from her body amid a general shriek from the Crowd. The Executioner fainted after the blow, and the under hangman was ordered to take his place. He was not wanted. Maria was already gone: her body was found as cold as if she had been dead for some hours. The Flower had been snapt in the storm, before the scythe of violence could come near it.

SONNET

Suggested by the efforts of the Tyrolese, contrasted with the present state of Germany.

Alas! what boots the long laborious quest

Of moral prudence sought through good and ill;

Or pain abstruse to elevate the will,

Or lead us on to that transcendent rest

Where every passion shall the sway attest

Of Reason seated on her sovereign hill ;-
What is it but a vain and curious skill
If sapient Germany must lie deprest

Beneath the brutal sword?-Her haughty schools
Shall blush, and may not we with sorrow say,
A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,
Among the Herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought
More for mankind at this unhappy day
Than all the pride of intellect and thought?

W. W.

In the HYMN in No. 11, the Reader will be pleased to make the following corrections and alterations, an imperfect Copy having been sent by mistake. Page 174, line 14, for then read thou.

175,

176,

3, read: Thou first and chief, stern Monarch of the Vale!
5, for you read yon :

and the beginning of the last paragraph, as follows:

And thou, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing Peaks,
Oft from whose feet the AVALANCHE unheard
Shoots downward, glittering in the pure Serene,
Into the depth of Clouds that veil thy Breast-
Thou too, again, stupendous Mountain! thou,
That, as once more I raise my head bow'd low
In Adoration, upward from thy Base

Slow-travelling with dim eves suffus'd with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury Cloud,

To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise,

Rise, like a Cloud of Incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly Spirit, &c. &c.

PENRITH: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. BROWN; AND SOLD BY
MESSRS. LONGMAN AND CO. PATERNOSTER ROW; AND

CLEMENT, 201, STRAND, LONDON.

No. 14. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1809.

'Tis true, IDOLOCLASTES SATYRANE

(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal)
'Tis true, that passionate for ancient truths
And honoring with religious love the Great
Of elder times, he hated to excess,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn,
The hollow Puppets of an hollow Age
Ever idolatrous, and changing ever

Its' worthless Idols!-Learning, Power, and Time,
(Too much of all !) thus wasting in vain war
Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 'tis true,
Whole years of weary days, besieg'd him close
Even to the gates and outlets of his Life!
But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,
And with a natural gladness, he maintain'd
The Citadel unconquer'd, and in joy
Was strong to follow the delightful Muse.
For not a hidden path, that to the shades
Of the belov'd Parnassian forest leads,
Lurk'd undiscover'd by him; not a rill
There issues from the fount of Hippocrene,
But he had trac'd it upward to its' source
Thro' open glade, dark glen, and secret dell,
Knew the gay wild-flowers on its' banks, and cull'd
Its' med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone
Piercing the long-neglected holy cave,
The haunt obscure of old Philosophy,
He bade with lifted torch its' starry walls
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame
Of od❜rous lamps tended by Saint and Sage.
O fram'd for calmer times and nobler hearts!
O studious Poet, eloquent for truth!
Philosopher, contemning wealth and death,
Yet docile, child-like, full of light and love!
Here, rather than on monumental stone,
This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes
Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek.* S. T. C.

Imitated, though in the movements rather than the thoughts, from the

VIIth. of Gli Epitafi of Chiabrera :

Fu ver, che Ambrosio Salinero a torto

Si pose in pena d'odiose liti, &c.

DURING my second Term at Cambridge I had, for my own amusement, commenced a Work on the plan of the well known MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE: at least with the same Title, for by its Title only, and the pleasure expressed by all who have spoken to me of it, am I acquainted with that Publication. But at the same time I had meant to add, as an Appendix, a Catalogue raisonne of the Sights, Incidents, and Employments, that leave us better men than they found us; or, to use my original phrase, of the Things that do a Man's Heart good. If the seventeen or eighteen years, which have elapsed since that period, would enable me greatly to extend and diversify the former list, the latter, as more properly the offspring of experience and reflection, would be augmented in a still larger proportion. Among the addenda to this second Catalogue I should rank foremost, a long winter evening devoted to the re-perusal of the Letters of far distant, or deceased Friends. I suppose the Person so employed to be one, whose time is seldom at his own disposal, and that he finds himself alone in a quiet house, the other Inmates of which are absent on some neighbourly visit. I have been led to this observation by the numerous Letters (many of which had all the pleasure of novelty.for me, joined with the more tender charm of awakened recollection) from the Friend, with a slight sketch of whose character I have introduced the present Number under the name, which he went by among his friends and familiars, of SATYRANE, the Idoloclast, or breaker of Idols.

A few Seasons ago, I made the Tour of the northern Counties with him and three other Companions. His extensive erudition, his energetic and all too subtle intellect, the opulence of his imagination, and above all his inexhaustible store of anecdotes, which always appeared to us the most interesting when of himself, and his passionate love of mountain scenery, which often gave an eloquence to his looks and made his very silence intelligible, will for ever endear the remembrance of that Tour to the Survivors. Various were our discussions, most often with him, but sometimes (when we had split our Party for a few hours) concerning him and his opinions; not a few of which appeared, to some of us at least, sufficiently paradoxical, though there was nothing which he bore with less patience than the hearing them thus characterized. Many and various were our topics, often suggested by the objects and occurrences of the moment, and often occasioned by the absence of other interest. O

Satyrane! who would not have lost the sense of time and fatigue in thy company? How often, after a walk of fifteen or twenty miles on rough roads and through a dreary or uninteresting Country, have we seen our proposed resting-place with a sort of pleasant surprize, all joining in the same question, "who would have thought we had walked so far?" And then perhaps examined our Watches, as if half in doubt, or perhaps to contrast the length of time which had thus slipped away from us, with our own little sense of its' elapse. These discussions and the marked difference of our several Characters (though we were all old acquaintances, and with one exception, all of us fellow Cantabs) suggested to us the idea of a joint Work to be entitled, "TRAVELLING CONVERSATIONS." Since that time I have often renewed this idea in my mind, and pleased myself with the thought of realizing it. Independent of the delightful recollections, the lively portraiture and inward music, which would enliven my own fancy during the composition, it appeared to me to possess the merit of harmonizing an indefinite variety of matter by that unity of interest, which would arise from the Characters remaining the same throughout, while the Tour itself would supply the means of introducing the most different topics by the most natural connections. We had agreed to call each other by the names of our Walking-Sticks, each of which happened to be of a different Wood: Satyrane, however, excepted, who was well pleased to be called among us by his old College name, and not displeased with his learned Agnomen, when we used with mock solemnity to entreat a short reprieve for our prejudices from him, under the lofty title of "puissant and most redoubtable Idoloclastes." I flatter myself, that the Readers of THE FRIEND Will consent to travel over the same road with the same fellowTourists. High indeed will be my gratification, if they should hereafter think of the walk and talk with the FRIEND'S Satyrane, Holly, Larch, Hiccory, and Sycamore, with a small portion of the delight with which they have accompanied THE SPECTATOR to his club, and made acquaintance with Will Honeycomb and the inimitable Sir Roger de Coverley. From any imitation indeed, I am precluded by the nature and object of my work: and for many reasons, the persons, whom I introduce, must be distinguished by their sentiments, their different kinds of information, and their different views of life and society, rather than by any prominent individuality of humour in

their personal Characters. What they were to myself, they will be to my Reader; glasses of different colours and various degrees of power, through which truth and error, happiness and misery, may be contemplated.

From his earliest youth Satyrane had derived his highest pleasures from the admiration of moral grandeur and intellectual energy; and during the whole of his short life he had a greater and more heart-felt delight in the superiority of other men to himself, than men in general derive from the belief of their own. His readiness to imagine a superiority where it did not exist, was indeed, for many years his predominant foible. His pain from the perception of inferiority in others, whom he had heard spoken of with any respect, was unfeigned and involuntary; and perplexed him, as a something which he did not comprehend. In the child-like simplicity of his nature he talked to all men, as if they were, at least, his équals in knowledge and talents; and his Familiars record many a whimsical anecdote, and many a ludicrous incident, connected with this Habit of his, of scattering the good seed on unreceiving soils. When he was at length compelled to see and acknowledge the true state of the morals and intellect of his contemporaries, his disappointment was severe, and his mind, always thoughtful, became pensive and almost gloomy for to love and sympathize with mankind was a necessity of his nature. Hence, as if he sought a refuge from his own sensibility, he attached himself to the most abstruse researches, and seemed to derive his purest delight from subjects that exercised the strength and subtlety of his understanding without awakening the feelings of his heart. When I first knew him, and for many years after, this was all otherwise. The sun never shone on a more joyous being! The Letters of earliest date, which I possess of his, were written to a common friend, and contain the accounts of his first travels. That I may introduce him to my Readers in his native and original character, I now place before them his first Letter, written on his arrival at Hamburg. From the remaining Series, written in the same or following year, I shall select and occasionally publish such letters as will give the liveliest idea of his opinions, and the different traits of his character at that period. I have only to premise, that Satyrane was incapable of ridiculing a foreigner merely for speaking English imperfectly; but the extravagant vanity that could prompt a man so speaking and pronouncing to pride himself on his excellence as