The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 134

THE PROVERBIALIST.

Home, is a place, either of happiness or misery. In my book of experimental wisdom, I find a number of most excellent remarks, which, if remembered, and reduced to practice, I am confident may be of service to families.

Every person has some failings: Perfection is not to be looked for in the present world. A great attention in husband and wife, to the failings of each other, has a direct tendency to destroy or embitter domestic enjoyments.

The ancients, sensible of this gave good advice, when they said that, "The husband should hot see, and the wife should be blind." And it is evident, that many things which transpire in a family, had better not be seen--if seen, not remembered, if remembered, yet not spoken of. Again, to render families happy, there must be, "In the husband wisdom, in the wife gentleness." These are virtues indeed, which, when they meet, cause families to s.h.i.+ne with a peculiar l.u.s.tre. Again, "Those husbands are in heaven whose wives do not chide." Certainly then, if it is in the power of the wife to put her husband into heaven, since she must be with him, and with him partic.i.p.ate in all its joys, she will forever remember this excellent proverb.

A consideration of the unhappy condition of those families, wherein scolding is the principle employment, I should suppose would stimulate every woman to attend to the above remarks. Only hear what the Spaniards say, "Smoke, raining into a house, and a scolding wife, make a man run out of doors."---The ladies will pardon me, I trust, for introducing this proverb, since it evidently implies, that a scolding wife alone, without rain and smoke, does not render a house so intolerable, but that a man, at least if he has a common share of patience, may possibly live in it.

Again, that house is highly ornamented, and that family has many enjoyments, in which the wife is as attentive to her domestic concerns, as is the husband to his abroad. No person was ever made for idleness, accordingly, it is positively affirmed in my book of wisdom, that "That is the best gown, which goes up and down the house." If there be any women, who are unable to penetrate into the depth of this proverb, or to comprehend its profound wisdom, I will endeavour to explain it. As there are but a few gentlemen, whose finances are adequate to the supporting of a woman who feels herself above a personal attention to her family concerns, so in general, husbands are well pleased to see their wives suitably active in the house. Husbands in general, love their wives; and it gives them pleasure to see them blooming in health; and they know that the idle drone is always sick, or full of complaints.

Further, sometimes ladies, by doing nothing except eating of the honey, reduce their husbands to poverty, and we read that, "When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window," and I add, misery comes in at every corner. It is best then to "Carry an even yoke."

Pough! why am I always so severely berating the women? Every body knows they do not deserve it: And I a.s.sure the ladies that I have an affection for them. I am fearful that I have not well considered what I am about.

It is well if I do not bring an "Old house about my ears." From this time forward, on consideration they will pardon me for what I have already said, I solemnly promise that I will be more cautious; and no more proverbs shall come out respecting them, unless they come by accident.

Perhaps I shall make this lecture rather long, but I wish to give some advice to heads of families respecting their children. We read, that "Children are certain cares, but uncertain comforts." They would, however, oftener be comforts, if they had not, as the ancients say, "Too much of their mothers blessing." Alas! well it only came out edgwise, therefore I have not broken my promise.

To prove that I had no evil intention, I will bring one proverb greatly in favour of the ladies; "She spins well who breeds her children well;"

and as every woman knows that she breeds her children well, so it is proved beyond all doubt, that every woman is a good house wife.

To be serious; set your children good examples. Be more anxious to make them virtuous, than to leave them rich. The Spaniards say, that "The father's virtue is the best inheritance a son can have;" and if so, surely to make the son himself virtuous is to make him rich indeed.

Again, "Leave your son a good reputation, and an employment." This is good advice, for children trained up without virtue, and without employment, are fit only for the gallows. Again, "It is a bad house which has not an old man in it." The meaning is, that every man who has a family, should have the soberness, gravity, and virtues of the aged.

Govern your children well, for we read that "He who c.o.c.kers his child provides for his enemy," and such a father will soon find the truth of the Spaniards a.s.sertion, viz. "The first service a bad child does his father is to make him a fool, and the second is to make him mad."

Give your children good instructions; fear not a little expence, for "Better unborn than untaught." And again, "If the brain sows not corn it plants thistles." And depend on it, that thistles are p.r.i.c.kly things to parents, when found in the hands of their children. See that you put good books into their hands; they are apt to get bad ones, and we read, that "An ill book is the work of thieves." Be careful of what you say, in presence of your children. They catch words, as easily as examples, and tell things abroad, which may make your hearts ache, and every one will believe that, "The child tells nothing but what is heard by the fire side."

The following proverb I do not like, yet I am fearful it is applicable in some instances, "The son full and tatter'd, the daughter empty and fine." The son should not be tatter'd, nor the daughter empty. Parental distinctions are odious, and a source of bitterness and of endless contentions in families.

[[For sources, see the end of the final (3rd) installment.]]

THE FATAL MISTAKE; Or, THE HISTORY OF MR. ELLIOT.

[Written by Himself.]

As various conjectures will, most probably, be formed on my retirement from the world by those ignorant of the cause, and the particularity of my life will most likely occasion illiberal and ill-natured observations, I write the history of my misfortunes, ignorant into whose hands it may fall. Let who will become possessed of this ma.n.u.script, may it warn them from excess of pa.s.sion, and especially from that destructive fiend, jealousy.

Born to the enjoyment of a large estate, my birth promised every happiness affluence could bestow: at ten years old my parents both died of a malignant fever: left to the care of a worthy man, I was not sensible of their loss. Mr. Osburn (for that was the name of my guardian) felt for me, as he has often acknowledged, the fondness of parental love. No event worth relating happened till I arrived at the age of fourteen, when a young n.o.bleman came to Winchester, where I was placed; he was the only son of the Earl of Somerset. Distinguished by his rank, but more so by his merit, his sweetness of disposition attracted the love of the whole school, and his generosity demanded their admiration. For some time I was indifferent to all his amiable qualifications, 'till an accident happened which was the foundation of the most affectionate friends.h.i.+p. My master was very severe; I had left school one evening in order to steal apples from a neighbouring orchard, and had just reached the intended scene of action, when I saw Lord Edward Marchmont running towards me. As soon as he came within hearing, he cried out, "My dear Elliot, the doctor has discovered your absence, and threatens, unless he finds you within bounds, to punish you with the utmost severity; if you make haste, we may get round a back way into the play ground, before he comes from hunting over the college, and escape the old dog's vigilance." As I knew the doctor's disposition, I complied with my friend's proposal, and accordingly we gained the play ground just as our master appeared. Lord Edward pulled a volume of Homer out of his pocket, on which we were both looking when the doctor came softly behind us. Upon seeing our employment he was agreeably surprised, and applauded us for our conduct in terms of the greatest encouragement.

This good natured action so effectually engaged my grat.i.tude, that I was miserable if separated from him. We grew so fond of each other, that the whole school took notice of it; our affection increased with our years, and when the time came to leave school, both Lord Edward and myself begged we might be at the same university. Lord Somerset and Mr. Osburn consenting, we were again happy in the society of each other.

When we had been at Oxford about two years, Lord Somerset paid the debt of nature, and as my friend was now possessed of the t.i.tle and fortune of his ancestors, he left Oxford, and entreated me to do the same. As the university had lost all its pleasures when my friend departed, I wrote my determination to Mr. Osburn of following him; the good man would fain have persuaded me to stay longer, but I was not to be moved: I hastened to London, and according to promise flew to the house of my Edward, who introduced me with the most flattering character to Lady Somerset and his sister; the latter was the loveliest work of nature; joined to a form beautifully perfect, she had an engaging sensibility in her countenance that seldom accompanies beauty. That amiable Almena received me with the sweetest complacency, as the friend of her brother, whom she doated on: the mother of Lord Somerset likewise honoured me with the greatest marks of esteem, and for a length of time, I enjoyed every delight that perfect friends.h.i.+p could bestow, but, alas! I was soon fated to feel a reverse of fortune. My kind and indulgent guardian was taken suddenly ill; he sent for me, and I was obliged to leave Lord Somerset and his amiable family: the necessity of this absence discovered a secret I was willing to hide from myself: it was not the separation from my friend alone, that caused my grief, I found I loved his charming sister; the beautiful Almena haunted my imagination continually: my Edward's penetration soon discovered the ill hid partiality, and one day taking me into his study, he addressed me as follows: "I am infinitely concerned at the cause of our separation, but I hope we shall soon meet again, by Mr. Osburn's health being established; why do you appear so very wretched? Ah Frederick! you have not been ingenuous with me; why did you doubt my friends.h.i.+p? Have I ever given you cause to suspect my entire attachment to you? How then could you violate our regard by a doubtful concealment? Your secret had rested within this faithful breast had you desired it." I would have spoke, but my feelings were too violent for expression. "Compose yourself,"

continued he, "I will explain this painful silence; you love my sister; your eyes have fully exposed the feelings of your heart, and I am happy to think our friends.h.i.+p may be closely united by the tye of relations."

This unexpected eclairciss.e.m.e.nt elated me beyond idea; I eagerly embraced my amiable friend, and acknowledged the truth of his observations; "But, alas! Edward," continued I, "shall I ever dare avow my love to your charming sister? What can the exalted Lady Almena Marchmont see in the poor Frederick Elliot? Will she not despise me for my presumption, and disdain a man who has nothing but a heart filled with her perfections to offer?" "And as great a share of merit,"

interrupted my friend, "as ever fell to the lot of one mortal; fear not, Elliot, my sister has too much understanding to regard a man merely because he has a t.i.tle, and in every other qualification you may pretend to a princess: Almena indeed has a mind capable of distinguis.h.i.+ng your exalted virtues, and if I mistake not feels their full force." "Flatter me not, my friend; I cannot dare not indulge the pleasing hope." My n.o.ble Edward promised to do every good office in my absence, and I took leave of a family where my chief happiness was centered.

I reached the habitation of Mr. Osburn just time enough to take a last farewell; the violence of his disorder had left him very weak, and death made quick approaches to the excellent heart of this worthy man. I drew near his bed with the tenderest emotions, and taking his cold hand between mine; "My dearest sir, how painfully does this sight affect your Frederick! Ah that I could remove every pang far from you!" I could not restrain my tears: he faintly pressed my hand, and in a voice hardly articulate, he delivered himself as follows: "It pains me, my dear boy, to be obliged to part with you; but it is the decree of heaven, and I submit. I leave you, Frederick, in the possession of a large estate that was your father's; to which I have added my own: I have no relations who stand in need of wealth, and to none can I give it whom I love like you.

Remember it is virtue alone, that renders riches valuable. When you come to this solemn period, to which you must, may no bad action discompose your dying moments; you have an excellent heart and are in no danger of deviating from the narrow road of rect.i.tude, but from the violence of your pa.s.sions. Be careful to avoid every thing that may lead you into mistake and error. Farewel, my excellent boy; remember the last injunctions of a man who had a real affection for you."

Articulation was stopped, and I could only express my sorrow by sighs and tears. The clergyman of the parish now came to Mr. Osburn, and I was obliged to leave him. He soon retired, and informed me that his friend was on the verge of eternity. When I entered Mr. Osburn's chamber, I found him speechless; however by his motions he convinced me he was sensible. I embraced him in the greatest agony of grief; but, alas! he could not return it; he looked at me with expressive marks of affection, and gently breathed his last in my arms. I was for a few hours so totally absorbed in sorrow, that I hardly knew whether I myself existed; but youth and the appearance of my Edward, who, on hearing of my loss, flew to console me, had its usual influence, and I again recalled my thoughts from the grave of my guardian, to the world and society.

When I opened Mr. Osburn's will, I found he had bequeathed to me the whole of his estate, which amounted to more than two thousand per annum, which joined to my paternal inheritance, made me possessed of eight thousand a year. My grat.i.tude was infinitely excited by his generosity; and except a legacy of five hundred pounds to Mr. Harper, the clergyman I have mentioned, there was no other bequest. I paid the money immediately, and added a thousand pounds, as his family were large.

Having settled my affairs, I left the abode of my late guardian, and accompanied Lord Somerset to town. The fair Almena and her amiable mother, received me with the utmost kindness, every thing in the power of these dear friends to dissipate my melancholy was exerted, and though I felt all the grat.i.tude such a conduct excited yet could I not banish from my remembrance the good Mr. Osburn.

I was roused from my lethargy by Lady Almena's having a declared lover.

Lord Ashford was a n.o.bleman of reputed worth, and I believe truly attached to my friend's sister. Lady Somerset seemed to approve the proposed alliance; my Edward was silent, and Almena appeared unhappy.

Thus were we situated when I was determined to lay aside every fearful apprehension, and declare my latent flame. I had soon after an opportunity of revealing the state of my heart to the fair cause of my anxiety. Lady Almena was one day writing in her brother's study when I entered thinking he was there: she blushed and started; but seeing me about to retire, "Mr. Elliot," said she, "my brother is from home, but as I have finished the note I was writing. I beg you will remain here 'till Lord Somerset comes back." I again entered the room, and seated myself by her. She rung for a servant, to whom she delivered the note, and was going to retire, when I took her hand, and intreated her to hear me. She did not know in what manner to proceed. I threw myself at her feet, and in the most respectful terms, declared how much I loved her.

She listened with polite attention, and casting her eyes upon the ground, appeared greatly agitated. I was all painful suspense. "Speak, lady Almena, continued I, p.r.o.nounce my fate; perhaps you despise my too presumptuous pa.s.sion; perhaps your heart is already engaged; the merits of Lord Ashford have met your approbation, and I am wretched." "Sorry should I be," replied the dear charmer, "if the sister of Lord Somerset could willingly make wretched the friend on whom an only brother doats: no, Mr. Elliot, I despise affectation as much as I do coquetry; be a.s.sured, sir, Lord Ashford is perfectly indifferent to my heart: 'tis true, my mother espouses his cause, and pleads for him powerfully: but the happiness of her daughter has ever been her chief delight, nor will she insist on a circ.u.mstance that would render her miserable." "Ten thousand thanks, adorable Lady Almena, for this condescension! Pardon my bold aspiring heart: may I not hope my unwearied a.s.siduities may at last make an impression on your gentle nature in my favour?" She told me, she did not, neither should she wish to throw me into despair, but begged leave to retire.

My friend soon after appeared, and seeing the joy that animated my countenance, congratulated me in the most affectionate manner. "Ah, Edward! exclaimed I, the dear Almena has not driven me to despair: she does not love Lord Ashford, and I may yet be happy."--"And who ever thought she did? Prythee, Frederick, do not encourage that horrid pa.s.sion, jealousy, but rather crush it in its birth; no mortal but yourself would have imagined my sister had the least regard for Lord Ashford. You may command my interest in your favour with my mother: she is partial to his lords.h.i.+p, on account of a tender regard she entertained for his mother; but the happiness of Almena is a matter of too great importance to be trifled with; and that no man but you could make her happy, I have long discovered."

(_To be continued._)

MISCELLANY.

In no way, can we so certainly captivate mankind, as by appeals to their senses.

Rich banquets, the singing of eunuchs, riding, dancing, pantomime, ballooning, have a thousand more attractions for the vulgar, than all the didactic lessons of reason and understanding; than all the wit and humour of Cervantes, Sterne, and Wolcott. Such a reproach, is familiar to old governments; we fondly antic.i.p.ate, that our youthful establishments may, by the timely exertions of men of taste and science, for a long time escape it.

The increased fondness for theatric amus.e.m.e.nts, for frivolity, noise and show, demands the animadversions of the moralist, and of the friends of literary pursuits.

Under our forms of governments, we may have an opportunity to rival the celebrated schools of Greece. Republics are the peculiar soil of liberty, of genius, of talents; for in them, merit is not exclusively attributed to wealth and birth. How important then, to excite the generous emulation of talents. What mean more effectual, than to encourage literary enterprises, stamped with genius and industry.

Where there is so little leisure, but so much general ease and affluence; they, who can instruct and entertain the public, deserve, and will receive its generous patronage.

The _cacoethes scribendi_, is as strong as the love of money, and we need not apprehend, but America may produce her Poets, Critics, Historians, if an enlightened and liberal community will, sometimes, wet with _Peruvian dew_, the tender buds of genius, which poverty often attends, and neglect more frequently blasts.

Need I say, that GENIUS, like Charity, is timid, not obtrusive---hopeth all things, believeth all things,---That it utterly disclaims all consanguinity with that bronz'd dame, Impudence; but is tenderly knit with its fair counterpart, Modesty. It loves retirement and tranquility; seek it therefore in desarts and cottages, where it is too commonly left to bemoan its untoward fate, where it enjoys now and then, but a few rays of hope through the glimmering lattice or gale: go then quickly and place the pillow of ease and content under its desponding head, and save the child of Fear and Fancy from despair.

But I hesitate and doubt---some Vandal will here reply, that Ignorance is happiest; that Genius is a curse. For some moments I almost surrender my enthusiasm for Genius, and agree with the position, that it is so, that all who wish to be arrayed in scarlet and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day, who prefer brisk champagne to the Heliconian beverage, and a fat sirloin to a flimsy sonnet, will deprecate it with the Vandal, and strangle in the cradle every future Homer, Virgil, Livy, and Caesar.

I will not deny that poets are querimonious: after allowing to excessive sensibility a due share of spleen, much is left to lament of real misfortune.

That they frequently enjoy posthumous fame, and justice done to merit, though late.

But yonder ghosts will testify, that when on earth, the flush of health never glowed in their pallid cheeks, the fire wasted in their eyes, and strength in their bodies, when the friendly tomb, received them from a frowning world.