Read Ebook: Martha; or The Fair at Richmond by Flotow Friedrich Von Composer Carle Glen Editor Friedrich W Librettist Baum M Louise Translator

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THE

RURAL MAGAZINE,

AND

LITERARY EVENING FIRE-SIDE.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE DESULTORY REMARKER.

Spring, that delightful visiter, to whom beauty and melody, Zephyrus and Flora, pay their opulent but willing tribute, has once more arrived. Let us welcome the enchanting stranger with joyful hearts, and let feelings of gratitude ascend to the bountiful source of all our enjoyments. Nature is now

All beauty to the eye, and all music to the ear.

Courteous reader! if thou desirest to make the most of human life, and to realize its positive blessings which are placed within thy reach, listen to the counsels of experience, and pursue an opposite course of conduct. Sedulously avoid the indulgence of a splenetic humour, consult thy own gratification, and the happiness of those by whom thou art surrounded, in contemplating

The gayest, happiest attitude of things.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE VILLAGE TEACHER.

The three great periods of life have each their natural and appropriate characteristic. The eager expectation, the buoyant hope and elastic energy, which lend their own joyous brilliancy to every object around them, and build in the unknown future so fair and beautiful a fabric of happiness, last not beyond the period of youth. The anxious brow, the cold and untrusting prudence, which succeed, but too surely indicate how many of our fairy visions have become dim in the reality; while the steady industry and calculating foresight with which manhood pursues more practical and perhaps grovelling objects, stamp upon it a peculiar character of strength, and seriousness, and sternness. As this relaxes in the course of years, our ability and inclination for active pursuits give way; and as the termination of our journey is approached, the hope of future distinction ceases, and we naturally fill up the void which is thus left in the mind, by a retrospect of our past actions.--Thus it is that the seasons of life, like those of the year, are each most beautiful in its own proper adornings, and that there is none more delightful or endearing than reverend age. The long experience which has tried the worthlessness of so many empty and vanishing hopes, and which can pronounce with certainty respecting that which remaineth; the knowledge of those past events, that form the link as it were between us and history, and which not only aids us in deciphering the past, but is endued with a prophetic gift; the attempered zeal, the tranquil repose of the passions, so finely and happily compared to the decline of day--impart their pure and elevated feelings to the mind of the beholder.

It is in such society that youth may best learn to prune the luxuriance of its hopes, and manhood to elevate its views beyond the narrow scene of action where they now expatiate. It is in age that the noble instinct of immortality is most conspicuous, that we feel most surely that the horizon of this life cannot bound our mental vision. The consolations of youth and manhood may have no higher source than in surrounding objects--in love, or friendship, or ambition; but age is dead to these impulses, and must be reanimated and warmed by the influences of the life which is to come.

Such an old age is that of my friend Parmenio. He has survived nearly all the companions of his childhood, and seen successive generations swept away before him. After a life of useful and honourable enterprise, he has retired to end his days in our little hamlet amidst the scenes of his earliest youth. He has dandled on his knee the fathers of many who now look up to him for counsel and friendship, yet is there no supercilious air of dignity or reserve about him. His placid eye bespeaks the serenity of his soul, and the hope which abideth there; and though you see in his sprightliness and activity the energy of his earlier life, it is most happily blended with the meekness and tranquillity of age. He wears away his remaining years in the social converse of his children and their friends, and looks forward to his close without fear or anxiety.

I often meet him in my solitary evening walks, and we usually finish them together. We were loitering one evening on the brow of the hill which overlooks the course of a beautiful stream that flows at a small distance from the village, and marking the glories of an autumnal sunset.--"The sands," said he, "are fast ebbing in my glass, and I feel that my allotted days are but few. I have past a life of bustling activity, and seen a thousand forms of hope and happiness rise and vanish before me. They have all vanished--all, but that which is centered in heaven. I am not a votary of that vain philosophy which would pronounce all things to be vanity; yet could my voice be heard by the myriads of human beings who are wasting the sinews of life in the pursuit of wealth and power, I would warn them, from my own experience, that happiness is not in these things. Were I to guide the course of a young person, I would bid him extend this view, from the first, beyond the horizon of this world. I would tell him of the utter emptiness of all human distinctions. I would bid him pursue his avocations as a means only of health and support, and of invigorating his mind. I would turn his feet from the paths of fame and wealth, to those of retirement and privacy, and would there feed his soul with immortal contemplations. Thus would I fit him to ennoble his youth, to preserve his manhood unspotted, and to enjoy his age. How many events are there in the course of my own life, which I would now give the world to have prevented--duties undone, labour misapplied, talents wasted, feelings perverted; and all from sharing in the delusions to which the world around me is a victim. In how many events which I once thought were accidents or misfortunes, do I now trace an invisible hand, guiding me against my will, and pointing to that path of unostentatious virtue which He delights to bless. These things, however, cannot be recalled; and as yonder sun, after a cold and cloudy career, is setting at last in serene and tranquil beauty, and throwing his own glorious hues upon the clouds which darkened his mid-day splendour; so do I feel that my latter days are peaceful, and that the lights of experience and wisdom, though late, are yet illuminating my past errors, and enabling me to point them out as beacons and waymarks to those that surround me."

BURLINGTON, March 7th, 1820.

DEAR SIR--I understand that you have been directing your attention to the Sugar Maple, in the belief that it will be found an advantageous substitute for the several varieties of poplars, as a useful as well as ornamental tree; and that you are desirous of obtaining any information respecting its culture, or properties, that I may be able to communicate.

I have for some time been convinced that none of the poplars would prove a beneficial kind of timber to our farmers, from their disposition to extend their roots, and propagate suckers at a great distance, and from the offensive cotton which is produced by the Athenian and Georgia varieties--and I have made many experiments in the hope of discovering a tree, valuable for its timber, and clean and ornamental in its foliage, which could be propagated by seedlings. Among others, I planted the Sugar Maple and am happy to find it one of the hardiest and handsomest trees, even on the light sandy soil aroun, stumbling, never stopping, Mighty maze without a plan.

TRIS. Then, I must--

LADY H. I command it!

TRIS. But no, I can't.

LADY H. Your paces show!

TRIS. But my rank,--

NAN. How well you stand it! That's well I vow.

LADY H. Danced superbly!

NAN. What a figure.

TRIS. I shall soon be out of breath.

NAN. Come, more vigor! come, more vigor!

TRIS. This I'm sure will be my death.

LADY H. AND NAN. Come, old John, come, old John, 'Tis we who ask, so come along.

TRIS. This is too much! I, old John? What I?

ACT TWO.

NO. 4.

CHO. Come, O maidens fair, Yes, come, but come with cheerful looks! Handsome is as handsome does, The rule that suits our books. Hasten, hasten, cheerful maidens, Do not linger on the way, Soon the Hiring Fair will open And advancing is the day. Done! once the bargain is agreed to Neither can undo it. Done! faithful servants, kindly masters, Neither then will rue it. Neatness is the best of graces, Smooth of hair come every one; In a row all take your places, Soon the choosing will be done. If you'll be but quick and neat And try to do your best, You will find a happy home, And the pay of your deserving. Come! Find a home, yes, come.

SERVANTS' CHO. Hither come, linger not, Fate a home will allot, etc.

FARMERS AND WIVES. Come this way, don't delay, We have waited you many a day.

FARMERS. Handsome is that handsome does, The best rule that ever was.

PLUNKET. Here is a jolly howdoyoudo. What a clatter they make! The farmers are all going to engage servants for the coming year out of this crowd of chattering hussies. It is a good thing to take your time to choose, though, for once the bargain is made you have to stick to it for at least a year. What do you say, Lionel? Have you picked out your Betsy Ann?

LIONEL. Betsy Ann--what do you mean?

PLUN. I mean our serving girl. You know mother put it in her will that we must keep up the farm together. So now like two good housewives we must fly around and choose a maid. Her name may be Sally or Katy or Jane, but I shall call her Betsy Ann!

LIO. I shall always remember your dear mother and be grateful.

PLUN. Yes, she was a good woman and a good mother, aye, a good manager, too. She knew how to make the maids attend to their work.

LIO. But she was kind. She was always so kind to me.

PLUN. Yes, she loved you. If you had been her own child she could not have tended you more anxiously. You were a mere baby when your father died and left you in our care. No one could help trying to make up your loss to you, somehow. If I'd a mind I might have been jealous of you. I was always the one who got the scoldings. I suppose mother owed them to me, for I was her own naughty boy!

LIO. You have always been a real brother to me, Plunket. No helpless child could have had a happier fate than to find home with you.

PLUN. You had no one but mother and me, old chap, don't you see? What else could a fellow do but try to keep you heartened up a little?

LIO. And yet even now we do not know who I really am. We shall never know, unless some day my father's ring may serve to clear up the mystery at last.

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