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as lead upon the shelf. In ancient times, before the art of printing was invented, an author got his price. In the year 1471, Louis XI. paid one hundred golden dollars and twelve marks in silver, for the medicopy of a bad Arabian book upon cine. Under Louis XIII. Cardinal Richelieu paid six hundred livres for six verses. Those were good times!

Soldier. Under Charles the Bald, there was a battle near Fontenay, where one hundred thousand men were left dead upon the field, and non-commissioned officers were rapidly promoted. Those were good times

Farmer. In the year 1336, there was so great a famine, that people used to eat up one another, and a cask of flour cost fifty francs. Those were good times!

Physician. In the year 1269, a terrible plague prevailed in Paris, which carried off one hundred and fifty people every day. The physicians could not find time to go their rounds.

Sexton. Nor could the Sextons dig graves fast enough. Ay, those were good

times!

Lawyer. Before the tribunals were reformed, I had at least ten causes to plead every day, to present petitions, and twenty families stood every morning regularly weeping before my door. Those were good times!

Jew. Before the bankers, brokers, money-changers, pawnbrokers' shops, Lombards, &c. came in vogue, we had good times, for we had the disposal of every thing. Then people would take clipt crowns, but now-a-days they weigh every thing.

Timber-Merchant. In the year 1709, all the rivers in France were frozen over, all the stores of wood were exhausted. Ah! the excellent times?

Journalist. In 1793 and 1794, there were conspiracies every day, popular insurrections three or four times a week, seven or eight battles a month, massacres in every canton, one hundred and fifty revolutionary executions every morning, from fifty to sixty national decrees, speeches, motions, &c.*

* It is very probable, that this conversation may only have been invented as a joke, but we must agree with the author, that it may pass for a true parody all over the world."

THEOLOGICAL QUACKERY,

"I would have every man examine bis heart thoroughly, and I believe he will often find that what he calls a zeal for his religion is either pride, interest, or ill-nature."

ADDISON.

"DO you know that clergyman," said Hamilton, "that is walking between two ladies on the opposite of the room?""Very well: he is one of our most popular preachers, a very different practitioner in his profession from Blunderbuss, and perfectly skilled in hitting the prevailing taste.

The professional excellences of our great theatrical performers are so extremely impressive, that bold adventurers in divinity,seeing the efficacy of tone and gesture on the stage, have undertaken to dramatize the pulpit; and this is one of the most successful actors. He has a fine voice, both as to tone and cadence, and therefore pleases such fashionable hearers as judge of sermons upon the principle of the opera. He has graceful attitudes, and therefore is pleasing to church-going connoisseurs; in dancing, he has fine action; the seesaw of hands, with his right the touch of the heart, at once displaying his feeling and his diamond ring; he cries at the proper place, that is, where the gap in the sentence requires such a supplement. These movements are extremely delightful to such theatrical connoisseurs as regard, in the pulpit, stage trick more than the real exhibition of nature, truth, and sense. He is besides famed for elocution, and delivers common-place remark with such a degree of impressiveness, as to pass, with the bulk of hearers, for the profoundest wisdom and most energetic eloquence. He thereby delights the many votaries of spouting, and fre quenters of debating societies. Such a delicacy is so very efficacious as, in a great decree, to supersede the necessity of genius, learning, and eloquence; even elegant composition is not requisite: indeed, how can one compose without materials? all that is requisite in the language, is the musical melody of the several periods, without any disposition, or connection, or adjustment of parts to the whole. There are other ingredients in his discourses, that are extremely suitable to the prevailing taste; the whine of sentiment, and the vagaries of description, which are peculiarly pleasing to the novel-reading class of churchgoers. You have the tender ties of affec

tion, delicious endearments, sweet reciprocations of love, all as animated as in the tales of Derwent Priory, Sir Harry Clarendon, or any effusion of the Gallimatia press. Besides his hair, so skilfully matted and baked, his white cambric handkerchief, and his eye glass, announcing a beau, naturally attract the regard of the belles. Your popular preachers are moreover men of stature; the same figures that are in request in the pulpit, are chiefly sought to stand behind a carriage, and would also have been choice acquisitions to Serjeant Kite; and he that is born to be six feet high, is born to be a great man.

"With so many qualifications, you may depend on it, Mr. Gillyflower, the clerical harlequin before us, would outstrip in favour a Horsley, a Watson, or a Blair!" I can hardly think that," said our hero.---" Cannot you," replied Manchester: " pray, whether is Belvidera, and Lady Randolph; or Mother Shipton and General Jackoo, most highly prized?"

REMARKS OF A MODERNOBSERVER. I have seen many things which I pretended not to see. I have often smiled and frolicked with those whom I disliked. I have experienced ingratitude in serving men who were reckoned virtuous, and I have seen the most stupid and empty babblers succeed greatly beyond their deserts.

I have seen women sacrifice the honor of their husbands to the most unprincipled gallants. I have seen miserable fribbles obtain from them favors, which they refused to men of genuine merit and delicacy. I have seen many men squander their fortune, and ruin themselves for women, who laughed at them, and gave themselves to their rivals for nothing

I have seen women, who were solicited by men of wit, long resist their addresses, and yield at once to the first proud and nonsensical fool who came in their way. I have seen that, if some women preferred men of superior information, they were censured by others of

their sex.

I have always seen, that the learned and the best instructed failed in gaining favor with the ladies. I have seen, on the contrary, that the most silly triumphed. I have seen delicacy of sentiment

prove mischievous, and treachery be of great avail. I have seen that, in love, folly is always more advantageous than

reason.

I have seen ladies attach guilt to men who were innocent, and load with their favors those who had wronged them. In short, I have seen so many things contradictory to good sense, and am so much convinced that the most cruel sufferings often proceed from the most noble desires, that my angry heart no longer inspires any strains but those which are bitter at the recollections with which it is filled.

Sonnets.

TO MISS KELLY,

On her performance of Edmond, in the Blind Boy.

Rare Artist! that with half thy tools, or

none,

Canst execute with ease thy curious art, And press thy powerful'st meanings on the heart,

Unaided by the eye-expression's throne! While each blind sense, intelligential grown

Beyond its sphere, performs the effect of sight,

Those orbs alone, wanting their proper might,

All motionless and silent, seem to moan The unseemly negligence of Nature's hand, That left them so forlorn. What praise

is thine,

O mistress of the passions !—Artist fine! That dost our souls against our sense cominand;

Plucking the horror from a sightless

face,

Lending to blank deformity a grace.

WRITTEN OVER THE DEATH-BED

OF AN IDLE APPRENTICE. See where he lies!-cold, wretched, dying man!

A mass of loathsome filth and misery; Mischief and want still nestle hideously Beneath his sunken eye-balls; his short span

Appears as finish'd, though but just began; Low on the ground, vietiin of early crime, Like adder crush'd, be lies! I knew the

time,

Ere vice and he their course together ran,

Yet quiltles, when he labour'd-poor, but gay,

Death had for him no terrors; but alas! Errors and follies, thick as unrown grass, Harried his soul from virtue's path away. Onward he went, 'spite of his parents' sighs, [lies! Beyond the hope of cure-and there he

Lales.

THE SPARE BLANKET. COLD was the wind, and dark the night, When Samuel Jinkins, call'd by some The Reverend, (tho' I doubt his right,)

Reach'dy armouth's town, induced to come
By ardour in the cause of Zion,
Aad hous'd him at the Golden Lion.
His chamber held another bed,
But, as it was untenanted,

Our hero, without fear or doubt,
Undress'd, and put the candle out,

And, Morpheus making haste to drop his
Drowsiest soporific poppies,
Sleep soon o'ertook the weary elf,
Who snor'd like---nothing but himself.
The night was pretty far advanced,
When a stray sinuggler, as it chanced,
Was by the yawning Betty led,
To the aforesaid empty bed.

'Tis plain that, since his own bassoon
Did not awake him with its tune,

Sam could not hear his neighbour,
Who very leisurely undress'd,
Put out the light, retir'd to rest,

And, weary with his labour,
Form'd a duet with nose sonorous,
Although it sounded like a chorus.
The witching-time of night is near-

Hark! 'tis the hollow midnight beil,
Whose echoes, fraught with solemn fear,
Far o'er the land and ocean swell..
The sentry, on his lonely post,
Starts, and bethinks him of a ghost;
Lists, cager for the distant sound

Of comrades marching to the round,
And bends athwart the gloom his eye,
The glimmer of their arms to spy::---
While many a startled nymph awaking,
Counts the long chime so dull and dread,
Fancies she sees the curtains shaking,

Draws underneath the clothes her head, Feels a cold shudder o'er her creep, Attempts to pray, and shrinks to sleep. Altho' our Missionary woke

Just at this moment in a shiver, Twas not the clock's appalling stroke That put his limbs in such a quiver; The blankets on his bed were two, So far from being thick and new, That he could well have borne a dozen; No wonder that, with such a store, When his first heavy sleep was o'er,

The poor incumbent woke half frozen. Since Betty has forgot the clothes," Quoth Sani, confound her stupid head!)

"ll just make free to borrow those
That lie upon the empty bed:"
So up he jump'd, too cold and raw,
To be punctilious in his work,
Grasp'd the whole covering at a claw,
And was retreating with his prey,
Offstripp'd it with a single jerk,
When, to his horror and dismay,
His ears were almost split asunder
By a "Hollo!" as loud as thunder!
As Beelzebub, on all occasions,
Was present in his lucubrations,
He took for granted that to-night
The rogue had come to wreak his spite,
And stood transfix'd, afraid to breathe,
With trembling lips and chatt'ring teet;
But cry'd at last, with desperate shout,

Satan, avaunt!---I've found thee out."
Meanwhile, the Smuggler, who had shouted
At finding all the blankets gone,
Though for a little while he doubted
The cause of the phenomenon,
Soon as he heard Sam's exclamation,
Concluded, without hesitation,
"Twas an exciseman come to seize
His contraband commodities;
Wherefore, within his fist collecting
His vigour and resentment too,
And by the voice his aim directing,

Since every thing was hid from view,
He launch'd a more than mortal blow,
Intended to conclude the matter,
Which, whizzing on its work of woe,
Fell, with a desolating clatter,
Just where our Missionary bore his
Two front teeth, or incisores.
This made the Jinkins fiercer burn
To give his foe a due return,

And punish him for what the brute did,
When his front teeth he had uprooted.
Rearing, with this intent, his fist,
Although the smuggler's face it miss'd,
It met his ear with such a rap,
He thought it was a thunder clap,
Especially as from the crash
His eye-balls gave a sudden flash.
Jinkins, meanwhile, with clamour dire,
Vociferating "Thieves!" and "Fire!"
Host, hostess, men and maids, rush'd in,
Astounded by his fearful din,

While many more prepared to follow
With lights and buckets, hoop and hollo!
His foe, who saw how matters lay,
Slipp'd on his clothes, then slipp'd away;
And, being somewhat waggish, thus
Began the adventure to discuss :-
"Sure, neither acted like a wise man
To think the devil would fight th' excisemaa,
When both pursue the self-same ends,
Like fellow-labourers and friends.
Both have authority to seize
Unlawful spirits, where they please;
Both have a right to claim as booties,
All those who have evaded duties;
They roam together, hour by hour,
Both seeking whom they may devour;
And since th' inseparable two

A partnership in this world form,
God grant that both may have their duc,
And in the next be friends as warm !"

LOVE, A REFINED PASSION;

Its Force and Effects.
The Story of Count FREVAL and
ADELAIDE.*

The countess of Freval was left a widow with one daughter about sixteen years of age, and one son about a year younger. She was possessed of a very large fortune, but chose rather to retire and superintend the education of her children at a remote country-seat, than expose them to the danger of habitual luxury and seducing examples in public life. It happened that in the neighbourhood there was a young lady of a good family, but small fortune, whose name was Adelaide: She was about the same age with the countess's daughter, extremely beautiful, of manners the most engaging, and of uncommon sprightliness and understanding. This young lady the Countess received into her family, as a companion for her daughter, without considering that she had also a son, whom she thus exposed to temptations which few have resisted. The young gentleman soon became enamoured of Adelaide, and made her acquainted with a passion which he diligently concealed from every one else. She was far from being insensible of his merit, but had so much prudence, that she concealed it even from him. She knew the countess to be a haughty woman, who having enriched the person whom she married, by an immense fortune, had formed great projects for her son, and would resent with implacable bitterness, his marriage with a person so much his inferior; she therefore diligently avoided all opportunities of being alone with the young count, and for many months succeeded. Her eyes, however, had involuntarily encouraged him to persist in bis assiduities, and, at last, having stole upon her as she was musing in a retired part of the garden, he conjured her to hear him, with such tenderness and importunity, that she could resist no

The gentleman who favoured us with this story, informs us, that though it might seem to wear a romantic appearance, it is extracted from papers of unquestionable authority, which are still carefully preserved by a noble family in France! and adds, that it is a proof there was once such a passion as love refined, delicate, ardent and constant; uninfluenced either by hope or fear; gentle as pity, and stronger than death.

longer. She heard him with a visible emotion, and at last told him, with a most amiable blush and decent confusion, that if she were his equal in rank and fortune, he would have no reason to be displeased with her answer; but that, as she was so greatly his inferior, she hoped he would not so far injure her as to attempt the gratification of an unlawful passion; and added, with a sigh, that she should not so far injure him as to accept any proposal of marriage. "I should not," ‚" said she, “deserve the affection you profess, if I did not urge assist you in the attempt, by constantly avoiding an interview; and thus, while my obscurity prevents me from accep ting your love, I shall, at least, reflect with pleasure, that I deserve your esteem."

you to surmount it.

I will therefore

The count was now more enamoured of her prudence and her virtue, than he had before been with her person; he urged her to marry him with yet greater importunity, but she still refused, and breaking away from him, persisted in her resolution to avoid him for the future. He was not able to elude her vigilance for many months, but his attempts to express his sentiments in the presence of others, were now so often repeated, and her apparent insensibility, made him go such length to attract her notice, that his mother at length discovered his passion, and rallied him upon it. The count, upon this occasion, put on a serious air, and began to expatiate on the virtues of Adelaide; but the countess prevented the declaration which she saw he was about to introduce, by charging him, in the most peremptory terms, to think of her no more. But she did not stop here: for the campaign being then opened, she sent him to the army, as a volunteer, the family was at her disposal, he was comnext day. As the whole fortune of the pelled to obey, after having assured Adelaide, that whatever should be his fate, his love would be the same for ever.

During the absence of the young soldier, a neighbouring gentleman became enamoured of his mistress; and as he considered her under the countess's protection, he made his first proposal to her; who was so well pleased at this opportunity of putting her son out of danger, that she not only consented, but promised to augment her fortune upon the marriage with a very considerable sum.

The young count, who was just then entered into winter quarters, gained intelligence of this match, and, immediately taking post horses, arrived while they were pressing Adelaide, by every possible motive, to consent. He threw himself at his mother's feet, in an agony of tenderness and grief, avowed his desire to espouse Adelaide, which he urged her to permit, as that which alone could prevent him from being superlatively wretched.

The countess answered his importunity only with reproaches; but the expostulation became so warm, and was so long continued, that it could not be kept a secret from the new suitor, who, in point of honour, desisted from his addresses, declaring that he would not marry an angel under such circumstances. This disappointment made the countess yet more angry, and Adelaide was immediately dismissed. The count, who before delayed his marriage out of deference to his mother, now thought it his duty to defer it no longer. To repair, therefore, the loss of fortune and protection, of which he had been the cause, he made Adelaide his wife, and still hoped that time and assiduity would produce a reconciliation. In these hopes, however, he was deceived; the countess was inexorable; she withdrew her son's allowance, and abandoned them to all the wretchedness of extreme want. After finding it impossible longer to procure the necessaries of life together, they were compelled to part. The count proposed, as the only expedient to prevent their perishing,that she should enter a nunnery, and himself a convent; the unhappy lady consented, and it was immediately put into execution. Some few trinkets, which, during all their distress, she had preserved, as presents from the count, were now converted into money; a little sum! the whole of which he insisted she should keep, and after such a scene of tender distress as no imagination can paint, they parted; she took the veil under a lady abbess, to whom her family and misfortunes were known, and the count went into a monastery at Paris.

But though these unhappy lovers had now forsaken the world, they were still persecuted by fortune. Their story was talked of in the convent, and some of the sisters, either jealous of the praises she received, or moved by some secret malignity, caballed against her, and suc

ceeded so well in their machinations,that after the death of the lady abbess her friend, they procured her to be expelled the house. However, she had in the monastery some friends, though the majority were her enemies; one of the sisters gave her letters of recommendation to her father, who was an officer at court: with this letter she went to Paris, and while the gentleman, to whom she was recommended, was busied in seeking to procure her another retreat, she sent advice to the count of her arrival, and requested, that she might be admitted to another interview, though but of one hour. This new misfortune of a wife so tenderly beloved, and this unexpected request, threw the count into an agony. He did not, however, dare to see her, and therefore, when he was sufficiently recovered, he entreated that she would not think of an interview, which might be fatal at once to his peace and her own. Adelaide,whose love was still too delicate and too ardent to take this refusal, however reasonable, without pain, became yet more impatient to see him: she therefore went to the convent, and upon entering the church, the first object she beheld was her husband, who was engaged, with the rest of his community, in the solemn exercises of devotion; she was struck at his posture, his appearance, and his employment. She waited till he rose from his knees, and then went up and looked upon him with an eager tenderness, which might well have compelled a return: but the moment his eyes caught her's, he cast them to the ground, and notwithstanding her utmost endeavours to attract his notice, he passed on with a solemn and slow pace, concealing his emotions under the appearance of insensibility and neglect; she knew that he disguised the sentiments of his heart, and that it was not less for her sake than his own; yet the appearance only of neglect or unkindness, for whatever reason assumed, was more than she could bear; and after a short struggle with the passions that swelled in her bosom, she sunk down in a swoon. She was immediately carried off, and her first enquiry after she recovered, was for her dear

count.

Some who were present, raa immediately and told him his wife was dying, and his superior commanded him to make haste and console her; but before he came, the conflict had put an end to her life. At this moment all the for

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