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“ She may be chang'd,
“ Spite of her tears, her fainting, and alarms.
“ I know the sex, know them as nature made 'em,
“ Not such as lovers wish, and poets feign."

DOUGLAS.
“ Yes ! here I do devate the forfeit blood
- Of him my soul abhors, a rich libation
“ On thy infernal altar, black revenge.”

Let me present you, reader, with a parallel out of the lady's real life.

" I knew at this time, what lengths you were capable of -“ going in the GRAND-SCHEME. Deprive me of my cu. “racy, living, and degrade me.” Bere's Address.

“ Yes, I will feast my hatred with your pangs;
“ And make his dying groans and thy fond tears
" A banquet for my vengeance.”
Another parallel from Mrs. More's real life.

66 A more deadly stroke than this, the hand of power “ could not give ; it disgraced my name, detached my friend, “ invaded my property, and as far as the influence extended, “ was meant to preclude me the functions of my profession, « in which I had borne an unsullied reputation near thirty “ years; and all this was to be heaped on an innocent per6 son unheard, on the scandalous representations of those s who have since been ashamed to shew their faces.” Bere's Address.

Another extract and parallel from H. More's Percy, and Bere's Address.

« Agonizing state, “ When I can neither hope, nor think, nor pray, · “ But guilt involves me !"

« But No. 3, you suppressed. Was this, in your con“ science, acting as a christian? What to attempt secretly “ to destroy by sap, the character of a clergyman in the opi“nion of his bishop! Was there no compunction, no re: “ morse? Had you altogether forgotten what it was to s suffer in reputation ?” One more parallel.

“ The sorrow's weak that wastes itself in words. “ Mine is substantial anguish-deep, not loud. “ I do not rave.-Resentment's the return “ Of common souls for common injuries. « Light grief is proud of state, and courts compassion; “ But there's a dignity in cureless sorrow, “ A sullen zraudeur which disdains complaint. “ Rage is for little wrongs—Despair is dumb.”

“ Your silence will be deemed the conviction of guilt." . Bere's Address.

When Fatal FALSEHOOD was represented at Covent-Garden, a remarkable circumstance took place, which tends greatly to corroborate an observation already made, “ that H. More's merit « consists in casting readily the sentiments of other “writers into verse.” Mrs. Cowley, who was in the side-box, exclaimed at a certain scene, so loud as to alarm the whole house, “ That is mine, " that is mine," several times, and fainted away, and was at last carried out. After some interruption and confusion, the words “it is Mrs. Cowley," being several times repeated in different parts of the house, the play was permitted to go on.

While I am writing these remarks, a pamphlet is published, entitled, “ ANIMADVERSIONs on the CURATE of BLAGDON's three publications.” The authors and contributors are numerous, H. More and Co. and they make a vain attempt to vindicate her conduct to Mrs. Cowley, and Mrs. Yearsley, But they durst not put a name to it. Contemp

tible as they consider themselves, and as they really are, they were ashamed to own this Ethiopian. They descend to a scurrility, disgraceful even to their party; and with discerning men they could not better plead Mr. Bere's cause. The author of a “ damned play," who could not climb up so high on Parnassus as to rank even with the minor poets, was the chief contributor; and through an apprehension of being “ damned” in prose, he fights in a mask.* This, Hannah, who delights in “ secret deeds,” judged the best method of defending “ private accusations.” In no . other way durst she ever venture to calumniate or defend calumny. Stage whispers were not loud enough ; but, unfortunately for her, the more is published on her side, the more, if it be possible, she is disgraced. She does not make the least attempt, nor her creatures for her, to palliate or extenuate the guilt of“ secret accusations." The woman, who confines herself, pretending illness, and to be dying, and writes and superintends the scurrilous and lying publications of her anonya mous disciples, is not deplorably, but incurably depraved. And that this is now, and has been long the case, as is her practice when she has a quarrel, is sufficiently known. H. More, with her “ damned poet,” who is so prominent in this work,

* No Aimsey, linsey-woolsey scenes I wrote,
With patches here and there like Joseph's coat.
Who to patch up her fame-or fill her purse,
Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse.

at her elbow, and her missionaries bringing forward their contribution of stories, puts me in mind of some lines.

“ In Yorkshire dwelt a sober yeoman,
“ Whose wife a clean pains-taking woman,
“ Fed numerous poultry in her pens,
“ And saw her cocks well serve her hens.
“ A hen she had, whose tuneful clocks
“ Drew after her a train of cocks;
“ With eyes so piercing, yet so pleasant,
“ You would have sworn this hen a pheasant.
« All the plum'd beau-monde round her, gathers,
« Lord! what a brustling up of feathers :
“ Morning from noon there was no knowing,
“ There was such flutt'ring, chuckling, crowing :
“ Each forward bird must thrust his head in,
“ And not a cock but wou'd be treading.
• Yet tender was this hen so fair,
6 And hatch'd more chicks than she cou'd rear.
“ Our prudent dame bethought her then,
“ Of some dry nurse to save her hen : .
“ She made a capon drunk; in fine
" He eat the sops, she drank the wine ;
“ His'rump well pluck'd with nettles stings,
" And claps the brood beneath his wings,
“ The feather’d dupe awakes content,
« O’erjoy'd to see what God had sent;
“ Thinks he's the hen, clocks, keeps a pother,
“ A foolish foster-father-mother !"

“ Such, Miss Hannah, are your tricks;
“ But since you hatch, pray own your chicks ;
• You should be better skill'd in nocks,
« Nor like your capons serve your cocks." .

By her usual arrogance of assumption, Mrs. More (for this work is the production of an host) attempts to blind the public as to her conduct to Mrs. Cowley and Mrs. Yearsley. The public has not yet forgot either, these affairs are known. H. More is proved a plagiary ; she has allowed it, she dare not, because she cannot, deny it. It is no difficult matter to publish anonymously, and to tell lies in “ private accusations,” stage whispers, or anonymous publications, or by some“ fool“ ish foster-father-mother," as has been her constant practice through life. This is her defence with the public; let the public judge it. Mrs. More thinks that by having lain by, now lain in (though this illegitimate bantling is not yet owned) for eight months, by the various babbling of her followers, the original question will be lost and forgot in digressions. No! the ghost of“ secret accu“ sations," the assassination of characters, shall haunt her night and day as long as she lives. I would advise the injured and oppressed Mr. Bere to this, to pursue her, and her only; for perhaps there has not appeared, for a series of years, so art ful, so cunning a person, that can secretly atchieve so much mischief, & under the “ vizor of superior “sanctity.” He should keep, if he thinks it worth while to say any thing more, to “ secret accusa“ tions,” plagiarism, extravagancies, fanaticism, the ruin of those who are in the way of her GRANDSCHEME and PROJECT of puritanizing the church. H. More knows her strength lies in casting prose into verse, stealing the works of others, cunningly and secretly wounding, when she cannot stab her

SO

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