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THE

MAGDALEN CHURCHYARD,

FROM THE FRENCH OF

J. J. REGNAULT WARIN,

AUTHOR OF

ROMEO AND JULIET, THE CASTLE OF STROZZI, Úc.

TRANSLATED

BY SAMUEL MACKAY, A. M.
EX-PROFESSOR OF THE FRENCH LANGUAGE IN
WILLIAMS' COLLEGE.

Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow;

*A blow, which, while it executes, alarms,

And startles thousands, with a single fall.".....Young,

VOL. I.

Boston;

PUBLISHED BY HASTINGS, ETHERIDGE AND BLISS,
NO. 8, STATE STREET,

AND AT THEIR OFFICE IN CHARLESTOWN,

1809.
18

THE NEW YORK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

735860 A

ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

R

1934

L

DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT:

BEit remembered, that on the twenty first day of April, in the thirty third year of the Independence of the United States of America, Samuel Mackay, of the said district, has deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: "The Magdalen Churchyard, from the French of J. J. Reg"nault Warin, author of Romeo and Juliet, The Castle of "Strozzi, &c. Translated by Samuel Mackay, A. M. Ex-pro"fessor of the French Language in Williams' College.

"Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow;

"A blow, which, while it executes, alarms,

"And startles thousands, with a single fall.”.
"....Young.

"VOL. I."

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 an 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."

WM. S. SHAW,

Clerk of the District of Masssachusetts.

Townshend 14 Sept 1934, ((1-2)

THE

MAGDALEN CHURCHYARD.

ON the decline of a fine day in autumn, having passed through the magnificent garden of the Tuileries, I repaired to indulge my melancholy thoughts, under the thick foliage of Elysian groves. I had already, with a rapid stride, crossed the place of the revolution, of that spot still drenched in human blood; and I had reached the declivity, which leads to the new bridge, when a brilliant sight arrested my footsteps, and rivetted my attention. Above the trees, which close the horizon on the right, a thousand streams of liquid flames spouted, forking in every direction, filling the atmosphere with their checkered forms, and furrowed the air with their luminous curves.

B

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