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and rufles, and makes a parcel of things my wife don't know the name of; the works upon cat's gut, I think my wife calls it; but one may see all the house-linen a drying in a thousand flics ; then, when we are going to supper, she is going to take a walk; and, when we go to bed, she goes to fupper ; quite turns night into day.-That will never do, fir, in a farm.

Col. Freeman. Pray, where did he pick up so improper a wife for him ?

Ploughwell. Why, fir, as he was walking down the Hay-market, after he had fold his hay, he saw her fitting in a thop-window; one of them thops that sell your caps and such like; and so be fell in love with her; Me was a pretty woman to be sure.

Col. Freeman. But a very unfit wife for a farmer.

Plough well. Then she wants company: now my wife says, why don't she keep her daughter at home, instead of sending her to the boarding school ; The'd be company for her; and that, if the d get up early in a morning and mind her dairy, and other business, the would find enough to keep her out of the vapours; and, as for walking, The'd have enough in her business, and be glad to sit down when evening come.

Col. Freeman. You are very happy in a good wife, she is an excellent manager.

Ploughwell. Thank you, fir, for your good opinion of her; and I hope she'll make my girl as good as herself; you can't think what a notable wench she is; when Kate was but a little one, my wife would make ber feed the poultry, fetch in the eggs, and do twenty little odd chings. Ah! fir, children may soon learn to be helpful, if their parents would but take a little trouble with them. My girl can read, and write ; and, my wife says, can make a shirt from one end to the other; and I think that's learning enough for a farmer's daughter.- What signifies dancing, and I don't know what all, to her? I had rather see my girl make me a pound of good butter than the finest curtsy in England.

Col. Freeman. You are just in my way of thinking, farmer; for it is my opinion, if feven parts of the women in England, could only read, write, and work, they would make better wives : for people, in a certain class of life, to give their children a genteel education, as they call it, is the greateit mistake in the world; your boarding school only makes them hate their home, and despise their old playfellows. But to your business, fariner.

Ploughwill. I am afraid, fir, you will deny me.: Col. Freeman, Not if I can help it.

Ploughwell. Why, fir, if farmer Laglate should leave the farm, if your honour would be so good to let me have it ;- there's nobody uses your land better; if it was my own a thousand times over, I could not take more pains with it : I spare for nothing; my maxim is, Do as you would be done by.

Col. Freeman. I am sure it would be my interest; I have no tenant manages so well;—but you know my objection ; and therefore I hope you will not take my refusal unkind.

Ploughwell. It would save you a great deal of trouble, Gr, as you are your own steward. I know your reason is, you think large

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farms is one cause of the dearness of provisions ;- but it is but one more I ask for.

Col. Freeman. All my tenants might plead the fame ;-— I am sorry I must refuse you.

Plough well. You are very good, fir; but as all our gentry rond let large farms, this one wou’dn't make much odds.

Col Freeman. That is the reason the evil is not remedied; every body thinks my doing it will be of no consequence.

Ploughwell. I beg your pardon, fir, for having been so presling.
Col. Freeman, You have it freely, Mr. Ploughwell.

Ploughwell. I hope, fir, we shall have you down at the hall foon : you make it all alive; so many people going to and fro to your house; and, of a night, it looks so lively to see the candles popping about from one room to another. I called at the hall yer. terday, to ask if there was any commands, and there was all in order as usual; the housekeeper told me there was not a bed in the house she should be afraid to lay her own mother in.

Col. Freeman I like to have it so ; I hope I may carry my friends down at an hour's warning without danger of their catching their deaths.

Ploughwell. The gardener desired me to walk round the new wall, and see how charming the young trees thrive; I drank your health, fir, and miss Freeman's, in a cup of your ale..

Col. Freeman. I thank you, farmer; I should be sorry if you had not..

Plough well. They know it is your pleasure, fir, and I believe do not abuse your generosity; I never heard of any body's coming away drunk; there's no rioting I dare fay.

Col. Freeman. Pray is my neighbour, Sir John Townly, down among you?

Plough well. No, fir; we haven't seen him I don't know when ; his house looks quite moloncholy ; it looks, for all the world, like a house to let unfurnished ; all shut up and desolate : I called there a few days ago; and, I declare, is felt colder than our church: I thought I had got my death, it ftruck so damp to me; so I begged they would give me a little warm ale; but they told me they were at board.wages; they had got nothing in the house ; they say Sir John does it out of savingness; but I don't believe it answers that end ; for now, sir, you are so beloved, I don't believe there's a man, woman, or child, in the village, would wrong your honour of a twig ;--but there's always something to mend at Sir John's; they break his hedges, cut and hack his gates, rob his orchards, drag his ponds, pull down his pales; always doing some mischief;— 'tis but three nights ago they stole two of his iheep; - they are always crying rewards, but never can find out any body; --nobody did it :- and, what's worse than all the reft, I hear farmer Graspall, that rents a matter of fix hundred a year of him, has not been seen this two months: they think Sir John will go aigh to lose a good deal of money there.

Col. Freeman, If his farm had not been so great, his loss would have been less.

Ploughwell,

Ploughwell. True, fir. Who should I fee last week but '[quire · Littlewit's gentleman; there was four or five over a bowl of punch at the Crown; now you know, fir, the 'squire hates you because you opposed him in his election ;-one of the company proposed your health ; and, from that, there began a talk about how geneTous you were, and how well you lived, and such like ;--I saw the 'quire's man bite his nails for vexation; at lait, looking with a grin, says he, your 'squire entertains nobly indeed, when his guests can't get a bit of white bread at his table; - I hear he choaks all his visitors with his household bread. Now, that made my blood rise, 'cause I knew you did not do it for saving, for I had heard you say if every body would eat household bread there would be corn enough ;-and so does our rector, he won't have any other in his house. So he laughed and said, it signified nothing at all.-Now, says I, I will make the case as plain as the nose in your face.-Suppose all the people would use nothing but cream, and throw away all the milk, don't you think it would make it very dear? most not many a family go without a pudding? The cafe is much the same.-So he shrugged up his shoulders, took his hat off a peg, and sneaked off as mute as a filh.-But I fear I have hindered you, fir. Please to give my respects to your good fifter, and I heartily with you both your healths.--You have no commands to the hall ? · Col. Freeman. None to trouble you with. Pray my good wishes to your wife and pretty Kate. .

Plougbwell. I am obliged to you, sir; but my daughter is no beauty, thank heaven!

[Exit Ploughwell. Col. Freeman, There goes good sense in an undress - How respect. able does this man appear, by having pride enough to live suit. able to his sphere in life, while they, who imitate and vie with their superiors, point out their own inferiority by shewing you' they are ashamed of their condition.—The man, who nobly disdains to aim at what he cannot reach, gathers a kind of dignity, whild he can say I am an honest Briton."

From this remnant it will, we trust, appear, that the fair, is but shghh. lady's manufactured though lighi, isuelegant and we will

venture to add, that un coinparing the whole piece with its pattern, it will be found to be a pretty lutefiring comedy.

The first part of the title is a strained compliment to her Majesty, and the remainder merely in reference to the year in which the play was written, a matter of no importance to the merit of the work, and of as little consequence to the reader.

yet

ART. VII. The History of Manchefer. By the Rev. Ms. Whitaker.

Vol. II. 4to. il. 1 s. Boards. Johnson. 177;.
T HERE is a species of history lately risen up among us,

I and not now unfashionable, which may be properly called The ConJECTURAL. Find a person and a period and an industrious historian, by virtue of that powerful mono

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syllable, would, shall induce a series of action that posibly
exifted no where but in the regions of imagination, and which
he admits as true, only because it was not unlikely to happen.
He is led to this by a strong desire of what he cannot obtain, by
a thirst of knowing unrecorded facts: and, as, in the pursuit of
orher enjoyments, we have recourse to fancy where acquisition -
fails, so it generally happens in matters of historical research.

Mr. Whitaker, in the volume before us, which is a second volume on the subject, though not so mentioned in the title, had ftrong temptations to fall into this species of conjectural history; for, treating of the Roman British and Saxon periods, he had little more to build upon than the basis of tradition, coo Eted with the scanty notices of a few historians of doubtful credit. With such materials, however, he has courage to venture upon the fabulous æra of King Arthur, and to attempt even a systematic history of that doughty hero. Of the style and manner in which such a narrative must run, and of the fingular utility of the words probably, perhaps, and would, under such difficulties, let the following passage serve as a specimen :

Selected by Ambrosius for the command of the army and reco. very of the provinces in the north, Arthur began his march. He was now first exalted perhaps to an independent command, and na. turally attended by his own Silures. He marched across the midland parts of the kingdom, all trembling for their safety, and interestedly solicitous for his success. And in Staffordshire or Shropshire he would be joined by the combined army of the north.

The Saxon forces in Cheshire seem to have been very confider. able, as they had pushed near forty miles before the main army, and the British troops were unable to prevent their advance. They were in all probability engaged at this period in the fiege of the famous Deva or Chester, the city of the twentieth legion, and inhabited by the descendants of the legionaries. And it was the relief of the Roman colony perhaps, that was the first and immediate object of Arthur's march into the north. At his approach the Saxons might have raised the fiege, and have fallen back to the main body. They did not. And Arthur marched up to them. The attack began. The Saxon army was defeated. And the town was relieved.

• The northern Bricons would now be animated by the return of victory. And their commander would lead them directly after the fugitives, and against the main army of the Saxons. This was en. camped by the ruined capital of the Siftuntii. Arthur crossed the ford at Warrington probably, and entered the county of Lancaster, the great deliverer of it. And he must have marched along the Ro. man road by Haydock to Blackrode. . " The Saxons were encamped on the southern bank of the Douglas, and near to the Roman station. And there they waited for the victorious monarch. The Britih troops advanced to the charge. The battle was uncommonly bloody. A considerable officer was killed among the Britons. And, according to tradition, the Douglas ran crimsoned with the blood to Wigan. But the Saxons were defeated.

Rev. June, 1775.''

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And

And the night probably interposed, to prevent the utter route of their army.

They Aed. All in confusion, they took not the road to Preston. They retired along the current of the Douglas. And they hastily retreated perhaps into the thick woodland, that originally swept about the town of Coccium, and which tradition particularly plants along the banks of the river. They halted about six miles from the field of action. They took post upon the eminences and sopes, that are now lined with the houses of Wigan and washed by the waters of the Douglas. And tradition and remains concur to evince the fact. The former fixes a battle about Wigan-lane, many ages before the recent rencounter in the civil wars, which has nearly obliterated its memory. And credulity, deeply impressed with the story, not unfrequently fancies to the present period, that it sees warriors habited in itrange old dresses, and hovering about the scene of slaughter. The Britons purfued the Saxons along the windings of the Douglas. They came up with them at Wigan-lane. And they began the attack. The Saxons perhaps had thrown up some intrenchments in the woods. And they had assuredly lined the thickets. The intrenchments were formed. The thickets were cleared. And the Saxons were dislodged.

• They fed across the hill of Wigan. They were overtaken on the opposite side. They were again attacked. And a fresh engagement ensued. The town of Wigan preserves to this day a lively memorial of both the battles, in its ancient and present appellation. And about four and thirty years ago, in forming the canal there, the workmen discovered evident indications of a considerable engage. ment on the ground. All along the course of the channel, from the termination of the Dock to the point of Pool-bridge, for forty or fifty roods in length and seven or eight yards in breadth, they found the ground every where stored with bones of men and horses, They dug up a large old fpur, carrying a ftem four or five inches in length, and a rowel as big as a half crown. And they collected five or fix hundred weight of horse-shoes. The Saxons were again defeated, They were completely broken. They Aed in the utmost disorder. They plunged into the Douglas. They threw themselves into the marshes. And there tradition fixes another battle,'—and a fourth victory. · Yet fhall we blame the writer who thus endeavours to em. body these scattered and uncertain notices, and to make a Juno of a cloud ? If we are under no temptation to embrace his vifionary Being, wherefore should we condemn him? We would racher indulge him in the ideal and conjectural part of his progress, with which he seems to have amused himself, and may pofsibly amuse others. He will gradually gain our confidence. as we proceed, and as he descends to the less obscure parts of the Saxon period, ... . · The third chapter of this volume brings him down to the reduction of Manchester under Edwin about the year 620. The fourth contains the Saxon geography of the island, and

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