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SELECT 
 
 IMISCELLANEOUS PRODUCTIONS, 
 
 OF 
 
 M^s^ BAY, ■ 
 
 THOMAS BAY, Esq* 
 &c. &c. 
 
SELECT 
 MISCELLANEOUS PRODUCTIONS, 
 
 OF 
 
 M^^- BAY, 
 
 AND 
 
 THOMAS BAY, Esq. • 
 
 IS 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 SOME DETACHED PIECES OF POETRY, 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS LOWNDES, ESQ. 
 
 Consisting of the first 32 Pages, 
 
 "TRIA JUNCTA IN UNO. 
 
 PUBLISHED, MARCH, 1805. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY T. JONES, CHAPEL-STREET, SOHO. 
 
 AND 
 SOLD BY M ESSRS. CaDELL AND DAVIES, 
 STRAND. 
 
CiIFI 
 

 TO THE 
 
 FAIR FEMALES OF THE BRITISH 
 ISLES. 
 
 LADIES, 
 
 I HAVE taken the liberty of 
 dedicating to you the following humble 
 publication, by which it is intended to 
 shew, there is not so great an inequality 
 between the understandings of men and 
 women, as some have imagined ; and that 
 if the same pains were taken with girls 
 5is with boys, to instruct them in their 
 
 mother 
 
 mSo5585 
 
Vlll Dli;DlCAT10>f. 
 
 mother tongue, your style would perhaps 
 be superior to our's. 
 
 For, probablj', owing to a quicker flow 
 of animal spirits, you are naturally elo- 
 quent, and writing is only expressing 
 our thoughts with the pen. 
 
 But as words are only th^ vehicles of 
 ideas, mere volubility is of little use with- 
 out knowledge, and knowledge is to be 
 attained only by study, and observation. 
 
 When such a habit is acquired too, 
 in early life, it gives the mind a literary 
 bias, which it never loses, and furnishes 
 a solitary residence in the country, with 
 resources inexhaustible. 
 
 Botany, drawing, music, and the belles- 
 lettres, with your usual domestic amuse- 
 ments, would then leave scarce a mo- 
 ment 
 
DEDICATION. IX 
 
 ment unemployed, -whilsl ennui, and 
 vapours, the common attendants of 
 a vacant mind, would be expelled from 
 those unfurnished fair mansions, they 
 have so long tenanted. 
 
 I have the honor to be, with the most 
 profound respect, 
 
 LADIES, 
 
 your very sincere friend, 
 
 and admirer, 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 JL HE subsequent Publication,whicli tlic 
 Editor respectfully presents to his parti- 
 cular Friends and Acquaintance, is not 
 meant to transmit to posterity, the lite- 
 rary talents of any of the Writers, even 
 if the intrinsic merit of some of the 
 Pieces in Prose or Verse could justly lay 
 claim to future approbation ; but is in- 
 tended to do that which a common hand 
 writing, and the single merit of each 
 Piece could not have done, to preserve 
 some scattered ' miscellaneous produc- 
 tions from oblivion, bv printing them 
 
 all tooethei'. 
 
 At 
 
Xa PREFACE. 
 
 At first the Editor meant only to col- 
 lect an unfading wreath to encircle the 
 sacred shrine of Friendship, and occasion- 
 ally remind him of the many delight- 
 ful months he had past in a social inter- 
 course with two worthy literary friends ; 
 but the earnest solicitations of all Mr. 
 and Mrs. Day's acquaintance, who heard 
 of the collection, at last induced liim to 
 relinquish his original design, by printing 
 off many more copies than he intended. 
 
 If the Editor's frequent satyrical allu- 
 sions to a savage Usurper, at this awful 
 period, the terrible scourge of degraded 
 Europe, should offend the refiied sensi- 
 bility of any of his hireling partizans,(for 
 volunteer advocates he cannot have, un- 
 less such as are besotted, or in their do- 
 tage) to those respcctiible admirers and 
 impartial yjii\gQsod\\Q, Tyrant, if common 
 
 sensQ 
 
PREFACE. XUl 
 
 sense is not thrown away upon them, the 
 Editor begs leave to observe, that in the 
 same proportion as he feels the honest 
 and natural impulse of love and reverence 
 for characters uncommonly virtuous, like 
 Mr. and Mrs. Day's, he mast of course 
 feel detestation and abhorrence for an 
 hypocritical knave, as ditFerent from 
 them, as the angel of light, from the 
 anizel of darkness. 
 
 Yet such is still the infatuation of some 
 few, that they may be said even now to 
 idolize JBonapai'te, totally forgetful of all 
 those horrid acts of barbaritj', that have 
 long placed his virtues in competition with 
 those of Nero or Caligula. Among these 
 is a Tou7ig Authoress, of considerable 
 abilities, who has lately published a vo- 
 lume of poems, and to whom the Editor 
 addresses the following lines : — 
 
XIV, PREFACE. 
 
 WHENCE, fairest Lady, whence ihis/ulsome T^va.he 
 
 Of Bonaparte, in the land of Beys ; 
 
 Sure tyrant Love, with his envenom'd dart. 
 
 Who reigns despotic o'er the female heart, 
 
 Has pierc'd you through, usurp'd your freeborn mind. 
 
 And made you thus to all his vices blind. 
 
 Now tho' Loye ti/raHnize viiih pleasing sway, 
 
 flaking all hearts most willingly obey, 
 
 And at his shrine a grateful homage pay ; 
 
 Except the little God, mankind will own» 
 
 They ne'er could brook a tyrant on a throne. 
 
 From tyranny recoiling, till they feel 
 
 A deadly hatred cv'ry sinew steel. 
 
 As the scar'd trav'ler, who within a brake, 
 
 Sees the expanded jaws of some huge rattle snake. 
 
 } 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 HEREVER through or though is spelt with the vgh, 
 as in page 1. Mr, L's Poetry, leave it out, and read it as 
 if spelt, thro' or tho\ 
 
 Page 7, for ^'tender Tale" read *'love-lorn Tale*. 
 
 Page 9, instead of"rep2ilscd nic" read "repulsed him"; 
 and instead of '*a« I" read ''as he" 
 
 Pages 28 and 33, instead of "a Prologue of mine to 
 Jane Shore" read "a Prologue of Mr. L's"; and instead 
 oi "spoken by me" read ''spohen hy him". Instead of "a 
 Military Address oj mine" read ''a Military Address of 
 Mr. L's:' 
 
 Page 47. Mr. L's Poetry, instead of "laylock" read 
 "lilach". 
 
 Page 51, instead of "of" twice repeated, read it 
 only once. 
 
 Page l6, Mrs. Day's Poetry, for "an*' read "and" 
 
 Page 49, Mrs. D.iy's Poetry, read "Written hy Mis<f 
 M. uhen about sixteen, after the purchase of Tristram 
 Shandy" written hcwigreTpea-Xtd twice over is of course 
 an error of the Printer's 
 
 Page 76, Mr. Day's Prose,after dice insert a comma ; 
 but it is here observed to save trouble, that as the punc- 
 tuation of this collection has many errors in it, to cor- 
 rect which would Ije tedious to the Readei, as well as 
 the Editor, it is requested such errors be corrected by 
 the ear and judgement of each dilFerent reader. 
 
 Page 101, Mr.Day's Prose, read the word*'/.'" before 
 
AN ACCOUNT OF MATLOCK BATH, 
 
 IN DERBYSHIRE ; 
 
 And the Picturesque Scenery of the Country 
 around it, 
 
 yjll ! that my pencil could those charms pourtray, 
 Which Matlock's variegated scenes display; 
 Where gliding through her rich romantic vale, 
 I'he Dcrwent circulates her healthful gale. 
 Gently meanders by the rocks above. 
 Bathing their feet in token of his love, 
 Or, dashing rolls along his murky waves 
 Through thick groves hanging from the rocks he laves 
 Where hills, and vallies, woods, and plains appear 
 In all those charms, which Nature's fav'rites wear ; 
 The woodlands sloping, and the vallies green. 
 Huge rocks, with here and there a tree between, 
 Whose roots surprise the wond'ring stranger's eye, 
 Shooting on spots where earth can scarcely lie. 
 
 B Where 
 
(2) 
 
 Where immense crags o'erhang the mountain's base. 
 That seem prepar'd to quit their destin'J place, 
 Threat'ning to crush whole townships in iheir fall, 
 And in one moment overwhelm them all. 
 Yet where are seen to climb the rock's rough steep, 
 The shepherd's boy, and still more daring sheep, 
 Browzing 'twixt fragments of mishapen rocks, 
 A view so frightful, as the boldest shocks ; 
 Whilst the hoarse raven, croaking from her nest. 
 Wonders that these, should dare disturb her rest. 
 Where various cots adorn the mountain's side, 
 Like those of Gades, Britain's glorious pride, 
 With but one path the peasant's steps to guide ; 
 This too, so narrow, zig-zag, steep, and rough, 
 For one to walk, there's hardly space enough ; 
 But should two meet, unaided by a wall, 
 Without great care, the outermost will fall. 
 And rolling down, some hundred feet of rock, 
 Strike on the ground, with a tremendous shock ; 
 Sad awful victim to that want of thought, 
 Which Nature here, to most her sons has taught; 
 Rough in their speech, uncouth in their attire. 
 Whose wishes seldom beyond thi^ aspire. 
 
 To 
 
 } 
 
(3 ) 
 
 To live and die in honest Freedom's breast, 
 
 That noblest boon, with which the peasant*s blest. 
 
 Nor think, O Matlock, I'll forget to praise 
 
 Thy min'ral waters, in these humble lays j 
 
 That healing spring, which Heav'n has caus'd to flow, 
 
 To ease the sad varieties of woe, 
 
 To raise the drooping, and dejected maid. 
 
 When fell Consumption, seera'd her lungs t' invade; 
 
 And hov'ring o'er a dark untimely grave, 
 
 No med'cine else, her precious life could save ; 
 
 Restor'd to all the pleasing cares of life, 
 
 The happy honors, of a virtuous wife; 
 
 Restor'd, her parents' latter years t' assuage, 
 
 *'And rock the cradle of reposing age ;" 
 
 Restor'd, a mother's anxious joys to feel. 
 
 And raise up children, to the Common Weal. 
 
 What grateful tide the lover's bosom warms. 
 
 When now he clasps his mislrcss in his arms ; 
 
 What grateful tide the parent's heart o'erflows. 
 
 When now his daughter's freed from sick bed woes, 
 
 None but a parent or a lover knows. 
 
 O bounteous heaven, whose goodness to mankind, 
 
 In nought more plainly than in thi? we find, 
 
 B 2 Diseases 
 
 I 
 
(4) 
 
 Diseases few our tender frames molest, 
 
 With which we are not with the remede blest. 
 
 On Matlock's spring I'll one more praise bestow, 
 
 Myself to it, my present spirits owe : 
 
 But its great virtues, now from few conceal'd, 
 
 Will be in time to all the world reveal'd. 
 
 Yet farther up thy sweet enchanting vale. 
 
 As though some magic spell our eyes assail. 
 
 There bursts upon them Cromford's stately mills 
 
 Rising majestic, 'midst encircling hills. 
 
 Here Nature kindly, o'er an Arkwright show'rs, 
 
 To swell our Commerce, the mechanic pow'rs ; 
 
 Whose wond'rous aid, to poor weak manual skill, 
 
 With vast conceptions, our ideas fill. 
 
 With mute submission, teaching us still more 
 
 The Great INIechanic of this World t' adore. 
 
 LI NTS 
 
(5) 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AS AN EPITAPH, 
 
 On the premature Death, of my ever to he lamented 
 Friend f and Relation, 
 
 Mr. DAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF SANDFORD AND MERTON, &C. (ScC. 
 
 iVlOURN, mortals, mourn, here tomb'd untimely lies 
 
 God's noblest work, the virtuous, and the wise. 
 
 One, whose great mind, with gen'rous passions fraught, 
 
 Ne'er meanly acted, or e'er meanly thought. 
 
 His honor nice, his sense and judgment clear, 
 
 Sound in his morals, yet to none severe. 
 
 Equal his temper, eloquent his tongue, 
 
 His manners lively, and his talents strong, 
 
 Bold as the lion, gentle as the dove, 
 
 His bosom warm, but delicate his love ; 
 
 His kindness fosl'ring, as Apollo's heat, 
 
 Illum'd the child of sorrow's dark retreat, 
 
 Dispcll'd the gloom, that round the negro rose, 
 
 JL-oos'd his strong chains, and eas'd his heavy woes ; 
 
 B 3 Compassion 
 
(6) 
 
 Gompassion too, not partially inclinM, 
 
 Boundless his zeal, it shone o'er all mankind; 
 
 Beast, bird, fish, insect did its fervor share, 
 
 ^Vhose lives he chcrish'd with parental care ; 
 
 By forms not sway'd, though these the world revere, 
 
 lie stemm'd luxurious fashion's proud career, 
 
 Repell'd the influence of her baneful pow'r, 
 
 And youth forewarn'd, to shun the fatal hour 
 
 ^Vhen their 50ft minds, depriv'd of Reason's light, 
 
 A thousand pleasures play before the sight. 
 
 And life's gay scenes, enervating their souls. 
 
 Vice o'er their hearts, with latent force coutrouls. 
 
 The Patriot stedfast, in his Country'scause, 
 
 llevering much, the majesty of laws, 
 
 When these to strengthen seem'd, and not t'invade 
 
 Those Rights of Man, for which all laws were made; 
 
 To curb the factious, property secure. 
 
 Punish the bad, the good rewards ensure 
 
 And man to patient industry allure ; 
 
 From hence he deem'd, true Government to spring, 
 
 The compact this, of Subject and of King. 
 
 Such was Day's life, whose merits crown'd above, 
 
 Reap their just tribute, his Creator* love, 
 
 AS 
 
 }' 
 
(7 ) 
 
 AN APOLOGY 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 JrlAD I but known, by Aikin's tender tale, 
 
 I touch'd the String, on which thy Sorrows hung ; 
 
 Relieve me, gentle nymph of Scarsdale's vale, 
 I'd left his lyre, I'd left my own unstrung. 
 
 In this world's chequer'd scene, where thorns of woe 
 
 Amid the flow'rs of joy, in ambush lie ; 
 Curs'd be that verse, how smooth soe'er it flow. 
 
 Which gives one virtuous girl, a hapless sigh. 
 
 Though the bright tears, that to thy eyelids stole, 
 Hanging like dew drops, on tho glist'ning rose ; 
 
 pjsplay'd a warm, a sympathetic soul, 
 A genial soil; where ev'ry virtue grows, 
 
 p 4 « Full 
 
** Full manj' a gem of purest ray serene, 
 The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ;'' 
 
 But gems of Sympathy, how seldom seen, 
 
 Though none with these, in value can compare ! 
 
 The precious pearl of sympathetic woe, 
 
 Which deck'd the lustre, of thy steady eye, 
 
 Made my tears too, in silent sorrow flow, 
 And waft to thee the tribute cf a sigh. 
 
 Forgive him, then, in pity to thy fate, 
 
 Who touch'd the String, on which thy Sorrows hunn- 
 Since from thai hour, his sorrows he may date, 
 
 Who is, like thee, by Cupid's poison stung. 
 
 EXTEMPORE 
 
i9) 
 
 EXTEMPORE VERSES, 
 
 UPON A LADY, 
 
 Jllio repulsed ?«e, ay / was going to salute iter, and 
 put on a graie angry look, 
 
 X HOUGII Flies may rifle Delia's charms, 
 
 Her heav'nly nectar sip ; 
 Yet nobler J, am barr'd the pow'r. 
 
 To touch sweet Delia's lip. 
 
 Then why should man behold with scorn ! 
 
 The happier insect race ? 
 When even flies may dare ic) do, 
 
 What human forms disgrace. 
 
 Oh that I could but change mv shape. 
 
 And be an insect too, 
 'Jhat I might lovely Delia kiss, 
 
 And all her beauties view. 
 
 But 
 
( 10) 
 
 But ah ! alas ! I cannot hope 
 
 To change this human mien ; 
 For that same God, who form'd my clay^ 
 
 Has their Creator been. 
 
 But I can quit these once lov'd scenes, 
 
 Since winter's frosts appear ; 
 And hasten to some warmer clime. 
 
 Where cold nor storm I fear. 
 
 For now my charming Delia frowns," 
 The East wind chills my breast, 
 
 ■\Vhich, till she smiles, no more will feel 
 The zephyrs of the West, 
 
 LIKES 
 
< 11 ) 
 
 VERSES 
 
 fVritten vpon the aforesaid Lady's saying, a Gentleman 
 fell asleep in a Coach, in which she vxis. 
 
 vV HEN East was sitting in a coach, 
 
 Fair Delia by his side, 
 He felt intrusive sleep approach, 
 
 As he her beauties ey'd. 
 
 O happy youth, hadst thou not let 
 
 Sweet slumber thus surprise, 
 Thy death wound, thou hadst surely metp 
 
 From Delia's brilliant eyes, 
 
 I'hen bless thy near escape, O East, 
 
 And in thy closet pray. 
 Yearly too keep a sacred feast. 
 
 In honor of that day. 
 
 Far 
 
( l<i ) 
 
 Far diff'rent was Solander's fate, 
 
 Asleep by coldness laid. 
 Although he saw stern Death await, 
 
 Should sleep his limbs invade. 
 
 Till wgik'd by Banks, he scap'd that doom. 
 
 Which all must sometime bear; 
 While East, by sleep, escap'd his tomb, 
 The same could kill or spare. 
 
 5-0 
 
(13 ) 
 
 A POETICAL PORTRAIT OF A 
 MARRIED LADY, 
 
 If possible, more graceful than the Graces^ a Diamond 
 of the first brilliancy , 
 
 V^APRICE, thou idol of the female breast. 
 At whose sad shrine, my mystic vows I pay ; 
 
 On thee I call to give me ease and rest, 
 
 And free my mind from Laura's fickle sway. 
 
 Long have I felt love's slow consuming flame. 
 With thrilling transports vibrate in my ht-art; 
 
 Long have I felt at sound of Laura's name, 
 JMy bosom struck with Cupid's poison'd dart. 
 
 But when I ask, to ease my tortur'd mind, 
 A portrait of sweet Laura's angel face, 
 
 She answers, No! how crufl. how unkind. 
 Thou fairest, ficklcst, of tliC fonialc race, 
 
 Thus 
 
( 14 ) 
 
 Thus to refuse one copy of thy form, 
 
 To him, who loves thee with so pure a fire ; 
 
 Thy fair orig'nal, animate and warm, 
 
 Has ne'er possess'd him, with unchaste desije. 
 
 Still to C***'s lawful arms confine thy bust, 
 Made in luxuriant Nature's sweetest mould; 
 
 Eut e*re that form's consign'd again to dust, 
 And, like the marble, polished, yet cold, 
 
 Let art's enchanting pencil snatch a grace, 
 
 A Guide's touch preserve each matchless charm, 
 
 That time may transmit to the future race, 
 What e'en on canvas, will the bosom warm. 
 
 How Nature once, in sportive frolic hour, 
 The Graces call'd around her magic seat. 
 
 And these besought, to deck with fairest flow'r, 
 And perfume v\ilh the most luxuriant sweet, 
 
 One matchless chiUl, whose elegance, and taste. 
 The happiest eflorts, of her genius shew'd. 
 
 Nature's chef d'oeuvre each fair Goddess grac'd, 
 And to them all, Laura her beauty ow'J. 
 
 The 
 
( 15 ) 
 
 The Graces gave her dignity of air, 
 
 A face that sure would make a saint run mad ; 
 
 Venus pronounc'd her, fairest of the fair, 
 Who many a blithsome heart should render sad. 
 
 Minerva lightning to her eyes convey'd, 
 A melting softness mingled with their fire ; 
 
 Nature with witching smiles, her face array'd, 
 And made her voice harmonious as the lyre. 
 
 Momus gave quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
 Such fascinating pow'r to please the soul. 
 
 That all, who caught the focus of her smiles, 
 Confess'd the magic of her soft controul. 
 
 Unable to repress the falling tear. 
 
 Each felt her beauty, did his heart ensnare; 
 
 Like the poor bird, whom fascinating fear, 
 
 Throws in the serpent's mouth, when soaring in the 
 air. 
 
 ov 
 
( ir> ) 
 
 STANZAS, TO AIORPIIEUS, 
 
 THE GOD CF SLEEP. 
 
 With kind complacence, hear a sup,iliant's prayV, 
 
 And spread, O Sleep, thy pinions o'er his breast ; 
 Hi in some rich drops from heav'nly Lethe spare. 
 And hush him slurab'ring to the shades of rest. 
 
 "Whose soul no evil conscience keeps awake. 
 That like a death watch, ticking in the ear. 
 
 With weak low sound, makes ev'ry nerve to shake. 
 Midst horrid pauses of convulsive fear. 
 
 Conscience whicn, whisp'ring, more the soul appals 
 Than ^Etna's sudden bursts of rocky fire ; 
 
 1 he drcadkil roar when some proud city falls. 
 Or that loud crash when elements conspire, 
 
 O "entl« 
 
( 17 ) 
 
 O gentle Sleep, who seal'st the ship boy's eyes. 
 When the white billows with tremendous roar. 
 
 Curling their monstrous tops like mountains rise, 
 And roll impetuous 'gainst the foaming shore. 
 
 When perch'd aloft upon the main topmast, 
 (His torpid body numb'd by thy sweet charm,) 
 
 Wearied he sleeps midst ev'ry shiv'ring blast, 
 Senseless of fears, the watchful breast alarm. 
 
 Why o'er a boy thus cradled in the shroud. 
 
 Thy magic influence so kindly shed, 
 And not o'er those of high distinction proud, 
 
 Who on a downy pillow lay their head ? 
 
 If to the rich thy slumbers thou refuse, 
 
 And poverty alone thy blessings taste, 
 Ihen grant, kind Heav'n, this rich but temp'iate muse, 
 
 To some poor cottage may his footsteps haste. 
 
 There blest with povertyt if blest with sleep. 
 On pillow'd straw repose the throbbing head, 
 
 Whilst sweet oblivion o'er his eyelids creep, 
 
 As death's dark mantle on the tombstone spread, 
 
 c With 
 
( 18 ) 
 
 With coarsest cloathing, water from the spring". 
 Alternate labour, but alternate rest; 
 
 Far happier then, this wearied muse would sing, 
 Than if in all the pomp of splendor drest. 
 
 Tllb 
 
( 19 ) 
 
 THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS 
 
 JVas intended to Iiave been spoken at a Plai/t which Lord 
 
 JB***j/*** had once the idea of giving at his 
 
 Theatre the day he came of age, to some 
 
 Friends, and to his Creditors, 
 
 wVE'R, Oyer, Oyer, our most noble lord 
 Bids you all welcome to his festive board; 
 And me has sent to greet his honor'd friends> 
 To whom respectful compliments he sends. 
 But first ye Belles, whose charms I fonuly view, 
 Tho' Cupid's arrows pierce me through and through. 
 And all the throbbing pains of love renew. 
 Belles such as Britain only can produce. 
 Whose rich productions, fur theirshcw or use. 
 Exceed in beauty those of other states, 
 \Vhence Europe envies what my heart elates. 
 My Lord to-night performs a noble part, 
 AiKt what all noblemen should leurn by heart : 
 
 c 2 True 
 
 } 
 
( 20 ) 
 
 True real honor he displays to view. 
 Pays his old debts, and then begins anew. 
 The paying debts he knows is not the passion, 
 But hopes to-night to set this comely fashion. 
 Rais'd by a title, which in former times 
 The peer ne'er us'd to varnish o'er his crimes ; 
 A noble mind he'll shew, as well as birth, 
 (Unlike some new made lords, just sprang from earth,) 
 And try his founder's virtues to inherit. 
 Who got his peerage by superior merit. 
 To ease his friends, my Lord's enlarg'd this place. 
 That none may shew a discontented face ; 
 But all of you enjoy sea-room enough, 
 E'en the broad crest of honest Captain Bluff. 
 *♦ To see a Play, I've paid most woundy dear, 
 Old Square Toes said, going from hence last year, 
 So squccz'd and piess'd, was never man before, 
 Ynur NV**g***e plays ^hall never see me more : 
 The Col'nel too, forsooth, must pinch my corns, 
 Perhaps create a harder substance, horns !" 
 *' A'.as, what's that, replies his loving wife. 
 My dear was hurt, my soul, my chick, my life." 
 Miss Dumplii:g next complain'd the House was small, 
 That some rude bear had pubh'd her 'gainst the wall ; 
 
 Besides, 
 
•} 
 
 ( 2i ) 
 
 *•' Besides, papa, avulgir ill-bred man, 
 Dar'd to stoop down, and pick me up ray fan ; 
 Presumptuous wretch I who ventur'd thus to touch, 
 The fan presented me by Count Nonsuch. 
 Would my Lord B***y**re enlarge his place, 
 And Jet us qualify have a sep'rate space, 
 I might perhaps once more adorn his plays, 
 Make the men's hearts with admiration blaze. 
 Whilst all transported at my person gaze ; 
 And women e'en, though envious of my charms, 
 Extol the beauty of my face and arms. 
 Who's that ? cries one, Miss Dumpling says another. 
 And none their praises of my shape can smother ; 
 Earls, Dukes, and Princes swell my conquest roll, 
 And I, like Venus, o'er their hearts controul. 
 As it now is, some monster I should dread 
 Might by o'er kindness indispose my head ; 
 For sure the greatest of life's various ills, 
 What most the heart with spleen and rancour fills, 
 Is to be pester'd by your awkward clowos, 
 Whose gauche politeness, I return by frowns. 
 Better kick'd, curs'd, or famish'd by a Lord, 
 'Jhan by an upstart commoner adox'd." 
 
 Lest 
 
( 22 ) 
 
 Lest some tho' elsewhere sliould still sii on thorns. 
 
 While cuckolds here have room to spread their hornsj 
 
 By me his Lordship hon'rably declares. 
 
 He'll pay his tradesmen their respective shares. 
 
 If these will send in honest, clear accounts, 
 
 And fairly state to what each bill amounts. 
 
 Thus B******re performs a noble part. 
 
 And what some here I hope will learn by heart; 
 
 A character displays on W**g**e stage, 
 
 But seldom seen in this degen'rate age. 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
( 23 ) 
 
 A FAREWELL ADDRESS 
 
 To the Company at Hanowgate in the Summer, 1801, 
 
 upon closirig the Theatre therefor the Season, and 
 
 written for Miss De C.'s Benefit, 
 
 1 0-night, our season ended, give me leave 
 T' express those thanks with which our bosoms heave : 
 But chiefly mine, who feel to-night that glow, 
 Wliich from a grateful mind can only flow. 
 That debt of Gratitude now fills my heart. 
 And tho' the whole I cannot, I'll pay part. 
 Supposing then each here, like me, a Flay'r, 
 For you I offer up this fervent pray'r ; 
 May all you, acting on the stage of life, 
 As brother, husband, mother, daughter, wife 
 So well perform, that at death's awful hour 
 No poignant sorrow may life's chalice sour; 
 May you, ye Belles, who Harrowgate adorn, 
 Gather the ilow'r of joy without the thorn ; 
 
 c 4 Nor 
 
lie, Y 
 
 2. J 
 
 ( 24 ) 
 
 Nor hasty pluck a flow'r, where'er it grows. 
 
 For fear you get the nettle, not the rose. 
 
 If then your minds on mairiage are intent, 
 
 Remember we'l this word, 'repent, r( pent.' 
 
 To you, mamas, I give this short advice. 
 
 For I have known mamas by much tco nice ; 
 
 Let not ambitious views direct your aim, 
 
 And make your daughter weJ, to get a nanu 
 
 Whether she feel or not love's sacred flame. 
 
 Let wealth nor title be your only guide. 
 
 These of themselves can't make the hapoy bride ; 
 
 But hark ! some mother says, whence all this knowledge, 
 
 Sure that pert Miss was brought up at a College, 
 
 A girl so wise she surely ne'er cculd be, • 
 
 Unless she added to her name B. D. 
 
 You quiz me, madam, but I'll quiz again, 
 
 Tis a fair shot to try to hit the men, 
 
 Those lordly men, who thinking us fair game, 
 
 Shoot at the women's hearts with love's unerring aim. 
 
 'Tis now the season too, September time, 
 
 Would birds were shot at only in my rhyme. 
 
 B. D. implies in that great College, whence 
 
 I had my knowledge, a great want of sense. 
 
 If 
 
( 2«5 ) 
 
 It means not learning, but a want of that, 
 
 A head that's only fit to wear a hat. 
 
 B, D. Dunce Bachelor, the first degree, 
 
 Next L, L. D. a greater Dunce than he ; 
 
 Last D, D. Doctor Dunce, with wig and cane, 
 
 Cf these, and D. D. not a little vain. 
 
 Joking apart, should any swell with bile 
 
 At the bold freedom of my muse's style, 
 
 To them I now. as M. D. give advice, 
 
 Probatum est, and cuies them in a trice. 
 
 Of thisfam'd spring three glasses take, but stop, 
 
 M. D. must not forget the bolus shop. 
 
 Yet ah ! from those wry faces which I see, 
 
 ^lethinks I've dos'd you well without a fee; 
 
 Your vessels plethorick, your stomachs fail. 
 
 With verses rough, satyrical and dull. 
 
 You seem to say, good Doctor do pray cease, 
 
 And give your tix'd out muse a little peace ; 
 
 A hint's enough, so now I'll bid adieu 
 
 To mamas, misses, and kind men to you ; 
 
 Yet to all thankful, when this house I see, 
 
 The Doctor must confess, he has his fee. 
 
 THE 
 
( £6 ) 
 AD LILLYSTONEM, 
 
 DULCE RIDENTEM. 
 
 The /oUoiving Stanzas were written on being favored nuUk 
 
 a sii>fit oj that Lady's vncommonly elegant 
 
 Drawings. 
 
 VV 11 EN gentle Lillystone. with matchless skill, 
 On her chaste canvass some fair form pourtrays, 
 
 'What secret transports in the bosom thrill, 
 How lost in wonder we admiring gaze. 
 
 So finely animate her pencil'd bust, 
 
 We, starting, think tlie canvass teems with life. 
 
 In rapt'roiis bliss delusive senies trust, 
 And claim the lovely image for a wife. 
 
 With strctcli'd out arms arrest the peerless fair, 
 To shew our fondness by a close embrace ; 
 
 When ah ! the form untangible as air, 
 
 Our grasp eludes, and keeps its destin'd place. 
 
 The 
 
(27 ) 
 
 The hapless youth in an enchanting dream, 
 Thus views with extacy his fair i)ne's charms ; 
 
 And whilst the playful tints of foncy beam. 
 Believes he clasps his mistress in his arms. 
 
 Till sadly waking, with tumultuous joy, 
 
 He finds the object of his ardor fled, 
 Again for lost Eliza heaves a sigh, 
 
 And bends with sorrow o'er the silent dead. 
 
 Like Lillystone did great Apelles draw, 
 
 When he so graceful shap'd the queen of love ; 
 
 I\Ian strangely felt, in spite of Nature's law. 
 The lifeless canvass could his passions move. 
 
 Titian's soft colouring, Guido's graceful air, 
 
 Proclaim an artist of superior kind ; 
 Yet who, that sees her portraits, won't declare, 
 In them the image of herself vie find; 
 
 Such soft emotions in her bosom reign. 
 
 Such grace and dignity her mind adorn, 
 As prove that Lillystone, howe'er she feign, 
 
 |s not a mortal; but an angel born. 
 
 A PROLOGUE 
 
28 ) 
 
 A PROLOGUE of mine to JANE SHORE, 
 
 Spoken hy me at the Theatre in Southend the Night of 
 Miss Brookes' s Benefit. 
 
 J N that just mirror of the human mind, 
 
 Shakespeare's immortal page, this truth we find ; 
 
 The world's a stage, all men and women play'rs, 
 
 Where each variety of acting shares. 
 
 And Shakespeare's judgment who'll presume to doubt, 
 
 Vnll any in this house or any out ? 
 
 It any here should dare our bard t' asperse. 
 
 And think that he, like minor sons of verse, 
 
 Took not from life those characters he drew. 
 
 All how unlike each other, all how true ; 
 
 With modern novels Shakespeare's plays compare, 
 
 Iho' here we sec all truth, all fic^on there; 
 
 Such fccpiic minds no pow'r on eanh could move, 
 
 Not the fine arguments of England's Jove ; 
 
( 29) 
 
 Him from whose lips the gentle accents flow. 
 
 Soft as the fleeces of descending snow ; 
 
 Whose arm omnipotent can spread alarms, 
 
 "Whose gentle voice can rouse the world to arms ; 
 
 Pitt, the great statesman, whose persuasive voice 
 
 Could make a nation in its ills rejoice ; 
 
 Could make John Bull with taxes blest, a store, 
 
 Cry out in extacy, encore, encore ; 
 
 Could make the budget, (that Pandora's Box, 
 
 Once but a Calf, now grown into an Ox,) 
 
 So light appear, John Bull Avas wont to say 
 
 He felt no pressure, it so lightly lay ; 
 
 So small in stature seem, tho' grown so big. 
 
 He call'd the budget, Billy's sucking pig. 
 
 Yet some then thought, in spite of John's wise head, 
 
 Pitt's pig so heavy, 'twas a pig of lead. 
 
 Sure btasl so strange was never seen before, 
 
 The more it suck'd, it grunting squcak'd for mo!e ; 
 
 Yet stranger too, tho' that may seem a jost, 
 
 Its mother strengthen'd, when it draiu'd her breast! 
 
 This Pitt afiirm'd, and he a Ileav'n born man. 
 
 Knows more ft-'r certain than poor mortals can; 
 
 Then thus he prov'd it ; Britain, when at war, 
 
 Frcsh"strcngth acquires from cv'ry wound and scar ,: 
 
 To 
 
( 30) 
 
 To it doth Heav'n such wond'rous vigour send, 
 The more it spends, the more it siill can spend. 
 
 But hence these jokes on patriot god-hke Pitt, 
 Jokes only meant to shew your poet's wit ; 
 Who like some fishermen, his wit once set, 
 Takes all fur fibh, that come into his net. 
 Trust me who thinks not Pitt all good and wise, 
 Knows not where virtue, where true honor lies ; 
 Or did not bigot hate and party zeal 
 Lock up his soul in adamantine steel. 
 Candid he'd own, Pitt's rich capacious mind 
 Proves him a Premier born, to save mankind : 
 "Whilst Bonaparte, whom the devil take. 
 Shews that he's born for whom, his omi dear sake ; 
 Old Nick' s sweet babe, to whom some witch gave suck, 
 And for his fortune gave, the devil's luck. 
 
 Gentle Jane Shore to-night with meagre looks, 
 (Her face not much unlike the phiz of IJrookcs,) 
 Imjilorcs your patronage, yet Linker still. 
 Will be Brooke's visage, if her house don't fill. 
 No cheeks more smooth than hers, nor any plumper, 
 bhould she beiiold this houie to-night a bumper; 
 
 Should 
 
( 31 ) 
 
 Should she behold, like Lady Faddle's rout, 
 
 Her friends unable to get in or out ; 
 
 Pinion'd and squeez'd like fowls upon a spit. 
 
 All parts choak'd up, box, gallery, and pitt. 
 
 Six inches square to stand on, six to sit ; 
 
 Then would your Brookes with gratitude run o'er. 
 
 As when the rains in sudden torrents pour. 
 
 And in a flood of joy raise up her head. 
 
 Dripping like Neptune's on his oozy bed. 
 
 Whilst rich Old Thames, who owes so much to Brooks, 
 
 Would thank you with his best, his gentlest looks. 
 
 Smooth his rough waves, and swelling high his tide, 
 
 Enable frigates at Southend to ride. 
 
 And Thames with Neptune in close friendship join'd,, 
 
 A fig for all the Powers on earth combin'd. 
 
 At all events to Brookes this praise is due, 
 
 To please her friends has been her only view ; 
 
 Her bill of fare perchance, a little odH, 
 
 For which don't lash her with the critic's rod. 
 
 Did you not think me now a horrid bore, 
 I'd crave your int'rest for your iiathe Shore, 
 And trespass on your time one moment more. 
 Close to the sea too shull I plead in vain, 
 When Southend shore to you is no small gain ; 
 
 } 
 
 And 
 
( 32 ) 
 
 And who so likely to support with spirit 
 Our natixe Shore, as those who feel its merit. 
 With Miss Brookes thanks to jou, who kindly sit 
 To see her ben'fit and to hear my wit ; 
 I'll take my leave, and like her thank you too, 
 Yes, thank sincerely you^ and you, and you ;* 
 Trusting that when my motive's understood, 
 You'll say, heads not ill, whose came is good. 
 
 * Box, Pitt, and Gallery. 
 
 AV 
 
( 33 ) 
 
 A MILITARY 
 
 ADDRESS OF MINE, 
 
 Spoken at the dosing of the Theatre at Southend, 
 
 in Essex, the Flay having been chosen by 
 
 some of the Essex Volunteers. 
 
 O FERTILE isle, for wealth and'beauty fam'd, 
 A second Paradise, or Eden nam'd, 
 Thou fairest spot of our terrestrial sphere. 
 Let only happiness inhabit here. 
 So said great Jove, when, plunging in the waves, 
 lie rais'd this isle, whose sides old Ocean laves; 
 And smiling on the earth, display 'd to sight. 
 Well pleas'd survey'd the pearl he'd brought to light. 
 No wonder then. New France has spread alarms. 
 And try'd to rouse the Continent to arms. 
 Envious of England's opulence and pow'r. 
 Her tyrant trembles for th' approaching hour, 
 When Britain's conquests, spread from bhore to shore. 
 True Freedom shall extend, and tyrants breathe no more; 
 D How 
 
( 3-4 y 
 
 How foolish this, t' avert domestic jar. 
 By madly braving England's youth to waft 
 Revenge, revenge, the sons of Albion cry, 
 And all to arms, in galh'ring tumults fly; 
 Each ardent singly to decide the cause. 
 And shew the justice of his country's laws ; 
 Whilst Bonaparte, frighten'd at the sight 
 Of British valour, shuns th' unequal fight, 
 Wisely inclines his bullying wrath t' assuage, 
 And leave invasion for some future age. 
 How wise, vain Gauls, for, (driv'n from Africk*s shore 
 By those brave heroes, Hutchinson, and Moore, 
 Led by Sir Ralph, who, for his country's good, 
 Seal'd Egypt's glorious vict'ry with his blood,) 
 Ye, madly boasting to subdue the world. 
 Saw your proud standard for Britannia furl'd. 
 Heard gallant Sydney thund'iiiig from afar, 
 Sydney the fav'rite of the God of War} 
 Sydney a name to ev'ry Briton dear, 
 And sweetly sounding in Britannia's ear ; 
 But to a Frenchman's, and faith no wonder. 
 Sounding terrific, like the awful thunder ; 
 His name tremendous as the God of Battles, 
 That 'midst bombs, grape shot, shells,and mortals rattles-. 
 
 Yes, 
 
( 35) 
 
 Yes, brave Sir Sidney, thy chivalrick fame, 
 
 Great and illustrious as thy noble name, 
 
 Shall live immortal in th' historic page, 
 
 And brighter glow to each succeeding age j 
 
 Like a fine Claude, as age to age succeeds, 
 
 So bright shall seem thy high heroic deeds, 
 
 Fame's col'ring mellowM down by Truth's bright ray, 
 
 Shall shine effulgent as the sourca of day. 
 
 If this bright fame for but ene Acre too. 
 
 Ye Gods, for millions, what won't Sydney do. 
 
 He skill*d like brave Nelson, Hawke, Rodney, Howe, 
 
 To make proud Gallia's flag to England's bow j 
 
 Not French themselves, more pliant in the back, 
 
 They and their flags a sort of supplejack ; 
 
 Unlike our Jacks, who stift' as British oak, 
 
 Disdain to bend to any foreign yoke. 
 
 Which made Liuoib's squadron so enhance » 
 
 The unknown merits of our country Dance, 
 
 That when our tars began their balls to play. 
 
 So ill they lik'd the Dance, they ran away ; 
 
 Tho' had it been a French cotillion set. 
 
 That on the China seas Linois met, 
 
 Active as raonkies they'd have join'd the Dance, 
 
 Cotillion steps the fav'rite ones in France, 
 
 B 2 Yes, 
 
(36) 
 
 Yes, long has proud Gaul felt with galling pain, 
 Britannia rules the land, Britannia rules the main. 
 Far diff'rent now from that ill omen'd day. 
 When England sent her martial sons away, 
 The sword to tarnish in a brother's blood> 
 And kinsmen slaughter for the public good : 
 To quell rebellion 'gainst oppressive acts. 
 Enforce those laws a British House enacts; 
 To urge a right which none on earth can claim, 
 A right t' oppress, if mask'd by friendship's name. 
 When stern-ey'd justice arms our valiant bands, 
 Each foe falls prostrate by their conq'ring hands; 
 With wreaths of laurel ev'ry project's crown'd. 
 And heaps on heaps lie bleeding on the ground. 
 Not so when dire oppression guides their breast, 
 Then vain their prowess by divine behest; 
 ImpartialJove ambitious schemes abhors. 
 And makes abortive all tyrannic wars. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
( 57 ) 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 Written on the Centinarp Commemoration throughout 
 Great Britain, of the glorious Revolution^ but par- 
 ticularly alluding to a magiajicent Celebration 
 of that Event at Chesterfield, in 
 Derbi/skire, 
 
 When Freedom's cause the British breast expands, 
 
 And makes it glow with ardor scarce its own. 
 Let not the rapt'rous flame forsake those bands, 
 
 Which grac'd the triumph of great NassauS throne: 
 
 What tho' the clarion's sound no longer's heard. 
 
 Or loud huzzas re-echo thro' the air, 
 No flags are seen, or Orange zone begird 
 
 The tap'ring waist of Britain's peerless fair ! 
 
 Yet shall Imagination paint the day, 
 In brightest colors that her pow'rs can give ; 
 
 And ev'ry Briton sincere homage pay. 
 
 To the mild JNIonarch unJer whom we live» 
 
 d3 To 
 
( 38 ) 
 
 To George the Third, our virtuous, patriot King ! 
 Who loves to see bis people happy, free ; 
 For which each grateful muse with truth shall sing, 
 For ever may good George, Great Britain's Sov'reign be. 
 
 When vain parade, and revelling are o'er, 
 
 V hall ye forget the cause from whence they flow ? 
 
 Consid'ring that gay festive scene no more, 
 Than the mock image of a Lord May'r's show. 
 
 If such your Gallic joy, your French-like taste, 
 Pleas'd only with the pageantry of dress; 
 
 \Vith Gauls admire th' Imperial crown of paste, 
 The mantle, sceptre, royal apiihness. 
 
 But moral, precepts which the play conveys, 
 T' assist wcakminds the sn res of vice to shun; 
 
 Think these like them, too invial for your praise, 
 l^or let your minds by ought but pomp be woi\. 
 
 THE 
 
( 59) 
 THE PROPHECY, 
 
 OR, 
 
 BONAPARTE KILLED AT LAST 
 By his own Troops. 
 
 IE Britons, to your Country true. 
 In her just cause so hearty, 
 Shall make the French Invasion rue, 
 And give proud Bonaparte 
 Such proofs of Britons' glori lus zeal, 
 When by French slaves invaded, 
 As soon shall make that Tyrant feel, 
 His laurels are all faded. 
 
 Blasted, like his brilliant fame, 
 Which once shone with such lustre, 
 Patriots almost ador'd his name, 
 Who now against him muster. 
 Whose hearts since Bonapartes chang'd. 
 With such resentment glow ; 
 They in the foremost ranks are rang'd, 
 To give to him his death-blow, 
 p 4> 
 
 Shall 
 
( 40 ) 
 
 Shall Britons court a Tyrant's smiles ? 
 
 Shall Britons, chang'd to Slaves ! 
 
 Be guU'd by the Usurper's wiles, 
 
 And hypocritick knaves ? 
 
 Who slily say, " we only mean, 
 
 A hundred rich to kill. 
 
 Frenchmen from long experience seen. 
 
 Too mild, nauch blood to spill ! 
 
 *' So meek, so gentle, they ne'er could. 
 Like the base English nation, 
 Embrue their hands in guiltless blood ; 
 Britons in ev'ry station, 
 Characteris'd as loving pain. 
 For savage, treacherous acts ; 
 Whence they reject with fell disdain. 
 Those mild laws New France enacts." 
 
 Freedom sure reigns in FRANCE ALONE, 
 For only the Consul's free ; 
 But mark that tyrant on his throne, 
 ^nd him on his pillow see, 
 
 Where 
 
< 11 ) 
 
 Where rack'd with agonizing thought. 
 At which his blood runs chill. 
 Murders he plots, who sleep has sought 
 In vain the night to kill. 
 
 His death see widows, orphans pras', 
 
 Bearing a poison'd bowl, 
 
 Whilst this, which some in whispers say. 
 
 Seems thunder to his soul ; 
 
 " Thou traitor to thy soldiers, speak, 
 
 Nor feel refreshing sleep, 
 
 Lo ! we eur husbands, fathers seek, 
 
 Thus doom'd by thee to weep. 
 
 ** Where are thy fellow soldiers, say ! 
 
 Whom thy base treach'ry slew ? 
 
 Thou know'st at Jaffa long they lay 
 
 Expos'd to public view ; 
 
 Till Britons, to their foes humane. 
 
 Gave them sepulchral rite ; 
 
 For they with sorrow, heartfelt pain, 
 
 Peheld that horrid sight. 
 
 ♦« Now, 
 
( 42 ) 
 
 " Now, Monster, hear, 'tis doom'd by fate, 
 
 Much longer thou sha'n t live. 
 
 From thy own iroopsjust death await. 
 
 They shall thy death blow give : 
 
 Kor will those guards who round thy throne. 
 
 Have screen'd thee long from death. 
 
 Their Consul's too just fate bemoan, 
 
 Or weep his parting breath. 
 
 " Rut terror fled, shew vast surprize 
 
 Thou monstiT liv'd'it so long; 
 
 Tli-.it Franco did not against thee rise 
 
 Jn one promiscuous throng ; 
 
 Thy staunch INlanielukes shall cry out, 
 
 Thank God, the Tyrant's dead !!! 
 
 For no mere Consuls Frenchmen shout, 
 
 Cut King Louis make your head. 
 
 " With Moreau, Minister of State, 
 Not mad Ambition's fool. 
 And choosing a much safer fate, 
 "J'haii over France to rule ; 
 
 Frenchmen 
 
(43) 
 
 Frenchmen shall then this blessing see. 
 They've not for twelve years past, 
 Equality does best agree 
 With Governments which last." 
 
 *' For though Republics, at first sighf, 
 Delusive Fancy please, 
 They, closer seen, mankind affright, 
 And with such friction tease, 
 Faction against Faction struggling, 
 Causing such constant ferment, 
 Wiih their arts of patriot juggling, 
 A state's vital strength is spent." 
 
 We Britcn's now, to our good King 
 
 Will grateful homage pay ; 
 
 Nor murmur, tho' the war should bring 
 
 Fresh taxes ev'ry day ! 
 
 Because they're rais'd but for the war. 
 
 When that's brought to an end, 
 
 Those taxes cease we most abhor, 
 
 And our bad times will mend. 
 
 Where 
 
( 44) 
 
 Where we're tax'd too, true Freedom reigns. 
 And such just laws are found ; 
 They can defy Old or Young PAINE>, 
 And fight then\ on their own ground. 
 Their Reason would before our laws> 
 (Afraid with Truth to fight,) 
 Vanish in smoke, as the sun draws 
 The vapours of the night. 
 
 The above -written 
 in 1803. 
 
 ON 
 
( 45 ) 
 
 GN THE RESTORATION OF THE 
 
 BOURBON FAMILY 
 
 To the Throne of France ; an event which I hope, by the 
 interposition oj Divine Proxidcnce, "will 
 e're long take place. 
 
 W HEN Vice prevails, and impious men bear sway. 
 The strongest nation falls an easy prey 
 To Discord, Rapine, and a stream of ills, 
 Which flows impetuous from ten thousand lills : 
 Till Virtue, like the fit ry orb of day. 
 When clouds have veil'd from sight his chearing ray, 
 When black'ning tempests have o'erhung the land,. 
 And angry Jove has shook his thund'ring hand, 
 Bursts into view, and with a light serene 
 Dispels the horrors of the dreary scene; 
 Dispensing joy and peace to all around 
 Herself with universal praises crown'd. 
 
 VERSES 
 
(46 ) 
 VERSES TO Mrs. T***T, 
 
 J^ early allied to Venus, from her love- sick Uetalion Cupid, 
 
 ± HE winged messenger of love, 
 FoUow'd by his billing dove, 
 This nt)te has penn'd for one fair Dame, 
 Skill'd to raibc cr put out a flame. 
 
 From viy enckanfing Boxver in the Wilderness at 
 5** **•*(/, 7«j/ Heart ovcrjhwiiig with Lore, like tke 
 Sea at a Spring Tide. 
 
 Kind Guardian Angels hover o'er her head, 
 "NVhilst gently slumbring on her downy bed. 
 
 The God of Love writes in haste, as he has some 
 millions of visits to pay before morning: 
 
 For as soon as dawns forth the break of day. 
 All Spirits like himself must flit away. 
 
 AS 
 
} 
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 AS your dear little Cupid with rapt'rous delight, 
 Is now winging his course on an amorous Hight, 
 He has stop'd at a place call'd by him sweet S******d, 
 And these lines to his fav'rite has gallantly penn'd ; 
 To my Widow of thirty, of a hundred I mean. 
 For where's one in a hundred likt^ her to be seen ? 
 What widow in Britain with T***t can ci>mpare ? 
 And most women there are deem'd lovely and fair, 
 Whence some have imagin'd they phiinly caa see, 
 Old England the isle of Calypso must be, 
 As all our historians on this point agree ; 
 That he who's in love, must be tied down as fast 
 As Ulysses so fam'd, when tied to a mast, 
 Jf from Britain's fair nymphs he wants to set sail, 
 Else beauty and love o'er his heart vvill prevail. 
 To describe my dear T***t surpasses all pow'r, 
 No, I've hit oti' her charms, she's a beautiful flow'r, 
 Where balm, laylnck,and lilly their fiagrance combine, 
 With piiik, jassamiiie, rose, and the sweet eglantine, 
 Whence all who behold her declare her divine. 
 Now tell me what Relic for a moment will dare, 
 With this sweetest of llow'rs herself to compare. 
 Openhearted and gay, yet free from all vice, 
 Tho' some think my Widow l>y no means too nice, 
 
 I'll 
 
 I 
 
( 48 ) 
 
 I'll match her in conduct with any starch dame. 
 Who thoughtlessly ventures her worth to defame,' 
 For in beauty's fair steps oft stalks like a ghost, 
 Pale envy and scandal their virtues to boast; 
 To darken that path spotless beauty has trod. 
 And raise themselves up, as a species of God ; 
 Who crabbed and ugly, like most evil spirits. 
 Delight to substract from beauty's just merits. 
 But Wisdom clear-sighted soon finds out the fraud, 
 And quickly by her such old cats are outlaw'd ; 
 Doom'd to pass all their lives in obscurity's shade, 
 O dire curse ! each doom'd too, to die an old maid ! 
 So cheer up sweet T' **t, for when old maiden weed 
 Like nettles or thistles shall run up to seed, 
 Thy beauty shall seem as a rich swelling vine, 
 Whilst round thee in clusters thy fine babes entwine, 
 Then love, honor, esteem, with afTection's fair train 
 Shall shew thou, like old maids, art not made in vain; 
 Shall strew thy life's path with each sweet smelling flow'r. 
 And prove thee protected by Love's magic pow'r. 
 
 CUPID. 
 
 The Wilderness, one o'clock in the morning, Sep. Qi, 
 1S04, to mortal reckoning; but no point of time 
 to Spirits like myself, who live for ccer. As eter- 
 nity has no end, time can have no division. 
 
(49) 
 
 Mr. LOWNDES being at a Rout, -where 
 a Widoto was pointed out to Jim, apparently so young, 
 she 7night have been taken Jor a girl of Jiftcen, wrote the 
 ^following extempore Verses, in consequence of a Lady's 
 expressing great surprise at Mrs. Wood, the name of the 
 young Widow, looking so like a girl. It so happened 
 that a Mr. Ash was standing near the Lady who ex- 
 pressed such great surprise, therefore Mr. L wai tempted 
 to pun upon the young Widow's name^ particularly as he 
 had an opportunity of making a jeu de mots, by the 
 introduction of Mr. Ash. 
 
 Mr. L, — YOU shew surprise, so did I too, 
 
 At that young Widow, now in view ; 
 
 But mine has ceas'd, and so your's shouli?. 
 
 For you must know, that W^idow's, Wood. 
 
 Mrs. H. — That Widow, Wood, it cannot be, 
 For I have seen her sipping tea, 
 Have heard her speak, am told she's witty, 
 And you may see she's very pretty, 
 lluw then can such a girl be Wood ? 
 No, this Fm sure, she's fle-.h and blood. 
 
 E Mr. A. 
 
Mr. A.— Ma3am, to shew that JFood can speak, 
 I English talk, nay sometimes Greek, 
 Yet I am As>), and Jsh is Wood, 
 And you'd soon find I'm flesh and blood. 
 
 Thcfolloxcing EPIGRAMSrccre •wriltcn extempore, 
 on its being reported Lord WhitzLorth had left Paris, but 
 the French had. detained his Piute. The Epigrams arc 
 puns upon the word Plate ; likening his Lordship's Platd 
 to that xvhich Race Houses run for. 
 
 EPIGRAM I. 
 
 THE French so skilful in each jockeying art, 
 Have stole the Plate, for which they durst not start : 
 Yet why not start ? since this our tars can lel], 
 Jf they don't fight our ships, they run them well; 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
( :>! ) 
 
 EPIGRA.AI !L 
 
 TIIF- Ficncli sc lean for running sure wcrom-dc, 
 Then why of r.nL;htn(l'i3 speed is France afiaid ? 
 Bei-ides, h)' sen they aI\va}S win the day, 
 And Leat the Ei/glu/i, wlien tliey rz^;? azcaij. 
 
 IN coii.scq;icvcc ofofGEOUG F /lie f^econrl 
 ojfcring Br. WILLS the Sees of Rath and U'tlls, in this 
 iuterrogrJory -way^ '• Ulictkcr u-oii/d t^ou like. Doctor, 
 to be Bis/iop of Hath, or IFclls T' The Doctor being a 
 I^'orth Briton, ans-drrtd in the broad Siatch accent, 
 " Caifh, if" it please i/o!ir Majesty," ivh/ch set the King 
 a laughing, as the Doctor's pronunciation vis sn an:bi- 
 gxmxis, it Xi'i'uld upplij cither to the Words P.a'.h, or both. 
 
 SAYS Dr. Wills, in George the second's reign, 
 Who tried to pose the Doctor, but in vain. 
 Your Majesty is pleiis'd of me to as.k. 
 To answer which 1 find no arduous task ; 
 Whether of Bath, oi Wvlls, I'd Di^iiop be ? 
 Baith, if it please you. Sire, would (jest suit mc, 
 For I prefer the two Sees, to the one Sec. 
 
JN EXPLANATORY NOTE, 
 
 VCe now present Mr. and Mrs. Day's Poetrj', 
 commencing with that of Mr. Day's. Mr. T, 
 Lowndes never having considered his Poetry 
 in any other light, than as increasing tlic size 
 of the work. 
 
(M 
 
 These four page<t jvilk asterisks have been added since 
 
 the rest of Mr. Day's Poetry was printed 
 
 off", having been accident ally found 
 
 among some old papers. 
 
 TO MISS ***** 
 BY ]\IR. DAY. 
 
 yJH thou ! within whose gentle breast, 
 Each milder passion reigns confest, 
 Whose feeling soul has learned to glow 
 With soft concern for ev'ry woe ! 
 Oh, dearer to ray wounded mind. 
 Thus tender, pitying, artless, kind, 
 
 Than 
 
TKe mwa^nja^ yootlis traBspiMted §aiie ! 
 
 AdomM whk rv*ij natcklrss gir«ce; 
 
 FoTBOt tW li^tmings off tlume eye, 
 
 CotoM •*«- exciicir «aie: totdnr sigjBiw 
 
 ^'. 
 
 oiirts fioad ajnd vain be fii^d ; 
 
 F:- : 
 
 :c tketzwBpoff&ae* 
 
 C: - 
 
 ■^^ c^r sjkusj's tanne : 
 
 y - . 
 
 . b>7ii>w atymldk. 
 
 .'. :: : 
 
 '^f^vftrandki 
 
 V< . 
 
 - J<lMtt*<l, 
 
 
 
 1 . ■ 
 
 «|d. 
 
 .-■-.:,* . 
 
 Zl->\9^ 
 
 Ok! 
 
(♦ ) 
 
 Oh ! wlieu, as fate directs my way, 
 To foreign climes I joyless stray ; 
 ^Vhile ocean's wild waves round me roar, 
 And bear rae far from Albion's shore ! 
 When gloomy storms obscure the sky, 
 ^Vilt thou not sometimes breathe a sigh? 
 And sometimes ask, with pious prayer. 
 That heav'n my destin'd head may spare ? 
 Then should remembrance to thy view, 
 The scenes of former days renew ; 
 Wilt thou not sometimes wish to see, 
 The youth who wanders far from thee ? 
 And should the ruthless fates ordaiu. 
 That I must press a foreign plain. 
 While near no friend, no parent stands, 
 To faintly clasp my dying hands ! 
 Wilt thou not shed one pitying tear. 
 In pious sorrow o'er my bier ? 
 Wilt thou not then, lament to see 
 The youth who wanders far from thee ? 
 So, gentle maid, may every pow'r. 
 Protect and guide thy virgia hour 1 
 
 Thy 
 
Thy days be crown'd with calm delight. 
 Whilst angels guard thee thro' the night ! 
 And should some worthy youth e'er move, 
 Thy gen'rous mind with mutual love, 
 All kind and constant may he be. 
 As he who wanders far from thee ! 
 
TO THE AUTHORESS 
 
 OF 
 
 ' Verges to he inscribed on Delias Tomi.' 
 
 oVVEET Poetess, whose gentle numbers flow, ^ 
 
 With all the artless energy of woe I 
 
 The choicest wreath, oh lovely maid ! be thine. 
 
 Which pity offers at the muse's shrine. 
 
 Were there a strain of pow'r to soelh the care 
 
 Of bitt'rest anguish, and assuage despair. 
 
 Thy gen'rous verse might ev'ry bosom cheer. 
 
 And wipe from ev'ry eye the falling tear ! 
 
 But there are transports of the secret soul, 
 
 Which not the muses sacred charms controul : 
 
 When ruin'd innocence condemi/d to bleed, 
 
 Mourns the remembrance of the fatal deed; 
 
 While stern contempt attends, and public hate, 
 
 And shame remorseless points the dart of fate ; 
 
 B Yet 
 
( 2 ) 
 
 Yet shall thy votive wreath unfading bloon:, 
 
 A grateful off' rin^ to thy Delia's tomb. 
 
 There, while celestial mercy beams confest, ' 
 
 And sooths the mourner to eternal rest, 
 
 Be fancy's mildest softest visions seen, 
 
 And forms aerial glitter o'er the green ! 
 
 Such forms as oft, by bow'r and haunted streams> 
 
 Descend mysterious on the poet's dreams ! 
 
 There, borne by hov'ring zephyrs thro' the air. 
 
 Returning spring shall wave her dewy hair; 
 
 While Flora, mistress of the milder year, 
 
 Marks ev'ry flow'r she scatters with a tear. 
 
 There, when the gloom of midnight stills the plain?? 
 
 The sacred guardians of immortal strains, 
 
 To ev'ry blast shall bid their tresses flow. 
 
 And pour the sweet majestic sounds of woe ! 
 
 Lives there a virgin in the secret shade, 
 
 Not yet to shame by perjur'd man betray'd ? 
 
 This sacred spot instructed let her tread 
 
 And bend in silent anguish o'er the dead ! 
 
 She once like thee, to hope's gay virion born, 
 
 Shone like the lustre of the dcwv mora ; 
 
 One 
 
( 3 ) 
 
 One hour of guilt, one fatal hour is o'er, 
 
 Lo, youth, and hope, and beauty are no more ! 
 
 Go now in mirth the fleeting hours employ, 
 
 Go snatch the flow'rs of transitory joy! 
 
 Let feast and revelry prolong the night, 
 
 The lyre transport thee, and the dance delight ; 
 
 Yet be one pause of sad reflection giv'n. 
 
 To the low voice of Delia, and of Heav'n ! 
 
 That voice which rises from her dreary tomb, 
 
 And calls thee to its solitary doom ; 
 
 Dims ev'ry taper, palls the mant'ling wine, 
 
 And blasts the wreath, which love and pleasure twine ! 
 
 And thou, oh youth ! whom meditation leads, 
 
 V/ith pensive step, along these glist'ning meads. 
 
 If yet thy bosom unseduc'd, and pure. 
 
 Ne'er worship'd fortune's shrine or pleasure's lure; 
 
 If at the tale ofinnocence opprest. 
 
 Strong indignation struggle in thy breast ; 
 
 If in thy constant soul soft pity glow. 
 
 And foes to virtue be thy only foe, 
 
 Approach this spot, and mark with pitying eyes. 
 
 How low the young, the fair, the gentle lies : 
 
 B 2 Be 
 
( 4 ) 
 
 Be the stern virtue of tliy soul rcsign'd, 
 Let gushing tears attest thy yielding mind ! 
 Swear by the dread avenger of the tomb, 
 Byall thy hopes, by Death's tremendous gloom \ 
 That ne'er by thee deceiv'd, the tender maid 
 Shall mourn her easy confidence betray'd ; 
 Nor weep in secret thy triumphant art. 
 With bitter anguish rankling in her heart. 
 So may each blessing, which impartial fate, 
 Show'rs on the good, biit snatches from the great. 
 Adorn thy favor'd course with rays divine. 
 And heav'n's best gift, a virtu><us love be thine! 
 
 WRITTEN 
 
<5 ) 
 
 WRITTEN DURING A TOUR TO THE 
 WEST OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Hie ipso tecum cousumercr ccvo. 
 
 E ROM-ev-'ry rich and gaudy scene, 
 
 ^Vh^ch crouded capitals display, 
 I court the solitary grton. 
 
 Or o'er the pathlcbs mountains stray. 
 
 From vice, from folly, pomp, and noise. 
 
 On Reason's wings I fly : 
 All hail }e long expected joys 
 
 Of calm tranquillity ! 
 
 At kast in this secure retreat, 
 
 Unvisited by kings. 
 Has virtue llx'd her halcyon seat, 
 
 And freedom waves her wings. 
 
 B 3 O 
 
(6) 
 
 O gentle Lady of the West, 
 
 Whose charms on this, srquester'd shore. 
 With love can fire a stranger's breast ; 
 
 A breast tliat never lov'd before ! 
 
 O tell me, in what silent vale, 
 
 To hail the balmy breath of JMay, 
 Thy tresse^ floating on the gale. 
 
 All simply neat, thou deign st to stray: 
 
 Not such thy look, not such thy air. 
 
 Not such thy unaffectet' grace ; 
 As 'mid the town's deceitful glare, 
 
 Mark the proud nymph s disdainful face. 
 
 Health's rosy bloom upon thy cheek. 
 
 Eyes that with artless lustre roll. 
 More eloquent than words to speak 
 
 The genuine feelings of the soul. 
 
 Such be thy form ! thy noble mind 
 
 By no false culture led astray ; 
 Py native sense alone refin'd 
 
 In reason's plain and simple way. 
 
 Indiff'rent 
 
( 7 ) 
 
 Indiff'rent if the eye of fame, 
 
 Thy merit unobserving see ; 
 And heedless of the praise or blame 
 
 Of all mankind, of all but mc. 
 
 O gentle Lady of the West ! 
 
 To find thee be my only task ; 
 When found, I'll clasp thee to my breast: 
 
 No haughty birth, or dow'r I ask. 
 
 Sequester'd in some secret glade, 
 With thee unnotic'd would I live; 
 
 And if Content adorn the shade, 
 
 What more can Ileav'n or Nature give ? 
 
 Too long deceiv'd by pomp's false glare; 
 
 'Tis thou must soothe ray soul to rest ; 
 'Tis thou must soften ev'ry care, 
 
 O gentle Lady of the West ! 
 
 b4 the 
 
THE FOLLOWING VERSES WERE 
 ADDRESSED TO Mrs. DAY, 
 
 During an absence 0/ afcvi weeks into the North of England, 
 
 JLeT lighter Bards in sportive numbers play, 
 
 "Weave the gay wreath, or join the choral lay. 
 
 Round pleasure's altar fading chaplets twine, 
 
 And deck their temples with the madd'ning vine ! 
 
 My chaster muse selects, for fancy's dream, 
 
 A dearer object, and a nobler theme. 
 
 Tor thee, thou dear companion of my soul ! 
 
 She bids spontaneous numbers artless roll ; 
 
 Nor scorns the sacred lyre, which long had hung 
 
 Forgotten in the shade, untouch'd, unstrung! 
 
 Oh ! while thy friend, thy more than lover strap's 
 
 Thro' this vain world's inexplicable maze, 
 
 Shall not remembrance strive with mimic art, 
 
 To soothe the secret anguish of his heart ? 
 
 Come then, thou friend of solitary care ! 
 
 Unfold the canvas, and the tints prepare; 
 
 Till the fair form in full proportion rise, 
 
 Confest to view, and swim before his eyes ! 
 
 Mai/ 1783. THESE 
 
( 9) 
 
 THESE 
 
 LINES, WRITTEN BY MR. DAY, 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND, 
 
 IFfve thought so applicable to himself, that they "were put 
 upon his oxen Tomb Stone, 
 
 JjEYOND the rage of time, or fortune's pow'r 
 Remain, cold stone ! remain, and mark the hour 
 When all the noblest gifts, which Ileav'n e'er gave. 
 Were center'd in a dark untimely grave. 
 Oh, taught on reason's boldest wings to rise. 
 And catch each glimm'ring of the op'ning skies! 
 Oh, gentle bosom ! oh, unsullied mind ! 
 Oh, friend to truth, to virtue, and mankind ! 
 Thy dear remains we trust to this sad shrine, 
 Secure to feel no second loss like thine ! 
 
 THE 
 
( 10 ) 
 
 THE 
 
 FOLLOWING VERSES WERE WRITT'.N" BY Iliaf, 
 
 Upnn the Death of' Colonel Laurens'. 
 
 JriERE the last prey of that destructive rage 
 
 Which shook the world, and curs'd a guilty age; 
 
 Here youthful Laurens yielded up his breath, 
 
 And seal'd a Nation's Liberties in Death. 
 
 O may that country, which he fought to save. 
 
 Shed sacred tears upon his early grave ! 
 
 And i.\m<i which urg'd hira on to meet his doom, 
 
 Eid all her laurels flourish round his tomb ! 
 
 Eut vain, alas ! to soothe a father's woe, 
 
 Ihe mould'ring trophies glory can bestow ! 
 
 O'er thy sad urn, O much lov'd youth, reclin'd, 
 
 "What fond ideas rusli upon his mind ! 
 
 All, all the hopes thy cliiKlhood could inspire, 
 
 ■Thy youth's mild dawn, thy manhood's active fire \ 
 
 But chief, that i)ative gentleness of soul. 
 
 Which neither war nor passion could controul ! 
 
 Dear lb the human lace, but doubly dear 
 
 To him who pours this tributary tear. 
 
 Who mourns tlie public losses, and his own, 
 
 And with a trcniblin:! hand inscabcs this stone. 
 
 Ma, 
 
( 11 ) 
 
 M R. D A Y, 
 
 lias given a short but pathetic Eulogium of this Yoiin^ 
 Gentleman, in a Note subjoined to his Fragment of a 
 Letter on the Slavery of Negroes ; and he again de- 
 plores the fate of his Friend in ths folloviing VerseSt 
 uhich have beenfonnd among his Papers* 
 
 vjR, by the Delawar's resounding shores, 
 Or, where the Brounx its humble tribute pours. 
 Or, where responsive to the captive's woe. 
 The thund'ring waves of Saratoga flow ; 
 What shrieks of woe were heard along the plain. 
 What tides of gen'rous blood increas'd the main, 
 When Britain's banners, to the winds unroU'd, 
 Shook death and vengeance from each angry fold. 
 And touch'd with sacred rage and freedom's charms, 
 The western world exulting rush'd to arras. 
 
 O fatal 
 
( 12 ) 
 
 O fatal fields ! uliere civil discord gave 
 Such wide destruction to the kindred brave ; 
 Strewn o'er your deserts, bleak and wili iLe^ lie. 
 Expob'd to ev'ry blast that chills the sky. 
 Thither the screaming falcon wings his way. 
 Thither the wolf, and ev'ry beast of prey ; 
 Loud howls the forest to the savage roar. 
 And the fell eagle bathes his plumes in gore. 
 There oft as ev'ning lights her paly lamp, 
 And shrouds the drear expanse with mantle damp, 
 The wand'ring peasant stops, with fear aghast. 
 To htar ideal wailings in the blast ; 
 \\ hile gliding o'er the melancholy green, 
 I'hc angry ghosts of mighty chiefs are teen ; 
 Backward he turns his stops, nor dares to tread 
 The dreadful haunts of ihc majestic dead. 
 
 r>ut ah ! no soiinds that sadden in the wind, 
 Ko shadowy forms can daunt the virgin's mind, 
 'J hat nightly wander's o'er the gloomy plain. 
 To seek with pious steps a lover slain — 
 From blazing hearths and cheerful roof she flies, 
 Despiiir and madness blended in her eyes, 
 'ihe wiiitiy tempest lifts her floating hair, 
 Iluwli round licr head, and chills her b^som bare; 
 
 Whik 
 
( IS ) 
 
 While reckless she of comfort, and of life. 
 
 Hears nor regards the elemental strife; 
 
 But stretch'd, unhappy mourner ! on the ground, 
 
 Bends o'er the dead, and kisses ev'ry wound. 
 
 In vain the rising raorn dispels the dew. 
 
 The rising morn beholds her grief renew ; 
 
 In vain returning shades of night debcc-nd, 
 
 No shades of night shall give her sorrows end; 
 
 Till Death, in pity, wings his blunted dint. 
 
 And life's last tide is frozen at her heart. 
 
 O fatal fields ! tho' many a warrior*s ghost 
 Has wing'd his flight untimely from your coast j 
 Did ynu e'er view a nobler victim slain. 
 To glut the bloody rites of Freedom's fane. 
 Than when the valiant Laurens met his doom, 
 And sunk, lamented, to an early tomb ? 
 
 AN 
 
( 14 ) 
 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 y HT once again, in yonder myrtle bow'rs, 
 Whence rose-lipp'd zephyrs, hov'ring, shed perfume^ 
 
 I weave the painted radiance of the flow'rs. 
 And press coy Nature in her days of bloom. 
 
 Shall she, benignant, to the wond'ring eyes 
 Of the lone hermit all her charms unfold ? 
 
 Or, gemm'd with dew, bid her gay florets rise 
 To grace the rustic master of the fold ? 
 
 Shall these possess her bright, her fragrant store. 
 These snatch the wreath, by plaitic Nature wove. 
 
 Nor wanton summer yield one garland more 
 To grace the bwsoin of the nymph I love ? 
 
 For 
 
( 15 ) 
 
 For she shall come ; with her each sister grace, 
 With her the kindred pow'rs of harmony, 
 
 The deep recesses of the grove shall trace, 
 And hang with flow'rs each consecrated tree. 
 
 Blithe Fancy too shall spread her glitt'ring plumes. 
 She loves the white cliffs of Britannia's isle. 
 
 She loves the spot where infant Genius blooms, 
 
 She loves the spot, where Peace and Freedom smile. 
 
 Unless her aid the mimic queen bestow, 
 In vain fresh garlands the low vales adorn ; 
 
 In vain with brighter tints the florets glow, 
 Or dewdrops sparkle on the brow of morn. 
 
 Opes not one blossom to the spicy gale, 
 
 Throws not one elm its moss- wreath'd branches wide. 
 Wanders no rill thro' the luxuriant vale, 
 ; Or, glist'ning, rushes down the mountain side. 
 
 But thither, with the morning's earliest ray, 
 
 Fancy has win^'d her ever-mazy flight. 
 
 To liymn wild carols to returning day. 
 
 And catch the fairest beams of orient light. 
 
 Proud 
 
( 16 ) 
 
 Proud of the theft she mounts her lucid car. 
 Her car the rainbow's painted arch supplies ; 
 
 Her swift wing'd steeds unnumber'd loves prepare. 
 An countless zephyrs waft her thro' the skies. 
 
 There, while her bright wheels pause in cloudless air. 
 She waves the magic sceptre of command, 
 
 And all her flatt'ring visions, wild as fair. 
 Start into life beneath the potent wand. 
 
 Here, proudly nodditigo'er the vale below. 
 High rocks of pearl reflect the morning ray, 
 
 Whence gushing streams of azure neclBr flow. 
 And tinge the trickling herbage on their way. 
 
 These, cull'd from ev'ry mountain, ev'ry plain, 
 Perennial fiow'rs the ambient air perfume. 
 
 Far off stem Boreas holds his drear dnm;iin, 
 
 Nor chaiiis the streams, nor bliglits llic sacied bloom. 
 
 1 hro all the year, in copse and tangled dale. 
 
 Lone Philomel her song to Venus pouis, 
 
 Wiuit lime pale Lv'ning spreads the dewy veil, 
 
 \Viiat lime the rod Morn b!u^hcs on the shores. 
 
 Illusive 
 
( 17 ) 
 
 Illusive visions ! O, not here, — not here. 
 Does Spring eternal hold her placid reign^ 
 
 Already Boreas chills the alt' ring year, 
 
 And blasts the purple daughters of the plain. 
 
 So fade my promis'd joys! — fair scenes of bliss, 
 
 Ideal scenes, too long believ'd in vain, 
 Plung'd down and swallow'd deep in Time's abyss ! — 
 
 So veering Chance, and ruthless fates ordain. 
 
 Thee, Laura, thee, by fount, or mazy stream. 
 Or thicket rude, unpress'd by human feet, 
 
 I sigh, unheeded, to the moon's pale beam ; 
 Thee, Laura, thee, the echoing hills repeat. 
 
 Oh ! long of billows wild, and winds the sport. 
 Seize, seize the safe asylum that remains ! 
 
 Here Truth, Love. Freedom, Innocence resort, 
 And offer long oblivion to thy pains. 
 
 When panting, gasping, breathless, on the strand 
 The shipwreck'd mariner reclines his breasr. 
 
 Say, bhall he scorn the hospitable hand. 
 That points to safety, liberty, and rest ? 
 
 C But 
 
( 58 ) 
 
 But IhoUf too soon forgetful of past woe, 
 
 Again would'st tempt the winds, and treacherous sea; 
 Ah ! shall the raging blast forget to blow. 
 
 Shall ev*ry wintry storm be hush'd for thee ? 
 
 Not so ! I dread the elemental war, 
 
 Too soon, too soun the calm, deceitful, flies ; 
 
 1 hear the blast come whistling from afar> 
 I see the tempest gath'nng in the skies. 
 
 Yet let the tempest roar ! — love scorns all harms, 
 I plunge amid the storm, resolv'd to save; 
 
 This hour, at least, I clasp thee in my arms> 
 Ihe ?icxt let ruin ioin us in the srave. 
 
 VERSES-, 
 
( J9 ) 
 
 VERSES, 
 
 ADDRESSCP 
 
 TO FREEDOM. 
 
 " A most notorious villain, 
 
 To see the sufferings of my fellow creatures. 
 And own myself a man ; to see our senators 
 Cheat the deluded people with a shew 
 Of Liberty, which yet they ne'er must taste of." 
 
 Venice Preserved, 
 
 vV HETHER reclining on the mouldering tomb 
 Of murder'd Brutus, where Italia's shore, 
 Dash'd by the foaming deep, exalts her head 
 Above the raging waves, thou mourn'st the cries 
 Of Virtue sinking with his Gate's fall ; 
 Or brooding o'er the ruins of ihy Greece, 
 Sit'st in triumphant state on the wild rocks, 
 Which overhang, with gloomy shade, the fields 
 Of slaughter dy'd Thermopyla: ; what time 
 
 c 2 The 
 
( 20 ) 
 
 The North-wind rages o'er the swelling seas, 
 
 And howls along the main : while equal horrors 
 
 Rise in thy mind, and wake its slumbering fires. 
 
 Where'er thou dcign'st to dwell, from war, from deaths 
 
 From gasping Patriots, and eelf-murder'd Chiefs, 
 
 Once more, O Goddess ! spread thy fostering plumes, 
 
 And wing thy rapid way along the sky 
 
 To Gallia's shores; wiih thee the sister arts, 
 
 With thee shall science swell her lettcr'd page, 
 
 Rich with the spoils of Time, while Virtue's hand 
 
 Expands the Laws of Heaven to human kind. 
 
 Fragrant the morning breaihes along the vale ; 
 
 Soft trill the mountain lark's aerial notes ; 
 
 The swallow twitters from her straw built nest. 
 
 While the white swan, with more majestic pride. 
 
 Exalts her snowy breast above the wave. 
 
 And stems the sun gilt pool; for thou art there. 
 
 Thy presence animates the glowing fields. 
 
 Smiles through the grove, upborne on Zephyr's W'ing, 
 
 And dances on the stream ; the finny race 
 
 Catch the soi't joy, and with transi)arcnt fins 
 
 Kow cut the surface of the glassy flood, 
 
 Kow plunge amidst the deeps, then rising dart 
 
 Their silver brightness into upper air : 
 
 *Tis Heaven born Liberty inspires the whole. 
 
 The 
 
( 21 ) 
 
 TiM2 various animals upon the earth, 
 
 With those tliat skim the air, or dive the main* 
 
 Thy potent magic influence obey. 
 
 The first chief principle of all around, 
 
 To Freedom stamp'd by Nature's forming hand ; 
 
 Her characters indelible inspire, 
 
 A love superior to xhtt life, which breathes 
 
 Through the dull clod, and animates f/icir clay. 
 
 Thine, Goddess, is the chaiui whose stable force 
 
 Connects the world, and like the central point 
 
 Attracts all earthly beings to itself. 
 
 With unresisting power, eternal sway ! 
 
 Beneath the fiery radiance of the sun, 
 
 Wheie glow the Lybian plains, and torrid zone, 
 
 "Where nor green tree, with wide extended shade, 
 
 Invites the traveller to calm lepose ; 
 
 Nor bubbling fountain murmurs in the ear 
 
 With health distilling draughts, but endless plagues 
 
 Eage o'er the barren soil, and whirlwinds sweep 
 
 The gath'ring atoms of collected sands 
 
 Along the groaning desart, there, e'en there. 
 
 Thy voice still echoes through the gloomy wilds, 
 
 And fires the serpent's rage. Aloft he rears 
 
 ilis shining back, which with resplendent scales 
 
 c 3 Reflects 
 
( 22 ) 
 
 Reflects the dazzling ray ; dreadful he gleams 
 Along the scorching waste, with monst'rous folds, 
 Threat'ning destruction ; from his angry eyes 
 Fla^h sparks of horrid flame ; so thro' the bky 
 The Comet tolls an hideous length, around 
 Shrink the pale stars before its baiictul fires. 
 Instinct through all is free, but man alone 
 The boasted Lord of Reason bows bcfure 
 Ambition's tott'ring mound, submits his back 
 And bears the oppressive load : the fierce driver 
 (Proudly exulting) shakes the \\ hilling whip. 
 And strains the tight'ning rein : around him throng 
 The many headed crowd, while srriatori, 
 Tribunes, prefects, nay and soldiers too. 
 Deify a foreign base usurper, 
 For his treaclitry., and emuloasly strive 
 To pave his way to empire, plcas'd to shew 
 Their badge of baseness, and uiuiiunly chains. 
 How long, O Goddess, shall France mourn in vain 
 Thy sacred presence, and with fruitless rage 
 Strain the xiie bonds, •uhick bind her fast to shame ? 
 But why in vain ? Yet, yet, the freeborn soul, 
 Shall rise vindictive, triumph o'er her chains, 
 Ileplume her soaring wings, re-urge her flight. 
 
 Ana 
 
( 23 ) 
 
 And trample on oppression : like the flame 
 
 Which heap'd with crackling faggots yields awhile, 
 
 Till bursting sudden through the opposing pile, 
 
 Again it blazes in the face of day 
 
 With tenfold rage, not vai.quish'd, but opprest. 
 
 Tremble ye sons of Rapine, tremble all 
 
 Who dare betray theircountry ; vrnal souls 
 
 Whose God is gain ! who dare to hear the cries^ 
 
 Of Liberty, nor hasten to her aid. 
 
 How shall ye meet her frown ? How stand the shock, 
 
 When arm'd with terror, and array 'd in light. 
 
 She marches forth, her head above the clouds, 
 
 And shakes the dreadful lash of Conscience down? 
 
 Down to the depths of hell ; bid mountains crush, 
 
 Seas swell, and billows rise to hide your crimes ; 
 
 Bid night obscure them in her murky veil, 
 
 And clouds of ten-fold darkness Chaos press. 
 
 Amidst the fall of vvorlds, and general wreck. 
 
 In vain, where e'er she comes, gloom disappears, 
 
 Seas part their waves, and leave the wond'ring shores 
 
 Forth from the black abyss, and formless mass, 
 
 Perennial Beauty smiles, and Order lifts 
 
 Her blooming head, with verdant laurels crown'd. 
 
 4- O Goddess 
 
( 24 ) 
 
 O flocldess from the uncultur'd wild. 
 Where thron'd in savage state, thou smil'st to see 
 The untutiir'd Indian hurl his flint arm'd snear, 
 And mock at tortures, with a soul more firm 
 Than all the boasted heroes, which adorn 
 The annals of antiquity, what time 
 The Roman greatness aw'd the cow'ring world, 
 Haste thou, and dreadful cast thy vengeful bolt ; 
 Dash Gallia's trcach'rous spoilers from their pride ; 
 Give indepcndance to her conquer'd states. 
 On the firm base of justice, truth, and virtue, 
 lie-mould her present abject government. 
 Grant her a Ie-.s tyrannick monarchy, 
 A sovereign, mild, fix'd, hereditary, 
 One too selected from the Bouibon race, 
 Grant this, if not for (heir superior merit, 
 In pity to good Louia' unjust snff' rings. 
 Then re-instate thy long expected sway, 
 Tp rule mankind, and bid the world adore. 
 
 VERSES 
 
( 25 ) 
 
 VERSES 
 
 Addressed to a Young Ladj/, bv the same^ 1775. 
 
 Innocent and miUly gay. 
 
 As flovv'rs that deck the brow of May, 
 
 Cheeks that shame the op'ning rose, 
 
 And bosom where the lilly blows, 
 
 Ev'ry love and ev'ry grace. 
 
 Are seen in Hannah's form and face; 
 
 But ah! what words can paint her mind. 
 
 By ev'ry gentle art refin'd ? 
 
 Dignity with female ease, 
 
 The will with all the pow'rs to please ! 
 
 Syren sounds that charm the ear. 
 
 Wisdom that the sage might hear ! 
 
 Sounds where Venus did impart 
 
 All her own resistless art, 
 
 And 
 
(26) 
 
 And tempt the good, the wise, the brave, 
 To wear her cliains, and be a slave. 
 
 Pity that misfortune nigh, 
 Melts with teais the glist'ning eye, 
 And matchless faith untaught to range. 
 And constancy that knows no change ! 
 O what happy youth shall be, 
 Deslin'd lovely maid for thee ? 
 For him the rosy pinion'd hours 
 Shall strew life's thorny path with flow'rs ; 
 Ev'ry smiling morn shall bring 
 jNIatchless blessings on its wing! 
 A.nd each returning ev'ning shed 
 Content and peace, to smooth his bed! 
 But I, alas! must see those charms 
 Consign'd to bless another's arms! 
 Perhaps some more accomplish'd youth, 
 That wants my tenderness and truth ! 
 Whose breast ne'er knew the secret pain. 
 To love like me, and love in vain. 
 
 IN 
 
(27 ) 
 
 IN PRAISE OF 
 
 HORATIUS COCLES. 
 
 A cekhrated Roman, the p^ntoft/pe, T trust, of almost every^ 
 armed Citizen of (he Brithh Empire, as almost every 
 armfd British Litiztn Tsuuld. I have nu doubt., on a simi- 
 lar oceasion, an event scarce possible to happen, prove 
 himself an Horatius Codes, or an Horatio kelson. 
 
 I ET a '^hort space, and o'er the fatal oround 
 
 Destruciive iMars lull deal his sliafts around ; 
 
 While Death- exuitins o'er the streaming plain. 
 
 Grows rich in blood, and riots in the slain. 
 
 In close -Acdg'd ranks advance the hostile Powers, 
 
 And pale Rome trembles from her loflie'^t tow'rs. 
 
 What then, shall fell ambition swallow all, 
 
 Shall haughty 'larq-uiu reign, and Freedom tall? 
 
 Shall Rome now feel a tyrant's vengeful blow. 
 
 And plunge still deeper in the gulph of woe ? 
 
 Forbid it, lleav'n ! thou too Porsenna spare. 
 
 If suff'ring Virtue can deserve thy care ! 
 
 Yet, yet be firm and dare th« storm ! thy fate 
 
 Shall rise superior to the tj/rant's hate. 
 
 Shall 
 
( 28 ) 
 
 Shall meet the rapid whirlwind in its course, 
 
 'Not fear wieqiidl arms, or mightier force. 
 
 Thus 'midst the wintry storms>, while Boreas flies 
 
 O'er groaning earth, and shoots athwart the skies; 
 
 While the pale garden withers, by its side 
 
 Blooms the green iir-tiee in perennial pride. 
 
 Fair "\'irtue interpos'd, her succour gave, 
 
 And snatch'd her fav'rite from oblivion's wave, 
 
 Knthron'd in Heaven^ with a prophetic mind, 
 
 She saw proud banners waving in the wind ; 
 
 Saw nodding helmets, close compactt;d shields, 
 
 And Tarquin's legions scou'ring o'er the fieldi. 
 
 Swift as the lightning, flew the heav'nly guest, 
 
 And fix'd her dwelling in Cocles's breast. 
 
 Here while her potent force the soul inspires, 
 
 lloratius burns with more than mortal fires. 
 
 Thus thro' the mantling gloom, and shades of night, 
 
 Shines pallid Cynthia, with reflected light, 
 
 And cheers the dusky orb ; with gentle beam 
 
 Gilds the dark trees, and dances on the stream. 
 
 But panick struck, behold the Romans fly, 
 
 The battle rages, and the foe draws nigh, 
 
 AVhile 
 
( 29 ) 
 
 While Codes leaning on his warlike Fpear, 
 
 Thus reasons with himself, unmov'd by fearj 
 
 *' Should force united, vet'ran legions fail. 
 
 Can single valour turn the sinking scale ; 
 
 Alone, unaided bhall I dare to stand. 
 
 And meet the fury of yon hostile band ? 
 
 Or to insulting Tarquin yield the day, 
 
 And follow where Rome's warriors lead the way^ 
 
 Fly to the city with unmanly dread, 
 
 By base born fear, and coward torrors led : 
 
 Where trembling temples from their spiry height. 
 
 Where Gods and Liberty upbraid my flight ; 
 
 No : dearer than myself, and father's shade. 
 
 When Rome and Liberty demand my aid, 
 
 Not like a coward shall Horatius fly 
 
 The field, wliere glory calls, and fear to die. 
 
 If to a tyrant such success is giv'n. 
 
 If Liberty can find no friend in Heav'n, 
 
 If to my pray'rs averse, the God's command 
 
 That Rome must perish, by a tyrant's hand. 
 
 That foreign hands must wrap her tow'rs in flame; 
 
 1.(1 me first fall, nor vicvo nnj counirfs shame ; 
 
 Dash'd on some rock, whlch,vvhile rough whirlwinds biow, 
 
 Frowns dreadful on the wat'ry plii.ii;s below ; 
 
 'xMid.t 
 
{SO) 
 
 'Midst adverse legions and encounl'ring foes. 
 Where the fight rages, and the battle glows, 
 With dauntless, heart to perish do I go." 
 The hero spoke, then rush'd upon the foe. 
 And pois'd the dart of death, and twang'd the deadly 
 bow. 
 
 ! 
 
 AK 
 
AN APOLOGY. 
 
 Seeing with the partial eye of enthusiastic Friend- 
 ship, I can discern very few defects in the following 
 Poetry of Mrs. Day, but to those whj see through 
 a diflfercnt medium, I think it necessary to say this, 
 which I can vouch for the truth of; that INI is. Day 
 wrote almost all the following pieces of Poetry, between 
 eleven and fifteen,during her vacations from Mrs.Dennis's 
 justly celebrated Female Boarding School, in Queen- 
 Square, and therefore, her juvenile age, and her having 
 no professional Master or Mistress to correct what 
 she had written, vkill, I trust, be a sufficient apology 
 for any imperfections that may appear in the language, 
 vcrsilication, or ideas. 
 
 As 
 
( 32 ) 
 
 ^\s to her Themes, and miscellaneous Prose produc- 
 tluctions, which I mean to publish some lime or other, 
 iNIrs. Day, or more properly speakinir, JMiss Milnes, 
 wrote with such fluency and perspicuity, that they re- 
 quired scarce any coriecting. The clearness and fer- 
 tility of her understanding, her chaste judgment, an«l 
 volubility of language, made her almost infallible in 
 Prose. 
 
 Like Cowley, the Muse inspired Miss Milnes at a very 
 
 early period, but she did not, like that much admired 
 Bard, continue through life to cultivate her genius for 
 making verses. Though she was to her death passionately 
 fond of the poetic Muse, 1 cannot find a single piece 
 of her Poetry written after sixteen. 
 
 Probably Miss Milnes's poetical flowering shrub, ne- 
 ver having the oak like vigour of Cowley's, was exhausted 
 by blossoming so early, and from its premature growth, 
 united to its extreme delicacy, the frequent result of 
 shrubs or phuus growing too fast, at the first rude touch 
 of envious ciilicism, ehi unk up, withered, and died. 
 
 Or 
 
(63) 
 
 Or, Apollo thinking the poor puny shrub not worth 
 shlnihg upon, might withdraw, in a fit of contemptuous 
 passion, his all fostering rays, and by that, occasion 
 Miss Milnes's poetical blossoms, like the flower of the 
 convolvolus, to close their petals, as if for grief at the 
 sun's departure. And her poetical shrub might not 
 re-blossom, because Apollo seemed, in her mind, to 
 have set, never again to irradiate her Ma^e. 
 
 Indeed, it is most probable Miss Milnes, being naturally 
 very diffident, had such a humble opinion of her poeti- 
 cal talents, as induced her to imagine she should never 
 arrive at that perfection she wished to attain to, in every 
 thing where the mind was concerned, and therefore bid 
 an eternal adieu to poetising. 
 
 From whatever cause it has proceeded, I must own 
 I have been equally astoniihcd and sorry that so early 
 a poetical impulse, and of so promising a nature, should 
 have been so soon blighted ; and I was the more sur- 
 prised, as Master Apollo has not deigned to illume my poe- 
 try for some years, if ever he darted a single ray of light 
 upon it, which I much doubt myself, when I read it ; 
 D yet 
 
(34) 
 
 yet I have endeavoured occasionally to supply tlie want 
 of his cherishing beams, by working up my poetical fer» 
 vor to an unusual glow ; from thinking, whatever other 
 people may imagine, that I have by fits and staris, a 
 tolerable good knack at versifying, and possess some 
 small share of poetic fire. 
 
 I shall incorporate Mrs. Day's poetry with her Hus- 
 band's, by numbering the pages as if it were a conti- 
 nuation of his, (though all INI r. Day's detached pieces 
 of poetry worth publishing I have now printed,) because, 
 as in life their whole souls were wrapped up in each 
 other, I think it congenial with their mutual ardent 
 affection, that their minds embodied, as it were, by 
 printing their poetry, should appear united upon paper ; 
 and 1 am sure, if their departed spirits could see what 
 was doing here below, and had no objection to roy 
 printing a few of their poetical blossoms, they would 
 approve of such an union. 
 
 It was from the extraordinary similarity in their taste, 
 disposition, and understanding, from their heaits and 
 minds being so exactly in unison, that I have not written 
 
 an 
 
( 35 ) 
 
 fin epitaph or memento of INIrs. Day's death, and not 
 from want of poetic inspiration, or zealous affection ; 
 I considered an epitaph on her, would be only an enu- 
 meration of similar virtuous qualities with those of her 
 deceased Husband, and therefore, though her death was 
 as heartfelt, irreparable a loss to her friends as her Hus- 
 band's to his, I did not give way to the impulse of grief 
 by writing one, supposing what I had said of INIr. Day's 
 mind and disposition in my epitaph upon him, would 
 apply as much to his surviving wife, as to himself, 
 touching all those excellent and great mental qualifica- 
 tions, which may be alike possessed by either sex. I 
 have therefore always considered my verses on ivIr.Day's 
 death, in some measure as applicable to both. 
 
 The pleasing simplicity which prevails through 
 Mrs. Day's poetry, whatever its poetical merits may be, 
 is an exact and faithful representation of the genuine 
 goodness of her heart, and the unaffected simjilicity of 
 her manners, as all who had the pleasure of knowing her 
 will acknowledge ; which characteristic occasioned her 
 an unusual number of sincere female friends, ardent 
 in their friendship to her, as the sun at noon-day. Her 
 D 2 piety 
 
piety too, which forms so distinguishing a feature ia 
 almost all her juvenile productions, appears as ardent 
 as their friendship; 
 
 That her friendship kept pace with that of her friendS) 
 and throbbed with as strong and quick pulses, I am 
 thoroughly convinced of from my own experience. 
 
{ 37 ) 
 
 Characters of some of Mrs. Day*s most inti- 
 mate Friendsy written xvhen she xvas 
 J^aurteen* 
 
 CHARACTER of MISS A. W, 
 
 A PURE exalted Soul, that's richly fraught 
 With native sense, and dignity of thought : 
 Tun'd to those finer feelings of the breast, 
 By numbers feign'd, but ah ! by few possest. 
 Her's, tender softness niix'd with gen'rous fire. 
 And all that heartfelt goodness can inspire. 
 Her friendship strong, and ardent as her soul* 
 Fix'd as magnetic needle to the Pole ; 
 Whilst scorning all the varying forms of ait, 
 Truth is the sacred inmate of her heart. 
 Thus would my pen that mental image trace, 
 \^■hich nothing e'er can from my mind efface. 
 
 » 3 CHARACTEl. 
 
( 33 ) 
 
 CHARACTER OF 
 MISS P. W. . 
 
 In her die head and heart their treasures blend, 
 
 "With sense to charm, and worth to fix the friend, 
 
 Enlighten'd knowledge, deep reflexion join'd 
 
 To polish'd taste, and elegance of mind. 
 
 Her virtues flow, pure from their parent source^ 
 
 Religion's vital, animating force ; 
 
 And all her passions Reason's voice obey, 
 
 The willing captives of such gentle sway. 
 
 Iho' oft iiaable to relieve distress. 
 
 She feels the warm expanded wish to bless. 
 
 That sacred wish ascends the realms above, 
 
 A grateful cff'ring to the God of Love. 
 
 CIIAUACTEU 
 
( 39 ) 
 
 CHARACTER OF 
 Mrs. M. 
 
 JlIER breast is Virtue's mansion, where \vc find 
 Each blight intrinsic jewel of the mind. 
 There humble wisdom, piety reside, 
 Sweet artless goodness, unalloy'd with pride, 
 Indulgent candour, which delights to praise. 
 To veil a weakness, and a virtue raise, 
 A patient mildness, from resentment free. 
 Quick to forgive offence, and slow to see. 
 A Christian temper, studious to compose 
 The jarring passions of mistaken foes ; 
 Blest by the lips of him whose soul was love, 
 And all the gentle meekness of the dove ; 
 This groupe of moral graces, to complete, 
 Jrler heart is love's, maternal friendship's scat, 
 
 d4 CJIARACTER 
 
( 40 ) 
 
 CHARACTER OF Mrs. J. K. 
 
 xSLEST with a spotless heart, a judgment clear, 
 
 Tho' learned humble, tho* polite sincere; 
 
 Chearful as sprightly youth, discreet and sage 
 
 As deep discerning, all experienc'd age ; .. /-. 
 
 Tender and soft as woman ought to be, 
 
 And yet fiom ev'ry female weakness free ; 
 
 Her soul adorn'd with native strength of thought, 
 
 And with each elegant refinement fraught. 
 
 Her piety a principle divine, 
 
 "Which does in living, active goodness shine, 
 
 No rigid melancholy aspect wears. 
 
 But dicst in smiles, its genuine garb, appears. 
 
 How sweetly she exerts her utmost pow'rs. 
 
 To gild an aged parent's joyless hours, 
 
 Tries with endearing heart to soothe her pains 1 
 
 And bless declining worn-out life's remains : 
 
 Such Delia is, oh ! be bhe ever blest ! 
 
 But blest she must be, her applauding breast. 
 
 That pleasing source of ev'ry new delight, 
 
 Will brighten weeping sorrow's dismal nighf. 
 
 Or the dull languid bed of sickness cheer, 
 
 Soften each pang, and tranquillize each fear. 
 
 CHARACTER 
 
(41 ) 
 
 CHARACTER OF THE 
 Rev. Mr. T. 
 
 /\ SOUL enlarg'd, above each selfish aim, 
 
 Which soars to loftier views than mortal fame ; 
 
 In whom the vaiious sciences unite, 
 
 To beam with soften'd, and instructive light; 
 
 The Saint, and. the Philosopher combine. 
 
 And all Religion's mildest beauties shine. 
 
 While from his lips, fair truth and knowledge flow, 
 
 Too great, too wise, for learned pomp, and show, 
 
 — We see the Christian's unassuming grace, 
 
 Adorn his manners, stampt upon his face. ^ 
 
 The warm diffusive love of human kind, 
 
 Sweetens, expands, and elevates his mind. 
 
 He can with noble scorn of baseness glow. 
 
 Yet melt with pity for another's woe. ^ 
 
 A faithful pattern of his heav'nly Lord, -p 
 
 At once he teaches, practises his Word. ry 
 
 The man, the preacher, both conspire to prove, .q 
 
 The Go.'pel breathes Benevoknce, and Love. .,g 
 
 TO 
 
( 4G ) 
 
 TO I\IISS W. 
 WITH ]\1Y PICTURE, 
 
 J. nOU child of painting's mimic pencil go, 
 A well known face to dear Alicia shew, 
 And could thy lips by magic influence move, 
 Thou should'bt declare my cordial friendly love. 
 Tho* not encircled with the diamond's blaze, 
 The glowing ruby, cr the em'rald's rays, 
 I know to souls like her's, a faithful friend 
 Does all luxurious grandeur's gems transcend, 
 And she the humble gift will fondly prize. 
 That holds a friend's resemblance to her eyes. 
 Oh 1 may it call our social houis to mind. 
 Revive each pleasing trace they left behind ; 
 While faithful images of past delight, 
 ]libc in succession to her mental sight ; 
 
 Our 
 
( 43 ) ' 
 
 Our winter ev'nings rational, and gay, 
 
 Which converse, books, so sweetly stole away ; 
 
 When fair historic Truth enlargM our views. 
 
 Or tun'd to rapture by the hcav'nly muse, 
 
 ^Ve tasted pleasures only friendship knows, 
 
 Beyond wliate'er from dissipation flows. 
 
 And sure my friend's affection will suggest, 
 
 The same fond ardent wish which warms my breast^ 
 
 That we may shortly meet, and Friendship's pow'r 
 
 Again lend downy wings to many an hour. 
 
 VF.nSES 
 
(44 ) 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN IN A GARDEN, 
 
 JVken Miss ill, was not more than twelve years, of age. 
 
 Once on a day, when Sol's bright beanx 
 Made ev'ry thing more beauteous seem. 
 When Nature's face serenely smil'd, 
 A father, with his only child, 
 Walk'd in a garden's soft retreat, 
 Of ev'ry blooming grace the seat ; 
 Where the fond parent silence broke. 
 And thus to his fair daughter spoke* 
 " You see this garden now, my dear. 
 Where choices-t flow'rs and shrubs appear; 
 Where Art and Nature both combine; 
 On ev'ry spot some beauties shine. 
 This does most evidently shew 
 What we to care and culture owe. 
 Your mind will no less care demand, 
 Ycb, culture's finest, nicest band 
 
 Should 
 
 i^m^ 
 
 ,:,» 
 
(45) 
 
 Should nurse the seeds of wisdom, worthy 
 And call each fair production forth : 
 For what avails the happiest soil, 
 If we bestow not useful toil ? 
 Tho' noblest plants might flourish there, 
 Yet when neglected, weeds appear. 
 Regard yon op'ning rose, he cry'd. 
 See how it blooms in beauteous pride. 
 The fairest of the flow'ry race, 
 Adorn'd with each attractive grace : 
 But ah ! what now so charms thy eye. 
 Will soon, alas ! ungather'd die ; 
 Or by some hand be snatoliM away, 
 Perhaps some child's, in harmless playj 
 Thus 'tis with each external charm. 
 The transient beauties of a form, 
 Soon they desert the biightest maid, 
 And all her vain attractions fade. 
 Then while improvement's in thy pow'r. 
 Seek virtue, that immo'' taljlow'?' : 
 It yields, my Child, the best perfume. 
 And wears an undicaying bloom, 
 It will survive e'en nature, time, 
 And flourish in a heav'nly clime. 
 
 ?ippin| 
 
(46) 
 
 Sipping .each flow'r, behold yon bee, 
 
 An emblem of man's industry; 
 
 Whilst now the sun with gentle ray, 
 
 Serenely gilds the beauteous day. 
 
 From flow'r to flow'r how does she fly. 
 
 And load with sweets her little thigh ! 
 
 Each shrub, each plant how she explores. 
 
 And gently sucks their fragrant stores ! 
 
 Of youth's bright sunshine profit then, 
 
 It ne'er, alas ! will come again. 
 
 Of the fair season make the most, 
 
 And let it not be idly lost. 
 
 With wisdom's sweets, oh, store thy mind. 
 
 Her honey thou in age wilt find. 
 
 You see, if we attentive look, 
 
 On Nature's universal book. 
 
 We may the finest lessons learn. 
 
 And wisdom's characters discern ; 
 
 In plants and flow'rs instruction find; 
 
 An insect can inform the mind. 
 
 And ev'ry thing in nature may, 
 
 Some useful, moral truth con\cy.''' 
 
 To 
 
( 47 ) 
 
 To Miss M/s 
 BROTHER IN LAW, MR. L. 
 
 Written when she zvas about fifteen. 
 
 You say, when plerc'd witli pow'rful Cupid's dart. 
 
 No more I'll cherish Thyrsis in my heart ; 
 
 If true, oh, never, never, may I prove. 
 
 The force tyrannic of imperious love. 
 
 Approach me not, monopolizing guest. 
 
 If thou must banish Friendship from my breast ; 
 
 For genuine Friendship is a sacred flame. 
 
 Which not the strictest purity can blame. 
 
 Long be thy friendly converse Thyrsis mine, 
 
 AVhich spotless virtue, polish'd sense refine. 
 
 And when sharp sorrow wounds thy feeling heart. 
 
 Then let me bear a sympathising part. 
 
 yes,'beit my delightful task, to chtcr 
 
 Thy upright mind, and wipe the dewy tear, 
 
 Assuage thy grief, with comfort's healing balm. 
 
 And hush thy ev'ry tempest to a calm: 
 
 May I each kind, parental ofike share, 
 
 And guard thy offspring with maternal care. 
 
 Oh, 
 
(48 ) 
 
 Oh, with what nameless joy shall 1 behoUI 
 
 Gradual, their tender, infant minds unfold ! 
 
 Whilst thou do'st nurse their intellectual seeds. 
 
 And train them up to moral, manly deeds, 
 
 Illume their souls with wisdom's heav'nly ray. 
 
 And guide their steps to Virtue's sacred way. 
 
 Thus blest, my friend, what more can earth bestow. 
 
 What purer bliss can thy Louisa know ? 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a bliss superior far to all 
 
 The world's unthinking vot'ries pleasure call. 
 
 Permit me now, dear Thyrsis, in thine ear. 
 
 To breathe the wishes of a heart sincere. 
 
 * May'st thou be blest with blooming, constant health. 
 
 And ev'ry joy that flows from mod'rate wealth. 
 
 May all thy days of life serenely roll, 
 
 And bright Contentment sweetly gild thy soul. 
 
 At length arriv'd at life's remotest stage, 
 
 Mature in ev'ry virtue, as in age, 
 
 May'st thou with calmness yield thy pariing breatli> 
 
 And gently sink into the shades of death. 
 
 Then thy freed spirit, wing its eagle flight. 
 
 To the bright regions of eternal light ; 
 
 There meet enraptur'd, tliy lamented wife, 
 
 Once the sweet solace of her partner's life* 
 
(49 ) 
 
 The follozoingi written after the pia chase of 
 TRISTRAM SHANDY, 
 
 Written by Miss M. •when about sixteen, 
 
 x\S high on his celestial throne, 
 
 The great Apollo radiant shone, 
 
 Surrounded by the sacred Nine, 
 
 The Graces and the Arts divine; 
 
 Whilst balmy, swift-wing'd Zephyrs bear 
 
 The pray'rs of mortals to his ear. 
 
 Who court his bi'ight inspiring flam« 
 
 To crown their work, with deathless fame; 
 
 A white rob'd Nymph, with blushing face, 
 
 With downcast eyes, and modest grace. 
 
 Her charms obscur'd by sorrow's cloud, 
 
 Before the Godhead humbly bow'd. 
 
 With soft timidity she spoke, 
 
 And thus the gen'ral silence broke. 
 
 ' Great God of wit, so much adoi'd, 
 
 By thousands honor'd, and implor'd ; 
 
 Dread infamy is in thy frown, 
 
 And in thy gracious smiles renown; 
 
 But 
 
( 50 > 
 
 But say, will bright Apollo deign 
 T' inspire the wanton and obscene j 
 V/ill he not blast them with his ire ? 
 And ne'er bestow his heav'nly fire, 
 On tho^e who Chastity profane, 
 IMy snow white mantle rudely stain, 
 And tear my hallorw'd veil away. 
 To which the virtuous rev'rence pay. 
 One son, one darling son is thine, 
 In whom thy gifts celestial shine, 
 Whose wit is brilliant, as thy rays, 
 And rapid as the lightning's blaze ; 
 But oft his wit provokes my rage. 
 Licentiousness pollutes his page, 
 lie wantonly affronts my laws, 
 And so betrays fair Virtue's cause; 
 I come thus injur'd to complain, 
 Apollo, at thy awful fane.' 
 Apollo to the lovely maid, 
 "SVith mild benignant aspect said, 
 ' I hear with grief thy just complaints, 
 Yorick, I grant, too loosely paints.' 
 Then waving gracefully his hand. 
 To one amidst his heav'nly band. 
 
 He 
 
^ 
 
 (51 ) 
 
 He cried, 'assert thy fav'rite's parf, 
 Inspirer of the feeling heart.' 
 Lo ! she appear'd divinely fair, 
 Distinguish'u by the pensive air, 
 The piercing look, the glist'ning eye. 
 The trickling tear, and heaving sigh. 
 She said, with charming, plaintive tone, 
 Peculiar to herself alone, 
 * Oh Yorick, born to teach mankind. 
 Godlike benevolence of mind ; 
 What soul affecting pow'rs are thine ! 
 What strokes of tenderness divine ! 
 Thy force the melting bosom feels, 
 As down the check sweet sorrow steals, 
 And with still eloquence bestows 
 A nobler praise, than language knowij 
 Tell me, whoe'er unmov'd has read 
 Of poor Le Fevre, on his sick bed ! 
 Wliat hearts but with warm pity glow, 
 At fond Maria's talc of woe ! 
 Then be not, Chastity, severe. 
 But shed Compassion's balmy tear, 
 (Like Sterne's recording angel) o'er 
 Those frailties whicli the good deplore.' 
 
 T.2 APRAYER 
 
(52f) 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 Written by Miss M. when about fourteen. 
 
 JL HOU everlasting Lord of Heav'n and Earth, 
 Who gav'st the beauteous form of Nature birth ; 
 At whose command, this globe from nothing sprungj 
 When all the stars for joy together sung ; 
 Whose pow'r divine compos'd the human frame> 
 And breath'd therein, the soul's celestial flame ; 
 On whom mortality's frail race depend. 
 Before thy dread majestic throne I bend. 
 Benign celestial Parent ! deign to hear 
 My supplication with a gracious ear j 
 Oh ! in the days of giddy, wand'rhng youth. 
 May I remember Thee, great God of Truth f 
 3eware of pleasure's vain, deceitful wiles, 
 
 Vhen drest in all her captivating smiles. 
 She tries to alienate my heart from Thee, 
 Aifd make my feet from paths of wisdom flee. 
 
 How 
 
( 53 ) 
 
 How vain the utmost joys that earth can boast, 
 
 ]f thy soul gladd'ning approbation's lost. 
 
 Without thy favor, what is all below ? 
 
 Wealtii is but poverty, and grandeur woe ; 
 
 Ne'er may I do thy will thro' servile fear. 
 
 But genuine love, and gratitude sincere, 
 
 Still may their silken cords my service bind, 
 
 Their nobler motives rule my willing mind; 
 
 Since too exalted thy unerring ways, 
 
 Too much bewilder'd in a seeming maze, 
 
 To be in this dark being understood, 
 
 !May I, O Lord, omniscient and good, 
 
 Kot blindly censure, what I can't explore, 
 
 But with ,a pious confidence adore. 
 
 May that enlarg'd benevolence be mine, 
 
 That boundless love, that charity divine, 
 
 Which from celestial mansions, Jesus brought, 
 
 By spotless precept, fair example taught: 
 
 That does each vain distinction nobly shun. 
 
 And is diffusive, as the glorious sun ; 
 
 With sweet compassion may my bosom glow. 
 
 May I delight to soften human woe, 
 
 Kelieve pale want's dejected pining race, 
 
 And dry the tears that cloud the mourner's face ; 
 
 e3 If 
 
( 5-1 ) 
 
 If doora'd myself to feci affliction's smart. 
 And grief's sharp arrows in my bleeding heart, 
 Still may I bless the Author of my pains, 
 Convinc'd in all thy dealings, mercy reigns ; 
 Direct my views by faith's cnlight'ning ray, 
 To those bright realms of everlasting day, 
 Where fleetitig, transient sorrows are repaid, 
 Crown'd with immortal joys, that never fade. 
 May Reason her kind influence maintain. 
 And bind my passions with her golden chain, 
 Each wild desire, each erring wish control. 
 Nor sutler fancy to delude my soul : 
 May she from prejudice my mind defend, 
 J^nd give me Candour, Truth's impartial friend. 
 
 A MORNING 
 
( 55 ) 
 
 A MORNING HYMN, 
 
 Written hy Miss M. when she teas bctvoeen eleten 
 and twelve, 
 
 Accept my prayers, O Lord, thou source of light | 
 
 Bright Origin of all, from whom proceed 
 
 The beauteous balmy morn, the radiant noon. 
 
 The sober eve, and awful midnight gloom. 
 
 What gratitude should warm, expand my breavt, 
 
 "What love, what adoration are thy due. 
 
 When I reflect thy holy bounteous hand 
 
 Feeds, and supports me in my waking hours; 
 
 And in the silent solemn shades of night 
 
 Wilh guardian power protects : to Thee I owe 
 
 Those sound refreshing slumbers that revive 
 
 ^ly drooping powers, whilst on the restless bed 
 
 Of torturing pain, slow wasting languishment. 
 
 Of weeping grief, or deeply gnawing care. 
 
 Thousands incessant toss, and court in vain 
 
 E 4 Thy 
 
(o6) 
 
 Thy friendly aid, of healing, sweet repose. 
 
 May I, O Power Beneficent, the days 
 
 AVhieh thou with cheerful health, and vigour crownVl, 
 
 Jn wisdom,'goodness, piety employ; 
 
 Those sacred fountains of unfading bliss. 
 
 Oh jTiay I, like the sun, whose gentle beams 
 
 Call me from sloth supine, daily pursue 
 
 A calm, benignant course, eternal Lord 
 
 May I, a constant, pleasing series 
 
 Of sweet duties trace, with the mild light 
 
 Of pure Religion, moral Virtue shine. 
 
 Dcas'd to obey my great Creator's laws, 
 
 And tread serene the Heaven appointed way, 
 
 Ne'er may I court the vain delusive breath 
 
 Of mortal praise, bul taste the heartfelt joy 
 
 Which from the conscious self-approving mind 
 
 Doth sweetly flow ; may I extend my views 
 
 Beyond the earthly, transient scene of things, 
 
 To that all perfect state, where Virtue wears 
 
 A bright immortal crt)wn, where gloomy night 
 
 Ne'er with her sable mantle can approach, 
 
 J3!4t cheerful day for ever, ever reigns. 
 
 Written 
 
(57 ) 
 
 JFritten upon a Storm of 
 
 THLTNDER and LIGHTNING, 
 
 By Miss M, <whcn about twelve Years of Age. 
 
 V HE ilark rob'd tempest cloud's yon azure sky, 
 And sits in gloomy majesty enthron'd ; 
 Loud o'er our heads tremendous thunder rolls, 
 With what keen foice the rapid lightning darts, 
 And with repeated flashes fiercely glares. 
 Upon the dazzled eye now beating rain 
 Impetuous pours, and now the rattling hail, 
 With all the mingled horrors of a storm ; 
 Amid this awful scene my soul confides 
 In Nature's Sovereign, whose Almighty hand 
 Supports creation's vast, stupendous frame. 
 And holds in due subjection every part ; 
 Whose wide control the elements confess ; 
 Jle stops great Ocean in his proud career, 
 
 * Thus 
 
( 58 ) 
 
 ^ Thus fill-,' he cricSj 'no further shalt thou come. 
 But here tliy lofty billows shall be staj-'d.' 
 The vast ungovernable sea obeys, 
 The storms that rage at his divine command 
 His sacred voice can hubh, at once dispel 
 The awful frowns, which darken Nature's face, 
 And there diffuse the lovely placid smile: 
 Eehold ! the dreadful tempest now is o'er, 
 We breathe a purer, a more balmy air ; 
 jNIore lively verdure decks the smiling earth. 
 And all is calm, beneficent, and gay. 
 JNIay I, if stormy ills obscure my life, 
 'J hus in the great First Cause, the King of King?, 
 Humbly repose, nor ever let tlie gluom 
 Of dark uncertain doubt, or dire despair 
 O'erwhelm my soul : then purified by storms, 
 JMy moral day will clearer, calmer shine. 
 Tor this great truth is sure ; if patient borne 
 The transient woes of this tempestuous world, 
 'i'hen the blight calm of Heaven's urfading bliss. 
 Will be to all eterniiy our own. 
 
 TO 
 
( 59 ) 
 TO MY BOOKS. 
 
 IViillcnbij MlssM^ -xhe.n about fourteen. 
 
 1 E dear instructive constant friends, 
 
 Accept a grateful hi)-. 
 For all the moments you have wing'd 
 Delightfully away. 
 
 Oft has your potent influence charm'd 
 Each gloomy thought to rest, 
 
 And moral sense, or sprightly wit, 
 Reliev'd my anxious breast. 
 
 When Nature's beauties all are cliill'd 
 
 By winter's icy hand, 
 In you, exhaustless varied springs. 
 
 Of pleasure I command. 
 
 Th 
 
(60 ) 
 
 The flame that warms, the flow'rs that bloom 
 
 In fancy's glowing page. 
 You yield in spite of chilling frosts. 
 
 And fierce tempestuous rage. 
 
 Not ermin'd grandeur can bestow 
 
 Such genuine, peaceful joys ; 
 And more than gems of Indian mines. 
 
 Your sacied stores I prize. 
 
 For oft does wealth on rapid wings 
 
 From our pobsession fly. 
 But the enlight'ning truths you teach 
 
 Can never, never die. 
 
 In you, pa^t ages I recall^ 
 
 Revive the slumb'iing dead, 
 And with illustrious souls converse. 
 
 That long from earth have fled. 
 
 Since thus you've blest my caily youth, 
 
 The morning of my d:iys, 
 JIny you, in late declining life, 
 
 2>l;^ droojiing spirit raise I 
 
 TO 
 
f Gl ) 
 
 TO MISS P. 
 
 Written hy Miss M. when about fifteen. 
 
 Oh, with what joy those letters I unfold. 
 In which thy mental transcript I behold ; 
 Where all the pure exalted feelings shine, 
 And genuine gooodness breathes in ev'ry line. 
 How few possess a mind like thee, my friend, 
 Where sense, simplicity so sweetly blend. 
 If e'er benevolence adorn'd a breast, 
 If e'er compassion sweetly painful guest. 
 Did in a human bosom gently glow. 
 Or from the eye in trickling dew drops flow, 
 Sure they in Clara's noble heart reside, 
 Ilcr to whom I my cv'ry wish confide. 
 
 Soon 
 
( 62 ) 
 
 Soon must thou leave the wholesome countiy a".r, 
 
 And to more polish'J courtly scenes repair. 
 
 Where dignified by fashion, folly reigns 
 
 The Goddess worshipp'd in a thousand f.mcs > 
 
 Who sees with triumph countless numbers own 
 
 Her boundles sway, and grace her brilliant throne. 
 
 But still may wisdom on ihy steps attend, 
 
 An ever watchful monitor and friend ; 
 
 Nor let thy soul immortal and divine, 
 
 Ignobly bend at fashion's gaudy shrine. 
 
 Oh ! persevere in heav'nly Virtue's road. 
 
 And dare t' obey thy Conscience, and thy God ! 
 
 Here, far remov'd from hurry, crowd, and noise, 
 
 Thy friend a soft tranquillity enjoys ; 
 
 Here, 1 the noble works of genius read, 
 
 And hold s\Veet converse with th' enlighten'd dead ; 
 
 With serious pleasure turn th' historic page, 
 
 And learn th' events of many a backward age. 
 
 How once bright polish'd Greece, v.it'i freedom crown'd. 
 
 Was for her skill in urts, in arms rcnown'd. 
 
 In letters, elegance, unrivall'd shone. 
 
 But now in bondage doom'd, alas, to groan ; 
 
 Her ancient valour, and fine arts too fled, 
 
 Whilst science, bas withdrawn her laurell'd head. 
 
 For 
 
( 63 ) 
 
 For how should Spartan brav'ry, attic fire, 
 
 The frigid servile breasts of slaves inspire ; 
 
 How mighty Rome, the terror of her foes, 
 
 That great, that world-subduing city rose ; 
 
 And how with plunder crown'd, and slaughter stain'd, 
 
 Her glory's proud meridian she attain'd, 
 
 Till from the vain, the dazzling hei<;ht declin'd, 
 
 At length she falls a lesson to mankind. 
 
 Of sublunary grandeur short's the date. 
 
 Transient the glories of this mortal state. 
 
 Then Poesy in all her charms divine, 
 
 Enchants ray soul, in Milton's sacred line. 
 
 Her brightest visions round my fancy play. 
 
 On rapture's plumes I soar to heav'nly day. 
 
 Methinks celestial splendors bless my sight. 
 
 And Seraphs shining with refulgent light, 
 
 Or scenes of horror this great bard displays. 
 
 Fill me with pleasing terror, deep amaze. 
 
 When he subliniuly paints, how angels ft'll; 
 
 From Heav'n's bright mansions to the dcj/tiis of Hell. 
 
 But books, nor present friends can drive away 
 
 The thoughts of thee, oh dear remembrance, say. 
 
 Dost thou not oft those pleasing hours retrace. 
 
 When I beheld my fiicnd's bcnigaant face,. 
 
 Heard 
 
Heard lier pour foith, without dis;E;uise or art, 
 Her tender, gen'rous, unpolluted heart ; 
 Or sweetly utter those reflexions sage. 
 That might have grac'd the lips of riper age; 
 The sweet, the soothing hope I'll entertain, 
 That soon these pleasures will be mine again ; 
 That my lost friend e'rc long will bless my sight. 
 And crown the passing moments with delight. 
 
( 65 ) 
 
 No Date to this 
 
 TRANSLATION OF A CELEBRATED 
 FRENCH SONNET. 
 
 Of Monsieur des Barreaux. 
 
 In all thy judgments, mighty God, 
 
 Impartial justice reigns j 
 Yet kind Compassion pleads our cause, 
 
 And mitigates our pains. 
 
 But in thy spotless siglit, my crimes 
 
 So heinous must appear. 
 That sweet celestial Clemency, 
 
 Would wound thy justice here. 
 
 Yes, I have sinn'd, alas ! beyond 
 
 The vast extent ot Grace, 
 Vindictive majesty ])rt vails, 
 
 And Mercy hides her f.icc. 
 
 * Fuiai 
 
( 66) 
 
 Fulfil then, Lord, tliy just intent. 
 
 Blast this devoted head, 
 Indignant view these burning tearsx 
 
 Remorse and anguish shed. 
 
 Let thy tremendous justice strike, 
 
 And lay the guilty low ; 
 I must in perishing adore, 
 
 The hand which gives the blow. 
 
 For where can thy dread thunder fall. 
 Upon what place, great God ! 
 
 That's not by Jesus cover'd o'er, 
 With his own precious blood ! 
 
 VENUS 
 
<67 ) 
 
 VENUS AND MINERVA. 
 
 Written atjifteen. 
 
 Once in discourse, by Heav'n design'd, 
 Fair Venus and Minerva join'd ; 
 When lovely Venus thus address'd 
 Minerva, whilst her heaving breast, 
 Her falt'ring voice, her gentle air 
 Bespoke a mind, oppress'd with care, 
 *' I often with a sigh lament, 
 How seldom you from Heav'n are sent, 
 To add the charms of mental grace, 
 To those I give of shape, and face. 
 Tho' I bestow the finish'd form. 
 The features grac'd with ev'ry charm. 
 The snow-white skin, the sparkling eye. 
 And cheeks that with the roses vie, 
 
 Yet 
 
( 68 ) 
 
 Yet wliat is beauty's vain pretence, 
 When uninform'd by your good sense ? 
 As paintings for a while delight, 
 Whose glowing tints transport the sight, 
 So brilliant beauty shines like these, 
 Nor longer its attractions please. 
 But knowledge, dignity of mind. 
 The graces of a soul refin'd, 
 "When thio' the beauteous form they shine. 
 Oh, how your gifts embellish mine ! 
 Irradiate each expressive grace, 
 And animate a pretty face. 
 Some few, the happiest of the fair. 
 Our matchless charms united share. 
 But why to me such shyness shewn, 
 And of your gifts so sparing grown ? 
 Why will not Pallas prove my friend. 
 On all my fav'rite nymphs attend. 
 And with my grace, her wisdom blend ? 
 Oh do not thus your virtues spare. 
 But grant Cytherea's fervent pray'r." 
 ]Minerva smiling, quick replied, 
 " In vain does lovely Venus chide ; 
 Nor censure me, nor righteous Heav'n, 
 Uut thy sweet charms, too freely giv'n. 
 
 } 
 
 T» 
 
( G9 ) 
 
 To grant unask'd, thy greatest joy, 
 
 But know Minerva is more coy, 
 
 And claims lo>?g courtship to bestow 
 
 Those gifts which from her wisdom flow. 
 
 How oft thy charms too prove a snare, 
 
 T'entrap the wild unthinking fair, 
 
 Who flutter in fantastick pride, 
 
 Pleas'd with a perishing outside ; 
 
 Enjoy the present, but forget 
 
 That youth's bright sun e're long will set, 
 
 That age will deaden beauty's charms» 
 
 And strip her of her splendid arms. 
 
 Who seem to think thy gifts suffice, 
 
 While mine are deem'd of little price. 
 
 Thoughtless that mine for ever last. 
 
 While thine as soon as seen, are past. 
 
 Yes they, on thee alone rely. 
 
 And let me slip unheeded by; 
 
 Say, shall I then thy vot'ries aid, 
 
 W'ho doom me thus t'oblivion's shade?" 
 
 ** True,'' replied Venus, " but 'tis fair. 
 
 Most blame your darling men should bear ; 
 
 For this I can with justice say. 
 
 The belles deserve less blame than they ; 
 
 Who 
 
( 70 ) 
 
 Who with smooth flatt'ry's courtier tongue. 
 
 Feed the vanity of old and young. 
 
 And like Eve's serpent glide along. 
 
 Yes, Goddess, 'tis thy fav'rite kind, 
 
 Taint and destroy the fair one's mind. 
 
 There plant each folly, lu their sfiatnc, 
 
 And then their own productions blame." 
 
 To which, Minerva thus replies, 
 
 " Were these thy voi'ries truly wise. 
 
 Vain adulation they'd despise. 
 
 Treat with contempt each flatt'ring beau, 
 
 And make all empty coxcombs know. 
 
 They sense prefer in simplest vest. 
 
 To fully in embroid'ry drest. 
 
 Oh, would the fair but court my aid, 
 
 Joyful I'd form each blooming maid ; 
 
 Teach her to charm beyond an hour, 
 
 When beauty's transitory flow'r 
 
 is withcr'd, its fine colours dead, 
 
 And all its fading honors fled. 
 
 Their gentle bosoms I'd inspire. 
 
 And breathe therein my genuine fire ; 
 
 Instruct them in my heav'nly lore, 
 
 lulo their mintis each virtue pour, 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
 Exalt 
 
( 71 ) 
 
 Exalt their souls, their thoughts refine. 
 
 And cherish Virtue's spark divine. 
 
 At my impartial glass array'd, 
 
 They would not be so oft betray'd 
 
 By treach'rous Pleasure's tempting snares. 
 
 Or Vanity's fantastick airs. 
 
 E'en Flatt'ry's syren voice would prove 
 
 Too weak, th'enlighten'd mind to move, 
 
 All her fallacious arts would fail. 
 
 And be with them of no avail. 
 
 No more they'd shun Truth's piercing light, 
 
 Which then would seem divinely bright, 
 
 Pleasing, not hateful to their sight. 
 
 Thus of Minerva's aid possest, 
 
 With her immortal graces blest, 
 
 Tho' Time despoil'd each outward charm, 
 
 Wrinkled the brow, and bent the form. 
 
 Stole from the cheek its vermeil dye, 
 
 And robb'd the lustre of tlie eye ; 
 
 Their minds would sparkle mid the gloom. 
 
 And with eternal beauties bloom. 
 
( 72 ) 
 Ail explanatory Note. 
 
 y r 
 
 ilAV'iNG finished the Poetry of Mr. and Mrs. Day, 
 I shall here observe, it is my intention to publibh about 
 one hundred pages of their miscellaneous prose pro- 
 ductions, to bind up with the poetry, as the book would 
 be ouly 71 pages without it. Nor will I shew their ta- 
 lents, or my judgment so much disrespect, to suppose 
 any apology necessary for printing some of their mis- 
 cellaneous prose. No, this note to the reader is merely 
 meant as an apology for having varied from the general 
 rule of publishing each in separate volumes. It 
 is pos>ible I may add some of my verses, as a make- 
 weight in the scale, but Mr. and Mrs. Day's mental ef- 
 futts, I can never consider in that light. Indeed, 
 i.ir. Day is so celebrated an author, that I am convinced 
 vhat I have published of his, either prose or verse, will 
 notonlv be nodisparagemcnt to his literary fame, but will 
 pi c.vc highly acceptable to the reader. And I am sure 
 lliosc who had the pleasure of being upon terms of in- 
 timacy with him will agree, that I have selected such of 
 his, prose as is peculiarly characteristic of his hingular 
 turn of mind. 
 
( 73 } 
 
 THE 
 
 TRIAL OF A. B. 
 
 IN THI 
 
 HIGH COUUT OF FASHION, 
 
 For several Crimes and Misdemeanors at sundry times 
 committed agaimt the Rights and Privileges of the 
 said Court, 
 
 X. HE Court being assembled, (no matter wten or 
 where) Sir Richard Pickle, Alderman, Beau Spar- 
 kle, Lord Mayor, and Alderman Bluster, took their 
 places as Judges ; when immediately the following 
 Charge ^vas exhibited against the Defendant. 
 
 " THAT he the said Defendant, A. B. had at sundry 
 
 times, been guilty of the highest, and most enormous 
 
 offences against the dignity and majesty of the Coart 
 
 9 tjien 
 
( 74 ) 
 
 then assembled." To verify this, there was produced the 
 following articles of accusation, ail of which it was said 
 could be indisputably proved, by witnesses of the most 
 undoubted veracity : viz. 
 
 *' That he the said A. B. had often expressed himself 
 in terms of the greatest reproach to, and contempt of 
 the said Court." 
 
 ** That he acted in every particular in open defiance 
 of the said Court," to prove which, the following facts 
 were produced: 
 
 •• That in his dress he went remarkably plain." 
 
 •' That his hair was very seldom curled or powdered." 
 
 *' That in the management of his house he was noto- 
 riously guilty, keeping no more servants than were just 
 necessary, and arbitrarily forbidding, upon pain of dis- 
 mission, the use of curling irons, powder, or pomatum." 
 
 " That in his furniture he was so remarkably plain, 
 the Plaintiffs verily believe there is not a single bit of 
 expensive plate, china, or carved work about his house." 
 
 " That in his table he shewed such an open defiance 
 to the most inviolable laws and ordinances of the Court, 
 he would never dine upon any thing but roast-beef, 
 plumb-pudding, and such other gross and ungenteel 
 food, as all people of fashion have long ago banished 
 from their tables." " Thtit 
 
( 75 ) 
 
 *' That not contented with the above high crimes and 
 misdemeanors, and many more too tedious to be now 
 enumerated, he had with all possible care instilled 
 the same absurd and detestable principles into the 
 minds of his children : that to prevent their being bet- 
 ter informed, he had most sedulously prevented their 
 going to any of those public amusement?, which are the 
 general places of resort for the true friends and dutiful 
 subjects of the high and mighty Court here assembled, 
 and which would sufficiently appear by the looks of the 
 unhappy victims ; seeing that the boys were as robust as 
 ploughmen, and the girls, instead of (hat beautiful sal- 
 lowness which distinguishes people of fashion, had 
 the unbecoming florid complexion of milk-maids. 
 And lastly, not to detain the Court too long, that he pro- 
 hibited the frequent use of tea and wine in his house ; 
 that he and all his family by his instigations and per- 
 suasions, were open and avowed enemies to card-play- 
 ing, dice, operas, drunkenness, horse-races, Italian 
 eunuchs, French valets, French cooks, (Jtc. the amuse- 
 ments and attendants of people of true taste and 
 fashion. That in consideration of the above high crimes 
 F 2 and 
 
(76) 
 
 and misdemeanors, by him, and at his instigations com* 
 mitted, the humble Petitioners of the Court, C. D. and 
 E. begged in the most modest and submissive terms, 
 that his estates, real and personal, might be confiscated, 
 and then divided among your Petitioners, in some mea- 
 sure to indemnify them for the great losses they had 
 sustained in the service of the Court.'* 
 
 Beifig asked of what nature those losses were, ichch tliey 
 complained of ; they urged, 
 
 " That though born to equal or superior fortunes to 
 the prisoner then at the bar, they had in less than ten 
 years run them out, in drinking, w g, horse-racing, 
 dice cards, elections, and other fashionable plea- 
 sures, as could be proved by witnesses of the greatest 
 and most undoubted veracity; 
 
 The Jury then entered and took their places, consisting 
 of four dashing Officers of the Gttards. a dapper Templar, a 
 buck Parson,and sixjfine Ladies,aU properly accoutred ivith 
 hoops, rich laces, tttes dc diahle, swords, bags, Sj-c* 
 
 The prisoner being asked if he had any thing to offor, 
 why sentence should not be pronounced against him, 
 
 accojdin'' 
 
(77 ) 
 
 according to the heinousness of his crimes and misde- 
 meanors, he made the following defence. 
 
 *' HIGHLY sensible of the extraordinary lenity and 
 clemency of the honorable Court before which 1 appear ; 
 I stand up to make a defence of those actions which 
 have been urged against me, as crimes of the deepest 
 dye, and of so black a nature as to call forth all the 
 thunders of impartial justice. If in explaining the mo- 
 tives which have influenced me, the principles upon 
 which I have acted, and the ends which I have pursued 
 through these seemingly illicit and improper means, I 
 should sometimes be compelled to descant with a greater 
 freedom and warmth than may be accounted proper, 
 upon the laws, statutes, and ordinances of the honorable 
 Court before which I am summoned, I hope I shall be 
 forgiven, and that my errors will rather be attributed to 
 the faults of the judgment, than to any obstinate and 
 conscious perversion of the will. 
 
 The crimes of which I am accused, seem to be viola- 
 tions of the known and established laws of custom ; now 
 with reverence to the Court, I will boldly affirm, 
 tliat these laws are entirely imaginary ,ncver have existed 
 r 3 nor 
 
(78) 
 
 ted, nor will exist, or, if supposed to have any real ex- 
 istence, could not, from ilie nature of things, be in any 
 degree binding or obligatory. 
 
 To constitute a law, I imagine it is absolutely and in- 
 dispensably necessary, that the majority of any nation or 
 society should acquiesce. The degrees of ofl'cncc, and 
 ]'unishment mubt be clearly determined and promul- 
 gated, in order that no one through ignorance or error 
 may be obnoxious to the vengeance of his country ; this 
 is the first principle of Nature and of Liberty ; aught 
 contrary to this, is the oppression of t)ranny, and the 
 law of slaves." 
 
 Here SparUe, the Lord Mayor, got up, and with great 
 warmth observed, "that truly he was as great a friend to 
 Liberty as any body, but he didn't know what was meant 
 by the consent of a majority, or principle of Nature ; 
 that for his part he thought Liberty consisted in eating 
 turtle, and obedience to the Lord Mayor ; and, by 
 G — , gem men, (added he^ whoever says otherwise is a 
 rascal." 
 
 His Lordship then brandished his fist with such ener- 
 gy, that Alderman Bluster^ who stood next him, more 
 attentive to the action than the meaning of the orator, 
 
 thought 
 
( 79 ) 
 
 thought it best to make a precipitate retreat, and start- 
 ing l)ack wilh surpiising velocity, overturned Sir Richard, 
 who, though Knight, Earuvet, Alderman, and Salter was 
 forced to measure his length upon the ground, and re- 
 ceive the whole weight of his Brother Alderman oa his 
 belly. 
 
 After the Knight was with great difficulty disengaged 
 and reinstated upon his legs, he began to wipe the dust 
 from his face, and blubbering, piteously cried out, 
 
 *' Now pox ttike this Libortv, I'm sure I never gets 
 any good by it ; the very name of it always makes me 
 tremble like an aspin leaf; I'm sure its full as bad as 
 popery, — here now, when I wanted to be a Parliament 
 man, the people always used to be flinging things at me, 
 and making fun of me, and making verses, as how my 
 dearie cuckolds me ; but I doesn't believe any such 
 thing ; and if she does, what's that to any body else ?— 
 and all this, forsooth, upon account of Liberty, — for my 
 part I thinks the people are all mad ; what Liberty would 
 they have now ? han't we liberty to cat turtle, as 
 Brother Sparkle says ? han't we liberty to smoke our 
 pipes and go to club ? And you, you great calf, couldn't 
 yc see where you went to ? D'ye think I've stufi''d my 
 F 4 belly 
 
( so ) 
 
 belly with so much turtle and custard, only to make a 
 cushion for such a lubber as you ?" - 
 
 His Lordship now, observing his brethren began to 
 grow warm, called out to order, and imposing silence, 
 ordered the prisoner to proceed, who went on in this 
 manner, 
 
 ** Xal^if^g i^ foj^ granted then that my definition of a 
 law is just, I go on to observe, that none of the laws of 
 .Custom or Fashion, can have the sanction of Nature qr 
 Liberty, and consequently cannot be obligatory. 
 
 I have long made it my business to find out jn whjit 
 particular the votaries of Custom were agreed ; deter- 
 mined that my concurrence should attend that of the 
 rest of mankind' 
 
 Alas, with what difficulty, disgust, and disappointment 
 have my researches been attended ! I observed the dress 
 of the ladies ; but upon that head the whole sex is divided, 
 and split into Factions; what one nation calls charming, 
 another denominates shocking ; a Tartarian latly would 
 make a ridiculous figure in our assemblies with ornaments 
 hanging to her nose, and an English lady would be as 
 much laughed at inTartary, for wearing them in her ears. 
 The Negro ladies wear chains upon their legs, the En- 
 glish upon their necks ; and the Caft'renians would 
 
 doubtlesi; 
 
< 81 ) 
 
 doubtless laugh at our methods of dressing the head, as 
 not being sufficiently greased to eat for breakfast, oi to 
 keep 0:Ut the heat of the sun. Even in the same country 
 the fair ones are sub-divided into factions ; a London and 
 an Exeter lady are as different, as a Chinese and an Hot- 
 tentot ; and few women are in the same dress two days 
 running. 
 
 I consulted the taste of the ladies in other particulars, 
 and found the same want of uniformity; some ladies 
 think Dutch pugs the sweetest animals in nature, others 
 prefer Italian greyhounds, and I have known ladies 
 who have thought children prettier play-things than ei- 
 ther. 
 
 One lady gives an hundred pounds for a Pagod,or Chi- 
 nese monster; a second calls that e.xpence ridiculous, and 
 bestows double the sum upon Tenducci or Guarducci. 
 
 One lady doses herself with ratafia, by nine ; another 
 plays at cards till day-light, and a third instead of these 
 delights, prefers the more refined one of walking by 
 jnoonlight with the captain. 
 
 The more material points of life are still less settled 
 than these; one dies for a gilt coach, and six nag-tailed 
 fjays; anotherruins her husband by having things dccciii 
 
 ill 
 
(82) 
 
 ill her house; and a third despises both, provided she 
 can eat grecMi pease 9,1 five guineas a pint. 
 
 I now proceed to remark, that 1 could find very little 
 more uniformity in the lives of the male, than in those 
 of the female part of the creation. What one extols> 
 another condemns ; and if there is any unanimity, it is, 
 that every man applauds his ov/n election, and calls the 
 rest of the world, fools. 
 
 Let us begin with the army: behold a band of men 
 who give up for a paltry stipend, the common rights to 
 that universal, and generally esteemed unalienable gift 
 of Nature, life: strange that mankind should glory in 
 holding their existence by the tenour of another person's 
 will ; ready to expose it at the word of command, or to 
 wrest it from others, against whom they have not the 
 least plea of injury, or the Wst cause of hatred. 
 
 A soldier's idea of happiness is to adorn his person to 
 ^vhat he calls the greatest advantage ; to sit several hours 
 in a day drinking a liquor he dislikes,r;nd which brings on 
 inevitable though gradual ruin to the constitution, for no 
 other end than to produce intoxication, and to excite 
 his passions by every possible method, that he may gra- 
 tify them, I am sorry to say too frequently at the ex- 
 pence of the most sacred connexions ; (the holy mar- 
 riage 
 
( 83 ) 
 
 riage bed, the sanctity of virginity, too often affecting 
 him with no other idea, than as furnishing matter for a 
 display of his abilities, and a subject of triumph.) Which 
 amusements, with dice, cards, billiards, &c. generally 
 fill up his vacant hours till three or four in the morning. 
 So much for the soldier. 
 
 Proceed we now to a no less necessary and respectable 
 liody of people, those of a mercantile profession ; they 
 laugh at the finery and empty pockets of the captain ; 
 it is sufficient for them that they can afford it, esse, non 
 \ideri ; their idea of the summum bonum is cheating 
 their customers all the morning, overeating themselves 
 at dinner, and sleeping, or at least dozing all the resi of 
 the day. 
 
 Here a third body offers itself to our view, the gen- 
 try ; and in this may be included the nobility; but to 
 comprehend these in a general definition is utterly im- 
 possible ; a chaos of heterogeneous atoms, never agree- 
 ing, never uniting. 
 
 Their style of living, their manners, their dress, their 
 
 tastes totally different : one drinks, one w s, one 
 
 games, one sings, another fiddles, a second hunts, a third 
 dances away his estate. What greaterAntipodcs iu Nature 
 
 than 
 
( 8t ) 
 
 lliun the country gentleman, and the fine gentleman? 
 Yet both are in the right, both despise each other; the 
 only difference, one runs out his fortune upon himself, 
 the other upon two nobler species of aniniiils, his dogs 
 and horses. 
 
 INIr. ***** sells his country in the lower house ; his. 
 Grace does the same in the upper ; yet are they agreed ? 
 By no means, — the Commoner would be an honest man, 
 could he dine upon less than twenty dishes ; and his 
 Grace would scorn to ruin his country, did he not keep 
 running horses. 
 
 The very harpies of Government, that prey upon the 
 bowels of their mangled-Country, Contractors, Agents, 
 &c. though uniform in the means, are they uniform in 
 the ends of their villainy ? Does not the love of power 
 engage one, the love of pleasure or money a second, or 
 third ? Even those who appear to be actuated by the 
 same passion, and the same inclinations, do they not 
 when viewed nearer, resolve themselves into different 
 shades of the same colour, never meeting, never 
 blending ? 
 
 If this is the case, if all mankind, as well as woman- 
 kind disagiee in the moit materia!, as well as the most 
 
 trivial 
 
( 85) 
 
 trivial pavts of life ; if to concur with one, I differ from 
 all the rest, who shall point out those Customs or Fa- 
 shions which I am to subscribe to r" 
 
 *' Desipiunt omnes. ........ 
 
 ,,,.,...,... Velut Sylvis ubi passim 
 ^ ^ Palantes error certo de tramite pellit, 
 
 llle sinistrorsum, hie dextrorsura abit; unus utrique 
 Error sed variis illudit Partibus.,... 
 
 (Here it was intimated to the piisoncr, that it was 
 thought a very great degree of impiety to talk Greek 
 in a Christian country, and that most of the worthy 
 members there assembled, were so far from knowing any 
 thing of an heathen language, that few of them under- 
 stood their own.) 
 
 " When I saw this, (continued the prisoner) I thought 
 it necessary to have recourse to some other principle as 
 a guide for life; some principle fixed and unchangeable 
 in its own nature, never fluctuating with external ac- 
 cidents, nor governed by the opinion of others. That 
 principle was Reason ; leaving the multitude to steer 
 
 their 
 
( S6 ) 
 
 their course by the weathercocks of Fashion, and Cus- 
 tom, I resolved to pursue the determinations of common 
 sense: it was impossible for me to imitate the rest of 
 the world, what mattered it whether the world imi- 
 tated me. 
 
 I have already demonstrated that it was impossible for 
 me to live according to the laws of Custom : I will now 
 recapitulate my life, according to the degree in which 
 I have swerved from, or kept up to the only principle 
 I could adopt. 
 
 In the younger part of my life I was a strict votary 
 of temperance ; a healthy old age appeared more than 
 an equivalent for abstinence in youth. Even in youth 
 what more miserable and detestable object, than a man 
 incapable of commanding himself, totally engrossed by 
 his own desires ; ever gratifying, yet never satisfied ; lost 
 to the nobler purposes of life ; though we set aside here- 
 after, common sense will lead us to temperance. In the 
 choice of a wife I was neither biassed by birth, nor 
 riches; of all the imaginary blessings, which the fol- 
 lowers of Ixion embrace for realities, nothing sure is so 
 thoroughly ridiculous, as the pretended advantages of 
 birth ; in respect to riches, why desire more, when we 
 
 have 
 
( 87 ) 
 
 have enough ? Every thing beyond a competency as to 
 ourselves, is totally imaginary. 
 
 These have been my ideas ; I looked out for a virtuous 
 woman, I thank the Deity, I have succeeded. Since I 
 have been a father my conduct has been uniform. I 
 have, as far as possible, prevented my children from 
 having any idea of the ridiculous distinctions of dress ; 
 why derive pride from the necessities of Nature ? Do 
 additional wants confer happiness ■ Or are we ren- 
 dered so by making trifles necessary to our welfare, 
 which an hundred accidents may render us incapable of 
 obtaining ? If we consult for beauty, it consists in 
 cleanliness and simplicity ; aught beyond is unnatural. 
 A fine lady values herself for her jewels and laces, per- 
 haps a pig may admire itself when it has rolled 
 in the mire ; or a dog in carrion. De gustibus non 
 est disputandum. In my table I have been frugal, not 
 avaricious ; it has been always plentifully furnished 
 with plain and wholesome meats ; what more does Na- 
 ture require ? The glutton, when lie has ransacked the 
 four elemer.ts to give a momentary litillation to his pa- 
 late, does he enjoy half the pleasure which the tempe- 
 rate man finds from satisfying his hunger upon a frugal 
 meal ? 
 
 « But 
 
( »8 ) 
 
 ** But lije temperate man puts on the appearance of 
 
 gluttony>in compliance with what is called Fashion. For 
 
 ■what purpose ? Are his companions gluttons? he will tell 
 
 you far otherwise! Why then ransack earth, air, and sea 
 
 for a dinner ? Can any one be so thoroughly absurd as to 
 
 suppose there is any thing agreeable, or beautiful in the 
 
 ?ight of animals mangled in a thousand different ways, 
 
 animals that at least had life, had sensation in common 
 
 vvith us ? Or is there any thing pleasing in the reflexion 
 
 that Nature must be depopulated to furnish out a single 
 
 rneat ? 
 
 By the same principle do I judge of expence in furni- 
 ture. With what empty pride, and ill-founded vanity 
 docs the master look round upon his gilded play-things ; 
 not considering that could they be the source oi honor 
 or reputalion to any body,it must be to the painter or ca- 
 binet-maker who invented, and not to the stupid fool who 
 buys them ! Go to such an house, it is to the furniture 
 alone you are introduced ; the wife,the children, are mere 
 cyphers ; it is the chairs,the plate, the pictures, the glas- 
 ses, the hangings, the china that you must admire ; while 
 the anxious owner stands by, trembling by turns least, 
 you should suffer any of the finery to pass unnoticed, 
 
 or 
 
( B9 ) 
 
 or by any unguarded motion of the hands, the head, 
 the feet, discompose his tapestry, or mingle his pagods 
 with their native dust. 
 
 Another article of my accusation is, moderation in 
 rospect to servants ; if that is a crime I must avow it. — 
 1 have always thought that servitude was incompatible 
 with affection ; therefore I was unwilling to multiply 
 the number of my enemies. Besides, what single reason 
 can be given why any man should keep even one ser- 
 vant more than he can find employment for ? Idleness 
 and Virtue are incompatible ; ho that keeps servants 
 for any thing but work, makes them vicious. Havin^ 
 thus enumerated those articles of expence which I have 
 avoided as ridiculous and unnecessary, it may be now 
 proper to give some account of the manner in which I 
 liave employed that fortune with which the beneficence 
 of Providence has entrusted me. 
 
 Conscious thill I was designed to promote the happi- 
 ness of my fellow-creatures, as well of myself, I have 
 made Charity my ruling principle ; not that proud and 
 ostentatious Charity which delights in founding hospi- 
 tals, and endowing colleges, where the nevcr-bcfore 
 honored name of the donor, is blazoned forth to eternity 
 in adulutive inscriptions : but that placid, unambitious 
 G benevolence 
 
( 90) 
 
 benevolence, which gliding on like a gentle stream, un- 
 celebrated and unknown, delights to scatter blessings 
 upon mankind in obscurity. — I have employed the vi- 
 gorous, I haved cloathed the naked, fed the hungry, and 
 relieved the sick : I have never been severe except to 
 Vice ; I have promoted the love of decenc}', the love of 
 temperance, and the love of my country ; I have at 
 least inspired my children with that enthusiastic love of 
 Virtue, with that sacred ardor for the Lav/sand Liberties 
 of their Country, which so eminently distinguished the 
 ages of the Greek and Roman republics ; they would 
 rather die than see it enslaved, and esteem themselves 
 happier in a virtuous death, than all the honors with 
 which a tyrant delights to grace his minions. 
 
 My daughters glow with the same generous principles, 
 as far as is consistent with their sex : they have learned 
 that the greatest ornaments to a woman are simplicity, 
 modesty, and obedience ; they have indeed never ac- 
 quired those noble accomplishments which arc founded 
 upon the destruction of decency ; they have never fre- 
 quented the assemblies of the gay and the idle : they 
 have been little used to the company even of their own 
 sex, lest like their own sex they should acquire a taste 
 for tiifles and dissipation, and an hatred for all the 
 nobler purposes of existence. 
 
 A LETTER 
 
( 91 ) 
 
 A LETTER, 
 
 TO A FRIKND. 
 
 J. HAVE been much ctiificd by lately reading some 
 excellent letters in defence of the Slave Trade. The au- 
 thor argues in so clear and masterly a manner, that I 
 think no future doubt can be entertained upon the sub- 
 ject ; and the foolish Quakers ought to be very much 
 ashamed of having opposed so Holy and Christian a 
 branch of commerce. Indeed his letters have taught me 
 many religious, moral, and political truths, which I did 
 not know before ; among the rest is the infallibility of 
 our gracious Sovereign and his two Houses of Parlia- 
 lucr.t. That llicy were omnipotent, 1 have long known; 
 but I did not so ckaily understand, that after having 
 deposed the Church of Rome, they had legally confis- 
 cated his infallibility to their own use. 
 
 But as your correspondent has thought so deeply upon 
 
 the subject, I cannot help sending to him the inclosed 
 
 G 2 ProclamuUon 
 
( 9^3 ) 
 
 Proclamation of the King of Judah in Africa, which was 
 lately put into my hands by a conscienlious merchant of 
 Liverpool, who seemed to think it might open a new and 
 valuable trade for this country, and who has lately be- 
 gun some negocialions with overseers and churchwar- 
 dens, in order to rid them of their superfluous poor. 
 Should Mr. Gilbert's valuable bill pass, he has some 
 hopes of having the monopoly of the county work- 
 houses. Indeed he was a little shocked with the free- 
 dom and prophanencss of some parts of this royal edict, 
 particularly the account of the great serpent's marking 
 all the Whites for slavery, by a stroke of his tail. Such 
 as it is, I send it you as a curiosity, and am, &c. 
 
 RUSTICUS, 
 
 Translation, of the Edict of the King of Judah, /or 
 the Regulation of the Commerce o/'White Slaves. 
 
 JL HE glory of the world, the delight of nature, the 
 resplendent image of the great serpent upon eai th, the 
 master of the river Jakin, whose floods roll over sands 
 of gold, the lord of the islands which produce precious 
 fruits and weeds of aromatic odour, the sovereign of 
 
 Judah, 
 
( 93 ) 
 
 Judah, the conqueror of Popp and Ar<]ra, whose soldiers 
 are swifter than eagles, fiercer than lions, more in num- 
 ber than the ants of the forest, king of all the princes of 
 the world, to whom duty, allegiance, and submission 
 are due from all the sons of men, thus makes known his 
 high and irresistible will to the nations of the earth. 
 
 Whereas it has pleased our royal and irresistible mind, 
 pondering over the ineffable and sacred ti-easure of its 
 own counsels, to extend our cares to certain islands in 
 the Southern ocean, and to raise up new colonies of 
 subjects, to admire our divine intelligence, and obey our 
 omnipotent power; and whereas it has been represented 
 to our rcyal wisdom, that these tracts of land, by rea- 
 son of their distance from the Sun, the coldness of their 
 climate, and other natural disadvantages, are ill-adapted 
 to the reception of our dutiful and loving subjects, who 
 pine and sicken at a distance from the resplendent light 
 of our countenance; we therefore, the Most High, Most 
 Oraijipotent, (here follows a repetition of the above pom- 
 pous titles) overanxious to gratif3Mhe humble prayers 
 of our fiuthful slaves, and to avert from them every 
 danger and difficulty by the shadow of our presence, in 
 which the nations of the world move and have their 
 
 ^ing, do thus decide : 
 
 G 3 Whereas 
 
( 54 ) 
 
 Whereas there is a certain wretched and riMseraLle 
 race of men, who come from the remotest corner of the 
 \vorld, over the great waters, seeking the awful shadow 
 of our power, and humbly requesting leave to cairy back 
 such of the productions of our country as arc absolutely 
 necessary to enable them to supnort a wretched existence 
 in their own, which we, according to the unequalled li- 
 berality of our temper, have not hitherto denied; 
 and whereas these mongrel vagabonds and pirates, the 
 outcast of the world, the disgrace of human nature; have 
 in numberless instances abused our royal condescension 
 by landing upon our territories, and plundering the in- 
 nocent inhabitants, by stining up continual wars and 
 seditions among the difTerent tribes that inhabit our 
 coasts, and then prevailing upon the deluded conquerors 
 to part with ihcir prisoners, upon whom we are informed 
 they exercise the most atrocious and unheard of cruel- 
 ties, separating women from their husbands, childicn 
 from theii parents, and xiolating all the most dear and 
 sacred ties of nature ; which miserable victims we arc 
 also informed they confine in the ur.wholesorae bottoms 
 of their great canoes, where thousands of ihcm yearly 
 perish by burning fevers, by famine, by pestilence, and 
 by the continual infliction of the most horrid punish- 
 ments. 
 
( 9^ ) 
 
 mcnts, while the miserable survivors are destined to la- 
 bour in chains, to procure food and other necessaries for 
 their idle, ignorant and stupid betrayers: Now, in order 
 to give an awful example to all the human race of the 
 purity of our justice, and the divine integrity ot our 
 councils, we do order and command our faithful slaves, 
 that for the future, in whatever port these miscreants 
 shall land, thoy shall directly seize upon all their canoes 
 and cargoes, which shall be reserved under pain of 
 death, and faithfully accounted for to our Imperial Mi- 
 nister of Finance : As to their persons, we do further 
 enact, that they shall be pinioned in pairs, stripped of 
 all their cluatbs, excepting a clout, which wc graciously 
 indulge them with about their middles, and in this man- 
 ner guarded along the country, until they arrive at the 
 precincts of our resplendent palace, ihe wonder of the 
 world, the miracle of artt &c &c. 
 
 Were we inclined to punish such atrocious offenders 
 according to the extent of their crimes, we should cer- 
 tainly order them to pave the way before our royal ele- 
 phant, as he marches forth in terrors, or expose them to 
 be torn in pieces by tiie lyons and tygers of the forest, 
 whom they most resemble in cruelty and rapine; but re- 
 fleeting upon the natural inferiority of their race, and 
 G 4 collecting 
 
( 96 ) 
 
 collectini; from several causes that they are not totally 
 incapable of the reasoning faculty, however debased and 
 corrupted by want of education, we are graciously pleased 
 to order that they shall be instantly transported to our 
 colony of New Zeland, there to be employed in raising 
 wheat, potatoes, and other vegetables for our royal table, 
 and in tending a breed of sheep vipon the mountains, 
 •whose fleeces may supply the Princesses of our Royal 
 Seraglio with shawls and petticoats. 
 
 But even in this necessary act of retaliation, such has 
 been our love of justice, that we have not taken these 
 resolutions without the approbation of our learned col- 
 lege of divines, and particularly that of the great and 
 illuminated High-priest of the serpent. We therefore 
 submitted to liis supreme decision, the question how far 
 it was consistent with our princely perfections to reduce 
 that body of our fellow creatures to utter and irremedia- 
 ble servitude. 
 
 That holy man, after invoking the assistance of the 
 Great Serpent, and all the numerous family of inferior 
 Gods, his descendants, has assured us, that nothing can 
 be more just, holy, and acceptable to all the Divinities, 
 than this our resolution ; the whites, he added, are evi- 
 dently intended to serve the blacks, by the marks which 
 
 nature 
 
( 97 ) 
 
 nature and providence have implanted upon their coun- 
 tenance; had they been intended to share the same pri- 
 vileges with otlier men, they would liave received that 
 sable hue which is the distinguishing characteristic of the 
 human race ; or at least they would have given some 
 faint trace of this consanguinity, in the yellowness of 
 their complexions, like the Moors or Arabs ; but nothing 
 can be more evident than that men with pale faces and 
 lank hair, were only created to be slaves. 
 . He has besides assured us, from the most ' 
 authentic records of our holy traditions, that all men 
 were in the beginning of one colour, but that the father 
 of this impious and pernicious breed having one day irri- 
 tated the Great Serpent, by stealing from him a mess of 
 consecrated pottage, that father of gods and men, in 
 punishment for his impiety, struck him three times 
 over the face with his tail, and rendered him and all Iris 
 descendants white. With such a plain and authentic 
 testimony of the will of heaven, there can be no doubt 
 of the lawfulness of seizing all the white men in cxovy 
 quarter of the globe, and forcing them to labour for our 
 pleasure and emolument. 
 
 But in order to prove that our benevolence keeps equal 
 pace with our justice, we are willing to do everything 
 for the improvement of this miserable race^ which is con- 
 sistent 
 
( 93 ) 
 
 sistcnt uith our avvful purpose ; we therefore shall give 
 dii-ections that they be not compelled to labour more 
 than fourteen hours in the day ; and that at stated times, 
 during the ample ieiburc which they will enjoy, they be 
 instructed in the tenets of our most holy religion, and 
 taught the tirst general principles of justice and mo- 
 rality. 
 
 We are not insensible of the di-TiCulty of such a task, 
 since among all those who have visited our shores, 
 we have scarcely heard of one that seemed to understand 
 the common distinctions of right and wrong. They are 
 indeed universally given up to the practice of the most 
 degrading vices ; a sordid avarice, which renders them 
 incapable of frienci'^hip, pity, or any human affection, 
 and a beastly intemperance to which thousands are 
 yearly victims ; cruelty and cunning seem to form the 
 basis of their character ; for while they are continually 
 taking advantage of the noble simplicity of the blacks to 
 overreach, deceive, and betray them, they are observed 
 to nourish tlie most implacable hatred and jealousy 
 against each otiier ; so that it is conjectured, were they 
 not restrained by tlicir mutual fears of our royal power, 
 they would soon exterminate each other by unremitting 
 war and cruelty. 
 
 But 
 
(99 ) 
 
 But though there is too inuch truth in (hcsc rcpresen- 
 tafiohs, it is to be hoped that the Great Serpent, when 
 he gave them [lie figure of men, did not totally deny 
 tlifcni the faculty of reason : and that the ha'nts of cor- 
 ruption Aviiich they have acquired may at least be par- 
 tially corrected by wholesome discipline, unremittins; 
 labour, spare diet, and seasonable correction with the 
 whip. 
 
 By these means our clemency towards those unliappy 
 men will appear no less conspicuous than our justice. 
 For though some thousands of them may pi-obal)ly perish 
 dining the passage, others by the pressure of unusual 
 labour, or by the deserved chastisement they "may incur, 
 yet there is no doubt that the happiness of the survivors 
 will be so infinitely increased, that they will have rea- 
 son to bless the vvisdora and clemency of this our ro^-al 
 decree. 
 
 There appears Indeed one difficulty in the execution 
 of these just and salutary regulations, which is the dan- 
 ger of our royal intentions being defeated by the want 
 of females to continue the breed. But having consulted 
 with some of our chosen counsellors, who have been 
 compelled to visit the dreary countries which these bar- 
 jjarians inhabit, they have assured us that there can bo 
 
 no 
 
( 100 ) 
 
 no difficulty in opening a trade to any extent for female 
 ■whites These barbarians, they say, are accustomed to 
 &e]l every thing ; and are ready to dispose >/; themselves, 
 their wives, or their children, provided they can find 
 a purchaser. To this they added, that the idleness, 
 licentiousness, and extravagance of many of the female 
 scxaresucli, as to prove intolerable nuisances to all 
 uho are any way connected with them ; they do not 
 therefore doubt, that were a n^arket once assured for 
 these commodities, we might be even gratuitously sup- 
 plied with any number we could receive. 
 
 We therefore encourage all our loyal subjects to pro- 
 ceed vigorously in their colonial enterprizes, and not to 
 be deterred by the fear of a continual supply of whites 
 for necessary labour. We intend yearly to send a fleet 
 to London, Bristol, and Lverpool, where it is assured 
 us we ma)- be furnished with any number of white slavps 
 of b(.th sexes, upon reasonable and moderate terms; for 
 Mich is the sterility of these countries, by reason of their 
 distance from the Sun, and such the wickedness of the 
 people, that the miserable injiabitants exercise a conti- 
 nual rapine u^x)!) each oilier for food ; thousands fre- 
 quently perish by famine, thousands are reduced to 
 
 beggary, 
 
( 101 ) 
 
 beggary, and thousands yearly put to death for iheir 
 crimes. Shocking as these representations must appear 
 to tlie delicate and refined humanity of African ears, we 
 have every reason to adore the wisdom of the Great 
 Serpent, who has made us the instrument of a salutary 
 . reformation to this unfortunate and degraded race of 
 human beings, by teaching them justice and moral du- 
 ties, supplying them with necessary food which it is 
 evident they cannot acquire in their own country, and 
 introducing them to a knowledge of the sublime and 
 holy truths of our religion. 
 
 This imperial mandate is a faithful transcript of our 
 high and uncontroulable will, in the regulation of the 
 commerce of slaves ; and we have oidered our faithful 
 counsellor and scribe Abdallah Ilamet, to make known 
 to all the nations of the earth, that they may adore our 
 wisdom, and prostrate themselves bt:fore the imperial 
 throne of power, whose splendour reaches even to the 
 Heavens, and darkens the glory of the Sun, &ic: ike. Sec. 
 
 THE 
 
( 103 ) 
 
 TRAIT EUR. 
 
 To the Tra'Ucur. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 i. WAS very much entertained witli your character of 
 the pretty parson, who may he justly styled the petit 
 maitre of religion; whose aftected eloquence is as little 
 calculated to convey the doctrines of Christianity, as 
 Iiis life is to express the manners of its Founder. This 
 capital too much abounds with these priggish saints, who 
 seem to introduce Lord Chesterfield's graces into the 
 Bible, and to bend the venerable Evangeiisls to the dan- 
 cing 5,chool. 
 
 I'ut although I pcifectly understand your design, and 
 saw that you only meant to attack those meretricious 
 ornaments, in which human vanity would vainly attire 
 the sul>liniest system of faith and morals which has ever 
 been propesed to man, I could not heip fearing that 
 
 many 
 
( 103 ) 
 
 many of your readers might mistake the extent and 
 purport of your ridicule. To obviate such misconcep- 
 tions, I intend this letter as a species of comment on 
 your sixth paper ; and as you have there, wiih mucli 
 increnuity and liveliness, pointed out the affectations 
 which disgrace religion, here I shall make some obser- 
 vations upon its proper use, and the character which 
 becomes its professois. 
 
 Whoever is at all acquainted with the lot of human 
 beingi, such as they have appeared in every age and 
 country, will lament the complicated calamities which 
 are too frequently their portion. He will there fiiui 
 that no situation is so high as to elude the shafts uf for- 
 tune, none so low as to escape her fury. The hurricane 
 that levels towers and palaces to the ground, overturns 
 the cottage, and desolates the harvest in its course ; thus 
 docs the over-ruling destiny of the species involve the 
 great, the mighty, the rulers, and the tyrants of the 
 earth, in the common devastation which sweeps av.ay 
 the mean, the abject, the beggar, and the slave. It is 
 not only in the grave, 
 
 " Where e'en the great find rest, 
 *' And blended .sleep tli' oppressor ar.d the opprcbt," 
 
 that 
 
( 104 ) 
 
 that their fortunes tire similar and equal, but in the short 
 and transitory parts which they are previously doomed to 
 act. How often has beauty been only an introduction 
 to vice and infamy, M'c-alth to utter ruin, youth to di- 
 sease, and great abilities to destruction ! how often does 
 virtue ittelf pruve fatal to its possessor, how often does 
 it only serve to frighten away his pleasures, interrupt 
 his case, and make him splendidly miserable. If he 
 rouses at what appears to h'm " the great call of na- 
 ture," and steps forth to occupy his proper place upon 
 the public theatre of the world; if he attacks with be- 
 coming firmness, the great corruptions of govcinment 
 and manners, what bands of desperate and inveterate 
 mercenaries may he not find leagued against him ! 
 scarcely can religion itself boast a more numerous train 
 of martyrs than have been offered up before the shrine 
 of civil liberty ; chains and axes, gibbets and wheels, 
 dungeons and perpetual prisons, obtrude themselves 
 upon his view, where Sidney and Russel fell, where the 
 noble de Wilts were mangled by their ungrateful cuun.- 
 trymen, and where the generous Palkul was oflered up 
 a guiltless sacrifice to an obdurate tyrant. If deterred 
 by such a scene of complicated horrors, he ti-.kcs refuge 
 ill obbcuiity, and dcvetcs himself to the silent practice 
 
 o£ 
 
( 10.5 ) 
 
 of his duty: tlicre indeed he finds less of tumult and 
 danger, not always more of happiness. Around him he 
 beholds his fellow creatures pining in miseries which 
 it is not granted him to remove. In vain does he ex- 
 tend his hospitable arms to relieve the indigent, or assist 
 the distressed. Sometimes, indeed, he drfl'uses a mo- 
 mentary ray of gladness through the abodes of want 
 and wretchedness ; sometimes he may snatch the fallen 
 frtm the fangs of insulting power, or dispel the gloom 
 of sickness and of death. But who can remove from 
 ever}- individual the particular inconveniences which are 
 attached to his respective station ? What scenes of guilt, of 
 prostitution, and irremediable distress does every crowded 
 capital present ! what thousands that are perisLing by 
 iingering, painful, and incurable disease ; that are weep- 
 ing over the premature death of those upon whom their 
 only hopes of subsistence depended ; that are exposed to 
 all the inclemencies of the seasons and the pangs of fa- 
 mine, that are suffering the bitter fruits of their own 
 misconduct, or of the ciimcs of others 
 
 'J'lqs is no exaggerated picture of what jcally passes 
 under tlic eyes of every one ; it is a faint outline which 
 imagination will fill up from e.xpciicnca; and often 
 
 with yet d'>eper colours of calamity. 
 
 ii Who 
 
( 106 ) 
 
 Who tliat considers such a scene, with a moment's 
 serious reflection, can avoid shuddering at the objects 
 which it presents ? Youth, and its momentary intoxica- 
 tions, the clamours of riot and festivity, the glare of 
 pomp and spectacle, the dreams of love, or the phantoms 
 of ambition, may sometimes chase the due sense of our 
 weakness, and of the inanity of human pursuits ; but it 
 will return in the hour of solitude and silence ; augment 
 the violence of pain and sickness, or hover, like our evil 
 genius, around the bed of death. Reason and philosophy 
 may intervene with all the pride of eloquence and de- 
 clamation ; but the baneful phantom submits not to their 
 exorcisms, nor will be fettered by their spells. Some- 
 times we are told that we must plunge into transitory- 
 joy, and make the most of that'scason which will return 
 no more ; 
 
 ** Be gay ; too soon the flowers of spring will fade." 
 Upon other occasions, we are comforted with the cer- 
 tainty of our approaching dissolution, which will at once 
 '-remove our pains and pleasures, our unsubstantial hopes 
 and fears, and all the various miseries *' which flesh is 
 heir to." Some philosophers have hoped to silence the 
 complaints of misery, by denying i!s existence : and by 
 lifting men above the condition of mortality, have 
 
 thought 
 
( 107 ) 
 
 thought to exempt them from its inconreniences.— But 
 this, and a thousand other specious subtleties, are but 
 the excrescences of human vanity, incapable of removing 
 the most trifling of the evils which they pretend to cure, 
 
 " riceret lateri lethalis arundo:" 
 This the celebrated Stoic found when in the attacks of 
 a cruel disease, he belied his own conviction, and pre- 
 tended to triumph over pain, by not confessing that he 
 felt it: 
 
 From these considerations of human weakness, and 
 the inability of reason to extricate us from the labyrinth 
 of doubt in which we are involved, it may perhaps, not 
 without foundation, be thought, that nature itself has 
 disposed our minds to the admission of religious ioipres- 
 sions. Our improvements in many of the sciences, have 
 also improved our knowledge in the doctrine of final 
 causes. And although ingenious men are too ready to 
 push their speculations beyond the bounds of nature and 
 experience, yet the admirable mechanism of our bodies 
 together with the particular tendency of all our instincts 
 and passions, either to our own or the general good, 
 must impress even the most obstinate sceptic with asto- 
 nishment and reverence.— Can it then be imagined that 
 nature, which has evidently intended every particular 
 H 2 instinct 
 
( 108 ) 
 
 instinct slie implants for some determini^te end, whicli 
 has allotted the gratification to every passion she inspires, 
 should have contradicted herself in this alone ? hunger, 
 and thirst, and all the train cf bodily feelings, not ex- 
 cepting the very sensibility to pain, which is the source 
 of so many evils, are evidently intended to force us to that 
 continual care and attention, which reason and reflec- 
 tion alone could never produce. Anger, by impelling 
 us to exertion, and fear, by removing us from danger, 
 produce the same effect ; and desire is not only the source 
 of our greatest and tendeicst pleasures, but is absolutely 
 necessary to the continuance of the species. But unless 
 we allow that religion, in the general signification of the 
 term, enters into the design of nature itself, we must 
 believe that there is a considerable and very important 
 part of our constitution entirely useless. The sentiment 
 of ourovvn weakness, and of the insufficiency of sui)lunary 
 enjoyments, the restlcssne.s of our minds, even in the 
 midst of uninterrupted prosperity, the inefilcacy of every 
 topic drawn from reason and philosophy to support us 
 under the pressure of miifortunc, and tliat continual 
 tendency which every man, even the most confirmed \\n 
 l)cliever, has frequently experienced to ask for snccoiir 
 from some superior being ; all these, which arc senti- 
 
 mcnii 
 
( 109 ) 
 
 ments implanted by nature in the human breast, suffi- 
 ciently indicate their origin. Should it be objected, 
 that the propensity to religious belief is always strongest 
 in the most ignorant and uncultivated part of the spe- 
 cies, in children, savages, and the vulgar ; it may be 
 answered with truth, that so is every other instinctive 
 propensity ; and great refinement, however it may in 
 many other respects be considered as advantageous, was 
 never yet found to augment either our passions or na- 
 tural sentiments. 
 
 Shall we then imagine that it is only to deceive our 
 expectations and frustrate our wishes, that we are en- 
 dowed with a sensibility which is denied to every other 
 species of animals ? Are all the noblest faculties of the 
 soul, exerted in the noblest manner, the instruments by 
 which this fatal cozenage is carried on ? Those who can 
 believe so, must certainly be the most real objects of our 
 compassion; since this opinion, whether true or false, 
 tears from the human mind its last, its best support ; and 
 shows us that in the wide extent of a world abounding 
 with evil, we have neither parent, comforter, nor 
 friend. 
 
 But let us grant for an instant that this universal ten- 
 dency of all mankind, is the strongest argument and 
 H 3 " assurance 
 
( 110) 
 
 assurance of its truth. What a radiance of hope and 
 glory does it cast over our whole horizon ! liow imme- 
 diately is every doubtful appearance solved, every phe- 
 nomenon explained, and every fear surmounted ! What 
 a support and triumph to suffering virtue, that beholds 
 a refuge of peace and happiness, beyond the stormy sea 
 which tosses it below. Surely the idea is fuch, so vast, 
 so elevated, that we may here app!y the sublime Ian- 
 language of a modern poet, without exaggeration : 
 
 *' Blow, ye winds ! 
 
 *' Ye wiives, 3'c thunders, roll your tempests on ! 
 f' Shake ye old pillars of the marble sky, 
 " Till all its orbs, and all its worlds of lire 
 *' Be loosen'd from their seats ! — Yet, still serene, 
 '*' Th* unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck ; 
 *' And even stronger as the storms advance, 
 " Firm through the closing ruin holds his way 
 " Where nature call&him to the dcstin'd goal !" 
 
 Akcnside. 
 
 X. Y. 
 
 TO 
 
( IH ) 
 
 TO THE 
 
 Printer of the Public Ad-certiser, 
 
 But never sent to that paper, or published till now. 
 
 J. THINK it one of the peculiar blessings of the present 
 age, that the fair sex have so far emancipated themselves 
 from former restraints, as boldly to indulge their genius 
 in the career of literature. How fir these fair adven- 
 turers may enlarge the limits of science, I v.fill not pre- 
 tend to decide; but I hope to see the period, and even 
 flatter myself that period is at no great distance, when 
 there shall not be a town in England, and scarcely a 
 private family without its authoress. The infinite ad- 
 vantages this will produce to the morals, the taste, and 
 happiness of the world, are too evident to need enume- 
 ration. Every mother will then be enabled to instrutt 
 her children, and form their tender minds to a love of 
 glory, by favouring them with a perusal of her own 
 
 works 
 
( 112 ) 
 
 works; and every blooming virgin will enchant her 
 lover, not ')y tender looks, or gracious smiles, or the 
 common art> by which affections are subdued, but by 
 giving him an order to her pi inter ; 
 
 SIR, 
 
 Please to let Henry Langni;h, Esq. ha\e 
 on demand five copies of my Essay upon the Nationa,! 
 Debt; as also sixteen of my Critical Observations on the 
 various readings of the Pentateuch, 
 
 fronij Sir, your's, &c. 
 
 yl rubella Tender , 
 
 It is not easy to describe the complicated emotions 
 which must arise in a lover's breast, when he is thus at 
 once overpowered by tenderness and learning ; but sure- 
 ly he will never attempt lO break those chains which Ve- 
 inis and IMinerva both conspire to weave. Perhaps it 
 may be feared that the time consumed in preparatory 
 studies, laborious researches, turning over lexicons, dic- 
 tionaries, and philosophical abridgments, may be some- 
 thing unfavorable to the exercise of those domestic du- 
 ties and employments, which have hitherto been the 
 province of the fair sex. Perhaps it may be imagined 
 that, the conspicuous point of view in which every 
 
 author 
 
( 113 ) 
 
 author is exposed to the public, since every author is 
 only a person who undertakes the employment of amus- 
 ing or instructing the rest of the world, may interfero 
 with that interesting delicacy, that amiable tenderness, 
 that irresistible softness, which constitutes, or rather 
 did constitute so essential a part of the female character. 
 But I apprehend the last of these objections will appear 
 \ery trifling, when it is considered, that it is the great 
 business of all female education at present, to render it 
 utterly impossible that a lady should ever be embar- 
 rassed with these sensations ; a polite education may be 
 considered as a species of inoculation, which effectually 
 prevents the fair patient from feeling any subsequent at- 
 tack of shame or timidity during the rest of her life ; so, 
 in reality, after having proceeded thus far, it is nothin<» 
 but prejudice which can leave us any remaining scruples 
 upon the subject. 
 
 The modest look, the castigated grace, 
 The gentle movement, and slow measur'd pace. 
 For which her lovers died, her parents pray'd, 
 Are indecorums in the modern maid. 
 Why then should we be more shocked at hearin<T a 
 lady talk loud, or decide dogmatically in the midst of 
 a crowd of philosophers, than in a circle of petit-maitres, 
 
 at 
 
( il4 ) 
 
 at seeing her exhibit her mind in a dissertation, than her 
 person in an allemande ; or knowing she was surrounded 
 by a concourse of mcn,instead of being closettLcl withMons. 
 Le Fleur, Perruquier aux dauies, just ariived from Pa- 
 ris ? I apprehend that a lady is neither a more public, nor 
 a more disagreeable exhibition when she is reading her 
 tragedy, or like the bards of antiquity, reciting her own 
 verses from house to house, than when she is singing 
 sentimental airs to a numerous company, such as ' if 'tis 
 joy to wound a lover, how much more to give him ease, 
 &c.'or exposing herself to a select party of some five or 
 six hundred upon a private theatre ; both which fashions 
 the supreme tribunal has decided to be perfectly con- 
 sistent with modern decency. As to the other objection, 
 derived from its interfering with those employments, 
 which custom has invariably allotted the female sex, and 
 which must be executed by somebody, it is very easily 
 removed by transfering these employments to the men, 
 for whom in reality they were I believe designed. For 
 if we may guess at the intentions of nature, by the dis- 
 positions she has implanted, I should imagine that we 
 have hitherto made a gross mistake in casting the pans 
 of the two sexes. When I sec little MibS just emanci- 
 pated from boarding-school, rejoice in reining the ma- 
 naged 
 
( 115 ) 
 
 nagcd steeds, or cleavinr; the five barred gate, or animat- 
 ing her coursers amidst a cloud of Olympic dust, or 
 throwing off the dress as well as manners of her sex, by- 
 strutting about as an Amazon, and rivalling; the un- 
 fledged ensign both in the length of her striclcis, and tlie 
 fierceness of her air, can I conclude that this dear pictty 
 crcature was ever intended for a woman? 
 
 Such was her face, as in a blooming maid, 
 The image of a lovely boy convey *d. 
 
 When on the contrary I behold in men tlic distinguislj- 
 ing characteristics of the other sex, such as a love of 
 trifles, an attention continually employed upon their 
 persons, an uncommon garrulity, an aversion to every 
 manly employment or excrtioB, can I help lamentin^^ 
 that society is robbed of so many useful sempstresses, 
 milliners, and fine ladies ? — But by the emendation I 
 have proposed, that peace will be restored to society, 
 which is now effectually interrupted, by both sexes de- 
 serting their accustomed duties. Can there be a more 
 ed'fying spectacle concei\ed, than that of a hubband, 
 performmg all the duties of a good housewife, instruct- 
 ing the cook in the discharge of her culinary function*, 
 weighing out the ingredients of a minced pie> or darn- 
 ing 
 
( 116 ) 
 
 ing the stockings of the family ? When little Master is 
 to be dry-mirsed, or little IMiss has fouled her petticoat, 
 should the servant hy mistake apply to his mistress, she 
 ivill answer, like the great Corneillc, why do you tiou- 
 ble me with these things, you know I never interfere in 
 family matters ? If on the contrary, a new coach-horse 
 should be required in the stable, or the steward want 
 to settle his accounts, or the postillion come to complain 
 of the indecent behaviour of Mrs. Betty, who entertains 
 designs against his vartue, the master will refer them 
 to the study, v.'here his beautiful consort gives audience 
 in dishabille. Nothing can certainly be more prejudir 
 cial to society, than to have the diffeient orders which 
 compose it, discontented with their appointed stations, 
 and desirous of innovation. This is certainly the casp 
 at present ; the men envy the women that indolence 
 and iVivolity, and coquetry which used to be their pre- 
 r(;gitives ; and the women are no less discontented at 
 being subject to a single restraint of one sex, or deprived 
 of a single indulgence of the other. This fact is evinced 
 by all the fashions and changes which the female sex 
 have adopted during the last twenty years, these being 
 no more than so many approaches to the licentiousness 
 of raauhood; but still niore&o by the writings with whicji 
 
 they 
 
( 117) 
 
 they have favoured the world. These writings, whether 
 novels, poetry, or any other equally valuable species of 
 composition, are almost filled with asserting the rights of 
 the sex, which consist in their having a right to neglect 
 all the duties and decorums of their sex, and to assume 
 all the preposterous customs and effrontery which dis- 
 grace our's. If we are favoured with a dramatic piece 
 from a fair hand, we are sure to be informed of the infinite 
 contempt she entertains for study, knowledge, or severe 
 attentions, without which we know it is impossible for a 
 man to succeed ; as well as to hear the tyranny of the men 
 arraigned,who would rather have their wives manage their 
 families than write plays* If it be a novel, we are sure 
 to find the heroine of the piece has a most supreme con- 
 tempt for retired domestic life, to which nine tenths of 
 the species are unavoidably destined, is too exalted to 
 make a pudding, although she be a farmer's daughter, 
 and too wise to be governed by any decorum vvhich cus- 
 tom has established for her sex ; but she either elopes, 
 or makes an excursion, or writes a tragedy ; and whether 
 eloping, expatiating, or writing, is always charnung, 
 dear, elegant, adorable, and admirable. But when once 
 he reformation 1 propose is thoroughly established, I 
 hope to see both sexes contentedly submit to their ap- 
 
 P'.iiited 
 
( lis ) 
 
 pointed ducies. The men \v.ill rejoice, in being delivered 
 from the noise, and bustle, and business of the world, 
 which are too much for the fineness of their nerves, and 
 tlie delicacy of their constitutions ; and the women, at 
 possessinci; Tthose unlimited powers and prerogatives 
 to which they have been so long aspiring. To prevent 
 future revolution?, I hope they will then regulate the 
 education of both sexes in such a manner, as may effec- 
 tually produce habits consistent with the res-pective du- 
 ties they are to discharge. Let the ladies be confident, 
 dissipated, expensive, if the}' please; let them spend 
 their lives in public, and their foi tunes at the gaming 
 table, let them boast of their too succesi^ful triumphs 
 over our unfortunate sex, and be jockies, libertines, or 
 authors; but let the men be taught modesty, frugality, 
 a love of retirement, and the faculty of blushing ; let them 
 above all other things be debarred from pen and ink, and 
 convinced that it is totally incon'^istent with male softness 
 and delicacy, to emerge from virtuous obscurity, to ne- 
 glect the iilent but important duties of his sex and fa- 
 mily, to till up the columns of a newspaper, and become 
 either the wonder or ridi culc of the town. 
 
 CLERIMONT. 
 
 A LETTER 
 
( 119 ) 
 
 A LETTER, 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 W HEN an author of acknowledged merit attacks, with 
 all the virulence of satire, the memory of a writer equal- 
 ly celebrated for superiority of genius and of virtue, he 
 seems to throw down a public gauntlet of defiance, 
 which every one may take up who feels within himself a 
 sufficient spirit to meet so formidable a foe. 
 
 I shall therefore make no apology for the following 
 examination of Mr* Hayley's Censures of Swift, in his 
 late Poem of the Triumphs of Temper. Tie is a writer of 
 so much real merit and elegance, that none of his opinions' 
 can be considered as indifferent, either to the public 
 taste, or public morals. Jilucli greater tlicn is the dan- 
 ger 
 
( 120 ) 
 
 gpr, when the beauty of his numbers, and the authority 
 cfhis name, give weig!it to popular prejudices, and aim 
 the sui)crricial taste and affected delicacy of the prcfeent 
 age, with the sanction of principle and benevolence. 
 
 The envy of rival wits, is so stale and acknowledged 
 a fact, that few will feel themselves inclined to controvert 
 its general authority, although they may deny the parti- 
 cular applicatijn. However liberal and ingenious, 
 therefore, I may suppose Mr. Ilayley's private temper, 
 I cannot lielp imagining, that part of his enmity to Swift, 
 may arise from a contrariety of genius, wliich often in- 
 sensibly warps us from our natural Lias, and invests pri- 
 vate interest, and private vanity, with all the dignity of 
 principle and public spirit. The field of literature is indeed 
 so wide, that authors of ihe naost various and contrary ta- 
 Icnts.have sufliciL-nt room to expatia'.e,wilhout the danger 
 ofencroachingupon each other in their career; yet seldom 
 do we see these literary competiiors, contented with ap- 
 proaching the goal, wiihout endeavouring to overturn a 
 lival in the way. Thus Tope in the miusl of the gluiy 
 which the early efi'orts of his genius hud justly acquirCvl 
 him, thought it necessary to depreciate Philip's Pastorals 
 in order to exalt his own ; and thus the restorers of iho 
 mcidcrn witty coniody, seem discontented with their 
 
 (hie ved 
 
( 121 ) 
 
 deserved applause, unless they can hold up the serious 
 Muse to ridicule and contempt. 
 
 In the task of instructing and improving mankind, 
 there seems to have always been two great divisions, un- 
 der one or other of which, the moral writers of 
 every age have been contented to be ranged. The first 
 class comprehends men of polished minds and delicate 
 taste, who, with little enthusiasm for virtue, or abhor- 
 rence of vice, are contented to direct the poignancy of 
 their wit, at foibles and defects, which contradict the 
 reigning taste and manners : or should they attack a 
 fashionable vice, it is with so much gentleness, with such 
 a parade of candour, with such an affectation of polite- 
 ness, that you see plainly, the least of the author's cares 
 is to serve the cause in which he is engaged ; and that 
 like stage combatants, in the midst of the fight, he is 
 more intent upon the balancing of his plume, the flow of 
 his robe, and the decorum of his attitude, than zealous 
 to annoy his adversary. Such men are the coquettes of 
 literature ; as these, with little real feeling, find it neces- 
 sary to aifict sensibility, so those with little interest for 
 the public welfare, or solicitude about public morals, 
 imagine it expedient to pretend to both ; but with all 
 the airs and graces which they assume, you see the little 
 I intere>-tj^, 
 
( 122 ) 
 
 interests of their oxen vanity ever uppermost in thci? 
 thoughts, and prevailing over every other consideratioiK 
 I have aho heard these gontlemeii compared to Masters 
 of the ceremonies at public places, who flatter the 
 company, in hopes of a benefit, bow and cringe to Vice, 
 [Men lines?, and Effrontery, in the man of rank, fortune, 
 or fashion, but who would turn Virtue herself out of the 
 room, should she appear there in an unfashionable dress. 
 The second class of moralists, con'ains men of strong 
 minds, and indignant tempers, who find it impossible to 
 practise condescensions, which would degrade them in 
 their own eyes, or to keep measures with what excites 
 their abhorrence. Struck with the wide deviations of 
 the human species from every standard of rectitude and 
 religion, they think it mote honourable to oppose the 
 torrent, than to glide with security upon its surface, 
 conscious that genius is not given tc apologize for error, 
 or courage to defend the cause of general depravity, they 
 scorn to prostitute either, for the temporary smile of pub- 
 lic admiration : or if they are not e.xcmpt from the uni- 
 versal passion, it is in them a g<^ncrous feeling which 
 grasps at posterity, and appeals to the wise and good of 
 every country. Surh I imagine was Luther in religion, 
 l3ruius and Ilambdcn in politics, Ju\enal aiul Swift in 
 itiarals. I do 
 
( 123 } 
 
 1 do not mean to insinuate, that the author of the 
 Triumphs of Temper, belongs to the first class 1 have 
 described ; although I should have been much more in- 
 clined to place him there, had I teen nothing of his 
 composition, but this Poem. Yet I think this Poem, and 
 every similar one, however elegant in composition, much 
 less calculated to promote the cause of virtue, than 
 the very piece it so forcibly arraigns, I will endeavour 
 to state my reasons for such an assertion, by an exami- 
 nation of the Poem, which is professedly written with 
 amoral design ; and in this, my admiration of the Poet's 
 genius will not restrain me from freely proposing my 
 objections ; conscious that, as I am the last of critics to 
 be feared, so he is the last of auihors to be ufiaid of 
 ciiticism. 
 
 The moral of the Poem is, in the writer's own words, 
 " Virtue's an ingot of Peruvian gold, 
 Sense the bright ore, Potosi's mines unfold ; 
 Rut temper's image must their use create. 
 And give these precious melals sterling weight.'' 
 I should be very happy, were I inclined to depreciate the 
 extraordinary poetical talents which appear in every 
 page of this work, to begin my criticism, with what 1 
 think four of the worst lines in the Poem. Virtue is 
 I 2 an 
 
( 124 ) 
 
 an Ingot of Peruvian gold, Sense the silver ore of Poto«i f 
 the thought is sufficiently common, and the lines, flat : 
 
 " But temper's image must their use create." 
 This is neither true of gold, or of sense and virtue : the 
 one will, in every state, retain its intrinsic value, al- 
 though imprest with no image at all ; and the other may 
 produce the greatest utility to mankind, when uncon- 
 nected with good temper. 
 
 " And give those precious metals sterling weight." 
 It surely is not the impression of Caesar, or any thing 
 else, which can give to metals, either sterling or any 
 other weight ; but my aim is not verbal criticisms, and 
 I proceed to consider the general conduct and design of 
 the Pceni: 
 
 The heroine of the piece is a young lady adorned with 
 beauty, health, cheerfulness, and vivacity; she is placed 
 under the care of a fond and tender parent, enjoying all 
 the conveniencies, elegancies, and luxuries which afflu- 
 ence can bestow. In these circumstances one would 
 imagine that there were few exertions of extraordinary 
 good temper required, few lessons of patience to be ex- 
 liibited for common use, or examples to be collected of 
 bearing what it is the inevitable lot of the gicater part 
 of the species to sutler. It is not hence that the innu- 
 merable individuals of the female sex, who are doomed 
 
 ta 
 
( 125 ) 
 
 io obscure wretchedness, to unceasing toil, to all tlie 
 drudgery of oppressive poverty, or to groan under the 
 brutality, or neglect of cruel or indifferent husbands, must 
 derive either instiuction or relief. Yet it is to them 
 one should imagine that a professed moralist, and votary 
 of the female sex should address himself, if he wished to 
 be of any real utihty. The few that can possibly be 
 comprehended under the above description, are exposed 
 to no trials of temper, which deserve the care of the mo- 
 ralist; and if tliey are wayward, capricious, and dis« 
 ccnlented even in the midst of case and enjoyment, not 
 all the charms of Mr. Hayley's poetry will, I fear, effect 
 a cure. 
 
 " In gay content a sportive life she led. 
 The child of Modesty, by Virtue bred ; 
 Her light companions Innocence and Ease : 
 Her hope was pleasure, and her wish to please. 
 For this to Fashion early rites she paid : 
 For this to Venus secret vows she made ; 
 Nor held it sin to casta private glance 
 O'er the dear pages of a new romance." 
 These lines are elegant and easy ; but I will venture 
 to say, there is no merit implied in any but the second, 
 j^hich is not found in almost every young lady of fashion, 
 I 2 that 
 
( leG ) 
 
 lliat is not taught in every boarding-scbool, and si ill 
 riiorc dcrply impic^sicd by every public place in London, 
 In an age when dissipation, extravagance, ;.nd the love 
 of fashionable pleasures have expelled every domestic 
 virtue fiom ihe female heart, is it necessary that poetry 
 and morality should fan the flame, like two venerable 
 procuresses in the habits of a cloyster ? Let us translate 
 these lir.es into plain prose : — Pleasure employed the 
 young lady's hopes, and her greatest wish was to please ; 
 for this purpose she paid early rites to Fashion, and made 
 secret vows to Venus; and often employed herself in 
 reading Romances. I own I do not sec any thing in this 
 character to tempt either 
 
 *' God to aid, or angels to descend ;" 
 any thing which should make it be hung up as a sacred 
 tablet for public imitation ; unless perhaps, the author 
 may imagine that the ladies are not sufficiently inclined 
 to dress, coquetry, fashion, and reading Romarices already. 
 " The modern anecdote was next convey'd 
 Beneath her pillow, by her faithful maid." 
 There is an insinuation in these lines, which however 
 common the practice may be, docs no great honor to 
 tiie character of the lady ; as it implies fraud, and that 
 
 improper confidence in servants which is alike contrary 
 
 to 
 
( 127 ) 
 
 to good education and decorum of manners I hare 
 lieard it observed, that as statues which are to be placed 
 on lofty columns, are made to exceed the proportions 
 of human bodies, that their eft'ect may not be lost, so in 
 moral writings which are put into the hands of youth, 
 virtues ought to be delineated which exceed the efforts 
 of common lifii. Lord Bolingbroke himself very candid- 
 ly makes this apology for the seeming severity of some of 
 the precepts of the Christian religion. Men, he ob- 
 jerves, arc always apt to relax in their endeavours, and 
 whatever may be the moduli of their imitation, will al- 
 ways fall short of that perfection which they propose. 
 How necessary therefore is it lo propose such examples 
 as may employ all the faculties, and fill up the whole 
 mind ; how necessary to elevate human weakness with 
 the sense of superior excellence, and make it reach the 
 utmost bounds of possibility, while it is straining after a 
 phantom of ideal perfection ! Let the moral painter, 
 therefore, who proposes patteins of imitation, endeavour 
 to awaken all the energy of his own genius ; let his eye, 
 " roving in a fine phrenzy" over the intellectual world, 
 select every thing which is the most beautiful, and most 
 capable of exciting an holy enthusiasm; let him, if the 
 present age will not supply fit models for his art, exhaust 
 the treasures of antiquity, and propose those pure and 
 
 1 4 simple 
 
( 128) 
 
 simple graces, which are now banished from the worlJ ; 
 there is no danger that he should succeed too well, or 
 lift his pupils too much beyond the limits of human im- 
 perfection ; the world, with all its cares and pleasures, 
 its low interests and vanities, will continually intervene, 
 and stop them in their flight. Possuiit quia posse videntur, 
 is an axiom that will hold invariably true in morals ; ho 
 that makes mankind believe they are capable of great 
 effects, produces them ; while the necessary consequence 
 of taking even the imaginary patterns of conduct rather 
 from what is, than from what ought to be, is to contract 
 the bounds of human perfection, and make every return 
 to virtue, once exploded, totally impiacticable. The 
 moralist therefore that contents himself with describing 
 common virtues, can never hope to produce any thing 
 more thaxi common characters. 
 
( 129 ) 
 
 The subsequent pages of prose contain some of Mrs, Day's 
 ichct productions, all oftohich, like her poetry, were writ ten 
 in the days of her youth, before she had attained her 
 seventeenth year. 
 
 1 HE first page of Mrs. Day's prose will commence 
 with a sensible elegant letter,writtcn in IjGj to a quondam 
 school fellow of her's ; about which time I believe Miss 
 Milnes left Queen-Square School, and was between fifteen 
 and sixteen years of age. Her other prose productions, 
 that I shall now publish, )werc written in the two follow- 
 ing years, except the themes, which, though there is no 
 date to them, I should imagine were school performances, 
 as themes and school exercises are synonimous terms. 
 I have selected these as appearing to me peculiarly well 
 written. However, Mrs. Day might possibly write them 
 after she left school, pour passer le tems, as she seldom 
 took up the needle for her amusement, and when she did, 
 used it as awkwardly as Hercules handled the distaff; 
 for her taste in that respect was not feminine, though her 
 general disposition and manners wcre^ 
 
( 130 ) 
 
 I hope the candid reader will consider, if I appear to 
 have formed too high an idea of JNIrs. Day's mental 
 effusions, we see through different media ns, and that this 
 perhaps occasi :ns the great difference of our sentiments. 
 Being Mrs. Day's nephew, I must acknowledge I feel pecu- 
 liarly interested inevei-y thing which concerns her literary 
 reputation ; but independent of that motive, gratitude, 
 one of the noblest principles of human nature, has proba- 
 bly made me magnify her superior virtues and talents. 
 Nor is it to be wondered at, for my mother, her sis'er, 
 dying in my infancy, she supplied her place, and always 
 acted towards mc with the most kind maternal soli- 
 citude, wliicli conduct has left such a grateful impression 
 on my mind, as I hope will never be erased, and has 
 perhaps on the present occasion, displayed itself in ra? 
 Iher too exuberant an admiration. 
 
( 131 ) 
 
 A LETTER, 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 December 1767. 
 J.T gives me an unfeigned pleasure to find by tlicconvcr- 
 versation I yesterday had with my dear Caroline, that 
 she entertains such jusi sentiments of the world she is 
 going to cuter upon. Believe me, my dearest friend, by 
 calmly considering beforehand the dangers to which 
 ^;ou may be exposed in your future situation, you will be 
 better able to resist the allurements of pleasure, and the 
 loo prevailing force of bad example. But you tell me 
 you mistrust yourself, you know not what changes may 
 be wrought in you by the influence of others. I assure 
 you, this amiable diffidence promises much more than 
 (he confidence of those who (relying solely upon their 
 own strength) think themselves proof against every thing. 
 It has been frequently remarked, that such prcsumptious 
 
 beings 
 
( 132 ) 
 
 beings have from falal experience, received the most 
 convincing proofs of the weakness of human excellence. 
 Indeed a proud, arrogant frame of mind, is what both 
 God and man take delight in humbling, whereas a just 
 sense of our own imperfections, a genuine humility of 
 heart, with a steady reliance upon that power on which 
 the universe rests, must recommend us to 77/5 favour, 
 who alone can prove a never-failing Protector. There- 
 fore, my Caroline, be not dejected, now you are 
 going to embark on life's tempestuous ocean, but take 
 reason for your pilot ; and as Heaven has blest you with 
 Ji suuicicnt share of understanding to be capable of mak- 
 ing proper dibtinctions, I hope your ov.n good sense will 
 enable you to avoid the rocks on which too many inconsi- 
 derate beings have been wrecked, I think pleasure seems 
 one of the greatest enemies which youth has to encoun- 
 ter: what numbers are led away by her enchanting in- 
 fluence ! Inrjood I reflect with the greatest compassion 
 upon her deluded votaries, whose lives are one continual 
 whirl of dissipation. Though novelty may at first give 
 a poignancy to those amusements which they incessantly 
 pursue, frequent repetition must at length blunt their 
 relish for them, and create lassitude and disgust ; but 
 feavin? no taste for cntcrtainnicnti of a superior kind, 
 
 am) 
 
( 133 ) 
 
 and being chained as it were, by the furce of habit to 
 this round of folly, they continue daily to trace the same 
 fantastick circle of diversions, without knowing one real 
 enjoyment. To take innocent pleasure in moderation, is 
 far from being blameable ; for relaxation is necessary to 
 unbend the mind and enable us to return to the du- 
 ties and serious occupations of life with fresh vigour and 
 alacrity. Recreation is to the mind, what sleep is td 
 the body ; in a proper degree it strengthens and refreshes ; 
 in excess, it weakens and enervates. There is no neces- 
 sity that in order to be virtuous we should be gloomy, 
 unsociable beings, averse to every species of enjoymenl. 
 Religion, my Caroline, never appears so amiable as when 
 it wears ihc smile of cjmplacency, and cheerfully par- 
 takes of those blessings which the beneficent hand of 
 Providence so liberally bestows. 
 
 For God is paid when man receives, 
 T' enjoy, is to obey. 
 When piety is sullen and severe, she makes but few con- 
 verts J her aspect is too forbidding to tempt others to 
 become her volaries ; but ihey who adorn sanctity of 
 manners with sweetness of disposition, and that genuine 
 good humour which is the result of inward joy and se- 
 renity, these exhibit religion in the most engaging point 
 
 of 
 
( 131 ) 
 
 t)f view, and di'^play the very leauty cf holiness. Vncj 
 are (as Mr. Addison finely observes in one of his inimi- 
 table Essays) like those spies sent to Canaan, who 
 brought the most tempting fruits to invite their compa- 
 nions into the happy land which produced them. May 
 your piety, my friend, ever be of the smiling kind, an 
 amiable rational principle, founded upon love and gra- 
 titude to the most lovely and benignant of Being'; ! Su- 
 perstition, I believe, results from a gloomy dread of the 
 Dcity» without that pure, sincere affection which his 
 goodness demands. The superstitious form erroneous 
 notions of the Deity: they regard him in a stern, morose 
 light, as pro\ie to punish the smallest transijressions in 
 his creatures, and disgusted v\ith their most innocent 
 enjovments ; though the benignity and complacency of 
 iho Supreme Being,are every where, throughout the wide 
 volume of creation, written in the most conspicuoxis cha- 
 racters. In the chcaiful scenes rf nature, every beau- 
 tiful smiling object that presents itself to me, bccnib to 
 say in the' most ehqucnt language, " thou vert cre- 
 ated to he luijipij." There is something infinitely pleasing 
 in the reflection that the various beauties with which God 
 has adorned this terrestrial sphcie, were solely intended 
 to contribute to our delight ami satisfaction, Willi 
 
 what 
 
( 135 ) 
 
 what heart-felt pleasure and gratitude to the bounteous 
 bcstower of all, should we reflect, my Caroline, that ur 
 may either of us say with the re t of mankind, 
 * For me kind nature wakes her genial po.v'r, 
 Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flow'r.' 
 
 Though the lines I have just now quoted were meant 
 (by Mr. Pope) to express the pride of man, yet I cannot 
 help thinking, if we make such reflections from a senss 
 of gratitude to the Divine Being, they are highly con- 
 formable both to Reason and Religion. 
 
 I hope, my dear Caroline, you will never be so much 
 the fashionable lady, as to lose your relish for the genuine 
 beauties of nature, but will ever think the admirable 
 works of Providence preferable to all the splendor and 
 magnificence of the gay world. Some knowledge of 
 natural philosophy adds greatly to the entertainmenS 
 and instruction which the contemplation of nature af- 
 fords, What can be more delightful to a ralional mind, 
 than to be acquainted with the wonderful mechanism ot" 
 this well-ordered universe, to learn the laws by which- 
 it is governed, and how all the various paiis conduce to 
 form one great, harmonious whole ? We find marks of 
 divine wisdom evidently impressed even on the most com- 
 mon and minute objects : not a plant that grows, a 
 
 flower 
 
( 13G ) 
 
 flower that blooms, or an insect that flies or creeps, but 
 contains in itself innumerable wonders. Can we then 
 enough admire that Being who is the Author of such a 
 rich variety of astonishing productions ? This subject 
 reminds mc of a booli which I would recommend 
 to your perusal, Nature Delineated: it is indeed 
 a very elegant philosophical work. I am sure, my 
 Caroline, you will always devote some time to read- 
 ing, as there is nothing contributes more to enlarge the 
 understanding, and ennoble the sentiments, than fine 
 instructive writers. What an inexhaustible source of 
 entertainment and instruction we derive from books ! 
 how agreeably they fill up the vacant hours of life, and 
 furnish the mind with such various stores of knowledge, 
 ai. may enable it to find an ample fund of amusement 
 within itself! Ihey afford consolation in adversity, and 
 teach us to support prospeiity in a becoming manner. 
 They enliven solitude, and qualify us to grace society,- 
 You honor me so far as to consult me on your choice of 
 books, but I wish you would apply to a more competent 
 judge. Of the books that I have read, I know of none 
 which have so great a tendency to tincture the mind 
 with general knowledge, as tht: Spectators. J^.'r. Addison's 
 Essays are indeed, both in respect to matter and style, 
 
 in'mitalle. 
 
( 137 ) 
 
 immiluhle. In the humourous he is admirable; there 
 is a most elegant vein of pleasantry runs through that 
 part of his writings, and his incomparable strokes 
 of satire are so tempered with candour and humanity, 
 tliat you may plainly see the writer lashes folly only to 
 correct it, not (as others have done) to gratify his 
 spleen or malice. His more serious papers abound with 
 sublime sentiments, and judicious reflections. Plato 
 said, that if Virtue appeared in a visible form, all men 
 would be enamoured of her beauties; and I am sure 
 Jklr.Addison paints her in such beautiful colours, that one 
 cannot help being in love with his picture of her. The 
 style of this charming author is peculiarly pleasing and 
 unaffected, he also expresses himself with that genuine ele- 
 gance which is founded upon simplicity : and there is such 
 an easy flow apparent in his compositions, that they do 
 not seem to be the result of much labour or study. 
 I hope, my charming friend, Mrs. '^*'** will not 
 for tlie future depress tlie encreasing powers of 
 your mind, by refusing you, as she has too often 
 injudiciously done, your just bhaie of applause, 
 laicouragement, properly bestowed, animates the ju- 
 venile understanding, and inspirits it to persevere in 
 the acquisition of wisdom and knowledge : for want of its 
 enlivening influence, very fine talents have been, I fear, 
 nipped in the bud, and native genius so far chilled as to 
 K incapacitate 
 
( 138 ) 
 
 incapacitate those, from ever appearing in life with any 
 degree of lustre, who might otherwise have made a very 
 brilliant figure in it But you must not permit your- 
 self, my Caiolirie, to be discouraged from the pursuit of 
 any thing excellent aud laudable: entertain a just sense 
 of your own merits, and do not suffer them to lie buried 
 through that excess of diffidence and timidity, which is 
 an amiable weakness you are apt to fall into. There is, 
 I am sensible, a certain graceful modesty, which is the 
 brightest charm in the female character, and reflects a 
 lustre upon every othervirtue and accomplishment ; but 
 it should not be carried to such an extreme as to ob- 
 scure your excellencies, for then it becomes self-injustice. 
 IIow singularly happy do I esteem myself in the friend- 
 ship of my Caroline, whose very errors (I may without 
 flattery say) proceed from virtues in excess. Such a 
 friendship as our's, founded on disinterested principles, 
 formed too in that season of life, when the heart is most 
 susceptible of strong and tender attachments, has surely 
 the best chance for duration. ^\nd that our connec- 
 tion may be a lasting one, is my Ivrvent wish ! M:iy we 
 have reason continually to say after long experience 
 of each other, that we have met with that inestimable 
 blessing, which numbers have vainly sought for, a 
 ^al Friend. Oh, may 1 prove myself, 
 
 Ever your's, with the sincercst affection, 
 
 E. MILNE5. 
 
( >39 ) 
 
 A LETTER, 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 As my dear Caroline's departure approaches, I in- 
 •lulge myself as often as possible in the pleasure, which 
 writing to her always affords me. Though, my amiable 
 friend; we must soon part, perhaps for ever, yet I flatter 
 myself you will not forget me, but will sometimes bestow 
 a thought upon one, who is so sincerely attached to you. 
 If my most fervent wishes could avail }ou, you would 
 enjoy all the happiness of which this imperfect sta e 
 is productive. But a mind such as your's at present is, 
 my Caroline, can never be really miserable. Virtue, 
 that sacred source of the purest enjoyments will, I 
 doubt not, always diffuse a certain peace and serenity 
 through your breast, (to use the words of one of our 
 most elegant and moral poets,) 
 
 ** What nothing earthly gives or can destroy. 
 The souls calm sun shine, and the heart-felt joy." 
 
 K 2 The 
 
( 140 ) 
 
 The consciousness of rectitude is indeed the sweetest 
 balm, the most cftectual comforter, in all those distresses 
 to which the virtuous are liable ; if injured or oppressed 
 by the shafts of malice, the sense of our own innocence 
 will always in some measure disarm malice of its sting : 
 if overwhelmed with misfortunes, which no human fore- 
 sight could prevent, conscious goodness is still the no- 
 blest, nay, only true support, 
 
 I hope my Caroline will persevere in the culture of 
 her mind, upon which any pains and application she 
 may bestow, will I doubt not be amply recompensed by 
 the happy fruits they will produce. To the improve- 
 ment of her understanding, and the acquisition of men- 
 tal elegance should every woman direct her views, who 
 would wish to appear in life with real dignity and 
 lustre. How melancholy is it, my friend, to consider 
 that so many of our sex should think of nothing but the 
 embellishment of a body, which must soon or late moul- 
 der into its original dust, vvliiLt they entirely neglect 
 their nobler part, which is an emanation of divinity, and 
 will exist for ever. If our sex early applied themselves 
 to the information of their miiids, how many rocI>3 
 might they avoid, on which unfonunutely they arc now 
 
 too 
 
( 141 ) 
 
 too often wrecked ! a love of dissipation is seldom the 
 corrpanion of an enlightened understanding. The mind 
 that is stored with a variety of fine sentiments and beau- 
 tiful ideas, finds an inexhaustible lund of entertainment 
 within itself, and consequently need not have rccouibe to 
 that giddy, fantastick whirl of amusements, in which so 
 many arc absorbed. You, I hope and am almost sure, 
 will never suffer yourself to be so wholly captivated by 
 pleasure, as to neglect more useful and important points : 
 I flatter myself you will stem the torrent of the world 
 without being borne away with it. How truly laudable 
 will it be in you, my Caroline, when living in the gay 
 world, to consider worth and wisdom as the noblest dis- 
 tinctions, the virtues as the brightest ornaments, and rec- 
 titude of heart and manners as the genuine source of 
 felicity. There is one thing, my beloved friend, you 
 should be particularly cautious in, and that is your 
 choice of intimates ; may they always be such as are 
 calculated to strengthen your virtuous dispositions, 
 and not taint*^ the purity and goodness of your soul. 
 There is in bad examples a malignant contagion, 
 which sometimes infects the most spotless minds; 
 so apt are we to contract the manners and sen- 
 K 3 timents 
 
( 142 ) 
 
 timents of those wiih whom we frcquenlly associate. 
 Never, my dourest friend, suffer yourself to be so far 
 influenced by others, as to let them prevail upon you 
 to deviate from the paths of truth and honor, but accord- 
 in" to that noble maxim of an enlightened heathen, 
 
 " Reverence thyself." 
 Yes, my Caroline, if possible revere thyself too much 
 ever to entertain a thought you would be ashamed to 
 avow, or commit an action, which if known, might raise 
 a blush upon your cheek : then will you have the uner- 
 ring testimony of conscience in your favour, to gain 
 which should be the great aim of every rational immortal 
 being. Whilst you thus steadily pursue the patlis of 
 reason and virtue, all the worthy and discerning part of 
 mankind will pay you a hcart-fclt respect. Supposing 
 by your rational pursuits you should sometimes inciir 
 the ridicule of those, who, immersed in dissipation, have 
 no taste for mental enjoyment, of how little conse- 
 quence is their approbation ! surely virtuous and elegant 
 minds cannot be delighted with the praises of the trifling 
 or the vicious ; since panegyric from their lips is almost 
 converted ir.to satire. 
 
 Let 
 
f 143 ) 
 
 Let me now introduce a softer theme, and expatiate 
 awhile upon our mutual friendship. How many bliss- 
 ful moments have we passed together in this morning of 
 our days, when the lively sensibilities of youth, and our 
 hearts uncorrupted by a commerce with the world, 
 have given us a zest for those pure exalted pleasures, 
 which flow from a uuion of minds ! When remote ficn 
 each other, engaged in scenes of life now unknown to us, 
 how sweet will be the recciUection of those hours of in- 
 nocence and peace which we have here enjoyed ! it will be 
 soothing to remember how we weie here employed in the 
 same occupations, pursued the same pleasing studies, 
 and with a delight bordering on rapture, conversed to- 
 gether with the enlightened dead, in the works of the 
 sage moralist, or the tuneful bard ! With what pleasure 
 shall I call to mind our intimate unreserved conversa- 
 tion, when we freely communicated our sentiments upon 
 the various subjects that occurred, and developed our 
 minds without disguise. I fialtcr myself this delightful 
 period, so peculiarly devoted to Truth and Friendship, 
 will nnt be banished from your memory, in that region of 
 polite disbimulation, the gay fashionable world. May our 
 Attaclimcnt ever remain constant and uiiiuterrupted, to 
 K + sweeten 
 
( 141 ) 
 
 sweeten all our cares, and reciproeaily heighten every 
 
 joy. Dr. Young finely says, 
 
 " Celestial Happiness whene'er she stoops 
 To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, 
 And one alone to make her sweet amends 
 For absent Heav'n, the bosom of a Friend. 
 With these beautifully expressive lines I will conclude, 
 
 and hope that sacred Friendship, which is the subject of 
 
 them, will never be found wanting either in my Caroline, 
 
 or in, 
 
 her sincere friend, 
 
 E. MILNES. 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
( 14.3 ) 
 
 REFLECTIONS UPON MY 
 BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Upon tins day, in which sixteen revohing years 
 ( f my life are completed, let me devote a ihort tima 
 to serious reflections on the object of my creation, and 
 the returns I ought to make to that Goodness which has 
 bestowed life upon me, and crowned this first gift with a 
 thousand other valuable ones ^Vhat use should I make 
 of the existence which Heaven has granted me ? I should 
 doubtless live up to ihe dignity of my reasonable nature, 
 by adoring my great Creator, ar.d obeying his divine laws. 
 This conduct will contribute to render me useful to others, 
 and to secure my own felicity, both through the fleeting 
 years of Time, and the ever-rolling ages of Eternity, 
 It is not sufficient that I shun criminal pursuits, I must 
 not wholly abandon myself to frivolous ones, and consume 
 all my fugitive, my inestimable moments, in the flowery 
 paths of indolence and light amusement. Innocent 
 
 pleasures 
 
( 146 ) 
 
 pleasures I may moderately enjoy, but must not make 
 them the sole business of my life; for that would be be- 
 reath the grandeur of a human soul, its i!!us lious Orii- 
 gin, and immortal expectations. No ! I should culti- 
 vate in my soul the noble principles of genuine piety and 
 virtue, and illuminate my mind with wisdom and know- 
 ledge ; it is incumbent on me to serve my fellow crea- 
 tures with those means which bounteous Providence has 
 granted me, and to practise each virtu<^ belonging to my 
 station . then will every pleasure be doubly deliglitful, 
 from being sweetened with intervals of rational employ- 
 ment, and the enlivening consciousness of having dis- 
 ichorged my duty. Let me form this resolution, (though 
 it may be difficult to keep) that I will obey the dictates of 
 Piety and Virtue, in spite of the tyranny of custom, the 
 magic influence of fashion, and the much-di'eaded force 
 of ridicule. May I ever consider the fani/_y of human 
 applause, when compared with the approbation of my 
 unerring, omnipotent Creator, and the hcart-soolhing 
 praises of my internal monitor. Not that I should be 
 entirely regardless of the opinion of mankind, and, (sa- 
 tisfied with conscious rectitude,) care not how I appear 
 an the eyes of my fellow creatures ; Reason tells me this 
 would be a blamcablc self-injustice, and that I must be 
 
 studious 
 
( 147 ) 
 
 studious to preserve, that inestimable treasure, c good 
 name. May I never be too deeply enamoured of this 
 sublunary world, and its short lived joys. In 
 fchort, to sum up all in a petition to that Power from 
 whom I draw my breath, "Grant me, great God, with ra- 
 tional fervent piety toThee,and sincere diffusive benevo- 
 lence towards my fellow creatures; with a peaceful con- 
 science, and unblemished reputation ; with well regu- 
 lated affections, and an eye calmly and invariably fixed 
 upon immortality, to pass through this fleeting scene of 
 things, till thou shalt claim that life which thou gavest : 
 then may I serenely meet my inevitable destiny, free from 
 those pangs which tear the soul that is wedded to mor- 
 tality, and may my unfettered spirit be for ever happy 
 in it's union with Thee." 
 
 AN 
 
( 148 ) 
 
 AN ESSAY ON 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 J. HAVE often reflected with mingled wonder and 
 compassion upon that error, nay I may say that criminal 
 practice now so prevalent amongst highly civilized nations, 
 of forming the nuptial tie without affection, merely for 
 the sake of wealth and splendor. Would one think it 
 possible, if the I e were not such frequent instances of it in 
 the world, that a being endowed with the divine privilege 
 of reason, should ever be so pitiably absurd as to barter 
 happiness, that invaluable jewel, for a little empty pa- 
 geantry or sordid dross? When two congenial minds 
 possessed of virtue, understanding, and sensibility, ate 
 vinited in Hymen's bands, by the gentle tie of love, 
 strengthened with the golden cord of Friendship, I can 
 conceive no happiness equal to what the conjugal state 
 must affc^rd. Rut on the other hand, surely no misery 
 ran be equal to that, which this most intimate union 
 
 must 
 
( 149 ) 
 
 must produce, when it is not contracted from any mo- 
 tives of esteem and tenderness, but from the unworthy 
 views of interest and grandeur. In what a false light 
 is Marriage now too often considered, when it is 
 looked upon, not as a state meant to bestow do- 
 mestic bliss and heart- felt joys, (superior to all the 
 vapid amusements, a dissipated world can afford,) 
 where a union of hearts is the first point to be regarded ; 
 but as a mercenary traffick of worldly goods, and where 
 instead of the gentle god of love, the sordid deity of in- 
 terest is now the chief conductor to Hymen's sacred 
 temple. Thus in the place of mutual confidence, a re- 
 ciprocal participation of joy and sorrow, a constant en- 
 deavour to promote each other's felicity, and all those 
 amiable solicitudes of which true affection is the parent, 
 cold reserve, sharp altercation, poignant reproaches, con- 
 temptuous sneers, or at best polite indifference, and frigid 
 complaisance are the unpleasing attendants of marriage. 
 And when the wedded life is thus embittered by domes- 
 tic jars and home-felt grievances, what does the gay 
 parade of pomp and equipage avail ? It may indeed 
 serve as a s^plcndid covering to misery, and da?zle the 
 eyes of superficial observers, but in spite of all external 
 distinctions, grief and chagrin will secretly invade the in- 
 most recesses of the heart. \Yhere domestic happintss is 
 
 wanting 
 
( 150) 
 
 wanting, there will always be a melancholy aching vordf 
 in the breast, which nothing can satisfy. 
 
 ** But happy they, the happiest of their kind. 
 Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
 Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blond. 
 'Tis not the coarser lie of human laws. 
 Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
 That binds their peace ; but harmony itself 
 Attuning all their passions into love. 
 Thus sings the elegant pathetic Thomson ; indeed the 
 whole of his description of conjugal felicity, from whence 
 the above lines are taken, is inexpressibly beautiful. He 
 has drawn such an enchanting picture, as I should hope is 
 sometimes, though I fear not often, realised. So seldom 
 is it, alas! that kindred souls, drawn to each other by 
 the magnetic influence of correspondent sentiments and 
 dispositions, meet in the bonds of marriage. 
 
 AN 
 
( 151 ) 
 
 AN ESSAY ON 
 POLITENESS. 
 
 1 HE politeness which is at present established in the 
 world, instead cf real elegance of <k'poitmcnt, and an 
 unaffected desire of pleasing, is only a false gloss, which 
 people of superficial judgment mistake for a true polish; 
 and this artificial composition of unmeaning flattery and 
 troublesome ceremony, banishes that noble simplicity of 
 heart and manners, which is the foundation of excel- 
 lence, and the characteristic of a great soul. Natural 
 complacency of disposition, united to a mind improved 
 and adorned by a liberal educaiion, mu:t produce that 
 amiable poliieness,which does not consist merely in exter- 
 nal shew ; but proceeds from the heart and undirstcind-ng : 
 I think the true criterion of politeness is, a sincere, uni- 
 form endeavour to render others happy, cmbellibhed by 
 a graceful manner of obliging, and united to the most 
 refined species of decorum. It never displays iiscll ia 
 
 impiirtunsAle 
 
( 132 ) 
 
 importunate civility or unworthy adulation. But this 
 happy talent has Nature for its basis, though it may be 
 refined by knowledge, and a frequent intercourse with 
 the more polished, enlightened part of mankind. Polite- 
 ness adds a new lustre to excellence, and places it in a 
 more amiable point of view ; it is a kind of delicate fi- 
 nishing, which gives beauty to the whole. Fashionable 
 complaisance, which teaches us to disguise our sentiments, 
 and under the mabk of good breeding, to conceal false- 
 hood and deceit, cannot be sufficiently despised ; since it 
 destroys, in some measure, the distinctions between vice 
 and virtue, and yet, is admired as an engaging qualifi- 
 cation, A person who thinks justly, would rather be 
 censured by the undiscerning part of the world, than de- 
 viate from truth, and consequenlly, fr.im native elegance, 
 by a mean compliance with the laws of fashion. In 
 shoit, genuine politeness appears to me to consist in 
 benevolence, and a just serise of elegance and propriety. 
 These appear in the external modes of behaviour, and 
 exert themselves in universal affability, amiable conde- 
 scension, and an habitual delicacy of manners, senti- 
 ment, and cxpicssion. 
 
 ANT 
 
( 153 ) 
 
 AN ESSAY ON 
 OLD-AGE. 
 
 " The soul no more on mortal good relies ; 
 But nobler objects urge her hopes and fears. 
 And sick of folly, views no tempting prize 
 Beneath the radiant circle of the stars." 
 
 Carter, 
 
 /iN advanced life is at once the object of our hopes 
 and fears. Extreme old age is surely not desirable, 
 since in general it has the bodily and intellectual feeble- 
 ness of infancy, but not, alas! its sprightly joys. It is 
 the gloomy night of human existence, which damps the 
 vital spirit, obscures the light of reason, and draws a 
 dark veil over every scene around us. But there is a 
 period properly termed the evening of our days, in 
 which the wise and good appear with peculiar dignity. 
 
 L ^Vhen 
 
( 1^4 ) 
 
 When the joyous morn of youth, and the ardent noon of 
 manhood arc past, then comes the peaceful eve of life, 
 which to the virtuous,like the close of a fine summer's day 
 is clear, temperate, and serene. It is a season highly fa- 
 vourable to truth and goodness, since reason and expe- 
 rience must then (if ever) correct the delusions of fancy, 
 dispel the mists of prejudice, and subdue the wild trans- 
 ports of passion. A man of an improved understanding 
 thus mellowed by time into sound judgment and reflec- 
 tion, when he withdraws from the bustle of the world 
 into that retirement which is the privilege of age, is at 
 full liberty to enjoy the highest intellectual gratifica- 
 tions. He has neither the flutter of juvenile amusements, 
 or the ambitious pursuits of riper years to disturb his 
 thoughts, and seduce his attention from the great ob- 
 jects of a rational immortal being. I suppose him to 
 have kept clear of avarice, a vice usually (and it must be 
 confessed with too much reason) attributed to age. 
 For a man possessed with the love of money is enslaved 
 by the lowest anxielics nnd mobt despicable cares: hi? 
 restless solicitude for wealth, dis(iualifies him for every 
 elevated sentiment and liberal pursuit. Since covetous- 
 ness is so often to be found with the aged, can we too 
 
 highly 
 
( 155 ) 
 
 highly reverence and admire the characters of those, who 
 unite the wisdom and prudence of years, with the gene- 
 rosity and benevolence cf youth ? How amiable, how 
 happy is the evening of Alticus's well-spent life ! In 
 the meridian of his days he exerted his active powers 
 in a useful and upright course of action. He is now 
 gracefully retired from the gay and the busy scene, to 
 the peaceful shade of a wise and learned, yet benevolent 
 and social privacy; there with sublime satisfaction he 
 contemplates a life sacred to virtue and humanity. He 
 laments some few errors into which he was betraj-ed by 
 inexperience, and the impetuosity of youthful passion ; 
 though indeed they only served to attach him more 
 deeply to wisdom and virtue, by shewing him that their 
 slightest deviations are to an ingenuous mind, attended 
 with anguish and regret. He rejoices that he is no 
 longer subject to such temptations, and reviews the 
 paths he has trod, with the satisfaction of a traveller 
 escaped from a dangerous perplexing journey. He has 
 cultivated Science and the ]Muses, not only to contribute 
 to his honour and usefulness in the world, but to reap 
 the fruits of tlicm (as he now does) in the vale of years, 
 Aiticus devotes a great part of the leisure he enjoys, to 
 L 2 the 
 
(156) 
 
 the sublime exercises of Devotion, and the pleasing 
 offices of beneficence and domestic love. He carefully 
 guards against petulance and caprice, gloom and seve- 
 rity. He is blest with an offspring, that promise to 
 perpetuate his virtues when he is no more. And his 
 most delightful employment, is to assist them in the 
 pursuits of knowledge, and train them up to every mo- 
 ral excellence. 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
( 157 ) 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 Upon the Dai/ called in the Christian Calendar 
 
 GOOD - FRIDAY. 
 
 X HIS is the awful> the tremendous day, on which the 
 great Author of our Redemption with his precious blood, 
 purchased Salvation for a guilty race: he suffered the 
 most excruciating pangs to obtain f t us the most trans- 
 porting enjoyments ; he endured an ignominious death 
 to exalt us to a glorious immortality ; 
 " Heaven wept that man might smile. 
 Heaven bled that man might never die." 
 What heart but glows at thoughts like these ? Those 
 bosoms must be cold and languid indeed, which are not 
 warmed with the consideiation of that all- surpassing 
 love displayed in our Redemption. They must be des- 
 titute of every feeling of humanity, who are not moved 
 with the inexpressibly pathetic descriptions \Ahich the 
 L 3 sacred 
 
( 158 ) 
 
 sacred writers give us of the sufterings of our 
 blessed Lord : surely, if we reflect those sufferings were 
 for our sakes, they claim a double portion of grief and 
 compassion. Entertain, oh my soul, a just sense of 
 the transcendant goodness of thy Maker, in sending his 
 beloved Son to secure to thee, by his death, (if thou art 
 not wanting to thyself,) an immortal felicity. Think 
 how great will be thy guilt, if thou abusest the inestima- 
 ble advantages derived to thee from the Saviour of man- 
 kind. 'What canst thou justly plead in thy excuse at the 
 awful tribunal of God, if (after being illuminated with 
 the divine light of the Gospel, and fully convinced of 
 the truth of the Christian doctrine,) the deceitful allure- 
 ments and fleeting enjoyments of this transitory world, 
 should make thee unmindful of what thy Redeemer 
 taught, and alienate thy affections from the Fountain of 
 all good. 
 
 Contemplate frequently on the dread catastrophe of 
 this day, till thou glowest with gratitude for the 
 astonishing benefit conferred upon thee, and art resolved 
 to make all the returns, thy limited abilities will permit. 
 Endeavour as much as thou canst, to copy the bright 
 pattern of goodness which Jesus so illustriously exhibited. 
 Pjfficult as it is, strive to imitate his diftusive benevo- 
 lence, 
 
( 1^9 ) 
 
 lence, uncircumscribed by any narrow distinctions ; his 
 spotless purity of manners, amiable meekness and (that 
 hardest but most divine duty which Christianity enforces) 
 his forgiveness of injuries, gloriously manifested this day. 
 Let his matchless precepts be engraved on thy heart, 
 and, oh may the genuine Christian breathe through 
 the whole tenor of thy life and actions ! Ever 
 avoid the too common error of confiding in thy 
 own strength, and vainly attributing thy merits to thy- 
 self. Fail not daily to implore the divine grace, and ac- 
 knowledge its salutary aid : forget not, without tlsat un- 
 failing support, the slightest accident may bring the frail 
 fabrick of human resolution to the ground. Whatever 
 excellencies thou dost possess, whatever laudable ac- 
 tions thou dost perform, destroy them not with pride 
 and arrogance, but ascribe them to the original, eternal 
 source of all Perfcctioii. — Such, oh my soul, be thy 
 conduct upon earth, and when thou hast finished thy 
 course, mayest thou joyfully spring forth to receive the 
 crown of immortalitv due to thv virtues. 
 
 L t 
 
< 160 ) 
 
 A DESCRIPTION 
 
 LEARNED LADY. 
 
 V^LASSICA, is what the world calls a learned woman, 
 that is to say, she has read a great many authors, and 
 the knowledge she has acquired from them, has only 
 served to render her conceitedly vain and arrogant. Her 
 whole behaviour seems to imply a consciousness of her 
 own mental abilities, and a supercilious contempt of 
 others. In company she is so tenacious of her opinion, 
 and so prepossessed in favor of her own judgment, that 
 the clearest arguments have no weight with her, when 
 contradictory to her sentiments. The advantages of 
 literature have been so far from enlarging her mind, that 
 they have rather contracted it, for by her intolerable 
 self-conceit, she is incapable of paying the just regard 
 to, or even of distinguishing excellence ; and though she 
 
 is 
 
( 1^1 ) 
 
 is hVivx] to the grcatost of her own imperfections, she 
 cannot excuse the smallest frailties in another. She is 
 ostentatiously fond of confounding people with her learn- 
 ing, and endeavi^urs to display her profound erudition, 
 by far fetched obscure expressions, which often make 
 her convcrsntinn unintelligible. A smat'.ering know- 
 ledge of Greek and Latin, gives the finishing stroke 
 to the pedantry of this lady, for she is continually quot- 
 ing the ancients, and by her misapplication of them, 
 renders herself equally contemptible and ridiculous. 
 The dome^tic duties of life appear too trifling for her 
 exalted genius ; so thi;t she neglects the practice of 
 those virtues which place womankind in the most amiable 
 point of view, and by her abuse of learning, becomes in- 
 capable of shining in any sphere. How ditfercnt from 
 this character is that of Sophronia ! she possesses a cul- 
 tivated polished understanding, and that liberal elcgancp 
 of thinking, which proceeds from a mind adorned an;l 
 enlightened by knowledge. Though she is perfectly ac- 
 quainted with the best authors of all ages, she makes 
 no parade of lier large share of learning, but employs 
 it to the most noble and valuable purposes. Instead of 
 regarding others with contempt for being move ignorant 
 than herself, she shews a generous condeicensinn to tluir 
 
 weakness, 
 
( 162 ) 
 
 weakness, and if she endeavours to give them informa- 
 tion, doesit with such humility and complacency, as give 
 double force and beauty to her wisdom. She never expects 
 to find humanity perfect, but looks with a generous com- 
 passion upon those frailties she knows none are exempt 
 from. She has a soul unfettered by vanity, folly, and. 
 every trifling conccjjtion, and while she rises above the 
 generality of women with an amiable superiority, stems 
 iiersclf unconscious of it. There are some people of 
 talents, who take every occasion to prove their brilliancy 
 of parts ; but this lady is so far from exerting all her 
 abilities to excel in company, that she would rather give 
 others an opportunity of shining, by conversing upon 
 such subjects as they are best acquainted with; and 
 since she is totally free from those vulgar prejudices 
 which render us so bigotted to our own manner of think- 
 ing, as to imagine none can be right but oui selves, the is 
 not fond of vain disputation. She is skilled in the more 
 soft and elegant accomplishments, and behaves with that 
 genuine politeness which flows from the understanding and 
 the heart. Her language is pure, delicate,and unaffected, 
 and her sentiments beautiful, sublime, and just. She 
 over avoids singularity, except in those things which her 
 reason and judgment apparently condemn ; then indeed 
 
 she 
 
( 1C3) 
 
 she can despise the world's censures, ami is not meanly 
 afraid of acting riglit. rroin tlie judicious reflections 
 she can make, and the knowledge she can gain by listen- 
 ing to the conversation of others, she chuses often rather 
 to sit silent than display the elegance and dignity of her 
 own mind. But, when she speaks, every sensible person is 
 charmed with the justness of her thoughts, and graceful 
 propriety of her speech. In a word, she unites true 
 learning and manly strength of understanding, to femi- 
 nine purity and delicacy of niannc;s. 
 
( 1S4 ) 
 
 A CONVERSATION PIECE: 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 CAMILLUS & EMILIA, 
 
 UPON FAME. 
 
 An admirable lesson to the modern Gauls, and their 
 ti/rannick Usurper Napoleon the First. 
 
 C^AMILLUS. Well, Emilia, what book are you pe- 
 rusing with such attention ? If I may presume to be 
 the inte.preter of your countenance, you are greatly 
 pleased with it. 
 
 Em. I have got Plutarch's lives, and am reading the 
 life of Alexander, as you suppose too, I am highly de- 
 lighted : what a noble, surprising man he was ! well 
 might he be styled Great, and complimented as the sou 
 of Jove. 
 
 Cam. Pardon me, madam, if I differ from you ia 
 opinion^ and declare myself far from regarding Alexan- 
 der in so exalted alight. I am sea^ible there is a splen- 
 dor 
 
( IG.5 ) 
 
 dor in conquests, which has too much dazzled the eyes 
 of men, and prevented their properly Cbtimating the leal 
 merit of actions. Let us view the victories of your mighty 
 conqueror with the penetrating eye of reason, and strip 
 them of the specious glare which surrounds iherii, then 
 his glory will be converted into infamy, and the wreath 
 of false honour which encircled his brow, will lose all 
 its fading colours. 
 
 Em. I thought Alexander was universally admired as 
 the greatest hero the world ever saw ; and I think you 
 cannot deny that he displayed shining proofs of the most 
 sublime virtues; witness his generous treatment of tl>e 
 widow and family of Darius, his noble behaviour to 
 Philip, his physician, when accused of having conspired 
 with that monarch to poison hira : indeed I shall always 
 admire the Godlike man. 
 
 Cam. Godlih did you say, madam ? That considered in 
 the true sense of the word,is an epithet indeed, which has 
 often been bestowed upon co/iquerors, but with great im- 
 propriety. The gracious Parent of the universe is Beneii- 
 cence itself J his mercies are extended over all his works; 
 he delights not in destruction, but with a divine benig- 
 nity, continually endeavours to promote the good and 
 felicity of his creatures. How then can a hero, wbo 
 
 1 availed 
 
C 166 ) 
 
 ravaged the globe to gratify his own boundless ambition, 
 and lavished the blood of thousands to crown himself 
 with laurels, how, I say, can such a destructive being, 
 be compared with the bounteous Bestower, and great 
 Preserver of all ? 
 
 I allow those instances you produce of Alexander's 
 generosity were truly great, to which some others might 
 be added : but still they were by no means sufficient to 
 counterbalance his detestable -decs, and particularly, his 
 cruel tyranny. 
 
 Em. I should be glad to know your sentiments of great- 
 ness, and what may properly be allowed to constitute 
 it. 
 
 Cam. You must acknowledge, madam, that true 
 greatness is not seated in rank, power, or any external 
 distinctions. If a man is vicious in his actions, mean 
 and contracted in his sentiments, what can dignify 
 him ? 
 
 ''■ Not all the blood of all the Howards." 
 Nor docs true greatness atter.d upon victories and con- 
 quests ; in my humble opinion, it is rarely the companion 
 of those splendid atchievements which attract the notice 
 and admiration of mankind : it can only flow from genuine 
 exalted goodness, the brightest ornament and' noblest 
 
 distinction 
 
( 167 ) 
 
 distinction of humanity. It is certain that tlie truly 
 good are ever enemies to ostentation : they practise 
 their serene virtues with modest secrecy* without court- 
 ing human honour and applause : they love 
 " Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
 To keep the noiseless tenor of their way." 
 You are not acquainted with my friend Atticus, who so 
 perfectly answers my description, and is, I think, a cha- 
 racter greatly superior to most of your celebrated heroes 
 of antiquity. 
 
 Em. You will oblige mc, Camillus, in giving me a 
 more particular account of the disposition and conduct 
 of the man you so highly' esteem. 
 
 Cam. You impose a pleasing task upon me, in desir- 
 ing me to paint the virtues of my excellent friend. He 
 is a man of genuine piety, and conseqncnlly well regu- 
 lated passions. His soul is uncommonly generous, hu- 
 mane, and feeling ; he possesses a genteel though not a 
 splendid fortune, which, conducted with economy, (ihe 
 true source of liberality,) enables him to gratify his be- 
 nevolent inclinations. He contracts the circle of his 
 own expences, that he may enlarge that of his benefi- 
 cence. It is the greatest pleasure of his life to difiusehappi- 
 ness on all around him ; to relieve the indigent, encourage 
 
 the 
 
( 168 ) 
 
 the imluslrious, and comfort the afllictccl. You cannot 
 confer a greater obligation upon Atticus, than to furnish 
 tim with an opportunity of cherishing an unfoitunate, 
 or assisting a worthy man ; and he always bestows his 
 bounties in the most engaging manner, with a tender- 
 ness and complacency peculiar to himself. He also, 
 with a truly evangelical spirit, endeavours to promote 
 peace and concord wherever he comes. Yet I may 
 \enture to 5-ay, my incomparable friend is ever actuated 
 by nobler motives than a desire of worldly applause ; for 
 1 know that his acts of beneficence are performed with- 
 out noise and ostentation. He already reaps his re- 
 ward ; conscious goodness, and the pleasing expectation 
 of a hanpy immortality, spread a continual sunshine 
 through his mind, and his every word and action pro- 
 claim the serenity within. Such is the worthy and 
 rc5pcctab!e Atticus, whom the poor love and reverence 
 as they would some beneficent angel. Every eye glis- 
 tens to behold Atticus, every mouth dwells with rapture 
 on his n;ime, and eagcily pronounces his heart-felt 
 praises. Now tell me, Emilia, does not Atticus surpass 
 your favourite Macedonian ? Is he not more truly no- 
 ble than those boasted heroes, who seem born only to 
 scourge anJ torment th.e world ? Does he not more 
 
 nearly 
 
C 169 ) 
 
 nearly resemble the most benevolent of Beings, and may 
 lie not with greater propriety be styled the Godlike 
 man ? 
 
 Em. Indeed I own it, and feel the force of so exalted 
 and amiable a character. I find it is your opinion that 
 there have been more truly illustrious men in the pri- 
 vate, than the public walks of life ; more that have 
 flouribhed in the shade, than who have been surrovinded 
 with the blaze of glory. I suppose the greatest part of 
 those who shine in the records of fame, stand but low 
 in your estimation. 
 
 Cam. There are some distinguished in the book of 
 renown, whom I truly honor and revere, and there are 
 others for whom I entertain the utmost contempt, since 
 they se3m to have been stimulated by ambition onlyy to 
 the performance of those actions which drew upon 
 them the admiration of the world. Such were I think, 
 in general, the Romans, whose boasted virtues arc, in 
 my mind, little better than splendid vices. AV hat was 
 their admired patriotism but vain glory concealed under 
 that specious mask ? Ambition was the ruling princi- 
 ple in almost every Roman breast ; and this fond desire 
 ofgloiVj spurred them on to the achievement of those 
 M conquests 
 
( 170 ) 
 
 conquests in which they so grossly violated all the laws 
 of justice and humanity. I shudder when I think of 
 the dreadful havock made by these tyrants of the world, 
 to indulge their own inordinate thirst of sway ! Pluii' 
 der, slaughter, and devastation were the means by 
 which Rome reached that dazzling height of greatness 
 she attained, so that her sons may without injustice be 
 Styled celehrated robbers, and distinguished ruffians. 
 
 Em. Nay, Camilkis^ you go too far in thus villitying 
 a people who have been so justly admired for their 
 many illustrious virtues. How estimable was their 
 ardent affection for their country, notwithstanding 
 •what you have been pleased to say to the contrary f 
 How admirable their magnanimity of soul, and heroic 
 valour, their unshaken fortitude and perseverance, their 
 delicate fear of shame, and generous love of glory ! 
 Though it seems not so perfectly in character with the 
 female mind, to admire that high strain of rigid virtue 
 Avhich distinguished the Romans, yet I own it inspires 
 me with reverence, that they were capable of overcom- 
 ing the more tender feelings of the heart, when thev 
 interfered with the nobler passions. Reflect, Camilhis, 
 on the many shining worthies Rome produced. Do you 
 
 not 
 
( 171 ) 
 
 not admire Junius Brutus, who sacrificed his sons to 
 impartial justice ; and the upright Regulus, whose sa- 
 cred regard for truth was such, that he exposed himself 
 to all he tortures an enraged people could inflict, rather 
 than violate his word ? Vou must acknowledge CarajUus, 
 that the genuine flame of patriotism warmed the breasts of 
 the Decii.and the bosom of the second Brutus,who would 
 not suffer any private attachment to prevail with him 
 over the consideration of the general good, and perform- 
 ed a harder task than the Decii ; as they only devoted 
 themselves to death. I doubt not but you reverence the 
 patriotic ratOjwho, after he had bravely struggled in de- 
 fence of Roman liberty, (agreeably to Heathen virtue,) 
 would not survive its destruction. What a fine pattern 
 of every manly virtue and accomplishment was the 
 younger Scipio Africanus ! I am so charmed with his 
 amiable character, that he is my favourite hero. Even 
 the women seemed to partake of that grandeur of soul 
 which so eminently distinguished the men : Lucretia, 
 Cornelia, Porcia, must for ever be considered as an ho- 
 nour to the country in which they flourished. 
 
 Cam. Far be it from me to censure all the noble in- 
 dividuals Rome produced, I only argue, that the Ro- 
 
 M 2 mans 
 
( 17'3 ) 
 
 mans in general were more actuated by the principles of 
 vain glory, than by more elevated motives. It has been 
 said, that pride was the basis of the Heathen virtues, 
 and I thinlc there appears to be great truth in the ob- 
 servation. Will you permit me to quote one memorable 
 instance from your sex ? The famous Lucretia, so 
 celebrated for her chastity and magnanimity, seems 
 to have preferred the shadow of virtue to the sub- 
 stance. Though she braved the fear of deatli rinher 
 than relinquish her honour, yet when the abandoned 
 Tarquin threatened to brand her name with infamy, she 
 was not proof against this dreadful menace: unable to 
 support the thought of being for ever regarded in an ig- 
 nominious light, when removed from the possibility of 
 vindicating herself, she partr^d from her chastity, rather 
 than suffer so terrible a forfeiture of reputation. 
 
 Em. INIcthinks, Camillus, you are determined to de- 
 rogate from the merit of every one, who has been admired 
 and celebrated. Even the divine Lucretia, who has been 
 considered as a paragon of virtue, cannot escape your 
 censure. The high sense she entertained of purity and 
 innocence, was sufficiently proved by her heroic exit : 
 when with an intrepidity, which seldom dwells in a fe- 
 male 
 
( 173 ) 
 
 male breast, she set an example to her sex in all succeed- 
 ing ag;es, of the sacred regard they should pay to chastity, 
 not being able to outlive the violation of her's. 
 
 Cam. I could produce other instances to prove how 
 much the wisest and most virtuous among ihe Heathens 
 (but especially the Romans) were influenced by a desire 
 of fame: one particular instance I will mention, which 
 is taken notice of in the Spectator. The immortal Ci- 
 cero, that illustrious pattern of uncommon literary 
 talents, and moral conduct united, desired one, who 
 was writing the history of his own times, to be very 
 particular in the account of his consulship, and in the en- 
 comiums he bestowed on him, to say more than even truth 
 would allow of. There is great reason to believe renown 
 was the ruling passion of the most celebrated of every 
 sect; that the haughty stoic, the snarling cynic, the vo- 
 luptuous epicurean, all courted the delusive phantom ; 
 this, I doubt not, in a great measure, gave rise to the 
 struggles of Cato for expiring freedom, the affected po- 
 verty of Diogenes, and the splendid actions of Caesar. 
 
 Em. ^Yhat you say is very true ; for the desire of glory 
 is a natural principle, and if properly directed a 7i oh le ov.c: 
 take away that, and I am apt to think you will destroy 
 |ialf, nay, perhaps a much larger portion of the merit 
 
 that 
 
( 174 ) 
 
 that is to be found in the world. This passion for fame 
 generally prevails most strongly in the minds of those, 
 who possess the finest talents, and most enlarged senti- 
 ments; it was not peculiar to theHeathens,but is I believe 
 almost as often to be met with in the bosoms of Chris- 
 tians ; and I hope you will not deem me uncharitable in 
 supposing, it frequently in some degree gives birth to 
 their most laudable actions. 
 
 Cam. The laudable actions of genuine Christians, can 
 never, I think, flow from such a source ; since to prac- 
 tise virtue for the sake of mortal applause is repugnant 
 to the true genius of Christianity, which instructs us to 
 seek only the approbation of Him "who seeth in secret, 
 and shall reward us openly." What a glorious incentive 
 is this, Emilia, to the practice of private goodness ! An 
 incentive the Pagans were strangers to. We cannot so 
 severely censure thein for making human glory the ulti- 
 mate end of their actions, (as it is highly probable they 
 did) since they were uncertain with respect to a future 
 reward. But it is certainly condemnable in those, who 
 are enlightened with the leligion of Jesus, that enemy to 
 vanity and ostor.tation, which sets the noble prospect of 
 imnioital happiness before us, and bids us obtain it, not 
 
 by 
 
( 175 ) 
 
 by such shining acts, as procure the admiration of 
 short-sighted mortals ; but by inward purity and holi- 
 ness, meekness and humility, serene beneficence, with 
 all those silent virtues which compose genuine worth. 
 
 Em. You seem, Camillus, a little too refined in your 
 notions of virtue. The desire of applause is so natural 
 to the human mind, that I believe it is to be found more 
 or less in every breast, or at least, that the most abject 
 bosoms alone are exempt from it : it has been observed, 
 you know, that we only despise praise, when we cease 
 to deserve it. Even you, who argue so warmly against 
 the love of praise, have, I doubt not, cflen felt the ani- 
 mating influence of this universal passion. Our prima- 
 ry, ultimate end should doubtless be the approbation of 
 Heaven, and our own heart; but may not a desire of 
 standing high in the estimation of our fellow mortals, by 
 the practice of what is truly excellent be our secondary 
 aim, without interfering with the first ? 
 
 Cam. It 'ippears to me, if we perform an action, 
 laudable in ihilf, from any view of obtaining the praises 
 of men, it derogates so far from ils real merit, that it 
 will not be crowned with unmixed applause by the faith- 
 ful monitor v.ilhin, who always approves or condemns in 
 
 concurrence 
 
( n6) 
 
 concurrence with that Being whose vicegerent srhe is. 
 Contemplate, Emilia, the great Fouiidev of the Christian 
 system ; conbider his humble unambitious conduct, 
 liow little he regarded the applauses of mortals, as you 
 ■o'lU find in various instances. How did he inculcate a 
 noble disregard of human praise, (a virtue till then un- 
 known) when he commanded his followers to perform 
 their acts of charity and devotion in secret, as for ex- 
 ample, " Take heed that ye do not your alms before 
 men to lie seen of them, otherwise ye have no reward 
 of your Father, which is in Heaven," then again, 
 " And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hy- 
 pocrites are ; for they love to pray standing in the sy- 
 nagogues, and in t!ic corners of the streets, verily I say 
 unto you, tliey have their reward.'' Thus our Divine 
 lord tells us in the strongest and most expressive 
 terms, thLit if in our good actions we are influenced by 
 ihs desire of worldly approbation, that is all the re- 
 compencc we must expect from them, for we bhall have 
 r.o reward of our Father which is in Mcavcn ; an alarm- 
 ing assurance indeed 1 But can you figure to yourself 
 anything more noble, than the character of a genuine 
 Christian, who, with views exalted above the transient 
 
 applause 
 
( 177 •> 
 
 applause and shadowy glory, which are derived from 
 sublunary beings, moves on in the paths of rectitude and 
 goodness, with silent dignity ; satisfied with his own 
 inward feelings, and the consciousness of the favour of 
 that Being, who has unerring wisdom to discern worth, 
 and has in the highest degree a will, and a capacity to 
 reward it ! This is indeed, the truly great man, who 
 adorns, and ennobles human nature ! 
 
 Em. By the force of religious truth you have now 
 convinced me, Camillus, that the love of fame is mean, 
 in cosnparison with the contempt of it , 
 
 M A LETTER 
 
( 178 ) 
 
 A LETTER 
 
 To A FRIEND. 
 
 X OU and I, my Caroline, have often mcntionecl with 
 pity, those giddy unthinking creatures, who, having 
 no taste for moral and intellectual enjoyments, and 
 destitute of every finer relish, are perpetually endeavour- 
 ing to lose themselves in the tumultuous scenes of 
 modern dissipation. Their case, my friend, is indeed 
 truly pitiable, since, unmindful of the noble ends of 
 their creation, they treat time,that inestimable je\vel,]ikc 
 an insignificant bauble, foolibhly throwinj^ it awiiy upon- 
 every idle amusement or frivolous pursuit, and inca- 
 pacitate themselves from fulfilling either the religious or 
 •ocial duties. How can they contemplate onlhcirdi« 
 vine Creator, or pay him the proper tribute of praise 
 and.adoraticn, when solitude is regarded as ihrir greatest 
 
 enemy. 
 
( 379 ) 
 
 vnc'vy, while en unbounded fondness for pleasure, ab- 
 sorbs all the iacullics and affections of their souls? 
 ilow can they practise any acts of benevolence, relievB 
 tJic indigent, succour the friendless, comfort the afflicted, 
 uhen both their time and fortunes arc squandered upon 
 riress, cards, and every light expensive entertainment ? 
 What Strangers are your followers of dissipation to all 
 the sweet heart- felt pleasures of domestic life, and tha 
 |-ationa,l delights which flow from sincere regard. Friend- 
 ship is nut a plant that flourishes in the fashionable 
 "tt'orld : it rather blooms in the tranquil shades of retire* 
 inr«t, remote from that destructive region of polite 
 insincerity. Your modish people, my Caroline, may 
 be truly said to be 
 
 '« . I... ■-, . e'en desolate in crowds," 
 For, with all the promiscuous numbers with which they 
 are surrounded, there can be nothing but odious dissi- 
 mulation and iTstraint ; there can be no agreeable 
 mixture of minds, no free comnninication of the heart, 
 and without these, what is society, but the worst spe- 
 cies of Solitude ? Besides, what a contemptible 
 figure in general, do the votaries of fashion and pleasure 
 tiiwke m the d^^clinc nf life ! What a joyless exist- 
 ^''"^^^ " K 2 ence 
 
( 180 ) 
 
 «nc« is then their portion ! In the gay, brilliant season 
 of youth, when the imagination is warm, and the spirits 
 lively, things wear a very different aspect from what they 
 must do, in the gloomy, dispassioned days of age. In 
 the latter period, when worldly amusements charm no 
 more, when all the sources of mortal pleasure are ex- 
 hausted, what can diffuse any comfort or satisfaction 
 through the mind, but the calm consciousness of a life 
 well spent ? Happy then, thrice happy, they, who early 
 live up to the dignity of their nature, who tread the silent 
 paths of wisdom, piety and bcne\olence, and make the 
 refined delights of genuine friendship their own ! By 
 this means they taste the God-like satisfaction of doing 
 good, and enjoy the delightful consciousness of the di- 
 vine approbation. They meet with real love and defe- 
 rence from their fellow creatures, and treasure up for 
 themselves a fund of joy and consolation to gild the even- 
 ihg of life. If they reach the vale of years, they enjoy 
 the noblest retrospective views, and the necessary con- 
 sequence of them, the animating prospect of a happy 
 immortality: Thus they glide gently into the grave, 
 sincerely lamented by numbers to whose welfare and 
 ■happiness their useful lives had contributed, and their 
 inemorieii are reverenced by tlie good and worthy. 
 
 WhiUt 
 
< 181 ) 
 
 Whilst on the contrary, those fluttering insects who bask 
 for a bhort time in the sunshine of pleasure, die unla- 
 mented, unregarded. 
 
 *' They flutter on 
 
 ** From toy to toy, from vanity to vice, 
 
 " Till blown aw^y by death, oblivion eomej 
 
 " Behind, and strikes them from the book of life." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 That this may never be our case, my dear friend, is 
 jny hearty prayer, and I am sure you concur with me 
 (ipit. I am, my ever amiable Caroline, 
 
 Vour's, with the tenderest affection, 
 
 E. MILNES. 
 
 
 M jl tat 
 
( 182) 
 
 The/our foUotoing Letters of Mr. Day, uere/ouiul lij ilie 
 Editor, amongst some of Mr, D's Manuscript Pajtrs, 
 since the printing off his Prose ^ therefore, that cir- 
 cumstance, it is hoped, 'will be deemed a svjjieient 
 apology for publishing them in this part (f the EodL 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 1 HE foundation of civil govcrnmeiii. 
 say some writers, is the security affoidod by the Li^gis- 
 lators to the people in return for its obedience. With- 
 out this authority exercised by one parly and submitted 
 to by the other, no society could long exist, no piopeity 
 be secured, and mutual violence, by depriving mankind 
 of all the advantages for which they are assembled, 
 would soon drive them back to woods and caves. While 
 this claim is confined to that voluntary obedience, which 
 every nation will for its own advantage pay to its RJagis- 
 strates; while it is nothing more than the uills of the 
 society itself enacting general rules, to rcpicss the irre- 
 gular passions and attempts of individuals; and while 
 the guardians of the public security, assume no indepen- 
 dent 
 
( 185 ) 
 
 dent rights, oi authority, I sec no reason to oppose tlii^ 
 particular system. In this case, it is no more than th^ 
 natural and limited obedience which every man of com» 
 won sense practises, for his own emolument, upon a 
 thousiuid different occasions. It is the deference whicU 
 the sick man ohserves towards his physician, the travel- 
 ler to his guide, ;ind the mariner to his pilot. 
 
 But not coiitented with this natural and obvious 
 explanation, tliere are many who would establish every 
 species of tyranny and oppression, upon these uncontro- 
 vertible principles. To do this, they imitate certain di- 
 vines, who allow the evidence of re\clation to be derived 
 from reason ; yet require you should admit what they 
 toll you are its doctrines, without reflection or examina- 
 tion ; as if the understanding could, according to Mr. 
 Hume's system, subveit itself, or an edifice be more 
 strong and durable than its foundation. In like manner 
 the-.e political enthusiasts allow, in compliance with the 
 common sense and feelings o( mankind, f/iat the happiness 
 of sotuty is the end of all government, and its security 
 the origin of all delegated power : yet is humanity no 
 gainer by the concession, since its interests are to be 
 only tlie pretence and not the measure of authority. 
 Iheir idol isj indeed, (;i\c5ted of seme pait of its terrors, 
 N 4 yet 
 
( 184 ) 
 
 yet its admission is equally dangerous <o the rights and 
 liberties of mankind, 
 
 I i" Scandit fatalis machina muros, 
 Fffitaaimis, mediajque minans illabitur urbi.'* 
 But if we examine ever so lightly the nature of human 
 society, we shall be convinced, that nothing is move false 
 and presumptuous, than the pretences of any body of 
 men to bestow safety upon the rest. To support this 
 chim, it would be necesbary that they should exclusively 
 possess strength, prudence, and exertion : that they 
 should subdue the elements by their labour, repel the 
 attacks of hostile invasion, by their fortitude, and by 
 their wisdom procure for their fellow creatures every 
 domestic blessing. Unfortunately for the interests of 
 human nature, no such distinguished class of beings has 
 ever yet appeared. Even the^esfgovernment can effect no- 
 thing without the assistance of the people. The most legal 
 and enlightened rulers can pretend to no greater praise, 
 than that of properly directing the forces of the stale; 
 an arduous and tremendous task, not lightly to be at- 
 tempted, nor easily effected ; which properly executed, 
 entitles them to the highest honors, and negligently or 
 fraudulently discharged, ought to subject them to the 
 
 scvcicst 
 
( 135 ) 
 
 severest penalties ;—- *^Y, 
 
 *' Ostende ullain vcl nntura?, vcl naturalis justitJas 
 regulam, qua oportoat rcos minores piuiiri, reges, et ma- 
 lorum^mninm principes, impunitos esse.' 
 
 But let us allow, what will, I am sure, without 
 any difficulty be proved, that jiovernment of ■some par*: 
 ticular kind is necessary to the happiness of the species. - 
 What can be inferred from this ? Nothing more, than 
 that it is of the highest importance for mankind 
 to take such measures as may ensure a succession ." 
 of wise and honest govirnors. The necessity of govern- - 
 ment can no more impl}- the necessity of blind, uncon*^ 
 ditional obedience, than the necessity of sustenance or 
 health can oblige men to submit to be starved or poi- 
 soned, as often as farmers ;■ hall chuse to withhold their \ 
 grain, or apothecaries to adulterate their medicines. 
 
 Laws are no more than certain general riik-s of coa- 
 duct, \*hich experience has proved to be necessary to 
 the general safety ; the wise and viituous practise them, 
 from motives of honor, and a conviction of their utility; 
 the foolish and vicious must be bended to compliance, 
 by a proper and legal compulsion ; magibtratcs, of whut- 
 ev0i-tiame and title, are a body of men, instituted fc)t ■ 
 
 the 
 
( 186) 
 
 tl^.e purpose alone of demanding an universal observance 
 of what the common will has established, by the poweis 
 M'ljich the common consent has entrusted to them. In 
 this view of things, which is theonl3'jnst one, it wili 
 apnear evident, tluit every goverrjmcnt is a means only 
 of acquiring certain advantages, which cannot be attain- 
 ed without it, that it is always subordinate and relative 
 to the great object of its institution, the good of the na- 
 tion which submits to it ; that this submission is a vo- 
 luntary, limited, modified resignation of natural right ; 
 and that consequently no magistrate can pretend to an 
 independent existence or authority without betraying his 
 trust, and being guilty of the most audacious treason 
 and rebellion ftg.;1nst (he Majesty of the People. 
 
 If the actual situation of most countries furnishes a 
 picture very different fiom what 1 have been dra\\ing; 
 if violence and fraud have gradually silenced or blinded 
 mankind, to the first principles of their nature : if the 
 people is every where trampled upon, insulted and viili- 
 lied, while their oppressors pretend to dciive honour from 
 its debasement, and glory from their own crimes; if pre- 
 judice and superstiti(in have filled up the measure of 
 degradation, by persuading men, that a ijeing bounded, 
 coiUemptible, and pciishable like themselves, has an 
 
 inherent 
 
( 187 ) 
 
 inherent right to whatever is most necessary or mr.st clear 
 to the human race; that he can create distinctions where 
 nature has made none ; or invert the most striking she 
 has ordained, by transftrring homage and esteem from 
 the wise, the valiant, and the humane, to (histards, fools 
 and tyrants ; these and a thousand other crimes and 
 horrors can never alter the relation of things, sanctify op- 
 pression, or convert the blackest abuses of lawless powcf 
 into a legal claim. 
 
 LETX?lt 
 
( 18S ) 
 
 LETTER IL 
 
 SHOULD have imagined tbat tb«^ 
 gradual improvement the human understanding has beeq 
 making, during the last century, would have so clearly 
 led all mankind to the first principles of morals and po* 
 liticSj that we should in this enlightened age have scea 
 no more controversies about their origin, than we do 
 about the definitions of geometry; did pot. continual 
 experience convince me of the difference between sciences 
 which arc merely speculative, and those which e.xercije 
 the interest and ambition of mankind. Eut I fear that 
 while one part of the nation shall be intent upon extendr 
 ing its claims and authority, the other too igBorant or 
 too corrupted to oppose them, we shall never be without 
 men who will prostitute their talents to the meanest pur- 
 poses of encroaching power, and wage a desperate war 
 with the clearest deductions of reason. Could any one 
 who was not versed in the doctrines of our modern po- 
 liticians have discuvcrej u raoic uncontrovertible prin- 
 ciple 
 
( 189 ) 
 
 ciple than this, "that the end of every human govern,' 
 mtnt, and institvtion, is the good and safety of the peo- 
 ple, not the interest of indixiduals, pursued ut the ex- 
 pence of the genaal •weljare?^' Yet in how many dif- 
 ferent manners has this eternal truth been attacked and 
 obscured ! While the understandings of mankind were 
 benumbed by the remains of popish superstition, that 
 most formidable enemy to human reason and happiness, 
 we saw despotism defended upon a few texts of scriptures 
 ill understood or partially quoted. BecauseChristianswere 
 in the infancy of Christianity, exhorted to turn their at- 
 tention to their spiritual rather than their temporal con- 
 cerns; because the professors of a sect indirect opposi- 
 tion to the established worship and government, were 
 counselled to avoid every occasion of giving jealousy 
 to their lulers, and drawing persecution upon themselves, 
 it was logically concluded that all Christian people 
 were bound to resign their lives, their fortunes and their 
 understandings into the hands of every hereditary ty- 
 rant or fortunate usurper to whose caprices chance 
 should expose it. Luckily, however, the revolution in- 
 tervened, a precedent, as Judge Blackstone pravely 
 obbcrves, of a very singular nature, which has rescued 
 us from the claims of hereditary domination, and made 
 the most impudent defenders of arbitrary power a little 
 
 cautiuus 
 
f 190 ) 
 
 caulious of as-erting ihe divine right of Kings. But as 
 the passions andnature of men are pretty similar, there 
 are certain general principles of conduct which most 
 orders of men auive at in corresponding circumstances. 
 Should 1 afSrm.that it has been the spiiit of the clergy in 
 every age, to fetter the understandings of the multitude, 
 and while they have no other nominal design than the 
 glory of the Deity, to receive all homage and sacrifice in 
 his name, shall I asset t any thing repugnant to fact? 
 Should I insinuate that the body of lawyers has always 
 been more int nt upon preserving particular unintel- 
 ligible forms, whose explanation rendered its assistance 
 necessary, than upon the advancement of universal jus- 
 tice, shall 1 fear an inf jrmalion as a libeller ? Should I 
 assert that upon u-hatcrer ■pretexts, or with whatever 
 mothcs standing anmcs have been introduced into free 
 taunt ries, never in a single instance, have they failed of 
 becoming engines in the hands of tyrants, shall I he 
 accused of any disrespect to our present patriotic le- 
 gions, who are so forcibly pleading the cause of hherty^ 
 ac'ainst those wicked Ameiicans who have taken 
 \ji) arms to destroy it ? I know indeed that a King can 
 tlo no wron"; ; and I know that our present Ministers are 
 too xeise a:.d too virtuous to attempt it ; but should I say 
 that Ministers have furmrily existed, who turning their 
 
 power 
 
( 191 ) 
 
 power into tTie means of oppression, have endeavoured tb 
 exalt prerogative upon the ruins of public freedom, and 
 to corrupt the representatives of the people with treasures 
 derived from its own labours ; that not contented with 
 this, they have had the insolence to believe the nation 
 as foolish as it was indolent, and to be duped out of its 
 just pretensions, hy arguments as weak as they arc in- 
 famous, I believe the memory of most men will convince 
 them I do not mistake. 
 
 It is curious to remark the arts and industry with 
 >vhich these contemptible enemies of their country, re- 
 pelled as often as they are resisted, and confuted as often 
 as written against, return to the charge. It would seem 
 strange that men who have reasoned upon every other 
 supposition, and advanced every other system, except 
 the truth, should not sometimes be right, if it were 
 only by chance, or for the sake of variety; did we rot 
 know that they do that by design, which bad archers do 
 by accident, lodge their arrows every wh3ic but in the 
 murk. How else coul-d any man be the dupe of the 
 wretched quibbles, for I will not call them argnmonts, 
 which are retailed by ministerial 5^ cophants, against the- 
 common rights of the species, and the particular claims 
 •f their country ? how else would they dare to advance 
 
 principles 
 
( 192 ) 
 
 principles which, like the mountains hurled against the 
 gods, recoil back upon themselves, and mingle their own 
 systems with the dust i 
 
 As soon as the superstitious rubbish, heaped by suc- 
 cessive ages of monastic dulness, upon the head of truth, 
 had been removed ; as soon as our rulers chose to make 
 the same alteration in the designs of heaven, which they 
 had done in the government of the ear'h, and had learn- 
 ed a new method of expounding the Sciiptures, whtn 
 the old one was no longer favorable to (heir purpose ; 
 new principles were devised, a new origin of society in- 
 vented, and a new fabrick of oppression reared upon ihe 
 ruins of the old, Thepeople found that if the succession 
 was altered, it implied no necessary change of measures, 
 that the love of power might be the same in their de- 
 liverers, as it had been in those who made that deliver- 
 ance necessary, and though it had been declared treason 
 to entertain certain speculative principles, which it was 
 before treason not to be convinced of, no siligma of in- 
 famy or punishment was annexed to crimes ci.mmittcd 
 against the majesty of the people, or to the most impu- 
 dent attempts to rob them of iheir indisputable rights. 
 
 lETTER 
 
( 193 ) 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Mr. HUME, whose abilities I re- 
 spect, as much as 1 sometimes pity the misapplication of 
 lliem, has enumerated the right of conquest as a founda- 
 tion of legal government among mankind. I wonder, I 
 confess, so accurate a writer should have stopped half 
 way in the enumeration, and omitted those other rights 
 of equally respectable origin, the right of robbery, plun- 
 der, and assassination. Perhaps so acute a logician 
 thought it unnecessary to descend to particulars, and 
 was persuaded that no one could mistake in the appli- 
 cation of his principles ; captd tirbe nihil fit rdiqiii xictis: 
 since power to oppress necessarily implies ihe right to 
 do it, all inferior violences are so many gracious acts of 
 mercy and benevolence ; and whoever, when he might 
 destroy, contents himself with the gallantries of a rape, 
 or the emoluments of ser\itude, is no bandit or tyrant, 
 but the friend of human naturcj and a stvond Titus.— 
 
 o But 
 
( m ) 
 
 But to what purpose has he taken so much pains, in 
 establishing the principles of morals upon their best and 
 surest basis, the constitution of our nature ? 'Why hat 
 he deviated from the belfish systems of his Parisian 
 friends, and allowed that virtue is something congenial 
 to our existence, if he leaves a secret source of corrup- 
 tion, whose baneful waters can never fail to diffuse ruin 
 and misery among the species ? Can he be ignorant, that 
 this one principle alone is more destructive than all the 
 false reasonings, or arrogant pretensions, which have ever 
 disgraced the writings of philosophers and divines ; and 
 that, like the stone which Cadnuis hurled among his 
 new-born soldiers, it can never leave the earth in peace, 
 while there arc two individuals remaining upon the face 
 of it ? Is there a single act of secret cruelty or open 
 violence which may not be justified by such an argu- 
 ment ? Is there a single traitor, rebel, or usurper, who 
 may not hope to enlist heaven and philosophy in 
 his defence, when that act which is the completion of 
 his crimes becomes their vindication, and an enterprise, 
 which when undertaken, was execrable and flagitious, 
 may by success acquire the colour of virtue, and the 
 rights of justice ? lUit this extraoidinary doctrine is no 
 less formidable to the victor than fatal to the vanquish- 
 ed. Tor, if Civsav had by conquest a right to oppress 
 
 the 
 
{ 195 ) 
 
 the liberties of his country, the dagger which sprinkled 
 the statue of Pompey with Caesar's blood, transferred 
 his claim to dominion, and devolved the right of empire 
 upon the conspirators : The martiired Charles himself 
 had no reason to complain of his rebellious subjects, 
 but questioned the authority of a court to which, upon the 
 principles of his historian and panegyrist, he ought impli- 
 citly to have submitted ; heaven had annulled his title 
 •when it declared against him at Marston Moor; he was 
 unfortunate, but not injured, and Cromwell was ambi« 
 tious, but no usurper. 
 
 Yet so childishly vain and inconsistent are human 
 beings, that most kings have chosen rather to found their 
 authority upon the power of oppression than the volun- 
 tary submission of their subjects ; as if it were more 
 glorious to trample upon than protect mankind, more 
 eligible to rule by violence than by love, and more safe 
 to be the tyrant than the father of a people. When 
 Kouli-Kan was leading his victorious army through the 
 ravaged provinces of India, a Bramin met him, and with 
 the intrepidity which virtue inspires, thus accosted him : 
 If thou art a man, learn to compassionate ihe sufferings 
 of thy fellow-creatures ; if thou art a King, protect and 
 spare thy subjects ; or if thou art a prophet, inspired by 
 heaven, enlighten our minds and guide us to x\\c truth. 
 2 To 
 
( 196 ) 
 
 To this the tyrant replied,! am no man that I should pity, 
 nor king that I should protect.nor prophet that I should 
 instruct»but I amhethat heaven raises up in its vengeance 
 to chastise the sins of the world. The Persian conqueror 
 was not singular in his sentiments; and the history of 
 royalty is the satire of human nature. Wherever men 
 have been entrusted with an unlimited power, they have 
 never failed to abuse it ; pride, which increases in pro- 
 portion to the homage it receives, ignorance, and sensu- 
 ality, give them the idea they are a superior order of 
 beings, and fill them with absurd notions of their 
 high dignity and importance. Whatever have been the 
 civil or military talents of the first Monarchs, iheir de- 
 scendants, have ceased to be either wise or brave, as sooa 
 as their subjects were sufficiently bended to the yoke, 
 and accustomed to admit the claim without insisting 
 upon the conditions* 
 
 What a picture does the greater part of the universe 
 actually exhibit ? Even the most cultivated and enlight- 
 ened nations seem to have overlooked, or forgotten, the 
 first principles which providence itself inculcates. Na- 
 ture, liberal to all her creatures, but profuse to man, 
 has in vain surrounded him with an inexhaustible variety 
 
 •f 
 
( 197 ) 
 
 of blessings: in vain is he permitted to make the ele- 
 ments subservient to his purpose, and assemble in one 
 scanty spot the products of the universe. Tyranny, more 
 fatal to the species than the united rage of all its other 
 enemies, interposes, and scares the wretch from the re- 
 ward his labours have so well deserved. Here an effe- 
 minate oppressor, in the midbt of concubines and eu- 
 nuchs asserts his claim of being Vice-gerent to Omni- 
 potence, and consumes, within the walls of liis seraglio, 
 what would supply the necessities of a people. There, 
 a Ckiisfian conqueror extirpates mankind to the sound 
 of hpnns and hosannas^ while a croiid of priests and 
 missionaries anathematize all his enemies, and bless the 
 sword wliicli he is drawing Jor the deslnictiou of half 
 the species. 
 
 ■ Crudelis uhique 
 
 Luctus uhiqite pavor , ct plurima mortis imago. 
 Yet all these scenes of misery and ruin, of insolent op- 
 pression, and abject resignation, are justifiable, if we 
 admit for a moment, that power can be the origin of 
 right. This baneful system not only pleads the apology 
 of every crime, which has hitherto saddened the pros- 
 pect of humanity, but tears from the breast, which 
 
 mourns in secret over the misfortunes of its fellow-crea- 
 tures 
 
( 198 ) 
 
 tures, the consolation of hope, and the expectation uf 
 happier times. 
 
 But if it is destined, by the ir.explicable wisdom of 
 Providence, that no climate shall be sacred from tyranny ; 
 if arts and civilization, in their progress round the globe, 
 have a natural tendency to debase the minds of the ma- 
 ny, while they enlighten the understandings of the few, 
 the term of political duration is at least no more fixed 
 than the pei'iod of natural existence. Wisdom and cou- 
 rage may extend the date of freedom, as much as igno« 
 ranee and pusillanimity may abridge it. But in order to 
 defend our rights it is necessary that we should under- 
 stand their origin, and comprehend their extent. Tlic 
 lirst honours belong indeed to the citizen whose success- 
 ful valour opposes oppression in the field, and lepres'Ses 
 its encroachments; but neither is his meiit small, who 
 awakens his countrymen to the consideration of the 
 most important questions, who exposes the artifices of 
 sophistry, and defends from fraud and undermining the 
 sacred fabric of human rights, and public liberty. 
 
 10 
 
( 199 ) 
 
 LETTER IV 
 
 All animals, that \vc are acquaint- 
 ed with, arc compelled to the preservalion and propaga- 
 tion of their respective species, by certain uniform and 
 general impressions which we call instincts : and as the 
 reasoning faculties of all creatures, except man, are 
 extremely bounded, and their habits of life too simple to 
 produce factitious passions, the sum of happiness and 
 misery seems to be pretty nearly equal to all individuals 
 of the same class, in every part of the globe, where it is 
 uninterrupted by human cruelty and oppression. These 
 general impulses, which direct the several kinds and in- 
 dividuals to good, as well as the fears and aversions, 
 which preserve them from evil, are evidently implanted 
 by the great Author of all existence, for beneficial pur- 
 poses, and may be called the laxis of nature in respect to 
 
 o 4? c'i-'cr^ 
 
( 200 ) 
 
 every particular class of beings. 1 he end of each of ihese 
 laws, as far as liuman observation may pretend to reach, 
 is the preservation, propagation, and happiness of every 
 distinct species ; nor can individuals deviate from any 
 of ihem, which rarely happens, unless by violence, with- 
 out incurring pains and inconvenicncies they were not 
 subject to in their natural state. When we compare (he 
 human species with those innumerable others which sur- 
 round it, we shall find that it agrees with them in the 
 first great principles of nature, the dread of disagreeable, 
 and the love of agreeable sensations; that it is exposed 
 to the same infirmiiies and accident-^, and that the great 
 business of mankind is in common with all other animals, 
 hunger, thirbt, and lo\e. The great distinction and pre- 
 rogative, therefore, of the human race, do not arise from 
 the ends which it pursues, but f;ora the different faculties 
 with which it advances towards them. The foresight of the 
 wisest animal seems to extend a very little way beyond the 
 present moment, and the experience of the longest life 
 seems to make but little difference in its method of con- 
 ducting itself. Man, on the contrary, however he may 
 in some situations appear to stagnate, is in others con- 
 tinually improving his knowledge, increasing his enjoy- 
 ments, 
 
( liOl ) 
 
 monts, and advancing by rapid strides towards perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 The method by which he does this, is by continually 
 augmenting his experience, treasuring up the result in 
 his memory, and acquiring a power of self-ciircction, by 
 which he is enabled to sacrifice the present to the fu- 
 ture. If we would form an idea of the effects and im- 
 portance of these two qualities, we may conceire the 
 following instances: Two men are thrown by shipwreck 
 upon a dcsart i^lalld, and after having long endured the 
 pangs of thirst, arrive at a fountain of wholesome water. 
 The first, unaccustomed to restrain the present appctitp, 
 gratifies it with such avidity that he expires in agonies. 
 The other, warned by his comrade's fate, assuages his 
 thirst with such moderation, that his existence is pre- 
 served, and his health unimpaired. We may also con- 
 ceive two persons afiHicied with painful and dangerous 
 diseases, of which the only cure is the amputation of a 
 limb; the one of whom, incapable of bearing the pain 
 of so violent an operation, dies in lingering agonies : the 
 other, by possessing a superior fortitude, submits to the 
 pain, and is rewarded by a recovery of health. Now in 
 all these four, the dessire of life and enjoyment must be 
 
 supposed 
 
( 202 ) 
 
 supposed the same : the only difference consists, first 
 in experience, \vliicli suggests the most probable means of 
 success, and secondly, in the power of sd; < irection, 
 which enables a being to follow the dictates of his 
 reason. 
 
 if we compare those two faculties together, which wc 
 name instinct and reasoii, wc shall find, that when they 
 are not perverted, they both conduct to the same end ; 
 that the first is more bounded, but more invariable in its 
 effects, ari^ing from the scantiness of the materials upon 
 which it is employed ; the other an instrument of won- 
 derful and almost illimitable power, but subject to be 
 abused in such a m-inner, asal^noi^t counterbalances its 
 advantages. In the infancy of the human !-pccies, this 
 faculty seems to be entirely dormant, at least its effects 
 are not superior to what are produced by mere instinct. 
 Not to quote the testimonies of ancient authors, who 
 describe several tribes of savages as livmg together, with- 
 out any ideas of property or po'icy, destitute of all the 
 arts and conveniencics which civilized nations consider 
 as necessary to life, and even unacquainted with the me- 
 thod of pronouncing articulate sounds : travellers of the 
 greatest veracity have confirmed the existence of many 
 nations, whose reasoning powers are very little, if at all, 
 superior to the instinct of brutes. In this state of ig- 
 norance 
 
( 9.03 ) 
 
 norance and siipineness, ucrc a philosoplier to consider 
 the species, without any rchxtion to the surprising pro- 
 gress it is capable of making, were he to lay aside every 
 thing which revelation has taught, or reason conjectured 
 about a future state, he would discover certain laws of 
 nature, to which the human as well as every other kind 
 of animal is subject. He would find that it held a de- 
 terminate rank in the system of beings, and if he was not 
 one of those modern philosophers, v.ho discard intelli- 
 gence from the number of productive causes, he would 
 believe it created for a particular purpose, he would 
 find it endowed with particular passions, some of which 
 relate to self preservation, others to the propagation of 
 the species, and others to the intercourse which must 
 necessarily arise between beings of the same species. He 
 would find a certain untaught morality which nature 
 itself made necessary to society, even in its rudest state. 
 P'or if it is a law of nature, that pain shall attend the la- 
 ceration of the fibres, it is no less so, that danger, misery, 
 and destruction shall ensue from encouiaging the un^o- 
 cial passions, and giving unbounded scope to anger, 
 sellishness, and cruelty. If the rude hunter attempt to 
 wrest the prey from the hands of his brother savage, will 
 it be resigned without a contest as dangerous to the 
 aggressi.r as to the injured ? If he strive to gratify Lis 
 softer passions without the consent of his female, will 
 
 he 
 
( 201 ) 
 
 he not have her resistance to encounter, her vengeance 
 to elude, or her flight to prevent ? Thus every hostile 
 and oppressive disposition will produce a si ill. r one in 
 his fellow-creatures, and utility alone, without the con- 
 currence of any other cau^e, would set bounds to the 
 selfish pasiions, or else the tpecies must be destroj?cd. 
 From this one principle, therefore, may be deduced the 
 origin of morality, and the foundation of every good go- 
 vernment. There are therefore certain rules, by the obser- 
 vance of which the human race, even in its most savage 
 state, must conduct itself, to arrive at the greatest de- 
 gree of happiness; and on the contrary must sink into the 
 greatest disorder and misery if it neglects them, these 
 rules for want of a better expression, may be denomina- 
 ted the laws (f Nature, 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Jones, Printer, Chjpel-ftrett, ?oh». 
 
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