they bring good appetites, they have certainly reason to praise the feast. And I console myself in the persuasion, that, for this day at least, I shall escape an indigestion. A very narrow escape too, for some rancid butter, of which the cook had been liberal, puts me in bodily fear. If the repast is not abundant, we have at least the consolation, that there is no lack of conversation. Not being perfectly master of the language, most of the jests escaped me. As for the rest of the company, each being employed either in saying a good thing, or in studying one to say, it is no wonder if he cannot find time to applaud that of his neighbor. They all agree, that we live in an age alike deficient in justice and in taste. Each finds in the fate of his own works numerous instances to justify this censure. They tell me, to my great surprise, that the public now condemn theatrical compositions, before they have heard the first recital. And to remove my doubts, the Countess is so kind as to assure me, that this rash decision has been made on one of her own pieces. In pitying modern degeneracy, we rise from the table.

I take my leave immediately after the coffee, which by no means dishonors the precedent repast; and Madame informs me that on Tuesdays and Thursdays she is always at home, and will always be glad to see me. While I stammer out some return to the compliment, my heart, convinced of my unworthiness to partake of such attic entertainments, makes me promise never again to occupy the place from which, perhaps, I had excluded a worthier personage.

I

IN THE LAST DAYS OF KING LOUIS'S REIGN.

[A Letter to Mrs. Morris of Philadelphia, May, 1789.—From the Same.]

HAD the honor to be present on the fifth of this month at the opening of the States General; a spectacle more solemn to the mind, than gaudy to the eye. And yet, there was displayed everything of noble and of royal in this titled country. A great number of fine women, and a very great number of fine dresses, ranged round the Hall. On a kind of stage the throne; on the left of the King and a little below him the Queen; a little behind him to the right, and on chairs, the Princes of the blood; on the right and left, at some distance from the throne, the various Princesses, with the gentlemen and ladies of their retinue. Advanced on the stage, to the left of the throne, the Keeper of the Seals. Several officers of the household, richly caparisoned, strewed about in different places. Behind the throne, a cluster of guards, of the largest size, dressed in ancient costumes, taken from the times of chivalry. In

front of the throne on the right, below the stage, the Ministers of State, with a long table before them. On the opposite side of the Hall some benches, on which sat the Maréchals of France, and other great officers. In front of the Ministers, on benches facing the opposite side of the Hall, sat the Representatives of the Clergy, being priests of all colors, scarlet, crimson, black, white, and gray, to the number of three hundred. In front of the Maréchals of France, on benches facing the Clergy, sat an equal number of Representatives of the Nobility, dressed in a robe of black, waistcoats of cloth of gold, and over their shoulders, so as to hang forward to their waists, a kind of lappels about a quarter of a yard wide at top, and wider at bottom, made of cloth of gold. On benches, which reached quite across the Hall, and facing the stage, sat the Representatives of the People clothed in black. In the space between the Clergy and Nobles, directly in front of the Representatives of the People, and facing the throne, stood the heralds-at-arms, with their staves and in very rich dresses.

When the King entered, he was saluted with a shout of applause. Some time after he had taken his seat, he put on a round beaver, ornamented with white plumes, the part in front turned up, with a large diamond button in the centre. He read his speech well, and was interrupted at a part, which affected his audience, by a loud shout of Vive le Roi. After this had subsided, he finished his speech, and received again an animated acclamation of applause. He then took off his hat, and after a while put it on again, at which the Nobles also put on their hats, which resembled the King's, excepting the button. The effect of this display of plumage was fine.

The Keeper of the Seals then performed his genuflexions to the throne, and mumbled out, in a very ungraceful manner, a speech of considerable length, which nobody pretends to judge of, because nobody heard it. He was succeeded by M. Necker, who soon handed his speech to his clerk, being unable to go through with it. The clerk delivered it much better than the Minister, and that is no great praise. It was three hours long, contained many excellent things, but too much of compliment, too much of repetition, and indeed too much of everything, for it was too long by two hours, and yet fell short in some capital points of great expectation. He received, however, very repeated plaudits from the audience, some of which were merited, but more were certainly paid to his character, than to his composition. M. Necker's long speech now comes to a close, and the King rises to depart. The Hall resounds with a long loud Vive le Roi. He passes the Queen, who rises to follow him. At this moment some one, imbued with the milk of human kindness, origi nates a faint Vive la Reine. She makes a humble courtesy and presents the sinking of the high Austrian spirit; a livelier acclamation in return,

and to this her lowlier bending, which is succeeded by a shout of loud applause. Here drops the curtain on the first great act of this great drama, in which Bourbon gives freedom. His courtiers seem to feel, what he seems to be insensible of, the pang of greatness going off.

A STRANGE SCENE AT MASS.

[Morris's Diary.-From the Same.]

THIS morning I go to Reinsi. Arrive at eleven. Nobody yet visi

ble. After some time the Duchess (of Orleans) appears, and tells me, that she has given Madame de Chastellux notice of my arrival. This consists with my primitive idea. Near twelve before the breakfast is paraded; but, as I had eaten mine before my departure, this has no present inconvenience. After breakfast we go to mass in the chapel. In the tribune above, we have a Bishop, an Abbé, the Duchess, her maids, and some of their friends. Madame de Chastellux is below on her knees. We are amused above by a number of little tricks played off by Monsieur de Ségur and Monsieur de Cabières with a candle, which is put into the pockets of different gentlemen, the Bishop's among the rest, and lighted, while they are otherwise engaged (for there is a fire in the tribune), to the great merriment of the spectators. Immoderate laughter is the consequence. The Duchess preserves as much gravity as she can. This scene must be very edifying to the domestics, who are opposite to us, and the villagers who worship below.

After this ceremony is concluded, we commence our walk, which is long and excessively hot. Then we get into batteaux, and the gentlemen row the ladies, which is by no means a cool operation. After that, more walking; so that I am excessively inflamed, even to fever heat. Get to the Château, and doze a little, en attendant le dîné, which does not come till after five. A number of persons surround the windows, and doubtless form a high idea of the company to whom they are obliged to look up at an awful distance. Ah, did they but know how trivial the conversation, how very trivial the characters, their respect would soon be changed to an emotion extremely different.

David Humphreys.

BORN in Derby, Conn., 1753. DIED at New Haven, Conn., 1818.

HIS BATTLES O'ER AGAIN.

["On the Happiness of America."-Miscellaneous Works. 1804.]

HERE some old warrior, grown a village sage,

THE

Whose locks are whitened with the frosts of age,
While life's low-burning lamp renews its light,
With tales heroic shall beguile the night;

Shall tell of battles fought, of feats achieved,
And sufferings ne'er by human heart conceived;
Shall tell the adventures of his early life,
And bring to view the fields of mortal strife;
What time the matin trump to battle sings,

And on his steed the horseman swiftly springs,

While down the line the drum, with thundering sound,
Wakes the bold soldier, slumbering on the ground;
Alarmed he starts; then sudden joins his band,

Who, ranged beneath the well-known banner, stand:
Then ensigns wave, and signal flags unfurled,
Bid one great soul pervade a moving world;
Then martial music's all-inspiring breath,
With dulcet symphonies, leads on to death,
Lights in each breast the living beam of fame,
Kindles the spark, and fans the kindled flame:
Then meets the steadfast eye, the splendid charms
Of prancing steeds, of plumed troops and arms:
Reflected sunbeams, dazzling, gild afar
The pride, the pomp, and circumstance of war;
Then thick as hailstones, from an angry sky,
In vollied showers, the bolts of vengeance fly;
Unnumbered deaths, promiscuous, ride the air,
While, swift descending, with a frightful glare,
The big bomb bursts; the fragments scattered round,
Beat down whole bands, and pulverize the ground.

Then joins the closer fight on Hudson's banks;

Troops strive with troops; ranks, bending, press on ranks;

O'er slippery plains the struggling legions reel;
Then livid lead and Bayonne's glittering steel,
With dark-red wounds their mangled bosoms bore;
While furious coursers, snorting foam and gore,
Bear wild their riders o'er the carnaged plain,
And, falling, roll them headlong on the slain.
To ranks consumed, another rank succeeds;
Fresh victims fall; afresh the battle bleeds;

IN

the

PUTNAM AND THE WOLF.

[Essay on the Life of General Putnam. 1788.]

year 1739, he removed from Salem to Pomfret, an inland fertile town in Connecticut, forty miles east of Hartford. Having here purchased a considerable tract of land, he applied himself successfully to agriculture.

The first years on a new farm are not, however, exempt from disasters and disappointments, which can only be remedied by stubborn and patient industry. Our farmer, sufficiently occupied in building an house and barn, felling woods, making fences, sowing grain, planting orchards, and taking care of his stock, had to encounter, in turn, the calamities occasioned by drought in summer, blast in harvest, loss of cattle in winter,