France, and apol a inference to themselves. No sooner had the royal family of that country been degraded by this vice, than the footsteps of devastation and carnage were to be traced from the throne to the cottage. Neither youth nor ge, neither sex nor station, neither wealth nor poverty, neither parents nor children, neither innocence nor excellence, were objects of considerPolitical enthusiasm was the only watch by indirect attems to weaken the influence of word for political distinction. Warned by so dreadful an example, let us with one heart and one mind drive away every appearance of calumny from among us, as the north wind driveth away rain, or an angry countenance a backbiting tongue. W. P. SPEECH DELIVERED IN A LITERARY SOCIETY. MR. EDITOR, HAVING procured a copy of the following speech, which was delivered some years ago in a provincial Literary Society, on the first admit- | tance of a gentleman who was to fill the station of a deceased member, I have taken the liberty of sending it to you, hoping you will not think it unworthy of a place in your entertaining miscellany. I remain, Sir, Your humble servant, TIMOTHY JOGTROT. equal him, I will at least endeavour to tread in his footsteps; and to further this, I will give you a sketch of his life and exemplary qualities. Do not expect to hear a relation of battles; he disdained the glory of arms. Do not search in his history for the haughty cares of a magistrate, who wishes to change the laws of his coun||try, and cause a revolution. No; he trampled under foot the grandeurs of the earth; and when his admirers wished to make him a justice of the peace, he rejected the offer, not with that feigned modesty which Cæsar affected when Anthony offered him the crown, but with a frankness that was truly philosophical. "I understand nothing of these things," said he. What genuine sense is comprised in these few words? Is not all that the Grecian and Roman philosophers have said on the subject of troubles being inseparably allied with dignities, contained in this simple and laconic answer? I am persuaded that people of real taste will prefer it to all that has been said by our most celebrated poets. Do not impose on me the task of giving you an analysis of his works, for his modesty has prevented it. He was far from sharing in the conceit of so many writers, whose motive for publishing the fruits of their labours is rather to be Gentlemen,-I cannot sufficiently acknowledge the honour I feel at being admitted in this areopagus of literature, where the members speak litie, and write less, but think much. How eatly does it surpass the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, the productions of which yearly fill enormous volumes! In this learned society you do not discu-s subjects which might lead to dissention, but your minds are wrapped in sober reflection. In former times, the inhabitants of the country endeavoured to imitate the actions of Londoners; but now I have been assured that the case is reversed, and that in many public meetings no other noise is heard for several hours but the rattling of knives and forks, and the ring-dmired than to instruct the world. No one has ing of glasses. How glorious is it for you, gentlemen, to see these proud citizens who would have disdained your society, now take you for their models. But now that I am on this the one, how shall I ever be able to equal the exalted | character I have been chosen to replace. (Here the speaker stopped for a moment, to receive the applause so justly his due). Ah! if I cannot ever doubted, gentlemen, that if he had taken up the pen, he would have surpassed Shakespeare, Milton, Hume, and all our most celebrated authors. He used to declare it, with that ingenuousne-s with which you were so well acquainted. "Yes," added he, "fame would then single me out; I am a mortal, I am weak, and some emotions of pride might alter the serenity of my soul." "But," observed a friend," you need not put your name to your works." "I should|| always be discovered;" replied he," and the voice of praise would trouble the peace which reigns in my retreat " He preserved this system so obstinately, that when he was admitted one of you, you were forced to dispense with the customary speech on these occasions; an exception which, I believe, has been made for him alone, and which exemplifies your modesty as much as his; because, in this speech, he could not have swerved from the established rule of praising you, and himself. He was magnanimous, for he disdained honours. He was possessed of talents, for he carefully concealed them. He was a deep thinker, for he never revealed the subject of his meditations. His mother relates, that three nights previous to his birth, she had three dreams, in which she saw three laurel-wreaths placed on her child's head by three muses, who alternately suckled him. I know that many learned men will refuse to credit this, for a very good reason; because their mothers, have not had a similar warning. But Heaven sometimes grants that to great minds, which it will not to the vulgar. "What At an early age he was sent to school. Here the history of his life becomes rather obscure, and offers a problem which I will solve. Some pretend that he shone conspicuous in the classes; others, that he always held the lowest places. If the first tradition be true, his extraordinary talents already began to expand; but if we must adopt the second, he disdained scholastic fame, or nature wished to ripen the fruit before it was possible to descry the germ. However, I know he made a particular study of the syntax, but despised mathematics, astronomy, natural and moral history, and all those trifling sciences which neither improve the mind nor the heart. On leaving school, his mother desired him to choose a profession; but he disliked them all. then, will you do?" said she. "I will think," was this young philosopher's reply. "Well, then think," rejoined this illustrious woman, this model for mothers. In effect, he employed all his life in reflection. He read but little, because there are so few good books; and even when he perused the best authors, he generally fell asleep, because he felt his own superiority over those whose works delight the world. Charades and logogryphs were his most favourite study. "How often, gentlemen, have you beheld him, like a new Edipus, endeavouring to find out the word of a logogryph, with an eagerness that cannot be described; if he could not succeed, he would beat his forehead, tear his hair, and show all the signs of a man in despair! this is the only time in his whole life when his phlegm and his courage were not in unison with his general behaviour. But when he had hit on the word, how his face was illuminated with joy! No, that of a monarch who had just been crowned, never expressed any thing half so sublime or majestic. I owe to his fame to declare here, that he once sacrificed it entirely to me. I was seeking the word of an enigma, he found it out, and came and whispered it in my ear, permitted me to take the whole credit of it, and never revealed this secret to the day of his death; unlike those indiscreet authors, who only lend their pens to their friends to claim two days afterwards the works they had given them. In short, gentlemen, he condescended to familiarize himself with the lowest ranks of people, and could so easily assume the language of the most illiterate peasant, that one would have imagined it was natural to him. His company was agreeable, and the appetite with which he ate, excited it in others. Recall to your remembrance, gentlemen, the superb feast he gave you on the day of his reception; that soup, those exquisite pies, those But I perceive, gentlemen, that I increase the grief you feel at his loss, and I will leave off speaking to weep with you for the death of this wonderful man, who gave excellent dinners, and did not require them to be returned. Grief stifles my voice, and I have scarcely strength to read the sentence with which I intend to conclude. I proposed to make this great character my model, and I feel that I have transgressed against the law he had laid down by composing this; but it is the only time I will wander from his traces, and during the remainder of my life, I pledge myself to you, as well as to the public, to be his faithful imitator. Allow me to add two more words, gentlemen, before I sit down. There have only been found among the papers of this great man two verses of a madrigal; the first was composed ten years ago, the second four. Merciless death has prevented him from writing the two last, and crowning his work. The following are the two verses in question: "Cupid is a wanton child, "Whose eyes and playful language." Which of us, gentlemen, would dare to put a finishing hand to this posthumous master-piece? Ah! let us rather carefully preserve it in its native beauty in our society, and not imitate those bold commentators who have dared to fill up the unfinished lines which Virgil had left in the six last books of his Eneid. E. R. ON FLATTERY. FLATTERY is praise carried to excess. To || tell a woman she is handsome, is to praise her; to tell her one is not so handsome as she is, is to flatter her. This species of flattery is little obnoxious or inconvenient. What signifies whether we exaggerate the beauty, talent, wit, merit or virtue of any being, if that being be really distinguished by talent or merit, and really handsome, witty, or virtuous. All we have to fear, is that the judgment which we pass on that person is much beneath his own opinion. It is very rare to find any one who does not value himself more than he is worth. But flattery is often liable to real inconveniences; this is when it raises defects into laudable qualities, and vices into virtues. It then becomes falsehood. Flattery, in this case, is the more dangerous, as it is always sure of success, because it smothers the cry of conscience, and rids us of importunate reflections, such as we cannot investigate without blushing. The powerful are doomed to be flattered. How can it be otherwise? They look upon themselves as privileged beings, and would be dissatisfied at not being considered as such. Besides this, their condition unfortunately obliges them to keep at a certain distance from other men; they vainly bestow their confidence; they never inspire any. Flatterer and courtier are two synonymous words in every language. La Fontaine pretends we can never praise too much-"The gods, our mistress, and our king The first may pass; there is little danger in the second; the last may lead to serious consequences It might perhaps have been better expressed: there are three kinds of people who never think they are praised too much" Kings, women, and authors." The flatterer rarely raises his voice. His smile is gracious, his looks gentle and caressing: he is humble in his address, insinuating in his language, supple and polite in his manners. Every thing astonishes, pleases, and charms him in the person whose good graces he wishes to conciliate. He weeps or laughs with him, adopts his friendships and his dislikes, approves all he does or says, and identifies himself so much with him, as to make his presence a want, and his company a necessity. There are flatterers by character, these are the smallest in number. Other flatterers are so from interest; these are numerous. The former address themselves indiscriminately even to those from whom they expect nothing; the latter attach themselves solely to those from whom they hope for riches or honours. The first see in a person only a subject to flatter; the second attend only to the power and credit of the person flattered. One speaks without premeditation, the other says nothing but what he has previously studied. One rarely visits antechambers; the other passes one third of his life in them. It is said that flattery is a poison; true, but a poison so sweet that no one mistrusts it, and no one repulses the person who knows how to prepare and to offer it. Flattery is less formidable to a fool, than to a wise man, because it is scarcely possible to flatter a fool more than he flatters himself. The arts are necessarily flatterers. A picture or a statue would remain in the hands of the painter or sculptor, if they did not give a handsome likeness of the original. An architect who might be engaged to build a house, would find all his plans rejected were he not to sacrifice simplicity, to the obligation of exhibiting in the most trifling details the riches and magnificence of the proprietor. A book frequently owes its success merely to the name of the person to whom it is dedicated. A celebrated engraver published a print representing Charles I. on horseback. Cromwell reigned, the print had no sale: the artist substituted the Protector's head for that of the King, and the print met with prodigious success. ESSAY ON QUACKERY. "In law or physic, quack in what you will, "Cant and grimace conceal the want of skill." FOR Some time past I have been at a loss how to etymologize the word Quackery; or, in other words, as the schoolmaster asks his pupil, to know unde derivatur? Some of our English Dictionaries derive it from a French word; Robert Ainsworth Latinizes it by the words, Empiricus, histrio, medicus circumforaneus, iatraiaplice. These are such immaleable and irrefrangible words as to be sufficient to unhinge the jaws, and distort the countenance in the pro nunciation of them. With due deference to these respectable authorities, I beg leave, for once, to differ from them; not with so outrageous a condence as to assume a claim to superior knowledge but because my new derivation best suits my purpose. Among the innumerable variety of Quacks and Empirics with which this town swarms, have observed, that by whatever denomination or profession, orthodox or heterodox, spiritual or unspiritual distinguished, by whatever artifice protected, or mask concealed, they coalesce unani mously in one system, of which the word quatio to shake, is a just symbol. The system of quackery being the shaking the money of fools into the pockets of knaves. Permit me, therefore, from quatio to derive quackery. but deviate from the established opinions, and But to be serious. To point out the multifarious paths of quackery, open their windings, develope their avenues, and explore their recesses, might be a laudable and useful employment, could we hope to investigate it fairly and complete it effectually. The insuperable difficulty is, that the great body of mankind, I mean the weak, the illiterate, and the undiscerning in every age incessantly bustle in search of variety, without any determinate path or plan; hence constantly wheeling in the mazes of incertitude, the prevailing humour, or passion of the moment, leads them into error or into truth. The highest authority assures us, that the Athenians, with those who resorted to Athens, that once venerable seat of polished science, suffered the inquisitiveness of curiosity to supersede the ardor of pursuit after laudable and substantial truths. The Athenians, says St Luke, and strangers that were there, spent their time in nothing else but either to hear or to tell some new thing; and were we to examine the people of England, the same im-thecary." pertinent temper leads the multitude into endless varieties of unaccountable methods for the attainment of their respective ends. A man needs conversation to the style and humour of John Bull, we can keep him together many hours in a very good humour, and at last send him away highly diverted and improved. Thus it comes that a pennyworth of julep from my hands at the price of a shilling, is of more estimation in the ideas of my customers than the best dose of physic from the shop of a regular educated apo The common saying, that the world is led by appearances, will be a general truth so long as there is incapacity, indiscernment, and capricious ness in the world; but to reflect upon the confusion and destruction which always results from this preservation of appearance, is painful indeed; when external circumstances represent a faithless picture of the mind, we hazard very much in every dealing and concern. The insincerity of the world indeed, in some cases, oblige us to conceal our ultimate intentions from men; but this is a mask which honour and honesty bid us! wear no longer than we acquire the security of › an inflexible vigilance. Dr. Tillotson's advice, at the long run, excels all substitute,-"The best way in the world for a man to seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be." ments would become so exalted and stupendous as to fill with amazement and wonder even its own directors. If a man is born lame or deformed, we do not ridicule him for attempts to conquer a language or a science; but should he labour to become an expert actor, or dancing master, he fairly claims the laugh of derision and insult. Far from me be insinuations which might be deemed prejudicial to politeness; when the man of taste, refinement, and address, unites in the man of sound extensive knowledge, together they form a most elegantly polished and accomplished character. My meaning is simply, that when a man is neither formed by nature, nor led by iu. Had Dr. Johnson studied the doctrine of Lord clination, to shine in a drawing room, or an Chesterfield, most probably the world would have assembly, let him content himself by prudently lost some part of his best writings, which were relinquishing the pursuit; and sit down to the his real excellencies; and had he been the most acquisition of such things as accord with his comagreeable of men in his manner and address, he prehension, lie in the reach of his understanding, would have known no more of mankind and of and for which nature intended him. Be what we books than he did. Would every person pursue are, is the best maxim; inattention to which may the natural bias of his own genius, to its utmost lead us miserably to experience the folly of being extent, in useful and commendable acquisitions, what we are not. Once stripped of borrowed every occupation and profession, every art and plumes we justly excite contempt, are the obscience, would gradually arrive at perfection; thejects of insignificance, and fall to rise no more. glorious and systematical fabric of human attain THE ANTIQUARIAN OLIO. PALACE OF WESTMINSTER. FROM the present appearance of some of the buildings, and the known age of others, it would seen that originally the palace of Westminster formed two sides of a square, and was all comprehended within Old Palace yard, of which it constituted the east and south sides. Its east side consisted of the Court of Requests, the Painted Chamber, the old House of Lords, the Prince's Chamber, and several other nameless old rooms adjoining them; those on the south cannot now be ascertained, as none of them are at present existing. Stow says the antiquity is uncertain, but that Edward the Confessor resided and died here. King Stephen is said to have built the chapel of St. Stephen, where the House of Commons now sit, probably intending it as a chapel for the palace, in the room of one which existed before. That the structure of St. Stephen's Chapel had obtained at least the highest and most decided approbation, in an age distinguished for architectural refinements and magnificence, is apparent from the will of King Henry VI. which partiNo. XXIII. Vol. III. cularly and emphatically directs that the stalls and rood-loft of the choir of Eton College, shall "be made in manner and form like the stalls and roode loft in the Chappell of St. Stephen, at West minster." From Stow's Remarks on London, St. Stephen's Chapel was built by King Stephen about 1141. From Sandford's Genealogy, we are informed that Edward IV. died at his palace of Westminster, April 9, 1483, and after his body had been inclosed in his coffin it was brought into St. Stephen's Chapel, where three masses were sung. It remained there eight days, and was then conveyed to Westminster Abbey, and finally to Windsor. After the various changes the old palace of Westminster had undergone from accident by fires and the ruinous state it remained in for years, it is reported to have been afterwards inhabited by Queen Elizabeth; and the inner room, in which the Court of Exchequer frequently sit, has been traditionally affirmed to have been her bed-chamber. The outer room at the top of the steps from Westminster-hall, where on other Bb |