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Life of William Hutton.

[VOL. 2.

servedly celebrated memoir of Benjamin dissenters were foremost in their quarrel Franklin, whose character in many respects

greatly resembled that of William Hutton. Wwith Charles the First, but they only Matters, They were both nearly self-taught, both meant a reform of abuses. were bred to mechanical employments, with- however, were soon carried beyond their but any prospect beyond that of a decent

of

competency, and yet both attained a dis- intention, and they lost their power. tinction in the world of letters, acquired in- They who brought him into trouble, dependence, if not affluence, in the most tried to bring him out. They were honourable way, and reached to a period considerably beyond the ordinary limits of afterwards the first to place his son, human life. Mr. Hutton began to be an Charles the Second, upon the throne, who author at the age of fifty-six, and he closed his own narrative on his birth-day, October requited them evil for good. After suf11th, 1812, when he entered his ninetieth fering various insults from the house of year.] New Mon. Mag. Stuart, the dissenters were materially inTHE RIOTS OF BIRMINGHAM IN 1791. strumental in promoting the revolution, and upon this depended the introduction BIRMINGHAM, tho' nearly with the Hanoverian line, which, to a man, out a government, had continued in they favoured. In a thousand mobs, in harmony during the forty years of my 1714, to oppose the new government, residence. Religious and political dis- could have been found no more presbyputes were expiring, when, like a smoth- terians than in the Birmingham jury who ered fire, they burst forth with amazing tried the rioters. Nor was there one fury. I have, in the history of this presbyterian in the rebellion the followplace, celebrated the mild and peaceable ing year, nor in that of 1745. In both demeanour of the inhabitants, their indus- periods they armed in favour of the house try and hospitality; but I am extremely of Brunswick. Their loyalty has conconcerned that I am obliged to soil the tinued unshaken to the present day, withfair page with the black cinders of their out their ever having been disturbers of burnt buildings. A stranger would be their country. They concluded, theretempted to inquire, whether a few Bon- fore that they had a right to the privileges ners were not risen from the dead to es- of other subjects. They meant no more. tablish religion by the faggot? or, wheth- Those who charge them with designs er the church was composed of the dregs either against church or state, do not of the universe, formed into a crusade? know them. No accusation ought to be or, whether the friends of the king were admitted without proof. Can that peothe destroyers of men? In the dark ages ple be charged with republicanism, who papist went against protestant, but in this have, in the course of one hundred and enlightened one it is protestant against thirty-two years, placed five sovereigns protestant. But why should I degrade on the British throne? As I was a the word religion? He who either member of that committee, I was well prompts or acts such horrid scenes, can have no religion of his own.

The delightful harmony of this populous place seems to have been disturbed by FIVE occurrences.

acquainted with the proceedings, and will repeat two expressions uttered at the board. Mr. William Hunt remarked, "That he should be as strenuous in supporting the church of England as his A public library having been instituted own." The whole company, about upon an extensive plan, some of the twenty in number, acquiesced in the senmembers attempted to vote in Dr. Priest timent. This gentleman verifies his asley's polemical works, to which the sertion, by subscribing to more than one clergy were averse. This produced two parties, and its natural consequence, animosity in both. Whether the gentlemen of the black gown acted with policy is doubtful, for truth never suffers by investigation.

The next was an attempt to procure a repeal of the Test Act, in which the dissenters took an active but a modest part. Ever well-wishers to their country, the

church. I myself remarked, "That what we requested was our right, as well as that of every subject; we ought to recover it; but, rather than involve our country in dispute, we would resign it." This also was echoed by the whole body. These were all the presbyterian plots either against church or king I ever knew. Hence it appears that presbyterians are as true friends to both as any set of men

Life of William Hutton.

VOL. 2.]
whatever, except those who hold church
lands or court favours.

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;

Though a man is justified in doing what is right, it may not always be prudent. Controversy was a third cause. Some We may rejoice with any society of uncharitable expressions falling from the men who were bound and are set free episcopal pulpits, involved Dr. Priestley but the French revolution is more their in a dispute with the clergy. When concern than ours. I do not approve all acrimony is used by two sides, the weak- its maxims, neither do I think it firmly est is only blameable. To dispute with fixed. One of its measures however, I the doctor was deemed the road to pre- admire, that of establishing itself without ferment. He had already made two the axe and the halter, a practice scarcely bishops, and there were still several heads known in revolutions. Should a prince .which wanted mitres, and others who and his people differ, the chief passion it cast a more humble eye upon tithes and would excite in me, would be a desire glebe lands. The doctor, on his part, to make peace between them. To our used some warm expressions, which his everlasting dishonour, more mischief was friends wished had been omitted. These done in the Birmingham riots, than in were placed in horrid lights; and here overturning the whole French governagain the stronger side ever reserves to ment. Altho' the public are in possession itself the privilege of putting what construction it pleases upon the words of the weaker. However, if the peace of society is broken, we cannot but regret it, whatever be the cause.

of the toasts drank at the hotel, I shall subjoin them. The company out of respect to monarchy, had procured from an ingenious artist three figures, which were placed upon the table. One, a fine meThe fourth occurrence was an inflam- dallion of the king, encircled with glory : matory hand-bill, which operated upon on his right, an emblematical figure, rethe mind like a pestilence upon the body. presenting British Liberty: on the left Wherever it touched it poisoned. No- another, representing Gallic Slavery thing could be more unjust than charging breaking its chains. These innocent and this bill upon the dissenters; and, in loyal devices were ruinous; for a spy, consequence, dooming them to destruc- whom I well know, was sent into the tion. It appears from its very contents room, and assured the people without, that it could not proceed from a body. If "That the revolutionists had cut off the it was fabricated by a dissenter, is it right king's head, and placed it on the table." to punish the whole body with fire and Thus a man, with a keen belief, like one plunder? This is visiting the sins of with a keen appetite, is able to swallow one man upon another. Au established the grossest absurdities. maxim is, a man shall only be accountable for his own. It might be written by an incendiary of another profession, to kindle a flame. Perhaps the unthinking fell upon the dissenters, because they were vexed they could not find the author. I have been tempted to question whether he meant any more than a squib to attract public attention; but it proved a dreadful one, which buent our houses.* The fifth was a public dinner at the hotel, to commemorate the anniversary of the French revolution. This, abstract edly considered, was an inoffensive meeting. It only became an error by being ill-timed. As the ininds of men were ruffled, it ought to have been omitted.

It appeared afterwards that it was fabricated in London, brought to Birmingham, aud that a few copies were privately scattered under the table at an inn."

1. The King and Constitution.

France, whose virtue and wisdom have raised 2. The National Assembly, and Patriots of 26 millions from the meanest condition of despotism to the dignity and happiness of freemen. 3. The Majesty of the People.

4. May the Constitution of France be repdered perfect and perpetual.

unite in perpetual friendship; and may their 5. May Great Britain, France, and Ireland, only rivalship be, the extension of peace and liberty, wisdom and virtue.

the wisdom to understand, and courage to as6. The rights of man. May all nations have sert and defend them.

7. The true friends of the Constitution of this

country, who wish to preserve its spirit by correcting its abuses.

to

8. May the people of England never cease remonstrate till their parliament becomes a true national representation. 9. The Prince of Wales.

10. The United States of America; may they for ever enjoy the liberty which they so honourably acquired.

11. May the revolution in Poland prove the harbinger of a more perfect system of liberty extending to that great kingdom.

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12. May the nations of Europe become so enlightened as never more to be deluded into savage wars by the ambition of their rulers.

13. May the sword never be unsheathed but for the defence and liberty of our country; and then, may every one cast away the scab bard till the people are safe and free.

14. To the glorious memory of Hampden, Sidney, and other heroes of all ages and nations, who have fought and bled for liberty.

15. To the memory of Dr. Price, and all those illustrious sages who have enlightened mankind in the true principles of civil society.

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18. A happy meeting to the friends of liberty on the 14th of July, 1792.

The sum total of the above toasts amounts to this-a solicitude for the perfect freedom of man, arising from a love to the species. If I were required to explain the words freedom and liberty in their full extent, I should answer in these simple words, that each individual think and act as he please, provided no other is

16. Peace and good-will to all mankind. 17. Prosperity to the town of Birmingham. injured.

From the Monthly Magazine. THE MINSTREL'S MEED.

Concluded in our next.

POETRY.

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Old Time, a venerable sage, Reaches a river's brink, and "come," He cries, "have pity on my age. What! on these banks forgotten 1,

Who mark each moment with my glass! Hear, damsels, hear my suppliant cry, And courteously help Time to pass.' Disporting on the farther shore,

Full many a gentle nymph look'd on; And fain to speed his passage o'er, Bade Love, their boatman, fetch the crone: But one, of all the group most staid,

Still warn'd her vent'rous mates---"Alas, How oft has shipwreck whelm'd the maid Whose pity would help Time to pass ;"

Lightly his boat across the stream
Love guides, his hoary freight receives,
And, fluttering mid the sunny gleam,
His canvass to the breezes give:
And plying light bis little oars---

In treble now, and now in bass, "See, girls," th' enraptur'd urchin roars, "How gaily Love makes Time to pass !” But soon---'tis Love's proverbial crime--Exhausted, he his oars let fall; And quick those oars are snatch'd by Time, And heard ye not the rallier's call? "What tired so soon of thy sweet toil, Poor child, thou sleepest! I, alas! In graver strain repeat the while

My song---'tis Time makes Love to pass !' July 1817.

From the Gentleman's Magazine. Mr. URBAN, Feb. 1, 1817. I DOUBT not, from the favourable sensations with which I have perused the following Ode, writen by one of my friends, that it will prove acceptable to the Readers of your ex cellent Miscellany. It is the composition of a young man, whose age may in a degree apologize for some inaccuracy of perform ance, which the severe impartiality of criticism might otherwise condemn as unpardonable. Yours, &c. N. GRAINGER.

ODE TO MEMORY.

Nec me meminisse pigebit, ELISE!
Eneid. I. v.

LET Fancy weave in lofty song

The charm of Hope's illusive tongue, Invite the youthful heart to stray In dreams which lure but to betray; To climes unknown celestial graces yield, Th' Elysian vale, and flower-enamell'd field; Hear vernal warblers sing in ev'ry grove, In ev'ry eye behold the light of love.

Should folly prompt those scenes to head,
Ev'n now the fairy guide is fled :
Lo! nought salutes the aching eye,
But beetling crags, a sunless sky,
Vales where the midnight tyger prowls,
And hills where endless winter scowls.
Syren! these boons are thine, and this thy sway,
Taught with remorse's pang in pleasure's
swift decay.

But hail! thou source of pensive joy,
Which future ills can ne'er alloy;
Sister of her whose mask arrays
Late's distant woes in glory's blaze

VOL. 2.}.

Memory! beneath thy all-reviving hand,
Dear, long-lost joys in vivid lustre stand.
Parent of thought, and nurse of ev'ry grace
That Genius culls from Nature's varied face,
To thee the plastic powers belong

Of wisdom's voice and Poet's song; 4
For thee the trophied warrior bleeds,
To thee confides his flaunting deeds;
For thee the Bard lifts high the lay,
And sighs from thee to grasp bis bay,
Without whose genial aid, the task how vain!
For what would then reward the sword, or
heav'nly strain?

Poetry.

Yet fairer, softer sweets be thine,
Than woo th' aspiring soul to shine;
Far other wreaths thy brow adorn,
Than Autumn's fruits on April's morn.
When age's wintry eve is cloth'd in gloom,
'Tis thine to wake the flowret into bloom;
In hearts no ray of future hope can warm,
To breathe ev❜n there a momentary charm.
See, at thy beck, that sunny smile
The moody lip by fits beguile;
See, o'er the furrow'd cheek there plays
A beam that shone in childhood's days.
Now Fancy paints in spotless vest
Those faultless hours of peace and rest,
With rapture dwells on ev'ry fading hue,
And sighs to ev'ry parted joy a long adieu.
The cynic heart, who loves to dwell
In shady grot, or cloister'd cell,
At evening's close, and life's decline,
Pours grateful incense o'er thy shrine.
Has mad Ambition spur'd his soul to fame?
Has lawless Love consign'd his days to shame?
Has misery taught his vagrant feet to roam,
And find a sabbath in the lion's home?

Enchantress! wave thy magic wand :
A thousand forms around him stand:
Lo! there the gorgeous domes ascend;
Here deck'd in smiles his bosom's friend,
And she, when love and life were new,
Who gave time's sky its purest blue,
Revive in thought the pleasures of the past,
Scarce whisp'ring in his ear such bliss too fair
to last.

Rise, Heloise, from thy downy sleep,
But rise not now to think and weep.
Declare how o'er thy raptur'd soul
The lovely visions wont to roll;
How oft amid the convent's lonely aisle,
Thou saw'st reveal'd Idalian beauties smile;
How oft, as toll'd the curfew's fitful knell,
Thy Abelard has sigh'd his last farewell.
Ill-fated Maid! 'twas thine to feel
From Memory's hand, remorse's steel.
Did thoughts of past delight employ
Thy heart in dreams of faithless joy,
Repentance hurried in the rear,
To claim a tributary tear;

O'er each fond theme thy fancy lov'd to trace,
Dark Jour'd the cloud of guilt, and frown'd on
ev'ry grace.

Hark! on the pinions of the gale
Is beard the Maniac's frenzied.wail;
As reason flits her fev'rish brain,
She turns to youthful joys again;
Views in the cheerless sorrows of her lot,
Gay, lucid scenes by reason's slaves forgot,
And hails the form ador'd, as if was seen
In storms, the rosy morn that once has been.
Oh! she can tell, howe'er deprest,
That pleasures past still proffer zest;
Can still th' harmonious concord own,
Though reason's string has lost its tone;
Gray Fancy hers, that spurns controul,
And Love, the minstrel of the soul !

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Then, Memory, hail! by whose creative power,
Is nerv'd the Patriot's arm, and sooth'd Afflic-
tion's hour.

When Cynthia mounts her silv'ry car,
And Venus lights the Western star;
When Fancy soars to higher spheres,
Then welcome Memory's balmy tears!
When the pale moonbeam gilds the silent sea,
Then, Laura, then my spirit flies to thee:
With thee I seem o'er wonted haunts to rove,
Or list unseen to tales of hapless love.

When Evening comes in vermil dye,
To tinge with mellow hand the sky,
With thee I seek the lonely wood,
Where tyrant vigils ne'er intrude;
If then perchance I frame a lay
To scare ideal griefs away,
Should fond Affection praise the artless song,
How rolls the fervid tide with energy along!
Sun of my life, whose matin beam

Has ceas'd to warm its freezing stream,
Be thine the mild, meridian ray,
Which glads the frosty noon of May ;
And when, at last, Death's gloomy midnight
o'er,

That beam shall cloudless rise to set no more,
That hallow'd form, and passion-speaking eye,
Far lovelier glow in immortality;

Ye seraphs say, when thron'd above,
(If ours that promis'd bliss to prove)
Shall Memory then the song inspire,
And strike with holier hand the lyre;
In Angels' ears those joys pourtray,
Which spirit breathe to lifeless clay;
And reason, freed from Nature's servile rein,
Combine these dreamy hours of pleasure and
of pain.
P. J.

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BY MISS M. L. REDE.

THer sombre hue o er Edward's bed;

HE gloom of twilight lightly spread

All nature hush'd in silence lay,
And Cynthia lent her faintest ray:
No wind disturb'd the winding wave
That wash'd the willow at his grave;
Congenial sadness breath'd around
When Emma's footsteps press'd the ground.
She moved a beauteous weeping grace ;---
So fair her form, so slow her pace,
Around the urn herarms she twin'd,
Upon the urn her head reclin'd.---
Now rising Luna brightly stray'd,
On Emma's cheek the clear beam play'd,
And show'd in sorrow's softest grace,
The angel beauty of her face:
For though from thence the rose had fled
Yet in its place now lingered there
That tinted once her cheek with red,
A hae so exquisitely fair,

That Beauty might the rose forego,
And emulate the softer glow.
The dews of night had bath'd her form,
When slowly breath'd awakening worn;
The silent shades of night had fled
Unconscious o'er the mourner's head;
But orient morn's refulgent beam
Awak'd her from her sorrowing dream.
"Ah me!" the beauteous mourner cries,
"The blash of morning tints the skies,
Reviving Nature joys to hail
"The hour that draws night's dusky veil.
But ah! this hour so gay, so bright,
"Is bateful to my weary sight;

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"It bids me quit this silent urn,

Poetry.

Where I would ever hang and mourn--"Would ever shed grief's vital tear, "For on! my soul lies buried here! "Cold urn! not colder than my breast, "Beneath thee does my Edward rest! "Dim is that eye where genius beam'd, "Whence feeling,love,and splendor stream'd! Will ever pleasure's blush renew "On this chill'd cheek a happier hue? "Will e'er again the morn appear, "When I shall smile thro' rapture's tear? "No! never more shall Emina know

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Gay pleasure's smile, or rapture's glow. "The blast of Death destroy'd the torch "Of Love at sacred Hymen's porch--"The morn that made me Edward's bride, "He press'd my hand, he dropp'd and died! "When shall this heart forget his sigh? "The last fond look that lit his eye? "What did they to his Emma tell? "My Edward's silent---Fare thee well! "Come Death, dread author of my woe, "Bring to my breast thy swiftest blow: "Bid this wild torturing throbbing cease, "And close these streaming eyes in peace." The awful monarch of the grave, Darted forth from his ebon cave; His fleshless arm impelled the dart That sought the sinking sufferer's heart. To Edward's urn more close she clung, To life's last moment o'er it hung, Then sinking 'neath it, senseless prest The turf that cover'd Edward's breast.

From the Gentleman's Magazine. MR. URBAN, June 14, 1817. When you are informed that the following lines are the production of a youth only 15 years of age,--and that youth the son-in-law of her whose loss he deplores,--they will prove alike creditable to both their hearts; to her's, whose maternal fondness inspired such lively regard; and to his, which uniformly felt for her the dutiful affection of a son. L. B.

FILIAL SORROWS,

On the Death of an excellent Mother. NEACH me to mourn, Urania! sacred maid,

Tadear lov'd Mother's death, in solemn

strains;

So will I sigh a requiem to her shade,---
So will I show affection still remains.
So, pure departed Spirit! will I sing [heart:
A dirge that flows spontaneous from the
For, oh what solace does to sorrow spring,
What joy in grief does Poësy impart!
Yet, why thus mourn--from suffering a release
To one, who was by all rever'd, belov'd?
One, who, now bless'd with everlasting peace,
From human care and sorrow is remov'd.
Long, long, alas! she was by pain oppress'd;
Yet, patient as a lamb about to die,
Meek Resignation shed the balm of rest,
And Hope beam'd brightly from the opening
sky.

Her spirit, fitted with the Blest to live,

By Angels borné to realms of boundless joy, Tastes of the pleasures Death alone can give, Pure from the fount of bliss without alloy. Then, should I weep as one of hope depriv'd? As if we never were to meet again? Forbid it, Heav'n!--for, when from dust reviv'd,

We shall unite, nor feel a parting pain.

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Then, O my soul! repress the rising sigh:
For, sure shall I behold her face to face,
In God's own Paradise :---no more to die,
My Friend--my Mother there again em-
brace.

Be thou my guide, RELIGION! heavenly power!

Who'gainst Death's terrors fortified her mind, Succour me too, in Sorrow's trying hour,

And ever bless me with thine influence kind!

Written at the Vault that contains her Relics, late in the Evening, previously to returning early the next Morning to School. FAREWELL! Oh be my parting tribute paid

Of duteous tears, my Mother! o'er thy tomb: Oh, let them soothe thy conscious gentle Shade, While gathers now around ine Evening's gloom.

Fit hour for converse with the sacred Dead, When solemn stillness reigns thro' all the air; When weeping dews on Nature's breast are shed,

And alter'd objects seem not what they are. What, tho' no urn, no animated bust

Yet bear the traces of thy honour'd name;--What, tho' mute stones alone enshrine thy dust, Which ne'er thy Worth distinguish'd must proclaim.

What, tho' no sculptur'd tribute yet appear---
No monumental marble meet the eye;
Mine is a better offering ---Duty's tear---
Mine, what thou prízest more---Affection's
Sigh.

I come to kiss---to weep on this thy grave,---
To mourn thy loss---the loss which all

deplore;

My sorrows thus thy sepulchre shall lave; For I shall see thee---love thee here no more! Yet, if 'tis true---and Scripture's words are [path,

truth,

That sainted Spirits guard their favourite's Oh! be the angelic Guardian of my youth! Shield me from danger, wickedness, and

wrath.

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