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dian, where his good deeds will be recompensed by full-flowing felicity, and where perhaps his heavenly father will crown him with greater glory for the loss, which he sustained below, of all that is valuable, dear, and praise-worthy.

agony, there is little consequent apprehensions about future felicity or torment. But as moral agents, men are subjected to temptation, they are seduced by evil pleasures, or transported with furious passions. Hence is produced the whole catalogue of crimes. Hence originate those vi- Hope is the constant attendant on ces and sins, which a moral philoso- him, who has laboriously endeavourpher cannot contemplate without pi-ed to acquire renown in the republick ty, and which the transgressor of human and divine laws knows to be the cause of his severe punishment and misery. These evils, which relate to our moral nature, have evidently two springs; they are produced either by our own folly and wickedness, and then we are criminal; or they are the consequence of accidents and circumstances, which are not to be resisted, and then we are unfortunate.

of letters, and who, from the negligence of mankind, or the absurdity of fashion, has never obtained the rank which was his due. No one should ever despond. Literary history will point out many names, high in literature, and often in the mouth of fame, who were once unknown, forgotten, or disregarded. In their progress through a great undertaking, hope comforted and fortified them. It ex

hibited in bright array the testimonials of future celebrity, and proclaimed the loud and distinct acclamations of mankind. Even if the writers were flattered and seduced by the years

rise

gay of hope; if they did not receive tributary honours or profitable distinctions in their lifetime, they looked forward with a steady eye to ages yet unborn, and in anticipation enjoyed the shouts of gratulation, and the embraces of kindred souls, who welcomed their advancement to the temple

of fame.

Among other evils, of the first class, is the undeserved loss of reputation. This, to an honourable man, is a deprivation greater than that of life. If a virtuous mind have been for raising his character by regular pursuits of industry, and the punctual discharge of moral obligations; if he have attained a higher rank among his fellow-men, and with conscious superiority views himself as equal to the highest in the eye of heaven, how is his heart torn, when this reputation has been sapped by the artful and the malignant, when the lowest artifices. The evils, which are produced by have successfully been executed to wickedness, are always horrible in the number him among the criminal and eyes of society and of God; those, the vitious? No anguish is equal to which arise from folly, rather than his; no tongue can speak his sorrow; from sin, are not always punished no treasures can compensate his loss. with severity by the earthly judge ; Yet to this poor being of misfortune and perhaps hereafter they may be there is hope. This will cheer him considered with an eye of compassion and comfort him; not merely the by the Supreme Disposer of all things. hope that his accusers will one day Crimes, which are plotted in darkness be condemned, for an honourable and secrecy by the deliberations of man will pardon even his enemies; infernal men, and which are perpenot merely the hope that his charac-trated with all the cool savageness of ter will be reestablished in this world, malignancy, are punished with unfor of this he may care but little, as relenting justice by earthly tribunals; experience has evinced the vanity of yet I know not if hope ever deserted depending on the opinion ofthe world; the most shameless of villains. His but the sure and certain hope of ano- fancy continually fancy continually suggests hopes ther state, where his virtues will shine from the effects of chance or design. clearer than the daystar in its meri- The dungeon indeed contains his bo

dy, but nothing restrains the operations of mind. He may look forward to his release by the destruction of his country; to his escape by means of a thousand accidents; to a deliverance by civil commotions, or the conflagration of the prison, the influence of friends, or the convulsion of an earthquake.

A dungeon is the solitude of a criminal, and, I hope, sometimes the cell of a penitent., No one can limit by finite bonds the compassion of infinite benevolence. The murderer should indeed deeply feel the awful horrour of his crime; he should be torn by the remorse of his conscience and humiliated even to dust by the. solemn contemplation of his accumulated wickedness. To such a man I would not offer the smallest reason of confidence, not the most minute ground of assurance to the favour of heaven; yet if he were deeply sorrowful, if he were inwardly convinced of his wickedness, and were completely repentant, I trust that a ray of hope would gleam into his dark dungeon, and that he might sometimes think on the infinite merits of his Saviour, and the infinite power of his God. We are all the children of sin, and have all forfeited the countenance of our Maker; yet we can trust in the hope of reconciliation, not only for ourselves, but even for murderers, for we know that goodness is unlimited, and that there is mercy in heaven.

Cutting up a Verse-maker.

A wickedly waggish set of roguish Reviewers maliciously murder a poor poetaster, in the following style:

He has courted the muse under as many disguises as ever Jupiter assumed in the prosecutions of his less chaste amours, but whether or not with the same ultimate success as the heathen god, is now to be decided. At one time he puts on the demure methodistick air of an elegiack bard, and weeps, and sighs, and whines, in

At

a manner sufficiently deplorable to melt the most obdurate heart. another, he brightens up into a spruce and fashionable beau, powdered, per fumed, and apparelled in a style altogether irresistible. Ere long he starts up in the form and dress of a shepherd, with a becoming crook over his shoulders, and puffs away with zeal and delight on the Scotch bagpipe. While the prolonged sound of the drone is yet humming in our ears, who should rise before us but the professour, wrapped in the sweeping stole, and treading the lofty buskin in tragedy, with a bloody dagger in the one hand, and a poison bowl in the other! The volumes are indeed a perfect raree-show. One page is drawn up, and lo! shepherds and their lasses sporting in the vale! Down it falls, and behold, an Indian chief with hatchets, scalps, and tomahawks. The eye is soon relieved with the less formidable muster of a volunteer corps, advancing against a dreadful discharge of blank cartridges, and again is startled at the spectre forms of Fingal, Starno, and other staring heroes.

Un

To mention all the faults of style and sentiment that swarm over these volumes, would require a patience and industry which our readers may be glad that we do not possess. fortunately, they are all faults arising from sterility of soul. Our authour's fancy seems perfectly famished, and reduced to mere skin and bone.Accordingly she devours whatever comes in her way, less solicitious for dainty morsels than lumpish gross materials, fitted to satisfy the cravings of her voracity. In her eagerness for something to devour, to use the words of Shakespeare, “she looks even impossible places," and after rummaging through an ode; comes out at the end of it with a look that is truly lamentable. Sometimes, too, after stumbling by accident upon a tolerable good tlfing, she gives it a few convulsive mastications, and then throws it aside, much to the credit either of her self-denial or stupidity.

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ECCENTRICK ADVERTISEMENT. The following advertisement of a Cow lost, is copied verbatim from a paper published a few years since in Boston.

ABBERTISEMENT.

Boston, May 70th, 1784.

Their was a Cow desmished last Friday, colour of a light red Cow, pretty much a short tail, not so long as other Cows tales, she is a long slim Cow, not so fat as some Cows, she is not so poor as some. This will convince any of the publick if seen such a creatur. Sir or Gentleman of honour, whoever seen or find him, turn him to Bosson, to Mr. York Ruggles, tar lane, he will warn whoever bring him will be a great price, the Cow was brought up in the country, he was brought through Bosson four mounths also ago, more, the Cow had four white legs, and four red legs.

P. S. He has gote lite red eyes, he is gote tall slime hornes, a little cut of the ends, he is not less than seven years old, he has got one year long and he is got one year short, and a slit in one of them, and a piece clipped of other.

YORK RUGGLES.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

For The Port Folio.
THE ADIEU.

Written after reading Milton's Penseroso.

Hence, now, the poet's life forlorn,
Of Vanity, and Fancy born-
'Tis but a wild delusive joy,

And shall no more my peace annoy.
Find out, oh! Muse, some garret high,
Where sits the Bard, with haggard eye:
There Poverty his feeling wrings,
And the starved cricket nightly sings;
By dying coals, I see him sit,
With nought to warm, but sparks of wit:
See him, with hunger how perplexed,
Or how, with sonnets, he is vexed-

I hear the girl, by landlord sent,
To dun him for his quarter's rent:
But though he gives a Muse's notę,
It will not stop her cursed throat.

No, no, sweet Muse, I quit the train, No more I sing the tuneful strain.

Without a sigh, I quit the HILL, The painted mead, the babbling rill; The rustling trees, the nodding grove, Where oft in rhyme, I wrote of love; No more I dream of maidens fair, With azure eyes, and auburn hair: Of youthful nymphs, whose sad disdain, Has wakened all my bosom's pain, (Though all the pain was in my pen, But tell not this, sweet muse again:) No more I'll watch the midnight oil, Biting my nails in rhyming toil; Calling on every Muse and Grace, But for an hour to take my place, And write a soft and tender sonnet, On lady's eyebrow, or her bonnet; Nor call on Love to cast his dart, And wound some fair one's throbbing heart, Who so afflicts this breast of mine,

That I can neither sleep, nor dine.
By Jove, you go
So pretty muse pray take your flight,
this
very night.
Though we have passed bright hours to-
gether,

And this is cursed chilly weather,
Yet tramp you must, before I waver,
Seduced again by your palaver.

But come! thou judge, sedate and sage,
Come and unfold thy learned page.
Oh how shall I thy name invoke?
Chief Justice, or my master Coke!
Whose ancient visage is so rough,
To me it seems quite in a huff.
Thy wig and gown tell what thou art,
And terrour strike within my heart;
Thy firm fixed eye and scowling frown,
Are quite enough to knock one down;
I do confess I've been a truant,
But, prithee, take a milder view on't.

Thee, COMMON Law, in days of yore,
To that grave wizard STUDY bore,
In Albion's great Eliza's reign,
"Nor was such mixture held a stain."
Oft in the Pleas, and in the Bench,
With eager feet you sought the wench;
And there her heart you strove to woo,
And did what every judge should do."

And through the realm did spread your

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And notes, to please the student's eyes:
Black-letter type, and Norman French,
Which erst was used in the Bench:
Come, but keep thy frowning state,
Or I, again in rhyme shall prate.
Give me thy mind, thy piercing look,
That I may understand thy book..
And, kept within my office still,
Study myself" to marble," till
"With a sad, leaden, downward cast,"
I am a limb of law, at last.
Then come again, with, in thy hand,
Ejectments 'gainst my neighbour's land,
And plenteous suits, with good retainers,
'Bout states in fee, or in remainders.
Then teach me all the tricks of art,
And from thy court I'll ne'er depart;
Give me to know these wiles of trade,
And then, by Jove, iny fortune's made:
Of jointures, gaolers; ipso facto;
Of writs for debt, or parco fracto;
Of Habeas corp. ad prosequendum;
'Or, catch some knave, ad respondendum;
Cui in vita, custom, clicking,
(More seemly now 'tis called a ducking.)
Of Nulum pactum, Levant couchant;
Of vagrant beasts, or maidens flippant.
But, chief of all, oh! with thee bring
"Him that soars on eagle wing;"
Let him but hold the tempting fee,
And I'll ne'er plead a double plea.
Thee, CLIENT oft the crowds among,
I'll seek amid the Exchange's throng.
And missing thee, I'll walk,-or hop
Right straitway to the barber's shop;
There I'll behold thy undrawn purse,
My honorarium to disburse.

Like boys, who by the gutter side,
With lifted hands, and jaws stretch'd wide,
Watch the bright pennies turning round,
And wish, yet fear, them on the ground.
Oft too, as in my office, near,
Our crier's Stentor-voice I'll hear.
"Court met, oh yes-oh yes-oh yes,"
My client's cause to curse, or bless:
Or, if the judges do not sit,
At home, I'll frame the wily writ:
And teach the knaves to pay their losses,
Or else beware of lawyers' crosses.

Far from all rude resort of men,
Save the rough tipstaff, now and then,
Or the grim gaoler's glad report,

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Defendant, now sir's safe in Court."

And may, at last, my weary age Find out the Judge's "hermitage." "Where I may sit, and rightly spell," Which cause is bad, and which is well.

And where, without the Lawyer's strife, My income settled is, for life.

These things, Judge Coke, oh! deign to give,

"And I, with thee, will choose to live." SEDLEY.

EPITAPH.

Sacred to the Memory of
SPURRIER,

Who was born, &c.
And died, &c.

A man of universal knowledge, great piety, and unbounded benevolence-thereby laying up treasures in Heaven, whence he has gone to reap the reward of his life.

MORTUARY.

Died at Marseilles on the 28th of August last, (where she had gone for the recovery of her health) Mrs. RACHEL BLAKE, Et. 34, wife of George Blake, Esq. of Boston, District Attorney of Massachusetts. She was not less distinguised for an uncommon vigour of understanding and an ardour for intellectual improvement, than for the native purity of her mind, the unblemished correctness of her principles, and the unaffected dignity of her manners. These interesting qualities, united with powers of conversation unusually brilliant and animated, a sensibility acute and “tremblingly alive” to the distresses of others, and "a heart open as day to melting charity," had attached to her an extensive and numerous circle of friends. By all who intimately knew her and had discerned the intrinsick excellence of her character, her society was fondly cherished, and her death is most deeply and sincerely lamented.

The price of The Port Fobo is Six Dollars per annum, to be paid in advance.

Printed and Published, for the Editor, by SMITH & MAXWELL, NO. 28, NORTH SECOND-STREET.

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Various, that the mind of desultory man, studious of change and pleased with novelty, may be indulged-Cowp.

Vol. V.

Philadelphia, Saturday, March 19, 1808.

No. 12:

ORIGINAL PAPERS:

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paired. Towns, villages, churches, castles and country houses, were on both sides of us, as we rode through one continued vineyard, loaded with the finest grapes; at some distance on the left, was the Garonne; beyond were hills, which appeared as well cultivated as the plain, but against which it is probable that the sea for merly rolled; nó fences or hedges are anywhere to be seen, except in the neighbourhood of houses, which takes away from the prospect the appearance of distinct and independent property, that I remember being plea sed with, in England. But the road was excellent, and we were soon at Castres, where the people of the house comforted us about Mr. F.: an En glish boy, they said, had stopt there, the day before; there was something melancholy in his countenance, but the gentleman he was with seemed to pay great attention to him.

Strange as it may seem to you, there are very few French, who have yet found out that the Americans are, in any respect, a separate people from the English. Now look at the map, which, I presume, you keep

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