The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 131

(Concluded from our last.)

Be consoled that our hearts are not tainted with evil, and that the consciousness of never committing aught offensive to innocence, hangs like a friendly shade around us, to blunt the pointed arrows of adversity. Fatigue at length overpowered the veteran, and he died under a holly tree. A tributary tear of grat.i.tude fell from me, but I quickly supprest my feelings, and envied him his fate. The minister of the parish was a good man, and had him interred. When the rustics retired who had attended the funeral, I seated myself by the sod which covered the remains of my last friend, how often did I raise my eyes to heaven, and beseech the Supreme to take me to eternal peace. I continued lost in gloomy reveries till night surrounded me, I arose with an intention of proceeding to the next hamlet. As I walked slow and pensive, my ears were struck by a soft voice familiar to them, which came from a flower-woven arbour on the road side. I listened attentively, it was the voice of my child, amazed, doubting my own senses, I crept to the spot.

She was singing a little air, which had once been a favourite of mine, there is no describing the melancholy melody with which she sung it; she was often interrupted by sighs, and her hands were raised to wipe away her tears, the beams of the moon shone around us, affording sufficient light to discern every object. She turned around and perceived me, the paleness and agony of my countenance terrified her, "Gracious Heaven!"

cried she, "what do I behold?" "A miserable old man," I exclaimed, "whose heart is broken by ingrat.i.tude and grief." She shrieked, she would have fled, but her limbs aided not her intention, fainting she sunk at my feet, I knelt beside her, I clasped her with a kind of phrenzy to my breast, called upon her to revive, and bless a father who never ceased to regret her loss, she opened her eyes, "Alas! I am unworthy of such tenderness," "No, my child, mercy is the sweetest attribute of heaven, to err, the weakness of humanity." Her head fell upon my shoulder, I wept with her, my heart seemed breaking, at that moment comfort seemed fled from both for ever. By degrees I calmed her agitation, "Alas!" said she, "was it in search of such a wretch you came? oh! my father, how could I ever forget thy precepts, or deviate from the path in which you brought me up, but if penitence and remorse can palliate error, mine is lessened, from the moment of error I have been superlatively wretched, and incessantly looked back to regret that peace which can only result from unsullied innocence." A thousand times the dear unhappy girl knelt at my feet, to implore my forgiveness, I as often a.s.sured her she had obtained it.

"Though peace and innocence," said I, "shall no more brighten my cottage, yet pity and repentance shall render it not an unpleasing asylum, but may some signal punishment from heaven, fall upon the author of your wrongs."

The shocks my Patty had experienced preyed upon her life, unceasing anguish like a worm in the bud, fed on her damask cheek, the glow of health, the fire of imagination, and the animation of youth were fled, and a deep melancholy seized the soul of my child, she in whom my life was wrapt, whom I had nourished with so much tenderness, lay expiring before me, like a blossom immaturely blighted, I attended her in dumb despair. A few moments before she died, she thus spoke, "Alas my father, I have overwhelmed you with sorrow, regret me not, let not those tears fall on my account, in this world all must have been misery, the blackness of despair, I go, blessed by thy forgiveness, and the promise which scripture holds out of penitence meeting mercy, a broken and contrite heart is acceptable." Her hands were extended, her eyes closed, and she expired. The power who supported me in such trials, pardoned the first delirium of grief, in the days of my felicity I had pictured to myself such scenes of bliss, I looked forward to a prattling progeny, who would be the comfort of my old age.

"How desultory are the schemes of man, he lays plans of permanent felicity, when the whirlwind of affliction arrives, and destroys the towering edifice of creative hope.

"After those occurrences, my mind was too perturbed to allow me to attend to the duties of my function, I surrendered my living, left that part of the country, and retired to this spot, where unknown and unmolested, I may brood over my losses, and where I frequently picture to myself the terminating scene."

Exquisite were the sensations of grief and horror, which this little tale excited in our b.r.e.a.s.t.s; to my feelings was added a painful degree of surprise from the name of Mordaunt, I enquired, though in accents of dread and hesitation, and learned he was the destroyer of Hume's happiness.

Our visits were frequently repeated to the cottage of the unfortunate old man, to me they were inexpressibly soothing, from kindred grief there was derived a congenial sympathy.

Two years had rolled away since my retirement in Harley's cottage, when I was called down one morning to a gentleman in the parlour, my heart trembled at the summons, and my tottering limbs could scarcely support me to the spot. A stranger in deep mourning met my view, I gazed attentively on him, and recollected the features of my brother, grief had so altered my form, so worn away all traces of my former self, that he knew me not, till my weak voice p.r.o.nounced his name.

"Ah my sister," cried he, "think not your brother could ever forget your gentle worth, could ever think you deserving of censure, or like the world be bia.s.sed by misfortune to forget you, a father's interdiction prevented me ere this, visiting your retreat, that father no longer exists to oppose my intentions, he died convinced of your innocence, and breathing wishes for your felicity. Harland, the penitent Harland is no more, sensible of the injustice he had done you, he acknowledged his cruelty, and has by his death, restored you to fame, to fortune, and to your child."

I wept as my brother spoke--my heart was opprest by a variety of emotions, and my gloomy soul turned to the untimely grave of Harland--my brother conjectured my feelings--"I see" cried he, "from what a mingled source your tears flow, but ah my sister, in this life happiness must ever receive some alloy."

His consolations strengthened my reason in combating grief--I reflected that even if Harland lived, to me he must have been lost, since after the unfortunate rencontre between him and my husband, a connection with him would have confirmed an invidious world in every idea they had formed prejudicial to me.

He was soon struck by the charms and innocent simplicity of Louisa, her heart returned his partiality, and I had the happiness of witnessing their union.

Their happiness, the education of my child, and self-exertion, roused me from the lethargy of grief, and diffused a calm over my mind I never hoped to have experienced.

THE SCHOOL OF NATURE.

"-------- -------- -------- Nature spreads An open volume; where, in ev'ry page, We read the wonders of Almighty Pow'r, Infinite Wisdom, and unbounded Love.

Here sweet instruction, entertaining truths, Reward the searching mind, and onward lead Enquiring Thought: new beauties still unfold, And op'ning wonders rise upon the view.

The Mind, rejoicing, comments as she reads; While through th' inspiring page Conviction glows, And warms to praise her animated pow'rs."

THEODOSIA.

Nature presents to the imagination an inexhausted fund of rational amus.e.m.e.nt. To contemplate the inimitable works of creation, is no less instructive than pleasing. Animate as well as inanimate objects afford an abundance of entertaining ideas, equally calculated to raise in the souls of human beings the most unfeigned offerings of wonder, grat.i.tude, and praise. The gaiety of spring, the smiles of summer, the fecundity of autumn, and the dreariness of winter, all combine to celebrate the Author of universal existence. From the most curious and precious earthly substance, down to the simplest blade of herbage, a granery is opened to satisfy the desires of, and impart delight to, rational mortals. But, notwithstanding the innumerable blessings conferred on man from above, if we attentively mark the conduct of the majority of individuals, painful as it may be to our own feelings, or those of every contemplative, virtuous, and sensible person, how few are those to be found, who are truly thankful for the mercies they enjoy? How few, indeed, who acknowledge the goodness of an omnipotent and omniscient Being! They live as if they were indebted to none for their life or their enjoyments. Unthankful and ungenerous man! why art thou so impious as to forget that inc.u.mbent grat.i.tude, and that graceful duty, which thou owest to thy heavenly Father? Why trample on every moral obligation? why shun the precepts of pious Wisdom, and the dictates of impartial Conscience? Rouze thyself from the torpor which now envelopes thee, and learn to be thankful for those blessings which thou dost a.s.suredly receive from above; and, in the words of the late pious Mr.

Addison, testify thy acknowledgments--

"When all thy mercies, O my G.o.d!

My grateful soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In wonder, love, and praise!"

Let not any one think it beneath him, or in the smallest degree derogatory to his character or sphere in life, however learned, opulent, and exalted, he may be, to retire occasionally from the bustle of the world, and to meditate in some calm and undisturbed recess, the perfections of his Maker, and the works of his hands. Believe me, the most refined pleasures are to be derived from such innocent, delightful, and laudable pursuits. The magnificent and wonderful objects of the celestial, and the curiosity and variety of the vegetable world, as well as the formation of all animals, reptiles, insects, and other productions of Nature, have properties which, if accurately viewed, yield inconceivable astonishment to the beholder. When spring, for example, returns with all it's native beauties, as succeeding the gloomy aspect and forbidding horrors of winter; when it teems with a matchless splendour and magnificence; when its green hues and universal verdure come forth in all their pristine elegance, and enchanting attractions; and the birds warble and attune in sprightly att.i.tudes, their respective notes, even then they are almost always either forgotten or disregarded; even then men neglect to thank the Author of life and happiness, the source of every distributive blessing. What culpable negligence is this, in rational and accountable beings! O that man would attend with docility to these important truths, and frequently reflect on the revolving seasons of the year, and the School of Nature, which would afford him an endless variety of useful and instructive lessons; and, in an iminent degree, furnish a convincing and happy demonstration of the wisdom, power, and goodness, of the Creator.

ANECDOTE.

Charles the Second asking the famous Bishop Stillingfleet, how it came to pa.s.s, that although he was informed he always preached _without book_ elsewhere, yet he always read his Sermons before the Court? The Bishop replied, that the awe of so wise an audience, where he saw nothing that was not greatly superior to himself, made him afraid to trust his memory. "But will your majesty (continued Stillingfleet) permit me to ask you a question in my turn?---Why do you read your Speeches, when you can have no such reasons?"---"Why, truly, Doctor, (said the King) your question is a very pertinent one, and so shall be my answer.---I have asked the Parliament so often, and for so much money, _that I am afraid to look them in the face_."

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

OBSERVATION.

"_Qui capit ille facit._"

"Giving advice unasked," says Lord Chesterfield, "is a piece of rudeness; it is, in effect, declaring ourselves wiser than these to whom we give it; reproaching them with ignorance and inexperience. It is a freedom that ought not to be taken with any common acquaintance."

Notwithstanding, there are those who a.s.sume the place of preceptors, not only to their familiars, but to those with whom they have no particular acquaintance, nor can claim the least pretence to superiority.

There is also another cla.s.s of people who render themselves insufferably disgusting, by a kind of blind raillery, which they employ against some person present: to whom they offer the most unpardonable insults, without saying any thing in particular that can properly be resented.

An instance of both these characters I met with, not long since, in a gentleman whom I chanced to fall in company with: and as I perceived his observations were altogether levelled at me, I shall not hesitate to offer a few remarks thereon; and, in my turn, propose a word of instruction to those who may be guilty of the like errors. Should they wish to convince any one of his faults, on honourable grounds, let them, without reserve, address the immediate person intended, with freedom and candour: for they may be a.s.sured that open reproof is better than covert insults. "Poisoned arrows," (to use the words of a celebrated author, on another occasion) "and stabs in the dark, are not more repugnant to the laws of Humanity" than "this battery of" indirect sarcasm. Reflections, thus obliquely delivered, though clothed in the "mildest language," give to persons of discernment and spirit "sensible" offence. Every body knows that the provokingest things are frequently uttered in the ironic style; and it is quite as certain, that the acutest sting often lurks under the softest expressions. The dagger becomes not less keen for being polished.

ETHICUS.

NEW-YORK October 6, 1796.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

THE CHURCH YARD.

+A Fragment.+

******I walked into the Church-Yard, and placed myself near a grave that had been newly dug, in order to take a view of the different characters that approached.

--The body was deposited in the place appointed. The mourners stood near the clergyman, as he read the service. The father of the departed held a handkerchief in his hand, which he alternately applied to each eye, for the purpose of wiping off the briney tear; for they were abundantly surcharged therewith. His eye was fixed on the coffin; now it reverted to the minister: again it fell to the ground in hopeless sorrow.

The uncle next caught my attention; he also held a handkerchief in his hand.---But for the life of me I could not tell for what, unless it was that _fashion_ demanded it. His sorrow appeared to reside no where but in his dress: and I must say, he was in no wise deficient in that point.

I could not perceive that he took the least notice of the ceremony; his attention was more occupied on the things of this world. I imagined he was taking the model of a house that stood near; and it surprised me not a little that he did not take out his pocket-book, in order to note it.

In the countenance of the divine was depicted humility---It was with solemnity he fulfilled his office.

The people were departing; but the _sincere_ mourner was still standing by the grave. The uncle had reached the gate; but suddenly he arrested his steps: he missed his fellow, and returned. He pulled out his handkerchief again, and when he stood along side his brother applied it to his eyes!----

----Shame on the hypocrite!