Part 1

THE

RURAL MAGAZINE,

AND

LITERARY EVENING FIRE-SIDE.

VOL. I. PHILADELPHIA, _Third Month, 1820._ _No. 3._

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE DESULTORY REMARKER.

No. II.

Virtue is a good, No foe can spoil, and lasting to the grave. _Glover_.

To that branch of the harmonious family of Literature, of which the ESSAYIST is a legitimate member, one peculiar immunity has uniformly been accorded. He has permission, at all times, to commune with his readers, unrestrained by drawing-room etiquette, and without being required to appear in full dress. He can, in this respect, plead immemorial usage, or literary common law, as a privileged personage. But, as neatness of costume and decorous deportment are never disregarded, by the well-bred man, in any circumstances; so, the well-bred writer will not fail in his observance of neatness of style, and, what is of infinitely more importance, correctness of sentiment. Familiarity, inordinately indulged, is another name for rudeness. Motives of the most imperious character, calculated to prompt him to such a course of conduct, may be found, in contemplating the splendid union of talent and virtue, by which many of those were distinguished, who have trodden the same path before him. They were, alternately engaged, in culling, from its borders, flowers variegated with every tint of beauty, or in gathering the ripest, most salutary, and most delightful fruit. Although, on the authority of Bacon and Roscommon, the author of the "English Dictionary" has defined an ESSAY to be "_an irregular, indigested piece_," yet there are other eminent scholars, who, it would appear, did not consider such a definition as perfectly correct. JOHN LOCKE, one of the greatest men, of whom Great Britain can boast, and the late Dr. SMITH, of Princeton, have imparted a degree of dignity to the term, not in exact accordance with the generally received acceptation of its import. These may, however, be viewed in the light of exceptions to a general rule. While furnished with the opportunity, permit me to dwell for a moment, with some emphasis, on the meritorious ESSAYS of these celebrated writers. The philosophy of LOCKE has no affinity, whatever, with the infidel philosophy of more recent times. He was a firm believer in the sublime, and inexpressibly important, truths of Revelation; and consequently, a serious and devout Christian. His analysis of mind, and the index he has given by which to ascertain where its strength may be profitably exerted, and where the depths of profundity present themselves, which its limited line cannot fathom, are calculated to teach its true nature and powers. The perusal of such a work, will necessarily widen the mental horizon of every intelligent reader, and, at the same time, impart a taste for that practical mode of inquiry which is characterized by closeness of research. He advances step by step in his investigations; you are never solicited to adopt his conclusions, but they are made manifest, in the broad and clear light of truth. Dr. SMITH, a countryman of our own, was a man of profound learning, possessing a genius of the highest order. One reason, for entertaining a high opinion of his ESSAY on the causes of the difference of complexion, &c. in the human species, shall be stated. We all have our prejudices; some of which, viewed through the deceptive medium of education and habit, are probably concealed from ourselves.--Amongst these prejudices, there are none, perhaps, stronger or more inveterate, even in Pennsylvania, than those which exist against the unfortunate and injured African. Oh, my country! thou art madly provoking the tremendous indignation of Heaven, by a perilous perseverance in wrong and injustice!

And hast thou then no law besides thy will, No just criterion fix'd to good and ill?

Futurity is wisely concealed from our view; but of this solemn truth there can be no question,--VICE and OPPRESSION _will not always go unpunished_. Almost unconscious of it, the unjust bias, above alluded to, had in some degree taken possession of my mind; but was, it is hoped, almost entirely removed, by an attentive and thorough examination of his doctrines. He, as well as LOCKE, contemplates true philosophy in the elevated character of a hand-maid to Revelation. One of his leading objects is, to establish, by a course of fair and manly reasoning, the veracity of the Mosaic account of the creation.

When I sat down at my desk, I had intended to consult a few of the pages of our early history, for the purpose of finding some profitable lessons for the instruction of the present generation; but, by indulging a _desultory_ propensity, the original purpose has almost been lost sight of. The salutary effect, which results from frequently ascending to first principles, has been long known and acknowledged. There is many a prodigal spendthrift among us, who would do well, in various respects, to imitate the example of his industrious and unostentatious ancestor, from whom he has inherited the means of indulging his extravagant desires. He should remember, that the highest privilege of wealth is to aid the meritorious who stand in need of assistance; and that industry, properly directed, does, even to the man whose necessities do not require such exertion, always bring with it an ample reward. "Health and length of days are in her right hand, and in her left riches and honour!"

The corner stone of this Commonwealth was laid in immutable justice; and the hands of her founders were never stained by the blood of an Indian. Our primitive annals, therefore, solicit, and will endure, the closest and most rigid scrutiny. The first settlers were plain in their habits, and simple in their manners. They laboured indefatigably with their own hands, and their lives were distinguished by pure morals, and unaffected piety. The blessing of Providence followed them; and their descendants have become a great people. But how long will this prosperity last, should their maxims of economy, simplicity, and temperance, continue to be utterly disregarded? Necessity, it is believed, is at the present time, teaching some of them with effect. WILLIAM PENN, whose amiable and great qualities furnish an opulent subject, on which, if the narrowness of my page did not forbid, I should delight to dwell, was one of those bright luminaries which, at distant intervals, have cheered and irradiated a benighted world.

Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show far off their shining plumes again.

In conclusion, permit me to relate an anecdote of the great lawgiver, which is traditional, it is true, but, at the same time, direct and authentic. Being on a visit at the house of one of his friends, who resided at GWYNEDD, a Welch settlement, twenty miles from Philadelphia, he remained there during the night. When shown into his chamber, in which there was a considerable quantity of grain, apologies were made to him, and regrets expressed, that no better accommodations could be furnished, on such an occasion. With that urbanity and goodness of heart, for which he was so remarkable, he immediately put to rest every anxiety, which had previously existed, by a single observation: "_I do not wish to see more appropriate furniture in a new settlement; nothing could give me more pleasure._" It should not be forgotten, that PENN could number among his _intimate_ friends, many of the English nobility and gentry; and had stood, with no infrequency, in the presence of princes, but still his humility and unassuming manners were unimpaired.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE VILLAGE TEACHER.

How little can be known! This is the wise man's sigh;--how far we err! This is the good man's not unfrequent pang! _Wordsworth_.

There is no faculty of the mind, of which man is more proud, than of REASON. It is this which most strikingly distinguishes him from the brute creation, to which he owes his empire over the elements, and by which he dares ever to explore the councils of the Deity. The triumphs of reason, however, have chiefly been in the fields of philosophy, and amidst the stillness of solitude, "in regions mild of calm and serene air." In the ordinary pursuits of life, her voice is drowned amidst the clamour of contending passions; and every successive generation of mankind, has to travel over the same course of inexperience and presumption, of error and misconduct, of remorse and repentance. The triumphs of reason in philosophy endure from age to age, and are not only glorious in themselves, but the means of acquiring new conquests. Those victories, which she obtains over the passions, are confined to the lives, and written in the experience, of individuals. The truths, which it required the utmost capacity of the human intellect to develope, are now familiar to the apprehension of every school-boy: but human nature continues to be as prone to evil, as selfish and untoward, as if the divine Author of our religion had never walked on earth. There is, in this view of the subject, much that may humble the most aspiring intellect. It shows, that the greatest genius affords no exemption from the ordinary weaknesses and vices of our nature, and that the mere force of reason cannot destroy the propensities which for ever drag us down to earth.

Even in those pursuits which are purely abstract, the different degrees of intellect approximate more nearly to each other than we commonly imagine. There are certain brilliant talents which we are apt to regard with a kind of superstitious feeling, and which we suppose to be gifted with an almost intuitive knowledge. Yet, the truth is, that those qualities which most easily attract the vulgar gaze, are fallacious and superficial. The highest and most lasting rewards of fame, have been earned by slow and patient labour; while the more dazzling career of genius has often terminated in disappointment and obscurity. He who trusts to the mere force and splendour of his talents, will find that they cannot sustain his flight, and that the most brilliant inventions of the human mind fade before the realities of nature; that there is no real glory in philosophy, separate from that of truth, and no key which will unlock her treasures, save that of patient investigation. There can be no discipline, better fitted to humble the pride and silence the vanity of man, than that of the inductive philosophy; for it teaches him that the only disposition of mind, in which he can acquire substantial knowledge, is that of docility to the voice of experience; and that patience and humility are far more valuable and efficient in a philosopher, than the brightest genius. When Newton commenced the researches that conducted him to an eminence, which no other mortal has attained, it was by careful and unprejudiced observation. He suffered no previous opinion to mislead his judgment, no weak ambition to disturb his mind; but watched, with untiring patience, for the illuminations of truth. It was, probably, to this careful exclusion of prejudice and vanity, as much as to any other cause, that he owed his wonderful achievements; for they must have been attained by regular advances, by steps which the meanest understanding is capable of following.

If these remarks are correct as regards philosophical, they are more strikingly so in relation to moral truth. The fabric of philosophy is the work of ages, and its dimensions are as capacious as those of nature; but the edifice of moral truth can be perfected in the sphere of action, and during the life of every individual. Its foundation is laid by the hand of the Creator in the heart of every intelligent being, and is spoken of in Scripture, as the rock on which the wise man built, and under the type of a light which has enlightened every man, of a word which is nigh us in our heart and in our mouth. This light may be darkened by superstition, distorted by prejudice, or buried beneath the cumbrous systems of a false philosophy; but can never be totally extinguished. He who would follow its illuminations, and become the votary of truth, must separate himself from these troubled elements of life. He must listen in quiet seclusion to her voice, and acquire, by humble and patient watchfulness, that habitual mastery over his mind, which is the groundwork, and the only foundation, of permanent excellence; and thus will he gradually come to know the truth as it is.

He who thinks to hear her still and small voice amidst the agitations of contending passions, will find himself deaf to its monitions. In our intercourse with the world, and our chase of its glittering phantoms, our interests and desires continually mislead us. We follow their guidance, rather than that of truth; we hurry down the stream of pleasure and business, and make our reason itself the slave of our appetites. There is something in the alternations of hope and fear, in the longings of ambition, and the first flushes of success, that engrosses and fills the mind. But when the zeal, with which we followed some object of unworthy ambition, is spent; when the violence of passion is exhausted, and satiety has succeeded to enjoyment, we sink down into the bitterness of self-reproach and remorse. We then perceive how fatally we have wandered from the path of reason, and determine, while our passions are spent and asleep, to chain them at her feet. Alas! they will awake, like the tiger from his lair, with the scent of blood in his nostrils, more furious and more powerful from every success.

These loose and general remarks may serve to illustrate the admirable economy of Providence. The truths, which it is important for us to know, are easily comprehended. Those qualities, by the possession of which the great end of our being is to be answered, are within the attainment of every rational creature. By a wonderful law of equality, the difference which appears to exist between different orders of intellect, is scarcely sensible in its effects upon the happiness and virtue of individuals. Brilliant talents, and rare accomplishments, do but expose their owner to more dangerous and subtle temptations, and too often furnish the weapon which destroys the peace of their possessor; while humbler virtues pass along, unconscious of these self-inflicted tortures. The latter pursue, from instinct and choice, that path of humble and quiet action, which the former will find, after all his wanderings, to be the only one that leads to peace, and is lighted by the pure and unwavering radiance of truth.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

SEEDS.

From the Plough-Boy's Cottage.

This morning, as I awoke from my slumbers, these words came before me, "_Take care what you sow!_" The reflections they have awakened, amidst the wonderings such a salutation of the morning beam has excited; may not prove idle or merely speculative.

The husbandman, when he commits his seed to the earth, conscious of having done all within his power, rests in the goodness of HIM who rules these lower elements, for the completion of the work. The white mantle of Nature is thrown over the germs of future sustenance, by the genial breath of Spring; "the early and the latter rains," and the vivifying heat of the sun, awaken those germs into beauty, clothe them with luxuriance, and ripen them for the sickle. But the husbandman well knows, that unless he be careful to select seed of the proper kind, and weight and purity, the product, he will reap, will deteriorate in its nature. However good the soil may be, his granary will receive a value proportioned only to his attention to the maxim--_Take care what you sow._

But there are SEEDS, whose value is infinitely greater than wheat, or rye, or barley. Give me your ears, ye honest hearts of our rich farms, ye independent men of our beautiful vallies, and let me caution you to _take care how you sow_!

It is recorded, with great truth, that "books, men and things are lying constantly in wait to deceive souls, and bring them to perdition:" and books are here very correctly placed first on the list of deceivers. They are more dangerous, because less suspected; and the _seeds_, which are sown, by pernicious volumes, in the minds of the young and inexperienced, in the silence of solitude, take very deep root, and bring forth fruits of vice and corruption. O! how the spirit of genuine sensibility laments the widely spreading evils, which cast desolation over _fields of beauty!_ Beware! ye noble-minded yeomen, how you admit into your little libraries, these insidious seducers, these _tares_, which grow amidst the tender plants which the LORD of the heritage has deposited in the soil he loves, and committed to your charge. It is in your power to aid the growth of the germs of goodness and piety, which may flourish under your fostering care, by the blessing of the great Husbandman, and make your children the glory of our country! Aim, therefore, at a judicious selection, that the _seeds_ you sow may not want either weight or purity; and then "the early and the latter rain," which descend _from above_, will mature them into strength and loveliness.

This caution is also peculiarly applicable to those who have the direction of the numerous village libraries, that have latterly arisen in our favoured land. On these men, an awful responsibility rests. They have, in their hands, the future characters of the people, who may live in their respective neighbourhoods. They have, under their care, _the destinies of an unborn race_! The _seeds_, which are now sown in the hearts of the young, will, when they shall become parents, be transmitted to other soils. What an incalculable magnitude and importance invest this subject! Let them beware, therefore, as they shall answer at a high tribunal. "Take care,"--said a monitor to the celebrated statuary, BACON, as he tapped him on the shoulder,--"remember, you are working for posterity!"--and the caution was reciprocated to the divine. _Take care_, says the Plough-Boy, to the directors of village libraries, _what you sow_!

Many a lovely damsel, whose rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes once indicated the sweetness and the purity of innocence, has had her heart tarnished, corrupted, ruined, by the insidious poison of books,--books read in secret, remote from the vigilant eye of a tender parent or kind friend. Into the recesses of the solitude of these; yes, even at the hour when the remainder of the family is reposing in peace, and when the rays of the midnight lamp are thrown on the idle, the romantic, or vicious page, let the warning voice of the Plough-Boy enter. May his accents thunder in their ears, _Take care how you sow_!

The vast increase of _taverns_, in our country and villages, calls us to beware of _men_, as well as of books. There is a great difference, my father tells me, between the simplicity of manners, which characterized the times when he was a boy, and the idleness and dissipation which have now spread over the country. Then it was considered a _disgrace_, to a young farmer, to be seen at a tavern, excepting when absolute necessity called him thither. Now, visit one of these seductive inns, in an afternoon, and we can see a band of hardy striplings, smoking their segars, drinking their cans of beer, or tossing off their glasses of "real Holland," and permitting their minds to be agitated by the evanescent politics of the day, while their families are either ignorant of their habits, or mourning over the tares, which the enemy is sowing in a fruitful field. Alas! even in his time, the Plough-Boy has witnessed the robust young husbandman, graced with an athletic form, adorned with vivid health and manly beauty, and blessed with a lovely wife and innocent prattlers, sink into an early grave, opened by Infamy and closed by Despair, solely in consequence,--first, of suffering his mind to be led aside from his business by the solicitations of idle men, and losing his precious time at the tavern; and then, of "just taking a social glass," which they have told him it would be unmanly to refuse.

Beware, my youthful companions, of these _first_, and apparently insignificant steps in idleness. No man suddenly becomes wicked. The power of habit is enlisted on the side of virtue, until its barrier be broken down by repeated _small_ attacks; and he, who in former times could indignantly exclaim, "Is thy servant a _dog_, that he would do this thing?" yet committed the very evils at which an exalted spirit had shuddered with terror. _Take care_, ye young noblemen of Nature! _how you sow_.

Various other incitements are widely spread through our country, to lead men to sow seeds of vice and ignominy in their fields. It becomes not the Plough-Boy to enter too much into detail. The evils are abroad, and walking their desolating course; and he who can, in the hour of solitude, yield his mind to the dominion of reflection, will be at no loss to discover the peculiar inducements to idleness or dissoluteness, in his own vicinity. To all, therefore, who value the _seeds of immortal beauty_, let the warning voice of the Plough-Boy of the valley, reach with effect; and the gentle salutation of the morning ray, which visited his own spirit, may not have been sent without an instructive purpose. To all, this lesson is deeply interesting; for the happiness of the long, long ages of eternity, depends upon it. "Whatsoever a man shall sow, that will he reap. If ye sow to the flesh, ye shall reap corruption; but if to the spirit, the life which is eternal."

_Downington, January 29, 1820._

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

"IS IT PEACE, JEHU?"

The evanescent sorrows of infancy have faded from the recollection, the flowery scenes of childhood are passed, the thraldom of pupilage is over, the fetters of minority are dissevered, and Youth steps boldly on the threshold of life, proud of the superiority, and conscious of the attributes of MAN.

"The world is all before him where to choose."

Society courts him to the enjoyment of rational and of sensual pleasure. The anticipation of evil finds no place in his imagination. All of friendship is faithful, and love pure as attractive. A short career in the busy round of existence, while it proves the fallacy of some of his crude conceptions, only affords a confirmation of others. If trusted friendship discover its instability, or cherished love its inconstancy, still Fancy promises, in other fountains, the unadulterated source of happiness. He looks not to the mind to supply the vacuum they have left. Youth is not the season for reflection. Fame has not yet animated the daring spirit of enterprise, and the social circle and the midnight revel display all their attractions. Lost in the whirl of inebriating delights, Reason maintains but a divided empire. But let her "still small voice" be heard in the intervals of passion, and will it not whisper to his heart, _Is it peace?_

The bowl has ceased to exhilarate; this species of excitement is happily relinquished, and, in the active scenes of business, he finds a stimulant to exertion and enjoyment. The acquisition of wealth will enable him to astonish the world with his magnificence; or, if a more worthy motive prevail, will furnish the means to relieve indigence, extricate virtuous misfortune from the fetters that chain it to the earth, and wipe the tear of want from the eye of the widow and the orphan. Glorious reward for days of toilsome industry. How soon may he find some more sordid spirit grasping the object that eludes his pursuit, and the anguish of disappointment displace the glowing visions of his fancy. While the strife of hopes and fears drive repose from his pillow, when the howling of the wind reminds him of the instability of that element on which he has adventured many a _rich argosie_, it would be mockery for him to ask of Care, _Is it peace?_