of
animal forms and functions, of
animal capacities and Wants, so that
correspondency remains. The earth
in its nature is very different from
the sea, and the sea from the earth 3
but one accords with its inhabitants,
as exactly as the other.

VII. The 1 alt relation of this kind
which 1 ffiall. mention is that of Jteep
to night. And it appears to me to
be a relation which was exprefsly
intended. Two points are manifefl:
firfL that the animal frame reauires

7 i.

deep; fecondly, that night brings
with it a ffience, and a reflation of
activity, which allows of deep being
taken without interruption, and
without lofs. Animal exiftence is
made up of action and dumber: na¬
ture has provided a feafon for each.
Am animal, which flood not in need
of red, would always live in day¬
light. An animal, which, though
made for aflion and delighting; in ac-
tion, mud have its ilrength repaired
by deep, meets by its conditution the
returns of day and night. In the
human fpecies, for indance, were the
budle, the labour, the motion of life,
upheld by the conftant pfefence of
light, deep could not be enjoyed
without being didurbed by noifeg
and without expenfe of that time
which the eagernefs of private inte-
red would not contentedly refign.
It is happy therefore for this part of
the creation, i mean that it is con*
formabie to the frame and wants of
their conditution, that nature, by
the very aifpofition of her elements,
has commanded, as it w'ere, and im-
pofed upon them, at moderate in
tervals, a general intermifiion of
their toils, their occupations, and
purfuits.

But it is not for man, either folely
or principally, that night is made.
In fe rior, but lefs perverted, natures,
tafte its folace, and ex pedl its return,
with greater exabhiefs and advan¬
tage than he does. I have often

The Poet of Ednam.

■observed, and never obferved but to
admire, the iatisfacftion, no lefs than
the regularity, with which the great-
eft part of the irrational world yield
to this foft neceffuy, this grateful
viciifttude ; how comfortably the
birds of the air, for example, addrefs
themfelves to the repofe of the even -
ing; with what alertnefs they re¬
lume the aHivitv of the day.

Nor does it difturb our argument
to confefs. that certain fperies of
animals are in motion during the
night, and at reft in the day. With
refpefi even to them it is ftill true,
that there is a change of condition in
the animal, and an external change
correfponding with it. There is
ftill the relation, though inverted.
The fact is, that the repofe of other
animals fets thefe at liberty, and in¬
vites them, to their food or their
lport.

, if the relation of l hep to nighty
and, in fome inftances, its converfe,
be real, we cannot reflect without
amazement upon the extent to
which it carries us. Day and night
are things clofe to us; the change
applies immediately to our fenfa-
tions: of all the phenomena of na¬
ture, it is the moft obvious and the
moft familiar to our experience:
but, in its caufe, it belongs to the
great motions which are paffing in
the heavens. Wbiift the earth glides
round her axle, (be minifters to the
alternate neceftities of the animals
dwelling upon her furface, at the
fame time that fhe ob.eys the in
fluence of thofe attractions which
regulate the order of many thouftmd
worlds, 'i’he relation therefore of
deep to night, is the relation of the
inhabitants of the earth to the rota*
tion of their globe; probably it is
more/;: it is a relation to the fyftem,
of which that globe is a part ; and,
ftill further, to the congregation of
fyftems, of which theirs is only one.
If this account be true, it connects
the meaneft individual with the uni-

627

verfe itfelf; a chicken roofting upon
its perch, with the fpheres revolving
in the firmament.

VIII. Bur if any one obje&to our
reprefentation, that the fuccefiion of
day and night, or the rotation of the
earth upon -which it depends, is not
refolvible into central attraction,
we will refer him to that which cer¬
tainly is, — to the change of the iea-
fons. Now the conftkudon of ani-
ma s fufceptible of torpor bears a
relation to winter, ftmilar to that
which deep bears to night. —
Againft not only the cold, but the
want of food, which the approach
of winter induces, the preferver of
the world has provided, in many
animals by migration, in many others
by torpor. As one example out of
a' thousand, the bat, if it did not
sleep through the winter, must have
starved, as the moths and flying
insects, upon which it teeds, disap¬
pear. But the transition from
summer to winter carries us into the
very midst of physical astronomy,
that is to say, into the midst of
those laws which govern the solar
system at least, and probably all the
heavenly bodies.

THE POET OF EDNAM.

nPHEHEisnow living in theparifti
of Ednam, the birth-place of
the immortal poet Thomfon, a
young man of eighteen years of age,
who was born without lesp or knees,
and his thighs defective. ' His father
was a day-labourer ; but has been
dead for fome years. He fits upon
a table in the cottage through the
day, and when the weather is fair,
his mother carries him into a field,
where he reads and enjoys the air.
He has taught himfelf to read, to
write a legible hand, to p’ay on the
flute, to draw with a pencil — al*
though one of his arms he canno!
4 L 2

628

A Morning's Walk in December .

taife to his breaft, — and he attempts
poetry. He is, notwithftanding the
want of exercife, very nealthy, al¬
ways cheerful and contented, though
his fnpport depends entireiv upon
the wages of his younger orother,
who is a fervant to ^ refpedtabie
farmer at Ednarrp

When his father died, his mo¬
ther, in great diftrefs, exclaimed,
‘ Oh, William ! who will maintain
you now ?’ To which he anfwer-
ed, ‘Dear mother, that Divine Be
ing who created me in this helpiefs
flare, will not fuffer me to perifh of
want.’ Fie is very grateful to any
•perion who lends him books, draw¬
ings to copy, or pays the lead atten¬
tion to him. He is little known, or
he would ppffihly be relieved by the
benevolent. A very fmall fmn
would fee u re him from want, as oat¬
meal, milk and potatoes, are the
food of the: Scotch peafantry, and all
he has ever been a cm Homed to.
1 he lamenefs of one of his arms pre¬
vents him from learning; anv bull-
ivefs to earn his living. He is ex¬
tremely well informed;, con verb $
with great propriety upon every fub-
jed,. although his articulation is alfo
defedive: he feels much interefted
in the prefent Hate of his native
country and of Europe ; reads the
newfpapers, which are occafiofially
fent him, with great anxiety ; and,
as a proof of it, we fubjoin the fol¬
lowing copy of his laid produdion,
which he entitles — -

THE TEARS OF SWITZERLAND.

How blafted now, how chang’d my- Irate,

How fall’n from glory and renown !

No more I’m mark’d fair Freedom’s feat,

No more my ions are call’d her own.

Fair Freedom from my fons is fled-—

Fled, in feme happier clime to reign ;

And low they droop, and bow the head,
Beneath ftern Gallia’s chain.

Long they for me like patriots fought,

And flood, though on all Tides a flail’d;

For me and Freedom wonders wrought,

But Fate and Gallia prevail’d.

How are they funk! upon my dale?

No virgin ’s heard to pour her lay.
Nor pafl’ral pipe within my vales,

Nor fhepherd’s fong to cheer the day ;

But, fadoefs dwells in ev’ry breafl ;

Complaints' and fighs from ev'ry vale,
Of virgins wrong’d and fwains opprtlVd,
Sound mournfully upon the gale.

The maid bemoans her piteous cafe,
Sighs, beats her breafl, and fits forlorn *
The youth (fome tyrant’s train to grace)
She lov’d, from her embrace is torn.

Does not thy patriot bofom fvvell,

Where ihou fitt’ft in immortal day.
To fee thy country, thus, O Tell !

Of Gallia’s lawlefs fons the prey ?

Jnfufe thy foul in fume bold heart,

That he may rife, all great like thee,
Again my freedom' to affert,

And hsil me from oppreflion free.

A MORNING L WALK in
DECEMBER.

‘ Now fnows defeend, .rnd robe the fields
In Winter's bright array.’, Heuvf.v.

‘ The morn, flow rifing, o’er the drooping
world

-Lifts its pale eye unjoy mis:1 Thomson.

4 For wind and pain beat December.’

Shakspkare.

■" found Nature covered with a
fnowy mantle. Though the fleecv
mower fill continued to deicend, I
walked amid the glittering feene ;
not to view the daify-embroidered
mead, nor plain enamelled with gold*
cups; not to inhale the vjolet-fcent-
ed breeze, nor to hearken to con¬
gregated nightingales; but to con¬
template the rueful appearance of
Creation, defpoiled of all that was
beautiful, bv the lavage ftrokes of
defpotic Winter. -

Equipped in a thick great coat, I
bade defiance to

4 the peliing of the pitilefs ftorm.’

My figu re was rather grotefque; and,
had a painter feen rTie, he might
have thought me no had emblema¬
tical reprefentation of that feafoti

629

On the Drefs of the Parijian Ladies.

which was the fubjedt of my con¬
templation.

Though all around appeared un¬
grateful to the eve, yet Hope fug-
gelled fome plead ng ideas.

6 Aufpicious Hopei in thy f\veet garden grow
Wreaths tor each toil, a charm for every woe.
Won by their fweets, in nature’s languid hour
'lhe way-worn pilgtim feeks thy lumber-
bower :

There — as the wild bee murmurs on the wing,
What peacerui dreams thy handonaid-fpirits
bring.''’ Campbell.

4 Yes, aflifted by Hope, I was en¬
abled to utter the following foiilo-

TT;..

* Uhpropitious as the morning is,
anticipation can cheer my mind with
pleafure in perfpefti ve. Though
the citizens of the bough forbear to
carol lays of love ; and the myriads
of infedis that gamboled in the folar
beams, are Iwept from exiftence by
the breath of Boreas: yet again the
herald lark fhall hail the orient fun,
and the countlefs lwarms of gilded
infignificants fport in the noonr
tide blaze.

e Again ail-bright fhall glow the morning-
beam,

Again t lunsdiflblve the frozen dream ;
Spring cal) young breezes from the fouthem
Ikies ;

And, clothed in beauty, flowery millions rife.’

Dwight.

, 1 Again will the feafon of delight

return, and invite the early walker
to leave his couch. —

* Then fhall he love (when genial Morn ap¬
pears.

Like penhve Beauty fmiling in her tears)

To watch the brightening rofes of the Iky,

And mufe on nature with a poet’s eye.’

Campbell.

4 The doling year folemnly re¬
minds me that another annual period
of my lhorr life has rolled down the
ltream of time to the ocean of eter¬
nity. Still my little fkiff is buffet¬
ing the waves, while veflels of am¬
pler dimenfions and prouder magni¬
tude are whelmed beneath the tide.

Still I breathe the vital air, and
44 drink the golden day,” while the
celebrated Cowper and the amiable
Beattie 4,1 repofe in dull cold marble/1'
With me the flowery Spring of hu¬
man life is flown, the Summer is
commenced: foon, if Heaven per¬
mits, the Autumn and Winter of
age will arrive; that dreary Winter
phat knows no fucceeding Spring 1

* Short is the Spring, and fhort the Summer
hour,

And fnort the time while fruitful Autumn
reigns

But tedious roll the days when Winter’s
power

Alberts its empire o’er the blafted plains:

‘ As fwiflly wears the Spring of life away;

As fwiftly will the jolly Summer go :

But, ah ! when Winter clouds the cheerlefs
day,

Again the vernal breezes never blow.’
Haverhill . John Webs.

On the DRESS of the PARISIAN'
LADIES,

> t

[Frcffj ( A Sketch of AloJern Paris.*]

Paris, Dec. 27, 1801.
W'As Iaft night at a public ball
given by a club or fociety, called
Le Salon des Etr angers. This is an
eftablifhment formed on the plan of
our fubfeription-houfes in England,
and lately opened in a handfome
houfe in La Hue Grange Eat alter e .

o ?

the windows of which look on the
Boulevard. It confifts of French¬
men, who are admitted by ballot,
and of foreigners of all nations.
The latter are received, being in¬
troduced by a member, on paying
the annual fubfeription of five lotiis.
The houfe is handfomely furnifhed,
and confifts of feveral large rooms,
which are open every morning and
evening for the ufe of the fub-
feribet s. Befides the ordinary games
played in fuch fort of houfes, there
is a very excellent billiard-table, and

63 0

On the Drefs of the Purifian Ladles .

a room fitted up for reading, in
which are found periodical publi¬
cations, and ail the newfpapers,
French, German, and Englifh. It
was this latter circum fiance which
induced me to fubfcribe ; and it is
her e where I ufually end my walk,
and amufe mylelf for half an hour,
in running over the publications of
the day.

The club or fori ety, by way, I
fuppofe, of gaining to its aid the
protection and intereft of the fair,
without which nothing is to be done
in Fiance, nor, to fpeak the truth,
anywhere elfe, gives a ball about
once in ten days ; and it was at one
of thefe aiTemblies that I was prefen t
laft night.

At twelve o’clock Mrs. 1 -
and I drove to Le Salon des Etr angers
(for no ball begins at an earlier
hour), and the firing of carriages
was fo very long, that we were near¬
ly an hour in getting up to the door,
I cannot help taking this opportuni¬
ty of commending the admirable
order preferved by the police, on all
fuch occafions, at Paris. Though,
from feveral ftreets meeting on the
Boulevard., the crowd was fo great,
yet there was not the leaf! accident
nor even the fmallefl confufion. The
ftaircafe by which we afoend-ed was
elegantly ornamented with orange
and other artificial flower trees.
When we entered the outward room,
there were already fo many perfons
alfembled, that it was not without
confiderable difficulty that we made
our way into the/' Ion, or ’drawing-
room. Never fhall I forget my fur-
prife, when, looking round me, I
perceived the drefs, or rather the
nakednefs, of the ladies. I had
heard much of the indecency of
which fome females were guilty in
refpebfc to coftv.me , at Paris, and I had
already feen fpecimens of the thin-
nefs of their apparelj but. till this
evening I thought it only the failing
of, a few. 1 now faw at leaf! two

hundred women, of different ages
and different fituations in life, all
difplaying, without refer ve or dif-
guife, the beauties which they had
either received from nature, imitated
by art, or believed themfelves by the
aid of flattering fancy to poffefs.
The young and the old, the hand-
fome and the ugly, the fair and the
brown, all prodigally dragged into
common view tbofe charms which a
virtuous woman conceals from mo¬
tives of ffiodefty, and a fenfualift
from thole of diforetion. The bux¬
om girl of fixteen, the newly-mar¬
ried woman, and the fuperan masted
mother of a numerous iarmly, were
all equally expofed. Naked necks,
naked backs, and their form fcarce-
ly concealed by a tranfparexit petti¬
coat, left nothing to the power of
fancy.

You will think, perhaps, that I
am drawing an exaggerated picture ;
but 1 can afl'ure you, on the honour
of a man of truth, that fitch was the
ooftume of at lead two-thirds of the
ladies prefect at this ball. The
head dreffes, claflically imitated from
the ancient ftatues, were elegant ;
and the number of diamonds, pearls,
and other precious (tones, (tnkingly
brilliant. There were many hand-
fome women, but their beauty was
uniformly of one kind. rY\\t,embon~
point and the note retroujjt charabterif-
ed them all. I looked in vain for
thofe graceful figures, and tbofe Gre¬
cian countenances, which form fo
often the ornament of an Englifli
afiembly. Among the molt cele¬
brated belief madame 11 — - , the

young wife of an affluent banker,
was pointed out to me ; madame

V- - — , an Italian lady, much

the fafliion at Paris ; and the re¬
nowned madame Taliien. 1 think
the firff rather remarkable for the
finguianty of her drefs — her head
being ornamented a-la-cochoife , that
is to fay, as the -peafants of a particu¬
lar province drefs their hair, — her

Origin of John o’ Great’s Henfe. 63 1

extreme fairnefs. and downcaft look,
than for any real extraordinary
beauty. Madame V - is a line

dark woman, ddune certalne age, with
beautiful eyes, and a commanding
perfon. Madame Tallien, notvvith-
ftanding her great fame, has, ac¬
cording to me, rather an agreeable
countenance, and an enchanting
fmile, than features exceffively link¬
ing. She is fair as the faired of our
countrywomen ; her neck is beauti¬
ful, and her countenance mild and
good humoured : yet, in fpite of
thefe advantage?, I never fhouid
have dfflovered in her the reigning

o _ o

belle of Paris. She, too, is not in

the fir ft bloom of youth. The

dances were the cotillon (which

they call la contredanfe) and the

waltz. In the former, the ladies

difplayed that decided fuperiority

which the French po fiefs in the art

of dancing. As to the waltz, I was

aftonilhed at the decency with which

that verv indecent dance was danced

by the young Parifians ; who placing
their arms round the uncovered per¬
rons of the handfomeft women in
the room, yet had fufficient com¬
mand of themfelves not to (hock
either their partners or the compa¬
ny, by being guilty of the flighted
impropriety. 1 exprefled' my fur-
prife to an elderly lady at this extra¬
ordinary forbearance. ‘ Croyez mol,
mon;ieur , (lie replied, nos jeunes gens
r voie/it tout celt avec I'indljflrence la
plus p irfaite . ’

What a leflon does this remark
hold out to the fair fex of every de-
icription ( That female is not Ids
deficient in coquetry, and in the art
of commanding the affections of
mm, than in every principle of de¬
cency, who wantonly expofes to the
common gaze of palling curiofity
thofe attractions which are only va-
luable as long as the fight of them is

* 1 Believe me, fir, o :r young men fee all
this with the molt perfect indifference.'’

the exclufive privilege of a favoured
lov$r.

The libertine, if he at firft looks
on with admiration, foon ceafes to
care for that which every eye may
behold; and apathy, united to con¬
tempt, is the fentiment which fuc-
oeecfs to paffion.

I return to the ball. The crowd,
became greater and greater, and the
heat exceffive ; but the fcene alto¬
gether was lively and amufiag,

A frenchman, de T ancien regime.,
hearing me exprefs my furprife at
the coftume of the ladies, affured me
that, excepting the foreigners, there
was not one woman de bonne com -
pagnle in the room. This term of
bo in e compagnie is fo often ufed, and
fo feldom explained, that I really do
not know whether he meant that
there was not a woman of the old
court, or that there was not a vir¬
tuous female, prelent. If he intend¬
ed the former, it only proved that
thele balls were not frequented by
the nofylejje ; if the latter, he was
much feverer in his remark than I
had been. I only complained of the
ladies being indecent; he afferted
that they were profligate. At any
rate, the one fault leads fo rapidly to
the other, that it was difficult to
make a mi flake.

The room was well lighted, the
rnufic excellent, and the ball, being
formed of all the different clalfes of
focietv, highly entertaining to a fo •
reigner. There were a great many
Englilh prefect, mod of the ambaf-
fadors, and many other diftinguifli-
ed characters.

I returned home about three in.
the morning. Adieu.

ORIGIN of JOHN O’ GROATV ;

HOUSE. !

ohn o’ Groat’s houfe, fo often*
vifited by travellers, and men¬
tioned in converfation, is fituated at

€3c2

Account of Alnwick-Cajlle , &C*

the north-eaft extremity of Great -
Britain, about a mile and a half from
Dungiibay-head, in the county of
Caithnefs. This memorable place
owes its fame, in a great degree, to
its local fituation, at the northern
extremity of the ifland ; but more fo,
perhaps, to the following event,
which inculcates a ufeful lefTon of
morality.

In the reign of James IV. of Scot¬
land, three brothers, Malcolm, Ga
vin, and John de Groat, (fuppofed
to have been originally from Hol¬
land B arrived in Caithnefs, with a
letter from that prince, recommend¬
ing them to the countenance and
protection of his loving fubjeCts in
the county of Caithnefs. Thefe
brothers purchafed fome land near
Dungifbay-bead ; and in a lbort
time, bv the increafe of their fami-
lies, eight different proprietors of
the name of Groat , poifefftd thefe
lands in equal divifions.

Thefe eight families, having lived
peaceably and comfortably for a
number of years, eftablifhed an an-
mial meeting to celebrate the anni-
verfary of the arrival of their an-
ceflors on the coaft. At one of
thefe meetings, in the courfe of the
fellivity, a qu eft ion arofe refpetting
the right of taking the door, the
head of the table, and other points
cf precedency (each contending for
the fen unity and chief tainflii p) ,
which increafed to fuch a degree, as
would probably have proved fatal
in its confequenc.es, had not John de
Groat, who appears to have ac¬
quired great knowledge of mankind,
interfered. He expatiated on the
comforts they had heretofore en¬
joyed, in confequence of the har¬
mony that had fubfifled between
them : he affured them that as foon
as they appeared to quarrel among
themfeives, their neighbours, who
had till then treated them with re-
fpeH, would fall upon them and
expel them the country. He there-

fore conjured them, by the ties of
blood and their mutual' fafety, to
return quietly to their feveral homes,
and pledged himfelf that he would
fatisfy them on all points of prece¬
dency, and thus prevent the poffibi-
lity of fuch difputes at their next
anniversary meeting. They all ac-
quiefeed, and departed in peace.

In due time, John de Groat, to
fulfil his engagement, built a room,
aiftinff from all other houfes, of an
oHagon figure, with eight doors,
placing a table of oak of the fame
Shape in the middle ; and when the
next meeting took place, he delired
each of them to enter by his own
door, and to fit at the head of the
table, he himfelf occupying the laft.
By this ingenious contrivance, the
harmony and good humour of the
company was reftored. The build¬
ing was then named John-o' -Groat’s
Houfe ) and, though nothing remains
but the foundation of the building,
the place ftil) retains the name, and
deferves to be remembered for the
good intentions and good fenfe that
gave it origin.

Account cf Alnwick Castle*
the Seat of tie Duke of Not thumber -
land.

£ From Warner'’ s e Tour through the Northern
Counties .’J

A LNwiCK-caflle is an immenfe
budding, crowning a lofty
mound, the outward walls including
an extent of five acres. The hoflile
purpofes for which it was, originally
erected are pointed out by the fingu*
lar ornaments that furmonnt its tur¬
rets; figures in flone as large as life,,
reprefenting combatants in every
fituation of military defence, fome
in the aH of heaving down hones on
the affailants, others of difeharging
arrows, wielding battle-axes, and
calling javelins. Early in the Saxon
times (if not whilft'the Romans con-

633

Account of Ahiwick-Cqfile^ oV.

tinned in that kingdom) Alnwick-
caftle appears to have been built,
though not upon its prefent exten¬
sive Icale; nor was its importance
fufficient to entitle it to hiftoi ical re¬
cord till the Norman aera, when, in
thereign of Rufus, Malcolm Hi. loft
his life in attempting to poffefs him-
felf of it. Already had the garrifon
confumed all their provifions ; and,
difpirited with hunger and hopelefs
of fuccour, were on the point of
beating a furrender, when a gallant
foldier, named Hamond, determined
to make an effort for the falvation of
his comrades. Armed cap~a pie, and
bearing the keys of the caftle on the
point of his fpear, he rode towards
the Scotlifh camp, as if to prefent
them to the king. Malcolm, de¬
lighted with the unexpended event,
ran haftiiy out of his tent unarmed
to receive them ; when Hamond
fuddenly drawing his dagger, plung¬
ed it into the monarch’s heart, and,
clapping fpurs to his horfe, rufhed
into the river, lwam the ford, and
efcaped into the caftle. The death
of Edward, the eldeft fon of the de-
c.eafed king (who, in the bitternefs
of anguifti, expol'ed himfelf incau-
tioufty to the weapons of the garri-
fon, in order to revenge the murder
of his father), completed their tri¬
umph, 2nd infured their fafety ; for
the Scotch army, in defpair at their
twofold lofs, quitted the fiege, and
marched direflly home. But the
laurels of Caledonia were doomed to
experience another rude blow be¬
fore the towers of Alnvvick-caftle ;
where, in the twelfth, century, her
king William Ilf. furnamed the
Lion, was taken prifoner while lay¬
ing fie^e to it ; and condemned to
deplore his ill fnccefs in a priion of
Normandy, w hither he was feat to
king Henry II.

Situated fo near thofe feenes of
perpetual animofity and bloodftied,
the bqrdering countries, Alnwick-
caftle partook largely of the cpnfu-

Vol. XXXIV,’

lion which charaflerifed that diftrieft,
until the advancement of James I. to
the English throne created a fori of
union between the two countries,
which leffened the frequency, and
weakened the, .violence, of the con¬
tentions on the borders. Its annals
record a variety of, military adven¬
tures, of which it was the theatre ;
but none more remarkable than the
removal of a whole garrifon, confid¬
ing of three hundred Lancaftrians,
to the extreme difnppointment and
furps ife ofthe army of Yorkifis, who
were in veiling the fortrefs, with the
certainty of its falling into their
hands. Margaret, unconquerable by
difafter, after the lofs of the battle of
Towton, lofing all regard for her own
perfonal fafety in, her anxious care
for her adherents, engaged George
Douglas earl of Angus in the defpe-
rate attempt of removing the garri¬
fon from Alnwick, in. the face of the
enemy’s forces. Advancing with a
large body of Scotch horfe, he drew
up in order of battle before the
Enolifh, who immediately made ar-
rangements for the conilift. Whilft
they were entirely engaged in thefe
preparations, Douglas drew up a fe-
ledt body of the ftouteft troopers to
a back gate, out of which the garri¬
fon iffued ; and each foldier, mount¬
ing behind a horfeman, rode offfe-
curely from the caftle ; concealed
front the light of the Englilh by the
intervening array. Douglas, having
effected his purpofe, drew off his
forces in good order, leaving the
affailants at liberty to take poffeftioii
of the deferted fortrels.

In its prefent fplendid ftate, fitted
up at the immenfe expence of two
hundred thoufand pounds, Alnwick-
caftle can afford hut a faint idea of its
appearance in the feudal ages; when
it was dark and inconvenient, with,
every thing contrived for fecurity,
and nothing done for the fake of
elegance. Under its prefent highly
unproved form, however, it muit be
4 M

654 Account of Alnwick-Cajtle > &c.

confeffed, that every thing has been
made as congruous to ancient cofiume
as poffible ; and all within and with¬
out the manfion point out the judg¬
ment as well as table of Meflrs.
Adams and Paine, who were em¬
ployed to regenerate this magnificent
place. The dwelling apartments
form a cafiellated fabric, railed upon
an artificial mound in the centre of
the inclofed area. Thefe confift of
the ft ate bed-chambers, magnificently
fitted up ; the grand Jiair-cafc, lingu¬
lar but beautiful in plan, expanding
like a lady’s fan, and ornamented
with a chain of efcutcheons running
Found the cornices, difplaying one
hundred and twenty quarterings and
intermarriages of the Percy family;
the fahon , an apartment forty-two
feet long, thirty-feven feet wide, and
twenty high ; the 5 drawing-room,
a large oval, forty-feven feet by
thirty-five, and twenty-two high; the
dining-room , fifty-four feet by twen¬
ty, finilhed in a ftyle of Gothic, fu-
pe datively beautiful; the library ,
fixty-four feet long, and twenty-
three feet wide, in the fame happy
and appropriate manner ; and the
rhapel , an apartment in which ex¬
pence has reached its utmoA limits.
It is fifty feet long, twenty-one wide,
and twenty-two high, and prefents
fuch a dazzling picture of Gothic
decoration as is not, perhaps, to be
equalled in the kingdom. The
great window of York Mi niter has
been chofen as the model of the
eaftern one, the ceiling of King’s
College chapel for the pattern of the
coving, and the painting and gilding
of the mouldings and Aucco are
taken from thofe of the great church
at Milan. We regretted that forne
of the ornaments were not as ap¬
propriate as elegant, and did not
fufped ourfelves of Puritanifm,
when we found our minds revolt at
a fumptu£>us marble farcopbagus,

dedicated to the" memory of the late

cure fiefs, and i n fieri bed - with her

thoufand titles, ferving the purpofif
of an altar-, and faw the walls cf
the apartment covered with armo¬
rial bearings, and genealogical tables
of the illuftrious family in whofe
pofieiTion the manfion has been fo
long, and at prefent is. It is not
indeed the only in fiance in which
we find religion and heraldry affo-
ciated; but certainly the frequency
of its occurrence can never make
the humility of the creature and the
pride of the noble congruous with each
other.

The park of Alnwick, though for
the moft part naked of large timber,
and borrowing almoft all its fhade
from the plantations of the lafi duke,
offers occafionally fome very fine
views, as well as a pleafant ride
round its boundary, which extends
thirteen miles through a trad of
country wifely applied to agricul¬
tural purpofes, infiead of being
wailed in a deer-range. Not that it
wants its ornaments; a plea fin g one
of ancient days, Hulne-abbey, found¬
ed in 2240 for Carmelite-friars, by
Ralph Friiburn, is been in the bot¬
tom, watered by the little river Ain,
that flows through the park; and a
grand modern Gothic tower, called
Brifley’s-tower, of a circular form,
one hundred feet high, crowns the
fummit of a hill, and affords a view
of wonderful extent, includingmany
auguft objeds in a clear day. — Edin-
burgh-caftle to the northward ;
Tyneworth-cafile, in an oppofire
direction; Bamborough and YVark-
worth cafiles to the eafiward; and
the long line of the Grampian and
Cheviot. hills, and their circumjacent
waftes, the feene of that great
hunting of old, whofe bloody ter¬
mination has been recorded in the
well known popular ballad of ‘ Che¬
vy rhace;’ a trad formerly famous
for game and timber, but now equal¬
ly bare of wood, and defpoiled of
flags and roesi

On our return to Alnwick from

Anecdote..

tlie park, we pafTed a Utile free-done
monument, with an infeription upon
it that commemorates the fpot and
the nature of William the king of
Scotland’s difader and fliame :

4 William the Lion, king of Scotland, befieg-
ing Alnwick- cattle, was here taken prifon-
er £174.’

Another "monument of former
warfare occurs near the town, on
the road to Belford — a beautiful
crofs, with the following infeription,
whidh points out the occaflon of its
eredlion :

* Malcolm II T. king of Scotland, befieging
Alnwick-caftle, was flain here Nov. 13,
anno 1093. King Malcolm’s- crofs, de¬
cayed by time, was relrored by his descend¬
ant Eliza duchefs of Northumberland,

*774*’

Alnwick itrfelf has little beauty,
being draggling and irregular. A
few vediges of its former walls are
viflble, and the late duke’s magnifi¬
cence is manifeded in fome modern
public edifices in the Gothic dyle.
The cudoms of this borough were
formerly many and curious ; one
only remains now, but fufficiently
lingular in its nature to be mention¬
ed. The candidate for the few ex*
iding rights attaching to a freeman
in this difufed borough has to pafs
through a purgatory little lefs alarm¬
ing than the initiatory rites to the
greater myfteries of Eleujis\ clad in
a white garment, he is led to a little
ffream which runs acrofs a road on
the town-moor, anciently called the
Eored of Aidon, whofe waters are
deepened for the purpofe by a dam
thrown acrofs them, and bottom
rendered as unequal and rugged as
npliibje, by holes being dug, and

635

. » *•

* -V

dones cad therein. All thefe ac-
commodatingarrangements are made
by a man who lives near the dream,
and exacts five {hidings from each of
the freemenforhistrouble, Through
this water, without the aid of dick
or ftaff, the candidate is to find his
way; and, provided he effedt this
without breaking his legs, he isthea
condemned to an equeflrian adven¬
ture equally perilous ; to ride round
the manor, afterchanging his clothes,
accompanied by two of the oldeft
inhabitants of the borough as his
guides, a diffance of ten miles, over
a road rugged with precipices, de¬
formed with bog, and obdructed
with briar. If he do all this, and
livey he becomes a freeman of Aln¬
wick.

ANECDOTE.

’The manor of Broadwater for-
merly belonged to the family of
the Camois, who flourifhed from the
time of Edward I. until the lixteenth.
century. A lingular anecdote is
recorded of lir John Camois, who,
by a deed regularly executed, 4 of
his own free will, gave and demifed
his nvife Margaret , to fir William
Painel, knight, with all her goods,
chattels, and other appendages, to
have and to hold during the term of
her natural life!’ This indance of
packing off a wife, bag and baggage,-
diews that pope Gregory was not
miflaken when he wrote to Lan-
franc, archbilhop of Canterbury,
that he had 4 heard there were cer¬
tain perfons in Scotland, who not
only forfook but fold their wives,
whereas in England they gave an4
granted them away.’

Matilda ; a Drama.

MATILDA; a DRAMA.

( Concluded from page 346'.)

Act V. — Scene I.

Count i d'Orlheim , Erne/l , Herman ,

Matilda y Amelia, Lou fa y Philip,
two Servants.

i The fcene is the fame faloon as before.
Matilda^ who has juft been ref cued
from the hands cf ruffians who had
fiei%ed her, is feated in an arm-chair ,
pals and difordered ; her eyes are
turned, with fear end uneafnefs , on
her father \ her attitude is fupphea -
toy, and her looks and gejtures im¬
plore pity. Amelia is fan ding near
her , and ajfedlionately attentive to
her . Louija , on her knees before

Matilda, holds one cf her hands ,
which fhe kijfes with tendernefs .
Philip [lands by the fide of Lou (fa,
wit h a Countenance exprefidve of joy
when he looks on Matilda , and of
inquietude when he turns to Count
d'Orlheim. Her m an fiands near the
Count, and , when the latter locks on
his daughter , makes a motion to lead
him to her. Ernefi , placed between

his uncle and his coufin , endeavours ,
but with delicacy and addrefs, to en¬
gage the attention of Mat ilda, Count
d'Oriheiniy when v nob fir need , fixes
his eyes on his daughter , and appears
fivex defrous to advance towards her,
but flops, turns from her , and ferns
not to notice her. —It is night: feme
Wax • candles are on the table ; and
at the bottom of the fi age ate her *
wants, dill armed \ ana bearvig flam¬
beaux

Herman (to Count d'Orlheim).

7 ou were in danger, and I could
L not 0: are it with you.

Count d'Orlheim ( pointing to It rnefi).
There Is he who faved us all. He
overpowered Wo dinar, the auda¬
cious Wodrnar, whom I continually
fought ; but who appeared ro fhun
me to attack only my nephew- — my
friend! — (Looking at Matilda with

attention, andfpeahvg to Ernefi ). Brave
youth ! you know not how much I
owe to you ! ( Seems to check himfelfi

as if fearing he had Jaid too much.)

Ernefi . 1 have done only my duty,
(i Turns to Matilda with tenchr attend
tion). Are you fomewhat recover¬
ed from the alarm which fuch an
event - ?

Matilda (locking firfi at Ernefi and
then at her father ; but at the l it ter al -
ways with timidity , < nd in a juppliant
attitude ). You may eafily imagine
what imprellion my heart muft hill
retain. But the l'entiment of what I
owe to you— -gratitude— alleviates
all the uneafinefs I cannot but f el
from my fituation. — (She perceives
the hand of Ernefi wrapped in a hand¬
kerchief which is bloody). What is
that ? — Blood! — You are wounded?

Count d' Or ibeim fagetly) Wound¬
ed ?

Ernefi , Oh, it is nothing! — no¬
thing whatever.

Count d'Orlheim. But it muff not
be difregarded — it may be danger¬
ous. We muft - —

Ernefi. It is a mere fcratch — not
worth the trouble.

. Matilda faking the wounded hand
of Ern fiy and. in a tone cf the utmefi
tendernefs ). Wounded for me !

Ernefi (in a low voice, not to be
heard by Count d Orlhehn). Delight of
my heart ! — ( IV ah ardent exprefjion).
And may you be happy!

Count a' Of helm. Where is the in*
folent Wodrnar, and his cowardly
accomplices ?

Philip. They have feparated : —
my comrades, ail well armed, are
gone in purfuitof them.

Count d'Orlheim. It will foon be
day. Herman, you will repair to the
next town. 1 {hall rely on you to
take proper meafures with refpedt to
thefe ruffians. Blit I do not fee
Charles. When we came up with
thefe rafeals, he appeared to me to
remain at a diftance.

Matilda ;

Philip. Fie retreated fome fteps it
is true. Perhaps he was afraid :
all perfons are not courageous alike.
Indeed we had warm work. To do
him j office, however, he foon reco¬
vered himfeif, and then lie fought
like a lion.

Count d’Orlheim. (looks on Matilda
twiii. an air of tendernefs , approaches
her , and feems about to take her hand;
hut f'ddenly flops , fighs , and after a mo¬
ment * v paufe , advances to Madame IV al -
fein , 'with <vfib, emotion). Madame
Walftein, return to your apartment
—with — your young friend — (Much
agitated) l ake care — take the great-
eft care of her, I conjure you. —
Whatever may happen — whatever
diftance may feparate us — be allured
that i fnall always intereft myfelf in
your fortune, as well as in her hap-
pinefs. Leave me.

Matilda ( mournfully ). My fate is
not changed !

\JL*.eunt all but Count cd Orlheim,
Scene II.

Count d'Orlheim alone.

[Thr owing himfif into an arm-chair ,

and, after fame moments' flencc- — ]

Too cruel and lafting remem¬
brance of injured love! wilt thou
ever prevent my happinefs ? Where
ami? Whither fhall I go ? Whither
carry my grief and di ft refs, the dis¬
order of my ideas, and the ftruggles
that rend my heart ?

Scene III.

Count d'Orlheim ; Charles , entering
pale and agitated.

Count d’Orlheim. What do you
want ? Leave me.

Charles. Sir, I entreat vou to liften

* J

to me a moment. I come to re-
queft -

C ant d Orlheim. What ? What
can 1 do ? What do you wifh ?

Charles. That you wou d punifh
rse as 1 deferve : I have committed a
heinous crime.

a Drama. 637

Count d * Orlheim . What have you
done ?

Charles. I have furniftied ?vlr.
Wodmar with the means of ailing as
he has done. I gave him the key of
the park ; and, had it not been for
me, he never would have attempt¬
ed - ■

Count d’Orlheim, What motive
could induce you to commit an aSt
fo bale ? ,

Charles. I thought you hated your
daughter. I faw that you had aban¬
doned her, and that another would
receive her inheritance. You had
driven her from your prefence. She
was without lupport, without aid ;
and I hoped that Mr. Wodmar
would repair the wrongs file had
fu tfered from you. The manner in
which you have acled this night
proves to me that I was miftaken.
I have committed a crime, fuppofing
that I performed a good action. I
am not, however, the lefs culpable;
and [ come to fubmit myfelf to the:
punifliment I deferve.

Count d’Orlheim (after a moment of
agitation and filence). Since what you
have done has been from friendfhip,
from regard to Matilda — Go — I
pardon you.

Charles. You pardon mel Ah,
fir ! now that you ha e fhewn kind-
nefs to our good and amiable mif-
trefs, your dear daughter — now that
you are a good father — I would lay
down my life for you. We would
all lay down our lives for you. Ah,
fir! nothing was wanting but that!

Count d’Orlheim (with great emo-.
tion). Go; go, 1 tell you. Leave me.
[Charles fuzes bis hand, kifes it feve¬
rs l times 'with ccflajy, and goes out. J

: i

Scene IV. ,

Coun> g'Q ibcim alone.

What an influence has fhe obtain-
ed over all about me ! She has
gained every heart! Shall mine
alone be infenfible to her? Alas,
her mother was guilty! But fhe is

•Matilda; a Drama .

6'3$

innocent. She believes- that die is
my daughter; and, notwithdanding
the rigour with which I have treated
her, her affedtion for me, her re-
fpedt and her gentle patience have
never failed. Ought not her youth,
as well as her virtues, and even her
misfortune, to engage my regard
and my love? D’Orlhieim, ceafe to
hate. Hatred is a fearful torment.
Adopt this child by whom thou art
fo tenderly beloved, and whom thou
canft not view with an indifferent
‘«ye. In defed! of the rights of
blood, obtain thofe which benefac¬
tions beftowl Let her appertain to
jthec at lea-1 by gratitude, and be¬
llow on thyfelf that happinels which
nature Has refu'fed thee 1 Matilda,
thou haft conquered. It is not in
vain that thv . filial piety has com¬
bated again!! honour which repulf-
ed thee, and again!! the remem¬
brance of an injury of which thou
wert not guilty! I will be thy fup-
port, thy benefadlor, thy friend, and
thou fhalt render my laft days hap*
py, Heavens ! whom do I fee?

Scene V.

Count d'Orlbrim, W id mar.

Count d* Orlbeim . Vile raviftier!
dared thou - ?

Wodmar. Be calm.

Count! d ’ O, • Iheim . Thy a u d acity !

Wodmar. No exclamations.

Count d ' Orlbeim. What is your in¬
tention? Recoiled! that I am fur-
rounded by faithful domeftics, who
will lofe their lives in my defence,
and at the flighted fignal -

Wodmar. Beware how you give it.

Count d' Orlbeim. Do you mean to
attempt my life ?

Wodmar. Your life! Gracious
Heaven ! Are you not the father of
Matilda ?

Count d' Orlbeim. What, then, is
your intention ?

imprudent as to refufe fo hear me,
to rejedl the happinefs I come to of¬
fer you, and the tranquillity I wifli
to redore to your heart. Thofe
domedics who fhould come at your
dgnal, and whom you diredted to
watch me, overpowered with fa¬
tigue, are funk in deep. I have
feized the opportunity, and brought
with me their arms — (he Jhenvs tuvo
fijiols) ; and, if you are inflexible, I
will fnatch myfelf from the igno¬
minious death you have forced me
to merit. Liden to me, I conjure
you: it is concerning Matilda that I
wifli to fpeak to you, for the laft
time.

Count d'Orlheim (after a moment's
fierce). Speak.

Wodmar . I alked of you her hand.

Count d'Orlheim. I refufed it, and
it was my duty 10 refufe it.

Wodmar, You hate her?

Count d' Orlbeim, No.

Wodmar . You abandoned her;
you drove her from your houle.

Count d Orlbeim. Yet I buffered
more than die

Wodmar. You deprived her of
fortune, connedlions tranquillity,
and happinefs : I wilhed to redore
her to all thefe.

Count d'Orlheim. By a crime.

Wodmar. I come to repair it. Be-
dow on me your daughter; call me
your fon-in-law, und I wall redore
to you for ever tranquillity and hap.
pined.

Count d'Orlheim. What have you
dared to afk? You! the fon of
Wodmar ! Shall Matilda become
your wife? Unhappy man! Guilt
furrounds you! Were I but to
fpeak a word -

Wodmar. Speak, I can hear, and 1
can anfwer to all you mean to fay.

Count d'Orlheim. Well, then, to
fave you an eternal remorfe, dnce I
mud reveal to you my fhame — r—
Matilda -

Wodmar. Proceed.

Count d'Orlheim. Is vour filter.

Mi Hilda ; - a Drama, fiSQ

IVodmar. My filler! And you
have fo believed ? This, then, was
the caufe of your averfion from her,
of your contempt, and her misfor¬
tunes ? The moment is arrived to
open your eyes. A falfe honour, a.
fatal prejudice, forbade me to fpeak.
Virtue, humanity, love, have at
length compelled me to break fi-
lence. Count d’Orlheim, I throw
myfelf at your feet. Pardon a fon
who could not refolve to make
known his father's dishonour. Par¬
don me for wifhing to avoid the
fhame of revealing a mvfterv of ini-
quitv of which my father was the
author, and of which thy heart was
the vidtim — ( He lays bis pifiols on the
table before Count d ’ Qrlbcim) . There
are my arms ; I place myfelf in your
power; difpofe of my fate. But
read — [He prefents a letter) — Read
this letter which my father when
dying gave into my hands, the proof
of his repentance, and of the inno¬
cence of all that was dear to thee.
Had I obeyed his lafi commands, I
fiiould have given you this paper a
twelvemonth fince ; but a falfe
pride, and a culpable refpedl for the
memory of my father, induced me
to conceal it. Remorfe now com¬
pels me to furrender it.

Count d’Orlheim (taking the letter
with evident agitation). Yes, I re-
cognife his hand. What am I about
do read? — ( Reads ) — ‘I die, and all
is at an end with me: nothing re¬
mains but remorfe. Pardon] —
Pardon me, d’Orlheim] If you
forgive, perhaps an avenging Deity
may pardon me likewife. D'Ori-
heim, open thy eyes ; know the
whole extent of my crime — know at
length thy Caroline — She was inno¬
cent.’— (Starts, and with a loud ex¬
clamation ) Innocent 1 — ( Continues to
read, , while as he proceeds his voice
jaulters , and tears almofl prevent his
utterance ). — ‘We both folicited her
hand, and you were preferred. I
meditated a dreadful revenge, and I

executed it. . Whep about to fet out
on a journey, you wiihed to take
with you the portrait of your lauv.
It was not to be found: I had fur-
reptitioufly obtained pofiefiion of it.
You returned; and this fame por¬
trait, together with a letter accom¬
panying it, which I had caufed to
fall into your hands, produced the
fearful effe£l I had expelled from it.
The virtuous Caroline appeared to
you dilhonoured. You banilhed
her from your fight. You became
eftranged to your daughter — to your
own blood; — you curfed her who
ought to have been dearefl: to your
heart. J die — — *

[ Count d'Orlheim Jinks into a chair,
overpowered by his feelings , and
fainting

IVodmar ( clafping Count d’Orlheim.
in his arms). Gracious Heaven !— *
Charles! Philip! Erneft!

Scene VI.

Wcdrnar, Count d'Orlhehn , . Philip,
Herman,

Philip [eagerly). He has efcaped
us, Ah, here he is!

Herman [running in). Whence are
thefe cries? Wodmar, you here—
and in this fituation !

Count d’Orlheim [Jlowly recover¬
ing, looks round him, fees IVodmar on his
knees before him, embraces and raifes
him , an dex claims with a feeble voice ) ,
My daughterr— Where is my daugh¬
ter ? — Bring me Matilda !— Let me
embrace my daughter !

Herman. Bleffed change! Now
are you indeed my noble and vir¬
tuous mafterl

[He goes out haflily to fetch Matilda.
Philip likewife goes out by the door at
the bottGm of the ft age. J

Scene VII,

Count d’Orlheim, IVodmar.

IVodmar [prejjtng the Count in his
arms). Recollect yourfelf; refume
your good fenfe and fortitude.

Count d’Orlheim. The extreme of
misfortune may be fupported : it is

640 Matilda ;

more difficult to endure exceffive
happinefs.. I fee my daughter!

Scene VIII. — and last.
•Couni -d' Orlheim , Wodmar , Matilda
entering with Amelia, Herman , and
Erneft ; — Horn/ ; , Philip , 'Charles ,
Bloume, and other domcjlics , enter by
the door at the bottom of the ft age.

Count d' Orlheim [rifting to meet Ma¬
tilda). My daughter! — -my dear
daughter!

Matilda ( eagerly throwing herfte'lf
into his arms). Do you grant me that
name?

Count d 'Orlheim. Come to my

arms ! — Let me prefs thee to my

heart. — Prefs me to thine.

Matilda. Mv father!

✓

Count d' Orlheim. Oh, repeat that
name fo dear!— let me hear it again
from thofe adored iipsl
Matilda. My father!

Count d 'Orlheim. Pardon me my
•unjuft feverity j pardon me the tears
I have made you (bed. I afk your
forgivenefs; may I obtain it, my
daughter ?

Matilda. Oh, I am in your arms!
You love me!— I can no longer re¬
member that I ever was unhappy*
Count d ’ Orlheim ( after having ten -
derly embraced Matilda, turning to
Amelia). To you, affectionate friend

of my virtuous Caroline- - -

Amelia [with an eager expreffon of
joy). Is, then, her innocence prov¬
ed ?

Count d' Orlheim. Yes, yes ; fatif-
facioriiy proved.— [Pointing to Wad-
mar) "Dear Matilda, it is to him that
you owe your father; to him I owe
■my daughter. He folicits your
hand. But your happinefs is de¬
pendent, and you alone muff deter¬
mine. Pronounce- -

Matilda [turning pale and confufted).

I! -

Ernejl ( aftide , and alarmed). Gra¬
cious Heaven !

Count d' Orlheim. A word is fuffi-

' dent.

a Drama .

I r ‘

Matilda ( with a fa altering ‘voice )„
Oh, my father!

Ernejl. Iam loft!

Count cV Orlheim. What is this ?

Wodmar. Refume your courage,
Erneft. Dear Matilda, fear nothing
more from me. — [To Count d' Orl¬
heim) You now know a fecret which
I had difeovered. but which I en¬
deavoured to conceal from myfelf.
Secure ior ever the happinefs of
Erneft and Matilda. Thus I ought
to expiate my errors: thus may I
become reconciled to rhyfelf. They
fhall cCafe to hate me ; you fhall
efteem me; and my heart, at leaft,
fhall not have loft every generous
fentiment.

Count d ’ Orlheim ( prejjing the hand
of Wodmar, in. token of approbation,
and turning towards Matilda) . Is this
the truth, Matilda? Does your heart
prefer Erneft ?

Matilda. I was unacquainted with
the merits of Mr. Wodmar I muff
now admire and efteem hisgenero-
ftty.

Count d' Orlheim [to Erneft). And
you, my fan, who fo lately refufed
to conftfs —

Erneft. Flow could I dare to avow,
even to myfelf, a fentiment which
my fttuation muft degrade in the
eyes of the world ?

Count ft Orlheim. Nothing can de¬
grade him whole conference does not
accufe him. I have always failed
you my fon, and I wifh not 1 6 dii-
continue the appellation. Receive
all that is molt dear to me. 1 give
thee Matilda.

Matilda and Ernejl (kneeling to
Count d’ Orlheim). Oh, my father!
my father !

Amelia, - Herman , Louifa , Philip ,
and the other dom flics. Now we are
all happy!

Count d 'Orlheim ( to Wodmar ,
taking him aftdej. Ihe tomb is a
facred afylum which vengeance and
hatred ought (o refpedL [He gives him
the two letters ; that which was in the

641

The Hijlcry of Albano 3 a noble Venetian .

portfolio, and that he had received
/row him). 1 forgive thy father. I
will fpare his memory; and, with
refpeCt to all that is paR, my heart
promifes thee an eternal fecrefy.

Wodmar. You fliall find me worthy
of a conduCt fo noble. F.rneR, en¬
joy your felicity. Lovely Matilda!
deign, fometimes, to remember him
by.whofe means you are rendered
happy. I fliall not entirely bedeRi-
tute of happinefs, lince I have been
able to beftow it on you. \Exh,

{'.ount d'Qrlkeim. Let the day,
which is now dawning, filed its
beams on your marriage and my hap¬
pinefs — O my fon! — O mydaugh.
ter ! — -I have no longer a Caroline —
bo longer an adored wife — But I am
flill a father. [ The curtain jails.

The History of Ale a no, a fiohle
Venetian.

'f\To one acquainted with the Ve-
netian Rate, previous to the
feizure of Venice by the French,
and the fubfequent furrender of it to
AuRria, can be a llranger to the ex-
cellive jealoufy of its government:
and the fecrefy and celerity with
wjjich perfons (fufpeCted only of
intermeddling in Rate-affairs) were
punifhed, have peculiarly marked
the judicial adminiRration of that
famous republic.

The injuftice often occafioned by
this mode of proceeding, cannot fail
to excite in our bofoms the livelieft
indignation, and at the fame time
caufe us to refleCt with pleafure on
being born in a country where the
guilty alone h^ve realon to fear, and
innocence is fare of protection and
fecurity.

The hiftory of Alhano, a young
nobleman of Venice, who lived
about the middle of the fixteenth
century, furniRies an affedting in¬
stance of the cruelty arifing from
Yot.

the jealoufy of the Venetian govern¬
ment. Endowed with the Rricteft
integrity and happieR talents, he
was beloved and efteemed by the
patricians, and almoR idolifed by the
people. But, notwithRanding his
rank, his unblemiRied character, his
fignal achievements in defence of his
country, and his unwearied exertions
for her welfare, Albano incurred the
fufpicion of concerting meafurea
againft the Rate; a fufpicion which
his too delicate, or rather romantic,
fenfe of honour prevented him from
clearing up, and fubjeCted him to a
difgrace and punifhment more in¬
tolerable even than death itfelf.

It was obferved by one of the fpies
that, conRantly, about the hour of
midnight, Albano, muffled up in his
cloak, with the moft ftudious care,
entered the houfe of the French am-
baRador. By the rigid laws of Ve¬
nice, no nobleman was allowed to
vifit a foreign rniniRer, unlefs on
fome well known bufinefs, and by
permiffion of the fenate ; fo appre-
henfive were they leR any innovation
fhould be planned, or any change of
the conRitution be attempted.

The myfterious manner in which
Albano repeatedly vifited the envoy’s
houfe could not, therefore, fail of
attra&ing the moR curious attention
of the vigilant fpies of the Venetian
government ; and his conduCl was
loon reported to the illuRrious ma-
giRrate, the bofom-fnend, as it
happened, of Albano. Surprifed at
the relation, and with all the anxiety
which the moR ardent friendfhip
could excite, Friuli hefitated to be¬
lieve the account, though minutely
and circumftantially delivered; and,
to be allured of its truth or talle-

ood; directed a faithful agent of his
vvn to watch the footlteps of the
nfufps cling Albano. At tlie ex-
iration of fome days, he received a
onfirmation of thefe nightly vifits,
nd of the fecret and difguifed mail¬
er in which they were always madt>

642' The Hiftory of Albany, a noble -Venetian.

Agitated by the mod painful fenfa-
tions for his friend’s fituation, but at
the fame time remembering the du¬
ties he owed to the date, the mind qf
Friuli became the prey of the deeped
borrow and diffraction.

Still unwilling to believe that the
beloved companion of his earlied
days, the friend of whofe honour
and pat! iotifm he had ever enter¬
tained the moll exalted idea, the
ornament of the date, and the idol
of the people, could harbour even a
thought inimical to his country, he
refoived, before the execution of
thole laws he was fworn to maintain,
to be himfelf a witnefs of the crimi¬
nal viiits imputed to Albano.

Too boon was he convinced that
the relations he had received were
well founded; for feveral fucceffive
nights, jit the mod filent hour, in
the mod ftudi.ed concealment of
drefs, did he obferve Albano ap¬
proach the houfe of the French re¬
dden t ; and, on a fignal given, ad¬
mitted in|p it with the utmoft pre¬
caution and fecrefy.

The welfare of the republic, the
high fenfe of the duties with which
he was inveded, and incontroverti¬
ble proof he had himfelf obtained,
would not permit Friuli longer to
delay calling on the tranfgreffor of
the laws to anfwer for his mifcon-
dudt, or explain his myderious be¬
haviour. h null's patriotifm, glow¬
ing and fincere, impelled him to
druggie againd thofe feelings, which
friend-flap eagerly and anxioufly fug-
geded, and leverely did he differ
from this confiidl. With the fharp-
ed anguifli, he beheld his deared
friend expofed to the unrelenting
vengeance of the fevered laws, and
his foul fic.kened within him at the
dreadful profpetd of the event.
Stifling, however, all fenfations
which oppofed the interefls of his
country, he determined faithfully to
tlkcharge the duties of his office. — .
Having paffed a melancholy and

fleeplefs night, the next morning his
orders were ifTued for convening the
lupreme council, and his warrant for
apprehending the unfortunate Al¬
bano. Thebe orders were punc¬
tually and fpeedily obeyed ; and
Friuli prepared himfelf to appear
before the, council, and difclofe the
fabts which condituted his accufa-
tion.

The council, compofed of the
nobleft, wifed, and mod venerable
Venetians, bore on their counte¬
nances the impreffion of the pro-
founded grief, when they underdood
on whofe fate they were to decide.
An awful paufe, a filence more ex-
predive than eloquence itfelf, enfued.
The eyes of all fpoke mod forcibly,
but their tongues were mute.

Friuli, his whole frame trembling/
his voice half-cboaked by the riling
tumults of his bread, broke the fear¬
ful filence by .addreffing the augud-
a trembly.

He began by obferving, that he
at once perceived the eyes of the
whole council turned towards him,
expreflive.of their adoniffiment and
forrow that Albano fhould be ac-
cufed, and that he fhould be his
accufer. c Would to God,’ exclaim¬
ed he in the bitternefs of his foul,

4 that I had peri Hied ere I had feen
this day !’ He continued that, when
he looked on that grave and honour¬
able body of men whom he was then
add r effing, he was confident that he
beheld in them the zealous and fted-
fad friends of the facred conditution
of Venice; thofe who would not
only bravely defend it againd all
attacks from an open enemy, but
with equal rigour and alacrity repel
and punifh every infidious endea¬
vour fecretly to impair or dedroy it.
In every other refpebf, he mod hum¬
bly confeffed he*, was their inferior ;
but in the love ©f his country, in un¬
abated zeal for its profperity, in in**
flexible rigour againd its enemies,
he proudly declared he could yield

The Wlfiory of Albano, a noble Venetian*

*v -

to no one ; and, while the big drops
darted into his eyes, added, that
day would confirm what he had af-
ierted, and prove it not the odenta-
tious language of vanity.

They beheld, heobferved, at their
bar, him who was once the ornament
of the republic, the brighteft exam¬
ple of all that was excellent or gr eat,
the honoured and beloved compa¬
nion of their councils, not onlv ac-
cufed of having actual Iv violated the
laws of Venice, but laoouring under
a heavy fufpicion of concerting mea-
fures hoftile to her fecurity. And
bv whom accufed? Bv one whole

j J

life would have been cheerfully de¬
voted to preferve him whom he ac-
cufes; by one, who, had he lidened
only to the voice of friendfhip, mud
have fheltered him from the purfuit
■of juft ice, and fiiielded him from her
uplifted fword; by one who, in
vindicating the laws of his country,
yielded up at once the peace and
happinefs of his future days. ‘ Oh,
my country!’ cried the wretched
Friuli, ‘ what do I not facrifice to
thy welfare or to thy fafety ? I
offer up, as a viCHm, the friend of
my bofom, the far better part of
myfelf. A purer or brighter flame
never burnt on the altar of friend¬
ship than that which warms my

• bread 5 but at thy call, my country !
I difle its influence, and extinguifii
every fenfation which can interfere

■ with thy fecurity.’

He then entreated their pardon
-for the prefent diftraftion of his

• mind ; and, endeavouring to reprefs
; the tumults of his agitated bofom,

proceeded to lay before them the
particulars of the tranfablion which
formed the charge.

It was a long time, Friuli added,

’ before he cculd be induced to give
' anycredit to the information he had
' received, but the repeated nightly

• vifits of Albano were too certain.
He obferved that the. mere going to

6**3

the ambadador’s houfe unauthorifed
Was contrary to the edabliihed laws;
but when the unfeafonable hour, the
dudious concealment of drefs, and
the exceldve caution ufed in the
admittance, were confidered, no¬
thing lefs could arife than a mod
violent fufpicion of fomething detri¬
mental to the date being in agita¬
tion. Notwithdanding, however,
this unfavourable light in which'
Albano dood, Friuli entreated of
the council, that, in consideration of
his friend’s former unblemilhed cha¬
racter, and glorious fervices to his
country, they would permit him to
offer any exculpatory matter, and
hear him explain atranfa&ion which,
at prefent, they could view only in a
criminal light.

He hoped the council would al¬
low he had that day difeharged the
duty repofed in him by the laws ; and
unequivocally evinced that no iacri-
fice was in his eyes too great when
required by the good of the date.
He again entreated them to bring
back to their remembrance the obli¬
gations which Venice owed to the
accufed, for his exertions in her be¬
half at home and abroad. He con¬
cluded by exhorting them never to
forget, that to temper judice with
mercy was mod pleafing and ac¬
ceptable in the fight of Heaven.

The whole affembly were greatly
affected by the addrefs of Friuli,
whole conflict between duty and
affebtion equally excited their pity
and admiration. After a fliort in¬
terval, Albano was called upon to
anfwer to the charge which he had
heard made againd him: and, with
a ferene countenance, in a firm tone
ol voice, with equal modedy, digni¬
ty, and grace, Albano began his
addrefs to the council.

Heaffured them, that he then felt
more for his accufer, whom he was
once permitted to call his friend,
than he did for himfelf; that the
4N2

644

The Hi/lory of Alban a noble Venetian ;

btuation of Friuli was, and mud be,
more didreding than his own, let
the iffue of that day prove to him
ever fo difadrous.

Of what had been alleged re-
fpeding his vifits to the ambaffa-
dor’s houfe, he freely admitted
the truth; and if, in fo doing, he
had offended againd any law, even
though dormant or obfolete, he, of
courte, was fubjed to its penalty.
But, he obferved, that no guilt had
been proved, or could be fixed on
him for the fad, except it were con-
neded with the fufpicion of his be¬
ing engaged in concerting meafures
detrimental to the date. It was a
hard thing, he faid, to contend with
fufpicions; fads could be anfwered,
refuted, denied, or explained; but
as to fufpicions, he knew not how
to repel them otherwise than bv re¬
ceding of that affembly, to whom
individually he had long been
known, to look back on the tenor
of his whole life, and to examine
mod bridly and feverely whether,
at any period of it, the dualled
ground could be difcovered to war¬
rant a fufpicion of treachery in him.
He modedly reminded them -of his
ier vices to the republic, that he had
unremittingly laboured to promote
its intered and exalt its-glory. He
invoked Heaven to witnels, that
neither in deed or thought had he
ever conceived or formed any one
mead) re unfriendly to the govern-
laient, and as pure and immaculate
toward his country did he at that
moment band as at any period of
kis life. He denied that a firmer
triend to Venice, or a more dre-
euous fupporter of its conditution
than himfelf exided.

He felt himfelf, he faid, fo much
supported by his own integrity and
innocence, that he mod cheerfully
lubrnitted his caufe, his honour, and
Ins life, into the- hands of that iliuf-.
fiious aiTeitibiy ; truiiing they would,

by their unanimous decree, efface
from his charadeF the blemifh which
had that day been cad upon it, by
the mod unmerited fufpicions.

After diortly deliberating with
the other members, the president
informed Albano, that enough had
been laid before the council to fatisfy
them that he had not only tranf-
greffed one of the fundamental laws
of Venice, but aded in fo quebion-
able and myberious a manner, as to
render it indifpenfable for him to
account for his condud, and difclofe
its motives; to explain the real
caufe of his vifits to the French
minifier, and ingenuoufiy eonfefs
the reafon of his induftrious endea¬
vours to conceal them ; that he had
incurred very fevere penalties by the
fad which he had admitted; but
that, in confideration of his former
fervices, they were inclined to relax
the rigour of the law, provided he
would impart to them the true in¬
ducement to his fecret vifits, from
which they diould otherwife con¬
clude that iomething inimical to the
government had been intended.

Albano thanked the council for
their lenity and proffered favours; at
the fame rime declaring he could
not, with the approbation of his
own heart, explain the particular
circumdances of his condud. In
the mod animated language, and in
the mod folemn manner, he dil-
claimed any defign againd the well¬
being of his country; and ended
with alluring the affembly that, be
the iffue what it might, no power on
earth diould wreit from him his
motives : on that fubjed he would
preferve the profoundeft and mod
invincible dlence.

It is fcarcely poffible to deferibe
the grief and aftonidiment of the
whole affembly, on hearing this de¬
claration; the cool tone and deter¬
mined manner in which it was made,
left them no reafon to hope that any

645

The Hiflory of A llano, a nolle Venetian.

thing would ever (hake the refolu-

tion he juft exprefied.

Albano was ordered to withdraw.
The council, after examining his
condu£t in every point of view, dif-
covered in it much to blame, and
more to fufpefi: his refufal to enter
into any explanation of it, feemed to
confirm the opinion of aft, that
fomething very criminal muft be
attached to it. Whatever their firft
prepoffcllions therefore might have
been, they did not now hefitate to
impute to him the crime of plotting
againft the fafety of the ft ate. The
council had already departed widely
from the general praftice on fimilar
occafions; and had, in confequence
of his virtues and fervices, display¬
ed a clemency fcldom, if ever, exer-
cifed by the Venetian government.

Under that famous fquare in Ve¬
nice, known by the name of St.
Mark, are dungeons fo deeply funk
as to be confiderably below the level
of the lea; through an aperture at
the top, the wretched victim of ftate
fufpicion was let down, never more
to return: through this his mil'era-
ble and fcanty food is conveyed;
through this alone, the air, flugohh
and damp from the maifive and
enormous arches raifed over the
opening, with difficulty works its
way to fupport the hated exiftence
of the devoted victim below.

Thus immured, carefully and
cruelly prevented from availing
themfelves of all means of putting a
period to this undefcr ibable ftate of
horrors, in total and almoft palpable
darknefs, for ever cut off from the
world, without the fainteft or moft
diftant hope of ever again feeing their
friends, their families, their deareft
connections, nay of ever more be¬
holding any objeft on earth, thefe
victims of lufpicion endured tor¬
ments far more agonifing and ex*
quifite than the moft terrific death.

In one of thefe dreary cells was
Albano condemned to pafs the re¬

mainder of his days. The decree
once paft was irrevocable,: the exe¬
cution of it followed eiofe ; and,
without being permitted to bid adieu
to his relatives, his expecting family*
his anxious friends — without arsf
preparation for fo dreadful an event,
was this unhappy nobleman con¬
veyed to thofe fcenes of horror and
of darknefs; and, in the flower of
his age, and the vigorous exer*
cife of the moft brilliant faculties,
buried alive, and for ever fhut out
from the voice and fight of humaa
kind.

Notwithstanding the fecrefy and
dij patch with which this bufinefs was
tranfadted, the populace of Venice
foon felt the abfence of their patron,
their benefaTor, their friend. Bred
up jn fubmiffion the moft humble to
their rulers, they dared not clamour
for and demand their protector, nor
every to murmur againft thofe by
whole means tney had the ftrongeii
rea fous to fuppofe they were de¬
prived of him. But their forrow
was not lefts poignant or fincere be.
caufe it was filent ; the whole city
cealed not to lament and deplore his
fate.

The ftern patriotifm even of Friuli
could not fupport him under the
grief excited by the dreadful fen-
tence. He contemplated with hor¬
ror the fituation to which he had

reduced his much-loved friend. _

The piffure was too (hocking for
him to look on; the emaciated coun¬
tenance of Albano, wherein were
marked the deep lines of hopelefs
expectation, and the traces of ap¬
proaching difloJution, conftantly ap¬
peared to Friuli’s imagination; the
delpair oi his eye, the faint fweat on
his brow, the convulfion of His al -
tered features, and the juft, though
gentle, reproof from his dying lips,
all paffied in terrible review acrofs
his agitated mind, and forbade him
to enjoy either repofe at night or
tranquillity by day. Mis health im-

646 Ext rad from the Drama -

paired, and his fpirits worn down by
Uficeafing forrcw and rernorfe, he
furvived but a fhort time, afed by
bis death proved that his frienddiip
equalled in ftrength and fincerity his
love and zeal for his country.

How long the ill-fated Albano
dragged out his miferable exidence
in thefe regions of woe cannot be
known. The mod: profound filence
was ever preserved on this occafion,
and no one dared to enquire after
the fate of the prifoner, or ventured
even to name him.

Many years had elapfed after the
period ©f Aibano’s confinement,
when a p/iefl was called to adminifler
lpi ritual confolation to a lady at Fa*
ris, in her lafl moments, and to per¬
form thofe offices which her religion
taught her to require. Among other
matters which the dying Adelaide
difclofed to her confedor, was the
following incident : that, nearly
•twenty years before, fhe had redded
at Venice, in the houfe of the French

• ambaffador, accompanying his wife
nhither, to whom die was related,
sand whofe frienddiip die had po (It: fl¬
ed from her earlieft age ; that, dur¬
ing her abode there, fhe became
'acquainted with a young Venetian,
of whofe title fhe was ignorant, but
of fuperior birth and quality; that
his perfonal accomp’idiments, united

-with the charms of his converfation,
fiibdued her heart ; and, though die
had unwarily yielded up her ho-
‘ nour, yet every fucceeding day feem-

* ed to add to their paffion, and
ftrengthen their attachment; that,

■ as he could not unite himfelf to her
“by the bonds of marriage, without
degradation, the mod private mode
of vifting her was adopted, and,
through the abidance of a faithful do-
meftic, be was condantly introduced
into the houfe at the hour of mid¬
night; but thatfuddenly, without any
information whatever, he ceafed to
coi^e to her; that, diftradted by- a

-c The Wife of two Hufhands .*

thoufand conjectures and fears, her*
health began daily and vidbly to-
decline, upon which it was thought
advifeable that die diould return to
her native country, where die at
length regained her health, though
never her tranquillity.

Adelaide, faint and exhauded by
the recital, had fcarcely received
the abfolution which fhe implored,
and by her dncere penitence deemed
to deferve, when die breathed her
lad bgh.

Hence it became mod apparent
that the unfortunate Albano was
innocent of every crime againd his
country : and that his vidts, which
were condrued as proofs of his ma*
chinations againd the date, were
made to a beautiful and beloved
midrefs. He preferred enduring
the mifeiAs of perpetual confine¬
ment in a dungeon (fo horrible that
the eye of the humane Howard was
not allowed to explore it) to the rifk.
of expof ng to the reproachful voice
of the worid her whom he adored.
In the admiration of his honourable
fpirit, his ardent love, his undiaken
fortitude, we may be allowed to for¬
give the indifcretions of Albano; or,
if we blame him for an error, to
drop over bis adies the tear of fym-
pathy and commiferation. *>

Extract from the new Musical
Drama, 4 The Wife of' two
Husbands.’

Act II. Scene I.

A terrace belonging to the caffe on the
borders of a lake. The mountain is
J'een on the right at a dijhmce.

Enter Eugenia , Ninetta , and Theo¬
dore.

TRIO .

aste, glor'oug light with goidert ray,
Ddtic with thy i'rhiles the itiUni'dzf

Extract from the Drama — c The Wife of two Hufbands' 64?

Rofeate morn at thy fmiles,

What delight does nature prore !

But dearer far to me

Are the fmiles of him I love.

Have ye heard the huntfman’s horn ?

No, not yet has it hail’d the breeze of morn.
' Hark, ’tis. the horn !

Thcod. Yes, the found of the horn
fee ms to approach. The countefs
is returning from the chace. [Exit.

Eug. Is there no other caufe, I
wonder, for Theodore’sanxiety, than
his difappointment at the countefs
not returning fo foon as expected ?
I think his heart is too fufceptible
not to have felt a tender impretfion.
Yes, certainly, fome of the pretty
laffes in the neighbourhood have
taught him to bow before the uni-
verfal fway. Or is it that, confcious
my fe If of the fweet tormenting paD
fion, 1 look upon every one around
me with fufpicion ? Heigho ! Love
is fo univerfal a conqueror, that ’t is
merely folly to oppofe him.

S 0 NG. Eugenia.

Whkn conquering Love afTails the heart,
Alas ! what can v/uhftand the foe ?

Let Prudence preach, let Realon frown.
Nought can avail — ah ! no ! no ! no !

[Exit.

Re-enter Theodore.

Thcod. How I am difappointed —
the countefs is certainly gone the

. *j>

other way to the callle.

[As Theodore is going towards the

cafile, Fritz and Walter enter down

the Jtrps of the terrace , and come

behind him.]

Fritz. Young man!

Tkeod. Dear Hr, you frighten me.

Fritz. Fear nothing — we will do
you no harm.

Thcod. What is it you would have,
gentlemen ?

Fritz. Go to the countefs — tell
her a poor traveller, who avails her
here, has information to difclofe im¬
portant to her welfare.

T/tfp'i, Very well, I will do fo,

( Afide ) A poor traveller! They
fay one fhould not trull to appear¬
ances, and therefore I will not guefs
uncharitably. [Going.

Fritz. Stop a moment. (Afide)
The more l look at him- — -

Thcod. Pray let me be gone. I
am in hafte. /

Fritz. What is your name ?

. Thcod . (i tfide). Fie is very cu¬
rious. (To Fritz) 1 fhould think,
my name cannot be interefting to
you.

Fritz. It is plain we do not think
fo.

TKeod. Well, gentlemen, adieu,
I fhall fulfil your commiffion.

Fritz. Stay, I command , you,
[ W alter fiops him.

Theod. How you fpeak to me, fir!
I allure you 1 am not accullomed to
be treated thus.

Fritz . I have a right to fpeak to
you thus. Hear me, and anfwer
diredly. Don’t equivocate.

Theod. I fcorn equivocation,

Fritz. Your name ?

Theod. Theodore,

Fritz . Your age?

Theod. Near fifteen.

Fritz. Your parents ?

Theod. I have none.

Fritz. None!

Theod. Alas ! I knew them nof.
Can you inform me, fir, who they
were ?

Fritz. How long have you refided
in this caltle?

Theod. I came hither with the

countefs.

Fritz. Then you were not born in
this country ?

Theod. No, in Bavaria, as I am
told.

Fritz (afide). It is he! not a
doubt remains. Who has brought
you up ?

Theod . The countefs. Having
loll my parents at an early age, her
ladvlhip was fo good as to educate
me.

Fritz. So good indeed 1 Does the

6'-tS Extract from the Drama—

comit? too, give you proofs of his
gpodnefs ?

Theod. He behaves to me with
affection. But, hr, may I not, with¬
out offence, enquire what intereff
can induce you to put all thefe quef-
feorrs ?

Fritz. What interefi ! yours.

Theod. Mine!

Fritz, Yes : what will you think
csf her whofe benevolence you
praife, when you know that, having
a foa for whom fee need not blufh,
fee excludes him from the brilliant
yank in which fortune has placed
her ? She , involves his birth in
myitery, and fhuts her heart againft
her own offspring,

Theod. The counted Bclfior is in¬
capable of fuc h conduct.

Fritz I will prqve it to you. Her
Ion, of whom I fpeak, is now before
me.

Theod . Before you!

Fritz . Yes ; it is yourfelf.

Theod, Oh, you would impofe on
me !

Fritz. I fay, the counters Bel for is
your mother : i know the faff.
Her happinefs demands that it feould
remain unknown. You are now
inafter of the fecret, and you may
make your own ufe of it.

Theod. What, to afftiff her! to
render her unhappy ! Could I be
fo ungrateful ? But who are you,
fir, who thus have the cruelty to
diflurb the happinefs of one who
never offended you ?

Fritz . Go take my meflage to the
countefs, and forget not that you
snuff fpeak to htr in private.

Theod. Yet explain——*

Fritz. Begone.

Theod. A word in pity —

Fritz. Hereafter I wiii explain,
but now obey me.

Theod . The countefs my mother!
Can it indeed be fo ? Oh, if I de¬
fire to prove it true, it is that I may
acquire a right to Icve her dill more
pearly. [Exit

c The Wife of two Hufhands .*

Fritz. You feem affonifhed, com¬
rade.

Wal. I am indeed, comrade. I
do not underffand what fervice I am
to perform, nor how my reward is
to arife.

Fritz. You are to afTift me, in cafe
1 feould find any difficulty in taking
poffeffion of this eftate which be¬
longs to me. %

Wal. This eftate yours ? I hope
you’il prove it true; but how, then,
can the effate belong to the countefs?

Fritz. She is my wife.

Wal. The countefs your wife?

Fritz. Yes; (he is that Eliza Wer¬
ner whom I told you I married fix*
teen years ago.

Wal. But how does it happen that
file is now married to another?

Fritz. I, rnyfelf, contrived the
marriage, having deceived her by
forged proofs of my death. I had
heard of the count’s great wealth,
and thought I might profit by it.
But, fee, fee approaches; be near
enough to overhear our converfa-
tion, and be ready to come forward
in a moment if I feould make a fign.
for your affiffance. Retire.

[ Exit Walter.

Enter the Countefs..

Countefs. This is the place where
Theodore informed me f was to
meet the ft ranger. Ah! (perceiving
Fritz ) what do X fee ?

Fritz. One, whofe fudden ap¬
pearance feems to give you great,
fatisfaffion.-

Countefs. Is it poffible !

Fritz. Extremely . well !■ Exhibit
furprife, affonifhment, defpair! — •
ail this is to be expeffed after your
. conduff.

Cmntefs. My conduff !

Fritz. Are you not the wife of
another?

Coimtefs. Did apt the proofs X re^
ceived of—

Fritz . The plot is well imagined,
I confefs; but, remember, I am
to be duped by it*

Extrad from the Drama—* The Wife of two HufhandsS 54®

Count efs. What do you mean ?

Fritz: I mean that you, informed,
no doubt, of the unfortunate caufe
of my imprifonment, and flattering
yourfelf that I could not efcape
death, contrived this ingenious’ tale,
and fabricated thefe pretended
proofs, that you might in fecurity
refign yourfelf to your new attach¬
ment.

Countefs. Horrible accufation !

Fritz. But the courts of juflice
lhall refound with my wrongs.

Countefs. Sir !

Fritz. There your perfidy {ball be
proclaimed, and you condemned to
puniflirnent ; defpifed by your il-
luftrious hufband, whom you have
deceived

Countefs. No; I have never de¬
ceived him 1 I never will : — and if I
hefitate for a moment to throw my-
felf at his feet, and avow my wretch¬
ed fate, it is becaufe I cannot refolve
to wound that benevolent heart
which never imagined evil againft
any one.

Fritz. You fear for him, fmooth
difiembler ! you do not fear for your¬
felf?

Countefs. No; I know my doom.
Adverfity has inured me to misfor¬
tune, and conftious innocence will
enable me to bear it. One event
alone can (bed a faint gleam of com¬
fort on my remaining days: my
poor father (dill furvives, but he has
never forgiven my difobedience in
marrying you. Grant me but a
lliort refpite, that I may once more
fue for his mercy.

Fritz. My claims mud be prefer¬
red inflantly.

Countefs. Do not yet kill him with
your prefence : he cannot long fur-
vive this difeoverv. Let me have
his bleffing before he dies. Confent
to leave me. I beg on my knees —
I fuppficate you — in mercy hear me.

[Kneeling.

Fritz. I will not liflen to you.

Vol. XXXIV.

Enter Eugenia from the cajlle. "

Fug. The countefs! Heavens l
fhe is in forrow! perhaps in danger!
Helo! help ! [Calling*

J Falter (comes forward j. Be fi«
lent.

Countefs. Eugenia, hufti ! My
friend, you will ruin me. — (To
Fritz ) Confent to go while it is in
your power, another moment and
it may be too late.

Fritz. Yes, I go; for I now fee I
mud: prepare againft the worft: but,
within an hour, expeft to fee me
again. [Exeunt Frit ? and Walter up
the Jleps of the terrace.]

Countefs. Prote&or of the guilt-
lefs, in thee I truft !

Fug. My beloved filler, how is it
with you ?

Countefs. Well, my dear Eugenia,
I am once more myfelf. Let the
ftorm come, the facred wreath of
innocence fliall bind my brows — the
lightning will not harm me.

Eug. The wretch who juft now
left you has feenTheodore. Has he
difeovered to the poor youth - ?

Countefs. I fear it; but of that I
mull be informed. Appoint Theo¬
dore to meet me in the caftle in-
ftantly.

Eug. And what will you explain
to him ?

Countefs. I know not yet : the mo¬
ment mull decide. I feel mvfelf
infpired with courage, which I hail
as the aufpicious omen of fuccefs.
I am refolved to attempt this day
once more to obtain my father’s
pardon.

Eug. Your father’s pardon! Is he
then ifill living?

Countefs. Yes, and living on this
eftate. I have never yet explained
to my beloved Belfior that Maurice
is the baron Werner, my father.
If 1 fail in obtaining the pardon of
a parent, Belfior fliall never know
the ferret; but if he blelfes me with

his forgivenefs — - - -

4 O

650 E tetrad from the Drama — ' The Wife of 'two Hufbands *

Eug. He cannot refufe it. But
how did this ft range event occur?

Countefs. As the countefs Belfior,
I prefented to him a farm, which
now became mine. He offered ex-
cufes — 1 would hear of none; and I
fucceeded in poffefting, in beholding
every hour (but without daring to
fpeak to him) that parent hofe an¬
ger I have deferved, but for whofe
happinefs I would gladly facrifke
my exiftence.

Eug: Angel as you are, Heaven
will never defert you. See, the
venerable Maurice approaches.

Countefs. My father ? Oh, Eu¬
genia ! my boafted fortitude finks
before his prefence. I muff retire
to regain that temper of mind from
which alone I may expedt fuccefs.

[Exit.

Enter Werner, leaning on Theodore's
arm , followed by Ninetta .

Theod. You muff be weary, good
Maurice ; lean on my arm. You
won’t hurt me. You have walked
a long way.

Werner. Yes, dear Theodore !
but it feemed a very fhort diftance :
the hope of meeting my worthy pa¬
tron, the noble count Belfior, fup-
ported me. I felt no wearinefs till
now I am difappointed of that fa-
tisfadtion.

Eug. (coming forward). But you
will foon have that fatisfadlion :
the count has returned from the
chace earlier than ufual, that he
might walk to the farm and fee all
your improvements, Maurice. I dare
fay, he will be there as foon as you.

Werner. 1 hope the cottage is de¬
corated neatly to receive fo illuf-
trious a gueft. You know, Ninetta,
I am blind , and cannot attend to all
this as I could with.

Ninetta. Yes, it is indeed, fir ; and
Theodore has hung your fword over
the fire-place.

Werner. Good boy, that was kind l

Theodore, you fhall have that fword
at my death : it is all I have to leave
you : this arm once could wield it !
It has done fervice in its time ; it
has been drawn in the defence of
my country.

Theod. I allure you, Maurice, your
fword looks very handfome : I have
polifhed the hilt, but the blade is fo
rufty.

Werner. Yes, and T remember well
the caufe : X wept over it when X
loft my daughter ; my fword was the
only remaining mark of honour left
to me.

'Jheod. Don’t think of that lofs,
Maurice ; it always makes you fo
melancholy.

Werner. X won’t, I won’t. -I
ought to lofe the remembrance of
my own misfortunes in the joy of
hailing count Belhor’s return. X
will be cheerful — I will indeed,
Theodore.

Theod. Eugenia wifhes to fpeak to
me. You won’t take it unkind, if
I now leave you to the care of Ni¬
netta ; you know ftie is very atten¬
tive to you.

Werner. She is ! ftie is f and fo are
you ! and fo is the countefs 1 You
are all kind to me, except my own
child ! but I will be cheerful, Theo¬
dore; indeed, I will.

[. Exeunt Werner and Ninetta, Theo¬
dore and Eugenia , federally.]

Scene II. An apartment in the cajllet
Enter Eugenia and Theodore.

Evg. Theodore, the countefs
wifhes to meet you here immediate-

Theod. The countefs! why does
fhe deft re me to meet her ?

Eug. She will be alone.

Theod. And alone ! Oh, my
throbbing heart ! Eugenia, if you
love me, eafe my anxious mind. X
am on the rack of expectation.
Who are my parents ?

Ext raff from the Drama — c The Wife of two Hujbands ' 651

Eug. Theodore, you know I love
and effeem vou.

Theod. Then in pity tell - ■

Eug. I would molt willingly tell
you any thing I know and ought to

reveal ; but if I am ignorant -

Theod. You are not ignorant —
you will not fay fo.

Eug. Adieu 1 remember vour ap*

O 4 A

pointment with the countefs.

Theod. Eugenia- — —

Eug. Theodore -

DUET. Eugenia and Theodore.

Theod. How can you thus cruel, the fecret
concealing,

The proof I implore of afi'edtion
deny ?

Your love then revealing,

With kindnefs reply.

Eug. Dear Theodore, fpare me — my love
while pofleffing,

Such fa lie proofs of friendfiiip why
will you demand ?

Thus vainly diftrelling
The heart you command.

Theod. And yet what I afk, to intreaty debarr’d.
Eug . My honour forbids me your fuit to re¬
gard.

Thiol. Ah ! why thus refilling ?

You mull not deny.

Eug. In vain thus perfifting,

I dare not comply.

[ Exit Eugenia.

Enter the Countefs.

Countefs. What fliall I fay to Theo¬
dore, fhould he be informed of the
fatal fecret ? Theodore 1
Theod. Madam !

Countefs. Theodore, I would fpeak
with you.

Theod. ( afide ). I tremble with ex¬
pectation. What will fhe lay to me ?

Countefs ( with emotion). Theo¬
dore, you areconfufed, embarrafled :
what is the canfe ? Why do you
fhrink from my prefence with this
timid air? Why are your eyes calf
down ? Raife them ; look upon
me: vou know I ever look upon
you with pleafure.

Theod. ( with tender Jtcfi and timidi -
ty). Indeed, madam 1 is it really fo?

Countefs. What, Theodore ?

Theod. That — that you look upon
me with pleafure ?

Countefs. Have you any reafon to
doubt me ?

Theod. I do not fay fo, but -

Countefs . Has any one told you ?

Theod. (forgetting himfelf). Yes,
madam ; I have been told fuch a
dear, delightful piece of news.

Countefs ( ajide ). He knows all. — -
(To him) Yet this intelligence gives
you much trouble.

Theod. Yes ; for I cannot believe
that I am indeed fo very, very happy.

Countefs ( bfide ). Poor child !

Theod. I fear you may be angry,
and I would not for the world offend
my dear, dear mother— ( recollecting
himfelf) my benefadtrefs.

Countefs. What can you think of
your benefadtrefs, if you believe fhe
will not rejoice in every caufe for
your happinefs ?

Theod. Forgive me — oh, forgive
me ! my heart is very, very full.

Countefs. Take courage, Theo¬
dore : proceed.

Theod. ( turning his eyes arc ay from
her). I have been allured that my
mother, whom X believed was no
more, ftill lives.

Countefs. And, doubtlefs, fhe has
been reprefented to you in the moft
odious colours

Theod. The mother who can fiifle
the voice of nature, and hefitate to
acknowledge her child/ muff have
ffrong motives indeed for fo painful
a facrifice. Duty forbids me to ac-
cufe her who gave me birth.

Countefs. Noble-minded boy ! — -

\ Ajide.

Theod. Ah, madam : would to
Heaven, that i had indeed a mother!
that I could behold herd be admit¬
ted to her prefence as I am now ad¬
mitted to yours ! thus would I throw
myfelf at her feet !

[ Tails on his knees.

Countefs (agitated). Theodore \
what mean you ?

4 0 2

652

Parifian FafhwnS .

Theod. I would whifper to her —
5 My mother, look on your fon
behold his eyes fuffufed with love
and tenderncfs. Hitherto you have
withheld your careffes from me.
Alas, you have not known your pook
Thepdore ! Oh, let him prove his
affektion for you ! Punifh him no
longer for a fault of which he is
guiltlefs. Give him the only inhe¬
ritance he withes to claim — the only
treafure that belongs to him—- give
him your heart!’

Countefs . Theodore !

Theod. What mother could refill:
the voice of nature ? Mine would
open her arms to me.

Countefs. My child ! my child !

[. Embracing him. .
Theod . Am I indeed your child }
Countefs. Yes ; I wifhed to con¬
ceal from you this fatal fccret, the
bane of your repofe 5 but maternal
tendernefs tears it from my bofom.
Yes, you fhallknow ail.

Theod. No, my mother, I wifh to
know no more than that I have re¬
gained a parent ; that fhe prefles* me
to her bread: ; and that I am happy.

Countefs. Theodore, you mull
have no reafon to accufe me. You
ought to know the motives which
have decided me to conceal your
birth in myftery j otherwise 1 might
appear to you culpable, and I would
have no reafon to b'lufh in the pre-
fence of my fon. The perfon who
Ipoke to you this morning in the
park; that unhappy man, clad in
the garb of wretchcdnefs--—

Theod. Yes ; who, is that man ?
Comtefs. lie is —

'J head. Who?

Comitefi. Your father,

Theod. Is he my father?

fon might curfe the bonds by which
nature attached him to me, when he
fhould learn that he owes his birth to
a being overwhelmed with crimes —
loll to fharne.

Theod. Alas, my mother.!

Countefs. Yes, Theodore, your
father is — oh, if you knew ! — but
fame one approaches : we mult fe-
parate.

Theod. What, without one em¬
brace ?

Countefs ( embracing him), Blefs
you, my child ! Adieu, dear Theo¬
dore | Continue your attentions to
poor Maurice; I final] love you the
better for it. [Exeunt fever ally.

Countefs . You will now recoiled!
how oft maternal tendernefs has
been on the point of weeding from
my heart the ft a et of your birth-:
but I feared to d'-ftroy the precious
iljuiion which formed your felicity,
and perhaps mine. I feared that my

[*** For a fpecimen of the Songs, fee
POETRY.]

PARISIAN FASHIONS.

( With an Engraving, elegantly coloured . )

TfLowEjts are now worn on mod:
A of the head-dreffes in hair. The
fadiion of turbans is returning : they
are for the molt part white, and
many embroidered with diver or
gold. The aigrettes called efprits are
beginning to re-appear in front of
the turbans. Very few black velvet
hats are now feen.

The colours, antaranthus, rofe,
dark green, and apricot, may be con-
fidered as nearly equally in vogue.

The ribbands are, for the molt
part, dowered or ftriped.

Among the novelties may be
reckoned the toques (caps) of white
latin, having for ornament, on the
right fide, three white plumes, one
above the other; or five plumes
grouped.

Pearls and coral are the articles of
jewellery mod in vogue at prefent.
Strings of pearls make part of the
head-dreflks in hair. The tops of
the combs and the edges of the me-

Engraved for fie Ladies Magazine , Dec7.' 18 03 .

Hutiow Sc. Bjufeell Cc*

FAR I S DIE 8 S .

653

I ' •

'London Fajhioris .

dallions are ornamented with pearls.
Two twilled firings of coral, round
or cut with faces, form the large
rings which now ferve for ear-rings.

A bandeau of pearls, with a pele*
rin of lace, (fee the plate), though not
as . yet an eftablifhed fafliion, will
probably acquire a certain degree
of vogue. The accompanying head -
drefs has a fimplicity iuitable to the
reft of the drefs.

A diadem placed on a mujlm veil

(fee plate) is now the order of the
day with many ladies of the firfl ton.
The diadem is u 1 u ally formed of the
flowers called fenfitvves. The ends
of the fleeves and the corfage are
plaited croftwife, precifely as in the
figure.

LONDON FASHIONS.

Walking Drefs.

1V,Tilitary pelices and {pence's
are the prevailing habiliments
among the dafhers of the haut ton.
The colours are pale blue, with
black ornaments, or black velvet,
with jet ornaments of the diamond.
The above are confidered as the moft
genteel. Green and fcarlet are like-
wife worn; but they border too much
on the canaille.

Morning Drefs,

Of cambric, made fhort, with a
number of tucks round the bottom,
made high in the neck with a collar;
long fleeves; the waift confined with
a cord and taffel. Emboffed cam¬
bric muflins will be much worn this
feafon for morning dreftes. T he
colours are dark.

Head Dreffes.

Cap of entire lace, crofted on the
right fide with a Parifian wreath of
pink and fcarlet; from the left fide

there is an end which falls on the
left fhoulder. The hair curls in
front, and a tuft of hair appears on
the top of the head.

Large rolled turbans will be much
worn this feafon. in compliment to

the Mameluke chief.

The military bonnet of black vel -
vet, ornamented with fcarlet, or roy¬
al purple, with a fmall feather in
front. Silver bear muffs and tippets
are much worn.

Evening Drefs.

Plain muflin dreftes, with worked
borders round the bottom, inter-
fperfed rows of lace, and fleeves to
match; plain fronts. Neckkerchiefs
are nniverfally worn, compofed of
alternate ftripes of lace and muflin.

General Qbfervations.

The dreftes are made very fhort-
waifted, and very low in the back;,
and in almoft every part of them
there is lace. For full-drefs, crape
is much worn. Ofirich feathers of
all colours are univerfal. Pelices
and fpencers of velvet and cloth are
much worn. The moft favourite
colours for them are dark-green,
fky-blue, and black: the military
fronts are generally adopted. For
undrefs, filver bear muffs and tip¬
pets are worn : for drefs, fwans-
dovvn .

The prevailing colours for fhoes
are black jean, white kid, and pur¬
ple ; but are fo extremely long-
quartered as to but barely admit the
toes.

The Italian farfnetsare quite o\it,
with the exception of a few of the
checks, which are of the richer fort.

The following diftinguifhed per*
fon a ges are expedled to let the fa*
fhions after Ch rift mas: the duchefs
of Bedford, marchion.efs of Hertford,
lady Hamilton, and lady Ann Smith.

654 Account of the new Drama — f The Englijh Fleet in 1342/

Account of the new Musical
Dr a MAj in three APIs, called
‘The English Fleet in 1342/
■performed, for the f rj} Time, at the
Theatre -Royal, Convent- Garden^
Tuefday, Dec, 13.

CHARACTERS,

Dc Mountfort, count of 4 M

Brittany, . j Mr. Hill.

"John de Mountfort, } . _ .

j his (on . . .{ Maft" Benfo"‘

Robert of Artois,. . . . .Mr. King.

Oliver de Cliffon, . Mr. Curties-.

John de Montauban,. . .Mr. Creffwell,
Philip, . . .Mr. Blanchard.

J Valentine . .-. .Mr. Braham.

Captain Fitzwater, - Mr. Incledon.

Mainmaft, his boat

Twain

Mr. M unden.

fKelfon, . . . .Mr. Street.

Charles, count of Blois, . Mr. Claremont.

Bithop of Leon, . Mr. Chapman.

La Vallette,.' . Mr. Klanert.

Carlos, . . Mr. Beverley.

ci. ' Doria,... . Mr. Wilkinfon.

-pa i Pedrillo,. ........... Mr. Truman.

* i Pierre, . Mr. Field.

V Jacques, . Mr. Harley.

Hubert, a peafant, . Mr. Atkins.

Maurice, a peafant, . Mr. Wilde.

Jane, countefs of Brittany,. . Mrs. Glover.
Adela, coantefs ot Blois... . Mrs. Humphries.

Jacqueline, an attendant, _ Mifs Gaudry.

jeannetta, wife to Philip, _ Mrs. Davenport.

Katherine, wife to Valentine, Signora Storace.
Ifabel, daughter to Jeannetta, Mrs. Atkins.
Bretons. French, Spanilhand Genoefe Soldiers.
Engliih Officers and Sailors, Peafants of Brit¬
tany, &c. &c.

Scene lies in and near the cnftle cf H. nn f bonne.

'T'he fable of this new drama5
X (which is the acknowledged
production of Mr. T. Dibdin) is
founded upon the following hiftori-
cal record :

Edward the Third, king of Eng¬
land, was induced to conform to the
wifhes of the count De Mountfort,
who had pottefled himfelf of the
province of Britanny, and applied
to Edward to fupport his pretenlions.
An offer of this kind entirely coin¬
cided with Edward’s ambitious views
"upon f ranee, and he immediately
perceived the advantage that might

refult from fuch an expedition. — -
He was happy in the promifed abid¬
ance of Mountfort, an adlive and
valiant prince, clofely united to him
by mtereft, and thus opening to him
an entrance into the heart of France.
On the other hand, he could have
no hopes on the fide of Flanders, as
he was obftrudted by thofe numerous
fortifications which had been raifed
on that frontier. Thefe flattering
profpedfs, however, were for a time
damped by the imprifonment of
Mountfort, whofe aims being difeo-
vered, he was befieged in the city of
Nantz, and taken. But jane of
Flanders, his wife, foon made up for
the lofs of her hufband. This lady,
who was one of the moft extraordi¬
nary women of her age, courageoufly
undertook to fupport the flying for¬
tunes of her family. She affembled
the inhabitants of Rennes, where fhe
then refided,and, carrying herinfant
Ion in her arms, deplored her misfor¬
tunes, and attempted to infpirethecT
tizens with an affediion for her caufe.
The inhabitants of Nantz inftantly
efpoufed her interefl, and all the
other fortrefles of Brittany embraced
the fame refolution : the king of
England was apprifed of her efforts
in his favour, and was entreated to
fend her fuccours with all poffible
expedition to the tewn of Henne-
bonne, in which place fhe refolved
to fuflain the attacks of the enemy*
She was not deceived in her opinion
of the vigilance and activity which
the enemy would direct againft her.
Charles De Blois, general for Philip
king of France, anxious to make
himfelf matter of fo important a for-
trefs as Hennebonne, and ft ill more
to take the countefs prifoner, fat
down before the place with a large
army, and conducted the fiege with
indefatigable induftry.

The defence was no lefs vigorous;
feveral fallies were made by the gar-
rifoo, in which the countefs herfelf

Account of the new Drama — c The Englljh Fleet in 1 342. ’ 6 55

was Bill the moB a6Hve, and led on
the afiault, Obferving one day
that the whole of the befiegin g army
had quitted the camp to join in a
general Borm, Bie Tallied out by a
poBern, at the head of three hundred
horfe; fet fire to the tents and bag¬
gage of the enemy ; put their lut-
tiers and fervants to the fvvord ; and
occafioned fuch an alarm, that the
French defiBed from the afiault, in
order to cut off her communication
from th* town. The countefs, thus
intercepted, retired to Auray, where
The continued five or fix days-; then,
returning at the head of five hundred
horfe, fhe fought her way through
one quarter of the French camp, and
rejoined her faithful citizens in tri¬
umph. But mere unfupported va¬
lour could not repel all the encroach¬
ments of an active and fuperior ene¬
my. The beiiegers had at length
made feveral breaches in the wails ;
and it was apprehended that a gene¬
ral affault, which was hourly expect¬
ed, would be fatal a capitulation
was therefore propofed, and a confer¬
ence was already begun, when the
countefs, who had mounted on a
high tower, and was looking towards

the Tea with great impatience, de-
fcried fome fhips at a diBance. She
immediately exclaimed that fuccours
were arrived, and forbade any fur¬
ther capitulation. She was not dif-
appointed in her wifhes ; the fleet
file defcried carried a body of Eng-
iifii gentlemen, with fix thoufand
archers, whom Edward had prepared
for tire relief of Hennebonne, but
who had long been detained by con¬
trary winds. They entered the har¬
bour under the conduct of fir Wal¬
ter Mannv, one of the moft valiant
commanders of his time. This relief
ferved to keep upthe declining fpirits
of the Bretons, until the time ap¬
pointed by the late truce with Ed¬
ward was expired, on which he was
at liberty to renew the war in great¬
er form.

Such are the materials. The au¬
thor has kept the outline in view,
and has given a colouring to his
work fuitable to the fpirit of the
times, and the prefent fituation of
this country and France. The fub-
je£f indeed is much better calculated
for a ferious drama than for an ope¬
ra, and the ludicrous feenes and
characters which are introduced do
not happily blend with the main
Bory. The purpofe, however, is to
take advantage of a temporary Bate
of things, and to amufe a mixed au¬
dience; and this purpofe the author
has effeCled. Fie deviates from the
Bory in concealing De Mountfort in
a cottage, the owner of which is fup-
pofed to be in England ; and the
wife, though attached to the count,
by her anxious loquacity, induces
two peafants to fufpeCt that he is
concealed, Thefe men, allured by
the offered reward, beguile the
count out of his covert, and betray
him to the enemy. He is at length,
delivered by MainmaB, a Britifh
failor, vvhodefcends in a bafket from
the belfry of the place in which the
count is confined, the latter afeend-
ing in this fame bafket. This ex¬
pedient, which is not juBified by
hiBorv, is rather too ludicrous.

The name of the piece has little to
do with the fable in general, as the
Englifh fleet does not make its ap¬
pearance till juB at the conclufion;
and, though it is fuppofed to bring
fuccour, is not employed in aCfion

The fentiments are very loyal,
but very trite; yet as they fall in
with the general fpirit of the times,
and tend to rilluBrate the fujjerior
happinefs of this country, they may
be encouraged for their effeCf,
though not admired for their no¬
velty.

The piece is brought forward with
a magnificence of feenery calculated
to give it the fuileB effect; and,
though it certainly has no intrinfic
merits of a fuperior kind, its pa-

656 Signs and Habor ; a Gothic Romance .

triatic fentiments, and fervent eulo-
giums upon the worth and Tpinc of
Britain, with its rnufic, {hew, and
baffle, will probably render it very
attractive.

The houfe was crowded in all
parts, and the piece was received
throughout with great applaufe,
which was fully ratified when the
audience were, in the lafi fcene, gra¬
tified- with a fight of The Englijb Fleet*

— - — T-rea eBfBifc'yBaDWw -

SIGNE AND HABOR;

A GOTHIC ROMANCE.
(Concluded from p. 5fi8 .)

unvor, in- the mean time, re-
paired to the apartments of the
cpreen. She knocked haflily a&d
loudly at the door, which a fervant
opened.

4 1 muff fpeak with tlae queen in-
fiantly/ faid {he; and the fervant re¬
tired.

4 Awake, Bera ! arife !’ exclaimed
Gunvor ; 4 I bring thee Habor’s
life !’ and fire {hewed his arms, which
fhe had brought with her. 4 Habor
fieeps with Signe ; he dishonours
thy daughter: Signe embraces the
murderer of her brother!’

4 He (hail die 1’ cried Bera. Hafti-
Jv fire threw her mantle around her,
and flew to the chamber of Sigar.
‘Unhappy father!’ laid fhe, 4 thou
fleepefl, while Habor difironours
thy daughter !’

The aged fovereign Started up
terrified. 4 He {hall not live!’ ex¬
claimed he. 4 But are you certain
he is guilt v?’

4 Dcfi thou doubt?’ faid Bera.

4 Come and fee with thine own eyes.’

Hildegifle now arrived with a
.'numerous train of Saxons; Bolvife
;alfo came with a company of aban¬
doned followers, worthy of fuch a
leader. Haflily they went forth,
while the "king (lowly followed.

But before they reached the apart-'
merits of Signe, Gunvor had return¬
ed. With well-difiembled terror,
fhe ran to Svanhild.

4 How {hall I fpeak?’ faid file:

4 how declare to you the alarming
tidings?’ - -

4 Since you have faid fo much,9
anfwered Svanhild, 4 fay all,’

‘ A1 ger is dead/ faid Gunvor.

As a Bone finks in the deep wa¬
ters, fo fank Svanhild to the earth ;
while Gunvor malicioufly laughed,
enjoying her bafe revenge.

In the mean/ime Bolvife had ar¬
rived at the apartments of Signe,
and with his ruffian band forced
the door. Her female -attendants
leaped, terrified, from their beds,
and endeavoured to gain her cham¬
ber ; but Bolvife had fecured all the
avenues. The noife rouled the
lovers from their delightful reverie.
Habor darted from the embrace of
Signe. 4 My arms!’ exclaimed he ;
but the treachery of Gunvor had
rendered his fearch fruitlefs.

‘ Now is the time of death !’ cried
Bolvife, who at that moment broke
into the chamber.

‘ It is the time of death !’ anfwer*
ed Habor, and grafped his neck fa
forcibly with his powerful hand that
his impure foul defeyted its mortal
habitation. He fell, and Signe ex¬
claimed 4 So fall all traitors!’

But now entered the Saxons, and
by their numbers overpowered the
unarmed hero, between whom and
them Signe had thrown herfelf.
She clang to Habor, and could with
difficulty be forced from him. At
length the hands of the hero, which
had ever been invincible in the field,
were bound with chains.

Hildegifie approached Signe, and
faid, 4 Weep not, beauteous Signe;

1 will fupply the place of Habor.’

‘Wretch!’ anfwered file, indig¬
nantly, 4 die the death of Bolvife!
The place of Habor cannot be fup»
plied.’

65 7

Signe and Habor ;

* The grief of the fair,’ returned
Hildegifle, 4 muft be treated with
relpeft;’ and immediately he retired.

The doors of the apartments of
Signe were now guarded by Saxon
foldiers, that no perfon might come
out of them ; for Bera feared that
Signe fhould fliew herfelf to the
people. The two companions ‘of
Habor, when attacked, defended
themfelves courageoufly, though
they had not their fhields, till they
fell like brave warriors.

Signe, now left alone with her
female attendants, enquired of them
for Svanhild.

4 She is,’ anfwered they, 4 in her
chamber, overpowered by her feel¬
ings, and almoft deprived of fenfe.’

The tendered friendlhip fwelled
the heart of Signe; die forgot her
own grief, and haftened to aid and
comfort Svanhild. She clafped her
in her embrace, killed, and bathed
her in her tears. Svanhild for a
moment revived, and opened her
eyes.

* Hated light of day!’ exclaimed
fhe, and again die doled them.

4 It is I, dear Svanhild!’ faid
Signe : 4 it is I ! — it is thy Signe!’

4 Oh, that I were happy as thou
art !’ faid Svanhild ; 4 but a reieniiefs
fate purfues me.’

4 May Freya prefer ve thee from
fuch' happinefs !’ anfwered Signe.

4 What doll thou fay ?’

4 Habor is led to death.*

At thefe words the powers of life
returned to Svanhild, and fhe forgot

' vj

for a time herfelf and Alger. Thus
the affectionate father, on the frag¬
ments of the ihipwrecked vefFel, for¬
gets his own danger when he fees
his fon hurried away by the merci-
Jefs wave. He plunges after him ;
and, feizing the extremity of his
garment, labours and buffets, the bi 1-
lows rill he can again place him on
the wreck where he may have a
[chance of life.

* We muft be gone mftantly,*

Vo l. XXXIV.

a Gothic Romance .

faid Svanhild : 4 we muft fave Ha¬
bor, whatever may be the event.’

4 Alas,’ faid Signe, ‘all the doors
are fhwt, and armed Saxons guard
them, fuffering no perfons to go out
or enter!’

Svanhild and Signe mutually re¬
lated to each other the grief and de»
fpair of their hearts: Svanhild for the
fuppofed death of Alger; Signe for
the approaching condemnation and
execution of Habor. They murmur¬
ed not again ft the gods, but they re-
folved to die with magnanimity.

4 Faithful friends,’ faid they to
their attendants, ‘nothing is left for
us but death. Save yourfelves ;
apply to the guards that they may
let you pafs.’

4 No,’ exclaimed with one voice
the faithful maidens, 4 we will die
with our illuftrious, our dear, mif-
trelTes: we will enjoy the honour
of ferving them in the palace of
Freva !’

Signe and Svanhild gave them
their hands, and allured them that
one common fate and happinefs
awaited them beyond the grave.

4 The gods,’ laid they, 4 regard
not condition in life, but only vir¬
tue : the virtuous in a humble fta-
tion receive as great a reward as
thofe of the mod dignified rank.
Fidelity is recompenfed here with
never-dying fame, and after death
with eternal happinefs.’

And now thefe courageous fe¬
males prepared and raifed piles of
pine-wood againft the doors and
windows of their apartment, which
they flood ready to light when the
expe&ed ftgnal fhould be difplayed.
Their ribbands and girdles they, at
the fame time, fitted, fpeedily to
procure to them that death they hafti
refolved to obtain.

In the mean time Habor was
brought before the aftembly convok¬
ed to fit in judgment on him. Sigar
did net appear in it; for, perfuaded as
he was that Habor had diftionoured
4 P

658 Signs and Habor ;

his daughter, and, probably by un-
juftifiable violence, (lain his fon, he
could only indulge his frantic grief,
and lament that Heaven had given
him children. His voice and full
power in the affembly he transferred
to Hildegifle.

In the fupreme court, thus af-
fembled, opinions were however
divided ; for fome Danes had ar¬
rived from the neighbouring towns,
who maintained that it was requifite
to confider the diftinguiilied rank of
Habor, his nation, and his cou¬
rage ; that it was more advifable
tp cultivate friendfhip with the Nor¬
wegians than to make them ene-

mies ; 'to avail tliemfelves of the
valour of Habor now the number
of the Daniflt princes was dirninifh-
ed (for the report of the death of
Alger was generally circulated), and
to compaffionate the grief and dif-
trefs of Signe, At the fame time
they murmured loudly that foreign¬
ers, that Saxons, fhould fit and pro¬
nounce judgment in a Danifh
court. But the Saxons, who were
numerous, and the venal and bafe
who formed the party of Bera and
Bolvife, outvoted them, and Habor
was condemned to death. Imme¬
diately he was led to a neighbouring
eminence, at the foot of which was
the apartment of Signe. There fat
Bera and Kiidegifle, fur rounded by
a gazing multitude. When Habor
approached, Bera advanced to him,
and gave into his hands a horn filled
with mead.

Drink,’ faid die, < this horn of
death, thv bridal horn.’

He took the horn with a Beady
hand, and poured out the mead upon
the ground.

4 This libation,’ faid he, 4 I make
to you, ye infernal divinities ! And
thou,’ faid he, turning to Bera,
4 wert thou not the mother of Signe,
I would likewife have devoted to
them.’

Bera laughed, fcornfujly. f That,’

a Gothic Romance ♦

faid flie, 4 would indeed have been
terrible. Now let the gods in whom
thou haft trufted deliver thee.’

4 Thou too,’ faid Habor, * im¬
pious as thou art, flialt alfo die.’

Bera turned pale 5 for her con-
fcience fmote her, but foon fhe
forgot its rebuke.

Habor now threw his hat high
into the air. 4 Thus,’ faid he,
‘ fhall my fame, (and the fame of
Signe, mount to heaven.’ This
was the fign agreed on between him
and Afmund, who immediately dis¬
played his banner.

Signe obferved the bgnal unfer-
rified, and fmiled with a noble
calmnefs. 4 Welcome death !’ ex¬
claimed file : 4 my friends, Habor
is already in the hall of heroes : he
beckons to us.’

Her attendants inftantly lighted
the pine-brands, and ran with them
flaming, as if performing a dance,
and fired the piles of wood they had
prepared ; they at the fame time
fitted the fatal bands to their necks.
Signe and Svanhild tenderly em¬
braced each other. 4 Soon,’ faid
they, f (hall we again fee thofe who
are dear to our hearts ; and no
force, no malice, fhall feparate us

more. There is no Bolvife - ’

4 no Bera,’ faid Svanhild. Signe
deeply fighed, the oniy figh fhe had
uttered on this occafion. She
fhetcbed out her arms : 4 Habor,’
faid die, 4 thy faithful Signe em¬
braces thfe.’ Svanhild burft into
tears. 4 Thy death,’ faid fhe,
4 deareft friend, I feel more than
my own.’ She funk, at length,
deprived of fenfe, and motionlefs,
as the mounting flames began to
envelope the apartment.

in the mean time, Habor ad-
dreffed the furrounding multitude
with firmnefs and ardour. He de¬
clared that he had not aHed trea-
cheroufly ; that Signe was too chafte,
and he loved, her too fincerely, to
have been guilty of the meannefsof

659

Signe and Habor; a Gothic Romanes.

which he had been accufed, This
delay he made that he might know
whether Signe would perform her
vow, and whether he' fhould again
embrace her in the habitations of
death. Bera likewife permitted this
delay, for flie wifhed to glut her
eyes with his bufferings, and thought
the longer they endured the more
he muff feel his death. Suddenly
Habor exclaimed, 4 1 fee the flames
mount; conftan^y and truth triumph!
No longer delay the fatal blow; I
pant to embrace Signe : now is death
joy ! Throughout all the north ffyall
our names be fung : our love and
fidelity (hall be admired and honour¬
ed, and our death envied. *

The whole affembly inftantly
turned their eyes, and faw the flames
riling on every fide from the part of
the palace in which Signe refided.
The greater part of the crowd im¬
mediately haflened with all fpeed to
refeue her from the danger, for
Signe was beloved.

4 Wretch !’ exclaimed Bera, 4 thou
hail beguiled my daughter with for-
ceriesd

4 Why do you delay ?’ cried
Habor ; 4 where is your execution¬
er?’

No perfon anfwered. T he un¬
expected approach of an armed
force put to flight thofe of the mul¬
titude who remained : they fell over
each other : all was terror, clamour,
and confufion ; and Habor was left
alone. He haflened from the hill
that was to have been the place of
his execution ; Signe gave him wings.
He ruflied into the mid ft of the
flames. He found her, and bore
her in his embrace, without the pa¬
lace, but, alas 1 the was lifelefs, a
prey to the devouring flames. He
found the fword of a warrior lying
near: he drew it, plunged it into
his bofom, and fell on the body of
Signe, exclaiming 4 I haften to
thee!’

The panic which had feized the

multitude was occasioned by the
arrival and attack of Hakon, Alger,
and Belvife, at the bead of the
Swedifh army. At the mouth of
the river Sufe they had received
intelligence of the fentence palled
on Habor; and had haflened their
march with all fpeed, though they
arrived too late. The moment Alger
perceived the paiace in flames, lie
thought of Svanhild. Inftantly he
left his companions, ruflied through
the fire, found her whom he loved
more than life, loofened the fatal
band, and bore her from the flames.

4 Liveft thou, deareft Svanhild ?’
faid he ; 4 if thou doft, anfwer thy
diflradled lover. Wilt thou not an¬
fwer thy Alger ? My kifles fhall re¬
vive thee.’

He lavifhed on her a thoufand
kifles.

4 She is yet warm! fhe lives!’
exclaimed he in extafy. She moved
her hand ; his joy was indefcribable.
She opened her eyes, faid 4 Alger!’
and again clofed them.

4 Now do I poflefs thee,’ conti¬
nued fhe ; 4 now have I a certainty
of another life : never fhall I again
be feparated from Alger !’

4 What meaneft thou by another
life ?’ faid Alger: 4 thou haft Alger
in this life ; lie lives, and thou
liveft.’

f Noble (bade!’ faid Svanhild,
and again fhe ciofed her eyes;

4 thou liveft, never to die.’

* I am no fliade,’ anfwered Alger;

4 touch me, and be convinced that I
have a body.’

Svanhild now railed herfelf up,
and embraced Alger ; fhe returned !
his kifles, and at length laid, 4 Thou
liveft ; yet was 1 told that thou wert '
dead. 1 too live, who fought my
own death.’

Alger briefly related to her all1
that had paliVd, and the manner in]
which file was refeued from the*
flames.

Again ihe embraced hiifP. 4 I
4 F 2

860

Signs and Habor ; a Gothic Romance »

live/ laid file, ‘ and thou livefi.
I thank the gods for my life, be-
caufe thou livefi. But where is
Signet’

4 I know not/ anfwered Alger ;

4 but we will fee k her.’

Soon they found the bodies of the
two lovers; Signe, half confumed
by the devouring flames, lay by the
lide of Habor, weltering - in his
blood. A placid fmile fat, even in
death, on the features of Signe;
and the countenance of Habor was
expreflive of heroifm and of love.
Alger turned away his eyes, unable
to bear the diftrefsful fight; and

5 van hi Id funk down deprived of
fenfe. Alger hafiily raifed her in
his arms, and bore her to the hall
of Sigar.

in the mean time, Hakon had
attacked the aflembly. Terror, de¬
feat, and death, preceded his ban¬
ners. The enemies of Habor fled,
for wicked men foon fly. Hilde-
giile fell like a warrior, and his
Saxons fought fafety in flight ; for
they had nothing left for which to
combat. in the tumult, Hakon
feized Beta, dragged her by the
hair, and pierced her through with
his fword. . Rage, and the thirfi of
revenge, difhonoured his victory in
dus adf ; but a wicked woman re¬
ceived deferved punifhment.

Belvife went to Sigar, who, un¬
able to rife from his bed, fought re¬
lief in tears. 4 Thou art not left
entirely childlefs, aged fovereign/
faid Belvife ; 4 -Alger lives, and has
laved Svanhild,’

* Let me, then/ exclaimed Sigar,
f again embrace my dear children/

Affedhng was the fight when
Alger and Svanhild kneeled before
the aged monarch, and mingled
their tears with his.

Two days afterwards Syvald re¬
turned to Sigarfiadt, crowned with
jiidVory and glory. But when he
acai d the recital of the calamities
.hat had befallen his family, he

would not remain there. 4 My
deareft friend/ faid he, 4 is dead;
my unrivalled filler is no more.
Take the kingdom, Alger, and let
the feas bury me and my grief.’

In vain was every attempt to pre¬
vail on him to change his refolution.
H© departed as foon as the bodies
of the two lovers were committed to
the earth.

A mount was raifed, in which
the remains of Signe and Habor
were depofited, with their arms
clafping the bodies of each other.
A monument was eredted, on which
was inferibed, in Runic characters,

4 Here lie Signe and Habor, faith¬
ful lovers in life and in death.’

All the Skalds* of the time
made their hiftory the fubjedt of
their fongs.

Belvife pronounced a funeral
oration over their tomb, in which
he extolled their heroic courage,
their fidelity, their fincerity, and
their generous and amiable qualities.

4 They trufted in the gods/ faid he,

4 yet feem to have incurred the dif-
pleafure of Heaven. Perhaps the
vow of Signe indicated too much
pride and want of refiedlion : by
it fne armed her brothers againfi
her lover. As little can I entirely
commend their death ; though, by
refraining from fuch commenda¬
tion, f may oppofe the opinion of
the age in which I live. But the
gods are merciful : they beft can
judge of the motives and true 'dejert
of human adlions. I will not there¬
fore admit the thought that thefe
faithful lovers can be unhappy after
death, though I muft deem moft
praileworthy thofe who patiently
await the hour affigned them by the
gods and fate. They were virtuous
in their lives, and doubtlefs are
happy ; but punifhment muft await
thofe who have ended their lives in
wickednefs. Often, too often, the

* Bards.

P refentation of the Duchefs of Bedford to the Queen* 661

fame fate attends, in this world, both
the good and the wicked ; but, in the
life beyond the grave, juft ice will
vindicate the ways of Heaven,’

Sigar died three weeks after his
daughter, and was buried, accord¬
ing to his defire, under the fame
mount, and by her fide. Syvald
put to fea, and was foon after loft
in a ftorm in the gulph of Finland,
Alger and Svanhild long lived hap¬
pily; but the latter never entirely
recovered her former cheerfulnefs :
a tender melancholy remained fixed
on her features and in her heart.
Every day (he repaired to the grave
of Signe, to weep there. Alger
blamed not her faithful forrow, but
often fighed and filed tears with her.
Guvor lived long, the object of ge¬
neral contempt and hatred; luffering
all the evils of poverty and wretch-
ednefs, inftead of enjoying the
wealth file had hoped to acquire by

falihood and treachery. Afmund

accompanied Hakon, and, foon
after, found in battle that death
which he eagerly fought, that he
might follow his friend.

Presentation' of the Duchess of
Bedford to the Queen.

Hr his charming lady was, on
Thurfday, Dec. 22, attended to
court by her lifter lady C. Lennox,
and prefented by her ftfter-in-law,
lady William Ruifel, to her majefty,
for the firfl time after her marriage
with the duke of Bedford; being the
firft prefentation of a duchefs of
Bedford at our court finCe the year
1737, when the late duchefs of Bed¬
ford, the daughter of John earl of
Gower, and grand-daughter to the
duke of Kingfton, was prefe-nted,
being the lady of John the fourth
duke of Bedford, which was his fe¬
cund wife, who died in June, 17<H.

The du chefs1 ’s body drefs was in

the molt fuperb ftyle of elegance wc
have witnefted for feveral years,
viz. a white fatin petticoat, with a
puffery of white crape, fpangled ; a
white crapfc drapery, richly em¬
broidered with vine leaves and
grapes of filver, looptd up and
beautifully ornamented with filver
cords and taflels ; the pocket-holes
of puffetry of fpangled crape ; the
body and train a white fatin, richly
embroidered with vine leaves, and
crapes to correfpond, richly and
elegantly trimmed with point Bruf-
felslace; the fleeves, though plain,
we obferved, were richly embroi-
dered with filver, with three rows
of point Bruffels lace, forming a
beautiful drapery over her fiioulder.

Her grace’s head-drefs was a ban¬
deau of white fatin, embroidered
with filver, with vine-leaves and
bunches of grapes to correfpond
with her drefs, faftened behind with
a diamond brooch of exquifite beauty.
Her hair was beautifully plaited
round her head in the Grecian ftyle,
fhatum fper Jlratum, forming to a
point, and finifhed at the top of the
head with a large rofttte of dia¬
monds, horn which fufpended a
diamond luftre of great beauty and
woikmanfhip. Over the bandeau
we obferved a beautiful reed of dia¬
monds, in an angular form, a hair-
comb in the front, with a large ftar
of diamonds, and a rofette with a
plume of five beautiful oftrich fea¬
thers.

|ier grace remained, during the
whole of the time, either in con-
verfation with their majcfties, or
with the younger female branches
of the royal family.

She had an elegant chair made on
the occafion, with the ducal coro¬
net ; rich white liveries, with deep
gold lace, and three footmen before
her chair.

The quantity of jewels wh:ch her
grace wore is eftimatefl at 50,000/tv
iterline.

[ 662 }

POETICAL ESSAYS.

ANACREON, ODE I.

i . ' ’ r V * -

r\FT, in drains of lofty verfe,

Sons of Atreus, I’d rehearfe;
Oft in notes fublime I’d fing
Aflions of the Theban king:

But the firings .unwilling prove,
Sounding only fongs of love.

Late afrefh my lyre I brung,

And of Hercules had fung,

Of his labours, of his toils,

Of his victories and fpoils ;

But the lyre, in ev’ry drain,
Anfwer’d love and love again.
Princes, now farewell to you ;
Heroes, chieftains, all adieu :

For, in future, ev’ry fong
Shall to love alone belong.

Oxford, Dec . 4, 1803. J. W. V.

ABSENCE ; A SONNET.

X^R.'QM* coaft to coaft the wand’ring
exile drays,

Bereft of comfort, tortur’d with de-
fpair ;

Sleeplefs his nights, and clouded are his
days,

Subdu’d by anguifii, and opprefs’d
with care.

Jud fo, when torn from her I deareft
love,

A thoufand paffions rack my anxious
mind ;

I feek the city, or I pace the grove,

But can, alas 1 nor joy nor comfort
find :

Save when bright Fancy, with her ra¬
diant charms,

Tranfports Ciariflaro my longing arms.

Oxford , Dec. 4, 1 8 o 3 . J . W. Y.

SONGS in the new Comic Opera — ‘ Th e
WIFE of TWO HUSBANDS.’

SONG — Mrs. Mountain.

o Sleep’s embrace with joy I fly,
And friendly dreams, to lovers dear :
For then his form (hall charm mine eye,
For then his voice lhall charm mine
ear,

No longer then can Fortune’s power
Withhold my lover from any fight :
And Fancy, in her conquering hour,
With Love lhall gild her vidon
bright.

SONG- — Mifs De Camp.

A soldier to his own fire- fide
With laurels was retiring ;

An only daughter was his pride,

His every hope infpiring:

In her young mind the virtues Ihone,
Th’ admiring world approv’d her;

She feem’d to live for him alone,

And he as his own life lov’d her.

But oft within the faired dower
The canker worm is working;

Ingratitude — ah, fatal hour 1 —

In her falfe heart was lurking.

The fpoiler came — fhe op’d the door;
He from her home remov’d her ;

She of that; father thought no more,
Who as his own life lov’d her.

Behold the wretched parent’s look !

His child was lob for ever :

The tear his phrenfied eye forfook ;
From life he feem’d to fever,

Oft did he hear the bitter figh,

Yet not a word reprov’d her :

But all he wilh’d far was to die ;

For as his life he lov’d her.

With guilty pangs, her bofom torn,
Still lives the wretched daughter ;

And long repentant woe has borne,

To which her error brought her.

Oh, bring the hour of mercy near 1
The eye of Heaven has prov’d her.

As life to love that father dear,

Who as his own life lov’d her.

* ' ' ' ’ ' f , 1 1 ■ ■

SONG — Theodore — Mifs De Catnp .

The other day, when I was dancing
To the air you love fo well ;

And with the rofy wreath advancing,

At your feet the offering fell.

A figh your woe betraying,

O’erpower’d the imile you drove to
give ;

While in vain to fpeak edaying.

Ah, could I your griefs relieve !

But, alas ! you love me not- —

No, no, poor Theodore’s forgot.

POETRY.

Oh! let me hope to fee reviving
All the gaiety you knew,

When, for your kind attention ftriving,
I was ever in your vi?W.

My child i fh fports approving,

My trifling all your cares beguil’d ;

Still on your brow no frown reproving,
You on your little orphan fmU’d.

But, alas ! &c.

DUET — Mrs. Bland and Mr. Bannijler.

Carronade.

In fairnefs I fpeak, from my heart comes
the offer.

Then fay, fweet lafs, with a failor will
you roam r

EUnetta.

I thank you, good fir, for the kindneff
you proffer;

But fay, kind fir, fuppofe I ftay at
home ?

Carronade.

On board a man-of-war you’ll tafte every
pleafure.

Nine it a.

But joys yon ’ll remember we varioufly
meafure.

, Both.

The queftion is plain, J | ftay

or go ?

The anfwer is plain, his merely yes ®r
no.

Fal la, &c.

Carronade.

Two words to the bargain ! — be it fo if
you like it :

My word is yes — and may yours be
the fame.

Uinetta .

Why as to the bargain — we never fhall
ftrike it.

My word is no — the plain anfwer you
claim.

Carronade.

Plain-dealing I admire — .that yours is
fincerely.

Ninetta.

It leaves you free to choofe a hfs to love
dearly.

Both.

Though lovers we're none — yet as
friends let us part :

A hand you may give — though you can’t
beftow a heart.

Fal la, & c.

TO MISS - - - ,

ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR, WHY
SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS?

[Prom the ‘ Poetical Work ? of the late Thomas
Little , £/y.’]

T ’ll afk the fylph who round thee flies,
1 And in thy breath his pinion dips^
Who funs him in thy lucent eyes,

And faints upon thy fighing lips .;

I’ll afk him where’s the veil of ile'ep
That us’d to (hade thy looks of light.;
And why thofe eyes their vigil keep,
When other funs are funk in night?

And I will fay — Her angel breaft
Has never throbb’d with guilty fting;
Her bofom is the fweeteft neft,

Where Slumber could repofe his
wing !

And I will fay — Her cheeks of flame.
Which glow like rofes in the fun,
Have never felt a blufh of fhame,

Except for what her eyes have done I

Then tell me, why, thou child of air !

Does dumber from her eyelids rove?
What is her heart’s impaflion’d care ?
Perhaps, oh, fylph! perhaps ’tis love l

REUBEN AND ROSE;

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

[From the Same . J

HE darknefs which hungupon Wil»
lumberg’s walls

Has long been remember’d with awe
and difmay ; '

For years not a fun-beam had play’d in
its halls,

And it feem’d as fliut out from the re»
gions of day !

Though the valleys were brighten’d by
many a beam,

Yet none could the woodsof the caftle
illume ;

And the lightning, which fl.ifh’d on the
neighbouring ftresm,

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the
gloom !

‘ Oh ! when (hall this horrible darknefs
difperfe ?’

Said Willumberg’s lord to the feer of
the cave :

POETRY.

664

4 It can never difpel,’ laid the wizard of
v.erfe,

4 Till the bright Far of chivalry ’s
funk in the wave !’

And who was the bright ftar of chivalry
then ?

Who could he but Reuben, the flower
of the age ?

For Reuben was firft in the combat of

men,

Though youth had fcarce written his
name on her page.

For Willumberg's daughter his bofbm
had beat.

For Rofe, who was bright as the fpi-
rit of dawn,

When, with wand dropping diamonds
and lllvery feet,

It walks o’er the flowers of the moun¬
tain and lawn !

iMufl: Rofe, then, from Reuben fo fatal¬
ly fever ?

Sad, fad were- the words of the man
in the cave,

That darknefs ihould cover the caflle
for ever,

Or -Reuben be funk in the mercilefs
wave !

She flew to the wizard— 4 And tell me,
oh! tell, [to my eyes

Shall my Reuben no more be reflor’d

4 Yes, yes — when a fpirit fhall toll the
great be li [ben fhall rife !’

Or the mouldering abbey, your Reu-

Twice, thrice he repeated, ‘ Your Reu¬
ben fhall rife/

And Rofe felt a moment’s releafe from
her pain j

She wip’d, while fhe liflen’d, the tear
from her eyes,

Andkfhe hop’d fire might yet fee her
hero- again !

Her hero could fniije at the terrors of
death,

When he felt that he died for the fire
of his Rofe j

To tne Oder he flew, aad there plunpin0"
beneath, &

In the lapfe of the billows foon found
his repofe.

How ftrangely the order of deftiny falls !

Not long in the waters the warrior lay,

When a lunbeam was feen to glance
over t^e walls,

An'd the caftle gf Willumberg balk’d
in the day !

All, all but the foul of the maid was in
light,

There forrow and terror lay gloomy
and blank :

Two days did fire wander, and all the
long night,

In queft of her love on the wide river’s
bank.

Oft, oft did Hie paufe for the toll of the
bell,

And fhe heard but the breathings of
night in the air ;

Long, long did Qie gaze on the watery
fwell,

And fhe faw but the foam of the
white billow, there.

And often as midnight its veil would un¬
draw,

As frie look’d at the light of the moon
in the frream,

She thought ’twas his helmet of fiver
fhe faw,

As the curl of the furge glitter’d high
in the beam.

And now the third1 night was begem¬
ming the Iky,

Poor Rofe on the cold dewy margent
reclin’d,

There wept till the tear aimed froze in
her eye,

When, hark! ’twas the bell that
came deep in the wind !

She ftartled, and faw, through the glim¬
mering fhade,

A form o’er the waters in majefly
glide ;

She knew ’t was her love, though h is.
cheek was decay’d,

And his helmet of fiver was wafh’d
by the tide.

Was this what the feer of the cave had
foretold ?

Dim, dim through the phantom the
moon (hot a gleam ;

’T was Reuben ; but, ah ! he was death¬
ly and cold,

And fleeted away like the fpell @f a
dream !

Twice* thrice did he rife, and as often
flie thought

From the bank to embrace him, but
never, ah ! never !

Then fpringing beneath, at a billow flie
caught, r

And ftmk to repofe on its bofom fcvjr

ever !

C 665 1

FOREIGN NEWS.

Conjlan lino pit, September to.

Y three Couriers, who have fuccef-
fively arrived from Smyrna, Acre, and
Alexandria, we have received the difaf-
trous intelligence rhat Egypt is now en¬
tirely in the poffeifion of the Beys, who
kave united with the Arnauts, and that
this fine province is once more loft to the
Porte.

The Turkilh garrifon in Alexandria
withftood feverat aflaults, and defended
themfelves to. the laft, till they were
obliged to capitulate on account of want
of provitions, and the great fuperiority
of the enemy. This difagreea^le event
has been notified by the Reis Effendi to
all the Foreign Minifters here.

The Porte is Fully perfuaded that
this misfortune is to be aferibed at once
to the difeontent of the Beys, and to fo¬
reign influence. Many of the Foreign
Minifters have Cent advice of this event
to their Courts, among whom the Ruf¬
fian Minifter has been the hi ft. It is an
almoft general opinion in the Divan
that the influence of Ruflia has had a
great (hare in producing this mis¬
fortune.

23. The following is the note which,
by order of the Porte, on the 20th of
this month, was delivered to the Ara-
bafladors of the two powers at war, and
aifo to the reft of the Foreign Mini-
tiers •—

4 During the war by fea and land,
which broke out between France and
England in the 1207 of the Hegira
(1792), the Sublime Porte, which was
neutral, and entertained relations of
amity with both powers at war, declared
to their Ambafladors by a note, presented
to them for that purpofe, that the (hips
of thofe powers (hould not moleft nor
attack each other in the waters of this
empire, under the guns of the fortrefles
of tne Ottoman territory in Alia and Eu¬
rope, of the Iflands in the White Sea,
and the different ports within thedttUnce
of three miles from (bore; and that the
▼ •L. XXXIV.

refpeflive Confuls (hould ufe their beft
efforts to prevent all perfons intending
to provoke engagements in the vicinity
of fuch ports from carrying their inten¬
tion into effect. It was then enabled, and
the ordinance is hereby renewed, that
ftridf enquiries fhall be made for the
purpofe of apprehending and punifhing
all fubje&s of the Porte who fhali engage
to ferve on board of privateers. No
Muffulman, being a fubjedt of the Porte,
is allowed to load goods on board of (hips
belonging to the above powers, witnout
having obtained from the refpe&ive Con¬
fuls all the documents required in fuch.
cafe^ Should an engagement take place
on the high Teas between (hips of the
belligerent powers, it (hall not be lawful
for any commander of a Turkifti (hip of
war, or for any Turkilh fubje6V, to inter¬
fere in fuch engagement, in order to fa¬
vour one or the other party engaged.
The Sublim.e Porte being determined to
obferve the fame fyftem of neutrality
during the prefent war, the neceffary
orders have been expedited for his high-
nefs the Captain Pacha, a copy whereof
(hall likewife be delivered to the Foreign
Minifters/

Odober 1 5 . The Porte has fent twelve
(hips with ammunition, &c. to the More*.
A foreign (hip fome time fince landed
there a cargo of powder and ball ; as its
deftination appeared fufpicious, the Cap¬
tain Pacha caufed the whole to be fieized.
A captain Idria, who was employed in
the expedition, was to have been murder¬
ed in the night by the procurement of
the Greek Bey at Malathra, to whom
the powder was configned. He, how¬
ever, received information of the defign,
and revenged himfelf by heavily cannon¬
ading the town of Malathra.

25. Great numbers of troops are af-
fembling in the vicinity of this capital,
the deftination of which isfaid to be the
Morea, which is ftill believed to be
threatened by a foreign force. Six Ruf¬
fian and Auftrian (hips, which have been

4%.

666

Foreign News,

taken up to carry powder and artillery,
have already failed for that pminfuia, all
the places of which will be pur. in a Strong
ftate of defence, and batteries eredted on.
the coaits. The Captain Papha will re¬
main with the fleet off the coaft of the
Morea during the whole winter.

In the courfe of the laft fortnight
there have been Several fires here, fuo-
pofed to be caufed by the difcontented
populace. Strong patroles now parade
the flreets of Constantinople during the
night; and, except in the quarter of the
Franks, no pe'rftm is permitted to be in
the Streets by night, either in the city
or the fuburbs.

Both the English and French ambaffa-
dors have lately hat^ 'Several conferences
with the Reis Effendn the Porte, how¬
ever, is determined to abide by irs fy-
ftem of neutrality. It is now afferted
that the Porte has concluded a conven¬
tion wirh the Beys of Egypt, according
to which the government of that coun¬
try is to be placed on the fame footing
as before the arrival of the French.
The Beys will in confequence regain
that authority which the Porte has
hitherto refufed them. This Statement,
however, is not official, and no Ih ip has
arrived here from Alexandria for a
considerable time.

Hague , OStober 25. The minister at
war of the French republic, general
Alexander Berthier, after having finish¬
ed his tour through the maritime de¬
partments of the north of France, is now
extending it to the Batavian territory.
For the laft days he has been vifiting the
ports of Zealand ; and, on the 23d in
the evening, he arrived at Bergen-op-
Zoom. The head- quarters of the
French and Batavian troops in this re¬
public are about to be fixed at Utrecht.
—The commander in. chief, general
Victor, leaves the Hague this day for
that place, to which a part of his ftaff
lias already repaired.

Leyden , Ofloher 27. The French mi¬
ni fief at war arrived on the 23d in ihe
evening from Middleburg at Bergen-op-
Zoom. In tjie following morning he
infpedted the fortifications and garrifon
of that place. Immediately after he fet
out with his Suite, in three carriages, to
return, bv way of Antwerp, to Paris.

Paris , OBoler 21. Spain, to avoid tak¬
ing an aftive part in the prefent war, is
lo pay France four null ions of livrts

monthly ; and guarantee the payment:
in like manner of one million monthly
by Portugal.

Four emigrants who had taken the be-
nefit of the amnefty, but carried on a
correspondence with the count D’Artois,
have been deported. Among them are
La va! Montmorency, and Archbarn-
bault : their eflates are not confiscated,
but they have been permitted to fell
them.

Various add re lies from the departments
totfieFirft Conful, and tven one rrom the
council of ftate, will foon make their
appearance, in which he will be request¬
ed not to command the expedition
againft England, in perfon, but only to
direct it fiom the coafts.

General Moreau is appointed member
of the legion of honour.

Leghorn, Qfiober 28. A French fqua-
dron, with a confiderable number of
land forces on board, is lying at Toulon,
ready to laii as foon as the fleet of lord
Nelfon Shall be driven off the coaft by a
Storm. It is intended for a fecret expe¬
dition.

The Englifh fquadron which block¬
ades Genoa con fills of two Ships of the
line, eight frigates, four cutters, and has
with itfcveral privateers. The blockade
extends from Cape delle Melle to Via-
reggia. All the neutral Ships lying in
Genoa have Ipeen required by the Eng¬
lish to depart, within 14 days.

General Montrichard, from Lunen¬
burg, has been for feme time at Rome,
where he has vifited the curiofities and
productions of art ; after which he con¬
tinued his journey by Naples to the army
of general St. Cyr, to which the fon of
the third conful Le Brun, who is appoint¬
ed adjutant to general St, Cyr, has like-
wife repaired.

Bofion , O Bober 2§. The fever has dif-
appeared at Philadelphia. We are'forry
we have not as agreeable information to
communicate from New York : on the
20th inft. there were fix deaths, and zz
new cafes ; 1 1 fi, ten deaths, and 1 1 new
cafes.

Alexandria , Oflober 28. The health
officer announced, on the 19th inft. the
rapid decline of the fever in that city.
The number of deaths in the preceding
forry-e’ght hours does not, he fays. Stand
in oppofition to this Statement.

Venice, November 8. ft appears proba¬
ble that the duchies of Parma arid Pia-

Foreign News.

Centia, inftead of being ceded to Etruria,
will be incorporated with ci-devant Pied¬
mont. Two F:ench commiffaries are
at Parma, employed in dividing the
country into two departments. Some
di ft ridls from the department of Maren¬
go, included in the Parmefan, will be
annexed to the new departments. .

Frontiers of Ruffia, November 12. On
the 2d inft. an imperial ukafe was pub-
lilhed here, ordering a recruiting of from
30 to 40,000 men, which will begin on
the 27th inft. and be completed in two
months. It is only for the cuftomary
completion of the army, and is no indi¬
cation of warlike meafures.

Hague, Nov. 16. General Victor vef-
terday informed the directory, that with¬
in 24 hours, he muft have 500.000
florins, on account of the pay due to
the French troops encamped between
Utrecht and Amersford, and in North
Holland ; and that if the money was not
paid before 1 1 o’clock this day, he would
Order the troops to march to Amfierdam,
there to pay themfelves in the bank.
Couriers were immediately difpatched
toAmfterdam and Rotterdam; and feveral
rich Jews, and other wealthy individuals,
were invited to wait upon our minifter
of finance, to confu’t about railing the
money. Much anxiety and doubt 'pre¬
vailed, At length, at two o'clock this
morning, 350,000 fiorins were procured,
as report favs, at an intereft of nearly 25
per certf. which, with the 150 000 flo¬
rins in the national treafury, made up the
furn demanded by Bonaparte’s armed
proconlul. — Four waggons loaded with
this money, or,, as fome think, with on¬
ly a part of it, went away this morning,
at ten o’clock, und'er the efcort of a
party of French huffdrs.' They took the
road for Utrecht.

29. Since rear-admiral Verhuel had
a conference with our directory, the
preparations for the expedition againft:
England have been extraordinarily haft-
ened, Rear-admiral Verhuel will com¬
mand .the F rench Batavian fleet which is
afleiiybled at Flulhing.

An Englifh Hoop, with 13 men, which
approached too near the batteries and
works on the coaft of Zealand, has fallen
into our hands. She belonged to the
Crefceut, of 20 guns, and had been f nt
to reconnoitre the coaft. The Englifh,

who were brought into Flulhing,- lament¬
ed efpecially being made prifoners at
fuch a time, as they were deprived of
the honour of affifting in the defence of
their country.

Vienna , Nov. 30. In confequence of ad*
vice received here, that the Auftrian gar¬
rifon, in the fortrefs of Oberhaus, nearPaf-
fau,hadbeenexpelledbyaBavarian detach¬
ment of fuperior force, hi.s imperial ma-
jefty. on the 28 th inft. iflued orders for
the troops on the Bavarian frontiers,
together with .others from Bohemia and
Auftria, amounting to 12,000 cavalry,
and 27 battalions of infantry; to advance
upon thofe frontiers. Thefe troops, of
which 1 5 regiments of infantry, and two
of cavalry, will fir ft break up, will be
divided into two corps, one of which
will be formed in Bohemia, under field-
marlhal lieutenant prince John of Lich-
tenftein, and the other in Upper Auftria,
under field-marftial lieutenant the prince
of Schwarzenberg.

The above generals have already fee
out for the- places of their deftinatioh.
From the garrifon of this city the infan-
try regiments of the elector of Salfburg
and Kerpen, and the cavalry regiment
of the hereditary prince Ferdinand,
have been ordered to march. Different
regiments in Hungary have at the fame
time received orders to fupply the place
of the garrifon here and other ftations. 1

In the mean time a courier- has been
fent off by our court to Munich; the
Bavarian envoy is ftil'l at Vienna, and
the Auftrian envoy is not yet recalled
from Munich.

According to fome accounts, a Ruffian
corps of troops is affembling in ci-devant
Poland, near VVilner and Grodeno.

Haeriem, Del. z. The reports of the
mortality of the dtfeafe which has broken
out in Ameland are much . exaggerat¬
ed. Neither is there any reafon to be¬
lieve that it was imported in afliipfrom,
Malaga.

Letters from Btuffels, of the ift, ftate
that the preparations for the expedition,
aeainft England continue w th the ut-
moft vigour. At Ofteod an embargo
had been laid on all national merchant
lhips* The fourth divtfion of armed
boats is arrived at Dunkirk, and only
waits a favourable wind to proceed to
Boulogne.

4Qo

[ 668 3

HOME NEWS.

Mauijlone. , Nov. i 5 .
ESTERDAY the Maidftone volun¬
teers entered on permanent duty
for a fortnight at our barracks, and
relieved the regulars there ; — the rifle
company take a part of the faid duty.
Amongft the bodiesof volunteers deftined
to permanent duty, for the fame period,
in this part of the county, the Holmes-
dale, commanded by lord Whitworth,
aje expedied here next Monday : the
Rochdfrer, it is faid, will go to Dover
caflle, and the Cranbrook to Chatham
barracks,.

Temporary barracks are now pre¬
paring, in the refpedtive wareboufes,
or* the wharfs in this town, for the re¬
ception of twelve or thirteen hundred
men, which are already in great for¬
ward nefs for their accommodation dur-
ing the winter months.

The river Medway fencibles have re¬
ceived orders to embark for fervice on
board the iliips now fitting out at Cha¬
tham.

Bantry> Dec. 4. Several engineer of¬
ficers have arrived here, who have made
a minute furvey of ground along the
Ihore of this harbour ; and we underftand
they have fixed upon feveral very com¬
manding fpots, upon which ftrong works
are to be thrown up. The precife defcrip-
tion of what is intended, we cannot at
prefent communicate j we merely know
that works of defence are to be under¬
taken as expeditioufly as pdfible, al¬
though we regret that the diftant period
of their completion cannot afford us
protection againft any immediate attack.
They cannot be ready fooner fix months.
Our hopes of protection, however, are
not feeble, when we recqlledt that we
have a ftrong fqpadron fo immediately
at hand. Accounts this day received
frein the mouth of the bay ftate, that
the following fhips of war were then
at anchor in Beerhaven, viz. the North¬
umberland, 74 ; Magnificent, 74 j Gan¬
ges, 75 ; Majeftic, 74 j and the Thun¬
derer, 74. Admiral SirR, Calder was

hourly expelled to arrive in the Brines
of Wales, with the Britannia, Gojiah,
Defiance, and Piantagenet.

London, Dec. 7. The Jamaica mail
which arrived on Sunday, in 44 days
from that place, has brought papers
to the eighth of O&ober inclufive. Part
of the intelligence contained in them,
is, we are forry to fay, of an unfavourable
nature. A plot had been formed to fet
fire to the town of Kingfton on the night
of the third of October. Happily, how.
ever, it was difeovered, and the fire
extinguifhed foon after it was kindled.

The local government of Jamaica
has refolved to prevent in future the in-
tercourfe between the miffionaries fent
thither from Britain and the negroes,
Mr. Campbell, who arrived in a late
packet from Jamaica, has been impri¬
soned fome weeks for repeatedly perfift-
ing to preach to them, and liberated on
condition of his quitting the iftand.
Mr. Fifch, another miffionary, was in
prifon when he left it. The utmoft
precaution prevails among the white in¬
habitants of that colony, who feem to
entertain apprehenfions of the negroes
revolting, and introducing thofe horrors
which have fo long raged in the neigh¬
bouring ifland of St. D< mingo.

8. Capt. Sutton, of the Prince of
Wales packet, who was detained at
Calais at the commencement of the war,
has had the good fortune to efeape out
of the clutches of the french. About
a menth ago, the captain, difguifed as
a French peafant, quitted Valenciennes,
having procured a paffport by bribing
the municipal officers. Capt. Sateen
alfo took care, before his departure, to
furnifh himlcli with a. guide. They
travelled on foot, only in the night, and
palled on to the Rhine, without meeting
any obftacles or remarkable occurrences
in their way. Here Capt. Sutton’s pea¬
fant s garb and pafiport proved of efien-
tial fervice,, by obtaining him a paffiige
over q$e of the bridges on the Rhine.
The guards, who examine all palferger?

Home Hews.

they go over, aiked him feveral quef-
tions, to which he was able to give fa-
tisfavffory anfwers, being well vcrfed in
the French language. Capt. Sutton left
his guide on quitting the French terri¬
tory, and travelled alone by poft to
Embden, where he embarked in a hoy,
and landed at Yarmouth a few days
ago.

9. Mr. Aftley, with a munificence
which accords well with his diftinguith-
ed acquirements, has lately purchafed
and prefented to the Britilh Mufeum a
feleflion of letters, feventy-four in
number, all in the hand-writing of
Henry IV. of France, addrefled to his
chancellor, M. De Belliquiere. They
are aim oft the only reliques of the re¬
cord-room in theBaftile.

10. As Mils Knipe, of Briftol,* was
fitting reading near the fire, a fulphu-
reous e©al flew upon her muflin drefs,
whi ch inftantaneoufly fet her in a blaze :
fhe had the prefence of mind to ring
the bell, which the lervant immediately
anfwered ; and finding his miftrefs in
flames, he took the rug from the hearth,
and folded it round her, which happily
had the defired effcft to extinguifh the
flames, though not until it had I* dread¬
fully fcorched her, as to render her re¬
covery doubtful.

12. On Saturday morning the Bloomf-
bury and inns of Court afiociation muf-
tered in the Foundling-yard, for the
purpofe of inarching to have a field-day
and iham fight : they commenced their
maneeuvres in the fields near Pancrafs.

The fight commenced at that place,
and continued acrofs the fields to thofe
between Hampftead and Highgate, dur¬
ing which numbers fell into the ditches.
Thofe upon the ftcirmilhing party an¬
noyed the main body extremely, and,
when they were near Hampftead, the
main body received orders to fire a vol¬
ley upon the fkirmifhing party; bui the
muikets and powder were rendered
fo completely ufelefs by the mediant
fall of rain, that, on the word of com¬
mand to fire being given, not one mu-
fket went off. The unfavourablenels of
the weather did not deter any of the

corps from perlevering in their objedt
with as much zeal as if they had been
purfuingthe common enemy, or had been
inured to the greateft hardlhips in the
field of battle. The fight continued till
paft three o’clock without any ceffation.

GG<)

A banker’s clerk, in the neighbour¬
hood of the Royal Exchange, who ab-
fconded a few days itnee with notes to
the amount of between four and five
thoufand pounds, and for whofe appre-
henfion one hundred and fifty pounds
have been offered, was apprehended on
Thurfday at Margate. He was traced
from London by means of having taken
a poft-chaife at Mr. Gardiner’s livery
ftables in Windmill- ftreet, and where
he left a paper parcel drredfed to his fa¬
ther, which on examination proved to
contain the whole of the property, ex¬
cept about 70I. which was found upon
him. fie is only about 15 years old,
and he was unable to give any account
of his rafh conduft, except that be
purchafed a ring, and was unable to
make up his accounts by about a guinea,
nor had he any fixed plan where he
fliould go.

On Friday morning, about half after
eleven o’clock, J. Redhead, the brandy-
merchant, lately convifted of defraud¬
ing the revenue, was brought out of
Newgate, and conveyed in a hackney-
coach, under a proper efcort, to the
Royal Exchange, to undergo the fe-n-
tence of the law. The platform ' was
erefled oppofite the principal gare of
the Royal Exchange. On afeending the
fteps, he bowed to the flieriffs, and
fevera! times to the populace. After
being exhibited in the ufual manner for
an hour, he was taken down, and re-
conducled to his appartments, on the
ftate fide of Newgate, to undergo the
remainder of the (entence, viz. two
years’ imprifonment. The fpe<ftators
were very numerous, but no attempt
was made to moleft the offender.

19. An alarming fire broke out late
on iriday night at a green-grocer’s
fliop in the Borough, which, from the
prompt and ready attendance of the
volunteers, turncocks, and firemen, was
got under, after confumirig the furni¬
ture on the firft floor. It unfortunately
happened that a carelefs girl went to
put a young child to bed, and In fo do¬
ing fet the curtains on fire: the blaze
alarmed her, and, in place of taking the
poor infant out of the power of the
mercilcfs element, ihe ran down flairs,
flirieking hideoufly, leaving the door
open ; when the outer door was opened,
feme perfons rufhed in ; when one, at
the hazard' of his life, darted through.

670

Home News.

the flames, and brought the child out of
the bed* but it was unfortunately fo
dreadfully burnt, particularly about the
head and face, that its death, which took
place at feven the next morning, was
an event rather to be wiffied than la¬
mented.

20. On Sunday, about twelve o’clock,
Elfi Bey, accompanied by lord Biantyre,
and col. Moore, and attended by his in¬
terpreter and a fuite of Mamelukes,
arrived at the Cattle inn, at Windfor,
where he was foon after met by general
Stuart, when the whole party proceeded
to the palace, where they continued for
feme time to view the apartments.
After divine fervice, the king, queen,
princeffes, and duke of Cambridge,
came alio into the cattle, and proceeded
to the armoury, where they met the
Bey, who w&s prefented to their majef¬
ties by general Stuart. The Mame¬
luke chieftain made a bend of low re-
rpedtful lalutation, and was received by
their majefties in a meft gracious man¬
lier. Both the king and queen con¬
vened long with him ; complimented
him. upon the gallantry of himfelf and
his party, in their frequent dtfcomfi-
tures of the French troops during their
late invafion of Egypt ; and acknow¬
ledged their fervices to the Englifh ar¬
mies, in the glorious expuivion of the
enemy from that country. His majefty,
we believe, conformably to etiquette,
did not enter with him upon any politi¬
cal objects of his million hither. The
Bey laid, he was proud of exprefling to
their majefties the inviolable attachment
of all his party and adherents in Egypt :
that he came to bear the homage of their
refpett to this nation, which, from its
conquefts, as well as its humanity, they
confidered the greateft in the world :
that the happy deliverance of his coun¬
try, by his majeftyh, brave armies, from
the cruelties and opprellion of the
French, whom they regarded as their
common enemy, would ever be engraved
in the breads of his people ; and that
he ftill hoped that, under his majefty’s
aufpices, its peace and tranquillity would
be finally eftabliffied, for the honour
and glory both of their emperor, the
Sublime Sultan, and themfelves, who,
like a father and his Tons, could have
but one common intereft.

On quittingWindfor, theBey and the
above military officers went to dinner at

lord Hobart’s; at Roehampton, at whle^
were prefent lord Hawkefbury, earl
St. Vincent, Mr. Sullivan, fir Evan
Nepean, and feveral members of admi-
niftration.

Yefterday his excellency paid bis vi-
fit of leave to their royal highneffes the
prince of Wales and the commander in
chief of the forces, and the feveral of¬
ficers of ftate ; and this day he fets out
for Portfmourh, impreffed with every
grarefu! ft ntimentof attachment to this
country, by which he. has been fo kindly
apd liberally received. "^be iUrgo,
which carries him out again to Egypt,
waits his arrival at Portfmouth, and is
to fail at his conveniency.

zi. Yefterday, at noon, the officers
of the Bloomfbury and Inns of Court
affiociation alTembied at their committee-
room, for the purpofe of holding a

court martial on -* - Coats, a drummer,

who was brought from Dover on Friday
laft, under a charge of deferting from
that corps. It w'as proved that he had
been regularly attetted, received pay
from that corps, from which he deferted,
and entered into the 14th regiment of
light dragoons. The decifion will be
reported to the colonel, and from him
to the commander in chief, for his ap¬
probation. The prifoner was efcorted
from the Savoy prifon and back by %
party of the above affiociation.

Dublin , Dee. 12. Yefterday, as the
lady of Mr. James Tandy (confined
inKilmainham gaol on charges of high
treafon), accompanied by an infant child
and a young lady, was returning from
viliting him at that place, in palling the
circular road ffie was fired at by fome
perfon, when a ball entered the front,
and lodged in the back, of the carriage,
fortunately without doing any other
mffichief than (battering the glafs, bv
which the young lady, her companion"*,,
was much injured in the face. It is
difficult to account for the motive tha{[
led to fuch a nefarious attempt.

Water ford , Dec. 15. Within thefe few
nights feveral houfes in the diftridl be¬
tween Caffiel and Fethard, have been
forced and robbed of arms. On the
night of the 4th, the houfe of John
Crehan, of Coliegh, was entered by an
armed banditti, and robbt d of two ftand
of arms, bis watch, apd fome bank-notes*
On the night of the 8th, Robert Price’*
houfe, atColerain, was plundered in the

Births Marriages .

lame way of two ftand of arms j and
the houfe of Denis Ryan, a police-man,
#t Knochinagow, was on the fame night
robbed of a gun, a fvvord, and a cafe of
piftois. The fame gang who robbed
Ryan fearched the houfe of John Neal,
of Meldrum, on the fame night, without
fuccefs. All thefe attacks were made
at an early hour in the evening, when
the families had not fecured their houfes,
or early in the morning, at the moment
the houles were opened. On Sunday
night lad a party of the Mobrrnan vo¬
lunteers apprehended Thomas Herrick,
who is charged with being one of the
party that robbed Crehan, on the night
of the 4th.

The 16th and 46th regiments, at
prefent ftationed in Cork and its neigh-
bourhood,’ are under orders for foreign
fervice : they will be replaced by other
Regiments from England.

BIRTHS.

Nov.' 2z. At Redlynch, Somerfet,
lady Porchefter, of a daughter.

In Hinde-ftreet, Manchefter-fquare,
the lady of Thomas Grimltone Eftcourt,
• of a fon.

28. At Eaft-gate-houfe, Winchefter,
the lady of fir Henry Mildmay, bart.
of a daughter.

Dec. 3. In FitzroyTquare, the lady of
William Hade wood, efq. of a fon.

6. At Ranelagh-placc, Liverpool, the
lady of lieut. -colonel Williams, of a
daughter.

8. At Mount, near Chepftow, the
lady of J. Gerrard, efq. of a fon.

n. At his houfe in York-ftreet, St.
James’s, the lady of gen. Balfour, of a
daughter.

At his houfe, in Bedford-square, the
lady of Henry Lulbington, efq. of a (on.

’ 1 £. The lady of John Stamforth, efq.
M. P. of a fon.

At Woodcote-houfe, Hants, the lady
of col. Cunynghame, of a fon.

In Park-place, St. James’s, the lady
of commiHioner Bowen, of a daughter.

J9. At Carlton, near Norwich, the
hon. Mrs. Petre, of a daughter.

Near Eton college, the lady of capt.
Schomberg, of the royal navy, of a fon.

$o. At his houfe in Hertford-ftreet,
May-fair, the lady of John Dent, efq.
jyl. P of a fon.

At Edinburgh, the lady of colonel
Ainflie, of a fon.

MARRIAGES.

Nov. 21. AtRavenflie, Mr. William
Deans, writer in Stewartpn, to mife
M. Snodgrals, only daughter of the late
.Mr. John Snodgrafs, of Lugt on ridge.

At Stirling, the rev. W. Shaw, mi-
nifter of the gofpel, Ayr, to mifs Janet
Belch, daughter of the late P. Belch, efq.

At Berwick, Mr. Rob. Steven fon.
furgeon, to mils Wrlfon, daughter of
the late Mr. J. Wilfon, ironmonger.

24. At Edinburgh, Mr. J Barland,
Stormantfield, to mifs Betfy Butter-
worth, George-ftreef.

Mr.. D. Buchanan, jun. Mor.trofe, to
mifs Gregory, daughter of the rev. j,
Gregory, Bauchory.

< Dr.J.Paoerfon, phvfician, of Ayr, to
Anne Craufuird, elded daughter of the
late T. Craufuird, efq. of Ardmiilan.

25. At St. George’s, Hanover-fquare,
Mr. T. Lloyd, to mifs Hughes, of
Plumftead.

Mr. H. Winchefter, t>f the Strand, to
mifs Avgrft, of Hawkhurft.

Dec. 1. At Standirt church, Lanca¬
shire, R. Browne, efq. nephew to lord
Frankfort, and iieut.-coh of the 12th
light dragoons, to mifs Clayton, only
daughter of lir Rich. Clayton, of Ad-
lington, bart.

At Hampdead.W. Jones, efq. marshal
of the King’s- bench, to mifs M. A.
Boy dell, lecond daughter of Jofiah Boy-
dell, efq. of Weft-end, Hampftead.

At Stoke, near Plymouth, capt. R.
Ring, of the navy, only fon of admiral
hr R. King, bart. to mifs Duckworth,
only daughter of rear-admiral fir J. t)
Duckworth, K. B.

2. At Catton, • near Norwich, the
hon. F. P. Irby, captain irj the royal
navy, to mifs E. Ives Drake, fecond
daughter of the late W. Drake, efq.
M. P. for Amerlbam, in the countv of
Bucks.

At St. George’s, Hanover-fquare, T.
Walpole, efq to lady M. Percival.

3. At Fetcham, lieut.-col. Darley
Griffith, of the id legiment of foot
guards, to mifs Ilankey, of Fetcham-
park, Surrey.

At St. Catherine Cree, Mr. F. Jack -
fon, of Grocer’s-Hall court, to mifs
Wade, of Lcadenhali-ftreet.

672

Deaths*

6. At '-Barnet, capt. Lewis, of the lion.
Eaft-India Company’s- cavalry, to mifs
R. Willows, of Golden-fquare.

At the Lea, near Rofs, the rev. Mr.
Davies, of T retyre, to mifs Fifher, of
the former place.

At Bermondfey, Surrey, Mr. James
Farrell, to mifs Frances Seymour C rid-
lands, fccond daughter of the late Mr.
H. Cridlands, of Brentford, furgten.

jo. H. F. Cooper, < fq. to mifs Eliz.
Anne Bailey, niece to J. Bailey, efq. of
Isfornev-boule. near Exeter.

13. Capt. J. P. Boys, of Danbury,
Effex, to mils Hartley, of Blackheath,
Kent.

15. F. Whirmarfh, efq. of Lincoln’s-
inn, barrifter, to mifs Powell, only daugh¬
ter of the late Dr. M. Powell, phylician
general to his majefty’s forces in the
ifiand of Jamaica.

1 6. Col. Dtfborough, to mifs Vivion,
daughter of J. Vivion, efq.

At Kingfton, T. Wheeler, efq. of his
majefty’sordnanceat Portfmouth, tomifs
Murrv, daughter of W. Murry, efq.

17. At St. Marv-la- bonne church, J.
Holling'berry, efq. to mifs Charlton, eld-
eft daughter of the late fir J. Charlton,
efq. of Apley-caftle, in the county of
Salop.

At Whitechapel church, J. Smith, of
Prtfcot-ftreet, Goodman’s-nelds, efq. to
iriiL A. Sheldon, of the fame place.

At Manchefter, W. H. Bracebridge,
efq. of the firft regiment of dragoon
guards, to mifs Bracebridge, daughter of
A. Bracebridge, efq. of Atherftone-hall.

At Dorking, Surrey, the rev. S.Hoole,
M. A. minifter of Poplar, and chaplain
to the hon. Eaft-India Company, to mifs
W arneford, eldeft daughter of the late
rev. J. Warneford, of Dorking.

19. Captain Hodges, of the Oxford
militia, to mifs Green, daughter of Edm.
Green, efq. of the I fie of Wight.

At Allhallovvs, Lombard-ftreet, John
Rnbinfon, efq.ef Fore- fireet, Edmonton,
to Mrs. S. Smith, of Gracechurch-ftreet.

DEATHS.

Nov. 25. At his feat in Oxfordfhire,
F. Page, efq. late member of the uni-
verfiry of Oxford.

At Craven-hill Cottage, Mrs. A. M.
Brame, wife of j, S. Braine, of the navy
pay- office.

At WembJey-park, near Harrotv, It.
Page, efq. in the 55th year of his age.

In Great Ormond-ftreet, Mrs. Bulh,
wife of Atkinfon Bulb, efq.

Dec. x. Mr. T. Knapp, many years of
Fleet-ftreet.

Suddenly, at his lodgings in Spring
Gardens, W. Wilcocks, efq.

On his return from Botany Bay, laft
from Manilla, the rev. T. F. Palmer.

At his h#ufe on St. Catherine’s hill,
Norwich, J. B. Burroughes, efq. one of
- the acting magiftrates for that county.

At Chelfea, Mrs. E. Caftleman, wife,
of H. Caftleman, efq. of the Tower of
London.

Mrs. Mouat, wife of Mr. J. Mouat,
of Great Carter-lane, St. Paul’s.

At Berwick, Mr. J. Hartley, aged 88.

In Hatton -garden, the lady of W
Stratford, efq.

On board of the Baring Eaft-India -
man, on his pafiage from Madras, Mr. J.
Whitfield, late ftaff furgeon to his ma-
jefty’s forces.

In Lower Grofvenor-ptace, Pimlico,
J. Gordon, Haliburton, efq.

3. At Dalmahoy, near Edinburgh,
lady Haikett, widow of fir J. Halkett,
of Pitfitane, bart.

Mrs. W. Curtis, only daughter of
Timothy Curtis, efq. of Homefton.

6. At Coedrigian-houfe, near Cardiff,
Mrs. A. Wood, widow of the late Rob.
Wood, efq. of Potney.

7. In Harley-ftreet, Mrs. Rofs, wife
of general Rofs, M. P.

8. At her father’s hoitfe, Ayton, Ber-
wickftiire, mifs E. Fordyce. *

At Edinburgh, T. Pringle, efq. vice-
admiral of the red.

Aftera/fhort illnefs, in York-place,
Kingfland-road, the hon. Mrs. Murray,
only daughter of the late lord J. Murray,
and wife of colonel Murray, of Banner*
crofs, Yoikfhire.

9. At New Barnes, near St. Alban’s,
Mrs. Towgood, wife of M. Tovvgood,
efq.

In the 84th year of his age, colonel
Boardman, late iieut.-col. of the Scotch
Greys.

12. J Summer, efq. of Brompron-cew,
Knighifbridge.

At her houfe, in Seymour place, lady
C. Tiftdn, atfrit to the prelent earl of
Thanet, in the 76th year o* her age.

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TH'E

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THIS NUMBER CONTAINS,

1 The Hermit ofDamafcus; a Tale, 675

2 Defcriptioh of the Land’s End,

Cornwall, . 677

3 On Pride of Anceftry,. . . .678

4 On Profperity and Adverfity. . .679

5 Anecdote of a Gafcon, and the

French Minifter Colbert, . 680

6 The Monks and the Robbers, a Tale,

681

7 The Mother and Daughter, a Tale,

684

8 Chronological Lift of the mod fe¬

rn irkable Events in 1803, . 690

9 Anecdote . 696

10 Jelly Hawthorn, . 697

11 The Victims of War, a Tale,. . ..701

12 The Moral Zoologift,. . . 707

13 College of the Deaf and Dumb at

Paris,. . . . . .711

14 A Review of Drefs and Manners at

the prefent Period, . 712

15 Poetical Essays: — An Elegiac

Tribute of RefpeCt to the Memory of
Mifs W — 11 — ms of Rolls-build-
ings,who died June 1803. Moral
Reflections on a Morning’s Walk late
in October. Arthur and Ann. Falfe
Friendihip. Stanzas, addrefied to
Mifs J. Stuart, of Edinburgh, on
perufing fome q f her elegant Poems,

714—- 716

Index to the ElTays, Letters, and other
Pieces in Profe.

Index to Poetry. -

This Number is embellijhed with the following Copper -fates:

1 The Hermit of Damascus.

2 For the Moral Zoologist — THE KITE.

3 New and elegant Pattern for a Gown or Apron, Arc.

4 MUSIC — The Way of the World: the Words and Mufif by W. Barre.

LONDON :

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Containing, hefides the ufual Variety of interefting, entertaining, and inflxu&ive Articles*

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The HERMIT of DAMASCU Sj 1

* I 1

A TALE.

( With an eleg ,

IN the rich city of Erzerum, in
Armenia, lived the wealthy mer¬
chant Hamel, whofe induftry and
probity had rendered him renowned
and eileemed throughout the Eaftt
His daily increaling commerce
pouredinto his lap unbounded abun¬
dance, and his liberal hand and open
heart freely bellowed on the indigent
and unfortunate the means of flip-
plying their wants, and, as far as
was in his power, of foothing their
fufferings.

In a journey which he made with
a rich caravan through the deiert, in
bis way to Egypt, accompanied by
his wife Selma, and his daughter
Zulpha, then very young, a de-
fperate troop of wandering Arabs
attacked the caravan, and plundered
it of the moll valuable merchandise
which it carried; at the fame time
treating with great feverity and
cruelty the merchants and attendants,
many of whom they murdeied,
though they attempted no refi fiance,
convinced that it mull be ineffectual.
One of the barbarous horde feized
the young and tender Zulpha, and
bore heraway with him on his hot fe,
in defpite of all the lamentations
and entreaties of her afflicted pa¬
rents.

nt Engraving.)

Deprived thus, at one blow, of
his daughter and the greater part of
his wealth, the aged and dillrefled
Hamel was plunged into thedeepeffc
affli£lion, ' which was foon flill mare
aggravated by the death of his wife
Selma, who Tank into the grave not
not long after, the viaim of grief
forthelofs of her daughter, of whom
they could obtain no intelligence by
any enquiries.

Hamel, thus overwhelmed by the
refiltlefs tide of calamity, refolved
to retire from the world, in which he
had experienced fo cruel a revqrfe
of fortune. To the precepts £nd
doarines of religion he had ever
been attentive with fincerity and
fimplicity ; and it now appeared to
him that fuch fevere misfortunes
could only be permitted to fall on
him as a punifhment foi his fins.
He refolved therefore to inflift on
himfelf that voluntary mortification
which he conceived acceptable to
Heaven. He forfook for ever the
place of his former refidence, and
took up his* habitation in a cave, in
the vicinity of Damafcus,. where
he lived on herbs and fruits, prac-
tifing in the moll rigid manner all
the liu derides which his millaken
faith taught him to believe would be

- *R-2

676

The Hermit of Damafcus -

accepted as an atonement for his
tranfgreffions. The inhabitants of
the neighbouring villages aijd cities
admired his rigid abftinence. and the
fufFenrvgs Which, by way or penance,
he infliCted on himfelf. 'I he fanc-
tity of the hermit of Damufcus was
extolled throughout the country ;
while credulous votaries fancied, or
feigned, that their bodily infirmities
were healed on vifiting his cell, and
obtaining his prayers, and perfuaded
themfelves and: him that he was the
favoured infirument of Heaven for
bellowing, by miraculous powers de¬
legated to him, its beneficence on
mankind.

In the mean time the Arab who
had carried off Zulpba had fold his
prize to fome merchants on the far¬
ther fide oi the defert. who had a?ain
difpofed of her in jPerfia. in afew
years her beauty began to unfold it-
lelf, and her underftanding, her wit,
and the amiable dilpofitions of her
mind, to become confpicuous. The
merchant, whole property file was,
traded to India, and in one of his
journeys into that country tookZulpha
with him, in the expectation that he
might obtain a great price lor her
from lome of the wealthy princes of
the Hindoos. As he palled hv Goa,
Ramirez, a young Portuguele, who
had fpeedily acquired in that country
a prodigious fortune, faw Zulpha,
admired her charms and' manner,
and at length was fo far captivated,
that he paid the merchant who
brought her the extravagant fum he
demanded, and thus releaied her
from ilavery.

When he had introduced her into
his houfe, he imagined that he had
procured a mill refs who would eafily
accede to his amorous lolicitations ;
but Zulpha. informed him that,
though torn from her parents at an
early age, file could yet recollect that
they were Chrittians ; nor had fhe
forgotten fome of the principles they
had endeavoured to infill into her.
She was fenfible of the duties and

dignity of her fex ; and, nofwith-
ftanding the education that it had been
endeavoured to give her, fhe had at
all times firmly refolved to fu'bmit to
death ratlfer than to what file efieem-
ed difhonour.

Ramirez was afionifiied : he, at
firfi, conceived this to be affe&ation,
or female artifice ; but the conftancy
and courage of Zulpha, and a further
acquaintance with her real character,
convinced him, that file fpok‘e the
language dictated by the exalted fen-
timents of her heart. Her virtue
gave a new lufire, in his eyes, to her
beauty, and infpired him with the
fincereft, pureft, and tendered affec¬
tion, which, to his inexprellible de¬
light, he found her return with an
equal, though medefi, and indeferiba-
bly delicate ardour. They were mar¬
ried, and lived for fome time at Goa,
in the full enjoyment of conjugal
happinefs.

Alter fome time the affairs of
Ramirez calling him to Europe, he
together with Zulpha, who was un¬
willing to be left alone till his return,
undertook a journey to Aleppo,
where he had like wife bufinefs,
intending thence to proceed to
Scandcroon, where they would
embark for Portugal. They tra¬
velled acrofs the defert of Syria
with a caravan going to Damafcus,
and when arrived at that city re¬
mained there lome days to refrefli
themfelves after the 'fatigues of
their journey. One day walking
out together in the environs of
the city, they met a venerable old
man with hair and beard as white
as fnow. He was the hermit of
Damafcus. They entered into
difeourfe with him, and found him
modeft and intelligent. Ramirez
related to him the principal adven¬
tures of Zulpha that fhe was
the daughter of a rich Armenian
merchant, and had been carried otf
by tne Arabs when very young j
but that no enquiries which they
could make had been of any avail

Defcripiion of the Land's End , Cornwall .

for the difcovery of her parents.
The old man lifteried with trem¬
bling aftoni fliment. He eagerly
afked Zulpha a variety of queftions,
and at length exclaimed* ; She is,
fhe muft be, niv daughter !’ ‘ My
father!’ cried Zulpha, fainting in
his arms, while Ramirez Rood
transfixed with aftonilhment at this
extraordinary difcovery.

When Zulpha had recovered,
and feelings lefs violent, though
ecftatically joy fu 1, had fucceeded,
the venerable Hamel refolved to
quit his retreat, re-enter the w'orld,
and participate in the innocent
enjoyments it affords. He con-
fidered this aftonifhing refforation
of his daughter to his arms as an
intimation from Heaven that his
mortifications and penance were
accepted, and might now be ter¬
minated ; and he befides believed
that if by his aid and advice he
could be ufeful to his children, it
would be a good work much to
be preferred to his former folitary
piety.

Zulpha having thus found her
father, remained with him at Da-
mafcus till the return of Ramirez
from Europe, when they paffed
together the remainder of their lives
in uninterrupted happinefs.

Description of the Land’s End,
Corn wall.

'T’he Land’s End is the moft
wefterly promontory in England,
and, when contemplated with all its
adjun&s, cannot fail of awakening
the united lenfations of awe, terror,
and admiration, even in the mofr
placid bofom. The huge and ragged
rocks, forming a barrier to the
tumultuous fea ; the imrr.enfe ex-
panfe of waters; the ceafelefs roar
of the waves ; the conhantlv change¬
ful effects of light and fhade playing

677

on the fiirface of the deep j the
gliding veffels failing in all direc¬
tions ; the various aquatic birds
wildly fcrtaming at the fight of man,
or purfuing their inhin&ive propen-
fities on the lurface of the howling
billows; — all combine on this fpot,
to rivet the attention of the mind’
and fill it with emotions of aftonifhl
ment at the fublimity of the pro-
lpea. Juflly has the Corni fli poet*
charaftenfed the Rene in the fol¬
lowing lines :

‘ ON THE SEA.

* The fun-beams tremble; and the purpfe

hght

Illumes the dark Bolerium, feat of ftorms !
High are his granite rocks • his frowning
brow

Hangs o’er the fmiling ocean. In his caves
rI h’ Atlantic breezes murmur ; in his caves.
Where fleep the haggard ipirits of the ftorm.
Wild, dreary are the fchiftine rocks around.
Encircled by the wave, open to the breeze.
The haggard cormorant Ihrieks ; and far
beyond,

Where the great ocean mingles with the
iky,

Are feen the cloud-like iflandsf, grey
with mi ft.

H. Davy.

The point named the Land’s End,
was called by Ptolemy, Bolerium;
by the Britifh bards, Penringhuaed,
or the Promontory of Blood ; and
by their hiftorians, Penwith, or
the Promontry to the Left. Near
this craggy cliff are three caverns, in
which the agitated waters occafion-
ally roar with tremendous fury ;
and feveral maffes of rotks arc
feen above the fin face of the fea
for above two miles weft of the
Land’s End. Thefe are called the
Long Ships: and, from the danger¬
ous lituation of this coaff, a tight-
houfe was erected on the large ft of
thefe rocks in the year 1707, by a
Mr. Smith, who obtained a grant
from the Trinity-home for that

* Mr. Davy, the learned and feientific
lecturer at the Royal Inftitution.

f The Seilly I Hands may be feen in clear
weather from the Land’s End,

Gn Pride of Anceftry.

678

jmrpole, and who is rewarded by a
certain rate on all fhips that pafs
the Land’s End.,

Among the Hill cattles, or forti¬
fications, in this dittridt, thofe of
Cattle Chan,, and Cattle An-Dinaz,
are muniments of fingular curiofity.
Dr. Borlafe contends that all the
cattles- weft of Penzance were con¬
firmed by the Danes; but this
opinion is confuted by Mr. King,
in the fir ft volume of his Muni¬
ment a Antiqua, where he ftates,
that many fortreffes of a fimilar
con ttrudfion remain in Wales,, in
Scotland, and in parts where the
Danes never had accefs. Befides,
if the (filiation and character of
the above-named are examined,
there can be no hefitation in at¬
tributing them to British origin.
The remains of Chun Cattle occupy
the whole area of a hill, command¬
ing an extenfive traft of country to
the eaft, fome low grounds to the
north and fouth. and the ocean to the
weft. It confitts of two walls, or
rather piled heaps of ftones, one
within the other, having a vallum,
of kind of terrace, between them.
This terrace is divided with four
walls ; and towards the weft-fouth-
weft is the only entrance to the
cattle, called the Iron Gateway.
This turns to the left, and is flanked
with a wall on each fide, to fecure
the ingrefs and egrefs of the inhabi¬
tants. The outer wall meafures
above five feet in thicknefs; but on
she left of the entrance it is twelve
feet: vr hi' lft the inner wall may be
eftimated at about ten feet; but,
from the ruinous confufion of the
fiones, it is impoflible to afcertain
this decidedly. The area inclofed
within the latter meafures about
1P5 feet in diameter, and contains
a choaked-up well, and the ruined
foundations of feveral circular *

* '1 h" plan in BoriaiVs Antiquities fallcty
reptefenta the dmfions as fquare.

tenements, or habitations. Theft?
are connected to the inner wall, and
run parallel all round it, leaving an
open fpace in the centre. The
prefent ftate of thefe ruins demon-
ftrates that it was conftrudfed at a
period before any rules of architec¬
ture were adopted in military build¬
ings ; for there appear no fpccimenS
of mortar, no door-pofts, nor fire¬
places with chimneys; and had any
of thofe ever been ufed in this
fingular and rude fortrefs, it is
exceedingly improbable but that
fome traces might be now dicoveied
amidfi: its vaft ruins.

On PRIDE of ANCESTRY.

(By Mr. Gibbon , tie late celebrated Hijlorian .)

A lively defire of knowing and
recording our anceftors io

generally prevails, that it muftaepend
on the influence of fome common
principle in the minds of men. We
leem to have lived in the perfons of
our forefathers: it is the labour and
reward of vanity to extend the term
of this ideal longevity. Our imagi¬
nation is always aftive to enlarge
the narrow circle in which nature
has confined us. Fifty or a hundred
years may be allotted to an in¬
dividual, but we ftep forward
beyond death with fuch hopes as
religion and philofophy will (uggeft;
and we fill up the fiknt vacancy
that precedes our birth by afibciating
ourfelves to the authors of our ex>fi>
ance. Our calmer judgment will
rather tend to moderate than to
fupprefs the pride of an ancient and
worthy race. The fatirift may
laugh, the philofopher may preach,
but reafon herfelf will refpedt tee
prejudices and habits which have
been confecrated to the experience
o*f mankind.

Prof per iff and Adverfity .

Wherever the diftincftion of
birth is allowed to form a fuperior
order in the ftate, education and
example fhould always, and will
often, produce among them a dig¬
nity of fentiment and propriety
of conduit, which is guarded
from difhonour by their own and
the public efteem. If we read of
fome illuftrious line, fo ancient that
it has no beginning, fo worthy that
it ought to have no end, we fym-
pathife in its various fortunes ;
nor can we blame the generous
enthufiafrii, or even the harmlefs
vanity, of thofe who are allied to
the honours of its name. For my
own part, could I draw mv pedigree
from a genera!, a ftatefman, or a
celebrated author, I fhould ftudy
their lives with the diligence of
filial love. In the inveftigation of
paft events, our curiofity is ftimu-
lated by the immediate or indirect
reference to ourfelves; but in the
edim2te of honour we fhould learn
to value the gifts of nature above
thofe of fortune; to efteem in our
anceftors the qualities which beft
promote the intereds of fociety ; and
to pronounce the defcendant of a
king lefs truly noble than the off-
fpring of a man of genius whofe
writing will inftruit or delight the
fated: poderity. The family of
Confucius is, in my opinion, the
mod: illuftrious in the world. After
a painful afcent of eight or ten
centuries, our barons and princes
of Europe are loft in the darknefs
of the middle ages ; but in the vaft
equality of the empire of China,
thepofterity of Confucius have
maintained, above two thoufand
two hundred years, their peaceful
honours and perpetual fuccelfion.
The chief of the family is ftill
revered* by the fovereign and the
people, as the lively image of the
wifeft of mankind. The nobility
of the Spencers has been iiluftrated
2nd enriched by the trophies o f

Marlborough ; but I exhort them
to co odder the Fairy Queen as the
mod precious jewel of their coronet.
I have expofed my private feelings,
as I diall always do without fcruple
or referve. That thefe fentiment*
are juft, or at ieaft natural, I am
inclined to believe, dnce i do not
feel myfelf interefted in the caufe;
for I can derive from my anceftors
neither glory nor diame.

On Prosperity and Adversity,

* Blits ! fublunary blifi ! — proud words, anl
vain !

Implicit treason to divine decree !

A bold invafion of the rights of Heaven !—

I elafp’d the phantoms, and I found them air.*

Young,

IT ow many foever the ills and mif-
A A chances of life are — how many
bitter draughts we fwallow, for row
after forrow, or trouble after trou¬
ble — all the whole compound is
fummed up in this one fu bftance,
viz. that we mud: look forward to a
better and happier ftate, where pain
and forrow flee away.

Oh howpieafing, in the courfe of
life, does the fun -{bine of profperity
feem to us ! — the attainment of all
our wifliesl Pleafure, fortune, all
attend us in the giddy vortex of pro¬
fperity. On the contrary, how mife-
rable are vve to And this iiluflve va¬
pour vanilh ! Adverfity, with a l
its horrid train of fubl unary rnifery,
quickly appears to us : what a
wretched phantom in the eyes of
profperity! But happy is the man
who can meet profperity with a
frown, and adverfity with a fume :
in the latter we live in a date of
experied difl'olution, and in the for¬
mer we can but live in the lame
ftate.

Yet how often do the intoxica¬
tions of profperity wear a wav ail
thoughts of future happinefs or mi-

680 Anecdote of a Gafcon and ijhe French Minifter Colbert .

fery ! Elevated to the height of plea-
fures, man follows on his courfe of
luxury and lafcivious appetites,
without once gleaning a thought of
iris future and everlafting welfare —
without once reflecting on the incum¬
bent duties required of him in this
life, or even regarding the decay of
his feeble and tranfient frame. Well
rnay we lay, with St. Paul —

4 It is good for man to be afflicted,
to know how to be abafed, and how
to abound/

Robert Berry.

Qthbcr 10.

Anecdote of a Gascon and the
French Minister Colbert.

/-^Gilbert, beyond a doubt, was
one of the greateft minifters
France ever polfelfed. A Gafcon
officer having obtained a gratification
©f a hundred and fifty piftoles from
Xtouis XIV. in lb'80, went in fearch
©f Colbert, that the fum might be
paid. The minifter was at dinner
with three or four nobles ; and the
Gafcon, without introduction, enter¬
ed the dining-room, with that effron¬
tery which the air of the Garontie
(a river of his native province) in¬
spires, and with an accent that did
not belie his country. Approaching
the table, he alked aloud —

4 Gentlemen, with permifiion,
pray which of you is Colbert ?’

4 I am that perfon/ faid the mi¬
nifter ; 4 what is it you require ?’

4 Oh, no great affair,’ faid the
other : 4 a trifling order of his ma-

jefty, to pay me five hundred
crowns/

Colbert, who was in a humour to
amufe himfelf, defired the Gafcon to
take a feat at table, ordered him a
cover, and promifed to expedite his
bufinefs after dinner.

The Gafcon accepted the offer
without the leaf! ceremony, and eat
inordinately. Having dined, the
minifter lent for one of his fecreta-
ries, who took the officer to the trea-

furv.

Here a hundred piftoles were
counted and given him ; on which
he obferved, that the fum was a hun¬
dred and fifty.

4 True,’ replied the fecretary,
f but fifty are retained for your din¬
ner/ /

4 Fifty V replied the Gafcon, ‘fifty
piftoles for a dinner ! Where I dine
I pay but twenty fous/

‘ That I can very well believe/
replied the fecretary ; 4 but you do
not dine with the minifter Colbert,,
and that is the honour for which you
mull pay/

4 Oh very well/ replied the Gafcon,
‘ fince that is the cafe, keep the
whole ; it is not worth my while
to accept a hundred piftoles ; I will
bring one of my friends to-morrow,
and we will eat up the remainder/

This difcoujfe was repeated to
Colbert, who admired the gafeon-
ade, and ordered the full fum to the
officer. In all probability this was
his whole wealth; but Colbert after¬
wards did him many good offices.
The ftory was told to Louis XIV.
and it was allowed that none but a
Gafcon was capable of fuen an act-

681

The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tale.

The MONKS and the ROBBER S ;

A TALE.

( Continued from page 5 1 5 .)

T?nraged at his difappointment,

the ferocious Sanguigtio, with
many bitter imprecations on the fu¬
gitives, declared they fhould not
efcape fo eafily, and with that pro-
pofed an immediate fearch of the
caves beyond. His comrades ea¬
gerly feconded the propofal, and
the matter was foon determined.
Torches were immediately lighted.

. The robbers, whom they had left in
the dell with the horfes, were now
brought into the garrifon ; the horfes
were conveyed to the flables, which
was a large cavern adjoining, and
the men joined their comrades.
The whole troop then proceeded
down the paffage which the runaways
had taken ; but no traces of them,Nor
of any human bei ng, were perceivable.
With no more fuccefs they paffrd
through another paffage ; and now,
turning an angle in a lofty and capa¬
cious cavern, difcovered a chafm in
its rugged fide which led into the
open air. Through this chafm they
pa(Ted immediately, and found them-
felves in the rrridfl: of craggy and
almoft perpendicular rocks which
rofs to a great height on either fide,
broke above where they flood into
many deep fitfures, and covered with
thick bullies. Along the paffage
‘that lav between thefe lofty rocks
they dffcerned, at fcattered dillances,
the marks of human feet; and, no¬
thing doubting but that they were
made by the fugitives, they deter¬
mined to trace them.

Up a fteep and rugged acclivity,
between high and craggy cliffs that
in many parts overhung the path
beneath, they followed the dire&ion
of the footfleps ; but ftill without
difcovering any other marks of the
neighbourhood of man: and now
the way began to defcend as much
Vcl. XXXIV.

and as deep and rugged as it rofe
before. Down this 'declivity they
quickly palled, and entered a nar¬
row dingle deeply funk between
rocks, which rofe on either fide in
dark precipices and overhanging
cliffs. At one end a vafl and lofty
rock projected its bold and rugged
front, here and there covered with^a
few half-withered trees which hung
from the crevices down its craggy
furface ; and at the other appeared
an opening through which was feen
a dark mafs of mountains extending
as far as the eye could reach; and
riling far above the trees that were
thickly fpread at the opening.—
Croffing to the oppofite fide, the
robbers traced the footfleps, and then
loft fight of them among fome bufhes
which grew upon projecting crags
and upon the fide of the rock. —
They examined round the fpor,
and difcovered, behind the bullies
which concealed it from immediate
obfervation, the mouth of a cave.
They puflied forward, and were
about to enter it, when a diflant
found of horfes neighing broke the
dead filence of the place. They
liftened, and a confufed murmuring
of men’s voices reached their ears.
Their attention was inflantly direct¬
ed towards the fpor. from whence it
feemed to proceed, and they beheld
a flrong glare of light gleaming
through the trees at the opening of
the dingle. Startled at this, the
prior immediately hurried the troop
into the cave ; charging them to
conceal their torches, and not to flir
on any account ; while himfelf and
Fidele, with a view of examining
thefe vifitors unfeen, lurked behind
the bullies, and advanced towards
the light, which now feemed fall ap¬
proaching, and the figures of men
palling between the trees were plainly
difcernible. In a minute after, a
numerous party of men, armed and
bearing torches, emerged on the
more open part of the dingle, and,
4 S

6 80

The Monks and the Robbers : a Tale .

proceeding forward, made a Hop
nearly opposite to the cave where the
bancjrti lay concealed. The prior
and Fideie, not a little alarmed at
this procedure, approached as near
to them as they could without beino-
feen, and took their Ration behind a
duller of trees, clofe to the fpot
where they had haired, to watch the
^notions, and to difcover what had
brought tbefe flrangers. Four of
them, who feemed of fuperior rank,
were conferring together at a little
diftance from the reft, and to them
the prior and Fideie liftened with
the urrnoft attention 3 but they
fpoke, for fome time, in fo low a
tone that they could only now and
then catch a word diftin&Iy. At
length, however, they {poke more
audibly; and the iifteners heard one
lay —

c?Tis ftrange he comes not! —
’T is paft the hour he appointed.
Belike thefe knaves are come, and
he has fallen a. victim to their re¬
venge. Would he had gone with
ns !’

f We’ll wait a fhort time,’ faid
another ; 4 and then, if he conies
not, we ’ll endeavour to find our way
to him ; but -which that way is I
know not.’

f It was from yon cave,’ cried a
third, pointing to that where the
troop was hid, 4 he led us yefter-
morning ; and by that cave it was he
brought me to you the night’-—-—

He was prevented from proceed¬
ing by the fudden appearance of a
man, followed by two others, whole
garb and ftern vifages might give
ftrong fufpicion of their belonging
to the worthy fraternity of cut¬
throats. Thefe men had been feen,
while the Grangers were difcourftng,
by the prior and Fideie, as they hap¬
pened to raft their eyes towards the
declivity by which they had de¬
scended into the dingle, and which
Was direCtly opposite to where thev
now flood, but at fume diftance from

it. The moon (Inning with extreme
brightnefs, and full upon the fteep
declivity, had given them light to
catch a glimpfe of thefe men as they
fkulked, apparently apprehenfive —
like themfelves — of being feen,
down the rugged defeent into the
dingle ; and there they inftantly loft
light of them among the trees which
grew around that fpot : but it was
not many minutes after when they
beheld the felf-fame men advance
from a thicket clofe to where the
ft rangers flood. The foremoft of
the th ree accofled them writh much
refpeCt, and the liiteners immediate¬
ly fet him down as the man they had
been expediting: but they foon found
themfelves miftaken 5 for one of the
four flrangers, having enquired after
fome one by the ngme of captain,
added —

‘ We have been waiting for him
fome time, and are fomewhat ap-
prehenfive for his fafetv.’

The voice of this perfon the prior
thought he had heard before, but
where he could not imagine. Jt had
flruck him before, while he was dif-
courhqg with his companions, and
he had watched him attentively to
get fight of his face, but the pofttion
they flood in prevented him 3 till,
cn the arrival of the Jaft comers, he
turned, and now flood direCtly front¬
ing him. 7 he light from the torches
his followers carried flruck upon his
features, the prior looked, and foon
recollected them ; but, fcarce able tq
believe what he faw, looked again,
and — 4 Fideie,’ whifpered he, 4 if
rpy fight deceives me not, yonder
Hands Verucci.’

Fideie looked, and feemed as
much furprifed as the prior.

"it’s certainly him/ laid he. —

? Befhrew me, but this is a marvel¬
lous bufinefs ! ’T is above twenty
years fince you and I faw him laft,
yet I don’t fee he ’s altered much.
But what are thefe ?’ continued he,
looking among the flrangers as they

The Monks and the Robbers ; a Tale. 68 3

flood talking together. ‘ There ’s

two of the three fellows that juft now

ftarred from yon thicket are the very

knaves that efCaped us in the garri-

lon, and led us’~ - .

4 Peace !’ interrupted the prior.

4 Let ’s hear what the villains lay.’

4 And two others/ continued one

of the laft comers: f thefe men here,

would have been murdered too, had

they not fled for it. They ran by

me in the very paflage where I had

ftationed mylelf to watch what was

palling in the hall. Finding the

others meant to purfue, 1 refolved to

fave them from i heir fury. 1 had a

lamp with me, and I fought thefe

poor fellows; whom I found, under

moft terrible alarm, crouched up in

one corner of a cave out of which

they had tried in vain to And their
¥

way. By the time 1 had quieted their
fears, we heard thepurfuers rulhing
through the caves. We kept before
them till they turned into the open
air; we then hid ourfelves among
the rocks ; and, when they had palled
us, we followed till they came hither,
and (hen we halted upon top of yon¬
der rock, and faw them crofs among
thefe trees here into that cave’ —
pointing to the hiding-place of the
robbers — * at the very time vour
troop came in fight. I guefled who
it was; but, willing to be certain, we
flunk down the rock, and hung about
thefe thickets till i faw you, my lord.*
One of the ftrangers fpoke fome-
thing immediately he concluded,
but what he faid the lifteners flayed
not to hear : they found it was quite
time for them to be gone, and they
fkulked away behind the bulhes;
but, before they had reached the
cave, they heard the ftrangers upon
the move, and faw their torches
gleam through the thickets. They
rulhed into the cave; but all within
was in utter darkuefs. The prior, in
a whifper, called for the banditti,
and Sanguigno inftantly anfvvered.
rl law thefe knaves come pretty

near us here/ continued he, f and
was in a marvellous pucker left our
lights fliould betray us: fo I lent our
comrades down the cave, and ftuck:
myfelf here waiting for ye.’

5 Hark/ cried the prior, 6 they’re
rufhing through the thickets at the
mouth of the cave !'

f Follow me, mailers/ faid the
lieutenant ; 4 follow me. Here ’s
plenty of room to hide us/

And as he fpoke they haftened
along the cave; and then, turning
into a low browed paflage at the
bottom, found themfelves among the
reft of the robbers. The found of
their purfuers followed them, and
they paufed not a moment here;
but, haftening forward through fe-
veral other paflages fimilar to that
they had firft entered, foon left them
far behind. Stilly however, they
were prefling forward ; when, as
they crofted a vault more fpacious
than any they had yet palled, Fidele,
who had advanced a fhort diftance
before his comrades, ftarted fuddenly
back with manifeft tokens of con-
fternation. The banditti prefled
around him, and eagerly demanded
what was the matter; but it was not
immediately that he could recover
himfelf fufficiently to tell them he
had feen a man {landing in a clift in
the cavern’s fide oppofite to him.

4 And is that all?’ faid Sanguigno,
in a tone of mingled furprife and
contempt. ‘ What a valiant fignor !
’S blood! you change like a woman,
and are as feared as if ye had feen a
gholl ! Why look ye, mafters, an'
he don’t.’

4 There it is again !’ exclaimed
Fidele, and his perturbation vilibly
increafed.

‘ No more valour than a moufe,
’fore God!’ cried Sanguigno, turning
round towards the clift. ‘ Where
is he? 1 ’ll ha’ him QUt, an’ he’s the
devil. This way, lads! this way !’

And fo faying, he rulhed through
the clift, followed by moft of his
4 S <>

684

The Mother and Daughter ; a Tale .

comrades : while the prior, not a
litile furprifed at the diforder Fidele
had betrayed, but perfedllv fatisfied
there was fome more important rea-
fon for it than what he had adigned,
remained behind with an intent to
draw from him what that reafon was.
He now, therefore, took him afide,
and began to quedion him.

‘ Thou didft not fee it then ?’ re¬
plied Fidele. ‘Thou knoweft I fear
no man living ; but the dead,’ con¬
tinued he, grafping the prior's arm ;
‘the dead — I’m a coward there!’

‘The dead!’ returned. the other,
flaring at him; ‘what art talking
of ?’

‘ What I faw but now,’ refumed
Fidele, ‘ the very vifage of Morena.’

‘Morena!’ repeated the prior.
c Go to, you dream : why he’s in his
grave long ago.’

‘ I know it— well I know it —
yet I fwear I faw him in yon chafm,
the very likenefs of what he was
while living.’

‘ What filly tale is this ? Away !
Away! — let ’s have no more of this
nonfenfe. I would not thefe knaves
fhould know your weaknefs.’

‘ But thou fhould’fl not difbelieve
that fuch things may be. Remem¬
ber our adventure in the vaults of
Reveldi, when Rodigone lay bleed¬
ing before thee : remember that,
and’- -

‘Tremble!’ exclaimed a deep
and hollow voice, which feemed to
idue from beneath them; and, with
a heavy lengthened groan, it died
away in faint reverberation along
thefe vaulted pafiages.

a o be continued.)

rbe MOTHER and DAUGHTER;

A TALE.

I By Mifi Eliz. Yeamesi]

npHE notes of vefper fervice, per-
forming in a convent of the

order of St. Mary, folemnly founded
in each paufe of the revelry that a-
rofe from an adjoiningtea-garden, at
the old town of B — — — , in France,
where the voices of the nuns, veiled
from obfervation, mingled fweetly
with the choir. "Near the altar
kneeled a figure whofe attitude ren¬
dered her more intereding by a loofe
black drapery falling in graceful
folds from her dioulders7 and exhi¬
biting a complexion of the fairefl
tint. The tapers, as they gleamed
upon her countenance, fhewed the
finell work of nature defpoiled by
untimely foriow. The rofes had
faded from her cheeks, and her love¬
ly features- bore a living tellimony
of angelic fweetnefs.

Among the veftal throng it would
have been impoffible not to have
didinguifhed the youthful Sophie
d’Aibina, who flood near the kneel¬
ing nun ; for beauty’s treafure was
opening on her cheek, inexpreflible
grace attended her every motion, ard
the fweetnefs of her charming voice
was inimitable.

The fervice ended, the nuns re¬
tired. Sophie was the 1 aft of the
throng; and the nun, who had not
till then rifen from her knees by
the altar, walked in deep meditation
by her fide> Sophie flopped when
the nun reached her celL; and filler
Orangenette. fpeaking to her for the
firfl time, faid — ‘Farewell, my amia¬
ble child !’

Mademoifelle d’Aibina kided her
extended hand; and, in a low voice,
anfwered — ‘ Adieu, madame!’

■The lady then entered her cell,
and Sophie indantly went to her
own, where die found the good
Catherine d’Aibina.

‘My mother!’ cried the young
Sophie : ‘ my deared, deared mam¬
ma ! you have been weeping.’

‘Ah, my child! it is for you I
weep.’

‘ For me, my good mamma ! for
me cried the afflidted girl.—

The Mother and Daughter ; a Tale .

4 Ob, Heavens ! is it for me you
weep ?’

4 Do not thus afflict yourfelf, my
child!’ anfwtred Catherine. 4 Hear
me with compofure : ’t is certain
now I weep for you. Ah, my un¬
fortunate Sophie! I muftfoon leave
you.’

4 l eave me, mamma — leave your
child ! Cannot I accompany you
when you quit the convent

4 Ah no, my Sophie! 1 am going
to 41 that bourne from whence no
traveller returns.” ’

The aftonifbed girl burft into
tears.

4 Oh, talk not of death l5 file cried ;
* thou wilt yet live many years, if I
guefs right.’

4 Have I not had a warning?’ faid
Catherine.

4 A warning, mamma !’ and the
trembling Sophie fell on her knees.
4 Mercv, fweet Heaven ! rrmft thou
die?’ And with trembling fingers
file began to tell her beads.

4 Yes, my love!’ returned madame
d’ Albina, fmiling at her fuperfti-
tion: 4 my eye-fight begins to fail
me, and’- — — -

Quickly Sophie was on her feet ;
and flinging her arms round the neck
of her aged parent, 4 Is that the
warning?’ file ciied. 4 Then you
will yet live, my mamma ; and your
child fhall anfvver that and all your
wants.’

The delighted mother took her
darling on her lap ; and, putting
afide the golden locks from her
forehead, killed off the tears that
trembled on her filken eye-lafhes
and flood upon her blooming
cheeks. 4 Too beauteous girl !’ figh-
ed Catherine, while gazing on her
fuperior beauty.

4 Ah, mamma !’ anfwered the in¬
nocent girl, 4 1 think beauty an ex¬
cellent quality. It imperceptibly
engages the heart, and attaches thee
to apeiion. It was filler Orange-
nette’s beauty that firft attracted my

6S5

gaze; and do not I love her next to

my own dear mamma ? Does not

✓

the fiflerhood adore her? and “who
fo fair ?” ’

Madame d' Albina frowned. - -

4 Are thefe your feniiments r’ file
a Iked.

4 Certainly, mamma !’ anfwered
Sophie, aftonifbed at her mother’s
disapprobation.

4 I will allow beauty of features
firft drew thy gaze on filter Change-
nette ; but 1 hope, Sof hie, ’t is her
fuperior fenfe, her numerous virtues',
that now increafes the value qt
thofe charms, and caufes thee to love
her in defpite of her relerve.*

4 I will allow that, mamma,' an¬
fwered Sophia, bluffing: 4 vet ftill
I muff think 1 fiiouid no.r like to be
ugly, becaufe people would not love
me then.’

4 If you would be defpifed for be-
ing ugly, then why, Sophie, do you
love your old and ugly mamma ?’

Covered with confufion, made-
moifelle d’Albina withdrew her
eves from the care-worn counte¬
nance of her mamma ; and, in a low
tone, allowed the truth of madame ’s
arguments : and, laying her hand ora
her heart, with an imprcfiive accent
faid — 4 May I, mamma, when of
thy age, be juft like thee !’

She then bowed her head, and
retired to reft.

The evening was dill, and beautl -
ful twilight began to fpread the light
green of the vines —

4 Earth, let not thy envious fhade
Dare itfelf to interpofe ;

Cynthia’s lhining orb was made

Heaven to cheer, when day did dole;

Blefs us, then, with wifhed fight,

Gcddeft, excellently bright!’ —

when mademoiftlle d’Albina>
flowly wandering down an avenue
of the convent-garden, hanging on
the arm of Adelaide de Montmo-
renci, and, with all the vivacity of
youth, chatting and laughing with
her beloved friend, fuddenly flipt;

0 8(5 The Mother and Daughter ; a Tate.

and, weakly fhrieking as (he fell,
fainted on the ground. Adelaide
was not almte in the garden. She
J creamed for help, and inftantly a
figure rufhed forward from the fo¬
liage that waved at her bark.

‘Help! help! — Oh lave, fave
hef !* cried Adelaide.

4 Whom ?’ afked the nun.

4 Ah, filler Orangenette ! is it vou ?
1 mean Sophie d ’Albina See where
fee lies. Oh, my dead love!’

By this time others wereaffem-
bled, and Sophie was borne to
the con vt nrt. .Adelaide fupported
Orangenette’s trembling Oeps ; for,
though (lie had appeared the firft to
help them, yet fo violently agitated
were her fpirits that fee more dib¬
it re feed Adelaide than confoled her.

Madame d’ Albina made the con¬
vent refound with her fhrieks, when
acquainted with her daughter's in-
dbpofeion ; and, until Sophie’s fenles
returned, fee did not ceafe her la¬
mentations.

Mademoifelle cT Albina had in
her fall diflocated her left arm, and
a high fever was the confequence.
Every foul in the convent feared
the lbr row of madame d’Albina.
Adelaide de Montrnorenci pafftd
each hour fee could fpare from the
duties of religion with her Tick
friend, and the forrowing Orange¬
nette each night forfook; her pil¬
low and reft, to fpend it by Sophie’s
tide. Unfortunate kindnefs ( — O-
rangenette thought not of her own
danger: fee 4 clafped the bright in¬
fection’ in her arms; and, while
offering up to Heaven endlefs prayers
for the virgin’s lafety, forgot "her
own, till the fymptoms of her dan¬
ger could not be miflaken ; and
when Sophie arofe from the bed of
ffeknefs fee heasd her friend's life
was in imminent danger.

4 Ah !’ cried Sophie, 4 mu ft O-
rangenette’s life pay the forfeiture
of her love of me ? Miflaken
friendfhip! Why did you forget.

your precious felf for the unworthy
Sophie? Ah, mamma! muft the
dfe ?’

4 I fear fo, my child ; but do not
weep : we cannot fave her. Be com-
pofed, m v Sophie! your Borrow will
only affihft that beauteous woman.
Adelaide, fpeak comfort to your
poor friend.’

Mademoifelle de Montrnorenci
advanced to Sophie; and, joining
her Toothings with thofe of madame
d’Albina, foon fucceeded in com¬
peting the fpirits of her friend.

Mademoifelle d ’Albina was now
perfeffly recovered, and able to
perform as ufual her religious duties.
Yet fell fee had not feen Orange¬
nette, though every day fee had
heard her life became more and
more in danger ; when one morning,
as fee pafeed the cell of her lick
friend, a" young nun came out, and
beckoned her to advance. Sophie
obeyed the fummons, and found her-
felf within a few paces of the place
where her friend lav. The nun had
left her; and her feet, rooted to the
fpot where fee food, forbade her
advancing. Her whole frame trem¬
bled fo violently that fee would have
fallen to4he ground, had not ma¬
dame d’Albina came forward, and
taken her arm to lead her towards
Orangenette. She raifed her eyes
at her approach.

4 Is it you, Catherine?’ fee afked.

4 It is, my beloved!’ a nfwered ma¬
dame d’Albina. * And here is your
young friend.*

The nun gazed feedfaffly on So¬
phie, as if to recollect her.

4 Ah, fee knows me not!’ cried
mademoifelle d’Albina, a torrent of
tears pouring over her pallid face.

At the found of her voice, O-

rangenette’s eyesfparkled with plea-

lure, while her bofom heaved with

exertions to raife herfejf. Sophie

rufhed forward to fupport her, and

madame d’Albina performed the

fame friendly office.

687

The Mother and Daughter ; a Tale .

i Thou raid ft 1 knew thee not, I
tfhink, Sophie,’ faid O rangenette at
length, in a faint voire. ‘ Would it
not have been impoflible to forget
that face which I have ever loved,
thou living image of my adored
Henri !’

She ceafed fpeaking. Madame
d'Albina appeared nearly convulfed
with agitation: Sophie knew not
what to think; and O angenette,
exerting herfelf to fpeak, cried—
‘ Oh, my Sophie ! my angelic girl !
fee in me your mother, Catherine
your aunt, my fitter. My child!’

Sophie fank on her knees: her
fenfes were nearly overpowered.

‘ Heavens! what do 1 hear?’ (he
cried. 4 You my mother— my f elf
your child! Oh ! what a delightful
idea !’ -

4 Farewell, my child!’ interrupted
Orangenette. 4 Sophie, fareweli !
My child, my fitter, fare — w-e-11!’
and her eyes fixed their latt trem¬
bling orbs on her kneeling girl; for,
as her tongue pronounced the wmrd
fare-well , the breath of life fled for
ever its beauteous tenement.

Orangenette de Vafly was on the
point of marriage with the baron la
Motte, u'hen the baron fuddenly
died. It nearly coft Orangenette
her life: file had fondly loved Hen-
ri ia Motte, and rhe lofs threw’ her
into a violent fever. During her
confinement, her ravings difclofed a
circumftance to her two fitters, Ca¬
therine and Augutta, that froze their
blood with horror 5 however, long
before fhe recovered, they had for¬
given her; and Catherine, when fhe
was rettored to health, gently
queftioned her on the fubjeCt. — -
Orangenette’s blufhes confirmed the
truth ; and, flinging herfelf on her
knees before her fitter, and conceal¬
ing her face in her lap, (lie confefied
herfelf pregnant by the departed
Henri. Catherine raifed the weep-
inggirl; and, after a gentle repri¬
mand, gave her her forgivenefs.

Augutta likew'ife pardoned her, and
Orangenette now only dreaded her
father’s anger.

Alas! the count de Vatty, when
acquainted with his daughter’s dis¬
graceful conduct, utterly dilcarded
her ; and Orangenette, once his pride
and darling, found the door of her
paternal roof, for the firtt time in
her life, fhut againft her, and pro¬
cured (belter from her father’s fury
at madame d’ Albina’s.

This lady being brought to bed
but a few weeks before Orange¬
nette, and her daughter dying, the
propofed the innocent firaragem of
adopting Sophie in her ftead. To
this the mother readily agreed; and,
from that motoent, madame d’Albi-
na became her parent.

Orangenette, w hen recovered from

o 7

from her confinement, propofed re¬
tiring to a convent. Catherine im¬
plored her, with many tears,* to de-
fift from fuch a purpofe. Her huf-
band ufed his arguments with her$,
but without effeCt. Orangenette
was inflexible, and her friends gave
up the point.

Augutta found means to fee her
beloved fitter before fhe departed.
Many tears (lie died over her; many
times embraced her, before fhe tore
herfelf away ; and Orangenette’s
fpirits nearly fank beneath the pref-
lure of her afflictions before fhe
reached the abbey of St. Mary.

Mademoifelle Augutta fhoitly
after married. From her, Cathe¬
rine conttanrly heard of her father's
health ; for the countenance Hie had
fhewm her forlorn fitter had obtain¬
ed her father’s anger, and his door
was fhut againft monfieur d’Albina
and her for ever.

Some year's had patted aw’av, and
the face of affairs appeared the fame
till monfieur d’ Albina’s death. His
diftrefl’ed confort mourned his lofs
with lincere grief, and for fome time
it lay heavy at iier heart. However,
file had other claims of nature; and,

6 SB

The Mother and Daughter ; a Tale .

knowing it was for Sophie’s intereft
£o exert herfelf, fhe prepared to in-
veftigate her affairs: which being
fettled to her entire fatisfadlion, (lie
took an affectionate farewell of her
lifter Augufta, her nephew, and all
her friends, and then joined O-
fangenette in the convent of St.
Mary, where (he redded as a boarder
till the time of that lady’s deceal'e.

I fhali now return to Sophie.
From the period of Oran genet re's
death, Sophie’s manners underwent
a thorough change; {he grew reft-
lefs and unhappy. Serenity no
longer fat upon her brow, nor did
fmile-s play round her lips. Her
fine eyes loft their ]-u fire, her cheeks
their rich glow of health, and her
delicate frame was feized with an
univerfai melancholy. Madame
eTAlbina difcerned the change.

4 Sophie. ’ laid (he, 4 this convent,
1 fear, no longer po defies any of its
former charms in your eyes fince O-
rangenette’s lamented death. Is it
not fo, my love ? Ah, you cannot
deceive me! You tigh to quit this
hateful place, and fcenes of ever per¬
petual remembrances of 'borrow.
Alas 1 my heart, deeply hurt by the lofs
of my hufband, has found more con¬
solation and repofewith Orangenette
and you in this abode than I could
have found in ail the wealth this
world could beftow.- I Fnall leave
you the inheritance of rnv whole
fortune: but, alas! tny child, it is
fmall. Your grandfather, indeed,
is immenfely rich: his property goes
fo my nephew, Godoiphin d’Aven-
ceux, the orphan of your deceafed
aunt Augufta and her hufband mon-
fieur d’Avenceux. I had determined
that no diftrefs or misfortune fliould
compel me to have recourfe to the
count de Vaffy: yet for you, my
Sophie, the pride of refen tment is
forgotten. I no longer Fearexpofing
myfelf to mortification and reproach ;
but, in the hope of awakening com¬
panion for you in your grand fire’s

bread, I will quit B - — , and,

throwing my 1 elf at my father's feet,
prefent his Orangenette’s orphan,
and pray him to receive her to his
pioteAfon at Catherine’s deceafed
Madame d’Albina fined a torrent
of teais ; while Sophie, no lefs agi¬
tated, imprinted countie A kiftes on
her hand — a tribute of thanks for
her aunt’s fuperior goodneTs. 1
4 Ah, my mamma!* fightd Sophie,

4 — for I will dill call you by that en¬
dearing tide — how kind, how confi-
derareyou are! Alas! can rhegrate-
ful Sophie ever repay fuch exalted
kmdnefis? You anticipate every wifh
of your wayward girl; for ’ t is cer¬
tain I no longer find plea lure in a
place that has loft its chief adorn¬
ment : —

<£ I meet her ever in the cheedeTs cell.

The gloomy grotto, and unf.a.1 wood:

I hear her ever in the midnhht hell,

The hollow gale, and haarle refou ding
flood.

4 Befides, my dear madam, Ade¬
laide de Montmorenci is fihortlv to
quit us; and is it poffible .you r So¬
phie can find happinefs here when
die is gone? Ah, no ! it is not pof¬
fible/

Madame d’Albina fhortly after
began to make preparations for her
departure; and, in the fourth month '
after the death of Orangenette, fhe
quitted, in company with Adelaide de
Montmorenci and Sophie, the con¬
vent of St. Mary, andfetoutfor Paris.

The count and countefs de Mont¬
morenci received the charge of ma-
dame d’Albina with the pure ft rap¬
ture. Adelaide was their only child, -
and her amiable parents nearly idol-
ifed her: nor was fhe unworthy
their affeftions; for fhe was an ele¬
gant, fenfible, modtft, unaffeAcd
girl. Her mind was highly fmidi-
ed by the hand of nature; and, in
the eyes of her approving parents, a
precious gem to which 'the artift’s
(kill could add neither brilliancy nor
value.

The Mother and

Sophie's reducing manners foon
gained her the tender efleem of the
oount and countefs, alrnofl before
they were aware of her fafcinating
powers and feducing beauties.

Madame d’Albina’s delightful re-
cefs was adjoining the chateau de
Montmorenci : the countefs often
bent her fleps to the fweet and
peaceful folitude, and madarae fpared
no efforts to render thel'e v i fits pleaf-
ing to her noble guefl. While thefe
two ladies continued their increafing
profelhons of friendfhip, Adelaide
-and Sophie, with blooming health
and vivid cheerfulnefs, continued
teififying their animated regard for
•each other. They might be faid to
be

* Two lovely berries moulded on one Hem.’

At a fete , given in honour of A-
delaide’s return, Sophie was invited.
The novelty of her perfon attracted
many eyes; and one gentleman, in
particular, appeared much ft ruck
with her beauty. He fee u red her
hand for the firft dance, and could
lcarcely withdraw his gaze for a
moment from her angel-like coun¬
tenance. Sophie, iK>t lefs charmed
with his numerous graces, looked
with pleafure on his attentions. —
This gentleman, appeared to be
about feventeen. He was tall, and
elegantly formed: his complexion
of a brown tint; his nofe aquiline;
and his black eyes would have been
too piercing, if the long filken lafhes
by which they were lhaded had not
given them a foftened expreflion of
lenfibility. As they went down the
dance, they were univerfally ad¬
mired for the beautiful proportion
of their figures, and the graceful
agility of their motions. Sophie’s
face crimfoned at each prelim re of
her partner’s hand. She dared not
trufl her voice, in anfwer to his
warm praifes : but thofe eyes which
fought to meet his — thofe fmtles by
which (lie anfweredhis — would have
Vol. XXXIV.

Daughter ; a T de. §8,9

fliewn to the moft curfory obferver
that flie anxioufly flrove to pleafe.

The dance ended, the gentleman
handed Sophie to a leaf, and fecured
himfelf one next her, entering into
a fprightly converfation with her.
Th is was fhortly interrupted by an
elderly gentleman, fvho advanced
towards Sophie’s partner. —

* Godolphin,’ faid he, ‘ you feem
pleafantly engaged,’ fixing his eyes
ftedfaftly on our heroine. « Pr’y-
thee introduce to me your fair part¬
ner.’

The young man appeared at a klfs
for her name.

4 I conceive the meaning of your
filence, chevalier,’ faid the artlefs
Sophie. 4 Pray prefent me as So¬
phie d’ Albina.’

The old gentleman turned pale ;
the young one flatted; and, alrnofl
inflantly, they bowed and left her.

Sophie was at a lofs to interpret
the meaning of this behaviour. —
Shedifclofed her amazement to ma-
dame d’ Albina when file returned
home, and did not reft the whole
night for thinking of the handfome
chevalier. Her aunt had been e-
qually refllefs from motives fhe con¬
cealed from her darling niece.

In the forenoon of the following
day, fupported by the arm of the
attentive Sophie, madame d’ Albina
bent her fleps to the chateau de
Montmorenci, with the hope of
obtaining the names of the Grangers.
They entered unannounced; and •}
Adelaide, ruffling forward to em- .
brace Sophie, exclaimed — 4 Thank 1
you, my love, for this unexpefted
vifit.’

The party being feated, madame
d’Albina made her enquiries. The
countefs paufed for a moment before
fhe anfwered.—

f I have been inflrumental to an
innocent flratagem, dear ladies,’
faid fhe, taking a hand of her friend
and Sophie. 4 Thank Heaven, all [
has anlwered to my wiflies! The
4 T

6 90 Chronological Lift of the tnojl remarkable Events in 1803.

count de Vaffy will pardon his Ca¬
therine, and receive to bis arms the
offspring of Orangenette/

. ' Repeat once more that bleffed
found, deareft madam !’ exclaimed
the delighted Sophie. 'Say, again,
the count will bury in oblivion the
errors of the mifguided Orangenette,
and that he will avow his kindred
to the poor Sophie.’

* Hear me, Sophie/ cried the

countefs. ' Monfieur, my hufband ,
is the friend of your grandfather ;
his focial companion and confident.
He had often of late heard the count
de Vaffy deplore his harfhnefs to
the poor Orangenette. “ Oh,”
cried he, “ my friend! that I could
find the fweet forfaken one, — I
■would receive her again to my arms,
and forgive the paft!” Thus en¬
couraged, we ventured to bring the
party together, thinking Sophie
would prove the fweeteft pleader.
And now, my amiable friends, are
ye prepared to receive monfieur de
Vaffy ?’ /

6 Where — where is he?’ cried
Catherine.

'Here am I, my beloved!’ ex¬
claimed her father, entering, follow¬
ed by Godolphin, hi? nephew.

Madame d’Albina funk on her
knees at the feet of her aged father.
The young Sophie followed her;
and, from natural timidity, hid her-
felf at the back of her aunt. But
Catherine had not forgotten her be¬
loved child; for having returned the
embrace of monfieur de Vaffy, (he
haffily rofe, and put the agitated So¬
phie in the arms of her grandfire.
The count imprinted countlefs kiffes
on her cheek ; drops of heavenly
tendernefs fell from his eyes; the
feeble topes of his voice trembled, as
well^as his whole frame, with a thou¬
sand contending emotions.

* My child ! — my child S’ he could
only utten 4 My fecond Orange-
nette! forgive yotjr repentant grand-
ffre/

' Indeed — indeed I love you too
well to withhold my pardon/ replied
the charming girl, returning his
embraces with redoubled tranfport.

Godolphin d’Avenceux now came
forward, entreating to be admitted a
partaker of their mutual congratu^
lations ; and monfieur de Vaffy,
joining their hands, addreffed them
as follows —

i My children, you mutually {hare
my love: my wealth (hall be equal¬
ly divided between you — unlefs, in¬
deed, Sophie can agree with Godol¬
phin, by allowing of no reparation :
if fo, then I {hall be more than bleff¬
ed; and who fo worthy of poffeffing
fo much beauty as the brave GodoL
phin S’

The chevalier appeared nearly
giddy with the tranfporting idea;
and Sophie, — the beautiful Sophie!
— could not diffemble her delight.
As for Catherine file was never fo
happy, and the countefs and Ade¬
laide appeared nearly wild with joy.

Monfieur d’Avenceux and So¬
phie were fhortly after united ; and
the count de Vaffy, and his daugh¬
ter Catherine, in contemplating
their heavenly harmony, glided
through the remainder of 4 this val¬
ley of fighsand tears’ in undiminifh-
ed happinefs.

Yarmouth , Dec. 31,

CHRONOLOGICAL LIST

OF THE

MOST REMARKABLE EVENTS

OF THE YEAR 1803.

January 4.

A confirmation received in
r* England of the death of the
Perfian ambaffador, three days after
his arrival at Bombay, in an affray
between his guards and fervants,
which he was in perfon endeavour¬
ing to quell.

Chronological Lift of the niojl remarkable Events in 1 SOB. 691

6. An account received of a mu¬
tiny on board his majefty’s (hip
Gibraltar, in the Mediterranean,
which however was quelled by the
fpirit of the officers, and examples
were foon after made of the leaders

of the mutiny.

* 0

11. The Hindoftan, outward-
bound Eaft-Indiamnn, wrecked in
Q^ueen’s-channel, Margate-roads.

20. A fpecial commiffion was
opened at the New Court- houfe in
the borough of Southwark, for the
trial of certain perfons accufed of
high-treafon. After a moft admira¬
ble charge from lord chief juftice
Elienborough, thegrand-jury retired,
and in the evening found a true bill
for high-treafon, againft Marcus
Defpard and twelve other perfons.
The court then adjourned to the 5th
©f February.

24. Accounts received of a muti¬
ny having appeared in the garrifon
of Gibraltar, on the 27 th and 28th
of December, in which fome lives
were loft 3 fourteen of the mutineers
were feized, and the difturbance for
the time quelled.

. February 7. Marcus Defpard was
tried at the New Seffions-houfe, in
the Borough, for high-treafon : and,
after a trial of eighteen hours, was
found guilty.

9. The trial of the other prifoners,
charged with being accomplices with
Marcus Defpard in the crime of
high-treafon, terminated, when John
Wood, Thomas Broughton, John
Francis, James Sedgwick Pvalton,
Arthur Graham, John Macnamara,
Thogaas Newman, Daniel Tyndall,
and William Lander, were found
guilty: the laft thtee were recom¬
mended to mercy. Sentence of
death was immediately pronounced
upon all the prifoners who were
conviiSled.

1(). A meffage was delivered from
his majefty to the houfe of commons,
recommending the fituatiou of the

prince of Wales’s affairs to the at¬
tention of the houfe.

21. Marcus Defpard, and the
other prifoners who were convicted
of high-treafon (with the exception
of thofe who were recommended to
mercy), were executed at the New
Gaol, in the Borough.

Mr. Peltier was convi&ed in the
court of King’s-bench, for a libel
upon citizen Napoleon Bonaparte,
firft confu! of France.

22. Both houfes of parliament
agreed to addreffes of congratulation
to his majefty on the deteftion of the
late confpiracy.

March 4. Mr, Calcraft moved, in
the houfe of commons, for the ap¬
pointment of a fele<5t committee, to
enquire into the circumftances that
impeded his royal highnefs the prince
of Wales from refuming that fplen-
dor which was fo neceffary to his
elevated fttuation ; upon which the
previous queftion was moved, and
carried by 184 to 13ft.

S. A meffage was delivered from
his majefty to both houfes of parlia¬
ment, announcing the military pre¬
parations that were carrying on in
the ports of France and Holland.

Prefs-warrants were ilfued, and
great numbers of feamen were ob¬
tained in the river, and in the dif¬
ferent ports.

9. Both houfes of parliament
agreed to addreffes to his majefty, in
confequence of the meffage of the
preceding day.

10. A meffage was delivered from
his majefty to both houfes of parlia¬
ment, acquainting them that his
majefty had given orders for caljing
out the militia.

Proclamations were iffued for en¬
couraging feamen to enter into his
majefty’s fervice, and to prohibit
them from entering into foreign fer¬
vice.

11. The houfe of commons voted
ten thoufand additional feamdh, ia-

4 T 2

6g$ Chronological Lift of the mofc remarkable Events hi 1 805.

eluding three thoufand four hun¬
dred marines.

21. Intelligence was received ef
the arrival of general' Lafnes at Lif-
bon (he having been previously dif-
mitfed that court for fmvggling);
and of a change in the Portuguese
miniftry.

April 6. A duel took place at
Chalk-farm, between colonel Mont¬
gomery and captain Macnamara, in
confequence of a difpute about two
Newfoundland dogs : both parties
were wounded, but colonel Mongo-
mery only Survived a few minutes.

21. A large coal-veflel was wreck¬
ed between Blackfriars’-bridge and
the Temple-gardens, in a violent
gale of wind.

22. Captain Macnamara was tried
at the Old -Bailey, on a charge of
manslaughter, for having killed col.
Montgomery in a duel : he was ac¬
quitted.

23. Intelligence was received of
the Surrender of the Cape of Good
Hope to the Dutch, on the 2lft of
February.

25. Intelligence was received from
Constantinople of an infurre&ion
having broken out in Arabia, and
that the infurgents were led on by a
man of the name of Abdul Wechab,
who had affumed the character of a
prophet.

27. Accounts were received of
the evacuation of Alexandria, by the
Englifh troops, having taken place
on the 17th March.

May 5. A forged letter was Sent
to the lord-mayor;, purporting to be
from lord Hawkelbury, hating that
the negotiations between this coun¬
try and France had been brought to
an amicable conclufion : in confe¬
quence of which the hocks rofe
nearly Seven per cent, and a great
deal of bufmefs was tranfa&ed on the
Stock Exchange before the fraud
was discovered. A reward of five
thoufand pounds was offered for the

deletion of the offender, but with*
out effetfh

10. Admiral Cornwallis took the
command of the Channel fleet at
T orbay.

14. A letter was written by lord
Hawkefbury to the lord-mayor, to
acquaint him that lord Whitworth
had obtained his paffports, and was
about to quit Paris when the mef-
fenger left that city.

lb. A meffage from his majehy
was delivered to both houfes of par¬
liament, announcing the termination
of the difeuflion between his majehy
and the French republic, and that
his majehy had recalled his ambafla
dor from Paris.

The French ambaffador left Lon¬
don at five o’clock in the morning
for Dover.

Letters of marque were iflued
againh the French and Italian re¬
publics.

Lord Nelfon took leave of the
board of admiralty, on being ap¬
pointed to the command of the Me¬
diterranean fleet.

18. Lord Whitworth arrived in
London from Paris.

The French ambaffador embark¬
ed at Dover for Calais.

19* An inhallation of the knights
of the Bath was performed at Weft-
minher with the ufual Solemnity.

23. His majefly’s meffage was
taken into consideration in both
houfes of parliament — In the houfe
of lords an amendment was moved
to the addrefs by lord King, which
was negatived by one hundred and
forty- two to ten. The addrefs was
then agreed to. — In the houfe of
commons the debate at 12 o’clock at
night was arljournedtill the next day.

24. The debate upon his majefly’s
meffage was refumed; and, at half
paft four in the morning, Mr. Grey’s
amendment to the addrefs was nega¬
tived by 398 to 67. The addrefs
was then agreed to.

(Chronological Lift of the mojl remarkable Events in 1803c £?9S

26. Intelligence was received from
different ports of the capture of fe¬
deral French merchantmen.

20. An account was received that
the French government had iffued a
de >ree, by which all the Englifh
in France, between the ages of fix-
teen and fixtv, were declared to be

# j /

prifoners of war. The fame order
was iffued in Holland and in the
other dates under the controul of
France.

A proclamation iffued by his ma-
jedy, as eledor of Hanover, declar¬
ing his intention to preferve the
ftrideft neutrality.

June 1. Intelligence was received
of the French army, under general
Mortier, having paffed the Waal,
for thepurpofe of invading Hanover.

Mr. Tierney appointed treafurer
of the navy.

2. A debate took place in the
houfeof lords, upon a motion made
by lord Fitzwilliam, tending to cen-
fure his majedy’s miniders for their
conduct during the negotiation,
which was negatived by one hundred
and ten to fifteen.

3. A motion of cenfure ' was
brought againd miniders, in the
lioufe of commons, by colonel Pat¬
ten, upon which Mr. Pitt moved the
«rder of the day, which was nega¬
tived by three hundred and thirty-
three to fifty-fix. The original mo¬
tion was negatived by two hundred
and feventy-five to thirty-four.

8. Intelligence was received of the
French troops having taken polfef-
fion of Ofnaburgh.

13. A loan of twelve millions, for
the fervice of the year, was con-
traded for. In the courfe of two
hours the omnium was at a difcount.

The budget was opened in the
houfe of commons, and the refolu-
tions agreed to without any debate.

if). Letters of marque were order¬
ed to be iffued againd the Batavian
republic.

The eledion for the borough of

Southwark clofed, whe,n the right
hon. George Tierney was declared
duly eleded.

17. A meffage from his majedy
was delivered to the houfe of com¬
mons, recommending the railing of
a large additional force for the de-

fence of the country.

21. Intelligence was received of
the French having entered the city
of Hanover on the 5th indant.

29. Official notice was given, of
the mouth of the Elbe being block¬
aded by his majedy’s fliips.

July 2. It was officially announced
in the Gazette, that meafures had
been taken for the blockade of the
Elbe, in confequence of the forcible
occupation of part of the banks of
that river by the Frerich troops.

6. The bills for railing an army of
refer ve of 40,000 men in England
and Scotland, received the royal affenL.

8. Accounts were received in
town of the capture of the Ambuf-
cade frigate from the French, by the
Vidory, lord Nelfon’s flag-fhip, on
her palfage to the Mediterranean.

Adett, affidant-cafhier at the Bank,
tried at the Old-Bailey forembez-.
zling Exchequer-bills to a large a -
mount, the property of that corpo¬
ration, but acquitted in confequence
of the bills not having been legally
dgned.

9. The Parifian journals received
in town dated, that French troops
had entered the kingdom of Naples.

11. An account was received of
the lofs of the Minerve frioats, of
thirty-fix guns, captain Brenton, on
a rock near Cherbourg

12. Intelligence received, that or¬
ders had been fent by the French
government to difarm the Hanove-
nan troops.

1/. An account received, ofGrand
Cairo having been taken by a corps
of Albanians, who formed part of
the garrifon, and who mutinied for

want of pay.

The Hamburgh mail brought the

6gi Chronological Lift of the mojl remarkable Events in 1S03*

news of a convention having been
concluded between the French and
Hanoverian armies, by which the
latter were to be difbanded and to
deliver up their arms.

18. The fecretary at war (Mr.
Yoi jte) brought forward, in the
houfe of commons, his plan for arm¬
ing the nation.

21. A meflage from his majefty
was brought down to the houfe of
commons, by the chancellor of the
exchequer, recommending a remu¬
neration to be made to the houfe of
Orange, for their Ioffes fu Rained in
the late war.

25. Sixty thoufand pounds, to¬
gether with an annuity of fixteen
thoufand pounds, voted in the houfe
of commons, as a compenfation to
the houfe of Orange.

2 .6. The merchants, bankers, and
traders of London, met upon the
Royal-Exchange, and publifhed a
mold patriotic declaration of their
fentiments refpedting the fituation of
the country. ,

An account received of thelofs of
La Seine frigate, of forty-two guns,
on a fand-bank near Schelling.

27. Intelligence received of an
Lnfurredfion having broken out in
Lublin on the night of the 23d, in
which lord Kilwarden, chief-juftice
of the court of king’s- bench in Ire¬
land, and his nephew, Mr. Wolfe,
were inhumanly murdered.

The bill for arming the nation,
commonly called * The Levy en
Majfe Bill,’ received the royal af-
fent.

28. A meffage from his majeffy,
relative to the affairs of Ireland, de¬
livered to the houfe of commons, in
confequence of which two bills
pafled through all their Rages in
both houfcs the fame day : one for
fufpending the habeas- corpus in Ire¬
land, and the other for eftablifhing
martial law whenever a neceflity for
it fhould exifr. Intelligence receiv¬
ed, that the inrurrection in Lublin

had been quelled, though much
danger Rill exifted.

29. The two bills above mention¬
ed received the royal aflent.

30. An account received of the
capture of St. Lucia, from the
French by the Britifh forces in the
WeR Indies, under the command of
lieutenant-general Grinfield and com¬
modore Flood.

Auguji 10. The thanks of the

houfe of commons unanimoufly

voted to the volunteers of Great-

Britain and Ireland, for the patriot-

ifm and zeal with which they had

come forward in the defence of their
country.

On the motion of Mr. Sheridan,
the thanks of the houfe of commons
were voted to the volunteers, and
the names of all the corps and of
their members ordered to be re¬
corded on the journals of the houfe.

12. Parliament was prorogued to
the 6th of Odlober.

13. The Gazette announced, that
meafures had been taken to blockade
the ports of Genoa and Spezia.

15. Difpatches received, announc¬
ing the capture of the ifland of To¬
bago, by the Britifn forces in the
WeR Indies.

28. An account received of Bo-
lougne having been bombarded by
the Immortalite frigate and the Ter¬
ror bomb.

Letters of marque and reprifals
ordered to be iflued again R the Li¬
gurian and Italian republics.

30. The Dublin mail brought an
account of the apprehenfion of Ro¬
bert Emmet, one of the principal
leaders in the late infurre&ion.

September 2. About half paR two
o’clock in the morning, a fire broke
out in ARley’s Amphitheatre, near
WeflminRer-bridge, which was com-
pletely burnt down, as were a num¬
ber of fmall houfes behind it. Mrs.
Woodham, the mother of Mrs. AR-
ley, unfortunately loR her life in the
conflagration,

Chronological Lift of the mojt remarkable Events in 1803. 695

3. Hatfield, the notorious fwind-
ler, executed at Carbide, ,

6. The Gazette announced that
meafures had been taken for the
blockade of Havre de-Grace, and the
other ports of the Seine,

13. Intelligence received of the
recapture of the Lord Nelfon Eaft-
Indiaman, which had been taken by
the French.

15. The Jamaica mail brought an
account of the capture of La Du-
quefne, French (hip of war, of 74
guns, by commodore Bayntou’s
i’quadron in the Weft- Indies.

17. Parliament prorogued from
the 6‘th of October to the 3d of No¬
vember.

An account received of the cap¬
ture of the iftand of St. Peter’s, by
the Aurora, of 23 guns, commanded
by captain Malbon.

Aftett, the afliftant-eafhier at the
Bank, again tried at the Oid-Bailey,
for embezzling effe&s belonging to
that corporation. He was found
guilty, but a point of law was re-
ferved for the decifion of the
judges.

19. An account received of Gran¬
ville having been bombarded by the
fquadron under the command of fir
James Saumarez, who afterwards
took poifeffion of the ifles of La
Conchu, near St. Maloes.

Robert Emmett was con vi Fred in
Dublin of high-treafon, and executed
on the following day.

27. An account received of the
bombardment of Calais by a fqua-
dron under the command of captain
Honeyman.

October 6. Elfi Bey, a principal
Mameluke chief, arrived at Portl-
mouth.

ft. The Hamburgh mail brought
an account of war having been de¬
clared againft this country, at Milan.

13. Parliament further prorogued
to the 22d of November.

15. Lord Cathcart arrived in Dub¬
lin, to take the command in chief of

the forces in Ireland, in the room of
general Fox.

20. The rebel general Ruftel was
tried at Carrickfergus, found guilty
of high-treafon, and executed on the

O J

21ft.

22. Earl Moira was appointed
commander in chief of his majefty’*
forces in Scotland.

9.6. The volunteers of the eaftern
diftriel of the metropolis were re¬
viewed by his majefty, in Hyde-
park : — 'they muftered 12,401.

28. His majefty reviewed, in
Hyde-park, the volunteers of the
weftern diftridt of the metropolis,
who muftered 14,67b.

November 1. An account received
of Alexandria, in Egypt, having ca¬
pitulated to the Beys.

5. The firft capture of one of the
enemy’s gun-boats, conftrudled for
the invafton of this country, was
made by the Conflict gun-brig. The
prize was brought into Deal. ,

18. A molt beautiful vivid meteor
was feen in London this evening,
about eight o’clock, and in moft
parts of the country at nearly the
fame time. It took a fouth-weft
direction, and was in fome places
obferved to be attended with a noife
like thunder.

14. Intelligence received of the
furrender of the Dutch fettlements
of Demarara and Eftequibo, to the
Britilh forces under the command of
general Grinfield and commodore
Hood.

22. Parliament met purfuant to
prorogation.

23. An account received of an
attack made by his majefty’s fhip
Poulette and the Liberty brig, on a
Fiench flotilla otf La Hogue, in.
which three of their veflfels, a brig, a
lUgger, and a Hoop, were captured,
and the reft driven on fliore.

26. Intelligence received of the
greater part of the townof Funchal,
in Madeira, having been fwept away
by a dreadful deluge.

Anecdote .

696

29. Difpatches received announc¬
ing the furrender of the Dutch fet-
tlement of Berbice to the Britifli

arms,

30. One hundred thoufand Teamen
and marines voted, in the houfe of
commons, for the fervice of the year
|804.

December 2. Bills brought into the
houfe of commons, by Mr. fecretary
Yorke, to continue the habeas corpus
fufpenfion adl and martial law a£t in
Ireland.

A dreadful fire broke out in Frith-
Areet, Soho, by which ten houfes
were deflroyed.

5. Accounts received of the fur-
render of the French garrifons of
Fort Dauphin and St. Marc, in St.
Domingo, to the Britifli forces.

9. Official returns laid on the table
of the houfe of commons, Bating the
number of volunteers in Great-Bri*
tain at 379,943.

129,039 land-forces voted, in the
houfe of commons, for the fervice of
the year 1804.

12. Intelligence received, but not
fully confirmed, of admiral Rainier
having taken poflefiion of the French
fquadron at Pondicherry, command¬
ed by admiral Linois.

13. An account received of the
lofs of the Shannon frigate, of thirty-
fix guns, commanded by capt. E. L.
Gpwer, near Ca-pe La Hogue.

16. The Hamburgh mails brought
an account of an unexpected difpute
having broken out between Auftria
and Bavaria^ the troops of the latter
having forcibly driven the Auftrians
from the cable of Oberhaufe.

1$. Elfi Bey was prefented to their
majeflies at Windfor, by general
Stuart. The Mameluke chief em¬
barked at Portfmouth on the 22d,
on board of the Argo frigate, for
Egypt.

20. Both houfes of parliament ad¬
journed for the recefs ; the houfe of
lords to the 3d of February, and the
houfe of commons to the iff.

21. The Dublin mails brought an
account of the furrender of the noto¬
rious rebel Dwyer.

22. Governor PiCfon, charged with

offences committed in the ifland of
T rinidad, was this day, after the
final invefligation of the privy-coun¬
cil, carried before lord Ehenbo-
rough, and admitted to bail, himfelf
in forty thoufand pounds, and two
fureties in twenty thoufand pounds
each. V

23. Lord Hawkelbury fent a cir¬
cular letter to the commercial agents
of foreign powers, notifying that n©
neutral veifels would be permitted
to enter any port on the coafl be¬
tween the Humber and the Downs,
Yarmouth excepted. This prohibi¬
tion was afterwards limited to vef-
fels coming direClly from Holland,
or any other of the territories under
the immediate influence of France.

24. and 25. A tremendous gale of
wind, which did confiderable da¬
mage at fea, and obliged the fleet off
Bred to return to Torbay ; the gal¬
lant admiral Cornwallis having, from
the commencement of hoflilities to
this time, kept the enemy’s port in a
canflant Bate of blockade.

ANECDOTE.

A t the battle of Prague, by which
general Daun obliged the great
king of Pruflia to raife the fiege of
that city, — the king in his retreat
found his left wing thrown into fome
diforder, which obliged him to ad¬
vance on the full gallop. On his
way his horfe Bumbled and fell with
him near a wounded foldier, who,
perceiving the king, faid to him —
4 Sir, if you do not place two or
three pieces of cannon on yon emi¬
nence, and fome troops in ambuf-
cade in the defile below, your wing
will be loft.’

The foldier at the fame time point-

Jeffy Hawthorn . 697

ed with his finger to the places he
meant, to the pofition of which the
king had not attended. His majefty
turned his eyes towards the fpot ; and
after remaining iilent and thought¬
ful home moments, took from his
finger a ring of fmall value, and gave
it to the foldier, faying —

4 If you furvive, come to me, and
bring with you this ring.*

He immediately left him ; and
giving orders agreeably to the advice
of the foldier, checked the progrefs
of the enemy, and preferved the
wing of his army, which would
otherwife have been expofed to be
cut in pieces.

About a month afterwards the
foldier, having been cured of his
wound fufficiently to be able to walk,
came to theking* andprefented him
the ring, when Frederic immediately
gave him a captain’s commiffion.

The new officer, whofe name
was Schreuzer, behaved himfelf
fo well at the battle of Rofbach, that
he was made a major and lieutenant-
colonel. At the alfair of Rolbach
the king hefitating in what manner
to a£f, lent one of his aides-de-camp
to bring Schreuzer to him. He
afked his opinion, followed his ad¬
vice, and fucceeded. This procured
Schreuzer a regiment, and tiie rank
of major-general.

JESSY HAWTHORN.

/ From the “Tour if cations cf MalacJu Mddrurr..)

a *********

When lam laid low, in the grave,
and thy father befide me, re¬
member, Harry, if Hie lives, toche-
rifii the melancholy ruins of Jelly
Hawthorn. She was the faired:
fembance of goodnels and beauty I
ever beheld ; and die is now the
mod ftriking monument of the pow*
Vox.. XXXIV.

er of forrow, I truft, I fhall ever
fee.”

He was wiping away the tear
which trickled down his cheek, and
endeavouring to proceed, when Jeffy
came into the room. I never no¬
ticed her with fo much attention be¬
fore. There was a fettled melan¬
choly upon her countenance; and
her manner, though neither violent
nor fantadic, was fomewhat wild and
difordered. But pity was the lead
tribute the heart would pour out
before her. Her features, though
they had long loft the warm foftnefs
of youth, and the infpiring glow of
vivacity, were ft ill very tenderly ex-
preflive ; and her figure retained
uncommon lovelinefs and dignity.
She walked feveral times acrofs the
room, fighing frequently ; and though
my grandfather, in the moll: endear¬
ing manner, folicited her to fit, file
retired, calling on him the moil
melting look I ever favv.

The old man took me by the
hand ; his voice for a while was bu¬
ried in his feelings. “ My poor
Jeffy,” faid he, “ has had but a
bitter draught of this world : I have
lono- endeavoured to make it tole-

rable ; but the wife Being who ad-
miniftered it, thinks it alfo good to
refufe me that comfort. But I will
tell thee her ftoi y, Harry, — I believe
I never told it thee before: — it is not
tedious— and thy heart will not be
the vvorfe for fuch impreffions.

“ It was in the dead of winter,
many years ago, when l followed
my profeffion, that I was called to
vifit a patjent. I had twenty long
miles to travel through a country lo
wild and diimal, that nature certainly
never intended it for the refid nee
of human creatures. The mom-
tains were piled one upon anotht” :
the ftupendou^ rocks feemed h. rr •
in^ from their fides and the red
roaring torrent was weeping their
bales away. The harm whiffled

098

JeJJy Hawthorn.

for ever round their rugged tops,
and the fnow on their (boulders had
never been difflolved. The green
livery of nature had never been
there, or it had been deft roved ; and
the. heath-cock and the wild goat
were ftarving among the bi a tied
heath. Such was the country I had
to pals, guided only by a path, which
even at midfummer Was fcarcelv dif-
cernible.

44 I had finiffled little more than
half of my journey, when the clouds
began to collect, and a fudden even¬
ing haftened down upon me. — The
ftorm increafed till it blew from all
the quarters of heaven ; and the
fnow oppreffin’g the temped itfelf,
foon buried my ill-diflingu iflaed
path. Unable to proceed, and alike
unable to return, 1 trembled left
the fnow fhould overwhelm me, or
a fudden torrent fweep me away ;
and when I thought of the horrors
of the night, my foul failed within me.

tx The night foon came on : an
impenetrable darknefs furfoimded
the earth, which trembled beneath
the dorm ; and the roaring of the
waters, and the howling of the tem¬
ped, were terrible. Stupified with
fear, and fhivering to death, how
could 1 look for the morning ?
How the kve-long winter night patT-
ed, he that poured it fo ftrong upon
me heft can tell, lor even a dream
remaineth not with me.

44 The morning however came •
the clouds began to be difperfed,
and here and there a flat* fparkled
red in the troubled f]< y . I was
leaking the icicles from my hair,
and preparing to return, when at a
conliderable di dance, on the fk i r ting
fide of the hill, I perceived iorne-
thing like a cottage half buried in
fnow. We know not happinefs till
we partake of mifery — this was a
palace to my hopes. I haftened to
the cottage, and with a light sevmd
heart lifted the latch j but I was
very fuddenly cheeked on feeing it

without inhabitants, and the floor
fprinkled with fnow, many inches
deep. 1 thought however thar, at
word, it would be a ceding place for
rhy exhaufted horfe and myfelf; fo
1 went forward.

6( But how' (hall I go on, my
child ! I had feen death a 1 moil in
every dreadful form ; but till then
my feelings had never met their
proof.

44 At the farther end of the cot¬
tage fat a little girl about thy age ;
her head was reclining on her arm,
and the anguifh of her fighs feemed
to rend her to pieces. O ! it was
poor Jefly Hawthorn. She looked
eagerly to the bed befide her, atid in
the bilternefs of affliction ffle cried
out, ‘O death ! thefe are the mo-
numents of thy power — O my God !
is my unbounded mifery reconcil¬
able to thy wifdom and goodnefs, or
am I in the mighty fcale of Provid¬
ence forgotten'? Then approach¬
ing me with a look of ancient
friend (hip and unafluming confid¬
ence, fhe took me by the hand.
This feemed to add a new tin ill to
her heart ; and with aim oft a ftupi-
fied kind of tendernefs, ffle led m£
to-the feene of a-1 her fofrows.— -
Pointing to the bed before her, and
with a convuiiive kind of manner,
c This,’ laid ffle, 4 Is my father, this
is my mother, and that pretty little
boy befide them is my brother Ed¬
ward. O looked thou fo pale, my
Edward ! He was a lovely boy,
and if they were not good — O my
God ! the bleating lamb was not
more innocent than they. The few
inhabitants of our hills almdfl: envied
us our happinefs, for the fun never let
on an aching »r an angry heart in
our cottage. Put, alas'! they have
deft me a lonely inhabitant of the
deft it ; and' the Power which they
taught me to revere — O ! is it pdf-
fible ?— Teems to have forfaken me.
Parent of good !’ cried die wringing
her hands together in agony, v (j

Jcfjjj Hawthorn. 699

mingle me with my friends, left un¬
bounded wretchednefs and mifery
reconcile trie to the efforts of evil
and of defpair.’ — Here her gentle
voice, toned to its utmoft, fuddenly
died away, and 1 thought her ex-
hauded irame was diffolved for ever.
But the thread of her borrows was
yet far from being ftretched to the
ntmoft. She recovered; and I fat
down befide her, and ufed every
means to comfort her. Something
like compofure, but not entirely fo,
was gradually refumed in her face ;
and her eyes, though with the ut-
moft timidity, leaned to penetrate
every avenue to my heart. — God
alone could direff her to look, when
fhe placed her little trembling hand

l O

in mine.

44 4 1 will tell you, if I am able, the
ftory of our little Edward/ laid foe;

4 and of mv father and mother too,

if vou will liften to me. I think vou

/ -

are good and will adid me in the
lad offices to — O Thou ! and he
knows’ — c He knows,’ faid I, ‘ the
hand which withholds its fuccour
from thee, ought to be withered for
ever.’ 1 ffiall not try to deferibe to
thee, Harry, the expreilion of her
gratitude — I hope it will be the lad
thing to efcape from my memory.

“ 4 My poor Edward,’ fa i J foe,
with a colledtd ftrength, ‘ had been
long ill of fome kind of fever ; the
herbs of the mountain afforded him
no reiief; and his anxious mother
had long mourned over his decay.
Three days ago my father, long
acquainted with the prefages of the
weather, went out to fee after his
docks, and to dicker them from the
ft arm which he expected, and was
to return before the fet ting-in of night.
The evening came, but he did not
return ; and that night, after a teni-
bie druggie, poor Edward died. Oh,
how his convulfed eye looked down
Upon his mother and me ! Through¬
out, the night my tender mother
wept over her little Edward; or went

to the- thorn above the houfe, and
listened for my father.

4 4 4 In the break of themoming die
returned from the hill ; her face was
pale as death, and her foul overpow¬
ered within her. She faid — O mer¬
cy ! foe had no longer the look or
manner of my mother — foe faid, foe
had feen the ghoft of her father; her
hufband’s was befide it, and the
children of the defert were rejoicing
around. — Alas,, my Jelly !• ftid fhe,
when the fpirits of the night, foiriek-
ing round our cottage, announced
thy brother’s death, we were ftrong,
and would not underhand them ;
but now, the bodings of my heart
allure me, that foon, oh foon ! wilt
thou he an orphan. Thy father
has perilh, ed on the mountains, and
th v mother cannot long forvive him.
He was the faired, and fhe beft of
men ; his foul was a ray of light
with which the angels of heaven will
not now be afoamed to mingle. The
world owed him fomething better
than his cottage: but he wasdifgufted
with it, and wi filed to fly from its
follies ; but they grew, he laid, and
flour ifhed in the wiliernefs. C>
Charles ! were f able, I would feek
thee on the mountains, and die be¬
tide thee ; but my heart beats feeble
within me, and the hand of death is
bull I y doling my eyelids for ever.
The laft tear is on my cheek, O my
Charles ! and a few minutes hence,

I will meet my Edward and thee.
Fareweil then, my Jelly ! thou art
left alone, my child : dreadful is thy
profpect : but truft thou, the ringer
of Providence, though thou haft icen
its diftnal operations, worked), when,
it is good, with kindnefs even i:i the
vvildernefs. Farewell. —

“ 4 The lad words fan} to red on her
colourlefs lips. She died ; and if
mv feelings had been as hue as hers,

1 would not have been long behind
her.’ With an idle hy ft eric kind of
ftnile,. die laid, 4 My baiting place
mud thus have been uncommon and
4U1

700

Jeffjj Hawthorn .

uncomfortable.'’ Inflantly however
colledling herfelf, 4 I was thinking/
continued (bf, 4 of the (kill and
awful fcene betide me, and of the
vinciitff ive Tpirit which had fpared me
in the ruins of my family, when
my father, feeble and exhaufted,
lifted up the latch, and entered the
cottage. How could I bear all this ?

] thought it was his ghofl; and (brick¬
ing, Med from his arms. —What ails
nay cfcild ? (aid he; it is thy father,
JefTy: where is thy mother, and
where is thy brother Edward ? Speak 3
my child : there is much borrow
and fad n,e fs in thy countenance ; is
thy dying father terrible to thee ? —
Talk not to me of death, I returned :
my young heart fra reel y throbs be¬
neath its bufferings and its borrows;
and wilt thou leave me alfo, O my
father ? Lock round thee to that bed,
and amidft all thy ahg'uifh, if it is
poiiible for thee, think of tliyfrlf and
o f t h y h e 1 p S e fs c h i 1 d . — -Hetm ned tothe
bed : no tear (park led in his eye, his
whole frame feemtd on the eve of
diftblution ; and void clifirabtion fet-'
tied on his countenance. — O death!
fa id he, thou haft been cruel indeed]
but thy threatening ann bears no
terror to me! Thou alone canft un¬
bind my heavy fetters, and place me
on the beam to carry me where my
faired is happy. Bear me, iny
feeble limbs, to that dreary dil-
mal bed, where I fit all reft for ever
from mv borrows ; and where a
faith left world will haunt me no
more. Farewell, my JefTy ! thou art
the fhadowy remnant of thy family ;
my dying heart returns to thee, and
bleeds over thy abundant mifery ;
but the hand that bruifcs thee can
heal thee (till. Judge not of the buf¬
ferings ®f others; tbefe may be an
atonement for thee. — Faiewell, my
child, O my daughter; and may the
bleflings which have been denied to
thy parents’, defeend upon thee 1 but
iv s not to be a flrade in their me¬

mory, or a monument of thy own

difgirace. —

44 4 Soon after, he expired ; and left
me, as you fee, deftitute of every
thins: which can attach me to the
world; furiounded with every thing
that can alarm the awakened and dil-
turbed imagination; and my reafon
fading beneath unavailing and in-
creaftng grief. 4 The grave/ faid
(lie, ‘ the grave, the refuge of the
broken heart, withholds its gloomy
fuccour ; the tear once on the cheek
continues to furrow it away; and
the world — the world knows not
how to twine a garland for a brow
aching like mine. Saw ye my fa¬
ther hghoft r - - fu r el) h i s robe was w h i te*,
and blefted angels around him ; or
are you a friendly fpirit bent by my
mother to carry me to my little Ed¬
ward ? Alas, how I wander!’

“ I took the little cherub by the
hand/’ faid the weeping old man. —
4 Hard-fated JefTy ! (hall I be the
minider of Providence to alleviate
thy diftrefs— and wilt thou leave the
deiert with me? I will be a father
and a mother and a brother to thee.
When the tear darts, I will tender¬
ly wipe it away ; and when thv
(lumbers are broken, the eye of
friendfhip (hall watch over thee.
Social life and fmilina kindnefs (hall

heal thy bleeding wounds, and in
time enable thee to forget that thou
wert wretched. No duty ft; all be
forgotten to thy departed friends:
I will return with my friends ; and
we will raife a humble, tombftone
over their graves, to refeue their
memory and uncommon fate awhile
from oblivion.*

6 As 1 had already been the extrava¬
gance of her grief, and feared its re¬
turn, I waited not the reply of her
artlefs gratitude, and the anguifh of
a folemn feparacon, but hurried her
away from the wretched cottage.

4 4 Since then, my Harry, 1 have
Struggled, with a fathei’s love, to

701

The Vidims of War ; a Tale *

wrench the arrow from her heart,
and to blot the gloomy fcene lor
ever from her memory; but I have
ftruggled in vain. The meek eye of
adoration, and the gentle fpirit of
friendfhip and efteem, have not been
able to dry up her tears, and to re-
ftore her to the world and to me.

“ Unhappy Jefly!” faid the ge¬
nerous, old man, 44 could the laft
throb of my aged heart give peace to
thine, 1 would link fmiling into the
grave, and think the lad ad of my
life was worth it all.”

After many a ftgh, and many a
tear, the good old man nnifhed his
ftory, by again recommending his
Jefty to my friendlhip and care; but
fhe died before him, and the day of
her death deftroyed the foundation
of all his happinefs*

THE VICTIMS OF WAR;

A TALE.

[Affe&ionately infcribed to the author’s father ,
brother , and. kinfman ; who unfortunately
are detained as firj oners cf war by the Bata-
wan republic

laudia was the elded child of a
numerous fapmily. Her parents
were not rich, but refpedlable. —
With manners the mod engaging,
goodnefs of heart was the prevailing
characteriltic of her mother ; and a
more brave and experienced Britifli
failor never exiOed than her worthy
father, captain Hadlier. He com¬
manded a large trading veffel, and
often would his wife and elder oft-
fpring accompany him on his dif¬
ferent voyages. Claudia, naturally
partial to thole exc.ui lions, was ufual-
lv called by her froiickfome com¬
panions 4 the lady failor,’ which ap¬
pellation die indeed merited by her
unbounded foridnefs for the ocean.
Mifs Hadlier was now feventeen years
of age; of a graceful, genteel exte¬
rior; pofTefled of a face which can
hardly be described : fuffice it .that,

though not eminently beautiful, {he
was mi ft refs of every charm, by the
elegant fimplicity, the innocent arch-
nefs of her manner. Mrs. Hadlier
was a good ceconomift ; a favincr
mother for her blooming children — *
yet (he did not wilh to debar them
from feeking the acquaintance of the
polite inhabitants who compofed her
fairy environs. Round the rnanftoa
of content in which Hie dwelt, was a
luxuriant flower-garden, parted only
by fome fmall white palli fades from
the refidence of lady Darina Fitz-
Herbert, the moft accomplilhed of
women, and amiable wife of the
brave admiral of that name. In her
polilhed fociety the youthful Clau¬
dia felt infinite plealure ; and that
lovely interesting fair-one was equally
enraptured with her young friend.
At the houfe of lady Darina, Clau¬
dia Hadlier met with Sidney Stan¬
hope, a lieutenant on board the (hip
of admiral Fitzherbert. Their fouls
were congenial with each other ;

o 7

• and the moment the brave Sidney
communicated Ids patlion to bis
commander, that moment was'Clau-

• dia — covered with blulhes — confefl-.
ing the power he poftc fled over her
to the fecond fell of her guilelcfs
breaft, lady Darina,

Stanhope hated lulpeule, defpifed
bantering, and (by making an offer
of his hand and lowly fortune to
the beauteous Claudia) hi&ears were
faluted with—4 Stanhope, 'thou art
dear to me!’ He fondly clafped her
to his glowing heart, and exulfingiy
led the trembling maid to the en¬
raptured Darina.

It was a rofy morn, ferenely look¬
ed the azure vault of heaven, when
captain Hadlier approached ft is
Chudia, and fmdingiy aiked her if
file would be his companion in this
his laft voyage to France.

‘Ha! ha!’ cried he, after an af¬
firmative anfwer from the delighted
Claudia ; 4 I thought ray lady failor
could not ref Life fuch a tempting

702

The Victims of War ; a Tale.

offer, s ! though Bcllona again begins
to frown. So pack up you'r trunks;
and, by to- morrow's dawn, the good
ihip Providence will be in motion to
take her departure from the land of
freedom and happinefs: when my
little girl may kifs the fair hand of
her friend mademoifelle Lunai,
dance to the crazy bagpipe of old
jacot, fing tg La PaiXj” and return
to the fond arms of your devoted
Stanhope.’

He ceafed ; and Claudia left her
{/ •

father, to communicate the fame to
Darina. With cheerful fpirits (lie
beheld the Englifh land fade from
her fight : and* in two days, the
Providence arrived fafely at her
deftined oort: to the infinite delight

i 7 o

of Claudia, who wifbed moft ardently
once more to behold the amiable Su¬
it tte.

A fortnight was mils Kadlier
hleffed with the pleating ccnverfe of
her beauteous Lunai, and with a
tearful eye file bid her adieu.

4 If misfortunes p refs hard on thee,
my deareft Sufette,’ laid file, falming
her cheek vet wet with weeping,

‘ make, ifpolhble, for England. Find
out the hofpitable board of my father;
and, in my fupporting arms, you
ihall forget thv nation's bufferings —
and, for your own, a veil mu ft be
drawn over them — and Sufette, for¬
getting hex former fj lender, muff
endeavour to court content. Then
with placidity you will view the
pa ft, as the poor wretched mariner
looks back on the wild ocean, when
he reaches the fhore after being-
fliipw recked on a dangerous cos ft :
a ligh will burft from his manly
bread at the fatal lofs of his hard-
earned fortune; but foon a fenfation
more pleafmg, more thrilling than
can be imagined, will arife in his
heart, and the laving of his tile trebly
compenfate for the deft r uft ion of
his lofty bark. Fortune, my friend,
cannot eaftly be acquired it is true;
but all, Sufette, that are poftelkd of

the favours of that fickle goddefs are
not happy : not id hleffed as they who
only enjoy a moder ate competence.
Ah, no! happinefs receives no luftre
from riches: it cannot be bought,
and this treafure I am afraid few in
reality are blefifed with: but hope
toothing us, poor mortals! with its
cheering influence, (hows not the
reflecting mirror of truth; and*
lulled in the fweet cradle of decep¬
tion, each (thank Heaven !) thinks
that for that ineftirnable gift he is
moft to be envied.’

4 Sweet Claudia, amiable foother
to my afflicted heart!’ cried Sufette,
extending her trembling hand,
which mils Hadlier p relied with fer¬
vor’ ; ‘adieu! adieu forever!’

The laft lenience half hung on
her quivering lip,— and, with hur¬
ried fteps, (he ruffled from the pre¬
tence of Claudia, who waited for
her return : but no Sufette came;,
and with deprelled fpirits fhe left the
hotel, and battened to the fhip which
on the following- dav was to fail for

O J

England.

But, ah! poor Claudia never was
doomed to behold the wifhed-for
land ! — never was (lie to wander on
the arm of Sidney !■ — -to gaze with
rapture on the azure curling wave,
killing the pebbled fhore ; but in
a dark forlorn prifon her fragile
form "was to feek for {belter from
the pitilefs rage of an inhuman ene¬
my ! Not long had the truly-re-
fperied father and daughter been
feated in the large commodious
cabin of the Providence, whe*n an
officer and a file of foldiers rufhed
upon them, with the dreadful order
that they rnuft not proceed to Eng¬
land — 4 But to prifon!’ loudly ex¬
claimed one of the forbidding alTaf-
fins; and, with a fhriek of horror,
Claudia clung to her father’s gar-
meets.

4 Forbear this violent grief, my
child!’ faid captain Hadlier, em¬
bracing the weeping girl.

703

The Victims of War ; a Tale.

* Ah, my father!’ cried (he, 4 1 will
drive, if poffible, to profit by your
mild example; but 1 am fearful my
ipirit cannot fupport fuch fcenes as
too finely will follow.’

Herefighs choked the poor trem¬
bling captive; and, with ha fly ft: rides,
they were conveyed to the defo¬
late abode of wretchednefs. Their
prifon was a romarHic Gothic edifice
that had flood for time immemorial,
iurrounded with high wallsthat ft ruck
death to the emaciated prifoners’
hopes. Within were walks where the
captives, ftrongly guarded, were al¬
lowed to take a penfive ftroll, Misth
nor gaiety never was heard within
thofe walls; and, though the body
might take refrefhment from the
clear air which gently wafted round
their immenfe environs, the mind
• — loft within itfeif — could only
whifper out a lowly murmur at the
hardnefs of its fate when obfcured
from all but the watchful eye of the
guard.

When the dreaded moment came
which was to part Claudia from her
father, her agonv amounted nearly
to defperation. She ih ricked; file
wept; and, calling a piteous look on
the captain, alked if he meant thus to
have her ?

< Mv deareft child ! my beloved
Claudia!’ (lowly mourned he, ‘you
know, I hope, too well thy father, to
think that he would part from all
his foul holds dear, did not fate —
war — (cruel war!) — ordain it. We
tnuft not then, my Claudia, repine
at what we cannot alleviate ; but, by
meeting evil with a cheerful brow,
forget the iron rod which accompa¬
nies it!’

The commanding officer now in-
terpofed : he forbade their longer
difeourfe; and, with cool intrepidity ,
captain Hadlier was carried to his
cell.

‘ We foon {ball mett again, dear
beloved father!’ exclaimed Claudia ;
and, grafping with frantic wildnefs,

the arm of the officer for fupport.
Hie was taken to the place of her
confinement. The doors were then
clofely barred, and her companions
left her to deipair and madnefs.

With emotions wild and djforder-*
cd. Claudia fury eyed the di final a-
partment. In one corner of this
dreary place was a fmall window,
fcarcely fufficienf, being clofely
barred, to admit the heavenly light
of day : damp was the flooring, and
worm-eaten the decayed wood¬
work. A fmall bed of ftraw was to
be her refting-place, and an old
broken ftool her fear.

For feveral hours (he remained in
a Hate of fullen ftnpor, when her
faculties were roufed by the unclof-
ing of the large iron door; and her
gaoler entered with fome food of the
coarfeft kind. He fet it down, with
a fmall lamp; and, without (peaking,
retired.

4 Gh, , England !’ fighed Claudia.
1 Oh, Sidney! am I never more to
behold ye? Am 1 never fated to
be foothed with thy partial fondnefs?
And you, fweet Mrs. Fitzherbeit,
and dear mother, will ye not often
weep for the poor wretched captive
Claudia ?’

Thus — thus would all her hours
pafs in bitter bewailings for fcenes
fo very — very dead.

One morning, at the hour when
her food was ufually brought her,
the officer who conducted Claudia
and her father to ptifon entered with
it. But, oh! what did he behold?
The emaciated maiden ft retched at
her length on the ftraw pallet; hec
long dark treffies floated on her
fnowy face and bofom ; and thofe
eyes, which once could intereft the
feel ngs of all heholdeis, were now
apparently clofed for ever. Moi>
fieur Bretagne approached. His
heart beat high with compaflionate
concern for the poor Ang/oifc , and
the tears fell faft. Bretagne kneel¬
ed ; betook her cold clammy hand

704

The Victims of War ; a Tale.

in lib. Her pulfe flowly bear.
Her breath 'Teemed nearly depart¬
ing ; and, with a bitter groan,
Eretagne funk befide the wretched
Claudia. He paufed, raifed himfelf,
and recovered. He prefTed her
hands within his, loudly called upon
her to live, and then paced the
gloomy place. A thought now
ffruck him : in his pocket was a fmall
Hafk of liqueur which was his ufual
allowance when on guard; its con¬
tents were not quite emptied, and he
gently poured home down the throat
of the faint Claudia. It revived
her: die flowly opened her eyes;
faintly articulated 4 Father!’ and
then again clofed them. Bretagne,
In fpeechlefs agony, wrung his
hands: he again prefled hers, and
again wetted her lips with the li¬
queur. Claudia flowly recovered.
She knew her protestor, and en¬
quired after her dear father.

4 He is well, mademoifelle ! and
foon will you be fo likewife. Re¬
vive! but revive, O charming An -
glofe! and depend on my ferving
you in every point that’s poflible!’
cried Henri Bretagne, his face glow¬
ing with rapture.

4 Methinks thou art a feraph,
good young man, coming to ad-
minifler confolation to this poor al¬
tered frame!’ fighed fhe, railing her-
fejf a little from her uneafy bed.

4 Though not a feraph,’ returned
Henri, ‘ but a poor weak mortal, I
will ever ferve you (if I may ufe the
expreflion) with the fagacity of the
former, and tendernefsof the latter.’

‘ Graces d Diet/ /’ exclaimed Clau¬
dia, 4 I have ftill one friend left
though even lure !’ furveying with
horror her dungeon.

Long did Bretagne confole with
the aromatic Tweets of friendfhip
the weeping Angloife; long did he
ham* over the form of her he loved
with the fondeft rapture : but his
dutv forced him to leave her, and
with a heavy heart he uttered his lafl

adieux! but with flrong afToranees of
vifiting her the next day.

According to his promife, Henri
came, — and fo continued, never for¬
getting to bring with him foine deli¬
cate refrefhments. Claudia now be¬
gan to exhibit figns of returning
health, and with it a fmall (hare of
her late brilliant vivacity. Bretagne
was exalted to the higheft pitch of
enthufiafm when in her company ;
and often, after gazing on the inte¬
resting prifoner, would he turn afide
to wipe away his flooding tears.
Claudia had now been confined ten
weeks, and no tidings of her father
could fhe learn, only that Bretagne
ufed to cheer her by alluring her that
he was well.

‘Health is precious! moftblifsful !’
flie would fay; 4 but liberty methinks
is better! Ah, fweet liberty! how
little do they know how to appreciate
thy worth who have not, like me,
long fighed to be poffefled of thee!
— -I envy you your freedom, mon-
fieur,’ faid Claudia, one evening, to
Bretagne.

4 Ah! that you need not, beauti¬
ful Angloife ; for I am more in
bondage than thyfelf.’

4 Surely not?’ afked file,, in the
fimplicity of her heart. 4 Surely
not, Bretagne ?'

‘ I am,’ laid he, after a long paufe,
4 more your prifoner than you are
mine; and only with that hope of
liberation could animate me as it
does you ! ’

He prefled her hand — Claudia
bluffed.

‘Think not that I mean to offend
vou, mademoifelle, bv my forward
prefumption,’ continued he, with
fervor: 4 oh, no! my refpeft for the
beautiful Angloife is too ardent to
give offence knowingly,’ added he,
fixing his foft blue eyes on the hazel
ones of his auditor.

Mils Hadlier blufiied vermilion,
and faintly uttered — 4 Fray leave
me, monfieur!’

70 5

The i idhns of War ; a Tale .

After fgch a candid confeffion
from the pleating Frenchman, Clau¬
dia grew more referved. She fel-
dom fpoke ; and, when fhe did, her
accents were thofe of referve. Bre¬
tagne perceived it: he grew reft lets,
peevifh, and uneafy. The arch
fmile of animation forfook his brow,
and his whole appearance was totally
changed Claudia, never ufed to
reftraint, could ill bear to ufe it with
her affable friend, her preferver !
but then could flie carefs him with
hopes of returning his virtuous paf-
iion? Oh, no! Stanhope, an ene¬
my — all confpired againfl it; and
with a chillnefs creeping through
her veins, flie now beheld him,

A thought, however, one day
ftruck her, to afk the love-fick
Henri if it were polfible for her to
fee her father? She did fo; and on
the enfuing night, when ftillnefs
reigned around, at the hazard of his
life, which he valued only as the
means of giving her comfort, he
brought her the loofe drefs of a friar
to equip herfeif in ; and, unper¬
ceived by the foldiers, fhe rufhed to
the folitary cell of the captain. Bre¬
tagne ftrft: entered; and, in a loft
whifper, informed Hadlier of his
daughter’s approach.

‘ This is too much !’ cried the mife-
rable victim, and fainted in his arms.

Claudia flew towards him,diftra£t-
cd by defpair. She tore her hair
and robe, called herfeif the murder¬
er of her parent, and flung herfeif on
her knees before the captain. Bre¬
tagne urged her to compoftire —
4 Life you will alarm the outer l'en-
tinels,’ he exclaimed; ‘ and then all
is loft !’

Claudia’s griefabated, and Hadlier
fhortly revived to bid's her with his
revered voice. Two hours lwiftly
flew in his prefence; and, with a
breaking heart, Claudia was once
more forced to leave him. Henri
affectionately led her to her prifon;
and, with a gentle preflure of the
hand, left the diftrefled girl.

Vo l. XXXIV.

When the hour came on the fol¬
lowing day which was to bring
Claudia her food, file looked with
eager expectation for Bretagne, but
became not. The glorious lun had
crimfoned the weftern fky, and yet
Henri had not made his appearance.

Claudia gave vent rapidly to her
grief by torrents of tears, and men¬
tally exclaimed — 4 Sure he could not
be difcovered vefternight ! Sure
kind Heaven will not let him fuf-
fer for his humane tendernefs to his
prifoner ! — lean weep no longer,*
cried fhe, after the paufe of fame
minutes; 1 my tears will no longer
flow : but this poor heart leems
breaking with its heavy preffure of
ills. Ah, poor Luuai,!’ Claudia figh-
ed deeply, 4 what may not now be
thy fate, comfortlefs and alone, de¬
prived of thy fond father and charm¬
ing brother ! Sweetefl: Sufette, that
I were with you, and then I fliould
be more tranquil!’

She wiped her eyes, and feated
herfeif on the lowly bench. —
Days pafled, and yet Bretagne came
not. Claudia’s agitation was ex¬
treme. She wiflied, but dreaded, to
enquire of her gaoler the reafon of
hisabfence; and, worked up to a
pitch of phrenfy by fufpenfe, flic
faintly aiked if monfieur Bretagne
was well ?

f He is well, I make not the lead
doubt,’ cried the furly Frenchman;
‘and his crime, of ferving an An-
gloift , is expiated,’

She heard no more ; but, fainting,
fell on the damp floor. The gaoler
gave aghaftly fmile of pleafure, and
left her.

When mifs Hadlier recovered, fhe
found herfeif in the prefence ot two
or three officers, who behaved to her
with the molt infulting freedom.

4i wonder not at Bretagne’s leni¬
ty,’ cried one, in French; 4 tor, Dy
Jefus! flie is a lovely woman. ’

4 A compatfionate heart may fome-
times be led into danger, though,*
anfwered his companion; ‘and,

4 X '

706

The ViBims of War ; a 'Tale.

before this, Bretagne, I make no
doubt, repents the warm indifcre-
ttons of his,’

4 Gentlemen,’ cried Claudia,
4 what means this intruiion ? May
I not be allowed to give vent to the
flowings of my breaking heart, with¬
out being overlooked by prying
eyes who wouldfeek my dedrubtipn

The officers gave her a look of in-
dignation; and Claudia, trembling,
continued — «

4 You need not fear my eluding
you : thole means I have not in my
power; and, even if I had, Claudia
Hadlier’s foul polfefTes too much of
a Briton’s fpirit to a6f difhonourably,
even when confined by an invete¬
rate enemy. I confefs 1 have been,
unknowingly, the foe of Bretagne.
Alas ! 1 can but fay that, on his ac¬
count, 1 am mod wretched.’

4 We came not,’ faid the fuperior
officer, 4 with the view of intruding
on your womanifh weaknefs: but to
tell von that this hour you mud leave
this place for - - P

Claudia looked incredulous.

4 You need not eve me thus, ma-
demoifelle,’ continued he ; 4 but be¬
hold this,’ drawing forth a paper,

4 and it will fnow you my power is
abfoluteP

Claudia gazed on it with horror.

4 And is not my father to go like -
wife ?' enquired file.

‘No; that cannot be!’ loudly
cried he: * the captain here mult
remain, and vou muft be widely fe-
para ted.’

6 I will not then go ! — I will not
leave him !’ franticly the exclaimed.

4 Ah, fay not foi’ cried the en¬
raged Frenchman, while the other
two laughed immoderately at the
frantic geltures of the poor prisoner.

Claudia flung herfelf on her trem¬
bling knees. She railed her eyes to
Heaven; then, half-riflng, clafped
her arms around his, and tenderly
alked him to give her a fhort refpite.
He flung her from him with difdain ;

and, without fpeaking, turned a way
from the weeping fuppliant.

‘There 'is but one way, then, to
rid myfelf of vour controul ; and loon
fhsll you fee that way 1’ furioufly ex¬
claimed flie, writhing with agony;
and fnatching from the folds of her
drefs a dagger, which file had found
in her prilon, flue plunged it in her
boforn.

They drove to arrefl her hand,
but in vain; for nearly to the hilt it
was buried in her fnowy breafti

4 Now, Bretapne ! now, fweet
Henri! you can no longer be fufpebt-
ed of humanity to poor Claudia !
Now, inhuman wretches ! behold
your prifoner, who fcorned to live in
your piteous bondage ! Oh, my
beloved father! my Sidney! my
Darina! Sufette! mother! oh!’ and,
falling on the draw pallet, Claudia
breathed her iaft.

Poor child of nailery, ill wad thou
.fitted for thy bard l’ot ! ill were thy''
fpirits able to fudain their load!
But the Almighty will (let us hope)
have mercy on thee • and, forgetting
thy guilt, take thee to his bofom to
repo fe in quiet.

The officers, who difgraced by
their inhumanity their honourable
profeffion, appalled at the horrid
fight, fiowly left the prifon ; and,
fliortly after, the poor Claudia was
conveyed to her cold bed of earth.

Captain Hadlier, when made ac¬
quainted with the tragical end of his
darling daughter, grew frantic. —
fits fenfes entirely left him : and,
fome time after, when an exchange
of prifoners was made, the poor ma¬
niac left the fatal ffiore of France;

and returned to England, the land of
blooming liberty, to unfold the fad
tale to his wife, to crufh the riling
hopes of the brave and generous
Stanhope, and to overwhelm with
wretchednefs the amiable Darina
Fitzherbert.

Catherine Bremen Yeam-es,
Yarmouth , Sept. 30.

707

The Moral Zoologijl .

The MOPvAL ZOOLOGIST. Though thefe birds are edeemed

PART II.

(< Continued from p. 624.)

*1Phe fagacity difcovered by parrots
when domedicated, Teems like-
wife natural to them when in a
wild date, ranging their native
woods. They Jive together in
flocks; and mutually aflift and defend
each other againd the attacks of
other animals, and by their cries give
warning to their companions, of ap¬
proaching danger: they generally
breed in ho.iaw trees, in which they
form a round hole. If they find
any part of a tree beginning to rot,
from the breaking off a branch, or
any other accident, they fcoop this
part with their bids till they make
the hole fufficiently large and conve¬
nient. Frequently, however, they
are content with the hole which a
wood-pecker has made. In this
they depofit their eggs, and hatch
and bring up their young; but
without taking the trouble to line it
in the in fide. Thefe ne.ds, we are
allured by Tome travellers, are always
found in the trunks of the tailed:,
larged, and {freighted trees. They
ufuaily lay two or three eggs, about
the i'\ZQ of thofe of the pigeon,
which tfiev condderablv referable,

w J j 7

and fpeckled like thofe of the part¬
ridge. The natives of the countries
in which many fpecies o.f the parrot
breed, are very indudrious in difco-
vering their nefls, in order to take
the young and fell them to the Euro-
peans; as thofe birds are found to be
much the mod docile which are taken
young. A neft of parrots is there¬
fore confidered as a valuable acqui-
fition : and the ufual method of tak¬
ing it is by cutting down the tree,
in the fall of which it frequently
happens that the young parrots are
killed ; but if onlv one of them fur-
vives, it is confidered as a fufficient
recompence.

much more valuable \frhen thus tak¬
en and reared from the ned, becaufe
they may be taught to fpeak with
more eafe and more didindlly be¬
fore they have been accu domed to
repeat the hardi notes of the wild
parrots ; yet as the natives cannot
always find young ones enough to
fupply the demand for them, they
likewife take the old ones. Thefe
they dioot in the woods, with arrows,
the heads of which are wrapped in
cotton, by which means the bird
is knocked down but not killed.
Some die ; but the greater part, by
proper treatment and plentiful food,
recover, and are carried to market.

Parrots are likewife taken by the
natives of thefe countries for their
feathers, which are employed in
making certain articles of drefs: and
to eat them ; for though feme fpecies
of them are tough and ill-taded, yet
there are other forts, particularly of
the fmafl parakeet tribe, which tire
faid to be very delicate food. Be-
fides the method above mentioned
of (hooting them with blunt arrows
headed with cotton ; thofe who go
in qued of them fometimes mark
the trees upon whichthey perch, and
during the night bring fulphureous
fubfiances which they burn under
them; and the fumes of which fuf-
focate, or at lead dupify the parrots,
who fail to the ground and are
taken. In New Spain, where the
feathers of thefe birds conftitute an
article of regular commerce among
the natives, we are told, by father
Labat, that the dealers in them take
pofleifion of a number of trees in
which the parrots breed, and tranf-
mit them as an inheritance from
father to fon : and thefe trees fre¬
quently form the principal part of
their permanent property.

Of the parakeet kind, in Brafil,
Labat allures us that they 'are the
mod: beautiful in their plumage, and
the mod talkative birds, in nature.

4 X ‘4

The Moral Zoohgifl*

708

They are very tame, and appear
fond of mankind : they feem pleafed
with holding parley with him : they
never have done ; but, while he con¬
tinues to talk, anfwer him, and
appear refolved to have the lad
word. But another quality of which
they are poffeffed, puts an end to
this alfociation. Their flefh is ex¬
tremely delicate, and highly efieemed
by thole who prefer indulging their
appetite to gratifying their ears.
The fowler walks into the woods,
where they are found in abundance ;
but as they are green, and exactly
the colour of the leaves among
which they fet, he only hears their
prattle, without being able to fee a
tingle bird. He looks round him,
fenfibte that his game is within gun-
fhot in abundance, but is mortified
to the laid degree that it is impoffible
to fee them. Unfortunately for
thefe little animals, they are redlefs,
and ever on the wing ; fo that in
dying from one tree to another
he has but too frequent oppor¬
tunities of dedroying them : for
as foon as they have dripped the
tree on which they lit of all its
berries, fome one of them flies off to
another, and if he finds berries on
it, gives a loud call, and all the
red follow. This is the oppor¬
tunity which the fowler has long
been waiting for : he fires in among
the flock, while they are on the
wing: and he feldom failsof bringing
down fome of them. But it is An¬
gular enough to fee them when
they find their companions fallen.
They fet up a loud outcry, as if
they were upbraiding their de-
droyer, and do not ceafe till they
fee him preparing for a fecond
ciifcharge.

Parrots in their wild date feed
on almod every kind of fruit and
crain. Their flefh in general, it is
faid, drongly coiitradis the flavour
of the food they eat, and becomes
good or ill tafted according to the

quality of then* particular diet
At the feafon when the guava is ripe*
they are fat and tender; and it is
then that the parakeets above men¬
tioned are fought after by the fowlers.
If they feed on the feeds of the acajou,
their flefh acquires a drong flavour
of garlic; and when the feeds of the
fpice trees are their food, it tades of
doves and cinnamon. When they
eat bitter berries, it is infupportabiy
bitter. The feed of the cotton tree
intoxicates them; as well as wine and
tobacco, which, in taming, are often
given them to mitigate their fierce-
nefs, and render them talkative—
an effect which intoxication very evi¬
dently has on them, as well as on
many of the human race. Aridotle
has obferved, that they will drink
wine. Their appetite for flefh is
unnatural ; and when too copioufiy
gratified, never fails to bring on
difeafe. Of all food, they are fonded
of the carthamus, or badard faffron
which, though of a drongly purga¬
tive quality to man, agrees perfectly
with their condkution,and will fatten
them, efpecially the Guinea parrct , in
a very fhort time.

Parrots, befides being liable to
mod of the diforders which attack
other birds, arefubjedt to fome which
are peculiar to themfelves. They
fometimes differ from a kind of
gout, and fometimes fall from their
perches in a fort of epileptic fit.
Their beak, when they grow old,
becomes fo very much hooked that
at length they are no longer able to
eat, and die of hunger. They are,
however, remarkable for longevity
and there are fome well-attefted
indances of their having lived from
fifty to fixty years ; and according
to fome authors they have been
known to attain to a much greater
age. Salerne, a French writer, fays
that he faw one at Orleans which
was above fixty }^ars old, and dill
cheerful and lively; and Vofmaer
affures us that he knew a parrot

709

The Moral Zoologifl .

. I

which had lived in a family for a
hundred years, having defcended
from father to fon. The common
period of the life of thefe birds,
however, appears to be not more
than twenty or five-and-tvventy
years ; as after that time their bill
generally becomes fo much curved,
that they find fo much difficulty in
eating, that they pine away and die
for want of taking fufiicient fufte-
nance.

I fliall conclude this letter with
the very appofite and judicious
reflexions of M. BufFon on the
power pcfieffed by this bird of
imitating the human voice and
fpeech, and thus affuming in fome
degree the appearance of ra¬
tionality.

* The power of ufing the hand,
and of walking on two feet ; the
refemblanee, how faint foever, to the
face of man ; the want of a tail ;
and other familiarities to the human
conformation ; have procured to the
Ape the name of <wild man , from
thofe who themfelves are indeed
only half-men, and who can com-
pare only the exterior charaXers.
Had what was equally poffible taken
place, had the voice of the parrot
been bellowed on the ape, the human
race would have been firuck dumb
with affonifhment, and the philofo-
pher would fcarcely have been able to
demonftrate that the ape was fill a
brute. It is fortunate, therefore,
that nature has feparated the facul¬
ties of imitating our fpeech and our
geflures, and fliared them between
two very different fpecies : and while
Hie has conferred on all animals the
fame fenfes, and on fome the fame
members and organs, with man, file
has referved for him alone the power
of improving them ; — that noble
mark of our pre eminence, which
conftitutes our empire over the
animated world!

< There are two kinds of improve¬
ment ; the one barren, and confined

to the individual ; the other prolific,
extending through the fpecies, and
cultivated in proportion as it is
encouraged by the inflitutions of
fociety. Among brutes, the expe¬
rience of one race is never tranf-
mitted to the fucceeding : their
acquifitions are merely individual;
they are the fame now that they
ever were — ever will be. But man.
is progreffive: he receives the in-
flruXions of pa ft ages ; he reaps
the benefit of the difcoveries of
others ; and, bv a proper life of his
time, he may continually advance
in knowledge. And who can, with¬
out regret and indignation, view
the long gloomy night of ignorance
and barbarifm which overfpread
Europe, and which not only arrefted
our improvement, but thruft us
back from that elevation which we
had attained! But for thefe unfor¬
tunate viciffitudes, the human fpecies
would invariably approach towards
the point of perfeXion.

‘The mere favage, whofhunsall fo¬
ciety, and receives onlyan individual
education, cannot improve his fpecies;
and will not differ, even in under-
Handing, from thofe animals on.
which he has bellowed his name.
Nor will he acquire even fpeech, it
his family be difperfed, and the
children abandoned foon after birth.
The firfl: rudiments of the facial
difpofition are therefore unfolded by
the tender attachment and the
watchful folicitude of the mother.
The helplefs fiate of the infant re¬
quires confiant and affiduous at¬
tention : its claimant cries are
anfwered by foothing expreffions,
which begin the formation of lan¬
guage ; and during the fpace of two
or three years, this grows in fom'e
degree fixed and regular. But, in
other animals, the growth is much
more rapid : the parental endearments
lafi: only fix weeks or two months;
and the impreffions are flight and

tra-nfitory, and after reparation' they I

710

The Moral Zoologifl.

entirely ceafe. It is not therefore
to the peculiar ft ru Chi re of our
organs that we are indebted for the
attainment of fpeech. Parrots can
articulate the fame founds ; but with
them they are merely founds, and
devoid of all fignification.

4 The power of imitating the
aCtions or difeourfe of man confers
no real Inperiority on an animal.
It never incites to the cultivation
and extenfion of other powers, nor
tends to the improvement of the
fpecies. The articulation of the
parrot onlv implies the exaCt analogy
of its organs of hearing and of voice
to thofe of man ; and the fame
Umilarity of ftruCture obtains,
though in a lefs degree, in many
other birds whole tongue is thick,
round, and nearly of the fame form.
Starlings, blackbirds, jays, jack¬
daws, &c. can imitate words.
Thofe whofe tongue is forked
(in which clafs may be ranged
almoft all the fmall birds) whiffle
more eafily than they prattle; and
if, with this ftruCture, they have
a Kb fenlibility of ear, and can accu¬
rately’ retain the impreffions made
on that organ, they will learn to
repeat airs. The canary, the linnet,
the ftfkin, and the bullfinch, feem na¬
tural muficians. The parrot imitates
every kind of noife ; the mewing of
eats, the barking of dogs, and the
notes of other birds, as well as
the human voice : yet it can only
feream or' pronounce very fhort
phrafes ; and though capable of even
' articulating founds, it is unable to
moderate thefe, or fupport them by
intermingling gentle cadences. It
bas therefore lefs acutenefs of per¬
ception, lefs memory, and lefs flexi¬
bility of organs.

4 There are alfo two different
kinds of imitation : the one is ac¬
quired by reflection ; the other is
innate and mechanical. The latter
proceeds from the common inftinCt
diffuftd through the whole fpecies,

which prompts or conftrains eac^
individuals perform fimilar aCtions;
and the more ftupid the animal, the
more entire will be this influence,
and the more exaCt this refemblance.
A fheep has invariably the fame
•habits with every other fheep : the
fir ft cell of a bee is precifely like
the laft. The knowledge of the
individual is equal to that of the
fpecies:— Such is the d i ft i field on
between reafon and inftinCt. The
other kind of imitation, which fhould
be regarded as artificial, is the ao-
quifition of the individual and cannot
be communicated. Themoftaccom-

piifhed parrot will never tranfmit
his talent of prattling to his off-
fpring. When an animal isinftruCied
by man, the improvement refts with
it alone. This imitation depends,
as well as the former, on the peculiar
ftruCture : but it aifo implies fal¬
libility, attention, and memory j
and thofe fpecies which are fufeep-
tible of education, rank high in the
order of organifed beings. If the
animal be eafily trained, and each
receive a certain degree of inftruc-
tion, as in the cafe of dogs, the
whole fpecies wiliacquire fuperiority
under the direction of man ; but
when abandoned to nature, the dog
will efcape into the wolf or the
fox, and would never of itfelf
emerge from that ftate. All animals
may therefore be improved by
affociating with man ; but they can¬
not be inftruCted to improve each
other, for they never can communi¬
cate the ideas and knowledge which
they have acquired. In man, reafon
extends and diffufes his acquired
knowledge and powers; while, in
animals they continue ftationary and
perifh with the pofteffor.’

With the fmcereft wifhes for
your ladylhip’s hanpinefs and wel¬
fare, I remain, with the moft pro¬
found refpeCt and efteem, your
affedionate Eugenia*

(To be continued.)

Engrai iZ for tfie Zadvs JHagazino .

College of the Deaf and Dumb at Paris. 711

College of the Deaf and Dumb at
Paris.

" From the 'journal tf an Er.ojijh Traveller in
Fai is. j

had long anticipated the delight
'which 1 expected to derive from
the interesting public ietture of the
abbe Sicard, and the examination of
his pupils. This amiable and enlight¬
ened man p re tides over an inititution
which endears his name to humanity.
My reader v/ili immediately conclude
that I allude to the College of the
Deaf and Dumb. By the genius
and perfeverance of the late abbe
Charles Michael ue 1’Epee, and his
prefent amiable iuccelfor, a race o f
fellow beings— -denied, by a privation
of hearing, of the powers of utterance;
in dilated in the midlt of multitudes
bearing their own image 5 and cut off
from the participation, within light, ot
all the endearing intercourfes ot locial
life — are reftored as it were to the
bleliings of complete exigence, ihe
glorious labours of thefe philanthro¬
pies, in no very diliant ages, would
have conferred upon them the repu¬
tation and honours of beings mvell-
ed with fuperhuman influence. By
making thole faculties which are be¬
llowed, auxiliary to thole which are
denied, the deaf are taught to hear,
and the dumb to Ipeak. A blent re-
prefentative language, in which the
eye officiates for the ear, and com¬
municates the charms of lcience and
the delights of common intercourie
to the mind, with the velocity, faci¬
lity, and certainty of found, has been
p relented to thefe imperfect children
i) f nature. The plan of the abbe, I
believe, is before the world. I can¬
not be expected, in a fugitive fketch
like the prefent, to attempt an ela¬
borate detail of it. Some little idea
of its rudiments may, perhaps, be im¬
parted by a plain description of what
palled on the examination day, when
I had the happinefs ol being prelent.

On the morning ot the exhibition,
the llreets leading to the college were
lined with carriages j for humanity

has here made a convert of fafnion,
and direfted her wavering mind tp
objects from which Ihe cannot, retire
without ample and condoling gratifi¬
cation. Upon the lawn, in front of ,
the college, were groups of iheqmpils
enjoying thofe fports and exerciles
which are followed by other children
to whom Providence has been more
bountiful. . Some of their recreations
required calculation ; and I oblerved
that their intercourie with eech other
appeared to be eafy, fwift, agd intel¬
ligible. They made lome convulfive
movements with their mouths in the
courfe of their communication, which,
at firft, had rather an unpleafant ef¬
fect. In the cloifter I addrelled my-
lelf to a genteel- looking youth, who
did not appear to belong to the col¬
lege, and requelled him to ffievv me
the way to the theatre, in which
the lecture was to be delivered. I
found he took no notice of me. One
of the affiiiants of the abbe, who was
Handing near me, informed me he
was deaf and dumb, and made two or
three figns, too fwift for me to dif—
criminate ; the filent youth bowed,
took me by the hand, led me into the
theatre, and, with the greatefl polite-
nel's, procured me an excellent feat.
The room was very crowded ; and in
the courfe of a quarter of an hour
after I had entered, every avenue
leading to it was completely filled
with genteel company. The benches
of the auditors of the ledture difplay-
ed great beauty and faffiion. Altage
or tribune appeared in front; behind
was a large inclined Hate, in a frame,
about eight feet high, by fix long.
O11 each tide of the itage the fcholars
were placed, and behind the fneita-
tors was a tine bull of the founder
of this inftitution, the admirable De
l’Epee.

Tiie abbe Sicard mounted the tri¬
bune, and delivered his lebture with
very pleafing addrefs, in the courfe
of which he very frequently excited
great applaufe. The lubjedl of it
was an analyfis of the language of the

7 1;2 Review of D refs and Manners at the prefent Period .

deaf and dumb, interfperfed with fe-
veral curious experiments upon, and
anecdotes of, his pupils. The ex¬
amination of the fcholars next fol¬
lowed. The communication which
has been opened to them in this lin¬
gular manner, is by the philofophy of
grammar.

The denotation of the tenfes is ef¬
fected by appropriate ligns. The
hand thrown over the fhoulder, ex-
pretfed the pall ; when extended, like
the attitude of inviting, it denoted
the future ; and the huger inverted
upon the bread, indicated the prefent
tenfe. A fingle fign communicated
a word, and frequently a lenience..
A lingular instance of the firll occur¬
red. A gentleman amongft the fpec-
tators, who appeared to be acquaint¬
ed with the art of the abbe, was re¬
queued to make a lign to the pupil
then under examination^ the moment
it was made, the fcbolar chalked upT
on the date, in a fine, fwift, flowing
hand, 4 une homme.’ The pupil err¬
ed: the gentleman renewed the fign;
when he immediately wrote 4 une per-
fonne,’> to the aftonifhment of every
per top prefent. This circumftance is
a ftrong inifance of the powers of
diferimination of which this curious
communication is fufceptible.

Some of the fpeeiators requefted
the abbe to deferibe, by figns, feveral
fentences which they repeated from
memory, or read from authors) which
were immediately underdood by the
pupils, and penciled upon the date. — ■
The leCture and examination laded
about three hours.

The exhibition of Deaf and Dumb
will never be eradicated from my
mind. The tears which were died
on that day, feem.ed aimed diffident
to wipe away the recollection of thofe
times, in which inifery experienced
no mitigation) when every one, trem¬
bling for himfelf, had no unabforbed
fenfation of condoling pity to beftow
upon' the unfortunate. This in dilu¬
tion Is made fervieeable to the date.
A pupil of the college is one of the

chief clerks of the national lottery
office; in which he diftinguifhes him¬
felf by his talents, his calculation,
and upright deportment.

A Review of Dress and Man¬
ners at the prefent Period.

Mr. Editor,

t has for the lad live or fix centu¬
ries been the.cuftom of the learned
to inveigh againft the manners of the
age in which they have lived. Thefe
fevere and prejudiced reflections ge¬
nerally conclude with a prediction,
that the introduction of luxury, and
the deluge, as it were, of immorality,
will, in a Ihort time, bring on inevi¬
table ruin.

I recollect an anecdote in Mr. Bofl*
well’s 4 Life of Dr, Johnfon/ where
one gentleman, reaching a book from
the Ihelf, read about half a page of it
to a friend fitting with him in his
dudy ; it contained fevere animad-
verfions upon the licentioufnefs and
luxury of the age, and denounced the
fpeedy diflolution of our date. His
friend (a man of wonderful fagacity)
applauded it in the warmed manner,
and re-echoed its fentiments, declar¬
ing that, as the author had affirmed,
there never had been a more aban¬
doned age : that the contaminated
morals of the generality — the too um-
verfal depravity, foreboded the over¬
throw of all authority and fubordina-
tion. — 4 True,.’ faid the gentlqman?

4 but this book was publi&ed about
five hundred years ago.9

Such adertions are then (I declare
it as my own opinion) unfounded.
The prefent is not only very far from
being an illiterate age, but is one
which, for the improvement of every
branch of literature, the univerfal ex-
ten fion of the politer arts and fciences,
the fuperior {kill in military taCfics
and civil ordinances, may challenge
any time to fhow its equal. The
deep erudition and unwearied aiii-
duity of our divines, has efiablifh-
ed our religion upon too permanent a

Review of Drefs and Manners at the prefnt Period. 71 3

bafis to be eafily fhaken by the (hafts
of infidelity. The radical brength and
energy of our conditution, the fupe-
rior wifdom of our laws, the freedom
enjoyed from a limited monarchy,
the throne filled by a fovereign juftiy
dear to his; people, preclude any idea
of danger. The found morality and
virtuous integrity of Britons, excited
by the precepts of the church, and
animated by the example of the
higher orders of fociety, leave little
reafon to fear that the infinuations of
the malicious will be able to under¬
mine their principles. With refpect
to the common cant of luxury, it only
remains to aflert, that it is a fade
and erroneous notion. Where is a
more luxurious country than France ?
Where one fo great, fo aggrandifed ?

Having now difcuffed the fubjebt
with refpebl to my own fex, I (hall
proceed to fpeak of the Female
World ; calculated by nature to be the
folace of man, the partaker of his joys
and cares, and to fmooth the rugged
paths oflife. But, though endowed
by nature with every requifite for
this great purpofe, all are fruftrated
and perverted by the dazzling lures
of fafhion. It is painful to depreciate
the merits, and to difclofe the foibles,
of the fair fex ; of thofe whofe mif-
condudt I regard with the tendered
regret. But their errors (I truft of
the judgment, and not of the heart)
call loudly for the cenl'ure of the mo-
ralift.— -The drefs and appearance of
a modern tine lady feems to be a du¬
bious imitation of thofe of Indolence,
as defcribed in Xenophon’s famous
allegory, in words to the following
purport :

‘ She appeared to be fed to flefhi-
nefs and plumpnefs ; her (kin highly
rouged, with a view that the white and
red might appear more than naturally
blended. Her gait was mafculine; and
{he walked very ere6t, that her dature
might appear the more majedic. Her
eyes had an impudent dare; and her
robe was apparently laboured to be

Vo l. XXXIV.

of fuch a tranflucent texture as
might difplay her fhape to advan¬
tage.’

The innovation of French manners
has ever been juftiy dreaded by this
country; but our ladies have now ar¬
rived to the extreme of the Parifian ton,
in point of drefs ; and the next bep
they will take, it is to be feared, will
be to imitate their chadity. Plunged,
ye fair, in the vortex of didipation,
ye fee not the dangers that await ye.
To your folly, and inconfidency of
drefs, the pontiff of Rome, in his
charge to you, has attributed thofe
barbarities which, for the lad ten
years, have difgraced the civilized
world. How far fi» dreadful a de¬
nunciation may be of ferious import
to you, I leave to yourfelves to deter¬
mine. For myfelf, 1 cannot conceive
how a woman of modefty can ap¬
parel herfelf in fo very extravagant a
manner. But. fenfible I am, that an
improper dilplay of thebeautieswhich
modedy would withdraw from view,
rather infpires difguff than affection ;
and believe me that our imagina¬
tion, warm and fanguine, will more
than do juftice to concealed charms.
Shun then, ye fair, ahi fhun the path
of pleafure : which, though in the
perfpe&ive it appears as an embroi¬
dered carpet, variegated with nu¬
merous flowers, foon as you advance,
fades from the view, and proves itfelf
a path of thorns ; renders your future
life miferable; brings on a premature
old age ; and, finally, hurls you un¬
prepared into the prefence of your
Maker. Purfue the path of virtue ;
and remember that, though perfonal
charms may make a firff impreilion,
a cultivated underdanding is requifite
to preferve conqued. So (hall con-
leious rectitude wrap you as it were
in a garment ; fo (hall innocence de¬
fend you as it were a fhield ; fo (hall
you refign your breath to your Cre¬
ator as it were in a gentle Humber :

‘ Mar calt one ionging lingering look behind,

Flgkio.

4 Y

[ 7l4 ]

POETICAL ESSAYS.

' (

An Elegiac Tribute of Refpefl to the Me¬
mory of Mifs IV— 1 1— mf- — n , of Rolls -
buildivgs , who died June, 1803.

"pAREYrELL, dear girl! — thy fpirit
wings its way

To realms of biifs, and never-ending
day :

By filler (eraphs borne to meet its Lord ;

And join, with angels, to adore his word.

Thrice happy thou, to leave a world of
care !

A wcrldof dire difcrcTs and deepdefpair !

’’Where babbling Difcord rears her hate¬
ful head,

And horrid Anarchy and Sorrow fpread.

Where all, in careful mood, purfue their
ends :

If felf is gratified, farewell to friends.

Ambition fome purfue ; foine follow
fame :

Some court the empty honours of a
namei

Alas, vain man ! Death flops your
warm career ;

Deiiroys each cherife’cthope, each anx¬
ious fear!

The grave receives your wearied form
at laft :

Th ere all is peace, anxiety is pad.

But when, as now, feme youthful
friend departs,

Whofe polife’d manners foften’d harder
hearts j

Whofe ev’ry adtion fpake the mind fe¬
re ne ;

W ho boafled elegance of form and mien ;

Whofe filial piety, and friepdfeip warm.

Were Bill the fame in funfhine and in
ilorm ;

Whofe tender care folicitoufly drove,

With all the fondnefs of a daughter’s
love,

To foothe a widow’d mother’s anguife
keen,

Wh cn late a father dropp’d from off the
feene ;

Then thou wert left foie comfort of her
age :

But now, alas ! Death’s unrelenting rage

Dooms you to droop, to fickcn. and to
die !

Where now for comfort mud that mo¬
ther fly ?

Where mtift fee feek that peace fee
found with you ?

Thofe flattering profpedts that fee had
in view r

All now are funk beneath afflidlion’s rod :

No hope remains, but what fee hopes
from Gcd.

Come, bled Religion ! — friend of th|f
ditlrefs’d ! —

Heal all h er forrows — lull her woes to
reft :

Grant her, once more, to tafle of fweet
delight ;

Teach her to think, ‘ whatever is, is
right.’

Faired of fpirits ! deareft friend, fare- ,
well !

In yonder tow’r I hear your fun’ral
knell ;

Whofe deep-ton’d, fullen murmurs feem
to fay,

i Next 1 may call the lid’ner’s foul away.’

Awful memento of our latter end,

How little to thy warnings we attend !

Alas ! too oft vve pafs unheeding by,

As though of little moment ’t were
die !

If e’er the difembodied foul may
roam,

Bled feraph ! hover round your once*
lov’d home ;

Infpire, unften, your weeping mother’s
heart ;

Allay, of anguife keen, the galling
fmart : ’

Prompt her to bend to Heav'n’s uner¬
ring ways,

And pafs her life in penitence and

praif'e*:

Then, when her foul feall take its
heav’mvard flight,

And mount to regions of eternal light, —

Your kindred fpirit, join’d to hers you
love,

Shall tade the endlefs joys that reign
above J J. M. L.

POETRY.

715

MORAL REFLECTIONS

T n contemplative mood, as late I ftray’d,

•*- Where lhelt’ring trees afford a grate¬
ful fhade,

I gaz’d on Autumn’s ‘ many-mingled7
hues,

While my lone footftep fwept the morn¬
ing dews :

I trac’d the various tints from green to
brown ;

Nor yet had Winter taught himfelf to
frown ;

Nor yet the feafon felt the pieVcing
ftorm ; [form.

Nor did the winds the foliage yet de-

While thus I wandered, undifturb’d,

« along,

The lark to his Creator tun’d a fong :

Few other founds were heard acrols the
wold,

Sive yonder bleating tenants of the fold ;

Who foon, when wint’ry froft ihall fill
the air,

Jvluft claim their fhepherd’s fcndeft,
friendlieft, care.

A gentle breeze now gently wav d
the leaves,

And from the parent branch fome few
bereaves :

The gale grew ftronger, — blew a hea¬
vier blaft,

And o’er my head they now flew thick
and faft ;

The graffy path, i’o lately free and clear,

Now lhews the falling honours of the
year ;

Dcep-cover’d with the fpoils of elm and
'oak,

Whofe faded offspring all the pathway
choke :

Still ftronger roar’d the blaft, fall fell
the rain,

And one vaft leafy ruin fpread the plain.

At length this rage of elements was
o’er,

The rain had ceas’d, the wind was
heard no more ;

Again the foft’ning beams of Sol were
feen,

And foon might man forget the ftorm
had been,

Had not the fcattcr’d leaves a warning
giv’n,

And bid the moral mind contemplate
heav’n.

Thefe frail memorials feem’d, to fancy's
eye,

To pidlure well how aged mortals die ;
Who oft in life’s lafl ftage will linger
long, [wrong:

With heart at eafe, unknown to fraud or
Yet unawares the ftorm of life defeends,
And to its mother earth his ‘body bends;
Falls like the leaf, yet not like that de¬
cays ; [praife,

An angel now, he chaunts his Maker’s
And pitying views thefe tears which
furrow gave,

When weeping friends hung o’er this
4 good man’s grave.’

Thus droops the mortal frame of lord¬
ly man,

Whofe ampleft dateof life is but a fpan !
Whofe proud exiftence, fhaken by a
ftorm

(Weak as a reed, and fragile as'its form),
Yields like yon leaves, and finks beneath
the blaft;

Then pride is nipp’d, then forrow too
is patl :

Then happy is the man whofe hfe has
been

Of piety and prayer one conftant feene ;
Whofe feet the paths of infamy ne’er
trod, [his God;

Whofe chiefeft plea fare was to praife
Who, next to this, reliev’d the lick and
poor, [door ;

Nor drove diftrefs, difdainful, from his
Who Tooth’d the orphan’s grief, the wi¬
dow’s care ;

Who dried the tears of anguifh and de-
fpair ;

Who gave the ‘ child of mifery’ his food.
And learn’d ‘ the luxury of doing good.’

Almighty Source of ail the joys we
own !

May we, like this good man, approach
thy throne !

Like him, too, cherifh merit in diftrefs.
And make the fon of forrow ’s burden

lefs : '

Then we may hope, when wint’ry age
fhall come,

Or pangs of pain remind us of the tomb,
To join the fouls of ‘good men perfedfc
made,’

Where mingling peace ahd pleafure ne¬
ver fade ;

Where ft.ains of heav’nly melody fhall
rife,

And blifs eternal reigns above the Ikies!
November 13,180;. J.M.L.

4 Y z

7i 6

POETRY.

ARTHUR AND ANN.

"O emote, and loft to public view,

A ftmple cottage rear’d its head ;
There peace, content, andvirtue,grew, —
But borrow fhunn’d, and from it fled.
Its inmates were an aged pair,

Whofe lives in joyful tenor ran ;

And with them, there, dwelt one moft
fair, —

Their pretty daughter, Mary-Ann.

Her charms entrapp’d young Arthur’s
heart :

His ruftic tale of love he told ;

5T was free from flatt’ry, free from art ;

But love infpir’d and made him bold :
The lafs he lov’d the tale approv’d ;

Her parents, too, admir’d the man :
Each fear remov’d, each joy improv’d,
Young Arthur wedded Mary- Ann.
Dec. 5, 1803. J. M. L.

FALSE FRIENDSHIP.

is very hard, in life’s decline,

To be both Tick and poor :

Yet fuch a lot, alas ! is mine ;

And patient I endure.

Refign’d, I bend to Heav'n’s juft ways,
Nor impioufly repine.

Induftry mark’d my early days :

A trifling fum was mine.

In friendfhip’s facred veil array’d,

A wretch infernal came :

He plunder’d all I fav’d in trade;

Then fled, devoid of fhame.

Oh! grant relief, ye favour’d few
To whom that pow’r is fent :

Dec. 5, 1803. J. M. L.

ST AN,ZAS,

AddreJJed to Mi fs J. Stuart , of Edinburgh,

ON PERUSING SOME OF HER ELE¬
GANT FOEMS.

A s Stuart far, far from vulgar- fight,
^ On eagle pinion wings her way,

Fancy purfues her towering flight,

And marks it with her brighteft ray.

Hark ! from her lyre what ft rains fublime
Pour on Attention’s raptur’d ear!

Avaunt ! ye irkfome tribes of Time!
And keep within your proper fphere.

But come, ye pure ethereal band
Of kindred fpirits, friendly pow’rs !

Who w&tch ft ill o’er the fav'rire land
Where Genius rears her choicefi
flow’rs :

Your holy influence round diffufe- —

No gueft impure may here remain,

While from the temple of the Mule
To Heav’n afcends the feraph ftrain.

Dread vifions of departed days
The fair enthuflaft’s fancy fire;

She paints the fcene in deathlefs lays
Where patriots combat, and expire.

Now dreary profpe£h, dark with woe,
Her tuneful fympathy excite,

When Freedom felt the fatal blow,

And fled before the tyrant’s might.

Then brighter views rufli on her foul.
And joy fucceeds to deep diftrefs —

Refcu’d from Slav’ry’sbafe controul.
Freedom returns, mankind to blefs !

When, ifluing from their polar cave,
The daemons of the tempeft fweep

W ith furious wing the wintry wave,
And whelm the bark beneath the
deep.

The bold enthufiaft’s dauntlefs eye
The ravagers’ wild path purfues—

Her pen the tumult of the fky
Pourtrays in all its hideous hues.

Nor lefs her magic fkill appears,

When gentler themes her Mufe em-
ploy ;

Expert t unlock the fount of tears,

Or ope the hidden fpring of joy.

* But when (he culls the claffic wreath
Diftinguifh’d merit’s meed defign’d,

How fweet the olooming honours breathe
Around the reverend brow they bind.

Dromore, Nov. 30, 1803. Hafiz]

* This flanza alludes to a beautiful ‘Ode
on the Reliques of Antient Poetry,’ which
the fair author lately addreffed to the billion
of Dromore. *

INDEX

TO '

ESSAYS, LETTERS, and

A . Page

lbano, a noble Venetian, hiftory of, 641

Alnwick caftle, account of, . 632

Anecdote of Almanfor, king of Morocco, 192

- of the phyfician Chirac, . 295

- - — of Macklin . 400

■ - — of a Gafcon, and the French minider

Colbert, . 680

Anecdotes, . 456, 520, 635, 696

- - ■ - of Dr. Monley, . 350

- - - of Kanghi, emperor of China^S

Apologues, eaftem, . 126, 624

April, morning’s walk in, . 19 1

- older vations on the month of, , . .232

Arnold, Dr. account of the life of, . 198

Auguft, morning’s walk in, . . . .401

Augufta and Emily, a tale, 177, 245, 316,353
Aufterity of old age, on the, . .402

Balin, king of Delhi, virtuous reign of, . . 579
Bedford, prefentation of the duchefs to the

queen,. . . 661

Benevolence its own reward, a tale, .... 1 1 5
Bonaparte, (ketch of the perfon of, . 266

Cadiz, defcription of, . * . 590

Captive releafed, the, a tale . 171

Character, female, on the, . . ... 255

Charatderidic and critical remarks on females,

ro, 152,^197, 253

Charles and Henry, a tale.. . . 142

Clandedine lovers, the, a tale, . 619

Clara Farnefe, (lory of, . 27

Conftancinople, account ot the curiofities ol,

Contrad, the, a tale, . 597

Cornwal, defcription of the Land’s End 10,677
Crimea, account of the perfons, drels and man¬
ners of the Tartars, of the, . 529

Critical observations on the novelof Tom Jones,
77, 13 1,184, 239, 298, 355, 403, 459, 522

December, morning’s walk in, . 628

Deaf ami Dumb, college of, at Paris,. . . . 71 1

* Deity, on the perfonality of the, . 569

Detached thoughts, . 323, 379

Dialogue on duelling, . 237

Difference between the fexes, on the,. . . . 341
Difcuffion of the quedion, whether women

have more wit than men, . . 236

Dramatid, the, a tale, . 71

Diels of the Parifran ladies, on the, . 629

- - , and manners at the prefent period, 712

Dreffes of the ladies on her majedy’s birth-day,

- on his majefty’s birth-day ...... 3 1 1

quelling, dialogue on, . 237

Eaflern apologues, . *26

Ednim, the poet of,.' . 627

Elizabeth, remarks on the reign of, .... 421
Employment of time by the female fex, on the

4*7

other PIECES in PROSE.

Englifh fleet in 1342, account of the drama

fo called, . 654

Envy difappointed, a tale, . 227

Epcinina, dory of, . .....15

Events, chronological lid of the mod remark¬
able in 1803, . . 690

Fair fugitives, account of the muftcal enter¬
tainment of the, . 266

Falfe voice, on a, . .34+

Falhionabie revolutionary dialogue, .... 515
Falhions, Panfun, 4.:, 90, 120, 206, 260,322,
376, 43 1 > 4^6, 546, 565, 652

- - London, 44, 92, 120, 207, 260.

322, 376, 431,486, 546, 565, 652

Fatal letter, the, . 1 yt»

February, morning’s walk in, . 140

Female character, on the, . , . . . 2 ; 5

Females, charudteriftic and critical remarks on,

10, 152, 197, 253
Flattery, on, . 39S

Garrick, letter of, . 234

Generous curate, the, a tale, . 397

GelTher, memoirs of, . 454

Good-manners, on, . 476

Happicefs, reflexions on, . 23$

Hear both tides, account of the comedy cf, 6 J

Hermit of Damafeus, . 67$

Henry VI., manners of the Engliflr during

the reign of, . I2t

Hero of the North, account of the play of the,

Heroic behaviour of madame Lavergne, . . 487

Hiflory of Sophia M., . 490

Hufband redored, the, a tale, . 60

Indruffions of Lewis XVI. for the education
of the dauphin, . 423

J* . r

James I., remarks on the reign or, . 422

[ ell'y Hawthorn, . 697

John Bull, account of the comedy 0 3 . . . 145

John 0’ Groat’s houfe, origin of, . 6 1

July, morning’s walk in, . 34 7

June, morning’s walk in,. . . 289

Kang-hi, emperor of China, anecdotes 0(3458

Kei-Kobad, licentious and eventful reign of,

5*3

Ladies’ dreffes on her m uedv’s birth day, 23
- - ■ — on his majefty’s birth-day, 31 y

Ladies’ trains, antiquity or, . 413

Lavergne, madame, her.de behaviour of,. . 487

Letter of lord Walpole, . 517

Lewis XVI., inftru£!ions of, for the education

of the dauphin, . 423

..... - - maxims of . 426, 470

Licentious reign of Kei Kobad, . 583

Lockman, a Perfian phylician, (lery of, .. 74
Le»nte» and Eugenius, a tale, . 597

INDEX

Pag!

London falliions, 44, 92, 120, 207, 260, 322,
376, 431,. 487, 546 565, 652

Lon^trains and ffiort trains, . 377

Love, on, . . . . . 100

Love and duty, a tale,. . . .......533

Luxury, comparative, of ancient and modern
times,, on the, . . . . 1 24

Maltefe, habits and manners of the, .... 539
Manners and pri vate life of the Englifh dur¬
ing the reign of Henry VI., . 121

March, morning’s walk in, . 141

Marriage promile, account of the comedy of,

173

Mary’s tomb, a fragment, . . . 144

Matilda, a drama, 1 93, 248, 319, 346,407,

47/3 54 r 3 636

Matrimonial caufe, Singular, . 587

Maxims of Lewis XVI, . . 426, 470

- - mifcellaneous,. . . 624

May, morning’s walk in, . 233

Mifcellaneous thoughts, . 212, 267, 312

Miflakes of jedloufy, the, a tale, . 284

- - - on both tides, a tale, . . 1507

Modefty and diffidence, impudence and affur-

ance, on, . . . 75

Monks and the robbers, the, 65, 296, 414,

5 1 3 > 681

Monfey, Dr., anecdotes of, . 350

Morad and Zoraida, an eaftern tale, .... 452
Moral Zoologift, the, 33, 93, 154, 207, 261,
285,365,432, 481, 547s 602, 621, 707

Morning’s walk in January, . . 9

- - - - - - — February, . . 140

_ _ _ _ March, . 141

. _ _ _ _ — — April . 191

— - - - May, . . . 233

- - - , - - - June, . . 289

- — — - July,.. - 345

_ Auguft, . 401

- - - September, . 457

. _ _ October, . 521

- - - November, . 586

_ _ _ December, . . . 628

Mother and daughter, a tale, . . . 684

Murrough the bard, long of, . . 69

November, a morning’s walk in, . . . . . . 5c 6

October, morning’s walk in/.. . . 521

Oecouorny and avarice, on the difference be¬
tween, . . »-537

Old maid, the, a Wellh tale, . 525

PariiSan fafhiens, 42, 90, 120, ,206, 260, 322,
376, 431, 486, 546, 565, 652

. _ — Ladies, on the di ets of the, . 629

Perfonality of the Deiu . on the, . 569

Petrarch, account of the life and writings of,i I
Pleafures of the imagination, reflexions on, 23 5

Poet of Edoam, the, . , . . „ . 627

Political arithmetic, . 230

Prefentation of the duchefs of Bedford to the
queen, . . . 661

Page

Pride of anceftry, on,. . . 678

Profperity and adverfity, on, . 679

Pfyili, or ferpent- eaters of Egypt, account of,

589

Query, a, . . . 180

Reflexions on happinefs and the pleafures of

the imagination, . . . . 235

Regularity and virtuous conduct, on the be¬
nefits of, . . . . . . 127

Relation of animated bodies to inanimate

nature, on the, . . 625

Remarks oqthe reign of Elizabeth, . 421

— — - - - ... of James 1., . 422

Renunciation, the, a tale, . 85

Revolutionary dialogue, fafhionable, .... 51 5

Riches, on the defire of, . 88

Robert M‘Kenzie, life of, . . . . 28, 307, 360

Sad refleftion, a, . . . 413

Scio, character and manners of the inhabitants
Of, . . . . . 351

Secander and Nourima, an eaftern tale, . . 564
Secret tribunals, Weftphalian, account of the,

117

Self-efie^m, on, . . 5 r6

September, morning’s walk in, ......... 457

Serpent-eaters of Egypt, account of, .... 589

Sexes, on the difference between the,. ... 341

Signe and Habor, a Gothic romance, 37, 6-1,
147, 200, 290, 371,428, 509, 566, 656

Singular matrimonial caufe,. . . 587

Slaves, the, an eaftern tale, . 1S1

Song of Murrough the bard, . . . 69

Sophia M. hiftory of, . . . . 490

Tartars of the Crimea, account of the perfons,

drefs, and manners, of, . . 529

Tafte in good eating, on, . ......175

Thoughts, mifcellaneous,. . . . 212, 267, 512

- - detached, . . . 323, 379

Tom Jones, critical obfervations on the novel
of, 77, 131, 184, 239, 298, 355,403,
459 > 522

Tooth-powder and brufhes, improved, . . , 469

Trains, (ladies’) antiquity of . • • • 45

- — — — long and fhort, on, . 37-7

Twins, the, a tale,.. . <r

Vidtims of war, the, a tale, . 701

Virtuous reign of Balin king of Delhi, . . 379
Voice (falfe) on a, . 344

Walpole, letter of lord, . . . 317

Widow, the, a tale, . 3^39

Wire of two hufbands, account of the drama

of the, . 594

— — - - - ■ extract from .... 646

Wit and beauty, . ;.a . 348

Wit of women, difeuffion of the queftian

whether they have more than men, . . 2?6
Z.

Zoologift, moral, 33, 93, 134, 207, 26 f,
2S5> 363, 432- 4 Sx, 547; 602, 707

INDEX.

INDEX to the POETRY.

A « JP

^•astNCE, 3 fofrneC, . 662

Acroftic, . 605

Ad i rets, fpoken and fung at the opening of

Covent- garden Theatre,. . . . 494

- - to the evening ftar, . .605

Adieu, the, . 605

Advice, the, . 48

Air, fung by Mrs. Jordan, in the Marriage

Promife, . . 2 72

Anacreon, Ode I., . . . 66a

Anacreontics . 104,157

Anfwer to a Valentine epiftle, . 328

— - to lines addreffed to a young gentleman,

381

Anticipation, . . J . . . . . 55a

Arthur and Ann, . . 716

Ballad, paftoral, . . . 271

Betly of the grove, . 43^

Canzonet, a, . 44°

Cuftle on the Wold, a Gothic tale, 268, 324

Cat, elegy on a, . 495

- lines to a lady’s favourite, . 608'

Celia’s refolution, . • 4^

Corning ftorm, on a, . 4^

Confolation, the virgin’s, . 46

Contentment, . . . • 495

Cot, the mofs- covered,. . 439

Cottage maid, the, . 327

Cricket, ode to a, . 6c8

Crippled foldier, the, . 3^3

Elegy on a favourite cat, . . 4 95

Elegy, an, . 103

Elegiac lines to the memory c. an infant, 160

_ _ _ _ to the memory of mifs W-ll-m-f-n,

of Rolls-buiktings, . 7J4

Ellen, . .

Elva, vigil of, . io3

Emma . 3%7

Epilogue, lyrical, to John Bull, . 157

_ I _ to the Maid of Briftol, . 493

Epitaph on Dr. Small, by Dr. Darwin, ..272

Evening, . . 26b

. - - ftar, addrefs to the,. . . 605

Fable, . .

Falfe friendfhip, .

Fancy, to, .

Foe of the lace, the, . . .

Fortune, ode to, .

495

7 j 6
104
382
•47

Harmony and magnificence ol the univerfe, the,

606

Hope, ode to, . *5 9

Horace, hook I. Ode 22., . - • *5S

I- Pjrge

Idylllon, onjthe drawing cf a cafcade, by a lady,

43b

Inkle and Yarico, a tale,. . . ici

Infcription on a hermitage, . 382

- - - intended for a ftatue of the late

duke of Bedford, . 437

Kifs and the blufh, the, . 328

Lines to mifs Price, of S — y, . 138

- addreffed to Eva, . 139

- elegiac, to the memory of an infant, i6o

- to Thomfon Webb, . 215

— — to the memory of John Freeftone, car¬
penter, . 268

- - addreffed to mifs S — P — . . 27 t

— — addreffed to a young gentleman,. . , . 326
- on hearing marriage ridiculed by a liber¬
tine, . . . 327

- -on the providential efcape ofB. Hills, 496

— ■ — to a lady’s favourite cat, . 608

Love in a ftorm, . 47

Mannon of health, the, . • 49J

Mendicant, the,. . . 605

Mocking bird, ode to the, . 608

Moral reflections on a morning’s walk late in

October, . 713

Morning, ode to, . 43s

Mofs-covered cot, the, . 439

Naval triumph of Britain, . 330

Nautilus and the flying ftfli, a fable, .... 4^3
IN’ighr, . 4+0

Ode for the new year, . 48

- to Fortune, . 47

- from Horace, . j

- to Hope, . . . 139

- on Spring, . 215

- to Venus, . 268

- for his majelty’s birth-day, . 327

- to morning, . 438

- to the mocking-bird, . 608

- to a cricket, . 6cS

Old maid’s petition, the, . 214

Paftoral, a, . . 607

Paftoral ballad, a, . 27J-

Perambulatory muflngs, . 320

Phoebe’s deftmy, . . 228

Picture of France, . 384

Prayer, the virgin’s, . 320

Pjologue to Jonn Bull, . j -j

Reuben and Rofe, a tale of romance,. ... 663

Rhymes in praile of rhyme, . 604

Riches, on, . 472

INDEX

S, Page

Suitor, the war-worn . . . . 326

Seduction’s triumph, . 328

Shield, the, . 604

Soldier, the crippled . 383

Songs, . : ..... 47 , 382, 383'' 384

- — in the Hero of the North, . . 104

. — — — in the Wife of twohufbands, .... 662

Sonnets, . 216, 326, 662

Spring, ode to, . 215

Stanzas, from the French of Segar by G.

Dyer,. . . 213

— - - to Mrs. - — , . 604

- - addrelTed to mifs Stuart, of Edinburgh,

716

State of Europe in 1803, . . 3 28

Summer evening at home . . 439

Triumph, naval, of Britain, . . 550

V. Page

Valentine- epiftle to a young lady . 213

- — — anfwer to . 528

Vetfes to a tuft of early violets, . 216 "

- - — to mifs A. C — n, of M — d, .... 272

~ - to Mrs. . 604

*—■ ■ - to mifs - on her alking the

author why the had fieeplefs nights,. . . 66 3

Venus, ode to, . 268

Vigil of Elva . 103

Virgin’s prayer, the, . 326

Virtue’s triumph, . . 440

War-worn failor, the . . . 326

Winter, on, . j6o

Winter-evening at home, . 439

With of a friend, the . 384

DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER,

The frontifpiece to face the titl'e page.

Paris drefs for January, . .42

The hulband reftored,. . . . 5 9

Paris drefs for February . 1 . 9°

Eagle, . . . . . . • . . 95

Benevolence its own reward, . . 115

Paris drefs for March, . 120

Snake-eater, . I54

The captive releafed, . . . . j . 17*

Paris drefs for April, . . 1 . . . 2c6

Vulture,. ........ . 2C9

Envy disappointed, . 227

Paris' drefs tor May,, . 260

Domett ic cock, . . . . • • 2,64

The miftakes of jealouly, . . 283

Falcon, . . 2 88

Pat is drefs tor June, . . 322

The widow, . . 339

Kite, . . . 369

Buzzard, . . . . . .

Paris drefs for July, ......

The generous curate, .

Paris drefs for Auguft,. . . .
Sparrows,. .............

Morad and Zuraida, . .

Nightingale- — Throttle, . . .
Paris drefs for September, .
Mittakes on both tides, . . .
Paris drefs for Qdtober, , . .

Indian thrike, .

Secander and Nourima, . . .
Paris drefs for November, .

Magpye — Jackdaw .

The clandeftine lovers, . . ,

Pheafant, . .

Paris diets for December,. .
The hermit of Damafcus, .
Cuckoo,, » . . . .

37^>

37^

395

432

432-

452

484

486

5°7

546

547
5r>3

565

602

619

621

652

875

END OF THE THIRTY-FOURTH VOLUME.

T. Davifon, Printer, White-Friars.-

Klaml :K

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Full text of "Lady's magazine : or, Entertaining companion for the fair sex, appropriated solely to their use and amusement. Volume 34, 1803."

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