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From the Journal des Debats.
than by a Christian and philosophic spirit. It is | ence to the will or the ulterior displeasure of the a remarkable work; the style is often highly elo- ruling powers at Washington. Such a step would quent, and distinguished generally by calm dignity cause a separation between California and the Union, and power.” Similar testimony is borne by the and would be almost equivalent to a declaration of London literary journals.
independence. The next news will inform us which
have succeeded—the plans of General Riley, or the The London Moruing Chronicle of the 10th revolutionary ones of the assembly of San Franinst. has an editorial article on the American free cisco. soil question; more is promised—a systematic discussion. In the same number of the Chronicle
We return often to the subject of California. It are two extensive documents, suggestive and instructive for the United States. I refer to the Anglo-Saxon race there taking possession, coloniz
is in fact a most interesting spectacle to behold the report of the commissioner appointed to inquire ing, administering laws, and making a flourishing into the state of the population in the mining dis- country of that, which, a year ago, was a vast destricts of Great Britain, and a letter to the lord ert, and where the immense wealth which it has chancellor from the commissioners on lunacy, with been discovered to contain, has drawn adventurers regard to their duties and practice.
from all parts of the world. It is a study full of inThe Chronicle of the 17th inst. has a continua- colonization, and who for eighteen years has been
struction for France, now attempting the work of tion of the editorial views of the Wilmot Proviso mistress of one of the most beautifúl countries on question. It is severe on the free soil party, and the face of the globe, where she has expended milon Presidents Tyler and Polk. The matter is lions of treasure, and shed the blood of her brave very curious on the whole, if from a foreigner. soldiers, but without being able to establish herself The writer says :-“ The success of the Wilmot permanently on the rich soil and under the delicious Proviso is the doom of slavery.” This is to be climate. For France, still reeling and shuddering shown.
from revolution and anarchy, it is well worth the Lamartine advertises in his journal all his pat- ed ;-how the concert, liberality, and courage of a
trouble of learning how such a government is foundrimonial estates. By his writings he has gained handful of honest men, who know what they are as much nearly as Walter Scott received. These about, will succeed in establishing a regular system, men of genius ended in the same ruin, though ake the laws respected, and maintain er and from different causes, and with very different char- liberty in the midst of a population, of which the acters.
elements are, for the most part, as desperate and
vicious as those which are now to be found amid The Travels of Lyell and Mackay scale many the gold mines of San Joaquin and the Sacramento. eyes in Great Britain; perhaps, also, in the United We must not forget that the greatest number of States, where some Americans are not less preju- these intrepid explorers, inured to all danger by diced against their own country.
their wandering lives, and hardened to all privaLouis Napoleon has taken up his residence for tions and misery, are also men, who, in violence the vacations, in the palace of St. Cloud. All and disorder, do not yield in any degree to the the vacant ex-royal palaces must, then, be at his demagogues of our cities, and who have no more disposal !
idea of respecting property, the rights of mine and
thine, than the socialist school here and elsewhere. Nearly all the continental governments are ne- But, notwithstanding these evil qualities, which gotiating, or about to negotiate, loans. The com- must make a struggle with such men terrible, still, parative prosperity of the Prussian finances is a they are in a measure controlled by the energy of wonder.
honest men, who go to seek fortune by their side. In the Constitutionnel of 20th inst., and on the Here, then, is a subject for useful meditation for same day in the Journal des Debats, there are ar
that laborious but timid population, enemies of ticles on California, in which the worst aspects organize themselves, which forms the immense
anarchy, but who do not know how to unite and are presented by the former, the best by the other. majority of the French society, and who have left, General Riley's proclamation is expounded and more than once, the country without defence, to praised by both. The Constitutionnel treats the the hands of a few bold conspirators. plan of the St. Francisco Assembly as revolutionary.
Allow me to translate for you a paragraph The Moniteur of yesterday morning contains of each.
the official report from the Council of State, in
From the Constitutionnel. the case of M. Lesseps, the late envoy or comIf the attempt of General Riley succeeds, he will missioner of France. It censures and condemns preserve the rights and maintain the authority of the his conduct and treaty in the severest terms, and central power. Part of the population has already assigns the reasons of this judgment in detail. It adhered to his proclamation, and consented to pur- pronounces that he entirely violated his instrucsue the plan he has indicated to them. But the lions, and signed a convention of which the stipuprovincial assembly of St. Francisco refuses hin lations were contrary to the interests and dignity the right of taking such a step; it protests against of France. The Constitutionnel of this day has the union of civil and military power, and proposes in its turn, that the different districts should elect another article on the Canadian question. It is delegates for a convention, which should give to treated as still pregnant with danger for Great California a definitive constitution, without refer-, Britain, and interest for the United States.
Aug. 1st.—Mr. Agnew sayd to me this morn- he sayd in ye morning ; and, in writing down y. ing, somewhat gravelie, “ I observe, cousin, you heads of his speech, to kill time, a kind of resentseem to consider yourselfe the victim of circum- ment at myselfe came over me, unlike to what I stances.' “And am I not?”' I replied. “No," had ever felt before ; in spite of my folly about he answered, “ circumstance is a false god, unre- my curls. Seeking for some trifle in a bag that cognized by the Christian, who contemns him, had not been shaken out since I brought it from though a stubborn yet a profitable servant.”. London, out tumbled a key with curious wards“ “ That may be alle very grand for a man to doe,' I knew it at once for one that belonged to a cerI sayd. “Very grand, but very feasible, for a tayn algum-wood casket Mr. Milton had recourse woman as well as a man," rejoined Mr. Agnew, to dailie, because he kept small change in it ; and “and we shall be driven to the wall alle our lives, I knew not I had brought it away! 'T was unless we have this victorious struggle with cir- worked in grotesque, the casket, by Benvenuto, cumstances. I seldom allude, cousin, to yours, for Clement the Seventh, who for some reason which are almoste too delicate for me to meddle woulde not have it ; and soe it came somehow to with ; 'and yet I hardlie feele justified in letting Clementillo, who gave it to Mr. Milton. Thought soe many opportunities escape. Do I offend ? or I, how uncomfortable the loss of this key must may I go on?-Onlie think, then, how volunta- have made him! he must have needed it a hunrilie you have placed yourself in your present un- dred times ! even if he hath bought a new casket, comfortable situation. The tree cannot resist yo | I will for it he habituallie goes agayn and agayn graduall growth of yo moss upon it; but you to ye old one, and then he remembers that he lost might, anie day, anie hour, have freed yourself ye key the same day that he lost his wife. I from the equallie graduall formation of yo net that heartilie wish he had it back. Ah, but he feels has enclosed you at last. You entered too has not the one loss as he feels the other. Nay, but tilie into your firste—nay, let that pass—you gave it is as well that one of them, tho' y lesser, too shorte a triall of your new home before you shoulde be repaired. 'T will shew signe of grace, became disgusted with it. Admit it to have beene my thinking of him, and may open y® way, if God dull, even unhealthfulle, were you justified in for- wills, to some interchange of kindnesse, however saking it at a month's end? But your husband fleeting. gave you leave of absence, though obtayned under Soe I sought out Mr. Agnew, tapping at his false pretences.- When you found them to be studdy doore.
“ Come in," drylie false, should you not have cleared yourself to him enoughe ; and there were he and Rose reading a of knowledge of ye deceit? Then your leave, soe letter. I sayd, “I want you to write for me to obtayned, expired-shoulde you not have returned Mr. Milton.” He gave a sour look, as much as then ?— Your health and spiritts were recruited ; to say he disliked ye office ; which threw me back, your husband wrote to reclaim you-shoulde you as 't were ; he having soe lately proposed it himnot have returned then? He provided an escort self. Rose's eyes, however, dilated with sweete whom your father beat and drove away.-If you pleasure, as she lookt from one to ye other of us. had insisted on going to your husband, might you “ Well-I fear 't is too late," sayd he at length not have gone then ? Oh cousin, you dare not reluctantlie, I mighte almost say grufflie—" what look up to heaven and say you have been y victim am I to write ?" of circumstances.”
“ To tell him I have this key,” I made answer I made no answer; onlie felt much moven, and faltering. very angrie. I sayd, “ If I wished to go back, “ That key !" cried he. Mr. Milton woulde not receive me now.”
“ Yes, the key of his algum-wood casket, which “ Will you try ?" sayd Roger. “Will you but I knew not I had, and which I think he must miss let me try? Will you let me write to him ?” dailie."
I had a mind to say “Yes.”—Insteade, I an He lookt at me with y utmost impatience. wered “ No."
“And is that alle ?” he sayd. “ Then there's an end,” cried he sharplie. “ Yes, alle," I said trembling. “ Had you made but one fayre triall, whether suc “ And have you nothing more to tell him ?" cessfulle or noe, I coulde have been satisfied-no, sayd he. not satisfied, but I woulde have esteemed you, "No," after a pause, I replyed. Ruse's coulde have taken your part. As it is, the less I countenance fell. say just now, perhaps the better. Forgive me for “ Then you must ask some one else to write having spoken at alle.”
for you, Mrs. Milton," burste forthe Roger Agnew, Afterwards, I hearde him say to Rose of " unless you choose to write for yourself. I have me, “ I verilie believe there is nothing in her on neither part nor lot in it." which w make a permanent impression. I verilie I burste forthe into teares. think she loves everie one of those long curls of “No, Rose, no,” repeated Mr. Agnew, puthers more than she loves Mr. Milton."
ting aside his wife, who woulde have interceded (Note :- I will cut them two inches shorter to- for me; “her teares have noe effect on me nownight. And they will grow all ye faster.) they proceed, not from a contrite heart, they are
* Oh, my sad heart, Roger Agnew hath yo tears of a child that cannot brook to be chidpierced you at last.
den for the waywardnesse in which it persists." I was moved, more than he thought, by what “ You doe me wrong everie way," I sayd; “I
came to you willing and desirous to doe what you principles ; and therefore promoted your marriage yourselfe woulde, this morning, have had me doe.” as far as my interest in your father had weight. I
“But in how strange a way !" cried he. “At own I was surprised at his easilie obtained cona time when anie renewal of your intercourse re- sent -but, that you, once domesticated with quires to be conducted with yo utmost delicacy, such a man as John Milton, shoulde find your and even with more show of concession on your home uninteresting, your affections free to stray part than, an hour ago, I should have deemed back to your owne family, was what I had never needfulle—to propose an abrupt, trivial commu- contemplated.” nication about an old key!”
Here I made a show of taking the letter, but “ It needed not to have beene abrupt,” I sayd, he held it back. nor yet trivial; for I meant it to have beene ex • No, Moll, you disappointed us everie way. prest kindlie."
And, for a time, Rose and I were ashamed, for “ You said not that before," answered he. you rather than of you, that we lest noe means
“ Because you gave me not time—because you neglected of trying to preserve your place in your chid me and frightened me.”
husband's regard. But you did not bear as out; He stood silent some while upon this ; grave, and then he beganne to take it amisse that we upyet softer, and mechanicallie playing with yo key, held you. Soe then, after some warm and cool which he had taken from my hand. Rose look ds, our correspondence languished ; and hath ing in his face anxiouslie. At lengthe, to disturbe but now beene renewed.” his reverie, she playfully tooke it from him, say “ He has written us a most kind condolence," ing, in school-girl phrase,
interrupted Rose, on the death of our baby." “ This is the key of the kingdom !"
“ Yes, most kindlie, most nobly exprest,” sayd “ of the kingdom of heaven, it mighte be!" Mr. Agnew; “ but what a conclusion !" exclaimed Roger, “if we knew how to use it And then, after this long preamble, he offered arighte! If we knew but how to fit it to ye me the letter, yo beginning of which, though wards of Milton's heart !—there's the difficultie doubtlesse well enough, I marked not, being im-~a greater one, poor Moll, than you know ; patient to reach ye latter part; wherein I found for hithertoe, alle y reluctance has been on your myself spoken of soe bitterlie, soe harshlie, as part.
that I too plainly saw Roger Agnew had not “ What now?" I anxiouslie askt.
heene beside ye mark when he decided I could never “ We were talking of you but as you rejoyned make Mr. Milton happy. Payned and wounded us," said Mr. Agnew," and I was telling Rose that feeling made me lay aside ye letter without profhithertoe I had considered the onlie obstacle to a fering another word, and retreat without soe much reunion arose from a false impression of your own, as a sigh or a sob into mine own chamber ; but that Mr. Milton coulde not make you happy. But noe longer could y restraynt be maintained. I fell now I have beene led to ye conclusion that you to weeping soe passionatelie that Rose prayed to cannot make him soe, which increases the diffi- come in, and condoled with me, and advised me, cultie.”
soe as that at length my weeping bated, and I After a pause, I sayd, " What makes you promised to eturn below when I shoulde have think soe ?"
bathed mine eyes and smoothed my hair ; but I “ You and he have made me think soe," he re- have not gone down yet. plyed. “ First for yourself, dear Moll, putting aside for a time the consideration of your youth, Bed time.--I think I shall send to father to have beauty, franknesse, mirthfullenesse, and a certayn me home at ye beginning of next week. Rose girlish drollerie and mischiefe that are all very needes me not, now; and it cannot be pleasant to well in fitting time and place—what remains in Mr. Agnew to see my sorrowfulle face about yo you for a mind like John Milton's to repose upon ? | house. His reproofe and my husband's together what stabilitie? what sympathie ? what steadfast have riven my heart; I think I shall never laugh principle? You take noe pains to apprehend and agayn, nor smile but after a piteous sorte; and relish his favorite pursuits; you care not for his soe people will cease to love me, for there is wounded feelings; you consult not his interests, nothing in me of a graver kind to draw their af anie more than your owne duty. Now, is such fection ; and soe I shall lead a moping life unto the character to make Milton happy ?”
yo end of my dayes. “ No one can answer that but himself," I re - Luckilie for me, Rose had much sewing to plyed, deeplie mortyfide.
doe ; for she hath undertaken with great energie “Well — he has answered it,” sayd Mr. Ag- her labors for yo poore, and consequentlie spends new, taking up y Jetter he and Rose had beene less time in her husband's studdy ; and, as I help reading when I interrupted them. “ You her to ye best of my means, my sewing hides my must know, cousin, that his and my close friend- lack of talking, and Mr. Agnew reads to us such ship hath beene a good deal interrupted by this books as he deems entertayning; yet half ye time matter. 'T was under my roof you met. Rose I hear not what he reads. Still, I did not deeme had imparted to me much of her earlie interest in so much amusement could have beene found in you. I fancied you had good dispositions which, books ; and there are some of his, that, if not soe under masterlie trayning, would ripen into noble cumbrous, I woulde fain borrow.
Friday. I have made up my mind now, that in church, I converted into prayers and promises. I shall never see Mr. Milton more ; and am re- Hence, my holy peace. solved to submitt to it without another tear.
Rose suyd, this morning, she was glad to see Monday.—Rose proposed, this morning, we me more composed ; and soe am I ; but never shoulde resume our studdies. Felt loth to comwas more miserable.
ply, but did sve nevertheless, and afterwards we
walked manie miles to visit some poor folk. This Saturday night.- Mr. Agnew's religious ser
evening, Mr. Agnew read us y prologue to the vices at y end of the week have alwaies more Canterbury Tales. How lifelike are y portraitthan usuall matter and meaninge in them. They
I mind me that Mr. Milton shewed me ye are neither soe drowsy as those I have beene for Talbot Inn, that day we crost the river with Mr. manie years accustomed to at home, nor soe wea
Marvell. risome as to remind me of y Puritans. Were there manie such as he in our church, so faithfulle,
Tuesday.--How heartilie do I wish I had never fervent, and thoughtfulle, methinks there would be read that same letter !-or rather, that it had fewer schismaticks; but still there woulde be some,
never beene written. Thus it is, even with our because there are alwaies some that like to be yo
wishes. We think ourselves reasonable in wishupperniost.
ing some small thing were otherwise, which it -To-nighte, Mr. Agnew's prayers went were quite as impossible to alter as some great straight to my heart; and I privilie turned sun- thing. Neverthelesse I cannot help fretting over drie of his generall petitions into particular ones, y remembrance of that part wherein he spake for myself and Robin, and also for Mr. Milton, such bitter things of my most ungoverned pasThis gave such unwonted relief, that since I sion for revellings and junketings.” Sure, he entered into my closet, I have repeated the same would not call my life too merrie now, could he particularlie; one request seeming to grow out of see me lying wakefullie on my bed—could he see another, till I remained I know not how long on me preventing y morning watch—could he see me my knees, and will bend them yet agayn, ere I go at my prayers, at my books, at my needle. to bed.
He shall find he hath judged too hardly of How sweetlie y moon shines through my case
Moll, even yet. ment to-night! I am alınoste avised to accede to Rose's request of staying here to ye end of the Wednesday.—Took a cold dinner in a basket month :-everie thing here is soe peacefulle ; and with us to-day, and ate our rusticall repast on ye Forrest Hill is dull, now Robin is away.
skirt of a wood, where we could see yo squirrels
at theire gambols. Mr. Agnew lay on y grass, Sunday evening.—How blessed a Sabbath !- and Rose took out her knitting, whereat he laught, Can it be, that I thought, onlie two days back, 1 and sayd she was like y* Dutch women, that must shoulde never know peace agayn? Joy I may not, knit
, whether mourning or feasting, and even on but peace I can and doe. And yet nought hath yo Sabbath. Having laught her out of her work, amended y unfortunate condition of mine affairs ;
he drew forth Mr. George Herbert's poems, and but a different coloring is caste upon them—the read us a strayn which pleased Rose and me soe Lord grant that it may last! How hath it come
much, that I shall copy it herein, to have always soe, and how may it be preserved? This morn,
by me. when I awoke, 't was with a sense of relief such How fresh, oh Lord ; how sweet and clean as we have when we miss some wearying bodilie Are thy returns ! e'en as ye flowers in spring, payn ; a feeling as though I had beene forgiven, yet To which, beside theire owne demesne, not by Mr. Milton, for I knew he had not forgiven Grief melis away like snow in May.
The late pent frosts tributes of pleasure bring. me. Then, it must be, I was forgiven by God; and
As if there were noe such cold thing. why? I had done nothing to get his forgivenesse, only presumed on his mercy to ask manie things
Who would have thought my shrivelled heart I had noe right to expect. And yet I felt I was quite underground, as flowers depart
Woulde have recovered greenness? it was gone forgiven. Why, then, mighte not Mr. Milton
To see their mother root, when they have blown, some day forgive me? Should y debt of ten Where they together, alle ye hard weather, thousand talents be cancelled, and not ye debt of a Dead to the world, keep house alone. hundred pence? Then I thought on that same These are thy wonders, Lord of power! word, talents; and considered, had I ten, or even Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell one? Decided to consider it at leisure, more And up to heaven, in an hour, closelie, and to make over to God henceforthe, be Making a chiming of a passing bell.
We they ten, or be it one. Then, dressed with much say
amiss “this or that is ;" composure, and went down to breakfast.
Thy word is alle, if we could spell. Having marked that Mr. Agnew and Rose af- Oh that I once past changing were ! fected not companie on this day, spent it chiefly Manie a spring I shoot up faire,
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flowers can wither ; by myself, except at church and meal times ;
Offering at heaven, growing and groaning tnither, partlie in my chamber, partlie in y garden bowre Nor doth my flower want a spring shower, by the bee-hives. Made manie resolutions, which, My sins and I joyning together.
But while I grow in a straight line,
! Which, when we once can feel and prove, Still upwards bent, as if heaven were my own, Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. Thy anger comes, and I decline.
Who would be more, swelling their store,
Thursday.-Father sent over Diggory with a
letter for me from deare Robin ; alsoe, to ask when And now, in age, I bud agayn, After soe manie deaths, I bud and write,
I was minded to return home, as mother wants to I once more smell the dew and rain,
goe to Sandford. Fixed the week after next; but And relish versing! Oh my onlie light! Rose says I must be here agayn at ye apple-gatherIt cannot be that I am he
Answered Robin's letter. He looketh not On whom thy tempests fell alle night?
for choyce of fine words ; nor noteth an error here These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
and there in ye spelling. To make us see we are but flowers that glide,
(CHARM OF A FAMILIAR OBJECT SEEN IN ITS HAP- small controversies that had lately taken place PIEST LIGHT.)
among the two sects of Methodism. The man of Mrs. Carter, speaking of her journey home, in zeal very eagerly asked his lordship if he had seen one of her letters to Mrs. Montagu, says, “I need Mr. Hill's Farrago? His lordship, whose ideas not tell you, for I am sure you feel it, how much I ran on Newmarket, whither he was at that time longed for you to share with me in every view that bound, replied, he had not—and begged the gentlepleased me; but there was one of such striking · Made ?-why I told you, my lord—by Mr. Hill
man to inform him by whom Farrago was made.beauty, that I was half-wild with impatience at your being so many miles distant. To be sure the himself.? — The 1-1 he was,' said my lord ; wise people, and the gay people, and the silly peo 'I don't understand you.'— Not understand me!'
pray, sir, out of what mare?'— Mare ? my lord ple of this worky-day world, and for the matter of said the noble jockey. Why, is it not a horse you that, all the people but you and I, would laugh to hear that this object which I was so undone at
are talking about?'-'A horse! my lord—why your not seeing, was no other than a single honey- you are strangely out. No, I am not talking about suckle. It grew in a shady lane, and was sur
a horse, I am talking about a book.'— A book ?'rounded by the deepest verdure, while its own fig-· Yes, my lord, and a most excellent one indeed, ure and coloring, which were quite perfect, were against John Wesley and universal redemption, by illuminated by a ray of sunshine. There are some Mr. Rowland Hill—the Great Mr. Hill, my lord. common objects, sometimes placed in such a situ- whom everybody knows to be the first preacher of ation, viewed in such a light, and attended by such the age, and the son of the first baronet in the accompaniments, as to be seen but once in a whole kingdom.'— I ask his pardon,' said his lordship, life, and to give one a pleasure entirely new; and
• for not having heard either of him or his bookthis is one of them.”—Mirs. Carter's Letters to but I really thought you was talking about a horse
for Newmarket.' It is indeed of little consequence Mrs. Montagu, vol. 1, p. 117.
10 · those persons who now lead the opinions of a (HUMAN NATURE OPPOSITELY ESTIMATED.]
great part of Europe,' whether Mr. Rowland Hill's
Farrago be a horse or a book : whether it is to “ From those that have searched into the state start for the sweepstakes at Newmarket or the Tabof human nature, we have sometimes received very ernacle: and it is a matter of perfect indifference to different and incompatible accounts; as though the them whether it wins or loses the odds. The coninquirers had not been so much learning as fash- tention is too trifling, and the success too insignifiioning the subject they had in hand ; and that as cant, to excite either hope or fear for one moment." arbitrarily as a heathen carver, that could make - Monthly Review, vol. 62, 1780,— Williams's either a god or a tressel out of the saine piece of Lectures on the Duties of Religion and Morality, wood. For some have cried down Nature into such a desperate impotency, as would render the grace of God ineffectual ; and others, on the con-|(CHANGE OF TASTE IN THE COMPOSITION OF SERtrary, have invested her with such power and self
MONS.] sufficiency, as would render the grace of God superfluous. The first of these opinions wrongs na.
6. There is a taste in moral and religious as well ture in defect, by allowing her no strength, which as other compositions, which varies in different in consequence must make men desperate. The ages, and may very lawfully and innocently be insecond wrongs nature in excess, by imputing too dulged. Thousands received instruction and conmuch strength, which in effect must make men con
solation formerly from sermons, which would not fident; and both of them do equally destroy the now be endured. The preachers of them served reason of our application to God for sirength. For their generation, and are blessed for evermore. But neither will the man that is well in conceit, nor yet because provision was made for the wants of the the desperate, apply himself to a physician; be- last century in one way, there is no reason why it cause the one cries there is no need, the other, there should not be made for the wants of this in another. is no help.”—Dean Young's Sermons, vol. 1, suited to it, when our discourses shall in their turn
The next will behold a set of writers of a fashion p. 4.
be antiquated and forgotten among men ; though if (ROWLAND HILL'S FARRAGO.”]
any good be wrought by them in this their day, our
hope is, with that of faithful Nehemiah, that our “A NOBLEMAN, well known on the turf, acci- God will remember us concerning them.”—Bishop dentally fell in company with a gentleman whose (Rev. Dr.) Horne, Preface to his Discourses, heart and head were chiefly occupied with some 1779.