do not think it right to take them with me into a strange country. My continued ill health, and a complication of disorders, put it out of my power any longer to be useful to your Majesty; and I am convinced that, under a milder climate, my infirmities might be borne. I therefore entreat your Majesty to grant me my dismissal, assuring you, at the same time, that niy heart shall be eternally devoted to you."

The Marquis obtained permission to pass six months in Provence, and set off in 1769, on the express condition of returning at the appointed time; at the same time he received the packet of original letters, which the King returned to him, assuring him that he possessed his entire confidence, and that consequently he neither could nor would keep the let ters. The Marquis, however, would not take them with him, but left them in the charge of one of his most particular friends.

It appears, that the King was much displeased at his departure, and that he even refused to see the Marquis. In vain several persons endeavoured to persuade him, that the Marquis would return; he would not believe them. He was indignant, that a man whom he had loaded with his benefits, should quit him for such trifling causes, and which in no way diminished the proofs of his attachment and esteem; but the Marquis had very good reasons to give on his side Jikewise to pass the remainder of his days under a milder climate, and near a brother, to whom he was attached by strong ties of affection.

He had, however, other motives for discontent, which he was anxious that the King should know without loss of time. Scarcely had he arrived at Dijon, when he wrote him a very bold letter, such as no one who had ever any disagree ment with Frederic would have ventured to address to him. In order to excuse himself for this freedom, he said, "It is not now to the King that I write, but to the Philosopher, and in the name of Philosophy"-a distinction which the Monarch himself had given the example of in their suppers at Sans-Souci, where they freely conversed in the absence of the King, although at the same table with him. And he concluded his keen, yet guarded, reproaches, with that inimitable fable of the "Town and Country Mouse."

Yet, notwithstanding this appearance of resentment, the Marquis D'Argens MONTREY MAG. No. 186.

resolved to return to Frederic at the expiration of the stated period; but it cost him a severe struggle to determine on leaving Aix, to return to Berlin it was to expose the remainder of his days to new scenes of vexation and disappointment, and shorten their duration. The agitated state of his mind, which this situation involved him in, produced the very effect he wished to have avoided, and he died without being able to fulfil his promise.

"In the midst of all these sufferings," says M. Thiebauit," he was detained at Bourg-en-Bresse by a long and very dangerous illness. The Marchioness, whose whole care was devoted to him, never once thought of writing to the King, although the time of his leave of absence had expired. Frederic suspected him of wishing to deceive him. He sent to the Marchioness's sister, and to all the Members of the Academy, with whom he was connected as the Director, to know if they had not heard from him; and as he was informed, that no person had received any news of him, and that several months had passed without a letter either from the husband or the wife, the King's doubts were soon changed to certainty. His anger and his indignation were extreme. He dispatched orders that very day to the different offices at which the salaries of the Marquis were paid, strictly injoining them to erase bis name out of the public books, and forbidding them to pay him any thing for the future.-Sulzer, who received this order at the Academy, thought it his duty to acquaint D'Argens, and in consequence of this determination, he privately gave a letter to a person who was going that way, and who promised to inquire for the Marquis, and give him the letter if he should chance to meet him; if not, to address it under cover to the President D'Eguilles. The traveller found him at Bourg-en-Bresse, in a state of convalescence and preparing to set off for Berlin. The letter produced an effect which might be expected. The old Courtier was more irritated than afflicted. He wrote another, which was never made public, but its contents may easily be guessed at, and immediately returned to his beloved retreat, from which he seldom went, except to make some few slight journeys through parts of Provence. It was in one of these excursions that he died at Toulouse, of an indigestion, on the 11th of January, 1771.

The public journals and the writers of 4 G

the

the day have asserted, that the Marquis D'Argens received the Sacraments before his death-that he read the Bible during his last illness-and that he caused himself to be admitted as a member of a society of Penitents:-facts, which but little accord with the character of a man, who, always occupied by religious chicanery, theological disputations, and discourses of incredulity, had, however, a Strong predilection in favour of superstition, and the errors to which it gives

rise.

In all that we have said here of the

Marquis D'Argens, we bave scarcely made any mention of his works; they are, however, very numerous; but if we except "The Jewish Letters," or, as it was calied in English, "The Jewish Spy," none of them appears to have given him any great title to Frederic's recommendation; and of all that he has written, his Memoirs are at this day the most interesting, and offer an agreeable fund of amusement, which, at the same time, makes you acquainted with both the Men and Manners of the time in which be lived.

THE LATE KING OF PORTUGAL.

HE king, one day, speaking of the

Tearthquake of 1755, which de

stroyed the greater part of Lisbon, observed, with a degree of superstition, natural to the Portuguese, that a house, belonging to the Marquis of Pombal, situated near the church of Santa Ma delina, remained unhurt, while all around it were buried in the ruins, which proved the integrity of his minister, and that be was protected by Heaven. The Count d'Obidos jocosely observed, that the Rua Suja (a street in which ladies of easy virtue resided) was also unhurt. This lively sally stung his most faithful majesty to the quick, and the count expiated his imprudence by an imprisonment of several years.

He published, the "English Dictionarie, on an Interpreter of Hard English Words, &c." 12m6. 1632, 4th edit. It is a most extraordinary performance, in the premonition to the reader, the modest author says, "without appropriating to my own comfort any interest of glory, the understanding readers will not, the ignorant cannot, and the malicious dare not, but acknowledge that, what any before me in this kind have begun, I have not only fully finished, but thoroughly perfected. To write an apology of justification, would argue rather of distrust of my work, than a confidence of merit." The object of his work, is to teach persons to write and speak elegant English, for which, as he observes, that alphabetical arrangements of words soon enlighten the mennest capacity; he gives two vocabularies, one of his refined English into the vulgar, the other, vice versa. Such a mass of pe dantry was never before brought toge ther. A few extracts, will perhaps be gratifying. Ablecticke, garnished for sale; Acerote-bread, brown bread; Acer secomicke, one whose hair was never cut; Acetarr,a sallad of small herbs; Antelucidute, to work by candle-light before

day;

day; Cucumbate, to cry like an owl; Cucuriate, to crow like a cock; Debuccinate, to report abroad; Decachinnute, to scorn; Hilarode, a singer of wanton songs; Hircipill, whose hair is of two sorts; Iconiched, very curiously painted; Zy golfle, a clerk of the market. In the vulgar, converted into good English, he recommends, for Alderhan, to put Senator; for dismount,reside; for appeasing, pacification; for apprenticeship, Tyrociny; for argument, Lemma; for an army of men, Sabaoth; for baked, pistated; for boxing the ears, depalmate; for breaking, Lubefie, enfringe, delumbate; for calling by name, indigitate; for chipping-bread, defornicate; for chirping, like birds, Gingreate; like a sparrow, pipillate; for stripping naked, connudate; in short, the old story; Is my Lord Chol-mon-de-ley at home? Yes, Sir, but he has a good many pe-o-ple with him.

HENRY BUNTING

In his " Itinerarium Totius Sacra Scriptura," done into English by B. B. 4to. 1636, gave the following pieces of some remarkable matters, mentioned in the Old and New Testament.

He inakes (p. 386,) David give in the whole towards building the temple, eight hundred, forty-seven thousand millions,

three hundred, eighty-two thousand, five hundred English pounds!!!

The ointment, with which the woman of Bethany anointed Christ, saleable at nine pounds, seven shillings and sixpence. p. 391.

Judas Iscariot's reward, however, for betraying Christ, would have been despised indeed, by a modern informer. He makes it to amount only to three pounds, fifteen shillings. p. 391.

Malta-St. Paul shaking off the viper; the Catulus Melitæus.

In Bunting's," Itinerarium,” (p. 560,) under Malta, we have the following passages: "The children that are borne in this country, feare not any snakes, neither are hurt by any thing that is venomous, insomuch that they will take scorpions and eat them, without danger, although in all other parts of the world, those kind of creatures are most pernicious. In this isle, also, there are bred a kind of dogs that are but small, yet very white and shagged, and so loving, that the inhabitants of all the neighbouring countries will buy them, though they be at dear rates." Thus the Catulus Melitaus, of the classical ancients, was in equal vogue in the 17th century.

And, while the streamlet's murmurs moan around,

The distant fall is heard, by fits, to sound. Whose chorus'd strains, unequal, float along: More distant still is heard the mower's song, Till all at length is hush'da general still Broods o'er the vale, and slumbers on the hill.

Now let my thoughts to nobler views aspire, Where yon blue concave glows with gems of fire;

Circling the shades that fill the scene, behold

The dome of heaven, inlaid with fretted gold,
Rests on the pillar'd hills!-The beamy star
Of crested eve now glitters from afar;
The argent moon, unveil'd, appears on high,
And rides transcendant through the spangled
sky;-

Resplendent Queen! whose mild and potent

DEATH OF HER SON, AT WORTHING,
MAY 17, 1805. -

AND has the Darling I have nurs❜d,

The Child my breast supported,
Been given to the cold, damp dust,

Where worms have round him sported? Can I still live! and bear this horrid thought? Spare, Oh my God! the feelings thou hast given;

Send to this aching breast a Lethean draught, Or, oh! in pity, call my soul to heav'n! -Sweet Babe! upon thy lovely face 44

Sits innocence and peace:

Though from thy cheek the blood has fled,
And death usurps his pow'r,

Still to thy Mother's heart thou 'rt dear,
As when in happier hour

She clasp'd thee to her joyful breast,
And pray'd that Fortune on thy head

Her choicest gifts might show'.
Yes, my sweet Babe, I saw thee die!
I saw thy beauteous spirit fly!

For shelter to the skies:

In some bright star I see thee still,
And patient wait th' Almighty's will,
To hail thee as I rise.

IMPROMPTU.

ON READING LINES ON THE DEATH Or MR. PROFESSOR PORSON, BY THE REV. JAMES RUDGE."

PORSON, among the "wise and best!"

With them he surely could not rest;
The good he laugh'd at all his life,
And with the learned liv'd in strife.
T. I. G.

EPITAPH

ON MISS SARAH J——, AGED NEARLY 16. SUPERIOR sense, and angel virtue shone In her who rests beneath this sable stone. Beneath ?-ah! no-beneath this marble lies

But a clay forin, Death's undisputed prize.

She, Mourner, whom thou deem'st imprison'd here,

Ranges with cherub-wing a distant sphere; Seek not the living 'midst the mould'ring dead,

But take the path thy sainted sister led;
On Faith's aspiring plume perpetual rise,
Nor dream thy Sarah dwells below the skies.
Warminster.
MARY.

For the Monthly Magazine.

Aberdeen, May 13, 1809. The following was communicated to me by Old Paterson, the painter, who, with ris sons, lives on the Shore Leith, and may be depended on as strictly true. J. Anderson. [The late Robert Burns, in the year 1789, having occasion to visit Kirkaldy, crossed the Frith of Forth from Leith, and arrived at the New Inn, where he ordered dinner and a bottle of beer; soon after he rang the bell, and asked the waiter his demand. On being told 18d. he reluctantly threw it on the table; and the waiter thanking him, left the room. Immediately after, Burns took out his pencil, and wrote on one of the window-shutters the following-] STOPP'D at this house, and, as I'm a

sinner,

For in this state of trial 'tis his doom

To meet with disappointment, grief, and fear!

To find himself involv'd in thickest gloom, Which thy bright beams can force to dis

appear.

Be thou the solace of the widow'd heart, Which finds on earth not one supporting

stay;

Oh sooth the parent doom'd at last to part From his sole child in his declining day. Inspire the timid and support the just,

And lend thy pinions to each heart oppress'd;

And as man sinks to mingle with the dust, Bring to his view the regions of the bless'd.

LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. R, AUTHOR
OF A TREATISE ON CONSUMPTION, ON
HIS
HAVING STOLEN A ROSE FROM

THE WRITER.

YOU stole, indeed, the treasured rose,

Perhaps the last of autumn's flowers; But as sweet Hope her smile bestows,

To chear the heart-so genial slowers Will melt the winter's frost away;

Again the charms of nature bring, While roses will adorn the spray,

And bloom 'mid all the grace of spring, Then shall a group of blooming fair

Select the lov'liest from each tree, To form a wreath, with nicest care, A wreath of gratitude for THEE: For Thee, who, by thy skilful aid,

Hast oft restor'd the rose's bloom, And snatch'd the lovely drooping maid With all her graces from the tomb. Old Broad-street,

Written in November, 1808.

M. H.

IRREGULAR STANZAS, BY W. M. I. WRITTEN IN A COPY OF POETICAL WORKS OF DERMODY.

SHADE of the Bard, whom heav'nly genius fir'd,

But Mis'ry and Misfortune mark'd their own!

With tearful eye, I ponder o'er the page, Where Friendship, sorrowing, makes thy follies known.

Now borne on seraph-wing I view thee tower Sublime, 'mid sportive Fancy's regions wild;

Now sunk beneath the frown of meagre want, Pen the sad lay of Melancholy's child. Now Indiscretion's slave, by passion away'd, 'Mid scenes of vice and folly grov'ling low, Behold thee forfeit gen'rous Moira's aid,

And breathe the sigh of Pity o'er thy woe. At length beneath a hovel's time-rent walls Thou liest, the victim of diseases dire; Whilst unchang'd Friendship, bending o'er thy couch,

Beca Genius' son in wretchedness expire.