ON VISITING-ACQUAINTANCE. A LADY complaining that her shoes were burst on the first day of wearing them, the shoemaker exclaimed, "What wonder? why your ladyship actually walked in them." It is not unusual to hear lamentations, as unreasonable as the lady's, from simple people, who have been disappointed in expecting aid or sympathy from those whom the courtesy of the world calls "friends." None but the inexperienced look for real services from merely fashionable connections. They are like roughly painted pictures, to be kept at a distance. It is understood, that people are to be charmed with each other, just so long as it is amusing to meet, but not an hour longer. Adversity not only lowers people's spirits and renders friends dull, but too often it has the unpardonable effect of taking away the means of receiving others in return. The friendships of the world lie chiefly in frequent visits and in joint subscriptions to a club, or to an opera-box, but as for the mutual self-sacrifices, SO delicious to heartfelt affection, it is perfectly ridiculous to rely upon such things from such persons or to cry out when they are refused. "Nam illæ ambitiosæ 66 fucosæque amicitiæ sunt in quodam splendore forensi, "fructum domesticum non habent." Who does not know how much, or how little is meant, when a correspondent signs himself “ your humble servant," and assures you that "he is ever most faithfully yours?" The fate of those whose talents raise them suddenly to reputation, is particularly hard. The blaze of a successful first appearance, on the stage, or in parliament, attracts the eyes of all the world. The very domestic ladies, who delight in being "at home," immediately throw open their doors to the petted, and, too often, the spoiled child of the season. The vogue lasts throughout the spring, and then "farewell," perhaps, "for ever" to the shower of flattering notes and pressing invitations. This is bad enough in the world, but the deserted dupes are often most to be blamed, who mistake notoriety for fame, and curiosity for affection. Indeed, there are many respectable persons well worth knowing, because their manners towards us mark precisely the actual degree of our fashion at any given moment, and is not this being of use? Have we not in them those magical mirrors which show us what is passing in other places? There is, to speak seriously, another complaint, truly unreasonable. How frequently do we hear severe, yet unmerited reflections on those, who, in consequence of a change of residence, or of pursuits, naturally drop the acquaintance of old associates! Perhaps business. may rob them of their leisure; perhaps they may have lost their health or their incomes; perhaps they have given up drawing, and have taken to music; or they have entered into another political party. With the similarity of habits and opinions, it is plain, that the desire to meet must also be lost. Even a long absence may have greatly altered the nature of the connection between two persons sincerely attached. They have untold secrets, new alliances, new fancies, new sentiments. They have to point out to each other every thing about them, as they show the town to a stranger. Yet a true friend it is shameful to forget; but mere acquaintances may be as innocently changed as our studies, occupations, or amusements. To do mankind justice, it must be owned, that such mortified feelings, as have been alluded to, are seldom expressed when they who give us up, have declined in their circumstances, or in their fashion. It is those who rise that are regretted and abused. ON A VOICE. INTENDED FOR A PERIODICAL PAPER PROJECTED IN 1800- THERE are few natural gifts which may not be turned to profitable use. A well-known person has always gained his living solely by his voice. He once owned that his mother told him (though he generally was too busy in talking himself to listen to others) that he had begun, while in arms, to tyrannise over the whole family by his cries and screams. A maiden aunt always complained that nobody else could be heard in the house, while he was awake; nay, his noisy mode of sleeping often deprived his little brothers and sisters of their natural rest. His parents being poor, he was set to frighten away the rooks from the newly-sown corn lands; and he then got the two offices of common-crier and counter-tenor in the cathedral, serving at the same time both Church and State. The former he deserted for a short time, having H turned field-preacher; but he soon became worldly again, earning his dinners and evening enjoyments by singing at taverns and ale-houses: yet he always declared, that he got more by his piano manner than by his forte. Whispering at morning-calls and at tea-tables did more for him, a long time, than voting or shouting at elections; though, in the end, he was greatly advanced by his success in the latter. His great merits, both in canvassing, and in loud speaking on the hustings, procured for him, unexpectedly, a seat in parliament; where his incessant cheers (friendly or hostile), his readiness to speak against time, and his well-timed calls to order, but above all, his audible pronunciation of the two monosyllables "aye," and "no," quickly made his fortune. He was knighted on being chosen to deliver a corporation address to his Majesty, when passing through the borough. Now he lives in honourable retirement, swearing impartially at friends and foes. In short, he would have been perfectly happy, if he had not been haunted by a perpetual alarm, lest an asthma, or some disease of the trachea should reduce him to poverty and insignificance. "Tot rerum vox una fuit." |