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No. 11.J

The Selector.

"WE

CULL THE CHOICEST"

ON THE COMMON

NOVEMBER, 1826.

ESTIMATE OF CHARACTER.
To the Editor of the Selector.
SIR,

THE variety of changes which circum-
stances produce in public opinion
respecting certain classes of men, is
somewhat singular. I have often smi-
led at those attempts which are so
frequently made to account for these
alterations; and have pitied the
weakness which, under the garb of
hypocrisy, fains to be charitable;
whilst a concious shame prevents the
avowal of the true cause. It is surpri-
sing how little real worth is apprecia-
ted in the present day. For, although
the influence of integrity and virtue is
felt, and their value reluctantly admit-
ted; yet it is unfortunately the case,
that excellence of character is lost sight
of amidst the glare of mere external
endowments. A careful examination
of the motives and feelings of society
in general, too plainly proves that the
common standard of character is im-
perfect and erroneous. Genius, with
all that excites admiration, by its
productions, in the minds of sen-
sible people generally produces no
correspondent emotions, unless "For-
tune" smiles, and scatters her fa-
vours with a lavish hand. It is too
commonly suffered to repine in indi-
gence and obscurity, to expend all
its energies in fruitless efforts to
emancipate itself from the thraldrom
of penury, or in hopeless exertions to
attract the commiseration of the weal-
thy and the gay! The sentiment of
the poet is painfully illustrated in the
history of genius.

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"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its fragrance in the desert air."

It would be indeed a delightful period in the history of mankind, if the worth of individuals was estimated entirely dissociated from the temporal circumstances with which it stands connected.-But this is rarely done; except by a few superior minds who are able to overcome the common prejudice in favour of rank and wealth. The possession of these, appears to constitute every qualification necessary to the enjoyment of the highest stations in society. Private virtue, or intellectual superiority, with such minds, are almost entirely disregarded, -or considered as unimportant. general carelessness is induced respecting the practice of an enlightened morality, the attainment of mental improvement, or the acquisition of knowledge.

A

The truth of these remarks must appear to any one conversant with the biography of men of genius.—The struggles they have made to surmount the difficulties by which they were surrounded, failed too generally, to excite commiseration for their pitiable situation! Here and there, however, we discover a mind superior to the ordinary and ridiculous notions of distinctions; and like an angel of mercy, putting forth its energy to rescue intrinsic merit from premature destruction! Benefactors of their species! Their reward is not in eulogy; but in the approbation of the wise and virtuous.

When the possession of wealth renders, to the great bulk of society, the possession of real dignity of

principle, and the excellence of virtue unnecessary to constitute a respectable character, we should regard such a state of feeling as the precursor, if not the invariable associate, of a lamentable degeneracy of taste; a blind devotion to the glittering toy is, perhaps, more mischievous than any other sentiment which exists. The laudable ambition to become distinguished for virtue and wisdom ceases to exert its salutary stimulus.-True greatness of character becomes no longer an object of attainment. The ardour of pursuit after knowledge is damped; the energies of the mind relax into inaptitude for exertion and a morbid indifference to every species of good prevails, which forms an impenetrable barrier to all improvement, either mental or moral.

The evils arising from these influences are not to be easily calculated; they are of the most malignant nature. Vice is robbed of its deformity; the possession of wealth opens, to the most debauched, the temple of virtue! Her sacred domain is polluted by immorality; and invaded by depraved passions! Modesty retires before the pestilential breath of this gilded but disgusting foe.-Indeed, the train of mischiefs which such a laxity of moral discipline introduces into society is painfully extended; and the dazzling appearance of a rich libertine, so incapacitates the moral vision for the performance of its important duties, as to conceal that deformity; which, if unveiled would excite nothing but abhorrence and indignation! Does an objector say, "it is ridiculous to suppose such serious evils can arise from so trivial a cause?" It may appear trivial, apart from the effects it produces; but consult the facts of the case. Let our own experience be the standard of truth in this matter. It would be invidious to cite illustrations from living examples; but appeal to the state of society as now constituted, aud let me but ask, are not vices tolerated in the upper classes of society, and even by that portion of it which ought to be the protectors of virtue? And are not these persons the first to condemn plebeian vices? The fact is too plain

to be confuted!

It is not the intention of this essay to pour obloquy upon those who are wealthy; this would be splenetic,But all that it intends to exhibit is this, that individuals and their character are estimated more by the length of their purses, than by their moral worth and intrinsic excellence. Let but an obscure person be ever so characterized by private worth, or mental superiority; and if he be suffering the pinching tyranny of poverty, how is he regarded? As a respectable man, and treated as such? No! But only let his circumstances be reversed, and you will hear of sudden discoveries of his worthiness. "Upon my word" says one "who would have thought he was so clever,"—and rejoins another, "I had not the smallest conception of his talents, I could not suppose he was so agreeable and so witty." These are remarks which the "smile of Fortune" calls forth; and which evidently shew that this alteration of opinion, arises, not from an ignorance of the real character being corrected, but from an alteration of pecuniary circumstances. If these observations be untrue, it might be asked, how can we account for the disposition, so prevalent which tolerates open departures from propriety;-and denominates notorious offences against virtue acts of indiscretion? The answer is plain; wealth allied to immorality is the exeuse;—and language so tame would never be employed, if the public mind was properly disciplined. This reflection may be severe, but is nevertheless just.

It is readily admitted, that to be enabled to form a just estimate of character, it is requisite we should know the person whom such an estimate regards. But why is it that wealth becomes, almost invariably, the speedy introduction to this facility of trial? Why is it that riches throw a veil over the real character, and blind our moral perceptions to what is improper? Does it not fully prove, that without the possession of them, real worth is suffered to pass by disregarded; and the common estimate of character is imperfect and erroneous?

It is indeed a pleasing circumstance, and one which in some measure alleviates the anxiety we feel on this subject, that there have existed in every age, though their number has been very limited, men who have valued virtue and intellect on account of their intrinsic worth; and the fact that characters really great have been patronized by such men, and through them brought into public notice, proves more plainly than all arguments can, however forcible and just they may be, that the reasoning advanced in the preceding observations is correct, I pretend not to inquire how it is that genius is rarely allied to wealth or exalted rank in society. But if a conjecture be allowed, nature, perhaps, here exhibits the equity of her allotments in giving to one the excellence of mental greatness, as a compensation for the want of temporal or pecuniary advantages.

No one, who reflects properly on this subject, but must feel the importance of a just knowledge of men and things:-and can that knowledge be obtained, or be correct, when improper estimates of character are formed? Certainly not. And whilst we perceive a disposition manifest to underrate the superior value of integrity, virtue, or sense-and so decided a preference given to wealth and the honours connected with it, we shall in vain hope to see that meridian brightness of knowledge, which every friend to the improvement of mankind so ardently longs to behold. Untill opinions and feelings on this subject undergo a material revolution, the advancement of civilization, science, and morality will be indeed painfully retarded, if not almost prevented.

LACONICS.

JUNIUS.

In the Age of innocence we imbibe errors;-in the Age of Maturity vices; -happy are we if we can rid ourselves

of both, before the period of Old Age.

READ not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.-Lord Bacon.

ELEGIAC TRIBUTE

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE
Mr. MATTHEW BROUGHAM.
Farewell! my Friend, to all who knew thee dear,
Thy various merits are remember'd here;
Now gone we trust to happiness above
To share the blessings of Almighty love.
On Earth-with awful rev'rence be it said,
Thy course thro' life in righteous goodness laid
At friendship's call, whate'er thou could'stimpart
Was given instant, from a glowing heart.
Snatch'd quickly from us in thy manhood's prime

We mourn the loss, Our tears flow o'er thy shrine.
Oh! how much worth is now laid low in dust,
Thy word was truth, in business always just:
A heart with ev'ry kindly feeling fraught,
Ruling thy private life, as Christian ought.
In grief, submissive to high Heav'n's decree;
Thy Wife and Brother are deprived of thee,
HOPE, heavily hope! jalone can soothe their pain
Who,-softly breathing her Seraphic strain,
Points to a better World, where we shall meet
again.

Mount-Sion, Sept. 1826.

J.

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A WAG OR JESTER.

THE size of a man's understanding (Dr. Johnson says) may be justly measured by his mirth. A professed W ag, or Joker, is of course a merry fellow, and must tickle to please; but it is observed of this race of beings, that like the flying Fish, they can soar no longer than their wings are moistened. The Wag is constantly on the watch for occasions to exercise his talent, and being a declared enemy to gravity, persons of a grave deportment, or owl-like solemnity, he considers his natural food: and it must be owned, that when such a mysterious carriage is nothing more than a cloak for Ignorance pride, or meanness, such objects are fair game but as the Wag is but too often an Infidel, he scruples not to jest at the most sacred and revered rites of Religion or Morality. He lets himself out to his friends as a fiddler, in order to play to, and divert them, and so can he but raise a laugh at female weakness, or the foibles of his friend, he thinks himself amply recompensed, by the noise and merriment of his associates; for even an Idiot may mock, what he cannot imitate: and as a joker delights in nothing so much as mischief, the more mischief the better sport. As the Joker can do little without a Butt, he takes a view of his company as a skilful general does of a Town he intends to besiege, in hopes to find some one less fortified with impudence than himself. Jokes are of two kinds, either verbal, or practical, when he happens to be successful with the former, he gives the tone to the company by leading off with a horse laugh; which is generally infectious; practical jokes are of various kinds. The country Wag gives his friend a huge thump on the back, or shoulder, and shakes and gripes him like an ague fit. Buonaparte, who was no common Joker, pinched his friends by the ear, as a dog does a pig, and happy would it have been for mankind had this been the worst of his Jokes. The Wag is no hypocrite, for he carries his character in the lineaments of his countenance, being usually on the grin, so as to be ready for the first

good thing that may offer, but should he in his attacks mistake his man, and his jokes recoil on his own head, he raises the siege, and like a true poltroon can never be brought back to the charge.

What can be more contemptible than to be the buffoon of a company, or more humiliating than to be the butt of it, some are at once the Wit and the Butt, the Jester, and the jest.

Foote was amongst the few who made a living of it, and he may be said to have spent the last breath in a Jest. This Talent being rather an unthrifty one, as it commonly creates more enemies than friends, few can venture on the practice of it, but such as hang loose on society, and have no character to lose. P. P.

LOVE'S CONFESSION.

Say, what can eloquence avail,
To grace the ardent lover's tale ;
Since love on his fond purpose bent,
In silence-is most eloquent !
And when o'er some bright face he flings
The shadow of his rosy wings,
That sudden flash of soft expression]
To lovers is their love's confession!

What need of studied phrase to tell
What mutual hearts can feel so well;
Since on the sigh that wantons near,
And only heard by love's quick ear,
A thousand tender vows can wing,
To lull the bosom's fluttering ;
Then, is not that soft sigh, expression
To lovers-of their love's confession !

Why should we teach the pliant tongue
Those tales by love-lorn minstrels sung;
They cannot paint its pain so well
As the bright glist'ning tear's sweet spell,
A gem of nature from the heart

That owns no studied form of art:
O! sure that silent tear's expression
To lovers is their love's confession!

Or what can picture mutual bliss
When passion sleeps with happiness!
And every boding fear is o'er,
And hope has nought to whisper more;
What eloquence can match the smile
That decks the glowing face the while;
And by its rapture-tinged expression,
To lovers is their love's confession !

WILMINGTON FLEMING,

THE GAMESTER REFORMED.

(concluded from Page 28.)

Ar midnight, Mr. Wellsted ordered his carriage, accompanied by his eldest daughter, determined on visiting the house of play, and making a powerful effort to snatch his son from the scene of ruin and intoxicating sensuality. As the coachman pulled up at the door of the gamester, the old gentleman pressed his daughter's hand, and requested her not to leave the carriage; but a sudden conviction impelled her forward, and there was no time for expostulation. The feelings of the father were too powerful to be restrained by ordinary formalities: indeed, he was half unconscious of his situation, when the suspicious servant, surprised at seeing a lady enter the hall, hastily inquired whom he should announce." Mr. Wellsted-I seek my son, Sir!" said the old gentleman, and immediately followed to a splendid room, which appeared crowded with gamesters of all ages: the hoary debauchee and the yet unpractised stripling, joined together in the fatal infatuation of play; whilst here and there, the maniac laugh of success formed a melancholy contrast to the haggard expression of the unfortunate, whose losses had provoked a bitter though momentary reflection.

On entering the door, the first object that arrested attention was Henry Wellsted. He sat at some distance from the players, apparently in a state of the deepest agony: a pack of cards were scattered at his feet; and every thing, indeed, too plainly indicated the ruin in which he was involved. He had not yet observed the unwelcome visitors, when at the same instant, two familiar voices uttered, "Mr. Wellsted!"-" Henry!" At the subdued, reproachiful tone of the father, and the still affectionate exclamation of his sister, he suddenly started from his seat, and looked wildly round the room; but in a moment he met the countenance of his parent, and sunk exhausted into those arms which even yet were open to receive him.

The nature of this unexpected visit was scarcely known to the assembled

gamesters, before the intruders and the object of their search had driven from the door. A few sentences of powerful expostulation was all that the old gentleinan addressed to his son, until they found themselves at home; when the former embraced his daughter, and retired almost instantly to his library, to which in a few moments, the young man was summoned.

"Henry," said Mr. Wellsted, without a word of preface, "I have sent for you, that you may learn my fixed and solemn determination respecting your future situation in my family. Heaven only knows that I have endeavoured to be a good father; and your mother, she does not deserve to have her heart broken by the thoughts of your vices. But I am resolved, if you are determined to continue in your evil ways, I will cease to give you any protection or support; and you may consider yourself a stranger to me, and all that are dear to me. But if on the other hand, you are desirous of returning into an honourable course of life, all the past shall be forgottenand you have still a father."

It needed not the mild but resolute tone of Mr. Wellsted to awaken his son to the full conviction of his crimes; the whole career of his vices came full upon his mind, and he fell upon his knees and asked but for one more trial of a parent's patience, and a little farther measure of his forgiveness.

"You have it all, my son!" exclaimed the old man, the tear of joy trickling down his cheek,-" and may God give you grace to turn from the evil of your ways and live!"

The heart of the young man was too full for utterance; but his spirit joined with his father's prayer; and he again ventured to address a supplication for aid to that God from whom he had so long been a stranger, and into whose presence he had not dared to venture but for the inviting consolation of the gospel:-"Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."

This happy event chased away the grief that had settled over every member of the family; for it was impossible

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