Introduction To Information Science 2nd Edition David Bawden Lyn Robinson Download
Introduction To Information Science 2nd Edition David Bawden Lyn Robinson Download
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EXTRACT.
Men will wrangle for religion; write for it; fight for it; die for it; any
thing but—live for it.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
ELOQUENCE.
At a later period, when the rising generation caught the living spark
as it fell from the lips of their giant fathers; a Phillips has pleased
and fascinated by the grace and vigor of his action, the strength and
fervor of his imagination, and the dignity and suavity of his manner;
by the warmth of his feelings and the quickness of his perceptions. A
Canning, by the brilliance of his mind, beaming with gems of classic
literature; the perspicuity of his diction, rich in the beauties of our
language; and the commanding force of his voice, now surpassing in
its deep sternness the echoing thunder, and now, soft, and sweet,
and mellow as the dying cadence of a flute, has never failed to
arouse, and enliven, and convince. And a Brougham, with a
profound and comprehensive intellect, deep and capacious as
ocean's channels, with great powers of close and sound reasoning;
with an extensive knowledge of the past and the present, with
untiring energies and unremitted industry, wields a concentrated
mass of overwhelming argument, and hurls a thunderbolt of
eloquence, subduing and crushing in its impetuous course. In our
own country, so fertile in the highest orders of mind, and so
successful in nurturing, and expanding, and invigorating its faculties,
we may point to Calhoun, and Webster, and Clay, and McDuffie, as
the master spirits of the age. Their varied endowments; their chaste
language; their pure and sublime style; their bitter and withering
irony; their keen and searching sarcasm; their vast range of thought
and unequalled condensation of argument, command the admiration
and excite the wonder of men.
2 Massaniello.
H. M.
Our readers will participate with us in the pleasure of reading the second letter from
New England, by an accomplished Virginian, whose easy and forcible style is so well
employed in depicting the manners and character of a portion of our countrymen,
separated from us not more by distance, than by those unhappy prejudices which too
often spring up between members of the same family. The acute observation of men
and things which these letters evince, will entitle them to be seriously read and
considered,—and they will not have been written in vain, if they serve to remove the
misconceptions of a single mind. We repeat what we stated in our last number, that
although they were originally published in the Fredericksburg Arena, they have since
undergone the revision and correction of the author expressly for publication in the
Messenger.
The result of all my observation is, that the New Englanders have in
their hearts as much of the original material of hospitality as we
have: that, considering the sacrifices it costs them, and the
circumstances which modify its application, they actually use as
much of that material as we do; and that, although their mode of
using it is less amiable than ours, it is more rational, more salutary—
better for the guest, better for the host, better for society. And most
gladly would I see my countrymen and countrywomen exchange the
ruinous profusion; which, to earn, or preserve, a vainglorious name,
pampers and stupifies themselves and impoverishes their country,
for the discriminating and judicious hospitality of New England:
retaining only those freer and more captivating traits of their own,
which are warranted by our sparser settlements, our ampler fields,
and our different social organization.
Yet, while such praise is due to the general civility and kindness of
the New Englanders, it must be qualified by saying, that several
times, I have experienced discourtesy, which chafed me a good deal:
but always from persons who, in their own neighborhoods, would be
considered as vulgar. The simplest and most harmless question,
propounded in my civilest manner, has occasionally been answered
with a gruffness, that would for half a minute upset my equanimity.
For example—"Good morning sir" (to a hulking, rough, carter-looking
fellow, one hot morning, when I had walked eight miles before
breakfast)—"how far to Enfield?" "Little better 'an a mile,"—was the
answer; in an abrupt, surly, unmodulated tone, uttered without even
turning his head as he passed me. Two or three of "mine hosts," at
inns, were churlishly grudging in their responses to my inquiries
about the products, usages, and statistics, of their neighborhoods.
For these, however, I at once saw a twofold excuse: they were very
busy and my questions were very numerous—besides the irritating
circumstance, that answers were not always at hand—and to be
posed, is what flesh and blood cannot bear. And it makes me think
no worse than before, either of human nature in general, or of
Yankee character in particular, that such slights occurred, nearly in
every instance, whilst I was a somewhat shabby looking way-farer
on foot; scarcely ever, while travelling in stage, or steamboat. Such
distinctions are made, all the world over: in Virginia, as well as
elsewhere.
The spirit, and the habits, which oblige one to do so much for
himself within doors, produce corresponding effects without. Useful
labor is no where disdained in New England, by any class of society.
Proprietors, and their sons, though wealthy, frequently work on the
farms, and in the gardens, stables, and barns. Two or three days
ago, I saw an old gentleman (Squire ——) a justice of the peace,
and for several years a useful member of the Legislature, toiling in
his hay harvest. Two of the richest men in this village—possessing
habitations among the most elegant in this assemblage of elegant
dwellings—I have seen busy with hoe and rake, in their highly
cultivated grounds. The wife of a tavern-keeper, in Rhode Island,
worth $40,000, prepared my breakfast, and waited upon me at it,
with a briskness such as I never saw equalled. Similar instances are
so frequent and familiar, as to be unnoticed except by strangers.
Many of New England's eminent men of former days, were constant
manual laborers; not only in boyhood, and in obscurity, but after
achieving distinction. Putnam, it is well known, was ploughing when
he heard of the bloody fray at Lexington; and left both plough and
team in the field, to join and lead in the strife for liberty. Judge
Swift, of Connecticut, who wrote a law book1 of some merit, and, I
believe, a History of Connecticut, was a regular laborer on his farm,
whilst he was a successful practiser of the Law. An amusing story is
told (which I cannot now stop to repeat) of his being severely
drubbed by the famous Matthew Lyon, then his indented servant;
while they worked together in the barn. Timothy Pickering, after
serving with distinction through the revolution—being aid to General
Washington, Representative and Senator in Congress, and Secretary
of State—spent the evening of his unusually prolonged and honored
life, in the culture of a small farm of 120 or 130 acres, with a
suitably modest dwelling, near Salem, Mass.: literally, and through
necessity, (for he was always poor) earning his bread by his own
daily toil. With Dr. Johnson, I deride the hacknied pedantry of a
constant recurrence to ancient Greece and Rome—without, however,
being quite ready to "knock any man down who talks to me about
the second Punic War." But, in contemplating the stern virtues, that
poverty and rural toil fostered in those earlier worthies of New
England, and that still animate the "bold yeomanry, a nation's pride,"
who yet hold out against the advancing tide of wealth, indolence,
and luxury—I cannot forbear an exulting comparison of these my
countrymen, with the pure and hardy spirits that graced the best
days of republican Rome:
* * * * *
Fabriciumque,
Hunc, et incomptis Curium capillis
Utilem bello, tulit, et Camillum,
Sæva paupertas, et avitus apto
Cum lare fundus.
With many vegetables and fruits, the season is five or six weeks
later here than in Virginia. Thus, garden peas are still, every day, on
the tables: I had cherries in Boston last week, of kinds which
ripened with us early in June; and it is but a fortnight, since
strawberries, both red and white, were given me in Connecticut—by
the way, it was at breakfast.
I set off in the stage for Albany, at two o'clock in the morning. Good
night.
We copy the following production of Mrs. Sigourney from the "American Annuals of
Education and Instruction," a periodical published in Boston. It is difficult to decide
whether the prose or poetry of this distinguished lady is entitled to preference. Her
noble efforts in behalf of her own sex deserve their gratitude and our admiration.
The ancient republics overlooked the worth of that half of the human
race, which bore the mark of physical infirmity. Greece, so
exquisitely susceptible to the principle of beauty, so skilled in
wielding all the elements of grace, failed to appreciate the latent
excellence of woman. If, in the brief season of youth and bloom, she
was fain to admire her as the acanthus-leaf of her own Corinthian
capital, she did not discover, that like that very column, she might
have added stability to the temple of freedom. She would not believe
that her virtues might have aided in consolidating the fabric which
philosophy embellished and luxury overthrew.
Rome, notwithstanding her primeval rudeness, and the ferocity of
her wolf-nursed greatness, seems more correctly, than polished
Greece, to have estimated the "weaker vessel." Here and there,
upon the storm driven billows of her history, the form of woman is
distinctly visible, and the mother of the Gracchi still stands forth in
strong relief, amid that imagery, over which time has no power. Yet
where the brute force of the warrior was counted godlike, the
feebler sex were prized, only in their approximation to the energy of
a sterner nature, as clay was held in combination with iron, in the
feet of that mysterious image which troubled the visions of the
Assyrian king.
In our own country, man, invested by his Maker with the "right to
reign," has nobly conceded to her, who was for ages a vassal,
equality of intercourse, participation in knowledge, guardianship over
his dearest possessions, and his fondest hopes. He is content to
"bear the burden and heat of the day," that she may dwell in plenty,
and at ease. Yet from the very felicity of her lot, dangers arise. She
is tempted to rest in superficial attainments, to yield to that
indolence which spreads like rust over the intellect, and to merge
the sense of her own responsibilities in the slumber of a luxurious
life. These tendencies should be neutralized by an education of
utility, rather than of ornament. Sloth and luxury, the subverters of
republics, should be banished from her vocabulary. It is expedient
that she be surrounded in youth with every motive to persevering
industry, and severe application; and that in maturity she be induced
to consider herself an ally in the cares of life, especially in the holy
labor of rearing the immortal mind. While her partner stands on the
high places of the earth, toiling for his stormy portion of that power
or glory from which it is her privilege to be sheltered, let her feel
that to her, in the recesses of the domestic sphere, is entrusted the
culture of that knowledge and virtue, which are the strength of a
nation. Happily secluded from lofty legislation and bold enterprise,
with which her native construction has no affinity, she is still
accountable to the government by which she is protected, for the
character of those who shall hereafter obtain its honors, and control
its functions.
Her place is in the quiet shade, to watch the little fountain, ere it has
breathed a murmur. But the fountain will break forth into a stream,
and the swelling rivulet rush toward the sea; and she, who was first
at the fountain head and lingered longest near the infant streamlet,
might best guide it to right channels; or, if its waters flow
complaining and turbid, could truest tell what had troubled their
source.
Let the age which has so freely imparted to woman the treasures of
knowledge, add yet to its bounty, by inciting her to gather them with
an unremitting and tireless hand, and by expecting of her the
highest excellence of which her nature is capable. Demand it as a
debt. Summon her to abandon inglorious ease.—Arouse her to
practise and to enforce those virtues, which sustain the simplicity,
and promote the permanence of a great republic. Make her
answerable for the character of the next generation. Give her this
solemn charge in the presence of "men and of angels,"—gird her for
its fulfilment with the whole armor of education and piety, and see if
she be not faithful to her offspring, to her country, and to her God!
L. H. S.
We beg our readers to amuse themselves with the following article from Mr. Fairfield's
Magazine. We cannot however, whilst we value the importance of having an
euphonous and pleasant sounding name, sympathise very sincerely with Mr. Rust in
the horror he has conceived towards his own. We had rather be Lazarus in all his
misery than Dives in "purple and fine linen."
MY NAME.
"Nil admirari" has always been my maxim, yet there is one thing
which excites my wonder. It is astonishing, that a man, who leaves
his son no other legacy, cannot at least give him a good name. What
could have been my father's motive, in inflicting upon me that curse
of all curses—my name, I cannot determine. Trifling as so small a
matter may appear, it has been my ruin. Bah! I shudder when I think
of it! shade of my honored parent! would nothing but a scripture
name satisfy thee? Why didst thou not then entitle me Ezra?—
Zedekiah?—Nimri?—anything—it must out—but Lazarus!