I returned into Devonshire, and lived upon my estate, without meddling with my ready mony, which I reinstated in the stocks, and there left it to accumulate. I faw no company for the first fix months I came down, but my acquaintance the vicar and his family, and with them only, and my favourite fervant, whom I had put upon the footing of my companion, more than a dependant, did I once more recover my tranquillity; and fuch was the effect of high health and Spirits in me, that when I was entirely recovered, and my complexion efta blished, I used now and then, when I look'd at myself in the glass, think that I was yet too young to bury myself fo entirely from the world. This was alfo what my Companion would fuggeft; but I anfwer'd her always in the common-place cant, that happiness is contentment, and we shou'd not give encouragement to our wishes, the events of which may be dangerous, and that innocence and temperance was the only state of joy among mortals for I wou'd philofophife as well as Seneca. But now, how I despise their unfeeling declamations; how eafy is it for affluence, lolling on a fofa, in a well warmed room, the floor carpet fpread, and every fide of the place where he is repofing beaming taste and fplendor. How eafy, is it for fuch a one to reafon upon the hardships of life, and talk of the charms of philofophy, and that philofophy will teach you to bear them, and that philofophy is an antidote to adverfity, and that philofophy ishang up philosophy. or give it the infolvent, who wanders wethod along the street in a wet winter's night, and see what he'll fay to it. Enquire of nature after philofophy; her answer will be, that the quack reason has hired him to be his merry andrew, but for her own part fhe keeps no fuch company. One day Mr. Dernly, that was the vicar's name with whom I had lived in the Southams, calling to see me, and the converfation happening to be on the ill ufage I had received from my hufband. He begged to know, what my husband meant by his inuendo in the letter to him, of what I had been formerly. I was in one of thofe communicative moods, which perhaps reader you may have at times been seized with, viz. the pleasure of Speaking about yourself. I related to him the most material tranfactions of my life. As I had always, from his deportment, from the manner in which he brought up his family, and from the very particular and fubmiffive manner in which he always behaved to me, thought no inquietude could happen to me, from his knowing what I had been formerly. No inquietude indeed of confequence did happen from it; but I loft a friend, a fincere friend by it, and gained -a lover-a fulfome admirera gallant turned of forty-a father of children. — Clergymen are liable to be tempted as well as laymen; but I no more fufpected, that he would ever affume the man of intrigue with me, than I did, that I would ever grant him the last favour. But from the day I acquainted him with what I had been, his manner of talking to me was in a lefs respectful ftile than usual.— I caught him several times glaring at me, with eyes that to me too well spoke what he wished for. When we were together, he fought every occafion of taking hold of my hands, of playing with them, and in about a fortnight after relating to him my life, he used to make as free with my lips, as if he had really been married to me. But every trivial advance of this fort which I permitted, was not out of an extraordinary inclination or liking to the man, the particular man whom I fuffer ed ed to kiss me - all thofe delicacies of connection between affection and embrace were dead in me, like a boarding fchool girl, only now confidered the immediate contact of the fexes, all the remains of depraved appetite glowed a gain in my blood, and I became eager after fenfualities. My husband had left me upwards of a year, and during all that time I had not been guilty of the least action of irregularity. But I began to be warmed by the kiffes of my new fuitor. Curiofity, my own inclination, and that unaccountable maxim of our fex, viz. If I have a mind to do it, who fall binder me-hurried me on, and I commenced an intrigue with Dernly. But here was no gay defires, wanton murmurs, no Cupids flying with feftoons of roles over our heads, nor little dimpled Loves laughing at our dalliance; with us it was only mechanical fruition, just the fame appetite as we fat down to dinner with. In this hoggifh commerce, for it was hardly more than a drunken man's frolic for though true voluptuoufnefs, where the mind acts in union, and the - fpirits of each fide are all in full flow, enjoyment, even kiffing, is exquifite the mere fenfuality of what is called poffeffion, is rather to be despised than defired. One funday, Mr. Dernly officiating for the clergyman of the parish where I lived; I went to church, and much to my surprise, heard him preach a fermon against adultery. I was terrified at his hypocrify; and went home shocked to think, that I could ever, and by choice too, or at least by a fort of inclination, receive any man in my arms who dared to mock religion, and in the houfe of prayer. I told my fervant of my surprise when I came home, but the had heard the fermon, and was not a whit lefs aftonished than I was. I was determined to break off the connection, which I immediately did, and fet out for London the next day, in fpite of all his intreaties to the contrary. When I came to London, the first bufinefs I went upon was, to enquire what was become of my husband, that most grateful of all men. Poor creature, he came ashore but the day before I arrived in London; the lady whom he had taken over had left. him for a richer lover; that, and I believe fome reflection on how he had ufed me, had fettled upon his mind, and he pined away by degrees. The death of his elder brother, which happened in about feven months after he landed there, made him worth upwards of ten thoufand pounds; but this could not make him eafy; all his cry was, he would come and die in England, bring me his fortune, and beg my forgiveness; all which happened as he defired, he found where I lived. At first fight of him my refentment vanished; and I for the remainder of his life, which was not above four months, convinced him I had entirely forgot any former errors. After his death, I once more retired. to my Devonshire effate, and there I now employ myfelf in doing works of charity and have at last found, that, fpite of all our fantastic dreams of joy, either from wit, fplendor, intrigue, homage, or any other incidental epicurean luxury, there is no permanent pleasure, no folid happiness, that can be felt, but only what arifes from the fatisfaction of DOING GOOD. X:(XX)X·****** From the ST. JAMES'S MAGAZINE, The TEMPLE OF FAVOUR. BY ROBERT The shepherd who furvey'd the deep, So So fares it with us fons of rhime, The harlot muse so paffing gay, Thro' every age, in ev'ry place, Too careless of the means to live: O glorious trade, for wit's a trade, And teach the world fome useful shame. Tranfient is fame's immediate breath, Own then, with Martial, after fate But in Apollo's court of fame Far in the fea a temple stands Is built upon the wings of dreams; Caprice, Opinion, Fashion wait, name, The The fools grow frantic, in their pride With fhrug, grimace, nod, wink, and ftare, So proud, he almost treads in air; While levee fools, who fue for place, Crouch for employment from his grace, And e'en good bishops, taught to trim, Forfake their God to bow to him. 粤 The poet in that happy hour, Imagination in his pow'r, Walks all abroad, and unconfin'd, Enjoys the liberty of mind : 1 Shifts the light gale: and tempefts rude, And years roll round without a fpring; Let others, with fubmiffive knee, Capricious goddess! bow to three ; Let them with fixt inceffant aim Court fickle favour, faithlefs fame; Let vanity's fastidious flave Lote the kind moments nature gave, In invocations to the fhrine Of Phoebus, and the fabled Nine, 1 Yield to the dunce his fenfe contemns, For me, by adverse fortune plac'd But, fond of liberty, difdains To bear restraint, or clink her chains; Nor would, to gain a Monarch's favour, Let dulnefs, or her fons, enflave her. "Perife my ftrains when e'er one venalline poet's dreams, And yet fome bards who thus have fung or faid Wou'd fell their king and country too for bread, M-l-t or H-me to this make no objection, Nor take it as a national reflection, I mean nor this, nor that, or t'other nation, But bards of every kingdom, state or sta For who is great but also wou'd be thought To be the wife, the honest man he ought? Put to the blush if then the Great to own Themselves inferior to their state or throne, They buy t'avoid the taunts of public fhame, of mercenary bards.immortal fame : While little wits like fnarling puppies bark And fnap at reputations in the dark; Play e'en with merit the most wicked sport, Revile good kings and rail at every court, Sans reafon brand their governor's alike, And strike at all-not knowing were to ftrike. The pointed arrow lights upon his grace, His lordship, or some wight of pow'r and place; Where'er it falls the fting is felt severe And fcandal foon attracts the public ear, Report it's emiffaries fpreads around; "Who is the author?-Where's he to be found?". Hope of reward unfolds the secret soon, And gladly Codrus owns the sharp lam more; Codrus accepts the cash, but gives his word, Nay, pawns his honour, he ne'er meant my lord; Wonders his lordship hou'dbe so mista'en, But never fends the money back again; Taught in the moral school of old plump Jack* He likes not that fame trick" of paying back." But to convince the noble peer the better, Sends him a cringing panegyric letter, Orelfe in pompousftrains of verfe andode, Makes the vile mortal, an immortal God; With ev'ry virtue bids his vices thine, And lo! the devil himself is all divine. Greatnels! I prithee tell me, which is worst, |