NUMBER I.

IT is a dangerous thing to meddle with a Metaphor. Much knowledge of crit­icism, and with writers on rhetoric, and much good reading, are requisite. A figure proves frequently too much for a young writer to cope with; and ought to be handled with cau­tion: hence scribblers would not often cut such droll figures in their metaphors.

NUMBER II.

WHEN we look over the works of the antient Eastern writers, we find a great sameness in authors who were unknown to each other. Virtues and vices, the passions and inclinations, were likened to objects that surrounded, and to the various operations of nature. A man of integrity was like a rock in the sea, unmoved with the waves of vice, or the storms of adversity. Anger, like a whirlwind, destroyed whatever opposed its fury. An army poured like a torrent. The horsemen flew over the plain. Love grew, Friendship died. And benevolence scattered blessings.

NATURE presents nearly the same ob­jects in all parts of the world: hence the comparisons and figures of the first rude writers of any country have so much sim­ilarity. The Rhetoric of OSSIAN differs but little from that of the Persian po­ets, or the Jewish prophets. Much original­ity may be seen in all their writings. But [Page 7] when writers multiplied, and Criticism be­gan to enact her laws, impose her regulations, and set bounds to the irregular sallies of imagination, originality of sentiment was in a great measure wanting. The Poet read the Iliad; observed what ARISTOTLE or LON­GINUS condemned, and imitated his beauties, but scarcely dared to wander from his path, lest the Critic should censure his deviations. Fancy, who, with pleasure, before wantoned in the garden of rhetoric, collected her odoriferous flowers, or strayed to neighbor­ing groves, or clumb the distant mount, to scan the beautiful and sublime of nature, was now arrested in her career. Criticism built her fences and made her enclosures, planted her vineyards and laid out her alleys; and ordered fancy never to tread prohibited grounds, nor wander from her sight.

NUMBER III.

I HAVE often thought that the fear of appearing before the bar of criticism, has been of essential disservice to a young genius. Tho [Page 8] less correct, the lucubrations of a young writer display a noble wildness, and a pleasing in­coherency. A superiority of fire and inven­tion, mark the works of all writers who were unacquainted with the laws of criticism.

TO the censures of the critic, I always op­pose the authority of the poet. The world may consider it as a happiness, that ADDISON and VOLTAIRE past not their strictures on MIL­TON and SHAKESPEARE, before their immortal works had gained universal applause. Sin and Death would have been struck out from Paradise Lost, and the plays of SHAKESPEARE been so mangled by the amendments of VOLTAIRE, that the Frenchified Bard of AVON would hardly have thanked the philosopher of FERNEY, for his undeserved kindness.

NUMBER IV.

A BAD writer is always a bad critic. True Taste is as uncommon as an original writer. Some men possess good taste in some branches of literature, and are deficient in others. One judges well of [Page 9] prosaic composition, on one subject, another on another. Few are capable of criticising accurately on all. He that is a great proficient in grammar determines the merit of a piece by the accuracy of the spelling or the gram­mar. Another by the style. One is pleased with the pathetic only, another with wit; one is delighted with sublimity, and another with rural simplicity. The souls of but few are possessed with apartments for a compre­hensive satisfaction in all. I know a man who reads POPE, but never perceives any thing pleasing in MILTON. I know another who is pleased with all POPE's writings, who dispises BUTLER's HUDIBRAS or TRUMBUL's M'FINGAL. This difference of sentiment arises wholly from a want of true Taste.

NUMBER V.

EVERY man is a Critic; from him, whose whole life has been a continued pur­suit of literary acquirements, to him, who was never conversant with any work but the Bible [Page 10] and Pilgrim's Progress. A certain Justice of Peace, who is master of the "Town Of­ficer," and has half a dozen old volumes in his library, is considered as an accurate judge of composition. His word sanctions the worth of every performance, in the opinion of many. The freshman, who has just gone thro VIRGIL, and has seen the works of the English poets, determines correctly the ex­act quantum of merit in each. When he arrives to his junior year, he either grows more modest, or becomes an arrant pedant. I have seen four or five discoursing on Mr. PAINE's Prologue; the finest allegory in the English language (the allusion to the deluge) was condemned as nonsensical and incorrect. On asking their reasons for such a decision: "Why," said they, "the stage was not erected, till long after the flood, and NOAH on mount Arrarat has certainly no connection with the Theatre." Yet these gentlemen were great scholars, and could manage a knotty syllogism, or demonstrate the most intricate lemma in Enfield.

NUMBER IV.

MANY people imagine that Poetry consists entirely in a knack at rhyming; and on this presumption have often become, in their own opinions, poets of the first rate. 'Tis difficult to give a true definition of this art. Its foundation is a lively imagination. An original manner of conception and ex­pression, a knowledge of grammar and metre, an intimate acquaintance with the passions and feelings, a correct judgment, long prac­tice, much reading, and above all a good nat­ural understanding, are essentially necessary. Scribblers being possessed of some, yet defic­ient in most of these requisites, what time has been spent, what paper has been wasted, what pains have been taken, for the obtain­ment of chagrin, disappointment and ridi­cule, poverty and disgrace. Volumes have opened their eyes to infamy and closed them in eternal oblivion. The world is stocked with poetry, and poetry with nonsense or plagiarism.

[Page 12]Satires, songs, sonnets, odes, elegies, acros­tics, penegyrics, pastorals, invocations, &c. with neither wit, fancy, sweetness, elegance, pathos, beauty, sublimity, nor simplicity, are written for amusement and fame; printed to patronise dullness; read and admired by igno­rance, affectation and vanity. Poems like these frequently appear in volumes, more frequently in pamphlets, but without num­ber in magazines and newspapers. For the exemplification of this, I shall take indis­criminately an intended elegy from a Boston paper of Nov. 1795, and point out its deficien­ces, in grammar, in metre, in poetical expres­sion and conception, together with the in­sipidity and incoherency of the ideas.

NUMBER VII.

INACCURACIES of thought, occasion­ed by a carelessness, common with great writers in a noble frenzy of ideas, when war­med with the subject, and anxious to com­pleat the sentiments, unless they are very fre­quent, the true critic always expects to find, and is never greatly displeased. They are easily distinguished from the continual blun­ders of white haired insipidity and persevering impotency. Typographical errors will sometimes escape the eye of the most vigilant editor, and the misplacing of a letter not unfrequently renders a thought nonsensical or unsuitable.

IT is the part of a penetrating critic to dis­tinguished between the faults of haste and the defects of the understanding.

NUMBER VIII.

WHILE the man, to whom the gifts of nature were only a compound of apathy [Page 20] and dulness, lolls away the tedious hours of a college life, "unknowing and unknown;" while the unfit sons of wealth have often the most favorable opportunities to enrich their understandings; are indulged with a sight of the streams of literature; have the refusal of many a wholesome draught, yet neglect the cheering cup of pleasing information; see Genius at the plow or the anvil, com­pelled by the imperious command of Penury to toil away in obscurity that life, which, if devoted to the muses, might tear the laurel from the rival brow of a Homer, and shine as far above the wits of modern days as he outshines the bards of elder time.

BUT when the man, possessed of an un­conquerable awkwardness or impotency of thought, tho by friends admonished of his disqualifications, stubbornly plods for that learning which only renders him ridiculous, seized with the cacoethes scribendi, scribbles rhime and still scribbles rhime, till the pa­tience of humanity can no longer encourage, and the arrows of wit wound not the unfeel­ing [Page 21] victim; we cannot help regretting the partial distributions of fortune.

THE first rude attempts of genius at composition, tho incorrect, extravagant and wild, discover what ought to be encouraged. A few years practice and attention, might improve and ripen—Industry subdues all.

MERIT ought ever to be raised, but am­bitious weakness depressed.

NUMBER XI.

MUCH has been said, and much has been written, on stile. A diversity of stile exists both in poetry and prose; but mostly in poetry. The nervous, dry, laconic, flowery, &c. are equally seen in both; added to which there arises in poetry a great variety, which depends on the construction of poetical sen­tences, the metre, tranposition and rhyme. Every one is apt to degrade the stile he is un­able to reach. One speaks highly of the ease, nature and simplicity of Addison. [Page 22] Another recommends Gibbon and Johnson. The stately stiffness, the labored elegance of periods, wound off in rotundo, so common in Gibbon's Roman History, are admired by writers, who approximate to his manner, and condemned by those who are unable to com­mand a pompous grandeur of periods. The Prompter laughs at Doctor Johnson: but his Lives of the Poets, while it discovers all the Critic, and all the Biographer, with re­gard to stile, is the first prose performance in the English language. But the formation of a stile engages so much of the attention of many, that sentiment is often entirely ex­cluded. Many measure the merit of a per­formance entirely by its stile. I have read over orations and poems, a few obsolete obser­vations, properly repeated, diversified and spun out, are sufficient to gain admiration. Sentence succeeds sentence, beneath my eye, a gorgeous troop of dwarfs, in giant apparel. I would rather see sentiment, with not a rag to her back, than such an awkward abun­dance of fine clothes, with nobody to wear them.

NUMBER X.

SO much attention is paid and so much care taken to form a stile similar to some em­inent writer, that the cultivation of language, rather than of ideas, becomes the study of those who are anxious to distinguish them­selves in the literary world. Stile is not a matter of such importance as supposed by many. No man was less attentive to stile than Swift; yet the prose works of but few are more admired. There is a mechanical manner of constructing sentences, of which some have availed themselves. The triad so frequent in Johnson's works, the insertion of an adjective, before almost every substantive, commencing a sentence with a participle or adjective, the transposition of sentences in imitation of the Latins; and every one's read­ing will furnish him with a variety of other ways to raise and embellish the ideas. But by a continual repetition the art is seen and displeases. And unless the sentiments are equal to the stile, it resembles a splendid [Page 24] palace without furniture, or a table of ele­gant dishes or rich plate but nothing to eat.

IN poetry, the language must never fal­ter; the dignity is lost when it fails, whatever the sentiments. But there is such a charm in metre and poetical language, that the weak­est of matter is often so graced in rhyme, as to command commendation from the uncriti­cal multitude. Hence poetry becomes more often the refuge of dullness, than the tongue of genius.

NUMBER XI.

THE stile of Milton's Paradise Lost, is vastly superior to any other poetical work in our language. When I read Pope, Addison, Hayley, &c. I am obliged to forget Milton, or I cannot relish them. There is in Milton such a nobleness and independence of expres­sion that every sentiment seems an hero, com­manding his little company of words, ever ready and suitable.

[Page 25]THE stile of poetry is varied by the rhyme. The double endings or Hudibrastic metre, are become quite common in writings of humor and satire. Butler has the honor of invention. Imitations have been frequent and sometimes successful. Trumbul's M'Fin­gal is by no means inferior. There are but few who are not pleased with the double end­ing: it is perfectly suitable to low subjects.

NUMBER XII.

NO rule that will universally hold good can be given for puctuation. A compleat system of punctuation cannot be: the end­less variety in constructing sentences requires as great a variety of rules. Let us not be­lieve what writers say, till we have examined for ourselves, and are convinced of its pro­priety. It has been said that the colon is totally unnecessary. Where is the impro­priety of its use in the following examples?

THE ipse dixit of the critic, who would annihilate the colon for the sake of being called a profound grammarian, is not always to be believed in preference to the impartial evidence of reason and propriety.

IN punctuation, the universal rule is— to make the sense clear and the sentences har­monious to the ear.

NUMBER XIII.

THE arts of embellishing poetry are innumerable. Some men devoid of genius endeavor to become poets by art. Vol­umes are read; lines are remembered; trans­positions, aliterations, figures &c. With a heteroneous collection of unmethodised assist­ants one sallies into rhyme; scrapes an unwel­come acquaintance with the muses; is insen­sible of the coolness with which he is treated; waves the banners of poetry, and considers himself as one of the first bards of the age. Others, possessed of real genius, having never made themselves acquainted with the orders and regulations of criticism, often vaguely and inelegantly express the sublimest of senti­ments.

NUMBER XIV.

THE great alterations that have been made in Orthrography have been of much advantage to beginners and foreigners: but [Page 28] the improvement of the art ought to be more thoroughly attended to and understood. I impose on myself the following simple, uni­versal rule, viz: that all words ought ever to be divided as pronounced; and all the letters, or combination of signs to express sounds, ought ever to be joined to that sylla­ble to which they naturally belong.

WHEN I first attended school, words end­ing in tion, sion, &c. were spelt as two sylla­bles. The reformation was not complete when those were united in one.

WE approve of, and believe true, too much of what we are taught, for habit has often the force of nature. In the word vision, s has the sound of zh, and i that of y; and the sound of zh is in the first syllable; the word ought therefore to be divided thus, vis­ion.

T has sometimes the sound of sh, but never of zh. Edition ought to be divided e-dit-ion: certainly if t has the sound of sh, it should be joined to the second syllable, as there it is pronounced.

NUMBER XV.

C HAS often the sound of sh, it is ab­surd to divide the word mathematician as it usually is: the sound of sh belongs to the penult, and the word ought therefore to be divided, math-e-ma-tic-ian. So of all those words, prec-ious, spec-ial, vit-ious, defic­ient, offic-ial &c. The letter U sounds often like W. A child is very wrongly taught to divide words thus: e-qui-ty, in-i-qui-ty, &c. instead of eq-ui-ty, in-iq-ui-ty. U is some­times silent after q, as in the words, liquor, laquey &c. which ought to be divided, liq-uor, laq-uey.

WHERE i has the sound of y, words ought to be divided thus: fol-io, jun-ior, un-ion, bdell-ium, mill-ion, Will-iam &c.

IF masters either consulted the philoso­phy of orthography, or the ease of learners, many of such absurd ways of dividing words would be neglected.

NUMBER XVI.

WORDS ought never to be pronounc­ed differently in reading from conversation. I cannot conceive why any should so rigidly adhere to the old fashioned way of pro­nouncing words, contrary to the dictates of common sense and universal custom. There is scarcely a man in the United States, who pronounces the word, loved, in common conversation, as two syllables. Since the days of Sternhold and Hopkins, scarce a man has admitted in metre, this obsolete method of pronunciation, and no words ought ever to be pronounced in poetry differently from prose. We may with as much propriety continue the solemn stile of thou, thee, smitest, eateth, &c. in daily tête a tête, as lov­ed, asham-ed, &c.

NUMBER XVII.

IT is strange that one grammarian should so greatly improve on the works of another, [Page 31] and yet let pass unnoticed many of the most obvious errors. "Words, (says ALEXAN­DER's grammar) are divided into ten classes." We may with as much propriety divide them into fifty classes as ten. He makes what is usually called the pronoun, a distinct part of speech. His excellency for a governor, his majesty for a king, are as much pronouns as he, she, you, it, &c. Half an hour's reflection will convince any man that the pronoun is not a distinct part of speech. The same may­be said of the participle. It is only a varia­tion of the verb.

NUMBER XVIII.

IT was an old maxim with regard to pro­nunciation—USUS EST NORMA LOQUENDI— in opposition to which 'tis asserted that all words should be pronounced as spelt.—The rules clashing, the master is unable to vindi­cate his pronunciation before his school. The boy inquires how the word one is pronounced. On being informed wun, he demands the [Page 32] pronunciation of tone. The difference of pronunciation perplexes him, and he has no rule to govern him, but is continually obliged to apply to the master for that information which the letters will not give him.

THE proper regulation is: to pronounce words as usually pronounced by men of po­lite education.

NUMBER I.

A LONG and heavy purse is one of the greatest ornaments, that graces the per­son of the fop, the seeker of public honors, the politician, the knave and fool. By its assistance, the maid, over whose head have rolled no less than thirty years; whose beau­ty would scarce engage the attention of any one of the homeliest sons of Adam; who has long since resigned to the steady and certain power of old age, every charm, of which she might possibly be possessed; whose rotten teeth proclaim the ravages of time; whose [Page 33] rawboned limbs and paper lips have long been the diversion of the curious; whose under­standing never soared above the level of the unlettered jackass. I say, by the assistance of said purse, ten thousand charms hover round her withered face; unnumbered graces please in every word, and every act. She becomes the Delia of the plain, and the lilly of the valley. The sound of her goes abroad in the earth; her conquests increase, and her lovers gather from afar.

THE man, not indebted to the partial hand of nature for the gifts of superior talents; not indebted to a school dame for even a knowledge of his alphabet; who has never profaned the seat of letters with his uncome­ly presence; by the upholding assistance of said long purse, pursues his path to honors and emoluments. The world's loud plaudit is his. He secures the suffrages of his elec­tors. His vices are gone into a cloud, and his foibles and weakness, the eye of mankind refuses to behold. He rides in the chariot of luxury. He takes the highest seats in the synagogue. The vulgar gape with aston­ishment; [Page 34] but the wise wonder at the great­ness of so little a man.

WITH the dull eye of uniformed sim­plicity; with a phiz that demonstratively dis­covers unbounded ignorance, and extensive nothingness; supreme self conceit, and a su­premely inferior understanding; see the lover of CHESTERFIELD, anxious to display those excellences which were never his own, quit the garret of safe obscurity, and the means of an honest life, to get himself a name among the fools of the nation. He has drawn a thousand dollars in a lottery, and his head is filled with ten thousand notions. While the poor widow asks in vain for an inch of a candle, or an ounce of bread; pounds of tal­low, and pecks of flower, are wasted on his head. His waistcoat is white satin, and the cape of his coat stands not upright. His hat leans to the sun; and his canee flourishes im­portance. He has forsaken the adze or the sledge, and eats his beefstake at Fobes' tavern, or Julien's hotel. He may be seen in the front box at the theatre, applauding what others applaud, and hissing what others con­demn; [Page 35] conversing on the merits of CUMBER­LAND, or descanting on the beauties of SHAKES­PEARE. An oath sanctions each sentence, and he swears with a grace. He ogles the fair at a distance, and the fair at a distance admire. Nancy declares he dresses neatly, and SYLVIA swears he is a pretty fellow. He writes acrostics, and who shall not adore him? He is full of repartees, tho his repartees are empty of all wit. His awkward manners are only the eccentricity of genius. His profuseness is but a generosity of soul; and his want of learning is only his modesty in literature. His character is raised by frequenting the north end; for, to the shame of common sense, in the eye of many a fair, a rake is no blem­ish the reputation of a lover. But he has eaten the pancake of his property. His taylor sends him a dun, and his barber wishes to settle. When shall his creditors cease from troubling, or where shall the fool find rest? His money has strayed from his pocket; and he pawns his purse for the pay­ment of a penny loaf. Amen to the career [Page 36] of his glory, and so be it to him that finds riches and gets not wisdom therewith.

NUMBER II. ARGUMENTS IN FAVOR OF WAR.

IN turning over the eternal pages of sac­red History, we are enabled to collect some few hints about the first war, that ever was undertaken, namely, the wars of heaven. That this war was a blessing to mankind may be proved from the authority of the knowing & divine MILTON; for tho some of the foolish angels were rather worsted in the encounter, yet says he, to supply the place of those that were sent to chew their brim­stone in misery, and to repeople the abode of those, whose places at their departure now became vacant, heaven thought sit to create a new world, and a new set of beings, called man; and certainly man's existence was a blessing, or it would never have been grant­ed.

[Page 37]WHEN, from the bosom of savage bar­barity began to arise societies and kingdoms; when man left the field of hunting and be­gan to cultivate the arts of peace; from these reformations sprang wars and bloodshed. Had all lived in peace all would have been ig­norant; all would have been on a level with the beasts; all would have been as savage as the tygers they hunted. War brought con­quest, conquest reduction, reduction obedi­ence, obedience emulation, emulation envy and malice, and malice again brought war. The transition has been constant and always will remain.

WAR carries of the dregs of society. How many, whose lives are a curse to the world and themselves, sneak out of existence with all the honors of heroes defending their country. We all must have our exit; and in the great day of reckoning what will be the difference, whether we die by the dagger, the dungeon, or the disentery? To the sound of the trumpet flock the lovers from the frowns of the fair, and rush indifferently to glory or death. At the sound of the [Page 38] trumpet flock the disappointed statesman, the ambitious youth, and the veteran hero. The loud clangor of the horn, the piercing shrill­ness of the fife, the animating pulse of the drum, the sudden whiz of the bullet, the ex­plosion of the deep gulleted cannon, the other filled with smoke, the dying groans of the wounded, the spouting blood, the clot­ted gore, and the mountains of departed ene­mies, are objects, that yield the sublimest ideas, that give the mind the most horrid satisfaction, that waken revenge, push to glory, honor and happiness. Such is man, and in such barbarous scenes his soul delights, and that which he delights in is his blessing.

WAR has been an established kind of di­version from the remotest days of antiquity; and would it not be highly satirizing the wis­dom of mankind, to say that from time im­memorial they have been ignorant of their du­ty or have not fully known that war was a manly, rational entertainment and exercise, from the sloth and luxury of peace? Moreo­ver, by a long continuance in the army, a soldier may learn an easy address, a graceful [Page 39] step, an easy swim of movement, and a reg­ularity of deportment, which may gain him much honor among the ladies, in an assem­bly, or at a town meeting.

LOOK at the Crusades, see Europe, warmed with the sacred fire of devotion, all gallop­ing over to Asia, to recover the holy land from the hands of wicked infidels. To die in such a cause must be the greatest happi­ness, and to live, if possible, still greater.

I SHALL conclude with a solemn invoca­tion, that the time may soon approach, when the voice of peace shall no more be heard in our borders, when every man shall lift up his sword against his neighbor; when the prun­ing hook shall be beat up into spears, and the ploughshare into daggers; the shovel and tongs into swords and cutlasses; old iron into fieldpieces, and old pewter into bullets; and that wars, fightings, bloodshed, devasta­tion and destruction, shall so overrun the world, that the whole human race may fin­ally be extirpated from existence.

NUMBER III.

SO numerous and unrestrained are those rougher passions of the soul, that inveigle the ear of mankind from the neglected voice of reason and conscience, that while we exercise our commiseration we may in a great measure suppress our astonishment, when we see men so anxiously solicitous to wield the sceptre of power, or loll in the chariot of lux­ury, with all their concomitant diseases, and cares.

How often do we see men, without one longing or regretful look, abandon the humble vale of competence, desert the abodes of con­tentment, and forever forget the quiet couch of repose, and the very bosom of peaceful enjoyment, to climb the craggy steeps of perilous ambition, never secure from the delusive windings of error, and the poisonous bites of the serpents of envy, and ever look­ing with an eye of fearful apprehension on the rocks of infamy and disgrace beneath.

[Page 41]WE seldom take a retrospective view of life; our whole attention is seldom employ­ed about present objects, but with a prophet­ic eye we scan futurity, and contemplate scenes of honor and enjoyments; but after having spent the whole of our lives in fruit­lessly endeavoring to grasp the distant ignis fatuus, on our death beds we perceive it to be only the vapor of disappointment. But in the bowers of peaceful contentment and competence, unsolicitous of honors, unam­bitious of wealth, lie more true pleasures and enjoyments, than under the tiara of papal sanctity, the crowns of monarchs sur­rounded with flattering courtiers, the fame of philosophers with systems ill received, or the favorites of APOLLO, persecuted by igno­rant critics, or led by the hand of poverty to the cold, damp mansions of the gloomy prison.

HE is the philosopher, who can look down with indignation on an ALEXANDER, who unmoved by even the whispers of am­bition, can see with indifference others run the wearying race of glory and riches▪ to [Page 42] him the vale is more splendid than the pal­ace; to him the frugal board is sweeter than the lavish tables of luxurious emperors; and the subjection of his passions imparts more delight than the subjection of armies. To him nature appears in lovlier charms, con­science approves, and rewarding heaven smiles on all his endeavors.

No point of glory or of wealth can put a period to the desires of the avaricious. Tho on the top of Andes he still wishes to ascend. Tho India yield him all her stores he still covets more. Tho half mankind were obe­dient to his eye, his progress is not stopped till all are under subjection. Here reason forsakes him, the nobler virtues of the soul withdraw their influence, while the rough and wilful passions bear full sway, tempta­tion prompts to every act of injustice, and brutality marks all his proceedings. With all the lashes of an awakened conscience, and with all the cumbersome appendages of wealth and grandeur, he drags on the heavy load of existence, till the yawning grave gapes to receive the avaricious monster. Yet such [Page 43] monsters would be half mankind, could they only obtain a gratification of their unbound­ed wishes.

NUMBER IV.

SYLVIA is a lady of great delicacy. She once saw a louse, and immediately faint­ed away. The sight of a beggar turns her stomach. If a man whose rank is not equal to her own attempts to kiss her, she screams and leaves the room. The mentioning of a wo­man's shift is considered by her as an outrage on decency.

HER petticoat once got unpined at an assembly, and fell on the floor: had the heavens been crushing together, the constern­ation would not have been greater than that which was occasioned by this fatal catastro­phe, and the howlings of agony, that rent the bosom of affected delicacy.

IN antient times a lady could say breeches, [Page 44] of late they are called small clothes; but SYLVIA▪ always calls them modesty garments.

BUT SYLVIA's real modesty was finally determined to the satisfaction of all. Her lap dog was paying his addresses to a lady of the same species; and, (mirabile dictu,) SYLVIA was seen peaking thro a broken pane of glass to observe their conduct.

THE same kind of affected delicacy ob­tains in some measure among critics. If a studied chastity of language refines away the meaning into nonsense, 'tis admired.

CHASTITY rests in the soul, not on the tongue. Yet the tongue should always be under subjection. Indecent puns, convey­ing ideas far more immodest than the word breeches, are uttered almost every evening on the stage; yet the ladies more often smile than hold their heads down.

NUMBER V.

WHY do men forsake the simple dictates of nature? Affectation is really more [Page 45] disgusting to a man of sense than death. The lover must sigh, plead and intreat, be­fore the fair one will acknowledge a reciproci­ty of affection. A coquette is a damnable thing and ought to be hated more than a thief. Why can't a young lady, to whom a man has long paid his addresses, honestly avow her opinion and intentions. I have known a woman keep seven lovers in suspense, six years, when she had no choice, and never expected to husband either of them. An ogling eye towards one, a gentle squeeze of the hand for another, a kindness to the third &c. till finally four of them became old bach­elors, the fifth married a better wife: the sixth died of the disorder, the seventh went to the East Indies and has never been heard of since.

THIS lady is now fifty years old, and has not been sparked these twenty years. Not considering how convenient a thing a husband is in a house, and how apt to take many a pound of trouble from the load of life, she neg­lected the golden opportunity, and lives a conspicuous scarecrow to vanity and affecta­tion. [Page 46] Yet even now she appears young, at least to herself ▪ Should any man be so un­polite as to ask her age, she modestly owns that she has just past her thirtieth year, and must now be ranked among old maids. And, really, her false hair becomes her so well, that if men never judged of her age from her teeth, few would be undeceived. But the fire of her eyes has departed, the bloom of her cheek has forsaken her: yet, like all old maids and old bachelors, she talks much of the comforts of a single life.

NUMBER VI.

MUSIC, whether considered as a source of pleasure and rational entertainment, or as an ennobling duty in religious societies, may with propriety be denominated the sweetest rose in the garden of the polite arts. It has little connection with any of the other arts except poetry, between these there is the closest affinity.

EXCELLENCY in music depends on the [Page 47] natural delicacy and conformity of the or­gans. The same may be said with regard to a nice and intimate knowledge of accent, quantity and harmony, in poetic num­bers.

As eminence in these arts depends pri­marily on nature, and secondly on a suitable cultivation of original powers, it has been the lot of but a proportionably small part of man­kind to distinguish themselves very greatly in the world. Hence many a HANDEL never touched an organ; and many a MIL­TON never learned to read.

Though few persons ever become nice and accurate judges of music, yet the pleas­ure derived from it is almost universal. There are however some, whose souls seem to har­monize with nothing but discord, who re­ceive not the least satisfaction from the best musical performances in the world: but we may say with Shakespeare.

[Page 48]A NEGLECT of music may in some sense be considered a neglect of moral duty. The ruder principles of music are found in many of the brutal and inferior parts of creation. The feathered songsters, while sporting from spray to spray, chant forth their Maker's praise. The readbreast mourns in solitary strains her absent mate: or when some un­lucky boy has robbed her nest, and from her love and protection torn her tender young; she flutters round; and in the musical moan of grief and despair, curses the wretch, and bids and begs the pilfering hand to spare her unfledged offspring. The humming bird has music in his wings. The beauti­ful Canary clings to the grates of his unwel­come prison; and, in notes of lively horror, seems to implore, at least—the liberty of the yard. Nor birds alone. The regal lion stalks his lordly round, and pours his thun­dering base to distant wilds. In vain the bleating lamb, with mild, yet melancholy cry, asks the unfeeling butcher to stay his hand. Nay, even the surly bullfrog of the meadow, in homely, yet regular notes, con­gratulates [Page 49] his companions afar off, and ban­ishes the solemn silence of the summer's night. And shall man, endowed with such superior faculties, and capable of heaving to the high­est pitch of human perfection the powers of harmony, shall man be silent?

IN all nations and all ages of the world, attention has ever been paid to music. Its first appearance, we may suppose, was exhib­ited in the rude tunes of the shepherd while tending his flock, or in songs sung to cele­brate the triumphs of a victor, or the down­fal of a hero.

THE general regard that is now paid to music gives us the highest reason to believe that this country, ere long, will not blush at a comparison with the elder nations of the world. While the Columbian muse is lead­ing her sons to the pinnacle of poetical excel­lence, equal in height to the Grecian or Ro­man name; we hope the sister art of music will not be slow in gathering her votaries, and diffusing those charms of which she is so amply possest. Wherever a genius for music [Page 50] is found, it deserves our greatest encourage­ment. Shall we be inattentive to its beauties and excellencies, while according to MILTON, the very demons in the infernal regions con­soled by its powers their horrid condition, and solaced by the notes of the harp, their grief and torment, while Satan, on the grand expe­dition of Adam's ruin, was exploring his way thro Chaos and old night.

NOTHING can exceed the vivacity and sweetness which music receives when accom­panied with female voices. And nothing gives so much of the celestial to the human charms and excellences of the fair as skill in this ravishing art. The lover may gaze with rapture on the beauties of his fair one, but [Page 51] when soft music glides from her mellifflu­ous tongue, he catches the ardor of angels, and his bosom swells with ecstacy.

THE towering notes of the counter, the swel­ling sound of the tenor, the shrill animating treble, the grand majestic bass, all conspiring in glorious concord, afford the soul such rapture as the tongue is unable to describe. Such pleasing sounds throw off our cares, exalt our expectations, banish our anxieties, add ecsta­cy to love, and awaken the most grateful and tender emotions of the breast. Such are the powers of the various modulations of harmony. Is it not then strange that so little attention is paid, and so little pains taken in many societies to become proficients in so divine an art? One reason we may assign. In many places, some elderly people, who, when young▪ had attended to some particular tunes, once much in vogue, for which they still re­tain a superstitious fondness, continue to praise the [...], in strains of nasal twang, offensive to the ears of common delicacy. They remain strangers to any innovations or improve­ments, to which they have not leisure or in­clination [Page 52] to attend. The tunes they use are the same their good old grandmothers sung in their youth; and thus, having gained a kind of hereditary approbation, still stand high in their opinion. Thus the versification of the psalms by Sternhold and Hopkins, as they were a long time printed at the end of the bible, led many to believe that the very rhymes were indited by inspiration. Hence it was with the greatest difficulty that the foolish prejudice of many could be so far overcome, as to introduce in our churches the far supe­rior versification of Tate and Brady, or Watts. And, not many years since, the introduction of the pitchpipe, and the raising and falling of the hands for the preservation of time, were by many considered as useless and unhappy ceremonies, tending in a great measure to in­troduce Popery among us.

INSTRUMENTAL music is certainly a great addition to vocal, and has the happiest effect upon it. Yet there are some, even to this day, who are unwilling to admit into public worship the bass viol, which adds so much so­lemnity to vocal music. The reason prof­fered [Page 53] by some is, that the bass viol looks so much like the common violin, and the common violin is commonly called a fiddle, and a fid­dle is commonly made use of to assist in danc­ing; therefore, the bass viol in religions soci­eties would be apt to make the young men and women think of a fiddle, and a fiddle would lead to dancing: and thus carry their thoughts from religious meditations to danc­ing, fiddling, and other worldly and unsuita­ble contemplations. For which reasons the bass viol is by them inadmissible. Arguing thus—why should a man carry his legs to meeting on sunday, when perhaps those same legs carried him to a tavern the day before? The truth is, a man's legs may be of great service to him on sunday as well as week days; so may the violin contribute greatly to the innocent amusements of dancing, and yet add solemnity to church music in the house of God.

NUMBER VII.

FASHION establishes a thousand ri­diculous practices. I have doubted whether nature teaches the shaking of hands on find­ing a friend that has been absent. It is a custom of four thousand years standing. At the siege of Troy, Homer fequently mentions it. One of my neighbors, who sees me gen­erally three or four times a day, always shakes hands with me, and twitches with such violence, as to put my wrist frequently in great pain. I see no propriety in this prac­tice. Were it customary on finding a friend to kick his shins, who would be backward in following the fashion? And there is in nature as much propriety in one practice as the other.

WHERE is the necessity of holding up the hand when taking an oath? Isaac laid his finger on Abraham's thigh. Why should not a man as soon hold up his leg as his hand when he swears? GOD looks at the sincerity of the heart, not at the hand nor the leg.

[Page 55]THE custom of drinking healths is not only foolish, as it answers no good purpose but is a plague. Many a good drink of cid­er I've lost in preference to disturbing a table of guests by wishing them health. Some­times Col. P—, who is excessively polite, and has not been out of Boston, that sink of complaisance, more than two years, takes hold of the tankard and begins Mr.— your good health, Mr. yours, and Mr. till I find it is coming to me, and I am obliged to swallow a mouthful of roast beef, before it is half chewed; and sometimes it is my turn to say "I thank you, sir," before it is half down, and then out comes the beef on my plate again. This last practice is growing out of use, and I hope will soon be discontinued. Did not so many fools love to distinguish themselves by their oddities, as a man of rea­son I should disuse some of these silly customs. People being more apt to imitate the manners of great than of wise men; I shall leave it to some American Prince of Wales in Boston to reform them.

NUMBER VIII.

REPETITION of old maxims often an­swers a good purpose. I don't like to hear a clergyman repeat his text an hundred times, however, in a forenoon's discourse. The Lay Preacher is an admirable writer as well as myself, but he repeats his text too often, and interperses his sermons with too many quotations for a writer, whose fertility of in­vention would supply him with sentences far superior to those which his universal reading affords.

Contentment is better than riches. This is my text. Ponder it well, and there will be no necessity of repeating it. When I was at college, a rich classmate could give a Profes­sor a beaver hat, and he in return deliver an English oration. I was poor, but contented myself with the thoughts of being able to write a better one, tho I could not buy it. Riches may lead a man to high offices, with nothing else to recommend him; but will neither teach him common sense, nor pre­serve [Page 57] him from contempt. Money seldom accompanies merit. I would not advise a man to be very rich. It exposes him to very many inconveniences. 'Tis a plague to a wise man. Get enough to live on comforta­bly, to treat your friends with, and lend a little to the poor, and Heaven will pay you compound interest. Be contented and easy with a little, for with bags full you cannot be more than contented.

IF you have a scolding wife, and can't keep her tongue still till she is in the grave, be contented; for you might as well try to remove mountains as to prevent it.

IF your husband gets drunk at the tavern and reproof answers no end: don't whine and cry: let him go till he kills himself and look out better next time, for another husband.

IF you have sent a blunderhead to Con­gress, you must either tie his legs at the next session, or make a better choice at the next election.

IF you are writing an essay, feel dull, [Page 58] and know not what to say—quit it immedi­ately.

NUMBER IX.

I PASSED by the door of a very rich man. To supply his coffers, the widow had been defrauded; the face of the poor had been ground. His house was elegant and costly; his gardens and his orchards were delightful. Every thing appeared calculated to communicate happiness. But peace nev­er dwelt in his habitation, nor was his con­science ever free from reproof. The son of his benefactor was the lowest menial of his kitchen. The virgins whom he had deprived of their chastity, were become common pros­titutes. The sordid ambition, the base pleas­ure of accumulating property, not to assist his neighbors, not to benefit a friend, not to [Page 59] promote the happiness of society, constituted his enjoyment.

As I was riding by, I saw his dog on his door stone; I was immediately led into a train of reflections on the dog and his master. The dog ever performed the duty of his sta­tion according to the best of his knowledge and abilities, and always appeared contented and blest. The master never did any thing right, but thro mistake or to benefit his in­terest. Is it not rational to believe the dog the happiest and most noble of the two ani­mals.

THE next house I passed by was that of a man who was the owner of a small farm. His children were barefoot, playing round the door; his wife was spinning, and he in­dustriously at work on his farm. He was always easy, always in good spirits, always contented. His land was well cultured, and supplied him with most of the necessaries of life. The rich man with all his lands, his farm, &c. received not half so much of the good things of this world [Page 60] as he: for tho he raised much he could eat only his own share; and it was his greatest mortification, that he was unable to gorman­dize himself the whole produce of his acres.

NUMBER X.

I HAVE sometimes wished that my great grandfather had left an entailed estate, and I should not as now, be obliged to earn my bread with so much difficulty. But upon mature deliberation, I am convinced that en­tailed estates are detrimental to a republic.— Strong men, says Solomon, retain riches. Look to the men who have a strong hold in the banks. They receive 18 per cent for their money, and that by the same law which calls it usury in other men. Thus strong men retain riches and grow stronger. These banks together with the democratic societies, have a greater tendency to introduce aristoc­racy [Page 61] than all the ideal, self created British juntoes, that have been mentioned in the Chronicle, these ten years. Those who have money in the banks must grow stronger in riches, because they receive compound inter­est at 18 per cent, while the law allows me only 6 per cent. Our rulers don't work it right.

NUMBER XI.

I HAVE heard a person say that there was no year of his life that he would wish to spend again.—Many have said that were it at their option, previous to their coming into the world, to not exist any way, or be what they were, they should prefer nonexistence to the troubles of this world.—Hope is the great supporter of our spirits. We are al­ways counting the unhatched chickens, and live by anticipation. Did we expect that [Page 62] the remainder of our days would be as the days that have left us, our spirits would droop; our ambition would be blunted, and our comfort destroyed.

SEVEN eights of the troubles of this life are troubles of our own begetting. For half our diseases we are indebted to our own im­prudence and intemperance.—Nothing is more insipid than the common complaint of most men for their misfortunes, when they had themselves taken the command of Prov­idence, and brought down on their own heads the troubles they bewail.

"WAS there ever such a world?" says one. For my part, I was never in a better: and I find this to be, on most accounts, a very good one. Industry will enable almost any man to acquire a sufficiency for his com­fort and support. Let us act, in all cases, according to our knowledge. Let conscience overrule, and if we do not succeed in gaining a quantum sufficit of the good things of life, we shall not have the painful reflection of wilful error, nor the pangs of an awakened con­science, [Page 63] to render more bitter the evils of life.

NUMBER XII.

THIS was the precept of a certain Greek Philosopher, enforced by POPE and MASON, and acknowledged by all men to be both useful and necessary.

IT is the first "thing needful" to know one's self, but it is almost equally important for worldly happiness, to know other men.

SOME preach up the propriety of mind­ing our own business, and not concerning ourselves in the affairs of others. This doc­trine is not totally good. The characters of all men ought to be open to investigation: and censure, when just, ought never to be withheld. Even the name of WASHING­TON is not sacred, and never ought to be: yet the ungrounded, malicious calumnies that have been uttered against him have made [Page 64] more bright his reputation; for how has the gold become the most fine gold!

THE characters of men, after their de­cease, are never beyond the scrutiny of truth. The old adage. Nil de mortuis nisi bonum, 'Say nothing of the dead except in their favor,' is wholly unreasonable. What shall the honest historion say of NERO? He must pass over him in silence; for not one good deed ever recommended him to notice.

LET us be careful never to condemn, or speak evil of men, without convincing proofs of their neglect of duty. Every man has faults enough of his own to mend, and ought ever be ready to hear and correct them.

NUMBER XIII.

SOME have supposed that the Apos­tle, with the spirit of true prophecy, here [Page 65] meant the democracy of the present day: but to this I am not willing to accede, for this reason; the Apostle, I am confident, would never trouble his own head nor those of his readers with an account of a clan, destined to answer some good political end; to agitate the mind of republicans, a few months, and who, after sailing down the stream of ridicule and execration, are wafted to the ocean of forgetfulness: to be remembered no more in this world to shame and sorrow, but in the world to come, to their everlasting misery. I rather think the Apostle had particular ref­erence to those jacobinical preachers, who, friends of liberty and equality, take the liberty to preach without knowledge or virtue, and consider themselves as equal to the most en­lightened divines; and thus, by good words and fair speeches, deceiving the hearts of the simple.

A PERSON of this description in a neigh­boring town, not long since, before as great an audience as a school house could contain, was interrupted by the enquiry, "who gave thee this authority?" His answer was, I am [Page 66] sent of God.—"So am I," says one, and anoth­er, till a dozen were preaching at once, and the first was obliged to retreat.

THE Apostle's caution may apply to all descriptions of men.

NUMBER XIV. APOSTROPHE TO RUM.

GREAT is thy power, oh king of evils, and marvellous are all thy works. Disease and infamy are in thy right hand, and the keys of death in thy left. Thou makest friends foes, and foes friends. By thy influ­ence, the bonds of amity might be drawn round GEORGE GWELF, and PETER PINDAR, or the bar of enmity be raised between NISUS and EURIALUS. See the son of thy love; his countenance is as a firebrand; his nose as a promontory covered with hillocks; and his eyes as candles that have gone into the socket. He maketh angles and cricles in his gait, or he lieth like a log parrallel with the [Page 67] horizon. See him rolling the contents of the bottle from his loaded paunch; yet thy spirit remains. Vain are his endeavors to move his tongue with regularity and grace; or raise his leaden lump of body on his weak and unsupporting legs. Where are thy charms, O Rum, that not only the fool, but the wise often become thy votaries. Does not folly go before thee? And are not poverty and disgrace ever in thy train? Whether thou exercisest thy power in the full bowl of punch, in the clear christal of grog, or the circling mug of tod; still ought the curses of the patriot to fall upon thee, and the indig­nation of the wise and good banish thee from the face of the earth.

I HAVE seen thy worshippers fall before thee. In the common tavern they are collected. Full oft and quick thy spirit walks around. The knave puts on the mask of hon­esty. The fool grows wise, and the ignorant talk politics, converse learnedly on the nature of government, the merits of its officers, and the propriety of treaties, acts and regulations.

[Page 68]GREAT and marvellous are thy works, oh mighty RUM, and in folly hast though done them all.

NUMBER XV. A FUNERAL ORATION.

ON sunday evening last, departed this life, after a long and painful sickness, occa­sioned by a redundancy of gall, a most ex­cellent saddlehorse, late the property of Doc­tor JOHN P—S—Esq. As it has been an invariable custom, almost from time immemorial, to endeavor to transmit to pos­terity the names of those illustrious charac­ters who have deserved well of their coun­try, no one, I presume, will take it amiss, if I employ the attention of my readers a few moments, while I endeavor to relate the at­chievements and delineate the most striking features of her character.

SHE received from nature an excellent disposition of mind, as well as great strength and stability of soul. Tho she was never in­structed in the precepts of any religion, she [Page 69] possessed many Christians virtues; such as long suffering under affliction, and patience when heavy laden, which she discovered in transporting meal bags, and performing long journies.

SHE was not addicted to drink, except on warm days after much labor and fatigue. During her whole life 'tis not known that she acquired a single bad habit. The vices most common to beasts of this kind, are biting, kicking, and turning over carriages. But thoughts like thee never touched her spot­less imagination. During her illness she dis­covered no signs of remorse, but seemed to be reflecting with pleasure that she had acted well in her sphere; and that her work was done, and well done: no guilty conscience planted her dying couch with thorns; not one tear trickled down her death pale nostrils; not one sigh escaped from her peaceful bo­som.

As she was fond of company, and fre­quently grazed, and clubed with her com­panions in the same pasture, some inconsid­erate [Page 70] persons have villified her name by representing her to be a rank jacobin. But may that villain be the heir of eternal infamy, who could thus wantonly asperse the charac­ter of so amiable a creature.

After having escaped the SCYLLA of the Botts, & the Charybdis of the horse distemper, she was sucked in by the vortex of a redundant gall, and resigned her soul with composure, on sunday the 20 day of december, in the year of our LORD 1792, in the 19th year of the independence of the United States of A­merica, aged 24 years, 5 months and 10 days, and in the 21st year of her usefulness.

HER master conscious of her superior merits, her services and carefulness, and wil­ling to perpetuate her memory, erected an elegant tombstone over her relics, with these elegiac lines.

NUMBER XVI. A CREED.

I BELIEVE that what ever is, is right —and God is the author of sin.

I believe that we ought all to be willing to be damned; but God grant that this may never be my portion.

I believe that God has decreed every thought, volition and deed—and that we are all moral agents.

I believe every man is born into the world with sufficient sin to damn him eter­nally—and that no man is punished for anoth­er's transgression.

I believe that God hath foreordained a [Page 72] certain number to eternal life—and that if I do not mend my ways I shall not be one of them.

I believe that regeneration is instantane­ous—and we ought to labor all the days of our lives till we shall finally be compleatly re­generated.

I believe that when once a man is regen­erated he can never fall into unregeneration— and therefore we ought to be very careful never to sin.

I believe that all sin is to the glory of God—and the more sin the more grace.

I believe that there is but one true reli­gion, which is the Hopkintonian—and that it is a great sin to have charity for any other.