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the other, if he employed his money the same way: but it will not be pretended by an honest well-informed merchant, that any regular trade will enable him to give from twenty to thirty, and even forty per cent. per annum for money; he knows, that a capital resting on such a foundation must soon fall, and spread ruin and desolation around it, unless supported by dishonest means, or attended by such a constant run of good fortune as seldom happens to the most ardent and successful gambler.

The common, and indeed the only plausible plea of the usurer, is, that money is an article of commerce, and, as every thing in trade is worth as much as it will bring, therefore they have a right to sell their money for as much as they can get but very few are so ignorant, as not to know, that they are imposing a fallacy on mankind, while they attempt to justify themselves by this hacknied sophism; for it must be evident to all, who reflect on the subject, that money is the medium by which the operations of commerce are facilitated; it is what Hume calls the oil to the wheels of commerce, and therefore cannot be called the machine itself, or the effects of the machine, though it may contribute much to assist the cause it represents ev. ery commodity we make use of, whether raw or manufactured; but the representative and the thing represented cannot be the same, the shadow and the substance are not the same, the portrait and the person painted are not one and the same person, nor are the objects reflected in a mirrour the same in nature and substance, as the appearances it represents. It would

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be an insult to common sense to waste time in farther attempts to expose a fallacy, which must be obvious to every one, that chooses to examine it. But, if it be granted that money is a commodity, and therefore worth as much as it will bring; they will not be able to prove, that, when fairly brought into market and subjected to the same competition as other articles, it will bring as much profit, as they can gain by having their emissaries to pry into the particular situations, occasional emergencies, and declining prospects of their fellow-citizens; and taking advantage of knowledge thus attained to extort such exorbitant terms in secret, as they never wish to exhibit in the open light of day of this they are well enough convinced, and this a necessary respect to the principles of wise and good men makes them seem to be ashamed of: else why do they endeavour to hide their transac tions from publick view, and skulk in brokers' alleys and about the corners of the streets, when bank. ing hours are nearly over? Why do they not come forward and justify the practices of extortion? why do they attempt to conceal a conduct, which they pretend to say is but one of the branches of fair and honest trade? They shrink from scrutiny, because it would expose them as the abettors of gambling speculations, as vultures who feed on diseased and rotten carcases, as harpies who take malignant pleasure in the cries of human misery, as bawds who live by being the panders of vice, who assist the profligate to dissipate his patrimony, and the swindler to cheat a greater number of honest creditors.

GENTLEMEN,

To the Editors of the Anthology.

Mendon, May 9th, 1807. classical erudition; and after leaving that seminary was, several I SAW in the Monthly Anthology school in Boston, under good masyears, usher in the north Latin and Boston Review, for January ter Wiswall. He had a reigning last, Nathaniel Gardner's Latin inclination to poetise, and was translation of Dr. Watts' ode on thought happy in divers producthe Nativity of Christ. The friend tions; particularly in his metrical who furnished the editors with the version of some parts of the Cancopy, says, it is not known to whom the letters S. W. refered me in manuscript, before they ticum Canticorum, which he shew

but adds, that they probably indicate the person to whom the performance was addressed.' I was

well acquainted both with Mr. Gardner, and with him whom the lucubration was intended to de

light. He was a kindred genius, named Samuel White; had been à student at the same college; was graduated a year or two after his friend Gardner; like him rose, passibus citis, while an under-graduate, to considerable celebrity for

in Edes & Gill's newspapers. The were published, at different times, introduction, may, from what I words tua carmina, in Gardner's have written, be accounted for; begin, being incomplete, cannot though the sentence which they be fully explained. The demise of White was not long before nor after that of his friend.

Yours,

SAMUEL DExter.

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CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE PROVINCE OF NEW-YORK.

THOUGH guilt and folly tremble o'er the grave,
No life can charm, no death affright the brave.
The wise at nature's laws will ne'er repine,
Nor think to scan, or mend the grand design,
That takes unbounded nature for its care,
Bids all her millions claim an equal share.
Late in a miscroscopick worm confined;
Then in a prisoned fœtus, drowsed the mind;
Now of the ape-kind, both for sense and size
Man eats, and drinks, and propagates and dies.
Good gods! if thus to live our errand here,
Is parting with life's trifles worth our fear?-

Or what grim furies have us in their power
More in the dying, than each living hour?
Ills from ourselves, but none from nature flow,
And Virtue's path cannot descend to woe ;
What Nature gives, receive; her laws obey;
If you must die to-morrow, live to-day.

The prior states, thy mind has laboured through, Are drown'd in Lethe, whose black waves pursue To roll oblivion on each yesterday,

And will to-morrow sweep thyself away.

But where? Not more unknown is future fate,
Than thine own end and essence in this state.
We see our shapes, and feel ten thousand things;
We reason, act, and sport on fancy's wings;
While yet this agent, yet this spirit, lies
Hid from itseif, and puzzles all the wise.
In vain we seek; inverted eyes are blind;
And nature form'd no mirrour for the mind.
Like some close cell, where art excludes the day,
Save what through opticks darts its pencil'd ray,
And paints its lively landscape to the sight,
While yet the space itself is blank in night.
Nor can you find, with all your boasted art,
The curious touch, that bids the salient heart
Send its warm purple round the veiny maze,
To fill each nerve with life, with bloom the face;
How o'er the heart the numbing palsies creep,
To chill the carcase to eternal sleep!

"Tis ours t' improve this life, not ours to know
From whence this meteor, when, or where 'twill go.
As o'er a fen, when heaven's involved in night,
An ignis fatuus waves its new-born light!
Now up, now down the mimick taper plays,
As varying Zephyr puffs the trembling blaze,
Soon the light phantom spends its magick store,
Dies into darkness, and is seen no more.

Thus run our changes; but in this secure,
Heaven trusts no mortal's fortune in his power,
Nor hears the prayers impertinent we send
To alter Fate, or Providence to mend.
As well in judgment, as in mercy kind,
God hath for both the fittest state designed;
The wise on death, the fools on life depend,
Waiting with sweet reverse their toils to end.
Scheme after scheme the dupe successive tries,
And never gains, though hopes to gain the prize.
From the delusion still he ne'er will wake,
But dreams of bliss, and lives on the mistake.
Thus Tantalus, in spite, the Furies plied,
Tortured, and charmed to wish, and yet denied,
In every wish infatuate dreads lest Jove

Should move him from the torments of his love,
To see the tempting fruit, and streams no more,
And trust his Maker in some unknown shore.
Death buries all diseases in the grave,
And gives us freedom from each fool and knave,
To worlds unknown it kindly wafts us o'er;

Come, Death! my guide, I'm raptured to explore!

318

June

Poetry.

SELECTIONS.

FROM THE NEW YORK EVENING POST.

On revisiting the Cottage of Rosa in early Spring, after à long absence,

SEVEN Summers have flown, and once more do I see
The fields and the groves I deserted so long;
Scarce a bud yet appears on the winter-beat tree,
Nor a bird yet enlivens the sky with his song.

For though Spring has returned, yet the chilly wind blows,
And the violets and daisies still hide in the ground;

But one dear little flower, one beautiful ROSE,

Here blooms and here blushes the seasons all round.

Thou pride of the plain, little Queen of the grove,
Still fresh is thy foliage, and sweet thy perfume,
And still the bright object of PARIDEL'S love,

As when thy first buds were beginning to bloom.

And though fate has decreed that he must not aspire
This blossom divine on his bosom to wear,

Yet still must he cherish the tender desire,

And make thee forever the theme of his prayer.

Blow gently, ye Zephyrs, be genial ye showers,

Bright and warm be the sky o'er thy dear native vale,
And may no bitter blast ever ravage the bowers,

That guard thy fair frame from the merciless gale.
And when the short season of blooming shall end,
Which fate to the children of nature has given,
May some cherub of beauty, to snatch thee, descend,
And bear thee to bloom in the garden of heaven.

PARIDEL

EPITAPH.

TAKE, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear,
Take that best gift, which heaven so lately gave.
To Bristol's foùnt I bore with trembling care
Her faded form..... She bow'd to taste the wave,
And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line?
Does sympathetick fear their breasts alarm?
Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine,

E'en from the grave thou canst have power to charm.
Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee,
Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move.

And if as fair, from vanity as free,

As firm in friendship, and as fond in love,

Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,

Twas so to thee: yet the dread path once trod,
Heaven lifts her everlasting portals high,

And bids the pure in heart behold their God.

FOR

JUNE, 1807.

Librum tuum legi & quam diligentissime potui annotavi, quæ commutanda, que eximenda, arbitrarer. Nam ego dicere vero assuevi. Neque ulli patientius reprehenduntur, quam qui maxime laudari merentur. PLIN.

ARTICLE 33.

Valerian, a narrative poem, intended, in part, to describe the early persecutions of christians, and rapidly to illustrate the influence of christianity on the manners of nations. By John Blair Linn, D.D. late pastor of the first pres byterian congregation in Philadelphia; with a sketch of the life and character of the author. Philadelphia, printed by Thomas & Geo. Palmer. 4to. pp. 97.

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THE biography, prefixed to this poem, is, with a few exceptions, well written, and must be particularly gratifying to the friends of the deceased, to whom both the poet and his productions must be infinitely more interesting, than to the publick at large. Dr. John Blair Linn was a young man of unquestionable talents, and had his life been spared, might have produced something creditable to himself and country. But as the works, which he has left behind him, have no claim to extraordinary merit, it is not probable that they will long survive their author. The present poem is entitled to every indulgence, as it is an unfinished and posthumous production. But still our duty imperiously demands of us to point out its defects; and at the same time we give our unqualified disapprobation of thus publishing the posthumous

crudities of young writers, of no established reputation. The injudicious partiality of friendship ought not to volunteer a measure of this nature; and, in our opinion, nothing can justify the publication of posthumous productions, but the loud and repeated call of the publick voice, arising from the well-grounded popularity of the writer, when living.

The poet supposes an imaginary nation, of Tuscan origin, settled on the borders of the Caspian sea. The country he calls Montalvia, and the inhabitants Montalvians. Among these brave and virtuous people lived Alcestes, a sage advanced in years, honoured by his sovereign, and respected by his tribe. Azora, a beautiful girl of eighteen, his only child, and an aged dog, composed the whole family of Alcestes, who, retired from the busy scenes of crowded life, resided in a rural cottage, whose whole furniture is described as consisting of a 'bed, some rushy seats, and a lumbering chest.' As the venerable old man was enjoying his morning walk, attended by his faithful dog, attracted by the loud barking of the animal, he turned round, and observed, on the shore, the body of a man, apparently lifeless. With the humanity that might be expected from a person of his character, he convey

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