THE LITERARY GARDEN. No. XIX. Discite moniti. VIRG. Take warning from example. I WAS much interested in the old Gentleman's narrative of the Ash ley family, and his animated contrast between the character of the ancient and modern landholder. At no great distance from the sepul chre of the Ashleys, under the shade of a wide-spreading yew, was a monument to the memory of Frederick Parker and Lucy Campbell. The turf that surrounded it was soft and verdant, and from the moss-covered urn which crowned it sprung flowers of the fair est hues and sweetest fragrance. The structure was of white marble, and the simplicity and elegance of its appearance attracted my attention. I longed secretly to know something of its inhabitants and my intelligent companion no doubt anticipating my sentiments thus began. "That resignation is an alleviation to all our sufferings, and an antidote to most, is a position that cannot be denied; but that sufferance is superior to every affliction, and a sufficient remedy for all pangs, is an assertion without truth. Patience may endure the insolence of pride or the ebullitions of auit may support the pains of disger; ease or the deprivations of poverty; but it is no cure to the infidelity of simu lated friendship or the disappointments of affection. Death alone is the sure release to human calamity, and the sole termination to terrestrial suffering. Riches may now oppress and title contemn, but the time will approach when oppression will not be felt nor scorn regarded. Penury may now suffer and dependence endure, but there will be a period when opulence will not be wanted and distinction will not be known. The powerful will then be destitute of hope, and the unprotected without apprehension; for in the grave the mighty shall not minatate, and the threatened shall not be sensible. A little rule-a little pow'r, "Here lie," said he two children of adversity-In life they had listened to much contempt, and submitted to much affiction; but what to them now is the arrogance of station or the bitterness of sorrow? they neither hear the con tumely of the one, nor feel the severities of the other-Vain and contentious man consider this! From the instability of your power and the brevity of your life, learn humility-and know, if you seek happiness, that true joy is only to be found in promoting, according to your means, the felicity of those around you. "Frederick was the only son of Walter Macdonald Parker, of Scotch extraction, and the acknowledged descendant of an ancient and noble family; whilst his mother was the daughter of a rich merchant. The father, without resources, had married for the advantages of fortune; whilst the mother, without lineage, had married for the sake of family. A counexion of this nature could not be expected to ensure happiness. Proud of ancestry, the husband was overbearing and contemptuous; whilst the wife, presuming on her wealth, was insolent and reproachful. The son was instructed by the father to consider, in the selection of a wife, tilie and descent; whilst by the mother it was taught only to esteem riches. The qualifications of the miud were not mentioned. But Frederick despised distinction without merit and riches without benevolence; and he soon saw, from the example of his parents, that in forming connexions from the separate views of self-interest, from the vain motives of exalted station, or the sordid considerations of lucre, there was no reciprocity of love, and that where there was no interchange of attachment there was no mutual felicity. With a mind naturalized to every sta tion and every circumstance of life, he esteemed it better to live in a humble condition without strife than in splendor without peace. Of such sentiments, it were reasonable to presume it would be some time before he met with a mind congenial to his own. But it was otherwise.-Lucy. Campbell, the daughter of a clergyman, was lovely in her form as fascinating in her disposition; in possession of every beauty without vanity, and every accomplishment without conceit. On a heart like Frederick's, an object of this nature could not fail to make its impression. He loved, and his affections were returned. Lucy was without fortune; but the generous Frederick, relying on the fondness of a parent, had no suspi cion, in a case where means were to be attained and the felicity of a child concerned, that money would be esteemed an object-But the sordid affections and the finer feelings cannot exist in the same breast. To pride and avarice in vain you shall urge the sensibilities of nature-in vain you shall plead charms-in vain worth-the accumulation of gain and the superaccession of title, their one pursuit and sole plea sure, in this gigantic object are engrossed all considerations and obliterated all duties. They see not the virtues of the heart, or the endowments of the mind-they feel not the tenderness of love, or the bonds of friendship --they stifle all the softer sensibilities, and are strangers to all ties. Frederick, therefore, soon found, to the cruel disappointment of his expectations and the bitter mortification of his feelings, that in his parents he had no hopes. With nothing at his own disposal, and too noble to marry without the sure prospect of maintaining in respectability and independence an amiable wife and an innocent family, he at once resolved to tear himself from the object of his affections, and either to procure by honourable exertions sufficient to accomplish his intentions, or for ever to remain single. But to part from Lucy! the fondest object of his soul-with whom the frowns of fate inflicted no pain, and without whom the smiles of prosperity were productive of no joy! this was a thought indeed piercing a reflection indeed bitter! a trial indeed severe ! -the day of separation came, and the day of separation was deferred-the day again came, and the day was again deferred. But generosity at length triumphed, and Frederick at last parted. "Scarcely had a year elapsed from his departure, when Lucy, by the death of an aunt, became the possessor of an ample fortune. Who can paint her feelings on this occasion? With streaming eyes she fell upon her knees, and, clasping her hands to heaven, breathed forth her prayer of gratitude- Then he is mine,' she exclaimed, in an exstasy of tears, he is mine-away ye empty fears and disappointed expectations -Thou are mine,' she reiterated, Frederick, thou art mine! and what to us now is the scorn of birth or the obduracy of wealth?' If pride and avarice are the last that will stoop to give, they are the first that will stoop to get. Thus the parents * of Frederick, disappointed in their views, now repented with much bitterness their late policy, and signified to Mr. Campbell without delay their full consent to the marriage of their son with his daughter-accompanied at the same time with a further assurance of every inclination to promote. on their part, the future felicity of all parties. "Frederick and Lucy had kept up, from the day of parting, a regular cor respondence, and she now lost no time in conveying to Frederick the happy tidings of her prosperity, and the propi tiation of his parents, urging, at the same time, every persuasion and every argument in her power to accelerate his return. Happy for Frederick had he known the fortune that awaited him! but the channel by which his letters had hitherto been forwarded and received, was, owing to the death of his friend in confidence, now interrupted— Two long, long years completed their course, and, notwithstanding the perpetual transmission of the most pressing epistles by various conveyances, and notwithstanding every inquiry, no intelligence was received of FrederickFrederick did not write-Frederick did not come a continued fluctuation between phrenzied expectations and horrid apprehensions, feverish hopes and forlorn fears, who can describe, during this period, the anguish of the wretched Lucy! Was he dead? Cruel thought! or had another supplanted her in his affections? "Thus distracted, the frame could not sustain long reflections of this nature-Health gradually diminished, and a decline in its last stage had, at length, laid the faithful Lucy on the bed of death-But the vows of Frederick were not broken-his pledges he had not forgotten-Lucy in all his thoughts, was the rule of every action, and the promise of every joy-After frequent and fruitless endeavours to obtain an em ployment of sufficient profit, Frederick, impatient of delay, had at length entered the army; and determined to procure quickly an independence, or to pe rish in the attempt; he had given to Lucy no intimation of this step. By volunteering in dangerous expeditions and laborious services, and performing in all his undertakings exploits that surpassed credence, he was at once promoted and enriched. Peace, at length, restored; Frederick, crowned with honours and blessed with independence, was now hastening to his Lucy. The dangers and the toil of years in the rick in consequence of this event. But at length he became frantic, and a fever of the brain ended his existence. "Hearts of the flintiest materials are often, when too late, softened by the miseries they have caused; and deeply by his parents was now felt the fate of Frederick. By nature not wholly void of parental feeling, on his ac count they had often, in his life, contended with much secret affection and much internal remorse. Pride and Avarice, however, reign absolute; and in the soul where they are enthroned, the other affections are destitute of power, and without appeal. Yet the hour arrives when title and estate are not considered; when the one has no attraction, and the other no splendor: still--it is the hour of death; and this hour to the parents of Frederick came with. its sharpest pangs. Thus censured by themselves, and despised by others, they lived a life of misery, and died a death of wretchedness; awful examples to the superciliousness of station and the obduracy of opulence, that true felicity is not centred in the acervation of gold or the augmentation of distinction, but that it is placed in the constitution according to our best endeavours of the happiness of others. "Frederick, the nearer he approached the object of his attraction, flew, like the faithful needle, with increased speed. Already were presented to his view the recollected brook and the frequented grove; and there was now no object he beheld that conveyed not to his mind traces of former times, and assurances of future bliss: and now, bounding with delight and bright with expectation, burst on enraptured sight the well-known cottage-Lucy!' "Lucy, by her will, had left to Fre-. he exclaimed, with overflowing heart, derick, in case of his return, her whole perplexed with doubts, and agitated fortune; on condition of being buried, with fears, little, perhaps, dost thou at his death, in the same grave.” now think that a few short paces and a. The old Gentleman here ended his few swift moments is the only distance narration. that forms our separation and the only time that prolongs our union. His beaming eye, suffused with the tear of joy, and his heart thrilling with rapture; he approached-he entered— but the hour that he arrived was Lucy's last-Ye Heavens! what were the sensations of Frederick when he beheld stretched on the bed of death the object of his devotion-the promised reward of all his suffering, the sole hope of his existence, and the only endearment of his life! Was it for this he had sustained toil? Was it for this he had escaped danger? "Pale and trembling, he raised her emaciated frame-Casting her eyes on Frederick, a hectic glow for a moment flushed her cheek-Wan, and without life, sinking in his arms, she then expired. "A silent gloom and a settled despair were the only effects perceptible for some days on the mind of Frede On examining the urn, I there found engraved the following inscription: "Sacred to the Memory of Frederick Parker and Lucy Campbell. contains their hearts! Unfeelingly separated in life, but in death This cruel world may part, but Heav'n blissfully united." above, Joins in eternal rapture faithful love! Vivite felices! memores et vivite nostri!" Night was now advancing. The tremulous stars glittered in her cerulean mantle, and on her sable brow bright shone the crescent gold - the beams danced upon the waters, and the mist of pearly hue hung upon the hills its light veil-around! above! below! so still! so fair!-the silvery stream and the softened foliage-the serene void, and the calm light! Enchanted with its glories, we sure veyed, for some time, the surrounding scene-But the chillness of nocturnal air would not longer allow us to enjoy a picture which none could contemplate without admiration, and no one could admire and not praise. Pleased with my companion, I invited the old Gentleman to sup with me at the inn at which I was then staying; but he declined the offer, adding, with great politeness, that he had a house nearly opposite, where, if I would accompany him, and excuse the want of accommodation, it would be much better. I at first refused; but the invitation was repeated in terms so pressing, I did not long hesitate to accept the favour; leaving, therefore, the church yard, the old Gentleman kindly conducted me to his residence. The occupier conferred evidently more honour upon the habitation, than the habitation upon the occupier-It was. small but neat, and the furniture was sufficient rather than convenient. I observed, however, upon the walls some excellent engravings by Strange, Sharp, Woollett, Bartolozzi, and others; together with one or two paintings, which, upon examination, I found to be the productions of Glover and of Varley. An admirer of good pictures, the old Gentleman was much pleased with my encomiums upon these performances. He seemed to be a man of observation, and I was much gratified with his remarks on the comparative merits of these justly-celebrated artists. "I am not," said he, "a connoisscur, but a mere observer. I know nothing of the rules of the art, but speak only, as to the effect and impression which is made upon my mind in contemplating the works of these professors. of the one is sweetness of the other, brilliancy. "And if they possess their separate excellencies, they possess also their se parate demerits. With all his perfections, it cannot be denied that Glover is a great mannerist, and it is particu larly observable in the outline of his trees, which are characterised by à rotundity and sameness, or, if I may be allowed the expression, monotony of shape, which being artificial. becomes disagreeable. "It is Nature in her wild simplicity; Nature in her elegant confusion; it is Nature in these forms that is best calculated to enchant the soul and delight the imagination. But Glover, a stranger to the effects of contrast, copies only her perfections; in his hands, therefore, she loses much of her attraction, and in becoming perfect becomes formal. "The pencil of Glover is, moreover, too sparing of living subjects, and the few that are introduced are, comparatively speaking, of no great excellence. 66 Varley, on the contrary, in his figure-drawing is peculiarly successful, and his cattle in particular are at once inimitably grouped and well executed. But his water-scenery, in comparison with Glover's, is decidedly inferior. "In summing up the contrast, it may be said, that Varley possesses more animation of scenery-more brilliance of colours and, copying nature with greater fidelity, that he is often more impressive-but in Varley there is no softness, no tenderness - Varley imitates the glories of Nature, not her sweetness. The insinuating Glover melts the soul, but the bold Varley strikes the imagination. To assimilate thein with the literary style, the one is the L'Allegro, the other the 11 Penseroso-to the one we shall turn in a lively, to the other in a contemplative mood-Varley has most fire · Glover the most pathos-the paintings of the former we behold with most admiration-of the latter with most / interest-Glover, therefore, will always be most liked, and Varley the most extolled." I am myself a native of America ; and our conversation now turning upon the great West, it appeared that the old Gentleman had himself lived for many years in that country, where he had seen several very fine productions of the above artist, on which he bestowed great praise. He gave me, at the same time, animated descriptions of his Christ Healing the Sick, and Christ Rejected, both which pictures he had seen recently in London; and spoke also in the warmest terms of a painting by the same artist, over the altar of that sin gularly beautiful structure, of such exquisite interior symmetry, justly denominated Sir Christopher Wren's master-piece, St. Stephen, Walbrook; the subject of which is, the stoning to death of the Saint to which the church of which we are now speaking is dedicated. The announcement of supper at this time diverted our attention. The table was plainly, but hospitably, spread. There were no delicacies; but the neatness and elegance with which it was served up, and the politeness of the bost, evinced tokens the most evident of a man who had both merited and experienced better days. The old Gentleman's venerable appearance, together with the circumstance of his having resided for some years in the country of my nativity, had much, indeed, excited my curio sity for some time to know his history; and on the cloth being drawn, I could not refrain from again touching upon the subject of America; when the old Gentleman no doubt suspecting my intentions, commenced, as will be related in the ensuing Number, the narration of his life. which has so far out-past all the precur sors of the Christian era. The Legislator of the Hebrews, about 3300 years ago, interdicted to that peo ple the practice of interest, or use for money among themselves, but permitted it expressly with the stranger or fo reigner: this restraint seems in all times since to have increased the zest for the permission. In modern times, the res traints on usury have probably greatly promoted and secured the simplest and most powerful spring of extended trade and production, namely, credit, which is, however, in effect and practice, too often and too far stretched to usurious additions to price. The merchant too claims his "del credere" addition to commission, for the credit given on sales by which his advances are caused or protracted. The main point of practice in the interest of money is its rate: this has varied much. The extremes, of common occurrence and establishment, have been from three to twelve per cent. per ann. With the old Romans, and the modern Asiatics, interest has been rated monthly at one per cent. In considering interest of money, most writers have overlooked too much the distinction of money lent on pledge, mortgage, or other security in hand, or well engaged, and the risk of mere per sonal responsibility or of credit in the sale of merchandise. The questions on interest refer chiefly or entirely to money advanced on the pledge or security of property, national faith, or good personal credit for means, prudence, and On the USE OF INTEREST of MONEY, and fidelity to engagements. of USURY. "Quid nobis interest? -ne quid nimis." THE use or interest of money differs Tfrom usury, as moderation from excess, and equity from extortion; the questions on interest of money are-of none: of a moderate rate, fixed by the discretion and general consent of society, and secured by legal penalties; or of an open market between borrowers and lenders, and the admission of usurious contracts at any rate of exaction. It has happened, in this respect, as in most other cases of human practice and experience,, that the middle term has, at length, been adopted, and its influence seems to have been most beneficially felt in the last age of civil and commercial activity and progression, Notwithstanding some arguments, more ingenious than sound, like Mr. Bentham's, in which partial instances, exceptions, and anomalies, are set against generalities, rule and universal propriety, an uniformity of the rate, or rates of interest, is of the highest convenience, or even necessity; and this calls for the consideration of a fixed and legal rate. Was it accident or chance, or revelation and command, or the guide of experience and reflection, which first regulated the earlier law or custom of common interest? Let us suppose this rate or custom, at all times properly defined, for the people and the circumstances in which it has obtained; this admission would prove the propriety of variety and necessity of change, and still more, if it be urged, that it has |
