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CONJUGAL LOVE.

HARLES EMANUEL, DUKE of SAVOY,

Chad fome pretenfions on the city of Geneva,

and endeavoured, in the beginning of the laft century, to feize upon it by furprize for this purpose he affaulted it in the night time, but the fuccefs did not anfwer his expectations; the alarm being fpread, before a fufficient number of affailants were got upon the walls, the inhabitants beat immediately " to arms," and foon repulfed the befiegers, too weak to refift their united efforts. Thofe who had the misfortune of falling into their hands, were condemned to fuffer an ignominious death. Amongst the prifoners, there was an officer of diftinction. The news of his fate was carried to the ears of his wife, who, although big with child, flew to the place deftined for the execution of her husband, and on her knees craved the permiffion of embracing him for the last time. This demand was cruelly denied her, and the officer was hanged before her eyes, without its being poffible for her to approach him. She followed, however, the corpfe of her dear husband to the spot where it was to be expofed. There the fat down, before the mournful fpectacle, and perfifted in remain

ing there; it not being poffible for any one to prevail on her to take food or nourishment, or to draw her attention one moment from the cherished body, till death (which the impatiently waited for) came at laft, and shut her for ever.

eyes

VANITY.

ANITY is little elfe than an officious, civil, filly thing, that runs on errands for its betters, and is content to be paid with a fmile for its good-will by those who have too much good fenfe to fhew it any real refpect: when it is harm. lefs, it would be hard to wound it, out of wantonnefs; when it is mischievous, there is merit in chaftifing it with the whip of ridicule. A lapdog may be endured, if he is inoffenfive, and does not annoy the company; but a fnappifh, barking pet, though in a lady's arms, deserves to have his ears pulled for his impertinence.

The greatest human virtue bears no proportion to human vanity. We always think ourfelves better than we are, and are generally defirous that others fhould think us ftill better than we really think ourselves.

Thofe,

Thofe, whom their virtue restrains from deceiving others, are often difpofed by their vanity to deceive themselves.

We are sometimes bewildered by ignorance, and sometimes by prejudice; but we feldom deviate far from the right, but when we deliver ourfelves up to the direction of vanity.

A SACRED LYRIC,

Wrote by a YOUTH of 14, then at GLOUCESTER SCHOOL, on his being awakened, FEB. 3, 1749, by a violent STORM of THUNDER and LIGHTNING.

L

OCK'D in the arms of balmy sleep,
From ev'ry care of day;

As filent as the folded sheep,
And as fecure I lay.

Sudden tremendous Thunders roll,
Quick Lightnings round me glare;
The folemn fcene alarms the foul,
And wakes the mind to prayer.

Whate'er, O Lord, in this still hour,

Thefe awful founds portend!

Whether

Whether fole engines of thy power,
Or groans for Nature's end!

Grant me to bear with equal mind,
Thefe te rors of the sky;
For ever as thou wilt, refign'd,

Alike to live or die.

If wak'd by thy vindictive hand,
This mighty tempeft ftirs;
That peal the voice of thy command,
Thofe flames thy meffengers.

Welcome the bolt, where'er it fall,
Beneath the paffing sun;
Thy gracious will determines all,
And let that will be done!

By all whom each explofion fhakes,

One truth be understood; The glorious God the Thunder makes, And all he makes is good.

But if, as Nature's laws ordain,
Not deftin'd by thy will;

The bolt exerts its wild domain,

Self-authoris'd to kill.

Quick interpofe all-gracious Lord,
In this remorseless night;
Arife-and be alike ador'd,
For mercy-as for might!

Vouchfafe amidst this time of dread,
Thy fuppliant's voice to hear;
O fave from harm each friendly head,
And all my foul holds dear!

Let it not kill, where riot foul
Pours forth the drunken jest;
Nor where the guilt-envenom'd foul,
Starts wild from troubl'd reft.

A while O fpare these finful breasts,
Whofe deeds the night deform;
But ftrike where fmiling virtue refts,
Unconscious of the ftorm.

Succour the couch where beauty lies,
All pale with tender fear;
Where fickness lifts its languid eyes,
O pour thy comforts there!

Nor useless wafte this moral night,

Like common hours away;

But

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