Part 1

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THE

RURAL MAGAZINE,

AND

LITERARY EVENING FIRE-SIDE.

VOL. I. PHILADELPHIA, _Fourth Month_, 1820. _No_. 4.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE DESULTORY REMARKER.

No. III.

He whose object is to make an impression on the public mind, must first, as an indispensable preliminary, secure the public attention. Much that is said or written, partakes in so great a degree of an unimpressive and a common-place character, as to be utterly disregarded. To succeed in obtaining the public ear, is as difficult as it is important. This success is perhaps most efficiently promoted, by listening with attention to every remark of criticism, whether good-natured or severe;--by then adopting the counsels of wisdom, and leaning on the solid column of experience. If these papers should fail to acquire popularity, and, like many of their predecessors, sink into _undeserved_ oblivion; it shall not be from the want of a disposition to please, but from the absence of higher powers. It is the peculiar province of genius to render prolific the most sterile soil, to invest with interest the most intractable topic, and to mould into the form of beauty the most unpromising materials. For this rare and brilliant endowment, no adequate substitute can be found.

Should every public speaker, or public writer, be required to confine themselves to what is absolutely original, or strictly relevant to their subject; what would become of a vast majority of the tribe of authors, and ninety-nine out of a hundred of our orators in Congress? Of a speech of three or five hours in length, one effect may be confidently predicted; that those of the audience who do not fall asleep, will be fatigued and justly irritated, by such an unwarrantable trespass on their time and patience. Our national character is not yet completely formed; but some features of it are assuming a permanent shape. Among these, there is one, by no means calculated to elevate us in the estimation of the rest of the world. Instead of that simplicity and Spartan brevity, by which republicans should be distinguished, we habituate ourselves to the unnecessary use of a multitude of words. WE ARE GIANTS IN PROFESSION, BUT PIGMIES IN ACTION. It has been confidently asserted, that the speeches of one of the members of our federal legislature, from Tennessee, have actually cost the United States more money, than would defray the entire expense of completing the Delaware and Chesapeake canal. Now that the Missouri discussion is terminated, how _honourable_ to the nation, it is not my present purpose to inquire; it would be desirable to ascertain whether the vote of a solitary member was changed, by the endless speeches which were delivered on the subject. If not, I should presume it was a pretty clear point, that they cost the PEOPLE much more than they were worth; and that such a prodigal waste of the time and treasure of the nation, is highly reprehensible. But instead of arraigning the conduct of others, and exposing their weakness and defects, it may perhaps be the part of prudence to spare our censure for errors to be met with much nearer home. By giving publicity to the following communication, I trust I shall not trespass on the indulgence of my readers; while at the same time I shall evince a spirit of no fictitious candour, by which I wish at all times to be actuated.

"HARRISBURG, _March 20._

"_To the Desultory Remarker._

"SIR--You will pardon the liberty which, as a perfect stranger, I take of addressing you. I have long cultivated a taste for literature; not that which abounds in circulating libraries, but that which is met with in those "_founts of English undefiled_," the classical poets and essayists of Great Britain. Of the latter, I have a decided preference for ADDISON; because his humour is as innocent as it is exquisite; and because his sincere and fervid piety is diametrically opposed to every thing like monastic gloom and austerity. He was a benefactor to mankind during the course of his life; and left them his example in the hour of death--"_See how a Christian can die!_" I have not trimmed the midnight lamp, in perusing the pages of sentimental and mischievous nonsense; but derive the highest gratification from those books which have long enjoyed the united suffrages of virtue. But to my purpose. You have embarked in an honourable undertaking, and one in which very few have been successful. You should profit, not merely by the wisdom of those that have gone before you, but also by their mistakes. I have read your two first numbers; and unless some improvement shall take place, either in your matter or manner, you will never be a favourite of mine.--There is too much unvaried gravity, and studied elaboration, in them.--When we take up a newspaper, or magazine, we do not expect to meet with a sermon, however well disposed we might be to welcome it on a proper occasion. Permit me to observe, that a long, prosing, lifeless essay, _will never be read_; and, if frequently met with, will create a distaste for the journal itself, in which it may appear. Being friendly to your success, you will indulge me in repeating, that should you fail to impart a greater degree of vanity and interest, to your future numbers; if you do not more frequently smooth the wrinkled brow of care, and assume the aspect of cheerfulness, you will lose many of the female readers you have at present, and among the rest,

"Your humble servant,

"STELLA."

This is a sensible, well written letter; and, if it would not be indecorous to express an opinion as to another feature of it, not overburthened with compliment. I am aware of the force and truth of some of STELLA's observations; and will endeavour _occasionally_ to profit by them. Though considerably advanced in the vale of years, I hope never to be insensible to the good opinion of that sex, which can successfully prefer claims to excellence, in every department of virtue; and whose influence on the well-being of society, is so incalculably important. What if my temples be encircled with the frosts of many winters, and the wings of my fancy be enfeebled, by that incurable malady, old age; I still shall be delighted to minister to the pleasure of those, whose approbation is worth desiring--

The wise and the learned, the witty and the fair.

An outline of the female character has been thus happily and accurately sketched, by the pencil of a poet.--The last couplet is descriptive of a trait in this character, which is as amiable as it is true.

Oh! Woman, in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light, quivering aspen made; _When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou_.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE VILLAGE TEACHER.

In my younger days, I passed a considerable time in the pleasant village of G----. The society was lively and agreeable; and, as it consisted chiefly of ladies, our usual place of meeting was at the tea table and the evening circle. Literature, the news of the day, and our little amusements, furnished the principal subjects of conversation; and although the society was elegant and well educated, yet the frequency of our meetings often drove us, for variety, to the intrigues and petty scandal of the neighbourhood. The disposition for this kind of entertainment became at last so strong, that we grew ashamed of it; and resolved one evening to create a "Court of Scandal," by which all offences against the good breeding and charity of speech should be tried, and whose decisions we bound ourselves to obey. When I observe how strong is our propensity for scandal, and with what greediness evil-speaking is listened to, I cannot help wishing that there were such a tribunal in every one's bosom. Did it exist, or rather did we suffer the voice which there speaks, to be heard; we should often be humbled at its decisions. If we unmask our actions and our motives, we shall find this propensity at the bottom of much of what is called--virtuous indignation. At one time, it assumes the mock appearance of charity; at another, it tries to hide itself in sallies of wit, or lurks beneath a half whispered insinuation, or a kind doubt, or a malicious inquiry. Its seeds are deeply sown, and take still deeper root in the human breast; and it requires the strictest self-examination, and the greatest candour, to avoid being overrun, if I may so express myself, with this nightshade.

I know of nothing more despicable, than the little mincing scandal which buzzes about in our polite circles. Always on the wing, with honey in its mouth, and poison and bitterness in its trail, it spreads the injurious aspersion, and the doubtful insinuation; and fastens them, like mildew, upon the fairest and purest characters. It is a vice essentially grovelling, and low-minded, and which grows upon us at unawares. It advances imperceptibly through all its various degrees; from idle curiosity to the deep and settled malignity, which has no pleasure but in the weaknesses, the errors, and misfortunes, of those around it. Beware, reader! lest while giving to my description a local habitation in the person of thy neighbours, thou indulgest the disposition thyself, and turnest my counsel into food for thy propensity.--But I have wandered from my original plan, which was, to give some account of our court of scandal, and of the decisions which it pronounced.

The first cause that came before it, was, a complaint from Julia Manners against Miss Busy, who had circulated a report that Julia was about to be married.

Miss Busy lived opposite to Julia's father's; and generally took her morning and afternoon station at the parlour window. She one day espied from thence, a well dressed young man escorting Julia home. Her curiosity was immediately excited; and she sallied out to the next neighbour's, to inquire who the stranger was, and to wonder if he was not a suitor. The answer, _It is like enough_, was sufficient. She continued her walk, discovered his name at the next place where she inquired, and received some trivial confirmation of her conjecture at a third. From that time forward, she asked all whom she visited, or received, if they had seen Miss Manners' suitor. Conjecture was built upon conjecture, till at last poor Julia was to be married and sent off in the space of a fortnight. After a patient hearing of an hour, the court decreed, that Miss Busy should be interdicted any of our circle for two weeks, and that her parlour windows should be kept closed for as many months.

Miss Lively happening to mention at the tea table, one afternoon, that Maria Harwood had jilted Captain Jones, was immediately called to an account. She blushed, and said it was common rumour, and that she knew nothing but what she had heard. The court decided that this circumstance would not excuse her, for that she thus lent the authority of her name to an idle story which she confessed she had no reason to believe was true. It was declared, that the person who assisted in circulating what was mere rumour, shared in the guilt of the fabricator; and that as Miss Lively was Maria Harwood's particular friend, she had in this instance doubly offended. Miss Lively was therefore examined again as to her authority for what she had said. After much inquiry and prevarication, it turned out, that her mother's chamber-maid had heard Mr. Harwood's cook say, that it would serve such a proud thing right, if Miss Maria would turn him off. The court ordered the fair offender to be reprimanded. The punishment had the proper effect; and for six weeks she could not mention an article of doubtful intelligence, without being asked if it came from Mr. Harwood's cook.

The next cause which I recollect, was of rather a more intricate nature. Julia Manners and Emma Harwood were near neighbours, and lived on terms of close intimacy. Julia was unconcealing, generous, and frank; free in her expressions, and warm in all her feelings. Emma was amiable and correct, but jealous of her dignity; and rather eager in listening to the opinions of others respecting her. Such a disposition always finds some one ready to gratify it; and Emma heard much to excite her jealousy, and alarm her pride. A young lady, _a mutual friend_, wondered to Emma that she should be so intimate with Miss Manners, and was sure she did not know all that Julia said about her. _What?_ eagerly exclaimed Emma. "She could not say: it was told in confidence, and she did not like to hurt any one's feelings." This only excited more curiosity, and Emma at last forced her half willing friend to confess, that Julia had called her proud and touchy; and said she did not like her half so well as she did her sister. Miss Harwood felt much hurt; and behaved very coolly to her old friend for several weeks. Julia at last complained to the court, and the affair was investigated. We found out, upon examining the witnesses, that Julia had only tacitly assented to these opinions, which had been expressed by the fair informer herself; and had never suffered them to influence her conduct. Emma was thereupon ordered to kiss her old companion, and make an acknowledgment before the company of the injustice she had committed; and we unanimously agreed to banish their mutual friend from our circle.

I had intended to give some further decisions of our court, in which the gentlemen are particularly interested; but my good friends, the Editors, are already looking askance for the end of my paper. _In publica commoda peccem_--if I longer take up the room devoted to my worthy neighbours, the farmers.

I shall only add, that we found our court of scandal so efficacious, that it restored our conversation in a few weeks to its former tone, and entirely banished the spirit of which I have complained.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

"THE STORY OF RUTH."

"And, behold, Boaz came from Beth-lehem, and said unto the reapers, The Lord be with you. And they answered him, The Lord bless thee."

There are moments in the life of every virtuous man, when the vices and the enormities by which he is surrounded, and above all, the glaring deficiencies which he is compelled to remark, even in those "whom he hath delighted to honour," come back upon the mind with an overpowering force, and spread their disheartening influence over the whole train of his reflections. At such moments, when we have turned with disgust from the corruptions of human nature, and have almost been tempted to seek in "some boundless contiguity of shade," a retreat from their contaminating influence; it is peculiarly delightful to recur to some scene of virtuous enjoyment, or to disperse the gloom which has gathered around us by a reference to the simplicity of other times. While dwelling upon the records of ancient purity, we become conscious of a joyous complacency; the mind is elated in the contemplation of its own capability of happiness, and reposes with delight upon the recollection of those peaceful pleasures, which can only exist among a virtuous people.

There is, perhaps, no narrative to be found among the works of ancient or modern authors, upon which the man who has become weary of the follies of the world, can dwell with more soothing sensations, than upon the story of Ruth. It is not to the unrivalled beauty of its style, nor to the pathetic eloquence which it contains, nor to the affecting nature of its incidents, that it is indebted for its principal attractions. But it is in the delineations of the peculiar practices of a people, who, as yet, had not forgotten the characteristic simplicity of their fathers; and in the striking allusions to their habits of social intercourse, that we feel ourselves most deeply interested. Many have delighted to paint the pleasures of rural life in all their most glowing colours; they have dilated upon its real and its fancied enjoyments; and have laboured to represent it as divested of all that shall darken the lustre of native purity, or detract from the reverence of virtue. But it may well be doubted whether they have ever presented us with so engaging, and yet so perfectly natural a picture, as that which is to be found in the simple and unlaboured narrative of inspiration. In the very salutations between Boaz and his reapers, we seem to have an evidence of that happy equality, and that habitual piety, which are alike the concomitants of untainted simplicity, and the victims of luxury and corruption. "The Lord be with you," was the address of "a mighty man of wealth" to his reapers; "and they answered him, The Lord bless thee." These are doubtless to be considered as the accustomed salutations of the people; and they may frequently have carried with them nothing more than the idea of mere ceremony. But they were salutations which must have originated among a religious people; and it was a ceremony which must have been associated with all that is helpless and dependant in man, and all that is merciful and omnipotent in his Creator.

C.

Most of our readers will probably recollect the amiable and enterprising ELIZABETH FRY, who has been for some time past, like the celebrated Howard, engaged in visiting the prisons of England. The peculiarity of the undertaking, for a female, and her unexpected success in drawing the attention of the wretched objects of her care, to something like their native dignity, have excited much interest in the public mind. A copy of the following letter, giving some account of her proceedings in Glasgow, was handed to us, with the privilege of publishing it.--ED.

Communicated for the Rural Magazine.

_Letter to Mrs. Fletcher, from a friend in Glasgow._

Mrs. Fry's manner and voice are delightful; her communications, free and unembarrassed.--She met, by appointment, several of the magistrates, Mr. Erving, and a number of ladies, at Bridewell. She told them, with much simplicity, what had been done at Newgate; and proposed something similar, if practicable, in Glasgow.

She entered into very pleasant conversation with every one. All were delighted when she offered to speak a little to the poor women: but the Keeper of Bridewell said he feared it was a dangerous experiment; for that they never, but by compulsion, listened to reading, and were generally disposed to turn all into ridicule. She said she was not without fear of this happening; but she thought it would give pleasure to some, and would serve to show the ladies what she meant. The women, about a hundred, were then assembled in a large room; and when she went in, seemed astonished, misdoubting, and lowering. She took off her little bonnet, and sat down on a low seat, fronting the women; and looking round with a kind and conciliating manner, but with an eye that met every one, she said--"I had better just tell you what we are come about." She said "she had had to do with a great many poor women, sadly wicked; more wicked than any now present, and how they had recovered from evil."

Her language was often Biblical, always referring to our Saviour's promises, and cheering with holy hope those desolate beings. "Would you like to turn from that which is wrong? Would you like if ladies would visit you, and speak comfort to you, and help you to be better? Would you tell them your griefs? for they who have done wrong have many sorrows."

As she read them the rules, asking them always if they approved, they were to hold up their hands if they acceeded. At first we saw them down, and many hands were unraised; but as she spoke, tears began to fall. One beautiful girl near me, had her eyes swimming in tears; and her lips moved as if following Mrs. Fry's. An older woman, who had her Bible, we saw pressing upon it involuntarily, as she became more and more engrossed. The hands were now almost all ready to rise at every pause; and these callous and obdurate offenders were, with one consent, bowed before her. At this moment, she took the Bible, and read the parables of the _lost sheep_, and the _pieces of silver_, and the _prodigal son_.--It is not in my power to express the effect of her saintly voice, speaking such blessed words. She often paused, and looked at the "poor women," as she named them, with such sweetness, as won all their confidence, and she applied with a beauty and taste such as I had never before witnessed, the parts of the story--_His father saw him when he was afar off_, &c.--A solemn pause succeeded the reading. Then, resting the large Bible on the ground, we saw her on her knees before the women. Her prayer was soothing and elevating; and her musical voice, in the peculiar recitative tone of her sect. I felt it like a mother's song to a suffering child.

Communicated for the Rural Magazine.

BRANDYWINE, _2d mo. 3, 1820._

REUBEN HAINES,

_Esteemed friend_--I avail myself of a leisure hour to communicate my opinion on the subject on which we had some conversation when thou wast at my house. I allude to the importance of a more general use of mill feed for cattle in the neighbourhood of cities and towns, where hay almost always commands a high price.

We will, in the first place, view the subject at the cost of the respective articles in your market at this time.--Shorts can now be had at 30 cents per double bushel, weighing about 35 lbs.

100 bushels of shorts, weighing 3500 lbs. neat, will cost D.30 00

3500 wt. of hay, at 25 dolls. per ton, will cost 39 12 ______

Difference, D. 9 12

Here there is a difference of $9, 12 cents, in favour of shorts, in a given weight of each; but I am quite confident, in my own opinion, that, taking an equal weight of each, there is _double the sustenance_ in the shorts; and if this opinion be correct, it shows the following important result:

7000 lbs. of hay, at 25 dls. per ton, would cost D.78 25

While 3500 lbs. of shorts, in which there is equal if not greater nutriment, would cost only 30 00 ______

Gain in favour of shorts, D.48 25

But it appears to me there is another important saving would result to the farmer, from the introduction of mill feed. It would enable him to keep his stock of horses at a great deal less expense than he now keeps them. They would be more healthy, and _all his hay_ might be saved for the horned cattle. By a very slight mixture of shorts with cut straw, or cut corn-stalks, it would make very palatable food; and the result in this method, compared with foddering on hay, would be as follows.

One hundred bushels of shorts would be ample to mix with two tons of straw, and two tons of stalks.

The shorts, as heretofore stated, would cost D.30 00 2 tons of wheat, barley, or oat straw, at 5 dolls. per ton, 10 00

The corn-stalks are now generally put in the barn-yard: allow what paid for hauling them, say D.2 50 per ton, 5 00

Allow also for trouble in cutting the straw and stalks, 10 00 ______

55 00

_The Weight of the foregoing as follows_, viz.

The shorts, 3500 lbs.

2 tons of straw, 4480

2 tons of stalks, 4480 ______

12,460 lbs.