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have imbibed the opinions, which Bonaparte has divulged with so much industry, respecting the danger of Great Britain holding the dominion of the sea, and the injury which British commerce and British manufactures do to other nations. These opinions I admit to be inconsistent with the knowledge of the first principles of commerce, and even of common sense, and show a most miserable ignorance of the real interests and real state of Europe. Yet I have heard them gravely maintained by some of the most sensible men in Sweden. If to all this we add the severe treatment which they have met with from the Russians, and the natural jealousy which every nation must have of a powerful and encroaching neighbour, we shall not be surprised that the great body of the Swedes in the present war take the part of the French, and are secretly hostile to Britain and Russia. When I was at Stockholm this appeared very strongly marked. When any news arrived of successes gained by the Russians, the faces of every one you met indicated disappointment and uneasiness. When news arrived of successes gained by the French, every person was in ecstacy: I except from this the German and British merchants who reside in Svetiell, and who constitute a small but respectable and wealthy body.

But bad Bernadotte induced the Swedes to unite with France, the infallible consequence would have been, supposing Russia capable of standing her ground, that he would have been attacked by Great Britain and Russia, two powers that could with the utmost ease have divided and conquered the whole kingdom. Oa the other hand, had he united with Russia, and declared war against France, the consequence would have been, supposing Bonaparte successful, that he would have been driven from the Swedish throne, and reduced again to a private station. We must admit, therefore, that no part of the conduct of Bernadotte has hitherto laid open his real intentions if he has any other intentions than to preserve his situation, and be regulated in his alliances by circumstances.

As soon as Bernadotte was elected Crown Prince of Sweden, some of the Swedish bishops went over to Denmark, and made him sign a renunciation of the Roman Catholic religion, and an acknowledgment that he had embraced the Lutheran tenets. At the same time be was baptized by the name of Charles John, (Carl Johan.) When he landed in Sweden, he was met by a nobleman sent by the Diet to receive him. As soon as they met they embraced. By some accident the two stars with which they were decorated caught hold of each other, so that when they attempted to separate, they found themselves entangled. “ Monseigneur," said the nobleman,

nous nous sommes attaché." “ J'espere,” answered the Crown Prince without hesitation, " qu'il est pour

jamais." Soon after his arrival in Sweden, he sent his wife and his whole family out of the country, except his eldest son, Prince Oscar; a boy about fourteen years of age. It is well known that at present the rest of his family is in France. This step occasioned a good deal of speculation in Sweden, and much anxiety to know the reason of a conduct apparently so unnatural. A nobleman one day said to him, that the Swedes had always been accustomed to hear a great deal concerning the royal family; that they would of course be very inquisitive about his family, and on that account he wanted to know from his Royal Highness what answer he should give if any person asked him about the family of the Crown Prince: “ In that case,” replied Bernadotte, "you may say that you know nothing of the matter."

The Crown Prince seems in fact to be really the King of Sweden. Charles XIII. never appears in public, and he is so old and infirm that he is not probably able to manage the affairs of the kingdom, were he even so inclined. The first care of the Crown Prince was to restore the army, which had been destroyed during the unfortunate wars of the late King, and to bring it again to a state of respectability. The French mode of levying troops by conscription, which the late king had in vain attempted to introduce, was resorted to. The Swedish army, at present, amounts to 50,000 men, besides the supplementary troops, who may be 30,000 more; but are chiefly boys, or young men under twenty. All the troops are dressed in French uniform, and the French tactics have been introduced into all the regiments. I saw a review of about 6,000 Swedish troops. The orders were given by the Crown Prince himself, and the skill of the troops, and the rapidity of their movements, seemed to me to be very great. Every Swedish soldier has a house and a piece of ground assigned to him, by the cultivation of which he supports himself when not in the field. When called out he is supported by government. By this contrivance the Swedish army costs the country much less than it otherwise would do. The men are kept from vice, and their health and hardihood is probably promoted. When they are collected for drill, the first thing they do every morning on assembling is to sing a hymn. This practice they follow likewise when they go into action. It is said to have originated with Gustavus Adolphus.

The Crown Prince seems to be very popular in Sweden ; every body spoke well of him. When he passed by the ranks of the Swedish troops, he was received with huzzas. He is a middle aged man, with a dark complexion, an agreeable expressive countenance; but a little disfigured by the size of his nose. not express himself intelligibly in Swedish. The person who has the charge of his horses is an Englishman, who has been with bina these eight years.

He can

POETRY

PATRIOTIC STANZAS.

[The following spirited verses were composed by THOMAS CAMPBELL, Esq. and

recited by him at a meeting of North Britons, in London, on Monday, 8th of August, 1803. The bursts of feeling in the second and third stanzas, are remarkably natural and energetic.]

Our bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife,

And our oath is recorded on high,
To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life,

Or crushed in its ruins, to die.
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land.

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust.

God bless the green Isle of the brave !
Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust,

It would raise the old dead from their grave.
Then rise, &c.

In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide,

Profaning its loves and its charms ?
Shall a Frenchman insult a lov'd fair at our side?

To arms my country, to arms!
Then rise, &c.

Shall tyrants enslave us, my countrymen ?-No

Their heads to the sword shall be given ;
Let a deathbed repentance await the proud foc,

And his blood be an offering to heaven!
Then rise, &c.

ON THE CAPRICES OF FORTUNE.

From the Arabic.

Why should I blush that fortune's frown

Doms me life's humble paths to tread;
To live unheeded and unknown;

To sink forgotten to the dead?

"Tis not the good, the wise, the brave,

That surest shine or brightest rise,
The feather sports upon the wave,

The pearl in ocean's cavern lies.
Each lesser star that studs the sphere,

Sparkles with undiminished ht;
Dark and eclipsed alone appear

The Lord of Day, the Queen of Night.

SEQUEL TO THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL. [The following beautiful lines are said to have been written by a young lady of Edin

burgh, of fourteen years of age.]
O! ye who so lately were blithsome and gay,
At the Butterfly's banquet carousing away,
Your feasts and your revels of pleasure are fled,
For the soul of the banquet--the Butterfly’s dead!
No longer the Flies and the Emmets advance,
To join with their friends in the Grasshopper's dance:
For see her thin form o'er the favourite bend,
And the Grasshopper mourns for the loss of her friend!
And hark to the funeral dirge of the Bee,
And the Beetle who follows, as mournful as he !
And see where so mournful the green rushes wave,
The Mole is preparing the Butterfly's grave!
The Dormouse attended, but cold and forlorn,
And the Gnat slowly winded his shrill little horn,
And the Moth, who was grieved at the loss of a sister,
Bent over the body, and silently kissed her!
The corse was embalmed at the set of the sun,
And included in case which the Silk-worm had spun!
By the help of the Hornet the coffin was laid
On a bier, out of myrtle and jessamine made.
In weepers and scarfs came the Butterflies all,
And sis of the number supported the pall :
And the Spider came there in his mourning so black,
But the fire of the Glow-worm soon frighten'd him back.
The Grub left his nutshell to join the sad throng,
And slowly led with him the Book-worm along,
Who wept his poor neighbour's unfortunate doom,
And wrote these few lines to be placed on her tomb.

EPITAPH.

.
At this solemn spot, where the green rushes wave,
Here sadly we bent o'er the Butterfly's grave,
'Twas here we to beauty our obsequies paid,
And hallowed the mound which her ashes had made.

And here shall the daisy and violet blow,
And the lily discover her bosom of snow,
While under the leaf in the ev’nings of spring,
Bull mourning her friend shall the Grasshopper sing.

THE FRENCH PEASANT.

When things are done, and past recalling,

'Tis folly then to fret and cry, Prop up a rotten house that's falling,

But when it's down, e'en let it lie.

0, patience, patience, thou'rt a jewel,
And like all jewels hard to find,
'Mongst all the various men you see,

Examine every mother's son,
You'll find they all in this agree,

To make ten troubles out of one.
When passions rage, they heap on fuel,
And give their reason to the wind.
Hark, don't you hear the general cry,

Whose troubles ever equall'd mine,
How readily each stander-by

Replies, with captious echo," mine."
Sure from our clime this discord springs,
Heaven's choicest blessings we abuse,
And every Englishman alive,

Whether Duke, Lord, Esquire or Gent,
Claims as his just prerogative

Ease, liberty, and discontent.
A Frenchman often starves and sings
With cheerfulness and wooden shoes.
A Peasant of the true French breed,

Was driving in a narrow road
A cart with but one sorry steed,

And fill'd with onions, savoury load!
Careless he trudg'd along before,
Singing a Gascon roundelay
Hard by there ran a whimpering brook,

The road ran shelving towards the brim,
The spiteful wind th' advantage took,

The wheel flies up, the onions swim
The Peasant saw his favourite store
At one rude blast all puff'd away.
How would an English clown bave swoi'n,

To hear them plump, and see them roll,
Have curs'd the hour that he was born,

And for an onion damn'd his soul!

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