THE HIGHWAYMAN.

THIS was in the merry month of May, when the whole animal creation, from the minuteſt inſect the microſcope diſcovers upon the leaf, to the largeſt beaſt which grazes in the field, or preys in the foreſt; when the fowls of the air, from the diminutive hum⯑ming bird to the eagle of the ſun; when the fiſhes of the ſea, from the little ſprat to the un⯑wieldy leviathan, pay implicit obedience to that divine ordinance of heaven, increaſe and multi⯑ply. I ſay, it was in the month of May, ſo juſtly ſtiled "the mother of love," when na⯑ture wears an univerſal ſmile, when every plant and tree ſprouts forth in bud and bloſſom, and the whole earth is cloathed in variegated green: being faſt aſleep in a ſtage-coach on the road to Windſor, and my imagination having taken an excurſion in a dream to viſit, [4] to converſe with, and to embrace, ſome dear friends in Ireland, I was diſturbed from my ſweet viſion about five miles from London, by a tremendous voice, from the ſide of the road, which with reiterated vociferation, roar⯑ed out, Stop! ſtop!

My hands inſtinctively ſlipped into my breeches pocket, and with a motion equally involuntary, drew forth a ſmall purſe, con⯑taining the ſmall ſum of one guinea and a few ſhillings, to give the highwayman. The coachman at the ſame inſtant drew up his horſes.

If any hero wiſhes to be informed why I did not rather apply to my piſtols—I had none with me, or if I had, I ſhould not have applied to them.

Indeed, inſtead of charging my piſtols, which I left hanging up in my chambers, where may they long hang for ornaments, I had prepared the ſmall ſum I have before men⯑tioned, and put it into the little purſe afore⯑ſaid, in caſe of being ſtopped; for it has long been my opinion, that if a man conſiders his [5] own intereſt, in which undoubtedly his peace of mind has an intimate and large ſhare—to part with what he can ſpare from his abſolute neceſſities, will appear preferable to riſquing riſe for a trifle. It requires no great portion of humanity to conclude, that to deprive a fellow-creature of life, and diſpatch his ſoul in the very act of ſin, to ‘that country from whoſe bourne no traveller re⯑turns,’ though compatible with earthly juſtice, muſt be offenſive to eternal mercy. If this aſſertion be erroneous, how comes it that the act of ſacrificing a wretch's life in de⯑fence of a paltry ſum, always impreſſes upon the mind of the avenger, a horror which amounts to puniſhment?

As the coach-door opened I put out my hand—here, my honeſt friend, ſaid I, ad⯑dreſſing myſelf to the highwayman, here, take my money.

I received a ſhot in return for my cour⯑teſy—

I ſay a ſhot—but not a ſhot from a piſtol, nor a ſhot from a blunderbuſs—it was a chain-ſhot, [6] or a double-headed ſhot, which you pleaſe, diſcharged from a pair of as bright eyes as ever wounded the heart of an unwary traveller.

The lady miſtaking the offer of my hand, which intended to convey my purſe to the ſuppoſed highwayman, for an offer to aſſiſt her into the carriage, ſeized it with the moſt good humoured familiarity, and fixing her right foot firm upon the coach-ſtep, raiſed her body up with a ſpring of agility, which clear⯑ly proved, elaſticity was not the leaſt property in her compoſition.

Thus ſhe ſtood in equilibrium, nodding and ſmiling a farewel over her left ſhoulder, to a male friend, the perſon who had ordered the coach to ſtop: and taking her ſeat exactly oppoſite to me, ſhe waved her hand out of the coach window, to her parting companion —the coachman, with a hoi, hoi, and a crack of his whip, informed his horſes of their duty, the horſes obeyed, and we drove on.

THE POCKET HOOP.

IT is aſtoniſhing, that women will encum⯑ber their perſons ſo as to alter the elegant ſymmetry of the human frame!—The perſon of a fine woman is the moſt beautiful edifice in nature!—True beauty conſiſts in ſimplicity, and the figure of a well-made female always ſhews to the beſt advantage when its orna⯑ments are ſimple—it ſhould never be embel⯑liſhed in the compoſite order.—From the days of fig-leaves, to the preſent time, art has only laboured to diſguiſe nature.—

Hiſtory informs us, that Queen Elizabeth was remarkable for the protuberance of the rotunda; and this, ſay the antiquarians in dreſs, firſt introduced the faſhion of hoops. But whether this rotunda was a permanent rotunda behind, natural to the make of her Majeſty, or a temporary rotunda before, [8] ariſing from a natural cauſe, authors are ſilent ⁽¹⁾.

[9]A hoop, ſays an old writer, is an airy cool dreſs.—That may be, anſwers a modern wri⯑ter, arguing upon the ſame ſubject—but how comes it to paſs that Queen Elizabeth, who was a virgin Queen, and her maids of honour, who were virgins by virtue of their office, ſhould require more cooling than their grand⯑mothers? Now the queſtion is very eaſily an⯑ſwered—Queen Elizabeth and her maids of honour were virgins—their grandmothers cer⯑tainly were not.

I ſuppoſe, Sir, ſaid my fellow-traveller, we ſhall breakfaſt here, as the coach ſtopped at the Star and Garter at Kew-bridge.—I leap⯑ed out, and gave the lady my hand:—ſhe ſprung forward, but the treacherous hoop croſſing the door of the coach, gave ſo ſud⯑den a jerk to the lady, that as ſhe ſprung ſhe fell, and as ſhe fell, of courſe the hoop became inverſed, as you may have ſeen an umbrella, or paraſol, on a windy day—ſhe ſlipped from under her garments.—Heaven preſerve us!

I fixed my eyes upon the ſign.—It is the Star and Garter, ſaid I to myſelf, in an un⯑der [10] voice, and in the ſame tone I read the motto—

I kept my eyes fixed upon the ſign, without once attempting to extricate the lady. Had it been the ſign of the Gorgon's head, I could not have been more petrified;—but my man, who had now deſcended from the roof of the coach, having more preſence of mind, en⯑tered the coach at the oppoſite door, and tak⯑ing the lady by the ſhoulders, gently pulled her backwards, while I ſmoothed her cloaths, and brought the villainous hoop to its primi⯑tive ſituation.

The lady, having adjuſted her drapery, came out ſideways—

I led her into the houſe, and being ſhewn into a room—ſhe curſed her hoop in a tone of bitterneſs infinitely more vindictive than the curſe itſelf—but how could I ſay Amen?— I conſidered myſelf under ſome obligations to [11] the object of her curſes, "ſo amen ſtuck in my throat ⁽¹⁾."

[12]It was all my own fault, ſaid the lady;— I ſhould have come out ſideways at firſt.—But the way you attempted to come, Madam, ſaid I, was the moſt natural.—True, ſhe replied but not the moſt fortunate; our natural move⯑ments ſeldom are, ſaid I—till this inſtant I conſidered hoops as protections from ſuch ac⯑cidents, replied the lady, but I now perceive they render one's motions very unnatural—ſo ſaying, ſhe retired. Breakfaſt was ſerved in: —the lady returned, diveſted of her hoop— her dimity jacket fitted her ſhape exactly— her petticoat hung in folds—an elegant negle⯑gee appearance marked her perſon—the con⯑ſcious tint upon her cheek indexed the con⯑tinuance of her confuſion.—We breakfaſted, and having aſcended the carriage with cau⯑tion, and taken our ſeats, without further accident, purſued our journey.

Though the air in the month of May is more congenial to the blood, and more in⯑vigorating to the conſtitution of all animals, than the air of any other month in the year; [13] yet man, or woman, after long reſidence in the metropolis, the pores being open, and the muſ⯑cles being relaxed, by the heat of full theatres, balls, routs, maſquerades, ridottos, cloſe rooms, and ſea-coal fires, will find the morn⯑ing breeze of the country too ſharp for their unbraced nerves and debilitated joints.

This was my caſe—I perceived my fair companion alſo ſhrunk from the acuteneſs of the biting air, and ſought comfortable warmth in cloſely wrapping round her a pale pink ſat⯑tin cloak, lined with ſable fur.

I don't know a more pleaſing contraſt than pink faced with black—and the lining of the lady's cloak formed ſuch a contraſt, the black fur with which it was lined, turning over the edge of the pink ſattin like a facing or la⯑pel ⁽¹⁾.

[14]Perceiving, then, that the lady not only in⯑dicated an aguiſh tremor, but that ſleep had ſhed his drowſy influence upon her lids, which repeatedly dropped their "fringed curtains" over her eyes;—I propoſed drawing up the coach-blinds — the lady complied.—

We both benefited by the precaution.—

The lady ſoon involuntarily reſigned herſelf to the ſoft folding arms of ſleep, who fixed his leaden ſeal upon her eyes.—I exerciſed my mind in meditation.

It has been ſaid, that ſleep is the emblem of death. The object I looked upon, ſo far from raiſing this gloomy idea in me, produced a quite contrary effect.—I thought of nothing but life, and prolongation of life—my thoughts aroſe from my feelings, my feelings from what I ſaw—but my feelings were not merely lo⯑cal—life trembled through the current of my blood—dilated my heart — inſpired my ſoul— expanded my thoughts—warmed my imagi⯑nation to extaſy—and, I anſwer for it, ſpoke at my eyes.

[15]How eaſy would it have been at that in⯑ſtant to have tickled me to death—I ſhould have ſhrunk from the touch like a ſenſitive plant.—

The lady ſlept on—

A MEDITATION.

THE ſcene at the inn-door, when I inno⯑cently gazed up on the Star and Garter, was freſh in my memory. Not an aſtronomer of them all, from Ptolemy the Egyptian, down to Copernicus the German, and from Co⯑pernicus the German, down to Newton the Engliſhman, had ever ſo ſtrong a conception of the hirſute conſtellation, called by ſtar-gaz⯑ers Berenice's locks, as I had of the ſign at Kew-bridge.—Every object was painted upon my imagination in the moſt lively colours.

I recollected the lady's confuſion on the un⯑fortunate event of her pocket-hoop—and this recollection produced in my mind an inveſti⯑gation of modeſty.—When an Indian was aſk⯑ed how he could go naked, and expoſe his body to the cold air, he anſwered, ‘becauſe I am all face.’ Now the ſame anſwer would [17] have been as pertinent had it related to mo⯑deſty, inſtead of feeling; for in thoſe coun⯑tries, where the inhabitants go perfectly na⯑ked, they look upon each other as undiſturb⯑ed, with as chaſte an eye, and unfluſhed coun⯑tenance, as if they were all face. With them every part is equally indifferent as to ſight: the leſs modeſty the leſs feeling;—the leſs feel⯑ing, the leſs incontinence, in thought, in word, and in deed.

The Lacedaemonians were remarkable for vir⯑tue, yet poſſeſſed very little modeſty; and when we compare their cuſtoms with the cuſtoms of the chearful, happy inhabitants of the ſouth⯑ern iſles, diſcovered by Captain Cooke, it ap⯑pears the Lacedaemonians were perfect maſters, and miſtreſſes too, of the celebrated Timiradi dance, practiſed by the people of both ſexes in Otaheite ⁽¹⁾. It muſt be left to the judgment [18] of the ladies, whether the daughter of Cato was right in her opinion, that women ſhould take off and reaſſume their modeſty with their garments. It is certain the Roman matron was a patriot, not however of that claſs of pa⯑triots who ornament the preſent times; ſhe was not influenced by ſelf—but from a regard to poſterity.—And where is the woman who has not a regard to poſterity? I anſwer—the wo⯑man who is not ſolely attached to one man, has neither regard for poſterity nor for herſelf, and cannot be a patriot.

Thus did I mentally philoſophize, till after long meditation, I concluded with a modern voyager ⁽¹⁾, who from the contemplation of unpoliſhed people, has drawn this opinion, ‘[19]that modeſty and chaſtity, which have long been ſuppoſed to be inherent in the human mind, are local ideas, unknown in the ſtate of nature, and modified according to the various degrees of civilization.’

Yet when Adam and Eve had eaten of the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of know⯑ledge, they ſaw they were naked, and were aſhamed.

Oh chaſtity! thou art a great and ſhining virtue in civilized ſtates! Thy utility is ſuf⯑ficiently known—but to govern and prevail with thee according to nature, is as difficult as it is eaſy to do it according to cuſtom. Thou haſt nothing, let me tell thee, pure and fair maid, to ſupport thy precepts, but the hoary head, and ſhrivelled face, of ancient uſe.

And what is to be deduced from this? Why that the fair fabrick of chaſtity, was erected upon the ruins of the bowers of paradiſe. But is not chaſtity in women the ſame as courage is in men? Is not chaſtity the very centre of a woman's point of honour? Is not female chaſtity a caſtle defended by religion, mora⯑lity, [20] reaſon, cuſtom, pride, apprehenſion, and ſhame? True, but when nature mutinies within, and love attacks the out-works, this well-defended caſtle, is no more than—a caſtle in the air.

THE EXAMINATION.

THE lady ſlept on.—

I could not get a wink of ſleep.—

The devil take that ſign, ſaid I to myſelf, curſing the Star and Garter at Kew-bridge. Yet why ſhould I curſe the Star and Garter! Is it not an inſignia, which our moſt gracious ſovereign reſpects—which the firſt of our no⯑bility are continually in purſuit of.—And has not the learned Pettingall, who was a maſter of arts, thus delivered his opinion, after quot⯑ing ſome hundred authorities, in all languages, that the Star and Garter are amulets or charms, allegorical ſymbols of unity; or as Camden and Heylin have it, ‘a bond of the moſt in⯑ward ſociety, and a badge of unity and con⯑cord, to inſpire courage and vigour in men;’ —and does he not ſay, what every true man [22] will join with him in ſaying, honi ſoit qui mal y penſe, ſhould be rendered, ‘ſhame and con⯑fuſion to him that deſigns any evil againſt the wearer, (that is the wearer of the Star and Garter) may all his deſigns be retorted on the author.’ But why are the Bench of Biſhops excluded from wearing this amu⯑let? Becauſe they have mitres annexed to their Biſhopricks, and that amounts to the ſame thing —and as to the lawyers, why, they have their black patches upon their wigs—and their ſcar⯑let patches upon their doctors gowns—and their furs for their judges robes, delectable to the touch.

To baniſh the idea of the ſign at Kew-bridge, I examined the lady's face.—Her eyes were ſhut—here could I ramble through half a dozen pages, expatiating on the beauty of the eye—whether black, hazel, grey, or blue —whether open or cloſed, whether ſhaded by a full grown dark brow, or arched over with the ſmoothneſs of a mouſe-ſkin.—I never gave a determined preference to any particular co⯑lour, only let it not be a jaundiced eye—nor [23] a baſiliſk's eye—I hate both—but I have long thought, that the eye of a woman looks beſt when on the twinkle; that is, when it is nei⯑ther open, nor ſhut, but like the ſetting ſun ſkirted by a ſhading cloud, emanates a lam⯑bient fire, through the medium of bordering fringe, with which nature has wiſely provided it, for the purpoſes of ornament and pro⯑tection.—

Give me an eye with quivering beams, dancing with irregularity like the reflection of the moon upon agitated water ⁽¹⁾!

I was eighteen years of age, when I firſt diſ⯑covered, that the perfection of beauty in the eye, or rather the perfect force of the opera⯑tions of the eye upon the heart, is not to be found, either when the eye is open, or when [24] the eye is ſhut, but when the eye is upon the twinkle.—The impreſſion I then received was deep, and I ſhall die in the opinion which was the reſult of it.

The manner in which I received this im⯑preſſion may appear hereafter.

A DESCRIPTION.

THE lady ſlept on—ſmiled as ſhe ſlept, and as ſhe ſmiled ſhe ſighed—

Health ſported upon her cheek, while love, with a moſt inticing grace, diffuſed a non-re⯑ſiſting, if not inviting complacency over every feature, and wantoned on her neck.—Her lips ſmooth, and red as coral, pouted with ful⯑neſs, and with a glowing ripeneſs equal to the bluſh of the wild ſtrawberry, ſmooth as the ſattin'd ſoftneſs of the nectarine's coat, di⯑vided to give emiſſion to her breath, diſcover⯑ing a ſet of teeth vying with orient pearl.—

Her breath!—

I ſat oppoſite to her—Her breath fanned me with a fragrance, infinitely more inſpiring, not leſs odoriferous, than the evening zephyr of June, agitating a roſe-thicket, ſtealing its [26] ſweets If Mrs. DAWSON looks in her glaſs ſhe will ſee an original reſembling this picture.—.—The effect, however, was dif⯑ferent; the fanning zephyr would have cool⯑ed, but the ſouthern blaſt that gathers con⯑ſuming heat from the burning deſert of Ara⯑bia, could not ſcorch with more violence than the breath of my fellow-traveller.—

All appeared quiet within the peaceful ha⯑bitation of her boſom, which, gently heav⯑ing, preſerved uninterrupted calmneſs, ex⯑cept when a half-ſuppreſſed ſigh, or ſhort breathing, broke in upon the regular ſerenity of its motion.

She ſighed!—but her ſighs were not the ſighs of ſorrow—neither were they the ſighs of pain—they were the ſighs of ſenſibility—and I diſcovered the nature of her ſighs, by the gentle agitations of pleaſure, which ever pre⯑ceded their riſings, as tender harbingers, or fol⯑lowed them as affectionate attendants.—

It is probable the lady was in a dream, if ſhe was, it was a dream of ſuch ſenſibility, [27] ſhe might be ſaid to wake ſleeping ⁽¹⁾. I drew a divination from her dream.—

THE WAGGON RUT.

THE road was ſmooth—the coach rolled on—the lady ſlept—but as ſhe ſlept, ſhe ſlipt.—

The cuſhion on which ſhe ſat gently gave way—perceiving her in danger of falling, and anxious to prevent it, I placed my feet cloſe to her's.—This precaution immediately tranſ⯑ferred the point of gravity from the feet to the knee, and the coach continuing to com⯑municate its motion to the lady, no ſooner were her feet ſtopped, than her knees natu⯑rally bent forward.—

Determined to ſupport her, I gently ſlipt forward till our knees met.—

For above a mile we rolled along the road foot to foot, knee to knee—the coach conti⯑nuing to communicate motion to the lady, the lady communicating motion to me—till, [29] unfortunately, the road growing rough, the motion increaſed, and became irregular—I loſt my ſituation—the lady loſt her ſituation of conſequence.

Still the lady ſlept—and ſmiled—and ſigh⯑ed—and ſlipped, unconſcious of her danger; but the coach-wheel ſlipping into a waggon-rut, I ſlipt forward, the lady ſlipt downward, and my Lord Coke, who had lain unnoticed upon the ſeat, ever ſince I came into the coach in the morning, ſlipt down at the ſame in⯑ſtant with the lady; but luckily reaching the bottom of the carriage firſt, his lordſhip broke her fall.

I did all in my power to ſupport her, but in vain—though the lady did every thing ſhe could to ſupport herſelf, and my Lord Coke lent his aſſiſtance.—

The accident appeared beyond remedy,— So being on my knees, I offered up a haſty, yet warm, ſincere ejaculation to the great God of Love, who lending an ear auſpicious to my prayer, in about two minutes I was extricated from—no—not extricated from my confuſion, [30] but extricated from my aukward poſition, and found myſelf able to replace the lady in her ſeat—

Having ſettled the lady, I took up my Lord Coke, and placed his lordſhip cloſe by her.

A REFLECTION.

HAVING got out of the rut, and having paſſed the rough road, which cauſed the foregoing accident, the coach rolled on ſmoothly again.—

Now there are many travellers who would rail for an hour without intermiſſion againſt theſe rough ſpots, which every man muſt ſome⯑times meet upon his journey, let him travel what road he will.—Some men meet them on high roads, ſome men meet them on bye roads.—Some men meet them on mountains. —Some men meet them in vallies.—They in⯑terrupt the rich man in his chariot, and the poor man on the humble foot-path way. —Philoſophers have met theſe rough ſpots upon the ſummit of the Alps, the virtuoſi have met them in the ſtreets of Rome.—Nay, it has been ſaid, that very wiſe and grave philo⯑ſophers have met them on the very carpets of [32] their libraries. For my part, I meet them here and there, and every where, and where⯑ever I meet them, whether on high road, or on bye road, on mountain, on valley, or on plain, I make the moſt of them. Wherever I travel, or in whatever manner I travel, whe⯑ther I travel in a carriage, on horſe-back, or on foot, I never abuſe them.—

Thank Heaven! there is a complacency in my diſpoſition, which bids defiance to trifling caſualties; and whether the road be rough, or whether the road be ſmooth, my temper is ſtill the ſame, and I never quarrel with the road, nor with myſelf, nor with any thing I meet, but go whiſtling on—I only wiſh I may never meet theſe rough ſpots on Mount Aetna, on Mount Veſuvius, or on any other burn⯑ing mount.—I care not how warm the climate is—but Heaven preſerve me from volcanos! —I have an implacable averſion to fire!—

A road may be conſidered as an emblem of life, and much inſtruction may be picked up in very few miles travelling; yet ſome there are, and men of great name, who have tra⯑velled [33] to Egypt, and have attained nothing but the height of the Pyramids, or a ſketch of the Sphynx, though they have written whole volumes upon what they have ſeen, and have not ſeen;—while others have been able to diſ⯑cover a thouſand objects, in a ſpace not lon⯑ger than from London to Highgate, upon which they have exerciſed all the benignity of philanthrophy.—

A road, I ſay, may be conſidered as an em⯑blem of life.—How various the proſpect on the right and on the left!—Sometimes a ſe⯑rene, ſometimes a cloudy ſky.—How diffe⯑rent are the paſſengers in their ſize, in their complexion, and in the manner of purſuing their journey?—What innumerable ſtops from turnpikes!—What a number of croſs roads! —How many arreſts from accidents!—And how few make for the ſame reſting-place, or purſue one certain conſtant gait.

This now is philoſophizing—that is, if to philoſophize, be, as has been defined by ſome philoſophers, according to Montaigne, to write at random, and play the fool, as the eſ⯑ſayiſt [34] did, and which I ſhall never bluſh at doing, let my ſubject be what it may, pro⯑viding only, that when I do write at random, or play the fool, my writing and my folly may be marked with ſome of his features.

THE CONFUSION.

THE ſun had now riſen conſiderably above the horizon—the kine had returned to their paſtures, having paid their milky tribute to the dairy—and the honeſt hind, whoſe la⯑bour enables the luxuriant and the lazy, to indulge in pleaſures, in ſenſuality and ſloth, while he experienced the effects of the firſt judgment, announced by the divine wiſdom againſt our primitive parents, by earning his bread with the ſweat of his brow, ſoftened its rigour with a chearful ſong, expreſſive of content.

Every object looked ſprightly—every ob⯑ject appeared gay—every object wore the ju⯑venile dreſs of ſummer—every object, ani⯑mate and inanimate, contributed a ſhare of chearfulneſs to the ſcene.

[36]The ſituation in which the lady had diſco⯑vered herſelf on waking, had overwhelmed her with confuſion. A bluſh of the deep⯑eſt dye, far beyond the boaſted Tyrian, diffuſed its colour through her veins, ſometimes de⯑ſcending, it ſpread over her fair boſom, and then, as if exhaled by the fire of her bright eyes, roſe to her face, and revelled in a rubid glow.

The deep colour did not continue long— it faded by degrees to a roſy tint, but not to a fixed complexion—it ſported during the courſe of our journey, in delicate ſhades. It was not difficult to diſcover what the lady felt —it was evident, from the revulſion of her blood, that the ſoul laboured, and the body languiſhed.

If my confuſion was not equal to the lady's, nor laſting as the confuſion which diſtreſſed her, I felt an equal ſhare of irrita⯑tion. It was my ardent wiſh to relieve her, if poſſible, though I ſtood in need of relief myſelf. I would have rouſed my ſpirits, but they had been ſo lately diſperſed, it was im⯑poſſible [37] to recruit them ſuddenly—I did all I could to rally them, but in vain. I looked to the lady for aſſiſtance—the lady looked from me, as demanding aſſiſtance for herſelf —our nerves thrilled in uniſon—the vibra⯑tion was ſympathetic—the tremor was reci⯑procal—ſo had been the cauſe.

I looked again towards the lady, taking her at the ſame inſtant by the hand—the vital ſpirits began to revive from the lethargy they had lately ſunk into—the lady's hand lay in mine, a gentle mutual compreſſure gave my ſpirits the firſt alarm.

As I looked towards the lady, ſhe turned her head round towards me, juſt ſo much as to give the profile of her face. A gentle ſigh, with a ſoliciting caſt of the eye informed me, ſhe expected relief at my hands. My heart felt the full force and propriety of the ex⯑pectation—it almoſt amounted to reproach. But how ſhould I relieve her? My ideas were aſtray, my tongue was tied, and could as well have anſwered calmly from the rack, to the interrogatories of a perſecuting Spaniſh in⯑quiſitor, [38] as commence a converſation with my fair companion.

Neither of us could articulate a word— yet though ſilent, we converſed—for the lady by degrees looking full in my face, our eyes ſpoke, and we perfectly underſtood each other —it was the language of nature, whoſe de⯑clarations were ſincere, her thoughts are un⯑diſguiſed, and ſcorn the deformities of du⯑plicity.

You ſhould ſpeak to me, ſaid the lady, from charity—

Something for the ſake of charity, ſaid a young ſeaman, who had loſt an arm and a leg privateering, ſomething for charity, ſaid the ſeaman, as the coachman pulled up to the door of a ſmall public houſe to take a dram ⁽¹⁾, and receive ſome parcels.

A moment before I would moſt willingly have purchaſed this interruption at any ex⯑pence, [39] being now relieved from embarraſſ⯑ment by the lady's having opened the con⯑verſation, I wiſhed the ſeaman had loſt his head inſtead of his arm—juſt as my peeviſh temper ſuggeſted the inhuman thought, the poor fellow, addreſſing himſelf to the lady, and turning from me, ſaid, Madam, I have loſt my arm in the ſervice of my country— and he held up his ſtump.

This man, who had faced the horrors of war undaunted, this man who had faced death in a thouſand different ſhapes undiſmayed, was ſcared by the inhoſpitable, the ungracious and forbidding look, vexation had thrown into my countenance.

I was preparing to recompenſe the injury I intended him, by my wiſh, which was now retorted with full force upon myſelf, by giving him the ſilver I had put into the purſe I had prepared for the highwayman—but as I drew the purſe from my pocket, AVARICE whiſpered in my ear, he has Greenwich to ſupport him, or if not, he has his pariſh to maintain him. Burrow's Settlement Caſes [40] lay upon the ſeat oppoſite to me, cloſe to Lord Coke.—The law has made a proviſion for him, ſaid Sir James Burrow.

CHARITY whiſpered in the oppoſite ear to that which AVARICE had applied her mouth to—this was the further ear from the poor ſailor—but her words ſunk deep into my ſoul.

It is certainly an honour to the law, whiſ⯑pered Charity, that it makes a proviſion for the poor, but it is no great honour to human nature, that the law has need to make ſuch proviſion

The intention of the law is good, ſaid Sir James Burrow—but the hundreds of deciſions upon Charity caſes which I have collected, have ſwallowed up more of the proviſion allotted the poor, than even the overſeers have ſwallow⯑ed up—the poor are ſtarved between the ex⯑penditures of litigation and gormandizing ⁽¹⁾.

[41]I had the purſe half up, when VANITY ſtepping in with her advice, and aiding the ſolicitations of CHARITY, induced me to draw it to the very edge of my pocket.— A few acts of generoſity, ſaid VANITY, prudently managed, will give you as much reputation for goodneſs as moſt men deſire.

Shall I, ſaid I to myſelf—ſhall I reſtrain the ſtream of charity that overflows my heart? Shall I retain, for the purpoſe of ſome ſelfiſh gratification, this traſh, taking the few ſhil⯑lings out of the purſe; this traſh, which di⯑vine bounty deſigned for the common benefit of all mankind.—The opportunities and in⯑ducements we have to alleviate the miſeries, and promote the happineſs of our fellow-crea⯑tures, are innumerable. Our hearts incline us to good, our reaſon approves the acts of hu⯑manity.—

All we have is given to us—all we do is but miniſtering.

A fat prebendary, well-mounted, and at⯑tended by two ſervants in livery, came ambling up, all in fine order—no determining which [42] was beſt fed, the fat prebendary, the fat pre⯑bendary's ſervants, or the fat prebendary's horſes—ſleek and fat—fat and ſleek—nothing of a curate, or a curate's man, or a curate's horſe, about them—lean and pale—pale and lean.—God bleſs your Reverence! ſaid the maimed ſeaman, holding out his hat with his left hand, at the ſame time ſhewing the ſtump of his right arm to the fat prebendary.

The fat prebendary returned the bleſſing with the voice of meekneſs—God bleſs you! ſaid the fat prebendary—joining his hands to⯑gether, with his eyes elevated religiouſly to⯑wards heaven, God bleſs you, ſaid his reve⯑rence, turning down his eyes, and looking on the ſeaman's ſtump, the prebendary gently ſpurred his horſe and rode on—

Your honours will remember me, ſaid the ſeaman, addreſſing himſelf to the prebendary's ſervants.—The prebendary's ſervants looked as if they ſaid Amen to their maſter's prayers. —The horſes neighed—but they were brutes.—What was the fat prebendary!— [43] What were the fat prebendary's ſervants!— Chriſtians! Chriſtians!

A ſerjeant of the guards, with his knapſack flung at his ſhoulders, holding a child by the one hand, and his wife following, carrying another child, ſucceeded.

Brother ſoldier, can you ſpare a trifle to a poor ſeaman? ſaid the mutilated tar.

D—n your eyes, anſwered the ſerjeant, here's all I can ſpare; and he threw ſix-pence into the ſeaman's hat.—The wife followed the example of her huſband—ſhe dropped her mite, and paſſed on; O may that mite be layed up in Heaven! and may the ſcanty pit⯑tance in the corner of your huſband's knap⯑ſack, increaſe like the widow's cruſe!—

The ſerjeant's curſe cut me to the heart— I reproached myſelf, bleſſed him, and curſ⯑ing the fat prebendary, the fat prebendary's fat ſervants, and the fat prebendary's fat horſes (though ſure I wronged the beaſts) ſlipped the ſhillings I had held clinched in my hand, into the hand of the ſeaman—I ſlipped them into his hand, unknown to any one— [44] almoſt unknown to myſelf—in truth, VA⯑NITY had nothing to ſay to the gift, it was the gift of an impulſe, involuntarily ſpring⯑ing from the noble motive of compaſſion, which the example ſet me by the ſerjeant, had inſtantaneouſly kindled in my breaſt.—

The lady alſo felt the force of the ſerjeant's damn, and contributed under its impulſe to the ſeaman's wants.

I inſert this damn of the ſerjeant, as a pre⯑cept for the edification of a certain bench, and all thoſe who derive authority under them —but they want not precept—it is in prac⯑tice they are deficient.—Do as I ſay, is the great foundation of their preaching.—Why can they not preach, do as I do?

Come forth your Grace with your Dutcheſs —come forth each Marquis with his Mar⯑chioneſs—come forth each Earl with his Counteſs—come forth each Baron with his Baroneſs—ſtep forth ye Knights with your Ladies—and hear how the ſerjeant d—n'd the ſeman's eyes.—He had experienced himſelf what ſuffering is, and could not overlook it [45] in another.—O come forth, look to his good works, and cover the multitude of your ſins; for, be aſſured, your enormous ſubſcriptions to a dancing, ſkipping tribe of buffoons, will avail you nought hereafter ⁽¹⁾.

THE PROPOSAL.

THE human mind ſhould ever be employed, mental exerciſe and induſtry being as eſ⯑ſential to the health of the ſoul, as corporeal exerciſe and labour is to the health of the body. Idleneſs in the mind produces vice, idleneſs in the body produces diſeaſe. The vacant hours of dulneſs are the moſt dangerous hours of life, for when ever the tempter of mankind, who is always on the watch, finds the mind out of employment, he never fails to ſtep in, with one or other vicious incite⯑ment to ſeduce the ſoul from virtue.

For this reaſon I have eſtabliſhed as a rule in the mental code by which I govern myſelf, that when ever I find my mind inadequate to the exerciſes of ſtudy or rational contempla⯑tion, which is too often the caſe, to ſeek im⯑mediate employment for my ideas in ſome innocent amuſement.

[47]It is certainly the moſt probable way of avoiding the devil and all his works.

I never ſtood in greater neceſſity for the ap⯑plication of my rule than at the preſent in⯑ſtant.—Was my life to pay the forfeit, I could not enter into a ſerious converſation with the lady, or a proper converſation with myſelf; ſo finding it impoſſible to ſpeak, and dreading the conſequence of thinking, I reſolved to diſ⯑appoint Old Nick by propoſing an amuſement.

I aſked the lady to play travelling piquet.

TRAVELLING PICQUET.

THE lady declared ſhe was totally ignorant of the game.—

I once played the game, ſaid I, when For⯑tune being in a good-natured mood, as ſhe was this day, introduced me to a tete à tete party with a young widow whom I met at Holy-head, and travelled with in a poſt coach to Cheſter.—

Then, ſaid the lady, you are but a novice at the game yourſelf?

No, Madam, anſwered I, the young widow was experienced in it, and by her inſtructions, and playing it repeatedly ſince, I am now a perfect adept at the game,—and if you give permiſſion, will inſtruct you.—

The lady, bowing, ſmiled aſſent to play, and I commenced my leſſon.

THE LESSON.

SUPPOSE, Madam, ſaid I, addreſſing myſelf to the lady, ſuppoſe, Madam, you and I,—or ſuppoſe, Madam, you and any other companion, were travelling in a coach, poſt-chaiſe, or vis à vis.—A vis à vis! ex⯑claimed the lady, to ride in a vis à vis, is the height of my ambition.—

A vis à vis, Madam ſaid I, is the moſt convenient carriage for playing travelling picquet in, twenty to one.—I proceeded in my inſtructions.

Suppoſe, Madam, you and I travel together in a carriage.—We are travelling together, obſerved the lady.—Well, Madam, you and I travelling together in a carriage, I reckon two for every gate I ſee on the right hand ſide of the road, you reckon two for every gate you ſee on the left hand ſide of the road, and [50] ſo according to agreement, a certain number is reckoned for every object ſeen by you, on your ſide of the road, or ſeen by me, on my ſide of the road, whether man or woman, horſe or mare, bull or cow, ram or ewe, cock or hen, &c.—

You underſtand me, Madam? ſaid I,—

Perfectly, anſwered the lady.—

But obſerve, Madam—A man and woman —a horſe and mare—a bull and cow—a ram and ewe—a cock and hen,—Et caetera, ſaid the lady, interrupting my recapitulation—I went on—A man and woman, & caetera, Madam, may chance to preſent themſelves on your ſide of the road, or on my ſide of the road, ſo as to entitle you, Madam, or to entitle me, Madam, to a repique.

You muſt explain that, ſaid the lady—

Remember, Madam, ſaid I—I don't ſay man or woman, horſe or mare, &c.—but man and woman, horſe and mare, &c.

Your reaſon, Sir, for the diſtinction? ſaid the lady—

[51]Doctor Lowth, Madam, now biſhop of London, and all learned Grammarians, in⯑form us, that or is a conjunction disjunctive—

I have been taught ſo myſelf, ſaid the lady.—

The ſame learned biſhop, Madam, and other learned authorities—you don't except to the biſhop for being a living authority ⁽¹⁾?

No, Sir—

Well, Madam, they have all laid it down that AND is a conjunctive-copulative.—

The lady hummed a tune.

You now underſtand the game, Madam? The lady hummed on.—

If you don't underſtand it, Madam, the fault is not with you, nor with me, nor with the biſhop of London, nor with the other [52] learned grammarians; and I ſwear by Moſes' rod, which rod was greater than all the rods of all the Egyptian Magi, or by the ſcepter with which the great Mogul attempts to rule the beauties in his ſeraglio, the fault ſhould not be imputed to nature—ſhe has given us un⯑derſtanding ſufficient to underſtand all things that ſhould be underſtood.

And pray, where does the fault lie, Sir, ſaid the lady—

We will find out the place preſently, Madam.

THE GAME.

THE lady had reckoned on ſeveral gates—

So had I—

The lady had reckoned on ſeveral paſſengers, male and female—

So had I—

The lady had reckoned on horſes, kine, ſheep, goats, dogs, cats, and poultry of various kinds.

So had I—

The lady had reckoned on waggons, carts, coaches, chaiſes, whiſkeys, and caprioles—

So had I—

The lady had reckoned on one gigg—

So had I—

The lady had reckoned up to fifty, I had only reckoned up to thirty. The eagerneſs of expecting conqueſt ſparkled in her eye, and marked every feature of her face, when a young woman who deſired to be taken up as an outſide paſſenger, ſtopped the coach.—

THE REPIQUE.

THE proſpect on my ſide being beautiful, naturally drew the lady's eyes that way to view it. We were admiring the landſcape, when a country lad and laſs, who appeared fatigued with the labour of the morning, for the laſs walked leaning upon the lad's arm, having arrived at the ſhady ſide of a hillock, ſat down—

I reckoned four to my game.—

The lad gave the laſs a kiſs—by the rule of the game I was entitled to reckon two more.—

He kiſſed her again—again—and again— I foreſaw the game would be my own—En⯑core, ſaid I—

Devil take the impudent fellow, ſaid the lady, peeviſhly, at the ſame time ſuppreſſing a half ſmile, I ſhall certainly loſe.—But the laſs, Madam, ſaid I, appears as much my friend as the lad.—

[55]She is a Methodiſt, perhaps, anſwered the lady, and has been inſtructed in the doctrine of non reſiſtance—

And he is probably of the ſame profeſſion, replied I, for if I am not miſtaken, there will be a love feaſt preſently.—The lad gave the laſs another kiſs, to illuſtrate my ſuppoſi⯑tion—I reckoned two more—The lady bit her under lip.—

That, Madam, ſaid I, is a point—The lady hummed and looked down—

And ***** that, Madam, continued I, pointing with my fore-finger thus ☞—is a quint—The lady looked up—looked forward, then looked up again, as if to look for ſome⯑thing in the ſky, and overlook every thing on the ground—ſhe then looked down and played with her apron ſtring.—

The laſs on the hillock ſide, was alſo look⯑ing at the ſky.—

You will certainly loſe. Madam—I believe I ſhall loſe, ſaid the lady, tying and untying her apron ſtring.—

[56]There is no doubt now, Madam—ſee, ſee, —point—quinte, and quatorze—A repique by the feathered arrow of Cupid, and by his favourite quiver.

The lady took a ſerious look at the lad and laſs to be convinced of her loſs, and being convinced, turning her head aſide, tacitly acknowledged I had won.—

The young country woman, who ſtopped the coach, had by this time agreed with the coachman—had aſcended the box, and ad⯑juſted herſelf in her ſeat—

You may now drive on, ſaid the young country woman to the coachman—

So—we drove on.—

And may every man I eſteem on earth, drive thro' the journey of this life, with as much pleaſure, content, and innocence of heart as I drove on to Windſor.—

I had no reaſon however to triumph in my victory—for tho' I won the firſt, I loſt the ſecond and third game before I reached the town.

A DIGRESSION.

AS I was ſitting in my chambers at the concluſion of the laſt diviſion of my Excurſions, a loud knocking brought my ſer⯑vant to the outer door ⁽¹⁾—knock—knock— knock—

Who's there? ſaid I—

The Devil, Sir, anſwered my ſervant—

Bid the Devil enter—ſaid I—

My maſter, Sir, deſires me to inform you, that he has ſhewn your excurſions to ſome cri⯑tics, who all agree that it will never ſell with⯑out an introduction.

My reſpects to our maſter, good Mr. Devil, and aſſure him he ſhall have an in⯑troduction, preliminary diſcourſe, prologue or preface, by to-morrow morning at ten o'clock.—

So now Mr. Devil for—a deviliſh good— INTRODUCTION.—

INTRODUCTION As the Reviewers, from the quantity of literary drudgery they are forced to go through every month, cannot poſſibly have time to read the whole of every book they give an opinion on; it is probable our au⯑thor introduced his introduction in this place, in hopes the reviewers would not read ſo far.—Next month will ſhew whether the reviewers have reached his introduction; indeed the probability is, that they will not peep farther than into the title page.— ANONYMOUS..

IN which introduction, if there ſhould ap⯑pear any malice, envy, detraction, revenge, indecency, &c. the courteous reader will recollect, that this ſame introduction was written at the inſtigation of the Devil, at a time when I had not the fear of heaven before my eyes.

It will be ſaid I have imitated STERNE. I have heard of an author who wrote a play in imitation of Shakeſpear, the play was a good play enough, and had one line ſtrongly [60] imitative of Shakeſpear's manner, which line was "good morrow, good maſter lieutenant." —It will be ſaid I imitate STERNE—It is true like STERNE, my pen guides me, I don't guide my pen. I write my thoughts liberally, unſtudied, and unarranged, as they ſpontane⯑ouſly ariſe to my imagination, without culti⯑vation or pruning,—of conſequence they will be deficient in ornament, in profit, and in ſtrength—but if they are natural I am ſatisfied.

I have always read STERNE with delight, and never read him but I felt him in my heart more than in my head; yet I hope his precepts have improved my underſtanding in the ſame proportion they have expanded my humanity. His precepts affect me like wine, they make my heart glad,—they affect me like love, or rather they affect me like a conjunction of love and wine, for they make me generous and gay. Imbibing his opinions has ſweetened whatever portion of acidity, Nature, Miſ⯑fortune, and Diſappointment have mixed in my compoſition; and having grafted them upon my heart, it is probable their emana⯑tions [61] may produce ſome pleaſing bloſſoms, ſome good fruit—Good fruit may be produced by ingrafting upon a crab—This is a palpable plagiary from my DUENNA. The author of the DUENNA, whoever he is.—.

If I ſhould exhibit any feature bearing likeneſs to STERNE, I ſhall be proud of the ſimilarity; but for this happineſs I can ſcarcely hope. The ſtile of STERNE is peculiar to him⯑ſelf, his art is to pleaſe the imagination and improve the mind, with natural, yet elegant ſimplicity. He is maſter of that charming enthuſiaſm inſpired by heaven itſelf for the inſtruction of its creatures: and in his com⯑poſition there is a certain incommunicable art of making one part riſe gracefully out of another, which is felt by all, though ſeen only by the critic See a Student's letter to John Dunning, Eſq in defence of the Rev. H. Bate. Printed by Bladon, Pater-noſter-row.. His life, his opinions, his ſermons, his journey, his letters, and every thing he has written, will be read with admira⯑tion, [62] will be read with pleaſure, and with pro⯑fit, when the laboured works of labouring philoſophers, travellers, hiſtorians, politici⯑ans, and other mouſe ingendering compilers ⁽¹⁾, ſhall lie ſleeping in duſt upon the upper ſhelves of ſhops and libraries ⁽²⁾. The works of STERNE will be in the hands, in the heads, and in the hearts of every man, ay, and every woman too, of feeling; when the works of the Smell-funguſſes and the Mun⯑dunguſſes of the age, will be lining trunks and band boxes I have cut up ſeveral of the beſt modern au⯑thors at my ſhop, the corner of St. Paul's church⯑yard, as any perſon may ſee who will take the trouble of looking into my trunks.—DEPUTY CLEMENTS..

The imatators of STERNE, it muſt be al⯑lowed, have as much wit as they have judg⯑ment, and there are plenty of them heaven [63] knows ⁽¹⁾. Whether I have wit or judg⯑ment muſt be left to my readers, and among [64] theſe I hope I ſhall be honoured with the judgment of the reviewers.

[65]REVIEWERS ⁽¹⁾. I have mentioned your title Gentlemen, and cannot paſs you by un⯑noticed; [66] —tho' like Yahoes I expect you will mount among the branches of my laurel ⁽¹⁾, and bemute my fair production. What ſay the critical ſons of ſapience ⁽²⁾. They lift up their voices and cry as one man, theſe ſentimental excurſions are a ſervile imitation in thought, in word, and in deed. Suppoſe they are imitations, they are imitations of a great maſter, who had his jerkin, as he ſays himſelf, cut and ſlaſhed by theſe reviewers to very ſhreds: and well might he ſay cut and ſlaſhed, for be it known to all whom it may [67] concern, in the REPUBLIC OF LETTERS, that theſe kings of ſhreds and patches, the re⯑viewers, do literally cut and ſlaſh,—they having almoſt given up the uſe of pen and ink in compoſing their works, and ſubſtituted ſciſſars and paſte.

The PEOPLE of the LITERARY WORLD, that is, the PEOPLE OF PATER-NOSTER⯑ROW, can vouch the truth of this aſſertion, not only as it relates to the reviewers, but to the various tribes of modern mathematicians, politicians, biographiſts, hiſtorians, eſſayiſts, voy⯑agers, ay, and divines too, who all cut and paſte—paſte and cut. It is the author who can cut and paſte well, and not the author who can conceive and write well, who makes money; for the former will cut down and paſte up half a dozen volumes, before the latter can invent and arrange a ſingle page.— Yet theſe form the modern LITERATI ⁽¹⁾.

[68]Now IMITATION is quite a different thing from ſciſſars and paſte ⁽¹⁾.—Every man who poſſeſſes a nice and critical eye, muſt ſee, that notwithſtanding the preſent flouriſhing ſtate of the elegant arts, little more than imi⯑tation can be attributed to the artiſts of the day in any department. From Homer down to the loweſt of the loweſt poets, all are imi⯑tators; but the modern majority are pilferers ⁽²⁾, many of them open literary robbers ⁽³⁾, wretched ſcribblers, who by inſerting among their laborious nothings, whole paragraphs [69] from books of genius, ſtock the ſhops with heterogenous monſters. Now literary pilferers and robbers are not to be claſſed with imitators, for imitators may poſſeſs what theſe dull rogues never can poſſeſs,—they may poſſeſs genius and invention.

The works of STERNE have at leaſt a ſtronger claim to originality, than any other modern production; and yet, even STERNE has his imitations; he can laugh out in the tone of Rabellais, and ſkip from his ſubject, or ſmile with the chearfulneſs of Montaigne; or he can aſſume the ſober ſenſations of delight of heart-felt complacency, and ſeer with the pointed grave Cervantes.—Now if I imi⯑tate STERNE, have I not as juſt a right to imitate him, as he had to imitate Rabellais, Montaigne, and Cervantes; or as Virgil had to imitate Homer ⁽¹⁾? The right I have, but where is the ability? STERNE could throw every thing into a new light, but who can threw a new light upon STERNE?

[70]As to the thoughts which may appear in my WORKS, ſay what you will gentlemen re⯑viewers, my thoughts are my own, wherever I collect them: Whether they are ferae natura, caught by me flying in the atmoſphere of fancy—or ſporting in the fields of imagina⯑tion—or whether they are rendered tame and profitable by the induſtry of another's ſtudy; whether they vegetate in my own brain, or are tranſplanted there ready cultivated from the brain of another perſon, my thoughts are my own wherever I get them; for I can⯑not part with them, when once I get poſſeſſion of them.—They become annexed to the ſoil— I have a common law right to them ⁽¹⁾.

[71]Every author will be ſtealing, and every author will cry ſtop thief!

Shakeſpear was a thief—I do not mean in deer ſtealing, but Shakeſpear ſtole from na⯑ture.

Pope was a thief—Pope ſtole propriety of thought, delicacy of ſentiment, juſtneſs of method—and elegance of compoſition.

But this is an honeſt age, we have no ſuch thieves in theſe days, if we had, they could not live, the reviewers are ſuch excellent thief-takers.

[72]The SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL, like Peachum's lock, is a collection of goods ſtolen.—An in⯑former declared to Charles the Second, that Dryden had ſtolen the play of the Spaniſh Friar—God's fiſh! exclaimed the facetious monarch, has he? I wiſh you could ſteal ſuch another.

The Man of the World is a drama without an original thought, every ſentiment it con⯑tains is to be met with in the converſation of the times; the manners exhibited are as fami⯑liar as the manners of common life, and the incidents are merely ſuch as happen every day: Nay, the characters are nothing better than copies from Nature.—As to the general plan of the piece, its unities, its fable, and its moral, are ſo ſtrongly ſimilar to the founda⯑tion upon which the drama of the antients has been built, that the plagiary is evident ⁽¹⁾. [73] —This comedy wants novelty, it being acted every hour, in every great houſe, in every great ſquare, and every great ſtreet in this great metropolis; and therefore as human nature is invariable, the merit of the author of the MAN OF THE WORLD, conſiſts in nothing more, than exhibiting in dramatic form and dialogue, the cuſtoms and habits, which have unavoidably taken place, and characterize the hiſtory of the day.

Having touched a little upon imitation and literary thieving, I will now ſtate a few un⯑arranged thoughts on ſimilarity of thinking.—

The variety we ſee in the perſons, in the faces, and in the modes of thinking, which diſtinguiſh the individuals who compoſe the human animal, are aſtoniſhing! But variety and contraſt in the appearance and manners of man, are neceſſary to the purpoſes of his be⯑ing, and ſhew the infinite wiſdom and infinite power of his Creator.

From variety and contraſt of perſon we judge of proportion, and the elegance of ſymmetry.

[74]From variety and contraſt of face, we judge of beauty and of ornament.

And from variety and contraſt of thinking, we judge of intellectual capacity, as it ope⯑rates in the progreſs of its ſtudy upon ſciences, and its invention and improvement in the arts.

So that it may be ſaid, that the knowledge of all arts, and the knowledge of all ſciences, which include the knowledge of all things, is the conſequence of variety in our modes of thinking, and contraſt in our opinions; which variety and contraſt, ſtimulate us to controverſy and experiment. And as virtue would not have been known but for the con⯑traſt of vice, nor colours but for the variety of their ſhades, neither would arts nor ſciences have been known, had the organs of mankind been ſo formed that every individual ſhould think alike.

Yet notwithſtanding the verſatile ſportings of nature in forming her creatures, we often find a ſtrong ſimilitude of perſon, a ſtrong ſimilitude of face, and a ſtrong ſimilitude in [75] the mode of acting and of thinking between perſons totally unallied—totally unacquainted with each other; and perhaps there never were ſuch ſtrong inſtances of SIMILARITY IN THINKING, as have ariſen within theſe few years.

I ſhall purſue one line of illuſtration to ſupport this aſſertion, and that line ſhall be the line of the drama.

Mr. SHERIDAN has been ſo happy as to think like Congreve, to think like Buckingham, to think like Farquhar, to think like Wycherly; and RUMOUR ſays, that Mr. Sheridan has been ſo happy as to think like many living authors ⁽¹⁾. Yet it is certain, that on the [76] merit of new pieces, unhappily living authors do not think like Mr. Sheridan. Some critics ſay, that Mr. Sheridan in his late prologue to Lady Craven's piece ⁽¹⁾ thought like Mr. Colman in his late prelude.

Mr. COLMAN in this ſame prelude, has thought like Mr. Foote; and in many of his other writings it is ſaid, Mr. Colman has been ſo lucky as to think not only like thoſe authors who have reached Parnaſſus, but like other authors who have attempted to gain the mount through the medium of Mr. Colman's theatre.

Mr. SHERIDAN and Mr. COLMAN being both managers and authors, may not only think like other authors, but may think for other authors, and cruſh their merit with im⯑punity.

Mr. CUMBERLAND in his Weſt Indian, has thought exactly like Mr. Macklin in his Love [77] à la Mode. In the Widow of Delphi, Mr. Cumberland has thought like himſelf ⁽¹⁾.

Mr. MACKLIN has never been charged with thinking like any other author ⁽²⁾.

Mr. DIBDIN it is true, has thought, but how he has thought is not worth thinking about, and the ſame may be ſaid of ſeveral others.

Mr. MURPHY never troubles his head with thinking—he tranſlates.

Mrs. COWLEY has attacked Miſs Moore for thinking like her; and a Templer aſſerts, [78] that Mrs. Cowley, in her Belle's Stratagem, has thought exactly as he—thought in a comedy and an opera, both rejected by Mr. Harris.

CAPTAIN JEPHSON in his tragedies, though he has thought like many people, yet he has alſo thought much upon the ſimilarity of things. His Law of Lombardy is a tragedy of the maſſacre of ſimilies; he has told us in it what every thing is like, but he has not told us what any one thing is.

Mr. ANDREWS in his Diſſipation, has very fortunately thought like a gentlemen who ſome time ſince wrote an entertainment on Lord Darbey's Fete Champetre.

The AUTHOR of the Lord of the Manor has thought exactly as General Burgoyne thought in the Houſe of Commons.—But of all the authors or authoreſſes who have lately thought like their contemporaries, no author or authoreſs ſtands ſo diſtinguiſhed as Miſs LEE; and of all the accidents in the Chapter of Accidents, the happieſt accidents are theſe, where Miſs Lee thinks like another author; [79] wherever that happens, Miſs Lee certainly thinks well.—

But ſurely it is now full time I ſhould think of continuing my excurſions, in the purſuit of which, heaven ſend that I may think like STERNE.

WINDSOR. THE INN.

HAVING arrived at WINDSOR, and handed the lady out of the coach into the inn, we were ſhewed into a parlour by the landlord, in his proper perſon. Here a very ſerious difficulty ſtarted, which never occurred, at leaſt to me, during the whole courſe of the journey.—How am I to part with my fellow-traveller, thought I—Ay, "there is the rub," and a ſevere rub it was —I was totally ignorant of the lady's name —the lady was totally ignorant of my name. —It is true, I knew ſomething about her, but a motive, in which curioſity had the ſmalleſt ſhare, made me wiſh moſt ardently to know every thing about her.—No ſooner had I per⯑ceived [81] this inclination, for gaining an inti⯑mate knowledge of the lady, and the lady's af⯑fairs, than I flattered myſelf, that the lady felt as ardent an inclination, to be intimately acquainted with me, with every thing about me, and with my affairs.—I not only wiſhed to know her, but to know all her connec⯑tions.—I aſked myſelf a thouſand queſtions about her, without putting one queſtion to her.—

Theſe queſtions I put deliberately to my⯑ſelf, ſtringing them together in ſucceſſion, as the facetious Sancho Panza, the laugh-and-be-fat-ſub-hero of Don Quixote's adventures, ſtrung his proverbs.— But no ſooner had I finiſhed my interrogatories upon her relations, [82] than a multitude of other interrogatories ruſhed in upon my mind impetuouſly—

Find that out, would have been the proper anſwer.—

Is ſhe neither maid, wife, nor widow?—

That is no buſineſs of mine.—

Not in ſpirit, for to me ſhe has been moſt liberal; and if ſhe wants aſſiſtance, to reple⯑niſh her purſe, or to right her wrongs, by Heaven my purſe, (I was maſter of forty-eight guineas, which was within two guineas of my quarter's allowance) and my ſword, (which, though of old mourning-mounting, had an excellent blade, of genuine Toledo temper) are both at her ſervice.—

LOVE.

WE ſtood in a parlour of the inn, our hands locked within each other.—It would be hard, Madam, ſaid I, ſighing, after the pleaſant journey we have experienced, to part as ignorant of each other as we met.— It ſhall not be my fault, ſaid the lady, if we are not longer acquainted; I am come to ſpend a few weeks at Windſor, and if you wiſh to continue an intimacy, which acci⯑dent produced, and, added I, interrupting her, which love aſſiſted.—Love! alas, ſaid the lady, ſhaking her head, there was no love in the caſe, our meeting, and every thing that has happened ſince we met, were the effects of accident—aſſiſted by nature; then, Madam, ſaid I, bowing, and laying my hand upon my heart—and what is love, but nature?

[84]Thelady bluſhed, but ſilently aſſented to my opinion, which ſhe illuſtrated by a ſentimental gentle ſqueeze of the hand —I thanked her for the compliment, by returning the ſqueeze in the ſame ſentimental gentle manner I had received it; and raiſing her hand to my lips, "ſhe nothing loath," kiſſed it with the ge⯑nuine fervour of affection and ſincerity.— The lady recovered her ſpirits, and the whole force of thoſe ſpirits ſtarting into her eyes, her boſom heaving with a heart-eaſing ſigh; alas! ſaid ſhe, with an amiable frankneſs, I muſt acknowledge the propriety of your ob⯑ſervation.—LOVE IS THE CHILD OF NA⯑TURE! But I muſt ſincerely regret, that mere accident has convinced me of this truth. —How happy ſhould I have been, if a long acquaintance, matured into friendſhip and a ſeries of reciprocal obligations, had been the means of my conviction—how happy ſhould I have been, if it had been my fortune to have loved from the reſult of judgment, not from the effect of contingency, and ſhe wept.—

[85]Now the lady's tears were natural, but it was unnatural to ſuppoſe, that love could re⯑ſult from judgment.

I acknowledge, continued the lady, wip⯑ing her eyes, I acknowledge we are ſome⯑times excuſeable for yielding to the ſimple authority of nature: but what have I done? I have ſuffered myſelf to be hurried away, to be tranſported by her tyrannical dictates; whereas reaſon alone, ſhould have authority over the conduct of our inclinations,—She wept again.—I felt the full force of her tears —they were a dew, which nouriſhed my in⯑fant paſſion.—

Falling upon one knee, with faultering ſpeech, I ſwore never to part from her. —Her countenance brightened, on hearing my vow—ſhe appeared happy—her looks touched my very ſoul, our happineſs was mu⯑tual—and ſurely the pleaſure which the be⯑nevolent mind feels in the happineſs of others, is one of the moſt delightful ſenſations with which the human ſoul is bleſt.

A QUESTION ANSWERED.

QUESTION—What is LOVE?—

ANSWER.—Love is a deſire of con⯑tracting friendſhip, of uniting with, and com⯑municating happineſs to a beautiful object; every eye making its own beauty.—Love is active, eager, ſharp, precipitate.—Love is fickle, moving, and inconſtant; love is a fe⯑ver, ſubject to intermiſſions and paroxyſms— But give me that love, which when the pa⯑roxyſms have ſubſided, retains an univerſal fire ⁽¹⁾, but temperate and equal, a conſtant eſtabliſhed heat, all eaſy and ſmooth, without poignancy or roughneſs.

[87]Yet love is a tyrant!—All paſſions are ty⯑rants, but love is the greateſt tyrant of all the paſſions; for love holds all the other paſſions under arbitrary ſubjection—love leads every man by the noſe ⁽¹⁾—love makes the miſer ſoften the rigour of his avarice ⁽²⁾—leſſens the appetite of the glutton ⁽³⁾—ſlakes the thirſt of the drunkard ⁽⁴⁾—ſooths the anger of the revengeful ⁽⁵⁾—inſpires the coward with courage ⁽⁶⁾ and—ſubdues the pride of the haughty ⁽⁷⁾.

A WARNING.

TAKE care ladies, whether maids or wi⯑dows, we will put wives out of the queſ⯑tion, becauſe wives are under coverture.— Take care ladies how you fall in love, for the higheſt creſted dame of you all, the tyrant will bring—

Prick this burthen down ladies, and play it upon your piana fortes, it is a ſoft tune, and ſounds beſt upon an inſtrument with buffed keys.—

[89]This burthen to an old ſong is the only re⯑quiem for your dying lover.—

Nay, ladies, be you ever ſo young, ever ſo handſome, or ever ſo ugly, ever ſo grave or gay, good-humoured or ill-humoured, the ty⯑rant love will rule you.—So beware, ladies, of the tyrant's rule.—

But, above all, beware of the tyrant's rule, ye antiquated virgins with large fortunes, who combating with the ſpirit againſt the fleſh, have out-lived every deſire—except the deſire of poſſeſſing a young huſband.

A WISH.

O! May I never experience that love where the flame riſes to a frantic paſſion to en⯑joy an object who flies me! Save me from coquets, good heaven! curſe me not with jilts! and bleſs me with the poſſeſſion of that true love, which looks to me alone for happineſs —that true love, which, being founded on ſincerity, is a ſtranger to arts and gallantry— that true love which flouriſhes only amongſt its own natural ſweets, complacency, mutual eſteem, and conſtancy ⁽¹⁾—give me a wo⯑man [91] whoſe mind is without ſtain, whoſe man⯑ners are without art, and whoſe perſon is free from every embelliſhment, but thoſe embelliſh⯑ments it has acquired from the hand of na⯑ture ⁽¹⁾.

THE DEPARTURE.

I Muſt leave you, ſaid the lady, drawing away her hand from mine, but drawing it away reluctantly—my hand preſſing her hand tenderly—I muſt leave you, ſaid ſhe, or my friends, who are now impatiently expecting me, will be ſurprized at my delay; and know⯑ing this to be the uſual hour for the ſtage's arrival, will come to ſeek me—ſo permit⯑ting me to take the liberty of a kiſs, and pro⯑miſing I ſhould hear from her in the courſe of the evening, ſhe departed from the inn. —I led her to the outward door—ſhe inſiſted I ſhould go no farther—and not knowing, but ſhe had private reaſons for refuſing an eſcorte, I permitted her to depart unattended, my eyes following her down the ſtreet, till coming to a corner, ſhe nodded a farewel, and diſap⯑peared.—

A REFLECTION.

I Directly returned to the inn—and going into the parlour, looked out of the window towards the royal palace—this is WINDSOR, ſaid I to myſelf, Windſor, ſo renowned in an⯑cient ſtory! —Windſor, ſo celebrated in an⯑cient ſong.

And here our Edward's and our Henry's have reſided, have ſported in the chace, and exerciſed at the tournament.—

This is Windſor, rendered immortal by immortal Pope, and now the reſidence of the moſt numerous progeny, that ever royalty produced.—Priam, it is true, had ſixty ſons, but how many wives had Priam?—

The proſpect, I was informed, from the caſtle-terrace, was truly beautiful, but the town is curſed ſtraggling, and curſed incon⯑venient.—I took out my watch to ſee the [94] hour—mercy preſerve me! exclaimed I, it is but a few hours ſince I left London, and what a number of incidents have marked that ſhort ſpace of time.—Every circumſtance ruſhed upon my memory—I found myſelf un⯑eaſy—ſomething was wanting—I ſighed, and my ſighing told me it was my fair companion —but ſhe was gone.—

THE OVERSIGHT.

WAS there ever ſuch an overſight!— was there ever ſuch a fool as I have been, to let her depart without enquiring her name—perhaps I may never ſee—perhaps I may never hear of her more—prudence, on reflection, may induce her to conceal her⯑ſelf.—

I rung for my ſervant, aſked him the lady's name, but to enquire the lady's name had ne⯑ver entered into his head, no more than it had entered into mine.—I eaſed my chagrin, by ſeverely reproving his negligence, though my uneaſineſs was the reſult of my own ſtu⯑pidity.—

My ſervant had ſpirit, and I had always indulged him in a free exerciſe of it—he re⯑taliated my reproof, by telling me he had no orders to enquire after the name of the lady; [96] but, ſaid he, with an arch ſignificant ſmile, I know the name of the country girl, who rode with me upon the outſide of the coach. —I felt the ſarcaſm, I ſaw the fellow triumph, and could have knocked him down.

Raging with vexation and diſappointment, I had the coachman called—the coachman knew nothing about her—I had the waiters called, —the waiters knew nothing about her—I al⯑moſt ſtormed, and ſnatching up my hat, was proceeding to ſally out upon an expedition of reconoitering and enquiry, when my ſervant gave a half ſmack with his mouth, and in⯑formed me I had not ordered any thing for dinner.—

I left him to indulge his own palate in the orders, but meeting the landlord in the entry, he preſented a long bill of fare—you may have, Sir, ſaid the landlord, and he run thro' his bill of fare, throwing his eyes up for my command as he repeated each article—you may have veniſon, fowls, ducks, roaſt leg of lamb, pigeon-pie, mackarel, &c. &c.—Do you take me, ſaid I, for an overſeer of the [97] poor, or the bencher of an inn of court? Let me have a beef-ſteak—and I paſſed by the landlord.—

Getting into the ſtreet, I was as much at a loſs as ever, to find out the lady, ſo enquir⯑ing my way to the caſtle, I ſoon found my⯑ſelf upon the terrace.—

THE TERRACE.

LOOKING round me, as I ſtood upon the terrace, I was aſtoniſhed at the beauty of the proſpect. The air was ſerene, the landſcape inchanting, the ſky clear, except a few clouds towards the horizon, which ſet off the brilliancy of its azure, as moles do the fairneſs of the human ſkin.—Some villas lay open to the view, others were in part con⯑cealed, and the ſun darted his mid-day beams to gild the various turrets and ſpires, which gliſtened through the ſcene.

The Thames rolled his ſilvered flood in ſilent majeſty towards the ſea, enriching his bordering banks with verdure and the bright⯑eſt tints, and woods and foreſts, ſome planted by nature, time immemorial, others raiſed by the aſſiſting hand of induſtry, waved their graceful pliant branches, and ſhook their leafy [99] honours—obedient to every gale. Between theſe woods, meadows, paſtures, and gardens, at different diſtances, opening interminable, gave a luxuriant diverſity to the whole.

Here gurgling brooks, gently meandering along their pebbly channels, pour their tribu⯑tary urns into the ſovereign river—and there a rich profuſion of hillocks, tufted with va⯑rious trees, among which groups of animals grazed, ſlept or play'd in peace and happineſs, though different in their kinds.

The whole cloſed with an extended ho⯑rizon, and charmed the ſoul with delightful grandeur—

Alas, ſaid I, looking round, my ſoul elevated to enthuſiaſm—it was here our greateſt Engliſh bards invoked and received the inſpi⯑ration of their muſe.—

So taking out my pencil, I wrote in my pocket-book—the firſt lines of poetry I ever attempted.—

REFLECTIONS ON WINDSOR FOREST.

I wrote the above enchanting ⁽¹⁾ deſcrip⯑tion with a pen made of a gooſe-quill.—

Heigh ho!—I aſked myſelf, why that in⯑voluntary ſigh? I anſwered with another heigh ho! Alas! what is all this without dear woman, "heaven's laſt beſt gift."—

I will deſcribe the excellencies of woman —but where ſhall I get a pen, adequate to ſuch a deſcription.—

The gooſe-quill is not worthy—the ſwan-quill is too ſtiff—and the crow-quill, though uſed by ladies, is too black, and too often em⯑ployed in the poiſoning works of defamation.

I will therefore leave the gooſe-quill to philoſophers—the ſwan-quill to mathematicians, and the crow-quill to lawyers, old maids, and news-paper-paragraph-gatherers—but for my⯑ſelf, I will pluck a quill from THE BIRD OF PARADISE!

[102]Well, I have plucked my quill, and my pen is in order, in gratitude then, I cannot but ſay ſomething of the pretty bird from whoſe tail I have plucked my quill.

THE BIRD OF PARADISE ⁽¹⁾.

THE ſubject is extenſive. The ſubject is ſo deep, I know not where to begin— and if I do begin, I fear I ſhall never reach the bottom.—

Shall I begin at the head, or ſhall I begin at the tail? I write on the bird of paradiſe, therefore the tail muſt have the preference to the head, for of all the birds in the air, the bird of paradiſe has the moſt beautiful tail.

The tail of the bird of Paradiſe is the moſt lovely to the eye—the tail of the bird of Paradiſe [104] is the moſt exquiſite to the touch—the tail of the bird of Paradiſe is the longeſt feathered, and the fluſheſt feathered tail of all the tails of all the birds which ſport in the gardens of plea⯑ſure ⁽¹⁾.

Not the horſe-tail worn by the great cham of Tartary—not the cow's-tail that dangles from the head of the Indian bramin—not the tail worn by the baſhaw of Turkey—not the pig-tails which hang pendulent from the wigs of the city train'd-bands—not the triple-tails, which evince the wiſdom of the learned apprentices of the law and grave ſer⯑jeants of juriſprudence—not the tails of the learned judges of meum and tuum—not the enormous tail of the Lord Chancellor—not the Ramillie-tail of our old generals—nay, nor the mighty tail of the famous ram of Derby, can be compared to, or ſtand in competition with the tail of the bird of Paradiſe ⁽²⁾.

[105]The tail of the bird of Paradiſe is not to be matched in the Britiſh Muſeum—the tail of the bird of Paradiſe out-does all the tails of all the birds in Sir Aſhton Lever's oly⯑phuſum.—There is not ſuch a tail in the col⯑lection of Doctor Hunter, and the doctor has tails from all countries, and of all ſizes.— Nay, not a doctor nor antiquarian in Europe, poſſeſſes ſuch a tail as the tail of the bird of Paradiſe.

We may ſay of the tail of the bird of Pa⯑radiſe, as Yorick ſaid of the white-bear ⁽¹⁾.

The tail of the bird of Paradiſe, very well have I ever ſeen one? might I ever have ſeen one? am I ever to ſee one? ought I ever to have ſeen one? or can I ever ſee one?

Would I had ſeen the tail of the bird of Paradiſe — (for how can I imagine it?)

If I ſhould ſee the tail of the bird of Pa⯑radiſe, what ſhould I ſay?

If I ſhould never ſee the tail of the bird of Paradiſe, what then?

[106]If I never have, can, muſt, or ſhall ſee the tail of the bird of Paradiſe, have I ever ſeen the feather of one? did I ever ſee one painted? —deſcribed? have I never dreamed of one? did my father, mother, uncle, aunt, bro⯑thers, or ſiſters, ever ſee the tail of the bird of Paradiſe? what would they give? how would they behave? how would the bird of Paradiſe have behaved? is the tail of the bird of Paradiſe rough or ſmooth?—

Is the tail of the bird of Paradiſe worth ſeeing?—is there no ſin in it?—is it better than any other tail?

Such a tail as the tail of the bird of Para⯑diſe, does not appear once in a hundred years; it glows refulgent as the tail of a burning co⯑met, yet the tail of the bird of Paradiſe is not a fiery tail; but then the tail of the bird of Paradiſe is not eccentrical in its motions as the tail of a comet is—it moves to and fro, up and down, like the tail of the fan-tailed pigeon.

The tail of the bird of Paradiſe has down upon, like the tail of a teal.

[107]The tail of the bird of Paradiſe, in every thing—but motion—is unlike the tail of a wa⯑ter wagtail.

Here now could I diſcloſe a tale upon tails, but I might incur the diſpleaſure of the ladies, for of all tails the ladies hate tell-tales.

But if I do not give my tale itſelf, I will give the dimenſions and properties of my tale. My tale exceeds in length the Canterbury tales of CHAUCER—my tale exceeds in profundity and acuteneſs the Iriſh tales of USSIN—my tale is as merry a tale as any of the CRAZY TALES—my tale is as natural as ADAM's tale ⁽¹⁾, and my tale is as unfathomable as SWIFT's tale of a tub.—

But had I the fire of HOMER — the judg⯑ment of VIRGIL—the ſalt of HORACE—the perſuaſion of OVID—the imagination of DRY⯑DEN—the ſublimity of MILTON—the every [108] thing of SHAKESPEARE, joined to the experi⯑ence of ROCHESTER, and the abilities of DOCTOR MADAN, I ſhould be unequal to the taſk of telling the tale of the tail of the bird of Paradiſe—⁽¹⁾.

What is all this, ſaid I to myſelf, ſighing, what is all this, without woman!

WOMAN.

WOMAN! Heaven's laſt beſt gift!— that ineſtimable pearl in the bitter cup of life!—Not all the ſpring—the ſummer— the autumn of nature can communicate real pleaſure without woman—and when we de⯑cline into the frigid arms of winter, it is woman only can make frigid life deſirable.— O that I may deſcend into the vale of death, hand in hand, with a ſilver-haired companion, after travelling many a day with her through the mazy paths of life.—A companion who has ſoothed me, and whom I have ſoothed at every thorny obſtruction—a companion who has fed with me equally chearful, whether upon ſour or palatable fruit—A companion with whom I have ſtrewed roſes and gathered thiſtles.—

[110]Lovely woman! When thou art uſed kindly, how ductile is thy diſpoſition, how eaſy thy belief, how forgiving thy temper!

I have loſt, ſaid I, by inattention, an op⯑portunity of enjoying the ſweeteſt commerce of life—I have loſt the converſation of a beautiful and well-bred woman.—With her my ſoul ſhould have experienced every mortal pleaſure, and my ſenſes have participated in the poſſeſſion even to extaſy!—

Here my Lord Coke came acroſs me, but his black letter made no impreſſion upon my ideas—⁽¹⁾.

O woman! Beauty is thy peculiar prero⯑gative—Why art thou ſo ſeverely cenſured for indiſcretions, why ſhould "one falſe ſtep for ever damn thy fame," when all your errors are of nature and education.—

[111]Formed for love, moulded for pleaſure, with a ſoul warm, and a heart melting with ſenſibility.—

Then ye mothers do ye not train up your daughters from their very infancy in the buſineſs of Love?—Does not their grace, their dreſſ⯑ing, and their ſtudies ſoften and prepare them for tender impreſſions!

Then your virtues, how they have been traduced—But I will defend them, if not by argument, by paraphraſe.

A PARAPHRASE.

WHO, when Bethulia's city was be⯑ſieged, preſerved her fellow-citizen from utter ruin?—Woman—⁽¹⁾.

Who, from a ſtate of ſervitude and bondage, delivered Iſrael's children?—Wo⯑man—⁽²⁾.

Who, with religious filial zeal, unheard before, offered up her life a ſacrifice to heaven to ſave a father's vow?—Woman—⁽³⁾.

[113]Who, in the midſt of flying arrows, headed a beauteous female troop of Romans, mounted on palfreys, and in gay array, croſſed without dread, old Tiber's ſilver flood, and left Porſenna wondering at the action?—Woman—⁽¹⁾.

Who, in heroic grief, eat burning coals, reſolving with a brave intrepid ſpirit not to ſervive her lord?—Woman—⁽²⁾.

Who, when her huſband, brave Macroni⯑us, died, fighting for freedem againſt Pal⯑myra's tyrant, rouſed to the war the ſons of liberty, and conquer'd all the Eaſt?—Wo⯑man—⁽³⁾.

So much for courage, now for CHASTITY—

Did not Lucretia ſtab herſelf to vindicate her honour?—Did not Portia accept death from the hands of Octavius the tribune, in preference to adultery.—Sophronia, illuſtrious [114] Roman, ſtabbed herſelf to avoid the brutal paſſion of Maxentius.—Then there is Suſan⯑nah, whoſe virtue repelled the amorous ſolici⯑tations of two—old men.—

But the catologue I have collected of brave, virtuous, learned, generous women, of all countries and of all complexions, were I to give it here, would ſwell my book to ſuch enormous magnitude, as would frighten even thoſe few friends who have promiſed to read it.—

On returning to my inn from the terrace, I found the cloth laid, and the apparatus for eating prepared and laid out with that neat⯑neſs and regularity, which by indicating a cleanlineſs in the cookery, gives a kind of invitation to eat heartily—but I had no ap⯑petite for eating, and dinner not being quite ready, I took a file of news-papers that lay upon the window, and throwing myſelf up⯑on a couch, read what follows—

The Public Ledger. AQUATIC SPORTS.

OF all ſports, whether by land or by water, there never was a ſport, nor there never will be a ſport, equal to the delightful ſport of SWAN-HOPPING.

I have been on a party with my Lord Praetor—ſat near my Lady Praetor, and had the honour of tipping a hob-nob with Miſs Praetor.—

Every thing glided on ſmooth as the Thames, which bore us upon his unruffled boſom till we got to Staines—We drank copi⯑ouſly without danger of ſuffocation—we eat plentifully without danger of choaking—we ſung, we danced, and cracked bon mots with⯑out [116] interruption till we got near Staines—few of us were half-ſeas over.—

We were near Staines, when Miſs Praetor in an evil minute, thurſting her head through the barge window, and ſuddenly drawing it back, exclaimed—Mamma!—beg pardon— my Lady I mean—an' pleaſe your Ladyſhip, I ſee two ſwans—

My operar glaſs, my Lord, ſaid my Lady Praetor to Lord Praetor—My Lord lugged out his opera glaſs and preſented it with a grace.—They are not ſwans, my dear, ſaid her Ladyſhip, having fixed her glaſs to her eye, for they have no necks—Indeed, Mamma, ſaid Miſs, they muſt be ſwans, for ſee how white they are, and I proteſt I ſaw their necks this inſtant.—Then I can't ſee them, anſwered my Lady; perhaps they have plunged their necks under water, my dear, remarked my Lord.—

I will take a peep ſaid Mrs. Alderman Haileye—I ſee no nothing, ſaid Mrs. Alderman Haileye—but I ſee ſomething, ſaid Lady Praetor—and I believe they are monſters too— [117] and I perceive them now, exclaimed Mrs. Alderman Haileye—but as I am a true woman, I ſee nothing monſtrous about them.—It is a natural appearance, ſaid Johnny.—

I am now convinced they muſt be ſwans, ſaid Miſs, taking another peep, and young ones too, for ſee, Mamma, they have not moulted off their black down.—

If they be cygnets, ſaid my Lord Praetor, we muſt mark them—his Lordſhip looked out—

I am ſurprized, ſaid my Lord Praetor, aſſum⯑ing a wiſe and conſequential grin,—I am ſurprized, that ladies, who are no chickens, and have experience, ſhould make ſuch miſ⯑takes—I thought you knew things better, my dear—I can't blame the child ⁽¹⁾, but in [118] truth, do you ſee me, my Lady, your Lady⯑ſhip's ſwans are two naked men.—None of your innuendors to me, my Lord Praetor, ſaid my Lady Praetor, as ſhe waxed wrath, or I will make your Lordſhip know as how, that when you attempt to bambozel or fun me, you take the wrong ſow by the ear.—

His Lordſhip was ſtruck dumb, and numbed as a torpedo—Miſs bluſhed as red as porte—taking a third peep ſhe had ſeen her miſtake—and Mrs. Alderman Haileye, who had not made any miſtake, ſmiled at her triumph, and looked frumpiſh.

This is undoubtedly a predetermined ſcheme to affront magiſtracy, ſaid my Lord Praetor —bring the raſcals before me—what! as they are, exclaimed her Ladyſhip—yes, as they are—as they are, replied my Lord.—

Your Lordſhip is right, obſerved Mrs. Alderman Haileye, by bringing them as they are we ſhall come at the naked truth—I wiſh they had fig-leaves, ſaid Johnny—A fig for your fig-leaves, retorted Lord Praetor—there are two figs for them, rebutted Johnny that [119] is, two figs for each fig-leaf, ſur-rebutted Mrs. Alderman Haileye.—The men were ordered to be taken into cuſtody.—

All the ladies pulled out their fans, ſpread them before their fair foreheads, holding the ſticks before their eyes.—

THE BATTLE OF STAINES.

WERE I a poet, I would now invoke a muſe of fire to deſcribe a battle upon the water—The battle of all battles ſhould be the BATTLE OF STAINES.

A boat, with men attendants, was diſ⯑patched by my Lord Praetor, to take into cuſtody the two naked delinquents—but no ſooner was the boat diſpatched, than a doubt aroſe about the poſſibility of griping them.— The doubt was ſtarted by Lady Praetor, who ſaid, addreſſing herſelf to Mrs. Alderman Haileye, if they overtake theſe naked wretches, how will they hold them?—Hold them, ſaid Mrs. Alderman Haileye, they muſt hold them by the hair, it was the only means Adam had [121] to hold Eve, or Eve had to hold Adam, be⯑fore their fall in Paradiſe, ſaid Johnny.—

But that cannot be done here, ſaid Lady Praetor, for their heads are both ſhaved as bald as coots.—Their heads are ſhaved ſaid Miſs.—There is no more hair upon their heads, than upon my daughter's upper lip, ſaid Lord Praetor.—

Miſs Praetor hummed, and ſtroaked her upper lip with her fore-finger.—

They muſt hold them where and how they can, ſaid Mrs. Alderman Haileye; for my part, it is What I would do, were I on the party.—Pray, Mamma, ſaid Miſs, pointing with her finger, as if to illuſtrate her interro⯑gatory—what part would you take hold of?—

A dead pauſe enſued—

The boat purſued the men—the men ſwam from the boat—but the boat could not over⯑take the men—ſo the women were diſappointed.

The men took refuge under the bridge of Staines.—

The people of Staines ſaw the purſuit— they conſidered the matter as a common [122] cauſe.—The women of Staines were melted into compaſſion by the danger in which they ſaw the naked men—they ſaw every thing, and they felt for every thing they ſaw—In ſhort, the men, women, and children of Staines, let fly all kinds of miſſive weapons upon the deputies of my Lord Praetor.—

Alderman Swindle ⁽¹⁾ ſtanding upon the poop of the city barge, ſaw the danger which threatened Lord Praetor's delegates—ſhall I! exclaimed Alderman Swindle, ſhall I, who ſaw priſons burned, and houſes conſumed, ſtand an idle ſpectator, while defiance is thrown in the teeth of Lord Praetor's orders? —I will fly to the bridge of Staines, vociferated Alderman Swindle, and ſeizing a punt that [123] lay cloſe to the barge, he paddled towards the bridge.—

The peaſantry of Staines, not diſtinguiſh⯑ing the Alderman's dignity by his perſon, did not know that his perſon was a legal object of magiſterial worſhip, ſo ſeizing upon the ſtones which lay ſcattered on the beach and bridge, attacked him in his punt from the ſhore and from the battlements.—

With his right arm the Alderman wielded a mop—he levelled his mop at the mob on the bridge, but the erring weapon falling ſhort of the intended mark, was ſeized by one of the enemy.—

Oh for the pen of Homer!

The villain peaſant poizing the mop-ſtick with true ruſtic ſkill, like Jove's lightning flying from his hand, it cut the liquid air, and ſtriking upon the cranium of the magiſ⯑trate, muſt inevitably have diſpatched his ſoul to Erebus, if Nature, from a pre-know⯑ledge of this fight, had not formed the head of her favourite ſon of genuine Aldermanic mould, hard and impenetrable as that which [124] compoſed the caput mortuum of the Styx-dipped Achilles.—The mop rebounding from the ſconce of Alderman Swindle, fell into the water.—

The barge coming up, the parties landed, and now hoſtilities commenced on ſhore.— The mob of Staines ſurrounded the Alder⯑manic body, and if Peace, in likeneſs to a magiſtrate of the county, had not ſeaſonably appeared and interpoſed, a general maſſacre might have enſued, and the city have been left to mourn her murdered magiſtrates, and their myrmidons.—

DINNER.

I Had ſcarce finiſhed Mr. Squib's account of the battle of Staines, when dinner was ſerved in.—I ſat down to eat, but had no appetite—and without appetite, the beſt meat, with the moſt poignant ſauces, are inſipid.— In truth, I had no ſauce, not even hunger.— I always eat my meat plain, but now, I could not eat my plain meat.—

Not being able to eat, I called for drink— I taſted the beer—the beer was ſtale. I taſted the cyder—the cyder was ſour. "Wine," ſays the Prophet, "makes the heart of man glad;" the text came acroſs me like a cheering ray— —I rung the bell, and ordered a bottle of port.—

While the waiter was gone for the wine, I recollected, that though he and the reſt [126] of the family were ignorant of the Lady's name and reſidence, yet it was probable the Landlord might have ſome knowledge of her; determining to enquire, I rung again to order him in, but he ſaved me the trouble of giving orders, by appearing with a bottle of port in his hand.—

THE LANDLORD.

MINE hoſt was one of thoſe geniuſes, who, like MACKLIN's Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant, depended more upon bowing than on education and natural abilities, ‘he could ne⯑ver ſtand ſtraight in the preſence of a gueſt;’ and to the pliability of Sir Pertinax, he ad⯑ded the complaiſance of SHAKESPEARE's Po⯑lonius, being ever of the ſame opinion with the perſon he converſed with, unleſs that perſon was his wife, or one of his ſervants; and theſe he eternally contradicted, whe⯑ther they were right, or whether they were wrong.—

Mine hoſt having made half a dozen ob⯑ſequious bows, and eyed me from head to foot with the circumſpection of a ſerjeant eying a young recruit, cautiouſly wiped the duſt from the bottle, viewing it at the ſame time [128] with an expreſſive look, which fully evinc⯑ed he would have me underſtand the wine was old.—

It will bear the decanter, ſaid I—I pledge my life upon it, Sir, ſaid mine hoſt, draw⯑ing forth the cork with a jerk, attended by a ſmack from his mouth, accompanied by a ſmack from the bottle, which not only ad⯑vertiſed me of the length of the cork, but of the good opinion which the landlord enter⯑tained of his liquor.—

There is not better port in the king's cellar, ſaid my landlord, winking ⁽¹⁾, filling out a glaſs and preſenting it to me—it is all fla⯑vour, like an olive, and is bright as a ruby, ſaid he, holding the glaſs between his eye and the window.

I taſted the port—it was tart—it would not do—the landlord bowed, moving his head in [129] a manner that I might take either as a polite aſſent or humble contradiction of my opinion, but at the ſame time laying his hand upon his breaſt, ſwore it was two years in in bottle.—I taſted the port again as a complimentary re⯑turn to his bow, but before I could take the glaſs from my lips, he aſſured my honour, that the Prince of Wales had drank of, and ap⯑proved this very wine.—

I felt the full force of the compliment and of the recommendation; the compliment de⯑ſerved a return, and the recommendation it was not in my power to controvert; ſo returning "your honour," with a nod of approbation, and giving up my taſte to the palate of the Prince of Wales, I ſwallowed what remained in the glaſs—

FLATTERY.

THE manner in which my landlord had re⯑commended his port, was irreſiſtible, and perhaps had I changed the bottle for another, I ſhould have got worſe wine with more bows, and an aſſurance, that his majeſty had drank a bottle from the ſame bin—there would have been no withſtanding the force of royal au⯑thority ⁽¹⁾; but growing impatient to enquire after my fair fellow-traveller, my honour con⯑deſcended to aſk my landlord to take a glaſs, which, after half a dozen bows, he ac⯑cepted [131] —Yet, by heaven, the wine was ſour, but FLATTERY took off its tartneſs—and no won⯑der flattery ſhould vitiate the taſte, when we know its baneful effects upon all the other ſenſes.—Where is there a philoſopher, how⯑ever cynical, who cannot, through ſome me⯑dium, be approached by flattery's honied in⯑fluence? Flattery is the touch that proves the value and purity of the underſtanding—

Gold tries the integrity of the heart—flat⯑tery the ſtrength of the brain—

Where is the king who can withſtand, or when was there a king who could withſtand, unmoved, the adulating baſeneſs of the flatter⯑ing vermin tribe? The beſt monarchs have been undone by ſuch miſcreants, they have converted the worſt into devils—

DETRACTION.

MY landlord being ſeated, and I having deſcribed my fellow-traveller to him as minutely as poſſible, expatiating upon her perfections as I touched upon them, that is, ſuch of her perfections as diſtinguiſhed her from the reſt of her ſex, for there are perfections common to them all—I ſay, having minutely deſcribed my fellow-traveller to my landlord, he run over a catalogue of the beauties of Windſor and the adjacent country; which he had at his tongue's end, with a moſt ſur⯑prizing flow of volubility, accuracy of de⯑ſcription, point of ſarcaſm, and now and then, the ſweetneſs of eulogium.—

If it was not for her black hair, ſaid my landlord, I ſhould be poſitive ſhe was Miſs A—.

[133]Miſs B— is too proud to travel in a ſtage-coach—therefore it cannot be Miſs B—.

The widow C—has not been in London ſince her huſband's death, he was buried on Monday; beſides, I know ſhe had a private card-party laſt night, ſo it is impoſſible, your honour, that this lady ſhould be the widow C—

There is a young lady in the neighbour⯑hood who anſwers your deſcription, but ſhe is continually practiſing ſmiles before the glaſs, to inſnare the prince—no—no—it is not Miſs D—.

You ſay, Sir, the lady is well-ſhaped and witty—now, if her back was broke, from her wit, I ſhould really think ſhe was Mrs. E—.

Miſs F—has a roguiſh eye—but your lady's eyes are blue, and Miſs F.'s are black; and ſhe ſquints with her left eye, and is ever ſpeaking ſcandal, ſo it cannot be Miſs F—.

If Miſs G—had not ſlipped her ancle, as many ladies have ſince the hunting-ſeaſon commenced—you underſtand me—green gowns [134] have been very faſhionable in the neighbour⯑hood of Windſor ſince hunting became the ſport of the great—

In ſhort, my hoſt took great pains to inform me, that the lady I enquired after, was neither Mrs. nor Miſs, nor the widow, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, &c. &c. &c. and this he did wherever he had opportunity, with a malig⯑nant ſtroke of detraction—

The fellow had a tongue of charcoal, with which he burned or blackened the reputation of every perſon ſhe ſpoke of.—Wherever he gave credit for a virtue or good action, he never failed to balance the account at the debit ſide of the book—with an inſiduous hint or charge of defamation.—

I changed the ſubject of converſation—

POLITICKS.

I Suppoſe, ſaid I, pointing to the Ledger, which I had thrown aſide, when dinner was ſerved in, I ſuppoſe, my friend, that ſince the court has honoured Windſor with the light of its countenance, the inhabitants have become profound politicians?

I am of no party, anſwered my landlord— though to be ſure, what with exciſe, and what with quartering of ſoldiers, a publican can ſcarce live—

But as taxes riſe, you charge in propor⯑tion, ſaid I—

True, Sir, replied my landlord, we charge in proportion, but then our gueſts eat and drink in proportion; they order as little as poſſible, and eat as much as poſſible; that is, when they are charged for each article—but, Sir—if they dine at the ordinary, or agree [136] for ſo much a head, they eat as if it was the laſt meal they had to devour, and ſcarcely drink ſufficient to waſh the food down their throats.—Alas, Sir, I have had very few good companies in the drinking way, ſince the laſt general election; and thoſe who drank then, drank at the expence of the candidates—

And what was your opinion, on that elec⯑tion, ſaid I—

Opinion—O, your honour, I never form⯑ed any opinion on it—a man who depends upon the cuſtom of the public, ſhould ne⯑ver have an opinion of his own.—I am not one of thoſe public-ſpirited publicans who neglect their own buſineſs, to look after the affairs of the ſtate—it is true, I hear a great deal of talk among my gueſts about the king's friends and oppoſition—now your king's friends, I take to be thoſe who are friends to themſelves—with ſucceſs—and op⯑poſition, I take to be thoſe who have been friends to themſelves—without ſucceſs—there ever was, and there ever will be parties, your honour—

and as to our great ſpeechifiers, the more they ſay, whether in or out of place, the leſs I be⯑lieve them ⁽¹⁾—but let who will be in, or who will be out, it is all the ſame to me; and if your honour wiſhes to know how the elec⯑tion was carried on in Windſor, here your honour, look to that there LEDGER, and it will inform you—

[138]So ſaying, he took up the LEDGER and laid it before me on the table, and after half a dozen of bows, told me, he would go and make every poſſible enquiry to find out the lady—

A SOLILOQUY.

THOSE in will grin—thoſe out will pout —well ſaid, landlord!

I have read Machiavel, Sidney, Locke, Swift, Hume, Johnſon, and a hundred other authors, and arguers in politicks, on both ſides of the queſtion, and after all my reading, my landlord, who probably has not read a hundred pages ſince he left ſchool, is as ſound a judge of politicks and politi⯑cians as I am—his adage includes the whole ſyſtem—

It ſhould be engraven in braſs, and hung up over the entrance of the temple of cor⯑ruption ⁽¹⁾.—

[140]O, bleſſed liberty, let me here pay a tribute at thy ſhrine.

HYMN TO LIBERTY ⁽¹⁾.

THE SOLILOQY CONTINUED.

WHY ſhould I be ſo anxious? why ſo dull? continued I, reaſoning with my⯑ſelf, heavineſs of ſpirit is an evidence of folly, and the moſt manifeſt ſign of wiſdom is a chear⯑ful mind.—This landlord of mine, without the aid of literature, knows the very depth and main ſpring of politicks, and without the aid of philoſophick ſtudy, has diſcovered the very perfection of all it can teach—that the per⯑fection of wiſdom is, to be merry and con⯑tent, for the ſeat of wiſdom is always clear and ſerene—

Give me then that philoſophy, and let me ever ſtudy thoſe precepts, and thoſe precepts alone, which teach me to live with chearful⯑neſs, [143] and ſhew me how to die without con⯑cern! —Save me from ſubtilties which only diſtract the underſtanding, without improv⯑ing the heart ⁽¹⁾!

Make me honeſt, kind heaven! and you make me equal to any ſituation in life—and having made me honeſt, I have no objection to your making me great—for honeſty can en⯑joy [144] riches, power, authority, and honours, with as much integrity as ſhe can ſuffer po⯑verty, oppreſſion, ſlavery, and diſgrace—She can ſleep upon a bed of down as ſoundly as ſhe can ſleep upon a truſs of ſtraw—ſhe can be innocent in a palace, as in a cottage, and ſhew as much humility in a glorious equipage, as when ſhe walks barefoot upon the highway— but when honeſty finds herſelf elevated in life, then her peculiar office is, to know the uſe, and how to uſe the good things ſhe poſſeſſes, and her peculiar virtue to part with them without murmuring ⁽¹⁾.

Having eaſed my mind by a few minutes reflection—I took up the Ledger and read—

ELECTIONEERING INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY.

LORD PRAETOR, Lady Praetor, and Miſs Praetor, were ſitting at table enjoy⯑ing the ſweets of domeſtic tranquillity, over the remnant of a pint bottle of port, having juſt ſwallowed the ſecond-hand fragments of a re-cooked mutton haſh, when an attendant entered, and delivered a letter into Lord Praetor's hand.

His Lordſhip looking eagerly upon the ſeal, gave a ſudden ſtart—his eyes ſtood fixed in their orbits, and thoſe maſticators, which but the moment before had co-operated in aſſaulting the mutton haſh, regardleſs of their natural alliance, aſſaulted each other with reiterated violence. His Lordſhip broke open the letter, and fixing his eyes upon the ſuper⯑ſcription, [146] an univerſal ague inſtantly took poſſeſſion of his nervous ſyſtem, each cold fit being ſucceeded with a moſt violent paroxyſm of heat.—

Lady Praetor and Miſs, were all attention— his Lordſhip read on.—

Papa's all in a muck, my dear, whiſpered Lady Praetor to Miſs—Yes, my Lady, an⯑ſwered Miſs, in the ſame tone.—There is ſomething in the wind, replied Miſs—there is ſomething in the wind, rejoined my Lady, taking a pinch of ſnuff, I—ſmell a rat.

Odd rat it, exclaimed my Lord, I have been alarmed, my dear, into a piſpiration— never was I in ſuch a quandary before.—Lady Praetor took up the letter, and read.—

Now my Lord Praetor's face, during his confuſion, neither bluſhed red like the de⯑clining ſun, nor grew pale like the riſing moon, yet his Lordſhip's face had a coeleſtial appearance—it reflected a thouſand colours like an Aurora Borealis; or in more homely phraſe, my Lord Praetor's phiz, while he peruſed this mandatory letter, for ſuch it was, [147] looked like the welkin, when the merry dancers prance and caper upon her boſom, till after exhibiting a variety of dyes, it ſettled in a colour ſomething between madder red and Coventry blue.—

This letter muſt be obeyed, ſaid Lady Praetor, throwing the letter upon the ta⯑ble ⁽¹⁾.

This letter muſt be obeyed, echoed my Lord Praetor, puſhing the letter towards Miſs.—

This letter muſt be obeyed, re-echoed Miſs Praetor, who had read it over her Mamma's ſhoulder.

But how can it be obeyed, ſaid my Lord Praetor—I cannot be in two places at once.— But your Lordſhip, Papa, may get into three places by obeying it, ſaid Miſs.—I am to preſide in the city upon Friday, ſaid my Lord.—Then I will go to Vindſor myſelf, offered my Lady—I can manage a poll as [148] well as your Lordſhip.—I know your Lady⯑ſhip can, my love, ſaid Lord Praetor.—

What coloured ribbands ſhall we wear, enquired Miſs—none of their city colours I hope, one Alderman has already mounted blue cockades.

Then I will go to Vindſor myſelf, ſaid my Lord.—Since there are blue cockades in the city I will go to Vindſor, for I would rather face the Devil than a blue cockade ⁽¹⁾; I will appoint a locum trimmings to fill the city chair—I wiſh he may trim the plebeians well, ſaid Lady Praetor.

This election buſineſs will make us up if we ſucceed, ſaid Lady Praetor—and get a ſtar and garter, at leaſt for Papa, obſerved Miſs.—No man could become the ſtar and garter better, ſaid my Lady ⁽²⁾.

[149]Miſs purſued the ſubject.

I wiſh, ſaid Miſs Praetor—I wiſh there was an order of knights for ladies, good lud, Mamma, we might be knighted—O gemini, Papa! how the gentlemen would admire at ſeeing our ſtars and garters as we walked.— Humph, ſaid my Lord, with a grin, but you are innocent, my dear, and as the French mottor has it—HONEY, SWEAT, KEY MEAL WITH PENCE.—But as this is to be a gratus buſineſs, we ſhall have no occaſion for our own carriage and horſes. We will have a poſt-coach from the Swan with two necks. I will have nothing that has any thing to do with a ſwan, ſaid my Lady.—We have had enough of ſwan-hopping already, added Miſs.—

Then, my dear, ſaid Lord Praetor, we will have a carriage from the Bell and Savage, [150] and the Landlord's four bob-tail bays to draw us.—Bob me, none of your bob-tails, my Lord, exclaimed Lady Praetor, I am not to be bobbed out of my dignity in that manner neither—I will have my own carriage and long tails.

Well now! Mamma, ſaid Miſs Praetor, joining in the converſation, with a ſmile in⯑effable —well now! though I acknowledge long-tails carry the belle in the city, yet for a country excurſion give me cock-tails againſt the globe.—Cock-tails are the very thing, Mamma—indeed they are all the ton, nothing but cock-tails go down in the vis à vis line at the weſt end of the town.—

I will yet have a phiz à vee, ſaid Lady Praetor—but conſider, my dear, continued her Ladyſhip, we are going on buſineſs that requires ſolemnity and proceſſion, and the long-tails are beſt at ſlow going.—

True, Mamma, replied Miſs, but then the preſent buſineſs requires expedition, and in a quick trot or canter, the cock-tails have every advantage.—But, my dear, the flowing manes [151] on the necks of the long-tails look ſo grand, ſaid my Lady—True, Mamma, but the cock-tails carry their heads ſo prettily.—

Come, come, my love, ſaid Lord Praetor, venturing to put in a word, you are the beſt judge of the ſubject—What ſay you, my dear—long-tails or cock-tails for the journey? —I wiſh to oblige the child, anſwered Lady Praetor, but this time I muſt have my own way, the next bout I will indulge her taſte for cock-tails, but this bout, I will indulge my own taſte, and drive with long-tails.—

My Lord Praetor and Miſs acquieſced.—

Things being thus adjuſted, and the coach at the door, ready to drive for Windſor, not according to the old ſaying, cock-tail every yard, but long-tail every inch; her Ladyſhip as ſhe ſtepped into the carriage, called out to the coachman, Vindſor a hoi, John!—My dear, ſaid Lord Praetor, we are not going in the city barge.—

Plague on the city barge, ejaculated Lady Praetor—ever ſince our laſt unfortunate voy⯑age [152] in it to Staines, I can never get the ad⯑ventures of the day out of my head.—Nor can I get any thing elſe into my head, ſaid Miſs.—Poor Alderman Swindle got a mop⯑ſtick on his head, ſaid my Lord.—

Rattle, rattle, rattle, over the ſtones to Hyde-park corner.—

Kenſington—Hammerſmith, in a long trot.—

Kew-bridge, in a canter.—

Windſor, in full gallop.—

Huzza! huzza! huzza! Windſor, Wind⯑ſor.—

No Keppel! No Keppel! roared my Lord, from the right ſide of the coach.—

No Keppel! No Keppel! roared my Lady, from the left ſide.—

Miſs ſat ruminating on the necks of the Windſor ſwans.—

The coach having ſtopped, my Lord went to the huſtings be-ribbanded and cockaded; my Lady went canvaſſing—and Miſs, whoſe mind was pregnant with the idea of the ſwans ſhe had ſeen on the expedition to Staines, [153] took a ſolitary walk by the Thames ſide, to ſpeculate upon the beautiful productions of nature.

Every ſtable and out-houſe that could be procured in Windſor, was divided, and ſub⯑divided to create votes againſt Admiral Kep⯑pel —Admiral Keppel was ouſted from repre⯑ſenting the borough of Windſor—ſo he went into Surry, and was elected by the free ſuffrages of the independent freeholders, to repreſent the COUNTY.—

THE MESSAGE.

I HAD ſcarcely laid down the LEDGER, when my ſervant entered the room—his mouth extended to the dimenſion of a coun⯑tertenor choiriſter's mouth, when vociferating "O thou that bringeth glad tidings to Sion." —He bounced in ſans ceremony, and rubbing the palms of his hand together with a quick⯑neſs and zeal that intimated good news and ſatisfaction, told me he had found the Lady.—

And where is ſhe, and what is her name? ſaid I, leaping from my chair with the utmoſt eagerneſs.—I cannot ſay, Sir, anſwered my ſer⯑vant, where the Lady is, or who the Lady is, but a boy waits to deliver a letter to the Gen⯑tleman who came down in the ſtage, he ſays it is from a Lady—and as I came down an outſide paſſenger, it cannot be for me—and as [155] you, Sir, were the only gentlemen, inſide paſſenger, I conclude it muſt be for you.—

I ordered the boy to be called in.—

He was a lad about fourteen, in a neat frock livery.—I have a letter, Sir, ſaid the boy, without a direction, but my Miſtreſs has ordered me to deliver it to the Gentleman who came to Windſor this day in the ſtage.— I held out my hand for the letter, tore it open, and read—

‘I impute your omitting to enquire after my name, to emotions ſimilar to thoſe which agitated my boſom at the minute of our departure, and I ſuppoſe you have been travelling over the whole town to find me out.’ —It is what I ſhould have been doing, ſaid I, ſtamping and curſing my remiſſneſs and ſtupidity— ‘if a more ſerious engagement does not call for your at⯑tendance, I ſhall hope for your company as ſoon after you receive this as conveni⯑ent; and you muſt conduct yourſelf before thoſe you will ſee with me, as an old ac⯑quaintance.’ —MARIA.

[156]My reſpects, ſaid I, to your Miſtreſs, ſlipping a trifle into the boy's hand—I ſhall wait upon her immediately.—The boy re⯑tired.

In about ten minutes I was dreſſed.— Theſe ten minutes appeared an hour.—In twenty minutes was at the houſe.—Never did neceſſitous tradeſman, going humbly to petition a privileged great man, to pay a ſmall debt of long ſtanding, feel a more general agitation of nerves, or knock with a more trembling hand, than I felt, and than I knocked with, at the door of Maria's lodg⯑ings.

THE MEETING.

TURNING my head aſide accidentally, as I knocked at the door, I ſaw Maria peep over the window-blind; but when ſhewed into, the parlour, I found her ſitting with her back turned towards the door, a book in her hand, ſupporting herſelf by her elbow, which reſted on the arm of the chair. She was ſeemingly ſo loſt in meditation, that had I not ſeen her peep over the parlour-blind, I ſhould have thought ſhe had neither heard me coming in, nor had ſeen me when I was in.—I gave a loud hem—the boy an⯑nounced my entrance—"the Gentleman, Madam," and he withdrew.—

Maria ſtarted from her ſeat as rouſed from a reverie.—I ſhould have ſuſpected her of duplicity, but the crimſon glow that fluſhed in her cheek, convinced me that the pre⯑tended [158] reverie was not a manoeuvre of ex⯑perience or practiſed art, but an immediate conſequence of amiable confuſion.—

The moment our eyes met, I perceived and felt for Maria's ſituation.—Suſpicion fled, and the ardour of paſſion which ſuc⯑ceeded, was inſtantly checked by the inter⯑poſition of ſentiment.—My eyes bent down⯑wards —the confuſion which revelled in her cheek had raiſed a tumult within her boſom. —Our feelings were mutual—our hands, guided by inſtinctive attraction, joined im⯑perceptibly, till a reciprocal gentle preſſure convinced us of their junction.—Paſſion ſtepped in again, but ſentiment ſtill kept her poſt—we ſighed at one inſtant, as with one breath—at one inſtant we received relief—yet to ſpeak was impoſſible—though Maria's eyes expreſſed unutterable things—mine per⯑haps were not without expreſſion—at leaſt Maria has ſince told me ſo.—

I had always an averſion to punctilio—no man in the world underſtands leſs, or pays leſs attention to thoſe who practiſe ettiquette [159] than I do—but ceremony in the preſent in⯑ſtance was out of the queſtion. Nature pre⯑dominated, and under her ſweet influence I led the Lady to her chair, placed her on it, and placing myſelf upon another chair cloſe by her, without uttering a ſingle compli⯑ment, or a ſingle bow or courtſey being paſſed on my part or her's.—

I led her to her chair, "Grace was in all her ſteps." Grace, which the VESTRIS could never teach, nor nobility could never learn— for it is neither to be taught nor learned—it was the grace of Nature ⁽¹⁾.—It was ſuch grace as her Grace the Dutcheſs of D— nor her Grace the Dutcheſs of R—never [160] exhibited in public; no, not even when led out by the firſt dancers of the court to walk the minuet de la cour.—But when his Grace the Duke of D— or his Grace the Duke of R— lead forth the partners of their love in private, to practiſe the minuet de la coeur, no doubt their graces then may ſhew as graceful a deportment, as now gracefully marked the perſon and ſteps of my Maria ⁽¹⁾.

Two minuets paſſed without a word being uttered—they were golden minuets, worth a whole iron age.—

Maria had dropped her book from her hand, as it approached mine—the book lay upon the ground, I took it up—it was TRISTRAM SHANDY.—

TRISTRAM SHANDY.

HAD Sterne, Madam, ſaid I, as I opened the book—Had Sterne experienced ſuch a tender meeting as the preſent, he could have written a whole volume upon the text.—

I was conſidering, anſwered Maria, when you came in, what a pity it was that Sterne leſt the deſcription of the Widow Wadman's perſon and beauty to the imagination of his reader, and had not drawn the Lady's picture himſelf.—Alas! Madam, ſaid I, had Sterne drawn the widow's picture, it would only have increaſed his enemies, and heaven knows, the benignity of his heart and ſim⯑plicity of his manners, had raiſed enough of them.—His deſcription, Madam, would have pleaſed few but himſelf; the critics would have fallen foul upon it, would have diſſected it to a hair, have tortured it limb by limb, [162] bedaubed it and beſmutted it, for in the arti⯑cle of beauty, we ſeldom find two men who think alike; ſome admire ſlender, ſome ad⯑mire full waiſts ⁽¹⁾; a tint in the com⯑plexion, or a ſhade in the colour of the eye, ſettles the admiration, and gives birth to paſſion.

It is the ſame with women, anſwered Maria, they are equally capricious in their likings and affections.—Some women like tall men—others like middle-ſized, and ſome like ſhort men.—

Being ſhort myſelf, I made a low bow—

Your obſervation, Madam, ſaid I, is juſt, an inch this way —or an inch that way)— may gain or loſe the affections of a woman— and as to the affections of men, they are not [163] confined to beauty, to figure, or mental ac⯑pliſhments; I have often remarked old men fond of green girls, and young fellows giving preference to full-blown beauty—but theſe are falſe appetites.—

Falſe appetites? exclaimed Maria, ſtart⯑ing and looking towards heaven.—Alas! Sir, it is too true, that the devaſtation in the gar⯑dens of beauty and innocence, are generally made by old wretches.—Her boſom heaved as if burſting—her whole frame was in agitation— I finiſhed the ſentence for her—old wretches who lay waſte, but cannot enjoy the ſoil ⁽¹⁾.

A ſhower of tears burſt from Maria's eyes, and ſtole down her cheek, I wiped them off— but not with a handkerchief.—

A SHANDEAN CONVERSATION.

PERCEIVING the diſtreſs of my fair friend, though unable to account for the cauſe ⁽¹⁾, I changed the ſubject, by taking up Triſtram Shandy, which I had laid upon the parlour-window, and accidentally open⯑ing the page where the author promiſes a chapter upon button-holes; it is a pity, ſaid I, turning to Maria, and affecting a ſprightli⯑neſs to relieve her ſpirits—it is a pity, ſaid I, that Triſtram never filled this chapter—do you mean the black leaf, ſaid Maria?

I anſwered, no—

[165]I could never penetrate into the moral of that dark page, ſaid Maria—

I do believe, ſaid I, it is an emblem of the black ingratitude of the world.

Then continued Maria, ſince you do not mean the black, you muſt mean the marble page; and that page is to me as inexplicable as the other—

I do not think, anſwered I, that there is any great difficulty to unravel the truths which lie myſtically hid under the veil of the marble page—I conſider it as a true picture of the hard marble heads and hard marble hearts of thoſe envious dull ones, who perſecuted him while living; and pray add, ſaid Maria, of thoſe unfeeling dull ones who could not underſtand or benefit by reading the dictates of his philanthropy—

I reſumed the ſubject of the button-hole—

Had he filled his chapter upon button-holes, ſaid I, it would have been delec⯑table!—

He would have filled it in all probability, obſerved Maria, but poor fellow, you ſhould [166] recollect his miſfortune—you ſhould recol⯑lect he was grievouſly afflicted with a con⯑ſuming aſthma, the whole time he was com⯑poſing his works—

I ſee the force of your obſervation, ſaid I, a man debilitated as he muſt have been, with death purſuing him at every ſtep, and ſhak⯑ing his dart at him upon every turn, had ſomething more material to employ his mind, and of courſe employ his pen, than ſuch trif⯑ling ſubjects as button-holes.

True, ſaid Maria, but come, you appear in perfect health and ſpirits, ſo let me ſee what you can ſay upon the ſubject—here— is a blank page, continued Maria, taking Triſtram Shandy out of my hand—here is a white blank page, turning over to chapter XXXVIII. in the IVth VOLUME; come, I will have an immediate proof of your literary abilities—

So ſaying, ſhe brought pen and ink, and placing the blank chapter in Shandy before me on a table—write, write, ſaid Maria, while I go order tea—

THE BUTTON-HOLE.
A BUTTON-HOLE!

WHAT could Sterne poſſibly have ſaid upon a button-hole?

Would he have entered into its origin?

Would he have deſcribed it with all its appendages and ornaments?

Would he have explained its uſes, its ſhape, and its component parts?

Would he have given us all thoſe ideas, which muſt conſequently have ariſen before his mind's eye in the courſe of conſidering and diſcuſſing the ſubject?

Heaven only knows whether he would have done all which theſe interrogatories enquire, but clear I am, that had he once taken the ſubject in hand, he would have done his beſt, [168] and the beſt can do no more, though the ſub⯑ject to be handled was the beſt in Chriſten⯑dom ⁽¹⁾—

But as I am not endowed with powers na⯑tural nor acquired, corporeal nor intellectual, ſufficient to ſupport me, ſhould I raſhly at⯑tempt to enter into ſo deep and profound a ſub⯑ject, a ſubject which would baffle the pens of the Royal Society or Sorbonne—a ſubject, which has exhauſted whole folios of learning, and employed the leiſure hours of the moſt learn⯑ed men.—I will not preſume, Madam, to in⯑form you what a button-hole is, though hav⯑ing ſeen many, and felt more, I will venture to tell you what a button-hole is like.—

The button-hole of a pocket being vertical, is like a parentheſis cloſed thus—☞()—

[169]View a button-hole which way you will— change its poſition ever ſo often—take it in whatever manner you pleaſe—it is a paren⯑theſis ſtill—

Split the word parentheſis in twain, and by the addition of one letter t, you have a dou⯑ble illuſtration of this dark ſubject—

The firſt ſyllable will be parent; now a button-hole is a parent, for by a proper uſe of it in conjunction with a button, it nouriſhes a man, by keeping him warm in cold weather.

The ſecond ſyllable will be theſis; now the button-hole is a theſis, which has produced much diſpute in the world, nam fuit ante He⯑lenam —cunnus cauſa deterrima bellis; for my part, I know nothing of the theory, but be⯑ing naturally of an aguiſh conſtitution, am liable to hot-fits and cold-fits, which cauſe me to button or unbutton, as I am hot or cold; I have had my ſhare of button-hole-practics—

And pray, Sir, who firſt made uſe of button-holes?—

With ſubmiſſion to their reverences, who are bound ex officio, to underſtand theſe things [170] better than laymen, I ſuppoſe that the but⯑ton and button-hole, is as ancient as Adam and Eve, and were firſt uſed by them in joining their fig-leaves together; for as our firſt pa⯑rents had neither needle nor thread, is it poſſible the uſe of ſomething like a button and button-hole was diſcovered by them—

And why not a needle and thread, Sir? Might not Adam procure a thorn for Eve, to ſerve as a needle, and might not Eve give a lock of her hair, to ſerve as a thread; and this needle and thread being thus procured, it is not poſſible, or at leaſt probable, that Adam and Eve ſtitched their fig-leaves together?

Whether they buttoned or ſtitched their fig-leaves together, in my opinion does not ſignify a farthing—but the learned Hebraiſts think otherwiſe ⁽¹⁾—

[171]Put in the button xxxxxxxxxxxxxxs ⁽¹⁾— here having filled the blank-leaf, I could pro⯑ceed no further, ſo turned it down, that Maria might peruſe it at her leiſure.

TWO CHARACTERS.

MARIA returned juſt as I had cloſed the book, and deſired me to follow her, re⯑peating her caution, that I ſhould conduct myſelf as an old acquaintance—ſhe uſhered me into a drawing-room, neatly furniſhed in the old ſtile, the chair-bottoms, the curtains, and even the pictures, were of needle-work.

The floor, which was of old oak, gliſtered with a burniſhed luſtre, and every article of the furniture had, from frequent friction, ac⯑quired a ſhining poliſh. In one corner ſtood a tambour-frame, in another corner an apa⯑ratus for painting—a grey parrot occupied a window on the right, a breeding-cage of Ca⯑nary-birds occupied a window on the left, and on a large marble ſlab-table, which ſtood under a long old-faſhioned pier-glaſs, two turtles billed and cooed in amorous dalliance—

[173]There were alſo two tabby-cats, their fur unſullied as ermine, purring by the ſire-ſide; and a little French lap-dog, with his compa⯑nion, big with pup, ſlumbered upon a cuſhion.

The lady of the manſion exhibited as evi⯑dent marks of female induſtry as her furni⯑ture. Every article of her dreſs, at leaſt every thing that appeared, was ornamented with needle-work, and though in diſhabille, all was neat, and pinned on with a ſyſtematic accuracy—

This lady was tall and ſlender, her waiſt ſcarce a ſpan, her face forming an accute angle at the chin, her noſe prominent, and her ſkin tight to her cheek-bones, as if braced out of thoſe wrinkles, which a few trea⯑cherous gray hairs peeping from under a black wig, informed the beholder it was intitled to—ſhe had but one eye, but then that eye projected ſo far from out its ſocket, and had ſuch a convenient power of turning on its ſwivel ⁽¹⁾, that it kept conſtant guard upon [174] her blind ſide, and was miſtreſs of a perpe⯑tual motion, which gave it all the qualities of the hundred eyes of Argus; for it took within its pupil, (which was ornamented with a ſmall pearl, contraſting a coral circle that embraced the ball) not only every object in front, but every object on each ſide.

Having ſketched out this virgin's perſon, (for ſhe was unmarried, had preſerved an un⯑tainted fame, and was not one of thoſe hypo⯑crites who have no pretence to chaſtity them⯑ſelves, but by their ſeverity to the impure)— I muſt ſay ſomething of her mind, with which I ſoon became intimately acquainted. She was a wit, a ſatyriſt, a critic, and a writer, [175] with a tongue ever pretending ſervice to her neighbours, but in its qualities contrary to that of the fox, which heals; whereas the tongue of Miſs Verjuce operated upon a cha⯑racter, as the medicine of a pretending quack, operates upon the body; and never parted it, till, as the devil left Job, the tor⯑tured character became a ſore all over—

With this damſel ſat a military gentleman, not leſs than ſixty, whoſe regimentals of ſcar⯑let, faced with green velvet, exhibited the faſhionable cut of twenty years paſt—His ſtature was tall, his ſhoulders broad, his ap⯑pearance dignified, his eye penetrating, and his face, though furrowed by time, wore a ſmile of pleaſantry, that ſhewed he had grown old with good humour, and could ſupport age with a good grace. A verna⯑cular broad pronunciation declared him an Iriſhman, and his attentive politeneſs ſoon convinced me he had held a commiſſion of rank in a foreign ſervice. He bore a deep ſcar upon his forehead, in teſtimony of his cou⯑rage, and the croix de St. Louis pending [176] from his button-hole by a ribband, evinced his having received, at leaſt, an honorary re⯑ward from the prince under whoſe ſtandard he had fought—

On this object the eye of Miſs Verjuce kept continual play, which was returned by an aſſiduous attention to pleaſe on the part of the man of war.—She was his admirer, he pre⯑tended to be her's, and ſhe believed him, from the favourable opinion ſhe entertained of her merits—O Vanity! thou art a fault of the firſt magnitude in woman!—the cauſe of her greateſt misfortunes—even Poverty is not a greater enemy to her honour—and never had woman a greater ſhare of vanity than the woman I have deſcribed—ſhe was vain of her underſtanding, but that was excuſable, her glaſs could not ſhew its deformity—ſhe was vain of her perſon, that was aſtoniſhing, for the ſight of it muſt have reproved and humbled her, every time ſhe ſat at her toilet

TEA-TABLE-CHAT.

THE Captain ſoon diſcovered I was his countryman, and no ſooner made the diſcovery, than he diſcharged a volley of in⯑terrogatories at me in ſucceſſion, as quick as a feu de joy—

Merciful heaven! Captain, exclaimed Miſs Verjuice, a ceſſation of queſtions, and let the converſation be general.—Pray, Sir, conti⯑nued ſhe, turning full upon me, is there any likelihood that the preſent unnatural war will have a ſpeedy termination—

In addition to other qualifications, Miſs Verjuice was a politician—

Unnatural war, ſaid the Captain, repeating the word unnatural with marked emphaſis— Madam, it is not poſſible that a war by which ſo many men get their livelihood, can be un⯑natural—

[178]Nor the inſtruments of the war neither, I ſuppoſe, replied Miſs Verjuice—you, Cap⯑tain, took a very natural part in the laſt war —ſighting againſt you king, and againſt your country.—This was the ſhot of an in⯑venomed arrow, but integrity, which ſat upon the Captain's heart, repelled it—he ſaw the malignity of the intention, and warmed with an honeſt ardour, not to reſent the in⯑jury, but to defend his honour—

I fought for bread and for reputation, Ma⯑dam, anſwered the Captain—the laws of my country deprived me of my inheritance, but they could not humble my ſpirit—born a gentleman, I ſcorned to degenerate into any other character.—A paſſion for ſame, ſaid Ma⯑ria, is the inſtinct of all great ſouls—I bowed to Maria, ſhe conſtrued my bow into an ap⯑probation of her ſentiment, but it was in fact, a bow of gratitude for the compliment ſhe paid my countryman—

The Captain went on—I ſought for bread, I fought for reputation, and the inſtant I [179] could acquire bread and reputation under the government of my own country, I returned to her boſom; returned with as ardent affec⯑tion, heaven knows! as ever lover returned with to the boſom of his miſtreſs!—Miſs Verjuice for an inſtant relaxed her muſcles— But while government precluded me from go⯑ing to heaven by the road which the ſouls of my anceſtors had travelled, I could not fight for that government with zeal, even if ſhe had accepted my ſervice.—Miſs Verjuice again braced up her muſcles—and you thought purgatory, ſaid Miſs Verjuice, the high road to heaven, and gave up your eſtate in this world, ſooner than you would ſubſcribe to the geography of the other world, as laid down by the law.—Do you not think it ſtrange, Sir, continued this amiable virgin, turning her eye upon me, that a man bred to the ſword, and who has been ſpreading deſolation over the face of the earth, ſhould have ſo tender a conſcience?—

I would have anſwered the lady—but there was no ſtopping the tide of the Captain's [180] volubility; his face glowed ſcarlet—his eyes darted lightning—he roſe from his chair, and throwing himſelf into the attitude of a Cicero, addreſſed Miſs Verjuice—You are a woman, Madam—and do not underſtand the duty of a ſoldier, nor the honourable purpoſes of war. —The duty of a ſoldier, Madam, is to ſup⯑port juſtice, and do injury to no man—to maintain truth, and aid virtue—and let me tell you, Madam, that to repreſs the wild fury of lawleſs invaders, and by force to extirpate wickedneſs and oppreſſion from the face of the earth, has never been account⯑ed violence or ſpreading deſolation in any country or language—Robbers may be ſub⯑dued by force or death, if other means fail. Thoſe who invade private property, may be compelled to reſtitution at the bar of juſtice. But if independant ſtates have injured us, to what bar ſhall we cite them? who ſhall con⯑ſtrain them to appear at our ſummons? or if they ſhould appear, who ſhall oblige them to abide by our ſentence—open force then muſt be the dernier reſort; and who will be [181] baſe, or mean enough to ſay, that under ſuch circumſtances war is not juſt.

You are ſo eloquent and energetic in your eloquence, Captain, ſaid Miſs Verjuice, that it is really a pity you are not in the houſe, to aid the phalanx of ſpeaking admirals and ge⯑nerals—

The Captain had ſpent many years in France, he took the compliment literally, bowed in return, and laying his hand upon his heart, ſwore he would prefer ſerving his country in the field—

Miſs Verjuice would have replied, but the Captain had not exhauſted his oratory—

The enemies of Great-Britain and Ireland, vociferated the Captain, have in the preſent war acted with treachery, and ſhould be pu⯑niſhed —let every ſoldier, raiſing his hand as if to ſtimulate the ranks—let every ſoldier raiſe in himſelf a noble manly enthuſiaſm— you fight in the cauſe of virtue, juſtice, and freedom; no one is going to fight, ſaid Miſs Verjuice, but the Captain was not to be in⯑terrupted —he galloped on—animated by this [182] divine principle, what wonders have not Bri⯑tons performed, how have they riſen terrors of the earth, the protectors of the oppreſſed, the avengers of juſtice, and ſcourge of ty⯑rants —how have the ſons of rapine ſunk be⯑fore them, confounded and overthrown— Witneſs ye Danube and Sombre, crimſoned with blood—let France, let Spain, Germany, and both the Indies bear witneſs.—What was it fired Britiſh kings and generals—Alfred— William—Henry—George —Marlborough Granby—Cumberland—Wolfe, and Ligo⯑nier? —I will tell you, ſaid Miſs Verjuice, it was the juſtice of their cauſe, and an un⯑conquerable paſſion for liberty!—

This unexpected ſtroke of anticipation cut down the Captain—he ſuddenly fell back in his chair—

Miſs Verjuice could not bear to loſe the ad⯑vantage of her cut—ſhe followed her blow— there was a loud exploſion in your fire, Cap⯑tain, ſaid Miſs Verjuice—but the charge was government powder—

[183]I felt for the Captain, ſo changed the ſub⯑ject —There are but few of our countrymen now, ſaid I, in foreign ſervice—I know but of two, anſwered the Captain—O'Ricly, who is in the ſervice of Spain, and O'Dunn, who is in the ſervice of France—

Do you mean the Sieur O'Ricly, ſaid Miſs Verjuice, who went ambaſſador from Madrid to Paris?—I do, Madam, anſwered the Cap⯑tain; and Count O'Dunn, who was diſpatch⯑ed from Paris, to negociate with the Queen of Portugal on the armed neutrality—

There were accounts of thoſe negotiations, I believe, ſaid Maria, publiſhed in the prints —True, Madam, ſaid the Captain, I was preſent at O'Riely's interview with the French king, and went with O'Dunn into Portugal, from whence I came to London.—It was I wrote and ſent the accounts to the Public Ledger, under the head, Extract of a Letter from Paris: I have both ⁽¹⁾ about me, [184] and if you pleaſe ladies to hear them, the young gentleman, pointing to me, will be kind enough to read for your amuſement—

The ladies thanked the Captain—he took the papers from his pockets, and handing them to me, I read—

THE SIEUR O'RIELY'S NEGOTIATION.

THE moſt extraordinary intelligence that ever was publiſhed within the walls of Paris, or ever ſet the ſpirits of Frenchmen upon the wing, has been publiſhed within theſe few days.

The victories of Edward and Henry of England, did not aſtoniſh the French nation ſo much, nor did the conqueſts of Lewis the XIVth, give the French people half the ſatisfaction, as they received from the cap⯑ture of the Engliſh merchant-men. It was as novel as it was unexpected.

Half the people in France will be ruined by the expence of rejoicings—every houſe was [186] open, all the bells were ringing—men, women, and children, of all denominations, trades, and profeſſions, danc'd, caper'd, jigg'd it, and ſkip'd about with the agility of Benivento's devils. —What with fire-works and illuminations, bon-fires and tranſparent paintings, rockets, ſquibs, and crackers, diſcharges from the artillery, feus de joye from the ſmall arms, and huzzaing from the mob, not only the city of Paris, but the whole country round, looked and ſounded like hell itſelf.—All was fire and clatter—te Deums in every church!—

The court was met upon the occaſion of the glad tidings, when a Grandee of Spain, whiſkered up to the eye-brows—gloved up to the elbows—cuffed up to the arms, booted up to the hips, with a coat which fell ſhort of his hams, a waiſtcoat that reached to his knees, and ſpurred upon each heel like a game-cock, arrived expreſs from Madrid, with a letter congratulatory from his moſt Catholic Majeſty.—

The Grandee wore a thundering black perriwig, buſhy at the ſides, with a ramillie [187] tail down to his crupper, and had belted round his waiſt a baſket toledo, in the hilt of which was depoſited his handkerchief.—

The Grandee of Spain was announced to the court, by the Gentleman Uſher, as the Sieur O'Riely.—The Sieur O'Riely entered the inſtant his name was announced, the moſt Chriſtian King having juſt time to take his throne—the Queen ſeating herſelf by him.— The moſt Chriſtian King aroſe to receive the Sieur—the Queen turned to her favourite maid of honour Lucetta.—

This Grandee muſt be Iriſh, obſerved the Queen, by the great O' he carries before his name. It is true, ſaid Lucetta, for your Majeſty may remember moſt of the brigade officers who are returned to Ireland, had great O' before their names ⁽¹⁾.

I remember it well, anſwered the Queen, bluſhing.—

[188]Her Majeſty laying the back of her right hand convexed into the palm of her left, which ſhe had concaved for the purpoſe, and reſting her elbows upon her hips, with great eaſe dropped both hands upon—the Queen's hands fell juſt over that ſpot, where, in the picture of Venus, the golden claſp unites the argent zone of the Goddeſs.—The Queen courteſying to the ground, with the moſt amiable humility, while her eyes darted beams more penetrating than the rays of Apollo— her hands ſtill keeping their poſition—ſaid to the Sieur O'Riely—"Noble Sir, your are welcome to theſe parts."—

The whole court was aſtoniſhed at her Majeſty's condeſcenſion.—

The Sieur O'Riely was overwhelmed with her goodneſs, even to confuſion.—

Bowing to the ground with profound re⯑ſpect, and drawing back his right leg, he thurſt his ſpur into that part of the Gentle⯑man-uſher's ancle where the articulation unites the leg to the foot.—The electrified Gentleman-uſher ſprung from the ground [189] with a ſacra Dieu! and forgetting the preſence he was in, laid his hand upon his ſword. The Sieur O'Riely turning round his head, looked the Gentleman-uſher full in the face, and curling up his muſtachios over his noſ⯑trils, muttered ſomething in a language nei⯑ther Engliſh, Iriſh, French, nor Spaniſh— it partook of each language—"he grinned horribly a ghaſtly ſmile."—The Gentleman-uſher felt the full force of the Gorgon grin, he ſtood petrified—The whole court laughed. —The Sieur O'Riely took a pinch of ſnuff— he took it from his coat-pocket, where he always kept it looſe.

The Sieur O'Riely falling upon his left knee, rivetted his eyes upon the eyes of the Queen of France.—I have got it here, ſaid O'Riely, thurſting his hand into his breeches pockets—I have got that here, to preſent to your Majeſty, the like of which was never ſeen in France, in Spain, nor in any other country on the continent.—The Queen of France, Lucetta her favourite, the maids of honour, and all the other ladies of the court, [190] ſmiled, while their eyes followed the hand of the Sieur into his breeches-pocket—a thou⯑ſand ideas ſtruck their imagination.—

I have it here, exclaimed the Sieur, with an exulting voice, as he drew from his breeches pocket a long roll.—It was a roll of parchment, on which was written "a liſt of the Engliſh merchantmen taken by the fleets of France and Spain."

The Sieur O'Riely was right—France nor Spain, nor no country in the univerſe ever before ſaw ſuch a ſight.

The French King had read about one quarter of the liſt, when a nobleman ruſhed in, out of breath—Eagerneſs and aſtoniſh⯑ment were in his countenance.—The Belle Poule, ſaid the nobleman, is taken!—Eng⯑land muſt become bankrupt! exclaimed the French King.—The captain, officers, and one half of the ſeamen, ſaid the nobleman, are killed.—Lord have mercy on their ſouls! ejaculated the French King—but we have taken the Engliſh convoy.—Amen, added a biſhop, nodding half a ſleep in a chair—we [191] have taken the Engliſh convoy.—Let maſſes be ſaid for the killed, ſaid the Queen—we have taken the Engliſh convoy—not till thankſgiving is ſung for the victory, ſaid Monſieur Sartine —we have taken the Engliſh convoy.—

The Belle Poule, the captain, the officers, and the ſeamen, were immediately forgotten by the court of France—they had taken the Engliſh convoy.

The French King had read through half the liſt, when another nobleman came in.— The Duke d'Artois is gone, ſaid the noble⯑man, with a melancholy voice.—Then we have loſt the patron of faſhion, ſaid the Gen⯑tlemen-uſher, looking down upon his enor⯑mous buckles, with a ſigh.—You muſt con⯑ceal the Duke's death, ſaid the French King, till the rejoicings are over—we have taken the Engliſh convoy.—If half the princes of the blood were dead, I would not mourn, nor wear mourning, this month—for we have taken the Engliſh convoy.—

Vive le Roi! exclaimed the nobleman, but alas! letting his voice fall into a ſorrowful [192] piano, it is the Artois ſhip of war, carrying ſixty-four guns and ſeven hundred men, that is gone.—Good heaven, ſaid the Queen, the Artois was commanded by an Iriſhman! and was taken by an Iriſhman, an't pleaſe your Majeſty, anſwered the nobleman ⁽¹⁾—When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war! ſaid O'Riely.

Theſe Iriſhmen, Lucetta, whiſpered the Queen of France, are always ſtanding in our way—that is our own fault, an't pleaſe your Majeſty, anſwered Lucetta.

Was their force equal? interrogated the French King.—Pretty equal, anſwered the nobleman.—By no means, ſaid O'Riely, turning to an Iriſh officer who ſtood behind him—Clonard fought againſt his king and country—diſloyalty weighed him down, and the reproach of being a parracide, weakened his heart.—Merciful heaven! that zeal ſhould ſo long have blinded England and my [193] native land ⁽¹⁾ as to force her ſubjects to fight againſt her!

Big tears ſtood in the eye of the Sieur O'Riely, for an inſtant—they rolled down the ſurrows of his ſun-burnt cheek—he took his handkerchief, from the hilt of his ſword, to wipe thoſe tears away, which his country⯑man perceiving, he claſped the veteran in his arms, and received the tears upon his faith⯑ful boſom.—

Here ended the Letter from Paris.—Maria had dropped a ſympathetic tear with O'Riely— Miſs Verjuice had ſwelled, but the fountain of humanity was dried within—not a tear fell.—You have taken no ſmall pains, Cap⯑tain, ſaid Miſs Verjuice, to blazon the virtue and courage of your own countrymen, attend to the next letter, ſaid the Captain, and you ſhall acknowledge I have not been partial.— So ſaying, the Captain put another paper in my hand, and I read—

O'RIELY AND SARTINE.

THE court having broken up, Monſieur Sartine conducted the Sieur O'Riely from the royal palace to his own houſe.—

Dinner being ended, and the attendants ordered to retire, Sartine filled a rummer glaſs with Burgundy, and taking the Sieur by the hand—you Iſlanders, ſaid Sartine, drink deep—come, you muſt fill to my toaſt—I am going to give the land we live in.

The Sieur ſeizing the decanter in his right hand, and a rummer glaſs in his left, turned up his eyes to heaven, with a look of ardent zeal, approaching devotion—he heaved a heavy ſigh from the bottom of his deep cheſt, expreſſive of his feeling, and pouring the libation of Burgundy into his rummer, till it overflowed the brim, and riſing from his chair, his eye ſtill turned up to heaven, he [195] articulated in an expreſſion of grief, mingled with pleaſure—The Britiſh dominions.—

Sartine ſmiled, at what he ſuppoſed a miſ⯑take of his gueſt.—

You are an Iriſhman, ſaid Sartine, and have privilege to fall into errors without giv⯑ing offence.—I excuſe you, my friend, but I meant by my toaſt, the dominions of the grand monarque.

Then, anſwered O'Riely, you ſhould have ſaid—the land we breathe in—there is no living any where, but under a free government.— I have conſidered myſelf as dying of a con⯑ſumption ever ſince I left my native climate, ſo here ſhe goes! and pouring more wine upon the liquor which already overflowed his rum⯑mer —here ſhe goes! repeated O'Riely, with an oath.—

It is a bumper toaſt, ſaid Sartine, and ſhould have preceded all others, filling at the ſame time the rummer he had emptied, to the dominions of the grand monarque.—It is a bumper toaſt, by heaven! ſaid O'Riely, and the world muſt give way to her—only half of [196] the world, ſaid Sartine.—She is the mother of the iſlands, continued O'Riely—ſhe is the ſovereign miſtreſs of the ſea.—I love her as I love the blood of my heart—my toaſt is Old England.—

Monſieur Sartine was ſtruck dumb—he ſipped part of his Burgundy.—

This victory of ours, ſaid Sartine, recover⯑ing from his ſurprize, as O'Riely recovered from his agitation, this victory of ours is glorious! What victory, enquired his gueſt? Have we not taken the Engliſh convoy? ſaid Sartine.—We may ſay with Caeſar, Veni! vidi! vici! Yes, you may ſay that, ſaid O'Riely, you came! you ſaw! you conquer'd! but I cannot ſee much honour in the affair, nor much courage, nor any great national ad⯑vantage. —The devil a ſword was drawn— nor the devil a gun was fired; and when the cargoes are divided between France and Spain, where will be the advantage?—

Let me tell you, Monſieur Sartine, this glorious victory, gained without fighting or bloodſhed, will coſt France and Spain more [197] ſhips, more men, more money, and more re⯑putation, than a thouſand times the value of the ſhips they have taken.—

Engliſhmen are as delicate of the character of their courage, as Engliſh women are of the reputation of their chaſtity.—

Take my word for it, Monſieur Sartine, a ſhort time will ſhew you ſame of thoſe laconic Engliſh Gazette-epiſtles, that ſay, "the enemies ſhips are all taken, ſunk, burned, and deſtroyed, as per margin."—

The times are altered, ſaid Sartine.—I grant ſuch accounts have formerly appeared, but in our late engagements with the Engliſh, we have fought like devils incarnate.

You have done wonders no doubt, an⯑ſwered the Hibernian; but if your men have fought like devils, how muſt theſe men have fought, who cut your devils to pieces—they muſt have fought like angels at leaſt.—The courage of the Engliſh is natural, it is in⯑herent to the ſoil—their dogs, their horſes, their game cocks, are conſtitutionally brave; [198] ſend them to France, and they degenerate.— It is the ſame with their men ⁽¹⁾.

Monſieur Sartine pulled out his watch—it is time, ſaid Sartine, we ſhould attend the drawing-room.—He ordered his carriage, and taking O'Riely with him, drove for the palace.—

O'RIELY AT THE DRAWING-ROOM. THE RUMP OF BEEF.

WHEN O'Riely arrived at the drawing-room, he was joined by his country⯑man in the French ſervice—deſcription is in⯑adequate, ſaid O'Riely's countryman, the tongue of man cannot communicate a proper idea of the vanity, the pride, the preſumption of this volatile nation—from the meaneſt pea⯑ſant up to the grand monarque, they are jig⯑ging it over the whole country—

The court is in an uproar—all the foreign miniſters, all the nobles, and all the wives, ſons and daughters of the nobles and foreign miniſters, have been invited to partake of the Engliſh and Iriſh beef taken on board the Quebec fleet—a large rump has been ſent to [200] Paris as a ſpecimen; this rump was intended for the king's table, but not a pot in his majeſty's kitchen was large enough to boil it —The chief cook has made his fortune by ſhewing it at a dernier per head. There ne⯑ver was ſuch a rump ſeen in France—

The magnitude of this rump had ſet all the court ladies of France calculating—they thought of nothing but the rump—the rump was ſtill uppermoſt in their thoughts, and at their tongues ends.—The queen of France intending to enquire after the king's health, enquired after his majeſty's rump—Lucetta miſſed her little lap-dog—has any one ſeen it, ſaid Lucetta, there never was ſo pretty a thing—ſeen what? aſked Monſieur Sartine, my little rump anſwered Lucetta—a bee ſtung one of the maids of honour on the cheek— I am ſtung!—I am ſtung!—roared the maid of honour—where!—where? enquired the king's phyſician—here, here, here on my rump, ſaid the maid of honour—then I cannot extract the ſting in this place, replied the phyſician—

[201]The magnitude of this rump had ſet all the court ladies of France calculating—the height of the great ſtatue of Jupiter, was calculated from his thumb, as bearing a proportion to its other parts. The ſtature of the antidelu⯑vian giants was calculated from their hip-bones found in Sicily, and the ſize of the deer, formerly in Ireland, has been calcu⯑lated from the dimenſions of their horns found in the bogs—The French ladies had better materials for calculating, than a thumb, a hip-bone, or a deer's antler—They calcu⯑lated from the rump—

An Engliſh ox, ſaid Lucetta, has, I ſuppoſe, a rump as large again as an Engliſhman—and ſo by a ſimple rule of diviſion, ſhe meaſured the limbs of the Engliſh priſoners expected at Paris—Lucetta firſt meaſured their rumps in her imagination, and thereby hangs a tail— Lucetta whiſpered in the Queen's ear when ſhe had formed her calulation—you are right, ſaid the Queen to Lucetta, that muſt be the length, for that is juſt half the length of an Engliſh oxe's horn—we have no ſuch horns in [202] France, ſaid Lucetta—true, but many Eng⯑liſh gentlemen have French horns, anſwer⯑ed the Queen ⁽¹⁾—but I wiſh the Engliſh priſoners were in Paris—Heavens! what horn⯑ing and butting would be then—

Now the Engliſh rump of beef was ſuch a curioſity in Paris, that the French king had it modelled in cork—I will try how it fits, ſaid the Queen of France to Lucetta—Lu⯑cetta fixed the cork-rump upon the Queen— the Queen would never part with it, ſo Lu⯑cetta, and all the ladies of the French court got cork-rumps, in compliment to her ma⯑jeſty—

A DRAWING-ROOM CONVERSATION.

NEVER was drawing-room in Paris ſo crowded as this drawing-room—all or⯑ders of people were admitted, tag, rag, and bob-tail, poured in; and as they poured in, they poured out their congratulations to the French King on capturing the Quebec fleet —Vive le Roi! was the general cry—

There was not half ſo much rejoicing in England laſt war, when not only Quebec itſelf, but all Canada was taken from France by the Britiſh arms—

I always give my opinion openly, when it is demanded, ſaid the Sieur O'Riely, bowing [204] reſpectfully, and anſwering the King—I was born in a land of liberty, and ſucked in free⯑dom with the firſt reſpirations of life. Your majeſty commands my opinion, you ſhall have an honeſt one—

The Engliſh have loſt their Quebec fleet, a heavy loſs to them no doubt, but no ac⯑quiſition of glory to France or to Spain, they had no convoy to fight for them—not a gun fired—not a ſword drawn—

Should the grand fleets of each nation meet, then there will be fighting worth ſpeaking of. Theſe Engliſh are a people who will march up as cool to the mouth of a charged canon, as they march up to their bed—

To their bed, ſaid Lucetta to herſelf— march up coolly to their bed!—the Sieur muſt be ſpeaking of batchelors, I ſuppoſe, whiſper⯑ed Lucetta to the Queen—Heaven preſerve me from a huſband who would march coolly to bed—

How did they behave againſt Caeſar, againſt the Danes—How at Creſſy—at [205] —at Poictiers—at Agincourt? continued the Sieur O'Riely—

They fought at Agincourt without their breeches, ſaid a merry biſhop, as he rubbed down his ſleek and rubied dewlap ⁽¹⁾—

Mercy! preſerve us!—ejaculated the Queen—

It muſt have been a ſtrange ſight, ſaid Lu⯑cetta—

And I ſwear by my biſhoprick, continued the reverend father—and there is not a better biſhoprick in France, had but one company of Amazons been in the pay of France that day, the unbreeched Engliſh would never have carried a ſtandard from the field—

It was a dirty affair, ſaid the King—to France, ſaid O'Riely—but why did you not open the nunneries, the nuns would have done the buſineſs as effectually as the Amazons; confinement gives ferocity to paſſion—the [206] nuns would have played the devil in the ranks —there would have been no ſtanding before them for five minutes—what ſays your re⯑verence?

You are miſtaken, replied the biſhop, the holy mother-church takes ſpecial care, that all women under tuition of its members ſhall be properly diſciplined. Though nunneries are hot-beds, yet the nuns who may be ſaid to vegetate in theſe beds, are cool as cucum⯑bers—

As I am a Chriſtian, ruminated Lucetta to herſelf—had I known that nuns led ſuch chaſte and holy lives—I ſhould have taken the veil long ſince—I ſhould have flouriſhed in one of theſe hot-beds like a ſenſitive plant—

The Sieur O'Riely went on—

Let us, continued the Sieur, look to more modern times. The aſtoniſhing victories of Marlborough, which exceed any victories an⯑tiquity can boaſt—to theſe ſucceed Dettin⯑gen —Minden—hold ſaid Monſieur Sartine, interrupting the Sieur, you have forgotten or [207] ſlipped over Fountenoy, where the Engliſh run—

Not ſo, by heaven! ſaid O'Riely, ſtretch⯑ing forth his hand, and rolling an enthu⯑ſiaſtic eye, I have not forgotten Fountenoy— nor the famous battle of the Spurs, where the French cavalry galloped off in whole ſquadrons—the Engliſh run at Fountenoy! yes, they run up to the muzzles of your muſ⯑quets, while you were intrenched chin-deep in earth, and mowing down whole columns from your maſked batteries—but notwith⯑ſtanding the whole power of France, your gen d'arms, and your ſelect infantry, the Eng⯑liſh would never have ſtopped running, till they had run into your trenches, and forced you to run out, but for your auxiliaries— they never ſtood till the Iriſh brigades ap⯑peared before them, and then they ſtood; ſhocked to ſee the ſubjects of their own cli⯑mate, the children of their own conſtitution ſtanding armed, to oppoſe them in the field— the brigades changed the face of the battle, they fought for a point of honour, and would [208] not flinch. The Engliſh had the ſame point of honour to maintain, and each fought, with⯑out loſing an inch of ground, till the ſlaughter on both ſides made it neceſſary for each ſide to retreat—the French looking on—

After this, good Monſieur Sartine, con⯑tinued O'Riely, will you pretend to ſay, that at Fountenoy, even England retreated before France —

Monſieur Sartine ſtood dumb—

This too was the day when the late glorious immortal Cumberland, rebellion's curſe and freedom's friend, exclaimed againſt the wretch⯑ed policy of his country, which forced ſo many of her ſubjects to fight againſt her, for the wretched pay, and precarious ſuſtenance of France—

O! may the hero ever live the bleſſing and the honour of his country!—

The whole court laughed at the Sieur O'Riley's blunder—they took it for an error of his head, whereas it was an overflowing of his heart—he was grateful to Cumberland for his [209] opinion ⁽¹⁾—the biſhop took him up upon it —the Duke of Cumberland, ſaid the biſhop, has been dead ſome years—we have not heard of his reſurrection—

O'Riely gave a heavy ſigh, and with a ſmile of ineffable contempt, retorted upon the holy father—not one of all the ſaints, ſaid O'Riley, that ever Monkiſh ſuperſtition ca⯑nonized in your rubrick, lives in ſuch glory as the hero—Cumberland the brave, the ge⯑nerous and good, lives in the hearts of a free people, and will live in their hearts, till me⯑mory is no more—and hiſtory is obliterated —which of the commanders, of your army of martyrs, can you ſay ſo much—

The French King, mortified at the ſpirit and manner in which the brave old Hibernian had delivered his ſentiments, left the draw⯑ing-room [210] in diſguſt—the biſhop followed his majeſty, gnawing his under lip, he felt for the army of martyrs—and Monſieur Sartine ſkipped after with remarkable agility, Mon⯑ſieur Sartine felt for himſelf—

The Queen remained behind, which O'Riely perceiving, ſtepped in between her majeſty and the gentleman uſher, who inſtantly ſtep⯑ped aſide, and offering his hand, with an ob⯑ſequious bow, her majeſty accepted it with an ineffable ſmile of good humour and conde⯑ſcenſion —Every courtier's heart grew black with envy—

Lucetta and the maids of honour brought up the rear, with their eyes fixed upon O'Riely's back, he is at leaſt half the ſize of an ox, ſaid Lucetta—what a rump, ſaid the maids of honour—and what a Ramillie-tail, ſaid Lu⯑cetta —the maids of honour repeated the ob⯑ſervation, it flew into the anti-chamber, where it was echoed by the court ladies—the other attendants re-echoed it in the upper ſtories—it got down ſtairs, and returned up [211] ſtairs verberated and re-verberated, from room to room, from the garret to the coal-hole.

Having finiſhed the Sieur O'Riely's inter⯑view with their French majeſties, and return⯑ed the paper to the Captain, Miſs Verjuice opened her mouth, a mouth which never opened, but like Pandora's-box, it emitted a collection of evils—Happily for the Captain in the very inſtant ſhe was going to give a full diſcharge of acrimonious ſarcaſm, the ſervant brought in a note, which ſhe inform⯑ed us, required her immediate attendance on a neighbouring lady who was ſeized with labour—

Miſs Verjuice, though a virgin, had the ex⯑perience of an acoucheur; ſhe had read anatomy, and was often called in to aſſiſt, being re⯑markable for her philoſophical conduct, which enabled her to ſtand unmoved, when even the midwife has been found ſo weak-hearted, as to leave her patient to nature—But if Miſs Verjuice did not poſſeſs humanity, ſhe poſ⯑ſeſſed the affectation of humanity in the fulleſt extent; for as her virtue conſiſted in her ſe⯑verity [212] upon the vicious, ſo her humanity conſiſted in a ſevere abuſe upon the unchari⯑table —She was a theoriſt in both, but had never entered into the practice of either— Not but Miſs Verjuice had paſſions—but ſhe had never been led into temptation—

Miſs Verjuice was punctual to every call of every ſick or unfortunate acquaintance, who ſtood in need of no pecuniary aſſiſtance, no lady could mourn with a more deplorable countenance, or ſought the houſe of ſorrow with more ſedulity than Miſs Verjuice, if verbal conſolation only was required—yet ſuch was the tenderneſs of her feelings, that if want attended ſickneſs or misfortune, ſhe could not bear to look upon accumulated diſtreſs, and therefore the poor man's door ſhe was never known to enter—

Punctual in attending church, and regu⯑lar in paying the poor-rates, it might be ſaid that ſhe was religious and bountiful according to law. She practiſed all the externals of morality, without morals, and [213] performed the rituals of devotions, without piety ⁽¹⁾—

Miſs Verjuice, notwithſtanding an affec⯑tation of hurry, entered into a diſſertation upon the neceſſity of aſſiſting our fellow-creature in diſtreſs; but Maria obſerving, that perhaps her friend might be impatient to ſee her—ſhe made an apology, I returned to the parlour with Maria, attended by the Captain, and ſoon after ſaw Miſs Verjuice ſally forth, equipt in her night-dreſs—

The Captain propoſed a walk, to which propoſal Maria and I acquieſcing, we pro⯑ceeded to the bank of the Thames, and find⯑ing [214] a convenient ſpot, cloſe to a thicket, ſat down to enjoy the beauty of the proſpect, and the evening-air, which being gently agi⯑tated by a cooling fragrant breeze, pleaſed and revived the ſenſes—

THE BIRD'S NEST.

A THRUSH ſat perched upon the ſpray of an old thorn, he kept turning and look⯑ing to every quarter, with evident anxious expectation; but being ſoon joined by his mate, who bore food in her mouth, his joy became conſpicuous as his anxiety had been, and he expreſſed it to his companion in a thouſand endearing ſalutations and offices of love—the hen popped into the thicket to feed her young, while the cock turning up his head towards heaven, in grateful thanks to his Creator, for the providential ſuſtenance of his little family, poured forth the joyful thanks of his heart in melodious ſong—

But happineſs is not the lot of mortal be⯑ings, from the moſt inſignificant inſect up to the great lord of the creation, man, every animal has its misfortunes—its miſeries—all are the ſports of contingencies—

[216]Two boys ſtole along the thicket—the poor thruſh upon the ſpray, inſtantly ſtopt his me⯑lody —he boys had diſcovered his neſt, and before I could prevent the depredation, for I aroſe for the purpoſe, had torn it from the thicket with its infant inhabitants. The hen had eſcaped, and joined the mate—the boys carried off their prey, the old birds call⯑ing in notes of diſtreſs—the boys diſappeared, hope diſappeared with them—the unhappy pa⯑rents ſat ſilent cloſe to each other for a few mi⯑nutes, when, as if urged by a mutual deſpair, they took wing together, and flew from the ſcene of their wretchedneſs—

There is ſomething, ſaid the Captain, truly diſtreſſing, in the exhibition of domeſtic woe, juſt preſented to us—and ſhould I detect a ſon of mine in the commiſſion of ſuch a rob⯑bery, as the two little raſcals have committed, I would puniſh them as ſeverely as for rob⯑bing the church—

Why, in truth, ſaid Maria, it is a ſpecies of ſacrilege—children ſhould be taught to abhor it, to impreſs the precepts of humanity [217] upon the minds of infants is the firſt, the moſt eſſential duty of parents—it prepares the heart for all the tender offices of life, and opens the ſoul to receive the lights of mora⯑lity and religion—

I muſt pay this tribute to your ſentiment, ſaid the Captain, ſeizing Maria's hand—preſ⯑ſing it to his breaſt—he raiſed it to his lips, and kiſſed it—but with ſuch chaſtity of de⯑votion, as the profeſſed religious kiſs the ſhrines of their patron ſaints.—A tear had fallen from his eye upon Maria's hand, ſhe would have wiped it away with her handker⯑chief, but while viewing it with admiration, her heart bleeding with ſympathy, a beam darted from the evening-ſun, and exhaled the tear to the upper heaven, where it is now preſerved upon the altar of grace, an evidence of human benignity.

It is our duty, ſaid the Captain, to uſe all animals with mercy—they have life, they have ſenſe, they have gratitude—thoſe of a domeſtic nature, are moſt of them endowed with affection and tenderneſs to their protec⯑tors, [218] while others poſſeſs properties, which make us the moſt beneficial returns—we owe juſtice to men, but grace and goodneſs to brutes—

But, ſaid I, adverting to the plunder of the poor thruſh, there is a happineſs peculiar to ſubordinate animals of every ſpecies, their parental tenderneſs is but temporary, and their grief on loſing their offspring, though it may be ſevere while it laſts, laſts but a ſhort time; whereas with the human ſpecies, ſuch misfortunes produce permanent grief—often terminate in death—

SLAVE TRADE.

MERCIFUL heaven! exclaimed the Captain—when we reflect upon the plunder of the human ſpecies, carried on by nations calling themſelves chriſtian, profeſ⯑ſing the divine maxim "do as you would be done by," boaſting the benign principles of humanity, and enlightened by the ſublime rays of holy revelation, it ſinks us, in my opinion, infinitely below the moſt ferocious beaſts of prey, for none of theſe live by the ſlaughter and calamities of their own kind.—

I perceive, ſaid I, you are execrating the conduct of Europeans to the unhappy chil⯑dren of Africa.—I have often reflected upon our cruelty to thoſe people; firſt, in carrying them from their native country, and then exerciſing upon them every cruelty that can [220] debaſe human nature, or render life miſera⯑ble.—

There is but one way of accounting for this cruelty, ſaid Maria, and Sterne has hit upon it, "the poor Negroes have no one to ſtand up for them."—

They are ſacrifices to COMMERCE, ſaid I—

You mean to AVARICE, ſaid the Captain— COMMERCE is a mild deity, and never re⯑quires human victims to bleed upon her altar.

—The fruits of induſtry and the fruits of the earth are her offerings. Commerce is a cure for the moſt deſtructive prejudices; where we find agreeable manners, there com⯑merce flouriſhes; and wherever there is com⯑merce, there we meet agreeable manners.— So ſays Monteſquieu.—

Commercical laws, ſaid I, arguing from the ſame author, improve manners, but they improve manners from the ſame reaſon they deſtroy them—they corrupt the pureſt morals, poliſh and refine the moſt barbarous. The ſpirit of trade produces in the mind of man a certain ſenſe of exact juſtice, but does it [221] not produce ſanguinary laws and rage of avarice, that overleaps all bound of juſtice, and tramples upon humanity. The total de⯑privation of trade produces robbery—but is not hoſpitality moſt rare in trading countries, and is it not found in perfection among nations of vagabonds? Among the ancient Germans, to ſhut a door againſt a ſtranger, would be conſidered as ſacrilege.—

I ſhall not take upon me, ſaid Maria, to determine how far ſuch nations may merit the opprobrious term you have given them, but I ſhould rather live and die among ſuch a people, than among the moſt refined; and I think this hoſpitality, which muſt neceſ⯑ſarily include in it an aſſiduity to pleaſe, is a convincing proof of the excellency of the human heart in a ſimple ſtate.—What have we got by our boaſted improvements and frivilous politeneſs, but the loſs of manly firmneſs and independence ⁽¹⁾.—

[222]The Captain looked at Maria with aſtoniſh⯑ment, and ſeizing her hand with a degree of rapture, exclaimed, you are right—you are right, my girl! Avarice, ſenſuality, and every ſpecies of meanneſs, have ſucceeded to gene⯑roſity and honour; and faction and ſervitude, with bellowing on one ſide, and adulation on the other, are ſtorming and undermining the aſylum of liberty—almoſt every man wears the maſk of hypocriſy—the noble frankneſs which marked the character of Engliſhmen, has dwindled into an affectation of ſentiment; and in aſſuming ſuſceptibility of too refined feelings, from feeling like men, we have adopted the manners of women.—Even phi⯑loſophy participates the refinement of mo⯑dern manners; ſhe forgets her chaſte and ſimple character—ſhe forgets that ſhe once inhabited the lonely cot of Socrates, and ſhared the frugal fare of Epaminondas.— Then your legiſlators and generals—Shew me a modern ſenator or commander, who will deſcend from the ſeat of magiſtracy or [223] car of triumph, and cultivate the land which his voice enacted laws to rule, or which he defended with his blood—

But to advert to the ſubject we were on, continued the Captain, every man who poſ⯑ſeſſes humanity, can vindicate the rights of humanity in his own breaſt; but few men, who feel the force of theſe rights, have abi⯑lity to defend them.—When a benevolent mind contemplates the ravages, with which avarice has depopulated whole regions of the earth, the ſoul ſhudders with horror—But when we ſee the unhappy NEGRO, ſeduced by the wiles of European diſſimulation, or dragged by trea⯑chery and force, from his native liberty, re⯑lations, friends—perhaps the partner of his heart, and pledges of his love—then indeed the ſoul revolts and execrates the villain, and the infamous policy which protects the vil⯑lain, who, to indulge his avarice, by pro⯑viding for the ſenſuality of others, tramples upon natural rights, and forces into the vile [224] regions of ſervitude, men born free as him⯑ſelf ⁽¹⁾.

I have ſerved in South America, continued the Captain—I have converſed with the ſlaves, and have ſound among them men as capable of generous ſentiment, and of as noble ſoul, as ever diſtinguiſhed the character of a white —Good heavens! my heart ſinks, when re⯑collection preſents to my imagination, the miſery of theſe unfortunate fellow-creatures, to whom death alone can give enfranchiſe⯑ment!—

Here the Captain ſtopped—he was too full to proceed—

[225]As we are convinced, ſaid Maria, from our own feelings, that our hearts naturally in⯑cline us to relieve miſery, and our reaſon approves it as right—when we conſider that providence has infuſed humanity into our breaſts, and has taught us to look to him as an example of mercy; it is aſtoniſhing, that pity, and the divine pleaſure which re⯑ſults from doing good, ſhould be ſo far exter⯑minated from mankind.

Cruelties, ſaid the Captain, which no tongue can deſcribe, which no heart can conceive, but from the evidence of the eyes, are inflicted upon negroes. The American and Weſt-Indian news⯑papers, may give a ſlight idea of the deplor⯑able ſituation of theſe unhappy creatures. In theſe papers, they are advertiſed as negro fel⯑lows, or negro wenches—often deſcribed as bearing their tyrannic maſter's brand upon their cheek—having a padlocked yoke about their neck, or carrying the marks of mercileſs ſtripes upon their ſkin—I have ſeen them rouſed by the laſh to their labour—drove into ſtalls in herds like brutes, and fed worſe than thoſe [222] [...] [223] [...] [224] [...] [225] [...] [226] dogs which are kept for the purpoſe of hunt⯑ing them, when they attempt to eſcape— then in their old age they are turned out to poverty—and they are denied baptiſm, from an apprehenſion it would make them inſo⯑len—

Pray, ſaid Maria, addreſſing the Captain, are there any clergymen in thoſe countries—

Every pariſh has its paſtor, anſwered the Captain, and every paſtor is a planter, and keeps unbaptized ſlaves—

Lord have mercy upon their ſouls! ſaid Maria—

On whoſe ſouls? aſked the Captain—

On the ſouls of thoſe planters, anſwered Maria—

Do you mean, ſaid the Captain, the plan⯑ters of Chriſtianity, if you do— [...]— ⁽¹⁾, and indeed the planters of tobacco, do not appear in a much better predicament—

[227]The Captain would have proceeded, but perceiving Maria was in tears, he immediately ſtopt ⁽¹⁾—He had a ſoul, brave as Achilles —had a heart melting as infant tenderneſs—

We will change the converſation, ſaid the Captain—Here my lad, ſaid he, handing a paper, here is the account I publiſhed of Count O'DUNN.

I took the paper and read—

COUNT O'DUNN'S NEGOTIATION WITH THE QUEEN OF PORTUGAL.
COUNT O'DUNN'S APPOINTMENT.

IF her majeſty of Portugal could be pre⯑vailed upon to join the armed neutrality, ſaid the grand monarque, England muſt ſub⯑mit —her flag would no longer proudly fly, with uſurped authority upon the narrow ſeas —the thunder of her cannon would no longer, with ſovereign arrogance, command the ſhips of other independent ſtates to lower their top-ſails —What is to be done, Sartine?—

Nothing can be done, anſwered Monſieur Sartine, our moſt able and ſubtil negotiators have failed in their negotiations with the Queen of Portugal—

[229]Count O'Dunn, who had been employed laſt war, as plenipotentiary to the court of Liſbon, was ſtanding at the French King's elbow.

Our moſt able and ſubtle negotiators have failed, repeated Monſieur Sartine—

They were Frenchmen, ſaid Count O'Dunn to himſelf—

The Queen of Portugal is as impenetrable as flint, ſaid Monſieur Sartine—

To French negotiators, ſaid Count O'Dunn to himſelf—

You have been in Portugal, O'Dunn, ſaid the French King—with a wink, which im⯑plied, "you have ſeen Pharſalia;" but mum—what think you of the Queen, is ſhe that ſoul of marble, Sartine repreſents her? —Is there no getting at her heart?

She is a woman, may it pleaſe your ma⯑jeſty, anſwered O'Dunn, and I know but of one way by which her heart can be approach⯑ed—

The Count has been a man of gallantry in his time, obſerved the French Queen—no [230] man at court has the character of getting nearer a lady's heart than the Count—

Three ladies ſighed, in confirmation of what her majeſty ſaid—

Then he is the very man to do buſineſs, with the Queen of Portugal, ſaid Monſieur Sartine.

The Count O'Dunn was immediately in⯑veſted with full powers to negotiate with the Queen of Portugal.—The Count depended but little, however, upon his paper inſtructions, though an old man, his chief dependence was upon his abilities—then he had experience, and experience is half the battle —he knew it was a Lady he had to deal with, and no man breathing knew better how to deal with a Lady—

O'DUNN'S ARRIVAL AT LISBON.

SOON as the Count O'Dunn arrived at Liſbon, he diſpatched his ſecretary to court—the Lady in waiting informed the Queen of Portugal—the Count was deſired to attend in the anti-chamber—he was an⯑nounced —he appeared, and the inſtant he appeared, every woman in the room ejacu⯑lated the firſt letter of his name with a note of admiration annexed—O! O! O! O! O! went round the room—O! was the only ſound for two minutes—

The Ladies of the court diſſected Count O'Dunn, as Ladies of the court always diſ⯑ſect ſtrangers on their firſt appearance—one praiſed his legs, another praiſed his ſhoulders —a third praiſed his eyes—but the old Dut⯑cheſs [232] of B—was actually ſmitten with him on account of his forefinger—

As the Count had croſſed one of the private court-yards, unfortunate for the old Dutcheſs of B— he had occaſion to draw—off his glove—the old Dutcheſs of B—was at that inſtant peeping at the Count through a lattice with her magnifying glaſs, and the forefinger of the Count hit exactly upon her grace's focus.

Her grace could not avoid gazing on the Count's forefinger—

The Count wore two brilliants on his fore⯑finger —they were family jewels, the Count's father had given them to his mother, his mo⯑ther had given them to him—they rivetted the eyes of the old Dutcheſs of B—with as faſcinating a power, as if ſhe had gazed upon a rattle-ſnake—

The old Dutcheſs was experienced in the value of brilliants, and the inſtant ſhe per⯑ceived thoſe on the Count's forefinger, her grace exclaimed, never did I ſee ſuch a finger! [233] never did I ſee ſuch brilliants!—they are only fit for a Queen!—

The Dutcheſs of B— was avaricious, therefore the inſtant the idea of the Queen came acroſs her grace, ſhe concluded, that if theſe brilliants, which garniſhed Count O'Dunn's forefinger, could be procured for her Majeſty of Portugal—her own fortune was made—

Little did the Dutcheſs of B— think, that by this determination ſhe would ſerve not only the Queen of Portugal, but the armed neutrality of Europe.

Some ſay that the Count having perceived the old Dutcheſs of B—ſpeculating through the lattice, and knowing her to be in the Queen's confidence, he drew off his glove on purpoſe; but whether he did or did not, whe⯑ther the action was accidental or manoeuvre, it is certain, that the Count O'Dunn got into the Queen's confidence by it—

When the old Dutcheſs of B— inform⯑ed the Queen of Portugal of what ſhe had ſeen, her Portugueſe Majeſty ſmiled—you [234] muſt be miſtaken, my dear Dutcheſs, ſaid the Queen, I never heard of ſo white, ſo taper a forefinger, nor of ſuch brilliants as you have deſcribed—if they are ſo large, they muſt be equal in value to the famous diamond worn by the Great Mogul, and exceed that in the hat of the French King—you have been de⯑ceived by a falſe appearance—conſider, my dear, dear Dutcheſs, you were looking thro' a magnifying glaſs—

The Queen was right, and the Queen was wrong—the Dutcheſs of B— was right— and the Dutcheſs of B— was wrong—the old Dutcheſs was deceived, not in the mag⯑nitude, but in the quality of what ſhe ſuppoſed to be brilliants—they were nothing better than common Iriſh diamonds, which are plenty in London and Paris—

In Liſbon, they had novelty to recommend them—

We muſt keep up decorum, ſaid the Queen of Portugal to the Dutcheſs of B— before we admit Count O'Dunn to our preſence; you muſt enquire into the nature of his bu⯑ſineſs [235] —The old Dutcheſs flew to the anti⯑chamber, and put the queſtion to the Count, ſhe found him incircled by the Ladies of the court—My buſineſs, ſaid Count O'Dunn, is with the Queen herſelf—and to the Queen herſelf alone, will I impart my buſineſs—

Then you will not truſt me? ſaid the old Dutcheſs—

By heaven, I will not truſt you, my Lady Dutcheſs, nor any other Lady in the court— the court Ladies hung down their heads—

I am keeper of the Queen's ſecrets—ſaid the old Dutcheſs of B—

But you are not keeper of my ſecrets, an⯑ſwered Count O'Dunn.

The old Dutcheſs fixing her eye upon the Count's forefinger, took him by the hand, and led him to the Queen's apartment—

THE HEM-SIGNAL.

THE Dutcheſs had much at ſtake, ſhe had drawn a picture for the Queen, and ſhe knew the conſequence, if the original ſhould fall ſhort of the copy. She had ſome doubts from what the Queen had ſtarted, that her magnifying glaſs might have deceived her ⁽¹⁾. [237] Her fears, however, ſubſided, upon her in⯑terview with the Count. She viewed him without her glaſs, and joy fluſhed her cheeks. She meaſured him with her eyes, as a female virtuoſo meaſures the beautiful repreſenta⯑tions of nature in the galleries of Italy—

The Dutcheſs of B—had been a wo⯑man of remarkable ſenſibility. Sympathy was her weakneſs. In her youth ſhe had found the higheſt ſatisfaction in communicating pleaſure to others, and her greateſt pleaſure now was in procuring it. Yet no woman had ever given more pain than the Dutcheſs of B— but then no woman had ever gone further than the Dutcheſs of B— to alleviate the pain ſhe had given. Man never kneeled to her grace in vain, nor petitioned her grace without relief ⁽¹⁾—

The Dutcheſs of B— having approached the door of the royal cloſet, gave a loud hem. —This hem informed the Queen of Portugal that Count O'Dunn was near—

[238]Her majeſty of Portugal was at that inſtant ſtanding before a great glaſs, wrapped up in admiration of herſelf. All Portugal admired the Queen of Portugal, but no ſubject in Portugal admired the Queen of Portugal more, than the Queen of Portugal admired herſelf—

Yet the Queen was not vain—ſhe knew the power of her charms, from their effects upon mankind, and the ſubject of her conſideration now was, to muſter and draw out in amorous array, their full force armed at all points againſt Count O'Dunn—

But the whole ſyſtem of the Queen of Portugal's intended operations againſt the Count, was overturned by the hem-ſignal of the Dutcheſs of B—. Every glance, every leer, every ſmile, every giggle, which art had armed for her aſſiſtance and long experience had exerciſed into diſcipline, fled at the in⯑ſtant the hem-ſignal was given; nor could the Queen, with all her generalſhip, rally them into order—nature had taken poſſeſſion of their poſt, and defied the powers of art to diſlodge her.

THE INTERVIEW.

THE Queen of Portugal, as many able commanders have done, threw herſelf upon chance—ſhe ſat upon a ſopha—the door of the cloſet opened—the eyes of the Queen ſhut—

The complexion of the Queen of Portugal was a bright olive—Count O'Dunn never conſidered colours—he admired the whole ſex —every colour had its attraction for him— he loved woman, becauſe ſhe was woman; and to this generous affection he bore to woman kind, may be imputed a paſſion, the moſt ge⯑nerous and diſintereſted, which from his youth he had entertained for an individual.

The Count made his obeiſance—the Queen opened her eyes—the Count dropped the cur⯑tains of his eyes—a dead ſilence enſued—

[240]The Dutcheſs of B—broke ſilence— ſhe introduced the Count in form, as pleni-potentiary from the court of France, and re⯑collecting his declaration, in refuſing to com⯑municate his buſineſs to any perſon but the Queen in private, ſhe retired, as a woman of diſcretion ſhould—ſhut the door—fell upon her knees—and applied her eye, cloſe to the key-hole—

Had Count O'Dunn been before all the male crowned heads in Europe, he would not have evinced diffidence—had Count O'Dunn been marching up againſt a battery, he would not have betrayed fear—yet the Count was ſilent, and trembled before the Queen of Portugal.

Pray, Captain, ſaid Maria, perceiving I reſted at the concluſion of the laſt ſentence, what made Count O'Dunn tremble?

If you do not know, Madam, you muſt aſk the naturaliſts—anſwered the Captain.

Maria had a quick conception—ſhe found it dangerous to require a more minute ex⯑planation —ſo requeſted I would proceed—

O'DUNN'S NEGOTIATION.

HER majeſty of Portugal began the ne⯑gotiation, whereas it was the duty of the Count to have began—but in truth he had forgot the intereſt of the neutral powers —there was nothing neutral about him—

Your prudence, Sir, ſaid the Queen, in not communicating your buſineſs to any of my miniſters, proves you worthy of your em⯑ployment —the buſineſs of politicks ſhould never be carried on through a medium—

It is quite contrary in affairs of love, pleaſe your Majeſty, anſwered the Count—

You are certainly right, replied the Queen, giving up all thoughts of politicks, a medium in love is to be preferred—and the man who would reach a woman's heart, muſt firſt diſ⯑cover the proper medium.—The cool lover is deſpicable—an over-warm paſſion is ſeldom [242] laſting—but I ſhould wiſh to hear your opinion upon the ſubject—

It is too difficult a ſubject for me, ſaid the Count, I have attempted to diſcuſs it a thou⯑ſand and a thouſand times, but could never reach the end—love is a ſubject which defies the power of logick, of philoſophy, of ma⯑thematicks. —I have tried love every way, ſaid Count O'Dunn, and I have been told, that thoſe who have tried it ſcientifically and ſyſtematically, have found themſelves little better than fools upon the ſubject—

I knew a fool, ſaid the old Dutcheſs of B— taking her eye from the key-hole— who could handle the ſubject better than the wiſeſt of them all—

Bleſs me, exclaimed the Queen, throwing her eye upon the Count's forefinger, how re⯑miſs have I been in keeping you ſtanding ſo long—

It is my duty, anſwered the Count, to ſtand in your Majeſty's preſence—

But as you are the repreſentative of a King, replied the Queen, I inſiſt upon your ſitting—

[243]The Count being ſeated upon a ſopha with the Queen, proceeded upon the buſineſs of the neutral powers—he preſented his creden⯑tials —the Queen of Portugal examined them —ſhe ſpoke of her obligations to England— the Count withdrew his credentials from her hand—the Queen drew them back—examin⯑ed them again—the Count puſhed the point cloſer—ſtill the Queen objected, but faintly. The Count maintained his point—

Your Majeſty may perceive, ſaid the Count, turning up his credentials towards the Queen, ſo as to ſhew the two brilliants the Dutcheſs of B—had mentioned, your Majeſty may perceive, ſaid he, it is a plain propoſition—

The Queen of Portugal anſwered—

The Count O'Dunn replied—

The Queen of Portugal rebutted—

The Count O'Dunn ſurrebutted.

I ſubmit, ſaid the Queen—you have pre⯑vailed —I give England—I give up every thing —I give up the world to your argument, Count O!—

[244]Before the Queen could fully pronounce the Count's name, O'Dunn had put the pen in her hand, and her Majeſty ſubſcribed to the neutral confederacy—

Oh! ejaculated the Queen of Portugal—

Ah! ejaculated the old Dutcheſs of B— and ſhe fell upon the floor—ſuch is the power of ſympathy, it flew through the key-hole, and hit the old Dutcheſs full on the brain—

France has carried the day, ſaid the old Dutcheſs of B—opening the door, and entering the room—

Upon my ſoul, but you are out now, an⯑ſwered Count O'Dunn, as he put up his credentials—it was Ireland that carried the day—ſo making a bow, he retired, to diſpatch a courier to Paris—

Now the Dutcheſs of B—having writ⯑ten an account of O'Dunn's negotiation with the Queen of Portugal, to Madam D'C— Lady of the French Queen's Bed-chamber, the French Queen inſiſted, that the French King ſhould recall Count O'Dunn, from an apprehenſion, that he might be aſſaſſinated—

UN PETIT SOUPER.

THE evening-dew beginning to fall heavy, Maria propoſed returning home. When we arrived at the town the Captain took his leave, having previouſly inſiſted, that I ſhould accompany him the next morning at ſix, to ſee a royal chace.

Maria, as we walked towards her lodgings, corroborated my ſuſpicion, that the Captain was a dying ſwain to virgin Verjuice; and aſ⯑ſured me of much entertainment from the hiſtory of his amours, the Captain having, for a ſeries of years, been a conſtant dangler af⯑ter rich old maids, and endowed widows of various deſcriptions—

We found the cloth laid, and ſupper was ſerved in, almoſt immediately after we enter⯑ed the parlour—two plates upon the table in⯑formed me, that my company was expected, [246] and having no inclination to retreat ſuddenly, I ſat down to table with as eaſy familiarity, as if I had been one of the family—I ſaw Maria was pleaſed at the frankneſs of my conduct—and what can be more pleaſing than an unceremonious chearful acquieſcence in partaking of the hoſpitable preparations of a friend.—The ſupper would have loſt half its reliſh by a formal invitation—

You muſt help yourſelf, ſaid Maria, lay⯑ing the wing of a duck upon her plate, I fol⯑lowed her example—

Here is wine, ſaid Maria—

A dumb-waiter, which ſtood at my right⯑hand, anſwered all the purpoſes of oſtentatious attendance—we ſat in the full enjoyment of liberty and ſocial feſtivity—eat, talked, and laughed, without reſtraint—

I muſt fill to the brim, ſaid I, taking up a decanter of Madeira—Maria ſmiled conſent —it is to the continuance of our love, my dear Maria—Maria bluſhed—ſhe hung her head, but as ſhe hung her head, ſhe turned up her eye—

[247]Let it overflow, ſaid Maria, and ſhe ſighed —let it overflow—I will pledge you with all my ſoul—

And I am all impatience, added I—my heart is thirſty for the toaſt—

We ſipped from our brimmers—touched glaſſes, and changed glaſſes—I taſted the nec⯑tar of Maria's lip upon her glaſs—the touch had raiſed the ſparkle of the wine, and the wine had given her eyes additional luſtre— their power was irreſiſtible—I muſt quench this flame, thought I, as I ſwallowed my wine —but wine is oil to the lamp of love—the flame from my heart increaſed—

I got cloſe to Maria's ſide, and preſſed her hand—we drank again, touched glaſſes, and touched cheeks—I had thrown my arm neg⯑ligently acroſs the back of her chair—my head reclined upon her boſom—Maria rung a bell that lay upon the table, the ſervant appeared, ſhe ordered him to remove the ſupper-table—

AN ILLUSTRATION, OR THE EXTINGUISHER.

DO you know, ſaid Maria, ſighing, as the ſervant left the room, that I have been thinking continually upon the cruelties, which the Captain told us were inflicted upon the poor negroes, by their mercileſs taſk-maſters— he ſays there are noble ſouls among theſe people—

Shakeſpeare was of the ſame opinion, ſaid I, when he drew the character of Othello—

Your ſpeaking of Othello, ſaid Maria, re⯑minds me of a paſſage in the play, which I could never underſtand—I mean that line where Othello ſays— ‘Put out the light, and then put out the light.’ —I could never re⯑ceive any ſatisfaction from the commentators.

There lay upon a couch, cloſe to Maria, a ſilver chamber-candleſtick and extinguiſher—

I will give you an illuſtration of the paſ⯑ſage, ſaid I, taking up the extinguiſher— [249] "PUT OUT THE LIGHT"—I preſſed the ex⯑tinguiſher upon the candles—AND THEN!!!—

What ſay the criticks ⁽¹⁾ to this illuſtra⯑tion ⁽²⁾? What ſay their wives ⁽³⁾?