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early to Rome, where he could best imbibe the rudiments of liberal and extensive knowl- | edge. He himself diligently implanted the principles of morality, not by dry precepts, or refined speculations, but by the more familiar and striking illustration of living examples. The tendency of every immoral action, was manifested, by the consequence it had produced. Such was the effect of this mode of instruction, that, in a luxurious capital, amidst companions, whose rank and fortune far exceeded his own, our poet records, with gratitude, his preservation, not only from actual vice, but from the habits and dispositions, that precede and produce it. At the age of twenty, or twenty one, the young Horace was removed from Rome, to the schools of Philosophy, at Athens; the great university for the Roman youth, which was the usual and almost necessary step, in completing a liberal education. Here, it is probable, he formed intimacies with many of the young nobility, his fellow students, who were afterwards his associates, in the republican army, or his friends and protectors in the emperor's court. The example of these spirited youths, who, on the arrival of Brutus, at Athens, eagerly joined his standard, united him to the cause of that mild and amiable patriot, with whom he had so strong an interest, either by the influence of powerful connexions, or the charm of engaging manners, as to obtain a command, far above the pretensions, which his rank or experience could give. He was, in quality of military tribune, the commander, or rather, one of the commanders, of a legion, consisting of between five and six thousand men. If the republican army, had many such officers, the cause of their defeat at Philippi is sufficiently explained.

On that disastrous day, fatal to the interests of freedom, of humanity, and at least, to the immediate welfare of the Roman world, our poet has made no secret of his own panick, and flight, To fly, when all were £ying, to abandon a resistance, that was become hopeless, could scarcely be considered as a proof of cowardice, or deserve the ridicule he seems to apprehend, and anticipate. We may presume, therefore, that he fled early in the action, and with singular marks of terror and dismay. What route he took to escape pursuit is uncertain. Probably he remained in some place of concealment, till the intervention of friends had enabled him to return in safety to his country. Safety, however, was all he could at first procure. His former means of subsistence, the confiscations attendant on civil war had wholly swept away.

Thus, necessity, as he himself tells us, produced, or rather, brought into action, his talents for poetry; for though one or two of his satires may be of an earlier date, they seem to have been only the amusement of his leisure, not of his serious thoughts. Whichever of his pieces was written at this early period, the reputation gained by them, and still more, the friendship of Virgil and Varrus, introduced him to that accomplished minister, who was to be the patron of his fortunes, and the friend | of his future life. The first interview with Mæcenas, was short, and seems to have produced no immediate effect. Nine months elapsed before he was summoned to a second; but, on that occasion, was established an intercourse of mutual kindness, that proved the source of comfort and happiness, to both.

estate, he conferred more than an equivalent; and, as early as the Actian war, as it is usually called. Horace confesses that he had been enriched, far beyond his wants, or expectations.

From this period, his life seems to have proceeded, in a regular, and tranquil course : and is known chiefly, by the private anecdotes his writings have recorded, and the publick events they have celebrated. During that dispute, between Anthony and Octavius, which ended in a peace, negotiated by Mæcenas, the poet attended his patron to Brundusium, where that negotiation was carried on, and has left us an agreeable picture of the characters, and incidents that amused him on the way. During the war, that afterwards arose between those ambitious rivals, he would, had he been permitted, have accompanied Mecenas to the expected naval action; the happy event of which was not merely propitious to his fortunes, but gratifying to the warmest feelings of his heart.

The final triumph of Octavius, was not, indecd, more fortunate to any set of men than to the poets, whom that prince, through his favourite minister, had already begun to patronize. But even the amusements of Mæcenas, were subservient to a deep and refined policy. The talents of his literary friends, were employed to soothe the Roman pride, under the loss of freedom; to direct their spirit to external wars, rather than internal commotions, and, by setting in the fairest light the security and quict they were beginning to enjoy, gradually to reconcile them to the dominion of their new master. Nor should such a project, however it may at first revolt us, be too hastily condemned. The increased extent of the Roman empire, the profligate state of morals, the decay of all publick virtue, and more especially, the corruption of the soldiery, who, in their attachment to particular chiefs, had wholly lost sight of their country, had long convinced all reflecting minds, that Rome had no other alternative, than to submit to a mild, or endure an oppressive usurpation; and, as the character of Augustus appeared to soften, in proportion as his power became more secure, as he respected, at least in appearance, the laws and institutions of his country, which his profligate rival despised and insulted, he was deemed, even by the remnant of the republican party, far the most deserving of support. Their own illustrious chiefs had erished by the swords of enemies, or the daggers of assassins; and no successors arose, whose courage, and whose genius could rekindle the dying flame of patriotism.

To be concluded in our next.

POETRY.

SELECTED.

ON THE EXILE AND DEATH OF OVID.
FROM THE LATIN OF POLITIAN.

AND finds the Roman bard a foreign grave
Where Euxine rolls the inhospitable wave!
Thy bard, O Love, by rudest hands inhum'd,
Sleeps he, near Ister's gelid stream entomb'd!
Those charities the Getan fierce supplies.
Which Rome, unblushing to her son denies !

Far from his natal soil-ye Muses, say

What sympathies his dying pangs allay ?

On the bland couch who bids his limbs repose?
Who with sweet converse charms his ling'ring woes ?

Tries with officious hand the salient vein ?
Or with emollients, hastes to assuage his pain?
With death suffus'd, who closes now his eye,

The generosity of Mecenas did not long suffer the man, whom he had honoured with his friendsnip, to remain under the pressure of poverty, or the anxiety of suspense. If he did not procure the restoration of his forfeited | And bending o'er him marks his parting sigh?

Ah! none-detain'd in regions far remov'd
Each fond associate, and each friend belov'd.
Ah! none-the ill fated husband's-father's care,
His spouse, his offspring, Rome forbids to share.

Say, can the rude Sarmatian, school'd to steel
His savage breast-say, can he learn to feel,
Of haggard aspect who insatiate drains
Life's reeking current from his courser's veins :
'Neath those forelocks that shade his mangled brow,
Say, can that hollow eye with mercy glow?
-Blush, Roman, blush-lo! Goths his fate deplore,
And pity meets him on that dreary shore.
His fate-those rocks that heard him, erst, complain,
And brutes, no longer fierce, that mark'd his pain,
And Danube mourns, beneath his chilly deep.
See Venus, hastening from her favoured isle
Bids her plum'd flutterers light his funeral pile.
Then, when the self-exhausted flames decline,
His whitening ashes to their vase consign:
And thus inscribe the stone-" Lo here he lies,
Who sung Love's wiles, solicitudes, and joys”—
Herself ambrosial odours sprinkling round,
Thrice, and four times, bedews the hallowed ground.
Ye too, Pierian maids! with plaintive strains
Beyond my flight embalm your bard's remains.

MANY suppose, it is not in actual battle, when all is confusion and the passions become excited, that delicate nerves are put to the severest test; but in the hour of silence, sus

pense, and reflection, which frequently precedes an engagement. This opinion is thus poetically expressed by Miss HOLCROFT, in the introduction to the fourth canto, in her "WALLACE; OR THE FIGHT OF FALKIRK.

Yes, it is come! That pause of dread,
Whose silent interval precedes
Men's faltering footsteps, as they tread
Towards sanguinary deeds !
There is an hour whose pressure cold
Comes even to the hero's breast!
Each warrior's heart of human mould
Howe'er intrepid, fierce and bold,
Has still that hour confest.

It is not when the battle storm
Hurtles along the frighted skies;

It is not when death's hideous form,
His threatening voice and piercing cries,
Shriek in our ears and shock our eyes;

It is not when the slogan shout

Has sent the death-word 'mid the rout,
Nor mid the hail of arrowy shower,
Nor when we see the life-blood pour ;
It comes not then-that ghastly hour!
'Tis in the breathless pause before,
While yet unwash'd with human gore
Our thoughts 'mid dreams of terrour roam,
And sadly muse on things to come!
Then shuddering nature half recoils,
And half forbids th' inhuman toils
But 'tis too late!-the die is cast!
The Furies bid to the repast!
Oh! from the cradle to the tomb
Comes there no hour so fraught with gloom,
As that ere nations meet, to seal each other's doom.

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED FOR
JOHN PARK,

BY MUNROE, FRANCIS AND PARKER,

NO. 4 CORNHILL.

Price three dollars per annum, half in advance. •". New subscribers may be supplied with preceding numbers.

DEVOTED TO POLITICKS AND BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. I.

POLITICAL.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

BOSTON, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1815.

Our

our national concerns, who had not sense enough to perceive this obvious fact, or not virtue enough to shun a conflict which cannot terminate, but in their humiliation. If it were even an object to keep our comparative weakness out of sight, that object is lost. rulers have wantonly exposed the truth, and perverseness can only make it more evident. They and they alone are the authors of our misfortunes, if we are not as prosperous, as happy, and as unmolested in the enjoyment of all our rights, after peace, as we when they declared war. It would be unjust to expect Great Britain to make a sacrifice to their wickedness. Is it not the height of folly to presume she ever will? If we like democracy and mob favourites to govern us, we must pay the tax ourselves for the indulgence of our choice; and when we are tired of the ex

were

Ir seems to be a prevailing opinion that the present war is miserably conducted on t'te part of the British, and in some parts of the Union at least, the prevailing language is that we must insist on an honourable peace. The hopes of some are perhaps founded on these premises; but in our view of the subject, they lead to a conclusion, that our case is desperate, and that whether we close the contest, this month, this year, or in ten years, the terms will be such as the government of Great Britain think their honour and their rights require. Admit that their war operations have been miserably conducted, it has only produced scvere animadversion on the management of their ministry. We see not the least evidence that the cause has become in any degree un-periments we have but to reconcile ourselves popular in England. The cry of the opposition is not, reconciliation with America, but more energy. This probably will produce more energy, for in a cause so universally considered just, ministers will not choose to lose their reputation with the people, for not using with more vigour those resources which Whatever the people themselves supply. change takes place, therefore, if any, we may expect will be against us.

if the war has been injudiciously conducted by the enemy, so much the more deplorab. is our case, for with such an advantage, we have made no progress, but in our own career to ruin. In our commerce, we have suffered much more than they, though their's is so immense, that our captures amount to little more than mere provocation. In territory they have lost nothing; our losses are great. Have their Generais been unexpectedly passive, still their colonics are perfectly safe, though our nation is already reduced to bankruptcy, in an unsuccessful attempt to take them. Feeble as their administration may be considered, it has been strong enough to defeat all the purposes of our government, and reduce them to a state of embarassment, from which it is evident they cannot recover.

to our incalculable losses, endeavour to remedy, as far as possible, the prominent defects in our political institutions, begin our national carcer again, and resolve for the future, to avoid the errours we have once committed, that we may escape their calamitous and disgraceful consequences.

We are bold to say it is far from our intention to belittle the reputation of our country, or depreciate the character of our citizens. The country is rich in the best gifts of nature; among our fellow citizens there is, we trust, as much personal courage to dare, and as much individual, physical strength to exeBut cute, as among any people on earth. Great Britain is mightier than we, and time alone and wise policy can make us her equal. Our navy was but begun. Nothing but the inveterate hatred which our present rulers was known to bear it, would account for exposing it to destruction in its infancy. This navy has been our boast; it has reflected honour on the country, but that honour has been sought unseasonably, when the just fame of our prowess can do us no good It is true, a navy is formed by war, but not by a war of ten ships against a thousand.

"The brave, encompass'd by a hostile train,

66

The plain truth is that we are unequal to a • O'erpower'd by numbers, are but brave in vain." contest with Great Britain. Important as it is, that this truth should be urged till it produce It was the object of the last federal adminisuniversal conviction, there seems to be a sin-tration to cherish maritime power, to the utgular reluctance at confessing it; and we cannot see wherefore She is rich and we are poor. She has armies and must keep them, which may as well be sent to our shores as maintained elsewhere; we have but a few, very few scattered thousands, whom government cannot pay. Our naval power compared with hers has nothing but reputation; in point of national defence, it can do nothing. She has a well constituted government, embracing men of distinguished talents, devoted to their country. We have a vile democracy, which does and ever must depress talents and patriotism, and promote men to power, whose views are centred in themselves, and whose actions are in subservience to the ignorance and vice to which they owe their distinction.

It is no dishonour to us that we cannot cope with such a nation. It is our only disgrace that we have placed men at the head of

most extent, consistent with our prosperity, during peace; they meditated no war against Great Britain, but they well knew, that if ever such a contest were necessary, she must be met on the ocean. They began to prepare, for our children, with as much zeal as though it were for ourselves, and our children would have witnessed the efficiency of their views. Enemies to commerce, to the navy, to our fational prosperity, succeeded them; we have a war, with the greatest naval power in the world, and what has been the consequence ? Enough has been done to show that the plan of a future navy for national defence, was wise, war with England at present, was and that a madness, without regarding its injustice. We must not foolishly expect to perform miracles. We must look to the situation of our country, and pursue that policy which its situation dictates. With a thousand miles of

NO. LVIII.

sea coast, nothing but immense wealth can give us security, against any nation, that commands a formidable navy; for nothing but immense wealth can support the military and maritime strength which is necessary to protect our coasts. Our present policy is peace.

In insisting on our absolute incapacity to prosecute a war with Great Britain, we do not consider ourselves, as yet, the advocates of any dishonourable concession. Happily for us, her moderation is not less displayed than her power. The first terms she offered were such as we could have accepted without any injury, and with many advantages, as it respects our future prosperity. Her last proposition, and even that was not a demand, was not unreasonable, for we began a war of intended conquest. But our prospect darkens. If she conquer New Orleans before a peace is concluded, she will not relinquish the right of such a valuable conquest without some indemnification. If she is defeated there, it will but protract the war; ministers may be censured, but the nation will be roused to redeem the character of its arms; every battle in which we succeed will but insure us another, more serious.

Are these predictions doubted,-let this page be kept for perusal, whenever a peace is made. We pretend to no spirit of prophesy; we but consider the state of the British empire and our republick, and the general cus

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SHOULD the British fail in their present ex- pedition against New-Orleans, many will undoubtedly consider it as a circumstance which will affect their feelings, and their terms of peace, in our favour.

Before we flatter ourselves with such a hope, let us study the character of the British nation and government from recent events.

When she began her war of self defence against France, most of the continental powers of Europe were either at peace, with both her and her enemy, or engaged in the contest on her side. Nation after nation was either subdued or pressed into the cause of France, or voluntarily joined her standard. After hard fighting, from Feb. 1793, to Feb. 1808. Great Britain found herself deserted by all Europe, and under the necessity of agreeing to such conditions as France proposed, or of continuing her struggle alone! Dark as her prospect was, she chose the latter, and she persevered until her foe was glad to embrace the terms, which she dictated.

The war against France never was so popu ar in England as is her present contest with a

this country. That was considered by those who were its advocates as a resistance against ambition; this as resistance against inveterate spite and malice, and it is so. Now it is our interest to inquire, and let us seriously consider whether any reverse, which compared with other events she has frequently encountered, can be but trifling, gives us the least ground to expect that she will abandon her purposes. and recede from any claims she contemplates

GENERAL REGISTER.

BOSTON, SATURDAY, FEB. 4, 1815.

DOMESTICK. We have accounts from New. Orleans to the 30th December, at which date it was not taken, and the prospect of its being able to resist the attack of the enemy was considered to have brightened. The force of the British is variously estimated, from four to ten thousand men; ours at 8,000, actually on the spot, on the 30th, and a division from Kentucky, within about two days' march, above. On the 23rd an advance party of three or four thousand men were met at about 8 miles below the city, as has already been mentioned, where there was a battle ;-the enemy sustained considerable loss; among our's are some valuable officers. General Jackson, not choosing to risk a decisive engagement, until he should receive further reinforcements, then formed his line five miles below the city, extending on the right to the Mississippi, and on the le t to the Cypress swamp, which is impassable, and probably extends to lake Ponchartrain. Entrenched in these lines, he was attacked on the evening of the 28th; but maintained his post, the enemy retreating to their former positions. Nothing else had occurred but light skirmishing; and from the increasing strength of the place, several letters speak confidently of its security.

We learn from Havana, that the Dictator, an Eng. lish 64 arrived there on the 14th of Jan-that she left

Ship Island on the 24th Dec.-brought the news of the first battle; and that her object was to obtain flour for the army, of which she had obtained 4000 barrels, and was taking it on board.

The enemy have made another small but very important conquest. On the 13th Jan, they landed about 1500 men on Cumberland Island, and took the fort (Point Petre) by storm. This island commands the trade between Savannah and Amelia. The same day they took St. Mary's, a small town on St. Mary's river These both belong to Georgia; the neighbouring inhabitants are greatly alarmed, and flying in all directions. Other attacks are feared, particularly at Savannah; but we presume the enemy have not sufficient force for such an object.

The Hon. Chauncey Goodrich and Calvin Goddard are appointed Commissioners from Connecticut to make arrangements with the General Government, for retaining part of the revenue raised in the state, to be appropriated to its defence.

Sickness is still very fatal in Virginia. The troops stationed at Norfolk, are suffering severely. CONGRESS. The bill to prevent intercourse with the enemy occupied much of the attention of the Senate, last week. It was finally referred to a select committee.

The House have agreed to the bill from the Senate, authorizing the purchase of Mr. Jefferson's library, 81 to 71.

Another report has been received from the Secretary of the Treasury, still more gloomy than the former. The Treasury owes above thirteen millions of dollars, above its cash and claims, to the end of the last year. STATE LEGISLATURE. The Governour and Council have appointed the Hon. HARRISON G. OTIS, Hon. THOMAS H. PERRINS and WILLIAM SULLIVAN, Esq. Commissioners to proceed to Washington, pursuant to the joint resolve of both branches of the Legislature, to attempt an arrangement with the General Government, by which this state may retain a portion of the taxes assessed upon it, assuming the defence of her own territory.

A report has been read and discussed in the Senate, on that part of his Excellency's message, which relates to the defence of the commonwealth, authorizing the Governour, with the advice of the Council to raise one thousand men, in part of the number authorized by law, of October last; and to suspend raising the remainder until the result of the application to the general government be known. The same report, &c.

are assigned for the consideration of the House, this day, at 11 o'clock.

Both branches have been busily occupied in despatching a great variety of local and private business.

LITERARY AND MISCELLANEOUS.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

TULLY, No. VII. Fieri potest ut recte quis sentiat, et id quo sentit polite eloqui non potest. CIC. 1.TUSC.

It sometimes happens that a person may have correct conceptions, without being able to command language to express them elegantly.

THIS observation is undoubtedly just, for the one is an exercise of the understanding; the other of taste; and they may or may not be united in the same person. The former is often essential, both in the management of our private concerns and in our intercourse with society, and is not a rare gift of nature; elegance in speaking is an accomplishment, unnecesssary in the ordinary business of life, seldom attained without attentive cultivation, and of little or no use, but among a people who have made considerable advances in civil

ization and refinement. Experience sufficiently proves however that though the power of eloquence may be very much improved, by habit and discipline, it likewise depends, in some degree, on a certain natural talent, without which, the most severe appliant aspires in vain to the character of a prompt and elegant

orator.

But I have taken this motto, not so much to remark on what Cicero does, as on what I think he does not mean. We frequently find persons pretending to have clear and satisfactory conceptions of things, who at the same time complain that it is out of their power to command any terms by which they may communicate their ideas to others. There may possibly be some truth in this, but I very much doubt whether such persons, if they are sin cere, do not generally deceive themselves I suspect the deficiency lies deeper than in the want of language; the fault is more probably an indistinctness of conception. There are several reasons which induce me to be of this opinion. Try such people on subjects which you are certain they accurately comprehenddo they not readily find means to convey their thoughts? Do we not every day see illiterate men of strong minds, who always discourse and reason intelligibly, and educated men of superficial minds, who have language at command only to utter nonsense? Is it not a fact that these pretended conceptualists display an obtuseness of comprehension, when a logician obtuseness of comprehension, when a logician draws his nice distinctions, though his terms are ever so appropriate and familiar?

valuable, because it gives the possessor the key to every other.

Instead of stimulating the mind of the young to hurry on from object to object, and suffering them to flatter themselves by the supposed extensive reach of their knowledge, when in fact they are but crowding their memory with indistinct images, they ought to be taught to feel dissatisfaction at quitting any subject, until they evince a clear conception, and ap pear to comprehend distinctly all its important relations. At first this task may appear repulsive; but I believe experience will shew, that those persevere longest in the pursuit of knowledge, and soon become the most zealously engaged, who are required to understand critically, as far as they advance. Persons accustomed to this mode of mental discipline are not those, who imagine themselves possessed of ideas which they have no language to communicate.

THE CONFIDANT, No. XVI. As a Confidant, I have not supposed it expected of me to make communications to the publick of my particular sentiments, unless in reply to such papers as might be addressed to me, or by way of friendly comment. The ap pearance of my numbers has therefore de pended entirely on the disposition of corres pondents, and my long silence is owing to the

reserve of those to whom I had offered the privilege of my office. CIVILIS would prompt me to add some remarks on his story, but I have only room, at present, to insert it as it was received.

To the Confidant.

The maxim of "doing as you would be done by," has always appeared to me a good one; but by acting in obedience to this, I have lately given offence to some of my friends in the country, and incurred the censure of others in town.

A few days since, sitting at my window, I discovered a sleigh approaching, in which I recognized my cousin, Squire M—- and his two maiden sisters, from the country; he standing erect in front, a tall figure with a large white hat, which overshadowed them like an umbrella; alternately pointing in great glee, on this side and that, to objects as they struck his curiosity; and whipping up his more sober steed, which seemed very loth to improve upon the solemn pace, in which he had been accustomed to lead a team of oxen. But, excepting his high spirits, the squire in all respects, appeared perfectly in character with his horse, as he was remarkably plain and homespun in his dress; while the ladies and Thinking accurately is a laborious employ- the "vehicle" formed a perfect contrast; they ment, until it becomes habitual, and we seldom being tricked out with ribbons and finery, and submit to it, where an intellectual glance will the sleigh painted with various colours, disanswer our purpose. But it is undoubtedly playing at last on the back a full blown roa true, that the mind receives more pleasure in about the size of a cabbage, an appropriate emthe contemplation of distinct images, than of blem of the season of the year. "Here we those which are confused. On the score of are," said the 'squire, when I came to the pleasure therefore, as well as utility, it would door; and scarcely were the ladies out, when be an advantage, if from early education, when he drove himself plump ashore in a narrow selves, and habits of thought are formed, more the powers of the soul are developing thempassage at the end of the house, and began to look about. "What," said he, "no barn?" attention were paid to the mode in which our and gave a loud laugh. "Strange fashions to intellect is exercised, If the passion for nov- "be sure. All show and no convenience Well, elty, which is so natural to the mind of youth, "I suppose you can at least find house-room is indulged and encouraged, there is no time "for the genteel part of our company, while I nor disposition for accurate examination. The "go and find one. Their keeping will not be power of discrimination may be astonishingly" much, as they are too delicate to eat of invigorated, by use; and for the purpose of increasing its energy, it is of little consequence on what subject it is employed. The science of thinking is of all sciences the most

"drink, except at home. They will begin to "speak by tomorrow or next day; but they "have been struck dumb with politeness, "since they came within the infection of the

ever

« place, and been afraid to turn their necks to "look at any thing, lest they should appear " what they call, out of character." They had, in truth, at this moment, assumed the precise manners of those prim, formal, starched ladies, whom we sometimes see in the country. After conducting them in, I endeavoured to banish ceremony, but to no purpose. One remarked it was 66 very fine weather indeed," the other that she was "very happy in deed to see me ;" and both made an apology that they were "very sorry indeed" they could not send word to inform me of their coming. They then sat down, adjusting each limb, fea ture, and muscle, in that fixed position, to which they seemed destined for the remainder of the day. The brother, however, soon turned, when taking out his watch, he announced the hour of twelve, and expressed great joy, as he said he had a sharp appetite for dinner. On being told that our usual hour was at two, he looked with a stare of astonishinent, as if it was incredible. "Why, brother," exclaimed both sisters in a breath, " did not you know that?” "No," replied he nor you neither." This was true, but th wished to appear to know it. "No, said he, I should as "soon think of going to bed at sunrise. But "when we are with the Romans, we must do, "I suppose, as the Romans do." And he then paced the room, expressing disapprobation at the foolish perversion of hours and seasons from their proper purposes.

re

It unfortunately happened that I expected a small party in the evening, who were chiefly remarkable for their devotion to fashionable life. In every thing relating to style and the graces, they at least thought themselves adepts; and were governed in their opinion of others, by their own standard of excellence. I felt that my cousins would be exposed; and ex there was to be a young lawyer in company, I knew that the 'squire, who had lately obtained his commission, and read just enough of law to think himself master of the subject, would not fail to discover and attack him, in the full confidence of posing and putting him down, as was his custom with his neighbours at home. In fact, I expected there would be tittering and marks of contempt, which would disturb the feelings of my cousins as well as myself. I therefore sent an excuse, and appointed another time.

whenever they could forget they were in her affections, won her heart, persuaded her company. In short, I endeavoured in all re- to marry him, and flattered her with the nospects, to act the part of real friendship, and tion of raising her even to the throne of Russia in no case to place them in a situation where to which she had a title. "She thought that they would become subjects of ridicule, any being the wife of Count Alexis Orioff would more than I should myself. But the circum-shelter her from all those treacheries which stance of the first party has since got to their she might apprehend. She entertained not ears, and I understand they consider it an un- the least suspicion that a man could make repardonable affront, except the 'squire, who ligion and the most sacred titles subservient to merely laughs at it as another " Boston no- the destruction of an innocent victim. But tion ;" and many of my friends here attribute alas, no religion, no title was sacred to the it to a false pride, which, they say, I ought to barbarian into whose hands she had fallen. be ashamed of. But, if my conduct has been Feigning a desire that the marriage ceremony wrong, I am certain it has been governed by should be performed according to the ritual of commendable motives, and if, in order to act the Greek church, he suborned villains to disright, I must reverse the rule, I suspect the guise themselves as priests and lawyers. Thus party who now feel aggrieved, would find profanation was combined with imposture reason to be more dissatisfied, and I might against the unprotected and unsuspicious prinlikewise be censured from another quarter.

CIVILIS.

cess.

When Alexis Orloff had become the hus band, or rather the ravisher, of this unhappy lady, he represented to her that it would be necessary to go to some city in Italy to wait there for the breaking out of the conspiracy that was to call her to the throne. Believing this advice to be dictated by love and pru

THE WRITER, NO. XXXVI. THERE is not perhaps, in the whole catalogue of human vices, one of a more hateful nature, nor one that more degrades the nobleness of man, than treachery; and more par-dence, she answered that she would follow him ticularly so, as it includes several others which are of themselves either criminal or odious. Falsehood, deceit, hypocrisy, meanness, and cowardice, are some of the particular qualities that go to make up the monster, represented by the complex idea, Treachery.

Treachery, by the laws of war, and in a military sense of the word, is a capital crime, and punished by death; but there are numerous instances of this vice, in civil and social life, which pass unnoticed by our laws, and which the sword or lash of justice cannot reach. When we reflect that vice is progressive, we cannot be too much on our guard We should not heedagainst the first act. lessly sport on a declivity whose gentle slope may conduct us the more insensibly to a dangerous precipice. When we divulge each others' secrets, we are traitors; when we do any thing intentionally to injure the character of those to whom we profess to be friends, we abuse the confidence we have endeavoured to gain; we are guilty of treachery. Let us make no specious apologies to ourselves, that these are venial faults; they are steps in the path of vice, and may lead to the highway of iniquity.

One of the most unworthy and aggravated species of treachery, is that which is sometimes practised upon the female sex. As I know of no particular instance of this nature, at present, in the publick records of our own country, I shall take one from foreign history, of sufficient deformity, I hope, to excite abhorrence, and sufficient interest to induce a determination, wherever it may be read, never to betray innocence

My cousins remained in town several days, during which I introduced them to all the curiosities of the place. The 'squire was much gratified, approving or condemning every thing, according to his own independent ideas; but the sisters appeared under perpetual embarrassment, thinking all eyes intent upon them, and were only anxious how they should behave; or mortified at the uncouth gestures and exclamations of their brother. For, without any regard to by-standers, he would often stop in the streets, and collect a In the revolution that deposed Peter I circle round us, while he would shout and and placed the Empress Catharine upon the laugh at what he called the follies of the town, throne of Russia, the family of Orloff's perand Boston notions," which he said he had formed an active and conspicuous part. heard of. Nor could we satisfy him at all, Count Alexis Orloff was a favourite of the why the ladies should not frequent State-empress, and was afterwards employed at the street, or visit the wharves to view the ships, which he declared were the noblest curiosities of the place. He said it was all nonsense for people to be so set in their notions.

I also substituted another party of friends, whom I esteemed, and who had the good sense to judge of characters by their intrinsick worth, making allowance for the habits and manners of different places; and I flattered myself that it was mutually pleasant; for the 'squire was a man of good natural sense, and the sisters would always become agreeable,

wars.

head of her armies and navy in various foreign In 177: Count Orloff was in Italy. At that time, the young princess Tarakanof, a daughter of the last Empress of Russia, Elizabeth, resided at Rome, in a very obscure situation, having fled from Petersburgh with her governante to avoid the power and ambitious designs of Catharine. Orloff was commissioned by the empress to endeavour to get the princess into his power, and convey her to Russia Accordingly he went to Rome, found means to get introduced to her, practised upon

wherever he chose to conduct her. He brought her to Pisa, where he hired a magnificent palace. There he continued to treat her with marks of tenderness and respect. A division of the Russian squadron had just entered the port of Leghorn. On relating this news to the princess, Orloff told her his presence was necessasy at Leghorn, for the pur. pose of giving some orders, and offered to take her with him. To this she the more readily consented, as she had heard much talk of the port of Leghorn, and the magnificence of the Russian ships. Unhappy lady! the nearer she approached the catastrophe of the plot, the more she trusted to the tenderness and sincerity of her faithless betrayer. She departed from Pisa with her usual attendants, and on her arrival at Leghorn, suitable apartments were prepared for her, and she was received with marks of the profoundest respect. Several ladies were early in making their visits, and sedulously attended her on all occasions. She was presently surrounded by a numerous court, cager to be beforehand with ail her desires, and seeming to make it their only study, incessantly to procure her some new entertainment. Whenever she went out,the people ran in her way. At the theatre all eyes were turned on her. All circumstances concurred to lull her into a fatal security. All tended to dispel the idea of any danger at hand.

This young princess was so far from suspecting her unfortunate situation, that after having passed several days, in a round of amusements and dissipation, she asked of herself to be shown the Russian fleet. The idea was applauded. The necessary orders were immediately given; and the next day on rising from dinner every thing was ready at the water side for receiving the princess.

On her coming down she was handed into a boat with magnificent awnings. The officers and several ladies seated themselves with her A second boat conveyed the admiral and Count Orloff, and a third filled with Russian, and other officers, closed the procession.

The boats put off from the shore in sight of an immense multitude of people, and were received by the fleet with a band of musick, salutes of artillery, and repeated buzzas. As the princess came along side the ship, a splendid chair was let down, in which being seated she was hoisted in, and it was observed to her that these were particular honours due to her rank. But no sooner was she on board, but

she was handcuffed. In vain she implored for pity of the cruel betrayer, whom she still called husband. In vain she threw herself at his feet, and watered them with her tears; 110

answer was youchsafed to her lamentations. She was loaded with irons, carried down into the hold, and the next day the ship set sail for Russia.

On arriving at Petersburg, the young victim was shut up in a castle, and what became of her afterwards, was never known."

LIFE OF HORACE.

Concluded.

BUT whether, all circumstances considered, it might be pardonable, in men of genius, to palliate, when they could no longer prevent, the establishment of absolute power, it was, at all events, a laudable attempt, to humanize and improve the possessor of that power, on whom the happiness of millions must depend. This, a learned writer has observed, was the benevolent policy of Mæcenas, and of the writers who promoted his views. By them was the young Cæsar instructed to reign by love, rather than by fear; to consider the happiness of the people as his own, and to deserve the character they could so nobly describe. By them, every spark of humanity, that appeared, was cherished, till it displayed a beniguant light. Praise, skilfully conducted, produced the effects of admonition; and even flattery, was pressed

into the service of virtue.

Our poet, and his illustrious Mantuan friend, were the principal instruments, in this scheme of their patron; and had the satisfaction to witness its happy consequences. The praises, whichtheir pens had, perhaps, too freely lavished, they lived to see truly deserved. The prophecies they had, in some degree, hazarded, were fully justified by the event.

Thus esteemed, and thus employed, by the favourite minister, it may be supposed, our poet did not long remain unnoticed by the prince. We accordingly find, in the accounts of his life, and indeed in his own works, several proofs, that Augustus regarded him with kindness and esteem. It is said, that he offered him the place of his private secretary; which Horace declined, probably because it would have interfered with his retirement; but declined it in a manner, that gave no offence to the emperor.

The opinion, Augustus entertained of our poet, was also strongly evinced, by the desire he expressed of being mentioned familiarly in bis works. Though celebrated for the splendour of his conquests, the wisdom of his laws, and the beneficence of his government; though compared to the immortal gods, he wished rather to be transmitted to posterity, as the intimate friend of Horace. The very flattering remonstrance he sent to the poet, on this occa

seems to have arisen from the ill health of hi patron and friend. It is recorded of Macenas, that he was constantly, and, if one may use the expression, constitutionally afflicted by a slow fever. This disorder, which seems often to have affected his spirits, at length put a period to his life, towards the end of the year of Rome 745, or, according to Varro's chronology, 746. The general opinion, which seems the best founded, is, that the death of Mæcenas preceded that of Horace, which happened about the 7th of November, in the same year. He had, in the warmth of affection declared he should not survive his illustrious friend; which has led some to suspect, that his death was voluntary. But the shock he must have felt at such a loss, operating on a declining state of health, will fully account for the accomplishment of the prophecy. By a cupative will, as the violence of his last illness did not admit of his writing one, he constituted Augustus his heir; a circumstance that strengthens the opinion, that Mæcenas was not then alive; as he would surely, had that been the case, have returned his fortune to the friend who gave it.

nun

On this friendship, equally honourable to the minister and the poet, we cannot better conclude, than in the words of the learned writer of the Memoirs of Augustus:

A close connection, or rather intimacy, between Mæeenas, and the men of genius, was not mere clientship, or the dependency of inferiors on a great patron. We know he made them presents worthy his generosity; and employed all his powerful interest with the prince to do them services, which they had the modest dignity not to ask. But it was a just sense of their worth, on his part, and a sincere personal attachment on their's that first created, and then kept up, the mutual friendship. It was not, therefore, the great minister, it was the amiable man, that Horace loved, and loved to his death nor was it merely the elegant poet, that Mæcenas admired in Horace, it was the firm friend, the accomplished gentleman, the agreeable companion, whom, as his last care, he recommended with his dying breath to his master :-Treat Horatius Flaccus as you would myself.†

He was buried, no doubt at his own desire, in the gardens, and near the tomb of his beloved friend and patron.

The person of Horace was short and corpulent; his temper is described by himself, as irascible, and placable; his disposition appears to have been cheerful and social: yet generally speaking, temperate and virtuous, for the age he lived in, and the philosophy he professed. Above all, his contempt of riches and splendor, when he might have easily commanded both, shews that he had a mind not to be corrupted by good fortune. His unaffected, and liberal attachment to his patron, so different from the

nevolence to his friends, who had less interest than himself, do as much honour to the feelings, of his heart, as his admirable writings have done to the vigour and elegance of his mind. On his poetical character, it is not easy to add any thing to the praises, which every admirer of classical composition, has heaped on his memory. The term used by Petronius, to characterise his singular happiness of expression, curiosa felicitas, has the merit of being itself, what it describes. Into how many volumes has this short panegyrick been dilated? How many criticks have sprung from the ashes of a single poet? Yet we cannot, perhaps, even now, trace every source of the pleasure we experience from his writings; and our inquiries will end in the confession, that the beauties of Horace are less seen, than felt.

See his admirable epistle to Claudius, recommending Septimius.

POETRY.

THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

Is the morning of life, the gay scenes of my youth, Like the day dreams of fancy, pass'd happily by ; And these moments so fleeting, I found were in truth Unmix'd with a murmur, or griev'd with a sigh.

With a morn so unclouded, I thought that my way

Would ne'er be obstructed by pain or by sorrow; And while sunbeams of happiness gilded today, I never expected a diff'rent tomorrow. But the pleasures which danced in my youthful career, Like the dreams of the morning, soon vanish'd for

ever;

And I found, ah ! too soon, that a sorrowful tear From the scenes of my manhood, these pleasures would sever.

Though the world where I roam'd, was by nature array'd

In the gayest of tint, and the sweetest of bloom, Yet to me all these charms and their fragrance decay'd; I witness'd no beauty, inhal'd no perfume.

The flowers, which oft rivall'd the sun in their bright

ness,

To me all their blossoms and fragrance denied ; And the lilies were robb'd of their innocent white.

ness,

By the shade of the cypress that grew at their side. Thus I found my meridian of life was soon darken'd, By shadows of sorrow and clouds of despair; And the voice of Contentment, to which I once hearken'd,

No longer was heard in this desert of care.

sion, produced that excellent Epistle to Augus-fawning servility of a sycophant; and his be- Then, I said, since my days are unchequer'd with

tus, which would alone have been sufficient to immortalize both.

Horace, we are told, lived chiefly at the little estate near Tibur, which Mæcenas had bestowed on him; but his complaints, of the variety of business that detained, and sometimes fatigued him at Rome, make it probable, that much of his time was passed in the metropolis; and though he might on those occasions feel ome longing for retirement, yet, as he was not insensible to the voice of fame, and still less to the charms of society, these, we may believe, made no contemptible amends.

In a situation, so congenial to his turn of mind; protected by the greatest, admired by the most ingenious, and beloved by the best men in Rome; the chief alloy to his happiness

The union between Horace and Mecenas was such as subsisted between my Lord Bolingbroke and Dean Swift, or rather between Lord Grosvenor and William Gifford. This is the lofty and liberal connection between wealth and power and genius, where the first extend protection without requiring the suit and service of a vassal, and where the last receives patronage without acting as a sycophant, or suffering as a slave.

† After the sentence last cited, in which Dr. Blackwell rightly, as it should seem, takes the word extremis, in Suetonius, to mean the last moments, and not the last will, of Mæcenas, one is surprised to see, a few The writer of this life inclines much to the general lines afterwards, an account that Horace died first. opinion, against that of Sanadon; but it would be tiresome, to most readers, to go into the discussion. § Ibid.

+ Suetonius.

gladness,

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