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most skilful harpers, who were the solace of her leisure, and the life of her banquets; but at the demise of that unfortunate lady, the harp became of less consequence in the North, and as if taste and elegance were extinct with their patron, the concord of sweet sounds was changed for their ancient favourite, the windy bladders ; and now instead of the dulcet measures of the harp, scarce any other musical sounds were heard than the pibrochic monotony, and discordant drone of the bag. pipes, from Tweed to Cathness.

From this time, and from the causes already assigned, the charms of minstrelsey became disregarded, and at length, so fallen from its provincial heighi, that the vul. gar only assumed the character, and every idle waoderer, every itinerant vagabond tbrum'd his discordant harp at the gates of the wealthy : thc profession, and professors fell disgraced, and often subject to the grossest insult; that which had been tbe glory of the Baron's Castle, and the pride of festivity, was now forced, for a precarious livelihood, to shift in the meanest pot-houses, frequented by clowns and other low persons, and to wind up the catastrophe, the professors were designated by parliament, wandering rogues and vagabonds. The harp and the harpers being thus driven from England, (Chester excepted) were rarely to be found but among the Welsh mountains, the cradle of their infancy, where they still keep a station, and are not likely to be disturbed again, while simplicity can charm, and barmless manners are preferred to modern refinement; and where, on a mild summer evening, when bis cattle are at rcst, it is no unconumon occurrence to behold the peaceful Minstrel at the door of his cabin, and to hear him, in unison with his barp, articulating rural measures, not dissimilar to the subsequent stanza :

“Trwy'r Dolydd taro 'r delyn,
Oni Eo'r j'as yn y Bryn;
O gywair dant, a gyr di
A 'wroorhoen i Ery ri!"

Strike the harp, whose echoes shrill
Pierce and shake the distant hill:

Far along the winding vale
Send the

sounds, till every gale
From the bright harmonic string,
Many a tone of rapture bring ;
And to Snowdon, waft on high
An hour of tuneful ecstacy !

T. N.


An archbishop of Canterbury, making a tour into the country, stopt at an inn for refreshment. Being at the window, he observed at a distance, in a solitary wood, a well dressed man alone, talking and acting a kind of part. The prelate's curiosity was excited to know what the stranger was about, and accordingly sent some of his servants to observe him, and hear what he was rehearsing; but bringing him back an answer that was not satisfactory, his grace resolved to go himself. He accordingly repaired to the wood, ordering his attendants to keep at a distance. He addressed the stranger very politely, and was answered with the same civility. A conversation having been once entered into, though not without interruptions by an occasional soliloquy, his grace asked what he was about ? “I am at play," he replied." At play,'' said the prelate," and with whom ? You are all alone." "I own," said he, “Sir, you do not perceive my antagonist; but I am playing with God.”

Playing with God!" (his lordship thinking the man out of his mind) “this is a very extraordinary party : and pray

what game, Sir, are you playing?” At chess,

The archbishop smiled, but the man seeming peaceable, he was willing to amuse himself with a few more questions. “And do you play for any thing, Sir ?" “Certainly.” “You cannot have any great chance, as your adversary must be so superior to you.” “He does not take any advantage, but plays merely like a man.” “Pray, Sir, when you win or lose, how do you settle


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your accounts ?

Very exactly and punctually, I promise you.” “ Indeed! Pray how stands your game ?” The stranger, after muttering sometbing to himself, " Why, I have just lost it.'' " And how much have you lost ?” “Fifty guineas." "That is a great sum; how do you intend paying it does God take your money. “No, the poor are his treasurers; he always sends some worthy person to receive the debt, and you are at present the purse-bearer.” Saying this, he pulled out his purse, and reckoning fifty guineas, he put them into his grace's hand, and retired, saying he should play no more that day.

The prelate was quite fascinated; he did not know what to make of this extraordinary adventure: he viewed the money, found all the guineas good, recalled what had passed, and began to think there was something more in this man than he had discovered. However, he continued his journey, and applied the money to the use of the poor, as had been directed.

Upon his · return, he stopt at the same inn, and perceiving the same person again in the wood in his former situation, he resolved to have a little further conversation with him, and went alone to the spot where he was. The stranger was a comely man, and the prelate could not help viewing him with a religious veneration, thinking by this time that he was inspired to do good in this uncommon manner. The prelate accosted him as an old acquaintance, and familiarly asked him how the chance had stood since they had first met ? “Sometimes for me, and sometimes against me; I have both lost and won. “And are you at play now?". 14 Yes, Sir, we have played several games to day." “And who wins?"

Why, Sir, at present the advantage is on my side; the game is just over ; I have a fine stroke ; check mate, there it is.' 5. And pray, Sir, how much have you won ?" “Five hundred guineas.” That is a handsome sum, but how are you to be paid ?” “I pay and receive in the like manner; he always sends me some good rich man when I win, and you, my lord, are the person. God is remarkably punctual on these occasions."

The archbishop had received a considerable sum that very day, the stranger knew it, and producing a pistol by way of receipt; the prelate found himself under the

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necessity of giving up his cash, and by this time discovered this divine inspired gamester to be neither more nor less than a thief. His lordship had in the course of his journey related the first part of this adventure ; but the latter part he took great pains to conceal.


Pedro the First, the eighth king of Portugal, distinguished his reign by a steady and impartial administration of justice, by wbich he rendered his people no less happy than himself. The following instance of his equity and inflexibility is very remarkable.

An ecclesiastic, in a high fit of passion, killed a mason whom he had employed,

for not executing something agreeable to his mind. The king dissembled his knowledge of the crime, and left it to the cognizance of the proper courts, where the issue of the business was, that the priest was suspended from saying mass for a year. At this slight punishment the family of the deceased was highly offended. The king caused it to be hinted to the

that he should kill the priest : he did so, and falling into the hands of justice, was condemned to suffer death ; but as no capital sentence could be

execu• ted without the king's consent, this was laid before him among the rest : upon which he asked, “What was the young man's trade?" It was answered, “ That he followed his father's.” Then, said the king, “I shall commute this punishment, by restraining him from medo dling with stone and mortar for a twelvemonth." After this affair he punished capital crimes in the clergy with death; and when they desired that his majesty would be pleased to refer their causes to a superior tribunal, he answered very calmly, “This is what I mean to do, for I send them to the highest of all tribunals, to that of THEIR Maker and MINE.

mason's son,




In this day of eventful discoveries and disclosures, we do not know that any writing, containing matter of this kind, has inspired us with a more painful interest than a “ Vindication of General Savary from the murder of Captain Wright and others," drawn up by the General himself, and published, with his name, in the last num. ber of the PAMPHLETEER. We wish all the admirers of Buonaparte's government to read this document, that they may gain an idea of the hidden and dark atrocities which were committed by the Corsican and his satellites,, during the season of their elevation. Savary is anxious for his own fame, and for that of his master the Emperor, as he is pleased to call him. His evidence cannot, therefore, be objected to by the friends of the latter. Upon his own shewing, the murder of Captain Wright stands thus before the world :-It is not denied that he was de. stroyed by violence. Savary insinuates Fouché's privity to the crimc; himself having been publicly charged with the commission or direction of it by one D'Henout, an Advocate, who was a prisoner in the Temple at the time. How insufficient Savary's defence is, will appear from the followipg considerations : -“From what I have 6 beard (says be) of the death of this British officer, ".(Captain Wright,) it must have taken place in the " month of November or December, 1805,'—that is when Fouché was Minister of Police, and had the care of the Temple ; and he then shews that he (Savary) was in Germany during those months : but we appeal to coni. mon sense, whether any thing can be easier, if this is to be taken as evidence, than for the most guilty person to prove his innocence of a criminal act, if he may bimself affix the occurrence of that act to any time he pleases. Unquestionably the rumour was, that Captain Wright had destroyed himself after the battle of Austerlitz, and

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