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ruin, as they have been finely called, accomplish next, but feast their eyes upon the unhappy victim, extorting a luxurious confession of his agonizing heart, and sharpening a-fresh each agony, with a corresponding grin of accomplished malice.. ..

We mill conclude these thoughts on Imaiion, by the following energetic address of the Rev.William Bahrow, to the Southwell Volunteers.

It is no common foe that we have to resist; it is no common battle that we have to fight. Do not let us flatter ourselves that this formidable armament will not be able to reach us; that it is impracticable for the invader to effect a landing The zeal and the wishes

of the French army are ready to second every attempt

against us To despise the efforts of such an enemy

is to give him strength; to imagine ourselves secure against his assault is to contribute to our own ruin.... In tfte name of tlte Lord you have set up your banners, Loyal Volunteers! Let them wave only to his honour and your own! To your protection we willingly intrust ourselves, and whatever is most dear to us. And, should fatal necessity require it, with you we shall at last meet the dangers of the field, and share the common fortunes of the country.. ..


•' High o'er the grov'ling, selfish, reptile crew,
A noble, powerful, gen'rous race 1 view,
Still prompt, at pure humanity's command,
To banish mis'ry from their native land." T. Batchiloi.

Lbt Virgil sing the praises of Augustus, genius celebrate merit, and flattery extol the talents of the great.— "The short and simple annals of the poor" engross my pen; and while I record the history of Flor Silin's virtues, though I speak of a poor peasant, I shall describe a noble man. I ask no eloquence to assist me in the task—modest worth rejects the aid of ornament to set it off.

It is impossible, even at this distant period, to reflect. without horror, on the miseries of that year, known in Lower Wolga by the name of the famine year. I remember the summer, whose scorching heats had dried up all the fields—and the drought had no relief—but from the tears of the ruined farmer. I remember the cold, comfortless autumn—and the despairing rustics, crowding their empty farms, with folded arms, and sorrowful countenances, pondering on their misery, instead of rejoicing, as usual, at the golden harvest. I remember the winter which succeeded—and I reflect with agony on the miseries it brought with it. Whole families left their homes, to become beggars on the highway. At night, the canopy of heaven served them as their only shelter from the piercing winds and bitter frosts. To describe these scenes would be 10 harrow up the feelings of my readers. Therefore my tale:

In those days I lived on an estate not far from Sim

birsk; and, though but a child, I have not forgotten the impression made on my mind by the general calamity. In a village adjoining lived Flor Silin, a poor labouring peasant—a man remarkable for his assiduity, and the skill and judgment with which he cultivated his lands: He was blessed with abundant crops> and his means being larger than his wants, his granaries, even at this time, were full of corn. The dry year coming on, had beggared all the village, except himself. Here was an opportunity to grow rich! mark how Flor Silin acted. Having called the poorest of his neighbours about him, he addressed thorn in the following manner: "My friends,, you want corn for your subsistence— God has blessed me with abundance—assist in threshing out a quantity, and each of you take what he wants for his family."

The peasants were amazed at this unexampled generosity;—for sordid propensities exist in the village as well as in a populous city 1

The fame of Flor Silin's benevolence having reached other villages, the famished inhabitants presented themselves before him, and begged for corn.

This good creature received them as brothers: and, while his store remained, afforded all relief.

At length, his wife seeing no end to the generosity of his noble spirit, reminded him how necessary it would. be to think on their own wants, and hold his lavish hand before it was too late.

"It is written in the scripture," said he, " Give, and it shall be given unto you."

The following year Providence listened to the prayers of the poor, and the harvest was abundant. The peasants, who had been saved from starving by Flor Siłin, now gathered around him. . . * Behold,” said they, “the corn you lent us. You saved our wives and children; we should have famished but for you; may God reward you—He only can—a II we have to give, is our corn, and grateful thanks.” “I want no corn at present, my good neighbours,” said he, “my harvest has exceeded my expectations. For the rest, thank Heaven—I have been but a humble instrument.” They urged him in vain, “No,” said he, “I shall not accept your corn. If you have superfluities, share them among your poor neighbours: who, being unable to sow their fields last autumn, are still in want.—Let us assist them, my dear friends; the Almighty will bless us for it.” “Yes," replied the grateful peasants, “ our poor neighbours shall have this corn. They shall know that it is to you they owe this timely succour—and join to teach their children the debt of gratitude due to your benevolent heart.” Silin raised his tearful eyes to heaven.—An angel might have envied him his feelings! At another time, fourteen farm houses were burnt down in an adjoining village. To each sufferer Silin sent two roubles and a scythe. Some time after, a like misfortune happened at another village. It was entirely consumed, and the inhabitants, reduced to the last degree of misery, had recourse to Silin. But his former benevolence had impoverished his means. He had no money to help them. What was to be done? “Stop,” said he, sud

denly recollecting himself, " here is a horse, I do not actually want him, take and sell it."

He set at liberty two female slaves, whom be bought in the name of the lord of the manor, educated them as his own daughters, and, when they married, gave them a handsome dowry.

As long as thou continuest, noble Silin*, to inhabit this world, so long will thy life be spent in acts of generosity and benevolence towards thy fellow-creaturei; and, when thou bast exchanged this for a better life, the recording angel shall proclaim thy virtues in heaven, the Almighty will place thee high above kings and princes, and thou wilt still be the friend of the comfortless, and a father to the poor and indigent on earth.—If ever I revisit that country whose ornament thou art, I shall approach thy cot with reverence, and pay homage to thy virtues. But, if the minister of peace hath removed thee into bliss, I will visit thy grave—sprinkle it with my tears—and place a stone upon the spot, on which with my own hand, I will write,

Here Rest


"And oft the mighty necromancer boasts, With these to call from tombs the stalking ghosts." Dryd.

A Man named Schropfer was for a long time.waiter in a coffee house at Leipzig, and nobody observed any

* Silin is still alive, and having read this sketch of himself, he wept, and exclaimed j—" No, I am unworthy of this—I cannot deserve such praise."

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