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SOMETHING.

EDITED BY

NEMO NOBODY, ESQ.

"Tis Something ----Nothing.”

No. I.] Boston, Saturday, November 18, 1809. [VOL. I.

THE WORLD.

THIS World is as it is, and as no one can change it

For better or worse, as it is we must range it;
And try if from what it is aught we can take
will give opiates to vice, and keep virtue awake;
For virtue indulges too much on her pillow;
"Tis her's to bestride the impetuous billow,
To ride on the storm, to out face the bleak wind,
And assert the all conquering power of mind.
To prove that no fortune or sorrow can bend
The soul of that man who can be his own friend:
Do his duty, start fairly, take truth for his guide,

Make faith his reliance, religion his pride;

Keep watch, take the helm, cry at folly, "no near,"

And when once gain'd the right course say, "steady now steer."

But if Virtue once dozes, be sure in a trice,

The helm of her vessel's seiz'd hold of by Vice;

The sheets are eased off, and a free breeze obtained,
More is lost in ore hour, than by days can be gain'd;
Happy yet, from her slumbers if Virtue awakes,
Ere her bark on the rock of incautiousness breaks.

But the world? aye the world, well it is—as it is,
Its wealth is a target some hit and some miss,
'Tis composed of a mixture, some sour, some sweet,
Some weak and some strong, and some little, some great,

1

HARVARD

COLLEGE

LIBRARY

Some wretched, some happy, some grave and some sad,
Some wise and some foolish, some good and some bad.
But where all have a fair chance to act as they please,
Or to struggle for bliss, or be curs'd at their ease.
But, it follows of course that if some will do evil

And pursue that broad road that leads down-(I'll be civil)
So to balance accounts, other some must be found
Who've ambition enough to ascend the high ground,
For virtue, or vice, would have absolute sway

If all should determine to travel one way.

And this once effected, mankind would be slaves,
And drill'd, like a despot's train'd bands, to their graves.

No honour or praise could their actions reward,

Nor justice a punishment fairly accord;

Since force and not reason, constraint and not will
The measure of each prescrib'd duty would fill.

The moral, unlike to the physical world,

Has a spot where the banners of peace are unfurl'd;
'Tis the space intervening 'twixt little and great;
'Twixt the zenith of fortune and natir of fatt.
Where Experience beckons to all, as she cries
Or rising or falling, here pause, if you're wise,
'Tis the shade of content, where the weary may rest,

And partake, if they please, of the sweets of the blest.

Yet such is the folly of those who pursue it,

Tho' with hard toil they've gain'd, they still pant to get through it; While those who're compell'd from high fortune to stray

In spite of conviction keep down hill their way.

Yet such the repulsion of all as they meet,

They are ne'er known to stop, one another to greet,

And lest the rich man check the poor in his fall,

He leaves him the broad way, and himself takes the wall.

Then viewing the world as it is, we shall find

That if some will go forward, some must lag behind,

If some seek the country, some must live in town,

If some will go upward, then some must come down.

For the high roads of life, like the bridges of Boston,
Would ne'er pay their costs, unless both sides were crost on.
Since each other then meeting, avoiding, or shoving,

Or crossing, or jostling, we always keep moving,
Since, like teetering boys, when one mounts t'other falls,

Since few keep fair-weather, but all have their squalls.
This world may be aptly compared to a pot
Where all kinds of sauces are kept piping hot,
While each genus is jostling the other, and toiling,
Like men, to obtain the best places to boil in ;
While money's the fuel that fire conveys,
And ambition the poker that stirs up the blaze.

A Categorical Syllogism.

MAJOR.

This is a strange world:

MINOR.

A strange world must produce strange people.

CONSEQUENCE.

Strange people must exhibit strange things.

Now who can doubt after this that we can tell watt's what? It is strange that a work should be undertaken by-Nobody. It is stranger that it should be professedly inimical to—Nobody.

And yet that it is likely to be supported by-Nobody.

And what's most strange, and passing strange, is, that these truths, though truths, will be denied by-Nobody.

"Alas! he's Mad."

Some say that it is madness to undertake a weekly and literary paper in Boston, after so many have failed-We beg pardon of the learned editors, we should have said, after they had declined publishing, in consequence of a deficiency of public taste to estimate and patronize their respective merits. They say too that Maros enough could be found if Mecanases were plenty.

THREE QUERIES.

Can any man admire the beauty of a woman, before he sees her beautiful?

Can any botanist acknowledge the pre-eminence of a flower till he has observed its superior claims ?

Will not Maros produce Mecanases ?

Look at Philadelphia and New-York. The former has her Dennie, the latter her Irwins; Look next at home ;-does not the Anthology blossom and bear fruit under the influence of an enlivening sun? Our

soil is rich enough, let but the seed be good, sow it carefully, and it will produce its fifty or its hundred fold.

Mecanases produce Maros! Virgil wrote, and wrote well, before Mecanas interfered in his favour-Let a Virgil appear in Boston and he'll find his Mecanas-somewhere.

It is not what we think of ourselves, but what the world think of us, that establishes reputation and, consequently, profit.

We may think and say of ourselves that we are wits, geniuses, or learned men, but after all we have thought and said of ourselves, there is a certain something necessary to make the world believe.

The greatest error into which periodical writers generally fall is that of thinking themselves wiser than their fellow creatures: That they sometimes have been so must be granted, but because Addison and Johnson instructed, it does not follow that every succeeding writer should amuse. Johnson stood "like the monument" firm in disappointment, we are equally prepared.

But let us jokingly, and without the usual animosity, notice the observations of our wits and punsters on some of the periodical works that have made their first and last appearance on the stage of literary patronage in this town.

THE THISTLE.

The Thistle springs up, and, like Virgil's bee, "vitam in vulnere ponit."

There is much virtue in a name; Thistle was an unfortunate title, a "noli me tangere" "a nemo me impune lacessit," cautious people were afraid of touching it. We trust that we have been more fortunate in our choice, for every body must be pleased with "Something," although there is a something that will never please "No not to Nobody.”

N.B. The above quotations were introduced to prove that Nobody understands Latin as well as English.

THE TIMES.

The Times are changed! Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis.

THE MIRROR.

The Mirror is still held up; may it never know a painful reflection! THE WEEKLY MAGAZINE.

The Weekly Magazine say the punsters, was not strong enough to stand its ground, because it was weakly supported.

THE EMERALD.

The Emerald was not read, because it was green.

THE ORDEAL.

Its fire was too hot, and its water froze, there could be no fair trial. THE POLYANTHUS.

Polyanthus. Sweet pretty name! Ladies like bouquets; but is it to be supposed that they will at all times wear them in their bosoms! Humanity forbid! The Polyanthus had to be sure many flowers, but alas the thorns sprang up and choaked them.

Now, is it not perfectly natural and conformable to custom immemorial, that these gentlemen (the editors,) should complain of the want of spirit in a public to support a work of merit ? but, if “Nobody” should be doomed (which is very probable) to the fate of his predeces. sors he will candidly confess that it can only be owing to his deficiency in "Something."

But notwithstanding all the complaints that have been made about the public not having spirit enough to support a work of sense, we are determined to try if we have sense enough to support a work of spirit.

We pretend not to a keenness of vision that will enable us to shoot folly as it flies, but if it should happen to light within gun-shot when we are sure of not wasting powder, we may perhaps take aim.

By this it will appear that we have some knowledge of good gener alship, being economical of ammunition,

Fine Eyes.

There was once, and there may be still, an Academy of Apathists in Italy; at one meeting this question was proposed,

Which are the most handsome eyes in women, black or blue? Some contended that blue eyes were entitled to pre eminence because their colour resembled that of the heavens, and their beams were soft and mild; they who advocated black eyes contended that their fire was more brilliant, that their effect was more striking, and that the contrast they afforded to the whiteness of the skin was wonderful in its operation at the first view.

How the contest was decided we cannot tell.

We introduce the circumstance only as introductory to a decision we have already made, that is, that we shall in our estimations of the comparative beauty of eyes give the preference to those which look upon us most favourably, let them be grey, brown, blue, or black,

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