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anfwer: "I always loved Nicolas; I admire Chamfort." A few days after, they met, and the mafter and the pupil embraced each other with tears.

Nor was he deceived by his prefenti ment of his future fortune. By the cares and intereft of his friends it gradually fwelled to eight or nine thoufand livres a year; but the greatest part of it confitted of penfions, and the whirlwind of the revolution fwept them away. The day after they were fuppreffed, he went to fee his fellow academician, Marmontel, and found him lamenting the lofs that his children would fuffer by the fame decree. Chamfort took one of them upon his knees: Come here, my little fellow,” said he, “you will be a better man than either of us. Some day or other you will weep over your father, on hearing that he had the weaknefs to weep over you, becaufe he feared that you might not be fo rich as himfelf."

That meteor that rofe in the French revolution; rushed through the political fyftem like a comet; and difappeared in the midst of the long furprise and uncafy admiration it excited-Mirabeau, in 1hort, was the friend of Chamfort, and often borrowed his pen. The moft eloquent paffages in the Letters on the order of Cincinnatus belong to the latter. He was, indeed, his council upon all occafions; and when Mirabeau went to pafs an hour with him, as was his cuftom in the morning, he ufed to call it going to rub the noft electrical head he had ever met with.

The light emitted by this electrical head could not fail to fhine in oppofition to the blafting rays of the mock fun of liberty of the felon Robespierre-to whom talents and virtue were alike obnoxious.

It was difficult, however, to lay hold on Chamfort. Frank, upright, decided, and independent of all parties, he had steered afteady courfe through the revolutionary ftorm, openly profefling an equal hatred of pricfts and nobles, and of Marat and the rest of the men of blood. At the fame time that he was author of the faying, "Guerre aux chateaux, paix aux chaumières," he explained by the appellation of the fraternity of Cain and Abel, the compulfive fyftem of fraternization devifed by the Jacobin Club.

* War to the feat, Peace to the cotage.

At length, however, an obfcure informer was found to denounce him, and Chamfort was carried to the Madelonnettes. Unable to obtain there the attentions, and the occafional folitude that fome habitual infirmities imperiously required, he conceived fo profound a horror of imprisonment, that when he was. fuffered to return a few days after to his apartments under the cuftody of a guard, he fwore he would rather die than be immured anew.

In little more than a month the gendarme told him he had orders to carry him back to a houfe of confinement.Chamfort retired to a clofet, under the pretence of making his preparations; fired a piftol at his head; fhattered the bones of the nofe; and drove in his right eye. Aftonished at finding himself alive, and refolved to die, he took up a razor, tried to cut his throat, and mangled the flesh in the moft dreadful manner. The weakness of his hand made no change in the refolution of his mind; he attempted feveral times, in vain, to reach his heart with the fame inftrument; and finding himself begin to faint, made a laft effort to open the veins at his knees. At length, overcome by pain, he uttered a loud cry, and fell almost lifeless into a chair.

The door was broke open and furgeons and civil officers foon repaired to the fpot. While the former were preparing dreffings for fo many wounds, Chamfort dictated to the latter the following truly Roman declaration: I, Sebastian Roch Nicolas Chamfort, declare it was my intention to die a freeman, rather than to be carried back, like a flave, to a house of confinement. I declare, moreover,

that if violence be used to carry me thither in the ftate I am in, I have ftill ftrength enough to finish what I have begun."

An hour or two after, he became perfeetly calm, and refumed his ufual ironical manner. "See what it is," faid he,

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to want dexterity; an aukward man cannot even kill himself." He then went on to relate how he had perforated his eye, and the lower part of his forehead, instead of blowing out his brains; feared his throat, inftead of cutting it ; and scarified his breast, without reaching his heart. "At laft," added he, "I recollected Seneca'; and in honour of Seneca, I refolved to open my veins; but Seneca was a rich man; he had a warm bath, and every thing to his with: I am

a poor

$796.]

Original Letter of Sir George Saville.

a poor miferable devil, and have none of the fame advantages. I have hurt myfelf horribly, and here I am ftill.”

Not one of the multitude of wounds he had made was mortal. Strange as it may appear, they were even attended by beneficial confequences. By giving vent to an internal humour that had long preyed upon his conftitution, they retored him to a state of health he had been a ftranger to for years; and Cham.. fort might now have been alive, if, when his wounds were clofed, the furgeons had given iffue to that humour by other means. But they neglected the precaution, and this amiable and courageous character was foon after feized with a mortal difeafe.

Thefe anecdotes will be REGULARLY
CONTINUED, and the Conductors re-

queft the affiftance of all perfons who, by
a recent refidence in France, are quali-
fied to communicate original and intereft
ing falls.]

ORIGINAL LETTER FROM THE LATE

SIR GEORGE SAVILE.

We have been favoured with the following letter by the gentleman to whom it was fent, and who obferves that it is a true fuc fimile of the frank and liberal mind of the truly excellent writer. The fermon alluded to, was preached before a regiment of militia, and afterwards printed

Sir, Liverpool, Nov. 19, 1779 RETURN you I the Sermon with thanks. It has entertain'd and pleas'd me much. I am inclined to think the political part of it more confiftently reated throughout than the religious. The queftion of obedience to unlawful commands is foundly laid down, & fubject only to that fort of difficulty which all political propofitions are liable to from the poffibility of being overtrained, & of putting cafes which thall drive you to abfurd conclufions, by getting into extremes. Thus it will be objected, “Shall each common foldier judge of a nice point of law?" Nevertheless the doctrine is right and found.

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to conquer and bless the world." I take conquering to blefs, & cutting one half of a nation's throats, to treat the other with lenity, to be the most unchriftian thing in the world. Indeed, I have always thought, parcere fubjećtis to be a very foolish, as well as a very impertinent faucy language, for man to talk to his fellow creatures.

I do not know whether I fhould add to the force of my argument, by faying, likewife, fellow chriftians, becaufe, I conceive, the great point of the Chritian religion was to teach us we are fellow creatures.

But, indeed, where is the good of it? Why can't one as well fpare people firft? I am fure one may fpare more of them, & with far lefs trouble. To talk of conquering people, and of the divine principles of free government, in the fame page, (nay, within four lines) makes one

fick.

the faucy pretence of bleffing) is good, To know whether conquering (under only ask how you would like for France, or Spain, or the Turk, if you please, to talk fo to you? They would all biefs you their own way; fome with circumcifion, fome with the inquifition. And to know whether it is Chriftian, jo to do to others as you would not be done to, is fettled, as I remember, fome where or other; fo I need not argue it.

Saving the few lines, p. 10, which the above refers to, I like the Sermon well; but that curfed habit, imbibed very early, of applauding fuccefsful generous highwaymen, leads one into terrible fcrapes when one fets about to manufacture fuch a warp with a Chriftian weft. Charles the 12th muft have been a devilish good' Chriftian. What pity your Alexanders, &c. had not the fame advantages! 1 think a Roman general had not the greater triumph, unle's he had flain a certain number of men. To darken their splendour, I fuppofe the number muft have been increafed for a clever Chriftian triumph.

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And now having, I think, almoft writ a fermon likewife, I thank you once more, & remain, fir,

Your obliged, and
Obedient humble fervant,

But I do not fo well like the application of Chriftian virtue, to enable a nation "to darken the Roman Splendour, T. B. Bayley, esq.

G. SAVILE.

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ORIGINAL

ODE TU SOLITUDE.

FAR from Ambition's felfifh train,
Where Avarice rules the bufy day,
And patient Folly "hugs his chain,"

Enflav'd by Cuftom's ruthless fway, Lead me, calm fpirit! to fome ftill retreat, Where Silence shares with thee the blooming mead,

Save when at diftance heard, in cadence fweet, The village minstrel tunes his fimple reed. There, free from cares, from jarring paffions free,

Oft may I ftrike the lyre, fweet Solitude! to thee.

When orient Morn, in blufhing pride, Profufely sheds the glift'ning dew, Oft let me c'imb the mountain's fide, And raptur'd mark the varied view. When Noon directs on earth his parching ray; Then let me find the cool, the peaceful flade, Form'd by embow'ring oaks, in firm array,

O'er fome fmall ftream that rustles through
the glade.

Thither let Fancy lead her magic band,
And o'er my fenfes wave her foul-entrancing

wand.

Bu when at eye the curfew's knell
Winds flowly thro' the dusky grove,
Pentive I'll feek the rural cell,

Or 'midst the gloom in filence rove; And when from village fpire the folemn tull Yields its fad tribute to the breathlefs clay; As calm Reflection fteals upon my ful,

The tear unmark'd fhall take its filent way; And mournful oft I'll cull the violet's bloom, Heave the fad foothing figh, and drefs the claycold tomb.

When Midnight fpreads her blackest robe,
And arouds in fullen mifts the sky;
When Terror rules the filent globe,

And phantoms mock the fearful eye; Parent of all! who fe voice the winds chey, The raving ocean, and the black'ning form, Yet ftoop'ft to guide the sparrow on his way, And hed'it thy mercy on the firuggling

worm !

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THE light of Memory, ftruggling thro' the gloom,

Awakes to life the tenant of this tomb;
Reftores each mild, majeftic matron grace,
Dwells on the form, and lingers on the face;
In strong delufion waits to hear her speak,
And fees the bloom juft mantling o'er the check,
Her mind recals the varied love lines,
The power to warm, to harmonize, to bless;
The tranquil conftancy in acting right,
And the fine fenfe of elegant delight;
Her breaft by duty warm'd, by goodness grac'd,
While round it play'd the lambent flame of

tafte.

Hers, every charm that could in courts prevail,
Her charm and choice to fteal along the valc.
Hers, the full fweetnefs of domeftic life,
The friend, the daughter, fifter, mother, wife
The wife-O thou whom moft my foul de-
In whom I liv'd, with whom my blifs ex-
fries,
pires!

In vain does Memory pierce this mortal gloom;
Thy husband fees, and only fees--the tomb.

ELEGY

UPON THE LOSS OF A FRIEND.

WHILST others wildly run in Pleasure's course,

And fcorn pale Mifery's fadly plaintive figh, I weep, unheeded victim of remorse,

Ah! whither, whither, fhall the wretched fly?

But now my bofom fwell'd with easy mirth;

But now it flow'd with fympathetic joy; Each fweeter from charm Friendship took its

birth:

Fool that I was! fuch bleffings to deftroy.

Hackney, June 26, 1796.

G. W.

And

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ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF ANIMATION. [Vide DARWIN's Zoonomia, Vol. I.] Inditel on a journey on horfeback laft winter, and travelling late at night.

THOU! whofe prefence none can trace
'Midft all the fons of ADAM's race,
Nor tell, or where, or when,
Or how thou fprang'it to life at first,
Or in what corner thou waft nurst

Of this frail houfe of men:

Dear to my head, my heart moft dear,
SPIRIT OF ANIMATION! hear,

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Nor let our union end.

I own, without thee I'm undone :
And where could'it thou for fhelter run,

Should't thou defert thy friend?

I know thy alderman defire

For drink and reft, or food and fire,

Whilft I am cold and wet: But patience til we reach yon inn; I'll ply the then with ale and gin,

And many a dith I'll get.

But mark, when fill'd, no pranks like those Which learned Doctor DARWIN fhows,

Who fays, that when thou't full,
Thou'rt apt to play men fnany a trick,
And frifk about, and tots, and kick,
Just like a mad town-bull.

This house, remember, thou art in,
Is but of clay, and built but thin,

And fon is pull'd to pieces:

Yet thould't thou rend this houfe in twain,
Perchance thoul't not a better gain,
Nor one on longer leafes.

ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE
IN HIGH LIFE.

I SIGH, fair injur'd franger! for thy fate;
But what fhall fighs avail thee? thy pour heart,
'Mid all the "pomp and circumftance" of state,
Shivers in nakedness. Unb dden, start
Sad recollections of Hope's garifh dream,
That thap'da feraph form, and nam'd it Love,
Its hues gay-varying, as the onent beam
Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove.
To one foft accent of domeftic joy,

Poor are the fhouts that shake the higharch'd dome;

Thofe plaudits, that thy public path annoy, Alas! they tell thee---Thou rt a wretch at home!

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O then retire, and weep! Their very woes
Solace the guiltles. Drop the pearly flood
On thy fweet infant, as the FULL-BLOWN
rofe,

Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighb'ring BUD.

And ah! that Truth fome holy fpell might lend

To lure thy wanderer from the fyren's power; Then bid your fouls infeparably blend, Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.

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Troubling his wilder'd phantafy, have led Amid the dim damp manfions of the dead, Or from fome precipice's giddy height Abruptly thruit; when moming's orient ray Wakes him to tafety, loves to ponder o'er The vifion'd terrors terrible no more; So I look back on the departed day. When as

journeyed along Life's dull road, Hope fed my wounded bofom, fulln Care Sat on my brow, and fernly fad De pair Courted to reft within his dark abode ; The fad lyre echoed then the penfive fong, Yet footh'd the wearying hours that lingering lagg'd along.

TO

RECEIPT

B.

MAKE A SALLY-LUN (a well-known cake at Bath.)

Written by the late Major DREWE, of Exeter.

NO more I heed the muffin's zeft,
The Yorkshire cake, or bun,
Sweet Mufe of Paftry! teach me how
To make a Sally-Lun.'

Take thou of lufcious wholesome cream
What the full pint contains,
Warm as the native blood which glows
In youthful virgin's veins.

Haft thou not feen in olive rind,
The wall-tree's rounded nut?
Of juicy butter juft its size,

In thy clean paftry put.

Haft thou not feen the golden yolk,
In chrystal fhrine immur'd;
Whence, brooded o'er by foft'ring wing,
Forth fprings the warrior bird?
Oh! fave three birds from favage man,

And combat's fanguine hour;
Crush in three yolks the feeds of life,

And on the butter pour.

Take then a cup, that holds the juice,
Fam'd China's faireft pride:

Let forming yeaft its concave fill,
And froth adown its fide.

But

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TO A CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.

AH! ceafe thy fhrill-pipe, LITTLE SWEEP,
Nor raife thefe aching lids to weep!
When DAWN, arrayed in pearly white,
Sits on the fhadows of the night,
Then, gentle dreams in gambo's bound
And light-drawn flumbers glide around,
Then, rofy Fancy takes the chains
And leads us o'er enchanted plains;
Then, do not wake me LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

Thy clarion loud I hate to hear,
And, dreading Thee, I fleep in fear:
For fleep is all the good I know,
The filky veil which hides my woe.
No bright ideas gild my bed,
No lively hopes their treafures fhed:
A dreary, vapid, joyless fcene,
Is ALL my grave and me between.
Pafs filent on then, LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

How fad it feems, when flumbers fly,
And fun-beams blaze along the sky,
To feel no fun-beam in the mind!
There, all is dark, and cold, and blind.
Then MEMORY, on impy wings,
Her retrofpective poifon brings,
And EXPECTATION, blacker ftill,
Bids deep Defpair my bofom fill.

Hufh, hufh thy cry then, LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

País on, pafs on, thou ling'ring child,
Nor roufe me with thy fhriekings wild.
To blissful dwellings fpeed thy way,
For they with transport meet the day.
No linnet hath a fofter note,

Than that which tears thy ebon throat,

When to a happy ear it speaks,

And every drowsy cincture breaks;
Then fcream not here, thou LITTLE SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

ONCE, charming was my waking hour,
When fweet reflections knew my bower;
When fpringing from my couch of balm,
My views were gay, my heart was calm;
When laughing pleasure at my board
Spread out its ever-fparkling hoard;
When friends and filial Cherubs fmil'd,
And of its thorn each care beguil'd.
Now!--Wake me not, O CRUEL SWEEP,
For I only wake to weep.

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TO THE LILIES OF THE VALLEY.

By the Rev. J. BIDLAKE, of Plymouth. YE lowly children of the fhelter'd vale, Like modeft worth by fcornful pride difdain'd,

Your little, fleeting life,

Who wafte unfcen, unknown,

In verdant veil how bashfully enwrap'd,
Ye fhun the officious hand, the fearchful fight,
With down-caft, penfive eye,

And ever-mufing heads!

Ah! when I view your meek, your humble mien,

And all your highly breathing fragrance taste,
How bleeds my fad❜ning foul,

For unprotected worth!

How bleeds to think, that mortal excellence
Is doom'd to live forgot, unheeded die!
For in your fhort-liv'd charms
Are pictur'd well its fate.

For ye, ere yet the morning's rifing gale
Shall wing its early courfe, may ccafe to greet
With the fweet brea h of love

The wakeful wanderer's way.

Nor longer, virtue's boaft! a little day,
A little hour, fhe blooms! Nor can her pow'r
Us helpless victims fhield

From the unpitying grave.

Then come, my Anna's faithful bofom deck: For ever there true worth, true wisdom dwell. Congenial to your state,

Soft in that heaven rest.

There fhall no bufy infect dare obtrude
Your fweets to rifle with perfidious kifs;
While ye more fragrance tatte

Than in your native beds.

Your higheft incenfe breathe, to cmulate Thofe more than op'ning morning's pureft fweets,

That fit on rofy lips Of smiling chastity.

A CORRECT

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