without mercy. She had neither courage nor inclination to retort, and, although it was evident her feelings were deeply wounded, she bore it with much patience and good humour.

66

Oh foolish Euphemia, thought I, if you could know how narrowly you are watched, you would be upon your guard, but I am glad it is so; may you vent all your most malicious stings to-night, that the poison may work an effectual cure in my deluded brother's heart. Adolphus looked chagrined and melancholy; he appeared at a loss for conversation and stood meditating for a moment with his eyes cast towards the ceil ing. "What are you looking at?" asked Euphemia. "Nothing," replied he, "I was trying to think of something to say." "Then you had better look at something; blank to blank won't produce much I suspect," was the retort. The poor fellow appeared almost discouraged; he had a habit when a little embarrassed, of twirling his watch-key; and now I assure you it flew round rapidly enough. "Really, Mr. K." said she, if your mind was half as active as your fingers, you would not be so much at a loss for conversation; but the Jacko class of gentry, so famous for nimble fingers and antick tricks, are not, } presume, over stocked with ideas." This was too much. He turned in disgust, and I could read in his countenance: "I am resolved; you are nothing to me." That very night he attended the young lady home, who had so patiently endured provocation. In time he became sincerely attached to her; and finally married her. She has made him an excellent wife, and never for a moment has he repented his choice. Not long after the evening above mentioned, I called to see Euphemia.: While waiting for her to make her appearance, I took up a volume of history which lay upon her work table: On a blank leaf I glanced at the following lines, written with a pencil in her own hand writing:

Oh, look not so ; I cannot bear

The speaking glance, which does declare
That neither love nor hate is there.

Oh, look not so; for did you know

The silent tears, that nightly flow,

Your heart would melt to cause such woe.

Alas! that heart I might have gain'd
Which now another has obtain❜d,
Had I my foolish tongue restrain'd.

You may judge of my feelings on perusing this. Euphemia then really loved the man she had so wantonly thrown away, and was perfectly conscious of the cause of his neglect. After this time she grew more sarcastical and censorious, and gradually lost the affection of her friends. She never married, and is now a peevish, meddlesome old-maid-neglected and forsaken. Yours, &c. HONORIA.

We have been accustomed to connect the name of Dryden, with our earliest recollections of poetry. We have long been delighted with the melodious energy of his style, and have found our admiration for his genius continually increasing, since we first perused his writings. We do not view them through the medium of time, and attach a fictitious reverence to his writings-we value them because they are replete with majesty and glowing with beauty. In them is displayed, all that

"blaze of genius, and that burst of thought,"

which excites, in the mind of the reader, delight and astonishment. It was with this admiration, that Pope (whose great desire was to excel him in reputation,) described him in those just and admirable lines which we have selected for our motto. With such talents, and able to exercise the greatest influence over the minds of his readers, he might have arrayed his numbers, and devoted his pen to the promotion of virtue. Oppressed by poverty, and dependant upon the applause of a vicious age for subsistence, he sometimes "prostituted his pen," to relieve himself from the pressure of want. Had he lived in any succeeding age, when the publick taste had been refined by the increasing influence of religion, he would probably have never disgraced his reputation, by a sacrifice of his

principles. It will be a source of continued regret to his readers, that he should have been overcome by these temptations, and have lent his influence to the promotion of vice, and the destruction of virtue.

The profligacy of the life, and court of Charles, II. ought not to be imputed, as it often has been to his residence at Paris. It should be remembered that while there, he was an exile from his throne and country. During his residence in that city, he with his mother was entirely neglected by the French court, and finally departed to Cologne, fearing he should receive a command to leave the kingdom. The embarrassments the French ministry laboured under, induced them to treat the English king with neglect, rather than incur the censure of Cromwell.

Charles possessing an uncommon share of affability, engaging manners, and a sprightly mind, was compelled to submit. to the mortification of becoming an exile from his throne. He wandered from place to place, dependant upon the gratuitous generosity of a few of his loyal subjects for subsistence. Suspected by all who feared the power of the Protector, his life for many years was but little better than that of a wanderer. The gayety, which was a striking characteristick of the life of this young monarch, was clouded with disappointment while scarcely a ray of hope beamed upon his future prospects. In this situation, he was restored to his throne. The change from the life of an exile, to that of a monarch swaying a sceptre over millions, was so great as to intoxicate him with joy. His subjects, who a short time before had pursued and driven him from his throne, now received him with open arms. Universal joy was soon diffused through the nation. His pleasing address and generosity to his enemies, rendered him in a short time the idol of his people. Not influenced by principle, he soon gave way to every indulgence. His example was followed by his courtiers, and by them vice was diffused through the nation previously corrupted by a long civil war.

To please this taste, the writers of that age lent their influence, and the Poet and the Painter became votaries at the

shrine of corruption. The literature of the day soon fell under this malignant influence, and the only avenue to distinction or patronage, was by a conformity to the tastes of those, who reflected the sunshine of royality. Virtue and morality ra pidly mouldered under its malignant influence.

Among this number was Dryden, who was courted and caressed by the powerful and opulent. Destitute of that stern integrity, which would have enabled him to stem the torrent of vice, he occasionally sacrificed his principles to the corrupt taste of the age. Without religion to shield him from the dangers which encompassed him-emulous of the praise which envy had denied him-patronised by those who had it in their power to relieve his necessities, he beheld the tide of public sentiment rapidly undermining the few remaining props of virtue. Surrounded by these dangers it is not surprising (considering the depravity of the human heart) that he should have yielded his principles, and have been borne on by this irresistible current. In the latter part of his life, he evidently lamented the licentious character of his works. In the preface to his fables, he mentions that he had taken care to select such fictions, as contained an instructive moral. "I wish" says he "that I could affirm with a safe conscience, that I had taken the same care in all my former writings; for it must be owned, that supposing verses are never so beautiful or pleasing, yet if they contain any thing which shocks religion, or good manners, they are at best what Horace says of good numbers without good sense, Versus inopes rerum, nugaeque canorae." This we do not offer as a plea for the licentiousness of his penit would be a poor apology for one who had spread around vice a fascinating beauty, and exerted his energies to lure mankind to ruin. How much soever of a different character he may have written, the stain will forever exist and no after repentance can efface it from the memory.

Happily for his reputation, as well as for the lovers of his muse, many of his works are of a more elevated character. He evidently appears to have delighted to rove in a nobler feld. When his subject was commensurate with his genius, it

gave an impulse to his wing which it never received under other circumstances. Among his writings, many are left that will furnish delight to his readers; exhibiting a variety of imagery and vigour of expression, which have never been equalled by those who have succeeded him.

Within a few years a very copious edition of his works, has been presented to the public, compiled by the celebrated Walter Scott. This edition contains most if not all of his published pieces. His writings of a licentious character were most of them obscured from the publick eye, when that compiler with the avidity of an antiquarian, or from motives much less honourable, was induced to collect, from the musty magazines of the last century, these unhappy mementos of Dryden. He has searched oblivion for blemishes in the character of this poet, and held them up to the view of posterity sanctioned by his name. How unlimited soever his admiration for the talents of Dryden may have been-how. desirous soever that the world should not lose a couplet of his writings, this compiler merits the censure of all those who discover a deformity in vice and a loveliness in virtue. He who barters corruption and sows a poison, which is to destroy the morality of his readers, should not be shielded from the reproach of the good, by the greatness of his reputation.

Dryden was naturally indolent, and wrote only as necessity stimulated his pen. His pieces were seldom if ever corrected. Had he devoted to them the care and attention which their merits deserved, they would unquestionably have been arrayed in a more finished attire. Still they might not have exhibited more of that masculine and nervous expression, which is characteristick of his writings. He wrote to satisfy the exi-. gencies of the present. Although acquiring knowledge with great facility, he never made the severe application of his mind, which would have added so much to the richness of his. numbers. His reputation during his life was so great (as stated by one of his biographers,) that to ensure the success of any new work, it was necessary to obtain a recommendation from his pen. This elevated rank among the literati of the day,