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474 T^* AfitBionaii Daughter; tr, lit Histtry of Maria. British
think of executing a scheme which how she had been turned out upon
she had long in agitation.—She saw Maria treated by every-body with the greatest respect, and beheld her own daughter, tho' drest out in all the fashionable foppery of the times, and infinitely more attended to, received,with a degree of insipid civility that bordered upon contempt. —The shameful neglect which Maria experienced at home, gave a constant lustre to her merit when abroad, and if she found no kind of countenance in her own family, she met with the highest in every other place. — This was a circumstance which galled Mrs. Webley to the very foul, and being moreover fearful that the regard so universally shewn to Maria, would be a means of obstructing any favourable addresses which might be made to her own daughter, she took a speedy opportunity of quarrelling with that unhappy young lady, and being, as the generality of those of her principles most commonly are, both master and mistress of the house, very fairly turned her out of doors,—Maria was not however destitute of a protector, tho' (he had lost a father. A young fellow, with a good understanding and a splendid estate.who had . long solicited her favourable opinion, and gained it, took that opportunity of pressing for her hand, and was made the happiest of men.
Maria was married about five years, during which time, though she had often entreated for a reconcili
the charity of an inhospitable world, and exposed to the most pinching poverty and disgrace; how for a series of years she had been treated as an alien to her father's family, and even denied the most trivial necessaries, while strangers were rioting on her mother's fortune ; she flew to her husband, whose happiness was centered in obliging her, and painting out the miserable situation of her father, obtained his consent to settle three hundred a year of her pin-money on him, to alleviate so distressing an incident: with this (he immediately took coach, and proceeded to her father's. The door was now thrown open at her approach; and being introduced to the old gentleman's presence, they gazed upon one another for some moments, and then burst into a mutual flood of tears.
Mr. Webley's misfortunes had opened his eyes to the strangeness of his conduct, and nobody could be more ready to condemn it than himself. What then must we judge his emotions to be, when a daughter whom he had left d;stitute of bread came to offer him a genteel allowance for life; and the fame eyes which he had steeped in tears of the keenest distress, came to fill his with drops of unutterable joy? his gratitude as a man, his feelings as a father, inllantly rustled upon his foul; he dried his eyes, looked full in his daughter's face for some moments, ation, she never could be admitted then capering about the room wi'h to the presence of her father; when, the phrenzy of a bedlamite, burst taking up the Gazette, one Satur- afresh into tears. Suffice it, howday-evening, JJie met with his name ever, that his affairs were fettled, he among the list of bankrupts, and retired into the country, Uoob this instantly fainted on the floor: slie yearly allowance, hut did not live was however soon brought to her- long enough to enjoy the first quarself, when, forgeuing in ar moment ter: the mortification of being a
bankrupt, Mag. A Relation of the Conspiracy againji Peter III. Czar r/"Muscovy. 475
bankrupt, the consciousness of his of mind peculiar to herself, in aa
family errors, and finally, the very instant dispelled their apprehensions,
generosity of his daughter, which by a continuation of two hundred a
was intended to sweeten the remain- year, during her life; and without
der of his life, proved a means of ever stooping to hint any thing of
hurrying him to his end: the agita- their former behaviour, told them,
tion of bis mind threw the gout in that they must consider it as no
his stomach, and he died in Ma- compliment, since she looked upon
ria's arms, in the fiftieth year of it as an indispensible duty which she
his age. His wife and daughter ought to pay to the memory of her
now thought themselves utterly un- father. I am, &c. R G.
done; but Maria, with a greatness , 4
A Relation of the Conspiracy against Peter III. the late Czar os Muscovy, extraQtd from a suppressed Book, tntitltd Ruffian Anecdotes.
"DETER III. was at Oranienbaum, * attended with a splendid court; the Empress was at Petershoff with a small retinue. Prince George of Holstein, the Emperor's uncle, was returned to Petersburgh with his family, to give some orders relative to the Emperor's approaching voyage into Germany. The whole city of Petersburgh enjoyed that profound tranquillity, and was wrapped in that silence and repose, that often precedes great revolutions. All of a sudden the storm arose, and spread universal terror among all ranks and orders. In the midst of this confusion the Empress appeared escorted by a company of guards, who cried continually, Long live the Empress Catharine! while the brutal multitude joined in the cry, without knowingorenquiring what it meant. Prince George of Holstein hearing the noise, observing the cannons placed before the Imperial palace, and seeing all things in confusion, mounted his horse in order to join the Emperor at Oranienbaum, attended by a single hussar. He was stopped by a troop of the horseguards; one of these barbarians pulled him off his horse, and another
had his pistol cocked to (hoot him through the head, had not a third, more humane, prevented it. He was brought in a wretched carriage to the gate of the palace, where an order was given to conduct him to his house, and to keep him prisoner there with his whole family. At his return home, he found his house plundered, his children robbed and stripped almost naked, and his officers and servants sliut up in a, cellar. In the mean time all the other regiments, with the clergy and colleges, were assembled in the palace by an order from the Empress. Astonishment, terror, discontent, dejection, and malice, were painted in their faces; a manifesto was drawn up to exhort the people to thank heaven for having inspired them with perjury and treason, and the oaths were taken to Catharine, who, the sime evening, marched with her guards and a train of artillery, to seize the person of the Emperor, and disarm his German troops. This prince had passed the night very quietly at Oranienbaum, and the next morning went to Petersiioff, with an intention to dine with the Empress; sjtne fay, with a design 4.7 6 -A Relation es the Conspiracy against
sign to secure her person—and this is not improbable. Surprised not to find the Empress there, he guessed at the mystery, though all possible precautions had been taken to cut off all intelligence from him. His first resolution was to oppose force to force, and to defend himself with his German troops; but by old Munich's advice he repaired to Cronstad, where the fleet lay. Here he was told by an officer, that there •was no Emferor in Russia, and that the reins of government were in the hands of Catharine. It was unluckily but about half an hour before his arrival, that the officer had received orders from the Empress to ma,ke the whole garrison take the oath of allegiance to her alone. The Emperor returned to Oranienbaum, aud though he had with him 300 hussars and dragoons well mounted, and ready to spend the last drop of their blood in his service, though the road to Livonia was open, and a formidable army, in which he could confide, was ready to receive him in Germany, though liis retinue was more than sufficient to triumph over all the obstacles he could meet with in his way, yet he surrendered himself to the Empress in a manner more humbling and psinful to a generous mind, than death itself in its worst form: tor notling can be more inglorious than the abdication of the throne, which' he was forced to sign when he fell into the hands of his amiable consort, an abdication which pruiience ought to hare hindered his enemies to publish. After this, he was brought to Petershoff, where he was separated from his favourite Hudowitz, and his mistress the countess V-'oronzof, and was sent from thence J.i Rabli.ii, an old castle about 18 1. !,s f.oni.Peteisourgh, where none,
Peter III. Czar of Muscovy. British eveh of his menial servants, were permitted to follow him. As soon as the news of the Emperor's imprisonment reached Petetsourg, and the people had time to return from their intoxication, repentance,shame, and discontent,discovered themselves in many who had been concerned in this revolution. The guards, 'more particularly, were ashamed of their peifidy, accused each other of treason, and only •wanted a bold leader to set Peter at liberty, and to restore him to his throne.
Our author mentions no more of the circumstances of the death of this prince than the'dreadful cries that were heard from his chamber the day he expired, which intimated the most violent torment. His funeral pomp was such as would rather have suited an infamous malefactor, than the grandson of Peter the Great, whose only crime was a want of prudence on certain occasions. A regimental-coat, and four wax-candles, composed the whole of his funeral state. Strangers were invited to fee the traitor, as some of his barbarous and ungrateful subjects affected to call him ; and his body was placed, by four domestics of the court, in a vault between those of the unfortunate princesses, Anne and her daughter.
The voice of fame attributes the sudden, painful, and violent death, of this unfortunate monarch, to the orders of a certain princess, whom our author defends mcry weakly, and perhaps not very sincerely, against this horrid charge. He attributes, indeed, this detestable crime to those who had been employed in dethroning him, and who must naturally have dreaded the effects of his just resentment, had he lived and been lucky enough to have made ha peace with the Empress.
Mag. [ 477 ]
The HERMIT */LEB ANON. Atkli.
"\/f O S T travellers that have visired the eastern parts, agree, that the present inhabitants are remarkably stupid and illiterate; and, that ignorance has drawn her tenebrous mantle over the countries where formerly the lamp of wisdom Atone with distinguished lustre. This observation, however true it may be in general, is not just with regard K> e/ery individual. There are Hill some persons whose minds are illu■roinated with ihe rays of science, and who study, and, T dare say, practise too, the precepts of virtue and religion. Several of this kind I have •seen in my travels, particularly an aged hermit, whom I fortunately met with, when I visited the celebiaied mountain of Lebanon in 1746. It would be foreign from the intention of this letter, to attempt a particular description of this famous mountain, from whence the •cedars were brought for building the temple of Solomon, the most splendid structure the world ever saw j but time has strangely changed the face of this country. The extensive forests of Lebanon, which contained such multitudes of spreading cedars, are reduced to one single grove or about a mile in circumference, containing about eighteen large cedars, a considerable number of small ones, and a few pines. While we were viewing the cedars, an aged hermit approached us; and, after making some remarks on these famous trees, ■conducted us to the convent of Cannofcine, built on the declivity of Lebanon, in the molt retired and romantic situation that can possibly be <onceivcd. It stands on the north iide of a remarkable chasm or rupSejtimbtt 1764..
hire of the mountain, at the bottom whereof runs a large current of water, which tumbles down the rocks in numerous cascades. The murmur of these falling streams, and the hollow found of the wind among the trees, increase the solemnity of the place, and tend greatly to compose the mind, and inspire the soul with reflections worthy of its nature: both fides of this chasm are remarkably steep, and covered with trees of the most beautiful verdure, many of which, being of the aromatic kind, render the air delightfully fragrant. The church of this convent is a large grotto, and in one ofthe windows are three bells, which serve to call the monks to their devotions; (a favour allowed them no where else in all the Turkish dominions.) The convent itself stands at the mouth of a large cave; and, except two or three rooms, is wholly compbsed, of subterraneous apartments.
After viewing every part of this sequestered retreat, the hermit conducted us to his cell, which stood on the margin of the fame chasm, about a quarter of a mile from the convent. Before the entrance of this homely mansion was a large spreading tree; and on the right side a small stream, which had its rise at some distance above, in the side of the mountain, and here tumbled into the torrent at the bottom of the chasm. It is still the custom among the inhabitants of the E.ist, to entertain their guests under a tree; a circumstance the more pleasing to me, as it resembled the practice of the anrient patriarchs,' and fill ed my mind with the most pleasing ideas
of antient simplicity. After a sliort repast, we asked the hermit how long he had resided in that solitary habitation ; and why he chose to seclude himself from society. To which he was pleased to answer, addressing himself to me; "1 am a native of Scio, a famous illand of the Archipelago, and not a stranger to tl;e customs of Europe, having iludied seven years at Rome; and after my return, lived many years jn n j native country; but, being dc sit ous of retiring from the world, and spending the remainder of my days in solitude, I repaired to this mountain, where I have now lived above forty years, and experienced more real pleasure and satisfaction in this sequestered grotto, than in all the noise, the bustle, and hurry, .of th's busy world. Curiosity, my son, doubtless, inspired thee »jth a desire of visiting this famous mountain; but that the journey may nqt -be wholly in vain, attend to the. instructions of the aged, ajnd let the Jioary head teach thee wisdom. "Weigh not the dispensations of heaven in the imperfect balance of human reason; but be resigned to the finger of the Almighty. Murmur not at the seeming frowns of Providence, and the distribution of riches in this imperfect state, for they arc continually fluctuating like ■waves of the ocean, and sooner dissipated than she morning mils. Remember judgrnents are not sent in vain, nor mercies bestowed without commission. The actions of Omnipotence are directed by infinite wisdom, which cannot err. Repine r.or, therefore, at .thy mortal lot, but always take; the present and future Hate in connection.
Consider this world is not the jpjiolc of existence; andthough thou
mayest want thy fliare on this fide the grave, comfort thyself with this pleisinj;, this animating thought, that if thou art really pious, thou (halt have large possessions in the regions that be beyond ir. These Reflections, my son, will unravel the intiicacics ot Providence, and solve the perplexing riddles of life. Consider thine adversities will shortly terminate, and the most poignant afflictions soon reach their period. The clouds of ac'veisity.datknefs, and ignorance, that now spread a gloom over all the regions of thy breast, will retire at the appearance of the torch of wisdom; and when the fun of religion arise* in his strength, they will vanish and be seen no more. If while thy little bark rides on the ocean Qf this wotld, rough storms and contrary blasts alarm thy fears; yet, remember that the voyage is short, and the danger will soon be over; and, though the skies may daiken, and the lowering aspect of the heavens terrify and surprize thee; yet be assured that brighter scenes will soon clear thy sight, and more serene prospects ravish and delight thy soul; th,o' the waves may roar, and the billows appear as mountains, yet winds, storms, confusions, and disorders, nay, even death itself, shall all conspire to waft thee to the Iinpyrean fliore. Let the consideration of the uncertainty of life be a continual memento of thy fluctuating condition; acquaint thyself with the monuments of death, and contract a familiarity with the king of terrors. Remember the omniscient eye of heaven observes all thy actions, and let not death surprize thee, in an unguarded hour. Accumulate not riches to thyself, neither be thou covetous of large pcssefiions. Let thy request to heaven