The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 166

WORLDLY GREATNESS AND HONOURS,

When enjoyed with temperance and wisdom, both enlarge our utility, and contribute to our comfort. But we should not over-rate them; for, unless we add to them the necessary correctives of piety and virtue, besides corrupting the mind, and engendering internal misery, they lead us among precipices, and betray us into ruin.

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The _WANDERINGS_ of the IMAGINATION.

_BY MRS. GOOCH._

PREFACE.

After obtruding my late productions on the Public, I retired into the country, where I might have pa.s.sed fifteen months in endless apathy, had I not felt that idleness, if not the root of all evil, is at least the bane of all good; and that however the spirits may be depressed by misfortune, or the body harra.s.sed by fatigue, the mind, still active, will rather create visions, and pursue phantoms, than subjugate itself to a total oblivion of all the blessings of this life.

Though I had little inclination to be perfectly unemployed, I had as little to busy myself in those works of Fancy and Fiction, which, under the t.i.tle of Novels, cost much time and great application; and in the composition of which so many of my fair countrywomen eminently excel.

Yet was I determined not to sacrifice the peaceful moments allotted to me in mental slumbers. I considered that I have seen much; that I have reflected more; that my reading had not been inconsiderable; and that I had travelled not without some attention to the men and manners of various countries; that the recollection of some of these objects might not only amuse myself, but prove interesting to people less accustomed to diversity of situation, and, perhaps, less qualified to draw inferences from what they see.

I concluded then, that without wearying myself so as to deprive my mind of the repose it required, and at the same time to keep it's powers in action, I might devote a part of my time to the recollection and recital of such of my _Wanderings_ as could not be recounted without some topics for amus.e.m.e.nt, and some hints for instruction.

But though I thus draw from the fountain-head of actual observation, in some cases, and from experience in others, my Reader is not to infer that my writings will be less entertaining than the _Wanderings of Fiction_. For I need not tell those who are capable of making observation, that almost _every_ life is full of adventure; of strange transitions and wonderful revolutions; and he that adheres to simple facts, and relates what pa.s.ses before him, need seldom have recourse to fiction for subjects even marvellous, and such as may at once instruct and delight the Reader.

The princ.i.p.al object of a writer, thus circ.u.mstanced, is to select with discretion, and to relate with effect. In this I know not how far I may have succeeded, because I am ignorant of the extent of my own powers, and conscious only of my good intentions.

With these sentiments, and impressed with a due sense for the favourable reception of my former productions, I humbly submit to the candour and to the protection of the public my _Wanderings of the Imagination_.

_FIRST WANDERING._

During an excursion last Summer, in the county of Kent, when my finances would not afford me a better conveyance than a stage-coach, I frequently amused myself, (not, as is usual, with the different countenances and characters of it's pa.s.sengers) but with those incidents on the road; with which chance not unfrequently furnished me.

As I was admiring the beauty of the hop-grounds, which flourished in rich luxuriance near the side of the ocean, a sailor caught my attention. He no sooner perceived the coach, than he ran eagerly towards it; his countenance was expressive of something between sorrow and gladness. On his right side was a stump, which he emphatically held towards us: his left arm he extended towards the sea, which, as his eye glanced over, appeared to intimate, "This still remains for the service of my country!"

Perhaps the chearful tar had no such idea as that which I hastily formed on seeing him; but his smiling countenance indicated something above the generality of beggars, who, conceiving that their mutilated bodies are insufficient to excite pity, aim at a distortion of features, and a story in which the marvellous bears the strongest part, as better calculated to impose on the genuine feelings of humanity.

The contrasted appearance of this son of Neptune pleased me; but while I was ruminating in his favour, I was neglectful of the more essential mode of serving him; and before I could reach the bottom of my pocket, the coach drove on, and left him to the chance of a more favourable moment in the hearts of succeeding travellers, who might probably be actuated by different feelings than mine to relieve his necessities.

I could not, however, help reflecting, that good intentions ought to be speedily performed; and that to neglect opportunities of benevolence, is not conformable to the doctrine and practice of him who made the human heart.

In the county of Kent, and her little Island of Thanet, Nature is gaily, and luxuriantly dressed. The extremes of affluence, or penury, are seldom met with; the lands are fertile, and well cultivated; and the round bodies of the horses bespeak the ease of their employers. Here are various little plants elsewhere unknown; and the botanist would find his labours amply rewarded by strictly scrutinizing the soil of Thanet.

Were I inclined to extend description, I should fully expatiate on the beauties and manners of this pleasant county; which I saw with pleasure, and left with regret; but as I intend this to be rather an irregular journal, than a studied publication, I will bid adieu to it, and all its delights; and in wishing its inhabitants every enjoyment that can arise from industry, and benevolence, proceed to give an account of my

_SECOND WANDERING._

I could never account for national prejudice. It is a narrow-minded opinion, inconsistent with reason and humanity: it extends itself to counties, towns, and even villages. The Spaniards are proud--the Italians and Portugueze revengeful--the French barbarous--and England is supposed to be, by Englishmen, the _only_ spot of Europe which unites _every_ virtue, untainted by _any_ vice. Born myself an Englishwoman and the daughter of a Portugueze, I feel a more natural propensity towards this country, the harbour of my birth and education, than towards Portugal; although the laws of England have sufficiently operated against me, to excuse any prejudice I might in common justice form against it. These laws (the boast of Englishmen) have been exercised towards myself with severity, but without justice: they have been strained against a weak woman, and have proved a galling yoke of slavery, when they should have served as a barrier against injustice and oppression; and they have fully convinced me, that in this _Christian_ kingdom, as elsewhere, the hydra of despotism rears her head unabashed, if not swayed by a golden sceptre. Money, and its concomitant, _interest_, bear all before them. In vain will talents, merit, and even virtue itself, lay claim to protection; these are weak prerogatives when opposed to wealth, no matter by what means acquired. The Nabob, who returns home loaded with the spoils of the East, to obtain which he has waded through the blood of thousands, becomes respected as a worthy member of community, as soon as it is known he is a rich one. But should the same person return to this his native country, poor, friendless, and forlorn;--should he urge in excuse for his poverty the uprightness of his heart, which spurned at the idea of acquiring wealth by cruelty and usurpation, how would he then be received? Where would he find the great man to patronize him? And where, alas! the sympathetic mind to commiserate, and the benevolent hand to alleviate his necessities? In England I fear, he would not; or, if he did, it would be more likely in the compa.s.sionate breast of a stranger, than in that of what custom, and custom only, calls _an old friend_.

From this dangerous, because most abused of epithets, arises princ.i.p.ally the source of all our misfortunes. We cling to it with eager hope, and are almost as frequently met by disappointment.

"Disappointment smiles at Hope's career!"

In all our wayward pilgrimage through life, we console ourselves with the certainty of reciprocal esteem and disinterested friendship. Youth and prosperity attach themselves to the specious forms of kindness; but the flattering illusions last no longer than the objects which attracted them; and the once-admired favourite of Fortune, no longer in possession of _more_ than the _desire_ to do good, becomes an alien to the society of which he was once the _support_ and the _pride_. This, indeed, seems an argument in favour of misanthropy; whereas it only strongly inculcates the necessity of limiting our benevolence and our desires, and submit to the dictates of prudence.

I was particularly led into these reflexions, by a circ.u.mstance which lately occured to me. As I was enjoying my meditations in a retired part of St. Jame's Park, at an hour prescribed there by custom and fashion, a countenance, of which I had a slender recollection, met my eye. The meanness of his attire was no obstacle to my perceiving that he was a _gentleman_. He walked a few paces before me, and then sitting down on the first bench, pensively leaned his head on his hand, and attentively considered me as I past. I proceeded slowly down the avenue, and took occasion to observe whether he followed me. He kept his place till my return, when he looked sorrowfully in my face, and emphatically shook his head. His meaning was too plain not to be understood: and I answered it by placing myself on the seat near him.

I believe our looks mutually bespoke a wish, mingled with a sort of timid fear, about making the first advance; and in this situation we had probably remained some time longer, had he not as he afterwards told me, seen something in my face that bore testimony to a feeling heart. With a tremulous voice, he asked me if he was mistaken in my name, which he mentioned; and being satisfied that he was right, he added, "No wonder, Madam, that an interval of twenty-two years, and my present appearance, should conceal from your remembrance the person of Capt. S----."

The expression of his countenance, and the tone in which he uttered these words, were more convincing proofs of his veracity, than I could discover in the imperfect traces of a form I had once beheld. That form, which I once saw the repository of every manly grace, was now palsied and emaciated, and seemed bending towards the earth, as if anxious to embrace its last asylum. So true is the observation of an accurate observer of human life: "He that wanders about the world sees new forms of misery; and if he chances to meet an old friend, meets a face darkened with troubles."

I a.s.sured him, that I did indeed remember Capt. S----; but that surprize and sorrow now damped the joy I should have felt on the renewal of our acquaintance, had I found him in a situation more worthy of him.

I intreated him to believe, that however hardly fortune had dealt by him (and that she had dealt hardly I could not doubt), there still existed some few compa.s.sionate hearts; and that I was proud to place mine among the number. He gently pressed my hand to his lips; intreated I would name an early day for giving him another meeting in the same place; and telling me he was then going by appointment to see _his old friend_, and former Colonel, Lord G. he tottered down the avenue, but not till we had agreed on meeting the following morning at twelve; when he promised to acquaint me with the success of his visit, from which he already seemed to derive the most sanguine expectations. My eyes could only follow him for a few minutes, but my heart ceased not to accompany him throughout the day; and while I pondered on the vicissitudes of life, and retracing his former situation, I could not help sorrowfully contrasting it with his present embarra.s.sments.

(To be continued.)

[The EDITORS of the NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE, present their readers, this week, with the first number of the "FARRAGO," from the inimitable pen of Mr. DENNIE, author of "_The Lay Preacher_,"

&c. &c. The pure morality, the elegant and cla.s.sical style which is pourtrayed in every paragraph, the Editors flatter themselves will be acceptable to the lovers and patrons of Literature. The _Farrago_ originally appeared in "THE TABLET," a literary paper published in Boston, which was universally read and admired throughout the New-England States.]

_THE FARRAGO._

N. I.

"A DESULTORY WAY OF WRITING, A HOP, SKIP, AND JUMP MODE OF INDITING."

PETER PINDAR.