The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 11

I expressed no small disapprobation and surprise at this account: but at the same time was in no wise at a loss to discover the cause. I found her so very tenacious of the manners and customs of Wales, that she could not by any means persuade herself to recede from them; though very different from those of New-York. This is an error that most Europeans fall into. They are so possessed of the notion, that the inhabitants of America are an ignorant simple race of mortals, that they come over with a view of being received as instructors, and implicitly adhered to in all their peculiarities. But this hypothesis being far from true, they frequently give disgust by their magisterial deportment; and while they persist in these ideas render themselves ridiculous.

The foregoing observations led me to a more general reflection on the amazing force of tradition, and the narrow contracted principle of _bigotry_: by which nothing, methought so justly represented, as a hungry man, sitting down to a sumptuous table, richly replenished with a variety of excellent dishes; who having tasted of one, and finding it agreeable, could not be persuaded there was another good one before him.

ETHICUS.

NEW-YORK _July 16, 1796_.

WONDERFUL ACCOUNT OF A MAN-FISH.

Alexander, of Alexandria, and above fifty other historians, have written an account of a man named Collas, whom they call the Fish Collas; this man had accustomed himself from his infancy to the frequenting of the sea, till at last he became an inhabitant thereof; and dwelt there with such obstinate delight, that he would not be persuaded from it; so that at length he became viscous and waterish, and continued in the sea the greatest part of his life; being sometimes hidden betwixt two waves like a fish, so that he could not be seen for five or six hours together, and would seldom come out in less than eight or ten days; but when he saw a s.h.i.+p he would sometimes go aboard, and live with the mariners for some time; and when tired he would throw himself overboard into the sea and be gone. He said that when he was on sh.o.r.e, he used to be troubled with a pain in his stomach, which he had not when in the water.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

ON POLITENESS.

Politeness is requisite to keep up the relish of life, and procure us that affection and esteem which every man who has a sense of it must desire. The established maxims of politeness are little less than good-nature, polished and beautified by art; they teach a person to behave with deference towards every body, in all the common incidents of society; and particularly so whenever a person's situation may naturally beget any disagreeable peculiarity in him. Thus, old men know their infirmities, and naturally dread contempt from the young; hence, well educated youths redouble the instances of respect towards their elders.

Strangers and foreigners appear to be without protection; hence, in all polite companies, they receive the first marks of civility.

MOORISH GRAt.i.tUDE.

M. Chenier, in the present state of Morocco, relates, that as the late Emperor was once pa.s.sing the river Beth on horseback, at a place where it falls into the Seboo, he was in imminent danger of being drowned, when one of the negroes plunged into the stream, and saved his life, at the risque of his own. Having preserved his royal master, the slave shewed marks of exultation at his good fortune. But Sede Mahomet drawing his sabre, with one blow almost severed his head from his body: exclaiming "Here is an infidel, to suppose that G.o.d stood in need of his a.s.sistance to save a Shariff's life."--The same magnanimous despot being once slightly reproached by a French Consul for not performing a promise made him, answered, "Takest thou me for an infidel, that I must be the slave of my word--Know that it is in my power to say and unsay whatever and whenever I please."

THE FORGETFUL MAN.

A Gentleman in Angiers, who did not trust to his memory, and wrote down all he was to do, wrote in his pocket book----"Memorandum, that I must be married when I come to Tours."

_NEW-YORK._

MARRIED,

On Friday evening last by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. GEORGE GAINES, to Miss ELIZABETH TAYLOR, both of this city.

EPITAPH, On A Violent Scold.

Beneath this stone, a lump of clay, Lies ARABELLA YOUNG, Who on the twenty-fourth of May, BEGAN TO HOLD HER TONGUE.

+For the New-York Weekly Magazine.+

SIR,

The following juvenile performances, were circulated in ma.n.u.script, during the late revolution, when the British Forces held possession of this city, in consequence of the improper resort to the walk in front of Trinity Church; if you think them worthy of being preserved in your amusing repository, they are at your service.

A.

THE MALL.

This is the scene of gay resort, Here vice and folly hold their court, Here all the martial band parade, To vanquish--some unguarded maid: Here ambles many a dauntless chief, Who can, O great beyond belief!

Who can, as sage historians say, Defeat--whole bottles in array.

Heavens! shall a servile dastard train The mansions of our dead prophane, A herd of undistinguished things, That shrink beneath the frown of kings!

Sons of the brave and virtuous band, Who led fair freedom to this land, Say, shall a lawless race presume To violate the sacred tomb, And calmly you the insult bear?

Even wildest rage were virtue here.

Shades of our sires, indignant rise, Oh! arm, to vengeance arm the skies, Oh! rise, for no degenerate son Bids impious blood the guilt atone; By thunder from th' etherial plains, Avenge your own dishonour'd manes; Bid guardian light'nings flash around, And vindicate the hallowed ground.

MATILDA.

THE RECANTATION.

Had I the muse of satire's warmest rage, To brand the vices of an impious age, To s.n.a.t.c.h the villain from his happiest lot, In calm oblivion to remain forgot, Give modest merit to a n.o.bler fate, And doom the guilty to eternal hate: How vain, how foolish, in these blameless times, Th' unmeaning raving of satiric rhymes!

Auspicious muses grant your happier art, With panegyric warm each grateful heart!

And foremost let the lank Pomposo stand, To crush dissentions in a rising land, And scatter thousands,--what tho' envy say He gave his thousands in the eye of day, He gains his just reward, applauses by't, Nor in a scanty bushel hides his light.

Tell how the fair are now so wond'rous kind, Their love is boundless, free and unconfin'd, To all their soft approving glances fly, To all that are unknown to poverty.

Next sing the trim well-powder'd warriors course, Recount the gorgeous trappings of his horse; How the broad umbrage intercepts Sol's rays, To shade his beauties from too fierce a blaze: Far from the field, he, foe to rest, can dare The direr dangers of intemp'rate fare, While day nor night his ardent labour close, And the full cellar interdicts repose: