"Southwark Bridge," containing a stricture upon that erection, and as you kindly stated that you would insert any answer to that paragraph, I now send this for your perusal, which, if you think worthy being placed in your Miscellany, I shall be obliged thereby. In the first place, then, he says, that the Southwark-bridge is built on the same principle as that at Boston, “with all its faults"-that it is built on the principle of the Boston-bridge is true, but that it is" with all its faults" 1 deny, and the only reason on which he rests his assertion of its being so, is, because it was built by the same person. A very foolish reason, as he must know, that since that bridge was built, that person has had great experience in the art of bridge building, which has improved so much within these few years: experience makes even fools wise; what must it then do with such an able architect as the one in question? He next says, of this I am certain, that both structures are hanging their dreadful heavy weights of iron on their buttresses, and should this weight thrust them away, they must inevitably fall into the river, as did Staines-bridge into the river Thames, &c. &c. Of course, no one need be told, that if the support of any structure or thing whatever is taken away, that it must fall; but it is not to be supposed, that in such an undertaking as the Southwark-bridge, when it was well known that the weight of the iron must be immense, but that the most serious attention would be, "and has been paid in that respect, both for the interest of the proprietors, and the reputation of the architect; therefore the iron-work is constructed for one part of it to support the other, aud even supposing that the whole weight of the iron was to rest on the buttresses, they are so stupendous as to be well able to resist the weight great as it is. To proceed to the next statement: "Another disadvantage is this, the contraction and expansion of the iron by heat and cold, when confined between buttresses which is found very sensibly to affect bridges with small arches, how much more must it then large ones?" I answer, that as the disadvantage consists, as he says, in the iron being confined between buttresses, as it is in small arches, it is of course lessened in larger ones, as it has not so much confinement. He next states, that "a decep tive idea has been held out as an apology I am, Your very obedient Servant, THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN. No. III. "And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow." appears to have been the object And yet we must allow that the very feeling we applaud may be easily converted into a dangerous and detestable resolve to soar beyond the height to vice; for should his aspiring mind which his talents, his perseverance, and his integrity, can elevate him, virtuous emulation is abandoned for lawless It which its lofty emi celebrated picture of human life, to place each character in the most unfavourable light, and the most ridicalous attitude. It would have furnished an excellent subject for the pencil of Hogarth, had he delineated on canvass the humorous group which Shakspeare has so admirably depicted in poetry. After exhibiting the infant and the school-boy under circumstances sufficiently ludicrous, his peculiar felicity of description is strikingly displayed in this facetious representation of a youth whose ardent passion has kindled so fierce a flame, that reason and judgment, unable to extinguish or to moderate it, become the unfortunate victims of tis fury. Among the various passions which agitate the soul of man, there are many which greatly contribute to his happiness, and without which his existence would be scarcely tolerable. But these are no longer conducive to his welfare than while they are under the dominion of reason; for whenever they usurp an undue ascendancy over the mind, folly or crime is the inevitable consequence. Every thought and every desire pursuing the same direction, and fixed upon the same object, whatever lies beyond the boundaries of this narrow path will be either unnoticed or imperfectly attended to. And while there exists so irresistible a determination in the breast to accomplish its purpose, the purity of the motives and the propriety of the means will be often disregarded, esteeming the preservation of virtue an inferior consideration, if success can be ensured by its sacrifice. Thus the man who can declaim against the appearance of deception and artifice inte hits understanding leads his opinions, will not scruple at the practice of vile bypocrisy and intriguing kavery when passion takes the reins, We should be far from condemning the noble emulation of that youth who is seeking the summit of his profession, and, while he envies not the superiority of others, is unwilling to be inferior to key in prowess, in skill, or in learning Europ. Mag. Vol. LXXIII. Feb. 1818. nence by treading upon its innocent victims. Who does not admire the calculating prudence which provides in the sunshine of prosperity against the storms of adversity? Or who can calumniate the rigid economy which prevents the cravings of penury by withholding the superfluities of extravagance? Yet those are virtues which border closely on a sordid appetite, which grows more keen the more it is pampered, and increases as life advances, when the certain approach of death might fornish a plausible excuse for prodigality, and the prospect of dissolution should withdraw the affections from the expiring vanities of time, and fix them on the opening realities of eternity. But there is a passion which more frequently acquires a despotic sway over the mind than either ambition or avarice. Some are too indolent, others are too volatile, to be remarkably eager in the pursuit of power or of riches, and the attention of a few is bestowed upon superior objects. But we should discover a moral phenomenon, could we find a heart so cold as to be totally insensible to the feeling of love. This passion, being amiable in its nature, and universal in its operation, often exercises its influence upon those whose principles it cannot shake, though it sometimes overpowers their understandings. There are some men so circumspect in their conduct, that they seldom act without deliberation; and the mental vision of others is so disordered by self-conceit, that they generally admire whatever they perform; yet there are few situa tions in which any man can acquit himself entirely to his satisfaction. Reflection will discover either an omission or an error. If then the wise, with all their foresight, cannot escape the imperfections of their nature, and the partial eye of self-opinion can only perceive its more glaring defects, love may surely find some apology in its blindness for the faults it is guilty of, as well as its ignorance of those faults S "Love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies they themselves commit." If we may form a correct opinion from the epistolary and poetical productions composed under the influence of this passion, and submitted to the inspection of the public, we should presume that few married men could review themselves in the character of lovers with any great degree of selfcomplacency. When the mind has subsided into the delightful tranquillity of domestic happiness, it wonders that love was not always a sentiment rather than a passion. The misjudging partiality of friends, or the necessitous indigence of relatives, has often exposed to the observation of the world what was intended for the perusal of a single individual; and thus has moral or literary reputation been frequently tarnished or considerably qualified. After admiring the inagnanimity of the hero whom no difficulty could inti midate and no accident surprise, we are disappointed to hear him "sighing like furnace" at the fancied indifference or caprice of his favourite. Having observed the poet ascend the summit of Parnassus, and immortalize his name by a subject worthy of his genius, and in strains that emulate the dignity of his theme, we regret to find him at its base addressing a woeful ballad to his mis tress' eye-brow." These dolorous sighs may awaken the sensibility and excite the compassion of their object, and these ingenious addresses may flatter her vanity if her good sense do not despise them, but the dispassionate multitude will smile at the former and ridicule the latter. Though these remarks may be considered just, yet there is a danger of their being attributed to a stoical apathy, which expels every noble virtue from the bosom in its attempt to subdue the insurrections of passion. Or perhaps they may be thought to proceed from a cynical moroseness, which shuns society at first because it deems all men its inferiors, and afterwards despises it because no man can discover i superiority; which originates in pride, and terminates in misanthropy. But had the dictates of feeling been attended to, instead of pursuing the path in which we were placed by our author, we should have been led to expatiate on the purity of the source from whence this passion flows, the amiable effects it is calculated to produce, and the interesting connexions to which it leads. Violence of emotion and extravagance of expression are always to be dreaded when the soul is elevated above its ordinary sphere; yet this enthusiasm is less culpable than that repulsive indifference which obstructs the current of the affections, and drives it back to its polluted fountain; the one exhibits the weakness of the judgment, but the other exposes the deformity of the heart. Though the sacred historian has touched but slightly on the character and condition of the first man, before his moral perfections were sullied by transgression, and his happiness destroyed by the fall, yet he has minutely recorded his beautiful and animated expression excited by the creation of the first woman— "The world was sad, the garden was a wild, And man, the hermit, sighed 'till woman smil'd." The sinless nature of both kindled a holy flame in the breast of each; the one who excited it, and the other who felt its power, being alike immaculate. Every circumstance also conspired to render the passion as ardent as it was innocent. Though Adam appears to have been occasionally favoured with the immediate presence of the Deity, and surrounded by the most pleasing combinations of animate and inanimate nature; though the lively sensations of wonder and gratitude must have filled his soul with ineffable delight; yet there was none to participate the enjoyment of these divine interviews, no companion to admire the beauty of these lovely scenes, no kindred mind to feel the transport of these sublime emotions -"but for Adam there was not found an helpmeet for him." This temporary solitude must have given an additional warmth and interest to the social intercourse by which it was succeeded. Yet even the peculiarly appropriate time at which Eve was created could not have afforded so powerful a stimulus to affection as her remarkable origin. The identity of person which had once subsisted was well adapted to produce a corresponding unity of heart; and this intimacy of connexion was awfully exemplified in their simultaneous disobedience and concurrent ruin. Though these extraordinary incitements to a pure and genuine passion no longer exist; though love was despoiled of its pristine simplicity and native sincerity when man was expelled from Paradise; yet it still assumes a more or less amiable appearance, as the moral corraption attendant on the fall has made a fuater or deeper impression on the character of its votaries. Its influence is likewise comparatively favourable or pernicious, according to the merit or Dworthiness of the object of its devo tion. Thes the most cogent incentive to virtue is the love of that Being in whom all the perfections we can conceive are embodied, and from whom all the excellence we can discover is derived. The love of an estimable fellow-creature is also highly conducive to our own amelioration; for we naturally imitate those we admire, knowing that we must resemble the good if we would obtain their approbation. These few and simple observations will be sufficient to manifest the folly of permitting the affections to be captivated by allurements which the judgment condemas. Personal attractions may be pleasing to the fancy, and intellectual acquirements congenial to the taste of the lover, but moral worth alone can make the wife amiable, and the husband happy and we sigh for the fate of that offspring whose artless innocence is Contaminated in infancy by an unamiable mother, and whose cheerful viva. city is clouded in childhood by an unhappy father. WILLIAM HENRY. told Cardinal Richelieu that M. Seguier was more worthy of it than him; he thus answered Cardinal Mazarin, when that Minister spoke to him the first time concerning the place of First President, "M. de Nesmond deserves it more than I do; his place will suffice me; I will remain in retirement, and will devote myself to my family and my books." Some months afterwards, M. de Lamoignon was nominated First President. When he went to return his thanks, Cardinal Mazarin said to him, 66 Sir, if the King could have found in the kingdom a man of more worth than yourself, he would not have given you this place. As for myself, I require nothing more than your friendship, for a place which I have been offered one hundred thousand pistoles for." His nomination was received with universal applause; and the Queen Mother, Anne of Austria, said, that this was the first time in her recollec tion that she had thanked the King for a private favour as for a public benefit. He regarded science as the personal merit of a magistrate; and often said, that he would much rather see his sons the wisest than the greatest men in the kingdom; adding, that science was in a lawyer the only legitimate means of arriving at the greatest honours of the state. MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION. No. XXXIX. APRICOTS, AT Kelat, says a recent traveller, ripe apricots are dried in the sun, and laid by. In the winter season, when fruit is become scarce, they are steeped for about three hours in fresh water, are presented at table, and form an agreeable article of desert. NEW INVENTED PHILOSOPHICAL INSTRU MENT. An instrument has lately been invented by Mr. Alexander Adie, of Dumfries, optician, which answers as a common barometer, and has the advantage of being more portable, and less liable to accident. The moveable column is oil, enclosing in a tube a portion of nitrogen, which changes its bulk according to the density of the atmo sphere. An Account of the FUNDED DEBT of GREAT BRITAIN, as it stood on the 1st of February, 1817; and the Annual Amount of the SINKING FUND on the 1st August, 1817. Total Unredeemed Funded Debt of Great Britain, payable in England 776,264,414 9 03 N.B. Of the Irish Debt payable in Ireland, there has been discharged by the Irish Commissioners, leaving the Debt as hereabove stated.. ..... Deduct cancelled to defray the charge of Treasury Bills raised in 1816 199,601,176 8 3 This account is carried on to the 1st February, 1817, in order to correspond with the accounts of former years; but by the 8,233,257 16 3 Act 56 Geo. 111. cap. 98, the whole of the National Debts of Great Britain and Ireland, and the Interest and Sinking Funds 4,041,679 7 applicable to the reduction thereof, compose, from and after the 5th Jan. 1817, one Joint Consolidated National Debt, Interest. 9 |
