The average temperature, as well as the quantity of rain fallen this month, may be seen in the general statements, to be inserted in our next. METEOROLOGICAL TABLE for January 1811. By W. CARY, Strand. Height of Fahrenheit's Thermometer. Height of Fahrenheit's Thermometer. Jan. 12 0234 45 13 35 43 43 14 46 48 45 42 29 31 36 90 30 34 29 $1 29 31 29 Ja.1 28 28 2 28 29 26 29,93 cloudy 16 33 42 43 17 45 47 45 65 fair 78 showery 70 cloudy 34 30, 30 fair 19 33 40 4 28 5 25 09 25 ,85 cloudy 28 26 ,76 fair 21 34 41 34 THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, For JANUARY, 1811. to record it. While it must be confessed that the first quality in an Historian is impar tiality; it must at the same time be allowed that perfect impartiality is oftener to be admired than to be ex pected. Coolness and indifference, freedom from passion and from preconceived opinion, are the conditions which we invariably demand of Historians, without considering that a perfect compliance with these terms, if it were possible, would sometimes interfere with the pleasure which we expect from History, and which pleaare is, perhaps, as ardently expected as the highest object of instruction. Perfect impartiality may give facts, and facts will unquestionably impact instruction. But facts that are not connected by eloquence, nor illustrated by philosophy, although they may contribute to the industry of an Annal ist, will never constitute the fame of those Historians whom all read and all admire. The one are restricted by the limitations of an affidavit, but the other are permitted to make excursions into the regions of argument, and even imagination. Facts may form a Strype or a Maitland, but will never give us a Robertson or a Hume. When, therefore, we detect the failings of Historians in the article of impartiality, let us honestly confess the general imperfection of human nature, and reflect that the partiali Lies of which we are ready to complain have perhaps been the animating mo; tives to which we owe the very beauties that principally claim and receive our admiration. It is impossible to expect that any man can sit down to write History without some preconcoived opinions. Something must have been learned at school; some thing from early reading. Let him take what period he may, a period so remote that it would seem to bar all access to prejudice or affection, yet he cannot proceed a single step, or, without feeling that he is beginning certainly, not very far in his inquiries, to form certain opinions which, in his farther progress, he hopes to confirm, and has a pleasure and a triumph in confirming. The facts upon which he operates are not new; but he has, perhaps, examined their evidence with a nicer eye, and thinks he can represent them in a new light. He is, perhaps, proud in the expectation that, by com bating received opinions, he may make those sources of information appear to be original, which were thought to be trite and familiar. It is this expectation which calls forth the higher exertions of his genius, and produces the eloquence, energy, and grandeur of description, which periously demand in those who prewe not only agree to praise, but imsume to rival the Historians whom public opinion has placed at the top of their class. Perhaps no writers have more opportunities of exhibiting their own affections and opinions, or are more ready to embrace those opportunities, than Historians. To this they are induced by the great variety of incident of which their narrative is composed, and by the facility, approaching to cunning, with which they can insinu ate an opinion, or support a theory, while, to superficial readers, they seem only to be illustrating an event in which they are not particularly interested, or drawing the character of a personage for whom they cannot be suspected of having any close affection. And so invariably has this been the case with all the eminent writers of History, that there seems no hope of remedy less absurd than that the Historian should give up the privile ges ges of the man, and cease to think when he begins to write. Yet while we regret that History is thus liable to be made the vehicle of: opinions which are probably dangerous, or absolutely hurtful, it is some consolation that the Historian is so often tempted to bring himself forward, and that, in obtruding his peculiar principles and accommodating facts to them, he is less capable of disguise than he may suppose. He lays himself open to detection and to refutation. Upon this account, I am inclined to hope, that much mischief has not been done by the prejudices of our eminent Historians, because they have been immediately discovered, and completely answered. If the reader is thus put upon his guard, he may enjoy all that is pleasing and valuable in their writings, without suffering very materially by their misrepresentations. Let it be considered too, that few men are so unwise as to trust their information in the hands of any one Historian. In the history of most nations, and particularly of our own, we have access to various authorities, and do not implicitly give credit to one series of narratives, unless we cannot discover that other evidence is inaccessible. After all, it must be allowed, that after the tedious process of dry investigation is gone through, we revert with pleasure to the Robertsons, Humes and Gibbons; and refresh our memory, where at the same time our taste is gratified, perhaps improv ed, and our imagination delighted, We had useful Historians before Hume; but where is the history of our country traced with such elegant perspicuity, such connexion of cause and effect, as to leave on the mind an impression of unity, of something whole and entire? Yet Hume could not probably have produced this work, had his mind been less imbued with opinions of one kind, as to political government. Would the case have been otherwise, if he had chosen to exert his talents on the history of another nation? If Hume had taken the Roman empire, and Gibbon the History of England, should we have seen less of Hume and Gibbon in their respective narratives ? Yours, &c. P. P. ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES. HE President Moté de Champla treux was one of the most eminent characters in the Parliament of Paris. His integrity was so incorruptible, that he merited the surname of Aristides. His perfect knowledge of the jurisprudence of his country gave him a great pre-eminence over the most enlightened lawyers; and his advice, in difficult and obscure matters, was looked upon as the most certain and safe. By these qualifications his name was rendered famous and his merit was considered so superior, that his associates, far from being jealous, confided implicitly in his impartiality. The private and public character of the President Mote were equally lau dable; for, having lost his wife, in whom his happiness was chiefly centered, he undertook the charge of his only daughter; and succeeded so far, that Amelia's mind was cultivated with all those good qualities which render young persons amiable. Besides an accurate knowledge of her own language, she could speak German and Italian; with regard to the English language, she was so well acquainted with it, that she translated into French the master-pieces of the English authors. Her understanding was not only enlarged by an acquaintance with all the practical sciences, but, what is still more valuable, with the precious seeds of virtue. These had operated on her heart so admirably, that Amelia was modest, without affectation; mild and engaging, without timidity; submissive, without losing her dignity; generous, without prodigality; kind and condescending to the servants, without familiarity; alteutive and respectful to her father, not only from a sense of gratitude, but also from that of affection, tenderness, and love. The only fault which her father had not been able to correct in her was Curiosity. Extremely desirous of knowing every thing, she would not let the least thing pass in the house without enquiring into the particu lars. If she heard a double knock at the door, she ran to the window to see who it was; if a carriage entered the yard, she was immediately hang ing ing over the staircase, to hear whether it was a visitor, or somebody on business; if a visitor, she would run down stairs, and be at the carriage door before the servants of the house; if somebody on business, she cont.nued running backwards and forwards from the staircase to her room, from thence to her father's aptechamber; tben down stairs to enquire of the servants who it was, and on what business they came. The President having often shewn her the impropriety of such mean actions, Amelia dared not apply to him when she wanted to be informed of any thing; but used to bribe his Secretary, by whom she was informed of all that was transacted in her father's office. Thus her inconsiderate curiosity not only rendered her culpable, but corrupted the fidelity of her father's confidant. The President, who had several times discovered that his daughter was acquainted with secrets which he thought were improper to be entrusted to her, could not conceive how she came to the knowledge of them. When I say secrets, do not suppose that the President improperly with held any thing from the knowledge of his daughter, on whom he so fondly doated. On the contrary, his great pleasure was to converse with his Amelia on all the affairs of the family; and he entrusted her with the management of all those matters which he could not attend to himself, or which belonged to her department. The secrets that he kept from her were not his own; they were either those of the state, or of private people, which he could not have disclosed but at the danger of his life, or his reputation. One maxim which the President maintained was, that he who violated a secret entrusted to him, deserved punishment ten times more than he who robbed you of your property. It was for this reason that he would never abuse the confidence reposed in him by the public, by relating to his daughter affairs which were of no concern to her. M. Moté had more than once explained this distinction to Amelia, whose good sense never failed to assent to so reasonable a discretion. But, though sensible of the truth and propriety of her father's representa tions, her insatiable curiosity brought that her always to the same point of wanting to know every thing: so difficult is it to get rid of the habit of Curiosity, whenit has once been contracted. About the tenth of August, 1792, the most considerable men in the Government held a meeting to deliberate upon the deplorable condition of France, and came to a resolution to protest against all innovation. This meeting was held at the President Moté de Champlatreux's house; and, as the resolution to be taken was of the highest importance, there was a numerous and respectable assembly; the sitting was prolonged until eight in the morning. You cannot conceive the impatience and curiosity of Amelia during the time of the deliberation: she did not let a single servant pass, without enquiring the number of persons at the meeting, the time of their arrival, and the motive of their remaining so long. As the servants knew nothing of the matter, the less she could get from them, the more was her curiosi ty inflamed. During the whole of the night she could not shut her eyes; nay, she could not even lie in bed, but walked a hundred times from her apartment to the door where the company were deliberating. About one o'clock in the morning she heard the door open, and saw her father conducting two young magistrates, very secretly, toward the garden door: the latter were carrying a leaden box, apparently very heavy. At this sight the heart of Amelia throbbed with joy: she followed them at a distance, and perceived them digging a hole about seven feet deep in the garden, into which they put the box. After this they filled the hole, which they covered with grass, that no appearance might be left. Amelia observed every circumstance; and, when she saw them returning, flew back to the top of the stairs, and retired to her chamber. The magistrates had taken so much precaution to prevent a discovery of the place where they had concealed the box, that they could not suspect Amelia's having seen them; besides, they supposed that she was too well bred to descend to so mean an cmployment as that of a spy. The next morning the artful Ame lia began to coax her father more than usual; who giving a loose to his tenderness, she inquisitively asked him what they had been doing during the whole preceding night. The vir tuous President answered, that they had been deliberating upon matters of great importance, but of which he could say nothing, since all the mem bers present had taken an oath of secrecy. "However," said he, with a smile of affection, "this business does not regard our family affairs, and therefore you may be quite easy about it." He then turned the conversation upon another topic; but, being called out, be left Amelia rather vexed, and still more embarrassed in her mind than before. For two or three days she was melancholy and thoughtful. At last, being unable to resist ber curiosity to know what was in the box, she got up one night, went into the garden, and began to dig in the place where she had observed her father deposit the box: she worked for an hour, but had hardly dug half the way before she was tired. Herstrength now failing her, but her restless curiosity preying more strongly upon her, she determined to call one of the servants to her assistance. The President had a valet de chambre, of whom he was very fond, and who, from having lived nearly forty years in the house, was much attached to Amelia, Amelia, therefore, going to his bed-room, desired him to get up softly, and follow her into the garden. The valet de chambre obeyed, and, being desired to dig the remainder of the hole, he did it so heartily, that in less than half an hour he reached the box. Imagining that it was full of money and jewels, he advised Amelia to have it broken open: they, therefore, broke the lock, and, to their great astonishment, found nothing in it, but a paper, upon which was written the resolution before mentioned, signed by all the Presidents of the Parliament of Paris, and by more than twenty counsellors, men of rank and dignity. It was a simple protestation against the proceedings of the National Assembly." At the reading of this paper, which Amelia could scarcely understand, her curiosity was strangely baffled; she began to regret all the trouble that she had taken for a trifle, from which she could derive no satisfaction. As morning began to dawn, they hastened to put the paper into the box, and buried it again in the same hole, with all possible precaution. After this they went to bed; Amelia being heartily disappointed, and the valet well pleased to discover a secret which was of far greater importance than Amelia suspected. Some months after, the tyranny of Roberspierre had obtained its highest pitch, and great rewards were offered to any persons that would inform against those who were disaffected to Roberspiere's party; the valet de chambre of the President, blinded by the hopes of receiving a large sum, went to the city ball, and told the officers, that if they would search in a certain place in his master's garden, they would find a paper of great consequence. Like another Judas, this monster received the reward agreed upon, and conducted the gang to the place where the box was hidden. Thus the prying curiosity of a child was the cause of the perfidious treachery of a servant who had been faithful to his master for nearly forty years! The paper was delivered to Koberspierre. The next morning all the Presidents who had subscribed to the protestation were arrested, and among them, of course, the President Moté, who was thrown into a dungeon, in which, however, he did not languish long ; for, three days after, he and about forty others were tried, condemned, and perished on the scaffold. Thes the silly, mean, and culpable curiosity of a child of fourteen, was the cause of the ruin of her father, and of a number of virtuous and innocent men. Mgainst Cow Pox Inoculation in your Magazine; but nothing has excited my attention more than the letter of Mr. James Taylor, in answer to P. P. in your last volume, p. 524. This has not been caused by his ohservations, but by those which he has been enabled to adduce, of Dr. Jenner himself. It appears that P. P. was not wrong in asserting that Dr. J. had inoculated his own child with the Small Pox, in 1798, after the discovery of Vaccination. This is a stubborn fact. Dr. J. tries to account for UCH has been said for and |