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Sir John Sherbroke has left Castine, and returned to Halifax. Nothing has been attempted against any part of Maine, on this side of Penobscot bay.

Several of the enemy's ships of war have appeared in Delaware bay.

Accounts from Vermont give strong assurances, that the Governour of that state, a majority of the Legislature, and all the members of Congress, recently elected, are federal. Fort Strong, on Noddle's Island is nearly completed, and works are rapidly advancing on South Boston Heights, and in other places in our vicinity.

In most of the principal seaport towns, in this state, companies of Exempts are forming, which will be ready to act in any neighbouring quarter, in case of attack.

By an arrival from Bermuda, it is reported that an additional force of 10,000 troops had arrived there, destined for our coast.

MR. Madison's editor says, "the spirit which is now up, in our country, is almost worth a three years' war." It is indeed our only consolation in this period of universal distress, to hope, that a spirit is up, which will never subside, until the authors of this unjust and ruinous war, are made to feel the indignation of an insulted and cruelly injured people.

LITERARY AND MISCELLANEOUS.

SELECTED.

BUTLER.

Is rhyme an ornament, or a defect in verse?
But those that write in rhyme still make
The one verse for the other's sake ;
For one for sense, and one for rhyme,
I think's sufficient at one time.
WHILE the sentimental reader values him-
self upon "being pleased, he knows not why,
and cares
not wherefore," the philosophical
critick will not think it quite absurd,to investi
gate the sources of the pleasures we derive
from literary productions; and to distinguish
such as are the genuine offspring of truth and
nature, from those which owe their existence
to false opinion, or depraved taste, and are
preserved by the mere force of habit and cus-
tom. That we are often pleased with things
which ought not to please us, is as true in
matters of taste, as in morals; and, in both
cases, it is only by bringing our feelings to the
standard of reason, that we can determine
whether they ought to be indulged.

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If, as we daily see, it is in the power of fashion, by the capricious strokes of his harlequin-wand, to vary, at pleasure, the forms of beauty, and, in endless freaks, to make that which to-day is enchanting, to-morrow odious and shocking; why may not time and habit be able, by a contrary process, to reconcile us to absurdities; and to make us fancy beauty and excellence, where there is, in reality, nothing but whim and conceit? Will it, then, in this age of innovation, be thought too daring an intrusion into the mysteries of sacred poetry, if we venture to inquire, whether the modern practice of writing verse in rhyme, be founded in nature and reason, and consonant to the genuine principles of taste ?-or, whether the pleasure derived from it, be not the mere effect of arbitrary association? whether, if the origin, nature, and effects, of this practice be fairly examined, it will not be found, that rhyme, instead of being an ornament, is a defect in verse ?

If we were inclined to refer the question to the decision of authority, such an appeal would be ineffectual. Against the oracular decision of Dr. Johnson, though supported by the voice

James the Vth of Scotland, of James the 1st of America. The catastophe has not yet been realized, but, according to the common course of events, it is probably not far distant. It is said, many symptoms of its approach are alWe wish some friend of Mr. Madison would hold this mirror before him.

James Vth of Scotland had thrown himself and his fortunes into the arms of a party among his subjects, whom he had favoured by nominating them to office, but whose consequence depended on their adherence to a foreign power [the Pope]. Against that foreign power, England had made a firm and bold stand, and as it was no less the interest of other potentates, than of Henry, to assert their independence, he proposed to James not only to renew their ties of friendship, but to act in concert, against a tyranny, dangerous to both. James preferred a war with England-in prosecuting which, though his nobles were under the necessity of obeying his commands, they took no favourable interest. They knew James to be their inveterate enemy, and that his object was to ruin them, that he might establish an absolute despotism. They rather viewed the war with some complacency, as tending to eventual good, in the punishment of the real author of their worst grievances. When ordered to invade English territory, they positively " refused to advance a step beyond the limits of their own country," and thus James's hopes and prospects were completely fustrated. The remainder of the account we shall give in Dr. Robertson's language.

of other criticks of no mean name, it might be
sufficient to cast into the opposite scale the
weighty judgment of Milton, who has said,
that "rhyme is no necessary adjunct, or true
ornament, of poem or good verse; but the
invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretch-ready evident.
ed matter and lame metre, graced,indeed, since,
by the use of some famous modern poets,
carried away by custom, but much to their own
vexation, hindrance, and constraint, to express
many things otherwise, and for the most part
worse, than they would have expressed them."
If the success of many modern poets, in rhyme,
be urged as a proof, in fact, of the excellence
of this mode of versifying, it will be asked,
whether the same genius, and the same taste,
exercised without "the troublesome bondage
of rhyming," might not have produced per-
formances of still higher merit. If a numerous
band of great poets should be thought to have
given this practice the sanction of their appro-
bation, by writing, for the most part, in rhyme,
it should be recollected, that several of the
more eminent of our English poets have ex-
pressed their restlessness under this grievous
yoke. Dryden, of whom Johnson has said,
perhaps, with exaggerated praise, that "to him
we owe the improvement, perhaps the comple-
tion, of our metre," calls rhyme,
"At best, a pleasing sound, and fair barbarity.”
Roscommon confesses, that rhyme is the
cause of many faults; and that,
"Too strict to rhyme, we slight more useful laws."
Prior, in sober prose, complains, that rhyme
"is too confined ;" and that, "it cuts off the
sense at the end of every first line, which must
always rhyme to the next following, and conse-
quently produce too frequently an identity in
sound, and brings every couplet to the point
of an epigram :""He that writes in rhyme,"
says this skilful rhymer, " dances in fetters."
The ingenious author of Phædra and Hippoly-
tus laments that "tyrannick rhyme ties the poet
in needless bonds."

"Procrustes-like, the axe or wheel applies,
To lop the mangl'd sense, or stretch it into size;
At best a crutch, that lifts the weak along,
Supports the feeble, but retards the strong;
And the chance thoughts, when govern'd by the close,
Oft rise to fustian, or descend to prose."

Even the witty Butler, who has, perhaps,
used rhyme to better purpose than any other
poet, has employed his playful fancy in ridicul-
ing it; and has acknowledged, that in rhyming
couplets, one verse is made for the other;
and that

"Rhyme the rudder is of verses,

With which, like ships, they steer their courses."

If the merit of rhyme be estimated by its parentage, little can be said in its favour. It can boast no alliance with those great masters of fine writing, the Greeks and Romans. Homer and Virgil knew nothing of rhyme; and had they known it, there can be little doubt that they would have despised it.

To be concluded in our next.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

COINCIDENCES IN HISTORY.
Not long since, we extracted from Sueto-
nius, a sketch of the rise, the career, and fall
of a famous Roman tyrant, as affording a very
striking parallel to the life of Bonaparte. In
the following extract from an excellent histo.
rian of modern times, we find a singularly
strong picture, or rather the prototype in

"His hopes of success had been rash, and his despair upon a disappointment was excessive. He felt himself engaged in an unnecessary war with England, which, instead of yielding him the laurels and triumphs that he expected, had begun with such circumstances, as exposed him to the scorn of his enemies. He saw how vain and ineffectual all his projects to humble the nobles* had been, and that, though in times of peace, a prince may endeavour to depress them, they will rise, during war, to their former importance and dignity. Impatience, resentment, indignation filled his bosom by turns. The violence of these passions altered his temper, and perhaps impaired his reason. He became pensive, sullen, and retired. He seemed through the day to be swallowed up in profound meditation, and through the night, he was disturbed with those visionary terrors, which make impression upon a weak understanding only, or a disordered fancy. In order to revive the king's spirits, an inroad on the western borders, was concerted by his ministers, who prevailed upon the barons in the neighbouring provincest to raise as many troops as were thought necessary, and to enter the enemy's country. But nothing could remove the king's aversion for his nobility, or diminish his jealousy of their power. He would not even trust them with the command of the forces which they had assembled: that was reserved for Oliver Sinclair his favourite, who no sooner appeared, to take possession of the dignity conferred upon him, than rage and indignation occasioned an universal mutiny in the army. Five hundred English, who happened to be drawn up in sight, attacked the Scots in this disorder. Hatred to the king, and contempt of their general produced an effect, to which there is no parallel in history-ten thousand men surrendered to a num

• So our democrats denominate the Federalists.
† Such as the Rensalaers, Izard, Winder, &c.
The hero of la Cole mills-General Wilkinson.

ber so far inferior, without striking a single blow. No man was desirous of a victory which would have been acceptable to the king and to his favourite. This astonishing event was a new proof to the king of the general disaffection of the nobles, and a new discovery of his weakness and want of authority. Incapable of bearing these repeated insults, and unable to revenge them, his spirits sunk altogether. The deepest melancholy and despair succeeded to the furious transports of rage and indignation. All the violent passions, which are the enemies of life, preyed upon his mind, and wasted and consumed his constitution Some authors of that age impute his untimely death to poison; but the diseases of the mind, when they rise to an height, are often mortal; and the known effects of disappointment, rage, and indignation, upon an impetuous temper, sufficiently account for his unhappy fate."

THE WRITER, No. XX.

I WAS, not long ago, in a very large company, who are frequently assembled together on terms of friendship at each others' houses; but I could not but take notice, that the conversation on one side of the room, and the remarks made there, upon the people on the other side, might induce a stranger to suppose, they were great enemies. Yet, as they shifted about, friends and enemies were mixed promiscuously, and two persons might be seen sitting by each other's side, in great harmony, who, at opposite corners of the room, you would have judged, would never hold friendly converse together.

With such facts and circumstances before me, I could not but reflect, with some degree of sorrow, upon the loss of those real pleasures, which society sustains for the want of sincerity, and by the intrusion of the hateful vice of Envy, and one of her near relations, Scandal. These two evil beings are the bane of friendship, and spoil all the happiness which we might rationally hope to enjoy, from social intercourse. The folly, the wickedness, and the disgraceful nature of these vices, will sufficiently impress our minds, if we would realize to ourselves, what would be our feelings, were our hearts laid open to publick view, whilst possessed and influenced by them. What sinner so hardened, what wretch so impious and abandoned, as not to shrink back appalled at the idea of being thus exposed? Yet it is to be feared there are few bosoms entirely exempt from Envy; few tongues that Scandal has not polluted! These unhallowed spirits, so haunted my mind, that I could not get rid of them for the whole evening, and after I got home I was still plotting to have them banished from society. Whilst I was sitting alone in my chamber, with my mind employed upon this subject, I fell into a sort of reverie; I will not say it was a dream, lest my readers should also drop asleep : thought I made one of a very large assembly, all of whom were decently merry, and appeared to be in the full enjoyment of that happiness, and all those pleasures, derived from agreeable society and friendly intercourse. The company of two persons particularly, seemed to contribute largely to the felicity of the whole. They seemed to preside in this happy society, and their influence, conduct, and example spread as it were a ray of cheerfulness over the countenance of every one present. They however assumed nothing; on the contrary, there was a sort of humility about them that was rather inclined to shun, than to court applauding notice. These two persons

But I

were GOOD-NATURE and INNOCENCE, and I found, whilst they were encouraged and caressed, the company were all pleased with each other, and every individual equally derived pleasure from the society, and contributed something to increase it.

Whilst we were in this state of pleasant enjoyment, other company was announced; immediately the door flew open with a sudden swing, and a most stately figure, with lofty step, and proud, disdainful eye, entered the room, and the cheerful voices of the company were soon awed to silence by her imperious frown, or drowned in the noise of her rustling silks. This lady I found was PRIDE, and she was attended (which was still more unfortunate for the harmony of our party) by her two daughters, Envy and Scandal Without much ceremony, she thrust herself into the first seat in the room, and with her ill-looking progeny by her side, assumed the direction of the society, and very soon changed the pleasant aspect which was worn before, to the gloom of distrust, the ieer of contempt, and the distorted smile of hypocrisy, under the mask of friendship. Our two pleasant companions, who had till now been the life of the party, were abashed, and drew off into a neglected corner; whilst the secret but powerful influence of the new comers, spread through the room and began to obtain guilty dominion. Envy was a little, black-looking, lean, and shrivelled figure, and seemed to observe a kind of morose silence, but her malignant eye was busy, and she was constantly exciting her sister, Scandal, to mischief. Scandal, although ugly enough, wore some smiles, and affected mirth, but it was always envenomed by sarcasm she was very loquacious, and though often loud and noisy, she also said a great deal in whispers. She had a most disgusting mouth, black and rancorous; bat what was most observable, she seemed to have two tongues, and, as naturalists say some serpents have two kinds of teeth, one set through which they convey their poison, so Scandal had a tongue only to wound, and a touch from this tongue produced a most poisonous effect. I observed that wherever Envy fixed her eye, it was soon followed by a lash from the tongue of Scandal, and that persons were no sooner touched by it, than they grew black, ill-shaped, and distorted, and occasioued every body to stare at them. I was glad, however, to see these persons brighten up again upon the approach of INNOCENCE, who usually slid along behind, brushed them with her hand, and dropped something into their bosoms which had a wonderful effect to remove all the spots and marks of Scandal, and make them often appear fairer and more engaging than ever. GOOD-NATURE also, helped to do away the power and avert the evil of these two malicious spirits, for those under her influence would not take notice of any blemishes unless they were very glaring; and moreover, after taking lessons from her, a person was not half so liable to suffer from the poisonous tongue of this hateful genius.

Although INNOCENCE and GOOD-NATURE drew back, as we before observed, upon the entrance of these more bold and forward guests, yet as the former continued in the room, and their exertions so constantly, and effectually opposed the mischievous endeavours of the latter; and as PRIDE, SCANDAL,and ENVY can never long endure the presence of GOOD-NATURE and INNOCENCE, they finally took their leave. I was so rejoiced at seeing them go out, that an involuntary clap of my hands roused me from my reverie, and I found my

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self alone to meditate upon the imaginary scene which had passed before me. I had no hesitation in concluding to give it to the publick, and the only observation with which I shall accompany it, or the only improvement I shall make of the subject, is to express a hope that I may see this vision actually represented, in my observations on society; and that Envy and Scandal, these two great enemies to friendly intercourse, may be banished from every circle, by GooD-NATURE and INNOCENCE.

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THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone ;
No flower of her kindred,

No rose-bud is nigh, '
To reflect back her blushes
Or give Sigh for Sigh!

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the Stem ;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When Friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle

The stems drop away! When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit

This dark world alone?

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED FOR

JOHN PARK,

BY MUNROE & FRANCIS,

NO. 4 CORNHILL.

Price three dollars per annum, half in advance.

* Subscribers may be supplied with the preceding numbers.

VOL. I.

DEVOTED TO POLITICKS AND BELLES LETTRES.

BOSTON, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1814.

NO. XL.

POLITICAL.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

MR. Madison's Message is now a story of a week old, but so few remarks have appeared on the occasion, in the publick journals, we should feel ourselves remiss in duty, were we to pass it over in silence.

On the loud calls for money-more money -"beaucoup d'argent"-we shall say nothing. On that subject, we presume, by this time, the feelings of the people are sufficiently alive, and that they begin to have some glimpses of the effect the war is producing upon their pecuniary interest. It is a plain case, and needs no commentator. But what says Mr. Madison on the chance of Peace? what, of the negotiation ?

"The result," says he," is not yet known. If, on one hand, the repeal of the Orders in Council, and the general pacification in Europe, which withdrew the occasion on which impressments from American vessels were prac tised, suggest expectations that peace and amity may be re-established; we are compelled, on the other hand, by the refusal of the British government to accept the offered mediation of the Emperour of Russia, by the delays, in giving effect to its own proposal of a direct negotiation; and above all, by the principles and manner in which the war is now avowedly carried on, to infer that a spirit of hostility is indulged, more violent than ever, against the rights and prosperity of this country."

occurred, has in fact resulted from the conduct
of the President himself.

the surrender of any of our national rights, is a position, which, though countenanced by Presidential conjecture, fortunately has not the least shadow of proof.

"This increased violence," continues the

The proposal for direct negotiation, it is true, came from the Prince Regent, and it cannot be forgotten, that, in his proposal, he explicitly stated the ground, on which the parties President, "is best explained by the two imporwere to meet a recognition of the laws of tant circumstances, that the great contest in nations, as sanctioned by the practice of the Europe, for an equilibrium guaranteeing all powers of Europe, and of the maritime rights its states against the ambition of any, has been of Great-Britain. On receiving this, Mr. Mad- closed without any check upon the overbearison commissioned his plenipotentiaries to meet ing power of Great-Britain on the ocean; and, at Gottenburgh, but did not accept the condi- that it has left in her hands disposeable armations, which, by the Prince's offer, were indis- ments, with which, forgetting the difficulties pensable. The English officers had found, of a remote war against a free people; and among the prisoners they took in Canada, twen-yielding to the intoxication of success, with ty-one British subjects in arms, against their the example of a great victim to it before her sovereign and country. Such men, by the un- eyes, she cherishes hopes of still further agdisputed law of nations, are traitors; and they grandising a power, already formidable in its were sent home for trial. In consequence of abuses to the tranquillity of the civilized and this, Mr. Madison, contrary to the law and commercial world." usages of nations at war, and to the most obvious principles of justice, had seized as many British prisoners of war, and confined them as hostages for the twenty-one British traitors!! Persisting in this outrage, his ministers, representing the Executive of the United States, sail for England. The British government said, "this pretended retaliation is contrary to all law; give up the men, and disown the principle." Our ministers were not authorised to do it. “Then,” said the ministry, "you have not accepted our sovereign's offer; when you do, we will enter upon negotiation." Here the business necessarily rested, until it could be ascertained by the President's agents, The result of the negotiation is not yet whether he would qualify them to act, or not. known! What an important piece of informa"The result is not known," but it is surmised; tion to Congress, who well knew that negotia- all the hostages have been given up, though tion had not begun! The times are too serious one at least of the English traitors was hung. for ridicule, or such a senseless remark might-Such is the true history of those delays well be treated with severity. It is of more consequence to examine the reasons why the President would damp our hopes and expectations of peace. The refusal of Great-Britain to accept the mediation of Russia was never As to the principles and manner, in which considered, by those who wished for peace, in the war is now avowedly carried on," Mr. this country, as in the least degree unfavoura-Madison undoubtedly alludes to Admiral Cochble to such an event. The reason given by rane's letters; yet it is impossible to conjecthe British government was substantial, obvious, turc, in what part of that communication he and satisfactory. The orders in council were can discover the least intimation, to check our already abolished-the only remaining pretext hopes from the negotiation in Europe. It confor the war, was a law of that realm, with rela- tains not the remotest reference to the diplotion to its own subjects. On such a point, she matick concerns of the two countries. He could allow no foreign power to sit in judg-threatens to settle Canadian accounts upon the ment; it would be an abandonment of sovereignty to which no independent nation would submit. This was her reply to the Emperour of Russia, and he appears to have readily perceived, and acquiesced in, its correctness. If Mr. Madison were not himself actuated by "a spirit of hostility more violent than ever," he would not have referred to this as a ground of accusation.

His next reason for doubting the disposition of the British government towards peace, is its alleged "delays in giving effect to its own proposal of a direct negotiation." As there is a considerable degree of impatience in the publick mind, with respect to these delays, we hope our readers will consider attentively what we have to observe on this charge, for we are confident that whatever of delay has

which have been so much regretted. Let the
impartial world determine, who has been
whiffling; who has created the obstacles that
have postponed negotiation.

Atlantick coast, but not without proposing an
alternative. When Mr. Madison shall have
shown that the invaders of Canada were not
the aggressors, then it will be admitted that
the alternative could not be accepted, without
degradation.

The British nation were forced into this war,
in spite of the utmost efforts to preserve
peace; she found a new, malignant, irrecon-
cileable enemy in the government of the
United States, when all the world were held in
awful suspense, as to the event of her arduous
struggle against the colossal power of French
despotism. The attack was attended with
every circumstance of aggravation, and a war
of bitter resentment could not but have been
expected. But that Great-Britain contem-
plates to demand, as the future basis of peace,

It is true that the pacification of Europe has been completed, and the maritime pretensions of Great-Britain have not been abridged. It is as true, that no desire has been discovered among the continental powers that they should be abridged. It is another very important truth, that Great-Britain claims no maritime rights, that are not claimed by every maritime power in Europe; they well know, that the clamour, which for years has rung through both the eastern and the western world, was but the hypocritical cant of aspiring France, originating Bolely in her own views of universal empire, and echoed by the dupes of her policy. That policy has been defeated; nations are restored to their common rights, and invectives against British usurpation on the ocean are heard no more, but in the dull epilogue of the French revolution,-Mr. Madison's proclamations and messages. It seems to be implied, by the President's argument, that England has just escaped from some restraint upon the exercise of her naval power. This is but a feeble and fallacious attempt to conceal the wilful blindness of his policy in. plunging us into war, for it is not supported by fact. Since Nelson's last victory, her sway on the ocean has been uncontrolled, but by her sense of justice. Perhaps he means, that Admiral Warren's instructions were qualified by a fear of the interference of Russia, Prussia, Spain, or Portugal in our favour! an absurdity was intended, it deserves no reply.

If such

It is indeed amusing to find the President of the United States racking his ingenuity to furnish Congress with a clue to the "increased violence" of British warfare; but unfortu

nately, his logick is as weak, as were his military plans at Washington. Let us examine his second explanation. He says "the great contest in Europe (probably meaning the close of this great contest) has left in her hands disposeable armaments." What mighty armaments have been employed in this "increased violence," which England could not have furnished, during her continental war? Short of five thousand men landed at Benedict, marched forty miles to Washington, and blew up the capitol! A frigate and two or three smaller vessels ascended the Potomack to Alexandnia, and took the city! These are the only instances of violence, mentioned; and willMr.

Madison pretend that England, in her darkest day, could not have supplied such humble

means as these ?

The object of this part of the message is evident. The President perceives the horrors of his war thickening upon our country. He finds his means totally insufficient for its defence. He is aware that a distressed and indignant people will exclaim against the folly of exposing us to these sufferings. What apology can he make? We have it in substance, before us. "Human wisdom could not foresee the events, which have terminated the war in Europe. I began hostilities with prospects totally different from those which exist. My means were adequate to your defence and even your success under any circumstances, which could be rationally anticipated. The capture of Washington, the invasion of your coasts, the danger to which your cities are exposed, are owing to no improvidence of mine, but to the peace in Europe, which has unexpectedly let loose upon us, the whole physical force of Great-Britain." If such a defence is well founded and satisfactory, let all the people say, Amen, and await their destiny without a murmur; but if it is absurd and false, let Mr. Madison be held to his responsibility.

[We are obliged, for want of room to postpone the remainder, to our next number.]

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army.

Plattsburgh appears to be in no danger of another visit from the enemy, at present. A part of General Prevost's forces remain at Champlain, and detachments have been sent to different quarters, in that province. The American fleet and prizes are repairing. Sacket's Harbour. Commodore Chauncey's fleet has sailed, with Gen. Izard and his ar

my, their destination conjectured to be against Fort George.

Fort Erie. On the 17th General Brown, commanding in person, made a sortie, carried two of the enemy's batteries, spiked the guns, blew up the strong work they had recently built, destroyed great quantities of ammunition and took about 400 prisoners. British killed

On our

and wounded estimated at 400 more.
side, the loss is rated much less. Cols. Gib-
son and Wood killed; General Ripley badly
wounded in the neck. Col. Aspinwall of this
town, lost an arm.

The South Frontier. It is again reported that a considerable British force has landed at Pensacola, the object supposed to be New Orleans.

taking all the horses and provisions they could
put in requisition. Last Friday, a squadron of
one 74, six ships, and two brigs left the bay,
steering S. S. W.

Though ship news does not come within
our province, it may be proper to mention the
arrival at Salem of the ship Stranger, a prize,
containing 66 large cannon, a great abundance
of military stores, blankets, &c. bound from
England to Halifax.

We

sacred grove, where Numa Pompilius held his mysterious interviews with the divine Egeria. We descended with trembling steps into the catacombs of saint Sebastian. passed under the triumphal arch of Titus ; we contemplated the spot where "Great Cæsar fell;" measured the dome of the majestick St. Peter's, and tumbled over the manuscripts of the Vatican. Silent but gratified companions, we made excursions with our friend to Tivoli, and entered the palace of the generous and splendid Mecenas; we closed our travels and speculations by a pleasant little jaunt to Frascati, which, though now a pile of stones, was once Tusculum, consecrated by the residence of the immortal Roman orator.

CONGRESS assembled on Monday the 19th. and on Tuesday the President sent his Message. On Thursday, the usual Committees were appointed, and their respective portions of the Message assigned for their consideration. Mr. Johnson, of Kentucky, moved that a committee be appointed to inquire into What could be more delightful, but an acthe causes of the capture of the city of Wash-tual survey of these regions and monuments, ington, &c. ington, &c. A petition of a number of the cit-made sacred by time, and connected with the izens of New-York was presented for a Na- most brilliant history of man, the arts and littional Bank.

It is conjectured by some writers of letters, from Washington, that Government will remove to Philadelphia.

LITERARY AND MISCELLANEOUS.

FOR THE BOSTON SPECTATOR.

THE CONFIDANT, No. XIII.
To the Confidant.

Accident, some time since, made me ac

erature !

But, as I have already remarked, while some of us were so pleasantly occupied, with Longbow's rapid and diversified conversation, another part of the company appeared to be perfectly listless, or rather, disposed, by occasionally rallying the speaker, to interrupt our amusement; at times, when he held us deeply engaged in his most interesting adventures, I could observe them looking at one another with a sort of significant malicious stare, and then smile,-as much as to say "that's a good one."

Sir---I HAVE often heard it remarked of a person,and not without something like a sneer, that he was a very good matter-of-fact man-now, turned home with one who had been staring, On the breaking up of the company, I rewhat there is ridiculous, in sticking close to the truth, I never could discover; but I pre-expressed to him my astonishment that severor tittering, or yawning all the evening; and sume the sarcasm is levelled rather against al of the party, including himself, evinced so those plodding minds, which are rich in stores of observation, but cannot "reason, from what much impatience during a relation with which I could not but be very much gratified. "I they know." However this may be, I am certinguished as such, is one of the greatest bores tain a matter-of-fiction man, known and dis- perceive," said he, "that you are a stranger to our old friend Longbow. If you had known in society, and that, for this blemish, neither him as well as some of us did, you could only have been amused at the unqualified latitude elegance of address, learning, nor genius, are With the most splendid of his invention. We know too the whole hisany compensation. talents, he must always be a tax upon the pa-tory of his voyage up the Mediterranean. He tience and civility of his associates, and instead was a month at Naples, it is true, but was him, an amusing and interesting friend, he is employed in disposing of her cargo. He nevof being what nature seems to have designed scarcely ever out of the ship,unless when busily er was at Rome, at all; but having perused the but a tedious if not irksome prattler. account of a famous tourist, had acquired some quainted with a gentleman of this description, knowledge of what was to be seen in that by the name of Rusport Longbow. He had great city and in its vicinity, and had learned, received a genteel education, possessed by something from the same source, of the manconstitution a lively fancy, and great volubility ners and customs of the modern Italians. All of tongue; was fond of society, and withal his personal observations, all the flattering seemed to be what is generally called a good- civilities he had received from great personhearted fellow. He had just returned from a ages, all his pleasant incidents, and in fact, voyage up the Mediterranean, on business, whatever was not in the book of his traveller, was sheer fabrication! He is by no means and on the evening that I was first introduced of friends, about the half of whom were of his cial, benevolent. convivial soul; but if we ever to him, he made one of a party of some dozen deficient in understanding or wit, and is a sosuffer him to begin a story, no matter what it old acquaintance. Longbow's recent voyage afforded him a fund of matter for narrative and is, or where the scene lies, his passion for posed to lead the conversation. I was partic-repeat any of his narratives, as matter of fact, anecdote; he seemed both prepared and dis-embellishment is so vivid, that we cannot rely ularly pleased, but was soon struck by a very for ten to one they might prove otherwise." singular difference in the effect produced by his discourse, on his new and old companions. The former, like myself, were rivetted in attention; we enjoyed the civilities, which, it would appear, were lavished upon our countryman; we went with him to his parties; we revelled with him in the palaces of the poor but shewy Neapolitan nobility. With a sort of pious enthusiasm we attended him to

on a word he utters. It will never answer to

been in Longbow's company, but the charm of Since this first interview, I have frequently of talking, and would indeed be one of the his eloquence was gone. He is always fond

it not for his notorious foible. But, as it is im most agreeable companions in the world, were possible to know whether he is telling the truth, or bouncing, one is not a whit the wiser for any thing he says. I seldom know posi

The news comes by a letter from the tomb of Virgil. He next conducted us to tively, that he is sporting untruths, yet as I

Tennessee, where it was received, by express from Gen. Jackson to the Governour.

Castine. On the 20th instant 1200 British troops embarked and fell down the river, after

the city of the Cesars. We made our pilgrim-
age to the mausoleum of Augustus. We
gazed upon the column of Trajan. We even
drank with him from the pure fountain, in the

can never feel assured of the contrary, his stories, though well related, are dull and tiresome, in the extreme-words without meaning.

whenever Nestor spoke, the listening multitude was awed, and Greece in arms attended with silence.

I am extremely at a loss, Mr. Confidant, to comprehend what motive can induce any person to indulge in this ridiculous disposition. It never was indulged, in any considerable The attention and respect which are paid to degree, without loss of character; that certain- the aged, as well as to the softer sex, usually ly cannot be an object. If it proceed from a mark the degrees of civilization in any country, desire to communicate pleasure to others, a and very fairly denote the rudeness or refinereputation of this kind defeats even that inten-ment of its society and manners. But if we tion; the human mind loves truth, and the sole use of language is to communicate it. If speech be perverted to a different purpose, it is worse than insignificant; it renders him who is guilty of the abuse absolutely contempt

ible. A man who is not believed when he speaks, no matter what are the moral or religious principles of those with whom he associates, no matter what appearance of attention civility may procure him, deals in sound, of no more consequence than the purring of PHILALETHES.

a cat.

THE WRITER, No. XXI.

OLD age is a season of fe in which, it is generally supposed, there are few pleasures to anticipate, and but little happiness to be enjoyed. Yet who is willing to give up the expectation of years to come, and be suddenly arrested on the flowery road of youth or manhood, that he may escape the dreary and barren waste of feeble old age? If then we are travelling towards a country climate,

where there are some severities to encounter, and we do not choose to forego this unpromising journey, we should prepare to meet the evils we expect, and provide ourselves with weapons to overcome them, or suitable armour to shield us from their attack. A consciousness of such a preparation, would soon dispel the gloom which usually hovers round the picture we form to ourselves of old age, and we might then look forward to this period of life with complacency rather than disney, and grey hairs would assume a lustre, in the eye of wisdom at least, as bright as the ringlets of fair and ruddy youth.

The varied year, under this our temperate zone, affords a beautiful similitude of the several ages of man, and the moralist as well as the poet, has often seized with eagerness and happy effect upon a figure, so favourable, either to impress truth, or please and entertain the imagination. In moral essays it is usually brought forward to illustrate and enforce the important obligation of all accountabic beings, to make a proper improvement of time. Youth is the spring, Old age the winter of life; and the intermediate seasons are emblematical of ripening and decaying manhood. Thus if we sow good seed in the spring time of youth, we shall be rewarded,

in the summer and autumn of life, with rich and racy fruit, to gratify our taste as we pass along, and with the golden harvest which will remain with us to gladden as well as to strengthen our hearts, during the more gloomy season, the winter of old age. With such a provident, with such a wise and prudent management of the early season, every part of the year will have its pleasures, and if winter has not the flowers and perfumes of spring, it will boast its hours of ease and the repose of the fireside; and though we may not be delighted with the singing of birds, yet, safe from storms within, the rude biast, that whistle round our walls, is musick.

would deserve these tokens of reverence as

we descend into the vale of years, we must be careful to avoid Ignorance and Vice, as our companions in our uphill journey of life. If wisdom and integrity mark our footsteps amidst the flowery paths of youth; if temperance and industry are seen in our train; if truth is our guide and honor our friend and companion in early life, then will grey hairs be honorable, and we shall find that indulgent nature amidst her varied stores, has yet many pleasures in reserve for those who are bending

beneath the weight of accumulated years.

an advert with great delight to a venerabe friend, who has, in an eminent degree, all the qualifications to experience and enjoy the highest honor and happiness of virtuous old age. He has travelled the lengthened road of life surrounded with those he loved; has shared their affection and esteem, and followed them one after another to the grave. His cotemporaries are no more: he stands alone, like a rock in the midst of the sea, and lifts his head above the waves of time, to bless the prospect of declining years, and make even wanton youth in love with hoary age. He is admired for his social virtues, and his usefulness in society is acknowledged to be invaluable; he is esteemed for his friendship and integrity, respected for his learning, beloved for his kindness and benevolence, revered for his piety, and almost adored for his spotless his piety, and almost adored for his spotless fame and holiness of life. When he ministers in the sacred duties of his office, we look up to him with that sort of veneration and fove which are most appropriately mixed with things divine. Whenever we see him, we endeavour to seek in ourselves, some affinity to the good old man, and even feel a kind of pride in belonging to the same order of beings, of which he is at once the ornament and delight.

Old age like this has surely no terrors; on the contrary we may look forward to it with desire, only endeavouring that our lives may be like the righteous man, that our last days may also be like his.

IS RHYME AN ORNAMENT, OR A DEFECT IN VERSE.[CONCLUDED.]

In order to estimate, correctly, the value of

this improvement, let us endeavour to analyse the nature, and investigate the operation, of sound, or sounds, at intervals, either regular, rhyme. Rhyme is the repetition of the same or irregular. Sometimes the rhyming syllables are single, sometimes double; sometimes the rhymes occur uniformly in couplets; sometimes they are placed alternately, or in forms still more complex. In all these varieties, it is very evident, that the pleasure which rhymes afford, does not altogether arise from the repetition of similar sounds. No car would be gratified from a spelling-book, or a rhyming dictionary. with the recital of a column of rhyming words, In lines of unequal length written without any regard to numbers, the effect of the rhymes is lost; as will be easily perceived, in the followThe wisest nations of antiquity, have ever been the most noted for the highest respecting lines from Dean Swift's Mrs. Harris's

and veneration for old age. Among the Spartans, the people rose up with reverence when an old man came into their assemblies, and

Petition :

"I never was taken for a conjurer before, I'd have you to know;

Lord, said I, don't be angry, I'm sure, I never thought

you so :

You know, I honour the cloth; I design to be a parson's wife;

I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all my life."

As far, however, as the pleasure of rhyme is to be referred simply to the frequent recurrence of similar sounds, it perhaps arises chiefly, unexpected combinations, and is to be considerif not entirely, from the surprise excited by ed as belonging to the lower species of wit. In sounds seldom occur; and therefore, when they happen, we usually notice them with some degree of surprise, It is the continuation of the same perception which we experience, when we hear the frequent return of rhymes in studied yerse: and hence it is, that in reading long works written in rhyme, the pleasure, as far as depends upon the rhyming words alone, gradually decreases, till, at length, the surprise ceasing, the repetition becomes tiresome. Rhyme (says Lord Kaimes) rouzes the attention, and produces an emotion moderately gay, without dignity or elevation."

conversation, such combinations of similar

If this be the true explanation of the pleasure arising from rhyming words, it is evident, that the use of this ornament, if it must be called such, is a kind of low wit; and that the ear is gratified by it, for the same reason that the eye is amused by anagrams and acrosticks. It may then be fairly asked, what alliance is there between the puerile amusement of jingling syllables, and the sublime and elegant pleasures of genuine poetry? We are displeased when Shakspeare intrudes a pun in the midst of his noble flights of fancy, or tender strokes of passion: what, but custom, could enable us to endure, in the more elevated kinds of verse, the perpetual intrusion of a still lower species of wit, in the unusual combinations of similar sounds? The noble exertions of creative genius are degraded, and great things are confounded with small, when the poet clothes his grand conceptions in the fantastick dress of rhyming couplets; and it is habit alone, which renders us insensible of the incongruity. Could we divest ourselves of the prejudice arising from habit, it would be impossible to read two passages of nearly equal poetick merit, one in rhyme, the other in blank verse, such, for example, as Pope's celebrated imitation of Homer's Night-piece, at the end of the eighth book of the Iliad, and Milton's description of Night in the fourth book of Paradise Lost, without feeling, that, while, in the latter, just and beautiful imagery appears without alloy in all the dignity of poetical language, the former loses some portion of the effect of imagery equally just and beautiful, by an unseasonable and incongruous mixture of the trivial and playful.

An objection of still greater weight against the use of rhyme, arises from the restraint which it unavoidably lays upon the writer's conceptions and expression. It cannot be supposed, that, of the words which are most proper to express the poet's ideas, a sufficient number shall have similar endings; and that these very words shall exactly fall into that place which best suits the numbers and grammatical construction, and is the proper interval of the rhyme.

For the same reason that the rhyming poet must drop many thoughts and expressions, which he might have wished to introduce, he must be often guided in the choice and arrangement of his ideas by the words which he finds it necessary to place at the close of his verses. It will seldom happen, that both lines of a couplet will be entirely dictated by fancy or

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