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"? I am sorry I have degraded you by a propensity to romance. I wanted to • the punishment you have soffered; be a hero, or a poet, or rather a fome

you are an extraordinary young gen- thing supernatural, and it was expe" tleman, and I have no doubt will rience only that could make me more

one day become an ornament to fo- rational. By my repeated intercesciety. Let me, however, caution you fions and politiveness in refusing to enagainst your pallions; they are very gage in any other vocation, my guarpowerful, and while they persuade dians were prevailed upon to buy me a

you that you are doing fomething un- commillion in the army; and I entered “commonly great, or good, may lead it with an incoherent kind of hope

you into very dangerous mistakes. of doing extraordinary things, but " This fortitude and contempt of pain I had not been in it long before I

at your age, would have been be- discovered that more of mechanism yond praise, had they been exerted than courage was required: that I upon a proper occasion; as it is, they must obey orders, and pay a strict recan only be admired: but your ge- gard to trifles; that, in order to rise

nerous protection of the helpless de- to any very superior station, I mult serves every reward and encourage- not only have abilities, but powerful

ment, and I hope you will hereafter friends; and that, without then, it was " consider me as your friend, and not as probable I should remain obscure in

your master. As for your accufers, this, as in any other profession. I was " there is no punishment I can inflict at the battle of Fontenoy; and, though

severe enough for cruelty, cowardice, I encouraged the men under my com" and lying; I shall therefore expel mand, and executed the orders I re" them, left their examples should cor- ceived with the utmost ardour, yet I

rupt others. I perceive you are go- was convinced it was very little in the “ing to intercede for them: but I will power, of an individual to turn the “ spare you the pain of being refused, fortune of the day; for, notwithitand" by telling you I cannot, in justice ing all my heroism, I was wounded * to the other young gentlemen that and taken prisoner. Some time after,

are entrusted to my care, suffer boys, I was exchanged, and sent to England, " of such vicious dispositions to affoci- when it was my fortune to fall weeply “ate with them. Youth is weak and in love with my present wife. “i inconfiderate, and as liable to imi- • Hitherto I had cared but little about st tąte a bad as a good action; it is my riches; nay, indeed, as the poets and " particular duty, therefore, not to per. philosophers I had read usually affected " mic these wicked boys to remain a- to defpife them, I did so too: my « mong them.”

amour however brought me to a severe I have related this adventure, to sense of the want of them. My misshew you the natural warmth and en- tress was the daughter of a very rich thusiastic bent of my temper. I went man, and an heiress; I, a younger through a regular course of education brother, with a small fortune, rather under the gentleman above-mentioned, dimini thed than increased; and as the whose friendship I poffeffed till his peace and half-pay' had deprived me Ceath, and to whose advice and in- of any farther hopes from the army, I struction I am greatly indebted. It had no apparent means of augmenting was the intention of my guardians that my wealth. This made me reflect on I should study the law, and become a the absurdity of those v fionary hopes counsellor. I however had other views; in the contemplation of which I had for though, it is certain, no profession formerly indulged myself. I began to requires greater acuteness and abilities perceive there was no arriving at perthan this, yet as it is become common- fection in any art, or knowledge or place to call it dry, tedious, knavith, eminence in any station, but by graand fo-forth, it was little alluring to dual and almost imperceptible degrees: a mind like mine, that had so strong my passion was violent, I saw no pro


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bable means of obtaining a fortune in to be prudent and assiduous, yet while 'stantaneously, nor of gaining the wo- I feel I have many weaknesses myself, man I loved without one. The father I trust I Mall always have philanthropy of Mrs. Egerton suspected our love, enough to look with an eye of pity on which was mutual;, and hinted, in an those of others, though I neither with oblique manner, that he did not wish to encourage theirs nor my own. to see me any more at his house. Af- We are always apt enough to in-, ter turning every kind of scheme in dulge hopes of success when we with my mind, I concluded that the most it. I could not fummon up the couexpeditious way of becoming wealthy, rage to wait on Mrs. Egerton's father, would be by going into the service of and explain myself to him in perfon.. the Eait India Company; which, af- I knew my fortune, though in this its ter consulting with Mrs. Egerton, and improved itate, was by no means equal having changed reiterated promises of to what he had a right to expect from fidelity, I resolved to do.

the husband of his daughter. But as My family connections, and the my family was respectable, and as I money I could command to begin with, had used such efforts to make myself gave the means of going out in a more worthy, I supposed it possible, respectable light: and I embarked, when these things were enumerated, though with an aching heart, not with- that they might have some influence out hopes of returning to enjoy the on the mind of the old gentleman: for fruits of my industry and love. I was which reason I resolved' to write to abroad about three years, during which him, and tell him what I had done for time I gained a considerable fund of his daughter's sake,and what I would do worldly knowledge, and an insight into if he would but permit her to be mine. the ways, motives, and manners of men. I did so, and soon received for answer The facts were some of them not very - the painful mortification of a pofitive much to their honour, but they taught refusal, which threw me into a state me to think more consistently. I do not of despair that had like to have proved mean by this to ceasure the men of fatal to me. An accident, however, the world universally: there are many, accomplished that which all my former within my own knowledge, of the efforts had failed to do. I received ftricteit probity; but there, I have ob- intelligence from Mrs. Egerton that ferved, never, unless by some accident, her father was going into the country, become suddenly rich. For my own under the pretence of taking her to part, I made but moderate advances; enjoy the beauties of the spring, but and this flow progress, with the letters in reality to keep her from the fight of I received from Mrs. Egerton, and the me. I no sooner heard this, but I continual anxiety of so long an absence, resolved to ride after them at a distance, made me resolve to return. When I to follow them down, and to disguise arrived in England, I found I had a myself and live in the neighbourhood legacy left me by a relation. This, while they should remain there. It was added to my little stock, made, in the fortunate for her father that I did fo. whole, almost eleven thousand pounds; I communicated my scheme to Mrs. for I had been as strict an economist, Egerton, and though the dissuaded me while in India, as the natural warmth from putting it in practice, it was in of my temper would permit me to be: a way that hewed The but half disapbut there are weak, indolent, and ún. proved my intention. I therefore exefortunate men in all places, that must cuted my plan, by taking the dress of ever be a tax on the more industrious an ordinary tradesman, hiring a lodgand successful, who have fome pity, ing in the neighbourhood, and prefome generosity, and no excessive de- tending I was ordered by the physicians gree of selfishness, among which num- to live some time in the country for a ber I hope I Mall always remain; for change of air, as being apprehensive though it is incumbent on every man of falling into a consumption; and, as

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ill-health always attends any extraor- ' endeavoured to strangle him, left he dinary agitation of the mind, I had a should wake his servants, before they temporary paleness and dejection that could accomplish their purpose. The made this pretext very plausible. I horror of the attempt made so strong had given Mrs. Egerton so many proofs an impression upon his mind, that of the purity of my intentions, and when he came to himself, and faw the strict honour by which I was ac- his deliverer, he wept, embraced me, tuated, that I had prevailed on her, clasped my hand, blessed me, called while in town, to admit me to con- me his son, his best son, his preserver, verse with her, in the presence of her and seemed delighted that he could, in maid, in an evening, when her father some measure, bestow a recompence was gone to rest; and this, in conse- for the service I had done him by givquence of the presting earnestness of ing me his daughter. my solicitations, was repeated in the * You may easily imagine the tempocountry. One evening, about mid- rary flow of happiness that succeeded; night, when the whole house, except it was all rapture, love, gratitude, Mrs Egerton and her maid, was gone thanks, acknowledgments, and conto bed, and every thing was still and gratulations. But these violent delights filent, as we were fitting indulging cannot long exist; they have too often, our melancholy, and renewing those as Shakespeare expresses it, violent protestations of constancy which lovers ends*. This, however, happily, has never think can be often enough re- not been my case: they have subsided peated, we heard a noise over our heads, into a calm and temperate tranquillity. in the chamber, where her father flept, New scenes opened upon me. I beas of persons walking without their came a father; when the anxieties of a shoes. . We were all alarmed, Mrs. parent, with the experience I had Egerton particularly; who exclaimed, had, foon made me regard my former • Good God! there is somebody in visionary schemes in a more sober and

my father's room, going to murder rational light. It is true, they left a “ him, perhaps.” We listened, and pre- warm glow upon my mind, that has sently heard persons speaking in a low always kept it alive to certain sensavoice, who were answered by the old tions, which those who have once pofgentleman; this was almost immedi- fessed never with entirely to lose. It ately succeeded by a noise of ttruggling, has enlarged my ideas, and given me and the father's begging for God's fake a habit of extending my views to obthat they would spare his life. I in- jects that, with some people, are out ftantly snatched up the poker and the of fight. I encourage the effusions of candle, Alew up stairs, and burst open fancy, I remember the agreeable dreams the door, where I beheld the old gentle- of my youth with pleasure, and some man gasping for breath, beneath two of them I have realized. villains who were endeavouring to • One of my chief cares has been the ftrangle him. My appearance was

My appearance was so education of my children. I can nesudden, and the force of guilt fo strong, ver forget the strong impression readthat I made an easy conqueft. The ing made upon me, when very young. house was instantly alarmed by the This, I am convinced, may be turned cries of Mrs. Egerton and her maid, to the greatest advantage, by those and the servants coming to my affift. who have the care of youth. Moral ance, the affaffins were bound and fe- tales, well told, in which the good and cured. It appeared they were disfolute ill effects of the passions are conspicufellows in the neighbourhood. They ops, have a greater influence over the had crept into the house, concealed conduct of the youthful mind, and will themselves under the bed, waited till do more in the improvement of the they supposed every body gone to heart, than punishment or advice can reft, and then, after having obliged ever effect. We are the creatures ofimi. she old gentleman' to deliver his keys, tation, and our most prevalent paffion is Romeo and Juliet.




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vanity. This is the rein by which the feffed, prevarication and fallhood, after kilful instructor should guide his pupil. a certain age, have feldom been ato Till a certain age, fear and correc- tempted by our pupils. It is in contion should have their influence; after sequence of such methods, that our that, praise and example will be most little fociety has acquired an air of prevalent. This, at leaft, is my opin freedom and fimplicity; that cannot nion. For this reason, I have adopted exist where artifice is not despised. the method I use at present. I have There is a natural aversion in the mind formed a reading-fociety among my

to confess its foibles. Vanity is conown family. My children afsemble tinually intent upon drawing comevery day in the library. History and parisons in its own favour, and this biography are the great resources, as principle is inseparable from humanity. these furnish continual and real exam- 'To correct it, to make the mind open ples of the effects of the pailions; to to conviction, and willing to observe these are added, such tales of fi&ion and detect its real motives, is pecuas I think well calculated to point out liarly the duty of teachers. Eftimable the good or ill consequences of par- as scientific knowledge is, this know. ticular virtoes and vices. It has been ledge is far more estimable, because a constant fource of delight to me, to upon this depends our happiness, and

, observe the progress of the mind, and the execution of all the social duties. the natural propensity of the human • Our family meet every evening heart to rectitude and virtue. I have (except interrupted by being vifited, or five children, three boys and two girls, going to visit) in the library; which the eldest is nineteen, and the youngest is very commodiously adapted for either eight. They have all been educated a fummer or a winter room, There at home, because I have been afraid are folding doors that open to the park. of their contracting the bad habits of In the front is an extensive and varietheir companions, had I sent them to gated landscape, which includes fome. fchools. I am fensible this mode of of the most beautiful scenery that this edacation has its disadvantages, but as part of England affords. On the right it has been the business and the delight is a stupendous craggy rock, that proof myself and Mrs. Egerton, to apply jects from the side of a high mountain, ourselves to this, and this only, and both of which are seen over a very spaas we have been fortunate in finding cious foreft. These form a delightful men of genius to aslift us in the talk, contrast to the fresh verdure, the water, I am inclined to suppose we have avoid- the cattle, and other pastoral subjects ed many of the inconveniences, and immediately in fight. On the left is supplied fome of the defe&ts.

the pleasure-garden, the shrubbery, and "There is one thing we have been the nursery. The scene is so capacious, particularly attentive to, which is, can- and presents itself in such a variety of dour. We have always spoken our forms, and with such a profufion of sentiments with simplicity and sinceri- objects, which the alteration of the ty. We have never disguised our mean- seafons, and other accidental causes are ing by endeavouring to deceive a continually diversifying, that the eye, child into virtue; for we believe all is never tired. When the weather perdeceit to have a dangerous tendency. mits the doors are thrown open; when We have encouraged truth and open- it is very fine we sit on the outside, and ness, and taken every possible precau- enjoy the sunshine or cool shade, as tion to detect, punish, and expose, the circumstances invité; in winter the contrarý. We have talked to our chil- room is sufficiently warm for the feaa dren rather as friends than masters, fon, and we still enjoy the fatisfaction and have become their confidants; for of contemplating nature, amidst hoar as we have never expected perfection, frosts, snows, clouds, ftorms, and all but have been always ready to forgive the magnificence of her distress.' errors that have been ingenuously con




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THERE is my love! (pale Mary cried, THILE war's fierce standards wave upon
Her tender brain distraught with sor-

the plain,

Oft do our virgins mourn a lover Nain; Where is my love! so late the pride,

Oft the fond bride her husband's death deplore, So late the blooming pride of Yarrow !

And parents part with fons, to meet no more. Tell him, my fond, my aching heart,

Ye hapless train, who have these sorrows known, To him was true, was constant ever:

In hearing Laura's woes, forget your own; Oh, let us meet! no more shall art,

Lament che fate, the matchless truth revere, No more shall envy, make us sever!

Of Laura bleeding on her lover's bier.

Ye British youths, pour the lamenting strain Tell him, the false deceiver came,

O'er Henry, in the cause of Britain Nain. With many a well-concerted story:

Where Sol's fierce rays through fhady vallies That Connal blasted Mary's fame;

beam, Her fame, the tender virgin’s glory!

And gentle Iber rolls his silver stream,

There liv'd a gentle maid, unknown to fame, Tell him-But, ah! mistaken maid!

In beauty rich, and Laura was her name. Who shall speak peace to the departed?

All-bounteons Heaven had adorn'd her mind Or who fall foothe the fleeting shade

With ev'ry charm that captivates mankind; Of a fond lover broken-hearted ?

Virtue in her fajr breast had fix'd her throne, Ye kind companions of my woe,

And Wisdom call'd the blooming maid her own. Whose tender bofoms melt with sorrow,

Amid the youths who figh'd at Laura's feet, Lead me where Connal lies fo low:

Would Henry oft his love-fick tale repeat; Perhaps, distracting thought! to-morrow By manly charms distinguish'd from the rest;

The first in power, as in worth, confess’d. My eye might wander o'er that face,

Laura, whose noble mind shunnd all disguise, Which now midst thousands 'twould discover, Check'd not the melting softness in her eyes, And memory refuse to trace

And scorn'd o'er a fond heart to tyrannize. The features of my injur'd lover!

She fix'd the day, she nam'd the happy hour,

When he should lead her to the nuptial bower. Ah, me! is that the youthful cheek

'Tis vain with the decrees of Heaven to strive; Where health and beauty late were glowing?

That hour, 'twas fated, never should arrive! Is that the eye which shone so meek;

For while the maids prepare the choral lay, The lip from which soft sounds were flowing?

And rural sports, to celebrate the day; Oh! yet if near this fatal tide,

While Henry, panting for his Laura's charms, Too kind and too deserving lover;

Expects the morn that gives her to his arms;

And Laura, with sweet virgin modefty,
If here, where truth, where honour died,
Thy tender fpirit loves to hover;

Shuns the triumphant gaze of Henry's eye;

Ah, luckless pair! see, each fond with is lost; To Mary's agonizing heart,

The treach'rous Frenchmen land on Jersey's coaft! With penitence and forrow breaking,

With fire and sword our hated foes invade Guide, quickly guide! the icy dart,

The soft recess of Jersey's peaceful shade; That death is, yet at distance, shaking! Like lions, rush at midnight on their prey,

Whilft rape and murder mark their ruthless way. And at this spot, ye weeping fair,

At length young Henry led a chosen train, Sweet flowers and sweeter tears bestowing,

To oppose the wild invaders on the plain; Still dread your firft vows to forswear,

His martial ardour fired every breast; And here let every sweet be blowing!-

The lover and the foldier shine confess'd. The kindly tear refus'd to flow,

On, on, my friends! (he cried) maintain your Nor longer did the maiden languith;

right! Befide her lover, cold and low,

For honour, love, and liberty, we fight!

On every fide the trembling cowards fly, She sunk, at once, oppress’d with anguih.

And leave the field to us and victory. There, on her Connal's early grave,

But Henry fell a bleeding facrifice, Who fell by false detraction's arrow,

And in his country's quarrel nobly dies. Silent she sleeps, beside the wave,

His comrades, weeping, place him on a bier, The melancholy wave of Yarrow!

And to his aged fire the hero bear. * See the beautiful Poem of Connal and Mary, in Mr. Harrison's Collection, Vol. IV. p. 385. VOL. III.



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