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ty as a substitute, (the war with America then raging), in the army.
To be a soldier's wife had always been the height of poor Jane's ambition; and indeed, had Bob been in the army, he would certainly have been accepted long before this period. The father and mother were thus settled in another parish, where the squire was a decided enemy to Mr. Scamper, on account of a late erection: as soon as he heard he wished to ruin these people, they were taken into favour, and met every encouragement from their new landlord, who, though one of the most hard-hearted men in the world, was always ready to do good, when, by so acting, he could mortify those who were not of his own opinion.
The parents thus provided for, she trudged away •with her dear Robert. He soon joined his regiment, which was ordered abroad. A few of the women were permitted to embark with their husbands, and she was more than happy in being admitted into the number. They were soon landed on the then hostile shores of America. The scenes of universal confusion she at first met with were so like those that her father had formerly described to her, her senses were btwildered with the novelty of the scene: this novelty soon vanished, and she waked to sorrow, to suffering, and to hardship. Sometimes they marched whole days together, unable to enjoy a comfortable meal: sometimes they were compelled to lie on snow hillocks, or sleep in ditches nearly frozen by the intenseness of the cold. She saw many a lusty fellow faint with hunger; many a stout heart expire with fatigue. Many months were passed this way previous to their coming into action. I
One day, after fording a deep river up to their knees in water, they met the enemy drawn up to double their number on the other side. A hot action immediately took place. The English forces were wasted by famine and fatigue; the enemy's were fresh and vigorous; and during the engagement their women could supply them with brandy, into which they put a quantity of opium, which inHamed them almost to madness. Our poor fellows could get nothing but water, yet they fought like heroes. Overpowered by numbers, they were at length compelled to fly. Jane snatched up a dead Serjeant's sword, and retreated with her dear Bob. They fell in with a straggling party, who were bearing off an officer prisoner. The enemy were three in number; but the husband and wife resolved to attempt his rescue; and chiefly by the undaunted courage of the woman, they had the gratification of releasing the officer, and arming him with the sword of one of his captors. In this exploit, her face and eye were terribly mangled by a pistol shot. In various actions she met with wounds which horribly mutilated a face once admired
tor its beauty. While General G was colonel, he
lay wounded on the ground, in a hot action, a soldier advanced to dash out his brains with a musket, Jane received the blow on her mouth, and shot the soldier in his attempt. Her husband fell in battle. She was inconsolable for his loss; for, although her nerves were strong, her heart was tenderness itself. When she returned, she found all her relations dead. Left alone in a wide world, she was compelled, in opposition to her pride, to seek relief from those she had rescued from death and danger.
General G settled fifteen pounds & year on herj
and her parents being no more, poor Jane thought this a vast sum, took a small cottage, and by vigorous exertions, was able not only to support herself, but to do a great deal of good to many poor people around her: she never was so proud as when she had it in her power •to show the gratitude of her heart. She was, she is, and she will die a heroine. Such is the story of this poor but singular woman; singular for virtue, courage, and for fidelity. Had Jane been the wife of a colonel or a general, she had been extolled Hi prints, recorded in history, and held up by poetry to the example and imitation of future ages. Good fortune is a great agent in conferring fame, and good fortune alone was wanting to render Jane the equal of Joan of Arc, or the •celebrated Janede Montfort!
A Dialogue tttween a Bookteller and aytfung Atothrr.
** Slander, the worst of poisons, ever finds,
An easy entrance in ignoble minds." Harviv's Juvenut.
.... In London I had not teen known to many, and I thought that, by changing my name and residing in a different quarter of the town, I might escape detection, and live free from observation. I took a small lodging, and resolved to make an essay of my literary talents in the capacity of an author. I had often amused myself in making a version of Horace's Satires, and had translated two of the most beautiful of Ovid's Epistles; I
mean those of CEnone to Paris, and Medea to Jason; the first being, in my humble-judgment, a most finished example of the pathetic, and the last a specimen of the sublime. With these materials I waited on a bookseller; he looked at my epistles in the first place. I acknowledge, upon my mended judgment, that I now think they were extremely bad; but that is more than •he could have possibly known at the time, for, without •looking at them, he plainly told -me they would never pay I he price of the paper. I then told him that I had some satirical pieces; his eye brightened up at this intelligence, but the name of Horace, in the title page, had the same effect upon him as physic upon a boy (who has made illness a pretence for idleness,) at school. He shook his head, and told me these works would never produce salt to my meals; but that it I would bring him a satire, highly peppered with abuseof certain great people, he might then, perhaps, have something to say to me. I knew the characters he pointed out to be persons eminently great and good, and expressed my surprise that he should be ignorant of their worth and value. He assured me, this was by no means the case; he knew their merits as well as any man alive.
Good God! is it possible?" •
"You are young, Sir: when you have been long enough an author to know your trade, you will learn, that abuse sells much better than eufogium*:—No man pays his money to see a person praised."
» We cannot refrain from observing here, that, misled perhaps, by the impetuous, raw, and injudicious editor, the pub
I was warm in the defence of the character I had adopted 5 and, as I always esteemed a literary man as one of the most exalted and dignified beings in the scale of society, I felt my cheek burn with indignation at hearing the sacred functions of genius thus tarnished and reduced. I urged, that to lash general vices, to expose corruption, to tear the mask from-the visage of pretended patriotism, and gibbet the sons of rapine and oppression, was indeed a calling worthy the thunder-brandishing hand of the gigantic genius of satire; but that, to attack vice and virtue with undiscriminating rancor, to plant a thorn in the bosom-of an honest man, to betray the confidence of families, and ruin the honest efforts of individuals, was to assume a character which, like Nero's, ought to be hunted from the face of the earth while living, and held up to the exegraticr* of posterity when no more.
The bookseller gravely shook his head, said he was perfectly right, and that his own conscience often gave him many twinges when he published a work of the nature I had been describing. He observed, however, that while the world was ill-natured, and wicked enough to encourage this general rage for malice and detraction, a man in business had much difficulty in keeping
lisliers of the Annual Review seem to have adopted the illiberal and false opinion of the above bookseller. We entreat them to remember, for their own sake, that JHien n'est beau que le, wai; that abuse is not crilic'um; and we venture to predict tothem> that the number of the purchasers of their work will decrease in proportion to its accumulating illiberal satires, against literary characters deservedly esteemed: for the public is always just and indulgent.