Lost or stolen from the subscriber, some time in December last, a Maiden's Modesty. It was first missed in Mr.'s Ballroom, where a number of ladies were rifled of that jewel by a certain personage well known by the name of Fashion, long suspected of being an errant thief, and even a murderer; although she is a favourite with genteel company. With her modesty the subscriber also lost her shawl and hankerchief, and the bosom of her gown, which had been plundered of its sleeves the season before. Since the loss of this valuable article, the loser has suffered some decay of health a considerable degree of scandal, a great decrease of male esteem, and probably some waste or want of prudence and virtue; all of which she can but attribute to that insidious and seductive villain, Fashion, who has oftentimes before imposed upon her the greatest hardships, and oppressed her with the greatest rigour. Though the catiff stole the modesty of many others about the same time, and very strict search has been made ever since to recover the property, but little of it has been obtained; and we are threatened with the ruin or loss of everything valuable about us, if the ravages of the monster are not prevented. It is hoped, therefore, that every lover of good order will interest himself in the detection and arrest of this publick disturber, before he corrupts both the manners and morals of the rising and risen generations. On my part, as an incitement of vigilance in apprehending the villain, I promise to whoever shall return the stolen and missing goods to me, the uncovered bosom, the loud laugh, the shameless countenance, and the impudent demeanour I have been obliged to exhibit ever since the loss of my proper apparel, with a few colds, asher, stitches, &c. I have taken in my new dress, as a reward for trouble; with the hearty and sincere thanks of their beguiled friend and humble servant,

dies' and gentlemen's peruques ever exhited for publick view and approbation. Their superiority is not merely derived from their elegant undulations, nor from their easy and close adhesion to the countenance, in which they are unequalled, but from that strict resemblance to nature which they assume the very first moment of wear, and which no other maker can acquire or even imitate, affording to the inventor the finest triumph of art, and adding to the wearer a loveliness to youth and a respectability to age.-The universal adoption and exclusive preference afforded these peruques on the last birth-day, and every fashionable gala since, incontrovertibly proves their preeminence. Ross acquaints the connoisseurs, that he has them on sale of various hues, forms and fashions, from 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, to 100 guineas each. -Ornamental hair of the greatest variety may likewise be had of all prices, at No. 119, Bishopsgate-street, within three doors from the London Tavern.

VARIETY.

In the rough blast heaves the billow,
In the light air waves the willow;
Every thing of moving kind
VARIES with the veering wind:
What have I to do with thee,
Dull, unjoyous Constancy?
Sombre tale, and satire witty,
Sprightly glee, and doleful ditty,
Measur'd sighs, and round elay,
Welcome all! but do not stay.
What have I to do with thee,
Dull, unjoyous Constancy?

A RECKONING WITH TIME.

By George Coleman, the younger. Come on, old Time!-nay that is stuff;Gaffer! thou com'at on fast enough;

Wing'd foe to feather'd Cupid! But, tell me, sand-man! ere thy grains Have multiplied upon my brains,

So thick to make them stupid;

Tell me, Death's Journeyman?—but no ;
Hear thou my speech;-I will not grow
For though I mock thy flight, tis said,
Irrev'rent while I try it;

Thy forelock fills me with such dread,
I never take thee by it.

List then, old Is-Was-and-To-Be !! I'll state accounts 'twixt thee, and me

Thou gave'st me first the measles; With teething would'st have ta'en me off, Then mad'st me with the hooping cough, Thinner than fifty weazles.

BALLAD.

'Twas on a cliff, whose rocky base
Baffled the briny wave;
Whose cultur'd heights their verdant store
To many a tenant gave;

A mother, led by rustick cares,

Had wander'd with her child; Unwean'd the babe-yet on the grass

He frolick'd and he smil'd.

With what delight the mother glow'd,
To mark the infant's joy;
How oft would pause amid her toil,
To contemplate her boy.

Yet soon, by other cares estrang'd,

Her thoughts the child forsook; Careless he wanton'd on the ground, Nor caught his mother's look.

Cropp'd was each flower that caught his

eye,

Till scrambling o'er the green,
He gain'd the cliff's unshelter'd edge,
And pleas'd, survey'd the scene.

'Twas now the mother, from her toil,
Turn'd to behold her child-
The urchin gone! her cheeks were flush'd!
Her wand'ring eye was wild!

She saw him on the cliff's rude brink-
Now careless peeping o'er!
He turn'd, and to his mother smil'd
Then sported as before.

Sunk was her voice-'twas vain to fly
'Twas vain the brink to brave-
Oh NATURE! it was thine alone

To prompt the means to save.

She tore her 'kerchief from her breast,
And laid her bosom bare;
He saw, delighted-left the brink,
And sought to banquet there.

THE MOLEHILL.

Tell me, thou dust beneath my feet,
Thou dust that once hadst breath;
Tell me how many mortals meet
In this small hill of death.

The mole, who digs with curious toil Her subterraneous bed,

Thinks not she ploughs a human soil, And delves among the dead.

Far in the regions of the morn, The rising sun surveys Palmyra's palaces forlorn, Unveiling in his rays.

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There oft the pilgrim, as he stands,
Sees from the broken wall
The shadow tott'ring on the sands,
Ere the huge fragment fall.

Stupendous rocks! appear

To me less mournfully sublime, Than this poor molehill here,

Methinks the dust yet heaves with breath,

I feel the pulses beat;
O, in this little hill of death
How many mortals meet!

Yonder a shadow flits away:

Thou shalt not thus depart : Stay! thou transcendent spirit, stay! And tell me who thou art.

'Tis ALFRED-in the rolls of fame, And on the midnight page, Blazes his broad refulgent name, The watch-light of the age.

And still that voice o'er land and sea
Shall ALBION's foes appal;
The race of ALFRED will be free;
Hear it and tremble, GAUL!

He was he is not—all is past;
Tell me, but who can tell?
In what mysterious regions cast,
Immortal spirits dwell.

Behold on Death's be wild'ring wave
The rainbow Hope arise;
A bridge of glory o'er the grave,
That bends beyond the skies.

CHARACTER OF THE ENGLISH NATION.

Oxenstiern, a Swedish writer, calls England the Kingdom of Bacchus, the School of Epicurus, the Academy of Venus, the Country of Mars, the Residence of Minerva, the Paradise of the Lovers of Liberty, &c. The females, he says, are beautiful; but their beauty is accompanied by a je ne scai quoi de fade. The bravery of the men approaches to ferocity. Their talents for wit are great, but they border on presumption. Here fortune distributes her favours with a liberal hand; but these islanders are ignorant of using them. Cour tezans, and the gratification of the palate,

can bear the expense. In short, if the high road to H is sown with pleasure, it is absolutely necessary to pass through England.

From the writers of Greece and Rome, we may learn the purest of uninspired morality, delivered in the most enchanting language, illustrated by the happiest allu. sions, and enforced by the most pertinent examples and most emphatical reasoning. Whatever is amusing or instructive in fable, whatever in description is beautiful, or in composition harmonious, whatever can sooth or awaken the human passions, the Greek and Roman authours have carried to perfection.

EVERY MAN A THIEF BY NATURE.

TO A LADY.

Listen to me, my dearest creature,
Every man's a thief by nature:
See the little girls and boys,
How they steal each other's toys;
Stealing is the first of arts,

None are thieves but men of parts.
Poets steal from one another,
Nay, the daughter robs her mother;
Time will steal our very youth,
Liars sometimes steal the truth;
Nay, your sex would pilfer you
Of those eyes of heavenly blue,
Of that soft envermill'd lip,
And that ear with rosy tip,
And your silky auburn hair,
That wantons in the enamour'd air.
Since we are such thieves by nature,
Why accuse me, dearest creature
Of a crime, a crime so glorious,
Is your swain at last victorious?
Have I really stole your heart,
Spite of all your pride and art?
If you pardon the transgression,
You shan't lose by the confession,
You shall find your heart at rest,
In your lover's faithful breast;
How I'll guard the precious treasure,
Love's the source of every pleasure,
You can prove it, if you doubt it,
Life, indeed, is nought without it.

THE Directory had now leisure to turn their attention to the smaller Cantons, not that they expected to find any money in either of them, but a Constitution, as they affected to call it, had been composed in Paris, and it was their fancy that all Switzerland should adopt it. These small states, in some measure deserved their fate, by the degree of insensibility with which they beheld the distress of their neighbours, whose aristocracy and insolence of wealth they were not sorry to see humbled; they were soon made to understand, how

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ever, and in no very soothing terms, that they also were to reve lutionize themselves, to forego their distinct governments states, and to be assimilated to the rest of Switzerland, under one ge neral form, in which, the division of power and the distinctions of the magistracy, were closely copied from that emblem of all perfection, the Directorial govern

ment.

The first measures of the Cantons, who were now the object of attack, were such as deserved success, and such as deprived the Directory of every shadow of pretext for invading them; they liberated the inhabitants of the subject countries from their allegiance, and informed the French general of their having done so, but nothing short of the new constitution would avail. Had the Cantons not attacked, invested any one individual of sufficient talents and experience with full powers to direct the general

defence as he might see best, so as to prevent that shock of interest, of party spirit, and of local attachments, which embarrassed all their measures, the scenes of their earlier triumphs might have been repeated, and the French have found a grave, as the Austrians had done some centuries before, in the bosom of the Alps; it was their misfortune not to adopt this wise policy; still, however, their defence was such as became a people who had been so many ages in possession of liberty: the old and the young, the women and the children, even the clergy prepared to share the common danger, and all that patriotism and religious zeal could dictate, all that paternal influence, and the sacred love of home could effect, was, though in vain, exerted. You may see the particulars of this afflicting contest in the newspapers of the time. The Canton of Schwitz, the cradle of the nation's liberty, held out as long as there could be any hopes of success: but when their losses amounted to a hundred of their people a day, an assembly of the nation was convoked, and the last fierce struggles of expiring liberty were allayed by the soothing accents of a venerable minister; a capitulation was entered into the day following with the French general, and the people of Schwitz, having agreed for themselves and their neighbours, to lay aside their arms, and accede to the general government, the French army was withdrawn, and they were left undisturbed.

Two of the smaller members of the Helvetick Confederation have experienced a still harder fate; Bienne, a little republick at the extremity of the lake, to which Rousseau has drawn such general attention, had for ages acknowledged

the very limited prerogative of the bishop of Bale, in the executive part of government, but its inhabitants were in full possession of all which constitutes the essentials of liberty and independence; as the bishop however, was, in his capacity of prince of the empire, an object of hostility to France, a French army took possession of Bienne, and has held it ever since. Another republick, whose fate will interest you, was Mulhausen, which consisted of one flourishing town, of a few villages, and of about eighteen miles square of fertile territory, upon the river Idd, in Alsace. This little state was in alliance with Switzerland, and exhibited in its government a happy mixture of aristocracy and democracy. It had been proposed to this happy, inoffensive people, at a very early period of the revolution, to unite themselves with France, and upon their refusal, their territory had been taken possession of, and their city rigorously blockaded, so as to prevent all egress and all communication with the adjacent country. The blockade lasted for two years, nor did the citizens of Mulhausen submit to be incorporated with France, until they had consumed the last day's ration of provisions which the town afforded; these they had scrupulously shared, and used in the most rigorously economical manner, and as they had long been without fuel, almost every article of furniture was converted to that use. It was a most affecting sight, saysthe authour of the relation which I have now before me, to perceive the people of Mulhausen bring out their furniture into the publick square, and sharing it with their fellow-citizens, that all might have the means of preparing the small pittance of a meal that they allow