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Through many a system, where the scatter'd light Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam

the work of ARISTOTLE), agrees almost verbum verbo, with that in the letter of EPICURUS to PYTHOCLES; they both omit the mention of a deity; and, in his Ethies, he intimates a doubt whether the gods feel any interest in the concerns of mankind. Et yap is enμdex Tawasfata To Be Stat. It is true, he adds, Qrtep doxet, but even this is very sceptical.

In these erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, we trace the cause of that general neglect which his philosophy experienced among the early Christians. PLATO is seldom much more orthodox, but the obscure enthusiasm of his style allowed them to interpret all his fancies to their purpose; such glowing steel was easily moulded, and Platonism became a sword in the hands of the fathers.

The Providence of the Stoics, so vaunted in their school, was a power as contemptibly inefficient as the rest. All was fate in the system of the Portico. The chains of destiny were thrown over Jupiter himself, and their deity was like Borgia, et Cæsar et nihil. Not even the language of SENECA can reconcile this degradation of divinity: Ille ipse omnium conditor ac rector scripsit quidam fata, sed sequitur; semper paret, semel jussit."—Lab, de Providentia, cap. 5. With respect to the difference between the Stoics, Peripatetics, and Academicians, the following words of CICERO prove that he saw but little to distinguish them from each other: Peripateticos et Academicos, nominibas differentes, re congruentes; a quibus Stoici ipsi verbis magis quam sententiis dissenserant.»- Academic. lib. ii, 5, and perhaps what REID has remarked upon one of their points of controversy might be applied as effectually to the reconcilement of all the rest: The dispute between the Stoics and Peripatetics was probably all for want of definition. The one said they were good under the control of reason, the other that they should be eradicated."-Essays, vol. iii. In short, from the little which I know upon the subject, it appears to me as difficult to establish the boundaries of opinion between any two of the philosophical sects, as it would be to fix the landmarks of those estates in the moon, which Ricciolus so generously allotted to his brother astronomers. Accordingly we observe some of the greatest men of antiquity passing without scruple from school to school, according to the fancy or convenience of the moment. CICERO, the father of Roman philosophy, is sometimes an Academician, sometimes a Stoic: and, more than once, he acknowledges a conformity with Epicurus; - non sine causa igitur, Epicurus ausus est dicere semper in pluribus bonis esse sapientem, quia semper sit in voluptatibus. Tusculan. Q æst. lib. v. Though often pure in his theology, he sometimes smiles at futurity as a fiction; thus, in his Oration for Cluentius,speaking of punishments in the life to come, he says, Quæ si falsa sunt, id quod omnes intelligunt, quid ei tandem aliud mors eripuit, præter sensum doloris ?» though here perhaps we should do him justice by agreeing with his commentator SYLVIUS, who remarks upon this passage, «Hæc autem dixit, ut causæ suæ subserviret.» Horace roves like a butterfly through the schools, and now wings along the walls of the Porch, and now basks among the flowers of the Garden; while Virgil, with a tone of mind strongly philosophical, has left us uncertain of the sect which he espoused: the balance of opinion declares him an Epicurean, but the ancient author of his life asserts that he was an Academician, and we trace through his poetry the tenets of almos all the leading sects. The same kind of electric

indifference is observable in most of the Roman writers. Thus Pro-
PERTIUS, in the fine Elegy of Cynthia, on his departure for Athens,
Illic vel studiis animum emendare Platonis,
Incipiam, aut hortis, docte Epicure, tuis.
Lib. iii, eleg. 21.

Though Broukhusius here reads, dux Epicure, which seems to fix the poet under the banners of Epicurus, even the Stoic Seneca, whose doctrines have been considered so orthodox that St Jerome has ranked him amongst the ecclesiastical writers, and Boccaccio, in his commentary upon Dante has doubted (in consideration of the philosopher's supposed correspondence with St Paul), whether Dante should have placed him in Limbo with the rest of the Pagans-the Rigid Seneca has bestowed such commendations on Epicurus, that if only those passages of his works were preserved to us, we could not, I think. hesitate in pronouncing him an Epicurean. In the same manner we find Porphyry, in his work upon abstinence, referring to Epicurus as an example of the most strict Pythagorean temperance; and LANCELOTTI, the author of Farfalloni degli antichi Istorici, has been seduced by this grave reputation of Epicurus into the absurd error of associ ating him with Chrysippus, as a chief of the Stoic School. There is no doubt, indeed, that however the Epicurean sect might have relaxed from its original purity, the morals of its founder were as con rect as those of any among the ancient philosophers, and his doc

From the pure sun, which though refracted all
Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still, '
And bright through every change!-he spoke of Him,
The lone 2 Eternal One who dwells above,
And of the soul's untraceable descent
From that high fount of spirit, through the grades
of intellectual being, till it mix

With atoms vague, corruptible, and dark;
Nor even then, though sunk in earthly dross,
Corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch
Quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still!
As some bright river, which has roll'd along
Through meads of flowery light and mines of gold,
When pour'd at length into the dusky deep,
Disdains to mingle with its briny taint,
But keeps awhile the pure and golden tinge,
The balmy freshness of the fields it left! 3

And here the old man ceased—a winged train
Of nymphs and genii led him from our eyes.
The fair illusion fled! and, as I waked,
I knew my visionary soul had been
Among that people of aerial dreams
Who live upon the burning galaxy! 4

TO

THE world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on,
I felt not as I used to feel,
And life grew

dark and love was gone!

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,
No lip to mingle pleasure's breath,
No tongue to call me kind and dear-

'T was gloomy, and I wish'd for death! trines upon pleasure, as explained in the letter to Menæceas, are rational, amiable, and consistent with our nature. M. de SABLONS, in his Grands hommes vengés, expresses strong indignation against the Encyclopédistes for their just and animated praises of Epicurus; and, discussing the question, si ce philosophe était vertueux, he denies it upon no other authority than the calumnies collected by Plutarch, who himself confesses that, on this particular subject, he consulted only opinion and report, without pausing to investigate their truth. Αλλα την δόξαν, ου την αλήθειαν σκοπούμην. To the factious zeal of his illiberal rivals the Stoics, Epicurus owed these gross misrepresentations of the life and opinions of himself and his associates, which, notwithstanding the learned exertions of Gassendi, have still left an odium on the name of his philosophy; and we ought to examine the ancient accounts of Epicurus with the same degree of cautious belief which, in reading ecclesiastical history, we yield to the declamations of the fathers against the heretics; trusting as little to Plutarch upon a dogma of this philosopher, as we would to St Cyril upon a tenet of Nestorius. 1801.

The preceding remarks, I wish the reader to observe, were written at a time when I thought the studies to which they refer much more important and much more amusing than, I freely confess, they appear to me at present.

LACTANTIUS asserts that all the truths of Christianity may be found dispersed through the ancient philosophical sects, and that any one who would collect these scattered fragments of orthodoxy, might form a code in no respect differing from that of the Christian. Si extitisset aliquis, qui veritatem sparsam per singulos per sectasque diffusam colligeret in unum, ac redigeret in corpus, is profecto non dissentiret a nobis.Inst. lib. vi, c. 7.

This fine Platonic image I have taken from a passage in Father Bouchet's letter upon the Metempsychosis, inserted in PICART'S Cérem. Relig. tom. iv.

A cording to Pythagoras, the People of Dreams are souls collected together in the Gala.y. Anang de sep at 92pay, ai tuzat mayesat nat ets try yalata -PORPHYR. de Antro Nymph.

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« So, instead of displaying my graces,

Thro' look, and thro' words, and thro' mien, I am shut up in corners and places, Where truly I blush to be seen!»>

Upon hearing this piteous confession,
My soul, looking tenderly at her,
Declared, as for grace and discretion,
He did not know much of the matter;

But, to-morrow, sweet spirit!» he said, Be at home after midnight, and then I will come when your lady 's in bed And we'll talk o'er the subject again.»>

So she whisper'd a word in his ear,
I suppose to her door to direct him,
And-just after midnight, my dear,
Your polite little soul may expect him.

TO MRS

To see thee every day that came,
And find thee every day the same,
In pleasure's smile or sorrow's tear
The same benign consoling dear!
To meet thee early, leave thee late,
Has been so long my bliss, my fate,
That life, without this cheering ray,
Which came like sunshine every day,
And all my pain, my sorrow chased,
Is now a lone and loveless waste.-
Where are the chords she used to touch?
Where are the songs she loved so much?
The songs are hush'd, the chords are still,
And so, perhaps, will every thrill
Of friendship soon be lull'd to rest,
Which late I waked in Anna's breast!
Yet no-the simple notes I play'd,
On memory's tablet soon may fade;
The songs which Anna loved to hear
May all be lost on Anna's ear;
But friendship's sweet and fairy strain
Shall ever in her heart remain;
Nor memory lose nor time impair
The sympathies which tremble there!

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I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us very frequently. The wind was so unfavourable that they were obliged to row all the way, and we were five days in descending the river from Kingston to Montreal, exposed to an intense sun during the day, and at night forced to take shelter from the dews in any miserable but upon the banks that would receive us. But the magnificent scenery of the St Lawrence repays all these difficulties.

Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung perfectly in tune together. The original words of the air, to which I adapted these stan

Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight 's past!

Why should we yet our sail unfurl?

There is not a breath the blue wave to curl
But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near, and the day-light 's past!

Utawas' tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayers,
Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past!

EPISTLE IX.

TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE R-WD-N.

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST LAWRENCE.

NOT
many
months have now been dream'd away
Since yonder sun (beneath whose evening ray
We rest our boat among these Indian isles)
Saw me, where mazy Trent serenely smiles
Through many an oak, as sacred as the groves
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves,
And hears the soul of father or of chief,
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf!1
There listening, Lady! while thy lip hath sung
My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung
On every mellow'd number! proud to feel
That notes like mine should have the fate to steal,
As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigh'd along,
Such breath of passion and such soul of song.

zas, appeared to be a long incoherent story, of which I could understand but little, from the barbarous pronunciation of the Canadians, It begins,

Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontré
Deux cavaliers très-bien montés ;

And the refrain to every verse was,

A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais jouer,

A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais danser.

I ventured to harmonize this air, and have published it. Without that charm which association gives to every little memorial of scenes or feelings that are past, the melody may perhaps be thought common and trifling; but I remember when we have entered, at sunset, upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the St Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure which the finest compositions of the first masters have never given me; and now there is not a note of it which does not recal to my memory the dip of our oars in the St Lawrence, the flight of our boat down the Rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to which my heart was alive during the whole of this very interesting voyage. The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those voyageurs who go to the Grande Portage by the Utawas River. For an account of this wonderful undertaking, see SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE'S General History of the Fur Trade, prefixed to his Journal.

At the Rapid of St Ann they are obliged to take out part, if not the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot the Canadians consider they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers.-MACKENZIE'S General History of the Fur Trade.

2. Avendo essi per costume di avere in veneratione gli alberi grandi ed antichi, quasi che siano spesso ricetaccoli di anime beate." -Pietro della Valle, Part. Second. Lettera 16 da i giardini di Sciraz.

Oh! I have wonder'd, like the peasant boy
Who sings at eve his sabbath strains of joy,
And when he hears the rude, luxuriant note
Back to his ear on softening echoes float,
Believes it still some answering spirit's tone,
And thinks it all too sweet to be his own!
I dream'd not then that, ere the rolling year
Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here
In musing awe; should tread this wondrous world,
See all its store of inland waters hurl'd
In one vast volume down Niagara's steep,'
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep,
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed!-
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide
Down the white Rapids of his lordly tide
Through massy woods, through islets flowering fair,
Through shades of bloom, where the first sinful pair
For consolation might have weeping trod,
When banish'd from the garden of their God!
Oh, Lady! these are miracles, which man,
Caged in the bounds of Europe's pigmy plan,
Can scarcely dream of: which his eye must see,
To know how beautiful this world can be!
But soft!-the tinges of the west decline,
And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine.
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat

Is rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note
Dies, like a half-breathed whispering of flutes;
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots,
And I can trace him, like a watery star, 2
Down the steep current, till he fades afar
Amid the foaming breaker's silvery light,
Where yon rough Rapids sparkle through the night!
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray,
And the smooth glass-snake, 3 gliding o'er my way,
Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form,
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm,
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze,
Some Indian Spirit warble words like these:

From the clime of sacred doves, 4 Where the blessed Indian roves, Through the air on wing, as white As the spirit-stones of light,5

When I arrived at Chippewa, within three miles of the Falls, it was too late to think of visiting them that evening, and I lay awake all night with the sound of the cataract in my ears. The day following I consider as a kind of era in my life, and the first glimpse which I caught of those wonderful Falls gave me a feeling which nothing in this world can ever excite again.

To Colonel Brock, of the 49th, who commanded at the Fort, I am particularly indebted for his kindness to me during the fortnight I remained at Niagara. Among many pleasant days, which I passed with him and his brother officers, that of our visit to the Tuscarora Indians was not the least interesting. They received us all in their ancient costume; the young men exhibited, for our amusement, in the race, the bat-game, etc.,-while the old and the women sat in groups under the surrounding trees; and the picture altogether was

as beautiful as it was new to me.

2 ANBUREY, in his Travels, has noticed this shooting illumination which porpoises diffuse at night through the St Lawrence, v. i, p. 29. The glass-snake is brittle and transparent.

4 The departed spirit goes into the Country of Souls, where, according to some, it is transformed into a dove.-CHARLEVOIX, upon the Traditions and the Religion of the Savages of Canada. See the curious Fable of the American Orpheus in Lafitau, tom. i, p. 402.

The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white stones, which glistened in the sun, and were called by the Indians manetoe aseniah, or spirit-stones.-MACKENZIE's Journal.

Which the eye of morning counts
On the Apallachian mounts!
Hither oft my flight I take
Over Huron's lucid lake,

Where the wave, as clear as dew,
Sleeps beneath the light canoe,
Which, reflected, floating there,
Looks as if it hung in air!!

Then, when I have stray'd awhile
Through the Manataulin isle, "
Breathing all its holy bloom,
Swift upon the purple plume
Of my Wakon-Bird 3 I fly
Where, beneath a burning sky,
O'er the bed of Erie's lake,
Slumbers many a water-snake,
Basking in the web of leaves
Which the weeping lily weaves!4

Then I chase the flow'ret-king
Through his bloomy wild of spring;
See him now,
while diamond hues

Soft his neck and winds suffuse,
In the leafy chalice sink,
Thirsting for his balmy drink;
Now behold him all on fire,

Lovely in his looks of ire,
Breaking every infant stem,
Scattering every velvet gem,
Where his little tyrant lip
Had not found enough to sip!

Then my playful hand I steep
Where the gold-thread loves to creep,
Cull from thence a tangled wreath,
Words of magic round it breathe,
And the sunny chaplet spread
O'er the sleeping fly-bird's head,
Till, with dreams of honey bless'd,
Haunted in his downy nest

I was thinking bre of what CARVER says so beautifully in his

description of one of these lakes: When it was calm, and the sun shone bright, I could sit in my canoe, where the depth was upwards of six fathoms, and plainly see huge piles of stone at the bottom, of different shapes, some of which appeared as if they had been hewn ;

the water was at this time as pure and transparent as air, and my canoe seemed as if it hung suspended in that element. It was im possible to look attentively through this limpid medium at the rocks below, without finding, before many minutes were elapsed, your head swim and your eyes no longer able to behold the dazzling scene.. 2. Après avoir traversé plusieurs isles peu considerables, nons en trouvâmes le quatrième jour une fameuse, nommée liste de Manitoualin.-Voyages du Baron de LAHONTAN, tom. i, lett. 15, Manataulin signifies a Place of Spirits, and this island in Lake Huron is beld sacred by the Indians.

The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the same species with

the Bird of Paradise, receives its name from the ideas the Indians have of its superior excellence; the Wakon-Bird being, in their language, the Bird of the Great Spirit.-Monse.

The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded to a considerable dis tance by the large pond-lily, whose leaves spread thickly over the surface of the lake, and form a kind of bed for the water-snakes in summer.

The gold-thread is of the vine kind, and grows in swamps. The roots spread themselves just under the surface of the morasses, and are easily drawn out by handfals. They resemble a large entangled skein of silk, and are of a bright yellow.-Mouse.

L'oiseau mouche, gros comme un hanneton, est de toutes conleurs, vives et changeantes: il tire sa subsistence des fleurs comme les abeilles; son nid est fait d'un coton très-fin suspendu à une branche d'arbre.— Voyage aux Indes Occidentules, par M. Bosse, zd part, lett. xx.

By the garden's fairest spells,
Dewy buds and fragrant bells,
Fancy all his soul embowers
In the fly-bird's heaven of flowers!

Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes
Melt along the ruffled lakes;
When the grey moose sheds his horns,
When the track, at evening, warns
Weary hunters of the way

To the wig-wam's cheering ray,
Then, aloft through freezing air,
With the snow-bird' soft and fair
As the fleece that heaven flings
O'er his little pearly wings,
Light above the rocks I play,
Where Niagara's starry spray,
Frozen on the cliff, appears
Like a giant's starting tears!
There, amid the Island-sedge,
Just upon the cataract's edge,
Where the foot of living man
Never trod since time began,
Lone I sit, at close of day,

While, beneath the golden ray,
Icy columns gleam below,

Feather'd round with falling snow,

And an arch of glory springs,

Brilliant as the chain of rings

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Thus have I charm'd, with visionary lay, The lonely moments of the night away; And now, fresh daylight o'er the water beams! Once more embark'd upon the glittering streams, Our boat tlies light along the leafy shore, Shooting the falls, without a dip of oar Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark, Borne, without sails, along the dusky flood, 3 While on its deck a pilot angel stood, And, with his wings of living light unfurl'd, Coasted the dim shores of another world!

Yet oh! believe me in this blooming maze
Of lovely nature, where the fancy stravs
From charm to charm, where every flow'ret's hue
Hath something strange, and every leaf is new!
I never feel a bliss so pure and still,

So heavenly calm, as when a stream or hill,

1 Emberiza hyemalis. See IMavy's Kentucky, page 280. * Lafitan wishes to believe, for the sake of his theory, that there was an order of vestals established among the Iroquois Indians: bat I am afraid that Jacques Carthier, upon whose authority he supports himself, meant any thing but vestal institutions by the cabanes publiques which he met with at Montreal.-See LAFITAU, Meurs des Sauvages Americains, etc. tom. i, p. 173.

* Vedi che sdegna gli argɔmenti umani
Si che remo non vuol, né altro velo,
Che l'ale sne tra liti sì lontani.

Vedi come l'ha dritte verso 'l cielo
Trattando l'aere con l'eterne penne,
the non si mutau, come mortal pelo.

DANTE, Purgator, cant. ii.

Or veteran oak, like those remember'd well,
Or breeze or echo, or some wild-flower's smell
(For, who can say what small and fairy ties
The memory flings o'er pleasure as it flies!)
Reminds my heart of many a sylvan dream
I once indulged by Trent's inspiring stream;
Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights
On Donington's green lawns and breezy heights!

Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er
When I have seen thee cull the blooms of lore,
With him, the polished warrior, by thy side,
A sister's idol and a nation's pride!
When thou hast read of heroes, trophied high
In ancient fame, and I have seen thine eye
Turn to the living hero, while it read,
For pure and brightening comments on the dead!
Or whether memory to my mind recals
The festal grandeur of those lordly halls,
When guests have met around the sparkling board,
And welcome warm'd the cup that luxury pour'd;
When the bright future star of England's throne
With magic smile hath o'er the banquet shone,
Winning respect, nor claiming what he won,
But tempering greatness, like an evening sun
Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire,
Glorious but mild, all softness yet all fire!
Whatever hue my recollections take,
Even the regret, the very pain they wake
Is dear and exquisite!—but oh! no more-
Lady! adieu-my heart has linger'd o'er
These vanish'd times, till all that round me lies,
Stream, banks, and bowers, have faded on my eyes!

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Her sails are full, though the wind is still, And there blows not a breath her sails to fill!

Oh! what doth that vessel of darkness bear?
The silent calm of the grave is there,
Save now and again a death-knell rung,
And the flap of the sails with night-fog hung!

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore
Of cold and pitiless Labrador,

Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost,
Full many a mariner's bones are toss'd!

Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck,
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew,
As ever yet drank the church-yard dew!

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman's Isle she speeds her fast;
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd,
And the hand that steers is not of this world!

Oh! hurry thee on-oh! hurry thee on,
Thou terrible bark! ere the night be gone,
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight
As would blanch for ever her rosy light!

TO THE BOSTON FRIGATE.' ON LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAnd, october 1804.

Νόστου προφασις γλυκερου.

PINDAR. Pyth. 4.

WITH triumph this morning, oh Boston! I hail The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee, To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free, And that chill Nova-Scotia's unpromising strand 2 Is the last I shall tread of American land.

Well-peace to the land! may the people at length, Know that freedom is bliss, but that honour is strength; That though man have the wings of the fetterless wind, Of the wantonest air that the north can unbind,

We were thirteen days on our passage from Quebec to Halifax. and I had been so spoiled by the very splendid hospitality with

which my friends of the Phaeton and Boston had treated me, that I was but ill prepared to encounter the miseries of a Canadian ship. The weather, however, was pleasant, and the scenery along the river delightful. Our passage through the Gut of Canso, with a bright sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking and romantic.

1 Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with whom I returned to England, and to whom I am indebted for many, many kindnesses. In truth, I should but offend the delicacy of my friend Douglas, and, at the same time, do injustice to my own feelings of gratitude, d.d I attempt to say how much I owe to him.

Sir John Wentworth, the Governor of Nova-Scotia, very kindly allowed me to accompany him on his visit to the college which they have lately established at Windsor, about forty miles from Halifax, and I was indeed most pleasantly surprised by the beauty and fertility of the country which opened upon us after the bleak and rocky wilderness by which Halifax is surrounded. I was told that, in travelling onwards, we should find the soil and the scenery improve, and it gave me much pleasure to know that the worthy Governor has by no means such an « inamabile regnum as I was, at first sight, inclined to believe.

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