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service. Here are many debauches and excessive revellings, being out of obser

vance.

About a league further, we went to see Cardinal Richelieu's villa at Ruell. The house is small, but fairly built, in form of a castle, moated round. The offices are towards the road, and over against it are large vineyards, walled in. Though the house is not of the greatest, the gardens about it are so magnificent that I doubt whether Italy has any exceeding it for all varieties of pleasure. The garden nearest the pavillion is a parterre, having in the midst divers noble brass statues perpetually spouting water into an ample basin, with other figures of the same metal; but what is most admirable is the vast enclosure, and variety of ground, in the large garden, containing vineyards, cornfields, meadows, groves (whereof one is of perennial greens), and walks of vast lengths, so accurately kept and cultivated, that nothing can be ›more agreeable. On one of these walks, ~ within a square of tall trees, is a basilisk of copper, which, managed by the fountain's wire, casts water near sixty feet high, androwill of itself move round so swiftly that one can hardly escape wetting. Extract from a descriptions by John Evelyn, Esq. author of " Sylva," &cunqe sot jaw of 29-0 M silt útiw betuiry-lisw grid sioqun sark

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stone, the law will not justify jailers in fettering a prisoner, unless where he is unruly, or has attempted an escape.

You have no right to abridge him of pure air, wholesome and sufficient food, and opportunities of exercise. You have no right to debar him from the craft on which his family depends, if it can be exercised in prison. You have no right to subject him to suffering from cold, by want of bed-clothing by night, or firing by day; and the reason is plain-you have torn him from his home, and have deprived him of the means of providing himself with the comforts and necessaries of life, and therefore you are bound to furnish him with moderate, indeed, but suitable accommodation.

You have, for the same reason, no right to ruin his habits, by compelling him to be idle; his morals, by compelling him to mix with a promiscuous assemblage of hardened and convicted criminals; or his health, by forcing him at night into a damp unventilated cell, with such crowds of companions as very speedily to render the air foul and putrid; or to make him sleep in close contact with the victims of contagions and loathsome disease, or amidst the noxious effluviæ of dirt and corruption. In short, attention to his feelings, mental and bodily, a supply of every necessary, abstraction from evil society, the conservation of his health and industrious habits, are the clear, evident, undeniable rights of an unconvicted prisoner.

IMPROPER TREATMENT OF PRISONERS SET us follow a prisoner from his first commitment, always remembering that as - yet his guilt is unproved. You have no right to march him alongs the street in chains, At his trial, either he is acquitted-in for to makeɗhim a spectacle of public igno- which case the least you can do is to reminy, perhaps on the very spots and place him in the situation you found him, amongst the very people with whom he to pay his expences home, and to furnish bas hitherto held a fair character. Infamy him with sufficient to support him till he may be the penalty for crime, but it should has an opportunity of looking out for work: never be the consequence of suspicion or he is convicted and then it is for the you should, therefore, conduct him to his law to appoint the punishment which is jaily with every possible attention to his to follow his offence...That puuishment feelings, with decency and seeresy. When must be inflicted, but you must carefully he is centered, within its walls, you have guard that it be not aggravated, and that no right to load him with trous; you circumstances of severity are not found in ©have no right to subject him to bodily his treatment which are not found in his pain from their weight, or to that agony sentence. Now no judge ever condemned of mind which must result from such a man to be half starved with cold by day, symbols of degradations tona oman of yet or half suffocated with heat by night; unblunted feelings, and you have no right who ever heard of a criminal being sento conclude that he is not suchi And here tenced to catch the rheumatism or the I must observe, in the language of Black-typhus fever) Corruption of morals and

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contamination of mind are not the remedies which the law in its wisdom has thought proper to adopt.

The convicted delinquent then has his rights. All measures and practices in prison, which may injure him in any way, are

illegal, because they are not specified in his sentence. He is therefore entitled to a wholsome atmosphere, decent clothing and bedding, and a diet sufficient to support him.-Bennet and Buxton on Prisons.

THE LISTENER.

POPULARITY.

elegant, and insinuating: as for the rest,

TIME out of mind it is well known || they were entirely ignorant of any virtue or talent he possessed; and perceiving that there are to be found in London a certain number of men and women of no- himself that his silence on his family contoriety: the latter, to succeed in their pre- || nections might, in the end, be injurious to tensions, have only to shew themselves; him, he thought proper to add a Fitz to their beauty, the elegance and singularity || his name; he was then acknowledged as a of their dress, are sufficient to cause them very near relation of the Fitzherberts in to be admired and sought after in every Ireland. His notoriety and boldness incircle in which they may appear. It is creased with his imaginary relationship. not the same with the men; they must There was not a single party made, nor an have many exterior advantages, and even entertainment given, that could be without when they do possess these, they must be the amiable Fitzherbert; and wherever he accompanied with much skill and address. was invited he did not fail to render himI once knew a young man as beautiful as self agreeable. If he played at cards, he Apollo, and who fancied himself able to || took care always that the master of the carry off every prize, without taking the house, or his family, should rise winners. pains to merit it: he failed in every thing. If he was at a dance, he arranged the or The men, envious of those qualifications he chestra, was always ready to offer ice and really possessed, attributed faults to him lemonade to the ladies; and there never which he certainly had not; the women, was a christening, marriage, or funeral, who, young or old, beautiful or ugly, are where he did not figure away as a godall fond of flattery, seeing themselves ne- father, witness, or mourner. When a lady glected by him, tore him to pieces without played on the piano, it was Mr. Fitzherbert mercy. One called him a fine statue, an- who must always accompany her; though, other said he always spoke before he Heaven knows, he was very little capable thought, a third that he only laughed to of it; but the fashionable execution of the shew his white teeth.-" I say nothing present manner of playing will often drown against his figure," said one of his friends, the rusty voice and false intonations of a "it may be a little inanimate, certainly; bad singer. Mr. Fitzherbert had also the but do not you think there is a certain stiff threefold merit of making tea for the ladies, awkwardness about him, and that his carving at the epicure's table, and collect. shoulders are rather too high?"-It was ing money under the candlesticks, in the soon found out that Mr. St. Aubin was houses where they resort to such meanness, When I first had the stupid, had no taste, and had no power to pay for the cards. whatever of pleasing; and was only fit to honour of meeting this gentleman, his rebe the husband of some poor ignorant putation was so established, that in order country girl, or an old maiden coquette, to please, it was absolutely requisite to rereduced to her last shift. In the mean semble him in some degree. A very shrewd time, let me go where I would, I heard a clever young fellow resolved, one night, as Mr. Herbert cried up to the skies; but he told me, to take him for his model. He Mr. Herbert shone neither by his youth, was not rich, but he was young and enhis fortune, or his wit; only every one terprising: I could not always be a witagreed in saying, he was extremely polite, ness of his manœuvres, but I have often

listened to him since he was married, to || Spectacles, &c. &c, which, from the im

hear him relate them. First, he humorously says he was resolved to make friends of the mammas, by saying to them every flattering thing, and paying them the most unstudied attention, while all his tender glances were directed to the daughters. | He continually told the fathers he did not || wonder at their regretting past times; to their sons that they were right in seizing present pleasure. In short, his eloquence was so suited to time, place, and circumstances, that in one corner of the apartment he has been cited as a profound scholar, in another he has been compared to the hero of a romance, a Lancastrian, or a disciple of Bell, an elegant rake, or a young man of the utmost purity of manners. He soon, however, eclipsed Mr. Fitzherbert, and married a young lady with fifty thousand pounds fortune.

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TO TIMOTHY HEARWELL, ESQ.

SIR,-I am a plain spoken country gentleman, living upon an estate of three hundred pounds a year, which descended to me from a father who always had the greatest aversion to the city of London.

But I, who was not of his opinion in that respect, make it a rule to come to that (as my father expressed it) "mart of folly and wickedness" once in every other year. I arrived in town a few weeks ago, and as I always had a partiality for "the rich lore of Shakespeare," I took the earliest opportunity of sallying out to go to the play. Steering my way into the purlieus of Drury-lane, I soon arrived at the Theatre; but what was my surprise on finding that the noblest house of amusement in the first city in the world, was shut up (of course) from the want of encouragement.

Mr. Hearwell, in the course of your pe regrination of listening, have you ever had any intimation of the cause of the decay of dramatic genius? That it has decayed is evident by the circumstance to which I am alluding is it that the public are satiated with the grandeur and magnificence of the modern productions which have come out under the denomination of Melo-drames,

mense expence they must have been got up (to use a theatrical phrase), and the thin houses which they have lately brought, have greatly deteriorated the profits of the concern? Is it from the banishment of legitimate comedy and afterpieces, which might have been acted at half the expence of those ephemeral productions which I have before mentioned? or is it that the house was built too large from the beginning? I should be glad if you could trace the cause and effect of this circumstance. In the meantime I am your most obedient servant,

CHARLES CRABSTOCK.

Blue Boar Inn, July 18, 1818.

I am yet inclined to hope that DruryLane will, in spite of seemingly untoward circumstances, be able to lift up her head, and even to keep it aloft. Sorry should I be to see the old house droop-fall, I trust, it will not. There are many errors in our theatrical proceedings. Our two national Theatres are both too large; dramatic talent gets forward by favour alone. The number of private boxes, never filled, render one part of these immense Theatres a dreary waste: the amusements, by now beginning at seven, are prolonged to too late an hour. The gentry have taken an hasty dinner; their coffee afterwards is out of the question, owing to the polite hours we keep; and if they stay the farce, it is past midnight before they wearily repair home to their supper. T. HEARWELL.

ON MODERN EDUCATION.

TO TIMOTHY HEARWELL, ESQ. SIR, I have often reflected that the accidental circumstance of giving birth to a child, could never alone entitle the parents to that respect and obedience which are prescribed in the decalogue. The first step towards deserving them may be the anxious care and attention unceasingly bestowed by the mother, and in which the happy father is not always a sleeping partner; but the most efficacious means to acquire reverence and a lasting sense of duty, consist in imbuing the infant mind with principles antidotal to the system of

modern times, viz. that a filial respect, at a certain time of life, is a mere matter of courtesy.

after some interruption, to resume the same learning. A young Miss is said to know the history of England, because she has repeated, by heart, a few chapters of an abridgment, by questions and answers;

Education is the greatest benefit that can be conferred; but how sorrowful it is to observe, that, now-a-days, either through || but unless she has been taught, at the same

ignorance or vanity, accomplishments alone ||
are sought after and procured, and the ru-
diments of morality entirely unattended to!
It is for want of that solid foundation, how-
ever, that what is termed a genteel edu-
cation, for a female, is the ruin of many;
how can it be otherwise, when the child
of an adventuring tradesman, for instance,
is brought up in the same style as that of a
peer, or of a wealthy commoner?

Although I should feel inclined to blame the avaricious and illiterate father, who, content with seeing his son duly qualified to stand behind a counter like himself, leaves the youth unprovided with the means of enjoying mental entertainment, during the hours of relaxation from business; I dare not censure the ambitious parent, who renounces the future partnership of his favourite boy, and sends him to college. Advantageous connections are there to be formed sometimes: the learned professions hold out great resources: interest (the consequence of long credit) may procure preferment in the church: law and physic are more tardy in bringing in the harvest, but the chapter of accidents will always throw clients and patients in his way. I might enumerate other prospects, but I must return to the other sex, whose injudicious education I originally intended as my theme.

time, chronology and geography, to prop her historical knowledge, it will soon fall into ruins. Some are taught drawing,

who, perhaps, may succeed in copying a landscape, but will never produce an original worth being looked at, because they have never been made acquainted with the first rudiments of perspective. Some are called musicians, who have no idea of what is time, and may think to have improved very much under the tuition of a dancing. master, because they know the figures of every country-dance; who walk and curtesy with no more good grace than a milkmaid; and, when seated, are at a loss what to do with their arms and legs. Seldom, very seldom, alas! is a boarding-school education carried beyond what I have just described. What a deal of time lost! and now begin the days of retribution.

When young Miss returns home, she is an entire stranger to, and would scorn attending to domestic concerus, too much beneath her notice. If she be required to repair some family linen, she cannot leave off a piece of tambour-work, which she has had in hand ever so long: she has not been taught darning, as her mother has: how can one think of putting her to such drudgery? The infatuated parents now find out, but too late, that, in consequence of their wish to procure for their dear child a refined education, their authority is disrespected; that, upon every occasion, their good-natured simplicity is laughed at, and their want of instruction ridiculed. Next it will often occur, that the circulating li

I could congratulate from my heart the female rising generation, on the almost total suppression of samplers in day and boarding-schools, from nearly oue term to another, if that useless occupation had not been replaced by others no more profit-brary will give a finish to the boardingable, at best, if not prejudicial, and where school education. Hence so many undutifore are they so? because the too-super- ful daughters! and what sort of wives can ficial knowledge, in the one place, makes they be expected to prove? not an impression deep enough to be retained, and, accordingly, is no inducement,

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THE PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER.-FROM THE FRENCH.

LAMBERT is a very amiable and gay young man, possessing an easy fortune, acquired by the industry of his father, who, for thirty years, and upwards, employed himself, with honour, in Normandy, in mercantile concerns. Lambert, who lost both his parents at an early age, took upon himself, after the restoration, to prefix a de to his name; and taking advantage of its resemblance to that of an ancient gen- || tleman of the same province as himself, he || thought proper to engraft that family with his own.

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I called on him a few days ago, and found him busily employed in his saloon, in contemplating about a dozen of old pic || tures. "I have just made," said he, laughing, "a purchase of a whole family: I have bought, on the Quay des Morfondus, a father, a mother, two uncles, three aunts, and about half a dozen ancestors, of which I stand much in need, and which I am going to have brightened up a little; I am waiting for a painter, who promised to come to me this morning; I have made a bargain with him to varnish over my parents and relations a little.”—Scarce had he done speaking, when the artist entered. After the customary civilities, Lambert pointed out to him what he wished him to do.-" You must," said he, "make from these five portraits (these were the ancestors) an Archbishop, a President of Parliament, a Colonel, a Captain in the navy, and a Lieutenant of musketeers.""I shall be much troubled," said the painter, "to disguise these gentlemen after such fashions; however, with a little patience, I hope I shall succeed." -"You will then make of these three ladies (these were the aunts), a Canoness, a Maid of Honour, and an Abbess of the Couvent of Montmartre ; of these two gentlemen (these were his uncles), a Cardinal and a FieldMarshal; of this lady (this was his mother), a woman of the first distinction; and of this portrait (shewing the last) you must make—"—" Ah! but," said the painter, with much emotion, “ it will be impossible to make any thing else of him than an honest grocer; this portrait-! it is that of my father."-"Indeed!" said Lambert,

"that is singular! How much he re-
sembles mine! that is the reason why I
bought it."-" I must beg of you, Sir, not
to require me to make any alteration in
that picture."-"It is impossible to grant
your request; I must absolutely have a
father in the army, decorated with several
orders, and an officer of rank."—"How-
ever, Sir, that is not your father, since it
is mine."—"That requires positive proof:
besides, supposing you are right, this pic-
ture is my property; I bought it, it belongs
to me, and I have a right to dispose of it
according to my fancy; I choose to have it
made a Brigadier-General of the King's
army."-" My father was never in the ser-
vice; his countenance indicates the mild-
ness and quiet of his character, and the
gentleness of his manners."-"That may
be, but I must have a father who was
lord over a dozen villages."—" Mine was
not even the churchwarden of his parish."
"Mine must be decorated with titles."-
"The original of that picture had only the
esteem of the public, nothing more."-
“My father left me a great name, a great
fortune, and stood high in the service.”-
"But mine left me only his virtues, for a
pattern, and a few debts to pay, which I
have religiously fulfilled."-" You may say
what you please, I cannot part with this
figure; it is too much like myself for me
to think of giving up the making use of it;
my father never had his picture taken."-
"Mine had his likeness taken only once;
his portrait was sold during my absence;
since my return, I have sought for it every
where, but in vain; I have now found it,
and I, certainly, can never suffer it to be
mutilated."- "Mutilated!"-" Certainly, I
have nothing to depend on but my talents
as an artist, but I would give all I am worth
to possess this beloved image of my parent;
I will make you the offer of daubing over
these gentlemen and ladies, to paint for
you half a dozen relations, old and young,
Counts, Marquisses, Bishops, whatever you
choose, only craving that you will give
up that picture to me."-"But, my good
Sir".
'—“This offer,” said I to Lambert,
"is a reasonable one; the gentleman will
make you a father according to your di

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