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plane AC, while the fides MP, MC revolve M
round upon the fixed fide CP. It is required
to determine the inclination of the triangu-
lar plane MPC to that of AC; the length of
MP; and the angle PMC, at any given point
in the circumference defcribed by M, reckon-
ed from the pofition where PM is the shortest? A

P.

C

The anfwers to thefe queftions may be directed (poft-paid) to Mr. Baldwin, in Faternofter-row, London.

POETRY.

AN ELEGIAC РОЕМ,

On the Death of the late Rev. THOMAS GIBBONS, D. D. Paftor of the Congregation of Diffenters, meeting at Haberdasher's-Hall.

Omnes una manet nox

Et calcanda femel via lethi. HOR.

melancholy news is fpread,

With humble boldness come before his throne, (All claim to merit in thyfelf difown ||) And

My pardon's fure if thou but intercede ¶. Thou never faidft, ye feek my face in vain, Thou never didit a finner's pray'r difdain; O, plead my cause, for I'm of finners chief, I would believe, Lord help my unbelief,

cry to him, "Lord, for a finner plead,

HOW fwift the melancho and rev'rend faint, May thy rich grace on guilt like mine defcend,

is dead;

Who in the gofpel vineyard spent his days,
To all declaring Jefu's matchlefs praise.
Long did he preach falvation's glorious plan,
And fhew the love of God to guilty man;
For more than forty years * did he proclaim,
Pardon and peace, thro' faith, in Jefu's name.
Early in life with holy zeal infpir'd,
Love for immortal fouls his bofom fir'd t;
And call'd by grace he told to all around
The dear and precious Saviour he had found.
While thus he labour'd, Heav'n the work ap-
prov'd,

His wifdom ftrengthen'd, and his fears remov'd;
While crowds with joy the welcome news receiv'd,
And in that Jefus whom he preach'd, believ'd.
Methinks I hear him still to all declare,
Jefus how precious, how divinely fair!
Methinks I hear him till to thousands cry,
Believe in Chrift, on him alone rely.

His precious blood which was on Calv'ry fpilt, Will heal the wounds of fin, and cleanfe from guilt;

Think not, poor foul, whatever hell may say,
Thy crimes too great for him to wash away.

Although thy fins be of a scarlet hue,
He can both pardon and abfolve thee too§;
His love is boundless, and his mercy free,
Then truft in him who died for fuch as thee.

*He was forty-one years in the ministry.

Be thou, dear Jefus, my eternal friend;
Grant I may fhare in thine unchanging love,
And dwell with thee in blifsful realms above **.**
Thus daily to the throne of grace draw near,
And be affur'd the Lord delights to hear
And answer too the humble finner's cry,
While no good thing to fuch he will deny ++.
Let all by Satan bound, who want release,
To Jefus look for pardon and for peace;
Ye heavy laden fouls with guilt oppreit,
To Jefus come, and he will give you rest ‡‡.
Thus pious Gibbons taught while here below,
Where and to whom for pardon we should go;
In whom believing we fhould peace obtain,
And thro' whofe merits life eternal gain.
But now his minifterial work is o'er,
His fage inftructions we shall hear no more;
Gibbons, alas! no longer dwells with men,
He's gone to realms beyond a mortal's ken.
O, may his fpirit on his flock defcend,
Who did of late his miniftry attend §§;
May his dear relict and her offspring share,
In God's peculiar and paternal care.

May all to whom he while on earth was known,
His bright example strive to make their own;
And after death with him in glory dwell;
Gibbons, thou dear, departed faint, farewell!
THE RURAL CHRISTIAN.
John-Street, Tottenham-Court-road.

PRIDE

+ He began his miniftry in the twenty-fifth year of his age. Pfalms xlv. 2. § Ifaiah i. 18. | Ifaiah Ixiv. 6. ¶ John xvii. 24. Ibid. xi. 42. **The above addrefs, fuppofed to be spoken by a finner, is intended as a general form for all the fallen race of Adam, and at the fame time as a fpecimen of the gofpel plan of falvation through faith in Jefus, which the Doctor fo earneftly inculcated and enforced both in the pulpit and from the prefs. ++ Pfalms lxxxiv. 11. Matthew vii. 7. Matthew xi. 28.

Much might have been faid with truth, refpecting his amiable character in his family, in the church, and in the world; his extenfive usefulness and fuccefs during the courfe of his miniftry, his happy method of inculcating the folemn truths of revelation, and the pious tendency of his writings, but the author omitted it, apprehensive it might be accounted only panegyric.

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my

lord,

And whenever he meets me he won't speak a word:
This hurts me too much-submit then I must,
Or elfe fee mine honour laid low in the duít.

I, therefore, attend him at each public place,
And I always put on a moft pitiful face:
But this will not do-fo I try every friend,
To beg and to pray that this matter may end.

To dancings and routs, with the rest of the town,
I was never invited-this pull'd my heart down.
I was forely afflicted for three full long years;
But at last I prevail'd, and quite dry'd up my

tears.

I dine with my lord, and am down in his lift,
And am fent for to play with my lady at whift.
By cringing and fneaking I'm now a great man,
And lounging and cards are the whole of my plan.
Humility anfwer'd-This ample fubmiffion
I freely accept, but on this one condition:
That for ever hereafter your will you forego,
And never fay yes, when I bid you fay no.
Lincoln.
W. C.

SONNE T,

Said to be written by her Grace the Duchefs of
Devonshire.

BR

RING me flowers, and bring me wine!
Boy, attend thy mafter's call!
Round my brows let myrtles twine,

At my feet let rofes fall.
Breathe, in fotteft notes, the flute;
Form the fong, and found the lute;
Let thy gentle accents flow,
As the whispering zephyrs blow.

Sorrow would annoy my heart,
But I hate its baneful fting;

Joys fhall chace the rapid dart,
For I will laugh, and I will fing.
What avails the downcaft eye!
What avails the tear! the figh!
Why fhould grief obftruct our way,
When we live but for a day?

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Tho' each fad hour mov'd on with ling'ring pace,
Tho' rude feas fwell'd amidst old Ocean's roar,

My reftlefs heart would flutter in the space,

And Heav'n can witnefs, whilft I felt the pain
I murmur'd not, nor ftruggled to be free;
But in exalted triumph hugg'd the chain
Which link'd my heart to virtue—and to thee,

If Fate, to humanize and charm mankind,
First form'd the gentle paffion in the foul,
Shall fuch a facred virtue, fo defign'd,

Be deem'd fevere because it fcorns controul?
Forbid it reafon-rather let us strive

To foothe each fond fenfation of the heartTo keep the genial flame with hope alive,

And to fucceeding times the charm impart.
Love never dies-when youth's gay fpring is paft
Friendship fteals forward with her foft'ring
pow'rs;

She fans the latent embers to the last,
And gilds the clofe of life's eventful hours.

R.

The AUTHOR's ADDRESS to his BOOK.
By Mr. BADCOCK.

Thus dunce by dunce is whifiled off my hands.
POPE.

OOR friendlefs offspring of a heedless hour,

Pon cafual mercy, like the foundling, thrown!

How wilt thou ftruggle with the critic's power?

How meet the pedant's lafh-the bigot's frown?
Burn! Burn! cries *******, in his 'eyelefs rage;'
Subtle to plan, yet eager to purfue:
And while he fcorches thy devoted page,

He wishes he could burn the author too.
How many fkulls, laid open by my hand,

Yawn for revenge! and like Ezekiel's bones
Rattle to arms! and form a frightful band

To take full recompence for wounds and groans.
See there a direful phalanx! See they come,
Priefts, poets, doctors, from Oblivion's court:
"Grinning a ghaftly fmile," each leaves his tomb
To pay in earnest what I lent in fport.
One skull moves flowly; but tho' flow 'tis fure:
'Tis empty; but as lead 'tis pond'rous ftill.
A dunce forgives not, though he looks demure,
And malice occupies the void of fkill.

Ah! lucklefs child of Fancy's frolick hour,

Where can thy weakness for protection flee? Hatte, hatte away to Candour's peaceful bow'r,

There feek repose, and spread a couch for me. There fhall her whispers foothe my fears to reft, And in foft flumbers waft me to the thore, Where priests their brother-priests no more moleft, And poets, pedants, critics, be no more!

But cleave at laft to Delia's well-known thore. On the exploit of a living Maid of Honour, and

Ah! happy fhore, by no proud cuftoms fway'd,
Which check the ardour of a gen'rous flame,
But where each captive youth, and melting maid,
May, freely cherish Love's fuperiour claim!
Ah! happy fhore! where firft my tell-tale fighs
Spoke the big pangs with my bofom itrove,
Where firft, with rapture trac'd, in Delia's eyes,
I read the language of confenting love!

the mutilated Epilogue to a dead one.

INCE Maidens of Honour, untaught by the

SINC Graces,

May fpit, while at church, in their enemies' faces, Why thould Colman's new epilogue (answer who dares)

Be hinder'd by Siddons from spitting in theirs?

On

On reading the numerous Epitaphs published in Nor can I hope thy filken chain

the papers on Dr. S. JOHNSON.

WHILE

HILE wits and witlings strive to raise of verfe to Johnfon's name,

A pile

Hoping to build their future praise
Upon the basis of his fame;
How little fpeak they like the strain
That fhould his honour'd tomb adorn!
How little like do they complain

To those who genius truely mourn!
The bard that o'er his trophied earth

Would tell his praife in words that glow; The mufe that for his matchlefs worth

Would fhed the tear of genuine woe; Let them, with efforts join'd, declare

The labours of his mighty mind,
His knowledge boundless, wit most rare,
Learning with deepest thought combin'd:
To thefe add purity of heart;

His love to God, his love to man;
And laft, with tendereft grief impart,
That human life is but a fpan!
B-d-w.

A. L.

To JAMES BOSWELL, Efq. NLUCKY Johnson! hard thy lot indeed, Purfued beyond thy life by Fortune's fpite! Buried by one who never learn'd to read, Publish'd by one who ne'er was meant to write! The prebend's avarice, the mutter'd pray'r,

But for a moment could difgrace thy tomb; The thanks of nations fhall thefe wrongs repair, And spotless laurel round thy ashes bloom! But oh, thy life!-Can Bofwell's careful hand To fave that truft from lasting shame delay? Hafte, gentle Scot, defert thy native land! Thy Johnson's shade invites thee, come away! Though London gaz'd on his meridian fun, Within these walls its morning beam arofe: At laft his giant ftrength its course has run,

And all his virtues in the grave repofe; All, but what scatter'd o'er his honest page,

Enforce our duties while on earth we dwell, Or, warm with hallow'd fire, our thoughts engage To feek the God whofe caufe be fery'd fo well.

Of varied learning every path he knew;

Be thou the guardian of his varied fame! Oh! give to facred gratitude its due,

Nor leave to dulnefs what from genius came! Pembroke-College, Oxford, Feb. 16.

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The glittering vagrants fhall restrain. Why, Stella, was it thus decreed,

The heart, once caught, fhould ne'er be freed?

ON THE TWO INTREPID AERONAUTS. Famque humiles, jamque elati fublime videntur Aera per vacuum ferri, atque affurgere in auras. Nec mora, nec requies.

Virg. G. 1. 3. v. 108. LANCHARD and Jeffries, airy fons of earth,

BAoft in ether, crofs'd the feas * in mirth,

No former heroes can with thefe compare;
Reward them with-a caftle in the air.

ÆOLUS.

THE AERONAUTS.

-Tentanda via eft, qua me quoque possim

Tollere humo

WHIL

HILE France in rivalship England vies, To claim and merit the aerial prize; While alkalies with acids, fire with smoke, Support, by turns, the frenzy they provoke; While bold adventurers, on either shore, Through tracklefs æther inland scenes explore,

To Blanchard and to Jeffries fate decrees

The palm original for croffing feas.
What tho' of ballast void, and scarce ✩ breeches,
They kifs y earth, their fame ftill higher reaches;
Build them a monument!-expect they more?
Yes-from le Roi-a thousand Louis-d'or.
"But when? (Lunardi cries) my raree show
Has clear'd two thoufand guineas, months ago."
Still in the portal hangs a leffer fphere
To bid each billing-stranger-walk in here,"
Why then again 'mong vapours fhould you roam ?
Your atmosphere is the-Pantheon's dome.
Let Zambeccari's trio boat the air,
They'll find, on their return, more fools to stare,

LINE S

Sent to a Gentleman, with the portrait of a young Lady printed off on white fattin.

ET fuch as prize thy lovely favourite less,

imprefs,

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"We were God knows how, but as merry as grigs, to think how we should spatter in the

water,"

-Dr. Jeffries' letter.

Oaths pro and con he fwallow'd down,
Lov'd gold like any layman;

He preach'd and pray'd, and yet betray'd
God's holy church for mammon.
If fuch a foul to Heaven ftole,
And pafs'd the Devil's clutches;
I do prefume there may be room
For Marlbro' and his duchefs.

THE CONTENTED SWAIN
Seek not India's pearly Thore,

Nor western climes will I explore,
Nor, 'midit the world's tumultuous ftrife,
Will wafte what now remains of life.

I feek not aught that me may lead
From tufted grove or flow'ry mead,
Or from my native fwains among,
Who listen to my artless fong.

For nought Golconda's gems avail
In this fequefter'd humble dale;
Nor joys can crowded cities yield,
Like thofe of hill or daified field.
Calm as the fummer ev'ning's fun
May here my glafs of life be run!
And bright as is his parting ray,
My profpect of a future day!

Mean while, the lab'ring hind to chear,
To wipe the widow's falling tear,
Such tranquil pleasures will beftow,
As Riot's fons can never know.

This, this, be mine! the speaking eye
Shall then the foulptur'd ftone fupply:
As, o'er my turf the ruftics bend,

The

poor fhall fay

"Here liet our friend!"*

PROLOGUE

To the MAID of HONOUR. Written by the Honourable HENRY PHIPPS.

Spoken by Mr. KEMBLE.

THE Maid of Honour" Pshaw!”” methinks

you cry,

Maids are a fubject for a comedy:
Mournful or gay, alike they'd furnish sport-
Ruffell's half dozen, or the fix at court.

Too long has comedy to flander grown,
Flatter'd your weaknefs, to conceal its own;
Has rais'd your mirth by perfonal allufion,
Giv'n Error fhame, and Innocence confusion;
Has ftoop'd, an envious plaudit to create,
To mock the wife, and vilify the great-
Too long the proftituted mufe we've seen
The nurfe of Prejudice, and friend of Spleen.
To-night, far other fcenes we bring to view,
Just thought, chafte humour-in short, fome-
thing new:

O'er-cloy'd with jefts on taxes, earth, air, moon,
Politics, candles, day-light, and balloon;
A good old English author we revive,
Caft flander off, and bid true fatire live,
Without allufion, lafh fome gen'ral vice,
Imperious pow'r, and bragging cowardice-
Throw the fool's cap in air-and let it hit them,
Whofe hearts appropriate, or heads think 'twill
fit them.

Our author's graver fcenes difplay a mind
By honour form'd, by virtuous love refin'd,
Shew how his heroine deferv'd her name,
By wakeful jealoufy of maiden fame,
By gen'rous paffion, patience of offence,
And ev'ry grace of female excellence.

Fir'd by the fubject, the nice bounds of art, His mufe o'erleaps, and rufhes to the heart; Difdains the pedant rules, of time and place, Extends the period, and expands the space; From ftate to ftate, without a paufe, dares run Whilt, with a thought," the battle's loft and

won

Impetuous fancy rides the veering wind,
And actionless precifion lags behind.

As in rich trees, the too luxuriant shoots, Weaken the flock, and choak the fairest fruits; So wild exub'rance hurt our author's play, Which, with a fparing hand, is prun'd away; With caution touch'd, and form'd with timid art, (Some grafts inferted, to complete each part) We've plac'd it in this garden of the town, Where weak, exotic plants have fometimes grown. Oh! then, let Maflinger's, like British oaks, Gain ftrength from time, unfell'd by critic strokes!

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SONG. Mr. Johnstone.
IN Carlow town there liv'd a maid,
More fair than flowers at day-break;
Their vows contending lovers paid,
But none of marriage dar'd fpeak.
Still with a figh,
'Twas Oh, I die!

Each day my paffion's ftronger:
When fprightly Nancy ftraight would say,
You'll die, dear Sir, the Irish way,
To live a little longer.

At length grown jealous, Venus cries,
This pride is paft all bearing;
And ftraight fent Mars down from the skies,
In form of Captain Daring.

Firft with a figh,

He cried I die

The god found paffion ftronger;

And fprightly Nancy still did fay,
You'll die, dear Sir, the Irish way,
To live a little longer.

At length, like foldier bold he prefs'd,
And quickly faw by Nancy,

The fnow was thaw'd all in her breast,
A foldier caught her fancy:
With downcaft eye

She breath'd a figh,
Her paffions ftill grew ftronger;
Till Nancy was obliged to fay,
I'll die myfelf the Irish way,
To live a little longer.

THE

MISCELLAN Y.

FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE.

MAXIMS OF CHARITY, WITH ANECDOTES OF THE AUTHOR MR. PETER STERRY. (Continued from our laft, page 274-),

POSSIBLY my reader may think it time to interrupt this career of the heart, and ask me this fober queftion, "What connection hath divine love, the fubject of your preface, with free-will, the fubject of your book?"

I know no two fubjects that hold a more harmonious correfpondence with one another.

The will itfelf is love:-it is, fays Aquinas, the inclination of the foul. St. Auftin calls love "Pondus anima" -the weight or determining power of the mind, by which it moves to its attracting object, as to its centre of reft.

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He, who with a clear eye distinguisheth the clofe and curious foldings and operations of the will, may find all its motions and affections to be the fame love exerting itself in various forms; either as it refts in the complacency of poffeffion, or faints in its truggles through an irrefiftible oppofition to the profecution of its withes: whether it is wafted on the fmooth fea with foft and profperous gales with the haven in its eye; or wrestles with the united force of winds and waves, and with chearful courage raifes itself to furmount them.

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ried moft freely and at the fame time neceffarily to its object which is goodness. Goodnefs becometh at once of the effence and election of the will. for the higheft neceffity is that of our natures and effences. Hence logicians, make thofe propofitions the most neceffary where there fubfifts the freeft connection in the terms. Thus love, the principal act of the foul is carried moft freely (if by freedom. we underftand confent and acquiefcence) and at the fame time neceffarily to its own proper object; and ranging through a thoufand fcenes of falfe delight decked out with fpecious colourings to impofe on the mind-at laft difcovers its true object, and unites with its original principle-the univerfal good.How happy is it for the world that liberty is thus under the control of neceffity!-Oh! will of heaven, fupremely good and bleffed; that fittest on the throne of eternity, and governeft us. and all things:-thou prefideft in the unconfined amplitude of goodness, without a poffibility of change; and though triumphant in the moft perfect liberty, yet art thou what thou art in goodnefs, in bleffednefs, in perfection by the highest neceffity. Good and bleffed alfo muft that will be which correfponds with the original in thee; in which liberty and neceffity are link ed by the fame bands, and founded on an union with thee, the first, the happieft, and the beit.

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