The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 174

Low spirits and a dull morning, had raised such a fog around my brain, that I could hardly discern a sentiment. Opened a "dissertation on memory," read till my own failed. I then threw away my book, and threw myself on the bed; I can't tell how long I remained there, but, somebody shaking me by the shoulder, I opened my eyes and saw--the maid, who came to inform me it was 8 o'clock _in the evening_, and that coffee was ready.

Thursday.--Went out at seven, with a determination to attend to business; thought I might venture to call at a friend's house; on my entrance saw a brace of beauties, whose smiles were so animating that they detained me, "charmed by witchery of eyes," till noon. I returned to my lodgings, and finding my spirits too sublimated for serious study, I beguiled the remainder of the afternoon, by writing a sonnet to Laura.

Evening.--Lounged to my bookshelf, with an intent to open Blackstone, but made a mistake, and took down a volume of Hume's History of England.

Attention became quite engrossed by his narrative of the reign of Henry I. A versatile, brilliant genius, who blended in one bright a.s.semblage, ambition, prudence, eloquence and enterprize; who received and merited, what I think, the most glorious of all t.i.tles, that of Beauclerc, or, the polite scholar. The formidable folios, which stood before me, seemed frowningly to ask, why I did not link to my ambition, that prudence, which formed part of Henry's fame? The remorseful blush of a moment, tinged my cheek, and I boldly grasped a _reporter_; but, straightway recollecting, that I had recently supped, and that, after a full meal, application was pernicious to health, I adjourned the cause Prudence versus Meander, till morning.

Friday.--Rose at the dawn, which is the first time I have complied with my resolution, of unroosting with the c.o.c.k. "Projecting many things, but accomplishing none," is the motto to my coat of arms. Began my studies, nothing with nice care, the curious distinction in law, between general and special _Tail_; at length, I grew weary of my task, and thought with Shakespeare's Horatio, that 'twere considering too curiously, to consider thus. Began to chat with my companions; we are, when indolent, ever advocates for relaxation; but, whether an attorney's office is the place, where idling should be tolerated, is a question, which I do not wish to determine in the negative. Finished my morning studies with "Hafen Shawkenbergius's tenth decad."

Afternoon.--Did _nothing_ very busily till four. Seized with a lethargic yawn, which lasted till seven, when a dish of coffee restored animation, and on the entrance of a friend, fell into general conversation; made a transition to the scenes of our boyish days, and till midnight, employed memory in conjuring up to view, the shades of our departed joys.

Sat.u.r.day.--Slept but little, last night. My imagination was so busy in castle building, that she would not repose. Dreamed that Lord c.o.ke threw his "Inst.i.tute" at me. Rose at nine, looked abroad; and the atmosphere being dusky, and my spirits absent on furlough, felt unqualified for reading. For several days there has been a succession of gloomy skies.

The best writers affirm that such weather is unfriendly to menial labour. The poet says

"While these dull fogs invade the head, "Memory minds not what is read."

Took up a magazine, which I carefully skimmed but obtained no cream.

Cracked, in the Dean of St. Patrick's phrase, a rotten nut, which cost me a tooth and repaid me with nothing but a worm.--Breakfasted; reflected on the occurrences of the week. In the drama of my life, procrastination, and indolence, are the princ.i.p.al actors. My resolutions flag, and my studies languish. I must strive to check the irregular sallies of fancy. I never shall be useful to others, till I have a better command of myself. Surely one, abiding in the bowers of ease, may improve, if industry be not wanting. Alfred could read and write, eight hours every day, though he fought fifty six pitched battles, and rescued a kingdom; and Chatterton, the ill-fated boyish bard, composed, though cramped by penury, poems of more invention than many a work which has been kept nine years and published at a period of the ripest maturity.

When I fly from business, let ambition, therefore, _think on, and practice these things_. I determine, _next week_, to effect an entire revolution in my conduct, to form a new plan of study, and to adhere to it with pertinacity. As this week is on the eve of expiration, it would be superfluous to sit down to serious business. I therefore amused myself, by dipping into Akenside's "Pleasures of Imagination;" read till five, visited a friend, and conversed with him till midnight; conversation turned on _propriety of conduct_, for which I was a strenuous advocate-- * * * * * * *

Here the journal of Meander was abruptly closed. I was curious to learn in what manner he employed his week of reformation. On the ensuing Monday he grew weary of his books; instead of mounting Pegasus, and visiting Parna.s.sus, he actually strode a hack-horse of mere mortal mould, and, in quest of diversion, commenced a journey. He was accompanied, not by the muses, but by a party of jocund revellers; and prior to my friend's departure, the last words he was heard so say, or rather _roar_, were the burden of a well known anacreontic "_dull thinking will make a man crazy_."

The character and journal of Meander scarcely need a commentary. There shall be none. I was not born in Holland, and only Dutchmen, are qualified to write notes. But I will make an apostrophe.

Ye tribe of Mercurealists! in the name of prudence, avoid eccentricity; expand not your _fluttering_ pinions; trudge the foot-way path of life; dethrone Fancy and crown Common Sense. Let each one seek and fulfil his daily task, "one to his farm and another to his merchandize."

_ANECDOTES._

A worthy Clergyman belonging to a parish in New-England, had the misfortune to have a son of a flighty and wild disposition: altho' many were the pious admonitions of the virtuous father to bring his son's remissness into subordination with his own, he had to lament that his injunctions and a.s.siduous endeavours were fruitless, and far from being productive of the desired end.--His son's heart was so averse to solemnity, that he could not contain himself at the time of worship, and he was often so overstocked with frivolity and his mischievous humor, that his father often noticed it, while preaching, with much regret--and concluded upon harsher means than he had before used to bring his son to better subjection.--The next sabbath he confined him to his house, and proceeded to church with the rest of his family, consisting of his wife, two daughters, and his old negro _Tone_:--the service being nearly half performed, and the pastor speaking with much fervency to his crouded audience, his voice was all at once drowned by a sudden and tremendous burst of laughter, from all parts of the church, which confounded him.--This laughter was occasioned by the sudden entrance of his favorite old dog, who always placed himself next the pulpit door, in full view of the audience; he now appeared decorated in an old gown and wig powdered and tied on with much taste, which occasioned such loud peals of laughter, that he with difficulty obtained an explanation in ten or fifteen minutes. Old Tone, who seemed to be more in a state of reserve than any other, cried out from the gallery in great earnestness--"Ma.s.sa, Ma.s.sa! ony you look at our Tray, den you se what ma-ke dem laff!"--The parson opening the pulpit door, the old dog immediately ascended to him, and was so profuse with his caresses, that the pastor could scarcely dismiss his congregation.

Christina, the Swedish Queen, never wore a night-cap, but always wrapped her head in a napkin. In order to amuse her during her sleepless nights, after having been indisposed the preceding days, she ordered music to be performed near her bed, the curtain of which was entirely closed.

Transported at length with the pleasure she received from a particular pa.s.sage in the music, she hastily put her head out of bed, and exclaimed. "How well he sings!" The poor Italian singers, who are in general not remarkable for bravery, were so much frightened by her voice, and the sudden appearance of such an extraordinary figure, that they became at once dumb and stupified, and the music immediately ceased.

COLLINS's MONUMENT.

A monument of most exquisite workmanship has been lately erected at Chichester, by public subscription, to the memory of the poet COLLINS, who was a native of that city, and died in a house adjoining to the Cloisters. He is finely represented, as just recovering from a wild fit of phrenzy, to which he was unhappily subject, and in a calm and reclining posture seeking refuge from his misfortunes in the divine consolations of the Gospel; while his lyre, and one of the first of his poems, lie neglected on the ground. Above are two beautiful figures of Love and Pity, entwined in each other's arms. The whole is executed by the ingenious Mr. FLAXMAN, lately returned from Rome. The following elegant epitaph is written by Mr. HAYLEY--

"Ye who the merits of the dead revere, Who hold Misfortunes sacred, Genius dear; Regard this tomb, where COLLINS, hapless name!

Solicits kindness with a double claim.

Though Nature gave him, and though Science taught, The fire of Fancy, and the reach of Thought; Severely doom'd to Penury's extreme, He pa.s.s'd in madd'ning pain, Life's fev'rish dream; While rays of Genius only serv'd to show The thick'ning horror, and exalt his woe.

Ye walls that echo'd to his frantic moan, Guard the due records of this graceful stone!

Strangers to him, enamour'd of his lays, This fond memorial to his talents raise; For this the ashes of a Bard require, Who touch'd the tend'rest notes of Pity's lyre: Who join'd pure faith to strong poetic powers; Who, in reviving Reason's lucid hours, Sought on one boo, his troubled mind to rest, And rightly deem'd--the Book of G.o.d the best."

+The HISTORY of ANTIOCHUS and STRATONICE.+

Antiochus, a Prince of great hopes, fell pa.s.sionately in love with the young Queen Stratonice who was his mother-in-law, and had bore a son to the old King Seleuchus his father. The Prince finding it impossible to extinguish his pa.s.sion, fell sick, and refused all manner of nourishment, being determined to put an end to that life which was become insupportable.

Erasistratus, the physician, soon found that love was his distemper; and observing the alteration in his pulse and countenance, whensoever Stratonice made him a visit, was soon satisfied that he was dying for his young mother-in-law. Knowing the old King's tenderness for his son, when he one morning inquired of his health, he told him, that the Prince's distemper was love; but that it was incurable, because it was impossible for him to possess the person whom he loved. The King, surprised at this account, desired to know how his son's pa.s.sion could be incurable? Why, sir, replied Erasistratus because he is in love with the person I am married to.

The old King immediately conjured him, by all his past favours, to save the life of his son and successor. Sir, said Erasistratus, would your majesty but fancy yourself in my place, you would see the unreasonableness of what you desire. Heaven is my witness, said Seleuchus, I could resign even my Stratonice to save my Antiochus. At this the tears began to run down his cheeks, which when the physician saw, taking him by the hand, sir, says he, if these are your real sentiments, the prince's life is out of danger; it is Stratonice for whom he dies. Seleuchus immediately gave orders for solemnizing the marriage; and the young Queen to shew her obedience, very generously exchanged the father for the son.

DESCRIPTION OF A WONDERFUL CAVERN IN UPPER HUNGARY.

Near Strelitz, an inconsiderable village in Upper Hungary, is a most wonderful cavern, in the middle of a large mountain. The aperture which fronts the south, is eighteen fathoms high, and eight broad; and consequently wide enough to receive the south wind, which generally blows here with great violence. Its subterraneous pa.s.sages consist entirely of solid rock, stretching away farther south than has yet been discovered. As far as it is practicable to go to, the height is found to be fifty fathoms, and the breadth twenty-six. But the most unaccountable singularity in the cavern is, that in the heart of winter, the air is warm on the inside; and when the heat of the sun without is scarce supportable, is freezing cold within. When the snows melt in the spring, the inside of the cave, where the surface is exposed to the south sun, it emits a pellucid water, which congeals immediately as it drops, by the extreme cold, the icicles are of the bigness of a large cask; and, spreading into ramifications, form very odd figures: the very water that drops from the icicles on the ground, which is sandy, freezes in an instant. It is observable also, that the greater the heat is without, the more intense is the cold within; and in the dog-days, all parts are covered with ice. In autumn, when the nights grow cold, and the diurnal heats abate, the ice in the cave begins to dissolve, insomuch, that by winter no more ice is to be seen, the cavern then becomes perfectly dry and of a mild warmth. At this time it is surprising to see the swarms of flies and gnats, also bats and owls, and even of hares and foxes, that make this place their winter retreat, till in the beginning of spring, it again grows too cold for them.

[[Source:

Original: A New System of Geography (volume 2 of 6: Hungary, Turkey, Spain etc.) by A. F. Busching, pg. 62-63 under Szelitze.

Translation: Murdoch 1762.

Possible Sources: Town and Country Magazine 1769.

Weekly Miscellany, March 31, 1777.

Notes: The site is in modern Slovakia, 5 miles west of "Caschaw"

(Ger. Kaschaw) or "Ca.s.sovia" (Ka.s.sa, Koice).]]

NEW-YORK.

_MARRIED,_

On Sunday evening the 7th instant, by the Right Rev. Bishop Provost, Mr.

SAMUEL THOMPSON, to Miss MARY WINKFIELD, both of this city.

On Monday evening the 8th instant, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Lieutenant ROBERT LONG, of his Britannic Majesty's 17th regiment, to the amiable Miss JANE BYRON, lately from Ireland.

On Thursday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Livingston, the Rev. JOHN B.

JOHNSON, of Albany, to Miss BETSEY LUFTON, of this city.