prince d'Armagnac happened to leave the room: whereupon Louis resumed his story, with informing those who were present, that he had recollected in the middle of it, that, in the humour on which it turned, there was something which might give pain to the nobleman that had just left the company; but that, now he was absent, he would try again. His story, which was exceedingly diverting, had its full effect upon his auditors. Sensibility branches out into as many relations as the scriptural sense of charity, and touches as many points of human character and conduct. Where I discern only a partial exercise of it, I cannot think that it can have any real existence in the mind; and such as can weep at a tragedy, without solicitude or sorrow for the actual distresses of life, or those who, while they are founding an alms-house, can feel pleasure in mortifying honest pride, or exciting a blush on the cheek of modesty, may be well enough as active citizens, but, in my mind, are among the lowest order of hypocrites, considered as moral agents, and as members of social life. I hold it necessary to offer no apology to my readers for the introduction of the two following little poems. The one, by discountenancing the false, the other, by exhibiting the true sensibility, are both of them promotive of the purposes of today's essay, and have in themselves the richest claims possible to the patronage of every feeling heart. Why need I mention that the author is a female, since she stands neither in need of courtesy from the critic, nor of partiality from the public? TO SENSIBILITY. OH, sacred source of joy below, Thou friend of life, thou nurse of woe; Rich essence of the high-wrought soul! How Sterne said this, Eliza that. Such spendthrifts of thy genuine gold! If then escape the stealing sigh, If the kind tear then dim thine eye; As barely leaves thee for thy share Yes, thou hast learn'd what wretches feel! Gave me what great ones had deny'd, Yes! thou hast learn'd what wretches feel! WRITTEN AT the Bed-side OF A SICK INFANT. AH, dear one! while thy suffering form I see Nor call thee to this cheating life again. For should'st thou live, sweet cherub! who can tell But cling around thy neck, and weep with thee, See cold neglect repress each rising thought, Or see thy youth's first hopes meet swift decay; The roses on thy mind-illumin'd face Wither'd, and every soul-enchanting grace Thrown, like a weed, a worthless weed, away! Or crush'd by Poverty's indurate hand, Or Labour's ruder grasp, thy rising powers; Oh, better, better far to see thee dead! Nay, better could I hear to see thee die; Thou God of mercy, justice, truth, and love, To whom, at Mis'ry's midnight hour, I pray, N° 63. SATURDAY, JULY 27. Tuas res tibi habe, Amor: mihi amicus ne fuas unquam. PLAUT. Trin. Love, I have nothing to do with you---you were never a friend to me. My readers may well wonder how the subject of love finds its way into the thoughts of such a poor little piece of anatomy as myself. It is a certain, though singular truth, that our family, as far back as we can trace our lineage, notwithstanding our hereditary composure, have had locked up in their veins a portion of this subtle poison, which has never failed to manifest itself with more or less strength in every generation, and still inhabits the weak little frame with which I am endowed. In me, however, age, and the natural coldness of my constitution, have overcome its ordinary effects; and I am only put in mind of its existence by a certain involuntary interest which I feel in all that concerns this noble passion, in every tale of tender sufferings, and every instance wherein true hearts are united. This hereditary particle in the constitution of the OLIVE-BRANCHES, has sometimes lain quiet for a generation, and then again it has broken out with redoubled effect: but I gather from our family records, that it has shown itself under very different aspects, according to the different complexions on which it has operated. What remains of my great-grandfather's opinions on this subject, are eminently sober and sentimental; and in consonance with his love of general rules, and his spirit of legislation, he has left us a very ample code of amorous institutes, adapted to all ages and all conditions. I remember, when I was full five and thirty (before which age, by the laws of our family, we are not allowed to assume the toga virilis), my mother put into my hands this mysterious manual, saying, There, Sim, this will make a man of you: depart not, while you live, from the wisdom it contains-and when you shall, at a discreet age, bethink yourself of matrimony, lay it by, as a sacred gift to be handed down to your children's children." 66 In the person of Mr. ISAAC OLIVE-BRANCH, who is considered as the wittiest of our patriarchs, this hereditary sentiment discovered itself in the drollest conceits imaginable. It was one of his whims to contrive what he called his amorous pudding, into which he threw such a collection of ingredients, as, by a proper fermentation in the stomach, might send up those melancholic fumes into the brain, which |