1 f 1 ! they are without gilding or other gaudy decoration, and certainly much better are they without it. Above the altar, in this church, are some very good paintings, particularly that of the Ascension, by Hogarth. But what chiefly attracted my curiosity was the room and apartment where Chatterton -ill fated youth!-said he had obtained the manuscripts of Rowley's poem; a modernised transcript of which he pretended he had given to the world in the celebrated poems he published under that name. Whether they were really the productions of Rowley (a monk who lived about four centuries ago), or of Chatterton himself, I will not pretend to say; a great deal has been said on both sides of the question, without bringing it to a termination; and I must candidly confess, that, for my own part, never was my mind so equally divided between two opinions, neither of which can I say I am decidedly of. I will only say thus far, that if these poems were only a modernized transcription from Rowley's manuscript, why has not that manuscript been produced to the world, and thereby put an end to the dispute? or what has become of it? or, supposing these poems to have been the offspring of Chatterton's own inventive genius, they must ever be deemed a prodigy of early genius almost beyond the reach of credibility. This much is at least certain, that this unhappy youth reflected honour on the city which gave him birth; and much is it to be lamented, that instead of being cheered and cherished by the smiles of a generous patronage, he should have been driven to desperation by absolute misery and want! Had Chatterton been born at Athens, during the zenith of its splendor in the arts, he would have had the homage of public honours paid him: but Athens was not a city of merchants, like Bristol. Yet, far from -being of Mr. Burke's opinion-that a merchant's god is his gold; his country his invoice; his desk his aliar; his ledger his bible: the Exchange his church; and he has no faith but in his banker;"-I think it injurious and unjust, and am of opinion that merchants in general are worthy and respectable characters: though, in the estimation of that character, some have said, that, accustomed as they are to selfish, coldblooded speculations of profit, we must exclude from it the warmer and more generous sensibilities of our natureEurop. Mag. Fot. LII. Sept. 1807. 1 : the openness of an unpractised heart, the nobleness of disinterested fr.endship, the thrillings of pity, and glow of aubidden sympathy. But however many may deserve this reflection, there are others of a very opposite description, more than one of which I myself have had the happiness of knowing. But, to return to Chatterton: I had been given to understand that his townsmen were at length resolved to erect a cenotaph to his memory. Be this as it may, his early and extraordinary talents will long be remembered with respect by ali the admirers of genius, while his untimely end will be lamented by them. There are few public buildings in Bristol, except the churches, the Exchange, and the Infirmary, that are much to be adinired. The Exchange is a quadrangular building, dark and heavy within the area; it is very inferior even to the old Exchange in Liverpool, but much more so to the noble fabric they are building there for a new Exchange. I notice that the merenants who meet at the Exchange in Bristol assemble on the pavement in front of it, instead of the interior area. There is at present a noble undertaking going on at Bristol, the opening a new bed for the river Avon for a certain extent, with dams, &c. in order to preserve such a sufficiency of water, as at floodtide, to keep vessels always afloat in that river and in the Froom. This was wanted; and when completed, with all its locks, basins, dams, flood-gates, &c. will be a work that will reflect honour on the commercial spirit of the Bristolians. At present sent the navigation of this port is much complained of, particularly on account of the vessels lying so much aground in the mud of the river. I am told that 200,0001, will be required to complete this undertaking, and that about one third of that sum is already expended. In excavating this new course, oak trees and their roots have been discovered at the depth of from twenty to thirty feet below the surface of the earth. Whether we are to trace this to some great convulsion of nature, or to suppose the superstrata of earth a gradual accumulation of vegetable soil, I will leave to the deterinination of those who are more accustomed to such inquiries. Bristol is considered as the second city in England for opulence; but Liverpool certainly outdoes it in point of commercial magnitude. This may partly be B accounted for by the superiority the former enjoys of situation as a seaport. But it is also said, that the Bristol merchants, though they possess a better capital than those of Liverpool, are yet inferior to them in spirit and enterprise. However this may be, certain it is, that the trade of Liverpool has hitherto been, and still is, rapidly increasing, while that of Bristol has rather, of late years, been somewhat on the decline. The abolition of the slave-trade would be severely felt by Liverpool; but the active spirit that seems to animate its traders would, I fancy, soon discover some new sources of commercial prosperity, to compensate for this loss. Bristol contains more numerous manufactures than Liverpool. They have here no less than fifteen or sixteen glass-houses. I have been told that the Bristolians were rude and boorish in their manners (whence I suppose the appellation of Bristol hogs); and that, with respect to strangers, and even among themselves, they were selfish, reserved, and unsociable. As I have not mingled sufficiently with society here to form an impartial idea on the subject. I shall suspend my opinion: but I fancy, like most other local dislikes, this accusation admits of much qualification. A stranger is apt to misapprehend at first view. For instance, one coming from a distant country, the inhabitants of which are accustomed to interchange friendly visits with each other, without particular regard to time, would, perhaps, feel his pride somewhat shocked at having a family, with whom he was intimate, and from whom he had received friendly invitations, denied to him, if he called at an unfashionable hour. Bat when he learned that this was the custom of the country, however awkward it might appear to him, good sense would require his acquiescence in it. In short, if hasty in imbibing prejudices, he might go from this country with an idea that the people were selfish, inhospitable, and empty in their profess ons, &c. when a little information and reffection would shew him that the mistake lay in the difference of customs and habits, and that such an one as had given him offence, if not carried to a punctilious extreme, as the most reasonable and desirable imaginable. To be liable to be broke in upon at all hours, would be a sur render of one's time to the calls, the caprices, and intrusions of others; a species of subjection the most insufferable, and which few would be content to endure. At the same time, I am an enemy to that too rigid adherence to punctilio and form, which tends to destroy the sweets and freedom of social and friendly intercourse: such a purchase of time is too dear. It has been said, that the Bristolian women were so very ordinary in the time of Queen Elizabeth, that that princess held out, as a templation to those who would marry one, the freedom of the city. I do not know whether this be true; but if so, I can only say that their beauty has much improved since that time; for in few parts of the world are there now more lovely women to be found. If I were to draw a comparison between the English ladies and American fair (say those of Philadelphia), I would leave to others to decide which had the preference in personal attractions. The Philadelphian, as I have said, can hardly be excelled for fineness of form, symmetry of feature and delicacy of complexion; but the British beauty bears the palm for that enchanting bloom that speaks with so much eloquence in her lovely cheeks. The environs of Bristol are truly beautiful, being adorned with handsome villages and neat country-seats around. Among the former is Clif. ton, the Hotweils, Redland, King's Weston, Westbury, Henbury, &c. Clif ton is an elegant village, consisting of genteel houses, and is chiefly the resort of people of fashion, on account of its vicinity to the Hotwells. In this village are a great many houses built in a genteel style, and in a good situation; but being left unfinished, and being there. fore uninhabited, they have a naked melancholy appearance, ill suited to the neighbourhood of so populous and bustling a place as Bristol. These buildings, it seems, were undertaken by a Mr. Lockyer, or some such name, probably fro from motives of ambition, who became a bankrupt in consequence, and, what was far worse, involved many others besides himself in ruin. He was, or had been, a merchant, I believe, and sunk the little all of many a poor person whose money lay in his bands; so that deeply had they to rue the evil hour when the mania of building seized Mr. Lockyer. I observe in the city, 100, a great many houses, indeed streets of came of a spherical form by the time they had reached the ground. The husband, struck with the idea, tried the experiment of thus dropping lead from a great height, only breaking its fall by receiving it in water, and to his infinite joy found it the very thing! Such is the story, as I was told it. The poor plumber, thus suddenly enriched by unexpected wealth, which he thought could never be exhausted, immediately set about building a house suitable to his newly-acquired opulence. Like Solomon's wise man, he built his house upon a rock; but so great, and yet so ill-judged, were his ideas of architecture, and he carried on his work with so much expense and so little taste, that in the end his finances failed, his buildings remained unfinished, and nobody was to be found to purchase this modern castle, which might almost literally be said to have been built in the houses, that seem in the same manner totally at a stand-not a very good sign of the increasing wealth and population of a place. The walk to Clifton and St. Vincent's rock, across the downs, is a favourite promenade with the people of Bristol; and certainly none can be more pleasing. The air wafted across the downs is the most soft and refreshing imaginable; and I do really believe, that it is more to this delicious air than to the water of the Hotwells that valetudinarians, resorting thither owe the improvement of their health : the water, indeed, tastes quite insipid, as if decomposed; so that little benefit, I should think, was to be derived from it alone. St. Vincent's Rock contains those crystals so well known under the name of Bristol stones. The view from the top of it is beautiful and romanticthe whole country around appears distinctly in views on one side, a rich and fertile country, embellished by the high-air; and thus it remains a monument of a est cultivation, shaded by the foliage of thick-spread trees; on the other, a distant view of the Severn, and intermediate glimpses of the Avon slowly flowing towards it; and beyond this the loftier hills of Wales. But I must confess, that a stranger feels degree of disappointment on visiting the banks of the Avon-at least I did, when, previously led by the sweet rural scenery around to fancy the Avon a fine limpid stream, on whose flowery banks I already, in idea, seemed to repose, I found its stream as thick as a horsepond, and embanked by mud, without one flowret to adorn it, or spot of verdure to refresh the eye. The houses about the Hotwells are built in a genteel style, being for the accommodation of the visitors. A little distance from the Hotwells I was shewn a very lofty house, built on the steepest acclivity of the hill on which it stood, with a very high brick wall in front, below containing a sort of port-holes resembling an ancient castle. This, I was told, had been erected by a journeyman plumber, who got 15,0001. by the sale of a patent he had obtained for a new method of casting sinall shot. This invention, so important to him, it is said, his wife was the means of his discovering, in consequence of a dream! It seems she dreamt one night, that her husband was standing on the top of the tower of the church of St. Mary Redcliffe, and dropping molten lead down into the street below, which drops be his folly. (Te be continued.) A VIEW of the POPULATION of PARIS. H ERETOFORE it was not unusual to hear, and even to read, in certain works, that Paris contained a million of souls. This popular error was formerly propagated by means of the almanacks, as it is at present by registers, most commonly written by men still more ignorant than the almanackmakers. From creditable authority, however, we will venture to assert, that the population of Paris has never exceeded 700,000 individuals. M. Messance, in his Recherches sur la Population de la France, printed in 1766, says, that from 1709 to 1718, inclusively, the number of births at Paris was 159,882; of marriages, 41,186; and of deaths, 173,933. From 1752 to 1761, inclusively, he computes the births at 192,218; marriages, 42,083; and deaths, 192,251. In this statement are included the deaths and births which took place in the Hotel Dieu. Hence it appears, that, on an average, the number of births annually, from 1709 to 1719, was 16,988, which multiplied by thirty produce 509,640 individuals. (The cause of multiplying the number of births by thirty, in order to determine the population, is on account of the many who live in this great city, aithough not bora here.) It will be perceived, that i the number of births in the second computation exhibes an increase of 67,000, being rather more than an eighth on the first. In 1767, the num ber of births at Paris was 19,749; that of deaths, 19,875: the births being multiplied by thirty, the product will be 5 2.470 inhabitants. During the year 1768, there were 18,578 baptisms at Par.s, of which 9,577 were boys, and 9,001 83,573 marriages; 20,598 deaths, whereof 11,522 were males, and 9,376 temales. The number of foundInes in the same year was 6,025. In 1730, the births, 19,617 (out of which 5,565 were foundlings); the deaths, 21,091. In 1782, 19,387 births (5,444 foundings); 18,95 deaths. In 1785, 19,859 births (6,918 foundlings); 20,360 deaths. "To determine the population of the capital by ordinary calculations," says M. Necker, " is a difficult task, since of 20,000 births which annually take place in Paris, nearly 600 births are composed of foundlings; and a similar propagation having existed and increased, in an almost incredible degree, for many years, offers no certain grounds for the calculator to go upon, a difficulty in computing the population which is increased by the influx and reflux of strangers from the provinces and foreign countries. It will, therefore, be necessary to unite various circumstances, in order to the formation of even a tolerably correct idea of the ordinary number of persons residing in Paris; and on the whole, I do not think myself far from the truth in estimating it at 640 to 680 thousand souls, according to the seasons of the year in which Paris is more or less resorted to." According to the census held in the year 1794, the population then amounted to 640,504 inhabitants. By the returns made from the administration of the Scine, in the fifth year of the Republic, it appears, that in Paris, during the fourth year (i. e. from 20th September, 1795, to 20th September, 1796), the number of births was 18,722; deaths, 27,891; marriages, 6,761; divorces, 1,213; adoptions, 43. The constraints imposed at the present day upon provincials and foreign ers, on their arrival and during their stay in Paris, contribute in no small degree to lessen the population of that city; in addition to which, the misplaced rigours, brutal conduct, and disregard of the sanctity of individuals' dwellings, which the myrmidons of the police constantly evince, frequently cause merchants and private families to quit the enslaved capital in disgust. Notwithstanding, therefore, the present extreme misery of the Parisians, and the countenance given by law to clandestine unions, the number of children brought into the Foundling Hospital is proportionably much decreased since the Revolution: in fact, during the time of Necker, the hospital annually received about 6,000 children annually, whereas now it does not receive more than 4,000. It is true, that the present ill-conducted plan of the Foundling Hospital must naturally restrain mothers from trusting their children within its walls, considering that by so doing they expose them to almost certain destruction; for in the year 6 (1797-8), out of 3,513 children received into the hospital, 3,029 died; and in the year 7 (1798-9), out of 3,777 received, 3,001 died. What a contrast is thus exhibited between French and British humanity! -The French Hospital, instead of affording protection to the helpless mortals who pass its gloomy portals, becomes their gravethe British Foundling Hospital, in every respect, does honour to the nation by which it has been established and is maintained. B POVERTY. AN ESSAY. re OOKS, while they teach us to spect the interests of others, often make us unmindful of our own; while they instruct the youthful reader to grasp at social happiness, he grows miserable in detail. I dislike, therefore, the philosopher who describes the inconveniencies of life in such pleasing colours, that the pupil grows enamoured of distress, and meets poverty without dread, nor fears its miseries till be severely feels them. A youth who hath thus spent his life among books, new to the world, and unacquainted with men, but by philosophic information, may be considered as a being whose mind is filled with the errors of the wise, Utterly unqualified for a journey through life, he sets out with confidence, blunders on with vanity, and finds himself at last involved in perplexities, traduced in character, and irreparably injured in fortune. He has first learnt from books, and then lays it down as a maxim, that all mankind are virtuous or vicious in excess; and he has been long taught to love virtue and detest vice. Warm, therefore, in attachments, and steady in enmities, he treats every creature as a friend or foe: expects from those he loves unerring integrity, and consigns his enemies to the reproach of wanting every virtue. On this principle he proceeds, and here begin his disappointments. Upon a closer inspection of human nature, he perceives that he should have moderated his friendship, and softened his severity; for he often finds the excellencies of one part of mankind clouded with failings, or perhaps vice, and the faults of the other brightened by some virtues. He finds most characters are mixed. He now therefore, but too late, perceives that his regard should have been more cool, his hatred less violent: that the truly wise seldom court romantic friendships with the good, and avoid, if possible, the resentment even of the wicked. Every day gives him fresh instances that the bouds of friendship are frequently broken; and that those whom he has treated with disrespect more than retaliate it, by injuring him to the utmost of their power. At length he is obliged to confess, that he has declared war upon the vicious half of mankind, with out being able to form an alliance among the virtuous to take a part in his quar rel. Our book-taught philosopher, however, is now too far advanced to recede; and though diminished credit, and reduced circumstances, are the natural consequences of the many enemies his conduct has created, yet he is resolved to meet them without shrinking. Philosophers have described poverty in most charming colours; and even his vanity is touched in thinking that he shall shew the world, in himself, one inore example of patience, fortitude, and resignation. "Come then, O Poverty! for what is there in thee dreadful to the wise? Temperance, ficalb, and Frugality walk in thy train: Cheerfulness and Liberty are ever thy companions. Shall any be ashamed of thee, of whom Cincinnatus was not ashamed?-The running brook, the herbs of the field, can satisfy nature Man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long.'-Come, then, O Poverty! and let the world gaze with admiration at the true phi losopher's resignation." The goddess appears; for Poverty ever comes at the call-but, alas! he finds her by no means the charming figure that books and his imagination had painted. All the fabric of enthusiasm is at once demolished and a thousand miseries rise upon its ruins: he sees her in her real form, followed by her real attendants, while Scorn with pointing finger, and Contempt with various insults, are foremost in the hideous procession. Such appears Poverty to her new entertainer! The poor man finds that he can get nobody to admire him while he is dining upon herbs. That in proportion as he grows poor, the world turns its back. upon him, and gives him leave to act the philosopher in all the dignity of solitude.. "Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, He wastes the tedious gloom." Thomson. Thus is he forsaken of men, while his fortitude wants the satisfaction even of self-applause: for he either does not feel his present calamities, and that is natural insensibility or he disguises his feelings, and that is dissimulation. Spleen now begins to assault him. Not distinguishing in his resentments, he regards all mankind with detestation; and, commencing misanthropist, has the liberty of railing at the world in unenvied solitude. It has been said, that he who lives alone is either an angel or a brute, The censure is too severe, and the praise unmerited. The discontented being who retires from society is generally some good-natured person who began life without experience, and knew not how to act in his intercourse with mankind, tuli he finds himself in declining age, with little money, and few, perhaps no, friends. Ju'y 28, 1807. Mr. Fox. E. S. B. HE following character of Mr. Fax we copy from the Bombay Courier of the 17th January. It is ascribed to SIR JAMES MACKINTOSI. Mr. Fox united, in a most remarkable degree, the seemingly repugnant characters of the mildest of men and the most vehement of orators. In pri |