Chapter I: LOVE not, at peep of day, (1)

To chase, with dogs, a timid prey;
My heart is rather prone to spare,
The stately stag, the harmless hare:
For, with a faithful, gen’rous friend,
I would my Social Evenings spend.

Lur’d by the chearful Noontide-heat,
When insects quit their lone retreat;
I would not that a worm should dread
The ruin of my heedless tread:
For, with a faithful, gen’rous friend,
I would my Social Evenings spend.

Thus, when Night draws her curtain round.
May I be ne’er with maniacs found;
Who, to forget their guilty day,
Must wash reflection all away!
For, with a faithful, gen’rous friend,
I would my Social Evenings spend.

_NEW-YORK: +Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co.+ +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Book-Store of Mr. J. FELLOWS, Pine-Street._

* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] _Wednesday, June 7, 1797._ [+No. 101.+

[_A late writer in the London Monthly Magazine, in expatiating on
the unreasonable disposition of the fair sex, brings forward, as
a proof of the authenticity of his remarks, the following Letter
of Lady COMPTON to her husband, which is now preserved in the
British Museum, as a curiosity._]

* * *

“MY SWEET LIFE,

“Now I have declared to you my mind for the settling of your state, I supposed that it were best for me to bethink and consider within myself, what allowance were meetest for me: for considering what care I ever had of your estate, and how respectfully I dealt with those which both by the laws of God, of nature, and civil policy, wit, religion, government, and honesty, you, my dear, is bound to; I pray and beseech you to grant to me, your most kind and loving wife, the sum of 2600l. quarterly to be paid. Also I would, besides that allowance, have 600l. quarterly to be paid, for the performance of charitable works: and those things I WOULD NOT, neither WILL BE, accountable for. Also I WILL HAVE three horses for my own saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrow: none lend but I, none borrow but you. Also I would have two gentlewomen, lest one should be sick, or have some other let. Also, believe it, it is an undecent thing for a gentlewoman to stand mumping alone, when God hath blessed their lord and lady with a great estate. Also, when I ride a-hunting, or a hawking, or travel from one house to another, I will have them attending; so, for either of those said women, I MUST AND WILL HAVE for either of them a horse. Also I will have six or eight gentlemen; and I will have my two coaches, one lined with velvet to myself, with four very fair horses; and a coach for my women, lined with cloth, and laced with gold; the other with scarlet, and laced with silver, with four good horses. Also I will have two coachmen, one for my own coach, the other for my women. Also at any time when I travel, I will be allowed not only _carroches_, and spare horses for me and my women, but I will have such carriages as shall be fitting for all, orderly, not pestering my things with my women’s; nor their’s with either chambermaid’s; nor their’s with wash-maids. Also for laundresses, when I travel, I will have them sent away before with the carriages, to see all safe. And the chambermaids I will have go before, that the chamber may be ready, sweet, and clean. Also for that it is undecent to crowd up myself with my gentleman usher in my coach, I will have him to have a convenient horse to attend me, either in city or country. And I must have two footmen. And my desire is, that you defray all the charges for me. And for myself, besides my yearly allowance, I would have twenty gowns of apparel, six of them excellent good ones, eight of them for the country, and six other of them very excellent good ones. Also I would have to put in my purse 2000l. and 200l. and so you to PAY MY DEBTS. Also I would have 6000l. to buy me jewels, and 4000l. to buy me a pearl chain. Now, seeing I have been, and am, so REASONABLE unto you, I pray you do find my children apparel, and schooling, and all my servants, men and women, their wages. Also, I will have all my houses furnished, and my lodging chambers to be suited with all such furniture as is fit; as beds, stools, chairs, suitable cushions, carpets, silver warming-pans, cupboards of plate, fair hangings, and such like. So for my drawing chamber in all houses, I will have them delicately furnished, both with hangings, couch, canopy, glass, carpet, chairs, cushions, and all things thereunto belonging. Also my desire is, that you would PAY YOUR DEBTS, build up Ashby-house, and purchase lands, and lend no money, as you love God, to the Lord-Chamberlain, who would have all, perhaps your life, from you. Remember his son, my lord Walden, what entertainment he gave me, when you were at Tilt-yard. If you were dead, he said, he would be a husband, a father, a brother, and said he would marry me. I protest, I grieve to see the poor man have so little wit and honesty to use his friends so vilely. Also he fed me with untruths concerning the Charter-house, but that is the least; he wished me much harm, you know how. God keep you and me from him, and any such as he is. So now that I have declared to you what I would have, and what it is that I would not have, I pray, when you be an earl, to allow me 2000l. more than now I desire, and double attendance.

“Your loving wife,

“ELIZA COMPTON.”

[[Notes:

This is apparently a real letter. William Compton, Eliza’s husband,
inherited somewhere between £500,000 and £800,000 in 1610. The letter
may date from 1617; it can be no later than 1618, when William was
created Earl of Northumberland.]]

* * * * *
* * * *

The
_WANDERINGS_
of the
IMAGINATION.

_BY MRS. GOOCH._

(Continued from page 379.)

* * *

_FOURTH WANDERING._

There are few subjects which deserve a closer investigation of the legislation of the legislative power, and which is more neglected, than the excessive cruelty that is exercised in this metropolis over unhappy, and devoted _animals_. As they have no law to protect them, they are doubly entitled to the attention of Humanity. It is scarcely possible to walk through the city (London) without having one’s feelings tortured by the abandoned race of butcher’s boys, and drovers. I could mention many, I might say daily instances of what I have been painfully compelled to witness, whenever I was led into that part of the town. One only I will mention, which strongly evinces philanthropy on one hand, and infamy on the other.

These contrasted practices belonging to the same class of people, the lowest order, of the vulgar, are convincing proofs, that _Education_ has less to do with the formation of our ideas, and the realization of our actions, than _Nature_. She governs the human system, while she forms it; and however villainy may be glossed over by the specious arts of accomplished deception in splendid life, or worth may lie concealed under the thick shade of retirement, the innate sentiment still “grows with our growth,” and effectually steers us throughout the course of our existence.

It is not three weeks since I was going up Snow-hill, and was met by a number of sheep, followed by one of these imps of the Devil that I have mentioned. As I was standing by, to let them pass, I was struck by the voice of an old woman, whose “tattered garment spoke variety of wretchedness,” and who, (to continue the simile) was exactly what Fancy pictures _Otway_’s witch to have been. She was mourning over one of these wretched animals, who had sunk on its knees, exhausted by ill-usage and fatigue. One horn was plucked out by the roots; its legs were lacerated, and streaming with blood, which issued from the nostrils, while the _man_ (why I am _forced_ to call him so) was employing all his strength in belabouring, with a thick stick, its agonized sides!--The old woman was remonstrating, with all the eloquence of genuine humanity. It was a foreign language to a wretch of this description, and he answered her in his own; while I walked on; unable to bear the sight before me, or to attend to the impious execrations of the infernal cause of it.

How continually do we behold the newly-expired carcase of the generous Horse, that has at last surrendered to toils beyond his strength! The horse, which has been proudly contended for, and brought a little mine of wealth to his ungrateful master, is now denied by him even that little that would make his old age comfortable. Houseless, and hungry, he smarts under the galling whip, and is not allowed _that_ rest which God has equally ordained for man and brute. Mr. Dibdin’s justly celebrated song of _The Race-Horse_, is more descriptive than I can be of the horrid barbarities practised against this most useful creature; and which is, both in strength and generosity, superior to his masters.

There are many licensed abuses; and I will confine myself to one more only. It is an essential one, and ought to be remedied. I mean, respecting _Servants_. This class of people is particularly happy in its privileges. The Soldier, and the Sailor, are sure to meet with severe corporal punishment, if, in the slightest instance, they disobey the commands of their superior; but for the Servant, there is no punishment, unless caught in the very act of robbery; and even then, much money, time, and uneasiness, must be the cost, before you can bring yourself publicly to expose them.

How continually it happens, that exorbitant wages are due to these people, which it is not immediately convenient for the master, or mistress, to discharge. In that case, the servant, well acquainted with the circumstance, becomes insolent, or, at best, regardless; and if you find fault with them, they ask you, why you do not pay, and discharge them? while they are well convinced, that if you did pay and discharge them, they must either adopt another mode of conduct, or be reduced to beggary. But though these are facts too common throughout life, yet still, for the honour of humanity, some exceptions are to be found, but, in general, this inference may be drawn from contrasting characters of the same description in different, though similar situations, and proves one important fact, that in all situations, where vulgar minds can have an ascendancy, or pre-eminence, tyranny will ever be the result of their conduct, whether in the Drover or the Domestic.

The Courtezan, who, from dirt and darkness, emerges, by fortuitous circumstances, to gaudy splendor, and untasted affluence; or the low-bred mechanic, who, by carping care, and assiduous industry, in taking the advantage of the wants of those with whom he has acquaintance, or connection, rises into opulence, the vulgar mind will always appear in their conduct and behaviour. A haughty overbearing demeanor will always mark their manner to those who may have the misfortune to be under their power, and inconsistent meanness will ever appear, from under their most sumptuous trappings, when attempting elegance and refinement--but why it should be so is neither unnatural or wonderful--for the truth is, that conscious of their own innate meanness, and incapacity to sustain the character they would wish to assume, they conceive that all who have known them, or do know them, entertain the same contemptible ideas of them as they do of themselves, and hence conclude it necessary, in support of that dignity to which they aspire, or assume, to treat those around them with hauteur and tyranny, to impress on their minds a constant practice of the submission and obedience they wish to exact. It were well if the indigent, who may attain to affluence, or the menial servant, who may arise to superiority of situation in life, would recollect that greatness of soul, and elevation of sentiment, are equally shown, though not so efficaciously proved, in want as in wealth; in being commanded as in commanding.

Ostensible situations to such as are incapable of filling them, only display the imperfections of the possessor in a more prominent point of view; and it were well also, if those whom Nature made in hasty moments, and in its coarsest moulds, whom Reason never regenerated, nor Education ever refined--whose ideas never have, and perhaps never can be enlarged, and whose sentiments, if ever sentiments arose in the breast of such persons, were only conducive to encourage them in the pursuit of their grovelling designs, and barbarous and unrefined opinions, would seek the coverture of the shade, rather than expose their fantastic enormities, and preposterous ignorance and inability in the sunshine.

_FIFTH WANDERING._

It has been said, and more than that it is generally believed, that happiness is not to be found on earth. I deny it. For although I have never been allowed even to taste it in domestic life (with which the world is too well acquainted to doubt my veracity) yet I have observed almost daily instances of what I call happiness; and which, if not admitted to be such by those in the enjoyment of it, fully demonstrates a wilful incapacity to know its value, and ingratitude to that Being who, for his own wise purposes, bestows or takes it away.

There are two conditions of life from which only I conceive happiness to be naturally excluded; and by these I mean the extremes of affluence and penury. The man who abounds in wealth cannot be happy. His soul, if naturally great, is confined within the narrow precincts of custom and education, and has no room to expand itself. Few of these have courage, if they do not want inclination, to pry into the distresses of their fellow-creatures; and they dread the effect of prejudice, as they would dread the effect of treason. I am sorry to speak from my own observation, when I declare, that throughout this wealthy metropolis, (London) I have never yet found one man, rich in the gifts of fortune, who had spirit enough to disdain the tinsel shew that surrounded him, and consecrate his time and his money to those whom he seemed sent into the world to gladden and relieve. One only instance have I heard of it in the female world; and to her virtues, more than to her rank, may the honest tribute of applause, not the flattering voice of adulation, be given: I mean the Dowager Countess S----, where virtue unites itself to talents, and both combine to render _her_ on whom they are bestowed inestimable. What heart can refrain from offering up thanks to its Creator, who now and then condescends, as in _her_, to shew a well-drawn picture of himself? While she lives, her numerous charities cannot be forgotten; and when that God whom she adores transplants her to a world more worthy of her, still shall her name remain immortalized, while gratitude holds a place in the hearts of the many indigent her bounties have deigned to relieve!

But to proceed to my ideas of happiness;--I say ideas, because I have only drawn a sketch of it from what I have seen, and from “_The Wanderings of my Imagination_.” Can I picture to myself a greater felicity than a happy independent family I once saw in Yorkshire? They were many in number, yet one soul seemed to animate all. The old farmer, who had no more than he wished for, nor wished for more than he possessed, was one of those jovial, honest, well-meaning men, whose knowledge of the world extended not beyond the limits of his own farm. His family consisted of an old widowed sister, whom he supported, his wife, three daughters, and a son, who imitating his sire in industrious labour and attention to the peaceful and useful arts of agriculture, was requited by that tranquillity of mind which is ever the result of a good disposition.

Nature had by no means slighted the daughters in the formation of their outward graces; but had, on the contrary, given convincing proofs that those requisites necessary to engage the eye, and interest the heart of every beholder, were to be met with in the unassuming manners, and unaffected benignity, which beamed in each of their countenances. These strongly indicated that their minds was the soil where all the social virtues, that diffuse happiness alike to the possessor and those in connection with them, were to be found cultivated and sublimed; endowments which require more of the sunshine in life to sustain or invigorate; but blossoming and ripening in the shade, bid defiance to the canker of time, and the chilling damps of progressive age. Their prospects in life bounded and unenlarged, gave increase of pleasure and tranquillity, by their having fewer wants to suffice, and fewer expectations to pursue; for the less desire we have for the gratification of our passions, the more our minds must be at ease. The airy phantoms and deluding visions raised by the magic of Imagination, are more or less conjured up by awakened passions roused by variety of scenes striking our different senses; those once awakened, are soon allured; and allurements once indulged, are seldom allayed. But why do I thus insensibly wander? Why am I deviating so widely and wildly from my intended narration of rustic felicity? Yes, I must indulge it. Visions of earthly pleasure, whither are you fled? Oh, social delights, known only in domestic seclusion, and blooming only in sequestered retirement, why am I forbid to enter your hallowed abodes? I must now only in sadness survey what once I might have enjoyed, had the dictates of nature (in me) been obeyed; and instead of being made the victim of fashion, I should now be solacing myself with the inestimable pleasures of a tranquil mind, and the rational reflection of enjoying all that is worth enjoyment in life, and consequently fulfilling all the ends for which life was bestowed. But, ah! like thousands more who have lived, and will live hereafter, and in spite of all that Poets have sung, and Philosophers taught, we live not for ourselves, but for others.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *
* * * *

_THE FARRAGO._

* * *

Nº. VI.

* * *

Stephen and you are now both even,
Stephen cheats you, and you cheat Stephen.

PARODY OF A NOTED EPIGRAM.

In the highlands of Scotland, when a benighted traveller knocks at a cottage door, and is denied admittance by a female voice, he never dreams of grumbling at the refusal, if the Caledonian dame subjoin, in her country’s phrase, that she is a _lone_ woman. Should some carping critic look through my lattice, and censure me for sameness of sentiment, or barrenness of fancy, I would reply, in an accent of deprecation--Mr. Zoilus, I am a _lone author_. In the periodical publications of Great Britain, the papers are usually furnished by the members of a literary society, who assemble at some coffee-house or tavern, and club their genius to amuse the public, as they club their cash to discharge their reckoning. Those speculations, which have improved, and have gladdened life, were rarely the fruit of a single brain, but the offspring of wit in conjunction. The union of abilities is almost as essential to the perfection of a miscellany, as the union of sexes to the formation of our being. Both Genius and Dullness are prone to court alliances.--Beaumont and Fletcher, composed comedies in company; and Sternhold, when he undertook a translation of David’s psalms, employed Hopkins to _eke_ out his metre. Relying on his native strength, Dr. Johnson composed a series of lucubrations himself; but who is endowed with the comprehensive mind of the author of the Rambler? Like a poor man loaded with a _fardel_ of debt, common writers are glad to borrow. Cursed occasionally with a penury of thought, and most willing to pay my _public debt_, I solicit a hint from one, a sentiment from another, and a subject from a third. Conscious of imbecility, I dread stumbling in my _solitary_ walk, and timidity warns me to lean, sometimes on the staff of quotation, and sometimes, to employ a guide. My acquaintance, Adage, who loves sentences short and pithy, like himself, and who has read with diligence, and who admires with judgment, the PROMPTER, requests me to compose an essay in his laconic style. No, I replied, he has exhausted _Franklinisms_, he has commented upon almost every common saying in the popular mouth. Your reasons, Adage rejoined, are like Gratiano’s in the Merchant of Venice; they are two grains of wheat, hid in two bushels of chaff, you shall search all day ere you find them, and when found, they are not worth the search. Be it my task to furnish a _subject_, to take the pen and write quickly be thine. My neighbour Crispin, quoth Adage, contracted last week with a countryman for cheese. It was damaged; Crispin gives five pence per lb. and promises to pay in leather. I thought he was over-reached; but, when the cheese-monger had departed, Crispin laughingly cries, “if his cheese is mouldy, my leather is unmerchantable, and _two cheats make an even bargain_.” As the PROMPTER, continued Adage, never preached a sermon from that text, and as, to continue the allusion, the bishop is slumbering in his stall, do you become his chaplain, and ascend the pulpit yourself.

Reflecting on my friends advice, I quickly perceived that this _even_ bargain was concluded by many characters besides _professional_ cheats. An old London magazine, which I read many years ago, and which memory just handed me, offers the first example.

A brocaded Italian Count had an amour with Lady Ligonier. Every body bewailed the fate of her unhappy husband; but every body did not know that his wretchedness was alleviated in the arms of a courtezan. Every body did not know, that these two right honourable cheats made an even bargain.

A clown solicits an attorney to prosecute an obsolete claim against neighbour Clodpole; the limb of the law knows that the claim of his client is as lame, as _his_ hobbling justice, he tells him nevertheless that he will _recover_, and anticipates a heavy bill of cost. He does his dirty work, and the plaintiff is nonsuited, who emigrates to _Genesee_, and forgets to pay the advocate his fees. Don’t fret, Mr. Greenbag, keep yourself cool, you have another cause to argue, another false title to set up which will demand the calmness and intrepidity of falsehood. Don’t damn your absconded client. The balance of deception was in equilibrio between you. _Two cheats make an even bargain._

A spruce stripling of sixteen, courts an old beldame of sixty. He thinks her rich, and hopes that her gold will enable him to buy at the female flesh market of beauty a more _juicy rib_. She, relying on the bridegroom’s vigour, dreams of the _comforts_ of matrimony, and forthwith pronounces--I obey, before the Parson. But alas! the bride’s purse is _coinless_, and the fond bridegroom chooses to _consummate_ elsewhere. I advise the husband when in consequence of his wife’s fortune, he keeps a coach, to choose for a motto, two cheats make an even bargain.

Last week, I wrote at length, and like Dogberry, in Shakespeare, bestowed all my tediousness upon my readers. I will make atonement. The PROMPTER is laconic, and Adage hates prolixity.

* * * * *

SINGULAR CUSTOMS OF THE HINDOOS.

Although the Hindoos are naturally the most inoffensive of all mortals, yet does their humanity consist more in abstaining from injurious, than in the performance of beneficent actions. There is a wonderful mildness in their manners, and also in their laws, which are influenced by their manners; by which the murder of an human creature, and of a cow, are the only crimes that are punished by death. Yet with all this gentleness of disposition, they are inferior to the boisterous Europeans, with all their vices, in the virtues of compassion and generosity. They are wanting in that tenderness which is the most amiable part of our nature. They are less affected by the distresses and dangers, and even the accidental deaths of one another, than any nation I know in the old or new world. Yet they love to excess: a proof, either of the inconstancy of the human character; or that the amorous passion is not derived from the noblest part of our nature.

This insensibility of the Hindoos to the distresses and dangers of their fellow-creatures, appears to me a wonderful phenomenon. Perhaps that despotism which has long been exercised under the Mogul tyranny, by familiarising the mind to scenes of death, has blunted a sense of its terrors. Perhaps those ideas of predestination and irresistible fate, which prevail in Asia, and in all despotic governments, prepares the mind for an acquiescence in all events. An English gentleman was standing by a native of Hindostan when an enormous and fierce tiger leaped from a thicket, and carried off a screaming boy, the son of one of his neighbours. The Englishman expressed symptoms of the most extreme horror, while the Hindoo remained unmoved. “What,” said the former, “are you unaffected by so dreadful a scene?”--“The great God,” said the other, “would have it so.”--Whatever may be the cause, it is certain, that death is regarded with less horror in India than in any other country in the world. The origin and the end of all things, say the philosophers of India of the present time, is a vacuum. A state of repose is the state of greatest perfection: and this is the state after which a wise man aspires. It is better, say the Hindoos, to sit than to walk, and to sleep than to wake; but death is the best of all.

According to the Gentoo laws, criminals sentenced to death are not to be strangled, suffocated, or poisoned, but to be cut off by the sword; because, without an effusion of blood, malefactors are supposed to die with all their sins about them; but the shedding of their blood, it is thought, expiates their crimes. The unjust punishment of Nundcomar, who was hanged on a gibbet against the laws of his country, and even by an _ex post facto_ English law, was aggravated by that circumstance of horror, that he died without an effusion of blood.

The Hindoos are well acquainted with the nature of simples, and apply them judiciously either in performing cures which require not amputation, or in effecting death by quick or slow poisons. They have been for ages in the practice of inoculating for the small-pox; on which occasion, as well as on others, they have recourse to the favourable mediation of charms, or spells.

Although the practice of Hindoo women burning themselves on the funeral piles of their husbands, and embracing in the mean time their dead bodies in their arms, be not so general now as it has formerly been, yet does it still prevail among some of the wives of men of high caste or condition: and although this effort of frantic love, courage, and ambition, be deemed an aggrandizement of the family and relations of both husband and wife, but especially of the wife’s, yet their friends and relations constantly endeavour to dissuade the women who declare their resolutions of burning, from carrying them into execution. Even the Brahmins do not encourage this practice.

The causes which inspire Hindoo women with this desperate resolution, are, I imagine, the following:

In the first place; as the wife has, from her earliest infancy, been betrothed in marriage to her husband, and from that time has never been permitted to see another man; as she is instructed to believe that he is perfectly accomplished, and taught to respect and honour him; as, after consummation, she is shut up from the company, conversation, and even the sight of other men, with still greater care, if possible, than before, being now debarred from seeing even the father or elder brother of her husband, the bonds of her affection must needs be inconceivably strong and indissoluble. To an European lady the zenana naturally appears in the light of an horrible prison: but the daughters of Asia never consider confinement to the zenana as any hardship. They consider it as a condition of their existence, and they enjoy all the happiness of which they have any conception; their whole desires being concentered and fixed on their husband, their food, jewels, and female attendants.

In the second place, if the wife survive her husband, she cannot marry again, and is treated as an inferior person, and an outcast from her family. Nay, she is obliged, in her mournful and hopeless widowhood, to perform all the offices of a menial servant.

In the third place, she is flattered with the idea of having immortalized her name, and aggrandized her children, and her own and husbands families.

Lastly, she is rendered insensible to the pains and horrors of what she is to suffer, by those intoxicating perfumes and mixtures which are administered to her after she has declared her final and unalterable resolution--I say her final resolution, because one or two declarations, of an intention to die with her husband, is not sufficient.

The strength of her resolution undergoes a probation. There is a certain time prescribed by the Gentoo law, during which her family and friends exert their utmost influence in order to dissuade her from burning; and if she persist in her resolution to the end of that period, it is not lawful to use any more persuasions with her, to abandon it. If she should alter her purpose after that period, she would be punished with the loss of all castes, and live in a state of the most complete misery and contempt. Nay, if an European or Christian does but touch her very garment with his finger, when she is going to the pile, an immediate stop is put to the ceremony, she is forced to live an outcast from her family, and from the Gentoo religion.

You will doubtless, my friend, have curiosity to know, in what manner, after all their stimulatives to perseverance, the tender sex, among a soft and effeminate people, sustains the near approach, of a scene so full of awe and horror. Amidst her weeping relations and friends, the voluntary victim to love and honor alone appears serene and undaunted. A gentle smile is diffused over her countenance: she walks upright, with an easy but firm step; talks to those around her of the virtues of the deceased, and of the joy with which she will be transported when her shade shall meet with his; and encourages her sorrowful attendants to bear with fortitude the sight of those momentary sufferings which she herself is going to feel.--Having ascended the funeral pile, she lays herself down by the body of her husband, which she fervently embraces. A dose of narcotic mixtures is then administered for the last time; and instantly the person, whose office it is, sets fire to the pile.

Thus the most determined resolution of which we can form any conception, is found in the weaker sex, and in the soft climes of Asia. It is to the honour of that sex and those climes, that the greatest courage they exhibit, is the effect, not of the furious impulses of rage and revenge, but conscious dignity and love.

It might naturally be imagined by an European, that the several wives of one man (for polygamy is general throughout all Asia) would regard one another with mutual jealousy and aversion: and that they in reality do, has been asserted by writers of high reputation. The fact however is quite otherwise: they visit one another with great friendship and cordiality; and if they are of the same caste, will occasionally eat together.--The husband is restrained from eating with his wives, either by a regard to custom; or, as I have been informed by some of the Gentoos themselves, by a precept of their religion.

Notwithstanding the extreme antiquity of most Indian nations, I am told that in India beyond the Ganges, on the confines of Aracan and Pegu, there is a people (if solitary savages roaming through woods in quest of prey, deserve the name of people) that appear to be in the very first stage of society. They are the only people in the known world that go absolutely naked, without the smallest covering on any part of their bodies. They live on fruit, which grows spontaneously, in the uncultivated deserts they inhabit, in great abundance; and on the flesh of animals, which they tear alive and devour. They sit on their hams, with their legs and arms disposed in the manner of monkeys. At the approach of men, they fly into their woods. They take care of their offspring, and live in families, but seem to have no ideas of subordination of rank or civil government. I have never had occasion to see this race of mortals myself, but I have conversed with several persons who have seen them; all of whom concur in the general account of them, which I have now given you.

[[Notes:

“The unjust punishment of Nundcomar”: Nand Kumar or Nandakumar,
d. 1775.]]

* * * * *

CHARACTER OF THE SWEDES,
From the Letters of Mrs. Wollstonecraft.

The Swedes pique themselves on their politeness; but far from being the polish of a cultivated mind, it consists merely of tiresome forms and ceremonies. So far indeed from entering immediately into your character, and making you feel instantly at your ease, like the well-bred French, their over-acted civility is a continual restraint on all your actions. The sort of superiority which a fortune gives when there is no superiority of education, excepting what consists in the observance of senseless forms, has a contrary effect than was intended; so that I could not help reckoning the peasantry the politest people of Sweden, who only aiming at pleasing you, never think of being admired for their behaviour.

Their tables, like their compliments, seem equally a caricature of the French. The dishes are composed, as well as their’s, of a variety of mixtures to destroy the native taste of the food, without being as relishing. Spices and sugar are put into every thing, even into the bread, and the only way that I can account for their partiality to high-seasoned dishes, is the constant use of salted provisions. Necessity obliges them to lay up a store of dried fish, and salted meat, for the winter; and in the summer, fresh meat and fish taste insipid after them. To which may be added, the constant use of spirits. Every day, before dinner and supper, even whilst the dishes are cooling on the table, men and women repair to a side-table, and, to obtain an appetite, eat bread and butter, cheese, raw salmon, or anchovies, drinking a glass of brandy. Salt fish or meat then immediately follows, to give a further whet to the stomach. As the dinner advances, pardon me for taking up a few minutes to describe what, alas! has detained me two or three hours on the stretch observing; dish after dish is changed, in endless rotation, and handed round with solemn pace to each guest: but should you happen not to like the first dishes, which was often my case, it is a gross breach of politeness to ask for part of any other till its turn comes.

* * * * *

THE POVERTY OF THE LEARNED.
From Curiosities of Literature.

To mention those who left nothing behind them to satisfy the undertaker, were an endless task.

Agrippa died in a workhouse; Cervantes is supposed to have died with hunger; Camoens was deprived of the necessaries of life, and is believed to have died in the streets.

The great Tasso was reduced to such a dilemma, that he was obliged to borrow a crown from a friend, to subsist through the week. He alludes to his distress in a pretty sonnet which he addresses to his cat, entreating her to assist him, during the night, with the lustre of her eyes, having no candle by which he could see to write his verses!

The illustrious Cardinal Bentivoglio, the ornament of Italy and of literature, languished, in his old age, in the most distressful poverty; and, having sold his palace to satisfy his creditors, left nothing behind him but his reputation.

Le Sage resided in a little cottage on the borders of Paris, and supplied the world with their most agreeable romances; while he never knew what it was to possess any moderate degree of comfort in pecuniary matters.

* * * * *

A PRUDENT CHOICE.

When Loveless married Lady Jenny,
Whose beauty was the ready penny;
“I chose her,” says he, “like old plate,
Not for the fashion, but the weight.”

* * * * *
* * * *

_ANECDOTES_
of
EMINENT PERSONS.

* * *

+Mesdemoiselles De Fernigs.+

These two young heroines were the daughters of a quarter-master of cavalry, and by accompanying the French troops in their excursions at the beginning of the war, attained a certain degree of attachment to military exploits, and even an enthusiasm against the common enemy. Unlike the “maid of Orleans,” they were dressed in female attire, and pretended neither to prophecy nor revelation, but they headed the French troops, in 1791, with the same boldness that the martial female alluded to, was accustomed to do, two centuries before.

Dumourier, who never let slip any occasion of inspiring his army with confidence, invited these ladies to the camp at Maulde, and made such a flattering report to the Convention of their modesty, intrepidity, and good conduct, that they received a house, and an adjoining piece of land, as a present from the republic.

On the defection of this general, preferring gratitude to duty, and personal attachment to the love of their country, they both took part with him, and were out-lawed.

* * *

+Moreau+

Is a native of Morlaix, in the _ci-devant_ Bretanny, 29 miles distant from Brest. When about 18 years of age, he was sent to Rennes, to study the law; and he who might have proved but an indifferent _avocat_, has, at the age of 33, acquired the character of a skilful commander.

He first distinguished himself in Holland, and then served with great _éclat_ under Pichegru. The late brilliant passage across the Rhine, without the loss of a single man, was achieved under his auspices. His father is said to have perished during the tyranny of Robespierre; the son is a zealous republican, and fights and conquers in that cause.

* * *

+The Abbe De Lille+,

Like the bards of old, is at once a poet and a musician: and, in consequence of a rare union of both characters, he composed the _Marsellois Hymn_, which, by connecting his name with the history of the French Revolution, will render it immortal.

In addition to his other works, he has _meditated_ a poem on the “Imagination,” for what is singular enough, this has never as yet been committed to paper. The truth is, that the Abbé, relying on his extraordinary memory, never copies out any of his verses, until they are about to be printed.

He was arrested during the short-lived tyranny of Robespierre; and if he had perished on that occasion, both the poem and the poet would have been lost together.

* * * * *

NEW-YORK.

* * *

_MARRIED,_

On Saturday evening the 6th ult. at Augusta (Georgia) by the Rev. Mr. Boyd, Mr. JAMES COOPER, merchant, to Miss SUSAN WINSLOW, both of that place.

On Sunday evening the 21st ult. by the Rev. Dr. Linn, Mr. NICHOLAS ROOME, to Miss JEMIMA LEWIS, both of this city.

By the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. PATRICK MUNN, to Miss ANN MAVERICK, both of this city.

By the Rev. Dr. Moore, Capt. WOODHAM, of the ship Swan, to Miss REBECCA MAVERICK, of this city.

On Saturday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. BENJAMIN GIFFORD, to Miss SALLY ANDERSON, both of this city.

On Tuesday evening se’nnight, Mr. JOHN LOCKWOOD, to Mrs. SARAH SMITH, relict of Mr. Stephen Smith, both of Norwalk.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, DAVID A. OGDEN, Esq. to Miss REBECCA EDWARDS, both of this city.

On Saturday evening, by the Rev. Dr. Linn, N. PRIME, Esq. of Boston, to Miss CORNELIA SANDS, daughter of Comfort Sands, Esq. Merchant, of this city.

* * * * *

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 28th ult. to the 3d inst._

THERMOMETOR observed at 6, _A.M._ 3, _P.M._
Prevailing winds.
OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.
100 100
May 28 60 68 sw. nw. fgy. lt. w. cl. h. w. lg. t. r.
29 55 71 w. sw. clear lt. wd. do. h. wd.
30 55 52 e. ne. cly. lt. w. r. do. p. r.
31 52 66 n. nw. cly. lt. w. clear do.
June 1 50 69 nw. w. clear lt. w. do. do.
2 50 62 nw. se. cl. lt. wd. cly. do. p. r.
3 59 76 s. do. cly. calm clear lt. wd.

* * *

RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
FOR MAY 1797.

Made in the Cupals of the Museum, by G. BAKER, Proprietor.

Mean Temperature of the Thermometer at sun-rise 52 13
Do. do. of the do. at 3 P.M. 63 3
Do. do. for the whole month 57 58
Greatest monthly range between the 3d. and 11th. 33 0
Do. do. in 24 hours, between the 10th. and 11th. 20 0
Warmest day the 11th. 75 0
Coldest day the 3d. 42 0

13 days it rained, and an uncommon quantity has fallen.
19 do. the wind was at the westward of north and south, at both
obser.
12 do. the do. was to the eastward of do. and do.
17 do. the do. was light at both observations.
2 do. the do. was high at do. do.
12 do. it was clear at do. do.
7 do. it was cloudy at do. do.
6 days it Thundered and Lightened, in considerable abundance.

* * * * *
* * * *

A HYMN,
Composed in a Morning’s Walk in May.
By the Rev. Mr. Turner.

“These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good;”
The hill, the vale, the pastures, and the wood;
Rich in thy bounties, in thy beauties gay,
Nature salutes thy Sun’s enliv’ning ray.
How glorious in thy strength he mounts the sky,
The spotless azure Heav’ns rejoice on high.
The dewy blessings of this morning hour,
At thy command, the Vapours softly shower.
How wide this arch is spread, that bending round
With genial influence broods o’er the teeming ground!

By thee, yon lofty Mountain rears its head:
By thee, this humble Valley sinks its bed.
These riv’lets thine, which murmur through the mead;
To thee, great Source of Good, their winding channels lead.

Call’d forth by thee, these Woods their leaves display,
T’ enrich their verdure in the solar ray.
Thou cloath’st each hedge and bush, each herb and plant--
To these fair blooming hopes thy blessing grant!
Bless thou the rising corn, the grassy field;
And let thy bounty plenteous harvests yield!
On thy supplies both man and beast attend;
On th’ opening year thou smil’st, thy goodness crowns its end.

What various flow’ry beauties spread the field,
Which through the healthy air their fragrance yield!
The crowfoot, daisie, cowslip’s golden hue,
The dandelion, violet’s lovely blue.
How many more their modest graces hide
In the hedge-bottom, or the thicket’s side!
The primrose, harebell, with the starwort fair,
And low ground-ivy’s bloom perfume the air.
These and each painted form that decks the land,
Blend their unrival’d tinctures, and confess thy hand.

The feather’d tribes to thee their voices raise,
Rejoice in being, and resound thy praise.
With lab’ring wing, the lark, scarce seen on high,
Incessant pours his mattins through the sky.
Perch’d on yon lofty poplar’s topmost spray,
The thrill thrush welcomes the bright source of day.
Deep in the thicket hid, the blackbird shy,
His mellow whistle tunes, to aid the common joy.

The wood-lark, glory of the warbling throng,
Alternate sinks, and swells his varied song.
The gaudy goldfinch, linnet, white-throat fair,
With musical confusion load the air.
In deeper note the ring-dove, ’midst the groves,
To his coy mate soft-cooing breathes his loves.
The list’ning swains, through ev’ry brow and dale,
Delighted hear, and shout the cuckoo’s simple tale.

The flocks and herds, whom thou supply’st with food,
Enjoying thank thee, and pronounce it good.
The fleecy people crop the early dew;
The tender lambs their harmless sports pursue.
The heifer’s low fills all the valleys round:
The mimic wood-nymph propagates the sound.
The sweet-breath’d cows the herbage greedy graze,
The frolic calf his clumsy gambols plays.
The saunt’ring cow-boy slowly creeps along,
Now his clear whistle tunes, and now his rustic song.

These are thy works, O God, and these thy care;
All these, in season due, thy various blessings share.

Blest Power! that me into existence drew,
And spread this fair creation to my view!
Blest Power! that gave me eyes, and ears, and mind,
And taught me, in each object, God to find!
Blest be that care that guards my ev’ry day;
That feeds, and clothes, and guides me through my way.
Accept my thanks for this enliv’ning hour;
This cheerful taste of bliss, that thrills through ev’ry power.

Grateful would I thy present blessings share,
And trust my whole of being to thy future care.

* * * * *

THE PROSTITUTE.

As trav’llers thro’ life’s varied paths we go,
What sights we pass of wretchedness, and woe!
Ah, deep, and many is the good man’s sigh
O’er thy hard sufferings, poor Humanity!

What form is that, which wanders up and down,
Some poor unfriended orphan of the town!
Heavy indeed hath ruthless sorrow prest
Her cold hand at her miserable breast!
Worn with disease, with not a friend to save,
Or shed a tear of pity o’er her grave;
The sickly lustre leaves her faded eye;
She sinks in need, in pain, and infamy!

Ah, happier innocent! on whose chaste cheek
The spotless rose of virtue blushes meek;
Come, shed, in mercy shed, a silent tear,
O’er a lost sister’s solitary bier!
She might have bloom’d, like thee, in vernal life!
She might have bloom’d, the fond endearing wife--
The tender daughter! but want’s chilling dew
Blasted each scene hope’s faithless pencil drew!
No anxious friend sat weeping o’er her bed,
Or ask’d the blessing on her little head!
She never knew, tho’ beauty mark’d her face,
What beggars woman-kind of every grace!
Ne’er clasp’d a mother’s knees with soft delight,
Or lisp’d to Heaven her pray’r of peace at night!
Alas! her helpless childhood was consign’d,
To the unfeeling mercy of mankind!

* * * * *

EPITAPH.
From the Greek.

A blooming youth lies buried here,
Euphemius, to his country dear:
Nature adorn’d his mind and face,
With every muse and every grace;
Prepar’d the marriage state to prove,
But Death had quicker wings than Love.

_NEW-YORK: +Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co.+ +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Book-Store of Mr. J. FELLOWS, Pine-Street._

* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] _Wednesday, June 14, 1797._ [+No. 102.+

METHOD IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS.

In delivering our sentiments on particular subjects, there is nothing which is attended with better effect, and makes us appear to more advantage than offering our opinions with clearness and precision; and this can only be done by arranging them in proper order, so that they may appear regularly to arise one from the other: this is stiled method, and prevents confusion; hinders us from indulging in the luxuriance of fancy, running into desultory digressions, and makes us appear superior to our subject.

Where great sprightliness is the natural bent of the temper, girls should endeavour to habituate themselves to a custom of observing, thinking, and reasoning. It is not necessary that they should devote themselves to abstruse speculation, or the study of logic; but she who is accustomed to give a due arrangement to her thoughts, to reason justly and pertinently on common affairs, and judiciously to deduce effects from their causes, will be a better logician than some of those who claim the name, because they have studied the art. That species of knowledge, which appears to be the result of reflection rather than of science, fits peculiarly well on women.

* * * * *

BEHAVIOUR.

One of the chief beauties in a female character is that modest reserve, that retiring delicacy which avoids the public eye, and is disconcerted even at the gaze of admiration. For when a girl ceases to blush, she has lost the most powerful charm of beauty. That extreme sensibility, which it indicates, is peculiarly engaging.

Silence in company, particularly a large one, is never mistaken by the judicious and discerning for dullness, but bespeaks a modesty essential in the female sex. Dignity of behaviour is necessary at public places, but care must be taken not to mistake that for that confident ease, that unabashed countenance which seems to set the company at defiance.

Women should be cautious even in displaying their good sense. It is often thought assuming a superiority over the rest of the company; but their learning should be kept a profound secret, especially from men, who generally look with a jealous and malign eye on a woman of great parts, and a cultivated understanding.

The great art of pleasing in conversation consists in making the company pleased with themselves. Detraction should be avoided, especially amongst women where their own sex is concerned; it would be more noble for them to shew a compassionate sympathy to the unfortunate, especially to those who are rendered so by the villainy of men. It is a laudable pride, as well as secret pleasure, which ought to be indulged, in being the friend and refuge of the unhappy, but without the vanity of shewing it.

Every species of indelicacy in conversation should be considered as shameful and highly disgusting. A sacred regard should ever be had to truth, for lying is a mean and despicable vice; though a lively embellishment of a humorous story, which is only intended to promote innocent mirth, cannot be understood to fall under that head.

Gentleness of spirit and manners is extremely engaging; but not that indiscriminate attention, that unmeaning simper, which smiles on all alike. For this arises either from affectation of softness, or from perfect insipidity.

A fine woman, like other fine things in nature, has her proper point of view, from which she may be seen to most advantage. To fix this point requires great judgment, and an intimate knowledge of the human heart. By the present mode of female manners, the ladies seem to expect that they shall regain their ascendency over men, by the fullest display of their personal charms, by being always in their eyes at public places, by conversing with them with the same unreserved freedom as they do with one another; in short, by resembling men as near as they can. The folly of this expectation and conduct will soon be shown. For the power of a fine woman over the hearts of men, of men of the finest parts, is even beyond what she conceives. They are sensible of the pleasing illusion, but they cannot, nor do they wish, to dissolve it. But if she is determined to dispel the charm, it certainly is in her power, she may soon reduce _the angel to a very ordinary girl_.

In fine, to form a complete lady, she should possess the most perfect simplicity of heart and manners; dignity without pride, affability without meanness, and simple elegance without affectation.

* * * * *
* * * *

The
_WANDERINGS_
of the
IMAGINATION.

_BY MRS. GOOCH._

(Continued from page 387.)

* * *

The pleasures of a fashionable life may not be unaptly compared to the delirium of the brain in a high fever. ’Tis in vain we in imagination visit ærial scenes fraught with all that fancy can bestow to give delight: ’tis in vain we visit gorgeous palaces, and partake of sumptuous banquets, while seated in the magic circle of Wit and Beauty, we enjoy the radiant smiles of the happy, and the compliments of the facetious and the learned: we even in the height of our frenzy still feel there is a chasm in our pleasures, and a vacuum in our pursuits and enjoyments; and when awake to reflection, we most sensibly feel that all has been deception--the malady still rages, and the fever still remains.