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and happiness depend upon it. But the insolence of aristocracy is not confined to the affairs of governments, it is also observable in the church, where one would think all people should appear in a state of equality. I have seen the great man's pew in the church of England, raised far above the others, lined with crimson velvet, and furnished with curtains of silk, and satin cushions. At the approach of the wealthy booby, (may be seen) the votaries of aristocracy, who hear the sacred name of God, mentioned with indifference, bow with a cringing servility. Surely wealth, and not the blessed Redeemer, is the object such mortals adore; the reason is obvious, being blinded by the god of this world, they see pleasure only in the enjoyment of wealth; hence many who have not wealth in their own possession to worship, worship the wealth of those who look with contempt upon them; I mean the rich and the affluent. Little do they think that wealth too often is the source of pain instead of pleasure. Most as

suredly pleasure was made for man, and man was made for pleasure, and this pleasure is only to be found in the practice of virtue.

"Pleasure's the mistress of etherial pow'rs;
For her contend the rival god's above!
Pleasure's the mistress of the world below,
And well it is for man that Pleasure charms :
How would all stagnate but for Pleasure's ray
How would the frozen stream of action cease!
What is the pulse of this so busy world?
The love of pleasure: that, thro' ev'ry vein,
Throws motion, warmth and shuts out death from life.
Tho' various are the tempers of mankind,”
Pleasure's gay family holds all in chains.

Some most affect the black, and some the fair;
Some honest pleasure court; and some obscene.
Pleasures obscene are various. as the throng
Of passions that can err in human hearts,
Mistake their objects, or transgress their bounds.
Think you there's but one whoredom? whoredom all,
But when our reason licenses delight.

Dost doubt, O reader' thou shalt doubt to more.
Thy father chides thy gallantries, yet hugs
An ugly, common harlot in the dark,
A rank adulterer with other's gold;
And that hag, Vengeance, in a corner charms.
Hatred her brothel has, as well as Love,
Where horrid epicures debauch in blood.
Whate'er the motive, Pleasure is the mark;
For her the black assassin draws his sword;
For her dark statesmen trim their midnight lamp,
To which no single sacrifice may fall;
For her the saint abstains, the miser starves;
The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, scorn'd;

For her, Afiction's daughters grief indulge,
indulge,
And find, or hope, a luxury in tears;
For her guilt, shame, toil, danger, we defy,
And, with an aim voluptuous, rush on death;
Thus universal her despotic pow'r.

Every candid person must be constrained to acknowledge, that nature produces all the pre-requisites for the pleasureable gratification of man. Was man as true to man's interest as nature is, there would be no human being unhappy: But alas! this is not the case. Every day's report consolidates the beautiful and appropriate distich of the Scottish poet, viz.

"Man's inhumanity to man,

Make countless thousands mourn."

The world is full of Judas's, and especially in monarchical countries. How often has an expression of discontent at the usurpations of despotism, (perhaps innocently spoken, when the tongue was loosened by wine) been the death warrant of a man! How often have the cavalry been seen, trampling the oppressed multitude under their

feet, merely for the unpardonable crime, of begging a redress of their grievances! How often have the poor been hung like dogs, for stealing a few pence from the rich, while royal villains, right hon. robbers, and right rev. impostors, were at the same time circumventing the mouth of labour, and robbing the public of millions! Yet they pass on with impunity, solacing themselves in extravagant plenty,* at the expence of

* Who but unfeeling and servile tories, will censure me for being so pointed in my reproof of political and clerical impostors, and their partizans? Could they see, for one moment, the million of paupers now in England, (exclusive of the other parts of Europe) and the multitudes of starving widows, orphans, and decrepid old men in wretched cellars, garrets, prisons, and work-houses, driven thereto exclusively by political and ecclesiastical tyranny, they would be ashamed of their censure; and their hearts, if not made of stone, would almost weep blood. Could they at the same time, contrast the above misery, with the enormous power, imperious pride, and extravagant sensuality of what are called nobility and gentry, they would frown and weep by turns as a small specimen of which, I will here subjoin an official account of a noble marriage, which has recently taken place in England.

"The long-talked of matrimonial alliance between Mr. Pole (now Wellesley) and Miss Tylney Long, took place on Saturday evening. The parties met at

honour honesty, the tears of the orphan, and the groans of the oppressed.

lord Montgomery's house in Hamilton-place, Picċa. dilly, at 5 o'clock: and, about 6, accompanied by some of their nearest relatives, they went in lady Catharine Long's coach to St. James's Church in Piccadilly. The marquis of Wellesley handed Miss Long out of the carriage, and conducted her through the rector's house (Dr. Andrews) to the altar of Hymen. There were present at the ceremony (which was performed by Dr. Glass, Rector of Wanstead) Mr. Secretary Pole, lady Catharine Long, Miss Diána Long, and Miss Emma Long; the two latter were the bride's maids. The usual forms being gone through, the happy couple retired by the southern gate, which leads through the church yard, into Jermyn-street, Here a new and magnificent equipage was in waiting to receive them; it was a singularly elegant chariot, painted a bright yellow, and emblazoned, drawn by four beautiful Arabian grey horses, attended by two postillions, in brown jackets, with superbly embroid ered badges in gold, emblematic of the united arms of the Wellesley and Tylney families. The new married pair drove off with great speed for Blackheath, ing tending to pass the night at that tasteful chateau, belonging to the bridegroom's father, and thence proceeded to Wanstead House, in Essex, on the following day, to pass the honey-moon.

The bride's dress excelled, in costliness and beau'ty, the celebrated one worn by lady Morpheth, at the time of her marriage, which was exhibited for a fortnight at least by her mother, the late Dutchess of Devonshire."

The dress of the present bride consisted of a robe of real Brussels point lace; the device a simple sprig; It was plaited over with white satin. The head was

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