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conference with Mr. Pitt, at the express desire of the king, for the purpose of forming a new administration on equal terms, which never took place, from Mr. Pitt refusing to come to an explanation of the word equal; and here the negociation was finally terminated.

This parliament, which had witnessed more changes in the executive power of the country than perhaps any parliament before or since, was dissolved on the twentyfourth of March. On the sixteenth of May following the new parliament met, and from that period may be dated the commencement of Mr. Pitt's efficient administration. (To be continued.)

ON IDLENESS.

IDLENESS, says lord Monboddo, is the source of almost every vice and folly; for a man who does not know what to do will do any thing rather than nothing: and I maintain, that the richest man who is haunted by that foul fiend (as it may be calted) is a much more unhappy man than the day-labourer who earns his daily bread by the sweat of his brow, and who therefore only submits to the sentence pronounced upon our first parents after their fall, and which, if it be understood (as I think it ought to be) of the labour of the mind as well as the body, we must all submit to, or be miserable if we do not. And accordingly those who have nothing to do endeavour to fly from themselves; and many fly from the country, and go abroad, for no other

reason.

ANECDOTE.

TO prove the coxcombish gar. rulity of some of our modern juvenile travellers, we are enabled to state

the following fact: -A young man, some short time back, arrived at a certain inn, and after alighting from his horse, went into the traveller's room, where he walked backwards and forwards for some minutes, displaying the utmost self-importance. At length he rang the bell, and upon the waiter's appearance gave him an order nearly as follows:'Waiter!' the waiter replied, 'Yes, sir.'-'I am a man of few words, and don't like to be continually ringing the bell and disturbing the house; I'll thank you to pay attention to what I say.' The waiter again replied, 'Yes, sir.'-' In the first place, bring me a glass of brandy and water, cold, with a little sugar, and also a tea-spoon; wipe down this table, throw some coals on the fire, and sweep up the hearth; bring me in a couple of candles, pen, ink, and paper, some wafers, a little sealing wax, and let me know what time the post goes out. Tell the ostler to take care of my horse, dress him well, stop his feet, and let me know when he is ready to feed. Order the chamber-maid to prepare me a good bed, take care that the sheets is well aired, a clean nightcap, and a glass of water in the room. Send the boots, with a. pair of slippers that I can walk to the stable in; tell him I must have my boots cleaned and brought into this room to-night, and that I shall want to be called at five o'clock in

the morning. Ask your mistress what I can have for supper; tell her I should like a roast duck, or something of that sort : desire your master to step in; I want to ask him a few questions about the drapers of this town.' The waiter answered, 'Yes, sir; and then went to the landlord, and told him a gentleman in the parlour, wanted a great many things, and amongst the rest he wanted him; and that was all he could recollect.

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and even terror. At length, the day so much wished for by the one and feared by the other arrived, and for.. almost the first time the spirits of Mary were subdued. Her mother, availing herself of a moment of tenderness, led her daughter to the tomb of Mrs. Benson, and seating her on a flowery bank, cultivated by her own hand, spoke thus: 'My child on this sacred spot has been wont to listen to the precepts of her mo

Tro. No, but something may be done that ther, and oh! may the instructions

Cro. Do not think I will.

we will not:

And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, When we attempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.

TROILUS and CRESSIDA.

IT was something less than two years from the tragical death of Gayton when Gordon led his lovely daughter to the altar. They continued three months at the white cottage, as Gordon did not wish too hastily to separate the mother and the daughter, especially as he found it impossible to draw the former from her retirement. Indeed, so much in love was he with that tranquil spot, that, had it been equally agreeable to his bride, he could have been well content to have passed the remainder of his life in its neighbourhood. But Mary sighed to see the metropolis; to be introduced to her husband's family, and ride through the gay streets of London in her own carriage. Gordon thought this curiosity extremely natural in so young a person, and cheerfully acquiesced; not doubting but she would soon be more eager to return to her mother and those calm joys which are ever to be found in the domestic circle, and to which she was accustomed.

The latter end of October was fixed for the commencement of their journey. This time was looked for ward to with joy, nearly bordering on rapture, by Mary; but her mother beheld its approach with sorrow, You. XXX VIII,

you have received in this place never, be obliterated from your memory, never effaced from your heart! they were the axioms of experience, of virtue, of religion, and if followed they will lead you to comfort in this world, and to happiness in another. You are going, my daughter, to new scenes-to appear in a new character: the disadvantages you labour under are numerous. Uneducat ed, unpolished, unadorned by a single accomplishment so necessary to the woman of high fortune, and the mistress of a gentleman's family, I. fear, my love, you will bear your blushing honours but awkwardly.

But would to God these were the only difficulties, for study and observation might in some measure overcome these; but your appear ance in fashionable life will revive the almost forgotten story of the obscure, the mysterious birth of your mother, and the too, too flagrant death of your father. Some envious persons will affect to treat my innocent Mary as the child of infamy, the offspring of treason; but by the humbleness of your deportment, the rectitude of your conduct, disarm their malice, nor seek by recrimination to revenge yourself on them.

On the other hand, my dear girl! in every place of fashionable resort there are a set of men who buz around the unsuspicious stranger who praise but to injure-whe dor

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stroy what they extol. A fresh face is their centre of attraction; and she who lends a willing ear to their airy nothings, their subtile adulations, stands on a precipice of sinking sand. The appearance of my inexperienced Mary will excite their attention. Young, blooming, and sprightly as she is, they will not doubt that she is actuated by a large share of vanity. Form no acquaintance without the full approbation of Gordon; in the choice of your friends trust wholly to his judgment, and fear more to slight the councils or vex the heart of your husband than to be thought obsolete, or called un fashionable by the world. Be attentive to his wishes: he merits all your tenderness and obedience. Remember, in your highest enjoyments, that you owe all to his love and generosity. Be moderate in your expences, and bear constantly in mind that the purest, the most exquisite terrestrial enjoyment is the approbation of a self-approving conscience, arising from the reflection of having performed our duty, of having cheered the heart of the desolate, and of having directed the steps of the Wanderer from the paths of error and vice to those of virtue and religion. These will be acts of your lite on which you will look back with satisfaction when the agonies of death shake your frame to dissolution, and on which the pure spirits in heaven look down with joyful approbation.

Gaming is a vice so odious and of so destructive a nature, that I hope I need not caution you against it. You carry not a single shilling to your husband's fortune; you add no splendid connections to his family; but take with you a docile mind, an affectionate disposition, a humble opinion of ourself, with a pure heart, and then it may be said with truth, "Though Gordon fail

ed to receive a fortune with the hand of his wife, he possesses an inestimable treasure in her; for the price of a good woman is far above rubies, the heart of her husband shall trust in her: her children shall call her blessed, her own works shall praise her, and she shall rejoice in time to come."

Mary assured her mother that she would treasure in her memory all she had said, and affectionately kissing her cheek, led her to the house, where they found Gordon, with whom Mrs. Gayton requested a few moments conversation, and leading him to the liburnam where he had first beheld Mary, and looking on him with tenderness, she said'May this spot, my son, be ever remembered by you with pleasure; may no after events give you reason to regret the hour which introduced my daughter to your knowledge! Your election of a wite has been free: you have chosen a child of nature, from among the daughters of simplicity; in more brilliant circles be not ashamed of your choice. The young rustic cannot be expected to shine in polished society; her ignorance of polite manners may sometimes tinge your cheek with a blush, but never, I trust, will you blush for the depravity of her heart. 1 feels a presentiment that we are parting to meet no more in this world: if it should prove true, consider this con-versation as my dying words. Be kind to my Mary when her mother's eyes are closed in death. Excuse the trifling petulances of a heart at ease; pardon small errors; be the patient guide of her youth, the affectionate mentor, the faithful friend; view her failings with an indulgent eye, remembering that you removed her from a sphere the humble duties of which she was better qualified to perform than the more arduous ones to which you have exalted her. And,

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ah! may you be able ten or twenty years hence to repair to this spot and say, My mother, I have fulfilled your injunctions: I have endeavoured to render your Mary happy in this life; I have endeavoured to prepare her for a better world." As you act by her, the blessing of the dying, the benediction of the happy, be upon you; for be assured, it would add to my felicity in a future state to be allowed to watch over and be the guardian angel of you and Mary.'

Gordon was melted to tears by the solennity of Mrs. Gayton's manner, the expression of her fine countenance, and the probability her form would be mouldering in the cold tomb ere the following spring, when he had promised to bring Mary down. She had hinted this herself; and while he gazed on her fragile app arance, he trembled at the too probable conjecture. He therefore earnestly and solemnly assured her, that his endeavours to render her Mary's felicity permanent should be unremitting. 'Her happiness, added he, 'shall not be dearer to the anxious heart of her mother than to mine; and I hope that beloved mother doubts not my honour-my tenderness-my'-'

O no, my son: pardon the too ardent affection of her whose only treasures are her children, and who knows not which she loves most, her son or her daughter.'

Gordon kissed her hand, kneeling. • May the son you honour with your love,' said he, never do any thing to forfeit your good opinion!'

He arose, and, withg raceful emotion, conducted her to her daughters, who arm in arm had come to seek and inform them that the carriage was arrived. Mrs. Gayton's countenance changed, and once more pressing her Mary to her heart, her streaming eyes raised to Heaven,

she silently invoked the blessing of that Heaven on her children. She presented Mary's hand to Gordon, and emphatically said - Remember-She then hastened from them, and retired to her chamber, which she did not quit the remainder of the day.

Sabina attended her brother and sister to the chaise. At the outer gate stood poor Martha, drowned in tears. Mary kissed her withered cheek. 'Ah, my dear young lady! said she, may you be as happy as poor old Martha wishes you! -Gordon approached, and putting a tenpound note in her hand, said, 'Take care of your lady and yourself, my good Martha: it shall be my study to render our dear Mary's life happy." He then handed his wife into the chaise, and stepping in himself, it drove off. The white cottage and the weeping Sabina were soon out of sight, as was the cascade, and the enchanting scenes familiar to the eye or Mary, who, as the hills of Creden disappeared and new scenes opened to view, abated her tears, and by the time they entered London had forgotten all her sorrows, and was in high health and spirits.

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A HOUSE in St. James's-street had been taken for the new-married peo ple, and elegantly furnished under the direction of Gordon's sister. This lady, a woman of much fashion and fine sense, was waiting their arrival. She was charmed with the beauty and vivacity of the elegant rustic, to whose improvement in the fashionable accomplishments she devoted much of her leisure; so that by the

time the families came to town for
the winter, Mary was no longer ig-
norant of polite forms. Lady Fac-
wett introduced her to several gen-
teel families, who received her with
respect and admiration. Mary re-
membered her father, and some
few spoke of her mother with affec-
tion and pity. If Gordon had been
pleased with Mary's quick progress
in fashionable manners, he was ab-
solutely astonished at the avidity
with which she entered into the dis-
sipations of the town. He experienced
the tenderest anxiety, as he observed
the late hours she kept began to
affect her health: her complexion
faded, her appetite decreased. Yet
the lassitude of the morning was
sure to be succeeded by the evening
ball, or the midnight masquerade.
Gordon looked forward to spring
with hope and impatience. He doubt-
ed not her fulfilling her promise to her
mother, and he fondly hoped in her
native shades she would recover her
bloom, and cheerfully return to the
domestic habits and fascinating sim-
plicity of manners which had won
his heart. But when spring did
arrive, his fondly cherished hopes were
frustrated. Mary had discovered that
though the fashionable world did
leave London during the summer
months, they by no means secluded
themselves in so'itudes and shades,
but passed their hours in as much
gaiety, and if possible in a greater
crowd than even in the metropolis.
She therefore prevailed on her phy-
sician to prescribe sea bathing. And
what air so salubrious as the air of
Southampton! A house was taken
for the season: and here Mary be-
came the rage; her caps, her rib-
bands, were the ton; her bon mots
were retailed by the would-be wits;
her very walk was imitated; in short,
she was the undisputed arbitress
of taste and fashion. At first, Gor-
don felt gratified at the encomiums
bestowed on his admired Mary; but

experience soon convinced him that the husband of an acknowledged beauty, of a celebrated toast, was not to be envied. In the public rooms her vivacity was enchanting; on the public walks her appearance was fascinating; but, in a tête-à-tête with her husband she was ever complaining of vapours and low spirits. In vain poor Gordon sighed for quietness and domestic comfort. As Southampton began to thin of company, Mary discovered the air was too keen, too piercing for her constitution, and declared nothing but the Bath waters would do her any good. Her situation required indulgence, and Gordon consented to go for a few weeks. But Mary found the place so agreeable, and meeting several of her acquaintance there, she refused to return to town till her re turn could no longer be delayed; for a few days after their arrival in St. James's street, she presented Gordon with a daughter. He received the little stranger with transport, not doubting but its mother would now become wholly domestic, and devote herself entirely to the pleasing, the tender task of nursing her child: -but, alas! his wishes, as usual, were too sanguine. On her convalescence she went into company more frequent than before, and seemed by her short confinement to have acquireda higher relish for dissipation, and to enter into the follies of the day with superior gusto.

Gordon often endeavoured to convince her of the impropriety of her conduct as a wife and mother; but observing the more anxious he ap. peared for her company in her own house the less she was in it, he at last forbore to remonstrate, fearing his incessant importunities might alienate her affections from him. He hoped that the seeds of virtue, which he knew had been implanted in her bosom by her amiable mother, would at some time not far

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