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ansiver : " I always loved Nicolas; I At length, however, an obfcure inadmire Chan fort." A few days after, former was found to denounce him, and they met, and the master and the pupil Chamfort was carried to the Madelonembraced each other with tears.

Unable to obtain there the at. Nor was he deceived by his presenu tentions, and the occasional solitude that ment of his future fortunc. By the cares fome habitual infirmities imperiously reand interest of his friends it gradually quired, he conceived to profound a horTivelled to eight or nine thousand livres ror of imprisonment, that when he was a year ; but the greatest part of it con- suffered to return a few days after to his fitted of pensions, and the whirlwind of apartments under the custody of a guard, the revolution swept them away.

The he swore he would rather die man be day after they were fuppreffed, he went

immured anew. to see his fellow academician, Marmon in little more than a month the gentel, and found him lamenting the loss darme told him he had orders to carry that his children would suffer by the fame him back to a house of confinement.-decree. Chamfort took one of them upon Chamfort retired to a clofet, under the his knees : “ Come here, my little fel. prerence of making his preparations low," said he, - you will be a better tired a pistol at his head ; thattered the man than either of us. Some day or bones of the nose ; and drove in his right other you will weep over your father, on eye. Astonished at finding himself alive, Hearing that he had the weakness to weep and resolved to die, he took up a razor, over you, because he feared that you tried to cut his throat, and mangled the might not be so rich as himself.”

Aesh in the most dreadful manner. The That metcor that role in the French weakness of his hand made no change in revolution ; rushed through the political the resolution of his mind : he attempt. fyftem like a comct ; and disappeared in ed several times, in vain, to reach his the midst of the long surprise and uncafy heart with the same instrument; and admiration it excited--Mirabeau, in finding himfölf begin to faint, made a Thort, was the friend of Chamfort, and last effort to open the veins at his knees. often borrowed his pen. The most elo- At length, overcome by pain, he uttered quent passages in the Letters on the order a loud cry, and fell almost lifeless into a of Cincinnatus belong to the latter. He chair. was, indeed, his council upon all occa The door was broke open and surgeons lions; and when Mirabeau went to pass and civil officers foon repaired to the an hour with him, as was his custom in spot. While the former were preparing cht inorning, he used to call it going to dretlings for fo many wounds, Chamfort rub the post electrical head he had ever dictated to the latter the following truly met with.

Roman declaration : 4 I, Sebastian Roch The light emitted by this electrical Nicolas Chamfort, declare it was my inhead could not fail to shine in opposition tention to die a freeman, rather than to to the blasting rays of the mock fun of be carried back, like a flave, to a houfe liberty—of the felon Robespierre-to of confinement.

I declare, moreover, whom talents and virtue were alike ob- that if violence be used to carry me noxious.

thither in the state I ain in, I have still It was difficult, however, to lay hold on strength enough to finish what I have Chamfort. Frank, upright, decided, and begun.” independent of all parties, he had steered An hour or two after, he became pera steady course through the revolutionary feetly calın, and resumed his vfual ironistorm, openly profeiling an equal hatred cal manner. “ See what it is," faid he, of priests and nobles, and of Marat and to want dexterity ; an aukward man the rest of the men of blood. At the same cannot even kill himself." He then time that he was author of the laying, went on to relate how he had perforated ** Guerre aux chateaux, puix aux cbuil- his eye, and the lower part of his foremières," he explained by the appella- head, instead of blowing out his brains; rion of the fraternity of Cain and Abel, the scored his throat, instead of cutting it ; compulsive system of fraternization de- and scarified his aft, without reaching vised by the Jacobin Club.

his heart. " At last," added he, I

recollected Seneca'; and in honour of Se* War to the Leat, Peace to the cot

neca, I resolved to open my veins ; but

Seneca was a rich man; he had a warm age,

bath, and every thing to his with : I am

a pour

645

means.

1796.] Original Letter of Sir George Saville. a poor miserable devil, and have none of $ 10 conquer and blefs the world.I the same advantages. I have hurt-my- take conquering to bles, & cutting one Self horribly, and here I am still.” half of a nation's throats, to treat the

Not one of the multitude of wounds other with lenity, to be the most unchrila he had made was mortal. Strange as it tian thing in the world. Indeed, I have almay appear, they were even attended by ways thought, parcere jbjectis to be a very beneficial consequences. By giving vent foolish, as well as a very impertinent to an internal humour that had long saucy language, for man to talk to his preyed upon his constitution, they rc- fellow creatures. I do not know whether ftored him to a state of health hé had I kould add to the force of my argument, been a stranger to for years; and Cham.. by laying, likewise, fellow cbrstiuns, befort might now have been alive, if, when cause, I conceive, the great point of the his wounds were closed, the surgcons had Chritian religion was to teach us we are given issue to that humour by other fellow creatures. But they neglected the precau

But, indeed, where is the good of it? tion, and this amiable and courageous

Why can't one as well spare people character was soon after seized with a first? I am sure one inay spare more of mortal disease.

them, & with far less trouble. To (These anecdotes will be REGULARLY

talk of conquering prople, and of the divine CONTINUED, and the Conductor's re

principles of fire governnent, in the same quejl tbe alijtance of all persons who, by page, (nay, within four lines) makes one a recent residence in France, are qualıfied to communicate original and interest

To know whetker conquering (under ing fa&is.]

the saucy pretence of bleising) is good, only ask how you would like for France,

or Spain, or the Turk, if you please, to ORIGINAL LETTER FROM THE LATE

talk to to you? They would all biess you SIR GEORGE SAVILE.

their own way ; some with circumcision,

some with the inquisition. And to know [!Ve bave been favoured with the following whether it is Christian, jo to da to others as

letier by the gentleman to whom it was you would not be done to, is settled, as I fent, and wbo obferves that it is a true reinember, some where or other; so I fac fimile of the frank and liberal mind need not argue it. of the truly excellent writer..

The lermon

Saving the few lines, p. 10, which alluded io, was preached before a regi- the above refers to, I like the Sermon ment of militia, and afterwards printed} well; but that cursed habit, imbibed,

very carly, of applauding successful geSir, Liverpool, Nov. 19, 1779 nerous highwaymen, leads one into terI

RETURN you the Scrmon with rible scrapes when one fets about to ma.

thanks. It has entertain’d and pleas’d nufacture such a warp with a Christian me much. I am inclined to think the weft. Charles the 12th must have been political part of it more consistently a devilish good" Christian. What pity "reated throughout than the religious. your Alexanders, &c. had not the same The question of obedience to unlawful advantages ! I think a Roman general commands is foundly laid dowo, & had not the greater triumph, unle's he had subject only to that fort of difficulty flain a certain number of men. TO which all political propositions are liable darken their splendour, I suppose the to from the pollibility of being over number must have been increased for a itrained, & of putting cases which clever Christian triumph. shall drive you to abfurd conclusions, by And now having, I think, almost getting into extremes. Thus it will be writ a sermon likewise, I thank you once objected, Shall each common soldier judge more, & remain, fir, of a nice point of law ” Nevertheless the

Your obliged, and doctrine is right and found.

Obedient humble servant, But I do not so well like the application of Christian virtue, to enable a na

G. SAVILE. tion “10 darken the Roman Splendour, T. B. Bayley, esq.

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ORIGINAL POETRY.

STANZAS

UPON

ODE TU SOLITUDE.
IRREGULAR

THE

DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
FAR from Ambition's selfish train,
Where Avarice rules the busy day,

IT is vain ! and her spirit has fled;
And patient Folly “ hugs his chain,"

Matilda has sunk in the tomb; Enllav'd by Custom's ruthless sway, The beauty of Nature lies mix'd with the dead: Lead me, calm spirit! to some ftill retreat,

Alas! how severe is the doom. Where Silence shares with thee the blooming As a lily that blows in the vale,

mead, Save when at distance heard, in cadence sweet,

That springs to perfection, and dies;

She bloom'd, and then fick’ned but thall we The village mintirel tunes his simple reed.

bewail? There, free from cares, from jarring passions free,

The grave of the pure is the path to the

fkies. Oft may I Atrike the lyre, sweet Solitude ! to thee.

The vitim of woe and despair,

Her foul now delights in its rest;
When orient Morn, in blushing pride,

And roving with bliss thro’the regions of air,
Profusely sheds the gliti’ning dew,
Oft hit me c'imb the mountain's fide,

Unites in the songs of the bleft.
And raptur'd mark the varied view. July 29, 1796.

T.
When Noon directs on earth his parching ray ;
Then let me find the cool, the peaceful fiiade,

EPITAPH
Form’d by embow'ring oaks, in firm array,
O'er some small stream that rustles through

ON MRS. RAINEY,OF GREENVILLE, COUNTY

OF DOWNE, IRELAND, the glade. Thither let Fancy lead her magic band,

By Dr. DRENNAN. And o'er my senses wave her soul-entrancing wand.

THE light of Memory, struggling thro' the Bu` when at eye the curfew's knell

gloom,
Winds slowly thro' the dusky grove,

Awakes to life the tenant of this tomb;
Pentive I'll seek the rural cell,

Reitores cach mild, majestic matron grace,
Or 'midst the gloom in silence rove ;

Dwells on the form, and lingers on the face ; And when from vilage ípire the solemn tull In strong delusion waits to hear her speak, Yields its sad tribute to the breathless clay ;

And sees the bloom just mantling o'er the cheek, As calm Reflection feals tipoi myful,

Her mind recals the varied lov: liness, The tear unmark'd tall take it, filent way; The power to warm, to harmonize, to bless ; And mournful oft I'll cull the violet's bloom, The tranquil conitancy in acting right, Heave the fad soothing ligh, and dress the clay

And the fine sense of elegant delight; cold tomb.

Her brưast by duty warm’d, by goodness grac'd, When Midnight spreads her blackeít robe,

While round it play'd the lambent flame of

taite.
And arouds in fulien mitts the sky;
When Terror rules the filent globe,

Hers, every charm that could in courts prevail,

HIcr charm and choice to steal along the valc. And phantoms mock the fearful eye; 'Parent of all! wł je voice the winds chey,

Hers, the full swreiness of domestic life, The raving occan, and the black'ning turm,

The friend, the daughter, hifter, mother, wifi.

The wife--Othou whom most my four deYet stoop'ít to guide the sparrow on his way, And ihed'it thy mercy on the fruigsling In whom I liv'd, with whom my bliss ex

1:.cs, worm ! To thee, great God! to thee my voice I'll

pires !

In vain does Memory pierce this mortal gloom · Trembling I'll strike the lyre, and hymn thy Thy husband ftes, and only fees-the tomb.

boundless praise. Norwich.

A.

EL EGY

UPON THE LOSS OF A FRIEND.
EPIGRA M.

WHILST others wildly run in Pleasure's
MARTIAL, Book viii. Epig. 35.

Courie,
CUM fitis fimiles, paresque vita,

And scorn pale Misery's sadly plaintive figh,
Uxor peliina, pefiimus matus,

I wiep, unhceded victim of remorse, Miror, non bene convenire vobis !

Ah! whither, whither, shall the wretched

But now my bosom (we'l'd with easy mirth; Pair'd in wedlock, pair'd in lisc;

But now it flow'd with sympathetic joy ; Husband, luited to ihy wife:

Each sweeter from charm Friendship took its Worthless thou, and worthless she ;

birth : Strange it is ye can't agree!

Fool that I was ! such blessings to deftroy. Hackney, June 26, 1796. G.W.

And

raise ;

fly?

TRANSLATED

1796.]

Original Poetry.

647

And must one moment dafl the happy scene, And darken each fair prospect Hope has made ? Oh! that such pleasures I had never seen,

Or never known the bli sful vision lade!
The sun at even sinks below the sky,

And in the morning rises as befo:e:
My hopes, alas (1 speak it with a ligh)
Are fet.in forrow, and Thall rise no more.
1796.

MARTIS-COLL.

O then retire, and weep! Their very u'CES

Soluce the guiltles. Drop the pearly flood On thy, sweet infant, as the FULL-BLOWN

rose, Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neigha

b'ring BUD. And ah! that Truth some holy spell might

lend To lure thy wanderer from the syren's power; Then bid your souls infeparably blund, Like tw)

bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF ANIMATION,

(Vide Darwin's Zoonomia, Vol. I.) Indited on a journey on horseback laft winter, and

travelling late at night. O THOU! whose presence none can trace

'Midst all the fons of ADAM's race,

Nor tell, or where, or when,
Or how thou sprang'it to life at first,
Or in what corner thou wast nurit

Of this trail house of men :
Dear to my head, my heart must dear,
SPIRIT OF ANIMATION! hear,

Nor let our union end.
I own, without thee I'm undone :
And where could’it thou for shelter run,

Should'st thou desert thy friend?
I know thy alderman desire
For drink and reít, for food and fire,

Whilft I am cold and wet :
But patience til we reach yon

inn

; I'll ply the then with ale and gin,

And many a dish I'll get. But mark, when fill'd, no pranks like those Which learned Doctor DARWIN shows,

Who says, that when thou’t fuil, . Thou’rt apt to play men inany a trick, And frisk' about, and tuis, and kick,

Juit like a mad town-bull.
This house, remember, thou art in,
Is but of clay, and built but thin,

And I on is pull'd to pieces:
Yet thould it thou rend this house in twain,
Perchance thuul't nut a better gain,

Nor one on lun, er leares.

SONNET. As one, whom the dark phantoms of the

nicht, Troubling his wilder'd phantasy, have led

Amid the dim damp mantions of the dead, Or from some pre-ipice's giddy height Abrupily thruit; when moming's orient ray

Wakes him to lafety, loves to ponder o'er

The vision'd terrors terrible no more ;
So I look back on the departed day.
When as I journeyed alory. Life's dull road,

Hope fed my wounded bosom, sulkn Care

Sat on my brow, and fieruly sad De pair Courted to rest within his dark abode ; The sad lyre echoed then the penfive song, Yet sooth’d the wearying hours that lingering layg'd along

B.

TO

ON A LATE CONUBIAL RUPTURE

IN HIGH LIFE. I

SIGH, fair injur'd stranger ! for thy fate ;

But what thallfi, hs avail thee'? thy pour heart, 'Mid all the “ pomp and circumstance” of state,

Shivers in nakedness. Unb ade1}, "Itart Sad recollections of Hope's garish dream,

That thap'd a feraph turin, and nam’dit Love, Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam

Varies the neck it Cytherea’s dove. To one !ft accent of domestic joy, Poor are the shouts that ibake the high

arch'd dome; Those plaudits, that thy public path annoy, Alas! they tell thec---Thou rt a wretch as

home

RE ĆE I PT
MAKE A SALLY-LUN (a well-knows

cake at Bath.) Written by the late Mujor Drewe, of Exeter. No more I heed the muffin's zest,

The Yorkshire cake, or bun,
Swett Muse of Pastry! teach me how

To make a Sally-Lun.
Take thou of luscious wholesome cream

What the full pint contains,
Warm as the native blood which glows

In youthful virgin's veins.
Haít thou not seen in olive rind,

The wall-tree's rounded nut?
Of juicy butter juft its size,

In thy clean pastry put.
Hast thou not seen the golden yolk,

In chryftal shrine immur'd;
Whence, brooded o’er by folt'ring wing,

Forth springs the warrior bird?
Oh! save three birds from savage man,

And combai's sanguine hour;
Crusb in three yolks the secds of life,

And on the butter pour.
Take then a cup, that holds the juice,

Fam'd China's faireit pride :
Let forming yeast its concave fill,
And froth adown its side.

But

But seek thou, first, for neatrels' sake,

The Naiad's crystal stream;
Swift let it round the concave play,

And o'er the surface gleam.
Of salt, more keen than that of Greece,

Which cooks, not poets use,
Sprinkle thou then with sparing hand,

And thro' the mass diffuse. Then let it reft, disturb'd no more,

Safe in its steady seat, Till thrice Time's warning bell liath ftruck,

Nor yet the hour compleat.
And now let Fancy revel free,

By no stern rulc confin'd;
On glitt'ring tin, in varied form,

Each Sally-Lun be twin'd.
But heed thou well to lift thy thought

To me, thy power divine;
Then to the oven's glowing mouth

The wondrous work consign.

When to a hapisy ear it fpeaks,
And every drowsy cincture breaks ;
Then scream not here, thou LITTLE SWELF,
For I only wake to weep.

Once, charming was my waking hour,
When sweet reflections knew my bower ;
When springing from my couch of balm,
My views were gay, my heart was calm ;
When laughing pleasure at

my

board pread out its ever-sparkling hoard ; When friends and filial Cherubs (mild, And of its thom each care beguild. NA!.--Wake me not, O CRUEL SWEEP, For I only wake to weep. Sept. 22, 1796.

LEONORE.

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TO A CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.
AH! cease thy fhrill-pipe, LITTLE SWEEP,

Nor raise these aching lids to weep !
When Dawn, arrayed in pearly white,
Sirs on the shadows of the night,
Then, gentie dreams in gambo's bound
And light-drawn Numbers glide around,
Then, rosy Fancy takes the chains
And leads us o’er enchanted plains;
Then, do not wake me LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

Thy clario'i loud I hate to hear,
And, dreading Thee, I seep in fear :
For sleep is all the good I know,
The filky veil which hides my woe.
No bright ideas gild my bed,
No lively hopes their treasues fred:
A dreary, vapid, joyless scene,
Is All my grave and me between.
Pass filent on thei, LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

How fad it seems, when slumbers fly,
And sun-bcams blaze along the sky,
To feel no sun-beam in the mind !
There, all is dark, and cold, and blind.
Then MEMORY, on impy wings,
Her retrospective poison brings,
And EXPECTATION, blacker still,
Bids deep Despair my bosom fill.
Hush, hush thy cry then, LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

País on, pass on, thou Jing'ring child,
Nor rouse me with thy shriekings wild.
Tu blissful dwellings speed thy way,
For they with transport meet the day.
No linnet hath a folter note,
Than that which tears thy ebon throat,

TO THE LILIES OF THE VALLEY.

By the Riv. J. BIDLAKE, of Plymouth.
YE lowly children of the shelter'd vale,
Like modest worth by scornful pride dis-

daiv’d,
Your little, fleeting life,

W!o wafie unscen, unknown,
In verdant veil how bashfully enwrap'd,
Ye thun the officious hand, the scarchful fight,

With down-calt, pensive tye,

And ever-nıusing heads ! Ah! when I view your meek, your humble

mien, And all your highly breathing fragrance taste,

How bloeds my fad’ning soul,

For unprutected worth!
How bleeds to think, that inortal excellence
Is doom'd to live forgot, unheeded die !

For in your short-liv'd charms

Are pictur'd well its fate. For ye, ere yet the morning's rising gale Shall wing its early course, may ccafe to greet

With the sweet brca h of love

The wakeful wanderer's way.
Nor longer, virtuc's boaft! a little day,

pow's

Us helpless victims shield

From the unpitying grave, Then come, my Anna's faithful boom deck : For ever there true worth, true wisdom dwell.

Congenial to your state,

Soft in that heaven rest.
There ihall no busy insect dare obtrude
Your sweets to rifle with perfidious kiss ;

While ye more fragrance tatte

Than in your native beds.
Your highest incense breathe, to cmulate
Those more than op’ning niorning's puret

sweets,
That fit on rosy lips
Of smiling chattity.

A CORRECT

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