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Moore, the conductor of the work, he was introduced by lord Lyttelton, who was diligent to promote the success of this undertaking by interesting men of talents in its favour. Some of my father's inti, mate friends had already joined in the publication; and, #: Mr. Moore to be an amiable and deserving man, he gave him the promise of assistance whenever he was at a loss for an essay; of this indulgence Moore frequently availed himself, nor did he ever apply in vain. Many of these papers, therefore, were written in great haste, and none of them with laboured attention. They were, however, much relished and admired ; and as his conversation was found to partake of the same wit and humour that characterised his writings, his company became more generally sought after. In what i. he was regarded by men of superior talents, will be seen by the following character, drawn of him in one of these essays by the late earl of Chesterfield. “‘Cantabrigius drinks nothing * but water, and rides more miles “in a year than the keenest sports• man, the former keeps his head • clear, the latter his body in health; • it is not from himself that he • runs, but to his acquaintance, a “synonimous term for his friends. • Internally safe he seeks no sanc“tuary from himself, no intoxica‘tion for his mind. His penetra‘tion makes him discover and di• vert himself with the follies of • mankind, which his wit enables • him to expose with the truest ri‘ dicule, though always without ‘personal offence. Cheerful abroad thecause happy at home, and thus “happy because virtuous.” “This character stands at the close of a paper written to expose

the folly and ill effects of hard drinking; and lord Chesterfield names my father, who was a water drinker, as a living example of one, who did not require the exhilarating aid of wine to enliven his wit or increase his vivacity. “How far that even and regu. lar flow of spirits, with which he was blessed, was the effect of constitution, the consequence of temperance, or of an habitual activity; or whether it arose from an unio of all the three, it may be difficult to determine ; but, from whatever cause it proceeded, there is no doubt that he possessed in a superior degree the rare and happy talent not only of regulating his conversation, but even his spirits, by the temper and feelings of the comÉ. he was in ; who always found im equally disposed to listen or to converse, to be grave or §. humourous or instructive, as best accorded with their wishes and inclinations: by such behaviour in society it was, “that his acquaintance soon became a synonimous term for his friends.” “In what manner “he diverted himself with the follies of mankind,” the reader will have an opportunity of judging by a perusal of his works. Certain it is, there will be found in them none of that • personal offence’ which almost all humourous and burlesque writers have allowed themselves, and without which the generality of authors seem falsely to imagine, that this species of writing becomes tame and insipid. That he was ‘‘cheerful abroad because happy at home, and thus happy because virtuous,” is established by the universal testimony of his friends, which it must be the pride and pleasure of his family to confirm. “My father was considerably - adadvanced in his eighty-third year before he was sensible, to any considerable degree, of the infirmities of age; but a difficulty of hearing, which had for some time gradually increased, now rendered conversation troublesome, and frequently disappointing to him. Against this evil, his books, for which his relish was not abated, had hitherto furnished an easy and acceptable resource; but, unfortunately, his sight also became so imperfect, that there were few books he could read with comfort to himself. His general health, however, remained the same, and his natural good spirits and cheerfulness of temper experienced no alteration. Havin

still the free use of his limbs, he continued to take his usual exer

cise, and to follow his o

habits of life; accepting of sug amusement, as conversation would afford, from those friends who had the kindness to adapt their voices to his prevailing infirmity; and that he still retained a lively concern in all those great and interesting events, which were then taking place in Europe, may be seen in some of his latest productions. But as his deafness increased, he felt himself grow daily more unfit for the society of any but his own family, into whose care and rotection he resigned himself with §. most affectionate and endearing confidence; receiving those attentions, which it was the first pleasure of his children to pay him, not as a debt due to a fond and indulgent parent, but as a free and voluntary tribute of their affection. In the contemplation of these tokens of esteem and love, he seemed to experience a constant and unabating pleasure, which supplied, in no small degree, the want of other interesting ideas.

“It is well known, that among the many painful and humiliating effects that attend the decline of life, and follow from a partial decay of the mental powers, we have often to lament the change it produces in the heart and affections; but from every consequence of this sort my father was most happily exempt. This I allow myself to say upon the authority of the medical gentleman, of considerable eminence, by whose skill and friendly attentions he was assisted through the progressive stages of his slow decline; and who has repeatedly assured me, that, in the whole course of his extensive practice, he had never seen a similar instance of equanimity and undeviating sweetness of temper.

“During this gradual increase of feebleness, and with the discouraging prospect of still greater suffering, which he saw before him, his exemplary patience and constant care to spare the feelings of his family were eminently conspicuous; nor did the distressing infirmities, inseparably attendant on extreme debility, ever produce a murmur of complaint, or even a

hasty or unguarded expression. It

is somewhat singular, and may be regarded as a proof of an unusually strong frame, that no symptom of disease took place; all the organs of life continued to execute their respective functions, until, nature being wholly exhausted, he expired without a sigh, on the 17th of September, 1802, leaving a widow, two

sons, and a daughter.

“Of lord Chesterfield, who, like my father, possessed his faculties to the close of life, it is recorded, that the last words he uttered were strictly in character;' and the remark made by his physician Dr. Warren, upon that occasion was, - that that “his good breeding would only uit him with his life.” I shall hope or indulgence in applying the like observation to him, who is the sub#. of this memoir, and whose

test words were equally characteristic; expressing that fond attachment to his family, which had ever been his ruling passion. Having passed a considerable time in a sort of doze, from which it was

thought he had hardly strength to revive, he awoke, and upon seeing me, feebly articulated “how do the dear people do?” when I answered that they were well; with a smile upon his countenance, and with an increased energy of voice, he replied, ‘I thank God!’ and then reposed his head upon the pil. low, and spoke no more.”

ConfidentiAl Correspondesce of Lewis XVI. from the TIME of his Projecred Flight to MonTMED1.

& [Extracted from Mrss Williams's Publication of his LETTERs.]


June 29, 1791.

-: O console the most unfor

tunate of kings, you recal, my lord archbishop, the example of David, compelled to flee before his son Absalom. Forsaken momarch, unfortunate father it is not vengeance that David calls, to his aid; it is not the thunderbolt of irritated heaven that he invokes; in the king of kings he places all his confidence. He prays for an ungrateful son; he pardons the monster by whom he is pursued, and who seems to thirst for his blood. This act of paternal affection is sublime; and I glory in . a conformity of sentiments and ideas with David. Persecuted by ungrateful children, who calumniate a tender father, I have only thought of their interests and their happiness. At the feet of religion I depose the injuries heaped upon the monarch : may the people be happy and 1 am satisfied. I enjoy a scothing satisfaction, while, in my hours of solitude, I can bless providence, and submit myself to its decrees: it is then that all injuries,

all injustice, all wrongs, are forgotten. Am I not too happy, my lord archbishop and can divine justice be satisfied ? I have been punished for having preferred that insolent philosophy, which had seduced, and plunged me into an abyss of misery: . that, I neglected the ancient worship of my forefathers, so dear to St. Lewis, from whom I am proud of descending. You, my lord archbishop, whose religious virtues inspire admiration, and who prefer them to those of which philosophers are proud, but which, viewed through the prism of religion, bear so near a resemblance to vices, offer for your unfortunate king the vows of a heart inflamed by divine love—of a holy bishop whom I may compare to Ambrose—with this difference, that Theodosius humbled himself before him for having cruelly chastised a rebellious people, and I solicit the aid of your prayers, to bring back a people who will never have to reproach me with having caused either their blood or tears to flow. “ LEwis.”

To To M. DE Bouille'.

July 3, 1791.

“You have done your duty, sir: cease to accuse yourself. And yet I can conceive your affliction: you have risqued every thing for me, and have not succeeded. Destiny opposed my projects and yours; fatal circumstances palsied my will, your courage, and rendered null your preparations. I do not murmur against providence. Success, I know, depended on myself: but he must have an atrocious mind who could have shed the blood of his subjects, and, by making resistance, have caused a civil war in France. Those ideas rent my bosom; and all my resolutions vanished. To succeed, I must have had the heart of Nero, and the soul of Caligula. Receive, sir, my thanks: why have I not the power to testify to you all my gratitude :


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July 23, 1791.

“My misfortunes then must fall upon you; and you are doomed to be a new victim of that fatality by which I am pursued. While I sought an asylum, repose, honour, and Frenchmen, I only found, at every step, treason, a cruel desertion, the boldness of crime, and the fatality of circumstances. All thoughts of regaining the French are over; no justification is to be hoped, no liberty to be obtained, no good to be effected from my own spontaneous will. A few days since, I was a vain phantom of a monarch, the impotent chief of a people the tyrants of their king, and the slaves of their oppressors: I now share with them their chains.

A prisoner in my palace, I am deprived even of the right of complaint. Separated from my whole family, my wife, my sister, my children, sigh at a distance from me; while you, my brother, by the most noble disinterestedness, have condemned yourself to exile. You are now in those regions that echo the moans of so many victims, whom honor called to the banks of the Rhine, but whom my affection, my orders, or rather my earnest entreaties, sought to bring back to the bosom of their desolate country, You say they are unhappy! ah! tell them that Lewis, that their king, their father, their friend, is more unhappy still! This flight, which was so necessary for me, which would perhaps have procured my happiness, and that of my people, will furnish motives for a terrible accusation. I am menaced ; the cries of hatred strike my ear! They talk of interrogating me: No, never! While I am suffered to believe myself king of France, I will avoid whatever would tend to degrade me. Oh! my brother let us hope for a milder futurity: the French loved their king; what then have I done to deserve their hatred 2 I, who have ever borne them in my heart. Were I a Nero, a Tiberius, Let us still cherish a soothing hope; and may my next letter inform you that my fortune is changed

w “LEW is.”

To Monsieur.

August 27, 1791. “The approximation you sug§. to me, my dear brother, is ounded on an illusion to which I can give no manner of credit. What passes before my eyes, demonstrates to me that principles drawn drawn from the thenry of politics, vanish in the execution. Besides, what weapon can be used against the multiplied sophisms employed to enforce the pretensions of innovators : The queen displays the same courage; her fortitude seems to augment in proportion as our sttuation becomes desperate. All that surrounds us, appears to me very insufficient to contend successfully with the hordes of our enemies. I cannot engage you too strongly to show an example of circumspection: pretexts are eagerly watched for; and we must endeavour, by our prudence, to lieutralise the efforts of crime. “You know, my dear brother, the immutability of my tenderness for you. “LEw is.” o

To thr PRINce of cox DE'.
“My Cousin, -

“ In vain I have intimated to my brothers how much those armed assemblies on the banks of the Rhine are contrary to sound policy, the interests of the exiled I’rench, and my own cause. They still persist in their resolutions of attack, threaten us with foreigners, and oppose them to Frenchmen led astray. This conduct fills me with sorrow, and must produce the most disastrous consequences: it will perpetuate hatred, excite vengeance, and deprive me of all means of conciliation. The momcht that hostilities begin, you may be assured that all return into lorance will be impossible; emigration will become a state-crime: those will then be attacked as criminals, who now are only victims; and Frenchmen, whom violence Road forced to fly, will be consider

ed as traitors, who sought to lacerate the bosom of their country. This re-union of emigrants, which will never obtain my approbation, multiplies an hundred-fold the forces of my enemies. They persist in considering me as the soul of your preparations; they imagine I have a secret council, under the name of the Austrian committee, directed by the genius of the queen, encouraged by my approbation, and who retain you on the banks of the Rhine. They cry, “to arms!' their agents, well instructed, spread themselves in the streets, in the public squares, under the windows of my palace; and every day they sound in my ear the funeral cry of “war ! war!” I am affrighted at their tenacious obstinacy, their fury, their cries of rage. What madmen! they wish for war: Ah! if ever the signal were given, it would be a long and cruel contest: having no other object than vengeance and hatred, it would become barbarous. Oh God! preserve France from this fatal scounge! let not those homicide yells be heard ' If I must descend from the throne, mount the scaffoid where Charles the First was immolated, and abandon all that is dear to me on earth, I am ready—

but no war ! no war ! “Nevertheless, the noise of your preparations has reached me— You, my cousin, who are desirous of uniting glory and duty—you, whom the emigrants consider as their father and their chief, and I myself esteem as a loyal and magnanimous prince—oppose, I conjure you, the wild projects of the French assembled around your person; make known to them the danger : oppose my will, my counseis, even my prayers, to this valor, inflamed by injustice, misfortulilee

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