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the ladies one morning this week. She could not anfwer for the earl, who pays conftant attendance to the duties of parliament. Thus ftands the matter at prefent; and I will not clofe this letter till I fee if Mrs. Maynard makes good her promife.
Oh! you are fuch a romantic creature (cried the), that we must not confult your judgment in matters of this kind: but I think lord Merioneth, who is without doubt a young man of great underftanding, can never entertain ferious thoughts of uniting his fate with fo obfcure a partner.
Before I could anfwer, the lady in queftion joined us, followed by lord Merioneth.
May one know (faid Mrs. Maynard, archly) what tubject you were debating on as you came up the
Our expected guests arrived yefterday, and spent the day with us. The party confifted of lord and lady Derwent, their fon and daughter, Mrs Maynard, and a mifs Rutland, a young lady under the protection of lady Derwent. After the tirefome ceremony of formal introduc-walk? (I fhould have ob'erved we tions was over, we all appeared equally determined to be pleafed with each other. Even the earl, though (I plainly perceived) with fome difficulty, difencumbered himfelf from his ufual weight of dignity, and condefcended to be agreeable. Lady Derwent is a moft pleafing woman :-Lord Merioneth refembles the youthful portrait of my honoured father; and I already feel for him the affection of a fifter. But how fhall I find words which may do juftice to the beauty, elegance, and dignity of Ellen Rutland? It is impoffible to defcribe her; you muft fce her before you can form any eftimate of her numberlefs attractions.
Mrs. Maynard whispered me, in confidence, that the thought lord Merioneth was fond of mifs Rutland.
I honour his taste-was my reply. He does no credit to his underftanding by the felection, faid Mrs. Maynard; for I believe mifs Rutland is a dependent on his mother's bounty, without family or fortune; and it is not reasonable to think the earl, with his knowledge of the world, will ever confent to fo ftrange an alliance.
It would raife him (faid I) much in my eftimation, if he confented with a good grace to the happiness of his fon..
were in the garden.) Miis Rutland' blufhed.-Lord Merioneth answered, I was endeavouring to convince Mifs Rutland, that this view, beautiful as it is, is nothing to the fcenery of italy.-Here is not that wild romantic diverfity which characterises the landfcapes of that country. But here, faid he, bowing gallantly, I must drop my allufions; for, in the prefence of the Graces, even Siberia's deferts would become a paradise.
Go, you are a trifler, (faid Mrs. Maynard, laughing) though. I must confels, an agreeable one, and flatter with a very good grace.-Does he not, mifs Rutland ?
Why I really think, (fhe anfwered) as far as I can judge, that his lordship's late refidence in Italy has much improved him in that science.
Oh! (cried he) you mistake the matter entirely, my charming Rutland: it is the fubject which is improved,-bowing to her.
She blifhed exceflively.
Mrs. Maynard exclaimed, I really think, my lord, you would make love in a very pretty manner.--What do you think, mis Rutland ?
I—1 do not know, nadam,-hefitatingly.
On his ferdip has not tried his abilities then in your hearing.
In pity to mifs Rutland's confuGon, 1 exclaimed,-You are too
curious, Mrs. Maynard: and, if I was mifs Rutland, I would advife lord Merioneth to try his abilities in your hearing, for the pleasure of having your opinion of them.
ceive no more, letters from Twickenham, as we have but little time for the neceflary preparations: but as foon as we have completed our journey, I will re-affume my occupation. Don't expect a packet a week, or imagine that I fhall excufe you from anfwering my letters.
Mrs. Merioneth joins with me in love and compliments; and we fin
Excellent! (exclaimed Merionet) I am quite at Mrs. Maynard's fer vice, if he can make make room for me in her lift of admirers. I will (addreffing himself to her: pick up your fan, fetch your fnuff.cerely hope, before this reaches you, box, fummon your Abigail, cares your lap-dog, and improve your parrot.
Oh, hold, for heaven's fake! cried the lady you would indeed, be an acquifition to any one that could make room for you; but, in my lift, there is no vacancy. But you may practife this fummer at the Priory, (looking archly at Ellen) and perhaps another feafon I may admit you in my train.
Moit fuperlatively kind, and amazingly condefcending! cried lord Merioneth, drily at the fame time he drew Mrs. Maynard's hand under his, arm, and made for the house,
We followed: the day paffed very pleafantly, and it was late before they departed for London.-Lord Derwent gave us a preffing invitation to pafs the fummer at the Priory; and I am inclined to think we fhall accept of it, as my aunt is very partial to her native place.— We have never refided there fince the death of my mother, an event I have but a very faint recollection of. I fhall be much pleafel, I am fure, with the venerable old pile. In it I drew my firit breath. It will likewife have an additional charm,-it will place me many miles nearer Lumly Houfe than I am at prefent. I am interrupted
Lord Merioneth was below,-came to propofe our accompanying them to the Priory the week after next. It was agreed on; fo you will re
that Mr. Lumly will be restored to convalefcence. I rejoice in your brother's improvement, but would have you beware of his tutor's attractions. That heart of thine, which withstood all the fighing fwains of the gay world, may be more alive to the merits of Danville.
forget whether you faid he was handfome; but I take it for granted that he is young and agreeable,-two very dangerous qualifications to oppofe against the heart of a generous and unfufpecting woman.
Farewell! I have quieted my confcience by telling you your danger. Yours fiicerely, &c.
L. MERIONETH. (To be continued.)
fures is to ufe them fo that HE great rule of fenfual pleathey may not deftroy themselves or be separated from, or rendered incompatible with other pleafures, but rather that they may be affifted by, and mutually affifting to the more refined and exalted fympathy of rational enjoyment.
Men ever coufine the meaning of the word pleafure to what pleafes themselves. Gluttons imagine that by pleasure is cant gluttony'; but the only true epicures are tho.e who enjoy the pleafures of tempe rance. Small, pleafures feem great to fuch as know no greater. The virtuous man is he who has sense
enough to prefer the greatest plea- | Baffanio, and from precifely the
Superfluity and parade, among the vulgar-rich, pafs for elegance and greatnefs. To the man of true tafte, temperance is luxury, and fimplicity grandeur.
Whatever pleafures are immediately derived from the fenfe, perons of fine internal feelings enjoy, befides their other pleasures; while fuch as place their chief happiness in the former, can have no true tafte for the delicious fenfations of the foul.
They who divide profit and honefty, mistake the nature either of the one or the other. We must make a difference between appearance and truth: the real profitable and good are the fame.
Falfe appearances of profit are the greatest enemies to true intereft. Future forrows present themselves in the difguife of prefent pleasures; and fhort-fighted folly eagerly embraces the deceit.
Every fpecies of vice originates either from infenfibility, from want of judgment, or from both. No
maxim can be more true than that all vice is folly. For, either by vice we bring mifery more immediately on ourselves, or we involve others in mifery. If any one bring evil on himself, it is furely folly; if his prefent pleasure be to make others miferable, were he to escape every other punishment, he must fuffer for it by remorfe,-or it is a certain proof he is deprived of that fenfe or fympathy which is the oppofite of dulnefs; in either of which cafes it is evident that all vice is folly.
HISTORY of the decayed ENGLISH MERCHANT and his DAUGHTER.
(From Pratt's Gleanings.)
Merchant, of confiderable
A eminence in London, was
reduced to the fituation of poor VOL. XXVII.
fame run of ill-luck in his fea-adventures,
"The dangerous rocks,
Touching his gentle veffel's fide, Had fcattered all his fpices on the ftream,
Enrob'd the roaring waters with his filks,
And not one veffel 'fcap'd the dreadful touch Of merchant-marring rocks."
To these miscarriages abroad were added fimilar calamities at home. Several great houfes broke in his debt; and with the wrecks of his fortune, gathered together, he left the metropolis, and took ref ige in the mountains of Montgomeryfire. A little girl, then only nine years of age, his only furviving child, was the fole companion of his retreat, and fimiled away his misfortunes. The care of her education was his moft certain relief from the corroding reflections of the past; and the certainty of her poffeffing, at his death, fufficient to prevent a good mind from the horrors of depent dence, foftened his thoughts of the future; the prefent was filled up with the delights of feeing her ambition yet humbler than her for tunes, and literally bounded by the objects that furrounded her. To tend the flowers he had fet with her own hand, to nurfe the fhrubs the had planted, to fport with and feed the lamb fhe had domefticated, to fee it follow her in her rambles, and to liften to the melodies of nature, as they murmured in the waters or echoed through the woods, were her chief amufements without doors, and by a thousand love-taught duties to make a father forget that he had ever been unhappy or unfor tunate, her deareft ftudy within. Of her per.onal attractions I fall fay little a fingle line of Thompfon's gives the trueft image of them,
which it once appeared impoffible we fhould ever país a day, are yielded for others, that it then would have been thought as impoffible even to have endured. Our merchant would have deemed the com
It is not eafy to be wretched in the conftant fociety of perfect inno.pany of a monarch an intrufion; cence: the company of a beautiful child, wholly unpolluted by the world, affords one the idea of angelic affociation. Its harmleffnefs appears to guarantee one from harm we reflect, nay we fee and hear, almost every moment it is climbing our knees, playing at our fide, engaging our attentious, or repofing in our arms, the words and acts of an unfpotted being; and we can fearce be perfuaded, any real ill can befal us, while a companion fo like a guardian cherub is near. When the babe is our own-fay, ye parents, how the fenfation is then exalted!-Which of you, having at your option the lofs of the ampleft fortune, or of the feebleft infant, would not cleave to the last, and refign the former ? or, if any of you balanced a moment, would not one fping word, one cafual look, turn the fcale in favour of nature, and make you think it a crime to have hesitated?
and the jargon of the Exchange, which had for fo many years been mufic to his ears, could not now have been borne. I have here given you fome of his own expreffions. At length he fell fick. His daughter was then in her eighteenth year; the diforder was of a gradual kind, that threatened to continue life after one has ceased to love it, and to clofe in death. He lingered eleven weeks; and the old domeftic being now fuperannuated and almost blind, his daughter was at once his nurfe, his cook, his confoler, and might truly be faid to make his bed in his fickness. She wanted not the world to teach her the filial duties. Her own pure heart fupplied them all, and her own gentle hands adminiftered them. But now, for the firft time of her exiftence, he added to her father's anguish. It almost kills me to look on you, my only love, cried he, with an emphafis of forrow, and bursting into tears.
Such were the fentiments of the I am fure, (replied fhe, falling on merchant, and under their cheering her knees at his bed-fide) it has alinfluence he lived many years, dur-moft killed me to hear you fay fo; ing which, a few mountain peafants, and if it would make my deareft faan old relict of his better days, as ther better, I would kill myfelf this a fervant, who had been nurfe to moment, and trust in God's mercy the young lady, and his daughter, to forgive me. Ah, my child, you were the only objects with whom hemiftake the caufe and motive of my converfed. So powerful is habit, regrets, refumed the parent-the that we affimilate to perfons, places, thoughts of leaving you without and things, that on our first intro- protection, there is the bitterness. duction to them, we might imagine, I am not going to be left, faid fhe, neither philofophy, cuftom, nor reli- rifing haftly: I have a prefage you gion, could make fapportable. We will be well foon; and I am a great are furprised to find we attach to prophetefs, my beloved father. Be them, even to endearment. In time, in good fpirits, for I am fure, you even our former habits, no lefs will recover.-I have fent to Montftrong in us, are but flightly re- gomery and Welch Pool; and tomembered; and thofe purfuits, di-morrow, I am to have the two best verfions, and focieties, without doctors in Wales.
Your goodness is always a comfort, my darling (replied the de-ally united the boldet images fponding merchant): but two thoufand Welch doctors could not fet me again on my legs. If indeed I was in a condition to procure. but that's impoffible!
vation of his ftyle, which continu
Procure what -whom -Nothing is impoffible, anfwered his daughter with the moft eager hafte. I have an idle and romantic faith in the only man in the whole world that knows my conftitution; and he is as far beyond my reach, as if he were out of existence.
Good heaven! you mean Dr. —, exclaimed the daughter. I have heard you often speak of his having twice before faved your precious life; for which I have had him in my nightly prayers ever fince, and shall go on bleffing him to the hour of my death. O, that I were a man to fetch him!
the most rigorous precifion,-we are tempted to esteem him the greateft, the most univerfal, and the most eloquent of philofophers. His works are juftly valued,-perhaps more valued than known, and therefore more deferving ftudy than eulogiums. Bacon, born amidst the obfcurity of the most profound night, perceived that philofophy d d not yet exit, though many had, undoubtedly, flattered themfelves they excelled in it; for the more an age is grofs and ignorant, the more it believes itfelf informed of all that can poffibly be known. He began by taking a general view of the various objects of all natural fciences; he divided thofe fciences into different branches, of which he made the most exact enumeration, He examined what was already known relative to each of thofe objects; and he drew up an immenfe catalogue of what remained to be difcovered. This was the aim and fubject of his admirable work on the dignity and au,men. tation of natural knowledge. In his New Organ of Sciences, he perfects the views he had pointed out in the firft work; he carries them further, and fhews the neceffity of experimental phyfics, wt.ich was not yet thought of. An enemy to fyf tems, he beholds philofophy as only that part of our knowledge which ought to contribute to make us better or more happy. He feems to limit it to the fcience of useful things, and every where recommenus the ftudy of nature. His other writings are formed on the fame plan. Every thing in them, even their titles, is expreffive of the W HEN we attentively confiderman of genius, of the mind that the juft, intelligent, and fees in great. He there collects tacts, extenfive views of this great man,— he there compares experiments, and the multiplicity of objects his pene-indicates a great number to be trating understanding had compre-made. He invites the learned to Lended within its sphere, the ele. ftudy and perfect the arts, which he
The father preffed her tenderly in his feeble arms, in acknowledgment of her affection, but told ber, that, from a multiplicity of other claims, it would be as impoflible for the doctor to get down to Wales, as for himself to go out of his fick bed to London. Do not, therefore, let us think of it, my child, continued the father, fince it is only the aggravation of a vain wifh, to know that it must end in difappointment.-I am refigned.
(To be continued.)
CHARACTER of Sir FRANCIS BA-
(From the French of M. D'Alembert.)