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continue to obey their father' Jonadab. Is it not probable that , his name might be retained by his posterity as the patronymic name of the house of Rechab. Can they be found, at this day, under this name, in any nation, tribe, or people? Is not the country of Abyssinia named from this house?

In the 35th chapter of Jeremiah it is reported, that in the days of Jehoiakim, son of Josiah, King of Judah, Jeremiah was commissioned to go to the house of the Rechabites, and to bring them into a chamber of the house of the Lord, and to give them wine to drink. The Prophet having offered them pots full of wire, they answered, “We will drink no wine, for Jonadab, the son of Rechab, our father, commanded us saying, “Ye shall drink no wine, neither ye, nor your sons for ever ; neither shall ye

build house, nor sow seed, nor plant vineyard, nor have any: but all your days ye shall dwell in tents, that ye may live many days in the land, where ye 'be strangers.' Thus have we obeyed the voice of Jonadab, the son of Rechab, our father, in all that he hath charged us, to drink no wine all our days, we, our wives, our sons, nor our daughters; nor to build houses for us to dweli in ; neither have we field, nor vineyard, nor seed; but we have dwelt in tents, and have obeyed and done according to all that Jonadab our father commanded us. But it came to pass when Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, came up into the land, that we said, “Come, let us go to Jerusalem for fear of the army of the Chaldeans, and for fear of the army of the Syrians;' so we dwell at Jerusalem.”

How good and how pleasant is this account of filial veneration, affection, and obedience! The children of Jonadab, even to the fourth generation, are found walking in the commandments of their father.

God, wishing to instruct the Jews, having contrasted the obe. dience of the sons of Jonadab with their disobedience, is pleased to bestow a gracious promise upon the house of Jonadab, the son of Rechab, as the reward of their obedience ; while punishment is denounced against Judah and Jerusalem, for their contempt of the divine commands. The promise ran thus “ Because ye obeyed the commandment of Jonadab your father, and kept all his precepts, and done according to all that he hath commanded you ; therefore thus saith the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel : Jonadab, the son of Rechab, shall not want a man to stand before me for ever :" 18th and 19th verses.

Are we not warranted, in faith of this promise, to look for the family of Jonadab at this day? Do they not now live in Abyssiniaš Is not this worthy of inquiry?

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An Account of a Man's standing the Shot of a

Cannon at a small distance ; with the Method of doing it with safety.

I was a few days since in company

with a person

who affirm ed he had the secret of doing a thing I have often heard of, but hitherto always imagined was impossible :--that is, standing the shot of a cannon charged with a proper ball, and full quantity of powder, at the distance of only ten yards. A set of us who were together, on his positively asserting this, against all our objections to the possibility of it, offered, in short, to procure a cannon, and powder and ball, if he dared put it in execution ; to which he readily consented; and the next day we got an iron gun, a nine pounder, a bullet of that weight, and the quantity of powder for a charge.

All that he required, was to have the charge of the gun himself, which when he had done, he placed himself at ten yards distance, strait before the muzzle, and desired one of us to fire it. We were a good deal surprised at his confidence, but unwilling to be accessary to his losing his life by his rashness, desired him to stand from before the cannon, and only place his hand to receive the bullet ; this he did, and I fired it myself: the loudness of the report gave us no room to doubt but that he had put in the full charge of powder we gave him, but to our amazement and sur· prise, we saw him stop the ball with his hand ; the ball fell

directly down, in short, and he received no hurt. Soine of the company judged he had done this by putting in a false ball made of hollow pasteboard, but on examining it, we found it the very bullet we had given him, so that it was plain that there was no cheat.

On the whole, after a thousand random guesses about the way in which this was done, the man offered, for a certain sum of money to tell us the secret, which we joined to purchase, and found it to be this.

When you have the proper quantity of powder for a charge, put a very little of it into the cannon, then put in the ball, and over it put in the best of the powder, then put in the wadding, and rain it down hard as usual; this is the whole mystery ; and a cannon thus charged will not carry the bullet twenty yards. The report of the cannon this way is as loud as any other, for aļl the powder is fired, the bullet not filling the barrel so exactly as to hinder its catching, and the effect of the ball is almost nothing, because the ball is only thrown forward by the small quantity of powder that is below it, that which is above rather driving it back than forward.

When we had purchased the secret, we tried it several times, firing against thin deal boards, without hurting them, and, for the fear of accidents, that, I think, is much the best way of making the experiment: and, as I thought it no little curiosity, I judged it might not be unwelcome to your Readers.


two seexs.

LOUISA DE BAUMelĽe, a young lady in one of the richest provinces in France, well born, and well educated, had a sufficient number of personal charms, and mental accomplishments to secure a train of admirers-of professional lovers ; among whom there were not a few who figured to great advantage in her eyes, but the Chevalier de Molu,

a brave officer in the service of his sovercign, and a finished gentleman in every respect, was the only man who made an impression upon her heart. The Chevalier was, indeed, very happily formed to make himself thoroughly agreeable to the fair sex, and he was, of course, distinguished in the most flattering manner, by several females, in the first line of Cytherean attraction; but Louisa alone was mistress of his affections. Louisa was not a beauty, in a rigorous sense of the word, but she had so many ways of pleasing, peculiar to herself, that she always saw a crowd of smart fellowa round her, whenever she appeared in a fashonable circle of the

As the Chevalier was a man of the nicest honour, in love as well as in war, the addresses which he made to Louisa, as soon as he found that she was absolutely necessary to his domestic happiness, were listened to with the most pointed attention, and accepted in a manner which increased the felicity of the moment ; as he had all the reason in the world to believe, that the fair one to whom he was particularly partial, felt the strongest prepos.. session in his favour.

When matters between two lovers are in this pleasant situation, they are soon productive of matrimonial preparations; and such prepartions were soon made for the union of Chevalier de Molu and Louisa de Baumelle: but, in the midst of them, they met with a dissappointment which gave a severe check to their spirited operations, and threw a sudden gloom over the scene before them, which the Chevalier, with all his vivacity, was not able to dissipate, and which affected Louisa so deeply that she was almost driven into a state of despondence.

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On the day before that appointed for this wedding, the Chevalier received orders to prepare for his departure from France, with the corps under his command, in order to assist the allies of his country in the operations against the Turks, with whom they had for some time carried on a bloody, but very

doubtful war. Upon the receipt of his orders the Chevalier, as a soldier, felt all the hero rising in his breast; as a lover, on the point of being united to a woman most dear to him, he felt the tenderest sensations springing up in his bosom ; but the former, after he had endured a few struggles with regard to love and glory, gained a complete victory over the latter. Summoned to the field of honour, to that aniinating field he directed all his views, and took leave of his dearest Louisa with as much fortilude as he could possibly muster up on the trying occasion : but his feelings were so acute that he could hardly articulate the final word -the seperating adieu.

In this distressful state Louisa could only draw consolation from that part of the last scene between her and her lover, from the strong assurances which he repeatedly gave her--assurances of which she could not question the sincerity--that he would make her his wife with the highest satisfaction when the campaign was over, if his designs were not frustrated by captivity or death. With this consolation poor Louisa remained for a while tolerably satisfied ; and endeavoured, by procuring as many innocent amusements as she could in a private way of life, (having given up all public exebitihions) to make the abscence of her amiable lover more supportable. For a while she supported his departure from her with patience, and reasoned herself into something like contentment, but at last; weary of waiting for letters which never arrived, though he had promised to write by every opportunity, and giving encouragement to the most disheartening reflections, she felt herself utterly unable to remain in her little retreat, while he, on whom she doated, was so far removed from her, she procured a passage on board a ship, bound to a Turkish port, and, as she sailed with a fair wind, received some satisfaction, in the midst of all her anxiety, from being carried nearer and nearer, every day, to the man whom of all men living she most wished to behold.

While Louisa was on her voyage in this ineligible state of mind, the Chevalier was closely confined in one of the Turkish dungeons, having been taken prisoner in the very first action, in which he was furiously engaged, soon after his arrival from Europe. In this dungeon, while he lamented his situation as a soldier, he could not help feeling as -a man, as a lover; and, in consequence of those feelings, the remembrance of the delightful

hours which he had spent with his Louisa, threw him into a train of the most painful reflections.

While such reflections were rolling in his mind, one day, he was rouzed from them by the account which he received of a female captive just arrived from France, of whose beauty the Sultan had received so flattering a description, that he had taken her into his seraglio.-By making more minute enquiries, he found that this captive was his Louisa ; and from that moment formed plans not only to get at the sight of her, but to make himself known to her, and to procure her deliverance.

By making a friend of the man to whose care he had been committed, he soon removed himself to Constantinople, and, in a short time, he was thoroughly convinced that his conjectures were well grounded. By a train of well concerted manoeuvres, he procured a meeting with his Louisa, unknown to the Sultan, in which an escape was projected. In consequence of this unexpected interview, it was agreed that Louisa should secrete herself in a particular part of the gardens reserved for the Sultan's private amusement, of which he had gained a key, and to wait there till he came to take her under his protection.

Louisa punctually obeyed her lover, and waited with the utmost impatience and trepidation for his arrival, fearing that the Sultan himself might take her by surprize, and force discoveries from her which would prove fatal to them both. Her impatie ence encreased when the appeintcd hour was passed, and she, at length, abandoned herself to despair ; concluding that her lover had been detected, and that the execution of his design had been effectually prevented : her fears, indeed, carried her still farther ; she fancied, during the tortures of imagination, that he was suffering in the severest manner, for the part he had been acting for her releasement.

In this harrowing situation she remained for some time; but, at last, her patience was exhausted. Drawing a poniard from her pocket, which she always carried about her, determined never to be forced to the violation of her virtue, she was just going to plunge it into her heart, when she heard the turning of a key, and immediately turned her eyes towards the garden-door, fondly imagining that her lover was come at last to her relief: but, on seeing, by the faint light of the moon, at that moment, a man enter the garden in a Turkish habit, with a lanthern in his hand, she, at one stroke, put an end to her existence.

In this deplorable condition, driven to it by despair, the Chevalier, who was prevented from keeping his appointment by an unforseen interruption, and who deemed it proper, in consequence of some intelligence he received, to dress himself like the

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