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zealous partizans appear ready to act, although they do not venture openly to profess them? But, if the false imputation of matters of opinion be justly reprehensible, how much more unpardonable is that of interested motives, and corrupt designs and intentions? How, after the experience of the last twenty or thirty years, it can still be asserted, by any person having the smallest pretension to truth or common honesty, (what, nevertheless we find unblushingly repeated in every page of every government journal, and often broadly insinuated, if not distinctly promulgated as the true political creed, from every quarter of the Treasury Bench), that the sole object of the party in opposition, is to dispossess their rivals, and bring themselves into place and power, and how an assertion, so self-evidently false, and almost ridiculous, can actually obtain credit, and pass current, with threefourths of the nation, is, I think, among the most inexplicable phenomena of modern politics. Yet the mischief of such a persuasion is as extensive as its absurdity should seem to be palpable. Great as the preponderance of the government scale now is, and long has been in the opinions of the country at large, yet the time is not quite arrived (and I hope to God it never will arrive-) for reposing a blind and unlimited confidence in any ministry, however popular and however virtuous. With all the vailing bias in favour of the present ministers, the people still require (and long may they continue to demand-) the constitutional check and security of a regular opposition. But, if that necessary and honourable part of our state establishment, whose legitimate office it is to watch the conduct of ministers, to weigh and investigate, and (for the purpose of their being the more scrupulously weighed and investigated) even frequently to oppose and impede, their minutest proceedings,if the regular and constitutional opposition be vilified and calumniated, their principles misrepresented, and their intentions falsified, what is the self-evident and immediate consequence? What?-but to throw the

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unreflecting part of the nation-of that nation which will not consent to become the mere blind tools and simple adherents of even the best administration-upon the hollow and dangerous protection offered them by a set of unprincipled adventurers against both the conflicting parties, making no scruple to bespatter them equally with the dirt which each, in its blindness, imagined to be safely employed as the instrument of attack upon the other? A general election is the fittest of all seasons to call forth in every breast which retains the smallest regard to truth and moderation of sentiment, observations of the nature of these which I have now addressed to you. On the more zealous and determined adherents of either party, I can have little hope that they are calculated to produce any effect; but if they should tend to preserve one candid and liberal mind from being merged in that vortex of faction, which threatens to swallow up all that remains of true honesty and sobriety in the nation, I shall be satisfied to bear all the rest of my life, the reproach which Mr Hob house-(not with much apparent justice or felicity,) the other day bestowed upon his less popular rival at Covent-Garden, and be classed, together with him, among those

"Vile neutrals, who in caution's middle steering,

Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring."

The "Golden Mean," which we were taught to venerate in our nurseries-the "Aurea Mediocritas," of which we read at school, and which was inculcated by Horace as the best standard to regulate the lives and actions of more than school-boys, has, since the new light of modern philosophy has visited us, (deservedly, I suppose,) been exploded and rejected. Yet," in the golden days of good Queen Bess," it was still regarded as the golden rule of practice; and the most moral poet of that glorious age has, in his most moral and divine poem, devoted one entire canto to the celebration of it. I am, Sir, yours, &c. METROdorus.

SELECTIONS FROM THE ST PRIEST MSs. No II.

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

Portrait of Lise (late Baroness of Stael Holstein, when Mademoiselle Necker,) by the Chevalier Charles Emmanuel de St Priest.

Par che n'egli occhi a vampi una facella.

No one posesses more wit than Lise. A ready conception; a retentive memory; a liveliness of repartee; a just coup d'ail, when she allows her attention to be fixed on any object; a sentiment of agreeable things; a facility in expressing them; information; accomplishments. She is mistress, in short, of all which is calculated to please; and this all is embellished by the natural charm of her expressions, when she describes the sensations she feels.

Too much ardour, or, at least, too great a vivacity, sometimes carries her beyond the bounds which custom seems to have prescribed. But until experience shall have given her a sufficient command over herself, to enable her to be fully sensible of the utility and wisdom of the received notions of what is fit and congruous, and shall have taught her to correct the work of nature without spoiling it, these transports, or, rather, these flights of the imagination, are not to be other wise regarded than as we see, in a young poet, those inordinate sallies which bid defiance to the rules of art, without, however, overstepping them, or claiming exceptions in their favour, but which announce the fire of genius, and are its scintillations.

Racine composed fine verses with facility: the rigid Boileau recommended to him to give them a still higher polish. The young poet, sensible of the goodness of his friend's advice, bestowed more pains on the composition of his pieces, and rendered them chefs-d'œuvres of harmony.

Such will be the operation of reason on Lise, when Lise shall have felt and judged she will perfectionate the work of nature * * * * * * if art were to interfere it would be a profanation.

The heart of Lise ought not to occupy my thoughts: my profession* condemns me to be ignorant of it. I

Orlando Furioso.

may, however, be permitted to say, that I think it susceptible. When she speaks of it herself, her expressions border somewhat on extravagance; but this is because her conceptions are not as yet to be confined within the narrow boundaries of what is real.— Her vague imagination creating in her fancy a chimerical being, the only one which has sufficient pretensions to please her, it is very natural that she should arrogate to herself sentiments which are not within the scope of humanity, to the end that she may be deserving of the phantom she embraces. Her talents are allied to her gayety, and partake of its freedom.

Her physiognomy indicates attention; but this is deranged at intervals by the movement of her eyes: sometimes mild in their expression, and often ardent; they are the mirror of her soul. When mention is made of her father, they are animated to an uncommon degree. If he were nothing more than an ordinary individual, she would betray her sensibility in speaking of him; but her heart rises to the level of the reputation of this celebrated man.

The sensation which is felt by those who listen to Lise for the first time is astonishment. She subdues the selflove of others without wounding it— and it is not long before each finds, to his surprise, that he is more deeply interested in the conquests of Lise than in his own.

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The Knights of Malta were enjoined a vow of celibacy.

Extract of a Letter relative to the Death of Voltaire, and that
of Jean Jacques Rousseau.

M. de Voltaire has just terminated his long career amid the honours paid to him by Parisian enthusiasm. He was crowned at the Theatre Français, at the close of the representation of his Irene, a tragedy which savours strongly of the chilled age when he wrote it. On quitting the theatre, he was surrounded by the minor poets, who demanded, on their knees, the honour of kissing his hands. This excess of enthusiasm, which was very ridiculous, became still more absurd on his reaching the house of Mr Franklin, who fell on his knees, and asked a blessing of him for his young nephew. The excruciating pains felt by M. de Voltaire led him to ask a remedy of his friend M. D. Richelieu, who laboured under the same complaint. The latter sent him opium, the remedy to which he had himself had recourse; and by its abuse he was poisoned. In his latest moments, he expressed a wish to consult M. Tronchin, of whom, however, he did not entertain the most favourable opinion, and treated him as a quack, his art as imposture, &c. Exasperated at these insults, M. Tronchin told him, with much gravity, that, at the most, he had not more than two hours to live, and that therefore it behoved him to see to his affairs. On this observation he was desired to withdraw.

M. de Voltaire now raised himself on his bed, with the help of his nurse and of his notary. The latter having handled him somewhat roughly, received a cuff, the force of which led him to enter his protest against the prognostic of the doctor. As soon as he was recovered from the disorder into which the awkwardness of the notary had thrown him, he said to himself, "At length I am to die. Be it so; but let my end be conformable to my life. It is more than probable that my body will be deposited in the Chantier (timber-yard) of Maurapas, where the ashes of La Couvreur repose. Forty years ago she would not permit me to sleep with sleep with her, but she will now be constrained

to endure me at her side." He was not allowed to be interred in Paris; and the church in which he was buried at Troyes en Champagne, has been interdicted. His punishment was well merited by him, seeing that he protested, until his latest hour, against the divinity of Jesus Christ. He even composed the following epigram, if it may be so named, against religion, and repeated it to his friends, when the agonies of death were fast approaching.

Adieu, mes amis,

Adieu, la compagnie,
Dans une heure d'ici,
Mon ame, anéantie,
Sera ce qu'elle était une heure avant ma vie.

I have not heard that he has as yet had an epitaph bestowed on him, unless the ines which have been handed about, and which are quite in the epigrammatic style, are to be considered as such.

De Voltaire admirez la bizarre planette:
Il naquit chez Ninon, et mourut chez Villette.

The latter is a young Swiss lady, of whom he was greatly enamoured, and whom he had married to M. de Villette.*

Jean Jacques Rousseau has rendered his end singularly interesting by the memoirs of his life, in which he has made an exact avowal of all his actions. These memoirs are comprised in an octavo volume, which sells at a most extravagant price. It is even said that copies have been purchased at as high a rate as eighty livres, (more than three guineas,) and from that to twenty-five. The dearness of the book arises from the vigilance of the police, and from its interest-for M. Rousseau has developed in it the intrigue of his novel. It is as follows: His Julie is Mademoiselle de Montmorency, married to a French nobleman, whose name I have not been able to learn, and whom he styles Madame Wolmar. This unfortunate female has been long dead; and it is said by several persons who were acquainted with Rousseau, that from that time he became unsocial and mis

A celebrated actress, denied, with all those of her profession in the Catholic states, Christian burial.

These details were given by M. Mercier, who was present when M. de Voltaire breathed his last.

mar.

anthropic. He acknowledges that he had carried on, during three months, an illicit intercourse with Madame de Montmorency, the mother of his Julie; and that this lady, conceiving herself to be the only object of his homage, had confided to him the education of her daughter, whom he seduced: That a nobleman had demanded her in marriage and that he, Rousseau, having had satisfactory proofs of the probity of this nobleman, had beseeched him not to entail misery on the young lady and on himself. To this he consented, and retired to his country seat. This personage is his Milord Edouard. That the Viscount de Montmorency, who is still living,* on his return from the war in Hanover, having perceived that intrigues were carrying on under his roof, dismissed M. Rousseau, and married his daughter to the nobleman known by the name of WolHe also says, that having become desperately enamoured of Madame de Montmorency's female attendant, his passion carried him to such a length as to instigate him to steal a gold trinket belonging to her mistress, with a view to criminate her: That having thrown out suspicions against this unfortunate girl, he caused her to be sent to prison, to the end that, as her deliverer, he might acquire certain rights over her person; and that, if she had not yielded to his passion, he would have had the courage to see her hanged, and to despatch himself afterwards with a poignard: That being in extreme distress, a doctor of the Sorbonne, whom he names, proposed to him to write against religion. This offer he accepted, and took care to fulfil his engagement. He names a dozen women of quality, still living, from whom he received favours, at times and under circumstances, which carry with them a great air of probability. His mistress is the daughter of M. le Vasseur, a director of imposts at Dijon. By his persuasives she was led to elope with him. Having brought together, at a dinner party, Messrs Diderot, d'Alembert, and

others, he presented to them this female, saying, "I call God and my friends to witness that I acknowledge no other wife beside Mademoiselle le Vasseur." By this woman he had four children, three of whom are, agreeably to his testimony, in the foundling hospital. With the destiny of the other he professes to be unacquainted.

66

(Here is introduced an extract from the preface to THE CONFESSIONS," already before the public. What follows, as referring to the manner of Rousseau's death, is not so well known. A loose hint is thrown out by Madame de Staël, in her memoirs of this extraordinary character, that a suspicion was entertained of his having been taken off by poison. The particulars are these.)

The mausoleum of Jean Jacques Rousseau is at Ermenonville, where he died, in the house of his friend the Marquis de Girardin. The cause of his death has been disguised, by ascribing it to an attack of apoplexy. He died of poison, because his memoirs had appeared before the time he had prescribed; and it was the infidelity of his mistress, who had stolen them from him, which led him to have recourse to poison. He is buried in a small island formed by a lake, in the centre of a sombre group of trees, in which he took particular delight. On one side of his tomb, which is a square of six feet, surmounted by a cornucopia, M. Girardin has inscribed the following lines.

Ici, sous ces ombres paisibles,
Pour les restes de Jean Jacques Rousseau,
L'amitié posa ce tombeau:

Mais c'est dans tous les cœurs sensibles
Que cet homme divin, qui fut tout sentiment,

Doit trouver du respect l'eternal monument.

The other side of the tomb has a musical trophy for his operatic piece, 66 LE DEVIN DE VILLAGE." Behind is a woman in tears, giving her breast to an infant, who holds in his hands "L'EMILE." The third side represents two doves billing, as an emblem of the " NOUVELLE HELOISE."

* This was written shortly after the death of Rousseau. VOL. VII. D

new connexions grown up which you must again destroy, new influence acquired which you must dispossess of its authority, and that in these fruitless attempts at unattainable purity you were working against the natural current of human nature.

I believe, therefore, that, contrive how you will, some such humble motives of action will find room to operate in the election of members of Parliament. I think that it must and ought to be so, unless you mean to exclude from the concerns of the nation all inert wealth, all inactive talent, the retired, the aged, and the infirm, all who cannot face popular assemblies or engage in busy life; in short, unless you have found some expedient for disarming property of influence, without (what I hope we are not yet ripe for) the abolition of property itself.

I would have by choice-if the choice were yet to be made-I would have in the House of Commons great variety of interests, and I would have them find their way there by a great variety of rights of election; satisfied that uniformity of election would produce any thing but a just representation of various interests. As to the close boroughs, I know that through them have found their way into the House of Commons men whose talents have been an honour to their kind, and whose names are interwoven with the history of their country. I cannot think that system altogether vicious which has produced such fruits. I cannot think that there should be but one road into that assembly, or that no man should be presumed fit for the deliberations of a senate, who has not had the nerves previously to face the storms of the hustings.

I need not say, Gentlemen, that I am one of the last men to disparage the utility and dignity of popular elections. I have good cause to speak of them in far different language.But, among numberless other considerations which endear to me the favours which I have received at your hands, I confess it is one, that as your representative I am enabled to speak my genuine sentiments on this (as I think it) vital question of Parliamentary Reform, without the imputation of shrinking from popular canvass, or of seeking shelter for myself in that

species of representation which, as an element in the composition of Parliament, I never shall cease to defend.

In truth, Gentlemen, though the question of Reform is made the pretext of those persons, who have vexed the country for some months, I verily believe that there are very few even of them who either give credit to their own exaggerations, or care much about the improvements which they recommend. Why, do we not see that the most violent of the Reformers of the day are aiming at seats in that assembly, which, according to their own theories, they should have left to wallow in its own pollution, discountenanced and unredeemed? It is true, that if they had found their way there, they might have endeavoured to bring us to a sense of our misdeeds, and to urge us to redeem our character by some self-condemning ordinance; but would not the authority of their names, as our associates, have more than counterbalanced the force of their eloquence as our Reformers.

But, Gentlemen, I am for the whole constitution. The liberty of the subject as much depends on the maintenance of the constitutional prerogatives of the Crown, on the acknowledgment of the legitimate power of the other House of Parliament, as it does in upholding that supreme power (for such it is in one sense of the word, though not in that of the Revolution of 1648,) the power of the purse which resides in the democratical branch of the constitution. Whatever beyond its just proportion was gained by one part, would be gained at the expense of the whole; and the balance is now, perhaps, as nearly poised as human wisdom can adjust it. I fear to touch that balance, the disturbance of which must bring confusion on the nation.

Gentlemen, I trust there are few, very few, reasonable and enlightened men ready to lend themselves to projects of confusion. But I confess I very much wish, that all who are not ready to do so would consider the ill effect of any countenance given, publicly or by apparent implication, to those whom, in their heart and judgments, they despise. I remember that most excellent and able man, Mr Wilberforce, once saying in the House of Commons, that he "never believed an opposition really to wish mischief

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