_Scene, the Inn door; Diligence drawn up._—CASIMERE _appears
superintending the package of his portmanteaus, and giving
directions to the_ PORTERS.
_Enter_ BEEFINGTON _and_ PUDDINGFIELD.
PUDD. Well, Coachey, have you got two inside places?
COACH. Yes, your Honour.
PUDD. [_seems to be struck with_ CASIMERE’S _appearance. He surveys him
earnestly without paying any attention to the_ COACHMAN, _then
doubtingly pronounces_] Casimere!
CAS. [_turning round rapidly, recognizes_ PUDDINGFIELD, _and embraces
him._] My Puddingfield!
PUDD. My Casimere!
CAS. What, Beefington too! [_discovering him_]—then is my joy complete.
BEEF. Our fellow-traveller, as it seems!
CAS. Yes, Beefington—but wherefore to Hamburgh?
BEEF. Oh, Casimere[279]—to fly—to fly—to return—England—our
country—Magna Charta—it is liberated—a new æra—House of Commons—Crown
and Anchor—Opposition—
CAS. What a contrast! you are flying to liberty and your home—I, driven
from my home by tyranny, and exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign
country.
BEEF. How domestic slavery?
CAS. Too true—two wives—[_slowly, and with a dejected air—then after a
pause_]—you knew my Cecilia?
PUDD. Yes, five years ago.
CAS. Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in
Wetteravia—my Matilda was under her protection. Alighting at a peasant’s
cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread-and-butter for
the children, in a light-blue riding-habit. The simplicity of her
appearance—the fineness of the weather—all conspired to interest me—my
heart moved to hers—as if by magnetic sympathy. We wept, embraced, and
went home together: she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five
years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience—her
Rogero is languishing in captivity—if I could restore her to _him_!
BEEF. Let us rescue him.
CAS. Will without power[280] is like children playing at soldiers.
BEEF. Courage without power[281] is like a consumptive running footman.
CAS. Courage without power is a contradiction.[282] Ten brave men might
set all Quedlinburgh at defiance.
BEEF. Ten brave men—but where are they to be found?
CAS. I will tell you—marked you the waiter?
BEEF. The waiter?
[_doubtingly._
CAS. [_in a confidential tone_]. No waiter, but a _Knight Templar_.
Returning from the Crusade, he found his Order dissolved, and his person
proscribed. He dissembled his rank, and embraced the profession of a
waiter. I have made sure of him already. There are, besides, an
Austrian, and a Prussian grenadier. I have made them abjure their
national enmity, and they have sworn to fight henceforth in the cause of
freedom. These with young Pottingen, the waiter, and ourselves, make
seven—the Troubadour, with his two attendant minstrels, will complete
the ten.
BEEF. Now then for the execution.
[_With enthusiasm._
PUDD. Yes, my boys—for the execution.
[_Clapping them on the back._
WAITER. But hist! we are observed.
TROU. Let us by a song conceal our purposes.
RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.[283]
CAS. Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow
From night’s cold lungs our purpose know!
PUDD. Let Silence, mother of the dumb,
BEEF. Press on each lip her palsied thumb!
WAIT. Let Privacy, allied to sin,
That loves to haunt the tranquil inn—
GREN. } And Conscience start, when she shall view
THOU. } The mighty deed we mean to do!
GENERAL CHORUS—_Con spirito._
Then friendship swear, ye faithful bands,
Swear to save a shackled hero!
See where yon abbey frowning stands!
Rescue, rescue, brave Rogero!
CAS. Thrall’d in a monkish tyrant’s fetters
Shall great Rogero hopeless lie?
Y. POT. In my pocket I have letters,
Saying, “Help me, or I die!”
_Allegro Allegretto._
CAS. BEEF. PUDD. GREN. TROU. } Let us fly, let us fly,
WAITER, AND POT. _with enthusiasm_. } Let us help, ere he die!
[_Exeunt omnes, waving their hats._
_Scene, the Abbey Gate, with Ditches, Drawbridges, and Spikes;
Time, about an hour before Sunrise.—The conspirators appear as
if in ambuscade, whispering and consulting together, in
expectation of the signal for attack.—The_ WAITER _is habited as
a Knight Templar, in the dress of his Order, with the Cross on
his breast, and the scallop on his shoulder._—PUDDINGFIELD _and_
BEEFINGTON _armed with blunderbusses and pocket-pistols; the_
GRENADIERS _in their proper uniforms.—The_ TROUBADOUR _with his
attendant minstrels bring up the rear; martial music: the
conspirators come forward, and present themselves before the
Gate of the Abbey.—Alarum; firing of pistols; the Convent appear
in Arms upon the Walls; the Drawbridge is let down; a body of
choristers and lay-brothers attempt a sally, but are beaten
back, and the Verger killed.—The besieged attempt to raise the
Drawbridge_; PUDDINGFIELD _and_ BEEFINGTON _press forward with
alacrity, throw themselves upon the Drawbridge, and by the
exertion of their weight preserve it in a state of depression;
the other besiegers join them, and attempt to force the
entrance, but without effect._—PUDDINGFIELD _makes the signal
for the battering-ram.—Enter_ QUINTUS CURTIUS _and_ MARCUS
CURIUS DENTATUS _in their military habits, preceded by the Roman
Eagle; the rest of their Legion are employed in bringing forward
a battering-ram, which plays for a few minutes to slow time,
till the entrance is forced.—After a short resistance, the
besiegers rush in with shouts of Victory._
_Scene changes to the interior of the Abbey.—The inhabitants of the
Convent are seen flying in all directions._
_The_ COUNT OF WEIMAR _and the_ PRIOR, _who had been found feasting in
the Refectory, are brought in manacled. The_ COUNT _appears
transported with rage, and gnaws his chains.—The_ PRIOR _remains
insensible, as if stupefied with grief._—BEEFINGTON _takes the keys
of the Dungeon, which are hanging at the_ PRIOR’S _girdle, and makes
a sign for them both to be led away into confinement.—Exeunt_ PRIOR
_and_ COUNT, _properly guarded.—The rest of the conspirators
disperse in search of the Dungeon where_ ROGERO _is confined._
END OF ACT THE FOURTH.
[Illustration]
No. XXXII.
June 18, 1798.
We are indebted for the following imitation of CATULLUS to a literary
correspondent. Whether it will remove the doubts we formerly expressed,
of CITIZEN MUSKEIN’S acquaintance with the classics, from the minds of
our readers, we cannot pretend to say. It is given to us as a faithful
translation from the French—as such, we present it to our readers;
premising only, that though the _Citizen Imitator_ seems to have
_Sans-culottized_ the original in two or three places, yet he everywhere
expresses himself with a _naïveté_ and truth in his verse that we seek
for in vain in many of his countrymen who have recorded their victories
and defeats in very vulgar prose.
AN AFFECTIONATE EFFUSION OF CITIZEN MUSKEIN TO HAVRE-DE-GRACE.
Fairest of cities,[284] which the Seine
Surveys ’twixt Paris and the main,
Sweet HAVRE! sweetest HAVRE, hail!
How gladly with my tatter’d sail,[285]
Yet trembling from this wild adventure,
Do I thy friendly harbour enter!
Well—now I’ve leisure, let me see
What boats are left me; one, two, three—
Bravo! the better half remain;
And all my heroes are not slain.
And if my senses don’t deceive,
I too am safe,[286]—yes, I believe,
Without a wound I reach thy shore
(For I have felt myself all o’er);
I’ve all my limbs, and, be it spoken
With honest triumph, no bone broken.
How pleasing is the sweet transition[287]
From this vile Gun-boat Expedition;
From winds and waves, and wounds and scars,
From British soldiers, British tars,
To his own house, where, free from danger,
MUSKEIN may live at rack and manger;
May stretch his limbs in his own cot,[288]
Thankful he has not gone to pot;
Nor for the bubble Glory strive,
But bless himself that he’s alive!
HAVRE,[289] sweet Havre! hail again,
O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,[290]
Who under CHÉNIER welcomed in,
With dance and song, the _Guillotine_).
In long procession seek the strand;
For MUSKEIN now prepares to land,
’Scaped, Heav’n knows how, from that cursed crew
That haunt the rocks of SAINT MARCOU.
[TO THE PENINSULA OF SIRMIO.
UPON THE RETURN OF THE POET TO HIS COUNTRY HOUSE THERE.
_Translated_ from CATULLUS.
Sirmio, of all the shores the gem,
The isles where circling Neptune strays;
Whether the vast and boisterous main
Or lake’s more limpid waves they stem,
How gladly on thy waves I gaze!
How blest to visit thee again!
I scarce believe, while rapt I stand,
That I have left the Thynian fields
And all Bithynia far behind,
And safely view my favourite land.
Oh bliss, when care dispersing yields
To full repose the placid mind!
Then when the mind its load lays down;
When we regain, all hazards past,
And with long ceaseless travel tired,
Our household god again our own;
And press in tranquil sleep at last
The well-known bed so oft desired—
This can alone atonement make
For every toil. Hail, Sirmio sweet!
Be gay, thy lord hath ceased to roam!
Ye laughing waves of Lydia’s lake,
Smile all around! thy master greet
With all thy smiles, my pleasant home!—ED.]
No. XXXIII.[291]
June 25, 1798.
After the splendid account of BUONAPARTE’S successes in the East, which
our readers will find in another part of this paper,[292] and which they
will peruse with equal wonder and apprehension, it is some consolation
to us to have to state, not only from authority, but in verse, that our
government has not been behindhand with that of France; but that aware
of the wise and enterprising spirit of the enemy, and of the danger
which might arise to our distant possessions from the export of learning
and learned men being entirely in their hands, ministers have long ago
determined on an expedition of a similar nature, and have actually
embarked at Portsmouth on board one of the East India Company’s ships
taken up for that purpose (the ship _Capricorn_, Mr. Thomas Truman,
Commander), several tons of _savans_, the growth of this country. The
whole was conducted with the utmost secrecy and dispatch, and it was not
till we were favoured with the following copy of a letter (obligingly
communicated to us by the Tunisian gentleman to whom it is addressed)
that we had any suspicion of the extent and nature of the design, or
indeed of any such design being in contemplation.
The several great names which are combined to render this Expedition the
most surprising and splendid ever undertaken, could not indeed have been
spared from the country to which they are an ornament for any other
purpose than one the most obviously connected with the interests of the
empire, and the most widely beneficial to mankind.
The secrecy with which they have been withdrawn from the British public,
without being so much as missed or enquired after, reflects the highest
honour on the planners of the enterprise. Even the celebrity of DOCTOR
PARR has not led to any discovery or investigation: the silent admirers
of that great man have never once thought of asking what was become of
him; till it is now all at once come to light, that he has been for
weeks past on shipboard, the brightest star in the bright constellation
of talents which stud the quarter-deck of the _Capricorn_, Mr. T. Truman
(as before mentioned), Commander.
The resignation of the late worthy President of a certain Agricultural
Board[293] might indeed have taught mankind to look for some
extraordinary event in the world of science and adventure; and those who
had the good fortune to see the deportation from his house, of the
several wonderful anomalies which had for years formed its most
distinguished inmates,—the stuffed ram, the dried boar, the cow with
three horns, and other fanciful productions of a like nature, could not
but speculate with some degree of seriousness on the purpose of their
removal, and on the place of their destination.
It now appears that there was in truth no light object in view. They
were destined, with the rest of the _savans_, on whom this country
prides itself (and long may it have reason to indulge the honest
exultation), to undertake a voyage of no less grandeur than peril; to
counteract the designs of the Directory, and to frustrate or forestal
the conquests of Buonaparte.
The young gentleman who writes the following letter to his friend in
London is, as may be seen, interpreter to the Expedition. We have
understood, further, that he is connected with the young man who writes
for the _Morning Chronicle_, and conducts the _Critical, Argumentative_,
and _Geographical_ departments. Some say it is the young man himself,
who has assumed a feigned name, and, under the disguise of a Turkish
dress and circumcision, is gone, at the express instigation of his
employers, to improve himself in geographical knowledge. We have our
doubts upon this subject, as we think we recognise the style of this
deplorable young man in an article of last week’s _Morning Chronicle_,
which we have had occasion to answer in a preceding column of our
present paper. Be that as it may, the information contained in the
following letter may be depended upon.
We cannot take leave of the subject without remarking what a fine
contrast and companion the vessel and cargo described in the following
poem affords [_sic_] to the “NAVIS STULTIFERA,” the “SHIPPE OF FOOLES”
of the celebrated BARCLAY; and we cannot forbear hoping that the
_Argenis_ of an author of the same name may furnish a hint for an
account of this stupendous Expedition in a learned language, from the
only pen which in modern days is capable of writing Latin with a purity
and elegance worthy of so exalted a theme, and that the author of a
classical _preface_[294] may become the writer of a no less celebrated
voyage.
TRANSLATION OF A LETTER,
(IN ORIENTAL CHARACTERS)
FROM BAWBA-DARA-ADUL-PHOOLA,[295]
DRAGOMAN TO THE EXPEDITION,
TO NEEK-AWL-ARETCHID-KOOEZ,
SECRETARY TO THE TUNISIAN EMBASSY.
DEAR NEEK-AWL,
You’ll rejoice, that at length I am able,
To date these few lines from the captain’s own table.
Mr. Truman himself, of his proper suggestion,
Has in favour of science decided the question;
So we walk the main-deck, and are mess’d with the captain,
I leave you to judge of the joys we are wrapt in.
At Spithead they embark’d us, how precious a cargo!
And we sail’d before day to escape the embargo.
There was SHUCKBOROUGH,[296] the wonderful mathematician;
And DARWIN, the poet, the sage, and physician;
There was BEDDOES, and BRUIN, and GODWIN, whose trust is,
He may part with his work on _Political Justice_
To some Iman or Bonze, or Judaical Rabbin;
So with huge quarto volumes he piles up the cabin.
There was great DR. PARR whom we style _Bellendenus_,
The Doctor and I have a hammock between us.
’Tis a little unpleasant thus crowding together,
On account of the motion and heat of the weather;
_Two_ souls in one berth they oblige us to cram,
And Sir John[297] _will_ insist on a place for his ram.
Though the Doctor, I find, is determined to think
’Tis the animal’s hide that occasions the stink;
In spite of th’ experienced opinion of Truman,
Who contends that the scent is exclusively human.
But BEDDOES and DARWIN engage to repair
This slight inconvenience with _oxygen_ air.
Whither bound? (you will ask). ’Tis a question, my friend,
On which I long doubted; my doubt’s at an end.
To Arabia the Stony, Sabæa the gummy,
To the land where each man that you meet is a mummy;
To the mouths of the Nile, to the banks of Araxes,
To the _Red_ and the _Yellow_, the _White_ and the _Black_ seas,
With telescopes, globes, and a quadrant and sextant,
And the works of all authors whose writings are extant;
With surveys and plans, topographical maps,
Theodolites, watches, spring-guns and steel-traps,
Phials, crucibles, air-pumps, electric machinery,
And pencils for painting the natives and scenery.
In short, we are sent to oppose all we know
To the knowledge and mischievous arts of the foe,
Who, though placing in arms a well-grounded reliance,
Go to war with a flying artillery of science.
The French _savans_, it seems, recommended this measure,
With a view to replenish the national treasure.
First, the true _Rights of Man_ they will preach in all places,
But chief (when ’tis found) in the Egyptian Oasis:
And this doctrine, ’tis hoped, in a very few weeks
Will persuade the wild Arabs to murder their cheiks,
And, to aid the _Great Nation’s_ beneficent plans,
Plunder pyramids, catacombs, towns, caravans,
Then enlist under Arcolé’s gallant commander,
Who will conquer the world like his model ISKANDER.
His army each day growing bolder and finer,
With the Turcoman tribes he subdues Asia Minor,
Beats Paul and his Scythians, his journey pursues
Cross the Indus, with tribes of Armenians and Jews,
And Bucharians, and Affghans, and Persians, and Tartars,—
Chokes the wretched Mogul in his grandmother’s garters,
And will hang him to dry in the Luxembourg hall,
’Midst the plunder of Carthage and spoils of Bengal.
Such, we hear, was the plan; but I trust, if we meet ’em,
That _savant_ to _savant_, our cargo will beat ’em.
Our plan of proceeding I’ll presently tell;—
But soft—I am call’d—I must bid you farewell:
To attend on our _savans_ my pen I resign,
For, it seems, that they _duck_ them on _crossing_ the Line.
* * * * *
We deeply regret this interruption of our oriental poet, and the more
so, as the prose letters which we have received from a less learned
correspondent do not enable us to explain the tactics of our belligerent
philosophers so distinctly as we could have wished. It appears, in
general, that the learned Doctor who has the honour of sharing the
hammock of the amiable oriental, trusted principally to his superior
knowledge in the Greek language, by means of which he hoped to entangle
his antagonists in inextricable confusion. DR. DARWIN proposed (as might
be expected) his celebrated experiment of the Ice-island,[298] which,
being towed on the coast of Africa, could not fail of spoiling the
climate, and immediately terrifying and embarrassing the sailors of
Buonaparte’s fleet, accustomed to the mild temperature and gentle gales
of the Mediterranean, and therefore ill qualified to struggle with this
new importation of tempests. DR. BEDDOES was satisfied with the project
of communicating to Buonaparte a consumption, of the same nature with
that which he formerly tried on himself, but superior in virulence, and
therefore calculated to make the most rapid and fatal ravages in the
hectic constitution of the Gallic hero. The rest of the plan is quite
unintelligible, excepting a hint about Sir J. S.’s intention of
proceeding with his ram to the celebrated Oasis, and of bringing away,
for the convenience of the Bank, the treasures contained in the temple
of Jupiter Ammon.
FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY.[299]
The Priority of Intelligence which has ever distinguished OUR PAPER
will, We trust, receive additional lustre from the extraordinary
News which We now lay before the Public. We received it by a Neutral
Ship, which arrived in the River last night; and feel ourselves much
indebted to the attention of our Correspondent, a Currant Merchant
at _Zanté_, for its early communication. Without arrogating to
ourselves that merit which is (perhaps) justly our due, We think
ourselves justified in asserting that it is not only the earliest,
but, if We are not much mistaken, the only account which will appear
in the Prints of this Day respecting the Successes of BUONAPARTÉ.
COPY OF A LETTER FROM GENERAL BUONAPARTÉ TO THE COMMANDANT AT ZANTÉ.
“_Athens, 18 Prairial._
“CITIZEN GENERAL,
“Victory still attends us. I inclose you a Copy of a Letter which I
have this day written to the Directory. Health and Fraternity.
“BUONAPARTÉ.”
“_Head-Quarters_, Salamis, _18 Prairial_.
“Citizens directors,
“The brave Soldiers, who conferred Liberty on _Rome_, have continued
to deserve well of their Country. _Greece_ has joyfully received her
Deliverers. The Tree of Liberty is planted on the _Piræus_. Thirty
thousand Janizaries, the Slaves of Despotism, had taken possession
of the Isthmus of _Corinth_. Two Demi-brigades opened us a passage.
After ten days’ fighting, we have driven the _Turks_ from the
_Morea_. The _Peloponnesus_ is now free. Every step in my power has
been taken to revive the antient spirit of _Sparta_. The Inhabitants
of that celebrated City, seeing _black broth_ of my Troops, and the
scarcity of specie to which we have been long accustomed, will, I
doubt not, soon acquire the frugal virtues of their Ancestors. As a
proper measure of precaution, I have removed all PITT’S gold from
the Country.
“Off this Island we encountered the Fleet of the SULTAN. The
Mahometan Crescent soon fled before the three-coloured flag. Nine
Sail of the Line are the fruits of this Victory. The CAPTAIN PACHA’S
Ship, a second rate, struck to a National Corvette. My Aide-de-Camp
will present you with the model of a _Trireme_, which was found
among the Archives of _Athens_. Vessels of this description draw so
little water, that our Naval Architects may perhaps think them more
eligible than Rafts, for the conveyance of the _Army of England_.
Liberty will be sufficiently avenged, if the ruins of a Grecian City
furnish us with the means of transporting the Conquerors of _Rome_
to _Britain_.
“On landing at this Island, I participated in a Scene highly
interesting to Humanity. A poor Fisherman, of the family of
THEMISTOCLES, attended by his Wife, a descendant of the virtuous
PHRYNE, fell at my feet. I received him with the Fraternal embrace,
and promised him the protection of the Republic. He invited me to
supper at his Hut, and in gratitude to his Deliverer presented me
with a memorable _Oyster Shell_, inscribed with the Name of his
illustrious Ancestor. As this curious piece of antiquity may be of
service to some of the DIRECTORY, I have inclosed it in my
Dispatches, together with a Marble Tablet, containing the proper
form for pronouncing the Sentence of _Ostracism_ on _Royalist
Athenians_.
“KLÉBER, whom I had ordered to _Constantinople_, informs me that the
Capital of Turkey has proved an easy conquest. _Santa-Sophia_ has
been converted into a Temple of Reason; the _Seraglio_ has been
purified by _Theo-Philanthropists_, and the liberated Circassians
are learning from our Sailors the lessons of Equality and
Fraternity. A Detachment has been sent to Troy, for the purpose pf
organizing the Department of _Mount Ida_. The Tomb of ACHILLES has
been repaired, and the Bust of BRISEIS (which formed part of the
Pedestal) restored to its original state, at the expense of the
Female Citizen BUONAPARTÉ.
“The Division of the Fleet destined for Egypt has anchored in the
Port of _Alexandria_. BERTHIER, who commands this Expedition,
informs me that this Port will soon be restored to its ancient
pre-eminence; and that its celebrated _Pharos_ will soon be fit to
receive the _Reverbères_ which have been sent from the _Rue St.
Honoré_.
“BARAGUAY D’HILLIERS, with the Left Wing of the _Army of Egypt_, has
fixed his Head-quarters at _Jerusalem_. He is charged to restore the
Jews to their ancient Rights. Citizens Jacob Jacobs, Simon Levi, and
Benjamin Solomons, of Amsterdam, have been provisionally appointed
Directors. The Palace of _Pontius Pilate_ is re-building for their
residence. All the vestiges of Superstition in _Palestine_ have been
carefully destroyed.
“I beg you will ratify a grant which I have made of the _Temple of
the Sun_ at _Palmyra_ to a Society of _Illuminati_ from _Bavaria_.
They may be of service in extending our future conquests.
“I have received very satisfactory accounts from DESAIX, who had
been sent by BERTHIER with a Demi-brigade into the interior of
_Africa_. That fine Country has been too long neglected by
Europeans. In manners and civilization it much resembles France, and
will soon emulate our virtues. Already does the Torrid Zone glow
with the ardour of Freedom. Already has the Altar of Liberty been
reared in the _Caffrarian_ and _Equinoctial Republics_. Their
regenerated inhabitants have sworn eternal amity to us at a Civic
Feast, to which a detachment of our Army was invited. This memorable
day would have terminated with the utmost harmony, if the CAFFRARIAN
COUNCIL of ANCIENTS had not devoured the greatest part of General
Desaix’s État-Major for their supper. I hope our Ambassador will be
instructed to require that Civic Feasts of this nature be omitted
for the future. The Directory of the _Equinoctial Republic_ regret
that the scarcity of British Cloth in Africa, and the great heat of
the climate, prevent them from adopting our _costume_.
“We hope soon to liberate the _Hottentots_, and to drive the
perfidious _English_ from the extremities of Africa and of Europe.
_Asia_, too, will soon be free. The three-coloured flag floats on
the summit of Caucasus; the _Tigrine Republic_ is established; the
_Cis_ and _Trans-Euphratean Conventions_ are assembled; and soon
shall _Arabia_, under the mild influence of _French Principles_,
resume her ancient appellation, and be again denominated ‘the
HAPPY’.
“In the course of the next Decade I shall sail to the Canal which is
now cutting across the _Isthmus of Suez_. The Polytechnic School and
Corps of Geographical Engineers are employed in devising means for
conveying my heavy artillery across the great Desert. Soon shall
_India_ hail us as her Deliverers, and those proud islanders, the
_Tyrants of Calcutta_, fall before the _Heroes of Arcola_.
“The Members of the National Institute who accompanied the Squadron
to Egypt, have made a large collection of Antiquities for the use of
the Republic. Among the scattered remains of the Alexandrine
Library, they have found a curious Treatise, in Arabic, respecting
_Camels_, from which it appears that Human Beings, by proper
treatment, may, like those useful animals, be trained to support
thirst and hunger without complaining. Many reams of papyrus have
been collected, as it is thought that during the present scarcity of
linen and old rags in France, it may answer all the purposes of
paper. CLEOPATRA’S celebrated Obelisk has been shipped on board the
Admiral’s Ship _L’Orient_, cidevant _Sans Culottes_: Another
man-of-war has been freighted with the _Sphinx_, which our Engineers
removed from _Grand Cairo_, and which, I trust, will be thought a
proper ornament for the Hall of Audience of the Directory.—The cage
in which BAJAZET was confined, has been long preserved at _Bassora_;
it will be transmitted to Paris as a proper model for a new _Cayenne
Diligence_.—I beg leave to present to the Director MERLIN, a very
curious book, bound in Morocco leather, from Algiers. It is finely
illuminated with gold; and contains lists of the various fees
usually received by Deys and their Ministers from Foreign
Ambassadors. A broken Column will be sent from _Carthage_. It
records the downfall of that Commercial City; and is sufficiently
large for an Inscription (if the Directory should think proper to
place it on the Banks of the _Thames_), to inform posterity that it
marks the spot where _London once stood_.
“Health and Respect,
“BUONAPARTÉ.”
[Illustration]
No. XXXIV.
July 2, 1798.
ODE TO A JACOBIN.
FROM SUCKLING’S ODE TO A LOVER.
I.
UNCHRISTIAN JACOBIN whoever,
If, of thy God thou cherish ever
One wavering thought; if e’er HIS word
Has from one crime thy soul deterr’d,—
Know this,
Thou think’st amiss;
And to think true,
Thou must renounce Him all, and think anew.
II.
If, startled at the _guillotine_,
Trembling thou touch the dread machine;
If, leading sainted Louis to it,
Thy steps drew back, thy heart did rue it,—
Know this,
Thou think’st amiss;
And to think true,
Must rise ’bove weak remorse, and think anew.
III.
If, callous, thou dost not mistake,
And murder for mild Mercy’s sake;
And think thou followest Pity’s call,
When slaughtered thousands round thee fall,—
Know this,
Thou think’st amiss;
And to think true,
Must conquer prejudice, and think anew.
IV.
If, when good men are to be slain,
Thou hear’st them plead, nor plead in vain;
Or, when thou answerest, if it be
With one jot of humanity,—
Know this,
Thou think’st amiss;
And to think true,
Must pardon leave to fools, and think anew.
V.
If, when all kings, priests, nobles hated,
Lie headless, thy revenge is sated,
Nor thirsts to load the reeking block
With heads from thine own murd’rous flock,—
Know this,
Thou think’st amiss;
And to think true,
Thou must go on in blood, and think anew.
VI.
If, thus, by love of executions,
Thou provest thee fit for revolutions;
Yet one achieved, to _that_ art true,
Nor wouldst begin to change anew,—
Know this,
Thou think’st amiss;
Deem, to think true,
All constitutions bad, but those bran new.
[The preceding “ODE TO A JACOBIN” is parodied from the following
ODE TO A LOVER,
BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
I.
Honest lover whosoever,
If in all thy love was ever
One wav’ring thought; if e’er thy flame
Were not still even, still the same,—
Know this,
Thou lov’st amiss;
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.
II.
If, when she appears i’ th’ room,
Thou dost not quake, and art struck dumb;
And, in striving this to cover,
Dost not speak thy words twice over,—
Know this,
Thou lov’st amiss;
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.
III.
If, fondly, thou dost not mistake,
And all defects for graces take,
Persuad’st thyself that jests are broken,
When she has little or nothing spoken,—
Know this,
Thou lov’st amiss;
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.
IV.
If, when thou appear’st to be within,
Thou let’st not men ask and ask again;
And when thou answer’st, if it be
To what was ask’d thee, properly,—
Know this,
Thou lov’st amiss;
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.
V.
If, when thy stomach calls to eat,
Thou cut’st not fingers ’stead of meat;
And with much gazing on her face,
Dost not rise hungry from the place,—
Know this,
Thou lov’st amiss;
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.
VI.
If, by this thou dost discover
That thou art no perfect lover;
And desiring to love true,
Thou dost begin to love anew,—
Know this,
Thou lov’st amiss;
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.—ED.]
No. XXXV.
July 9, 1798.
The following popular song is said to be in great vogue among the loyal
troops in the North of Ireland. The air and the turn of the composition
are highly original. It is attributed (as our correspondent informs us)
to a fifer in the Drumballyroney Volunteers.
BALLYNAHINCH.[300]
A NEW SONG.
I.
A certain great Statesman[301] whom all of us know,
In a certain assembly, no long while ago,
Declared from this maxim he never would flinch,
“That no town was so _loyal_ as Ballynahinch”.
II.
The great statesman, it seems, had perused all their faces,
And been mightily struck with their loyal grimaces;
While each townsman had sung, like a throstle or finch,
“We are all of us _loyal_ at Ballynahinch”.
III.
The great statesman return’d to his speeches and readings;
And the Ballynahinchers resumed their proceedings;
They had most of them sworn, “_We’ll be true to the Frinch_,”[302]
So _loyal_ a town was this Ballynahinch!
IV.
Determined their landlord’s fine words to make good,
They hid pikes in his haggard, cut staves in his wood;
And attack’d the king’s troops—the assertion to clinch,
That no town is so _loyal_ as Ballynahinch.
V.
O! had we but trusted the _rebels’_ professions,
Met their cannon with smiles, and their pikes with concessions;
Tho’ they still took an _ell_ when we gave them an _inch_,
They would all have been _loyal_—like Ballynahinch.
VIRI ERUDITI,
Si vobis hocce poematium, de navali laude Britanniæ, paucis annis ante
conscriptum, nuperrimè recensitum atque emendatum, forté arrideat,
quærite in proximis vestris tabulis locum quendam secretum atque
securum, ubi repositum suâ sorte perfruatur. Quod si in me hanc gratiam
contuleritis, devinctus vobis ero et astrictus beneficio.
ETONENSIS.
DE NAVALI LAUDE BRITANNIÆ.
Successu si freta brevi, fatisque secundis,
Europæ sub pace vetet requiescere gentes,
Inque dies ruat ulteriús furialibus armis
GALLIA, tota instans à sedibus eruere imis
Fundamenta, quibus cultæ Commercia vitæ
Firmant se subnixa;—tuisne, BRITANNIA, regnis
Ecquid ab hoste times; dum te tua saxa tuentur,
Dum pelagus te vorticibus spumantibus ambit?
Tu medio stabilita mari, atque ingentibus undis
Cincta sedes; nec tu angusto, Vulcania tanquam
Trinacris, interclusa sinu; nec faucibus arctis
Septa freti brevis, impositisque coercita claustris.
Liberiora Tibi spatia, et porrecta sine ullo
Limite regna patent (quanto neque maxima quondam
Carthago, aut Phœnissa Tyros, ditissima tellus
Floruit imperio) confiniaque ultima mundi.
Ergone formidabis adhuc, ne se inferat olim,
Et campis impuné tuis superingruat hostis?
Usque adeone parúm est, quod laté litora cernas
Præruptisturrita jugis, protentaque longo
Circuitu, et tutos passim præbentia portus?
Præsertim australes ad aquas, Damnoniaque arva,
Aut ubi Vecta viret, secessusque insula fidos
Efficit objectu laterum; saxosave Dubris
Velivolum laté pelagus, camposque liquentes
Aeria, adversasque aspectat desuper oras.
Nec levibus sanè auguriis, aut omine nullo
Auguror hinc fore perpetuum per secula nomen:
Dum nautis tam firma tuis, tam prodiga vitæ
Pectora, inexpletâ succensa cupidine famæ,
Nec turpi flectenda metu; dum maxima quercus,
Majestate excelsa suâ, atque ingentibus umbris,
Erigitur, vasto nodosa atque aspera trunco;
Silvarum regina. Hæc formidabilis olim
Noctem inter mediam nimborum, hyemesque sonantes,
Ardua se attollit super æquora; quam neque fluctûs
Spumosi attenuat furor, aut violentia venti
Frangere, et in medio potis est disrumpere ponto.
Viribus his innixa, saloque accincta frementi,
Tu media inter bella sedes; ignara malorum,
Quæ tolerant obsessæ urbes, cúm jam hostica clausas
Fulminat ad portas acies, vallataque circúm
Castra locat, sævisque aditus circumsidet armis.
Talia sunt tibi perpetuæ fundamina famæ,
Ante alias diis cara, BRITANNIA! Prælia cerno
Inclyta, perpetuos testes quid maxima victrix,
Quid possis preclara tuo, maris arbitra, ponto.
Hæc inter, sanctas æternâ laude calendas
Servandas recolo, quibus illa, immane minata
Gentibus excidium, totum grassata per orbem
Ausaque jam imperiis intactum amplectier æquor,
Illa odiis lymphata, et libertate recenti
GALLIA, disjectam ferali funere classem
Indoluit devicta, et non reparabile vulnus.
Tempore quo instructas vidit longo ordine puppes
Rostratâ certare acie, et concurrere ad arma,
Ætheraque impulsu tremere, Uxantisque per undas
Lugubre lumen agi, atque rubentem fulgere fumum.
Cerno triumphatas acies, quo tempore IBERÛM
Disjectos fastus, lacerisque aplustria velis
Horruit Oceanus:—quali formidine Gades
Intremere, ut fractâ classem se mole moventem
Hospitium petere, et portus videre relictos!
Quid referam, nobis quæ nuper adorea risit,
Te rursús superante, die quo decolor ibat
Sanguine BELGARUM Rhenus, fluctusque minores
Volvebat, frustra indignans polluta cruore
Ostia, et Angliaco tremefactas fulmine rupes.
Cerno pias ædes procúl, et regalia quondam
Atria, cæruleis quæ preterlabitur undis
Velivolus Thamesis; materno ubi denique nautas
Excipis amplexu, virtus quoscumque virilis
Per pelagi impulerit discrimina, quælibet ausos
Pro Patriâ. Híc rude donantur, dulcique senescunt
Hospitio emeriti, placidâque quiete potiti
Vulnera præteritos jactant testantia casus.
Macte ideó decus Oceani! macte omne per ævum
Victrix, æquoreo stabilita BRITANNIA regno!
Litoribusque tuis ne propugnacula tantúm
Præsidio fore, nec saxi munimina credas,
Nec tantúm quæ mille acies in utrumque parantur,
Aut patriam tutari, aut non superesse cadenti;
Invictæ quantúm metuenda tonitrua CLASSIS,
Angliacæ CLASSIS;—quæ majestate verendâ
Ultrix, inconcussa, diú dominabitur orbi,
Hostibus invidiosa tuis, et sæpe triumphis
Nobilitata novis, pelagi Regina subacti.
[TRANSLATION OF THE PRECEDING POEM.[303]
By the late A. F. Westmacott, Esq.
MEN OF LEARNING,
If by chance the following little poem, on the naval glory of
Britain, written a few years since, and very lately revised and
corrected, please you, look in your nearest tablets for some private
and secure place, where it may be placed to enjoy its good fortune.
Should you confer on me this favour, I shall be bound to you by the
obligation of your kindness.
ETONIAN.
ON THE NAVAL GLORY OF BRITAIN.
If buoy’d by short success and fav’ring chance,
Wide Europe’s peace-destroyer, restless France,
Each day still onward rush with fresh alarms,
And threaten ruin with her furious arms;
Ruin to all whereon is based the throne
That life’s sweet charities have made their own;
Fearest thou, Britain, for thy rock-girt realm,
With seas that foam around and whirlpools to o’erwhelm?
Still in the midst of ocean firmly placed,
Circled by mighty waves thy seat is based!
Not by a strait enclosed, as that fair soil
Where Fabled Vulcan plies his fiery toil;
Within no narrow bay thy waters roll,
No yawning gulf, no barrier rocks control.
Wider thy space, thy realm no limit knows,
Not Tyre so rich, not Tyrian Carthage rose.
Wilt thou yet fear, lest here the haughty foe,
Thy fields o’er-run, and still unpunished go!
Is it then nought to view th’ extended strand
O’er which stern crags like beetling turrets stand,
And countless ports in safe embrace expand?
Look to thy southern waves, to Devon’s fields,
Or where green Vectis[304] trusty harbour yields,
Spreading her friendly arms; or Dover’s height
Looks on the sea with widespread canvas white,
And, perched on high, the liquid plain surveys,
And adverse cliffs that bound the wat’ry ways.
Not by vague augury, nor omen slight,
I view thy name through endless ages bright;
While thy firm crews still prodigal of life
Insatiate burn for fame and dare the strife.
No coward fear they know, while stands erect
The mighty oak with boughs umbrageous decked;
Majestic, high, with knotted trunk, the Queen
Of woods! Hereafter, o’er the waters seen
’Mid the dim midnight of the sounding storm
Aloft ’twill rear the terrors of its form;
In vain the roaring surges round it break,
In vain the winds their uncurbed vengeance wreak,
Throned on such pow’rs, surrounded by the sea,
The circling waves have scarce one fear for thee.
Thou know’st not ills that towns besieged await,
When hostile columns thunder at the gate;
Pitch their dread camp with fatal ramparts round,
And with fierce arms enclose the leaguered ground.
Such is to thee the base of lasting fame,
To Heav’n Britannia still the dearest name!
Gladly I view the glories of the fight,
Perpetual witnesses of deathless might,
To show, bright conqueress, nations yet to be,
What dared, what did the mistress of the sea.
’Mid these the day with praise eternal blest
Earns memory’s tribute most, when, direful pest,
Denouncing ruin to the world, while she
Dared grasp the sceptre of the unconquer’d sea,
Wild with new license, mad with hatred’s heat
France, grieved and humbled, viewed her ruined fleet!
Saw how all hopes one fatal wound could mar
When well-manned squadrons armed their prows for war!
When the sky trembled, and o’er Ushant’s tide
Red glared the smoke and sickly light supplied.
I see the conquered lines, what time proud Spain
With tattered sailcloths thickly strewed the main;
How Cadiz quailed when back the shattered fleet
Sought, in the port it left, a safe retreat.
Why should I tell what smile of Vict’ry beamed,
When Rhine’s fair wave with Belgic slaughter gleamed;
When humbled waters tow’rds the sea it sped,
Mad that its mouths with native blood were red,
While England’s thunders rolled above its rocky bed?
I see afar the domes that crown the tide,
Where Thames uncounted sails in triumph glide:
Here, the brave souls whom manly courage drove
Through the deep’s perils in a holy love
Of country, find in thy maternal breast
Their toil rewarded and their daring blest!
Dismissed at length from duty nobly done
They wane in quiet ’neath the noontide sun,
Recal the dangers of their byegone wars,
And boast appealing to their manhood’s scars.
On in thy race of glory, conqueress, on!
For every age thy sea-girt realm is won!
Think not the fortress which thy shores uprear,
Nor thy rock bulwarks shall inspire such fear,
Nor the brave thousands who obey thy call,
With thee to rise, or not survive thy fall,
As the dread thunders of that untamed host:
Thy fleet, Britannia, is thy proudest boast;
Awful, majestic, firm; its flag unfurl’d
Shall long wave lordly o’er the conquered world;
Hateful to foes for triumphs yet to be,
The rightful Sovereign of the subject sea.—ED.]
No. XXXVI.[305]
MONDAY, July 9, 1798.
_We shall miss thee;
But yet thou shalt have freedom—
—So! to the Elements
Be free, and fare thou well._
—THE TEMPEST.
We have now completed our Engagement with the Public. The ANTI-JACOBIN
has been conducted to the close of the Session in strict conformity with
the Principles upon which it was first undertaken.
Its reception with the Public has been highly favourable:—it certainly
has been out of proportion to any merit which has appeared in the
execution of the Work. This is not said in the mere cant of Authorship.
We are sensible that much of our success has been owing to the improved
state of the Public mind;—an improvement existing from other causes, and
to which, if We have in any degree contributed, it has in return
operated to our advantage, by a reaction more than equal to any
impression which our exertions could have produced. There is, however,
one species of merit to which We lay claim without hesitation:—We mean
that of the Spirit and Principles upon which We have acted. That Spirit,
We trust We shall leave behind us. The SPELL of _Jacobin
invulnerability_ is now broken.[306]
We know from better authority than that of CAMILLE JORDAN, that one of
our Daily Papers was, _early_ in the French Revolution, purchased by
France, and devoted to the dissemination of tenets, which, at the period
to which We allude, seemed necessary to the success of the Ruling Party.
For some time matters went on swimmingly. The Editors of the favoured
Prints divided their time and their attention between _London_ and
_Paris_; and the superiority of the governing Party in France, over its
Opponents, was as duly, and as strenuously maintained in the English
Papers, as in the “_Journal du Père de Chène_,”[307] “_Journal par L’Ami
du Peuple_,”[308] or any other Journal that issued from the Presses of
the Jacobin Society.
As the principles of the Revolution, however, acquired consistency in
France, the struggle between the Governing Party and its Opponents
became an object of less moment, and the Jacobins had leisure, as they
long had had inclination, to turn their views to this Country.
A State, enjoying under a Government which they had proscribed as
utterly incapable of producing either, as much freedom and happiness as
comport with the nature of Man, was too bitter a satire on the decision
of these new SOLONS, to be regarded with patience; and the pens which
had been so industriously employed in celebrating the plunderers and
perturbators of France, were now engaged in the benevolent design of
recommending their principles, and their plans of ameliorating the
condition of the human race by Atheism and Plunder, to the serious
notice of the People of _Great Britain_.
Affairs seemed rapidly hastening to a crisis: _France_ saw with delight
the numbers seduced by the sophistry of her Writers, and by the alluring
prospects of proscription and plunder; and her Agents, who snuffed the
scent of blood like Vultures, already anticipated the Revolution which
they now believed inevitable; when the Ministry, who had viewed the
progress of the evil with an anxious but unterrified eye, roused
themselves into unexampled energy, and called on the Nation to rally
round the Constitution which they had received from their Forefathers.
The call was gloriously answered;—Thousands and tens of thousands sprung
forth in its defence; and the barbarous hordes which so lately
threatened its destruction, overawed by their numbers, shrunk from the
contest without a struggle, and vanished from the field.
But the nature of a Jacobin is restless. His hatred of all subordination
is unbounded, and his thirst of plunder and blood urgent and insatiable.
In arms he found himself infinitely too weak to obtain his purpose; he
must, therefore, have recourse again to artifice; and by fallacies and
lies, endeavoured to subvert and betray the judgment of those he could
not openly hope to subdue.
For this purpose, the Press was engaged, and almost monopolized in all
its branches: Reviews, Registers, Monthly Magazines, and Morning and
Evening Prints, sprung forth in abundance.
Of these last (the only Publications with which We have any immediate
concern), it is not too much to say, that they have laboured in the
cause of infamy, with a perseverance which no sense of shame could
repress, and no dread of punishment overcome. The objects committed to
their charge were multifarious. They were to revile all Religions, but
particularly the Christian, whose DIVINE FOUNDER was to be blasphemously
compared to _Bacchus_, and represented as equally ideal, or, if real,
more bestial and besotted! They were to magnify the power of _France_,
on all occasions; to deny her murders; to palliate her robberies; to
suppress all mention of her miseries, and to hold her forth to the
unenlightened Englishman as the mirror of justice, and truth, and
generosity, and meekness, and humanity, and moderation, and tender
forbearance:—and, on the other hand, they were to depreciate the spirit,
and the courage, and the resources of _England_: they were to impede, if
possible, and if not, to ridicule and revile, every measure which the
honour, the prosperity, or the safety of the Country might imperiously
require; they were to represent the Government as insidiously aiming to
enslave the Nation, by every attempt to maintain its Independence; and
the majority of both Houses, the great body of Proprietors, as anxious
to scatter and confound that wealth, which _their_ Patrons alone, the
respectable sweepings of _Craven-House_, and the _Crown_ and _Anchor_
Tavern, were solicitous to augment and preserve.
These, our readers will allow, were no common objects, and if they have
looked into the _Morning Chronicle_, _Morning Post_, and _Courier_
Journals to which our attention has been chiefly directed, they must
have seen that their attainment was sought by no common means; by an
_invariable_ course of Falsehood and Misrepresentation—such, at least,
was our idea on the first perusal of these Papers, an idea which every
succeeding one served to strengthen and confirm.
To detect and expose this Falsehood, and to correct this
Misrepresentation, became at length an object of indispensable
necessity: a variety of applications of the most malignant nature had
obtained currency and credit, from the unblushing impudence with which
they were first obtruded on the Public by the Agents of Sedition, and
the apathy with which they were suffered to pass uncontradicted by those
who despised them for their atrocity, or ridiculed them for their
folly:—these were unfortunately operating on the less enlightened part
of the Nation; and it was from a full conviction of the pernicious
effects they were calculated to produce, that we finally determined to
step forth (after patiently waiting to see whether the business would
not be taken up by abler hands), and to oppose such antidotes to the
evil, as a regard for truth, and a sincere love and veneration for the
Constitution under which we have flourished for ages, could supply.
How we have succeeded must be left to the judgment of the Public. If we
might venture, indeed, to conjecture from the support which we have
experienced, the result would be flattering in an unusual degree. Three
complete Editions of our Paper (a circumstance, we believe, as yet
without a precedent) have been disposed of, and the demand for them
still increases.
But the motives of Profit, as will readily, we believe, be granted to
us, have little influence on our minds: we contemplate the extensive
circulation of our Paper with pleasure, solely from the consideration of
the VAST NUMBERS of our Countrymen whom we have fortified by our
animadversions against the profligate attacks of the Agents of Sedition,
whether furnished by the _Whig Club_, the _Corresponding Society_, or
the _Directory of France_.
Calculation was not originally our delight. Nor was it till after we saw
the wonderful effects which it produced in the pages of the Jacobinical
Arithmeticians that we were tempted to adopt it. Our first Essay,
however, was crowned with the most complete success. In our Seventh
Number, we gave (still following the laudable example of the Jacobins,
who, when a Ship is to be fitted out, or a Regiment raised, for the
purpose of defending our Country from an insolent and barbarous foe,
nicely calculate how many idle mouths might be fed by the sums
required)—We gave, we say, as accurate a statement as we could form, of
the number of People that might be supplied with wholesome food for one
day, by the SURCHARGE levied on the DUKE OF BEDFORD—a statement which,
we are happy to add, placed the matter in so clear a light that we have
since had no occasion to repeat it.
Our Readers will not _now_ be surprised if we again have recourse to
_Calculation_ to prove the advantages which (we love to flatter
ourselves) have been derived from our Paper. Our Sale (to say nothing of
the new Editions which have been disposed of) has regularly amounted to
_Two Thousand Five Hundred_ a week; on an average of several Papers, we
find the Lies which have been detected to amount to _six_, and the
Misrepresentations and Mistakes to _an equal number_. This furnishes a
total of _twelve_, which, multiplied by _thirty-five_, the number of the
last ANTI-JACOBIN, gives a total of _four hundred and twenty_.
If we now take the number of Subscribers (2500) and multiply them by
seven, a number of which every one’s family may be reasonably supposed
to consist, we shall have a product of 17,500; but as many of these have
made a practice, which we highly approve, and cannot too earnestly
recommend, of lending our Papers to their poorer Neighbours, We must
make our addition to the sum which We evidently take too low at 32,500.
We have thus an aggregate of 50,000 People, a most respectable minority
of the Readers of the whole Kingdom, who have been put effectually on
their guard, by our humble though earnest endeavours, against the
artifices of the seditious, and the more open attacks of the profligate
and abandoned Foes of their Constitution, their Country, and their God.
Further, if we multiply 50,000, the number of Readers, by 420, the exact
number of Falsehoods detected—say 500—for We ought to take in bye-blows,
and odd refutations in notes, &c.—the total of Twenty-five Millions will
represent the aggregate of Falsehood which We have sent out of the
World.
We have more than once repeated that we entered upon this part of our
task, not from any vain hope of convincing the Writers themselves. We
knew this to be impossible; the forehead of a _Jacobin_, like the shield
of AJAX, is formed of seven bull-hides, and utterly incapable of any
impression of shame or remorse—but we are convinced that we have
rescued, as we stated above, Fifty Thousand persons from their
machinations, and taught them not only a salutary distrust, but a
contempt and disbelief, of every laboured article which appears in the
Papers of this description.
Nor can We be accused of presumption in this declaration, when it is
considered that the conviction on which We so confidently rely is not
the effect of a _solitary_ impression on our Readers’ minds, but of one
four hundred and twenty times repeated (this being the fair amount of
the number of Lies, &c., We have detected)—an agglomeration of impulse
which no prejudice could resist and no preconceived partialities weaken
or remove.
Here then We rest. We trust We have “done the State some service”;—We
have driven the Jacobins from many strongholds to which they most
tenaciously held.[309] We have exposed their Principles, detected their
Motives, weakened their Authority, and overthrown their Credit. We have
shewn them in every instance, ignorant, and designing, and false, and
wicked, and turbulent, and anarchical—various in their language, but
united in their plans, and steadily pursuing through hatred and
contempt, the destruction of their Country.
With this impression on the Minds of our Readers WE TAKE OUR LEAVE of
them. Their welfare is in their own hands; if they suffer the Jacobins
to regain any of the influence of which We have deprived them, they will
compromise their own Safety; but WE shall be blameless—_Liberavimus
animas nostras_.—WE HAVE DONE OUR DUTY.
POETRY.
_New Morality._
From mental mists to purge a nation’s eyes;
To animate the weak, unite the wise;
To trace the deep infection that pervades
The crowded town, and taints the rural shades;
To mark how wide extends the mighty waste
O’er the fair realms of Science, Learning, Taste;
To drive and scatter all the brood of lies,
And chase the varying falsehood as it flies;
The long arrears of ridicule to pay,
To drag reluctant dulness back to day; 10
Much yet remains.—To you these themes belong,
Ye favoured sons of virtue and of song!
Say, is the field too narrow? are the times
Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes?
Yet, venial vices, in a milder age,
Could rouse the warmth of POPE’S satiric rage:
The doating miser, and the lavish heir,
The follies and the foibles of the fair,
Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and old Euclio’s thrift,
And Sappho’s diamonds with her dirty shift, 20
Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins,—meaner subjects fired
The keen-eyed Poet; while the Muse inspired
Her ardent child—entwining, as he sate,
His laurel’d chaplet with the thorns of hate.
But say,—indignant does the Muse retire,
Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire?
No pious hand to feed the sacred flame,
No raptured soul a poet’s charge to claim?
Bethink thee, GIFFORD; when some future age
Shall trace the promise of thy playful page;— 30
“[310]The hand which brushed a swarm of fools away
Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey!”—
Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse
The tame secession of thy languid Muse?
Ah! where is now that promise? why so long
Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song?
Oh! come, with taste and virtue at thy side,
With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride;
With keen poetic glance direct the blow,
And empty all thy quiver on the foe:— 40
No pause—no rest—till weltering on the ground
The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound.
Thou too!—the nameless Bard,[311]—whose honest zeal
For law, for morals, for the public weal,
Pours down impetuous on thy country’s foes
The stream of verse, and many-languaged prose;
Thou too! though oft thy ill-advised dislike
The guiltless head with random censure strike,—
Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined,
Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind;— 50
Through the mix’d mass yet truth and learning shine,
And manly vigour stamps the nervous line;
And patriot warmth the generous rage inspires,
And wakes and points the desultory fires!
Yet more remain unknown:—for who can tell
What bashful genius, in some rural cell,
As year to year, and day succeeds to day,
In joyless leisure wastes his life away?
In him the flame of early fancy shone;
His genuine worth his old companions own; 60
In childhood and in youth their chief confess’d,
His master’s pride, his pattern to the rest.
Now, far aloof retiring from the strife
Of busy talents, and of active life,
As from the loop-holes of retreat he views
Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and news,
He loathes the world,—or, with reflections sad,
Concludes it irrecoverably mad;
Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft,
No hope, no prospect to redeem it left. 70
Awake! for shame! or e’er thy nobler sense
Sink in th’ oblivious pool of indolence!
Must wit be found alone on falsehood’s side,
Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied?
Arise! nor scorn thy country’s just alarms;
Wield in her cause thy long-neglected arms:
Of lofty satire pour th’ indignant strain,
Leagued with her friends, and ardent to maintain
’Gainst Learning’s, Virtue’s, Truth’s, Religion’s foes,
A kingdom’s safety, and the world’s repose. 80
If Vice appal thee,—if thou view with awe
Insults that brave, and crimes that ’scape the law;
Yet may the specious bastard brood, which claim
A spurious homage under Virtue’s name,
Sprung from that parent of ten thousand crimes,
The _New Philosophy_ of modern times,—
Yet, these may rouse thee!—With unsparing hand,
Oh, lash the vile impostures from the land!
First, stern PHILANTHROPY:—not she, who dries
The orphan’s tears, and wipes the widow’s eyes; 90
Not she, who sainted Charity her guide,
Of British bounty pours the annual tide:—
But _French_ PHILANTHROPY;—whose boundless mind
Glows with the general love of all mankind;—
PHILANTHROPY,—beneath whose baneful sway
Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away.
Taught in her school to imbibe thy mawkish strain,
CONDORCET, filtered through the dregs of PAINE,
Each pert adept disowns a Briton’s part,
And plucks the name of ENGLAND from his heart. 100
What! shall a name, a word, a sound, control
Th’ aspiring thought, and cramp th’ expansive soul?
Shall one half-peopled Island’s rocky round
A love, that glows for all creation, bound?
And social charities contract the plan
Framed for thy freedom, UNIVERSAL MAN!
No—through th’ extended globe his feelings run
As broad and general as th’ unbounded sun!
No narrow bigot _he_;—_his_ reason’d view
Thy interests, _England_, ranks with thine, _Peru_! 110
_France_ at our doors, _he_ sees no danger nigh,
But heaves for _Turkey’s_ woes th’ impartial sigh;
A steady patriot of the world alone,
The friend of every country—but his own.
Next comes a gentler Virtue.—Ah! beware
Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softness scare.
Visit her not too roughly;—the warm sigh
Breathes on her lips;—the tear-drop gems her eye.
Sweet SENSIBILITY, who dwells enshrined
In the fine foldings of the feeling mind; 120
With delicate _Mimosa’s_ sense endued,
Who shrinks instinctive from a hand too rude;
Or, like the _Anagallis_, prescient flower,
Shuts her soft petals at the approaching shower.
Sweet child of sickly FANCY!—her of yore
From her loved _France_ ROUSSEAU to exile bore;
And, while ’midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,
Full of himself, and shunn’d the haunts of man,
Taught her o’er each lone vale and Alpine steep
To lisp the story of his wrongs, and weep; 130
Taught her to cherish still in either eye,
Of tender tears a plentiful supply,
And pour them in the brooks that babbled by;
Taught by nice scale to mete her feelings strong,
False by degrees, and exquisitely wrong;
For the crush’d beetle, _first_,—the widow’d dove,
And all the warbled sorrows of the grove;
_Next_ for poor suff’ring _Guilt_; and _last_ of all,
For parents, friends, a king and country’s fall.
Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief, 140
With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief,
Droop in soft sorrow o’er a faded flower;
O’er a dead Jack-Ass pour the pearly shower;
But hear, unmoved, of _Loire’s_ ensanguined flood,
Choked up with slain; of _Lyons_ drenched in blood;
Of crimes that blot the age, the world, with shame,
Foul crimes, but sicklied o’er with Freedom’s name;
Altars and thrones subverted; social life
Trampled to earth,—the husband from the wife,
Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn,— 150
Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn,
In friendless exile,—of the wise and good
Staining the daily scaffold with their blood,—
Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind,
The rage of madness with hell’s lusts combined,—
Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast,—
They hear,—and hope that ALL IS FOR THE BEST.
Fond hope! but JUSTICE sanctifies the prayer—
JUSTICE! here, Satire, strike! ’twere sin to spare!
Not she in British Courts that takes her stand, 160
The dawdling balance dangling in her hand,
Adjusting punishments to fraud and vice,
With scrupulous quirks, and disquisition nice:
But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance,
Th’ avenging angel of regenerate _France_,
Who visits ancient sins on modern times,
And punishes the POPE for CÆSAR’S crimes.[312]
Such is the liberal JUSTICE which presides
In these our days, and modern patriots guides;—
JUSTICE, whose blood-stain’d book one sole decree, 170
One statute, fills—“the People shall be Free!”
Free! By what means?—by folly, madness, guilt,
By boundless rapines, blood in oceans spilt;
By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils
The poor man’s pittance with the rich man’s spoils,
Mix’d in one common mass, are swept away,
To glut the short-lived tyrant of the day;—
By laws, religion, morals, all o’erthrown:—
Rouse, then, ye sovereign people, claim your own:
The license that enthrals, the truth that blinds, 180
The wealth that starves you, and the power that grinds!
So JUSTICE bids.—’Twas her enlighten’d doom,
Louis, thy holy head devoted to the tomb!
’Twas JUSTICE claim’d, in that accurséd hour,
The fatal forfeit of too lenient power.
Mourn for the Man we may;—but for the King,—
Freedom, oh! Freedom’s such a charming thing!
“Much may be said on both sides.”—Hark! I hear
A well-known voice that murmurs in my ear,—
The voice of CANDOUR.—Hail! most solemn sage, 190
Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age,
CANDOUR, which softens party’s headlong rage.
CANDOUR,—which spares its foes;—nor e’er descends
With bigot zeal to combat for its friends.
CANDOUR,—which loves in see-saw strain to tell
Of _acting foolishly_, but _meaning well_;
Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame,
Convinced that _all_ men’s _motives_ are the same;
And finds, with keen discriminating sight,
BLACK’S not _so_ black;—nor WHITE _so very_ white. 200
“FOX, to be sure, was vehement and wrong:
But then, PITT’S words, you’ll own, were _rather_ strong.
Both must be blamed, both pardon’d; ’twas just so
With FOX and PITT full forty years ago!
So WALPOLE, PULTENEY;—factions in all times
Have had their follies, ministers their crimes.”
Give me th’ avow’d, th’ erect, the manly foe,
Bold I can meet—perhaps may turn his blow;
But of all plagues, good Heav’n, thy wrath can send,
Save, save, oh! save me from the _Candid Friend_! 210
“BARRAS loves plunder, MERLIN takes a bribe,—
What then!—shall CANDOUR these good men proscribe?
No! ere we join the loud-accusing throng,
Prove,—not the facts,—but, that _they thought them wrong_.
“Why hang O’QUIGLEY?—he, misguided man,
In sober thought his country’s weal _might_ plan:
And, while his deep-wrought Treason sapp’d the throne,
_Might_ act from _taste in morals_, all his own.”
Peace to such Reasoners! let them have their way;
Shut their dull eyes against the blaze of day; 220
PRIESTLEY’S a Saint, and STONE a Patriot still;
And LA FAYETTE a Hero, if they will.
I love the bold uncompromising mind,
Whose principles are fix’d, whose views defined;
Who scouts and scorns, in canting CANDOUR’S spite,
All _taste in morals_, innate sense of right,
And Nature’s impulse, all uncheck’d by art,
And feelings fine, that float about the heart:
Content, for good men’s guidance, bad men’s awe,
On moral truth to rest, and Gospel law. 230
Who owns, when Traitors feel th’ avenging rod,
Just retribution, and the hand of GOD;
Who hears the groans through _Olmütz_’ roofs that ring,
Of him who mock’d, misled, betray’d his King—
Hears unappall’d, though Faction’s zealots preach,
Unmov’d, unsoften’d by FITZPATRICK’S Speech.[313]
That Speech on which the melting Commons hung,
“While truths divine came mended from _his_ tongue”;
How loving husband clings to duteous wife,—
How pure Religion soothes the ills of life,— 240
How Popish ladies trust their pious fears
And naughty actions in their chaplains’ ears.—
Half novel and half sermon, on it flow’d;
With pious zeal THE OPPOSITION glow’d;
And as o’er each the soft infection crept,
Sigh’d as he whin’d, and as he whimper’d, wept;—
E’en CURWEN[314] dropt a sentimental tear,
And stout ST. ANDREW yelp’d a softer “Hear!”
· · · · ·
Oh! nurse of crimes and fashions! which in vain
Our colder servile spirits would attain, 250
How do we ape thee, _France!_ but, blundering still,
Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill.
The borrow’d step our awkward gait reveals:
(As clumsy COURTENAY[315] mars the verse he steals.)
How do we ape thee, _France!_—nor claim alone
Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals, for our own, 260
But to thy WORTHIES render homage due,
Their[316] “hair-breadth scapes” with anxious interest view;
Statesmen and Heroines whom this age adores,
Though plainer times would call them Rogues and Whores. 260
See LOUVET, patriot, pamphleteer, and sage,
Tempering with amorous fire his virtuous rage.
Form’d for all tasks, his various talents see,
The luscious Novel, the severe Decree.
Then mark him welt’ring in his nasty sty,
Bare his lewd transports to the public eye.
Not _his_ the love in silent groves that strays,
Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar gaze.
In LODOISKA’S full possession blest,
One craving void still aches within his breast; 270
Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms,
Not to himself alone he stints her charms;
Clasp’d in each other’s foul embrace they lie,
But know no joy, unless the World stands by.
The fool of vanity, for her alone
He lives, loves, writes, and dies but to be known.
His widow’d mourner flies to poison’s aid,
Eager to join her LOUVET’S parted shade
In those bright realms where sainted lovers stray,
But harsh emetics tear that hope away.[317] 280
Yet hapless LOUVET! where thy bones are laid,
The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade.[318]
There in the laughing morn of genial spring,
Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets sing;
Eringoes o’er the hallow’d spot shall bloom,
And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb.[319]
But hold, severer virtue claims the Muse—
ROLAND the just, with ribands in his shoes—[320]
And ROLAND’S spouse, who paints with chaste delight
The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night;— 290
Her virgin charms what fierce attacks assail’d,
And how the rigid Minister[321] prevail’d.
And ah! what verse can grace thy stately mien,
Guide of the world, preferment’s golden queen,
NECKAR’S fair daughter,—STAEL the Epicene!
Bright o’er whose flaming cheek and pumple[322] nose
The bloom of young desire unceasing glows!
Fain would the Muse—but ah! she dares no more,
A mournful voice from lone _Guyana’s_ shore,[323]
Sad QUATREMER-the bold presumption checks, 300
Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.
To thee, proud BARRAS bows;—thy charms control
REWBELL’S brute rage, and MERLIN’S subtle soul;
Rais’d by thy hands, and fashion’d to thy will,
Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still,
Where at the blood-stain’d board expert he plies,
The lame artificer of fraud and lies;
He with the mitred head and cloven heel;—
Doom’d the coarse edge of REWBELL’S jests to feel;[324]
To stand the playful buffet, and to hear 310
The frequent ink-stand whizzing past his ear;
While all the five Directors laugh to see
“The limping priest so deft at his new ministry”.[325]
Last of th’ ANOINTED FIVE behold, and least,
The Directorial LAMA, Sovereign Priest,—
LEPAUX;—whom atheists worship;—at whose nod
Bow their meek heads _the Men without a God_.[326]
Ere long, perhaps, to this astonish’d isle,
Fresh from the shores of subjugated _Nile_,
Shall BUONAPARTE’S victor fleet protect 320
The genuine Theo-Philanthropic sect,—
The sect of MARAT, MIRABEAU, VOLTAIRE,—
Led by their Pontiff, good LA RÉVEILLÈRE.
Rejoiced our CLUBS shall greet him, and install
The holy Hunchback in thy dome, _St. Paul_!
While countless votaries, thronging in his train,
Wave their red caps, and hymn this jocund strain:—
“_Couriers and Stars_, Sedition’s evening host,
Thou _Morning Chronicle_ and _Morning Post_,
Whether ye make the Rights of Man your theme, 330
Your country libel, and your God blaspheme,
Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw,
Still, blasphemous or blackguard, praise LEPAUX!
“And ye five other wandering bards, that move
In sweet accord of harmony and love,
COLERIDGE and SOUTHEY, LLOYD, and LAMB & CO.
Tune all your mystic harps to praise LEPAUX!
“PRIESTLEY and WAKEFIELD, humble, holy men,
Give praises to his name with tongue and pen!
“THELWALL, and ye that lecture as ye go, 340
And for your pains get pelted, praise LEPAUX!
“Praise him each Jacobin, or Fool, or Knave,
And your cropp’d heads in sign of worship wave!
“All creeping creatures, venomous and low,
PAINE, WILLIAMS, GODWIN, HOLCROFT, praise LEPAUX!
“—— and —— with —— join’d,[327]
And every other beast after his kind.
“And thou, _Leviathan_! on ocean’s brim
Hugest of living things that sleep and swim;
Thou, in whose nose, by BURKE’S gigantic hand 350
The hook was fixed to drag thee to the land,
With ——, ——, and ——, in thy train,
And —— wallowing in the yeasty main,—[328]
Still as ye snort, and puff, and spout, and blow,
In puffing, and in spouting, praise LEPAUX!”
· · · · ·
BRITAIN, beware; nor let th’ insidious foe,
Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow;
Thy Peace, thy Strength, with devilish wiles assail,
And when her Arms are vain, by Arts prevail.
True, thou art rich, art powerful!—thro’ thine Isle 360
Industrious skill, contented labour, smile;
Far Seas are studded with thy countless sails;
What wind but wafts them, and what shore but hails!
True, thou art brave!—o’er all the busy land
In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand;
Thy foes behold with impotent amaze
And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze
But what avails to guard each outward part,
If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart,
Spite of thy courage, of thy pow’r, and wealth, 370
Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health?
So thine own Oak, by some fair streamlet’s side,
Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy pride,
Tow’rs from the earth, and rearing to the skies
Its conscious strength, the tempest’s wrath defies.
Its ample branches shield the fowls of air,
To its cool shade the panting herds repair.
The treacherous current works its noiseless way,
The fibres loosen, and the roots decay;
Prostrate the beauteous ruin lies; and all 380
That shared its shelter, perish in its fall.
O thou! lamented SAGE! whose prescient scan
Pierc’d through foul Anarchy’s gigantic plan,
Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose
The guilt of _France_, and Europe’s world of woes;—
Thou, on whose name each distant age shall gaze,
The mighty sea-mark of these troubled days!
O large of soul, of genius unconfin’d,
Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind!
BURKE! in whose breast a Roman ardour glow’d; 390
Whose copious tongue with Grecian richness flow’d;
Well hast thou found (if such thy country’s doom),
A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb!
As, in far realms, where eastern kings are laid,
In pomp of death, beneath the cypress shade,
The perfum’d lamp with unextinguish’d light
Flames through the vault, and cheers the gloom of night:
So, mighty BURKE! in thy sepulchral urn,
To Fancy’s view, the lamp of Truth shall burn.
Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes, 400
Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise.
There _are_, to whom (_their_ taste such pleasures cloy)
No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy.
Peace to their heavy heads, and callous hearts,
Peace—such as sloth, as ignorance imparts!
Pleas’d may they live to plan their country’s good,
And crop with calm content their flow’ry food!
What though thy venturous spirit loved to urge
The labouring theme to Reason’s utmost verge,
Kindling and mounting from th’ enraptur’d sight; 410
Still anxious wonder watch’d thy daring flight!
While vulgar minds, with mean malignant stare,
Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share!
Poor triumph! price of that extorted praise,
Which still to daring Genius Envy pays.
Oh! for thy playful smile, thy potent frown,
To abash bold Vice, and laugh pert Folly down!
So should the Muse, in Humour’s happiest vein,
With verse that flowed in metaphoric strain,
And apt allusions to the rural trade, 420
Tell of _what wood young_ JACOBINS _are made_;
How the skill’d gardener grafts with nicest rule
The _slip_ of coxcomb on the _stock_ of fool;
Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender sprig,
A thing to wonder at—[329] perhaps a _Whig_:
Should tell, how wise each half-fledged pedant prates
Of weightiest matters, grave distinctions states,
That rules of policy, and public good,
In Saxon times were rightly understood;
That kings are proper, _may be_ useful things, 430
But then, some gentlemen object to kings;
That in all times the minister’s to blame;
That British liberty’s an empty name,
Till each fair burgh, numerically free,
Shall choose its members by _the Rule of Three_.
So should the Muse, with verse in thunder clothed,
Proclaim the crimes by God and Nature loathed.
Which—when fell poison revels in the veins—
(That poison fell, which frantic _Gallia_ drains
From the crude fruit of Freedom’s blasted tree) 440
Blot the fair records of Humanity.
To feebler nations let proud _France_ afford
Her damning choice,—the chalice or the sword,
To drink or die;—O fraud! O specious lie!
Delusive choice! for _if_ they drink, they die.
The Sword we dread not:—of ourselves secure,
Firm were our strength, our peace and freedom sure.
Let all the world confederate all its powers,
“Be they not backed by those that should be ours,”
High on his rock shall BRITAIN’S GENIUS stand, 450
Scatter the crowded hosts, and vindicate the land.
Guard we but our own Hearts: with constant view
To ancient morals, ancient manners true;
True to the manlier virtues, such as nerv’d
Our fathers’ breasts, and this proud Isle preserv’d
For many a rugged age: and scorn the while
Each philosophic atheist’s specious guile;
The soft seductions, the refinements nice,
Of gay Morality, and easy Vice;
So shall we brave the storm; our ’stablish’d pow’r
Thy refuge, EUROPE, in some happier hour. 461
But, FRENCH _in heart_, though Victory crown our brow,
Low at our feet though prostrate Nations bow,
Wealth gild our Cities, Commerce crowd our shore,
LONDON MAY SHINE, but ENGLAND is NO MORE!
[Illustration: _The Republican Rattle-snake fascinating the Bedford
Squirrel._ _The Rattle Snake is a Creature of the greatest subtilty;
when it is desirous of preying upon any Animal which is in a situation
above itself it fixes its Eye upon the unsuspecting object & by the
noise of its Rattle fascinates & confounds the unfortunate Victim till
losing all Sense & discernment, it falls a prey into the Mouth of the
horrid Monster._ Pliny’s Nat. Histr. vol. 365—]
FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE.
In the last Address which We shall have to make to the Public, We would
willingly review the whole of what has been advanced by Us under the
different Heads of our Paper, and leave behind us a Summary of our
Opinions upon the state of each subject as We found it, and as We
conceive it to stand at the moment when our labours are concluded.
Upon no point, if We are to speak our sincere opinion, is the task more
easily to be executed, or in a less compass, than in what relates to
Foreign Politics.
In other times, the relations of States to each other have been matter
of great study, and difficulty; have been embarrassed with a diversity
of views, and a complication of interests, which it might require much
experience to calculate, and much political sagacity to reconcile.
At present, there is but one relation among all the States of
Europe:—one, at least, there is so paramount, as to confound and swallow
up all inferior considerations.
FRANCE IS BENT ON THE CONQUEST AND RUIN OF THEM ALL. To repel this
Conquest, to ward off this ruin, various means are tried, according to
the power or the prudence of the different Nations. War, Treaty,
Supplication, Bribery, timid Neutrality, implicit Submission, and,
finally, an Incorporation into the Map of the _Great Republic_, are all
at this moment exemplified in the conduct of the Countries which
surround us.
Our lot, a lot imposed upon us by necessity, but which if it were not so
imposed upon us, whoever is not blind, judicially blind to the conduct
of _France_ towards us, and every other Country, would claim by choice,
is WAR.
The relation in which we may stand to the other States of Europe, or
they to each other, is comparatively of little moment. They may
reciprocate Missions, and propose Treaties,—the _Ligurian Republic_ may
make Peace or War with the _Cisalpine_; the _Cisalpine_ with the
_Roman_;—either of them with the KING of SARDINIA, with _Tuscany_, or
with _Naples_; and the greater Powers may mediate, or embroil the
quarrel, may offer their protection, and talk of their Dignity:—But the
question does not lie there.—_France_ has the power and the will to
controul, to oppress them altogether; to limit or extend their
Boundaries, as she sees good; to approve or annul their Internal
Regulations, as well as their stipulations with each other: And while
she has that power, whether it be by strength in herself, or by the
sufferance of others; whether she may choose to vex and harass them in
mass, or detail; to keep peace between them, or to set them at variance;
to work their revolutions by her own arms, or to delegate that sacred
office to their neighbours; or, finally, to insist upon their performing
it each for themselves;—the result to us is the same. The People of
Europe are equally enslaved;—it matters not whether they are manacled
separately, or bolted to the links of a long chain which connects and
coerces them in a fellowship of misery.
_Mortalia corda
Per gentes humilis stravit pavor._
To Us, the relation of these unhappy Powers, is either that of Friends
forced into a Foreign Army to fight against us, or placed, hand-cuffed,
on the Deck of a Line of Battle Ship to receive our fire—or it is that
of a Captive languishing in a Dungeon against which We are making an
attack, and who does not dare to acknowledge his Friend, till he can
hail him as his Deliverer.
The Contest between _Great Britain_ and _France_, then, is not for the
existence of the former only, but for the Freedom of the World. To look
to partial Interests, to talk of partial Successes, as bearing upon the
main object and general issue of the War, is to take a narrow and
pitiful view of the most momentous and most tremendous subject that ever
was brought under the consideration of mankind.
If _Great Britain_, insensible of what she owes to herself and to the
World, flinches (for she _cannot fall_), in the Contest;—she throws away
not herself alone, but the peace and happiness of Nations. If she
maintain herself stoutly;—to speculate on the mode, the time, the means
by which success adequate to the immensity of the object at stake is to
be attained, were, indeed, presumptuous;—but We risk, without
apprehension of being thought sanguine in our hopes and expectations, or
of being contradicted by the event, the sentiment of the greatest Orator
of ancient times—“It is not, it cannot be possible, that an Empire
founded on injustice, on rapacity, on perfidy, on the contempt and
disregard of everything sacred towards God, or among Men;—it is not
possible that such an Empire should endure.”
[Illustration]
NOTES TO “NEW MORALITY”.
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, LL.D. (page 278).
“I have read a communication from GEORGE III. to one of his ministers,
on the subject of the riots in which PRIESTLEY’S house was burned. HIS
MAJESTY says, in his short emphatic way, that the riots must be stopped
_immediately_; that no man’s house must be left in peril; and then he
orders the march of certain troops, &c., to restore peace; and concludes
with saying that, as the mischief did occur, it was impossible not to be
pleased at its having fallen on PRIESTLEY rather than another, that he
might _feel_ the wickedness of the doctrines of democracy which he was
propagating.”—_J. W. Croker_ (_MS._).—[ED.]
MADAME DE STAEL (page 282).
“MADAME DE STAEL was at Mickleham, in Surrey, in 1793, with Talleyrand,
Narbonne, Jaucourt, Guibert (who proposed to her), and others. There was
not a little scandal about her relations with Narbonne (see Fanny
Burney’s Letters). Narbonne’s place was supplied by Benjamin Constant,
who had a very great influence over her, as in return she had over him.
At Coppet, she found consolation in a young officer of Swiss origin,
named Rocca, twenty-three years her junior, whom she married privately
in 1811. She had married Baron de Stael in 1786, and in 1797 they
separated. He died in 1802; and she in 1817.”—_Life of Mad. de Stael, by
A. Stevens_, 1880.
“On the 28th of January” (says Crabb Robinson in his _Diary_, 1804), “I
first waited on MADAME DE STAEL. I was shown into her bedroom, for
which, not knowing Parisian customs, I was unprepared. She was sitting,
most decorously, in her bed, and writing. She had her night-cap on, and
her face was not made up for the day. It was by no means a captivating
spectacle, but I had a very cordial reception, and two bright black eyes
smiled benignantly on me. After a warm expression of her pleasure at
making my acquaintance, she dismissed me till three o’clock. On my
return then I found a very different person——the accomplished
Frenchwoman surrounded by admirers, some of whom were themselves
distinguished. Among them was the aged WIELAND. There was on this, and,
I believe, on almost every other, occasion, but one lady among the
guests: in this instance FRAU VON KALB. MADAME DE STAEL did not affect
to conceal her preference for the society of men to that of her own
sex.”
COUNT D’ORSAY related of MADAME DE STAEL, whose character was discussed,
that one day, being on a sofa with MADAME DE RÉCAMIER, one who placed
himself between them exclaimed: “Me voilà entre la beauté et l’esprit!”
She replied: “That is the first time I was ever complimented for
beauty!” MADAME DE RÉCAMIER was thought the handsomest woman in Paris,
but was by no means famed for _esprit_.—_Crabb Robinson’s Diary._
“MADAME DE STAEL was a perfect aristocrat, and her sympathies were
wholly with the great and prosperous. She saw nothing in England but the
luxury, stupidity, and pride of the Tory aristocracy, and the
intelligence and magnificence of the Whig aristocracy. The latter talked
about truth and liberty and herself, and she supposed it was all as it
should be. As to the millions, the people, she never enquired into their
situation. She had a horror of the _canaille_, but anything of _sangre
azul_ had a charm for her. When she was dying she said; ‘Let me die in
peace; let my last moments be undisturbed’. Yet she ordered the cards of
every visitor to be brought to her. Among them was one from the DUC DE
RICHELIEU. ‘What!’ exclaimed she, indignantly; ‘what! have you sent away
the DUKE? Hurry. Fly after him. Bring him back. Tell him that though I
die for all the world, I live for _him_.’”—_Bowring’s Autobr.
Recollections_, pp. 375–6.
MADAME DE STAEL prepared her _bons-mots_ with elaborate care, some being
borrowed.... She was ugly, and not of an intellectual ugliness. Her
features were coarse, and the ordinary expression rather vulgar. She had
an ugly mouth, and one or two irregularly prominent teeth, which perhaps
gave her countenance an habitual gaiety. Her eye was full, dark, and
expressive; and when she declaimed, which was almost whenever she spoke,
she looked eloquent, and one forgot that she was plain. On the whole,
she was singularly unfeminine; and if, in conversation, one forgot she
was ugly, one forgot also that she was a woman.—_J. W. Croker’s
Note-Books._—[ED.]
THE REV. GILBERT WAKEFIELD (page 284).
“It is well known that the French Revolution turned the brains of many
of the noblest youths in England. Indeed when such men as COLERIDGE,
WORDSWORTH, SOUTHEY, caught the infection, no wonder that those who
partook of their sensibility, but had a very small portion of their
intellect, were carried away. Many were ruined by the errors into which
they were betrayed; many also lived to smile at the follies of their
youth. ‘I am no more ashamed of having been a Republican,’ said SOUTHEY,
‘than I am of having been a child.’ The opinions held led to many
political prosecutions, and I naturally had much sympathy with the
sufferers. I find in my journal, Feb. 21, 1799 (says Crabb Robinson):
‘An interesting and memorable day. It was the day on which GILBERT
WAKEFIELD was convicted of a seditious libel, and sentenced to two
years’ imprisonment. This he suffered in Dorchester Gaol, which he left
only to die. Originally of the Established Church, he became a
Unitarian, and Professor at the Hackney College. By profession he was a
scholar. His best known work was an edition of Lucretius. He had written
against PORSON’S edition of the _Hecuba_ of Euripides.’ It is said that
PORSON was at a dinner-party at which toasts were going round, and a
name, accompanied by an appropriate sentence from Shakespeare, was
required from each of the guests in succession. Before PORSON’S turn
came, he had disappeared beneath the table, and was supposed to be
insensible to what was going on. This, however, was not the case, for
when a toast was required of him, he staggered up and gave: ‘Gilbert
Wakefield—what’s _Hecuba_ to him, or he to _Hecuba_?’ WAKEFIELD was a
political fanatic. He had the pale complexion and mild features of a
Saint, was a most gentle creature in domestic life, and a very amiable
man; but when he took part in any religious or political controversy,
his pen was dipped in gall. The occasion of the imprisonment before
alluded to was a letter in reply to WATSON, Bishop of Llandaff, who had
written a pamphlet exhorting the people to loyalty. WAKEFIELD asserted
that the poor, the labouring classes; could lose nothing by French
conquest. Referring to the fable of the Ass and the Trumpeter, he said:
‘Will the enemy make me carry two panniers?’ and declared that, if the
French came, they would find him at his post with the illustrious
dead.”—[ED.]
JOHN THELWALL (page 284).
“COLERIDGE and SOUTHEY spoke of THELWALL, calling him merely ‘John’:
SOUTHEY said: ‘He is a good-hearted man; besides we ought never to
forget that he was once as near as possible being hanged, as there is
some merit in _that_’.”—_Crabb Robinson’s Diary._—[ED.]
JEAN PAUL MARAT (page 284).
The following remarkable account of this scientific monster is given in
an “Historical Account of the Warrington Academy, an institution in
Lancashire,” published in the _Monthly Repository_, by the Rev. W.
Turner, of Wakefield.
“After the departure of DR. REINHOLD FORSTER, various unsuccessful
attempts were made to engage a foreigner in the capacity of teacher of
the modern languages—a M. FANTIN LA TOUR, a M. LE MAITRE, _alias_ MARA,
and a MR. LEWIS GUERY; but none of them continued for any length of
time.... There is great reason to believe that LE MAITRE, _alias_ MARA,
was the infamous MARAT.... It is known that he was in England about this
time [1774], and published in London “A Philosophical Essay on the
connection between the Body and the Soul of Man,” and, somewhere in the
country, had a principal hand in printing, in quarto, a work of
considerable ability, but of a seditious tendency, entitled—‘_The Chains
of Slavery: a work wherein the clandestine and villainous Attempts of
Princes to ruin Liberty are pointed out, and the dreadful Scenes of
Despotism disclosed, etc.; London, sold by J. Almon.... T. Payne, and
Richardson and Urquhart, 1774._’ MARA, as his name is spelt in the
Minutes of the Academy, very soon left Warrington, whence he went to
Oxford, robbed the Ashmolean Museum, escaped to Ireland, was apprehended
in Dublin, tried and convicted in Oxford, under the name of LE MAITRE,
and sentenced to the hulks at Woolwich. Here one of his old pupils at
Warrington, a native of Bristol, saw him. He was afterwards a Bookseller
in Bristol, and failed; was confined in the gaol of that city, but
released by the Society there for the relief of prisoners confined for
small sums. One of that society, who had previously relieved him in
Bristol Gaol, afterwards saw him in the National Assembly in Paris in
1792.”
Grave doubts have, however, been thrown upon the accuracy of the above
statement by HENRY A. BRIGHT, B.A., in a paper published in the
_Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire_, 8vo,
vol. xi., session 1858–9. Yet it was an establishment that might have
attracted such a mind as Marat’s. “At WARRINGTON ACADEMY (says Mr.
Bright), were collected some of the noblest _literati_ of their day.
Here the free thought of the English Presbyterians first began to
crystallize into the Unitarian theology which they have since
maintained. Here, for a time, was the centre of the liberal politics and
the literary taste of the entire county.... The Academy was founded in
1757, and was closed in 1786. It was visited by John Howard, W. Roscoe,
T. Pennant, Currie, the biographer of Burns, &c. The first Tutors
appointed were DR. JOHN TAYLOR of Norwich, Tutor in Divinity, MR. HOLT
of Kirkdale, Tutor in Natural Philosophy, MR. DYER of London, Tutor in
Languages and Polite Literature, whose duties, however, were taken by
MR. (afterwards the REV. DR.) AIKIN, father of the celebrated Physician
and Mrs. Barbauld. DR. PRIESTLEY succeeded DR. AIKIN.”
DR. PRIESTLEY, who is addressed by COLERIDGE as “Patriot, and Saint, and
Sage,” was succeeded by JOHN REINHOLD FORSTER, a German Scholar and
Naturalist, who accompanied Captain Cook in his second voyage, DR.
ENFIELD, author of _The Speaker_, and the REV. GILBERT WAKEFIELD, were
Tutors. Among the students were MR. SERJEANT HEYWOOD; ARCHIBALD HAMILTON
ROWAN, the Irish rebel; the REV. H. MALTHUS; LORD ENNISMORE; SIR JAMES
CARNEGIE of Southesk; MR. HENRY BEAUFOY, etc., all strong Whigs. The
name of neither MARA nor LE MAITRE appears on the Minutes of the
Academy.
For the latest contribution to the history of MARAT’S sojourn in England
we are indebted to the researches of MR. H. MORSE STEPHENS, of Balliol
College, Oxford, who, in his elaborate and painstaking _History of the
French Revolution_ (1886), which includes facts unknown to Carlyle and
earlier historians, gives the following account of that
“arch-destroyer”; but, as he calls him, “a much maligned individual”:—