« ZurückWeiter »
I am sorry I have degraded you by a propensity to romance. I wanted to " the punishment you have suffered; be a hero, or a poet, or rather a fome.
you are an extraordinary young gen- thing supernatural, and it was expe“ tleman, and I have no doubt will rience only that could make me more
one day become an ornament to fo- rational. By my repeated intercel" ciety. Let me, however, caution you fions and positiveness in refusing to en
against your pallions; they are very gage in any other vocation, my guarpowerful, and while they persuade dians were prevailed upon to buy me a
you that you are doing something un- commillion in the arny; and I entered "commonly great, or good, may lead it with an incoherent kind of hope
you into very dangerous mistakes. of doing extraordinary things; but " This fortitude and contempt of pain I had not been in it long before I
at your age, would have been be- discovered that more of mechanism yond praise, had they been exerted than courage was required: that I upon a proper occasion; as it is, they must obey orders, and pay a strict recan only be admired: but your ge- gard to trifles; that, in order to rise
nerous protection of the helpless de- to any very fuperior ftation, I mult " serves every re-vard and encourage- not only have abilities, but powerful
ment, and I hope you will hereafter friends; and that, without them, it was " consider me as your friend, and not as probable I should remain obscure in,
your master. As for your accufers, this, as in any other profession.. I was " there is no punishment I can inflict at the battle of Fontenoy; and, though
severe enough for cruelty, cowardice, I encouraged the men under my com" and lying; I shall therefore expel mand, and executed the orders I reof them, left their examples should cor- ceived with the utmost ardour, yet I
rupt others. I perceive you are go- was convinced it was very little in the "ing to intercede for them: but I will power of an individual to turn the “ spare you the pain of being refused, fortune of the day; for, notwithitand" by telling you I cannot, in justice ing all my heroism, I was wounded « to the other young gentlemen that and taken prisoner. Some time after,
are entrusted to my care, suffer boys. I was exchanged, and sent to England, " of such vicious dispositions to affoci- when it was my fortune to fall Jeeply
ate with them. Youth is weak and in love with my present wife. « inconsiderate, and as liable to imi. • Hitherto I had cared but little about
tate a bad as a good action; it is my riches; nay, indeed, as the poets and "particular duty, therefore, not to per- philosophers I had read usually affected "mit these wicked boys to remain à- to despise them, I did fo too: my
amour however brought me to a severe, I have related this adventure, to sense of the want of them. My misshew you the natural warmth and en- tress was the daughter of a very rich thusiastic bent of my temper. I went man, and an heiress; 1, a younger through a regular course of education brother, with a small-fortope, rather under the gentleman above-mentioned, diminished than increased; and as the whose friendship I poffeffed till his peace and half-pay had deprived me death, and to whose advice and in- of any farther hopes from the army, I ftruction I am greatly indebted. It had no apparent means of augmenting was the intention of my guardians that my wealth. This made me reflect on I should ftudy the law, and become a the abfurdity of those visionary hopes counsellor. I however had other views; in the contemplation of which I had for though, it is certain, no profession formerly indulged myself. I began to requires greater acuteness and abilities perceive there was no arriving at perthan this, yet as it is become common- fection in any, art, or knowledge or place to call it dry, tedious, knavith, eminence in any station, but by graand fo-forth, it was little alluring to dual and almost imperceptible degrees: a mind like mine, that had so strong my paflion was violent, "I saw no pro
bable means of obtaining a fortune in to be prudent and affiduous, yet while , ftantaneously, nor of gaining the wo- I feel I have many weaknesses myself, man I loved without one. The father I trust I fall always have philanthropy. of Mrs. Egerton fuspected our love, enough to look with an eye of pity on which was mutual;, and hinted, in an those of others, though I neither with oblique manner, that he did not with to encourage theirs nor my own. to fee me any more at his house. Af- We are always apt enough to in-, ter turning every kind of scheme in dulge hopes of success when we with my mind, I concluded that the most it. I could not fummon up the couexpeditious way of becoming wealthy, rage to wait on Mrs. Egerton's father, would be by going into the service of and explain myself to him in perfon. the Eait India Company; which, af- I knew my fortune, though in this its ter consulting with Mrs. Egerton, and improved state, was by no means equal having changed reiterated promises of to what he had a right to expect from fidelity, I resolved to do.
the husband of his daughter. But as My family connections, and the my family was respectable, and as I money I could command to begin with, had used such efforts to make myself, gave the means of going out in a more worthy, I supposed ir poflible, respectable light: and I embarked, when these things were enumerated, though with an aching heart, not with- that they might have some influence out hopes of returning to enjoy the on the mind of the old gentleman for fruits of my industry and love. I was which reason I resolved' to write to abroad about three years, during which him, and tell him what I had done for time I gained a considerable fund of his daughter's fake,and what I would do worldly knowledge, and an intight into if he would but permit her to be mine. the ways, motives, and manners of men. I did so, and soon received for answer The facts were some of them not very - the painful mortification of a pofitive, much to their honour, but they taught refusal, which threw me into a state me to think more consistently. I do not of despair that had like to have proved mean by this to ceasure the men of fatal to me. An accident, however, the world universally: there are many, accomplished that which all my former within my own knowledge, of the efforts had failed to do. I received stricteft probity; but there, I have ob- intelligence from Mrs. Egerton that ferved, never, unless by some accident, her father was going into the country, become suddenly rich. For my own under the pretence of taking her to part, I made but moderate advances; enjoy the beauties of the spring, but and this flow progress, with the letters in reality to keep her from the fight of I received from Mrs. Egerton, and the me. I no sooner heard this, but I continual anxiety of so long an absence, resolved to ride after them at a distance, made me resolve to return. When I to follow them down, and to disguise arrived in England, I found I had a myself and live in the neighbourhood legacy left me by a relation. This, while they should remain there. It was added to my little stock, made, in the fortunate for her father that I did so. whole, almost eleven thousand pounds; I communicated my scheme to Mrs.' for I had been as strict an economist, Egerton, and though he diffuaded me while in India, as the natural warmth from putting it in practice, it was in of my temper would permit me to be: a way that sewed The but half disapbut there are weak, indolent, and un- proved my intention. I therefore exefortunate men in all places, that must cuted my plan, by taking the dress of ever be a tax on the more induftrious an ordinary tradesman, hiring a lodgand successful, who have some pity, ing in the neighbourhood, and prefome generosity, and no excessive de- tending I was ordered by the physicians gree of selfilhness, among
which num- to live some time in the country for a ber I hope I fall always remain; for change of air, as being apprehensive though it is incumbent on every man of falling into a consumption; and, as
ill-health always attends any extraor- ' endeavoured to strangle him, left he
my father's room, going to murder rational light. It is true, they left a
vanity. This is the rein by which the fessed, převarication and falfhood, after kilful instructor should guide his pupil. a certain age, have feldom been atTill a certain age, fear and correc- tempted by our pupils. It is in contion should have their influence; after sequence of such methods, that our that, praise and example will be most little fociety has acquired an air of prevalent. This, at leaft, is my opin freedom and fimplicity; that cannot nion. For this reason, I have adopted exist where artifice is not despised. the method I use at present. I have There is a natural érfion in the mind formed a reading-fociety among my
to confess its foibles.. Vanity is conown family. My children asemble tinually intent upon drawing comevery day in the library. History and parisons in its own favour, and this biography are the great resources, as principle is inseparable from humanity. these furnish continual and real exam- 'To correct it, to make the mind open ples of the effects of the pallions; to to conviction, and willing to observe these are added, such tales of fi&tion and detect its real motives, is pecuas I think well calculated to point out liarly the duty of teachers. Eftimable the good or ill confequences of par- as scientific knowledge is, this know. ricular virtues and vices. It has been ledge is far more estimable, because a constant fource of delight to me, to upon this depends our happiness, and observe the progress of the mind, and the execution of all the social duties. the natural propensity of the human • Our family meet every evening heart to rectitude and virtue. I have (except interrupted by being visited, or five children, three boys and two girls, going to visit) in the library; which the eldest is nineteen, and the youngest is very commodiously adapted for either eight. They have all been educated a fummer or a winter room. There at home, because I have been afraid are folding doors that open to the park. of their contracting the bad habits of In the front is an extensive and varietheir companions, had I sent them to gated landscape, which includes fome. fchools. I am fensible this mode of of the most beautiful scenery that this edacation has its disadvantages, but as part of England affords. On the right it has been the business and the delight is a stupendous craggy rock, that proof myself and Mrs. Egerton, to apply jects from the side of a high mountain, ourselves to this, and this only, and both of which are feen over a very spaas we have been fortunate in finding cious forest. These form a delightful men of genius to assist us in the talk, contrast to the fresh verdure, I am inclined to suppose we have avoid- the cattle, and other pastoral subjects ed many of the inconveniences, and immediately in fight.“ On the left is fapplied fome of the defects.
the pleasure-garden, the shrubbery, and * There is one thing we have been the nursery. The scene is so capacious, particularly attentive to, which is, can- and presents itself in such a variety of dour. We have always fpoken our forms, and with fuch a profufion of sentiments with simplicity and sinceri- objects, which the alteration of the ty. We have never disguised our mean- seafons, and other accidental causes are ing by endeavouring to deceive a continually diversifying, that the eye, child into virtue; for we believe all is never tired. When the weather perdeceit to have a dangerous tendency. mits the duors are thrown open; when We have encouraged truth and open- it is very fine we fit on the outside, and ness, and taken every possible precau- enjoy the sunshine or cool shade, as tion to detect, punish, and expose, the circumstances invite; in winter the contrarý. We have talked to our chil room is sufficiently warm for the seaa dren rather as friends than masters, fon, and we still enjoy the fatisfaction and have become their confidants; for of contemplating nature, amidst hoar as we have never expected perfection, frosts, fnows, clouds, ftorms, and all but have been always ready to forgive the magnificence of her distress.' Crrors that have been ingenuously con
MARY AND CONNAL.
LAURA; A TALE.
BY MASTER GEORGE LEWIS LINOX,
ELEVEN YEARS OF AGE.
Her tender brain diftraught
Oft do our virgins mourn a lover Nain;
Oft the fond bride her husband's death deplore, So late the blooming pride of Yarrow !
And parents part with sons, to meet no more. Tell him, my fond, my aching heart,
Ye hapless train, who have these sorrows known, To him was true, was constant ever:
In hearing Laura's woes, forget your own; Oh, let us meet! no more shall art,
Lament the fate, the matchless truth revere, No more shall envy, make us sever!
Of Laura bleeding on her lover's bier.
Ye British youths, pour the lamenting Atrain Tell him, the false deceiver came,
O'er Henry, in the cause of Britair Nain. With many a well-concerted story:
Where Sol's fierce rays through shady vallies That Connal blasted Mary's fame;
beam, Her fame, the tender virgin’s glory!
And gentle Iber rolls his silver stream,
There liv'd a gentle maid, unknown to fame, Tell him-But, ah! mistaken maid!
In beauty rich, and Laura was her name. Who hall speak peace to the departed?
AU-bounteous Heaven had adorn'd her mind Or who shall foothe the fleeting shade
With ev'ry charm that captivates mankind; Of a fond lover broken-hearted?
Virtue in her fair breast had fix'd her throne, Ye kind companions of my woe,
And Wisdom call'd the blooming maid her own. - Whose tender bosoms melt with sorrow,
Amid the youths who figh'd at Laura's feet, Lead me where Connal lies fo low:
Would Henry oft his love-lick tale repeat; Perhaps, distracting thought! to-morrow
By manly charms distinguish'd from the rest;
The first in power, as in worth, confess’d. My eye might wander o'er that face,
Laŭra, whose noble mind shunn'd all disguise, Which now midft thousands 'twould discover, Check'd not the melting softness in her eyes, And memory refuse to trace
And scorn'd o'er a fond heart to tyrannize. The features of my injur'd lover!
She fix'd the day, she nam'd the happy hour,
- When he should lead her to the nuptial bower. Ah, me! is that the youthful cheek
'Tis vain with the decrecs of Heaven to strive; Where health and beauty late were glowing?
That hour, 'twas fated, never fhould arrive!
For while the maids prepare the choral lay,
While Henry, panting for his Laura's charms, Too kind and too deserving lover;
Expects the morn that gives her to his arms; If here, where truth, where honour died,
And Laura, with sweet virgin modefty,
Shuns the triumphant gaze of Henry's eye; Thy tender fpirit loves to hover;
Ah, luckless pair! see, each fond with is lost; To Mary's agonizing heart,
The treach'rous Frenchmen land on Jersey's coaft! With penitence and forrow breaking,
With fire and sword our hated foes invade Guide, quickly guide! the icy dart,
The soft recess of Jersey's peaceful shade; That death is, yet at distance, shaking! Like lions, rush at midnight on their prey,
and murder mark their ruthless way. And at this spot, ye weeping fair,
At length young Henry led a chosen train, Sweet flowers and sweeter tears bestowing,
To oppose the wild invaders on the plain; Still dread your firft vows to forswear,
His martial ardour fired every breast; And here let every sweet be blowing !-- The lover and the soldier shine confessid. The kindly tear refus'd to flow,
On, on, my friends! (he cried) maintain your Nor longer did the maiden languith;
right! Befide her lover, cold and low,
For honour, love, and liberty, we fight!
On every side the trembling cowards fly, She sunk, at once, oppress’d with anguish.
And leave the field to us and victory. There, on her Connal's early grave,
But Henry fell a bleeding facrifice, Who fell by false detraction's arrow,
And in his country's quarrel nobly dies. Silent she sleeps, beside the wave,
His comrades, weeping, place him on a bier, The melancholy wave of Yarrow!
And to his aged fire the hero bear. * See the beautiful Poem of Connal and Mary, in Mr. Harrison's Collection, Vol. IV. p. 385. VOL. III.