instantly asked his father with eagerness, how it came there; to which he was answered, Chance produced it. The child, not content with this reply, declared that Chance could not have produced it, for somebody must have put it there. In the child's opinion it argued design, intelligence, and therefore to this principle he ascribed it. The father took this happy opportunity of showing that chance, not being able to produce the trifling arrangement of the letters constituting his name, could not have produced a world. He further turned his son's attention to the traits of intelligence and wisdom every where discoverable in the works of creation. He showed him that the structure of the universe must have been effected by a wise artificer, and thus he firmly established in his son's mind the existence of a Supreme Being. Happy were all parents equally concerned for the religious principles of their children, and equally expert in communicating an accurate knowledge of them. Then would the rising generation be rendered more respectable in themselves, and more serviceable to the community. Thus would their early virtues rest on a basis which cannot be easily shaken. His other son was named Montague Beattie, after the celebrated Mrs. Montague, who defended our immortal Shakspeare against the misrepresentations of Voltaire. He was intended for the Church of England, and would, most probably, have proved a distinguished ornament of it, since he discovered at an early period of life, considerable shrewdness and capacity. But of him, also, the father has been lately deprived, though the particulars of his illness and death have not reached us. Such are hu man hopes, so vain are human expectations! It is, however, our sincere wish, that the afflicted parent may, amidst these accumulated distresses, experi ence the consolations of that religion which he has so ably and successfully defended. Surely he will not fail to realize those glorious prospects of immortality which are brought forward in the Christian revelation, and which he himself has thus well described: Shall we be left abandoned in the dust, No; Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive, Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign! Such a divine system is alone capable of administering comfort in circumstances the most afflictive to humanity! London, December 1, 1798. J. E. THE MINSTREL : OR, THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS. BOOK I. AR! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar; And waged with Fortune an eternal war; In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown! And yet the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all. Him, who ne'er listened to the voice of praise, There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Supremely blest, if to their portion fall [Fame; Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had He,whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim. The rolls of fame I will not now explore; Nor need I here describe in learned lay, Which to the whistling wind responsive rung : Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, That a poor Villager inspires my strain; With thee let pageantry and Power abide : The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign; Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain, Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's charms. They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain, The parasite their influence never warms, Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn, To please a tyrant, strain the little bill, But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will. Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand, There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow; Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies, And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes. Then grieve not, thou, to whom the indulgent Muse Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire; Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse The imperial banquet, and the rich attire. Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre. Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined? No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, To fancy, freedom, harmony resigned; Ambition's grovelling crew for ever left behind. Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul |