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his activity in the riots, and that very early on the Monday morning (see Observations,) It is hardly necessary to attempt to prove the disaffection of the Methodists to the present government,* as it is a fact so well known; nay the illustrious COBLER himself, not many. years since, with several others of St. Austle, sufficiently betrayed a symptom that tended to disorder the political fabric, which drew upon himself and his associates the notice and interference of the neighbouring gentlemen.

Mr. who gave me this piece of intelligence, told me his father withdrew his custom from him, with several besides. The Methodists smart under your lash: and, I trust, nothing will induce you to shrink from the laudable task you have undertaken confiding in which I beg to remain

Your most humble Servant,

M. F.

* It is very remarkable, that the cause of the Methodists is stre nuously defended in all the Jacobinical prints; whence we may fairly presume, that the Jacobins consider the Methodists as their brethren. The union of Atheists and Methodists seems a strange phenomenon. Rev.


AS a plain man confined six days in the week to my compter, and dedicating the seventh in the old fashioned way to a regular attendance at church and other religious duties of the day, occasionally interrupted by a walk with my family to enjoy the pure and delicious air of the city road and Islington, I confess my ignorance of what is passing in the world is so great, that an unwil Lingness to expose that ignorance has deterred me for these three weeks back from applying to you for information, as to what the booksellers deal in now-a-days.

In my time, and that is not above forty years ago, the Whole Duty of Man, Cocker, the Spectator, a bible, and prayer-book, formed the library of a young apprentice; and when any of the two latter were worn out, for, to say the truth, we did not spare them, we had nothing to do but go or send to the next booksellers, and we were sure of what we wanted. Now the case is quite altered; I doubt whether you will believe it, Mr. Editor, but may I never measure a yard of tape again if it is not true. Not to keep you longer, I must tell you that my wife's eyes being rather the worse for the wear, through working aprons, gowns, handkerchiefs, &c. in fine needlework when she was young, and teaching her children (and we have a charming number) the same nice arts with the addition of carpeting, as it is at present manufactured in private families, in all the colours of the rainbow, she found herself obliged to give her small prayer book to her youngest daughter Sukey, and to provide one of a larger print.


She accordingly went to one or two shops where she thought she might be suited, but what they had did not answer her purpose, and, passing through Leadenhall Street, she observed a very large bookseiler's shop, indeed, which was a printing-office likewise; but, Mr. Editor, guess her surprize when confident of success, and boldly asking for a prayer-book with large print, the shopman told her, with a look implying extreme contempt for her ignorance, that they never kept such books; her astonishment, involuntarily, threw her eyes upward, when, on the outside of the house, she found this was a famous circulating library. Now as all in our family are too simple folks, and are too much engaged in domestic duties, to dip into the contents of any books but what I have mentioned, and they are all heir-looms of the family, I should be glad to know whether this exception of our standard, religious books, extends to all the libraries about the town; if it does, it probably affects the majority of the booksellers too, and from what I have heard of you, I am sure that in this case you can recommend me to some bookseller, or, probably, even some librarian, who is not ashamed to keep bibles and prayer-books in his house; for my poor wife has not yet got the better of her surprize, and even fright, at the sad change in the times; and I fear nothing but a word from you will answer the purpose, for she has a great esteem for your character.

I am, Sir, Your's

Cornhill, Dec. 4th. 1800.




AT the commencement of the French revolution, an English gentleman of fortune, whose extensive landed possessions gave him a very considerable degree of influence in the county of

had conceived, in common with many other well-meaning but mis guided-theorists, an idea, that the sum of human happiness would probably be increased by the event of these struggles which a great nation was making for liberty; he was pleased with the dawn of Gallic freedom; he rejoiced that the feudal chains were broken, though he had too much goodness of heart to approve of the methods by which the beneficial work was effected.

Under this persuasion he remained for some months, till an itinerant apostle of democracy found his way to the village of -No sooner was this wretch arrived, than he began to frequent those places of resort where the workmen and labourers of Mr.

assembled; he insinuated himself into their acquaintance; he obtained their confidence; he heard the little details of their trifling sorrows, and momentary discontents, if discontents on any occasion


And do you not see, said he, an obvious remedy for all these evils? Do you not see that by one strong, unanimous, decisive effort, you have it in your power to become happy and independent at once? to put an end to the necessity of toiling like slaves for a miserable 1



pittance, unequal to the support of yourselves and your families? to partake in full measure of the liberal gifts which heaven has granted, but which tyranny has usurped! Listen to me, and follow my advice. Rise to a man, and assert your natural inherent rights. Do an act of justice on the great man, who lords it over you all. When he is removed out of the way, all difficulties will cease at once. I will be on the spot to direct your measures, to assist you in carrying them into effect, and to make the fraternal allotment of lands and possessions, in equal portions, among you all!

Happily, the project was too atrocious, and the innocent object of this intended barbarity, too deservedly beloved to allow his servants and dependants a moment's hesitation. They came, with honest rage, to their patron, and told him all that this fiend in human shape had been counselling. Immediate measures were taken to seize the counsellor of evil; but guilt and suspicion never sleep. When the authorised officers of justice came to lay hold on him, he was already fled; and with him were fled for ever the revolutionary politics of a very respectable and valuable man, whose eyes were sufficiently opened to the blessed fruits of the tree of liberty, and to the practical consequences of a very beautiful theory. From that time he has lived, and still lives, revered and beloved by all ranks and descriptions around him, an example of loyalty, a preacher of obedience, and a decided enemy to Jacobinism, and all its works. I am, Sir, Your's, &c.


R. H.

Extracts from a MOCK-HEROIC POEM (MS.) entitled,

In Seven Cantos.


"HIGH on a Horfeblock, in his vasty mind,
That fham'd the thrones of Ormuz or of Ind,'
Old Zachary ftood; and, fquinting, look'd around,
Then fix'd his orbs of vifion to the ground;
Then, from the pavement flowly rais'd his eyes,
As gathering crouds with duft obfcur'd the skies.

Thin was his lath-like form; and wan his face
By choler ftain'd, and tortur'd by grimace;
As in the wildness of his long lank hair,
A living miracle 'twas his to bear-
Half as the fable black, and half, I trow,
No forry rival to a flake of fnow.


Yes!-And he faid, his treffes prov'd him "fent," His high credentials, wherefoe'er he went.”

"Full foon he told, how, one extatic night, All, on a fudden, half his hair turn'd white: 'Twas, at that moment, he receiv'd the call, As flafh'd, like light'ning, curtains, bed and all; Whence Witlings, tickled by a fight fo quaint, Had nam'd him, half a finner, half a faint."

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"Full oft (the preacher cried) will Mammon cross Their paths, and draw them to its filthy dross; Ere yet, fecure amid Satanic traps,

They brave the filthy notion of relapse.

The devil (he faid) to prove how great a curfe
Was Mammon, once way-laid him with a purfe:
But, deeming if he pull'd the tempting ftrings,
That, foon, his fingers might encounter ftings,
He pafs'd the fnare yet, conquering all his qualms,
Turn'd back, and seiz'd it for the fake of alms;
When, from the foldings, which he lay fo fquat in,
Jump'd out and vanish'd, purfe and all, old Satan!

He told, how, fudden, on the pulpit-ftairs,
When Satan, by a thousand earthly cares
Had every trace of Holy Writ perplex'd ;
The fpirit supplied him with a proper text.

He pictur'd, as with more than mortal force,
His voice of thunder check'd the demon's course,
And dealt damnation from the mountain-tops,
His hearers tumbling round him, thick as hops!

He told, how once in dread convulfions lay
A fin-ftruck maid, or feem'd one lump of clay;
When, as he bade the fpirit o'er hell prevail,
Old Nick departed through her great toe-nail.

He told, how once, affail'd with pond'rous ftones,
That might to atoms break a finner's bones;
Nor he, nor his dear Deborah turn'd their backs,
But felt each ftone, more foft than Virgin-wax;
And from a cudgel how he hail'd the blow,
Bending-with love and pity-bending low!”

"Then, with abrupt temptation would he slide
To parfons, who, encas'd in carnal pride,
Ne'er gave their pamper'd bodies to the rod,
But, rich in worldly gifts, belied their God!
While now, the spirit effervefc'd, like yeaft,
In vengeance against every parish-prieft!"

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From Canto the Second:-" THE STILL SAINTS," or "THE DEMURE DEVOTEES."

"Now the ftill moon, emerging bright
Had cloath'd the dropping leaves with light;
When many a faintly fhape was feen,
Here wandering the hoar trunks between,
There, up a hillock winding flow;
Here, fix'd as if abforb'd in woe.
Here flood a Carle; his lifted eyes.
"Commercing with the fecret ikies :??
There, in the maze of fancy loft,
A pallid youth the path-way croft,
There, ftarting back, his fears betray'd,
As if fome vifion he furvey'd

Pictur'd upon the filent air;

Then ftopp'd, and rais'd his hands in prayer.

Meanwhile, from out a cavern'd tree,
Sudden, a virgin devotee

With loofe difhevel'd locks appears,
Whom pitying angels hail'd in tears-
Young Saganilla: not a maid

More fair, hath grac'd the Tavy's fhade;
Her modeft blushes, pure as glows

The dewy tincture of the rofe."

Alas! Religion's alter'd child,
Oft as fhe gaz'd her vifions wild,
Each fuitor ftrove, with weak effay,
To chafe the gathering gloom away--
Till Doctor Slopfud, now call'd in,
Gave rapture to her fenfe of fin,
Difpenfing two-fold fweets, I wift,
The Lover and the Methodist.

Soon as his flock was fcatter'd round,
Old Zachary, o'er the lawny ground,
Had follow'd his accuftom'd clue,
To pick up a ftray faint or two;
When, viewing the deep wood afkance,
He fpied, with quick and roguish glance,
The ufeful maid; and, fkulking near,
Met in her eye a trembling tear
That, as it afk'd to be orgiv'n,
In filence was uprais'd wo Kieaven.'

(To be continued.)


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