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to another town, at a considerable distance, where, however, he had not been more than a day or two, before he found that his enemy was arrived there. He removed in the same manner to several parts of the kingdom remote from each other; but, in every place, quickly perceived that his deadly pursuer was near him. At last, he went to South America; where he had enjoyed his fancied security but a very short time, before his unrelenting enemy came up with him, and effected his tragical purpose.

*****. But not less of this invincible pertinacity has been displayed by the disciples of virtue and the benefactors of mankind. In this distinction, no man ever exceeded or ever will exceed out great philanthropist, the late illustrious Howard. The energy of his determination was so great, that if, instead of being habitual, it could have appeared in an intermitted form, operating only for a short time, on particular occasions, it would have seemed a vehement impetuosity ; but by being continuous, it had an equability of manner, which scarcely appeared to exceed the tone of a calm constancy. It was the calmness of an intensity, kept uniform by the nature of the human mind forbidding it to be more, and the character of the individual forbidding it to be less. The habitual passion of his mind was a measure of feeling, almost equal to the temporary extremes and paroxysms of common minds : as a great river, in its customary state, is equal to a small or moderate one, when swollen to a torrent.

The moment of finishing his plans in deliberation, and commencing them in action, was the game. I wonder what must have

Vol. III. No. 11. 4B

beeh the amount of that bribe, in emolument or pleasure, that would have detained him a week inactive, after their final adjustment. The law which carries water down a declivity was not more unconquerable and invariable, than the determination of his feelings toward the main object. This object he pursued with a devotion, which seemed to annihilate to his perceptions all others ; it was a stern pathos of soul, on which the beauties of nature and of art had no power. He had no leisure feeling, which he could spare, to be diverted among the innumerable varieties of the extensive scene, which he traversed ; all his subordinate feelings lost their separate existence and operation, by falling into the grand one. There have not been wanting trivial minds to mark this as a fault in his character. But the mere man of taste ought to be silent respecting such a man as Howard ; he is above their sphere of judgment. The invisible spirits, who fulfil their commission of philanthropy among mortals, do not care about pictures, statues, and sumptuous buildings; more did he. Or at least, regarding every moment as under the claims of imperious duty, his curiosity waited in vain for the hour to come, when his conscience should present the gratification of it as the most sacred duty of that hour. If he was still at every hour, where it came, fated to feel the attractions of the fine arts but the second claim, they might be sure of their revenge, for no other man will ever visit Rome under such a despotick consciousness of duty, as to refuse himself time for surveying the magnificence of its ruins. Such a sin against taste is very far beyond the reach of common saintship to commit. It ims plied an inconceivable severity of conviction, that he had one thing to do ; and that he, who would do some great thing in this short life, must apply himself to the work with such a concentration of his forces, as, to idle spectators, who live only to amuse themselves, looks like insanity. His attention was so strongly and tenaciously fixed on his object, that even at the greatest distance, like the Egyptian pyramids to travellers, it stood confest to his sight with a luminous distinctness, as if it were nigh, and beguiled the toilsome length of labour and enterprise, by which he was to reach it. It was so conspicuous before him, that not a step deviated from the direction, and every movement and cwery day was an approximation. If it were possible to deduct from his thoughts and actions all that portion, which had not a methodical and strenuous reference to an end, the solid mass, which would remain, would spread over an amazing length of life, if attenuated to the ordinary style of deliberation and achievement. One less thinks of displaying such a character, for the purpose of example, than for that of mortifying comparison.

*****. Lady Macbeth may be cited as a harmonious character, though the epithet seems strangely applied. She had capacity, ambition, and courage; and she will<d the death of the king. But he

had, besides humanity, generosity, conscience, and some measure of what forms the power of conscience, the fear of a Superiour Being. Consequently, when the dreadful momentapproached,he felt an insupportable conflict between these opposite principles,and when it was arrived, his utmost courage failed. The worse part of his nature fell prostrate under the power of the better ; the angel of goodness arrested the demon that grasped the dagger, and would have taken that dagger away, if the pure demoniack firmness of his wife, who had none of these counteractive principles, had not shamed and hardened him to the deed. The poet's delineation of Richard III. (I better remember the poet’s account of him than the historian's,) gives a dreadful specimen of this indivisibility, if I may so name it, of mental impulse. After his determination was fixed, kis whole mind, with the compactest fidelity, supported him in prosecuting it. Securely privileged from all interference of doubt that could linger, or humanity that could soften, or timidity that could shrink, he advanced with a grim concentrated constancy, through scene after scene of atrocity, still fulfilling his vow to “cut his way through with a bloody axe.” He did not waver while he pursued his object, nor relent when he

seized it.

For the Monthly Anthology.

C , JUN., Newport.

Boston, sept. 6th, 1806. ------- ........Tu mitis, et acri Asperitate carens, positoque per omnia Jasru, Inter ut equales unus numeraris amicos : Obsequiumque doces, et amorem quacris amando. LucAN.

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Though the pale miser gaze upon his store,
So vastly great he could not wish for more ;
Though mine were all the treasure that I see :
Ev’n though Pactolus flow'd for only me;
Forgive, ye Gods, I ask for greater wealth,
Grant me a friend with competence and health.
The friend, I ask, is no mechanick tool,
To sneeze like me, like me to play the fool;
Not a mere posy, born to give away,
To blossom, bear, and wither in a day.
Nor that strange being, counterfeiting man,
Built, for some whim, on Nature's narr'west plan ;
Who loves you dearly as a brother could,
Yet groans in spirit, if your jokes are good;
Admires your trifles, yet would-kindly hint,
“If he wore you, he thinks he would not print.”
Pale imp of envy...! child of self distress,
Who gets his death from other's happiness—
Ne'er may I know that sycophantick tribe,
Who flatter, perjure, poison, for a bribe.
Harpies, who Friendship's sacred fane defile,

Who rob by words, and ruin with a smile.

Busy, like bees, round wealthy heirs they fly,
Extract the sweets, and leave the flow'rs to die.
Stich, such are they who flutter round the great,
Who bask in pomp, and buz about in state ;
J)ealers in air ; these empty fools rely

On one sad choice, to flatter or to die.

Give me the friend, whom vivid genius fires, Whom judgment tempers, and the Muse inspires.

Though learn’d, yet tinctur'd never let him be

With proud contempt for those less learn'd than he.

Though fortune spread few favours at his door,
Let not ambition move one sigh for more.
Frank to his friend; (nor would he fail to please,
Though free from ribbons, careless of Degrees)
Brave in his cause, when wrong'd by men of sense,
But not tenacious of a fool's oftence ;
Let him regard not censors in the streets,
Nor heed each manger-puppy that he meets.
Candid his censure all my faults to show,
Nor yet unwilling all his own to know ;
Let not his heart, in pitying weakness, spate,
But still let feeling hold a mansion there -
Say, lives the friend in whom these virtues shine
Thanks to the Gods, for such a friend is mine ! •. s."

For the Monthly Anthology. .
To Rov FRTY,

O PovzRTY hard-featured dame,
Whence grow the terrours of thy name.*
'Tis said, that from thy serious eye
The laughing Train of Pleasures fly. i
That, deep within thy mansion rude,
Lurks the black fiend, Ingratitude;
That Toil, and Want, and Shame, are known.
To make thy heartless hours their own,
Till Guilt, his frenzied eye on fire,
Bids thy last famish'd Hope expire :
Thus speaks the world,—to Mammon true,”
While wrongs thy pleading worth pursue.

To me, and I have seen thee near-
Though harsh thy withering look appear,
Though stern the Teachers of the Poor,
And hard the lesson to endure ;
Yet many a virtue, born of thee,
Lives sunder'd from Prosperity,
Feligion, which on Heaven relies,
The moral of thy mind supplies :
Pity, with plaintive accent kind,
And Patience, to her fate resign'd,
Content thy lowly cot to share
With Temperance, dwell as inmates, thena i
Love join’d by Truth ; no rival’s eye.
Wakes to the wish of Poverty:
Yet all the bless'd Affections twine.
Round many a rustick haunt of thine,
Close circling, with the nuptial tie,
Joys, which a monarch could not buy,

Though boonless, and to praise unknown,
Oft is the lustred life thy own ;
To thee the Priests of God belong ;
Thine is the Poet's deathless song ;
Thee toiling Science lives to claim,
Thou lead'st his thorny steps to Fame ;
CREATI ve GENI us feels thy power
Coeval with his natal hour,
On him the rays of glory shine
Too late...his parting breath, is thins.

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*Written at Scarborough, in the Summer

I gaze;-and am changed at the sight i For mine eye is illumined, my Genius takes flight,

of 1806. My soul, like the sun, with a glance - - Embraces the boundless expanse, Ali, hail to the ruins,” the rocks and And moves on thy waters, wherever the shores : they roll, Thou wide-rolling Ocean, all hail : From the day-darting zone to the nightNow brilliant with sun-beams, and brooding pole.

dimpled with oars,
Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale,
While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-

shadows sail,
And the silver-wing'd sea-fowl on high,
Like meteors bespangle the sky,
Or dive in the gulph, or triumphantly


Like foam on the surges, the swans of

the tide. From the tumult and smoke of the city - set free, With eager and awful delight, From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee ;

**tarboro” castle.

My spirit descends where the dayspring is born, Where the billows are rubies on fire, And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn. Are sweet as the Phoenix’s pyre : O regions of beauty, of love, and desire! O gardens of Eden in vain Placed far on the fathomless main, Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her youth, When pure was her heart, and unbroken her truth.

But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind Through countries and kingdoms o'erthrown ;

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