1 ful; fuch screams of applause, and fault, it is in in giving too immoderate groans of approbation, such sobbing, FOR THE an impression of grief. If he continues to tyrannize over the public feelings, half the town will be tragedy-mad, before the winter is half expired. Let him be cautious how he oversteps the modesty of nature, and then we will answer that his fame will be firmly established." Here Mr. Editor you fee the great skill and contrivance of this puff, the only fault found with this new candidate is a redundance of the pathos, a fault not often reprehensible on our stages now! Befides the very circumstance of criticifing on a real and rare perfection fills the minds of men with astonishment at the man's abilities whose only fault is too much merit! In my next you shall have a specimen of various other puffs, suitable to an infinity of professions, in the mean time (without a puff) I am Your's fincerely, PHILO-PUFF. From my Garret, at the Pastry- Lane. LONDON MAGAZINE. SELAMA. AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. W HAT soft voice of forrow is in the breeze? What lovely fun-beam of beauty trembling on the rock? Its bright hair is bathed in showers; and it looks faint and dim through its mist on the rushy plain. Why art thou alone, maid of the mournful look? The cold dropping rain is on the rocks of Torlena; the blait of the defert lifts thy yellow locks. Let thy steps be in the hall of shells, by the blue-winding stream of Clutha: let the harp tremble beneath thy fingers; and the fons of heroes listen to the mufic of fongs. Shall my steps be in the hall of fhells, and the aged low in the dust? The father of Selama is low behind this rock, on his bed of withered leaves; the thistle's down is strewed over him by the wind, and mixes with his grey hair. Thou art fallen, Chief of Etha! without thy fame; and there is none to revenge thy death. But thy daughLOND. MAG. Jan. 1785. ter will fit pale befide thee, till the finks a faded flower upon thy lifeless form.-Leave the maid of Clutha a fon of the stranger! in the red eye of her tears! How fell the car-borne Connalblue-eyed mourner of the rock? Mine arm is not weakened in battle; nor my fword without its fame. Connal was a fire in his youth, that lightened through fields of renown; but the flame weakly glimmered through grey ashes of age. His course was like a star moving through the heavens: it walketh in brightness, but leaveth no track behind; its filver path cannot be found in the sky. The strength of Etha is rolled away like a tale of other years; and his eyes have failed. Feeble and dark, he fits in the hall, and hears the distant tread of a stranger's steps; the haughty steps of Tonthormo, from the roar of Duvrarmo's echoing stream. He stood in the F brall flower of the defert! the tempest shall rush over thee, and thou shalt be low beneath the foot of the savage fon of prey. But I will wither, my father! in thy tomb. Weak and alone I dwell amidst my tears; there is no young warriour to lift the spear; no brother of love! Oh, that mine arm were strong! I would rush amidst the battles. Selama has no friend! But Selama has a friend, faid the kindling foul of Ruthamir. I will fight thy battles, lovely daughter of kings; and the fun of Davrarmo shall not fet in blood! But when I return in peace, and the spirits of the foes are on my fword, meet me with thy fmiles of love.-Maid of Clutha! with thy flow-rolling eyes, let the foft found of thy steps be heard in my halls, that the mother of Ruthamir may rejoice. the-Whence, she will fay, is this beam of the distant land?--Thou shalt dwell in her bosom. hall like a pillar of darkness, on whose top is the red beam of fire: wide rolled his eyes beneath the gloomy arch of his brow; as flames in two caves of a rock, over-hung with the black pine of the defert. They had rolled on Selama, and he asked the daughter of Connal. Tonthormobreaker of shields! thou art a meteor of death in war, whose fiery hair streams on the clouds, and the nations are withered beneath its path. Dwell, Tonthormo! amidst thy hundred hills, and listen to thy torrents' roar; but the foft figh of the virgin is with the chief of Crono. Hidallan is the dream of Selama; the dweller of her fecret thoughts. A rushing storm in war; a breeze that fighs over the fallen foe: pleasant are thy words of peace, and thy fongs at the mossy brook. Thy smiles are like the moon-beams, trembling on waves; thy voice is like the gale of summer that whispers among the reeds of the lake, and as wakens the harp of Modena with all its lightly-trembling strings. Oh! that thy calm light was around me! My foul should not fear the gloomy chief of Duvrarmo. He came with his stately steps. My fhield is before thee, maid of my love! a wall of shelter from the lightning of swords. They fought. Tonthormo bends, in all his pride, before the arm of youth. Put a voice was in the breast of Hidallan-fhall I slay the love of Selama? Selama dwells in thy dark bosom; shall my steel enter there? Live, thou storm of war! He gave again his sword. But, careless as he strode away, rage arose in the troubled thoughts of the vanquished. He mark ed his time, and fide-long pierced the heart of the fon of Semo. His fair hair is fpread on the dust; his eyes are bent on the trembling beam of Clutha. Farewell, light of my foul! They are closed in darkness! Feeble was thou then, my father! And in vain didst thou call for help. Thy grey locks are scattered, as a wreath of fnow on the top of a withered trunk; which the boy brushes away with his staff, and careless fingeth as he walks. Who shall defend thee, my daughter? faid the broken voice of Etha's chief. Fair My thoughts are with him who is low in the dust-son of Cormac! But lift the spear, thou friend of the unhappy! The light of my foul may return. He strode in his rattling arms. Tall, in a gloomy forest, stood the furly strength of Duvrarmo. Gleaming behind the dark trees was his broad shield; like the moon when it rises in blood, and the dusky clouds sail low and heavy athwart its path. Thoughts, like the troubled ocean, rushed over his foul; and he struck with his spear the founding pine. - Starting! he mixed in battle with the chief of woody Marna. Long was the strife of arms; and the giant fons of the forest tremble at their strokes. At length Tonthormo fell. The fword of Ruthamir waved a blue flame around him. He bites the ground in rage; his blood is poured-a dark red stream-into Orthona's trembling waves. Joy brightened in the foul of Ruthamir; when a young warriour came with his forward spear. He moved in the light of beauty; but his words were haughty and fierce. Is Tonthormo fallen in blood! the friend of my early years! Do thou, dark-fouled chief! for never shall Selama be thine-the maid of of his love. Lovely shone her eyes, through tears in the hall of her grief, when I stood by the chief Duvrarmo, in the rising strife of Clutha. Retire, thou swelling voice of pride! thy spear is light as the taper reed. Pierce the roes of the defert; and call the hunter to the feast of fongs. But speak not of the daughter of Connal, fon of the feeble arm! Selama is the love of heroes. Try thy ftrength with the feeble arm, faid the rifing pride of youth. Thou shalt vanish like a cloud of mist before the fun, when he looks abroad in the power of his brightness. But thou thyself didst fall before Ruthamir, in all thy boasting words, As a tall ash of the mountain, when the tempeft takes its green head, and lays it level on the plain. Come from thy fecret cave, Selama! thy foes are filent and dark. Thou dove that hideft in the clefts of the rocks! The storm is over and past. Come from thy rock, Selama! and give thy white hand to the chief, who never fled from the face of glory, in all its terrible brightness. She gave her hand, but it was trembling and cold; for the spear was deep in her fide. Red, beneath her mail, the curtain of crimson wandered down her white breast; as the track of blood on Cromla's mountains of snow, when the wounded deer slowly crosses the heath, and the hunters' cries are in the breeze. Bleft be the spear of Ruthamir! faid the faint voice of the lovely; I feel it cold in my heart; lay me by the fon of Lemo. Why should I know another love? Raife the tomb of the aged; his thin form shall rejoice as he fails on a low hung cloud, and guides the wintry storm. Open your airy halls, spirits of my love! And have I quenched the light which was pleasant to my foul? faid the chief of Morna. My steps moved in darkness. Why were the words of strife in thy tale? Sorrow, like a cloud, comes over my foul, and shades the joy of mighty deeds. Soft be your rest in the narrow house, children of grief! The breeze, in the long whiftling grass, shall not awaken you. The tempest shall rush over you, and the bulrush bow its head upon your tomb; but filence shall dwell in your habitation; long repose, and the peace of years to come. The voice of the bard shall raise your remembrance in the diftant land, and mingle your tale of woe with the murmur of other streams. Often shall the harp fend forth a mournful found; and the tear dwell in the soft eyes of the daughters of Morna. Such were the words of Ruthamir, while he raised the tombs of the fallen. Sad were his steps towards the towers of his fathers, as, musing, he crossed the dark heath of Lena; and struck, at times, the thistle's beard. Fa tions on canvas. racer, racer, whom Pindar celebrates. I have heard of a petit-maitre, who accidentally meeting with a dead Snake, fancied he had killed it by a blow he ftruck it, and immediately applied to a painter to have the exploit preserved, and himfelf pourtrayed as Alcides encountering the-ferpents. The subject was begun, but the hero in question died of a confumption, before his frame had been dilated to Herculean dimensions! A young man who belongs to the City Association, by profession a taylor, has, fince the peace, been seized by fuch a military frenzy, that he defired to have himself displayed in the character of the Chevalier Boyard in his dying moments. He was, it is true, reafoned out of his design, but it is a fact, that at the last exhibition his portrait made its appearance armed at all points! Many a Ruben's wife have I known, whose only claim to affinity with the artist was, that they fufficiently understood the use of colours to paint themselves! I was told of an unmarried lady near Windfor, who, while she was fitting to supply Diana with a fet of features, was taken in labour, and delivered of an infant virgin to gambol in the train of the goddess! Numberless are the Marias we have, whose only proof of insanity, is affuming the fituation of Sterne's melancholy female! We have Charlottes, for whom no Werter will ever fall; and Unas, who can tame lions, not as Spencer's beauty did, by gentleness of manners, but the spirit of termagancy. The profopopeia is generally abufed in the use that is made of the paffions, and all other attributes. I have known the most infenfible being appear as love; and innocence has been a girl from King's Place. A few evenings since I was making remarks to this effect, when a young lady oppofed her arguments to mine, and told me, as a proof how fincere she was, that at her earnest defire herself, and four of her fifters, were painted as the Five Senses, and that the fancy met general admiration. One of her fifters having a pretty ear, was made to perfonate hearing; another, on account of her bright eyes, was defcribed as feeing; and fo on, according to their various perfections. And, pray, Madam (enquired I, willing to be informed of her own particular excellence) in which of the fenfes did you appear?”—“О, Sir (replied she) I was pourtrayed as feeling." -" And what (continued I) mightyou be feeling?" " Why, Sir (anfwered she in return) I was stroaking a little tame rabbit that lay in my lap!" 1 I am, &c. DICK DASHAWAY. FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE. CHARACTER OF RICHARD RUSSELL, ESQ. LATE OF BERMONDSEY-STREET, IN THE COUNTY OF SURREY. RICHARD RUSSELL, Efq. was born in the parish of Bermondsey in the year 1723, and was the only offspring of Mr. John Ruffell, of the fame place, fellmonger. His father, who died in the year 1770, is faid to have been a native of Warwickshire; and he acquired, by great industry in business, about ten thousand pounds, which he left to his wife principally, who furvived him, and lived with her fon till the year 1780, when she died. A handfome monument is erected to both their memories in Bermondsey church. Their fon carried on the business of a wool-stapler many years, and had not relinquished it altogether at the time of his death. He is allowed on all hands to have conducted himself in it with great credit and integrity. In person he was below the common ftature, was pitted with the small-pox, and, while in health, was fomewhat inclined to corpulency. He was regular and punctual in his accounts and dealings, and, having been bred to an economy which bordered on parfimony, he never had any relish for pursuits which 1 which were attended with confiderable he bequeathed it to him accordingly; expence. If he was not generous, he was honeft and incorrupt. As an inhabitant of a large parish, and as a commiffioner of the pavements and sewers, he always opposed the improper expenditure of public money, and was ever ready to pay any fum on such occafions out of his own pocket, rather than put the parish or commiffion to the leaft charge. It was very much owing to him that the latter commiffioners introduced their prefent practice of paying for their own dinners at all their public meetings. He was in the commiffion of the peace for the county of Surrey, but never took out his dedimus. The world at large have supposed that he was the Justice Ruffell who had fome concern in fuppreffing the riot in St. George's-Fields at the time of Mr. Wilkes's imprisonment in the King's-Bench prifon, and whose house in consequence was nearly pulled down by the mob; but that magiftrate, Edward Russell, Efq. is still living, at Sydenham, in Kent: others have mistaken him for John Russell, Esq. a magistrate at Greenwich. His education had been narrow and confined, even for a tradesman; but he possessed a confiderable share of good sense, which he improved by reading. He was, in particular, an admirer of poetical compofitions, and purchased a renter's share of Drurylane playhouse, to gratify his love of theatrical exhibitions, which, in winter, he almost constantly attended: in summer he amused himself with walking all round the metropolis, but never lay out of his own bed. He had a kind of cynical turn, which led him frequently to oppose the sentiments of others; and that rendered him in a degree unpopular: those who knew him best were not disgusted with his character, which, though odd, blunt, and fingular, was fometimes thought entertaining, and always honest. He was a strict observer of his word on all oceafions. Many years ago he declared in company to Mr. Donaldson, of Messrs. Child's shop, that he would leave him, at his death, his gold watch: and Mr. Donaldson has fince received it from his executors, when he expressed his surprise at the completion of a promise which he had altogether forgotten. As a politician he was public-fpirited, and a great lover of freedom. He did not much like to go out of his usual track, and, therefore, scarce ever took journies; but having conceived a great esteem for the public conduct of one of the gentlemen whom he named an executor, his love of ease did not prevent his going thirty miles to vote for him at three or four county elections. About two or three years ago he wrote a tract, called "War with the Senses; or Free Thoughts on Snuff-taking," which, if not well written, was extremely well intended; the profits of this publication he declared his intention of giving away in charity. In this tract he has attempted a diffuafive against the practice of taking snuff as unwholesome and slovenly, and particularly as injurious to female beauty, of which he was always a great admirer. It is certain that the populace dropped some expreffions of dislike againft the memory of the deceased on the day of his funeral; but it is not true that he was hung in effigy, as was reported. The world at large had entertained a prejudice against him for having omitted all mention of his relations in his will, and this was greatly heightened in Bermondsey, by his having directed his body to be interred in St. John's church, the adjoining parish; but the funeral proceeded without the leaft obftruction or outrage, till it came to the church-yard, where, and in the church itself, a surprising multitude of both fexes, and all ages, was affembled. The fingularity of ten virgins attending the funeral of an old bachelor, as pallbearers, and strewers of flowers, and their dresses, excited the curiofity of the town in general: a prodigious crowd was assembled; and in it, it is believed, was every pick-pocket in London. These last placed themselves in the church and church-yard; they let |