"TIS ONLY MY COUSIN. "BRITAIN'S BRIGHT STAR, THE QUEEN OF OUR ISLE." LONDON, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1837. Amelia Opie, stoically rigid in her school of morals, has written a book on lies, and classified them according to their respective shades of moral guilt. From the egregious lie down to the harmlers fib of innocence itself the scale is nicely graduated. What varieties in falsehood has she not culled-bounces, white lies, fibs, innocent deceptions, &c. and to all she assigns proportionate degrees of censure. It is said that many tradesmen would not sell their lies for small annuities, as being indispensable auxiliaries towards augmenting business. If, on the one hand, in the world of selfishness, lies prevail, we find in the ethereal region of love, the commodity is also in rich request. Venus herself, if we are to give any credit to old Virgil, often assumed deceptive appearances to further a sort of matrimonial campaign; and the little god, the mischievous Cupid, is characteristically designated "arch," from his varied wiles, which are nothing more nor less than lies reduced to practice. Now we, after due reflection on the diversified species of falsehood, cannot concur in Amelia Opie's censure of the lies which appertain to love. The courtier is false to win the smiles of royalty; the lawyer will make "the worse appear the better cause," to gain his point and pocket his fee; the politician will say black is white, and veer about with the gilded vane of the treasury, in hopes of place; the tradesman will exaggerate, even to the extent of quackery itself, the value of his wares; in truth, all adventurers in the gross world, or the world of money-making, are admirably represented by the negro of old, who, on being deputed by his master to convey money to a distant bank, and asked if he would be honest, said, with characteristic naiveté, "What will you give me, massa?" But in the world of love, we mean that pure ethereal love, which is unalloyed by any propensity for sordid gain, lies are redeemed by their object. We must be at issue with the fastidious lady whom we have mentioned above, and exempt all lies, or rather fibs, of this sort, from any degree of censure whatever. Let us imagine a young lady of eighteen, having all the charms of beauty fully developed, in the heyday of bloom and blood, whose heart a swain of kindred years has won; let us suppose her doomed by avaricious parents to marry a rich old man, whose forehead bears the repulsive wrinkles of time, and whose blood some sixty winters have chilled almost into iciness; let us suppose this case, and ask the fair critic, Opie, is not young Miss justified in resorting to fibs, wiles and subterfuges to avoid such a sacrifice? Does not the fib, or artifice, in such case claim, in our estimate, even, moral justification, when we consider that thereby falsehoods full of profaneness can be avoided. What a solemn mockery of religion is the "vow" of a young lively damsel at the altar, that she will love, honour and obey" a sexagenarian or octagenarian, whose grandchildren are treading in the walks of men! But this is an extreme case. The case, somewhat subdued, holds equally good. If a young lady have a number of suitors all equally unexceptionable in point of age, but various as you please in endowments of person and mind, how cruel to insist that she shall not have the man who won her heart-that she must forego a union with one whose person is a beau ideal in her eyes, and whose feelings are congenial with her own! only to be sacrificed for the sake of wealth, and nominally wed one to whom she is not wedded in heart! [PRICE TWO-PENCE. person without her heart-annoyed by the presence and importunities of a suitor, who has no charms for her. How many young ladies, "Whose blooming cheeks the blendid tints disclose Of lilies damask'd with the blushing rose," are even now doomed to premature decay, by that avarice which robs them of their natural right to choose the partners of their hearts! Are not fibs, falsehoods, subterfuges and evasions so censurable in reference to other purposes, more than consecrated by their aim in the campaigns of love? Fathers, mothers, brothers, prudish aunts, calculating guardians-all should be sacrificed before the young heart of innocence in love. One We have known many dexterous devices and ingenious artifices resorted to by young ladies, to avoid" papa's choice" and have their own. young lady, a rare girl of pleasantry, was addressed by three sultors. One was repulsive in his features and rather clownish in his manners, but rich: he was "Ma's choice," and, of course, mamma expected that her daughter's eyes-a roguish pair as ever committed love's murders— should see Cupid ambushing in the pock-fretted physiognomy of the rich suitor. The second swain had an open countenance, it is true—that is, a mouth from ear to ear, and "Eyes which hardly served at most To guard their master 'gainst a post " But he was also rich and "Papa's choice." Papa The pretty maid represented in our engraving fancied his daughter's taste should be of that seems somewhat in this predicament, and is read-accommodating description which Horace records ing a billet-doux-one of those paper pistols of in chronicling the fancies of one who admired the arch god, when surprised by a less-favoured rival. Who, with a heart not frozen up by a sort of moral ascetism, can censure the fib by which she would evade detection in her pursuit of the object of her heart? "'Tis only my cousin," is not only an innocent but, if we may be allowed a sort of Hybernicism, an honest lie-a lie sanctified by its aim. The wound inflicted on the lovesick swain, by a repulse, is of his own seeking, and serves one good purpose-to rescue from premature care a victim of more tender mould. Who can but sympathize with beauty in distress-with a young girl pining into paleness from disappointment in love-forced to surrender her "Agna's wen;" but young miss had her own choice, and favoured the addresses of a young officer, not over rich, but noble in figure and in mien, and withal full of chivalrous enterprise, and resolved on being the artificer of fame and fortune. The fair young lady affected a marked attention, now in Papa's presence to his choice-now in mamma's to her's and had occasionally stolen interviews with her "true love." Mamma and papa were ever quarrelling on the theme of the daughter's marriage. Both resorted to artifice: papa endeavoured to prevail on his daughter to elope with his protegé; but, Miss, though affecting assent, told mamma, and said if she would send her protegé to the spot where the carriage was to be in waiting, she would take him and leave the other behind. This proposal was agreed on. In the interim the ingenious Caroline apprised her " true love," and ordered him to be on the spot, and not to appear but on signal. On the appointed morning, the rival swains met each other to their mutual surprise. Caroline told one in a whisper to repair about a mile distant and she would follow him, and then sent the other with a similar promise in a different direction. Each, of course, fancied himself the favoured lover. Now, when the coast was clear, the gallant son of Mars drove up in a carriage, and soon had Caroline to himself. While papa and mamma were musing with delight on the ingenuity of their respective "plans," and the two discomfitted swains cursing "hope deferred" and sick enough at heart, Caroline was receiving the ring from the hands of her gallant admirer. Great Queen of Albion's isle, On thee our Queen! May heav'nly pow'r ordain God save the Queen! May sounds of war no more God save the Queen! May Britain's navy ride And rule the sea! God save the Queen! May freedom's glorious sound Come Britons join the glee, God save the Queen! May pure religion's stream God save the Queen! May fair Victoria shine God save the Queen! IMPROMPTU. R. M. Oh, the eclipse!" her sister cries, "Will cloud the world in nightly robes;" "Oh, no! said I, "for Jessie's eyes Alone would light ten thousand globes !" LITTLE THINGS ARE BEST. When any thing abounds, we find That nobody will have it; The man who's wise will surely own The God of love's a little wight, *Drs. Goldsmith and Young. D. L. WHAT RENDERS A MAN A PUBLIC MAN? circumstance of having observed an advertisement We are induced to ask this question from the from a bankrupt keeper of a public house, who commences his strange eventful history with these words-" It behoves me as a public man to dispel any prejudice against me." We can only suppose that this unfortunate individual imagines that a publican and a public man are identically the same. He is certainly in the public line, and the public must, therefore, be deeply interested in the cause and effects of his bankruptcy. We dare say that he considers himself one of the gentlemen of the bar. ABUNDANCE. A Sheffield gentleman, on whose veracity we have the strictest reliance, informs us that on passing up the Vistula, a fortnight ago, he saw at Dantzic heaps of wheat on each side of the river, five or six feet deep, of considerable breadth, and extending nearly seven miles. It is preserved from the effects of the weather by a peculiar kind of matting and sail cloth. Several thousand persons are constantly employed in turning this immense quantity of grain, and exist upon it-the simple preparation of their meals being to boil the corn in the water of the Vistula. They reside in straw huts erected adjoining the scene of their employment. This astonishing superabundance of produce, consisting of nearly 600,000 quarters, has been brought from Galicia and Poland to its present situation, for the purpose of being exported to foreign countries, as it is well known the Corn Laws prevent its introduction here. FIRST LOVE. We might canvass the records of feelings divine, But should canvass in vain to endeavour to prove, That amidst all the feelings and passions of man, There was ever a passion to equal first love! 'Tis the sweet blossom of spring that opens the year To the beauties of summer in ripeness so fair; 'Tis a jewel diffusing its lustre around, And increasing its beauty by all that is there! 'Tis the sweet dream of youth, 'tis his hope, 'tis his joy, 'Tis all that he sighs for in life's chequer'd ray; 'Tis a bright beaming star as an emblem so pure, In a long night of darkness to brighten his way. Cold philosophy's scorn might endeavour to trace A passion that changes as oft as the wave; But those who've loved truly must ever confess, That first love alone can be closed by the grave! E. A. H. THE MISANTHROPE. I love to weep with those that moan, I love to pace the hallow'd ground, Of frolic, mirth and glee. I mingled with the sportive throng, I play'd the prince in each bright scene, Believ'd their love sincere ; 'Twas fortune's golden sun that shed So bright a halo round my head; When that withdrew its rays, Misfortune's dark and sickening cloud Soon hid the fawning flattering crowdThey vanish'd in the haze. Behold yon prophet's majesty, And trembles while he sues They plead in vain-no mortal sight, A monster stands reveal'd. Until my alter'd fate And I return its hate-no tie binds me Heart-broken and alone. T. P. We have read of no frightful accidents from the use of fire arms, which, considering the number of cockneys who assume the dress of sportsmen, is really wonderful. One trifling mishap, however, is recorded; a gentleman's servant was shot in the neck instead of a partridge, as he was "John, riding behind his master's carriage. "and bore his game,' nevertheless, was quite " misfortune with great equanimity. A plan is in agitation for holding a conversation a. hundred miles apart by means of electricity. The plan is to be carried into execution by laying down wire, and passing the electric fluid by means of it. We understand that the little Under-Sheriff, Wire, has become alarmed lest he might be selected to undergo such shocking treatment. A Parisian robber, who was seized in the act of stealing in the shop of a tobacconist, by way of excusing himself, said that he never heard of a law which forbade a man to take snuff! SCOTT IN HIS FAMILY. by heart; and on these days inwove the simple pathos or sublime enthusiasm of Scripture, in whatever story he was telling, with the same picHe was not one of those who took much de- turesque richness as he did in his week day tales, light in a mere infant; but no father ever devoted the quaint Scotch of Pittscottie, or some rude more time and tender care to his offspring than romantic old rhyme from Barbour's Bruce,' or he did to each of his, as they successively reached 'Blind Harry's Wallace.' By many external acthe age when they could listen to him and under-complishments, either in girl or boy, he set little stand his talk. Like their mute playmates, Camp store. He delighted to hear his daughters sing an and the greyhounds, they had at all times free old ditty, or one of his own framing; but, so as access to his study; he never considered their the singer appeared to feel the spirit of her ballad, tattle as any disturbance; they went and came as he was not at all critical of the technical execupleased their fancy; he was always ready to tion. answer their questions; and when they, uncon- There was one thing, however, on which he scious how he was engaged, entreated him to lay fixed his heart hardly less than the ancient Perdown his pen and tell them a story, he would take sians of the Cyropædia; like them, next to love them on his knee, repeat a ballad or a legend, kiss of truth, he held love of horsemanship for the them, and set them down again to their marbles prime point of education. As soon as his eldest and ninepins, and resume his labour, as if re-girl could sit a pony, she was made the regular freshed by the interruption. attendant of his mountain rides; and they all, as they attained sufficient strength, had the like advancement. He taught them to think nothing of tumbles, and habituated them to his own perilous delight in perilous fords and flooded streams; and they all imbibed in great perfection his passion for horses-as well, I may venture to add, as his deep reverence for the more important article of that Persian training. Without courage,' he said, there cannot be truth; and without truth there can be no other virtue.' From a very early age he made them dine at table, and to sit up to supper' was the great reward when they had been very good bairns.' In short, he considered it as the highest duty, as well as the sweetest pleasure of a parent, to be the companion of his children; he partook all their little joys and sorrows, and made his kind unformal instructions to blend so easily and playfully with the current of their own sayings and doings, that so far from regarding him with any distant awe, it was never thought that any sport or diversion could go on in the right way, unless papa were of the party, or that the rainiest day could be dull so he were at home. Of the irregularity of his own education, he speaks with considerable regret, in the autobiographical fragment written this year at Asbestiel; yet his practice does not look as if that feeling had been strongly rooted in his mind; for he never did show much concern about regulating | systematically what is usually called education in the case of his own children. It seemed, on the contrary, as if he attached little importance to any thing else, so he could perceive the young curiosity was excited-the intellect, by whatever springs of interest, set in motion. He detested and despised the whole generation of modern children's books, in which the attempt is made to convey accurate notions of scientitie minutiæ: delighting cordially, on the other hand, in those of the preceding age, which, addressing themselves chiefly to the imagination, obtained through it, as he believed, the best chance of stirring our graver faculties also. He exercised the memory, by selecting for tasks of recitation passages of popular verse the most likely to catch the fancy of children: and gradually familiarized them with the ancient history of their own country, by arresting attention, in the course of his own oral narrations, on incidents and characters of a similar description. Nor did he neglect to use the same means of quickening curiosity as to the events of sacred history. On Sunday he never rode, at least not until his growing infirmity made his pony almost necessary to him; for it was his principle that all domestic animals have a full right to their Sabbath of rest; but, after he had read the Church service, he usually walked with his whole family, dogs included, to some favourite spot at a considerable distance from the house-most frequently the ruined tower of Elibank-and there dined with them in the open air on a basket of cold provisions, mixing his wine with the water of the brook beside which they all were grouped around him on the turf; and here, or at home, if the weather kept them from their ramble, his Sunday talk was just such a series of Biblical lessons as that which we have preserved for the permanent use of rising generations, in his Tales of a Grandfather,' on the early history of Scotland. I wish he had committed that other series to writing too; how different that would have been from our thousand compilations of dead epitome and imbecile cant! He had his Bible, the Old Testament especially, He had a horror of boarding-schools; never allowed his girls to learn any thing out of his own house; and chose their governess (Miss Miller), who, about this time, was domesticated with them, and never left them while they needed onewith far greater regard to her kind good temper and excellent moral and religious principles, than to the measure of her attainments in what are called fashionable accomplishments. The admirable system of education for boys in Scotland, combines all the advantages of public and private instruction; his carried their satchels to the High-school, when the family was in Edinburgh, just as he had done before them, and shared, of course, the evening society of their happy home. But he rarely, if ever, left them in town, when he could himself be in the country; and at Ashestiel he was, for better or for worse, his eldest boy's daily tutor, after he began Latin. THE ORPHAN. Oh! it is hard to have no home Upon this big strange world-to roam No father kind to give me bread, But other boys are not alone; And kind friends whom they know : The tears ran down her soft white cheek, And kiss'd me when I cried. When in the grave I lie;" ADVICE. If thou wishest to be wise, R. T. ON A FAMILY, UNDER THE EMBLEM OF ROSES. Within a very rich parterre, Two beauteous roses grew, Its looks did quite resemble those The sweetest flower in May. Their harmony and peace. Their peace from them was driven; Their leaves would not unclose; Still, as they griev'd, an inward voice The roses lift their drooping heads, Delighted, they resume the task, To improve it more and more, The infant buds their care repaid, They sprung up blushing from the ground, And as returning years came round, May true religion's radiant beams "Twill help to choke the thorns of sin, May they to whose fond love they're giv'n, Till they're remov'd by God to heaven, INEQUALITY OF HAPPINESS. I would sooner trust a well-natured open-hearted Turk, than a cold, calculating, ascetic Christian. Then as to happiness, my travels convinced me how very little real difference is made in the sum of it, by rank, fame, or fortune. A duke or a link-boy has the same passions, ambition, disappointments, affections and sufferings; and it depends entirely upon themselves whether the amount of their happiness shall not be the same. The whole is in the mind, and the minds of all ranks are equally disposed to happiness from nature. Hence, therefore, inequality of happiness is a work of our own, and altogether artificial; and all who are content have equality, spite of appearances. It is the wish for change, the panting after what we have not, or the hankering after what we have had, that generates uneasiness sometimes unbearable. |