190 Translations. AGAINST LIFE. (From the Greek of Prosidippus.) WHAT tranquil road, unvex'd by strife, Can mortals choose thro' human life? Attend the courts, attend the barThere discord reigns, and endless jar. At home the weary wretches find Severe disquietude of mind; To till the fields gives toil and pain; Eternal terrors sweep the main. If rich, we fear to lose our store; Need and distress await the poor. Sad care the bands of Hymen give; Friendless, forlorn, th' unmarried live; Are children born? we anxious groan; Childless our lack of heirs we moan. Wild giddy schemes our youth engage; Weakness and want depress old age. Would Fate then with my wish comply, I'd never live, or quickly die. FOR LIFE. (From the Greek of Metrodorus.) MANKIND may walk, unvex'd by strife, And peace concludes the wordy war. And merchants plough for gold the main. More joys the bands of Hymen give; He would as soon pretend to sing As to attempt another trip. So Jack, when his red gills are wet, Well dipp'd in claret or champaigne, He'll sing, and joke, and swear, and bet, And all his wit is up amain. But in the morn Jack's gills grow dry, His tongue and wit alike are slack; You quickly see by his dead eye No flounder is more flat than Jack. LINES Written under a Miniature. WHEN mem'ry, chill'd by absence, shall decay, OLD AGE. "TIME has not thinn'd my flowing hair," "Tis still so thick, 'twould make you stare; But he has play'd the barber's part, And powder'd it with wondrous art, Meaning, no doubt, to let me see,✔ That when he can, he'll powder Me. G. G. Present enjoyment preferred to Posthumous. For here in flesh I'd rather live, TO A LADY THAT WISHED TO DIE. THY form, sweet fair, to earth is due; Since angels are on earth so few, Trifles. POOR JACK'S CASE. THERE is a fish, as sailors tell, As any bird, but not so high; THE INFIDEL. I LOVE thee, charming Jessy, well; But, Jessy, you're an infidel You vow men swear but to deceive, But thus I swear, my truth to prove, BY THE LATE MR. FOX. OH, poverty! of pale, consumptive hue, CONSCIENCE. CONSCIENCE, thou whisper of the soul!thou form Unseen, yet terrible!-Sleep seldom sets And pow'r, still shall the mighty shake at thee! At thy convicting voice, for thou canst blast THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR GLASS. COME, friend, I'll turn thee up again: Spring thirty times hath fed with rain In frame of wood, On chest or window by my side: And when my husband died, I've often watch'd thy streaming sand And seen the growing mountain rise, And often found life's hopes to stand On props as weak in wisdom's eyes: Its conic crown Still sliding down, Again heap'd up, then down again; While I thus spin and sometimes sing, Steady as truth on either end Thy lengthen'd day Shall gild once more my native plain; I'll turn thee up again. ON THE CHANGES OF LIFE. THE rolling years by tnrns decay, And life recedes from day to day; The golden Sun, that gives us light, That Sun departed brings us night, 1 And go, or poor, or deok'd with state, The sea, the stream-the stars, the Moon- WOMAN. -thou shalt stand S. H. A Deity, sweet Wonian, and be worshipped. GONE from her cheek is the summer bloom, And the Spirit that sate on her soft blue eye, And the smile that played on her lip hath fled, Like slaves they obeyed her in height of power, And the crowds that swore for her love to die, Shrank from the tone of her last sad sigh:And this is Man's fidelity. "Tis Woman alone, with a firmer heart, Can see all these idols of life depart, And love the more; and soothe, and bless Man in his utter wretchedness. THE PLAGUE OF LONDON, 1666. KNOW ye what you will meet with in the city! prayer: And louder than all outrageous blasphemy. And onwards urg'd by a wan meagre wretch, years, And many a rosy visage smiling still; Bright with the ring that holds her lover's hair. London: Printed for the Proprietors by H.Hewitt, 145, High Holborn, Published at 42, Holywellstreet, Strand; and sold by Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, Paternoster-row; Simpkin and Marshall, Stationers'-court; and may be had of all Booksellers. TICKLER THE MAGAZINE. No. 1. VOL. III.] LONDON, MONDAY, JANUARY 1, 1821. Anecdotes. SERVILIA.---Among the numerous victims of the tyranny of Nero, was one Bareas Soranus, a man, as Tacitus informs us, of singular vigilance and justice in the discharge of his duty. During his confinement, his daughter Servilia was apprehended, and brought into the Senate to be arraigned. The crime laid to her charge was, that she had turned into money all her ornaments and jewels, and the most valuable part of her dress, to defray the expence of consulting magicians. To this the young Servilia, with a flood of tears, replied, "That she had indeed consulted magicians, but the whole of her enquiry was to know whether the Emperor and Senate would afford protection and safety to her dear and indulgent parent against his accusers. "With this view," said she, “I presented the diviners, men till now utterly unknown to me, with my jewels, my apparel, and other ornaments peculiar to my quality, as I would have presented my blood and life, could they have procured my father's liberty. But whatever this my proceeding was, my unfortunate father was an utter stranger to it; and if it is a crime, I alone am guilty." This pathetic appeal was lost on the sanguinary monster; and Servilia and her father were condemned to die. FILIAL PIETY. --- Valerius Maximus relates, that a woman of distinction having been condemned to be strangled, was delivered to the triumvir, who caused her to be carried to prison, in order to be put to death. The gaoler who was ordered to execute her, was struck with compunction, and could not resolve to kill her. He chose, however, to let her die of hunger; but meanwhile suffered her [PRICE 6d. daughter to visit her in prison, taking care that she brought her nothing to eat. Many days passed over in this manner, when the gaoler, at length surprised that the prisoner lived so long without food, and suspecting the daughter, took means of secretly observing their interviews.--He then discovered that the affectionate daughter had all the while been nourishing her mother with her own milk. Amazed at so tender, and at the same time so ingenious an artifice, he related it to the triumvir, and the triumvir to the prætor, who thought the fact merited stating in the assembly of the people. This produced the happiest effects; the criminal was pardoned, and a decree passed, that the mother and the daughter should be maintained for the remainder of their lives at the expence of the public, and that a temple, sacred to filial piety, should be erected near the prison. Freehold, during the first American war, a young English officer, closely pressed by two Abenakis Indians, with upraised hatchets, no longer hoped for life, and only resolved to sell it dearly. At the moment when he expected to sink beneath them, an old Indian armed with a bow approached him, and prepared to aim an arrow; but having adjusted it, in an instant he dropt his bow, and ran to throw himself between the young officer and his assailants; they immediately retired with respect. The old man took his prisoner by the hand, encouraged him by caresses, and conducted him to his cabin. It was winter, and the Indians were retiring home. Here he kept him for some time, treating him with undiminished softness, and making him less his slave than his companion. At length he taught him the Abenakis language, and the rude arts in use among that people. They became perfectly satisfied with each other, and the young officer was comparatively happy---except at times when his heart was wrung, to perceive the old man intently fix his eyes on him and shed tears. At the return of spring, the Indians returned to arms, and prepared for the campaign. The old man, yet sufficiently strong to support the fatigues of war, set out with them, accompanied by his prisoner. The Abenakis made a march of more than two hundred leagues across the desert, till at length they arrived within sight of an English camp; the old Indian pointed it out to the young officer, at the same time contemplating him wistfully. "Behold thy brothers!" said he to him; "behold where they wait to give us battle! Hear me; I have saved thy life, I have taught thee to make a canoe, bows, and arrows; to obtain the means to make them from the forest; to manage the hatchet, and to take off the scalp of an enemy. What wert thou, when I took thee to my cabin? Thy hands were those of a child; they neither served to nourish nor defend thee; thy soul was in night; thou knew nothing; thou owest me all! Wilt thou, then, he ungrateful enough to join thy brothers, and raise the hatchet against us?" The young Englishman vowed he would rather lose a thousand lives, than spill the blood of one Abenakis. The Indian looked on his prisoner with earnestness, and in a mingled tone of tenderness and sorrow, enquired, "Hast thou a father?" "He was alive," answered the young man, "when I left my country." "Oh, how miserable he must be!" cried the Indian; and after a moment of silence, he added, "Knowest thou that I have been a father? I am so no more! I saw my child fall in the battle; he was at my side. I saw him die like a warrior; he was covered with wounds, my child, when he fell! But I have avenged him! Yes, I have avenged him." The Indian at pronouncing these words was much agitated; then turning to the East, where the sun was just rising, he said to the young Englishman, "Seest thou that beauteous sun, resplendent of brightness? Hast thou pleasure in seeing it?" "Yes," answered he, "I have pleasure in seeing that beautiful sky." "Ah, well! I have it no more," said the Indian, shedding a torrent of tears. A moment after he shewed the young officer a flowering shrub. "Seest thou that fine tree?" said he to him; "and hast thou pleasure in looking upon it?" "Yes, I have," he answered. "I have it no more," returned the Indian, with precipitation; "but as for thou---Go, return to thy country, that thy father may again with pleasure mark the rising sun, and behold the springing flower." GOOD FORTUNE WHEN LEAST EXPECTED.-A poor retailer of fruit, who had three small children, could scarcely, in dear times, earn so much as was necessary to procure herself and children bread; but for the hire of the damp hole, which her landlord called a room, it was impossible. The hard-hearted man distrained for his rent, really took her bed, and her little wretched furniture, and ordered them to be sold by auction. The poor wretched widow and her orphans were present at the sale. Even the best things were thrown away for a trifle, and there was not enough produced for the rent. In the catalogue there was a very small and much smoaked picture of Saint Jerom, an inheritance from her grandmother, which hung over her bed, and to which she and her children offered up their pious prayers. As they were accustomed to do, they mechanically raised up their little hands, when Saint Jerom was put up, and the tears of the mother flowed abundantly. A painter who was present examined the picture for a considerable time, and at last bid a dollar. Another connoiseur doubled the bidding. The painter to alarm his rival at once immediately rose to a louis d'or, but the connoiseur said, without pondering, "twenty-five guilders". "Fifty," answered the painter. "A hundred," replied the connoiseur. The astonishment and joy of the poor woman may be well conceived, who not only saw all her debts paid by the little Jerom, but a considerable overplus remaining. She could scarcely believe her ears, when she heard, that the two connoiseurs still kept out-bidding each other; and the painter first was silent at an offer of six hundred guilders. "You are fortunate," said he, after the painting was knocked down to his rival-"You are fortunate, Sir, in being richer than I am; otherwise you would not have had it under a thousand." It was an original of Raphael. |