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find, are perverted, and I cannot obey the dic-
tates of common reason; like a ship, with her
ballast so shifted, that all exertions at the helm
are ineffectual to keep her in trim.

Thus, dear Confidant, have I given a true
statement of my hapless condition. What

returning reason? If, through the medium
of your very useful paper, you could throw a
few rays of light on my benighted path, it
might serve to make me avoid some fatal
precipice, that now, perhaps, lies unseen be-
fore me. Indeed, sir, I am to be pitied;
though my pride, as yet, prevents me from
confessing it, but to you, and in this manner,
under the assumed name of
Dear Confidant,

Your most obedient,
humble servant,

L'ESPION.

other people looked upon it, in the same light
with myself. Accordingly I contrived to read
the poem to a lady celebrated for her great
taste and judgment, as if printed in a new
magazine. Judge you, with what feelings I
heard the following sentence pronounced.
"Sure, the editor has rendered himself ridicu-kind advice can you afford me, in aid of my
lous to insert such a composition, so inaccurate
and devoid of all truth and virtuous sentiment."
The visionary fabrick of authorship, which my
fancy had thus raised, soon melted away, like
the splendours of a palace of ice when wafted
within the torrid zone. I had the address,
however, to conceal from my fair hearer the
deception; although the traits of mortified
pride might have been plainly visible, on my
countenance. But this is not the measure of
my troubles. Last week an uncle of mine,
who is much attached to books and their au-
thors, had influence sufficient to introduce me
into a club of the first men in the country At
balf past eight in the evening, we arrived at
the place of rendezvous, in a retired part of
the city. But few were there; and thus we had an
opportunity of observing each as he entered.
The last was a person of extraordinary powers
of mind, and to whom all the rest scemed to
give the preeminence. The conversation
was interesting, but they frequently adverted
to things of which I was wholly ignorant. At
length, in "the full flow of talk," they happen-
ed on themes which roused my whole soul to
trembling, to self examination and reproach.
Their great man, their second Johnson, speak-
ing of a noble author who rose some time ago
a meteor in the horizon of literature, observed,
"Strip his productions of their fine descrip-
tions, especially of the passions, and the skele-
ton is hideous. The characters are universal-
ly bad, and the sentiments pernicious. You
feel when perusing them

No high wish, no proud resolve,

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Throb in the heart and flush the cheek,'' He then adverted to their similarity to the novels that flood the country, and concluded with " Schiller, Kotzebue, and others have treated the world with enough of robbers, and honour among robbers, and sentimentality among cut-throats." Some remarks were then passed upon romances, and they were condemned in toto. "None but the shallow part of so. ciety peruse these ephemeral productions, and in a few years they will be entirely forgotten." This was the first dawn of light, that served only to discover more distinctly my own meanness, and what was requisite in an author. Alas! thought I, how diminutive I appear in my own eyes, when compared with these ! How far am I from obtaining, not to say the applause, but, if they knew my ignorance, even a moment's condescending attention from this learned and venerable body. Years of laborious study must roll over my head, and the heaviest sighs of unavailing regret must rend my heart, before I can even enter the path which has led these, and such as these, to fame. Yes, I reflect, and it is with the deepest anguish, not only that the hey-day of youth is past, but I have contracted habits of thinking, which will require more powers than I possess, and more time than God will give me, to correct. My knowledge in history is nothing but a confused medley, mingled with those transactions described in our plays and romances. Dates are misplaced, and the secret springs, which perhaps gave birth to the establishment, or the overthrow, of empires, are, in most instances, misunderstood, or wholly unknown. The classicks have been most woefully neglected. My intellectual powers, I

POETRY.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOK.

THE VILLAGE MOURNER.
HERE, in this calm, sequester'd spot
Delight and peace once reign'd;
No sorrow knew this cheerful grot-
No aching heart complain'd,
When modest dawn awoke the day
And cheer'd the dewy grove,
'Twas with new joys to strew my way,
For all my life was LOVE.

So when to shun the noontide ray
We sought the cool retreat,
We pass'd the fleeting hour away
In converse-O, how sweet!
Nor less at eve, when o'er yon heath
With lingering pace we mov'd,
How bless'd was I, for every breath
Spoke how Lavinia lov'd.

But now, alas! how chang'd the scene!
The gloom I feel, how deep!

The bow'r which once was pleasure's fane,
I now frequent to weep.

For fell disease with ruthless pow'r
Has snatch'd her from my sight;
And all I lov'd in luckless hour
Doom'd to the grave's long night.
Hear then my sufferings, silent shade!
Ye breezes, catch my sighs!
For there my dear Lavinia's laid
No more to bless these eyes.
The world's to me a dreary waste,
Each day fresh woes I've prov'd,
And sorrow's bitterest dregs I taste
In losing all I lov'd.

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Go on as you have well begu,
Nor taunt sarcastick fear,
Your name unsullied, like the sun,
Shall decorate the year.

And when advanced to other spheres,

As matron, friend, or wife,
Become the wonder of your years;
The ornament of life.

For what in unknown fate lies hid
We must successive try:
We can't the wheel of time forbid
To roll the seasons by.

If honest friendship greet the ear,
Or love make softer claim;

Too timid caution need not fear
To own the sacred flame ;

But smile not, where you disapprove ;
Deception's tangled snare
Transforms the hallow'd springs of love
To fountains of despair.

Let learning, fortitude, and truth,
Your ruling stars, preside;
The guardian gods of brilliant youth,
And age's safest guide.

To entertain life's varying dream,
Your nature thus adorn.

"Twill cheer the parent's ev'ning beam,
That smil'd upon your morn.

To keep your bosom ever freed

My prayer shall rise above,

From conscience, whisp'ring guilty deed,
And pangs of slighted love.

Adieu: May health, content, and peace
Your early dow'r be giv'n,-
With each revolving year increase,
And terminate in heaven.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

THE WHITE CLOVER.
THERE is a little modest flower,

It well might grace the sweetest bower;

But poets never deigned to sing

Of such a little rustick thing.
Nor is it strange; for it can shew
Scarcely one tint of Iris' bow.

Nature, perchance, in careless hour,
With pencil dry, might paint the flower;
Yet instant blush'd, her fault to see,
And gave a double fragrancy—
Rich recompense for aught denied.
Who would not homely garb abide,
If gentle soul were breathing there
Blessings through all its little sphere !
Sweet flower! the lesson thou hast taught,
Shall check each prond, ambitious thought ;
Teach me internal worth to prize,
Though found in rudest, lowliest guise.

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VOL. I.

DEVOTED TO POLITICKS AND BELLES LETTRES.

BOSTON, SATURDAY, JULY 30, 1814,

NO. XXXI.

POLITICAL.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

a Copy of a letter from Capt. Porter to the Secretary of the Navy-dated New-York, July 13, 1814. SIR-There are some facts relating to our enemy, and although not connected with the action, serve to shew his perfidy, and should be known.

On Com. HILLYAR's arrival at Valparaiso, he ran the Phoebe close along side of the Essex, and inquired politely after my health, observing, that his ship was cleared for action, and his men prepared for boarding. I observed, "Sir, if you by any accident, get on board of me, I assure you that great confusion will take place; I am prepared to receive you, but shall only act on the defensive." He observed, coolly and indifferently, "Oh, Sir, I have no such intentions;" at this instant his ship took aback on my starboard bow, her yards nearly locking with those of the Essex.-I called all hands to board the enemy; and in an instant my crew were ready to spring on her decks. Com. HILLYAR exclaimed, with great agita. tion, "I had no intention of getting on board of you;—I had no intention of coming so near you; I am sorry I came so near you." His ship fell off with her jib-boom over my decks; her bows exposed to my broadside, her stern to the fire of the Essex-Junior, her crew the greatest confusion, and in fifteen minutes, I could have taken or destroyed her. After he had brought his ship to anchor, Com. HILLYAR, and Capt. TUCKER of the Cherub, visited me on shore, when I asked him if he intended to respect the neutrality of the port; "Sir," said he, "you have paid such respect to the neutrality of this port, that I feel myself bound, in honour, to do the same." I have the honour to be, &c. DAVID PORTER."

REMARKS.

THE officers of our navy I believe yield the palm to no nation, in seamanship and bravery. These are the most essential qualifications, it is true, for their stations. And since it is expected they should fight well, rather than write ably on subjects involving questions in the law of nations, it is a pity some of them are so fond of extra-official allusions to matters which it is not their province to understand. We do not hesitate to admit whatever Captain Porter states as fact, to be fact-but when he offers an opinion, we feel at liberty to question his correctness. He shows a strong disposition to fall in with the propensity of the war party, to make the British something worse than enemies. He here pronounces the conduct of Captain Hillyar perfidious. If it was so, let him wear the stigma; but where is the evidence that he deserves it? To whom was he perfidious? It does not appear that he promised never to fight Captain Porter. He promised to respect the rights of the Spanish government. Did he violate that promise? If, during his stay ashore at Valparaiso, he obtained permission of the Spanish governour to use his arms within his jurisdiction, (and Captain Porter has officially declared this his belief) he did not violate the rights of the territory where they met, in his attack

on the Essex. We cannot consent to give uppy in the enjoyment of peace, plenty and prosour claim on the Spanish government, if it be perity-far removed from the scene of contest, just, for the sake of criminating an enemy, of which had long deluged Europe in bloodwhom we can get no other satisfaction, than plunged into a war, with a powerful nation,— what we are taking. We do not find that and not an individual in the United States can Commodore Hillyar got the least advantage tell why we now are enemies! For more over the Essex, by any thing he had said, nor than two years past, even the pretext on which by attacking her near the Spanish shore, rath- we began hostilities has ceased. er than at sea. We do not discover that on receiving this promise, Captain Porter landed his guns, his men, or went to sleep. Where then was the perfidy of making an attack, as soon as the inviolability of the place was relinquished in his favour?

To those who are acquainted with the subject, it will appear superfluous to recur again to the principle which applies in this case; but it seems necessary to observe once morethe mistake lies in supposing the neutrality of Valparaiso to have some bearings upon the American and British captains as enemies to each other; whereas it had none. It only constituted a relation between each of them and the government on shore. From the evi. dence produced by Captain Porter that the attack was authorized, we can discover no perfidy, but in the conduct of the Spanish governour towards us, his friends, and we are astonished to find him so readily relieved from the charge.

We must recollect almost the whole world is neutral in our present contest with Great Britain. Shall we give this as a precedent, to show, that if nations professing friendship to us, withdraw that protection which is our right, and allow the British to destroy us within their territory, we shall take it in good part, and only vent our indignation on our declared enemy? We protest against this absurdity, and this is our only motive in making these remarks.

the

extent in

WE have frequently seen calculations in the publick journals of the number of dollars this war cost every minute of the number of teams, which would be necessary to carry a year's disbursements-and miles, which they would occupy. There are other considerations of still greater importance, which we may well contemplate, and at which Mr. Madison and his friends must shudder. How many thousand citizens of the United States are now buried on the frontiers

of Canada, whose lives have been sacrificed in the invasion of that province, and the war is but now beginning. Probably twenty thousand veteran troops will soon be in our neighbour hood, to oppose whom, the lives of at least as many of our brothers and our sons must be hazarded.

Is it said that reflections like these are now of no use that they are too late that our destinies are now out of the control of our rulers, who have driven us to this extremity. It is not too late to hold those rulers responsible for the misery in which they have involved our country. As our dangers thicken, and calamities every day increase, it is time for justice to awake. Shall a nation be ruined as ours has been, and the authors of all this evil escape with impunity? We hope for the honour of our country, and the benefit of mankind, it will not appear that crimes which bring monarchs to the block are here to pass unpunished.

IF the vulgar abuse of the English with which our democratick papers teem, is written for the mere purpose of gratifying their vulgar readers, it may answer its purpose. But if the authors imagine they produce the least effect upon the character of that nation, they will do well to consider how strongly the tide runs agst them. To be an Englishman at this day, when the liberties of mankind are recovered by Great Britain's firmness in their defence, is indeed to belong to the legion of honour. Distinguished as that nation has been for centuries, in arms, in arts, sciences, civilization; for her general support of good civil government and religion, the suffrages of the whole world, except our low revilers, will unite in this that she never stood so high in glory, as in our age.

It is not only unjust but impolitick to assail her with abuse. They who do it pit them. selves against her, and the civilized world decides in her favour. What then can a few calumniators expect in outraging general opinion, but to bring contempt upon themselves? Would to Heaven the successors of Washington had inherited his patriotism and his wisdom-then we should have been united in her cause, which was no less our own. We should have participated in her virtues and her honour. We should have been allied to her in a lasting friendship, instead of having incurred her just vengeance, with not a friend on earth to wish us success in our malignant warfare.

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For the honour of our republick, let every correct man aim to be just, to counteract the

serve. Our publick cause is bad-let private magnanimity boldly display itself; that the conduct of a profligate government, and its partizans, may not fix disgrace upon our national character.

Lord Wellington's army is landing in Amer-odium which a few are so zealous to deica. What is their object? What has brought them here? They came for our destruction; to spread carnage and death, but not in a war of their choice. They are sent in defence of their sovereign's territory, and of the lives and Mr. Madison declarproperty of his subjects. ed war against them, provoked their vengeance, and the day of our retribution approaches, if a peace is not soon effected.

When has the history of the world ever produced an event like this! A country, hap

THE difference between federal and democratick advocates of a navy is this. The latter are its friends, merely as it is an instrument of war against Gat Britain, and their sup port, if they can even now be said to give it

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EUROPEAN. An arrival at Castine from Rochelle, has brought London papers to June 8th, and Paris, to June 14.

They bring agreeable accounts of the confirmation of peace and amity, among all the great nations of Europe-of the return of armies to their respective countries of the completion of treatics and of the progress of civil liberty.

On the 4th of June Louis XVIII. repaired to the hall of the Legislative body, and seated on the throne, addressed the assembly-then caused to be read a declaration concerning the constitutional charter, and afterwards the charter itself, being the form of government hereafter established in France. We have not room for the entire form, but insert the Bill of rights-a sufficient proof that the restoration of the Bourbons, and the downfal of the Bonapartean dynasty is a signal advantage to the liberty of the French nation.

66 PUBLICK RIGHTS OF THE FRENCH PEOPLE. The French people are equal in ART. 1. the eye of the law, whatever otherwise are their titles and ranks.

2. They contribute without distinction, in proportion to their fortune, to the expenses of the state.

3. They are all equally admissible to civil and military employments.

4. Their individual liberty is equally guarantied; no person can be prosecuted or arrested, but in cases provided by the law, and in the forms which that prescribes.

5. Every one professes his religion with equal liberty, and enjoys the same protection in his worship.

6. In the mean time the Catholick, Apostolick Romish religion is the religion of the state. 7. The ministers of the Catholick, Apostolick and Romish religion, and those of other modes of christian worship, receive support from the royal treasury alone.

8. The French people have the right to publish and print their opinions, in conformity to the laws which ought to repress the abuse of this liberty.

9. All property is inviolable, without any exception of that which is called national, the law making no distinction.

10. The state can demand the sacrifice of individual property for the publick benefit legally proved; but with a previous indemnity.

11. All inquiries into the opinions of votes given up, to the time of the restoration, are forbidden. The same oblivion is enjoined on tribunals and on citizens.

12. The conscription is abolished. The mode of recruiting for land and sea service is determined by law."

The general treaty of Peace between France and the allied powers has been mentioned. It is now received, with distinct articles relating to the peculiar circumstances of the several powers. The only addition to the limits of France, as they were before the revolution is a small portion of the Netherlands, and a part of Savoy. Her empire now consists of 85 departments, with a population of about 27,000,000 souls.

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Christian Frederick has taken the title of

King of Norway and has made an official declaration, as such, of his intention to maintain

his throne.

On the 4th of June the Emperour of Russia, Emperour of Austria and King of Prussia, left Paris. The former and latter, with the illustrious princes and personages of their suit arrived at London on the 6th.

Armaments for the American expedition were in forwardness, the whole to consist of Lord Hill. 18,000 men, to be commanded by Lieut. Gen.

Commerce has again resumed its course in Europe-the great rivers are all filled with shipping. The board of trade in England have determined to grant to licences for any port of the United States, whatever. Ten thousand British troops sailed from France for Quebec on the 6th of June. DOMESTICK On Thursday evening, the Dutch sloop of war Ajax arrived at Marblehead, with his Excellency Mynheer CHAUGULON, minister from the Prince of Orange to the United States.

LITERARY AND MISCELLANEOUS.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

THE CONFIDANT, No. XII. ON some future occasion, I shall take notice of the communication in my last number, on the pernicious effects, to young minds, of reading novels, to the exclusion of every other literary production. But, at present, I shall occupy my limits with two short papers, which have been some days on hand. One appears to be from a correspondent in townthe other from the country.

To the Confidant.

SIR, Since HEALTH is a blessing on which value, and one which is favourable to the disthe world almost universally set the highest play of personal attractions, an object to many, if not to every person who possesses found desirous of appearing perpetually inthem, I am surprized that any one is ever disposed. It is however not unfrequently the case and a more foolish, troublesome foible does not exist. I shall state to you the inthe picture may fall under her eye-it may stance of a lady of my acquaintance, and hope perhaps be of service to her and many others.

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to mention in good season, that she has scarce. ly had any appetite of late-that of course brings out the Huxham's tincture, or a little Stoughton.

If she visits us in Autumn, when we are glad to have the windows down, she is sure to find it very close, and is astonished we can live in a room so hot. As her countenance, in this case, shows that she really feels as she complains, the windows are thrown open, and we all shiver and perhaps get colds, for her accommodation. If, at another season, we want to enjoy the fresh air, she is sure to begin to tremble, and hint her alarm.

She obliges us sometimes with her company for several days at a visit then she is not able to come down to half the meals, when the family are eating-but, in half an hour after every thing is removed, she finds herself better, and then something must be prepared anew, no matter at what trouble.

It would be as tedious to describe every trick of this kind, practised on us, as it is tiresome to attend to them. The grand object seems to be, to keep up a constant sympathy-to excite interest-to be an object of every body's care and attention.

Now of all methods of making one's self of consequence, this of appearing continually a subject of compassion is the most injudicious. The virtuous, it is true, will always indulge compassion for what is considered real dis tress; but a wise person even in real distress will be cautious of drawing too frequently or constantly on that sentiment. However amiable and benevolent some persons may be, it is a principle of human nature to shun pain. We naturally wish to relieve the suffering which we witnessbut, if constantly employed in the attempt, the object inevitably becomes repulsive. We cannot but pity-and as, without

reasoning on the subject, every person discovers that to pity is to feel pain-every person associates the idea of an individual incessantly demanding pity, with the idea of incessant pain. Who can reconcile themselves to that? Who would not fly from it? I will at least venture to say no friendship can counteract this natural aversion to pain; no friend. ship can sustain the claims of interminable pity.

The subject of protracted suffering may rely on AFFECTION, and on this alone. Heaven has wisely so constituted the human mind, that we identify the interests, pains, and pleasures of those, to whom we are bound by affection, with our own. While conscious that the beloved object suffers, we cannot but suffer, and therefore absence is no relief.

Belinda was a young companion of my mother's-and is now an elderly associate of mine. She was once handsome and blooming. The roses have not yet wholly faded on her cheek, and what they have lost in hue, they have gained in expansion. Yet Belinda is or affects to be the constant victim of disease, slight or I wish Belinda to understand that sickness serious; and her chief care seems to be that it is a misfortune, and by no means an accomshould never be forgotten by those around her.plishment; that, in affecting indisposition, she She often calls, to keep up her acquaintance makes herself perfectly ridiculous to every with my mother, and is no sooner seated on one, whom she does not deceive; and that the sofa, than she begins to recline on her she is much mistaken in her policy, with rehand, and has a violent head-ache. It does spect to the effect on those whom she does not prevent her engaging in conversation, but deccive. She is one, who has so long carried gives her what I presume she thinks a very her plaints wherever she goes, the sight interesting whine. Sometimes the hartshorn of her announces a tale of wo-it is the gives relief-sometimes the distilled vinegar- harbinger of pain and trouble. My mother is but I have remarked the most frequent cause of the kindest woman in the world. She sup an intermission is my mother's absence. If poses Belinda to suffer all she pretends-and she goes up chamber, the head-ache goes off, her pity is sincere: but I see she now dreads at once; the poor invalid immediately rises her visits, and is glad when she is gone. Beand walks to the window for amusement- linda complains bitterly about the coldness looks about the room, or plays with my little and falling off of her friends. If she sees sister. If my mother returns, or any friend this, she will at least learn one reason. comes in, the head-ache is soon as bad as ever. Your's,

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NANNETTE.

***** July 18, 18:4 SIR, I am not one of those who think that the institution of the Sabbath and the settlement of regular clergymen, are to be consid

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ered merely as circumstances which promote the interests of civil society. I appreciate the importance of their duties as teachers of that religion, on which rest all our hopes of happiness hereafter; and believe that those, who faithfully discharge their obligations to conpieduct us in the paths of virtue and ty, deserve our utmost veneration. But as the office of these publick instructers is not inconsistent with the diffusion of many other minor advantages, I could wish that their utility might be extended, in every respect as much as possible.

In our town, as is generally the case in the country, our opportunities for the literary instruction of our children are very limited. A few months in the year, we have the privilege of a school, conducted by a gentleman of

Still may the close encircling vine
Its undulating branches twine,
Still blend its variegated shade
To deck the place where he is laid :
Who, when inspiring genius spread
Its lovely visions o'er his head,
The muses and the graces sought,
And
sung the raptures which he taught.

THE WRITER, No. XII.

THE VISION OF AHMRAD.-OR THE PATH OF VIRTUE THE
ROAD TO HAPPINESS.

123

her. Her dress was gaudy and rich, glowing
with bright colours, and sparkling with false
gems. What. appeared her face was very
beautiful, but it was a mask, and concealed
her real features, which were frightful. Her
manners were graceful, but wanton; and with
the flattery of her tongue she persuaded men
to forsake virtue, and join her festive, but
thoughtless train. She was attended, moreo-
ver, by a number of emissaries and compan-
ions, who were continually employed in be-
guiling the multitude, and seducing them into
her path. These attendants, although they
seemed pleasing enough at first, as they pro-
ceeded onwards in the road, altered fast for
There
the worse, and soon became odious.
was Intemperance, who appeared healthy and
joyous; but before she had advanced far on

education. It must be evident, however, that and reclined his weary limbs on the ground. the road, she became bloated, blear-eyed, stu

this is not sufficient to confirm our children in

a correct style of reading, and in the most elegant mode of pronunciation.

It is natural for parents, who regard the morals of their children, to represent the clergyman of the parish, as in every respect a model for imitation-as right in every thing

he does.

I have understood that Walker's Dictionary was the standard of correct English pronunciation, and I was very much gratified when we settled Mr. a few years ago, to find that he strictly adopted the rules of that distinguished orthoepist. I enjoined upon my children to attend closely to the instruction which they received from the pulpit, and like's methods of wise to observe well Mr. pronunciation.

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For some time, I found an advantage in this injunction; but I have remarked that, from year to year, our clergyman is falling back into the old habits of reading; and when I correct my children by Walker, they plead the example of the "minister" against me, and I am unwilling to say he is wrong.

I have indeed observed in many instances, that young clergymen, who read elegantly when they are settled, are apt soon either to become very careless, or intentionally to abandon the peculiarities in pronunciation, which distinguish the correct scholar from the oldfashioned and unlettered. I have regretted the change, to whatever it may be owing-and hope that this hint, which is respectfully offered, may not be wholly disregarded.

CLERAMICUS.

of business.

66

WANDERING upon the banks of the great Euphrates, anxious with thought and sorely oppressed with care, Ahmrad ascended a hill, From this eminence he could behold the wapid, and insensible. Prostitution, in youthters of the mighty stream; and he saw it bear ful bloom, with naked charms, and smiling along numberless little boats, peopled, some face, and honey on her lips; but soon she with votaries of pleasure, some with the slaves changed to pale and withered cheeks, with He turned his eyes to the city, haggard looks and feeble, sickly frame. Avaand here too he saw multitudes of beings rice; she was mistaken for prosperity and crowding the streets, and hurrying along in prudent gain; but, as she changed not her different directions, all active in the pursuit of garments till they became filthy rags, and something. "Ah! mortals," said Ahmrad, starved herself with fasting,she grew hideous to you are all seeking happiness. I too have behold. Profaneness, disguised as merriment, sought her, but she is not to be found. I beguiled some; but, ere long, her mouth have enjoyed riches; but she cannot be bought grew black and foul, and with noxious breath with gold. I have received honours and the tainted the air with imprecations. Infidelity favour of my Prince; but she dwells not in the too was here, with gloomy brow, and fell detemple of fame. My desires have been satisfi-spair rolling wildly in her eyes. ed with the charms of Beauty; the choicest meats have been prepared on my carpet, and all the spices of Arabia set before me; I have even disobeyed the prophet, and pleased my taste with rich and costly wines; but Happiness comes not to the couch, nor to the feasts, of sensuality. I have devoted my whole life to the search of happiness, but she is a phantom; and when you think to embrace her, you only clasp at transient and fruitless joys. I will be deceived no longer, but leave the deceitful world, and hide myself in solitude, that I may be no more enticed by vanity and a lie." With these murmurs, Áhmrad sunk on his grassy seat, and fell into a trance. Immediately a charming vision appeared to him. A beautiful female, robed in white, and holding a mirror in her hand, stood by his side and said, "Ahmrad, arise."

Ahmrad rose

up, and, supposing her to be one of the Hou-
ris, bowed his head to the earth three times to
adore her. "I am TRUTH, Ahmrad," said
she," and am sent to enlighten you. Look in
this mirror, and hereafter you will reverence
TRUTH."

THE words of musical Catches are usually Charmed with the soft accents of this beauthe most trifling and stupid of any thing honoured with the name of poetry. The follow-tiful vision, Ahmrad turned his face to the ing stanza is a beautiful exception, selected by Dr. Hayes, and by him set to musick, well adapted to the sentiment.

Such were the companions of those who went on in this road. Its borders were decorated with flowers, tempting to the eye; and more luring to passengers, than the other, which was only adorned with a plain and pleasant green, and which was rougher and more broken, especially in the beginning; but Ahmrad saw that the flowers, which bloomed so gay and flattering, were deceitful, that many of them were poisonous, and tainted those who plucked them with loathsome disease; others faded as soon as they werc gathered, and instead of yielding a pleasant favour, became so offensive and nauseous, as to be immediately thrown away. There were likewise serpents and noxious reptiles concealed along these borders, which often wounded the passengers; wasps and hornets too infested the flowers, and stung the hands that were incautiously, or impatiently reached out to gather them.

As the company proceeded along, the road, and the prospect before them, appeared less inviting, than when they first entered it; what was smooth, and gay, and gladsome, began now to appear rough, and cheerless, and gloomy. Their companions were also changed; instead of mirth and glee, discontent and wrangling were heard among them; and though they all strove hard to be merry, and sometimes deceived themselves with laughter, yet pleasure never reached their joyless hearts. Several of those who at first cheered and enlivened their society, had left them and gone the other way. Innocence forsook them at the parting of the roads, and friendship being very soon insulted by treachery, also withdrew and fled away.

glass, and beheld an immense plain, extended before him. "This is the great field of human life," resumed his divine instructress, "behold there the pursuit of mortals; learn wisdom Wind gentle evergreen to form a shade from their errors; follow virtue,and be happy." Around the tomb where SOPHOCLES is laid ; Through this great plain lay two principal roads, which seemed to have one common beSweet ivy wind thy boughs and intertwine ginning or point of departure, but, as they With blushing roses aud the clustering vine ; stretched along the plain, they separated and Thus will thy lasting leaves with beauties hung diverged widely from each other. On the Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung. right hand was the path of Virtue and led to Now at the end of each of these great roads These lines seem to be an abridgement of Happiness. That on the left was the highwas a temple; but being at such a distance, On one of these the epitaph of Sophocles, written by the Theban way of Vice and road to Misery. Ahmrad bard, Simmias, the original of which is pre-perceived that both these roads were full of they were indistinctly seen. was inscribed, in letters of gold-THE TEMserved in the Anthologia Græca, and has been passengers; but he was astonished to see the PLE OF HAPPINESS. On the other was writleft so crowded, although it was wider than the thus translated. other, which was narrow and had comparative-ten, surrounded with dark and gloomy hieroly few who travelled in it.

Around my Sophocles's grave,
Ye sombre leaves of ivy, wave;
And oh, upon his sacred tomb,
Ye never-fading roses, bloom.

In the road to misery were the partizans of vice, and she herself with frolick and dancing, led them along, and enticed them to follow

glyphicks-The Temple of Misery. The company who had taken the left were marching towards the latter. They had flattered themselves, and

their deceitful conductress

had told them, when they entered this road, that it led to happiness, and that the building, of which they had but a glimpse, was her temple; and although now they had some fears that they were deceived, yet as this,temple appeared to be covered with a mist or shade, so that they could not see its true characters and marks, they still hoped it would prove what they expected, and that they should find happiness there. Many however were discouraged, and wished to go back again, and change their route; but this was impossible, the resistless hand of Time met them and prevented their return. There were some cross paths, it is true, that led, advancing onwards, into the other road, and which Time did not bar against them. But these were blind paths, full of briars and bushes; and some evil habit, mad desire, or ruling appetite and passion, was ever ready to oppose them.

Thus Ahmrad saw with grief and compassion this erring multitude of his fellow beings led by vice and deceived by false and vicious pleasures, until they started with horror at a full and fatal view of the Temple of Misery; and when their deluding guide had no longer the art to conduct them voluntarily, the vultures of remorse, the scorpions of conscience, and the sword of justice, combined to drive them into it.

"This, O Ahmrad," said the celestial maid, who held the mirror of Truth, this is the end of Vice; but turn now your eyes to the other road, and see the companions of Virtue." Immediately he obeyed, for he was glad to relieve the distresses of his heart, by turning from a scene of such wretchedness and woe.

the vision of Truth, he rose up, bowed his
head three times to the ground, with his face
towards the east, adored Truth, and resolved
to practise Virtue.

POETRY.

"POETRY is not less estimable from the respect which is paid to it by kings and princes, than it is interesting by the inspiration of the muses. Though poets profess fiction, yet their true intention is to steal upon the heart, and inculcate lessons for human action.

By this means, whilst they please, they inform; whilst they dazzle the eye by the glit ter of their rays, they are a brilliant light to illumine the dark thus do they fascinate the fancy, while they soften the heart and improve the understanding. They are not merely meteors that sparkle for a moment, and are then hid in obscurity; nor flowers, fragrant and fair, that are born to blush for a moment, and then languish and decay but they may be compared to the sturdy oak, whose leaves delight the eye, whose trunk is useful, and whose branches afford shelter to the wearied traveller, or from whose lofty top, which defies the fury of the winds, he may calmly look around, and survey the variegated face of na

ture.

How

It has been objected to poetry, that it is conducive to the corruption of manners. his talents can be said to be corruptive, whose province it is to describe nature as she really exists, I am at a loss to imagine. It is the business of the epick poet to narrate important events, and to confer on the hero the The companions of Virtue were few, but reward that is due to integrity in design and Ahmrad saw that their guide was heavenly.bravery in execution; and at the same time She had no false ornaments, nor any thing about her that could deceive. Her attire was plain, but bright and pure as the morning cloud that hovers over Mount Taurus, or as the snow it scatters on its brow. The road they had chosen was indeed rough, it was even sometimes strewed with thorns. But if any of the travellers here chanced to receive a hurt, immediately their smiling guide gave them a secret balm which healed their wounds, and soothed their hearts to pleasure. This was the balm of conscious rectitude.

he exhibits in proper colours the folly of am-
bition, the baseness of treachery, and the
guilt of rebellion. The didactick poet produ-
ces from the stores of a fertile mind the les-
sons of experience and the dictates of wis-
dom; he inculcates his maxims with the fer-
vour of honesty, he enforces them by strength
of reasoning, and decorates them with the al-
luring embellishments of harmony. Like the
skilful anatomist, he probes the innermost re-
cesses of the mind, and investigates the vari-
ous inflections of the passions, as they are oc-

Its borders, at first, afforded but few flow-casioned by the casual varieties of individual crs, and these not of the richest hues, but they gave a fine perfume, and when gathered, did not decay, but retained their freshness, and were for ever sweet.

As the company proceeded gently and cheerfully along the path, it became smoother, the prospect before them brighter, and the borders began to bloom; all who passed received equal delight; flocks of harmless birds enlivened the scene, and cheered the way with their artless notes all was harmony, all was love. Innocence accompanied Virtue, and Cheerfulness walked by their side, and filled the air with incense. Thus they advanced towards the temple with the golden inscription, which now appeared bright to their view, and needed not the sun to shine upon it, for its lustre was its own. As they drew near, soft musick saluted their ears, white-robed Peace with a dove in her hand came to meet them; and Happiness beaming with love, and breathing soft raptures, stood with outstretched arms to receive and welcome them to her abode.

Ahmrad was now overwhelmed with delight, and he fell down to clasp the feet of the heavenly vision; but she was gone. He looked round; he saw nothing but the river and the city, and the busy multitudes he had before observed. Yet strongly impressed with

habit or general custom. He is alike regard-
less of the censure or applause of his own
times, because he knows that buman nature
is invariable, and therefore that he who incul-
cates the abstract principles of rectitude must
be eternally right. He produces a mirror,
not less adapted to cotemporary contempla-
tion, than it is capable of reflecting thoughts
und manners to remote posterity. The ama-
tory poet, while he sings the raptures of love,
warns us against the miseries which are the
inevitable consequences of vicious passion.
It is his duty to show the superiority of that
virtuous affection, which springs from the
heart, over those loose desires, that arise
solely from the impetuosity of depraved appe-
tite. He who does not write thus, debases
himself, and degrades his profession.
name may be applauded for a time among the
idle and the profligate, but the sober will shun
him, and the cheek of modesty be tinged with
a blush when his lays are recited.

His

But it would be tedious and unnecessary to describe the aim and province of the different classes of poets. By their fertility of imagination, aptness of allusion, and brilliancy of description, they aid the researches of the philosopher, instil the tenderest emotions into the soul of the lover, and impel the hero to brave the hottest carnage of the field they give

morality to the grave, and furnish an inexhaustible fund of wit for the gay."

POETRY.

SELECTED,

[The wing lines present a picture to the imagina
tion what if not prevented by a speedy peace, may
soon be presented to our senses.]

THE FIELD OF BATTLE..
YTIS night-the combat's rage is o'er,
The watch-fires blaze from hill to hill,
The bugle note is heard no more,

But all is solemn, hush'd, and still!

Save where some faint and mournful tone,
Swells on the midnight breeze, a dying moan.

How chang'd the scene, where morn beheld
A gallant host in bright array;
While martial notes exulting swell'd,

To cheer the brave on danger's way;
And hope and valour bade the pulse beat high,
Thrill'd the warm heart and fired the kindling eye.
Now the pale beams, by moonlight shed,
A field of blood disclose,
Where on their chill and lowly bed
The martyr'd brave repose,
And the dead calm, the desolate suspense,
With nameless horror chills the shuddering sense.

Thousands are here who sprang to arms,
When the shrill clarion peal'd the strain,
By danger's call or glory's charms,

Ne'er to be rous'd again,

E'en now, while shades and stillness reign,
A viewless band are near-the spirits of the slain.

Whence came that deep tremendous sound?
Whence broke that flash intensely bright ?
Bursting the midnight calm profound,

'Tis past, and deeper is the gloom,
A cannon peal disturbs the night:
And all again is silent as the tomb.

Glancing by fits on shiver'd steel,
A quiv'ring light the moon-beams throw,
And through the broken clouds reveal

Full many a sight of death and woe ;
Gleaming on pallid forms around,
Stretch'd on the soldier's bier, the cold and dewy
ground.

Midnight and death o'er all the soil

A fearful deep repose have spread ;
Worn with long hours of martial toil,

The living slumber with the dead,
Nor hear the wounded faintly sigh,
Nor dream of those who round them bleed and die.
Rest, slumberers, rest!--the morn shall wake;
And ye to arms again shall rise;
Your sleep the clarion call shall break,

And life and hope shall fire your eyes-
But, oh! what thousands strew the battle plain,
Whom day-spring ne'er shall wake, nor war-note rouse
again!

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