letting himself down from a lofty window; one of the knots on which he depended, slipping, the unlucky projector fell with violence to the ground, and receiving many and great bruises died shortly after. When we recollect the powers and mysterious qualifications of Kelly, it seems strange that he could not convey himself out of prison in a safer and more dexterous way; he who could raise the dead from their graves, and turn a warming pan to gold, might surely by art, magic, or chymic, have converted bolts, bars, locks, and chains, into that precious metal, and thus have been furnished with ample means of purchasing the connivance of his keepers. Thus, if we may believe his biographer, thus lived and thus died Edward Kelly: one of his associates, a famous conjurer in his day, Dr. Dee, had another project, not to change metals, but fluids into gold; in this plan the doctor and Kelly, before he went beyond sea, succeeded to their wish. They persuaded their deluded followers that they had found a large quantity of a precious elixir, in a vault among the ruins of Glastonbury abbey: of this they made a pretty penny." It is sometimes fortunate for mankind that rogues do not long agree; the point on which Dee and Kelly disputed was curious; Dee asserted, that the spirits with which he conversed were angelic, this position Kelly, stoutly denied, insisting, "that the whole of their proceedings were mere illusions of the devil." The subject of this article was author of a curious and scarce book, "De Lapide Philosophorum. Hamburgh, 8vo. 1676." Kelly is also noticed in a work published by Meric Causabon, called "A true and faithful relation of what passed between Dr. Dee and certain Spirits. London, 1659. KYTE, SIR WILLIAM, a baronet of large property and respectable family in the county of Warwick. At the customary age he mar ried an amiable woman of his own years and rank, had several beautiful children, and lived apparently happy. But in an ill starred or an imprudent moment, he offered himself at a contested election to represent the borough of Warwick. This party-struggle involved him in expences which considerably injured his fortune, and led to events which ultimately overwhelmed him in irreparable calamity, ruin, and disgrace. During the election Sir William had received important help from the zeal and activity of Jones, an in-keeper of Warwick; at the close of the poll, after paying his bill, the baronet thanked him, asking at the same time, if there was any thing in which he could serve him. she attacked her unfaithful busband in the bitterest language of virulent reproach and abuse. HADI ADY KYTE MODERATED HER RESENTMENTS, TILL THE FONDNESS FOR THE FAVORITE ABATED, WHICH FOR HER OWN SAKF, AND THAT OF HER CHILDREN, SHE OUGHT TO HAVE DONE, THE WANDERER MIGHT HAVE BEEN RECLAIMED, AND A LARGE PORTION OF EVIL AND REGRET MIGHT HAVE BEEN PREVENTED. The freeman of Warwick replied, that he had a house full of daughters unprovided for, and if lady Kyte, in her own family, or among the ladies of her acquaintance, could get three or four of them genteel easy places, as their the injured wife observed no mother and the mantua-maker had spoilt them for hard work, it would be easing him of a heavy burthen. Lady Kyte, who had caught the electioneering spirit of her husband, and felt obliged to Jones, agreed to take the eldest daughter, Molly, as her own maid; she was a tall, well-formed girl, with eyes not safe to look at, and a fine complexion, but appeared innocent and modest. Sir William, at first, took little notice of his new domestic, and affected to speak against her; but in a few years the servants remarked that Molly Jones was too great a favorite with her master, and the unwelcome intelligence at length reached the unhappy wife, whose passions getting the better of her discretion, Unfortunately for all parties, bounds of decency or moderation in her resentments, grossly reviling Sir William daily and hourly, in bed and at board, before his servants, and in the presence of all companies. Though criminal and inexcusable, perceiving that domestie happiness was destroyed, he resolved to separate, and seek a quiet home. Having a large farm-house on the side of the Cotswold hills. he retired to it with Molly and hist two eldest sons; the situation was fine, nature having been lavish of wood, water, and hanging hills, with a picturesque prospect of the delightful vale of Evesham: but what are these, or indeed any gifts of fortune without domestic peace? To shew his fondness for the favorite, favorite, he took down the old in the undisturbed possession of house and built a handsome mansion, with extensive pleasuregrounds and garden; before it 'was completed, two expensive side fronts were added, because Molly, who was a wit as well as a beauty, happened to say-“What is a Kite without wings?" This building, which cost more than ten thousand pounds, added to the baronet's pecuniary embarrassments and his domestic indiscretion, threw him occasionally into melancholy and dejection, for which he had recourse to the bottle, deep play, and a continual round of male visitors. But the time approached when Molly, in her turn, was to be supplanted.. There had been taken into the house, to assist in the dairy, a fresh coloured country girl, whose cheeks, bosom, and hands were described by one of Sir William's drinking companions, as hard as the milking-stool on which she sat. With no other attractions, Sir William, at the age of fifty-two, became enamoured of a girl of nineteen; Molly soon observed the growing passion, and either from resentment, contempt, or a dread of ill usage, immediately quitted the house. his bumble flame, but soon found the degrading and delusive nature of indulging vicious passions; he felt also the absence of Molly, who, excepting her disgrace in yielding to the licentious solicitations of her master, had many good qualities and useful donrestic qualifications. When his appetite for coarse vulgarity was satiated, he could not help making a comparison between the wife, and even the mistress he had deserted, and the present companion he had chosen; these reflections cooled his ardor, neglect and disagreement followed, and the ruddy milk-maid who thought herself meat for her master and on a perfect equa❤ lity, disgusted at his treatment or terrified by the fury of his looks and his frantic conduct, decamped in the night. Thus left as it were alone in the magnificent but fatal mansion he had reared, his fis of melancholy returned with augmented depressions; despair, death, and hell haunted his imagination; short intervals of relief were procured by intoxication; his creditors were urgent, and at length, in a moment of hopeless perplexity, considering himself as hateful to and deserted by God and man, and with the hor Sir William thus seemed left rors of eternal punishment blazing in his imagination and crowding his heart, he set fire to the house, and was himself, with all it contained burnt to ashes. Such were the deplorable effects of licentiousness and vice Improbe cupido, quid non mortalia pectora cogis! fuisti ante Helenam belli teterrima causa. Many years after this shocking catastrophe, Molly Jones was recognized by one, who had known her in her days of criminal elevation on the Coteswold hills; she was recognized as the mistress of a little school for children at Cambden, a market town in an adjoming county. Having by her correct conduct and mild manners in some mea sure atoned for her former crimes, she was encouraged, pitied, and respected by all the neighbours; her last days were spent in pious and useful occupation; relying on the intercession of a redeeming Saviour, and proving the sincere efficacy of her repentance by a meliorated life, she died in the calm comfort of hope. ABIENUS, TITUS, a native of Cingulum, or as it is now called, Cingulo, in the march of Ancona, who served as one of the lieutenants under Julius Cæsar in his conquest of Gaul. secured the confidence of that consummate general, having contributed essentially to his splendid victories; but the moment he perceived, that Cæsar aimed at supreme power and disobeyed the orders of the senate, he avowed his submission to the constituted authorities of the republic, and retired at the moment the dictator's army traversed the Rubicon, which he considered as the signal of revolt. The Roman commander felt considerable regret at the loss of so useful and honest a man, and to shew the sense he entertained of his worth, sent his equipage, baggage, and arrears of pay, to Labienus, accompanied with a letter, in which he acknowledged his merits, and lamented the fatal necessity which separated them. The republican was received with open arms by Pompey and his friends, and was warmly praised by Cicero ; yet in pro secuting Rabirius, whom the Roman orator defended in an animated oration, part of which is still extant, he became an ob ject of the lawyer's invective. Rabirius, many years before, in one of those struggles between the Patricians and Plebeians, which perpetually agitated re In this post he deserved and publican Rome, had assisted the senate senate and consuls, and killed Saturninus, a tribune of the people, who with a collection of seditious malcontents had taken possession of the capital. Rabirius was tried before two commissioners from the senate and found guilty of the crime, but appealed to a general assembly of the people. It was on this occasion that the oration of Cicero for Rabirius, of which a part only remains, was spoken; but in spite of all his efforts, Labienus was on the point of again succeeding against Rabirius, when Quintus Metellus Celer, who presided at the meeting, assuming a real or pretended power, and probably seeing there was no other method of saving Rabirius, ordered the standard of the republic, which was always displayed on such occasions, to be immediately lowered, and stopped further proceedings by declaring the assembly dissolved. Labienus and the enemies of the accused man, aware of the danger of agitating party questions, and probably convinced that the person slain was a rebellious insurgent, relaxed their zeal, the question was permitted to rest, and Rabirius ultimately escaped. There was nothing peculiarly prominent or highly interesting in the conduct of Labienus and 119 in my opinion, tried on the unerring touchstone of expediency, he did wrong to throw himself at once into the arms of the enemies of his old commander and associate; but HE APPEARS TO HAVE MEANT WELL, a most important feature in any character, and fully sufficient to hide or excuse a multitude of faults. Selfishness appears to have been no part of his character; he was evidently actuated by public spirit, and glowed with patriotic zeal as the citizen of a democratic republic, which he considered as the acme of political perfection, the established constitution of his country. Stimulated by this honest impulse, and feeling powerfully such convictions, he tore himself from a commander to whom he was attached by the double ties of interest and gratitude, under whose auspices he had attained wealth and renown and planted the Roman eagle on the banks of the Rhine In the high tide of fortune, fame, and preferment, he joined a sinking party, became an ex-: ile from that country whose battles he had been fighting, and joining Pompey in Spain was slain in an engagement on a spot now occupied by the city of Ossuna in the province of Andalusia. LAND |