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mm POETET, \ FROM THE NF.W-YORK STATESMAN. To the Memory of the late Mr. Canning, BY SOLYMAN BROWN. Bright Star of Britannia!—thy light in her sky, , So lately converged in & halo of glory, Is quench’d in the tear-drop that swells in her eye, As sadly and fondly she ponders thy story; For fair was Iter morn when arous’d from her sleeping, ©*»' She saw thee ascend as the herald of day: But night has return'd—and Britannia is weeping, Since thou hast vanish’d for ever away. Great Pattern of Statesmen!—thy accents have rang, To earth’s farthest verge where Humanity lives, And senates have listen’d to catch from thy tongue, The thrill of that transport that eloquence gives But/ny in the senate is smiling no longer, J . The tears of Delight are absorbed in its gloom: s e6 No, torrents are flowing still deeper and stronger, * The torrents that fall on the patriot’s tomb. Bold Champion of Conscience!—Religion confess’d The power of thy name o’er the fears of her foes; And long shall thy mein’ry be lov’d and caress’d, Engrav’d on the bosom where Charity glows, But Charity now in thy bosom is glowing, More pure and refin’d than its shadow below, And streams of delight to that bosom are flowing,, Delight that mortality never can know. Dread Terror of Tyrants!—Thy name like a spell, v. Had shaken the blood-tainted thrones of the world; And trumpeting Fame had departed to tell, That Liberty’s banners at length were unfurl’d: And long shall that name be the dread of oppression For tyrants shall shrink at the raem’ry of thee, And fervent in Hcav’n is the saint’s intercession, For nations on Earth that deserve to be free. Proud Peer of Creation!—thy fame is thine own! No herald array’d thee in garters and stars;— Thy titles descended from Nature alone, With the glory that rests on the patriot’s scars: And Earth shall he proud, as exulting she claims thee, A son of Jill climates where virtue is known; But most shall the freeman be proud when he names And thinks thou wert born for no clime but bis own Apo'tle of Liberty!—short was thy stay. But bards manages shall greet thee in song; And Heav’n, that in wisdom has called thee away, Be blessed for the kindness that lent thee so long: Go, friend of the Grecian! go, patriot brother; Forget in the skies all thy sorrow and care; If lost to one world, thou art gain’d to another, A friend of the TelPs and the Washington’s there. DEATH OF AN INFANT. BY MF. 1. HEMANj** ... Death found Btrange beauty 07 that cherub brow, And dash’d it out.—There w*s a tint of rose * On cheek and ik»;—he touch’d the veins with ice, And the rose faded.—Forth from those blue eyes There/^pnhc a wishful tenderness,—a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep, which Innocence Alon ’ can wear.—With ruthless haste he bound Tbd silken fringes of their curtainmg lids r.—T!iere had been a murmuring sound which the babe would claim its mothers ear, >*rCharming her even to tears. The spoiler set H's seal of silence,—but there beam’d a smile So fix’d and holy from that marble brow, Death gazed and left it thereha dared not steal The signet-ring of Heaven. FROM BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. LUDICROUS STORY OF A MONKEY. I dinna think in a* nature there’s a raatr curiouscr creatur than a monkey. 1 mak this observe frae being witness to an extra- ordinal event that took place in Hamilton three or four days after my never-to-be-for gotten Battle of Breeks. Some even gaed the length to say that it was to the full mair curiouser than that affair, in sae far as the principal performer in the ae case was a ra tional man, whereas in the ither he was on ly bit ape. But folk may talk as they like about monkeys, and cry them down for be ing stupid and mischievous. 1 for ane will no gang that length. Whatever they may be on the score of mischief, there can be nae doubt, that, sae far as gumption is concern ed, they are just uncommon ; and for wit and fun they would beat ony man black and blue. In fact, I dinna think that monkeys are beasts ava. I hae a half notion that they are just wee hairy men that canna, or rather that winna speak, in case they be made to work like ither folk, instead of leading a life ofidleness. But to the point; I ance had a monkey ane of the drollest-looking deevils ye ever saw. He was gnyan big for a monkey, and was hairy a’ ower, except his face and his bit hiirdies, which had a degree of bareness about them, and were nearly os sail as lady’s loof. Weel, what think ye that I did wi’ the beastie ? Odds, man, I dressed him up like a Heeland man, and put a kilt upon him, and a langtailed red coat, and a blue bannet, which for security's sake l tied, wo man-like, below his chin wi' twa bits of yel low ribbon. I not only did this, hut I learnt him to walk upon his twa hinder legs, and to cany a stick in his right hand when he gaed out, the better to support him in his pereamnations. He was for a’ the world like a wee man in kilts—sae much sae that when Glengarry the great Heeland chieftain wha happened to be at Hamilton on a visit to the duke saw him by chance, he swore by the powers, that he was like ane of the Celtic Society, and that if I iikit he would endeavour to get him admitted a member of that body. 1 thocht at the time Glengarry was iokin, but I hae since had gude reason for thinking that he was in real earnest, as Andrew Brand says that he and the Celts hae been like to cut ane anifher’s throats and that he micht mean this as an affront upon them. Howsoniever, 1 maun do Glen garry the justice tottay, that had he got my Nosey via BiiCname) made a member be tvadna bae pruved the least witty or cour- ; of the society, and would hae dune way of frolic, a gayan fooli I brocht Nosey alang wi’ me^ as for ordinary his Heeland dress, an behind me, wi’ the bit stick in his hand, and his tail sticking out frae below his kilt, as if he had been my flunky. It was after a’, a queer sicht, and, as may be supposed. I drew ahail crowd of bairns after me, bawl ing out, “ Here’s Willy M’Gee’s monkey,” and ga’eing him nits and gingerbread, and makin’ as muckle of the cratur as could be; for Nosey was a great favourite in the town, and every one likit him for his droll tricks and the way he used to grin, and dance, and tumble ower his head, to amuse them. On qiRering Mr. Weft’s shop, I faund it ' ere wasna a leeving soul within, he had gane out for a licht; and n familiar wi* him, 1 took stap ck-shop, leaving Nosey in the I sat for twa or three minutes, made his appearance. At last f which I had ta’en care to shut ned, and 1 look't to see wha it inking that, nae doubt, it was am.' his apprentice. It was neither the ither, hut a strong middle ed Heelandrngn, wi’ specks on k and a bannet by a’ the world key’s. Now what think ve "*3 about a’ this time ? Ho was sit- counter upon the lang three at stood foment Mr. Well 1 turning over the leaves of his itook which, for auld-fashioned was vvonderfu* to behold. I was at the sight that I paid nae sort of'attention to the TIoelandman, but contiiiued*fdq)iing frao the back shop at Nosey, lauching a’ the time in my sleeve— for I jealoused that some queer scene would take place between the twa. And I wasna far wrang, for the stranger takin’ out a pound from his speuchan, handed it ower to the monkey, and specred at him, in his droll Novlan dcealect,if he could change a note.— When I heard this I thocht I would hae lauched outricht: and naething but sheer curiosity to see how the tiring would end made me keep my gravity.—It was plain that Donald had ta’en Nosey foraneofhisain countrymen—and the thing after a* wasna greatly to be wondered at, and that for three reasons: Firstly, the shop was rather darkish. Secondly.the Hcelandman had on specks; as I hae just said ; and it was likely on this account that he was rather short-sighted: and. Thirdly, Nosey, wi’ bis kilt, and bannet, and red coat, was to a’ intents and purposes, as like a human creatur as a monkey could weel be. Nae sooner, then, had he got the note, than he opened it out, and lookit at it wi’ his wee glowrin’, restless een, as if to see that it wasna forgeary. He*then shook his head like a doctor, when he’s no very sure whnt’s wrang wi’ a person, but wnnr? to mak’ it appear that he kens a’ about it—and continued in this style till the Heelandman’s patience began to get exhausted. ‘ Can ye no shange the note, old sheriile- e I allow, repeated Mr. Weft, * I maun tell ye plainly, ~e had on, frien,’ that I hae neither faither, nor brither, id wallcit nor cousin of any description, on this side of the grave. I dinna understand ye, honest man, but I reckon that ye hae sat ower lang at the whisky, and my advice to ye is to stap awa hame and sleep it aff.’ At this speech the Heelandman lost a’ patience, and lookit sae awfully fairce, that ance or twice l was on the nick of comiu forrit, and explaining how matters really stood; but curiosity keepit me chained to the back shop, and I just thocht I would bide a wee, and see how the affair was like to end. ‘ Pray, wha are you sir ?’ said Donald, putting his hands in his sides, and looking through his specks upon Mr. Weft, like a deevil incarnit. ‘ Wha are you, sir, that daur to speak to me in this manner?’ ‘ Wha am I ?’ said the ither, dropping the remnant of the paper, which was burnin’ close to his fingers* “ I am Saunders Weft, manufacturer in Hamilton—that’s wlat I * And I am Tonald Campbell, piper’s sis ter’s son to his grace the great, grand Tuke of Argyle,* thundred out the Heelandman, wi’ a voice that was fearsom to hear. ‘And what about that V quoth Mr. Weft, rather snappishly, as I thocht. ‘ If ye were the great, grand Duke of Argyle himself, as ye ca’ him, I’ll no permit you to kick up a dust in my shop.* ‘ Ye scoundrel,’ said Donald, seizing Mr. Weft by the throat, and shaking him till h* tottered like an aspen leaf, ‘ div ye mean to speak ill of his grace the Tuke of Argyle ?* And he gi’ed him ariither shake—then, lay ing haud of his nose, he swore that he would pu’t as lang as a cow’s tail, if he did’na that instant restore him his lost property. At this sicht I began'to grew a* ower, and now saw the needeessity of stapping ben, and saving my employer frae farther damages, bodily and ithenvise. Nae sooner had 1 made my appearance than Donald let go his grip of Mr. Weft’s nose, and the latter, a great passion, cried out, ‘ William M’Gee, 1 tak ye to witness what 1 hae suf- ferit frae this bluid thirsty Heelandman! It’s no to be endured in a Christian country. I ’ll hae the law of him, that 1 will. I’ll be whuppit but I’ll hae amends, although it costs me twenty pounds ?’ ‘ What’s the matter ?* quoth I, pretending ignorance of the hail! concern. ‘ What, in the name of Nebuchadnezzar, has set ye thegither by the lugs?’ Then Mr. Weft began his tale, how he had been collared and weel nigh thrappled in his ain shop ;— then the ither tauled how, in the first place, Mr. Weft’s grandfather, as he ca’d Nosey, lad stolen his note, and how, in the second place, Mr. Weft himself had insulted the great, grand Duke of Argyle. In a word, there was a desperate kick up between them, the ane threeping that he would tak the law of the ither immediately. Na, in .this re spect Donald gaed the greatest lengths, for he swore that, rather than be defeat, he wad carry his cause to the house of lords, al though it cost him threlty pounds sterling, man ?” quo’ Donald.—Nosey gi’ed his head I now saw it was time to put in a word, anither shake, and lookit uncommon wise. ‘Houts-touts, gentle men,’quoth I, ‘what’s to the chiefs recom i fleeing awa like a si the subject on hand.—Weel, it tu in this manner, as ye shall hear, ternoon towards the gloomin, I wqs obliga ted to tnk’ a stap doun to the cross, wi’ a web under my arm, which I had finished fox Mr* Wcftj the muslin manufacturer. By m ML k & Matat \ . \ V . -w "W ‘Is the note no goot, sir? spak the Heeland man, a second time; but the creatur, instead of answering him, only gi’ed anither of his wise shakes, as much as to. say, ‘ I’m no ve rb about it* At this Donald lost Kem per. ‘If the note doesna please ye, sir.’ quo’ he, * I’ll thank you to gie me it back again, and * I’ll gang to some ither place. And he stretchit out his hand to tak haud o’t, when my frien’ wi’ the fail, lifting up his stick, lent him sic a wack ower the fingers as made him pu’ back in the twinkling of an ee. * Got tarrin ye, ye auld scounrel,’ said the man ; * do ye mean to tak my money frae mo ?* And he lifted up a rung, big en ough tg fell a stot, and let flee at the mon key; but Nosey was ower quick for him, and, jumping aside* he lichted on a sliief before ane could say Jock Robinson. Here he rowed up the note like a baw in his hand, and put it into his coat pouch like ony rational creatur. Not only this, but he mockit the Heelandman by a’ manner of means shooting his tongue at him, spitting at him. and girrting at him wi’his queer outlandish physionomy. Then he would tak histailm his twa hands, and wag it at Donald, and seeking his nieves, he would seem to threaten him wi’ v a leathering A’thegither he was desperate impudent, and eneuch to try the patience of a saunt, no to speak o het-bluided Heelandman. It was gude for sair een to see how Donald behavit on this occasion. He raged like ane demented miscalling the monkey beyond measure, and swearing as mony Gaelic aitbs as micht hae sair’d an ordinar man for a twalraonth During this time, I never steer’d a foot, but keepit keeking frae the back shop upon a’ that was ganging on. I was highly delighted; and jealousing that Nosey was ower supple to be easily catched, 1 had nae apprehension for the event, and remain ed snug in my birth to see the upshot. In a short time in comes Mr. Weft, wi* a piece of glowing paper in his hand, that he had got firae the next door to licht the shop and nae sooner did Donald see him than he ax’d him for his note. * What note, honest man V said Mr. Weft. ‘ Got tamn,” quo : ' Donald, * the note the auld scounrel, your grandfather, stole frae me.’ ‘ My grandfather!’ answered the ither wi ; amazement ‘ I am thinking, honest man, ye hae had a glass ower muckle. My grand- .fatherlwM*qii #pad for saxteen years, and out I mejer heard tejl till now tha t he was a fief.’ ‘Weel, weel, then,’ quo’ the Heeland man, ‘ I dqp’t care naething about it. 3 he’s no your gr^adfktherj he’ll be your fai ther, orfoujr brither, or your cousin.* ‘ My faither, or my brither, or my cousin!’ amusing to hear* the use of a’ this clishmaclaver ? Ye’ve baith gotten the wrong sow by the lug, or my name’s no William M’Gee. I’ll wager ye a penny-piece, that my monkey Nosey is at the bottom of the business.’ Nae sooner had I spoken the word, than the twa, looking round the shop, spied the beastie sitting upon the shelf, girning at them, and putting out his tongue, and wig gle-waggling his walking stick ower his left elbow, as if be had been playing upon the fiddle. Mr. Weft at this apparition set up a loud Imich ; his passion left him in a mo ment, when he saw the ridiculous mistake that the He eland man had fa’cn into, and I thocht he would hae ljursted his sides wi’ evendown merriment; At first Donald lookit desperate angry] and, judging frae the way he was twisting jlbout his mouth and rowing his een* I opined that he intended some deadly ijkaith to the monkej. But his gude sense, of which Heelandmen are no a’thegither destitute got the better of his anger, and he roared and lauched like the very mischief. N*r was this a*, for nae sooner had ho betan to lauch, than the monkey did the sitne tbtpg, and held its sides in preceesely the same manner, imi tating his actions, in the maist amusin’ way imaginable. ,Thjs 6nly set Donald alauch- ing mair than ever, and when he lifted up his nieve, and shook it at Nosey in a gude humoured way, what think ye that the cratur did? Odds man, he took the note frae his pouch,-where it lay rowed up like a baw, and,-papping it at Donald, hit him as fairly upon the nose, as if it had been shot out of weel aimed musket- There was nae re sisting this. The haill three, or rather the haill four, for Nosey joined us, set up a loud lauch, and the Heelandman’s was the loud est of a’, showing that he was really a man of sense, and could take a joke as weel as his neighbors. When the lauchiri' had a wee subsided, Mr. Campbell, in order to show that he had nae ill wull to Mr. Weft, ax’d his pardon for the rough way he had treated him, but the worthy manufacturer widna hear o’t. ‘Houts, man,’ quo’ he, * dinna say a word about it. It’s a mistak a’thegither, and Solomon him self, ye ken, whiles gaed wrang.’ Where upon the Heelandman bought a Kilmarnock night-cap, price eleven-pence happeny, frae Mr. Weft, and paid him wi* part of the very note that brocht on the ferly I hae just been relating. But his guid wull didna end here, for he insisted on takin’ us a*—Nose/ ter,Review. amang the lave—to the nearest public, where he gi’ed us a frien’ly glass, keepit lawking about monkeys, arid what not, in a manner at.fcnce edifying anri Reasons for Educating the People.—It is indeed very wonderful that scarcely one atom of any useful knowledge, of any kind, is taught to any person of any rank, quality, profession, or pursuit whatever, any where, or in any manner; if we except a little Rule of Three here and there, and a little, Euclid in the fens of Cambridgeshire : and thus are the people educated to augment the wealth of Britain. Now here lies the mys tery. We admit that nonsense verses are the proper knowledge for a prime minister; that a diocess can be effectually governed only by means of Greek metres; that the moral and religious duties of a people must be inculcated by means of dactyls, anapaests, and iambics, and can be taught in no other way : and that nothing hut a due intimacy with the deep profoundities of longs and shorts can render ten thousand men in black coats the exclusive proper persons to teach the rising generation how to make laws, practice physic, govern colonies, and spin cotton ; constitute them fit monopolists over the knowledge and the morals of the entire youth of Britain : but who teaches men to make steam-carriages and dye scar let cloth for the army ? Does this know ledge come by scanning? It does come, that is certain ; and we must suppose that we must thank God for it. But whoever it is that does acquire it, must pay for it, and that dearly also, most often in time as well as in money; while, most commonly, he sows that others may reap.' But the people cannot obtain this knowledge ; they have scarcely the means of obtaining any know ledge ; since that which they can command is but the desire and the capacity. * * * The fact itself, and the truth also, is, that it is impossible to conduct the several arts of this countiy withou t the heads of workmen ; and they who fancy that this is or can be done by their hands alone, are ignorant of the subjects. Under a minute division of labor, it is true, there is much that can be done by hands alone, where the workman is as pure -a machine as the wheels and le vers of brass and iron which he superintends; but these cases are rare, compared to those where the^discretion and thought of work men are required, and where, without what, in fact, is knowledge and education, the operations could not go on. Let us give a lew details, for the sake of those who fancy that all this is matter of course, and that it is sufficient if the man has hands, and legs, aod eyes. The contempt in which a tailor is held is proverbial: yet it is the very tai lor himself who makes and invents, as he sets the fashion ; unless indeed .^ome king Brummel, or king of Prussia, or king of any other country should out tailor him in power to compensate for infra-tailoring in point of taste. And this is matter of taste, and there fore appertaining to art—to the il niente cht fa tulta, which is the produce of education. Is it to be credited that there would be but one Stultz, or one king of Prussia in the uni verse, if journeyman tailors were educated to snatch a grace whether within or without the rules of art ? Why has Hoby made a fortune ? and Taylor ? because the eukne mides JEchaioi never could have been so beautifully booted by any other artist, and because the feet of the fair would have fail ed, under any other sandals, to effect what they have been noted for doing since the time of Solomon’s song. We should be glad to see a stone-mason or bricklayer without a head build a house, or a bridge, or even a pig-sty. Nine times out of ten, the archi tect, as he is called, knows nothing about the matter; and tthe Lord have mercy upon his churches, if the operatives, as they are called, did not know something more. Who is it that drives the coffer piles for London bridge ? who tak es care that they fit close £ that they are well caulked ? who ascertains that the foundation piles are driven deep enough, their heads well levelled, the fram ing well laid ?SyIio frames the centerings, and sees that every part of it will do its du ty, and sets it up ? Not the architect in the office; neither that nor any thing else, from the bottle of folly buried in the foundation stone to the top of the balustrade. Had we no bridge but what the bridge-builder could build, we should be obliged to swim the river. A drawing is a very pretty thing; but we should be compelled to live in the sketches of houses, if the people, whom we fancy we must despise, and do not choose to educate, had nol: somewhat more of talents and knowledge than those who live on their labors suspect, and if they were not educa ted—heaven knows how. There is no end to this class ofilliustration in matters of mere taste and art, and in matters of mechanics. * * * The very fire-teazer, who holds the soul of the steam-boat and the lives of all the passengers in his hands, is a man of head ; he must be educated—and so he is but he has a long probation to go through and is likely to make an abundance of blun ders before he attains his rank, to the great discomfiture of those who depend on him ; while all this, under a proper system, he might have learned to do in three months to the abridging of his own misery and the inconvenience of every one else. We might run through eveiy trade, every art, every thing tha t is done,, and ofWIry thing that is not done as it ought to be, through out the kingdom, and overwhelm our “ ders, not only with illustrations* but cation in France in the Royal Military Col lege ; he was appointed Lieutenant, the 1st of September, 1785; Captain, the 7th February, 1792 ; Major, the 19th of Octo-* her, 1793; Commandant of Artillery, at Toulon, in December of the same year; Brigadier, the 6th of February, 1794; Lieutenant General of the army of the in terior, the 16th of October, 1795; Field Marshal, the 26rh of the same October; Commander-in-Chief of the army of Italy, the 23d of February, 1796, and was married in the same year to Josephine de la Plagerie, widow of Beauhnmois; sailed with the ex pedition to Egypt, the 19th of May, 1798 ; arrived at Alexandria the 1st of July; em barked to return to France the 22d of Au gust; arrived at Raphan, near Fregus, the 9th October ; was named First Consul the 10th of January, 1802, Consul for life the 10th of August of the same year; and Em peror, the 18lh of May, 1804 ; he was con secrated and crowned in Paris by Pope Pius VII. the December following ; proclaimed King of Italy the 17th March. 1805, and crowned at Milan the 26th of IVfcy ; he was proclaimed and acknowledged as Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, the 12th of July, 1806 ; Mediator of the Swiss Con- federation, the 10th of September, 1807 ; his marriage with Josephine, was declared null the 16th of December, 1809; on the 2d of April, 1810, he married Maria Louisa, Archduchess of Austria, who was born the 12th of December, 1791 ; (of this marriage there was born on the 20th of March, 1811; Napoleon Francisco Carlos Jose, King of Rome;) he made his entry into Moscow, the 14th of September, 1812 ; this was the apogee of his glory, from which his adverse fortune and decadence began. All those nations which had already de clared against him, made the greatest efforts to precipitate his ruin, and consummate his end. The Allies entered Paris on the night of the 30th of March, 1S14 ; he abdicated the 11th of April, 1S14; embarked for the ( Island of Elba, the 20th of the same month, and arrived on the 4th of the following; there he remained until February, 1815—in which month he embarked for France, where lie arrived the 1st of March, and landed at Canes, in the Gulf St. John; he entered Paris the 20th day after his disembarkment; lost the battle of Waterloo the lSlh of June, 1815; abdicated a second time in favour of his son, the 22d of the same month ;—he submitted himself to the protection of the English, and embarked in the Rellerophon, 74, the 15th July ensuing, and was subse quently earned to tho Island of St. Helena, where he disembarked the 13th of October, and died, without its being known of what particular malady, the 5th of May, 1S24, at 7 o’clock in the morning. These were his last words—“ I leave the opprobrium of my death to the reigning house of England.” proofs, of the necessity of education, and of its actual existence also though always attained, 1 in consequence of our barbarous system, with difficulty, anti not attained without delay, and blunders, and inconveniences, and losses.— TVestmins- Interesting Anecdote of Malurin.—-b. dig nitary of the church, who became interested, by some accident, in Maturin’s circum stances, aud was anxious to improve them, called upon him, for the purpose of offering him some clerical promotion, or of consult ing him as to the means of forwarding his advancement. It was duringthe time that Maturin was composing Bertram, and before he became an avowed ivriter.: his v’orks, however, were sufficiently well ko%\vn to entitle him to the character of an author, and, I believe, ihe object of the good visitor was to rescue the poet~from the necessities that forced him to write “ Profane conceits and fallacies—” and to enable him to devote all his abilities to the offices of his spirital calling. The Rev. Doctor was ushered into a sitting- room, the poet being engaged 'at the mo ment in his study. He waited for some time very patiently, but the fascination of some frenzied scone wag upon Maturin, who felt little compunction in sacrificing the divine to the drama; and it was not till after a half-hour’s delay that the poet made bis appearance. He entered the room sudden ly, reciting some rapturous passage—a part of the manuscript play in one hand, the pen in the other; his person attired in a theatri cal morning-gown—his attitude that of an inspired provisante, his arms tossing, and his eyes strained, and thus continued his oration until he wound up by flinging him self on the sofahesidetheastonished minis ter. This unlucky interference of the ruling passion lost to poor Maturin whatever pa tronage or advantage might have been de rived from the intended friendship of his visitor, whose nerves or habits were ill qualified for the grotesque exhibition pre sented by the curate of St. Peter’s : in vain did Maturin endeavour to neutralize the effects of his malapropos enthusiasm; and the only gleam of ecclesiastical hope that ever broke upon him thus came and vanish ed iu the same instant of Dr. Franklin—While at the Court of France this practical philosopher proved himself to be a little of the courtier. Being ailles, shew- periments, if lie did wlio was one day in the gardens of ing the queen some el she asked him, in a fit of not dread the fate of Pro: so severely served for Heaven ? H Yes, please your plied Franklin, with great galla not behold a pair of eyes this m have stolen infinitely more fire from than ever I did, pas^ipg unpunished, tho they do more mischief done in all my experi A public functio signation in &■ 1 moutously ren at all indicate r<