Men of tenacious memory, who retain information a week old, may
recollect, in my last number, a portrait of Meander.--
“A man so various, that he seem’d to be
“Not one, but all mankind’s epitome:
“Who, in the course of one revolving moon,
“Was poet, painter, lover, and buffoon;
“Then all for wenching, gambling, rhyming, drinking,
“Besides ten thousand freaks, that dy’d in thinking.”
Agreeably to a promissory note, given in a preceding essay, I now
publish, from the diary of this fantastic wight, a selection, which, if
judiciously improved, may sober giddy genius, may fix the volatile, and
stimulate even Loungers.
* * * * *
_MEANDER’s JOURNAL._
April 8, Monday.----Having lately quaffed plenteous draughts, of the
dream of dissipation, I determine to bridle my fancy, to practice
self-denial, to live soberly, and to study with ardor. That I may with
ease discharge the various duties of the day, I propose, that “Strutting
Chanticleer” and myself, should unroost at the same hour. With this
resolve, I couple a determination, to study law with plodding diligence,
and to make my profession, and a course of history, my capital objects.
Memorandum. Belles lettres must be considered a subaltern pursuit. If I
rise at the dawn, and study jurisprudence till noon, I shall have the
satisfaction to reflect, that I have discharged my _legal_ duty for the
day. This course, duly persisted in, will probably make me something
more than a Tyro, in the language of the law. If I pour over my folios
with the diligence I propose, I shall acquire, in Blackstone’s phrase,
such a legal apprehension, that the obscurities, which at present
confound me, will vanish, and my journey through the _wilderness_ of
law, will, paradventure become delectable.
Tuesday.--Overslept myself, did not rise till nine. Dressed, and went
out, intending to go to the office; but, as the morning was uncommonly
beautiful, I recollected an aphorism of Dr. Cheyne’s, that exercise
should form part of a student’s religion. Accordingly, I rambled through
the woods for two hours. The magic of rural scenes diverted Fancy, whom,
on my return to the office, I wished to retire, that her elder sister,
Judgment, might have an opportunity to hold a conference with the sage
Blackstone: but, the sportive slut remained, dancing about, and I found
my spirits so agitated, that, to calm them I took up a volume of plays,
and read two acts in Centlivre’s Busy Body.
Afternoon, 2 o’clock.--Took up a folio, and began to read a British
statute; meanwhile, I received a billet, importing that a couple of my
college cronies were at a neighbouring inn, who wished me to make one of
a select party. I complied. The sacrifices to Mercury and Bacchus, wore
away the night, and it was day before I retired to the land of drowsy
head, as Thompson quaintly expresses it.
Wednesday.--Rose at ten; sauntered to the office and gaped over my book.
Low spirits and a dull morning, had raised such a fog around my brain,
that I could hardly discern a sentiment. Opened a “dissertation on
memory,” read till my own failed. I then threw away my book, and threw
myself on the bed; I can’t tell how long I remained there, but, somebody
shaking me by the shoulder, I opened my eyes and saw--the maid, who came
to inform me it was 8 o’clock _in the evening_, and that coffee was
ready.
Thursday.--Went out at seven, with a determination to attend to
business; thought I might venture to call at a friend’s house; on my
entrance saw a brace of beauties, whose smiles were so animating that
they detained me, “charmed by witchery of eyes,” till noon. I returned
to my lodgings, and finding my spirits too sublimated for serious study,
I beguiled the remainder of the afternoon, by writing a sonnet to Laura.
Evening.--Lounged to my bookshelf, with an intent to open Blackstone,
but made a mistake, and took down a volume of Hume’s History of England.
Attention became quite engrossed by his narrative of the reign of Henry
I. A versatile, brilliant genius, who blended in one bright assemblage,
ambition, prudence, eloquence and enterprize; who received and merited,
what I think, the most glorious of all titles, that of Beauclerc, or,
the polite scholar. The formidable folios, which stood before me, seemed
frowningly to ask, why I did not link to my ambition, that prudence,
which formed part of Henry’s fame? The remorseful blush of a moment,
tinged my cheek, and I boldly grasped a _reporter_; but, straightway
recollecting, that I had recently supped, and that, after a full meal,
application was pernicious to health, I adjourned the cause Prudence
versus Meander, till morning.
Friday.--Rose at the dawn, which is the first time I have complied with
my resolution, of unroosting with the cock. “Projecting many things, but
accomplishing none,” is the motto to my coat of arms. Began my studies,
nothing with nice care, the curious distinction in law, between general
and special _Tail_; at length, I grew weary of my task, and thought with
Shakespeare’s Horatio, that ’twere considering too curiously, to
consider thus. Began to chat with my companions; we are, when indolent,
ever advocates for relaxation; but, whether an attorney’s office is the
place, where idling should be tolerated, is a question, which I do not
wish to determine in the negative. Finished my morning studies with
“Hafen Shawkenbergius’s tenth decad.”
Afternoon.--Did _nothing_ very busily till four. Seized with a lethargic
yawn, which lasted till seven, when a dish of coffee restored animation,
and on the entrance of a friend, fell into general conversation; made a
transition to the scenes of our boyish days, and till midnight, employed
memory in conjuring up to view, the shades of our departed joys.
Saturday.--Slept but little, last night. My imagination was so busy in
castle building, that she would not repose. Dreamed that Lord Coke threw
his “Institute” at me. Rose at nine, looked abroad; and the atmosphere
being dusky, and my spirits absent on furlough, felt unqualified for
reading. For several days there has been a succession of gloomy skies.
The best writers affirm that such weather is unfriendly to menial
labour. The poet says
“While these dull fogs invade the head,
“Memory minds not what is read.”
Took up a magazine, which I carefully skimmed but obtained no cream.
Cracked, in the Dean of St. Patrick’s phrase, a rotten nut, which cost
me a tooth and repaid me with nothing but a worm.--Breakfasted;
reflected on the occurrences of the week. In the drama of my life,
procrastination, and indolence, are the principal actors. My resolutions
flag, and my studies languish. I must strive to check the irregular
sallies of fancy. I never shall be useful to others, till I have a
better command of myself. Surely one, abiding in the bowers of ease, may
improve, if industry be not wanting. Alfred could read and write, eight
hours every day, though he fought fifty six pitched battles, and rescued
a kingdom; and Chatterton, the ill-fated boyish bard, composed, though
cramped by penury, poems of more invention than many a work which has
been kept nine years and published at a period of the ripest maturity.
When I fly from business, let ambition, therefore, _think on, and
practice these things_. I determine, _next week_, to effect an entire
revolution in my conduct, to form a new plan of study, and to adhere to
it with pertinacity. As this week is on the eve of expiration, it would
be superfluous to sit down to serious business. I therefore amused
myself, by dipping into Akenside’s “Pleasures of Imagination;” read till
five, visited a friend, and conversed with him till midnight;
conversation turned on _propriety of conduct_, for which I was a
strenuous advocate-- * * * * * * *
Here the journal of Meander was abruptly closed. I was curious to learn
in what manner he employed his week of reformation. On the ensuing
Monday he grew weary of his books; instead of mounting Pegasus, and
visiting Parnassus, he actually strode a hack-horse of mere mortal
mould, and, in quest of diversion, commenced a journey. He was
accompanied, not by the muses, but by a party of jocund revellers; and
prior to my friend’s departure, the last words he was heard so say, or
rather _roar_, were the burden of a well known anacreontic “_dull
thinking will make a man crazy_.”
The character and journal of Meander scarcely need a commentary. There
shall be none. I was not born in Holland, and only Dutchmen, are
qualified to write notes. But I will make an apostrophe.
Ye tribe of Mercurealists! in the name of prudence, avoid eccentricity;
expand not your _fluttering_ pinions; trudge the foot-way path of life;
dethrone Fancy and crown Common Sense. Let each one seek and fulfil his
daily task, “one to his farm and another to his merchandize.”
* * * * *
_ANECDOTES._
* * *
A worthy Clergyman belonging to a parish in New-England, had the
misfortune to have a son of a flighty and wild disposition: altho’ many
were the pious admonitions of the virtuous father to bring his son’s
remissness into subordination with his own, he had to lament that his
injunctions and assiduous endeavours were fruitless, and far from being
productive of the desired end.--His son’s heart was so averse to
solemnity, that he could not contain himself at the time of worship, and
he was often so overstocked with frivolity and his mischievous humor,
that his father often noticed it, while preaching, with much regret--and
concluded upon harsher means than he had before used to bring his son to
better subjection.--The next sabbath he confined him to his house, and
proceeded to church with the rest of his family, consisting of his wife,
two daughters, and his old negro _Tone_:--the service being nearly half
performed, and the pastor speaking with much fervency to his crouded
audience, his voice was all at once drowned by a sudden and tremendous
burst of laughter, from all parts of the church, which confounded
him.--This laughter was occasioned by the sudden entrance of his
favorite old dog, who always placed himself next the pulpit door, in
full view of the audience; he now appeared decorated in an old gown and
wig powdered and tied on with much taste, which occasioned such loud
peals of laughter, that he with difficulty obtained an explanation in
ten or fifteen minutes. Old Tone, who seemed to be more in a state of
reserve than any other, cried out from the gallery in great
earnestness--“Massa, Massa! ony you look at our Tray, den you se what
ma-ke dem laff!”--The parson opening the pulpit door, the old dog
immediately ascended to him, and was so profuse with his caresses, that
the pastor could scarcely dismiss his congregation.
* * *
Christina, the Swedish Queen, never wore a night-cap, but always wrapped
her head in a napkin. In order to amuse her during her sleepless nights,
after having been indisposed the preceding days, she ordered music to be
performed near her bed, the curtain of which was entirely closed.
Transported at length with the pleasure she received from a particular
passage in the music, she hastily put her head out of bed, and
exclaimed. “How well he sings!” The poor Italian singers, who are in
general not remarkable for bravery, were so much frightened by her
voice, and the sudden appearance of such an extraordinary figure, that
they became at once dumb and stupified, and the music immediately
ceased.
* * * * *
* * * *
COLLINS’s MONUMENT.
A monument of most exquisite workmanship has been lately erected at
Chichester, by public subscription, to the memory of the poet COLLINS,
who was a native of that city, and died in a house adjoining to the
Cloisters. He is finely represented, as just recovering from a wild fit
of phrenzy, to which he was unhappily subject, and in a calm and
reclining posture seeking refuge from his misfortunes in the divine
consolations of the Gospel; while his lyre, and one of the first of his
poems, lie neglected on the ground. Above are two beautiful figures of
Love and Pity, entwined in each other’s arms. The whole is executed by
the ingenious Mr. FLAXMAN, lately returned from Rome. The following
elegant epitaph is written by Mr. HAYLEY--
“Ye who the merits of the dead revere,
Who hold Misfortunes sacred, Genius dear;
Regard this tomb, where COLLINS, hapless name!
Solicits kindness with a double claim.
Though Nature gave him, and though Science taught,
The fire of Fancy, and the reach of Thought;
Severely doom’d to Penury’s extreme,
He pass’d in madd’ning pain, Life’s fev’rish dream;
While rays of Genius only serv’d to show
The thick’ning horror, and exalt his woe.
Ye walls that echo’d to his frantic moan,
Guard the due records of this graceful stone!
Strangers to him, enamour’d of his lays,
This fond memorial to his talents raise;
For this the ashes of a Bard require,
Who touch’d the tend’rest notes of Pity’s lyre:
Who join’d pure faith to strong poetic powers;
Who, in reviving Reason’s lucid hours,
Sought on one boo, his troubled mind to rest,
And rightly deem’d--the Book of God the best.”
* * * * *
+The HISTORY of ANTIOCHUS and STRATONICE.+
Antiochus, a Prince of great hopes, fell passionately in love with the
young Queen Stratonice who was his mother-in-law, and had bore a son to
the old King Seleuchus his father. The Prince finding it impossible to
extinguish his passion, fell sick, and refused all manner of
nourishment, being determined to put an end to that life which was
become insupportable.
Erasistratus, the physician, soon found that love was his distemper; and
observing the alteration in his pulse and countenance, whensoever
Stratonice made him a visit, was soon satisfied that he was dying for
his young mother-in-law. Knowing the old King’s tenderness for his son,
when he one morning inquired of his health, he told him, that the
Prince’s distemper was love; but that it was incurable, because it was
impossible for him to possess the person whom he loved. The King,
surprised at this account, desired to know how his son’s passion could
be incurable? Why, sir, replied Erasistratus because he is in love with
the person I am married to.
The old King immediately conjured him, by all his past favours, to save
the life of his son and successor. Sir, said Erasistratus, would your
majesty but fancy yourself in my place, you would see the
unreasonableness of what you desire. Heaven is my witness, said
Seleuchus, I could resign even my Stratonice to save my Antiochus. At
this the tears began to run down his cheeks, which when the physician
saw, taking him by the hand, sir, says he, if these are your real
sentiments, the prince’s life is out of danger; it is Stratonice for
whom he dies. Seleuchus immediately gave orders for solemnizing the
marriage; and the young Queen to shew her obedience, very generously
exchanged the father for the son.
* * * * *