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Poetry.
T/ie story of\a French Conscript.
In Graham’ Georgies there is the following
description of a French Conscript, a basket-maker by
trade, who had been made captive by the British arms,
and was held' a prisoner a long time in Scotland. The
young men of our country, who, but lately, have had £
narrow escape from a similar conscription, will read it
with interest. North. pap.
“ Once I beheld a captive, whom these wars
Had made an inmate of the prison-house,
Cheering with wicker-work (that almost seemed
To him a sort of play) his dreary hou*s.
I asked his story : in my native tongue,
(Long use had made it easy as his own)
He answeredthus “ Before these wars began,
I dwelt upon the willowy banks of Loire :
I married one who, from my boyish days,
Had-been my playmate. One morn I’ll ne’er forget'.
While busy choosing out the pretty little twigs,
To warp a cradle for puj child unborn,
We heard the tidings, that the Conscript-lot
Had fallen on me ; it came like a death-knell.
The mother perished, but the babe survived ; -'
And, ere my parting day, his rocking cbuch
I made complete, and saw him sleeping jsmile—
The smile that played upon the cheek of her
Who lay clay-cold. Alas! the hour soon came
That forc’d my fettered? arms to quit my child'; »
And whether now he lives to deck with flowers
The sod upon his mother’s grave, or liefc
Beneath it by her side, I ne’er could learn :
1 think he’s gone ; and how I only wish
For liberty and home, that I may see.
And stretch myself and die upon the grave.”
EPIGRAMS.
On the report of the Royal family of France beingtaken
in their flight to Varennes, by the King’s stopping to
drink a bottle of Burgundy. :
Sire, said the anxious Queen, for God’s sake think,
What it may cost ns, if you stop to drink.
Ma'am, quoth the King, and tost the bumper down,
You know it cannot cost above a crown.
Young Corydon, a forward blade,
The offspring of a ’squire,
Address’d a lovely blooming maid
Whose fatlier was a dyer.
A dyfcr’s daughter I” cries his dad,
What, marry her ! O fie !”
Why not, sir, says the honest lad;
You know we nil must due.
IHtacellaneno.
FROM THE riIRT FOLIO.
Fragment of a Letter of a Mother to her Daugh
ter, on the Education of 1 oung Ladies, and
on Literary Women.
* * * 15 Coquetry, my dear child, is not
the worst of our qualities. It a coquet of sixteen
have no other desire than to be thought pretty,
site soon learns, that to please, she must be ami
able. Afterward, she wishes to be loved : and,
as they gfqw older, women often cany their co
quetry so far, as to become good.
In all conditions of life, a woman has need to
please ; it is her only medium of authority, and
even of defence. She must lead the will ,of oth
ers, in order to enjoy her own ; she must reign,
lest she be forced to obey. Indeed, while some
restrain all this within the limits of what is re
ally necessary, others stretch it to what is super
fluous. But, she who goes the furthest in this
way, Jias no other object than that of embelishing
the circle of her existence; sh§ who desires ad*
miration, seeks rather to extend it. The one
wishes to be preferred by all who know her ; the
primary object of the other is to be known. The
first makes those who surround her the* objects of
her attention: the second rarely regards them
but as the means of propagating her reputation.
In a word, if the one make a little too much use
of the advantages afforded her by her the
other exceeds all bounds. “ 1 have seen those,”
says Labruyere, “who wished to be girls, and
beautiful girls, from thirteen to twentv-two, and
alter this to become men.” * * * *
Inmyjiine,however, it was asufficiently'agree
able condition in life, to be an amiable woman.
Sue was known precisely on that account which
it was desirable to know her; people did not
<|uote her sayings, but they loved her conversa
tion. As she was too much distinguished to be
resembled by others, and too inartificial not to
be always the same, she was never left but with
a desire to be seen again. The pleasure of\ hor
company, a! ways expected, And neverforo-knowji,
gave to her intercourse that agrceablenessf which
charms and that novelty which attracts. Ease
give the grace, and a certain restraint the value,
leople could not continually say, 1 have seen
Mrs. ***, as we now say, I have read Mrs.
works; and Mrs. conversation could not
be repeated with the same facility as, now, t!te
phrases of Miss ***• we did not quit, without re
gt et, her of whom we could retain nothing but
the remembrance ; and we never sought, but with
eagerness, her who never communicated herself
but with reserve. I cannot easily understand,
how ner conversation can be much desired who
ha* deposited lier best thoughts in a book of which
there ids been two thousand copies printed ; her,
the imest of whose thoughts, and the most ileli
cate of whose 'sentiments, every bookseller will
giv“ for a little silver ; her who has nothing stri
«r ni * n< i> or attractive in her person,
which sac has not generously sacrificed tb the
reputation of her work ?
* A .woman printed, is like a
wo nan posted ; a person whose adventures are
public: it would be pediculous in her to appear
timid; she is at the utmost, allow ed to be mod
edst. If you approach Ker, to speak of her wit,
she must understand you at the first word. It is
anoint settled that she has it. She has publish
ed her knowledge of it. It is evident that, she
wishes for the reputation ; that she is anxious to
be congratulated upon it. She has given all the
world a title to afford her that pleasure. As she
has asked for notice, she ought to manifest her
gratitude, to feel flattered by every species of
and honoured by every specietfof
praise; but all these timidity shuns, modesty re
pels ; and thev often cannot be accepted with
out great humiliation : we are hymbled by them,
my child ; and who would ever have thought hu
miliation one of the results of self love? 1 am riot
sure, indeed, that there was not rather more pride
than modesty in that custom which women for
merly followed, of publishing their works under
the names of their friends. They would have
themselves degrading their dignity in appealing
to court the eyes of the public, and losing it by
fixing them; like that woman who, having always
her bosom much uncovered, never failed to wear
a kerchief before her servants, were it only in go
ing down to her carriage ; “ because,” said she,
“ic was not made for those people.” It was thus
that, not for those people Madame de la Fayette
desired to shine. Hence she chose amongst her
friends, him whose species of genius would ren
der it most easy to believe him the author of the
works she published. It was riot to M. de la Ro
chefoucafiit that she gave her Zaide and Prin
cess of Cleves, her romances appeared under the
name of Segrais ; those of Madame de Tencin
were attributed to Pontdeveyle; and, what is
singular, the comedies of Pontdeveyle were attri
buted to Madame de Tencin. The women of those
times well knew how to establish the reputation
of their wit, without publishing it in their works.
Without ever having seen Ninon, every one still
knows how beautiful she was. ■
The women of the present day imagine that to
be convinced of their beauty, we must absolute
ly have seen it; and that no one will believe their
wit who has not heard it. from their own lips.
They extend, therefore, as widely as they are
able, the number of occular witnesses; they cause
themselves to be printed, some with their names
better known than their wit; and others who, while
they lay bare their wit, refrain, at least, from put
ting their name at hazard. As to the latter, their
sincerity is not believed, and, apparently to com
pensate for their silence, it is said, in the jour
nals, that there has appeared such a work, of
Mrs. such-a-one, who has not given her name.
The name appears in the catalogue, where it is
soon sought for as an article of a dictionary ; for
you know there has appeared a Dictionary of
French Literary .Women, comprehending all who
have existed from the beginning of the monarchy
to the present day, and to to-morrow, if you
please; for there are to be found in it the names
of some who, hitherto have printed nothing.
With respect to these, there is joined to the lists
of the works they have in their port-folio, an eu
logium on their modesty. How delightful it must
be, for a woman to see her modesty printed 1 It
is nearly as if they painted her blushes. You
must be aware after this, with what officiousness
they give you the name and the catalogue of the
works of such or such, who has never given any
thing hut under the veil of anonym a; and who,
in the obscurity of her name, consoles herself a
little, perhaps “for that of her work. * * *
What a charming noise such a work as this
would have made in Madame de Sevigne’s time!
* * * It is true that, during the current year
a thousand and six productions have appealed,
and that we have about an hundred arid fifty liv
ing female authors. * * *
FROM THE DARTMOUTH GAZETTE.
Quid staffs? Nolint; atque licet esse beatis.—Hor.
Neither riches, honours, nor applause, can pur
chase true enjoyment; it is above price, yet it is
free for all: we have only to open the door, and
the smiling form enters, brightening and cheering
all within. Although happiness is thus easily ob
tained, although it solicits admittance to every
heart, many are complaining of their wretched
ness, or envying the seemingly happy condition
of others. Envy is a viper that preys upon the
sonl. Whenever it enters the breast, farewell to
al! the. tender feelings of friendship, all the nobler
enjoyments of the present, and all the pleasing
prospects of futurity. Such as cherish this se
cret, this deadly poison, are truly unwilling to
be. happy. ' •
Religion is a fountain of enjoyment which ne
ver fads. Had the man of pleasure, the coxcomb,
or the coquette, ever tasted of this fountain, all
other enjoyments would become insipid. Reli
gion elevates the soul, disarms the king of ter
rors, and, while it heightens present enjoyment,
conducts the imagination forward beyond the
veil ot time to scenes of peace, innocence, and
love. It sweetens friendship, and it strews flow
ers in the paths of its possessors. The passions,
arid other objects, may indeed prevent its effica
cy, as clouds ami vapours mav obscure the sun;
but it neither admits diminution nor change.
Religion ever wears a smile. But the glooms
ot Atheism destroy the sweetest pleasures of life.
M here is the Athicst’s hope? where his joyful
prospects of futurity ? Alas! He knows them not,
even in imagination. A dark, cloud hovers over
him. The thoughts of God crowd upon his mind:
again he drives them from him and shuns their
approach, as the awful monitors which warm hiir
ol his ruin. Not so with the friends? of religion.
Wher ever nature smiles, it smiles fori them. Are
any happy, they rejoice. Are any in prosperity,
they enjoy the same—ln adversity, thev acknow
ledge the hand of God unseen through the veil of
mortality.
“ As the eye
Bears w itness to the light, or the charm’d ear
To tuneful undulation; so the hearts
Strikes unison to the great law of love,
And prove their goodness all divine.”
ANECDOTE.
A tradesman pressing a gentleman very much
for payment of his bill, the latter said “You need
not be in so great a hurry, I am not going to run
away.” “ I do not imagine you are, Sir,” returned
the tradesman, “ but lam'.' ”
THE S VICIDE.—h FRAGMENT.
'-f******’Twas night; a solemn 'silence perva*
■ ded the. earth, the winds roared in hollow blasts,
■ while the troubled ocean dashed its loaming bil-
• lows against the rocks, and reverberated in sounds
; the most tremendous: the sky was dark and trou
! bled, except when the moon emerged in all her
■ splendor from a heavy-cloud: not a star glittered
in the firmament, but its r appearance foiboded a
? heavy storm, which the agitated fluttering of the
• sea bird seemed also to prognosticate.
I gazed around,and beheld, by the light of .Cyn
thia (which at that moment shone with, uncom-
■ mon lustre,) a tall, elegantly formed, young man;
his head was uncovered, and his hair loosely
: on his shoulders: he stood on the brink of the
precipice. I approached him, he saw me not.
‘ Great God !’ in a voice so soft that it. melted me
into tears, while he appeared to choke articula
tion, ‘ pity the unfortunate wretch now before
thee, pardon the act 1 am about to commit, and
forgive, oh, forgive, the author of my miseries!
Ah, Emma! How have I implored your pity!
Yet to all my entreaties you have remained in
exorable, and drive me to endless ruin, and the
abyss of eternal misery; yet ’tis for thee alone I
wish to live.’—At this moment the painfulness
of the, recollection seemed too much: he he
sitated, then franticly exclaimed—•« Coward heart!
wouldst thou live the object of her scorn? No,
• rather die!’ : —Then, raising his arms he loudly
■ exclaimed,- —‘ Ah. Emma! in a few moments the
heart that ever beat for thee alone, ‘ will beat no
more. In the cold grave, the blest assylum of
the wretched, I shall repose, the victim of injus
tice and ambition. Some happier object; I trust,
will possess thy love, more ennobled by the gifts
of fortune, than the poor deserted object Henry.
But I have a soul’—and here his voice assumed
the tone of self applause— ‘ noble as thine : an
other lingering moment, and Henry will never
blast thy sight; he does not fear death, but dares
to meet it in the most horrid form.’ At this cri
tical moment I approached and seized him by the
hand ; his eyes rolled wildly, he gazed on me,
while an enquiry of who I was, was bursting from
his lips; but I interrupted him. ‘ Rash youth !’
cried I, ‘ forbear to meet thy God thus unprepar
ed ; rather bless the hand that lengthens out the
slender cord of life, than madly to enter into a
world oft spirits.’ While speaking, he looked
fiercely at me, snatched a poiniard h orn his bo
som, which he plunged into his heart. The
w ound was mortal: he fell, never to rise again.
The crimson fluid issuing from his side, bedew
ed my garments; his fine' athletic form became
convulsed, a ghastly smile sat on his noble coun
tenance, while drops of agony rolled down his
cheeks : he fixed his dying eyes on me, pressed
my hand with fervour, and inwardly exclaimed
‘ Farewell—mercy—Emma—farewell for ever !’
He gasped for breath ; nature was quite exhaust
ed ; the feeble spark of life diminished fast; he
groaned, sunk again to the ground, from which,
while speaking, he had raised himself, and expir
ed. I stood bending over him appalled with hor
ror ; till, roused by a sense of my own situation,
I returned home ruminating on “the melancholy
event. On enquiry I found he was a youth o“f
amiable manners, fascinating person, and pos
sessing every requisite to make him a valuable
member of society ; unable to brook disappoint
ment, dared thus to terminate his existence,
leaving his worthy parents inconsolable.
PATHETIC.
FROM THE SKETCHES OF NATURE.
When the arm of some tender wife, pillow s
the head of a faithful husband—when she wipes
from his brow the cold dew of dissolvin'** nature;
when eye meets eye, and in mute eloquence an
nounces the throbbings of an agonizing heart 1
then it is that this Victor of the world surrounds
ns with a scene that humanity wants fortitude to
sustain.
Brown's History of Missions.
FIIHE history of Missions; or the propagation of Chris-
A Heathen, since the Reformation,
T&THE.REV. WILLIAM BROWN,
Witfi additional Notes, and a Map of the World; also,
a short account of the first introduction of the Gospel
into the British Isles.
By ADAM CLARKE, L. 1.. D.
First American edition in 2 Vols. price g 6 50.
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W. T. Williams.
jan. 23. 3t-5
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Travels through the’ Russian empire, and
the country of POLAND, along the southern
shores of the Baltic.
By ROBERT JOHNSTON, A. M.
Cowper’s Memoirs of his Early Life, written by him
self, never before published.
Emma; a Novel in two vols. by the Author of Pride
and Prejudice.
Ellen, or the Young Godmother. A Tale for Y'outh,
by Alicia C. Marks.
The Sacrifice of Isabel, a Poem by E. Quilliam, Esq.
Moore’s Sacred Songs and Irish Melodies.
Edwards on the Will.
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Rees’ Cyclopedia Vol. 28 part 2d, and 29 part Ist—
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