forgot to mention his stilish wife, or the amiability of his eldest daughter. I mean soon to ask her for her company, and if I can marry her, I shall be quite happified. I meant to progress a little further in my story, but for fear of growing tedious, I timeously conclude.

P. S. I went to caucus last night, and heard a Boston man speak five hours. He talked much of the gobetweenity of timeservers, and used many arguments applicatory to the subject.

The next time you go a sparking among the gals, I'll go right away after you. I do think for one of your grade, that you are rather too twistical. However, I shall give you an invite to our raising, where shall hear Yankee Doodle, and you deuced fine musick. After supper we will go up steers into my charmber, where you may take a little nap of sleep, after you have read the Declaration, and three bran new July Orations.

ter.

The next time you go a shopping, I hope you wont lose any of your suet skins,* nor break any chany. Last Lord's Day, I saw at meeting, your sisShe had on a very dressy cap, and sat in one of the body seats. After service, she walked home quite chirk and spry, although she had so lately been taken down with the lung fever and a sleepy lethargy. I forgot to mention, that the deacon gave out the psalms to the tune of Little Marlborough and Old Hundred.

For The Port Folio LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

SCOTT'S MARMION. Messrs. Hopkins and Earle, booksellers of this city, have published, in two volumes, duodecimo, a poetical

*Anglice, Bank bills.

work of the most splendid character, entitled " Marmion; a Tale of Flodden Field, by Walter Scott, Esq." This highly interesting performance truly deserves, and certainly will receive, a much more than ordinary deceive, a much more than ordinary degree of the criticks' favour and the publick's attention.

Scotland has long been eminently distinguished for the splendour of her poetical reputation. Drummond of Hawthornden, Hamilton of Balfour, Thomson, Beattie and Burns have glorified their country by the most brilliant colours of imagination. To these time honoured names we who in every respect is most certainmay now add that of Walter Scott, ly their compeer. We run no risk by asserting, in the most decided tone, that his Lay of the Last Minstrel and Marmion will be perused with delight, as long as the Tweed flows, and as long as a Caledonian can be found

On the green sedgy banks of the sweet winding Tay.

The writer of this article received the London copy of this exquisite poem on its first appearance, and by his suggestion it was immediately put to press by two gentlemen, his friends, who are quick to discern literary merit and anxious to gain for it the meed of publick favour. During the progress of this work through the press we enjoyed the opportunity which we did not abuse, of giving to the story of Marmion an Attention that seldom tired, and a Memory that was never satisfied. In fact during many a midnight hour, the magical genius of the Poet charmed every drowsy power away! and when we had for five times fairly tried his spell, our admiration was unabated by this reiterated experience of its potency.

On another occasion, and in a different department of The Port Folio, an ampler discussion of Mr. Scott's merits will appear. For the present, we shall only say that, in our deliberate opinion, nothing since the days of Dryden and Pope has appeared of a poetical cast which has a higher claim to the attention of the present

and of future ages than Marmion. The interest of the story, the melody of the verse, the picture of national manners and individual character, the beauties of the imagery and the most dazzling glories of invention all conspire to challenge for this work a bright and durable reputation.

We cannot resist the temptation of quoting a passage from one of the authour's introductory epistles. It is addressed, to his friend James Skene, Esq. and is fertile in those charming images, which will find their way to the heart of every reader:

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain
Recals our summer walks again,
When doing nought,-and, to speak true
Not anxious to find out to do.
The wild, unbounded hills we ranged,
While oft our talk its topick changed,
And desultory, as our way,

Ranged unconfined, from grave to gay,
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance,
No effort made to break its trance,
We could right pleasantly pursue
Our sports in social silence too,
Thou gravely labouring to pourtray
The blighted oak's fantastick spray,
I spelling o'er, with much delight,
The legend of that antique knight,
Tirante, by name, 'yclepd the White;
At either's feet a trusty Squire,
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire,
Jealous each other's motions viewed,
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud.
The laverock whistled from the cloud,
The stream was lively, but not loud;
From the white thorn the May-flower
shed

Its dewy fragrance round our head,
Not Ariel lived more merrily
Under the blossomed bower, than we.

And blithesome nights, too, have been

ours,

When Winter stript the Summer's bow

ers:

Careless we heard what now I hear,
The wild blast, sighing deep and drear,
When fires were bright, and lamps beam-

ed gay,
And ladies tuned the lovely lay;
And he was held a laggard soul,
Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl.
Then he, whose absence we deplore,
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore,
The longer missed, be wailed the move,
And thou, and I, and dear loved R-
And one, whose name I may not say,
For not Mimosa's tender tree
Shrinks sooner from the touch than he,-
In merry chorus, well combined,

IMPRESSIVE LESSON; and almost the last words of a gentleman exalted in rank as well as literary reputation, who died a few years since:

"I have lived fifty years, have passed through various situations in life, and have, for the most part, kept what is generally called good company; I have associated with Kings, and the companions of Kings; I have been generally esteemed a fortunate man, and, as you all know, have had my share of honour, profit, and enjoyment; I have not, as some of you know, been without my afflictions.

"But of all my pleasures and comforts, none have been so dúrable, satisfactory, and unalloyed, as those derived from religion; in all my pains and disappointments, nothing has given so much inward support as Christian consolation; even now, at that awful moment, which sooner or later you must all experience, when I am on the point of being called into the presence of my Maker, I feel that nothing but the strong assurance of a blessed Mediator and Advocate, could enable me to bear up under the terrours of death.

,"

Vol. VI.

For The Port Folio.

TRAVELS.

LETTERS FROM GENEVA AND FRANCE.

Written during a residence of between two and three years in different parts of those countries, and addressed to a lady in Virginia.

(Continued from page 293.)

LETTER LIV.

ONE short excursion more, my dear daughter, and then we bid adieu to Geneva. As the weather became cooler in the Autumn and the beauties of our prospect were fading away, we determined to diversify the scene by a visit to Annecy, which you will easily find on the map of Savoy. It lies a little to the left of the road. F. and I had travelled along on the way to Turin, which has attracted some attention from Rousseau's description of the life he led there, and of his first interview with Madame de Warens. It possesses a thousand better claims to attention than from that circumstance, and has been the residence of far better people

No. 20.

We began to ascend, shortly after leaving Geneva, and were in a few hours on the top of Mount Sion, which is the lowest of the mountains that surround the Lake; it served, probably, as a wasteway to the waters of the great lake in ancient times, before a passage had been burst at l'Ecluse, and this idea, which is M. de Saussure's, is confirmed by the number of smooth pebbles on the summit of the ascent, and the rapid declivity on the other side.

We here stopped for a moment to look back on the country behind us; upon the lake, upon the city, and upon the environs, and then proceeded towards a place, at the extremity of Saleve, where a long and hollow passage, formed by the torrents of former days, and

which is said to have been the repair of a troop of smugglers and banditti in the last century, is now the seat of a poor and peaceful Savoyard village. I should have observed to you, that on the slope between Mount Sion and Saleve, on the side towards Geneva, is an ancient Chartreux, where the monks of St. Bruno formerly cultivated a flourishing farm, and sung psalms and said their prayers, and bestowed the overplus, which their simple wants could spare, on the poor of the neighbourhood. It is now a brewery, and I cannot find that either the morals, or the worldly prosperity of the country, have been in any degree benefited by the change.

The invectives to be met with in so many books, and in the conversation of so many people, against the idleness and luxury of the regular clergy of France, always remind me of the Englishman Dr. Moore speaks of, at Naples, who, talking of what he is to have for supper in town, after an ample dinner in the country, inveighs from a warm post-chaise, against the sloth and gormandizing spirit of two barefooted Carmelites.

Be assured, that in the abolishment of those various orders, and in the confiscation of their property, there has been a great deal of useless cruelty and oppression. The first establishments, made by pious enthusiasts and their followers, were in the nature of colonies sent out into a wild and desert country, where some of the monks, who laboured with their own hands took off, by degrees, the dishonour which had been ignorantly attach

ed to the idea of manual indach

and others were employed in copying the literary productions of former times, while the bell which invited the neighbouring barbari

ans to prayers, at certain hours, amused and softened their minds with the pomp of worship, blended with the charms of musick, and raised them to a sense of their moral duties. We smile at the sim plicity of our European ancestors, who were soon prevailed upon, in the neighbourhood of these religious colonies, to respect, in a particular manner, those days, whichhad been consecrated, as it was supposed, by the last mysteries of the life of Christ: but if as Hume (no prejudiced man in favour of revealed religion) observes, if some respite to the miseries of mankind was procured, if time was thus given for the angry pas sions of hostile chieftains to cool; superstition, if such it must be called, rendered, in this instance, a service to society, which philosophy might be proud to claim. But gratitude towards our benefactors is not the virtue of these latter days, when a cold-hearted system of calculation has, in so many instances, got the better of right and justice. What would be thought in America, if our government. were some centuries hence, to assert that they had a right to confiscate the property of the Swiss colonists, who are now establishing themselves in some part of our western territory, on pretence of their having paid but a small price, or perhaps no price at all, for an extensive tract of fertile soil, and were to reproach them for possessing those vallies and hill sides, which the industry of their ancestors had converted into wheatfields, or covered with vines? But let us return from a digression, which, warmed by the spirit of Chateaubriant, I could make a volume of, and proceed on our way to Annecy.