Chapter IV (4)

But, my dear Jeremy, I had no intention of wandering from my purpose, of giving you a reminding hint of “Copper Mining.” as a sort of sedative to the gold “placers.” Some of Jonathan’s younger sons were then severely bitten, and were so thoroughly inoculated with the virus, as to have rather a sharpened recollection of metals. The most of _them_, I should think, would be safe from this _later_ disease, even in its most violent and contagious forms. Yet there is something very attractive, and most dangerously seductive, in delving for minerals, counting each shovelfull as so many guineas coined, and already in your pocket. There is no enthusiast more dangerous than your professional miner. The gentle madness is so infectious that his example may turn the heads of a whole district. Yet _his_ bite is not half so venomous as that of another species—a kind of ground-shark—who affects the same sort of insanity, and while digging below ground, puts his “placer” on the “Stock List.”

It is astonishing, too, that we will be caught once in a while in this way, while there are people all around us, _anxious friends_, who exclaim, “I knew it!” but who never hinted a word about the matter. Did it ever strike you that we live in a very sagacious and knowing world—the mind of each man being simply the reflection of that of another? Our brightest fancies are but the suggestions of other people’s brains—our good fortune in life is always known beforehand—our reverses have always been most indubitably predicted by parties, who confirm their sagacity with a consolatory—“I told you so.” We are, after all, then, but the mere creatures of the impulses of other people—our destiny it is to work out their predictions. The iron energy, the indomitable perseverance, sleepless vigilance, untiring industry—have all been weighed beforehand—duly appreciated and predicted. There is no such thing as surprising any body. It is all perfectly understood.

W—, by a keen sagacity in detecting, and ready tact in managing a new business, has struck the tide that bears to fortune. But _he_ has made no discovery. Forty other men, with scarcely brains to comprehend, much less originate an idea, knew all about it. _They told you so!_ W— goes on, originates new combinations of trade, enlarges business ideas, and still succeeds. But _Toldyeso_ knew it, and was indifferent.

SHARP has his eye upon W—. “AH!” says he “there is a man who has a soul above buttons—a _genius_ for business. Every thing _he_ touches turns to gold.”

But W—, with his multitude of irons in the fire, incautiously takes hold of the hot end of one of them, and is maimed. “BAH!” says Sharp, “I knew how it would be! He was always _rushing_ business up against the stream. Bound to fail—_I told you so_!” And yet nobody ever knew Sharp to originate, or succeed in, any thing—but _he knows_—and that must be some consolation to a ninny.

But, Jeremy, not to imitate the folly of this world in regard to the past, nor to affect the wisdom of the next, to tell of the future, I have a story about mining to give you in my next, in which you will find both Sharps and Flats, which I think will induce you to believe with me—that people who have cultivated a dangerous intimacy with Copper-Heads ought to be cautious, and particularly shy how they _now_ run after Gold-Bugs with a _hum_.

C. has been in town, and I passed an evening with him since last I wrote you. He has still the same joyous laugh, that used to set the table in a roar, and it is quite as contagious. At every jest he would burst out with a sort of a shout in his hearty guffaw, which, if practiced at home, must wake the echoes of his native mountain. I was thoughtful over the past, and became partially a convert to your theory, in regard to the chilling effects of extra city refinement; and your beautiful picture of country life, with its honest, hearty friendships, came to my mind forcibly. It must be true, for I confess I _felt_ that I had grown older, and colder, too. Can you, Jeremy, laugh as of yore—as loud and as long?—with the same hearty good will and utter _abandon_. Or is your mirth choked and clogged with bitter remembrances, which will steal upon the heart even in its gayest moments? Thought! is _it_ a companion with which you can entertain hilarity? Or is your joy overshadowed with the darkness of evil that has been, or that you anticipate, you scarce know why? I cannot experience the light-heartedness we had formerly. Perhaps it is that I attempt its cultivation. It must come of natural buoyancy of spirits, I think, to be genuine. It is else but a hot-house plant in a snow-storm—its leaves torn off by the blast or shriveled in a frosty embrace. I doubt much whether our intellectual pleasures, as we proudly call them, are half as exhilarating, and deeply steeped in genuine happiness, as were those more animal sensations which we experienced when boys, as we went hallooing and shouting along in the very exuberance of our spirits, with a gay, glad, spirited defiance of care and all its imps. This was the riches of the heart and not of the pocket. Was it not? We had no gold in those days, so it could not have been _that_!

G. R. G.

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THE FEBRUARY NUMBER.—Our number for the last month has been pronounced, everywhere, the very best of the Magazines for the month, and has thus far so largely increased our sales, that we shall be obliged to issue a very greatly increased edition of future numbers. The year 1849 seems to have opened with most unparalleled promises for magazine literature; and while our own sales have augmented on all sides, we have the gratification, in our good fortune, to feel that we are not impairing the prosperity of our neighbors. Indeed, the Philadelphia magazines, high as they have heretofore stood before the country, and widely as they have been circulated, seem just now to have made a bound in popular favor that savors of romance. Fifteen or twenty thousand copies of a monthly magazine was formerly regarded as the highest point of success to enterprising publishers, and ambitious editors, but the dawning of this brighter day promises such results as a simple matter of _increase_ on the year’s business. We hope that our readers see, in the growing improvement of “Graham,” a disposition to impart a higher value to the book, as patronage increases, and a careful catering to taste, which shows no falling off in efforts to please, as well as to instruct our literary household. Our _aim_ has been to furnish our readers with a work, in point of literary excellence, that is unsurpassable, and in pictorial beauty at once chaste and elegant. We could multiply, _ad infinitum_, second rate articles and engravings, but we feel that we are consulting both the reader’s taste and interest in adhering rigidly to the course we have adopted, and we certainly have sufficient evidence of its good policy, in the ample support we have received.

The March number may fairly challenge a rigid scrutiny, and we invite a comparison between the literary matter and that of the other magazines. The embellishments are all most beautifully executed; but the plate of “_Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem_” is a gem in the way of engraving, and we refer to it with a conscious pride that it can neither be successfully imitated nor excelled. Our eyes linger over it with something like exultation, as we present to our readers a plate of such exquisite beauty. In this effort _even Tucker_ seems to have surpassed himself.

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THE FAMILY MESSENGER.—This is one of the cheapest and best of the weekly newspapers. Its circulation is equal to its deserts, numbering _now_ some sixty thousand readers. It has so long held its position before the newspaper world, and is so widely and well known, that we but endorse the general opinion, when we say that it is one of the best Family journals in the nation. How the enterprising publisher can furnish it at a dollar per annum is a wonder to us, and we have no doubt to its thousands of subscribers. A specimen copy is furnished to any person who may wish to see it, by application, post-paid, to the publisher.

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OH HAVE I NOT BEEN TRUE TO THEE:

A SONG,

WRITTEN AND ADAPTED TO A BEAUTIFUL MELODY,

BY JOHN H. HEWITT.

Presented by G. Willig, No. 171 Chestnut St. Published by G. Willig Jr.
Baltimore.

[Copyright secured.]

Oh! have I not been true to thee,
In joy and sorrow still the same?
Has e’en your coldness altered me,
Or sternness check’d my bosom’s

flame?
Thou’st bid me hush my plaintive song,
And still my lute’s wild melody;
Yet, yet its strain will float along,
Oh! have I not been true to thee?

SECOND VERSE.

Thy falcon now has thy caress,
Thy hound leaps gladly to thy beck;
But she who loves to wild excess
Cannot one pulse of feeling wake.
This should not be, I cannot brook
The icy smile thou givest me;
There’s death in each reproachful look—
Oh! have I not been true to thee?

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Transcriber’s Notes:

Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Punctuation has been corrected without note. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as noted below. For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals used for preparation of the ebook.

page 160, Chesapeak in superior ==> Chesapeake in superior page 167, Shown flickeringly ==> Shone flickeringly page 171, the guilded baubles ==> the gilded baubles page 180, the honey accacia ==> the honey acacia page 181, accacia and Canadian ==> acacia and Canadian page 185, see, we wil see ==> see, we will see page 186, knights and stalwort ==> knights and stalwart page 186, picture was purched ==> picture was purchased page 188, have past by ==> have passed by page 197, à la Brigadiere ==> à la Brigadière page 197, a trois morteaux ==> à trois marteaux page 199, at the widow ==> at the window page 201, derriere, pretty well ==> derrière, pretty well page 201, havn’t been looking ==> haven’t been looking page 204, Highflier, Esquire, descended ==> Highflyer, Esquire, descended page 205, table with atonishment ==> table with astonishment page 210, sheltering bows to ==> sheltering boughs to page 211, _chef-de’œuvre_ ==> _chef-d’œuvre_ page 211, My whithered heart ==> My withered heart page 215, of the Inca’s ==> of the Incas page 215, thoroughly innoculated ==> thoroughly inoculated