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The Genertrus C&tntry-Maid supposing all shame should abandon me, you would soon fly from my company, with as much ardor as you have sought it. I should not only have the crime to lament, but the additional mortification of knowing myself despised. You are a man of honour, and, as such, I beg you would answer me. Do I raise improbable conjectures ? Would not one of these three particulars be the inevitable consequence r" " No, beloved Angelica," answered the marquis; "and to prove how far my affection will carry me, condescend to make me happy, and I'll go directly to your father and ask his consent. You, surely, can have no objection to marrying me?"

Angelica was some time before she could reply. She seemed agitated; but soon recollecting herself, replied, "No; I will not consent. I should be unworthy of the tender sentiments you feel for me, if I accepted a proposal your passion alone has extorted from you. This passion will not long continue. I know who you are, ana what I am myself: ignoble by birth, and destitute of fortune, you would soon repent your folly in giving me your hand, and I should then be the most unhappy of women."

"Banish such suspicions," replied de Clerville, " they are injurious to me; I love you: flatter me with an adequate return, and we can never be unhappy. Felicity is not to be expected from an illustrious birth, and a superfluity of riches ; these are gifts of fortune; you possess, what I esteem in a much higher degree; your virtue, your beauty, would adorn a throne." "Alas! your love," replied Angelica, " has blinded your reason. Reflect, Sir, we should not barter the happiness of a whole life for the enjoyment of a moment. This beauty ou so highly value, and which fancy as strangely magnified, is of short duration; the least accident is furfi

cient to deface it; and, even admits ting this should never happen,, a few years will tarnish its lustre. Whea the figure no longer pleases, the idea you had conceived of my good fense would soon diminish, and be reduced to its just value, which, in itself, is trifling indeed. It requires very little attention to perceive that the figure of a woman often gives the whole merit to her conversation; and that it would even appear insipid from any other mouths. The time will ccme when I must be reduced to this exigence. As to my character, how should you be acquainted with it? Two months marriage would perhaps discover in me such a capricious temper as would drive you to despair. No, I repeat it again, I never will consent to make you unhappy. Let us often see, and sincerely love, each other. I shall never accuse myself for being sensible of your worth; and shall always permit my heart to follow its natural inclination. This is all I can do; and assure yourself, if I lov'd you less, I should not refuse your offer."

The marquis, when he visited Angelica, was not absolutely resolved to marry her; but the resistance she

made determined him. He used

every argument in his power to persuade her, but in vain. At length he told her, " he would endeavour to obtain the interposition of her father." "If you engage his authority in your favour," said she, " I will immediately take the veil. I would rather sacrifice myself than make you miserable, and expose you to a repentance that would embitter the remainder of your life, and myself to the perpetual chagrin which would inevitably follow."

De Clerville, more enamoured than ever, left her, and repaired to her father. Boissart, surprized at what he heard, visited his daughter, and earnestly entreated her to consent;


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but she answered him in the same manner she had done the marquis; and at last, certain that they would take her from the convent, declared, if they offered the lealt force, she should, on that instant, become a nun, and consequently shut herself up for ever.

The marquis again went to fee her, and accused her of no longer loving him. She repeatedly assured him, ** if she loved him less, she should act in a very different manner." De Clerville, finding nothing could subdue her resolution, took leave of her, and repaired to Paris. He flattered himself, that, in a continual round of pleasure, he should soon lose every idea of his love; but he was mistaken; his passion was too deeply rooted to be thus eradicated. He returned to the country, and flew,

more enraptured than ever* to the* convent. He found Angelica still the fame. She saw her lover with pleasure, but continued the same. Vexed and distressed with her resistance, he fell dangerously ill. She heard, with grief, the state of her beloved marquis: her father prevailed on her to leave the cloister. She saw de Clerville, and wa< affected at his situation. Time and reflection, at length got the better of her delicacy. The health of the marquis was soon restored; and Hymen joined the hands of these tender lovers.

The marquis is now the happiest of men. He always finds in Angelica a tender, delicate and sensible woman, a sincere friend and faithful wife, and feels no other pain than that which arises from the thought of never being able to deserve her.

To the Editors Gentlemen,

IAm sorry to perceive, that the present situation of public affairs is such (if authentically represented) as cannot fail to alarm, and engage the attention of every rational and contemplative individual, who is a native of the dominions of GreatBritain, and the territories thereunto belonging. While a civil war, or universal diffentions, have, for sometime past, disturbed our tranquility at home, we are now threatened with foreign hostilities from various quarters abroad.

However, Sirs, our great men, ■who, at that time, presided at the helm of national affairs, were pleased to ridicule the populace for finding fault with, or criticising on the terms of the negociation, they had thought fit (from motives best known to themselves) to conclude with our enemies — whom we had, with a vast expence, and the loss of many millions of our countrymen's lives, re


Berwick upon Tweed, Sept. IZ, 1768. duced so low, as that they were rendered unable to contend with us anylonger; and who, therefore, found themselves necessitated to submit to an accommodation which we certainly might then have made as advantageous to ourselves as we pleased; however much, I say, Sirs, our mightysi—tesm—n were inclined to sneer at the mob (as they are pleased to stile them) for pretending to judge the preliminaries of the peace to be inadequate to the satisfaction we ought to have obtained, and likely to be soon broke through — it now appears too evident, that the sentiments and predictions of the people were but toojustly grounded.—I am sure, however, that we have never yet experienced those genial blessings which we might, with propriety, have expected from the conclusion of so victorious and successful a war.

Notwithstanding, Sirs, I have been frequently told, I have nothing to do



Ob the present Situat.

vr'iih politics, by those insipid, and barren geniusses, whose narrow faculties are too contracted to contemplate, or exercise their reason in any other sphere than that in which they have been bred; (and, perhaps, not very well in that neither) notwithstanding, I fay, Sirs, this pretended friendly advice, I have been excited to reassume this subject, from my reading in the periodical papers, a few days ago, the subsequent paragraph: "We hear, that our minister havirg lately made representations at the French court, about the farther (demolition of Dukirk, received for answer, that if any more complaints were made on that subject, twenty thousand men should be sent to Dunkirk immediately, to reinstate those works which had already been demolished."

Surely, gentlemen, however wise we may think ourselves, and whatever

may be the abilities of our m s,

there is not a nation in Europe so imperceptible of luture events, so easily imposed upon, or so dull to descry, or anticipate the treachery, dissimulation, and secret designs of our enemies.

It required, gentlemen, but very little penetration to discover, that the French, in the last war, submitted to make peace with us, from no other excitements than because they were not—as I have said before—in a capacity of opposing any longer the invasions of Great Britain :—and as we have been deceived by them so often, it was as easy to foresee, that they would certainly, from our giving back almost every island we had taken from them, renew their assaults, as soon as .ever they had repaired their fleets and armies; which it is now (if we have not lost all our fenses, and I hope we have not) clearly demonstrable, was what excited them to put a stop to hostilities for a time; wherefore, f s, of no very exVol. I

■en ofpublic Affairs. 101 tensive wisdom, yet possessed of some, and animated with a generous and ardent zeal for the welfare of their country, and the tranquility of their fellow-subjects; such as of old dignified the Roman empires; would . have taken care to have bound such

slippery offenders in the strongest chains, in order to have secured them from so speedy a revolt. For I look upon the preceding impertinent an- . swer to our ambassador's representations (if true) to be a sufficient declaration of war.— Instead of which, every intelligent person must allow, that our peace has been absolutely nothing more than a mere suspension os arms, for the purposes, on the side of our enemies, beforementioned;—while we, on our part, have very composedly observed them, ever since, augmenting their shipping, and increasing their forces, both by sea aspd land. .

The French and Spaniards have both very artfully (not much to our credit) amused us, from time to time, with specious and superficial promises of performing the treaty they had been necessitated to sign, 'till they could accomplish their intentions, and sufficiently fortify them-1 selves to re-attack us;—while we^ like easy fools, that can descry po danger, 'till it overtakes us, have given credit to every thing they said; and now, having enjoyed the length of time they wanted for their purpose, whea we urge the execution of their engagements, they very genteelly (ft? use a vulgar expression) bid us, k~-ss their b—ci—dts;—which the populace predicted long ago.

I should not at all wonder, if we should become (as I fear we are Jikely to do) the laughing-stock of all

the other powers of Europe The

demolition of Dunkirk has, we are told, been now absolutely refused us on the side of the French ; and the payment of the Manila ransom wii , P it

d be denied us by the Spaniards, with a reprimand, that (in the language of the French) if txie make any more complaints on that fubjeSl, twenty thousand men /hall be jent immediately to in~ nade England;—so that we mult be obliged to retake ajl those places we very good-naturedly made them a present of, after having been so dearly purchased, before we (hall again Bring them to know themselves ;-— or calmly continue to put up with their insults ;—,which I hope we are not, from any pre-engagements, under the unhappy necessity of doing. • A st—tesiiwn, it is true, may be very much caressed, pro tempore, for submitting to such accommodations, for putting an end to a war too detrimental to our enemies to be continued, and be elegantly entertained with a sumptuous bill of fare, and a few bottles of champaigne j—»but he

it is probable, in a few days more, ought certainly rather to consider,

how much a whole nation will suffer from his unjustifiable conduct, and the illegal gratification of his ambU tion.

Whenever a m- r, whoever ho

may be, makes an inglorious peace, if he does not do it from a want of wisdom to execute, with propriety, the trust reposed in him, he ought

himself to be e d on T 11 j

and if he is really destitute of common understanding, or the abilities requisite for his station, he ought not (tho* he be the son of a d—ke) to he charge ed with commillions of so great importance.

Having, gentlemen, extended my observations to this length, it will, perhaps, be more convenient to you, if I communicate what I farther beg your indulgence of, in another letter, I am, Sir, your's, &c.

W. R Ck.

To the Editors of the OXFORD MAGAZINE,

RestecJions on the private Manner in •which the late Archbishop of Canterbury chose to be buried; together <with an Extract from the If ill of the Reverend John Hales.

QP H E private manner in which the late archbishop of Canterbury chose to be interred, is an indication both of hii merit and his goodness. It seems to have been the general method which men of singular piety have pitched upon tosteal into heaven, Numerous instances may be produced in confirmation of this truth; but as it is a truth that stands in need of no confirmation, I shalt single out only one example, which is no less remarkable than it is laudable.

In the will of the rev. John Wales, canon of Windsor, A. D, 1639, we have the following remarkable passage, "As for my funeral, I ordain, that at the time of the next even-song, after my departure (if conveniently may be) in the church-yard of the town of Eton (if I chance there to die) as near as may be to the body of my little godson Jack Dickenson the elder; and this to be dor.e in a flaiq

and simple manner, "without any sermon, ap ringing the belt, or calling the people together { without any unseasonable commejsajion, or so;»potation, or other solemnity on such occasions usual. And I strictly command my execu-. trix, that neither of her own head, neither at the- importunity or authority of any other, neither upon any other pretence whatsoever, to take upon herself to dispense with ibis point of my will. For at in my life I ba-ve dene the church no service, so tv'ill I not, tbatx in my death, the church do me any honour.''*

The above John Hales was ah excellent di-i vine and critic, and was usually characterised, by the title of ever-memcrable j he was entered at the age of 13, at Corpus Christi college, Oxon, anno 1597; and was elected ftU low, anno 1605. C,C.C. Oxon, pALÆoraims,

to the Pr6prietor5 os the OXFORD MAGAZINE.

to shew him which the verii

Gentlemen, T OOK.1NG over some manuscripts at the

British Museum, I was not a little furprized and entertained with one, which was given by Dr. John Hickcs, numbered 1S45 j and containing several miscellanies, among which is one, number 7, with the following odd advertisement in La;in, " Seven verses of tie Psalms: to ivhicb is prefixed the fo/hfv* trig legendary anecdote c"1 We are informed in the life of St. Bernard, abbot of Clarewell, that the Devil appeared to him once, saying, that he knew seven verses in the Psalms, which, if any one should repeat every day, it would be as meritorious as if he mould read over the whole book of Psalms. But when St. Bernard importuned the Devil to /hew him which they were, and he refused it, the faint immediately replied, ** I know how to b* even with you; for I will r^ad the whole book of Psalms over every day, and so shall not miss those verses." When the Devil heard this, for fear the faint should do so much good,

he consented

I mould be glad if any of your Oxonian,' or Cantab, correspondents would be so kind to point out which these seven verses are, to

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To the Editors of the OXFORD MAGAZINE.

IF the gentlemen concerned in the Oxford Magazine are pleased with the following letter, Vritten to my certain knowledge with no view to publication, but entirely from a family motive, it is quite at their service: the insertion of it may, perhaps, encourage me to contrih more largely hereafter to their agreeable undertaking. Every thing which I may chance to fc you shall be original. Yours, &c.

Dear Sir,

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T T is with much pain that I find, by every * one's account, your conduct to be so reprehensible: flender is my expectation, that this letter of advice will have its proper weight T ith you. He who can relish the low, the profligate, conversation of porters and chairmen, can renounce hit pretensions to a certain degree of respect as a gentleman, can be utterly improvident as to every lucrative advantage in an employment of creditj but far must principally, he who can dare to break almost all the laws of that holy Being who aione gave him capacity to understand them—what are the hopes that such a one will attend to the single voice of a fellow-creature? And yet I must speak to you: the leve which I tear your brother—my amiable huscand—-enjoins me to call upon you to reform a character which disgraces my connection with you. My amiable hulband! blelled Pro\ idence! How does he differ from his sadly-erring brothers! Wherefore, dear Sir, wheicscre, will you allow him thus to surpass you? Surpass you? To be, in plain truth, the only one of the latter branch of your family of whum the * I is not ashamfel? Yes, the world, what*


ever vice there may be in it, always has manifested, and always will manifest, a contempt of the votaries of idleness and sin i else, why gives it not to you, as well as ta him, the heart-felt titles of amiable and good You know, you perfectly know, that he every where respected and loved; and I lieve you as certainly know, (else very your remarks) but if not, I tell it youyou are despised: your conduct is too mean, and too uniformly iniquitous, to be ridiculed yt* to be laughed at would do it too much honours \\% would bring it for the time into notice j it it^-Aaj altogether despised. And can a young man, *U coming into life, calmly endure the though of general contempt? Can he, without a_, effort to unload himself of this most grievous of all burdens, submit to be every wher» flighted? If indeed you had the fortune of Clive, you might say, t( 1 shall not be at tl trouble to deserve the commendation of m kind, I can purchase it; I can buy the plausc of the multitude.*1—-But, de*r your fortune is as far below his, as your vir tue is beneath your brother's: five-and-twenty hundred, or three thousand, pounds will .Æ^rJ^, you a narrow maintenance: out of trade' O % a

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