which situation he continued to serve, till the treaty of Amiens for a short time suspended hostilities. After the renewal of the war, he was appointed captain of marines, on board the Venerable of seventy-four: guns, commanded by captain John Hunter, and was shipwrecked in her in the night of the twenty-fourth of November 1804, on the rocks in Torbay. During that dreadful night he never quitted his commander, but stood by his side with the sea breaking over them till the whole of the crew were saved. They had continued with the ship till the last moment it was' possible; for immediately after they had quitted it, the part on which they had stood was separated from the remainder of the wreck, buried in the furious waves, and never seen more. He afterwards was ordered to Ireland on the recruiting service, and on his return was embarked as captain of marines on board the Canopus. This ship was one of the squadron of admiral Duckworth, in the late unsuccessful attempt upon Constantinople. After the fleet had passed the Dardanelles, a landing the island of Prota. was made upon Captain Kent advanced with his party towards an old monastery, of which the Turks had taken possession. It was at first supposed that the enemy were but few in number, but this appeared to be a mistake; for when captain Kent reached the foot of the hill on which it stood, he received a very heavy fire from all parts of the building, through the windows, loop-holes, and every place from which a musket could be discharged. Several of his company fell; but with that undaunted courage for which this spirited officer and the corps to which he belonged have ever been distinguished, he rushed up the hill at the head of his brave companions, and set fire to the gate of the monastery. His force, however, he found was very inferior to that of the enemy he had to encounter, and he directed a signal to be made for assistance. He continued animating his men to continue the desperate contest until he received a ball through his head, which instantly terminated his life. Thus gloriously fell in the cause of his country this truly brave and meritorious officer, in the fortieth year of his age, possessed of all the social virtues which could endear him to mankind. His loss will long be regretted by the corps in which he served, and long will he be lamented by all those relatives and friends who were more intimately acquainted with the excellent dispo sitions of his heart and the mildness of his manners. IN saying thus much I do not mean to infer that I am a traveller. No; I am only the humble, honest, gentle, good and sweet-naturedstroller, who generally roves upon his own legs, and seldom troubles those of a horse.-The late warm weather has produced a multitude of butterflies of various denominations, colour, and shapes. The human butterfly has particularly attracted my notice; I mean those imitators of the beau-monde you cannot walk out to enjoy a quiet walk in the evening, but you are sure to be pester'd with: shopmen, clerks, taylors' apprentices, &c. some perched on horseback, others in gigs, or fashionable vehicles-dressed in the first style, and assuming the gentleman! and I know from good authority, they often astonish the feeble minds of rustics and villagers, when they take their fashionable excursions. They talk loud! swear by their honour! bluster and strut like crows in a gutter! smoak and take snuff! and run into every extreme of fashionable folly.Really, I often pity them; and you, my fair readers, I am confident cannot approve such absurdities: they cannot have any just claim to the smiles of the beauteous, and the amiable approbation of the fair sex. Let the spruce beau, That beau, sweet-scented, and palav'rous fool, Who talks of honour and his sword, and plucks The man that dares advise him by the nose; That puny thing, that hardly crawls about, Yet drinks on, And vapeurs, loudly o'er his glass, resolv'd To tell a tale of nothing, and out-swear The northern tempest; let that fool, I say, Look for a wife in vain, and liv'd despis'd.' THE following anecdote is related of this celebrated singer by Dr. Burney. She was connected with a certain count, a man of great quality and distinction, whose fondness increased by possession to such a degree as to determine him to marry her: a much more uncommon resolution in a person of high birth on the continent than in England. She tried to dissuade him, enumerated all the bad consequences of such an alliance; but he would listen to no reasoning, nor take any denial. Finding all remonetrances vain, she left him one morning, went into a neighbouring street, and addressing herself to a poor labouring man, a journeyman baker, said she would give him fifty ducats if he would marry her, not with a view to their cohabiting together, but to serve a present purpose. The poor man readily consented to become her nominal husband; accordingly they were formally married, and when the count renewed his solicitations, she told him it was now utterly impossible to grant his request, for she was already the wife of another, a sacrifice which she had made to his fame and family. Nn 2 POETICAL ESSAYS. 4 THE SPANIEL'S PETITION. THE well-taught philosophic mind, MRS. BARBAULD. PITY the suff'rings of an harmless brute, View Nature's tribes with philosophic eye, Repay such faithful service with neglect? When Zephyretta, fairest of the fair, side; Frail is the flower that scents the breeze of Borne on the gale I heard the miscreant's curse, Sore vex'd his cruel arm could not destroy, O how I hail'd the intervening gloom A short time since, as Lord Erskine was passing through Holborn, he observed some boys beating a little dog with sticks, under the idea of its being mad: his lordship, with great humanity, observing not the least symptoms of madness, rushed into the crowd and rescued the poor animal from the hands of its destroyers, and carried it some distance, and hired a boy to carry it to his house in Lin coln-inn fields. The gloom of night, that conjures up to view I sought a neighb'ring grove, where downy sleep Buried in sweet oblivion all my cares; Waking, I shunn'd the savage haunt of men, And since have liv'd on leverets and hares. Yet still my heart some social feelings own: Yes, still, (perhaps to my own interest blind) I wish to mingle in domestic scenes, And pay my suit and service' to mankind! O could I find some man of generous mind, With him fair freedom's blessings I'd forego; By day attend him with unwearied feet, And nightly guard him from the plundering foe. Pity the sorrows of a harmless brute; To a poor sufferer's plaintive tale attend; Invite me to your roof, and cheaply gain A faithful servant, and a constant friend. Haverhill, April 20, 1807. me, Till Echo, starting from her mossy cell, Catch the soft sounds, and waft them down the vale. To me thy welfare and thy song is dear; And when he sinks, replete with purple grandeur, By hand humane; and for my kind attention Chaunt thy deliverer many a thankful song, And leave ingratitude to thankless man. When radiant morn, array'd in saffron vesture, And paints the golden scenery of the west, Awaits the entrance of imperial Sel Bedeck'd with royal splendors, tune thy lay, To hail him welcome to my rural scene: And when the devastative blast of death Clothe nature's vegetable sons in green) Haverhill, April 25, 1807. STANZAS On the cutting down of a favourite Elm. THE Elm is laid prostrate, beneath whose broad shade, In childhood's blithe day, I have gamboll'd and play'd, Pluckt the vi'let so fragrant, the primrose so fair, And plunder'd a redbreast that built her nes there. The Elm is laid prostrate, whose favourite form The fairest of the fair is she; Jemima. THE OLD CAT'S PETITION. PITY the sorrows of a poor old cat, Whose aged eyes can scarcely see a rat; My skin was once the sleekest of the kind, A mother's care my tender years did guard, bower. I often too, upon the carpet laid, A kitten once, the pleasure of my days, morn, With dogs and sticks, sh! shocking to relate: At length, alas! arriv'd that luckless morn, To die with hunger on this wintry day. My mistress's lap-dog, |