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tion of the most awful abstractions, and Glide gently, thus for ever glide, the union of their fearful shapes in .; O Thames ! that other bards may see . strange worship, or in listening to the As lovely visions by thy side deepest of nature's voices.
As now, fair river ! come to me.
The first glide, fair stream ! for ever so, lines interspersed indeed with epithets T hy quiet soul on all bestowing, drawn from the operations of mind, and Till all our minds for ever flow, thetefore giving them an imaginative As thy deep waters now are flowing. tinge-are, for the most part, a mere Vain thought Yet be as now thou art, picture of the august brotherhood of That in thy waters may be seen trees, though their very sound is in The image of a poet's heart, more august aceordance with their
How bright, how solemn, how serene! theme than most of the examples
The following delicious sonnet, inusually produced of “ echoes to the spired by the same scene, is one of sense. Having completely set before the latest effusions of its author. We us the image of the scene, the poet be- do not here quote it on account of gins that enchantment by which it is to its sweet and intense recollection of be converted into a fitting temple for one of the divinest of poets - nor the noontide spectres of Death and of the fine unbroken ligament by
Time, by the general intimation that it is which the harmony listened to by the - “ not uninformed by fantasy and looks later bard is connected with that which
that threaten the profane”-then by the earlier drank in, by the lineage of the mere epithet pillared gives us the the songsters who keep up the old ramore particular feeling of a fane-then, vishment -- but of that inaginative by reference to the actual circumstances
power, by which a sacredness is imof the grassless floor of red-brown hue,
parted to the place and to the birds, as preserves to us the peculiar features of
though they performed unresting worthe scene which thus he is hallowing ship in the inost glorious of cathedrals. and at last gives to the roof and its berries a strange air of unrejoicing festi “ Fame tells of groves from England far away * vity-until we are prepared for the in
Groves that inspire the nightingale to trill
And modulate, with subtle reach of skill troduction of the phantasms, and feel
Elsewhere unmatch'd, her ever-varying lay ; that the scene could be fitted to no less
Such bold report I venture to gainsay : tremendous a conclave. The place, For I have heard the choir of Richmond-hill without losing one of its individual Chaunting with indefatigable bill; features, is decked for the reception of While I bethuught me of a distant day : these noon-tide shades, and we are pre
When, haply under shade of that same wood,
And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars pared to muse on them with unshrink
Plied steadily between those willowy shores, ing eyes. How by a less adventurous The sweet-souPd Poet of the Seasons stood but not less delightful process, does the Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood, poet impart to an evening scene on the Ye heavenly birds ! to your progenitors., Thames at Richmond, the serenity of his own heart, and tinge it with softest
The following “Thought of a Briton and saddest hues of the fancy and the
on the subjugation of Switzerland,” has affections. The verses have all the rich
an elemental grandeur imbued with the ness of Collins, to whom they allude,
intensest sentiment, which places it, and breathe a more profound and uni
among the highest efforts of the ima-, versal sentiment than is found in his ginative faculty. sky-tinctured poetry,
“ Two voices are there; one is of the sea, - ;
One of the mountains; each a mighty voice : “ How richly glows the water's breast Before us tinged with evening hues,
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberty!
There came a tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly striven, A little moment past so smiling!
Thou from thine Alpine holds at length art driven, And still perchance, with faithless gleam,
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.
of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft;" Some other loiterer beguiling."
Then cleave, O cleave, to that which stil is left: Such views the youthful bard allure;
For, high-soul'd maid, what sorrow would it be, But, heedless of the following gloom,
That mountain-floods should thunder as before, He deems their colours shall endure
And ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 2 Till peace go with him to the tomb. Se on And neither awful voice be heard by thee!" ** And let him nurse his fond deceit, i
* Wallachia is the country alluded tó. New MONTHLY Mag.–No. 82. Vol. XIV.
We have thus feebly attempted to templation, by their aid, on the externai give some glimpse into the essence of universe-human life--individual chaWordsworth's powers of his skill in racter the vicissitudes of individual delineating the forms of creation-of his fortune--society at large and the proinsight into the spirit of man-and of spects of the species we shall next prohis imaginative faculty. How he has ap- ceed more particularly to examine. plied these gifts to philosophical poetry,
T.N. T. and what are the results of his con [To be concluded in our next.]
DEATH AND CHARACTER OF M. DE CONDORCET.
BY MADAME SUARD,
The following interesting particulars qualities of mind and heart, and infinite are extracted from a work, of which ly blest in each other in adversity as only very few copies have been printed well as prosperity. Contemporary history for the purpose of being presented to will not pass over various episodes of friends. Respecting the work itself, the these Memoirs, one of which, perhaps authoress wishes nothing more to be the most remarkable of them, is subknown than this :-Immediately after joined. the death of M. Suard, one of his intimate friends, M. Garat, a member of In the summer of 1794, M. Saard the Institute of France, undertook to and his wife resided at a country-house prepare for publication Memoirs of his which they possessed at Fontenai, near life, character, and writings.* Suard's Paris. We had spent a few days in widow, a sister of the late celebrated Paris, says Madame Suard, and on our bookseller, Panckouke, and well known return were informed that a man of herself as a writer of talents and feeling, strange appearance, in pantaloons, with gave her assent. She was, however, by a shabby cap and a long bearti, had no means pleased with such fragments called twice at Fontenai, and was exof M. Garat's work as were submitted tremely disappointed at our absence. to her inspection ; and this avowed dis- Next morning our maid-serrant entered satisfaction seems to have interrupted my room in great alarm. “Madame,” farther communications, or at least to cried she,“ hideous fellow, with a prohave made them more rare. This mis- digious beard, has just called, and I understanding probably originated in have conducted him to M. Suard.” difference of opinion concerning men • I immediately suspected that it might and things connected with the revolu- be some proscribed person, in quest of tion. The lady speedily, resolved to an asylum and protection, but took apprise the friends of her deceased hus- good care to conceal this conjecture band, that she neither sanctioned nor from the maid, who was a patriot. On thought well of the picture of him the other hand, I laughed at her fear of which M. Garat was delineating, but the stranger's long beard, and said, he that she would herself attempt to paint was no doubt a messenger sent upon the amiable character and mild virtues some errand or other by one of our acof the man to whom she was indebted quaintance.' She left the room, and for all the happiness of her life, and the presently M. Suard entered and hastily recollection of whom can alone cheer desired me to give him the keys of the and embellish the remainder of her days. meat-safe and the wine, and some snuff. Admitting even that instead of bearing “ Good God! what is the matter, my the title of Essais de Mémoires de M. dear?” said I, handing to him what he Suard (322 pp. 12mo.) a great part of asked for. “ You shall know all," rethe work ought rather, in the opinion of plied he, as hastily as before, “but stay some of its readers, to be called Mémoires, here, you must not come up stairs.'' or Souvenirs de Madume Suard, still this Such a prohibition was quite new to circumstance cannot detract from its me, and he immediately added, “ You intrinsic value ; and no feeling heart can will remain below-rwon't you? remain unmoved by the impressive por- “Certainly I will,” replied I, thoroughly traiture of a pair possessing extraordinary convinced of his kind intentions. Two
hours elapsed before again saw M. SuSince published under the title of Má- ard. I had meanwhile risen, and as my moires historiques sur la vie de Mr. Suard, room had two windows, one of which sur ses Ecrits et sur le 19me Siècle, par D.. looked towards the door of the courtGarat. 2 vols. 8vo. Paris, 1820.
yard, I observed a man going 'away,
and though I could only see his back, him during the day, and had appointed still his gait and figure excited my pro- him to call again ai o’r house at dusk in found pity. He was feeling, without the evening. turning round, in both his coat pockets
He had asked M. Suard whether he for sonething that he did not find. could afford him an asylum. M. Suard When he was gone, M. Suard came replied, that he would cheerfully sacriand informed me that it was our old in- fice his own life for him, but that he timate friend M. de Condorcet, How could not dispose of mine ; he would heartily did I rejoice that I had not speak to me, though he was sure that been the first who saw him! An in- my sentiments would correspond with voluntary exclamation of horror would his. Condorcet answered, “That I am have escaped me at his altered condi- perfectly convinced of.” “ But,” obtion; it would have betrayed him, and served M. Suard, we live in a very plunged me into inexpressible distress. bad commune, and if you were to remain Apprehensive lest, as a proscribed per- here, you would yourself be exposed to son, he should bring trouble or even the greatest danger, for we have but danger upon a generous wife who had one maid-servant, and her we cannot afforded him an asylum and wished to depend upon : still I hope, without risk detain him, he had quitted her in spite either to you or to my wife, to be able of her entreaties. The man who was to lodge you for one night. I shall now once boloved by all who knew him, go immediately to Paris to see some of who was distinguished by the epithet of our old friends, and if possible to prothe good, the kind, and who had moved cure a passport for you. Return at in the highest circles, had for three eight o'clock this evening, when the days endured hunger and thirst, and maid shall be out of the way, we will had no other bed than the quarries find you accommodation for the night, by the side of the road to Fontenai: and then, provided with a passport, you there he had been wounded by the fall- will be able to go whither you think ing of a stone upon his leg, and with- proper." out passport he durst not shew himself He acknowledged to M. Suard, that auy where except at our house. His he apprehended most danger in the early situation could not but move me to the part of the day, but was less concerned bottom of my heart, and all that had about the evening. He did not dissemfor some time past alienated us from ble the pain which he felt on account each other was instantly forgotten.* of the course of public affairs and the Theunparalleled friendship alone, which state of the party to which his ambifor sixteen years had embellished my tious hopes had induced him to attach life, and had surpassed almost every himself; and I have it in my power to idea that I could form of this connec
affirm that he was certainly not the aution, was now present to my remem
thor of the scandalous papers against brance.
the King, which appeared in a periodiM. Suard had furnished him with cal publication of the time, subscribed a plentiful meal and a supply of with his name.
He had indeed persnuft, which had lately become an in- mitted the publisher to use his name, dispensable necessary to him. had but this man had abused that liberty in given a packet of the latter to M. Suard, the most unwarrantable manner.' and was extremely vexed to find this
M. Suard walked to Paris and returnvery packet lying upon the floor as I ed much fatigued, but in high spirits, passed through the hall. This was because Cabanis, the physician, had what he had missed before he opened procured him a passport. My joy was the door of the court-yard; and 'I am equal to his. We gave our servant perconvinced that it was this unlucky ac
mission to go out till ten o'clock, and cident, which induced him to go to the fastened the door of the staircase leadpublic-house at Clamart in hopes of ob- ing to our apartments, so that there was taining snuff, for he could not want
way to them than through the other refreshments after the breakfast garden. which he had taken. M. Suard had Condorcet was acquainted with this also given him some linen for his arraugement: it was intended that he wounded leg, and a Horace to amuse
should sleep on the sofa in the hall,
whither provisions, wine, linen, snuff, *' It was the revolution which had es
and whatever else he could want were tranged M. Condorcet, as well as M. Garat, carried. I told M. Suard that, as there from the Suard family.
was danger, (for the municipal oflicers
might appear, and then we should all cheed in the company of our worthy three have been lost,) I would share itt friend, Condorcet. - The pleasure which! and see the poopi fugitive also ; certain- I receive from it, does inot spring so that my sincere pity would give him. much from that luxurianten of ideas pleasure. M. Suard assented; but wet which at the same time embraces thai waited for him in vain vill ten o'clock. natural and moral sciences, and what We thought it probable that he might ever belongs to fancy and taste nenher] be gone to Auteuil, where his wife and does it result from that penetration and daughter resided; but on our paying a sagacity which detect the whole man visit in the evening of the next day to a from a single word that escapes him ; neighbour, he asked those about him, while on the other hand he is blind to among whom was M. Suard, whether all the defects of those who are dear to they had heard that the person found his heart. The pleasure which his dead that morning in the prison of society affords me, arises from the feelBourg-la-Reine was supposed to be M. ing of his steadfast and invariable kindde Condorcet ? M. Suard was thunder- ness, which may he compared with a struck. “Pray, Sir,” said he, “speak copious spring, that is constantly flowsostly, that iny wife may not hear you, ing without ever being exhausted ; it and tell me what you know of the proceeds from that friendly attention affair.” He then related that on the which anticipates every wish and is the preceding day, a stranger had entered more gratifying, because from the comthe public-house at Clamart (near Fon- plete forgetfulness of self, it has not the tenai) and asked for eggs; shortly after slightest appearance of a sacrifice ; from wards some inunicipal officers arrived, the affectionate indulgence which enand being struck by his dress, they en- courages us to expose to him a hundred quired who he was, whither he was little foibles, which he pities as if he going, and insisted on the production shared them with us; from that subof his papers. As his answers betrayed lime simplicity which seems not even to embarrassment and he had no passport suspect the admiration awakened by his to exhibit, they declared that they virtues and the astonishment excited by would take him to Bourg-la-Reine; but the capacity and superiority of his uns being unable to walk, he was conveyed derstanding; from that natural condethither in a cart, and found dead next scension, which, even when interesting morning in the prison. His shirt, of itself in the most trivial thingst, loses. very fine linen, was marked with the none of its characteristic greatness; it letter C, and in his pockets was found arises from that perfect composure resome money and a Horace. These cir- specting every thing that concerns him. cumstances placed the matter beyond self alone, whereas he is roused into all doubt. The news of his deplorable the utmost activity whenever misfortune fate, when afterwards communicated to or friendship claims his aid ; from that me, cost me many bitter tears.
pure philanthropy, which is ever ready I shall here take the liberty of intro- to exert all its energies and to make any ducing a portrait of M. Condorcet, sacrifice, even of its own reputation ; which I sketched long before the revo- from that utter indifference to personal lution, and in which not one quality or wrongs, while the least injustice done virtue is ascribed to him that he did to the objects of his love kindles in bim not actually possess. Whilst residing a zeal which one would not suppose to in the country, soon after I had become be compatible with the natural mildness acquainted with this philosopher, whose of his dispositions, and the excess of conversation was highly interesting to me, I wrote'as follows to M. Suard : # Condorcet was an enthusiastic admirer
"My philosopher often convinces me of Voltaire's genius, and could repeat without of the truth of a sentiment which he in error fifty verses of his tragedies after, yesterday uttered, namely, that we be hearing them once recited. come better in the society of a good, t In conversing with women he would man. We feel indeed good and bappy talk about ribbons and lace, as readily as in the proximity of the mild and kindly upon metaphysics and history with men., natin virtues. It seems as though they com . II really think that in this point he was municated to those around them some
never equalled. People might say whatever i thing of their characteristic serenity.
they pleased of him, he remained perfectly
indifferent: but he became a lion when the Al petty passions are silenced, sorrow
principles or persons of his friends were ata is alleviated, and the soul feels peace
tacked. He was particularly attached to no and content in their converse. This
more than four or five, Messrs. Turgotavd impression I have many times experi- D'Alembert, the Duchess d’Anville and us.
which would not have been excused one of the tenderest affections of my by his friends themselves, except be hearts 1 But what would one not forgive causen it was in hiun, the excess of al so happy a combination of mildness, virtue. In the space of twelve years I generosityt, kindness-of virtues so nahave known him to be guilty of but one tural, that the respect due to them is great injustice of this kind *, which absorbed in the love which they inpained me much, because it wounded spire !"
LETTERS TO MR. MALTHUS on several SUBJECTS OF POLITICAL ECONOMY, * PER PARTICULARLY ON THE GENERAL STAGNATION OF COMMERCE.
BY M. SAY.
whole of the obstacles by which proSIR,
duction is impeded. Many of these imWe have hitherto founded our discus- pediments will be discovered gradually sions upon the supposition of an inde- during the progress of the science of finite liberty, allowing a nation to carry political economy; others, perhaps, to the utmost extent production of every will never be ascertained, but many of description; and it appears to me that I great influence may already be observed, have proved that if this hypothesis could either in the natural or political order of be realized, a nation so circumstanced things. would be able to purchase all its produc In the natural order, the production tions. From this faculty and from the of alimentary, commodities is natural and perpetual desire of men to rigidly limited than that of furniture ameliorate their condition, an infinite and clothing. Although mankind stands multiplication of individuals and of in need of a much greater quantity, in gratifications would infallibly arise. weight and value, of alimentary goods
But the course of events is different. than of all other sorts of produce toNature and the abuses of social order gether, yet commodities of this descriphave set limits to this faculty of produc- tion cannot be brought from any contion; and the examination of those siderable distance, for they are difficult limits, by leading us back into the ex to transport, and the care of them is existing world, will serve to prove the pensive. As to those which may grow truth of the doctrine established in my upon the territory of a nation, they are treatise on political economy, that the confined within boundaries, which the obstacles to production are the real im- improvement of agriculture and increase pediments to the sale and disposal of of capitals engaged therein may certainly produce.
extend I, but which will always be sure I do not pretend to point out the to exist. Arthur Young thinks that
* This alludes to his attack on M. Neckar, from which none of his friends could dissuade him, though at all other times he was ready to do whatever they desired. On this occasion M. de Condorcet advocated Turgot's cause against M. Neckar, and he was the more vehement, because he was more attached to the person of M. Turgot than to his political principles. It was after this attack that D'Alembert gave him the appellation of le mouton enragé- the mad sheep. It was D'Alembert too who first called him, on account of the extraordinary habitual serenity of his tempera" a volcano covered with snow."
+ He had but few personal wants, and gave away almost all that he possessed. is
* The principal obstacles to agricultural improvement in France are, first, the residence of the rich proprietors and great capitalists in towns, and particularly in an immense capital : they cannot acquire a knowledge of the ameliorations in which their capitals might be employed ; nor can they watch over the application of those funds so as to obtain a corresponding increase of income. Secondly, it would be in vain for any particular secluded canton to double its produce : it can now scarcely get rid of what it already produces, for want of good cross roads, and industrious neighbouring towns. Industrious towns consume rural produce, and fabricate in exchange articles of manufacture, which containing greater value in a less compass can be carried to a greater distance. This is the principal impediment to the increase of French agriculture. The multiplication of small navigable canals, and good cross-roads well maintained, would greatly augment the value of rural produce. But these objects would require local administrations chosen by the inhabitants, and intent only on the good of the country. The markets exist, but nothing is done to secure the benefit of them, magistrates chosen in the interest of the central authority, become almost invariably fiscal or political agents, or, what is still worse, agents of police.