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which situation he continued to serve, till the treaty of Amiens for a short time suspended hostilities.

After the renewal of the war, he was appointed captain of marines, on board the Venerable of seventy-four: guns, commanded by captain John Hunter, and was shipwrecked in her in the night of the twenty-fourth of November 1804, on the rocks in Torbay. During that dreadful night he never quitted his commander, but stood by his side with the sea breaking over them till the whole of the crew were saved. They had continued with the ship till the last moment it was' possible; for immediately after they had quitted it, the part on which they had stood was separated from the remainder of the wreck, buried in the furious waves, and never seen more.

He afterwards was ordered to Ireland on the recruiting service, and on his return was embarked as captain of marines on board the Canopus.

This ship was one of the squadron of admiral Duckworth, in the late unsuccessful attempt upon Constantinople. After the fleet had passed the Dardanelles, a landing the island of Prota. was made upon Captain Kent advanced with his party towards an old monastery, of which the Turks had taken possession. It was at first supposed that the enemy were but few in number, but this appeared to be a mistake; for when captain Kent reached the foot of the hill on which it stood, he received a very heavy fire from all parts of the building, through the windows, loop-holes, and every place from which a musket could be discharged. Several of his company fell; but with that undaunted courage for which this spirited officer and the corps to which he belonged have ever been distinguished, he rushed up the hill at the head of his brave companions, and set fire to

the gate of the monastery. His force, however, he found was very inferior to that of the enemy he had to encounter, and he directed a signal to be made for assistance. He continued animating his men to continue the desperate contest until he received a ball through his head, which instantly terminated his life.

Thus gloriously fell in the cause of his country this truly brave and meritorious officer, in the fortieth year of his age, possessed of all the social virtues which could endear him to mankind. His loss will long be regretted by the corps in which he served, and long will he be lamented by all those relatives and friends who were more intimately acquainted with the excellent dispo sitions of his heart and the mildness of his manners.

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IN saying thus much I do not mean to infer that I am a traveller.

No; I am only the humble, honest, gentle, good and sweet-naturedstroller, who generally roves upon his own legs, and seldom troubles those of a horse.-The late warm weather has produced a multitude of butterflies of various denominations, colour, and shapes. The human butterfly has particularly attracted my notice; I mean those imitators of the beau-monde you cannot walk out to enjoy a quiet walk in the evening, but you are sure to be pester'd with: shopmen, clerks, taylors' apprentices, &c. some perched on horseback,

others in gigs, or fashionable vehicles-dressed in the first style, and assuming the gentleman! and I know from good authority, they often astonish the feeble minds of rustics and villagers, when they take their fashionable excursions. They talk loud! swear by their honour! bluster and strut like crows in a gutter! smoak and take snuff! and run into every extreme of fashionable folly.Really, I often pity them; and you, my fair readers, I am confident cannot approve such absurdities: they cannot have any just claim to the smiles of the beauteous, and the amiable approbation of the fair sex.

Let the spruce beau, That beau, sweet-scented, and palav'rous fool, Who talks of honour and his sword, and plucks

The man that dares advise him by the nose; That puny thing, that hardly crawls about, Yet drinks on,

And vapeurs, loudly o'er his glass, resolv'd To tell a tale of nothing, and out-swear The northern tempest; let that fool, I say, Look for a wife in vain, and liv'd despis'd.'

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THE following anecdote is related of this celebrated singer by Dr. Burney.

She was connected with a certain count, a man of great quality and distinction, whose fondness increased by possession to such a degree as to determine him to marry her: a much more uncommon resolution in a person of high birth on the continent than in England. She tried to dissuade him, enumerated all the bad consequences of such an alliance; but he would listen to no reasoning, nor take any denial. Finding all remonetrances vain, she left him one morning, went into a neighbouring street, and addressing herself to a poor labouring man, a journeyman baker, said she would give him fifty ducats if he would marry her, not with a view to their cohabiting together, but to serve a present purpose. The poor man readily consented to become her nominal husband; accordingly they were formally married, and when the count renewed his solicitations, she told him it was now utterly impossible to grant his request, for she was already the wife of another, a sacrifice which she had made to his fame and family.

Nn 2

POETICAL ESSAYS.

4

THE SPANIEL'S PETITION.
BY JOHN WEBB.

THE well-taught philosophic mind,
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eye,
And feels for all that lives."

MRS. BARBAULD.

PITY the suff'rings of an harmless brute,
(While your kind hearts to man compassion
gives);

View Nature's tribes with philosophic eye,
And nobly feel for me-for all that lives.
Our race may justly man's protection claim;
Their useful virtue challenges respect:
O how can man, a debtor to our kind,

Repay such faithful service with neglect?
Come retrospection, paint departed scenes,
Scenes big with comfort, and replete with
glee;

When Zephyretta, fairest of the fair,
Profusely lavish'd her regards on me.
With her I rang'd thro' many a sylvan vale,
Frisk'd at her feet, and gamboll'd by her

side;
Despairing beaux beheld with envious eye;
Could envy kill, they had of envy died.

Frail is the flower that scents the breeze of

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Borne on the gale I heard the miscreant's curse,

Sore vex'd his cruel arm could not destroy,
Advancing Evening drew its curtain brown,
And screen'd me from my persecutor's
sight:

O how I hail'd the intervening gloom
That banish'd fear, and check'd my hasty
flight!

A short time since, as Lord Erskine was passing through Holborn, he observed some boys beating a little dog with sticks, under the idea of its being mad: his lordship, with great humanity, observing not the least symptoms of madness, rushed into the crowd and rescued the poor animal from the hands of its destroyers, and carried it some distance, and hired a boy to carry it to his house in Lin coln-inn fields.

The gloom of night, that conjures up to view
Of coward man an host of guilty fears,
To me more grateful far than gairish Sol,
When his broad eye Spring's budding
scenery cheers.

I sought a neighb'ring grove, where downy sleep

Buried in sweet oblivion all my cares; Waking, I shunn'd the savage haunt of men, And since have liv'd on leverets and hares.

Yet still my heart some social feelings own: Yes, still, (perhaps to my own interest blind)

I wish to mingle in domestic scenes,

And pay my suit and service' to mankind!

O could I find some man of generous mind, With him fair freedom's blessings I'd forego;

By day attend him with unwearied feet, And nightly guard him from the plundering foe.

Pity the sorrows of a harmless brute;

To a poor sufferer's plaintive tale attend; Invite me to your roof, and cheaply gain A faithful servant, and a constant friend. Haverhill, April 20, 1807.

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me,

Till Echo, starting from her mossy cell, Catch the soft sounds, and waft them down the vale.

To me thy welfare and thy song is dear;
I rescu'd thee from slavery and death,
And with a pleasure tyrants never feel
Bade thee to taste the bliss of liberty,
And flit as fancy wills thro' wilds of air.
Go, jetty minstrel, seek thy favourite haunts,
And, tell the feather'd partner of thy choice,
In language only known to plumy lovers,
The reason of thy absence, thy confinement
In wicker prison, of thy liberation,

And when he sinks, replete with purple grandeur,

By hand humane; and for my kind attention Chaunt thy deliverer many a thankful song, And leave ingratitude to thankless man.

When radiant morn, array'd in saffron vesture,

And paints the golden scenery of the west,
Pour from thy pipe a soft mellifluous carol,
And add new transport to mine evening walk.
Go, jetty bird, and with thy faithful mate
Seek some fit spot, and rear a clay-built home;
And with parental fond solicitude
Protect and feed, and teach your young to
Aly:

Awaits the entrance of imperial Sel Bedeck'd with royal splendors, tune thy lay, To hail him welcome to my rural scene:

And when the devastative blast of death
Shall sweep you to oblivion's dusky cave,
Then shall your progeny (while future
springs

Clothe nature's vegetable sons in green)
Cheer with their matins Burton's rural
vale.
JOHN WEBB.

Haverhill, April 25, 1807.

STANZAS

On the cutting down of a favourite Elm. THE Elm is laid prostrate, beneath whose broad shade,

In childhood's blithe day, I have gamboll'd and play'd,

Pluckt the vi'let so fragrant, the primrose so

fair,

And plunder'd a redbreast that built her nes there.

The Elm is laid prostrate, whose favourite

form

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The fairest of the fair is she;
Her diligence is like the bee;
And often she has smil'd on me,

Jemima.

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THE OLD CAT'S PETITION.
BY S. Y.

PITY the sorrows of a poor old cat,
Whose feeble limbs scarce keep her on the
ground;,

Whose aged eyes can scarcely see a rat;
Oh! I am lame and wretchedly unsound.

My skin was once the sleekest of the kind,
And dappled o'er with many a handsome spot;
In peace I liv'd, nor did expect to find
My useful deeds by ev'ry one forgot.

A mother's care my tender years did guard,
And fondly watch'd my ev'ry waking hour,
Whene'er I rambled in the little yard,
Or climb'd amidst the circling woodbine

bower.

I often too, upon the carpet laid,
Along with Bu have snor'd the hours away,
And with him oft have to the orchard stray'd,
And basked there, upon the new-mown hay.
When ev'ning came, upon the watch was I,
In ev'ry corner 'bout the spacious house:
Iween I was for all the rats too sly,
And rare it was that any saw a mouse.

A kitten once, the pleasure of my days,
'Til it grew up-Oh! shall I tell the tale?-
To thieving took, and wicked were her ways:
At length some school-boys did her life assail.
They tore her from me on one summer's

morn,

With dogs and sticks, sh! shocking to relate:
Then at a stake the dogs her body torn;
She fell, alas! a victim to their hate.

At length, alas! arriv'd that luckless morn,
My master from this cot was fore'd away;
With him took Buff, and left poor me for-
lern,

To die with hunger on this wintry day.

My mistress's lap-dog,

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