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as the Louvre: this gallery is so long, that || sprightliness to the green, that my imaginawhen at one extreme, the eye can scarcely |tion realized those sylvan scenes described reach the other: jmagine this filled with in novels. the best paintings of the best masters! I think the church-yard does honour to Oh! to have been here before the super the feelings of the French people : each lative works were removed! Besides what grave has a portion of ground allotted to it, I have mentioned, there is another gallery | railed round with trellis.work, and entwinfull of statues; but drapery being quite ed with roses, jessamine, and heliotrope, omitted, the display is not, nor should it and is every morning strewed with fresh be, congenial to ideas of female delicacy. flowers. The same attention is paid to
Friday last was the fate of St. Louis; we those who have been dead for a number of went to Versailles, walked about the years. One, in particular, awoke the most grounds, and saw the famous water works. || sympathetic feeling by its simplicity; it They are, doubtless, extremely grand, was on a little hillock, with steps, cut in though Mrs. Msays those at Chats- | the turf, to ascend to it; the garden was worth are infinitely superior. After din- | neatly planted, and on the outside of the ner we returned to Paris, and saw the fire trellis-work was this simple inscription, works to great advantage, in consequence “ à ma mere." Among other places, I exof a ridiculous stratagem of our lacquey, pected to visit the Conciergerie. Myself who, when we were stopped, gave the and friends wished to see the tombs of Ney King of Prussia's pass-word, and we parad- and Labedoyere: we desired the guide to ed through the streets as part of his Prus- | conduct us to them : this excited the man's sian Majesty's suite, the guards saluting us | suspicion, and he followed us the whole as we passed.
time we were in the church-yard so closely, On Sunday we visited St. Cloud, and it || that our curiosity could not be gratified; being the festival of that saint, the park and it seems the King has now ordered was crowded with people, in their holiday these tombs to be destroyed, as they tended clothes, and full of booths of every descrip- || to keep alive a great degree of enthusiasm tion, very much like what we call a fair, in the minds of the people, who brought only on a grander scale. It is the national
their children to the graves, and made them custom for ladies and gentlemen to join in swear to revenge the deaths of these Ge. the sports, and I went several times in nerals. those vehicles the Euglish call roundabouts, You must now be even more tired with till, at last, I became quite expert in the reading this long letter than I am with amusement. What most struck my fancy, || writing it; I shall, therefore, reserve my was the dancing under the trees: the mu further communications for another time. sician is mounted on a tub, and the girls, || Love to all friends; and believe me affecneatly dressed in their green silk aprous, tionately yours, and the postillions with their long queues,
A. M. gave such a grotesque, yet characteristic,
SIROES AND MIRAME.
A very eminent bookseller in Paris, | addressing the bookseller, said, “Sir, Main the reign of Louis XV. was once most dame, the Duchess de Bouillon, is very decompletely duped in the purchase of a ma sirous of knowing whether you have yet nuscript: he was reckoned frank and sin got the Persian bistory of Siroës and Mi. cere in his dealings, but, at the same time, rame? It is a book that is very much he was careful, to a proverb, how he parte a talked of at court." My good boy," rewitb bis money on speculation. One nioru turned the bookseller, “I have never heard ing a lacquey entered the bookseller's shop, of such a work; I know nothing about it." in the livery of the Prince de Bouillon, and Scarce had the lacquey quitted the shop,
when a kind of valet-de-chambre made his that the lady whom he fancied to be the appearance, who asked if the History of author had taken it into her head not to Siroës and Mirame was yet printed? Tell make it public. While his thoughts were ing the bookseller, at the same time, that thus employed, a man called on bim, with the Princess de Conti had desired him to a cloak folded over the lower part of bis call ou bim, as being the most fashionable face, and who diew near to him, with a bookseller, and always having the newest mysterious air, whispering, at the same works.“ Sir," said the bookseller, “]
time, “ I wish to speak with you in private, kuow nothing of the work you are speak- || to shew you a manuscript that you will ing of. I'ray wbat is the uaine of the au uot be sorry to see." thor of it?"_“I do not know," said the At the mention of a manuscript, our valet dle-chambre; "all I can tell you, is,
bookseller flattered himself that it was that that the book is in high estimatiou at the which he so much desired to obtain ; and Hotel de Conti."
he made the bearer instantly come into his The valet de chambre had been gone about private apartment; where this adventurer, an hour, when a well-dressed mau, who opening his cloak, drew out the copy in gave
biniself out as an officer belonging to question. The bookseller seized on it with the Duchess of Orleans, said to the book a transport of joy; and seeing on the first seller, “ller Royal Highuess has seut me page those darling words Siroës and Mito ask you when the History of Siroës and rame, hie nearly swooned away with deMirame will be on!?"_" Sir," replied the light.—“Sir,” said he, quite beside himself, Bookseller, “I am quite iguorant of this “ what is the price of this manuscript?"-history; "nd if it is now in the press, it is " It is not for sale," replied the bearer; not in my list."--" I am sorry for you," “the lady who composed it, does not write said the officer; “ for I am told it is a for money : she presents it to you as a gift. most elegant romance, and far superior to She only requests that you will make a that of The Princess of Cleres. It is posi little present to her waiting maids of four tively asserted to be the work of a lady hundred crowns, to buy pios.”—The bookbelovging to the court, and whose name is seller, at these last words, made a very sufficient to enhance the value of the iong face; which the bearer of Siroës and work."
Mirume having remarked, said coldly to The bookseller now became very much bum, “ Sir, reflect well ou this matter. If agitated in his mind. What, then, said he my proposal does not suit you, there is no to himself, can tbis book be, that sets all harm dove. There are plenty of printers; the court in motion ? It must certainly be and the preference was only given to you, the work of some lady, whose wit and because it was thought it would have given talents are equal to her bigh birth. Such you pleasure." a manuscript must make the fortune of the The bookseller, who, notwithstanding bookseller who prints it. I will spare no
this enormous price for pins, was not a thing to get hold of it: and, in effect, he nian to let slip the occasion of obtaining rau through every bookseller's shop to iu this precious copy, said to the bearer, with quire, if, by chance, any one had offered to a laugh, “Sir, you are very hasty. I did them a work, entitled Siroës and Mirame, not refuse to give you the twelve hundred a Persian bistory? They all answered in livres for your inanuscript that you asked; the negative, adding, “What, what is this but I must tell you, in coufidence, that I Sirvës ?"—“Nothing, nothing," replied he, am not in a situation, at this moment, to running off, without stopping, as if he had give you the sum down: I cau only pay feared, by an explanation, the losing of you the half, and the other half, by a bill, the precious manuscript of which he was payable in a fortnight. Will that suit you?" in search.
-“ Perfectly," replied the bearer. “Why, He passed twenty-four hours in the most you are not dealing with a Jew; no one cruel uneasiness, sometimes dreading least wishes you to be put to inconvenience.a brother in the trade had purchased the Besides, you are so well kuown ; your valuable copyright; and at others, fearing bills are as good as ingots of gold."--The
bargain was then made: the bookseller | ing the whole work."_“ Well,” said the became master of Siroës and Mirame, and bookseller, “ take it home with you, and the bearer carried off the money, with a return it me, if you please, to-morrow.” bill for the remaining two hundred crowps. The next day the bookseller waited, im
As soon as the bookseller was left alone, || patiently, for the arrival of his literary he sat down to count the pages of the ma friend; who, when he appeared, returned nuscript ; and judging that there would be || bim his copy, saying, “I am very much enough for two duodecimo volumes, he || mortified to give you such unpleasant incongratulated bimself for having made such telligence, but it is what you must be aca good day's work. “I will,” said be to quainted with. My good friend, you have bimself, “ have two thousand copies print- | been imposed upon. Your Persian history ed; and it will be scarcely published be- || is detestable: or, rather, I think this is a fore I shall have it re-printed; seven or trick that some one has designedly played eight months after, at furthest, I shall be upon you. The first part seems written obliged to begin again : for when once the with an affectation of elegance-indeed, elegance of the work becomes known, it | the first pages are charming; but it soon will be run after like wildfire. Happy the sinks into the most fat stupidity, and so booksellers who get hold of works like continues to the end. I can tell you more; these! This is the way to be enabled to the events are nothing else than a repetikeep a town and a country-house."—Thus tion of Pharamond and Cleopatra. lo a feeding his sanguine hopes, he began to || word, it is the work of some revengeful read the manuscript with delight; crying author, who fancies he has some cause of out, every moment, “How beautiful that complaint against you. 'Examine your idea! Although I am not the first genius | memory: have not you, by chance, given in the world, I cannot avoid finding out some one among these gentry, reason to be that this style is absolutely divine. How dissatified with you? It is a question easy it is to see that it is not an author by which may be put to a great many of you profession, that has composed this romance. booksellers."—“ No," replied the bookIt must be confessed, that people of quality seller; “ I do not suspect that any author write with a peculiar kind of dignity.” has written this work, unless it is a little
While he was thus overjoyed at his bar- | lame Abbé, whose book I printed and pubgain, a literary character came in, whom | lished at my own expence, and who was to he generally consulted on those works that have shared with me the profits; and I he intended to have printed : a bookseller | know he fancies that I do not give him an generally has about him a man of letters, exact account of the number of copies I as a superintendant of his manuscripts. sell." “Ah! Sir," said the bookseller to him, “ You have hit the right pail on the “ you are come, just apropos, to felicitate head," said the man of letters ; " you need me on the acquisitiou of this copy, which, not look farther for the author of Siroes as I am informed, is written by a lady be- || and Mirame. But why did you buy this longing to the court, and which I am not manuscript before you had given it me to inclined to disbelieve, on finding the lan- ll read? You should, at least, have told him guage so fowing.”—“ Let me see," replied who brought it you, to wait for your de. the literary gentleman, looking at the ro termination a few hours. You would not mance, “ let me see if you have cause to be then have been so duped."_“I was wrong, so prepossessed in favour of this manu I was wrong, it is true," said the book script "—He then read over the beginning, seller; “I own I have been guilty of imwhich was well written, and which he did || prudence and stupidity. I was led to be. not fail to admire. He was so much pleas- || lieve that the work was written by a lady ed with it, that he said, “ This prose is ex of quality; and I gave into the scheme, cellent-it is beautiful; if the subject an like a fool. However,"continued he, “since
swers to the style, you have not made a the fault is committed, let us say no more A He
bad bargain. The commencement is so about it. Keep my secret; for if my broNeanteresting, that I am very desirous of read- ||thers of the trade should hear of this Ånd.
adventure, they will only turn me into ri I have published, nor, please God, the last; dicule. I shall pay the bill when it be- 1 shall, at least, make by it what it cost me, comes due, without saying a word, and I || since the vilest trash among books always shall send Siroës and Mirame immediately finds some fool or other to be a purchaser.” to press; it will not be the first bad work
ORIGINAL LETTER FROM MR. EDMUND BURKE TO A POOR ARTIST
OF GENIUS AT YORK.
Beaconsfield, Oct. 1, 1786. which are many, and some of them lucraSIR, I am much obliged to you for || tive. I shall certainly, therefore, when we your letter from York, and for your re meet in town next winter, recommend you ceiving so kindly the trifling accommoda- | to the academy—to Sir Joshua Reynolds, tion that it fell in my way, by accident, to provided your progress in drawing be such afford you: 1 should, however, be exceed as will entitle you to learn there : and we ingly concerned, if it should become the shall talk on the further steps you are to means of raising in your mind expectations take. which it may not be in my power to an Your communicating your ideas to me swer; and of inducing you to engage in in so open and friendly a manner, will, I pursuits, which all your abilities and in- || hope, justify the liberty 1 take, in recomdustry may not enable you to succeed in. mending to you to put a little restraint on My circumstances are such as oblige me to your imagination, relative to your views in keep within narrow bounds, and will not life. The spirit of enterprize and advensuffer me to shew that countenance to ta- ture 1 certainly do not mean wholly to lents, which I wish to shew whenever I damp, as it is the source of every thing meet them. Your case, I assure you, is one which improves and adorns society: but, of those that make the reserves which at the same time, it is, more frequently, the prudence and justice indispensably require, cause of the greatest disappointments, misomewhat painful to me. Not being able series, and misfortunes; and, sometimes, to undertake to support you in your studies even of dangerous immoralities. You seem as a painter, I cannot, in conscience and to feel too much disgust at humble, but honour, encourage you to abandon wholly honest, situations in life, and to form too the business to which you are bred, and slight an opinion of those whom the order which is a very reputable trade. I do not, of Providence has destined to those situahowever, mean at all to discourage you tions. This is a serious mistake, whether from the study of design, so far as it is com. it regards the happiness or the virtue of patible with that employment, which must men, which are neither of them much less be the foundation of your support, and your in one condition than in another. Your retreat, in case your progress in the arts, own happiness is deeply concerned, in not orthe encouragement you meet with, should giving yourself over too much to the guidnot auswer our mutual wishes. Whether
ance of your imagination. You will exyou can ever arrive at sufficient eminence,
cuse the liberty I take, as proceeding from as a painter, to answer any good purpose, my very good wishes for you ; and you will must be, in a great measure, uncertain.- || do me the favour to believe me, Sir, your But, at any rate, whatever progress you | most obedient and humble servant, make in design, though not sufficient to
EDMUND BURKE. accomplish you as a painter, cannot fail of being of very great advantage in all those Inclose this to Mr. Carr, of York, upon trades that are conversant in decoration, whom you will wait as soon as you can.
CHARM OF MODESTY.
Woman ; a Poem. By E. S. Barrett, Esq.,, A friend, a play-mate, as my wishes call,
A ready nurse, though summoned from a ball; This production is at once energetic and She holds in age that conquest youth archieved, harmonious; its chief feature is the praise | Loves without poup, and pleases unperceived. of women, and their thanks are highly due to such a champion as they have here found in Mr. Barrett. The Poem opens
The Soldier's Widow. By the Etrick with a tribute to the memory of the Prin.
Shepherd. cess Charlotte, and goes on from that ex. The flag wav'd o'er the castle wall, alted subject to the eulogy of females in The bind came lilting o'er the lea; general. From this interesting volume we
Loud joy rang thro' the lighted ha' lay before our readers the following tender
An'ilka ane was blythe but me;
For, ah! my heart had tint its glee, and truly poetic extracts:
Altbo' the wars had worn away ;
The breast that us'd my stay to be “ To guard that virtue, to supply the place
Was lyin'cauld in foreign clay.
I lookit east, I lookit west,
I saw the darksome coming even;
The kid was to the bamlet driven ; It sheds a mist before our fiery gaze.
But house nor haine, aneath the heaven, The panting apprehension, quick to feel,
Except the sheugb of greenwood tree; The shrinking grace that fain would grace con
O that was a' the comfort given ceal; Tbe beautiful rebuke that looks surprise,
To my three little bairns an'me, The gentle vengeance of averted eyes," &c. 1 bad a pray'r I cou'd na say WOMAN'S HOSPITALITY.
I had a vow I dough na breathe
For aye they led my words astray-
An'aye they wer' connectet baith
Hope was na there-but I was laith
To see my little babies dee. Abd clasp his withered hands, and woman name."
Just as the breeze the aspen stirr’d,
Aud bore aslant the falling dew,
I thought I heard a bonny bird
Singing amid the air so blue; When ber heart sends its herald to her face?
It was a lay that did renew 3 Sepds from its ark its own unblemish'd dove,
The hope deep sunk in misery; A messenger of truth, of joy, of love!
It was of ane my woes that knew,
And some kind heart that car'd for me.
O sweet as breaks the rising day,
Fell on my soul the cheering lay
Was it an angel pour’d the strain ? "Ob, give me, Heaven! to sweeten latter life,
Wha kens a yearning mother's pain, And mend my wayward heart, a tender wife,
Bent o'er the child upon her knee ! * Who soothes me, though herself with anguisb loinine will bless, and bless again wrung,
The generous hearts that car'd for me,
A shelter to forlorn distress!
The hearts that issue the decree-
The widow and the fatherless
AN AMIABLE WIFR.