Cool, but yet tainted every drop, that thus
The eye may mock the parched and blistered
tongue!

Refine the senses, and refining e'er,
Yet never gratified! May vipers, bats,
Toads, spiders, scorpions, fast accumulate
As loathsome worms upon a putrid corse!
Despair! ne'er leave them, save what hour thy
foe,

Cursed Suicide! the dagger grasps—but with
Returning reason, come with doubled pangs!
Mild Sensibility! conclude the work,

Pour thy soft balm o'er every little nerve,
That trifles light (which Resolution's voice
Would scatter, as the sun the morning mist,
Yet silent that) may wear a giant's form!

ΤΙΜΟΝ.

EPIGRAM

FROM THE FRENCH.

"LET the loud thunder roll along the skies, Clad in my virtue I the storm despise." "Indeed!" cries Peter," how your lot I bless, To be so sheltered in so thin a dress!"

SIR,

MISERIES OF SENSIBILITY.

EWING.

To the Editor of the Port Folio.

I APPROACH YOU with the veneration and respect due to the tutor and to the sage. I seek consolation from your advice. I implore you to be the mediator between the ladies and myself; to reinstate me in their good opinion, by persuading them, that the traits in my character, which they have uncharitably termed coquetry, and fickleness, and whim, if they be not legitimate shoots of the tree of sensibility....if they be not virtues, are at least the honest errors of a warm and feeling heart. From the sketches which I shall give to you, my character may, with ease, be pourtrayed. I presume the ladies will forgive me, if, in reciting some of the events of my life, I avoid the mention of real names.

It is certain, that, from the want of proper regulation, and continued reflection, the virtues of the heart may be the parents of innumerable ills. Hospitality may cherish the adder in her mansion..... Economy may wear the garb of Avarice.....Prudence may create a dangerous

timidity.....Charity may profusely and ruinously squander her stores.....and the warm and affectionate heart, in its intercourse with female society, may assume the manners of fickleness and levity, and its possessor reproachingly be termed a coquette. If this consideration lead the world to form their opinions on the merits or demerits of actions, from an investigation of their sources, the ladies, as well as I, may benefit by it.

With due respect for the opinions of Helvetius, Nature made me as I am. She gave me an ardent disposition, and a warm heart, which led me into female society, long before I understood my Latin grammar. I do not recollect the period when I was not in love, nor the time when I was out of it. I well remember, that, at the age of eight or nine years my heart was stolen by a neighbour's child, about my own age. The ardent declarations of attachment as frequently warmed my lips, and the sanguine anticipations of the joys of wedlock were as frequently indulged by me at that time, as at any later period. My "sweetheart," however, removed to a distant street, and I found absence to be a cure for love. But I was not formed to be out of love. I was again enslaved, and again the removal to another street broke my fetters.

Thus I continued till the age of seventeen, ever living on the smiles of some neighbouring

angel. Love had its bliss and its agony, its jealousy and its cares. If the preference of my charmer for another occasionally racked my soul, yet I have felt what lovers alone feel, when permitted to walk by her side, in our juvenile rambles; when my rose-bud was accepted in preference to another; or when, in our infant sports, to redeem her pawn, I was selected to be kissed.

'Till this period, however, I had made to no one an offer of marriage, nor can I say, with certainty, that it had ever been expected. But, about this time, a charming girl came to reside in our neighbourhood, and soon formed an acquaintance with the lasses of her own age. Her flowing locks and soft blue eyes enslaved my susceptible heart, before I had spoken to her. I teazed one of my female acquaintances to introduce me to her, and on a fine evening in July, I sat by her, for the first time, on the steps of her father's door. The hours passed rapidly, and, when my introducer rose to go home, I suffered some one else to wait on her, and remained behind. This, of course, was called fickle and unpolite; but it made no impression on me, as what I had lost in the esteem of one, I had gained in that of the other. I was now happy. Each day I walked by the house of my charmer, and each evening stopped at her door, if she was sitting there, for I did

not dare to knock and ask for her. A year flew on rapidly, and I was ever in her presence. I watched her when she went to school in the morning, and her return at noon. When she visited at night, if I was not invited, I walked up and down before the house for hours, that I might go home with her.

She became acquainted with a young stranger, and I began to grow jealous. I soon perceived that he was a dangerous rival. In his father's garden were roses, and every morning and evening some were plucked for her. I, alas! had none to offer, and I saw, with torment, that his company was anxiously expected....that he was welcomed with smiles, and I had lost my charms. My feelings and my impetuosity were foes to suspense. I watched one evening when my rival had gone to a ball; I went to Maria, and declared my attachment, in unqualified terms, I felt what I said, and vehemently swore her rejection of me would be my death. But she was deaf to my love; the roses of my rival had won her heart; she hinted that her father wished to lock up the house; I departed, and for a few days, was miserable.

A fortnight afterwards, a new face stole my heart, and Maria was forgotten. I wondered what I had seen in her to admire; I thought her proud and homely, foolish and fickle. Novelty gave strong recommendations to my new ac