every man is a censor on his neighbour, || ceit is discovered, the union cannot and keeps a watchful eye over all his actions. Private inclination must there oftentimes be easily broken. The time may thus come when they may unavail when experience, though it may give them conviction and repentance, can afford them no remedy, and when they they shall find themselves bound down for ever under the yoke of iniquity. METROPOLITANUS. ON MONUMENTAL HONOURS. Mr. SPY, be frequently sacrificed to public esti-ingly sigh for the virtue they have lost; mation, for no man can be indifferent to the opinions of those among whom he lives. But in a great city the only monitors whom any man need stand in awe of, are the laws and his own conscience; and conscience is, in general, found to be exceedingly easily managed, and though stern and unrelenting when sitting in judgment over others, of the most accommodating facility towards ourselves. There are few men who do not propose to themselves theindulgence of some secret vice, from which alone they can be withheld by the dread of censure, and which they think may easily be pardoned them for the sake of their other virtues. They will allow that virtue is the only sure road to hap piness, and that it is much easier to leave the road than to know how to return ; but they still flatter themselves that they may be more fortunate than others, and may indulge with impunity in a few occasional aberrations. They refuse to believe, till they have experienced the rapidity with which the contagion spreads. They reflect not that while the moral disease is daily gaining strength, the power of resist ance is daily diminishing. They reflect not too, that there is no confidence to be placed in our companions of iniquity; that to expect rectitude of conduct from those who have forsaken it, is one of the most miserable of delusions; that the utmost vigilance cannot at all times guard against treachery and deceit, when united with them in close and familiar intimacy; and that even when the de | THE love of posthumous fame has ever been a strong incitement to the virtuous, to the learned, and to the brave. It is a passion which is felt in the rudest, as well as in the most civilized state of society. The savage, who stalks in the wilds of America, when he carves upon the pine his deeds of valour, and points out to his son this sacred memorial of his atchievements; feels it no less strongly than the Poet or the Sage, though he cannot so exultingly exclaim, exegi monumentum perennius cere. . It has, therefore, ever been the custom since Society was linked together, to consecrate and to immortalize the place where rests the illustrious dead. The naked Chieftains who roamed o'er the heaths of Caledonia, looked forward with pleasure to the cairn posterity would raise to their memory, and their successors accounted it a sacred duty to add a stone to the heap. In the more civilized times of ancient Greece and Rome, statues were erected to perpetuate the remembrance of those who had deserved well of their country. In modern ages, particular spots are set apart, >nt monuments reared, to reremains and commemorate e deeds of those whose valour, wisdom, or genius has contributed to save or exalt their native land. It is well it should be so; often does the thought of the tribute which a grateful country will pay to their memory, after their career is closed, animate to exertion. in the hour of danger, and soothe in moments of solitude or death, the bravest and the noblest minds. But monumental honours, especially such as are conferred by national gratitude should be conferred in a manner so as to stimulate youth to imitate those who have merited them, by finishing with honour a career of glory, They should therefore be erected in situations where they are most widely calculated to diffuse this spirit of emulation. Now, Sir, to devote one or two places alone in a metropolis to receive the remains of departed worth, and the monuments erected to their memory; is to confine within a narrow circle indeed, the influence which such monuments ought to have upon national genius; how few comparatively of the millions of British subjects ever see Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's, and how feeble of consequence is its effect? I conceive there is a method which would be more congenial to the mind, and more conducive to the end for which these sepulchral honours are bestowed, than this, were the monu ments erected in the native towns of the hero, or the sage! Let me be gathered to my fathers, is a wish which almost every man breathes; there is something pleasing in the idea of mingling with kindred dust, and resting in the same grave with those we have been accustomed to venerate and esteem; the relations, and friends, and townsmen, and neighbours, feel a kind of interest in the glory of those with whom they were acquainted-they point out with honest pride to their children and to strangers the place where their illus trious countryman is laid; and dwell with exultation on the deeds which have gained him such distinguished honour. Thus throughout the whole empire would be distributed monuments of glory and incitements to emulation. The picture of Miltiades, is said to have roused to action the conqueror of Salamis, and may we not sup. pose in our own country, that talent and genius may not be roused by pointing to the monument, and describing the virtues of departed excellence? Let then, I repeat, every town which has given birth to an illustrious character, be honoured with the trophies erected to his fame, and let not a metropolis monopolise what ought to be extended over a whole country. Besides, there is a danger which accompanies having all the trophies of national triumph exhibited in one place. Should the building in which they are collected be destroyed, they perish in its ruin; by being more widely scattered we have a greater chance of their being preserved. It is not long since the inattention of workmen repairing the roof of Westminster, exposed that grand national edifice to the danger I suppose. SIR, TO THE SPY. Though you are an old batchelor, you seem to be a sineere friend to ma POR trimony, and frankly testify your regret for having missed some favourable opportunities of entering into that state in your youth. I hope, then, you will not be offended at me for the liberty I have taken, in sending you this short sending you this short notice that I am a maiden lady, who entertain the same opinion with regard to matrimony which you have manifested in your last, namely, that it should by no means be neglected or discouraged. We are all very much beholden to you, Sir, for the hints you have given the gentlemen, which will certainly induce them to think more seriously of marriage than they have been inclined to do these many years*. I am not an old maid, Sir, but I am not very young neither, so I think if you and I could conclude a match between ourselves, our attentions to each other in the decline of life, might, in some measure, compensate for the misfortunes of our youth, and for the neglect with which we have hitherto been treated. For with regard to your very modest assertion, that you never met with a bad reception, I have great reason to believe there is more of vanity than truth in it. I For though I am mistress of every qualification requisite for forming the genteel and agreeable partner for life, my case has been widely different. can play at whist and backgammon with astonishing accuracy-chat a great deal about nothing-laugh at my neighbours behind their backs-write a card -garnish a fow!,(don't read fool, Sir, as most Scotch people do,) and carve one too-and know, besides, every necessary ceremony, question, and reply, at table. *This letter refers to No. 16. Yet, would you believe it, Sir? notwithstanding of all these, I believe I have never got a serious offer of marriage. But as you have stood forth such a strenuous advocate for that honourable institution, I have made my condition and desires known to you, hoping you will set an example of the precepts you teach, (for every one knows that example goes farther than precept) and either take me yourself, or speak a good word of me to some of your friends. My fortune is moderate; but that these qualifications are perfectly sufficient, and all that are studied, or expected in women of my rank, I hope neither you nor any other person will attempt to deny. I am, SIR, &c. CHRISTIAN CAPIAS. The SPY's compliments to Miss CAPIAS is much beholden to her for her kind offer; but she won't do. He is very sorry that such accomplishments as she enumerates are encouraged, or even countenanced; either by those who have the solemn charge of forming the minds of young ladies, which are in general ductile and pliant as the willow that springs by the verge of the brook; or by that sex for whom they are designed as companions in the journey of life, and associates in the blessings of eternity. The latter cannot repress the increasing evil in any other way than by neglect, and there is too much reason to infer from appearances, that notwithstanding all that the Spy hath said, or can say in favour of it, marriage will fall more and more into dissuetude; and if some more rational accomplishments are not studied by the fair sex, it is not unlikely that it may grow altogether unfashionable, save in the hamlet. It is with the utmost reluctance that the Spy refuses a lady's request, but indeed Miss Capias won't do. e REGRET WHAT makes that lulling brook complain, Alas! I fear the sylvan bower, Has lost its sweets of morn and even, Sing on thou bonny Bird of Spring! But I have left my native glade, The silent bower, and scented blossom! And I have left the sweetest maid, That ever heav'd a snowy bosom! I saw the round, the chrystal tear! How could my stern reproach abuse her! How often from the evening fall, She I've woo'd her fondly till the morrow; Sing on thou bonny bird of morn, Above the broom-wood waving yellow; Thy love sits listening in the thorn, Delighted with thy music mellow. Thou call'st the red sun from the sea; He hastes above the wave to hear thee; The evening star steals o'er the tree, Long may thy melody renew, The fondest hope of faithful lover; And morning weave her mantle blue, Thy dwelling in the green wood over. Her silver sleys of fairy weft, Of former joys alone remind me; My bliss is fled, since I have left My dear, my injured maid behind me! TO TIM E. Roll on thou mighty all-consuming power! To grace thy train, or bend beneath thy sway. Swift as the linking bolt round earth and sea; And in a fiery grave-cloth wrap thy throne and thee. Sweet hope! lies lingering in a chilly urn; What now remains, but langhishing to mourn To seek, with wistfull eye, the silent bourn Haste on, thou great co-eval of the sun! Thy world with snows and flowers alternate sow; And swell the floods of wickedness and woe? While moons shall wane, and heaving oceans flow To count the hours of thy dominion o'er, The heaps of human guilt shall higher grow And millions sink beneath to rise no more! Haste, haste thy guilty course, to yon eternal shore! EDINBURGH-Printed at the Star Office, (price 4d. a single Number,.4s. 6d. per quarter, deliverable in town, and 58. when sent to the country), by A. AIKMAN, for the PROPRIETORS ;. where Subscriptions, and Communications, (post paid), will be received. |