Heaven to pardon his errors, and guard his dear Amelia.

Amelia, with anxious fufpenfe, wasted the time her lover had appointed; it came, and paffed, while every fucceffive moment contributed to add freth doubts and fears to her mind; towards the clofe of the evening, her attention was engaged at feeing an elderly gentleman alight from a poft chaife, who perceiving Amelia fitting in a beachen shade, walked up to her, and politely requested information of the nearest road to Sidney Lodge. His deportment was grave, though engaging, and his face bore marks of fome recent misfortune. Amelia defired him to go into the houfe, and partake of fome réfreshment, obferving that, as Sidney Lodge was at fome distance, a little reft would not be difagreeable. These words the spoke with fuch an air of tendernefs, that, thanking her for her kindness, he par ook of the repast which the ordered to be fet before him. After a converfation on trivial affairs, he informed her that his errand there was a melancholy one, for it was no lefs than to announce the death of young Sidney, whom he obferved had been killed in a duel with a gentleman whom he had likewife killed, and who was just returned from Germany. The dreadful found of these fad tidings was too powerful for her feelings; the funk in her chair and fainted away. On her recovery, fhe enquired the name of the gentleman, and every one in the room being ig norant of their tender attachment, she was informed, and fatally found it was her dear Charles; the again fainted, and was conveyed to her chamber, where a violent fever fucceeded her fits, and threw her into a flate of penfive infanity, in which the remains till death fhail end her complicated woes, a living monument of what modern manners call real, but what reafon and the dic

tates of wisdom and humanity confider as falfe and illufive conceptions of honour,

CHARACTER of a CoxCOMB.

To the EDITOR of the Lady's
MAGAZINE.

T

SIR,

HERE is no perfon among all

my acquaintance, whofe movements I have more narrowly watchwho fometimes vifits me. If the ed, than thofe of a young coxcomb reader wishes to know why I have this finical youth, I will explain my fo critically infpected the actions of motives as concifely as I can. I have often heard that every defcription of men have fome ufeful and commendable qualifications; and in obfervation, I pitched upon a young order to afcerrain the truth of this coxcomb as the moft fuitable fubject to bring the question to a teft. If any valuable qualities can be dif covered in fuch a character, I think we may pronounce with fome certain

y, that no mortal is exempt from fhould diftinguish between qualities a fhare of good properties. We that are ufeful to one's, felf, 'and those that are fo to other people. My prefent enquiry fhall be princi Pally confined to the former.

In the first place, then, a coxcomb cannot be a lazy man. I am fenfible, many cenforious people are of ten ranking him with the idle and diffolute. The charge has no foundation in truth. Whoever endea vours to follow all the fluctuations of the fashions, and fuffers no perfon to keep ahead of him in this refpect, will find full employment for his activity and difcernment. It is impoffible any one can do this, and be indolent. The young frib. ble, of whom I am now fpeaking, is engaged in no profeffed line of bufi

the pains and inconveniences of being captivated with female charms. It is well known that one of thefe butterfly-men loves no created being fo well as hirafelf. His whole powers of admiration find employ

nefs, and yet I know of no perfon whofe time is more inceffantly occupied. He mentioned to me the other morning, by way of apology for not performing an engagement he was under, that he had not a leifure moment for more than a fortnightment about his own perfon. Any past. This circumftance induced me to keep a vigilant eye over his actions, and fatisfy myfelf in what manner he confumed his days. I called at his lodgings two or three mornin s fucceffively, fo early that I found him at home. He employed nearly three hours in dreg; and I am convinced he could not do it in a fhorter time. More than an hour was devoted to the barber, and the reader may be certain it was not a moment too long, The fop had almoft as much to to do as the barber, for he rose from the chair ten times in the course of the operatfon, to fee if all the hairs were well adjusted. But the hardest task was with the boot-maker. My friend had a dozen pair of boots to try, and it took more than fifteen minutes to draw one boot over his leg. In the courfe of the experiment, I am confident he went through more fatigue than a labouring man would have endured by breaking flax fmartly for fix hours.

It would be endless for me to particularize all the objects which unavoidably fall in the way, and prevent a coxcomb from wearing away his moments in floth and inactivity. It must be remembered that he has the procefs of dreffing to go through twice in twenty-four hours. The remainder of his time is fpent in vifiting, and in fome fashionable amufements, which can by no means be performed by a lazy man. These remarks will, I hope, exculpate my dreffy acquaintance from the charge of indolence.

But a more beneficial effect than that just mentioned, is derived from being a complete coxcomb, in the fecurity it affords a man against all

difguft or inattention fhewn him by a female, is called caprice; and is fuppofed to refult from a want of elegance or purity of taste. This shelter against thefe frequent impreffions, which men of lefs perfonal vanity feel, is no inconfiderable advantage. It may fairly be denoạinated a useful quality to the perfon who poffeffes it. Though he extravagantly admires no lady, ftill he may be the friend and patron of many. Superficial women court his attention, because they are pleased with his finery: and fenfible women have pleafantry enough to indulge his vanity and felf-approbation. His forms of politenefs and good humour are confpicuous, and he will grant a lady every thing they will afk of him, except his admiration and love.

A ftill greater utility in being a devotee to drefs and gaiety, proceeds from its being a pretty effectual guard againft grofs intemperance, and many other vices deftructive of health and morals. The life of an abandoned profligate is not compatible with that of a finished coxcomb. Very different paffions give rife to thefe characters, and they have very different objects in view. Scenes of extravagant diffipation are generally attended with rough language, than which nothing can be more difagreeable to a man of real foppery. He Avoids every fituation where he cannot be looked at and flattered. His inclination leads him among genteel people, who admit him as an affociate, for the civility of his deportment, and who are themselves too well-bred to call in queftion his claims to admiration.

Upon the whole, I am induced to

be

believe that most people entertain | we examine the falfe courage which animates a duellift, we find it to be. the pride of despair, and an impious and daring contempt of the Supreme Being, which no valiant hero ever yet indulged. Befides, of fifty duels, not five prove mortal, owing to the pufillanimity of the parties, who tremble into each others arms, on the flighteft interpofition of feconds ds; nay, fome men of honour have been known to give fecret notice to officers of juftice, that they may be interrupted before bloodfhed can take place.

too mean an opinion of coxcombs. It is a much more unquestionable character than is ufually imagined; and a well-shaped stripling, who has rich friends, and flender talents, may be faid to have taken his best destiny, when dress is the object of his care, and perfonal vanity the motive of his conduct. By this means he will at once escape being a lounger, as he must of course be active and bufy, to keep up the part he affumes.-Nor will he probably become a drunkard, a knave, or a blackguard; for he can be neither of these without effentially interfering with the main with of his heart, to be complimented as a sweet pretty fellow.

S. H.

THOUGHTS On DUELLING.

HE ufual excufe for duelling

Fourthly, honour is not humanity view the bleeding body of a newly killed duellift-in the bloom of years and health-cut off ere he knew the value of the life he has loft-View his frantic father, and fpeechlefs mother-view their grey hairs brought with forrow to an untimely graveand all this-in the protection of a harlot the lofs of a falfe trickor the obfcene altercation of a drunk

Tis the prefervation of honour; ard-View this-then fay in what

let us now examine what this honour is; for in all my enquiries I never could find a man of honour able to give me any information concerning what he called honour,

First, honour is not religion; for the prefervetion of it being effected by fending a friend into eternity, weltering in his gore, it is plain that religion must not only be for the time forgotten, but contemned and deferted for ever, as a heap of fables fit only for women and children.

Secondly, honour is not virtue; for most part of the honourable quarrels which have come within my knowledge, originated from events which fhewed the total abfence of virtue; fuch as gaming, attachment to bad women, drinking, feduction,

the humanity of a duellitt confiftstake humanity from the heart of man, and tell me what he is.

Since honour, then, can be referred neither to religion, nor virtue, nor courage, nor humanity, where are we to look for its fource? I do not hesitate to answer, that it will be found in a mixture of pride, profligacy, and malignity. The quarrel arofe in pride; that profligacy which defpifes the laws of heaven, and the dictates of confcience, led to revenge ; and the quarrel was fupported, it may be for years, with the blackest malignity of foul. We have feen inftances, in which it was fupported for many years, and in which n› avocations, nor intercourfe with foreign and various na ions, were able to erafe the principle of revenge. The man of honour thirsted for the blood of his fuppofed or real enemy; his foul was influenced by paffion and malignity, and nothing but human blood could cool is ardour.

But

But fome will fay, here is a man who fuppofes I have affronted him; I have done every thing in my power to perfuade him that he is mistaken, but he infifts on my fight

character? I repeat it; nothing can affect our honour, or our character, unless what comes from ourfelves.

ing him; if I refufe, I am branded An ACCOUNT of TUTBURY-CAS

as a coward, and my companions fhun me." Can any thing be more plain than the duty of the challenged in a fimilar cafe? It is to reject his challenge; to affure him that when they meet, the challenged will defend himself, as against an affaffin. This objection being the only one that can poffibly be offered, and the only excufe that ever can be made for acceptieg a challenge, I difmifs it in this manner, and will fay no more concerning it.

TLE, Staffordshire. [With an elegant Engraving.]

THIS caftle takes its name from

TH

Tutbury, or Stutesbury, a fmail town on the skirts of Derbyfhire, fituated near the river Dove, before it falls into the Trent. It was built by Henry de Ferrars, a Norman, who at the fame time founded a little monaftery near it. It was very large, and stood on an alabafter-hill which was demolished by Henry III. John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, afterwards built the Gate-houfe, walled it on all fides but one, where the hill is fo

yet they enclosed it with a strong
pale. The profpect from hence is
beautiful and extenfive, eastward,
over the Dove and Trent, as far as
Nottingham; on
the fouth-eaft

towards Burton, &c. and on the
fouth and fouth-east are all wood-
lands, in which are many parks, moft
of which belong to the castle and
honour of Tutbury, to which great
part of the inhabitants of the adja
cent country are homagers, and of
which they hold their estates.

Honour, in the true fenfe of that word, means character; and this being the definition of philofophers and men of understanding, I prefer it to the fpecious, though fashionable explanations of every profligare infteep that it needs no fortification, the world, whether he wield a fword or a quill. If honour be character, who is it that can hurt that? Is it ourselves or others? The answer is fo obvious, that I need fcarcely write it. In a few words, we are ourfelves the fource of our honour or difgrace, our character or our inf. my; and does a man who calls me booby-who throws a glafs in my face in wantonnefs-who fays that I trumped a card when I had one of the fame fuite in my hand-who hinders me from feducing his wife or his fifter-who is mean enough to abuse me in a common news-paper -who, unknowingly, is witty concerning a foible I am guilty ofwho refuses to intoxicate himself to the health of my favourite mistress. who does not return my falute from not having perceived that I did falute him-does fuch a man take from my honour, my character? Surely not. In fome of the inftances he is an ill

bred man. Does that take from my character? In others be protects the innocent. Does that take from my

ANECDOTE of DR. JOHNSON.

all the

Don't

cum

AM. Tyers one day called upon the doctor, and asked him if he was not glad that they were on the point of leaving off flagging at public fchools ?-he added, you think, Doctor, it is a ci ftance we ought to rejoice "Sir, I am not certain, I am not quite certain, fir; what the boys get at one end, they will lofe other."

at?"

at the

ALEXIS;