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“ DEAR SIR, Nov. 19, 1738. “I OFTEN think of you, and am quite of the Thames

. And yet I think I have less vexed at the distance we live at. It dependence on others, and others less on me, frets me to think I must be writing, to tell than most men I have ever known ; so that you how much I esteem and love you, from I should be free. So should a female friend time to time, when all the common proofs, of ours; but Habit is her goddess ; I wish the little o.fices and attentions of friendship, I could not say worse, her tyrant. She not are intercepted between us, which so much only obeys but suffers under her, and reason better express, and fo much better reward and friendship plead in vain. Out of Hell and continue real affection. Half the life of and out of habit there is no redemption. my heart [if I may so call it) feels numb'd. " I hope the season is now coining that I'm like one who has received a paralytick drives friends together, as it does birds, into froke, and is dead on one side, when half warm coverts and close corners, that we the friends that warmed me are absent. I may meet over a fire, and tell the stories of would fain fuave you see how happy I am in

Indeed the town hours of the the acquiring my Lord Bolingbroke, tho' day fuit as ill with my stomach, as the wintry but for a few months. 'Tis almost like re- and dark nights do with my carcase, which covering one (rom the grave whom we gave I must either expose abroad, or fit and blind for gone ; however one can't expect to keep my eyes with reading at home. I wish your him long, one rejoices in the present mo- eyes may grow no worse ; mine do, and ments.

make me more concerned for you. « It feems hard that when two friends “ Take care of your health ; follow not are in the same sentiments, and with the the feasts (as I have done) of lords ; nor fame things, they mould not be happy toge- the frolicks of ladies ; but be composed, yet ther: but Habit is the Mistress of the World; clearful; complaisant, yet not a Nave. I and whatever is generaily said, has more am, with all truth and all affection, fway than opinion. Your's confines you

Dear Sir, Your's ever, to the Wolds of Yorkshire, mine to the Banks

“ A. POPE.''

the year.

ESSAY on SNUFF-TAKING. By EARL STANHOPE. EVERY profeffed, inveterate, and incu- Hence if we suppose the practice to be

rable snuff caker, at a moderate compu- perlisted in forty years, two cntire years of tation, takes one pinch in ten minutes. the ruff-taker's life will be dedicated to

Every pinch, with the agreeable ceremony tickling his nose, and two more to blowing it. of blowing and wiping the nose, and other The expence of snuff, snuff-boxes, and incidental circumstances, consumes a minute handkerchiefs, will be the futject of a second and a half.

ellay, in which it will appear, that this lux. One minute and a half out of every ten, ury encroaches as much on the income of allowing fixteen bours to a snuff-taking day, the snuff-taker as it does on his time; and amounts to two hours and twenty-four mi- that by a proper application of the time and putes out of every natural day, or one day money thus lost to the public, a fund might out of every ten.

be constituted for the discharge of the naOne day out of every ten amounts to 36 tional debt. days and a half in a year.

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ODE for the NEW YEAR,
Written by the Rev. T. WARTOX,

Poet Laureat.

RUPE was the pile, and maffy procf,

That first upreard its haughty root
On Windfor's brow fublime, in warlike

ftate :
The Norman tyrant's jealous hand
The giant fabr.c proudly plann'de
With recent victory clate,

« On this majestic ftecp, he cried,

A regal fortress, threatening wide, Shall spread my terrours to the distant hills;

Its formidable shade shall throw

Far o'er the broad expanse below, Where winds you mighty Alcod, and

amily fills With flowery verdure, or with golden

grain, The farcit fields that deck my new


And foe ;


And London's Towers, that reach the Or, arm’d to strike, in mercy spare, the

watchman's eye, Shall fee with conscious awe my bulwarks And lift thy thund'ring hand, and then withclimb the sky."

hold the blow.
l'rchang'd thro' many a hardy race, INVOCATION HORROR

Stood the rough dome, in sullen grace ;
Still on its angry front defiance frown'd: FAR be remov'd each painted scene !
Tho' Monarchs kept their state within, What is to me the earth 5 soft dye ?

What is to me the sapphire sky?
Soll murmur'd with the martial din
The gloomy gate-way's arch profound; Or fragrant vales which fink between

Those velvet hills? Yes, there I see-
And armed forins, in airy rows,
Bent o'er the battlements their bows,

(Why do those beauties burst on me?) And blcort-stain'd banners crown's its

Pearl-dropping groves bow to the sun;
hoftile head :

Scizing his beams, bright rivers run
And ost its hoary ramparts wore

That dart redoubled day:
The rugged scars of conflict fore;

Hope ye, vain scenes, to catch the mind

To torpid sorrow all resign'd, What time, pavilion'd on the neighb'ring

Or bid my heart be gay? mead,

False are those hopes!-- I tuin-Ify, Th’indignant Barons rang'd in bright array

Where no enchantinent meets the eye, Their feudal bands, to curb despotic sway;

Or folt ideas stray. And leagu'da Briton's birthright to restore, From John's reluctant grasp the roll of free- HORROR! I call thee from the mould"ring dom bore,


The murky cburib yard, and forsaken bower,
When lo, the King that wreath'd his

Where 'inidft unwholesome damps,

The vapory gleamy lamps
With lilies pluck'don Cressy's field,

Ofignes fatui Mew the thick-wove night;
Heav'd from its base the mouldring Norman

Where mo:bid MELANCHOL Y sits, frame :

And weeps, and sings, and raves by fits, New glory cloath'd th' exulting step,

And to her borom Grains the fancied sprite.
The portals tower'd with ampler sweep;

Or, if amidnt the arctic gloom
And Valour's foften'd Genius came,

Thou toile ft at thy fable loom,
Here held his pomp, and trail'dite pall Forming the hideous phantoms of Despais
Of triumph thro' the trophied hall :

Insiant thy grilly labours leave,
And War was clad awhilc in gorgeous

With raven wing the concave cleave,

Where fioats, self-borne, the dense nocturnal
Amid the martial pageantries,

While Beauty's glance adjudg d the prize,
And bcam'd sweet influence on heroic Oh! bear me to th' impending cliffs,

Under whcfe brow the dathing skiffs
Nor long' c'er Henry's holy zeal, to breathe Behold Tbse seated on thy rocky throne ;
A milder charm upon the scenes beneath, There, 'midst the shrieking wild wind's
Rcar'd in the wat 'ry glarle bis classic thrine,

And call d his ftripling quire to woo the wil. Thy infuence, Horror, I'll adore,
ling Nine.

And at thy magic touch, congeal to itone.

Oh! hide the moon's obtrutive orb,
To this imperial seat to lend

The gleams of ev'ry itar absorb,
Its pride supreme, and nobly blend

And let CREATIUN be a moment thine !
Eritish Magnificence with Attic Art;

Bid billows darh ; let whirlwinds roar,
Proud Castle, to thy banner'd bowers,
Lo! Picture bids her glowing powers

And the stem, rocky-pointed fhore

The stranded bark back to the waves refign.
Their told historic groupes impart:
She bids the illuminated pane,

Then, whilst from yonder turbid cloud

Thou roll it thy thunders long and loud, Along thy lofty-vaulted Fare,

And lightnings fiallı upon the deep below,
Shed the dim blaze of radiance richly clear.

Let the expiring Saman's cry,
Still may such arts of Peace engage
Their Patron's care ! But should the rage

The pilot's agonizing figh

Mingle, and in the dreadful chorus flow!
Of war to badle rouse the new born ycar,
Britain arife, and wake the Numb'ring fire, Horror! far back thou dat'st thy reign;
Vindictive dart thy quick rekindling ire ! Ere Kings th' bisferic page could ttain


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With records hack, or deeds, of lawless

Ere empires Alexanders curst,

Or faction inad'ning Cafars nurs,
The frighted World receiv'd thy awful dower!

Whose pen JEHOVAR's self inspir’d;
He, who in eloquence attir’d,
Led Irosi's squadoors o'er the earth,

Grandly terrific, paints thy birth.
Th' ALMIGHTY 'midit his fulgent seat on

Where glowing Scrațbs round his footstool by,
Beheld the wanton cities of the Plain),
With acts of deadly name his laws disdain ;

He gare ch' irrevocable sign,
Which mark'd to man the hate divine ;
And sudden from the starting sky

The Angels of his wrath bit fiy !
Ther!, HORROR ! thou prefidedit o'er the

whicle, And fill'd, and rapt, each self-accusing foul ! Thou didnt afcend to guide the burning

show's On THEE th’ Omnipotent bestow'd the hour ! 'Twas thine to scourge the sinful land ;

I was thine to toss the fiery brand; Eeneath thy glance the temples fell,

And mountains crumbled at thy yell. ONCE MORE tbou'lt triumph in a fiery form, ONCE MORL the Earth behuld ihy diretul

Lo ! at thy voice, from solitary cave,

With hair erect, peeps forth pale FEAR,

Nor will he longer wait to hear, Eut flies with culprit haste a vifionary grave. Amongłt the hollow mountain's Shadowy

cells, Dark-brow'd REVENGE, that strangely


And to himself low-mute'ring talks, While with convullive throb his breast unrated

swells. And gilid Horror in the haunted hall,

That with dread pause, and eye stretch'd


Marks the mysterious spectre glide, Nor dare his flagging knees obey the Phan.

tom's call.

And loft DESPAIR with desolaring cry,

That head- long darts from fome tall


On fire at thick pight's saddest hour, When not a watchmen wakes, and not an

aid is nigh. These all are thine--and barefoot MADNESS too,

Dancing upon the flinty plain,

As tbe' 'swere gay to suffer pain, That sees his tyrant Moon, and raving runs

to woo.


Thin that thou seck, as holy prophets tell, Thy native throne amidst th eternal fmades of HILL!


Alike the mild, benevolent defires

That wander in the pensive grove,

Piiy, and generous-minded Love, To thrill thy kindred pulle, shoot their electric


o D E To Mrs. SIDDON S. THEE Queen of Pathos Mail my proud

Verse hail,
Illußricus Sidvons ! Mould I go,

V. hether to Zerbla's waite ot snow,
O: Esra's cavern'd height, or Tewife's vaunted

Ah! let rot then my fond admiring Muse

Refrain the ardor of her song,

In filent wonder fux'd lo long, Nor thou ! from humble hands the homage

meet refuse.

vale ;

And I will hasten oft from short repose, y

To wake the lilly, on moift bed

Reclining meek her folded head; And chase with am'rous touch the number of

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Or where on Caucasus the fierce storm blows,

Or near the v.olated food

Of Ganges, blushing oft with blood ; Or where his rainbow arch loud Niagara

tnrows. For, nor th' exulting Monarch on his throne,

Tho' grateful nations round him bow,

Is more a Potentate than Tbcu. Feeling, and Sense, and Worth, and Virtue,

are thy own; Ande'en thy pow'rful spell the foulcan (way;

While Synpatry, with meiting eye,

Hangs on thy boíom's te:vid figh, and finds th' unbidden tear down her hot

cheek to itraj

Then will I bathe them in the tears of

morn, That they a fresher gale may breathe,

Ilien will I form a votive wreathe, To bind thy sacred brows,--tą deprecate thy

scorn. But should thou Rill disdain these proffer'd

lays, Which choak d, alas ! with weedy woe,

Like yon, dull ftream can scarcely flow Take from BRITANNIA's Hare the Triumpb of it; Praise.



Or where the Sun, with downward torrid ruy

Kills, with the barb'rous glories of the day! OH Nymph, long fought, of placid mien, I'd dare th' excess of ev'ry clime,

With careless steps, and brow serene ! Grasp ev'ry evil known by time, I woo thee from the tufted bowers,

Ere live beneath that witch's spells, Where liftless pass thy easy hours

With whom no lafting pleasure dwells. Or if a Naiad of the filver wave 'Thou rather lov'ft thy purly limbs to lave

Her lovely form deceives the heart, In some clear lake, whose fascinating face

The tear for ever prompt to start, Lures the soft willow to its pure embrace ;

The tender look, the ready figh, Or, if beneath the gelid rock

And soft emotion always nigh ; Thy (miles all human forrows mocky And yer Content th' insidious fiend forbids Where'er thou art, in earth or air,

Oh! the has torn the numbers from my lids ; Oh! come, and chase the fiend Despatz!

Oft rous'd sny torpid sense to living woe,

And bid chill anguilh to my borom grow. Have I not mark'd thee on the gteen

She seals her prey !- in vain the Spring Roving, by vulgar eyes unseen?

Wakes rapture, thro' her groves to Ang $ Have I not watch'd thy lightsome dance

The roseate Morn's Hygeian bloom When evening's Softend glows advance ! Fades down, unmark'd, to evening's gloom, Dear Goddess, yes! and whilst the ruftic's mirth

Oh SENS13151TY1 thy sceptre sad Proclaims the hour which gives wild gambols

Points where the frantic glante proclaims birth;

TXDI MAD! Supine, l've found thee in the elm-row's Straind to excess, Reason is chain'd thy Nave, inade,

Or the poor Victim fhuns thee in the grave ; Lull’d by the hum returning bees have made,

To thee each crime, each evil owes its birth, Who chary of their golden spoils

That in gigantic horror treads the earth : Finith their fragrant, rosy toils

SAVAGE UNTAM'DI me smiles to drink our With reft-inviting, Qumb'rous fong,

tears, As to their waxen couch they throng. And where's no folid ill, Me wounds with Chaste Nymph! the Temple let me seek

fears Where thou relid'it in lustre meek ;

Riots in lighs, is footh'd when most we My future life to thee I give

smart-Irradiate ev'ry hour I live!

Now, whilst the guides my pen, her PanG's 'Tis true no glowing bliss thy vot'ries know,

within my heart. From thee no poignant extacy can flow;

ANNA MATILDA. But oh! thou thield'it the heart from rankling

O DE pain,

TO DEATH. And Misery ftrikes, when bless'd with thee, in vain ;

THOU, whose remorseless rage Wan Jealousy's empoisoning tooth,

Nor vows nor tears assuage, And Love which feeds upon our youth,

TRIUMPHANT Dtatn!--to thee I raise And holy Friendship's broken tie,

The bursting notes of dauntlefs praise !Ne'er dim the lustre of thy eye.

Methinks on yonder

' murky cloud For thee, it is all Natüre blooms,

Thou sit'st, in majesty severe !

Thy regal robe a ghaitly Throud! For thee, the Spring new charms affumes,

Thy right arm lifts the infatiate {pear ! Nor vainly Aings her blossoms round,

Such was thy glance, when, erst as o'er Nor vainly bids her groves resound;

the plain Her music, colours, odours, all are thine,

Where Indus rulls his burning sand, To thee her months their richest gists consign;

Young Ammon led the victor train, To thee the morn is bright, and sweet the ray

In glowing luft of fierce command : That marks the progress of the sinking day ;

As vain he cried, with thundering voice, Each change is grateful to thy roul,

“ T'he world is mine! Rejoice, rejoice! For its fine vafle no woes controul,

Tbe World I've won 1 - Thou gav'ft the The powers of Nature, and of Art, Alike entrance the easy heart.

withering nod,

Thy FIAT fmote his heart – he funkyma And ob' beneath thy gentle doom

fenfeless clod! Which the calm comforts make their home, di And artebou great ?

Mankind That cruei imp is never found

replies Whose fame such idle songs resound With fad affent of mingling lighs ! Dread SENSIBILITY!--Oh! let me fly Sighs that swell the biting gales Where Greenland darkness drinks the beamy Which fwtep o'er Lapland's. frozen íky,

vales! VOL. XNÍ.


And the red Tropics' whirlwind heat And may it never once be told
'Is with the sad affent replete!

That you are fick, or I am old !
How fierce yon tyrant's plumy creft! Although I'm twice as old, 'tis true,
A blaze of gold illumes his breatt; And twice as ugly, too, as you ;
In pomp of threat'ning pow'r elate, Yet you and I may still agree,
He madly dares to spurn at Fate! In spite of this disparity,
But when Night with thadowý robe Provided we but understand,
Hangs upon the darken'd globe, You to obey, I to command.
In his chamber,--sad,-alone,

Nor is this easy, notwithstanding
By starts, he pours the fearful groan! Our good and gracious understanding
From Hatt’ring crowds retird-he bows the Unless we study, Lady Jane,
is knee,

The good old rule, the golden mean;
And mutters forth a pray's to because uz I to your humours always kind,

And you to all my failings blind. Gayly smiles the Nuptial Bonu'r, Your youth and beauty sec afide, Bedeck'd with many an od rous flowt; Your sex's envy, and their pride, While the spousal pair advance,

In other points we're on a par,
Mixing oft the melting gaze,

Which will prevent each private jar,
In fondeít extacy of praise.

I'll neither call you love nor wife,
Ah! short delusive trance !

Because these words are oft ar strife;
What tho' the festival be there;

Your wit, your humour, and your sense
The rapt Bard's warblings fill the air ; (Although sometimes at my expence)
And joy ard harmony combine !

I must admire ; if I may too Touch but she talisman, and all is ibine ! But have my joke as well as you : Th' insensate Invers fix in icy fold,

To prove, at least, 'swixt you and me, And on his throbbing lyre the Minstrel's hand That rival wits may Nill agree ; is cold!

And this, they fay, no common case is,
"Tis Thou canst querch the Eagle's A wicked pair will break the traces;

But you shall never see the day
That Items the cataract of light!

That makes me grave, if you are gay ;
Fertid the vernal buds to tlow-

And yet, I hope, this many a year
Bend th' obedient forest low-

Good health to you, and me good cbeer. And came the monsters of the main. ill give you up your own, good creature. Such is thy potent reign!

Good-sense and spirit, with good-nature ; W'er earth, and air, and sea!

Good-humour, too, I'd gladly grant Yet, art thou still disdaind by me.

If c'er I thought you were in want ;
And I have reason for my scorn ;-

But, truly, I have none to spare,
Do I not hate the rising morn;

For you have got the greatest Phare ;
The garith noon ; the eve serene ;

Nor am I now alham'd to boast The fresh'ning breeze ; the sportive

That you deserve to rule the roaft ; green;

Yet may I think (although you know it)
The painted pleasures' throng'd resort ; That you have too much sense to Thew it.
And all the splendors of the court?

Contented thus I'll be your flave,
And has not Sorrow chose to dwell Provided you'! my credit fave;
Within my hoe heart's central cell? Call you for supper, or for dinner,
And are not Hope's weak vifions o'er, Say you're a saint, and I'm a finner;
Can Love or rapture reach nie erore?

Do as you please--but rule me so
Then tho' I scorn thy stroke - I call thee

That none who dine or sup may know.

In short, be you my Major Domo,
For in thy calm embrace my weary woes

And I your molt obedient Humo;
Thall end.

If sacrificing sense and spirit
DELLA CRUSCA. Be in your eyes a mark of merit-

But you despise this humble part,

And hate a Jerry in your heart. .

Let's then, in spite of Hymen's bands,

Each play into the other's hands :

And, unlike married man and wife,
On the ANNIVERSARY of her BIRTH- Be happy ev'ry hour of life;

Be you for ever young and gay,

And I live long to sing the day;

A fulfill with ! but shall be sung
In Imitation of Dean Swirt.

Though I am old, and you are young:
HIS day oft may the Muses tell

With this wide difference between,
That I'm alive, and you are well! I thirty-seven, you nineteen,



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