Original. MINOR MORALS. CHAPTER I. MINOR MORALS. Is promenading this gregarious city, how much of life and manners is presented, even to the cursory passenger! It is a common remark from across the water, that Americans "do not walk well." Whether they do walk well or do not, is, in some measure, a matter of taste in the judges, or, more properly, the judgers. It is mostly Eng. lish tourists who have imputed this defect to us. Certain it is that our style of walking will not compare with theirs, particularly that of the females. The physical movements of the English, like their whole character, is pompous, consequential, and stiff; whilst that of the Americans, it must be acknowledged, presents, in its slip-shod informality, a striking contrast to all this. Both are extremes in their way; and the mean distance from both were, perhaps, the line of gracefulness. 345 countenance, to the scale of equanimity at least, she had better not present it before the public. Aaron Burr was one who should be seldom quoted, at least in affirmation. Whatever were his morality, he was, however, certainly a good judge of manners. He writes to his daughter, in reprehension of this fault, say something like this: “No person can choose his own features or complexion, &c., but every one can wear such a countenance as he pleases; and I desire that you, my daughter, will take some pains to present a complaisant one before the public: at least, such a one as is not offensive and disagreeable." This thing, with many, is but a habit, which it were at least better to exchange for a better one. A humorous story is related of Bonaparte, when happening in company with Madame de Stael, (to whom he was inimical, and who, he supposed, was noting his demeanor,) that he "threw all expression out of his face," leaving that face an unreadable blank. It is unnecessary to multiply instances; for it may be known to all, that unless there is some extraordinary distress existing or impending, the countenance may be composed. to the grade of complaisance and comfort. And this, individual propriety out of the question, is as much a duty toward the public, as it is to go neatly and becomingly appareled before them. It is not of gait alone that our fair countrywomen need, in frequent instances, to be admonished: the whole aspect and bearing is sometimes faulty. The countenance is often presented before the public in undress, which is a manifest want of propriety. The petty vexations, the chagrin, the despondence, or other unhappiness of the wearer, is often thus revealed to the public-perhaps thoughtlessly; for the same individual, who would deem it an unpardonable impertinence to be inquired of concerning certain disagreeables of her condition, will yet herself, in this way, display and parade them before the public. If particular circum-one meets (perhaps "encounters" were a better stances are not known, yet their results, with such a face, cannot be doubted. Such exposure is certainly neither dignified nor proper; it is not even benevolent. Persons walk for recreation and delight, and it is proper in all to present a cheerful and winning aspect. On the other hand, certain it is, that sad, anxious, presaging, and unhappy countenances do create strong sympathy in the beholder -a revolting, unwilling sympathy! Why is it that many persons will not visit a hospital or an asylum for the insane? They, perhaps, intend no errand of relief; and doing no good to others, they seek not to disturb themselves. I have often seen the same lady who would not appear in the street without being elaborately arrayed, yet present such a countenance as put all her extra advantages of dress at naught, and said, as plainly as a face can say, "This is an unhappy, discomforted woman. She is peevish, discontented, mortified; whether with cause or without sufficient cause, I know not -but I know that it is so." Yet I would not recommend even the shadow of dissimulation, truly speaking. But a dignified reserve of our own difficulties, is what we all, if decently discreet, would see fit to affect; and if a lady cannot compose her VOL. IV.-44 The deportment and manners on the sidewalk, betoken much more of character than is generally reflected upon; at least, its indications of good breeding, or the reverse, are unquestionable. When word) a lady with the head unnaturally elevated, eyebrows to suit, and a scornful demeanor, with a determined, veteran air, assuming the better side of the pavement, it may be known at once that she is not a lady, but is only trying "very hard" to make persons believe so. It is best never to notice these "ultra demonstrations," but to yield, in a quiet way, what certainly a lady would not contend about. Some, in passing, are so unbred, that they will not break a column of three or four, to accommodate the opposite passenger. It is best, in this case, to stand, with polite demeanor, lowering or elevating the parasol to suit, until the party pass; thus having neither insisted nor yielded. It need not be said, that for the aged or the infirm, place should be relinquished. In all cases of what may be significantly called reality, the spontaneous heart should dictate. Those are the best, as well as the highest manners, which it suggests. Never stare a person in the face. If, sceking some one, you have unwittingly done so, make a respectful passing bend of the head, in token of your mistake. Do not permit a young gentleman to parley with you on the pavement; but, giving recognition, pass on your way, and let him join you in the walk 346 JUVENILE PEDANTRY. if he has any communication to make. Do not make any half bows to humble acquaintances; let your salutation be frank and free, and not an insult instead of a compliment. Walk comfortably, and do not be in a "vulgar hurry," nor, when fatigued, indulge in a slovenly trudge. On the other hand, do not mince or "show your paces" in the street; it is undignified, puerile, and ridiculous. When walking for some distance close behind a person, take great care not to contract the particular style of step and movement; this is almost unavoidable without attention. Be careful, also, not to adopt the military step, when passing a "band" in the street. This is unfeminine, and nearly as ungenteel as it is to drum with the fingers, counting the bars of music, in public. Many other instances might be mentioned; but tact and good breeding, where one is competently well disposed, will suffice to guard the young lady against self-assumption on the one hand, or overbearing and offensive encroachment on the other. This paper, though intended for the Repository, is mostly upon externals, yet not merely so. I would hope that nothing is inculcated, which would contradict the philosophy of benevolence, as shown in outward deportment and manners. We read that the good and pious of old "anointed the head," put on "goodly raiment," and were of a "glad countenance," JUVENILE PEDANTRY. Ir ought not to be deemed merely ridiculous, or a bad omen, when the very young, in conversation with their superiors, commit some act of pedantry. But rather should it be received as an omen for good, indicating a taste for acquirement and literature. Any little demonstration of this sort is then but the development of a full mind, helping itself out, and should be regarded with indulgence-an indulgence of which the child may, at more mature age, be corrected. In these days of " eclecticism," when all that we know should be tested by induction, our examples are necessarily of self; and the ever-recurring egotism, if the matter in hand be of importance, is pardoned and self-excused. When I was a school girl, of nine or ten years of age, I recollect of having the greatest desire always to be associated with girls two or three years older than myself. These, at times of recess, sitting under a large button-wood tree in the schoolhouse yard, were wont to deliver certain opinions concerning the reading of their leisure hours. I was, at this time, as bashful as a young girl could well be, and, though fully enjoying the conversation, affected only to be a listener. But one day, after the girls had named the "Scottish Chiefs," the Mysteries of Udolpho," and several other "high works," I felt all at once an irrepressible inclination to contribute my quota to the little stock of knowledge here discussed. So, casting down my eyes, and, by great effort, elevating my voice to "concert pitch," my face covered with blushes, I began, "I have been reading 'Sandford and Merton.'" When I had got so far, the little girls gave forth a derisive and merry giggle, and the larger ones, casting their eyes upon each other, “looked” things which pierced many fathoms deep into my selfesteem. I could get no further-I was done. And thus, my little training in literature, by the method of a head and shoulders pedantry, was cut short, and for many years arrested, by this, the unhappy reception of my initiatory speech. CAM'ST thou to "gather flowers," fair girl! Cam'st thou to gather flowers Amid this forest dark and wild, Beneath yon ruined towers? Above the grassy tomb; Yes! Death hath gathered flowers of hope, The half-blown one of youth- His hand uptore the roots of life, He saw an infant as it smiled, Expanding in the light: Its every tear young joy beguiled, Its every look was bright; He rudely touched the trembling leaf, It withered in his clasp: What though the mother sighs in grief, Such flowers Death loves to grasp! He saw a maiden, pure and free, In matchless charms arrayedHer soft, sweet voice was tuned in glee, As merrily she played! AN AUTUMNAL STORM. She was too fair a thing for earth, And ere her spring was gone, Hushed was her music and her mirthDeath had her for his own! He saw a woman, high of soul, Of intellect refined Whose warm affections held control He gathered her, and as she fell From life and love away, He grimly smiled to hear her knell His was a rare bouquet! Thus gathers he his blossoms gay, Like leaves that fall when breezes play Through autumn's changing wood. He takes them all: yes! weep, child! weep! He has the choicest flowers Like dreamy forms that go with sleep, They leave these earthly bowers. Yes, weep, child, weep! yon burial sod Tells DEATH hath "gathered flowers" for God! The following stanzas were written during a recent passage on the Ohio. A severe frost had caused the foliage to assume its autumnal hues, and even to fall, leaving many of the trees quite destitute of any protection. The winds moaning through the partially stript forest, and the rain beating upon the decayed and falling leaves, and against the windows of his state-room, awakened in the breast of the writer a train of thoughts and feelings, which sought expression in the strains which follow. How dreary all without appears, Of sad Melpomene. The sorrowing tears of Rizpah fell* Upon her children's graves, And seared and falling leaves: Hark! with those tears, convulsive sighs As though the throbbing heart would break *2 Samuel xxi, 10. 347 'Tis AUTUMN Wweeping o'er the dead, The maple, with its leaves late seared, And Summer's pride, the giant oak, Where Spring's and Summer's progeny Not e'en the gentle flowers escaped The cruel-hearted foc; They, too, the ornaments of earth, Lie withered, prostrate, low. O! who could then the tear repress Although it brings them not again, Nor offers e'en relief. No, Autumn, no! I wonder not I, too, could join my tears with thine, And, mid the deep surrounding gloom, C4444 Original. HYMN. THY promise, gracious Lord, declares, To those who worship thee, That where thy saints shall meet to pray, Thy dwelling place shall be. Though thou art high, and elders now Are bending at thy feet, Yet wilt thou deign to bless the place Though few and humble, still we would For thou hast said, where two or three Then, while we worship here with thee, And fill with joy, and peace, and love, In such communion, Lord, with thee, So sweetly do the blissful hours And thus on earth our souls shall learn 2 If down I turn my wond'ring eyes Those under regions of the skies With sounding wings they sweep the air, To make thy chariot way. On the thin air, without a prop, 3 Lo! here thy wondrous skill arrays Thy breath can raise the billows steep, Thy glories blaze all nature round, But the mild glories of thy grace Our softer passions move: |