In every duty, in every science in which we would wish to arrive at
perfection, we should propose for the object of our pursuit some certain
station even beyond our abilities; some imaginary excellence, which may
amuse and seem to animate our enquiry. In deviating from others in
following an unbeaten road, though we perhaps may never arrive at the
wished-for object, yet it is possible we may meet several discoveries by
the way; and the certainty of small advantages, even while we travel
with security, is not so amusing as the hopes of great rewards by which
the adventurer is inspired.
This enterprising spirit is, however, by no means the character of the
present age; every person who should now have received opinions, who
should attempt to be more than a commentator upon philosophers, or an
imitator in polite learning, might be regarded as a chimerical
projector. Hundreds would be ready not only to point out his errors, but
to load him with reproach. Our probable opinions are now regarded as
certainties; the difficulties hitherto undiscovered, as utterly
inscrutable; and the writers of the last age inimitable, and therefore
the properest models for imitation.
One might be almost induced to deplore the philosophic spirit of the
age, which, in proportion as it enlightens the mind, increases its
timidity, and represses the vigour of every undertaking. Men are more
content with being prudently in the right, which, though not the way to
make new acquisitions, it must be owned, is the best method of securing
what we have. Yet this is certain, that the writer who never deviates,
who never hazards a new thought, or a new expression, though his friends
may compliment him upon his sagacity, though Criticism lifts her feeble
voice in his praise, will seldom arrive at any degree of perfection. The
way to acquire lasting esteem, is not by the fewness of a writer’s
faults, but the greatness of his beauties, and our noblest works are
generally most replete with both.
An author, who would be sublime, often runs his thoughts into burlesque;
yet I can readily pardon his mistaking sometimes for once succeeding.
True genius walks along a line, and, perhaps, our greatest pleasure is
in seeing it often near falling, without being ever actually down.
Every science has its hitherto undiscovered mysteries, after which men
should travel undiscouraged by the failure of former adventurers. Every
new attempt serves, perhaps, to facilitate its future invention. We may
not find the philosopher’s stone, but we shall, probably, hit upon new
inventions in pursuing it. We shall, perhaps, never be able to discover
the longitude, yet, perhaps, we may arrive at new truths in the
investigation.
Were any of these sagacious minds among us, (and surely no nation, no
period could ever compare with us in this particular,) were any of these
minds, I say, who now sit down contented with exploring the intricacies
of another’s system, bravely to shake off admiration, and undazzled with
the splendor of another’s fame, to chalk out a path to renown for
themselves, and boldly to cultivate untried experiments, what might not
be the result of their enquiries, should the same study that has made
them wise, make them enterprizing also? What could not such qualities,
united, produce?
Projectors in a state are generally rewarded above their merit;
projectors in the republic of letters, never. If they are wrong, every
dunce thinks himself entitled to laugh at their disappointment; if they
are right, men of superior talents think their honour engaged to oppose,
as every new discovery is a tacit diminution of their own pre-eminence.
To aim at excellence, our reputation, our friends, and our all must be
ventured: by aiming only at mediocrity, we run no risque, and we do
little when prudence and greatness are ever persuading us to contrary
pursuits. The one instructs us to be content with our station, and to
find happiness in setting bounds to every wish. The other impels us to
superiority, and calls nothing felicity but rapture. The one directs us
to follow mankind, and to act and think with the rest of the world; the
other drives us from the croud, and exposes us as a mark to all the
shafts of envy or ignorance.
The rewards of mediocrity are immediately paid; those attending
excellence generally paid in reversion. In a word, the little mind which
loves itself, will write and think with the vulgar, but the great mind
will be bravely eccentric, and scorn the beaten road, from universal
benevolence.
* * * * *
* * * *
The
_WANDERINGS_
of the
IMAGINATION.
_BY MRS. GOOCH._
(Continued from page 363.)
* * *
Conclusion
of the
_HISTORY OF CAPTAIN S----._
“Various are the stages of human woe; and long is the catalogue of
mental miseries!--A load of grief, so new, so unexpected, burst with the
early dawn on my distracted senses, and awakened them to everlasting
wretchedness.
“The next morning I went to the Bedford, and enquired for Captain
Nesbitt. The waiter told me he was not there, but asked my name, and
said he had a letter for me. I opened it, and read as follows.
“SIR,
“As our meeting might be attended with disagreeable consequences to
both, you must not be surprized at my declining it. I have but executed
the commission with which you intrusted me, and at which you seem highly
offended. As I am going to leave town immediately, I must beg leave to
postpone till my return any thing you must have to communicate; and
remain,
“SIR,
“Your humble servant,
“JAMES NESBITT.”
“I pocketed the infamous scrawl, as I shuddered at the depravity of
human nature. My wife, (why cannot I blot out the dear, the sacred
appellation?) was still wound about my heart, nor could I attempt to
slacken, without breaking its every string. Worthless, yet still beloved
woman, was it for this that I crossed the seas? for this that I
submitted to an odious stigma cast upon my conduct, degrading even in
idea to the character of an officer, and a gentleman?--for this that I
renounced every hope of future advancement?--Cruel, cruel Isabella!
Better could I behold thee dead; for what can life be to those who have
broken every tie of duty, every claim to the purest affections that can
ennoble the intellectual being?
“In a fit of frenzy, I flew to her lodgings. A fond, foolish hope to
reclaim her, and a wish to see my still innocent child, led me beyond
the bounds of prudence. She had quitted the house, and the people could
not, or would not, inform me whither she was gone. I found by them, that
they knew her only by the name of her seducer; and that my boy, whom
they called by the same name, had accompanied his mother. My next
enquiry was at the house of her relation; she had also left town, as
they said, for some months.
“I returned to the Bedford-Arms, and hastily scrawled an incoherent
letter, which I left in charge of the waiter there: he unwillingly took
it, under pretence that Captain Nesbitt seldom came to their house, and
it was uncertain when he might see him again. It ran as follows.
“SIR,
“If your heart is not callous to every feeling of social humanity, let
me implore you to pity as a man, the distresses to which you have
reduced me. You are young, but let me hope you are not a determined
villain. A time may perhaps arrive, when you will feel, like _me_, WHAT
IT IS to be a HUSBAND, and a FATHER!--The opinion of the World is of
little import to those, who, blessed with conscious rectitude, can defy
its malice.
“Restore my wife--restore my child--I will receive her once more, as the
first, best gift of Heaven; and her errors shall be blotted from the
tablets of my memory. Let me conjure you, Sir, to be the friend of this
unhappy woman; point out to her the path, of duly; and if you have any
real affection for her, make the sacrifice of it to her honour, and
future peace. As you deal by _her_, may Heaven, in justice, deal by
_you!_
“I take this method of addressing you, in preference to that which a man
of the World might think more consistent with my situation, under the
present circumstances; but I feel, while I am writing it, that I am no
coward, and that were human miseries to be extinguished only in blood,
the last drop of mine should be spilt to save her from perdition.
“Your answer I shall most anxiously wait for at the Gloucester
Coffee-house, Piccadilly, from the hour of twelve, every morning, till I
receive it.
“I am, SIR,
“Your’s, &c.
“FREDERICK S------.”
“I waited two days at the Coffee-house without hearing from him.
I impatiently counted every minute, and anticipated the transition from
deep despondency to transcendant joy. I called for coffee, read, or
seemed to read, the papers of the day; and my heart beat at the shadow
of every object I saw approaching towards the house.
“It was near one on the third morning before I heard any tidings
interesting to myself. A waiter then came forward, with a smile, and
told me that a Gentleman enquired for me. Half breathless, I desired him
to be admitted; my trembling limbs could scarcely support me as he
entered, and I begged him to be seated. I asked him if he came from
Captain Nesbitt? He answered in the affirmative, and I attempted to
close the door; but he desired to admit his friend; and then informed me
that he was the bearer of a writ against me, in the name of Captain
James Nesbitt, to whom I stood indebted for the sum of two hundred
pounds, for money lent me by him in the West-Indies.
“I knew full well that a gambling debt was not by law recoverable; but
my heart recoiled at the idea of contesting it, and I determined
immediately to extricate myself, however inconvenient. My stock of money
was reduced to four hundred and seventy pounds. I paid out of it the
debt and costs, which were no small augmentation. I hired a retired
lodging, and resolved to wait as patiently as I could, the result of an
event which had robbed me of every terrestrial joy. Here I lived many
months, with sober, well-disposed people, but gained no intelligence of
those for whose sake alone I still continued to drag on the load of
heavy existence.
“I was one morning surprized by the entrance of an attorney, who
produced me two bills; the one for a hundred and twenty pounds, which
debt, he said, had been contracted by Mrs. S------ for board and
lodging; the other, for twenty-five guineas for one quarter’s schooling
and masters for my boy.
“I candidly declared to him my situation, and my inability to satisfy
these demands; the consequence of which was an immediate arrest; and I
was hurried from my peaceful chamber to the loathsome place appropriated
in Newgate for debtors. Here I pined in misery and want. The course
language of my fellow-prisoners, whose hearts seemed hardened in
proportion to their necessities, offended, and disgusted me. I soon
after heard that Lord G---- was arrived in England. I wrote to him, and
he sent a servant to me with momentary relief. Obligation was new to me.
Insensibly, and actuated more by despair than choice, I joined my
companions; and the sight of a few guineas rejoicing them, I proposed
our sharing them together. The sum was not sufficient to relieve me
materially; and as the die of misery was cast, I endeavoured to
dissipate its calamity: I drank--I laughed--I joined in their vulgar
jokes, and for a while forgot myself. With the morning, rejected reason
returned, but vanished as my companions of the time approached me.
“I passed near two years in this state of mental horror, when I was
unexpectedly relieved from it by the commiserating heart of the then
Sheriff, Mr. P. L---- M----. To that Gentleman it is not necessary to be
personally known. His urbanity, his feelings do so much honour to human
Nature, that she is compelled to acknowledge him her master-piece. In
him the poor find a protector; the oppressed, a friend. That Gentleman
saw, heard my story, and pitied me. His heart and purse were equally
opened; and he seemed to satisfy the one, while he bountifully took from
the other. I endeavoured to evince my gratitude; but the manly tear
glistened in his eye, and I buried it in my heart. I returned to the
house where I had lodged, forlorn and desolate, and took possession of
the garret over my former apartment.
“I had not been there many days, before the Gentleman above-mentioned
condescended to visit me. He was attended by his lawyer, who had been,
by his directions, with Mrs. S----. He found her, surrounded by
affluence; the new, but acknowledged favourite of the French Duke de
----. She was regardless of my situation, insensible to my misery; yet
he prevailed on her, partly by intreaty, and partly by threats, in my
name, of appropriating her property, to sign an instrument, which he had
prepared, and which was a mutual release from all pecuniary matters
between us. Nor did the generosity of my noble friend stop here: he
hastily slipped into my hand a twenty-five pound note, and hurried down
stairs, as if fearful to receive the bare acknowledgment of obligations
which can never, never be repaid!
“Fortune seemed at this time anxious to make me amends for the many
injuries with which she had lately overwhelmed me. The relation, to whom
I had stood indebted for my commission, and who had left unanswered all
the letters I had written to him, now sent for me. He received me with
coldness, bordering on displeasure; and I briefly related to him my
whole story. Ah, what a world of light did this meeting cast over my
bewildered mind!--He was a very old man, who had been confined some
years to his house by various bodily infirmities; and to such, the
plausible appearance of youth and beauty in distress, is peculiarly
interesting. I found he had received frequent visits from Mrs. S------,
and had materially assisted her. Her attentions secured to her his
friendship; and she had art enough to persuade him, that my conduct in
the West-Indies had been such as to-forfeit every claim to his
protection. She assured him, that my commission had been sold to
discharge various gambling debts contracted there. This cruel, this
unprecedented injury, soon, however, retorted on herself; and as “foul
deeds WILL rise,” I was indebted to her for the vindication of my own
character, and the total overthrow of that of my unnatural accuser.
“My uncle (for by that name I shall henceforth distinguish him) had
found an uncommon affection for my child, who frequently accompanied his
mother in her visits to him. He had been well tutored by her how to
answer any questions that might be put to him; yet where there was no
suspicion, there could be little danger. Mrs. S---- had constantly
assured the old gentleman that she boarded at the house of the relation
where I had first seen her. He found himself one day very ill, and was
desirous of the company of his little favourite. His housekeeper, whom
many years service, and the solitude of her master’s life, had placed on
a footing that fell little short of being mistress of his house, was the
person whom he dispatched for the child: she was nearly as old and
infirm as her master; and as her walks had for several years extended no
farther than to and from the adjacent chapel every Sunday morning, she
could have wished to evade his proposal of shaking her ancient bones in
a hackney-coach, and would gladly have had the commission devolve on the
foot-boy, who, with herself, composed the whole of his household
establishment. But her master, though a very good man, was a very
peremptory one, and she dared not risk his displeasure by a refusal.
Mrs. Wilmot accordingly equipped herself in her Sunday gown and cloak,
and desiring the coachman to drive very gently over the stones, she
sallied forth in quest of the little Frederick; for whom she also, after
the example of her master, felt more than an usual affection.”
(To be continued.)
* * * * *
* * * *
_THE FARRAGO._
* * *