occasion, that as dying is an event of infinite moment, and its issue at best uncertain, nothing can be more incongruous and absurd than to treat it with levity, negligence, or presumption.

As the review of a life in which virtue has been an active, growing, and governing principle, can alone enable human nature to meet its dissolution with a rational fortitude, and render a serene and cheerful deportment in the last awful moments beautiful and becoming;-sò an air of intrepidity, and a forced pleasantness, at the hour of death, in a person whose life has been remarkable for the most daring and flagitious enormities, instead of reflecting any new honour upon him, renders him yet more odious and contemptible, as such a conduct can proceed only from insolence, ignorance, or insensibility.

Let us not, therefore, be deceived by specious appearances, or dazzled with a false lustre. Let us not judge of the man, or the cause in which he dies, by the manner of his dying; but rather censure or approve his dying behaviour, by comparing it with the general tenor of his life; and then only yield our approba. tion to the appearances of fortitude, serenity, and cheerfulness, when the individual's moral conduct seems to afford such a prospect of eternity as may inspire him with that hope of heaven which is consistent with knowledge, reason, and humility.

We have already observed that Lord Lovat was an extraordinary man; he was truly so in every meaning of the word; and some further particulars, therefore, of such a character, carefully gleaned from the publications of the time in which he suffered, cannot prove unacceptable to our readers.

His person was very large; and he greatly added to his unwieldy

appearance by wearing a number of garments, one over the other, like a Dutchman. He was tall, walked very upright, (considering his great age,) and was tolerably well shaped; he had a large mouth, short nose, eyes very much contracted and down-looking, and a very small forehead, almost all covered with a large periwig; this gave him a grim aspect, but, upon addressing any one, he put on a smiling countenance; he was near-sighted, and affected to be much more so than he really was; he was naturally of a robust constitution and a strong body, hardened by fatigue, inured to hunger and thirst, heat and cold, and improved by exercise; but his long confinement in the Bastile had greatly impaired him; however, he still preserved a degree of health and vigour very uncommon at so advanced an age. He was a man of some learning, and great parts. His experience, and attention to political matters, had made him acquainted with men as well as books; he was polite, affable, and agreeable in conversation; and so great a master of flattery and dissimulation, that he generally gained the good will, if not the esteem, of those he conversed with, however prejudiced they might have been against him. His knowledge of the history and genealogy of the great families in Scotland contributed not a little to this; for there was no person in that country but he would make out to be a relation or ally of some noble or ancient family. In this traditional history he paid little regard to truth, provided he could give his anecdotes an air of probability. He seemed to entertain his guests with the utmost cheerfulness and hospitality; but, being sordidly avaricious, he grumbled privately at the least expense, and though, to their faces, he caressed them, yet

no sooner had they turned their backs than he cursed them for the trouble and expense they had put him to. He was ambitious and proud; but, when it served his turn, mean and fawning. He was * generally subtle, but sometimes unguarded in his speeches and actions, and that even in matters of great concern, by which means he had frequently involved himself in dangers and difficulties; but he was very fertile in expedients, and had almost always extricated himself out of such scrapes. His restless and active disposition drew him into shares; but a ready invention, and a bold and speedy execution, helped him out of them. He was much addicted to enthusiasm and superstitious notions, by which he was greatly governed in many cases. In business he was unconscionable; and avowed that his own profit or pleasure had always been the rule of his actions this had led him to violence, rapes, cruelty, revenge, trcachery, and every infamous practice, when it suited his purpose; this had made him put himself into all shapes and appearances, and therefore rendered him detested and despised by all good men, dreaded by some, and scorned and derided by others. He was naturally brave and resolute; and though fearful as to invisible powers, and, as to his health, and the lesser accidents of life, scrupulous to pusillanimity, yet in imminent danger he was undaunted. He was amorous; but for many years past had been very cautious in respect of women of rank, being sensible that intrigues of that sort are often attended with disagreeable conse quences he therefore made his addresses to the lowest and meanest of the female sex; and by that. means tasted all the sweets of love

without any alloy; besides which, his absolute sway over them saved him the trouble of a long courtship. In short, he was a cruel master, an imperious husband, a tyrannical parent, a treacherous friend, and an arbitrary chief.

Just before he came out of the Tower, a scaffolding near the Ship alchouse, Barking Alley, built from that house in many stories, with near one thousand persons on it, suddenly fell down, by which eight or ten were killed on the spot, and numbers had their arms, ribs, and legs broken. Ten more died of their wounds the next day in the London Infirmary and St. Thomas's Hospital; among whom were the carpenter that erected the scaffold, and his wife, who were selling liquor to the populace underneath it at the time it fell. Thus was this man, whose life had been a scene of tyranny and perfidious duplicity, the occasion of injuring many others almost in the moment of his death.

Lord Lovat was executed on the 9th of April, 1747.

Mr. Boswell tells us that Dr. Johnson used to repeat with great energy the following verses on Lord Lovat's execution, which first appeared in the 'Gentleman's Magazine;' but there is no authority to say they were the doctor's own.

'Pitied by gentle minds, Kilmarnock died;
Ratcliffe, unhappy in his crimes of youth,
The brave, Balmerino, were on thy side;
Steady in what he still mistook for truth,
Beheld his death so decently unmov'd,
The soft lamented, and the brave approv'd.
But Lovat's end indifferently we view,
True to no king, to no religion true:
No fair forgets the ruin he has done;
No child laments the tyrant of his son;
No Tory pities, thinking what he was;
No Whig compassions, for he left the cause;
The brave regret not, for he was not brave;
The honest mourn not, knowing him a

knave.'

FRANCIS TOWNLEY was indicted at the sessions held at St. Margaret's Hall, June 23, 1746, for the trial of the insurgents, for the part he had acted in the rebellion. His counsel insisted that he was not a subject of Great Britain, being an officer in the service of the French king; but this the judges observed was a circumstance against him, as he had quitted his native country, and engaged in the French service, without the consent of his lawful sovereign, Some other motions, equally frivolous, being overruled, he was capitally convicted, and adjudged to die.

This gentleman, the rebel colonel of the Pretender's Manchester regiment, was the son of Townley, Esq. of Townley Hall, in Lancashire, who was tried for

the share he had in the rebellion of 1715, but acquitted.

Young Townley, having been educated in the rigid principles of popery, went abroad early in life, and, entering into the service of France, distinguished himself in the military line, particularly at the siege of Philipsbourgh.

Coming to England in 1742, he associated chiefly with those of the Catholic religion; and it was thought that he induced many of them to take an active part in the rebellion. When the Pretender came to Manchester, Townley of fered his services; and, being accepted, he was commissioned to raise a regiment, which he soon completed; but, being made prisoner at Carlisle, he was conducted to London.

After conviction he behaved in the most reserved manner, scarcely speaking to any one except his brethren in misfortune.

John Barwick, formerly a linen. draper of Manchester, but afterwards a lieutenant, was the next person tried and convicted. This man was distinguished by living elegantly in prison; and it was remarked that the prisoners in general were amply supplied with the necessaries of life by the bounty of their friends. It is asserted that they expected to be treated as prisoners of war; but it is not credible that they could be so totally ignorant of the law of nations, or of their duty as subjects.

James Dawson was also tried at the same sessions. He was a native of Lancashire, of genteel parents, and liberally educated at St. John's College in Cambridge. After leav ing the University he repaired to Manchester, where the Pretender gave him a captain's commission. Dawson had paid his addresses to a young lady, to whom he was to have been married immediately af. ter his enlargement, if the solicitations that were made for his pardon had been attended with the desired effect.

The circumstance of his love, and the melancholy that was produced by his death, are so admirably treated in the following ballad of Shenstone, that Dawson's story will probably be remembered and regretted when that of the rest of the rebels will be forgotten. A man must have lost all feeling who can read this beautiful ballad, equally remarkable for its elegance, its simplicity, and its truth, and remain unaffected:

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,
For thou canst weep at ev'ry woe,
Do thou a pensive car incline,

And pity ev'ry plaint, but mine.
Young Dawson was a gallant youth,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.
One tender maid she lov'd him dear,

Of gentle blood the damsel came, And faultless was her beauteous form, And spotless was her virgin faine. But, curse on party's hateful strife, That led the faithful youth astray! The day the rebel clans appear'd(Oh, had he never seen that day!) Their colours and their sash he wore,

And in their fatal dress was found; And now he must that death endure Which gives the brave the keenest wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale, nor yet so chill, appear. "Yet, might sweet mercy find a place,

And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
O George! without a prayer for thee

My orisons should never close.
"The gracious prince that gives him life
Would crown a never-dying flame;
And ev'ry tender babe I bore

Should learn to lisp the giver's name. "But tho', dear youth, thou shouldst be dragged

To yonder ignominious tree,
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend

To share thy bitter fate with thee."
O, then her mourning-coach was call'd;
The sledge mov'd slowly on before;-
Tho' borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her fav'rite more.
She follow'd him, prepared to view

The terrible behests of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and steadfast eyes she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face

Which she had fondly loved so long;
And stifled was that tuneful breath
Which in her praise had sweetly sung ;-
And sever'd was that beauteous neck
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd;
And mangled was that beauteous breast

On which her love-sick head repos'd ;→→→ And ravish'd was that constant heart She did to ev'ry heart prefer; For, tho' it could his king forget,

'Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amidst those unrelenting flames

She bore this constant heart to see; But, when 'twas moulder'd into dust,

"Yet, yet," she cried, "I'll follow thee!

My death, my death, can only show
The pure and lasting love I bore:
Accept, O, Heav'n! of woes like ours,
And let us-let us weep no more."

The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expir'd!

Tho' justice ever must prevail,

The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall we hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true.' Another of the parties tried on this occasion was George Fletcher, who had been a linen-draper at Stratford, near Manchester, managing the business for his mother, who, on her knees, had persuaded him not to engage with the rebels, offering him one thousand pounds on the condition that he would not embark in so desperate an enter. prise; but he was deaf to her entreaties, and so ambitious of serving the Pretender, that he actually gave his secretary, Mr. Murray, fifty pounds for a captain's commission. Fletcher having induced one Maddox to enlist, the man would have deserted, but he produced a handful of gold, and said he should not want money if he would fight for the Pretender; which induced Maddox to keep his station.

Thomas Syddall was a barber at Manchester, and had supported a wife and five children in a creditable way, till the rebel troops arrived at that place. His father had been hanged at Manchester for his concern in the rebellion of 1715, and his head had remained on the Market Cross till the year 1745, when it was taken down on the arrival of the Pretender. Syddall, who was a rigid Roman Catholic, now vowed revenge against the Protestants, with a view to accomplish which he obtained an ensign's

commission from the Pretender's secretary.

The attachment of this man to the Pretender was so extraordinary, that, almost in the last moment of his existenee, he prayed that his children might be ready to assert the same at the hazard of their lives.

Thomas Chadwick was tried immediately after Syddal!. He was a tallow-chandler, but had not long followed business; for, associating with persons of Jacobinical principles, he accepted the commission of lieutenant in the Pretender's service; and he was tried for, and convicted of, acting in that capacity. Chadwick appeared to have great resolution; and told his friends that death, in any shape, had no terrors for him: but his courage forsook him, and he seemed greatly agitated, on taking leave of his father the night before his execution.

Thomas Deacon, the next person tried, was the son of a physician of eminence. His principles of loyalty being tainted by associating with Jacobites, he becaine zealous in the cause of the Pretender; and his zeal was rewarded by the commission of lieutenant-colonel in the Manchester regiment.

Mr. Deacon had declared his resolution of joining the rebels as soon as he heard they were in arms in Scotland; and when they arrived at Manchester he became one of their number. His two brothers likewise embarked in this fatal bu siness; and one of them was sentenced to die with him: but, being only sixteen years of age, he was happy enough to obtain a pardon.

The next convict on this melancholy occasion was Andrew Blood, who had been steward to a gentleman in Yorkshire, of which county he was a native, and descended from a respectable family.

Quitting his service, he went to