The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 55

_For Sept. 1796._ deg. 100

Mean temperature of the thermometer at 8 A.M. 63 2 Do. do. of the do. at 1 P.M. 71 12 Do. do. of the do. at 6 P.M. 67 65 Do. do. of the whole month 66 92 Greatest monthly range between the 14th & 23d 33 0 Do. do. in 24 hours, between the 22d & 23d 23 75 Warmest day the 14th. 83 0 The coldest do. the 23d 50 0

9 Days it has rained in this Month, and a considerable quant.i.ty has fallen.

One day it thundered, and lightned the 14th, and it is presumed there was as great a quant.i.ty, as ever was experienced within eight hours.

17 days it was clear, at 8, 1 & 6 o'clock, 5 days it was cloudy at 8, 1 & 6 o'clock.

3 do. the wind was high, at ditto, 18 do. the wind was light at do.

20 Days the wind was to the westward of North and South.

10 Do the wind was to the Eastward of do. do.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

MILITARY FAME.

O thou that sigh'st to join the scenes of war, And gain the glories of the martial train; Reflect what woes surround the trophied car, What crimson tints the wish'd-for circlet stain.

If tender sympathy be not unknown, If heaven-born mercy in thy bosom glow, Reject the impurpl'd wreath, the laurel crown Can flourish only in the scenes of woe.

Wert thou the n.o.blest bravest son of Mars, Did fear precede thee, conquest still attend; All the long glories of successive wars On fickle Fortune's favouring smile depend.

Ev'n G.o.dlike Paoli's confest her sway, By her they flourish and by her they fade; The adverse fortune of one hapless day Condemns thee to oblivion's dreary shade.

Such is a brittle bubble blown in air, Such the bright l.u.s.tre of the morning skies; So some tall tree may vernal honours bear, And bloomy verdure charm the wondering eyes: But, ah! how fleeting the illusive glare When the clouds gather, and the storms arise!

MATILDA.

NEW-YORK.

REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCH-YARD.

All hail ye peaceful scenes, in whose still plain Sweet solitude and melancholy dwell; Where uncontrolled awe doth pensive reign, And rev'rence muses in each silent cell.

With mem'ry's retrospective eye I view These ghastly figures--(loathsome to the eyes) These are the skulls of those I lately knew, The once adored, beautiful, and wise!

The statesman and the clown here peaceful lie, The slave for liberty don't here dispute: With death's decree Neptune and Mars comply, And patriotic eloquence lies mute!

When Sol the East with blushes does adorn; The rose expands her leaves to every ray: Tho' thus compos'd of beauty in the morn, At eve she bows her head and doth decay.

So lies the maid who once with beauty blest, And at whose feet youths supplicating lay, While beauty reign'd she was by them carest: But none pays tribute to her breathless clay.

Each silent tomb methinks lets fall a tear, While ev'ry grave in plaintive accents say; "In pride of youth like you we did appear, "But you like us, must moulder and decay."

"Ye sons of dissipation, new pursue "The paths of rect.i.tude--for short's the span, "Remember while these monuments you view, "The chiefest study of mankind is man."

ON MY BEARD.--A SONNET.

The orb of day seven times, this fatal morn, Has sped his course thro' each revolving sign, Since first in evil hour, reluctant torn, The down of youth forsook these cheeks of mine.

Ah! fas.h.i.+on! had I view'd thy sneers with scorn, Unravag'd still the sacred growth would s.h.i.+ne: The majesty of manhood, still unshorn, Shou'd sweep my breast luxuriant as the vine.

Now, woe is me! a dupe to impious zeal, Unequal war with Nature do I wage; While, as each sun returns, the ruthless steel, To waste her produce, plies its whetted rage.

Like Grecia's G.o.dlike sages dare I feel, My s.h.a.ggy chin shou'd mock this silly age.

THE DOCTORS' DUEL.

Two Doctors fought, and thrice from each A deadly ball was sent, Though keenly aim'd, the bullets' force In air impa.s.sive spent.

Ye sons of Mars forbear to smile, Since every man must know; 'Tis not by pistol, sword, or gun, A Doctor kills his foe.

For had they been on death intent, How surely might they kill, Or by a gentle cooling draught, Or mild _Saturnian Pill_.

THE EXTENT OF LIFE'S VARIETY.

Just this little, and no more, Is in ev'ry mortal's pow'r, Each to say, I tasted breath, But the cup was fraught with death; I have sigh'd, have laugh'd, have wept, Wak'd to think, and thinking slept; Slept my wearied limbs to rest, Wak'd with labour in my breast; Met with sorrows, happ'ly o'er, Mix'd in pleasures now no more; Hop'd and fear'd, with equal sense, Dup'd by many a slight pretence: Soon shall my soul her veil throw by, My body with its kindred lie; Of this I'm certain, but the rest Is lock'd within a higher breast.

EPIGRAM.

On Seeing the Servant of a Scoundrel Beat his Master's Coat.

Why merciless thwack PETER's coat?

My friend you surely jest!

I'd rather beat the Losel's back, And let his vestment rest.

The Castigator look'd and smil'd; Said he, "You've wrong premis'd; "For 'tis the _habits_ of the man "That make the man despis'd.

NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCh.e.l.l, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._