shade of the wilderness. It exclaims, that while one hand is held up to reject this treaty, the other grasps a tomahawk. It summons our imagination to the scenes that it will open. It is no great effort of the imagination to conceive that events so near are already begun. I can fancy that I listen to the yells of savage vengeance, and the shrieks of torture. Already they seem to sigh in the west wind; already they mingle with every echo from the mountain. THE THREE WARNINGS. MRS. THRALE. When sports went round, and all were gay, With him into another room; And looking grave-You must', says he, So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, Yet calling up a serious look, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke- To give you time for preparation, In hopes you'll have no more to say, Well pleas'd the world will leave. What next the hero of our tale befel, How long he liv'd, how wise, how well, He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold, Nor thought of death as near. His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few, But while he view'd his wealth increase, Old time, whose haste no mortal spares, Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood, And all alone he sate, Once more before him stood. Half kill'd with anger and surprise, So soon returned? old Dobson cries. So soon, d'ye call it? Death replies; "Tis six and thirty years at least, So much the worse, the clown rejoin'd; Else you come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant : Besides, you promis'd me three warnings, Which I have looked for nights and mornings;' But for that loss of time and ease, I can recover damages. I know, cries Death, that at the best, I have been lame these three years past. And no great wonder, Death replies : This is a shocking story, faith; Yet there's some comfort still, says Death; I warrant you hear all the news. There's none, cries he; and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear. Nay, then! the spectre stern rejoin'd, So come along; no more we'll part, And now old Dobson turning pale ON THE AMERICAN WAR. CHATHAM. I cannot, my Lords, I will not join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment: it is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now time to instruct the throne in the language of Truth. We must, if possible, dispel the darkness and delusion which envelope it; and display in its full vigor and genuine colors the ruin that is brought to our doors. Can ministers still expect support in their infatuation? Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and its duty as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them? Measures, my Lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt. But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world-now none so poor as to do her reverence. The people we first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies are abetted against us; their interests consulted and their ambassadors entertained by our most inveterate enemy; |