NEGLECTED AUTHORS. BISHOP BERKELEY. MAXIMS CONCERNING PATRIOTISM. 1. EVERY man, by consulting his own heart, may easily know whether he is or is not a patriot. But it is not so easy for the by-standers. 2. Being loud and vehement either against a court or for a court, is no proof of patriotism. 3. A man whose passion for money runs high bids fair for being no patriot. And he likewise whose appetite is keen for power. 4. A native than a foreigner, a married man than a bachelor, a believer than an infidel, has a better chance for being a patriot. 5. It is impossible an epicure should be a patriot. 6. It is impossible a man who cheats at cards, or cogs the dice, should be a patriot. 7. It is impossible a man who is false to his friends and neighbors should be true to the public. 8. Every knave is a thorough knave. And a thorough knave is a knave through out. riotism, he who hath no religion or no home makes a suspected patriot. 17. No man perjures himself for the sake of conscience. 18. There is an easy way of reconciling malcontents-Sunt verba et voces quibus hunc lenire dolorem, &c. 19. A good groom will rather stroke than strike. 20. He who saith there is no such thing as an honest man, you may be sure is himself a knave. 21. I have no opinion of your bumper patriots. Some eat, some drink, some quarrel for their country. MODERN PATRIOTISM! 22. Ibycus is a carking, griping, closefisted fellow. It is odds that Ïbycus is not a patriot. 23. We are not to think every clamorous haranguer, or every splenetic repiner against a court, is therefore a patriot. 24. A patriot is one who heartily wisheth the public prosperity, and doth not only wish, but also study and endeavor to pro 9. A man who hath no sense of God or conscience would you make such a one mote it. guardian to your child? If not, why guard ian to the state? 10. A sot, a beast, benumbed and stupefied by excess, is good for nothing, much less to make a patriot of. 11. A fop or man of pleasure makes but a scurvy patriot. 12. A sullen churlish man, who loves nobody, will hardly love his country. 13. The love of praise and esteem may do something; but to make a true patriot there must be an inward sense of duty and conscience. 14. Honesty (like other things) grows from its proper seed, good principles early laid in the mind. 15. To be a real patriot, a man must consider his countrymen as God's creatures, and himself as accountable for his acting towards them. 16. If pro aris et focis be the life of pat 25. Gamesters, rakes, fops, bullies, stockjobbers: alas! what patriots! 26. Some writers have thought it impossible that men should be brought to laugh at public spirit. Yet this hath been done in the present age. 27. The patriot aims at his private good in the public. The knave makes the public subservient to his private interest. The former considers himself as part of a whole, the latter considers himself as the whole. 28. There is and ever will be a natural strife between court and country. The one will get as much, and the other give as little, as it can. How must the patriot behave himself? 29. He gives the necessary. If he gives more, it is with a view of gaining more to his country. 30. A patriot will never barter the public money for his private gain. 31. Moral evil is never to be committed; | either case the public would thrive but physical evil may be incurred, either to ill. avoid a greater evil, or to procure a good. 32. Where the heart is right, there is true patriotism. 33. In your man of business, it is easier to meet with a good head than a good heart. 34. A patriot will admit there may be honest men, and that honest men may differ. 35. He that always blames, or always praises, is no patriot. 36. Were all sweet and sneaking courtiers, or were all sour malcontents; in 37. A patriot would hardly wish there was no contrast in the state. 38. Ferments of the worst kind succeed to perfect inaction. 39. A man rages, rails, and raves; I suspect his patriotism. 40. The fawning courtier and the surly squire often mean the same thing, each his own interest. 41. A patriot will esteem no man for being of his party. 42. The factious man is apt to mistake himself for a patriot. THE QUERIST: CONTAINING SEVERAL QUERIES PROPOSED TO THE CONSIDERATION OF THE PUBLIC. Qu. 1. WHETHER there ever was, is, or will be, an industrious nation poor, or an idle rich? 2. Whether a people can be called poor, where the common sort are well fed, clothed, and lodged? 3. Whether the drift and aim of every wise state should not be, to encourage industry in its members? And, whether those who employ neither heads nor hands for the common benefit, deserve not to be expelled like drones out of a well-governed state? 4. Whether the four elements, and man's labor therein, be not the true source of wealth? 5. Whether money be not only so far useful, as it stirreth up industry, enabling men mutually to participate the fruits of each other's labor? 6. Whether any other means, equally conducing to excite and circulate the industry of mankind, may not be as useful as money? 7. Whether the real end and aim of men be not power? And whether he who could have every thing else at his wish or will, would value money? 8. Whether the public aim in every well-governed state be not, that each mem tion; and whether action doth not follow appetite or will? 10. Whether fashion doth not create appetites; and whether the prevailing will of a nation is not the fashion? 11. Whether the current of industry and commerce be not determined by this prevailing will? 12. Whether it be not owing to custom, that the fashions are agreeable? 13. Whether it may not concern the wisdom of the legislature to interpose, in the making of fashions; and not leave an affair of so great influence to the management of women and fops, tailors and vintners? 14. Whether reasonable fashions are a greater restraint on freedom than those which are unreasonable? 15. Whether a general good taste in a people would not greatly conduce to their thriving? And whether an uneducated gentry be not the greatest of national evils? 16. Whether customs and fashions do not supply the place of reason in the vulgar of all ranks? Whether, therefore, it doth not very much import that they should be wisely framed? 17. Whether the imitating those neighbors in our fashions, to whom we bear no ber, according to his just pretensions and in-likeness in our circumstances, be not one dustry, should have power? 9. Whether power be not referred to ac cause of distress to this nation? 18. Whether frugal fashions in the upper rank, and comfortable living in the lower, be not the means to multiply inhabitants ? 19. Whether the creating of wants be not the likeliest way to produce industry in a people? And whether, if our peasants were accustomed to eat beef and wear shoes, they would not be more industrious? 20. Whether other things be given, as climate, soil, &c., the wealth be not proportioned to the industry, and this to the circulation of credit, be the credit circulated or transferred by what marks or tokens soever? 21. Whether, therefore, less money, swiftly circulating, be not, in effect, equivalent to more money slowly circulating? Or, whether, if the circulation be reciprocally as the quantity of coin, the nation can be a loser? 22. Whether money is to be considered as having an intrinsic value, or as being a commodity, a standard, a measure, or a pledge, as is variously suggested by writers? And whether the true idea of money, as such, be not altogether that of a ticket or counter? 23. Whether the value or price of things be not a compounded proportion, directly as the demand, and reciprocally as the plenty? 24. Whether the terms crown, livre, pound sterling, &c., are not to be considered as exponents or denominations of such proportion? And whether gold, silver, and paper, are not tickets or counters for reckoning, recording, and transferring thereof? 25. Whether the denominations being retained, although the bullion were gone, things might not nevertheless be rated, bought and sold, industry promoted, and a circulation of commerce maintained? 26. Whether an equal raising of all sorts of gold, silver and copper coin, can have any effect in bringing money into the country? And whether altering the proportions between the several sorts can have any other effect but multiplying one kind and lessening another, without any increase of the sum total? 27. Whether arbitrary changing the denomination of coin be not a public cheat? 28. What makes a wealthy people? Whether mines of gold and silver are capable of doing this? And whether the negroes, amidst the gold sands of Africa, are not poor and destitute? 29. Whether there be any virtue in gold and silver, other than as they set people at work, or create industry? 30. Whether it be not the opinion or will of the people, exciting them to industry, that truly enricheth a nation? And whether this doth not principally depend on the means for counting, transferring, and preserving power, that is, property of all kinds? 31. Whether current bank-notes may not be deemed money? And whether they are not actually the greater part of the money of this kingdom? 32. Provided the wheels move, whether it is not the same thing, as to the effect of the machine, be this done by the force of wind, or water, or animals? 33. Whether power to command the industry of others be not real wealth? And whether money be not in truth, tickets or tokens for conveying and recording such power, and whether it be of great consequence what materials the tickets are made of? 34. Whether trade, either foreign or domestic, be in truth any more than this commerce of industry? 35. Whether to promote, transfer, and secure, this commerce, and this property in human labor, or, in other words, this power, be not the sole means of enriching a people, and how far this may be done independently of gold and silver? 36. Whether it were not wrong to suppose that land itself to be wealth? And whether the industry of the people is not first to be considered, as that which constitutes wealth, which makes even land and silver to be wealth, neither of which would have any vaiue, but as means and motives to industry? MEREDITH DEMAISTRE, THE PET OF THE PARVENUS. CHAPTER I. THE GRIEF OF THE TIPPTOFFS. But the business of the novelist is with persons and their actions, and not with furniture, be it even the luxury of kings, or the more comfortable splendor of merchants. The lady, on retreating from the window, threw herself passionately into the angle of a sofa, at the other extreme of which sat her husband, whose short figure relieved itself obscurely against the dusky velvet. In the dimness one could hardly discern it. and there in convenient niches. A few small, but exquisitely finished statues on scagliola pedestals, a table in a corner, covIr was the second hour after midnight, ered with engravings, doubtless of great when Mr. Meredith Demaistre entered the rarity and value,-so much may be seen in very latest of the hundred carriages which the imperfect light;-what else might be had stopped the way before the elegant discovered by the broad light of a hundred mansion of the Tipptoffs, in the most fash-jets of gas, we leave to the vivid and minute ionable avenue of New-York. A lady in a imagination of our reader. white ball-dress appeared at the same instant at the window of the parlor. Mr. Demaistre, as if divining the possibility of such an apparition, checked the coachman for an instant, and sprang out quickly to catch a rose which her fair hand threw to him. He bows profoundly; the lady retires from the window; the coach rolls away. The lady returns, and leaning out into the warm night air, looks earnestly after the carriage and listens long to the thunder of the retiring A something worse than ennui, a feeling wheels, as they sound along the hollow streets. of exhaustion and of total disappointment, The gas lights have been shut off in the seemed to possess them. The lady, whom house, and the vast rooms would be quite the reader will hereafter please to recognize darkened were it not that the glare of a street as "the fair," or 66 the elegant," or "the light casts a ruddy effulgence along the witty," or "the fascinating," or possibly, if painted ceilings and the towering walls, it should so happen, (Heaven only knows,) revealing imperfectly the mirrored elegance the "unfortunate and much to be compasof a modern citizen's palace. The adorn- sionated Mrs. Tipptoff,"-patted the carpet ments of these rooms, as we are able to see nervously, but languidly and slowly, with them by the dim light that streams into the her little satin-clad foot. Her husband, remoter darkness, are of the rarest and most known as "old Tipptoff," or "Dick Tippjudicious order; their designing and choice, tofi," or "rich Dick Tipptoff," with a note evidently by some master of taste and fash- of interrogation added,-the wealth of that ion. Pictures of a grand and sombre charac- very old family having been for years on the ter, originals of the more luxurious artists of declining side of fortune,-sat gazing into the modern German and Belgian schools, vacancy, with an air between the hateful those sole possessors in our day of the secret weariness that follows forced mirth and too of color and chiar oscuro, occupy the much wine, and the distressed anxiety of a spaces of the walls, alternating with a few man who is following his furniture to an broad mirrors set in marble. The carpets auction, or his counsel to the presence of a of large and simple figures, harmoniously prejudiced jury. but soberly tinted, assist, the colors of the heavy curtains, and velvet-covered furniture. The rooms are provided, but not crowded, with elegant conveniences for sitting and reclining, which, more than all other luxuries, discover the tact and sensuosity of the modern taste. Objects of virtu rest here VOL VII. NO. II. NEW SERIES. I should have remarked, that immediately on her withdrawal from the window, a servant entered and placed a small Chinese table, supporting a bottle of brandy, a silver water pitcher, and two candles, (one of them. lighted,) before Tipptoff; with the additamentum of a boot-jack, and a pair of yel. 9 low slippers, on the carpet. Tipptoff, the knowing reader will surmise, had been once a bachelor, old and of fixed habits. He was now a married man, not a day younger, and with very nearly the same habits. The self-disgust of a social failure sickened the leathery visage of the old gentleman, as he poured out a glass of brandy for himself, and, rather oddly, invited his pretty wife to drink with him. The tearful vexation of disappointed vanity, and perhaps the grief of some other passion, pouted the dewy lips, and paled the swelling cheeks of his spouse. The pair gazed blankly but not angrily at each other, and then at the bottle. "Dick, my dear," sighed the lady, "I think I will take a little." surprising distinctness. After a time, however, kind nature came to her solace in the shape of that gentle follower of grief, the quiet and beneficent sleep. The beautiful head of curls no longer waved to and fro, in starts of agony, and soon fell sideways and drooped on either side the white wrist that rested on the velvet arm of the sofa. A soft breathing, interrupted only by a dreamy catching of the breath, as though sorrow was not wholly mastered, even by sleep, announced that the delicate and unhappy Mrs. Tipptoff had declined into a state of oblivion, and for this hour at least escaped from vanity and care. And now, with softest music let us close the scene. CHAPTER II. THE EXULTATION OF THE SQUABBS. The old gentleman had evidently forgotten himself when he offered the brandy to his wife, and her acceptance of it discomposed him. Had it been hot brandy punch, with lemon in it, or any lady-like preparation of brandy, he would have thought noth- Ar the fireside of the Squabbs, on the ing of it; but his ideas of feminine delicacy contrary, there was an atmosphere of exulforbade his wife so rude and masculine a drink tation. Mr. Squabb, Mrs. Squabb, Miss as the mere bachelor's brandy-and-water. Emeline Ginevra Squabb, and the two little The impropriety of the thing struck him on Squabblings, the snobby brothers, were in a the instant. Filled even to bursting with a perfect gale. "Was there ever such a vicprevious choler and disquiet, it needed but tory?" screamed the mother. "Never!" a drop more to make a foaming efferves- shrilled the daughter. "Never," growled old cence in his inner man. But Dick Tipp- Squabb, yawning and falling back in his chair. toff was a gentleman of delicate education,-"Never," laughed the two snobby Squabbwould sooner kick his horse, or shave his whiskers, than speak harshly to a lady. The most he could do was to set down the glass untasted, get up against the table, overturning it with a crash, damn himself slightly, and walk directly out of the room, shutting the door sharply behind him, and leaving Mrs. T. in darkness. The crash and uproar occasioned by the violent upsetting, and the exodus of her spouse, having subsided, the unhappy Mrs. Tipptoff burst into a sharp paroxysm of weep ing. Covering her face with her hands, she rocked her fragile figure to and fro, with many sobs and deep-drawn sighs, while the big drops burst from between her squeezed and aching eyelids. The words, "cruel man," "kind Meredith," "horrid Squabbs," "nasty people," and a variety of broken expressions, indicative of a tumult of mixed emotions, burst in harsh whispers from her lips. Mrs. T. was to a certainty, profoundly agitated the dark side of her life had turned up to her view, with a sudden and ling youths, simultaneously plunging their pale fat hands into the pockets of their sacks. Never," shouted all in chorus. "Such a splendid affair," languished Miss Emeline Ginevra. "Such an expensive one," groaned Mr. S. "Such a well got-up thing, and all for us, my dear," concluded Mrs. S., nodding smilingly at her daughter. A period of silence ensued, during which the entire family, looking from one to another, allowed their satisfaction to expand itself in knowing glances. The Squabbs were a fat family; their complexions shone with fatness. At this epoch in their history, which may be marked as the culmination of their mortal felicity, they had attained that ripeness of person which follows a long course of pleasure and easy living, before the disappointments and chagrins of fashionable life had begun to break in upon that continuity of countenance which marks the happy and the dull. The Squabbs were grown rich, and from a hopeless obscurity had risen upon an opulent wave to the frothy summit of |