nation are at best but mere beautiful flowers, that may amuse us in a walk through a garden in a fine afternoon, but can by no means be expected to engage much of that time which God and nature designed to be spent in very different employments. In a country, which two hundred years ago was peopled only by savages, and where the government has ever, in effect, since the first establishment of the white men in these parts, been no other than republican, it is really wonderful there should be any polite original authors at all in any line, especially when it is considered, that according to the common course of things, any particular nation or people must have arrived to, or rather passed, their meridian of opulence and refinement, before they consider the professors of the fine arts in any other light than a nuisance to the community. This is evidently the case at present in our age and country; all you have to do then, my good friends, is to graft your authorship upon some other calling, or support drooping genius by the assistance of some mechanical employment, in the same manner as the helpless ivy takes hold of the vigorous oak, and cleaves to it for support-I mean to say, in plain language, that you may make something by weaving garters, or mending old sails, when an Epic poem would be your utter destruction. But I see no reason that, because we are all striving to live by the same ile trade, we should suffer ourselves to be imbittered against each other, like a fraternity of rival mechanics in the same street. Authors (such I mean as are not possessed of fortunes) are at present considered as the dregs of the community: their situation and prospects are truly humiliating, and any other set of men in a similar state of calamitous adversity would unite together for their mutual defence, instead of worrying and lampooning each other for the amusement of the illiberal vulgar. And I cannot do otherwise than freely declare, that where the whole profits of a company amount to little or nothing at all, there ought not, in the nature of things, to be any quarrelling about shares and dividends. As to those authors who have lately exported themselves from Britain and Ireland, and boast that they have introduced the Muses among us since the conclusion of the late war, I really believe them to be a very good-natured set of gentlemen, notwithstanding they, in the course of the last winter, called me poetaster and scribbler, and some other names still more unsavoury. They are, however, excuseable in treating the American authors as inferiors; a political and a literary independence of their nation being two very different things; the first was accomplished in about seven years, the latter will not be completely effected, perhaps, in as many centuries. It is my opinion, nevertheless, that a duty ought to be laid upon all important authors, the nett proceeds of which should be appropriated to the benefit of real American writers, when become old and helpless, and no longer able to wield the pen to advantage. If a coach or a chariot constructed in Britain, pays an impost of twenty pounds at the custom-house, why should not at least twice that sum be laid upon all imported authors who are able to do twice as much mischief with their rumbling pindaric odes, and gorgeous apparatus of strophes, antistrophes, and recitativos? I, for my own part, am clearly of opinion, that these gentlemen should be taxed; not that I would wish to nip their buds of beauty with the untimely frost of excise, but merely to teach them that our own natural manufactures ought to be primarily attended to and encouraged. I will now, gentlemen, with your leave, lay down VOL. 1.-22 a few simple rules, to which, in my opinion, every genuine author will make no difficulty to conform. 1. When you write a book for the public, have nothing to do with Epistles dedicatory. They were first invented by slaves, and have been continued by fools and sycophants. I would not give a farthing more for a book on account of its being patronized by all the noblemen or crowned heads in Christendom. If it does not possess intrinsic merit enough to protect itself, and force its way through the world, their supposed protection will be of no avail: besides, by this ridiculous practice you degrade the dignity authorial, the honor of authorship, which ought evermore to be uppermost in your thoughts. The silly unthinking author addresses a great man in the style of a servile dependent, whereas a real author, and a man of true genius, has upon all occasions a bold, disinterested, and daring confidence in himself, and considers the common cant of adulation to the sons of fortune as the basest and most abominable of all prostitution. 2. Be particularly careful to avoid all connexion with doctors of law and divinity, masters of arts, professors of colleges, and in general all those that wear square black caps.. A mere scholar and an original author are two animals as different from each other as a fresh and salt water sailor. There has been an old rooted enmity between them from the earliest ages, and which it is likely will for ever continue. The scholar is not unlike that piddling orator, who, cold and inanimate, not roused into ac tion by the impelling flame of inspiration, can only pronounce the oration he has learned by rote; the real author, on the contrary, is the nervous Demosthenes, who stored with an immensity of ideas, awakened within him he knows not how, has them at command upon every occasion; and must therefore be disregarded as a madman or an enthusiast by the narrow and limited capacity, as well as the natural self-sufficiency of the other. 3. It is risking a great deal to propose a subscription for an original work. The world will be ready enough to anticipate your best endeavours; and that which has been long and anxiously expected, rarely or never comes up to their expectations at last. 4. If you are so poor that you are compelled to live in some miserable garret or cottage; do not repine, but give thanks to heaven that you are not forced to pass your life in a tub, as was the fate of Diogenes of old. Few authors in any country are rich, because a man must first be reduced to a state of penury before he will commence author. Being poor therefore in externals, take care, gentlemen, that you say or do nothing that may argue a poverty of spirit. Riches, we have often heard, are by no means the standard of the value of a man. maxim the world allows to be true, and yet contradicts it every hour and minute in the year. Fortune most commonly bestows wealth and abundance upon fools and idiots; and men of the dullest natural parts are, notwithstanding, generally best calculated to acquire large estates, and hoard up immense sums from small beginnings. This 5. Never borrow money of any man, for if you should once be mean enough to fall into such a habit you will find yourselves unwelcome guests every where. If upon actual trial you are at length convinced you possess no abilities that will command the esteem, veneration, or gratitude of mankind, apply yourselves without loss of time to some of the lower arts, since it is far more honourable to be a good bricklayer or a skilful weaver than an indifferent poet. If you cannot at all exist without now and then gratifying your itch for scribbling, follow my example who can both weave stockings and write poems. But, if you really possess that sprightliness of fancy and elevation of soul which alone constitute an author, do not on that account be troublesome to your friends. A little reflection will point out other means to extract money from the hands and pockets of your fellow citizens than by poorly borrowing what, perhaps, you will never be able to repay. 6. Never engage in any business as an inferior or understrapper. I cannot endure to see an author debase his profession so far as to submit to be second or third in any office or employment whatever. If fortune, or the ill taste of the public, compels you even to turn shallopman on the Delaware, let it be your first care to have the command of the boat. Beggary itself, with all its hideous apparatus of rags and misery, becomes at once respectable whenever it exhibits the least token of independence of spirit and a single spark of laudable ambition. 7. If you are in low circumstances, do not forget that there is such a thing in the world as a decent pride. They are only cowards and miscreants that poverty can render servile in their behaviour. Your haughtiness should always rise in proportion to the wretchedness and desperation of your circumstances. If you have only a single guinea in the world be complaisant and obliging to every one: if you are absolutely destitute of a shilling, immediately assume the air of a despot, pull off your hat to no one, let your discourse, in every company, turn upon the vanity of riches, the insignificancy of the great men of the earth, the revolution of empires, and the final consummation of all things. By such means you will at least conceal a secret of some importance to yourself that you have not a shilling in the world to pay for your last night's lodging. 8. Should you ever be prevailed upon to dedicate your book to any great man or woman, consider first, whether the tenor and subject of it be such as may in some measure coincide with the age, temper, education, business, and general conversation of the person whose patronage is requested. A friend of mine once committed a great error on this score. He wrote a bawdy poem, and dedicated it to the principal in the department of finance. 9. Never make a present of your works to great men. If they do not think them worth purchasing, trust me, they will never think them worth reading. 10. If fortune seems absolutely determined to starve you, and you can by no means whatever make your works sell; to keep up as much as in you lies, the expiring dignity of authorship, do not take to drinking, gambling, or bridge-building as some have done, thereby bringing the trade of authorship into disrepute; but retire to some uninhabited island or desert, and there, at your leisure, end your life with decency. The above is all that has yet been found written by Robert Slender relative to authors and authorshipand further the copyist at this time sayeth not. DIRECTIONS FOR COURTSHIP. Hæc eadem ut sciret, quid non faciebat Amyntas ?—VIRG. The parson of our parish used to say, in his hours of convivial gaiety, that nothing puzzles a man of true delicacy more, than how to make the first advances to the woman he loves, with a becoming propriety of sentiment, language, and behaviour. I must confess I am somewhat of his opinion in this matter, and having in my time observed many a promising alliance broken off by a mere idle inattention to what even a very moderate share of understanding ought always to dictate upon these occasions, I shall, for the benefit of those whom it may concern, set down a few easy rules, by the assistance of which people may at least prevent themselves from becoming personally ridiculous, if they cannot succeed to the utmost of their wishes in other respects. I. When you take a serious liking to a young woman, never discover your passion to her by way of letter. It will either give the lady an idea that you are a bashful booby, or that you have not any address in conversation; both which defects are sufficient to ruin you in the estimation of any woman of only tolerable good sense. II. During the time of courtship be careful never to discourse with the lady upon serious subjects, or matters that are not strictly and immediately pertinent to the purpose you are upon. If she asks you what news, you must not tell her a long story out of the Dutch or English gazettes about the decline of trade, the fall of stocks, or the death of Mynheer Van der Possum. She looks for no such answers. You must rather relate a melancholy tale of two or three young gentlemen of fortune and handsome expectations that have lately drowned themselves in the Schuylkill, or thrown themselves headlong from their third story windows, and been dashed to pieces on the pavement for the sake of a certain inexorable fair one, whose name you cannot recollect; but the beauty and shafts of whose eyes these poor young gentlemen could not possibly withstand. Such intelligence as this will instantly put her into good humour; and upon the strength of that lie alone, you will be allowed liberties with her person that a recapitulation of all the morality in Tillotson, or the real news of five hundred gazettes, would not so effectually enable you to take. III. I would advise you never to make use of the dictatorial style till you are perfectly sure of your Dulcinea; and that period depends in a great measure upon your own prudence. Till then, you must seem to give the preference to her judgment in all matters that happen to be discussed, and submit to be instructed by her in whatever she apprehends you do not understand. Your trade or occupation in life she takes for granted you are perfectly acquainted with; and remember never to say a word on that score in her hearing, unless your calling happens to have no spice of vulgarity about it. If, however, you are a governor of an island, or happen to be some considerable officer of state, you may frequently make professional allusions, as her vanity will be gratified thereby; and women, we all know, are naturally fond of power. IV. Have a care that you do not pester her with descriptions of the Alps, the Appennines, and the river Po. A lady is not supposed to know anything of such matters; besides, you must be a very cold lover if those far-fetched things can command your attention a moment in the company of a fine woman. Whatever she thinks proper to assert, it is your business to defend, and prove to be true. If she says black is white, it is not for men in your probationary situation to contradict her. On the contrary, you must swear and protest that she is right; and, in demonstrating it, be very cautious of using pedantic arguments, making nice logical distinctions, or affecting hard and unintelligible terms. V. I hold it to be extremely dangerous to make jocular remarks upon any of the inferior parts of the lady's dress. The head-dress, indeed, custom and female courtesy permits us to treat with a little more freedom; but even this requires great care and a nice judgment, or you are sure to offend. Above all things never mention the words petticoat, garters or shoes in her presence. I once, in my youthful days, introduced a friend of mine to a young lady, as a preliminary to future connexions. I remember he was violently in love with her, and would almost have given his right arm to have had peaceable possession. But he ruined all by his unlucky choice of a subject in his very first conversation. "Madam," said he, (thinking to be very smart) "I have some fault to find with your shoes." The lady blushed[I endeavoured to turn the conversation another way, but found it impossible.]—" Madam," (said he again) "you must permit me to criticise a little upon your shoes! the toes are too round, the straps too short for the oval of the buckle, and the heels appear to me at least two inches higher than they ought to be." Now there was no great harm in all this; the consequence, however, was, that the lady immediately called up the footman, and ordered him to conduct the gentleman down stairs. I cannot think (said she) of being addressed by a man, who, from his discourse, appears evidently to have been bred up nothing more than a simple shoemaker; and what is worse, will forever continue so! VI. When you are courting a young lady, be careful never to send her any presents that are very easily to be come at, or such as particularly appertain to your own shop or line of business. A certain French tobacconist of some fortune fell in love with a girl of considerable merit and beauty, but having never turned his attention much to the gay world, he was not so well acquainted with what is called the etiquette of polite life as Frenchmen in general are. By way of introducing himself to the lady he sent her his compliments, a letter full of love, and a basket of cut tobacco, to the chewing and smoking of which he himself was extravagantly addicted; and therefore very rationally concluded that the whole world ought to do the same. The lady returned the tobacco by the same servant that brought it, with some expressions of contempt and indignation; as the present seemed to imply, that she was fond of smoking and chewing this very vulgar and nauseous weed. The Frenchman, fired with resentment upon seeing his ill-judged present returned, then sat down and wrote the following billet by way of answer: "Vat! you send home the tabac ?-den vat shall I send in reverse [return]-You will have me send my own heart? dat I cannot en present-adieu." He soon after enquired of one of the lady's relations what she was particularly fond of-some one answered, soft cheese. He accordingly purchased a large cheese of an excellent quality, and, to show that he was in every sense her slave, carried it to her himself upon his shoulder. The lady, you may be sure, could do no less than smile. "Why you laugh, lady? Mademoiselle, en verité, you be in one tres-agreeable good humour, pardie !" I am laughing, said the lady, to think you are turned cheesemonger! It is almost needless to say, that both he and his cheese were instantly dismissed the house for ever. VII. If it can possibly be avoided, never, in the hours of courtship, let your discourse turn upon anything relative to female anatomy. Few young ladies can ever forgive the man that is found guilty of only insinuating in company, that the sex have anything to do with materiality. Whatever, therefore, may be your private opinion, you must, while in their society, be an absolute immaterialist in regard to the rational female world. Perhaps, an instance may sufficiently illustrate my meaning. A certain juvenile lady of acknowledged good sense and beauty, some time ago had the misfortune to fall out of her coach, and broke no less than three of her ribs on the left side, dislocated one of her hips, and considerably injured her left shoulder, &c. This was for some days a topic of public conversation. Dick Prettyman, whom I have mentioned upon another occasion, was at that time paying his addresses to Miss Angelica Evergreen. Upon her enquiring of Dick, one afternoon, the particulars of this untoward accident, he was silly enough to blurt out in plain language before a polite assembly of young females, that "the lady had fallen out of the coach topsy-turvy, had broken three of the best and strongest ribs in her whole body, had considerably damaged one of her hips, and that her legs, &c., had not escaped entirely without injury." The company blushed up to the eyes, unfurled their fans, and a general confusion took place; till one of the most resolute of the ladies peeped from behind her fan, and exclaimed, "Fie, Mr. Prettyman! have you been bred up in a hogstye, sir, to talk in this scandalous manner in the presence of ladies?" He was then turned out of the room by unanimous consent; and this small inattention to a proper decorum in conversation had very nearly ruined his expectations. I remember it was not till after a long and sincere repentance that he reinstated himself in Miss Angelica's favour. Now, had he been a man of sense and breeding he would have related the disaster in this manner: "The chariot was driving along with vast rapidity, pomposity, and an ineffable display of grandeur, when suddenly one of the rotatory supporters, commonly called wheels, struck a post, thro' the carelessness of the celestial charioteer, and completely overturned this most elegant and awful machine; that divine creature, Miss Myrtilla Myrtlebones, then tumbled out upon the dusty pavement, which, I will be bold to say, never before received so heavenly and sky-bespangled a burden. Her guardian angel, it seems, was at that moment neglecting his duty. She fell-and, O lamentable!— that exquisitely delicate frame, which the immortal Jupiter himself had put together with such wonderful excess of art; that heavenly frame, I say, was considerably disordered by so rude and severe a shock." Such a representation of matters, though, in reality, giving very little information in itself, would have thrown the whole female circle into the most charming humour in the world; whereas the vulgar way in which Dick told it was only calculated for the ears of the surgeon. LINES OCCASIONED BY A VISIT TO AN OLD INDIAN BURYING In spite of all the learn'd have said Points out the soul's eternal sleep. The Indian, when from life releas'd, Again is seated with his friends, And not the finer essence gone. On which the curious eye may trace (Now wasted half by wearing rains) The fancies of a ruder race. Here, still an aged elm aspires, Beneath whose far projecting shade (Pale Marian with her braided hair) And many a barbarous form is seen To chide the man that lingers there. The hunter and the deer-a shade. From Susquehanna's utmost springs Where savage tribes pursue their game, His blanket tied with yellow strings, A shepherd of the forest came. Not long before, a wandering priest Express'd his wish, with visage sad"Ah, why (he cry'd) in Satan's waste, Ah, why detain so fine a lad? "In Yanky land there stands a town. Where learning may be purchas'd lowExchange his blanket for a gown, And let the lad to college go."From long debate the Council rose, And viewing Shalum's tricks with joy, To Harvard hall,* o'er wastes of snows, They sent the copper-colour'd boy. One generous chief a bow supply'd, This gave a shaft, and that a skin; The feathers, in vermillion dy'd, Himself did from a turkey win: Thus dress'd so gay, he took his way O'er barren hills, alone, alone! His guide a star, he wander'd far, His pillow every night a stone. At last he came, with leg so lame, Where learned men talk heathen Greek, And Hebrew lore is gabbled o'er, To please the muses, twice a week. Harvard College, at Cambridge in Massachusetts. Awhile he writ, awhile he read, Awhile he learn'd the grammar rulesAn Indian savage so well bred Great credit promis'd to their schools. Some thought he would in law excel, Some said in physic he would shine; And one that knew him passing well, Beheld, in him, a sound divine. But those of more discerning eye Even then could other prospects show, And saw him lay his Virgil by To wander with his dearer bow. The tedious hours of study spent, The heavy-moulded lecture done, But sigh'd to see the setting sun. The squirrel in the hollow tree. My native wood for gloomy walls; For musty books and college halls. "A little could my wants supply Can wealth and honour give me more? Or, will the sylvan god deny The humble treat he gave before? "Let Seraphs reach the bright abode, And heaven's sublimest mansions seeI only bow to NATURE'S GODThe Land of Shades will do for me. "These dreadful secrets of the sky Alarm my soul with chilling fearDo planets in their orbits fly, And is the earth, indeed, a sphere? "Let planets still their aims pursue, And comets round creation run- And mingled laurel never fades, (His gown discharg'd, his money spent) The Indians welcom'd him with joy; THE DYING INDIAN. Debemur morti nos, nostraque. On yonder lake I spread the sail no more! On whose black forests all the dead are cast: What solitary streams, In dull and dreary dreams, To what strange lands must Shalum take his way! Do fruits as sickly bear. And apples a consumptive visage shew, Ah me! what mischiefs on the dead attend! But when did ghost return his state to shew; Ye charming solitudes, Ye tall ascending woods, Ye glassy lakes and prattling streams, Whose aspect still was sweet, Whether the sun did greet, go; Or the pale moon embrac'd you with her beams- Adieu to all! To all, that charm'd me where I stray'd, The winding stream, the dark sequester'd shade; Adieu all triumphs here! Adieu the mountain's lofty swell, Adieu, thou little verdant hill, And seas, and stars, and skies-farewell, For some remoter sphere! Perplex'd with doubts, and tortur'd with despair, When fate's long dream is o'er, and she forgets to weep; Some real world once more may be assign'd, Prepare the hollow tomb, and place me low, He spoke, and bid the attending mourners weep; Then clos'd his eyes, and sunk to endless sleep!* *There is another Indian poem, which some of our readers may miss from this selection, entitled, The Death Song of a Cherokee Indian. It appears as follows, in Carey's American Museum, i. 77: THE DEATH-SONG OF A CHEROKEE INDIAN. The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, go to the land where my father is gone: His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son. Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain, It is also assigned to Freneau by Samuel L. Knapp in his Lectures on American Literature, 169. We find it, however, introduced, with some slight variations, in the dialogue of Maria Edgeworth's Rosamond (Harper's ed. p. 304), where the authorship is given to "the widow of the celebrated John Hunter," and the following author's note recited from the volume of poems from which it is taken:-"The idea of this ballad was suggested several years ago by hearing a gentleman, who had resided many years in America among the tribe called the Cherokees, sing a wild air, which he assured me it was custo'mary for those people to chant with a barbarous jargon, implying contempt for their enemies in the moments of torture and death. I have endeavored to give something of the characteristic spirit and sentiment of those brave savages." In Chambers's Cyclopædia of English Literature, ii. 279, there is a notice of Mrs. John Hunter's volume, "a retired but highly accomplished lady, sister of Sir Everard Home, and wife of John Hunter, the celebrated surgeon." Her poems were collected and published in 1806, several of them having been previously extensively circulated. Chambers prints the poem, and as it has several lines different from the copy circulated in this country, we give it in Mrs. Hunter's language: THE DEATH SONG. Written for and adapted to an original Indian air. I go to the land where my father is gone, |