SKETCHES BY A LOOKER-ON....No. I.

I AM an old maid. 'Twas a hard thing to assume voluntarily the indisputable appendages of age, caps and spectacles; but years have gone by since I have ceased to look grave at the title-and it is not one now that I am ashamed to acknowledge, even in print. I am not about to give a recital of some doleful love adventure of my early days, nor a lecture against the pleasures of youth. Those who have shared them will own they have felt their bewitching excitement while they lasted, and their vanity when they were past. I have had my part in them. I have fatigued mind and body in a ball-room, and called it happiness; I have sat mewed up for hours in a splendidly furnished room, listening to the affected, commonplace observations of vanity and folly, and called it the refined conversation of good society. And through all this I was happy and pleased. I should have been the same had custom bid me saw wood instead of dance, and sit in a cotton factory instead of a well filled parlour. I had youth. Ah! fond deJuder! I have been flattered, giddy and imprudent, as who has not, who has been young? I have done my best to win love, esteem and admiration, as what woman has not? I have loved, hoped, trusted, as what inexperienced heart has not? I have been disappointed, as who has not, who has nourished fond hopes and airy visions? There has been no time in my life when I would not have married, had I found one worthy and willing. I have often met those, whose appearance corresponded very well with the being my imagination had early drawn as my fellow traveller, and who seemed equally satisfied with mine; but they always went away, or I came away, and so the matter ended. So far as I could see or hear—for when vanity would blind us, there is generally some kind soul near to whisper our failings in our ear-there was nothing very repulsive or displeasing in my person and manners. Still here am I at the age of-of-why do I hesitate ?-oh! thou spark of old-maidism, let me extinguish thee at once!-at the age of forty-nine-by chance, mere chance, a single woman with a pretty fortune, rather increasing than diminishing. Chuckle not, young gentlemen, ye who have no talent but for spending and no industry but in seeking out evil; exclaim not to yourselves that you have found the object of your wishes-an estate with the encumbrance of a wife for a few years. I am no patch for ragged fortunes. I will have none of ye. Even if I would, I doubt whether you would not soon repent your bargain; for with my cheerful disposition and regular way of

living I should not despair of shooting cupid's arrows from beneath a widow's weeds. No: jesting aside, I have seen enough of the married state to make me contented, at least, as I am. It must be a pleasant thing to see one's children springing up around, and making glad their native hearth; to see them in their turn settling down quietly for life with their heart's worthy choice; they and theirs gathering round one festive board at the annual Thanksgiving, and blessing the guiding Hand that pointed out to them the path that has led to wealth, happiness and respectability. It must be very sweet to hear the voices of filial love in the wearying days of sickness; to know the hand that smooths one's pillow does it not for hire-and to feel, even though we must die, that our name and our example pass not away with us. Of this an old maid knows nothing.

But can it be a pleasant thing to see the children one has cherished, departing from the homestead, perchance despising the homely roof that sheltered and the kindly hand that nursed them, and going out into the world to become-what?-anything that circumstances may make them; winners in the race of ambition at the expense of youth and virtue; or losers, disappointed and wretched, who, because they cannot rise, plunge themselves down the precipice of degradation? Can it be very sweet to hear the voices that should whisper peace and comfort, breathing reproaches on a parent's gray head? to lay on a dying bed, remembering the pains and anxieties so patiently endured-and think what has been their reward? remembering the group of little ones who clung around one in their early innocence, and to ask, where are they now?-and then to have memory run over the fearful catalogue; some laid in the grave by our own hand; some who went away and died; some severed by distance, perhaps in sickness and sorrow; some in prosperity who have forgotten one, and some left to wrangle over the little worldly gear one leaves behind, ere the body is quiet in its last resting place-the only resting place that man in his covetousness envies not his fellow. And of this an old maid knows nothing. Put the question to the hearts of the world, and decide by yeas and nays, which class has the majority. Of the thousand other troubles I have witnessed in the married state a great part had their origin in the dispositions of the parties; they would have made themselves wretched by some other means, had they remained single. Those that rose from the state itself had, perhaps, their counterbalancing joys. On this point I am not duly qualified to judge, so I say nothing.

I am cheerful in my situation; prepared to do good when I can, and avoid evil when I see it. Yes-though an old

maid, I am contented. I have long since ceased to be an actor in the pleasures and amusements of the gay and thoughtless; yet I mingle much in them; I am a looker-on; I love to study human nature. Some may smile with contempt at the idea of an inhabitant of a small country village talking of studying human nature. But learned friend, divide the world into as small portions as you will, it will still contain all its constituent parts, and in a village of a thousand people you will find the same passions and characters as in a city of fifty thousand., You will find the higher, the middling and the lower classes; the knave; the fool; and the-author. "Tis but the difference between the mass and the separated portion.

Being about to present you with sketches of scenes that fall under my observation, I have taken this trouble to introduce myself, so that from a knowledge of my peculiar situation you may know when to allow for the whims, oddities and prejudices inseparable from it. My writings would naturally be perfect; but I shall intersperse them with faults here and there, not so much to set off the beauties as to please the critics; and whenever they observe a superabundance of them they must ascribe it wholly to my anxious desire of pleasing them. I shall write of what and whom I choose, (always with truth and candor,) and if any be weak enough to be offended, why let them retaliate, if they are not ashamed to assail a poor lone woman, who, like a porcupine, has only a quill to defend herself against her adversaries.

I wonder what my first sketch will be about. Excuse me for uttering my thoughts. Good morning.

COMMON SENSE.

-"Yet have I

Mingled a little in this earnest world,

And staked upon its chances, and have learned
Truths that I never gathered from my books.
And though the lessons they have taught me seem
Things of the wayside to the practised man,

It is a wisdom by much wandering learned.'

In the first number of the Essayist an intention was expressed that the Magazine should assume a practical character. In accordance with this plan we propose, in the present article, to consider the claims of that much abused quality, denominated common sense. We believe that the neglect

of this principle of action is not only a general evil, but seriously detrimental to the interests of literature; and consequently we deem it a fit subject for our consideration.

There is no principle more pernicious to the cause of general improvement, than that which favors the partial cultivation of the spiritual powers, to the detriment of their equal and effective exercise. And yet this principle is, to a great degree, recognized in practice. The varieties of physical habit are not greater than those which characterize the inner man-not so much in original and inherent qualities, as in subsequent developement. The truth of this position might be shown by a reference to practical life, in which it is evident there exists a proneness to give all the thoughts to stated and particular subjects, and thus to bring into action individual and distinct powers of the mind to the neglect of the rest. True, the great principle of political economy, division of labor, requires the exercise of different powers in different individuals; but it does not insuperably bar the developement of all the capacities, or prevent the mind from extending its researches to those subjects, which, being distinct from stated employments, favor the grand end of being, which is the improving exercise of the whole nature.

The truth is, this quality called common sense-by which we mean, that judgment matured and strengthened by experience, on which we depend for guidance in every action in life is a very uncommon quality, or at least is rarely exercised. In some minds it is smothered by excess of feelingin others it sheds but a dim light for want of cultivation. But without dwelling on particulars, let us consider the general reasons which have tended to derogate from its just estimation in human regards.

It is deemed by many altogether too common a quality to merit attention. The germ of it exists in every mind, and the means of cultivating it are within every one's reach hence it is thought worthless when compared with the efforts of genius, or high attainments in learning. Even if this principle of judging were correct, it would not apply in this case; for, as observed at first, we maintain this principle, at least in its faithful exercise, to be comparatively rare.

In proportion as intellect has risen to its just rank in human estimation, the imagination has been cultivated at the expense of those powers, more requisite indeed to human happiness, but, as generally considered, less spiritual in their character. In accordance with the vague idea of genius which has been prevalent among us-an error which has been but

VOL. I...NO. II.

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lately justly exposed and confuted-common sense is thought incompatible with the intellectuality of the talented and the visionary enthusiasm of the poet. We maintain, however, that the faithful exercise of sound judgment drawn from experience, is a part of the economy of our nature, by which the exuberance of feeling is to be chastened, the excited imagination restrained, and the best efforts of the human mind matured and rightly directed.

Common sense has thus been considered a quality peculiarly useful and appropriate for a certain class in society, and altogether without the province of the learned or scientific, whose acquired sense is thought to supersede every other. It is for want of this truly useful quality that talent is so often misdirected or unimproved. Concerning the man of erudition,' says a distinguished author, it is a maxim in every mouth, that he is a being of no practical utility.'

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Let it not be urged, that common sense is a natural and not an acquired property. It is the product of experience; that is, an acquaintance with human nature, as exemplified in the ever-varying actions and events of life. And, in consequence, we find that the master mind who has read with the deepest penetration the broad page of the human heart, has left a legacy in his works not less attractive from their originality than their common sense. Whatever may be the conciseness and novelty which characterize the writings of Shakspeare, it is his precepts, responded to, as they are, by universal experience and observation, which are their peculiar charm. It may be doubted whether there is to be found in the English language a more concise set of useful and practical precepts than those contained in the advice of Polonius to Laertes prior to his departure for France:

'These few precepts, in thy memory, look thou character.
Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but, by no means, vulgar.

The friends thou hast and and their adoption tried,

Buckle them to thy heart with hooks of steel;

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in,

Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee.
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy.

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy :

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best name and station,

Are most select and generous, chief in that.