The ladies' garland. [volume], September 01, 1827, Page 47, Image 3

About The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828

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VAKSE7Y.
TilK PKKSIAX tt'OMKN.
Several hi-itfjrian^, in mentioning the ancient Per
sians, have dwelt with peculiar severity on the man
ner in which they treated their women. Jealous,
almost to distraction, they conliued the whole sex
with the strictest attention, and could not bear that
the eye of u stranger should behold the beaut) whom
they adored
When Mahomet, the great legislator of the mo
dern Persians, was just expiring, the last advice that
he gave to his faithful adherents, was, “ lie watch
ful of your religion, and your wives.” Hence they
pretend to derive not only the power of confining,
but also of persuading them, that they hazard their
salvation, if they look upon any other man besides
their husbands. The Christian religion informs us,
that in the other world they neither marry, nor are
given in marriage. The religion of Mahomet teach
es us a different doctrine, which the Persians be
lieving, carry the jealousy of Asia to the fields of
Elysium, and the groves of paradise; where, ac
cording to them, the blessed inhabitants have their
eyes placed on ihe crown of their heads, lest tlicv
should see the wives of their neighbors.
Every circumstance in the Persian history tends
to persuade us, that the motive, winch induced them
to confine their women with so much care and so
licitude, was only exuberance of love and affection.
Tn tile enjoyment of their smiles, and their embra
ces, the happiness of the men consisted, and their
approbation was an incentive to deeds of glorv and
of heroism. For these reasons they arc said to have
been the first who introduced the custom of earn
i'i!T their wives to the field, “that the sight,” said
they, “ of all that is dear to us, may animate us to.
fight more valiantly.”
Tin: \ouxc; por.r.
I remember well the time that gave birth to the
first poetical effusion of my friend Nick. It was a
hot and sultry day in August, when straying to his
lodgings, 1 found him seated in his arm-chair, his
fine eyes rolling in a still Miner phrenzy,’his legs
crossed, his teetii set, and his hair as frightfully dis
ordered, as the “ quills upon the fretful porcupine.”
I did not venture to disturb the charm, but waited
till the •‘images that fill’d the mirror of fiis mind”
were “ penciled of}',” when I was favored with a
look;—and, though years have since passed hv, I
could retrace the picture, reader, just as it came
fresh, warm, and glowing from his living tlucii:_
but nothing is further from inv thoughts.0
I have already said that this was ins first essav.—
And as it commonly happens that poetical powers
are discovered, and put in requisition, in conse
quence of some emergency,—so it was with Nick.
lie truth is, that at the period I am speaking of,
*'‘ck w*s ln love! and what added to the sentimen
tah-v cl Ins predicament, his was an unfortunate at
tachment.' at hast such was the inference from the
tact, that all familiar intercourse between him and
Sophia had ceased, and the visits with which she
now favored him ” were few and far between,”—
aS'those < t other . hg, l.i are said to he. Whv the
sunshine of former hours was thus obscured was not
distinctly known; nor yet had the most important
point of all been ascertained by the gossips of the
place, namely, whether that question which in all
languages is “gloomy and peculiar,” but in that of
(■lies Scroggins is as precise as any 1 have seen—
“ H -vou loves I, as I loves you”—had ever been
answered by Sophia! — If so, she wisely kept the se
cret, though sore beset by “single-blessed” med
lers, of which every country village has onr at least,
whose countenance, in this instance, was suffered to
j wane on m disappointment, and sharpen for a fresh
I onset, as now occasions might offer.
I saw them together once, long after the current
had ceased to “run smooth,’’—but with all my cf
; fort, 1 could discover nothing that fixed conjecture
[ on the firm footing of certainty. It was in the hall
I of song and merriment, where “ twinkling feet” led
I ul' die dance. Snphia laughed, ami seemed the
■ gay. joyous thing that poets dream of—“ all light
j and life;”—nnr was my friend •» whit behind;—he
; did not act the sighing hero of his own ballad, but
| joined the throng, with a brow as open and as free
I from care, as his “ who wraps the drapery of his
| couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams.”
! I or an instant, indeed, a cloud passed over it; a
sudden pause brought him and Sophia together._
It was a quick brief glance—but still it told of feel
ings past, and perhaps of sufferings yet to come. A
tear started to Sophia s rye,—and the dance mov
ed on again, the music rung “a swifter still and
louder strain,” and in the changes of the shifting
and enchanting scene, that tear fell unheeded, and
j the sigh, if a sigli there was, escaped unheard.
The buoyancy of youth may he termed the poe
tqv of life and it is said that Nature dispenses to
all in some measure, the git't of song, v.hich sooner
^ oi huer, becomes predominant, and struggles to
i gain utterance, and clothe itself in proper language,
I with the usual accompaniments of rlivme and me
tre. “ I' -j-ia nusc-lur,” is high authority tiic other
way. 1 know—and to determine on which side the
argument lies, would involve a metaphysical discus
| Sion, which I ain in no mood to enter upon, ltut
at any ra'e, this propensity is most likely to be ex
bioiled, when tile mind is thrilling with emotions,
j like those just now alluded to;—and quite sure am
| ■> had it not been fur Sophia’s “bright eyes”
; 11 ^,c world had wanted this idle song” of my friend
j Nick.
| Another inference from my premises. They of
i the an countenance and sensitive soul, are forever
| harping to the tune of “ Love,” “first love.”
i Now, though the above forms blit a minor plot in
1 the drama of life, and I have aimed, in its recital,
I ''' httle more than to employ an idle hour;—yet
toeie are scenes in this world’s acts, of far less inte*
| rest, that are magnified into importance, and made
to share largely in the sympathies of mankind—and
such as it is, it proves triumphantly the fallacy of
the position to which 1 have alluded. Their attach
ment partook of all the fervency and all the ro
mance of young and kindred spirits, there were no
counter passions, striving for the mastery; no ruth
less hand plunged the fresh buds of early Hope, in
to the seething pot of Hate^nd for ail that appears,
Nick and Sophia tried fairly the experiment, whe
ther “they that have once loved can ever forget;”
d so, the result of the experiment is abundantly sa
tisfactory, and deserves to he recorded, namely,
J they have forgotten! Reader, wouhlVt thou resolve
I this wonderful phenomenon of mind’ Mirk 'hen
the sequel — She Ini'found another \;cb, unit /«• ,SV
t'hins half a trorc cr more.’
t Vi illiamston Adv.
Of.IVF.lt CKDMWFFl,.
At a sale of autographs lately by Mr. Sojjlhgatc,
; of strce,» Condon, an original unpublished
j lc,tcr 1)1 °'1V r.n Oiiomwfll v. as sold for five gui
5 neas and a half. This letter is addressed to his
j daughter, and is ciiaracteristic both of the writer
i ;*'ui die spirit of the times in which it was written.
It is as follows :—
ocTOBF.n 25, 1616, i.ovno V.
“Dcare Daughter—I write not to thy husband.
Par,1> to avoyd trouble lor one line of mine begitts
many of his, which I doubt makes him silt up too
lute; partly because 1 ammyselfe indisposed att
I l|iis tune, having some other considerations. Your
i fr‘t-nds lily are well : y our sister Clay pole is (1
trust in mercy) exercised with some perplexed
thoughts. Shoe sees her own vanity, and carnal
mmde he wanteing it. Sbee seeks after (as 1 hoped
j alsoe) that which will satisfic ; and thus to bee a
! seeker is to bee of the best sect next pardon, and
such an one shall every faithfiill humble seeker bee
i tn die end. Ilappie seeker, happie finder. U hoe
! ver tasted that the Ford is gracious without some
sense of vanity e and badnesse > whoe ever tasted
that graciousnesse of his and could goe lease in de
sire, and then pressinge after full enjoyment >_
Deare daughter, presse on. I.et not husband, let
not any thinge coole thy affections after Christ. I
hope hoc will be an occasion to inflame them. That
which is best worthy of love in thy husband is that
of the image of Christ hce hears. Looke on that
and love it best, and all the reste for that I pray for
tlu e and him do see for me; my service and dcare
a flection to the general] and generalise. I lieare
she is very kind to thee; it adds to all other obliga
tions my love to all. I am thy deare father,
OFIVFU CROMWFLL.”
Near I’ontenova, in the Island of Corsica,
lives a shepherdess, who succcssit ely refused
the hands of Augereau and Bernadotte. The
former was her suitor while lie was eqftioral,
and the latter while a sergeant, in Corsica. Hie
little thought at the time, that she was refusing
a marshal of France and a king of.Sweden.
A married woman of the Shawnee Indians made
tliii beautiful reply to a mar, whom she me(»in the
vt oods, and who implored her to love and to luok on
him. ‘ Oulouman, my husband,’ >a,d she, «is ever
before my ey es, and hinders me from seeing you ’
Ad,;- not n anted.—“ So captain Silk Ins just ar
rived at Versailles, I find,” sai l a lady, ‘heavens
what a name for a soldier!’ 1 The best name in the
world,’ said Horace Smith, who was standing near
at the time, 'for silh, you know, can never he
worsted ”
Mr Sheridan once told Miss E. Harris, that she
looked as blooming as the spring, but recollecting
that the spring was not very promising, he added.
“ 1 would to Clod the spring would look like > on ”