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0 / 75
Mi h v, ' nluWr t'r Mi- inspires,
My H'i'il !,. ti,t -I'll) stixin i Iiiiiri'st.,.,ni ott.
A nev, poem has Utely been ptthlislird in Eng.
Und,cnU,led The Judgment, a Ym'm." Frorti
the specimen which vv e have sec n, it is a work
of no ordinary cart, The following apostro
phe to the evening tr, with the quotation an
nexe J to it, it taken from a review of the poem :
"1 he author proceed in the same tendcraitd
vsledktory attain, which had led liirn to notice
the last recession of the weltering; sun, to
postrophize the evening atar, nuw about to
let for ever. There ia something peculiarly
lulcmn and affecting in this address i it in
volves many circumstance of the most touch
ing interest, and forms, altogether, a picture
over which the mind luns with fond attrac
tion. Numerous u lave been tlie addresses
to this lovely plsnet, there !i nut one whi:h
can compete w ith this, if regard be bad to the
awful magnitude of the occasion ; ai'd few
ihitr, in point of execution, can be deemed
more pensively swett ami impressive."
Mild, tw inkling thruu(h a crimson-skirted cloud,
The solitary atar of evening' shone.
While gaing, w utf.il.on that peerless ligh.
Their after to he seen no more, (as oft
In dreams strange images will yiix,) sad thoughts
Favt'd&'crniy soul, borrowing', I cried, farewell,
Pale, beauteous planet, that displayed so soft.
Amid yon glowing utrcuk. thy transient beam '
A bin?, a Hst farewell! Seasons have chsng'd,
Agu and empires roll'd, like smoke, away,
But thou, unaltered, beamest as silver fair
As on thy birth-niglrt ! Bright and watchful eyes,
Trom palaces and bowers, have hail'd thy gem
V ith vecret transport! Natal atar of love.
And aouN that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray
How tby risirg o'er the bamli t greets,
Signal of rest, and serial convert sweet,
Jlenca'.h some pa'.riarciial tree, has cheer'd
Tlie peasant's heart, and drawn his benison !
Pl-ift,. ,r ,h liptt I k.nk tKv tUi.l r..ti
The tender tale shall never more be tol.l,
Man's sotil shall never wake to jny again :
Tbou sett'st for ever, lovely orb, firew tll '.'
Little rambler of the night,
W here and whence thy glowing light ?
ti h form'd of evening dew,
Where and whence thy brilliant hue
Hark ! methinki a voice replies,
He that form'd the azure skies,
Great in least, and good to all,
Lord of man and insect small ;
,He it w as, that made this vest ;
Search, adore nor know the rst,
Little rambltr of the night,
Hless'd be this voice of thine !
Tie that clauYd thy form in light
Is thy God as well as mine !
Co enjoy in verdant fields
What hit royidbamity yields,
Nip 'he loaf or taste the flower t
Sip in nature's roseate bowvr j
Filling full the span that's git en,
W ith the boom of gracious llrav'n.
Variety's the very spire of life,
Th-t gives it all its tUvr.
iiTascT rans rt saiuot si.l.
Belize me nun, tlrrc i no greater bl'.wc
Thii i titc quiet joy of lev ing w ife ;
l hiv-'i hoso wants, half o( hunsclfc doth niisse,
i't't 'J it.'uxit change, play-ft llnw willio it strife,
V't ! w iliout fvillnesH, counsel without strife,
h iert doubling of cur tingle life
sia r. aiD.Txr.
It is, a great pity that plays and no
vtls should always end at the wedding,
and should not give u another act, and
another volume, to let us know how
the hero and heroine conducted them
selves w hen married. Their main ob
ject seem to be to instruct young la
dies how to get husbands ; but not how
to keep them ; now, this last, it appears
to me, is a desideratum in modern mar
Tied life. It is appalling to those who
have nut yet ventured into the slate to
see how soon the flame of romantic
love burns t ut, or is quenched in mat
rimony ; and the passionate lover, de
clines into the phlegmatic prosaic hus
antl. I tm im lined to attribute this
ry much to the defect I hive iust
nntioned in the plays and novels
hch form the principal study of our
yotit ladies, und which teach them to
be ht,,!nos luit leave them totally at a
loss Wen ihry come to he wives. I
have Lrlv however met wilh an ex
ception x, tt,Js practice, in an old v ri
ter.whei , bravely attempted to sup
port drany-K. interest in favour of a
woman -y Vter sllp wa, mjrrif j i j
was lookitu.cr i)n albllm of ,he fa)r
Julias, whea founj a scries of poet-
ir:il extracts in tue Squire's hand wri
which might have been intended
as matiint' nial advice to his ward. I
was so much struck w ith the beauty of
several of them, that I took the liber
ty of making a copy. They are from
the fid play f the "City Nightcap,"
(by Thomas Davenport, 1061,) in which
is draw n out and exemplified, iu the
p:rt of Abstrmia, a character of a pa
tirnt and faithful wife;. which I think
milit vie with that of the renowned
(iriselda ; though I fear it would stand
itlmost as little chance ol being adop-j
ted as a model.
The following is a commendation of
her to her husband Lorenzo :
She's modest, hut not sullen, and loves silence.
Not that she wants apt word, (for when she
She Inflames love with wonder,) but because
she calls wise silence the soul s harmony.
She's truly chaste j yet tucli a foe to coyness,
The poorest cull her courteous; and which is
( Though fair and young,) she shuns to expose
To the opinion of strange eyes. She cither sel
Or never walks abroad hut in your company;
And then with such sweet baahfulness, as if
She were venturing on cracked ice, and takes
To step into the print your foot has made,
And will follow you whole fields: so she will
TctliouMiess out of time with her sweet character.
Notw ithstanding all this excellence,
Abstemia has the misfortune to incur
the unmerited jealousy of her husband.
Instead, however, of resenting his
harsh treatment with clamorous up
braiding, and the lormy violence of
high windy virtue, by which the sparks
of anger are so often blown into a
Dame ; she endures it with the meek
ness ff conscious but patient virtue,
and makes a beautiful appeal to a friend
who has witnessed her long sufferings :
Hast thou not seen me
Hear all his injuries, aa the ocean suffers
The angry hark to plough through her bosom,
And vet is presently so smooth, liie eve
Cannot perceive' where the wide wound was
Lorenzo beicg wrought on by false
representations, t length repudiates
her. To the last, however, she main
tains her p-.tient sweetness, and her
love for him in spite of his cruelty.
She deplores his error even more than
his unkindncss, and laments the delu
s;on which has turned his very affec
tion into a source of bittrrnct.s. There
is a moving pathos in her parting ad
dress to Lorenzo after their divorce:
Whom my soul doth love: if vou e'er many
May you meet a good w ife, so good, that you
JUv nut suspect her, nor mav she be worthy
Of your suspicion : and if jou hear hereafter
That I am dead, inquire but my last words,
And on shall know that to the la,t I lov'd you.
And when you walk forth with your second
Into the pleasantfeMs and hj chance talk of me,
Imagine that you see me lean and pale,
Strewing vour p:th with flowers.
But may she never live to pay my debts : ()
It but in thought she wrong you, may she die
In the conception of the injury.
Pray make nu; wealthy with one kiss ; farewell,
l et - not grieve mi when ynn shall rcmemher
lha 1 wa innocent: nor this lorgrt,
Though innocence here sutler, sTgh! and groan,
She walks hut through thorns ttind a throne,
In a short time Lorenzo discovers.
his error ; and the innocence of his in-'
iurcd wife. In the transports of hisi1"'"? lhe h,FP' "ate of wedlock.
repentance he calls to mind all her
feminine e-cellence, her gentle, un
complaining, w omanly fortitude under
wrongs and sorrows :
How lovely thou lookest now ! novr thou ap
peared Chaster than is the morning's modesty,
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom
The western w ind creeps sn(ly; now ! remember,
How, when we sat at table, her obedient eve
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not welL
I'nless it looked when I looked i oh bow proud
she was, when she could cross herself to please
Put here now is this fair soul ? Like a silver
She ha wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea,
And will be found no more.
It is but doing right by the reader,
if interested in the fate of Abstemia,
by the preceding extracts, to say that
she was restored to the arms and nffec
tions of her husband, rendered fonder
than ever, by that disposition in every
good heart to atone for past injustice,
by an overflowing measure of return
ing kindnrss :
The wealth worth more than kingdoms; lam
Confirmed past all suspicion, thnu art far
Sweeter in tby sincere truth, than a sacrifice
Decked up for death w ith garlands. The liidum
That blow from off the coast, and cheer the suilur
W ith iiwect savour of their spires, want
The delight flows in thee.
I have been more nfTWtrd and inter
ested by this little dramatic picture,
than by many a popular love tale;
though, as I said before, I do not think
it likely either Abstemia or patient
Grizzle stand much chance of being
taken as a model. Still 1 like to see
poetry now and then extending its view
beyond the wedding day, and teaching!
a lady low to make herself attractive
even after marriage.
There la no great need of enforcing
on an unmarried lady the necessity of
being agreeable j nor is there any great
art requisite in a youthful beauty to
enable her to please. Nature has mul
tiplied attractions round her youth,
in itself is attractive. The freshness
of budding beauty needs no foreign
aid to set it olF it pleases merely be
cause it is ircsh, budding, and beau
tiful. Hut it is for the married state
that a woman needs the most in
struction, and in whi:h she should be
most on her guard to maintain her pow
ers of pleasing. No woman can ex
pect to be to her husband all that he
fancied her, when he was a lover.
Men are always doomed to be duped,
not so much by the arts of the sex, as
by their own imaginations. They are
always wooing goddesses, and marry
ing mere mortals. A woman should
therefore ascertain what was the charm
that rendered her so fascinating when
a girl, and endeavour to keep it up
when she has become a wile. One
great thing undoubtedly was the chari
ness of herself and conduct, which an
unmarried female always observes.
She should maintain the same niceness
and reserve in her person and habits,
and endeavour still to preserve a fresh
ness and virgin delicacy in the eye of
her huSband. She should remember
that the province of woman is to be
wooed, not to woo to be caressed, not
to caress. Man is an ungrateful being
in love ; bounty loses instead of win
The secret of a woman's does not
consist Sf much in giving, as in with
holding. A woman may give up too
much even to her husband. It is to a
thousand little delicacies of conduct
that she must trust to keep alive pas
sion, and to protect herself frcm that
dangerous familiarity, that thorough ac
quaintance with every weakness and
imperfection incident to matrimony.
By these means she may still maintain
her power, though she has surrender
ed her person ; and may continue tlie
romance of love, even beyond tt.e ho
"She that hath a wise husband,"
says Jeremy Taylor, 'must entice him
to an eternal dcarnesse by the veil of
modesty, and the grave robes of chas
tity, the ornament of meekness, and
the jewels of faith and tharity. She
must have no paintings but blushings j
hi r brightness must be puritv, and she
i nu.st -shine round about with sweetness
uv. friendship, ard she shall be pleas
ant while she lives, and desired when
I have wandered into a rambling se
ries of. remarks on a trite subject, and
a dangerous one for a bachelor to med
dle with. That I miy not, however,
appear to confine my observations en
tirely to the wife, I will conclude with
another quotation from Jeremv Tavlor,
,l l ,i . i ., ' '
10 wl)lch t,he ,t,CtS f bt,th Partlcs art
mentioned, while I would recommend
h' rmon on the marriage ring to all
tno9c wno w'5" myself, arc about
" There is scarce any matter of duty
but it concerns them both alike, and is
only distinguished by names, and hath
its variety by circumstances and little
accidents; and what in one is called
love, in the other is called reverence ;
ard what in the wife is obedience, the
same in the man is duty. He provides,
and she dispenses ; he gives command
menM. :irwl ruii-tt tHrm m mt.i
her bv authority, and she rules him hv
jlove ; she ought by all means to please
'him find h nillt liv r n m.nn, .1a
raox Tut Mosrni.T ar.vitw.
An Essay on the History of the English Gov
emment and Constitution, from the Heign of
Henry VII. to the present time. By Lord
To comment on all matters which,
in this little volume, Lord J. liussell
has brought before us, would be to
discuss almost every subject connected
with politics and political economy.
If our limits allowed, we should glad
ly c nt.ibute to the dissemination of
his opinions on the National l)eb
Parliamentary He form. Public Schools,
Liberty of the Press, Parties, &c. : for
nothing can be more interesting to the
public than an acquaintance with the
political creed of us legislators, and a
knowledge that the opinions which
they entertain on great constitutional
questions have not been lightly embra
ced, btitare convictions cf the mind,
honestly and laboriously attained by a
course of historical research. The
book, however, is presented to the
public in so accessible a shape that
there can be no doubt of its extensive
circulation : but we repeat that it is too
brief, for it presumes a greater stock
of historical knowledge in the reader
than can fairly be expected : though,
as the author intimates, it rvill pro
voke the wits and excite the thoughts
of other men.' A few words on an
other subject and we have done.
In the course of his observations,
Lord John frequently quotes that most
sagacious, political writer Machiavel,
and that much-debated work,' as he '
calls it, "The Prince." Haoon and '
Rousseau, saw the real drift of the !
I'lorentine secretary in this ' much-'
debated work;' while Ilarmgton, i
Clarendon, and many other writers of
celebrity, suspected that its author
wanted to throw an odium on monar
chy. A letter in the Ilarleian Miscel
lany, vol. i. p. 55, settles the point: it
is entitled " Machiavel's Vindication
of himself ngainst the Imputation of
Impiety, Atheism, and other high
Crimes, extracted from his Letter to
his Friend Zenobio liuondelmoiite."
At the close of it he says :
I now come to the last branch of
my charge, which is, that 1 teach prin
ces villany, and how to enslave and
oppress their nubjects. If any man
will read over my book of The Prince'
with impartiality and ordinary charity,
he will easily perceive that it 19 not my
intention therein to recommend that
government, or those men there de
scribed, to the world : much less to
teach men to trample upon good men,
and all that is sacred and venerable
upon earth, laws, religion, honesty. 1 f
I have been a little to punctual in de
scribing these monsters, and drawn
them to the life in all their lineaments
and colour I hope mankind will know
them the bettor, to avoid them ; my
treatise being both a satire against
them and a true character of them.
Whoever in his empire is tied to no
other rules than his Cvn will and lust
must either be a saint cr v".v devil
incarnate ; or if he be neitP" of these,
his life and reign are like t be very
vhot ttic. Sic.
Those who are acquainted w'ith lie
history of rlorence will not ak 'hv
Machiavel should conceal his princi
ples under a veil of irony almost im
penetrable. He was deeply involved
in the conspiracy of the Soderini, in
the year 1494, by which the three sons
of the great Lorenzo de' Medici (Pie
ro, who succeeded his father in the go
ven.ment of Florence, and his two
brothers Giovanni und Guiliano) were
proclaimed enemies to their country,
and obliged to fire from its vengeance.
In the vear 1512, the familv of the
Medici were restored by the assistance
of Pope Julius II. and. of Ferdinand
of Spain : and Lorenzo de' Medici,
the eldest sun of the deceased Piero,
assumed the reins of government. As
usual in such casts, all those were now
removed who had been in office under
the republic; and Machiavel, with an
unshaken furtitude, underwent the ig
nominy and the pains of torture, which
were in vain inflicted on him for the
purpose of procuring information re
lative to the actors in the conspiracy.
Under the reign of this Lorenzo, who
died a victim to his debaucheries, Ma
chiavel wrote "The Prince a cir
cumstance sufficient to account at once
for the satire which characterizes it
and the secrecy which attended it.
NAT C HAL CURIOSITY.
Tlie Grand Saline is between the
two forks of the Arkansaw, about 280
miles south-west of Fort Osage. It is
a hard level plain of a reddish colour
ed sand, of an irregular figure, being
in circumference full thirty miles.
From the appearance of drift wood,
scattered on the tract, it would seem,
the whole plain was constantly over
flowed by the surrounding stream.
This plain is entirely covered in tlrv
hot weather from two to eight inches
uet-p, wun a crust oi ciean wnnc sail,
of a quality rather superior to the im
ported blown salt, which btars a stri
king resemblance to a field of new fal
len snow, succeeded by rain, with a
light crust on the top. Nothing can be
more picturesque on a bright, sunny
morning, than this natural curiosity.
Thompson. The author of the " Cas
tle of Indolence" paid homage, in that
admirable poem, to the master passion
of his own nature. Thompson was so
txcessivtly lazy, that he is recorded to
have been standing at a peach tree,
with both his hands in his pockets, eat
ing the fiuit as it grew. At another
time, being discovered in bed at a
very late hour in the day, when asked
why he did notrise,he answered,' troth
mon, I see nae motive for rising.'
O'l the gradual progress of S'tn.
It is a common saying, that no man
becomes wicked at once. Men are
prepared by degrees for the last acts of
iniquity. Ask the murderer how he
came to imbrue his hands in blood ;
he will tell you that he was first light
and thoughtless, then loose and extrav
agant ; that, having brought himself
into difficulties, he was tempted to
some little act of injustice which he
meant to repair, and certainly to conv
mit but once. The fraud was resort-
to as tlie means ol deliverance lrom
urgent distress; but, having been
tempted to perpetrate this single act,
he was induced to repeat the crime,
even though less pressed by want.
The same act4 under new circumstan
ces, has more sin in it : at last mur
der became necessary to conceal theft,
and seemed only a part of the same
crime. Take, in short, any character
that is now infamous his history is
the same. What abandoned sinner
are some men what cheats what
liars what blasphemers of God-
what despisers of all that is good.
" Is thy servant a dog," said Ilazaeh,
,u that he should do this thing ?" Ila-
zael could not believe his nature capa
ble of the crime which the Prophet
told him he would commit. Do you
abhor the character of the murderer
beware of little sins. The sins of
some men are so dreadful, that wc
stand astonished at them : we look on
them : and they appear to us as beings
of another natur a3 hardly human.
Alas ! the wickedest wan that lives is,
only one who has fallen by little and
little. I hat vile wretch whom you
loath, had once a blushing cheek and
a general regard lor God and relig
ion : but he fell by disregarding little
Many a many now a practical Athe
ist, w as, in his youth, a very different
character. As he grew up, he became
acquainted with irreligious persons ;
his fear of God and regard for religion
grew less, in the same proportion ar,
.evil practices gained on him, until he
is so mucn engaged in tne uusiness or
pleasure of the world, that he has nu
time left for the service of God. The
.nost trifling excuse is sufficient to keep
hi,n from church : the Sabbath is em
ploy td in vain and sinful amusements,
till gr"w more hardened in iniquity,
the v are f pent at the gaming table, or in
haunts ol vice still more depraved.
ll.ibits o.c swearing often grow on a
person in the same gradual manner.
He siti: among swearers and in the
seat of the scorrJul, and thus his sens
of sin is weakened. Men fall in o this,
very imperceptibly. A man who uses
the name of his Maker on every tri
flingoccasion. is likely to grow harden
ed in unbelief.
Some begin by exercising their wit
on religious things und men, and then
mock at religion itself. Thiy joke
about passages of Scriptute ; and there
is no road by which men advance more
rapidly towards infidelity than this.
What we often make the subject of out
ridicule, we can at no time much rev
erence. S i, also, in dishonesty, a man's f.ill
is gradual : some begin by borrowing
what they partly mean to repay, bu:
what they know is very possible may
be out of their power to do. Habits
of borrowing when there is no inten
tion of paying, beget habits of thefr.
They at first take to gratify some press
ing want : the moral feeling thus blun
ted, stealing soon becomes in them n
trademurder follows almost of course.
-Having forfeited his life to the of
fended laws of his country, the miser
able victim of small sins ends his life
on the scaiTold.
Lying is a sin that also grows on i
bv decrees. We first indulce in white
j ;es anj q();7Zin
g: by degrees we lose
our tender regard lor truth, and be
come habitual liars. Guard everv
word you speak, be correct, nor think
it a small matter to depart from strict
truth, even in the smallest matters.
He that has never known adversity
is but half acquainted with others, or
with himself. Constant success shew
us but one side of the world. For, as
it surrounds us with friends, who will
tell us only our merits, so it silences
those enemies from whom alore we
can learn our defence.
Posthumous charities are the very es
sence of selGshness, when bequeathed by
those who, when alive, would part with