the fatal weapons of death on the advanced troops of Catiline; with equal dexterity they were received on the shields of their enemies, and a shout which rang the welkin resounded through each army. After the first discharge of javelins, the spearmen of Antonius fell back on the principles; the slingers now advanced on the firm columns of Catiline, in all directions; the troops of the latter had hitherto acted on the defensive; the cavalry now moved forward, and the slingers of Antonius retired with precipitation; flushed with the apparent success of the cavalry, the spearmen of Catiline pursued the fugitives, as the latter continued fiying before them; the army of Antonius, which had changed its position from solid squares to a direct line, which extended several miles, was perceived to be gradually forming a circle, in which the followers of Catiline would inevitably be enclosed. Catiline saw the danger, and endeavoured to lead back his troops, that they might form a line sufficient to outflank the army of Antonius; he succeeded; but hundreds of his bravest men, stretched in death on the field, attested the fatal difficulty he had overcome with so much loss. Finding his army too much diminished in number to afford a chance of success in stretching along the line of Cicero's flank, Catiline rallied them on the brow of an eminence, determined there to make the final effort if the troops of Antonius should ascend the hill. The latter, flushed with success, were not to be vanquished, though frequently driven back; thrice did they attempt to dislodge the troops of Catiline, and as often were repulsed by the undaunted bravery of the latter; at the moment when the hope of success seemed to desert them, Antonius commanded that ths hill should be excavated. Catiline immediately ordered his slingers and spearmen to commence the work of destruction on the miners who were steadily fulfilling the design of Antonius. The latter now ordered that they should excavate the hill only on its eastern side; the stratagem succeeded; the attention of Catiline's army was thus directed to one point. On the western side of the eminence, concealed by the thick branches of a spreading wood, a reserve corps of cavalry had been stationed; they, on the sudden blast of a trumpet, speedily galloped up the hill, and attacked Catiline's troops in their rear. As the latter wheeled about to repel the attack, they were assailed by the spearmen of Antonius on the eastern brow of the hill. Retreat was impossible; death stared them in the face on every side, but the bravery of Catiline was not to be subdued. Calling around him his officers, he proposed that they should gallop down the hill, force their way through the army of Antonius, or perish in the attempt. Rallying around their chosen chief, at a given signal they descended the eminence, and in a desperate charge on the surrounding troops of the enemy, once more placed themselves beyond the lines of Antonius' army. Retreat had, however, become impracticable, and they formed the dreadful resolution of falling on their own spears, in preference to surrendering to the victor. Antonius, who had once been the personal friend of Catiline, wept in silence over the fate of the brave and noble band; he knew that Catiline was unconquerable, yet determined to hazard the last chance to save him and his gallant associates, he despatched an ensign to the spot they occupied, and requested, rather than demanded, that they would surrender. "Your general has been victorious," said Catiline, and we yield to the chances of war. May I hope, then," continued the young officer," that Catiline commits himself and followers that yet remain to the clemency of the consul?" "Not while the vital fluid runs in the veins of Catiline, or his voice can animate his followers to prefer death to dishonour! Tell your commander, the cringing, servile slave of the consul, that Catiline conquers in defeat; that he rejects his proposals and defies his power." "Antonius can command where he en treats," replied the soldier. "He can neither command nor entreat that the soul of Catiline shall animate the weak fabric which he has conquered longer than Catiline determines," was the reply. "Thou wilt not, then, surrender on any terms?" said the officer. "Tell thy master," responded Catiline, "that these brave men and their commander are preparing a feast for future ages. Invite him to the bloody banquet that will satiate the wolves and vultures of Etruria; fly with this invitation to Antonius; thou shalt behold us no more on thy return." 66 Escape is impossible," said the soldier. Ay," replied Catiline, "such escape as the nimble foot affords to the palpitating heart of the coward; but our escape shall be a legend for all coming times; the ear shall tingle, and the eye grow dim, with its recital; it shall ring the despot's knell; tyrants shall tremble at it, and slaves shall be dismayed." "Antonius seeks not your destruction; as a soldier, he honours the brave," said the ensign. "I will bear to him your message and return; shall I find you on the skirts of this wood!" "No," said Catiline," seek us in the cavern of the rock or the summit of the mountain; there shalt thou find Catiline and his band, supporting the eaglets in their eyrie, or the cubs of the wolf in their den. Tell Antonius that the bones of Catiline may whiten the plains of Fœsula, but that he will die as he has lived-sole master of himself, and the sworn enemy of Cicero. Hades could not hold the shades of Catiline and your consul; their aspirations of revenge would exceed the poisonous destruction of Avernus; and bitterness to the waters of Acheron, and darkness to the dominions of Pluto." The ensign, perceiving that all arguments would be unavailing, returned to the camp of Antonius. The latter general had already anticipated the result, and determined if possible, by force, to save Catiline and the remnant of his faithful followers. Ordering his charger, he directed an officer to accompany him, and proceeded to the skirts of the wood which Catiline and his partisans had chosen as their last earthly asylum. After the departure of Antonius's lieutenant, in council it had been determined, that each individual of Catiline's army should die on the point of his own spear, after Catiline had been despatched by one of the younger officers. Having made up their minds to fulfil this dreadful act, Catiline inquired among his officers, who would kindly undertake to be his executioner. A youth immediately stepped forward, who had been observed during the varied engagements of Catiline to fight with great bravery, and ever to be near the person of his Commander. "Wilt thou, noble boy, execute for me the last friendly office? Thy countenance is familiar to Catiline; we must have met before." "I will obey Catiline in all things," replied the young soldier. Catiline having imparted the information to the rest of the council, each man prepared himself to commit the fatal deed. As Antonius, who was now approaching, beheld a line of javelins securely fixed in the earth, he was at a loss to conjecture the cause which dictated such a singular act; he was, however, quickly undeceived. When he had proceeded within twenty yards of Catiline and his band, he observed the former run furiously on a spear which was held before him by a youth whose face was averted; the awful example was followed by each of the survivors, transfixing his body on a spiked spear. Urging on his charger, he dismounted, and drew the fatal weapon from the bosom of Catiline; the vital stream flowed in torrents, and breathing out his spirit with the triumphant exultation, "I have conquered," he waved his hand in air, and expired while the last word was still trembling on his lip. The youth who had performed the work of death for Catiline, anxiously watched the last aspiration which left his bosom; then drawing a concealed dagger, he plunged it into his own heart, and fell lifeless on the body of his commander. The attendant of Antonius, anxious to save the life of one so devoted, tore open the military coat of the youth to stop the current which was rapidly consuming it. What was his astonishment when a female form met his view. Marcella had fought by the side, and perished on the corpse of Catiline! CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. THERE has scarcely appeared a really great man, whose character has been more admired in his life-time, or less correctly understood by his admirers. When it is comprehended, it is no easy task to delineate its excellences in such a manner as to give to the portrait both interest and resemblance; for it requires thought and study to understand the true ground of the superiority of his character over many others, whom he resembled in the principles of action, and even in the manner of acting. But perhaps he excels all the great men that ever lived in the steadiness of his adherence to his maxims of life, and in the uniformity of all his conduct to the same maxims. These maxims, though wise, were yet not so remarkable for their wisdom, as for their authority over his life; for, if there were any errors in his judgment (and he discovered as few as any man), we know of no blemishes in his virtue. He was the patriot without reproach; he loved his country well enough to hold his success in serving it an ample recompense. Thus far self-love and love of country coincided; but when his country needed sacrifices that no other man could, or perhaps would, be willing to make, he did not even hesitate. This was virtue in its most exalted character. More than once he put his fame at hazard, when he had reason to think it would be sacrificed, at least in this age. Two instances cannot be denied; when the army was disbanded, and again, when he stood, like Leonidas at the pass of Thermopyla, to defend our independence against France. It is, indeed, almost as difficult to draw his character, as the portrait of Virtue. The reasons are similar: our ideas of moral excellence are obscure, because they are complex, and we are obliged to resort to illustrations. Washington's example is the happiest to show what virtue is; and, to delineate his character, we naturally expatiate on the beauty of virtue; much must be felt, and much imagined. His pre-eminence is not so much to be seen in the display of any one virtue, as in the possession of them all, and in the practice of the most difficult. Hereafter, therefore, his character must be studied before it will be striking; and then it will be admitted as a model, a precious one to a free republic. For we shall find it as difficult to compare great men as great rivers. Some we admire for the length aud rapidity of their current, and the grandeur of their cataracts; others for the majestic silence and fulness of their streams: we cannot bring them together to measure the difference of their waters. The unambitious life of Washington, declining fame, yet courted by it, seemed, like the Ohio, to choose its long way through solitudes, diffusing fertility; or, like his own Potomac, widening and deepening his channel as he approaches the sea, and displaying most the usefulness and serenity of his greatness towards the end of his course. ANACREONTIC. OH! drink of this wine-there's a charm on each billow It is no less difficult to speak of his talents. They were adapted to lead, without dazzling mankind; and to draw forth and employ the talents of others, without being misled by them. In this he was certainly superior, that he neither mistook nor misapplied his own. His great modesty and reserve would have concealed them, if great occasions had not called them forth; and then, as he never spoke from the affectation to shine, nor acted from any sinister motives, it is from their effects only that we are to judge of their greatness and extent. In public trusts, where men, acting conspicuously, are cautious, and in those private concerns where few conceal or resist their weaknesses, Washington was uniformly great, pursuing right conduct from right maxims. His talents were such as assist a sound judgment, and ripen with it. His prudence was consummate, and seemed to take the direction of his powers and passions; for, as a soldier, he was more solicitous to avoid mistakes that might be fatal, than to perform exploits that are brilliant; and, as a statesman, to adhere to just principles, however old, than to pursue novelties; and therefore, in both characters, his qualities were singularly adapted to the interest, and were tried in the greatest perils of the country. His habits of inquiry were so far remarkable, that he was never satisfied with investigating, nor desisted from it, so long as he had less than all the light that he could obtain upon a subject, We'll drench his light wings in a brimmer of nectar, and then he made his decision without bias. This command over the partialities that so generally stop men short, or turn them aside in their pursuit of truth, is one of the chief causes of his unvaried course of right conduct in so many difficult scenes, where every human actor must be presumed to err. If he had strong passions, he had learned to subdue them, and to be moderate and mild. If he had weaknesses, he concealed them, which is rare, and excluded them from the government of his temper and conduct, which is still more rare. If he loved fame, he never made improper compliances for what is called popularity. The fame he enjoyed is of the kind that will last for ever; yet it was rather the effect, than the motive of his conduct. Some future Plutarch will search for a parallel to his character. Epa. minondas is perhaps the brightest name of all antiquity. Our Washington resembled him in the purity and ardour of his patriotism; and like him he first exalted the glory of his country. There, it is to be hoped, the parallel ends; for Thebes fell with Epaminondas. But such comparisons cannot be pursued far without departing from the similitude. That bids us forget we are mortals awhile: And its bright ruby wave, where but Pleasure can pillow, Flings back from its dregs every soul-witching smile And see, as thine eye o'er the nectar is bending, While our lips move together to sip of its foam, That smile woos thy lip, and its sweetness seems blending With thine, as if seeking a lovelier home. A shadow of bliss to enliven the soul; poses, For a moment Care's breath never sullies the And if mischievous Cupid should need a corrector, And make him as tipsy as Bacchus to-night. Come, fill up with wine-in whichjoy only mingles, Whose deep rosy billows are one careless dream, And teach us in age to bear lightly Time's billows, Till life melts away like its own laughing stream. Then drink of this wine! there's a charm in each billow That bids us forget we are mortals awhile: And whose bright ruby wave, where but Pleasure can pillow, Flings back from its dregs every soul witching smile. YES, TAKE THE RING. BY CAROLINE ORNE. YES, take the ring, for still thy love Shall meet thine eyes, that on it gleam, Yes, take the ring-but never, love- I would not bend on thee again The slumb'ring wrath its sigh might wake. Take it, and keep it, and when none, With cold reproving brow is nigh, To mark the gift thou may'st not wear, Then let it sometimes meet thine eye! Farewell! the hope that years of toil May win the wealth thy friends hold dear, Wealth gained, and as the bird that long Will I return and rest with thee. TRUE LOVE. THE tearful sympathy that's born of Love EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS BY WASHINGTON, ON RETIRING FROM THE PUBLIC SERVICE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. IN looking forward to the moment which is intended to terminate the career of my public life, my feelings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved country, for the many honours it has conferred upon me; still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has supported me; and for the opportunities I have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal. If benefits have resulted to our country from these services, let it always be remembered to your praise, as an instructive example in our annals, that, under circumstances in which the passions, agitated in every direction, were liable to mislead, amidst appearances somewhat dubious, vicissitudes of fortune often discouraging, in situations in which not unfrequently want of success has countenanced the spirit of criticism, the constancy of your support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a guarantee of the plans, by which they were effected. Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing prayers, that heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens of its beneficence; that your union and brotherly affection may be perpetual; that the free constitution, which is the work of your hands, may be sacredly maintained; that its administration, in every department, may be stamped with wisdom and yirtue; that, in fine, the happiness of the people of these States, under the auspices of liberty, may be made complete, by so careful a preservation, and so prudent a use, of this blessing, as will acquire to them the glory of recommending it to the applause, the affection, and adoption, of every nation which is yet a stranger to it. Here, perhaps, I ought to stop. But a solicitude for your welfare, which cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger, natural to that solicitude, urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments, which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all-important to the permanence of your felicity as a people. These will be offered to you with the more freedom, as you can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a parting friend, who can possibly have no motive to bias his counsel. Nor can I forget, as an encouragement to it, your indulgent reception of my sentiments on a former, and not dissimilar occasion. Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labour to subvert these great pillars of human happiness-these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens. The mere politician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and to cherish them. A volume could not trace all their connexions with private and public felicity. Let it simply be asked, where is the security for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation desert the oaths, which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice? And, let us with caution indulge the supposition, that morality can be maintained without religion. Whatever may be conceded to the influence of refined education on minds of peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principles. It is substantially true, that virtue or morality is a necessary spring of popular government. The rule, indeed, extends with more or less force to every species of free government. Who, that is a sincere friend to it, can look with indifference upon attempts to shake the foundation of the fabric? Promote, then, as an object of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In proportion as the structure of a government gives force to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion should be enlightened. Observe good faith and justice towards all nations; cultivate peace and harmony with all; religion and morality enjoin this conduct; and can it be that good policy does not equally enjoin it? It will be worthy of a free, enlightened, and, at no distant period, a great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous and too novel example of a people always guided by an exalted justice and benevolence. Who can doubt, that, in the course of time and things, the fruits of such a plan would richly repay any temporary advantages which might be lost by a steady adherence to it? Can it be, that Providence has not connected the permanent felicity of a nation with its virtue. The experiment at least, is recommended by every sentiment which ennobles human nature. Alas! is it rendered impossible by its vices? In offering to you, my countrymen, these counsels of an old and affectionate friend, I dare not hope they will make the strong and lasting impression I could wish; that they will control the usual current of the passions, or prevent our nation from running the course which has hitherto marked the destiny of empires. But if I may even flatter myself that they may be productive of some partial benefit, some occasional good; that they may now and then recur, to moderate the fury of party spirit, to warn against the mischiefs of foreign intrigue, to guard against the impostures of pretended patriotism; this hope will be a full recompense for that solicitude for your welfare, by which they have been dictated. How far, in the discharge of my official duties, I have been guided by the principles which have been delineated, the public records and other evidences of my conduct must witness to you and the world. To myself the assurance of my own conscience is, that I have at least believed myself to be guided by them. Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to avert and mitigate the evils to which they may tend. I shall also carry with me the hope, that my country will never cease to view them with indulgence; and that, after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its service with an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as myself must soon be to the mansions of rest. Relying on its kindness in this, as in other things, and actuated by that fervent love towards it, which is so natural to a man who views in it the native soil of himself and his progenitors for several generations' I anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat, in which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fellow citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government,-the ever favourite object of my heart,—and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labours, and dangers. United States, September 17th, 1796. END OF VOL. I. Printed by G, H; Davidgon, Steam Press, Tudor Street, Blackfriars, |