Chapter IX: Canto I: Extract

’Twas thine alone, O youth of giant frame,
Isosceles![240] that rebel heart to tame!
In vain coy Mathesis[241] thy presence flies:
Still turn her fond hallucinating[242] eyes;
Thrills with _Galvanic_ fires[243] each tortuous nerve,
Throb her blue veins, and dies her cold reserve.
—Yet strives the fair, till in the giant’s breast
She sees the mutual passion’s flame confessed:
Where’er he moves, she sees his tall limbs trace
_Internal Angles[244] equal at the base_;
Again she doubts him: but _produced at will_,
She sees _th’ external Angles equal still_.

Say, blest Isosceles! what favouring power,
Or love, or chance, at night’s auspicious hour,
While to the Asses-Bridge[245] entranced you strayed,
Led to the Asses-Bridge the enamoured maid?—
The Asses-Bridge, for ages doomed to hear
The deafening surge assault his wooden ear,
With joy repeats sweet sounds of mutual bliss,
The soft susurrant sigh, and gently-murmuring kiss.

So thy dark arches, _London Bridge_, bestride
Indignant Thames, and part his angry tide,
There oft—returning from those green retreats,
Where fair _Vauxhallia_ decks her sylvan seats;—
Where each spruce nymph, from city compters free,
Sips the froth’d syllabub, or fragrant tea;
While with sliced ham, scraped beef, and burnt champagne,
Her ’prentice lover soothes his amorous pain;—
There oft, in well-trimmed wherry, glide along
Smart beaux and giggling belles, a glittering throng:
Smells the tarr’d rope—with undulation fine
Flaps the loose sail—the silken awnings shine;
“Shoot we the bridge!” the venturous boatmen cry;
“Shoot we the bridge!” the exulting fare[246] reply.
—Down the steep fall the headlong waters go,
Curls the white foam, the breakers roar below.
The veering helm the dexterous steersman stops,
Shifts the thin oar, the fluttering canvas drops;
Then with closed eyes, clenched hands, and quick-drawn breath,
Darts at the central arch, nor heeds the gulf beneath.
Full ’gainst the pier the unsteady timbers knock,
The loose planks, starting, own the impetuous shock;
The shifted oar, dropp’d sail, and steadied helm,
With angry surge the closing waters whelm—
Laughs the glad Thames, and clasps each fair one’s charms,
That screams and scrambles in his oozy arms.
Drench’d each smart garb, and clogged each straggling limb,
Far o’er the stream the Cockneys sink or swim;
While each badged boatman,[247] clinging to his oar,
Bounds o’er the buoyant wave, and climbs the applauding shore.

So, towering Alp! from thy majestic ridge[248]
Young Freedom gazed on Lodi’s blood-stained _Bridge_;
Saw, in thick throngs, conflicting armies rush,
Ranks close on ranks, and squadrons squadrons crush;
Burst in bright radiance through the battle’s storm,
Waved her broad hands, displayed her awful form;
Bade at her feet regenerate nations bow,
And twined the wreath round BUONAPARTE’S brow.
Quick with new lights, fresh hopes, and altered zeal,
The slaves of despots dropp’d the blunted steel:
Exulting Victory owned her favourite child,
And freed Liguria clapp’d her hands, and smiled.

Nor long the time ere Britain’s shores shall greet
The warrior-sage, with gratulation sweet:
Eager to grasp the wreath of naval fame,
The GREAT REPUBLIC plans the _Floating Frame_!
O’er the huge plane gigantic _Terror_ stalks,
And counts with joy the close-compacted balks:
Of young-eyed _Massacres_ the Cherub crew,
Round their grim chief the mimic task pursue;
Turn the stiff screw,[249] apply the strengthening clamp,
Drive the long bolt, or fix the stubborn cramp,
Lash the reluctant beam, the cable splice,
Join the firm dove-tail with adjustment nice,
Through yawning fissures urge the willing wedge,
Or give the smoothing adze a sharper edge.
Or group’d in fairy bands, with playful care,
The unconscious bullet to the furnace bear;—
Or gaily tittering, tip the match with fire,
Prime the big mortar, bid the shell aspire;
Applaud, with tiny hands, and laughing eyes,
And watch the bright destruction as it flies.

Now the fierce forges gleam with angry glare—
The windmill[250] waves his woven wings in air;
Swells the proud sail, the exulting streamers fly,
Their nimble fins unnumber’d paddles ply:
Ye soft airs breathe, ye gentle billows waft,
And, fraught with Freedom, bear the expected Raft!
Perch’d on her back, behold the Patriot train,
MUIR, ASHLEY, BARLOW, TONE, O’CONNOR, PAINE!
While TANDY’S hand directs the blood-empurpled rein.

Ye Imps of Murder! guard her angel form,
Check the rude surge, and chase the hovering storm;
Shield from contusive rocks her timber limbs,
And guide the sweet Enthusiast[251] as she swims!

And now, with web-foot oars, she gains the land,
And foreign footsteps press the yielding sand:
The Communes spread, the gay Departments smile,
Fair Freedom’s Plant o’ershades the laughing isle:
Fired with new hopes, the exulting peasant sees
The Gallic streamer woo the British breeze;[252]
While, pleased to watch its undulating charms,
The smiling infant[253] spreads his little arms.

Ye sylphs of DEATH! on demon pinions flit
Where the tall Guillotine is raised for PITT:
To the poised plank tie fast the monster’s back,[254]
Close the nice slider, ope the expectant sack;
Then twitch, with fairy hands, the frolic pin—
Down falls the impatient axe with deafening din;
The liberated head rolls off below,[255]
And simpering Freedom hails the happy blow!

[The following lines of Dr. Darwin’s, in Canto ii., gave great
offence to the Government:—

So, borne on sounding pinions to the west,
When tyrant-power had built his eagle nest;
While from his eyry shriek’d the famish’d brood,
Clench’d their sharp claws, and champ’d their beaks for blood,
Immortal FRANKLIN watch’d the callow crew,
And stabb’d the struggling vampires, ere they flew.
—The patriot-flame with quick contagion ran,
Hill lighted hill, and man electris’d man:
Her heroes slain awhile Columbia mourn’d,
And crown’d with laurels Liberty return’d.

The warrior, Liberty, with bending sails,
Helm’d his bold course to fair Hibernia’s vales;
Firm as he steps along the shouting lands,
Lo! Truth and Virtue range their radiant bands;
Sad Superstition wails her empire torn,
Art plies his oar, and Commerce pours her horn.

Long had the giant-form on Gallia’s plains
Inglorious slept, unconscious of his chains;
Round his large limbs were wound a thousand strings
By the weak hands of confessors and kings;
O’er his closed eyes a triple veil was bound,
And steely rivets lock’d him to the ground;
While stern Bastile with iron-cage inthralls
His folded limbs, and hems in marble walls.—ED.]

NOTES TO LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES.

[The general features of Dr. Darwin’s extraordinary poems, the
“_Loves of the Plants_,” and the “_Economy of Vegetation_,” which
are so admirably ridiculed in the preceding pages, may be gathered
from the following specimens:—

ARGUMENT.

The Genius of the place invites the Goddess of Botany—She
descends—is received by Spring and the Elements—Addresses the Nymphs
of Fire—Love created the Universe—Chaos explodes—All the Stars
revolve—Colours of the Morning and Evening Skies—Exterior Atmosphere
of inflammable Air—Fires at the Earth’s Centre—Animal
Incubation—Venus visits the Cyclops—Phosphoric Lights in the
Evening—Bolognian Stone—Ignis fatuus—Eagle armed with
Lightning—Discovery of Fire—Medusa—The Chemical Properties of
Fire—Lady in Love—Gunpowder—Steam-engine—Labours of Hercules—Halo
round the Heads of Saints—Fairy rings—Death of Professor
Richman—Cupid snatches the thunderbolt from Jupiter—The great Egg of
Night—Naiad released—Frost assailed—Whale attacked—Ice-Islands
navigated into the Tropic Seas—Rainy Monsoons—Elijah on Mount
Carmel—Departure of the Nymphs of Fire like sparks from Artificial
Fireworks, &c.

“Nymphs! you disjoin, unite, condense, expand,
And give new wonders to the Chemist’s hand;
On tepid clouds of rising steam aspire,
Or fix in sulphur all its solid fire;
With boundless spring elastic airs unfold,
Or fill the fine vacuities of gold;
With sudden flash vitrescent sparks reveal,
By fierce collision from the flint and steel;
Or mark with shining letters Kunkel’s name
In the pale phosphor’s self-consuming flame.
So the chaste heart of some enchanted maid
Shines with insidious light, by love betray’d;
Round her pale bosom plays the young desire,
And slow she wastes by self-consuming fire.”

These poems, produced in that dreary time for English poetry which
elapsed between the disappearance of Cowper and Burns and the advent
of Scott and Byron, had, in spite of their glaring absurdities, no
lack of warm admirers. Miss Seward, in her _Life of Dr. Darwin_,
published in 1804, sets no limits to her admiration:—“We are
presented,” she says, “with an highly imaginative and splendidly
descriptive poem, whose successive pictures alternately possess the
sublimity of Michael Angelo, the correctness and elegance of
Raphael, with the glow of Titian; whose landscapes have, at times,
the strength of Salvator, and at others the softness of Claude;
whose numbers are of stately grace, and artful harmony; while its
allusions to ancient and modern history and fable, and its
interspersion of recent and extraordinary anecdotes, render it
extremely entertaining. * * * Each part is enriched by a number of
philosophical notes. They state a great variety of theories and
experiments in Botany, Chemistry, Electricity, Mechanics, and in the
various species of Air, salubrious, noxious, and deadly,” &c.]

THE SCOTTISH “POLITICAL MARTYRS”.

[THOMAS MUIR, the younger, of Hunter’s Hill, a promising young
advocate of the Scottish Bar, and of nigh respectability, was tried
at Edinburgh, 30th and 31st of August, 1793, before Lord Justice
Clerk (Braxfield), Lords Henderland, Swinton, Dunsinnan, and
Abercromby, for Sedition. The weightiest charge against him was that
of “_lending_” a copy of Paine’s _Rights of Man_ to a person who
begged a reading of that popular book. He was found guilty, and
sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation. On the 17th of the
ensuing month, the Rev. THOS. FYSHE PALMER, a Unitarian Minister of
Dundee, and an ex-fellow of Queen’s College, Cambridge, was tried at
Perth for publishing a seditious Address, and sentenced to seven
years’ transportation. On their arrival at Woolwich, in a revenue
cutter, they were put on board separate hulks, and assisted at the
common labour on the banks of the river. MUIR, soon after his
arrival in New South Wales, effected his escape, in an American
vessel, to South America, whence he proceeded to Spain. During this
voyage, in an action with a British frigate, he received a wound in
the head, from which he recovered; but on his arrival at his
destination, he was imprisoned by the Spanish authorities, until, on
the application of M. de Talleyrand in the name of the then
government of France, he obtained his release. He then went to
France, and died at Bourdeaux [or Chantilly] in 1799; aged 33.
PALMER served out his seven years, but died on the homeward voyage.

Other Trials soon followed. At the close of December, 1793, MR.
SKIRVING, MR. GERRALD, and MR. MARGAROT were tried at Edinburgh on
similar charges of seditious practices, and were all sentenced to
fourteen years’ transportation. The former two died soon after
reaching New South Wales. MAURICE MARGAROT, who appears to have
conducted himself throughout with the most abandoned and shameless
profligacy, was the only one of these convicts—his fourteen years
over—who ever set foot again in Britain.

GERRALD was a man of very superior ability, and a favourite pupil of
Dr. Parr’s, as is mentioned by De Quincey in his famous essay on
that noted Whig pedagogue.

On the Scottish “political martyrs” Lord Cockburn, in his posthumous
_Examination of the Trials for Sedition in Scotland_, published in
1888, which deals with the twenty-five trials of the above-named
five and of thirty-two others, between 1793 and 1849, passes his
deliberate verdict, that, with the exception of Muir, not one of
them was guiltless. But, like ordinary criminals, they were entitled
to a fair and impartial trial; and their trials were, one and all,
iniquitous. Of the six judges who presided in the first fourteen
(1793–94), five were dull, timid nonentities; the sixth, Lord
Justice Clerk Braxfield, was, says Lord Cockburn, “a profound
practical lawyer, and a powerful man; coarse and illiterate ...
utterly devoid of judicial decorum, and though pure in the
administration of civil justice, when he was exposed to no
temptation, with no other conception of principle in any political
case except that the upholding of his party was a duty attaching to
his position. Over the five weak men who sat beside him, this coarse
and dexterous ruffian predominated as he chose.” But Jedburgh—no,
nor the Bloody Assize itself—could scarcely match one scene in
Gerrald’s trial:—“‘After all,’ he was urging in his defence, ‘the
most useful discoveries in philosophy, the most important changes in
the moral history of man, have been innovations. The Revolution was
an innovation, Christianity itself was an innovation.’ Instantly
upon this, the following interruption took place:—Lord Braxfield:
‘You would have been stopped long before this, if you had not been a
stranger. All that you have been saying is sedition. And now, my
Lords, he is attacking Christianity.’ Lord Henderland: ‘I allow him
all the benefit of his defence. But ... I cannot sit here as a judge
without saying that it is a most indecent defence....’ The juries
were packed as never, surely, before, or afterwards.”

With such judges, such juries, and, at least, in two cases, false
witnesses, it might seem easy to anticipate the result; but the
result transcends anticipation. In almost every case a light
sentence would have amply met the requirements of justice; but the
judges all shared Lord Swinton’s opinion that “it is impossible to
punish Sedition adequately, now that torture has been abolished”. So
they strove to supply the deficiency by Transportation, a punishment
unwarranted by precedent.

With respect to Margarot’s trial at Edinburgh, the following is a
vivid memory of Lord Cockburn’s boyhood:—

“MARGAROT came from the Black Bull [in Leith Street] to be tried,
attended by a procession of the populace and his Convention friends,
with banners and what was called a tree of liberty. This tree was in
the shape of the letter M, about twenty feet high and ten wide. The
honour of bearing it up by carrying the two upright poles was
assigned to two eminent Conventionalists, and the little culprit
walked beneath the circular placard in the centre, which proclaimed
liberty and equality, &c. I was looking out of a window in the old
Post-Office, which was then the northmost house on the west side of
the North Bridge. I think I see the scene yet. The whole North
Bridge, from the Tron Church to the Register Office, was quite empty
at first; not a single creature venturing on that bit of sand, over
which the waves were so soon to break from both ends. The
Post-Office and the adjoining houses had been secretly filled with
constables, and sailors from a frigate in the roads (I think _The
Hind_, Capt. Cochrane), all armed with sticks and batons. No soldier
appeared, it being determined that this civic insurrection should be
put down by the civil force, unaided, at least, by scarlet. As soon
as the tree, which led the van, emerged from Leith Street, and
appeared at the north end of the bridge, Provost Elder and the
Magistrates issued from some place they had retired to (I believe
the Tron Church), and appeared, all robed, at the south end. The day
was good. There was still not one person—I doubt if there was even a
dog—on any part of the space, being the whole length of the bridge,
between the two parties. But the rear of each was crammed with
people, who filled up every inch as those in front moved on. The
Magistrates were in a line across the street, with the Provost in
the centre, the city officers behind this line, and probably a
hundred loyal gentlemen in the rear of the officers. The two parties
advanced steadily towards each other, and in perfect silence, till
they met just about the Post-Office. The Provost stepped forward
about a pace, so that he almost touched the front line of the
rebels, when, advancing his cane, he commanded them to retire. This
order probably would not have been obeyed; but, at any rate, it
could not have been obeyed speedily, from the crowd behind. However,
all this was immaterial; for, without waiting one instant to see
whether they meant to retire or not, the houses vomited forth their
bludgeoned contents, and in almost two minutes the tree was
demolished and thrown over the bridge, the street covered with the
knocked down, the accused dragged to the bar, and the insurrection
was over.”

On February 20th, 1837, a meeting took place at the Crown and Anchor
Tavern, Strand, for commencing a subscription to erect monuments in
London and Edinburgh to the memory of the above five Reformers.
Joseph Hume, M.P. was in the chair; Colonel Perronet Thompson, Mr.
Dan. Whittle Harvey, and fifteen other members of Parliament were
present. A lofty obelisk was erected on the Calton Hill to the
memory of the “Scottish Martyrs,” but London did not sympathize with
the movement.—ED.]

JOEL BARLOW.

[JOEL BARLOW, born in 1756 in Connecticut, was educated as a
Presbyterian minister, but afterwards turned Deist. Before this
change he translated the Psalms into metre, and his version is still
used in the churches of New England. He now adopted the Law, and
engaged in periodicals—one, _The Anarchist_, which was political in
its character, and exercised great influence. In 1788, after
visiting England, he went to Paris, where he joined the Girondists.
In 1791, he returned to England, where he published the first part
of his _Advice to the Privileged Orders_, in which he assails the
whole system of Government pursued in monarchical Europe, the Church
establishments, the standing armies, the judicial organisations, and
the financial systems which belong to the old governments. In
February, 1792, he published a political poem, which he entitled
_The Conspiracy of Kings_; also a Letter to the _Convention_
advising the separation of Church and State. So great did his
reputation become that he was fixed on by the London Constitutional
Society to present their Address to the _Convention_. After various
political transactions in the interest of France, and also in
commercial speculations which made him a rich man, he left Paris in
1805, living on his estate in America till 1811, when he was sent as
Minister Plenipotentiary to Paris. But Napoleon being on his Russian
Expedition, he followed him to Wilna; but the fatiguing journey
proved fatal: he died 26th December, 1812. He wrote at an early age
a poem, _The Vision of Columbus_, which acquired great popularity,
and which he afterwards enlarged as _The Columbiad_. Among other
works he published (in 1796) a mock-heroic poem, _Hasty Pudding_,
which is generally considered his best work.—ED.]

THEOBALD WOLFE TONE.

[THEOBALD WOLFE TONE, the founder of the ASSOCIATION OF UNITED
IRISHMEN, was born in Dublin in 1764, and, after passing through
Trinity College, came to London to prosecute his legal studies,
which he soon forsook for politics, being induced thereto by the
indignation excited in his breast by the persecution of the Irish
Catholics, whose cause, although himself a Protestant, he warmly
advocated. With the view of getting their grievances redressed, he
founded the society of UNITED IRISHMEN, which gave great alarm to
the English Government. His liberty being menaced, he went to
America, and thence to France, where he arranged with Gen. Hoche the
expeditions to Bantry Bay and the Texel. Being appointed
Adjutant-General, he served in several of the French armies, and
lastly in Gen. Hardi’s expedition to Ireland in October, 1798. The
vessel he was aboard of was captured by the English, and he was
conveyed to Dublin, tried by a Court-Martial, and sentenced to be
hanged. He anticipated his execution, however, by committing suicide
in prison, 19th November, 1798.—ED.]

ARTHUR O’CONNOR.

[On the 21st and 22nd May, 1798, ARTHUR O’CONNOR (proprietor of a
Dublin newspaper, _The Press_), JOHN BINNS (an active member of the
_London Corresponding Society_), JOHN ALLEN, JEREMIAH LEARY, and
JAS. O’COIGLY, _alias_ Jas. Quigley, _alias_ Jas. John Fivey (a
Priest), were tried at Maidstone for High Treason. ROBERT FERGUSSON
was counsel for Allen. O’COIGLY only was found Guilty, and was
executed 7th June, on Pennenden Heath. After being suspended for ten
minutes, he was cut down and his head severed from his body: the
disgusting remainder of his sentence was remitted. He met his death
with great fortitude, and denying to the last the charge of
treasonable correspondence abroad. In the _State Trials_, vols. 26
and 27, are included the Life of the prisoner; Observations on his
Trial; Address to the People of Ireland; and Letters, all written by
himself during his confinement in Maidstone Gaol. His real name, he
says, was the Rev. Jas. Coigly, and his age 36. “Can you imagine a
man more treacherous and profligate than O’COIGLY?” said Sir James
Mackintosh to DR. PARR. “Yes, Sir, he might have been worse: he was
a parson—he might have been a lawyer; he was a traitor—he might have
been an apostate; he was an Irishman—he might have been a
Scotchman.” When it is recollected that Mackintosh was a Scotchman
and a lawyer, and that he had written in defence of the French
Revolution against Burke, these observations of Dr. Parr were both
insolent and uncalled for.

A Portrait of “Arthur O’Connor, late Member in the Irish Parliament
for Borough of Philipstown, painted by J. Dowling, engraved by W.
Ward,” was published in London, 18th April, 1798. Another Portrait
in military uniform is to be found in Barrington’s _Memoirs of the
Union_. He figures also in several of GILLRAY’S _Caricatures_.

In the _Birmingham Daily Post_ of April 2, 1888, it is stated that
THE HON. R. E. O’CONNOR, M.A., barrister-at-law, the latest addition
to the Legislative Council of New South Wales, is a grandson of
ARTHUR O’CONNOR, one of the leaders of the United Irishmen, who died
a General in the service of France.

When O’CONNOR was acquitted by the Jury, on the above-named
occasion, but before the Judge had given orders for his release, a
strange scene occurred in court, an attempt being made, as it was
alleged, by SACKVILLE, EARL OF THANET, ROBERT FERGUSSON (in after
years known as CUTLAR FERGUSSON, Judge-Advocate-General), and others
to facilitate his escape in order to avoid further charges about to
be preferred against him, Binns also being implicated for this
exploit, which was unsuccessful, but attended with violence. These
confederates were tried at the Bar of the Court of King’s Bench,
25th April, 1799. The Counsel for the Crown were Sir John Scott
[Lord Eldon], Law [Lord Ellenborough], Sir W. Garrow, Sir C. Abbot,
&c., while the defendants had the powerful advocacy of Erskine and
others. His Lordship and Mr. Fergusson were found guilty after a
long and ingenious defence by the latter, which presaged his future
eminence as a Counsel. LORD THANET was ordered to pay a fine of
£1000; to be imprisoned in the Tower for a year; and to give
security for good behaviour for seven years on the expiration of the
sentence; himself in £10,000, and two sureties in £5000 each.
FERGUSSON was ordered to pay a fine of £100; to be imprisoned in the
King’s Bench prison for one year; to give security for good
behaviour for seven years from the expiration of the sentence;
himself in £500, and two sureties in £250 each.—See _State Trials_,
vols. 26 and 27.—ED.]

JAMES NAPPER TANDY.

[“A person who afterwards made a considerable figure in the local
affairs of Ireland raised himself about this time into considerable
notoriety by his patriotic exertions. This was Mr. JAMES NAPPER
TANDY, a gentleman in the middle station of life, without talent or
natural influence, had become a warm advocate in the corporation of
Dublin; he debated zealously in public, he argued strenuously in
private, and persevered in both with indefatigable ardour. His
person was ungracious—his language neither eloquent nor
argumentative—his address neither graceful nor impressive—but he was
sincere and persevering—and though in many instances erroneous and
violent, he was considered to be honest. His private character
furnished no ground to doubt the integrity of his public one—and,
like many of those persons who occasionally spring up in
revolutionary periods, he acquired celebrity without being able to
account for it, and possessed influence without rank or capacity. In
1796, Mr. Tandy lost all his popularity, and nearly his life, by his
apparent want of courage in an affair between him and Mr. Toler,
then Solicitor-General, afterwards Lord Norbury, and Chief Justice
of the Common Pleas. Mr. Tandy having signified to Mr. Toler his
desire to fight him, the Chief Justice readily accepted the offer.
Both parties manœuvred very skilfully; but Mr. Tandy delaying his
ultimatum too long for the impatience of the Solicitor-General, he
brought him before the House of Commons for a breach of privilege,
and prosecuted him for sedition. Mr. Tandy escaped to the Continent,
entered the French Service, invaded Ireland, was, with his
confederates, arrested by the British Envoy at Hamburg, 24 Nov.,
1798, contrary to the law of nations: the Minister of France claimed
them as French citizens, and the Senate, unwilling to offend either
power, came to no decision on the subject. Tandy was thereupon taken
to Ireland and condemned to be hanged—was pardoned by Lord
Cornwallis, and sent back to France, where he died a French
General.”—Barrington’s _Memoirs of the Union_, vol. 1, where is a
portrait of Tandy.—ED.]

No. XXVII.

May 14, 1798.

The gallant defence of the ISLES OF ST. MARCOU would justify a more serious celebration than is attempted in the following poem; and the modest and unassuming manner in which LIEUTENANT PRICE gives the account of services so highly meritorious, adds to the hope which we entertain that he will meet a more solid reward than any verse of ours or of our correspondent’s could bestow.

CITIZEN MUSKEIN, if he understands Horace, and can read English, will be amply rewarded for the victory of which he has, no doubt, by this time, made a pompous report to the Directory, by the perusal of the 14th Ode of the 1st Book, for which we have to return our thanks to a classical correspondent.

A CONSOLATORY ADDRESS TO HIS GUN-BOATS.

BY CITIZEN MUSKEIN.

_O navis! referent in mare te novi fluctus._

O gentle Gun-Boats, whom the Seine
Discharged from Havre to the main;
Now leaky, creaking, blood-bespattered,
With rudders broken, canvas shattered—
O tempt the treacherous sea no more,
But gallantly regain the shore.

Scarce could our guardian goddess, Reason,
Ensure your timbers through the season.
Though built of wood from famed Marseilles,
Well-manned from galleys, and from jails,
Though with LEPAUX’S and REWBELL’S aid,
By PLEVILLE’S[256] skill your keel was laid;
Though lovely STAEL, and lovelier STONE,[256]
Have worked their fingers to the bone,
And cut their petticoats to rags
To make your bright three-coloured flags;
Yet sacrilegious grape and ball
Deform the works of STONE and STAEL,
And trembling, without food or breeches,
Our sailors curse the _painted_ ——.[257]

Children of Muskein’s anxious care,
Source of my hope and my despair,
GUN-BOATS—unless you mean hereafter
To furnish food for British laughter—
Sweet GUN-BOATS, with your gallant crew,
Tempt not the rocks of SAINT MARCOU;
Beware the Badger’s bloody pennant,
And that d——d invalid LIEUTENANT!

LYRICS OF HORACE. ODE XIV., BOOK I.

TRANSLATED BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.

O Ship, fresh billows soon again
Shall bear thee to the boisterous main!
Firm, keep the port. See, see thy side,
Without a single oar to guide!
Wounded by tempests is thy mast;
Thy sail-yards groan beneath the blast;
Nor can thy keel, uncabled, brave
The swelling of th’ imperious wave.
Torn are thy sails! nor Gods hast thou,
When danger threats, to hear thy vow.
Though born of noblest wood, ’twas thine
To tower a vigorous Pontic pine;
’Tis vain thy race, thy name, to prize:
Nought on his painted stern relies
The trembling seaman. Storms afar
Thicken to mock thy strength: beware.

Thou, who wast late my anxious fear,
Thou now my fondest, tenderest care:
O shun, dear Ship, those tossing seas
Which part the white-cliff’d Cyclades!

[MUSKEIN was an inhabitant of Antwerp, whom the Directory not only
appointed to superintend the construction of the flat-bottomed boats
for the invasion of Great Britain (usually called by the French
sailors “_bateaux à la Muskein_”), but made a “_capitaine de
vaisseau_”. An attack was ordered to be made upon the two small
islands of SAINT MARCOUF (each not more than 200 yards in length),
of which, in July, 1795, SIR SIDNEY SMITH, with the Diamond frigate,
had taken unobstructed possession, and which were considered to give
to the English great facility in intercepting between the ports of
Havre and Cherbourg. The islands are situated off the river Isigny,
on the coast of Normandy, and about four miles distant from the
French shore. After being garrisoned with about 500 seamen and
marines, including a great proportion of invalids, these small
islands were placed under the command of LIEUT. CHARLES PAPPS PRICE,
of _The Badger_, a cruiser-converted Dutch hoy, mounting four, or at
most six, guns.

On the 8th April, 1798, MUSKEIN, with 33 flat-bottomed boats, with a
body of troops on board, and a few gun-brigs, was about to make a
combined attack on the two islands, but was driven off by two
British frigates, THE DIAMOND, _Capt. Sir R. J. Strachan_, and THE
HYDRA, _Capt. Sir Francis Laforey_, and stood into Caen river. While
there for three weeks, repairing damages, he was joined by seven
heavy gun-brigs, and about 40 flat-boats and armed fishing vessels,
bringing with them additional troops.

On the 6th May, LIEUT. PRICE received information that an attack was
meditated during the night. By 10 p.m., owing to the prevailing
calm, the small naval force on the station, consisting of the 50–gun
ship, ADAMANT, _Capt. Wm. Hotham_, 24–gun ship, EURYDICE, _Capt.
John Talbot_, and 18–gun brig-sloop, ORESTES, _Capt. W. Haggitt_,
had not been able to approach nearer to the islands than six
miles—precisely what the assailants wanted. The attacking force
consisted of 52–gun brigs and flat-bottomed boats, having on board,
as was reported, about 6000 men. At day-break, on the 7th, the
flotilla was seen drawn up in a line opposite to the south-west
front of the western redoubt; and instantly was opened, upon the
brigs and flats composing it, a fire from 17 pieces of cannon,
consisting of four 4, two 6, and six 24 pounder long guns, and three
24 and two 32–pounder carronades, being all the guns that would
bear. The brigs remained at a distance of from 300 to 400 yards, in
order to batter the redoubt with their heavy long guns, while the
boats, with great resolution, rowed up until within musket-shot of
the battery. But the guns of the latter, loaded with round, grape,
and canister, soon poured destruction amongst these, cutting several
of the boats “into chips,” and compelling all that could keep afloat
to seek their safety in flight. Six or seven boats were seen to go
down, and one small flat, No. 13, was afterwards towed in, bottom
upwards. She appeared, by some pieces of paper found in her, to have
had 144 persons on board, including 129 of the second company of the
Boulogne battalion.

The loss sustained by the British garrison amounted to one
private-marine killed, and two private-marines and two seamen
wounded. According to one French account, the invaders lost about
900 in killed or drowned, and between 300 and 400 wounded. As a
reward for their conduct on this occasion, Lieutenants PRICE and
BOURNE were each promoted to the rank of Commander. The former died
a Post Captain, at Hereford, in 1813, aged 62.—_James’s Naval
History_, vol. ii., pp. 128–131: ed. 1886.—ED.]

[M. PLÉVILLE was Minister of Marine, and, shortly after this
unsuccessful _début_ of the famous flotilla, was succeeded by
Rear-Adm. Bruix, who directed Rear-Adm. La Crosse to take the
command, and to make a second attack upon the islands. This,
however, the French Government declined to make.—ED.]

HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.

HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.—[“Among the literary celebrities of the French
Revolution was Helen Maria Williams, at whose house were wont to
assemble the most distinguished of the liberal writers of France,
her own reputation giving considerable _éclat_ to these meetings.
She wrote some of the most beautiful hymns in our language, was a
prisoner under the _reign of terror_, and published a work on the
French Revolution which is full of the most touching incidents, and
adorned with specimens of the ardent and pathetic poetry, the
product of French genius under the excitement of those most
mysterious days. A. Humboldt was much attached to her, and committed
to her care the translation and publication of some of his most
elaborate works.

“She had two nephews, ATHANAS and CHARLES COQUEREL, whom she
educated, and who both attained considerable fame, one in the
theological and the other in the political field. Athanas was for
some time the preacher in the Protestant Church at Amsterdam, and
married the daughter of a Swiss gentleman, the only person I have
ever known on the Continent to adopt the dress and profess the
opinions of an English Quaker. Miss Williams maintained intimate
relations with her English friends, was familiar with the great
lights of the Revolution, and her conversation was most instructive,
entertaining, and varied. All her sympathies were on the side of
freedom, and though she was not so prominent as to be persecuted by
the Emperor, like Madame de Staël, she was the object of a good deal
of suspicion and narrowly watched by the police.”—_Autobr.
Recollections by Sir John Bowring_, pp. 353–4.—ED.]

[MISS WILLIAMS, for some years, wrote that portion of the _New
Annual Register_ which relates to France. Among many other
productions she was the author of the song _Evan Banks_ (to the tune
of _Savourna Delish_), which has often been attributed to Burns; a
novel called _Julia_, and a _Tour in Switzerland_. Horace Walpole
called her in his CORRESPONDENCE a “scribbling trollop”.

She lived for many years, and until the death of that gentleman—in
Paris, 1818—under the _protection_ of JOHN HURFORD STONE, a man of
letters, who in the early part of the French Revolution had removed
with his wife to Paris, where he formed an intimacy with Miss
Williams. She was born about 1762, and died in Paris in 1827 as a
friend to the Bourbons, and the enemy of the Revolution!

This MR. STONE was born at Tiverton in 1763. While in Paris he was
in the confidence of the Directory, and became one of the chief
printers there. In 1805, he brought out an edition of the _Geneva
Bible_, and published several English reprints; also Miss Williams’s
translation of HUMBOLDT’S _Travels_. His brother, WM. STONE, was
tried in 1796 for High Treason, for holding treasonable
correspondence with him.—ED.]

ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OF JEAN BON ST. ANDRÉ.

The following exquisite tribute to the memory of an unfortunate republican is written with such a touching sensibility, that those who can command salt tears must prepare to shed them. The narrative is simple and unaffected; the event in itself interesting; the moral obvious and awful.—We have only to observe, that as this account of the transaction is taken from the French papers, it may possibly be somewhat partial.—The DEY’S own statement of the affair has not yet been received. Every friend of humanity will join with us in expressing a candid and benevolent hope, that this business may not tend to kindle the flames of war between these two unchristian powers; but that, by mutual concession and accommodation, they may come to some point (short of the restoration of JEAN BON’S head on his shoulders, which in this stage of the discussion is hardly practicable) by which the peace of the Pagan world may be preserved. For our part, we pretend not to decide from which quarter the concessions ought principally to be made. It is but candid to allow that there are probably faults on _both sides_, in this, as in most other cases. For the character of the DEY we profess a sincere respect on the one hand; and on the other, we naturally wish that the head of JEAN BON ST. ANDRÉ should be reserved for his own guillotine.

ELEGY; OR, DIRGE.

I.

All in the town of TUNIS,
In Africa the torrid,
On a Frenchman of rank
Was played such a prank,
As LEPAUX must think quite horrid.

II.

No story half so shocking,
By kitchen fire or laundry,
Was ever heard tell,—
As that which befel
The great JEAN BON ST. ANDRÉ.[258]

III.

Poor John was a gallant Captain,
In battles much delighting;
He fled full soon
On the first of June—
But he bade the rest keep fighting.

IV.

To Paris then returning,
And recovered from his panic,
He translated the plan
Of _Paine’s Rights of Man_,
Into language Mauritanic.

V.

He went to teach at Tunis—
Where as Consul he was settled—
Amongst other things,
“That the people are kings!”
Whereat the DEY was nettled.

VI.

The Moors being rather stupid,
And in temper somewhat mulish,
Understood not a word
Of the doctrine they heard,
And thought the Consul foolish.

VII.

He formed a _Club_ of _Brothers_,
And moved some resolutions—
“Ho! ho! (says the DEY),
“So this is the way
“That the French make _Revolutions_”.

VIII.

The DEY then gave his orders
In Arabic and Persian—
“Let no more be said—
But bring me his head!
These _Clubs_ are my aversion”.

IX.

The Consul quoted WICQUEFORT,
And PUFFENDORF and GROTIUS;
And proved from VATTEL
Exceedingly well,
Such a deed would be quite atrocious.

X.

’Twould have moved a Christian’s bowels
To hear the doubts he stated;—
But the Moors they did
As they were bid,
And strangled him while he prated.

XI.

His head with a sharp-edged sabre
They severed from his shoulders,
And stuck it on high,
Where it caught the eye,
To the wonder of all beholders.

XII.

This sure is a doleful story
As e’er you heard or read of;—
If at Tunis you prate
Of matters of state,
Anon they cut your head off!

XIII.

But we hear the French Directors
Have thought the point so knotty;
That the DEY having shown
He dislikes JEAN BON,
They have sent him BERNADOTTÉ.

On recurring to the French papers to verify our Correspondent’s statement of this singular adventure of JEAN BON ST. ANDRÉ, we discovered, to our great mortification, that it happened at ALGIERS, and not at TUNIS. We should have corrected this mistake, but for two reasons—first, that ALGIERS would not stand in the verse; and, secondly, that we are informed by the young man who conducts the Geographical Department of the _Morning Chronicle_, that both the towns are in Africa, or Asia (he is not quite certain which), and, what is more to the purpose, that both are peopled by Moors. TUNIS, therefore, may stand.

[MARSHAL BERNADOTTÉ, the French _Prince of Monté Corvo_, died as CHARLES JOHN XIV., _King of Sweden_, 8th March, 1844, in his eighty-first year. He married, in 1798, EUGENIA-BERNARDINA-DÉSIRÉE DE CLARY, daughter of a Marseilles merchant, and sister of MADAME JOSEPH BUONAPARTE (Queen of Spain). “She, who was not a common-place person,” says MADAME DE RÉMUSAT, in her valuable _Memoirs_, “had before her marriage been very much in love with Napoleon, and appears to have always preserved the memory of that feeling! It has been supposed that her hardly extinguished passion caused her obstinate refusal to leave France.” She survived her husband many years, and died in Paris, in the Rue d’Anjou Saint Honoré. Her husband was succeeded on the throne of Sweden by their son, OSCAR I., who married JOSÉPHINE, _daughter of_ EUGÈNE BEAUHARNAIS, Duc de Leuchtenberg, and _granddaughter of the_ EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.

BERNADOTTÉ owed his elevation to the throne to the misgovernment of Gustavus IV., who had brought the nation to the verge of ruin, and who was deposed in 1809, when his uncle, the Duke of Sudermania, became king as Charles XIII.; and the next year, BERNADOTTÉ was elected _Crown Prince_, and successor to the throne.

In 1813, he rendered great assistance to the Allies, for, as Crown Prince, he joined the confederacy against France with 30,000 men; and, after defeating Marshal Ney, with great loss, on the 6th September, he, on the 18th October, with the co-operation of Blücher, again defeated him at the decisive Battle of Leipsic; and, on the 19th, the Emperor Alexander, the King of Prussia, and the Crown Prince, entered the great square of Leipsic, amidst the acclamations of the inhabitants. He was a decided democrat, and hated by Napoleon, but was the only sovereign of the revolutionary branch who was permitted to retain his dominions after the great reaction in 1814. The choice made of this great soldier of fortune excited the surprise of all Europe at the time, but the wisdom of it was soon demonstrated by his prudent conduct. He had distinguished himself from all Napoleon’s other marshals by his clemency in victory. For half a century before his accession, Sweden had not known the peace and prosperity in which he left the country on his death.

In T. RAIKES’S _Diary_ will be found some interesting anecdotes of BERNADOTTÉ’S gratitude for services rendered him while a young subaltern. But one is of a more startling nature, as it records his narrow escape from the death intended for him by the widow of the late king, who had purposely prepared a poisoned cup of coffee for him, which she herself presented to him at her own table. Having been suddenly warned, he succeeded in forcing it upon her. She resolutely accepted her fate, and died during the night.—ED.]

No. XXVIII.

May 21, 1798.

We have received the following letter, with the poem that accompanies it, from a gentleman whose political opinions have hitherto differed from our own; but who appears to feel, as every man who loves his country must, that there can be but one sentiment entertained by Englishmen at the present moment.

Were we at liberty, we should be happy to do justice to the author, and credit to ourselves, by mentioning his name.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE “ANTI-JACOBIN”.

SIR,—However men may have differed on the political or constitutional questions which have of late been brought into discussion—whatever opinions they may have held on the system or conduct of administration—there can surely be now but one sentiment as to the instant necessity of firm and strenuous union for the preservation of our very existence as a people; and if degrees of obligation could be admitted, where the utmost is required from all, it should seem that in this cause the opposers of administration stand doubly pledged; for with what face of consistency can men pretend to stickle for points of constitutional liberty at home, who will not be found amongst the foremost at their posts to defend their country from the yoke of foreign slavery?

That there should be any set of men so infatuated as not to be convinced that the object of the enemy must be the utter destruction of these countries, after making the largest allowance for the effects of prejudice and passion, it is not easy to conceive. Such, however, we are told, there are. They believe, then, that after a long series of outrage, insult, and injury, in the height of their animosity and presumption, these moderate, mild, disinterested conquerors will invade us in arms, out of pure love and kindness, merely for our good, only to make us wiser, and better, and happier, and more prosperous than before!

Future events lie hid in the volume of Fate, but the intentions of men may be known by almost infallible indications. Passion and interest, the two mighty motives of human action, determine the Government of France to attempt the abolition of the British Empire! and if, abandoned by God and our right arm, we should flinch in the conflict, that destruction will be operative to the full of their gigantic and monstrous imaginations!—Harbours filled up with the ruins of their towns and arsenals, the Thames rendered a vast morass, by burying the Imperial City in her bosom—but I will not proceed in the horrible picture.

Are we then, it may be asked, to wage eternal war?—No; a glorious resistance leads to an honourable peace. The French people have been long weary of the war; their spirit has been forced by a system which must end in the failure of the engagement to give them the plunder of this country. They will awake from their dream, and raise a cry for peace, which their government will not dare to resist. The monarchs of Europe must now begin clearly to perceive that their fate hangs on the destiny of England; they will unite to compel a satisfactory peace on a broad foundation; and peace, when war has been tried to the utmost, will probably be permanent. A few years of wise economy and redoubled industry will place us again on the rising scale; and if the pressure of the times may have rendered it necessary sometimes to have cast a temporary veil over the statue of Liberty, she may again safely be shown in an unimpaired lustre.

Of the following verses I have nothing to say: if it should be decided that the greatness of the object cannot bear out the mediocrity of the execution, I will not appeal from the decision.

ODE TO MY COUNTRY.
MDCCXCVIII.

S. 1.

Britons! hands and hearts prepare:
The angry tempest threatens nigh,
Deep-toned thunders roll in air,
Lightnings thwart the livid sky;
Throned upon the wingéd storm,
Fell DESOLATION rears her ghastly form,
Waves her black signal to her Hell-born brood,
And lures them thus with promised blood:

A. 1.

“Drive, my sons, the storm amain!
Lo, the hated, envied land,
Where PIETY and ORDER reign,
And Freedom dares maintain her stand.
Have ye not sworn, by night and hell,
These from the earth for ever to expel?
Rush on, resistless, to your destined prey,
Death and rapine point the way.”

E. 1.

Britons! stand firm! with stout and dauntless heart
Meet unappall’d the threatening boaster’s rage;
Yours is the great, the unconquerable part,
For your loved hearths and altars to engage,
And sacred LIBERTY, more dear than life—
Yours be the triumph in the glorious strife.
Shall theft and murder braver deeds excite
Than honest scorn of shame and heavenly love of right?

S. 2.

Turn the bright historic page!
Still in glory’s tented field,
Albion’s arms, for many an age,
Have taught proud Gallia’s bands to yield.
Are not WE the sons of those
Whose steel-clad sires pursued the insulting foes,
E’en to the centre of their wide domain,
And bowed them to a BRITON’S reign?[259]

A. 2.

Kings, in modest triumph led,
Graced the SABLE VICTOR’S arms:[260]
His conquering lance, the battle’s dread;—
His courtesy the conquered charms.
The lion-heart soft pity knows,
To raise with soothing cares his prostrate foes;
The vanquished head true valour ne’er oppress’d,
Nor shunn’d to succour the distress’d.

E. 2.

Spirit of great ELIZABETH! inspire
High thoughts, high deeds, worthy our ancient fame;
Breathe through our ardent ranks the patriot fire,
Kindled at Freedom’s ever-hallowed flame;
Baffled and scorned, the Iberian tyrant found,
Though half a world his iron sceptre bound,
The gallant Amazon could sweep away,
Armed with her people’s love, the “INVINCIBLE” array.[261]

S. 3.

The BOLD USURPER[262] firmly held
The sword by splendid treasons gained;
And Gallia’s fiery genius quelled,
And Spain’s presumptuous claims restrained:
When lust of sway, by flattery fed,[263]
To venturous deeds the youthful monarch led,
In the full flow of victory’s swelling tide
Britain checked his power and pride.

A. 3.

To the great BATAVIAN’S name[264]
Ceaseless hymns of triumph raise!
Scourge of tyrants, let his fame
Live in songs of grateful praise.
Thy turrets, BLENHEIM,[265] glittering to the sun,
Tell of bright fields from warlike Gallia won;
Tell how the mighty monarch mourned in vain
His impious wish the world to chain.

E. 3.

And ye famed heroes, late retired to heaven,
Whose setting glories still the skies illume,
Bend from the blissful seats to virtue given—
Avert your long-defended country’s doom.
Earth from her utmost bounds shall wondering tell
How victory’s meed ye gained, or conquering fell;
Britain’s dread thunders bore from pole to pole,
Wherever man is found, or refluent oceans roll.

S. 4.

Names embalmed in honour’s shrine,
Sacred to immortal praise,
Patterns of glory, born to shine
In breathing arts or pictured lays:
See WOLFE, by yielding numbers pressed,
Expiring smile, and sink on victory’s breast!
See MINDEN’S plains and BISCAY’S billowy bay
Deeds of deathless fame display.

A. 4.

O! tread with awe the sacred gloom,
Patriot Virtue’s last retreat;
Where Glory, on the trophied tomb,
Joys their merit to repeat;
There CHATHAM lies, whose master-hand
Guided through seven bright years the mighty band,
That round his urn, where grateful Memory weeps,
Each in his hallowed marble sleeps.

E. 4.

Her brand accursed when civil discord hurled,[266]
Britain alone the united world withstood,
RODNEY his fortune-favoured sails unfurled,
And led three nation’s chiefs to Thames’s flood.
Firm on his rock the VETERAN HERO[267] stands;
Beneath his feet unheeded thunders roar;
Smiling in scorn, he sees the glittering bands
Fly with repulse and shame old CALPE’S hopeless shore.

S. 5.

Heirs or partners of their toils,
Matchless heroes still we own;
Crowned with honourable spoils
From the leagued nations won.
On their high prows they proudly stand,
The godlike guardians of their native land;
Lords of the mighty deep triumphant ride,
Wealth and victory at their side.

A. 5.

Loyal, bold, and generous bands,
Strenuous in their country’s cause,
Guard their cultivated lands,
Their altars, liberties, and laws.
On his firm, deep-founded throne,
Great BRUNSWICK sits—a name to fear unknown,
With brow erect commands the glorious strife,
Unawed, and prodigal of life.

E. 5.

Sons of fair Freedom’s long-descended line,
To Gallia’s yoke shall Britons bend the neck?—
No; in her cause though fate and hell combine
To bury all in universal wreck,
Of this fair Isle to make one dreary waste,
Her greatness in her ruins only traced,—
Arts, commerce, arms, sunk in one common grave—
The man who dares to die will never live a slave.

No. XXIX.

May 28, 1798.

In a former number, we were enabled, by the communication of a classical correspondent, to compliment CITIZEN MUSKEIN with an Address to his Gun-boats, imitated from a favourite Ode of Horace. Another (or perhaps the same) hand has obligingly furnished us with a composition, which we have no doubt will be equally acceptable to the citizen to whom it is addressed.

ODE TO THE DIRECTOR MERLIN.
HORACE, B. I., O. V.

Who now from Naples, Rome, or Berlin,
Creeps to thy blood-stained den, O MERLIN,
With diplomatic gold?—to whom
Dost thou give audience _en costume_?

_King Citizen!_—How sure each state
That bribes thy love shall feel thy hate;
Shall see the democratic storm
Her commerce, laws, and arts deform.

How credulous, to hope the bribe
Could purchase peace from MERLIN’S tribe!
Whom, faithless as the waves or wind,
No oaths restrain, no treaties bind.

For us—beneath yon SACRED ROOF,
The NAVAL FLAGS and arms of proof,
By British valour nobly bought,
Show how true safety must be sought!

[THIERS, in his _History of the French Revolution_, frequently
asserts the incorruptibility (with the exception of BARRAS) of the
French Directory. But ALISON, in his History, exposes the
extraordinary conduct of M. DE TALLEYRAND, then Minister of Foreign
Affairs, towards the Envoys from the United States of America, who
complained that an immense number of American vessels had been
seized by the French Government under a decree of Jan., 1798, which
directed that all ships having for their cargoes, in whole or in
part, any English merchandise, should be held lawful prize, whoever
was the proprietor thereof, from the single circumstance of its
coming from England or its foreign settlements. The Envoys were told
that nothing could be done till their Government had advanced a sum
equal to 1,280,000_l._ as a loan, and 50,000_l._ as a douceur to the
Directors. These terms were, of course, indignantly rejected. The
Hanse Towns, too, only obtained licenses to navigate the high seas
by the secret payment of 150,000_l_. to the Republican rulers.—ED.]

[LYRICS OF HORACE. BOOK I., ODE V.

TRANSLATED BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.

What slender youth, all essenced o’er,
In sweet alcove or rosy bower,
Now woos thee, Pyrrha, to be kind?
For whom these tresses dost thou bind,
Thus simply neat? O how shall he,
Poor youth! bewail the boisterous sea,
Rough with black tempests! How accuse
Capricious Gods, and broken vows!

Fond dupe! he hopes—so sweet that kiss—
Thou’lt still be witching, still be his!
What treacherous gales beset his way,
Ah! little knows he! Hapless they,
Who ne’er thy faithless smiles have tried!
—That I have ’scaped the whelming tide,
A tablet and my dripping vest,
Hung up in Neptune’s fane, attest.—ED.]

No. XXX.

June 4, 1798.

Our ingenious correspondent, MR. HIGGINS, has not been idle. The deserved popularity of the extracts which we have been enabled to give from his two didactic poems, the _Progress of Man_, and the _Loves of the Triangles_, has obtained for us the communications of several other works which he has in hand, all framed upon the same principle, and directed to the same end. The propagation of the New System of Philosophy forms, as he has himself candidly avowed to us, the main object of all his writings. A system, comprehending not politics only and religion, but morals and manners, and generally whatever goes to the composition or holding together of human society; in all of which a total change and revolution is absolutely necessary (as he contends) for the advancement of our common nature to its true dignity, and to the summit of that perfection which the combination of matter, called MAN, is by its innate energies capable of attaining.

Of this system, while the sublimer and more scientific branches are to be taught by the splendid and striking medium of didactic poetry, or _ratiocination in rhyme_, illustrated with such paintings and portraitures of essences and their attributes as may lay hold of the imagination while they perplex the judgment;—the more ordinary parts, such as relate to the conduct of common life and the regulation of social feelings, are naturally the subject of a less elevated style of writing; of a style which speaks to the eye as well as to the ear,—in short, of dramatic poetry and scenic representation.

“With this view,” says MR. HIGGINS (for we love to quote the very words of this extraordinary and indefatigable writer),—“with this view,” says he, in a letter dated from his study in St. Mary Axe, the window of which looks upon the parish pump,—“with this view I have turned my thoughts more particularly to the German stage, and have composed—in imitation of the most popular pieces of that country, which have already met with so general reception and admiration in this—a Play; which, if it has a proper run, will, I think, do much to unhinge the present notions of men with regard to the obligations of civil society, and to substitute, in lieu of a sober contentment, and regular discharge of the duties incident to each man’s particular situation, a wild desire of undefinable latitude and extravagance,—an aspiration after shapeless somethings that can neither be described nor understood,—a contemptuous disgust at all that _is_, and a persuasion that nothing is as it ought to be;—to operate, in short, a general discharge of every man (in his own estimation) from every tie which laws, divine or human, which local customs, immemorial habits, and multiplied examples, impose upon him; and to set them about doing what they like, where they like, when they like, and how they like,—without reference to any law but their own will, or to any consideration of how others may be affected by their conduct.

“When this is done, my dear sir,” continues Mr. H. (for he writes very confidentially)—“you see that a great step is gained towards the dissolution of the frame of every existing community. I say nothing of _Governments_, as _their_ fall is of course implicated in that of the social system;—and you have long known that I hold every Government (that acts by coercion and restriction—by laws made by the few to bind the many) as a _malum in se_,—an evil to be eradicated,—a nuisance to be abated,—by force, if force be practicable; if not, by the artillery of reason, by pamphlets, speeches, toasts at club-dinners, and though last, not least, by didactic poems.

“But where would be the advantage of the destruction of this or that Government, if the form of Society itself were to be suffered to continue such as that another must necessarily arise out of it and over it?—Society, my dear sir, in its present state, is a _hydra_. Cut off one head,—another presently sprouts out, and your labour is to begin again. At best you can only hope to find it a _polypus_;—where, by cutting off the _head_, you are sometimes fortunate enough to find a _tail_ (which answers all the same purposes) spring up in its place. This, we know, has been the case in France; the only country in which the great experiment of regeneration has been tried with anything like a fair chance of success.

“Destroy the frame of society,—decompose its parts,—and see the elements fighting one against another,—insulated and individual,—every man for himself (stripped of prejudice, of bigotry, and of feeling for others) against the remainder of his species;—and there is then some hope of a totally new _order of things_,—of a _Radical Reform_ in the present corrupt system of the world.

“The German Theatre appears to proceed on this judicious plan. And I have endeavoured to contribute my mite towards extending its effect and its popularity. There is one obvious advantage attending this mode of teaching;—that it can proportion the infractions of law, religion, or morality, which it recommends, to the capacity of a reader or spectator. If you tell a student, or an apprentice, or a merchant’s clerk, of the virtue of a Brutus, or of the splendour of a La Fayette, you may excite his _desire_ to be equally conspicuous; but how is he to set about it? Where is he to find the tyrant to murder? How is he to provide the monarch to be imprisoned, and the national guards to be reviewed on a white horse?—But paint the beauties of _forgery_ to him in glowing colours;—show him that the presumption of virtue is in favour of rapine and occasional murder on the highway—and he presently understands you. The highway is at hand—the till or the counter is within reach. These _haberdashers’ heroics_ come home to the business and the bosoms of men.—And you may readily make ten _footpads_, where you would not have materials nor opportunity for a single _tyrannicide_.

“The subject of the piece which I herewith transmit to you is taken from common or middling life; and its merit is that of teaching the most lofty truths in the most humble style, and deducing them from the most ordinary occurrences. Its moral is obvious and easy; and is one frequently inculcated by the German dramas which I have had the good fortune to see; being no other than ‘_the reciprocal duties of one or more husbands to one or more wives, and to the children who may happen to arise out of this complicated and endearing connection_’. The plot, indeed, is formed by the combination of the plots of _two_ of the most popular of these plays (in the same way as Terence was wont to combine two stories of Menander’s). The characters are such as the admirers of these plays will recognise for their familiar acquaintances. There are the usual ingredients of imprisonments, post-houses and horns, and appeals to angels and devils. I have omitted only the _swearing_, to which English ears are not yet sufficiently accustomed.

“I transmit at the same time a _Prologue_, which in some degree breaks the matter to the audience. About the song of Rogero, at the end of the first Act, I am less anxious than about any other part of the performance, as it is, in fact, literally translated from the composition of a young German friend of mine, an _Illuminé_, of whom I bought the original for three-and-sixpence. It will be a satisfaction to those of your readers who may not at first sight hit upon the tune, to learn that it is setting by a hand of the first eminence.—I send also a rough sketch of the plot, and a few occasional notes.—The _geography_ is by the young gentleman of the _Morning Chronicle_.”

THE ROVERS; OR, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT.

Dramatis Personæ.

PRIOR of the ABBEY OF QUEDLINBURGH, very corpulent and cruel.

ROGERO, a prisoner in the Abbey, in love with MATILDA POTTINGEN.

CASIMERE, a Polish emigrant, in Dembrowsky’s legion, married to
CECILIA, but having several children by MATILDA.

PUDDINGFIELD and BEEFINGTON, English noblemen, exiled by the tyranny
of King John, previous to the signature of Magna Charta.

RODERIC, Count of SAXE WEIMAR, a bloody tyrant, with red hair, and an
amorous complexion.

GASPAR, the minister of the Count—author of ROGERO’S confinement.

YOUNG POTTINGEN, brother to MATILDA.

MATILDA POTTINGEN, in love with ROGERO, and mother to CASIMERE’S
children.

CECILIA MÜCKENFELD, wife to CASIMERE.

Landlady, Waiter, Grenadiers, Troubadours, &c., &c.

PANTALOWSKY and BRITCHINDA, children of MATILDA, by CASIMERE.

JOACHIM, JABEL, and AMARANTHA, children of MATILDA, by ROGERO.

CHILDREN OF CASIMERE AND CECILIA, with their respective Nurses.

SEVERAL CHILDREN—fathers and mothers unknown.

_The Scene lies in the town of Weimar, and the neighbourhood of the
Abbey of Quedlinburgh._

_Time from the 12th to the present century._