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TO A LADY.

Madam,-I do not think that it is amongst the duties of a monarch to grant places to one of his subjects, merely because he is a gentleman. That, however, is the inference from the request you have made to me. Your late husband was, you say, a distinguished general, a gentleman of good family; and thence you conclude, that my kindness to your family can do no less than give a company of foot to your second son, lately returned from his travels.

"Madam, a man may be the son of a general, and yet have no talent for command. man may be of a good family, and yet possess no other merit than that which he owes to chance, the name of gentleman.

"I know your son, and I know what makes the soldier; and this two-fold know ledge convinces me that your son has not the disposition of a warrior, and that he is too full of his birth, to leave the country a hope of his ever rendering it any important

service.

"What you are to be pitied for, madam, is, that your son is not fit either for an officer, a statesman, or a priest; in a word, that he is nothing more than a gentleman, in the most extended acceptation of the word.

"You may be thankful to that destiny, which, in refusing talents to your son, has taken care to put him in possession of great wealth, which will sufficiently compensate him for other deficiencies, and enable him, at the same time, to dispense with any fa

vour from me.

"I hope you will be impartial enough, to feel the reasons which prompt me to refuse your request. It may be disagreeable to you, but I consider it necessary. Farewell,

madam.

"Your sincere well-wisher, "Lachsenburg, 4th Aug. 1787.

TO POPE PIUS VI.

JOSEPH."

"Most Holy Father,-The funds of the clergy of my dominions are not destined, as has been boldly said at Rome, to expire with my reign, but rather to become a relief to my people; and as their coutinuation, as well as the displeasure which has burst forth upon this subject, are within the jurisdiction of history, posterity will be masters of the matter without our co-operation: this, then, will be a monument of my time, and I hope not the only one.

"I have suppressed the superfluous convents, and the still more superfluous socie ties: their revenues serve to support curates and to ameliorate the primary institutions; but amidst all the confidence in 31 ATHENEUM VOL. 13.

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"I see, however, that logic is not the same at Rome, as it is in my dominions; and hence arises this want of harmony between Italy and the empire.

"If your holiness had taken the charitable care to inform yourself, at the proper source, of what was passing in my territories, many things would not have happened; but there were people at Rome, who, as appears to me, would have darkness spread itself more and more over our poor globe.

"You have now the brief acount of the causes which have compelled my arrange; ments; I hope you will excuse the conciseness of my letter, on consideration, that I have neither the time nor the talent necessary for discussing so vast a theme in the

manner used in a Roman museum.

"I pray God still long to preserve you to his church, and to send one of his angels before you, to prepare for you the ways of heaven.

"Your most obedient son in Jesus Christ, "Vienna, July, 1784. JOSEPH."

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"Two of your sons are already loaded with favours. The eldest, who is not yet and the younger has obtained a prebend twenty, is chief of a squadron in my army; at Cologne, from the Elector my brother. What would you have more? Would you have the first a general, and the second a bishop?

"In France you may see colonels in leading strings; and in Spain, the royal princes command armies even at eighteen ; hence prince Stahremberg forced them to retreat so often, that they were never able, all the rest of their lives, to comprehend any other manœuvre.

"It is necessary to be sincere at court, and severe in the field, stoical without obduracy, magnanimous without weakness, and to gain the esteem of our enemies by the justice of our actions; and this, mađam, is what I aim at.

"Vienna, September, 1787. JOSEPH."

"(Extract from the unedited letters from Joseph II. published at Paris, by Persan, 1822.)"

RELICS OF LITERATURE. BY S. COLLET.

(Literary Gazette, Ap.)]

THE public is indebted to Mr.

Boys for several well got up and pleasing works of a similar description to the present. The Percy Anecdotes, though stretched by success a little beyond the convenient limit, have been very popular; and there are a number of amusing things in this new collection, hardly with propriety called 'Relics' of Literature, to recommend it to like favour. Such books require little of the Reviewers' labours; their editors being the pioneers who dig for readers, and leave nothing for those who follow but to say how they have done their work, and look out specimens of their workmanship. Among materials so various, it may be readily supposed that there are articles of an inferior, of a common, and of a better quality; some scarcely worth preserving, some with too little of novelty, and some of considerable rarity and value. Such is the case; and the union of the whole is, as we have stated, very agreeable and entertaining. An appropriate frontispiece contains fac-similes of Royal signatures, from Henry VIII. to George IV., as well as those of several distinguished persons; and an advertisement defines the author's pretensions as a collector of motley, from published books, a collator of MSS., or an original writer. For ourselves we have to notice, that we do not meet much with which we had not previously some acquaintance; but our examples shall endeavour to avoid the topics most generally familiar:

"Jockie is growne a Gentleman.”* "Among the most rare ballads in the English language is one entitled, 'Jockie is grown a gentleman.' It is

* In the reign of Elizabeth, as appears from a return of foreigners residing in London, there were only forty Scots in the English capital. On the accession of James, his Northern subjects naturally flocked to the seat of Government. Their numbers increased so rapidly, that in February 1606, it was debated in Parliament whether they should be admitted to the ben efit of naturalization. In the Commons, 14th Feb. exactly 217 years ago (what changes have since taken place!!!)" Mr.

a satire levelled against the numerous train of Scotch adventurers who emigrated to England in the reign of James

Fuller began the debate. The principal grounds of his argument were, That God had made people fit for every country; some for a cold, some for a hot climate; and those several countries he had adapted to their several natures and qualities. All grounds are not fit for one kind of grain but some for oats, some for wheat, &c Suppose one man is owner of two pastures, with one hedge to divide them, the one pasture bare, the other fertile and good. A wise owner will not pull down the hedge, but make gates to let the cattle in and out multitudes, and much against their will reat pleasure; otherwise they will rush in in turn. That the Union was no more than two arms of one body. But before they be and room we have for them. Look into admitted, it is proper to consider what place the Universities; there you will find many of our own very worthy men not preferred. Our English merchants adventure; they go to sea with great vessels, freighted at a great charge; the others with little vessels at a small charge. The Scotch carry their wares in other countries up and down in packs; and by these means have taken away all the trade from Dieppe already. there are impositions upon the English, Our traders are too many already, and from which the Scotch are discharged. The navy of Scotland is so weak as to be in miserecordium with the meanest force. The care of a sovereign prince is, that his subjects live under him honestè, turè, pacificè et jucundè. That country is miserable where the greatest men are exceeding rich, the poor men exceeding poor, and no mean, no proportion between both. Tenants of two Manors; whereof the one has woods, fisheries, liberties, commons of estorvers, &c.-the other, a bare common, without profit; only a little turfor the like. The owner maketh a grant, that the tenants of this shall be participants of the profits This beareth some &c. of the former. shew of equity, but is plain wrong, and the grant void. The king cannot make a single village in one, to be parcel of another county. He cannot make a parcel of one kingdom parcel of another, being distinct kingdoms. If king Philip of Spain had had a son by queen Mary, he would have been king of Spain, Sicily, &c. Was it proper to naturalize those subjects? It cannot be good to mingle two swarms of bees under one hive on the sudden. When the Jews were in captivity, and were moved to mirth, and sing songs, they could not forget Jerusalem. Let their right hand forget

+ London, 1823. T. Boys.

the first, in the full expectation of being distinguished by the particular favour and patronage of their native sovereign. So much, indeed, was the king annoyed by these supplicants, that he issued a proclamation, dated 10th May, 1616, stating, that the daily resort of idle persons, of base sort and condition, was not only very unpleasant and offensive to his majesty, since he was daily importuned with their suits and begging, and his royal court almost filled with them, (they being, in the conceit of all beholders, but idle rascals and poor miserable bodies,') but their country was heavily disgraced by it, and many slanderous imputations given out a

their left,' &c. And when Abraham and Lot were brethren, Abraham said, 'Go thou to the right hand, and I will go to the left,' &c. So they divided, and either took that part which was fittest for him.'

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"Mr. Wentworth and Mr. Moore followed, and though they did not object entirely to the naturalization of the Scots, 'yet,' said they, if we naturalize them, it is necessary to have many cautions; cautions for ecclesiastical promotions, cautions for our lands and for our trade.'

"Sir Francis (afterwards Lord) Bacon, spoke at great length and with great ability, in favour of the naturalization of the Scots, not so much on legal grounds, but as a matter of convenience; and as a 'sign to all the world of our love towards them, and agreement with them.'

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gainst the same, as if there were no persons of good rank, comeliness,or credit, within it ;" therefore it was ordered, that no captains of ships should transport any passenger to England without license of the Privy Council.

"The following song of Jockie is growne a Gentleman,' is not only humorous, but gives an interesting picture of the national prejudices, as well as the costume of our ancestors.

Well met, Jockie, whither away?

Thou wast so lousie the other day,
How the devil comes you so gay?

Shall we two have a word or tway?

Ha, ha, ha, by sweet St. Ann,
Jockie is growne a gentleman.

Thy shoes, that thou wor'st when thou went'st to plow,
They're turn'd to Spanish leather now,
Were made of the hide of a Scottish cow,
Bedeckt with roses I know not how.
Ha, ha, ha, &c.

Thy stockings, that were of northern blew,
That cost not twelve-pence when they were new,
Are turn'd into a silken hue,
Most gloriously to all men's view.

Ha, ha, ha, &c.

Thy belt, that was made of a white leather thong,
Which thon and thy father wore so long,
With gold and pearle embroider'd among.
Are turned to hangers of velvet strong,
Ha, ha, ha, &c.

Thy garters, that were of Spanish say,
Which from the taylor's thou stol'st away,
Are now quite turn'd to silk, they say,
With great broad laces fayre and gay.

Ha, ha, ha, &c.

Thy doublet and breech, that were so playne,
Are turn'd to a sattin God-a-mercy trayne,
On which a louse could scarce remayne,
That thou by begging couldst this obtayne !

Ha, ha, ha, &c.

"In the course of the discussion of this subject, one member was committed to the tower for making some severe reflections on the Scots: this was Sir Christopher Piggott, one of the members for the county of. Buckingham. Speaking of the naturalization, he said, 'Let us not join murderers, thieves, and the roguish Scots, with the well deserving Scots. There is as much difference between them as between a judge and a thief. He would speak his conscience, without flattery of any creature whatsoever. They have not suffered above two kings to die in their beds these two hundred years. Thy bonnet of blew, which thou wor'st hither,

Our king James hath hardly escaped them; they have attempted him.* Now he is come from among them, let us free him from such attempts hereafter.' Although this speech excited much surprise in the house, yet it passed without censure, until, in consequence of a message from the king, blaming

Thy cloake, which was made of a home-spun thread,
Which thou wast wont to fling on thy bed,
Is turned into a skarlet red,
With golden laces about thee spread.
Ha, ha, ha,&c.

To keep thy skonce from wind and weather,
Is throwne away the devil knows whither,
And turn'd to a bever hat and feather.
Ha, ha, ha, &c.

Westminster-hall was cover'd with lead,
And so was St. John many a day;

the neglect of the house, Sir Christopher The Scotchmen have begg'd it to buy them bread;

Piggot was expelled the house and commit

ted to the tower, where he remained some time."

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Alluding to the Gowrie's conspiracy.

The devil take all such Jockies away.

Ha, ha, ha, &c.

(Literary Gazette.)

DIFFERENT THOUGHTS;

Suggested by a Picture by G. S. Newton,* No. 16, in the British Gallery, and representing a Girl looking at her Lover's Miniature.

Which is the truest reading of thy look ?

JUST one look before I sleep,
Just one parting glance, to keep
On my heart and on my brain
Every line and feature plain,
In sweet hopes that they may be
Present in those dreams to me,
Which the gentle night-hour bringt
Ever on her starry wings.

I have heard the deep tolled chime
Of the moonlight vesper time-
Scarcely seems one hour-glass run,
Since beneath the setting sun
Hill and vale were red, and I,
And Olave looked upon the sky,
And said, or ere the grapes, which now
Shone green gems in the sunset glow,
Might darken, that we two should be
Linked in gentlest unity;
And the soft twilight came on
Ere our pleasant words were done;
Stars were glancing overhead

When our last Good night!' was said:
Since, I've sat and watched this brow
(Not so beautiful as thou,

Yet thy shadow) in the light

Of the fair moon. Now, Good night!
By the dawn-blush I must wake,
Olave, if but for thy sake:

We have flowers to plant and cull,-
Our home must be beautiful;
Waking. I must dream no more,
Night has lovelier dreams in store,
Picture dear, farewell to thee,
Be thine image left with me!

Yes, every lineament of thine

Full well, the painter's skill hath given; That forehead the proud spirit's shrine, The lightning of that eye's dark heaven. Yes, here at least thou art the same

As once thou wert in years departed,
When truth and love shone o'er thy name,
Or ere I knew thee cold, false hearted!

How many a dark and bitter thought
These pictured features now awaken!
There is no balm by memory brought,

To hopes betrayed, to hearts forsaken.
Those whose life's Summer-path hath been
A fairy round of light and pleasure,
May well recall each vanished scene-
To them remembrance is a treasure ;
But those whose year has only known

The clouds, the coldness of December, Why should they pause on moments gone? *Tis scaring wounds when they remember.

[An American artist]

Drear was the hour of youth to me,

My hopes were stars that fell when lightest ;' But one sweet dream still clung to Thee,

My first, my best, my last, my brightest. Would I could live that time again,

When life was but a void without thee! To me 'twere worth an age of pain

To feel once more I did not doubt thee.

But, like this picture-frame, thy heart
Is but a gilded toy, concealing

A darker and a meaner part,

Bright coloured, but cold and unfeeling! Farewell to love for ever past,

Farewell to the dear hopes that leave me ! I'd almost, could that bid them last,

Wish that thou couldst again deceive me!

I must turn from this idol: I am kneeling
With vows and homage only made for heaven;
I must turn from this idol. I have been
Like to a child who plays with poisoned arrows,
And then is wounded by them. I have yielded,
Foolishly, fondly yielded, to the love
Which is a curse and sickness to me now.

I am as one who sleeps beneath the power

Of some wild dream: hopes, fears,and burning throbs

Of strange delight, dizzy anxieties,

And looks and words dwelt upon overmuch,
Fill up my feverish circle of existence.
My spirit wanders wildly: all in vain!

I would bring order to my troubled thoughts;
Like autumn leaves scattered by driving gales,
They wander round. Once my heart's sleep was

calm

As a young bird's beneath its parent wing;
That quiet is no more! for Love hath breathed
Upon my heart, and with him came a train
of visionary things :-impatient hope,
Sickening of its own vanity; and more
Than all, concealment preys upon me; life
But animate with emotion, which must yet
Be hidden fire. Oh, I must, I must
Turn from this idol! Our love is forbidden-
You are above me, and in loving you-
Oh God! I dare not think to what that leads:
I dare not think on all I have been told
Of all man's eruelty to woman-how
He will soothe, flatter, vow, till he has won,
And then repay her confidence with ruin,
Leaving her trusting heart a desolate place,
Herself an outcast with an unwept grave,
Perhaps unhallowed too-her last long refuge.
I've more than loved,—oh I have worshipped you?
I have thought, spoken, dreamt of you alone,
And deep has been my misery! my cheek
Has burnt even to pain when you were named;
I have sat hours thinking o'er your last words,
Have sought my couch for solitude, not sleep,
And wept, I only know how bitterly.
I have no joy in pleasure: all I took
A pride in, once, has lost its interest now;
The days I see you not, to me are blanks,
And yet I shrink from meeting you! I have
Insulted heaven with prayers (prayers not to love

του,)

And then have trembled lest they should be heard.
I must forget all this: the veins that throb
In agony will surely learn from time

A calm and quiet pulse; yet I will own,
Though woman's weakness is in the confession,
I never could have nerved my soul to this,
But that I know you wavering and weak,
Passionate, but unsteady, born to win

But he rides for the home he has pined to see, In the court, in the camp, in captivity.

He reached the castle, the gate was thrown Open and wide, but he stood there alone; He entered the door,-his own step was all That echoed within the deserted hall; He stood on the roof of the ancient tower, And for banner there waved one pale wall-flower;

Hearts, but not to keep them. Tell me not you love And for sound of the trumpet and sound of the horn,

Intensely, wholly, well, as I have done.

But oh, farewell, farewell! I give thy portrait To the red flames,—it is a sacrifice

On which I swear forgetfulness!

L.E. L.

Portrait of a Girl in the British Gallery, by T. Stewardson.

I do but give faint utterance to the thoughts
That curled her coral lip, and filled her eyes
With laughing malice.

In truth, dear Love, 'twas a fitting gift
The gift which you gave to me:

A spring-flower wreath, whose short sweet life
Is like love's life to thee.

You are a gay and gallant love,

The wooer that woman likes best,

With a heart that roves like that eastern bird
Whose pinions are never at rest.

Never was lover more suited to me;

My heart is yet lighter than thine ;

Did it change like the vane with each wind that blows,

It could not change oftener than mine.

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He is come from the land of the sword and shrine,
From the sainted battles of Palestine ;
The snow -plumes wave o'er his victor crest,
Like a glory the red cross hangs at his breast.
His courser is black as black can be,

Save the brow star white as the foam of the sea,
And he wears a scarf of 'broidery rare,

The last love gift of his lady fair:

It bore for device a cross and a dove,

And the words "I am vowed to my God and my love!"

He comes not back the same that he went,
For his sword bas been tried, and his strength has

been spent ;

His golden hair has a deeper brown,

And his brow has caught a darker frown
And his lip hath lost its boyish red,

And the shade of the south o'er his cheek is spread;
But stately his step, and his bearing high,

And wild the light of his fiery eye;

And proud in the lists were the maiden bright

Who might claim the Knight of the Cross for her knight.

Came the scream of the owl on the night wind

borne:

And the turrets were falling, the vassals were flown
And the bat ruled the halls he had thought his own.
His heart throbbed high: oh, never again
Might he sooth with sweet thoughts his spirit's pain,
He never might think on his boyish years
Till his eyes grew dim with those sweet warm tears
Which hope and memory shed when they meet.
The grave of his kindred was at his feet.

He stood alone, the last of his race,

With the cold wide world for his dwelling place.
The home of his fathers gone to decay,-
All but their memory was pass'd away;
No one to welcome, no one to share
The laurel he no more was proud to wear:
He came in the pride of his war success
But to weep o'er very desolateness.
They pointed him to a barren plain

Where his father, his brothers, his kinsman were slain;
They showed him the lowly grave, where slept
The maiden whose scarf he so truly had kept;
But they could not show him one living thing
To which his withered heart could cling.——
Amid the warriors of Palestine
Is one, the first in the battle line;
It is not for glory he seeks the field,

For a blasted tree is upon his shield,

And the motto he bears, is "I fight for a grave:" He found it-that Warrior has died with the brave! L. E. L.

THE ROSE.

Nursed by the zepbyr's balmy sighs
And cherished by the tears of morn;
Oh, queen of flowers! awake! arise!
Oh haste, delicious rose, be born!
Unheeding wish! no-yet awhile,
Be yet awhile thy dawn delayed;
Since the same hour that sees thee smile
In orient bloom, shall see thee fade.
Themira thus, an opening flower,

Must withering droop at fate's decree;
Like her thon bloom'st thy little hour,
And she, alas! must fade like thee.

Yet go, and on her bosom die ;

At once, blest rose! thy throne and tomb;
While envious heaves my secret sigh
To share with thee so sweet a doom.

Love shall thy graceful bent advise,
Thy blushing, trem'lous leaves reveal;
Go, bright, yet hurtless, charm her eyes ;
Go, deck her bosoni, not conceal.
Should some bold hand invade thee there,
From Love's asylum rudely torn;

Oh, Rose! a lover's vengeance bear;
And let my rival feel thy thorn.

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