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[HY J. O. rKRCIVAL.J
When life was weak ami laint his ardent soul
Unfolded all the vigour of its pow’rs ;
Then through tlie fields of lore he flew and stole
With ceaseless (oil, the honey ol its How rs.
His heart expanded with his growing mind,
And love mid charity and thirst of fame,
Unbending worth, ambition uneonfin’d,
O! these he wish'd, Ids bosom’s only aim.
O! be would think of these, until the plow
Brighten’d his cheek anti kindled up his eye;
Then ina rushing Hood his thoughts would flow,
And lift him to the all-o’erarching sky.
Arid yet bis soul was tender—(here was one,
Who made his heart throb and his pulses beat;
She was his all, bis only light, bis Sun, [sweet
Her eye was brightest,and her voice mos.
Site was to him an angel-—he was young,
The down of youth had just begun to grow;
Tlis eye forever on tier image bong, [flow.
There would his cent ring thoughts forever
O! love how ilt requited—could a soul
Then soaring to perfection, blend with one
Who only thought of transient sport, whose
whole.
Enjoyment ceas’d below, where his begun.
And then bis tearfulness and shrinking eye—
She knew her povv’r, and yet she coal'd not
know
The worth of him who doated—with a sigh
us grief and wounded pride he let her go
First love—with what a deep, strong, fix’d im
press,
It prints the yielding heart of childhood —gone,
No other eye the lone lost soul can bless,
Hope then is fled, the feelings are undone.
Ilow ail unequal were his mind and form —
This knew the blinking owls, that shun’d the
light ; .
To wound his bosom, and to raise the storm.
He ill could master, seem’d their sole delight.
Abus’d, neglected, fatherless, no hand
To guide or guard him, left alone to steer
His dangerous way—can youth securely stand,
When not a parent, friend, or liojhj is near?
IJp conquered in intelligence—but those
Who felt his strength there, still his weak
ness knew;
They crush’d his spirit first, and then to close
Their work, liiey made him like their gro
velling crew.
The light of heaven was gone—ambition still
Lurk’d with him to the last, but he was blind;
And genius struggled on through every ill,
But peace and innocence were left behind.
Years hurried by—but whal a raging sea
Was that young heart—wild as a steed he
Til! he was swallowed in misanthropy, [ran,
And swore eternal enmity to man.
And yet he could not hate—at every look
That told the wounded bosom’s throbbing
swell,
His frame in sympathetic shivering shook,
11 is hand, though rais’d in wrath, in pity fell. I
lie long'd to cast his hateful chains away,
He long'd to lx; all virtue, reason, soul;
In vain he strove against the headlong sway
Os passion—till its gulf absorb’d the w hole.
Mid all his folly, weakness, guilt, one beam
Across the darkness of his being shone—
Most dastardly and shameful did he deem,
To take one mite that was not all his own.
She came—at last the kindred spirit came,
The same bright look, the same dissolving eye;
Her bosoin lit w ith that ethereal flame,
Which warm’d him, when in youth ins soul
was high.
Informing and inform'd, theirs was the pure
Delight of blended intellect—their way
Was strew’d with reason’s choicest pleasures,
sure [astray.
To last with those, whom guilt leads not
Awhile his spirit kindled—hope and love,
And friendship, days of peace and joy arose,
And lilted all his ardent thoughts above
The memory of his lollies and his w oes.
His way had been unequal—now he soar’d
On rushingwings,and now he sunk in night;
But then he felt new life around him pour'd,
tJu aim’d to heav'u hig strong untiring flight.
Twas l>ut n moment —like tlie dying flash,
The soul’s last sjuirkle ere. its lights are lied ;
Then folly came, his kindling hopes to dash,
And hide his spirit with the moral dead.
Too lule —too late—thou could’st not call him
back, [despair,
With all thvcharmathoucould’st not—guilt,
50 long had dogg’dhhn in his w ayward track,
They quench'd the light that once shone
brightly there.
An outcast, self-coudemn’d, he takes his w ay.
He knows and cares not whither—he can w eep
No more, his only wish his head to lay
In endless death and everlasting sleep.
Ah! who can bear the self-abhorrent thought
Os time., chance, talent wasted—w ho can
think [nought,
Os friendship, love, fame, science, gone to
And not in hopeless desperation sink ?
Behind are summits, lofty, pure and bright,
Where blow thelife-revivinggalesof heaven;
Below expand the jaws of deepest night,
And there he falls, by pow'r resistless driven.
The links that bind to life are torn away;
The hope, the assuring hope of better days,
Friendship, that warms us v\ ith a genial ray,
Andlove, that kindles with an ardent blaze.
These he Ims left,and books have lost their
charm;
‘I brightest skv is but a veil of gloom,
51 •- mind, hand useless.w here can he the harm,
In drawing to his only couch, tin* tomb.
Yi 1 who abus’d, neglected, rent and stain’d
That heart, w hen pirn- and lender, come and
dwell
On these dark ruins, and, by heaven arraign’d,
Foci as you look, the scorpion stings of hell.
But no —your cold black bosoms cannot feel,
Amid the rank w eeds, flow’rs can ucverblow
Your hearts, encrusted in their case of steel,
No feelings of remorse or pity know.
Yes, you will say, poor, w eak, and childish boy.
Innim of purpose, shook by every sigh,
A thing of air, a light fantastic toy—
S\ hat reck we if such shadows live or die?
But no—my life’s blood calls alom. n,
The arm of justice cannot, will not sleep,
A perfect retribution shnll be given, [heap,
Audvcugea.nceon your heads her coals shall
When minds like this are ruin’d guilt must be,
And where guilt is,remorse will gnaw the soul.
And every moment teem with agony, [roll.
And sleepless thoughts in burning torrents
And thou—arch moral-murderer!—bear my
curse—
Go—gorge and wallow in thy priestly sty,
Than what thou art, I cannot w ish thee worse,
There with thy kindred reptiles craw I and die.
From the .Yew Monthly Magazine.
THE GREAT AIAN OF THE FAMILY.
Every family, I believe, has its great
inan ; my maternal uncle, Sir Nicholas
Sawver, is ours, fI is counting-house
is in Marklane, where he lived for a
period of twenty years ; on his being
knighted, however, he thought, and his
w ife was sure, that knighthood and ci
ty air would not coalesce ; so the fam
ily removed to Bed ford-square. Our
lainily live in Lime-street, and I am
in.’the counting-liouse. The knight
hood and Bedfurd-square house at once
elevated my uncle to be tne great man
of the family, insomuch that we, the
Wodehouses are at present rather in
the shade, and the Sawyers in the full
blaze of the sun- My father is natu
rally too indolent a man to trouble In's
head about this; but my mother lias a
grow ing family that must be pushed.
Sir Nicholas is apt to dine with us now
and then, and my mother, upon these
occasions, schools us to what wc are
to say and to do, as Garrick was said
to have tutored hi3 wife. My sister
Charlotte is told to like Handel’s mu
sic to which the great man, being what
is called “ serious,” is partial; my bro
ther John, who is articled to an attor
ney, is told to pull Boote’s suit at law
out of his pocket; I am told to dis
like port wine, and to be partial to
parsnips; and even little Charles is
told to lisp “ the Lord my pasture
shall prepare.” I question whether
the Quaker meeting-house in White
yard-court can muster such a congre
gation of unfledged hypocrites. When
Sir Nicholas issues one of his dinner
edicts, it occasions as great a bustle
in our establishment, as Queen Eliza
beth’s created when she quartered
herself upon Kenilworth castle. I will
mention what happened last Wednes
day. There is very little variety in
the affliction. The narrative of what
passes at one dinner may serve for a
hundred.
Sir Nicholas Sawyer is in the habit
of looking in at our counting-house in
his way to his own,that is to say, when
ever he condescends to walk. At
these times, he uniformly tells us why
he cannot have the carriage. It is
waited by Lady Sawyer; upon one
occasion, to accompany Lady Fanny
Phlegenthon to theopeningof the new
church at kennington ; upon another,
to pay a kind visit to the poor Coun
tess ol Coweross : upon a third, to at
tend Mr. Penn’s Outinian Lecture
with Lady Susan Single. Last W ed
nesday morning he paid us one of his
usual visits; and having skimmed the
cream of the public Ledger, asked my
father if he dined at home on thatdayr
My father answered yes; as indeed
he would have done had he been enga
ged to dine oft'pearls and diamonds
with the Koval Ram. Bob,” said
my father to me, “do run upstairs
and tell your mother that your uncle
will dine with us to-day.” I did as I
was bid, and on opening the parlour
door, found my mother teaching little
Charles his multiplication table, and
Charlotte singing to the piano, “ No
bodv coming to marry me.” As she
had just then arrived at ‘ Nobody co
ming to woo,’ which last mentioned
monosylable, she was lengthening to
woo-hoo-hoo-hoo, in a strain not un
like that of the * Cuckoo harbinger of
Spring. s This was unlucky: the ca
denza might have been heard down in
the counting house ; and any thing
more opposite to Handel could not
well be imagined. I delivered my
message: my alarmed mother started
up ; Charlotte threw away her Hymen
seeking ditty, and pouncing upon Acis
and Galatea, began to growl, “Oh
ruddier than the berry.” As for little
Charles, he was left to find out the
result of five times nine, like the Ame
rican boy, by dint of his own natural
sagacity. A short consultation was
held between my mother and Char
lotte upon the important article of din
ner. A round of beef salted, in the
house: so far fortunate : a nice turbot,
and a few mutton chops would be all
that it was requisite to add. The de
bate was now joined by my father: he
agreed to the suggestion, and my mo
ther offered to adjourn instanter to
Leadenhall market. ‘No, my dear
no,’ said my father: “ reinember
when your brother last dined with
us, you brought a hen lobster, and one
of the chops was all bone.” My mo
ther owned her delinquency, and my
father walked forth to order the provi
sions.
Our dinner hour is five, and my bro
ther John dines with us, generally re
turning afterwards to Mr. Pounce’s
office in Bcvis Marks. 1 met him on
the stairs, and told him of the intended
visit. Jack winked his left eye, and
tapped a book in his coat pockeL as
much as to say, * let me alone: I'll be
up to him.’ At the hour ol five we
were all assembled in the drawing
room, with that species of nervous so
licitude which usually precedes the ap
pearance of the great man of the fami
ly. A single knock a little started us,
but it was only the boy with the por
ter. A double knock terrified us:
Charlotte mechanically began to play,
‘ Comfort ye my people my mother
took the hand of little Charles, whose
head had been properly combed, in an
ticipation of the customary pat, and
advanced to meet her high and mighty
relation ; the door opened, and the
servant delivered a twopenny post
printed circular, denoting that muffins
were only to be had good at Messrs.
Stuff and Saltern’s, in Abchurch-lanc,
and that all other edibles were counter
feits. My father ejaculated * Psha !’
and threw the epistle into the fire :
Little Charles watched the gradually
diminishing sparks and had just come
to parson and clerk, when the sudden
stop of a carriage and a treble knock
announced to those whom it might con
cern, that his High Mightiness had re
ally assailed our portal. The scene
which had just belore been rehearsed
for the benefit of the two-penny post
man 4 was now performed afresh, and
Sir Nicholas Sawyer was inducted in
to the arm-chair. 1 had the honour to
receive his cane, my brother Jack his
gloves, and little Charles his hat, which
he carried off in both hands without
spilling. ‘ What have you got in your
pocket Jack r’ said the great man to
my brother. ‘Only the first volume
of Morgan’s Vade Mecurn,’ answered
the driver of quills. * Right,’ rejoin
ed our reverend uucle. always keep
an eye to business, Jack. May you
live to be Lord Chancellor and may I
live to see it!’ At this he laughed as
Goldsmith has it; ‘ and so did we ; the
jests of the richare always successful.’
My mother, however, conceived it to
be no jesting matter, and in downright
earnest began to allege that John had
an uncommon partiality for the law,
and would doubtless do great things,
if he was but properly pushed. She
then averred, that I too, had a pretty
taste for printed cottons and that when
I should, in all human probability, do
the trade credit, if I was but properly
pushed. But for this a small addition
al capital was requisite, and where I
was to get it, Heaven only knew.—
Charlotte’s talent for music was then
represented to be surprising, and
would be absoluiely astonishing, if
she could but a'!lbrd to get her proper
ly pushed by a few lessons from Bish
op. As to littlle Charles, she was her
self pushing him in arithmetic. Ne
ver was Ihere a mother who so pushed
her offspring; it is no fault of hers that
we are not every one of us flat on our
faces long ago.
Dinner being announced, the
Great Man, took his seat at the
l ight hand of my mother. He was
helped to a large slice of turbot
whereupon he tapped the extremity
of the fish with his knife. This de
noted his want of some of the fins,
and my mother accordingly dealt
out to him a portion of these gluti
ous appendages. Common mortals
send a plate round the table for
whatsoever they may require ; but
when the Great Man of the Fami
ly graces the table, every thing is
moved up to him. The buttock of
beef being a little too ponderous to
perform such a visit, the Great Man
hinted from afar off where he would
be helped. “Just there—no, not
there —a little nearer the fat—or
stay —no —it is a little too much
boiled—l will wait a slice or two—
ay, now it will do—a little of the
soft fat, and two spoonfuls of gra
vy —put two small parsnips with it;
and, Thomas, bring me the mus
tard.” It may be well imagined
that these dicta were followed by
prompt obedience. There are only
two viands for which I entertain
an aversion—parsnips and tripe.—
The former always give me a no
tion of carrots from the catacombs,
and the latter, of boiled leather
breeches. My politic mamma,
aware of my uncle’s partiality for
parsnips, had lectured me into the
propriety of assuming a fondness
for them ; adding, that Sir Nicholas
had been married five years without
children, and that I should proba
bly be his heir, and that one would
not lose one’s birthright for a mess
of pottage. It is whispered in the
family that my uncle is worth a
plum. It would therefore be a pity
to lose a hundred thousand pounds
by refusing to swallow a parsnip.—
I contrived to get down a couple ;
and was told by Sir Nicholas that I
was a clever young man, and knew
what was what. My mother evi
dently thought the whole of the
above named sum was already half
way down my breeches pocket.—
“ Has any body seen Simpson &
Cos.” enquired the Great Man, du
ring a short interval between his
mouthful. I was upon the incau
tious point of answering yes, and
that I thought it a very good thing,
when my father, with the most ad
roit simplicity, answered* ‘I met
Simpson this morning at Batson’s
—partner is at Liverpool.’ Hereat
the great man chuckled so immo
derately that we all thought that a
segment of parsnip had gone the
wrong way. * No, I dont mean
them—come, that’s not amiss—
Simpson and Scott of Alderman’s
Walk, Ha, ha, ha! No; I mean
Simpson & Cos. at Drury Lane.”—
‘ No,’ answered my mother, “ we
none of us ever go to the play.’—
Lord help me ! it was but a week
ago that my father, Jack, and I, had
satin the pit to sec this identical
drama! Now came in the mutton
chops. The process was electrical
and deserves a minute commemmo
ration. First, the Great Man had
a hot plate, upon which he placed
a hot potatoe. Then our man Tho
mas placed the pewter dish, care
fully covered, immediately under
our visitor’s nose. All a given sig
nal Thomas whisked off the cover,
and my uncle darted his fork into
a chop as rapidly as if he were har
pooning a fish. What became of
the cover, unless Thomas swallow
ed it, I have not since been able to
form a guess.
I pass over a few more white
lies, uttered for the purpose of in
gratiation. Such, for instance, as
none of us liking wine or gravy,
our utter repugnance to modern
fashions in dress ; our never wast
ing time in reading novels; our
never going westward of Temple
Bar, and our regularly going to af
ternoon church. But I cannot
avoid mentioning that great men
bear, at least in one point, a resem
blance to great wits—l mean in the
shortness of their memories. Bed
ford-square and a carriage have
driven from my poor uncle’s sen
sorium all geographical knowledge
ol city streets. He regularly asks
me whether Lime-street is the se
cond or third turning; affects to
place Ironmonger’s Hall in Bish
opsgate-street; and tells me that,
when he goes to receive his divi
dends at the India House, he con
stantly commits the error of direct
ing his coachman to Whitechapel.
Lord help me again! this from a
man who, for the first ten years of
his civic existence, threaded every
nook and alley in the city, with a
black pocket book full of bills, as
DimsdtJe and Company’s out door
clerk!
I yesterday overheard my maid
en aunt Susan giving a hint to some
- who shall be nameles, that
Lady Sawyer, notwithstanding her
five years’ abstinence, is certainly
“as woman wish to be who love
their lords.” I mean to wait with
exemplary patience to establish the
fact, and so ascertain the sex of the
infant. If it prove to be a male, I
am of course cut out of the inherit
ance. In that case I shall unques
tionably throw off the mask, and
venture to eat, drink, talk, and
think for myself. At the very first
uncle-given dinner, .after that dc
nonement, I can assure you, Mr.
Editor, that I shall hate parsnips,
take two glasses of port wine, tilt
the dish for gravy, see Simpson &
Cos. at least six times, and read
every novel in Lane’s Circulating
List. lam &c.
ROBT. RANKIN.
MARRIAGE.
- Marriage rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good,
A paradise below.”
Among the marks of modern pro
fligacy and degeneracy, may be rank
ed the reluctance with which young
men enter the matrimonial state. —
And the afFections of verv many that
do enter into this very interesting
connexion, are in vain solicited by
other attractions than those of
wealth. Ihe time seems to have
gone by, when in the prime of life,
virtuous love led young men to
chose a companion for her amiable,
intelectual qualifications, and inde
pendently of any pecuniary consi
derations—not so now—the love
liest maiden may pine in hopeless
celibacy— for if she hath not wealth
to purchase a husband, as she
would a ward-robe, she may live
and die without one. In vain has
nature bestowed upon them a fair
and blooming countenance, and the
eye of sensibility, if fortune has
refused her brilliant, bauules.—
Young men gaze upon theft indeed
as a child looks upon the beautify
and variegated plumage of the P Ca
cock, and turns away without an v
wish to possess the beauty ,
they beheld with admiration.
It may indeed, with propriety
be remarked that young men too of.
ten consider marriage as an evil
within itself only to be incurred
when the pecuniary advantage with
which it is attended, will afford a
compensation. A most insulting
opinion, and no less absurd and
untrue, than contumelious. p or
marriage, prudent and affectionate
marriage, favorable to every virtu
that can contribute to the happj.
ness of the individual, while it
most essentially serves the inter
ests of society and the grand de.
sign for which we were created
Is there any friendship on earth
that can he compared with tha’
between man and wife ? For the
love of you your wife has willingly
forsaken her parental residence
has ceased to value the tenderness
of parents, brothers and sisters—
on you she depends, with you she
wishes to live—and with you she
wishes to slumber in the arms of
death. Are you in the possession
of wealth, have one that will
endeavor to preserve and increase
your prosperity. Are your circum
stances circumscribed, you have
one who will dilligently and faith
fully assist you in the pursuit of
gain. In prosperity, she will ren
der you double happy, and in ad
versity she will smooth your rug
ged path. Is there any happiness
to be compared with the union of
a heart, like this ? She is the sweet
companion of youth, and the so
lace of your dclining age.
LIGHTNING.—The following extract from
the Dooins-day hook, at St. Julian’s, Shrews
bury, (England,) A. D. 1500, may excite a
smile :
“ The develle did put his claws
uppone the clapper of the great bell,
and from his claw there vesued a flame
•/
of fyre, which dydde melt yverie bell
in the church, threw the spyre uppone
the ground, and meltydd moste of the
brasie work of candylstyks, because
an holie and righteous inonke hadde
in a sermon spoken tauntingle ott'e his
power and authoritee uppone earthe.”
Thus did our pious and philosophic
ancestors solve au electric flu id !
Salem Gazette.
Pauperism in Europe. —Among the
178,000,000 of individuals who inha
bit Europe, there are 17,900,000 beg
gars, or persons who subsist at the ex
pense of the community, without con
tributing to its resources. In Den
mark, the proportion is 5 per cent. In
England, 10 per cent. In Holland,l4
per cent. In Paris, 1813, 102,859
paupers out of 530,000. In Liver
pool, 17,000 in the population of
89,000. In Amsterdam, 108,000 out
of 217,000. The number of indigent
has since rather increased than de
creased.
■ *i i m
A woman, lately, in Edinburgh, who
got her living by begging,being in want
of a story well calculated to touch the
feelings, in concert with her husband,
made out a sad tale that he had sud
denly deceased, &c. The story sue*
ceeded, and after being well provided
with things necessary, had also a
coffin sent to her house. —Having got
rid of her other presents, the husband
set himself to work in splitting up the
coffin to make brimstone matches.
Anew Jit. —A lad at Epsom race 9
was apprehended for taking a hand
kerchief out of a gentleman’s pocket.
H e made a curious defence ; he said
he was subject to fits, and did not
know what, he was about when he took
the handkerchief! Whereupon his
worship observed that he had heard ot
fits of anger, fits of love, &c. and no
doubt there might be fits of stealing,
but he hoped the prisoner would find
the Tread Mill an excellent remedy
against a recurrence of such fits.
The Pope advised Petrarch to mar*
ry Laura, but the pfet refused because
he feared that the familiarity of mar
riage would extinguish his passion.—
A Wag observed, “ There is a fool,
who wont eat his dinner lest he should
lose his appetite .”
It is a good sign to see an inn-keep
er go to his bar to help bis customer,
but a bad sign to see him go there airi
help himself.
Cure for fever and ague. —As the
fever aud Ague is more or less
prevalent, we have been requested
to state, says the Newark Centinel,
that a glass cf strong Boneset ‘Tea,
taken at the approach of the ague,
will ordinarily arrest the disease on
its first trial—and scarcely ever
on the second.