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A Biographical Memoir of ACKERSTONE BOWERSCOUrt Fip;
commonly called PHENOMENON FIP.

We this month present our readers with a beautiful copper-plate portrait of the late lamented A. B. Fip, Esq. carefully engraved by that justly-famous artist Mr. Scrape, who did the so much admired head, without any hair, of the Marquis of Granby, on the same leaf with an accurate representation of the yew-tree, ingeniously clipped into the shape of a judge's wig, as seen in Nettlesworth church-yard, which ornamented our last number, together with an account thereof, after an original drawing in the possession of his family, done by an eminent limner.

The subject of the present memoir, which is written by one who lived on terms of the strictest friendship with him, and can bear testimony to his extraordinary worth and genius, for upwards of forty years, in the same village, whose departure to a better place he deplores, was the second son of the late Rev. Coram Fip, and one of seventeen children, many years curate of the parish of Little Peddlington, in the county of Northampton, and Judith, daughter of Robert Pugden, his wife, formerly an eminent attorney of that place. Roger, the eldest son-[Here we have five pages of information concerning the other sixteen children, their wives and offspring; circumstantially detailing where the dead of the number are buried, and how and where the survivors are settled.]

Shortly after the death of his mother [an affecting narration of the manner of her death by a scarlet-fever, with the customary tribute to her exemplary patience, and the usual "universally regretted," &c. form a portion of the suppressed matter] he was sent to the free grammar-school at , under the superintendence of the learned Morgan Sandyforth, D.D. when he was only nine years old; and there it was the present writer formed the imperishable friendship which only terminated with his life; little imagining, such is the course of sublunary things! his hand was destined to trace these lines whilst he was peacefully sleeping in the grave.

When little more than sixteen, he was recalled to the paternal roof by his father; and shortly after, being thrown from his horse, which was blind, a circumstance deeply deplored by his parishioners, who shed torrents of unfeigned tears, his death was the consequence. This event made a deep impression upon the mind of young Ackerstone; and no sooner were his mortal remains deposited in the earth, than he determined to travel; and an opportunity occurred every way to his wishes, from the fortunate residence of Lord S-, whose eldest son was preparing to make the grand tour, within half a mile of the village. An application was made to his Lordship to serve as private tutor; and his slender wardrobe, being then only seventeen years of age, and swelling high with hope, carefully packed in a portmanteau, was ready for departure at a moment's notice. But a more fortunate rival being selected, with that practical philosophy which distinguished him through life, he gazed on the departing vehicle with four horses, and the young lordling and his companion inside, while the animals were smarting under the impelling lashes of the postillions, without shedding a tear, or uttering one word of complaint.

Disappointed in this hope, the youthful Fip being left to the guidance of his own will, by the death of his father, in his sixty-ninth year,

at that tender age when the passions run riot unless controlled by a parent's authority, and exposed to all the temptations of a place like Little Peddlington, where a company of first-rate comedians were at that time performing, it being the annual fair, he burned with desire to witness the performance of Shakspeare's immortal play of Othello for the first time. In this he was gratified; and the never-to-be-forgotten Mac Fergus acted the part of Othello, surnamed the Flying Highlander, being born in the highlands of Scotland, in consequence of his astonishing feats on the slack-rope. The writer of this was his companion on that occasion; and never shall he forget that impression made on his mind, when the cruel Moor seizing a bolster, filled with jealousy and rage, put his wife to a cruel death, which time could never eradicate. He heard him speak of this first performance he ever witnessed, forty years afterwards, with rapture, in the course of which was introduced a troop of horse. His taste for the drama thus formed, he became its constant patron, and regularly attended the annual exhibitions of the great Saunders, the successor of Mac Fergus, whose neck, falling from the slack rope, was dislocated, in the midst of the deafening acclamations of an admiring multitude, of which he died! Yet, such is the force of early recollections, he was always the god of his idolatry as a tragic actor; although the celebrated Richardson, the proprietor of the learned pig, whose excellence in the part of Othello was unquestionable, often had the honour of acting in his presence. But to return. His all-powerful mind was not to be diverted by frivolous pursuits from more important duties.

[Here follows an account of his becoming usher, and, subsequently, master of the village school of Little Peddlington.]

It is a remarkable coincidence and worthy of record, that in the very same year, at the age of thirty-three, the great William Pitt being really no more than twenty-one at his elevation to the post of prime minister, he was also appointed to the dignified situation of head-master of the school of Little Peddlington, the sole object of his ambition. Here, although party politics ran high at that time, in a gentle stream of lettered ease, he forbore to express his opinions; leaving it to fanatics and demagogues to disturb society with their interested and dangerous disputes, for the benefit of mankind in a nobler sense.

His first remarkable work, being now resolved to devote the hours of relaxation, after the arduous care of the daily seminary, to literature, antiquities, the fine arts, &c., was an essay called, by way of dialogue, "Virtue versus Vice," most ingeniously, in the shape of two sisters, making them argue pro and con, the one as lovely as the other was deformed, till Vice retires in confusion, having no more to say, with that originality of conception which has seldom been equalled, never surpassed.

Shortly after, the parish stocks being out of repair, for the punishment of offenders, and the cage also, and many petty offences being hourly committed by them, and the parish refusing funds to aid them; with his accustomed zeal, he determined to call the attention of the world at large to the subject, as a protection of the inhabitants of Little Peddlington, against such notorious offenders as they were. He therefore drew up an able petition to both Houses of Parliament, clearly demonstrating that they were both greatly in need of repair, and prayng that they would order the cage and the stocks to be kept in pro

per order, for their correction in the outset of their career of crime, which might save many of them from an untimely end. The parishofficers, alarmed at this bold measure, instantly did repair both the cage and the stocks, and put them in proper order, to prevent exposure, and those edifices will stand as immortal evidences of his public spirit to the latest posterity.

Next followed, in rapid succession, his Account of our parish-church, which he sent to London, which will be found in the thirty-ninth volume of this invaluable miscellany, and a drawing of the same, taken from the late Mr. Edwards's tomb-stone, which he made with his own hand. An account of the tremendous hailstorm in the same work, on the 19th January, 1799, which broke nineteen panes of glass in his school room. Description of the curiously carved pump-handle, and other antiquities of Little Peddlington, with an inquiry into the origin of its name. (Ditto) &c. &c. &c. &c. works of equal value and importance, showing the variety and extent of his learning and genius. But an event was soon to occur-[Three pages in the usual strain about "acute suffering," "exemplary patience," &c.]-At exactly seven minutes past seven, on the seventh of December, he expired without a groan, a coincidence which cannot be too deeply impressed on the mind of the reader as exemplifying the inscrutable ways, &c.

:

Like the daring eagle which soars beyond the reach of common men, thus did Fip expand his wings in every walk of literature and science; and as was his excellence, so was his modesty, "a flambeau to his merit." To sum up all like the Admirable Crichton, whether we consider the variety or the extent of his acquirements, he was not only the admiration and the ornament of Little Peddlington, his native place, which witnessed the whole of his glorious career, where he also fondly died in the arms of him who now traces these lines, and whose honoured remains are deposited near the great cypress at the north-east corner of the church-yard: but like him, too, he must ever be the glory of his country, the wonder of posterity, and an unceasing theme of admiration to the readers of this miscellany to which he was so valuable a contributor, and which continues to be published monthly at the Newton's head, No. 77, Fetter-lane, price as usual one-and-sixpence!

TIME'S SONG.

O'ER the level plain where mountains greet me as I go,
O'er the desert waste where fountains at my bidding flow,
On the boundless beam by day, on the cloud by night,
I am rushing hence away! Who will chain my flight?
War his weary watch was keeping;-I have crush'd his spear:
Grief within her bower was weeping;-I have dried her tear:
Pleasure caught a minute's hold;-then I hurried by,
Leaving all her banquet cold, and her goblet dry.

Power had won a throne of glory;-where is now his fame?
Genius said," I live in story ;"-who hath heard his name?
Love, beneath a myrtle bough, whisper'd,-" Why so fast?"
And the roses on his brow wither'd as I past.

I have heard the heifer lowing o'er the wild wave's bed;
I have seen the billow flowing where the cattle fed;
Where began my wanderings?-Memory will not say!
Where will rest my weary wings?-Science turns away!

P.*

Φ

SKETCHES OF PARISIAN SOCIETY, POLITICS, & LITERATURE, Paris, October 18, 1826.

It must be confessed that whatever spirit is now worth any thing in literature, is a spirit of opposition. M. de Chateaubriand vents his contempt upon the Government neither more nor less than M. de la Vigne or M. Roger Collart. Never, perhaps, were so acute and intelligent a people as the French, ruled by so silly a Government. As a proof of this, I shall not enter into a detail of circumstances, which would not, perhaps, be easily understood by foreigners: I will merely give you the following fact. There is a theatre on the Boulevards of Paris similar to your Cobourg Theatre in London. At this theatre there was recently announced a piece entitled "Le Pauvre de l'Hôtel Dieu." The great hospital called l'Hôtel Dieu being situated on the Place de Notre Dame, where the action of the melodrame was supposed to take place, it was necessary that one of the scenes should represent the church, with its fine Gothic portico and two towers; but our pious Government was shocked at the idea of the holy edifice being represented on the stage, a place excommunicated by the Gallican church. The dramatic censorship informed the managers of the Théatre de la Gaieté that they could only be permitted, at the very most, to represent a side view of Notre Dame. The managers, though not a little astonished at this singular communication, nevertheless directed their scene-painter to prepare a different view of the Cathedral of Paris. The painter, obedient to the orders of the censor, produced a new scene, exhibiting only one wing and one of the towers of Notre Dame. At length came the night fixed for the first performance of the "Pauvre de l'Hôtel Dieu." But just as the curtain was about to rise, a gendarme arrived at full gallop with a fresh order from the prefect of police, intimating that not even a side view of the church of Notre Dame must be profanely represented in a theatre. The managers were consequently obliged to make use of one of their old scenes; and the performers of the Theatre de la Gaieté, not being restrained by any etiquette, related the above anecdote, which in a few days was publicly circulated through Paris. Only imagine what may be done in the provinces when such absurdities are committed in Paris, in the face of six free journals. But pray observe the machinery, if I may so express myself, in which this singular order had its origin. The censor and the clerks who wrote it felt its absurdity as much as the public did, and were the first to laugh at it in private. But what care they how much the Bourbon government is degraded by such measures? The censor and the clerks are well aware that their advancement will be the more rapid, in proportion as their orders are extravagant and ridiculous. The follies which now daily take place in France will be noted down by history as characteristic of the age; but the fact is, that the greatest follies are committed by persons who laugh at them.

A gentleman whom I met yesterday evening at the Opera, and who had just arrived from Toulouse, informed me that throughout all the south of France, that is to say, in the districts situated between Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Marseilles, the curés have usurped the duties of the mayors, the latter being in effect reduced to the rank of clerk to the former. The mayors, who are petits bourgeois, extremely prudent and timid, and perfectly ignorant of any thing belonging to the Constitutional system, take especial care not to resist their curés. This state of things has given rise to a circumstance not less curious, though of a more melancholy description, than the scene of the Théatre de la Gaieté. You must recollect in England the affair of the curé Mingrat: I have already alluded to it in my former letters. No event of the kind ever excited so much interest in France, and it furnished a subject for one of the productions of Paul Louis Courier. Mingrat, after the murder of his victim, fled to Piemont; and the King of Sardinia, who, in 1816, ordered Didier to be arrested in his dominions for treason, issued an order for the apprehension of the murderer Mingrat. In spite of a great deal of intriguing on the part of his bishop, the Cour Royale of Grenoble condemned Mingrat

to death in contumacy. M. Genin, a merchant, and the brother of the unfortunate woman, wrote a book in which he relates in emphatic language the tragical fate of his sister. The object of the book was to induce the French ministry to require the King of Sardinia to deliver up Mingrat: a measure which would be perfectly legal, since he had been condemned by the Cour Royale of Grenoble. The book has, however, not only failed in its object of procuring the arrest of the murderer, but it has occasioned the imprisonment of the brother of the victim. M. Genin, who was publishing his book near Valence, in Dauphiné, at the distance of fifteen or twenty leagues from the place where the crime was committed, has been arrested, together with his wife. According to the declaration of Madame Genin, which has been fully confirmed by its insertion in the Gazette des Tribunaux, some priests entered her place of confinement, and threatened her in the most horrible way. The signal being thus given, M. Genin will be persecuted by all the inferior authorities of his department. He is a merchant, and his credit will suffer; for many persons, finding he is obnoxious to the Government, will decline having any dealings with him. Thus he is probably a ruined man. He has only one way left to save himself, which is to come and fix his abode in Paris. Here the dread of six journals, the existence of which constitutes all we possess of freedom of the press, furnishes M. de Villele with a pretence for resisting the unjust measures to which the devout party would urge him.

A great deal is said about a plan for a law against the freedom of the press, which is to be brought forward in February. The session of our chambers will commence on the 23d of January 1827. The devout party has consented to the non-restoration of the censorship, in return for the prohibition of publishing new editions of Voltaire and Rousseau. The number of volumes of Voltaire's and Rousseau's Works which have been printed since 1817, amounts to several millions. If it were possible to augment the popularity of these two writers, the prohibition of republishing their works would be likely to do so. French vanity always 'piques itself on doing that which is prohibited; and besides, nothing is more easy than to obtain from a friend the loan of the Works of Voltaire and Rousseau. These two writers have acquired in France a degree of political importance which no author ever obtained in England. It is curious to observe the striking differences between the two most civilized nations in the world. I have often thought that in France we know a great deal more about England, than the English know of us. The reason is plain. You English are all very much occupied, because you attend to your own business yourselves, while the peculiarity of our Government is, that it affords its subjects an immense deal of leisure-time. In France the Government does every thing for the people; even settles their disputes in the theatres. The celebrated Paul Louis Courier, who was murdered about two years ago, related an amusing anecdote on this subject.

He was once travelling to Rouen by the diligence along with five or six young men. The coachman began driving at a furious rate, and, the roads being very bad, the travellers momentarily expected to be overturned. "The police," said one of the party, "should prevent diligence-drivers from endangering people's lives in this way." "But, gentlemen,” said Courier, "why should we sit quietly here and have our necks broken? Why not stop the driver, and compel him to proceed at a more leisurely pace ?""Oh that is the business of the police," exclaimed the travellers with one voice; we do not wish to get into a scrape with the directors of the diligence-office."-" Besides," added one of the party, "the danger is not, after all, so great as you imagine." A moment after, the coach overturned, and two of the passengers had their arms broken.

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"This," observed M. Courier, " is a faithful picture of the French people. They trust to their police for every thing; and whenever they are required to show the least resolution and moral courage, rather than make an effort so unnatural to them, they have recourse to personal courage, which never fails

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