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SILVA-No. 52.

Anticipated from the Monthly Anthology for June 1809.

"If I indulge myself in a smile at such trifling follies, must I of necessity be an envious and malicious tempered man ?”

A WITTY ANSWER TO A CIVIL INVITATION. Mr. **** , a celebrated gamester, was suddenly removed from the billiard table to the county gaol. On his arrival there he found in his pocket an invitation to sup the next evening at Julien's, with a whist party, which he would gladly have accepted; he however requested the officer who attended him to present his compliments to his friends and tell them that as he had received another invitation, in the name of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, it was out of his power to accept theirs.

MISS ANN THOLOGY.

This celebrated literary female, who was born under the rigorous climate of the metropolis of New-England, in 1804, was deserted by her only parent at the tender age of three months. She was taken up and sent to explore the hidden sources of publick munificence, by three friends, who for several years fed and clothed her gratis. These were Law, Physick and Divinity.

EPITAPH,

On an old lady, of whom, with her husband and son, it was said, that they lived in a vinegar bottle all the days of their lives.'

Here lies Goody Pursiain who liv'd in a pen,

And brew'd good beer for gentlemen :

The beer turn'd so sour that man could not drink it:
Goody Purslain she died, alas! who would think it?

APOLOGUE.

The Cabbage said to the Potatoe: Look how much handsomer I am than you, how I draw together and consolidate my rich curling leaves and almost vie in size and solidity with the terrestrial globe; you are not fit to share the same garden with those feeble stalks that support only a few useless balls. True said the potatoe, my stalks are not so sturdy as yours, nor my leaves so rough and large; but I am not the less belov. ed by the farmers: they call me by many names, and all expressive of my utility; sometimes Spanish White, and Irish beef, and Carolina, and Rusty-coat, and Blue-nose. I am planted early in May, and in one small hillock, do not cease to propagate and multiply till I am dug

up and housed in November. I see almost all our fellows gathered in before me; and when I reflect how much I am beloved, and how much longer I live without the attention of man, than the Turnip, the Beet, and the Onion, I do not envy them the pains bestowed upon their cultivation.

The Cabbage was about to reply, but Betty, with a huge knife, at one stroke, cropped its leaves to boil, and left the headless trunk standing erect, and bleaching with the northern blast.'

Said the Kidney-Bean to the Pumpion-vine: Your orange coloured fruit is large and splendid; but you do not tower above the ground; rise like me, to the top of this pole, and your riches and magnificence will be seen. My fruits, said the other, may be less aspiring than yours, but the bosom of the earth is proud to support them,

A WISE MAGISTRATE.

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A justice of the peace in Hampshire county, on hearing some years ago that Bonaparte intended to invade England, expressed considerable apprehension for the fate of himself and family, and requested to be told in what part of Massachusetts Old England was situated. Why, father, Old England is on the eastern continent, at an immense distance from Massachusetts." Well, all the eastern country, the District and of Maine, is in Massachusetts.' Why, sir, only look at the map; I will shew you that it is not.' The map was produced, and the son pointed out Massachusetts and then shewed him the British Isles. The justice placing his thumb on Massachusetts, and stretching his fore finger to Great-Britain, exclaimed, 'Well, well, I see that it is not in Massachusetts, but they are so close together, that Bonaparte's cannon balls can easily reach us.'

MAD MEN.

It was told to a celebrated literary club in the wise city of Gotham, that a certain man had slandered their censorship's work. It was a man whom they had never known, nor had any connection with. 'Let him alone said they, he must be a mad man; no one in his senses would speak ill of a book that had done him no injury.”

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Query. How many mad men would those wits have found among the readers of the Monthly Anthology?

The two following articles are not for black-letter dogs, nor prowlers after Greek and Latin. The Silva has thickets and brakes enough for them to wander and scrabble in. They are designed exclusively to affect that part of creation that has so often affected me.

During the time that Thomas Jefferson governed the United States, a young lady of New-Hampshire, whose lover resided in Boston, was

much surprized at receiving no letters from him, though she had often written to him. At length one of her neighbours being destined for Boston with a load of marketing, she requested him to call on the young Adonis, and enquire the reason of his silence. The youth was much surprised, said he had written regularly once a week; he went, in consequence, with the market man to the post-office, to know why they had not been forwarded. The post master knew nothing about it, but said he always sent forward all letters. He told them, however, he had a number of letters, which he had not been able to forward, because he could not discover the direction. Taking them into another room, he showed the packets which proved to be the young lover's, and which for greater security, were directed as well as written in hieroglyphicks.

'Cross patch, draw the latch,

Sit by the fire and spin,
Take the cup and drink it up,

Then call your neighbours in.'

Though I do not recollect, and it is perhaps of little moment to know on what particular person the poet bestows such severe sarcasm, I am ready to confess, that the elegance of his satire does not force upon my mind the conclusion which he intended to extort from every reader.— Far from thinking the gibe true, because elegant, I deduce a directly opposite inference; and because it is finished to such brilliant elegance, I am obliged to consider it as extravagant, and therefore false. It is a downright absurdity to say of any woman that she 'takes a cup,' or even to say simply that she is a cross patch. We know, and from their own lips too, that the solitary hours of females are spent either in the most harmless, good natured apathy, or the most exalted devotion. When they are not singing to themselves and thinking of nothing,' they are rapt in the most enchanting visions of saints and angels. Nor are the industrious hours of any woman I ever knew so mighty głoomy, for what in the world can charm together such a squad of blue, green, pink, coplico, orange, and white, in short omnicoloured celestials, as the sight of an old maid, or a young one either, when she sits by the fire and spins.' And if others are so possessed with the sight, must not the holy light which plays round the spinning wheel of her who is thus employed, be the meridian blaze, the very region and home, the lurking place, the revel room, yea, the very dancing hall of all the celestial spirits aforesaid.

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POETRY.

FROM THE ALBUM AT PASSAICK FALLS.

OH solitude! I love to dwell

Where thou hast spread thy soothing spell;

Where, far away the village bell,

Breathes on my ear its soften'd swell.

There, in thy enchantment bound,
Let me cultivate the ground;
Nor cares, nor no discordant sound,
Be in my cottage ever found.

Near some shady mountain's side,
Where the swallows smoothly glide,
O'er the placid river's tide;

Far from the world I love to hide.

There, lost in calm reflection deep,
Let me from intrusion keep;
And beneath the rocky steep,
Softly sigh, or sweetly sleep.

When Aurora streaks the sky,
And the busy insects fly,
With alacrity will I,

To my

rustick pleasure hie.

The frugal, lab'ring ant and bee,
Shall teach me ease and industry;
Each bird, and beast, and fish I see,
Gives some reproof or hint to me.

Fain would I shun the haunts of men,
Nor wish with them to mix again;
But, in the lonely quiet glen,
Alternate use my book and pen.

Let canting Jefferson still stand,
Head of the Jacobinick band;
While dull De Witt deludes the land,
By lying Cheetham's factious hand.

What matters it to me, who rules,
Or what disputes disturb the schools,
Or who direct us, knaves or fools,
Who are the tyrants, who the tools?

Wisdom and virtue must disdain,

To mix with men, when those who reign,
Befriend the miscreant Duane,
Base Callender and baser Paine.

I'll do the little good I can,
Regret so narrow is my span ;.
But steadily pursue my plan,
To be, and love and honest man.

Where sweet Passaick loves to stray,
Fain would I close my checker'd day,
In useful study, harmless play,
Till life has shed its last dim ray.

Nor can more lovely spots of ground,
Than on Passaick's banks be found;
Where nature's charms spread amply round,
Are heighten'd by the cat'ract's sound.

Here then, beside thy margin green,
Delighted with the sylvan scene;
My breast may be like that serene,
Nor one rude trouble intervene.

And when I see gay trav'ilers roam,
Or hear that war's wild surges foam;
In peace I'll seek my quiet home,
And count the wits of Greece and Rome:

Far from the crowd with vice imbued,
The noisy rabble base and rude,

The vain coquette and capering prude,
I seek thy path, sweet solitude!

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A CHARACTER.

IF among the scientifick politicians of this country, or any other description of the learned, there should be found a man, who, with the grace of exteriour accomplishment, or the fulsome semblance of it; with the gifts of fortune, and the rank of a gentleman; with a strong devotion to literature without remission and almost without example; with acuteness of mind and extensive classical erudition; who, I say, should so far forget himself, as to practise arts which would disgrace the meanest retainer to learning-If such a man should be found, with fair pro

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