ries to perfection. The regulations made for manufactures ought to be as so many instructions to those who are in search of this perfection, in the same manner as the books that treat of arts and sciences. There must be all sorts of degrees of goodness in the manufactures, according to the taste and circumstances of the purchaser: imperfection and fraud discredit manufactures, while diligence and honesty enrich and bring them into vogue. For these reasons commerce claims liberty instead of those penal laws, duties, and inderdictions by which it is discouraged. Trade itself is no other than an abstract idea lately known, as well We as circulation and credit. seem to make new divinities, like the Greeks, in order to adore them: our fathers, who had less idolatry and philosophy, but more wisdom, were richer by their economy and labour, than we by our sciences of exchange, brokerage, and stockjobbing. Perhaps our posterity, undeceived by experience, will laugh at the disease that now prevails in several nations, of endeavouring to reduce the principles of trade into a system; and will place it in that rank which we now assign to the Crusade, and which we shall soon give to the folly of the political ba lance of power in Europe. POETRY. POETRY. The HORSE and the OLIVE, or WAR and PEACE. By the late Archdeacon PARNELL. Not yet printed in his Works. ITH moral tale let ancient wisdom move, WITH Which thus I sing to make the moderns wise; By Neptune, Plutus, (guardian Pow'r of gain) Which best contriv'd to do the nation good. Then Neptune Striking, from the parted ground By this he cries, I'll make the people reign. And rather thus they shall be bless'd, she said: Then upwards shooting in the vernal air, With loaded boughs the fruitful olive spread. Jove saw what gift the rival powers design'd, And took th' impartial scales, resolv'd to show If greater bliss in warlike pomp we find, Or in the calm which peaceful times bestow. For Neptune's part he plac'd victorious days, Gay trophies won, and fame extending wide; But plenty, safety, science, arts, and ease, Minerva's scale with greater weight supply'd. Hence vanquish'd Neptune to the sea withdrew, N 4 From From fables thus disclos'd, a monarch's mind May form just rules to chuse the truly great, Whose kind endeavours most befriend the state. E'en Britain here may learn to place her love, If cities won her kingdom's wealth have cost. But if we ask, the moral to disclose, Whom best Europa's patroness it calls, Great Anna's title no exception knows, With her no Neptune or Minerva vies: Whene'er she pleas'd, her troops to conquest flew : She gave the horse, and gives the olive too. ODE sur la Presente GUERRE. Extracted from a German periodical work of M. Professor Gottsched of Leip. sick, of whose company the king of Prussia was so fond, and attributed by that gentleman to one of the most eminent writers of French Poetry, who, the Professor says, will be readily guessed, without his naming him, J "'ENTENS de toutes parts éclater les Orages, Les champs sont inondés de cent mille assassins, Par tout le fer poursuit, par tout le feu dévore; Que le fer & les feux, Les Guerriers, dout la course imite les tempêtes, C'est vous que j'interroge, Idoles de la Terre, Neron osa brûler des masures antiques, Rome l'appelle monstre, en tombant sous ses coups, Voyez ces habitans dans l'horreur des allarmes, Si vous êtes pressés de ce desir funeste, De depeupler la Terre, en proie à vos transports, D'une goutte de sang vous remandez compte Ah! qui donc êtes vous ? quelle fut l'origine, Ah! s'ils n'avoient voulu que s' arracher la vie, Comptons les Souverains que l'Europe rassemble; Humanité, Justice, est-ce pour vous qu'ils regnent? J'atteste leurs Ecrits, ils s'accusent, se craignent, Cessent-i's de se nuire, ils manquent donc de force, Qu'espérent-ils enfin ? Maîtres d'un vaste Empire, Génie, activité, soif de gloire, courage, O vous! qui, profanant les transports de Génie, Que ne puis je étouffer de votre voix impie Quio! le meurtre d'un Peuple honoreroit son Maître! Où la vertu n'est pas ? Mais peut-être mons zèle en sa chaleur amère, Non, ce fléau jamais ne fut inévitable, La sagesse toujours peut prévenir les coups, Ose-t-on, si les droits ne sont pas légitimes, Ces sauvages sanglans que votre orgueil, deteste, Ils mangent les vaincus dans leur cruelle joie, Du moins si tant de sang rendoit à la Patrie, Leurs trésors prodigués, par des mains sanguinaires, Politique éclairée, active, impénétrable! Art sublime & profond, autant qu'infructueux ! Comptez sur les Traités, signés par le mensonge! Ah! comment espérer un terme favorable, Sis la force du moins donnoit quelque assurance; Persepolis n'est plus qu'une cendre stérile, La foiblesse le garde, & Lucque est plus tranquille, Rome, |