THE RENCONTRE. "Veniet tacito carva senecta pede." I AM accustomed to take a long ramble, and as my excursions are always performed on foot, I have acquired the title of pedestrian. I had occasion to visit the village of N- about five miles from my residence. It was a cold dreary day in December;-there had been a fall of snow the night previous, and the sloping roofs of the cottages were clothed with a hoary sheet; it was not of sufficient depth to totally hide the brown-withered fields, but only to cover them with a thousand small white patches;-the trees and hedges seemed to bewail the season, as the wind, loaded with small sleet, moaned through their naked branches;-black ragged clouds floated along the sky in stern majesty, and crowded in quick succession on to the horizon, where they formed one dark zone;-in short, the whole landscape, earth and sky, presented a striking picture of desolation. I had proceeded on my road about three miles, and for the last few minutes my attention had been engaged by a redbreast, which tamed by the inclemency of the weather, had accompanied me some distance, flitting and hopping before me; when I observed an infirm old man not far a-head;- as he was the only person I had seen the whole of my walk, I quickened my pace, and shortly overtook him. He appeared to have been of lofty stature, but his figure was now curved by the pressure of years. He wore a drab great coat of antiquated shape; he had on leather small-clothes, and thick coarse hose of dark blue. His shoes, which were fastened with bright steel buckles, carried a pair of huge soles, which looked almost proof against wear, and as if they would be little worse when their owner should be no more. On his head was placed a small skim-dish hat, a little inclined on one side; beneath it hung his locks of silver grey; his complexion was ruddy, and his countenance, though much puckered by time, bespoke him a man of temperate and regular life. Placed in his hand was a faithful crab stick, the knob of which from long use bore a high polish. In our intercourse with the world, we seldom fall in with a stranger, but his physiognomy makes an instantaneous impression upon us, either to create a predilection or dislike. Amongst the multitude and variety of faces with which we meet, there may be some we behold with indifference, but the greater part, I think, offer something striking; they attract our notice at the first glance, and excite our interest. My The old man's countenance and whole appearance had an engaging effect upon me; I no sooner got up to him than I accosted him as if he had been an old friend. "A stormy day, this, good man," said I. "Have you a long journey before you?" friendly salute startled him,--he appeared to have been deeply meditating, and not to have observed me till he heard my voice,-he turned, and gazed upon me an instant without speaking, as if to recollect himself, and arrange his ideas, and then replied, with a deep sigh-"No sir,-I am almost at the far end now,-as I have only to go the turnpike, about a mile further." I immediately read in his eyes a "tale of woe"-there was that dimness and languor in them, which mental suffering ever imparts. Ilowever I might have been disposed to be gay of heart, this rencontre would have checked me; but the dreariness of the day had already depressed my spirits, and cast over my reflections a shade of gloom. As I beheld so affecting a picture of years and sorrow, the kindlier feelings of my nature were awakened, and my breast glowed with undisguised sympathy. "My worthy friend" said I, in a compassionate tone, "I fear some melancholy circumstance is the cause, or you would not be travelling here on so cold and inclement a day.' "Alas! sir," was the answer,-and another deep sigh escaped from him,"the cause is indeed melancholybad enough for me God knows. My poor daughter lies on her death bed-I have come fifteen miles to day, to close the eyes of an expiring child. Last night we had no sooner taken our frugal supper, and were about to implore a blessing from heaven before we retired to rest, then there was a knocking at the door,—it was a postboy with a letter (he always passes by our cottage) saying, that if I expected to see her ere she departed for another world, I had no time to lose." "Has your daughter been long ill?" enquired I. "She has been in a declining state of health, sir, a great while. It is only about two months since her mother and I saw her; we thought then she was better, and that it would please God to restore her, but it seems he thinks it best to take her away, and his will be done.-Poor Jane!" he exclaimed in a kind of soliloquy, as a large bright tear rolled down his cheek," she never looked up after the fearful death of Hubert-as soon as her husband was borne to the grave she prepared to follow him!" "How long is it since your son-inlaw died?" said I, for to me there appeared to be something mysterious in the latter words, and my sympathy became alloyed with a feeling of curiosity. He pointed to a spire which jutted in the distance from the midst of the thronging boughs of a crowd of naked trees, and answered, "It was three years this last autumn since he was carried to yonder church-yard. Oh, sir! it tears my very heart strings asunder when I think how we lost him. Worthy Hubert-God rest his soul!earned his living by going from village to village with a horse and caravan, and selling small wares, drapery, and the woollen which Jenny spun; he was always a steady lad, and before his marriage saved as much money as enabled him to set up in this way. He was wont once a year to go to Ramsey fair. A few months before his death, he was on his way to the fair, when coming to a lonely part of the road, he overtook a man carrying a parcel under his arm. The stranger walked by the side of the caravan a long way, till at last, it being a very sultry day, and he appearing fatigued, Hubert, who was always ready to do any body a good turn, asked him if he would ride, and bade him come and sit beside him on the box. He mounted, and deposited his parcel behind him in the caravan. They went along talking very merrily, for Hubert was a cheerful lad, till they reached the sign of the Granby, in Ramsey, where my poor son-in-law always stopped. They both alighted, the stranger thanking Hubert for his kindness, prepared to continue his journey, for he was going some miles further, but on looking for his parcel, it had disappeared! The stranger was filled with alarm-it contained a sum of money. Hubert was in the greatest consternation--but what was to be done?-they both made the most diligent search-they emptied the entire caravan, and even examined every bundle-looked into every bag, but no parcel could be found ;-placards were placed on almost every wall, offering a reward, but all to no purpose-it was gone, and from that day no tidings were ever heard of it. When a neighbour is in a thriving way envy you know, soon makes her appearance, and where there is envy there is always hate. It soon got rumoured about, that Hubert knew something about the parcel, and was privy to its disappearance. I leave you to judge, sir, what effect this would have upon my son-in-law, who was as honest,-aye, as God ever made man. He began to droop-he became quite low spirited, and seldom spoke. It was in vain that his affectionate wife, or I, or any body strove to rouse him, when she would say, come Hubert, now don't let this calamity bear thee down in this way, he would shed tears, and ruefully shake his head and say, 'it's no use Jane--it's no useI cannot bear it!' My poor: son-in-law grew worse and worse-his health began fast to decline, and at last he was so ill that he was confined to his bed, when on Jane's going one morning into his chamber with a cup of coffee for him-oh, sir!-what an awful sight met her eyes!-the lifeless body of her husband suspended from the tester of the bed!-he had got up in a fit of madness and hung himself with his handkerchief. Jane uttered a loud scream, and fainted away-a surgeon was instantly fetched, but it was too late-life had fled for ever. Alas; I ! was thinking about that fatal parcel Here the tears began to flow copi- Reader! what you have deigned to Penzance, July 1826. LACONICS. SLANDER is so fruitful that it employs a variety of expedients, to satiate as well as disguise itself; but if these smoother weapons cut so sore, what shall we say of open and unblushing scandal, subjected to no caution, tied down to no restraints? If the one. like an arrow shot in the dark, does nevertheless so much secret mischief, this, like the pestilence, which rages at noon-day, sweeps all before it, levelling without distinction the good and the bad; a thousand fall beside it, and ten thousand on its right hand; they fall, so rent and torn in this tender part of them, so unmercifully butchered, as sometimes never to recover either the wounds, or the anguish of heart which they have occasioned.-Sterne. A man that is busy and inquisitive is commonly envious; for to know much of other men's matters cannot be, because all that ado may concern his own estate; therefore it must needs be that he taketh a kind of play-pleasure in looking upon the fortunes of others; find much matter for envy; for envy neither can he that mindeth but his own is a gadding passion, and walketh the streets, and doth not keep at home: "Non est curiosus idem sit malevolus." -Lord Bacon. HARLEY. The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours which splendour cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate. Those soft intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises which he feels, in privacy, to be useless encumbrances, and to lose all effect when they become familiar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition; the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of which every desire prompts the prosecution. It is indeed at home that every man must be known, by those who would make a just estimate either of his virtue, or felicity; for smiles and embroidery are alike occasional, and the mind is often dressed for show in painted honour and fictitious benevolence.-Johnson. Wir lies most in the assemblage of IMPROMPTU, On hearing of the death of a little boy nearly three years old, whom I had just before seen in the agonies of death. He's gone! His flutt'ring pulse has ceased to beat ! His impatient spirit, long struggling to be free'd From the chill grasp of Death, spurns the vile clay, And takes at length its happy flight to Heaven! There, borne on the bosom of rejoicing Angels, To be presented guiltless to its God. At Illogan, Miss A. Garland. At St. Ives, Hugh Ley, Esqr. M. D. of Penzanee. At Liskeard, Mrs. Crabb, Wife of Mr. Crabb, At St. Stephens, Mr. E. Lavis. Hark! methinks I hear him, 'midst the happy At Argill, E. Hodge, Esq. aged 73. throng At Helston, Mr. W. E. Knight. At Penzance, Mr. J. Hampton, aged 80. At Chacewater, Mr. E. Teague. At Falmouth, Miss Eliza Tippet. At Penryn, Mr. J. Edgcombe, aged 87. BIRTHS-IN JULY. At Helston, Mrs. Bennett, Angel Inn, of a daughter. At Marazion, Mrs. E. Lanyon, of a son. IN AUGUST. At Goldsithney, Mrs. Hawke, of a daughter. At East Looe, Mrs. Shapcott, of a daughter. MARRIAGES-IN JULY. At Perranthrose, Mr. W. Richards, to Miss Gundry. At Ty wardreath, Mr. Joseph Paull, to Miss Tippet. At Madron, Mr. J. Bryant, to Miss E. Roberts. At St. Austle, Lient. Mein, to Miss Aun Lakes. At Gonwallow, Mr. Freeman, to Miss Harris. At Launceston, Mr. Treleaven, to Miss Harvey. IN AUGUST. At Liskeard, Mr. B. Lyne, to Miss E. Rawle. At Helston, Mr. W. Morris, to Miss Mary Ann Bath. At St. Austle, Mr. Andrew, to Miss Cock. THE WEATHER. HAVING noticed in our last No. the uncommon deficiency of Rain in this County, (the drought indeed seems to have been very general) it will be proper, to continue the record for August. A kind friend who truly believes that we wish to adhere to Truth, and when any thing may appear the contrary, it will only be in error not intention, writes us this pleasing correction. "That he having gone through a great number of parishes did invariably hear from the farmers, that the Wheat Crop is not only in abundance but also a heavy crop." The season has been very favorable for gathering in the early Harvest, so we hope some other Grain may turn out better than expected. Although, as we stated that on 4th July refreshing showers began, yet from thence till 23rd August so small has been the quantity the Gardens and fields in all the high lands have remained in almost a barren state, the Wells and Ponds have scarcely been affected, and the poor cattle have suffered much. There have been very partially two or three terrific storms of Lightning in which there were some lamentable instances of the loss of lives;the Rain tremendous during the short period, and the Water in torrents escaping did but li:tle good and some damage. On Saturday night 19th August a Halo-or immense dusky radial Circle, appeared round the Moon, indicating a change of Weather, and on Wednesday the rain and wind were heavy; and to the end of the month variable. By the Meteorological Register for At St. Hillery, Mr. N. James, to Miss S. August, kept on Mount-Sion, the Barometer Symonds. DEATHS-IN JULY. At Fowey, Mr. Borlase, Innkeeper. At Marazion, Mr. Osborne. At Hay, near Liskeard, Mr. Richard Stephens. At Liskeard, Mrs. Mary Giencross. At Fowey, Mr. Millington. At Helston, Miss A. Moyle. ranged from 30. 24, down to 29. 52, and the Thermometer from 79. to 58, prevailing wind about N. W. varying at short times some points each side of S. Printed and Published by J. Philp, Falmouth, and sold by most Booksellers in the County. The Selector. "WE CULL THE CHOICEST" No. 10.J OCTOBER, 1826. ON THE FINAL "And they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning books: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." WE are sorry that circumstances should have prevented an earlier fulfilment of our promise to offer some further remarks on this subject. We hope, however, that the delay has not created a suspicion that a lack of argument is the cause. If it has, we trust the following observations will tend to supplant it, and to produce the stronger conviction, that the point under consideration is founded on truth. It will be recollected that the arguments already advanced, were intended to prove that Knowledge and War have a distinctly reverse influence ;-the one tending to liberty and happiness, the other to bondage and misery; and that if the one be universally diffused, the other shall no longer be known. The question now remains to be answered, whether Knowledge will ever make such progress on the earth as to put an end to all War? The supposition that this will be the case, appears almost too great and too joyous to be cherished by the human mind. War, in its variety of forms, has had so long an existence; become so familiar to the view; engaged so many interests and passions on its side; and is thought by many to be so indispensibly necessary, that it appears at first too much to expect that it will be ever annihilated, so long as the earth is inhabited by the race of mankind. A thousand difficulties rise to view, L [Price 3d. when we attempt to consider how such a mighty revolution in the thoughts and pursuits of men, as is necessary to its extinction, is to be accomplished; and we are almost tempted to regard the idea as visionary, bascless, and delusive. But when we look into the pages of history, and find that events as improbable and unexpected, if not as mighty and glorions, have been realized, the spark of hope rekindles in our bosom; and as our minds linger on the predicted universality of knowledge, we find the spark kindling into a flame, and consuming every obstacle to the triumphant reign of Peace. But a few years since, the SlaveTrade was carried on to such an extent, and under such powerful patronage, as seemed to ensure its perpetuity. Thousands gained their livelihood, and were enabled to purchase their luxuries by this horrible traffick in human blood. Governments sanctioned this inhuman and unjust species of commerce, and men scrupled not to gain their riches from a source which involved their hapless fellow-creatures in the greatest misery. Yet, notwithstanding all the obstacles to its suppression, we find that the Slave-Trade is abolished, although some of its degrading consequences are yet but too visible. What a happy change have a few years wrought in favour of humanity! Who with this fact in view will dare to set bounds to the progress of justice and benevolence, or say there is no ground to hope for the final extinction of War? There is so much that is really consolitary and conclusive, in the following |