youngest, Edward, her beautiful, her brave,' fell in Flanders, and was not entombed with his ancestors. His picture done when a child, an artless red and white portrait, smelling at a nosegay, but very like withal, hung at her bedside, and his sword and gorget were crossed under it. When she spoke of a soldier, it was in a style above her usual simplicity; there was a sort of swell in her language, which sometimes a tear (for her age had not lost the privilege of tears) made still more eloquent. She kept her sor ́rows, like the devotions that solaced them, sacred to herself. They threw nothing of gloom over her deportment; a gentle shade only, like the fleckered clouds of summer, that increase, not diminish, the benignity of the season.

She had few neighbours, and still fewer visitors; but her reception of such as did visit her was cordial in the extreme. She pressed a little too much perhaps but there was so much heart and goodwill in her importunity, as made her good things seem better than those of any other table. Nor was her attention confined only to the good fare of her guests, tho' it might have flattered her vanity more than that of most exhibitors of good dinners, be cause the cookery was generally directed by herself. Their servants lived as well in her hall, and their horses in her stable. She looked after the airing of their sheets, and saw their fires mended if the night was cold. Her old butler, who rose betimes, would never suffer any body to mount his horse fasting.

The parson of the parish was her guest every Sunday, and said prayers in the evening. To say truth he was no great genius, nor much a scholar. I believe my god-mother, knew rather more of divinity than he did; but she received from him information of another sort; he told her who were the poor, the sick, the dying of the parish, and she had some assistance, some comfort for them all.

I could draw the old lady at this moment!— dressed in grey, with a clean white hood nicely plaited (for she was somewhat finical about the neatness of her person), sitting in her straight-backed elbow-chair, which stood in a large window scooped out of the thickness of the ancient wall. The mid

dle panes of the window were of painted glass, the story of Joseph and his brethren. On the outside waved a honeysuckle-tree, which often threw its shade across her book, or her work; but she would not allow it to be cut down. It has stood there many a day,' said she, and we old inhabitants should bear with one another.' Methinks I see her thus seated, her spectacles on, but raised a little on her brow for a pause of explanation, their shagreencase laid between the leaves of a silver-clasped familybible. On one side, her bell and snuff-box; on the other, her knitting apparatus in a blue damask bag. --Between her and the. fire an old Spanish pointer, that had formerly been her son Edward's, teased, but not teased out of his gravity, by a little terrier of mine. All this is before me, and I am a hundred miles from town, its inhabitants, and its business. In town I may have seen such a figure; but the country scenery around, like the tasteful frame of an excellent picture, gives it a heightening, a relief, which it would lose in any other situation.

Some of my readers, perhaps, will look with little relish on the portrait. I know it is an egotism in me to talk of its value; but over this dish of tea, and in such a temper of mind one is given to egotism. It will be only adding another to say, that when I recall the rural scene of the good old lady's abode, her simple, her innocent, her useful employments, the afflictions she sustained in this world, the comforts she drew from another; I feel a serenity of soul, a benignity of affections, which I am sure confer happiness, and I think must promote virtue.

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N° 88. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 7, 1786.

SIR,

To the AUTHOR of the LOUNGER.

In a late Paper you have given to the Public, you presented us with the character of a gentleman possessed of sensibility and delicacy of feelings, but destitute of virtuous exertion. Allow me to introduce to your readers the character of another, considerably different, the view of which may not perhaps be altogether without its use, and may make some addition to the number of original portraits you have given to the Public.

Dormer is a man who is not only free from vice, but who is possessed of a considerable regard for virtue; and yet when his character comes to be considered attentively, it will be found defective in many very important respects. Dormer's great object is the public good, and to this he dedicates his whole time and labour.

Part of the year he lives in the country; and when there he is constantly occupied in contriving schemes for the advancement of agriculture and the improvement of manufactures. He has written a number of little treatises upon those subjects, and his house is constantly filled with those pamphleteers and projectors, who, like him, talk of nothing but the good of their country. At county-meetings he never fails to attend, and there he constantly supports or opposes some scheme, as beneficial or pernicious to the public good. When any plan is proposed, which

by theoretical deduction it can be shown may possibly be attended with some general advantage, but which will certainly be very hurtful to some individuals. Dormer is sure to give it his warmest approbation and support. His constant maxim is, that the interest of individuals should never be put in competition with that of the Public. From a steady adherence to this maxim, he thinks nothing of demolishing houses, rooting out inclosures, or dispossessing tenants. I have known him, for the purpose of widening a highway only a few feet, pull down a house by which a widow and a numerous family of children were turned out to the open air.

The same love of public utility attends Dormer when he comes to town. He views with admiration the public works which are going on, and visits with great satisfaction the different improvements. He talks with apparent philanthropy of the rapid progress this country is making, and blesses himself for having lived at a period of so great advancement.

He says, it ever shall be his object to contribute as much as a poor individual can to every thing which is of national importance. Actuated by such motives, he is a good subject to government; and one of his favourite tenets is, that the powers that are should be implicitly submitted to. To every

magistrate, and every person in public office, he pays the most passive obedience; and when once a law is enacted, he is for enforcing it without mitigation, though it should produce the ruin of the most innocent individuals. At a Circuit he constantly waits upon the Judges, values himself on the respect and attention he pays them; and on all occasions is for inflicting rigorous punishments on the persons, convicted of crimes, without paying regard to any alleviating circumstances in their case.

I do not wish to find fault with these, or at least

with all these particulars in Dormer; nor do I mean to say, that he is not sincere, or that his conduct does not proceed from a real concern for the good of the Public. But when I allow this, I allow him all he is entitled to,-That he has a regard for the public interest.-This is the whole merit of his character.

But are there not private virtues, are there not private interests and attachments, that are as important as necessary to constitute a virtuous character, as a regard for the public interest? And ought general considerations of utility to supersede the attention to every thing else? In the conduct of Dormer they certainly do.

His love for the Public is such, that he pays no attention to his family; the Public engrosses him to such a degree, that he has no time for private friendship, or for the exercise of private virtues. His wife and daughters are unattended to at home; and his son, an excellent young man, is despised by him, because he does not like public meetings, and does not chuse to bustle for the good of his country. No one can tell of any charitable deed performed by Dormer; of any person in distress relieved by his generosity. To give this relief would be contrary to his principles, as he holds charity and generosity to be bastard virtues; he says, that if there were no charity there would be no idleness.

By unavoidable misfortunes in trade, a cousin of his of the fairest and best character, was reduced in his circumstances. Dormer was applied to for his name to a subscription for this gentleman's relief and that of his family; but he refused; said he thought it wrong to try to keep them in a genteel style; that the lowest station in society is the most useful; and that, in his opinion, the sons should be bred mechanics, and the daughters put out to service.