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be forfeited for her crime, unless that contrition which she hopes has appeased her God, may obtain for her the compassion of her Prince. And that she is not now more solicitous for life, than her prayers shall ever be devout for the generous author of her pardon.

"London, Nov. 15, 1812.

FRANCES SAGE."

Her Royal Highness was moved by the pathetic energy of these appeals. She made inquiry into the circumstances of the girl's case; and finding that they had been fairly and honestly represented, she did not hesitate to intercede with her royal Father in her behalf, and had the happiness not to plead in vain. The life of the criminal was saved, and the "Joseph" had once more the "exquisite luxury of saving life, and announcing pardon."

CHAP. XLIX.

OLD AGE.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and pewking in the servants' arms;
And then, the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail,
Unwillingly to school; and then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress's eyebrow. Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise laws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts.
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
SHAKSPEARE.

Or all the futile wishes that are expressed by the thoughtless, there is not one more unworthy a sensible man, and a Christian, than that of wishing to be young again. This wish is generally expressed upon the sight of some object which gives the idea of a past action, that it is no dishonour to us that we cannot now repeat; or else, on what was in itself shameful when we performed it. It is a certain sign of a foolish or a dissolute mind, if we want our youth again only for the strength of bones and sinews which we once were masters of. It is as absurd in an old man to wish for the strength of a youth, as it would be in a young man to wish for the strength of a bull or a horse. These wishes are both equally out of nature, which should direct in all things that are not contradictory to justice, law, and reason.

As to all the rational and worthy pleasures of our being, the consciousness of a good fame, the contemplation of another life, the respect and commerce of other men-our capacities for such enjoyments are enlarged by years. While health endures, the latter part of life, in the eye of reason, is certainly the most eligible. The memory of a well-spent youth gives a peaceable, unmixed, and elegant pleasure to the mind; and to such as are so unfortunate as not to be able to look back on youth with satisfaction, they may take to themselves no small consolation that they are under no temptation to repeat their follies, and that they at present despise them. It was wisely said, that "He who would be long an old man, must begin early to be one." It is too late to resign a thing after a man is robbed of it; therefore, it is necessary that before the arrival of Age we should bid adieu to the pleasures of youth, otherwise sensual habits will live in our imaginations, when our limbs cannot be subservient

to them. The poor fellow who has lost his arm at a siege, will tell you he feels the fingers that are buried in Spain ache every cold morning at Chelsea. The fond humour of appearing in the gay and fashionable world, and being applauded for trivial excellencies, is what makes youth have age in contempt, and makes age resign with so ill a grace the qualifications of youth; but this, in both sexes, is inverting all things, and turning the natural course of our minds, which should build their approbations and dislikes upon what nature and reason dictate, into chimera and confusion. Thus, though every old man has been young, and every young one hopes to be old, there seems to be a most unnatural misunderstanding between those two stages of life. This unhappy want of commerce arises from the insolent arrogance or exultation of youth, and the irrational despondence or self-pity of age. A young man, whose passion and ambition is to be good and wise, and an old one, who has an inclination to be lewd or debauched, are quite unconcerned in this speculation: but the cocking young fellow who treads upon the toes of his elders, and the old fool who envies the saucy pride he sees in him, are the real objects of contempt and derision. When young men, in public places, betray in their deportment an abandoned resignation to their appetites, they give to sober minds the prospect of a despicable age, which, if not cut close off in the midst of their follies, will certainly come. When an old man bewails the loss of gratifications which are passed, he discovers a monstrous inclination to that, which it is not in the course of Providence to recall. The state of an old man, who is dissatisfied merely for his being such, is the most out of all measures of reason and good sense of any being we have any account of, from the highest angel to the lowest worm. What has he lost by the number of years? The passions which he had in youth are not to be obeyed as they were then; but reason is more powerful now, without the disturbance of them. An old gentleman, in discourse with a friend of his, reflecting upon some adventures they had in youth

together, cried out, "O Jack! those were happy days." "That is true, (replied his friend,) but methinks we go about our business more quietly than we did then." One would think it should be no small satisfaction to have gone so far in our journey, that the heat of the day is over with us. When life itself is a fever, as it is in licentious youth, the pleasures of it are no other than the dreams of a man in that distemper; and it is as absurd to wish the return of that season of life, as for a man in health to be sorry for the loss of gilded palaces, fairy walks, and flowery pastures, with which he remembers he was entertained in the troubled slumbers of a fit of sickness.

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,

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The few locks that are left you are grey :

You are hale, father William, a hearty old man ;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth would fly fast,

And abus'd not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"And life must be hast'ning away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death:
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," father William replied,
"Let the cause thy attention engage:

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,
And he hath not forgotten my age."

ENGLISH ANTHOLOGY.

Age, in a virtuous person of either sex, carries with it an authority which makes it preferable to all the pleasures of youth. If to be saluted, attended, and courted with deference, are instances of pleasure, they are

such as never fail a virtuous Old Age. In the enumeration of the imperfections and advantages of the younger and later years of man, they are so near in their condition, that, methinks, it should be incredible we see so little commerce of kindness between them. If we consider youth and Age with Tully, regarding the affinity to death, youth has many more chances to be near it than Age: what youth can say, more than an old man, "he shall live until night?" Youth catches distempers more easily; its sickness is more violent; and its recovery more doubtful. The youth indeed hopes for many more days: so cannot the old man. The youth's hopes are ill-grounded; for what is more foolish than to place any confidence upon an uncer tamty? But the old man has not room so much as to hope; he is still happier than the youth, for he has already enjoyed what the other does but hope for One wishes to live long; the other has lived long, But, alas! is there any thing in human life, the duration of which can be called long? There is nothing which must end, to be valued for its continuance. If hours, days, months, and years pass away, it is no matter what hour, what day, what month, or what year, we die. The applause of a good actor is due to him, at whatever scene of the play he makes his exit. It is thus in the life of a man of sense: a short life is sufficient to manifest him a man of honour and virtue; when he ceases to be such, he has lived too long; and while he is such, it is of no consequence to him how long he shall be so, if he be so to his life's end.

O my coevals! remnant of yourselves!
Poor human ruins, tott'ring o'er the grave!
Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees,
Strike deeper their vile roots, and closer cling,
Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil?
Shall our pale wither'd hands be still stretch'd out,
Trembling at once with eagerness and age,
With avarice and convulsion's grasping hand?
When in this vale of years. I backward look,
And miss such numbers-numbers too of such,
Firmer in health, and greener in their age,
And stricter on their guard, and fitter far
3 Y

17.

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