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AN APOLOGY

FOR

THE LIFE

OF

JAMES FENNELL,

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

"Lock into those they call unfortunate,
"And closer view'd, you'll find they are unwise.”

DR. YOUNG.

PHILADELPHIA:

PUBLISHED BY MOSES THOMAS, NO. 52, CHESNUT-STREET.

J. Maxwell, printer

1814.

Co

822.099
F332F

651042

DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA, to wit:

BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the fourteenth day of February, in the thirty-eighth year of the independence of the United States of America, A. D. 1814, Moses Thomas, of the said district, hath deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit:

"An Apology for the Life of James Fennell-written by himself. "Look into those they call unfortunate,

"And closer view'd, you'll find they are unwise.-DR. YOUNG." In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled "An act for "the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned." And also to the act, entitled, "An act supplementary to an act, entitled, "An "act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and "books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned," and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints."

D. CALDWELL, Clerk of the District of Pennsylvania.

PREFACE.

WHILE proposing to send into the world the history of my life, I pretend not to exhibit every error committed, nor every virtuous principle indulged; the former delicacy prevents, the latter modesty declines, I trust, however, that such omissions will prove of little consequence, when I assure the public that the higher characteristics of my life will be faithfully portrayed, without regard to my own feelings, and with respect to the duty of an historian. The facts related will be accompanied with remarks intended for the benefit of parents as well as children; to remind the former of the necessity of examining microscopically the sensations of their children after reward or punishment; and to prove to the latter how great is the gain, or loss of happiness in the indulgence, or the want of filial affection.

The work is undertaken under the pressure of extreme calamities, the fruits of indiscretion: with a heart bleeding at every pore for the distresses of those most dear to me, I make a powerful effort to struggle with the difficulties and wants of every nature that surround me, to

B

revive the spirits of a drooping family, excite a prudently virtuous principle within their bosoms, teach them, by a fair exhibition of what I am, and what I might have been, the necessity of discretion and economy in all their pursuits; remind them that

"Virtue alone is happiness below,"

and advise them to avoid those errors that have undermined all my most promising undertakings, and blasted my most sanguine hopes.

Should the work have a tendency to rescue one family, from misery, by checking the indiscretions of an infatuated parent; or persuade one dissipated youth to throw away his follies and be wise while there is yet time-it will not have been written in vain:-and that such may prove its effect will be the earnest endeavour, as it is the warmest wish of

THE AUTHOR.

ADVERTISEMENT.

TO THE READER.

WHEN Learning played the wanton with a drowsy world, debauched herself, and grasped the scandalous pay of ignorance, drugging with opiates the intellects of man, she wore the harlotry of dress; she flirted, flattered, and cajoled. Her eye forgot the countenance sublime that dared once face heaven's self, and with a downcast look, pretending virtue and religion, she dragged her solemn heavy step along, trampling o'er dozing mortals.

Then was, in sweet oblivious tones, sung the soft lullaby to Reason; then was the gilded pill bestowed that purged the soul to inactivity. Men, drenched with the intoxicating draught of superstition, forgot the Maker they affected to revere, and prostrated themselves before a human being; debased beyond the slavery of Nero's satellites, who bowed to his colossal statue, till heaven's blast, in pity of the weakness of mankind, returned it to the dust.

These were the days of darkness. I love darkness, the darkness of Nature's night, for therein the tongue

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