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and of which, if we neglect the duties, to make provifion againft vifionary attacks, we shall certainly counteract our own purpofe; for he, doubtlefs, mistakes his true intereft, who thinks that he can increase his fafety when he impairs his virtue.

ANECDOTE

OF THE

GREAT FREDERICK.

DURING the life of the late King of Pruffia, a wealthy Jew, who was tired of living at Berlin, and had made frequent applications for leave to quit that place, which he dared not otherwife to attempt, at last sent a letter to his Majesty, imploring permiffion to travel for the benefit of his health. The King fent the following.answer immediately to the Ifraelite, in his own hand: "Dear Ephraim,

"Nothing but Death fhall part us.

"FREDERICK."

ON

ON SCANDAL.

AGAINST flander there is no defence. Hell

cannot boast fo foul a fiend; nor man deplore fo fell a foe. It ftabs with a word--with a nod-with a fhrug-with a look-with a fmile.It is the peftilence walking in darkness, spreading contagion far and wide, which the most weary traveller cannot avoid; it is the heart-fearching dagger of the affaffin;-it is the poifoned arrow whofe wound is incurable;-it is the mortal fting of the deadly adder. Murder is its employmentinnocence its prey-and ruin its fport.-MARIA was a fatal inftance. Her head was a little raised from the pillow, fupported by her hand, and her countenance was exceedingly forrowful-the glowing blufh of eighteen vanifhed from her cheeks, and fever rioted in luxury upon her damask skin. It is even fo;-a burfting figh laboured from her bofom;-virtue is no protection while detraction breathes malignity-while envy fearches for faults and tortures truth. I might have been ́happy!— but oh! ye bufy thoughts, recall not to my memory thofe joyful hours!--fhe ftruggled-but in vain. The invisible power of darkness closed her eyes, and her heaving breaft panted with the laft throbbings of a broken heart.-She is now no more. Scandal triumphed over the lovely maid. Superior

Superior qualifications made her the dupe of envy, and a fever followed. She fell a facrifice to exquifite feelings!

ODE TO DEATH.

HOU, whofe remorseless rage

THOU,

Nor vows nor tears affuage,

TRIUMPHANT DEATH!-to thee I raise

The bursting notes of dauntless praise!
Methinks on yonder murky cloud
Thou fitft, in majefty fevere!

Thy regal robe a ghaftly shroud!

Thy right arm lifts th' infatiate fpear!
Such was thy glance, when, erft as o'er the plain
Where Indus rolls his burning fand,
Young Ammon led the victor train,
In glowing luft of fierce command:
As, vain he cried with thundering voice,
The world is mine! Rejoice, rejoice!

"The world I've won!-Thou gav'ft the withering nod,

Thy fiat fmote his heart,-he funk,-a senseless

clod!

"And art thou great?" Mankind replies,

With fad affent of mingling fighs!

Sighs that fwell the biting gales.

Which fweep o'er Lapland's-frozen vales!
And the red Tropics' whirlwind heat
Is with the fad affent replete !

In

How fierce yon tyrant's plumy creft!
A blaze of gold illumes his breast ;
pomp of threat'ning pow'r elate,
He madly dares to fpurn at fate!
But when Night with fhadowy robe
Hangs upon the darken'd globe,

In his chamber,—fad,—alone,

By starts, he pours the fearful groan!

From flatt'ring crowds retir'd-he bows the knee And mutters forth a pray'r-because he thinks of thee!

Gayly fmiles the nuptial bow'r, Bedeck'd with many an od'rous flow'r;

While the spousal pair advance,

Mixing oft the melting gaze,

In fondeft extacy of praife.
Ah! fhort delufive trance!

What tho' the feftival be there;

The rapt Bard's warblings fill the air;

And joy and harmony combine!

Touch but the talisman, and all is thine!
Th' infenfate lovers fix in icy fold,

And on his throbbing lyre the Minstrel's hand is

cold!

'Tis Thou can't quench the eagle's fight,

That stems the cataract of light!

Forbid the vernal buds to blow-
Bend th' obedient foreft low-

And tame the monsters of the main,

Such is thy potent reign!

O'er earth, and air, and sea!

Yet, art thou ftill difdain'd by me.
And I have reafon for my scorn;-
Do I not hate the rifing morn;
The garish noon; the eve ferene;

The fresh'ning breeze; the sportive green;
The painted pleasures throng'd refort;
And all the fplendors of the court?
And has not forrow chose to dwell
Within
my hot-heart's central cell?
And are not hope's weak vifions o'er,
Can love or rapture reach me more?

Then tho' I fcorn thy ftroke-I call thee friend,
For in thy calm embrace my weary woes fhall end.

ON THE COMFORTABLE

DOCTRINE OF FUTURITY,

IT would be a very needlefs undertaking to

prove, "That man is born to forrow, as the fparks fly upward." Every day bears its tefti

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