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June 6. livion, it would be necefsary to have them all rendered into Latin, and their use would be confined to a learned, quibbling, and designing set of statesmen and lawyers.

The French have been as busy in altering their language as their constitution. It was when one of their kings married an Italian princefs, that the changed the sound of the terminatian ois into that of ais; and as it was fhorter and more melodious to the ear, the sound was universally adopted; but the people in those days had more sense than to think of losing all their books by changing their language; and therefore no one thought of changing the spelling till the great Voltaire, who, like every one else, had his follies, introduced the ais; but yet it would not go down with the bulk of the nation till within these three or four years, when it would appear that the French looked on every thing that was old as detestible: They not only adopted M. Voltaire's improvement, but so many others, that I declare, though well versed in the French language, I cannot read a new French book without stammering at the sight of these absurdities.

I fhall just farther remark that many of our affected literati pretend to use such orthography, as honor, favor, &c. and fhould the final letter be, in course of time, omitted in pronounciation, which is by no means impofsible, by the same easy infatuation they may come to write ono, favo, and so on adieu then to old English!

Avoid such innovations as a deadly poison to the waluable body of English literature.

Leith 1792.

A. A. L


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For the Bee.

Yɛ fabled muses I your aid disclaim,

Your airy raptures, and your fancied flame,
True genuine woe my throbbing breast inspires,
Love prompts my lays and filial duty fires;
The soul springs instant at the warm design,
And the heart dictates ev'ry flowing line.

See! where the kindest, best of mothers lies,
And death has fhut her ever weeping eyes;
Has lodg'd, at last, peace in her weary breast,
And lull'd her many piercing cares to rest.
No more the orphan train around her stands,
While her full heart upbraids her needy hands;
No more the widow's lonely fate the feels,
The shock severe that modest want conceals,
Th' oppressor's scourge, the scorn of wealthy pride,
And poverty's unnumber'd illa beside;
For see! attended by th' angelic throng,
Thro' yonder worlds of light the glides along,
And claims the well earn'd raptures of the sky;
Yet fond concern recalls the mother's eye;.
She seeks th' unfriended orphans left behind,
So hardly left! so bitterly resign'd!
Still, still! is the my soul's divinest theme,
The waking vision, and the wailing dream;
Amid the ruddy sun's enliv'ning blaze,
· O'er my dark eyes her dewy image plays ;
And in the dread dominion of the night,
-Shines out again the sadly pleasing sight;
Triumphant virtue all around her darts,

And more than volumes ev'ry look imparts;
Looks!-soft, yet awful, melting, yet severe,
Where both the mother and the saint are seen.
But ah! that night-that tort'ring night remaine,
May darknéfs dye it with its deepest stains;
May joy on it forsake her rosy bow'rs,
And streaming sorrow blast its baleful hours!
When on the margin of the břiny flood,
Chill'd with a sad presaging damp I stood;
Took the last look ne'er to behold her more,
And mix'd our murmurs with the wat'ry roar;
Heard the last words fall from her pious tongue,
Then wild into the bulging vessel flung,
Which soon, too soon, convey'd me from her sight,
Dearer than life, and liberty, and light!

VOL, ix..

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Why was I then, ye pow'rs! reserv'd for this,
Nor sunk immediate in the vast abyfs?
Devour'd at once by the relentless wave,
And whelm'd for ever in a wat'ry grave?

Down ye wild wishes of unruly woe!
I see her with immortal beauty glow;
The early wrinkle, care contracted, gone,
Her tears all wip'd, and all her sorrows flown ;
Th' exulting voice of heav'n I hear her breath,
To soothe her in the agonies of death!
I see her thro' the blest apartments rove,
And now the meets her dear expecting love.
Heart-easing sight! if not in part o'erspread,
By the damp gloom of grief's unchearful fhade,
But round me, light! let this reflection pour,
Who from the night commands the fhining day,
The poor man's portion and the orphan's stay.


For the Bee.

DELIGHTFUL emblem of the god of love,
I know thee by thy sympathising smile,
With look imploring help from heav'n above,
And hand outstretch'd to give relief the while,

I know thee by thy soft angelic form,

And the big tear which glistens in thine eye;
Sure virtue doth with double grace adorn,

When beauty feels thy pow'r humanity!

Oh to the friendlefs still vouchsafe thine aid,
Heal the sad wound by misery imprefs'd;
Give them relief, sweet interested maid,

And lull their sorrows to the wifh'd for rest!
When thou dost dwell with riches wisely given,
We feel the pow'r which points the hand of heav'n.

Q. D. C.


HONOUR!-What art thou, pretty flying name?
A vision? a protection for the bafhful dame?
Away 'tis false;-for pleasure calls the fair,
Pleasure, alone, employs their utmost care;
Else why would she, whose soul once heav'nly shone,
Break her pledg'd honour, and make me undone ?
She faithlefs proves! her pleasure calls-Away!
Honour's but wind,-the vision of a day.





Franslated from the German.

GALILEO was twice brought before the Inquistion at Rome, because he defended the system of Copernicus, which appeared to be inconsistent with the sacred writings. The second time he lay long in prison, and in great uncertainty with regard to his fate; at last he was released upon this condition, that he should not depart from the duchy of Tuscany. The most important of his astronomical discoveries, made partly alone, and partly with assistance, are those which are mentioned in this dream. He lived, after his last imprisonment, at his country seat near Arcetri in Tuscany, having lost his sight, but enjoying, till his death, the society of Viviani, who was afterwards his biographer, and who was accustomed never to subscribe his name without the addition of the 'scholar of Galileo.' These few introductory observations will probably render the following efsay more intelligible than it would otherwise have been.

Galileo, whose labours in the cause of science had gi ven him so fair a claim to immortality, was now living at Arcetri in Tuscany, and enjoying a peaceful and honourable old age. He was already deprived of the noblest of his senses, but he still rejoiced at the appearance of the spring; partly on account of the return of the nightingale, and the sweet fragrance of the reviving blofsoms; and partly on account of the lively recollection which he still retained of the pleasures that were past.

It was in the last of these seasons which he lived to enjoy, that Viviani, the youngest and most affectionate of


his scholars, carried him out to the fields at Arcetri. perceived that he was advancing too far for his strength, and therefore intreated his conductor, with a smile, that he would not, in defiance of the prohibition, carry him beyond the boundaries of Florence; for you know, added he, the solemn engagement which I was obliged to come under to the Holy Inquisition. Viviani set him down, immediately, to recover his fatigue, upon a little mount, where, being still nearer to the plants and flowers, and sitting as it were amidst a cloud of fragrance, he recollected that ardent desire for liberty, which had seized him once at Rome upon the approach of the spring; and he was about to discharge upon his barbarous persecutors the last drop of bitterness which he had in his heart, when he checked himself suddenly with this exprefsion: rit of Copernicus must not be provoked.?

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Viviani, who was totally ignorant of the dream to which Galileo here alluded, begged for an explanation of these words; but the old man, who felt that the evening was too cool and moist for his weak nerves, insisted uponfirst being carried back to the house.

You know, he began when he had refreshed himself a little, with what severity I was treated at Rome, and-、 how long my deliverance was delayed, when I found that all the powerful intercefsions of my illustrious protectors, the Medicean princes, and even the recantation to which I had descended, remained wholly without effect, I threw myself down in despair upon my bed, full of the most melancholy reflections upon my fate, and of secret indignation against providence itself. So far, I exclaimed, as thy recollection extends, how blameless has been thy course of life! With what unwearied labour and zeal, for thy em-ployment, hast thou explored the labyrinths of a false philosophy, in search of that light which thou canst not find! Hast thou not exerted every faculty of thy soul to esta

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