1825.] 
in Wallachia; but if the Moldavians 
will but return from their hiding places, 
and quietly inhabit their houses, our 
troops at the same time observing 
a strict discipline, their horses and 
oxen may, at least, serve for conveying 
provisions ; a duty which is incumbent’ 
on the Moldavians for their self-de- 
fence; for the Turks threaten to de- 
stroy them; which circumstance you 
will not omit to explain to them. I 
think that the innumerable Turkish 
forces may be easily counted in this 
campaign, for those that were dispersed 
during the last, will certainly not show 
themselves again. The Asiatics are 
kept at home by the Georgians; and 
the Vizier had no more than 40,000 
men left with him, who have been al- 
ready beaten at Fokschany, Brail, and 
Shursha. Nor need you believe that 
their stores are very considerable ; 
there is the utmost confusion among 
them in every thing, They drew last 
year much corn from Wallachia, which 
you won’t give them this. 
I remain, &c. 
27th Feb. 1770. CaTHERINE. 
XXIII.—I must confess that I am 
highly displeased with the occupations of 
Mr. Stofeln (the general), who is burning 
one town after another, and villages by 
hundreds. It strikes me that, without 
the utmost necessity, such barbarities 
ought not to be committed : but if they 
are perpetrated without necessity, we 
Original’ Poetry. 
AT 
shall experience the same fate as we 
did in ancient times near the Volga and 
Ssura. 1 know that you take'’no miore 
delight in those kind of things than I 
do; and I beg, therefore, that you will 
restrain Stofeln: the destruction of all 
the habitations in the country will gain 
neither laurels for him, nor advantages 
for us; especially when they are those 
of Christians. I am afraid that such a 
fate may overtake Bucharest and other 
towns. The pretence of their being 
untenable might be alleged with them 
as with others, I thus tell you my 
opinion candidly, leaving it, however, 
to you to do no more nor less than 
your best tactics and prudence may 
suggest to you; having that confidence 
in you, that you will do every thing 
that you may consider useful for the 
service, and the object you are charged 
with. It may be, that following my 
natural bent, which is more inclined to 
build than to destroy, I view these un- 
pleasant matters with too much warmth, 
but still I was desirous that you should 
know my sentiments; and I leave it to 
you to make, of this communication, 
whatever use you think proper, and it 
may therefore remain entirely between 
ourselves. At all events it will serve to 
confirm the confidence with which I 
remain yours, &c. CATHERINE. 
Letter twenty-four is a request to 
the General to recommend all such as 
he may think deserving of the Order of 
St. George. ; 
ORIGINAL POETRY. . 
—=— 
THE FAIREST AND THE BEST. 
EAUTY!—there are who say of thee, 
‘‘ Thou’rt but a painted flattery,— 
A semblant good, a lurking guile, 
A ruin mantled with a smile ;— 
A gilded bait, so outward fair, 
To hide the hook, and fix the snare ;—— 
A limed twig in flowerets dress’d ; 
A serpent in a dove-like nest; 
A fruitless germ of promis’d joy, 
That ends in sorrow’s sure annoy : 
That, blushing on the virgin-tree, 
Thou seem’st a budding ecstasy ; 
But shroud’st, within, the canker-worm, 
To blight, to fester, and deform: 
Or when thy brightest leaves expand, 
To lure the sense, and woo the hand, 
*Tis but to leave the wretch to mourn, 
Who grasps the rose, but plucks the thorn,” 
So Cynics say: and let them say, 
And find their echoes where they may. 
They'll hear them from the lewd and base, 
Who but thy faded semblance chase ;— 
Who, from the madd’ning wine-cup, drain 
The fire that revels in the yein, 
And but in woman seek to prove 
Exchange of riot, not of love; 
Nor deem aught beauteous but the eye 
That rolls in wanton luxury. 
Who but the blighted rose have known, 
Its native sweetness may disown, 
Or Auster’s venom’d breath lay bare 
' The taint itself had gender’d there ; 
While jaundic’d eyes, for aye, descry 
In all—their own deformity. 
Let Cynic pride, then, fable still, 
“ That beauty is but varnish’d ill ; 
That semblance and defect are kin, 
And fair without, is foul within !” 
Be it my happier pride to know, 
> Twas ne’er my lot to prove it so; 
But rather in thy smiles to find 
The speaking picture of the mind, 
And, in thy fair proportions, trace 
The inbreath’d charm, the vital grace ;— 
See feeling in thine eye-beam speak, 
And temper dimple on thy cheek ; 
Upon thy forehead’s ivory throne 
Honour and Truth and Candour own; 
Hail in thy blush Love’s hallow’d glow, 
That warms, not soils, the chaster snow; 
