anfwer: "I always loved Nicolas; I admire Chamfort." A few days after, they met, and the mafter and the pupil embraced each other with tears. Nor was he deceived by his prefenti ment of his future fortune. By the cares and intereft of his friends it gradually fwelled to eight or nine thoufand livres a year; but the greatest part of it confitted of penfions, and the whirlwind of the revolution fwept them away. The day after they were fuppreffed, he went to fee his fellow academician, Marmontel, and found him lamenting the lofs that his children would fuffer by the fame decree. Chamfort took one of them upon his knees: Come here, my little fellow,” said he, “you will be a better man than either of us. Some day or other you will weep over your father, on hearing that he had the weaknefs to weep over you, becaufe he feared that you might not be fo rich as himfelf." That meteor that rofe in the French revolution; rushed through the political fyftem like a comet; and difappeared in the midst of the long furprise and uncafy admiration it excited-Mirabeau, in 1hort, was the friend of Chamfort, and often borrowed his pen. The moft eloquent paffages in the Letters on the order of Cincinnatus belong to the latter. He was, indeed, his council upon all occafions; and when Mirabeau went to pafs an hour with him, as was his cuftom in the morning, he ufed to call it going to rub the noft electrical head he had ever met with. The light emitted by this electrical head could not fail to fhine in oppofition to the blafting rays of the mock fun of liberty of the felon Robespierre-to whom talents and virtue were alike obnoxious. It was difficult, however, to lay hold on Chamfort. Frank, upright, decided, and independent of all parties, he had steered afteady courfe through the revolutionary ftorm, openly profefling an equal hatred of pricfts and nobles, and of Marat and the rest of the men of blood. At the fame time that he was author of the faying, "Guerre aux chateaux, paix aux chaumières," he explained by the appellation of the fraternity of Cain and Abel, the compulfive fyftem of fraternization devifed by the Jacobin Club. * War to the feat, Peace to the cotage. At length, however, an obfcure informer was found to denounce him, and Chamfort was carried to the Madelonnettes. Unable to obtain there the attentions, and the occafional folitude that fome habitual infirmities imperiously required, he conceived fo profound a horror of imprisonment, that when he was. fuffered to return a few days after to his apartments under the cuftody of a guard, he fwore he would rather die than be immured anew. In little more than a month the gendarme told him he had orders to carry him back to a houfe of confinement.Chamfort retired to a clofet, under the pretence of making his preparations; fired a piftol at his head; fhattered the bones of the nofe; and drove in his right eye. Aftonished at finding himself alive, and refolved to die, he took up a razor, tried to cut his throat, and mangled the flesh in the moft dreadful manner. The weakness of his hand made no change in the refolution of his mind; he attempted feveral times, in vain, to reach his heart with the fame inftrument; and finding himself begin to faint, made a laft effort to open the veins at his knees. At length, overcome by pain, he uttered a loud cry, and fell almost lifeless into a chair. The door was broke open and furgeons and civil officers foon repaired to the fpot. While the former were preparing dreffings for fo many wounds, Chamfort dictated to the latter the following truly Roman declaration: I, Sebastian Roch Nicolas Chamfort, declare it was my intention to die a freeman, rather than to be carried back, like a flave, to a house of confinement. I declare, moreover, that if violence be used to carry me thither in the ftate I am in, I have ftill ftrength enough to finish what I have begun." An hour or two after, he became perfeetly calm, and refumed his ufual ironical manner. "See what it is," faid he, 66 to want dexterity; an aukward man cannot even kill himself." He then went on to relate how he had perforated his eye, and the lower part of his forehead, instead of blowing out his brains; feared his throat, inftead of cutting it ; and scarified his breast, without reaching his heart. "At laft," added he, "I recollected Seneca'; and in honour of Seneca, I refolved to open my veins; but Seneca was a rich man; he had a warm bath, and every thing to his with: I am a poor $796.] Original Letter of Sir George Saville. a poor miferable devil, and have none of the fame advantages. I have hurt myfelf horribly, and here I am ftill.” Not one of the multitude of wounds he had made was mortal. Strange as it may appear, they were even attended by beneficial confequences. By giving vent to an internal humour that had long preyed upon his conftitution, they retored him to a state of health he had been a ftranger to for years; and Cham.. fort might now have been alive, if, when his wounds were clofed, the furgeons had given iffue to that humour by other means. But they neglected the precaution, and this amiable and courageous character was foon after feized with a mortal difeafe. Thefe anecdotes will be REGULARLY queft the affiftance of all perfons who, by ORIGINAL LETTER FROM THE LATE SIR GEORGE SAVILE. We have been favoured with the following letter by the gentleman to whom it was fent, and who obferves that it is a true fuc fimile of the frank and liberal mind of the truly excellent writer. The fermon alluded to, was preached before a regiment of militia, and afterwards printed Sir, Liverpool, Nov. 19, 1779 RETURN you I the Sermon with thanks. It has entertain'd and pleas'd me much. I am inclined to think the political part of it more confiftently reated throughout than the religious. The queftion of obedience to unlawful commands is foundly laid down, & fubject only to that fort of difficulty which all political propofitions are liable to from the poffibility of being overtrained, & of putting cafes which thall drive you to abfurd conclufions, by getting into extremes. Thus it will be objected, “Shall each common foldier judge of a nice point of law?" Nevertheless the doctrine is right and found. 645 to conquer and bless the world." I take conquering to blefs, & cutting one half of a nation's throats, to treat the other with lenity, to be the most unchriftian thing in the world. Indeed, I have always thought, parcere fubjećtis to be a very foolish, as well as a very impertinent faucy language, for man to talk to his fellow creatures. I do not know whether I fhould add to the force of my argument, by faying, likewife, fellow chriftians, becaufe, I conceive, the great point of the Chritian religion was to teach us we are fellow creatures. But, indeed, where is the good of it? Why can't one as well fpare people firft? I am fure one may fpare more of them, & with far lefs trouble. To talk of conquering people, and of the divine principles of free government, in the fame page, (nay, within four lines) makes one fick. the faucy pretence of bleffing) is good, To know whether conquering (under only ask how you would like for France, or Spain, or the Turk, if you please, to talk fo to you? They would all biefs you their own way; fome with circumcifion, fome with the inquifition. And to know whether it is Chriftian, jo to do to others as you would not be done to, is fettled, as I remember, fome where or other; fo I need not argue it. Saving the few lines, p. 10, which the above refers to, I like the Sermon well; but that curfed habit, imbibed very early, of applauding fuccefsful generous highwaymen, leads one into terrible fcrapes when one fets about to manufacture fuch a warp with a Chriftian weft. Charles the 12th muft have been a devilish good' Chriftian. What pity your Alexanders, &c. had not the fame advantages! 1 think a Roman general had not the greater triumph, unle's he had flain a certain number of men. To darken their splendour, I fuppofe the number muft have been increafed for a clever Chriftian triumph. And now having, I think, almoft writ a fermon likewife, I thank you once more, & remain, fir, Your obliged, and But I do not fo well like the application of Chriftian virtue, to enable a nation "to darken the Roman Splendour, T. B. Bayley, esq. G. SAVILE. ORIGINAL ODE TU SOLITUDE. FAR from Ambition's felfifh train, Enflav'd by Cuftom's ruthless fway, Lead me, calm fpirit! to fome ftill retreat, Where Silence shares with thee the blooming mead, Save when at diftance heard, in cadence fweet, The village minstrel tunes his fimple reed. There, free from cares, from jarring paffions free, Oft may I ftrike the lyre, fweet Solitude! to thee. When orient Morn, in blufhing pride, Profufely sheds the glift'ning dew, Oft let me c'imb the mountain's fide, And raptur'd mark the varied view. When Noon directs on earth his parching ray; Then let me find the cool, the peaceful flade, Form'd by embow'ring oaks, in firm array, O'er fome fmall ftream that rustles through Thither let Fancy lead her magic band, wand. Bu when at eye the curfew's knell Or 'midst the gloom in filence rove; And when from village fpire the folemn tull Yields its fad tribute to the breathlefs clay; As calm Reflection fteals upon my ful, The tear unmark'd fhall take its filent way; And mournful oft I'll cull the violet's bloom, Heave the fad foothing figh, and drefs the claycold tomb. When Midnight fpreads her blackest robe, And phantoms mock the fearful eye; Parent of all! who fe voice the winds chey, The raving ocean, and the black'ning form, Yet ftoop'ft to guide the sparrow on his way, And hed'it thy mercy on the firuggling worm ! THE light of Memory, ftruggling thro' the gloom, Awakes to life the tenant of this tomb; tafte. Hers, every charm that could in courts prevail, In vain does Memory pierce this mortal gloom; ELEGY UPON THE LOSS OF A FRIEND. WHILST others wildly run in Pleasure's course, And fcorn pale Mifery's fadly plaintive figh, I weep, unheeded victim of remorse, Ah! whither, whither, fhall the wretched fly? But now my bofom fwell'd with easy mirth; But now it flow'd with fympathetic joy; Each fweeter from charm Friendship took its birth: Fool that I was! fuch bleffings to deftroy. Hackney, June 26, 1796. G. W. And ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF ANIMATION. [Vide DARWIN's Zoonomia, Vol. I.] Inditel on a journey on horfeback laft winter, and travelling late at night. THOU! whofe prefence none can trace Of this frail houfe of men: Dear to my head, my heart moft dear, Nor let our union end. I own, without thee I'm undone : Should't thou defert thy friend? I know thy alderman defire For drink and reft, or 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 dith I'll get. But mark, when fill'd, no pranks like those Which learned Doctor DARWIN fhows, Who fays, that when thou't full, This house, remember, thou art in, And fon is pull'd to pieces: Yet thould't thou rend this houfe in twain, ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE I SIGH, fair injur'd franger! for thy fate; Poor are the fhouts that shake the higharch'd dome; Thofe plaudits, that thy public path annoy, Alas! they tell thee---Thou rt a wretch at home! 647 O then retire, and weep! Their very woes Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighb'ring BUD. And ah! that Truth fome holy fpell might lend To lure thy wanderer from the fyren's power; Then bid your fouls infeparably blend, Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower. Troubling his wilder'd phantafy, have led Amid the dim damp manfions of the dead, Or from fome precipice's giddy height Abruptly thruit; when moming's orient ray Wakes him to tafety, loves to ponder o'er The vifion'd terrors terrible no more; So I look back on the departed day. When as journeyed along Life's dull road, Hope fed my wounded bofom, fulln Care Sat on my brow, and fernly fad De pair Courted to reft within his dark abode ; The fad lyre echoed then the penfive fong, Yet footh'd the wearying hours that lingering lagg'd along. TO RECEIPT B. MAKE A SALLY-LUN (a well-known cake at Bath.) Written by the late Major DREWE, of Exeter. NO more I heed the muffin's zeft, Take thou of lufcious wholesome cream Haft thou not feen in olive rind, In thy clean paftry put. Haft thou not feen the golden yolk, And combat's fanguine hour; And on the butter pour. Take then a cup, that holds the juice, Let forming yeaft its concave fill, But TO A CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. AH! ceafe thy fhrill-pipe, LITTLE SWEEP, Thy clarion loud I hate to hear, How fad it feems, when flumbers fly, Hufh, hufh thy cry then, LITTLE SWEEP, País on, pafs on, thou ling'ring child, Than that which tears thy ebon throat, When to a happy ear it speaks, And every drowsy cincture breaks; ONCE, charming was my waking hour, TO THE LILIES OF THE VALLEY. By the Rev. J. BIDLAKE, of Plymouth. YE lowly children of the fhelter'd vale, Like modeft worth by fcornful pride difdain'd, Your little, fleeting life, Who wafte unfcen, unknown, In verdant veil how bashfully enwrap'd, And ever-mufing heads! Ah! when I view your meek, your humble mien, And all your highly breathing fragrance taste, For unprotected worth! How bleeds to think, that mortal excellence For ye, ere yet the morning's rifing gale The wakeful wanderer's way. Nor longer, virtue's boaft! a little day, From the unpitying grave. Then come, my Anna's faithful bofom deck: For ever there true worth, true wisdom dwell. Congenial to your state, Soft in that heaven rest. There fhall no bufy infect dare obtrude Than in your native beds. Your higheft incenfe breathe, to cmulate Thofe more than op'ning morning's pureft fweets, That fit on rofy lips Of smiling chastity. A CORRECT |