Page images
PDF
EPUB

2 myself. You should encourage your daughter to talk over
al run what she reads ; and as you are very capable of distin-
reg, take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and
Lase, or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of
The people, and have a train of ill consequences. The second
ma tobe giren her, (and which is most absolutely necessary.)
as caceal iphatever learning she attains, with as much solici-
2 as she would hide crookedness or lameness: the parade of it
2 dly serve to draw on her the envy, and consequently the
Luig in reterate hatred, of all he and she fools, which will cer-
I may be at least three parts in four of her acquaintance. The
i te of knowledge in our sex, besides the amusement of solitude, is

in it. You will tell me I did not make it a part of your educa. tion ; your prospect was very different from hers. As you had much in your circumstances to attract the highest offers, it seemed your business to learn how to live in the world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out of it. It is the common error of build. ers and parents to follow some plan they think beautisul, (and perhaps is so, without considering that nothing is beautiful which is displaced. Hence we see so many edifices raised that the raisers can never inhabit, being too large for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over barren heaths, and apartments contrived for a coolness very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the north of Britain: thus every woman endeavors to breed her daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a station in which she will never appear, and at the same time incapacitating her for that retirement to which she is destined. Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will not only make her contented, but happy in it. No entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure so lasting. She will not want new fashions, nor regret the loss of expensive diversions, or variety of company, if she can be amused with an author in her closet. To render this amusement complete, she should be per. mitted to learn the languages. There are two cautions to be given on this subject : first, not to think herself learned when she can read Latin, or even Greek. Languages are more properly to be called vehicles of learning than learning itself. True knowledge consists in knowing things, not words. I would no further wish her a linguist than to enable her to read books in their originals, that are often corrupted, and are always injured by translations. Two hours' application every morning will bring this about much sooner than you can imagine, and she will have leisure enough besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more important part of a woman's education than it is generally supposed. Many a young damsel has been ruined by a fine copy of verses, which she would have laughed at if she had known it had been stolen from Mr. Waller. I remember, when I was a girl, I saved one of my companions from destruction, who communicated to me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she had naturally a good taste, she observed the lines were not so smocth as Prior's or Pope's, but had more thought and spirit than any of theirs. She was wonderfully delighted with such a demonstration of her lover's sense and passion, and not a little pleased with her own charms, that had force enough to inspire such elegancies. In the midst of this triumph, I showed her that they were taken from Randolph's poems, and the infortunate transcriber was dismissed with the scorn he deserved. To say truth, the poor plagiary was very unlucky to fall into my hands; that author, being no longer in fashion, would have escaped any one of less universal reading

z moderate the passions, and learn to be contented with a small

name, which are the certain effects of a studious lise; and it
sag te preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed
to beiselves, and will not suffer us to share. If she has the
punte inclination (I should say passion) for learning that I was
i mah, bistory, geography, and philosophy will furnish her
Toh materials to pass away cheerfully a longer life than is al-
sted to tnortals. I believe there are few heads capable of mak-
2 Sir Isaac Newton's calculations, but the result of them is not

su to be understood by a moderate capacity.
Lisa saying of Thucydides, that ignorance is bold, and know-
Kige reserved. Indeed, it is impossible to be far advanced in it
Tut being more humbled by a conviction of human ignorance

an eated by learning. At the same time I recommend books, I
beber exclude work nor drawing. I think it is scandalous for
koman not to know how to use a needle. I was once extremely
dit my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when
af kalaer tumed off my master, having made a considerable pro-
ries for the short time I learned. My over-eagerness in the
hout of it had brought a weakness in my eyes, that made it

bersary to leave off; and all the advantage I got was the impartement of my hand. I see by hers, that practice will make bkt a ready writer: she may attain it by serving you for a secreaty, when your health or affairs make it troublesome to you to Toile pourself; and custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She cannot have too many for that station of life which Til probably be her fate. The ultimate end of your education mes to make you a good wife, (and I have the comfort to hear that pl are one ;) hers ought to be to make her happy in a virgin waterI will not say it is happier, but it is undoubtedly safer un any marriage. In a lottery, where there is at the lowest timputation) ten thousand blanks to a prize, it is the most pru

beat choice not to venture. I have always been so thoroughly · 1 persuaded of this truth, that, notwithstanding the flattering views

[graphic]

than myself. You should encourage your daughter to talk over with you what she reads; and as you are very capable of distinguishing, take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and humor, or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of young people, and have a train of ill consequences. The second caution to be given her, (and which is most absolutely necessary,) is to conceal whatever learning she attains, with as much solicitude as she would hide crookedness or lameness: the parade of it can only serve to draw on her the envy, and consequently the most inveterate hatred, of all he and she fools, which will certainly be at least three parts in four of her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in our sex, besides the amusement of solitude, is to moderate the passions, and learn to be contented with a small expense, which are the certain effects of a studious life; and it may be preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed to themselves, and will not suffer us to share. If she has the same inclination (I should say passion for learning that I was born with, history, geography, and philosophy will furnish her with materials to pass away cheerfully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe there are few heads capable of making Sir Isaac Newton's calculations, but the result of them is not difficult to be understood by a moderate capacity.

It is a saying of Thucydides, that ignorance is bold, and knowledge reserved. Indeed, it is impossible to be far advanced in it without being more humbled by a conviction of human ignorance than elated by learning. At the same time I recommend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing. I think it is scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a needle. I was once extremely fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when my father turned off my master, having made a considerable progress for the short time I learned. My over-eagerness in the pursuit of it had brought a weakness in my eyes, that made it necessary to leave off; and all the advantage I got was the improvement of my hand. I see by hers, that practice will make her a ready writer : she may attain it by serving you for a secretary, when your health or affairs make it troublesome to you to write yourself; and custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She cannot have too many for that station of life which will probably be her fate. The ultimate end of your education was to make you a good wife, (and I have the comfort to hear that you are one ;) hers ought to be to make her happy in a virgin state. I will not say it is happier, but it is undoubtedly safer than any marriage. In a lottery, where there is (at the lowest computation) ten thousand blanks to a prize, it is the most prudent choice not to venture. I have always been so thoroughly persuaded of this truth, that, notwithstanding the flattering views

[blocks in formation]

I had for you, (as I never intended you a sacrifice to my vanity) I thought I owed you the justice to lay before you all the hazards attending matrimony: you may recollect I did so in the strongest manner. Perhaps you may have more success in the instructing your daughter; she has so much company at home, she will not need seeking it abroad, and will more readily take the notions you think fit to give her. As you were alone in my family, it would have been thought a great cruelty to suffer you no companions of your own age, especially having so many near relations, and I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours. I was not sorry to see you not determined on a single life, knowing it was not your father's intention ; and contented myself with endeavoring to make your home so easy, that you might not be in haste to leare it.

I am afraid you will think this a very long, insignificant letter. I hope the kindness of the design will excuse it, being willing to give you every proof in my power that I am your most affectionate mother.

il such a companion, to tend a few sheep, Tarke up and play, or to lie down and sleep

was so good-linmord, so cheerful and gay, Mr beart was as light as a leather all day. Bet mange so cross and so peevish am grown, s strangely uneasy as never was knowil,

i u one is goue, and my joys are all drownd, Ab toy bicar-I am sure it weighs more than a pound

111,

JOHN BYROM. 16911763.

The factain that wont to run sweetly along,
Apd danie to post murmurs the pebbles among;
Thou enous, Little Cupid, if Phæbe were there,
Tuas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear;
Bar Dew she is absent, I walk by its side,
And still as it murmurs do nothing but chile.

las pag be so cheerful while I go in pain?
Hoe there with your bubbling, and licar une complain.

IV.
When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play,
Ani when Phoebe and I were as joyful as they,
Hey trazant their sporting, bow happy the time,
When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime!
bolam in their frolics when by me they pass,
Innga: teir Hecces a handful of grass.
He said then I cry; for it makes me quite mad,
lo me you so merry while lain so sad.

JOHN BYROM, the son of a linen-draper at Manchester, was born in 1091, and at the age of seventeen entered the University of Cambridge. Here he cultivated with great assiduity a taste for elegant letters, and especially for poetry, to which, even in his earliest years, he had shown a marked propensity. After taking his degree, he obtained a fellowship in the university, throngh the influence of Dr. Richard Bentley, whose daughter Joanna is the « Phæbe" of his pastoral poem, the best of his poetical efforts. As he de clined “taking orders," he vacated his fellowship, and soon after married. Having no profession, he went to London, and supported himself by teaching short-hand writing, till, by the death of his elder brother, he inherited the family estate, and spent the remainder of his life in easy circumstances, dlevoting his time to literary pursuits. He died on the 28th of September, 1763, in the seventy-second year of bis age.

Byrom's best piece is his pastoral poem of Colin and Phabe," remarkable for its easy and flowing versification, and its sprightliness of thought. He also wrote a poen on “Enthusiasm," and one on the “ Immortality of the Soul." His comic poem, entitled “The Three Black Crows," has a most exa cellent moral in it, well illustrating the nature of Rumor, the .Fama" of Virgil. The Spectator is indebted to him for four or five numbers, of which Nos. 586 and 593 are upon the nature and use of drcanas.

Wying I was ever well pleased to see (60 Wagning lisaail at my fair one and me; Atal Plche was placed in, and to my dog said, "lond litter, pour fellow and patted his head, Baww, when he's lawning, I with a cour look Cos Serrah! and give liini a blow with my erook. dill give him another; for why should not Tray B: as dallas liis master, when Marbe's away?

A PASTORAL.

Wr. walking withi Pliche, wliat sight: have I seen! Hoa fair was the flower, how fresh was the green! Wh; a lovely appearance the trees and the sale, The com-fields an i hedge, and every things male! Part she has left me, though all are still there, 'They wone of them now so deliglivill appear: Twai banght but the magic, I find, of her eyes, Hale o many beautiful prospects arise.

My time, O ye Muses, was bappily spent, When Phabe went with me wherever I went; Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast : Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest;

Ti. Sweet music went with us but all the wool through, The lark, linnet, Huostle, and nightingale 100;

Bu now she is gone, and has left me behind ;
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find!
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought iwas the spring; but, alas! it was slie.

II.
With such a companion, to tend a few sheep,
To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep,
I was so good-humor d, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day.
But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
So strangely uneasy as never was known.
My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd,
And my heart—I am sure it weighs more than a pound

III. The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phabe were there, 'Twas pleasure to look at, twas music to hear; But now she is absent, I walk by its side, And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide. Must you be so cheerful while I go in pain? Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

IV. When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And when Phæbe and I were as joyful as they, How pleasant their sporting, how happy the time, When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime! But now in their frolics when by me they pass, I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass : Be still, then I cry; for it makes me quite mad, To see you so merry while I ain so sad.

My dog I was ever well pleased to see
Come wageing his tail at my fair one and me;
And Phoebe wils pleased too, and to my dog sail,
" Come hitber, poor fellow; and patted his head.
But now, when he's fawning. I with a sour look
Cry, Sirrah! and give him a blow with my crook.
And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray
Be as dull as his master, when Phæbe's away?

v1.
When walking with Phabe, what siglits have I seen!
How fair was the flower, how fresh wils the green!
What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade,
The corn-fields and hedges, and every thing made!
But now she has left me, though all are still there,
They none of them now so delightful appear:
'Twas naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes,
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

yu. Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too;

KING.

541

Winds over us whisper'd, Nocks by us did bleat,
And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet,
But now she is absent, though still they sing ori,
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone :
Her voice in the concert, as now have found,
Gave every thing else its agreeable sound.

viis.
Rose, what is become of thy delicate lue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not sinile?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you dress'd
And made yourselves fine for-a place in her breast;
You put on your colors to pleasure her eye,
To be pluck d by her hand, on her bosom to die.

ix.
How slowly Time creeps, till my Phæbe return!
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn!
Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread,
I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead.
Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
And rest so much longer for 't when she is here
Ah, Colin! old Time is full of delay,
Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say.

S: did you tell—relating the affair
in ee, I di:: and if it's worth your care,
het Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me,
Bab; the by, twas two black crows, not there.--

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event.
Wbpto the third, the virtuoso went;

and so forth-Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Tingh in regard to number, not exact;
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon,
Tag gendeinan himself told me the case-
Bere may I firul him ?--Why, in such a place.

Aray goes he and having found him out,
di, be so good as to resolve a doubt.
Then to his last informant he referr'd,
And bege'd to know, if true what he had heard?

you, sir, throw up a black crow?--Not I
Ses me! how people propagate a lie!
Back crows have been thrown up, three, tudo, and one ;
Awi bere, I find, all comes, at last, to none!
Vd you say nothing of a crow at all ?...
CHW-Crow-perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over-And, pray, sir, what was't?

Why. I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
Sunething that was black, sir, as a crow.

Will no pitying power that hears me complain,
Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain?
To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove;
But what swain is so silly to live without love?
No, Deity, bid the dear nymph to return,
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.
Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair !
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair

WILLIAM KING. 1683.-1763,
IL VILLAX King, born at Stepney, in Middlesex, in 1085, was known

sistem says his biographer, * by the first men of his time for wit and
*; and must be allowed to have been a polite scholar, an excellent
Friend an elegant and easy writer, both in Latin and English.” He died
na having sketched his own character in an elegant epitaph, in which

eskpywledges bis failings, he claims the praise of benevolence, tem-
tam, and fortitude. The work by which he is now chiefly known is that
1 Flash the following extracts are taken-wit Political and Literary Anec-

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two livrest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other, briskly, by the hand;
Hark-ye, said he, 'tis an odd story this
About the Crows !—I don't know what it is,
Replied his friend.—No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I came from it is the common chat;
But you shall hear; an odd affair indeed!
And, that it happen'd, they are all agreed :
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.-
Impossible !-Nay, but it's really true;
I have it from good hands, and so may you.
From whose, I pray?-So having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

in on Times.

VIRGIL.
i ost of the commentators on the Greek and Roman poets think
Itcent to explain their author, and to give us the various

3. Some few indeed have made us remark the excellency
Ce poet's plan, the elegance of his diction, and the propriety
is thoughts, at the same time pointing out as examples the

striking and beautiful descriptions. Ruæus, in his comment
: : , certainly excelled all his fellow-laborers, who were ap-
med to explain and publish a series of the Roman classics for
12 of the Dauphin. His mythological, historical, and geom
acal notes are a great proof of his learning and diligence.
4 de baih not entered into the spirit of the author, and ili

46

[graphic]
« PreviousContinue »