Our youth, proficients in a n.o.bLE art, Divide a farthing to the hundredth part.
Well done, my boy, the joyful father cries, ADDITION and SUBTRACTION make us wise.
FRANCIS.
It would scarcely inform my readers to a.s.sure them, that, when I was at College, my mathematical tutor shook his head, and dubbed me a stupid fellow. Whatever stress might be laid on the multiplication and pence tables by the sedate shop-keepers of State-street and Cornhill, it always appeared to me that a scholar could attain the object of his mission to the university, without any a.s.sistance from the four first rules. Hence, I was more ashamed to be surprised solving a sum in Pike, than a reputed virgin would be to have the unchaste poems of _Rochester_ plucked from her pillow. I contented myself with studying the ways of men and the works of Roman and English wits, without gaping with a foolish face of wonder, when told of the "Square of the Hypothenuse,"
and the miracles that compound interest would perform in a term of years. Geometrical progression was not half so delightful to me as vehicular progression in a crazy Charlestown-car. That portion of arithmetic among merchants called fellowship, or company, I left to them to ascertain their shares of a cargo of sugar and mola.s.ses by; while the rules of good fellowship I made familiar both to my conception and practice. In fine, those of my prudent friends who observed the lankness of my purse, long before the expiration of a College term, merrily remarked, that REDUCTION was the only part of arithmetic in which I made a figure.
This avowed neglect of a darling study, so offended the lovers of straight lines, that every moment they could steal from their diagrams they employed in prognosticating my future fortune. They would sketch on the paper covers of EUCLID perspective views of my dilapidated estate; and by rhombus, rhomboid, and trapezium, barbarous terms, such as are "a misery to hear," they would conjure away my goods and chattles.
Those, who descending from the heights of abstraction, condescended to become mere mortals again, and to converse upon sublunary topics, were continually quoting and applying to me that elegant adage "of bringing one"s n.o.ble to a nine-pence," &c. In vain I endeavoured to defend my practice, and to apologize for my disbelief in Euclid"s infallibility.
In vain I suggested, that many of the brightest geniuses successfully clambered up the rugged steeps of Fame, without employing the nine digits, as pioneers, to smooth the way: that Shakespeare, with whom, as Cicero observes of Plato, I would rather _err_, than think right with all the philosophers, was not only a novice in the doctrine of "nought and carry one," but frankly indulges a laugh of contempt at computation:--that in Oth.e.l.lo, when Iago informs his Venitian dupe of Ca.s.sio"s unjust preferment to a lieutenancy, and is asked "what is he?"
the contemptuous response is "forsooth a great arithmetician!" That in Love"s Labour Lost, a pert page demands of Armado "how many is one thrice told?" the solemn knight replies "I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a tapster:" that Lord Lyttleton the elder, a _man of business_, emphasizing the phrase, honoured by his prince with a place in the exchequer and in the department of finance, could not, as we are a.s.sured by his son, count twenty pounds in different British coins; that the Dean of St. Patrick"s, whose sterling sense and humour has pleased and informed men more than all the works of all the mathematicians, employed eight hours in a day in reading historians and poets, and composing the Tale of a Tub, and was refused by the university of Dublin, a degree, because he lampooned Locke and derided the aerial speculations of a mathematician. All these shining examples, like Haman"s prosperity, "availed me nothing," and the sticklers for science told me that I could not give directions to a carpenter without understanding--how shall I write so unpoetical a word--without understanding _parallelograms_.
Having thus far, in jocular phrase, discussed this _grave_ subject, I now seriously declare, it is not my wish to abrogate any branches of this recondite science. I am not possessed with such a Quixotish spirit of innovation, as to desire all concerned forthwith to make proclamation for mathematics and cousin german arithmetic to depart; but good-naturedly to deride that mode of education, which neglecting, or partially studying, eloquence, poetry, history, the cla.s.sics, and the world, devotes long and exclusive attention to things abstracted and foreign from men"s business and bosoms. That great and universal scholar, Dr. Johnson, whose authority is of no trivial weight, decisively p.r.o.nounces that this science and the knowledge which it requires and includes, is not the great and frequent business of life.
It is of rare emergence. We are perpetually moralists, but we are geometricians only by chance. One may live long with a man and not discern his skill in hydrostatics, or astronomy, but his moral and prudential character immediately appears. The rigid Knox, who is a strenuous advocate for the severest school discipline, confesses, that a man may be very liberally educated, without much skill in this branch of learning. I remember reading, not many years since, a preface of Dr.
Cheyne"s to one of his medical tracts, wherein, after describing his devotion to triangles, &c. he pathetically deplores his waste of time, and adds, "that in these exquisitely bewitching speculations, gentlemen of liberal leisure may riot; but for men of general learning, business, and the world, they are too empty and aerial." My readers will perhaps yawn at these multiplied citations; but this is a science, supported so much by authority and opinion, that I must oppose it with equal arms.
We are magisterially told that this study, _of all others_, most closely fixes the attention. An argument shallow, untrue, and easily vanquished.
Any object that engrosses the mind, will induce a habit of attention.
Now I can warrantably a.s.sert, that a description from Virgil, a scene from Shakespeare, Robertson"s narrative of the decollation of Mary, or any striking pa.s.sage from authors of polite literature, will accomplish this purpose. Why should the demonstrations of Euclid arrogate this honour to themselves? Have they an _exclusive privilege_ of enchanting the mind, or are they invested with a talismanic charm by which attention is at once conjured into mathematical circles? Addison wondered how _rational_ beings could for hours play with painted bits of paper; but he was manifestly a novice in whist, a game which, regularly played, is an unremitting exercise of two of the n.o.blest intellectual powers, memory and judgment. The acute Hume, when jaded with metaphysical research, invigorated his powers with a cheerful RUBBER.
From a fashionable amus.e.m.e.nt he derived that benefit which the worshippers of Euclid would confine to their G.o.d. In fine, a _mere_ mathematician, without being a more cogent reasoner, is less learned, less eloquent, and less courtly than the Beauclercs, whose superficial talents he contemns. He is a solemn, absent, unaccommodating mortal.
Better therefore to imitate Cardinal de Retz and Chesterfield; better to study the useful and the pleasant, than to dream away life over the symbols and negative quant.i.ties of algebra.
I proposed to animadvert next on the influence that arithmetical minutiae gradually obtained over the heart. I was about adventuring to censure even the great Dr. Franklin, for insisting too much upon the mint, annise, and c.u.mmin of computation. I wished to brand avarice, and to deny the doctrine of "uttermost farthings." But I recollected that every penurious parent, who prescribes as a horn-book lesson to his son, that "scoundrel maxim" a penny saved is a penny got, would cry--shame! The world, quoth prudence, will not bear it; "tis a penny getting, pound h.o.a.rding world--I yielded; and shelter myself in my garret against that mob of misers and worldlings I see gathering to hoot me.
REFLECTIONS ON SCANDAL.
"Base Envy withers at another"s joy, And hates that excellence it cannot reach."
THOMSON.
There is not a greater enemy to the peace of individuals, and society at large, than Scandal; although it is much to be regretted, that, there is no frailty to which most people are so subject. Scandal is the offspring of Envy; and the only weapon of little minds against superior abilities.
But notwithstanding Scandal affects, more or less, every member of the community, it reigns with more distinguished power over some parts of society than others. On enquiry, it will appear that the female character sustains the most injury from this bane to human happiness. In the country, too, this species of Scandal is more prevalent than in the metropolis. The reason is obvious; in a country place, the number of inhabitants are so small, that each is frequently more acquainted with the character of his neighbour than his own. Every action is examined with the most critical severity; and often the best of characters lose the esteem of their acquaintance from the malignant aspersions of Ignorance and Envy. It is impossible for a lady to be seen walking with a gentleman, in such a place, without the immediate conclusion that they are lovers: it is even not uncommonly added, if their acquaintance should have lasted any length of time, that Miss Such-a-one appears to be in _fair way_. After a report of this nature has once spread, I have seen a company of females thrown into the greatest consternation, by the entrance of a lady who was the unfortunate subject of Slander. How busy is the silent whisper, on these occasions! It runs with amazing rapidity, from ear to ear, accompanied by nods and winks; with a--"You know who"--"So they say"--"Well, I could never have thought it!" and a variety of such phrases, which every one must at some time have heard.
Scandal is of a quality peculiarly distressing. Against the open shafts of violence, every one may defend himself; but, from Slander, and secret Calumny, the most deserving must suffer.
The only method to prevent this pest to society, is for every one to shut their ears against the officious tales of Scandal and Envy; since experience proves, that if people in general were not too much inclined to listen, when any account is brought of the faults and failings of others, the tongue of Scandal would no longer find the mean satisfaction it now enjoys.
The mischiefs that accrue to mankind, from Calumny and Slander, are innumerable. How many families have their peace destroyed by evil reports! By such means, the seeds of enmity are too often engendered between the dearest connections in life.
It has already been observed, that Scandal is the only weapon of little minds against superior worth and abilities. The truth of this remark ought to be a sufficient preventative; for, I believe, no one would wish to incur the merited appellation of a little and envious mind. Females, in particular, should divest themselves of this spirit, which produces so many evils among the fair-s.e.x; for, let it be remembered, that an envious mind, and slanderous tongue, never inhabit the face of beauty, and the form of elegance!--If there must still remain, in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of some, a slanderous spirit, and a delight to fabricate scandalous reports; if most people will also retain a propensity to hear whatever comes from such a source; let us act with some degree of impartiality: before we credit, as undoubted truth, tales injurious so the reputation of another; we ought, at least, to examine whether what we hear does not wear the most flagrant marks of falsehood. Thus we may often be enabled to discover fiction from truth, and be satisfied that the person accused is entirely innocent: and it is the province of great minds, to vindicate the characters of those who are absent, when unjustly aspersed by the tongue of Scandal.
CHARACTER OF LORD MOUNT-GARTH.
Of the following extraordinary character, though not given as historical fact, there is said to have actually been a prototype lately, if not at present, resident in one of the wildest parts of the county of Suffolk.
Lord Mount-Garth had retired from the world twenty years ago, not only within his own park, but, except on very rare occasions, within his own palace and garden; which, together, occupied a s.p.a.ce of nearly a square mile, and were surrounded by a wall fifteen feet high; against which he would amuse himself for hours in playing at hand-ball; sometimes alone, and at others accompanied by a female favourite, the only person he would suffer to come near him, or could ever bear to see, though at a distance, except one man, the son of his father"s gardener, who had been brought up with him at home from his infancy, and was exactly of the same age, being born in the same night and hour. This man had not, any more than his lordship, been without the precincts of the park, and very seldom beyond those of the garden, for the s.p.a.ce of thirty years. As they went into this state of voluntary confinement, which is a kind of _internal_ exile, at the age of twenty, they are now, of course, in the fiftieth year of their age. John, for that was the name of the man, had been educated along with his lordship in his father"s family, by a private tutor; and had acquired a competent knowledge, not only of ancient and modern languages, history, and Belles Lettres, but a general idea of the principles and progressive improvement in the arts and sciences. John acted in the capacity of valet de chambre, confidant, and companion; dined at the same table with his lordship, went to bed at the same hour, and slept to the same hour precisely, and almost to the same minute rose in the morning. He was dressed precisely in the same kind of cloaths, even to the sameness of shoe-buckles and sleeve-b.u.t.tons. If my lord felt himself not very well, and judged it proper to take any medicine, John must take the same medicine also. "John" he would say, "I think we sat up rather too late last night: I think we should not be the worse for an emetic."--"I think we should be much the better for it, my lord."--"John, I am afraid we have rather exceeded in our refreshments for some days past: I think we should be none the worse for some cathartics."--"I think we should be much the better for them, my lord."--"John, I think we feel somewhat of a vertigo this morning: I think we should be not the worse for a little sal volatile."--"I think we should be much the better for it, my lord."--"Have we not felt a somewhat of relaxation of nerves for same days, John?"--"I protest, my lord, on recollection, I think we have."--"What should you think of a dip in the cold-bath?"--"I think, my lord, it would do us both a great deal of good."
This singular character, sunk in indolence and sensuality, of all things dreaded cold: but as for snow, he could not endure the sight of it. In winter, he generally lay in bed till ten or eleven o"clock: about that time he would pull his bell, call for John, and ask him what kind of a day it was. "It is a very fine day, my lord; the sun shines out brightly, and the atmosphere is unsullied by a cloud."--"Why, then, John, I think we should be the better for a race in the garden." For it was their custom to have frequent races, at the end of which both parties were within a few feet of each other. "John, how looks the weather this morning?"--"Most hideously, my lord! The sky lowers; the feathered creation retreat to their roosts; the cats incessantly curry their hides; and flakes of snow, driving before the wind, announce the coming storm."--"John, shut the doors and windows; light up a rouzing fire; let candles be brought; let the pastry and cold tongues be laid on the table; and, since it is a bad day, let us make a good night."
Many efforts were made by the college acquaintance of his lordship to see him; for, with all his singularities, he was an amiable and benevolent man, as well as an excellent scholar; and attached, as by a singular charm, all his acquaintance to his person. They would put up their horses at an adjoining village, and send letters to his lordship, fraught with recollections of former intimacy. His lordship never failed to return answers replete with equal kindness; recollecting former scenes and circ.u.mstances, with expressions of the most pleasing emotions, but always declining any personal interview.
As the inn nearest his lordship"s park was but a very wretched one--for in this sequestered spot there was no encouragement for a good one--he took care always to send, on the arrival of strangers, the best provisions of all kinds, unknown to his friends, with orders to the landlord to make some trifling charge, lest he should offend their delicacy, by affording them entertainment when he refused them his company. His lordship"s friend was a good sort of woman: she amused herself, now and then, by giving suppers to the servants and the farmers daughters in the neighbourhood, the nearest house being five miles from the Castle. He had land stewards on his different estates; all business with whom, as with every other mortal, was transacted through the medium of John, or the housekeeper. If he had occasion to go from one quarter of the castle or garden to another, orders were previously sent to all the servants to keep out of the way; for, if he had catched any of them looking at him, he would have immediately dismissed them from his service. He had an excellent library, in which he pa.s.sed a great part of his time, but into which no publication of any kind had been admitted since the year of his retirement, or sequestration from the world; being that, as already mentioned, on which he left the university, having then succeeded to the estate by the death of his father. No newspapers! no magazines! no reviews! no political pamphlets! no annual registers! No, nor any conversation concerning any political or other event that had happened in Britain, or any other part of the world, from the hour of his seclusion. He turned himself about, and cast his eyes backward, and fixed them wholly on former times. Although, he confessed, that he had often been tempted to enquire what could be the causes of the sudden and enormous acc.u.mulation of taxes.
_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._
THE CRIMINAL.
[Concluded from page 375.]
_A LAUNCH INTO ETERNITY._
----First marched forth those that guarded the law from violation; then followed the culprit bound in a cart, attended by a clergyman, who was using his pious endeavours to smooth the pa.s.sage into another world.
They reached the tree. The ladder was placed, and after a few minutes spent in the solemn duties of religion, he ascended it. With the consciousness of a heart in which every virtue glowed, and with a fort.i.tude which the virtuous only possess, he calmly surveyed the surrounding mult.i.tude, and signified his wish to be heard: they eagerly lent their attention, while he painted to them the cause of his disgrace, and the misery of his family which had led him to the act. He said he could not endure the idea of seeing them perish before his eyes; and when their distress was at its highest pitch, and when he could get no help from those who would have befriended him with all they were worth when he needed it not, he had sallied forth on the highway, determined to alleviate their distresses--but his intentions were not to shed blood--driven to desperation by experiencing a refusal, (when on his knees he solicited the boon) he had done the deed.----
The people were all attention, and when he ended, their streaming eyes spoke the sentiments of their hearts.
The moments were precious. The cord was fastened to the wood, and after a few moments spent in devotion, the curtain of life dropped.
Scarcely was the solemn scene closed, when a murmur was heard among the croud, and shortly after a female rushed to the spot. It was his wife.
Heavens! what a shock for her delicate frame! She had but just recovered from an illness she had fallen into when they had dragged her husband from her arms. She saw him now when life sat quivering at his lips, and then in unison their spirits ascended to that bright world of bliss.
----What substantial benefit, what real advantage do ye derive from dooming to death one that has perpetrated the dreadful crime of murder?
Does his death restore to life the person murdered? Does it allay the grief of the distressed family?----No!----What then is it that makes you give your tacit consent to a measure which is hostile to every principle of equity--derogatory to every principle of humanity? Is it because this severe law was first given in thunderings, from Mount Sinai, to a people, who while beholding with their eyes the glory of the Deity, yet worshipped the work of their own hands? Throw aside prejudice, and that fellest tyranny, _custom_, until then you will never view things in their proper sphere.
Would not solitary imprisonment in a lonely cell, far excluded from every pitying eye, for a term of years, be more just? He might be compelled to labor, and his earnings go to maintain the family which through his means has lost its support. Thus they who have suffered by his misconduct might reap some advantage: whereas, by taking his life they must be left to pine in want and wretchedness. If after continuing in this state for some years, it be discovered that a thorough change is wrought, and the offender has become a reasonable creature, then let him be discharged--the debt is fully paid. But should he after this again imbrue his hands in the blood of his fellow men, then let rigorous imprisonment for life be the penalty--he is no longer fit to a.s.sociate with human beings.
L. B.
NEW-YORK _April 4, 1797_.