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Divine imprest their gentle sway,
And sweetly stole my soul away.
My guide, instructor, lover, friend,
Dear names, in one idea blend;
Oh! still conjoin'd, your incense rise,
And waft sweet odors to the skies.

LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 1636-17. 3.

THIS most admirable woman was the wife of Lord William Russell, who was judicially murdered, on an alleged charge of treason, July 21, 1683. At the trial of her husband she accompanied him into court; and when he was inhumanly refused counsel, and allowed only an amanuensis, she stood forth as that assistant, and excited the deepest sympathy as well as admiration in all who beheld her. After sentence was pronounced against him, she promised him to take care of her own life, for the sake of his children,—a pro mise she religiously kept, though she survived him above forty years. "Her letters," says Burnett, "are written with an elegant simplicity, with truth and nature, which can flow only from the heart. The tenderness and constancy of her affection for her murdered lord, present an image to melt the soul." A collection of her letters between herself and her correspondents was published in 1773. The following is

TO DR. FITZWILLIAM.

I need not tell you, good doctor, how little capable I have been of such an exercise as this. You will soon find how unfit I am still for it, since my yet disordered thoughts can offer me no other than such words as express the deepest sorrows, and confused as my yet amazed mind is. But such men as you, and particularly one so much my friend, will, I know, bear with my weakness, and compassionate my distress, as you have already done by your good letter and excellent prayer. I endeavor to make the best use I can of both; but I am so evil and unworthy a creature, that though I have desires, yet I have no dispositions, or worthiness, towards receiving comfort. You, that knew us both, and how we lived, must allow I have just cause to bewail my loss. I know it is common with others to lose a friend; but to have lived with such a one, it may be questioned how few can glory in the like happiness, so consequently lament the like loss. Who can but shrink at such a blow, till by the mighty aids of his Holy Spirit, we will let the gift of God, which he hath put into our hearts, interpose? That reason which sets a measure to our souls in prosperity, will then suggest many things which we have seen

1 "I have now before me a volume of letters by the widow of the beheaded Lord Russell, which are full of the most moving and impressive eloquence."-Horace Walpole.

A divine for whom Lady Russell had a great esteem and friendship; he had been chaplain to ner father as he was afterwards to the Duke of York

and heard, to moderate us in such sad circumstances as mine But alas! my understanding is clouded, my faith weak, sense strong, and the devil busy to fill my thoughts with false notions. difficulties, and doubts as of a future condition of prayer: but this I hope to make matter of humiliation, not sin. Lord, let me understand the reason of these dark and wounding providences, that I sink not under the discouragements of my own thoughts: I know I have deserved my punishment, and will be silent under it; but yet secretly my heart mourns, too sadly, I fear, and cannot be comforted, because I have not the dear companion and sharer of all my joys and sorrows. I want him to talk with, to walk with, to eat and sleep with; all these things are irksome to me now; the day unwelcome, and the night so too; all company and meals I would avoid, if it might be; yet all this is, that I enjoy not the world in my own way, and this sure hinders my comfort; when I see my children before me, I remem ber the pleasure he took in them: this makes my heart shrink. Can I regret his quitting a lesser good for a bigger? Oh! if I did steadfastly believe, I could not be dejected; for I will not injure myself to say, I offer my mind any inferior consolation to supply this loss. No; I most willingly forsake this world, this vexatious, troublesome world, in which I have no other business, but to rid my soul from sin, secure by faith and a good conscience my eternal interests, with patience and courage bear my eminent misfortunes, and ever hereafter be above the smiles and frowns of it. And when I have done the remnant of the work appointed me on earth, then joyfully wait for the heavenly perfection in God's good time, when by his infinite mercy I may be accounted worthy to enter into the same place of rest and repose where he is gone, for whom only I grieve I do2- fear. From that contemplation must come my best support. Good doctor, you will think, as you have reason, that I set no bounds, when I let myself loose to my complaints; but I will release you, first fervently asking the continuance of your prayers for Your infinitely afflicted, But very faithful servant,

Woborne Abbey, 30th September, 1684.

R. RUSSELL.

GEORGE SEWELL. Died 1726.

Or the life of this ingenious poet and miscellaneous writer we know but little. He was born at Windsor. After graduating at Cambridge as a bachelor in medicine, he went over to Holland, and completed his medical educa tion under the celebrated Boerhaave. On his return to England, he commenced practice at Hampstead, near London; but not succeeding well in his profession.

1 Two or three words torn off.
2 C

34.

2 A word torn off

he turned his attention to literary pursuits. His chief productions are, "SiWalter Raleigh," a tragedy, 1719; "Epistles to Mr. Addison, on the death of Lord Halifax;" "Cupid's Proclamation;” “A Vindication. of the English Stage," &c. He died at Hampstead, in great poverty, February 8, 1726.

Though Dr. Sewell did not write much, he deserves to be remembered 1.r the following beautiful and touching verses, "said to be written upon hims when he was in a consumption."

VERSES IN ANTICIPATION OF HIS OWN Death.

Why, Damon, with the forward day,
Dost thou thy little spot survey,
From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer,
Pursue the progress of the year,

What winds arise, what rains descend,
When thou before that year shalt end?

What do thy noontide walks avail,
To clear the leaf, and pick the snail,
Then wantonly to death decree
An insect usefuller than thee?

Thou and the worm are brother-kind,
As low, as earthy, and as blind.
Vain wretch! canst thou expect to see
The downy peach make court to thee?
Or that thy sense shall ever meet
The bean-flower's deep embosom'd sweet,
Exhaling with an evening blast?
Thy evenings then will all be past.
Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green,
(For vanity's in little seen,)
All must be left when Death appears,
In spite of wishes, groans, and tears;
Nor one of all thy plants that grow,
But rosemary, will with thee go.

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RICHARD STEELE was born in Dublin, 1671. His father sent him to educated at the Charter-house in London, whence he was removed to Merto.. College, Oxford, 1691. Soon after leaving the university, he unfortunately in bibed a fondness for the army, and entered himself as a private in the horseguards, from which he was soon promoted to the office of ensign. Scarcely any position in life is so dangerous to one's morals, as a situation in the army or navy; and so it proved to Steele, who soon plunged into the vortex of dissipation and intemperance; by which he laid the foundation of much misery and remorse during his life. In 1702 he first attracted the notice of the public as an author, by the publication of "The Funeral, or Grief à-laMode," a comedy which was successfully acted in that year. Two more comedies, "The Tender Husband," acted in 1703, and "The Lying Lover,' 1704, followed this first attempt. The latter proving a failure, Steele deter mined, for a time at least, to desert the stage, and projected the publication of

a periodical paper. The title of the paper, as the author observes in the first number, was decided upon in honor of the fair sex, and the TATLER was therefore placed under their jurisdiction. The name of its conductor, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, was taken from a previous publication of Swift. It was commenced on the 12th of April, 1709. How, and how early, Addison came to know the author, is mentioned in the life of the former. "If we consider the invention of Steele, as discoverable in the scheme and conduct of the Tatler, if we reflect upon the finely drawn and highly finished character of Bickerstaff, in his varied offices of philosopher, humorist, astrologer, and censor, the vast number of his own elegant and useful papers, and the beauty and value of those which, through his means, saw the light, we cannot hesitate in honoring him with the appellation OF THE FATHER OF PERIODICAL WRITING." In March, 1711, he began, in conjunction with Addison, "The Spectator," and in 1713 "The Guardian." After the accession of George I., Steele was made, in 1715, surveyor of the royal stables at Hampton Court, and was knighted. The same year he was chosen member of parliament for Boroughbridge in Yorkshire, and was high in favor with the reigning powers. But his good fortune did not last long, and the latter years of his life he suffered much from poverty, caused in part from his speculating in new projects, one of which was, to convey live salmon from the coast of Ireland to the London market. At a great expense he had a vessel constructed for the purpose; but, alas! the salmon so battered themselves in their passage, as to be totally unfit for the market, and poor Steele lost nearly his all. "No friend of hu manity," says Dr. Drake, "can contemplate the situation of Steele, during the latter period of his life, without sympathy and sorrow. His frailties, the origin of all his misfortunes, were not the offspring of vice, but merely owing to habitual carelessness and the want of worldly prudence. Compassionate in his heart, unbounded in his benevolence, no object of distress ever left hin with a murmur; and in the hour of prosperity he was ever ready, both with his influence and his property, to promote the views of literature and science and to assist the efforts of unprotected genius."

The last few years of his life he resided, by the indulgence of the mort gagee, at his seat at Llangunnor, near Caermarthen, Wales, where he died on the 21st of September, 1729.

The style of Steele is remarkable for its flowing ease and naturalness, but he is often negligent and careless, and frequently ungrammatical. It is his misfortune that, being a co-laborer with Addison in the same walks of litera ture, he is constantly compared with him, and of course must generally suffer by the comparison; though at times, when he has written with more than usual care, he seems evidently to have imbibed a portion of Addisonian grace. But compared with some of the best of his predecessors, he appears in a very favorable light. "He will be found in purity and simplicity inferior to Tillotson; to Temple in elegance and harmony: to Dryden in richness, mellowness, and variety. To the two former, however, he is equal in correctness, to the latter in vivacity; and with all he is nearly on a level as to ease and perspicuity."1

The following extracts from his periodical papers will give an idea of his best manner and style: *

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THE DREAM.1

I was once myself m agonies of grief that are unutterable, and in so great a distraction of mind, that I thought myself even out of the possibility of receiving comfort. The occasion was as follows. When I was a youth in a part of the army which was then quartered at Dover, I fell in love with an agreeable young woman, of a good family in those parts, and had the satisfaction of seeing my addresses kindly received, which occasioned the perplexity I am going to relate.

We were in a calm evening diverting ourselves upon the top of a cliff with the prospect of the sea, and trifling away the time in such little fondnesses as are most ridiculous to people in business, and most agreeable to those in love.

In the midst of these our innocent endearments, she snatched a paper of verses out of my hand, and ran away with them. I was following her, when on a sudden the ground, though at a considerable distance from the verge of the precipice, sunk under her, and threw her down from so prodigious a height upon such a range of rocks, as would have dashed her into ten thousand pieces had her body been made of adamant. It is much easier for my reader to imagine my state of mind upon such an occasion, than for me to express it. I said to myself, It is not in the power of heaven to relieve me! when I awaked, equally transported and astonished, to see myself drawn out of an affliction which, the very moment before, appeared to me altogether inextricable.

The impressions of grief and horror were so lively on this occasion, that while they lasted they made me more miserable than I was at the real death of this beloved person, which happened a few months after, at a time when the match between us was concluded; inasmuch as the imaginary death was untimely, and I myself in a sort an accessary; whereas her real decease had at least these alleviations, of being natural and inevitable.

The memory of the dreamn I have related still dwells so strongly upon me, that I can never read the description of Dover-cliff in Shakspeare's tragedy of King Lear, without a fresh sense of my

I "One of the finest moral tales," observes Dr. Beattie, “I ever read, is an account in the Tatler, which, though it has every appearance of a real dream, comprehends a moral so sublime and so inte resting, that I question whether any man who attends to it can ever forget it; and if he remembers #bether he can cease to be the better for it."

2 "Come on, sir; here's the place:-stand still! How fearful
And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!

The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half-way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire--dreadful tradel
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark,

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