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of Seriousness and Meditation and the free infliction of Censure in the spirit of Love, can the true Philanthropist of the present Time, curb-in himself and his Contemporaries; only by these can he aid in preventing the Evils which threaten us, not from the terrors of an Enemy so much as from our fears of our own Thoughts, and our aversion to all the toils of Reflection? For all must now be taught in sport-Science, Morality, yea, Religion itself. And yet few now sport from the actual impulse of a believing Fancy and in a happy Delusion. Of the most influencive Class, at least, of our literary Guides, (the anonymous Authors of our periodical Publications) the most part assume this Character from Cowardice or Malice, till having begun with studied ignorance and a premiditated levity, they at length realize the Lie, and end indeed in a pitiable destitution of all intellectual power.

To many I shall appear to speak insolently, because the PUBLIC (for that is the phrase which has succeeded to "THE TOWN," of the Wits of the reign of Charles the second) -the Public is at present accustomed to find itself appealed to as the infallible Judge, and each Reader complimented with excellencies, which if he really possessed, to what purpose is tie a Reader, unless, perhaps, to remind himself of his own superiority! I confess that I think widely different. I have not a deeper Conviction on earth, than that the Principles both of Taste, Morals, and Religion, which are taught in the commonest Books of recent Composition, are false, injurious, and débasing. If these sentiments should be just, the consequences must be so important, that every well-educated Man, who professes them in sincerity, deserves a patient hearing. He may fairly appeal even to those whose persuasions are most opposed to his own, in the words of the Philosopher of Nola: "Ad ist hæc quæso vos, qualiacunque primo videantur aspectu, adtendite, ut qui vobis forsan insanire videar, saltem quibus insaniam rationibus cognoscatis." What I feel deeply, freely will I utter. Truth is not Detraction and assuredly we do not hate him, to whom we tell the Truth. But with whomsoever we play the Deceiver and Flatterer, him at the bottom we despise. We are, indeed, under a necessity to conceive a vileness in him, in order to diminish the sense of the wrong we have committed, by the worthlessness of the object.

Through no excess of confidence in the strength of my talents, but with the deepest assurance of the justice of my cause, I bid defiance to all the Flatterers of the Folly and foolish Self-opinion of the half-instructed Mary;

THE THREE GRAVES,

A SEXTON'S TALE.

PART IV.

To see a man tread over Graves

I hold it no good mark :

"Tis wicked in the Sun and Moon,
And bad luck in the dark.

You see that Grave? The Lord he gives,
The Lord he takes away!
O Sir! the Child of my old Age
Lies there, as cold as clay.

Except that Grave, you scarce see one'
That was not dug by me:

I'd rather dance upon them all

Than tread upon thèse Three!

"Aye Sexton !"'tis a touching Tale-
You, Sir! are but á Lád:
This month I'm in my seventieth year
And still it makes me sad.
And Mary's Sister told it me

For three good hours and more;
Tho' I had heard it in the main
From Edward's self before.
Well, it pass'd off-the gentle Ellen
Did well-nigh dote on Mary;
And she went oft'ner than before,
And Mary lov'd her more and more;'
She manag'd all the Dairy.

To market She on Market Days,
To church on Sundays came :
All seem'd the same-all seem'd so, Sir!
But all was not the same.

Had Ellen lost her mirth? O no!
But she was seldom chearful;

And Edward look'd as if he thought
That Ellen's mirth was fearful.

When by herself she to herself

Must sing some merry rhyme

She could not now be glad for hours` ́

Yet silent all the time.

And when she sooth'd her friend, thro' all

Her soothing words 'twas plain

She had a sore grief of her own,

A Haunting in her brain.

And oft she said, " I'm not grown thin !”

And then her wrist she spann'd;

And once when Mary was downcast,

She took her by the hand,

And gaz'd upon her, and at first

She gently press'd her hand,

Then harder, till her grasp at length
Did gripe like a convulsion ;
"Alas!" said she we ne'er can be
"Made happy by compulsion."
And once her both arms suddenly
Round Mary's neck she flung:
And her heart panted, and she felt
The words upon her tongue.
She felt them coming, but no power:
Had she the words to smother;
And with a kind of shriek she cried,
"O Christ! you're like your Mother!--
So gentle Ellen now, no more

Could make this sad house cheary;
And Mary's melancholy ways,

Drove Edward wild and weary-
Lingering he rais'd his latch at eve..
Tho' tir'd in heart and limb:
He lov'd no other place, and yet:
Home was no home, to Him.
One evening he took up a book
And nothing in it read;

Then flung it down, and groaning cried,
"O Heaven! that I were dead!

Mary look'd up into his face,

And nothing to him said;
She try'd to smile, and on his arm
Mournfully lean'd her head!
And he burst into tears, and fell

Upon his knees in prayer

"Her heart is broke O God! my Grief

"It is too great to bear!"

'Twas such a foggy time as makes

Old Sexton's Sir! like me,

Rest on their spades to cough; the Spring

Was late uncommonly.

And then the hot days, all at once

They came, one knew not how:

You look'd about for shade, when scarce
A Leaf was on a Bough.

It happen'd then-twas in the bower
A furlong up the wood

Perhaps you know the place, and yet
I scarce know how you should
No path leads thither: 'tis not nigh
To any pasture plot;

But cluster'd near the chattering brook
Some Hollies mark the spot.

Those Hollies, of themselves, a shape
As of an arbour took;

A close round Arbour, and it stands
Not three strides from the Brook.
Within this Arbour, which was still
With scarlet berries hung,

96

Were these three Friends, one Sunday Morn,
Just as the first bell rung-

"Tis sweet to hear a brook: 'tis sweet

To hear the Sabbath Bell!

Tis sweet to hear them both at once
Deep in a woody Dell.

His Limbs along the moss, his head
Upon a mossy heap,

With shut-up senses Edward lay:
That Brook, e'en on a working-day,
Might chatter one to sleep.
And he had pass'd a restless night
And was not well in health!
The Women sate down by his side

And talk'd as 'twere by stealth. ·

"The Sun peeps through the close thick Leaves,

"See, dearest Ellen! see

""Tis in the Leaves! a little Sun,

"No bigger than your ee.

"A tiny Sun! and it has got

"A perfect glory too:

"Ten thousand threads and hairs of light

"Make up a glory gay and bright

"Round that small orb so blue."

And then they argued of those Rays
What colour they might be:

Says this, "they're mostly green! says that,
"They're amber-like to me.">

So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts
Were troubling Edward's rest;

But soon they heard his hard quick pants
And the thumping in his breast:
A mother too"! these self-same words
Did Edward mutter plain;

His face was drawn back on itself.
With horror and huge pain.

Both groan'd at once, for both knew well
What thoughts were in his mind:

When he wak'd up,

and star'd like one

That hath been just struck blind.

He sate upright; and ere the Dream
Had had time to depart,

"O God, forgive me! (he exclaim'd)

"I have torn out her heart!"

Then Ellen shriek'd, and forthwith burst
Into ungentle laughter;

And Mary shiver'd, where she sate

And never she smil'd after!

PETRITH: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J BROWN

AND SOLD BY

MESSES, LONGMAN AND CO. PATERNOSTER ROW, AND

CLEMENT, 201, STRAND, LONDON,

THE FRIEND.

No. 7. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1809.

Bum POLITICI sæpiuscule hominibus magis insidiantur quam con. sulunt, potius callidi quam sapientes; THEORETICI e contrario se rem divinam facere et sapientiæ culmen attingere credunt, quando humanam naturam, quæ nullibi est, multis modis laudare, et cam, quæ re verá est, dictis lacessere norunt. Unde factum est, ut nunquam Politicam conceperint quæ possit ad usum revocari; sed quæ in Utopiä vel in illo poetarum aureo sæculo, ubi scilicet minime necesse erat, institui potuisset. At mihi plane persuadeo, Experientiam omnia civitatum genera, quæ concipi possunt ut homines concorditer vivant, et simul media, quibus multitudo dirigi, seu quibus intra certos limites contineri debeut, ostendisse: ita ut non credam, nos posse aliquid, quod ab experientá sive praxi non abhorreat, cogitatione de hac re assequi, quod nondum expertum compertumque sit.

Cum igitur animum ad Politicam applicuerim, nihil quod novum zel inauditum est; sed tantum ca quæ cum praxi optime conveniunt, certá et indubitatà ratione demonstrare aut ex ipså humanæ naturæ conditione deducere, intendi. Et ut ea quæ att hanc scientiam spectant, eadem animi libertate, quá res mathematicus solemus, inquirerem, sedulo curavi humanas actiones non ridere, non lugere, neque detestari; sed intelligere. Nec ad imperii securitatem refert quo animo homines inducantur ad res recte administrandum, modo res recte administrentur. Animi enim libertas, seu fortitudo, privata virtus est; ut imperii virtus securitus. SPINOZA op. Post. P. 267.

TRANSLATION,

While the mere practical Statesman too often rather plots against mankind, than consults their interest, crafty not wise; the mere THEO RISTS, on the other hand, imagine that they are employed in a glorious work, and believe themselves at the very summit of earthly Wisdom, when they are able, in set and varied language, to extol that Human Nature, which exists no where (except indeed in their own fancy) and to accuse and vilify our nature as it really is. Hence it has happened, that these men have never conceived a practicable scheme of civil policy, but at best such forms of government only, as might have been instituted in Utopia, or during the golden age of the Poets: that is to say, forms of Government excellently adapted for those who need no government at all. But I am fully persuaded, that experience has already brought to light all conceivable sorts of political Institutions under which human society can be maintained in concord, and likewise the chief means of directing the multitude, or retaining them within given boun. daries: so that I can hardly believe, that on this subject the deepest

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