chiefly the vehicle of political or selfish motives; and the very religious institutions are poisoned with this mania-this fashionable buffoonery. To witness such praise-worthy institutions as are the Asylum, Foundling, and Magdalen Hospitals, assume the garb of dissolute chicanery, adds no pleasing reflection to the thinking mind. Neither can we behold the streets overflowed with the frail, the deluded fair, without feeling those poignant sensations which are the attendant qualities of a good heart*.

to the perusal of a friend. This was in the year 1797. The author was then very young, and perchance too ardent in that cause which he espoused, and felt anxious to maintain. It is pretty certain that the philosophy and the doctrines which became so prevalent at that time are nearly exploded. Even Godwin, that zealous champion of the new school, (so it was termed) has wisely and penitentially renounced the leading features of his sect, and in some measure made a generous atonement for his past errors.

* When I first knew Dorothea, she was then a lovely girl scarce sixteen. Nature had been bountiful-had adorned her delicate person with a most engaging symmetry, in true unison with beauty. Her eye black, yet soft and piercing -her forehead commanding, and prettily overshaded with flowing ringlets-her teeth well set, and white as the ivory -her neck rising like the alabaster, from a breast enchantingly luxuriant. In short, Dorothea was a beauty of the "first order of fine forms," and a most engaging damsel. Dorothea had lost her parents when a child, and was protected by a maiden aunt, who treated her with much ten

We pity while we condemn, and we condemn in in order to reform. By knowing the consequences of evil, we are, at least ought to be, steeled against the commission of it: hence the vast importance of

derness and solicitude. But Dorothea's beauty, like the fairest flower in the garden, proved destructive of her own happiness her innocence too, only served to render her an easier prey to the ignoble designs of the seducer. A young gentleman of family and fortune had long pretended to woo her virgin love, with sentiments of the strictest honor. Dorothea's virtue and prudence baffled for a long time his perfidy, and like the watchful monitor secured her innocence; but this polished lover fiend-like meditated her woe, and although his plans oftentimes proved unavailing, at length did he accomplish his designs by the basest of stratagems. Dorothea, lovely but unhappy fair one, relied firmly on his sacred promises-on his oaths, and on his plighted engagements. She, dear damsel, knew not that oaths, promises, and engagements, are merely the dark subterfuges of the base and the abandoned-she, dear damsel, knew not, till too late, that the faithless seducer of her innocence called heaven to witness that promise he never meant to perform. Judge then of her agony, when that wretch, who had gained her affection and destroyed her happiness, dared publicly to revile her and with impunity to boast of the advantage he had taken of her virtue and credulity-revenge, shame, fear, and grief, alike wrung her tender bosom. Her aunt, who had hitherto protected and instructed her, now became her bitterest foe. The old lady, stern in virtue, and conscious of her own fostering integrity, would no longer succour the deluded Dorothea, but cast her on the wide world. Poor Dorothea, abandoned and

education-hence every beauty and deformity in a common-wealth. The evils we now lament, may be justly attributed to the false philosophy of the day-a philosophy subversive of every thing that is valuable, and calculated only to crown the brow of vice with confidence, while it robs virtue of those lovely laurels with which she ought ever to be adorned. Futile as are the doctrines of the new school, subversive as they are to the harmony of society, and deformed as they appear in their own nature, still they seem espoused by the self-sufficient insects of the day with a more than common zeal. But to nourish them is to nourish an unnatural adder; they are painted dogmas that glitter for the moment; take from them there outward garb, and you shrink with horror from the monster*.

betrayed by her lover, disowned and scorned by her friends -poor orphan! no father, no mother, to whom she could fly for comfort or relief-bereft of every hope-only the wide and uncertain world to tread on. Unhappy girl,once the pride of the village-dear and lovely Dorothea, why didst thou, in a moment of desperation and phrenzy, hasten thy exit to eternity by a fatal potion? Oh! that heaven may pardon that deed irrevocable-and may thy fate, dear departed spirit, be a lesson to others-a lesson to the innocent maiden, and, if possible, a more impressive one to the libertine, who may so far forget his duty and his honor as to meditate the seduction of a helpless female.

* Sensible that there are some who may consider reflections of this nature too nearly allied to a cold philosophy,

"Once more I returned to view the vernal beauties of the country. Two summers passed away in

to such the author, with deference and anxiety, would fain inculcate a more rigid adherence to the grand object and nature of public laws and public institutions. The author is also sensible that it is neither the duty nor the practice of any one who wishes well to society, to descry every little vanity or foible that may shew itself in the world. There are certain foibles which ought not to be severely censured. The philosopher and the moralist will with candour scan the infirmities and physical errors of humanity. But this they will do with care. They well know that phlegmatic aspersions from the misanthrope tend rather to nourish than lessen the vices. For vice is a repulsive quality, and that which meets it vehemently serves only to encrease its velocity. The weapons more immediately conducive to its extirpation, are the milder powers of reason and of wisdom. They operate upon it, as doth the skilful pruning-hook of the gardener. They are more in unison with the nature of human passions, and consequently more productive of universal happiness.

FRAGMENT, FROM CHAPTER XIV.

Having thus analyzed the tenets and the writings of those philosophers who, to use the language of an eminent divine, "had deluged Europe with their obscenity, derided every thing sacred, and boldly unfurled the banners of atheism;" it is evident from the dubious and frantic morality of Bolingbroke, the unhinging cunning and subtilty of Hume, the resolute and fascinating erudition of Gibbon, the witticism and caustic vivacity of Voltaire, the tinselled sentiment

this happy situation: I say happy, for I felt so. I marked the progress of agriculture, and cherished

of Rousseau, the high sounding scepticism of Frederic, the depraved philanthropy of Diderot and Mirabeau, the futile and self-sufficient insinuations of Volney, and the vulgar equality of Paine-it is evident that a compound of their universal qualities, physical and metaphysical, constitutes the positive infidel.

But to believe that man was not formed for immortality, were to arraign the Omnipotent of ignorance, and degrade humanity by classing it with the brute creation. These modern philosophers, in their anxiety to dignify man, have produced an opposite sensation. They have blighted the very blossom, and by their poisonous and contaminating dogmas, disfigured that structure they wished vainly to adorn.

They descant with enthusiasm on the moral duties of man, without knowing what are his duties. They extol that citizen who renounces the endearing ties of consanguinity and friendship. They annex to villainy fame, and depreciate those motives and actions which are in themselves either noble or virtuous; and, at their own temple of atheism and folly, constitute new duties and new virtues. They array vice in the garb of virtue, laugh virtue to scorn, and attribute praise to immoral actions. They blush not to vindicate the murderer-they immortalize that man who dares to kill his own brother, who embrues his hand in the blood of his own children, who resigns his daughter to the cursed embraces of an indiscriminate croud, and who sacrifices the tenderest affections of nature at the shrine of public weal. In the name of reason, what is this public weal-this citizenship which they affect to extol—to worship as their God? Alas! it is a gulph of error, a hell of anarchy.