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At the shout the lover resumes

casts on them an eye of rebuke. his way. Slow but not feeble in his step, yet it gets slower. He stops again, and they think they see the lady kiss him on the forehead. The women begin to tremble, but the men say he will be victorious. He resumes again; he is half-way between the middle and the top; he rushes, he stops, he staggers; but he does not fall. Another shout from the men, and he resumes once more; two-thirds of the remaining part of the way are conquered. They are certain the lady kisses him on the forehead and on the eyes. The women burst into tears, and the stoutest men look pale. He ascends slowlier than ever, but seeming to be more sure. He halts, out it is only to plant his foot to go on again; and thus he picks his way, planting his foot at every step, and then gaining ground with an effort. The lady lifts up her arms, as if to lighten him. See: he is almost at the top; he stops, he struggles, he moves sideways, taking very little steps, and bringing one foot every time close to the other. Now he is all but on the top: he halts again; he is fixed; he staggers. A groan goes through the multitude. Suddenly, he turns full front towards the top; it is luckily almost a level; he staggers, but it is forward :-Yes ::-every limb in the multitude makes a movement as if it would assist him :— see at last: he is on the top; and down he falls flat with his burden. An enormous shout! He has won: he has won. Now he has a right to caress his mistress, and she is caressing him, for neither of them gets up. If he has fainted, it is with joy, and it is in her


The baron put spurs to his horse, the crowd following him. Half way he is obliged to dismount; they ascend the rest of the hill together, the crowd silent and happy, the baron ready to burst with shame and impatience. They reach the top. The lovers are face to face on the ground, the lady clasping him with both arms, his lying on each side.

"Traitor!" exclaimed the baron," thou hast practised this feat before on purpose to deceive me. Arise!" "You cannot expect it, Sir," said a worthy man, who was rich enough to speak his mind: "Samson himself might take his rest after such a deed."

"Part them!" said the baron.

Several persons went up, not to part them, but to congratulate and keep them together. These people look close; they kneel down; they bend an ear; they bury their faces upon them. "God forbid they should ever be parted more," said a venerable man; "they never can be." He turned his old face streaming with tears, and looked up at the baron :- "Sir, they are dead."

Being an Extract from Mr Hazlitt's "Life of Napoleon."

GOING to our printer's yesterday to look over the proofs of the present number, we were met by the startling information, that two or three pages more copy were wanting. The mis-calculation originated in our having written upon a different-sized paper to what we are accustomed; and it was so complete a one, that we thought we had been superabundant in our provision, and had sent accordingly the day before to say that one or two little side-dishes and entremets might, if necessary, be omitted. As it was, the time became pressing; so we seized upon the piquant work which Mr Hazlitt has lately put forth, and have furnished out our table in a manner with which the company will have better reason to be pleased, than if all had been of our own cookery. We speak of this gentleman's "Life of Napoleon." It is not a superior work to many others, in point of incident and record, though the French Revolution and its consequences are always interesting to read about. It is also a party-work, if the cause of humanity can be said to be that of a party. But it is so admirably written; the incidents are accompanied with such unusual and remarkable reasons given for them; and these reasons are fetched out of such a deep, humane, and even impartial faculty of investigation (for tyranny and corruption themselves, however roughly handled, here find their best excuses), that readers of this old subject find it, in the best sense of the word, become a new one; and we will venture to say, that a man may take it as a test of his own power to think or receive thought, whether he can discern the superiority of this work above all others on the Revolution.

Take the following specimen; in which Mr Hazlitt grapples at once with the most startling point in this ghastly period, and shows us that by the very reason of our humanity we ought not to think of it, as its foolish producere would have had us think. He is speaking of the mob at Paris in their worst excesses :



They did not proceed out of the revolution, but out of the ancient monarchy: their squalidness and frantic gestures were the counterpart of the finery and haughty airs of the old court. The state of degradation of the French populace at the time of the revolution was not an argument against it, but the strongest argument for it. They wished to better their condition, to get rid of some part of their hideousness' (moral and physical) so much light, at least, had broken in upon them-and because this was denied them, they naturally flew out into rage and madness. Whose was the fault? If a regiment of soldiers in smart uniforms had been ordered by a martinet officer in cold blood, and without any distortion of features, to fire upon this group of wretched fanatics, there would have been nothing hideous' in it-so much do we judge by rule and appearances, and so little by reason! Did these men parade the streets with this tragic apparatus for nothing? [A head on a pike.] Did they challenge impunity for nothing? Was the voice of justice and humanity stifled? No! It had now for the first time called so loud, that it had reached the lowest depths of misery, ignorance, and depravity, and dragged from their dens and lurking-places men whose aspect almost scared the face of day, and who having been regarded as wild beasts, did not all at once belie their character. 'Ecquid sentitis in quanto contemptu vivatis? Lucis vobis hujus partem, si liceat, adimant. Quod spiratis, quod vocem mittitis, quod formas hominum habetis indignantur!' Is it wonderful that in throwing off this ignominy, and in trying to recover this form, they were guilty of some extravagances and convulsive movements? This genteel horror, as well as callous indifference, is exceedingly misplaced, and is the source of almost all the mischief. The mind is disgusted with an object, conceives a hatred and prejudice against it, and proceeds to act upon this feeling, without waiting to consider whether its anger ought not rather to be directed against the system that produced it, and which is not entitled to the smallest partiality or favour in such an examination. There is a kind of toilette or drawing-room politics, which reduces the whole principle of civil government to a question of personal appearance and outward accomplishments. The partisans of this school (and it is a pretty large one, consisting of all the vain, the superficial, and

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the selfish) tell you plainly that" they hate the smell of the people, the sight of the people, the touch of the people, their language, their occupations, their manners,”— as if this was a matter of private taste and fancy, and because the higher classes are better off than they, that alone gave them a right to treat the others as they pleased, and make them ten times more wretched than they are. It is true, the people are coarsely dressed-is that a reason they should be stripped naked? They are ill-fed-is that a reason they should be starved? Their language is rude-is that a reason they should not utter their complaints! They seek to redress their wrongs by rash and violent means is that a reason they should submit to everlasting oppression? This is the language of spleen and passion, which only seek for an object to vent themselves upon, at whatever price, not of truth or reason, which aim at the public good. At this rate, the worse the government, the more sacred and inviolable it ought to be; for it has only to render the people brutish, degraded, and disgusting, in order to bereave them of every chance of deliverance, and of the common claims of humanity and compassion. The cowardice and foppery of mankind make them ashamed to take part with the people, lest they should be thought to belong to them; and they would sooner be seen in the ranks of their oppressors, who have so many more advantages-fashion, wealth, power, and whatever flatters imagination and prejudice, on their side. But the whole need not a physician;' it is the wants, the ignorance, and corruption of the lower classes that demonstrate the abuses of a government, and call loudly for reform; and the family physician would not be more excusable who refused to enter a sick room or to administer to the cure of a patient in the paroxysms of a fever, than the state physician who gives up the cause of the people from affecting to be disgusted with their appearance, or shocked at their excesses!"



S. and "A Well-wisher" have been received, and will be duly noticed in our ensuing number.


Published by HUNT and CLARKE, York street, Covent garden; and sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in town and country.-Price 4d.



No. VIII. WEDNESDAY, FEB. 27, 1828.

"Something alone yet not alone, to be wished, and only to be found, in a friend."-SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.



SIR JOHN SUCKLING, "the greatest gallant of his time," and one that set off the sparkling of his wit by a ground of sentiment, was the son of Sir John Suckling, Comptroller of the Household to Charles the First. He was born at his father's house at Whitton in Middlesex, and baptized the 10th of February 1608-9. The marvels about his speaking Latin at five, and writing it at nine, we omit as of little importance, whether false or true. Aubrey says, on the authority of Davenant, that he went to Cambridge at eleven years of age, and remained there till fourteen or fifteen. He then travelled both at home and abroad, and made a campaign under Gustavus Adolphus, with whom, in the course of six months, he was present at three battles and five sieges, besides lesser engagements. With this new feather in his cap, he returned home; and was thought to have made an agreeable selection from the virtues of other countries, unalloyed by their vices, with the exception of a little superfluousness on the score of the French manner. Others however looked upon this as a part of his natural temperament, especially as he carried it off with great goodnature and openness of heart. The truth is, that the Court of Charles the First, though of sober principles, was enough given to the encouragement of



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