resemble Herminius clothed in a coat of mail; the warriors perceive the helmet, the lance, and the dazzling plume; they expect to meet with equal force; they begin the onset with violence, and the first wound cuts to the heart. Injustice may not only destroy female happiness and peace, but it may detach the heart from the first object of its affections; who knows whether the effects produced by slander may not sometimes obliterate truth from the memory? Who can tell whether the authors of this calumny, having already embittered life, may not even after death deprive an amiable woman of those regrets which are universally due to her memory? In this description I have hitherto portrayed only the injustice of men towards any distinguished female:is not that of her own sex equally to be feared? Do they not secretly endeavour to awaken the ill will of men against her? Will they ever unite, in order to aid, to defend, and support her in her path of difficulty? Nor is this all: opinion seems to exempt men from all those attentions usually paid to the sex in all that concerns an individual, whose superior abilities are generally allowed; towards such, men may be ungrateful, deceitful, and ill designing, without being called to account by the public." Is she not an extraordinary woman?" Every thing is comprised in these words: she is left to the strength of her own mind, to struggle as she can with her afflictions. The interest usually inspired by females, the power which is the safeguard of men, all fail her at once: she drags on her isolated existence like the Parias of India, amongst all those distinct classes, into none of which she can never be admitted, and who consider her as fit only to live by herself, as an object of curiosity, perhaps of envy, although, in fact, deserving of the utmost commiseration. POETRY. THE ALDERMAN'S FUNERAL. An English Eclogue, by Southey, but not in his Works. Stranger. WHOM are they ushering from the world, with all This pageantry and long parade of Death? Townsman. Yonder schoolboy, Who plays the truant, says, the Proclamation Townsman. Your pardon too, Sir, If, with this text before me, I should feel In the preaching mood' But for these barren fig-trees, We have been told their destiny and use, Townsman. For what he left Undone ;-for sins, not one of which is mention'd You know him, then, it seems. But the poor man rung never at his door; To that hard face. Yet he was always found When, for the trusted talents, strict account Believe you, Sir; these are your witnesses, How can this man have liv'd, that thus his death Who should lament for him, Sir, in whose heart When yet he was a boy, and should have breath'd To give his blood its natural spring and play, He in a close and dusky counting-house, Smoke-dried, and sear'd, and shrivel'd up his heart. So, from the way in which he was trained up, His feet departed not; he toil'd and moil'd, Poor muckworm! through his threescore years and ten, And when the earth shall now be shovel'd on him, If that which serv'd him for a soul were still Within its husk, 'twould still be dirt to dirt. Gets him no other praise. But come this way Some twelvemonths hence, and you will find his virtues Trimly set forth in lapidary lines, Faith with her torch beside, and little Cupids Dropping upon his urn their marble tears. SECRET LOVE. From a very rare Volume of old Poetry. The Fountaines smoake, and yet no flames they shewe; The rarest jewels hidden virtue yeeld, The sweete of traffique is a secret gaine, The yeere once old doth shew a barren field, And plants seeme dead, and yet they spring again. Cupid is blind; the reason why, is this, Love loveth most when Love most secret is. LA BAILLEE. Un Capitaine hardi d'Halifax Il prit le fort ratifia, Et ne pensa que de Miss Baillee. Ah! la Baillee, la malheureuse Baillee. Ah! la Baillee, la malheureuse Baillee !! Un soir se couchant de bonne heure, Car il avoit la fievre, Dit-il, "Je suis un beau garcon, Mais volage comme un chevre." Sa lumiere brule pale et bleu, Le suif et coton mele, Un revenant approche son lit, Ah! la Baillee, &c. "Va-t-en," dit-il, ou Diable m'emporte, "Cher capitaine," repond la dame, "Quelle conduite malhonnete!" "Le commissaire fut trop severe Envers une fille si grelee, Et le pretre ne veut pas dire la messe Ah! la Baillee, &c. "Cher revenant," dit-il tout bas, Arrangeons notre affaire ; Un banquenotte dans ma culotte Ferme ta cimetiere;" Gaiement s'enfuit alors l'esprit, Son sort si bien demele, "Adieu, cher fripon capitaine Smith, N'oubliez pas votre Baillee." Ah! la Baillee, &c. |