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did eat. And when Abraham faw that the man bleffed not God, he said unto him, Wherefore doit not thou worship the Most High God, Creator of heaven and earth? And the man answered and faid, I do not worship thy God, neither do I call upon his name; for I have made to myself a god, which abideth always in my houte, and provideth ine with all things. And Abraham's zeal was. kindled against the man, and he arose, and fell upon him, and drove him forth with blows into the wilderness. And God called unto Abraham, saying, Abraham, where is the stranger: And Abraham answered and said, Lord, he would not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy name; therefore have I driven hin out from before my face into the wilderness. And God faid, hare I borne with himn these hundred and ninety and eight years, and nourished him, and clothed him, notwithstanding his rebellion against me; and couldit not thou, who art thyself a linner, bear with him one night.

The Tutor of Truth. By the Author of the Pupil of Pleau

sure, 2 vols, 5s, fewod, 6s, bound, Richardíon and Urquhart.

[Concluded from page 124.)

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Having already given an analitical sketch of this very amusing production, and considered it in contrast to the Pupil of Pleasure of the same author; as well as offered our general and comparative strictures of the beauties and defects of each; we shall close the article with a specimen or two from the work itself; not only, in justice to the ingenious writer, but in conforinity to our own promise.

The noble sentiments which breathe from Captain Carlisle (the Tutor of Truth) in answer to the more fashionable, and alas, inore PRACTIC A L'ones of Mr. Lascelles, his correspondent, (who had the unhappy Marchioness of N. in truft) are painted with peculiar force of reasoning, and beauty of colour, in the two following letters.

“ Mr. Lascelles to Captain Carlisle. " How pitiable it is, my dear Carlisle, that you should be so circumstanced as to find it utterly impossible to return the extatic fondness of this bewitching woman! She is absolutely an angel. Some new dresses have lately been put on, and the sets them off with such an elegance, such a taste, such a naiveté, it is impossible to look at her without an ejaculation of pleature and admiration, Allowing all your arguments their full force, I must still confess,

+ (Dr. Franklin, as I have been told, has often imposed this parable upon his friends and acquaintance, as a part of a chapter of Genesis. E.]

there with

there is a fomething cold and icy about your heart, that cannot be melted by such a blaze of beauty- especially as the lady is so per. fectly willing, and not at all unreasonably nice. She loves your person well enough to take it on your own terms: Ne does not pretend to capitulate the citadel is your own, and you may do what you will with it. Oh-said she, the other day (while the tears were streaming from her lovely eyes)-oh, that I could see him but one moment in every day, I would be content with annihilation for the rest of the twenty-four hours. By heavens, Carlisle, if any woman half fo beautiful had avowed fuch a sentiment in пу

favour, I would bave fhewn my gratitude for it at the price of

my

exiftence-but you, on the contrary, though as virtuous as a saint, are as frigid as a Freezelander. I question whether you ever approached the lips of this lovely one since they first declared a passion for you. li requires, I confess, all the elaborate excuses you have made, to wipe off the imputation of an insensible; and even after all your pains, I freely tell you, that I think you are too scrupulous upon this occafion. I speak frankly, out of pity to the Marchioness, and for your pleasure. Admitting your paffion for Miss De Grey to be ever fo great, what, I wonder, has that to do with a snug con. convenient beauty, by way of, my friend in a corner, at another quarter of the world' Your notions are absolutely antediluvian. I do not know another man in the world, who would not leap at your fituation. In the name of pleasure then, make the best of it! I thought at first as you do, but I speak now upon mature deliberation. There is no doubt but the Marchioness would change her name, live quietly in the place you provide for her, be happy as if in heaven to get a sight of you once a fortnight, and there would be an end of the thing. Do then, let me advise you, put a period to thefe complaints ; open the cage of the beautiful prisoner, and set the pretty little heart, that is now beating as it were at the wires till it pants again, perfectly at ease. It is with great diffi. culty I keep her from writing to you every day. The idea of the Marquis fets her already raving ; but I cannot by any means draw from her, nor can my filter, any account of her family, suppofed to be in town. She says, they would force her again to the arms of the detested Marquis. But I have proposed a proper salvo for all those fores, and if you have the least lively spark of the young man, or of merry human nature in you, you will not neglect it,

Adieu,

G. Lascelles, Captain Carlisle to G. Lafielles, Efq; * Your letter has not been an hour in my hand, and, although my heart was full of other matter, I have now neither ear nor pen for any thing but an answer to it. Do you know, in the first place, that I looked at your seal, and at your fuperfcription, and at the very ext of your litters, before I would credit the thing to be your's ? Is this age of forgery, I was in good hope, somebody had made free

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with my friend. But as it appears that the letter did absolutely proceed from you, I must proceed to an explicit reply.

“ Make a prostitute of the poor girl, Mr. Lascelles? Seek out a convenient apartment, and compel the charming eyes, which you say now weep with love, grow wild with the sparlings of rage and dilpair? What, Şir, would you wish mne to seclude her from all valuable fociety, and to sink her from a Marchidness of the firkt figure and fashion, to a mere mistress-from a young, elegant woman, to a scorned, abandoned daughter of the brothel! Is this the method in which you' would have me return my compliment, for a long, a weary, an hapless, and an unfortunate journey of a thousand miles? However misplaced the affection the is pleased to befow upon me, and however impossible it is for me to reward it, I am Atill bound to her even for her very misfortune. It is my fate, and not me, that declines what, in some cases, might have been my greatest bleffing. Surely, Mr. Lascelles, I owe her gratitude of a very different complexion from that blushless one, you recommend, My heart bleeds for her. From me the should claiin an atteorire anxiety how to recompense the throbbings in her bosom; the molt induftrious care to reconcile her again to her husband, to contrive means of healing up any breach, which my unfortunate acquaintance with that gentleman may have occasioned. These are the services the should expect from me, and to offer these is at once my study, and my effort. But I will not believe you ferious ; of, if you are, your compaffion has hurried you into a precipitancy, that only wants shewing you, to be repented of.

“ This, my dear Lascelles, is affuredly the case. Besides which, depend upon it, you have mistaken the Marchioness. She could not stoop to the ignominious terms you have proposed to me for her. If she really loves, there must be some degree of refinement in the partiality; and believe me, Lafcelles, many a woman has felt a secret predilection in a favour of a man, who would start with horror from act of predetermined perfidy. If it were not for the appearance of an implied compliment to myself, I should not at all fcruple to say, I believe, any partiality, Augufta may have, unluckily, conceived in my favour, proceeds, wholly, from some imaginary virtues which the is pleased to think I pofless. I dare fwear she is taken by certain qualities in your friend, which (as She has enriched and magnified them) appear to her deserving esteem. Upon this principle, you have, indeed, proposed an «ffeétual plan for making her deteft me. To discolour the image Mhe has flatteringly dressed up, by placing in its stead a seducer and ingrate, might perhaps prove a fuccefsful remedy: but this, my dear Laf celles, would be purchasing aversion more fatally than any thing that can reasonably arise out of the partiality itself. No, no, my friend.

“ Enough however has been urged: you are convinced, and, therefore, you are dear as you ever were, to

Clement Carlig.."

But

“ Esquire,

But as this (like most of our authors other works) partakes equally, of the humourous and the pathetic, the grave and the gay, we cannot forbear presenting to our readers, the truly laughable, ludicrous and original opinions of Mr. Hewson upon the dainty subject of good breeding and politeness, or as he calls it, pliteness ; in search of which he leaves his natural characters, which was rustic and inoffensive; till, in aiming at what he never can acquire, he becomes, as is ever the case, at once wretched and ridiuçulous.

“ Mr. Henry Hewson, to Mr. Heathcoate, Esq. I have not cathced up goose feather for some time. Case why? because I was amind to gee time for the perfaction of the thing I am got a woundly way since my last, and fancy a couple o'weeks more will finish me, that is, if Sir Andrew sticks close by me, and I continues to practise the thing-Cafe why? practise makes parfect. * To shew you that I ha’ not been filent for nothing, I must let you know that I ha'n't chang'd ten words with Heet this week. Cafe why? what's fo far from the goe of the genteel gig, as to take notice of one's houshould fpoufe before company; 'specially when a body is learning a touch of the times. To say truth, her lips looked develifh ruddy-t'other day, and I lent um a smack that echoed like waggon whip for I could not help it; seeing that's the's one of your dainty ones--but Sir Andrew foon took me afide, and ga’ me a bit of a lesson, and made me heartily ashamed on't. I must let you know too, that I manage my little bit of a black jack bobbithily, thof ribbons and flourrididles at fides tickle nape o' one's neck confumedly. Neither do I look fo damn'd ugly as might be furípeeted, regard to frenchfied foretop, and hair-bundles stuck out fide one's head. Fat of one's feace helps to take of hugeness of thing, which is but natural, seeing that one swells out t'other; and this makes feace and hair go, as a man may fay, cheek-by-jowl without quarreling. It's pity, I'm given to sweattin so much, as I find it don't do at all for a beiter-inolt person. I ha' got half a dozen fine white handkerchiefs, but the’re fo cussed cambricker that they are nothing in such a grepe as mine, and I melt so this sinoaking weather, that I make "cm every mother's fon quite of a stew. Truth is, I begin to see, pliteness has, like every thing else, 'vantages and not 'vantages. When I was an ignoramus, I used to fit in hall, or ride to hayfield with nightcap on head, or coloured, handkerchief under hat for 'vantage of dripping in suinmertide; but no such matter nowv; there's nothing so ill-bred as to be caught sweattiniz nay, more than that, 'tis quite out of the goe of the thing to mention the very word-'uis sweattin with fellers of yesterday, but, I find, 'tis preferation with folks that are obliged to be defunt. Sir Andrew has been at me fome time (seeing I can't keep this prese fieration to myself) to bleed and bolus for fix weeks or so, that I may vacuate some of my moifter, and dry up my porufles abit. 3

What

1

What do you think of this, Esquire? I hate purgers as I hate Luci. fer--Satancotus, as Gab calls him, but I would potecaryarize mye self for fake of good breeding. To tell you the truth, there is a sort of a pleasant comical nothing-at-all, in the life of your better most genii, that I like mortationly well indeed. I warrant you, we went it round the great garden last night by moon-shine for two hours--none but your tip-top specie, giggling and going it all the time-clack-clack-clack-•yes-yes-yes-no-no-no.

--ha! ha! ha!-he! he! he!-ci-cum, ti-tum-ti-ti-dum-Pardon me, Madam-pardon me, Miss,-Skufe me, Sirmour with the foot off with the hat-down with the breech-oh Esquire-Esquire Heathcoate, 'tis just the thing to a T. Last night a little afore we went awalkin, I finished giving the band, as they call it—that is to fay, getting a pretty lady over a gutter, for instance-or handia her over a puddle, or any thing the same way-allowing for th' alteration. I was once, before I had my fortune, low enough to say on such cassion, Come Bet, Het, Pol, Mol, Fan, Kit, or what not-allowing for the alteration -- Come, gee us your fift, or tip us your daddle...or lends hold o' your fore foot, else may hap you may draggle the tail o' you in the water. Odds merciful misere. cordibus! as Gab says, no such thing now by a million. Contrary so much, that one of the best things a better moft body can do, is to manage this matter as't should be. Sir Andrew himself, for fample, is the greatest dabiter in the world at it. For instance, there's he, there's a woman, and there's a crossing, or a flippihin of waterwash; mayhap, we'll say, covered o'er with stepping itones--Now mark, Esquire. Now comes your jemmy work---Well-o-get over they muft-.-Indulge me, Miss, or Madam, or my Lady, says he, allowing for th’alteration, with the favor of your fair hand... Sir, you are very plite. Well---what's next?' Whew.--She's a t'other fide. But how the miserecordibus did the

get der says you? Ah! there lies the point. Now I'll tell you. First, Miss, &c. allowing for the alteration, tucks up piece of petticoat, sets her pretty foot on stepping stone, news dainty turn'd ancle, and is obliged, for the sake of bettermost breedin, to look a little as if she was fcard, Oh, Lord---says she---Fear not, dear creature, divine angel, noble Madam, magnanimous Miss, &c. allows ing for the alteration---fear nothing; then, Esquire, he takes her hand, and takes her waist, and gię her a querrick, and they take a little bit of a thing 'twixt a hop and a jump, and he kisses her glove, and bends hinder-part, and bows head, and gets grin into's feace, and gis a bit of he, he, he, and shews his white, powderpurg'd grinders, and---and-.-'tis all over as neat as the lady's leg: 1 ha' been a long while on this head, case 'eis almost half

way

clean up to the top genii, and Sir Andrew 'clares 'pon his honour, no gentleman can do long without it---I ha' practis'd hugely, and I find I am up to every part of the puddle-pliteness, 'cept poufing out hinder-part, and getting the grin. In aiming at the first matter, I ha' overset one of Malter De Grey's china jars ; for the thing is natural. I a’n't made quite fo plite as I thould be 'bout the bottom VOL. XI. Bb

of

there I won.

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